An American Holiday in London
How ironic is this: spending The Fourth of July in London, Englad-the place we gained independece from so many years ago? Yeah, I thought so.
Today also happened to be Pride, London’s GLBT (gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender) Parade and festival. It took over the entire center of London. They shut down a bunch of streets and paraded though the city to end at Trafalgar Square, where the largest of a few stages was set up. A lot of local artists performed, none of which Ryan or I had heard of. We sat, people watched, and drank warm cider. Cider’s good, but it has to be cold. We wandered around where the festival was being held, over many square blocks, drinking and people watching.
The most interesting thing to see was all the men dressed as women. At first it was funny, when I recognized the Wizard of Oz’s Glinda with a 5 o’clock shadow, and men with Adam’s apples dressed like hookers, but after a while, it got boring. I was starting to question why men that dress like women wear less clothes than strippers? Why is it that, if they want to be women, they have to dress like sluts? They could still look cute and classy at the same time.
There was an extremely unfit man wearing a Borat-Style leotard: neon green ass floss that goes over his sholders and covers one thing: the most important one for walking around in public. Gross.
We sat outside in a coffeeshop and people watched all day, alternating cider and coffee, hoping to continue drinking all day and night. It semi-worked.
Once it got dark it the streets started getting less crowded and the streets and sanitation crew came though, fighting the drunks off with their pushbrooms. It seemed a bit unnecessary to be cleaning in the middle of a party, but after I noticed people walking barefoot through the garbage and broken glass, I realized that it was necessary. A couple people were carried out on stretchers, passed out from too much partying.
At one point a mini parade walked up and down one of the mian streets: a group of people, new ones every time except for the girl at the front carrying a boombox that was belting out some Michael Jackson’s Greatest Hits Album. She meant business, knew the entire Thriller dance, was singing every word, even every “ooh eee”. It was ridiculous, but touching.
We went into a gay bar and I instantly felt out of place; I was the only girl in there! I wanted to leave, but wanted to support my friend. The guys were old and gross, the floor was sticky, and there was no Women’s Toilet. I was directed to some janitor’s closet looking place, pushed my way though the more-feminine-than-me men, splashed through beer and urine to find a toilet that had a door on it. There were guys making out with each other like crazy. I was tired, and suddenly very tired of this scene. I found Ryan and Alex, told them I’m never going to a gay bar again, and waited outside. I told Ryan it’s straight bars from now on, it’s my turn to go out with “my people”.
Tags: Europe
lauracat
You want the cider to be cold? The beer isn’t even cold, as I remember. Then again, how reliable is what old people remember? I don’t know, I can’t remember!!!
I think most good beers are best at room temperature, like some Ales and Guinness. But cider-since it’s all bubbly, in my opinion, is much better cold.