Ink

The company I work for had free flu jabs yesterday, so I got one. I had to pull down my collar so the nurse could stick me in the upper arm, but she was nice enough to suggest I look away from the needle first. I looked at her, looked at my snitch tattoo and then said, “Go ahead—obviously I don’t have a problem with needles!”

Speaking of tats, it’s time for me to get another one. I am looking for an artist to help me design my tattoo, which I want to look like an eighteenth century engraving, about three inches by four inches. If you’re interested, send me an email and I’ll talk to you about the details, or pass this along to any arty friends. Since I want this to look good, I’m willing to pay for the design, up to fifty pounds. Hey, I’m commemorating my MA! Wait until you see my ideas for my doctorate!

Happy Hallowe’en!

Ask it a question

Magic Stephen Sondheim 8 Ball says, "when you know what you want, then you go and you find it and you get it." I spent the week recovering from being poisoned, so all my schemes sort of ground to a halt this week. Then today I was very domestic, cleaning the house and going to the grocery store, which is a HUGE hassle. Ugh. The store near here is just too small for people to manoevre around, and I nearly knocked a guy over with my backpack, which I had on it's wheels. Then when he stopped to glare at me, I was thinking, "Don't you glare at me, the only reason I pushed past you was because you were SMOKING in my FACE." Drrr.

I love being middle class tho, it is fun. Friday after work I went to Marks and Spencer and purchased new slacks for work, then went to see "Rock and Roll" by Tom Stoppard. Hm, be those snickers of fringe-theatre going friends? Well, when you shop at M&S and work as a secretary, what choice DO you have but to grace the West-End with your presence? Yes, kids, it's official, I have become one of the ladies who lunch. The show, before you say anything else, was brilliant. Really. Just quality, amazing, so good, brilliant, classic Tom Stoppard good. It was basically a discussion about what will bring down socialist governments: intellectual, official protests, or young people being subversive merely by listening to different music. Points for anyone who guesses which side won. Rufus Sewell, who played a Czech intellectual was astonishing. I mean, I knew he was good, but I was astounded at HOW good he was. Damn. I am more determined than ever to have him play Napoleon in my Nelson movie...just as soon as I write it.

Then Saturday I had a date, but I saw that as no reason why I should waste a perfectly beautiful fall day, so I ended up dragging the gentleman in question to the Hunterian Museum, which is full of medical and anatomical models of historical goodness. I thought it was ded interesting. Unfortunately I did not find the gentleman in question quite so interesting, so we parted as friends. I spent the evening watching "Amadeus" with Alison. Then today I was domestic. I finally submitted to pressure and put up my postcards and pictures, despite my earlier determination not to, and instantly my room started looking more like, well, my room. Nothing like copies of artistic masterpieces and Nelson's cartoon visage to make one feel at home. I have a desk now: it's a lovely second-hand thing with broken knobs and a waterstained top, but I absolutely adore it. I swore years ago never to own furniture until I was settled, but now I have this desk. Which I love. I am going to have to be very upset if I have to leave it behind. "What I want most of all...is to know what I want..."

sickness

So much for lofty thoughts of employment and life goals. Monday morning I woke up at about one am and was violently sick for the first time since I was ten. I have never been so miserable in my life. I threw up twice more before eight am, and spent most of the day in bed. I finally managed to make it downstairs for a little TV, but that seemed to take most of my remaining strength, and I could barely make it up the stairs to bed. Today I'm up and showered, and I washed my sheets, but it's only 3 and I'm thinking about heading back to bed. I think it was just food poisoning, but I can't believe how I went to bed feeling okay Sunday night and haven't been out of pajamas since.

Thorns of a Dilemma, or, it's a Nice Problem to Have

This is the dilemma I’m currently facing. Not high drama, but a sort of questioning…thing. I’m working for a huge company, and I like my job. I don’t love it, but I like it, the people I work with are nice, the work isn’t too taxing, the commute is bearable, etc, etc, I have money for theatre tickets. I have discovered that I enjoy the stability of a every-day working job, with steady hours and duties and, yes, a reliable paycheck. But. It’s not theatre. I’ve been writing, going to see, but not getting involved, and that is going to be a problem at some point in the near future. Now, I hear rumors floating around that I am going to be offered a full time position here, which would be nice because it would mean (in addition to all those other nice things) that I would get to stay in London. And living in London has been my life’s goal since I was about sixteen. The problem then becomes, could I live in London if there was diminished theatre involved? Obviously this is IF I’m offered a job, but I want to have a think about it so I can give an answer soon-ish. If I’m not offered the job/don’t take the job, then I’ll have to leave London at the end of February. I’m already scheming about what my next move is going to be: I’ve learned for me to be happy it must be something that is challenging and involves both stability and theatre. And a dog. I think about coming back to the States, but there’s no concrete reason for me to be there. There’s no reason for me to be HERE, really, or anywhere. I think I have the nomadic spirit upon me again, because I think about moving somewhere else and how easy it would be. I’d like to settle down somewhere and start a garden, but I don’t want to do it by myself, so until then I guess I’ll keep wandering. The important question is: do I stay here for a little while or a little longer? I can do anything. So what next?

What it means to be American

I was reading 1776 last night—not a crack book, but I did go to bed early so I could spend some serious time with it—and I was absolutely livid with glee when I read “…to most Americans, the ships now appearing over the horizon were enormous, but they were by no means the biggest ones the Royal Navy had to offer. HMS Victory, for example, could boast 98 guns…” To which I responded: “Ha! Victory had 100 guns because it had two mounted on the front so it could fire foreward!” Then again, maybe those weren’t attached until later. The ships that were sent to aid in the suppression of the rebels were 50 and 64 gun ships of the line like Rose and Eagle (she read with delight) which were picked for speed and manoeverability. Hey, have you tried to sail a ship up the Hudson? By the time the Navy had assembled their fleet, they had over four hundred ships, and EIGHT of them had more firepower than all the artillery of the Americans combined! Let the battle for New York begin. I’m not sure how it’s going to turn out: I think that General Washington certainly has tenacity on his side, but who needs tenacity when you have pretty ships?

It’s ironic that I’m reading about the Revolutionary War (that’s the American War for Independence, for all my Britty friends) at this point, because I read yesterday that five Americans recently tried to claim asylum here in Britain. I learned this from thelondonpaper, which is a horrible free one that is shoved at you as you’re just trying to get home. The asylum-seeking Americans were given a full page to themselves not to discuss rationally why people from the richest country in the world might want to leave, but to give angry Brits a chance to unleash their wrath, via text messages and paragraph-length emails. Most of them sounded like they had simply changed “illegal immigrants” to “Americans” in their normal rant, but I was really surprised at how angry people were at the idea that Americans might honestly want to stay in Britain. “They just want to take our benefits and not pay taxes!” is a familiar cry. I think you’ll find most Americans want to come here for legitimate reasons: I know I’d like to stay because the theatre scene is amazing, and, hello, I’m here legally AND paying taxes. I do not, however, “take advantage” of benefits. See below—geez, I haven’t even registered for the NHS. Yet.

I know that the people who write such hurtful things simply don’t have all the information: one of the asylum seekers claimed he was a victim of racial discrimination in America and thought it might be better here. To which I would agree, despite everything you read about race-hate in legit papers. As horrible and unwieldy as the NHS is, it’s HERE and it’s FREE, and for people who genuinely cannot afford health insurance, it is literally a lifesaver. Instead of getting angry that we’re trying to screw the system, it would be great if people would stop and ask themselves why Americans would want to live in the UK permanently—obviously in some ways, for some people, this country is a better choice. It is EXTREMELY difficult for an American to get a visa to stay for any serious length of time: unless you have a company sponsoring you for a work permit, you cannot stay past six months. We are not members of the EU or the British Commonwealth, so if we want to come, we have to fight tooth and nail to be here, proving that we’re going to be a valuable addition to society. Isn’t that the kind of people Britain wants here? As I sit here, sipping my tea, thinking about Trafalgar Day coming up and looking forward to going to the Tate Britain tonight, I can’t believe that the vitriolic comments I read in the paper were about me and my friends—much the same way I can’t believe I’m going to have to leave.

PS: Elections coming up! Don't forget to vote!

Nicki vs the NHS, round 2

You want health drama? Stand back, ER.

I was binding some contracts today when one of my bosses came in and we got to chatting. I casually asked him where he went to the dentist--I figured he'd understand my predicament, also being an American--because I need to get my teeth cleaned. He said, "well, just go to your GP and ask them to recommend a dentist." So I casually mentioned that I haven't registered with a GP yet. I know, I KNOW, but the GP here is only open for new patients on Tuesday and Thursday, and it is an all afternoon trial to get to see anyone. And I don't need a doctor, I just want to protect Mom and Dad's investment in my teeth. Well, when my boss heard that I effectively had no health insurance, he totally flew off the handle. "Nicole! this is the most important thing you could do! What if something were to happen to you?!" Thanks, Dad. "I'm serious! Do you have health insurance back in America or something?" "Er, no." "WHAT--!" Another ten minutes of berating, and he finally said, "Well, I'm not going to nag you about this, I'm not your father..." And then he said he was going to send me emails until I registered. I know that it's not practical to go flying solo without health insurance, but then again, most of the people I know don't have health insurance. It's just not a priority for people my age. My boss has got health insurance, sure, but then again, he's got a 50,000 pounds a year job AND two little girls.

I filled in for the receptionist again today when she had to go to the doctor for a quick checkup so she could get a prescription refilled. When one of the secretaries found out about it, she slammed down her mail and muttered, "Every week, innit? I'm so sick of her..." Thinking about how I'm going to explain having to take off Friday afternoon to get my NI number--an appointment I've been waiting SIX WEEKS for--plus another afternoon off just to register for a GP--and of course at some point I want to go get my damned teeth clean-- All anyone is going to see is me skipping merrily out the door, not the fact that I actually get all my work done on time and always seem to be available to help other people out. Then again, if my foot gets any worse, or if I hurt my back again, I might not be working for a while. Fine. Point taken. Stop harassing me. I'll get it sorted. Promise--this is a priority.

Long weekend

I was feeling blue this weekend, so I went to the National Gallery to draw the pictures. Not because I'm an artist or because I have any ambition to be one, I just like the attention you get. I also got some weird looks when people discovered that I had turned Whistlejacket into a centaur. And I had a good snicker when I passed a pair of American girls on my way out: "Yeah, and the Mona Lisa's in here somewhere!" Yup. Right next to The Last Supper of Christ and the Scream. I'm just not excited to be in this city any more. I'm lonely and I'm bored and I've started thinking that my visa expiring in four months isn't such a bad thing. Of course, if I do come back to the States, there will be no more walking through Hanover Square to pick up my paycheck and giggling manically to myself, drawing stares, because that's where Mr. Norrell used to live. I'm going to put on a play, I've decided, for something to do. Now I just need to pick one. I had bangers and mash for dinner tonight because the TV has been advertising it nonstop. It was pretty good, not bad for my first shot, but I think next time I'm going to cook the sausages in beer. And eat them with potato chips. And pretend they're bratwurst.

Lunch Hour Observations

It would take an a LOT to get me to take a baby down into the Tube (like, say, the Blitz) but I see people doing it ALL THE TIME. And not cute little walker strollers either, but those SUV-sized ones that I have such an especial hatred for. Come on, people, admit you're not taking Baby to Oxford Street to buy it new baby Benettons, you just want something to put all your shopping in. Get a babysitter and carry your damn bags like the rest of us. The Tube is not wheel-chair friendly, so I don't know how these mothers can justify shunting Baby down wet stairs and slippery escalators when I've seen more than one suitcase break free and go cartwheeling head over, er, wheel as commuters scatter. It's not that I really hate children, I just hate how they seem to take up so much room when they're at their smallest, and if you dare suggest to the mums that they are, infact, in your way and you're going to be late coming back from your lunch, they will shoot you the dirtiest look possible and insinuate heavily that THEIR lives, with their nappies and endless discussion of Teletubbies are infinitely more fufilling than your days of office dronery and your nights of debauchery and designer shoes, you less-than-a-woman.

Where was I? Oh, right--

On a happier note, just when you thought Kit-Kats, proof in candy form that God loves us and wants us to be happy, could not get any beter, they've come out with a dark chocolate version. Oh bliss. Oh joy. Take that, three year old in a stroller. I can have Kit-Kats ANYTIME I WANT! HA-HA!

Power to the people

I took the afternoon off work to do my real job, which is write plays. So far this afternoon I have twelve shiny new pages, so I thought I'd take a break and do some research. I've been hearing a lot about "log cabin Republicans" because of the Mark Foley scandal, so I typed it in Google to see what I'd come up with.

(I'd just like to say--this whole Mark Foley thing fills me with glee. As long as no-one was hurt, I can sit back and giggle quietly to myself about what happened. How embarassing for the poor Republicans. We're gonna take the House! I can feel it! Whoo!)

So, right. Apparently, not only is "log cabin Republican" a term used for gay Republicans, there's also an organisation called The Log Cabin Republicans who are made up of, you guessed it, gay Republicans. Not as much of an oxymoron as you might think--I like this group because they actually took the trouble to find out what a Republican IS, and are arguing to a return to the party's roots. They also have a picture of Lincoln with his fist in the air, which is awesome. I was worried they were going to implicate our 16th president was in the pink mafia, but no, he is just a man they admire. As do we all.


It's so nice to see a conservative political group which actually focuses on the issues: ie, small government, lower taxes, etc, and isn't crazy with the scare tactics of "the terrorists are coming to get us" and "the gay agenda." Although, since the LCR is made up of gay Republicans, for once, the conservatives are right--they ARE gay, and they DO have an agenda. Namely, being recognised by the party they support. I think the mainstream Republicans (by that I mean the divorced, philandering and closested ones) could learn a lot from their happy counterparts. It's so nice to disagree with conservatives for well-argued reasons ("no national healthcare?! what?!") and not have to shout down their ranting first. ("No, I'm pretty sure God is not going to smite me for going out last night.")

On a completely unrelated note, Nicki is VERY EXCITED because she's learned that Disney's THE LITTLE MERMAID is being re-released on a special extended edition DVD on the 4th of November. (that's three days before the election, AMERICANS!) I have never actually owned a copy of The Little Mermaid (although I have voted--AMERICANS!) so I'm finally going to get my chance. Schmee!

PS: I changed the comments setting on my blog so now anyone can post--Blogger ID or not. So Go Crazy!

Today's post is dedicated to Alison, who let me have the living room and the only typeable surface so I could work.

Ev'ry now and then the country...goes a little wrong...

“I think we should order pizza for dinner—not that I want to celebrate the president getting shot, but—“

“Oh, I definitely think the president getting shot is a reason to order pizza!”

So last night Alison and I watched a documentary on the assassination of President Bush. It was a made-for-TV movie called “The Death of the President” and it was really interesting. The style was that of a documentary of an event that EVERYONE knows about, so while we the viewers were watching it thinking “who did it?!” people who had actually lived through the event would have the sensation of watching it and going “idiots! How could they miss the obvious?!”

The show focused less on the president than it did on the aftermath, although when the TV said “Vice-President Cheney will be taking the oath of office sometime this evening,” Alison and I both screamed out loud as the true horror of the situation hit us. I thought the response to the President’s death was very truthful: they arrested several people, but finally they ended up convicting a Syrian who had been to Palestine on vacation. They ended up gathering evidence against him under the new “Patriot Act III” (more screams of terror) and tried to force the idea that he had been acting as an agent for al Qaida. When the government couldn’t find a conspiracy, that didn’t stop them from convicting him of the death of the president. Even when they caught the real killer—a Gulf War vet who had lost a son in Iraq—the Syrian wasn’t released from prison, the most telling part of the new regime.

I thought it was a quite realistic look at the way America would handle a crisis like this, from the speechwriter (“I really do believe that George W. Bush was put on earth by God to protect us” ) to the FBI agent (“Of course we did everything we could, but we had to prioritize”) to the crowds of protestors cheering when they heard Bush had been shot. What is the value of making a film like this? I don’t think it was advocating shooting Bush—if anything, the message was “hang on in there, it’s almost over”—because the power on the throne in Washington became more militant and less friendly to human rights after he was killed. The person that made me the maddest was the FBI agent in charge of the manhunt, who kept saying “The President has been killed, we must do everything to find his killer.” Well, fair enough, but he was just one person—and apparently Cheney is more than capable of *shudder* continuing Bush’s policies of terror (he declares war on Syria two weeks after Bush’s death)—it’s not like there was a coup d’etat that overthrew the government. That’s no reason to turn the US into a police state. I don’t want to hear about “the Threat to the American Way of Life” because, unfortunately, the American way of life includes an assassin every twenty years or so. I’m not a fan of assassinating the president (my motto is “make musicals, not martyrs”) but it was interesting to see how filmmakers could create future events from today’s headlines—and come up with something that sounded eerily familiar.

Right, no more complaining

This week I arranged a trip for one of my bosses to go to New York City for the tree lighting ceremony at Rockefeller Center. The company I work for owns the Rockefeller Center, and they're responsible for getting the tree in and lighting it up at the end of November. Naturally, my boss is also going to be doing some business while she's in New York, but it was funny to see how excited she got when she was describing this tree. "We get it in from Pennsylvania, and they have to shut down 5th Avenue--in the middle of the night, they shut it down, so we can get our tree into the city."

So, no more complaining. I'm still having angst about working for a huge multinational corporation, but, she said with a rueful grin, obviously not enough to quit. Right now, I want to stay in London, and there are only two ways of doing that: getting a work permit or going back to school. Not sure if I'm ready to tackle the PhD yet, so I need to get a job so I can apply for a permit. I have been having very non-PC thoughts lately, thinking about all the EU citizens who can come here and work without having to worry about being kicked out when I, holder of two degrees and numerous valuable work skills, can not. Of course, if there's one thing England has plenty of, it's impoverished theatre people. I've also been reading dispatches from our friend Laura, who is working in Mississippi helping victims of Hurricane Katrina and providing my life with some perspective.

Today was the perfect autumn day. The smell of browning leaves managed to overcome the exhaust and chippy fumes for once, making me think of Massachusettes. There's no colours here, just brown, but the smell is enough to make me think of driving through the middle of Wisconsin, heading back to school.

the Green Eyed Monster

I can't even say "ah, the show was crap, so I'm glad that I wasn't involved" because it was amazing! I don't know who I'm more jealous of--Sarah for writing such good stuff, or David for producing an amazing festival of work. I'm violently jealous and depressed and all my jokes about being able to pay the rent met with polite smiles of "well, you do what you have to do." Grrr. I must get back into this business we call show. I've been writing on my new play--broad strokes, angry shouting people and a nuclear war--which is quite exciting. As Nelson said, "My disposition cannot bear tame and even measures." Must have drama. And ships. Not necessarily in that order.

let me be your disaster

A friend exhorted me last week to not let a steady paycheck go to my head and remember that theatre is my true calling. "Great!" I thought, "I'm going to SM a friend's show next week, and I have NO PROBLEM taking off work, so yessir, I've got it all figured out."

Except today when I went to the tech rehearsal, there were about a half-dozen people running around taking care of the lights and sound, and the show had gone on so long without an SM they didn't really need one. I was upset like "hey, wait a minute! I SAID I would do it! Wait for meeee!" But then I realised the real person I'm pissed off at is myself. I should have arranged my schedule better and committed more time to this project. Now there's no need for me, so I'm not going to be involved. I was talking to one of the actresses who was happily nattering on about "oh, yes, I work for six weeks, then do theatre for six weeks, and it works out well!" And I thought "Yes, that's what I want to do." Unfortunately, my first assignment coincided with my first out of school theatre project and I'm horrified to realise that work came first. Just because they're paying me. So now I can take care of rent and buy that nice suede coat, but working on an exciting festival of new short plays isn't worth my time because I can't afford a travelcard. I truly am useless. I hope they DO offer me a job in this huge corporation, just so I can take it and becoming a complete sellout.

let me be your disaster

A friend exhorted me last week to not let a steady paycheck go to my head and remember that theatre is my true calling. "Great!" I thought, "I'm going to SM a friend's show next week, and I have NO PROBLEM taking off work, so yessir, I've got it all figured out."

Except today when I went to the tech rehearsal, there were about a half-dozen people running around taking care of the lights and sound, and the show had gone on so long without an SM they didn't really need one. I was upset like "hey, wait a minute! I SAID I would do it! Wait for meeee!" But then I realised the real person I'm pissed off at is myself. I should have arranged my schedule better and committed more time to this project. Now there's no need for me, so I'm not going to be involved. I was talking to one of the actresses who was happily nattering on about "oh, yes, I work for six weeks, then do theatre for six weeks, and it works out well!" And I thought "Yes, that's what I want to do." Unfortunately, my first assignment coincided with my first out of school theatre project and I'm horrified to realise that work came first. Just because they're paying me. So now I can take care of rent and buy that nice suede coat, but working on an exciting festival of new short plays isn't worth my time because I can't afford a travelcard. I truly am useless. I hope they DO offer me a job in this huge corporation, just so I can take it and becoming a complete sellout.