Escape Directors!

Here’s a little bit of home to think of.
I just watched the Escape Directors’ new video and I’m sooo proudddd.
They’re totally going to be my famous friends one day.
Oh wait, Steve Carter is already kind of a big deal.


Fog is the sweat of the never never navvies…

This trip so far has been an extreme vacation of extraordinary costs. I just came back from Amsterdam yesterday morning but I think I’ll do that in a separate post…

Up until now, things have been okay. Some things have changed, but it’s much the same as it was two years ago.
The house is a hulking stone thing from the 1850s with these worn-down steps covered in little purple flowers. It’s impossible to imagine it as a one family home, because it’s enormous; the house is now subdivided into four flats and we occupy the top two floors. Basically it’s a garret by another name. To say it is drafty is an understatement. Weird fuzzy crap keeps blowing in through my skylight. By day, cats walk around the street. By night, you can hear the foxes raping each other in the wood across the street. (This is not a jest– google it, it has something to do with the canid family.)

I think I’m home by myself at the moment, which means I can’t necessarily leave. The girl who’s renting her room to me failed to leave her door keys behind, so if I leave, I can’t return until Karen or Emily is home. So I’m sitting here, writing up lists, and eating a cheese sandwich. My room’s quite large, with a bed, dresser, and wardrobe. My greatest regret is that I have no bedside table. Well, okay, I do, but it consists of two stacked cardboard boxes. I doubt it can bear the weight of my DAVID TENNANT MUG.

Last night after Laura and Karen left for the airport, we parted ways at London Bridge and I went up to Charing Cross. I had well over an hour to waste after I picked up my ticket for Much Ado About Nothing and sat in a cafe to get out of the rain. And here my notes resume:
It’s hard to believe I was in Amsterdam last night, Calais and Dover this morning, and now I’m sitting in a cafe in Leicester Square. Yesterday, I was walking around the Van Gogh museum, sort of crying to myself, and trying to find that one painting (which I found out is hanging at the Orsay.) So, there’s that. And now I’m staring at wilted tiger lilies, drinking tea and eating a proper scone with clotted cream, etc. Assimilation is fun! Now I simply have to wait for this Polish man to stop staring at me and for time to pass so I can go lurk in front of the theatre. I am mindblown that I’ll be in the same room as David Tennant and Catherine Tate. Together. Falling in love. Which, if anything, is definitely something they failed to do in Doctor Who, thank God?
Oh, I forgot to mention that I had a serious dilemma on the way here. While walking by St. Martin-in-the-Fields church, I saw they were doing a large orchestral thing with HENRYK GORECKI for only £10, starting at 6:30. My show started at 7:30, so I seriously contemplated sitting there for an hour in hopes that Gorecki would come on in the beginning, but I decided to go straight for David Tennant. I hope I didn’t regret that decision.

I don’t have enough words of praise for Much Ado About Nothing, except that I completely understand those vintage reels displaying girls screaming over the Beatles while they disembarked. When Benedick and Beatrice kissed, I screamed. I was also one of two people to give them a standing ovation on the first round of applause. They came out three more times after that for everyone else’s applause, but I have that to remember.
The staging was really interesting– a rotating circular stage with four movable pillars to mark scene changes. It also provided a really interesting  depth to the blocking in some scenes. The setting was sort of “80s cruise ship party” and the music was all incredibly dorky, bloopity British 80s. I saw David Tennant in drag, David Tennant covered in white paint, and David Tennant in an naval officer’s uniform, which is enough for any girl. Catherine Tate was the perfect casting for Beatrice. Perfect. And of course, their energy together was even greater than it was on Doctor Who… OH OH OH and when Benedick was trying to compose a song for Beatrice (which he did on a mini keyboard keytar thing) he was staring up at me in the balcony. No big deal.

So people can take cracks at London or shake their heads confusedly at what I’m doing here, but I’m perfectly content to lay here on my bed right now and watch the clouds pass over my head. It’s sort of like… Europe has different air, different pacing, a certain austerity at times that’s quite frightening. Each city is a different color, kind of. London would have to be a pearlescent grey. Amsterdam would be a sunny, slow orange or maybe a rich sunflower yellow. (No, Amsterdam would not green. Don’t be retarded.) Paris would be a really bitchy royal blue.  I’ll think more on this.

After freezing my ass off all night, I woke up this morning and moved my pillows to discover that someone had left £80 pounds under them. I was visited by a fairy godmother! Actually, it was Laura Bates who seemed to feel like she owed me something for her stay here. She is incorrect, although I do owe her sister 31 quid. So, there’s that.
On to writing about Amsterdam!


Reevaluate your lives while I’m gone.
Just sayin’.

Don’t go out, don’t talk to strangers, don’t trust anyone because you can’t. trust. anyone. these days. It has ascended practicality and prudence to paranoia.
I think only “Look both ways when crossing the street” might be a bit more obvious.

Bye! Long day ahead.

2011 Summer Kick-Off

Or actually, tell my mom, because she won’t figure it out until I tell her.
That’s what you get for loyal readership, I suppose. Life’s a trial. Shrug.

Anyway, point of importance: the European debauch resumes again in one week.
I saved (I didn’t scrimp and save, because I know nothing of scrimping) but I saved nonetheless. Here I sit on my ass– which, I might add, is even fatter than it was in 2009– but I am ready. Okay, I haven’t called the banks or packed or even bought a new suitcase, but I think I can mentally handle the 5+ weeks of my strange American existence amongst the magnificent and majestic European Union etc.

I’ve also been brushing up on my Bulgarian for fun. I have my colors and animals down; I was working on adding diminutives when I saw a little kid’s drawing of a little bee. Normally, adorable things make me want to destroy something, but this was Bulgarian and is therefore okay. I’m too lazy to convert the file to post it up here, but you can google pchelitsa and look at it yourself.

The program I’m working with is free, so it’s a little retarded, very basic and a tad too formal, but it gives one enough time to reflect on the necessity of letters. That is– signs to match sounds. The Cyrillic alphabet at least makes up for needing weird letter juxtapositions with Latin letters. EXAMPLE: the formal apology of Съжалявам can be wrecklessly transliterated as sazhaliavam or cuhjuhliavam. And that looks like a dirty word in Sanskrit. Yay, Proto-Indo-European language family.
I’ll probably just keep this on hand:

Until Tuesday, I’ll be busy with farewells… Some more painful than others. NOT. Suckers.