I was going to post something long and mawkish about turning 30. Instead I thought I’d do what I do best … create a list!
My 20s
I lived in nine different apartments, in four different cities in two countries.
I attended six weddings.
I held two full-time jobs, four part time jobs, and four internships.
I had two serious relationships and a gaggle of interesting dating experiences (Ah, the football game. Even after nine years, that one still smarts.)
I visited Europe three times (and then moved there)
I attended three different institutes of higher education.
I ran four half-marathons.
I cannot complain. I’ve been having a lot of fun, and I don’t imagine that will change when I wake up tomorrow morning. I have really great friends, and that’s been the best part of the last decade.
Well, that and a metabolism that works. I hear that stops at the stroke of midnight. Ah, well, can’t have it all.
The letters continue! This week – a message to the folks who pound the pavement in Central London on a daily basis.
Dear London Pedestrians:
Hey, how's it going? Nice flats – I love that the women here seem to embrace the flat and don't all wear extremely high heels all the time. It's refreshing. And men, your smart suits are really quite lovely. I didn't work near the financial district in NYC, so I didn't see as many suits as some did, and I enjoy it.
You all look so sharp, so professional, that I do have to ask:
Where is your mind? It seems as though you are completely and totally unaware of your surroundings at basically all times of the day and night. You stand in the middle of the sidewalk talking on your mobile (or texting), you walk on the wrong side of the sidewalk, and you literally ram into people who are clearly in your path and have nowhere else to go.
Let's talk about these point by point.
First, the texting. Now, I walk down the street texting. I also walk down the street READING (I know, right?). But I've been walking and reading since my days at UW, and I've never caused an accident, tripped, or walked into someone. The key is to scan one's surroundings while reading. It's a bit like driving in that sense – you focus on the thing ahead of you (the car) but also scan around for obstacles. But you, texter man and texter woman, seem to think that once you start texting, the seas will part, traffic will stop, and no one will ever be in your path. I'm here to tell you – it's not true! I see you texting. I see that you are not paying attention. Because I am not a big fan of bruises, I will get out of your way, but sometimes I can't. Sometimes I'm walking in a crowd or on a narrow sidewalk with busy traffic to my left and there's nowhere for me to go. So please, look up. Or at least get better at multi-tasking.
Next, the flow of traffic. You insist on being a nation where people drive on the left. That's fine – you want to be contrary and unique, that's your right. But that should apply to all modes of transportation, including your feet. So you walk on the left, I'll walk on the left, and never the two shall meet.
Finally, the most obvious and obnoxious action – the intentional ramming. You see me. I see you. There's no question. I have nowhere to go – I'm surrounded by people, or I'm teetering on the edge of a narrow sidewalk. And you can't be bothered to shift your stride a bit to your left to avoid literally ramming in to me. It's not okay. I know that in many ways the British are seen as exceedingly polite. I'm here to point out that this does not hold for pedestrians. In fact, if my only experience of London consisted of walking in Central London, I would wager that 50-75 percent of the people here are utter jackasses.
I realize that isn't the case. I realize that people are distracted, or busy, or in a rush. But how about a little respect for your fellow pedestrian?
Cheers,
A S K
PS – I spent the last seven years in NYC, and it was never this bad. However, crossing the street there is a bit more of a challenge:
Continuing my intermittent series of open letters, here's one to smokers in London.
Dear Smokers of London:
Hey! What's up? How's it going? Stressful day, eh? Relaxing with a nice drag off a (cheaper here than in NYC, even with the exchange rate) ciggie? That's cool.
This is not a letter where I'm going to judge you. I know you have enough to deal with, what with the hacking cough, yellow teeth and lighter wallet (kidding!). Seriously, it's got to be a big pain in the ass to have to leave your cozy cubicle to go outside for a smoke. And you can't even enjoy your vice of choice in pubs and bars anymore! Obnoxious.
Look, I know that this is a habit you have. I know that if I had to step outside every time I wanted a glass of whiskey, or a hot chocolate, I'd be kind of annoyed. And I'm not judging your habit, despite the friendly little jab at the opening of this letter. Look, you know the statistics about smoking, and you still smoke. That's fine with me. I know the statistics and I still chow down on a Krispy Kreme way more often than I should (especially now that I'm living near a Tesco that stocks them 'round the clock). We all make our choices in life, right?
Here's the thing though. Could you PLEASE stop walking and smoking? It's flippin' obnoxious. When people are standing outside a building or pub smoking, that's one thing. I can avoid it. It's obvious – people are in a group, there's smoke, I get it. But when you light up up while walking down Fleet Street on your way to your job, your smoke flies all over the place, swirling around. And you've walked these sidewalks before – there's nowhere for me to go. I can't escape your smoke. You're making me smoke, and it's really annoying me.
Oooh, and you know what's even worse than the smoke? The ASH IN MY EYE. That's right. One of you was kind enough to flick your cigarette mid-smoke, I guess to get the ash off the end, and since you were walking ahead of me, that ash went somewhere, and that somewhere was MY EYE. It did not feel good. It pissed me off. If I wasn't so busy trying to determine whether my eye was on fire, I would have tackled you from behind, NFL-style.
So, to sum up: I have no issues with your decision to smoke. Some of my closest, dearest friends smoke. But they have the courtesy to not blow that stuff in my face, even accidentally. Can you maybe work on doing the same?
Last night I ventured to Sports Cafe – the place in London where one can go to watch all sports, including American football. It’s also a great place to go if you’re interested in getting picked up by creepy British (or American) men. I was there for the football. The USC and Notre Dame alumni associations took over one of the bar areas for the game last night. It was excellent. Epic. Fabulous. Primarily because Notre Dame lost.
Today I’d hoped to go to Hampton Court Palace; however, due to work on the railroad my friend Dan and I decided to head up to Cambridge instead. There are actually many colleges that make up what we in the states think of as Cambridge; you can check them out here. What’s crazy is that the first of these colleges was started in 1209. No, that’s not a typo. That’s EIGHT HUNDRED years ago. We wandered through the adorable (and surprizingly large) town, stopping at a great market in the center of town. We also caught the King’s College Choir at the Evensong service at the chapel. The chapel was finished by King Henry VIII about ten years before he changed the nation’s religion. It’s pretty spectacular:
Last week I also joined Kate, Richard and Kate’s sister Lee for tea at the National Dining Rooms at the National Gallery (in Trafalgar Square). For a reasonable price you get a quite lovely spread. Ah, clotted cream. It’s like butter with a side of butter.
I’ll have pictures of the latest adventures up in a few days; now I have to go to bed so I can be up for my marathon Monday – four hours of class followed by a departmental lecture and then drinks. Yes, I’m managing to fit studying in amongst the travels and cultural outings. Luckily for me, I never have two days of school in a row, which means as soon as I make it through one day I can (in theory) sleep in the next.
Keith Bardwell is happy to marry couples of the same race
A white US justice of the peace has been criticised for refusing to issue marriage licences to mixed-race couples.
Keith Bardwell, of Tangipahoa Parish in Louisiana, denied racism but said mixed-race children were not readily accepted by their parents’ communities.
A couple he refused to marry is considering filing a complaint about him to the US Justice Department.
Mr Bardwell said he had many black friends and frequently married them.
‘No integration’
Mr Bardwell, who has worked in the role for 34 years, said that in his experience most interracial marriages did not last very long and estimated that he had refused applications to four couples in the past two-and-a-half years.
He said he had “piles and piles of black friends” but just did not believe in “mixing the races”.
“They come to my home, I marry them, they use my bathroom. I treat them just like everyone else,” he said.
He said he had discussed the issue with both black and white people before making his decision.
“There is a problem with both groups accepting a child from such a marriage,” he said “I think those children suffer and I won’t help put them through it.”
I try to treat everyone equally
Keith Bardwell
Mr Bardwell added that he checked the race of the couple in question, 30-year-old Beth Humphrey and 32-year-old Terence McKay, when they first phoned him requesting a marriage licence.
Ms Humphrey, who is white, said that when she phoned Mr Bardwell on 6 October to discuss getting a marriage licence signed his wife told her about his stance.
Mrs Bardwell recommended that the couple see another justice of the peace, who did agree to marry them.
Ms Humphrey said she had not expected such comments “in this day and age” and that she was looking forward to having children with her husband.
American Civil Liberties Union of Louisiana attorney Katie Schwartzmann said that her organisation has requested an investigation into Mr Bardwell, describing the case as one of “bigotry”.
She said the Supreme Court ruled in 1967 “that the government cannot tell people who they can and cannot marry” and that Mr Bardwell had knowingly broken the law.
However, Mr Bardwell denied mistreating anyone and said if he oversaw one mixed-race marriage, then he would have to continue to do it for everyone.
This comes courtesy of Pajiba, which I think is the hands down best movie review site. A bit snobby, but generally really funny. AFI just listed them; Pajiba puts them all together.
Friday night I visited another of the museums that stays open late. Suzanne and I met up at the Victoria and Albert museum. That place is crazy. It’s in a gorgeous building, and is a bit of a cluster in terms of artifacts. We spent about an hour there and only saw three exhibits – well, two and a half. There was one temporary exhibition we saw, and it was adequately creepy: Telling Tales. The fashion and jewelry sections were also amazing.
Yesterday Becky and I went to the Chocolate Unwrapped event, which is part of Chocolate Week. For a fee we got to taste loads of amazing artisinal chocolate. The Paul Wayne Gregory Salted Caramel Truffles were some of the most amazing things I’ve ever tasted . . . aside from these crazy good lemon-filled dark chocolates I tried later on. Really, only one stand was a bit of a miss; the rest were indulgent and ridiculous. I know I’ll probably eat a Cadbury bar later this week or next, but man. It’s so fun to be reminded of the really wonderful flavors that are out there. Sesame and lime milk chocolate candies, dark-chocolate quince treats, rich and gooey brownies.
Yeah, it was good. Really, really good. So good that I walked the 3 1/2 miles back to my apartment to try to burn off at least one of the truffles. Oh man.
Today I ran off a few more, as I participated in the Royal Parks Half Marathon. It was a great course, and I hit my personal best (2:05 and change) but am feeling really tuckered out. I raised money for Brainstrust; if you still haven’t given but want to, there’s still time! Just post a comment and I’ll e-mail you the link to donate.
Week two starts tomorrow . . . hopefully my legs will allow me to get to campus.
I’ll post something this weekend about my classes – spoiler alert: they’re awesome – but I have to get this out so that I don’t turn into the mean old lady who keeps the ball the neighbor kids kick into her backyard.
My apartment is on the lower (basement) level. To allow for sunlight, the basement apartments all have these awesome, massive old windows, and there is essentially a moat around the building to allow for sunlight. In my case, that moat is covered by a grate that serves as the disabled-access ramp to the building. It was a bit loud on move-in day, but has been quite since.
Unfortunately, my apartment is directly below the front door / reception. What this means is that everyone who smokes convenes essentially in front of my apartment (albeit about eight feet above) at all hours. If they’re making their way back from the pubs, they stop and hang out in front first. And these windows, while old and stately, do nothing to keep out the cold, let alone the high-pitched slightly-drunken squeals of over-stimulated graduate students living in a foreign country for the first time.
I’m exhausted. I’d love to sleep in (it’s pretty calm in the mornings), but I have to be up at 7 for a 9 AM class. It’s quiet now, but generally these moments of silence last just long enough for me to *almost* fall asleep, only to be awakened from that odd pre-dream state where one’s heart starts racing and it takes a minute to figure out what just happened. I have one of those noise block Brookstone toys, but like an idiot I plugged it into an adaptor without a converter, and blew out the plug. Tomorrow I will track down batteries or a British voltage plug, but for now –
I try to treat everyone equally 
