munching on pizza and elephant ears. Regardless, boring, white, dull London put on a hell of a show tonight. I hated it. Crowded, hot, crowded, hot, bad food smells mixing with good food smells, douchebags, wankers, a-holes, and fat-ass suburban dads focused only on keeping their children from walking into a bunch of bongo playing hippies. Oh wait.Seriously, what a zoo.
Doesn't anyone in London have a home? I do, and I wanted to be in it, but somebody thought it would be a good idea to go and do something. Nothing good can come from leaving my suburban cocoon to gaze upon overly-stretched back tats and genetic deformations that cry out for a merciful god.Nothing good that is until you find out that your wee daughter likes reggae. Good reggae. Lazo was playing and besides being a charismatic performer, his band is excellent. All the cares and heat slipped away as my girl, perched high on my shoulders (not really that high) tapped out a beat on my cabeza (look at me gettin' all ethnic and stuff). I had to work really hard to not dance as nobody my age and size should dance.
Note to the old fat ladies up front, stop. Just stop. Those days are done.
If you stayed home, or are silly enough to live somewhere else (don't come here, it sucks--bugs, tornadoes, cane toads, no fresh food and more traffic than you have ever seen), here is a little sampler from Lazo. Never as good as live, but just imagine this with a desperate cougar grinding away right beside some little people just bopping about having a good time. Do you have the image? Nice, isn't it. Welcome to London. We're dull.
And thanks to Crazy Legs, I won the pool with "the wife" as to who would meet a friend first. I poked him in the shoulder as he tried to avoid my gaze and usher his delightful wife "D" and strapping son "B" to safety. But I was not to be swayed. Awkward Chat Achievement! I let him go before he started to nom nom his arm.
