As I Liked It!

I fully and dutifully apologize for a week severely lacking in blogginess.

It was a work week. The programme was inundated with tests, papers and “essays.” (No one here calls it a paper, it’s always an essay, and the length is prescribed by word count, not page, which makes fudging quota slightly more difficult. Ah, well, constriction breeds creativity.)

I had a philosophy paper due (Natural Law According to Me) and a Shakespeare essay due (Helen vs. Helen, From Page to Stage). I am pleased to announce I survived both.

I knew I was blogging too much when, on Thursday, arriving early to my class, I walked through Trafalgar Square and past the Fourth Plinth, where this activity is taking place:



For example:



On the plinth was a girl doing yoga, and beneath her on the ground a man was leading people in sun salutations. It looked like he was leading whoever happened by, including lots of business people who happened to have yoga mats in tote. I was about to pass it by when I thought, this could be a good blogging story, and I dropped my bag and onto all fours. I joined the unmatched mob for a while until one woman, whose abandoned baby started crying, offered me her mat. After about twenty minutes of breathing in and out of the nose, stretching myself temperedly, and doing my best to stay balanced lest the camera-happy Asians who were taking shots of us from all sides get a sloppy photo, it dawned on me: I’m standing (well, curving and balancing) in the middle of Trafalgar Square, on some random lady’s mat, in the middle of the morning, sun shining, with a bunch of random Londoners, doing YOGA. And it felt AWESOME.

I walked into class and I was like, “Yeah, I just did yoga in the middle of the square. Yeah, I’m that hip/random/lucky.” Basking in my own glory. (What else is new?)

This weekend, our class went to Stratford-upon-Avon. Cute city. I’m lovin’ this English countryside. I’m becoming accustomed to being bussed all over it during the weekends, and when these day trips stop, they will be sorely missed.

We unloaded and were greeted by the Bard himself. (Why does everyone call him the Bard? Was it a nickname that stuck? Is he just the most famous of them? Did kids pick on him in school?) The statue was lovely, surrounded by four of his most famous characters. The portrayal of Shakey himself seemed to say, “Yes, I know, I am all that.”





There was a street market on the way to the Birthplace of the Bard. I’m becoming quite good at navigating these little towns. It’s very funny: Starbucks interspersed with pubs celebrating their 800th anniversary.



We saw the house Shakey was born in! No time to go in, though. By the way, special shout out to my flatmate Kelly, who let me borrow her camera for the day (“I CAN’T GO TO THE MOTHERSHIP WITHOUT A CAMERA!!”) so if you see her, tell her how much you appreciate what she did to spice up this blog.



There were remnants of the house Shakey bought for himself after fame/fortune arrived. Unfortunatly, the guy who moved in after him got so sick of tourists peaking around his bushes that he tore the house down, just to spite folks like me.





We also saw the Church for which Shakey's father oversaw the anti-Catholicization. Notice where the Catholic iconography once was. You can even make out a castle in the left corner.



Next stop was the grave. The Grave. But some STUPID COUPLE DECIDED TO GET MARRIED IN THE CHURCH, which houses the tomb, so we couldn’t go in. THANKS, happy couple. You kept me from communing with The Master, I wish you MANY FAT CHILDREN.

The area around the church was beautiful. The graveyard went all the way to the river (Avon). (Hence the Stratford-on-it-ness.) I resisted any and all urges to Buffyize the area, running around/over/through gravestones with a stake in my hand. It took a lot of control. I mean, LOOK at it. Joss would have KILLED for this set.



Can you imagine? Joss + Shakespeare = the most beautifully told, poetic, musical, meatily-charactered, well-metered multi-media story this world has ever seen. Did you just…? Yeah, you did. As did I.



After the epic fail/extreme exercise of self control that was the graveyard of Holy Trinity Church, we were free to roam. I opted out of the pubbing (who wants to sit inside the dark and drink when you are TRODDING WHERE SHAKEY TROD??) and instead wandered around the area. I ran into a girl in my class and our conversation went like this:

“Do you like Shakespeare?”
“Yeah. Do you?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you like Firefly?”
“Yeah. Do you like Firefly?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s be best friends for ever and ever and ever.”

I was getting hungry so we wandered back toward the market, where I purchased a pork sandwich, made from pork pulled off of a roasting pig hanging directly in front of my eyes. Throw it on a bun with stuffing, cover it in apple sauce, and you’ve pretty much got exactly what Thanksgiving tastes like.



Last stop: The Theatre. We followed the masses to the temp venue (as they re-work the offish one) and took our seats. I was seated next to one of our Profs, who happens to have raised ducks this summer. I told him how my mother dressed me up as a duck for every Halloween until I could tell what she was doing, and we instantly bonded. Ducks are a mysterious, powerful animal that can really bring folks together.



This is a CONTRABAND PICTURE!! I was fully chewed-out after taking it. Totally worth it, to bring it to you. Do you see how much I love you?

“As You Like It” is about a chick who gets banished, dresses up as a dude and runs away into the forest. The Joan of Arcian fan in me was pre-dispose to like it, but kids, I LOVED it.

I LOVED THIS SHOW. I LOVED IT LIKE I HAVE NEVER LOVED A PLAY BEFORE. I have done a few plays in my life, and seen a few more than that. I am extremely judgmental, and though I’m willing to concede much to be entertained, I judge. Boy, do I judge. But, ladies and gentlemen, I HAVE NEVER SEEN A SHOW SO WELL DONE/ACTED/PRESENTED/COSTUMED/DIRECTED/DONE EVER EVER EVER. I was so excited at intermission (interval, half-time) that I couldn’t WAIT for it to begin again. When it ended, I was so simply PLEASED that I started tearing up. For no reason, no sadness or ecstasy, just FEELING. It made me feel so much. It touched something, tickled somewhere, and hit every single note. I loved every single character. Even William, who has about two and a half lines, made an unanticipated positive impact. IT. WAS. SO. FUNNY. Every character had their timing down, and God, it was good. I felt like they got it like I would get it, they presented it like I would want it presented. I felt so comfortable watching them. It was EXCATLY how it should have been done – everything. And you know how I know it was all that? Because I can’t put my finger on why it was so good, or why it touched me so much. I have no idea why it clicked. But it did. And it blew my mind.

There’s a part, right before the interval, where Orlando decided he’s going to write praises for Rosalind all over the forest trees. As I walked into the foyer, I realized that verses of poetry had been tacked up all over the theatre, inside and out, including all over the set when I went back in. On my way out of the theatre after it was over, I grabbed one. This is what it said:

“You smiled, you spoke, and I believed,
By every word and smile deceived.
Another man would hope no more;
Nor hope I what I hoped before:
But let not this last wish be vain;
Deceive, deceive me once again!”

Eerily fitting. Tell (clap) it (clap) again (clap)! Tell (clap) it (clap) again (clap)!

That evening I returned home, beaming on the inside. I was so…touched, that I looked up one of the actors and found his email (are we sensing a trend?) and shot him one telling him how inexplicably enjoyable the show was. I’m pushing my luck here, I know, but hey, last time I emailed one of my betters, I got a reply from the lead singer!

Weekend hit an all-time high when I received the mix CD one of my friends has been attempting to send me for about a month. From internet file-sharing to converting mp3’s, this whole it-takes-a-billion-dollars-to-mail-you-anything-bigger-than-a-postcard thing is getting really old. But I got it! And will been listening delightedly for days.

Sunday began with Mass at Westminster Cathedral (children’s choir, as if the place could get any sweeter) and then Flat Bonding Activity of Non-Disclosure (don’t worry, no drinking or anything like that). Dinner followed by The Unavoidably Addicting Cookies. We’re on our third batch. It’s getting chronic.

Pretty manageable week ahead. I’ll be blogging more regularly, I promise.