Monday, September 8, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
continuing to explore london
So most of yesterday I was a bit laid up trying to let my knee recover from a spill outside of Starbucks. I was running across the street and made the mistake of stepping on a glazed brick curb. I was very stunned. A woman standing there asked if I was alright, that it can be quite a shock. As I slowly got up, shocked indeed, everything was carrying on as usual, but it was one of those falls where I was afraid to look at the results. It still hurts today and the bruise, about the size of my palm, continues to darken and I can feel tendons and ligaments creaking when I move. I started thinking, yeah, it's so great living in a big city with great public transportation and no car, but what happens when you can't get around anymore (walk) and you really don't want to ask for anyone's help?
Anyway, I have not been a very good dog-walker lately until today. I got a rather demanding invitation to walk dogs with a neighbor in Regent's Park. I never want to do this because it interferes with my schedule during the day, whatever that is, but I am always glad I go afterward. It turns out she'd feel quite comfortable with me watching her black lab Captain when she goes on holiday next summer, if I'm interested. While I had just been thinking I probably wouldn't do anymore dog-sits, I said, that'd be great! Even though Captain's glowing yellow vampire-like eyes kind of scare me, it wouldn't be a bad deal at all. Plus this lady is an author/ex-actress, so has lots of inspiring stories. Today she told me all about how she ended up writing her first book. I guess her whole family is full of writers, some of them famous, but I didn't pry.
Earlier in the week I spent quite a bit of time with friends from home that were here and got a little caught up in living a normal social life (I mean talking to people I know). One of my friends asked me what I was going to do when I went back to reality, or the real world. I'm not sure that's any different than right now. Or have I lost touch with reality? I said that everything around me could just be an illusion anyway, so why does it matter? Do I really believe that? Sometimes. When I get fearful of what the heck I'm even doing with my life I try to tell myself this--it's all experience either way you look at it. It is living.
So what else is going on? I could talk about the animals, how (the 30-pounder) Mandu hits my face with his paws to try and eat my yogurt or tries to wake me up in the morning by licking my lips. I know I said I like animals once I got to know them, but I've gotten to know this cat and he's annoying, aggressively annoying, and purrs all the time while being annoying. (And when he sleeps, he snores.) I occasionally have to break up wrestling matches between him and Riley as well. They are almost the same size and Mandu usually wins.
Wanting to experience some of Camden's music scene last weekend, I went to the Green Note, a sort of hippyish nightclub that also serves vegetarian cuisine (I'm not a vegetarian but have been leaning this way lately, so this was an added bonus), where Robin Williamson, a Scot of the Incredible String Project, was doing an intimate "gig." (It was pretty much the only thing going on besides a very expensive night with De La Soul.) I had never heard of him before, but he apparently did a lot for folk music in the 60s. There were only about 12 tables and I managed to sit in the front, sharing my table with an older couple. The performance was pretty good, a lot of harp music and acoustic guitar. Good storytelling. But there was this man sitting on the floor in front of the little stage. He had his shoes off, was drinking copious amounts of red wine, running his fingers through his hair, clutching his heart, and throwing his arms up in rapturous praise. When the musician played a song the man shouted out as a request, the man, continuing to lose muscle control, began to sob loudly. At the break he told the musician he could stay at his house. By the end of the show, the man had lost almost all muscle control and was practically lying on the floor while everyone else was quietly sitting at their tables. It was rather distracting.
This evening I went to a ghost tour around old London. I guess London is the ghost capital of the world with so many layers of the city built upon old layers of city and cemeteries. The city was 20 or so feet lower during Roman times. I didn't see any ghosts, but the tour guide was quite an entertaining performer, shrieking at opportune times and always looking over his shoulder. He took us to the alley where Dickens came up with the beginnings of A Christmas Carol and where Scrooge would have had his office. He was able to conjure up the old London Fog atmosphere of a yellow billowy haze that ran through the streets and alleys from chimney smoke. It was very eery to imagine indeed. He also told us of portable human toilets, men that would walk around with huge trench coats and a bucket, and if there was no place to go, you could go inside of his coat to use the bucket. This portait seemed to be a much different one of the city today with shopping and restaurants galore, polished people spending lots of money--I kind of wanted to see it before, gloomy and grimey. I suppose that's what you get to see in Dickens. Perhaps I should read more of his stuff.
Well, it's time to take Riley out for his evening walk. Just a few days left here, how strange! Will write more later.
Anyway, I have not been a very good dog-walker lately until today. I got a rather demanding invitation to walk dogs with a neighbor in Regent's Park. I never want to do this because it interferes with my schedule during the day, whatever that is, but I am always glad I go afterward. It turns out she'd feel quite comfortable with me watching her black lab Captain when she goes on holiday next summer, if I'm interested. While I had just been thinking I probably wouldn't do anymore dog-sits, I said, that'd be great! Even though Captain's glowing yellow vampire-like eyes kind of scare me, it wouldn't be a bad deal at all. Plus this lady is an author/ex-actress, so has lots of inspiring stories. Today she told me all about how she ended up writing her first book. I guess her whole family is full of writers, some of them famous, but I didn't pry.
Earlier in the week I spent quite a bit of time with friends from home that were here and got a little caught up in living a normal social life (I mean talking to people I know). One of my friends asked me what I was going to do when I went back to reality, or the real world. I'm not sure that's any different than right now. Or have I lost touch with reality? I said that everything around me could just be an illusion anyway, so why does it matter? Do I really believe that? Sometimes. When I get fearful of what the heck I'm even doing with my life I try to tell myself this--it's all experience either way you look at it. It is living.
So what else is going on? I could talk about the animals, how (the 30-pounder) Mandu hits my face with his paws to try and eat my yogurt or tries to wake me up in the morning by licking my lips. I know I said I like animals once I got to know them, but I've gotten to know this cat and he's annoying, aggressively annoying, and purrs all the time while being annoying. (And when he sleeps, he snores.) I occasionally have to break up wrestling matches between him and Riley as well. They are almost the same size and Mandu usually wins.
Wanting to experience some of Camden's music scene last weekend, I went to the Green Note, a sort of hippyish nightclub that also serves vegetarian cuisine (I'm not a vegetarian but have been leaning this way lately, so this was an added bonus), where Robin Williamson, a Scot of the Incredible String Project, was doing an intimate "gig." (It was pretty much the only thing going on besides a very expensive night with De La Soul.) I had never heard of him before, but he apparently did a lot for folk music in the 60s. There were only about 12 tables and I managed to sit in the front, sharing my table with an older couple. The performance was pretty good, a lot of harp music and acoustic guitar. Good storytelling. But there was this man sitting on the floor in front of the little stage. He had his shoes off, was drinking copious amounts of red wine, running his fingers through his hair, clutching his heart, and throwing his arms up in rapturous praise. When the musician played a song the man shouted out as a request, the man, continuing to lose muscle control, began to sob loudly. At the break he told the musician he could stay at his house. By the end of the show, the man had lost almost all muscle control and was practically lying on the floor while everyone else was quietly sitting at their tables. It was rather distracting.
This evening I went to a ghost tour around old London. I guess London is the ghost capital of the world with so many layers of the city built upon old layers of city and cemeteries. The city was 20 or so feet lower during Roman times. I didn't see any ghosts, but the tour guide was quite an entertaining performer, shrieking at opportune times and always looking over his shoulder. He took us to the alley where Dickens came up with the beginnings of A Christmas Carol and where Scrooge would have had his office. He was able to conjure up the old London Fog atmosphere of a yellow billowy haze that ran through the streets and alleys from chimney smoke. It was very eery to imagine indeed. He also told us of portable human toilets, men that would walk around with huge trench coats and a bucket, and if there was no place to go, you could go inside of his coat to use the bucket. This portait seemed to be a much different one of the city today with shopping and restaurants galore, polished people spending lots of money--I kind of wanted to see it before, gloomy and grimey. I suppose that's what you get to see in Dickens. Perhaps I should read more of his stuff.
Well, it's time to take Riley out for his evening walk. Just a few days left here, how strange! Will write more later.
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