It's crazy to think that I'll only have two more days left in London after today! Time is really dwindling down and there is still so much left to do here that won't be done. Granted, there's only so much of a city like London that you can see, but you often find yourself wishing that you could have done everything in the short span of months and days that you were in Europe, everything from travelling to more countries to seeing museums to learning more about the history and stories behind artists' masterpieces.
Still, I'm thankful for the time that I have had here and I know that this will not be the last time London has its streets graced with my presence. Heehee.
Something that has come to mind lately, though, is the recognition of moments that brightened my days here. Most of them occurred in a tube station or on the tube itself and, somehow, as I sit here letting my fingers take the flow from my brain onto the screen as I listen to the spring rain fall outside the Victorian windows, it's easy to reflect. Every time any child smiled at me on the tube, it made my day. It's nearly inexplicable and may sound mildly creepy, but there were moments where my spirits was lifted above their present state because of their simple actions. Two instances stand out in particular. The first was on the way back from church one Sunday. A family of four, a boy of eight and a girl of 11 and their parents, had just gotten onto the tube and were looking for places to sit. The boy sat down across from me and the girl started to move toward him to sit beside him, but then saw me and backed up. I started to get up and asked her if she'd like to sit down. Her brace-clad smile shyly shone back at me as she dipped her head downward and politely declined. The next stop came and I got up to leave, passing her on the way out. She looked up at me for a half second and smiled with a quiet joy as if I was leaving the train car just for her to sit down. The bright innocence that radiated from her face still haunts me. The second instance was today at Lillywhite's department store in Piccadilly Circus. As I browsed the jerseys and footballs (soccer balls), a boy who looked like he was about 10 walked up to his mother for no good reason (she hadn't bought him anything yet) and gave her the wettest, longest and most beautiful kiss on the cheek. The smile that split across her face when he pulled back was inimitable. Then she kissed him back on the cheek and the entire situation was reversed.
Moments like these restore my faith in a loving humanity, in a compassion that will not die with time, in chivalry and in the pure joy that we see so little of. This is why we love to love. This is why we should live to love.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
I'll Bowl Your Wicket
It's been a while since there's been a single event worth writing about. Normally, it's a trip or a weekend or several things that occurred over the course of the week. However, today presented an event so spectacular, so inexplicably amazing that there was no way that it could not be shared with my online family and friends who read this blog so very faithfully...unless it's too long, in which case you just skip over the entry and go back to reading perezhilton.com.
Today, after going to the London Centre to meet with Bill about my internship, I took a walk through Hyde Park because it was such a gorgeous day outside and walked past the Tennis Courts and glimpsed the Serpentine, the small lake that divides Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. While passing by an expanse of grass used for sporting events, a familiar looking group of people caught my eye; they were from the London Centre and with them was Bill, the director of the London Centre, setting up what looked like bundles of sticks in the middle of this field. Suddenly, it clicked in my mind: Bill promised us today that he would teach us to play cricket in the afternoon.
And so it began.
Once everyone arrived, we numbered about 20 people, including Bill, Chuck and Diane, a married couple in their 50s who also work at the London Centre teaching music. Chuck is probably my favourite person in the world; he is loud and obnoxious while having fun and, as we all learned from our cricket match, yells jokes across the field when he is playing any sport. The rules of cricket have to be taught by either watching or playing a match; it's nearly impossible to explain the rules without visuals. It's similar to baseball, but it's really not. You play in a 60-yard circle and can hit the ball when it is bowled (the equivalent of pitched) to you, except you can hit it in any direction, including behind you. There are three sticks behind you with two small wooden sticks on top of those called wickets. If the ball is thrown (bowled) and one of your wickets falls off, you're out and the next batter comes up. From there, it gets complicated.
So after warming up for a good 45 minutes, we started our match. It was reminiscent of a high school gym class; the boys were hard-core and into the game and the majority of the girls stood or sat in the outer rim of the field, talking to each other and picking grass out of the grass to let fall from their hands. The thing that surprised me the most about the match, though, was the competitive ferocity that Bill exhibited from start to finish. Picture your typical grandfather figure, subtract 10 years, add a library of historical and literary references to his head with a dash of love for football (soccer) and rugby, and you have Bill Sheasgreen. The man was an animal. He yelled at the batters, telling them to swing harder. He taunted them when they still could not hit a single ball bowled to them. When a bowler (pitcher) hit a wicket and got the batter out, he threw his hands in the air, screamed exultantly and sprinted toward the bowler to give them a hug. It was INTENSE. Naturally, our team won, 43-14, in 40 overs. However, there is one scene that needs to be described.
Alex Krasser, a theatre major, is up to bat. He is new to the game, like most of us, and doesn't exactly have athletic tendencies. He's the kid in gym class who would rather be back inside, standing alone in the auditorium and practicing his own rendition of "If I Can't Love Her," from Beauty and the Beast...or maybe that was just me on selected days in high school. At any rate, he's let the first two balls go by without swinging at them. Bill, who is bowling, turns to him and says, "You need to swing at these. You can do better than that." Alex let the next ball go by as well. Bill walks back over to him and tells him, "Swing at these! Don't be a wimp! C'mon, let's see you swing! Let's GO!" Bill hurls the ball toward Alex and it all happens in two seconds. Alex swings and hits a line drive straight at Bill's chest. Bill hunkers down, brings his hands up, catches the ball in his chest, then stares at Alex for what seemed like 10 seconds in pure defiant glory as the rest of the students explode into a cataclysmic "Oooohhhhhhh!!" Ridiculous. That is why I love cricket.
Today, after going to the London Centre to meet with Bill about my internship, I took a walk through Hyde Park because it was such a gorgeous day outside and walked past the Tennis Courts and glimpsed the Serpentine, the small lake that divides Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. While passing by an expanse of grass used for sporting events, a familiar looking group of people caught my eye; they were from the London Centre and with them was Bill, the director of the London Centre, setting up what looked like bundles of sticks in the middle of this field. Suddenly, it clicked in my mind: Bill promised us today that he would teach us to play cricket in the afternoon.
And so it began.
Once everyone arrived, we numbered about 20 people, including Bill, Chuck and Diane, a married couple in their 50s who also work at the London Centre teaching music. Chuck is probably my favourite person in the world; he is loud and obnoxious while having fun and, as we all learned from our cricket match, yells jokes across the field when he is playing any sport. The rules of cricket have to be taught by either watching or playing a match; it's nearly impossible to explain the rules without visuals. It's similar to baseball, but it's really not. You play in a 60-yard circle and can hit the ball when it is bowled (the equivalent of pitched) to you, except you can hit it in any direction, including behind you. There are three sticks behind you with two small wooden sticks on top of those called wickets. If the ball is thrown (bowled) and one of your wickets falls off, you're out and the next batter comes up. From there, it gets complicated.
So after warming up for a good 45 minutes, we started our match. It was reminiscent of a high school gym class; the boys were hard-core and into the game and the majority of the girls stood or sat in the outer rim of the field, talking to each other and picking grass out of the grass to let fall from their hands. The thing that surprised me the most about the match, though, was the competitive ferocity that Bill exhibited from start to finish. Picture your typical grandfather figure, subtract 10 years, add a library of historical and literary references to his head with a dash of love for football (soccer) and rugby, and you have Bill Sheasgreen. The man was an animal. He yelled at the batters, telling them to swing harder. He taunted them when they still could not hit a single ball bowled to them. When a bowler (pitcher) hit a wicket and got the batter out, he threw his hands in the air, screamed exultantly and sprinted toward the bowler to give them a hug. It was INTENSE. Naturally, our team won, 43-14, in 40 overs. However, there is one scene that needs to be described.
Alex Krasser, a theatre major, is up to bat. He is new to the game, like most of us, and doesn't exactly have athletic tendencies. He's the kid in gym class who would rather be back inside, standing alone in the auditorium and practicing his own rendition of "If I Can't Love Her," from Beauty and the Beast...or maybe that was just me on selected days in high school. At any rate, he's let the first two balls go by without swinging at them. Bill, who is bowling, turns to him and says, "You need to swing at these. You can do better than that." Alex let the next ball go by as well. Bill walks back over to him and tells him, "Swing at these! Don't be a wimp! C'mon, let's see you swing! Let's GO!" Bill hurls the ball toward Alex and it all happens in two seconds. Alex swings and hits a line drive straight at Bill's chest. Bill hunkers down, brings his hands up, catches the ball in his chest, then stares at Alex for what seemed like 10 seconds in pure defiant glory as the rest of the students explode into a cataclysmic "Oooohhhhhhh!!" Ridiculous. That is why I love cricket.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Dia duit agús sláinte!
The title means 'Hello and good health!' in Gaelic, the native tongue of Ireland, where a large group of students from ICLC went to spend the weekend in Dublin...including myself. It was the longest trip that the school has scheduled; we left Friday morning and came back late Sunday night and actually ended up flying on Aer Lingus (crappy airline, try not to fly with them). Sadly, the main discovery of the trip was that Ireland is not all rolling hills, sheep and drunken redheads. Dublin was mainly industrial, had little to no sheep that were sighted...but was still filled with drunken redheads.
We touched down around noon and waited around for the coach to arrive, who then took us to our hotel. It was a really nice one that fed us a full Irish breakfast, which consisted of rashers and sausages, black and white pudding (sesame seeds and pig's blood compressed into half-dollar sized patties), eggs, hashed potatoes and croissants. YUM. After dropping our stuff off at the hotel, we popped back onto the bus and took a tour of the city in the coach with Sarah, one of the administration at the London Centre, doing the city commentary, which was ridiculously funny. Normally we have Bill, the director of the Centre and omniscient historical/cultural/literary guru, doing the narration and he goes on these long-winded historical stories about the area we're in that are really fascinating. But Sarah would read two sentences off of the paper she had been given and followed that up with, "...and that's all I've got." Hilarious. Since we were running so late, we only stopped for 25 minutes in the National Museum of Ireland to see a lot of weapons, a giant Viking ship and creepy mannequins before being dropped off in central Dublin for a couple of hours. Luke and I found this relatively inexpensive crepe and panini place tucked away in a little alleyway that had amazing crepes for dinner purposes.
Shortly after this, we regrouped at the Ha'penny Bridge Pub where we began our musical pub crawl. A pub crawl is a gathering by three or more individuals who travel from pub to pub, having a pint along the way at each pub. Yes, our school organized this. However, this was not any ordinary pub crawl; this was a MUSICAL pub crawl. Irish musicians accompanied us on a glorious parade as we bought a pint, sat down and were taught Irish folk songs while we sipped from our foaming glasses. Some had more than others and...well...as our guide taught us to do, if you can't sing well, sing loud. From there, we walked to Brannigan's, on the opposite side of the river Liffey, where eight people (including myself) were put into the centre of the room to learn a traditional Irish partner jig. It was probably the closest to authentically Hollywood Irish that any of us had ever come. From there, we met up with Sara and Alexa and a group of other people to wander the Temple Bar area for the rest of the night.
Saturday morning, we were out of the hotel by 9 a.m. in time for Bill's first walk to Sandy Cove. Bill's walks are very educational and quite extensive; this one was no exception. However, it was rather frigid and windy, not to mention a slight stinging rain was falling to complement the surging ocean spray that dashed its way over the walls every 15 seconds like clockwork. In a dark sort of way, it was beautiful. You could see through the eyes of Joyce and Burns and realize what made them write as they did about the Irish coastline as you took in the shushing crash of the Atlantic against the rocks and the blowing goldenrod that grew tangled and wicked up the hillsides. Even though spring had not yet fully awakened, it was still breathtaking to walk to the tops of the hills and cliffs above the eastern shores of Dublin and see something as chillingly beautiful as this was. Upon our descent, most of us descended upon the Guinness factory and toured the brewery, receiving a trophy in the form of a freshly pulled pint at our journey's end in the Gravity Bar overlooking Dublin. The domination of Guinness in the region reminded me of a Shaw play called Major Barbara, where a munitions factory does the same with a town and rules the town with a gentle fist. We did some souvenir shopping afterward, then grabbed a quick dinner in Temple Bar before walking around the city some more. By that point, we hadn't sat down for more than (not over, this is quantity we're talking about) three minutes, so Luke and I decided to head back to the hotel before going out again. We ended up reading for two hours and by the time someone called us to go out, it was 11:30 at night and there was no way we could go and still have energy left.
Sunday was another walk with Bill, charged with the same energy that the entire weekend had been filled with...oy vey. It began to rain around 10:30 and kept on going through the early afternoon, so by the time that we had hiked from "night town" (their red light district, where James Joyce hung out as a teen and where Bill ended our walk) back to Temple Bar. Greg, Luke, me and our friend Sam went to the Irish Film Institute, which was actually really cool and filled with Irish cinema, obviously, but a good amount of British, as well. We ate lunch there and finished souvenir shopping. As much as Ireland was an amazing trip, by far the best ICLC trip we've taken, I hope never to see that much green in one store ever again. The country is ridiculously commercialized...probably worse than Rome, in fact! (Zing! European insult!) We wandered a bit more and then took the DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transit) back to our hotel, where we headed back to the hotel, got our luggage and went to the airport to head back to London.
And now I raise a toast for Ireland, land of my mother's ancestors, well known for its drink, love of green and redheads, and famed beautiful countrysides featuring sheep, verdant hills and the occasional poop-filled cobblestone street. Huzzah for Eire!
Pictures from this weekend:
Sláinte! - Dublin
We touched down around noon and waited around for the coach to arrive, who then took us to our hotel. It was a really nice one that fed us a full Irish breakfast, which consisted of rashers and sausages, black and white pudding (sesame seeds and pig's blood compressed into half-dollar sized patties), eggs, hashed potatoes and croissants. YUM. After dropping our stuff off at the hotel, we popped back onto the bus and took a tour of the city in the coach with Sarah, one of the administration at the London Centre, doing the city commentary, which was ridiculously funny. Normally we have Bill, the director of the Centre and omniscient historical/cultural/literary guru, doing the narration and he goes on these long-winded historical stories about the area we're in that are really fascinating. But Sarah would read two sentences off of the paper she had been given and followed that up with, "...and that's all I've got." Hilarious. Since we were running so late, we only stopped for 25 minutes in the National Museum of Ireland to see a lot of weapons, a giant Viking ship and creepy mannequins before being dropped off in central Dublin for a couple of hours. Luke and I found this relatively inexpensive crepe and panini place tucked away in a little alleyway that had amazing crepes for dinner purposes.
Shortly after this, we regrouped at the Ha'penny Bridge Pub where we began our musical pub crawl. A pub crawl is a gathering by three or more individuals who travel from pub to pub, having a pint along the way at each pub. Yes, our school organized this. However, this was not any ordinary pub crawl; this was a MUSICAL pub crawl. Irish musicians accompanied us on a glorious parade as we bought a pint, sat down and were taught Irish folk songs while we sipped from our foaming glasses. Some had more than others and...well...as our guide taught us to do, if you can't sing well, sing loud. From there, we walked to Brannigan's, on the opposite side of the river Liffey, where eight people (including myself) were put into the centre of the room to learn a traditional Irish partner jig. It was probably the closest to authentically Hollywood Irish that any of us had ever come. From there, we met up with Sara and Alexa and a group of other people to wander the Temple Bar area for the rest of the night.
Saturday morning, we were out of the hotel by 9 a.m. in time for Bill's first walk to Sandy Cove. Bill's walks are very educational and quite extensive; this one was no exception. However, it was rather frigid and windy, not to mention a slight stinging rain was falling to complement the surging ocean spray that dashed its way over the walls every 15 seconds like clockwork. In a dark sort of way, it was beautiful. You could see through the eyes of Joyce and Burns and realize what made them write as they did about the Irish coastline as you took in the shushing crash of the Atlantic against the rocks and the blowing goldenrod that grew tangled and wicked up the hillsides. Even though spring had not yet fully awakened, it was still breathtaking to walk to the tops of the hills and cliffs above the eastern shores of Dublin and see something as chillingly beautiful as this was. Upon our descent, most of us descended upon the Guinness factory and toured the brewery, receiving a trophy in the form of a freshly pulled pint at our journey's end in the Gravity Bar overlooking Dublin. The domination of Guinness in the region reminded me of a Shaw play called Major Barbara, where a munitions factory does the same with a town and rules the town with a gentle fist. We did some souvenir shopping afterward, then grabbed a quick dinner in Temple Bar before walking around the city some more. By that point, we hadn't sat down for more than (not over, this is quantity we're talking about) three minutes, so Luke and I decided to head back to the hotel before going out again. We ended up reading for two hours and by the time someone called us to go out, it was 11:30 at night and there was no way we could go and still have energy left.
Sunday was another walk with Bill, charged with the same energy that the entire weekend had been filled with...oy vey. It began to rain around 10:30 and kept on going through the early afternoon, so by the time that we had hiked from "night town" (their red light district, where James Joyce hung out as a teen and where Bill ended our walk) back to Temple Bar. Greg, Luke, me and our friend Sam went to the Irish Film Institute, which was actually really cool and filled with Irish cinema, obviously, but a good amount of British, as well. We ate lunch there and finished souvenir shopping. As much as Ireland was an amazing trip, by far the best ICLC trip we've taken, I hope never to see that much green in one store ever again. The country is ridiculously commercialized...probably worse than Rome, in fact! (Zing! European insult!) We wandered a bit more and then took the DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transit) back to our hotel, where we headed back to the hotel, got our luggage and went to the airport to head back to London.
And now I raise a toast for Ireland, land of my mother's ancestors, well known for its drink, love of green and redheads, and famed beautiful countrysides featuring sheep, verdant hills and the occasional poop-filled cobblestone street. Huzzah for Eire!
Pictures from this weekend:
Sláinte! - Dublin
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Walt Disney's Army
One of the more peculiar things about my internship is the building in which it is set. Technically, I work for NASN, the North American Sports Network (your home for North American Sports!). However, they were bought up by ESPN about six months ago and since ESPN is owned by The Walt Disney Company, I therefore work in the Disney building in London. The walls are covered in images of coming movies, such as The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian and Wall-E, as well as various movie posters from the past like The Little Mermaid and The Lion King. There's even a Lion King themed meeting room on my floor. No, I am not joking. Yes, it is covered in images of Pride Rock. On the third floor, the walls are lined with pictures of Meredith Grey, McDreamy and the cast of Grey's Anatomy. I stay away from there as much as possible.
The weirdest part of working in a glorified child's environment, however, is the vast array of stuffed animals and plastic figures that are scattered around the building. Everything from Pongo and Perdy from 101 Dalmatians to the dragon from Bedknobs and Broomsticks cover every conceivable spare space in the building. Unused desks are piled with mounds of dogs and Piglets and I've even seen Ariel chilling out in some desk chairs near the copier room. My mind being the way it is, I suddenly had a thought today. A horrifying thought.
What if these inanimate figures of joyous, childish pleasure were to come alive and revolt against the office in an effort to take over London?
It may be unlikely, but think about it. When you see the number of plush-covered mammals on every floor, there has to be at least a 1:1 ratio of employees to animals. Animals like the dragon could easily take on three people, while the over-sized Pongo in accounting could bound across two rows of cubicles and take out the marketing executives before you could say 'Cruella DeVille.' Ariel will be useless without legs, which makes me thankful that we don't have Ursula around here somewhere. And as for the Zac Efron who would come out of the 873 posters on every floor, he'd just dance his way around the office, oblivious to the fact that his fellow human beings are being slaughtered left and right by a raging Pumba.
I know what you're thinking; how on earth is Seth going to be prepared for this? Well, I've been stocking up on hairspray and cigarette lighters, which should take care of most of the plush toys. Trying to take out the plastic one is still a bit of a mystery to me, though. Axes are out of the question, but I don't have any real idea of what to do. If you have any helpful hints on this subject, your help would be greatly appreciated. And now that this imaginative session is drawing to a close, it's probably time to get back to working at the internship.
The weirdest part of working in a glorified child's environment, however, is the vast array of stuffed animals and plastic figures that are scattered around the building. Everything from Pongo and Perdy from 101 Dalmatians to the dragon from Bedknobs and Broomsticks cover every conceivable spare space in the building. Unused desks are piled with mounds of dogs and Piglets and I've even seen Ariel chilling out in some desk chairs near the copier room. My mind being the way it is, I suddenly had a thought today. A horrifying thought.
What if these inanimate figures of joyous, childish pleasure were to come alive and revolt against the office in an effort to take over London?
It may be unlikely, but think about it. When you see the number of plush-covered mammals on every floor, there has to be at least a 1:1 ratio of employees to animals. Animals like the dragon could easily take on three people, while the over-sized Pongo in accounting could bound across two rows of cubicles and take out the marketing executives before you could say 'Cruella DeVille.' Ariel will be useless without legs, which makes me thankful that we don't have Ursula around here somewhere. And as for the Zac Efron who would come out of the 873 posters on every floor, he'd just dance his way around the office, oblivious to the fact that his fellow human beings are being slaughtered left and right by a raging Pumba.
I know what you're thinking; how on earth is Seth going to be prepared for this? Well, I've been stocking up on hairspray and cigarette lighters, which should take care of most of the plush toys. Trying to take out the plastic one is still a bit of a mystery to me, though. Axes are out of the question, but I don't have any real idea of what to do. If you have any helpful hints on this subject, your help would be greatly appreciated. And now that this imaginative session is drawing to a close, it's probably time to get back to working at the internship.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Stratford-upon-Avon and Oxford
So in case you didn't know, this weekend consisted of another awesome ICLC trip. This time, we visited Stratford-upon-Avon, which is Shakespeare's hometown where he was born, raised and wrote a good number of his plays. The town itself is a quaint and cute one, although we learned that we are not allowed to use the world "quaint" for some reason. It's probably yet another innocent American term that has dirty British connotations...much like fanny.
We got up early on Friday morning and got to the London Centre around 8:00. I managed to down a cup of tea before leaving the flat, so I was unusually perky. As many people who have lived with me or around me can attest, my disposition in the mornings is not exactly that of a morning person; I tend not to talk much, which unfortunately gives off the air that I am angry at the world...which I sort of am because it's giving off light much too early, but that's beside the point. I was perky and happy to be taking a bus trip. Luke, Mallory and our friends Jenn and Kathleen talked for the first hour and a half of the ride, trading odd queries including my personal favourite, "Would you rather eat a baby or have to wake up every morning and club a baby seal for the rest of your life?" Friends are awesome.
We made a four-hour stop late that morning at Warwick Castle, which was beautiful and filled with many towers, gardens and wax statues. Sadly, hail and rain punctuated the visit at unexpected times, so our feelings about the castle weren't quite as stellar as they would have been on a perfectly sunny day, but it was still quite fun to wander the Ghost Tower and various halls. The Peacock Gardens were probably the best part about the exterior of the castle because of the many peacocks filling the blossoming gardens that were already full of various shades of green;
the best part of the interior was by far the wax statue of Queen Elizabeth II in the Great Hall. Actually, a tie for the exterior would have to be the launching demonstration of the trebuchet at noon!! It started raining more then, so we went inside and got hot chocolate and Ben & Jerry's to pass the time. After leaving Warwick Castle, we traveled a bit further before arriving in Stratford-upon-Avon. We ended up going to The Dirty Duck for dinner and ate some fish and chips before heading to the Courtyard Theatre to see a production of The Merchant of Venice, which was quite good, although the costumes and set were pretty modern. Oh yeah, we ended staying at a bed and breakfast. Luke and I had the girliest room out of everyone, I swear, with pink flowered sheets and comforters and lilac patterns stenciled onto the wall. But we got a full English breakfast the next morning, so it was all good.
The next morning, we went to the Holy Trinity Church of Stratford to listen to a talk by Dr. Kidd, who told us about Shakespeare's life in Stratford. Apparently, the word 'avon' means river, so when you say the River Avon, it's redundant. NICE. The river is still beautiful, though. There are willow trees along the edges and a park sprawling on one side, while the Holy Trinity Church borders the other side. It gives an age to the river to see the moss and stones on the banks of the river, so you get an idea of how old the town actually is.
A tour of the church followed the talk and Shakespeare's grave, alongside his wife's, was inside there, which was pretty cool to see. From there, we wandered off from the group and toured the town ourselves. Along the way, we saw Anne Hathaway's cottage, Shakespeare's original house, went to the farmer's market and got chocolate at this fantastic shop in the heart of Stratford's shopping strip. Their 'shopping strip' is actually a cobblestone street, come to think of it. After collecting our bags from our B&Bs, it was off to Oxford, which was actually one of the highlights of the trip. Everyone descended upon the university clothing stores to purchase some form of clothing. I snagged an Oxford Crew t-shirt for myself, as Jenn had told me the previous day that I looked like I did crew. *shrug* We toured the town, the streets of which were filled with Welsh-English dancing, which was fun to watch. We also got to go through the grounds of one of Oxford's colleges, Christ Church. The stately buildings and gardens around were breathtaking...and of course I took pictures!
Last night, we hosted an Office party in our flat to celebrate the resurgence of The Office after its hiatus due to the writer's strike.
Only Sara and Alexa came out of the five people who originally said they would come, but it was still a ton of fun. Hopefully we can make it a weekly occurrence! And now it's back to working at my internship.
Here are some more of the pictures from this weekend:
'Speare and Oxford
We got up early on Friday morning and got to the London Centre around 8:00. I managed to down a cup of tea before leaving the flat, so I was unusually perky. As many people who have lived with me or around me can attest, my disposition in the mornings is not exactly that of a morning person; I tend not to talk much, which unfortunately gives off the air that I am angry at the world...which I sort of am because it's giving off light much too early, but that's beside the point. I was perky and happy to be taking a bus trip. Luke, Mallory and our friends Jenn and Kathleen talked for the first hour and a half of the ride, trading odd queries including my personal favourite, "Would you rather eat a baby or have to wake up every morning and club a baby seal for the rest of your life?" Friends are awesome.
We made a four-hour stop late that morning at Warwick Castle, which was beautiful and filled with many towers, gardens and wax statues. Sadly, hail and rain punctuated the visit at unexpected times, so our feelings about the castle weren't quite as stellar as they would have been on a perfectly sunny day, but it was still quite fun to wander the Ghost Tower and various halls. The Peacock Gardens were probably the best part about the exterior of the castle because of the many peacocks filling the blossoming gardens that were already full of various shades of green;
the best part of the interior was by far the wax statue of Queen Elizabeth II in the Great Hall. Actually, a tie for the exterior would have to be the launching demonstration of the trebuchet at noon!! It started raining more then, so we went inside and got hot chocolate and Ben & Jerry's to pass the time. After leaving Warwick Castle, we traveled a bit further before arriving in Stratford-upon-Avon. We ended up going to The Dirty Duck for dinner and ate some fish and chips before heading to the Courtyard Theatre to see a production of The Merchant of Venice, which was quite good, although the costumes and set were pretty modern. Oh yeah, we ended staying at a bed and breakfast. Luke and I had the girliest room out of everyone, I swear, with pink flowered sheets and comforters and lilac patterns stenciled onto the wall. But we got a full English breakfast the next morning, so it was all good.The next morning, we went to the Holy Trinity Church of Stratford to listen to a talk by Dr. Kidd, who told us about Shakespeare's life in Stratford. Apparently, the word 'avon' means river, so when you say the River Avon, it's redundant. NICE. The river is still beautiful, though. There are willow trees along the edges and a park sprawling on one side, while the Holy Trinity Church borders the other side. It gives an age to the river to see the moss and stones on the banks of the river, so you get an idea of how old the town actually is.
A tour of the church followed the talk and Shakespeare's grave, alongside his wife's, was inside there, which was pretty cool to see. From there, we wandered off from the group and toured the town ourselves. Along the way, we saw Anne Hathaway's cottage, Shakespeare's original house, went to the farmer's market and got chocolate at this fantastic shop in the heart of Stratford's shopping strip. Their 'shopping strip' is actually a cobblestone street, come to think of it. After collecting our bags from our B&Bs, it was off to Oxford, which was actually one of the highlights of the trip. Everyone descended upon the university clothing stores to purchase some form of clothing. I snagged an Oxford Crew t-shirt for myself, as Jenn had told me the previous day that I looked like I did crew. *shrug* We toured the town, the streets of which were filled with Welsh-English dancing, which was fun to watch. We also got to go through the grounds of one of Oxford's colleges, Christ Church. The stately buildings and gardens around were breathtaking...and of course I took pictures!Last night, we hosted an Office party in our flat to celebrate the resurgence of The Office after its hiatus due to the writer's strike.
Only Sara and Alexa came out of the five people who originally said they would come, but it was still a ton of fun. Hopefully we can make it a weekly occurrence! And now it's back to working at my internship.Here are some more of the pictures from this weekend:
'Speare and Oxford
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Honesty
So remember a few posts back when I tried to define the city of London and all that it entails? Well, that still holds true. No words that man has made can encompass all that the eye can take in, ere it fail to ensnare that which is most fair, most dangerous, most lovely of a city built of stone and time. By the way, I went to Stratford this past weekend, hence I'm writing a little bit old school every now and then. More on that later.
At any rate, while making plans for the end of the semester after classes let out, a conversation came back to me that I had had with a friend of mine a few months back. I jokingly told her that I had fallen in love with a city I had never met, to which she also jokingly replied something about my girlfriend not being too pleased if she ever heard about it. However, that joke has now turned out to be something quite true. I have fallen in love with Europe, more specifically London. Perhaps it's the independence or the lighter class load, or maybe it's the chance to break out of the mold and meet some new people, create new memories in new places and sip wine in a flat while watching a horrendous BBC sitcom. Maybe it goes deeper than that, though. It's something different than what I am used to and I don't envy anyone who has to put up with my restlessness this summer. Or could it simply be that morning runs through Hyde Park, bus rides with laughing friends at 3 a.m. and a kind female voice telling me to mind the gap have crept into my sub-conscious and made me feel at ease or even, dare I say, at home?
The long and short of it is...I don't want to come back. I can't leave this, my first true taste of life outside the busyness of the United States and of international travel. It digs into a certain area of the heart and lies kindred with some ancient desire to roam and see the world that I had forgotten until now. This has little to do with what is in store for me when I return to New York, both with summer plans and with family and friends. I have grown to love the sunsets out the window and the relaxing feeling of strolling down the street past a museum or passing by pubs that are older than the nation I was born in. There is a list of thousands of things that make this place feel, just...right to me and when you've found something right, you shouldn't let it go.
At any rate, while making plans for the end of the semester after classes let out, a conversation came back to me that I had had with a friend of mine a few months back. I jokingly told her that I had fallen in love with a city I had never met, to which she also jokingly replied something about my girlfriend not being too pleased if she ever heard about it. However, that joke has now turned out to be something quite true. I have fallen in love with Europe, more specifically London. Perhaps it's the independence or the lighter class load, or maybe it's the chance to break out of the mold and meet some new people, create new memories in new places and sip wine in a flat while watching a horrendous BBC sitcom. Maybe it goes deeper than that, though. It's something different than what I am used to and I don't envy anyone who has to put up with my restlessness this summer. Or could it simply be that morning runs through Hyde Park, bus rides with laughing friends at 3 a.m. and a kind female voice telling me to mind the gap have crept into my sub-conscious and made me feel at ease or even, dare I say, at home?
The long and short of it is...I don't want to come back. I can't leave this, my first true taste of life outside the busyness of the United States and of international travel. It digs into a certain area of the heart and lies kindred with some ancient desire to roam and see the world that I had forgotten until now. This has little to do with what is in store for me when I return to New York, both with summer plans and with family and friends. I have grown to love the sunsets out the window and the relaxing feeling of strolling down the street past a museum or passing by pubs that are older than the nation I was born in. There is a list of thousands of things that make this place feel, just...right to me and when you've found something right, you shouldn't let it go.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Ice, Ice Baby
You never think the spontaneous and generally unplanned weekends are going to be the best ones until you're at the end of them. A little voice in my head (one of many) told me that this would happen, but I didn't give it credence until we were halfway through the weekend. Long story short, this weekend was pretty sweet.
Every now and then, the weekend needs to start early. Thursday night, Luke and I were victims of a lack of tickets to one of London's best shows: Billy Elliot. The British Pop Culture class went and took Mary and Mallory with them, but sadly we were unable to obtain tickets. But that's okay because when you're as awesome as we are, you don't need tickets to see a 14-year old dance and sing his way around a stage for three hours. What do you do when you can't get into one place? Why, you go somewhere better, por supuesto! After reading for about a half hour, the boys of Flat 95 put their heads together and came up with a smashing idea: Below Zero London, also known as the Ice Bar.
For those of you who have been unable to witness the sheer joyous splendour of the Ice Bar, it is a bar/nightclub entirely constructed of ice. The walls, ceilings, seats, bars, stools and even the cocktail glasses are made of ice, imported from Sweden and sculpted probably by some insane laser technology that you have to go to a special school in Slovakia to study. After paying the £15 cover charge to get in, we donned these coats that were a cross between fur-lined parkas and metallic blue radiation suits (but looked awesome regardless) and went through some hanging animals skins and a glass sliding door to the bar itself. It was about -5 degrees Celsius in there, so the coats were well needed. Luke and I each grabbed a cocktail from the bar, which ended up being mostly filled with an overly-sugary mixer. After our 40 minute session was over, we slid our glasses down the bar and tried to hit each other's glasses...or in this case, wouldn't they be ices since glasses are made of glass? Anywho, I smashed his ice-glass and it was fine because it was only frozen imported water. After that, we met up with Dan at the International Students House for karaoke night and ended up back at the flat around 12:30 or 1.
The next morning, we all woke up early for a Saturday because we had decided a couple of days before that we wanted to go to Dover for the day! After snatching up some cheap train tickets, we took a two-hour train ride to arrive at the coastal town of Dover. Dover is famous for three things: Dover Castle, its White Cliffs and being the closest point to France in England. We toured Dover Castle, which was spectacularly filled with cannons, weapons, high walls/turrets and one of the most magnificent views of the Channel that I have ever seen. The white of the cliffs bordering the chilly, ice-like blue of the waters was only added onto by the gentle browns of the stones on the beach separating the cold little town from a aquatic gateway to France. Seeing that and harsh, darkening clouds bringing rain toward us was pretty darn picturesque. We took the train back a little earlier than expected due to the rain and lack of open restaurants to eat in.
Sunday and Monday were worth mentioning too, I guess. After getting out of church, I made a bee-line straight ot Marble Arch, where the Olymic Torch relay passed by!! It was really exciting to see the torch itself, although being surrounded by Tibetan protesters didn't help the experience much. Monday is worth mentioning solely because I took a trip after class to the British Museum. It's filled with tons of art and artifacts and architecture from various civilization, my favourite of which has to be Assyria. The massive Royal Lion Hunt hieroglyphic stones were incredible, not to mention this big block of rock with writing squiggled on it. I think it was the Rosetta Stone, but I'm not sure.
At any rate, I've got some internship writing to do. It's crazy to think that this semester only has a few weeks left; we picked classes for next semester today!! But the rest of this month will still be amazing, that much I know.
p.s: Pictures for the Ice Bar and the Dover trip are below.
The Ice Bar/Dover
Every now and then, the weekend needs to start early. Thursday night, Luke and I were victims of a lack of tickets to one of London's best shows: Billy Elliot. The British Pop Culture class went and took Mary and Mallory with them, but sadly we were unable to obtain tickets. But that's okay because when you're as awesome as we are, you don't need tickets to see a 14-year old dance and sing his way around a stage for three hours. What do you do when you can't get into one place? Why, you go somewhere better, por supuesto! After reading for about a half hour, the boys of Flat 95 put their heads together and came up with a smashing idea: Below Zero London, also known as the Ice Bar.
For those of you who have been unable to witness the sheer joyous splendour of the Ice Bar, it is a bar/nightclub entirely constructed of ice. The walls, ceilings, seats, bars, stools and even the cocktail glasses are made of ice, imported from Sweden and sculpted probably by some insane laser technology that you have to go to a special school in Slovakia to study. After paying the £15 cover charge to get in, we donned these coats that were a cross between fur-lined parkas and metallic blue radiation suits (but looked awesome regardless) and went through some hanging animals skins and a glass sliding door to the bar itself. It was about -5 degrees Celsius in there, so the coats were well needed. Luke and I each grabbed a cocktail from the bar, which ended up being mostly filled with an overly-sugary mixer. After our 40 minute session was over, we slid our glasses down the bar and tried to hit each other's glasses...or in this case, wouldn't they be ices since glasses are made of glass? Anywho, I smashed his ice-glass and it was fine because it was only frozen imported water. After that, we met up with Dan at the International Students House for karaoke night and ended up back at the flat around 12:30 or 1.
The next morning, we all woke up early for a Saturday because we had decided a couple of days before that we wanted to go to Dover for the day! After snatching up some cheap train tickets, we took a two-hour train ride to arrive at the coastal town of Dover. Dover is famous for three things: Dover Castle, its White Cliffs and being the closest point to France in England. We toured Dover Castle, which was spectacularly filled with cannons, weapons, high walls/turrets and one of the most magnificent views of the Channel that I have ever seen. The white of the cliffs bordering the chilly, ice-like blue of the waters was only added onto by the gentle browns of the stones on the beach separating the cold little town from a aquatic gateway to France. Seeing that and harsh, darkening clouds bringing rain toward us was pretty darn picturesque. We took the train back a little earlier than expected due to the rain and lack of open restaurants to eat in.
Sunday and Monday were worth mentioning too, I guess. After getting out of church, I made a bee-line straight ot Marble Arch, where the Olymic Torch relay passed by!! It was really exciting to see the torch itself, although being surrounded by Tibetan protesters didn't help the experience much. Monday is worth mentioning solely because I took a trip after class to the British Museum. It's filled with tons of art and artifacts and architecture from various civilization, my favourite of which has to be Assyria. The massive Royal Lion Hunt hieroglyphic stones were incredible, not to mention this big block of rock with writing squiggled on it. I think it was the Rosetta Stone, but I'm not sure.
At any rate, I've got some internship writing to do. It's crazy to think that this semester only has a few weeks left; we picked classes for next semester today!! But the rest of this month will still be amazing, that much I know.
p.s: Pictures for the Ice Bar and the Dover trip are below.
The Ice Bar/Dover
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Death, Hyde Park and Indian Food
Okay, so there hasn't exactly been anything exciting going on lately. Classes are starting to pick up a little bit and, as a result, I have two 10-page papers due by the end of the month, along with three presentations and a review for The Merchant of Venice. Being the Park Scholar that I am, this entitles me to the freakish feeling of excitement of being able to write a 10-page paper for European Mass Media by answering the question, "Has technology made life better or worse in 21st century media?" Questions like those are the ones I feel qualified to answer, as if I could get into a suit and tie and be on a televised debate with someone about it.
Of course I could never do that, but it's nice to dream.
But at any rate, when there's nothing else to write about and I'm in the mood to write something at work while my boss is catching up on e-mails, there's always something to grasp at. Hence the title. The death discussion wasn't necessarily planned, it just sort of happened. While visiting London, a good friend of Norah's family passed away. I had only met him once, but he sticks in my mind as one of the most genuinely nice, teddy bear personality kind of people I can remember. And then my mind started running with the baton of the afterlife it had been handed through this course of events. My own grandfather had a heart attack a couple of months ago and the seriousness of it is beginning to set it as he is recovering. It scares me that virtually no one close to me over the age of 75 has died yet. Granted, that may sound callous when you first read it, but it stems from the innate fear that everyone close to me within that age bracket will die within a year of each other. Death is inevitable and I'm confident in heaven, but the thought of losing these people is like repeatedly being beaten; one death knocks you down and then more keep coming and kick you over and over again until you're curled in the fetal position. A term coined by John Mayer, "quarter-life crisis," comes to mind when I think of why death comes to mind. Man, I'm morbid.
On the lighter side, I've started to take on a new English hobby that's quite fun and quite catchy.
It's called reading in a park. This activity combines two relaxing activities and makes them even more profound when placed together. If you think you're chillin' out in your flat while reading C.S. Lewis' Perelandra (or in my case, Campuzano's ¡Ole Mi Sevilla!), try it on a bench in Hyde Park, surrounded by blooming daffodils, budding trees and the rushing fountains of the italian Gardens. or if you're really ambitious, sit in the grass and lean up against a tree.
It's an experience that pulls you out of the craziness that is life in a city and lets you escape into the world of an author's imagination. If you have a sandwich or some cheese to snack on, that helps too.
Sidenote: Hyde Park has a concert series coming up June 28-29 that is totally unfair. John Mayer. Eric Clapton. Sheryl Crow (whatever). And Jason Mraz. I want to be here.
But, speaking
Well, my boss is finishing up with his e-mails, so I'd better get back to work. But keep me posted on what's happening where you are, whether by e-mail or by a quick comment. Comments by people without registered accounts on blogger.com are now enabled on here, so feel free to leave one (coughcoughmomanddadcoughcough).
Of course I could never do that, but it's nice to dream.
But at any rate, when there's nothing else to write about and I'm in the mood to write something at work while my boss is catching up on e-mails, there's always something to grasp at. Hence the title. The death discussion wasn't necessarily planned, it just sort of happened. While visiting London, a good friend of Norah's family passed away. I had only met him once, but he sticks in my mind as one of the most genuinely nice, teddy bear personality kind of people I can remember. And then my mind started running with the baton of the afterlife it had been handed through this course of events. My own grandfather had a heart attack a couple of months ago and the seriousness of it is beginning to set it as he is recovering. It scares me that virtually no one close to me over the age of 75 has died yet. Granted, that may sound callous when you first read it, but it stems from the innate fear that everyone close to me within that age bracket will die within a year of each other. Death is inevitable and I'm confident in heaven, but the thought of losing these people is like repeatedly being beaten; one death knocks you down and then more keep coming and kick you over and over again until you're curled in the fetal position. A term coined by John Mayer, "quarter-life crisis," comes to mind when I think of why death comes to mind. Man, I'm morbid.
On the lighter side, I've started to take on a new English hobby that's quite fun and quite catchy.
It's called reading in a park. This activity combines two relaxing activities and makes them even more profound when placed together. If you think you're chillin' out in your flat while reading C.S. Lewis' Perelandra (or in my case, Campuzano's ¡Ole Mi Sevilla!), try it on a bench in Hyde Park, surrounded by blooming daffodils, budding trees and the rushing fountains of the italian Gardens. or if you're really ambitious, sit in the grass and lean up against a tree.It's an experience that pulls you out of the craziness that is life in a city and lets you escape into the world of an author's imagination. If you have a sandwich or some cheese to snack on, that helps too.
Sidenote: Hyde Park has a concert series coming up June 28-29 that is totally unfair. John Mayer. Eric Clapton. Sheryl Crow (whatever). And Jason Mraz. I want to be here.
But, speaking
Well, my boss is finishing up with his e-mails, so I'd better get back to work. But keep me posted on what's happening where you are, whether by e-mail or by a quick comment. Comments by people without registered accounts on blogger.com are now enabled on here, so feel free to leave one (coughcoughmomanddadcoughcough).
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