So I've been making plans to go back to NY, as work is sporadic and I have a bonus £500 (rare). But every time I get close to booking tickets, I get cold feet and can't quite go through with it - and am not sure why. So I re-watched the dumb little movie I made before I left, and was re-reading the blog archives circa 2005, when I first moved to the Apple, to remind myself of the amazing times and making myself feel very nostalgic. Everything felt like an adventure then. I came across this sentence that made me laugh out loud as it just seemed to sum up 2005 NY for me:
"Sure, I could stay in, make sure I know my shit, get a good night’s sleep and be truly prepared, but we’re young and in New York. I need my Friday night fill of hot boys, cute girls, cheap(ish) drinks, good music and general Lower East Side activity. Who wouldn’t?"
Long sigh. The nostalgia and odd kind of homesickness for that feeling of being young and free and having the (social) world at our feet clashed oddly with one of my recent posts about getting old, and I tried to reconcile the two ideas. Reading those archives I couldn't fathom how I used to do it - running on about 3 or 4 hours sleep a night, working a 9am-6pm job five days a week, class one evening a week, going out and staying out till the wee hours at least three times a week... how is that humanly possible?
Last night I headed out to Feeling Gloomy for some drinks and dancing, with my old roommate from New Jersey and a friend from my intake out there. Good times, almost like old times... This isn't so bad, I thought.
And then I got home, soaked after being caught in the rain at 3:30am and having to run from Centre Point down to Trafalgar Square to get my night bus when the other bus prematurely terminated, sober as I stopped drinking pretty early, tired from dancing, a little cold from the walk down St John's Road - and found an email asking me to be godparent to young Margot (with a clause attached to fill her in about Joss Whedon at some point in her life...) And suddenly realised that while being young, free, drunk and with no responsibilities has something going for it, everyone has to change, everyone grows up, and it's little things like this that makes things worthwhile.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
possibly the geekiest thing i've ever done
I just changed the settings on my phone so that the text alert sound is that of the Tardis.
Every time I get a text, it sounds like the Tardis is landing somewhere nearby.
*Awesome*
Every time I get a text, it sounds like the Tardis is landing somewhere nearby.
*Awesome*
Monday, May 19, 2008
viva la cobra indeed
Sunday night. London Astoria 2. Cobra Starship & All Time Low. Lots of teenagers in hoodies (y'know, like emo/punk style hoodies, not hoodie-hoodies). Running late as ever, we miss the first band, though that was partially intentional, get there in time to grab a drink and find a place to stand (up on the balcony thank you very much; no floor standing for me. Have I not already outlined that I'm old now and can't handle mixing it up with the raring-to-go youth?)The band come on and play a good set, though I'm not familiar with stuff from their new album (does that make me a bad friend?) apart from the horrendously catchy Guilty Pleasures (with its hilarious videos). Make attempts to get hold of people, then run into Victoria in the glassed-off section of the bar who gets Alex. He walks us backstage; my sister is weirdly psyched about this, despite the amounts of times I've mentioned how unglam it actually is. I think she is still surprised by *this* however: a small poky dark green room that can barely hold five people comfortably - that the two co-headliners are sharing. There's rum and beer and pitta bread and Sainsburys Economy Jam and flying saucers, and at one point after the gig has ended and both bands plus assorted friends are in and around the dressing room, a big Disney singalong starts off, a medley of Aladdin hits. It's the most unglamourous, un-rock'n'roll thing, like, ever. Though very funny.
After wandering round Soho looking for food and Alex being accosted by various fans who are still hanging outside the venue and the bus taking ages to pack and leaving way beyond bus call, the bus finally moves off and heads a very circuitous and long route back to Shepherds Bush. We're on the upper deck, sat round a table watching series 1 of 24, along with three of All Time Low (seem nice, very young, quite drunk) and three We go grab a corner booth while the bands and crew check in. The hotel bar is painfully expensive; a couple of people have already ordered drinks but then Gabe turns up with wine and vodka taken from the bus, which is sneakily drunk in the corner. Some of the De La Soul tour are propping up the bar, which everyone tries not to look at too obviously, but - De La Soul! Holy shit.
Eventually it's like 2am; my sister has to be up at 6 for a call time of 8am in East London, so after arranging to pick Alex up the following afternoon as he's invited himself round for "tea" (what else, in England?), we head on out, grab a bagel to share at the 24 hr place on Bush Green then jump on a bus down to Hammersmith to get the night bus back on out to our neck of West London. When I finally crash, I'm beyond relieved (for a change) that I have no work the next morning, and do not envy my sister in the slightest...
Sunday, May 11, 2008
how you know you're getting old
1. When you prefer a "nice sit down" and a mug of tea to hanging out at music festivals
The Cobra boys are in town; after some brief hang time on Friday night at Victoria's flat in Kensington (which, by the way, is drool-worthy), their first gig is the next day at Give It A Name. Alex puts me on the list with a +1.
We head down there in time for their set at 4ish, walk the wrong way round Earls Court Centre, double back on ourselves, eventually get in. It's very dark inside. Fi wants to get to the front, I prefer to steer clear of teenage moshers, so we settle for somewhere in the middle. It's fun that most of the kids around us know the words to the songs and are dancing and stuff, but like I say, I'm not into the big crowds so duck back a ways. Their set finishes, we escape the crowds, I try to text one of the US cell phones but I'm not even sure they have them on. Fi veers towards Pizza Express in the outer hall but the lines are massive. Both of us would quite like a sit down.
We decide then to leave - we've seen the band we want to see, the only others that interest me aren't on till much later that night. We get off at Turnham Green to stop for ice cream at Fouberts, get some groceries, walk back to the car that we've left in W4, then drive home. Collapse on the sofa with a cuppa to watch Dr Who (The Doctor's Daughter. I had some issues with it, but still. Sob.) and barely move for the rest of the evening. Rock n roll.
2. When drunken BBQs turn into family-friendly affairs
The next day is amazingly hot and sunny. We'd been trying to organise a BBQ for today but as of Saturday night it's only going to be me, my sister, and her friend Katy, which means less BBQing and more lying in the sun with a glass of something cold and alcoholic. As the sun heats up, it seems everyone that couldn't make it before, or wasn't sure if they could, suddenly want in on the grilled meat action. We somehow have eight people turning up and no food, so an emergency trip to Tescos is called for. Food, drink, ice cream. Someone else is bringing the Pimms. There's lots of beer in the fridge. Party time.
We get home and sort food out and then decide to make the garden more toddler-friendly, as the godson is coming over. He brings over his paddling pool, for the amusement of all. The Binnie-Marston clan also turn up, so we now have two under-2s among us. There are more soft drinks around than beer, and the Pimms doesn't even get opened. Everyone lounges in the sun, the music plays (at a neighbourhood-friendly - I hope - volume), people read the Sunday papers, Sam makes me bring down our uni yearbook (laughs all round). All in all it's a thoroughly civilised affair; a far cry from the house party style BBQ of our youth that we had perhaps envisioned, but is there really anything wrong with that? After all, we can't stay young forever, and what's so great about youthful recklessness anyway?
The Cobra boys are in town; after some brief hang time on Friday night at Victoria's flat in Kensington (which, by the way, is drool-worthy), their first gig is the next day at Give It A Name. Alex puts me on the list with a +1.
We head down there in time for their set at 4ish, walk the wrong way round Earls Court Centre, double back on ourselves, eventually get in. It's very dark inside. Fi wants to get to the front, I prefer to steer clear of teenage moshers, so we settle for somewhere in the middle. It's fun that most of the kids around us know the words to the songs and are dancing and stuff, but like I say, I'm not into the big crowds so duck back a ways. Their set finishes, we escape the crowds, I try to text one of the US cell phones but I'm not even sure they have them on. Fi veers towards Pizza Express in the outer hall but the lines are massive. Both of us would quite like a sit down.
We decide then to leave - we've seen the band we want to see, the only others that interest me aren't on till much later that night. We get off at Turnham Green to stop for ice cream at Fouberts, get some groceries, walk back to the car that we've left in W4, then drive home. Collapse on the sofa with a cuppa to watch Dr Who (The Doctor's Daughter. I had some issues with it, but still. Sob.) and barely move for the rest of the evening. Rock n roll.
2. When drunken BBQs turn into family-friendly affairs
The next day is amazingly hot and sunny. We'd been trying to organise a BBQ for today but as of Saturday night it's only going to be me, my sister, and her friend Katy, which means less BBQing and more lying in the sun with a glass of something cold and alcoholic. As the sun heats up, it seems everyone that couldn't make it before, or wasn't sure if they could, suddenly want in on the grilled meat action. We somehow have eight people turning up and no food, so an emergency trip to Tescos is called for. Food, drink, ice cream. Someone else is bringing the Pimms. There's lots of beer in the fridge. Party time.
We get home and sort food out and then decide to make the garden more toddler-friendly, as the godson is coming over. He brings over his paddling pool, for the amusement of all. The Binnie-Marston clan also turn up, so we now have two under-2s among us. There are more soft drinks around than beer, and the Pimms doesn't even get opened. Everyone lounges in the sun, the music plays (at a neighbourhood-friendly - I hope - volume), people read the Sunday papers, Sam makes me bring down our uni yearbook (laughs all round). All in all it's a thoroughly civilised affair; a far cry from the house party style BBQ of our youth that we had perhaps envisioned, but is there really anything wrong with that? After all, we can't stay young forever, and what's so great about youthful recklessness anyway?
Friday, May 09, 2008
all the world's a stage
After a day hanging out with the Binnie and bebe Margot, enjoying the brilliant turn up in the weather - sunshine! all day! temperatures over 20 degrees! - I hop on the train up to the South Bank for an evening of culture - King Lear at the Globe.
I studied King Lear for A Level and it's always been one of my favourite Shakespeare plays; the only stage version I've seen was a school trip to see it right before we read the book, and it was, by all accounts, a pretty crappy version.
The Globe itself is one hell of a place. I love that people took the time, patience and energy to rebuild this historical building. In fact I remember that my high school took part in a 'Sponsored Shakespeare' event (literally, readings of his plays for 24 hours straight, with people donating money for every hour or play that was got through) when Wanamaker and co. were raising funds.
I meet up with my friend in the coffee shop and hire cushions for £1 - well worth every penny. Musicians in 16th Century garb come out on stage and play on ancient instruments, before two of the actors come out and ask the audience to kindly not let any anachronisms such as phone rings or flash photography interrupt the play.
The performance itself is interesting; there's slightly less focus on the tragic aspects of the play, and the comedic side is turned up, but I enjoy it all and the individual performances are great. Though I did want to punch every member of the audience when there was a group "Awwww" when an insane Lear hugs Edgar in disguise as Mad Tom. IT'S NOT AN 'AWWW' MOMENT. Cretins.
Waiting for the bus back to Waterloo, a man starts chatting to me - a real local, South East London bloke - who tells me he was part of an activist group who opposed the building of the Globe, wanting instead for funding to go towards housing for local working class people in that area. I note that it's the first time I've ever gone to the Globe, but I'm sure it comes off as privileged whining. I shrug and sit away from him on the bus, my theatre buzz effectively snuffed by the guy. I guess I can understand his miffedness.
And now, a shameful secret I impart... There's a Dr Who episode in series 3 called the Shakespeare Code (wow, I've literally only just got that that's probably a play on the Da Vinci Code. I'm a dumbass) where the Dr and Martha encounter Shakespeare; the end scene occurs at the Globe, where they all fight off the bad guys for that episode. It's a brilliant scene, with a genuine laugh out loud Harry Potter reference. And as I sat in the theatre waiting for the play to begin, that was all I could think of. Not about how this was theatre as it used to be. Not about the historical importance of the place. Dr Who. Quel dommage.
I studied King Lear for A Level and it's always been one of my favourite Shakespeare plays; the only stage version I've seen was a school trip to see it right before we read the book, and it was, by all accounts, a pretty crappy version.
The Globe itself is one hell of a place. I love that people took the time, patience and energy to rebuild this historical building. In fact I remember that my high school took part in a 'Sponsored Shakespeare' event (literally, readings of his plays for 24 hours straight, with people donating money for every hour or play that was got through) when Wanamaker and co. were raising funds.
I meet up with my friend in the coffee shop and hire cushions for £1 - well worth every penny. Musicians in 16th Century garb come out on stage and play on ancient instruments, before two of the actors come out and ask the audience to kindly not let any anachronisms such as phone rings or flash photography interrupt the play.
The performance itself is interesting; there's slightly less focus on the tragic aspects of the play, and the comedic side is turned up, but I enjoy it all and the individual performances are great. Though I did want to punch every member of the audience when there was a group "Awwww" when an insane Lear hugs Edgar in disguise as Mad Tom. IT'S NOT AN 'AWWW' MOMENT. Cretins.
Waiting for the bus back to Waterloo, a man starts chatting to me - a real local, South East London bloke - who tells me he was part of an activist group who opposed the building of the Globe, wanting instead for funding to go towards housing for local working class people in that area. I note that it's the first time I've ever gone to the Globe, but I'm sure it comes off as privileged whining. I shrug and sit away from him on the bus, my theatre buzz effectively snuffed by the guy. I guess I can understand his miffedness.
And now, a shameful secret I impart... There's a Dr Who episode in series 3 called the Shakespeare Code (wow, I've literally only just got that that's probably a play on the Da Vinci Code. I'm a dumbass) where the Dr and Martha encounter Shakespeare; the end scene occurs at the Globe, where they all fight off the bad guys for that episode. It's a brilliant scene, with a genuine laugh out loud Harry Potter reference. And as I sat in the theatre waiting for the play to begin, that was all I could think of. Not about how this was theatre as it used to be. Not about the historical importance of the place. Dr Who. Quel dommage.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
