Absence make the heart grow fonder?

Well, hope so! Work, travel, work travel and here we are in the middle of winter-- errr, summer? It flipping feels like winter seeing as it's 50 degrees and it's rained EVERY SINGLE DAY for the last month. Okay, so maybe that's Spring. but either way, the heat is on and it's JULY. Toss in some HAVE AN OFFER ON BOTH HOUSES and WE'RE MOVING (thank you sweet lord), it's all busy all the time over here on this little island. More news about the selling and the moving to come. In the meantime, here's what I got talked into doing at my recent 15 year reunion.

Ladyhawke

One of my FAVORITE movies. I actually own it on DVD... and watch it when it's on TV (which was quite recently in fact). Released in 1985, it was Matthew Broderick's 3rd feature film (followed War Games); Michelle Pfeiffer's 7th (how she went from Grease 2 to this role, we'll never know...); and Rutger Hauer's, well-- he had far more under his belt. And although many predating Ladyhawke were Dutch, let's face it folks, he was probably the big star of this film.

Even though the story is still a great one (come on-- star-crossed lovers, cursed and destined to live their lives together, but never as humans at the same time? Action, adventure, comedy and heart-crushing love story? Tale as old as time!), the music-- oh, the music-- is SO, SO BAD. Seriously... 70s porn music is never a good idea for a non-porn movie (not that I have first hand experience with porn music, but all the same, the synthesized goodness that floods all of the action (and otherwise) scenes of this movie really takes away from it).

My wish? That someone would not remake the movie, but simply re-score it. How freaking awesome would that be? Any movie music gurus out there willing to take on the challenge?? PLEEEAAASSSE??? Maybe for a 30 year anniversary party? Who's with me??

Oh, Matthew and your comedic genius

Navarre and Ladyhawke

The beautiful Isabeau telling the evil bishop to shove it

The three stars and the drunken priest

Instead of blogging...

...I've been doing! It's been a busy week. Between a weekend gallivanting around the Peak District with MRN and friends Liz and Kelvin as well as a few days off for hospital appointments and driving experiences (super cars and treks through the countryside), I've had no time to write. But oh, are there photos. I'll catch up this weekend since it's a BANK HOLIDAY. That's three day weekend in UK-speak. Rather than bother with the pretense of a day off celebrating things like Presidents or civil rights activists or veterans, the Brits just give everyone a day off-- well, just because. Hey-- who's to complain?

And I moved to a war-torn country when?

Ummm... maybe you haven't heard about it, but there have been riots all across England for the last 4 days. What, you say? England-- the land of high-brow, sophisticated, and proper people? Ummm... yeah. What allegedly started as a reaction to the shooting of a peaceful protester by police in London turned into absolute ridiculousness of bored youth taking advantage of the situation to get free stuff. All. Around. The. Country.

People are speculating that it's this generation of entitlement brought on by lack of discipline, decent parenting and a "nanny state" where parents, schools or other authorities can't scold children for fear of being brought up on abuse charges. And boy, have these "kids" shown the results of this wise practice. Part of it is the kids themselves-- but I don't think any of us is innocent in this situation. How can you teach right and wrong when 1) the government is telling you that you can't; 2) babies are having babies with no support; 3) poor education; and, 4) no role models. And probably a billion other things.

Any way you slice it, it's just plain wrong. All these kids seriously need a good spanking. It would have probably done them good years ago.

Take THAT Mother Nature!

It's been a crazy cold summer (temps have not gone about about 68 degrees; and for the most part, have been hovering in the high 50s/low 60s. Welcome to England!). Which means none of the flowers I've planted have bloomed. The herbs and greens have flourished but other than the lilac tree, there have been no blooms. Entirely disappointing for me because I love flowers and have had to feed my fix through weekly purchases from the grocery story. So imagine my delight when taking the trash out over the weekend I spied two little sweet pea blossoms popping out on the trellis that MRN recently affixed to the garden shed. Whoop-whoop! It's still cold, but these little beauties are standing up against Mother Nature just the same. Maybe the rest of the garden will follow these little leaders.

(P.S. Don't be fooled by the begonias in the foreground-- those are recent purchases, already in bloom, from the garden store bound for MRN's dad's planter).

Testing... 1-2-3... Testing

I've had a couple of messages that people aren't able to post comments on my blog (big fat BOOOO!!!). Not sure what the problem is, but I'm trying to identify it, so if you are having trouble posting a comment, let me know (and what error message you are getting) and I'll continue to try to identify! (Because I really like comments!!!).

Oh-- and about He-Man. There's no reason why I've included his picture in this post other than when I searched google images for "No Comment" this came up in the search and I thought it was funny. ;)

Oxymoron

Scott Park

I live a block away
from this wonderful park; Weather permitting, I walk around it a few times everyday (it's a little more than a half mile around the loop) and play tennis there (when I can bribe my husband into exercising-- usually with food). You can't tell from this drawing, but it's pretty hilly and towards the South end, and turns into a forest (as you can see by the trees), which makes it a really beautiful walk. With tennis courts, a bowling green, a playground and rolling hills (not to mention bicycle and skateboard bans), it's a pretty perfect retreat.

There are beautiful houses surrounding the park-- rambling old homes with original sash and stained glass windows and terrific English gardens in the front and back. They all face directly onto the park, separated only by a small, cobblestone lane. They're not huge houses-- 4 bedrooms, 1 bathroom (English houses are not big on multiple bathrooms), a relatively small kitchen, living room, den and dining room. But they're like walking back in time and I love them. I often find myself wondering what it would have been like to live in one when they were first built. So imagine my excitement when on one of my walks earlier this week I noticed that one was for sale. They NEVER go on the market. I went straight home and onto the realtor website and was shocked to see it was listed for nearly half a million (US) dollars.

If you've read any of my blog, you'll know that I live in a TERRIBLE neighborhood-- there are about 4 streets that are the worst, and I live on one of them. Seriously-- I'm not exaggerating. It's one of the most deprived areas in the country-- both from a poverty perspective, but also anti-social behavior (England's nice way of saying petty crime, vandalism, drug dealing, public drunkenness and fighting, neglect and general grossness. And don't even get me started about the amount of trash and dog poop all over the place-- it's everywhere.). You can literally buy a house for £9,000-- granted, you can't actually live in it. They're shells without running water or electricity (because the pipes have been stolen and wiring ripped out by vandals. Not kidding). But all things considered, not too bad for a small two-bedroom house when you could probably get it up and running with an investment of about £10K. Of course to make any money you'd have to sell it (which in the current market is impossible) or rent it (but to people who are drug dealers and criminals), making it more prudent to just board it up and let it sit rather than deal with the consequences (which we're seriously considering). And this neighborhood (my street included) is literally one block away from this gorgeous park and the beautiful expensive houses.

Now, I know that you'll often find poorer areas on the outskirts of high-rent districts. But THIS much of a divide, this close together? It's insane! Also insane that no one actually uses the park. It's virtually empty most of the time-- even when the sun is shining (which admittedly, is not often). When you live in absolute squalor and there's a little haven right next door, why not take advantage of it? Instead, the people in my neighborhood pull out their furniture in front of their houses and sit and drink and let their children play in the street and complete filth in front of abandoned and boarded-up houses. I realize that I grew up in a completely different world, but I simply do not get it. Any urban studies people out there care to comment?

How the light gets in

I've posted this video on Facebook, but don't think I've shared it here. It's a video that a man from Australia named Kristian Anderson made for his wife on her birthday. Kristian has terminal cancer, but is still fighting. His attitude, his faith, his journey and his love-- for family, friends and life are inspirational. This video gets me every time.

English-isms

Three years in (yes! August marks my THIRD year living in England!), I still have my lost in translation moments. MRN gets a kick out of them as I continue to ask for translation assistance (sometimes it's words, sometimes it's that I just don't understand accents). I'm one of those annoying people who just laugh when I'm uncomfortable (or faced with confrontation), or grin and nod like an idiot when I don't understand what someone is saying-- at least in a party situation (one-on-one proves a bit more difficult so I have to ask people to repeat themselves). So at parties I still find myself sticking close to MRN so if I don't know what some one's said I can look at him inquisitively for interpretation. Sad, I know-- but once a pleaser, always a pleaser. Here are some of my favorite "English-isms" to date:

• Plonker (a dumb-*ss)
• Muppet (similar to plonker, but sometimes used more affectionately in a, "oh, bless" kind of way
• Oh, bless (when someone does something idiotic but they don't know any better because they ain't too bright)
• Rubbish (akin to "sucks"-- a nicer way to say it, I think)
• Snog (I've actually not heard anyone say this, but I love this word. So much more descriptive than just "kissing"
• Skip rats (I don't think this is actually an English-ism, but it's what MRN calls the people in our not-so-nice neighborhood)
• Blagging (akin to taking the piss)
• Taking the piss (Basically, "pulling your leg" but "piss" is also considered a bad word-- kids get in trouble for saying it; well, if they have [good] parents that care about that stuff)
• Bum (bootie-- also like bum bag, which is equivalent to our fanny pack. But fanny in British-English is not considered a nice word-- it's a euphemism for a female body part)
• Knackered (completely exhausted)
• Ginger (a red head-- my favorite)
• Queue (a line-- as in, "form an orderly queue")

There are loads more (there's one!) but that's all I'm able to rattle off at the moment. Of course my favorite word is the "W" word which is akin to the "F" word, but certainly doesn't sound as bad (maybe because I didn't grow up with it and so it doesn't seem like a bad word). MRN does go mental (there's another) if I say it because it is a pretty bad word apparently. Ah well-- I claim international ignorance.

The great pantyhose caper…

…would make a terrific Nancy Drew or Hardy Boys title don't you think? Alas, this mystery may have more to do with my complete lack of fashion sense than an actual mystery. But the question is:

When did it become a fashion faux pas to wear pantyhose/nylons/stockings?

With all the brouhaha over Duchess Catherine's leg wear of choice during her recent North American tour, rather than join the pundits and their gasps of incredulity to the Royal's audacity to don sheer leg wear, my reaction was, “Wait a second! I wear pantyhose!” Oops. Is it just because it's shiny? (because I can tell you from first hand experience-- they only sell shiny pantyhose here in the UK) or is it really out of fashion and I'm really, really old??

So that got me wondering—where did pantyhose come from anyway? (aaaaand here comes my nerdiness) A quick troll around the Internet revealed that apparently in the 1920s when hemlines rose, sheer hosiery in the form of “stockings” emerged to allow women to keep some of their propriety in tact. Originally made from silk or rayon, they weren’t the stretchy (and sucking in) variety we know today. Instead, they were either knee- or thigh-high and fastened to a waist belt or held up by garters. It wasn’t until 1938 when nylon was invented that all hell (innovation) broke loose and an industry so blossomed. As for the "panty" part of the "hose?" Apparently it originated in the 40s and 50s when those wily costumers down in Hollywood (and on Broadway) started having the nylon stockings sewn to the panties of actresses and dancers (presumably to keep them-- and other bits-- in place). Who knew? Pantyhose reached its height of popularity in the 70s and 80s but the mid-90s brought a steady decline, apparently due to “bare leg fashion” (hmmm… missed this trend too) and changes in workplace dress code (casual Fridays and-- gasp! trousers!). Plus, let's not forget replacement costs resulting from frequent (and might I add frustrating-- seriously, nylons are a once-wear item for me) runs in the fabric leading to the good old pantyhose's demise. But while traditional pantyhose has come out of fashion, new styles like fishnets, patterned, colored and opaque tights have flourished (I love me a patterned tight) as well as “shape wear” (can we all stand up and do a little dance for Spanx my friends?). Oh—and on the more things that make you go hmmm side of things, apparently pantyhose for men is rising in popularity. Hmmm.

Despite all of this, the royal ladies never got the memo it seems, and they are advised (translation: required) to wear pantyhose when on official business. I don’t know if it’s been a significantly slow news week (I mean, as far as I know we’re only still at war, health care is still in crisis and Rupert Murdoch is going down in a ball of flames), but the press coverage on the Duchess's “tights” (as they say in England) has been absolutely mind-boggling. Check it out here, here, here and here. I wonder if Kate (can I call her Kate?) is wondering, "Justin brought sexy back and all I brought back was pantyhose?" Sorry-- couldn't resist (nerd comment #2).

(Fun fact: a google search of "pantyhose royals" yielded 173,000 results... the top search page all about Kate.)

But what do I know? Does it mean I’m proper enough to be a royal? (I’d choose Princess over Duchess too, Kate.) I guess I’m still stuck in the 80s (where, by the way, the only tights I was wearing was to ballet (white tights) and tap class (shiny nylons—awwww yeah!). In Jazz dance we little 8 year olds got to go bare legged)-- it wasn't all bad!

You've gotta be freaking kidding me

First there was this to torture me as a child:



And now there's this to torture me as an adult:



Nevermind that these are both BOYS. If I ever have kids, they're totally getting names like Bob and Mary.

What to write

I'm in awe of people who can blog everyday. I know they exist because I follow them-- religiously. They have this knack-- and art, really, of engaging you to WANT to read what they have to say-- everyday.

Unfortunately I have neither this ability nor gift. Partially because I can't think of something to blog about everyday. And if it's ain't interesting to me, who out there in cyberspace would be interested?

I attribute part of the death of blogging to facebook and twitter. Why write a novel about something you can tweet in a sentence? (Plus, I have to admit, that fact that those vehicles force an over prolific me to tone down my prose into short tidbits of information is better for everyone).

Of course, it's very tempting to use a blog as a diary of sorts... and way to spill guttage. But that's not fun for anyone-- particularly the author when (s)he looks back on old posts and wonders "what the heck was I thinking?!?"

All the same, I still push myself to encounter something inspiring everyday. Thanks to the faithful few who continue to visit to see what's up with this wannabe wayfarer.

Speaking of which-- thinking of Cyprus in March. Anyone ever been? It's still cold (around 60 degrees F), but something adventurous about it (and importantly, somewhere I've never been...). :)

One upon a dream...

Giant cheese ball that I am, I caught the end of Fame (the remake, not the original; doesn't stand up to the original, but the principle is the same), and it actually made me a little misty eyed. All of those kids with their big dreams; still thinking anything was possible in all of their ignorance--err, innocence. It got me thinking... and then really thinking, about what my dreams used to be. And then, at what stage they disappeared.

I don't think I had super lofty dreams... I was going to marry a prince (or maybe Pete Sampras), be an astronaut (the first female shuttle commander, to be exact), an interior designer / architect, a doctor. I was going to live in a house with a window seat and drive a BMW 325i convertible, just like Kelly Taylor on 90210. I was never one of those kids who knew exactly who I was going to be or what I was going to do... I was good in school and liked, well, everything. I think as a result I never really had any solid path and have made decisions about where to live and what to do somewhat on a whim. But at 35, none of my dreams have necessarily come true (well, besides the prince part, perhaps).

Maybe dreams change; your naivete and innocence disappears with age. And you have new dreams. But when I think of it now-- in my jaded adulthood, I don't really know if I have dreams anymore. And I think it's sort of sad.

I think it's time to take a lesson from my dear old dad and find and follow my passion. Now-- to just identify what that is.

What are your dreams?

Haunted

I have this recurring dream... I never remember any detail, but when I find myself in it, it's immediately familiar. The surroundings are almost always different, and some of the circumstances too. But the themes, and most notably the people, are always the same. It's the kind of dream that lingers when I wake-- often times throughout the entire day. It's a sad dream... a longing a dream; a "what if" dream.

We've all heard the oft-used phrase that "dreams are the conscious desires of the subconscious mind." Perhaps that's true. But a bigger part of me thinks that maybe it's just human nature to wonder what might have been. You can be completely and utterly content in your waking life but every so often your dreams tell you something else. Most people don't take dreams for anything other than what they are-- your mind totally relaxing and wandering from place to place. I don't usually dream, and tend to be one of those people who don't think much of them when I do. I mean, in college I had a Krull-like science fiction dream, still vividly remembered because of all the gore. Just plain bizarre. But inner meaning? Probably not so much.

What do you dream about? Are you ever haunted by your dreams?

Whew!

Surprise, surprise-- my prolific burst of posting dwindled into none. Alas, a flurry of criss-crossing across the UK (with a few Parisian trips thrown in to mix it up) and the year-end business activity has gotten me into a twist. Counting down the days until Christmas (5 more working days until I'm on my 2 1/2 week vacation-- to HAWAII no less! Whoop-whoop! And I'm not bringing a computer-- work or otherwise). I CAN'T WAIT!

Gobble-Gobble

The gluttonous day (errrr... feast day?) is upon us. Alas, I will be missing it again... for the third year. Last year I did Thanksgiving in England... but on a Saturday because I actually had to work on the day itself. Man, do I miss that four day weekend. And while we had all the Thanksgiving standards, somehow it's just not the same when you don't have the whole family pitching in, giving thanks (through the sheer amount of food consumed), spending the day watching football and then groaning that you ate too much while you wash all the dirty china that only makes an appearance on Thanksgiving and Christmas. When you cook on your own, have to explain the holiday that doesn't hold any cultural significance and then clean up on your own? It loses its charm.

So, this year I'm skipping it. I'll raise my glass in toast to my countrymen, but no big turkey dinner for me. But maybe I will do the pumpkin pie...

The tides are a turning

Clearly this is the "I miss home" week. It's probably more like an I miss home year. You say po-tay-toe... From family to food to shopping to lifestyle to laundry detergent... errr... laundry detergent? Say it ain't so.

But it is. One of the things that have vexed me since moving abroad is the laundry situation. I've tried every detergent on the market... and I can't find one that I like. Now, I'm the first to admit that I like things the way I like them. I'm not great with change, I'm super sentimental and nostalgic. So that may be playing its part. But the one thing I can't reconcile? No matter what detergent I use, how hot a wash I run, if I use bleach or if I don't, the towels ALWAYS smell moldy after one use (dish and bath towels). What is UP with that?? It's just plain gross. That means they are not clean. You can smell the artificial fragrance through the mold smell... so maybe they're just not using enough of it. But man, do I hate that artificial fragrance smell.

So imagine my delight when I FINALLY found my beloved Tide on a website that imports American food and home products (and there are some RANDOM things that they import... but hey; when you can't find something you love-- even if they're really silly, everyday things you take for granted, it's vexing). It's stupid expensive (about $11 for this teeny, itty bitty 16 wash bottle), but I can't tell you how GIDDY I was when I pulled the first load of laundry out of the dryer tonight. It smelled like HOME.

You can take the girl out of California...

... but you can't take California out of the girl.

The older I get, the more often I say "dude." I don't recall saying it when I was growing up-- despite living in the La-La-Land, beach culture of Los Angeles where we'd ditch school on the first warm day to lay in the sun on the beach (sorry, Mom and Dad; don't worry-- it only happened a couple of times, and at least it didn't affect my grades and I still got into a really good university??). But I do now-- and often.

I never thought I'd want to move back to California. I've lived away from the Golden State longer than I actually lived there (MUCH longer... more than two thirds of my life longer). I loved living in the Northeast-- I've often waxed poetic about how Vassar changed my life; how much I love NYC; how Chicago (and my friends there) rescued me, and I got to live in the probably what will be the nicest city location I'll ever be able to afford; how some of the most amazing people in my life I've met in these places. But now that I've ventured across an ocean, I find myself not only missing AMERICA-- but missing the California sun, and way of life, that is, apparently, in my bones. Believe me-- I'm as shocked as you.

I find myself making lists. Okay, so that's nothing super new-- I'm a pragmatic, risk-averse person. And I love my to-do lists (and my honey-do lists, much to MRN's chagrin). But these days they're lists of places to live, jobs to look for, things that I'll buy, dinners I'll make... all in CA, all with and for my family. It seems that my subconsciousness has become my consciousness.

It's the job that's elusive. It seems that being an adult means needing to make a living. And with a husband who's not an American and who works in an industry that doesn't exist in the US, it's all a little more complicated. Man, remember the days where I could just up and move to NYC/Chicago/ENGLAND?!? Things really do get harder when there's other people to consider (but oh, what a wonderful consideration it is).

California here I come... someday. For now, I guess I'll just be California Dreamin'.

Disgruntled

For the first time since I was 18 years old, I will not be voting in a General Election.

And no-- it's NOT because I choose not to.

I'm of the camp that voting is a privilege. I am proud to have that right-- I believe in the power of my vote, no matter the circumstances. I believe that every voice, no matter how soft, counts. And importantly, I believe that by casting my vote, I have a right to criticize and complain (yes-- that is meant to say that those who DON'T vote, don't have that privilege).

Even before I could vote, I was a proponent of it-- I co-founded and served as President of the Junior Statesmen of America at my high school (err-- yes; I was sort of a nerd like that). JSA is dedicated to engaging young people in politics and government-- educating them on current issues (through mock debates, conventions and the like) and giving them the opportunity to experience their civic duty through regional, state and national mock-governments. I helped to organize "Rock the Vote" in college and registered students for absentee ballots and encouraged locals (through a stand at the mall) to register to vote locally.

So imagine my dismay when THIS year-- arguably one of the most important elections in a non-Presidential election year, I am unable to vote.

I've lived in England through two elections-- the first being the last Presidential election. I've managed to successfully vote via absentee ballot both times. I also voted in primaries-- this year included. But this time-- for the General Election? Nope. I received all the materials-- the instructions, the return envelope. But guess what was missing? THE BALLOT. Yup-- that thing you actually use to cast your vote. As I'm registered in CA, there are several important seats up for grabs in what has been a contentious battle that's made the news as far away as this small island across the pond. Big business vs lifetime public servants: Governor-- Meg vs Jerry; Senator-- Carly vs Barbara. Plus some key state measures like legalizing marijuana and the vehicle license surcharge.

Despite repeated calls to the Los Angeles County Registrar, I have not received my ballot. They kept assuring me that it was coming-- but now, on the eve of the election (past the deadline for mailing absentee ballots, might I add), still no ballot. So, for the first time in my life, I will not be voting.

I'll reserve my right to complain-- seeing as it's the shoddy Registrars fault. Letters to the editors of the NYT, LA Times, and Meet the Press (I heart David Gregory) at least lets me reserve the right, I say. I doubt my letter of complaint to the County Registrar will raise an eyebrow or get a response (based on the track record), but maybe I'll have spawned a conspiracy theory of LA county public servants blocking overseas citizens exercising their civic duty.

Waxing poetic about...

Costco!

It's no secret that I am homesick for my family and friends... and Americana in general. So I get a little giddy when I see things that I class as "from home." Costco is among those things. A visit tonight was equally fulfilling and prompted me to add a review to my Yelp profile.

Okay, okay-- so maybe something else prompted me-- the fact that I was invited to be a member of the Yelp Elite! (Hmmm... it's just occurred to me that is a little, well, Elitist...). That's right! My semi-prolific Yelping has earned me the status of Elite Yelper. Okay, so maybe it's more because Yelp is still relatively new in the UK and REALLY new in Manchester. I think I was one of the first to start Yelping in this area (especially in the sticks where we live). So the relatively few Yelpers in the area has allowed me to be part of this exclusive club. Well, if anything, it will encourage me to submit more reviews (and be less selective about what I'm reviewing-- McDonald's / the local Shell station / HSBC? Bring it on).