 london diary 3.5.01 After a bit of a hiatus (I plead guilty to the overwhelming frenzy that is metropolitan life, although I must also admit a long suffering laziness...) I am back with a post Valentine ode to the joys of London. I would like to dedicate this entry of London Diary to the Philadelphia's City Paper and their column I LOVE YOU/I HATE YOU. For my out of town readers, this weekly column is a Philly institution, a forum in which residents of the fair city can express their opinions on everything from bike messengers to romantic interests to pigeons. Without further ado, I present to you: I LOVE YOU I HATE YOU: LONDON Pub Culture: I LOVE Pub culture. As anyone who know me would gladly affirm, I am never happier than in a bar with a pint and fag in hand. Somehow the Brits have anticipated my arrival and have been building pubs on every corner since the Roman Empire. That I might drink from sun-up to sundown without feeling the compulsion to run to the nearest AA meeting can only be described as heaven on earth. Guinness is good, Martini's are posh and everyone has a football chant on their lips. The only drawback to all of this fun is that it must end every night... at 11pm!! The only saving grace of this ridiculous closing time is that it enables one to actually get a good night's rest and feel well enough to repeat the pattern the next day. YAY London!! The British Work Ethic: Directly related to pub culture. I must admit that after some ambivalence I have decided that I LOVE the British work ethic. To be sincerely praised by a boss while I drool all over the envelopes that I am supposed to be stuffing is a bit of a shock, but once accustomed to the acceptable ineptness that pervades office life I have found that I am enjoying the ten minute rhythm of cigarette-tea-bathroom break. May the Brits live on with their ditheringly obtuse system of rarely accomplishing anything at all! Now the question remains, how did they EVER colonize half the world? The Tube: Once my appreciation that I no longer needed to deal with SEPTA wore off, I have discovered that my urban version of road rage is alive and well in my heaving bosom. The Tube must be the only place where one can glimpse some latent ruthlessness of the aforementioned world colonization. After being run down by small blue haired ladies with unfortunate resemblances to the queen, mothers with strollers, and elegantly dressed business men in a mad dash for a single seat during morning rush hour, I can no longer say that I am pro public transport. Recipe for survival: a good novel (I am currently enjoying Sebastian Faulks Birdsong about WW1) and a little something called patience (I know, I had to look up the word too.) Theatre: I am incredibly lucky to be living in the theatre capital of the world and to have met people who have a love for it. I have never had much of an interest in live theatre before, but since being here I have discovered a new art form to fall passionately in love with. To see a group of people bring to life words written in the 3rd, 16th, and modern century gives such insight into the enduring immutability of human emotion. A particularly stellargirl worthy production was MEDEA, a greek tragedy about a woman who kills her sons to spite the husband who abandoned her for another woman. Played with dignity and strength by the lead actress, it enforced upon me the unutterable truth that women's passions are still considered inferior to those of men. See this play. Restaurant Service: Waiters in London aren't automatically tipped and speaking with shame as a former waitress myself, I must admit that I can see why. After asking for a glass of water for the eighth time I conceded to my fellow diners that the american adage "have it your way" was finally making sense. It is scary to think that McDonald's workers here give better quality service than some of the nicer restaurants I've eaten in. Trevor: He's tall, he's fun and he seems to actually like me. What more could a girl want? We share a common love for wordsmithery (sic), beer and have fabulous.. um... dates. Now that we are officially a couple (he asked, I've accepted) I have composed a little ditty to honor our mutual devotion. There once was a bloke called Trevor Who thought he was ever so clever by making fun of my poetic tongue- and is really close to getting his ass kicked. xxx ps. Did I mention the blue eyes? I'm besotted. My Clothing Situation: I don't have any clothes. It sucks. My Money Situation: Directly related to my clothing situation. It really sucks. Temp Jobs: I can't CAN'T even describe the horror of what I've seen and endured... bits of paper thrown everywhere, endless cups of weak, milky tea, patronizing bosses ("Yeah, nice one!" -But all I've done is filed a file!) .... who invented offices? Why can't we all take our„work into the park and sit in a circle on the grass the way we used to in third grade? The Weather: I'm not even sure how to qualify this as I am still reeling from the past week's display of what the Brits term "weather". To go from sleet, to sun, to sun and snow, to a relatively warm night in the space of 24 hours beyond my comprehension. I have never been able to dress myself appropriately for weather conditions and under these circumstances it is remarkable that I still leave the house in the mornings. To enter the tube on what seems a sunny spring morning only to exit a short time later into thick ghostly fog only adds to my already chronic state of disorientation and confusion. If god exists he is having a hell of a time at my expense. There is so much more to say... like how much I love the Thames at night and who cool it is that museums are free and totally accessible... but I must conclude. And in conclusion I would like to leave you with these brief thoughts, gentle readers: I must admit that this city has crept into my heart in a way I didn't know was possible. With its foibles and charming eccentricities it is important to remember the undeniable quote: "The man who tires of London, tires of life!" Postscipt: A Brief Reflection: Two Months and Counting I am two months into this, my most recent European adventure. While my days are thankfully taking on a vague semblance of routine, I must admit some personal disappointment in what can only be forgiven as very instinctive behavior. I have been distracting myself of late, not facing what it is that I need to learn. Indeed, I might even venture that I am explicitly avoiding a confrontation and assessment of my stated goals of this year and this relocation. In my own defense I submit my doubt that it is possible for anyone other than Gandhi to regularly sustain reflection on one's past, present and future with any real clarity or decisiveness. With that ridiculous excuse thrown into the mix, I will reaffirm my suspicion that 23 and a half is quite the turning point in my life. (Its gotta be-- I refuse to endure all this painful self-examination for nothing!) In a recent conversation with some co-workers, a general consensus was reached categorizing the years of 18 to 24 as the most dramatically changing period of one's youth. As one woman, some odd eight years older than I expressed, " At 24 I finally realized that life had consequences." It has occurred to me that while I have been able to flee the American paradigms of responsibility and adulthood, I unequivocally cannot escape the revolutions of self inherited from the passing of time. There is a passage in Edwidge Danticat's glorious coming of age novel BREATH, EYES, MEMORY that I have in the past attempted to adhere to. A sage woman warns her granddaughter to leave her heart at home when she goes out to play... "A little girls heart is precious; you do not want to lose it." As a parent tends to, my mother has held the echo of this sentiment in her eyes my entire life. Until recently I held self- protection to be one of my most valuable tools for survival. But to leave my heart behind while I dream this dream of a new self, of a new life, is to undercut any possibility of creating an understanding of the woman I am struggling to become. And so my task now is to learn how not to shirk that ultimate responsibility: to grab with both hands that which I don't understand, to embrace the consequences, and to allow my insecurities and fears enough room in my soul to become strengths. An Arabian proverb dictates: "Cast your heart out in front of you-- then, run to catch it!" I am not quite sure how to live yet, but I am learning everyday. |
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