(no subject)

Well, yesterday....

The bus ride was uneventful besides a lovely endless repeat of Led Zeppelin's Rain Song, but when we got there, we walked about in a huge crowd of obvious tourism and our deputies decided to pass up the line to the War Rooms and go eat in this tiny little cafe in Hyde Park for awhile before we did them. Once we did, they were less interesting than a lot of the other things we've seen (WWII is not my favorite period of history) but intriguing for their sheer labyrinthine secrecy factor. The Cabinet War Rooms were actually underground, and there was one transatlantic telephone in a room that only Churchill could use (nobody else knew what was in there and decided it was the only flushing toilet in the complex).

We came out of there and sat around in the grass waiting to go to the next place. The next place was Trafalgar square where we had a couple hours to wander, so Suz and I went in the National Gallery and perused the centuries. Oo. There was a bunch of stereotypical Renaissance art, Rembrandt and Hals and some cool Dutch guys, and one who tried to paint the transformation of Acteon (he saw Diana bathingand she turned him into a stag) but wasn't terribly good at anthro art so it looked like a pile of innards and he had to make that corner all dark so you couldn't tell what was going on. In the last half an hour or so, we cruised through the East wing 1800-1900, the Impressionists and modernish people, including Degas, Monet, Manet, Van Gogh, Renoir, and a bunch of other famous people who decided it didn't matter what it looked like, it was what they meant painting it and what you saw looking at it. So we've been to see it, and it was a lot more crowded than everywhere else. I wanted to go see the ticketed one about Passions (Winthrop collection, I think it said) because it had Pre-Raphaelites in it, but it was guided and would have taken longer than we had, and I didn't have the change for it.

So after Trafalgar Square, we tramped along the slightly colder streets (oh, did I mentino the weather when we got up that day was substantially more typical of England? I was sprinkling when I got up to take a shower, and gloweringly gloomily gray all day in London) to Covent Garden again (yay), where instead of eating immediately as apparently everyone else did (we had three hours, for goodness' sake) we wandered about. I remembered a really cool jumpy thing on one end of the Market, just like the one at NASA that I didn't go on, called Jumpzone. I'd really wanted to go on it the last time, but there was no time for the line (queue) and I had just eaten. This time, however, Nia obligingly took the contents of my pockets, my jacket, and my cds and sketchbook I'd been carrying, and gave me six pounds to stand in line with (I paid for dinner, so it was all right). It was a half-an-hour line, but we had to wait at least that long before eating, anyway, because of her medicine, so I got to fly in the air for 3 minutes and do back and forward flips and somersaults and play Icarus on elastic and a trampoline. I was quite happy. The guys who were running it (I think their accent is what happens when Swedes learn English in Britain and get pretty good at losing their Swedish accent), particularly the one who was watching my elastic, seemed impressed and told me I'd done a really good job. Nobody else that day had been doing twirly stuff (the last time, we'd watched in awe and jealousy as a particularly adept guy did triple-backflips... sketches were inspired). So I spent the next hour or so very dizzily and with sore inner thighs (there and across the stomach is where the straps attach) and sore upper arms from holding and manipulating the elastic. They're still a little sore.

But after I jumped, I wobbled wetly (it was past drizzling now, raelly raining) with Susan in two jackets, down to the street on which we'd had wonderful Indian food. We couldn't find it, and the Mongolian Barbecue didn't open for another hour, so we stopped in a little Thai place and I had some really good, subtly-jasmine-somthing-interesting-flavored chicken suteh and jasmine tea after Susan's was gone (I got another pot). Suz had egg fried rice that looked really good. I had a very hard time resisting another plate of chicken, but it was pretty expensive and we'd gone to Sainsbury's yesterday and stocked up on all kinds of cool food, so I figured I'd eat when we got home. We sat around in the nicely non-smoky (but not non-smoking) restaurant and played with the oil lamps on the table and drew winged things in our sketchbooks (we'd seen some pretty cool winged sculptures on our walks) until somebnody started smoking, and then decided to walk back to the meetingplace despite the large amount of time we still had before we had to be there.

It's interesting that we did, because there was a Sainsbury's right there, and we went in to pass the time and save our sketchbooks from the rain. Good thing, too. Did you know that a medium pot of raspberry/cranberry yoghurt only has about 8 grams of sugar? And did you also know that cordial in itself is not alcoholic, merely extremely concentrated and flavorful? Lime cordial looked interesting to me, and we got some (that was all; it came with the yoghurt to a pound four pence), and lo and behold one tiny sip is like a lime Warhead sour.It's wonderful. The deputies thought we'd rot our stomachs drinking it plain (we managed to finish about half a cup by the end of the night), but it was really good.

And Then. And Then. we walked to the Lyceum in West End. And saw the Lion King. Heh.

It was good. I must say, though, that the constructions and framings and puppet strings and operators were a lot more distracting the second time around. It was very entertaining to listen to Pumbaa tryig to disguise an Irish accent, and Timon a Scottish. Adult Simba didn't even bother, so it wasn't remarkable, but it was fun to compare the pronunciations of young Simba's non-attempt with Mufasa's pathetic attempts at American accents (Mufasa was South African). It was just as fun as the first time, though I don't think I was as engaged (except for opening number, which made me cry again, especially the big blackout boom at the end of Circle) so I could look more critically. I had a wonderful time, and the For Hire binoculars on our row were all upside down so we didn't have to pay to get them out. Oh, it was fun.

Bus on the way back was interesting; I'd been dozing through the raucous deputies' attempts at songs from the show (it was pathetic, they didn't even know the words to Hakuna Matata and it was all heavily accented), when I noticed Sophia, our deputy, didn't seem too happy. She didn't feel well and her head hurt, so I made Susan switch with me so I could sit on the aisle and reach her hand, and I think it may have been the most effective massage I've ever given. She felt much better within a minute of poking around in between her thumb and index finger, and was very surprised about it. I dozed the rest of the way to the Rain Song (Susan graciously passed her cdplayer on when she could no longer stay awakw), and did indeed eat a little once we got home, lemony chicken and the kind of ice cream that happens when you have whipping cream in a refrigerator whose temperature is set too low. I also made a popsicle out of diluted lime cordial in my toothbrush case, and we ate it this morning. It was superb.

Thus, I had a good day yesterday, and a good sleep last night. The bells went crazy this morning, but they do every morning, just a little more today. Now, I will finally mention the things I've been writing down to tell you since I first got here, in miscellaneous order. I think I'll make a new post to do so.

Miscellaneous interests.

1. Purple cars! There are zillions of them here. All kinds of the best purples, two-tone and metallic, vans and smartcars (tiny two-seaters). I counted 34 on our last last trip to London, and the traffic was negligible. It's great.

2. No Fraction bar on milemarkers. it says 3 4 km to Whatever, instead of 3/4, though they are diagonally over each other. Very strange to look at.

3. Ralph Fiennes, brother of Joseph Fiennes of Shakespeare in Love fame, was Brand in the production we saw. Bigshot. Pretty good.

4. Flintstones. The first Sunday we were here, we were exploring and walked past a very grand, impressive, wonderfully Gothic-looking church. The only incongruity was that the Flintstones themesong was drifting out the doorway, voices raised happily in tune with a taped accompaniment. I have a feeling those were not the words they were singing, but all the same....

5. Accent. I started picking one up within the second day after arrival, and then stopped dead. I can do it on purpose, now, but very few odd vowels slip through unnoticed any longer.

6. Faces. There is an underlying British facial construction that I, as a person who studies anatomy for drawing, have found remarkarble. I think the basic, most typical template resembles Hugh Grant. I thought he was funny-looking when I saw him in movies, but no. He's just very British-looking; he has the backward-slanted, hooded eyes, nose chopped at an obtuse angle, and wide high cheekbones. Very interesting.

7. Preps. Everyone in this program except the theatre junkies who rehearse in the secondrate production, the nerds, and Susan (and apparently a couple of artsies in her art class) is a prep of the most disgusting, annoying sort. Like, totally for sure.

8. Pockets. I have managed to put a day's amusement and supplies in the pockets to one pair of cargo pants. This includes books, tape player, cards, IDs, Bastet figurine, watercolor pencils, and writing utensils. Alternately, one pair of normal pants and a jacket.

9. Pedestrianhood. Is a threat to life, unless you are crossing a deserted street or one with a crosswalk with its own traffic lights (there are several of those). Otherwise, they aim for you.

10. Elderflower water. Is scrumptious. Oh, yum. carbonated elderflower and pear water. Try it sometime.

11. Weather. It's been ridiculously uncharacteristic, with shiny bright sun. I've never gotten to the point of uncomfortable heat, but close enough to have me worried about global warming. This is supposed to be England, right?

12. Names. I don't know anyone's but my deputy Sophia's, Susan's, Jorge's, and Jorge's friend Martha's. This includes the teachers. However, I haven't met anyone yet who hasn't remembered mine from any time I introduced myself. All my Creative Writing classmates, quite a few people in theatre whom I don't recognize, and a lot of random boys who say hi in the street all seem to have my name and appearance memorized. They remember things I do, too, and tell me how amusing I was at some point in time I don't remember. It's a little unsettling, especially since I have no idea who these people are. But it's also gratifying. I guess I'm worth remembering.

Thus, I have mentioned the things worth mentioning. Now I'll attempt to upload some more pictures.

(no subject)

I just discovered that the links I posted were missing a zero. So I fixed them, and they work now. I can see a couple from the realm3 url, though I didn't check them all. We'll see how the ones I'm loading now do.

(no subject)

Oh, well. It must have uninstalled the driver I frantically updated last time I was in here, because it doesn't want to recognize the camera. I'll do it again later; I still have plenty of room.

I just checked my yahoo email, and Salad answered me there two Saturdays ago, and I didn't know it. He was in town on that Sunday, but we weren't. Oh, well. I'll see him in Houston.

Ally darling, my email is rion@the-lair.com, as it's been for several years and is posted on all the organizations I belong to. TIndeed, tell me an organized update on this club thing. La.

I think this'll be the last update today. You never know, though.

Nope, you never know

I've been on this computer for three hours, but there's no limit and I have a 10-pound note to pay with, at a pound an hour. So I'll type up my only writing composition I think is worth typing. So here: it's an assignment of describing myself as related to my evolution, not only personally but historically, and how I think some of my qualities may have come about. I kind of like it.

The overriding impression I tend to give, when I observe myself, is one of solidity. I have a solid thatch of ordinary brown hair, a solid plebian frame, solidly packed with the layer of distributed bulk that a well-living mesomorph acquires, and a solid, steady gaze that reflects the firmness of the convictions I hold. However, I often marvel at the very fragility and luck of my life; if just one of my vast array of ancestors had been devoured by a rampaging dragon at the wrong time of life, I would be either someone else entirely, or I would not exist at all.

But my progenitors all escaped their dragons, at least before reproducing. They were undoubtedly solid, too; both sides sturdy peasants, both immigrating from sturdy Western Europe. I think, perhaps, that the strength of the few convictions I have, and the openmindedness I try to entertain about the rest of things, could come from both lines. The fierce independence and territorial instinct of the highland Reynolds ancestors, though tempered by a time of peaceful farming in fertile plans after the trip across the pond a few centuries ago, has revealed itself again in the last generation of civilly disobedient libertarians, who (though quietly) wrought changes in the authority held over them. These independent throwbacks may also have overruled the stifling braainwash of religious training that came before them, saving me from a life of firm belief in the immorality of dancing, cards, and music (for, I know, if I had believed that, I would have believed it solidly).

And then from the other side of my mother's line comes a solid work ethic and sense of efficiency, the Tancry immigrants' decision to work, escape the war, and do something useful. From them, I am a third-generation American, though the germanic and slavic propensity for dumpiness and hypothyroidism is all they seem to have left me of their heritage. The language interest is there, too, though perhaps it's reinforced from the other side.

The Stickneys were the only mitigation of the rustic blood I inherited; John de Stickny, lord of the Stickney manor in Lincolnshire, was not a real bigshot but nevertheless apparently accomplished enough to be granted a minor title. The he, or his descendant William, forfeited it by moving to Maine and Stickney Hill, but perhaps the generations of put-upon New Englanders managed to suppress the latent lazinessI seem to have inherited from the only aristocracy in my background, fortified by a comfortably middle-class upbringing. From the very beginning, I suppose one could argue, my puny simian ancestors had to rely on something other than brute strength to get by in the world, so they developed a wrinkly cerebrum. Though I've regained a little animalian strength, and don't hesitate in feminine privilege to use it to carry pallets oof bricks out of the van, I've also tried to take advantage of my potential to reason over instinct, when instinct is not a helpful facet of psychology. I find myself making leaps and forming habits that are only common sense to me, while some see them as meaningful exercises of intelligence. And then, there are the therianthropic deviances.

Nowhere in my geneaology can I find evidence of a familial predisposition to be born and animal in a human body, with the use of human facilities of logic, reason, and easy social interaction ( well, easy is a relative term, but I am facultatively social). Here is where the enjoyment of instinct can be experienced, while not overriding reason; nocturnal contemplation, wide territorial wanderings, a tropical climatic preference, an alarmingly steady gaze all give a erflectino of my feline mores. At the same time, there's no uncontrolled outlash at perceived cometitors, or unthinking destruction by accidental strength, as my flexible primate-filtered brain has given me useful solid inhibitions. Time was, even primates didn't have them.

Solid is as solid does, but I am solidly myself. My me is truly mine, as I've said in other words.


Ha, I typed that in 15 minutes. Go me. Hard keyboard, too.