Hump Day

The cost of groceries in downtown London is surprisingly affordable. I figured I’d pay at least $8 for a banana. It was nice to find that the bunch only cost me around $2. But may I suggest staying away from macaroni and cheese in a can. It’s about as good as it sounds.

No less than two emails were sent to the office today saying that there were after-New-Years cakes in the work area for all to enjoy. What is eerie is that a) even though they referred to two different desks with cakes on them, the emails were sent within 10 minutes of each other b) they both mention cakes specifically (even though the table I saw clearly had other non-cake items on it like grapes and cheese spreads) and c) a 2008 New Years dietary lapse was alluded to in both emails.

You wanna see something confusing and not at all user friendly? Take a gander at the London bus map.

Assumed is pronounced ‘ashoomed.’
When I hear this word I immediately stop listening to what is being said and think of shoes.

One thing I had forgotten about foreign subway walkway tunnels is the high concentration of bills that are posted on the walls. It’s just non-stop advertising down there – books, movies, banks, subway crime (ANTI-subway crime rather), musicals, Oyster cards (like T passes), etc. It’s definitely a good thing for people like me who are easily distracted. My favorite poster so far was the one of some new Joaquin Phoenix movie; someone (a female I presume) had kissed the glass over the poster right where Joaquin’s cheek was, leaving a perfect lipstick mark. Now THAT, my friends, is dedication to the OhMyGodJoaquinPhoenixIsJustSoDreamy cause. I’m not even sure I’d kiss a public poster of Pierce. And you know how much I adore him.

I think it’s an unwritten rule that if you are playing an instrument for money in the London Underground you are required to play a Beatles song. Except for that awesome guitar player who was singing the theme song to Scrubs. That made my day. (I’m no Superman.)

This week I was reminded how nice it is to take public transportation to work and have a set time each day for reading. Since I walk to work in Boston, I hadn’t had this privilege in quite some time. I actually kind of wish my commute were longer than it is. Kind of.

Tonight I went to the National Gallery. One wing was closed off and so it seemed a little small, but I still got to see some big names – Rembrandt, Da Vinci, Van Gogh, Manet, Monet, Gaugin, Seurat, Cezanne, Picasso, and Pisarro. The one Vermeer they had that I was excited about seeing was in the closed-off section. But the wing is only closed on Wednesdays (due to some beef they have with the government – the museum, not Vermeer) so I’ll just have to go back some other day to see it. There were a LOT of Jesus paintings. I kinda skimmed through those rooms. There’s only so many paintings of Jesus on a cross this little Jew can look at in an hour (this number is more than 0 and less than 2). Despite this, I had a great time walking around looking at the paintings, looking at people looking at the paintings, smiling at and making eye contact with the room guards who everyone else was oblivious to, listening to the saxophone quartet giving a concert, debating whether or not I should get that postcard of the Seurat painting, but most of all, leaning over the shoulders of the drawing class students trying to recreate paintings from the 18th century. I don’t know what it is about watching someone sketch that I find so comforting and stupor-inducing (stupor-inducing in the best possible way). I get that feeling when I watch someone sort papers or when someone gives me a back massage or when I had long hair and someone would brush/play with it. I get into a strange, somber zone where I could just be content there forever. I tried not to get too close to the students who were drawing because if I were them, I’d certainly be freaked out at this person just standing there staring. But I could have watched them until the museum closed. It was great. And a nice way to relax. Even if no one agrees with me.