Barring a situation in which the love of my life happens to hail from the great wintry north, I doubt I will ever be quite so momentously excited as I am at this moment simply to be in the state of Minnesota.
Even though it'll be a while till I'm home home, I feel like I am already. I'm giddy with excitement about the relaxing three weeks ahead, about seeing my family, about ringing in the New Year with my best friends, about petting my dog, sharing all my tales of adventure, being in Memphis, being home.
Amid the excitement, I just wish my laptop hadn't felt the need to remind me dutifully of the local time in London. And I still have another flight to get through. It's gonna be a long day yet, but for once, I just don't think I could care less.
coming to America,
(just plain ol') e. cawein
12.21.2007
12.16.2007
putting the magic back in
Covent Garden Market, decked out for Christmas.
And this little guy, who probably has nothing to do with Christmas, but I liked, anyway. And the shop and the signs, too.
This is what Covent Garden looks like on the weekends near Christmas. (Frightening.)
Always tons of fresh fruits, veggies, breads and other assorted goodies to smell and taste, too.
Decorations on Regent Street.
The view from Trafalgar Square. I loved the architecture and the glow of the street lamps.
Trafalgar Square does Christmas -- the tree and the National Gallery, which of course looks stately any time of year.
The view of Westminster from Trafalgar Square.
This bloke simply cannot take a bad picture, I've decided.
The Houses of Parliament.
A silhouette of Westminster Abbey.
This city at dusk is simply breathtaking. I decided this evening that it might be my favorite time of day here. Unfortunately because of the waning light some of my pictures just couldn't capture exactly what I was seeing, but I enjoyed going shutter happy for a couple of hours nonetheless. And I got some Christmas shopping done, too!
Tomorrow I'll finish up my Christmas errands, and then I'll have just three days to go until I'm back in the U.S. for the holidays. I'm hoping to check out the Hyde Park Winter Wonderland between now and then, so hopefully you can look forward to a few more pictures before I'm stateside (and all's quiet on the blog front) for a few weeks.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
And this little guy, who probably has nothing to do with Christmas, but I liked, anyway. And the shop and the signs, too.
This is what Covent Garden looks like on the weekends near Christmas. (Frightening.)
Always tons of fresh fruits, veggies, breads and other assorted goodies to smell and taste, too.
Decorations on Regent Street.
The view from Trafalgar Square. I loved the architecture and the glow of the street lamps.
Trafalgar Square does Christmas -- the tree and the National Gallery, which of course looks stately any time of year.
The view of Westminster from Trafalgar Square.
This bloke simply cannot take a bad picture, I've decided.
The Houses of Parliament.
A silhouette of Westminster Abbey.
This city at dusk is simply breathtaking. I decided this evening that it might be my favorite time of day here. Unfortunately because of the waning light some of my pictures just couldn't capture exactly what I was seeing, but I enjoyed going shutter happy for a couple of hours nonetheless. And I got some Christmas shopping done, too!
Tomorrow I'll finish up my Christmas errands, and then I'll have just three days to go until I'm back in the U.S. for the holidays. I'm hoping to check out the Hyde Park Winter Wonderland between now and then, so hopefully you can look forward to a few more pictures before I'm stateside (and all's quiet on the blog front) for a few weeks.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
12.15.2007
working for and readily accepting charity
Every so often, to keep we measly callers happy, they like to stick us in a pub and give us free booze and finger foods. Thursday was one of those nights.
I wish I could tell you more pictures were taken, and though there are a few, at a certain point handling a camera requires a level of dexterity that I no longer possessed.
I don't turn my nose up at free drinks.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
I wish I could tell you more pictures were taken, and though there are a few, at a certain point handling a camera requires a level of dexterity that I no longer possessed.I don't turn my nose up at free drinks.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
12.10.2007
on america, a blog in three parts
I. I ran into my landlord the other day as I was on my way in from work, and when I mentioned I was going to be heading back to the states for Christmas, he asked me what the weather would be like. I said it would be pretty much as it's been here in London, just without the gale force winds. His eyes got a bit wide. "Really?" He said. "I thought you lived somewhere almost tropical!" In the course of the conversation that followed I gleaned that one of the many misconceptions the British (and Europeans) have about the U.S. is that it's warm, sunny and mild all over. Why? Probably because the answer to "Have you been to the states?" for most of them is, "Yes, Florida!"
It should be noted that after this I began a muddled attempt at explaining a little bit of U.S. geography with no map or visual aid to someone who has virtually no frame of reference whatsoever. And then on top of that I tried to explain why some seemingly northern states are generally considered southern because of a little thing called the Mason-Dixon. And though I know that my world geography is anything but stellar, I couldn't help but chortle to myself when he inquired quite seriously whether Virginia is on the Canadian border.
II. In thinking about the many things I'm looking forward to about being back in Tennessee for Christmas, it struck me that the majority of them had little to nothing to do with the United States itself. Chinese food and Mexican food top the list.
III. As some of my blog readers might already know, I'm going to be taking part in my fourth consecutive production of Eve Ensler's The Vagina Monologues this February at Brunel. I'll be performing two monologues: 'The Flood' and 'The Little Coochie Snorcher That Could.' Both require American accents; New York for the former, urban South for the latter. As I was having a read through them this evening in preparation for our first rehearsal, I realized that I may have to exercise some caution in just how authentic to perform these voices.
At the gym a few days ago, one of the personal trainers was walking behind me into the locker room and noticed the leg brace I wear to combat my lymphedema. She asked me about it, and I ended up telling her all about my surgery and a brief rundown of the history of the problem since then. In the middle of what I imagine was a particularly run-on sentence, she sort of furrowed her brow for a moment and then stopped me. "What nationality are you?" She asked me. "I'm from the states," I said. "Yeah," she said. "Very thick accent."
I thought the comment was interesting, first of all because - though I clearly hear the difference in the way she and I speak - I don't hear myself as having an accent, per se. But more importantly because it made me realize that just as I sometimes have trouble understanding the British, they have just as much trouble understanding me. Our common language has a way of dividing us.
So as I read through my monologues, I found I was acutely aware of my own voice, of the places where words slid together or got buried under the accent. The words in these monologues are too important to be lost underneath an accent, no matter how dead-on it may be. Luckily I'll be rehearsing the pieces in front of a cast of British women for two months before the show, so my opposing accents will be kept in check.
Last year, during my final production of The Monologues at Murray State, I was offering tips and pointers to the actress performing "The Vagina Workshop," which is done in a British accent, and the accent in "Coochie Snorcher" wasn't all that different from the ones we'd all grown up around. Talk about a new perspective.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
It should be noted that after this I began a muddled attempt at explaining a little bit of U.S. geography with no map or visual aid to someone who has virtually no frame of reference whatsoever. And then on top of that I tried to explain why some seemingly northern states are generally considered southern because of a little thing called the Mason-Dixon. And though I know that my world geography is anything but stellar, I couldn't help but chortle to myself when he inquired quite seriously whether Virginia is on the Canadian border.
II. In thinking about the many things I'm looking forward to about being back in Tennessee for Christmas, it struck me that the majority of them had little to nothing to do with the United States itself. Chinese food and Mexican food top the list.
III. As some of my blog readers might already know, I'm going to be taking part in my fourth consecutive production of Eve Ensler's The Vagina Monologues this February at Brunel. I'll be performing two monologues: 'The Flood' and 'The Little Coochie Snorcher That Could.' Both require American accents; New York for the former, urban South for the latter. As I was having a read through them this evening in preparation for our first rehearsal, I realized that I may have to exercise some caution in just how authentic to perform these voices.
At the gym a few days ago, one of the personal trainers was walking behind me into the locker room and noticed the leg brace I wear to combat my lymphedema. She asked me about it, and I ended up telling her all about my surgery and a brief rundown of the history of the problem since then. In the middle of what I imagine was a particularly run-on sentence, she sort of furrowed her brow for a moment and then stopped me. "What nationality are you?" She asked me. "I'm from the states," I said. "Yeah," she said. "Very thick accent."
I thought the comment was interesting, first of all because - though I clearly hear the difference in the way she and I speak - I don't hear myself as having an accent, per se. But more importantly because it made me realize that just as I sometimes have trouble understanding the British, they have just as much trouble understanding me. Our common language has a way of dividing us.
So as I read through my monologues, I found I was acutely aware of my own voice, of the places where words slid together or got buried under the accent. The words in these monologues are too important to be lost underneath an accent, no matter how dead-on it may be. Luckily I'll be rehearsing the pieces in front of a cast of British women for two months before the show, so my opposing accents will be kept in check.
Last year, during my final production of The Monologues at Murray State, I was offering tips and pointers to the actress performing "The Vagina Workshop," which is done in a British accent, and the accent in "Coochie Snorcher" wasn't all that different from the ones we'd all grown up around. Talk about a new perspective.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
12.06.2007
Month Three
December in London. It's wet. It's chilly.
It's windy.
The great thing about living on a big island -- and more specifically, the southern tip -- is that winter temperatures never get too absurd; the jet stream makes sure of that. But what southern England lacks in frigidity, it makes up for in wind speeds. Today, for example, weather.com informs me that the wind is blowing from WSW at 21 miles per hour, gusting to 33 miles per hour. Gusting. It sounds so innocent and happy. What it should really say is, "21 miles per hour, roaring to a speed that will rip items out of your hands, level shrubbery and pick up small dogs."
With the first days of December the wind wasn't the only thing hitting me in the face, though. As of the fourth, I've been in the city for three months.
November was an interesting month, because much of it was spent anticipating a day I'd imagined would be much harder than it turned out to be, and realizing more deeply than I ever would've in the states that Thanksgiving is wrapped up in the meal and more importantly, the company. When you don't have either of those things, it's as if the day never happened. Which oddly enough, was quite alright with me.
I've spent a great deal of the last four weeks sitting at my kitchen table, reading, taking notes, drinking mug after mug of hot tea and trying to gather a little more focus on my dissertation. The time I haven't spent there has been in the classroom trying to gather a little more focus on the practical side of things. With the date for our first performance set (February 5) I have realized that casually pondering the songs I'm going to perform and practicing once a week aren't going to cut it, and it's time to stretch my voice out in the way I've been hitting the books.
I have a little black rain cloud that floats around behind me and occasionally stops over my head, coming and going even throughout the course of a given day. I've decided that the frequency of these little downpours is in direct proportion with my need to be home. In the past week or so particularly, I've grown restless with waiting. The anticipation is certainly exacerbated by the fact that my schedule, while packed with guitar practice, reading, singing, etc., is free of true university-related obligations after midday Tuesday. It's hard to look past that point with anything but dread at the wait until December 21.
But if the last month has taught me anything, it is that I can be a goddess of self sufficiency when I need to be. So I'll spend the next two weeks as I have the last two -- underneath a guitar and a pile of books.
Then, I'll be glad to give the self sufficient goddess a bit of a holiday. She needs some company.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
It's windy.
The great thing about living on a big island -- and more specifically, the southern tip -- is that winter temperatures never get too absurd; the jet stream makes sure of that. But what southern England lacks in frigidity, it makes up for in wind speeds. Today, for example, weather.com informs me that the wind is blowing from WSW at 21 miles per hour, gusting to 33 miles per hour. Gusting. It sounds so innocent and happy. What it should really say is, "21 miles per hour, roaring to a speed that will rip items out of your hands, level shrubbery and pick up small dogs."
With the first days of December the wind wasn't the only thing hitting me in the face, though. As of the fourth, I've been in the city for three months.
November was an interesting month, because much of it was spent anticipating a day I'd imagined would be much harder than it turned out to be, and realizing more deeply than I ever would've in the states that Thanksgiving is wrapped up in the meal and more importantly, the company. When you don't have either of those things, it's as if the day never happened. Which oddly enough, was quite alright with me.
I've spent a great deal of the last four weeks sitting at my kitchen table, reading, taking notes, drinking mug after mug of hot tea and trying to gather a little more focus on my dissertation. The time I haven't spent there has been in the classroom trying to gather a little more focus on the practical side of things. With the date for our first performance set (February 5) I have realized that casually pondering the songs I'm going to perform and practicing once a week aren't going to cut it, and it's time to stretch my voice out in the way I've been hitting the books.
I have a little black rain cloud that floats around behind me and occasionally stops over my head, coming and going even throughout the course of a given day. I've decided that the frequency of these little downpours is in direct proportion with my need to be home. In the past week or so particularly, I've grown restless with waiting. The anticipation is certainly exacerbated by the fact that my schedule, while packed with guitar practice, reading, singing, etc., is free of true university-related obligations after midday Tuesday. It's hard to look past that point with anything but dread at the wait until December 21.
But if the last month has taught me anything, it is that I can be a goddess of self sufficiency when I need to be. So I'll spend the next two weeks as I have the last two -- underneath a guitar and a pile of books.
Then, I'll be glad to give the self sufficient goddess a bit of a holiday. She needs some company.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
12.02.2007
vocabulary lesson
scup·per2 (skŭp'ər)
tr.v., -pered, -per·ing, -pers.
*As seen in a cold medicine advert on the tube, which reminded me that I wouldn't want a cold to "scupper" all my wild holiday parties.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
tr.v., -pered, -per·ing, -pers.
- Chiefly British. To overwhelm or massacre.
- To ruin or destroy: “The world oil glut combined with disastrous federal energy policies to scupper Alberta's economy” (Christian Science Monitor)
*As seen in a cold medicine advert on the tube, which reminded me that I wouldn't want a cold to "scupper" all my wild holiday parties.
cheers,
HRH e. cawein
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
