I should probably write all about what I've been doing over here, but I'd rather you took the time today to take in Garrison Keillor's eminently quotable thoughts on what went wrong with the GOP.

Off to try to get tickets for Christian Slater and MacKenzie Crook (a.k.a. Gareth Keenan) in the new staging of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" down in Leicester Square... more later.

Actually Overheard at Buckingham Palace:

Australian Tourists [Confused]: So you're sure that Diana was never Queen, then?
English Policeman [straight-faced]: Yes, quite sure.

The palace was too expensive to actually visit, but I had to get a look at the gates along with the teeming millions this week, since She'll be returning from Scotland soon enough. Also, be advised that personal insults against Her Majesty are still technically punishable by death, despite this century's recent abolition of capital punishment.

Anyway, I'm happy to act as a reference for Travis--or any of you (even T, who never actually wrote anything but was always welcome to)--even if I don't have a phone number right now. Theoretically, I *could* be reached at 301.260.8246, but I am *much* more likely to be reached at mattcameron@gmail.com. I happen to think that good writing skills and (mostly) punctual adherence to deadlines makes you a good video store employee, and I'm sure they'll agree.

Anyway, back to class. And Quiz Night!

Rock and Roll Field Trip, Part I



Battersea Power Station

Within a few years, this relic of London's early 20th century will officially enter the postindustrial age by being converted into a gigantic entertainment center. I made the trek down to Battersea and the environs today to get some shots of this Floydian landmark--not the best neighborhood, just yet, but well worth the really, really long walk. (At $4 each way, I have to severely limit my Underground trips while I'm here.) Anyway, I've got dozens more of these, if anyone cares.

Hail, Brittania!

The woman at passport control was very intent on checking out my
story; she really didn't seem to believe any of it despite my student
ID and the embarrasingly bad letter from the school which assured the reader that I was to be studying in someplace called "Britian" for a few months. "What are you studying again?" she asked. I hadn't really slept and was trying to say the word "law" in every phonetic variation I could think of until something finally
registered with her. "Oh, of course," she said. She wrote down "WAR"
in big block letters. Close enough.

From the frying pan into...
...well, something else. I'm not one to get too ruffled about color-coded threat levels or vague allusions to strikes on financial centers, but the CD-ROM's worth of VERY specific intel that They had on the Prudential building (and the ensuing assault rifles, concrete barriers, and dozens of extra cops installed downtown) has been enough to wear me down. (Yes, that is a direct camera shot from my back deck. See how the building has the word "Prudential" on it in giant letters? Time was, they *wanted* everyone to know that their world HQ was in Newark...)

So I'm out of here... and a good week before the Republicans take over NYC, no less.
Then again, the middle of London isn't necessarily the place to go to escape terrorist threats. But I'm not thinking about that.

Anyway, my posts for the next few months will probably become increasingly anecdotal (and photographic) and decreasingly link-y. Just warning you.

Happy Dick Day!


So His Majesty Richard Milhouse Nixon resigned thirty years ago today. Why isn't this a national holiday? Isn't this just as much an occasion to celebrate as any of our other presidential holidays? This would have made a perfect three-day weekend... but I'm reading trial transcripts instead of drunkenly toasting one of our most hated (despite what Michael Moore would have you believe, his inauguration actually drew three times as many protestors as W's) presidents. Maybe we should get a referendum going. Or just celebrate it informally. Any suggestions for the best drink with which to celebrate Dick's glorious, long-overdue departure?

Better yet, when the Vice President finally has an actual heart attack (not to be confused with the minor one we now know he actually suffered on 9/11) and finally liquifies back into the puddle of molten evil from whence he came, maybe we can make a joint holiday for both of them: Dick Day! (Nominations could also be accepted for "honorary Dicks" each year--like maybe President Grant, Benedict Arnold, or Antonin Scalia.) It could be kind of like Guy Fawkes Day. Except totally different, I guess.