29 September 2008

Turned 20 years old today. At approximately 11:00 am (Mountain Time Zone). And it was a wonderful day. Good closure to a good year. Sad closure to a wonderful two decades... two decades that I'll miss and always wish I could re-live over and over again. I'd love to live it over because I've loved being young and I don't want to be old. Despite what I once said about Irish grandmothers.

Here's my birthday story:

Woke up at 7:30 am. Ate breakfast. I received a singing telegram from Hilary. She jumped up and down obnoxiously while singing Happy Birthday. I laughed and applauded. Good start to the day.

Went to classes.

After class, I took off on my own. I went out on the town and found some wonderful thrift stores. I found buried treasure, quite literally. I bought a blue sweater dress and a red coat. I also bought myself an almond croissant for lunch, but not from the thrift store.

Then, I met Katie at the National Gallery at 2:15 pm. We browsed Baroque art for a couple hours and then we took the Central Line back to Number 27.

After dinner it was off to Cocomaya. A small luxury chocolate shop that just opened seven months ago. Shops like this remind me of why I am going to business school. The whole attitude of the shop, the design, the taste, the magic... I truly fell in love with this chocolate shop. I had heard a lot about it before I went, and it lived up to every expectation.




Next, we went to Hairspray. This is the musical that is currently getting the best reviews in London. After seeing the show, I can heartily agree that this must be the best musical in London right now. They have earned their stellar reviews. It was spectacular.


At home again, we danced and crooned for an hour. And yes, of course we did this all on top of the tables. We sang "Good Morning Baltimore" and "You Can't Stop the Beat" at the top of our lungs. Sweat was pouring down my face as I said goodnight to the girls. It was a good end to a birthday.
And now I'm old. Twenty. Two decades. My twenty-first year. How did this happen to me?

Existentialism on Tuesday

When something leaves you silent, without words, criticism, or comment. When something leaves you only to your thoughts. You have witnessed a success.

Kenneth Branagh in Anton Chekhov's Ivanov. The curtain dropped. I was left staring straight, not seeing the curtain, not hearing the applause. The final gunshot left me hollow. And that's what it was meant to do.

Thank you Anton Chekhov for writing Ivanov and thank you Kenneth Branagh for playing the tortured soul. You're making me think, and you're making me think hard too.

Hello, this is me.

I've gotten a strange request from multiple people-- they ask for more pictures of me. The request catches me off guard, it's like they take pleasure in looking at my faulty profile.

By the way, I don't really have very many pictures of myself. I just got a camera for the first time a couple months ago, and I am usually doing the picture-taking. I don't really like passing my camera to a stranger to take a picture of me. It's like, "Please sir, I'm going to be super glamorous and pose in front of Big Ben right now. Do you mind pressing this silver button on top? You have to hold it half way down to focus. Make sure you get the clock in the picture."

I guess I could use the timer feature. But, trying to give a genuine smile to the box with a flash when it is sitting alone on a rock is like trying to flirt with your bathroom mirror. It's basically impossible.

And let's be honest, it's kind of strange to post pictures of yourself on the internet. It's like saying, "Look here! Look here! I'm so cool! This is me!" But heck, you asked for it...

This is me on the train to Paris.


On the Thames with a good friend.


Flying barefoot in front of the famous Hyde Park Peter Pan statue.

Hello internet, this is me.

This is what I did this weekend:

Wandered through London's great architecture, including the Argentine ambassador's house, the 2008 London Flat-of-the-Year, and a duke's house on Hyde Park corner.

It was the London Open House.

Doors on homes, ancient buildings, new office buildings, award winning flats, contemporary wonders, and a hundred or so churches were opened up to free public touring.

I was reminded of my third grade dream to become an architect. I still have the layout and blueprint of the dream home I designed that year. Though, my current dream home is a little different. I'm thinking I won't need the 50 x 50 foot playroom, but I'll probably need the kitchen that I saw on the Open House Tour in the London Flat-of-the-Year. The walls were lined with small tiles from the floor to the ceiling. And I decided that I could look at walls like that all day. Meaning, I'd be willing to spend all day in the kitchen. Meaning, I could cook all day and eat all day. Meaning, I would be a very happy person if I had a kitchen like that.

London has really great events like this. A couple weeks ago they had a Cycler's Day, where bike riders were encouraged to ding their bike bells at each other in friendly encouragement. I don't have a bike here, but I really wanted one on Cycler's Day. I hated missing out on all the ding-a-ling-ing.

The Profile Problem

The question game goes like this: one person, one and a half minutes, everyone asks questions, the one person answers the questions, everyone laughs. Yes, if you're not careful, the game could easily become a seventh grade truth-or-dare nightmare.

They asked me, "What is your least favorite of your physical features?" And I said, "The Profile Problem." And they said, "What?" And I said, "Yes. Some people have profile pleasures, I have a profile problem."

Now, don't get me wrong, when they asked, "What is your favorite of your physical features?" I had an answer. The hair color I inherited from my mom for instance, it's a favorite of mine. Or my blue eyes that I got from my dad, I like those too. But, the profile that I inherited from the... Witch of Blackbird of Pond... no, that wasn't the answer to the second question.

I could give a deep analysis about how my upper jaw is a little too far forward or about how the little bit of extra skin under my chin sticks out in a kind of unflattering way. And then I could analyze about how my nose is an interesting shape and the bottom piece hangs down and the outer edges flare out reminding me of a old man with a toothless grin. I could tell you about how my forehead is large and flat and how that's a disaster. But, I'll spare you that kind of analytical nonsense and instead show you a few pictures.

Exhibit A: My unfortunate profile on a Sunday afternoon in Hyde Park.



Exhibit B: My good friend's stunning profile. I posted this to give you a good idea of what an excellent profile looks like, not because I covet it in any way shape or form. Because, I would never covet, no never. I would never want to sport such a stunning combination of facial features. The beauty would just be too difficult to live with.

Portobello Eggplant

These make me want to wear purple every day for the rest of my life.

It's Friday Night in London Town

This morning I walked into Southwark Cathedral and I encountered a Danish Gospel Choir concert. Let me restate that, I saw an American gospel choir in an ancient church in Britain and they are from Denmark. Made my day.

To earn your right to be a Londoner you have to first, be asked directions by Brit and be able to give the directions correctly and second, you have to get cat-called by a Brit (an accomplishment because it's been said that Brits don't like American girls much). Well, just so you know, I've been here less than a week and have achieved the status of true Londoner.

There was standing room only in the BBC Proms concert tonight. I bought a ticket for five pounds to stand at the very top. And it was worth every pence. Beethoven's Ninth in the Royal Albert Hall standing next to a man with a seven-inch long beard who knew every nuance of the symphony was a once in a lifetime experience. The audience clapped for about 10 minutes after the final note. (Keep in mind, I have been known to exaggerate to make a story better, but it was almost 10 minutes. And I'm being serious.)

As I walked up out of the Tube into the middle of a festival on Regent Street, a man stood on a trash can shouting to the crowd. I listened more closely to hear a Hamlet's soliloquy from Act I. And suddenly, Ophelia stepped out of the gathered crowd, taking her cue to deliver her lines clear above the hustle and bustle. Shakespeare in the street, a new project that's gaining momentum in London. I watched the masterpiece move through the streets of London for a couple hours.

For a long time, I wanted to be Elizabeth Bennett. I got as close to the dream as I ever will in Bath. We stopped for afternoon tea at approximately 2:33 pm. The scones were served with clotted cream. And I ask, where is clotted cream in the states? And I decided, I'm going to be stopping for afternoon tea more often.

1037 Weeks

Oh goodness, be overjoyed with me, because today is a very good day.

It's Thursday.

Lately, I've been very good about not making a big excited fuss every time it comes around, because I'd hate to bore you with my Thursday joy.

But today is different. Today I decided to make a big fuss. Because today, I turn 1037 weeks old. And that only comes once a lifetime. So I'm going to celebrate today.

And if you're wondering, which you're probably not and I'm just wishing you were, the above picture was taken in Bath, England. Admiral Croft and his wife from Jane Austen's Persuasion lived on Laura Place. Remarkable, I know.

twenty-seven

This is number 27. It's my house. I slept here last night, I ate here this evening, and I'll sleep here again tonight. I'm in London. Welcome to my home.

The Animal Game

Once upon a time, when I met a good friend of mine, she taught me how to play a fun game. It goes like this-- you pretend to be an animal and others guess which animal you are. Sounds simple, right? And it is. Until you try to do an octopus tangled in a knot, or a zebra. Zebras are hard. Everyone just thinks you're a horse.

Today I went to the Aachen, Germany zoo with my nephews. I got all sorts of new ideas for the animal game. A duck for instance. Did you know they have the coolest feet? I mean, I'm sure that's no exciting thought for you. But, I studied duck feet today trying to figure out how to act-out webbed feet. Just so you know, I haven't mastered it yet, but I'll keep working.

And I totally mastered the titular meerkat (i.e. Timon in Lion King). When I performed this one for my nephew, he guessed what I was pretending to be right away. This could've have been because we were standing right next to the meerkat cage at the time, but I like to believe it's because I'm skilled at meerkat imitation.

The meerkat can now be added to the list of best animal game animals. So far, the list includes starfish, turtle stuck on its back, the giraffe/ostrich (this is my specialty), and the sloth attacked by a ferocious eagle.

Moral of the story: If you want to play the animal game, you should.

I took pictures. Want to see?

Random Thoughts of the Week

Here's what I've been thinking this week:

Why in the world did I ever spend years of my life wishing and hoping and praying I could be a princess? Once, this week, I went to a castle. And there were stone floors all over. There were no soft beds, no heating systems, no cozy pajamas, no dashing knights in shining armor. I decided that the princess-life of cold stone floors and mice eating at my straw-filled bed and knights in armor that smelled bad because they don't have deodorant is not for me.

I like people watching. I've thought this before, and I thought it again while I was riding on trains all over. There was this guy in the same train car as me. He was sitting next to the window in a green professor-like sweater with black converse shoes. The black converse shoes had skulls on them. I thought it was an interesting fashion combination, but we were in Paris, so he could totally pull it off. While we were at the station his dad stood right next to the window (at least I think it was his dad, he looked like an older version of the green-sweater dude). The green sweater guy kept shooing his dad away, but his dad would shake his head and stay right there at the window, staring into the train and his son with a straight look on his face. The green sweater guy was mad. And once, on a metro in Paris, a scruffy looking man sat across from me. A pregnant lady got on the metro, there was hardly room for her because there were so many people. All of the sudden, our scruffy looking friend got up, tapped the pregnant lady on the arm, and showed her his seat. He stood and she sat. Then, the best part was when she got off. There were many people who wanted seats and they were just watching and waiting for people to get off, but as the train stopped at the lady's stop, she tapped the scruffy man on the shoulder and gave his seat back to him. She smiled at him and left the metro. No words were spoken. On another train a man could not get the door between the two train cars to shut. He tried and tried for three or four minutes. He got frustrated and stormed off. Then, right as he walked away, the door shut automatically.

All over the place people are reading. The newspaper, their romance novel, the latest environmentally friendly propaganda, a history of Napoleon, etc. Well, I haven't been reading lately. The novel that I brought to Europe is still in the front pocket of my backpack. It is practically untouched. And so, as I watch everyone read while I sit not reading, I wonder if my brain is progressing at a slower rate than all the readers. If I'm sitting and not reading, relatively, I'm getting stupider compared to the people that are reading.

And that's what I've been thinking.