OK, before I get started, I have a confession to make. I lied. I didn’t mean to lie, but I lied and now I need to come clean. When I said that it’s weird for me to obsess over film or TV locations, that wasn’t totally accurate. It’s actually true for film and TV, but I conveniently forgot my pathetic obsession with book locations. A visit to Grosvenor Square before the Embassy party reminded me that I have spent many hours wandering London over the years, looking for places like Hatchard’s Bookshop, White’s Club, or the site of Almack’s Assembly Rooms just because they were in a book I read. So, sorry, but I really am a pathetic fan – just usually for books written by people who have been dead for a couple of hundred years!
Anyway, to business. Many things to discuss. First, the Embassy party. Other than the fact that they wouldn’t let us in when we got there, it went well. Apparently we were small potatoes for the Ambassador, so no appearance by that August personage. But, that didn’t really surprise me. When I was a newly-minted Junior Officer in Monterrey, I was the one who, as Acting Public Affairs Officer, welcomed in all the American Fulbright teachers. I’m sure they would have been quite put-out to find out that the American Diplomat who was greeting them had barely a year under her belt! I’m pretty sure the Cultural Attaché who greeted us had a few more years under hers! On a side note, it made me think of the time Mom tried the door at the Embassy (back when you could get to the door) and a disembodied voice said, “Can I help you? The Embassy is closed.” After all these years, I finally got in those doors! Anyway, it was a good evening and if you want any real dirt, sorry, public forum!
So from Embassy dos, we get to Park don’ts. Really, the only don’t we need to address here is – don’t take my two lunatic dogs to the park. My stress levels continue to climb every time I take them out. And Cali continues to be the primary offender. I really am at my wits’ end. At the park the other day, Cali went totally crazy on a jogger, who jumped about 3 feet in the air. I yelled at her so badly, she was trembling. Of course, yelling at her is the worst thing I can do, but I get so frustrated. I dread our walks. I keep hoping she’ll adjust, but she hasn’t so far. People are starting to view her as a vicious dog, and anyone who knows her knows how far from the truth that is. I’m certain it’s her fear that’s doing it, but I don’t know how to help her. Sometimes I really do wonder if it was a mistake to bring them here.
As for not making eye contact on trains, I’m usually pretty good at that. But there was this guy the other day who stank like a distillery. He asked what station we were at and when I told him, he heard the accent and I was sunk. He didn’t leave me alone (except for one point when he focused on some teens with musical instruments and told them to “play some f***in’ Led Zepplin!”). He went on and on about God knows what – although I do remember him telling me that the US was God’s country. I had to measure my response because if I agreed he would have said that Britain was. I kept trying to return to my grading, but he wouldn’t let up. And, if I ignored him, he got mildly hostile. I finally was able to bolt when we got to Victoria, but it was an excruciating 40 minutes. Damn that accent! From now on, I use my British or Irish accent!
So, in the meantime, I’ve also had some theatre experiences. I saw "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, the Musical," a few weeks ago, then last week, I saw two shows at the National Theatre - we took the 6th form girls (year 12-13) to see "Blood and Gifts," which is about the Russian occupation of Afghanistan. Then, on Thursday, I saw, "Or You Could Kiss Me." It's a fascinating but bizarre play about two men, at the end of their lives, reliving how they met and fell in love, It's very experimental, using puppets and actors. The puppets are by the same people who did War Horse. It was remarkable because you really felt like the puppets were the men. Unfortunately, it hit a little too close to home as one of the men is terminally ill, and much of the play focuses on that. I had a front row seat, though, which was great. I got the tickets through the Young Patrons of the National Theatre, which I joined, and they had a little drinks reception beforehand. I’m looking forward to more events.
Sunday, I went to see the Les Miserables 25th Anniversary Concert at the O2, which was amazing. Such an array of talent. There were stars from around the world, including Lea Salonga, who played Fantine, as she's too old for Eponine (which she originated in London in 1985 and Broadway in 1987). Nick Jonas of the Jonas Brothers played Marius, and his voice paled in comparison with the stage veterans (although he handled his solo well). There was a funny moment when the girl in front of me got quite upset that Cosette was blonde and Eponine brunette because that's not how she's used to them. She was really beside herself about it. I felt like asking, "So, the fact that Javert is black, Fantine is Asian, and Enjolras is Iranian doesn't bother you? Just the hair?" After the show, I was chatting with the older couple next to me while we waited for the crowd of 20,000 to thin. A worker came up to us and asked if we could handle exiting the long way (I guess because the couple were in their 70s). They offered to escort us out through the VIP section (they just assumed we were together!). We ended up exiting through the VIP lounge where we stopped and ordered drinks and had a lovely time chatting for the next hour. Turned out really nice, actually.
So, highs and lows continue. Overall, this is turning out to be a good experience, even if I do have some days where I just wish I were home and things were like they used to be. But, things can’t be like they used to be, and I still think this is the right place for me at the right time. There’s lots of potential in this coming year – I just need to manage my stress levels (Cali – that means you!!). Cheers!
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Viva Blackpool (or, possibly, Death to Blackpool)
So, I took a visit to the north of England last weekend, to Backpool. For the Americans among us, it's sort of like a cross between Atantic City and Seaside Heights,with a dash of Coney Island thrown in. I first found out about it a few months ago from the BBC mini-series "Blackpool," which was a really entertaining musical drama. Surprisingly good, in fact (sequel sucked, but they often do). It actually inspired the crap US show, "Viva Laughlin, with Hugh Jackman -didn't last. Not really the thing for mainstream US audiences ("Cop Rock" anyone?).
But I digress. I went to Blackpool to get a little time away and see the "world-famous" illuminations. Well, what I could see of them through the monsoon that blew through all weekend was nice. But, what a weekend - I've never been so wet in my life (walked for 5-6 hours a day in the torrential rain). It took days for my clothes and shoes to dry out. I went to the top of the Blackpool Tower (modeled on the Eiffel Tower) and felt like I was going to be blown off. I did buy the cheesy picture and a keychain, though. They actually stopped letting people up to the top as the weather got worse, so at least I got to go. Nice moment at the Tower Ballroom, where loads of people were dancing, and I sat with some hot chocolate and a scone (couldn't do tea) and watched as the Wurlitzer spun out the tunes. It was funny, though, it wa all very staid. Then they announced a salsa. OK, well, Rican girl that I am, I thought, "Great, now we'll see some exciting dancing." And then, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" started echoing around the room, and the dancers quite staidly performed their "salsa." I kept trying not to laugh, and then thought to myself, "What next, a merengue to 'When You Wish Upon a Star?'" I kid you not, less than a minute later, "When You Wish Upon a Star" started playing. There was nothing to do then but laugh out loud, which got a couple of looks. But, I mean, c'mon! How is that salsa?!?
Despite the loose interpretation of some of the dances (never saw a more perfectly executed and more boring tango), I actually did enjoy spending time at the ballroom - and, hey, it was dry. As was the cheesy arcade where I won 10 pounds (used it to by a stuffed meerkat as a belated birthday gift for Cali). My tiny room ha a view of the sea (and the whipping winds and surf!), nad I enjoyed especially the quiet North Pier - at least I did until I slipped on some wet seagull guano and went down in a heap. I heard a thud that was not a body part and immediately thought I had broken my video camera (it seems to be OK). I picked myself up - I was already soaked through, so it didn't matter that I fell into about an inch of water - and I kept going. Got my sand, changed back at the hotel, and began the train journey home (I hate not having a car). By the end, the bruises had shown up, my back hurt like hell, and I just wanted to cry. So - a memorable weekend from which I'm still feeling the effects (and not the way most people feel the effects of a weekend in Blackpool!).
Truthfully, I did enjoy most of it, and didn't even mind the rain so much (although it would definitely have been better without it). I have to admit, I actually really enjoyed seeing the sites from the mini-series, which was weird, because I'm not usually like that. I mean, I wouldn't take the Harry Potter tour in London, or the Sex and the City or Seinfeld tours in New York (not that I really liked either of those shows). But, for some reason, I actually liked doing my personal little magical mystery tour of film locations. Weird, but then, I am weird! Always have been.
I am also not coping so well here. The stress levels are very high, and probably mostly self-imposed. I'm just so worried about screwing up, looking like a bad teacher, failing the kids. Objectively, I know I'm a good teacher, but being the insecure girl I am, I don't always feel it. It's funny, all the stuff I've been through, and all the ways I think I've changed, and I'm still the insecure kid who went into every situation thinking no one would like her and she'd be a failure. What does that say about me? Does it say anything? Or is it just a truth universally acknowledged that people don't really change (sorry for the plagiarism, Miss Austen). I don't know. Today was a weird day. I woke up feeling very down and felt that way all day. I'm usually good at faking it, but not today. Everyone at work knew something was up. I tried to chalk it up to the stress of the day (no frees, no lunch period, meeting after school), but it was more.
I've been thinking about Mom and Dad a lot lately, and I've been feeling quite lonely. I feel like everyone back home is thinking I'm living this amazing life here, but the truth is, I get up at an ungodly hour, in the dark, go to school, feel more lost than I believe I should, come home exhausted, walk the dogs, which ratchets up the blood pressure (thanks, Cali!) and feel like doing nothing but laying on the couch watching TV. Not exactly living the high life! When I do go out, it's on my own. Elizabeth's friends have been very nice getting in touch, and I've had a good time meeting them, but I'm really not good at meeting people on my own. I've always been good at keeping friends once I made them, but really bad at making them. Always have been - again, don't know why I thought I'd suddenly be different. People always think that, don't they? New place - new you. But, that's not really true. You take the old you with you. And all anyone needs to do is look at the last paragraph to know the old me. I did join the National Theatre, and the first show I'm going to is next week, so maybe I can find a bit of confidence to meet and greet at the pre-show cocktails. And there is the Embassy Cocktail Party this Friday - I'm actually OK at cocktail parties. I'm good at inconsequential chatter. Bah, making friends is like dating, and I don't think I need to get into how bad I am at that!
Well, there's still ironing to do and a shower to take, and I have to be up in just over 7 hours, so I'd better get on with the glamorous life! The dogs have had their bedtime walk already - which the entire neighborhood is aware of thanks to an unfortunate encounter with a chihuahua that was simply minding her own business until my two lunatics saw her. I don't honestly know why they can e so good at home, and such a disaster on walks (especially Cali, who is the menace of the neighborhood). At any rate, I'm off. I'll check back in afer the Embassy party.
But I digress. I went to Blackpool to get a little time away and see the "world-famous" illuminations. Well, what I could see of them through the monsoon that blew through all weekend was nice. But, what a weekend - I've never been so wet in my life (walked for 5-6 hours a day in the torrential rain). It took days for my clothes and shoes to dry out. I went to the top of the Blackpool Tower (modeled on the Eiffel Tower) and felt like I was going to be blown off. I did buy the cheesy picture and a keychain, though. They actually stopped letting people up to the top as the weather got worse, so at least I got to go. Nice moment at the Tower Ballroom, where loads of people were dancing, and I sat with some hot chocolate and a scone (couldn't do tea) and watched as the Wurlitzer spun out the tunes. It was funny, though, it wa all very staid. Then they announced a salsa. OK, well, Rican girl that I am, I thought, "Great, now we'll see some exciting dancing." And then, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" started echoing around the room, and the dancers quite staidly performed their "salsa." I kept trying not to laugh, and then thought to myself, "What next, a merengue to 'When You Wish Upon a Star?'" I kid you not, less than a minute later, "When You Wish Upon a Star" started playing. There was nothing to do then but laugh out loud, which got a couple of looks. But, I mean, c'mon! How is that salsa?!?
Despite the loose interpretation of some of the dances (never saw a more perfectly executed and more boring tango), I actually did enjoy spending time at the ballroom - and, hey, it was dry. As was the cheesy arcade where I won 10 pounds (used it to by a stuffed meerkat as a belated birthday gift for Cali). My tiny room ha a view of the sea (and the whipping winds and surf!), nad I enjoyed especially the quiet North Pier - at least I did until I slipped on some wet seagull guano and went down in a heap. I heard a thud that was not a body part and immediately thought I had broken my video camera (it seems to be OK). I picked myself up - I was already soaked through, so it didn't matter that I fell into about an inch of water - and I kept going. Got my sand, changed back at the hotel, and began the train journey home (I hate not having a car). By the end, the bruises had shown up, my back hurt like hell, and I just wanted to cry. So - a memorable weekend from which I'm still feeling the effects (and not the way most people feel the effects of a weekend in Blackpool!).
Truthfully, I did enjoy most of it, and didn't even mind the rain so much (although it would definitely have been better without it). I have to admit, I actually really enjoyed seeing the sites from the mini-series, which was weird, because I'm not usually like that. I mean, I wouldn't take the Harry Potter tour in London, or the Sex and the City or Seinfeld tours in New York (not that I really liked either of those shows). But, for some reason, I actually liked doing my personal little magical mystery tour of film locations. Weird, but then, I am weird! Always have been.
I am also not coping so well here. The stress levels are very high, and probably mostly self-imposed. I'm just so worried about screwing up, looking like a bad teacher, failing the kids. Objectively, I know I'm a good teacher, but being the insecure girl I am, I don't always feel it. It's funny, all the stuff I've been through, and all the ways I think I've changed, and I'm still the insecure kid who went into every situation thinking no one would like her and she'd be a failure. What does that say about me? Does it say anything? Or is it just a truth universally acknowledged that people don't really change (sorry for the plagiarism, Miss Austen). I don't know. Today was a weird day. I woke up feeling very down and felt that way all day. I'm usually good at faking it, but not today. Everyone at work knew something was up. I tried to chalk it up to the stress of the day (no frees, no lunch period, meeting after school), but it was more.
I've been thinking about Mom and Dad a lot lately, and I've been feeling quite lonely. I feel like everyone back home is thinking I'm living this amazing life here, but the truth is, I get up at an ungodly hour, in the dark, go to school, feel more lost than I believe I should, come home exhausted, walk the dogs, which ratchets up the blood pressure (thanks, Cali!) and feel like doing nothing but laying on the couch watching TV. Not exactly living the high life! When I do go out, it's on my own. Elizabeth's friends have been very nice getting in touch, and I've had a good time meeting them, but I'm really not good at meeting people on my own. I've always been good at keeping friends once I made them, but really bad at making them. Always have been - again, don't know why I thought I'd suddenly be different. People always think that, don't they? New place - new you. But, that's not really true. You take the old you with you. And all anyone needs to do is look at the last paragraph to know the old me. I did join the National Theatre, and the first show I'm going to is next week, so maybe I can find a bit of confidence to meet and greet at the pre-show cocktails. And there is the Embassy Cocktail Party this Friday - I'm actually OK at cocktail parties. I'm good at inconsequential chatter. Bah, making friends is like dating, and I don't think I need to get into how bad I am at that!
Well, there's still ironing to do and a shower to take, and I have to be up in just over 7 hours, so I'd better get on with the glamorous life! The dogs have had their bedtime walk already - which the entire neighborhood is aware of thanks to an unfortunate encounter with a chihuahua that was simply minding her own business until my two lunatics saw her. I don't honestly know why they can e so good at home, and such a disaster on walks (especially Cali, who is the menace of the neighborhood). At any rate, I'm off. I'll check back in afer the Embassy party.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
First Weeks, Hellhounds and Bad Meatballs
OK, a few points of clarification. First, the hellhounds referenced are not my students (although . . . ) and I'm not sure it was really the meatballs that knocked me for a loop this morning. Either way, I started off the second week of school with an absence today because I was unbelievably sick this morning. I actually think it was the pasta sauce, which had been sitting in the fridge for over a week. I had my suspicions about it, but I wasn't sure when it had originally been opened, so I decided to take a chance - clearly a big mistake. I've never liked being absent because I always feel so guilty. Which, of course, means I don't really get the rest I need. Then, I feel so conspicuous going back to work. Double the awkwardness in a new job. Ah well, it couldn't be helped. If I had tried to go to work, I probably would have ended up passed out in a train station bathroom.
Ploy, the dog walker, took them out, but Cali didn't want to leave without me. It was funny. Ploy said they kept pulling to com back to the flat - probably because they knew I was there. My little hellhounds have had trouble adjusting. I've had to leave the radio on, and put anti-bark collars on both of them. I feel bad about it, but I can't have them barking all day. They'll get us evicted. Walks are a bitch (no pun intended) - Cali barks at everything and Brooke is in her own world. It's my own fault, really, because I never got them used to taking walks. I keep reminding myselgf that they've only been here a couple of weeks, so they'll get used to it. But Cali is looking like the menace of the neighborhood because she has that damned loud bark. No one knows that she's just a big wuss. They really loved the park the other day, so there's a glimmer of hope. Hopefully, by the time we leave London, they'll be ready for life in the other big city.
School is good but stressful. I think most of the stress is self-imposed because I'm so worried about beign sure I fulfill the requirements of the National Curriculum. I kind of miss the familiar laid back world of Ursuline. That's only because it's all new - getting nostalgic about Ursuline is just yearning for the safety of he familiar. And, I wouldn't have done this if I wanted to play it safe - so I just have to suck it up. I did do three assemblies on 9/11 during the first week (I must be crazy). They seemed to go well, and people responded favorably to them. It was hard, though, because I had to condense my usual 40-minute class to a 10 minute highlight reel. It's done, though, and successfully, so that's a relief.
The kids are good - they're not really so different ftom the kids back home. Kids are kids after all. They all asked me to do a British accent, so I did (I figured I'd get it out of the way). They're full of questions about America and American schools - wanting to know if it's like they've seen in movies. A few asked me what American teens thought of British schools, and I had to admit, sheepishly, that I didn't think they thought much about it. If anything, Americans probably think British schools are like Harry Potter (or as someone said to me recently, Harry Potter meets Gossip Girl). Truth is, there's so much more American media here than there is British media in America, so we don't have as much frame of reference. Speaking of British media, the installation of my satellite dish has not diminished my obsession with panel shows, I'm afraid. Currently watching "Mock the Week."
Time to walk the demons (I mean, the darlings) and toddle off to bed, so I can be functional in the morning!
Ploy, the dog walker, took them out, but Cali didn't want to leave without me. It was funny. Ploy said they kept pulling to com back to the flat - probably because they knew I was there. My little hellhounds have had trouble adjusting. I've had to leave the radio on, and put anti-bark collars on both of them. I feel bad about it, but I can't have them barking all day. They'll get us evicted. Walks are a bitch (no pun intended) - Cali barks at everything and Brooke is in her own world. It's my own fault, really, because I never got them used to taking walks. I keep reminding myselgf that they've only been here a couple of weeks, so they'll get used to it. But Cali is looking like the menace of the neighborhood because she has that damned loud bark. No one knows that she's just a big wuss. They really loved the park the other day, so there's a glimmer of hope. Hopefully, by the time we leave London, they'll be ready for life in the other big city.
School is good but stressful. I think most of the stress is self-imposed because I'm so worried about beign sure I fulfill the requirements of the National Curriculum. I kind of miss the familiar laid back world of Ursuline. That's only because it's all new - getting nostalgic about Ursuline is just yearning for the safety of he familiar. And, I wouldn't have done this if I wanted to play it safe - so I just have to suck it up. I did do three assemblies on 9/11 during the first week (I must be crazy). They seemed to go well, and people responded favorably to them. It was hard, though, because I had to condense my usual 40-minute class to a 10 minute highlight reel. It's done, though, and successfully, so that's a relief.
The kids are good - they're not really so different ftom the kids back home. Kids are kids after all. They all asked me to do a British accent, so I did (I figured I'd get it out of the way). They're full of questions about America and American schools - wanting to know if it's like they've seen in movies. A few asked me what American teens thought of British schools, and I had to admit, sheepishly, that I didn't think they thought much about it. If anything, Americans probably think British schools are like Harry Potter (or as someone said to me recently, Harry Potter meets Gossip Girl). Truth is, there's so much more American media here than there is British media in America, so we don't have as much frame of reference. Speaking of British media, the installation of my satellite dish has not diminished my obsession with panel shows, I'm afraid. Currently watching "Mock the Week."
Time to walk the demons (I mean, the darlings) and toddle off to bed, so I can be functional in the morning!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Jailbreak from Her Majesty's Doggy Prison
So, the babies are sprung. They made it over the wall! Actually, they only had to spend one night in doggy prison. The vet that came decided he had enough documentation to issue Brooke's passport. So, now both of my world travelers have their very own EU passports - now, if only I could get my Irish Citizemship, andwe'd be all set. As it is right now, if I actually wanted to stay at the end of a year, I couldn't, but they could! Of course, we'd have to see how the feel at the end of a year. They may never want to leave, or they may be longing for the good old US of A. Sadly, they're not likely to ever see their favorite window seat again, assuming the house has sold by the time they go back to NY. I'm not going to dwell on that right now, though, it'll just make me sad. Right now I'm happy to have them here, and we are all slowly adjusting to havng to take walks, instead of having a nice backyard (as much of a hardship for me as them!). We're also dealing with the distractions on those walks - Brooke has developed a fascination with pigeons, and Cali will bark at anything with wheels (bikes, suitcases, scooters), along with joggers and small children. Ah, such a joy to take walks with them! Well, we'll all adjust. Now, I just have to adjust to the new job! Stay tuned . . .
Saturday, August 28, 2010
**** You, Lou Reed! Part Deux
I've decided that this is a handy catch-all phrase for when I'm really pissed at someone. I suppose it's not really fair to Lou Reed - I mean, other than sitting across from him on the plane one memorable night, I don't have anything to do with him (frankly, I can't even name a Lou Reed sing off the top of my head). But, the phrase has stuck with me, and so it comes into use again today. The target this time is a vet in Larchmont NY (who shall remain nameless, but whose name is the same as cheap wine). This moron completely f***ed up Cali and Brooke's paperwork, and now they are stuck in doggy prison at Heathrow Airport. When I got there, the DEFRA agent told me they couldn't leave with me, and even said Brooke might have to go to quarantine because the paperwork said her microchip was put in after rabies vaccine. To be clear, this asshole in Larchmont wrote that both dogs had been microchipped in October 2009. She completely made a date up - Cali was chipped in 2005 and Brooke in 2008. Now this woman may cause Brooke to have to go into quarantine.
Added to this is the fact that Virgin did not clearly state that the paperwork needed a raised seal - they said that as long as the vet was USDA certified, they could certify the paperwork - wrong! As a result, if the rest of the paperwork checks out tomorrow, they'll have to get EU pet passports. In the end, that might not be a bad thing, but still. I had to leave them there, and didn't even get to see them. When the DEFRA agent was telling me all this, he looked a bit concerned at one point - I think because I probably looked like I was going to pass out. There was point where the world seemed to recede and all I heard was static. I pulled it together, though - a my mother's daughter, I could do no less! But, then I declined the cab back to the main terminal, choosing to walk the 15 minutes instead. There was one easy reason for this - I knew I was about to start crying hysterically, and really didn't want to do that in the back of a cab. By the time I finished walking to the terminal, I was reasonably pulled together again.
I'm trying to comfort myself with the fact that they survived the flight OK, and that it's a minor paperwork clitch, but I won't be at ease until they're here in the flat with me. Until then, I'm sending my favorite phrase across the pond to Larchmont, NY and hoping this woman's house gets invaded by all manner of pestilence in a freak biblical plague.
Added to this is the fact that Virgin did not clearly state that the paperwork needed a raised seal - they said that as long as the vet was USDA certified, they could certify the paperwork - wrong! As a result, if the rest of the paperwork checks out tomorrow, they'll have to get EU pet passports. In the end, that might not be a bad thing, but still. I had to leave them there, and didn't even get to see them. When the DEFRA agent was telling me all this, he looked a bit concerned at one point - I think because I probably looked like I was going to pass out. There was point where the world seemed to recede and all I heard was static. I pulled it together, though - a my mother's daughter, I could do no less! But, then I declined the cab back to the main terminal, choosing to walk the 15 minutes instead. There was one easy reason for this - I knew I was about to start crying hysterically, and really didn't want to do that in the back of a cab. By the time I finished walking to the terminal, I was reasonably pulled together again.
I'm trying to comfort myself with the fact that they survived the flight OK, and that it's a minor paperwork clitch, but I won't be at ease until they're here in the flat with me. Until then, I'm sending my favorite phrase across the pond to Larchmont, NY and hoping this woman's house gets invaded by all manner of pestilence in a freak biblical plague.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Running Away from Home
You always hear about people picking up and disappearing in the midst of trying times. I definitely have to be the only person I know who runs away from home with a carefully planned out grant application, and 20 boxes of stuff. Well, 9 boxes so far. Here’s hoping the Royal Mail turns up with the other 11.
I’ve been in London for a week now, and I’m starting to settle in – sort of. If I can get past dropping to the floor and crying over my TV (BT Vision – WTF is that? total scam), wandering from cellphone store to cellphone store, looking for someone willing to take my money (seriously, why is it always the phones?), and walking 15 minutes each way just to buy some groceries (most of which are unrecognizable), I might actually get used to the new digs.
In truth, I think the problem is that I didn’t anticipate any problems. Well, that’s not totally true. I knew there would be an adjustment, but I didn’t realize the things that would get to me, the first being actually living in a city – and without a car. In NY, Boston, DC and Monterrey, I basically lived in the ‘burbs. And, I always had a car. The one exception is when I was in Oxford – no car, a lot of walking. But, of course, I was 15 years younger then! And, I didn’t have to be quite so self sufficient. I hate that I have to make so many trips to the supermarket just to stock up on my necessary items because all I have is the one shopping cart (which is a bitch to lug up the two flights of stairs). For someone with a bad back and bad knees, this seems to have not been well thought-out.
I am also dying to have a real and true conversation that’s not with the postman, the clerk at (insert store name here), or the staff of a New Dehli call center. That should improve a bit once I start work next week – for which I remain in a state of terror that I will be unable to teach anything to anyone. At least then I’ll be talking all day, so I should get sick of myself.
Missing the doggies terribly, and hoping all goes well with their flight Friday, and their arrival on Saturday. At least when they come, I’ll have someone to talk to! Of course, if they start talking back, I’m in real trouble. I’m a little worried about them here in the apartment. Not in a big way, but there’s a lot of noise outside in the afternoons and evenings – people milling about. Its’ pretty loud, and they’ll bark. And that is going to be a problem. Brooke’s going to have to live in that anti-bark collar, and Cali’ll be dodging the jingly bark buster thing constantly. Hmm, maybe they’ll surprise me (not likely – Brooke remains dog most likely to cause an international incident).
Here’s a really weird thing. I have found in my first week that I am speaking to everyone like I’m in a library – very soft spoken. I noticed myself doing it, and couldn’t figure out why. Then I hit on it – I’m trying to hide my accent, like I don’t want people to know I’m American. It’s a completely irrational thing, but I feel like they’ll immediately peg me as a tourist, not as someone who lives here (although, after a week, I’m hardly a local). The funny thing is, in Mexico, I spoke Spanish with a good Spanish accent, and blended in fairly well. Not that I wasn’t known to be an American (you couldn’t work at the consulate and not be known by the locals), but I carried on well with the locals, in part because once I gained in confidence, I spoke Spanish more or less like a native. I was even complemented on my Spanish by people at the visa window. Yet, here, I’m speaking my native language (that said, there are A LOT of words that are different), and I would never put on an English accent (even though I do a pretty good one). And, there’s plenty of American ex-pats here. So, I don’t really know what my hang-up is. Now that I’m aware of it, I’m making a conscious effort to talk like a normal person, and not someone who’s afraid of spooking a sleeping cat (or dog).
In a surreal twist, I’m engaging right now in my latest addiction – British panel shows (I REALLY need my satellite tv!). Right this moment, on “QI,” the panelists (including Emma Thompson) are discussing English actors in Hollywood, and the fact that, if you have an English accent, you automatically become a villain. One of the panelists is doing a really spot-on Alan Rickman impression (love him, by the way!). The final quote, “If you’re an English actor, there’s a good living to be made being beaten up by American action stars.” Sums up us Yanks pretty well, actually.
Well, I think “Mock the Week” might be coming up next, so I’d better run off and get ready (it would help, though, if they showed episodes that are a little more recent. Last night they discussed the Bush shoe-throwing incident of 2007! Still funny, but really . . .). Maybe tomorrow I’ll go to the theatre, before I find myself in the midst of a 12-hour panel-show marathon, unable to pry myself off the sofa!
9 boxes down, 11 to go!
I’ve been in London for a week now, and I’m starting to settle in – sort of. If I can get past dropping to the floor and crying over my TV (BT Vision – WTF is that? total scam), wandering from cellphone store to cellphone store, looking for someone willing to take my money (seriously, why is it always the phones?), and walking 15 minutes each way just to buy some groceries (most of which are unrecognizable), I might actually get used to the new digs.
In truth, I think the problem is that I didn’t anticipate any problems. Well, that’s not totally true. I knew there would be an adjustment, but I didn’t realize the things that would get to me, the first being actually living in a city – and without a car. In NY, Boston, DC and Monterrey, I basically lived in the ‘burbs. And, I always had a car. The one exception is when I was in Oxford – no car, a lot of walking. But, of course, I was 15 years younger then! And, I didn’t have to be quite so self sufficient. I hate that I have to make so many trips to the supermarket just to stock up on my necessary items because all I have is the one shopping cart (which is a bitch to lug up the two flights of stairs). For someone with a bad back and bad knees, this seems to have not been well thought-out.
I am also dying to have a real and true conversation that’s not with the postman, the clerk at (insert store name here), or the staff of a New Dehli call center. That should improve a bit once I start work next week – for which I remain in a state of terror that I will be unable to teach anything to anyone. At least then I’ll be talking all day, so I should get sick of myself.
Missing the doggies terribly, and hoping all goes well with their flight Friday, and their arrival on Saturday. At least when they come, I’ll have someone to talk to! Of course, if they start talking back, I’m in real trouble. I’m a little worried about them here in the apartment. Not in a big way, but there’s a lot of noise outside in the afternoons and evenings – people milling about. Its’ pretty loud, and they’ll bark. And that is going to be a problem. Brooke’s going to have to live in that anti-bark collar, and Cali’ll be dodging the jingly bark buster thing constantly. Hmm, maybe they’ll surprise me (not likely – Brooke remains dog most likely to cause an international incident).
Here’s a really weird thing. I have found in my first week that I am speaking to everyone like I’m in a library – very soft spoken. I noticed myself doing it, and couldn’t figure out why. Then I hit on it – I’m trying to hide my accent, like I don’t want people to know I’m American. It’s a completely irrational thing, but I feel like they’ll immediately peg me as a tourist, not as someone who lives here (although, after a week, I’m hardly a local). The funny thing is, in Mexico, I spoke Spanish with a good Spanish accent, and blended in fairly well. Not that I wasn’t known to be an American (you couldn’t work at the consulate and not be known by the locals), but I carried on well with the locals, in part because once I gained in confidence, I spoke Spanish more or less like a native. I was even complemented on my Spanish by people at the visa window. Yet, here, I’m speaking my native language (that said, there are A LOT of words that are different), and I would never put on an English accent (even though I do a pretty good one). And, there’s plenty of American ex-pats here. So, I don’t really know what my hang-up is. Now that I’m aware of it, I’m making a conscious effort to talk like a normal person, and not someone who’s afraid of spooking a sleeping cat (or dog).
In a surreal twist, I’m engaging right now in my latest addiction – British panel shows (I REALLY need my satellite tv!). Right this moment, on “QI,” the panelists (including Emma Thompson) are discussing English actors in Hollywood, and the fact that, if you have an English accent, you automatically become a villain. One of the panelists is doing a really spot-on Alan Rickman impression (love him, by the way!). The final quote, “If you’re an English actor, there’s a good living to be made being beaten up by American action stars.” Sums up us Yanks pretty well, actually.
Well, I think “Mock the Week” might be coming up next, so I’d better run off and get ready (it would help, though, if they showed episodes that are a little more recent. Last night they discussed the Bush shoe-throwing incident of 2007! Still funny, but really . . .). Maybe tomorrow I’ll go to the theatre, before I find myself in the midst of a 12-hour panel-show marathon, unable to pry myself off the sofa!
9 boxes down, 11 to go!
Saturday, August 14, 2010
**** You, Lou Reed!
So, I ran through a lot of titles for this post before settling on this one. The frontrunner was “World’s Worst Blogger” because, let’s face it, I suck at this. In my defense, I defy anyone who has had as much on my plate these last 6 months to find the time to write too! Maybe that’s a bit of a cop out, but after spending hours cleaning out the house in 90 degree weather, and no air conditioning, the last thing I need or want to do is sit and try to find witty things to say on a blog. Of course, if you don’t actually write anything, the blog doesn’t really work, does it? So, I am making the vow today to get my ass in gear and write more regularly.
Now, as for the title, that’s just my favorite quote of recent months – it should not reflect at all on my opinion of Lou Reed and his music. And, it is actually connected to what has been going on in my life lately. A few months ago, I said something was going on that I didn’t want to talk about yet. That may have conveyed the idea of a relationship of some sort, but it was actually something very different. I was awarded a Fulbright Classroom Teacher Exchange grant, and I’m moving to England for a year in about 10 days! So, add that to the cleaning out of the house, buying the apartment (which finally closed – more on that another time), work, well, you get the idea. I didn’t want to talk about it, not because of worrying about the grant, but rather the apartment. I didn’t want the board to be concerned about me being away, or think that somehow I couldn’t pay for the apartment. I am, some would say fortunately, in the position to pay for the apartment while living in London. Some would say fortunately, but the reason I’m in this financial position basically sucks.
But, I’m not going to dwell on that. The connection to Lou Reed is that he was on my flight to London in June to find an apartment. We were delayed 6 hours, and then they changed planes. Some people got bumped from first class (I had used miles to upgrade), and some guy who got bumped was furious (at 3 AM!) that Lou Reed and his band got their first class seats, and he didn’t. He started cursing out Lou Reed to the flight attendants (who was sitting across from me, and could hear everything). All any of us wanted was to take off already, and we had to sit there and listen to his tantrum. Me, my last 4 years have put a lot of things in perspective, and I just could not get upset about something as minor as a flight delay. So I laughed, drank my champagne, and listened to the tirade.
So, a week later, here I am writing the same blog entry – did I mention I suck at this? The week has been non-stop. Cleaning and prepping the house – 12 hours Saturday on the stuff from the attic. Ten hours Sunday on the stuff from the basement, and on and on. And, of course, other things mixed in – some good, some just more stressful. I had a great day Tuesday – Maria took me for a “Spa day.” Something I’ve never done before. And then, I hosted a really nice dinner at Sofrito. Not everyone who I wanted to be there could be, but it was a nice night. On one level, it was a chance to introduce Elizabeth (my exchange partner) to my friends so she’d have some people to contact if she needs anything. But, it was also a chance to see some people before I leave – which now is in 4 days!
This is a little scary – 4 days. It’s not just 4 days until I get on a plane to start an adventure in England. It’s 4 days until I truly put my old life behind me. Oh, I’ll be back in October to move in to my apartment (I’ll gripe about that another time, but I want to say “**** you Lou Reed” to a few people these days!). And I’ll be home for Christmas. And, the house will likely still be here, but it won’t be home anymore. I suppose it hasn’t really been home since Mom died. But, still, this house has been part of my life for my whole life, and it’s going to be really hard to close that book. At the same time, I need to close it, and pick up a new one – and I want to. But, letting go is really hard (even though holding on would actually be worse for me). So, on one level, I have a very healthy attitude toward moving on, and on another, I’m afraid I might be clinging to the doorframe when Keith is trying to take me to the airport on Tuesday. Yeah, that sounds about right for me.
Then there is the unknown about what to expect in London. I mean, it’s not like London is unknown, but the people of London are! I don’t know a soul in London, or England, the United Kingdom, Europe . . . OK, maybe there’s some people from A-100 in Europe somewhere, but still, I have to start fresh and make friends – I’m really bad at making friends. I’m good at keeping them, but not so good at making them. I become a shy twelve-year-old all over again, assuming people aren’t going to like me. But, unless I want to spend every night in the apartment (sorry, “flat”), watching DVDs with the dogs, I need to actually put myself out there and meet people. So, yeah, terrifying. I’m so much better with the written word but, alas, I can’t hand out little stories to people in pubs (I’m so not a pub crawler, by the way).
Adding to the stress/sadness is the fact that I went up to Friends Lake yesterday – that wasn’t sad, but knowing I won’t be there again for a year is. And then I got home tonight and all the stuff from the kitchen drawers was all out for me to sort, and my boxes were in the living room to ship to London, and I suddenly got hit hard by the finality of this week – I leave in 4 days!! Now, the hypocritical thing about this is that all that stuff was out because that’s exactly what I asked Keith to do. I didn’t realize it would make me sad (seriously, who gets sad over a pot with no handle or a scuffed Bundt cake pan?).
And, oh, yeah, it’s my birthday Sunday – the first one without either Mommy or Daddy. 36. Is that old? Sometimes I feel positively ancient. Other times I still feel like the 17-year-old girl who graduated from Ursuline with her whole life ahead of her. Never thought it would turn out the way it has – and that’s the good as well as the bad. It’s a rocky road, life. I used to think it wasn’t fair (OK, sometimes I still do), but the truth is, it’s just life. Sometimes it’s beautiful and sometimes it sucks. But it’s not what happens to us that defines us. Rather, it’s how we deal with it. Sometimes I feel like I’m holding on by my fingertips, but I think I’m handling it pretty well, all things considered. Check back in a few weeks when I can’t get my TV shows or my Yankee games, and it’s been raining for days, and see if I’m still saying that.
As anyone who knows me well knows, my “New Year” is September, the start of the new school year, so I’ll sign off now with a pledge – I will write more. I have to. This was an exercise to allow me to process things as I went through this time after Mommy’s death, and the lack of time maybe means more than a lack of writing. It may mean a lack of processing. So, more writing, more processing – and a more healthy outlook as I start the New Year. 2009-2010 is the year that was. 2010-2011 is the year that will be.
Now, as for the title, that’s just my favorite quote of recent months – it should not reflect at all on my opinion of Lou Reed and his music. And, it is actually connected to what has been going on in my life lately. A few months ago, I said something was going on that I didn’t want to talk about yet. That may have conveyed the idea of a relationship of some sort, but it was actually something very different. I was awarded a Fulbright Classroom Teacher Exchange grant, and I’m moving to England for a year in about 10 days! So, add that to the cleaning out of the house, buying the apartment (which finally closed – more on that another time), work, well, you get the idea. I didn’t want to talk about it, not because of worrying about the grant, but rather the apartment. I didn’t want the board to be concerned about me being away, or think that somehow I couldn’t pay for the apartment. I am, some would say fortunately, in the position to pay for the apartment while living in London. Some would say fortunately, but the reason I’m in this financial position basically sucks.
But, I’m not going to dwell on that. The connection to Lou Reed is that he was on my flight to London in June to find an apartment. We were delayed 6 hours, and then they changed planes. Some people got bumped from first class (I had used miles to upgrade), and some guy who got bumped was furious (at 3 AM!) that Lou Reed and his band got their first class seats, and he didn’t. He started cursing out Lou Reed to the flight attendants (who was sitting across from me, and could hear everything). All any of us wanted was to take off already, and we had to sit there and listen to his tantrum. Me, my last 4 years have put a lot of things in perspective, and I just could not get upset about something as minor as a flight delay. So I laughed, drank my champagne, and listened to the tirade.
So, a week later, here I am writing the same blog entry – did I mention I suck at this? The week has been non-stop. Cleaning and prepping the house – 12 hours Saturday on the stuff from the attic. Ten hours Sunday on the stuff from the basement, and on and on. And, of course, other things mixed in – some good, some just more stressful. I had a great day Tuesday – Maria took me for a “Spa day.” Something I’ve never done before. And then, I hosted a really nice dinner at Sofrito. Not everyone who I wanted to be there could be, but it was a nice night. On one level, it was a chance to introduce Elizabeth (my exchange partner) to my friends so she’d have some people to contact if she needs anything. But, it was also a chance to see some people before I leave – which now is in 4 days!
This is a little scary – 4 days. It’s not just 4 days until I get on a plane to start an adventure in England. It’s 4 days until I truly put my old life behind me. Oh, I’ll be back in October to move in to my apartment (I’ll gripe about that another time, but I want to say “**** you Lou Reed” to a few people these days!). And I’ll be home for Christmas. And, the house will likely still be here, but it won’t be home anymore. I suppose it hasn’t really been home since Mom died. But, still, this house has been part of my life for my whole life, and it’s going to be really hard to close that book. At the same time, I need to close it, and pick up a new one – and I want to. But, letting go is really hard (even though holding on would actually be worse for me). So, on one level, I have a very healthy attitude toward moving on, and on another, I’m afraid I might be clinging to the doorframe when Keith is trying to take me to the airport on Tuesday. Yeah, that sounds about right for me.
Then there is the unknown about what to expect in London. I mean, it’s not like London is unknown, but the people of London are! I don’t know a soul in London, or England, the United Kingdom, Europe . . . OK, maybe there’s some people from A-100 in Europe somewhere, but still, I have to start fresh and make friends – I’m really bad at making friends. I’m good at keeping them, but not so good at making them. I become a shy twelve-year-old all over again, assuming people aren’t going to like me. But, unless I want to spend every night in the apartment (sorry, “flat”), watching DVDs with the dogs, I need to actually put myself out there and meet people. So, yeah, terrifying. I’m so much better with the written word but, alas, I can’t hand out little stories to people in pubs (I’m so not a pub crawler, by the way).
Adding to the stress/sadness is the fact that I went up to Friends Lake yesterday – that wasn’t sad, but knowing I won’t be there again for a year is. And then I got home tonight and all the stuff from the kitchen drawers was all out for me to sort, and my boxes were in the living room to ship to London, and I suddenly got hit hard by the finality of this week – I leave in 4 days!! Now, the hypocritical thing about this is that all that stuff was out because that’s exactly what I asked Keith to do. I didn’t realize it would make me sad (seriously, who gets sad over a pot with no handle or a scuffed Bundt cake pan?).
And, oh, yeah, it’s my birthday Sunday – the first one without either Mommy or Daddy. 36. Is that old? Sometimes I feel positively ancient. Other times I still feel like the 17-year-old girl who graduated from Ursuline with her whole life ahead of her. Never thought it would turn out the way it has – and that’s the good as well as the bad. It’s a rocky road, life. I used to think it wasn’t fair (OK, sometimes I still do), but the truth is, it’s just life. Sometimes it’s beautiful and sometimes it sucks. But it’s not what happens to us that defines us. Rather, it’s how we deal with it. Sometimes I feel like I’m holding on by my fingertips, but I think I’m handling it pretty well, all things considered. Check back in a few weeks when I can’t get my TV shows or my Yankee games, and it’s been raining for days, and see if I’m still saying that.
As anyone who knows me well knows, my “New Year” is September, the start of the new school year, so I’ll sign off now with a pledge – I will write more. I have to. This was an exercise to allow me to process things as I went through this time after Mommy’s death, and the lack of time maybe means more than a lack of writing. It may mean a lack of processing. So, more writing, more processing – and a more healthy outlook as I start the New Year. 2009-2010 is the year that was. 2010-2011 is the year that will be.
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