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.)
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