Realization.dublinztomorrowz

This afternoon, while perusing the overpriced merchandise of Fulham Road shops, I had this weird epiphany that went a little something like this:  Josh, you realize you’re in London, right?  Now, epiphany may seem a tad strong for an idea that may appear to be common sense, but I think that a great majority of our time in London has basically been a honeymoon in which you don’t really process what’s going on around you.  Also, the time for reflection is pretty limited; you just never want to take a moment to stop moving and embrace what you’ve been treated to.  Still, this afternoon, I had a moment that I couldn’t help but think, this is actually happening.  I am not in Minnesota, I have no real connection to anything around me, I am—for the most part—alone in this massive city, and how the hell did this happen?  Then I saw a black lab on the sidewalk and the moment passed by and I let the towering city envelop me once again. 

Three thoughts from the last couple days:

1.        I went to the west end production of Arthur Miller’s All My Sons.  The short of it is this:  The play is fantastic; the production was horrendous.  Here’s a (little)longer account.  We had fantastic seats to the last show we saw—Norris’s Clybourne Park—and the show itself was unreal.  For All My Sons, the seats were pretty much as bad as it gets in a west end theatre.  We were in the second to last row of the uppermost balcony.  Not only that, but the rest of the show was sold out so there was no way we were going to be able to relocate after the interlude.  Bummer.  Though the seats probably had something to do with our collective interpretation of the production, the acting on the parts of Jemima Rooper and Stephen Moore was utterly unbearable.  Really: it was just heart wrenching.  I have heard great things about both of these actors for other roles.  Perhaps it was an off night for the two of them or maybe they’re just becoming lazy given it’s near the end of the run.  Either way, it definitely made my experience of the show less enjoyable.  That being said, David Suchet and Zoe Wanamaker, who played the two leads of the show, were brilliant.  The final words of Wanamaker in the last scene of the show still haunt me three days later; great, great stuff.  Also, Monday was just a long day.  Class from 10-4 with a film screening that went to 5:30 and a show from 7:30 to half past ten created one long Monday. 

2.       I watched a very unusual thing happen in the tube on Tuesday afternoon.  After hopping on the Piccadilly line and finding the elusive open seat , I watched as one little boy (he really could not have been older than 7) board the cart and politely ask a woman a few seats down and across the aisle if he could use the seat instead of her because his feat hurt after walking from school to the station.  The woman replied, “Well I suppose, but only because you’ve been so polite.”  The little boy then stepped backward and said, “No, you can sit.  I was just testing you; you’ve passed, don’t worry.  Then, as the cart had stalled due to minor delays in signals, he hopped out of the open doors and waved goodbye to the people aboard the tube and walked away.  It was so odd that I was relatively unsure that it had actually happened.  His little green jacket and khaki pants were not unfamiliar in the Holborn station, but I couldn’t help but think that he was some sort of anomalous character in the world.  It was quite an interesting, playful interaction.

3.       I’ve been taking a lot of photos of people.  Like, more than I should.  Usually when you travel, you take pictures of the sights surrounding you and ignore the fact that there are individuals who are also on the trip enjoying the things you should be taking photos of.  Perhaps it’s only that I haven’t travelled much so far.  Regardless, I have developed a love for capturing people on film.  Maybe it isn’t a new thing, just something that’s more recently surfaced.  Regardless, I am off to Ireland this weekend and I should be more inclined while there to shoot some of the local sights.

In other news, I caught the season finale of Australia’s Next Top Model: Cycle 6.  That’s prime material for any case against live finales of anything…anything.  If this is odd to you, just youtube “Australia’s Next Top Model Finale Fail.”  You will not be disappointed.

Also:  I may have a new favorite book.  When I read the Shadow of the Wind in 2004ish, I thought for sure nothing could ever top my experience with Zafón’s book.  Donna Tartt’s The Secret History is giving it a run for its money.  More on this when I have finished.

I have to be up at 5am…ick.  When I get up, it will be October.



A View of the Sun, Hyde Park Corner

Just let that simmer.

Just a Couple Days.playz

On Thursday evening, I went to the theatre for the second time in as many days.

 Life is rough here. 

We went to a brand spanking new play called Clybourne Park.  It was basically a satirical adaptation of A Raisin in the Sun and focused on our own racial hypocrisy in the United States.  It was absolutely hilarious.  The humor was gloriously distasteful and forced you into laughter when there was no way you should even be cracking a smile.  It was, in a word, delicious.  Also, for those of you that have seen The No 1. Ladies Detective Agency or Love Actually, the lead male and the porn double, respectively, were parts of the cast.  The porn double from Love Actually, Martin Freeman, was positively wonderful.  In fact the whole cast was just marvelous.  I’m not sure if I enjoyed this work or Pieces of Vincent more, but it was a great show nonetheless.  Following the play, we all returned to the residence hall and played this amazing game called Pass the Stack.  Basically, it’s a cross between the game telephone and Pictionary; it’s awesome.  Some of the greater drawings included Drew being attacked by a bat while painting a house and Josh starring in Cirque du Soleil. 

Perhaps you had to be there?

Friday night was, on all accounts, a gross night.  Following a classless afternoon, a great majority of us went out to the live music club in Chinatown called O’Neil’s.  Most of us pregamed at the residence hall and then bought more drinks at the club.  Unless you were Ben or Myself, then drinks were bought for you because you’re just that awesome.  Confession: I split a cigarette with Jacque.  If I am going to blog, I am going to tell it all, even the embarrassing things like ruining my lungs.  To be fair, I drank eleven glasses of water before bed to wash away the nicotine and other cancerous material from my body.  I don’t think it works that way, but I can pretend for a little bit.  I took a lot of pictures that night with people that were not my friends so I am sure there are photos out there somewhere of the sweaty, crazy things that happened.

Before we went out, however, Steve made a delicious meal for the group that was basically a chicken pot pie with beans, carrots, corn, and potatoes.  Yum.  The flaky pie crust was absent, however, and stuffing was used as the topper for the casserole.  DEE.  VINE.

Saturday was quite relaxed, actually.  I don’t think that Drew or I were up until noon and we spent most of the day indoors doing homework.  We took breaks when he went to the Natural History Museum and I went to the Chelsea Library.  We eventually met up at Hyde Park with Ben and Steve at the “Reformer’s Tree.”  Guess what?  The damn thing burned down over 100 years ago so the giant tree I had been searching for forty minutes was actually a stone based mosaic.  Fail.  I did get a pretty cool picture of the sun going down through some leaves though.  So: yay!

The night brought family dinner together and another game of pass the stack after an hour of homework devotion time. 

These people are the spice of life. 

Happy Sunday!  Vikings should beat the Lions today, right?  Ugh.  Fingers crossed.

Epic Monday.yikez

Right.  So, Monday night was epic.  Let’s talk about it.

Jenny, Jamie, Jaqcue, Drew, and Steve had left Izzy, Ben, and I alone for the evening because they decided that going to an Ice Bar and paying £12.50 for one drink and admission would be much more fun than an evening with us.  Alright, that’s not exactly what happened, but you need to play up the drama for readers to keep doing their job.  You know, reading?  Anyway.  The three of us were sitting around reading ancient texts and debating the merits of hieroglyphs vs. Incan and Aztecan character writings when, all of a sudden, Ben had a brilliant idea.  Why don’t we just go for a walk and find something to do while the rest of the gang is out at the Ice Bar?  Of course, Izzy and I were quite brain tired from all the hard work we had been doing so we decided that Ben’s idea was just dandy.  So, grabbing our oyster cards for transportation and five pounds each for situations of “just in case we want a drink,” we left the dorm building in search of a new location.

When we arrived at the tube station in South Kensington, we found a little place on the central line called Holland Park that caught each of our eyes.  What a grand locale, we all thought.  When the three of us got off the tube and back up to the surface, the first thing we saw was a woman digging through the trash and mumbling, “I have to find my kitty wumpkins.”  This was going to be a good night.

Our first stop was at a little run down convenience store where we tried to buy three bottles of wine.  Unfortunately, they were IDing at the register and only Ben had his on him.  So, thinking we could all just pay him for the wine, we gave him all three bottles and some money pay to pay the clerk.  The clerk happened to be quite inept with the English language and wouldn’t actually sell Ben more than one bottle because she had seen Izzy and I give him the bottles and the money…  I still am rather unsure as to why he was stopped for supplying to non-minors.  Also, she had a couple crazy eyes…it was all very unsettling.  Next!

 We came to a shady off sale liquor store and bought two more bottles and a corkscrew to open them.  Hooray!  We all have a bottle!  I like to believe that this is when the night actually began to take place.  After opening our bottles, we began to drink from some nice plastic bags and walk around our new surroundings.  Our first stop was at some giant mall that, to this day, I am uncertain that it exists.  It was too magical to be real.  There were HALO: REACH signs everywhere which, by association, forced me to remember that the new Professor Layton game is now out in the US and I will have to wait until December to play it.  Anyway, we wandered and wandered until we reached a cool little fountain that was flowing from the wall.  Good times.  A security guard started walking our way so we scattered like the three ninjas in that one film, The 3 Ninjas.

As we were racing across the pavilion, we happened upon a man who was shouting obscenities and walking in tight circles.  It was terrifying and also intriguing.  We didn’t stick around to see who he was talking to.

Also, this all occurred in a place called Shepherd’s Bush…hehe.

We took a bus to Hyde Park.  That is, we thought we took a bus to Hyde Park.  We may have gotten off a little early because Izzy and I had to urinate.  Luckily, we found a rather ritzy hotel and decided that we wanted to use their facilities.  When I asked the receptionist if there was a bathroom on this floor so I wouldn’t have to go all the way up to my room she said that there was one just a floor up and could she see my room key?  I laughed and thanked her and briskly stumbled to the elevator.  We tried to go out the back door, but it was locked.  Luckily, rotating doors never get old and we pushed our way forward, always forward.

Finally, having found Hyde Park, we took a seat on a bench and began to chat about life and love and all the above.  At the end of our beautiful conversation, and at many points during, we peed on a tree to commemorate the great occasion.  After placing our empty bottles—yes, all three were finished—on a fence and taking a picture of their beauty we took a bus home…I think.

Our friends had arrived home and boy were we happy to see them!  So happy in fact that Izzy and I decided it would be a great idea to not only sing “Don’t Rain on My Parade” at the top of our lungs, but also accentuate each of the brass moments with a slap of our hands on the table.  It was so loud and beautiful that our RA, Cah-Laire, who lives about ten doors away, was awakened and rhetorically questioned us into submission.  As Izzy put it, “I can’t actually understand what’s wrong unless you ask condescending rhetorical questions.”  Apparently, we were quite the sight to behold.  At one point (or two), I passed out in the Kitchen…Classy.  Also, and important to note, Jacque had to pay me, yes, PAY ME, to drink water.  I hear I was quite pointedly bratty with her.  Such is life!

Monday’s aren’t actually that bad in the UK.

Photo Shoots.more2comez

I miss watching TV in my gross little room or with all of my housemates in our 70’s nightmare of a living room.  Those were times I treasured.  Also: Chinese food from China Town or Wednesday night Erbs and Gerbs.  Bdubs too.  God, I love food.

The past few days have been whirlwinds of fun, atmosphere, and (on more than one or two or three occasions) alcohol.  Let’s take a trip back to the beginning of the week, shall we?  All good weeks start on Mondays.  Now, I am perfectly aware that Monday is not actually the traditional starting point of a week and that Sunday is usually when a week begins.  OK.  Fine.  Whatever.  All I’m saying is that I have been reprogrammed to think that all weeks begin on Monday because that’s when the academic week ensues.  So, Monday.  The start of a brand new week, a new leaf, a new gust of life. 

Monday started early.  Like 8am early.  Too early if you ask me.  My Mondays are probably my longest day, but I suppose it’s nice to get the worst day of the work week out of the way immediately following the glories of the weekend.  Lucinda, my Pre Raphaelites professor, was late because of a tube station closing right by the center.  Izzy and I were actually in the station when we heard, “Attention.  Please leave the station to comply with emergency procedure.  This is not a test.”  Of course, the two of us were like, ZOMG!!??!1  What’s going on?  Lucinda was quick to assure us that things like that happen frequently and it’s usually just a plastic bag full of discarded food being left somewhere.  Still, better safe than sorry.  Following 2.5 hours of art history, I visited Pret* for lunch and devoured a salad wrap with roasted pine nuts and fresh avocado…are you kidding me?  So good.

Following lunch, I had about 40 minutes or so before class started so naturally I decided to snap some photos in the courtyard at the Centre.  At first, I was just playing around with some of the artifacts that were already scattered around the garden area.  I found some cool fencing, a couple weird fruit, a patch of black grass that grew berries, a pitchfork, some highly textured tree branches, and even some flowers. (In a garden?  Some flowers?!  What?!) 

Right.  Of course, I got a little bored and decided that if I was already taking pictures I might as well do a photo shoot.  So, in my infinite awkwardness, I asked Sarah Huff, a girl in our program who, turns out, lives on the 8^th floor of the Residence Hall, to pose for some of my photos.  I think they turned out pretty cool.  She was wearing the perfect outfit too.  Following some impromptu posing lessons, Jenny Katzzzz showed up in her usually attire and I forced her into some photos as well.  Jenny is one of those girls where you just point the camera and her good genes do the work…jealous.

 

 Censored! was the next class of the day and I have to say: I LOVE WENDY HEWING.  This lady is bomb and I want her to be in my life more often.  Luckily, tomorrow is another Monday which means my wish should be coming true in about 24 hours. 

The evening found Ben, Izzy, and I alone on the 8^th floor and without our usual friends (they were all at the ice bar paying £12.50 for one drink and 40 minutes in the freezing cold.)  Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the three of us decided we should have our own little bout of fun.  Perhaps that is a story for another time though…  Of course, this just means that I will be posting a blog about it in like 10 minutes.  Isn’t it so nice that I reward my readers with some instant gratification?!

Tuesday.  So sleepy.  So unwell.  So…life.  My only class is at ten which means ready to go by 9ish.  So, I am up and alive, barely, and I take the tube to class like any normal upstanding citizen.  Class was playwriting and Marina seems to like me.  Also, we connected by sharing equally horrifying stories involving the atrocity of Abstinence Only Education in our lives.  Seriously, EducationNowAndBabiesLater?  What the hell was I thinking?  Tuesday was also my night to cook family dinner.  We have a nice little rotation going on over her in Chelsea, and everyone knows how to cook pretty well.  Except for me, apparently, as my fried rice turned out to be atrocious.  No, it wasn’t terrible, but it made me miss my dad’s cooking and then, more importantly, my dad (insert “awww” and sad face here).  So, I called pops but didn’t reach him.  The worst part?  My calling card ran out as his voicemail was triggering…lamesauce. 

Wednesday was, as most days are, a day that was neither here nor there, great nor unfortunate, fun nor boring.  It just was.  Until dinner time that is.  Turns out that Drew, who lives alone back in Indiana, can cook up a storm.  He made chicken “enchiladas”—they were burritos because they were made with flour tortillas…duh…love Zona Rosa—and they were fanfreakingtastic.  Unreal.  Plus, the guacamole here is not only cheap, but ungodly delicious.  It was, as I have decided I like to say, a mouthgasm.  Quite tasty.  Also, there was enough to create a double batch which means I’ve actually enjoyed two since their creation.

Oh, and we went to Les Mis.  I guess Wednesday was quite awesome really.     

Well, that’s pretty much it for those three days, sans a trip to Holland Park you’ll be reading about soon (if you know what’s good for you).

Quote from Jenny to leave you with:  In reference to some jewelry, “I can’t wear that cheap shit.”

*this is Pret A Manger.  It is the most cost effective on a graph of cheapness and deliciousness.  Plus, they’re everywhere…EVERYWHERE! 

Those Folks.peepz

It’s been what, a week?  Not even?  A month?  Who knows.  No matter how long it’s been, it will always feel like I have been here longer than I actually have.  Regardless, perhaps it’s time for some introductions.

Here are some of the people that will probably be included many times in this blog.  For those of you back home that are confused about who’s who, perhaps this will help present some of the friends I’ve made thus far.

On the left most side is Steve.  Steve is from Indiana and attends IU in Bloomington (you will notice that this is a trend of people on this trip.  Oddly, none of them seem to know each other.  I guess that’s what happens when you have some 40,000 students at your university!)  Steve lives on the first floor with a guy named Alec.  Steve is about 3 feet tall and speaks with a great mix of Southern twang and Midwestern vowels; to quote myself, “everyone from Indiana speaks like they have sunshine in their voice.”  Izzy thinks that’s the gayest thing she’s ever heard anyone say.  Fair enough.  Anyway, Steve studies Political Science and he’s aggravatingly good and P and A.  It’s fun to make fun of Steve because he’s a good sport.  Everyone say: “HI, STEVE!”

The guy standing next to him is devilishly attractive, funny, friendly, and all around wonderful.  You might recognize him as me.

Drew is the tall guy on the right.  Steve is standing on the elevated sidewalk, I’m half and half on the sidewalk and bank, Drew is completely on the slope.  He is still taller than both of us.  Drew also goes to IU in Bloomington where he studies English.  He and Steve have never met.  Though, barring an epic barfight that may or may not come to fruition between them, I am sure they will hang out after this whole experience.  Drew is probably one of the nicer people I have met…ever.  He doesn’t get angry, rarely pokes fun, and is generally very calm.  Drew loves sleep.  A goal of many people in our group is to see Drew intoxicated to the point that he’ll sing Karaoke at a champagne bar; don’t worry, it’ll happen.

These lovely ladies are Drew and Josh’s neighbors on the 8^th floor; they are great people. 

The girl on the left is Jacque.  Jacque is in musical theater…would have ever guessed?  She ALSO goes to IU in Bloomington (Seriously.  She does.)  She studies theater and psychology (woot!) and is working on becoming a belter.  I definitely think she’ll make it.  She is awfully talented.  I recently say the Phantom of the Opera sequel, Love Never Dies, with her at the Adelphi Theatre where we both had multiple orgasms listening to the Phantom sing “Til I Hear You Sing.”  For those of you familiar with the term, Jacque is what some gusties would call a beacon.  She is ever so bubbly and constantly full of energy.

The girl on the right is miss Isobel Brown—Izzy for short—Iz for shorter.  She is NOT from IU in Bloomington, but from Massachusetts where she attends Conn College and studies English.  She may be rethinking that, however, as a very attractive Scottish boy told her that there is no money in teaching English outside a Tesco Express.  It was a classy interaction.  Izzy is very chill, if not neurotic.  She may or may not have the tendency to break into song or into tears at a grocery store.  She likes to talk about sexuality too.  Of course, I appreciate this greatly.

Aren’t these two just adorable?!  From left to right, this is Jamie and Jenny.  They are roommates on the first floor and share a kitchen with Steve. 

Jamie is from Kansas, but attends Trinity in San Antonio.  Jamie is a talker.  I would go so far as to say that she is so thin and beautiful because she speaks away her body mass.  She is pleasantly funny and is a big advocate for the phrase, “bitch, please!”  Naturally, I love her.  She is just a pocket person of crazy, fun energy.

Jenny is our little Jewish girl from northern California.  She’s  a riot.  Jenny has no filter.  If she thinks something about you or anyone else, she will let you know.  Conversely, Jenny is probably the sweetest, most endearing personality I have ran into in London.  She is ungodly polite and limitlessly social.  Jenny goes to school at the University of Puget Sound; it’s almost as much of a mouthful as Gustavus Adolphus College.  Jenny may or may not have Turret Syndrome.

So there’s a brief insight to some of the people that will probably be making appearances here on the blog. 

Also, did I figure out pictures?!  Yes.  Yes I did.  

Whistle.windz

I’ve never particularly been fond of gray.  It’s a little shabby, a little rubbish, a little boring.  As a backdrop for buildings wrapped in red nets and scaffolding, trees losing their green leaves, thousands of people scurrying along bustling sidewalks, vendors of all kinds (including cupcakes, chunky jewelry, and artisan lamp shades), mechanical toys stabbing the clouds, giant planes whizzing through the air, and brilliant architecture, however, gray is a little less menacing.  The sky is always gray in London town; I don’t really mind it either.  The way the sun presses through the clouds in the morning or how a giant brick building towers over the neighborhood gives the gray landscape a much kinder feeling.

In the gray, today, I watched a woman with a pale face and a blue scarf around her head hobble over the broken sidewalk of Sydney Street with a basket in her wrinkled grip.  She moved slowly like she was thinking of an old friend with every step.  Her eyes would wander from the uneven earth to the windows of the cafes and then back to the ground before repeating the routine glance with every step.  While she hobbled along, she would occasionally stop and stare into a pastry or coffee shop and take a moment to hum a little tune to herself or for the people inside and out of the cold.  Every time she whistled the wind would pick up and blow her little scarf fervently across her mouth and mute the little song—not even the wind wanted to listen to the wandering little lady.  She turned, for the fourth time or so, away from the window of Carluccio’s and looked over the faces before her before continuing her slow journey home.  As she passed the bench where I sat and watched, she looked me in the eye and smiled.

She was crying, just a little.  Was it the wind?  Was it the cold?  Was it that no one would stop and listen to her whistle?  I wanted to ask, but she turned away and continued the trek home.  Her little burgundy coat just rounded the corner when I hopped on the bus.  As the monstrous transport took the corner, where just seconds ago a little old woman had wandered, the sidewalk was empty beside a few fallen leaves of holly.  Perhaps she had found warmth in the gated garden behind the house on the corner or maybe grabbed a taxi for the rest of her trip home.  I like to think that she finally found a listener and whistled her way into the gray sky.

Following my small moment with the lady in red, I happened upon a coffee shop sampling some Italian espresso just outside my residence hall.  The aroma was alluring, if not a little burnt and caramel scented.  The first sip was good.  The second was better.  After a thank you and a smile I turned to walk the quarter block to residence hall.  Crossing King’s Road, I rounded the curve at Manresa Road and took in the enormity of the IES Building; it’s by far the tallest building in this part of Chelsea.

Behind me: I heard a whistle on the current of the wind.

Shows.tearz

The things I could tell you about Atima, the professor of my creative writing class, would not only surprise and provoke you, but cause uproarious laughter and painful side aches.  Unfortunately for you kind readers, you are going to have to wait for quite some time until you get some Atima quotes; she’s quite the character.  I think it would be more appropriate to intersperse them among blogs rather than include them in one post.  So: there’s something to look forward to over the course of the semester!   Quotes and tangents aside, Atima made the best first impression out of all of my first professors.  She was a welcome breath of fresh air on Wednesday afternoon—I was feeling terribly overtired on that particular day due to some *ahem* late evening choices.

Billy Elliot: The Musical was insane.  I wasn’t really sure that I wanted to attend the show after hearing that it was more of a dance show than a typical musical, but Izzy and the gang eventually convinced me to go.  We waited for 15 minutes at the bus station for the 11; three minutes too long to arrive at the theater in time.  After being informed we would miss the opening number (bummer!) we bought our tickets and trudged up to the 2^nd row of the balcony.  The show was devastating and inspirational and nothing in between.  The musical numbers were few and far between, but the dancing was INSANE.  Let me tell you, there is something about watching a 12 year old perform the hell out of a role that is both incredible and embarrassing; not only do you realize you are seeing great talent, but you have to note that the 12 year old boy in tights is cooler than you will ever be.  It’s quite the feeling.  My personal highlights of the show included the song “Solidarity,” the “Angry Dance,” and a song that Billy and his mother (deceased) share toward the end of the show.  Favorite lines: “Just because I dance in the ballet doesn’t mean I’m a puff,” and “you’re really fucking special (followed by the most endearing hug between a boy and his ballet instructor ever captured on stage.)”  Awesome stuff.

Today I had my last class of the week, and my last first class of the semester… Other than meaning that I am finished for the week, this moment also represents the penultimate occasion that I will have a syllabus from a new class.  Weird!  Regardless, Theatre: an Introduction, was a little much for me to handle today.  The professor, Jen, is intense, and more than a little condescending.  Per chance, she will warm up and my first impressions will be quaffed.  The material itself is pretty awesome.  Every week, we go see a play, read that play, and discuss it. Sweet.  The play for next Thursday, “Pieces of Vincent,” is actually what I saw this evening at a small fringe theatre in Kingsland. 

When I saw DOLLHOUSE at the Guthrie, it was the non-musical piece of theatre that I had seen in quite some time.  I have to say that “Pieces of Vincent” was not only better than DOLLHOUSE, but is actually one of the best pieces of performance art I have ever seen.  Ever.  The premise of the story involves 8 separate scenes that occur in non-chronological order.  The scenes always include 2 of the 9 characters in the show and somehow intertwine with the rest of the show.  It’s all very “Crash” a la Best Picture if you have seen the film.  The monologue in the very last scene, involving a father taking the training wheels off his son’s bike and watching him ride, was positively heart-wrenching; Ben, Jacque, Kelly, and I were nothing but quiet tears as the lights came up.  What they say about London theatre being unmatchable has to be true.  It’s unreal.

Right now, I am writing this post in the 5^th floor lounge, watching a very odd girl dance with herself while typing to a friend on Facebook.   I can’t help but wonder what music is playing in her head.  I doubt it’s as good as anything from “Love Never Dies.”  For those of you unaware of this title, it’s Andrew Lloyd Webber’s sequel to “The Phantom of the Opera.” 

I am sitting 10^th row, center tomorrow night.  It’s a tough life in the motherland. 

Some Days.timez

Classes have officially started on this side of the pond!  I cannot stress how excited I was for this day to come.  To be honest, I couldn’t take another day of orientation activities.  It would have driven me stark bonkers; no thank you.

Of course I was 30 minutes late to my first class this morning.  Anyone surprised?  In all fairness, it wasn’t entirely my fault.  A few of us boarded the tube this morning, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to take the day by the metaphorical balls.  Unfortunately, not all balls want to be grabbed and September 14^th was one such instance.  As we boarded the Piccadilly line in South Kensington, we hear the following announcement:  All lines travelling on Piccadilly will experience severe delays due to signal failure.  Wah Wah!  So, after 35 minutes between South Kensington and Knightsbridge (the very next station), a transit that should take less than 3 minutes, we got off and road the line back to SK and boarded the Circle and District line instead.  After three more switches, we got off at Holborn and walked to the Centre.  Luckily, my prof hadn’t started the course yet as every other student was experiencing severed delay as well.  Got to love understanding faculty!

My first class on Monday is an Art History course taught by Lucinda Hawksley.  I am a tad intimidated because this chic chick has three books, from what I remember on the syllabus, published in the area of Pre Raphaelites.  It is going to be a fun course, even though I haven’t once learned about Art History.  Unless you count the art unit in High School Spanish.  You don’t, right?  Right. 

Next.

I had this class called Censored!  What the British Couldn’t See.  Basically we took an 2 hours or so to do introductions and to decided that to ‘censor’ means ‘to limit what can be seen, and to promote the ideal.’  I was rather sleepy, but Wendy, the course instructor, is pretty chill so I am cool with her.  Over the course of the semester we will be watching a lot of films: The Exorcist, A Clockwork Orange, etc.  I am excited to see how the class turns out.  Already, I know that there will be a lot of reading this semester since we only meet once a week.  I have a feeling that this will be a tad dangerous for me…I may or may not wait until the very end to get things done.  Looks like that will have to change!

Following the first day of classes, I rushed back to the LRH to enjoy some delicious curry made by Drew and get ready for a night out at the clubs. 

We didn’t go to bed until 3:30.  I had to leave at 9 this morning.  It was rough.

The club we went to had three floors, including a VIP lounge which each IES member was invited to.  The lounge was pretty comfortable (sans the crying Spanish girl in the corner that we tried, ineffectively, to comfort.  I don’t think she was looking for support, just attention.)  A little note about the music: Tiger Tiger—the club’s name—loves a good bout of 90s music.  Naturally, this was a-okay with a majority of our group.  Quite a good time.

Anyway, we all sweat through our jeans and tees and decided it was time to leave.

Waking up for class this morning was especially difficult.  The sun was pouring in and there was nothing , no nothing, I could do to stop it.  That star is one difficult bitch to beat.

Today I had my first class period of Playwriting.  Vulnerably, I don’t think that I am going to enjoy it.  As much work as the class I took at Gustavus was, I really prefer Mat’s teaching style to Marina’s.  It will definitely be a unique experience.  Perhaps things will change as the time passes.   

Following class, Drew, Steve, Jacque, Virginia, Jamie, and I had lunch at Pret (£2.5 sandwiches!).  It was scrumptious.  The tube ride back was strange.  I was by lonesome and I ended up sitting down and falling asleep.  When I was jolted awake by an unnecessarily sudden stop, I realized that I had missed my leave.  Still, I wasn’t panicked or worried.  Actually, it felt quite good.  I was so aware of where I was and how to maneuver back to the correct location that it ended up filling me with pride.  I know it sounds so miniscule, and a little self promoting, but it caused a click within me.  I am doing this.  I am really getting around this enormous place with my own instincts and judgments.  I think that’s pretty cool.

I miss ANTM. 

I miss my friends.  I miss Spence.  I miss my family.

I am loving this new routine.  It is challenging and exhilarating and exhausting.

Shit.  I just blew out my adapter.  Do not attempt to plug in a power strip to an outlet even if the voltage is converted and adapted.  The strip must have been too much for it to handle.  Lame.

Tonight, Billy Elliot: The Musical.  I’ll let you know what I think.   

Secret.gayz

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Riding.bumz

Of course it’s natural to feel lonely in a city that eleven million people call home. Today, I am lonely. I am embraced by the wind in an awkward hug that reminds me that I am somewhere very far away from comfort. It’s surprising. It’s exhausting. Elaine said it would be a roller coaster of emotions for the first couple of days. Perhaps it is possible to take such rides minutes at a time and this phase will snap like the way my glasses did this morning. The crunch of hideous sunglasses beneath bare feet in the morning: nothing like it.


The visit to the Centre today was draining. Oh hey, Jet Lag! Orientation could not be longer. Until tomorrow and the next day and the next day houses the same activities. Bleh. Luckily, I had not the need to stay back for the breakout sessions following the three hour orientation and immediately dashed home—by ‘dash’ I clearly mean walked 10, tubed 15, walked 15—and found my room unoccupied. I sat down to an Internetless computer and sighed a large, unnecessary sigh.

I took my first nap of the trip. It was amazing.

The desertion of day took place beneath the ground in a 30 minute trip to Mansion House aboard the district line. Destination: Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. We stood (STOOD) at the show for 2.5 hours of Shakespearian dialogue and humor. And you know what? It was positively lovely. Brilliant, even. The players were phenomenal and the story, The Merry Wives of Windsor, was surprisingly hilarious. Everything about the show was endearingly Shakespearian; it couldn’t have been more enjoyable or necessary.

The night was warm and the walk back was pleasant.

The time spent on the first floor kitchen was less than appealing. You know when people are obnoxiously straight/condescendingly heterosexual? It was like spending forty minutes at The Swamp freshman year. What a waste of breath.

Ugh. Cleanse. Wash, rinse, DO NOT repeat. The sour blog is already come. Now, be gone.

There are people here that are more than worth an hour of bad interaction. I am not lonely, I am just riding the ride, waiting to get off at the gate where orientation is over and classes have started.

On the River.amayz

This would definitely be what I would call the first official day in London. Yesterday doesn’t count because of the a)late arrival, b)lack of exploration, c)unfamiliarity even on a basic level, and d)actual time I spent here being equivalent to less than a day. So… Welcome, Jish!

Today we took a tour of the “campus” we will be studying at and the various libraries surrounding the area that are free for students of the IES program to utilize. Now you may be wondering, why on earth is ‘campus’ surrounded by quotations? Well, dear reader, that would be because the IES building—yes, singular—is the only building on our campus for the semester. Each one of the courses is 2.5 hours long, and you only have each class once a week. This allows the academic building to utilize just offices and 5 total classroom settings for every semester. Cool, right?

Anyhoozle, here are the classes I am taking this semester: Pre Raphaelites, Censored! What the British Could Not See, Playwriting, Creative Writing, and Theatre in London: An Introduction. Between the playwriting class and the intro to theatre course, I will be seeing 18 plays as a result of homework. Ugh, why do these things always happen to me?! *maniacal laughter*

Right, so, classes don’t start until Monday, but I think that it’s going to be quite fantastic. The centre is only a mere 10 minute walk to the tube and then a short ride over. The stop at Holborn is only a block away from classes. Easy peasy when you understand what you’re doing; and, it is actually much easier than it looks.

On to some more interesting notes/reflections/happenings/observations:

1. There are no Bumpits© in London. NONE. I haven’t seen a single mini, regular, or mega around. And believe me, I’ve been looking.

2. Pigeons, like many human beings, enjoy bathing. Unlike many human beings, pigeons thoroughly enjoy bathing in public. Today at Russell Square, roughly thirteen million pigeons swarmed the local fountain and began to cleanse their exteriors. I suppose even flying possums need to bathe every once in a while.

3. Today, four of us saw a celebrity. There were five (Iszy missed the famous person by staring off at the local residences) of us walking in a group up Sydney Street in South Kensington when, just steps ahead of us, who should come waltzing down the sidewalk but none other than thee HALLE BARRY. What?! Did that really just happen. In person, she is every bit as hot as she is on the big screen.

4. Attn: any fan of a certain novel phenomenon that will be releasing part one of two of its 7th and final cinema installment this November. Tonight, following a dinner with 9 other people, Drew (the roommate) and Iszy (proud member of the 8th floor) and I took a random bus to a random location. As we walked around the darkened streets, stumbling upon such sights as Big Ben, the London Eye, and Westminster Cathedral, (you know, the usual, everyday occurrences) we happened to cross a few bridges over the Thames. The final bridge, however, was the Millennium Bridge. This is the very bridge that Harry and Company fly over during the chase scene in the beginning of the sixth book/film. It was positively magical to be walking on the “Harry Potter Bridge” while surrounded by some of the most majestic monuments in all of Europe. Words could not help explain it. So I won’t attempt.

We saw a guy that carried a living python around his neck. I guess that was decent, too.

Natch.luvz

It should only be obvious that I was the last person to arrive at the IES residence hall today; it might even solicit a “natch” from my friends and family who are more than familiar with the phrase—and my chronic lateness for that matter.
Regardless, I AM IN LONDON! I am actually here spending time in the city with people that get to love and embrace the same place as I do for the next four months.

I won’t lie, the initial trip to the residence hall was a tad scary. I felt unsure about every single thing I was doing. It was so nerve wracking that I couldn’t even project my voice loud enough for the cabby to hear my destination request. Ugh, how pitiful!

Steps: Arrive in London and go through Customs. Customs takes approximately 400,000 hours to get through. The queue is very long and will be full of people that do not give a shit about what your name is, who you are, or where you come from. Then, at the end of it all, the only person you’re talking to wants to know what the hell you’re doing in their country and how you intend to hurt it. After you’re finished being emotionally and mentally manhandled, you will be happy to not that all you need to do is find and reclaim your luggage. Of course, you were too excited on the plane to listen to the pilot or head attendant and you have no idea where the carousal containing your suitcase is. Eventually, the bag will be found and the Heathrow Express, a very simple to navigate bullet train, takes you to Paddington Station. Perf. Then it’s a simple, yet terrifying, trip to Manresa Road and the building.

Mieke: “You must be Josh! GOOO GUSTIES! IjustloveminnesotabecauseIgrewuptherewithgreatfriendsandIevenworkedatMcAllisterforthreeyearssoIamveryfamiliarwiththeareabecauseIhadafriendthatlivedinHermantowwhichisrightbyWalkerohhowfun!”

Josh: “Yeah. Cool. (HE collapses with exhaustion) I’m last aren’t I?”

Mieke: “well that’s better than not all, woo!” She seems pretty great.

I managed to arrive with just thirteen minutes to unpack and leave for the guided tour. This meant that NO ONE received a safety call from me until about 5 o’clock my time. Woops! Guess what? I am safe so let’s all be thankful.

I am on the 8th floor and the view from my window is disgustingly awesome. In addition to my reflection, I can see the buildings of London City glowing across the river and dwarfing the Frasier logo by tenfold.

Roommate: Drew Tharp. He seems pretty chill. Easy to get along with. Thank. God.

Also met this guy named Ben tonight who did theater with Miles Duffey, an old speech competitor, all summer. It was not all that surprising to find out because they actually appear somewhat alike. Which one do you think is the heartless/nobody?? (I am not insulting either of them. This is a VERY NERDY reference which I do believe no one will understand.)

Had dinner with five other people this evening, more on that later and my first experience with dining in London.

I think I am really gonna like it here. I really, really do.

Ambien.plz

For all those interested, this is how you successfully pack for a trip abroad: First, pack a suitcase, preferably a heavy, cumbersome one with as much as you possibly can. Make sure that you make multiple attempts at filling the suitcase to the brim before finally zipping the damn thing shut; there should be a gratuitous amount of bumps, projections, and other odd shapes pressing against the fabric of the front of the bag. Second, weigh your bag. Third, notice that bags over 50lbs cost $173 to check and that if the bag is over 70lbs it will not be allowed on the plane. Fourth, read the digital read out of the scale to notice 64.4lbs; accompany this discovery with several curse words under your breath or a very vocal: "what do you mean it's above fifty pounds?!" Sixth, take everything, EVERYTHING, out and restart the process by cutting out half of your clothing. Congratulations, you are now ready to go abroad.

Shit. You forgot toiletries. Whatever, just buy them.

The Fear I am feeling right now, from the toilet mind you, is unsettling. (No, mother, I am not typing and pooping, I am sitting on top of the toilet because it's the quietest place in the house.) I capitalize "Fear" because this isn't simply an emotion or realization. It's an embodiment. Like some macabre puppet dancing above my head, the Fear drills into my head with headlines like, "Plane Loses Engines, Wreckage Disastrous in Atlantic," and "American Student Held Hostage in Eleven Hour Stand-off." I can't say the newsprint of the Fear is very comforting. Frankly, it's horrifying.

Grandpa says it's safer to fly than to drive. I have never believed him. Then again, he did try to get me to golf as a child and the dude that won today walked away with more than six figures.

Ambien and Wine force Grandpa to sound right.

Tomorrow when I am in the airport--for four GD hours because I just want to be sure I will make it--I will watch the people around me and wonder if they have the same little puppets around their heads and in their minds and if they have any tricks to make them go away. My guess is that no one will have thought about it as much as I do. Then again, maybe they have? Maybe people think about these things all the time and we never talk about them. There are not many things we talk about as a people though... Imagine if the first things we talked about were imaginary marionettes dangling above our heads and whispering things in our ears. Gross.

Also, I am really sorry, little blog, that I didn't write on you for three days. I was busy finishing up those loose ends in America, You know, like family, the boy, the friends. Just those little things that kinda need attention.

I have a playlist for the moments like this.  Right now it's lead off with the song Beautifully by Jay Brannan.  I suggest listening to it.  It helps the tears flow when they were going to anyway.  I call the playlist, "That Mood" ala Tony Spain.

(I am aware, painfully so, that I have been using italics and quotation marks interchangeably for this post.  I do not support my own actions and my lack of consistency, but I am far too tired to give a damn.  Apparently not too tired to take the time to point out something no one cares about.)

Spencer is calling on my phone.  He won't be able to do that for another 4 months.  He will hate it.  He's a talker.  :)

     A Haiku
Pulling strings to move
little limbs.  Jaw cracks wide; says:
Fear is natural.

Tomorrow I will experience birth by sleep in more ways than one.