is anyone else as FUCKING DEPRESSED as i am that The Wire is almost finished? Forever? At this point, to watch television post-McNulty would be like rubbing hot sand and glass in my eyes.
the tale of the true america, through the broken decaying city of baltimore.
“this ain’t Aruba, bitch” – Bunk
bulletmore/bmore forever, y’all.
saturday i made the rare trek down from my comfy north-west london abode and crossed the river to the wilds of south london. between oval and stockwell, to be precise. if you live in london or ever have done, you know exactly what i’m talking – the great thames divide. i am firmly, FIRMLY, a north london girl. the idea of living south of the river is about as foreign as packing up my shit to another country. brixton’s alright though – big love to BLIXTON. besides, it’s all residential and boring down there, with the families of four trying to buy up property “between the commons” and lumbering SUVs. those that don’t fall into that category will just stab your face up for a mobile phone. or something like that.
in any case, me no like.
the journey to mordor was brought on by helen’s 24th birthday. la buchan was having her ninties-themed soiree in her south london flat so i grabbed my blur & radiohead badges, a bottle of gordon’s finest and made my way south.
things got off to a great start when i arrived at the address and realised i had no way of getting into the gated close. after reminding myself that i don’t climb metal fences, i looked for another way to sneak in without having a cricket bat broken over my head. one of the neighbours left their gate open which allowed me to sneak through a hedge and onto the other side.
NORTH 1; SOUTH 0
i rang the flat bell and waited. a guy in his mid-40s came up behind me and waited a while with me, not really making any great effort to enter the building:
guy: sorry, do you live here?
me: no. i’m here to visit a friend.
guy: ahh, because i live here.
me: hmm….
guy: and i have to get into my flat but i can’t let you in because you don’t live here.
me: that’s ok. i’ll just wait for my friend to come down.
guy: ok, i’m going in now…i’m not letting you in! [runs up to the door, jams the key into the lock and slams the door before i could make any sudden moves]
about twenty seconds later, helen shows up at the door wearing a makeshift dress out of a towel and her hair up with about a gazillion rubber bands – she was dressed as whigfield. nice. helen’s brother hired out a bart simpson costume for the night, complete with giant sponge head. i quickly engaged in mock-fighting with him over blur records and which was the most overrated band ever (i’m feeling the hate for the police lately. FEEL THE HATE!). then we moved on to trying to pick out the best tracks off CLUB ZONE ‘97. ain’t no party like an s club party.
and then in all great london traditions, the night bus ride home. saturday’s was bizarre, to say the least. i’ve taken that bus before and the last stop is queen’s park, about a 10 min walk from my flat. naturally, i fell asleep somewhere around vauxhall or victoria or somewhere that starts with a v, to the sound of the bus driver threatening to call the police on some idiots upstairs. no surprises here. i wake up later on to the sound of the driver screaming at everyone, LAST STOP! EVERYBODY OFFFFFFFF!!!!!! i take a look around through the windows and think…this doesn’t look quite right. but he keeps screaming, LAST STOP! QUEEN’S PARK! AAARRRKKKKKK!!!!!
fair enough. so i get off thinking, i’m a bit drunk and sleepy i.e. what do i know? i mean, i only FUCKING LIVE HERE. as it turns out, i know lots. i walk a block and then it hits me that the mofo left me in sidestreets of maida vale –about 1-2 miles from my flat.
son-of-a-BITCH!
have no idea what the crack journey the driver went on. But at about 4.30 in the morning, i stumble through the door to mark screaming, CLUB ZONE 97!
mark and i have been watching the hell out of “damages” and every monday night i have the same question:
vs 
why are tanner and tate donovan not-so-secretly the same person? tanner, yo, when am i gonna start seeing some of that sweet O.C. money?
sleepless long nights
that was what my youth was for
all you nations come and listen the truth is a mess and the politics are pissing all you people this is trash we abominate music we are here for cash smash your headphones cut your hair don't try to cheat get down on your knees boy beg for the beat
