Thanksgiving at La Cage aux Folles

Ok, so I’ve gotten a few requests to update you all on a few aspects of my life, and I thought it was about time to do so, especially as a lot happened today that I just have to get down in writing.

Firstly, for all my American friends and family, Happy Thanksgiving! I chose, however, to take my day an entirely different direction, and spent the day, in London, seeing one of John Barrowman’s last performances in La Cage aux Folles, and a performance of Wicked. (Let us stop trying to keep track here folks; we’ve at least hit a dozen, okay?)

For my second visit to La Cage, I chose to get a seat, not in the stalls, but rather at one of the cabaret tables, right up at the stage. Literally, the seats are against the stage. I didn’t think much of it beyond the view, really, I didn’t… but I should have.

My ticket! (the bottom is my Wicked ticket for the same evening.)

Sitting at the table waiting for the show to begin, a lady on the opposite side of the table, made a comment to me that, effectively, I better be ready to take some ribbing, and I, honestly, had little idea what she was talking about, but she said, effectively, I was cute and John would take notice. Now, in a regular “musical” obviously the audience has little effect on the show, but the way La Cage works, certain scenes play out in the couple’s home, and these play out just as most scenes in a musical, the audience is simply the observer, but in other scenes, those meant to take place on the stage of the night club, well, those people sitting at the tables are then taken as attendees to the nightclub itself, and riff for the ribbing.

That said, at the opening of the show, Georges (the proprietor of the night club and it’s master of ceremonies) played by the hilarious Simon Burke, comes out and welcomes everyone to La Cage Aux Folles and says “It’s so good to see so many old friends, and so many new faces, and so many old friends with new faces!” at the point where he hit the line “and so many new faces” Simon made eye contact with me, and said, “(laughs) Things are already looking up!” That early in the show… I knew I was in for it.

The Cagelles (the dancers, -men dressed as, very beautiful,  women-) then came out to do a dance routine, part of which involved beach balls, one of which was kicked right into my face. Not the best start I thought…

Then John Barrowman came out (as Albin) and did his bit being angry with Georges about looking at other men, and refusing to go on as Zaza, the star of La Cage, but, of course, eventually he’s convinced, and changes from only a corset and leggings into heels, a white dress covered in beading, and wig, and was “on stage” at the night club, he, during his opening monologue, came over to me and flirted while twirling his beaded breasts in my face.

Shortly after that, just after John made an on-stage costume change behind several huge ostrich feather fans, I noticed a (large) piece of one of the fans had broken off and was laying about a foot up on the stage, so when the lights went dark during one of the scene changed, I reached up on the stage and grabbed it. (It is now tacked up on my board in my bedroom alongside the poster, signed by John, to me, I received in September.)

Did I say I should have known I was in for it?

(By the way, beyond the night club scenes there is a very strong, and quite beautiful, family drama going on that really is the heart of the show, but if you want all that… Wikipedia it.)

A bit later in the show, a large birdcage appears on the stage, with the Cagelles all dressed as birds in very (very) skimpy outfits, with black lacey/feathery corsets and black ruffled panties, with dramatic makeup and these birdish looking wigs. (But, despite all of that, those boys were still very obviously boys… I don’t know how much time they must all spend in the gym, but it shows!)

Having seen the show, I had some idea what was going to happen, especially as a small card was left on the table at our arrival, which read:

A Special Request: When the birdcage appears if you would kindly lift your drinks and programmes from the table , we promise you a delicious reward…!

Basically, four of the dancers run out, jump on the tables, and dance up there, which, I really didn’t think anything of… at first. Then the dancer on my table, crouched down, facing the other way, and the danced around to me, and motioned for me to get closer with his fingers, so I leaned in, at which time he grabbed my face and kissed me. Quite random indeed!

A few moments later, John appeared in the birdcage, in a long white mink coat. He mentioned “slipping into something a lit more comfortable,” and dropped the coat, showing him to be wearing nothing but a short black silk night gown.

… and here’s where the afternoon got downright strange…

John came over to me, and crouched down on his hamstrings, so he hovered just over me, and we proceeded to have the following conversation:

John (coyly)- “Hi.” (He was wearing a long blonde wig pulled up in a ponytail, which he proceeded to play with and pet as he was talking to me.)

Me – “Hi.” (I was almost whispering, because I was really embarrassed.)

John – “How are you?”

Me – “Good.”

John –“You’re good?” (I just smiled) “Stand up” (I did, facing John.) John continued, chanting, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your hair. so you can climb up…” Part of the wig’s ponytail then flew into John’s mouth, which, of course, I noticed, as John tried, repeatedly, to spit it out, but it was sticking to his lipstick, so John commented, “I’ve got a hair in my mouth, that doesn’t usually happen ’til a Friday night!” (At which point my hand went to my mouth in reaction, but John was so close my hand went up his dress for a second, which John did seem to notice, but he kept right on…)

John – “Lets just make sure this is legal; how old are you?” (At this point John put his arms around my neck, and he was about two inches from my face for the rest of this…)

Me – “23.” (Let’s be clear here, I was being short, but I was grinning like a Cheshire cat the entire time, so he knew I was fine with it.)

John – “23, oh good! Boys, he’s legal!” He paused for a second, smiling coyly, “Lets take these off just so you don’t get hurt.” (At which point John took my glasses off my face. I was a little confused why… but I would have never expected what was to come…)

John – “Who’s this you have with you?” (referring to the lady next to me at the table.)

Me – “I don’t know.”

John – “You don’t know? You came all by yourself?”

Me – “Yeah… I came to see you.” (I should NOT have said that, but I meant, I came to see you John, not you, Zaza. He obviously knew what I meant, but he wasn’t letting me off the hook regardless.)

John – “Ohhhh. You came to see Zaza! And you got a table all the way up here! Turn around honey” (at which point he turned me around toward the entire audience) “I know why you came, and now so do… all… of… them! *chanting* Come out, come out wherever you are!” (John then turned me back around to face him) “I bet you were hoping to see some of my girls’ little secrets.”

Me – “Haha, sure!” (What the hell, John was aiming at a punch line anyway.)

John – “Well, let me tell you this, none of my girls have any LITTLE secrets.” (At which point John lifted his  nightie and put it over my head, effectively putting my face against his crotch. I was… shocked. Then I pulled myself back out from under his dress, and John gave me a kiss, and continued on with the show…

Nothing too abnormal happened for the rest of the first act, thankfully, although during the interim, thankfully, one of the ladies at my table lent me some baby wipes to scrub at the lipstick on my face…

Then at the opening of the second act, Simon came back out, and was ripping me, yet again, with “Why hello, it’s so good to see you again, now that we’re alone. Just you, and me, and 900 of your closest friends.” Simon reached out and took my hand, and kissed it, which just made me laugh. Beyond some winking from John, and some pointing from Simon during the closing number, they didn’t rag on me too much more.

After the show, I ran out to the stage door, and met both of them again, and Simon made a comment that he knew I “got it” from both he and John, and then asked me if I’d seen the show before, and I told him I had, with both of them, but not from the tables like that.

A bit later, John came out, and I said, “Oh I’m the one you two were having fun with!” To which John said, “Oh I know! And we weren’t making fun of you, we were just making you part of the show!” Which just made me roll my eyes, and he said, “All the dancers were telling me to ‘get the cute one in the front,’” which had us both laughing. I thanked him for the signature and told him I’d had a great time, and made my way out of the crowd, which wasn’t the easiest thing, as I was pinned against the barricade.

My program, signed by both John and Simon!

I wanted to stay longer and try to get a photo with him, but I needed to get going to head to Victoria for Wicked with my friend Tom, so I did, and Wicked, of course, was amazing, as always, but that experience with John Barrowman at La Cage, easily trumps any other experience I’ve had in the theatre in a long time, and ranks right up there with seeing Idina Menzel as Elphaba, from the front row, in the opening months of London’s Wicked.

Not your average Thanksgiving in the least… but I’ll take it!

By the way, another blogger reviewed this same performance (and mentioned John’s teasing me!) His blog I found quite enjoyable, and can be read: here.

A Visit to the Emerald City… in London?

I went to London again today, and no, before anyone asks, there were no monkeys or witches involved. I went with my friend Stephen from Lincoln (it’s in the Midlands) who, while growing up in England, had never properly explored London, so that was my day today. I, an American, took it upon myself to play tour guide to a Brit. Yeah… and despite a few setbacks, it was brilliant fun.

Yet, I learned a few things today. If you’re planning on exploring London, there are a few Underground lines you really will need, at least to see the items on the typical “tourist” itinerary. They are: the Piccadilly Line  (for sights including, but not limited to, Harrods, Hyde Park, Buckingham Palace, Piccadilly Circus, Leicester Square, Trafalgar Square, The National Gallery, and the National Portrait Gallery.), the Victoria Line, (for Victoria Station, my main station into the city, along with quicker access to Buckingham Palace, along with Oxford Circus, the main shopping district), and the Circle Line, which, just as the name suggests, encircles the inner part of the city, stopping at most of the places on people’s “must see” lists, including: Baker Street (Sherlock Holmes Museum), The V&A, Kensington Palace & Kensington Gardens, The Houses of Parliament, Victoria Station (and thereby, Wicked), and Tower Hill (among others).

Which lines do you want to guess the London Transit Authority decided needed “planned engineering works” this weekend? The Circle… The Victoria… and (parts of) the Piccadilly. That made for some fun maneuvering around the city, but we still had a great time. We started at Leicester Square,  working down to Trafalgar Square, then down to Parliament and across the river and back up the Millennium Bridge. I tried to pick up my tickets for La Cage Aux Folles for later in the month, but they don’t release them until the day of for Ticketmaster orders.

Looping back up to Trafalgar Square, we went down along the Mall to Buckingham Palace, and then up around Green Park to the Underground, which we took back to Leicester Square to Wagamama, my favorite restaurant in London, a Japanese noodle bar. We then tried to get tickets for a show for next weekend, but, unfortunately, they were all sold out except singles, so we passed it up.

We then went to Harrods to kill a bit of time before getting on the train, and I’ve never more amazed at a store in my life. Now, obviously, I’ve been to Harrods before, several times in fact. But, approaching the store this evening, it looked a bit… odd, a bit… green? All Harrods regular white light bulbs have been, temporarily, changed to green! But… why? Well, walking in the store, I noticed something… the floor was yellow… yellow brick. In the entrances to the store was a huge mat on the floor which read “Harrods Celebrates the 70^th Anniversary of The Wizard of Oz.” Now, as a life-long Oz fanatic… I was in heaven. Covering the store (and Harrods is massive) were posters suspending from the ceiling showing images from the film, hundreds of them. Around every corner were displays of dolls, figurines, a special edition of the film, it was… fantastic, especially as the film’s soundtrack played on the overhead speaker, and the film graced every television and computer screen in the electronics department. Even the Christmas trees (of which there were many) were covered in Emerald green ornaments and lights. One almost felt the need for those green glasses Dorothy received at the gates to the Emerald City! Leaving it became clear that even Harrods massive shop window displays had all been decked out in green and yellow, with very stylish versions of Oz’s characters gracing each of the windows.

(Even if much of the time I wondered how happy Judy would have been to have seen such an outpouring of love, as she died within a half mile of Harrods.)

Now, I realize this was all a promotion to sell a Harrods special edition of the DVD (available only at Harrods, of course), but it still pulled at my heart strings, to think that a store would go to this expense just to promote a DVD, seems a little insane, but when it’s your favorite film, when it’s the film that has very much shaped your life, somehow you just go with it and don’t feel so insane for five minutes.

Coming back from London, I still have my cold, despite buying some throat lozenges at Boots in London, and my feet and legs are killing me from all the walking, but somehow, I just feel happy for the day away. Oh, and, for the record, I didn’t even buy the DVD. It was £19.00, and given it’s Region 2, it wouldn’t even work on my computer. But since James told me I might be able to change that, well, there’s always next weekend!

 

 

 

//

Two Times the Wicked, and a very mixed up life…

I haven’t written in two weeks. There’s a reason for this, and it isn’t that I’ve been busy; it’s because, well, I’ve had things happen in my life that I can’t easily put into words, or that need be privy to the world. So, here is a quick gloss of the last few weeks, with a look to the future, okay?

Two weeks ago, tomorrow, on 24 October, I went to London, as I said I was planning, and saw Wicked in London, but, at the last minute, the night before, I decided I would make it a double feature, and ordered a ticket for the evening performance. That became a very, and I do mean very, long day, waking early to be in London by 11am. When I arrived in the city it was pouring, as it is want to do in London, so I ran across the street from the train station to the theatre, got my two tickets (while buying a set of tickets for later this month for a friend and I) and talked the ticket agent into selling me a Wicked umbrella, even though they don’t technically go on sale until an hour pre-show, but the man took pity on me, given then aforementioned rain. I then went to Piccadilly Circus to Waterstones (the biggest bookstore in Europe) to kill some time, ended up buying a book (shocker) and grabbing a sandwich nearby, before racing back across London for the matinee show.

Understudy Ashleigh Gray was quite amazing as Elphaba, and I know my Elphabas! Her voice was strong if her comedic timing (which Elphaba very much does require) was lacking. Sitting in the fifth row, my only major criticism is that, honestly, her hat didn’t fit. Seriously, her witch’s hat was a tad too big for her, sitting too far down on her forehead, and consequently, sitting as close as I was, I couldn’t see her eyes, which majorly mitigates one’s facial expressions!

For the evening performance, however, Ashleigh Gray was replaced by principal Elphaba Alexia Khadime, who, while she had amazing comedic timing, and I actually found quite commanding in the fury she brought to Elphaba, seemed to lack the empathy I’ve found in other Elphabas, most principally both Dee Roscoli (Chicago) and Idina Menzel.

Elphaba’s fury at the injustice she faces must always be tempered against her state as a truly misunderstood and deeply hurt person. Her anger must always come from being a truly good, but, in the end, entirely incapacitated person. Elphaba’s pain comes from a place of deep longing. She wants nothing more than to find her place in proper society, to be understood by the Wizard, yet she only finds herself used, and then forced underground by him as he struggles to retain power he cannot singularly assert. Society relegates the “unlimited” sprit of the girl to the ultimately “limited” woman, as Elphaba sings to G(a)linda in the opening of the show’s last song:

I’m limited
Just look at me – I’m limited
And just look at you
You can do all I couldn’t do, Glinda
So now it’s up to you
For both of us – now it’s up to you…

That delicate balance, in my experience of seeing the show a dozen times, has only ever been put forward by, as cliché as it may sound, Idina Menzel. She was the first, and to my mind, she really is the best. I’ve never cried during that show like I cried during her “Defying Gravity,” Idina puts not Elphaba’s anger, but her pain, in the forground, as a person longing for nothing more than understanding and love. What I wouldn’t give to see her don MAC Landscape Green one more time!

Since returning from Wicked, I’ve been knee deep in at least four Shakespeare plays, and a good penchant of queer theory, discussing everything from the queer child (and our societal desire to avoid such a thing) to sexuality as it impacts race. At the moment I’m at work on a project discussing the “post-colonial queer,” that is, deviant sexualities as they exist outside the American/European context.

That leaves my personal life, which has been… questionable at best. I won’t name names, and those closest to me know the details, but suffice to say, I was asked out by someone not in a position to do so, which lead to a sequence of very tense and depressing days, particularly once everything became apparent.

Now, looking to the future, tomorrow I will be, again, in London, with tentative plans to go again next weekend. I also have tickets to see John Barrowman in one of his final performances of La Cage Aux Folles on 26 November, from the front row, of course. That same evening I will, again, be seeing Wicked with a friend (from the cheap seats, of course).

New Classes… and Three Years After Idina…

Where did I last leave this off?

My last week has been spent catching up for the initial two weeks I was not in my “Critical Issues in Queer Theory” class, and writing the initial reading response for the same course (which wasn’t easy since I really had no idea what he was looking for), so I haven’t done much socializing, outside a few great people I’ve met.

This past Tuesday I had my first session in my new course. Apparently, if you’re a guy and in a sexualities class, don’t expect much male company. All other male students that were in the course, previous to my coming didn’t show up for the latest meeting, and then just today in my “Sexualities in Early Modern England” course none of the guys showed up. Oh wait, there was only ever one and myself (well, excluding the professor in both courses). Not that I really care, it just feels a bit… odd.

Thoughts on the initial week of (3 weeks) worth of reading for the queer class? Wow that was a lot of theory, and I find theory… difficult. Who, prey tell, doesn’t find theory difficult? Well, besides the author, obviously. Now, the interesting part is, while the theory was difficult to read, once in class it was in no way difficult to actually understand. Damn theorists and their jargon; I seriously believe if more of them just wrote more sensibly they would be much wider read and, well, isn’t that the hopeful endpoint anyway?

I digress… where was I?

Elphaba... in London?

Ok, so, classes are obviously going quite well, I’ve met some good people, but something has been itching at me for a while now. By a while I mean since I got out of the train station at Victoria and saw a certain sign, a certain big sign, a certain big green sign, a certain WICKEDLY big green sign!

I’ve resisted the urge long enough, and I simply can’t do it anymore, so I broke down tonight and bought a ticket to (once again) see Wicked, in London. I will be in attendance for the 2:30 performance, this Saturday 24 October. It’s not quite my Idina Menzel 3 year anniversary (that would have been 28 October) but only crappy seats were available for that evening, so I’m going a few days in advance. But hey, it still counts! I’m, obviously, very excited.

In my defense, while I’ve seen the show more times than most people would ever care to (and have honestly lost count), I actually haven’t seen it in just over a year. I last saw Wicked, with James, in Chicago on 10 October 2008. (I have no clue why I’ve seen it so many times in October, by the way.) As James will well remember, and I’ve certain most people know… that evening wasn’t the best experience. We woke up in Amsterdam, flew to Paris (where we ran into Passport to Europe’s Samantha Brown), to fly back to Chicago to make the show at 7:30 that evening. Did I mention that that was actually the second set of tickets I had to buy, because, since our flight was delayed getting out of Germany the previous day, we had been forced to stay overnight in the rural suburbs of Amsterdam (worst place ever to be trapped for a night, it looked like Nebraska; they could have sent us on to London or Paris, seriously.) so we had missed the seats I had booked the previous night already, and then when we showed up on the 10th, we were jet lagged, tired, I had been becoming more ill as the day progressed, yet, being bull-headed, we were going to that damn show! James fell asleep, repeatedly, I couldn’t concentrate; it was not a good experience.     But, again, I digress.

Video capture of Idina Menzel giving me a hug (28 Oct 2006).

Unfortunately, Kerry Ellis, who I saw in Les Miserables (twice) in Feb-March 2006 (who was Idina’s understudy) is no longer in the role of Elphaba in London, which is a true shame as I would have loved to have seen her, but the woman ended up playing the show longer than her predecessor, taking over the role from Idina, taking a stint as the Broadway Elphaba (with a much suppressed English accent), only to return for an extended engagement in the London show. Obviously, the woman paid her dues, but I still would have loved to have seen her in the role.

Alexia Khadime (London's current Elphaba)

Instead, I will (most likely) have Alexia Khadime (or her understudy) as Elphaba. I’ve only heard a few recordings of her on YouTube, but she doesn’t seem too bad at all. We’ll soon see!

Oh, and if that photo of Idina and I looks a bit odd… here’s the scoop. After I flew 4,000 miles just to see Idina Menzel in London, American Airlines lost my luggage, and with my luggage my camera, of course! So, I assumed, even after I met Idina there would be absolutely no record of it. (What is it with Wicked, me, and airlines?) Yet, somehow, I was browsing YouTube one night months later, and I found this little, no more than 30 second clip, of Idina at the stage door, and it said the date was “28 Dec” but I watched it anyway, and I freaked out, when I saw myself in the video. They had missed  the date on the video by exactly two months. So, I found a way to save the video to my computer, and just now found a way to extract an image from the video. So, it’s not perfect, but it’s all I have. I can live with that.

“Look for the Silver Lining…”

First of all, my apologies for not updating more often. It’s not like I have an excuse or anything; I really have no life beyond myself, my books, and my computer. (Ok, I’m working on changing that, but… baby steps people, okay?)

Secondly, okay, this should really be first, (but I’m not editing this, so…) thank you to everyone who’s wrote me in response to my last post. It means a lot to know I have so many people supporting me, even from across an ocean half a world away! To Erin, Meggan, Sean, Danielle, Emily, Heather, Will… (Please, dear god if I forgot anyone please tell me, and I apologize in advance!) your notes of support from afar really do mean so much; and to Mom, Dad, Aaron, James, thanks for putting up with my insanely random calls and text messages (and my incessant worries about money). It’s nice to know I have all of you behind me. Oh and to whomever else in my family is being sent the link to this blog (because I know my mother is mailing it around)… I hope you’re enjoying living vicarious through me!

Since I last wrote, things have changed quite a lot. I went shopping and bought some jeans, and a few shirts, and a hoodie, so I now feel a bit more like I fit in. Not that I do, but it’s psychological, okay? Lets, see, I bought a train pass so I won’t have to worry about THAT every day.
…and OH YEAH… I changed my masters degree. My last post, if nothing else, got me thinking. What I really, really want to do, as I elucidated in my last post, is to examine homosexuality throughout history. Well, Sussex has this little Centre for the Study of Sexual Dissidence, which offers the MA in Sexual Dissidence in Literature & Culture.
Now, since I totally can’t explain what this program really “is” better than it’s own website, here’s how it explains itself:

“The term ’sexual dissidence’ was put into circulation by Gayle Rubin in her seminal essay ‘Thinking Sex’ and became a crucial tool for conceptuali[z]ing initially the MA in Sexual Dissidence at Sussex and now our newly-established research centre.

Sexual dissidence is a broad term that comprises the rich analysis of all non-heteronormative sexualities (lesbian, gay, bisexual, queer, transsexual, and transgender) both through the ways in which they are constructed and shaped by culture and the ways in which they resist normativities and function as important interventions for radical social change. Research at the Centre for the Study of Sexual Dissidence & Cultural Change at Sussex explores sexual dissidence as a diverse site of signification and subjective identification, acknowledging that the social milieus that produce and are shaped by sexual dissidences are just as plural and not confined within national or regional borders alone. The Centre situates itself intellectually at the nexus of a wide variety of interdisciplinary work in the humanities and social sciences. Our work engages past and contemporary understandings of sexual subjectivity, ranging from the early modern period to the present day, while addressing historical differences; our work also examines dissident sexualities in comparative and postcolonial contexts, while being attentive to cultural and linguistic differences and recogni[z]ing struggles for erotic autonomy as viable praxes of decolonisation. The texts with which we work to frame our teaching and research include literary texts, film, media, cybertexts, clinical and legal texts, and visual and non-print works.

Building on the pioneering work begun by Professors Alan Sinfield and Jonathan Dollimore at Sussex in the 1980s and 1990s, the Centre continues to produce innovative interdisciplinary scholarship on the study of sexual dissidence that is internationally recogni[z]ed. Our overall goals are the exchange of ideas and the deepening of research in all areas of sexual dissidence study. The Centre attracts postgraduate students of high calibre from all parts of the United Kingdom and from around the globe, and their work contributes to the Centre’s intellectual culture. Centre faculty bring a broad range of interdisciplinary expertise and scholarly perspectives to bear on the study of sexual dissidence–these include literary studies, early modern studies, postcolonial queer theory, South African writing, queer romanticism, the theory and practice of creative writing, psychoanalysis, social and cultural history, feminist and gender studies, cultural materialism, cultural studies, film, visual culture, and media studies. The Centre for the Study of Sexual Dissidence & Cultural Change provides an exciting research environment for faculty and postgraduate students from across these fields.

The Centre is not a separate Department, but is rather a way of framing work that takes place in and across a variety of disciplines within the University. Its work is enhanced by the University’s reputation as a major research university with an overall commitment to interdisciplinary enquiry, and by its Brighton location, one of Britain’s major cities for lesbian, gay, bi, transgender, and queer history, politics, and culture.”

Okay, so… if you’ve survived this far (and I know some of you will) can we say it’s just about perfect for, well, just about everything I tried to say the other day? Don’t get me wrong, I’m still very interested in the Renaissance and the transvestative theatre particularly and the gender politics of the period, but, well, I have other queer interests, and I’m happy to explore them all.

But let’s not talk about the, roughly, £140 in books I just had to buy for this class at Bramber House. (Or the shop attendant who I’m fairly certain was trying, and failing, to flirt with me.) Granted, they would have been less had I bought them off Amazon.co.uk or .com, but since it’s already the second week, time is of the essence, and well, I needed almost all of them as soon as possible. The shop was out of two of them, so, of course, those got Amazon-ed. (Amazon is now a verb, yep!)

Oh, and, for the record, if you know anything about Brighton, that last sentence in the overview of the Centre, while true, makes me laugh ever so slightly. I don’t mean to demean the Centre in any way, obviously, but as Brighton is seen, quite honestly, as the “San Francisco of the UK,” well, I just found it funny. However, I will also be entirely honest in saying I feel quite lucky to have been admitted into the Centre. It is actually quite a competative program in which to be enrolled (and the conveyer asked my undergraduate GPA when I visited his office to discus my transfer), and the program has endured quite a bit of flack in the past.

I have “borrowed” the following from Alan Sinfield’s Wikipedia page, (Yes I’m sourcing Wikipedia, is this being graded? Chill people) discussing the “hoopla” caused by the program at it’s inception:

“[Sinfield] pioneered the Sexual Dissidence programme at the University of Sussex with Jonathan Dollimore (despite parliamentary objection to the course being taught in a UK university from right wing politicians).” Now, clearly, if a program made it to the floor of parliment, and is still running, well, it must be worth it, right?

For the record, I have, of course, retained the “Sexualities of Early Modern England” course, (see previous post(s) for description). I have, of course, dropped the “Idea of the Renaissance” course (sounds trumpets), and have replaced it with the “Critical Issues in Queer Theory” course. While the course is not required, it is highly recommended, and frankly it sounds interesting too!

Here is its description:
“This course provides a framework for addressing some of the most compelling issues facing queer studies today by examining queer theory both as a mode of critique and as a political praxis for potential radical social change. Unlike its lesbian/gay studies counterpart, often concerned with the politics of sexual difference alone, queer theory operates as a critical lens for (re)reading the complexity of cultural worlds we inhabit while exposing and critiquing heteronormativity as it is imbricated within a range of social norms, categories, and institutions, including, but not limited to, the body, the family, gender, censorship, racial and national fantasy, reproductive politics, and health care in addition to sexuality. How might queer theory, with its investment in the endless proliferation of social differences, enable new understandings of subjectivity, child development and maturation, gender, race, history, imperialism, postcolonial nationalism, and citizenship? Primary theoretical texts will be read alongside cultural texts, where appropriate, including literature, film, visual art, clinical texts, and legal documents in order to demonstrate the approaches and contingencies of queer theoretical work. This course is not required, but is highly recommended in the Autumn Term as it provides a comprehensive overview of the issues in confronting the discipline as well as grounding in queer theory as a mode of analysis and strategy of opposition in knowledge production.”

Okay, I’ll try to stop quoting and just talk (but no promises). It goes without saying, or perhaps it needs most to be said, that I’m feeling quite a bit better. Just last evening I went to the LGBTQ meeting at Sussex, and while it was much too packed to actually really converse with anyone (and it was a meeting so there was actual meeting stuff to be done, it wasn’t a social hour) I feel that it seems like a good group of people, with whom I hope to have some good times in the next year. How’s that for me being positive? I rode back with Matt and Beth on the bus, and we ended up walking back through “The Lanes” around Brighton. How do I explain The Lanes? (If I had had my camera a photo would really help right now.) Um… for Harry Potter fans, imagine the narrow streets filled with shops of Diagon Alley, or Hogsmeed Village. (I’m using Harry Potter to describe actual places in England… wow, this is ridiculous.) Okay, if you have no idea what I’m talking about, imagine really narrow lanes (like, maybe 4 feet wide), filled with shops just piled on top of one another, and you have a fairly good idea of The Lanes. Granted, there are areas that are normal, but it’s all fairly narrow. I’ll post pictures somewhat soon, as it would really make for some very neat photos!

Okay, so I need to go read a bunch of theory about queer people, and my incessant watching of Luke and Noah on “As the World Turns” is getting me nowhere very quickly… except making me wish I had booked that ticket to Paris to meet Jake and Van (Actors of said characters having a meet and greet in Paris this weekend), and making me try to find some way to write a dissertation on them for my degree. Hey, I heard about someone who wrote about Harry Potter last year for their dissertation, so anything is on the table! (Harry Potter, for a dissertation, in England… how novel!)

Okay, since no one has any idea what I’m talking about, here is Luke and Noah’s wiki. Aren’t they cute?

My Courses, My Masters, and Me…

Everyone who reads my blog, I would assume, wants to know about my life, how I’m fairing here in Brighton and so, here I am, talking. But, how do I really feel about all this; how do I really feel about doing all this, living here, just being me? In some ways, in many ways, I feel, and know, myself to be very blessed. I have a family that would do anything for me, and a grandmother near tears just yesterday after some con artist called her claiming I’d been in some type of auto accident, in jail, and in need of money. Obviously, nothing could be farther from the truth. Last I checked I have not been in any form of accident, I am not injured, nor ill; I could eat better, but I’m 23 and busy, that just happens. (By the way I just returned from the grocery, so that can be put to rest for a few days at the least.)

But, returning to my point: How am I really doing? Not well. I’m lonely, incredibly lonely. I’ve always been a reserved person, it’s simply the way I am, unless, of course, you get me talking, and then good luck getting me to shut up, but in most situations, especially here, I’m an incredibly quiet person, so I’m never the person to broach a conversation with a stranger, it just won’t happen. Why? I’m shy, I’m sensitive, I don’t want to “put myself out there” and then get hurt; I wear my feelings on my shoulders. So, I suffer in silence, alone. Earlier today, I ventured out to get groceries, and my goodness is it a beautiful day here in Brighton, it’s warm, the sun is out (alone a cause for celebration in England) and I’m walking along, surrounded by crowds of people, hundreds of people, on the sidewalk, in the supermarket and yet I’m so insanely self conscious, especially in the market, when I, for the life of me, couldn’t find the bread, after about 10 minutes of searching, and just about wanted to scream, “Can anyone tell me where the FUCKING bread is so I can get the HELL out of this place?” So many people where in the market, I just about wanted to throw up. I don’t do well in crowds; they make my skin crawl. My contacts were itchy, my coat was hot, I was alone, hungry, and just about ready to rip open the bag of Maltesers in my basket just to make my stomach leave me alone for five minutes; I was in the market, couldn’t my stomach understand that and shut up for a minute so I could concentrate? I just wanted to become invisible; I just wanted to get out of there. So much of me just wants to go home sometimes.

I’m an introverted person, I always have been; someone else has to make the first move at initiating me at conversation; I won’t do it myself, and I kick myself every time I fail to, because I do want friends, but I entirely lack the ability, or believe myself to lack the ability, to procure them. I could go down to the gay district, but somehow I don’t think those are really the type of friends I’m really looking for… Well, gay friends are fine, obviously, but only the kind that like me for my brain too thanks!

I returned from the grocery to find an email from one of my professors, who, of course, since I started my reading for next week last night, changed the readings for next week. Now, I realize for most this would pose little to no problem, but I ordered several of my books once I arrived here as one of the syllabi had, significantly, changed after my arrival in the UK, requiring me to order a series of books from Amazon.co.uk, which, of course, have yet to arrive, yet most of which need to be read by Wednesday 14 October. Doesn’t that just sound like fun everyone?

Let me discuss my masters program, what interests me, what fails to interest me, and why this all is beginning to worry me. My particular interest is the history of sexuality in literature, queer sexualities, obviously, because, well, straight people are just so damn boring. While the history of sex itself, I’m sure, would be interesting, that’s not particularly what I’m looking for. I want to study queer people in literature through history, how gay people have been perceived, and how they have perceived themselves (when given a voice), and how this all plays out in relation to gender roles, gender identity, etc throughout history. I have latched onto the Early Modern Period (ie the English Renaissance) because, in large part, of the tranvestite theatre (a theatre where boys played the roles of women) and the issues, and anxieties, it seems to raise in relation to a plethora of these issues.

Yet, in retrospect, a great many of these issues, and my interests, would have been better served if I were to have been a member of the Centre for Sexual Dissonance rather than the Centre for Early Modern Studies, because while my “Sexualities in Early Modern England” course utterly fascinates me, the “Idea of the Renaissance” course, already, seems quite intent on boring me to tears. Clearly, if one is to study the Renaissance (I prefer “Renaissance” to “Early Modern Period,” I understand there is a great many connotations with each term, but as this is being written for a popular rather than scholastic audience, and I frankly like the word better, “Renaissance” I shall use. Everyone alright with that?)…

Where was I? Oh, yes… If one is to study the Renaissance, one needs to define what the Renaissance, itself, was, and in so doing one must confront a series of issues: Where did the Renaissance come from? What caused it? When, and where, did it start? When and where did it end? Did it end? Was there a “Renaissance” at all? Why?

This, I believe, is what the “Idea of the Renaissance” is aimed to investigate, all questions I would, in all honesty, be interested in having answered, but none of which help me toward my own goals of tracking homosexuals (if I can be that anachronistic – using a perfectly Victorian term in reference to the Renaissance –, and I must be as vocabulary limits me otherwise) through history. So many periods are left unvisited, so many people left unstudied. What about Virginia Woolf and a lady’s “room of one’s own”? What about Oscar Wilde and the English decadents? What about E.M. Forester? What about the Beats? What about queer novelists today? Outside of literature, what about da Vinci, Michelangelo, Alexander the Great, James Buchanan?

So, I feel a bit like chopping off my left arm to save my right at this point; I want to study it all, I want to contribute to it all, but to do so, I fear, I would be in school forever. But, I don’t want to forsake Woolf or Wilde, or several others in favor of Shakespeare; the former two were important to me before Shakespeare; they spoke to me before I was granted the vocabulary to even hear Shakespeare! Now, I feel bitter, because I want to study them all, to piece together the little bits of what it means to be a “homosexual” through time.

As  Bruce Smith says, in his masterful Homosexual Desire in Shakespeare’s England, that his purpose was to “help men whose sexual desire is turned toward other men [to] realize that they have not only a present community but a past history.” That is the work to which I want very much to contribute.  I want to help give gay people a history; not just in the Renaissance, and not just in literature, but in the world at large. We are here, we have always been here, and it’s about time we, and everyone else, realized that. The need for gay rights didn’t start in the wake of June 22, 1969, it’s always been with us, and it will always be with us until gay/queer people realize they have a history, just like everyone else; we aren’t all a legion of juvenile, superficial, diseased, sex obsessed people, of little brain, to be cast aside or simply tolerated; we are a people, as a group, that have contributed much more to our collective world culture than our heteronormative world wants to give us credit. If I can be so bold, I want to be part of that reacquisition, to help craft a history that very much does exist, for it must; it simply must be found.

However, for all my ideals, I’m twenty three, introverted, shy, unhappy, and alone. While the world seems to support my being here, (and my friends and family ARE my world) I find myself asking a question I didn’t think of until I arrived: “Am I in the right place to be here right now?”

I find my mind wandering away from the books on my desk, to the beach outside, to the shops down the way, to that city I love just an hour away. Every day, I read for a bit, and then I’m itching to get away; I’m itching to go shopping, to go walk along the beach, to go sit in a café, to escape to London, to see Wicked, yet, again. The last plays on my mind every day. I haven’t seen it since October in Chicago, and I want so… badly to see it again. But, the reality, one of finance, is that I realize I can’t really afford it, and I probably won’t be able to while I’m here. (Okay, I’ll spurge and go at some point, and then I’ll kick myself about it…) And, I’ll admit, romance is on my mind as well. I’m lonely; it’s only natural, especially at my age.

This brings me to another stress: money. I watch every penny (or pence), I record it all in a ledger; I know where everything has gone, and yet I feel angry that I could have done it better, could have done it cheaper. A great deal of my money, of late, has gone to books I didn’t know I needed, so that has eaten up almost 25% of my monthly budget, and believe me, everything is budgeted. I have about £13 pounds a day budgeted, but I’ve been trying to live off about  £10 a day, if only to save that little bit, paranoid the exchange rate is going to flip out and leave me broke. I think about money all the time, and I hate it. I hate managing dollars and pounds, projecting it all over the next year; it annoys me all the time, because I’ve had banks screw me over so many times, freezing funds, or claiming I’m over drafted when I’m not, so I don’t trust banks, but stuffing my mattress doesn’t seem wise either. This is not, after all, 1929.

This all being said, I know everything will work out, but this is already proving to be so much more stressful, and so much less fun than I had hoped. Why can’t I just make friends? Why can’t I just have people to hang out with, sit in a coffee shop, with whom to work on my damn readings for hours, to just be comfortable being around? I realize we all have a lot on our plates; we’re all busy, but damn! I want friends so badly, and, yes, I want someone special in my life too, but why does wanting someone so badly not make it so? I get told all the time I’m far from ugly, so what gives? Why am I alone? What’s so wrong with me? Do I just want it too much?

I would love to go out for clubs at the university and meet people, but it seems like I never get the memo until something has already happened, or I have a meeting conflict the one time there is something I’m interested in. That happened the other day, it was the initial meeting for the Sussex Uni Musical Theatre Society or SMUTS, and OF COURSE I had an resident adviser meeting about an hour after, so I couldn’t make it. I really, REALLY wanted to go, and I was honestly just about ready to scream when I found out, especially when it turned out the meeting was given by one of my flat mates and everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING in the meeting was information I already knew. I was pissed. But hopefully they have another meeting soon enough. I know auditions, of course, have already passed, but I can’t sing anyway, so that’s of little consequence.

This is just today, but, as they say, we manifest our own reality. I think I’m going to go sit on the beach now. Yes, that sounds quite nice, where I will rejoin the characters of The Comical History of the Merchant of Venice…(for, at least, the third time). We English people never read anything; we reread everything!

Courses, oh these Courses!

So, since they are going to be the mainstay of my life for the next ten weeks, I thought it might be pertinent for me to post the course descriptions of the two courses I will be following this term. They are, the core course, “The Idea of the Renaissance” along with what will, undoubtedly be my favorite course, “Sexualities in Early Modern England.”

“The Idea of the Renaissance” is given the following course description:

The Renaissance is an idea that is less than a hundred and fifty years old but has had a permanent influence in the formation of cultural history past and present, west and east, high and low. It is poised around a notion of cultural change which is nonetheless notoriously difficult to date, around a geographical exclusivity which is nonetheless assumed to be of universal significance, and around an idea of artistic purity which is nonetheless bound up with the central processes of political power and patronage. This course is both an introduction to the ideas and myths of the Renaissance and also an opportunity to consider the practice, place and value of cultural history as an inter-disciplinary study.

The course is built around the examination of early printed books, both those in the Library’s Travers Collection (and other Special Collections) and through the electronic database Early English Books Online. Seminars will take place in the Reading Room of the Special Collections at the Library. Students will receive training in the handling of rare books and in the use of databases.

We will attempt to ask a variety of questions from a series of different positions and look at the Renaissance as seen by historians, art historians, students of literature, philosophers, and so on. Issues examined will include the history of the book, visual and textual culture,  the religious transformations of the Reformation, humanism and government, humanism and desire, humanism’s selves, popular culture, Renaissance and Reformation geographies: the idea of Europe and Christendom. Texts will include a balance of primary and secondary material.

“Sexualities in Early Modern England” is given the following course description:

This course explores the scope for same-sex relations as they appear in diverse sources, and particularly in imaginative writing. If, as Michel Foucault says, the homosexual as such was hardly a conceivable social category, a range of dissident positions was nonetheless available. They derived partly from Greek and Roman culture, and partly from the actual living spaces and patterns of authority in courts, households, schools and theatres. Plays by Marlowe, Shakespeare, Lyly, Jonson and Beaumont and Fletcher will be studied, together with poetry and prose by Sidney, Spenser, Marlowe, Shakespeare, Donne, Richard Barnfield and Katherine Philips, with glimpses of Derek Jarman.

This will be quite an interesting term!

On to the literature, after a stop at the movies…

Well, the weekend is passed. Saturday was somewhat eventful; I went out with a new friend of mine, to see Dorian Gray, the new British film adaptation of Oscar Wilde’s classic novel, which also happens to be on my short list as one of my favorite novels. The film, starring Ben Barns (known for his role as Prince Caspian in The Chronicles of Narnia) along with Colin Firth, wasn’t a bad movie as far as it went, and while it didn’t entirely adhere to the novel, it did to a very large degree, and I could see that most fans of the book would be, most likely, pleased with the film. I however, am not one of that camp.

I found the film too heavy on the physical debauchery aspect of Dorian’s depravity, and lacking in the psychological logic puzzles such a life creates, as put forth in Wilde’s pages. Despite an honest desire to like the movie, given my love of the book, I simply didn’t; I found it too gratuitous, too grotesque. It didn’t help matters that I felt Barnes was miscast. Obviously I’ll get some disagreement here, but I didn’t find him attractive enough to be Dorian.

Wilde’s Dorian is not handsome; he is beautiful, as one would imagine Cupid to be beautiful. The novel describes him as a “young man of extraordinary personal beauty” a “young Adonis, who looks as if he was made out of ivory and rose-leaves.” Such a description does not fit Bass. Now, get me someone akin to The Reader’s David Kross, or Gossip Girl’s Chace Crawford, and then we’ll talk.

Later, after taking in a high class, and high dollar (or pound, as the case may be) lunch at Le McDonald’s, and a leisurely stroll around Brighton that at one point involved a very interesting sweets shop that imported candy from around the world. £8.50 for a box of Lucky Charms anyone? Apparently they no longer make them here.  I, of course, couldn’t leave a candy shop with buying something, so I paid £1.10 for a box of Dots made in Chicago. Then, I found myself in a very strange British store called Argos. I was looking for a clothes drying rack, and apparently here is where I would find the answer. Now, I use the term “store” loosely here. Effectively you go in and find a collection of tables, each with a massive (and I do mean massive) catalogue atop it. After finding the item you would like to buy in the catalogue, you write down it’s order number, go to the cashier, and pay for your item, without ever actually seeing it. Then, you are given an order number and get to wait for your item number to be called. (Think here of the DMV, or as my friend Tom termed it, a VERY boring game of Bingo.) Then once your number is called, you go up, present your receipt, and leave with your item. Basically it’s like in-store catalogue pick-up from J.C. Penny’s, just, well not.

Since then, I quite literally, haven’t left my flat but for a quick run for food. Sunday was murder emotionally, worrying all day about getting into my sexualities course, so, suffice to say, no work was completed.

This morning I have received a string of emails from all those I attempted to contact on Friday at Sussex, and have been assured, on all fronts, that my name is now on the register for the Sexualities in Early Modern Literature course, and all is well. I even received a very heart-felt apology from the lady in the English office quite responsible for the whole mix-up, to which I, very promptly, responded with the appropriate cordialities.

Thus far, to day has been spent in reading a fair share of Christopher Marlowe’s poetry. (Something else to Wikipedia for those unaware, but, suffice to say, contemporary poet/dramatist of W. Shakespeare.) I had intended to attend the initial meeting for Sussex’s drama group tonight, but unfortunately I have no choice but to attend a meeting with my flat mates to meet our RA at the same time. I am not amused.

Well, it’s back to reading 16^th Century English poetry and criticism thereof for me for the rest of the day. Should I really be rereading criticism I’ve already read? Well, since I didn’t totally grasp it the first time, I’m guessing the proper answer is yes, and it’s all gay anyway…

For those on Facebook, I posted photos of my room for all to enjoy!

“What do you mean I’m only in one class?” and Burger King and the sheer size of America

To all my lovely friends in the United States, thank you for every email, text message, Facebook wall post, etc, etc. It all means a lot that you are all still with me on this the beginning of what should be, I hope, a most glorious adventure.

But, if I can be honest, experiences today leave me feeling… less than enthusiastic. Well, the school experiences. The personal ones have been fantastic!

As everyone is fairly well aware, my entire purpose in coming to the University of Sussex was, and remains, to study the literature of the English Renaissance, specifically to look at and analyze the gender and sexuality present in the plays of Shakespeare and his contemporaries, but going into my meeting about my MA program today, in talking with fellow students, it became strangely clear to me that I had missed a fair share of mailings and updates about the “Sexualities in the English Renaissance” course, for which I had signed up, or at least I assumed I had. So, on a hunch, with a few other students from the meeting (only 4 students were in the meeting) I went to the English office, and of the three of us who thought we were signed up for the course, only one of us actually was. So, as it turns out, I’m not currently signed up for the course that is the very reason I’ve moved to Sussex in the first place.

Let me say that again:

*The course, the very reason I moved 4,000 miles away from home, the one I signed up for the INSTANT it became available, may not be mine for the taking.*

So, after making this oh so heart warming discovery, I wrote to the head of my program, the person in charge of the course placements, and a few other people, including the Vice-Chancellor of the university, in the hope that someone can resolve this issue promptly, as, in all honesty, if I cannot be placed in this course, I have no reason to stay here. But I can’t imagine, knowing all that I’ve gone through, I would actually be here and something this seemingly minor would allow for the dissolution of everything. That just can’t happen.

But, I’ve already been told the class is full up, but I don’t know who they might be including in that tally. Hopefully, given I returned the course selection form as soon as I received it, I should be accounted for, but I’ll simply have to wait for Monday to find out!

Once I resolved all of that, I headed back to Brighton and ended up going out with some new friends, among them Julia (who is also one of my flat mates), Matt, who I met a few days ago in the elevator, and his friends Beth, and Peter. We all ended up out on the beach having a little impromptu picnic (which I didn’t really know about until we were out there, so I didn’t have anything to contribute) which was great fun! I love the serendipitous moments in life like that, opening up to new people, and, in a way, rediscovering who you are by sharing yourself with others. It really is a beautiful thing.

Later, we took a walk through The Lanes, which is essentially this maze of narrow passages just to the north east of our flat, which was great fun. We ended up at a pub for a bit and then down by the pier at Burger King of all places.

I could go on here with a diatribe about sizing of foodstuffs here in the UK in opposition to that which is quite common in the United States, but limit it to a passing mention. Suffice to say the largest soft drink here is the equivalent to an American medium. The regular size you’re given with a combo meal, which I ordered, is equivalent to the US small, as are the combo French fries. Matt, who is from South Africa, couldn’t believe how big an American large would be, in comparison to the rather large (American) medium he had received. Somehow, when trying to explain the idea of car manufactures retrofitting their cup holders to accommodate the largest American soft drink sizes, you really do get a perspective on how out of control American conspicuous consumption really is.Maybe, just maybe, if the extra-large soda cup can’t fit in the cup-holder, maybe, just maybe, the cup holder isn’t the problem? Food for thought…

As for the past few days not chronicled, make something up; it will probably be more entertaining than the reality. I’ve basically, when not on campus for registration or my pathetic attempt at the Freshers Fair, been in my room working on my pre-readings, many of which are now irrelevant as the pre-readings for the Sexualities course, have, apparently, changed in the past 48 hours (if of course, I’m allowed in it in the first place).

It was a very interesting, and contradictory, day indeed. But I’m honestly just happy, above all, to be developing new friendships while staying in contact with everyone I can back at home.

To all my family and friends who will undoubtedly be reading this, I love you all, and to those new friends without whom this would be a very dull adventure indeed, thank you all very much.

From John Barrowman to Shinny Jeans… 5 days in England (so far!)

I arrived back in the UK on Friday 25 Sept; it is now 30 Sept, so I’ve been here almost a week. Yes, I consciously wrote the date as I did; it’s required everywhere here, so it’s just going to become normal, yet, again.

In such a short time I’ve already had some high points and some low points, today I had a meltdown and had to end up on the phone with Mom. Sometimes you just need your mother, but lets not start there.

*As a general note, Mom and I went to several places in quick succession in London, if you don’t know a reference, Wikipedia it. If I explained every locale, I might as well be writing a book!*

Mom and I arrived on Friday, around noonish, after flying Indianapolis to Chicago, to Dublin, to London Heathrow, then took the Heathrow Express into London and a taxi to our hotel. Yes, we opted for the more expensive route. I was fully aware we could have just sat on the Piccadilly line on the Underground direct into the city from the airport, but I felt that was an hour better spent without our suitcases. Safe to say when we arrived Mom was exhausted feeling dizzy and ill from lack of sleep. I, thankfully, was able to sleep on the plane so I felt absolutely fine and ended up never going through any period of adjustment at all to the time change. We arrived in London, I updated my phone, and that was that.

But, being the trooper she is, we headed out to explore the city. Getting on the Tube at High Street Kensington, Mom couldn’t take the train’s speed for long and we were forced to disembark at Victoria, where we got a quick bite and then ran over to the Apollo Victoria Theatre, Wicked’s home in London. Then we went on to Harrod’s; I think the sheer size of it Mom couldn’t exactly get used to; the building is a city block onto itself.

We then walked over to 4 Cadagon Lane, a few blocks away, an address which I’m sure means nothing to most, but, being the house where Judy Garland died, means quite a bit to me and many others.

We then went over to Trafalgar Square and I ran Mom through the National Gallery, where I very quickly tried to explain the skull in “The Ambassadors,” and then on to the National Portrait Gallery where I tried, and failed, to find the only (and very poor) life study done of Jane Austen.

Then we went to Wagamama near Leicester Square, and went down to the river Thames and walked along the river to the Palace of Westminster, and then back onto the Tube back to the hotel.

Saturday we woke early to take the train down to Brighton and a taxi to my flat (on the beach, thank you!), met one of my flat mates who showed me my room and all that (on the 7th floor, thankfully we have a lift!) and Mom and I ran about to the mall (only two blocks away!) and to Boots for some essentials. As yet I still need to buy some better sheets (does NO ONE have 100% cotton sheets?) and a clothes drying rack. I’m thinking a trip to Marks and Spencer (in the mall) is in order, but I can’t be bothered for that two block walk…

Heading back to London we ran back to the hotel to get all gussied up, then took the Underground to Charing Cross and walked on over to the Playhouse Theatre for La Cage aux Folles. I could go on and on and on about La Cage, but it’s suffice to say that John Barrowman is an absolutely divine piece of casting, with a voice that does justice to the play, leaving you wanting the show to go on for hours more!

After the show I ran (and I do mean RAN) out of the theatre to the stage door, where we waited none too long for the cast to file out. I got my La Cage poster signed by John as well as Simon Burke, but unfortunately Simon signed the poster, which is a laminated type of paper, with a water based pen, so his inscription and signature whipped off the poster, but John signed with a Sharpie, so his is there to stay.

La Cage aux Folles poster, signed by John Barrowman: "Austin, Love, John Barrowman"

John Barrowman and I

When John came out, everyone went crazy, but there was security there who kept everyone (somewhat) civil, but when he got to me, I told him I’d come from America and we ended up chatting for a bit about his childhood as he signed my poster, (“Austin, Love, John Barrowman”) and I got a photo with him, which he usually doesn’t allow for want of time.

But, unfortunately I had forgotten to charge the battery in my camera, so as Mom was attempting to take the photo the camera was dying so the photo is quite blurry. But I still have it!

Mom and I then headed up by Trafalgar Square to a Spaghetti House she had seen earlier, which neither of us in all honesty found in the least pleasing, and then back to the hotel for the night.

Sunday, we had a very packed day. We walked up from High Street Kensington to Kensington Palace, past The Orangery (where we almost ate, but decided against it), down past the Peter Pan statue, up past where I lived with the London Centre near Paddington, then we jumped on the Tube down to Piccadilly Circus visiting both Waterstones (the biggest bookstore in Europe), and Fortnum and Mason, (if for nothing more than the champagne truffles), then we headed up on Shaftsbury Ave in search of The Dress Circle, a famous theatre shop that sells a lot of the theatre posters you can get from the various productions around London. There I bought the Chess in Concert poster, from the special performance last year at Royal Albert Hall along with the current Wicked poster.

We then took the Underground down to Tower Hill to see the Tower of London along with Tower Bridge, and then walked along the Thames back, for quite a while, down to Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre where I picked up a few new copies of the plays and a poster which chronicles the publication of each of the plays in context with other important contemporaneous pieces of literature and historical events. After walking back north into the City of London, we, eventually, found a Tube station and went back to the hotel to rest before finishing our day at Sticky Fingers, the same restaurant I visited in April of 2006 with the rest of the LCers (London Centre people) on one of our last days in London.

Then, on Monday morning I took the Heathrow Express down with Mom to deposit her at the airport before turning around to take myself back into the city where I waited at Victoria Station for the next five hours before my train back down to Brighton. I really should have bought an open return, but in favor of saving money, I, of course, picked a time that ended up giving me much more time in London than I needed.

In the past two days since then I’ve gotten further settled, opened a bank account with Lloyds, tried (rather unsuccessfully) to get a bit of reading down, took myself to the grocery where I spent under £5, and ventured out this morning to the Freshers Fair on campus, which basically was a LARGE collection of tables and tents where every group on campus had a booth advertising their club/sport/activity. I wanted to go and be in the know and meet people… but I forgot one tiny thing… I HATE large groups of people. I walked into the large open area where it was being held, and I almost threw up I was so uncomfortable, which left me feeling like utter crap, so I ran to one of the edges of the campus, found a bench, and read for the next hour, which actually only made things worse as I realized I had on AE shorts while no one, and I mean NO ONE else was wearing shorts. Actually, I realized, they were not only all wearing jeans, there were all wearing the SAME jeans, tight, skinny jeans in dark blue denim.

At this point I’m fairly convinced that a trip to H&M is in order to buy a pair of said jeans. Since then, well, after I got trapped on a non-moving train for a few minutes, I ended up on the phone with Mom unloading about all of this. Ever been in a situation where you’re so uncomfortable you want to supplant your very identity? Yeah… that’s about where I am right now. I have moments when I wish I could make my accent just disappear, if only to fit in.

Ok, ok, ok, before I get a million emails on this… I know this is an opportunity, I get that, but that doesn’t mean I’m not feeling completely out of place right now because, HELLO? I am out of place! I’m an American from the Midwest living, for at least the next year, in a seaside town in England. I am out of place, fiercely out of place.

I just need time to adjust… and maybe a pair of skinny jeans!