It hasn't taken too very long for nostalgia for London to set in. Between the Queen's Jubilee celebrations this weekend and the World Cup in full swing, it's hard not to wish I was back there to enjoy the inebriated, er, celebratory atmosphere in London. I'm content with donning my child's-size England jersey, watching the footie on ABC and broadcasts of the Jubilee celebrations on PBS.
Really I am.
Look, it's not like I'm not getting out or anything. Cuz I do. I have friends. And a job at the mall. And Virgin Radio on the computer. I'm fine. What's your deal?
I not lame.
Viva Britannia
Robyn
By the way, did you know that there are no English words to rhyme with "purple" and "month?" I learned that from Headline News. Because I'm an informed individual who is interested in intellectually stimulating, worldly subjects -- as well as the Party at the Palace and David Beckham's foot. So there.
Showing posts with label London. Show all posts
Showing posts with label London. Show all posts
Monday, June 3, 2002
Saturday, May 11, 2002
In Summation...
So this would be the last update from London. I fly back to New York tomorrow and am currently pretty much ready to go.
Is it sad that I have spent an hour and a half of my last day in the computer lab? No one else is here, which is very nice, and I'm rather exhausted. So there's my justification. I did go to the Tate Modern today. This visit, combined with Thursday's jaunt to the Tate Britain, confirmed my unflagging resentment of modern art. I could go on and on (and in fact, I did Thursday night, subjecting poor Christine to a 45-minute tirade), but suffice to say I find it mostly to be a big steaming load.
I liked the Rodin sculpture though. Too bad there were only two.
But why dwell on that? Here are a few reasons why I'm sad to be leaving London:
Is it sad that I have spent an hour and a half of my last day in the computer lab? No one else is here, which is very nice, and I'm rather exhausted. So there's my justification. I did go to the Tate Modern today. This visit, combined with Thursday's jaunt to the Tate Britain, confirmed my unflagging resentment of modern art. I could go on and on (and in fact, I did Thursday night, subjecting poor Christine to a 45-minute tirade), but suffice to say I find it mostly to be a big steaming load.
I liked the Rodin sculpture though. Too bad there were only two.
But why dwell on that? Here are a few reasons why I'm sad to be leaving London:
- Free museums. Somehow it feels better blowing twenty pounds at the gift shop if you didn't pay five to get in.
- Historical context. America preserves a square mile of Philadelphia and creates Williamsburg, VA in order to celebrate its 300-year heritage. London sits back and laughs and laughs and laughs.
- Gratutitous pageantry. They may be a drain on taxes and a gangly brood of anachronisms, but the Windsor dynasty is way more fun (and far less frightening) than the Bush dynasty. And when they decide to party, they do not muck around. Jubilee 2002 versus the inaugural ball? I hardly think there's a comparison.
- Yellow journalism. London's tabloids achieve heights of tackiness and sensationalism that the New York Post only dreams about. It's the stuff that makes me take the hypocritical stance of abhorring the notion of ever being professionally involved with it, but happily giggling over it in the supermarket checkout.
- Proximity to Paris.
- Proximity to Dublin.
- Professors who are knowledgeable and enthusiastic about the subjects they teach. Who knew?
- Regular use of the word loo not as applicable in the U.S.
- Parks. The well-landscaped, sprawling, lovely Hyde Park beats the overcrowded, over-paved, fishbowl that is Central Park any day of the week. Plus, pelicans at St. James' Park!
- Fish and chips.
- Digestive cookies.
- Padded seats on the Tube.
- Charing Cross Road and its financially-draining but oh-so-stimulating bookshops.
- Virgin Radio.
And why it's nice to go back:
- Paying in pounds is not healthy for students and other living things.
- As lovely as Britain's museums are, the Met could take any one of them in a fight.
- The scary public-service announcements have spread to the radio now. Time to leave the country.
- Moby will be signing CDs at Tower at 4th and Broadway on Tuesday.
- Living arrangements will no longer be confined to one room.
- No more feelings of self-righteous indignation after listening to NYU London Students wear their ignorance like a badge of honor ("Omigod, my friend told me the Changing of the Guard is, like, so not worth it. One guy, like, taps another guy on the shoulder and tells him to, like, take a hike. It's, like, f---ing ridiculous, y'know?")
- Iced tea.
- Seeing family, boyfriend, friends, kitty, etc.
- I will now have the opportunity to earn back all the money I squandered this semester.
I believe that covers it. See you Stateside.
Robyn
Tuesday, May 7, 2002
Bath
My final out-of-town excursion took place this weekend with a trip to Bath.
If you're really into architecture, the history of fasion, or Jane Austen, then you need to get yourself over to Bath. If however you're an architecture dilettante, mildly interested in period costuming, and not all that keen on Pride and Prejudice, then save your 30 pounds.
We spent a long time in the Costume Institute, the highlight of which was an exhibit of the Queen's ugly-as-sin dresses over the past 50 years. Since it was May Day (observed), there were festivities afoot, and we saw the Jane Austen dancers get jiggy in the tea room. I did get the chance to participate in some of these dances, which involve a lot of spinning around, skipping and clapping. It's like Gymboree in powdered wigs. Good times.
Crissie and Christine being Austen enthusiasts, we went to the Jane Austen Centre, which I thought was a bit of a rip-off. Jane lived in Bath for five years, and hated it. But that won't stop Bath from milking her passing presence there for all it's worth. She mentioned the city in every one of her six novels you know. And though she didn't live in this house, she lived in one just like it. And did you know that in Jane Austen's time people enjoyed gardening? Here's an exhibit showing a garden such as Jane might have had. That'll be 3.50 please. Don't forget the gift shop.
Although I'm the one who took Crissie and Christine to the Dublin docklands, so I have nothing to say in the matter.
Robyn
If you're really into architecture, the history of fasion, or Jane Austen, then you need to get yourself over to Bath. If however you're an architecture dilettante, mildly interested in period costuming, and not all that keen on Pride and Prejudice, then save your 30 pounds.
We spent a long time in the Costume Institute, the highlight of which was an exhibit of the Queen's ugly-as-sin dresses over the past 50 years. Since it was May Day (observed), there were festivities afoot, and we saw the Jane Austen dancers get jiggy in the tea room. I did get the chance to participate in some of these dances, which involve a lot of spinning around, skipping and clapping. It's like Gymboree in powdered wigs. Good times.
Crissie and Christine being Austen enthusiasts, we went to the Jane Austen Centre, which I thought was a bit of a rip-off. Jane lived in Bath for five years, and hated it. But that won't stop Bath from milking her passing presence there for all it's worth. She mentioned the city in every one of her six novels you know. And though she didn't live in this house, she lived in one just like it. And did you know that in Jane Austen's time people enjoyed gardening? Here's an exhibit showing a garden such as Jane might have had. That'll be 3.50 please. Don't forget the gift shop.
Although I'm the one who took Crissie and Christine to the Dublin docklands, so I have nothing to say in the matter.
Robyn
Saturday, May 4, 2002
Harrod's: Hamsters and Super Loos
I am currently mightily torn between wanting to continue writing about Tower Bridge and its effect on traffic on the Thames, wanting to go out somewhere where normal people go on a Saturday night to make mirth, and wanting to take a nap.
I think the nap might win.
I finally visited Harrod's yesterday. Nice place to visit. Any store with its own squad of pipers is okay by me. I was a bit put off by the Dodi and Diana memorial, which features their photographs mounted in some god-awful gold thing, and displays a dirty wine glass from their last dinner together. There's also the "engagement ring" that Dodi supposedly bought the night before, exhibited as a testament to their true love or sumpin' like that. It's surrounded by a fountain and flowers, and a sign saying that it's the only thing in the store you're allowed to photograph. Tacky tacky tacky.
We also had free passes to used the "luxury bathrooms," which would otherwise cost a pound. I was less than impressed. Sure, they were clean and in-laid with marble, and had handcream and nice-smelling soap, but I expected something more. I think they should install one of those Japanese toilets that has a heated seat and a bidet option and plays music and provides its own lemony-fresh scent. Or I saw this toilet in a restaurant in Germany that cleaned its own seat after every flush. The seat rotated and a little spongy thing came down and cleaned it. And it smelled lemony-fresh. Harrod's needs to get hooked up with these Toilets of Tomorrow. Only then will I consider my pound well spent.
I did score myself a mighty fine toy. His name is Herbie the Hamster, and with the power of a single AAA battery he travels all around the room within his trusty plastic ball, bumping into things, and continuing onward. It's quite hysterical.
So the trip to Harrod's was a success, tacky fountains and sub-par potties excluded.
Robyn
I think the nap might win.
I finally visited Harrod's yesterday. Nice place to visit. Any store with its own squad of pipers is okay by me. I was a bit put off by the Dodi and Diana memorial, which features their photographs mounted in some god-awful gold thing, and displays a dirty wine glass from their last dinner together. There's also the "engagement ring" that Dodi supposedly bought the night before, exhibited as a testament to their true love or sumpin' like that. It's surrounded by a fountain and flowers, and a sign saying that it's the only thing in the store you're allowed to photograph. Tacky tacky tacky.
We also had free passes to used the "luxury bathrooms," which would otherwise cost a pound. I was less than impressed. Sure, they were clean and in-laid with marble, and had handcream and nice-smelling soap, but I expected something more. I think they should install one of those Japanese toilets that has a heated seat and a bidet option and plays music and provides its own lemony-fresh scent. Or I saw this toilet in a restaurant in Germany that cleaned its own seat after every flush. The seat rotated and a little spongy thing came down and cleaned it. And it smelled lemony-fresh. Harrod's needs to get hooked up with these Toilets of Tomorrow. Only then will I consider my pound well spent.
I did score myself a mighty fine toy. His name is Herbie the Hamster, and with the power of a single AAA battery he travels all around the room within his trusty plastic ball, bumping into things, and continuing onward. It's quite hysterical.
So the trip to Harrod's was a success, tacky fountains and sub-par potties excluded.
Robyn
Friday, May 3, 2002
British Library
I went to a wonderful little museum yesterday, not too very far from NYU's digs.
All of the stuff in the British Library's exhibitions used to be at the British Museum, but the collection of documents and manuscripts grew large enough to warrant it's own space in the Library's rather ugly modern building at King's Cross. But the space is small enough that you could make a respectable visit in under an hour -- though you need a little more time to really appreciate it.
Among the highlights are not one, but two original drafts of the Magna Carta (only four survive), as well as the Articles of the Barons that preceded it in 1215. There's Handel's draft of the Messiah and drafts by Mozart, Bach, and Beethoven (Beethoven wrote notes in big, crazy, Van Gogh-esque strokes. I think those two would have gotten along fine, if they didn't kill each other first). Original handwritten manuscripts from Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Shakespeare, and James Joyce -- another kook with deranged handwriting. They also have a lovely collection of illuminated manuscripts and ancient religious texts in Hebrew, Sanskrit, and Arabic. Since you obviously can't leaf through this stuff, you can go to a back room and virtually turn the pages of the Lindisfarne Gospels and Leonardo Da Vinci's notebook on computer.
There was also a nice display of Beatles' lyrics scribbled on napkins, notepads and children's greeting cards where you could see songs like In My Life and Hard Day's Night taking shape. That's one drawback of the information age. I bet musicains don't scribble lyrics on airline cocktail napkins as much anymore. They jot them in their Palm, or some damn thing. Not nearly as romantic, if you ask me.
If you're in London, definitely check this place out. It won't take long, it's not crowded, and, like most museums in London not owned in part by the Windsors, it's free.
Robyn
All of the stuff in the British Library's exhibitions used to be at the British Museum, but the collection of documents and manuscripts grew large enough to warrant it's own space in the Library's rather ugly modern building at King's Cross. But the space is small enough that you could make a respectable visit in under an hour -- though you need a little more time to really appreciate it.
Among the highlights are not one, but two original drafts of the Magna Carta (only four survive), as well as the Articles of the Barons that preceded it in 1215. There's Handel's draft of the Messiah and drafts by Mozart, Bach, and Beethoven (Beethoven wrote notes in big, crazy, Van Gogh-esque strokes. I think those two would have gotten along fine, if they didn't kill each other first). Original handwritten manuscripts from Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Shakespeare, and James Joyce -- another kook with deranged handwriting. They also have a lovely collection of illuminated manuscripts and ancient religious texts in Hebrew, Sanskrit, and Arabic. Since you obviously can't leaf through this stuff, you can go to a back room and virtually turn the pages of the Lindisfarne Gospels and Leonardo Da Vinci's notebook on computer.
There was also a nice display of Beatles' lyrics scribbled on napkins, notepads and children's greeting cards where you could see songs like In My Life and Hard Day's Night taking shape. That's one drawback of the information age. I bet musicains don't scribble lyrics on airline cocktail napkins as much anymore. They jot them in their Palm, or some damn thing. Not nearly as romantic, if you ask me.
If you're in London, definitely check this place out. It won't take long, it's not crowded, and, like most museums in London not owned in part by the Windsors, it's free.
Robyn
Tuesday, April 30, 2002
Winding Down
And so it has come to pass that I have less than two weeks left in the fair city of London. I plan to spend this time with equal parts studying, sight-seeing and job hunting.
With three out of four papers out of the way, fun was had this weekend in great abundance. We saw a show in the West End starring Matt Damon, which was an interesting experience in that the audience was full of nubile American girls and Mr. Damon had not been onstage since his pre-Good Will Hunting college days. It kinda showed. But nonetheless, a good time was had. I visited the National Gallery again, only this time I invested in the audio tour. I think I'll make a habit of using those things when I return to the Met. It's great; you punch in the code, and the title of the work flashes up and you sit on a bench and you learn and then you do it all over again. And the NG has every single picture on file. Fun indeed.
We also paid a visit to Windsor Castle, the queen's cozy little abode on the river. If I've learned anything while soaking in British culture, it's that royalty, like George W. Bush, doesn't "do subtle."
I've also learned that if you were so inclined you could amass quite a collection of obscenely ugly plates with obscenely horrid portraits of the queen and her progeny emblazoned upon them. If you were so inclined, that is.
So when the museums close I'm left with a report on Tower Bridge, Virgin radio, and six-month old magazines to occupy myself. And needlepoint. Yes, in the absence of VH1 and constant Internet availability, I've taken up needlepoint.
I think it's time to come home soon.
Robyn
With three out of four papers out of the way, fun was had this weekend in great abundance. We saw a show in the West End starring Matt Damon, which was an interesting experience in that the audience was full of nubile American girls and Mr. Damon had not been onstage since his pre-Good Will Hunting college days. It kinda showed. But nonetheless, a good time was had. I visited the National Gallery again, only this time I invested in the audio tour. I think I'll make a habit of using those things when I return to the Met. It's great; you punch in the code, and the title of the work flashes up and you sit on a bench and you learn and then you do it all over again. And the NG has every single picture on file. Fun indeed.
We also paid a visit to Windsor Castle, the queen's cozy little abode on the river. If I've learned anything while soaking in British culture, it's that royalty, like George W. Bush, doesn't "do subtle."
I've also learned that if you were so inclined you could amass quite a collection of obscenely ugly plates with obscenely horrid portraits of the queen and her progeny emblazoned upon them. If you were so inclined, that is.
So when the museums close I'm left with a report on Tower Bridge, Virgin radio, and six-month old magazines to occupy myself. And needlepoint. Yes, in the absence of VH1 and constant Internet availability, I've taken up needlepoint.
I think it's time to come home soon.
Robyn
Wednesday, April 24, 2002
Craptastic!
Well, that was an arduous week.
But I learned a lot. I learned about how Tower Bridge opens due to a complex system of bascules, and that Henry VIII had a festering wound on his leg, and he needed glasses, so he got nich Dutch people like Hans Holbein to portray him as the strapping character that we know and love today.
Ain't that cool?
So with only one paper left on the horizon, I'm bound and determined to enjoy the rest of my stay in London. I think I'll start by reading one of the many magazines and books that I've accumulated over here.
Between Christine and I, our room looks like a British bookstore that ate some bad sushi and threw up all over the place. Many an issue of Hello! and Q and Entertainment Weekly, and copies of the Independent and the Guardian, as well as several tomes pertaining to monarchs of today and yesterday and Irish rock stars and Victorian novels and art musuem guides and histories of London clutter the place. How we're going to get them all home I don't know.
I also have a bird whistle, a Vincent Van Gogh doll, and a thing that goes "Baa" when you turn it over.
I should maybe try to keep my propensity to accumulate crap in check, at least until I get my own place.
But it's fun crap. I don't regret it.
I think we should all periodically take the time to enjoy all the fun crap there is to be had. You'll be glad you did.
I think I'll go do that right now.
Robyn
But I learned a lot. I learned about how Tower Bridge opens due to a complex system of bascules, and that Henry VIII had a festering wound on his leg, and he needed glasses, so he got nich Dutch people like Hans Holbein to portray him as the strapping character that we know and love today.
Ain't that cool?
So with only one paper left on the horizon, I'm bound and determined to enjoy the rest of my stay in London. I think I'll start by reading one of the many magazines and books that I've accumulated over here.
Between Christine and I, our room looks like a British bookstore that ate some bad sushi and threw up all over the place. Many an issue of Hello! and Q and Entertainment Weekly, and copies of the Independent and the Guardian, as well as several tomes pertaining to monarchs of today and yesterday and Irish rock stars and Victorian novels and art musuem guides and histories of London clutter the place. How we're going to get them all home I don't know.
I also have a bird whistle, a Vincent Van Gogh doll, and a thing that goes "Baa" when you turn it over.
I should maybe try to keep my propensity to accumulate crap in check, at least until I get my own place.
But it's fun crap. I don't regret it.
I think we should all periodically take the time to enjoy all the fun crap there is to be had. You'll be glad you did.
I think I'll go do that right now.
Robyn
Wednesday, April 10, 2002
Misplaced Priorities
Everyone at NYU-London seems to in a state of perpetual frenzy and anxiety. So I guess that means we're nearing finals.
A lot of our professors figured that we would have a lot of work to do the last week of classes. So rather than being stuck with three papers on that week, they decided to be nice and make many of our final projects due in two weeks time.
Which means I now have three papers due in the same week anyway, so I guess their charitable measure failed. It was nice of them to try though.
And since it seems that the royal family is well and truly done with the Queen Mother and have gone back to the palace, or Scotland, or wherever it is they hide out, I can commence with my work without distraction.
Now if it would only rain. It's friggin' England, and we haven't had a rainy day in about a week and a half. It's been relatively gorgeous. Very vexing when you have to hole up in your room writing four papers simultaeously, three of which are due in the same week.
Of course, if I wasn't in such a situation, it would negate the "Study" aspect of "Study Abroad."
Going to royal funerals is a lot more fun though. You should try it. It's a nice pastime.
Robyn
A lot of our professors figured that we would have a lot of work to do the last week of classes. So rather than being stuck with three papers on that week, they decided to be nice and make many of our final projects due in two weeks time.
Which means I now have three papers due in the same week anyway, so I guess their charitable measure failed. It was nice of them to try though.
And since it seems that the royal family is well and truly done with the Queen Mother and have gone back to the palace, or Scotland, or wherever it is they hide out, I can commence with my work without distraction.
Now if it would only rain. It's friggin' England, and we haven't had a rainy day in about a week and a half. It's been relatively gorgeous. Very vexing when you have to hole up in your room writing four papers simultaeously, three of which are due in the same week.
Of course, if I wasn't in such a situation, it would negate the "Study" aspect of "Study Abroad."
Going to royal funerals is a lot more fun though. You should try it. It's a nice pastime.
Robyn
Friday, April 5, 2002
Royal Funeral
We woke up early today to get ourselves a nice spot to watch the Queen Mother's funeral procession to Westminster Hall. Morbid, you say? Durned right. But we felt it was a necessary cultural experience. Besides, you couldn't ask for a lovelier day for such an event. So we parked ourselves near the entrance to St. James' Park to see the pageantry. We got there about two hours before the procession started, which I think was just about right. We weren't in front, but very near to it. A very few people camped out all night. I bet they feel foolish.
We were delighted to see that we selected a spot directly opposite the viewing area reserved for the Chelsea Pensioners, so we got to watch all the little old men in their tri-cornered hats salute the Queen's casket and the royal family as they went by. We were quite close, and were able to see Prince Charles, Prince William, Prince Harry, et al. very clearly.
I'm not sure what the protocol is for such matters, but I didn't take pictures of the family or the casket, though many others were. It felt a bit strange given the circumstances. Maybe I was being over-cautious (it was a very public event after all), but if it were a wedding procession or part of the Jubilee celebrations I would have felt differently. However, I wouldn't be thrilled with people taking pictures of my grandmother's casket, so I felt it right to extend the same courtesy. I got some nice snaps of the Pensioners and the band and some of the many, many soldier-type people though.
And my friends will have you know that Prince William is better-loooking in person than he is in the paparazzi's pictures.
The day continued with a nice picnic in the park (Morbid? Sure, but it was there and we were hungry) followed by a visit to the park's little family of white pelicans.
Now to polish off this culturally-enriching day with dinner and a movie at Anna's.
Robyn
We were delighted to see that we selected a spot directly opposite the viewing area reserved for the Chelsea Pensioners, so we got to watch all the little old men in their tri-cornered hats salute the Queen's casket and the royal family as they went by. We were quite close, and were able to see Prince Charles, Prince William, Prince Harry, et al. very clearly.
I'm not sure what the protocol is for such matters, but I didn't take pictures of the family or the casket, though many others were. It felt a bit strange given the circumstances. Maybe I was being over-cautious (it was a very public event after all), but if it were a wedding procession or part of the Jubilee celebrations I would have felt differently. However, I wouldn't be thrilled with people taking pictures of my grandmother's casket, so I felt it right to extend the same courtesy. I got some nice snaps of the Pensioners and the band and some of the many, many soldier-type people though.
And my friends will have you know that Prince William is better-loooking in person than he is in the paparazzi's pictures.
The day continued with a nice picnic in the park (Morbid? Sure, but it was there and we were hungry) followed by a visit to the park's little family of white pelicans.
Now to polish off this culturally-enriching day with dinner and a movie at Anna's.
Robyn
Friday, March 15, 2002
Jeffrey's Visit and British PSAs
I think this may be the longest I've gone without a web update. So for the three of you who follow this semi-regularly, I apologize.
If it makes you feel any better, the last time I wrote in my personal, handwritten journal was January 28. You, dear reader, are my number one priority...after boyfriend, schoolwork, job searches, feeding myself, bathing, friends, the Onion, bunnies, U2, Virgin radio, the Winged Nike of Samothrace, baked beans, and dictionary.com. But you're right up there.
But I feel I have a valid excuse for my negligence. Jeffrey and I have been exploring London. We've done neat-o things such as Westminster Abbey, the Wallace Collection, the National Gallery, the Tower of London, and the British Museum. As an added bonus, John Ciocci was in town as well, and we spent Wednesday night taking strange pictures with Roman stautes at the aforementioned British Museum. Is it wrong that my favorite part of the British Museum is the corpses? I'm utterly fascinated with them -- how old they are, how well preserved, how they were found, and what was found with them in their tombs (if they had tombs, unlike the poor neolithic schmuck who was bashed in the head). I even bought a book about what preserved remains tell us about history. Understand please that I abhor violence and destruction, but once it's established, I love watching forensic science shows about how they solve the mystery. I think it's neat.
Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this.
I also truly loved the National Gallery. Art museums are such geeky fun. Going to a major art museum for the first time is great, especially if you just go without a guide and set off to conquer as many rooms as you can until you get too tired to continue and need to sit down and eat Indian food. Every corner is a new surprise. Ooh! The Supper at Emmaus! Ah! Jan Van Eyck's Arnolfini Wedding! Golly! The Wilton Diptych! Neat! Some painting I don't know with some dude's severed head!
There I go again. All apologies.
Speaking of gruesome, the public service announcements here are way brutal to the point of being traumatizing. I remember when I was four years old and having to run out of the room when some of the drinking and driving PSAs in the eighties came on, and having watched British TV for a week in the hotel, I'm having severe flashbacks. One features a family of cartoon zebras who are about to have a baby, and the baby dies because YOU didn't give enough to the Baby Fund, or whatever it is. I was too horrified to catch the name of the charity. My favorite features a live action dad inflicting all manner of abuse on his cartoon son, who bounces off walls with little damage to his person -- until real dad throws cartoon son downstairs, who turns into a real kid lying unconscious at the bottom. Message: "Real kids don't bounce back." Robyn's reaction: "Good God, Jeffrey change the channel." There's a billboard of this ad campaign outside my dorm now. I'm thrilled.
Also, the ravens at the Tower of London are super neat.
And to think I thought I wouldn't have enough to write about.
Robyn
If it makes you feel any better, the last time I wrote in my personal, handwritten journal was January 28. You, dear reader, are my number one priority...after boyfriend, schoolwork, job searches, feeding myself, bathing, friends, the Onion, bunnies, U2, Virgin radio, the Winged Nike of Samothrace, baked beans, and dictionary.com. But you're right up there.
But I feel I have a valid excuse for my negligence. Jeffrey and I have been exploring London. We've done neat-o things such as Westminster Abbey, the Wallace Collection, the National Gallery, the Tower of London, and the British Museum. As an added bonus, John Ciocci was in town as well, and we spent Wednesday night taking strange pictures with Roman stautes at the aforementioned British Museum. Is it wrong that my favorite part of the British Museum is the corpses? I'm utterly fascinated with them -- how old they are, how well preserved, how they were found, and what was found with them in their tombs (if they had tombs, unlike the poor neolithic schmuck who was bashed in the head). I even bought a book about what preserved remains tell us about history. Understand please that I abhor violence and destruction, but once it's established, I love watching forensic science shows about how they solve the mystery. I think it's neat.
Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this.
I also truly loved the National Gallery. Art museums are such geeky fun. Going to a major art museum for the first time is great, especially if you just go without a guide and set off to conquer as many rooms as you can until you get too tired to continue and need to sit down and eat Indian food. Every corner is a new surprise. Ooh! The Supper at Emmaus! Ah! Jan Van Eyck's Arnolfini Wedding! Golly! The Wilton Diptych! Neat! Some painting I don't know with some dude's severed head!
There I go again. All apologies.
Speaking of gruesome, the public service announcements here are way brutal to the point of being traumatizing. I remember when I was four years old and having to run out of the room when some of the drinking and driving PSAs in the eighties came on, and having watched British TV for a week in the hotel, I'm having severe flashbacks. One features a family of cartoon zebras who are about to have a baby, and the baby dies because YOU didn't give enough to the Baby Fund, or whatever it is. I was too horrified to catch the name of the charity. My favorite features a live action dad inflicting all manner of abuse on his cartoon son, who bounces off walls with little damage to his person -- until real dad throws cartoon son downstairs, who turns into a real kid lying unconscious at the bottom. Message: "Real kids don't bounce back." Robyn's reaction: "Good God, Jeffrey change the channel." There's a billboard of this ad campaign outside my dorm now. I'm thrilled.
Also, the ravens at the Tower of London are super neat.
And to think I thought I wouldn't have enough to write about.
Robyn
Thursday, February 28, 2002
Virgin Radio
In case you were wondering how one amuses oneself in one's tiny, dirty, TV and computer-less one-room flat when one isn't studying, sleeping, or eating rancid chicken, I will reveal it to you now.
Christine and I live and die by our cheap-ass little FM radio and keep it constantly tuned to Virgin (being part of the vast empire owned by Richard Branson, not some dirty talk-radio station. Get yer mind out of the gutter). We delight to the great mix of rock from the 60s to today, and delight in the fact that they only seem to hire mental patients as their DJs; charming folk who play games like "What Are You Having For Your Tea?" (wherein you call and tell them what you're having for tea) and "What Has A Monkey Done To You?" Great fun.
In other news, we're off to Paris this weekend, Jeffrey sent me a smashing new CD, and U2 won four Grammys last night. All's right with the world.
Robyn
Christine and I live and die by our cheap-ass little FM radio and keep it constantly tuned to Virgin (being part of the vast empire owned by Richard Branson, not some dirty talk-radio station. Get yer mind out of the gutter). We delight to the great mix of rock from the 60s to today, and delight in the fact that they only seem to hire mental patients as their DJs; charming folk who play games like "What Are You Having For Your Tea?" (wherein you call and tell them what you're having for tea) and "What Has A Monkey Done To You?" Great fun.
In other news, we're off to Paris this weekend, Jeffrey sent me a smashing new CD, and U2 won four Grammys last night. All's right with the world.
Robyn
Thursday, February 7, 2002
Gatecrashing Westminster Abbey
Yesterday I made not one, but two visits to Westminster Abbey. The first was a class visit in the morning. 10 am on a Wednesday in February is a very nice time to visit the Abbey, as hardly anyone else is there. Even on the 50th anniversary of the Queen's accession to the throne, as it was yesterday. This event led to our second visit -- an evensong service commemorating her accession.
The Lord Mayor of Westminster was there, but we couldn't see him, as we were stashed in the transept with the other regular people and had an obscured view of the quire where he sat with the other fancy people. But it was pretty spectacular. If you are not of the Christian persuasion, but feel like sitting in on a service anyhoo in the name of cultural experience, you might as well gatecrash at Westminster Abbey. The only thing more awe-inspring than the interior and the choir is the way it's illuminated at night from the outside; ethereal white towers against a deep blue twilight sky with Big Ben glittering behind it. It's almost enough to make a gal change her mind about things. Almost.
Robyn
The Lord Mayor of Westminster was there, but we couldn't see him, as we were stashed in the transept with the other regular people and had an obscured view of the quire where he sat with the other fancy people. But it was pretty spectacular. If you are not of the Christian persuasion, but feel like sitting in on a service anyhoo in the name of cultural experience, you might as well gatecrash at Westminster Abbey. The only thing more awe-inspring than the interior and the choir is the way it's illuminated at night from the outside; ethereal white towers against a deep blue twilight sky with Big Ben glittering behind it. It's almost enough to make a gal change her mind about things. Almost.
Robyn
Sunday, January 27, 2002
Raining Like a Mofo
A word on the differences between London rain and New York / Northeastern U.S. rain.
When it rains in New York, it tends to do so at intervals, but intervals in which the rain comes down in a mighty downpour. In London, it isn't a downpour so much as it is a constant, aggressive mist that lasts three days at a time and is exacerbated by mighty big wind gusts that render umbrellas and hats useless and hairdos unruly.
I'm not quite sure which type of rain I prefer.
It was on one of these lovely days that we went to see Stonehenge and the town of Salisbury last Friday. Stonehenge, I have to say, was a bit of a disappointment. It is indeed a cluster of rocks. And it's located on one of the most windswept and cold plains that I've ever had the opportunity to frolic on. The sheep don't seem to mind though.
Salisbury was lovely and medieval with more swans on the River Avon than you could shake a stick at. It's one of those towns, like Brugges, that although may be pretty in the sunlight, does not suffer aesthetically from a gloomy day. The gray skies and the wet cobblestones give it a nice atmosphere. Gloomy weather also makes a lunch of fish and chips at a cozylocal pub all the more enjoyable.
Robyn
When it rains in New York, it tends to do so at intervals, but intervals in which the rain comes down in a mighty downpour. In London, it isn't a downpour so much as it is a constant, aggressive mist that lasts three days at a time and is exacerbated by mighty big wind gusts that render umbrellas and hats useless and hairdos unruly.
I'm not quite sure which type of rain I prefer.
It was on one of these lovely days that we went to see Stonehenge and the town of Salisbury last Friday. Stonehenge, I have to say, was a bit of a disappointment. It is indeed a cluster of rocks. And it's located on one of the most windswept and cold plains that I've ever had the opportunity to frolic on. The sheep don't seem to mind though.
Salisbury was lovely and medieval with more swans on the River Avon than you could shake a stick at. It's one of those towns, like Brugges, that although may be pretty in the sunlight, does not suffer aesthetically from a gloomy day. The gray skies and the wet cobblestones give it a nice atmosphere. Gloomy weather also makes a lunch of fish and chips at a cozylocal pub all the more enjoyable.
Robyn
Monday, January 21, 2002
Social Creatures
Friday night was one of those nights when you feel like the biggest loser in the world and you're incapable of experiencing joy and you're going to die alone and afraid surrounded by seventy-two cats.
You know what I'm talking about.
But I'm happy to report that things are faring much better on the social front. My best friend from high school has been living in London for a couple months now, and was only too happy to show us around, take us to the theatre, and introduce us to her groovy Dutch roommate. Christine and I are now relatively comfortable with our small circle of friends.
And the navigation thang is slowly going better as well. We took a coach tour of London's Greatest Hits yesterday, so at least we know where most of the districts and landmarks lie with respect to our humble flat.
And I must be going because there is an ever constant line of NYU-L'ers who are lurking in the doorway coveting my computer. I must yield it unto them.
Robyn
You know what I'm talking about.
But I'm happy to report that things are faring much better on the social front. My best friend from high school has been living in London for a couple months now, and was only too happy to show us around, take us to the theatre, and introduce us to her groovy Dutch roommate. Christine and I are now relatively comfortable with our small circle of friends.
And the navigation thang is slowly going better as well. We took a coach tour of London's Greatest Hits yesterday, so at least we know where most of the districts and landmarks lie with respect to our humble flat.
And I must be going because there is an ever constant line of NYU-L'ers who are lurking in the doorway coveting my computer. I must yield it unto them.
Robyn
Saturday, January 19, 2002
Convoluted Urban Planning (or England: What the Hell?)
New Yorkers are spoiled.
This applies to many aspects, but I speak mainly of the luxury that is afforded in living in a city with an idiot-proof layout complete with right angles and numbered streets.
No such convenience here. Christine and I got spectacularly lost last night after a fleeing an uber-trendy bar (which very much rattled our Jeopardy!-lovin' sensibilities). Streets and passages thrown helter-skelter, streets that turn into other streets for no discernibly good reason, and a complete disregard for simple cardinal directions had us mighty confused.
Although considering we haven't been here for too very long, I suppose we shouldn't despair yet. We'll get the hang of it eventually.
Robyn
This applies to many aspects, but I speak mainly of the luxury that is afforded in living in a city with an idiot-proof layout complete with right angles and numbered streets.
No such convenience here. Christine and I got spectacularly lost last night after a fleeing an uber-trendy bar (which very much rattled our Jeopardy!-lovin' sensibilities). Streets and passages thrown helter-skelter, streets that turn into other streets for no discernibly good reason, and a complete disregard for simple cardinal directions had us mighty confused.
Although considering we haven't been here for too very long, I suppose we shouldn't despair yet. We'll get the hang of it eventually.
Robyn
Tuesday, December 18, 2001
Home Again
Or I should say home for the first time. It's been a year and a half since I last moved all my gear up to New York. Several residences later, I finally trucked it all back home. Dadoo did a marvelous job cramming the Buick full of stuff. Moving day really makes me feel very sad and materialistic. Unpacking day makes me even more sad. But I think about how nice it is to have stuff, and I don't feel so bad.
I am sad about leaving New York, although it's good to be home, and I'm excited for London (such a cornucopia of emotions!).
Okay, back to unloading boxes. How such a little person accumulates so much stuff is a mystery to me. Ah well.
Robyn
I am sad about leaving New York, although it's good to be home, and I'm excited for London (such a cornucopia of emotions!).
Okay, back to unloading boxes. How such a little person accumulates so much stuff is a mystery to me. Ah well.
Robyn
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