good golly, i am sick. flu for the 3rd time in two years – I’ve never been sick so often as I have since I moved here. And we have tix to go see “cake” play tonight at the astoria – fuck. Part of me is absolutely determined to go, since I missed them the last time they came through London, and there really aren’t very many american groups I care about that put on shows here. The other part of me is alternately sweaty and freezing and thoroughly achy, especially my hips and lower back, and says “who the hell do you think you are kidding? you are too sick to even enjoy it.” I’m taking baby steps around the house like a little old lady with a blanket wrapped around me, and I think I should go to a concert?

Plus, we leave in less than a week, and I was supposed to pack this weekend – I have to pack in advance, then re-pack just before, eliminating the stuff I am never going to actually need or wear whilst we are away. Otherwise I end up lugging along 7 pairs of shoes, and a bunch of assorted other non-essentials.

When I am sick I really miss certain things from the states. Proper medicine – the strongest stuff here has paracetamol [tylenol] and decongestant, everything else has menthol and glycerine, neither of which is an actual drug. I want dextromethorphan and antihistamines – I want robitussin and nyquil and shit to knock me out at night, suppress coughs, clear my sinuses. I miss MTV – something fluffy and cheesy and ridiculously entertaining. I miss my comfort foods – last night i didn’t want to eat anything except marshmallows, and sweet j went all the way to the grocery store and got me some, but they didn’t do the trick as they were too soft and too sweet, and fucking raspberry flavoured. I miss my *things*, all the stuff that’s sitting in in my sister’s basement in boxes. Sometimes I feel like my life here is like camping – making do with what’s available, stripped down to the bare minimum.

Most of the time, it doesn’t bother me, but when I am really sick, I just want comfort, not to feel like I am just getting by. Okay, feverish whinging over…

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I’m so glad I’m not one of *those* brides. You know the kind. They spend a year planning a wedding. Every particular detail has to be perfect. They pore over choice of ringbearer pillow, debate between rice and bubbles, worry that not having a garter will be too “untraditional”. The minutia to obsess over are endless: colour schemes, churches, garters, hairstyles, favours, flowers, menus, readings, reception venues, bands, bridal showers… etc., etc., etc., ad infinitum. Panic over videographer fees, rehearsal dinner seating charts, programmes for the ceremony, who’s allergic to shrimp, matching fabric swatches, how to decide who takes the centrepieces home. True alarm over the dyed shoes being the wrong shade, forgetting the chocolates for the guest baskets, getting the wrong china gravy boat from Aunt Jean.

I want to shake these people, slap them a la Cher in “Moonstruck” and say, “Snap outta it!”. The truth is, none of this stuff matters. The details you pour your energy into, are not the things you will remember. The whole day is a blur, and the stuff that sticks in your memory in never the stuff you think it will be. From my previous wedding, I remember: bursting into tears as my sis came up to me crying after the ceremony; looking at the coloured paper
lanterns we’d hung and thinking they were really pretty; having people keep handing me plates of food, and eating exactly one bite then wandering off to say
hi to someone else; a sunshower just as we were leaving the park and the rainbow and deer afterward; getting home afterward, and being starving (all our
fridge having been cleared out for reception food), it being 11:00 on a Sunday evening, the last thing open a pizza place with one sad little slice of pizza
and one calzone left, and laughing about our “wedding meal” for ages.

The rest is a blur, and then suddenly it’s over. After a couple of weeks, life goes back to normal, and if you’ve spent every day working on wedding plans, suddenly there’s nothing there to fill that void. There’s no more special parties, no more fuss, no big date to look forward to. You can get so wrapped up in all the activity and attention, that when it’s over you feel let down.

A wedding is one day in your life. A marriage is every day of your life. it’s nice to have a pretty celebration, but the perfect wedding won’t give you the perfect life. In the grand scheme of things, the groomsmen boutonnieres, or the handmade paper invitations are pretty trivial.

So although I get frustrated with trying to find the right pair of shoes (argh!), I’m grateful I’ve gone through this before, and can keep things in perspective. All that really matters is committing to each other. More importantly, following that committment through.

(Besides – no one will see my shoes under the long skirt anyway, right?)

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so i’ve been doing this blog for a year now, interestingly (or not) enough. i guess it all started because i got tired of copying and pasting emails as a way to keep in touch with friends and family back in the states. this page has gone through about 4 different incarnations since then, and while i’m not even sure anyone reads it, i seem to find it cathartic/fun/self-obsessive enough to keep it up. at the very least, it keeps me writing, and thinking, and gives me a space to vent about shit no one else wants to listen to anymore, so i’ll keep typing away until it no longer serves it’s purpose…

in that vein of thought, here are some interesting articles about who blogs, who reads, and why:

the blog as social artefact

blog reading explodes, thanks to the election

10 things we learned about blogs like most bloggers are women.

not blog related, but we’ve all done it: yahoo’s office email attachment awards of 2004

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So another year comes to an end, and all in all, I will be sad to see 2004 go. It was a pretty fabulous year for me, which brought love, adventure, and new friends into my life.

It was a year of momentous change for many of my friends and family as well. Tina courageously followed her heart to San Diego, and Kate left her torturous job and found peace and domestic bliss with her love on Cape Cod. Jo left her past behind, and embraced a new husband, new baby, and soon, a new home. Alex and Mike married amongst kilts and moose, got pregnant by sneezing, started new freelance careers, and bought their dream condo in Jamaica Plain. Jess and Jay started cooking their little boy a sibling, and Chris and Tonia have their first hatchling in the oven. Kerryn and Tracey finally managed to be in the same place at the same time, and Kim and Andy flung themselves even further abroad. Nic and Ben quit the high life of London for beautiful New Zealand, while Leeann and Blair simply headed off for parts unknown.

For me, this year I learned the truth behind a few old cliches. There is no growth without change. You can’t move forward without leaving stuff behind. And, to paraphrase the stones, you don’t always get what you think you want, but sometimes, when you’re least expecting it, life gives exactly what you need.

peace and love to all in the new year,
jen

one hundred things we didn’t know this time last year

wierd news from 2004

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so this is the part i hate. blair and leeann leave london for good tomorrow, so went to have a “goodbye” drink.

I’m not used to this. I’m usually the one leaving, before I get left. I am usually the one moving on, before things pass me by. it’s easier that way – easier than feeling stuck, easier than feeling sad, easier than feeling left behind. it’s easier to change by choice, rather than necessity.

nothing on this little shiny marble stays still – and i wouldn’t want it to. I’ll never be one of those people who settle for tv dinners, who get sucked into the complacency of routine, who are happy to stay within the confines of their known world, their little goldfish bubble. still, I don’t deal well with externally imposed change – i know this about myself. and i know this is all part of the experience i signed on for. i’m just not used to being on the other side.

i’m happy for them – they’re going forward, not content to merely stand still. and we have plans, too – it’s not as if we’re putting down roots, pulling down the blinds, and starting our thimble collection. it’s just that when people you care about leave, it’s impossible not to feel a bit selfish about it. you want them to stay – for you.

that’s the transient nature of this ragtag group of expat wandering travellers that I call friends. they’re the people i have the most in common with, but the people i get to spend the least time knowing. it’s an ever-shifting, fluid collective, where people come, and people go. they’re inspiring and adventurous, full of world experience and easy-going by nature. they do the kinds of things i plan to do, try things i want to try. they are seers and doers and dreamers of life. and they accept me as one of their kind.

i just hate it when they leave. and i am still here.

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So I’m a fairly introspective person by nature. But at the close of year, I tend to get even more so. Not in a maudlin way – but I like to look back at where I was a year ago, see what has happened, how I’ve changed, what I’ve learned. A lot of times, it’s only by looking at where you’ve been, that you can see where you’re heading.

This was a big year, for a multitude of reasons. This time last year, 2003, I’d just gotten back to the UK – more out of stubbornness than anything else. I wasn’t enjoying myself so much, and it was more a determination to leave on my own terms, of my own volition, than to stay in London, per se. In fact, I wasn’t crazy about my job, my love life was a disaster, I was in a living situation which wasn’t ideal, I had few friends. The novelty of living abroad had worn thin, and I was seriously contemplating getting on a plane and going home.

Then 2004 rolled around, and everything changed. The time I’d spent *enduring* finally paid off in spades. I got a social life. I travelled. I tried new things. I fell in love. There were a few key people who made it worth sticking around until then, and though I’ve never thanked them out loud, they know who they are, and why they are so important to me. In fact, they made all the difference. And they probably don’t even know how profound an impact they had.

In 2004, I took up rock-climbing. I walked on hot coals. I met my future husband. I did glassblowing. I played guitar. I ran a half-marathon. I saw the red sox win a world series. I travelled and planned and dreamt and drank and danced and loved and lost. I started the year snogging a stranger, and ended the year shopping for a wedding dress. In January I went to Spain and kneeled in a drunk’s pee. In February I went to a Valentine’s party and came home with a date. In March I called in sick to work for 3 days to stay at home in bed with a boy, then took off to italy. In April, I asked him to marry me on a whim. In May I moved in with him. In June, we went camping in Scotland. In July, we hung out in pubs drinking with friends. In august, we had visions of family. In September, we ran. In October we were sleepless Sox maniacs. In November we were demoralised democrats. And in december, we waited to wed.

365 days of my year, 180 degrees of my life.

This is not a test.

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sorry for the lack of blogs lately. been busy busy busy, trying to sort out wedding stuff (19th Feb! only 9 weeks!) christmas shopping, etc.

but the other thing is, it’s my birthday on the 25th. sucky, yes. every year, people are away/poor/busy and my birthday gets brushed aside, with soon-forgotten promises to get together in the new year and a myriad of lacklustre apologies. what can I do? i can’t change when I was born, yet it’s impossible not to feel a bit hurt when no celebration comes together. well-intentioned efforts fall apart and i am left trying to pretend it doesn’t matter.

the truth is, it does. it shouldn’t, but it does. perhaps if i had ever had parties, i would be able to take it all in stride. and i don’t want people’s pity. i just somehow wish it could be different than it is. but if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. sometimes life is not very fair, and i just have to suck it up and get over it. but it takes a bit of the shine off xmas, no matter how i try to convince myself otherwise.

big party this weekend for blair and leeann, who are leaving dreary london for the permanent sun of oz. as the epicentre of the aussie/saffa expat community and social scene, there will be a lot of people wanting to say their farewells, so saturday night should be a big one.

that’s the update for now. as the year comes to a close, i’m sure i’ll have a lot more to reflect upon, so blogs should be more frequent. watch this space (or better yet, sign up for email when this blog updates below…)

toodles! xoxo

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haven’t been really able to get into the “christmas spirit” yet, but hoping to find joy and merriment (at the bottom of a mulled wineglass) this weekend! drinks friday night should get it off to a good start, and then perhaps some window shopping (shopping *through* windows, not shopping *for* windows) this weekend. J and I and not buying each other presents this holiday (though that doesn’t let anyone off the hook for my birthday!), as we’re going skiing in toulouse in the new year, but there may be a few stocking stuffer surprises (why does that sound really dirty?)

in any case, we’re saving for the wedding (19th february, south africa!) and the world tour (end of 2005) still, so i’ll just have to be a little more creative in gift-giving this year (though not nearly as creative as the year i spent 3 months making homemade liqueurs) but for anyone who may be inclined to get me something (or on the off chance santa reads my blog) i have compiled a small list of gifts i would like, arranged in no particular order (and definitely not alphabetical)

marc jacobs newest perfume
my two front teeth
a kitty
tix to see “cake”
tix to hawaii
a new digital camera
world peace
candy corn
lasik eye surgery
a rolling pin
the ability to fly
rock-climbing harness
a new u.s. president
pretty flowers
my sister
a giant wad of £50 notes

i don’t ask for much!

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in the past few days since the red sox won the world series, john kerry has mentioned their unlikely comeback victory in several of his speeches. the cynical among us would call that blatant opportunism from a senator who just happens to have the fortune of being from the same state as the winning team. and perhaps it is. but john kerry, and all of us, could learn a lesson from the hometown heroes.

this was a team on the brink of disaster. moments away from being swept out of the playoffs by the new york yankees, there was little to be optimistic about. with the weight of a heavy history hanging over their heads, the outcome seemed a foregone conclusion. many fans, sensing the inevitable doom, wrote off another wasted season. no sane person would’ve bet money on a sox win.

there’s just one thing: the sox never got the memo. no one informed them they were supposed to lay down and die. and lo and behold, they dug deep and won an exhausting game four. they tapped into unknown reserves and somehow did it again in game 5. they put on a brave face, sutured up the ankles, and gutted out an astounding game 6. and suddenly, unexpectedly, anything was possible. suddenly, the door was wide open. and they walked right through.

they knew it all along. when the fenway faithful dimmed, when the odds were a bazillion-to-one, they continued to do what they do best – play their hearts out. like the little steam engine that could, they continue to chug along. there is honor in winning. but there is more honor in trying your best when everything is stacked against you and the whole world expects you to fail. you can do the impossible, no matter who says you can’t. your parents taught you that same lesson – just try your best and believe in yourself, and you can be whatever you want. they were not wrong.

never give up, because anything is possible for those who believe. it’s cliched, but true. the underdog sometimes does win. the call does sometimes go your way. sometimes you do get a second chance. and the fairytale ending *can* happen. sometimes it doesn’t…

but sometimes it does.

here’s hoping a little faith, a lot of optimism, and a touch of baseball magic can go a long way. go kerry!

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tonight, I will once again take my 10 pm nap, wake up in time to turn on the television at 1 am with a red bull in hand, try mightily to put away all notion of superstition and jinxes, try to breathe normally, not scream, and urge my beloved red sox on to one more victory with every ounce of my being.

i’m still taking it one game at a time. I haven’t bought a bottle of champagne just yet. i’m trying to stay focussed, and suppress any unbridled optimism from bubbling over.

but every once in a while, a rogue thought will burst through to the front of my brain. it’s the same thought every time, and i try to dismiss it as quickly as it surfaces.

“what if…” are some dangerous words.

don’t get me wrong. i *know* we can win this thing. i think this just might be the year.

but the “what ifs” are just too overwhelming to contemplate. just thinking about the possibility, or imagining the moment, can bring me to the verge of tears. the immense joy of victory finally attained, combined with the flood of sweet relief at freedom from “the curse”… it’s too much. right now, the idea of it all is just too much.

i’ll try (ineffectually) to put it all into words, when the time finally comes.

for now, it’s just game 3.

for now, it’s just too much.

red sox reading pleasure: why this is so important to so many – generations of fans hold their collective breath

quantum physics and the red sox fan

red sox nation is red sox planet

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this is where the full on insanity starts.

it takes a special kind of crazy to be a sox fan abroad, in london. it means drastically altered sleep patterns, so you can stay up til 5 am every evening. it means hour upon hour of internet research, to try to stay on top of what’s happening, and attempt to be a part of the larger community. it means transatlantic phone calls to rehash the events with family and friends. it means adjusting to the fact that no one here will *truly* understand your passion for this game, this team. you try to draw analogies… but can they really comprehend the idea of being an arsenal or man united fan in the face of 86 years of disappointment?

it’s nothing they can relate to, and there’s nothing worse than being completely overjoyed… and being alone in your elation. it’s even worse knowing you are missing out on the festivities and fervor back home.

but when they win it all, it will all be worth it. this is what you keep telling yourself. you tell yourself you can sleep in november, knowing that if you miss out, you’ll be kicking yourself for another 86 years.

game 2 tonight, and I’m off to take a nap.

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Redemption. Retribution. Karma. Payback. Call it what you will.

I call it an affirmation of faith, a just vindication that the years of unwavering support through heartache after heartache, were not in vain. Victory would be ours, in the end.

The nerd finally got the homecoming queen. Charlie Brown finally kicked the football. The frog was kissed into a prince.

The only thing which could possibly be more emotionally satisfying would be if it were possible to beat the Yankees in the world Series. To come back after what happened last year in Game 7 (I don’t know of a single sox fan who didn’t shed a tear that night), to come back after what happened in the first three games of this playoff run (i don’t know of a single fan who didn’t cringe in abject humiliation at the 19-8 score) … this is definitely the single most satisfying moment in my 30+ years of Sox fandom, and I wager most other fans would say the exact same thing.

I call it the most important Boston Sporting Moment of my lifetime (Of course, when we win the Series, I might retract that statement…)

Call it what you will. I call it the beginning.

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nicola leaves today to go home to new zealand for good. she had her blowout leaving do last night.

i met nick when i first started working at the council. we started taking cigarette breaks together, hanging out at the common during our lunch hours. she wanted to travel, i wanted to travel, and even though we didn’t know each other well, at some point we decided to take a trip to brussels and amsterdam. the trip was fabulously fun – i discovered nick is happy as a clam, as long as she’s kept well-fed and empty bladdered; nick discovered i get paranoid on too many mushrooms. from that auspicious start, the bonds of friendship were formed.

over the course of the next year, we would help each other over broken hearts, help each other adjust to life in london, party and dance and have adventures (both domestic and international), find (or both be forcibly introduced to) new loves, cope with dramas big and small – knowing all the while that we were eventually destined to go our separate ways.

although i don’t say goodbyes, i am grateful for the time we had here, and know that we will we will have fun together again, some other place, some other time. Perhaps we will meet up with our husbands and our babies, and compare recipes and parenting tips. Or maybe we will be puzzling over maps, pretending we are *not* lost, in some country we don’t know anything about, laughing because we can’t speak the language.

til then…

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i quit smoking.

yes, you read right. I quit. not, “I’m trying to quit,” or, “i’m going to try to quit.” Past tense. fait accompli. To quote yoda, “do. or do not. there is no try.”

which makes it all sound so easy. In reality, if it were that easy, this would not be the third time I have quit. I have, in fact, done ths twice before.

The first time I quit, I had only been smoking for 3 years. I consciously (some would say self-destructively) took smoking up at the ripe old age of 19, when I was well and truly old enough to know better, and it’s probably no coincidence that I also had blue hair and a pierced nipple. What can I say, I was a late bloomer when it came to rebellion, and i took up smoking with a vengeance, no half-ways about it. I made up in enthusiasm what I lacked in gravel-throated experience.

And it was great. It got me through the awkward years of finding my way in new york, where i wasn’t sure what i was doing, or who i was doing it with. when I was old enough to be considered an adult, but too young to be taken seriously. it lent me gravitas in a city where being noticed takes supreme feats of effort, and where acting bored and jaded is a mark of sophistication. It passed the time waiting in bars for friends, attending bad art exhibitions, coffee breaks at minimum wage jobs.

I cultivated a sense of ennui, to hide my naked fear at being thought inexperienced/shy/dorky. Cigarettes were a critical prop in the facade.

Eventually, however, I got tired of *having* to smoke. I got tired of the chronic bronchitis which guaranteed me being given wide berth on the subway and necessitated sleeping in an upright position. I got tired of spending my meagre salary on pack after pack of cigarettes, or worse, “bumming” off friends. I got tired of standing in the rain/snow/sleet, pretending I was enjoying myself, rather than merely staving off a nic fit.

So I quit, cold turkey. My then-husband still smoked in front of me, trying to taunt and sabotage. Within 2 weeks I became unemployed and had to write my exams to finish my ba degree. A week later, my husband lost his job. I literally had smoking dreams, where I woke up pulling mightily on an invisible cigarette, full of guilt, the dream cigarette was so real and enjoyable. One memorable and distressed evening, I walked around for several hours with a cigarette in one hand, and a lighter in the other. And I still stayed quit.

I stayed quit for 7 years.

And then one day, I thought I could have *just one*. Which is how it starts for all of us addicts – smokers, alcoholics, shoplifters, heroin users. Whatever your fix, it always starts with one.

I wanted to be a non-addict. I wanted to be that person who has the occassional cig while they’re drinking wine, or has a cigar on holidays and special events. I wanted to have control. I refused to admit that I had a problem. For whatever reason, I can have exactly 2 sips of wine, and put the glass down – but I can’t have two puffs of a smoke and throw it away. I can go a whole 12 hour plane ride without craving heroin, but my hands tremble lighting a cigarette after they let me through immigration.

It’s a crutch – something to do when you’re bored, or hungry, or tired, or awkward, or upset. It’s not that I don’t need the crutch, because in a way, we all do. We all use a little something to prop ourselves up now and again – chocolate, a drink, shopping, chewed fingernails. We all have them, they’re just not all as easily identifiable as a lit cigarette.

And I guess I’ll just have learn to use a glass of wine instead.

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so here are some pics from the fucking fantastic pixies concert:

and here is jonno’s bungee jump:

now your curiosity as been sated

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weekends like this one, just plumb tucker me out. i’d be a miserable old bitch to complain about having too much fun stuff to do, but the weekend just flies by, and before you know it, you’re dragging your sorry tired ass back to work even more exhausted than when you started.

friday night we went out for drinks and a late dinner, which in itself was not tiring, however we didn’t get to bed til very late, and had to get up quite early saturday morning to hike all the way out to fairlop for…

j’s birthday bungee jump! when asked how the experience was, his immediate reply was : “a lot higher than it looks!” disappointed that his jump was less like a graceful swan dive, and more like a clumsy trip (apparently it’s hard to jump gracefully when your feet are hobbled together), he still said it was quite a rush free-falling with the ground coming at you fast and furious, and is very keen to go again when we’re in s.a. later this year. i hear tell they have some mighty big bridges down there. after the adrenaline wore off and a celebratory pint drunk, we went home for lunch to get ready for… the pixies!!!

(which I’ll get to in just a moment – bear with me)

after the concert, came home to watch half of game six of the stanley cup finals, hoping for a thrilling Calgary Flames victory. Unfortunately, it was not to be, and fans will be holding their breath as it all comes down to Game 7 on Monday night.

Woke up early on Sunday for an invigorating (if somewhat shortened) session of rock-climbing. It’s finally starting to get easier, which is tremendously satisfying. Headed home to shop (why do we always do this on a Sunday when the rest of the world is at the store?!?!) and do a massive house-clean, and then baked some homemade bread. Yum! By 10:30 I was wiped, and glad to have an early night of it.

So now,

*the pixies*!!! sadly, andy and kim weren’t able to come. but at the risk of rubbing salt in the wound, it was fucking kick-ass. a pixie fan’s wet dream. Ageing and thickening, less charismatic than a sack of potatoes – they have no stage presence, no ingratiating patter, and a large amount of thinly veiled disdain for the fans who adore them (claiming the only reason for their “sold out” reunion was an influx of cash) – yet they rocked the place to its core. the venerable brixton academy was a house of worship shaken to its foundation. i’ve never heard so much noise at a concert – the airplane runways at heathrow would seem a library in comparison. it started building in anticipation from a full half hour before they came on stage (in spite of the sleep inducing lullabies of badly drawn boy who did an opening set), and there was no letup from the time they stepped in front of the microphones to a deafening roar of complete adulation, till the house lights came on and concert-goers had to be picked up and thrown out. every single one of those 5,000 people was so fervent in their appreciation – die hard fans, who shouted along with every screaming verse and cheered every derisive sneer. most of them had been waiting for over 13 years for a show like this – and it was worth every second of the wait.

The Pixies set it on fire. They ripped through the set like a buzzsaw through paper, with no pause for breath, no letup from one fantastically twisted and hyperactive song right after the other, laying authoritative claim, commanding their rightful place in rock history. Creepy wailing anthems bleeding directly into full-out brain-assault discordant thrashing, decisively reminding the pundits that (in spite of their breakup timing) *they were* the seminal band of the nineties, riling up the likes of nirvana and daring them to turn the establishment on its ear, put a steel-toed boot firmly on the back of its neck.

They tore up the place, chewed it, spat it out – and the crowd cried out for more.

The set-list in full on Saturday ran:
? ‘Head On’
? ‘U-Mass’
? ‘Monkey Gone TO Heaven’
? ‘Cactus’
? ‘Caribou’
? ‘No.13 Baby’
? ‘Broken Face’
? ‘Crackity Jones’
? ‘Isla De Encanta’
? ‘Something Against You’
? ‘Hey’
? ‘Mr Grieves’
? ‘I Bleed’
? ‘Velouria’
? ‘Dead’
? ‘Gouge Away’
? ‘Tame’
? ‘Gigantic’
? ‘River Euphrates’
? ‘Debaser’
? ‘Wave Of Mutilation’
Encore
? ‘In Heaven/Wave Of Mutilation (UK surf)’
? ‘Where Is My Mind?’
? ‘Blown Away’
? ‘Here Comes Your Man’
? ‘The Holiday Song’
? ‘Vamos’

Pictures still to come, so check back.

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Congratulations to all my gay friends back home! For that matter, congratulations to everyone. Gay marriage isn’t just a victory for gays – it’s a victory for civil rights groups everywhere. As the article puts it, somewhere there is a child watching right now… and this will change his or her life.

The analysis and endless legal battles will certainly continue tomorrow. But today, it’s all about the joy and beauty of people falling in love, getting married, and living happily ever after.

For today, the fairytale belongs to everyone.

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it’s been exactly a year that I’ve been in london now! i remember dragging my stuff to my new flat like it was yesterday.

it’s been dramatically crazy and surprisingly eventful and stuporously boring and achingly lonely and excitingly adventurous and wrenchingly heartbreaking and tooth-and-nail hard and unbelievably fun.

if i had known exactly what i was in for, would i have still gotten on (or off) the plane? of course. i wouldn’t trade a second of it.

this is what i wanted, all of it, the whole experience. if i wanted predictable and steady and innocuously pleasant, i could’ve stayed my home and saved myself the rollercoaster ride.

but i’ve always enjoyed rollercoasters. they remind you that you are alive.

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an eventful weekend.

firstly, friday i did my firewalk for phoenix house (and yes, you can still send your donations!) i’d be lying if i said i wasn’t a little nervous. especially when the trainer tells you that human flesh melts at 300F, engine blocks are cast at 1100F, and the coals you will be walking on are 1263F. not exactly a confidence booster. and by the time we started to smell the smoke of the fire being prepared, i was outright scared.

but in the end, it is very simple: you either do it, or you don’t. if you don’t believe it 100%, there is no way you can force your body to move that first step onto red hot embers. survival instinct won’t allow it. and at that point i became very calm and just moved forward, and before i knew it, the whole thing was over.

it was hot. it was damn hot. anyone that says you don’t feel it is lying their ass off. even standing there getting ready to go, you feel you face getting tight from the heat. you suddenly realise that humans are *just not meant to deliberately put themselves in the path of fire*.

but, like skydiving, once you begin, there is no backing out until it’s over. and it’s over in the blink of an eye. over so quickly, in fact, that jonno didn’t manage to get a picture of me. ah well. there is supposedly a cd of photos which will be mailed, and hopefully there’s one of me. but even if not, i don’t really need photographic evidence. *i* know i did it. and that’s all that matters.

tick one more thing off the list.

saturday morning, angela, clare, sarah, shiela, natasha, su, and myself headed for amsterdam. it took and hour and a half to drive to gatwick from peckham, due to traffic, but i got there in the nick of time. we had a pre-flight birthday champagne toast, and an hour later landed at schipol airport. the hostel we stayed in was very reminiscent of a 1970s slumber party, but we dumped our bags and headed out for a drink.

amongst 7 girls, you would think the odds are that *one* of them would be able to read a map, however that appeared not to be the case, but after much circuitous meandering we ended up at a lovely little pub for a few cocktails and some “new” cheese (or was it “old” cheese??) in any case, we made a group decision to have dinner at a *Very* friendly italian restaurant, with plates the size of your head, and thanks to some hard-ball tactics by shiela, a free carafe of wine. after stuffing ourselves silly (what would prove to be a recurrent theme for the weekend), we managed to locate this great hip/mellow/ambient coffeehouse, where we proceeded to do as the locals, and get completed wasted. we spent the evening giggling away, until closing, at which point we decided to walk back to the hostel. clare assumed the role of “lead navigator and mistress of the map”, a decidely unwise decision, as an hour and a half later, we had managed to walk a route not unlike that of two big circles, connected by a wildly erratic squiggle. nevertheless we made it home, and were snug as bugs in rugs by 4:30.

the next morning started off a bit “panic stations”, as we’d forgotten all about the daylight savings time change in the middle of the night, but managed to right ourselves and head out in search of food by noon, only to suffer deja vu all over again, when we could not seem to head in the direction of the city centre staring out at us tauntingly from the map. hungry and cranky, we ended up in cabs, landing for brunch at a touristy yet nice restaurant, where we again, stuffed ourselves silly.

satiated, we decided to divide and conquer the city, a group of us heading shopping and then to the canal cruise, and a contingent headed for anne franks house. we stopped at a cigar shop and a sweet shop (where i bought my bodyweight in licquorice) and then took a very pleasant, if somewhat sedate, cruise along the canals. after wandering the red-light district, we refreshed ourselves at the “smallest pub in the netherlands”, and had entertaining conversation with the wacky bartender.

regrouping, we then headed out for more drinks, even more drinks, and still more drinks, followed by a very late dinner, before cabbing it back to the hostel for the evening.

6am wakeup call to get to the airport, and by 9:15 local time, back in gloomy gus london. where i proceeded directly to work. do not pass go. do not collect $200. bah.

marvel at the photographic beauty here

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ahhh. it’s just one of those days.

one of those air-of-spring days where you wake up in a good mood, the coffee tastes a little sweeter, the sunlight has that soft diffused quality to it, there’s the faintest tinge of green everywhere, there’s a gentle veil of hazy optimism over everything, and all seems right with the world.

one of those days that make it worth getting out of bed in the morning.

had glassblowing last night, where i sweated and slaved over making 3 tiny multicolored beads, and (despite the fact that the black one cracked, as the instructor warned me it might) i am inordinately proud of them. working with the glass seemed to come a little easier last night, as you start to get a feel for how it behaves and flows and melds, and it feels a little less like wrestling with an unruly wad of gum and more like teasing and toying with a something surprisingly playful and alive. you begin to get a sense of how to draw it out, then rein it back in again, how to work with the molten gravity rather than against it. it becomes something with personality and character, as yet malleable and unformed, but just waiting for you to help it take the shape it wants to become.

as a child, i had a friend whose father was a chemist, and for my birthday one year, she gave me a vial of mercury. i played with it for endless hours, (incredibly dangerous now, i realise), but i was transfixed by its unique properties, mercilessly splitting the heavy quicksilver mass into millions of infintesimally tiny shining globes running to escape my grasp, then easily corralling them, capturing them back into the center where in the blink of an eye they lost their separateness, their individuality sucked back into the inexorable meld of the whole bright reflective orb. i was entranced.

working with glass reminds me of that.

i’m staying with a friend for the next few days, so blog updates may be a bit sparse. but i’m sure i’ll have lots to tell you about later.

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the random news:

wouldn’t it be great if the guv’ner of texas turned out to be gay?
“sex and the city” ends in the us tonight. nobody tell me!!! the final episode doesn’t air here til march.
the man with 18,000 lives, ozzy nearly died twice in last year’s accident.
an amish reality show?!?!?
wonder where new catchphrases come from?
love him or hate him, you can count on nader to run in an election year.
is that a pang of sympathy i’m feeling? spot dies.

pondering earlier today…things i have adapted to quite easily:

turning everything into a question (e.g. “can you not?” “did you not?”, also saying “i did do”)
spelling (i.e. eradicating “z”, throwing around extra “u”s with abandon, putting “r” before “e”, comes from writing all those government reports!)
no snowboots and mild winters (coulda saved a lot of space on sweaters in my suitcase!)
four weeks holiday (well, duh!)
the art of drinking on schoolnights (and it *is* an artform)

things i still cannot seem to master:

running a bath (always too hot, too cold, spilling over and leaking through the bathroom floor…)
cooking (okay, i admit, this is primarily an excuse for my laziness)
the difference between lagers and bitters (this is practically sacrilege, but i am now at the point where i am too embarrassed to ask!)
metric in general (i think i am just deficient in that gene… okay, another excuse for laziness!)

things i will never understand:

the advanced technology exists to *mix* the hot and cold water *from the same tap*, why not use it?
the switches on plugpoints and the “standby” mechanism on televisions – what purpose do they serve?
the topless women in the daily newspaper (not a *good* paper, mind you, but still…)
bagging your own groceries (trying to juggle money, bags, change while you hold up the queue and they sit there and watch you [quite possibly laughing behind your back as you leave] seems so very inefficient)
indiscriminate use of butter on all sandwiches
how to keep the mass quantities of heavy change from ripping the lining of your pockets (*sigh*, time to drag out the needle and thread again…)
why is there nothing open after 11:00?!?!

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