(b)london

"BOY GEORGE WINKED AT ME."

Fri, 13 Jun 2008 00:20:47 +0100

“BOY GEORGE WINKED AT ME.”

- Me to everyone I know after Boy George winked at me and waved goodbye to me at a party

Paris Blogpost One:

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 16:04:00 +0100

I am not going to write about Paris. I will put up pictures and short captions later tonight. But I liked it too much to write about it in my thematic sardonic manner.

I am so Po-mo right now.

"This is Moby."

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 18:06:22 +0100

“This is Moby.”

- MOBY. ON THE PHONE. WITH (LITTLE OLD) ME.

Amendment: Moby is not as big of a tool over the phone (for ten minutes) as his media persona would suggest.

Iceland hates Polar bears. THEY ARE AN ENDANGERED SPECIES. STOP HATIN'.

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 15:40:59 +0100

Iceland hates Polar bears. THEY ARE AN ENDANGERED SPECIES. STOP HATIN'.

"Oh yeah. That happens from time to time. You’ll see them pulling them out of the Thames in big..."

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 15:23:00 +0100

“Oh yeah. That happens from time to time. You’ll see them pulling them out of the Thames in big fishnets.”

- Jan, who explained to me why the police finding a WWII bomb that hasn’t detonated is not as cool as I thought it was

Tomorrow. 5.45pm. I hope he doesn’t stand me up.

Wed, 04 Jun 2008 21:13:23 +0100

Tomorrow. 5.45pm. I hope he doesn’t stand me up.

Bring your teacher to work day

Wed, 04 Jun 2008 14:30:26 +0100

In high school, I never thought I would be as embarrassed to be seen with a middle-aged white guy than my dad at junior orientation because I was younger than everyone else and couldn’t drive myself there.

Little did I know, more horrifying than parent-teacher conferences and more embarrassing than holding an adult’s hand when crossing the street is your teacher coming to visit your boss.

Unlike kindergarten, when the thrill of letting your parent (Lindsey’s biggest fan!!) meet your teacher (she teaches me songs!!) was almost like meeting Aladdin at a Disney theme park, letting your teacher meet your boss and having to sit in on the occasion is… unfortunate to say the least.

And awkward.

The worst of it was the picture taking ordeal. Just like with my first grade macaroni art, I held my front-page story up in front up me with a picture. Unlike elementary school, however, my smile was out of the humiliated laughter of defeat instead of the proud toothless grin of masterpiece.

Things I have learned:

-My dad really wasn’t that embarrassing afterall.

Answers I still seek:

-Why?

Withstanding coworkers giggles,

Lindsey

SATC Revamped

Wed, 04 Jun 2008 14:00:00 +0100

Much to my surprise and general amazement, my editor informed me today that the four of us (girls) should dress up like different characters from Sex and the City and recreate a chick-flick night affair, complete with shoe shopping in posh Chelsea (which the company will not pick up the tab for) and a night of clubbing Cosmopolitans in hand (which the company will pick up the tab for).

They had already assigned parts. And though I never thought I’d be grateful for my huge blonde hair, it earned me the part of Carrie. That, and the fact that I’m American so they think it’s funny. Whatevz. LIVING THE DREAM.

We will be recreating posters released for the movie, and my boss wants me to dress as “Carrie” (read: ridiculously) as possible. And maybe photographs of me sitting in front of my computer screen looking lost in love. So basically, my life.

Things I have learned:

-Big is beautiful.

Answers I still seek:

-Am I in heaven!?!?!

Bring on the book deals,

Lindsey Bradshaw… Alexander?

This is the worst news I've heard all summer.

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 16:52:30 +0100

This is the worst news I've heard all summer.

Waiting for Moby; No brothel; GBDB (Or, Bald men, unpopular men and the women who sleep with them)

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 15:08:49 +0100

Moby cancelled yesterday’s interview for ‘personal reasons’. The fact that it is noon there when it is 5pm here makes me think that reason was typical intellectualite wannabe DJ (i.e. ‘I am hungover.’)

Supposedly, the bald vegan will make contact with me on Thursday. If this were not a vaguely famous person, I would be all, ‘Oh hell to the naw.’

But since it is a vaguely famous person, and I am a shallow name-dropper, I will sit in anticipation by the phone and pretend to ask him serious questions about his current album, which is not as good as “Play,” which he will never live up to again.

I want to ask him if he just wanted to do a ‘fun’ album because he knows he will never live up to “Play” again, but I feel like that would not be appreciated, or at least not very cordial.

Also, last night, no brothel. But the reporter and even the creepy photog, who has a special place in his heart for the women of the night, said I missed nothing. Prostitution is legal in England, so since they were all there willingly, nothin’ doin’ on the news front. Or the exciting front. And no mention of transvestite Amy Winehouse lookalikes. So Spamalot was a good decision.

This morning I woke up at the crack of dawn and got lost in torrential rain London nowhere close to the scenic canal in Paddington where I needed to be, all to see Gordon Brown answer one question he had prepared a statement for. Because of my worthless efforts and the blisters on my feet from Prime Minister-appropriate heels, I have dubbed Brown GBDB. The first two letters are initials. The second two are an acronym.

My study abroad experience is bringing me to new heights in maturity.

Things I have learned:

-There is one nice person in London who gives excellent directions and will walk you to your destination without being creepy.

-Normally all of these qualities are mutually exclusive.

-Cobblestone + rain + miles + heels - youth = Still sucks.

Answers I still seek:

-Why is the author of Paddington Bear trying to make him political?

-Will I seem creepy at home when I stroll up to lost-looking people and drop my Louisvillian knowledge?

-When will I learn about heels?

Hobbling off,

Lindsey

"Lindsey, do you know Moby?… Look at your face. Do you want to interview him at..."

Mon, 02 Jun 2008 10:50:37 +0100

“Lindsey, do you know Moby?… Look at your face. Do you want to interview him at 5 o’clock today?”

- Lorraine, just before I found out… I GET TO INTERVIEW MOBY.

Take the Castles; America's got my fairytale.

Mon, 02 Jun 2008 00:15:27 +0100

Yesterday, I went to see Canterbury Cathedral and Leeds Castle. Big whoop.

Here is the most cathartic experience I’ve had whilst in London.

That’s right. I love Sex and the City. I wish I were Carrie Bradshaw. I will not spoil the movie for anyone, but I am so happy for so many reasons right now.

Much like the Les Mis/Harry Potter post, sad + happy = magic.

First half: I bawled like a baby who just lost their glow worm.

Second half: I fell for every ridiculous line and bawled again when I saw the shoe collection of Carrie Bradshaw, ‘journalist’. What I have learned from this movie is the key to my livelihood (read shoes, Manhattan apartment, ultimate everything) = book deals.

What this means is, Sex and the City was not only cathartic, but educational. It made me want to be a writer MORE, because writers get to run around in Manolo Blahniks and fall in love with Big and get cosmos with the girls and then write about it on my MacBook Air.

This, unlike the old British buildings (where Henry fell in and out of love with Catherine of Aragon, who he later had beheaded), this gives me renewed faith in the future of consumerism (designer bags! Mercedes Benz), capitalism (rich men = amazing penthouses for life!), and the American way (dream big little girl and if the shoe fits, buy it!).

Sarah Jessica Parker is more patriotic than Lee Greenwood, and she made me feel so much less guilty about it to boot.

Also, she bought a poor girl from the Midwest a Louis Vuitton. This makes her generous with her wealth.

So Sex and the City was educational, cathartic, and moral.

Okay, I’m stopping now.

Things I have learned:

-I will probably regret this blog post.

-THINGS I CANNOT TELL YOU. BECAUSE IT WOULD SPOIL THE MOVIE.

Answers I still seek:

-How many quizzes can I take to prove I’m a fictional character in the next hour?

-When will the bootlegs be online?!

Sighhhh in the city,

Lindsey

"That’s not football anyway. That’s Ah-mEHr-ican football. Why don’t they just call..."

Fri, 30 May 2008 19:30:00 +0100

“That’s not football anyway. That’s Ah-mEHr-ican football. Why don’t they just call it American football?”

- Culturally insensitive kid talking to his mother about American printmaker Joseph Vogel’s “Football” in front of a genuine, Super Bowl-watching, Orange Bowl-rooting American

Great Expectations met

Fri, 30 May 2008 19:24:29 +0100

Who thought I’d learn to love American art whilst in England?

Okay, well, not exactly learn to, but, you know, remember that I did in the first place.

But, I did find out I really like George Bellows. And I only found out about him about 80-90 years after everyone else. He was a satirist (shocking).

Also today I found time to finish my book in a little deli near the British Museum. I probably sat in there reading for a good hour and a half. On the walk back to the Underground, I was like, ‘I should take a picture of that place. Besides the extra money I paid to eat there, it was good to me.’ When trying to get the epic shot, I realized there was a plaque.

The place where I had just been trying to innocently read my book used to be where Charles Dickens hung out and his friend/ relative lived. AND I READ A BOOK THERE.

Basically this means that I have somehow the forces of Dickens have been transferred through Dave Eggers into me. Only hopefully less wordy powers I am given.

Things I have learned:

-British people don’t know whether to walk on the left or the right. This is because they drive on the left, but it defies nature.

Answers I still seek:

-I’ve been here for a month?!

Live from the BBC,

Lindsey

Update: Brothel Raid

Thu, 29 May 2008 14:03:00 +0100

I never thought I’d live to see the day that I invaded a brothel (I might not yet, I still have to make it to Monday).

I am going with a senior reporter and the creepiest photographer, Rorye, I have ever met, along with some of my closest police friends, to raid a brothel. Hopefully there will be drugs (and where there are drugs, there is Amy Winehouse… my dream!) so we can bring dogs as well. I miss dogs.

Also, I get to wear either a stab-proof or bullet-proof vest. (How will I choose?!)

What I’m most scared about is the potential ride to the police station with Rorye.

I feel like the two guys are much more excited for this assignment than I am. I just really want to meet Amy.

Things I have learned:

-Fudgesicles always taste good in the summer even if it is only 60 degrees (Farenheit).

Answers I still seek:

-Brothel raid?

Keeping my clothes on,

Lindsey

This is me in front of the Channel 4 station. This is the cool...

Thu, 29 May 2008 01:17:05 +0100

This is me in front of the Channel 4 station. This is the cool public service broadcast station (PSB, not PBS- they are dyslexic). I am looking like a total nerd, not because I am one. Just because sometimes that look is appropriate. Also, it’s quite popular in London. That look. Okay done.

I survived Gloria Gaynor*-style

Thu, 29 May 2008 00:52:20 +0100

After meeting a Carribbean woman wearing a pink cowboy hat with sequins, dodging a certainly unfortunate ride on the back of a motorcycle, a drug dealer, and several ‘dodgy’ men, I stepped onto the Bakerloo platform at Willesden Junction. This means that I did not get fatally shot.

I actually didn’t get shot at all. And because I wore my bullet proof vest, I deflected any and all flesh wounds as well.

Soon, I will stop wearing this stab vest- I mean bullet proof- I mean both. And then I will have street cred. Like when I go on a drug raid or dog raid with the police in the coming weeks. This is like a journalistic ‘COPS’ experience. Also, there will be dogs, which I love.

Things I have learned:

-I am extremely optimistic: a drug bust turns into playing with cute puppies.

Answers I still seek:

-How did I convince my boss to let me leave three hours early tomorrow if I promised to review a Jackson Pollock-Edward Hopper exhibition?^

Goot nacht,

Lindsey

*I mention Gloria Gaynor because of the discotheque connection.

^I actually know why this is. Much like I can’t explain why Britain still has a monarchy, they can’t explain the American Jackson Pollock or the American Hopper. So they pawned it off on me, the real McCoy, so I can either fall on my face or bring them a truly inspired American piece.#

#Heck if I care, I get to leave work early and go see art for free. Duped those silly English twats again! (If you are keeping score, that is Lindsey: 2, London: 184739. I’m catching up.)

Out of the Office, into the World

Wed, 28 May 2008 15:11:19 +0100

Finally. Out of the office. One interview at a convenience store this morning and now in the scary ghetto at a cultural centre (or -er for non ex-pats). In fact, when giving me directions, someone said, ‘Oh, you know. Where that shooting was a couple weeks ago.’

Brilliant. First and last time out.

If I make it back, they are sending me on police raids and tomorrow to an American art show.

Things I have learned:

-They hate Keira Knightley here. They call her Ikea Knightley.

Answers I still seek:

-Breakfast at Tiffany’s: a chick flick? Discuss.

Goodbye forever,

Lindsey

From Van Gogh to Kylie Minogue

Sun, 25 May 2008 22:51:53 +0100

When I woke up this morning, it was raining. So I went back to bed. When I woke up again, it was still raining.

In London, going back to bed does not make the rain disappear.

So, I made the executive decision to get out of bed. And that’s what great Americans do- make great executive decisions.

A big group of us went to the National Gallery in trafalgar Square. It was here that I saw Rembrandts, Renoirs, Van Goghs, Monets, Manets, and Degas(es). I’ve never seen so many names that have affected art so much jumbled into the same rooms together. And we only went to about 10 rooms.

We also saw this amazing work of Alison Watt. Ms Watt paints white sheets. Now that may sound boring or even so New Age it makes you want to die a little inside, but it was actually really moving art. The colors of whites and greys that she used to play with to show how class fabric can be were really impressive.

After I spent $11 on a sandwich and Coke for lunch, we mosied on over to the Victoria Albert Museum. This is where I saw too much to mention.

I really wanted to go because of an exhibit displaying a large collection of The Supremes dresses, which, let’s face it, for any girl interested in 60s fashion are a must.

Once I bought my ticket for the exhibition, I had about 15 minutes to kill, so I decided to stay close by. I walked to the room across the hall. It was full of Raphael cartoons. And no, I don’t mean the teenage mutant ninja turtle. It was really cool, so I started taking pictures, like in every other gallery.

Until…

A curator came up, tapped me on the shoulder and politely informed me this is the only gallery in the museum I can’t take pictures in because the Queen owns those paintings and he’s really sorry but it’s just one of her rules.

I committed high treason today. Please pray for me; I may be hanged. They crazy up in here.

I won’t go into how much I loved the fashion or Supreme sections, because basically the only people who I know read this are my dad, my uncle, Natalie and occasionally Piyush, all of whom I would bore with the gory details.

When I finally found Natalie, it was in a room full of secrets hanging from the ceiling of VAM patrons and also miniature sets constructed for plays in London.

Last but not least, we ran into a reconstruction of Kylie Minogue’s dressing room with a bunch of her clothes.

This day was awesome.

We followed it up with a night at The Eagle, sipping strawberry beer (which is gross) and chatting it up.

Things I have learned:

-Walk The Line is better than anything on British television.

Answers I still seek:

-Will I wake up early a third day in a row to actually be productive?

Keeping it artsy and classy,

Lindsey

The Kentucky of England

Sun, 25 May 2008 17:40:00 +0100

Yesterday we went to visit one of Jane Austen’s houses. While I am not the biggest Jane Austen fan there ever was, and much prefer learning about her love life, or James McAvoy*, getting out of the city and getting to see the countryside was the best idea I’ve participated in for a long time.

Alton and Chawton Village, like south central KY, harken back to slower life with yards and flowers and yes, even trees. Because Katie was so afraid we were perpetually lost, we asked for directions. And just like back home, they would give them to you kindly and using silly landmarks that any native would know. Country mice are nicer than city mice. This seemed especially true after our last Londoner encounter was with the misery of a woman who worked the ticket booth. She literally said she was having to “use (her) brain” and that is why she was being so upset. Sorry lady. Us good ole Americans use that sense of ingenuity everyday. Take a look at Henry Ford, or, I hate to harp on it, but Forrest Gump, American hero.

And although I’ve never seen a thatch-roof house in the good ole bluegrass state, I have seen both of my great-grandparents’ houses in Marrowbone and Summershade. And these aren’t at all close to 1800s technology, but they are simpler than your average modern dwelling.

Alton nor Chawton had horses, but we did see sheep, which are like England’s horses.

Things I have learned:

-I do not have asthma, London air is just smoggy.

Answers I still seek:

-Will I get to pet a sheep in the next five weeks?

I love you all most ardently,

Lindsey

You can thank me later.