As Tracy Flick would say, this is an "unconscionable travesty"

Copy and paste the link below to save Veronica Mars

Now.

http://www.eonline.com/gossip/kristin/blog/index.jsp?uuid=75a31622-f0e6-4166-be21-798de6671716

Banner wuz here.

When I came into work yesterday, this is what my chair looked lke. If anyone out there knows who tore my chair into four pieces, let me know. Otherwise I will just assume that one of my co-workers in the communications team is the Incredible Hulk.

The Seagull at The Royal Court Theatre

So very good. Kristin Scott Thomas is beautiful and Mackenzie Crook was excellent. Such a great production--it was like food.

A Tribute to Percy Pigs in Haiku Form

Open the package
(Mmmm best thing about Britain)
Gone in three minutes.

Can't.Turn it. Off....

OK so it's 12:22 AM and I'm still up watching red carpet coverage...Ryan Seacrest is so painfully awkward at times, it's almost mesmerizing. The best part so far was when he was interviewing Al Gore about "An Inconvenient Truth" and environmental issues whilst the camera was zero-ing in on Jessica Biel's arse. Boo, E!, boo! And yet I'm still watching.

1 AM is late, y'all.

The question is, am I enough of an Oscar junkie to stay up to watch the awards? I mean, the fact is I haven't seen "Babel" or "Letters from Iwo Jima" and I thought the end of "The Departed" was poop. On the other hand, I love Ellen and am still haunted by the Dench/ Blanchett performances in "Notes on a Scandal" plus I'm still holding out hope that Jackie Ealre Haley will snag a win for his disturbingly fantastic performance in "Little Children."

It's a toughie...then again, maybe that's why I'm so thankful to be born in the age of TiVo, or whatever they call it here.

A few words of advice

If you type "mojitos and port" (with the quotes) into Google, no pages will come up. There is a reason for this: I'm pretty sure--no matter how delicious these things are--that these beverages were ever meant to be consumed together.

I would just like to say

that I hope the Paris Hilton boycott effort is successful. Very successful. Since I rarely stay at a Hilton and I never wear FILA and I'd never ever ever see a Paris Hilton movie even if you threatened to rip out all my arm hairs one by one...there's not much I can do by way of activiely participating in this boycott. But I wish eveyone involved all the best because she is a SBBW.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Happy 32nd Anniversary, Mom and Dad!

I just read that the gift for the 32nd wedding anniversary should be a "gift of conveyance, i.e. an automobile." But considering some of the cars my family has had over the years, a list that includes a powder blue Ford Pinto, a purple Volvo station wagon and a tan-colored boat like vehicle that cost us $50 (£25)...I'd opt for another present. :) Plus, my parents have been known to try to patch a car radiator with bubble gum....:D

Mom and Dad, I love you both. And if you are reading this, shame on you...you should be celebrating!

Report back...

1. Finally seeing "Notes on a Scandal" -- eh, didn't happen.
2. Haircut at Taylor Taylor -- very pleased. and my favourite part (hee hee "part") was when I asked Mr. Superstylist if he's ever jabbed someone in the eye with scissors while cutting their fringe, he responded with, "No no no, but I have accidentally yanked some eyebrow rings out...and I just say to them, 'sorry, guess the 90s are officially over.'" :)
3. Making pumpkin pie -- delish and enjoyed by all.
4. Trip to Absolute Vintage -- fantastic, but only if you like rows and rows of fabulous footwear at amazing prices and racks of supercute dresses and hats from decades gone by.
5. Staying up until the creakity crack of dawn to watch the Super Bowl -- totally worth it. But I need a coffee the size of my head.

Things to look forward to this weekend.

1. Finally seeing "Notes on a Scandal"
2. Haircut at Taylor Taylor
3. Making pumpkin pie
4. Trip to Absolute Vintage
5. Staying up until the creakity crack of dawn to watch the Super Bowl

As predicted...

I was mortified yesterday to see two people at two different times skateboarding through the tunnels at the tube station. Yes. Skateboarding. Why do people insist on making me want to hurt them? On the bright side, there was a great female singer busking at Bank. She sounded like Juliet Turner.

Sometimes...or The Most one can Hope for when Commuting

Sometimes a complete stranger follows you off the train...to give you the glove you unkonwingly dropped.
Sometimes you get a fantastic cup of coffee...from the crappy old stand at Walthamstow Central.
Sometimes it's gray and rainy when you descend into the tube station...and bright and cleary and sunny when you emerge.
Sometimes on the train you look over...and see a little girl doing the most beautiful needlework.
Sometimes a person leaves a copy of The Economist on the seat when they leave...or better still, Vogue.
Sometimes someone gives up their seat for you.
Sometimes you get to give up your seat for someone who needs it more.
Sometimes none of these are true...like Monday, Monday will probably make me want to push someone onto the tracks.
But today, today I got three out of seven...
Which ain't bad.

I can now let go of my grudge.

My cynical nature suffered a big time blow this morning.

For a long time now I've held a bitter grudge against the producers of such films as Bridget Jones' Diary that have led me (and no doubt countless other Americans) to believe that it snows in London when--come to find out--that's not the case. I've even gone so far as to label it false advertising.

Well, this morning it snowed!

Don't get me wrong; it's not the huge drifts that suerpskinny Colin Firth and trouser-less Renee Zellweger stand and embrace in...but it is snow nonetheless.

Wow, perhaps you can believe that real life is like the movies after all.

There must be some irked Canadians out there.

I've noticed lately that, upon hearing me speak, people tend to sort of timidly ask, "Are you from North America?" or "Do I detect a North American accent?"

This leads me to believe that at some point, Canadians in the UK must have gotten so fed up with being asked, "Are you American?" that they started punching inquirers in the face.

My thoughts on being home sick, or "poorly" as they say here.

I have this theory about being home sick and that is this: there is no point in being home sick from work if you are in fact too sick to enjoy it. If that's the case you may as well be at work. The best time to be home sick is when you are just sick enough to justify staying home but not too sick to enjoy your being-at-homeness. You know, when you can drink tea and read in bed and catch up on great films you've been meaning to watch. The kind of sick I am right now, when you are coughing every 4.5 seconds and can barely get motivated to lift the remote...and where blogging this short paragraph has taken waaaaaay too long....this kind stinks. I may as well be at work.
Ok that's my theory. More on why Grand Marnier is better than Nyquil later.

FINALLY!

This calls for a second blog post!

2007 so far...

...is odd. I submit the following as evidence of its oddness:

My computer at work keeps randomly re-starting itself.

Most played CD so far this year: "King" by T.I. (yeah, the rapper).

I'm strangely extremely bothered by a recent mistake at work (something about a photo in a publication that was labelled Mt. Kenya when it was actually in Nepal).

I'm also strangely *extremely* bothered by the fact that no sooner had 2007 rolled in that I got an email from Illuminations advertising their Valentine's Day candles. Seriously, on 1/1/07

I've imbibed more tea than coffee.

I actually enjoyed "Clerks 2" more than "Clerks."


So there ya have it.

Noe hearts her little bro.

And her little bro is having a record release party tonight all the way over in Texas so since I can't be there, I'll pay tribute by poasting their myspace addy here:

http://www.myspace.com/resignedtofate

RTF til deaf!

Love. You. Goobie.



PS. It's punkmetalthrashhardcore in case you were wondering

And now for a Boxing Day tune....

You of course have to sing this to the melody of "Oh Chirstmas Tree."


Oh Christmas Fat, Oh Christmas Fat
I hope that you aren’t permanent.
Oh Christmas Fat, Oh Christmas Fat
I hope that you aren’t permanent.

You were not here two weeks ago
Now I shall have to do tae-bo
Oh Christmas Fat, Oh Christmas Fat
I hope that you aren’t permanent

If anoyone out there has a stanza to add, by all means...

Blogging on Christmas. What a loser.

I have V* and Gerard Manley Hopkins to thank for my favourite Advent reflection this year:

Now burn, new born to the world,
Doubled-naturèd name,
The heaven-flung, heart-fleshed, maiden-furled
Miracle-in-Mary-of-flame,
Mid-numbered He in three of the thunder-throne!
Not a dooms-day dazzle in his coming nor dark as he came
Kind, but royally reclaiming his own;
A released shower, let flash to the shire, not a lightning of fire hard-hurled.

--from "Wreck of the Deutschland"

It's a mystery. A chicken mystery.

As I was travelling around London this weekend I came to a conclusion: Londoners love them some fried chicken.

I must have passed dozens of outlets for fried chicken, with names ranging from the more mundane: KFC, Chicken Express, Best Fried Chicken, to the more succinct Chicken and (my personal favourite) Tasty Chicken Land.

Herein lies the mystery: I never actually see anyone eating fried chicken. So what's the deal?

Holocaust Denial and Double Standards

I never use this blog to comment on political issues, but this Holocaust denial conference (and those why 'deny' it's anything otherwise are wrong) is so loathsome I can't help it. Perhaps Jews should rise up around the world and violently protest...oh wait, there aren't enough to do so. Why? Because of the Holocaust.
Idiots.

Ah, after living in the Southern U.S., the East Coast and California, it's so nice to not have to worry about earthquakes, hurricanes and tornadoes

Uh, nevermind.

I have discovered

that not everyone in my office feels the same way about Tina Turner that I do.

The problem with going to hear Handel's Messiah at St. Paul's Cathedral when you've had too many late nights in a row prior to that

is that some parts of "Messiah" are just so soothing...almost to the point of causing drowsiness, or in my case, complete slumber. Don't worry I wasn't the only one and I did wake myself up way in advance of the Hallelujah chorus.

Tenacious D

The D stands for Donut of course, my Napoleon-esque boston terrier who is staying w/ my parents. Note the size discrepancy between the two dogs as they play tug o' war. This photo was snapped shortly before Donut succeeded in dragging Schwartz (my parents' dog) across the floor by pulling on the rope. Isn't she scrappy...not to mention downright sexy?

How TiVo saved Thanksgiving

It's a classic Texas dilemma: you want to enjoy the togetherness and deliciousness of a Thanksgiving meal with your family, but dangit the Cowboys always play in the afternoon on Thanksgiving Day. So what's a family like mine to do, especially with a father, brothers and a recent ex-pat who refuse to miss the game? Eat way later? Eat turkey for breakfast?
Thank goodness this Thanksgiving was held at my brother's house. Why? Because Micah has TiVo. With a flick of a pause button we gathered for the gluttonous exercise that is Thanksgiving, prayed, laughed and shared what we were thankful for, and then whoosh, back to the living room, resume game, fast forward through commercials and bam, all is well.
And that's how TiVo saved Thanksgiving.

Great things about trip back to the U.S. so far (surprisingly only a few are food related)...

1. Getting to celebrate my brother Jonathan's birthday with him for the first time in over a decade. With Chinese food, cake and Shiner Bock.
2. Watching the Cowboys beat the previously undefeated Colts with the whole family.
3. Pumpkin spiced lattes from Sbux. That don't cost three pouns (close to $6).
4. Getting a Michael Kors sweater for $6.99 at Ross. (Yeah that's about three pounds.)
5. Black and white cookies from Cindi's Deli. Yes, we stopped on the way home from the airport.
6. Going shopping with my dad for his first (yes, first) cell phone. Welcome to the 20th (yes, 20th) century, Pops.
7. Seeing Donut, Professor and my parents' dog Schwartz all playing together in the backyard.
8. Jonathan giving me his last Resigned to Fate shirt (that's one of his bands). RTF 'til Deaf!
9. Services at my parents' congregation. Well, not the cleaning up part.

I'll stop at 9.

Soundtrack to Landing at DFW last PM

Good ol' Jimmie Dale Gilmore...

Dallas

Did you ever see Dallas from a DC9 at night
Well Dallas is a jewel oh yeah Dallas is a beautiful sight
And Dallas is a jungle but Dallas gives a beautiful light
Did you ever see Dallas from a DC9 at night

Well Dallas is a woman who will walk on you when you're down
When you are up she's the kind you want to take around
But Dallas ain't a woman to help you get your feet on the ground
And Dallas is a woman who will walk on you when you're down

Well I came in to Dallas with the bright lights on my mind
Well I came in to Dallas with a dollar and a dime

Well Dallas is a rich man with a death wish in his eyes
A steel and concrete soul and a warm hearted love disguise
A rich man who tends to believe in his own lies
Yeah Dallas is a rich man with a death wish in his eyes

Well I came in to Dallas with the bright lights on my mind
Well I came in to Dallas with a dollar and a dime

Did you ever see Dallas from a DC9 at night
Well Dallas is a jewel oh yeah Dallas is a beautiful sight
And Dallas is a jungle but Dallas gives a beautiful light
Did you ever see Dallas from a DC9 at night

Borat

The thing about Borat is that it is hilarious and deliciously clever at several points. It is also completely a movie for its time.

In ten years or so, people of my generation will try to get their kids to watch it and the kids totally won't get it and the parents will have to explain all sorts of references ("See, there was this U.S. President, George Bush...and that scary looking old lady named Pamela Anderson that you see hosting infomercials used to be hot..."

and the children will nod blankly...

My theme song for today that I just made up for myself.

Goes like this: "Might as well face it, you're addicted to Fark."

Tacky Headline o' the Day

I know that having resided in Britain, where one of the major papers recently ran the headline, "How do you solve a problem like Korea", I should be used to journalistic tackitude. But today's salute to tack comes from the NY Daily News, which decided to go with: 'Reese's marriage in pieces'.

Things that make you go, "Ew."

Wow. I'm sure that the state of Texas tourism office has considered many, many taglines for travel brochures, but now they can officially add, "Texas: the state that brought you fried Coke."

Curiously enough.

I googled the phrase "American Londoner" and it only came back with 82 pages.


P.S. Then I googled the word "googled" and it came up with 3,880,000 pages.

Read it and weep.

So after my eye doctor appointment today, I did a little reading about what benefits are available from my local council for people with severe visual impairments. It turns out that one of them is a discount at the cinema for the partially sighted person and a companion of their choice.
Cuz yeah, blind people just love to go to the movies.

Perhaps they should add the following benefits: driving lessons, bowling passes and a stargazing adventure.

I'll tell ya what's sad...

4:45 this afternoon: go to get coffee, forget to get loyalty card stamped.
5:45 (now): still bugging me.

Can this be right?

A friend of mine who recently moved to London told me Saturday night that she already unknowingly committed two London dating faux pas:

1. She expected the guy to pay for dinner, even though it was the second date and not the first.
2. She accepted a man's invitation for a drink, but had made post-drink plans, so when the man asked her to go to dinner after the drink, she told him she had these plans...and hasn't heard from him since.

My friend was subsequently told that a| she shouldn't expect the man to pay for dinner after the first date, that that's just not done here, and b) she definitely should have left the whole evening free when the second man asked her out for a drink.

I told my friend that I would put this tale of woe up on my blog to see if any of the four people who read it could offer some insight regarding this Secret London Dating Code.

Thoughts?

Ha! I knew it wasn't just me!

from good ol' Wikipedia:

Coulrophobia is a mental condition concerning the fear of clowns and mime artists. It has attracted a large amount of interest in the entertainment media and on the Internet, where websites have been created to specifically address the condition.

I haven't felt this big a sense of validation since reading recently that Scarlett Johansson's first crush was on David Bowie in Labyrinth. Yeah, that's right. Just like me.

Ah the comfort of consensus.

time to pimp the friend.

www.danielameyer.com

her unabashed joy never ceases to...well, it just never ceases.

I kid you not; I've actually heard people say this today.

Why on earth would anybody wish someone a "Happy Yom Kippur"?

The Monarchy

It's starting to grow on me. More later.

You British people and your snappy retorts....

So favorite "snap" of today...in response to my diatribe against Marmite, T* at work listened for awhile and came back with, "Well if we're gonna discuss the subject of sandwich fillings, what the heck is bologna?"

I guess you can say he told me.

But Marmite is still yucky. And I hate to break it to y'all, but so is Pimms.

Btw, T* is also the one who pointed out that American football is undeserving of the label because it doesn't actually involve the feet. Curses.

Hey! You know what's kinda fun?

Going to the airport when you don't have to travel. Went to meet 'Davaria' during their layover at LHR today. Heathrow is a much more fun place when it's not your cosmetics you're surrendering or you who has to wait in the security line. Or you who actually has to get on a plane. So if you can't find me this Saturday night, there's a better than even chance I'll be chillin' at Stanstead.



Hey look! It's NOT ME flying!

Words I've just plain refused to adopt...and why

While I've gladly incorporated 'chips', 'lift', 'bin', 'rubbish', 'car park' and various other British phrases into my vocabulary there are some I just cannot abide by:


'mobile' for cell phone (because it just sounds silly with my accent)
'kitchen roll' for paper towel (because you use it in places other than the kitchen)
'buttons' for remote control (because that's just wrong)
'sweets' for candy (because I just can't get into the habit and because the song 'I want Sweets' just wouldn't be the same...)
'cinema' for movies (cuz it's really hard to master the phrase, 'I'm going to the cinema to see the new Queen Latifah film...'
'aluminium' for aluminum (why would i put more syllables into a word...the same goes for 'disorientated' instead of disoriented...yes you could say it that way, but why??)
'hoover' for vacuum cleaner (just because)
'zed' (did nobody see pulp fiction?)

More to follow I'm sure.

All this for just £5.40

Yesterday I had five reminders of Why I Hate 'the Tube.'
1. At 9:46 AM I heard my least favorite six words: 'Severe delays on the Northern Line.'
2. The armpit(s) of the man in front of me when I finally got on said Northern Line, which was 18 different types of smelly.
3. My travelcard was somehow de-activated from the get-go, so at each station I had to ask a man in an orange vest to let me through.
4. At the end of the work day, as I was riding the escalator down to the depths of Waterloo station, it abruptly broke down, sending people lurching forward and then back as they all braced themselves. OK, so that part was kind of funny.
5. One of the stations I was trying to get to was closed due to 'overcrowding'? Yeah figure that one out.

If liking We Are Scientists makes me a cheesehead...

then let me be guilty.

Answer: 19 October 2006

Question: What date did Whipps Cross Hospital give me as their next available opthamology appointment?

Not kidding. Gotta *love* the NHS.

From Portland with Love

As you can see, the pups were eager to let me know they hadn't forgotten...

my (first) birthday cupcake*

I know, it's a thing of beauty, courtesy of the Hummingbird Bakery in Notting Hill.

* which was quickly followed by my second birthday cupcake...

Sarcasm chasm

Having been told by a co-worker that my last post demonstrates a typical American lack of understanding regarding the British use of sarcasm, I hereby clarify: I FREAKING LOVED PRAGUE!
My apologies to my swarms of British fans...(see, I can do sarcasm).

Czech please.

OK so how enamoured was I with Prague.

My Most Exciting Purchase Today

My most exciting purchase today was a passport wallet. Why? Because in three days I'm meeting my MA and some of her peeps in Prague and then we're going to Vienna for a day. YAY! Tips on "what to do with 48 hours in Prague/ Vienna" welcome. :)

There must be a point....

There must be a point at which it gets so hot it's actually legal to kill people.

So an American walks into a McDonald's...

Recently, on the way back from a conference, J* stopped at the McDonald's in the Cambridge Motor Services. (J* is an American who has lived in the UK for going on 20 years now.)
British people will be the first to tell you that they "know how to queue" (line up). However at the McD's, there were four registers open and one queue for all of them that was beginning to stretch out into the main shopping area, blocking other people from getting by the McD's.
So J* figured the logical thing to do was begin a new queue at one of the open tills, which would more evenly distribute the people at each of the four registers. But as he moved to do so, he was accosted by a tall, lanky British guy about 30 years old or so, who got right in his face and said, "Now how's that fair?! What if one queue moves faster than another one?!?" When J* tried to explain that the queue was getting unruly, the British guy, noting J*'s accent, yelled, "If you don't like it, get the **** back on the boat to America!"
Dialogue from here:
J*: "I've been here for 20 years, sir."
Angry British guy; "Hey we had rationing in THIS country, so we know how to queue, alright! Here, why don't you just cut in front of me, would that make you happy? Eh?!?"
J*: "No, that's ok, I'm not really in that much of a hurry."
Now, several responses could have been made to Angry British guy, aside from the obvious two fingers.
1. You're 30. You weren't even *around* during the WW2 rationing.
2. Well, apparently you missed the brain rations day.
3. You're telling ME to go back to America when you're in line to buy food in McDonald's?? Why don't YOU go to America if McD's is so important to you. There are tons of them there...Oh wait, the way we line up may bother you to no end so nevermind.
4. I've paid taxes and National Insurance here for 20 years, idiot, so if I go back to the US, that's less money the NHS will have to reverse your lobotomy.
5. Are you on crack? Seriously, are you?

I think the thing that bothers me MOST about this episode is that if I were ever to say the equivalent to someone who had immigrated to the US, i.e. told a Mexican gentleman to get back on the boat to where he came from, I would be lambasted and hung from the politically correct gallows...and rightly so. But here it's perfectly acceptable to treat Americans like space invaders. I'm not saying there aren't obnoxious Americans out there, but please. So Angry British guy, if you're out there, just shut up and eat your Big Mac.

Two fun things about yesterday.

1. GREAT haircut by Jose at Taylor Taylor.

2.

In Response....

R*s blog the other day reported: 'According to the July 10 New York Post, a professor from the University of Pennsylvania has been recruited to train other educators—in England—on how to teach "lessons in happiness." These lessons are for 11-year-olds in state schools and are meant to combat "a huge rise in depression."'

R* wonders what could be so wrong over here that 11-year-olds would need happy classes. To be honest, I'm not sure. I mean, yes, there's a tax on practically everything and the tube is hot and smelly and you can't find a Slurpee around here to save your life....on the other hand, the sun doesn't go down until 10 PM these days, there are free music conerts everywhere and Avenue Q finally go here, so yay.

Then again....


*That's* pretty depressing.

I don't even know you...

So I don't quite get why you'd call me 'love', 'hon' or 'darlin.'

I don't get it.

If they *can* make deoderant that doesn't leave white stuff on your shirt, then why don't they just make *all* deoderant that way? I mean, are there people out there who actually *prefer* to have white smudges on their clothes?

Well it was fun while it lasted.

And I want everyone to know how hard I worked to NOT put a "World Cup Runneth Over" post on after the England/ Portugal match. So there.

It makes for a somewhat more sensible cheer....

"Go England!"

(Yes now that America is at the sinkbed of the World Cup chart, it makes sense for me to throw my newfound football enthusiasm toward my adopted country's team and to pretend they've been my favorite....err, favourite all along.)

It makes for a somewhat awkward cheer...

"Yay! We...didn't lose!"

A 3-"nil" loss nonwithstanding...

I refused to let the rump-kicking America got the other night damper my newly-found football fever, so yesterday I watched my "other" country play (and finally beat) Trinidad and Tobago. And as exciting as that was, I have to say that overall, the best adjective to describe the sport of football, I think, would be "tantric"...a whole lotta action, and nobody ever scores.

Fever Part 2

The truth is, due to my unwavering loyalty to my senior year of high school boyfriend, until two weeks ago, I figured I'd witnessed enough soccer matches (sorry, but that's what we call it over across that there pond). I figured I'd put in enough time enthusiastically cheering for a game wherein scoring seemed next to impossible back when I was 17. So when I moved to England and a friend remarked,"Ohhh you'll be there for the World Cup; that'll be craaaazy" I was less than plussed (I figure if there's a non-plussed there can be a less than).
But seeing all these England flags pop up all over the place, and people at school picking their teams in the pool C* drew up and fnding little Diet Coke bottles in the shape of s----r balls at the grocery store....not to mention the new FABULOUS Krispy Kreme World Cup Doughnut....well, it's hard to not get sucked in. I'm a bit dismayed to read about the violence that took place a couple of hours ago at Canary Wharf where they broadcast the England game on two giant screens (especially considering probably everyone there was supporting the same team). Nonetheless, I intend to watch Monday as the American team plays the first game in their series...yup, that's right, I who thought those days were over. I *might* even begin referring to the game as football.
So Woohoo World Cup!
Then again, I might just be in it for the doughnuts..

Oh no, I think I have it.

That's right. World Cup fever. Who'd a thunk it?

"What *is* that strange yellow orb of light in the sky???" or "And you thought tea was for drinking..."

In an amazing-weather stupor I dragged my friend D* to my friend R*'s b-day picnic yesterday and managed to acquire my first sunburn o' the year. Those of you who know me know I'm normally an spf-45 kinda girl, but I guess there was part of me that remained in such disbelief about the aforementioned good weather (this being London and all) so I didn't re-apply enough. Hence the burn.
But here's a tip for y'all: Dunk some teabags in some warm water and apply them to your skin and it totally takes the sting away. I think I owe that l'il tidbit of info to the New York Public Library Desk Reference book, which if you don't own it, you should. And here British people thought tea was merely meant to be imbibed at half-hour intervals throughout the day....
Anyway, the picnic was gooooooorgeous: cans of cider and cones of melty ice cream and light breezes and people with puppies. Happy Birthday, R*!
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go scrub the tea-stains from my shoulders. :)

Pet Peeve of the Day

(Note to self: the next pet I own shall be named Peeve.)
OK moving on. I have decided that I hate-hate-hate 'advertorials'....you know, those ads in mags that *look* like articles with intriguing titles so you start reading them and think, 'Wow this magazine really likes these Biore nose strips...' only to look up at the top of the page and see in faint print, 'promotion' or 'special advertising section' or some such euphemism for 'FAKE FEATURE STORY.' Whose idea *was* this ruse? I don't know, but for the record, it's aggravating. Bring back in-your-face-non-subtle-none-too-clever-brightly-colored-magazine-engulfing-ads, I beg you.

"I was prepared to love you anyway."

A favourite recent quote from V* during a recent conversation wherein she expressed relief that I hadn't developed an affected British accent during my time here. But it's nice to know she woulda loved me anyway. :)

I'm over it.

I'm officially never eating chocolate again.

For the record, British chocolate is good. Really good. But this past weekend was Easter weekend, a.k.a. Four Days of Mandatory Chocolate Ingestion. Let's face it; when you're in a new country there is a temptation to do as the locals do, and the locals do swallow down a massive amount of cocoa and sugar products during this season. I have literally seen Easter eggs the size of human heads disappear rapidly, making all the British comments about the gargantuan sizes of American food portions um, ironic to say the least.

All this to say if I don't see another Cadbury egg or Lindt bunny until...well I guess until next Eater, I mean Easter, I'll be ok.

You haven't seen excitement...

until you've witnessed the hyper reaction of an entire office after the announcement: "Hot cross buns upstairs!"
For you Americans, I'll have to explain hot cross buns later as I'm at work.

Five Words for Britain.

Air conditioning. Look into it.

My New Hero

On a recent plane flight, in the rare few moments when I wasn't gripping the armrests in terror, I managed to start reading Bill Bryson's Notes From a Small Island, which a friend gave me a few years ago. I'd like to write like him when I grow up, though his hilarious observations about Britain basically render my blog superfluous. OK more superfluous.

If I had a band...

...I'd name it Various Artists.
Think of the repertoire I could claim.

Two recent occurences that prove I'm old.

1. I got seven kids evicted from the movies the other night because they were being rude...this after shhhhh-ing them several times.
2. Yesterday I described a donut from Krispy Kreme as being "too sweet."
Somebody help me.

THE CONGESTION CHARGE SUCKS!

That is all.

The customer is always....angry.

I'm taking a break from my regularly scheduled programming (which in this case is prepping for tomorrow's seminar on The Realm of the Dead in the Old Testament....so yeah, hard to tear myself away from that one) for a good old fashioned gripe session, and to issue an apology.
OK, first the apology. To all those incredibly obsequious, manic salespeople who have bent over backwards (not usually literally) to make sure I "had everything I need" or "was satisfied with my purchase"....you know who you are. Chances are I probably snubbed you or just barely grunted at you when you asked if I'd "found everything OK."
Well what I wouldn't give for a good dose of over-the-top-albeit-usually-insincere freakishly good customer service.
Allow me to briefly share an anecdote. One evening a friend of mine and I went to return something he'd purchased to the (ick) mall. He'd called up the store from whence this item came and asked how late they were open. "6:30" they told him. We arrived at the mall at 6:10, paid a quid to park and rushed inside only to see the store in question closed, metal gate pulled down and everything. We decided to call this store and inquire as to why they were closed when they said they'd be open. The oh-so-charming person who answered the phone and listened to our mystification at arriving at a store that was supposed to be open and wasn't put us on hold for a minute and then came back and said,"Well, nobody here would have told you we were open til 6:30. We close at 6."
My friend: "Yeah, I now understand you close at 6. But I'm not making it up; someone there told me 6:30 or else I wouldn't have driven out here."
Retail Monster: "Well, nobody here would have told you that."
My friend: "Well, seeing as you are there an all, could you lift the gate and take my return."
Retail Monster: "Nope, we're closed."
Note the absence of any "I'm sorry" or offer to compensate for our time, aggravation, or quid for parking. No, just an assumption that a) we had nothing better to do that fight through traffic and peruse an empty mall, b) were idiots who didn't know the difference between6 and 6:30 and c) we'd just take it and live with the idea that the customer in this case is always wrong.
Oh kiss-butt shopgirls of days gone by, where art thou?

I haven't flunked out yet!

Woohoo, just got the old essay results back from the first term. Will not divulge scores here but we can safely say that London will be kickin' my hiney for several more months.

The Metamorphosis

So my parents were just here for a week, so I got to watch them transform from excited tourists into tube zombies in just seven days.

This is fantastic...

Many thanks to C* from school, who sent me the following...

In Dr. Edward Pocoke's translation (Oxford,
1659) of The Nature of the Drink
Kauhi, or Coffee, and the Berry of which
it is Made, Described by an Arabian Phisitian,
we read:

That which makes for its coldnesse is its stipticknesse.
In summer it is by experience found
to conduce to the drying of rheumes, and flegmatick
coughes and distillations, and the opening
of obstructions, and the provocation of urin.
It is now known by the name of Kohwah. When
it is dried and thoroughly boyled, it allayes the
ebullition of the blood, is good against the small
poxe and measles, the bloudy pimples; yet
causeth vertiginous headheach, and maketh lean
much, occasioneth waking, and the Emrods, and
asswageth lust, and sometimes breeds melancholly.

He that would drink it for livelinesse sake,
and to discusse slothfulnesse, and the other
properties that we have mentioned, let him use
much sweat meates with it, and oyle of pistaccioes,
and butter. Some drink it with milk,
but it is an error, and such as may bring in
danger of the leprosy.

New Holiday Experiences

Thanks, London, for the following new holiday things that had heretofore gone un-experienced by me:

1. mince pies...yeah, you can keep those

2. actually seeing people eat and enjoy fruitcake...you know, in the States only people who don't like you very much give you fruitcake for Christmas...and nobody eats it. nobody. it's like a big paperweight that gets moldy.

3. getting kicked out of a church...well, more like standing in line in the freezing cold waiting to get into st. martin-in-the-fields carol service only to be told there's (insert obvious "no room at the inn" joke here). so you can't really get kicked out if you were never allowed in. hmmm wonder if there was a VIP list...

4. a complete, total, utter lack of candy canes...this was a shocker. y'all really should get you some candy canes...they are the business.

5. UK office christmas parties...see previous posts...boy are they a hoot and a half, just like in the movies!
(side note: speaking of movies...if you've never been to London, you may be shocked to learn that all those movies that portray a snow-clad London...are full of poop. it really doesn't snow here. that scene where bridget jones runs through the drifts to meet colin firth in her skivvies...totally false advertising.)

6. christmas crackers and those big balloony things that fly around the room when inflated...very very fun, especially when they land in other people's dinner. in my opinion they should pull those out much more often.

7. no tube service on christmas day...ok, that's just insane. what about all those people rushing off to christmas services they aren't allowed into??? or like, the i don't know, millions of people of other faiths who happen to live here and probably don't celebrate christmas? or what if you have to get to heathrow (that one was for you, DH).

8. boxing day. ok, that's brilliant. another day to recover from the previous day's gluttony and to be gluttonous all over again!?!? sign me up.

Picture Time!

That would be a lovely sunset seen from my school library window...mind you, that's probably at about 4:30 PM...
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That would be Buckingham Palace, Thanksgiving Day.
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"Grad school is hard," said Barbie.

Well, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but the fact is that I'm snowed under with essays (as opposed to actual snow) at the moment so I'm being a somewhat unfaithful blogger.
Right now I'm sitting in the library at school with a few members of the "nerd herd" (MA students). It's close to 8 PM which means it's been dark for about six hours already. :) (Have I mentioned how early the sun sets here?)
Let's see...what can I update my faithful blog-readers (both of you) about?
Attended my first-ever UK office Christmas party with a friend and her boyfriend. Everything you hear about UK office Christmas parties is absolutely true. It was at a Greek restaurant so you know we got to break stuff. :) I leaned over and told my friend S* who is also Jewish, "Now ya see, that's the difference between our culture and theirs...there's no way my mother would ever let me smash perfectly good plates."
Recently got interviewed on BBC Radio, but that's a long story. :)
Saw Kevin Spacey and the Archbishop of Cantebury switch on the Christmas lights down the street from where I work. I tried to convince a co-worker to yell out, "Kaiser Sozey!" while Kevin was speaking, but he wouldn't. Chicken.
Have finally discovered the fantastic Indian food that everyone says is here but which had hitherto gone un-found by me. I was beginning to think it was just a myth, but oh, was I wrong. Speaking of which, you know what's kinda fun? Thinking up names of songs and twisting them with names of Indian dishes, i.e., "Korma Chameleon", "You Can't Curry Love", and well, you get the idea. OK, maybe that's more fun (not to mention more challenging) with a few glasses of wine. :)
OK, back to work for me.

Then again I don't have a clue about boxing day

so why should I expect England to do Thanksgiving right?
But the company was good. :) And all things considered I have much I'm grateful for
...even if there was no stuffing.

Thanksgiving: the Plan

In the absence of time to cook and several necessary ingredients for a Thanksgiving meal, a party of five of us have planned to go out tomorrow night for Thanksgiving. We're going to a restaurant near Buckingham Palace in London that is allegedly putting on a Thanksgivingesque feast for £19.50 a head.
It's important to note that since Thanksgiving isn't just about quality of food but quantity of food, it is of course a buffet.
Then will come the difficult task of finding a pub that's showing the Cowboys game.
Let the gluttony begin.
Will post and update after the event if I'm not still in a turkey-induced stupor.

No kidding

This email was actually circulated around the office where I work, though the names and places have been omitted:

If you left your socks (black) in room 3 please collect them before 12.00noon today when I will bin them. (Its not very pleasant entertaining guests in there with dirty socks sitting on the table!)

Wow.

p's and queues

So here's something that happens most mornings...

I get to the National Rail station, from where a train to central London leaves approximately every 15 minutes. I go to the counter to buy an off-peak travelcard (after 9:30 the price goes down by half and I take the 9:31 train). The teller informs me that the train that was supposed to come at 9:15 is late. I check the clock; it's about 9:25, which would ordinarily give me enough time to buy a ticket and get to the platform HOWEVER, since the 9:15 train still hasn't come, the teller can't sell me an off-peak train ticket, for fear that I might jump on the 9:15 train when it comes at like 9:25, thereby bilking London Transport out of six quid.

So all of us waiting for the 9:31 train and the coinciding cheaper fare, have to queue so that when the 9:15 train finally pulls in and out of the station at about 9:28 or so, we can all rush to the counter to get our off-peak tickets before the next train comes at 9:31.

Ah, efficiency.

Next up on Survivor: London...

now that she's finally obtained a bank account, Noe will attempt to get a National Insurance Number. Stay tuned....

Only slightly better than ripping out my arm hairs one by one

is the process of obtaining a bank account in the UK.

Fireworks Explanations

I finally had the whole fireworks/ bonfire weekend thing sufficiently explained to me last night; I mean, not sufficiently enough for me to understand why I was awoken by blasts and flashes at 4:45 AM the other morning...but sufficiently enough for all other practical intents and purposes. :) I'd go into the explanation here for all you Americans out there, but hey, I'm lazy and that's what google is for.

I was also able to explain in kind why I find the whole thing so fascinating. You see, in the U.S., we are lectured practically from birth that if you set your own fireworks off, you are guaranteed to lose an eye...or a limb, or some appendage. I can remember frequently being shown pictures or videos on the evening news of some poor disfigured kid "whose Fourth of July antics rapidly led to a night spent in the Emergency Room."

I guess those American scare tactics worked. Cuz one of the last things I would do is set off my own fireworks in the backyard of my own house while inibriated. But British people have been doing it for years, convinced that, as M* said at the pub last night, "If you're stupid enough to injure yourself setting off fireworks, then it was only a matter of time before you were in some sort of kitchen appliance accident anyway."

So all this to say, while I'm still at heart afraid of the inevitability of losing an eye that would surely follow my own attempts to ignite my own fireworks under the influence, in the spirit of the weekend, I'm happy to watch other people do it.

It had to happen sooner or later...

Those of you who know me know that I'm psychotically loyal to my hair person back in SF, the wonderful, fantastic, gifted artistic E" who's bravely taken me from blonde to red to brunette to blue to pink, to combinations thereof, etc.

Needless to say, one of the first thoughts that went through my shallow (but well coifed) head when I was considering moving to London was, "But what will I do without E*?" Seriously, when you mentally calculate how much a plane flight from SF to London would cost in addition to the hairstyle...well, you know yer an addict.

But today I could put it off no more. The roots were too hideous, the ends just too scruffy...plus I was PMSing. So I took a deep breath...and started googling. No place I found online gave me good vibes, but when I popped out to grab a cup of coffee I spied a small studio advertising a student discount. It looked clean and reasonably priced (for London) and the people working there had nice hair...so I tiptoed to the counter and made an appointment for after work.

I actually almost didn't go, the prospect of a new hair person being that repugnant to me. But all's well that ends well. I have new color, a new cut and feel like I've taken a big step.

Now, I know that some of you out there are probably thinking that with all the messed up things out there--hurricanes, wars, possible impending avian flu epidemics--that I'm super trivial for devoting this much cyberspace to my hair chronicles.

Yeah well, Mr. McCrankypants, maybe if you went and got your hair done you wouldn't be quite so darn gloomy.

funny flatmate

Below is the full text of an email from my flatmate, answering my inquiry regarding when our washing machine will get fixed:

[Per the landlord] the method for getting it fixed is to walk down the street until you see the washing machine repairs van, and then invite the driver to come and fix the one at 105.


Coming soon, the Bird Flu prevention method based on walking down the street hitting random birds with a cricket bat....

Confession

Have somehow managed to gain four pounds since moving here. Must be the sudden increase of all things potato-related in my diet. That and those dang HobNobs.

Anyway, am hoping that this public admission will compel me to reverse this fortune. Plus, doesn't typing burn calories?

Gotta go. Time for dinner.

Answer: Two and a half hours.

Question: How long did the 14-mile trip into work take this morning?

Welcome to London.

Moving on, I have to mention something I really appreciate about British conversational dialogue. I like how instead of asking, "How are you?" (which we Americans often ask without really wanting an answer) they simply say, "[You] all right?"* which requires a much simpler "yes" or "no" response. Good thinkin' there.

* The "you" is implied, not actually spoken. If I were to write it out like it sounds, it would read something like, "Yaright?"

I'll take "things I just don't understand about the UK*" for 500 please, Alex.

1. the "logic" behind a two pence coin
2. Marmite
3. the fascination with Big Brother
4. the absolute refusal to sell refrigerated eggs
5. the staunch anti-ice position
6. how people here drink instant coffee...and seem to enjoy it


*and probably never will

Comparisons

Today a co-worker...let's call him *Grover for now...posed a question to me, which went something along the lines of asking the differences between the tube and the subway in say, New York. I didn't have so great of an answer then, but after pondering a bit more, I've come to the conclusion that the major difference doesn't so much have to do with the differences in public transport as the people who use the public transport; i.e. if the New York City Dept of Transportation had to close down a whole train line, like London has had to shut down the Northern Line, New Yorkers would flippin' riot. They just wouldn't have it. They'd be like, "You gotta be freakin' kiddin' me! Yo, you shut down my train line and I'm gonna bust a cap in your..." You get the idea. Not Londoners. They just adapt.

So there ya go, Grover. Your answer lies somewhere between (heavy sigh) "All right I guess I'll have to take another route" and big riot cops with mace.

Oh and the seats are much comfier here.

OK who *are* these women?

London is chock-full of beyootiful women...stunning, fashion-forward, gorgeous women. And that's fine; I don't begrudge them their uber-attractiveness. Not at all. But what really gets me are the women who manage to look good even on the tube. I just don't get it; is there some trick I'm missing? I'm standing there, various parts of my body drenched in sweat since it's only like six degrees from dehydration down there, makeup long since vanished, feet aching from trudges up stairs, then down stairs, then up again...and invariably I look through a sea of exhausted sardines crammed in the carriage and I see her. She looks polished, put together and poised. I have various theories as to how these women manage this feat:
1. They aren't real women but some sort of Stepford fembot creatures.
2. In my rush to find the victoria Line, the Metropolitan Line, the Waterloo Line...I'm somehow missing the signs that say "Airbrushing Line ---->."
3. There must be some class you can take here called "Looking Good on the Tube 101."
Again, hear me out. I don't resent them. I don't. As a matter of fact, since so many people on the tube seem to be uh, err, hmmm "hygenically challenged" I'd much rather they exist than not exist. And it's not like I want to pick anyone up on the tube, mind you, or anything of that sort. No, my curiosity is purely scientific.
Really.

The M25 at the end of the rainbow...

Yay for the camera phone!
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Three interesting facts I picked up tonight:

1. The children on my block think the house I live in is haunted.
2. The reason there are no rubbish (trash) bins (cans) in the tube stations is a result of IRA bombings.
3. A pig in a blanket over here is *not* the same thing as it is in the States.

Chicken soup, please...

I officially have a cold. An unfortunate coincidence with my first day of work and Rosh Hashanah....oh well, kvetch kvetch kvetch...more later when I come out of my Vitamin C and LemSip stupor.

PS. If by some chance anyone out there does have some chicken soup laying around, I'll give you my address.