With Apologies To My Grandmother

Sound: "Betrayal Is A Symptom" by Thrice

Dear Grandma,

Do you remember when you took me to see "Taken," starring Liam Neeson? And you told me that you loved me and you wanted me to be careful in London because I was a friendly person and I might make a mistake like the girl in the movie? And I promised you that I would never be that stupid?

I'm sorry, Grandma.

In my defense, it wasn't really my fault. I didn't even go out dancing. I knew that I needed my sleep, as I had a busy day of reading Henry IV, part 2 ahead of me. But my flatmates, well, they didn't have grandmothers who took them to see "Taken." And so, I awoke at 3:30am to discover that there were two strange men in my house, drinking my flatmates' rum and discussing with them why my name was a boy's name.

After explaining to them that Morgan can be a male or female name, I asked them who they were and what they were doing in the flat and if they were planning on kidnapping us and selling us into white slavery. They're names were Ben and David, they were "photographers" (read: paparazzi) for a small internet magazine, and they were invited in by some of the ladies I live with after meeting them on the street. They were not going to kidnap us or sell us into white slavery. They promised. So, I joined my flatmates and we talked with them for a while. They were very nice men. They left around 4:15am, after realizing that it was quite late and we might want to go to sleep. I have their phone numbers and email addresses, so, just in case I disappear, please check the refrigerator in my kitchen for their card.

Love,

Morgan

Peace out, cubscouts.

The Windy West Country

Sound: "Shaft" by Isaac Hayes

First of all, I'd like to start this post by sharing with you the fact that Starbucks is currently playing the "Shaft" theme song. I'm not sure if this makes this Starbucks the best Starbucks ever, or the worst.

Also, a quick disclaimer: this post may be rather boring. It's kind of hard to make a bunch of prehistoric rocks sound cool. The pictures on Facebook are much more interesting, I promise. I also promise that my next post will be much more interesting.

This past Friday and Saturday I went on an ICLC-sponsored trip to Wessex (aka the West Country). A word to the wise: if you ever go to Wessex, bring a coat. Not a sweatshirt, not a sweater, not a jacket, a coat. It is one windy, COLD place. Mia and I got so cold that we actually went and bought coats. Which we justified by the facts that we wanted to enjoy Wessex sans hypothermia and that the coats were really cute.

Our trip began with a visit to Avebury, which is a giant prehistoric henge that you can walk around and touch and all that cool stuff. And it has lots of sheep wandering around. Sadly, the sheep are not very friendly and ran away from me when I tried to play with them. Avebury also features burial mounds, which appear to be cute little hills but are actually mass graves.

After Avebury, we went to Glastonbury, which is a HUGE cathedral. Actually, it's the ruins of a HUGE cathedral. But even from the ruins you can tell that it was a truly amazing place before King Henry VIII got greedy and horny and had it destroyed so that he could a) get money and b) start the Church of England, divorce his old wife, and marry that hottie Anne Boleyn. We also got to enjoy the town of Glastonbury, which is like Ithaca in that it's hippie central, but not like Ithaca in that it appears that its inhabitants think they are all witches (we saw about four occult-related shops in about five minutes). Glastonbury seems to be so obsessed with the occult that I was compelled to see if it's the location of Boleskine House, the home of Aleister Crowley (recently of Ozzy Osbourne fame)/Jimmy Page (recently of Led Zeppelin fame). It's not. For future reference, Boleskine House is located on the shores of Loch Ness.

Our last stop of the day did not have a connection to ruins and/or the occult. We went to Wells Cathedral, which is just gorgeous. That's the only way to describe it. It also is home to the oldest mechanical clock in the world (which still works). We were there at the top of the hour, so we got to see it in action. Every hour, something really cool happens. I won't tell you what, because I'm hoping you will one day go to Wells Cathedral and see it for yourself, but I will let you know that *SPOILER ALERT* a Saracen dies. Repeatedly. Go Medieval haters.

We finally arrived in Bath around 6:00pm Friday, checked in to the Bath YMCA (I had no idea that a) YMCAs existed outside of America and b) you could still sleep at them), and promptly fell asleep. We're quite rowdy, us Ithaca College students.

Saturday we awoke bright and early and toured the Roman Baths. After quenching my thirst with some Bath water (haha- get it? No seriously, I drank the water from the Baths.), we walked along the Georgian part of town and saw the Circus and the Crescent (made famous by Richard Brinsley Sheridan in his play The Rivals). Then we went to the fashion museum and played dress-up. Then we had tea at the Jane Austen Center (much to my dismay- I detest Jane Austen and most other female Georgian/Victorian writers. The scones were good, though). Then my entire reason for coming on this trip arrived- STONEHENGE.

All I can say about Stonehenge is this: Stonehenge Rocks (you may laugh or roll your eyes as you wish)! Unfortunately, you cannot touch Stonehenge (and don't think I didn't try to cross the barrier and do it anyway), but I'm still okay with that. It's just an amazing sight. Avebury might be bigger and touchable, but Stonehenge just has some magical quality about it. You can't help but feel something. And you can take the coolest pictures in front of it.

So, that's Wessex. Some rocks, some cathedrals, and some water. I did a terrible job making it sound appealing, I know. But you should visit, because Wessex is just one of those places that is beyond words. It really is an awesome place. Really.

Peace out, cubscouts.

I Get Inspired When I Just Don't Care

Sound: "Radio Free Europe" by R.E.M.

Before I get to the main point of this post, I must take a quick sidetrip to talk about Yael. Yael is my stepmom. Yael is also awesome (although, really, that just comes with the territory of being my stepmom). Anyway, Yael is currently touring Europe for work. Since I am in Europe, we decided it might be fun to meet up.

First, we tried to meet up in Paris, but with Eurostar tickets being $220 round trip, and me only having less than 24 hours to spend in Paris, that just wasn't going to happen. So then we decided to meet in London, since she was going to be there, and, well, I live there. After numerous emails, text messages, and phone calls (seriously, there are about 15 emails related to this matter in my inbox), we decided that I would meet her at her hotel and spend the night with her. So that's what happened. And, being the busy, tired people we are, we spent the time talking and sleeping. Except, being in a country where the drinking age is 18, we had to go to the hotel bar first. And we had to order fancy drinks. Which means I had to have a Dirty Girl Scout. Dirty Girl Scouts do not exist in England. But the bartender, bless his heart, looked up a recipe on the internet and made me one anyways. Also, Dirty Girl Scouts are shooters, but the bartender, bless his heart, sensed that I was a theatre major and put the drink in a martini glass.

If I was going to be alive, awake, and alert for class the next day, I was not going to be able to finish this drink. (For your personal reference and enjoyment, here is a recipe for a Dirty Girl Scout: 1 part vodka, 1 part kahlua, 1 part Bailey's, 1 part white creme de menthe. Mix vodka, kahlua, and Bailey's. Pour the creme de menthe down the center. Top with chocolate if you want to pretend that you're being classy and not trying to get wasted, or if you just really like chocolate. When mixed properly, it will taste like a Thin Mint Cookie.) Being not only awesome, but also a responsible parent, Yael told me that not finishing my drink was completely acceptable (this would not have happened if I was out with friends. Peer pressure is real; protect your children at all costs). The result was a lovely evening with a yummy drink and a fantastic lady, with no hangover to deal with in the morning!

Now, on to the main point:

Part of my class yesterday included a talk with the artistic director of the Orange Tree Theatre. While I wasn't turned off by the idea of this talk, my interests no longer lie solely in theatre and I really wanted a nap (we had just spent several hours walking around Kew Gardens which is BIG). For most of the talk I listened politely and took notes, because I had a journal entry to write and I was NOT going to fail Interrelationships just because I was tired. Then the artistic director mentioned that the Orange Tree was going to produce a play called "Reading Hebron," which is about conflict in Hebron, West Bank and is by a Canadian playwright. As some of you may know, I am very interested in Middle Eastern dramatic literature (especially Israeli and Palestinian) and am thinking of writing a senior thesis about it. This side comment about a late-season play sent my brain spinning into gear. "WHAT?!" I thought, "Canadians write plays about Israel?!" I started scribbling on my notebook, and now have some random comments that I need to sit down and make sense of sometime soon. They include (verbatim):

"Diaspora -->Home?"
"Ownership: How does it morph based on geograph. location?"
And my personal favorite: "Post colonial effects on colonial diaspora --> and its descendants. DO I EVEN HAVE A RIGHT TO DO THIS?! AAAHHHHH?!?!"

Obviously, I need to work on coming to terms with my academic interests. Anyways, my point is, inspiration comes when you don't expect it. It can come when you're sleepy, when you're not really interested in what's going on, when you'd rather be back in a hotel room where there's a king-sized bed and two TVs. But because it comes in those situations, it's mportant to get out and do things. After all, you never know when you're going to hear something that could so perfectly fit with your life.

Peace out, cubscouts.

British Men Are Creepy

Sound: "The Ding Dong Song" by Gunther

I thought that Creepy James was the epitome of creepy British men. I was wrong.

Yesterday, a few of us went to Starbucks to use their free wifi (they are much nicer than McDonalds, both in decor and in attitude). I didn't want a drink, so I went down, set up my laptop, and waited for Mia and Theresa. The entire time I was waiting, a creepy man stared at me. Maybe my fly was down? Nope. Maybe my hair got blown about by the wind? Nope, all good. Finally Theresa joined me. "There is a creepy man staring at me," I whispered. "I don't think he's even blinked for the past five minutes." After a stealthy glance at said creepy man, Theresa agreed that he was indeed creepy and was indeed staring at me. Thankfully, Creepy Man left soon after.

A few hours later, Shena came home and told us that another creepy man (hence known as Creepy Man 2.0) stopped her on the street. He told her that he'd seen her around a lot and asked her if she lived in the area (like any smart girl who just found out a creepy man was stalking her, she denied residence). He then asked her if she was from London and if she wanted to go on a date. She said she was visiting, sorry, and ran away.

The thing is, these men don't have to be creepy. Creepy Man was actually kind of cute; just REALLY creepy. He could have had a chance if he blinked. Or, you know, didn't stare for five minutes. Creepy Man 2.0 could have totally rephrased his questions and maybe would have been successful. But, no. British men, apparently, are just too creepy to figure it out.

Also, I've used the word "creepy" 17 times in this post. Perhaps I should invest in a thesaurus.

Peace out, cubscouts.

Getting Into Trouble: The Panini Press And Other Stories

Sound: "Devil's Dance Floor" by Flogging Molly

Last night was Girls' (plus Sean) Night Out. Mia got us on the guest list for Tiger Tiger, a dance club in Picadilly Circus. Being on the guest list is not nearly as exciting as it sounds- basically, it means you get in for free if you get there before 10pm. We got there at 9:45pm, and were therefore able to take full advantage of our guest list privileges. Except for Sam, because she left her ID at home.

I was very excited by the name of this club, because it reminded me of William Blake's "The Tyger." I was so reminded of this fact that I found it necessary to recite the first verse (although at the time, I could only recall the first two lines. Obviously I paid a lot of attention in AP English.):

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

This recitation led to Sean and Mia debating if I was more of an English major or Drama major (Drama won). It also passed the short time that it took to walk from the tube to the club quite quickly.

Once inside the club we proceeded to do what everyone should do in a club: dance. Tiger Tiger has two dance floors and a lot of bar space. A LOT of bar space. I personally am not a fan of the dance floor to bar space ratio... I think more dance floor would be beneficial. But it's okay, because we found plenty of space for ourselves.

Now, being only 20, I've never really been to a club before, but I quickly learned the Golden Rule of Clubbing: You WILL Be Touched By Strange Men. Sometimes this is not a bad thing. Sometimes, it leads to the Panini Press...

The Panini Press is what the flatmates have dubbed the particular version of The Sandwhich that I experienced. The Sandwhich, in case you weren't aware, is when two people dance on their side of another person. The Panini Press is the same thing, except instead of dancing, the two outside people hug each other and squash the person in the middle. It is not pleasant. In fact, it is terrifying (although it is more terrifying when the person in the middle is only 5 feet tall and the people on the outside measure at well over 6 feet). After being tricked into a Panini Press, I obviously needed a breather. So Sean and I acted like the cool kids we are and hung out at a table watching people. That is, until Katy Perry came on and Sean got excited like the 13-year-old girl he is and insisted that we dance. :)

All in all (and Panini Press aside), I thoroughly enjoyed my evening of trouble at Tiger Tiger. There were lots of people to dance with, good music, good drinks (but SO expensive!), and good friends. There was also a wide range of dancing styles- it was nice to move beyond the high school habit of bump-and-grind and actually mambo with someone. I highly recommend Tiger Tiger and plan on returning at least once more before I go back to the States.

Peace out cubscouts.

EDIT: I almost forgot to mention Mia's new friend. His name is James (we call him Creepy James). Creepy James is about 35 years old and wears cable-knit sweaters (I don't know how he didn't overheat). After dancing with Mia for two songs, he asked her to be his girlfriend. Mia said sorry, she just met him, and ran away. Later, Creepy James found Mia again and apologized for "offending" her (he said some other stuff, but it was too loud to hear). We had to form a protective cocoon and put Sean on Fake Boyfriend duty. It was hilarious.

EDIT #2: Dear Dad, You will be happy to hear that I am not pregnant, newly pierced, or tattooed. I did not vomit, period. I also did not jump anywhere, in both the literal and metaphorical sense (except straight up and down on the dance floor).

What To Do?

Sound: "The Abolition of Man" by Thrice

I'm starting to feel... dare I say it? Okay. Here goes. I'm starting to feel static. I've developed a routine; I get up, do some cleaning, get ready, go to class, do homework, see a show, and repeat. And, as nice as it is to have a routine and know what's going to happen when, I'm in London! I did not come here to live a nice, boring, static life.

Obviously this means it's time to leave my comfort zone, push the boudaries, and get into a little bit of trouble.

Parental units: I promise not to get arrested. But that's the only promise you'll get.

Peace out, cubscouts.

Les Francais

Sound: "He Doesn't Know Why" by Fleet Foxes

Friday night my flatmates and I went to a local pub, the Prince Albert (this is different from the Prince Edward, which is kitty corner to our flat and where my future boyfriend, Nick-the-bartender, works). While sipping our lagers, ales, and gin and tonics, we spied some rather cute young men out on the terrace. So we went to talk to them.

They were not, as we originally thought, British. Nope. They were French.

However, despite all the stereotypes of the French being snobs, or mean, or just not liking Americans, they were quite nice young men. Mia, Sam, and I ended up taking to them for almost three hours about a huge range of topics- France, America, foreign languages, England, the Tube, and, of course, the drinking age in America (this seems to be a common topic when talking to Europeans; they just can't seem to understand why America allows people to drive and 16 and vote and go to war at 18, but won't let them drink until 21). It was really interesting to hear their ideas about the world and about America, as well as to learn about France. Talking with someone from another country really tests your knowledge of your own country. While explaining the electoral process (and later, the judicial system), I found myself very grateful for AP U.S. History. We have a really complex political and judical system, and, although I think I did a pretty good job explaining these systems, I certainly don't fully understand all of its nuances.

As I drifted off to sleep that night (well, morning), I found myself very satisfied with the events of the evening. I had held my ground in a debate, had learned a lot about an other country and two of its people, and hadn't yelled once.

Plus, I got a really cute French guy's email address.

Peace out, cubscouts.

Silly Things That British People Say

1) "Mind the gap."

2) "Time for a tea break!" [takes out cup of tea- where were you hiding that, Mr. Irish Lit Professor?!- and looks around] "Why don't you have your mugs and tea bags with you?"

3) "Your shoes are quite clicky. Do they make you feel important?"

4) "When we defeated the Germans in 1945..."

5) "Garage." (Just listen to a British person say this word- you will giggle for a good five minutes.)

6) In reference to Toni Morrison: "Oh yes, he does very good work." Upon being informed that Toni Morrison is a woman: "Ah, I remember now. She had a sex change operation a few years back." Upon being informed that, no, Toni Morrison was born a woman and is an African American Pulitzer prize winner who wrote Beloved: "Ah, of course! The one that your Oprah Winfrey is such a fan of!" Yes, elderly British woman, Oprah does enjoy Toni Morrison's work.

7) In reference to the British Empire: "Back when all was right with the world..."

8) "The colonies" in reference to The United States of America.

And my absolute favorite:

Often when in the tube, you hear announcements from the station managers. These announcements usually inform you of where the approaching train is headed to, and then ask you to please stand behind the yellow line. The other day, after hearing this standard announcement, we suddenly hear over the loudspeaker "Woman reading the newspaper, STAND BEHIND THE YELLOW LINE!!!" Apparently, Big Brother is real and is very invested in the patrons of the London Underground.

Peace out, cubscouts.

So Much Shakespeare, So Much Rain

Sound: "Grace Kelly" by Mika

This past weekend I went on a school trip to Oxford and Stratford-Upon-Avon. Most of the time was spent in Stratford, which made me kind of sad. See, I really liked Oxford, and Stratford has become so touristy that I have difficulty truly enjoying it (MINI RANT: It is ridiculous to charge £12 to see the inside of Shakespeare's house. Seriously. What is wrong with you, Shakespeare estate? I get that upkeep is necessary, but £12? Also, if you're charging that much money, then don't be surprised that less people are visiting the house. Try £2, and you'll probably be a lot more successful in getting visitors.).

The town of Stratford is lovely, though, so even though I didn't visit most of the Shakespeare sights, I did have a great time exploring the town. We went on a motor boat ride, which was quite the adrenaline rush, because Will drove. Will does not possess a regular driver's license, and had never been on a boat before. Somehow, I ended up being responsible for teaching him how to drive a boat (you can laugh now, family). This further cemented my belief that I should not have children, although I did feel some pride when Will (on the fourth try) managed to steer the boat under the bridge without hitting any of the supports... perhaps this is what parenting is?

During our visit, we were able to catch the Royal Shakespeare Company's production for "Julius Caesar." "Julius Caesar" is one of my favorite Shakespeare plays, and holds a special place in my heart, since I was in my high school's production in 2006. Overall, I really enjoyed the production. The acting was fantastic, and I thought they did a great job bringing the text to a relatable, realistic level. And the fact that a lot of sexy British men were running around in various states of undress didn't hurt.

Last night, I went to see "The Merry Wives of Windsor" at The Globe. "Merry Wives" is my least favorite Shakespeare play. I've previously seen two productions of it and read it multiple times, and I still don't like it. This production, however, pleasantly surprised me. It was actually funny, was clear, and wasn't too bawdy- something I feel productions often struggle with. But then London reared its ugly weather head. Because we were in London, and had been enjoying beautiful weather for the last few days, we were suddenly and unexpectedly blessed with rain- a downpour- and the Globe has an open roof. If you have seats, you're fine and covered, but the ICLC wanted us to have a real Shakespeare experience, so we were groundlings (this means we stood in the yard for 3 hours and therefore were rained on). The fact that none of us left really speaks to how wonderful the production was.

Then we all took taxis home because there is currently a full-out tube strike and the buses were full. Shakespeare, we've been close for a while, but I'm not sure I can handle so much of you in my life. A girl needs her space. I'll see you in two weeks, though, when I return to The Globe and stand for "Henry IV, part 1."

Peace out, cubscouts.

EDIT: Fun Fact That I Almost Forgot: "Avon" is the Celtic word for river. So the River Avon just means the River River.

I Did Not Inherit The Handyman Gene

Sound: "40 Day Dream" by Edward Sharpe And The Magnetic Hands

The other day, Mia and I bought a clothes hamper. Upon returning to the flat, we discovered that you had to put the hamper together yourself... using tools. Specifically, a phillips head screwdriver. Fortunately, my friends Sean and Aaron are tech/design majors and therefore the only people in the world who would think to pack a phillips head screwdriver when going to London for a semester. So last night, after yelling at a diagram for about ten minutes, Mia and I put together the hamper (I did the screwing).

Upon finishing the hamper:

Me: It doesn't look square.

Mia: Well, duh. It's a rectangle, Morgan.

Me: No, I mean square in the carpentological sense.

Mia: "Carpentological" is not a word. And it doesn't matter. The clothes haven't fallen out yet, so we were successful.