Sordid Blog

I’d thought Saturday to be a slow day for recuperation, but then I got excited to go to the West End area to see Daniel Boys signing his new CD, so the day was on!  Rick, Anna, and I left early … we were already going to see Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia that night … so we figured to stay all day, ramble around, starting with the signing at Dress Circle on Upper St. Martin’s Lane … but the queue was way too long and I just don’t stand in line for anything.  If there’d been the slightest chance that Boys would have looked at me, fallen madly in love, and left with me, I’d have waited hours and hours, but that being too ridiculous to consider, I told Rick and Anna we might as well just head south, grab a prawn mayo from Pret to eat on the steps of St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields, and watch the Saturday madness of Trafalgar Square.  And a moment for a chat with Oscar Wilde …

Anna wanted to pop into the National Portrait Gallery shop for some postcards, and I was sad to see that we’d be missing the exhibit there on “Gay Icons” … those would have been fun portraits to see!  But our lunch on the church steps was lovely, until Anna, not paying careful enough attention to the aggressive pigeons that stalk Trafalgar Square, found that one large triangle of her cut sandwich bread was the new plaything of the birds, each taking turns throwing the large triangle into the air to break it up, a flock descending to eat the seeds and to carb-load.  It was funny to watch, certainly, though anytime that many pigeons get around me I have Hitchcock flashbacks and look for the nearest exit!

We decided to pop into the National Gallery since we were there and needed to kill some time before the play.  Truthfully, I’m not a huge fan of art galleries; I feel so completely ignorant in them, and can’t help but think that I’m wasting my time. I want someone I know to be there beside me, to tell me how to read the walls, what to look at, how to see it.  I always feel this need to ground my reading of the art; with that, I’m quite happy reading it differently, working against any sort of official interpretation or period-based assessment.  Without that grounding, I find all art to be like Jackson Pollack canvases: a lot going on, no idea where to settle my eye, no sense of how to begin. I could just as easily be looking for Waldo in the gallery as anything. I can’t help but feel this is a mark of my low character.

Regardless, this trip, though I was overwhelmed and frustrated by the crowded Saturday gallery, did yield two pleasant surprises.  One, I fell somewhat fully in love with Renoir’s “The Umbrellas” … the movement of the piece, following from the bright child at the bottom to the apex at the top right, the umbrellas are exquisite; I found myself watching them, moving with them … the blues so exquisite.  Then, I stumbled upon “The Execution of Lady Jane Grey” by Paul Delaroche …. I couldn’t move for 20 minutes. The painting is enormous, too large to fit on the wall in any home I could ever own, done in lights and brushstrokes that seem to me like the Dutch Masters, though I couldn’t possibly tell you why I think that.  The image of Lady Jane, blindfolded, inches away from the wood block on which the axe would sever her head from her body … the ladies in waiting there to watch, one already fainted and crumpled on the ground, the other wailing upon the back wall, the strange determination of the man guiding Lady Jane to her death, and the strange dark look of empathy on the executioner’s face.  And Lady Jane, all in an ethereal silver-white dress, her arms awkwardly jutting from her body, looking for something to grab, something to steady her, fingers sticking out as though desperate to touch something firm, something exact, to find comfort or assurance. The whole tableau gruesome and alarming and appealing and amazing, light in dark, dark around light, colors muted and explosive in an orgy of trembling. It makes me want to know something about art.

The evening culminated for me, however, in the trip to Arcadia at the Duke of York theatre on St. Martin’s Lane. In some ways, this feels like the most perfect of London trips: in the span of one week, I’ll have attended genius productions of the last two plays I performed in, Arcadia and Peter Pan (in a few days).

I had looked forward to seeing Arcadia for months, since the moment I read that it would be in London while we were there, to see again my favorite Stoppard play, one I had performed in myself back in my ‘theater days’ … As I watched, from the opening with Thomasina and Septimus’s discussion of carnal embrace, all the way through, I remembered so many moments of our own rehearsals and performances at Georgia Southern in the summer of 1999 — ten years ago exctly — and Amy Lovin as Hannah, Amy as Hermoine, David, all the rest — so much fun that summer —and, of course, missing Patti … Stoppard’s play remains, for me, a brilliant look at hwat we know and don’t — at the way we seek so aggressively (and arrogantly) for knowledge, to learn and to know, and the sturggle of methodology — the how we know.

I left that play on a high that I experience rarely … I love almost all plays, musicals, theatre, but there are those that move more fully or completely, or which raise questions that keep me thinking for days … I was lucky to see such a moving Arcadia, and even more fortunate that so many of our students chose to go on their own to see it after Rick and I recommended it in class.

Okay, so he was just holding my Stella, but he looks so clever holding it … not the sort of picture one gets often (or really ever) of Rick …

Now, if only we could get the other kids to the pub, not to get drunk, but just to hang for a few minutes, to chat and chill as a large group …

With Anna and Brent teaching, Rick and I take off for Chelsea, to find Oscar Wile’s house on Tite Street and ramble around and chat. I find Rick one of the best colleagues, one of the most amazing people, and I’ve come to treasure the trip to London as much because of time with Rick as any other reason.  It’s rare to find a colleague and friend so excited about theatre, so interested in it not merely as written text but as performed and performative, and the nuances that exist at the edges of the words on the page.

We found Wilde’s house, and rambled further, back up to South K station, and then Rick and I split, him to join  Anna at the Barbican for the silent film festival and me to see the exhibit on poetry for children at the British Library.  It was fun to look at all the old books, the nursery rhymes and songs, the regular and irregular poems, the pictures and the texts-as-artifacts.  A slow walk down Euston Rd, past Euston Station, Euston Square, University College London, and on back to the flats.

Even in its busiest, London makes walking a joy. If only weight-loss came with the walking … how are the people here so thin? They eat all hours, all sorts of horrible foods, they smoke and drink constantly … if I lived that way, I wouldn’t get through the door!

After morning class, a walk with Anna down Edgware Rd to Hyde Park and round to Kensington Gardens. We had the loveliest time walking together, chatting.  But the first look of east Hyde, across Bayswater Rd, the wide, flat, treeless expanse stirred a quiet pain in my heart, memories of last year in Hyde, and I find myself missing the 2008 group terribly.  This year, the students are perfectly lovely, so interesting and different, but I suppose there is no group like the first … or was my first group just special to me in some way? Right time, right people, right place?  I fall silent for a moment of the walk, transported back to that last night in London, 2008, to the small group in a ring, to sharing stories and saying great-generous things about each other, while a small band of protesters took their fight about the end of the “booze Tube” to the park, and strains of Queen echoing across the great plain.

Anna and I found the Peter Pan theatre tent quite easily, a huge circus tent of a structure, all in white, and standing out on an unkept grassy area near the gazebo and directly across the Serpentine from the Peter Pan statue … a walk around, through the Italian sunken garden, past Peter to say hello, up the center of Kensington to the palace, then down Kensington Rd to the Royal Albert Hall, a right down Exhibition to Brompton, and left to Harrod’s … a two hour ramble since leaving the flats, and the aching feet and shins to prove it! then Spanish wine and cheese in Harrod’s, the most delicious and delicate-bold manchego with quince paste.

The Tube back to the flats and suddenly it’s time to go to As You Like It at the Globe.  Rick knocks on our door, inquires about Delores, checks for his Tube pass, his money, and his saccharine. Check.

Standing in the queue for entry, I move lazily through the program I’ve purchased, and there is, therein, the most fabulous of surprises: Jaime Parker! Jaime Parker! Jaime Parker!  He’s in the play! Swoooooooonnnnnn … He is one of the primary reasons that I re-watch The History Boys at least once a month; he was the highlight of last summer’s Revenger’s Tragedy; and here he is, again, to surprise me in As You Like It.  Before the first act was over, I could have touched him he was so close to me. It took tremendous restraint not to reach up, grab him, and abscond with him back to the flats. I can’t imagine that, deep down, most actors don’t want to stalked by their number one fan!  Fortunately, I could ignore him long enough to enjoy the best Jacques ever, find myself annoyed with the lead male, and enamored of Rosaline … she was fabulous!

The walk to the St. Paul’s Tube stop takes us each year across the Millennium Bridge and let’s face it: what is better than London at night from the bridge, a view east of the Tower Bridge lit up, the shining Globe behind, the majestic St. Paul’s ahead.  This view couldn’t get old; one almost wishes for recesses and alcoves with benches to sit for a while and just watch, light on water, on building, on dome, on steeple, and the wet rustle of the restless Thames along the pillions and bank.

Up early this morning, around 6:00 a.m., but a struggle to do so; I’m having to set my alarm this year, it seems, or risk sleeping back 6:00 … never past 7:00, but at least 6:00.  Can’t lose an hour like that!  There seems already to be less energy in the trip than last year; the students are perfectly lovely, but either they save all their energy for themselves or they don’t have it.  Perhaps it will come.

Today is made to be good: Kew Gardens, which will begin with a river boat ride/tour down the Thames to Kew, followed by our first play/musical of the trip, Avenue Q.  Around 9:30, we leave for the docks at Westminster, an easy Tube ride to the river.

The ride down the Thames may be the most relaxing thing I’ve ever done. Despite the bright, almost-too-warm sun, the river breezes and the gentle speed of the boat make the trip a pleasure. One begins to understand the joy of Pullman’s gyptians, their canal and river punts, skiffs, and boats, a life on the water. We pass a fairly large yacht, and I dream of spending weeks in London, staying on that boat and venturing out to the parks, plays, and past times.

Kew drips with new-sprung flowers, names I do not know, many I’ve never heard of. The Victorian in me wants to catalogue them, capture each in my book, but the Romantic says walk on, move forward, turn off this paved pathway and walk into the grass, the wood; search for the Badget Sett, walk among the tree tops. The Romantic wins.

Rick, Anna, and some of the students find ourselves together, almost by accident, in our traipsing, and, after some wandering walking, find the Badger Sett, an enormous, people-sized replica of badger housing.  I wished the Chapel-Hill Ebles could have been here so that I could have had my own Narnia foursome to enjoy the Sett.  Rick climbed in, and after inappropriate comments, mostly from me, about how much he appeared to be violating a yonic symbol of fertility, he realized that he felt more like Pooh, stuck in Rabbit’s hole (ahem …).  So the idea sprung: we must recreate the scene!

We patter around Kew for another hour, struggle the steps and steps to the top of the Tree Top lookout, dizzy ourselves in the descent, and find ourselves far too tired to spend anytime in the large glass greenhouses. Perhaps another trip … Train to Tube to flats.

And out again, an hour or so later, for our first night of theatre: Avenue Q.  Though I’ve seen it several times, it doesn’t really get old, and it has the added benefit of still showcasing Daniel Boys, who is practically perfect in every way … swoon! A perfect choice for a first outing; the students all loved it, and how could they not. As “silly” as the show seems to be, many of the themes will continue to occupy the children’s literature course I’m teaching, particularly the constructions of growing up, adolescence, etc, that occupy so much of the show’s themes. All in all, a grand way to start the trip.

Tuesday morning, week one, we leave early for Kew Gardens.  The sun has been almost unbearable … how can we be in London with so much blue sky and sun? In fact, several of us got a little bit of a sunburn on the boat to Kew.  Yes, the boat!  Brent encouraged us all to take the boat down the Thames, a 90-minute slow cruise that is one of the most enjoyable adventures yet in my London experiences. If the chairs had been more comfortable, I’m certain I’d have fallen right to sleep.

Kew itself was a marvelous and led a group of us to behave in quite childlike fashion.  I’ve asked my Children’s Lit students to keep a daybook for our class; in it, they should paste pictures and artifacts from around London that relate to our texts or to children (and their experiences in London).  Well, in our rambling we came upon a Badger Sett that had been constructed for children to play in, which means, quite naturally, that we jumped right in, despite our size.  In the following picture, Rick seems to be violating some yonic symbol, but that’s not for here …

Then, Rick had an even better thought: that he might, like Winne the Pooh, get stuck in such an opening, which meant I certainly had to have him pose with the rest of our small group there to attempt extrication.

In the end, Kew exhausted us, the size and scope of it all, but we had just a few moments from then until we left for Avenue Q at the Gielgud Theatre …

On Friday, May 29, Rick, Brent, Anna, and I ushered 32 students to London, which was a fairly uneventful experience.  Go to Raleigh, get on old 767 (total piece of crap, btw), wing our way to London.  Seven or so hours later, we land at Heathrow, and there we find ourselves stalled a bit on the tarmac because the jetway isn’t working.  In the end, we had to take the steps down from the plane and board busses to get to the terminal, move through customs, and collect our luggage.

The strangest thing: London + sun + warm weather.  Rick and I wondered if, perhaps, we were really in some other country.  I fear the students will be spoiled by these four days of sun and warmth, with deliciously cool nights, when the rains come in on Thursday.

I was a bit disappointed to hear some moaning and groaning at the end of Saturday.  Sure, we’d been up mostly for 36 hours; sure we’d pushed the kids out immediately after getting to the flats to walk around the South Bank and learn the Tube system; sure we had kept them moving until 7:00 pm … but that’s the best cure for jet lag and the upside is the students then knew what was going on.  Not amused, sadly, to hear a few asking, “Does London get better than this?”  Really?!  Better than sunny and 74 and a romp through the Westminster / South Bank/ Globe Theatre area? Really?? Better than that? Hrmph …

Sunday was a down day for everyone to rest.  Brent, Anna, and I went to the “Taste of Spain” festival on Regent’s Street.  I was over it almost immediately, mostly because I don’t do crowds of that size if I can possibly avoid doing so.  But we walked all the way there, down Oxford Street and then New Bond, so that was lovely.  I’ve yet to make it to Hyde park to lie upon the grass and nap/read, but perhaps Wednesday I’ll have the chance.

It’s Tuesday now and we’ve planned a packed day: leave on a Thames boat for Kew Gardens @ 10:30 a.m., enjoy Kew for a few hours, then scuttle back on the Tube and make a quick get-ready at the flats before heading out to Avenue Q.  I was so hopeful that Daniel Boys would still be in Avenue Q … but it looks like he’s on holiday doing other things at the moment. Bummer.

Now for a little early morning quality read/write time …

I’d thought I’d stay in Valdosta until Sunday, but it turns out everyone else was leaving on Saturday, so I uprooted and headed back to Brunswick with my sister and her family.  Regardless, the 24ish hours in Valdosta were great.  I still can’t believe how grown-up my little Timothy is.  In many ways, he will always be the little tow-headed boy at two, with a tiny white metal bed and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle and Power Rangers sheets.  He’ll be incredibly sweet, a tender-hearted toddler whose smile and eyes would melt the coldest of hearts.

Now, he’s a grown man, eighteen, tall and thin, and he’s decided to go into the Navy instead of straight to college.  While we talked, I was a bit surprised by how much research he had done on the Navy and what he would be doing, where he’d be going for basic and then submarine training, what job he’d have when he finished, and what he hoped to accomplish through the Navy.  He had quick answers to any of my questions, and he seems so happy about this decision.  While the military has never been my first thought for him, I’m happy that he’s happy and I feel so much more reassured that he knows what he’s doing, that he’s already smart enough to make good choices. Here’s Timothy with his mom … a perfect pic for the iPhone:

It was also great to spend some time with my little emo-esque niece, Victoria.  My favorite part about time with her was how quickly and easily she pushed her dad’s buttons.  Most of it was hysterical, and even better was to see her sly, wry smile as she knew exactly what she was doing.  I figure my brother has earned that level of harassment from his daughter … Hehe …

Of course, I also got to meet my brother’s new girlfriend, who seems very nice, and I got to see Amanda’s BFF Michelle, who has always been one of my favorite people and who is my co-God-parent of Victoria.  Michelle is one of the funniest people I know, most of which, because like someone else we know, she says the most wonderfully inappropriate things.  I laughed a lot yesterday!

Michelle was great to have at a south GA graduation, too, because, well, she was quick to enjoy with me all the crazy of the day.  There was the unbelievably inappropriate Praise Jesus invocation given by one of he honor graduates, complete with the woman in front of us holding her hand up to grab onto Jesus if he dipped low enough from the clouds, and there was the ubiquitous presence of knives and knife-holders on the hips of the white men in the room, which shocked me because, well, a weapon in the school auditorium? I mean, come on, you know as well as I do if that room were filled with African American men packing blades, there’s have been metal detectors on the doors and cops everywhere … Maybe good ol’ boys aren’t dangerous, though, unless they’ve got white sheets on …

All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed my time with Timothy and Victoria and the bunch and I’m excited for their futures.  Now, if I could just get Timothy on Facebook, he’d be a lot easier to keep up with …

Left this morning for Georgia as part of a round-the-southeast trip involving my nephew’s graduation from high school.  While I couldn’t see everyone this trip (I’ll be back for a week in August, so more friends then!), I did get to put together a fun little grouping for a quick dinner-and-drinks at Joe’s on Juniper and then Apres Diem for the after drink.

I’m staying with DDDtM for the night and he’s always a joy to spend some time with.  We headed fairly quickly down to Joe’s, where Julia, Trey L, and Trey Y joined us.  No one knew anyone at the table with the one exception that Dan and Julia had met for a hot second at Michelle’s post-wedding-shower drinking event at the British pub that’s no longer on Piedmont by the park.  Happens …

Most of the night was spent with me and Trey L swapping stories of college days.  I won’t bore you here, but 10 minutes into the rememberances, I couldn’t help but think that maybe Jeff G. is right: maybe a memoir is in the cards for me.  I mean, strippers, drag queens, disco balls that fly, hot tubs in homes that have stripper poles … and a few run-ins with Demi, Bruce, Rosie, Melanie, Rita, et al … maybe there’s a story or two there worth sharing, changing most names, of course, to protect the utterly guilty.

Good times … night over, time for bed, then up early to drive to Valdosta on Friday …

I know, Brandi sings about that “Late Morning Lullaby”, but we got to see her in concert on a lovely Friday evening, and every second of her time on stage was like a long, careful lullaby to me.  She was simply amazing, start to finish.  But I get ahead of myself.

We started the night in G’ville, Christie, Emily, Kim, and I converging on Dashnaw’s house so that we could ride together.  No doubt, this would be a huge lesbo-fest … I mean, it was Brandi Carlile, right?! Some of our friends were already in line outside the Arts Center before we’d even gotten on the road good.  We were, still, plenty early and decided to have a little dinner at Crook’s in Carboro. A couple glasses of wine and the evening was off to a good start.  I wasn’t that impressed with the food, but it was pretty good.

Then, we headed to the Arts Center around the corner.  There was a bit of a line (general admission), but we waited relatively patiently.  The best part was that we found these somewhat not amazing seats until Amy and Kelly told us there were five seats near them on the front row by the stage.  So we moved that way, to learn there were only four seats.  Emily lap-sat and hopped around until she and Dashnaw could convince someone to give them a chair.  Now, sure, the other folks at the stage were a little annoyed as they’d “been there in line for hours!” but they’re not us and we get what we want.  So we get there late, act the fool, and still hav front-row seats for Brandy C and the twins … you ask me, it was meant to be!

I was really wishing for a better camera than the one on my iPhone b/c she as close enough to touch …

The evening was terribly eventful, much of which just isn’t safe to talk about on the Inter-webs … I mean, if I’m going to run for public office and all …