the word of london

Ever since I read Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love, I’ve been trying to think of the word that defines London.

The way Liz G explains it: If you could read people’s thoughts as they were passing you on the streets of any given place, you would discover that most of them are thinking the same thought.  Whatever that majority thought might be - that is the word of the city.

Liz learns this theory from a friend in Rome, where the word is ‘Sex.’  (Can’t argue with that.)  She and various friends offer the opinions that the word of the Vatican is Power, New York’s word is ‘Achieve,’ Los Angles’s is ‘Succeed’ and the word of Stockholm, ‘Conform.’  (This does not make me want to go to Stockholm.)

I love this theory.  It’s a challenge to evoke the mood of a place in one word, but if you get it right, it fits so well.  I first read Eat Pray Love three years ago, and I have been trying to think of London’s word on and off ever since.  (I knew the word for DC almost immediately.  It’s Win.)  

I’ve always thought the London’s word was definitely a verb, like New York and LA, but it didn’t feel right for it to be so ambition-focused.  That’s not to say people in London don’t work hard, but they also play hard and enjoy much.  

The city it is such a mash up of different cultures and modernity, mingling with equal amounts of tradition and history.  I’m always conscious of these elements co-existing, blending together, and occasionally clashing with each other.  Usually it’s spectacular.  It’s definitely never boring.

I think it’s the awareness of so many different characteristics combining to make something so completely unique to London, that’s made me decide that London’s word is Create.

...

I think this really fits.  The buzz of London, all those thoughts that people are having as they’re passing you on the street, I don’t think it’s about achievement or success for the sake of money, or recognition.  So many of the people I know and meet here are doing what they’re doing because they love it.  

Yes, of course they want to be successful enough to support themselves and do the things they enjoy, but often what led them to their work, or the hobby that they’re trying to turn in to work, was passion.  And a desire to create something that they’re really proud of.  

Encountering that kind of feeling over and over really makes one want to contribute!

...

Creating has certainly been on my mind recently.  My boyfriend, Michael, is wrapping up his two year MA course at the Royal College of Art and his graduate show is on right now.

For his main project, he’s not only created a new product, he’s constructed it from scratch!  It’s the world’s first portable, professional, expandable CNC system.  (That stands for computer numeric controlled laymen!)

Here’s a video of it in action:

Pretty nifty, eh?

It’s not doing too badly for itself.  So far it’s garnered Michael two big-deal awards: as an RCA Selected Work, the university is funding its patent process and as a Dyson Fellowship winner, Michael’s going to get development support and a salary so he can work on bringing it to market.  Whooooo!

It’s also made me want to turn all the thoughts in my head in to a real creation.  

Very exciting times ahead ladies and gentleman!  Watch this space!

Holiday Greetings (Duh!)

Absolutely no excuse for how long it has been since I have posted. Hopefully someone is still reading!

First of all – Merry Christmas! I hope everyone has fabulous holiday plans. Before you get too worried about me spending Christmas alone in a mouse infested hostel, fear not! I will be spending Christmas at my friend Michael’s house where the occasion is celebrated without a tree and no stockings but lots and lots of food and drink. J

Apparently one of the most important British Christmas traditions is an appearance at your local pub! Obviously there will be more details about that later (assuming I remember them!) but clearly I need to back track a bit to tell you all what I’ve been up to!

I’ll continue with the holiday theme…I was much more depressed about spending Thanksgiving away from the states than I was about Christmas. After all, it is only us nutty North Americans that celebrate Turkey Day! But I needn’t have worried. It turned out to be one of the most fun Thanksgivings I’ve ever had. Whole Foods on High Street Kensington, a short walk from my house, catered an amazing American style Thanksgiving for myself and several other transplanted Americans who I live with. We even shared the meal with two Canadians and an Australian; it was his first Thanksgiving ever! We were expecting a meal served in disposable containers which we would have to take turns heating in the microwaves in the Whole Foods cafeteria. Were we ever surprised to be given a star treatment that included real dishes, servers, and two kinds of dessert! More importantly, I found a display of Sam Adams Boston Lager while we were searching for whipped cream for the pumpkin pie. When we went around the table sharing things we were thankful for (yes, this was my idea) being able to drink my favorite beer was definitely on the list.

We had so much fun at our Lost Boys (and Girls) Thanksgiving our house decided to have a Christmas potluck before it emptied out. (People are heading home…it is just me, my room mate Jess, and our friend Matt, the Australian who’d never had a Thanksgiving, left until after New Year’s. And the mice of course. One tried to make a nest in my laundry pile last night. NOT cool.) We set up a Christmas tree and each of us brought something to share; mince pies, risotto, fried chicken, Greek salad. I contributed Christmas crackers (the exploding, favor-producing variety) which were a big hit. From them we got gifts as diverse as a dolphin-shaped-bottle-opener-key-chain (which, let’s face it, is almost too good to be true!), nail clippers, and a green gem stone studded barrette. We all put on our paper crowns, talked, laughed and ate out way through the get together and topped it off with a Christmas favorite: we all lay amid the leftovers and watched Love Actually.

Some true Christmas culture came my way via my best friend Chrissy’s visit. My mother sent her off with all my Christmas presents (most if which are out of sight under my bed so I don’t open them until the 25^th!) one of which was two tickets to the London Handel Society’s performance of the Messiah. My room mate Jess and I made it to our seats just as the choir was filing on to their risers at the front of St. George’s Church, Hanover Square, where Handel himself worshipped. I thought having sung some pieces from the Messiah had given me an appreciation for it but truly, one really has to hear it, sung professionally in its entirety as it was meant to be performed to really grasp how truly, truly beautiful it is. I spent the entire evening listening in a state of admiration which was occasionally increased to goose bump inducing awe. The soloist’s were truly magnificent. Particular highlights were “Oh Thou that Tellest Good Tidings to Zion,” and “He Shall Feed His Flock,” and of course “For Unto Us.” When they began the “Hallelujah,” chorus and everyone stood up, you the energy in the room was almost physical. That kind of music isn’t just listened to; you feel it all the way through you.

Christmas time in London has taken me back; I feel a little bit like I did when I was kid, counting the days until I could wake up obscenely early and tear the wrapping off all the packages for me, me, me. Seeing people try and squeeze on the Tube with all of their shopping bags never ceases to amuse me and the window displays have left me wide eyed and wishing that I weren’t too old to visit Santa. At Fortum and Manson, one of London’s prestigious department stores the displays are based on the Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale of the Snow Queen. Each window is a different elaborately decorated scene from the story. Walking by on my way to they tube when they were finally unveiled must have added ten or fifteen minutes to my evening commute I was so enthralled. I’ve also never had more fun at work. Recently my days of data input have instead been filled with sampling all sorts of British Christmas candies and stuffing envelopes with the company Christmas card. I also had a great time at our office Christmas party – cocktails on the company tab, yippee!!! (The down side? We went bowling….I think I bowled a 37. No one will be getting me a membership to the bowling alley for Christmas!)

Since it is about to be Christmas I’m going to end on a sappy note: A lot of people have commented on the blog, e-mailed me, written, posted “I miss you,” on my Facebook wall, or even visited since I’ve been over here. No Christmas gift will ever mean as much as those good wishes and little bits of love have meant. Moving to a foreign country has made me realize how much good friendships mean; they really brighten your life from the inside out. So thanks very much to all of my friends and family on both sides of the Atlantic and I hope you have a very Merry Christmas!

My (Almost) Glamorous London Life (and Shoes!)

Let's be honest - the glamorous life in London I was fantasizing about hasn’t really gotten off the ground yet. The reality looks more like this: I moved in to an apartment with fabulous aforementioned flat mates and then moved out because it was too expensive and the neighborhood sketched me out. Now I have a room mate (like actually a person I share a room with) which is some thing I didn’t think I would have again post college. She is really cool and makes a terrific shopping buddy for which I'm grateful. We already have Thanksgiving plans we're really psyched for! The fact that we live in an old building which has a mice problem – and I thought earlier this week I might have bed bugs!!! (EW!) -not as cool. Also our microwave doesn’t turn off properly anymore and we’re concerned about it blowing up one day, and we don’t have an oven and we have to go to the laundry mat to do laundry…also not so great. But these are things that I am not dwelling on. (Well --- there may have been some dwelling after we saw a mouse in our room but that’s beside the point.) The light at the end of this paragraph is that I have had some glamorous, “I’m in London!” moments. Mostly they have to do with shopping…

Anyone who’s ever shopped with me knows that it isn’t something I do till I drop…it is something I do until my credit card gets rejected. (Don’t worry Mom and Dad – that hasn’t happened.) But even being aware of the credit crunch hasn’t stopped me from finding some really unbeatable bargains and some absolute must haves.

Exploring markets has become one of my favorite ways to spend a weekend. When the weather is nice I love to wander down Portobello Road where you can buy kitschy antiques (the nice stuff is put away by 8 or 9ish; if you want quality it means a really early morning…I haven’t been able to fit that in to my “how to spend a Saturday” equation yet), tacky souvenirs, vintage clothes and lunch all in one place. If you breeze by the entire touristy section, as I did on my first visit (I was being shown Portobello Market by a London native), then you come to what my guide refers to as “the tatty section.” This part looks like any American neighbor yard sale. Old electronics, little old ladies selling lingerie that I hope know one ever buys, and objects that have obviously been residing in people's attics abound. But like any yard sale, there can be true treasures hidden among all that tat. So far the Portobello Best Buy has been an absolutely phenomenal pair of vintage ‘80s heels that I found on a sheet in the street with a lot of ugly canvas sneakers that I would never look twice at. But these shoes were the gemstones among gravel. And amazingly they were my size. When I looked up inquisitvely, the guy manning the plot said,

“Two quid love.”

Sold!

I found another great pair of shoes at a charity shop (aka thrift store) on Kensington High Street. I made out like a fashion intern let loose in the sample room at this place…I bought a dress, a belt, and shoes for 30ish pounds. Dress and belt are both great but the shoes were the buy of the day on that particular shopping extravaganza. Words can’t possibly do these shoes justice so I’ll let speak for themselves…

If you ever come to London and have a burning desire to buy some punky, Goth flavored clothing and/or accessories then check out the Camden town markets for band t-shirts and combat boots galore. I browsed through these stalls but really enjoyed looking at the vintage clothes and jewelry stands. My visit to the markets wasn’t long enough…there are many more scarves to look through and brooches to consider buying. But even a short stay yielded a Camden Best Buy: a short ‘n’ sweet vintage (60s or 70s) grass green dress for 15 quid. It was in the bag and paid for before I even thought about trying it on. I had such a good feeling about it when I saw it I just assumed it would fit. No worries - once I got home and modeled it for my room mate I found out I was right!

So my shopping life is nearly as glamorous as I could wish it to be. I’m still lusting after the designer dresses at Harrod’s and the 85 pound (that like over one hundred dollars for those of you not keeping up with the conversion rates) scarves at Liberty’s but I think I’ve still done okay. (I'm already worried about how all of this stuff is going to get back to the states!)

In fact, a few things have worked out better than I could have imagined them. Picture this: A party attended by models, fashion designers who’ve clothed the likes of Courtney Love and Paris Hilton, and actresses who are mentioned almost daily in the London commuter papers. There is free champagne pouring almost everywhere you look, a VIP entrance, and wait staff in tails carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres of very fancy looking food that you know is going to have an unpronounceable name. Sound too good to be true?

Not when you’ve made friends with one of the guys helping do display installations it’s not!

Here’s how I attended an On/Off (fashion production company) London Week Fashion Party at the Royal Academy of Art (which is almost cool enough to make up for the fact my building has mice!):

I’ve made friends with a British guy (the same who taught me the word knackered) who is in product design. He makes lighting displays, furniture – that kind of thing. For fashion week he was asked to build a wall of ipods. Since I spent a Saturday afternoon in his workshop helping him glue this thing together and a Sunday afternoon keeping him company/“helping” while he installed it I guess he felt obligated to take me along for some kind of fashion week event. Or maybe that had something to do with a conversation that went something like this:

Me: So since I helped you build this thing and helped you carry it up and down stairs are you going to give me tickets to a fashion week show?

Michael: Uh…the shows all happen during the day. I didn’t think you would want to take off work. Want to go to a party instead?

Let’s recap:

Do I want to go to a London Fashion Week Party?

(Is this a trick question?)

So on a much anticipated Monday evening I rushed to finish everything the lawyers needed me to do at work (aka print their spreadsheets and put stamps on envelopes), change in to a fashion week party ensemble (super cute gray knit dress with waist clinching black belt, black stockings with sexy details -including bows!- down the back, a pair of swingy silver earrings, pinned my hair up in twists and coils, and swapped my boots for taxi cab yellow heels…the same pair I bought with the former flat mates after we drank too much wine at dinner.I was neither over-dressed, nor the most dressed up there. There was everything things from a cheetah print mumu style dress (on a drag queen) to skinny jeans with leather jackets and head bands with bows so big they looked like Mickey Mouse Club accessories.

I spent the evening in competition with my date to see who could drink the most free champagne (he won – but I was drunker), chatting up gay designers and their husbands, admiring how hot the drag queen’s shoes were, and just generally feeling like the gorgeous, has-great-plans-every-night girl that every girl wants to be. Oh and I got free bags!

The next day reading the commuter paper on the Tube home and thinking for the umpteenth time that if I ever went back to one of these things then maybe I wouldn’t drink quite so much champagne I read that Kelly Brook (English model, singer, and actress), had been photographed at the On/Off party at the Royal Academy.

Fashion Week Parties definitely fit with my fantasy London life. :)

The Language Barrier

“Wait,” you say, “Maggie's in London, where they speak English. There shouldn't be a language barrier!'”

Well that's what I thought too. I mean I was prepared for cute British accents and funny words like ''biscuit'' for cookie or ''crumpet'' for English muffins but what I wasn't prepared for were times where I literally stare at someone who's speaking to me and go, ''Whhhaaat?'' because I have no idea what they have just said.

Despite the fact that part of our Bunac (that's the program that so kindly provided me a visa to be here for six months) orientation was a crash course in British expressions, I have still encountered phrases, words, and usage that totally stump me. Read on to discover just how far apart British and American English have drifted....

First of all - if you ever travel in the UK make sure you remember that while ''jeans,'' may be ''jeans,'' all other pants (what Americans would probably call slacks or Khakis) are “trousers.” When they told us this at Bunac I thought they must be exaggerating. Surely young people don't go around London using a term that had pretty much fallen out of common usage in the days my grandparents were growing up? But oh how wrong I was...it is never pants. It's always trousers. This is because the word ''underwear'' isn't really used here. Instead of panties or briefs or boxers, it's all ''pants.'' So while in America it is pretty awkward to say “Where are my pants?” in England if you are asking this you are really in an awkward situation....

The other word we learned how to use at orientation is “fit.” This doesn't mean that you spend a lot time at the gym. The American English equivalent would be “hot” - as in attractive. To Brits, saying anything about “hot,” makes them wonder if they should open a window. Needless to say, whenever a guy in a pub tells me “You're really fit,” it makes me wonder how the heck he thinks he knows if I have a six pack or something. (Then I remember the translation and giggle.)

...

In French class we learned the term “idiom;” to describe expressions, words, and phrases that are used in a language by native speakers but don’t really make sense to anyone else. To someone learning English the phrase ''kicked the bucket,'' must seem related only to unnecessary foot pain, yet we all know its meaning. I've come across a few idioms that have really expanded my British vocabulary. One experience was particularly funny/notable. It happened not long after made friends with a British guy. I called him up (or should I say ''rang'' him?) just to say hi/ask what he was up to. The conversation began pretty typically and then took a strange turn:

Him: Hey Mags, how are you?

Me: I'm good, how are you?

Him: Uhhh, I'm totally knackered.

Me: You're What!? (The phone is up to my ear and I am thinking...woah, why is he telling me he's naked? I thought British people were supposed to be reserved!)

Him: Knackered. Tired. Beat. Exhausted.

Me: Oh! I thought...well never mind.

Him (laughing): Did you think I meant naked?

Me: No comment.

I later found out from my boss that the word ''knackered,'' comes from putting down race horses. Apparently when a horse had outlived their glory days they were taken away to be shot. Thus the meaning “dead tired.” (This is yet more evidence that British people are obsessed with horses.)

Sometimes I really have to actually translate. What a British person might say and what I might I might imagine they mean can be quite different. For example the other day at work, Simon, the guy who handles paying the bills etc. came back in and announced, “I’ve just found a tenner in the toilet. Is anyone missing one?”

A tenor in the where? I am sitting at my desk imaging Placido Domingo floating in the bowl among pieces of….well. You get it.

I know he can’t possibly have meant what I thought he meant. Several seconds later I remember the gross habit that Brits have of referring to an entire restroom as “the toilet,” (seriously when I first got here that was as bad as fingernails on a blackboard…it just sounds so vulgar) and then realize that he clearly didn’t mean t-e-n-o-r he meant t-e-n-n-e-r, which I correctly surmised is a slang term for a ten pound note (or bill as Americans would say). At the end of this thought process I blurted “Oh you meant money!” Which made everyone look at me weird so I had to explain which made everyone laugh.

But the best/funniest/most embarrassing language barrier I have been up against has been trying to understand people on the phone at work. I have to ask every single person who calls to spell out their name and where they are calling from because I took away the lesson, “Don't assume anything,” from the incident described below:

Phone Rings.

Me (in my secretary voice): Good afternoon, ASG, how can I help you?

Person on the other end: Hello, I'm trying to speak to someone who has called me from your number regarding waiters for this weekend. I couldn't understand them. But I need to speak to them about the waiters.

Me: Have you worked with our company before sir?

Him: No, no I've just been in contact with him about the waiters. He is supposed to be hiring waiters for this weekend. He’s staying with us.

So I am racking my brains for a way in which this has anything at all to do with visas or immigration enquiries. I decide there must be a huge event this weekend that someone has to hire waiters for short-term and this guy needs to ask questions about their visas. Since he couldn't understand who left him the message I figure I will fill out a “New Enquiry,” sheet and pass it off to one of the attorneys.

Me: Sir, I'm just going to take some details from you and someone will be able to return your call shortly to answer your questions.

So I fill out this sheet with this guy's contact details and his enquiry about hiring waiters for the weekend. A little while later one of ASG's solicitors comes to the front desk to asks:

Andrew: Maggie, did you write this number down any where else? It doesn't exist. And I Googled Bobby Castle and I can’t find that either.

Me: No, I'm sorry. I was having trouble understanding him...he had a really thick accent…He said he’s from Devon… I repeated the number back to him and he said that was right. I guess he couldn't understand me either. I don’t know though the whole thing was really weird…he kept talking about hiring the waiters but he couldn’t tell me what it had to do with immigration and it was all really strange…

Andrew: Maybe it was a prank call. No worries, I'll get to the bottom of this!

Several Google searches later Andrew comes back going “Bovey Castle! Bovey Castle in Devon!”

Me (feeling dumb): Oh! Bovey!

Andrew (an English native): Don’t worry, I think they speak funny in Devon too.

So he rings the guy back to try and figure out what he needs. Apparently all he kept talking about is the person who needs to hire the waiters for the weekend and Andrew couldn’t make heads or tails of it either. He gets off the phone and starts asking everyone in the office if they have any idea what this could possibly be about because the guy was going on about the person who had left him a message about the waiters. This goes on for a while until Andrew thinks to mention the bloke was calling from Bovey Castle. In Devon.

At this point our American lawyer looks up and goes, “Bovey Castle? That’s where I’m going to a wedding this weekend. Did someone call back about me renting waders to go fly fishing?”

Cue laughter from entire office.

A Visit to Saint Paul's

Galvanized last week that I have been in London a month and barely made a dent in the list of things I want to do, see, and experience I broke out the trusty guidebooks almost every night after work and went back to playing tourist with a vengeance.

First on my to-do-and-see list was St. Paul’s Cathedral. I had taken a peek in a few weekends ago when I was in that area but as drinks at the pub were calling my name I didn’t have time to make paying the admission fee worth it. However, every art history lesson I have ever taken and every Sunday I’ve spent breathing incense demanded that I go back. So last Saturday morning, off I went…

Like St. Peter’s in Rome, St. Paul’s is a baroque style church (or as the English say it BA-rock…weird). I know from my seventeenth century art history class that the main thought behind the architectural style is that it is not only supposed to be a feast for the eyes but elevating for the spirit as well. St. Paul’s is definitely that. It’s one of those places where you naturally walk slower and feel more peaceful while at the same time you are completely in awe of the splendor that surrounds you.


This could have been a really short post because my visit was almost wasted before it properly began. I wanted to take the guided tour but the cathedral was short on guides and the last tour of the day left 20 minutes before I arrived. Upon seeing my genuine disappointment the friendly ladies at the welcome desk recommended the audio tour. I refrained from telling them that as a natural city girl I judge people who commit the faux pas of looking like tourists by wearing headphones in every major site almost as much as I judge the ones who stand in big groups on the metro platform during rush hour. There is nothing tackier than an audio pack clipped to your hip and a fanny pack on the other side to balance the “I’m from out of town” look. But, having already paid my eight pound admission fee I decided I really should try and learn as much as I could…So I sucked it up, wore the headphones, and hid the audio pack in my purse.

Something like three hours and three hundred stairs later, I was converted to audio tour fandom. My pursuit of knowledge and culture will never be thwarted by ugly headphones again. (Although I just as strongly vow that I will never be caught dead in a fanny pack.) Thank goodness I was by myself for this jaunt…I am not sure any one else could have listened to archival clips of Winston Churchill’s funeral and old stories about who has played on the cathedral organ (Mendelssohn once played so long the cathedral staff let the air out of the instrument so people would leave!) and detailed explanations about the symbolism of modern Christian art work display in the cathedral and enjoyed it so much.

I can’t possibly recount everything here so I’ll give you my favorite bits….

The cathedral was designed by Sir Christopher Wren in the seventeenth century after the medieval cathedral burned down in the great London fire. The only piece of the old cathedral that currently resides in the “New St. Paul’s,” is a statue of John Donne, the famous poet, who was less famously, became the Dean of Saint Paul’s later in life. Art historians credit the statue’s survival to the fact it was the only statue with no protruding limbs. This is because Donne posed for it wrapped in a mock funeral shroud. So---he survived because he played dead. Creepy.

Wren was obsessed with topping St. Paul’s with a dome that would look perfect from every imaginable angle and viewpoint. That was a tall order (hehehe) because he realized how difficult it would be to create something that would look as proportionally beautiful from the inside as well as out. So, he built two; one inside the other – the outer looks great to the people viewing the cathedral as part of a city skyline and the inner is the perfect size for people to admire it from underneath.

Maybe it’s because I climbed so many stairs to get a really good look at it, but the dome was the most memorable part of the tour. The inside is decorated with scenes from the life of Saint Paul, from conversion, to letter writing, and imprisonment. The cathedral could probably have a special tour to discuss the symbolism of the paintings alone. Of course with so many stairs to climb before it could really start only really dedicated art history nerds like me would show up….

The rules about not building anything to obstruct the view of the capital in DC are probably lifted right from London’s precedent about not obstructing the view of Saint Paul’s. In WWII the commitment to preserving the cathedral was so strong a special volunteer force, called St. Paul’s watch, positioned themselves around the building and extinguished any bombs that found their way in. Some damage was sustained but overall the Cathedral survived intact and the Saint Paul’s watch is credited with saving the cathedral from destruction.

Whew! That was very truncated version of last Saturday’s visit. After all the stair climbing I was hungry so that night I had a personal picnic in Hyde Park while I listened to a free BBC concert. I’m not sure what the best part was…the ABBA sing-a-long (Thanks Mom for the Mama Mia soundtrack – when my computer arrived the first thing I did was download it on to my ipod!), the part when the radio was turned on during a break and Bruce Springsteen’s Born to Run was blasting across the whole park (and I don’t think I was the only one there who knew every word!) or the fact that London Philharmonic orchestra opened their set with Star Trek: The Next Generation’s theme music and continued with a James Bond medley. Or maybe it was my chocolate fudge cheesecake.

Keep reading----this week I had a personal encounter with London Fashion week that will make it up here sooner or later!

The London Launch

It is exactly a month since I landed at Heathrow and started telling people, "By the way, I live in London now." Finally, I am beginning the promised blog so everyone can know about my adventures abroad. So here is a brief overview of the highlights from the last month....

Where to begin? I'm writing this post in the dining/living room of my apartment that I share with two fabulous flat mates. Matt and David, who are both gay, have a lot of energy, and believe strongly in the superiorness of Macs over PCs. Matt enjoys interpretive dancing to Whitney Huston's "I Will Always Love You," and one of David's top priorities when he moved to London was joining a gym. He gave them Matt's and my contact info so he could get the free "Fitness First," backpack. I adore them both. For my 22nd b-day they threw a "Maggie's B-day/Flat Warming Party," which we entitled "Low Key, Wine and Chee(se)." (Wine and cheese because that seemed so sophisticated and flat-warming like, low key because we had no real dishes yet and ate off paper party plates and drank wine out of plastic cups. It had the desired effect nevertheless.)

The first time I went out with Matt and David I bought a pair of shoes after we polished off a glass of red wine with a pizza dinner. Then, I went back to their hostile and borrowed one of Matt's shirts to wear as a dress. These are the two lovely people I will be sharing my life with for the next five months! :) Many more good times to come!!!

I've also found "gainful employment," as my dad would say. I am working at a company called ASG (don't ask me what the ASG stands for....I haven't the foggiest) Immigration Limited. The easy explanation about what they do is to call them a law firm and say that they specialize in visa and immigration work. I'm the new Administrative Assistant and can tell you all about how to arrange a FedEx International Priority Shipment and how much it costs to post something Royal Mail depending on it's weight. Putting stamps on envelopes is dull but the people I work with are great fun. I've learned how to make a good cup of British tea and tried a few varieties of pork pate from the gift baskets our clients send as thank-yous. (As long as I don't think about the fat content I could eat pate everyday!)

Speaking of food....British cuisine generally gets a bad rep. While so called "pub grub" is pretty much what is being consumed in every frat house in America and I am trying to avoid it, the English do breakfast surprisingly well. Waffles and French toast may be knocked off the top of my list as favorite breakfast foods now that I know about the plethora of other options out there: bagels and lox, crepes, scrambled eggs on toast with grilled tomatoes, Welsh Rabbit, a dish that features an egg and cheese mixture grilled on toast so that it puffs up in to an eggy, cheesy, crispy-bottomed mound of deliciousness, and several varieties of sausage (including venison!) are some of the delicacies I've tried since I've been here. Mom and Dad - you will be happy to know that I will now eat eggs in a way besides scrambled...I like them poached too!

One bad quality about Britain I can't defend....the weather really does suck. Never have I been in a place more unpredictable. Sunglasses and an umbrella are an absolute must every time you leave the house. The seasons could change during the duration of your tube ride. There was a fancy dress musical festival off the coast this weekend and the theme was "Under the Sea." Apparently from the amount of rain they got, it was aptly chosen. One guy I know from work and his friends went as the crew of a submarine; hopefully their periscopes allowed them to see the stage through the deluge!

Tourist wise, I've been to several places that the English major and Art History student in me could not resist. I visited the British Museum and the British Library in my very first weekend here. The Museum is amazing; you can spend over an hour in any room and not learn everything there is to know. Upon wandering in and feeling slightly homesick for the National Gallery in DC I stumbled upon an American print exhibit which featured art from the Harlem Renaissance. From there I found my way to an exhibition on jade jewelry making and glimpsed in the Ancient Egyptian rooms. The library was even better than the museum. I flipped through digital copies of "Alice's Adventures Underground," and William Blake's notebook. I saw Jane Austen's personal writing desk, which, even though it was quite early on will probably remain one of the ten coolest moments of my stay here.


So that's it...a very abbrevated recap of my first month in London. I hope to post more often from now on now that the stress of job hunting and flat finding are both over with. Please e-mail/comment about what you see here; send praise and criticism! This is supposed to be an exercise in real-life writing as well as a way to keep everyone updated about what I am doing!

Thanks for reading!

Cheers! (A British expression that means so much more than the celebratory clinking of glasses...it is a good substitute for thank you and good bye!)