London - 21 Jan 06

21 January 06 - I wrote the following on the 20th, but didn't get it into the journal until the 21st. January 20, 2006, on the way to Bath. Green fields. Much different than back home. The sun is out and this place looks different. Farms are not too far away from the city. Another uncomfortable bus, but I manage to sleep most of the time. Bath is one of those quintessential British cities that you might only see in a movie. Every building has to be made out of Bath stone, a white stone that looks marvelous in the sun. The Roman baths are old, over 1000 years old if I am right. It is unbelievable to walk on those same paths the Romans did.
The Bath Abbey was finished in 1499. I paid ₤3 to have a look inside. It was well worth it. I still think the practice of burying people under the church floor is a little odd. I find it distracting, or would find it that way if I were worshipping there. I took many pictures of the abbey. Napped more on the way back. Managed a good hour of sleep.

Planes were stacked up like stairs coming out of Heathrow and a dark London. Duck and Dive for drinks last night. Slept until 12 and find myself on a bench in Hyde Park writing now with one good hour of sunlight left. I look forward to more light and a little warmer weather in the coming months. Going to walk for a bit more now.

Bath was one of the prettiest places I saw during my time abroad. Pictures don’t do it justice, but I included some anyway. Someone told me that part of The Libertine was shot in Bath, but I haven’t seen that movie.

I looked for a way around paying the ₤3 to get into the Bath Abbey. There is a sign right after you go through the front door that says the payment isn’t mandatory, but I would have just felt horrible walking past the nice old man by the collection tray. It really was worth it though. The months never got warmer really. The media reported a lot on the late spring. At least by the time I left there were many more hours of daylight.

London - 19 Jan 06

19 January 2006

It might happen on occasion that I will get home too late on a night to write anything coherent in my journal for that day. Such was the case on the night of the 18th. It was a long day of classes topped off with a pantomime of Aladdin, starring Sir Ian McKellen as the Widow Twanky, at the Old Vic. It was a surreal experience, seeing such a great actor on stage just a few feet away from me. At one point, McKellen broke from Twanky's voice into his Gandalf voice to say, “One ring to rule them all.” Later on in the pantomime an actor held up George Bush’s underpants. Widow Twanky said, “That is so Tony Blair can hear what President Bush is saying.” This was in reference to the flap in the rear of George Bush’s underpants. That line might have received the biggest gasps and laughs of the night.

Today involved an awkward run through at my publishing internship. I think I met about thirty people. I start Tuesday and I don’t know what the heck I will be doing. I also set up a new blog specifically for this trip. I am calling it the Piccadilly Line, in honor of the Underground line that I use most. Lastly, I saw A Comedy of Errors at the Novello Theatre near the Strand, but on Aldwych I believe. Tomorrow is a day trip to Bath. It will be fun.

I speak with Kate every other day. There is so much to fit into a shorter in length, but much costlier conversation. I miss her and oddly enough I feel like she is quite close, and not in the middle of the country on the other side of the Atlantic.

I forgot to mention that on the first Saturday here, during the bus tour, I saw a 10 block long line for one opening in the next Harry Potter movie. Doubtful it is that all those young girls had any acting experience at all. My eyes are shutting down.

I didn’t write as consistently as I would have liked to, however, I did catch the highlights and details about what I did almost everyday I was overseas. I would see Ian McKellen in another play in April. He is good onscreen, but much more impressive on the stage.

I don’t know why I felt Kate was so close. I think I spent a lot of the time daydreaming about the sights Kate and I would get to see together when she got there. She is always in my thoughts, but the amount of time and energy I spent thinking about her seemed to increase with the miles that separated us.

The Harry Potter line, gosh, I wish you could have seen it. It was ten blocks long, but it also went down and up every alley or side street that intersected the main avenue the line was on.

Happy Thanksgiving!

London - 17 Jan 06

17 January 2006

Class was over again at 12:15 today. I wrote emails for a while and then ventured off by myself. It was an enjoyable journey. I took the Tube south to St. Paul’s and walked around the exterior of it. I went inside a portion of it, but I didn’t want to pay the pounds to go in until Kate gets here. I bet I might break down and do that earlier. We will see. From what I could see the inside of the cathedral is going to be amazing. On the way out I noticed a quote on the door in large writing. It read, “This is none other than the house of God, this is the Gate of Heaven.” I thought that really added to the magnificence of the church. Being inside it and around it you feel as though its sheer size and detail attracts even the eyes of Heaven. It feels very holy.

I then walked down Fleet Street and took adjoining streets to get to Leicester Square. I tried out a Burger King there. It was all right, but I prefer the random local places.

A red carpet outside the Empire caught my eye, plus the hundreds of people lined on either side. I asked around and found out it was 50 Cent’s movie premiere. I hung around for about 45 minutes and then he rolled up in a Bentley. I got a couple shots of the guy. I am not a huge fan, but I just wanted to have that experience. It was memorable enough. By then it was closing in on 8 and it had been a long day so I took the journey home. I really did enjoy walking through London by myself. It was refreshing and relieving. An air of independence and freedom was abounding.


I did see the inside of St. Paul’s Cathedral many times before Kate arrived in March. However, I reserved paying the ₤8 for the official tour until Kate was there. The quote on the door to the cathedral strikes me as an arrogant statement to put on a church door. No church is closer to the gate of heaven than any other church, but you know, Sir Christopher Wren may have wanted me to feel I was closer to heaven when I walked through those doors and stared at the ceiling for hours. Mission accomplished, sir. I haven’t been in a more beautiful house of God.

I make the walk from St. Paul’s to Leicester Square sound short, but it is almost half the width of central London. The pictures of 50 turned out to be awful. I deleted them.

I had never felt so free until I went to London. Obligations were minimal. The city is vast and limitless. Freedom and independence continued to be strong themes throughout the semester.

London - 16 Jan 06

16 January 2006

I had my first class today with a professor named Andrew. He is truly obsessed with Shakespeare. Wow! We will get to see five plays through the course of the semester for this class. I was up for over three hours last night because of jet lag. I have been exhausted all day and I have caught a bit of a cold. Aside from that, and being fairly hungry all day long, it was a pleasant afternoon and evening.

A group of us went to Piccadilly Circus after classes. It’s a bright and noisy intersection where four or five streets meet. It’s London’s Times Square. Spoke with Kate today for just of twenty minutes and it cost ₤5. That is a lot. I have tried my best to stay up today, but it’s 8:30 and I am going fast. One last thing… I had a falafel and cruised around Piccadilly while I was eating. I thought of Guy and enjoyed my own company in this busy and rushed life.

Piccadilly Circus isn’t like Times Square, but it is the closest thing to it in London. That ₤5 conversation cost me $8.75. Kate and I would later agree to talk every other day on a new cell phone that cost 5 pence a minute. That is cheap! And, well, having falafel made me think of Guy, even though the falafel was rather cheap and not the best.

London - 15 - 1 - 06

15 January 2006

Slept in this morning. It was wonderful. Keith wanted to go to Westminster so we all went. We came out of a tube station (Westminster) right next to Parliament. We walked by Westminster Abbey and then over to Buckingham Palace. It was a good walk, certainly one I will enjoy more when I am by myself. Almost went to the free organ recital at St. Paul’s, but I will go another time. Every Sunday night at 5 pm. That is so cool. I need to go. I walk everywhere thinking about what it is going to be like when Kate is beside me. That week will be the best one I have here. The lack of sun isn’t getting to me. If anything about this place ends up bothering me I bet it will be the cost of things, or the downright lack of open space.

It has been three days and I can imitate parts of the British accent decently. I don’t know if I will catch on myself, but every once in a while I can hear myself wanting to say something differently. That doesn’t bother me. I just spoke with Kate and it was lovely. It had been a couple of days, but felt much longer. Tomorrow I get to experience the Tube at rush hour, which I here is significantly different than the Tube at any other time of the week. I am not looking forward to the rush, but I am familiar with the system so that is good. Actually, I am a little familiar with it.

I wonder if I look American to the British. I am pretty sure I do because they all look so European to me. I want to know if when they hear me talk, just a little bit, if they know I am from the US? When I am not wearing my flashy Nikes I think I can pass for British by at least the eye.

The scale of the buildings in central London is absolutely amazing. You would think buildings with such intricate details couldn’t be built on such a grand scale, but they can; London is proof. Parliament, Tower Bridge, Westminster Abbey, and St. Paul’s are all great examples.


You will notice that these entries aren't edited. My writing is often poor in a journal like this. I often write incomplete sentences (first sentence of this entry). I wrote quickly, I scribbled, I spewed anything that came to me onto the paper. The goal was to record, and record I did.

Walks around London were always better when I was alone. And alone I was, most of the time. I am pretty sure that a lot of people in the program thought I was an antisocial loser, but I just wanted to go where I wanted to go, I wanted to see what I came for, and if that meant no one else was coming along I was fine with that.

I think I write a lot about getting to St. Paul’s to hear the organ, but I didn’t get there soon enough. It took me a couple of weeks to catch the Sunday night organ recital, but once I did I was a regular.

“The lack of sun” I talk about is the noticeable change in daylight time. I had never lived that far north before.

Some of these earlier journal entries became embarrassing to read even before I left London. Exhibit A: It has been three days and I can imitate parts of the British accent decently. I couldn’t. I can’t. I mean, I can add “Cheers!” to my repertoire in an attempt to sound local, but please. No point forcing it. Exhibit B: I wonder if I look American to the British. Of course I looked American to the British; it was my first week there. As I spent more time in London I acquired some Londoner habits and mannerisms, but I need only wear some ugly article of clothing to let every Londoner know that Americans aren’t as tuned into fashion trends as Londoners are. I didn’t wear my Nikes that much.

Journal

I have spent the past two nights reading my journal from London. I haven't read it through since I finished it in April. Reading it has been so enjoyable, probably because I am reading about my experiences. I don't know if what I wrote will be interesting to any of you, but there is a small part of me that thinks some might enjoy it, the same part that loves reading about your experiences. Here it is, the first entry from London, and an immediate reaction after typing it in Word, which was a good thing to do because I don't have a copy of this writing until now. This might become a daily occurence.

14 January 2006

Day two in London was spent at the University of London Union (ULU they call it) in the morning. Following some repetitive meetings we were given an hour for lunch. I ate at a sandwich place on Tottenham Court Road with Adam and Keith, my roommates at the Forbes' house at 23 Etheldene Avenue, Muswell Hill. The sandwich I got was quite the improvement on Jenny’s Restaurant, which is home to my first UK dining experience, which I may also add, was horrendous.

Following lunch we were given a three hour tour of London and I learned a tremendous amount about the city. Our guide knew everything about London. It is about 11 pm and it has been a very long day since I have only been here two days. I will write more later when I am not falling asleep. I don’t know what I will be doing tomorrow, but I would like to go to a free organ recital at St. Paul’s Cathedral.

Not long after I wrote this I too began to call the University of London Union the ULU. Tottenham Court Road became a daily destination for me. I was eating, browsing, or using the Goodge Street Tube station whenever I was on that street. My UK dining experiences remained disappointments for a while because I was being so stingy with my money. I regularly wound up at McDonalds, or found cheap falafel somewhere downtown. The falafel wasn’t that bad either. You can never rule out anything having its own entry on Wikipedia. Here is the Goodge Street Tube station entry. I just learned that the station “is one of eight London Underground stations which has a deep-level air-raid shelter underneath it. It was from Goodge Street station in 1944 that General Eisenhower broadcast the announcement of D-Day.” - Wikipedia

Weekend

I don't know how much I will be blogging this weekend because it is Kate's last weekend before she goes to Green River until January. And, a lot of you will be home for Thanksgiving break taking up my time. I am pretty excited about that. Chris and Aaron are always missed, but they will be especially this next week.

Kate and I are going to a matinee of Casino Royale and going to the new wing of the Denver Art Museum tomorrow. I really can't wait to see Daniel Craig do the things Bond usually does, although better.

Poem for the Day

Do not go gentle into that good night
by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears,
I pray.Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Bronze Sculptures

This little known city north of here, called Loveland, is the bronze sculpture capital of the world. I took a tour of the foundry that is the largest bronze foundry in the world. It was a lot of fun to see how many people are involved in making one sculpture, but the highlight was Rocky.

Yes, the Rocky Balboa statue featured in the movies and now in Philadelphia was made in Loveland. They made another one for San Diego. They have made a third and it was in the warehouse today. I stood by it. It was great. Good story.

Minutemen v. Mexicans

One of my favorite Guardian writers, Gary Younge, recently traveled the length of the US-Mexican border to get a small taste of culture, people, and conflict. I am interested, and feel obligated, to spend time learning about the parts of this world where my friends are working, living, etc. The tension of the border is shouting at me through this article. I can't quite imagine living on it like Aaron is right now. Anyway, these are some interesting and depressing segments of the article.

Younge begins the article by writing about two brothers who lived north of the Rio Grande in 1840. He gives a brief history lesson on the Mexican-American war and ends it with this nearly always forgotten fact: "The Gavito brothers didn't cross the border; the border crossed them."

He points out a number of ironies. "On any one day some young Americans will cross the border so they can legally drink alcohol and some Mexicans will die of thirst trying to cross it illegally so they can work."

Younge includes a quote from Josiah Heyman, an anthropology professor at UTEP, "They're [the US] burning billions of dollars to catch a guy who wants to mow somebody's lawn."

And I leave you with this, by far the most disturbing paragraphs in the article:

Quasimodo is a Minuteman in Columbus, New Mexico. A few days earlier I had spoken to Carmen Mercer, the groups vice president ... She delivered an ear-splitting tirade against the entire American political establishment for failing the country on immigration, then rang me later to say she had forgotten to mention the diseases and drugs Mexicans are bringing into the country ... He [Quasimodo, a gun-toting 70 year-old] also has a deep fear of Mexican immigrants, the more so since the occasion he went to an abandoned house in town. "I looked around and there were 12 guys just 10 feet away looking at me," he says meaningfully.

"Did they attack you?" I ask.

"No," he says.

"Did they look as if they might attack you?"

"No."

"Has an illegal immigrant ever attacked you?"

"No. But they could have had my fanny if they wanted it."

So now he carries a .38 pistol with him wherever he goes. "I couldn't hit the broadside of a barn with it, but it makes a noise and I hope that's all it ever needs to do."

Unfortunately, I cannot link you to the whole article. But I think you can tell where Younge is going with this. These Minutemen, like Quasimodo, are not the same brave, young, Minutemen from the colonies. They only wish they could go down in history as heroes like the originals did. And, the threat this time isn't a ruling, and often ruthless, overseas monarchy and their military. For all of us reading about the Minutemen and watching them on the news, it is obvious what this is, an adult version of the popular childhood game, Cowboys and Indians, only the guns aren't plastic this time.

Borat on The Today Show

"WaWaWeWa" - Borat

500-a-day

I rely too much on having "good" blog ideas. If I don’t have them, like tonight, I may not write anything, thus not meeting the 500-words-a-day quota that I set for myself back in June.

I save every 500 word minimum piece to a specific folder. I opened that folder today and read some entries from the beginning in June to the most recent ones in November and October. The feelings and events I have recorded since then are priceless. There are a couple entries I wrote when I was so pissed off that I would be embarrassed to put them on here. No joke, I read through one this morning and the first sentence shocked me. I wrote that? Why was I so pissed off? I read a little more and instantly remembered the reason for this rant of complaints and expletives. When I got to the end I leaned back in my chair and told myself, “That is awesome.” Not awesome that I was so pissed off that day, but so awesome that I have captured such raw emotion.

500 words all came about because I wasn’t writing enough. Book after book on writing tells you to write, write, write, and read, read, read. In June, something hit me. I am never going to make it if I don’t start writing more. I was already a regular reader, but I didn’t write more than three times a week. Now, if I go a day without getting something on this blog, or in that folder on my computer, I feel like I am going to never become a good writer, which is ridiculous, but that is what goes through my head. I have a safe, healthy addiction to this now and I am not going to stop. There are days that I wonder about what it must be like to be a published author. There are days that I feel like abandoning this dream of mine: to have my words make someone feel good to be alive, for my words to have a soul, for something I write to outlive me. And there are days that I think this pursuit is so selfish and it is all about me. On days that I hear from you about something you read and liked I feel pretty damn good about pursuing this. I write alone, you read alone, but what makes it really worth it is when I know my words have given you company.

On being 81 inches tall

Bryce notices stares from employees who are amazed at his height. It makes him feel uncomfortable. He would like to turn around and catch those watchful eyes. Their gaze of awe would quickly turn to surprise and astonishment. They have been caught before. Peripheral vision and excellent hearing have helped Bryce catch many of these gawkers. Those people let there physical and audible expressions of astonishment leak out too soon. In the corner of his vision Bryce sees a head turn, two beady eyes, and a cupped mouth. If Bryce doesn’t see this, he hears what comes from the shielded mouth: “He is so tall” or “Look at how tall he is” or “He is a giant”.

When Bryce hears these things he keeps on walking, working, and doing whatever he is doing, but that doesn’t stop him from asking himself, “How has being tall affected him?” He realizes that he will never know if he would have been any different if all those eyes, comments, and ridiculously bad tall jokes weren’t there. Every stranger becomes a comedian when they see Bryce.

Returning to Bryce’s place of employment we see that he is definitely not at home behind the counter. Countertops, buttons, lids, and ingredients are all placed at a level for people a foot shorter than him. We think this has to be a very tough adjustment for Bryce. Bryce knows people think this about him when he is in a confined area, but they don’t realize that years of spaces, such as the area behind the counter, have made a rut in his lifestyle. Bryce has to constantly conform to cars, planes, seats, and a great many more things that are designed for the smaller man. Early enough in life Bryce knew that if he didn’t make himself impermeable to the effects of the smaller place he would suffer greatly. He sees the uncomfortable concoction as a mere obstacle on the path to living a joyful life as a very tall person. And since his legs are so long he can, if he decides to, step right over that obstacle and keep on walking.

Books...

I finished writing about the books on my bookshelf and got so bored with the last shelf that it looks like this on paper: Webster's New College Dictionary - Will in the World - In Cold Blood - Goodfellas - The Diary of Samuel Pepys - The Elements of Style - Peace Like a River - Blue Like Jazz - Bird by Bird - The Great Divorce - and more...

I come up with a lot of bad ideas. I sat there on my couch with my weighty pen in hand scribbling down the names of the last books on my shelf as quickly as possible so it could all be over.

During the exercise, or whatever you are supposed to call this, I noticed that I haven't forgotten much from the books I have read, but I remember most where I read each book, where I bought it, and where I was when I finished it. This is why: because finishing a book, regardless of whether I loved it or not, will always be one of the best feelings for me.

The Lord of the Rings - Read and finished while on vacation in Manhattan Beach, CA (August '02).

The Hobbit - Christmas present - '01 - Finished at a hotel in St. George, Utah, that week.

Ghost Soldiers - Read and finished during a recruiting trip to Cal State Bakersfield (July '01).

The Broker - Bought it at DIA and started it on the flight to London, but didn't finish it until February.

Tribulation Force - Never finished. It was crap.

Orientation

Ted Haggard’s admissions to sexual immorality and a part of his life “that is so repulsive and dark” that he has “been warring against it all of” his life have recently shed light into a part of his life that, up until two weeks ago, only a couple people knew about.

An incident like this, however awful or good, exposes many different approaches to sexuality within the church. I want to address one approach tonight: the approach that Haggard is a diseased and corrupted Christian who has made the "choice" to be homosexual, and it is now up to Haggard and friends to make him straight again.

That is a nice idea and all, but just if, along the way, Haggard comes out as a homosexual, it is paramount that that close circle of friends, and others among his community, don't treat his sexual orientation as a disease.

Rumsfeld Highlights

It was too easy.

Running down the bookshelf

On the top shelf rests giant bear bookends that Kate gave to me for graduation. They feel full of lead, but they are full of potential, the potential to hold upright work after work of literature. I like that. They are pressing some books together as I write this.

The American Short Story Anthology and Bill Bryson’s Dictionary of Troublesome Words are the partially read books on this shelf. Also, there are four books up there that I have read. They are: notes from a small island, Rising From the Plains, Don’t Let’s go to the Dogs Tonight, and Slaughterhouse-Five. The unread book in the press is Cider House Rules. The last things held upright by the heavy bears are a thick collection of The Guardian Weekly. Sadly, my last issue will be delivered in two weeks and I will have to rely on the net to get my fix.

It is fun for me to visit parts of my room, house, life, and memory that I have neglected to think about because I have been there before, or in this case, because I have read those books before, or just haven’t got around to them. Until I visit those places, objects, and memories I scoff at the thought because I don't think they have anything to offer. So, I continue through the list.

Two Longmont High School yearbooks rest on the shelf below the bookends. Both haven’t been cracked open in a long time. Next to those yearbooks is a Fort Collins High School yearbook from 1999. It is solid purple. And next to those, three junior high yearbooks from Boltz. These books just haven’t made it to the basement yet.

Next, a Zondervan Bible cover with their classic tree logo and their now, I believe, retired slogan, “Rooted in Faith”. The Bible is a “youth” Bible. The ending is the same and so is the punch line.

Moving on, next is a Campbell’s soup cookbook that someone gave me for high school graduation. It was a nice thought, but the book was long forgotten by my senior year at UW when I had to finally cook my own meals.

I can't stop...

This site is amazing: CNN Election Results

Break the vote down anyway you want to.

Catch Ya Later, Don

I feel like I have been blogging too much about politics on here. I apologize. I always wanted this blog to be about anything and not one thing over the other. It has been hard to contain my thoughts about the recent election and the results. There is so much more to write about; this is one huge reason I am glad the race is over.

Though happy with the results of the election, I can't expect America's global standing to jump up a few notches, I can't expect the war in Iraq to end tomorrow, and I can't expect that this party's global perspective will ease the swell of Islamofascism. All that aside, if Rumsfeld getting the boot is all that happens from this Democratic trouncing, it was well worth it.

I hope that I write about something different tomorrow. I leave you with The Guardian's brilliant leader from tomorrow's paper:

The departure of the disastrous Mr Rumsfeld has come at least three years too late. But it shows that Mr Bush has finally been forced to face the reality of the Iraq disaster for which his defence secretary bears so much responsibility. As the smoke rose over the Pentagon on 9/11, Mr Rumsfeld was already writing a memo that wrongly pointed the finger at Saddam Hussein. He more than anyone beat the drum for the long-held neoconservative obsession with invading Iraq. It was he who insisted, over the advice of all his senior generals, that the invasion required only a third of the forces that the military said they needed. He more than anyone else is the architect of America's humiliations in Iraq. It was truly an outrage that he remained in office for so long. - The Guardian, Thursday, November 9, 2006.

Wednesday's Papers

The cover of Wednesday's Independent paper uses harsh words, but it is clear, there needs to be change. I am glad Americans voted.