And for the first time perhaps in five weeks, I'm going to bed before midnight!
Anyway: I finally found (tonight) an article on the English Civil War that I really wanted to have read before tutorial (8:45 AM tomorrow...argh...). It was one of my tutor's "very good" articles (marked on the week's syllabus), and he'd given it to us twice. So I hunted up and down online for it. No luck. Turned out all I had to do was pop over to the library and find the printed volume of that year's journal. It kind of made me think twice about Our Dependency on the Internet, that grand and lofty topic. And now I know where the printed journals are shelved for future reference!
Also...it's 10:37 PM right now. And I'm ready for bed. I'm going to read a bit (it's me, after all), but I will be going to sleep well before midnight! And this is considering that midnight has for the past couple of weeks been my earliest projected bedtime. YAAAY! Sleepytime! (Plus I've been getting up anywhere from 8 AM to 9 AM, to make either breakfast or a lecture. I have bags under my eyes like you wouldn't beLIEVE. And I thought I was a vampire last semester...heh. Heh. Heh.
Good night; good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
...Except not really. 'Night all!
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Back to Stratford!
Yesterday was RSC Trip #2! Day in Shakespeare-town plus As You Like It. Both of which were FANTASTIC!
One of the nice things about being on a program with a ton of people - you get mass tickets that get you in everywhere. (Of course, it helps when you - "you" here meaning "Liz" - stick around to actually GET said ticket, instead of having to hunt down Dr. Fincham and explain that you thought you got it when you didn't...but enough of that.) It also helps to hang out all day with awesome people who will help you explain at the sites/point out Dr. Fincham so you can track him down.
But basically, we got into all the Shakespeare sites free. We saw the birthplace:
Thomas Nash's house (he married Shakespeare's granddaughter Elizabeth):
the exhibited new portrait (I'm skeptical of any "new Shakespeare portrait," but it was neat to see it), and John Hall's house (he married Shakespeare's daughter Susanna). We didn't, alas, make it to New Place (Shakespeare's expensive, fancy, I'm-the-richest-guy-in-Stratford house). Because we went up the road to Holy Trinity instead.
My opinion may be suspect, since I admit to being a Shakespeare tourist, and since I've now gone to Stratford three times in the company of people I really enjoy spending time with. So while I grant that the town tends very much toward Bard deification and caters to the basest of touristic impulses, I don't mind, because that's exactly what I do. Yes, it would be completely inconsequential if not for the fact that the greatest writer in the English language was born there; yes, even with that, it doesn't matter much, and doesn't quite seem to know what to do with Will. But I don't mind.
Maybe that's a character flaw. Maybe it's a flaw in perception. I don't know.
What I do know is that absolutely none of it mattered at all when I walked down the church's aisle to the altar and saw Shakespeare's grave.
As hideously cheesy as that sounds, it's true.
I had to kneel down to take a picture. And I don't honestly know which came first - the desire to take a picture, or the desire to drop to my knees. I couldn't have stayed there forever, like I could have with The Beloved or Ophelia. It's not the same kind of thing. Being there, kneeling in front of the grave - I couldn't be there without wishing he was there too. I wished I could have talked to him; I wished I could have turned around and seen him.
But he's not like that. He's too secretive. He picks and chooses, and there's nothing you can get from him that he doesn't want to give.
So in the end, I took that, and I was - am - grateful.
I lit a candle, afterwards. They put the candles off in a side nook - I almost missed it. But no one else was there, and that was nice. I picked a candle and lit it, and I never know what to say, or think, or pray when I light candles in churches, but this time I didn't even have to think about it.
Hi. I made it. Thank you.
I nearly cried. I did cry, just now, thinking about it again.
***
Then we went to dinner. Not at the Dirty Duck (the favorite haunt of the RSC actors post-show) - having eaten there twice before, I was satisfied, and the entire group was going to be there, and we wanted to do our own thing. So we trolled Stratford looking for another place, and wound up eating at Garrick's, the oldest inn in Stratford (named after David Garrick, possibly THE great Shakespearean actor, responsible for the Shakespearean renaissance in the 1700s). I got rather tipsy, mostly due to the ENORMOUS whiskey shots we ordered after our meal. To clarify - three of us (me, Kate, and Anastasia) ordered shots, one each. THEY served them in tumblers. We were rather daunted, but we finished every one of them!
I was still a bit tipsy when the play started. But do not underestimate the combination of willpower and a fantastic show - I was cold sober within ten minutes of the start. And it was indeed a fantastic show. Hilarious and smart, thoughtful and zany, adorable and serious. Rosalind was perfect - always endearing and sincere and clever, and never less than she should be. And I may have to stop ragging on Orlando - he was fantastic in this production, very much in love without surrendering either his dignity or the dignity of his love. Which made me take him much more seriously than I ever had before, and it was nice to have Rosalind matched with someone who deserved her.
Oh - and I picked up a few fun presents at the RSC gift shop. Not telling, though - you'll have to wait until I get back to see them! (Which is in about a week and a half!)
One of the nice things about being on a program with a ton of people - you get mass tickets that get you in everywhere. (Of course, it helps when you - "you" here meaning "Liz" - stick around to actually GET said ticket, instead of having to hunt down Dr. Fincham and explain that you thought you got it when you didn't...but enough of that.) It also helps to hang out all day with awesome people who will help you explain at the sites/point out Dr. Fincham so you can track him down.
But basically, we got into all the Shakespeare sites free. We saw the birthplace:
Thomas Nash's house (he married Shakespeare's granddaughter Elizabeth):
the exhibited new portrait (I'm skeptical of any "new Shakespeare portrait," but it was neat to see it), and John Hall's house (he married Shakespeare's daughter Susanna). We didn't, alas, make it to New Place (Shakespeare's expensive, fancy, I'm-the-richest-guy-in-Stratford house). Because we went up the road to Holy Trinity instead.
My opinion may be suspect, since I admit to being a Shakespeare tourist, and since I've now gone to Stratford three times in the company of people I really enjoy spending time with. So while I grant that the town tends very much toward Bard deification and caters to the basest of touristic impulses, I don't mind, because that's exactly what I do. Yes, it would be completely inconsequential if not for the fact that the greatest writer in the English language was born there; yes, even with that, it doesn't matter much, and doesn't quite seem to know what to do with Will. But I don't mind.
Maybe that's a character flaw. Maybe it's a flaw in perception. I don't know.
What I do know is that absolutely none of it mattered at all when I walked down the church's aisle to the altar and saw Shakespeare's grave.
As hideously cheesy as that sounds, it's true.
I had to kneel down to take a picture. And I don't honestly know which came first - the desire to take a picture, or the desire to drop to my knees. I couldn't have stayed there forever, like I could have with The Beloved or Ophelia. It's not the same kind of thing. Being there, kneeling in front of the grave - I couldn't be there without wishing he was there too. I wished I could have talked to him; I wished I could have turned around and seen him.
But he's not like that. He's too secretive. He picks and chooses, and there's nothing you can get from him that he doesn't want to give.
So in the end, I took that, and I was - am - grateful.
I lit a candle, afterwards. They put the candles off in a side nook - I almost missed it. But no one else was there, and that was nice. I picked a candle and lit it, and I never know what to say, or think, or pray when I light candles in churches, but this time I didn't even have to think about it.
Hi. I made it. Thank you.
I nearly cried. I did cry, just now, thinking about it again.
***
Then we went to dinner. Not at the Dirty Duck (the favorite haunt of the RSC actors post-show) - having eaten there twice before, I was satisfied, and the entire group was going to be there, and we wanted to do our own thing. So we trolled Stratford looking for another place, and wound up eating at Garrick's, the oldest inn in Stratford (named after David Garrick, possibly THE great Shakespearean actor, responsible for the Shakespearean renaissance in the 1700s). I got rather tipsy, mostly due to the ENORMOUS whiskey shots we ordered after our meal. To clarify - three of us (me, Kate, and Anastasia) ordered shots, one each. THEY served them in tumblers. We were rather daunted, but we finished every one of them!
I was still a bit tipsy when the play started. But do not underestimate the combination of willpower and a fantastic show - I was cold sober within ten minutes of the start. And it was indeed a fantastic show. Hilarious and smart, thoughtful and zany, adorable and serious. Rosalind was perfect - always endearing and sincere and clever, and never less than she should be. And I may have to stop ragging on Orlando - he was fantastic in this production, very much in love without surrendering either his dignity or the dignity of his love. Which made me take him much more seriously than I ever had before, and it was nice to have Rosalind matched with someone who deserved her.
Oh - and I picked up a few fun presents at the RSC gift shop. Not telling, though - you'll have to wait until I get back to see them! (Which is in about a week and a half!)
Sunday, July 26, 2009
OMG Waterhouse!!!
Whoa! Just went looking around online and discovered the reason why The Lady of Shalott (which is in the Tate collection) wasn't on display yesterday.
It's because it's on loan to the Royal Academy for a huge Waterhouse retrospective, with other such Waterhouse masterpieces as Hylas and the Nymphs, Circe Invidiosa, and A Mermaid.
OH MY EFFING GOD!!!! I HAVE TO GO SEE THIS THING!!!!
It's in London, easily accessible by tube, and it's got nearly every major Waterhouse painting, most of which I've worshiped since I could spell Waterhouse. I'm going I'm going I'm so definitely going!! Either this weekend or Thursday afternoon, depending on the progress I make with my English essay. Or, I suppose, Friday afternoon, at which point my essay will be turned in and not hanging over my head.
OH MY GOD! I just cannot believe this. TIMING WIN!!
It's because it's on loan to the Royal Academy for a huge Waterhouse retrospective, with other such Waterhouse masterpieces as Hylas and the Nymphs, Circe Invidiosa, and A Mermaid.
OH MY EFFING GOD!!!! I HAVE TO GO SEE THIS THING!!!!
It's in London, easily accessible by tube, and it's got nearly every major Waterhouse painting, most of which I've worshiped since I could spell Waterhouse. I'm going I'm going I'm so definitely going!! Either this weekend or Thursday afternoon, depending on the progress I make with my English essay. Or, I suppose, Friday afternoon, at which point my essay will be turned in and not hanging over my head.
OH MY GOD! I just cannot believe this. TIMING WIN!!
Great day...feet hurt...
I'm developing a pattern. I read my eyes out during the week, trying to get in command my history books and essays enough to talk about them and write an essay. I'm basically chained to my table in the library (which is right next to the shelves about the history of England from the Anglo-Saxons (Alfred the Great!) to the Tudors. Someday I'll have to start reading the book they have about John of Gaunt.
The second part of the pattern is that, having spent all week in an academic frenzy, I then explode out of Oxford on the weekend, in a sort of "Get me out of here!!!" mode. I'll go ANYWHERE (Salisbury, Bath, London, Stratford) - I just don't want to be in Oxford over the weekend.
In keeping with this, I went to London yesterday as part of a group excursion (every single Sweet Briar girl went on it). We met up at the Portobello Road market, which is incredible. Six blocks of stalls and shops, with fantastic stuff. Antiques, clothes, books, prints, fresh fruit, china (there was a teacup with lilies of the valley that I loved. I might have to go back and get it, I keep thinking about it). I picked up a few presents for people (no, I'm not telling, you'll have to wait). Kate and I split a box of strawberries for lunch. DELICIOUS. Every single one was sweet and perfect.
From Portobello Road...well, that's when the walking started. I was determined to get to the Tate, and I'd planned out the route on the Underground before I left Oxford. Except that once we got on the Underground, they let us know that the line we needed (the Victoria line) was completely down for service repairs. THANKS FOR THE TIMING. So we rerouted through another line, but we got off two stops before we really needed to. The bright side of this was that we saw this as soon as we got off the Underground:
All due respect to V and everything, but the Houses of Parliament are HUGE. As in, ENORMOUS. As in, GO ON FOREVER. I do not know how much dynamite would be required to blow them up, but I'm thinking that a trainload is the bare minimum starting level.
A minute or so of walking down the road from the stop, we also saw this:
That's Westminster Abbey. YEAH. Best Underground stop ever? Quite possibly.
Except that it cost ten pounds to get in, and by that time it was 2:30, and the Tate stops letting people in at 5. So we put off Westminster and walked to the Tate.
...Or so we thought.
We got turned around pretty early. No one knew directions. We wound up walking through half of London looking for this place, stopping in and asking people, finally, how to get to Victoria Station, which was near it. We made it to Victoria at about 3:20, and asked the information desk, only to have him tell us that we needed to get on the train to London Bridge and it was too far to walk. ???
We sat down (we were in desperate need of sitting) and got coffee and pastries, and realized that in fact, what he had meant was the Tate MODERN. Despite the fact that the whole time, I'd been asking about the Tate BRITAIN. Gotta love earwax. Also, I'd noticed a street that I'd recognized from my online route-checking, and I wanted to try it. The amazing Kate was game (after we'd had our sit-down), so we took off down that street. And THANK THE EFFING LORD, it was the right way. We made it to the Tate at 4, and had an hour and forty minutes.
And then it was all worth it.
Can I just list the paintings I have now seen in person? Just to get it through my head?
Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth. Emma Hamilton. Draper's Lament for Icarus. Burne-Jones's King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid. The phoenix portrait of Elizabeth I. Millais' Ophelia. Rossetti's Proserpina. And The Beloved.
That one, I could have stared at for years. I took three steps into the Pre-Raphaelite room and I saw it on the wall. I thought for a second about waiting for it. And then I walked right over to it and stared and stared. I think that was the first painting I ever fell in love with - I don't even know how old I was when I first saw it, but it's always stuck with me. Don't laugh at me; it was almost a religious experience to see it, finally, in person.
And it's beautiful. They've hung it at eye level, so you cannot look away from the Bride. When you see it online, no problem - she's beautiful, but so are the other women around her, and your eye skips from her to them. But standing in front of her - she's challenging you. You don't get that, quite, in a photo of her. But she's so calm, so sure of herself, that you can't but feel yourself a lesser creature, privileged to look at her, but not entirely worthy. There is no one who can make you look away from her.
Except that there's also Lizzie Siddal as Ophelia in the same room. And I had to look at her too. Transfixed again, just standing and looking at her - at the rest of the painting too, of course, it's beautiful, the water and the trees and those flowers - but I could have stared at her forever. And it's strange - I love her as Ophelia, but she's so much more fascinating to me as Lizzie. Maybe because the story paints her as so doomed anyway, the two get conflated in my mind. Especially in that painting, she's so beautiful and so secretive - so very much contained within herself. As Ophelia should be, I suppose. No definite answer to any of the questions.
I almost missed Ellen Terry. I went back through the gallery to find Kate, a little bit before they closed the Tate, and as I turned around, I saw it. I think I stopped breathing. It's enormous - it towers. But it's not lit, so I hadn't even noticed it before. Breathtaking - to stand at her feet and look up and see that expression on her face. I wish I'd had the time to stare at her, as well.
(By the way, she's on one side of a doorway. On the other side is a portrait of Sarah Siddons, the great Shakespearean actress of her day, famous especially for Lady Macbeth. I love the symmetry!)
From the Tate, we walked double-time to the Globe, thinking they might have tickets for whatever show they were doing that night. We made it at about 7:15, but they were sold out, and it was As You Like It, which we're seeing in Stratford this Tuesday (!!!), so we just got dinner. We had gelato on the banks of the Thames, looking across the river at the dome of St. Paul's:
And then we waited an hour for the bus back to Oxford (delays, delays - ARGH). And I have NEVER been so glad to get off my feet in my entire life! Not even hiking in Montana was that bad a foot-killer! I'm still debating whether or not to go on Dr. Fincham's tour of Oxford colleges. It's today at 2. I'll see how my feet feel.
The second part of the pattern is that, having spent all week in an academic frenzy, I then explode out of Oxford on the weekend, in a sort of "Get me out of here!!!" mode. I'll go ANYWHERE (Salisbury, Bath, London, Stratford) - I just don't want to be in Oxford over the weekend.
In keeping with this, I went to London yesterday as part of a group excursion (every single Sweet Briar girl went on it). We met up at the Portobello Road market, which is incredible. Six blocks of stalls and shops, with fantastic stuff. Antiques, clothes, books, prints, fresh fruit, china (there was a teacup with lilies of the valley that I loved. I might have to go back and get it, I keep thinking about it). I picked up a few presents for people (no, I'm not telling, you'll have to wait). Kate and I split a box of strawberries for lunch. DELICIOUS. Every single one was sweet and perfect.
From Portobello Road...well, that's when the walking started. I was determined to get to the Tate, and I'd planned out the route on the Underground before I left Oxford. Except that once we got on the Underground, they let us know that the line we needed (the Victoria line) was completely down for service repairs. THANKS FOR THE TIMING. So we rerouted through another line, but we got off two stops before we really needed to. The bright side of this was that we saw this as soon as we got off the Underground:
All due respect to V and everything, but the Houses of Parliament are HUGE. As in, ENORMOUS. As in, GO ON FOREVER. I do not know how much dynamite would be required to blow them up, but I'm thinking that a trainload is the bare minimum starting level.
A minute or so of walking down the road from the stop, we also saw this:
That's Westminster Abbey. YEAH. Best Underground stop ever? Quite possibly.
Except that it cost ten pounds to get in, and by that time it was 2:30, and the Tate stops letting people in at 5. So we put off Westminster and walked to the Tate.
...Or so we thought.
We got turned around pretty early. No one knew directions. We wound up walking through half of London looking for this place, stopping in and asking people, finally, how to get to Victoria Station, which was near it. We made it to Victoria at about 3:20, and asked the information desk, only to have him tell us that we needed to get on the train to London Bridge and it was too far to walk. ???
We sat down (we were in desperate need of sitting) and got coffee and pastries, and realized that in fact, what he had meant was the Tate MODERN. Despite the fact that the whole time, I'd been asking about the Tate BRITAIN. Gotta love earwax. Also, I'd noticed a street that I'd recognized from my online route-checking, and I wanted to try it. The amazing Kate was game (after we'd had our sit-down), so we took off down that street. And THANK THE EFFING LORD, it was the right way. We made it to the Tate at 4, and had an hour and forty minutes.
And then it was all worth it.
Can I just list the paintings I have now seen in person? Just to get it through my head?
Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth. Emma Hamilton. Draper's Lament for Icarus. Burne-Jones's King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid. The phoenix portrait of Elizabeth I. Millais' Ophelia. Rossetti's Proserpina. And The Beloved.
That one, I could have stared at for years. I took three steps into the Pre-Raphaelite room and I saw it on the wall. I thought for a second about waiting for it. And then I walked right over to it and stared and stared. I think that was the first painting I ever fell in love with - I don't even know how old I was when I first saw it, but it's always stuck with me. Don't laugh at me; it was almost a religious experience to see it, finally, in person.
And it's beautiful. They've hung it at eye level, so you cannot look away from the Bride. When you see it online, no problem - she's beautiful, but so are the other women around her, and your eye skips from her to them. But standing in front of her - she's challenging you. You don't get that, quite, in a photo of her. But she's so calm, so sure of herself, that you can't but feel yourself a lesser creature, privileged to look at her, but not entirely worthy. There is no one who can make you look away from her.
Except that there's also Lizzie Siddal as Ophelia in the same room. And I had to look at her too. Transfixed again, just standing and looking at her - at the rest of the painting too, of course, it's beautiful, the water and the trees and those flowers - but I could have stared at her forever. And it's strange - I love her as Ophelia, but she's so much more fascinating to me as Lizzie. Maybe because the story paints her as so doomed anyway, the two get conflated in my mind. Especially in that painting, she's so beautiful and so secretive - so very much contained within herself. As Ophelia should be, I suppose. No definite answer to any of the questions.
I almost missed Ellen Terry. I went back through the gallery to find Kate, a little bit before they closed the Tate, and as I turned around, I saw it. I think I stopped breathing. It's enormous - it towers. But it's not lit, so I hadn't even noticed it before. Breathtaking - to stand at her feet and look up and see that expression on her face. I wish I'd had the time to stare at her, as well.
(By the way, she's on one side of a doorway. On the other side is a portrait of Sarah Siddons, the great Shakespearean actress of her day, famous especially for Lady Macbeth. I love the symmetry!)
From the Tate, we walked double-time to the Globe, thinking they might have tickets for whatever show they were doing that night. We made it at about 7:15, but they were sold out, and it was As You Like It, which we're seeing in Stratford this Tuesday (!!!), so we just got dinner. We had gelato on the banks of the Thames, looking across the river at the dome of St. Paul's:
And then we waited an hour for the bus back to Oxford (delays, delays - ARGH). And I have NEVER been so glad to get off my feet in my entire life! Not even hiking in Montana was that bad a foot-killer! I'm still debating whether or not to go on Dr. Fincham's tour of Oxford colleges. It's today at 2. I'll see how my feet feel.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Legends of kebab land
I think I might have just witnessed a VPO mini-legend. I have to blog about this before I forget.
There's a kebab cart (like a pretzel stand in Philly, but awesomer) right outside St. Anne's, and people go there on a fairly regular basis for fantastic late-night snacks. Personally, I'm a huge fan of their cheesy chips (chips here being fries - with REAL CHEESE, people!). Anyway. I went to the Royal Oak (nearest pub) with some wonderful girls this evening, and as we were coming back, we decide to go to the kebab cart.
I get cheesy chips. Kate gets much more elaborate chips. Caroline decides she actually just wants hummus.
Well, the guy's face when she asked for just hummus was priceless. He froze, and he looked at her and said, "I...don't have a...cup or anything to give it to you in..."
She said, "I just want hummus." (If I had a pound for every time she said "I love hummus" tonight...)
He said, "I could...give it to you in a pita..."
"Sure," she said. "I love hummus."
(Kate and I, by the way, were cracking up the whole time. He was so bewildered!)
So she gets a pita with hummus and garlic mayo, which only costs a pound and which is a completely new item for the kebab cart. Lo and behold, it becomes an instant hit with Anastasia and Allison, and they promptly drag her back to the cart to reorder this wild and miraculous new thing. And I think they're just going to keep ordering that from the kebab cart for the next two weeks. We'll see if it winds up making it onto the official menu...
There's a kebab cart (like a pretzel stand in Philly, but awesomer) right outside St. Anne's, and people go there on a fairly regular basis for fantastic late-night snacks. Personally, I'm a huge fan of their cheesy chips (chips here being fries - with REAL CHEESE, people!). Anyway. I went to the Royal Oak (nearest pub) with some wonderful girls this evening, and as we were coming back, we decide to go to the kebab cart.
I get cheesy chips. Kate gets much more elaborate chips. Caroline decides she actually just wants hummus.
Well, the guy's face when she asked for just hummus was priceless. He froze, and he looked at her and said, "I...don't have a...cup or anything to give it to you in..."
She said, "I just want hummus." (If I had a pound for every time she said "I love hummus" tonight...)
He said, "I could...give it to you in a pita..."
"Sure," she said. "I love hummus."
(Kate and I, by the way, were cracking up the whole time. He was so bewildered!)
So she gets a pita with hummus and garlic mayo, which only costs a pound and which is a completely new item for the kebab cart. Lo and behold, it becomes an instant hit with Anastasia and Allison, and they promptly drag her back to the cart to reorder this wild and miraculous new thing. And I think they're just going to keep ordering that from the kebab cart for the next two weeks. We'll see if it winds up making it onto the official menu...
In which I kick tutorial ass!
Holy crap, you guys! This is a first! After three weeks, I have finally had a history tutorial in which I did not make an arse of myself!!!
I'm so excited! And I just can't hide it!
We were talking about Charles I and the Personal Rule (basically, Charles got fed up with Parliament and decided he'd rule without it. That worked for 11 years. After that he needed money and called Parliament again). My paper for this week argued that in fact, the Personal Rule itself didn't create a rift between Charles and his subjects - that in fact it was more basic, a set of miscommunications, that created that rift. I still think I'm right, at least to some degree (although a tutor less kind than Jenner could probably have smashed truck-size holes through my facts, I remain convinced on the essential point). And I argued the point with him, and he didn't tear it to pieces, and I'M SO FRICKIN' HAPPY!!!
Next week we're looking more closely at the civil war itself. (Lots of civil wars! This one, the Wars of the Roses...) It's really, really cool to be reading about this time period. I know so little about it that it's all a discovery. I'm even learning to think a little better of James I. Oh, the Stuarts. The tragic, silly Stuarts. (Though I'm very grateful to Charles II for the whole women-can-act thing. VERY grateful.)
Just had to tell you guys!
Tomorrow I'm going into London to Portobello Road, the famous six-block open-air market. While I'm there, I'm also hoping to get to either the Tate or Westminster Abbey. I WILL see the Pre-Raphaelite paintings while I'm here! I am DETERMINED!
I'm so excited! And I just can't hide it!
We were talking about Charles I and the Personal Rule (basically, Charles got fed up with Parliament and decided he'd rule without it. That worked for 11 years. After that he needed money and called Parliament again). My paper for this week argued that in fact, the Personal Rule itself didn't create a rift between Charles and his subjects - that in fact it was more basic, a set of miscommunications, that created that rift. I still think I'm right, at least to some degree (although a tutor less kind than Jenner could probably have smashed truck-size holes through my facts, I remain convinced on the essential point). And I argued the point with him, and he didn't tear it to pieces, and I'M SO FRICKIN' HAPPY!!!
Next week we're looking more closely at the civil war itself. (Lots of civil wars! This one, the Wars of the Roses...) It's really, really cool to be reading about this time period. I know so little about it that it's all a discovery. I'm even learning to think a little better of James I. Oh, the Stuarts. The tragic, silly Stuarts. (Though I'm very grateful to Charles II for the whole women-can-act thing. VERY grateful.)
Just had to tell you guys!
Tomorrow I'm going into London to Portobello Road, the famous six-block open-air market. While I'm there, I'm also hoping to get to either the Tate or Westminster Abbey. I WILL see the Pre-Raphaelite paintings while I'm here! I am DETERMINED!
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Things British and things not
As fantastic and geek-rewarding as Bath was, I think the British Museum might trump it. Bath was glorious for my Austenmania. The British Museum had Egypt, Greece, ancient Britain, and Japan. And that's only the part I got to.
I have to start with a list of things I saw. Or maybe just a picture of one of the things I saw.
YEAH. I saw it. In the flesh. And I almost missed it - it was in the one Egypt room I didn't get to. We were about to head downstairs, and I looked up and across and my heart nearly stopped. I could have stared at it for hours.
I DID stare at this:
For at least ten minutes. They have an entire exhibit on the tomb this painting comes from. Kate and I went into the room, and I saw this and was just floored. It's beautiful. I also saw the Rosetta Stone (about half my height, beautiful but absolutely THRONGED with tourists taking pictures, so it was tricky just getting close enough to get a decent look), the head of Ramses that inspired "Ozymandias" (does this make me now a traveler to an antique land?), a gorgeous set of samurai armor, two sets of Assyrian winged gate guardians, the Sutton Hoo burial treasures (helmet, shield, sword, grave goods), the friezes from the Parthenon...I could go on forever.
My favorite thing, though, is probably the carvings from the Assyrian king Ashurbanipal's palace of lion hunts. Lion hunting was the appropriate pastime for Assyrian kings - showcasing their manhood, their strength, their fitness to be king by triumphing over the greatest of beasts. These carvings went on for two entire rooms, all over both sides of the walls. They have plenty of incredible scenes with archers and lions that, in terms of dynamic action, quite frankly put Ramses at Kadesh to shame. But the incredible parts were the carvings of the lions alone. Like this one (again, not mine - I was too busy staring to take a picture):
And that's not even the best. The lions themselves were everywhere, and the sympathy they were carved with was just breathtaking.
At four, we (that is, Kate and Jeni and I) met up and had high tea on the top floor of the British Museum. And that was FANTASTIC! I want to have high tea every day for the rest of my life. Preferably with the scones they serve at the British Museum. We each had our own pot of tea (I got lemongrass and ginger - interesting, but never got very strong at all), and we split the scones, the finger sandwiches, and the pastries. (I got the chocolate mousse and the tiny cheesecake.)
Basically, if you ever get a chance to go to the British Museum, DO IT. If there aren't five different things you want to see there, I despair of you.
In other news, I went to see Henry V in the Trinity College garden last night. Interesting at some places, dragged in others. The Blackfriars production remains utterly unrivaled, although this version did the setpiece speeches nicely (particularly "Once more into the breach"). The wooing of Katherine is always a fantastic scene, and they did it well - with plenty of emphasis on how pissed and stripped the king of France actually is at the outcome of all this English patriotic conquest. And while the comic scenes, horrifically, were not that funny (and let me tell you, they ARE funny), this production did feature a priceless little ditty that Henry's army sang as they marched out at the end of the first half:
Harry, he took a tennis ball
And mounted it on top of Harfleur's wall
Gloucester
He hit it faster
But the Dauphin has no balls at all!
(Gloucester and faster rhyme better if you say it with an accent.)
I have to start with a list of things I saw. Or maybe just a picture of one of the things I saw.
YEAH. I saw it. In the flesh. And I almost missed it - it was in the one Egypt room I didn't get to. We were about to head downstairs, and I looked up and across and my heart nearly stopped. I could have stared at it for hours.
I DID stare at this:
For at least ten minutes. They have an entire exhibit on the tomb this painting comes from. Kate and I went into the room, and I saw this and was just floored. It's beautiful. I also saw the Rosetta Stone (about half my height, beautiful but absolutely THRONGED with tourists taking pictures, so it was tricky just getting close enough to get a decent look), the head of Ramses that inspired "Ozymandias" (does this make me now a traveler to an antique land?), a gorgeous set of samurai armor, two sets of Assyrian winged gate guardians, the Sutton Hoo burial treasures (helmet, shield, sword, grave goods), the friezes from the Parthenon...I could go on forever.
My favorite thing, though, is probably the carvings from the Assyrian king Ashurbanipal's palace of lion hunts. Lion hunting was the appropriate pastime for Assyrian kings - showcasing their manhood, their strength, their fitness to be king by triumphing over the greatest of beasts. These carvings went on for two entire rooms, all over both sides of the walls. They have plenty of incredible scenes with archers and lions that, in terms of dynamic action, quite frankly put Ramses at Kadesh to shame. But the incredible parts were the carvings of the lions alone. Like this one (again, not mine - I was too busy staring to take a picture):
And that's not even the best. The lions themselves were everywhere, and the sympathy they were carved with was just breathtaking.
At four, we (that is, Kate and Jeni and I) met up and had high tea on the top floor of the British Museum. And that was FANTASTIC! I want to have high tea every day for the rest of my life. Preferably with the scones they serve at the British Museum. We each had our own pot of tea (I got lemongrass and ginger - interesting, but never got very strong at all), and we split the scones, the finger sandwiches, and the pastries. (I got the chocolate mousse and the tiny cheesecake.)
Basically, if you ever get a chance to go to the British Museum, DO IT. If there aren't five different things you want to see there, I despair of you.
In other news, I went to see Henry V in the Trinity College garden last night. Interesting at some places, dragged in others. The Blackfriars production remains utterly unrivaled, although this version did the setpiece speeches nicely (particularly "Once more into the breach"). The wooing of Katherine is always a fantastic scene, and they did it well - with plenty of emphasis on how pissed and stripped the king of France actually is at the outcome of all this English patriotic conquest. And while the comic scenes, horrifically, were not that funny (and let me tell you, they ARE funny), this production did feature a priceless little ditty that Henry's army sang as they marched out at the end of the first half:
Harry, he took a tennis ball
And mounted it on top of Harfleur's wall
Gloucester
He hit it faster
But the Dauphin has no balls at all!
(Gloucester and faster rhyme better if you say it with an accent.)
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Taking the waters
Almost caught-up! Almost! Only one more to go!
...I keep telling myself that, anyway...
Anyway. Two day-trips, both of which were awesome! And both of which, alas, I have very few pictures, since my memory card was a raging b*tch on Friday and I was too busy gazing in awe on Sunday to take many photos. But that (as I said about the Globe) is what the Internet is for.
Friday was my trip to Bath with Kate. We took the train in on a drizzly day and went straight to the Roman baths. (Get a ticket there and you get free admission to the Pump-room!) You also get to see this:
This, my friends, is the main soaking area. A typical Roman bath - and yes, I mean typical, all classes of people used these baths - is a day-long affair. You leave your clothes and go into the tepidarium, a pool where it's just nice and warm. There you get relaxed, and you also get covered with a mixture of oil and sand. From there, you go into the caldarium, which is basically a sauna, and you just sit and sweat. The theory is that the dirt and impurities are sweated out, but trapped on top of your skin by the oil-and-sand concoction. Once you've sweated clean, you go back into the tepidarium and get the oil (and by extension, the dirt) scraped off you. THEN you get to go into that gorgeous main pool and just soak and relax and feel good about life. You can also use that time to do deals, talk politics, play politics - the essentials of life for a Roman. Extremely awesome. I wish we had more of them.
At the site, they explained how in fact, come the 1700s, no one knew the baths were THERE. They'd just been built up and up and finally built over, and when they were discovered it was (understandably) a HUGE deal. But because of that, and also because the baths themselves fell into disuse and disrepair, you can see the cut-away floors, and the bricks they piled up under the raised floors to carry heat.
Speaking of heat - the water flows out of the Sacred Spring at perfect bath temperature. Kate and I dipped our hands in when no one was looking and we were behind a column. It was wild. We also tasted the waters in the Pump-room (the officially approved, come-out-of-a-fountain-and-are-not-green waters. They taste like sparkling water that's gone flat. It was fantastic.
The Pump-room is now a restaurant. It's also enormous. Perfect for lots of dancing couples, with a balcony overhead for the musicians (who were playing when we came in!). We didn't make it to the Upper Rooms, but we saw pictures, and they look beautiful.
We DID make it to the Jane Austen Centre, of course. Very fun exhibit they have, complete with lots of beautiful Regency-era costumes, many of which they got from Austen movies. I liked that they were up-front about the fact that Jane Austen disliked Bath and barely wrote while she lived there. But at the same time, you can easily see where she got the impressions that turn up in Northanger Abbey and in Persuasion. I thought it was well done.
And then we wandered around! We went to the Circus and the Crescent, which are literally right around the corner from the Upper Rooms and the MOST fashionable apartments in Bath. This is quite obviously not my picture - for one thing, I don't take pictures this good, and for another, my name is not QT Luong - but this'll give you some idea of the amazingness of the Circus.
The Circus, aptly enough, is a full circle of apartments. The Crescent, therefore, is a half-circle. Kate and I both preferred the Crescent, because it has the most breathtaking view in the entire city. I can't find a picture of it - everyone seems to want pictures with the Crescent buildings, not the view FROM the Crescent buildings - but it was incredible. And I'm pretty sure Kate got a picture, so once she gets it on Facebook, I'll move it here.
On the train back, we read Northanger Abbey aloud, each taking a chapter at a time and doing parts (I read Isabella and John Thorpe, Henry Tilney, and Mr. Allen. Great fun). And on Saturday, I did absolutely nothing. I slept until noon. It was GLORIOUS.
Tomorrow: the British Museum! Tonight: Liz goes to sleep!
...I keep telling myself that, anyway...
Anyway. Two day-trips, both of which were awesome! And both of which, alas, I have very few pictures, since my memory card was a raging b*tch on Friday and I was too busy gazing in awe on Sunday to take many photos. But that (as I said about the Globe) is what the Internet is for.
Friday was my trip to Bath with Kate. We took the train in on a drizzly day and went straight to the Roman baths. (Get a ticket there and you get free admission to the Pump-room!) You also get to see this:
This, my friends, is the main soaking area. A typical Roman bath - and yes, I mean typical, all classes of people used these baths - is a day-long affair. You leave your clothes and go into the tepidarium, a pool where it's just nice and warm. There you get relaxed, and you also get covered with a mixture of oil and sand. From there, you go into the caldarium, which is basically a sauna, and you just sit and sweat. The theory is that the dirt and impurities are sweated out, but trapped on top of your skin by the oil-and-sand concoction. Once you've sweated clean, you go back into the tepidarium and get the oil (and by extension, the dirt) scraped off you. THEN you get to go into that gorgeous main pool and just soak and relax and feel good about life. You can also use that time to do deals, talk politics, play politics - the essentials of life for a Roman. Extremely awesome. I wish we had more of them.
At the site, they explained how in fact, come the 1700s, no one knew the baths were THERE. They'd just been built up and up and finally built over, and when they were discovered it was (understandably) a HUGE deal. But because of that, and also because the baths themselves fell into disuse and disrepair, you can see the cut-away floors, and the bricks they piled up under the raised floors to carry heat.
Speaking of heat - the water flows out of the Sacred Spring at perfect bath temperature. Kate and I dipped our hands in when no one was looking and we were behind a column. It was wild. We also tasted the waters in the Pump-room (the officially approved, come-out-of-a-fountain-and-are-not-green waters. They taste like sparkling water that's gone flat. It was fantastic.
The Pump-room is now a restaurant. It's also enormous. Perfect for lots of dancing couples, with a balcony overhead for the musicians (who were playing when we came in!). We didn't make it to the Upper Rooms, but we saw pictures, and they look beautiful.
We DID make it to the Jane Austen Centre, of course. Very fun exhibit they have, complete with lots of beautiful Regency-era costumes, many of which they got from Austen movies. I liked that they were up-front about the fact that Jane Austen disliked Bath and barely wrote while she lived there. But at the same time, you can easily see where she got the impressions that turn up in Northanger Abbey and in Persuasion. I thought it was well done.
And then we wandered around! We went to the Circus and the Crescent, which are literally right around the corner from the Upper Rooms and the MOST fashionable apartments in Bath. This is quite obviously not my picture - for one thing, I don't take pictures this good, and for another, my name is not QT Luong - but this'll give you some idea of the amazingness of the Circus.
The Circus, aptly enough, is a full circle of apartments. The Crescent, therefore, is a half-circle. Kate and I both preferred the Crescent, because it has the most breathtaking view in the entire city. I can't find a picture of it - everyone seems to want pictures with the Crescent buildings, not the view FROM the Crescent buildings - but it was incredible. And I'm pretty sure Kate got a picture, so once she gets it on Facebook, I'll move it here.
On the train back, we read Northanger Abbey aloud, each taking a chapter at a time and doing parts (I read Isabella and John Thorpe, Henry Tilney, and Mr. Allen. Great fun). And on Saturday, I did absolutely nothing. I slept until noon. It was GLORIOUS.
Tomorrow: the British Museum! Tonight: Liz goes to sleep!
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Stories I forgot to tell
We have a beginning-of-week and end-of-week story. Both (I think) are awesome. But the end-of-week story is the one which, if I know my friends and family (and I flatter myself that after twenty-two years I've picked up a few things), will make people squeal with delight and/or leave lots of comments expressing their opinions. (Shameless hint? Naaahhh...)
And because after twenty-two years you should know me, it should be no surprise that you get the beginning-of-week story first!
Last Saturday, which started the Week of Busy Greatness and Sisterly Affection, Helen and I raced from the bus stop to St. Anne's and from St. Anne's to the train station in less than an hour to make the train to Salisbury. Helen, you should know, had not slept since 8 AM the previous day. So she was drowsy. Sweet and wonderful, of course, but also irritable in that cute-but-terrifying way she has when she HAS NOT HAD ENOUGH SLEEP.
For the record: she took none of this out on me. In fact, she was a champion - a fantastic traveling companion, a hardworking conversationalist (awkward story that perhaps I will tell in person), and as charming and wonderful as she could be. Just so you don't get the wrong idea.
Anyway. We've made our train connection, and she's starting to show how much she's running on empty. Right then, this woman plunks down next to the people right across the aisle from our seats and starts talking IN A VERY LOUD VOICE with an intriguing and unplaceable accent about...her cell phone. She just got it last week, see, and when she got it last week she could leave it on for a week and it would be fine, but now it doesn't hold a charge for more than a few days, and these are the details about the charging process, and here's the phone plan she got, and this is her great-aunt Mildred's picture which is totally relevant even though great-aunt Mildred didn't know what a cell phone was, and...
Okay, I added the bit about great-aunt Mildred. BUT THE REST IS ALL TRUE. This woman talked about absolutely nothing. And yet, somehow, absolutely everything. Forever. Someone flipped the switch, and she did not stop. All quite loudly.
About halfway through the cell phone monologue, Helen looked at me. And I became very glad that I was sitting between her and this woman, because I think she would have ripped the woman's throat out if she'd been a little closer.
I KNEW she would have ripped the woman's throat out when, about half an hour later, the woman had moved on to talking about cheese. (I told you: NOTHING AND EVERYTHING.) "Kraft Singles are the only kind of cheese Americans know about," she declared, with the complete weight of authority behind every word. "You ask for cheese anywhere in America and that's what you get."
At which point Helen looked at me again. And we just cracked up. We were sitting right across from them, and I think they must have noticed, but we couldn't help it. Two Americans, right there, who in fact prefer goat cheese and brie and mozzarella, and - whoops, sorry, there goes my American citizenship. If I don't think of Kraft Singles as cheese, I clearly can't be American. The Woman With the Carrying Voice of Indeterminate Nationality has proclaimed it to be so.
The end-of-week story can be summed up much more quickly. In three words:
I GOT DRUNK!!!
Yes! Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your Pimm's! It has happened!!
Helen and I had dinner on Thursday night at high table at Brasenose College (one of the really old colleges in Oxford), thanks to the charming and hilarious Stephen Smith, who was sweet enough to invite us both. This dinner included the students on Steve's program, who were all funny and smart and completely welcoming. At this dinner, I drank a glass of red wine and a sh*t-ton of really good port (for you, Cheryl!). I can't tell you how much port, because I frequently topped-off more than I filled a new cup, but the table managed to annihilate four bottles.
At that point I had to go to the bathroom. The stairs were a little tricky. When I started laughing (by/at myself) instead of navigating them better, it occurred to me that I might not be in full control.
And from there it just got better. We went to the college bar, and I had two Pimm's and played quite a few arcade trivia games (and knew the answers even in my state!). Then about eight of us stumbled outside and walked down to a club, where I had the most fun dancing that I have ever had in my life. I'm making it a rule now. Before I dance, I must get drunk. I'm so much less awkward and self-conscious. And I have a FANTASTIC time! (I'm a happy drunk. I giggle a lot.)
This story does have a moral, for all you impressionable people out there. When I woke up the next morning, I felt groggy and ill. And I vomited into the toilet bowl. That part was gross. But awesome. The same way that bleeding onto my toe shoe was awesome. Rite-of-passage thing.
I may have to do this more often...!
And because after twenty-two years you should know me, it should be no surprise that you get the beginning-of-week story first!
Last Saturday, which started the Week of Busy Greatness and Sisterly Affection, Helen and I raced from the bus stop to St. Anne's and from St. Anne's to the train station in less than an hour to make the train to Salisbury. Helen, you should know, had not slept since 8 AM the previous day. So she was drowsy. Sweet and wonderful, of course, but also irritable in that cute-but-terrifying way she has when she HAS NOT HAD ENOUGH SLEEP.
For the record: she took none of this out on me. In fact, she was a champion - a fantastic traveling companion, a hardworking conversationalist (awkward story that perhaps I will tell in person), and as charming and wonderful as she could be. Just so you don't get the wrong idea.
Anyway. We've made our train connection, and she's starting to show how much she's running on empty. Right then, this woman plunks down next to the people right across the aisle from our seats and starts talking IN A VERY LOUD VOICE with an intriguing and unplaceable accent about...her cell phone. She just got it last week, see, and when she got it last week she could leave it on for a week and it would be fine, but now it doesn't hold a charge for more than a few days, and these are the details about the charging process, and here's the phone plan she got, and this is her great-aunt Mildred's picture which is totally relevant even though great-aunt Mildred didn't know what a cell phone was, and...
Okay, I added the bit about great-aunt Mildred. BUT THE REST IS ALL TRUE. This woman talked about absolutely nothing. And yet, somehow, absolutely everything. Forever. Someone flipped the switch, and she did not stop. All quite loudly.
About halfway through the cell phone monologue, Helen looked at me. And I became very glad that I was sitting between her and this woman, because I think she would have ripped the woman's throat out if she'd been a little closer.
I KNEW she would have ripped the woman's throat out when, about half an hour later, the woman had moved on to talking about cheese. (I told you: NOTHING AND EVERYTHING.) "Kraft Singles are the only kind of cheese Americans know about," she declared, with the complete weight of authority behind every word. "You ask for cheese anywhere in America and that's what you get."
At which point Helen looked at me again. And we just cracked up. We were sitting right across from them, and I think they must have noticed, but we couldn't help it. Two Americans, right there, who in fact prefer goat cheese and brie and mozzarella, and - whoops, sorry, there goes my American citizenship. If I don't think of Kraft Singles as cheese, I clearly can't be American. The Woman With the Carrying Voice of Indeterminate Nationality has proclaimed it to be so.
The end-of-week story can be summed up much more quickly. In three words:
I GOT DRUNK!!!
Yes! Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your Pimm's! It has happened!!
Helen and I had dinner on Thursday night at high table at Brasenose College (one of the really old colleges in Oxford), thanks to the charming and hilarious Stephen Smith, who was sweet enough to invite us both. This dinner included the students on Steve's program, who were all funny and smart and completely welcoming. At this dinner, I drank a glass of red wine and a sh*t-ton of really good port (for you, Cheryl!). I can't tell you how much port, because I frequently topped-off more than I filled a new cup, but the table managed to annihilate four bottles.
At that point I had to go to the bathroom. The stairs were a little tricky. When I started laughing (by/at myself) instead of navigating them better, it occurred to me that I might not be in full control.
And from there it just got better. We went to the college bar, and I had two Pimm's and played quite a few arcade trivia games (and knew the answers even in my state!). Then about eight of us stumbled outside and walked down to a club, where I had the most fun dancing that I have ever had in my life. I'm making it a rule now. Before I dance, I must get drunk. I'm so much less awkward and self-conscious. And I have a FANTASTIC time! (I'm a happy drunk. I giggle a lot.)
This story does have a moral, for all you impressionable people out there. When I woke up the next morning, I felt groggy and ill. And I vomited into the toilet bowl. That part was gross. But awesome. The same way that bleeding onto my toe shoe was awesome. Rite-of-passage thing.
I may have to do this more often...!
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Catch-up time!
Wow. Busiest week so far, and I've barely blogged at all. That's what happens when I have a sister to distract me, I guess.
I've mentioned it on Facebook, but I'm probably going to be telling as many people as I can in whatever arenas present themselves for the next couple of years: I HAD ABSINTHE!!! On Sunday, the Salisbury group went for dinner to this lovely Mexican place. We were browsing through the alcohol list when Helen spotted that they had absinthe. Without further ado, six of the eight of us, me included, ordered shots. (The waitress raised her eyebrows, and the waiter/bartender came over just to make sure that that was what we really wanted. "Do you have this stuff for breakfast, then?" he asked.)
Not for breakfast. Just for AWESOME TIME!!!
When we got back, we went - oh, lord, where HAVEN'T we gone? Monday we just walked around - I took her to the Bodleian, and we sat on benches in the Divinity School (which they used for the hospital wing in Harry Potter). Tuesday we went to Blackwell's and found a copy of this version of "The Lady of Shalott," which I credit with turning us both into Tennyson lovers:
We also went to the Botanic Garden on Tuesday. They marked Tolkien's favorite tree on the map, and looking at it is like reading his mind when he conceived of Ents and mallyrn. (There's also a tree there that was planted during the English Civil War!) And we saw Will and Lyra's bench. I'd never really had a clear picture of what that looked like, but the minute we saw it, I could imagine everything from that scene, down to where everyone would stand and where Will cut the window through into Lyra's Oxford.
*If you don't know what I'm talking about - go find "The Golden Compass." Now. Read the series. Cry until you can't cry anymore. Then we'll talk.*
And yesterday, Helen got to go see "Julius Caesar" at the RSC! (Yes, the one I raved about.) As of right now, I haven't talked with her about it. I cannot wait to hear what she thinks!
I've mentioned it on Facebook, but I'm probably going to be telling as many people as I can in whatever arenas present themselves for the next couple of years: I HAD ABSINTHE!!! On Sunday, the Salisbury group went for dinner to this lovely Mexican place. We were browsing through the alcohol list when Helen spotted that they had absinthe. Without further ado, six of the eight of us, me included, ordered shots. (The waitress raised her eyebrows, and the waiter/bartender came over just to make sure that that was what we really wanted. "Do you have this stuff for breakfast, then?" he asked.)
Not for breakfast. Just for AWESOME TIME!!!
When we got back, we went - oh, lord, where HAVEN'T we gone? Monday we just walked around - I took her to the Bodleian, and we sat on benches in the Divinity School (which they used for the hospital wing in Harry Potter). Tuesday we went to Blackwell's and found a copy of this version of "The Lady of Shalott," which I credit with turning us both into Tennyson lovers:
We also went to the Botanic Garden on Tuesday. They marked Tolkien's favorite tree on the map, and looking at it is like reading his mind when he conceived of Ents and mallyrn. (There's also a tree there that was planted during the English Civil War!) And we saw Will and Lyra's bench. I'd never really had a clear picture of what that looked like, but the minute we saw it, I could imagine everything from that scene, down to where everyone would stand and where Will cut the window through into Lyra's Oxford.
*If you don't know what I'm talking about - go find "The Golden Compass." Now. Read the series. Cry until you can't cry anymore. Then we'll talk.*
And yesterday, Helen got to go see "Julius Caesar" at the RSC! (Yes, the one I raved about.) As of right now, I haven't talked with her about it. I cannot wait to hear what she thinks!
Monday, July 13, 2009
Adventures during the silence
Before you ask: I haven't been blogging lately because I've been nowhere near the Internet all weekend.
I've been near this instead.
Sorry about the long silence. I love you all, but...it was worth it.
So! Salisbury Cathedral (that's SOLZ-bury, or SOLZ-bree in the truly condensed pronunciation) has the tallest spire in the UK. It's incredibly old - going back to the 1100s and 1200s. Going by all the tombs and the amazing effigies was like a who's-who of important people throughout English history. The best part was that all the people who are buried in Salisbury Cathedral are the peripheral ones. You don't get Wolsey - but you do get his secretary. You don't get Edward III - but you do get a lord who fought with him at Crecy and Poitiers (only two of the three greatest English-over-French victories of all time). My two favorites were Lady Catherine Grey, Jane Grey's sister and lady-in-waiting to Elizabeth (and also a member of the Pregnant Maids of the Virgin Queen Club), and William Longespee, Earl of Salisbury and bastard brother to Richard and John (Lionheart and Magna Carta). Mommy, this is for you - you've read "Here Be Dragons." It's that Will. My heart practically stopped. His effigy is beautiful - traces of paint still on the stone.
There is an exception to the peripheral rule, however. And this one's for Mommy, too.
HORNBLOWER FOREVER!!!!
*If anyone did not get that reference, go out right now and find one of two books: either "Mr. Midshipman Hornblower" or "Beat to Quarters." Once you have found and bought them, take a few days off and read them. At that point you have a choice. You can: 1) leave a comment telling me how fantastic the books are and how grateful you are to me for telling you about them, 2) spend the next couple months finding and reading the entire Hornblower series, or 3) SPREAD THE LOVE. Actually, 3 is mandatory. Also? Find "Here Be Dragons." You won't regret that one either.*
Aaaaanyway...
Post-cathedral, we got Thai food for dinner. Helen, who had leaped right off the bus from Gatwick and onto the train to Salisbury, crashed and slept for the first time since 8 AM the previous morning. So our party left her at our adorable B&B and had fantastic dinner. Carina's search for the perfect spicy food remained unfulfilled, but it was still delicious. I tried a bite of hers and it practically burned my mouth off. So in part, I think it's just her. ;)
Then we went searching for a pub. We intended to go to the Haunch of Venison, the oldest pub in Salisbury (and supposedly haunted), but when we got there it was crowded and there was nowhere to sit. So we wound our way through the town (lovely and charming) until we got here:
The Wig and Quill, complete with hilarious pictures of constipated judges with upset stomachs and those wacky wigs! I had a Pimm's there (it's the classic British summer drink, so I'm told), and Doreen - you were right. IT IS HEAVEN. IN A GLASS. I've since ordered it every chance I got. WHY don't we make it stateside? Why do we deprive ourselves of such pure joy? WHY?!?!?! (I also did a shot of whiskey. Yummy!)
On Sunday...
Well, there really aren't words.
Yes, it was micromanaged and touristy. Yes, we had to take a bus instead of walking. Yes, we stayed on the track and couldn't get near the stones.
But you know what? I don't care. I didn't care. Because regardless of circumstances - steering to avoid people taking pictures, being surrounded by inane chatter, asking strangers to take pictures of me - there it was. And there I was, right by it.
And that means more than I can possibly say.
I wish the pictures did it justice. They can show you what it looks like from any angle you like. But they can't make you feel how it felt to stand on the plain with the sky blue and the clouds thick and gray, cold wind blowing strands of my hair straight out in front of me, and the stones there. Everyone talks about what a mystery Stonehenge is. I don't think it's that way at all. A mystery exists to be solved. Stonehenge isn't hiding anything - it is exactly what it is. It's straightforward. It's not a mystery to me.
But it is sacred. It's holy; it's magical. It is there to marvel at, to make you think of stark beauty that is not, quite, of this world. And that is so rare now that worship of that sort, unquestionable, unstoppable, unknowable, has come to be a mystery.
I don't want to know - I don't need to know. Feeling it seems more right to me. More worshipful. More fitting to a sacred place.
I've been near this instead.
Sorry about the long silence. I love you all, but...it was worth it.
So! Salisbury Cathedral (that's SOLZ-bury, or SOLZ-bree in the truly condensed pronunciation) has the tallest spire in the UK. It's incredibly old - going back to the 1100s and 1200s. Going by all the tombs and the amazing effigies was like a who's-who of important people throughout English history. The best part was that all the people who are buried in Salisbury Cathedral are the peripheral ones. You don't get Wolsey - but you do get his secretary. You don't get Edward III - but you do get a lord who fought with him at Crecy and Poitiers (only two of the three greatest English-over-French victories of all time). My two favorites were Lady Catherine Grey, Jane Grey's sister and lady-in-waiting to Elizabeth (and also a member of the Pregnant Maids of the Virgin Queen Club), and William Longespee, Earl of Salisbury and bastard brother to Richard and John (Lionheart and Magna Carta). Mommy, this is for you - you've read "Here Be Dragons." It's that Will. My heart practically stopped. His effigy is beautiful - traces of paint still on the stone.
There is an exception to the peripheral rule, however. And this one's for Mommy, too.
HORNBLOWER FOREVER!!!!
*If anyone did not get that reference, go out right now and find one of two books: either "Mr. Midshipman Hornblower" or "Beat to Quarters." Once you have found and bought them, take a few days off and read them. At that point you have a choice. You can: 1) leave a comment telling me how fantastic the books are and how grateful you are to me for telling you about them, 2) spend the next couple months finding and reading the entire Hornblower series, or 3) SPREAD THE LOVE. Actually, 3 is mandatory. Also? Find "Here Be Dragons." You won't regret that one either.*
Aaaaanyway...
Post-cathedral, we got Thai food for dinner. Helen, who had leaped right off the bus from Gatwick and onto the train to Salisbury, crashed and slept for the first time since 8 AM the previous morning. So our party left her at our adorable B&B and had fantastic dinner. Carina's search for the perfect spicy food remained unfulfilled, but it was still delicious. I tried a bite of hers and it practically burned my mouth off. So in part, I think it's just her. ;)
Then we went searching for a pub. We intended to go to the Haunch of Venison, the oldest pub in Salisbury (and supposedly haunted), but when we got there it was crowded and there was nowhere to sit. So we wound our way through the town (lovely and charming) until we got here:
The Wig and Quill, complete with hilarious pictures of constipated judges with upset stomachs and those wacky wigs! I had a Pimm's there (it's the classic British summer drink, so I'm told), and Doreen - you were right. IT IS HEAVEN. IN A GLASS. I've since ordered it every chance I got. WHY don't we make it stateside? Why do we deprive ourselves of such pure joy? WHY?!?!?! (I also did a shot of whiskey. Yummy!)
On Sunday...
Well, there really aren't words.
Yes, it was micromanaged and touristy. Yes, we had to take a bus instead of walking. Yes, we stayed on the track and couldn't get near the stones.
But you know what? I don't care. I didn't care. Because regardless of circumstances - steering to avoid people taking pictures, being surrounded by inane chatter, asking strangers to take pictures of me - there it was. And there I was, right by it.
And that means more than I can possibly say.
I wish the pictures did it justice. They can show you what it looks like from any angle you like. But they can't make you feel how it felt to stand on the plain with the sky blue and the clouds thick and gray, cold wind blowing strands of my hair straight out in front of me, and the stones there. Everyone talks about what a mystery Stonehenge is. I don't think it's that way at all. A mystery exists to be solved. Stonehenge isn't hiding anything - it is exactly what it is. It's straightforward. It's not a mystery to me.
But it is sacred. It's holy; it's magical. It is there to marvel at, to make you think of stark beauty that is not, quite, of this world. And that is so rare now that worship of that sort, unquestionable, unstoppable, unknowable, has come to be a mystery.
I don't want to know - I don't need to know. Feeling it seems more right to me. More worshipful. More fitting to a sacred place.
Friday, July 10, 2009
The second week is done!
Breathe in...breathe out. I survived another round of tutorials. In...out.
And I didn't make an ass of myself in history! THANK GOD. It's still taking some getting used to, but I think I'm getting the hang of it. I talked more than I did last week. By the time this is done, I might even have ditched some of the keep-silent inhibitions. Because you just can't do that here - or at least, you can't maintain it for any period of time.
Anyway. 'Tis done. Up next: King Lear and the social divide in the 1500s! (Not together, of course.) I kind of want to write on the eye/sight imagery in the play. We'll see what happens after I reread it.
And HELEN'S COMING THIS WEEKEND!!! We're going up to Salisbury tomorrow. Cathedrals! Stonehenge! Sisters! It's going to be fun.
And I didn't make an ass of myself in history! THANK GOD. It's still taking some getting used to, but I think I'm getting the hang of it. I talked more than I did last week. By the time this is done, I might even have ditched some of the keep-silent inhibitions. Because you just can't do that here - or at least, you can't maintain it for any period of time.
Anyway. 'Tis done. Up next: King Lear and the social divide in the 1500s! (Not together, of course.) I kind of want to write on the eye/sight imagery in the play. We'll see what happens after I reread it.
And HELEN'S COMING THIS WEEKEND!!! We're going up to Salisbury tomorrow. Cathedrals! Stonehenge! Sisters! It's going to be fun.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Vivat RSC! No, seriously. Vivat in Aeternum!
So. My favorite performance of Shakespeare ever has been, for two years, the Blackfriars production of Henry V that came to Sweet Briar. It was genius, absolutely revelatory; it had me on my feet cheering.
As of last night, it has a formidable rival.
We saw Julius Caesar as done by the Royal Shakespeare Company, and whoa. It was gorgeously staged, for one thing. The stage itself is a thrust with two alleys going through the ground audience, so they could and did roam pretty much anywhere. They set the play in Rome, which I really liked - transposing is fine, but it was just fantastic to see this one adhering to place and time. (Fun variations on the toga, and the women's costumes were FANTASTIC.)
And they did it bloody. The assassination was horrific - it took Caesar a long time to die, and while I could barely watch it, I could not look away. Actually, they started the play as soon as the audience was filing in, with two actors playing Romulus and Remus. It was extremely cool. They slunk around the stage, crawling, never standing, almost fetal; not speaking, but growling; very primordial, very wolflike, very frightening. By the end, when the audience was all seated, they had broken out into their fight (that was the only time they stood upright), which ended with Romulus killing Remus by biting through his neck. So we had the idea of essential savagery established right from the beginning.
Then on came the play. Simply marvelous on all counts. Brutus was incredible - tortured but honorable in the first half, and he played the second half as if the pressures of the first had turned him into a human powderkeg. It worked marvelously. He was genuinely shocking in the quarrel scene. (I'd also never spotted the moment when he decides to himself to join the conspiracy; it gave me chills in this performance.) I had never imagined Cassius played with half as much integrity as the actor last night gave him, but it works marvelously - his plans may be doomed, but he truly means them for the best, and you couldn't doubt his affection for Brutus. Which all makes it impossible to hate him as the instigator, so you have to commit to him as a tragic character. Fantastic.
Antony was an incredible surprise - as, of course, he should be. They cast a rather heavy actor as Antony, and I was a bit confused - wasn't he supposed to be more imposing? But what that did was fabulous: I'd underestimated Antony just as much as the conspirators do, and when he let loose with the funeral oration, I was blown away. He was incredible, electric. The tension between him and Octavius made me wish they'd just go right into Antony and Cleopatra when Caesar ended.
AND THE THEATER HAD SEATS WITH BUILT-IN CUSHIONS! MADE OF WIN!
I am thrilled that we're going back to Stratford for our third play, not to the Globe. It's great to have been at the Globe, but in terms of which production I'd rather see - no choice.
We actually got there two hours before the show, so we wandered around and explored. They milk the tourist thing for all it's worth in Stratford (Anne Hathaway's Bakery, a pub called Othello's, Midsummer House, etc.). Holy Trinity Church (also known as the site of Shakespeare's grave) was closed by the time we got there. But we did wander around it:
It was very quiet. Not eerie quiet, just peaceful quiet. I liked it a lot.
It was also beautiful:
Next time we go to Stratford, we go for a matinee. And then I will see The Grave. And I think, although I'm not sure how it's possible, the play will be just as good.
As of last night, it has a formidable rival.
We saw Julius Caesar as done by the Royal Shakespeare Company, and whoa. It was gorgeously staged, for one thing. The stage itself is a thrust with two alleys going through the ground audience, so they could and did roam pretty much anywhere. They set the play in Rome, which I really liked - transposing is fine, but it was just fantastic to see this one adhering to place and time. (Fun variations on the toga, and the women's costumes were FANTASTIC.)
And they did it bloody. The assassination was horrific - it took Caesar a long time to die, and while I could barely watch it, I could not look away. Actually, they started the play as soon as the audience was filing in, with two actors playing Romulus and Remus. It was extremely cool. They slunk around the stage, crawling, never standing, almost fetal; not speaking, but growling; very primordial, very wolflike, very frightening. By the end, when the audience was all seated, they had broken out into their fight (that was the only time they stood upright), which ended with Romulus killing Remus by biting through his neck. So we had the idea of essential savagery established right from the beginning.
Then on came the play. Simply marvelous on all counts. Brutus was incredible - tortured but honorable in the first half, and he played the second half as if the pressures of the first had turned him into a human powderkeg. It worked marvelously. He was genuinely shocking in the quarrel scene. (I'd also never spotted the moment when he decides to himself to join the conspiracy; it gave me chills in this performance.) I had never imagined Cassius played with half as much integrity as the actor last night gave him, but it works marvelously - his plans may be doomed, but he truly means them for the best, and you couldn't doubt his affection for Brutus. Which all makes it impossible to hate him as the instigator, so you have to commit to him as a tragic character. Fantastic.
Antony was an incredible surprise - as, of course, he should be. They cast a rather heavy actor as Antony, and I was a bit confused - wasn't he supposed to be more imposing? But what that did was fabulous: I'd underestimated Antony just as much as the conspirators do, and when he let loose with the funeral oration, I was blown away. He was incredible, electric. The tension between him and Octavius made me wish they'd just go right into Antony and Cleopatra when Caesar ended.
AND THE THEATER HAD SEATS WITH BUILT-IN CUSHIONS! MADE OF WIN!
I am thrilled that we're going back to Stratford for our third play, not to the Globe. It's great to have been at the Globe, but in terms of which production I'd rather see - no choice.
We actually got there two hours before the show, so we wandered around and explored. They milk the tourist thing for all it's worth in Stratford (Anne Hathaway's Bakery, a pub called Othello's, Midsummer House, etc.). Holy Trinity Church (also known as the site of Shakespeare's grave) was closed by the time we got there. But we did wander around it:
It was very quiet. Not eerie quiet, just peaceful quiet. I liked it a lot.
It was also beautiful:
Next time we go to Stratford, we go for a matinee. And then I will see The Grave. And I think, although I'm not sure how it's possible, the play will be just as good.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Hampton Court!!
I wish, wish, wish we'd had more time at Hampton Court yesterday. Our bus ride took about an hour more than it was supposed to (late starting time plus hideous traffic), so we only had two hours. Which is enough to do just about everything very cursorily.
Luckily, there is no time limit on geeking out! Or, more appropriately, on staring open-mouthed at the incredible beauty and age and impressiveness of the place.
The palace is actually half Tudor, half Georgian. The back part of it was redone for William and Mary, and is really rather gorgeous. But the people at Hampton Court know very well that the money and the tourism comes with the Tudor part:
Yes. The trees have Henry's initials on them.
I LOVE THIS PLACE!!
I don't want to sound sappy or ridiculous, but being in that place was like going back and being there then. It struck me at odd times, because it was so full of (fellow) tourists that it wasn't a complete constant, but there were places where I could feel - not the presence of these people, but the presence-that-had-been. The stamp of personality, the kind of thing that never goes away, that in fact changes the personality of the place just by existing.
And of course, mentally I sent myself back in time whenever I possibly could. I have now leaned out of a casement. And let me tell you: IT'S AMAZING. I've sat on a cushion in Henry's apartments; I've sat at the head of the high table in the Great Hall; I've walked in the gardens and down the stairs and through the Base Court with the sun over my head. You can't NOT imagine that it's then, and not now. (And even if you could, it's so much less fun!)
Oh, that's right. I mentioned gardens, didn't I? Gardens like this:
Of the Globe (which was right afterwards), I have, alas, no pictures. I was all set to take one when I was inside, and then one of the ushers came over and said that we weren't allowed to take pictures. I would have tried again, except I was basically sitting right next to the ushers. And I didn't want to get thrown out of the Globe before the show had even started.
But that's what the Internet is for! All the AMAZING visuals, none of the butt-soreness that comes with sitting through two hours on a wooden bench with no cushion. (A couple had to leave early during intermission, so I took one of their cushions. It was a GREAT relief, but my butt still hurt like anything.)
The show itself was great fun. I was not a fan of their Romeo (nothing changed between Rosaline and Juliet, which is kind of the point, that it HAS to), but Juliet was very good. Mercutio was FANTASTIC, and Paris was a hilarious fop. And it was the GLOBE, for crying out loud! Incredible to go.
(But I'm glad that the other two plays we're seeing are at Stratford. Maybe they'll have seats with built-in cushions...)
Luckily, there is no time limit on geeking out! Or, more appropriately, on staring open-mouthed at the incredible beauty and age and impressiveness of the place.
The palace is actually half Tudor, half Georgian. The back part of it was redone for William and Mary, and is really rather gorgeous. But the people at Hampton Court know very well that the money and the tourism comes with the Tudor part:
Yes. The trees have Henry's initials on them.
I LOVE THIS PLACE!!
I don't want to sound sappy or ridiculous, but being in that place was like going back and being there then. It struck me at odd times, because it was so full of (fellow) tourists that it wasn't a complete constant, but there were places where I could feel - not the presence of these people, but the presence-that-had-been. The stamp of personality, the kind of thing that never goes away, that in fact changes the personality of the place just by existing.
And of course, mentally I sent myself back in time whenever I possibly could. I have now leaned out of a casement. And let me tell you: IT'S AMAZING. I've sat on a cushion in Henry's apartments; I've sat at the head of the high table in the Great Hall; I've walked in the gardens and down the stairs and through the Base Court with the sun over my head. You can't NOT imagine that it's then, and not now. (And even if you could, it's so much less fun!)
Oh, that's right. I mentioned gardens, didn't I? Gardens like this:
Of the Globe (which was right afterwards), I have, alas, no pictures. I was all set to take one when I was inside, and then one of the ushers came over and said that we weren't allowed to take pictures. I would have tried again, except I was basically sitting right next to the ushers. And I didn't want to get thrown out of the Globe before the show had even started.
But that's what the Internet is for! All the AMAZING visuals, none of the butt-soreness that comes with sitting through two hours on a wooden bench with no cushion. (A couple had to leave early during intermission, so I took one of their cushions. It was a GREAT relief, but my butt still hurt like anything.)
The show itself was great fun. I was not a fan of their Romeo (nothing changed between Rosaline and Juliet, which is kind of the point, that it HAS to), but Juliet was very good. Mercutio was FANTASTIC, and Paris was a hilarious fop. And it was the GLOBE, for crying out loud! Incredible to go.
(But I'm glad that the other two plays we're seeing are at Stratford. Maybe they'll have seats with built-in cushions...)
Friday, July 3, 2009
Aaahhh...alcohol buzz...
Just got back from a mini pub-crawl with a couple of girls on the program. Great fun, actually. I have now had three drinks in one day - a record for me! (But rest assured, I remain in possession of my faculties. I'm just more buzzed and fuzzy in the head than I normally would be.)
We started at the college bar, where I had my second-ever Guinness (yummy stuff), and finished the whole half-pint in a game of Kings. (Thanks to Julia, Jess, and Cheryl for teaching me how to play last semester!) Then I was planning to quit, when Kate knocked on my door and said that some people were going to go to the Eagle and Child.
Well, tempt me with Tolkien and I'm in!
I discovered there that I like hard cider a lot. It helps with my essential alcohol wimpiness; I still feel like I'm drinking, but there's a buffer between me and the alcohol taste.
Then we moved on to the Lamb and Flag, which is literally right across the road (the Eagle and Child was very full and very warm):
I didn't know the girls we were with that much, but I really like them a lot. I got a delicious cider-esque drink called Thatcher's Gold, made with apples, which was extremely yummy and frighteningly easy to down quickly. Also, I did make the mistake of admitting early on that I was a sipper, which led one of the girls (Caroline) to instruct me to gulp frequently. Out of the four of us who were drinking, though, I finished mine third. Which is an improvement over my typical last-to-be-done thing. I think this is progress.
My head is actually a lot more fuzzy than it's used to being. I keep blinking a lot. And I really, really wish there was a water fountain in every building. I swear, the must-imbibe liquid here is water. There's an incredible shortage. They serve it at meals, but good luck finding a water fountain or a water cooler on campus! (We stopped in at one of the buildings on our way back because there was supposed to be a cooler. It was empty. CURSES.)
I'm going to bed now. We'll see how I feel in the morning for Hampton Court!
(And if I feel dreadful, I suppose I can sleep on the bus to London.)
We started at the college bar, where I had my second-ever Guinness (yummy stuff), and finished the whole half-pint in a game of Kings. (Thanks to Julia, Jess, and Cheryl for teaching me how to play last semester!) Then I was planning to quit, when Kate knocked on my door and said that some people were going to go to the Eagle and Child.
Well, tempt me with Tolkien and I'm in!
I discovered there that I like hard cider a lot. It helps with my essential alcohol wimpiness; I still feel like I'm drinking, but there's a buffer between me and the alcohol taste.
Then we moved on to the Lamb and Flag, which is literally right across the road (the Eagle and Child was very full and very warm):
I didn't know the girls we were with that much, but I really like them a lot. I got a delicious cider-esque drink called Thatcher's Gold, made with apples, which was extremely yummy and frighteningly easy to down quickly. Also, I did make the mistake of admitting early on that I was a sipper, which led one of the girls (Caroline) to instruct me to gulp frequently. Out of the four of us who were drinking, though, I finished mine third. Which is an improvement over my typical last-to-be-done thing. I think this is progress.
My head is actually a lot more fuzzy than it's used to being. I keep blinking a lot. And I really, really wish there was a water fountain in every building. I swear, the must-imbibe liquid here is water. There's an incredible shortage. They serve it at meals, but good luck finding a water fountain or a water cooler on campus! (We stopped in at one of the buildings on our way back because there was supposed to be a cooler. It was empty. CURSES.)
I'm going to bed now. We'll see how I feel in the morning for Hampton Court!
(And if I feel dreadful, I suppose I can sleep on the bus to London.)
*gasp* ... update ... on ... *wheeze* ... tutorials ...
I think I have now experienced the mental/academic version of a bludgeoning. Not (thank god) as bad a bludgeoning as I had been afraid of - I redeemed my sense of my ego in the English tutorial on Faustus. But WOW. The history tutorial somewhat kicked my ass.
First off, our topic was the Reformation, which is probably my weakest Tudor knowledge area (and also, arguably, the most important - definitely the one with the least gowns and queens). I didn't have to do the essay for my group (that's next week, on comparing two aspects of the Elizabethan court), and I did talk a decent bit, if less than I could have. But there was so much I didn't know, and hadn't gotten to read. And Mark, my tutor, asked the group these questions that you just have to think about for a bit. I tried a couple smart-alecky throwaway answers, but I think I may dispense with that for a bit in favor of actually serious ideas. Those worked better.
That being said, it wasn't a train wreck, which I'd been fearing. We all acquitted ourselves well, I thought, especially given that it was the first day and our first-ever tutorial at 8:45 in the morning. Small mercies.
And the English tutorial was a lot of fun. Kathryn and I wrote our essays on Faustus, and basically argued opposing (but not mutually exclusive) ideas: she that Faustus is solely responsible for his damnation, me that Faustus is heroic because he accepts that responsibility. We read them both out loud, and then the four of us - me, Kathryn, Matt, and Katie, our tutor - just talked about ideas the essays had raised for the rest of the hour. Matt had this fantastic notion that since good and evil are always diametrically opposed, and evil is this external force, that God is in fact present in the play in Faustus, which raised the question of Faustus' agency in his damnation, and...
Neon-flashing geek sign just went off over my head. Sorry. I think it's cool.
Anyway. I'm going to go plotz and read Girl With a Pearl Earring (bought a copy in a goodwill store for less than a pound!). That will make me feel better until the drinks party at 6.
And tomorrow: HAMPTON COURT AND THE GLOBE!!!! There will be PICTURES again!!!
First off, our topic was the Reformation, which is probably my weakest Tudor knowledge area (and also, arguably, the most important - definitely the one with the least gowns and queens). I didn't have to do the essay for my group (that's next week, on comparing two aspects of the Elizabethan court), and I did talk a decent bit, if less than I could have. But there was so much I didn't know, and hadn't gotten to read. And Mark, my tutor, asked the group these questions that you just have to think about for a bit. I tried a couple smart-alecky throwaway answers, but I think I may dispense with that for a bit in favor of actually serious ideas. Those worked better.
That being said, it wasn't a train wreck, which I'd been fearing. We all acquitted ourselves well, I thought, especially given that it was the first day and our first-ever tutorial at 8:45 in the morning. Small mercies.
And the English tutorial was a lot of fun. Kathryn and I wrote our essays on Faustus, and basically argued opposing (but not mutually exclusive) ideas: she that Faustus is solely responsible for his damnation, me that Faustus is heroic because he accepts that responsibility. We read them both out loud, and then the four of us - me, Kathryn, Matt, and Katie, our tutor - just talked about ideas the essays had raised for the rest of the hour. Matt had this fantastic notion that since good and evil are always diametrically opposed, and evil is this external force, that God is in fact present in the play in Faustus, which raised the question of Faustus' agency in his damnation, and...
Neon-flashing geek sign just went off over my head. Sorry. I think it's cool.
Anyway. I'm going to go plotz and read Girl With a Pearl Earring (bought a copy in a goodwill store for less than a pound!). That will make me feel better until the drinks party at 6.
And tomorrow: HAMPTON COURT AND THE GLOBE!!!! There will be PICTURES again!!!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
So I've been busy...
Helen, this one's for you - I DO do other things besides blogging!
To wit, I've been busy literally all day, since 8:45, when I woke up. Two marvelous lectures, one on the politics of the Elizabethan court and one on why Shakespeare wrote the way he did. Fantastic stuff. I particularly loved the Shakespeare lecture (surprise, surprise), in which we actually rehearsed a scene as the Lord Chamberlain's Men would have - in that we all had our lines and the three words before our lines. When Antony said "Hear me with patience," we said, "Peace, ho!" No idea when he'd say it, or what would be going on at that moment. (Aside from knowing it was the funeral oration in "Julius Caesar.")
It was funniest when people didn't realize their cue had come. I had a couple solo lines (because I volunteered! No more shoulder disease!), and I am rather proud to say I never whiffed on my lines. Yay for timing!
Then I went and did research in St. Anne's library. I've been reading scholarly articles and books ALL DAY. My eyes are going to drop out. And I really, really want to find the guy who wrote this book and ask him how on earth he expected anyone to READ it when it's rather dry and terribly organized without even a table of contents!
Sigh. Tomorrow only one lecture (at 9:30 AM, but only one is good). Then I'll finish my Faustus essay and maybe, maybe, get some rest!
*By the way: I love you all just for keeping up with this. But comments make me really happy.*
To wit, I've been busy literally all day, since 8:45, when I woke up. Two marvelous lectures, one on the politics of the Elizabethan court and one on why Shakespeare wrote the way he did. Fantastic stuff. I particularly loved the Shakespeare lecture (surprise, surprise), in which we actually rehearsed a scene as the Lord Chamberlain's Men would have - in that we all had our lines and the three words before our lines. When Antony said "Hear me with patience," we said, "Peace, ho!" No idea when he'd say it, or what would be going on at that moment. (Aside from knowing it was the funeral oration in "Julius Caesar.")
It was funniest when people didn't realize their cue had come. I had a couple solo lines (because I volunteered! No more shoulder disease!), and I am rather proud to say I never whiffed on my lines. Yay for timing!
Then I went and did research in St. Anne's library. I've been reading scholarly articles and books ALL DAY. My eyes are going to drop out. And I really, really want to find the guy who wrote this book and ask him how on earth he expected anyone to READ it when it's rather dry and terribly organized without even a table of contents!
Sigh. Tomorrow only one lecture (at 9:30 AM, but only one is good). Then I'll finish my Faustus essay and maybe, maybe, get some rest!
*By the way: I love you all just for keeping up with this. But comments make me really happy.*
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
