I would love to be able to have the "What is a weekend?" mug, but I don't want to give the impression that I'm *that* high-strung! 8) http://ping.fm/iVGIq

One of my favorite Victorian narrative paintings is about to go up for sale: http://ping.fm/kvRSV

Christmas, the British way...

Check out Anglotopia's Infographic on the British Christmas experience. 8)

Say what? http://ping.fm/OxMe7

This Sunday...

Col. Brandon and Miss Dashwood (otherwise known as Alan Rickman and Emma Thompson) star in "The Song of Lunch" (annoying title, yes?) on PBS Masterpiece Contemporary.

I had to write a short blurb on this, because it's a small miracle for me when I see two of my favorite British actors co-star for a second time. I just wish Alan was in a cravat on a horse and Emma was weeping con pathos over a bit of ivory (let the reader understand), but instead, we have to make do with this lot.

It looks a bit dafty: a very modern poem about two ex-lovers eating lunch. With red wine. Quick, hand me my stain-resistant linen napkin, I'm going to blubber myself...

How stirring. What it really looks like is a silly vignette about two middle-aged prats eating lunch with overpriced wine at a restaurant in London I probably could never afford myself. Watch the short clip here to understand what I'm getting at (watch for Rickman's languid, upper-class twit outcry as he looks at the menu, "It's almost all pizzas! I am afraid it's gone to the dogs!" Oh, for...).

I tried to get into the previews, but just couldn't. Other than Rickman looking like his usual scrumptious Welsh self plus his accent that sounds more Blackpool than Hammersmith, and the infallibility of Thompson's loveliness, there isn't much to tempt me.

Though I admit, it did make me a tad bit hungry. ;-) Bon Appetit!

Yet another new layout

I've gone pink again, with a heavy dose of London. 8)

I may decide to just rotate photos I like until I find something I want to stick with permanently. For now, this will have to do! ;-)

Insanely Great...

I'm studying the history of technology and communication in a Grad class at the moment. Our readings consist of what one would expect: "Dealers of Lightning" by Michael Hiltznik, "The Structure of Scientific Revolutions" by Thomas Kuhm, "Orality and Literacy" by Ong and others.

My classmates and I were recently discussing how fitting it is to be taking this class at this time, in this year, in this century. Steve Jobs passed away several weeks ago; the Apple industry - with the evolution of smartphones, tablets and digital music - has helped to define the culture of the past decade ; the majority of us came of age during this reinventing of how technology functions in our lives. Yet, here we are, in our late 20's, learning about how everything started - Xerox, ARPANET, lasers.

My professor played this for us in class tonight and I began to cry (it's a good thing I was sitting in the front of the room). I still have not deciphered the reason why the passing of Jobs makes me so emotional or nostalgic; maybe it's the fact that the beginning of the last shift in electronic communication began roughly the year I was born and I (and the rest of my generation) have witnessed its evolution. Or maybe it's the deep connection I share with my husband, a complete Mac geek, whom I love so much.

Nevertheless, watching this short clip of Steve Jobs introducing the Macintosh of 1984 sent my emotions into overdrive. He was a master of marketing and persuasion and it certainly shows here. Yet, when I really begin to analyze my response, I'm able to see the link between Jobs Father/Son dynamic with the computer and his own disconnection from his birth father.

I'm thankful that his mother didn't have an abortion, when she could have easily chose to do so. I think, in the end, Jobs biography is a testament to what life, if left to be lived, can do: create, inspire, impassion.

http://ping.fm/uBSC1

Precisely what I expected: excellent actors, talented production designers and decent dialogue can indeed save an empty shell of a film.

Playing with Designs

Hi Folks,

I've changed the layout a bit. While I don't necessarily care for the tiled look for the photo I chose from our London trip this summer, it will have to do until I decide to change my mind...and as hard as I tried, I just couldn't resist a little bit of pink in some form. ;-)

Enjoy the British look! I think the text font may be a bit silly and unreadable, so that may change as well. We're in progress!

The evils of 1969...

On a brief note...

I just read the review of "This Is Not Ivy League", the sordid tale of one woman's pitiful decision to leave the lively comforts of Seattle in 1969 and join a small-town college in Montana (Northern Montana). Her happy life spiraled down to drinking, debauchery, failed marriages and depression. Oh my. All because she pondered whether she was "too good" to settle for a secretarial job..."this was 1969, after all." Once again, the Women's Lib Movement backfires.

What really got me was this: "[The students] cared little about ‘education’ in the sense that most of us understood the word, but rather were looking for training in skills that would help them find jobs. They sat sullenly in the precollege composition classes … and wondered why they had to take English."

Er....that...describes...most freshman nowadays.

Wow...getting dressed (by oneself) in the late 18th century...it makes my arms hurt to think about wrapping them behind me like that. :- http://ping.fm/1ViEu

http://ping.fm/jNMWk

Explorable (to some degree) map of London, 1806...

Richard Dreyfuss reads the Apple Software Agreement in three dramatic voices, word. http://ping.fm/4q7Tc

New changes are a-comin'...

Hey Folks,

I'm considering updating my blog design...so this space may look a wee bit different (and quite Anglophilized...*new word!*) when next you return. ;)

My world continues to be filled with a lot of academic work, but thankfully a little more down time than last year, so I actually have a few moments to read something fun, work on my own peculiar projects and take a day off now and again. In short, I'm fully human this semester. :-)

Cheers!,
Em

They're finally going to play that lost Beethoven Quartet. :-) In Manchester, no less!
http://ping.fm/1kWYz

...and some more:
http://ping.fm/Vj3D0

http://ping.fm/xFZwM

Oooooh! Ancient seals and rings!

It's right up my alley...I love it. ;) http://ping.fm/4u73M

Look! :-P http://ping.fm/ASJc8

Pretty interesting! http://ping.fm/N3BPj

Quite lovely, this... http://ping.fm/kzXE9

Jane Schmeyre: Why Being Emo Doesn't Make Bronte Look Any Better

Back in March, I made a special trip to see Jane Eyre, Cary Fukunaga's drippy, dark, dreary, diphtheria-ish take on what he thought a Victorian novel should look like.

Before I begin to complain, I should tell you that I have always had confidence in Asian directors having a go at British literature since I saw Ang Lee's Sense and Sensibility. (In fact, his direction of the film help me solidify my already budding hunch that literature was what I wanted to study when I grew up). A strange match for film, the less informed might say, but Lee, along with a lot of help from Emma Thompson, created the candle and English sun-lit world of rolling green soft hillsides dotted with creamy specks of sheep; iridescent interiors of highly polished wood, with gleaming surfaces illuminated by firelight and the periwinkle blue quality of rain-swept afternoons - all without a hint of the "let's lampoon 19th century England" mockery or pomposity in costumes, acting or settings that have become ubiquitous in period dramas. His film was straightforward, historically accurate, sober, intelligent and even-keeled in its portrayal of its narrative archetypes (the forlorn lover Marianne, the busy-body, but well-intentioned Mrs. Jennings, the gallant cad Willoughby and the slightly brooding but wonderfully pleasant Colonel Brandon). Yet, there was some quick humor, a flighty ball scene and a few crying fits here and there to appeal to female audiences. It is, without question, my favored film adaptation of an Austen novel to date, if only because it creates a fictional world that is not so outlandish to appear incomprehensible or requiring a suspension of disbelief. You want to tell yourself that if the technology for recorded image had been around a little earlier, a British film from 1795 might look something like this. But most of all, it's a positive experience.

Thus, I was hoping for the same serious, well-balanced approach when I settled in for Fukunaga's Eyre, reasoning that perhaps it takes an artist from outside a particular culture or collective unconscious to be able to fully capture the X-factor of whatever time and place that artist it trying to bring to life. I was quite wrong, as it turned out.

I understand that there was some talk of the film being geared towards the teenage audience, one that has already been brainwashed into all things Gothic, gory, bloody and romantic in a necrophilia sort of way, because the media tells them that's who and what they are. Twilight is a good example, along with the Victorian Gothic/Lolita clothing craze that takes the relatively harmless Steampunk fashion fad into new territories of flight of Edgar Allan Poe fancy: darkness, funerals, glorifying death, black, black, black garments and an overall EMO! subtlety. I blame particular people and areas of media for this, but that's a story for another time.

It seems as though Fukunaga had all of this fully in mind or at least the mindset of modern adolescents, as evidenced by the tone of the film. Yes, Bronte novels are never joyful affairs in general, but the morals of their stories are always uplifting in some form or other and Jane Eyre ends on a high note besides. This version of Jane Eyre went out of its way to emphasize the negative elements of the story, while never setting up a broader understanding of how the climate of Victorian England created or influenced those negative qualities. The audience supposedly already knows why workhouses and orphanages existed, the place of men and women in the society dynamic and where Jane lands in the pecking order of breeding, education, finance and opportunity.

What bothered me most was the acting and the fact that imperative scenes promised in the trailer were cut out (!!). Putting aside Fukunaga's relatively workable effect of only using natural lighting in both interior and exterior scenes (which nevertheless created a dull appearance - and the drab colors of the set design didn't help) and outdoor shots of small figures against vast backgrounds that communicated emotional isolation, it was the actors that ruined it.

I spent two hours in a film theater watching Mia Wasikowska knit her brows together, clench her teeth and rumpled her lips into a sad little pout. Her lines were delivered in a such a manner that the strong-willed, quietly self-assured character of Jane was nowhere to be found: only a deeply depressive, naive young girl who just stares at her surroundings and says nothing - or very little. She seems so fed up with life that she responds to her environment with no passion, a lot of apathy and little emotion. Wasikowska is, essentially, being a modern teenager. Ok, we get it. But that isn't how Charlotte Bronte wrote this character - spoken plainly, I know, but most literature prof's will agree with me - and the actress did little to justify it.

The German actor-pretending-to-be-British Michael Fassbender often lets his Teutonic accent creep into his speech. Aside from a nice cameo by Judi Dench (who can do no wrong) as Mrs. Fairfax the housekeeper, the acting is exceedingly drab, expected or emotionless.

Worst of all, two scenes that feature prominently in the trailer for the film must have been cut out (Jane seeing Bertha in her bedroom and Jane throwing her arms around Mr. Rochester as Thornfield burns in the background), as they did not appear in the long cut. This gave a shortened feeling to the film as a whole, which proves fatal for audience members who have never read the novel. Also, other scenes from the novel which have been prominently included in other productions are nowhere to be found here. The ending included in the film is pointless, anti-climactic - Romanticus Interruptus is the only way I could describe it.

The only good points I will give to this film are the physical qualities of Fassbender and Wasikowska; they're perfectly suitable to play these characters, with Fassbender looking every inch the "Rochester" with his strong masculinity fused with a Wordsworthian Romantic mop of hair. Wasikowska is small featured, blond, short and very much looking like Rochester's "little friend" that he calls her. They finally even got Blanche Ingram right in terms of her dark looks (compared to the blonde version of a 90's TV production, see below). The dialogue, even if spoken badly, is intelligent - but what would you expect...it's Bronte! Yet, other than these small additions, nothing worked for me.


The other adaptations of Jane Eyre that I have seen proved far more enjoyable and satisfying. So rent these and not Fukunaga's. Try for the 1943 version with Orson Wells and Joan Fontaine for some true period costume drama, even if it is black and white, or the 1997 BBC TV production with Ciaran Hinds (another token actor) and Samantha Morton as a far stronger, intelligent Jane. The soundtrack is Elgar-inspired, the scenes are left intact and the ending is positive.

I'm hoping that eventually we'll have a nuts and bolts Bronte production that includes every scene, a high budget and quality actors. I'm secretly pinning for a Bronte bio-pic and I have reason to believe that such a film is now in pre-production. :)

Just keep your sanity and do not see this particular adaptation. It didn't help at all with my mood during the stress of Graduate school I was going through at the time and it certainly won't help you feel better either. ;)

I never wrote...

1. My review of Jane Eyre
2. The rest of my London story (or that is, I never got it spruced up enough to publish!)

Never fear, kids. I'm going to finish what I started. Count on this by at least the 22nd. ;)

My apologies and I shall soon return. <3

Interesting bit on 15th century armor and how it affected the end results of the battlefield:

http://ping.fm/8nyc1

http://ping.fm/Fhke1

One should remember that Austen didn't have Global Warming.

"You know that I'm no good..."

My memory of the first time I ever heard of some British chick named Amy Winehouse is quite hazy, but I know it must have been sometime in 2006. I was sitting at my computer, trying to distract myself away from writing a paper for an English and/or History class by listening to 60's pop music on an online radio player, similar to Accuradio. I suddenly see a pop up ad, with a raven-tressed, bee-hived girl lounging in what looked like a bath tub and the huge, retro style letters "AMY WINEHOUSE BACK TO BLACK" splashed across, along with an invitation for listeners to check out the up and coming singer's new album. The name is what intrigued me at first. I remember thinking, "Winehouse....Wine-house. What kind of surname is that? Where does that come from?" It conjured images of glistening globes of burgundy liquid, of the zest of Pomegranate juice or a musky Merlot. Her look, which screamed cool, her name, her hair, her chiseled good-looks got me hooked. I Googled her name and discovered she was a jazz singer, young, but with a "phenomenal voice" and was from London. That was enough for me to want to listen to her songs. I made a slight mental note for the future and went back to writing...

The next memory that pops up in my 2006-2007 banks is mulling around a Best Buy with my then boyfriend-now-husband David in the summer of '07. I noticed the Back to Black cd again and casually mentioned the reputation I had heard concerning her music. Given that I was - and am - an Anglophile and am always perked up by any kind of quirky, Indie music, especially the kind with a 60's flavor, I wanted to share my enthusiasm. Dave wasn't interested, but after hearing and reading snippits of praise here and there in the media, I decided to give her music a try.

I fell in love. This is the kind of 60's retro homage I've been waiting for! Finally, some wholesomeness, I thought excitedly at first as I heard the sly opening bars of "You Know I'm No Good"....for about 10 seconds. On every song I could sample. Then the lyrics set in and my bubble was very rudely popped, with a stinging, sharp needle. Winehouse's songs dripped with the scent of too much gin and too much sex, a defiant attitude through defiantly-spoken lyrics that, at that time, was slightly enticing to me and mused on a lifestyle that was decidedly a whole 360 from my own.

But her voice. It was Billie Holiday, Ella and even Satchmo thrown in for good measure. It came from somewhere else. Her voice didn't match her looks; she sounded almost male. I had a vague thought that this was going to be another Diana Krall, all smooth, slow and soft. I thought that's what modern jazz singing was, in my ignorance. I tried to mimic it. I couldn't. Her vocal range was beyond my capability, which has usually always been rather good. Despite the negativity of what she was actually singing about - doing drugs, lamenting a breakup, getting drunk, cheating on her lover and saying no, no, no to rehab - I knew this gal was different.

So I ignored her music for the most part, despite not being able to escape it as it began playing everywhere and I remember noticing it on the promos for the upcoming series Mad Men. Instead, I focused on her style, which was copy-catting the girl groups of the early to mid 1960's. Beeeeeeeehive, a lot of eyeliner and pencil skirts. I began experimenting with my own look and I eventually turned down her look about 1,000 notches to create my own. It was too cool to pass up, although I tried to ignore the provocative tattoos.

As she began to really lose it as the last few years went on, I felt let down. She had promise. She was precisely my age, which made it all the more difficult to watch. You feel like a sister or a best friend watching someone kill themselves in slow motion. Now she's dead. I half-expected it. I just thought she would eventually grow up. I suppose I'm still naive, still hoping for someone from my generation to not screw up just once, to make it to the finish line without chemicals to assist them or at most not knock them down before they get there. I guess it's too much to ask, especially of someone who began smoking cannabis at 13, like Amy.

"I cheated myself...", she sang. Yes, Amy, you did.

...and I thought this was very cool. Give it a listen:http://ping.fm/xVrrS

Oh yes, indeed! :) Austen manuscript fetches quite a pretty little penny...http://ping.fm/mXgYd

Writing in process

Just a note to tell you I'm still working on stuff, in the middle of other going-ons. ;) Stay tuned!

I'm coming back soon! Fear not!

The London story will continue this week and that's a promise! I have not abandoned you, O Invisible Audience. ;-)

Yours, &tc.,
Emily

If anyone wants to buy this for me when my birthday comes around this fall, feel free. ;)

http://ping.fm/PhD13

Rather interesting look at Renaissance "Social Networking": http://ping.fm/UI1RB

Happy Fourth! ;)

It's the Interlude!

Or intermission? Here's some lovely photos from our trip that I played with using my CameraBag application to create some pizzazz. At least two of the photos are accidental, but turned out so artsy I thought I may as well keep them. :-)

Enjoy!

More of the London story coming soon...

Well, we left Hampshire in our last installment of the London trip. Day Three is coming up next, centering on our Tower of London experience; my desperate search to find Anne Boleyn's falcon badge; miscalculating how long we could spend in one spot and our delightful discovery of clotted cream ice cream. It feels silly to write "cream" twice in the same sentence, but I really can't help the redundancy. Anyway....

Stay tuned! More will be on the way shortly. :-) In the meantime, let's stay Austenized with the latest Janeite book review.

The entire lot of my photos from the trip can be accessed on my Facebook page, if you are so inclined. So if you're not on FB, you should join already! :-) I may also include a link to Picasa very soon as well.

The sketch comedy and mockumentary lines are my favorites. :) http://ping.fm/LPOgR

The finest luxury at several thousand feet. I weep at the thought of afternoon tea in the air and a bed that lies flat! http://ping.fm/KvvoF

Here's some news for the week! The Globe will doing theater-casts (as opposed to telecasts?) this summer: http://ping.fm/ZBvrd

The London Trip - Day Two!

Day 2:
Friday was the most important day for me. This was admittedly the only reason I came to England to begin with. When we began planning this trip in August of 2010, I told my husband that if everything else failed, Chawton Cottage and a look around Austen country in Hampshire – a place I have long associated with pure unadulterated happiness – had to be on our list, with no exception. Since I was 12years old, I had dreamed of traveling to the south of England and walk through the countryside she loved so well. I would gaze at photos of Kent and say “Someday…someday…”

Well, Friday May 20th was the day that finally arrived when I got my wish at last. I had secured a guided Austen tour by way of Hidden Britain Tours, a magnificent gem to discover for any lover of Jane Austen or the Southern English landscape. So here I’ll be a very shameless advertiser and tell you to go to their website if you’re planning on traveling to London anytime soon and would like to have a unique tourism experience you won’t find with anyone else in the Hampshire area. Basingstoke, where we started out, is only 30 minutes from the city on the train from Waterloo station, so this is by no means an out-of-the-way trek. Your wonderful, one-of-kind tour guide Phil Howe, a native of the area, knows everything there is to know about anything relating to Austen’s hometown and then some. I personally can’t thank him and his touring services enough. It certainly made a life-long dream come true and I will never forget it! 8)

We made sure to wake up early enough to put ourselves together and get some breakfast in the hotel for fuel before heading out to Waterloo to catch the 9:05 to Basingstoke. Given that the temperature that day was planning on being about 67/68, I figured I would be fine in my regular trekking uniform of jeans. Then I realized “Hey, wait a minute. I can’t travel around Austen country in mere pantaloons! I should be in character, even in a fashionista, imaginary sense and wear a dress.” So I followed the plan I had set forth about a year ago (I plan ahead…far ahead…) and wore a comfortable float-y dress and a black sweater in case it got chilly (which it did). In another show of Austenite solidarity, I wore the amber cross my Mother gave me years ago, which her brother gave her when he came back from his service in the Marines back in the 60’s. Since the story was very similar to how Jane acquired her topaz cross from her own brother Charles, it brought me a little closer to my literary heroine.

Before setting out, we had a quick breakfast downstairs, which consisted of the usual eggs, bacon, toast, tea and pastry combination. As I sat facing the window to the street, I saw the doorman, again in his top hat, attempting in vain to hail a cab for a young, bewildered looking businessman clutching his briefcase. A few taxis drove by and didn’t slow down, which obviously irritated the doorman as he shook his head and flailed his arms about. Finally another one stopped, he exchanged some harsh words with the driver slammed the door shut and walked away while the driver shouted more insults at him from the window. It just wasn’t his day.

Next it was our turn. The poor doorman looked a bit disappointed, but alas, he was able to find a more compliant taxi, we rushed off to Waterloo, boarded the train and we were off. My iPod contributed to the trip, as I listened to all of the Austen film adaptation soundtracks and early 19th century dance music that I own to put me in the mood. With the sun gently beaming down on us, the effect was complete and perfect. When we arrived in Basingstoke, we were 15 minutes early for our tour departure, so I popped into a snack shoppe near the platform called "Pumpkin" (which tickled me), bought a small green tea to sip while we waited for 10:00am to roll around and we trotted down to the entrance downstairs. The day was proving to be a beautiful one. As we emerged from the station, I took a few shots of the sky (yes, only the sky!) to save for prosperity. In fact, I pretty much recorded the entire day on my camera for prosperity’s sake. I have a sharp memory, but still...

After a very short while, I spied our tour guide Phil carrying what looked like the same copy of a collection of Jane Austen’s Letters I have at home…aha, it was! We were joined by another lovely couple from Canada and so we all packed into Phil’s quite comfortable van and the tour began.

Now, Basingstoke is wonderfully idyllic, I thought. Every small town and country lane was, really. Phil provided us with maps of the area that Jane called home for the majority of her life and pointed out the route we were going to take, which was most helpful and a great keepsake for the day to take home. We spent the morning driving by the scenery that my dreams are made of and learning about the geography of the area. I was pleased to hear someone else refer to this landscape as “Austen Country” since I have always used this phrase to describe how significant it is for us literary gals; there’s Wordsworth Country and Bronte Country – but nothing beats Austen country.

We made several stops along the way as Phil gave an informative commentary on the families that lived in the area during Jane’s time. We focused mainly on what is known as the “Dancing Years” of Jane’s life and getting a better insight into the back story of what town life was like in her time was a treat. You wouldn’t find this kind of detail from a more commercialized tour (or as Phil himself put it, “Mr. Darcy soap-on-a-rope.” That summed up Austen Commerce quite well! :-) ). We stopped at the gates leading up to the grand homes she danced in: Ashe House, Manydown, Deane, among others. I was very familiar with all of these names and to finally come so close to them was a bit of thrill, I'd say. I think it shows in the 100+ photos I took, just on that day alone. :-)

We also stopped at the village church in Dummer, which claims my affections as being the first place of worship I visited in the UK. Jane may or may not have danced at the one of the homes nearby and possibly worshiped at the church as well. The musky smell of age as the doors swung open overwhelmed me and I silently reveled in it. It just felt so good to be there.


There were a few other stops along the way: we drove by a building where Jane may have collected her mail; Phil pointed out a few thatched-roof cottages and how they each have their own signature or design; I caught a glimpse of pink honeysuckle and a Victorian edifice or two. We also visited the St. Nicholas Church in Steventon, where Jane’s father George held post as Reverend. That was incredibly special for me personally: I picked up a few small blue, delicate flowers called “Speedwell” as a keepsake; however, I somehow lost that one and had to rely on another small bunch of Speedwells from the parish church near Manydown, if memory serves me correctly. One day I hope to go back and pick up a small flower or twig from the church’s grounds and my collection will be complete. Phil also explained the Yew tree legacy, particularly the very large one in front of the church. Then there was the crème de la crème – the site of Steventon Rectory, where Jane lived as a small child. It’s an open field now, dotted with a few trees, but one can imagine that nothing has been touched and the land left in the same pristine condition since the day she last rolled down the hill as a girl. The Lime tree that her eldest brother James planted is still there, quite tall and stately (…can trees be “stately”? Well, they are now…).

Before heading out to our final destination, Chawton Cottage, we stopped at The Fur and Feathers, a local pub in Herriard that was beyond delightful. I discovered Bottle Green Elderflower Sparkling Water there, which I began to miss so much after I got back home to the states that I ordered a 12 bottle case off the Internet. It brought the memory back. The baguettes and chips were a nice repast before setting out to the Mecca…I mean, museum. ;-)

By now, the sun was beginning to hide itself again and the grey light came back. Yet, the weak threat of rain couldn’t keep my spirits down. To be honest, it never rained during the entirety of our holiday. This was apparently the warmest May since 1910. I was thankful for the blessing of good weather. It was an omen, I’m certain!

Our last stop was Chawton Cottage. Finally getting to spend some time there was the icing on the cake for me. Every room has something that any Austen fan will go wild over, whether it’s her writing desk, which stands behind a short plexi-glass screen; a lock her of hair and some articles of her jewelry; Kate Winslet’s costume from Sense and Sensibility (/swoon!/) or just walking on the original floor boards upstairs. There’s something to tempt everyone. The house itself emanates a peaceful feeling, with the gardens outside included. I walked through the house at least three times, looking at the same objects again and again to burn them into my memory (and camera!). One of the staff members, a kindly older gentleman with bright blue eyes, eagerly asked me if I played the piano when I walked into the front parlor. While I took lessons when I was a young girl and can still play, I’ve sadly been out of practice. But I sat down and hit a few bars of “God Save the Queen” and would have eventually played some Beethoven, but alas, I had to move on.

After a stop in the small, but well-stocked gift shop, it was time to leave. I picked up a few things to take home to my Mother and a few bookmarks and small items for myself. I was actually quite pleased to see that the house and gardens were kept in a simple way, without the fuss of commercialization that Phil and spoken about earlier. There was enough to denote the meaning behind the house, but I was quite expecting the gift shop to be a lot larger and was thinking there may have been a lot more going on at the house that day (education programs, etc). However, I wasn’t in the least disappointed! I was happy to see how low key it all is, because it makes the experience infinitely more unique and special to those who can truly appreciate Jane and her novels. It was respectful and I liked that.

By the time we were on the train back to London, my heart was already sinking at the prospect of “Oh no, what if I never make it back here to this heaven?” Thankfully, there may be hope of that in the future, but deep down, I still miss it.

The day was perfect in every way: dependable weather, fine views of the countryside and very pleasant company, indeed: “…the pleasures of Friendship, of unreserved Conversation, of similarities of Taste and Opinions.” I found all of this in Hampshire. I know there are dozens of counties, villages and hamlets in England to vie for my affections, but I am afraid there will never be anything like the magic of Austen Country. That will continue to be unparalleled and the memory will remain safe in this literary gal’s heart as the loveliest place I’ve visited on God’s Green Earth. Overjoyed. That's a good word to describe it. :-)

Stay tuned for the next installment (The Tower! Bad Timing! Ducks! Long lines at Westminster Abbey!)

More Costume Conservation! Queen Victoria's Dress: http://ping.fm/4DkUK

A sweet look at some early 19th century Cinderella paper dolls. ;-)http://ping.fm/zfGN3

I'M BACK! London Part 1

I'm not going to waste any more time and get straight to the whole story of London last week. I'm probably going to do 6 installments, for each day we were there. Pictures will be provided later or can be accessed on my Facebook page. 8)

Without further ado!

***********************

Day 1:
The details of the day we left are unexciting for the most part, so I’ll cover the more interesting details. My mother was coming to pick us up at our place to drive us to the airport at around 2:30pm and I had done most of my packing days before. Once I got ready in my empire-waist blue jersey dress with black tights and boots, all prepared for what I assumed would be rainy, cold London weather, I had only to pack the last remaining items and help David with his packing. After this, we ran up to our local Mexican restaurant to make sure we had a solid meal before traveling and went back home just in time for Mom to come get us. We packed up in the car, she dropped us off, we kissed her goodbye and off we went. Thankfully, the international gate at the Charlotte Airport is in a new wing, all bright and shiny, weehoo! We grabbed some strawberry yogurt and waited for our flight to come in.

Long story short at this point, just to speed things up: Flight got delayed, was supposed to leave at 6:25pm, it had a fuel leak, we were told 7:30pm after new plane from Philly is flown in, then that turned into 10:30pm. We left at around 11:00pm I’d say, had a miserable dinner, I tried to sleep but couldn’t, took a Calms Forte, etc. I did sleep sporadically but kept waking up feeling out of sorts, David slept soundly, eventually the sun rose and I rejoiced. /pant

Our pilot announced our imminent arrival and I opened up the window shade to gaze out at the approaching coast line, probably Portsmouth, from the looks of it. I took plenty of video and the familiar sight of hedgerows and the green checkered landscape of hills and farms is what gladdened me the most. Just what I had prayed for. :-) The major differences between the North Carolina and English landscape from the air was a lack of dense forest in England, where NC has thick dark green blotches of trees scattered here and there. We began to descend lower, giving me a clear sight of the golf courses, homes and what appeared to be either a large church/small castle/manor house of some kind. Anyway , I took video of it all. That’s all that mattered!As we taxied towards our gate, I couldn’t help but smile. I was finally here. I turned and smiled at David and tried to keep myself from squealing with joy at finally hitting the ground. It was good feeling, like coming home; I know I’ll feel the same way every time I go back. Seeing British police lorries made me realize I was here, because the weather, the sunlight and the foliage was otherwise quite familiar; I would have thought I was on the East Coast of the states if I hadn’t of known otherwise. So I suppose what I’m saying is that everything just…clicked. But the first thing I noticed about being in England was the air: cool, crisp, clear. I could breathe without any problems. When I say “breathe” I mean deep, clear, hollow breaths unsullied by pollen and particles that would otherwise cause not a few problems for my nose and lungs. The sun was shining, but it was a soft light, with popcorn clouds dotting the sky – just perfection. We made our way towards customs and checking in and I caught signs using British terms that again solidified my dreamy feeling of being in London, like “lift” or elevator, etc. Small things, but worth noticing. The customs agent, who stamped us in was wonderfully kind. Again, something you wouldn’t experience coming into the states, I don’t believe. We picked up our luggage and found our way to the train station. I was tempted to buy a Cornish pasty from the West Cornwall Pasty Company, but waited until a few days later. While we were a bit lost at first, we quickly found our way to the platform for Victoria. However, as we didn’t have to scan our tickets through, I was a bit miffed at first, thinking that we had wasted a great deal of American/British currency, but once we arrived at Victoria, I saw that that wasn’t the case.

We had to quickly board and there weren’t any seats available, so we half-sat on our suitcases near the door and watched as a few sharply dressed stewards and stewardesses from Virgin Atlantic hopped on with their own luggage. One gal had her hair done up in a distinctly 40’s-60’s style, with several beehives. I was envious. With her large sunglasses, Hermes-looking scarf, slim pencil skirt and high heels, I thought “Well, this can be a nice fall back if teaching English doesn’t pan out!” ;-) She and her similarly-dressed friend “Becks” jumped aboard, along with another young guy who was straight out of GQ. It was fun listening to them prattle on. As we came to a stop along the way, the Gwen Stefani look-alike hugged her friend, said “Becks! Always a pleasure…” and they all parted ways. It was a nice vignette to watch as we made our final stop.

Victoria is gorgeous; I know that may sound strange to the average Londoner, but the huge warehouse look to it with the glass ceiling was so appealing to me. I couldn’t help but hear Grace Kelly’s character Margo from “Dial M for Murder” recounting how she lost her handbag at Victoria station. As I came to learn reading up on traveling in London, losing one’s handbag can be a common occurrence if you’re not careful, whether you marry a prince of a French principality or not. Ha. Anyhow, moving on… ;)

We found the sign for Taxis and approached the queue line. It was fun seeing a British taxi again, as we had used one to transport us to and fro for our wedding. We gave our driver the name of our hotel and struggled to move our heavy luggage into the vehicle. My foot, being locked into a high-heeled boot for several hours, began to cramp but I didn’t complain. I was finally here. My first impression was how old the buildings looked, but how nicely aged it all appeared in the sungliht. When we arrived at the hotel, the doorman in his top hat and morning coat (apparently, tourists must love men in morning coats? Hmm…) welcomed us to the hotel and took our bags out – or at least helped us as we struggled some more. I tried to handle my suitcase as best I could, but lifting it was another thing from wheeling it around. Pack light, you say? Impossible. Dave couldn’t either, he brought a duffle bag along with his suitcase and it was a tremendously big help for us! Getting the suitcases with wheels on the escalators at Gatwick was another struggle, however.
The lobby of the hotel was just what I had expected from spending hours gazing at the photos on their website: marble, dimly lit, beautiful furniture and a overwhelming scent of some kind of lily or exotic bloom of some kind. There was a piano in the corner in front of the bar with someone playing “You must remember this/A kiss is still a kiss…” and various American and Eastern European tourists were lounging around, drinking cocktails and nibbling on what looked like some kind of Indian-spiced peanut snack and large green olives. It was a very relaxing atmosphere.
The gentleman at the desk was friendly and smiling the entire time as we checked in. Our room wasn’t quite ready yet, so he cheerfully told us to come back in an hour. Lovely. I told David I needed to use the ladies and off I went. The restrooms were marble and cherrywood, quiet and peaceful. At this point in our trip, I was beginning to feel quite out of it physically, but mentally I was wide awake, alert and content. I washed my hands and looked at the makeup melting off my face and longed for our room to be set so I could shower and look presentable again. In a few hours, we were planning on taking a short jaunt down to the Royal Mews, which we had tickets for. Due to President Obama (ehhhh) coming into town later the following week, we had been forced to book our tickets for that day, Thursday the 19th, because the whole palace was going to be shut down in preparation for his arrival. Lovely. But it really didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to let the little things ruin our trip!

We waited in the lobby a little longer as Dave wrestled with wi-fi. Eventually, I inquired if our room was ready and sure enough it was, only moved up to the second floor this time. The porter, a young South American chap, brought our luggage shortly after we got to the room, asked if everything was alright and we gave the affirmative. I just had a problem turning on the lights, until he pointed out the master light switch on the wall. Aha!

David plopped himself on the bed, exclaiming how good it felt to be horizontal after being twisted this way and that on the plane for several hours and quickly began to speak in staccato phrases until he went comatose, my poor Dave! I sized up the room, which was small and lovely; just the right size for the both of us and pleasant enough that hanging out there in the evenings was quite enjoyable: the Scottish shortbread cookies with our tea was a fine touch and finally getting access to BBC1 and BBC2 (BOTH AT THE SAME TIME! PINCH ME!) was nice. The Holbein prints on the walls of “Lady Surrey” and “Lady So-and-So” was another touch that brought a smile to my face. The recessed lighting in the ceilings made the room look gorgeous as well. However, it was already getting late in the day, past lunch and as tired as I was, I knew we had to get something done today. So once I reminded David not to fall asleep and in the middle of his response “I’m not going to fall asleep,” he did exactly that, I rushed about, trying to plough forth through my fatigue to get myself presentable for the Queen’s horses. I took longer than I expected, but after about 45 minutes, I was showered, my face redone, a new outfit on and all was ready. After shaking Dave awake (“I didn’t fall asleep! Really!”), who was still in possession of his five o’clock shadow but insisted he felt fine, we traveled off down the street to the Royal Mews.

Finally getting to walk down a London street was a treat for me. The only other city I had walked about in that could legally be thought of as a seriously large city was Boston. While I loved Boston, especially since we were there during July 4th celebrations a few years ago for our honeymoon, it was no London. Staying in Westminster had its benefits, namely that everything was swept up and manicured. That usually means little to me, but here you noticed. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the iconic red phone booths and double-decker buses hadn’t been removed from the landscape (cityscape?). We stopped a moment at the corner to make sure we were going in the right direction, like a typical tourist. We were facing the right side of the Palace and soon found the location of the stables just right behind. The attendant, in his uniform of a morning jacket and tie, took one look at me and said “How lovely!” and pleasantly took our tickets from us with smiles and directions ahead of us. I wasn’t sure if the phrase “how lovely” was a way of saying “Why, hello there!” or simply a compliment to my appearance. Either way, I gratefully accepted it. :-)
The Royal Mews was a short trip, but worth it. The weather, as I have said, was unseasonably warm, or so I was later told my some locals and being outside the entire time was nice. We went through a security room with very warm, relaxed gals who were just standing around, talking casually, asking you to walk through the metal detector – that’s an experience you will never encounter in the states. It was about this point that I realized that my visit to the UK was going to be much friendlier than being back home. Sad to say it, but it’s true.

Seeing the many coaches, a few horses and the grand coronation gold coach was wonderful, even if it lasted for only about 50 minutes. Although we were given audio tour headphones, we hardly listened to them, opting instead for the guided tour by one of the attendants that we caught up to about 10 minutes in. After returning the audio guides, we made a stop in the gift shop (naturally). I saw nearly everything I could order out of the Old Durham English Country Living Catalog, so I didn’t bother pining away for some official palace china to send home to my Mother. So instead I opted for the smaller, more traveable (look! A new word I made up) items: a pencil, a chocolate bar for Dave. I didn’t go overboard, as I knew that there would be several gift shops to soak up my currency later on and I wanted a few knickknacks that I knew I wouldn’t find anywhere else.

By this time, we were both starving, as we had eaten nothing since we landed. Earlier, I had suggested walking up to the Albert Pub not far from our hotel, a place I had scouted out online before we arrived. Dave quickly took my suggestion and I relied on my inner compass (which I’ve since discovered is incredibly reliable indeed) to guide us up the street. The building that houses both the restaurant upstairs and the pub on ground level is absolutely gorgeous inside and out. It was exactly what we had imagined a nice sizable London pub to look like, so off we went. Walking in, my first impression was how lively it was, the red walls and the comforting scent of ale drifting through the air. Both doors on opposite ends of the room were swung open to let the breezes in, so the white noise hum of the city accented the multiple conversations going on around us, along with some modern Pop 40 music going on dimly in the background. Attempting to overcome my awkwardness of not knowing the precise steps of how to go about ordering in a pub, as we never drink socially at home, we sat down and glanced over the menu as we waited in vain (heh! silly us) for our “waiter” to arrive and take our order. I looked around and saw other older patrons (I couldn’t tell if they were regulars or visitors like us?) eating their fish and chips, so I knew that food, oh so yummy food could be got. I was getting giddy at this point. I needed sustenance. Dave said “I’ll go order our drinks” and after a short pause returned with a pint of Cider for me and a lighter ale for him. I then grew impatient and walked up to the bar and asked the guy how we should go about getting our food. He nicely explained the process of ordering at the bar, looking at me like “how can you not know this?” and I said “Ahhhh” and slank back to my chair. So we looked over the menu, immediately decided on fish and chips with garden peas and some cheesy garlic bread and I went back to order. I didn’t know we paid in advance, so I had to walk back to the table to grab my wallet, run back and give him 40 pounds.

While we waited for our food to arrive, I drank about 1.2 cup of the cider and really began to feel lightheaded, a feeling I normally wouldn’t succumb to back home. Oh dear. Thankfully, our food came just about the moment I started nodding off and we dug in. The ketchup was the most brilliant part, I have to admit! British ketchup is void of the Devil’s condiment, high-fructose corn syrup, so I invited Dave to eat as much as he wanted and so did I, as I usually don’t care for ketchup for that very reason. How deliciously organic it tasted! The HP’s Brown Sauce was something new that I tried and I think for some kind of meat it would fare well, but for the fish I withheld. Not surprisingly, I couldn’t really finish my meal, along with the salty garlic bread and neither could Dave. But we did the best we could and scurried off for more sightseeing.

The sun was beginning to set after we left the pub and I wanted to catch a good glimpse of Parliament, so we walked down and took some video/pictures like everyone else was doing.

Along our way, I took a few shots of Westminster Abbey and Dave said “I’d like to run into that gift shop if we have time.”
“No,” I said, “I think they might be closed.”

“No it’s not, I see people coming out of it.”

“Then let’s do it!”

And so we did!

Dave was happily shocked to find the cross of St. Benedict as a keychain which he got for himself and I got a few other small things for family back home. I was reveling in the chocolates, magnets and trinkets I wanted to scoop up in a large bin and take with me, all neatly arranged. A woman was unpacking tin boxes of tea to put on display as I walked by and I snickered at some hapless man asking the young kid at the register if Buckingham Palace “was really in the city limits?” Oy. ;-)

Once we stopped at the sidewalk across from Big Ben, two protestors (I think?) were arguing loudly with one another on Parliament Square. Something about Mubarak? I wanted to film it than decided against it. So we walked back to our hotel, relaxed in the room, showered, made some tea, watched Al-Jazeera on the telly (yeah, I know!) then switched to BBC1. :-) The bed was inviting as it was quite firm (note to self: buy a new mattress at home) and I literally fell into happy sleep land once I head hit the pillow. We wanted to wake up in time for the next day…as Friday was what I had been waiting for the most and it turned out to be the most memorable part of our trip! Stay tuned for Part II!

McCafe day (and a few other brief things)

Hi kids!

I'm back, if only for a few moments. I'm about to head out to the Home Country in a few days and I have so much to talk about, but unfortunately I still have zero time to sit down and write for a few hours. I do, however, have a lovely marketing story for you.

In Sunday's paper, there was a coupon for a free new strawberry frozen lemonade from that arche nemesis of mine, McDonald's. Now, anytime McObesity wants to force food on me, however inexpensively (or free), I usually balk - even if that were the only option available to me. I just can't push myself to eat calorie-laden, sodium bloated nothing foods in order to stay alive.

But as always, curiosity makes me want to know what's actually in the stuff they hand out for free and so I went online in search of a listing of ingredients for the frozen strawberry lemonade over-sugared drink. While I wasn't surprised at the 260 calories it sports, I *was* surprised to see it was mostly made up of fairly natural stuff: lemon oil, lemon juice, strawberry and lemonade concentrate, not artificially flavored. There's some syrup for the berry flavor and the evil red 40 coloring, but other than that, just a combination of natural flavorings and ice.

So I went to the McDonald's website and watched their Sesame Street promotional video: a talking lemon from New Jersey that comes across as distinctly Italian and I wondered where Joe Pesci and DeNiro were. In other words, why Jersey Shore? To sell lemonade?

The talking Jersey lemon makes wisecracks about being "sour" and introduces his "wife", the strawberry who is supposedly sweet, yet says nothing and doesn't even have an animated face like the DeNiro lemon...she doesn't even talk. Still confusing. But the lemon drones about about tangy, soury, sweet, yummy, cold lemonade, the perfect combination of sour and sweet and cold on a hot day.....this repeats over and over again in a carefully crafted dialogue on each animated Sesame Street-ish image you click...and slowly you become hypnotized by the perfect combination of sour and sweet, but always a perfection combination of sweetness and tart lemon....

I COULDN'T STAND IT! My lymph glands (I believe?) began to ache for something sour and the back of my tongue longed for some kind of subtle sugar fix. So I reasoned that I had to run to the store anyway and McChubby is on the way there, so why not swing by and get one, especially if it's free? :-P Whatever I don't drink, I'll share with David and we'll just chuck what we don't consume.

Alas, I got one. Oh the yummyness - but it wasn't all that remarkable. After about four sips, my stomach began to react to the sudden gush of acidity from the lemons and cried "Hold!" so I left the rest for Dave. It now sits peacefully in my fridge. All because of the talking Jersey lemon.

I caved in to marketing ploys. The shame! Like the Royal Wedding donuts, I couldn't resist. Oh well. Whatever calories I did consume, I'll walk them off in London. ;-)

Cheerio! Talk to you all, my invisible audience, when I return. <3

PS: His reaction? "Wow...sweet!...but...ugh...sour!" My feelings exactly.

Still busy, folks...

Things I have left to do:

1. Review Jane Eyre

2. Review a few books

3. Get my gentle readers up to date on my every day activities. ;)

For now, I'll just give a brief run-down:

I'm running towards the Home Base, otherwise known as Finals week in school, so I'll still be absent from my blog until next month. I'll have plenty to say about The Wedding this Friday and other ramblings.

In the meantime, Easter was lovely with many services to attend with my husband Dave and running into old friends along the way.

Vigil on Saturday night was the best by far, as I was able to unwind from the stress of the week by closing my eyes and letting Christ's peace come over me as I prayed, sang, inhaled incense and read scripture. Then there was the reception in the Monastery kitchen afterwards, which is always fun, with plenty of high-on-sugar giggles, I suppose. 8)

Again, I'll have plenty to blog about next month! Until then! Peace /xo

Now I just have to figure out where I can get them! :) http://ping.fm/JpEG2

Your Monday Update 8)

Hi Kids,

Well, I saw Jane Eyre. My personalized English-Lit-saturated review will be coming shortly this week. To sum up in the meantime, it had plenty of faults, but for atmosphere, it was brilliant. Problem is, it was more depressing than Bronte's novel, it left out chunks of necessary material and while the dialogue was exactly what it should have been (intelligent), what with the missing information and lack of at least a little pep, it came across as simply bland. So think of it as a slice of swiss cheese: a lot of holes, unadorned and in need of other ingredients to make it attractive. There, brilliant. ;)

Nonetheless, it had it's positives. I'll save most of those for my formal review, but I can say that the cinematography was spot on. Authenticity, you're doin' it right.

In other news, check out a short video on Werner Herzog's new film about the Chauvet caves. It looks promising.

In other news, Baskin Robbins and Dunkin Donuts are getting in the Royal Wedding mood with their own donuts and cakes in prep for the big day. Cheesy, yes, but in my world, anything counts. ;)

I came across this a bit late, but IT'S WORTH READING. Subtle, aren't I? ;) http://ping.fm/i05ir

Jane Eyre is released in theaters this Friday (as in tomorrow) - no word as to the Charlotte, NC date yet! http://ping.fm/Sh5AC

It's the best, kids: True-Color photographs of San Francisco after 1906 quake: http://ping.fm/Sbq66

I'm on spring break!

Yes, I finally have a respite from the stress of the last two weeks. /sigh, lovely. 8)

But despite the time to unwind and get things done around the house, I'm still working on a project that's due later this month. I took today off, ran around with Dave, picked up a new high-quality book bag that will hopefully take me into the next 5-10+ years and we're celebrating with a dinner out later tonight. But ahhh, tomorrow it's back to the grind of wriitng for another 4 or 5 hours before another break in the evening for the George Winston concert. I'll provide a review, however brief, later that evening if I can. Ash Wednesday will be a half-work/half reflection day of sorts for me and then the rest of the week will be more work.

Does this interest you at all? Probably not, but at least it helps me think out loud (by typing...oy). Gotta go, kids. I need to savor what's left of Monday!
Cheers!

http://ping.fm/qkfuL

Does it get any better? Finding 100 year old music at the bottom of the sea...this is as marvelous as the French wine they found in a shipwreck from 1800.

http://ping.fm/DaKIQ

Genetics and Royalty: my two favorite subjects. :)

Absent, yet strangely still here :)

Hello my Little Chickapoos,

I bow my head in shame as I admit/regret that I've been absent from my blog since November. Needless to say, I have a good reason! I've been supernaturally busy since December and while I probably had a good amount of time to write over the Christmas break and then the snow storm that hit at the beginning of January (which made the month go by veeerry slowly), writing was the last thing on my mind after the 60+ pages I wrote last semester. ;) It also wasn't the best of months and February is looking a little brighter, yet I'm still in the midst of creating presentations, reading French philosophy (/mumble, yelp, mumble), observing Eng 101 classes for a teaching assignment, writing a paper on Rhetoric in the Digital Age (/yay! 8) ) and tutoring, of course. This is not my favorite semester so far, but I'm pushing forward. I'm still indulging in my Anglotopian realities/fantasies, keeping up with Kate and Will's wedding plans, reading a tome on Elizabeth I's England and stocking up on this summer's reading. Here's a list for ye:

The Lady in the Tower - Alison Weir

The Bronte Myth - Lucasta Miller

Posting It: The Victorian Revolution in Letter Writing

White Heat: The Friendship of Emily Dickinson and Thomas Wentworth Higginson - Brenda Wineapple

I'm looking forward to gobbling these up. I'll provide reviews and speaking of which, I need to probably review a few of the other ones I read over the winter break.

So perhaps I'll stop by more often. If not, rest assured, I'll have plenty to talk about when I come back from visiting the Home Country in May. ;)

Until then! Love, tea and crumpets, sweeties.