I went to my first (and no doubt only) football match this weekend. The crowds were fascinating to watch, but I got bored fairly quickly and ended up leaving at halftime. The rest of the weekend was quiet but mostly pleasant, except for travel planning. My friend Samantha and I are going to Ireland and Scotland for spring break and we were trying to make plans and book hostels yesterday on a very slow internet connection and I couldn't figure out how to call Ireland from my cell phone. It was not a good couple of hours. We're meeting in a couple of hours at CAPA, where the internet connection is at least not wireless. Anyway, the trip should be fun, even if the planning isn't.

The British Museum

Yesterday my professor called in sick, so I went to the British Museum instead of class. It's an incredible building, but there is so much there. I looked at some of the Greek items, the pottery was incredible, so much more beautiful than the photos show. But after every 30-40 minutes I'd have to take a break, to mindlessly browse through the gift shop, just to give my eyes a break. The visual stimulation was too great. I saw some other things too, but I'll have to go back, because I saw barely a fraction of what they have.

Last night I took the train to Richmond, a sort of a suburb, to see a play with Martin Freeman (The Office, Hitchhiker's Guide). Thanks to my anoymous donor, I was able to buy a program too. The play was not great, but the performances were.

Musical Theatre

So last night I met the man who wrote the lyrics to Phantom of the Opera and unexpectedly, later that night I began to remember my show that I sort of wrote lyrics for.

I can't help but grin maliciously when I think that here I am, working in a production office, for a man who knows Cameron Macintosh, who could get me an introduction. And if Nick hadn't messed up our project so completely as to make me wince even to remember my connection to it- I would have been able to shop it around.

Of course, it probably would have come to nothing, but... I still feel as if I'm getting a little bit of revenge.

Press Night

I went to my first opening night, or press night as they call it here. The show was funny, a really stupid script, but brilliantly directed and acted. Well designed too. After the show, which I went to with my boss and his wife, we stood outside the theatre watching famous people get molested by crazy people with autograph books. I saw Sir Ian McKellen. He's a lot shorter than I expected.

Then we went to the party. It was an interesting experience. I was a little shy at first, feeling out-of-place and even like an usurper. I mean, what right had I? An American student, to be here? With all these real theatre artists? However, after a couple free glasses of wine I began to chat with people and realized that similar to back home, it's always easier to talk to new people when we share a similar field. I didn't stay too long however, I left when Greg and Pascale did. If I go to another one however, I think I'll stay longer. By the end I was getting comfortable. Of course, I don't stay out late very often because I worry about getting home, because once the underground closes, it's all much more complicated- night buses and so forth.

It was a good time and I hope I get to go to a second one.

Grief

This weekend someone I knew was killed by a drunk driver. And I am here, unable to share this grief with anyone who knew him in a personal way. I mean, we weren't really chose, but someone like Chase Korte is impossible to forget and I will never stop regretting the lose of a major talent. Due to the stupidity of someone who decided to get in their car after drinking, we have lost one of the greatest actors of my generation. Not to mention a truly wonderful and unique individual. I so wish I was home right now, even though everyone here has been just wonderful, I just wish I was with friends.

St. Paul's

This morning I went to service at St Paul's Cathedral. It was wonderful. I got off the tube with the two girls who invited me along and as we came up, we heard the bells chiming in a slightly chaotic way. There were so many bells peeling at so many different notes that it was almost overwhelming, but still beautiful. We entered this gorgeous building, with so many windows, letting in light that hit the gold on the ceiling frescos and made them blaze. The choir was all-male and there must have been over thirty of them, including about a dozen little boys hardly old enough to read, much less latin- quite something.

In such a huge space, they had to mic the speakers and as the sermon and prayers were read, you'd hear it from the speaker, but the sound would also echo off the ceiling fifty feet or so above you and surround you in this warmth of sound. And then there would be a pause and a perfect hush would fall before the next sentence was spoken. All in all, it was very nice, though the sermon wasn't as good as the ones back home.

Baking woes

I wanted to bake tonight. But there are so many problems involved with adapting one of my american recipes for here. For one, I have almost no supplies. No measuring cups, no measuring spoons, not even a mixing bowl and I borrowed the cake pans from the girls upstairs. Then the ingredients have different names. Not able to find cornstarch today, I bought arrowroot powder, hoping that it would have the same effect. The oven is a) in celcius and b) convection style which means that I have no idea how to time anything. The sugar is weird, the butter is slightly different. On top of all that, I managed to cut my finger on a cake pan! I have never had so much trouble with an old recipe.

I mean, I managed to make the bars and they taste okay, but it's NOT THE SAME. Wednesdays are frustrating, I'm glad this one is almost over.

Shakespeare

I walked to the Old Vic theatre this afternoon. It took a couple hours. It was perfect. The sun was shining, there was just enough cold to make my cheeks sting a little as I walked along the River Thames. I had already seen the play I was going to (Twelfth Night, my favorite Shakespearan Comedy), but it had affected me so strongly the first time that I had to see if it could have the same effect twice. Of course, it didn't. One never gets the same feeling twice and while the seat I was in this time was actually better, it was less magical to view it straight on than up high way to the side. Still, it was wonderful, just not quite magical. At the intermission I went and bought a ticket the evening show.

No, I wasn't seeing it for the third time. Twelfth was running in Rep with Taming of the Shrew, definately not my favorite. Still, they had done such interesting things as an all male cast with my favorite show that I wanted to see what they would do with what is possibly my least favorite. It was... exquistly done. The acting was strong and the concept itself, the period they placed it in, the direction was clear, and so forth. But I still, three hours later, feel ill. Because, this play is supposed to be funny. It is a comedy. It is terrifying and they pushed the horror so far. Petruchio basically tortures his wife into submission, starves her, deprives her of sleep, force marches her, denys her clean clothes, humilates her, and what was really sickening and brilliant was that the more he hurt, the more she would cling to him.

On the way out, I overheard one young woman say that the play didn't bother her, because as a "modern" woman, she knows that the play is dated, that it was "then". The thing is, this play is just as contemporary as any of his works, it is "now". There are still women being treated this badly and there are women who accept it and come to believe that they deserve it.

I'm getting chills. I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep well tonight, despite the two hour walk. And this, this is the reason I see theatre, this is why I spend most of my money on it, most of my free time, why my roommates go to the pub and I go alone to the theatre. Because when I feel this intensely, I know that I am alive. Theatre shakes me up. Not always, but when it happens- it is a life-affirming occurance. We all need reminders now and then, that there is more to life than our everyday routine, that there are wonderful, terrible, real things outside our bubble. That humanity is capable of the exquiste love and the most horrible brutality, and sometimes, those two are frightening combined. And for me, well, I prefer my truth given to me in fiction.

Walking

One of my favorite things to do when I have free time is point myself in a diretion and walk, occasionally turning down a new street when the mood strikes. Nothing can give you the taste, the essence of a city like a long walk. One night I was waiting for a play to start, so I wandered away from the main drag of Leicester Square (an area much like 42nd street in New York) and within five minutes I was walking past porn shops, another five minutes brought swanky restuarants.

When I take walks near my flat, which is in a rather nice area, I find the generic victorian tract houses giving way to the occasional even older church, a fenced in park, or a modern complex for shopping. Everything is right on top of everything else here. Groceries stores on almost every corner, an indian restuarant next door to every grocery store. On Monday I walked with my boss to a meeting and we went through Soho and Chinatown and down into the main theatre district in a ten minute walk. I'm so used to sprawly cities, cities that stretch out like a man in the desert, reaching out another inch, dragging the rest of himself behind; this city is huge but pulled in, like a sumo wrestler sitting cross-legged and hunched over. It's probably obvious that I haven't finished my first cup of tea, I usually try to keep my metaphors more aesthetic.

There's one more bit to tell that has nothing to do with walking, other than I may be walking here longer than I'd thought. My boss talked to me yesterday about possibly employing me for a month or six weeks after my program ends. Since I got a six-month visa on a whim, this could work. It would, after all, be slightly more fitting to my talents than farming organically, though that might still happen. Well, we shall see.