What I'm Thankful for...

I'm thankful to be an american- because we are free. And i'm not talking about the 1st amendment- I'm talking about the fact we have the freedom to be both ironic and earnest whenever the mood fits. We can proudly be patriotic and speak passionately about our intrests and successes but also exhibit great modesty and cynicism. We are allowed to tell people exactly what we think and we do it very efficently while announcing how much our house costs at that same time or we can be discreet and quiet and hypocrytical. We have the freedom to BE whatever emotion we feel.

The english cannot.

And its hard to celebrate a holiday filled with earnest patriotism towards our culture and families in a country where they disregard any moment of heart-felt emotion with a, "oh, come off it." And then add some glorious english wit on top of it.

And it was very difficult for our "host-country nationals" to not wear party hats or bring "pressies" to the dinner. The common quote was, "it must be like a little pre-christmas party." or,"I thought it would be like on friends" No, its not. But when it was explained we were only met with rolled eyes and ,"oh, americans...."

Its pointless to explain- in reality you're making things worse for yourself to explain it all. Because with every, "its all about family and traditions..." you're only proving how "earnest" you are about the whole affair--- and making them very uncomfortable out it all. They don't know what to do with someone who expresses their emotions. Its not that they don't have them- its that they are only allowed to use their humour to express them (and this includes understatement)
ex. huge, lavish feast = a bit of a snack

If you were english, regardless of whetheryou loved it or hated it- you would describe Thanksgiving as:
"its all a bit of a bother, really. I mean, honestly- you cook and cook and cook- only to fall asleep minutes after eating the food you spent all day cooking. Its entirely backwards with vegetables for your "pudding" and marshmallows in your potatoes. The only redeeming factor of the whole experience is being able to get pissed "

But if you want to sum it all up- I would use this one word:

LEFTOVERS

We love 'em. The english, "just don't do that sort of thing."

Enough said.

Fat Ladies, Subway, and too many bus tickets

Yesterday was a beautiful sunny day in london. Unfortunately, when the sun went down I found myself in an anglo-version of "Hotel California"

Let me explain:

Met my friend to view some naked ladies with "more to love" at the Rubens exhibit at the National Gallery. It was, as the english would say, "not bad". Perhaps I was, "a bit moved" by the larger than life paintings of heroic scenes of tragedy and passion. Rubens was decidedly NOT english.

Afterwards we went out to get some chinese food in SoHo but ended up in a cuban-themed cafe eating the best all-american cheeseburgers i've had since hopping the pond. yum. things were good.

Then the sun set.

Being the brownie-point seeking girlfriend I am, I thought of THE best idea- how about I take my boyfriend, who is on-call at a hospital across town in a bad neighborhood, some yummy dinner? Ooo Ohh- this is good! I thought. I took out my trusty London tube map for a quick study, "yes- just take the northern line south to embankment and transfer onto the district/circle line to Whitchapel!" easy-peasy, i thought. (for the sake of the construction of the story- you should know that up to this point i have spent £9.40 on a return train ticket into london)

So, I said goodbye to my friend at leicster square and bought a single tube ticket to zone 2 for whitchapel (£2.40). Took it to embankment where I promptly was told, upon exiting the train, that the District and Circle lines were closed and I'd have to find another way. I then pulled out my tube map and found another route taking me back the way I came, with a transfer at Tottenham court road, then another transfer at liverpool street and then two stops later- whitechapel. No big deal. Although it did cross my mind to turn back (As if i was on the Pirates of the Carribean ride at disneyworld)

Ok, got back on the tube and re-traced my steps. first transfer- OK. Second transfer- O... no, not OK! I was on the wrong line! How did that happen? I was on the right platform... Next stop I hopped off the tube. Algate station. Algate, Algate... I remember algate- I passed it that one day... I think i can walk from here...I know where I am...

Well, the second time I passed algate station after walking for 10 minutes, i realized that, in fact, I did NOT know where i was. And when alone, on a dark street in a strange city neighborhood, I have a very hard time convincing myself to look at a map. So I didn't. And I passed algate station for a thrid time. What the $#@* ? Eventually I looked at a map as a few people started to snicker, "I'd put that away if I were you.." when i passed them holding it out in front of me.

Needless to say, I got to the hospital a while later after doing the best impression of olympic speedwalkers ever done in actual seriousness. And, as usual, my lovely boyfriend (for whom I lamely picked up a subway sandwich since I didn't have the guts to go into the fish and chips shop across the street which was heaving with what are refered to as "hoodies" and get him the dinner he would have prefered) ducked out of surgery in his sexy blues and met me at the front entrance with a stethoscope around his neck- and it occured to me that I would have braved far worse just for the priviledge of seeing him like this.

The meeting was over too soon and he kissed me goodbye with the words, "just take the number 25 bus and you'll be fine" and I was swallowed back up by the bitter night.

The number 25 bus came, and I purchased a ticket, (£1.20) and boarded. The bus went two stops and the driver yelled, "last stop for me- gotta get off the bus" So we all piled off the bus to wait for the next bus 25.

It came, but when i tried to get on- the driver told me I had to buy another ticket to ride- then politely closed the doors in my face and drove off.

Bought another ticket (£1.20) and tried to board another bus, but was told it was only going two more stops. And suddenly- a famliar feeling came over me.... britishrailitis! it had mutated into londontransportitis!

The next bus eventually took me to Tottenham court road where I was to catch the tube to waterloo (£2.00) but on the way a man that boarded the bus asked the driver if he had to purchase another ticked since his last bus just terminated unexpectedly. The answer- "no." Ahhhhh.....

When I got to waterloo, I had visions of a quiet ride with my ipod, perhaps doodling a bit, for a peaceful hour on the train until I could fall into my feather-down bed...Then the loudspeakers kicked in-

"We're sorry to announce but the 20:50 train to Ascot has been cancelled. We are sorry if this has caused a delay to your journey." Yeah, i bet you do feel sorry, you... bleeping bleep bleep!!

Another hour and a half in waterloo- with no gaurantee that the next train will go either!

I sat down, dejected with tears in my eyes, i just wanted to go home. home home home.

"Ring. Ring. Ring." My phone. "Hello?"

"Hi baby." it was my boyfriend. "Where are you?"

I sniffled, "I'm at waterloo." Trying desperatley to hold back the floods, "My train's been cancelled."

"Great!" he said.

"What?!" I cried.

"Now you can come home with me. I got off work early. Come home with me and we'll cuddle on the couch..."

That last £1.20 i spent to get to him was the easiest pound-twenty of the day.

In all- public transportation for 24 hours in london cost me- £25.70. Nearly 50$!!!! I think next weekend I'll be staying in Ascot.

Bonfire Night (aka Guy Fawkes Night)

Unlike my failure to explain where the term "flat" came from- I AM able to explain the reason why I was forced to spend last saturday night trapped aboard a Thames River Cruise with coke-snorting 20-somethings and a name-dropping "tosser" who refered to a 50 million pound business deal as just his hobby. I never really knew the meaning of a "tosser" until I met this man. (see also twat, cad, arsehole, and pretentious son of a ....) But I was able to let that slide to due the incredible fireworks that I witnessed! (see above photo... although not actually a photo of what I saw- it is a representation of the experience.)

So, I was there because my boyfriend wanted to share his most favorite holiday with me-although I don't think his childhood memories included drunken, grinding bodies on a clastophobic floating meat market. I think it was more along the lines of wool, hot chocolate and dangerous firearms.

I am refering to Guy Fawkes Night (or in the political correct UK- Bonfire Night) The short of the story is this: 400 years ago a Catholic man, dressed like a pilgrim, (see picture below) decided that he was going to help in a plot to kill the Protestant king of England during the Opening of Parliment.



Unfortunately, they let the plan slip- because they were very bright and sent around a written note explaining, in detail, the plan to all the Catholic members of Parliment. "But I sealed it with wax?!" the troubled MP thought.

So on the night of the plan, Guy Fawkes was caught sitting in the basement of Parliment surrounded by barrels and barrels of gunpowder with some matches and a timer. Oops.

Needless to say, he was convicted, hung, drawn and quartered, then for good measure- burned. Hence the burning of effigies. Clearly it is a hugely popular holiday with pyromaniacs and not such a popular holiday with the Catholics.

This holiday is also reponsible for my boyfriend, and practically all other Britons, to be able to recite the following:

Remember, remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder treason and plot.
We see no reason
Why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot!

Guy Fawkes, guy, t'was his intent
To blow up king and parliament.
Three score barrels were laid below
To prove old England's overthrow.

By god's mercy he was catch'd
With a darkened lantern and burning match.
So, holler boys, holler boys, Let the bells ring.
Holler boys, holler boys, God save the king.

And what shall we do with him?
Burn him!

Ah, that's a nice children's rhyme, is it not?

Tonight I had Curry for Dinner

Yes, that's about the most intersting thing I have to tell you besides my utmost hatred for people who dislike halloween or those who mutter words like, "Halloween is just another example of the way America and its materialism is encroaching on England..."

They're just insanely jealous since they don't have a holiday that saves them from the mass merchandising of Christmas (no, not materialstic at all) I mean, folks- its November 1 and they've had christmas cards and reindeer out since mid-october! And i thought jinglebells in september was odd in Tonga... now i know where they got it from!

So, in response to the disease all britons suffer from on November 1 called, "alreadyatetoomanymincedpiesanditsonlynovemberone-tosis" they decide to haul off the following weekend and burn effigies of people and blow things up. No, they're not repressed. Nooo...

This happens this weekend. Although it seems to have started early or my quiet village of sunninghill is turning south-central.

Well, I would like to give a holla to by friends in seattle. All of them-eventhough I haven't heard from them in a long-long time. Doesn't it mean anything anymore when people eat Sipi together!? Congrats Jess and Talai-Peau is beautiful.
Good luck in the real-world mark and erin and thanks for introducing me to casey- my source of a social life outside of teachers or doctors. Sunni and Carissa- hope things are going well for you two.

Jim-Rock on. Are you really gone from Tonga in 2 months?

And to my lovely friend Karen. She's off in Africa living her incredible life hoping to get a job in the Florida Keys. And I'm here.

Fakaofa au