The Best Europe Experience, The Worst Airport Experience Ever

     Necessary title, as Juli/Josh/Danielle/Michael/etc began to title everything we went through with "the best/worst _______ experience ever". To keep BADA in our spirits, I will format this as such.

[I just thought I'd let you all know that I am currently sitting in the Cleveland Airport eating a Craisins mix for dinner as an unexpected continuation of Friday's Worst Airport Experience Ever, but I'll explain definitely last.]

To begin, The Best Round Experience Ever:

(That is, singing in a round) 

     To begin Open Day, the last day of BADA, all 91 of us got together on the lawn and did some vocal and physical warm-ups together. It was cute. I had totally forgotten that Mick, physical improv clown love of our lives, had promised his "best song" for us all to sing during this, so when we ended our last vocal warm-up and started to walk away, it was a joyous surprise to hear Mick calling us all back. We call-and-response learned "Bella Mama", a beautifully simple song sung in rounds with our 6 groups. The sun shining, people holding hands, jumping up and down, belting things you normally can't belt-- it was more than cute.

Then, Fancy Dinner Pt. 2: after the last (sigh) drinks reception, we gathered for our last meal in the Harry Potter hall. Everyone sits down, gets served some champagne (which I drink at a slow and steady pace this time, thank you), and then-- out of nowhere-- someone... starts it... Bella Mama... and we all start it... rounds, belting, harmonies, fancy dresses, candles, videos/"YOU BETTER PUT THIS ON FACEBOOK!", riotous clapping... Who would've known that we'd end up doing it at least 3 more times that night?

The Best Irina Experience Ever

This is the intense Russian Shakespeare teacher I have spoken of. Don't worry, life certainly got better. Josh and I personally went up to her to thank her for kicking us so hard in the butt because we learned so much and wouldn't have had another teacher. Still, though-- she's high-energy intense. And not someone you'd expect to be sitting on the Oxford Tube to London with you on the last morning.

But, oh. She was. Did you know teachers are real people, too? Weird. But, low and behold, we ended up separated on the bus. UNTIL we get to the last stop, and I realize I have no idea where I am. Stupid Google Maps. Who becomes the most helpful individual on the planet? IRINA! She saves me with her patience and her iPhone! It turns out I'm approximately a million miles away from my destination of Ellie's uncle's flat, but she helps me write out directions and walks me to Victoria's Station. She then, very motherly, makes sure I am buying a ticket (even though, secretly, I've been buying Tube tickets for weeks, but I'd never let her know) and helps me find my way. I don't want to hear one person say she isn't nice. It was SUPERB.

(followed by a quick memory of The Worst Irina Experience Ever): Long story, or short story?... Short-- In a pre-scene improv in Shakespeare, my Demetrius picks me up with great intention and force, therefore landing my bony little chest directly on his bony little shoulder. Double over with vocal pain. KEEP GOING BECAUSE YOU DON'T STOP IN THIS CLASS. Until Irina stops you, which will only be about 5 seconds later. She demonstrates something. Sits down. We're supposed to start. I instead start balling. Embarrassed. :( I ask if I can go to the bathroom-- "NO. Use the tears." So we did the scene. It was great. I hurt. 4 weeks later... I still can't give a proper hug. 

(OK that was a long story.)

The Best Sighting of a Godinez Member Experience Ever, Pt. 1 

After the bus confusion, I proceeded to get even more lost. 50lb+ suitcase and a large duffle bag with a string for a strap = unhappy little camper. More like... angry little devil camper, at this point. I finally find get out of the Tube station, proceed to turn the exact opposite way, drag my luggage all the way up and down the hill, finally start finding correct street names, and, at last, I find Lancaster Road. I'm looking for the heavenly, blessed 3 Lancaster Rd. and what do I see when I finally hit this wonderful street but... 246 Lancaster. WHAT?! 

I look across the street. It says 1. 1 Lancaster. Praise God, I think, please please let this jump by odd numbers... and... there it was-- 3 Lancaster. And there she was. Ellie Bensinger, in all her glory! Wearing her Tri-Delt shirt. And she lugged my luggage up a million flights of stairs. What a saint.

The Sleepiest West End Show Experience Ever

Now, at the point in the evening where we go to an Indian dive restaurant and get hit on by 30-year-olds, Ellie and I are two sleepy kitties. I got apprx. 4 hours of sleep the night before (thank you, BADA DISCO WOOOHOOO!!!) and Ellie is jet-lagged. Naturally, seeing a 2.5 hour long performance of Chariots of Fire on-stage is a fantastic idea. Let's just say I don't... really know what to say. I'm pretty sure, though, that this movie should not be put onstage. I was really rooting for it-- running onstage, making sports theatrical, come on that's so cool!!! Nonetheless, I think it failed. I mean, it obvi put Ellie and I to sleep, am I right? NOTHING would've done that at that point, psh!

The Best Ellie Experiences Ever

*Including the Best Spice Girls Cry Experience Ever

I feel like Ellie and I did a million things and I only ever describe them in impressive-list form, so here we go:

- Chariots of Fire

- Beautiful, necessary sleep in The Big House (her uncle's Hey Arnold flat)

- Matins Mass at Westminster's Abbey

- Attempt Buckingham Palace Changing of the Guards-- canceled due to the marathon happening right there, what what!

- Scenic walk through Green and Hyde Parks

- HARROD's Department Store! Finally.

- Eat at E.A.T. (Haha)

- Natural History Museum

- Nap

- Olympic Closing Ceremonies with Juli and her Dad at the Duke of Wellington's pub! Introduce Ellie to Pimm's!! It's Pimm's O'Clock!

- Successful seeing of the Changing of the Guards and the Horse Parade

- Trafalgar Square

- The National Gallery art museum

- Covent Garden ( = amazing frozen yogurt, sorry Juli)

- Introduce Elli to Ben's Cookies

- The National Portrait Gallery

Whew! And then the bus fiasco. Thankfully, Ellie is still a saint and helps me with my luggage all the way to Victoria's Station! Which is where I think I'm supposed to be. Ohhhhohohoho. No.

The Worst Bus Experience Ever, which leads into The Best Sighting of a Godinez Member Experience Ever, Pt. 2: 

Once again, as per previous blog posts, I must write what I have written in my journal because a. it is too painful to recount with new words and thoughts, and b. I've told this story too many times in the past week:

"Not Victoria's Station, but Victoria Coach Station, blocks away. No tickets to pick up via ID Bus @ Info Desk. Go to ticket counters. ID Bus doesn't do that here. Call ID Bus off of saved # on phone. Pounds on phone RUN OUT. Using what little info I obtained, stand in 20 min. line to "check in" (very unclear purpose of line). Mean angry woman cuts everyone./Crazy American tourist lady, giving us a bad name, angrily cuts in front of everyone in the desperately long Paris line. Somehow I manage to get a ticket. Get told wrong gate. Wait. Wait in wrong bus line outside. Wait in right line. Get told I have to put my own luggage on. Get back in line again. I finally sit down. Here, see cuddling story."

(We're going to 'see cuddling story' now, flip back, flip back..)

"Because I am a nice person ("such a nice person", as Juli notes while I'm talking to her on the phone @ this time), I offer to the obviously-a-couple couple that was being forced to split up if they wanted to sit down. Of course I wanted the concerned couple to sit by each other, but it didn't hurt that the boy/young man (yes, I wrote that and/or) sitting in front of me was possibly attractive and by himself, too. So, I move up. No chatting or hello. Nothing. I put on my iPod. The lights turn off. The humongous French 'Home Alone' family is still bouncing around and listening to loud music, which was in fact not the radio. I hear the young man start to eat something-- it sounds like liquid. Gross liquidy sounds, like yogurt, or sour cream. But it smells like... Italian Mexican beef chive something! It was really gross. And we start to travel. And as we all settle in to our travels, my seat partner's body begins to travel, too-- right next to mine."

(OK I'm going to stop this here for all of the concerned adults and/or family members. I wrote that sentence not for an attempt at full truth, but just to take advantage of the corny play on words. We move on.)

"Now let's remember a few things:

a. I have learned at BADA that it is entirely uncomfortable to sit straight up on these stupid coach busses. One longs for a pillow, a blanket, something. I understand one's want for the human pillow.

b. I found this... male to be somewhat my age and not too bad lookin'. On first glance, I'd assumed he was older than me. I find out during the trip that i have NO idea how old/young this boy is. He eats strangely and strongly smelling non-solid foods that sound like liquids (in his 2nd/3rd course of it I glimpse some pasta) and he drinks a lot of Coke. When we stop for the first time, he asks where the toilet is, so I know he's European and speaks at least basic English. He then proceeds to not go to the bathroom, so that's weird. But I get a good look at his face and it is much younger than I thought. No worries, kid-- I look like I'm 17. 

c. It is freezing. I'm talking desperate attempts for human warmth without any sort of extra layers available FREEZING. I wrap my scarf around my head. Nothing. Survival techniques kick in.

d. Going along with a., these seats are so uncomfortable. It needs to be said twice.

  With all that in mind, don't judge me when I admit I did not do anything to avoid our almost-snuggle, all on his part, of course. I'm not lying, but I am possibly over-exaggerating (the "almost" is important), but it is a fact that:

a. his legs flopped over right next to mine

b. his bottom ended up against my side

c. he actually put his head against my shoulder

Now, to Northwestern theatre-major-crowd Anna, I take and understand this as nothing... well, nothing really at all. This is merely an act of survival. My left side was very warm in comparison to my right. Whenever he realized what he was doing, he'd move and all the freezing would come back. Unhappy Anna.

I don't mind being a slighty younger (unclear) man's anonymous maternal snuggle-Mother-bunny on an 8.5-hour bus ride--"

-------------------------------------

Journal ends. I'd been writing in Le Killy-Jen Cafe. And that is when Jordan showed up. 

I thought we would have a fun meeting in France and it would be full of excited joy. Instead, I only felt like my heart attack from the last 4 or 8 hours of sleepless, lost confusion in France plus 2 cups of coffee had gone away. I was so tired and fretful and annoyed and restless, sitting in Le Killy-Jen Cafe, with my black espresso, twitching, that when I turned around for the millionth time to look for Jordan and actually saw him, standing there with an equally "are you kidding me, life?" expression, I just collapsed in my chair and thanked the Lord to see another human who spoke English. I didn't even get up. Sorry, Jordan...

The Worst (or Best?) Water Bottle Experience

We walked around aimlessly. Found a restaurant. Ordered our meals and the waiter asks if we want water. Yes, please! Still or sparkling? Answers given!

Water returns.

Glass bottles.

Uhhh.

Check comes.

4.00 and 4.40 Euros for said bottles.

MANNNNNNNNNN!

The Best Eiffel Tower Experience Ever

(Sorry to do this to the actually exciting parts of my trip, but I realize that my post is getting long, so here comes Abbreviated Experiences in France and Amsterdam!)

When is the only time to see the Eiffel Tower? At night. Why? Because it lights up! And SPARKLES every hour on the hour, starting at 9pm! I've never been so excited to climb hundreds of steps. I took incredible photos that you may soon view on Facebook, we learned about the man the myth the legend Mr. Eiffel, we were the closest to the origin of a search light than I think I'll ever be... Eiffel Tower. 

Then, Jordan proceeded to get us lost in a silent Paris. How do we end up in the most desolate area of Paris with literally no food, nothing open, and not a soul nearby? Maps, people. MAPS.

The Indifferent Hostel Experience... Ever?

We got the cheapest hostel. The men (yes, more than one of them) behind the desk hated me, but they seemed OK with Jordan. In fact, when he went to ask for our keys they gave him an upgrade of off what I paid for.

My favorite hostel story, though, involves two French/Italian (ignorant Anna) boys sitting near us while we were using the hostel's computers. They heard we were going to Amsterdam and then spent the next 3 or 4 minutes talking solely to Jordan about all of the great nightlife in Amsterdam. I may have been actively listening-- nodding and even commenting-- but not once did they make eye contact with me. Oh, no, they were quite focused on Jordan... so much so to tell him specifically that there are "plenty of young men" in Amsterdam. Oh. Boy. Did I die. It's fine that they weren't paying any attention to me, seeing as I was now cracking up behind Jordan's back. He just kept nodding and smiling. It was great.

The Best Batobus Experience Ever

Best plan of the whole time: 9 Euros for a full day's worth of hop-on/hop-off of a boat along the river in Paris, where all of the major attractions lay alongside. The Louvre, Notre Dame, Eiffel, The Arc de Triumph, the Champs-Elysees, Hotel deVille, etc etc-- 9 important stops for 9 Euros and no getting lost with our map and tired feet! This isn't to say that we didn't still walk for an insane distance and period of time, but it was SO worth skipping the Batobus stop and just taking the scenic route. We walked from the Louvre (just went inside the ugly glass pyramid and looked at the book containing what artwork was actually in the Louvre... totally a Louvre experience) through this park to this big fountain to this square with monuments and then further down the Paris version of the Magnificent Mile, past the fancy McDonald's and Louis Vitton headquarters, and finally to the Arc de Triumph. Let's just say my white shoes are no longer that. 

On the way back, it was so necessary to finally get my pan a chocolate (suggestion courtesy of Juli) and even more necessary to stop at the fence where we could see the zoo's ostriches and take a desperately tired video.

The Best Confused Waiter/Being Ignorant Americans Experience Ever

We deem it necessary to have wine in France. Man, we're geniuses. Duh.

So, after much searching, we find the cheapest but still not creepy place to sit down and have a glass of wine and some cheese. Now, quickly we learn that we don't know how to order this wine. Minutes of staring at the menu have not been at all progressive or successful. So what do we do? Oh, that's right-- we ask the FRENCH waiter with LIMITED English what he suggests. In a different language than his, we request he brings us whatever wine he wants, basically. 

Oops.

We swear we were pointing to the "glass" list, not the "bottle", namely because the bottles are so expensive for us to not finish the bottle (let's be honest, am I going to drink more than one glass of wine?). Too bad, so sad. Here happy waiter comes with a bottle of red wine. Thank goodness we had food.

Two hours later, approximately, we do indeed finish the bottle. This is thanks mostly to Jordan, but I did hold my own. Somehow, the bottle ended up cheaper than any offered on the menu, so perhaps French waiter realized ignorant Americans. But, at the end of the day, "ordering" a whole bottle of French wine with a cheese sampler platter after a long day of touristy walking and enjoying it over a couple of hours is much more pleasurable than the fish-tasting cheese that was part of our selection. Really. I think I ate a fish.

The Most Megabus Experience Ever:

As Juli would say, it was the MOST Megabus. It was no sleep. It was uncomfortably small, straight chairs. It was 7 hours long. It was the most Megabus. 

The Best Listening to English Experience Ever:

After no sleep and changing clothes/washing up in the tiny bathroom of the Centraal Train Station in Amsterdam, hearing ENGLISH-- yes, the INITIAL POINT OF THIS BLOG-- was incredible. Amazing. Comforting. Sad, yes. But I don't care.

After all of the mean, yes MEAN MEAN MEAN, people in the service industry that I had encountered in Oxford, London, and Paris (yes, many-- I've not talked about it, but it's because it has been too painful), this smiley English-speaking waiter for breakfast in Amsterdam is everything and all we needed after no sleep or showers.

And he put kiwi in my yogurt and granola! What a guy.

The Best Euro-Spending Experience Ever:

Buying a ticket to the Anne Frank Museum/House. I will never forget how moving and important this was. There's not much more one can say. 

The Worst Camera Battery Experience Ever:

I think I speak for everyone when I say, "really, Anna? Your camera battery 'died' when you reached the Heineken factory in Amsterdam. Right..." But I swear to you, it did. Otherwise you would be seeing a picture of me in front of that factory-- not just Jordan! If you look at my photos after that point, you will see I had just enough battery, miraculously, to salvage 2 or 3 more pictures and that's it. It is unexplainable why the ones I chose to photograph are what they are. In this beautiful, picturesque city with canals and flowers and millions of unlocked bikes... my sense of battery planning fails me. I'm sorry, self.

And I'm sorry, skeptics, that it really DID die and I WASN'T getting stoned or drunk, so there! 

The Best Bubble Experience Ever:

Once again, you'd think we were high, but we weren't: we decided to eat lunch by this central square area that had street performers, the most important of which was the bubble man. You know, the kind that make those HUGE bubbles with two big sticks and a long piece of string, plus some good ol' dish soap. The bubbles were... the most bubbly. And colorful. AND... little kids? Loved it! Us PCP-ers were kind of freaking out. There were just so many enthralled children and happy parents... gosh, maybe we should stop picking dramatic plays and just have a bubble man onstage...

The Worst Chocolate Purchase Ever:

Because it didn't exist. 

The REASON I went to Amsterdam-- doubt me if you will, all you skeptics-- was to obtain Droste Famous Dutch Chocolate in the form of their Chocolate Pastilles. My step-mom Sue flies to Amsterdam for United and I noted that from their is where she brings her best chocolates. I looked in every store we went to and found NONE. I began to think, "am I crazy? Have I been telling myself 'Amsterdam... chocolate discs... Netherlands... mecca' for years, planning this chocolate excursion, whilst I have been totally and utterly wrong??" Yes, I told myself. What a failure. Nonetheless, I had a million oodles of fun anyways. Also, of course, nonetheless, I cried to Sue afterwards about my failures and she said, "no, you were right". I just looked in all the wrong places.

And, finally, The Smelliest, the Tiredest, the Worst Airport Experience EVER:

Ugh. I don't even... whatever. I hate this experience, this story... short version, take 1:

6am, Paris.

No sleep again on Megabus. That's now 48 hours.

No shower again. That's also 48 hours.

What would be a straight shot to the airport in Paris, after getting off the Megabus, turns into an almost 3-hour endeavor due to the underground train system NOT being fully underground this summer.

Miss my 9:25am flight to Newark.

Should be panicking by now, but I've learned "chill" tactics in Europe and am putting them into use well.

Miraculously get WIFI and an email from my dad-- try the 11:15 to Chicago!

Let's remember that I'm trying to get to Cleveland.

Hours later, as it was then 8:45am, I stand-by on that flight for the only good 6 hours of that day. Why? Because I was in the 2nd row of Business Class, suckerzzz. That means I not only get all that unnecessary Business Class stuff, but I get to actually choose what I want off the menu because I'm 2nd. 

Get immediately punished for that when I step off the plane.

Chicago O'Hare. FOUR HOURS later, dozens of phone calls and texts to my dad, and too many failed gates walked to and fro, I get on a plane... to Milwaukee.

Milwaukee. 45 minute flight. Smallest airplane ever.

Easy connection to Cleveland. Still, I manage to flounder aimlessly around the airport.

Finally make it to the gate. No one is flying to Cleveland. SHOCKER.

REALIZE I LEFT MY JOURNAL OF THE PAST MONTH+ ON THE LAST AIRPLANE.

Chill tactics enact. Not at all freaking out. Kind of.

Board plane. SOME United gate employees are kind individuals who show signs of empathy = they return my notebook to me, on the plane! I'm so gracious.

Get into Cleveland airport. I smell myself. Not purposely.

Drag myself to the baggage claim. Hug my dad. Notice out of the corner of my eye that Sue has her iPhone out posed as a camera. Hide behind all pillars. Basically scream. Make a slight scene about my appearance. 

10pm Ohio time. HOME. That's 72 hours, folks-- until, at last, sleep... and shower...

Peace.

THEN I GET TO DO IT AGAIN!

Tuesday's plan to fly back to Chicago: Get to airport before 3pm for a 4:15 stand-by flight! Long story short? I cry a lot (chill tactics NOT in action when you have people who hate their job ignoring you for hours on end), get on a 6:15 flight, and get home around 9pm...

 *Wow, guys. That's it. I never want to see another airport in my life, but I've had a pretty darn good time. People keep asking me what my favorite part was. I never know what to say, but I always end up talking about the Globe theatre. Let's be honest, that is pretty cool! It's a good answer. But, you know, there's a moment that's sticking with me more, even though it may not seem like a lot. 

Josh, Juli, Danielle, Michael, Gabe, Lindsey, Zach, Angie, and myself all ended up in my room after the dinner, after the disco, after lying in the lawn and watching shooting stars. People were falling asleep left and right, Lindsey and Zach sadly left to get to their bus to London, and the reality of the next day was hitting. Somehow, Juli, Gabe, Michael, and I were the only ones coherent, and we got to playing In the Heights on an iPod. Gabe had rested his head on my lap and Juli had hers in his and, somehow, we end up singing Champagne from In The Heights-- Juli and I sing the girl and Gabe the guy... it's all about leaving and boarding planes and champagne and leaving and sadness but it's also just so good... it was great. I won't forget it. 

We all sounded pretty good, too.

Because we're actors.

And that's why we were there.

And now we're better actors.

I'd like to thank the $7,000 I gave to BADA, the hole in my chair in the Schoolhouse, the freezing classrooms, the sweatshirt I lost, the failed attempts to use my phone and use up all my pounds, the stolen apples from the dining hall...

Mainly, I'd like to thank my parents. Thank you for your love, support, time, patience, and, yes, money. Money from them, though, doesn't come in the form of cash. It comes in understanding and approval. I could've never done any of this without them, and I couldn't buy them enough souvenirs to show it. Well, I could've bought my Mom the entire cities of London, Stratford, and Oxford there were so many things to buy her! But all I could really find my dad was a bottle opener from the Heineken factory... I will never learn how to shop for that man. :)

Au revoir! Cheerio, mates! Don't cry! I'll write a play soon, but it won't be funny... ouch. Umm... well... write your own blog.

Love,

Me

Six Six Six

(Is that really how six is spelled? Weird.)

List of the Last Week
(Boo hoo bye bye BADA... badly babbling...)

1. Let's talk about Saturdays.
I completely missed writing mainly anything about our Saturday in Stratford. Oops.
Let's just say there are about 60 beautiful pictures of flowers coming Facebook's way. Thanks, (the real, not Northwestern) Shakespeare Garden! Oh, and there were, like, 5 Ariels in The Tempest and Miranda still wasn't important... ouch. It's the most interesting she's ever been (she had short hair, wowza!) but, low and behold, you can't change her lines.

Last Saturday, though, is a day for which I already wrote a journal entry. Stop it. I know, I wrote something down. In a journal. For my own personal sake, and not for the entire world to see online. Private conventions, astounding. As lovely as it would be for me to say, "yes, I am going to keep it to myself, in my journal, where I can smell the ink from my USS Steelworkers Scholarship fancy pen and marvel at how I managed to write in wide-rule...", I could care less. So, here it is:

8/5/12

Unfortunate Occurrences of Oxford 

(meaning/and London)

(from Sat 8/4 and Sun 8/5)

1. No student rate for Danielle and Elizabeth on the Oxford Tube to London because of mean angry bus driver hard-core checking experiation dates on college IDs. Poop!

2. No Nandinos for Elizabeth. :(     (I, on the other hand, received said Nandino's meal with bottomless frozen yogurt. Score, self.)

3. Counting change to give to the taxi guy? Better watch out-- he'll hike up the price! Paid by the SECOND.

4. GARFUNKLE'S. Worst European chain restaurant experience EVER.

  - No waitresses seem to understand English here

  - No water refills

  - No bun? = NO food (sorry, gluten-free girls)

  - No coleslaw (with the meal that came with coleslaw)

  - No fast service (clearly just means slow service. great syntax, Anna)

  - No happy campers!

5. Out of underwear, forgetting to hit "Start" on the washer after 40 minutes of it being there...

(I don't think anyone actually wants the story on this one, but it's there, so I'm honoring me previously thinking it was important.)

6. The one time this week I go to run? RAIN.

-- Good thing Henry V and One Man, Two Guvnors saved ALL. 

That's right. Henry V at THE GLOBE and One Man, Two Guvnors-- the Olivier and Tony Award winning Best Play-- 2nd row. Just... wow. I don't care how dreary that English sky was... I don't care that I stood for over 3 hours straight to watch a history play... because darn it Henry V is GOOD. It is FUNNY. I am the ONLY person from Northwestern who wanted to see it and I would have gone by mySELF if I hadn't have found others. But I did. Thank goodness.

The Globe Theatre:
1. 5 pound tickets to be a groundling. Let me rephrase: 5 pounds to see a brilliantly performed classic by the best of the best in the actual manner that a Shakespearean play would've been done in Shakespeare's time IN the theater they would've performed it in.
2. It rains. You deal with it.
3. Stage fog? NO, real smoke! From hanging fire balls!
4. You can buy Folio copies of all the plays. Separately. How beautiful and convenient.
5. The same actor who plays Henry in Henry IV parts 1 and 2 might come back to play Henry in Henry V... and if he does... it is a gift for all. Namely, it is a gift for all females. Namely, I want to marry him. Jamie Parker is 'bold and enthralling'... 'startlingly good'... 'an all conquering Henry'... 'a vibrant evening'... a 'regal performance'... (those may be reviews for the show itself, but I would like to single them out as about him, if I may, as he deserves praise for simply standing there... owning everything).
6. Everything is just so... real.

One Man, Two Guvnors:
1. We all got soooo played. I won't give away the jokes, the playing, the way we got fooled... but let's just say the play did it's JOB.
2. The Craze = an incredible (and incredibly cute in a pinch-them kind of cute that only young guys in 60's suits playing upbeat rock-folk can have) opening and inter-scene musical act. They were right in front of us, as we were in the 2nd row... the eye contact... was there.
3. Funniest play I've ever seen ever.
4. The theatre looked oddly like the Lorain Palace? I know, please someone from Ohio kick me. But if you added, like, mezzanine and balcony seating and booths, etc. to the Palace... it could be something.                  (I'm done.)



Hey, I've got a lot of lists going on!

Also, in other "why Shakespeare, why?" news:
David Farr, the director of the Royal Shakespeare production of The Tempest that we saw in Statford, answered the question on all of our minds: "As the only female character written in the The Tempest, what weight do you feel she carries, if any at all?"
Naturally, I was the person who asked this question.
It has been plaguing me for years.
But, nonetheless, after years of struggle, it has finally been answered: "Actually, I find her to be the least interesting character".

Weight of a million shipwrecked ships, lifted off my shoulders.

His explanation: You have to just go with her natural vacancy/blankness/naivete, BUT you can't mock it. Ferdinand and her love is refreshing for
a. Audience-- it's a slow play, especially at the beginning
b. Shakespeare-- it's a knotty, heavy plot that needs something beautiful and attractive, i.e. an old man (Shakespeare and Prospero) looking back on the beauty of young love

Their love is not, as it may read, about physical beauty. It wouldn't have mattered what they looked like. Ferdinand, he says, is also boring, but he at least just lost his father. (Thank goodness, am I right?) He is full of grief, his heart and soul are open wide. Miranda, in addition, has never seen another human in her life. It would not have mattered a single bit if they were actually the god and goddess they call each other.

Anyways, that was refreshing. David Farr is one of the coolest director's I've ever heard speak, so I'd suggest lookin' out for his stuff, aka, yeah just fly to Europe! What! Yeah!

Here is my last BADA-written list of random thoughts, lessons, and aneurisms to hold you over until I reach either London, Paris, or wherever the heck I'm going to end up eventually:
1. I currently now have 10 mini-boxes of cereal hoarded in my room in preparation for fending for myself next week.
2. My apple hoard is slowly diminishing! AH!
3. I never explained COPA: it's a classy bar where on normal weekend nights skankily or classily clad women arrive in high heels and dresses, men in suits, and both in fancy cars, stopped by bouncers at the door. Loud and pleasant music from the inside floods out into the street, colored lights flash... and then... you see... that it's really just a restaurant during the day and week. But, that doesn't stop Juli, Josh, and me from pursuing the glorious COPA "club" for a week and insisting we watch the Olympic Opening Ceremonies there. It turns out many many many a people from BADA had the same idea, so here we all are, dressed up, watchin' the opening ceremonies basically without any sound, sipping my first ever 21-year-old cocktail (the drink was just born, I swear, not it's real age) (also the drink had, I believe, approximately .0000000000237% alcohol in it, thank you very much safety and health), and COPA is all that it needed to be-- nothing at all like we thought, but wonderful and classy in its own special way that night.
4. Midsummer Night's Dream is a raunchy-raunch little play! It's gettin' hot in Oxford!
5. I should look at BRITISH monologue books, not already-checked-out-by-NU-kids-hundreds-of-times USA ones!
6. I currently have plans/hopes and dreams to do all of the following over Christmas Break:
  a. Fly back here to see Viva Forever! A New Musical about the Spice Girls
  b. Fly to LA to see what that is -- and have a sleepover with my dear friends Lindsey and Gabe!
  c. Get my wisdom teeth out (that's definitely the "plan" of this bunch)
7. Our last masterclass teacher (actor Brian Cox)'s advice = LEARN THE LINES. Just like John Barton...
8. I am dying without peanut butter.
9. You don't need public transportation to do London! Walking is good and refreshing, humans.
10. WHY? WELL... BECAUSE THOSE OF US WHO CHOSE TO DO THIS WERE THE ONES WHO ALSO GOT TO...SEEEEEEEE....AN OLYMPIC EVENT!!

AHHHH! 9:15 am; a silent, calm, and empty street filled only with streams of steady Olympic vehicles, unknown but still probably exciting people getting out of these cars into the massive and gorgeous hotels on the street; and barricades. The barricades, we can tell, lead to something... our eyes follow them... we see people against rails put up on the street, flags flying, suddenly people cheering, a megaphone sounding.... and HERE THEY COME! Olympian gods. The greatest legs we've ever seen. And I cheered for USA twice! And got it on my camera! Gah, such a tourist--- NO. Such a HUMAN BEING. Because I am an inhabitant of this earth who loves the Olympics, gosh darn it! How is that not exciting?!

This was all too upsetting for the Michael, Juli, and Josh crew who had actually mapped out and planned how they were going to see the race... oops. :(

As this post has gone on, on, on, and on, I shall commence. But please wipe the tears from you eyes and realize, "hey. It's been a great, riveting four weeks of only 6 semi-interesting blog posts from a girl complaining about trivial things in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I enjoyed parts of it, but I was getting a little tired of that. I'm OK."

And I'll finish (until next time, muahaha) with these thoughts on BADA:
I have learned a million things about myself as both a person, an actress, and a performer. I know myself better, or worse, you can say, from being pushed both in and out of class. I have met and befriended people from different areas of the country, different schools, and even my own school that I would have never really had the opportunity to bond with otherwise. There are people here not even from NU that I will want to stay in touch with as much as I can. We have fall breaks planned (from those that have fall breaks), yo! Equally as important, I've learned I can be funny even just a little bit and it is in my own way, as myself, and I can own that. The most important lesson I can take away is to live in myself: accept and embrace my true personality, use what's already funny about me and just "eat shit" sometimes to be my own clown, don't punch people with fake confidence because I have enough energy in me already, take on roles that are scary because they are me, take the time to think truthfully about what I like and can use about myself and what should honestly be altered, and give myself permission to literally live with myself as a hermit because either I'm writing or I just don't like people because I'm in too many rehearsals. Long-windedly, the same focus on "me", "self" has been made by many and most of the masterclass and faculty teachers and speakers. Of course, some butt heads. A lot of our teachers don't teach nearly even in the same ballpark as each other, and they have crazily different views about how to approach Shakespeare or acting in general. Still, everyone seems to agree that it all starts with yourself and knowing yourself, as well as how you react with the world around you. An actor has to live-- within themselves and as a sponge to and a catalyst for the rest of the world.

Blah, yes, pull out the tissues... I think it's interesting and you do, too. I clearly paid thousands of dollars for it, so it better be worth my time to spew!

There's so much more you guys don't know, so many stories and lessons and acting tips and Shakespearean facts that I wish to share with you, but, ah. Good countryman. Alas, thou didst not pay me hundreds upon hundreds to attend this rigorous institute of higher theatrical training. So...  you know, it's just how Henry VI says. "Ignorance is the curse of God; knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven." Out, damn spot! Hence!




*Addendum:
 Expect blogs filled with only the most unexpected and unplanned adventures with both Ellie and Jordan, famed members of the glorious Henry Godinez class of acting at Northwestern University. Ellie is a life-saver with a very, very kind London-aboding uncle, so let's cross our fingers I can type somewhere in that haven! (I know you're fingers are already knotted.) Jordan and I, however, are... standing-by, as we do flights... unknown where exactly we are going and staying yet besides one day in Paris BUT that is what we lucky and trained children of airline step-parents do. We are crafty (also because we are on Purple Crayon) and we shall conquer Europe!

*Extra Addendum:
Let's not talk about my typos.

I've only done FIVE.

In celebration of the number Five, want to start this off by saying the top 5 buzz words on my mind, and the first 5 I think of are what I will write about:

1. Hostels

2. Bananas

3. John Barton

4. Theatre

5. Sewing Kit

Alright. Wasn't quite sure where those would lead me. But I'm gladly going on. 

(Really, #4?)

1. Experience of searching for hostels... commence! Update: I am NOT the only step-child under the age of 26 of an airline employee with special flying privileges that I know! I mean, I already knew this, but it never dawned on me that asking my dear old friend to join me would be considered more than a joke. However, dire Purple Crayon marketing problems lead to international phone calls lead to "hey, wanna travel in Europe with me? Ha-ha-ha. Wait. No. Ha-ha-ha. That's...no, still funny ha-ha-ha. I can't tell if you're joking." Nonetheless, we weren't joking. Thus, moral of the story, I need a hostel for 3 nights after BADA before I meet Jordan in Paris. Interesting. That is, 3 nights of little girl by herself in a big city much larger than any Chicago in a hostel. YES. THAT IS MY LIFE. ROCK ON. 

        I, of course, have managed about five minutes of hostel-searching before wanting to puke/hyperventilate, but a. I am a strong woman. I can handle this. This is what being under 35 (that's prime/legal hostel age) and adventuring in Europe is all about and I am ready. and b. I found one called "The Monkeys in the Trees" that is a "boutique" hostel and has pretty art-deco beds in all-female rooms. :) I'LL DO WHAT I HAVE TO DO.

2. Not only bananas, but apples. So many apples. So little fridge.

     If you haven't guessed, eating as a basically-vegetarian gluten-free acid-reflux-diet individual is quite difficult...anywhere, but especially in a British dining hall properly titled The Buttery. Let's also add that, in an improv exercise today, when a classmate threatened to harpoon another classmate, fry them up, and serve them in The Buttery, people were not all that surprised or horrified. I'm talking, like, cod and haddock the size of a chihuahua being served to us nearly daily. Or the odd homemade bacon/cheese hot pocket. Once, ONCE, only once, the rarity, the gem-- there was ice cream. One small scoop of ice cream. But by George do I have four bruised brown bananas freezing in my mini-fridge.

     In other, more tasty news: Shakespeare's Milkshakes is the greatest novelty in all of Oxford. No churches, no Harry Potter-- milkshake creations themed off of Shakespeare's most popular plays. Think of it as a greatest hits album-- in your mouth.

3. Wow. Oh, wow. What can I say. He is a living legend. He was already a living legend twenty years ago, and yet he still is brilliant and demanding and inspiring. Apparently, eating and breathing Shakespeare's texts for your entire adult life makes one's brain athletic against aging. Other great life lessons I learned in last night's surprisingly 2+ hour observation of the master at work:

     - When in doubt, always look for the antithesis.

     -  The text has to be my words found in the moment. (That's right, all other people! MY words! Ha-hah! I now own all roles.)

     - It's dangerous for an actor to bang an "and" or "but". (.... don't go there.)

     - Shakespeare writes in arguments. What is the situation you need to speak to at that moment? How do you make people listen?

     - "Taste it, and start to understand it." (the words, the sounds)

     - Best quote of the evening: "The first 'universal' is 'learn the lines'". (GOSH. The one universal truth lies in actors! We are blessed... and screwed.)

4. I'm not... what? Really? I choose "theatre". OK. Let's see.

     Oh, right, I meant the place, the entertainment of theatre. That's a lot easier.

     Wednesday, we escaped from Oxford (on a weekday, am I right, rule-breakers?!) to London to see the famed Woman in Black, a 24-year-long-running show-- "the most terrifying live theatre experience in the world." So, what was I doing there? *Can we also please note that I am talking about the play, not the movie. Important.* In our first week, our friend Gabe tells Juli and me that we have to go see this show: he's never been more scared in his life, one image still haunts him, blah blah blah blah why would I ever want to do that?? And yet, as the die-hard theatre tourist that I am, I couldn't pass this up. Neither could Juli, thank goodness, and we promised to hold on to each other for dear life. We ended up buying tickets in different price sections, but here's two ways we did end up close to each other:

   a. Extreme nausea from the top of the 2-hour double-decker bus there. Almost getting locked in the Pret bathroom because all we needed to do was... And so we were massive sick babies. All others = hungry = (probably) not pleased.

   b. Josh and I were stuck in the back row. The very back row. As in, row negative zero very very steep back row. The show wasn't even that scary in the first act, but we were literally on the edge of our seats. It was quite entertaining, actually, watching everyone try to grow their necks an inch further every time the people with the real seats below us made any sort of reaction. Whilst the hovering usher woman watched us knowingly the entire first act, making sure we didn't snipe any "better" nosebleed seats, I devised a plan to call Juli and pounce on any open seats near them. Oh, yes. We moved down into the LOWER MEZZANINE for EASY and FREE during intermission. So close. So not the price Josh and I paid. :)

     Tomorrow in London, the bravest of us (somehow I'm on the only one from NU involved...) will be standing as groundlings for a Globe performance of Henry V. That's right. Quite possibly the best show to be a groundling for. And for quite possibly the best price: 5 pounds. (Am I seeing a connection, number Five?!?!) 5 pounds, 3 hours, 1 Globe. 

     Who knows what the evening performance we'll see is, but it sure as heck won't be Ghost.

5. I brought one small jacket. Not warm enough or rain-proof, so I did buy a new one. BUT, this coat is good for all slightly-dressy-casual outfits I need or any off-summer-off-fall days, where the temperature waivers just within the area of comfort for this jacket. It is salmon, coral, do what you will. It also, as of before Wednesday afternoon, had a loose button. ("Awwwww", groans from the audience.) But Josh, dear Josh, is a saint and fixed it for me with my handy dandy sewing kit on the bus ride to London Wednesday-- no scissors, no correct color of thread... he is Beyonce with a needle. (weird image)

OK! That was mayhaps the most uneventful, unhelpful entry as to what has been going on here. But you like that, don't you?

I'm getting sleepy. It's only 4:47pm in Chicago... WOOOOOOWOW... now I don't remember what I was thinking... SLEEEP.

List the 4th

It's understandable that I haven't "blogged" (that can't be in the dictionary) in over a week. That's all.

The Most Important Lessons from Two Weeks of Classes

 1. The most important. John Gorrie, acclaimed British director, quote about musicals: 

"I would rather cast a great actor over a great singer any day of the week."

2. Fiona Shaw wears tennis shoes with dresses and pulls it off brilliantly, equally as brilliantly as she teaches. 

3. I want to tell you what she said:

  3a. Rhythm is the key to the unconscious. Why we can understand people speaking in different languages, y'all!

  3b. I'M the "thing". (because I know myself now, in the moment, and am in tune with it. also, because she must know I rock.)

  3c. Modern/"normal" speech must have poetry if it's onstage.

  3d. "Who/what/where/who-to?" NEVER gets old. Thank you, 2nd grade Language Arts.

  3e. 2 people who really love each other speak in monosyllables. You won't try to impress the one you really love, with high flourished language or anything. My gosh. Beautiful.

  3f. "If you only had one line in the scene, which would you choose?" WOAH. Play it out. Best game ever.

  3g. When you allow yourself to listen, you don't need to act. (Has now been echoed by all BADA faculty, thank you very much, Fiona.)

  3h. Greek tragedy language is hard for the audience to digest (ok, did already know that)-- the tragic character's power is in her tragedy, not her heroism. If you (your character) doesn't lose, the audience won't empathize with you. (I am so ready to fall apart right now.)

  3i. Most insightful: "It's only you if it's difficult for you to be you." You live in the character, the play that frightens you most.

  3j. Most entertaining: Nothing is actually grand. It's better to ask for $5 million under drinking a glass of beer. 

4. Fiona Shaw also encouraged me to not understand poetry just in the way that I don't understand poetry and be OKAY with it. I know that's not what she meant when she said that the seam of the poem, it's true meaning, is only understandable after reading it a LOT. But that's what I like to think she meant.

5. I promise I really don't like to pour philosophy on my Public Internet Diary, but the purpose of this PID just changed-- but only for that small section! Don't worry, I'm done sapping.

6. Just kidding: If you go out to the sea or the shore in the middle of the night, "you are in touch with something eternal." Deborah Warner. Other masterclass. Fiona's long-time collaborator, director, and friend.

  6a. Here comes more.

  6b. Theatre-making is "room for the audience to swim around"!! I like the idea of an audience as fish trying to find food somewhere or just bite the actor's toes. We all know it can go both ways.

  6c. Best quality of an actor = bravery. Worst quality of an actor = selfishness. I'm wondering-- do you know of any brave selfish people? Think about it...

  6d. I need to learn more monologues. GOSH. STORY OF MY LIFE HERE.

  6e. Don't be cool.

  6f. "Make someone cry. She's serious. (Haha)-- But really." 

          About monologues in auditions, quoted from my own notes.

  6g.   Be a toddler in a rehearsal room.

What else do I really need to tell you now? You know everything. Congratulations.

That means everything else I have to say must be life-changing. Read on.

7. I have discovered Krave cereal for myself. Nutella in a rice nugget. Brilliant.

8. 2 years of training in US college dining halls have prepared my for my stealthy stash of fruit and cereal now bursting out of my mini-fridge. 

9. I really don't need to shout.

10. I really don't need to talk so fast.

11. I really don't need to interrupt people.

12. That includes offstage.

13. People from LA hate LA.

14. So do a lot of other people.

15. "Acting is a feminine process". Sorry, guys. I didn't say it.

16. Shakespeare respected his women, yo.

17. Don't start a speech in the middle of the speech. Come on, Anna.

18. I want to see the Pina Bausch movie. AND I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE.

19. Baklava is better here?

20. The new Ugly Dolls = the Olympic Mascots. I am stupidly in love with Wenlock and Mandeville. 

In celebration of my anti-climactic birthday, number 21: 

I didn't drink anything on my 21st birthday.

Haters hate. (I hate myself for saying that, but I'll get over it.) I bought my one and only "illegal" purchase of alcohol underage, which wasn't really illegal at all because I'm in England, the night before in London at a real live American-style restaurant in Covent Garden called Maxwell's. Not only did Josh fall in love with the waiter, but he also drank my cocktail (embarrassingly titled Kiss Me Quick), which, equally embarrassingly, Juli and I were initially sharing anyways. Needless to say, I did not get kissed quick.

But here's what I did do: 

On Saturday, we spent the entire day (16 hours, I believe) in London on a 7-pound bus pass that took us everywhere and under and over all things we wanted to see. We did get "pound-blocked", as I like to call it, by everything now costing money because of the darn Olympics, but whatever. We SAW the buildings! Juli and I innocently and expertly cried our little-girl way into better mezzanine seats at Sunshine Boys, starring Danny DeVito and Richard Griffiths (Harry Potter's uncle), for no extra charge. I ate the most expensive ice cream cone I've ever eaten, at a place where Breast Milk and Apple Vodka are flavors of choice (or at least to choose from...). 

On Sunday, my birthday, we had our first real sunny summer day. We took a photo shoot in a rose garden and climbed a tree. We bought 2 Mediterranean picnic baskets from the Cous Cous Castle (Cafe). We did circus tricks (attempted) on the Magdalen lawn. And I got one of the best sundaes with the best strawberry hand-dipped ice cream I've every had, as my birthday gift by 3 wonderful girlfriends in a pink dessert cafe. WHAT DO YOU WANT NOW?!

That is all.

Tomorrow I go to Shakespeare's town and see where he probably did a lot of crazy crap. Not complaining.

And tonight... finally... COPA!!!! (Oh, you know you want to know what that means... you'll have to wait until the next edition of this Public Internet Diary comes out.... just like the old days... what a horrible novella this would be... someone write it...)

 

 

The Third List

For those of you who have been gripping your computer screens for the past 3 days, I'm sorry. 

It will happen again.

As some of you may know, I am located not only in one of the most beautiful college towns in the world, but I am also located with the snazzy Juli Del Prete. She has a blog, too, that you may enjoy if you find snazz in mine. It's called http://you-knighted.blogspot.co.uk/. That's right, for the cheap price of ten minutes you can get 2 blogs in one. That's blogspot.com, everyone. 

After 2 days of classes, I now know these things:

1. Henry Godinez is so right. In so many ways, he is so right. 

2.  When Henry is 80, he will still look very young. John Gorrie is proof of this. 

3. I am literally drooling, hyper, suppressing-screams obsessed with Chekhov. 

3b. I actually did learn something in that horrible Slavic Chekhov class in the Winter.

3c. Off of 1 and 3b, thank you Northwestern. I don't think I realized I was learning, but good job.

4. It's hard to have 3c on my plate. Some people don't. Not in a mean way, but... thank you, people, students and faculty, at Northwestern.

5. THE WATER HERE SUCKS.

6. Even when in Oxford, I will still refuse to pay for Legally Blonde. 

6b. (Until it's $5. Chill out.)

7. When doing 3 Sisters, Cherry Orchard, and Midsummer Night's Dream, there are a couple of options: Irena, Ania, Hermia, amongst some more interesting stretches. It will always be Irena.

(We're still waiting on Midsummer.)

8. I HAVE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH CHEKHOV.

9. Deer are really peaceful.

10. People should not hunt deer.

11. I am embarrassed to have a deer head hanging on my wall in Ohio.

12. No matter where I go, people always immediately know I hate Ohio.

13. It's kind of a joke.

14. The slate for my "Ohio" monologue is always funny because of that.

15. Brits don't eat peanut butter?

16. Plums are in dining hall fruit baskets in England.

17.  A new goal in life is to try all of the Cadbury flavors.

18. Stupid people are funny, and it's OK to laugh at them.

19. I was told that by a teacher, so stop yelling at me.

20. Apparently playing Masha in The Seagull is a dream role of mine. I said it.

21. (Still on the Chekhov thing.)

22. The School House? Rocks. Juli, a wonderful boy in our group named Travis, and two lovely people named Maggie and Gabe are annexed in a secluded cloister of apartment-like little rooms off Longwall Street, apart from Magdalen College. It has been said that this is where they put the unwanted individuals all throughout history. We don't have a tea kettle. They did not change our towels. My chair has a hole in it. BUT, after much chagrin in procuring tea kettles for the School House, I found out we have a kitchen. There are about 100 beer and Pimms bottles in its recycling, but it is there. The School House rocks. (so little.)

23. There is a CLASSY classy but also slightly skanky club named COPA. As in Copa Cabana. We will see.

24. BADA secretly knows who trains together. They put all of the same-acting-class pairs in the same groups! Dawns are together, Sandras are together, and Cindys!! And then I'm randomly tagged on to the Cindy pair. Interesting.

25. Pimms is good. Put cucumbers in it! (?)

26. Always have a modern monologue ready to go.

27. NEVER pack for summer weather in England.

28. Alison Mahoney: Juli loves sheep, too.

I've really learned nothing else in my classes yet. This is all they teach us. Modern, Shakespeare, physical improv, and voice, Audition Techniques to come... eh, maybe I'll learn something soon. ;)

PS For any previous BADAs who care, here are my teachers.

Modern- John Gorrie

Shakes- Irina Brown (amazingly Russian)

Voice- Andrew Wade

Physical Theatre- Mick Barnfather, y'all

Audition Tech- Leo Wringer

Beautiful. 

Almost as beautiful as the deer.