Musings of a non-Poet

I have decided to write my blog today because my writing skills seem to be quite unpredictable as of late. I just wrote a 5 page paper on Welsh National Identity in a couple hours, as the words seemed to just flow out of me. Yesterday was not so wonderful. During an art history journal, my response to the prompt “Why was the title of the Surrealist exhibit ‘Poetry and Dreams’ appropriate?” was “So much of Surrealism can really be summed up by two words: Poetry and Dreams. That’s why it’s appropriate.” Realizing that I was at the height of wit, I parted ways with my homework and decided to listen to opera. Oh the days when listening to opera was my homework: I miss you!

On a different note, I realize that by now I must sound obsessed, but it’s because I am: I am endlessly fascinated with social anthropology! In other words, I find the endless differences between English and American culture fascinating. My poor boss is subjected to my endless stream of observations and questions about social rules: I approach everything from driving to swearing as if it were the seminal part of my cultural immersion. The class system, which is so rigidly in place here, never ceases to bewilder, and don't even get me started on accents!

As mentioned earlier, I’m finding out how American I am. Even in the coffee shop where I am sitting now, I watched from afar with American horror as a very European family had lunch. The family ate carefree as their youngest child bounced on the chair, chips in mouth and hands, drool oozing out of her mouth and covering her front. The over-protective American childcare worker inside of me wanted to rush to the child, place her on her bottom, wipe her little facey clean and frantically explain the dangers of choking, falling, bad manners, head-trauma, paralysis, and death while complaining about the lack of seat-belts for children at coffee shops. Luckily, I did not interfere and was amazed to find out that no tragedy occurred in such a danger-filled situation.

Living in such an amazing city is so surreal. One day I'm at a concert at Wigmore Hall, where anybody who's anybody has performed. The next day I'm inside the Royal Festival Hall, but I get to see it from the stage first instead of the audience, because I'm performing in a choir there. I stop at a free museum on my way home, and hey, there just happens to be Raphaels, Durers, Monets, Van Goghs, Picassos, not to mention that Arnolfi Wedding we all learned about back in high school. I've started to toy with the thought of a long-term relationship with this city, but right now it is only toying. (Stop freaking out Pop and Amy, I didn't say I was moving here. yet.) Though when the CEO of my internship asked how they could keep me after December, I said "Well, you could pay me."

In the mean time, each time I go on facebook seems to be an opportunity to discover another high school friend is engaged. What the heck guys? Well, I should say girls, as I have yet to hear about a guy friend who is ready to jump into a life-changing commitment, knock on wood. Seriously though, I wish you the best of luck, and I will try to make it to the weddings that I can, but in the meantime I'm working on perfecting my already refined skill of bachelorhood.

At my job, which seems to be increasingly more awesome each day, they decided that they wanted to join me for their first ever American Thanksgiving. I wish I could describe the childish glee the artistic director and the CEO got when I told them the "essentials" for the menu. They seemed nervous about this foreign use of pumpkin and have decided that the meal should include Christmas pudding. "Pudding" does not seem to have a direct translation as it in no way means our version of it (you know, the thick milk stuff), but rather it seems to refer to dessert in general. As British food is always hit and miss, we'll see how it goes.

Oh, did I mention I'm going to Venice next week? Otherwise, I send my love!