No sleep til London

So, the adventure started late Friday afternoon when my plan was to go straight from work to the train station (okay, with a leisurely beer stop-off on the way, I had an hour!), but then I realized on the way to work that I had forgotten my passport. An essential item for international travel. So I had to trek the 20 minutes back home after all was said and done, though this did give me time to make some delicious garlic sausage sandwiches for the journey. They made my bag so stinky! But it was worth it.

Back to the train station I went, an uneventful ride into Paris followed, and then BAM, the metro happened. That is to say, it's always an adventure in trying to make it somewhere on time*. This time, there was some kind of medical emergency† one stop down the line I was on, so everything was super delayed. Luckily I had hours until the overnight bus from hell, which I obviously wanted to be spending underground anyway since Paris is boring and ugly. Right?

La la la, finally make it to the bus station, wait around for a while, read some Tolkien, check in, get on, and have a seat to myself. That is, until an older man comes by and asks if anyone is sitting next to me. So I was forced (out of kindness) to give up the dual-seat luxury and allow this man to sit down.

This is what followed/what I hadn't considered beforehand. The seats seemed really comfortable because they reclined back to, like, 45 degrees. But then the person in front of me leaned back my knees were trapped. We had to get off the bus for border control. Luckily, I had brought the address where I was staying this time so they didn't give me any shit. We got back on the bus for about half an hour then had to get off on the ferry. Oh, right, Anne, you have to take a ferry when you're on the bus, it doesn't just float accross the English Channel. I got my only solid hour of sleep on a couch on the ferry. Then we got back on the bus and I was pretty sure I hadn't slept the rest of the journey.

Pretty sure. Except that I must have been asleep because at a certain point I woke up (therefore was sleeping, but dreaming about being on the bus), and dude next to me had his jacket spilling over onto my lap. So, annoyed, I toss it back over on him and OH MY GOD HIS HAND IS ON MY UPPER THIGH. This only could have happened if I had been sleeping. I am talking, fingers practically in my crotch, upper-thigh grope. I picked up that pervy old man's hand and flung it at him like a dead fish. He didn't wake up. Needless to say, I didn't sleep at all the rest for the rest of the bus ride.

Saturday morning, I got in early and went to my cousin Billy's for a shower and some breakfast, then headed out to day one of the workshop. Which was awesome. But I won't bore you with the details of my frustrations at not being open and playful enough to accomplish in one weekend what performers struggle for years to get past.

Saturday evening, instead of going straight to bed as my brain probably would have appreciated, I had some beers with the dudes I was staying with (friends of the Kiwi Doctor) and played some dice game I had never heard of before. It was ridiculously fun, and I was so good at the game until the alcohol very quickly took its effect on my fatigued brain‡ and I became a much worse at bluffing. They conveniently went out around 9, at which point I immediately fell asleep and stayed that way for the next ten hours.

Sunday, was a bit of a repeat, except minus the drinking in the evening, and with another bus to catch home. I did not get groped this time. Thankfully. I got back to my apartment in Flers for just long enough to brush my teeth and change my underwear before I had to go to my first class. I must have looked a sight, my hair all greased into whatever position I had (not) been sleeping in all night, and I'm pretty sure I probably sounded drunk at moments. I hope it wasn't too weird when I showed up again that afternoon, all showered and well-fed.

So that was my weekend. Met some awesome people at LISPA, and definitely a place I might try to go sometime in the distant-ish future for their two-year program. If I can get over my crippling voice of analysis and self-doubt. Working on it.

Sorry I was too lazy to find pictures for this post, and also that all the links are just to other stuff I've written. I just really want you to read it, because, like, I wrote it.


*Though I still maintain that le métro is far superior to the tube.

†They tv screens actually said, 'Someone is ill,' but I can only imagine that there was some kind of heart attack happening. I hope they wouldn't have stopped the metro over a cold. But maybe someone just barfed.

‡This is my official excuse.

High rollin'

Hey Kids,

Not that I ever seem to need an excuse to not blog for several days in a row, but I just wanted to let you all know that I'll be jetting off to London for the weekend, so I probably won't be posting anything. And by jetting, I mean sleeping on buses for two nights, on the way there and back.

But it will all be worth it! I'm going to a Collaborative Theatre Workshop at LISPA, which is a school that I'm super interested in if I ever decide to stop being so lazy and get my MFA. Also, I feel that this is a first step in my movement away from being a (fake) teacher, and towards being an artist of some merit. Second step, get off my butt and submit a piece to the Dublin Fringe. This is totally going to happen, folks.

So, anyhow, think of me tonight (or, like, midafternoon if you're over on the other side of the world) as I am trying desperately to catch a few minutes of sleep on the 8-hour ride of discomfort. And then get up and move all day for two days.

Adventures to follow,

Anne

Effing Amazing

Look what I got in the mail today:


Yes, that's right, my ridiculously talented* friend, Guy, knitted a doll of me!! Or rather, of me as the character I played in this† sketch:


Do you see the remarkable similarities? I mean, other than the fact that Guy's craftmanship is much finer than my own. But the doll even has the same problems with top-heaviness that I had when I was wearing that giant, paper-maché head!

Guy is an amazing knitter. Without his permission, I am going to show you some other things he's made.

Eggplant!

Skull!

I know, ridiculous. If you want something professionally knitted, he's your man. Only you might have to be his bFF‡ to get it.

I'm just glad that this guy finally has some company.


Also, I think I am in grave danger of becoming one of those adults who has lots of stuffed toys. I'd better keep myself in check.



*His other talents include being super hilarious, choreographing 20th-century drama into dance, and growing a really sweet mustache.

†They effing disabled the audio on our video! Just imagine some Green Day and then Aretha Franklin in the background...

‡better Friend Forever

Highest Self-Esteem Ever

One of my students (age 8) came up to me in class today and handed me this note:

On the envelope:

"Je t'aime Anne de la par à Chahrazad mon prénom anglais es KETE"
"[Translation mine] I love you Anne from Chahrazad my English names is [wrong conjugation] KETE [it's actually Kate]*."

On the other side (in case I missed the first one):
"Pour Anne de la par à Chahrazad Tu es trop belle et trop gentilles"
"For Anne from Chahrazad You are too† beatiful and too kind [plural adj]"

On the outside of the note:
"Pour Anne de la par à Chahrazad Je t'aime beaucoup Tu es trop belle Je t'aime tu es trop belle De la par à Chahrazad"
Need I translate? Plus lots of hearts.

The note itself:
"tu es trop belle Anne
Chers Anne
vous êtes trop gentille et trop jolie vous êtes la plus belle englaise que je connaise du monde. tu es trop gentille et tu es parfois rigolote mes dans ton sourire tu es trop belle. et dès que tu es heureuse je suis heureuse. mes dans tes yeux je sais que vous êtes sinsère. Chahrazad"
Translation [ignoring awesome 8-year old spelling]:
"you are too beautiful Anne
Dear Anne
you are too kind and too pretty you are the most beautiful Englishwoman I know in the world. you are too kind and sometimes funny but in your smile you are too beautiful. and as soon as you are happy I am happy. but in your eyes I know that you are sincere. Chahrzad"

So despite (or probably a little bit because of) the numerous mispellings, the repetition, and random changing from the formal to informal "you," not to mention that she thinks I'm English and that I'm probably the only one she knows, this note made me infinitely happy and amused. I am too beautiful and too kind. Who else will ever tell me that?



*This was actually kind of helpful because I don't know any of their real names. They all have fake English names. But she handed the note to me, so I totally knew which one she was.

†Typical French exaggeration. Everything is too good or too delicious, but I like to think it was sincere. Just like my eyes.

The one that almost got away

... or, you know, almost got out of meeting me.

So, the running joke on Saturday night with Billy was that John (his brother) did not exist. I met up with Billy, and he was all like, 'Oh, John says he's really sorry he can't come out, but he hurt his back and he hasn't been off the couch in four days.' Uh huh, likely story. Anyhow, in order to perpetuate this myth, I totally forgot to take any pictures of John or his awesome wife, Mei, when I met them on Monday night. Whoops!

To make up for it, I'm going to say some really nice things about them both, and then plug John's record label. I met John at the record shop where he works in the Islington area of London, a cool neighborhood. It was pouring rain, and I got off the bus (unknowingly) way earlier than I needed to, so I was pretty much drenched when I got there. John was, in fact, walking with a limp (due to a pinched nerve in his back), so I had to admit that a. he existed, and b. he was injured.

We walked to a nearby pub where we met up with his wife. Again, great conversation, again, mostly about music. We had several rounds of beer, some pizzas, and increasingly enthusiastic (slash inebriated) discussions. Mei took off, and I was thinking I should probably go, too, so I bought us one last round. But then John offered one last, last round, and I couldn't say no. I was having too much fun. I had a very pleasant(ly tipsy) bus ride home.

So here's the deal, John is so cool that he has his own record label, Here And Now Recordings, and you should definitely check it out. So, download his newest release for FREE (the best price), listen to other songs released on the label, and if you like it, buy some shit and tell other people about it. This is good stuff, people. Have a listen.

I did get to meet John and Billy's parents on Tuesday, as well (their dad is my mom's cousin, so I think that makes him my first cousin, once removed). We had a lovely lunch in a pub, where I ate my first delicious meat pie! Colin, my mom's cousin, expressed severe regret when I said that I liked Indian food, as apparently that would have been his first choice. I had pretty much eaten Indian food for every other meal in London, though (that is so the opposite of a complaint), so I was fine with a more English meal. Plus why would I not want a pastry full of meat and gravy on top of mashed potatoes? Billy came, too. He had just woken up.

Oh fer cute.

My mom's other cousin, Judy, and her husband, Andy, graciously put me up in Leamington Spa for three nights, which was awesome. A full size mattress on the floor was quite a luxury after several nights of hostels. I also got to see my Great Aunt Pat (Judy's mom) again, as she was staying with them (in the real spare room) while I was there.

Anyhow, my eyes are going to fall out of my head if I spent any more minutes (or hours) in front of the computer screen, so I need to go find something else to stare at for a while. Like a book. Or Jemaine on my Flight of the Conchords poster. Or Bret when I get tired of looking at Jemaine. Thanks for the poster, Dad.

We are family!

I got all my sisters second cousins with me!

Doesn't quite have the same ring to it... but it's true, I met all two of my second cousins while I was in London, and it was ridiculously fun. Like, probably against many odds, I think I would be friends with these people in real life. By that I mean, I've been to family reunion(s) before where I've been forcibly subjected to hugs from people I've never met before, and I'm like, 'Why do I have to hug you? I don't even know you.' But I did it, because they are my family and I'm supposed to hug them. This was not like that.

Billy and I met for drinks on the Saturday that I got into London. We both brought reinforcements in case one (or both) of us turned out to be awkward slash creepy. So, with assistant friends A and M in tow, I set out from the hostel to meet the boys near Oxford Circus. We were staying quite a ways out of central London, on the District Line which (we later learned) is pretty much one of the shittiest, more unreliable tubes lines ever. We waited for a train. And we waited. About 17 trains went by on the other side of the track towards Cockfosters. We cursed Cockfosters.

Cockfosters! Why! (Implied fist shaking)

Finally, finally, a train came, but it wasn't even going all the way to our stop. So we had to get off and wait again. Ridiculous. We did (about an hour and a half later) make it, at which I called Billy for directions to the pub from the station. This was our conversation (summarized):

Billy: Where are you?

Anne: Just leaving the station, okay, I can see TopShop.

B: TopShop? Okay, walk away from TopShop, and away from the Station.*

A: Okay, wait, away from the TopShop. I see an H&M, too. Should I walk away from the Station between TopShop and H&M?

B: Um, walk away from both TopShop and H&M.

Needless to say, we were not going the right way, and this conversation was, in fact, spread over two or three conversations. We decided to just meet in front of TopShop, which was good, because we were very much walking away from the pub where we were supposed to meet. Luckily, just getting there turned out to be the most painful part of the evening.†

It was great. We talked about music, the arts, nerdy stuff. Billy is a drummer/drum teacher (I guess there must be some kind of artistic gene in the family), and I think there were only one or two awkward pauses in conversation, initially. We had to leave the first pub around 11... because they were closing! Wtf, London? Gruff (Billy's friend) got us into this 'member's only' club thing. We got into the upstairs, which was a pretty small, crowded room, and all of the seats were taken, but they were playing some pretty awesome music. At this point, A and M were fading fast, so we just had one drink, and headed out.

Then we faced the catastrophe of getting home, which I described in a previous post. But look how happy Billy, Gruff and I are while we're waiting!

L to R: Gruff (real name Gareth), me, Billy

It was a ridiculous wait, ending in a bus ride and taxi home, and I was forced to exhibit my limited break dancing skills as entertainment. I thought I was being all clever when I said, 'I can't do anything on the sidewalk without cardboard.' But then some shopowner had put out a big box of cardboard right behind us. So I had to.

This entry has gotten really long. I'm going to start another one to talk about second cousin numero dos, technically brother numero uno.


*He did give some specific street names at this point, but I don't remember what they were, and it proved useless in any case. Why? Because you can walk in, like, 8 different directions "away from the station."

†Save, trying to get home after midnight on a Saturday night in London.

Edinburgh > Flers

Yeah, so I know you guys have all been just dying to know what I did with my last couple of days in Scotland, so I'm going to tell you.

First of all, did I mention that Edinburgh is the bomb? For real. Beautiful, big city, right next to this cliffy, mountain thing. So, it's basically everything I love in a city (old buildings + things to do*) and also lots of beautiful nature and parks. And bikes everywhere! Check this out:

Traffic lights just for bikes! I love it. Even more bike lanes than Minneapolis.

So yeah, it basically didn't even matter that I was struggling to understand everyone for the first-- well, for most of the time I was there. This only proved to be extremely frustrating on the night I arrived, when the bus directions I had written down for the hostel proved inadequate, and I had to ask for directions like 17 times. Because every time I asked (usually requiring at least one repetition), I would just sort of be like, "Um, okay left? Thanks." Because that would be the only word I would understand.

This was, however, nothing compared to the broadness of the Scottish highlands accent. On Friday, I took a 12-hour coach tour up to Loch Ness, which was mostly awesome for all the stuff we saw on the way up. Oh, and our super-opionated/seasoned tour guide/bus driver. There was also, unfortunately (for her) a very motion sick Spanish girl with her Spanish friends on the bus. I tried to help translate for her friend when she was looking for a train back (to avoid further motion sickness on the ride back), but I've been like speaking French a lot? And my Spanish is pretty remedial and Latin American to begin with, so I think I just made things more ridiculous.

See? Pretty! I don't know who that person is.

So after that 12-hour adventure (sorry, I didn't see Nessie), I decided to go to an Improv show in Edinburgh. I miss theater. Like, doing it. It was all games (I prefer long form), but fun in any case. Plus the crowd was really into it, which is always good to see. Did I mention I got the last ticket? Because I did. I tried to go with this other girl I had met at the hostel, but we got there and there was this long line and only three tickets left! Apparently two people took two of them, and then no one in front of us wanted to go alone. I braved the awkwardness of the crowded lobby full of socializing Scots to see the show.

On Saturday I did some more wandering around Edinburgh, then took the train over to Glasgow. I saw a show there called Defender of the Faith, set on the Irish border during the Troubles. The play started out with an unfortunately cast child actor (I couldn't make out a think he was saying, and neither could anyone around me, judging by the way they were leaning in), but luckily his character "goes away for the weekend," and then it got better. I would give a detailed review, if I weren't so lazy.

Saturday night, I stayed in Kilmarnock with another assistant who lives there, and we flew back to France at the ungodly hour of 6:45 the following morning. Just a quick hour-long bus ride from the airport to Paris, a hop or two on the metro, a long wait for the train, and a two and a half hour train ride back to Flers!

Boy, it's good to be home.†


*One part of this equation is missing from Flers.

†I do not actually consider Flers my home. Also, that was sarcasm.