Yesterday, my mother burst into my room and said 'what I'm about to tell you is going to change your life'. Well, the last time she said that to me, the Twin Towers were about to collapse. Fortunately, it was much, much, much less horrific than that, but it was certainly life changing material.
Apparently, our little community college is teaming up with our local university to study abroad. These kinds of things happen all the time, but this trip was to study Shakespeare in London. Shakespeare? In London? Preposterous! These sorts of things only happen in chick flicks and dime store novellas. It was billed to me as a three week course, filled with all sorts of drivel about plays in the Globe Theater, and general British awesomeness.
I was immediately on the horn, contacting the professor in charge of the trip, and rearranging schedules to be able to go on this little jolly. I was already planning on whether I should get some fancy arch supports for my new pixie boots (because, apparently, the British hate when tourists from America wear tennis shoes; that, and it makes you a target for muggings, and other acts of violent crimes), and wondering how my dog would react when I left home and didn't come back for a while. I was planning on filling the free days with train rides to Liverpool and Holmfirth, and wondering if my niece would rather have a cheesy souvenir with the Queen on it, or something more serious, like a pair of their fantastic socks. I was plotting how to spend the free evenings; find the next indie Britpop band in some grungy little pub, or take a detour to the Hen and Chick, where the up and coming comedy acts perform.
I started to wonder what time of day Graham Norton taped, and how difficult getting tickets for that might be.
I was actually excited about getting a plowman's lunch and a black velvet at some little pub somewhere... maybe in Camden, if I were brave enough to venture out there.
Maybe I could even break away for an hour and find Cavendish Avenue. You never know who you'll find strolling the street down there.
Not just the free days and extra-curricular fun, but to study Shakespeare in London, for the love of all that's good and cheesy! That's something you tell your children in twenty years, and they think you're cool, and did something with your youth besides read My Life Is Average and drink tea out of various UK-related mugs and cups.
Perhaps, the more you read, the more you notice I'm using the past tense.
I got a reply to my inquiry very quickly, with a Google document attached; itinerary and pricing. Come to find that, yes, it was a three week course, but only ten days would be spent in London/Stratford-Upon-Avon, with a single free day. The other nine days would be spent watching plays. (And, may I say, how is going to see a play "studying" Shakespeare? I think that would classify as "experiencing" Shakespeare. It would be a helluva lot cheaper to go to Shakespeare in the Park, and it's the same effect.) The further into the roster I got, and looked at exactly how much they were charging for tuition, the more I began to realize that you just weren't getting enough for the money to make coming up with said money worth while.
I know that, if I said 'hey, let's do this thing!', my family would do whatever it took to get me there; but, for what the group isn't going to do while they're there, I don't think it's something I would consider participating in.
The professor would most likely not appreciate if he took a headcount, and found I was missing. If pressed, one of the other participants would have to confess that they heard me break out of the hotel screaming "I'VE GOT THE MAGIC PLASTIC! YORKSHIRE, HERE I COME!", and they didn't see me again for a couple of days.
The Sceptred Isle set in the Silver Sea will just have to wait a few more years.
And, somehow, I'm quite OK with that.
I must admit, though, as I read that Stratford-Upon-Avon would be included on the trip, I wondered if I could break away from the group long enough to find Vada Studios; you know, maybe take a stroll past it, just for funsies.
Here's a little ditty recorded there...
You'll notice that the necks of their guitars are always in view; you can see the body and the fretboard, therefore, you can see the chord changes. It's almost like someone listened to me!
So, why did I do a post about this if I wasn't going to do it?
It was still an exciting prospect!
Reginald Kitty is not amused.
Oh, and by the way, this was my tea mug today...
Three bags of Barry's Gold Blend in an eight cup pot. In a mug this size, three Splendas, and just enough milk to keep from seeing the bottom of the cup. It'll peel the enamel right off your teeth, but it's ever-so-loverly.
...and my favorite My Life Is Average story of the day:
Today I saw a story on a website about a English class that had to punctuate this sentance, "A woman without her man would be nothing." The boys punctuated it like this, "A woman, without her man, would be nothing." The girls punctuated it like this, "A woman: without her, man would be nothing." The power of punctuation. MLIA
I find it entertaining that they understand the power of punctuation, yet misspelled 'sentence'. They also forgot that 'an', not 'a', comes before any word beginning with a vowel.
Actually, looking carefully at how they punctuated their story, after the misspelled 'sentence', it would have been more punctually correct to put a colon between 'sentence' and the sentence to be punctuated; this holds true for the gender comparisons, as well. (Forgive me, I was in advanced English in high school.)
Personally, I think this makes me cool enough for now.
Reginald Kitty is still not amused.
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