Monday night, Phil and I went to see The Civil Wars in concert. Most of you know that I have been awaiting this date for quite a long time, since I bought my tickets in October as a birthday present to myself. I actually bought the concert tickets long before I bought my plane tickets, so I was definitely willing to take the risk that my plans would all work out in the end.
I'll give you a little bit of background info as to how I ultimately learned of this heavenly duo. On a random day last summer, I was channel surfing and landed on VH1's top 20 countdown. The video for the group's debut single, "Barton Hollow," started playing as soon as I put the remote down. It simply piqued my curiosity, so I watched the entire video, and decided to investigate further. I went to Amazon.com (WAY better than iTunes) and searched the album...I listened to the samples and decided to buy the album on a whim. That was one of the best decisions of my entire life (seriously--no hyperbole intended!) I've been hooked ever since. I became an instant stalker fan and checked out the band's website and added them to my list of "likes" on Facebook, and as soon as I saw the pre-sale come up for the UK tour, I jumped on the chance to see them live. Aannyyway...
I had to meet Phil after he finished work at 4:30, and I kind of felt like there would already be a line of people waiting to get in at that point, since the doors opened at 7:00. Fortunately for us, we arrived at the O2 Shepherd's Bush Empire to discover only 4 people sitting on the steps. Yessss! We were right in the front -- and I had floor tickets. Epic win.
We bide our time as the beggars stroll past, asking all of us for spare change, which we denied them. My accent became a conversation starter as one guy in front of us began to ask me where I was from and how I got here. From that point, our time was officially occupied by the four lovely people already waiting on the steps when we arrived. We had some laughs and some fun conversation, and as 7:00 approached, we saw the workers inside the venue prepare the doors for opening. We devised a plan to get to the front as quickly as possible since there was a rather large queue for the Stalls Standing area. I had a very swollen ankle from a clumsy incident the previous morning, so Phil decided he'd run on ahead and would save my spot since I was mildly handicapped. Needless to say, Phil made good on his promise. Our little group was able to snag the spots front and center, right up against the barrier.
The opening group, Matthew and the Atlas (I think) made their way to the stage just after 8:00. They were American, and were seriously invested in their music, but the few songs they managed to sing were sort of monotonous and mundane....and they all kind of sounded alike. I suppose everyone has to start somewhere, and they were a nice, 3-person group with a guitar, banjo, and violin, but they just weren't exciting.
FINALLY, Joy and John Paul emerge on stage. Joy is tiny, 6 months pregnant, and was sporting 4-inch strappy heels. John Paul has a great sense of humor. He kept asking us if we wanted to hear them play Iron Maiden...silly JP.
From the second they started their set, the chemistry was obvious. Their voices melodiously and harmoniously join together to create a sound that can only be described as music. The feeling I got when I heard them live could easily be compared to the feeling I get when I listen to Gregorian chants: complete serenity, like all is right in the world. They have this natural ability to play off each other...they don't even cue one another when they pause; they just KNOW when to start again. It's an insanely beautiful sight.
One of our new friends, Sam, asked if we were going to wait outside after the concert to try and get autographs. I haven't attended enough concerts to really know that was a possibility, and since the event ended just after 10:30, we thought we'd give it a go. Mind you, it was fuh-reezing outside, but it could potentially be worth it. One girl in our group managed to find a couple of discarded tickets on the floor inside, and gave me one so I could have it signed (all I had were my computer print-outs that had the barcodes torn off from entry.) I stopped to buy a t-shirt on the way out, of course.
At first, there were between 20-30 people waiting, but as it got later, and colder, and more beggars came around, that number dwindled to about 11. Public transportation here stops just after midnight, so some people had to leave because they wouldn't have a way home. Around 11:45, the pair finally exited the building, having already endured an after-show Meet & Greet and changed clothes. They were so nice, and signed autographs for us, and actually apologized to us for making us wait. Ultimately, it was worth enduring the dropping temps.
Phil and I were able to catch one of the last trains home, and made it there just after 1 a.m. I was still wound up from the exhilaration of having just watched one of my favorite bands LIVE...IN LONDON, so it was near 2:30 a.m. before I was able to sleep. My ankle was swollen and my legs were in pain from standing for nearly 6 hours straight, but it was a wonderful night. I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
Race Relations
I experienced my first brush with blatant racism today. I grew up in a relatively diverse environment, having attended elementary school and most of 6th grade in a well-mixed area. I've always been generally comfortable around people of different ethnicities, and was raised to be kind and open-minded, because everyone has their own story. I won't sit here and say I've been a saint, because everyone makes the occasional race-charged wisecrack -- or has at least laughed at a racial joke.
Phil and I were waiting at a bus stop to go to a grocery store this afternoon, and there were quite a few other people waiting, as well. London is a very diverse area, equivalent to NYC...there happened to be a Muslim woman and her two girls waiting for the bus, also. As the bus arrived, suddenly, this very dirty, scruffy, middle-aged man pushed his way to the front of the crowd and started talking to the Muslim woman (she was wearing the black headpiece that covered her whole face). I didn't hear what he said at first, but I did hear what he said last: "And I hope you're not a suicide bomber." I became paralyzed with shock, anger, hurt, and disappointment. My jaw dropped, and I muttered to Phil, "Oh my God." As we filed onto the bus, I immediately felt guilty for not speaking up and telling that guy what a piece of racist shit he was, but I was just frozen. I had never witnessed such audacity.
We carried on our journey, and I watched the guy as he stared a hole right through the lady the entire time he was on the bus. It was strange that they ended up sitting across the aisle from one another in the front of the bus, but both in window seats. If looks could kill, she'd have dropped dead before the bus made its first stop. Phil and I were near the back of the bus, but not so far back that I couldn't keep my ears on the scumbag. We finally got to his stop, and as the bus came to a halt, he slowly got up out of his seat, and as he walked toward the exit, started aggressively degrading her again. His speech was a little slurred, but I managed to catch the last of his sentence: "You're a cunt."
I became so angry, almost irate, and before I realized what I did, I yelled, "Hey, buddy! Why don't you FUCK OFF!" He looked at me and flipped me his middle finger as he exited the bus, and it was a good thing I was in a window seat with Phil on the outside, because I'd have been liable to get up and chase after him and give him a good solid earful. Some of the other passengers turned to look at me, to see where this American voice came from. Phil grabbed my leg and turned to me, wide-eyed and in shock, and said, "Robin, calm down, calm down." I was shaking and tearing up, so appalled at the vicious hatred that man was so adamantly feeling. This poor woman was just trying to go to the store with her kids, and this ignorant douche bag had to feel like he was King of the Patriot Castle and openly defame her in public. After I had said what I said, one of the two girls kind of giggled and dropped her jaw, and I heard her ask if anyone heard what I said. Phil jokingly said, "That's the difference between America and England." I just couldn't keep my mouth shut twice. Had I not been so frozen the first time, that moron would have been on the butt-end of a bollocking (as they'd say here in the UK.)
Speaking up instantly alleviated the earlier guilt I felt because I stood up for someone who needed standing up for. I took my first real stand against the racism that is so deadly to the human race. It wasn't a world-changing event, but in a way, I feel like I did my part today.
Phil and I were waiting at a bus stop to go to a grocery store this afternoon, and there were quite a few other people waiting, as well. London is a very diverse area, equivalent to NYC...there happened to be a Muslim woman and her two girls waiting for the bus, also. As the bus arrived, suddenly, this very dirty, scruffy, middle-aged man pushed his way to the front of the crowd and started talking to the Muslim woman (she was wearing the black headpiece that covered her whole face). I didn't hear what he said at first, but I did hear what he said last: "And I hope you're not a suicide bomber." I became paralyzed with shock, anger, hurt, and disappointment. My jaw dropped, and I muttered to Phil, "Oh my God." As we filed onto the bus, I immediately felt guilty for not speaking up and telling that guy what a piece of racist shit he was, but I was just frozen. I had never witnessed such audacity.
We carried on our journey, and I watched the guy as he stared a hole right through the lady the entire time he was on the bus. It was strange that they ended up sitting across the aisle from one another in the front of the bus, but both in window seats. If looks could kill, she'd have dropped dead before the bus made its first stop. Phil and I were near the back of the bus, but not so far back that I couldn't keep my ears on the scumbag. We finally got to his stop, and as the bus came to a halt, he slowly got up out of his seat, and as he walked toward the exit, started aggressively degrading her again. His speech was a little slurred, but I managed to catch the last of his sentence: "You're a cunt."
I became so angry, almost irate, and before I realized what I did, I yelled, "Hey, buddy! Why don't you FUCK OFF!" He looked at me and flipped me his middle finger as he exited the bus, and it was a good thing I was in a window seat with Phil on the outside, because I'd have been liable to get up and chase after him and give him a good solid earful. Some of the other passengers turned to look at me, to see where this American voice came from. Phil grabbed my leg and turned to me, wide-eyed and in shock, and said, "Robin, calm down, calm down." I was shaking and tearing up, so appalled at the vicious hatred that man was so adamantly feeling. This poor woman was just trying to go to the store with her kids, and this ignorant douche bag had to feel like he was King of the Patriot Castle and openly defame her in public. After I had said what I said, one of the two girls kind of giggled and dropped her jaw, and I heard her ask if anyone heard what I said. Phil jokingly said, "That's the difference between America and England." I just couldn't keep my mouth shut twice. Had I not been so frozen the first time, that moron would have been on the butt-end of a bollocking (as they'd say here in the UK.)
Speaking up instantly alleviated the earlier guilt I felt because I stood up for someone who needed standing up for. I took my first real stand against the racism that is so deadly to the human race. It wasn't a world-changing event, but in a way, I feel like I did my part today.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Status Quo
I don't know what's come over me today, but I've become rather introspective about some pretty mundane things: wallets, sugar, and school.
I was out and about today doing some grocery shopping, my mind begins to wander, and the planner in me begins to think of things I can give Phil as a gift for various occasions. I started to think of buying him a new wallet, because his is pretty well used up, and I realized how small in size his wallet is. I don't mean the size of his wad of cash...I literally mean the size of his actual wallet. Then I started thinking of my dad's and brother's wallets, American men's wallets in general, and I realized how much bigger American wallets are. All of a sudden, I heard the light bulb click on. It became apparent to me that wallets, in America, are made as a status symbol. Sort of the mantra that the size of the wallet measures the size of the man; wallets in London are made practically -- they're small so it's more difficult to be pick-pocketed, a definite reality here. That's a pretty interesting notion if you really think about it.
If you've kept up with me, you know that I've gloated a little bit on my recent weight loss and overall great feeling of health and welfare. I bought my first pair of skinny jeans today, because for the first time in a really long time, I don't see a giant mammoth whale when I look in the mirror.
I made myself a fruit salad -- a recipe that my mom used since I was a kid: mandarin orange segments, pineapple chunks, shredded cheddar cheese, marshmallows, and whipped cream. I immediately knew something wasn't right when I took the first bite: the oranges were bitter, not sweet. Then I remembered that the peas I had with last night's dinner weren't sweet, either. Again, I heard the light bulb click. It donned on me that fruit isn't canned in syrup, it's canned in plain juice, so the extra sweetness isn't there. Nothing here has added sugar, except for maybe Coke, and even that's less sugar than the American flavor. I never really examined how much sugar (of any form) is in American food, until I couldn't eat American food anymore. That's when I made the connection of diet to exercise. I'm not really dieting; I'm just not ingesting as much sugar. And I'm not really exercising; I just have no choice other than to walk everywhere. It really gave me a new meaning on the term "lifestyle change."
Phil's oldest son had parent-teacher conferences tonight. I had the pleasure of tagging along since Owen's mom couldn't make it (she works at a different school,) and as a teacher, it was an interesting experience. First of all, the building was so cool...brick walls inside...so rustic. As we walked through the front doors, I noticed a quote on the wall. It was from Henry David Thoreau. Even cooler: an American author quoted in an English school. Later on, I noticed a quote from Mark Twain. Sweet.
Anyway, back to the topic. I did sit in on one conference (appropriately, the English teacher's), and right away noticed a major difference: schools here do not grade for effort or participation. They grade for accuracy. It is actually against the school guidelines for a teacher to increase a grade based on effort -- that's how kids in Kentucky survive school!! The standards here are extremely high throughout. Phil's son is 14 and has already read Frankenstein and Macbeth. It really opened my eyes up as to how much we let our kids get by with. We're scared to push them because we don't like to see them squirm, but in reality, students only excel when they're challenged and given high expectations. The parental involvement blew me away, as well. I saw more parents there than I ever did at any parent-teacher conference I had to endure. Not even just in attendance..but the parents were actually talking with the teachers, not just listening and nodding their heads or defending their kid who is failing, yet "can do no wrong." Teachers are respected and have clout here, which makes me think their job is just a little bit easier because they're allowed to be confident in their position and they're allowed to do their job.
Today, the lifestyle of this city really started to sink in. I knew things would be different, because no two places in the world are the same, but I never understood that reality until now. It's a very cool place to be.
I was out and about today doing some grocery shopping, my mind begins to wander, and the planner in me begins to think of things I can give Phil as a gift for various occasions. I started to think of buying him a new wallet, because his is pretty well used up, and I realized how small in size his wallet is. I don't mean the size of his wad of cash...I literally mean the size of his actual wallet. Then I started thinking of my dad's and brother's wallets, American men's wallets in general, and I realized how much bigger American wallets are. All of a sudden, I heard the light bulb click on. It became apparent to me that wallets, in America, are made as a status symbol. Sort of the mantra that the size of the wallet measures the size of the man; wallets in London are made practically -- they're small so it's more difficult to be pick-pocketed, a definite reality here. That's a pretty interesting notion if you really think about it.
If you've kept up with me, you know that I've gloated a little bit on my recent weight loss and overall great feeling of health and welfare. I bought my first pair of skinny jeans today, because for the first time in a really long time, I don't see a giant mammoth whale when I look in the mirror.
I made myself a fruit salad -- a recipe that my mom used since I was a kid: mandarin orange segments, pineapple chunks, shredded cheddar cheese, marshmallows, and whipped cream. I immediately knew something wasn't right when I took the first bite: the oranges were bitter, not sweet. Then I remembered that the peas I had with last night's dinner weren't sweet, either. Again, I heard the light bulb click. It donned on me that fruit isn't canned in syrup, it's canned in plain juice, so the extra sweetness isn't there. Nothing here has added sugar, except for maybe Coke, and even that's less sugar than the American flavor. I never really examined how much sugar (of any form) is in American food, until I couldn't eat American food anymore. That's when I made the connection of diet to exercise. I'm not really dieting; I'm just not ingesting as much sugar. And I'm not really exercising; I just have no choice other than to walk everywhere. It really gave me a new meaning on the term "lifestyle change."
Phil's oldest son had parent-teacher conferences tonight. I had the pleasure of tagging along since Owen's mom couldn't make it (she works at a different school,) and as a teacher, it was an interesting experience. First of all, the building was so cool...brick walls inside...so rustic. As we walked through the front doors, I noticed a quote on the wall. It was from Henry David Thoreau. Even cooler: an American author quoted in an English school. Later on, I noticed a quote from Mark Twain. Sweet.
Anyway, back to the topic. I did sit in on one conference (appropriately, the English teacher's), and right away noticed a major difference: schools here do not grade for effort or participation. They grade for accuracy. It is actually against the school guidelines for a teacher to increase a grade based on effort -- that's how kids in Kentucky survive school!! The standards here are extremely high throughout. Phil's son is 14 and has already read Frankenstein and Macbeth. It really opened my eyes up as to how much we let our kids get by with. We're scared to push them because we don't like to see them squirm, but in reality, students only excel when they're challenged and given high expectations. The parental involvement blew me away, as well. I saw more parents there than I ever did at any parent-teacher conference I had to endure. Not even just in attendance..but the parents were actually talking with the teachers, not just listening and nodding their heads or defending their kid who is failing, yet "can do no wrong." Teachers are respected and have clout here, which makes me think their job is just a little bit easier because they're allowed to be confident in their position and they're allowed to do their job.
Today, the lifestyle of this city really started to sink in. I knew things would be different, because no two places in the world are the same, but I never understood that reality until now. It's a very cool place to be.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Settling In
As I sit here and munch on my Coconut M&M's, something the UK will probably never see, I recall that last week, I was having a difficult time adjusting to life here. I was missing a lot of things from home, the house Phil and I are staying in has practically turned into a free-for-all party house, and my emotions were getting the best of me. I've really been reflecting the past few days, and have realized that moving here is one of the best things I've ever done. I have so many blessings to count, and I am really beginning to enjoy my time here.
One major advantage is the positive effect London's lifestyle has had on my health. Many of you know, or have at least seen Facebook statuses, about my recurring joint pain. Since I have been forced to walk everywhere (and finally gotten used to it,) I have noticed a substantial improvement in my ailments. My joint pain is virtually non-existent. I have more energy, I sleep better (when the jerks upstairs are quiet,) my hands are no longer ashy and bony because my circulation has improved, and I'm staying busier, which means I have basically eliminated my bad habit of eating as a result of boredom. I feel so much better every day than I did before.
I haven't really taken any pictures yet (I know, I know)...and it took me a long time to figure out why I wasn't itching for a snap-a-thon. I think it's because I came here not in a tourist's frame of mind, but a resident's frame of mind. The purpose in my coming here was strictly to get used to the lifestyle, to decide if this will be my permanent home. I've been so engrossed in the daily ins and outs of living that I have not felt the need to capture life with my camera. Now that I'm more comfortable here, that will change. I will begin documenting more as the days progress.
I found some new books for a really cheap price. I finally bought The Hunger Games, and added to my Jodi Picoult collection with her newest paperback Sing You Home. I got them for the equivalent of about $5.50 each....1/3 of what they would cost me in the States. I got some postcards to mail back home to my family; if you want one, you need to let me know.
My new favorite things are these Fresh Cream & Strawberry Jam Doughnuts. YUMMO. Phil got me hooked on them, so it's entirely his fault.
As you can see, he quite enjoys them, as well.
I'm starting to notice some little quirks of the city; namely street performers. On our way back from taking Phil's boys home tonight, just outside the Leytonstone Tube Station, we saw this guy playing a tuba with fire coming out of it. He was playing real old-timey stuff, and every time he blew into his tuba, fire came out the top. I didn't have my camera on me, and I nearly kicked my own ass for it, but Phil captured a photo or two on his iPhone, we threw him some change and took a flier. He's got a Facebook page called Fire Tuba, and as it turns out, you can actually book him to perform at almost any event: weddings, company parties, birthday parties, etc. He was really putting on a show....everyone around stopped for a listen and a photo op, and people were digging change out of their pockets and purses to toss in his bucket. It was a refreshing sight after having to ignore the beggars at the other end on a daily basis.
I'm finally starting to settle in and really absorb what this city is about. Everyone I have met has so generously offered me a warm welcome, and Phil's friends have truly been good to me. I'm much more optimistic about staying here permanently than I was a couple of weeks ago, but I think I was struggling to find my sense of belonging. As I get closer to establishing myself in a job, and the final pieces come together, I really believe I could easily call London home.
One major advantage is the positive effect London's lifestyle has had on my health. Many of you know, or have at least seen Facebook statuses, about my recurring joint pain. Since I have been forced to walk everywhere (and finally gotten used to it,) I have noticed a substantial improvement in my ailments. My joint pain is virtually non-existent. I have more energy, I sleep better (when the jerks upstairs are quiet,) my hands are no longer ashy and bony because my circulation has improved, and I'm staying busier, which means I have basically eliminated my bad habit of eating as a result of boredom. I feel so much better every day than I did before.
I haven't really taken any pictures yet (I know, I know)...and it took me a long time to figure out why I wasn't itching for a snap-a-thon. I think it's because I came here not in a tourist's frame of mind, but a resident's frame of mind. The purpose in my coming here was strictly to get used to the lifestyle, to decide if this will be my permanent home. I've been so engrossed in the daily ins and outs of living that I have not felt the need to capture life with my camera. Now that I'm more comfortable here, that will change. I will begin documenting more as the days progress.
I found some new books for a really cheap price. I finally bought The Hunger Games, and added to my Jodi Picoult collection with her newest paperback Sing You Home. I got them for the equivalent of about $5.50 each....1/3 of what they would cost me in the States. I got some postcards to mail back home to my family; if you want one, you need to let me know.
My new favorite things are these Fresh Cream & Strawberry Jam Doughnuts. YUMMO. Phil got me hooked on them, so it's entirely his fault.
I'm starting to notice some little quirks of the city; namely street performers. On our way back from taking Phil's boys home tonight, just outside the Leytonstone Tube Station, we saw this guy playing a tuba with fire coming out of it. He was playing real old-timey stuff, and every time he blew into his tuba, fire came out the top. I didn't have my camera on me, and I nearly kicked my own ass for it, but Phil captured a photo or two on his iPhone, we threw him some change and took a flier. He's got a Facebook page called Fire Tuba, and as it turns out, you can actually book him to perform at almost any event: weddings, company parties, birthday parties, etc. He was really putting on a show....everyone around stopped for a listen and a photo op, and people were digging change out of their pockets and purses to toss in his bucket. It was a refreshing sight after having to ignore the beggars at the other end on a daily basis.
I'm finally starting to settle in and really absorb what this city is about. Everyone I have met has so generously offered me a warm welcome, and Phil's friends have truly been good to me. I'm much more optimistic about staying here permanently than I was a couple of weeks ago, but I think I was struggling to find my sense of belonging. As I get closer to establishing myself in a job, and the final pieces come together, I really believe I could easily call London home.
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