No Fucking Way

Is the Pope Catholic?

I might be forced to watch the State of the Union address (wait ... um... wasn't that already suppose to happen? Damn you England, how am I suppose to be a pundit when I can't even get C-SPAN?) anyway, read the article here.

OSCARS

The list of Oscar nominees was announced today. Let me make a few boring predictions: Brokeback Mountain's going to sweep. There, I said it. March of the Penguins will win best documentary (well, of course, it features wittle fwuffy penguins!!!!), and Wallace and Gromit: Curse of the Were-Rabbit will win best animated feature. It should be noted, that this year, unlike last years disgrace, there is an actually contest for best animated feature with Corpse Bride, and Howl's Moving Castle (one of my favorite films of the year) filling out the rest of the ballot.

I shall now communicate only in Mime

Dammit, I lost my voice. It had been giving signs of leaving a few days ago when I started to have a cough but not a cough in my throat (what others might call a frog). It probably didn't help that despite my body telling me via awful headache that I shouldn't go out, I did. Because the alcohol will make my head feel better. However, the overcrowded club and the atmosphere of pure smoke is not a good combination. The music was generic hip hop.

I hate hip hop. Everything else I like. Hell, I even like a lot of country (it retains that blues influence), but hip hop is alien to me. The majority is offensive and misogynistic (sorry, spelled that wrong), and boring to listen to. Everynow and then you get good ones, I like Eminem because either he has interesting lyrics or else he does really interesting things with rhythm that no one else does.

Off to buy soup and orange juice from Tescos.

But first, a bit of outrage from the wires services (via Making Light)

The US Army in Iraq has at least twice seized and jailed the wives of suspected insurgents in hopes of "leveraging" their husbands into surrender, U.S. military documents show.

Things that make my blood boil.

ABC has cancelled a perfectly good reality tv show about outsiders competing to win over their more "traditional" neighbors. The prooblem, it might offend part of their audience. Here's a thought: wouldn't the network execs realize that having a show where the weirdos are portrayed as nice might be offensive to some (why?) in the first place?

So, why pull the plug on a good tv show that was already filmed and ready to air? Speculation abounds that it might have meant less support for the "Chronicles of Narnia" film released into theaters last December (which some read as a Christian allegory, and by some I mean most of us). Yes, they pulled it because Disney was afraid of the powers of Robertson and the Southern Baptists (see, this is why the rest of the country dislikes/makes fun of you guys).

You can read the story here at the NYTimes.


And because I think that this is both a neat and sad story. The poor whale.

I have been here two whole weeks, and still no job. Not even a crappy retail or flipping burger position (sadly, I am qualified for the burger flipping with three years of experience, but still, one must have standards). I've gone through three recruitment agencies, and another one tomorrow. A few real interviews at real companies, and tomorrow I'm going to a pub which, if it doesn't hire me will be sadness to an extreme. I might as well just rearrange my flight back to the states.

::Sigh::

Well... there is still hope. I might once again be working at a bookshop. And there are always a few receptionist positions. Eventually someone has to hire me. Right?

Now the question is how am I suppose to meet a boy?

And how come everyone else in my flat has more closet space than I do? The new girl moved into yesterday, and proceeded to unpack so much clothing. Three large suitcases full (I remember only have the large suitcase and a duffle bag. The backpack housed the Congo). I'm luck that I was able to put some of my suits into the outer hallway closet before she took it all up. Alas, the closet stealer is a nice girl. You have to be to live in this place. It's not for the snobbish or the high maitnanced. Living with eight other people is work. Not just psychologically, but physically. The dishes can't just be left out until you feel like cleaining it, because there aren't thirty-two plates. There are only twelve. Towels must be picked up. Because a mess grows exponetially to the number of people. So that one glass becomes eight glasses on the counter quickly.

And then there's the bathroom -- think it's hard sharing with one other person? With a variety of schedules, the inevitable need to hog the bathroom in the morning has been avoided thus far. I hope that once I get a job it will continue. Because there would be nothing worse than having to get up a half hour earlier than necessary to avoid the queue.

Niftiness

The trailer for "Beowulf and Grendel" is up.

I'm trying to figure out if they actually show Grendel at all.

Although, this isn't the movie that Neil Gaiman is involved with, since the cast of the main characters isn't the same at all.

But yay, Beowulf!

Spoonful of Sugar Prooves to be Too Much

Why is it that this year I've seen three productions based on childhood favorites which I never really enjoyed? First was "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," the remake of "Willie Wonka" which I'm quite sure I never actually sat through the entire thing? (I have seen a stage version, as well as read the book which I enjoyed more than either movie). Next was "The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe." Narnia was never my cup of tea, but a lot of people enjoyed the seven book series. And now, I went to see the production of "Mary Poppins" which is playing in the West End, again without the blessing of favorable memories (or any memories, I doubt that I've ever seen the movie).

In it's current incarnation, this Mary Poppins is a flawed musical. I've been told that it had been changes from when it first premiered, and that originally it was three hours in length. The first act comprises about five or six big numbers and no actual plot that I could figure out. This leaves act II to pick up the pieces. The only musical number that stands out is "Step in Time" which is intended to be a showstopper, but like the songs in Act I, it too feels bloated by the end.

When the curtain closed, I wished that I had been transported away, but I felt coddled and glad to be out of there.

Last night, I was walking to my apartment building. There were fire trucks there. I found out that they were responding to a call from my floor, which is not what anyone wants to hear. Well, that, I thought, would cut my stay in England pretty damn short. It turned out to be a gas leak, except that it wasn't. It was really, a badly plugged up toilet. But they had to break down one of the flat doors to find that out.

Adventuring

I don't know if you could convince me to live farther north than London. It's been gray, cold, and miserable since I've first arrived. Any farther north would have to be just as gray and cold, but darker. Don't think I could do the darker.

But this weekend was a busy one. Went shopping for bedsheets, which meant, since I don't know London that well, going to Harrods. Now, normally, Harrods is too expensive for the likes of you and me, but right now, they're having a sale. Big big sales (which I hope to be able to take advantage of before it ends. someone please get me a job!). And the store was a mess of people, even in places like linens, it was an flurry of torsos and arms. The lower parts were worse, being practically impossible to move, but if you stood still you were bound to be run over by some middle aged woman attempting to get at the last of the (40% off) LV handbags.

At least the sheets were on sale (and a very, very pretty blue).

Later that evening, I met up with my friend from school, Emma. We went out in search of fish and chips and decent drinks, and wandered about Camden Town to find a decent pub/club. Instead we found this place, which was inhabited by plain girls and boring boys, but very nifty drinks. Still, flaming cocktails are not what makes a good evening, and after being hit on by a pair of Lithuanians we decided to leave. Only, Emma realised that she forgot her knitting in the bathroom. We go back and one of the bouncers offers me his coat (because it's cold -- it wasn't) with his phone number in it.

Sunday: Rose is finally in town. We hang out, and go to back to South Ealing where her flat is to make dinner and chat because I haven't seen her since May. I can't get back to London because the train I was suppose to catch wasn't going to come because of industrial action (dear tube workers, either have a full out strike, or stop this nonsense. it's a pain in the ass and isn't winning you any supporters). I decide to take a bus. I've never taking a bus here before, and I don't know which direction I'm suppose to go in, only that I need to get back to London. At a transfer point, I wait and watch as two N9 buses pass by, and then I wait for a half hour until another comes (and I'm practically jumping up and down to flag it down so that it stops). However, I did get to sit on the top part of the double decker, and met some nice boys who were also American, and doing the BUNAC thing, and I got invited to go with them to Amsterdam sometime next month. We'll see if that actually happens, kind of doubt it though.

Our hero finds a place to stay

Transportation in this city is deceptive. Everything runs on time, or close enough to it (no more waiting for the T, only to have it late and crammed to the gills so much that it is impossible to get on), but it just takes longer for me to get anywhere. Today, I had to go from Bayswater back to Hackney and back again with all my stuff. I had anticipated it to take an hour and a half, a half-hour to get there, a half-hour to pack up all my stuff, find a taxi, and then twenty or so minutes to get come back to my new home.

Nope. Perhaps it was because I was walking in my awesome, yet impossible knee high boots, which renders me slower than a snail? I think so. I got back here a little after four thirty.

Dammit. In the past summer, I've managed to forget how to walk in heels. I, the girl who has traversed across Boston (from Government Center to Audoban Circle) in an awesome pair of slingbacks, and regulary walked the three miles from Boston Common cinema (not its real name, but what its really called) back to BU in pretty T-straps, can no longer comfortably walk distances in anything but flats. Aw, I need to practise. And that I shall. Tomorrow, when I explore this awesome awesome area (oooh, shops, oooh, pubs, ooooh, a park!).

So, this new place is different. Then again, I am standard upper middle class, and this is soooooo not. I love it. It's filled with people who are from all over the world, who work at different things. I quite like it.

We speak the same language... right?

I forgot to pack Q-tips.

Here's one of my vices. Normally, I knick them from my host, because q-tips are the sort of item that come in large quantities. The brownie rule -- you may eat as much as you want as long as you do not take the last brownie -- applies. My hosts do not keep q-tips, at least, they do not keep them within sight/unintrusive snooping. Don't look at me like that, we all know that bathroom cabinents are fair game. Anything that should be kept secret should be kept else where. There are no q-tips. I haven't been able to clean my ears since I got here.

Today I decided that enough was enough. I trekked across the wild streets of Piccadilly Circus and braved the herds of tourists to Boots. In the basement, there were many things to discover: razors, shaving cream, body wash, female products, and food. In a corner were things that could be fed into cameras which would eventually mutate into pictures. Another aisle had shampoos and conditioners, which were exactly the same as back home. Still, I could not find my quarry. Finally, a sales clerk noticed my lost looking. Although he barely reached up to my chin, he looked me in the eye and asked what I was looking for.

I was at a lost. Q-tips are not the proper name of the product. Like Post-it notes, they have become generic. However, I had a feeling that Q-tips were a strictly American thing, unlike many shampoo brands. In vain I attempted to not be a stupid American and then gave up.

"I'm looking for," I said, "in the States they're called Q-tips. They're like cotton swaps, or something. Used to clean out ears?"

He seemed to understand what I was getting at. I complicated everything by trying to give precise details until he interupted me.

"It's on a long stick?"

"Yes!"

And then he lead me to the infant care corner where there were lots of packages of "Cotton Buds," but no Q-tips. Still victorious, I paid, and went home. Or to Angel Islington, where I wandered about in search of an internet cafe, but that's a boring story involving a paper that needed to be faxed over to the States immediatly and over forty minutes of walking. The conclusion is I missed the sign the first time (there's a really nice one behind a pub), and circled the area before almost leaving, only to find the sign, and the cafe and be very happy.

The end.

panicpanicpanic

I might have found a place to stay. The awesomeness is corroded by the knowledge of half my savings going away to pay a month's rent and bond (which I will consider a special, savings account which I can muck up and will not earn any interest). The urge to find a job is getting strong, it has to be something that pays well, because I would like to travel. But do I want to sit in an office from nine to five (well, if it means that I can write for a few hours? -- YES)?

One thing which I do not want to do is work where everyone else from BUNAC is working. There's a posistion answering phones for people with questions about the Oyster cards. Since it is for twenty people, and it pays reasonably well, a few BUNACers are looking into it. Perhaps I am being snobbish here, but I have a feeling that those kids will simply end up hanging out with each other. It's easier, they all want to make friends, and they will. It will just be with the kids who are like them.

Going to an interview tomorrow. wish me luck (that's what the comment button's for)