Dear Leslie,
My third day in London. I'm still awed by all of this. Things are so different - not just in a superficial way - just the way people are. It's hard to explain.

Anyway. I'm writing this to you as a sort of journal. I wanted to write to you every day as a sort of record of what I was thinking and doing. Just like the video tapes I'm making will be a documentry of what I am seeing. I'm writing this in my journal because it seems pointless to send you a bunch of letters that you won't get until after I return. So I'll call you a couple of times and give this to you when I get home. Trust me, it will be better that way.

Kevin and I went to the British Museum today after class and lunch at Taco Bell. Yes, that's right, we come all the way to London and eat at Taco Bell. Let me just say for the record, though, that we're eating at these America fast food holes simply becuase we can aford it ... not because we are afraid of a new experience. We can fill up for L2.50 as opposed to L5 - 8 at a pub or restaurant. And remember that the dollar is really hurting now, so double everything and that's what it is costing us. Being a poor college student really sucks sometimes.

So back to the museum. The British Museum was founded in 1736 (I think) and is the first modern museum in the world. It is packed with the most incredible things. But, after 45 minutes, Kevin had seen enough. "I like looking at all this old shit," he said. "But this is really getting boring."

So I sent him back to the hotel and stayed another three hours. I saw works by Beethoven and Handel (including "The Messiah") in their original handwriting. I saw ancient Greek and Roman statues and Egyptian mummies. These things were so old and so important that they made me feel tiny. Do you know what I mean?

After leaving the museum, I came back to the hotel and Kev was sound asleep. I wasn't hungry and tonight's play wasn't going to begin for two and a half hours, so I went down to the pub.

And that brings me to now. I'm having a pint of very bitter lager and listening to the conversations around me. I can't hear the words - just the strange and foreign rhythm of the speech.

Last night I was watching a terrible sitcom (TV is even worse here) about a hotel. The Queen was going to visit and the manager was upset because the one black employee was sick. He needed a representative from every race to show how progressive his hotel was. So he asks his assistant if she knew any. "Well no," she said. "But the church across the street has a gospel choir."

"Oh for Christ sake, Linda, we don't want to flood the place." [audience laughs]

I guess they don't hide it as well as we do in the states.