Thrilling Adventures in London
Actually Part 1
***

Part 1 will focus more on events taking place in London, rather than events that were just in my head, or events that took place over Greenland.

I think.

I'll preface this madness by saying that I really am having a fantastic time here. I'm also really nervous because I keep getting audition notices for shows at Tisch, and I think I've forgotten how to spell the name of the show I'm doing in the spring. (1)

It's good to know I have a base of support back home, guys. Thanks for being there for me. Here we go:

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At least I knew how to feel guilty, which was of comfort to me.

Here I don’t even know how to feel guilty. I don’t know how to address my... or maybe just to feel my... how to express... how to...

I'm avoiding the subject at hand.

I walk the streets, which are lined by McDonald’s and Burger King. Every corner has a Starbuck’s. The Gap and the Coke and you know and you know I’m just knocking you over the head with this.

Of course you know.

But I don’t know what to do about this.

I stand in the post office, trying to buy a phone card, and Eminem is playing on the speakers.

And I’m wondering why in the hell I came here.

***
I don't know how to feel guilty about this. How should I feel? This AMERICANA which has flooded the streets of this foreign city is mine, isn't it, it's my fault?

It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault, I don’t think

But it’s not just the food and it’s not just the commercialism

Here I am a representative of my government. Here I am a representative of my nation’s President

I feel demanded upon to speak for my nation To stand outside of McDonald’s and loudly proclaim

This is not all of us! This is not who we are! We did not all vote for President Bush! We did not all support his war! Many of us marched against it, just as you did! Many of us hate him and hate McDonald’s and hate this war and hate being American, how can I be American, what does it mean to be American

That’s what I am here. Not a representative of me I am an
AMERICAN

And all I can do is be ashamed, and say

I agree, I agree, I think we’ll do better this time. I really think we’ll do better. We have to do better. I know. I know. (2)

And I stop and think for a moment, and realize that this is not really what I'm feeling guilty about. It's part of it. But there's something more.

And I'm avoiding the real topic...

***

Back to the Post Office. I thought "The Post Office" was just a clever name for this little convenience store. Like the bar "Rehab" in New York, only with some semblance of class. But of course, no: it’s actually a post office. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit they have here. I mean, I know I can get a Big Mac anytime I want. But Chinese Spare-Rib flavored Pringles? And I can buy these in the *post office*. What the fuck, right?

I know they speak the same language, basically, and everything. But still I am mystified.

I am mystified about…

What is it...? What I am forgetting?

I don’t know how to feel guilty about it. So ignore it, Dave, just move on just move on just move

***

The next thing Elisheba told me is this:

"Dave, if these updates are all about unrequited love, I’ll kill you. I won’t be mad at you—I’ll just kill you."

So should I just skip this part?

I know what I’m avoiding, and it’s not this.

But it has to be in this order, or I will be classless. I will keep this short:

I am the Best Guy Friend. Again.

Congratulations to me. I couldn’t be more honored.

***

I couldn’t be more of a fucking sucker, is what I couldn’t be. Jesus.

***

Why am I avoiding this topic?

It’s coming and there’s no way to avoid it sure there is I can just

***

So, London, then yeah. I saw Buckingham Palace and I saw that church with windows I was so desperately lusting after.

But it’s all just talk. It’s all just talk.

I just can’t avoid it any longer

***

I am sitting at our welcome party, surrounded by my friends.

And this had to happen, I guess.

The fire alarm began to go off—or maybe somebody just opened an emergency exit door, who knows? Some generic alarm is going off in the building. We look around, and nobody seems to be making that big of a fuss about it. So we continue to sip our drinks and look around.

He approaches our table. "I think the fire alarm is going off."

Somebody at our table responds generically. Like this: "Yeah, sounds like it. But nobody really seems to be worried, so…"

This is how he answers: (this is how this miserable son of a bitch answers:)

"I’m reminded of a certain day back in September..."

***

I’m so fucking angry I’m so fucking angry I don’t know what to do how dare he bring that up how dare he how can he fucking bring that up now and here? He can’t he can’t that is off limits that is off FUCKING limits to bring that up.

So I punch him. Hard. In the shoulder. And I scream at him

THAT IS NOT FUCKING FUNNY MAN WHAT THE FUCK

And he says "I'm not trying to be funny."

WHAT THE FUCK MAN CAN A FUCKING BUILDING... i am stammering... CAN A FUCKING AIRPLANE RUN INTO A THREE STORY BUILDING

And he says "The alarm went off and they didn’t leave"

He’s making it their fault is what he’s doing. The alarm went off and THEY didn’t leave, that means its their fault, ultimately, if they were smart they would have left if they had known they would have left those fucking morons what were they thinking not leaving right? It’s their fault, he thinks, this son of a bitch.

I should kill this son of a bitch.

I’m gonna punch this son of a bitch in the fucking neck I’ll beat the motherfucking shit out of him.

But I don’t. I stand up and I walk out of the room and I walk out of the building and I sit on the steps and tell myself it's not worth it to... to... I've used all of the harsh words I know and they're not enough, they're just not enough. And I don’t know what to do.

This is what I've been avoiding. This is it. I don’t know how to feel about this. I don't know how to feel guilty about this.

It also doesn't help that this guy is my roommate.

***

This is what I'm avoiding, I know now. I am avoiding thinking about this at all. My anger so visceral, trying to find enough swear words to encompass how angry I am, but nothing is enough.

The anniversary is coming up again. If I thought I was messed up last year about it, at least I knew how to feel guilty about it. I could feel guilty because Shaun had ashes rain down on his head, and I didn’t. I could feel guilty because when I hugged him when I saw him next, it wasn’t enough to do anything or to change anything at all. I could feel guilty because I wasn’t there to help do anything, it happened and I watched, it happened and I stood there on the street and I watched. And there was nothing I could do. I could feel guilty about that.

But I could also atone for my lack of importance. I could walk on the streets I walked that morning. And I could force myself to confront the walls covered in posters, covered in faces. And I could stare at a terribly empty spot in the sky and mourn alone.

Here I don’t know how to feel guilty. I don’t know how to mourn here. Being there helps, because I am adding back to the vitality of the city. I am repaying its loss with my own presence and with my own life. I am somehow repaying the debt that it took for me, that it does not hold me accountable for, that it no longer requests payment on. I can repay it every day.

And here I can do none of that.

And I accept the blame I am given because I am American. But I don’t want to do that anymore.

***

But I don’t know what to do instead.

***

I walk through the streets here and it is different. It is a foreign country, even if they have our food and our clothes and our language.

But in many ways it is older and it is wiser and it has been through more. It is the New York to our Los Angeles (3). It is our big brother. It still sometimes makes mistakes, but it seems to avoid them with more deftness too.

And I’m learning more and more each day.
***
FOOTNOTES:

(1) Woyzeck

(2) My friend Briana wrote about feeling cultural guilt much more eloquently than I could ever hope to. Please read these, I think you will find them, as I did, truly beautiful and moving:
The First One
The Second One

(3) For more on the relationship between New York and Los Angeles, the city of my current (yet somehow former) residence and my former (actually former) residence, read Steve Martin’s touching tribute printed in his book “Pure Drivel.” Here is a link to puchase that book:
Pure Drivel @ amazon.com

A really big thank you in advance to Briana, Elisheba (twice!), and Shaun for allowing me to mention them. I hope you didn’t mind too much.