Friday, January 11, 2008
Friday, January 4, 2008
Rickmansworth, Hertfordshire... Near London
Preface; A Bringing Up to Date
I have decided that I'm going to call this, my inaugural trip into Europe, The Jaunt, as it was merely a little trip compared to its upcoming big brother, which will be named The Wander. From here on I will reference my explorations of Europe as The Jaunt & Wander. The following entries will pertain to The Jaunt and they will be extensive. So, for the sake of my mental and physical health, I will create three separate entries; one for each place I traveled on my previous trip. If this proves to be a good system, I may continue it for The Wander.
The tale begins with London...
It was on December 22nd just before noon that Grace, my seductively beautiful traveling partner, and I began our journey to London. After grabbing a quick cup of coffee we shuffled sleepily down to our local Boarders bookstore; our Coach was to meet us there.
It's hard to miss these buses. Besides being enormous, they look like gigantic bugs. After stowing our bags, we were off. There was nothing very notable about the coach journey, I believe I slept most of the time. It took a couple of hours, maybe.
Often I was very pleased to have Grace with me; She proved her metal many times over. The first time I saw her in action was upon our arrival to London. I had no idea how to use the metro (the British/European word for subway), albeit, it's a horribly simple system and I probably could have figured it out provided some time and a metro map. However, we were on a schedule and Grace got us there with time. Rickmansworth was our destination of choice, it's in section 7 on the Metropolitan Line if you're looking. That is where Natalie was raised, and that was where her family was kind enough to let us stay for Christmas.
I'll get to that later, but our first night in London deserves it's own special attention.
Getting off the Metro at Rickmansworth, I was full of a torrent of different thoughts and emotions vying for precedence in my mind; I hope it's not too imposing to be with this family for Christmas. I hope I can make a good impression. I want them to like me. How am I going to get my guitar home? Are the going to be like Natalie? God I hope I don't screw anything up! Can Natalie really take 4 whole days of Grace and I?
Worries are only worries, and many of mine were put to rest when Natalie met us at the station with hugs and a smile. She brought along a friend too! Vicky met us there too in her smart mini cooper! She's another Queen's Road dweller and a wonderfully vivacious woman. So, after hellos and hugs, the four of us, and the luggage, crammed into her tiny car. I would very much enjoy having a mini cooper, but the sad truth is that it is far too small for me. Our destination was Natalie's aunt's house, where we'd be sleeping. It was very close to the station, and even closer to Natalie's house.
I don't remember if Penny was there when we dropped off our things, but she's Natalie's Aunt. Err, I believe she's Natalie's aunt, perhaps it's just one of those relationships where you call her aunt but she's not actually. No matter, Penny is a wonderful lady! She's very fun and, rather suiting to her demeanor, she is a teacher at a nearby school. Her house was incredibly cozy; I wish I could have lived there myself. It was a terrace home, a rather skinny building with two stories. It had 4 bedrooms upstairs, and a large open living room downstairs. I wish now I had taken pictures of it, for a picture is worth a thousand words after all!
We dropped our things at Penny's and then went back to the station. After all that traveling to get to Rickmansworth, we got back on the metro and flew into London. This may be a time where some would complain, but hell! I was in London!! Not to mention surrounding by phenomenal company.
I was sort of out of it during our journey back into London, perhaps the slightest bit of travel weariness had crept over my consciousness. Before I knew it, I emerged from a the metro hole into a conglomeration of sights and sounds known more formally as the famous Piccadilly Circus. I was immediately invigorated; as if, by being enveloped in such a sheer mass of culture, I was instilled with life's energy. That pump up was exactly what I needed. After meeting up with some more Queen's Roaders, we were off to Benihanas. I had no idea what was in store for me there.
I've heard of Benihanas; I've been told of its wonders and its expense. There is one in Seattle but I'd never gone because I just didn't have the money. What was different about London? Well, I was in London for the first time with friends from Bristol for the beginning of an epic night! Plus, Vicky told us that Benihanas had a group rate. Superb.
That Benihanas will go down in my memory forever, for it was the place I enjoyed my very first Vodka Martini shaken not stirred. I could barely utter the words when the bartend asked for my order; I was trembling with what can only be described as childish glee. Was it worth the price? No. Will I make them when I return to Seattle? Without a doubt. We took our glasses to a nice table by the window and sat down to order. The Gods of Finance had it in store for me that night, and they dealt us all quite a surprise.
I wish this is where I could say some rich guy paid for our dinner, or that a movie star sat down at the table next to us. But instead, I have to say that our waiter declared that Benihanas only does the group rates before and after the winter season. In a nutshell, he took part of my soul, part of my youthful optimism, and I don't think I shall ever see it again!
We Queen's Roaders are troopers, we bit the bullet and paid the price. I understand why it's expensive; I don't understand why it's that expensive, I just don't think food should cost that much. However, to defend Benihanas from my own tirade, you're not just paying for food in Benihanas, you're paying for an experience. It is a wonderfully practiced show, much like theatre or the ballet. The Chefs are truly masters of the culinary arts as well as the most professional showman. They wield tools of the sharpest caliber and tempt the fates by dousing their workplace with fire. They fling sizzling comestibles into their tall white hats and create fiery onion volcanoes. The best part about the show is that at the end you get to eat it! So in the end, was I disappointed to have spent as much as I did? I must admit only a little. Unfortunately for our chef, I don't think a single one of us tipped him properly due to our student status and shallow pockets.
After Benihanas was when Queens Road split again and it was back to the fantastic four; Natalie, Grace, Vicky, and I. The night was only beginning for us! Very much prior to that night we had ordered tickets (upon my suggestion I may boast) to the Nutcracker! We saw it at a theatre called the Colosseum and it was put on by the English Nation Ballet. It was an interesting production to say the least. As I am used to seeing the very traditional versions of the Nutcracker put on by the Pacific Northwest Ballet, this was quite an interesting change. The costumes, the colors, and the stage were all different! Though most of the visual parts of the ballet were different, the music remained unchanged, the performers told the same story, and it was good! The Sugar Plum Fairy was absolutely breathtaking in this performance. I was transfixed; absolutely set adrift from all my worldly distractions and totally enveloped by her performance. What I learned from this Ballet is that I want to continue to go to Ballets, Operas, Plays, Museums, Concerts, etc! They are all expressions of humanity and I've enjoyed every single one I've ever been to.
However, the best part of that night may have been after the ballet, and after they did their final bows about 17 times!! We went for a wander and oh the places it took us. Conveniently, Trafalgar Square was right next to the theatre, so we went there. On the way the ladies almost got run over by a bus! That was due to Natalie's indifference to the traffic!! I often admire it when she sticks out her palm and forces a multi ton vehicle to stop while she moves with purpose across the street... it just didn't work for this bus. Well, with a minuet screech of fear and a leap, the gals were back on the sidewalk and we were back on track.
Trafalgar was all lit up, Lord Nelson stood on his Column looking down upon London with a loving fatherly gaze. The large metal lions rested at his feet, ready to protect their Lord if any danger arose, and some fountains sprayed and sputtered water into the surrounding pool. It was a very relaxing place but other famous monuments longed for our appreciative gaze.
Our curiosity led us down a very straight and comparatively deserted street. At the end of said street was a very famous Palace known as Buckingham. It was also beautiful; lit up from every angle for maximum effect. There was even a Christmas tree to show off, and it was all worth the walk. It took quite some time to get there, and quite some time to get back into the thick of London, but when we did, we emerged close to Big Ben and the Parliament. Of course I had to take the picture with Big Ben in the background, and yes I got in the red phone booths to make a call. I just had to!
That pretty well finished off our trip. We walked along the river Thames until we got to a Metro station. There we made our way back to Rickmansworth, haggard to say the least. We stayed up for a little longer but when sleep beckoned, I crawled into an incredibly comfy bed and slept more deeply than any night in my entire stay in Bristol. The perfect end to a perfect day. And I hadn't even met the family properly yet!
Day Two started late; late is quite the understatement. We didn't get up until 11, well, when I say we, I mean Grace and I; Natalie was up at half 9. It was foggy in Rickmansworth, foggy like they'd never seen so said Mr. Parker. We went to the local Nero's coffeehouse and near two we hopped back on the Metro and made our way to Tate Modern. We got off at the Embankment stop, right on the Thames then walked across a bridge towards Tate Modern. The fog was so thick we couldn't see the other bank of the Thames. As we leisurely strolled along the river, Tate Modern revealed itself from the fog.
It's quite an imposing building. It's tower rose up and disappeared into the fog. Outside is a giant iron spider thing. The red brick building itself must be 5 stories high, not including the tower, and had a basement as well. Inside Tate it's open and mammoth. We were there mostly for Grace's sake; she wanted to see some modernist and cubist artwork. It was interesting, but not really my thing. I did manage to commandeer a tea spoon from the Tate Cafe, though I wish I had got a mug from there, but I simply couldn't be bothered to pay the money for it.
When we left hours later, the fog hadn't lifted an inch. We trekked forth and arrived at Shakespeare's reconstructed theatre shortly thereafter. Sadly, it wasn't open. We crossed the Thames by the millennium bridge and Natalie thought that St. Pauls should be right in front of us. Looking at a map, the bridge lead directly to St. Paul's cathedral, but looking forward, it was as if the massive church had vanished. Absolutely no trace of it could be seen until we were about 100 metres away from it. Then its white form seemed to materialize out of the white mist.
From St. Paul's we made out way to the nearest metro station and went back to Rickmansworth around 7. Much to my surprise, Natalie's family waited for our return until they had dinner. I don't know why the simple gesture stunned me slightly, I wanted to be as non-imposing as possible, but they didn't seem to mind in the slightest. I suppose that was one of the major things about the entire family; they were all so incredibly accommodating when I was literally asking for little or nothing. I felt showered in generosity and caring with no expectation of reciprocation. I wish that I could have given equally back, created an experience for them that was equal to the heart-filling experience they created for me. I don't think I can ever say Thank you to them enough, though Natalie my grow tired of hearing it, so I'll be sure to ton it down! Haha
I have to say that Natalie's mother is an Amazing cook. The food at every meal was different and equally scrumptious! Not only that, but on Christmas day, she cooked for 20 people and there was still food left over. Surely, she is a Kitchen Goddess.
That night, after dinner, we watched a movie called Hot Fuzz. I'd never seen it but it was really good. Natalie's parents didn't join us, but her Grandmother did. Her Grandmother is a sweet lady and has a very interesting story. I suppose the place to being is with her inability to hear; she's been deaf all her life. It's really no problem for her because she lip reads and mouths words back to communicate. When she was growing up, she went to a school that frowned upon sign-language. So they taught her to lip read and speak as a way to reintegrate into society to lessen any differences that might set her apart. It was the societal view at the time I guess. Well, she is just the sweetest lady, often smiling at me then asking me how I was or what I was doing. Sometimes I'd need one of the family to help me understand, but for the most part, it was surprisingly easy to communicate with her. She has the most gentle eyes and a bright smile. With her family all around her, you can tell that she is proud of them and loves them all very dearly. She's had a great life and it shows every time she smiles.
(talk about Dad, Kathryn, Charlie and Archie)
Not long after the movie was over we went back to Penny's and fell to sleep again. The next day was Christmas Eve! There were many things happening on Christmas Eve and I was very excited to experience them all.
To Be Continued... (I have 5 days to write two essays so this may go on hiatus)
I have decided that I'm going to call this, my inaugural trip into Europe, The Jaunt, as it was merely a little trip compared to its upcoming big brother, which will be named The Wander. From here on I will reference my explorations of Europe as The Jaunt & Wander. The following entries will pertain to The Jaunt and they will be extensive. So, for the sake of my mental and physical health, I will create three separate entries; one for each place I traveled on my previous trip. If this proves to be a good system, I may continue it for The Wander.
The tale begins with London...
It was on December 22nd just before noon that Grace, my seductively beautiful traveling partner, and I began our journey to London. After grabbing a quick cup of coffee we shuffled sleepily down to our local Boarders bookstore; our Coach was to meet us there.
It's hard to miss these buses. Besides being enormous, they look like gigantic bugs. After stowing our bags, we were off. There was nothing very notable about the coach journey, I believe I slept most of the time. It took a couple of hours, maybe.
Often I was very pleased to have Grace with me; She proved her metal many times over. The first time I saw her in action was upon our arrival to London. I had no idea how to use the metro (the British/European word for subway), albeit, it's a horribly simple system and I probably could have figured it out provided some time and a metro map. However, we were on a schedule and Grace got us there with time. Rickmansworth was our destination of choice, it's in section 7 on the Metropolitan Line if you're looking. That is where Natalie was raised, and that was where her family was kind enough to let us stay for Christmas.
I'll get to that later, but our first night in London deserves it's own special attention.
Getting off the Metro at Rickmansworth, I was full of a torrent of different thoughts and emotions vying for precedence in my mind; I hope it's not too imposing to be with this family for Christmas. I hope I can make a good impression. I want them to like me. How am I going to get my guitar home? Are the going to be like Natalie? God I hope I don't screw anything up! Can Natalie really take 4 whole days of Grace and I?
Worries are only worries, and many of mine were put to rest when Natalie met us at the station with hugs and a smile. She brought along a friend too! Vicky met us there too in her smart mini cooper! She's another Queen's Road dweller and a wonderfully vivacious woman. So, after hellos and hugs, the four of us, and the luggage, crammed into her tiny car. I would very much enjoy having a mini cooper, but the sad truth is that it is far too small for me. Our destination was Natalie's aunt's house, where we'd be sleeping. It was very close to the station, and even closer to Natalie's house.
I don't remember if Penny was there when we dropped off our things, but she's Natalie's Aunt. Err, I believe she's Natalie's aunt, perhaps it's just one of those relationships where you call her aunt but she's not actually. No matter, Penny is a wonderful lady! She's very fun and, rather suiting to her demeanor, she is a teacher at a nearby school. Her house was incredibly cozy; I wish I could have lived there myself. It was a terrace home, a rather skinny building with two stories. It had 4 bedrooms upstairs, and a large open living room downstairs. I wish now I had taken pictures of it, for a picture is worth a thousand words after all!
We dropped our things at Penny's and then went back to the station. After all that traveling to get to Rickmansworth, we got back on the metro and flew into London. This may be a time where some would complain, but hell! I was in London!! Not to mention surrounding by phenomenal company.
I was sort of out of it during our journey back into London, perhaps the slightest bit of travel weariness had crept over my consciousness. Before I knew it, I emerged from a the metro hole into a conglomeration of sights and sounds known more formally as the famous Piccadilly Circus. I was immediately invigorated; as if, by being enveloped in such a sheer mass of culture, I was instilled with life's energy. That pump up was exactly what I needed. After meeting up with some more Queen's Roaders, we were off to Benihanas. I had no idea what was in store for me there.
I've heard of Benihanas; I've been told of its wonders and its expense. There is one in Seattle but I'd never gone because I just didn't have the money. What was different about London? Well, I was in London for the first time with friends from Bristol for the beginning of an epic night! Plus, Vicky told us that Benihanas had a group rate. Superb.
That Benihanas will go down in my memory forever, for it was the place I enjoyed my very first Vodka Martini shaken not stirred. I could barely utter the words when the bartend asked for my order; I was trembling with what can only be described as childish glee. Was it worth the price? No. Will I make them when I return to Seattle? Without a doubt. We took our glasses to a nice table by the window and sat down to order. The Gods of Finance had it in store for me that night, and they dealt us all quite a surprise.
I wish this is where I could say some rich guy paid for our dinner, or that a movie star sat down at the table next to us. But instead, I have to say that our waiter declared that Benihanas only does the group rates before and after the winter season. In a nutshell, he took part of my soul, part of my youthful optimism, and I don't think I shall ever see it again!
We Queen's Roaders are troopers, we bit the bullet and paid the price. I understand why it's expensive; I don't understand why it's that expensive, I just don't think food should cost that much. However, to defend Benihanas from my own tirade, you're not just paying for food in Benihanas, you're paying for an experience. It is a wonderfully practiced show, much like theatre or the ballet. The Chefs are truly masters of the culinary arts as well as the most professional showman. They wield tools of the sharpest caliber and tempt the fates by dousing their workplace with fire. They fling sizzling comestibles into their tall white hats and create fiery onion volcanoes. The best part about the show is that at the end you get to eat it! So in the end, was I disappointed to have spent as much as I did? I must admit only a little. Unfortunately for our chef, I don't think a single one of us tipped him properly due to our student status and shallow pockets.
After Benihanas was when Queens Road split again and it was back to the fantastic four; Natalie, Grace, Vicky, and I. The night was only beginning for us! Very much prior to that night we had ordered tickets (upon my suggestion I may boast) to the Nutcracker! We saw it at a theatre called the Colosseum and it was put on by the English Nation Ballet. It was an interesting production to say the least. As I am used to seeing the very traditional versions of the Nutcracker put on by the Pacific Northwest Ballet, this was quite an interesting change. The costumes, the colors, and the stage were all different! Though most of the visual parts of the ballet were different, the music remained unchanged, the performers told the same story, and it was good! The Sugar Plum Fairy was absolutely breathtaking in this performance. I was transfixed; absolutely set adrift from all my worldly distractions and totally enveloped by her performance. What I learned from this Ballet is that I want to continue to go to Ballets, Operas, Plays, Museums, Concerts, etc! They are all expressions of humanity and I've enjoyed every single one I've ever been to.
However, the best part of that night may have been after the ballet, and after they did their final bows about 17 times!! We went for a wander and oh the places it took us. Conveniently, Trafalgar Square was right next to the theatre, so we went there. On the way the ladies almost got run over by a bus! That was due to Natalie's indifference to the traffic!! I often admire it when she sticks out her palm and forces a multi ton vehicle to stop while she moves with purpose across the street... it just didn't work for this bus. Well, with a minuet screech of fear and a leap, the gals were back on the sidewalk and we were back on track.
Trafalgar was all lit up, Lord Nelson stood on his Column looking down upon London with a loving fatherly gaze. The large metal lions rested at his feet, ready to protect their Lord if any danger arose, and some fountains sprayed and sputtered water into the surrounding pool. It was a very relaxing place but other famous monuments longed for our appreciative gaze.
Our curiosity led us down a very straight and comparatively deserted street. At the end of said street was a very famous Palace known as Buckingham. It was also beautiful; lit up from every angle for maximum effect. There was even a Christmas tree to show off, and it was all worth the walk. It took quite some time to get there, and quite some time to get back into the thick of London, but when we did, we emerged close to Big Ben and the Parliament. Of course I had to take the picture with Big Ben in the background, and yes I got in the red phone booths to make a call. I just had to!
That pretty well finished off our trip. We walked along the river Thames until we got to a Metro station. There we made our way back to Rickmansworth, haggard to say the least. We stayed up for a little longer but when sleep beckoned, I crawled into an incredibly comfy bed and slept more deeply than any night in my entire stay in Bristol. The perfect end to a perfect day. And I hadn't even met the family properly yet!
Day Two started late; late is quite the understatement. We didn't get up until 11, well, when I say we, I mean Grace and I; Natalie was up at half 9. It was foggy in Rickmansworth, foggy like they'd never seen so said Mr. Parker. We went to the local Nero's coffeehouse and near two we hopped back on the Metro and made our way to Tate Modern. We got off at the Embankment stop, right on the Thames then walked across a bridge towards Tate Modern. The fog was so thick we couldn't see the other bank of the Thames. As we leisurely strolled along the river, Tate Modern revealed itself from the fog.
It's quite an imposing building. It's tower rose up and disappeared into the fog. Outside is a giant iron spider thing. The red brick building itself must be 5 stories high, not including the tower, and had a basement as well. Inside Tate it's open and mammoth. We were there mostly for Grace's sake; she wanted to see some modernist and cubist artwork. It was interesting, but not really my thing. I did manage to commandeer a tea spoon from the Tate Cafe, though I wish I had got a mug from there, but I simply couldn't be bothered to pay the money for it.
When we left hours later, the fog hadn't lifted an inch. We trekked forth and arrived at Shakespeare's reconstructed theatre shortly thereafter. Sadly, it wasn't open. We crossed the Thames by the millennium bridge and Natalie thought that St. Pauls should be right in front of us. Looking at a map, the bridge lead directly to St. Paul's cathedral, but looking forward, it was as if the massive church had vanished. Absolutely no trace of it could be seen until we were about 100 metres away from it. Then its white form seemed to materialize out of the white mist.
From St. Paul's we made out way to the nearest metro station and went back to Rickmansworth around 7. Much to my surprise, Natalie's family waited for our return until they had dinner. I don't know why the simple gesture stunned me slightly, I wanted to be as non-imposing as possible, but they didn't seem to mind in the slightest. I suppose that was one of the major things about the entire family; they were all so incredibly accommodating when I was literally asking for little or nothing. I felt showered in generosity and caring with no expectation of reciprocation. I wish that I could have given equally back, created an experience for them that was equal to the heart-filling experience they created for me. I don't think I can ever say Thank you to them enough, though Natalie my grow tired of hearing it, so I'll be sure to ton it down! Haha
I have to say that Natalie's mother is an Amazing cook. The food at every meal was different and equally scrumptious! Not only that, but on Christmas day, she cooked for 20 people and there was still food left over. Surely, she is a Kitchen Goddess.
That night, after dinner, we watched a movie called Hot Fuzz. I'd never seen it but it was really good. Natalie's parents didn't join us, but her Grandmother did. Her Grandmother is a sweet lady and has a very interesting story. I suppose the place to being is with her inability to hear; she's been deaf all her life. It's really no problem for her because she lip reads and mouths words back to communicate. When she was growing up, she went to a school that frowned upon sign-language. So they taught her to lip read and speak as a way to reintegrate into society to lessen any differences that might set her apart. It was the societal view at the time I guess. Well, she is just the sweetest lady, often smiling at me then asking me how I was or what I was doing. Sometimes I'd need one of the family to help me understand, but for the most part, it was surprisingly easy to communicate with her. She has the most gentle eyes and a bright smile. With her family all around her, you can tell that she is proud of them and loves them all very dearly. She's had a great life and it shows every time she smiles.
(talk about Dad, Kathryn, Charlie and Archie)
Not long after the movie was over we went back to Penny's and fell to sleep again. The next day was Christmas Eve! There were many things happening on Christmas Eve and I was very excited to experience them all.
To Be Continued... (I have 5 days to write two essays so this may go on hiatus)
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Story Time
Last Friday, Queens Road got together for a one last night and made a trip to the Cori Tap, the pictures of which can find on Facebook. There was a man there named Steve. Steve was about 50 and he was hitting on two Queens Road ladies, Mabli and Laura, so I did the gentlemanly thing; I went over and relieved them by putting myself in between Steve and the ladies. Well, he then started speaking to me, and he was quite... abrasive.
His posture was telling me all sorts of things, mainly that he was really drunk, that he was proud, and that he was ready for a fight. Almost the entire time I spoke with him I thought I was going to get punched... so I took off my glasses.
Steve, who's been around the fighting scene all his life, immediately picked up on that small gesture and heckled me a little, he asserted that I was getting ready to fight. I just said I didn't want them to get lost and that I didn't need them. That was the first of many sidestepping maneuvers I did that night.
He stood really close to me, his chin held high. He always looked me straight in the eye and I straight back. He went on about many things that night, but he started our conversation by asking "Red or White?" I had no idea what he was talking about, but after some goading, I got him to elaborate on its meaning. "There is a line" he said, "A line between north and south Bristol. Which side of the line do you live on?" he asked me. I told him I live about 5 minutes "that way" and pointed towards the Uni. I asked him where he lived and he said "About five minute the other way". To me, this was an obvious stance; a challenge that I didn't want to take. He spoke with authority, with conviction, and again always with his chin held high and his chest puffed out.
I finally started to understand what he was going on about. Football. Thank God I called football it's proper name that night, for he told me that if I would have called it Soccer he would have clocked me. He told me I could walk a mile in a direction and get "taken out" in that mile, (incidentally his pronunciation of mile led to another tangent, because I couldn't understand the word mile, to me it sounded like "Maul", so I mentioned rugby in an attempt to better understand, which prompted a line I heard many times that night: "You have absolutely no idea.") He said that things have been escalating in recent times; some people were getting shot in that mile. That's the true Bristol, the real Bristol. And if I wanted to learn about people, I'd come with him to see the real Bristol. Then somehow that conversation led to his son. His son was 28 and bright, but who does manual labour because that's just what he has to do. He told me his son could bury me any day of the week.
But all this talk, it all had to do with football, not the "Red or White" like I thought he said, the "Red and White", that is, Bristol City Footballs colours. Then he would ask me all throughout the night, Are you "Red and White, or Blue and Red" I would always say Red and White to appease him. Apparently Blue and Red is Cardiff and "we" hate them. He tried to get me to challenge some randomers in the Tap. I didn't. So he had me ask him. "White or Red?" I asked, "White and Red" he answered. Oh fun drunken times! He told me he would never fight me for two reasons, one because I was young and strong, but two because he didn't need to, there were plenty of his mates who would fight me for him. He called me young, just a baby. He went on and on.
The most interesting thing I suppose I took out of it was this. He asked me what I was doing here. I said studying at the Uni. He said "what are you studying?"
"Sociology."
"Ahh. People. If you want to see the real Bristol you'll come with me and i'll show you the real Bristol."
"Okay" I said timidly. I never went anywhere with him.
"You don't have a clue what it's all about, you're just a baby"
I nodded
"When you come with me, you'll have to get in it. You'll have to come with me and get into it."
He pretty much meant I'd have to fight. That's apparently what it's all about. It's not about hate, for apparently, he loves his opponents, and they love him. They respect him. It's about the fight, and the brotherhood that comes along with being a Bristol City Fan.
I think I've been inducted into this Bristol City firm. However, he doesn't know my name or where I live, so I don't think I'll have a problem. So, Go Red and White! Whoo!
I was so scared.
And yet, Ros and Dom said that I was loving it. They did make great attempts to save me, to which I would join them back at the table, but the conversation was left unfinished and Steve would come back to me and keep talking. So finally, I said that I should go to the people I came here with, to which he shook my hand and said, "Always hold your head high and never back down, no matter what." Then walked away.
That was the beginning to a great night, and the ending to a great story.
Z
His posture was telling me all sorts of things, mainly that he was really drunk, that he was proud, and that he was ready for a fight. Almost the entire time I spoke with him I thought I was going to get punched... so I took off my glasses.
Steve, who's been around the fighting scene all his life, immediately picked up on that small gesture and heckled me a little, he asserted that I was getting ready to fight. I just said I didn't want them to get lost and that I didn't need them. That was the first of many sidestepping maneuvers I did that night.
He stood really close to me, his chin held high. He always looked me straight in the eye and I straight back. He went on about many things that night, but he started our conversation by asking "Red or White?" I had no idea what he was talking about, but after some goading, I got him to elaborate on its meaning. "There is a line" he said, "A line between north and south Bristol. Which side of the line do you live on?" he asked me. I told him I live about 5 minutes "that way" and pointed towards the Uni. I asked him where he lived and he said "About five minute the other way". To me, this was an obvious stance; a challenge that I didn't want to take. He spoke with authority, with conviction, and again always with his chin held high and his chest puffed out.
I finally started to understand what he was going on about. Football. Thank God I called football it's proper name that night, for he told me that if I would have called it Soccer he would have clocked me. He told me I could walk a mile in a direction and get "taken out" in that mile, (incidentally his pronunciation of mile led to another tangent, because I couldn't understand the word mile, to me it sounded like "Maul", so I mentioned rugby in an attempt to better understand, which prompted a line I heard many times that night: "You have absolutely no idea.") He said that things have been escalating in recent times; some people were getting shot in that mile. That's the true Bristol, the real Bristol. And if I wanted to learn about people, I'd come with him to see the real Bristol. Then somehow that conversation led to his son. His son was 28 and bright, but who does manual labour because that's just what he has to do. He told me his son could bury me any day of the week.
But all this talk, it all had to do with football, not the "Red or White" like I thought he said, the "Red and White", that is, Bristol City Footballs colours. Then he would ask me all throughout the night, Are you "Red and White, or Blue and Red" I would always say Red and White to appease him. Apparently Blue and Red is Cardiff and "we" hate them. He tried to get me to challenge some randomers in the Tap. I didn't. So he had me ask him. "White or Red?" I asked, "White and Red" he answered. Oh fun drunken times! He told me he would never fight me for two reasons, one because I was young and strong, but two because he didn't need to, there were plenty of his mates who would fight me for him. He called me young, just a baby. He went on and on.
The most interesting thing I suppose I took out of it was this. He asked me what I was doing here. I said studying at the Uni. He said "what are you studying?"
"Sociology."
"Ahh. People. If you want to see the real Bristol you'll come with me and i'll show you the real Bristol."
"Okay" I said timidly. I never went anywhere with him.
"You don't have a clue what it's all about, you're just a baby"
I nodded
"When you come with me, you'll have to get in it. You'll have to come with me and get into it."
He pretty much meant I'd have to fight. That's apparently what it's all about. It's not about hate, for apparently, he loves his opponents, and they love him. They respect him. It's about the fight, and the brotherhood that comes along with being a Bristol City Fan.
I think I've been inducted into this Bristol City firm. However, he doesn't know my name or where I live, so I don't think I'll have a problem. So, Go Red and White! Whoo!
I was so scared.
And yet, Ros and Dom said that I was loving it. They did make great attempts to save me, to which I would join them back at the table, but the conversation was left unfinished and Steve would come back to me and keep talking. So finally, I said that I should go to the people I came here with, to which he shook my hand and said, "Always hold your head high and never back down, no matter what." Then walked away.
That was the beginning to a great night, and the ending to a great story.
Z
Friday, December 14, 2007
The Chirstmas Exodus
It has begun with a rather poignant sting.
Today Natalie left for home. She and thousands of students are flooding out of Bristol, returning to the land of their upbringing, to spend time with family and friends. Many will successfully retrieve those hours lost, lost due to the excruciating study during finals week. Many will feast on home made meals, and recuperate from lethargy on warm cozy couches. Many will reunite with friends and speak of how it feels like eras since they'd last embraced. Many will snuggle up at night in a bed so familiar, in a room so uniquely theirs, in a home so loving and safe.
Here in Bristol, this concrete box, this shell of a building called 115 Queens Road, isn't a home. I could leave the building today without reservation, for I haven't any attachment to its premises. It is the people I have lived with whom I could not leave so easily; they have made this a home for me.
In particular, my inexpressible gratitude goes out to Natalie. She has given me so much, and in return, I have provide so little. She always let me come to her room whenever I was bored or lonely. She put up with my incessant forgetfulness and the resultant collection of my things in her room. She was patient with my exuberance, and always teasingly brought me back to reality when I would fly off on a tangent. She would do the crossword and sudoku with me, and humour me when I needed my coffee fix. Natalie made Queens Road a place I wanted to be, and her departure today was like a jarring transition from some pleasant warmth to a frigid torrent.
I dare not say that I'm feeling her loss the most; all those who remain in this cinder block abode are shuffling their feet and mumbling about how odd it feels without her here, as if something was taken from very air we breathe. We miss you Natalie, if you ever read this, we miss you.
-----------------
I was speaking today about how I don't like change, which spawned a flashback to my youth when my parents, unbeknownst to me, removed an institution in my life I lovingly remember as "The brown couch". I wept and wailed for days crying "how could you!" and throwing myself dramatically down upon my bed. That memory was meant to reinforce my statement about change, but even as the words "I don't like change" rolled from my lips, my mind was quickly beginning to contradict itself. I took a moment of silence and reevaluated the statement then proposed an adjustment. "It's not that I don't like change," I said slowly, "it's just that I don't like change I can't control." I felt that was a much stronger statement and was fitting for my memory of the brown couch as well as my knowledge that I commonly seek change, so long as it's a conscious choice of mine to accept the change.
That was just a thought.
Z
Today Natalie left for home. She and thousands of students are flooding out of Bristol, returning to the land of their upbringing, to spend time with family and friends. Many will successfully retrieve those hours lost, lost due to the excruciating study during finals week. Many will feast on home made meals, and recuperate from lethargy on warm cozy couches. Many will reunite with friends and speak of how it feels like eras since they'd last embraced. Many will snuggle up at night in a bed so familiar, in a room so uniquely theirs, in a home so loving and safe.
Here in Bristol, this concrete box, this shell of a building called 115 Queens Road, isn't a home. I could leave the building today without reservation, for I haven't any attachment to its premises. It is the people I have lived with whom I could not leave so easily; they have made this a home for me.
In particular, my inexpressible gratitude goes out to Natalie. She has given me so much, and in return, I have provide so little. She always let me come to her room whenever I was bored or lonely. She put up with my incessant forgetfulness and the resultant collection of my things in her room. She was patient with my exuberance, and always teasingly brought me back to reality when I would fly off on a tangent. She would do the crossword and sudoku with me, and humour me when I needed my coffee fix. Natalie made Queens Road a place I wanted to be, and her departure today was like a jarring transition from some pleasant warmth to a frigid torrent.
I dare not say that I'm feeling her loss the most; all those who remain in this cinder block abode are shuffling their feet and mumbling about how odd it feels without her here, as if something was taken from very air we breathe. We miss you Natalie, if you ever read this, we miss you.
-----------------
I was speaking today about how I don't like change, which spawned a flashback to my youth when my parents, unbeknownst to me, removed an institution in my life I lovingly remember as "The brown couch". I wept and wailed for days crying "how could you!" and throwing myself dramatically down upon my bed. That memory was meant to reinforce my statement about change, but even as the words "I don't like change" rolled from my lips, my mind was quickly beginning to contradict itself. I took a moment of silence and reevaluated the statement then proposed an adjustment. "It's not that I don't like change," I said slowly, "it's just that I don't like change I can't control." I felt that was a much stronger statement and was fitting for my memory of the brown couch as well as my knowledge that I commonly seek change, so long as it's a conscious choice of mine to accept the change.
That was just a thought.
Z
Thursday, December 13, 2007
It's Not Always About Youth
I had another coffee shop encounter today. No, it wasn't someone I was interested in.
The coffee shop was teeming with people; it was just after noon and people were streaming in for lunch. When I went to sit, the only available seat was an armchair next to a couch. I usually don't sit in that area because it's better suited for larger groups of people. However, with no other seating option, I took up the group area.
I was doing the sudoku in the local paper and studying Karl Marx when a woman approached me. By the looks of it, she was nearing the end of her 50's chapter in life, was full of life, and quite healthy. She asked if she could sit on the couch across from me. "Absolutely" I said, "Not a problem!"
A few minutes later, she shivered and said, "There must be an air conditioner above me because all this cold air is blowing on me." I, always endeavoring to do the gentlemanly thing, offered to switch seats with her, to which she eagerly agreed.
We talked a little bit after that switch about how she was nervous for her daughter. Apparently her daughter was getting eye surgery today, and was, in fact, in the operating room as we spoke. She told me a little bit about the operation and how the technology is supposed to be very good these days. Then her husband showed up. He was supposedly much older than she, though he looked around the same age as her. He brought them both cappuccinos and chocolate cake. A little voice in my head whispered how it wished it could eat like that...
Upon his arrival, she talked to him for a bit and I went back to my studies. I couldn't help but listen to her worries about her daughter; the husband seemed quite at ease and was actually cracking jokes, which was probably his way to cope with his own angst. Then he pulled out the newspaper and started to read, all the while she would talk to him about her worries. I felt it rather thoughtless of him, not to be consoling his wife, but from sometimes even the best gentleman isn't aware that he is being neglectful or doing something wrong. We are, after all, only human.
I wanted her to feel better, so I struck up a conversation with her. It turned out to be a phenomenal conversation! I started off by asking about her daughters eyesight, if the hospital was near, etc etc. The hospital was close she assured me, and they had their cellphone on it's loudest so they might spring away at the moments notice. She was a lovely lady, I could see in her eyes that she was a warm soul. There were lines around her eyes I suspected from smiling all her life, or from every time she clenched her eyes shut when giving her children the most whole hearted hug.
She seemed to relax after a while, especially after telling me how the eye surgery field has progressed in recent years and the clinic her daughter was at had an upstanding record. When her nerves had eased and her mind distracted, our conversation moved elsewhere. She asked me about my studies, Communication and Sociology I replied. We talked about family and how "genes are everything". I told her about how my Grandma told me I was like my grandpa, even though I've never met him. She told me how her grandchildren are just like their children, and how the entire family shares an artistic trait. I asked her if she had been to America, she told me a story about San Fransisco. She asked me about my favourite period in history (hers was the 60's), we talked of the Kennedy's and Dr. King Jr. Then we got into politics, we talked about Hilary and Obama. Our views there differed, and I could see that, at least in politics, she was a little eccentric.
She had some some opinions about Bill and Hilary, mostly that Bill is something of a "pervert" and Hilary is just in it for the power. I allowed her her say, then I spoke saying first that though Bill had made a mistake, I have to give him a second chance. For what he did for our country was undeniable and, falling upon my upbringing, "he made a mistake but he's still a good person, or he can continue doing his best to be a good person, just like the rest of us". She quickly rebutted that it hadn't just been Miss. Lewinsky, and that there had been many. I didn't have any information on this, I'd never heard of such an alligation so I couldn't make any further statements. But what I could say is that, taking a step back, it's easy to judge someone and say we'd be different, how could he? etc. But the pressures, the power, and the temptations that come from a position like that would be unlike anything we could possibly imagine. She conceded that no one would know how they would perform until they were in the position. I also made the point that I thought it was silly to squabble about what kind of a man Bill was compared to the current office holder and the choices he's made, not personally, but in the sake of an entire nation. The crises that we face today should be what we discuss, not Bills philandering.
We moved on to Hilary then.
Honestly, I wished to have more of a discussion about Barak and Hilary, but she insisted on talking about Hilary. I think this is where she went over the top, however, everyone is entitled to their opinions. She thought that the only reason Hilary stayed with Bill was because she knew she wanted to be President in the future, and that she hung on to him for status, power, and the sake of the media. I thought that rather demeaned Hilary. Hilary is a strong woman and I think she could do a good job, have a strong hand, and start to lead this Country out of it's self inflicted pit. But we didn't talk about that much.
I tried to bring in discussion about Obama as well, about his political advertisement system, writing books, not taking major donations, relying on word of mouth, traveling the country, meeting the people. But that topic was dropped as well.
Besides that discussion on Politics, the woman, whose name was Nicola and her husband was Richard, was a very nice lady. I had to go prepare for lecture but it was really nice to meet them. I shook both their hands before I left and they waved me goodbye as I left. I turned my back and as I walked out, I heard her say "Oh goodbye Zach! Goodbye! Goodbye!"
Such a sweet lady. I was glad to have met her.
Z
The coffee shop was teeming with people; it was just after noon and people were streaming in for lunch. When I went to sit, the only available seat was an armchair next to a couch. I usually don't sit in that area because it's better suited for larger groups of people. However, with no other seating option, I took up the group area.
I was doing the sudoku in the local paper and studying Karl Marx when a woman approached me. By the looks of it, she was nearing the end of her 50's chapter in life, was full of life, and quite healthy. She asked if she could sit on the couch across from me. "Absolutely" I said, "Not a problem!"
A few minutes later, she shivered and said, "There must be an air conditioner above me because all this cold air is blowing on me." I, always endeavoring to do the gentlemanly thing, offered to switch seats with her, to which she eagerly agreed.
We talked a little bit after that switch about how she was nervous for her daughter. Apparently her daughter was getting eye surgery today, and was, in fact, in the operating room as we spoke. She told me a little bit about the operation and how the technology is supposed to be very good these days. Then her husband showed up. He was supposedly much older than she, though he looked around the same age as her. He brought them both cappuccinos and chocolate cake. A little voice in my head whispered how it wished it could eat like that...
Upon his arrival, she talked to him for a bit and I went back to my studies. I couldn't help but listen to her worries about her daughter; the husband seemed quite at ease and was actually cracking jokes, which was probably his way to cope with his own angst. Then he pulled out the newspaper and started to read, all the while she would talk to him about her worries. I felt it rather thoughtless of him, not to be consoling his wife, but from sometimes even the best gentleman isn't aware that he is being neglectful or doing something wrong. We are, after all, only human.
I wanted her to feel better, so I struck up a conversation with her. It turned out to be a phenomenal conversation! I started off by asking about her daughters eyesight, if the hospital was near, etc etc. The hospital was close she assured me, and they had their cellphone on it's loudest so they might spring away at the moments notice. She was a lovely lady, I could see in her eyes that she was a warm soul. There were lines around her eyes I suspected from smiling all her life, or from every time she clenched her eyes shut when giving her children the most whole hearted hug.
She seemed to relax after a while, especially after telling me how the eye surgery field has progressed in recent years and the clinic her daughter was at had an upstanding record. When her nerves had eased and her mind distracted, our conversation moved elsewhere. She asked me about my studies, Communication and Sociology I replied. We talked about family and how "genes are everything". I told her about how my Grandma told me I was like my grandpa, even though I've never met him. She told me how her grandchildren are just like their children, and how the entire family shares an artistic trait. I asked her if she had been to America, she told me a story about San Fransisco. She asked me about my favourite period in history (hers was the 60's), we talked of the Kennedy's and Dr. King Jr. Then we got into politics, we talked about Hilary and Obama. Our views there differed, and I could see that, at least in politics, she was a little eccentric.
She had some some opinions about Bill and Hilary, mostly that Bill is something of a "pervert" and Hilary is just in it for the power. I allowed her her say, then I spoke saying first that though Bill had made a mistake, I have to give him a second chance. For what he did for our country was undeniable and, falling upon my upbringing, "he made a mistake but he's still a good person, or he can continue doing his best to be a good person, just like the rest of us". She quickly rebutted that it hadn't just been Miss. Lewinsky, and that there had been many. I didn't have any information on this, I'd never heard of such an alligation so I couldn't make any further statements. But what I could say is that, taking a step back, it's easy to judge someone and say we'd be different, how could he? etc. But the pressures, the power, and the temptations that come from a position like that would be unlike anything we could possibly imagine. She conceded that no one would know how they would perform until they were in the position. I also made the point that I thought it was silly to squabble about what kind of a man Bill was compared to the current office holder and the choices he's made, not personally, but in the sake of an entire nation. The crises that we face today should be what we discuss, not Bills philandering.
We moved on to Hilary then.
Honestly, I wished to have more of a discussion about Barak and Hilary, but she insisted on talking about Hilary. I think this is where she went over the top, however, everyone is entitled to their opinions. She thought that the only reason Hilary stayed with Bill was because she knew she wanted to be President in the future, and that she hung on to him for status, power, and the sake of the media. I thought that rather demeaned Hilary. Hilary is a strong woman and I think she could do a good job, have a strong hand, and start to lead this Country out of it's self inflicted pit. But we didn't talk about that much.
I tried to bring in discussion about Obama as well, about his political advertisement system, writing books, not taking major donations, relying on word of mouth, traveling the country, meeting the people. But that topic was dropped as well.
Besides that discussion on Politics, the woman, whose name was Nicola and her husband was Richard, was a very nice lady. I had to go prepare for lecture but it was really nice to meet them. I shook both their hands before I left and they waved me goodbye as I left. I turned my back and as I walked out, I heard her say "Oh goodbye Zach! Goodbye! Goodbye!"
Such a sweet lady. I was glad to have met her.
Z
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Smiles
Two things made me smile recently.
I hadn't been to Starbucks in quite some time; there are many other coffee shops in Bristol equally as good. But I was again taken by a craving for Starbucks' formulaic facade which reminds me so much of home.
I used to go to Starbucks quite frequently and almost as frequently there happened to be a rather skinny, bright eyed and smiling brunette standing behind the counter. She was all smiles and I was all smiles back. In no time she had memorized my order; I merely had to show up and it was practically ready for me. And yet, I never enquired about her name, or who she was.
Then came a dark period; a time when my visits to Starbucks grew infrequent and my meetings with the smiling girl grew few and far between. She had hoped for my return, she told me so just yesterday. She thought she saw me last week! but was disappointed when it wasn't. "It was as if you read my mind" she said to me upon my arrival yesterday; as if I came to relieve her from her disappointment.
Her name is Sarah. She's out of Uni so a little older than myself. She has a degree in Deaf Studies; she can sign quite proficiently. She doesn't know what she wants to do with herself, I told her that makes two of us. We talked there by the espresso machine while she made drinks for people; latte, cappuccino, gingerbread latte... The time flew by and my lecture was fast approaching.
I had to leave, but it was with a smile. I told her I hoped to see her again soon, she said she was sure I would. It made me smile.
Later that day I was met with another surprise.
Natalie's dad sent her a package. Very cool, and inside was an advent calendar. That wasn't the only thing... Natalie's dad send Grace and me an advent calendar too! Hurray for a little piece of chocolate every day! And, because it had arrived slightly after December the first, I got to have not one, but four pieces of chocolate that day! Another thing to make me smile.
Z
Just found Sarah on Facebook a bit to my dismay; she is in a relationship. Tragic. Oh well!
I hadn't been to Starbucks in quite some time; there are many other coffee shops in Bristol equally as good. But I was again taken by a craving for Starbucks' formulaic facade which reminds me so much of home.
I used to go to Starbucks quite frequently and almost as frequently there happened to be a rather skinny, bright eyed and smiling brunette standing behind the counter. She was all smiles and I was all smiles back. In no time she had memorized my order; I merely had to show up and it was practically ready for me. And yet, I never enquired about her name, or who she was.
Then came a dark period; a time when my visits to Starbucks grew infrequent and my meetings with the smiling girl grew few and far between. She had hoped for my return, she told me so just yesterday. She thought she saw me last week! but was disappointed when it wasn't. "It was as if you read my mind" she said to me upon my arrival yesterday; as if I came to relieve her from her disappointment.
Her name is Sarah. She's out of Uni so a little older than myself. She has a degree in Deaf Studies; she can sign quite proficiently. She doesn't know what she wants to do with herself, I told her that makes two of us. We talked there by the espresso machine while she made drinks for people; latte, cappuccino, gingerbread latte... The time flew by and my lecture was fast approaching.
I had to leave, but it was with a smile. I told her I hoped to see her again soon, she said she was sure I would. It made me smile.
Later that day I was met with another surprise.
Natalie's dad sent her a package. Very cool, and inside was an advent calendar. That wasn't the only thing... Natalie's dad send Grace and me an advent calendar too! Hurray for a little piece of chocolate every day! And, because it had arrived slightly after December the first, I got to have not one, but four pieces of chocolate that day! Another thing to make me smile.
Z
Just found Sarah on Facebook a bit to my dismay; she is in a relationship. Tragic. Oh well!
Friday, November 30, 2007
A Day Of Thoughts
Today was a lot of thinking. My mind was chugging along with mostly thoughts of it own, some loosely or wholly unconnected from my academic endeavours.
Fire for Life
In Sociology we were talking last week about experiences and these week about tourism. Everything we have studied thus far in that class has been amazing and completely intertwined. However, those two subjects resonated with me. I think it is because I am pretty much a tourist for a prolonged amount of time and I am a glutton for all types of experiences. The following is more about the experiences part because tourists are generally those seeking said experiences.
This is the passages that got my cognitive cogs turning today:
"men travel widely to different sorts of places seeking different distractions because they are fickle, tired of soft living, and always seek after something which eludes them"*
*The italics are my own emphasis
This passage immediately related to our previous discussion on what people look for in experiences, what they look for when they buy something or go somewhere. Our class struggled with this concept; maybe the want status, maybe they want to grow as a person, maybe their possessions could adequately represent who they are. No, no, no, said our professor.
I had an inkling of what it might be the entire time but I never raised my voice. Towards the end the class made it's way there but never clearly articulated it. So after class I stopped the Professor and asked him if humans wanted experiences purely for experiences' sake. I couldn't describe it any better way then with a fire; the fire for life.
Love of life or experience is often paralleled to fire, e.g. people burn with passion or desire to experience things. My hypothesis is that we don't have this fire for new experience because we want something out of it specifically, it's just there.
New experiences are the logs we toss on this fire for life to keep it burning bright. We throw on the log and enjoy it's immediate rewards, increased heat, the satisfying crackle. But soon, the log begins to wither away and we become disenchanted with it. Then you must add another log to feed the fire. The desire isn't for the logs themselves because they come and go, i.e. possessions and experiences can be immediately satisfying but soon become the norm or confined to memory. What we strive for is for experience itself, the rush you might say, not what those experiences may provide us with in the end; anything extra may be considered as an added benefit. To summarize, we want to experience experience.
Carefully Worded & Hopefully Uncontroversial
Oscar Wilde died today; 107 years ago.
I don't know why, but I can't describe how I feel about Oscar Wilde. I was once told I looked like him when I had long hair. After finishing my previous reading material, I picked up The Picture of Dorian Gray and just finished the first chapter. Wilde is quite a descriptive writer and I like how he rights, though, through the first entire chapter my mind was uncontrollably tangential; it was struggling to remember something about Oscar Wilde.
Oh yeah. He was gay. Wasn't he?
I skimmed through my book and found his chronology. It mentions a man that may have been Wilde's first homosexual lover, despite the fact that he was married. Question answered.
Not that his sexual preferences in any way demean the majesty of his prose (perhaps to some, unfortunately), but I began to wonder if his sexual preference had an affect on his writing. In the first chapter of Dorian Gray there is a resounding male recognition of male beauty as expressed by the artist of his muse. But my question isn't actually about possibly homosexual undertones in Wilde's writing, it is more "am I more prone to look for possible homosexual undertones because of our current societal views on homosexuality?" That I'm not sure of.
Whether or not the following quotes have underlying implications of homoeroticism is for you to decide, but they are the ones that made me curious.
"You know yourself, Harry, how independent I am by nature. I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then -- but I don't know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that Fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows. I grew afraid, and turned and quit the room." (The Picture of Dorian Gray, Penguin Classics, pg 10)
*Deleted from Wilde's original 1890 version was, "I knew that if I spoke to Dorian I would become absolutely devoted to him, and I ought not to speak to him."
"... How often do you see him?"
"Every day. I couldn't be happy if I didn't see him every day. He is absolutely necessary to me." (Dorian Gray, pg 12)
*Deleted in 1891 for Wilde's revised edition was as follows, "of course sometimes it is only for a few minutes. But a few minutes with somebody one worships mean a great deal." "But you don't really worship him?" "I do."
If I am more prone to look at these passages for homosexual influences, due to my current, and arguably, more accepting culture, then I am curious how the readers of 1890 may have regarded these passages? They strike me as so obviously homoerotic and yet, in a culture where homosexuality is completely unrecognized, hidden in the attic, ignored like the proverbial elephant, then what might they have taken these passages to mean? Perhaps they were taken as descriptively beautiful; beauty for beauty's sake?
At first I feel this view is ignorance. They didn't have all the facts, I don't think they were aware that Wilde was gay. They couldn't see the true meaning in his writing because of their disregard for homosexuality. They are therefore left to attribute Wilde's expressions of beauty to a description ultimate beauty or him being artistically extravagant; they could not begin to see that Wilde may be describing beauty as seen by homosexual attraction. But then I found myself questioning my own attitude. Maybe those of 1890 had it right; albeit, accidentally right.
Why couldn't Wilde be describing beauty for beauty's sake even if he was gay? Why did I immediately question his gayness then find passages to prove it? What does it matter? It doesn't!! I practically want to shout it out sitting here in this quite room tucked away in the sociology department. If the actual picture of Dorian Gray were painted by a woman and she was so passionate about him, I would be struck with the thought that she was deeply in love. And while the thought that Wilde may have been describing love at first sight when he writes of the painter meeting his muse, that thought was suppressed by the more pressing curiosity of his gayness.
I have to say, I feel a little ashamed in some way that is hard to describe. I feel like I should have just read the chapter and understood how beautiful Dorian Gray was without fixating on a possible homosexual attraction between painter and muse. Whereas perhaps the people of 1890 saw it as purely beauty due to an ignorance of homosexuality, I wish I had initially seen it as simply beauty due to the acceptance of difference; I wish I had just seen it as beauty.
Z
*Sidenote: Today I saw a man with a legitimate Guy Fawkes beard and and flat brimmed hat. It was incredible.
Fire for Life
In Sociology we were talking last week about experiences and these week about tourism. Everything we have studied thus far in that class has been amazing and completely intertwined. However, those two subjects resonated with me. I think it is because I am pretty much a tourist for a prolonged amount of time and I am a glutton for all types of experiences. The following is more about the experiences part because tourists are generally those seeking said experiences.
This is the passages that got my cognitive cogs turning today:
"men travel widely to different sorts of places seeking different distractions because they are fickle, tired of soft living, and always seek after something which eludes them"*
*The italics are my own emphasis
This passage immediately related to our previous discussion on what people look for in experiences, what they look for when they buy something or go somewhere. Our class struggled with this concept; maybe the want status, maybe they want to grow as a person, maybe their possessions could adequately represent who they are. No, no, no, said our professor.
I had an inkling of what it might be the entire time but I never raised my voice. Towards the end the class made it's way there but never clearly articulated it. So after class I stopped the Professor and asked him if humans wanted experiences purely for experiences' sake. I couldn't describe it any better way then with a fire; the fire for life.
Love of life or experience is often paralleled to fire, e.g. people burn with passion or desire to experience things. My hypothesis is that we don't have this fire for new experience because we want something out of it specifically, it's just there.
New experiences are the logs we toss on this fire for life to keep it burning bright. We throw on the log and enjoy it's immediate rewards, increased heat, the satisfying crackle. But soon, the log begins to wither away and we become disenchanted with it. Then you must add another log to feed the fire. The desire isn't for the logs themselves because they come and go, i.e. possessions and experiences can be immediately satisfying but soon become the norm or confined to memory. What we strive for is for experience itself, the rush you might say, not what those experiences may provide us with in the end; anything extra may be considered as an added benefit. To summarize, we want to experience experience.
Carefully Worded & Hopefully Uncontroversial
Oscar Wilde died today; 107 years ago.
I don't know why, but I can't describe how I feel about Oscar Wilde. I was once told I looked like him when I had long hair. After finishing my previous reading material, I picked up The Picture of Dorian Gray and just finished the first chapter. Wilde is quite a descriptive writer and I like how he rights, though, through the first entire chapter my mind was uncontrollably tangential; it was struggling to remember something about Oscar Wilde.
Oh yeah. He was gay. Wasn't he?
I skimmed through my book and found his chronology. It mentions a man that may have been Wilde's first homosexual lover, despite the fact that he was married. Question answered.
Not that his sexual preferences in any way demean the majesty of his prose (perhaps to some, unfortunately), but I began to wonder if his sexual preference had an affect on his writing. In the first chapter of Dorian Gray there is a resounding male recognition of male beauty as expressed by the artist of his muse. But my question isn't actually about possibly homosexual undertones in Wilde's writing, it is more "am I more prone to look for possible homosexual undertones because of our current societal views on homosexuality?" That I'm not sure of.
Whether or not the following quotes have underlying implications of homoeroticism is for you to decide, but they are the ones that made me curious.
"You know yourself, Harry, how independent I am by nature. I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then -- but I don't know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that Fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows. I grew afraid, and turned and quit the room." (The Picture of Dorian Gray, Penguin Classics, pg 10)
*Deleted from Wilde's original 1890 version was, "I knew that if I spoke to Dorian I would become absolutely devoted to him, and I ought not to speak to him."
"... How often do you see him?"
"Every day. I couldn't be happy if I didn't see him every day. He is absolutely necessary to me." (Dorian Gray, pg 12)
*Deleted in 1891 for Wilde's revised edition was as follows, "of course sometimes it is only for a few minutes. But a few minutes with somebody one worships mean a great deal." "But you don't really worship him?" "I do."
If I am more prone to look at these passages for homosexual influences, due to my current, and arguably, more accepting culture, then I am curious how the readers of 1890 may have regarded these passages? They strike me as so obviously homoerotic and yet, in a culture where homosexuality is completely unrecognized, hidden in the attic, ignored like the proverbial elephant, then what might they have taken these passages to mean? Perhaps they were taken as descriptively beautiful; beauty for beauty's sake?
At first I feel this view is ignorance. They didn't have all the facts, I don't think they were aware that Wilde was gay. They couldn't see the true meaning in his writing because of their disregard for homosexuality. They are therefore left to attribute Wilde's expressions of beauty to a description ultimate beauty or him being artistically extravagant; they could not begin to see that Wilde may be describing beauty as seen by homosexual attraction. But then I found myself questioning my own attitude. Maybe those of 1890 had it right; albeit, accidentally right.
Why couldn't Wilde be describing beauty for beauty's sake even if he was gay? Why did I immediately question his gayness then find passages to prove it? What does it matter? It doesn't!! I practically want to shout it out sitting here in this quite room tucked away in the sociology department. If the actual picture of Dorian Gray were painted by a woman and she was so passionate about him, I would be struck with the thought that she was deeply in love. And while the thought that Wilde may have been describing love at first sight when he writes of the painter meeting his muse, that thought was suppressed by the more pressing curiosity of his gayness.
I have to say, I feel a little ashamed in some way that is hard to describe. I feel like I should have just read the chapter and understood how beautiful Dorian Gray was without fixating on a possible homosexual attraction between painter and muse. Whereas perhaps the people of 1890 saw it as purely beauty due to an ignorance of homosexuality, I wish I had initially seen it as simply beauty due to the acceptance of difference; I wish I had just seen it as beauty.
Z
*Sidenote: Today I saw a man with a legitimate Guy Fawkes beard and and flat brimmed hat. It was incredible.
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