Sunday, August 31, 2014

London - 8/10/14

Sooooo... there was a hurricane. You know.  As happens.  

In the middle of the night, the heavens opened up and the gods decided to do their best to drown the entire city in our beds.  I mean, buckets.  Cats.  Dogs.  Sheets.  You name the metaphor, it was falling out of the sky.  Upon waking, it was still going without an interval in sight.

There was a moment of truth as I sat there in my teeny little kitchen that morning.  I had groundling tickets at The Globe to go see a sold out show of Anthony and Cleopatra with my classmates.  We had been planning this for weeks.  THIS was supposed to be The Big Field Trip with this gang of people I loved so much.  And the weather was the pits.  I sat there, watching the skies... waiting... just waiting for some sign.  But as the drop dead deadline for when I needed to catch the train came and went and the water was still falling, I had to come to terms with the fact I am old.  And standing in the rain for three-and-a-half hours to watch theater, no matter how much I wanted to watch the show with people I wanted to hang out with, was just not in the cards.  The Fates were against me.  How Shakespearean.

And of course, a 1/2 hour later, the rain absolutely stopped.  *shakes fist at sky*

So, I decided to make the best of the situation and ride my train one stop north to the Camden Locks to see what all the fuss was about.  Figured if this was merely the eye of the storm (and surprise!  It was!) I could at least swim back to my dorm.

I emerged from the Tube station and I swear to god, it was like the 2000s never happened.  Here was the Land of the Late-90's that time forgot!  This was my home in the East Village!  This was Friday nights in NYC!  THIS!  And I had to go to London to find it.


I wandered down the street, peering in at all the cheap (and not so cheap) street fashion, the slimy jewelry tables, the music shops, the... well, every shop that you might want at 2AM when you've had one pint too many and find yourself deciding now would be the perfect time to buy matching rose colored sunglasses and a $60 "sterling silver" rings with your BFFs (I still have those rose colored glasses).  It was freedom and fashion statements and grit!  And I loved it.

The locks were in full swing with several boats traveling upriver.  If only they came about 1/2 hour later, the water would have risen that river itself.  But it was great fun watching the locks raise and lower, bringing the barges on their way.


I crossed the bridge and started browsing the stalls.  Like Stockholm-syndrome, suddenly I NEEDED that crocheted lace overshirt!  I NEEDED that bad smelling veggie dyed wall blanket with the fairies and trees on it.  It all made sense!  It was so right!  What was I doing with these meaningless bits of paper in my pocket when I could exchange them for street crap!  FILL ME UP WITH THE CRAP!


The rain started coming back and I stepped into one of the covered shopping halls where there was a beautifully carved staircase.


The entire place whispered seductively, "You need these bad bootleg CDs... these touristy iPhone covers... this leather purse shaped like a hedgehog with metal spikes..."  A small Asian woman was able to talk me into buying a rolling suitcase with Big Ben and a badly printed rose on it.  You know.  Because what I needed in my life was something which really screamed, "I'm a tourist!"

So, I found myself now walking around Camden Locks with a suitcase.  And two fairy themed wall blankets, because there was a sale, and I justified that I'd use them on my table at a booksigning (note: I will not be putting these things anywhere near any of my books at any booksigning every in the history of mankind).  And a crocheted overshirt that I've worn way too many times for someone my age.  But there was water all over the ground, so now I had to carry this suitcase with all these items inside.  But I was really hungry and all I had back at  my dorm room was some cheese, so I decided it would be a great time to get some curry.


Which was INCREDIBLE.  OH. MY. GAWD! the food there was great.  I don't even want to know what they put in it.  It was amazing.  Every food you could ever want in your entire life was being cooked up in the completely hygienic, totally sanitary great outdoors of Camden Locks.

But now I'm eating this metal tray full of curry with a suitcase balanced on my feet with a purse over my arm and it is just getting to the point of, "Not fun."  So, I decide it is time to get moseying.  Except the rain comes POURING down again, and I have to hightail it into another sweltering, sticky indoor market and suddenly decide it makes PERFECT SENSE for me to purchase some "sterling silver" street jewelry with "real" mother of pearl and marquisette.


I don't even care what you say.  I freakin' love this ring.  It cost me a bajillion dollars and I will wear it TO MY GRAVE!  Or until the metal causes an allergic reaction and my finger falls off from the gangrene.

As I was talking to the girl at the booth, she asked me where I was from and I said, "Seattle" and she said, "Oh!  Nirvana!  And like... grunge!"  And was like, "Pearl Jam!"  And she cocks her head and looks at me all confused and asks, "You like grunge, too?"  Child, I was there when grunge was born.  Get off my damn lawn!  And leave that flannel shirt you're wearing "ironically".

So, the rain FINALLY stopped.  Again.  And I made another mad dash towards the Tube station, and happened across this alleyway with this INCREDIBLE graffiti art.



Mine you, I am not a fan of the graffiti.  I lived through the 80s already.  I shouldn't have to do it again.  Graffiti, to me, is like musical theater people in high school who felt the need to sing in your face in the hopes you'd smile and say, "Wow!  You're so talented!" as opposed to, "I just need to get to my locker..."  Get yourself an art gallery and stop trying to force your crappy talent on people.  But this graffiti?  I'm down with this.

I continued on and discovered the red-headed stepchild of Camden Locks.  The Locks that no one talks about.  The locks that they pretend aren't there.  The REAL locks.


Not really.  I'm just making stuff up.  But it amused me that there were people lined three deep to look at those other locks and this one?  I was all by myself.

I kept going... and discovered the closest Tube station was closed and I had a six minute walk upstream in front of me.  So, I'm walking along, and suddenly I happen up this shoe shop.  I don't think I can begin to describe this shoe shop.  It was just... well.  You should click through.  You think you've seen everything, and then you walk into a place like Irregular Choice and realize that you have not, indeed, seen everything.

And you want to know the best part about being a grown up?  The best part about leaving those days in the 90s behind and growing in to the woman I am today?  I can buy whatever the heck I want.  Even if it is shoes with a four-inch plastic deer holding up the heel.



THIS, my friends, is what it is all about.

And so I took my deer-heels and, with an elegant ringed hand, pulled my rolling suitcase behind me as I waded my way through a hurricane onwards to my little dorm room and all the cheese that waited for me. 

Saturday, August 30, 2014

Building Madness

As some of you may (...or may not...) know, I have been involved with theatre for over 25-years.  I've been working on a project and Monday, September 8th marks the first step in what I'm sure will be a very long, but exciting, journey.

I have written a full-length, 1930s screwball comedy called Building Madness.  The kind people at the Eclectic Theater in Seattle are lending their time and talents to read it out loud and I would love to have you there!  Come for a free night out!  The play is about an hour and a half long.  And then stay afterwards for a brief Q&A with yours truly where I'll be picking your brain to find out what YOU thought.  Your feedback and input will help to shape the next stage (pun intended) of this new play.

1214 10th Ave 
Seattle, WA 98122

7:30PM
Monday, September 8, 2014

Staged Reading of
Building Madness
by Kate Danley

Entry is FREE!


Tuesday, August 26, 2014

London - 8/9/14

I woke up Saturday morning with the whole weekend spread before me.  I spent a bit of time looking at my calendar, realizing that my days here in London are drawing to a close.  Two weeks more.  Funny how when I first began traveling here, I had three days, and those seemed like they contained a lifetime.  Now, three weeks have passed, and the remaining two weeks already seem to be flying past my eyes.

One of those funny adjustments I have to make here, akin to dodging left instead of right, is that the calendar goes from Monday to Sunday, instead of Sunday to Saturday.  I realized... once again... I had written down the wrong item on the wrong day of the week.  There was a tour of the Brunel Tunnel led by London Walks that I was fascinated with.  And it was on Saturday, not Sunday.  So, I threw on some clothes and dashed out the door to make the 10:45AM departure.

Seems I wasn't the only one out and about Saturday morning.  As part of a really cool event, London shut down several of their major roads and opened them up to bicyclists.  Seemed like the entire town was out to view the city at a slower pace on such a bright, blue day.



Despite the peopled frenzy, I found the tour group, we managed to cross the street, and board the boat for a cruise down the Thames.



 Brunel was this brilliant engineer who built several of the bridges in London, including a rather famous one you've probably seen in a picture or two.

(picture from a previous visit.  I was so busy listening, I forgot to take pictures)

Tower Bridge was considered quite the eyesore by the Victorians.  It was both masonry and ironwork, which was just not the way things were done.  But his design was so brilliant, this little drawbridge has been raising and lowering its bridge over 1000 times a year since it was built and it still works.  We were informed that it costs nothing to have the bridge raised, you just have to let the quartermaster know your boat will be coming through and he'll put you on the schedule.

We continued on down the Thames past the Tower proper and got a fish eye view of the Traitors Gate, where Anne Boleyn herself was rowed through so as not to make a spectacle on the street, before she was imprisoned and then became about a head shorter.


We disembarked down by this innocuous stack of logs tucked back on a quiet street by some flats.  Not a car driving on the streets.  A single jogger ran by.  Otherwise, the neighborhood was completely deserted as our tourguide took the stage.



This was where Brunel's Leviathan was built.  The very first ocean liner.  Bigger than any ship ever built before.  Capable of sailing all the way to Australia without refueling.  And it was an utter disaster.

  

 A massive launch party was organized with press and celebrities, and the boat wouldn't budge from the launch.  It was touted in the papers as the first Waterphobic Ship.  A few days later, it was finally pushed off its skids, but one of the braces broke and impaled one of the workers.  A boiler exploded on the maiden voyage, killing the crew.  But this was an important boat.  It was the boat which laid the transatlantic cable.  But Brunel would never know of this success. He died shortly after her disastrous launch, thinking himself and this last project a complete failure.

We continued walking along the Thames towards Greenwich.



This was the territory of pirates and privateers and the men and women who controlled them.  We saw the steps where Sir Francis Drake threw down his cloak for Queen Elizabeth so that she wouldn't step in a puddle of muck.  We saw where pirates were placed into cages and left to drown as the tide came in.  We were also directed towards the original "Shit's Creek", a tributary of the Thames where all of the public toilets deposited their *cough* deposits and a spot you most definitely did not want to be without a paddle.


But where we were headed was below ground to Brunel's crowning glory...


 Brunel built a tunnel.  A tunnel beneath the Thames.



Brunel's methods building this tunnel paved the way, so to speak, for every subway system on the globe.  At first this tunnel was a pedestrian walk-thru.  People could pay a penny to walk across a bridge or a penny to walk through the tunnel to get across the Thames.  To entice people to the tunnel, little shops were placed in arched doorways, so you could walk and shop.  It was quite the tourist attraction and Brunel tunnel souvenirs were all the rage.

  

Unfortunately, some of the more unsavory types started moving in, so in order to combat this invading force, the tunnels became carnival centers and party central.  They brought in sword swallowers and tightrope walkers and jugglers.  Everyone was headed down into the tunnels!  Eventually, though, it was purchased by the rail system and VOILA!  The birth of the Underground!

We headed topside and made our way towards the Brunel Museum, pausing for a moment to admire a dismissable mural on one of the walls.


A mural of a train, right?  No big deal?  But this is Brunel's train.  He engineered his trains so that the cars fit between the wheels (as opposed to what we have now, which is trains sitting on top of the wheels).  It was a wide gauge track and provided greater stability and smoothness of ride.  Unfortunately, he had a rival who managed to lay the narrow gauge track across England, and upon Brunel's death, tore up the wide gauge track, destroying Brunel's train system.

(a picture of Brunel and some other passengers)

We continued our walk on down to the Brunel Museum.



We paused by a small brick outcropping.  To the unknown eye, it looked like just some utility access, perhaps to a water meter or a fuse box or a backed up sewer.  But this was not so.


This was the entrance to Brunel's sunken theater.  We had to climb up the stairs, and then around a few metal toe-holds in the wall.  Then crouch through a tiny 4 meter opening...


 Before we emerged into the theater...



Accessible by catwalk.




This was Brunel's first project.  He created this gigantic concrete, circular theater (1/2 the circumference of the the Globe) and then gradually sunk it into the ground.  This was where the engineering technology was developed to build a structure above ground and then sink it below, technology still being used today.   It served as a theater until it the steam trains started running underground.

That sort of slanted mark around the edge was where the wooden stairs used to be.  With a steam train running below this theater, the wooden stairs didn't seem like such a good idea and were torn out.

This space has been closed for over 150 years.  As the Underground changed its trains over to clean technology, the danger of being burned alive by the steam was eliminated and the Brunel Museum was able to reclaim this theater.  It was opened this year and is now a space for dance parties and lively fun.  We were some of the first people to have access to this space in 150 years.

What is sort of remarkable (aside from being an engineering feat) about this sunken theater was that it flooded several times during the process, killing six workers.  But during one of the floods, while four men died, one man was saved.  The man who was saved was Brunel.  If he had drowned that day, we would not have Tower Bridge, the transatlantic cable, or subways.  It all came down to one guy.

I stayed for a little while longer to tour the museum, and then hopped onto the The Overground (it is like the Underground... except above ground...) when I noticed that one of the places on my "Must See" list was just a few stops away.



The Ministry of Stories is an organization which supports young writers.  They run this fun storefront filled with canned "Chills" and "Night Terrors".  But behind the walls is a hidden writers room, where kids can come for classes and guidance, a cause which is dear to  my heart.

(it reads "Only One Giant in the Shop at a Time", "Beans: Magic or Otherwise are not accepted as Payment", "Angry Mobs Please Douse your Torches before Entering the Shop")

("Customers are Politely Requested to Refrain from Eating the Staff"  "Nocturnal Opening by Appointment for Vampire Customers Only")

As I went in, I was informed that all of the objects on the top shelf were for monsters only, but all other items were available for purchase.  I settled on two cans of Escalating Panic and the Collywobbles.


I had a lovely chat with the shop keepers, letting them know how much I appreciated their mission and how my own writing journey began when I was in the 4th grade, before I headed out and discovered there was a street fair going on.


I paused at several of the tables.  Most of them were filled with Dollar Store merchandise and sweatshop clothes.  But then I happened upon this little table filled with random antiques.  Most of the items were just the junk you'd find left over at an estate sale.  But then I spotted a book.  It was a second edition of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens with all of the original plates drawn by Arthur Rackham.


The book itself was worn.  It was kept in the house of a heavy smoker and the pages are stained with tobacco spots.  But the illustrations were pristine and gorgeous.  I hemmed and hawed, and then the book opened up to a picture of Queen Mab...


...and I knew it had to come hope with me.

So me and my new book boarded the Overground (and then the Underground) back to the dorm room, my brain overflowing with all of the images of the day.  But the day wasn't over yet!  Oh no!  Because I had tickets for the Open Air Theater production of Porgy and Bess.

I stepped out of my dorm and walked the few short blocks to Regent's Park.  What a gorgeous place is Regent's Park.



I am constantly struck during my time in England by the kindness which is infused into the culture.  After having centuries of brutality (heads on spikes and workhouses), it is as if society has made a conscious choice to try and ease the suffering of its people however possible, even if it is to put out some beautiful chairs, free for use, for anyone in the park who might want to use them.


Can you imagine chairs like these in NYC's Central Park?  They would be vandalized and stolen within twenty minutes, covered in graffiti, slashed with razors for fun, stolen and sold out of the back of a van.  Or at least only available for rent and profit under the unwatchful eye of some bored teenager.  England seems a land of grown-ups, people who can be trusted to take care of free chairs.  Is it that the poor are taken care of as part of national policy and so desperation to steal is not a part of the underlying culture?  Is it the lack of youth worship and idolization of the 18-year-old fratboy brain and its destructiveness?  I don't know.  But whatever the root cause, these chairs this night seemed a profound statement of British society, a kindness that I wish we had more of in America.  Why is it that we can't have nice things?

My brain ruminating over all these thoughts, I made my way to the Open Air Theater, a gorgeous outdoor theater in one corner of the park.  There were twinkle lights and tasty treats to enjoy before the show.



And don't tell anyone, but I snuck a picture of the stage from a side aisle.


The production of Porgy and Bess was astounding.  Porgy and Bess is one of those shows that I always thought that I saw, but it turns out I never did.  The songs are such a part of our culture: Summertime and the livin's eeeeaaaasy...  But this musical is a masterwork.  The rhythm changes.  The musical jumps.  It is a monster of a score.  I would imagine a singer's voice being absolutely wrecked by the demands.  But this crew sang and danced their way up this Mt. Everest of notes.  It was a cold night, so I bought a woolen blanket to wrap myself in at the interval.  Upon getting home, I learned an unfortunate truth that one should not purchase tartan in the dark.  It is literally the ugliest blanket I have ever seen in my life.  Who thought lime green threads should go with navy blue?   But I love it.  Because it reminds me of sitting there in the cold, eating my clotted cream fudge, astounded by the talent in front of me to that delicious final note, and the crisp night air as I walked home through the busy streets of a city wide awake.