Tales from the Big Smoke

Ugh. After further perusal, I realize the title of this post sounds like the rejected name for a children's book, or some gruesome HBO series about murder! Yeesh. Oh well. Unless I think of something better, it stays. I didn't want this entry to contain the phrases "anglophilia" or "London Calling" or any of that other shit that's been done to death.

With the Olympic games upon us in 9 days (I'M SO EXCITED! I'M SO FREAKING EXCITED!) I can't wait to watch swimming (Ryan Lochte!) track, and volleyball the most. The eyes of the world are once again on London, the city where (I think) the brightest and most interesting parts of culture are being created daily. As a New Yorker, I've got to say, London's got a better deal going on. Call me (a traitor), maybe.

First of all, before I delve into personal stories, I need to talk about the Olympics briefly. I hear the city is buzzing now. I would give anything to be there. Formerly dodgy parts of town have been completely made over, often to the detriment of the lower income people who live(d) there. It's very interesting and thought provoking - is it good the city has been given a facelift? Who really benefits, once the games are over? It'll be interesting to see.

Even more important than that are these two questions:
1.) Who designed the fucking Olympic mascots?!?! These are the stuff nightmares are made of! Why would I be excited about coming to an event hosted by two giant, terrifying cyclops?! Why can't we just have some kind of friendly English bear, in the style of Paddington? Or even a cute little crafty fox? Not this anime clusterfuck of fear.

2.) Who designed the Olympic logo??!? This is almost as bad as the mascots. For a city with remarkable contributions to art and architecture, these Olympics seem to be kind of shameful in terms of public relations and design. I mean look at this. It's no inkblot test, but when I look at it, I see a cubist rendition of Lisa Simpson performing *ahem* inappropriate acts. Do you see it? It's like a lowbrow Magic Eye!

Ta-Da. Now I ruined the logo for you too.

I love the United Kingdom, and the years spent there were hands down the happiest I have ever been. So many things about the state of living there were well-suited to me. In London, you can keep all the best aspects of city living - museums, pubs, culture, theatre, beautiful architecture, mass transit- and still enjoy a less hectic pace of life. I never felt as rushed there as I do in New York. There was time to stop and smell the gorgeous English roses.

My favorite part of town was, and still remains the South Bank. Many, many happy hours were spent wandering up and down the waterfront, enjoying the view, and just thinking. I graduated down here, got drunk with my mom and my closest friends here, ate the best food in the world, saw the most incredible plays I've ever seen, and been on the best first date of my life. Seriously. An evening of good conversation and beers, capped off with kissing a ridiculously attractive guy under trees strung with lights, whilst looking out at this view?!? It was fantastic.

What does the area have that makes it so great? Where do I start?
*Water view! Houses of Parliament! Big Ben! Bridges! It's an architectural feast for the eyes
*The path - good for exercise, slow moseys, or romantic strolls
*The National Theatre - producing the best shows I've ever seen. Play Without Words remains a production that changed my life forever. The best, most creative and well-done stuff is coming out of here. Also inside? The National Bookshop, a must for any theatre lover looking to track down the newest and greatest manuscripts for reading. Spent hours there. Dying to go back.
*The British Film Institute (BFI). Not only a remarkable source for both mainstream and off-the-beaten-path cinema, but there's a bar and cafe inside with delicious food and drink. A favorite hang out spot with friends, or to write.
*THE GLOBE THEATRE. Speaks for itself!
*Wagamama....whatever. Don't judge me. It's my favorite.

London meant everything. The place itself is like pure comfort for me. It's the only place that I ever feel like I've come home, and I can never get enough.

Why am I not there now? The explanation is a sad and simple one. When my dad got sick, I was finishing up my thesis for grad school, intent on staying after graduation. But my family was struggling to care for him, so I flew back the USA, figuring I would apply to extend my visa from there in a few months, after I had helped Mom settle Dad in recovery a bit more.
When you apply for a post-grad visa, there are some certain prerequisites...and I met them all...except for a slight miscalucation of money (yes, they want to make sure you have enough money, and aren't some poor person looking to make a better life for themself). Due to a ripple in the ever fluctuating dollor-to-pound ratio, I was about $8 short of the required funds in my bank account. So my request was denied. I wrote everyone and called all the phone numbers at the embassy, consulate, visa processing centers. I sobbed. I said I had the money and could fix it easily. I tried to explain the only reason I was filing in America was due to a sick parent. No one gave a fuck. Get out, stay out was the message, loud and clear. Even now, flying back for a rare and precious visit, I am held at the airport for extensive periods and interrogated as persona non grata, an unwelcome interloper who wanted to stay in the country she loved, but was just a few bucks shy.