the overseas American Holiday dilemma...SORTED

Thanksgiving is an awkward time for American ex-patriots. Part of you wants to get out there and find a turkey, and carve out your own little piece of America, darn it. Another part of you wants to mope, thinking of all of your American friends and family gathering around the table without you. Most of you would just like some good pumpkin pie, please.
Most Americans I know in London have come to a sort of compromise. They gather somehow, with that strange red-white-and-blue gravity that draws us together at this time of year, and do what any random group of Americans do when they get together - have a pot luck. So, someone offers their place (or flat, really), and asks all of their housemates to sacrifice their kitchen rights for the evening. Said host provides the turkey, and the guests bring the extras. And more guests. In the end it's a mish mash of food - and people - from all over the globe. Turkey with smoked salmon, bangers and mash, some curry...beet salad...pass the blackcurrant jam, please!
Not your traditional turkey-mashed-potatoes-cranberry kind of Thanksgiving, but...really, a decent reflection of the purpose of the holiday: Getting together, and giving thanks for whoever - and whatever - comes to the table.

Happy holidays, guys! And a special shout out to my fellow ex-patriots making it work, spreading the love.

spoooooky spoooooooky

there's a full moon out tonight! i can see it from my window, all hazy and looming yellow over the otherwise gray sky. as the day deepens into twilight, my thoughts too take a shadowy and sinister turn...
HALLOWEEN is near, my friends. time to prepare for the gouls, the goblins, the plastic frankenstein masks, the overindulgence in candy, the ---

wait a minute. i'm in the U.K. Halloween doesn't really...well...happen here.
of course, you do see some more candy in the stores, and the Simpsons on the American channels turn to their spooky episodes, but....there's something very different about Halloween in London. like, it's a muted sort of version of what i'm used to in the States.
less spooky, more kid-oriented, fewer dress-up parties...like their heart's not into it or something.
i heard someone say that Guy Fawkes Night is like the equivalent of the U.K.'s fall celebration, rather than Halloween.
sure, fireworks are cool, and bonfires, and i liked the movie V for Vendetta (this covers my total knowlede of this subject) but....

give me full moons and black cats and cauldrons of dry ice! and chain saws and haunted houses and rubber monster masks and jack o lanterns!!!

woooooooooo!

graveyard in West Hampstead - full of curious occupants

right.

So I'm walking to the bus stop, and hear a sort of clomping noise above the traffic. I turn to look, and sure enough, there is a horse in the street. Ok, so sometime cops ride around on horses here, like in the tourist areas. But this is in my new neighborhood, and the rider isn't a cop.
And the horse is pulling something. It looks like...a carriage? A glass carriage, kind of square and---something inside the carriage...like a...box.. or...
Holy crap.
It's a coffin.
And that's a line of taxis trailing it.

Do you mean to tell me, Britain, that if I die here, I can have a HORSE-DRAWN freaking FUNERAL PROCESSION???? Dude, I'll bet you have some kind of weird service that I can...

...find on the Internet. Really, Britain? REALLY??

creepy cool

Dunno how it is for the rest of you that live in London, but whenever someone comes to visit I get to see something new. Latest adventure was with my sister and her boyfriend, and we went a zillion places. My memory is pretty hazy, since I'm writing this blog to procrastinate writing my dissertation, but Westminster Abbey - that was creepy cool. Creepy because of all the dead people in there, and cool because they are uber-famous. According to its website, the Abbey's been around for a thousand years, so it's collected a LOT of dead people. Poets, artists - Tennyson, Chaucer, Browning...scientists - Darwin, Newton....kings, queens - most of them, knights...I won't list them all because it will BLOW YOUR MIND.

Oh, and it's incredibly Gothic, really one of the best examples of the Gothic period of architecture I've seen here.

So, to sum up - if you are into:
a. churches
b. famous dead people
c. gothic
d. all of the above

you will love the Abbey. Go, pay the £10 or so fee, and pay your respects.

Goth Week 2010

Every year, around Pentecost, darkness gathers from the far-reaches of the netherworld to settle in Leipzig.  This otherworldly phenomenon the locals call Goth Week (only probably in German).  Sal and I traveled to this lovely city to visit our fellow ex-pat friends, get out of London for a bit, and...well....

...stare at the Goth People.

I can't believe this, but the above photo is the ONLY ONE I TOOK of the Goth People.  With all the leather, black, metal, spikes, goggles, devices, lace, masks - - I think I was just too shocked to click.  I mean, if you haven't seen Goth Week, you just don't know how it's going to get to you.  YOU JUST DON'T KNOW, man.

I don't even know where to start.  There was this guy (??) who came out of a Beer Garden pavilion who looked like he stepped out of the gimp scene in Pulp Fiction.  There were zombie goths.  Vampire goths.  Pretty goths.  Sado-masochistic goths.  Punky goths. '80s hair goths.  Science goths.  Even anime-looking goths, with cute black hearts and pandas and...And the leather.  SO....much....black...leather....and some of the coolest knee-high boots I have ever seen.  Black lace umbrellas, carried by ladies who could've walked out of Tim Burton's head.

Even if you don't make it to Leipzig for next year's Goth Week, come sometime when it's grey and cold, break out that pair of tight leather pants your partner is ashamed you still own, and slink around the cobblestone streets a while.  You'll pass architecture frozen in Gothic and Baroque, and sausage stands, and accordion-playing street musicians.  And as you crane your neck to the sky to find the top of the spiraling tower of St. Thomas Church, you'll understand why Bach stuck around so long in this moody, soulful city.  (And I hope you pop in the church to pay your respects, as he's supposedly buried inside.)

Oh! Leipzig.  I hope it isn't Goth Week 2011 before we get to see you again.  (But just in case, I'm going boot shopping...)

'Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!'

Today, as I trust you well know, is Shakespeare's birthday.  In honor of the esteemed birthday guy (and because admittance was free today), Sal and I wandered over to Shakespeare's Globe Theatre and partook of some gay frivolity.  Shakespeare's Globe is a stone's throw from my residence hall, on the South Bank of the Thames.  It is a meticulous reconstruction of the original theater, a true work of art and historical anal retentiveness.
On this 18th day of April, a perfect spring day, there were hoards of Shakespeare fans (and free admittance fans) streaming through the Theatre.  There is much to see and touch in the museum (old fabric, swords, helmets) and tiny booths in which you can record your part in some scene from A Midsummer Night's Dream and other plays.  (Sal plays an excellent Lysander. Who knew?)  The theater itself is more impressive than it looks in pictures, with pure oak beams forming a polygonal hug around a large stage.
I am looking forward to taking in a bloody show, perhaps Macbeth or Henry VIII.  Like the modern-day peasants we are, Sal and I plan to stand in the crowd and throw tomatoes.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SHAKESPEARE! You old dog, you.

what do u2, kate moss and delicious have in common?

So my friend Sarah was visiting from Roanoke, Virginia and I thought I'd take her to Covent Garden Market to do a bit of shopping.  I was scouting around the net for some interesting sites and came upon this fancy little cupcake store nearby called Primrose Bakery.  One review said it is the cupcake joint of choice of U2 and Kate Moss. Hmm.

So we took a gander.

Bathed in soft, pastel colors and warm with sugary good smells, the bakery is a delight to all senses.  From vases of fresh flowers on the tables to the immaculate, pink restroom (I'm thorough, yes), it is girled-out to the highest caliber.


And then, of course, there are the cupcakes.

We had a little trouble deciding, but after much deliberation:

 

I chose the Earl Gray Tea cupcake, with the lovely lavendar icing.

Sarah selected a lemon beauty, with perfect sugared treats on top.

With my strangely-pronged fork hovering over the bergamot-scented cupcake, I wondered briefly what the fuss was all about.  Why, it was a pretty cupcake, sure, but really? Bono and supermodels?
I took a bite.

OMG OMG OMG CUPCAKES FROM HEAVEN!!!! they are INCREDIBLE and LIGHT AND FLUFFY and mine was baked with EARL. GRAY. TEA IN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ahem.  

It was quite the extraordinary cupcake experience, and I would highly recommend it to the Covent Garden visitor.  

(Sal chose the plum cake. It was gone before we could take a picture. *Above photos courtesy of Sarah.)

demons and snow angels

I know it's cheating, but I'm going to post a journal entry instead of a recent post. Don't judge me.

(5 Jan.)
It was a serendipitous day.
I was running errands, popping in and out of stores on Fleet Street, when I saw a plaque just inside the doorway of this pub, grandiose and imposing, complete with torches lining the doorway. The plaque began with a description of the history of the pub, once housing an older pub which served such customers as Lord Tennyson. Toward the end of the history was a mention of two buildings which used to flank the pub:
- the shop of Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street
- and the meat pie shop of his mistress.
And under those very buildings was the fabled furnace in which these terrible pies were cooked.
I laughed out loud with joy at my bizarre discovery.

Much later, I happened to look up from my computer to see steady, perfect snowflakes streaming outside. I hurried out into the night and walked to the Thames. Finding a bench I sat and watched the snow fall over the skyline of the Millennium Bridge and buildings lining the north bank.
For a while I watched the snow gather quietly on to the bank, onto things that man and nature made. Until I became a thing for snow to gather on.
Then, across the river -
donggg
donggg
donggg
- a bell sounded from some tower across the river. Clear as if I was kneeling in the sanctuary, the water carrying its full and lonely sound to my snowy bench.
I sat in the falling snow as St. Paul's Cathedral rang midnight.
This is what it means to live in a storybook instead of visit. You chance upon these great moments, rather than seek them out. They are there, every day. You have but to look, and listen.

too sexy for this blog

We are really pampered in the Government Department. We got a *special* invitation to a reception following a speaker event with Speaker John Bercow, MP . The Speaker of the House of Commons had a lot to say about his role as Speaker, but instead of giving you an intelligent summary, I will present my notes, in single quotes, and direct quotes from Speaker Bercow that I found amusing or titillating, in full quotes. Enjoy.

'I am modern and like to chill with the masses. I don't dig those old costumes.'
'I wasn't invited to be a Minister and I don't want it anyway, so nyah!'
'I won't say it was because of me (but we all know it was)...'
"scrutineer" (this word is too cool for spelling)
"haven't got two brass farthings to rub together"
"I'd like to have the whole cake...."
'He has a LOT of hair...More than I expected from his pic on Wiki...'
"People are put on the committee either as a reward or a punishment."
'And is that a light pink shirt under that blazer or is it the lighting?'
"Political faiths"
'Q: (from audience) Why are there so many white guys in the House?
A: (from Sp. Bercow) I'm awesome. (We had a conference. And we'll have a chat about it. Maybe quotas? Maybe not. But it's a problem.)'
"chin-less wonder" (brilliant!)
"I hope the country will resist the siren calls of extremists..."
"I'm a hybrid" (really???)

The Internet multi-verse will kindly forgive any over-cheekiness in the above notes/quotes list.
He was pretty entertaining, well-composed and not only did he attend the reception afterwards, but spent the entire 30-45 mins or so conversing with the students, rather than rubbing elbows with dignitaries.
I'm not entrenched in British politics, but whatever your "political faith", that's a point in the guy's favor.

And let's face it, the man has got some hair. And by some, I mean tons. Pantene or Vidal Sasson could make a killing off Speaker Bercow.

fermented shark shots

Sal is now in London (!!!!) and to start his adventure off properly I took him to a lovely multi-national dinner party hosted by a couple of my coursemates. The hosts are both from Iceland, and introduced us to a local favorite treat called Hákarl - small chunks of fermented shark. It's fermented, she explained, because sharks don't pee and thus the ammonia gets all trapped in the meat and you have to let it out via decomposing.
Wait, it gets better.
We were to follow a bit of shark with a shot of 'black death', or Brennivín - a type of schnapps so nicknamed because it was about the only safe thing to drink during the Black Plague.
The shark was kind of tasty for the first few seconds - but then something terrible started happening with my nose. Suddenly shark was everywhere - I could see, hear, and smell in shark. I took the shot of black death. It made me brave. I took some more shark. The room started to swim.

You know what we brought to the party? Chili. Or, rather, what Sal calls 'white people chili.' He toned the spice level down to accommodate the Nordic/European delicate palate. That was a mistake. I'm bringing stuffed cayenne peppers next time. These people are badder than we ever imagined.

cultural differences

"Guinness is blood," a guest informs me at the pub.
I raise an eyebrow, wondering if he's quoting some colloquialism or commercial I haven't seen.
He raises his glass to me and grins. "I don't know how they do in other places, but in Ireland they don't sell the blood. You give it, as a donation. Well, back some time ago they would give you a half-pint of Guinness after you donated your blood."
Now both eyebrows of mine are raised. "A half-pint you say?"
He nods. "They said it restored what you were missin' after the blood was taken. So they would give you a half-pint, and a cup of tea and a biscuit."
My fellow bar-maid is German and tells us that they get paid for giving blood there.
"We donate blood in America too, but they don't give us Guinness," I say, grinning, "Back in college they gave us pizza and a Coke."
We laugh.

I guess in America, Coke is blood.