Friday, May 11, 2012
Alright, it's time for me to start blogging again (and I was doing so well). I could make excuses. I could say that my last blog post about seeing Paul McCartney was so good, nothing could top it (or that the experience of brushing past Sir Paul was so out of this world, that I was rendered speechless). Unfortunately, neither of those excuses would be true. I suppose it'd be more accurate to say that the two L's: life and laziness, got in the way. But I'm back, and I vow to remain more diligent in my casual writing duties. With about a month left in year two of my living abroad, I can honestly say I've officially become spoiled. I now say things like: "When was the last time we were on vacation? A month ago? Oh god, it seems like forever," and, "I wish we could hang out this weekend but I'll be in Austria (or France, or Italy, or Spain, or choose-your-own-adventure-country). I'm also partial to expressions like, "This pizza isn't as good as the one we had in Sicily last week." Yeah, I know-- it's tough. A British customs officer, noting that I had an American passport but lived in the UK (she better note that as it is her job), once asked why I'd ever choose to live in England, and my response was, "So that when I had time off I could leave it." Obviously, I was kidding, but it turns out to also be quite true. While I've loved living in London, I've really done very little traveling throughout England, and any time I mention some of the observations I've made about "the English" to my English friends, they'll quickly remind me that London is not England, in the way that someone from rural Kansas might remind you that New York is not the United States. And the more I think about it, the more... I'm OK with it. I'm sure at some point I'll get out and mix it up with some 'real' Brits, but if I don't, I'm not sure it will really bother me. I mean, I suppose it's the same reason I've never been to Kansas-- I'm not Rick Flair (i.e. I'm not a Nature Boy). I don't like wool, fresh air makes me overly hungry, and walking/running/hiking/paddling are things you do when trying to escape some terrible threat (for the S&M readers, please don't misread my comments on paddling. You know what I meant). So England, if I never get to see much more of you, know that it's not you, it's me. Can we still be friends/mates?