London, is a harder place to blog from than Singapore, partly because it is so more familiar/less alien. Also, the ill-fated trip back to the US didn't help: it made me extra busy the week prior, on the blog desert while in the U.S. and extra busy when I got back. I'm going to have to try to do better than blogging once every three weeks.
So...what inspired me today, besides being caught up on grading and having the luxury of a free hour in what's been so far a pretty busy schedule?
Something I read:
"Lists do not always impose order on the world."
As a chronic listmaker, I can attest to the profound truthiness of that statement.
Something else I read. I finished grading student internship entries last night, and this one cracked me up. The student was describing a meeting they attended at their internship site. It made me laugh, just because it was so spot on and so matter of fact:
"I did not want to be rude to anyone, so I drank 6 cups of tea. That cannot be healthy."
Unlike Singapore, where there's a clean toilet around every corner, finding a loo here in the first place is a challenge, and then finding one you'd be willing to use except in an emergency (there is a reason why people call them bogs) isn't always easy. Six cups of tea could represent challenges, of the health and dignity sort, for sure.
Cuppa, anyone?
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
The week in review
No matter how well planned, first weeks are always, well, discombobulating. I always expect to be very well-organized (what with my lists and all), but somehow never manage it. 
Along with launching courses (15 internships to supervise and visit field sites and meet as a class bi-weekly [new to me], 13 independent studies, two classroom-based courses upper division courses) I'm trying to backfill the program calendar with extra activities students might enjoy. Everyone signed up for "new" events-- Wicked Wednesday night and a day trip to Oxford on March 19. Students pay their first visit to Stratford Villas (where I'm living) for breakfast next Saturday, followed by a guided walk through Bloomsbury, starting at Newton's statue at the British Library. I hope it isn't too cold and rainy (an only slightly hopeless hope in January)
Last week I saw a so-so ballet (Giselle, technically lovely, but danced precisely and almost without emotion); the theatre (Coliseum)compensated in its beauty.
I also saw
an Edinburgh Fringe Festival award-winning two-hander (Midsummer [a play with songs], very good indeed) at the MUCH more prosaic SOHO theatre, and saw the awesomely funny Pajama Men there, too. One review described Pajama Men as "Monty Python on LSD"...if you're inspired to check out a performance that made me laugh so hard and long that my face hurt the next day, look 'em up at their website or YouTube and figure out how to get to one of their performances. Yes, they WERE that good.
Coming back from grocery shopping yesterday, I passed a school with an interesting sign:
The Cavendish School. Est. 1875
An Independent school for girls aged 3 to 11 years
and sibling boys aged 3 to 7
HeadTeacher: Mrs. T.R. Dunbar B.Sc(Hons) PGCE NPQH
Hmmm. I wonder at the gender/age composition (perhaps after age 7 boys are expected to get hair cuts and wear trousers?) and the meaning of all the letters after Mrs. Dunbar's name. And will any sibling relationships do, or must it be a sister between ages of 3 and 11?
I've just glimpsed the sun, signalling the potential for a good trudge around Camden Town to figure out what's in the 'hood. Regent's Park is not too far, nor is Primrose Hill, so I'll see where my feet take me.
Along with launching courses (15 internships to supervise and visit field sites and meet as a class bi-weekly [new to me], 13 independent studies, two classroom-based courses upper division courses) I'm trying to backfill the program calendar with extra activities students might enjoy. Everyone signed up for "new" events-- Wicked Wednesday night and a day trip to Oxford on March 19. Students pay their first visit to Stratford Villas (where I'm living) for breakfast next Saturday, followed by a guided walk through Bloomsbury, starting at Newton's statue at the British Library. I hope it isn't too cold and rainy (an only slightly hopeless hope in January)Last week I saw a so-so ballet (Giselle, technically lovely, but danced precisely and almost without emotion); the theatre (Coliseum)compensated in its beauty.
I also saw an Edinburgh Fringe Festival award-winning two-hander (Midsummer [a play with songs], very good indeed) at the MUCH more prosaic SOHO theatre, and saw the awesomely funny Pajama Men there, too. One review described Pajama Men as "Monty Python on LSD"...if you're inspired to check out a performance that made me laugh so hard and long that my face hurt the next day, look 'em up at their website or YouTube and figure out how to get to one of their performances. Yes, they WERE that good.
Coming back from grocery shopping yesterday, I passed a school with an interesting sign:
The Cavendish School. Est. 1875
An Independent school for girls aged 3 to 11 years
and sibling boys aged 3 to 7
HeadTeacher: Mrs. T.R. Dunbar B.Sc(Hons) PGCE NPQH
Hmmm. I wonder at the gender/age composition (perhaps after age 7 boys are expected to get hair cuts and wear trousers?) and the meaning of all the letters after Mrs. Dunbar's name. And will any sibling relationships do, or must it be a sister between ages of 3 and 11?
I've just glimpsed the sun, signalling the potential for a good trudge around Camden Town to figure out what's in the 'hood. Regent's Park is not too far, nor is Primrose Hill, so I'll see where my feet take me.
Friday, January 15, 2010
My turn on the Queen's Throne
Despite Heathrow's 3 inch snow"storm" that delayed/cancelled/diverted hundreds of flights, all the London students made it! One (Amy Buffomonte) followed suggestions to pack light to such perfection that she arrived for the semester with a single carry-on bag. 
Others...not so much. 
Right now students are on their panoramic tour of London; after several days settling into flats (really good housing), orientations, and a cream tea reception at the Regency Hotel, students will finally get a day off tomorrow. Me, I'm chomping at the bit to get into the Camden house maybe Sunday, maybe Monday) and start classes. It isn't lack of work or interesting things to do in the meantime, but (as much as I like novelty) I like the routine classes impose. After internship orientation on Friday I did a once-in-a-decade or so(or first this century) tour for individuals at the lavish London Palladium (famous for its variety shows in the 20th century, anyone who was anyone performed there)...I got the 12:05 timeslot I applied for last October. The tour was limited to 20 people, going in one or two at a time. Guides took me on stage, into the balconies, through the Andrew Lloyd Webber VIP room and hidden spots in the the maze of hallways behind the scenes, quite a cool tour in a working theatre (the musical Sister Act plays there now). Most interesting was the history of black performers presented in playbills, programs, videos, and the awesome opportunity to see the filmed 1948 Palladium tap dance performance by the Clarke Brothers [from Philadelphia), and to meet one of the Mr. Clarkes in person. He was delightful and still had some pretty good moves!
But the tour highlight (according to my guide) was the even rarer opportunity to enter the Royal Box, a place she'd never seen inside for the six years she worked at the Palladium, not until the very morning of the tour. Apparently the Palladium takes the "royal" criterion for entry into the box seriously...most of the time. Aside from the bad view of the stage (but the great view the audience would have of the Queen) the decor of the Royal Box was pretty unremarkable. [Aside: Lynne and I sat in boxes to see Oliver! last spring. Despite the stage being close enough to count the pores on Rowan Atkinson's [Mr. Bean] nose, we paid top price for sore necks from craning to see the blocked half of the stage.] Sure, the Palladium Royal Box had its own little private anteroom where refreshments could be served before pre-show and at intervals.
Nonetheless, I (and all theatregoers) have a very festive public anteroom (commonly known as the bar) which accomplishes the same purpose but with considerably more shiny stuff (maybe royal tastes run to shabby chic and the shiny is for the unwashed masses). The Royal Box itself was festooned with maroon drapery and tassles, with comfie velvet armchairs--but then, all Palladium seats are velvet with arms. As for differences, true that commoners' seats are bolted to the floor while the Queen put her chair wherever she pleases, so I suppose that's "advantage, Queen". Several guides seemed inordinately proud that the handful of lucky people on the Palladium tour could have a rare glimpse of the Queen's toilet, something even employees had never seen before tour day. Does it have a velvet upholstered seat and gold fittings, or maybe gold tassles to flush I wonder?Hmmph. The 1950s bathrooms at home hold their own in head to head competition (I'm trying to be punny) with the Queen's Toilet at the London Palladium. Plain white walls, plain white fixtures, a door separated the loo from the washing up area, but even there it was just a pedestrian pedestal sink. No gold fittings, nothing special, not even luxury toilet tissue! Ahead of the guide, I stood gazing for a moment, wondering, why the hell would anyone care where the Queen peed (if she had to) at the London Palladium, and why as I wasting time in London looking at a tired old bathroom?
Then it came to me, the only way to redeem prurient interest in the Queen's plumbing was to try it out. The guide was pretty sure that was not allowed. However, like the stray finger that illicitly touched the Rosetta Stone many years ago, and took a prohibited photo at the Singapore Serangoon MRT station or crashed a funeral more recently, there's no way to undo what's done, appropriate or not. I sat down, much to the dismay of my guide. I don't feel transformed in any regal way or special for having done it, but it is one more experience I can add to the list of things I didn't even know I wanted to do. My turn on the Queen's Thone.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Tomorrow, tomorrow...
...I'll love them tomorrow. I wonder if I'll be humming this on April 23rd?
Students arrive in the morning, starting at 6:30. I had the sense (for once) to stay out by Heathrow on arrival night so that I can sleep in until, oh, 5:30 and still meet them. Hopefully there will still be a little snow remaining, my view of the runway the morning from the hotel was more like what we'd expect in Buffalo than London!
I've been in London about 36 hours and I've already walked across my favorite bridge to the National Theatre (and seen an absolutely searing play there, Our Class, nothing but eight actors and eight chairs, a spellbinding 3 hours). The lights on the Thames, the fairy lights in the trees (we'd call them Xmas lights) and the hues of the theatre were beautiful on a still snowy night. I've also gone to CAPA to say hi to the staff and pick up student travel passes (no sissy buses door to door from airport for UB, we use public transportation from day one), sussed the student housing, picked up pocket journals for students as arrival "gifts" (inconsequential gifts, for sure...unless they make them otherwise).
Yesterday was an interesting Tube day, with several sightings of people in little clumps with not many clothes on (fully dressed tops, incl hats and gloves, but boots and just shorts/panties on the bottom). Until I read the paper this morning I had no clue it was worldwide No Pants on the Subway Day. Even now, with a special day frame of reference, this seems like a suboptimal choice of seasons for a northern hemisphere pantless activity. But then one of the many things I love here is the sheer incomprehensibility of some things. Like TV.
On the telly tonight:
A documentary on an inner-city "casualty" (emergency) ward...where the staff are treating a guy with severe burns all over his face. There was no need to digitize for privacy, given the fully bandaged face. How did that happen? Well, he set his face on fire while busking as a fire-eater in Leeds. My first question was--who the hell could make a living in Leeds eating fire? Who the hell could make a living in Leeds doing anything? Was his bandaged head and occupational choice supposed to arouse curiosity, or sympathy, or just relief that none of us is that stupid? Setting one's face on fire seems like a pretty predictable risk after squirting lighter fluid into the mouth and then exhaling into a lit match. But I'm oddly fascinated and wonder, of what pedagogical use might this example be (justifies TV watching)? Could I use it in the sociology of health care class? the social policy course? Will David (now the audience has been fed his name)get worker's compensation for injuries acquired on the job? At least he doesn't have to worry about health care bills, maybe that's what I'll emphasize. I suppose that is a good thing, since fire eaters seem likely to be an underinsured occupational categories in the U.S.
Also on TV tonight (but I'm not watching, being fully enthralled by David's circumstances):
The British Family (BBC Two)
Muslim Driving School (BBC Two)
The first show has five stars from reviewers, too bad I'm now riveted by skin puffing up on David the fireater's right cheek. The narrator is no longer calling David a fireater, now he's called an "entertainer"...perhaps to arouse audience sympathy? I'm mesmerized sometimes by what's on TV here.
Survivors (BBC One). Horrible, airing that crappy show should push BBC One down the hierarchy of BBC outlets to something like BBC Ten...that is until I saw the double header that followed that put BBC One back on top of my list:
The Girl Who Cries Blood (when she cries blood drips from Twinkle's eyes, and sometimes also inexplicably from her hairline and feet), followed immediately by The Man Who Can't Stop Hiccuping (a 25 year old guy who has hiccupped for more than two years). I hate having the hiccups for even two minutes, that is must see TV. Anyway, kudos to BBC One for redeeming their top spot in my British telly watching league table by arousing my prurient interest in the (bizarre) human condition.
Oh wait...he's now been completely unbandaged and is saying "....ahhhhh, ahhhhh" (to the nurse peering in his blistered mouth with a flashlight) and there is no damage to his tongue. However, looks like the eyebrows fared less well. Hurray anyway! How could David make a living eating fire without a tongue to help propel flammable liquids out of his mouth? Or is the tongue an occupational impediment? For fireaters, maybe eyebrows are "nice to have" not "need to have," given flames as likely distractors from (or cause of) any missing facial hair. Not sure about the tongue though, I'll have to mull that one over. Maybe exhaling without a muscle in the way is more efficient?
The dénouement. David's bounced back, and his name and face are fully revealed (all publicity is good?). The narrator [voice over a headshot of unburnt David, face as pink as a baby's bum and the tiniest bald spot in his moustache] just said (without a hint of irony) "After a couple of months with a stingy face, David has made a complete recovery. But he has not yet returned to fire-eating." Gotta love it when stories are resolved in single episode. Or is "...not yet returned to fire-eating" a hint of a cliffhanger? Quick, hire David, the pink stingy-faced entertainer with wispy eyebrows and patchy moustache, before he immolates again.
Telly life in London 2010 already shows promise, after a single night of semi-viewing whilst (I love that word, which can only be used here) blogging. It will be awesome when I figure out when Doc Martin and Shameless are on...
Students arrive in the morning, starting at 6:30. I had the sense (for once) to stay out by Heathrow on arrival night so that I can sleep in until, oh, 5:30 and still meet them. Hopefully there will still be a little snow remaining, my view of the runway the morning from the hotel was more like what we'd expect in Buffalo than London!
I've been in London about 36 hours and I've already walked across my favorite bridge to the National Theatre (and seen an absolutely searing play there, Our Class, nothing but eight actors and eight chairs, a spellbinding 3 hours). The lights on the Thames, the fairy lights in the trees (we'd call them Xmas lights) and the hues of the theatre were beautiful on a still snowy night. I've also gone to CAPA to say hi to the staff and pick up student travel passes (no sissy buses door to door from airport for UB, we use public transportation from day one), sussed the student housing, picked up pocket journals for students as arrival "gifts" (inconsequential gifts, for sure...unless they make them otherwise).
Yesterday was an interesting Tube day, with several sightings of people in little clumps with not many clothes on (fully dressed tops, incl hats and gloves, but boots and just shorts/panties on the bottom). Until I read the paper this morning I had no clue it was worldwide No Pants on the Subway Day. Even now, with a special day frame of reference, this seems like a suboptimal choice of seasons for a northern hemisphere pantless activity. But then one of the many things I love here is the sheer incomprehensibility of some things. Like TV.
On the telly tonight:
A documentary on an inner-city "casualty" (emergency) ward...where the staff are treating a guy with severe burns all over his face. There was no need to digitize for privacy, given the fully bandaged face. How did that happen? Well, he set his face on fire while busking as a fire-eater in Leeds. My first question was--who the hell could make a living in Leeds eating fire? Who the hell could make a living in Leeds doing anything? Was his bandaged head and occupational choice supposed to arouse curiosity, or sympathy, or just relief that none of us is that stupid? Setting one's face on fire seems like a pretty predictable risk after squirting lighter fluid into the mouth and then exhaling into a lit match. But I'm oddly fascinated and wonder, of what pedagogical use might this example be (justifies TV watching)? Could I use it in the sociology of health care class? the social policy course? Will David (now the audience has been fed his name)get worker's compensation for injuries acquired on the job? At least he doesn't have to worry about health care bills, maybe that's what I'll emphasize. I suppose that is a good thing, since fire eaters seem likely to be an underinsured occupational categories in the U.S.
Also on TV tonight (but I'm not watching, being fully enthralled by David's circumstances):
The British Family (BBC Two)
Muslim Driving School (BBC Two)
The first show has five stars from reviewers, too bad I'm now riveted by skin puffing up on David the fireater's right cheek. The narrator is no longer calling David a fireater, now he's called an "entertainer"...perhaps to arouse audience sympathy? I'm mesmerized sometimes by what's on TV here.
Survivors (BBC One). Horrible, airing that crappy show should push BBC One down the hierarchy of BBC outlets to something like BBC Ten...that is until I saw the double header that followed that put BBC One back on top of my list:
The Girl Who Cries Blood (when she cries blood drips from Twinkle's eyes, and sometimes also inexplicably from her hairline and feet), followed immediately by The Man Who Can't Stop Hiccuping (a 25 year old guy who has hiccupped for more than two years). I hate having the hiccups for even two minutes, that is must see TV. Anyway, kudos to BBC One for redeeming their top spot in my British telly watching league table by arousing my prurient interest in the (bizarre) human condition.
Oh wait...he's now been completely unbandaged and is saying "....ahhhhh, ahhhhh" (to the nurse peering in his blistered mouth with a flashlight) and there is no damage to his tongue. However, looks like the eyebrows fared less well. Hurray anyway! How could David make a living eating fire without a tongue to help propel flammable liquids out of his mouth? Or is the tongue an occupational impediment? For fireaters, maybe eyebrows are "nice to have" not "need to have," given flames as likely distractors from (or cause of) any missing facial hair. Not sure about the tongue though, I'll have to mull that one over. Maybe exhaling without a muscle in the way is more efficient?
The dénouement. David's bounced back, and his name and face are fully revealed (all publicity is good?). The narrator [voice over a headshot of unburnt David, face as pink as a baby's bum and the tiniest bald spot in his moustache] just said (without a hint of irony) "After a couple of months with a stingy face, David has made a complete recovery. But he has not yet returned to fire-eating." Gotta love it when stories are resolved in single episode. Or is "...not yet returned to fire-eating" a hint of a cliffhanger? Quick, hire David, the pink stingy-faced entertainer with wispy eyebrows and patchy moustache, before he immolates again.
Telly life in London 2010 already shows promise, after a single night of semi-viewing whilst (I love that word, which can only be used here) blogging. It will be awesome when I figure out when Doc Martin and Shameless are on...
Friday, January 1, 2010
Ten Days Pre-Departure
I leave for London January 10th and I'm working with a top ten list of lists. I know, it's derivative of Letterman's schtick, but exponentially different. Most of my short lists have at least several items and the longer lists have many more, lists nested within lists. I love them so much that I list retrospectively for the sheer pleasure of crossing things already accomplished off of a list. Mostly I do that in creative procrastination mode (thanks MN, for introducing THAT concept, I abuse it).
Top ten current lists:
10. Boxes packed list (we are trying to sell and buy a house while I'm gone, ask me how well this is working)
9. Books to order list (I'm not sure yet if I like my new Kindle)
8. Mail to send list (letter-writing season for students)
7. Stuff to do in the office list (oh dear, this is a bad one)
6. December "to do" list (leftover from 2009, but shrinking)
5. January "to do" list (growing too fast)
4. Performances I want to see (have tickets for 14 so far and counting)
3. 2010 resolutions (this is the shortest list of all)
2. UB Semester in London students (15 interesting new people to get to know)
1. What to pack list (proudly, this list is dwindling!)
Starting a 2010 London blog was on my January "to do" list, must cross that off....oh, and shorter blogs, that was on the resolution list...a twofer, and it is not even noon yet...a good start to 2010 for me. Happy New Year everyone!
Top ten current lists:
10. Boxes packed list (we are trying to sell and buy a house while I'm gone, ask me how well this is working)
9. Books to order list (I'm not sure yet if I like my new Kindle)
8. Mail to send list (letter-writing season for students)
7. Stuff to do in the office list (oh dear, this is a bad one)
6. December "to do" list (leftover from 2009, but shrinking)
5. January "to do" list (growing too fast)
4. Performances I want to see (have tickets for 14 so far and counting)
3. 2010 resolutions (this is the shortest list of all)
2. UB Semester in London students (15 interesting new people to get to know)
1. What to pack list (proudly, this list is dwindling!)
Starting a 2010 London blog was on my January "to do" list, must cross that off....oh, and shorter blogs, that was on the resolution list...a twofer, and it is not even noon yet...a good start to 2010 for me. Happy New Year everyone!
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