Empty Cage

I have not written for a good long while so I figured an update was in order for all of you fans. All three of you, that is. Is it sad that one of my few avid readers is my mother? That’s like saying ‘Yea, I’m a good singer, my mommy tells me so.’ Regardless, time to talk about something that makes me feel less pathetic.

Like Setine’s discovery of my blog, which brought much rejoicing to my shocked and wondering eyes. If that wasn’t a one-hit-wonder type of comment, I say, ‘Hello Setine, of course I remember you, you defined the awesome of my childhood along with the rest of the gang.’ Amber and Crystal may bask in that statement as well.

On to more about Scotland and my new discovery. Cockburn street is where freaky goth/emo/subculture kids hang out, it’s kind of like Queen street, minus the big box stores all crammed into about half the size of hardcoreity. It’s pretty nifty, actually, I spent a lot of money in my mind. No actual money, but with brain money, christ I’ve gone into negative numbers.

But I have come to a number of conclusions about the hardcore sector in most major cities, called (very uncleverly by me) the Black Light districts. First is the Canadian example, that is Queen street, this huge sprawlingly massive street where the weird walk easily amongst the normal. American Eagle is practically across the street from Borderlines, if you see what I mean. Basically, it’s where the brightly coloured people look at the ‘shades’ people and wonder which will go postal. Interestingly enough, the ‘shades’ people are wondering the exact same thing.

Camden Town is London’s ttly (chatspeaked for a reason) hardxcore district. Whenever you go down here you feel like it’s a fasion show, you half expect when the people get to the end of the street, they stop, make a pouty face, and turn around and walk back up the street. Everyone is the complete and perfect stereotype of whatever subculture they partake in. There’s no semi-goths like me, only hardfickingcore ones. In all honesty, like most of London, when you walk down the streets of Camden you generally assume people dislike you for some reason. Possibly because you have an invisible tattoo on the back of your head that says ‘idiot colonial’ that only British people can see. There is no way to remove this tattoo.

Finally, Cockburn street, the street that made me realise what the world would be like if goth was the prodominant dress style, rather than preppy. Let me explain. Walking down this street you have the usual cobbled lanes and shops, the street itself is on a hill, the street is not extrordinary, the people was what got me. A bunch of eyelinered children playing jump rope on the sidewalk, while a few watched. Some oddly aged ones (no I’m not kidding, old goths) sitting on a bench chatting while two black boot clad parents pushed a baby in a carriage up the hill. I thought I was dillusional. Maybe I was.

I went to Waterstones after that little out of body experience and purchased the 2 pound editon of Sherlock Holmes, remembering only after that this was the hometown of the author, I read the first bit in the park before returning to the hostel to blog about how insane Cockburn street was.

To my commenters:

To Setine, of course I remember you (see above) and was delighted to see your comment. We should talk more!

To Amber, of course I am enjoying myself, and I would be beside myself with glee to have the Ravens Fanlisting, I now have the Fanlist for Ravens and The Raven. Thus proving the bird which used to be in the empty cage. Though, now I have to make a layout.

To Kassi, (sorry for the name misspelling! Erk!) You should seriously come back, and don’t worry about the plastered thing, if I wanted to avoid it I would have made an excuse on the phone, seriously. Don’t be embarassed, I’m cool.

To Ange, ANSWER YOUR FUNKING PHONE! *ahem* Of course I am popular with the guys now, I have an accent, and that makes me wicked cool.

To Mah, 153.

To Crystal, always.

Well, just to make it completely crystal clear I’m here and I’m completely safe, I’m at BUNAC right now, using my free internet awaiting my orientation, everything that has happened up to now is a bit of a blur, but I’m getting there. The jetlag is starting to wear off, though, oddly, I am craving apple juice like no one’s business. Ahh… Applejuice.

I survived my first night in a hostel, despite the nay sayers who claimed I would be killed in my sleep. It wasn’t that bad, sort of like a dorm room with little-to-no moderation. The people there don’t actually know how to sleep I don’t think, as there were people giggling and carrying on at 12Am as well as 6Am, yikes, not a happy experience. My room mates are very nice, one from France (I tried experimental french with her, though she seemed to under stand I think she was humouring me) as well as someone from the US, and someone from Hungary. The American — Addy — and I were up late talking politics. Go Canada Go!

To my family, I got your e-mail, I called at home and at work and got nothing from you mother. Tsk Tsk Tsk. I’ll likely be getting my cellphone today, so, you’ll have a number to reach me at.

The city of Toronto looks like a bucket of spilt beads at night, and there was a baby crying my whole flight, thank god for the Sweeney Todd soundtrack. I over packed in that my luggage was wayy too heavy, but didn’t as I can’t imagine leaving anything that I brought behind. Fair, and fair alike I suppose.

I hear some people have had trouble commenting on the entries so I’ll try and tweak it so comments are more open, if you still can’t comment let me know asap and I’ll try to fix things again. I have so much more to say, but orientation starts in a few seconds!