Days 24, 25, 26, 27, and 28

Tuesday was probably the most interesting day of the week, as we attended a play at the National Theatre called Earthquakes in London for our British Life and Culture class. The set was very impressive, consisting of a red, S-shaped platform of wood that snaked through the audience, along with two rooms set into either side of the S' ends where action also happened. The play was of the genre known as 'epic' theatre, where the playwright uses every tool at his or her disposal- music, projected visuals, pyrotechnics, and so on and so forth- to tell a story that covers a wide range of themes, people, and places. Earthquakes in London was, at its heart, a play about the stress placed on the Earth through the current population's over-consumption and a warning that we cannot go on living as we have. The major conflict is that of Freya, a pregnant woman struggling with whether or not she should bring her daughter into a world which, as her scientist father warns, will slide towards apocalyptic wars over resources within her daughter's lifetime. It did teach me an interesting new fact; the Earth can only support one billion people long-term: not the current eight billion, and certainly not the ten billion the population will reach within the Millennial Generation's lifetimes. There were some odd moments within the play, as when Freya's unborn child, shown on ultrasound, turns her face to the audience and screams 'Mommy?!'.

I could've done without that bit.

On Wednesday we had British Art and Architecture and Shakespeare. In Art and Architecture, we went to the Soane Museum and the Wallace Collection. The Soane was bizarre, housed as it was in a home that seemed to have been inhabited by a madman: Soane himself. Paintings were hidden behind false walls, domes piled upon domes in the center, and beneath the ground level a strange crypt had been built to hold the sarcophagus of Seti II. Barnaby wasn't memorably enlivened by the environment, but he did perk up when we went to the Wallace Collection, which housed beautiful paintings and an incredible collection of arms and armor sold to the Wallace family by a Prussian nobleman. Me being me, I gravitated to the armor and arms, and Barnaby and I had a nice conversation about whether such things could really be considered 'art.' The insane thing was that this massive manor had been built as a second country home for the family to stay in while they went duck-shooting. It wasn't even their main home! Shakespeare, as always, was wonderful, and we got into memorable debates over whether or not Hotspur was supposed to be comedic or tragic. All agreed that we were ashamed of our countrymen who had laughed at Hotspur's death scene, and the girls were unanimous that the actor that played Hal was, quote-unquote, 'beautiful.'

Nothing of much interest happened on Thursday besides having an absolutely lovely dinner with a family friend, and so I shall skip straight to Friday. The day dawned cold, foggy, and drizzly: perfect London weather. I rose late, had toast and hot chocolate, fastened my trenchcoat on, armed myself with my umbrella and iPod, and marched out into the cold and towards Trafalgar Square for my morning constitutional. I strode past Downing Street, noting the guards with assault rifles- a new development in the age of terrorism- and on towards the Tate Britain, where we were to find our paintings to do a presentation on for Art and Architecture. The Tate was interesting, although I found myself more interested in the paintings depicting nature scenes or apocalyptic battles and revelations than the innumerable portraits of aristocrats. In the main hall of the museum, an artist had taken a British Seahawk fighter jet and suspended it, nose-down, from the ceiling in an attempt to state... something. Don't look at me; modern art is not my forte. The rest of the day was spent celebrating Hillary's birthday with two rousing rounds of King's Cup before it was pub 'o clock. I stayed for two pubs, then decided I'd had enough. I don't drink anymore, having absolutely no head for alcohol, and the pubs are so loud I can't make myself heard anyway, so the entertainment value is very low. Nick was kind enough to walk me back, and so I went to bed around one in the morning.

On Saturday I went to Harrods, and I have to say, the old adage about being able to buy everything from a needle to an elephant there is (mostly) true. The elephants aren't there anymore, but you can buy a French Bulldog puppy, raised especially for Harrods, for 2,500 pounds. Also present are perfume for your dog, so it can smell like cookies instead of the animal that it is; woolly mammoth tusks; fossils from the Green River Shale; an 80,000-pound underwater jetski that pulls you along behind it; Harrods-brand lead ropes for your horse; Giorgi Armani clothing for your baby, toddler, or child; a Go-Kart modeled after an antique racecar; a massive stuffed rhino for your spoiled kid to clamber over; every high-end brand of clothing known to man; Victorian writing desks; an original engraving by Rembrandt; and Legos. I, being a tremendous nerd, ignored the clothes and makeup entirely and gravitated towards the fossils, antique furniture, Legos, and riding equipment. Unfortunately there are no pictures of the incredible interior- the main escalator room is decorated like an Ancient Egyptian tomb- because Harrods doesn't allow photography, and I didn't want to be escorted out by their green-suited security guards.

I'm sorry, I have to go off on a tangent about Legos here. All the Lego sets they had were themed, like 'City' or 'Atlantis' or 'Farm,' and nowhere in the entire place did I see any way to buy just plain, non-themed Legos. The entire fun of Legos is in building what's in the manual once, losing the manual entirely in your room and never finding it again, and ripping up your creation and chucking the pieces into your giant pot of Legos so that you can build whatever your feverish little kiddy brain can dream up. Kids today don't have that ability anymore; the pieces are themed and only go with each other. No more can you build Vanderbilt-esque mansions guarded by knights and cowboys riding dragons and horses, with fighter jets and spaceships out back, or reenact the Great Battle of the Bedstead where the evil knight (evil because his face was fixed in a plastic snarl) assaulted the flying pirate ship for the love of the fair astronaut who piloted it. Kids can't do that, and it makes me so incredibly sad.

The science toys section, I'm sorry to say, made me want to hurl. Girls can't be interested in science of their own volition anymore; they must be marketed to, with such glurge-inducing kits as 'learn chemistry through making your own bath soaps' or 'inspect the different properties of minerals through making jewelry.' What happened to girls wanting to learn about science because knowing how your world works is fascinating, not because you get to make bath soaps or jewelry? What happened to knowledge for the sake of knowledge? Also there was a special 'girl's toys' room, which was full of Barbies and dolls and dress-up clothes, but there was no similarly gender-stereotyped 'boy's toys' room.

If I have a daughter, my kid will have Barbies if she wants them, and American Girl dolls, but I will make damn sure that she has science kits and Legos and RC cars and books if she wants those too. My kid will not be a part of this ridiculous dumbing down of girls because of this 'pretty pretty princess' movement, where girls and women are treated like fragile alien creatures only interested in fashion and pink things and appearance, instead of, oh, I don't know, people.

Ahem. Rant over.