Last Saturday was my grandmother’s birthday. If you have ever spent any time with me, you have probably heard about my grandmother because she features in some pretty good anecdotes – like the time she shot a deer out the back window (possibly out of season) and had it field dressed by the time my grandpa got home from work, or the time she and Aunt Pat got jobs at the chicken processing plant and only made it to the morning coffee break on their first day before deciding to quit.

My grandma hasn’t always had smooth sailing in her life. She grew up during the Great Depression, in a tiny East Texas town where life was probably pretty difficult even without a worldwide economic downturn. She’s lost plenty of loved ones – though, by the time you get to 87, that must be par for the course. She didn’t graduate from high school and never got a driver’s licence – so why is she so unstoppable? She can do anything. She’s made me dresses and costumes and play clothes and taught me to sew. She can cook catfish, chicken livers and pork chops (she’s even fed me squirrel – and yes, it tastes like chicken) and bakes a cheesecake so rich and dense that it will stop your heart dead in its tracks. She is very good at Forty-Two and Scattergories (among other games), but won’t quit until she’s ahead. She can reupholster furniture. She made one of my favourite “toys” when I was little by nailing 1x4 boards between two trees to form a ladder that I climbed up and down, over and over and over again. She made most of the curtains for every apartment I’ve ever had. She hates snakes and at ever opportunity chops them to bits with a garden hoe. She once made a couch.

This is my favourite photo of my grandma, taken in the early 1920s. She is the little girl on the right, standing in a creek and grinning. The expression on her sister’s face (can I actually call such a small girl “Aunt Sis”?) suggests that the water is plenty cold, but I can almost see the little person who would one day be my grandmother wiggling with delight.

I’ve actually been working on this post since last week, but haven’t been able to work on it during the workday. Normally, if I have a few free minutes, I’ll type a bit and e-mail it to myself at home for later posting, but every time I tried to think about my grandma, how I really feel about her and what she means to me, I got very emotional and teary-eyed. Not a good look at work. Grandma would probably say not to cry, just concentrate on our happy memories together, but all those warm, fuzzy, happy and loving thoughts are exactly what keep getting me so emotional! But I’m sure I’ll manage…

My grandma’s philosophy is that, in life, if the door is locked, she’ll go through the window. I’m sure that at some point in her life, she has literally done just that.

She is my hero.

Hot Town, Summer in the City

As anyone who knows me can attest, I do like to complain, and the weather in England is one of my favourite subjects. It's probably my 2nd favourite, right behind the behaviour of other people (particularly on public transport). But as much as I gripe about how grey and cold and rainy it can be during the winter (and, to honest, the spring, autumn and sometimes summer, too), even I have to admit that when it gets going, the English summer is glorious. I think I am beginning to understand what Matthew means when he describes a day as “lovely and hot.” Growing up in Texas, I am more used to days being “oppressive and hot” or “blistering and hot” or even “deadly and hot.” I’ve been working in an office near a little urban park and have spent the last couple of lunch breaks quite happily sitting in the sun, watching the pigeons, eating a sandwich and listening to comedy podcasts. It’s so nice to be outside after months of seeking shelter.

My only real gripe – there has to be one! – is that while the weather outside is quite mild by Texas standards, most buildings are not air-conditioned and those that are, are in a rather ineffective, English sort of way. So it’s nice outside but when you go in, it’s clammy and close and sort of sticky. That’s one thing at home, where you can eat ice cream and lie on the floor with the windows open, but it is murder at work, when you are expected to sit at a desk and behave in a professional manner while sweating through your bra! Also, I get sweaty hands, which is disgusting when typing! Using a mouse is even worse! And photocopying – yuck! I’ve been drinking lots of water to stay cool; yesterday I went to the restroom so many times that someone asked me if I was okay. I just muttered something about hydration...

Our Glamorous Life

Last week’s mention of Pete Burns reminded me that I promised to write something about our (sort of) encounter with the Rolling Stones. So here it is:

A couple of weeks ago, Matthew got a package in the post containing tickets for Martin Scorsese’s Rolling Stones concert film “Shine a Light” and booking info for a hotel in Soho. It seems that he’d entered a competition online and won. The premiere was the next night, when he was scheduled to work, so there was a bit of worry that he might not be able to get off and we’d have to give the tickets to someone else, but his boss got very excited and let him off (on the condition that if possible, we give Charlie Watts a hug). So we went to the premiere along with loads of other celebrities – ha!

Actually, there were lots of celebrities there. We had pleb tickets and so got ushered in pretty quickly, but they were showing the red carpet on the big screen in the cinema so we got to watch as each mildly famous person stood blinking under the barrage of flashbulbs. The woman “hosting” the red carpet portion of the evening asked all the celebs which was their favourite Rolling Stone – most said they love them all and couldn’t possibly choose, except for Liam Gallagher, who staggered up looking very drunk and unkempt and said he liked Brian Jones best. Which was pretty funny. Considering the quantity of celebrity, the quality wasn’t very high. They were mostly British television and music personalities; Matthew was impressed (and not completely in a good way) that I was able to identify a girl who is famous for a) being the daughter of an actor, b) dating the brother of a singer, who is himself a television actor (and the singer has a TV talk show, too), c) wearing very “edgy” clothes at fashionable places and thus getting her picture in the papers, and d) being in a futuristic kung-fu show in which she had purple hair and a pair of magic gym shorts once owned by the Buddha (but I don’t think that’s gone anywhere).

We got several looks at the Rolling Stones, both on the red carpet and because, while the celebs were upstairs in the balcony so they wouldn’t have to mix with the regular folk, the band walked right past us as they went up to the front to introduce the film. Actually, if our seats had been slightly worse (a couple of rows back and farther to the side), they would have walked right past us. As they went past, Mick said, “Not too much making out in the back, please” and the superfans around us thought that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. If I think about it, though, it was probably the funniest thing ever said directly to them by a member of an iconic rock band, so fair enough. Up to this point, we were quite entertained. However, then we had to sit through the film.

To be fair, it was pretty entertaining as well. However, I think this was mostly down to being in a really big cinema with a really good sound system, surrounded by people who were really excited to be watching, so that it felt at times like we were actually at the concert. Several times I found myself almost clapping at the end of a song. But I don’t think I would watch it on TV at home. The most interesting parts were the archival and behind-the-scenes footage and there wasn’t much of it. And although I was impressed by the band’s physical stamina at their age, it did drag on a bit.

Some other impressions:

They are all really tiny! They aren’t very tall and most of them are wraith-thin – Keith Richards is the only one with even a hint of an old man potbelly. Mick Jagger was wearing shiny patent leather platform sneakers. I wondered if they might be orthopedic to deal with the havoc all that jumping around and twisting might have done to his back, but I now think they might be because his girlfriend is about 6 inches taller than he is.

Speaking of Mick Jagger’s girlfriend - she is a professional stylist, yet all his stage outfits looked like they came from the ladies’ resort section at Kohl’s department store. He wore black satin trousers (very slimming) and a burgundy shirt with pintucks down the front, which he took off to reveal a black t-shirt with subtle sequin details, which added just a touch of sparkle.

I thought Keith Richards looked a little bit like a grandpa - if your grandpa were actually a Berber tribeswoman. He had so many things tied in his hair or dangling from his belt, I thought I could hear him jingle when he moved, though I guess that could have been his old bones and dried-up, leathery internal organs.

Charlie Watts could be a vampire. He certainly looks like one and have you ever seen him in the daytime?

Anyway, we had a good enough time at the film and then spent the night at a nice hotel and had a big breakfast (included with the room) the next morning. We definitely like staying in hotels in town – it’s like traveling without all the hassle of actually going anywhere.

On Sunday I bit the bullet and went to Oxford Street for a bit of shopping. It was insanely crowded, as I knew it would be on a Sunday afternoon, but I had a fresh podcast to listen to during the 40 minutes I was in the queue for the changing room at Primark, so I was okay. I mean, my arm got very tired and I jettisoned several items before I even tried them on, but I was entertained. I ended up with a dress and some birthday presents for my lovely niece Mattie. I got some other bargains – even though I had to go to all three Uniqlo locations on Oxford Street. Their flagship store is almost completely given over to a range of artsy t-shirts they’ve done in collaboration with international artists and very large photos of Chloe Sevigny wearing said t-shirts, so that there is very little room left for anything else. I finally found some actual clothes at the third, oldest and by far least fashionable location – a couple of tops for £2.99 each and a trench styled jacket marked down from £39.99 to £19.99.

I also saw Pete Burns (of Dead or Alive and horror plastic surgery fame) in American Apparel. In a very ick-making move, they were playing “You Spin Me Right Round, Baby” when I walked in and about 30 seconds later I bumped into him. He was relatively small, only about my height, which surprised me because I always thought he was more statuesque. However, he did look a little bit like a monster in a fairy tale. I was telling this to a woman at work and she said, “You know, they’re people, just like us,” but I had to say, “No, actually, he’s not.”

Good News...and More Good News

The main good news is that it’s now official that I will be going back to school! In September I’ll start on an MA in Town and Regional Planning at the University of Westminster. It’s a full time course, just one year, and then I will finally have a degree that actually allows me to get a job. So far I’ve had the kind of liberal arts degrees that make one a more well-rounded person, very good at chatting to strangers at parties about the “arts” but prone to analyzing movies far beyond the point where other people are interested. With this new degree, and after jumping through a few more hoops (mostly racking up enough hours of work experience), I’ll be a town planner and (hopefully) a member of the Royal Town Planning Institute. Membership in anything Royal is pretty exciting. Also, the campus where I’ll be taking classes is across the street from Madame Tussaud’s!

For those unfamiliar with it, town planning in the UK is like zoning on steroids. There are national, regional and local levels of regulations or “guidance” as it is euphemistically called, some of which can conflict, and which take into account everything from the aesthetics of a design, safety, impact on local traffic, accessibility for the disabled, environmental impact, archeological sensitivity of proposed building sites, to even whether new buildings will block too much sunlight to existing ones or “overlook” them and thus infringe on current occupants’ privacy. These things have to be considered in pretty much every construction situation - whether someone wants to build an extension on their house or a huge shopping centre. In some historical buildings, permission has to be given before changes are made to the internal layout.

Obviously, there is a lot to it and while planning has a reputation for being really boring, I find it fascinating. Last year I read what is considered the seminal text in the field The Death and Life of American Cities by Jane Jacobs and got really hooked. (I borrowed it from a friend and now have it on my Amazon wishlist - hint hint.) I’m now working my way through an anthology on urban design and have been scavenging magazines from the architects’ office where I’m temping. Last night I said to Matthew, “You know, this course only lasts one year. I don’t know if I’ll have time to learn everything I need to know!” His response was something along the lines of, “In that case, stop watching TV and get to reading your book.” I ignored this, as we were watching a Dylan Moran stand-up special which I was finding very funny.

More good news – Thursday we got cable! For free! Matthew works for a TV network which has recently decided that all their UK employees should be able to watch at home so they’re paying for us to get cable. I expect this will substantially improve our quality of life, or at least allow us to watch cricket on TV.* As Matthew says, woo and, indeed, hoo!

*Actually, we won't be able to watch the cricket, as it is on a different cable network. I am pretty disappointed because I actually do enjoy watching cricket. It is so English - they break for lunch and tea - and the game is so famously complicated that even a rudimentary understanding of it makes me feel that I might finally be cracking this "English" thing. (They have a phrase, "that's not cricket," which means something isn't right. It can be used about something really horrendous, like the Zimbabwean elections, but means that's just not the way we play the game. It came to a head last year when a Pakistani player was accused of ball-tampering, a racism row erupted, and all everyone could say was that it was just so not at all cricket!) Anyway, Matthew suggests that I start watching Formula 1 racing with him, but that's obviously ridiculous. However, we do have a "pick of the week" on-demand feature, which means that last night we watched Dr Who six days after broadcast without taping or downloading it or anything. So that's cool.

The Kids Just Wanna Dance, plus an Interesting Exchange

So we went to a children's party at a bar, but it wasn't like that. It was like this. Even without a kid of our own, we had a really good time. There were lots of cool kids (both little and big) in their alternative finest. Our friend Jackson was in a Ramones tee and his girlfriend (from nursery) Kitty had on skinny indie kid jeans and a black sweater with a skull. She also has a coon skin cap(!) which is cute almost to the point of ridiculousness. Here we see Jackson rehydrating after a bit of running around/dancing/bouncing off the walls:

All the grown-ups seemed very cool (i.e. lots of heavy-framed glasses and tattoos) so I was very surprised to find myself in a conversation straight out of a chick flick - and a cheesy one that uses cliches in place of creative writing, at that. Below is a word-for-word transcript of an exchange between me and a woman I had met no more than an hour earlier.

Woman: So, are you two thinking of having kids?
Me: Oh, uh, well, yeah. We were actually going to make that our project this year, but, uh, mmm, instead I'm going back to school. So, ya know...
Woman: How old are you?
Me: (truthful answer).
Woman: Well, don't leave it too long.
Me: (shocked silence).

First, I could not believe that anyone would ask a nearly total stranger if she intends to have children. This is a very private matter and potentially so emotionally fraught! I know people who have chosen not to have children because they are content with their lives without offspring, and others who've made the same choice because their own childhoods were less than idyllic. I also know people who want kids but have run into various physical/medical roadblocks. And there are myriad other reasons people might put off procreating. For example, after a lot of discussion and soul-searching, we decided I would go back to school (more on that later) so that we could afford to feed/clothe/spoil any eventual kiddies. Regardless of the reason, I wouldn't expect someone I just met to want to discuss their most private hopes, fears and dreams with me. Even if I were desperate for a topic of conversation, I would probably open with something like, "Have you seen the US Office? I think it holds up really well against the original." It's still provocative (Brits are insanely proud of the Office) but less likely to make someone cry.

Secondly, who asks a woman her age? Honestly? You can ask any Borscht Belt comedian from the 1950s on - we don't like it!

Third - thanks for the news flash. Is there a woman in her 30s who hasn't been bombarded with horror stories about swiftly-ticking biological clocks, artificial hormones in our food, the dangers or benefits of the Pill, etc, etc, etc? This is not new information. This is information that I have to go out of my way to avoid, skipping entire sections of newspapers and holding my hands over my ears and going, "Nah, nah, can't hear you, nah, nah" whenever it comes on the news. The media really, really want me to know about this; I don't need casual acquaintances to fill me in at social gatherings. But thanks for the tip!

The Trailer

Yes, it's been ages since I've posted. I've been very busy, what with not working very regularly, sleeping, reading Stuff White People Like compulsively and conducting some cooking experiments. My findings: turns out risotto is simple - but hard at the same time. Matthew does not find the sight of a turkey carcass boiling merrily very appetising and, honestly, doesn't understand why we can't just buy stock cubes (I have no answer for this). And, while a splash of Worcestershire sauce perks up homemade turkey soup nicely, vinegar not so much.

I've done more than that, of course. I'm just not going to write about it right now. I would, but have decided instead to watch TV while mending my beloved brown blanket. But I will expound soon enough and here are just some of the exciting topics you can expect to see covered:

- houseguests! My friends Tasca and Jim and their daughter Bo came to visit from Edinburgh and we had a brilliant time!

- we saw the Rolling Stones - sort of!
- degrees that actually help people get jobs!
- we went to a child's birthday party at a bar/night club!
- Shakespeare!
- new television obsessions!
- and probably lots more!

Sounds exciting, doesn't it?