So, Hypothetically ...
... if one were to hypothetically think about moving away from Marylebone, which neighborhood might one enjoy living in given that one might hypothetically work near Holborn/Covent Garden and another might hypothetically work near St Paul's?
And, for the record, I found myself over on Holloway Road today, and while it is most colorful, I think we can hypothetically scratch that off the hypothetical list.
November 28, 2007
Pass the Lipitor
I'm a trifle troubled.
A little while ago, I found myself peckish for something other than the cheese-on-crackers-with-onion/garlic marmalade (from The Garlic Farm, ooooh, it's delicious) sandwiches that I've been suppering on this evening. And, nay, I'm not stoned.
Realizing that, clearly, more carbs were the order of the day, I popped a slice of bread into the toaster. As you do.
Here's what troubles me ... it seems we have no butter.
But it's not the fact that I had to spread peanut butter on my toast that has me churning.
No, indeed it is not.
It's the fact that one week ago, I know I bought about three pounds (that's what in the UK, 1.5 kg?) of butter prior to cooking my Thanksgiving meal. And I'm fairly certain we already had some before I went shopping.
So, unless there is a dairy desperado philandering in my fridge ... someone's gone through an artery clogging consignment of creamy comfort in the past few days.
Oh well, at least there's still some ice cream in the freezer, and if nothing else, I'm sure he will be proud.
November 27, 2007
Tuesday 200 - #68
Drag Diva's Poptastic Peroration
Baton Rouge — Critically acclaimed performance artist and drag celebutante Kitty Fiddler ended last night’s show with a bang at renowned boozer cum cabaret, Jizzaball’s. Patrons gasped in horrified delight when, during the climactic finale, her alter ego Dinah Might inserted what appeared to be a sparkler-stemmed marital aide into her posterior and shouted, “if they play one more Kylie remix, I’m going to explode.”
Tuleeta Pepsi, the evening’s DJ and Fiddler’s long-time arch-nemesis, immediately spun Minogue’s “Better the Devil you Know.” In what sources report to be either “the best animatronic special effects since Carol Channing’s last bus and truck of Hello, Dolly!” or “the scariest gore fest of sequins and silicone this side of Showgirls,” Ms Fiddler subsequently exploded on stage.
While insiders hint that Pepsi and Fiddler’s decade-long feud was purely theatrical teasing, there have been recent reports of diva drama, with both performers competing for the title role in the new musical, Target Weight! The Anna Nicole Story.
Neither artiste has been available for comment, and authorities are investigating the alleged disappearance of Ms Fiddler. Anyone possessing information (or an act for tonight’s show) is urged to come forward.
:: :: ::
What's a Tuesday 200?
Last week's Tuesday 200.
Tuesday 200, fiction
November 26, 2007
Vell, Back in zee Old Country ...
I’m starting with a new student, a 53-year old Romanian engineer, this afternoon, and am more than a little apprehensive. Seems he’s been problematic with two of the three other teachers he’s had, saying things like “you’re too young” and “you are female, you couldn't understand.” He’s also tossed in comments like “women who go into pubs alone are whores” and “my country has the best prostitutes.”
Apparently his business world is one big swinging dick contest and the game is to be as aggressive (as opposed to assertive … they’ve had the discussion to delineate the differences) as possible.
On the plus side, the third teacher he's had (an English bloke) has had no problems with him, so maybe it's just the women he doesn't get along with. (They are awfully sensitive, those girls.) And maybe my silvery highlights will make him think I'm almost as old as he is (which, sadly, isn't too far from the truth) and we'll avoid the I know better than you do attitude.
Still, I really can't bear a misogynistic pompous ass. The last thing I’ve heard is that he doesn’t like American ex-pats. Seems he's had to work for them before and it's oil and water. Wonder how he feels about the gay ones.
I think we'll talk about cultural differences in the workplace and see how that goes. Either that or have a discussion on trannies, drag queens and civil partnerships.
This will be fun.
November 25, 2007
Tourists in Our Own Town
So we barely survived Thanksgiving and have the leftovers and blisters to prove it (if you're really interested you can pull up my Your Messages entry from that day, it's about third from the bottom).
The rest of the weekend has been a whirlwind of let's-entertain-Mom, and for all intents and purposes, has been lovely. We took the train out to Bath yesterday (where I read nary a sentence of Jane Austen), which is just the most charming of towns. I really must go there once when it's not freezing outside.
Today we walked and bussed around the north, real estate shopping in exploring the Hampsteads (West and plain) and enjoying a delicious (and speedily served) pub lunch at the Spaniards Inn, where I read neither Ode to a Nightingale nor The Pickwick Papers.
And tomorrow? Well, we ship the old lady out bid a fond adieu to darling Mommy Dearest, and enjoy a week or two without house guests.
Watch this space ... methinks big news is a comin'.
November 22, 2007
Tuesday 200 - #68
Drag Star's Pop Sensation
Baton Rouge — Critically acclaimed performance artist and drag celebutante Kitty Fiddler ended last night’s show with a bang at renowned boozer cum cabaret, Jizzaball’s. Patrons gasped in horrified delight when, during the climactic finale, her alter ego Dinah Might inserted what appeared to be a sparkler-stemmed marital aide into her posterior and shouted, “if they play one more Kylie remix, I’m going to explode.”
Tuleeta Pepsi, the evening’s DJ and Fiddler’s long-time arch-nemesis, immediately spun Minogue’s “Better the Devil you Know.” In what sources report to be either “the best animatronic special effects since Carol Channing’s last bus and truck of Hello, Dolly!” or “the scariest gore fest of sequins and silicone this side of Showgirls,” Ms Fiddler subsequently exploded on stage.
While insiders hint that Pepsi and Fiddler’s decade-long feud was purely theatrical teasing, there have been recent reports of diva drama, with both performers competing for the title role in the new musical, Target Weight! The Anna Nicole Story.
Neither artiste has been available for comment, and authorities are investigating the alleged disappearance of Ms Fiddler. Anyone possessing information (or an act for tonight’s show) is urged to come forward.
:: :: ::
What's a Tuesday 200?
Last week's Tuesday 200.
Tuesday 200, fiction
November 21, 2007
Sherwin Williams Bakery
It’s becoming an annual event. I start making pies and think I could easily just stay home and bake.
The pastry turned out especially smooth this year. It’s not like I consciously do anything different, but sometimes things just work better than others. Two pie crusts, made from scratch … flour and shortening alchemied into perfectly formed shells in less than half an hour.
And the pumpkin filling. Every time I make a batch, its clovey cinnamon goodness sends me into overload. It’s all I can do to pour the custard in the shell and not paint a wall with it.
November 20, 2007
Tuesday 200 - #67
Come on, like you’ve never taken anything you found in a cab? How many umbrellas have you left in taxis over the years? Dozens, right? So you really can’t blame me for stashing it in my backpack.
A couple days later, this hottie tourist is chatting me up on the F-train. She likes the Blessed Virgin tattoo on my forearm — it’s a total babe magnet. Way better than the naked broad it’s covering up.
She wants me to show her the Chelsea Hotel, so we get out at 23rd Street. Outta the friggin’ blue, it starts pissing rain.
“Hang on, gorgeous. I gotcha covered.” I sling off my backpack and whip out my taxi trophy. With a flick of the wrist I raise it to the sky and press the button. No weather’s gonna dampen my good luck.
“What the … ?” my damsel-now-distressed cries out.
Silver and white glitter pours down on us, like a damn drag queen has exploded. A pink index card dangles from a rubber cord … “Surprise! You found the umbrella fairy!”
She busts out laughing. “Oh my god, I love it! My brother’s gay too! Take me to Splash!”
What the hell is Splash?
:: :: ::
What's a Tuesday 200?
Last week's Tuesday 200
November 19, 2007
Jogging Around, Some Kind of Deranged Clown
It’s rained most of the day here today, which most everybody I’ve talked to seems aggravated by.
Truth be told (and with apologies to Karen Carpenter), I enjoy a good rainy day ... even on a Monday.
Especially because, despite living in “rainy” London, it really doesn’t full-on rain here all that much. It drizzles for bit and then it stops. And then it might spit some more before then the sun comes out.
Today was a proper downpour. Its whisper (albeit sometimes a stage whisper) could be heard from indoors. The streets were puddles of boiling liquid, which I happily glided through (sometimes stomping a little harder than I needed to, just because the splash was fun).
Yup, I ran in the rain tonight. And it was brilliant.
Now, if we could just have a thunderstorm.
November 18, 2007
Something Wild
Every now and then something slips in under my radar.
Such was the case with Into the Wild. I'd never heard of the book, and the film's just been released over here. I think I saw a blog post or Twitter tweet about it ("stunning" or "spectacular" or f"ilm of a lifetime" or somesuch. One of the teachers at school told me it was a must-see as well.
So we went to see it yesterday. I knew nothing about it (much to Larry's surprise), save that Sean Penn had directed it (so it probably wasn't the Sondheimian twist on fairy tales that I kept mistaking it for in my mind) and the poster showed a boy on a bus.
Spoilers ahead ...
It was, without question, a beautifully made film. It made me miss (and appreciate) living in Yellowstone that summer so long ago. It made me grateful for relationships and literature and the thrill of all the adventures I've taken and long to take more of.
But it made me so angry. I hope no one thinks this boy was a hero. Tossing aside all logic and sensiblity to prove his illplanned thought-process ... well, I just wanted to slap him. If he'd kept a fration of that $24k, gotten a bit of therapy and worked through his issues, he could have had a much more meaningful and
I know, coulda woulda shoulda ... and it's all subjective, and it's easy to be a Monday morning quarterback.
But still, I wonder why all those he encountered on his journey didn't whack some sense into him. Or at least notifiy the authorities. Was he really that stubborn (I guess he was). Was he really that likeable, or did the movie go out of its way to romanticize the nobility of the righteous loner (and maybe that's how Mr. Penn fancies himself?)?
Yes, by all means, follow your bliss. Yes, be true to your flights of fancy ... but, people, for heaven's sake, do it within (at least a modicum) of reason.
Perhaps this is one of me "oh, I'm just getting old" moments? I dunno. But clearly this guy was bright. What the hell was he thinking? I guess one could argue that, after a point, he wasn't thinking at all. If you're going to idolize Jack London ... pay attention to the people who die in his stories.
On a positve note, the film is stunning, and we both were in tears more than once. Emile Hirsch was brilliant, and I wouldn't be surprised to see Hal Holbrook getting an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor.
Oh, and if you want to enjoy a more light-hearted Alaskan search for self, why not give Selfish and Perverse a go? It's funny, warm, and full of wonderful characters.
November 17, 2007
Apples or Berries?
My flu is flying the coop, and I think I'll be back in the 90th percentile sometime tomorrow. Feeling about 85 this morning. The human body is an amazingly resilient thing, ain't it.
So Larry came home with and iPhone a few nights ago. It took until last night to get it up and running. At first, the set-up interface (a series of co-branded O2 and iPhone pages embedded within iTunes) wouldn't accept his bank details. It seems that 02 and Citibank haven't shaken hands on the whole thing, so, as of right now you have to use bank other than Citi (their sort codes aren't in 02's system) or call 02 Customer Service (he was disconnected twice) to give them your bank details and then 02 will provide you with a set of dummy numbers that map to your bank details. My HSBC account worked fine (and I've seen on some other forums that NatWest gave no problems either).
Then came the issue of email addresses for AppleID (iTunes) accounts and user names for 02 accounts. Larry didn't realize he had an AppleID account from registering his MacBook. So we get about halfway through the registration process for the iPhone, and it says "that email's already in use, either restart or cancel and log back in." When you cancel, O2 has already tucked away the user ID you chose, so now you have to choose a second (and third, and fourth) for each retry of the iPhone registration.
His original choice of larry.lastname got eaten, as did his second choice of larry-lastname and then larry_lastname. He ended up going with something else. 02's going to have a bunch of dead account names in their database at this rate.
Once we got the bank details sorted then we got a "our account creation services are not available" message ... still not sure if that was from 02 or Apple. That was another night scuppered.
Fortunately (as 15 years of living with me will prove) Larry is much more patient than I, and can easily say, "oh well, maybe it'll work tomorrow." If it were my new toy and I bought it days ago and couldn't use it till this morning ... well, there would be much yogic breathing and a few tranquilizers involved.
And then there's the issue of changing 02 numbers over. We got the iPhone working last night, but it's going to take about five working days for 02 to transfer his existing number to the phone (no SIM card, you see). They've issued him a temporary number for the phone, and will (I assume) let him know when that dies and his existing number starts working.
So anyway, about another hour of fiddling last night, he got it up and going.
And this morning, well, I've hijacked it ... for his own Luddite good, of course. I got his bookmarks set up, got his gmail to sync to it, downloaded his contacts from his work blackberry and uploaded them to his iPhone, and changed his wallpaper (it's a brilliantly simplistic interface with iPhoto) to, surprisingly, not a picture of me (there are some shots from our Africa trip that are perfect).
Apparently he didn't watch the 30-minute video introduction that's available online. I did, but purely as a listening/discussion exercise with one of my students a couple weeks ago.
Bottom line ... it is wicked cool and I'm pretty sure I need one (but 8mb seems awfully tiny). I can still text / write email faster on my Blackberry Curve, but the iPhone interface is amazing (and I'm sure my fat thumbs could get adjust to the touchscreen keypad). We've yet to try it without wi-fi (it's picking up our home network), so we'll have to see what happens once it's out in the real world.
We'll see if my must-have-new-toy thrill wears off anytime soon. The minimum contract on my Bberry lasts another month or two and I'm still really pleased with all it can do (pretty much everything that the iPhone can, but without the smooth interface) ... and Christmas is coming.
:: :: ::
Oh ... here is something brilliant though. Desptite not being able to use his existing phone number or connect it for three days, he's just a message from 02 on his spiiffy new iPhone. "Your 02 bill has arrived."
November 14, 2007
Baggage Claim
The good folks at Tales of the Decongested have posted my story.
Have a read, if you like.
Deja Flu?
I've been drifting in and out of the strangest deja vu for the past half-hour or so.
I'm sitting on my sofa, legs up on the coffee table, listening to Hairspray, drinking a George Clooney endorsed latte (still loving my Nespresso), doing some writing, and feeling like I smoked two packs of Camel unfiltereds last night.
For the record, I had no cigarettes at all. So what's with the scratchy throat and muddled head?
Hmmm ...
:: :: ::
I greeted my student yesterday morning with a perfunctory "how are you?"
She proceeded to tell me how unwell she was. Headache. Cough. Muscle aches. She had already decided she wouldn't be in tomorrow (which is now today) and she just needed to lie in bed to recover. She would see me Monday.
"I know when I get like this, that I just need to curl up with a hot water bottle and stay in bed for a few days. When I came back from my honeymoon, I had to stay in bed for a week."
Must have been some honeymoon, I thought but didn't say. I wondered what she picked up in Viet Nam (her honeymoon haven) that laid her up for so long, and if she was having a relapse. Was she really that delicate or just a tad precious? I also wondered if she wasn't contagious.
And we went on with our lesson.
:: :: ::
So maybe she passed something on to me. Or maybe I'm getting a cold. Or maybe it's just the barometric pressure messing with my head.
Either way, I feel like I've been here before. The weird thing about deja vu is that, for me at least, you don't know what's going to happen next, but you do know that what's just happened has happened before.
Oh dear, there's the doorbell. Maybe it's George Clooney with a bottle of Day-Quil. That's never happened before.
:: :: ::
I've been drifting in and out of the strangest deja vu ...
November 13, 2007
Tuesday 200 - #66
Walking down Oxford Street this morning, I noticed several women scurrying about, carrying open umbrellas.
Fair enough, except … hello … IT WASN’T RAINING.
Yes, it was grey. Perhaps it had drizzled overnight, but there were no droplets dimpling puddles. There were no puddles, in fact. No passing windscreens had wipers waving. Nay … just random women (blokes somehow avoided this meteorological misunderstanding) ushered by unnecessary prophylactic parabolas.
I did my best to live and let live, chalking up another charmingly British peculiarity. Then one of them crossed my path, poking me in the eye with a spoke of her brolly.
“Excuse me!” I said, no longer able to just breathe and ignore.
She ignored me.
So I thwacked her waterproof halo and (making a point) yelled, “Ouch! Please pay more attention!”
She swung around and had the unmitigated gall to tell me to watch where I went.
So I shot her.
Not really … but I wanted to.
“I believe it was you who turned without signaling, ma’am. And besides, it’s not even raining.”
“Better safe than sorry.’
“Right. Do you advocate maxi-pads between visits from Aunt Flo?”
Seems some girls have exchanged their sense of humor for a mean left hook.
:: :: ::
What's a Tuesday 200?
Last week's Tuesday 200
November 11, 2007
Most the Leaves are Brown
There’s a beautiful blanket of leaves across the street. A patchwork of sorrel, copper, and sienna (burnt and raw, but not Miller ... oh not, never her) covers the surprisingly resilient green grass of Bryanston Square. The autumn spoils spill past the gates and onto the sidewalk, filling the gutters. Winter’s welcome mat.
I love the look of them … speckled and scattered. I love the smell of them … earthy and damp. I even love watching the kids in boots running through them, kicking and crunching, their giggles giving life to the crinkling crispness of summer’s falling remains.
But you know what I love the most?
Not having to rake them.
November 10, 2007
I Can't Find the Off Switch
Completely irritated with the talking heads on BBC’s News 24, I turned on Disney Cinemagic awhile ago. Oops.
I caught the last hour of Peter Pan. I’ve since sat through some Mickey and Donald cartoons, the full-length feature of George of the Jungle with a very buffolicious Brendan Fraser, and an animated half-hour Tarzan episode. I’m now waiting for Judy Kuhn to serenade me with “Colors of the Wind”.
So much to do, and yet I’m sitting here thinking that angularly animated native Americans are hot (but they got nothing on Brendan), even if they don’t have nipples.
November 8, 2007
Welcome to the Sixties
I saw Hairspray last night.
Go. See it. Now.
They've brought everything good about the original B'way production, and done a proper transfer that hopefully will run a good long time. My friend at the Shaftesbury's box office very well be right ... I think the curse could be lifted.
Michael Ball is having way (weigh?) too much fun and has created an Edna who is every bit as charming and lovable as Harvey's but can actually sing as well. HIs duet with Mel Smith very nearly stopped the show.
Lovely Ben from Any Dream Will Do is, well, lovely, but sadly is the weakest Link (see what I did there?) ... his accent is all over the place and he just can't keep up with the singing, especially noticeable in the finale (if anybody can stop the beat, it's Ben, bless).
That said ... Leanne Jones is one of the most lovable and enthusiastic Tracy Turnblads ever. Elinor Collett does Kerry Butler (no, really!) proud as Penny Pingleton and Adrian Hansel is simply spectacular as Seaweed.
I love love loved the show.
And now I must go back to work. So busy lately, but in a good way.
November 6, 2007
Tuesday 200 - #65
I see her on the platform. We’re easing into the station.
Oh Jesus, no. She doesn’t know about the baby. If I stand here in the corner of the tube, maybe we’ll be invisible.
My noblest moment -- my baby’s a barricade from the batty.
We only dated a couple times. Not dates so much as quick cocktails and a bit of sex. A diversion. Cathy’d gone away, needing “space.”
We said no strings.
I hear the baby cooing behind me. Can’t turn around. She might be in the carriage. Three more stops.
We swore … no strings.
And then the calls. Texts. Voicemails. Baby I miss you and don’t you love me anymore?
There was never any, let alone more.
I tried to explain. It was going nowhere. We’d been honest up front, right?
A&E rang a few nights after, “Your girlfriend slit her wrists.”
Fucking hell.
Her mum intervened. Not the first time, apparently, she’d gone off her meds. Moving home to Coventry. Apologies and regrets.
Cathy came home and never knew.
The baby’s giggling now, bouncing on my back, clearly enthralled. One more stop.
I hear her voice. “You look like a bloke I used to know.”
:: :: ::
What's a Tuesday 200?
Last week's Tuesday 200
November 2, 2007
E is for Elephant
We got an interesting assignment in yonder writing workshop the other day. Here ... you play too!
1. Take a piece of paper and write down the letters A-Z, one letter per line.
2. Write down the first word you think of that that starts with each of those letters.
3. Use each of these words a header and write the story of your life in twenty-six little sections.
I've only got the first half-dozen sections done so far ... but it's an interesting experiment. How does one begin the story of oneself with 'aardvark'?
Anyway, here's one that I sorta liked ...
Elephant
Elephant
I guess my first elephant was Dumbo. Or maybe there was one in “The Jungle Book”. No, that was bears. The Bare Necessities … *cue Baloo and sing along … “forget about your worries and your strife* …
I think that was the first movie I ever saw at the cinema … although we didn’t call it the cinema when we were kids. It still sounds kind of pretentious … going to the ‘cinema.’ To me, it’s still just going to the movies … but we don’t say that here in London, and one does one’s best to assimilate.
The most recent elephants were last spring, when we went to Kenya. Wild elephants on the plains of the Masai Mara. Mothers standing over playful babies. The equivalent of teenagers testing out their tusks, pretending to fight with each other. Thick, leathery skin folded around the biggest, most soulful eyes. Some of them looked like they were crying. Our guide told us that they grieve. Elephants will stand in silence in the places where their relatives have died. They’ll ruminate over bones of their loved ones. They protect their own, living on a land that offers little protection.
I have never been so humbled, sitting in that jeep, watching the world of “The Lion King” stretch out in front of me, with more color, sound and beauty than any animation or orchestra could provide. How did I ever end up in this amazing setting, so far away from everything that I’d come to believe in as ‘the real world’? And then I realized that, like the elephants, I had tears in my eyes as well. Not tears of grief but of joy and gratitude.
I quickly wiped my eyes and put on my sunglasses. I wondered if elephants get embarrassed.