Studying is for Freshmen
Yeah, I definitely hit and missed this time. I guessed as best as I could, but the best part of the morning aside from hot sausage and hash browns was taking a shower before Austen. (For all you fans of Emma out there, Frank Churchill represents France and Mr. Knightley represents England. The first interesting conversation we've had in this class.)
After class and a bit of practicing the organ, Kaitlyn, Nikki, Sarah, Rachel and I headed out for Green Park and the venerable Hard Rock Cafe. Compared to the torrential rain of yesterday, I could not contain my enthusiasm upon seeing the blue sky again, not to mention emerging out of something that resembled peak-time travel. The road looks like Grosvenor Square, with all the embassies and pale white flats. I guess Hard Rock was as American as any U.S. Embassy.
Milkshakes
The guy at the front sounded a bit Scottish, and he was enthused to hear some girls from Utah, California and Washington had come all the way from the States to eat. He said he'd have a table for us in half an hour. Sitting on wickerwork just outside the bar, Nikki groaned with hunger and Rachel beamed with enthusiasm. I fretted about money until I heard about fantastic chocolate milkshakes.
The Cafe was packed that afternoon. I looked up to see the Fender Lead II belonging to the one and only Eric Clapton. He'd given the Cafe his guitar way back when, as a permanent reservation (still working to this day). Then the Who found out about it, and Pete Townshend declared that HIS guitar was just as good as Clapton's, so his is mounted on the wall next door. Looking around and sipping the darkest chocolate shake ever, I saw costumes from Elvis and Prince, Keith Moon's drums, signed posters and records--I kept craning to see who they belonged to, until Rachel told me to go down in the basement.
It was like all my dreams had come true at once. Regular people were eating nonchalantly like cows on grass, while framed on the wall behind them were the Gold Madonna album and Beatles' Platinum records, next to guitars belonging to Marilyn Manson, Jon Bon Jovi, Kiss, the Sex Pistols, and the Ramones. Floating in a glass case was a sky blue Mosquito with two necks, quite possibly the most beautiful rock instrument I've ever seen, belonging to Van Halen. I passed by the island many times, just to see the guitar again.
After the muffled squealing in our informal tour downstairs, we walked over to the Hard Rock Shop. The place had monstrous posters of Kid Rock, Heart, Gene Simmons, Dave Matthews, and Steve Perry all tacked above towers of Hard Rock sweatshirts, t-shirts, earrings, and other overpriced bling, even umbrellas. We finally got down into the Vault, some ten or fifteen of us looking around nervously.
A boy appeared to "lead us around"--our ridiculously good-looking tourguide was thin and sallow, with long dark hair and a gigantic smile made even bigger by the fact that he was higher than a kite. Rachel got a picture with him. (We abused her for the rest of the day.) The Vault was much closer quarters than the Cafe, so we were even closer to the awesome--there was a Kurt Cobain guitar, another Clapton, the stock sheets for all four Beatles (my favorite; they invested in corn, wheat, and all sorts of fruit). You know you're famous when they make your face into an American Express card. The guide asked what rock we liked best, and I piped up with "punk and psychedelic". He looked confused, probably because the p is the only thing that connects the two.
One last round complete with squealing, and we finally had to leave. Rachel's group shot must be the only thing to remember her soulmate by--but I guess she could just get a picture of Paul McCartney. At least one bigger than an American Express card.
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