Tuesday July 14, 1998

 

 

The second time around was a little more thought out.  Ever since I saw the words Recorded in England at the very bottom of those plain orange labels of the first Beatles albums my mother bought for me,England held a special kind of magic for me.  My impressions of things English shaped my personality, as Scott could surely verify.

 

Preparations for this trip were much less planned, but smoother.  One word, I resolve, will be the theme of this trip: Experience.    Andy picked me up this morning and I bought him breakfast at the Satellite in Gresham the same place I had breakfast last year.  It might be a new tradition, but I’ve gotta remember to avoid the eggs next year.

 

The flight to Chicago O’Hare was on American, and was slick. I worried about dealing with the O’Hare Nightmare on the flight, but I managed to catch a couple of winks.  There were two teenage guys behind me on the plane who had been snow boarding.  Their faces were burnt to hell, except the area covered by their ski masked, which were pearl white.

 

After last year’s experience in Finland, where I saw someone who altered my perception of the world just a little, I started taking being ‘struck’ just a little differently. Now my mother was dead, Terrie and I were finished and Tiina and I had run our course, I was truly on my own.  I had friends, but I was responsible for myself this time around, and I had no one to kid if I didn’t enjoy myself.  So I was on the lookout for fun.

 

I arrived at Chicago not knowing where to go.  After a few stressful moments, I found the international terminal.  I had an hour or so to kill in O’Hare, so I spent my last USD on two Carlsberg beers at an airport bar called Parades.  $4.25 for a plastic cup not big enough to piss in.  The bartender was nearly middle aged but very attractive, maybe Polish.  Her assistant, also possibly Polish, really dialed my number.  Tall, foreign and blond with a nice big pointy nose too.  I was enthralled.  She didn’t pay too much attention to me.  Hint taken, thanks.

 

I flew British Airways to Heathrow, while a Juliet Mills look alike was an attendant.  Nanny!  This must be good, all of these omens in a row. Two in one day—that’s a record.

 

The air-conditioning on the plane dribbled nice blobs on my white shirt from above. Of course, I checked the big pack with all my clothes, so I’ll go through British customs looking like a derelict.  Great. The flight was very civilized though, and so far a zillion times better than the hellish Northwest last year.  Long live Lady Juliet and her airline, despite the A/C pissing all over me.