jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

We’re watching Myth Busters on the Discovery channel.

I can only assume that electricrocket isn’t on this show because they don’t know about him. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

Someone finally saw through to Damon’s heart of evil.

This morning on the subway (church time) D was coming down the stairs and heard a woman yell “Look out!”
He flinched just in time.
One of our many illustrious subway shouters, prosthelitizers and preachers had identified him as a soul in need of saving via baptism by Sprite. So the guy had shaken up two bottles of the soda, popped the lids off and was standing at the top of the stairs shaking them down on Damon while he exhorted him with scripture.
Only Damon’s quick cringe spared him a total soaking. The preacher had to settle for one cheek and one jacket arm. I wonder if that means he’ll be sweeter now.

Many months back I mentioned a quirk of Damon’s where he watches me watch a movie.

I get that. Here’s another one for you…

If Damon wants to hand me something, or if I ask him to grab something for me, he will almost always retrieve it and then hold it out to me, within an inch or two of my body, regardless of what I’m doing at the moment. For example, he will grab my lunch out of the kitchen in the morning and walk into the bathroom where I am brushing my teeth and try to hand it to me. And I will gesture at my canvas bag and he’ll say, “Oh, okay!” and pop it in there. Another example would be that I’m standing at the kitchen counter making dinner. Perhaps I’m cutting up an onion. And I might say, “Hey, will you grab the new bottle of olive oil down from the high shelf?” And he’ll get it down and then, even though I’m actively cutting up a vegetable, he’ll try to put it in my hands.

I hope you don’t read the above as a critcism, either of Damon’s attitude or intelligence. Both of his are at excellent levels. It’s just this weird little thing.

This time last week I was in Manchester at my cousin Dan’s flat, getting ready to drive down to London. The trip down took nearly three hours. Turns out Manchester is much closer to Scotland than London. Who knew? But Dan was game and he tossed us into rental car and we headed out.

By the way, Manchester was a revelation. I pictured something a little more Detroit-ish. But it was actually charming and villiage-y, or at least the part he lives in is. But that’s all I can say about it, as we were only there for an hour.

Half way down we stopped at a Wimpy’s, so Damon’s first out-of-country meal was fast food. Good thing he’s such a low maintenance guy.

Our cousin Tony works in London. He owns the company (bank consulting) Dan works for and has established their outpost in England for the year. Handily, they’ve rented an extra flat in London for guests or for whenever the Manchester guys want to come down. So we had a nice place to crash without displacing anyone. It was made extra fun by virtue of its location on Dog Island, on the south side of the city. I didn’t see any dogs, but still enjoyed the name. It seems Henry VIII had lots of dogs and decided to just have them all live on this small island, giving it the name.

After a necessary power nap we ran for Harrods Food Hall, which was on my A list of things to do. We parked at the oyster bar and had English oysters and beer. This was at my Dad’s direction. He told me that he’d had raw oysters at Harrods and that they were so much better than anything he’d ever had in the states. The guy at the counter told him that’s because the FDA requires US sellers to rinse their oysters, which desalinates them (and ruins them, according to the guy and now my Dad too). No such rule in Britain. So we ordered up a platter, which was served with just lemon wedge. I won’t admit this to my Dad, but I wondered at the time if those oysters couldn’t have benefitted from just a bit of a rinse. Dan says: These oysters taste like Fishermans’ Wharf smells. Damon gamely eats the remaining dozen.

After our snack we poked our noses in every corner until the place close, which was far too early. I briefly contemplated buying a big chocolate high heel, but thought better of it when I considered the transportation issues.

We spent the rest of the night walking London — Wellington Arch, Buckingham Palace, WWII Memorial, ferris wheel, Parliament, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, Hyde Park, Kensington Gardens, Albert Hall (not in that order).

Sunday was wet and cold. We spent the morning at the British Museum seeing the Rosetta Stone, Eglin Marbles, mummies and all that other good stuff. I was tickled to see the Rosetta Stone mousepad I’ve been using for years still in the gift shop right where it was when my Dad bought mine for me 17 years ago.

We did a bit more walking after that, but were quickly soaked and freezing, so spent the next few hours tucked into a pub snacking, drinking, warming and drying. Then we undid it all on the Jack the Ripper walking tour led by Donald Rumbelow — “the world’s leading ‘Ripperologist'” I took his tour last time I was in London, over 10 years ago. And both times he used me as the volunteer to mark where the body of Catherine Eddows was found eviscerated in a courtyard. Must be something about my face…

And then that was that. We got a little sleep and then headed back to the airport. A lovely time was had, and I was gratified to hear Damon say, “When we come back we should…”

I’ve put another technology notch in my belt… I’m now the proud owner of a BlackBerry. Or, rather, Hearst is the indifferent owner of one more BlackBerry and they’re letting me carry it around. Maybe soon I will learn how to use it.