Yes, back in the states, specifically, but on the internet I'm over at Julia Battles LA, posting daft things about my new return to Los Angeles. It's not that interesting, though.
If I were you, I wouldn't bother. Or I would, but then I'd get bored of it and likely never come back.
Wednesday, October 31
Monday, September 3
A Year in Scotland
A year yesterday, I touched down at Heathrow and caught the train up north. A year yesterday, I wandered off the GNER service at Waverly station, feeling bewildered, tired, and incredibly nervous. I hopped in a taxi and sped off to my accomodation, whereupon I collapsed. I've been in Scotland for a year.
Not consistently, of course, but I've spent the past year resting my head in Edinburgh and calling it my home du jour (or 'home d'anee', really). Mental. It's a difficult concept for me to wrap my head around.
About a year ago, I went to see the fireworks at the end of the Edinburgh Festival; standing on Princes Street with a bunch of EAPers watching the light explode from the castle, I felt as if I'd walked into a magical, strange world. Last night I stood on top of Calton Hill and watched the fireworks with my friends. The city still looked incredible, especially lit up at night. Edinburgh will always retain that beauty, that mystery and understated grandeur, and I hope to return frequently.
A year ago, upon my arrival, I wrote the following potential blog, but never published it. Now, for the first time in a year... the musings of 19-year-old Julia:
O, Brave New World!:
Arrival (written 9/2/06)
After about 20 total hours of traveling I would like to ignore all the unpleasant details about my trip and inform you that I am safely delivered in Edinburgh. 10 hour plane ride: easy, if you watch 3 and a half movies to pass the time! (Now I can’t even remember which ones they were…) Hour-long tube ride into London, to King’s Cross Station: great. Cheap and direct, whilst giving me the chance to stretch my legs. 5 hour train ride from London: comfortable, but treading hard into the time difference. A cup of coffee on the train was a bad idea, as all it really did was make me even more jittery as we got farther northward. It was after we passed Newcastle that my nerves (helped tremendously by the coffee) took off, realizing that now I was entering totally new territory. It finally began to sink in that I’m actually going to be here – a place I (as of now) don’t know – for a year, and am not just ridiculously over packed for some vacation.
Also, during my trip, I was fortunate enough to have a revelation, leading to the formulation of a new exercise program. Some of you may already be familiar with pieces of it. (“Fat camp” anyone? Sorry, inside rugby joke.) Anyway, there are two slightly different versions, and they go something like this:
1. The HARD way:
Pack and transport the contents of 1 (one) year of your life across 1 (one) continent and 1 (one) ocean. Note: contents must weigh as much or more than the amount you are physically able to lift in-season, and be parceled out into one small, one medium, and one large bag that insists always on falling over on the escalator if unattended for a millisecond. When the large bag inevitably falls over, you are required to curse loudly and profanely as a large group of school children are passing by while wondering why the people behind you look frightened of the colossus tumbling towards them and don’t just catch the damn thing. If at all possible, make your way through a naturally occurring StairMaster, such as a public transportation system unfriendly to the physically disabled (*cough* the London Underground). Don’t just “mind the gap,” but really start to mind it and get bothered by the staggering abyss between train and platform. To increase the challenge over the course of the trip, alternate standing and cramming yourself into a tiny seat and get so tired you cannot read signs any longer, allowing you to take a wrong route (up stairs) whenever possible.
2. The EASY way:
Lift weights, run, bike, and otherwise smartly exercise throughout the summer (despite an exhausting class and work schedule). Decide you won’t actually get tired of wearing the same clothes for a whole year and don’t pack two of anything. Lastly, run into an internationally famous (male) rugby team with the exact same destination as yourself and charm them into carrying your bags.
But you know me, I never like to do things the easy way.
I have never needed a massage so badly in my life. It’s 2:45pm Pacific/Body time and 10:45pm Scottish Local time, and I could use a shower, some food, and a drink, in that order. But I am arrived, my room is comfortable, and orientation starts tomorrow.
---
And in three days I'll be returning home. I can't believe how fast it has all gone.
Not consistently, of course, but I've spent the past year resting my head in Edinburgh and calling it my home du jour (or 'home d'anee', really). Mental. It's a difficult concept for me to wrap my head around.
About a year ago, I went to see the fireworks at the end of the Edinburgh Festival; standing on Princes Street with a bunch of EAPers watching the light explode from the castle, I felt as if I'd walked into a magical, strange world. Last night I stood on top of Calton Hill and watched the fireworks with my friends. The city still looked incredible, especially lit up at night. Edinburgh will always retain that beauty, that mystery and understated grandeur, and I hope to return frequently.
A year ago, upon my arrival, I wrote the following potential blog, but never published it. Now, for the first time in a year... the musings of 19-year-old Julia:
O, Brave New World!:
Arrival (written 9/2/06)
After about 20 total hours of traveling I would like to ignore all the unpleasant details about my trip and inform you that I am safely delivered in Edinburgh. 10 hour plane ride: easy, if you watch 3 and a half movies to pass the time! (Now I can’t even remember which ones they were…) Hour-long tube ride into London, to King’s Cross Station: great. Cheap and direct, whilst giving me the chance to stretch my legs. 5 hour train ride from London: comfortable, but treading hard into the time difference. A cup of coffee on the train was a bad idea, as all it really did was make me even more jittery as we got farther northward. It was after we passed Newcastle that my nerves (helped tremendously by the coffee) took off, realizing that now I was entering totally new territory. It finally began to sink in that I’m actually going to be here – a place I (as of now) don’t know – for a year, and am not just ridiculously over packed for some vacation.
Also, during my trip, I was fortunate enough to have a revelation, leading to the formulation of a new exercise program. Some of you may already be familiar with pieces of it. (“Fat camp” anyone? Sorry, inside rugby joke.) Anyway, there are two slightly different versions, and they go something like this:
1. The HARD way:
Pack and transport the contents of 1 (one) year of your life across 1 (one) continent and 1 (one) ocean. Note: contents must weigh as much or more than the amount you are physically able to lift in-season, and be parceled out into one small, one medium, and one large bag that insists always on falling over on the escalator if unattended for a millisecond. When the large bag inevitably falls over, you are required to curse loudly and profanely as a large group of school children are passing by while wondering why the people behind you look frightened of the colossus tumbling towards them and don’t just catch the damn thing. If at all possible, make your way through a naturally occurring StairMaster, such as a public transportation system unfriendly to the physically disabled (*cough* the London Underground). Don’t just “mind the gap,” but really start to mind it and get bothered by the staggering abyss between train and platform. To increase the challenge over the course of the trip, alternate standing and cramming yourself into a tiny seat and get so tired you cannot read signs any longer, allowing you to take a wrong route (up stairs) whenever possible.
2. The EASY way:
Lift weights, run, bike, and otherwise smartly exercise throughout the summer (despite an exhausting class and work schedule). Decide you won’t actually get tired of wearing the same clothes for a whole year and don’t pack two of anything. Lastly, run into an internationally famous (male) rugby team with the exact same destination as yourself and charm them into carrying your bags.
But you know me, I never like to do things the easy way.
I have never needed a massage so badly in my life. It’s 2:45pm Pacific/Body time and 10:45pm Scottish Local time, and I could use a shower, some food, and a drink, in that order. But I am arrived, my room is comfortable, and orientation starts tomorrow.
---
And in three days I'll be returning home. I can't believe how fast it has all gone.
Thursday, August 30
Last Sighs
My last post was about how the festival was over. This one is about the return of normalcy to Edinburgh. Already, the city has 90% fewer people in it, and is feeling particularly empty since most of the students haven't returned yet. The Fringe Festival ended so abruptly, and so unlike it began -- it just sort of wasted away. It's like one day just not enough people could be bothered getting up and going to work to make things run, Kate said. Everyone just seemed to tire at the end, and were glad to let it slip away unnoticed into the memory of August. Back on the train, back to your home, back to your bed for some rest... Sounds like everything I could use right now. I'm trying to put a positive spin on going back to the states.
I must admit, I'm as tired out and run down as I've ever felt, even for the change to pleasant weather and immediate lack of anything pressing to do. A few pre-departure errands must be finished, but nothing is pressing, really. I'm slowly sorting out clothes, dishes, and all manner of things to leave behind to lighten the load on the way back. Sigh, so much to do and yet so little...
I really just want to sleep for the next 6 days, but I need to pack.
x
I must admit, I'm as tired out and run down as I've ever felt, even for the change to pleasant weather and immediate lack of anything pressing to do. A few pre-departure errands must be finished, but nothing is pressing, really. I'm slowly sorting out clothes, dishes, and all manner of things to leave behind to lighten the load on the way back. Sigh, so much to do and yet so little...
I really just want to sleep for the next 6 days, but I need to pack.
x
Tuesday, August 28
August Ends...
So that's it. The Festival is over. Just like that. Well, not exactly just like that -- it's been a long, heavy haul. It was a lot of work, but it was fun and definitely worth it. The last week or so, especially, has been especially crazy, not in terms of work so much but more in terms of celebrating the end. I now realize just why it is deemed a bad thing for bars/pubs/clubs/beer gardens/venues to be open until 5am... A few too many nights in the library bar (where we got in thanks to Fresh Air connections, woo!) that just ended up being rather ridiculous.
But now that the Festival's over, I can see the city slowly emptying out and getting back to normal. Just in time for me to leave. I've got mixed feelings about going home: on the one hand I'm not ready to leave Edinburgh, but on the other I'm never going to be ready to leave and I am looking forward to seeing my parents and friends and home again. It's very bittersweet. I wish I could go home for a month and then come back and continue things here. But that's the way life marches on, with regard only for plans and programs and other such reasonable things. I am going to miss my friends here so, so much.
I honestly cannot believe how fast the summer has gone by. It feels like it's been a large chunk of time -- that's for sure -- but that it's just passed very quickly. Time flies when you're working 39 hours a week in a crap job, and even more so when you're running coverage of the Festival.
Let's try and think of more Festival highlights, put a slightly happier spin on things:
-A record 6 (possibly 7) "celebrity" sighting night: Frank Skinner, Mark Watson, Jimmy Carr, Jonny Vegas, Mickey Flanagan, and Kirsten O'Brien. Best bit: Tim going up to Jimmy Carr and Jonny Vegas (who were talking to each other) and asking for a photo: (in a very obnoxious American accent) "Are you Jim and John from Ipswich?"
-People watching in the Library Bar: the woman who told me, "Oh no, it makes you look fabulous, daaaaahling" with reference to my strong but expensive cocktail; Uncle Pervert; an American comic (one of the Walsh Brothers) passing out pink balloons; Arnab Chanda and Dan Clark; a comic who claimed his boyfriend was going to kill him for dying their dog puce (he spilled beet juice on it); and so on and so on.
-PR people shepherding guests up to the studio, with their various egos (the PR, not the performers). The best comment, from one particular woman with expensive-looking sunglasses, too much botox, and braces: "Oh, these celebrities, you just can't trust them to be reliable can you?" Honey, I'm sure all the comedians and acts you represent are talented in their own right, but unless they're performing at Edinburgh Castle this Fringe, they're not celebs. You're wishing you were in LA repping Posh n' Becks, and have taken it as a personal insult to your ego that you are not realized to your full career potential. (Sorry for the heavy psychoanalysis -- I may have been away for a year, but I understand the LA-style-glamour-mindset all too well.)
-A fantastic and hilarious interview I did with The Brothers Juan from The Incredible Bull Circus
-Getting 100+ reviews of Fringe shows up on the Fresh Air website! Many thanks to all those who wrote them and helped me post them up when I was lagging behind!
But the best was realizing the dream. Okay, that doesn't really mean anything, never mind. What I mean is, for our first year as press for the Fringe Festival, we did an amazing job, quite frankly. It was the hope that in a few years venues would be using quotes and stars from our reviews to put up on the posters and press boards around town... Welcome to the future:
And those are only a couple of the dozens that are up around town. Ace.
We did bang-on good job, in my opinion, with over 100 reviews and 127 interviews up on the website. All of them quality. Of course I may be a little bit biased, but for a student radio station competing with the likes of festival press heavyweights The Scotsman (big newspaper), Three Weeks (massive compilations of reviews), The Skinny (awesome alternative magazine), and others, we've done excellently. I think it's very telling that most people assumed we were getting paid for our work, and were very surprised to find out we were all volunteers. Right, enough tooting my own horn.
I have learned that I never want to work for the media. Well, that's a lie -- I never want to work in marketing. I hate selling things (note my hasty departure from the shop floor of Monsoon). I'm rubbish at promoting things I have no interest in. Ergo, I'm better at evaluating and covering culture than trying to get someone a better slot or more press. I'd rather be the press. Whee. Future in journalism? Who knows. Future at all? I thought we were here.
See you back in the states in 10 days.
But now that the Festival's over, I can see the city slowly emptying out and getting back to normal. Just in time for me to leave. I've got mixed feelings about going home: on the one hand I'm not ready to leave Edinburgh, but on the other I'm never going to be ready to leave and I am looking forward to seeing my parents and friends and home again. It's very bittersweet. I wish I could go home for a month and then come back and continue things here. But that's the way life marches on, with regard only for plans and programs and other such reasonable things. I am going to miss my friends here so, so much.
I honestly cannot believe how fast the summer has gone by. It feels like it's been a large chunk of time -- that's for sure -- but that it's just passed very quickly. Time flies when you're working 39 hours a week in a crap job, and even more so when you're running coverage of the Festival.
Let's try and think of more Festival highlights, put a slightly happier spin on things:
-A record 6 (possibly 7) "celebrity" sighting night: Frank Skinner, Mark Watson, Jimmy Carr, Jonny Vegas, Mickey Flanagan, and Kirsten O'Brien. Best bit: Tim going up to Jimmy Carr and Jonny Vegas (who were talking to each other) and asking for a photo: (in a very obnoxious American accent) "Are you Jim and John from Ipswich?"
-People watching in the Library Bar: the woman who told me, "Oh no, it makes you look fabulous, daaaaahling" with reference to my strong but expensive cocktail; Uncle Pervert; an American comic (one of the Walsh Brothers) passing out pink balloons; Arnab Chanda and Dan Clark; a comic who claimed his boyfriend was going to kill him for dying their dog puce (he spilled beet juice on it); and so on and so on.
-PR people shepherding guests up to the studio, with their various egos (the PR, not the performers). The best comment, from one particular woman with expensive-looking sunglasses, too much botox, and braces: "Oh, these celebrities, you just can't trust them to be reliable can you?" Honey, I'm sure all the comedians and acts you represent are talented in their own right, but unless they're performing at Edinburgh Castle this Fringe, they're not celebs. You're wishing you were in LA repping Posh n' Becks, and have taken it as a personal insult to your ego that you are not realized to your full career potential. (Sorry for the heavy psychoanalysis -- I may have been away for a year, but I understand the LA-style-glamour-mindset all too well.)
-A fantastic and hilarious interview I did with The Brothers Juan from The Incredible Bull Circus
-Getting 100+ reviews of Fringe shows up on the Fresh Air website! Many thanks to all those who wrote them and helped me post them up when I was lagging behind!
But the best was realizing the dream. Okay, that doesn't really mean anything, never mind. What I mean is, for our first year as press for the Fringe Festival, we did an amazing job, quite frankly. It was the hope that in a few years venues would be using quotes and stars from our reviews to put up on the posters and press boards around town... Welcome to the future:
And those are only a couple of the dozens that are up around town. Ace.
We did bang-on good job, in my opinion, with over 100 reviews and 127 interviews up on the website. All of them quality. Of course I may be a little bit biased, but for a student radio station competing with the likes of festival press heavyweights The Scotsman (big newspaper), Three Weeks (massive compilations of reviews), The Skinny (awesome alternative magazine), and others, we've done excellently. I think it's very telling that most people assumed we were getting paid for our work, and were very surprised to find out we were all volunteers. Right, enough tooting my own horn.
I have learned that I never want to work for the media. Well, that's a lie -- I never want to work in marketing. I hate selling things (note my hasty departure from the shop floor of Monsoon). I'm rubbish at promoting things I have no interest in. Ergo, I'm better at evaluating and covering culture than trying to get someone a better slot or more press. I'd rather be the press. Whee. Future in journalism? Who knows. Future at all? I thought we were here.
See you back in the states in 10 days.
Wednesday, August 15
This Should Be A Super-Long Amazing Post of Awesomeness
Who wants to take bets on the above statement? I've got a fiver that says it won't; I'm far too interested in listening to Presidents of the United States of America at the moment.
Let's see how I can possibly recap the past month or so... We'll split things into pre-Festival and post-Monsoon...
Pre-Festival days were pretty similar to what I described all summer long: boring, full of the drudgery known as work, etc. A wee excursion to Paris on the weekend of the 13th (of July), was a welcome intrusion, seeing as I hadn't been to the city since I was nine years old. It was quite cool to be there for the Bastille Day celebrations (read: fireworks/"feur d'artifice") and be able to practice my pathetic French, although most shops were closed for the holiday so I got exactly zero shopping in. How sad. It didn't render the whole trip useless, but still... Paris and no shopping? What sort of woman do I consider myself? Not that kind, that's for sure. At any rate, I trudged on with work for a few more weeks until the beginning of the festival...
All this Festival madness began on or about the 2nd of August, when we at Fresh Air started broadcasting our Fringe Festival coverage. The Edinburgh Fringe Festival, for those of you who don't know, is the biggest of all the festivals on in town in August, and features mostly comedy shows (stand-up, sketch, all kinds) but also lots of theater and music and other genres of shows. I'm the Press Office Liaison/Reviews Coordinator for our Fringe Festival coverage, meaning I am responsible for booking press tickets for our crew and editing the resulting reviews to go up on the website. Reviews aren't the main thrust, though; live (but then recorded and made available for download) interviews are going up all the time, as well as fantastic audio features.
I realize I've just spent a paragraph selling Fresh Air to you. Sorry, too much time spent liaizing with Press Offices and trying to schmooze PR people for tickets. Right. So I've been involved with interviewing, editing interviews, ticket-getting, writing and editing reviews... there's little I haven't done around the station. It's all unpaid and time consuming and exhausting, and gets me anywhere from 15-25 urgent e-mails a day. Still, it's better than working in a shop for minimum wage! Did I mention I'm not getting paid to do this? Not so easy on the wallet, the way prices all over town get jacked up for the festival -- 3 or 4 pounds and up for a pint -- but as a Scottish friend put it to me, it's just overdue revenge on the English. The funniest thing about not getting paid is realizing that everyone we work with, all the PR, all the Press Offices, all the other press and artists and comedians and musicians... everone seems to assume we're getting paid. It's a sometimes pleasant, sometimes annoying feeling when you get the reaction, "Oh! So you're not getting paid anything to do this? At all??" What did we say? It's student radio, people. Use those little brains you were given. Actually, that's a lie, we DO get paid -- in sunshine and rainbows.
So you can tell I've been busy since the start of August? Yes, I struggled through a week of part time in front of house before quitting at Monsoon, and am all the happier for it. This is my first week free of work, and I'm, of course, thoroughly enjoying it. How could I not? Freedom is amazing, even though it makes me dread settling into the post-graduation rat race even more than ever. With any luck, that's a little way off. (Wahey, student loans, I'm lookin' at you!) I think I have too much of a problem with authority (christ, I sound like I've got a box full of asbo's) to ever work for a company or large organization. Guess I'll just have to start my own business.
Alright, let's see, how about some festival highlights? You didn't ask, and yet I still deliver. You're welcome:
-Interviewing Les Dennis. Yes, that's right, "Who?" Same thing I thought. Wrong wrong wrong, as I learned when his PR screamed, "Didn't you read the press release?!" at me. "Of course not," I said. "I looked at your website and googled the show. It just said there were some famous British actors in it, whose names I didn't recognize." Any Brit will know Mr. Dennis from his Saturday afternoon so-bad-it's-actually-sort-of-good game show hosting for years, but he's not a name any American would recognize. Particularly myself. Sort of like, the Bob Barker of Britain, I think. But less old and less dead. Right, long story short, he's in a play at the Fringe and came in with the author and co-cast member to chat about it on Fresh Air. The interview, is (I think) insightful and intelligent, and doesn't make too much of a fuss about the huge star in the studio. Unfortunately, the rumor around town now is that Fresh Air doesn't know who Les Dennis is. Sigh, I'm such a black sheep.
-Getting to go to loads of press launches. Previews of various venues' line-ups, where one was often plied by the odd free drink or two. 'Schmooz and booz' was the atmosphere, which, I decided, was unsatisfactorily Los Angeles-like. Sure, having a pint in an outdoor beer garden in pleasant weather is nice -- except when everyone's trying to act like they're someone important. I hate the egos of PR/Press people.
-The atmosphere of the city. It's crawling with... foreigners. Ick. English, Aussies, Americans, you name 'em, they're everywhere. I count myself out of this group, as I am a resident. Not for much longer, but I've been here a year and I know the back streets, so that counts for something, right? Anyway, you can't deny that there's a really fun atmosphere about, even if the Scots have almost been diluted out and the prices have run through the roof.
-Having seen more shows than I can shake a stick at. Woo. Too many to count in two weeks, and plenty more to come. Not to mention a lot of exciting films coming up at the film festival!
More later. I'm tired. Hey, this turned out to be a long post after all... you owe me five pounds. I accept cash and check, no cards, though.
Let's see how I can possibly recap the past month or so... We'll split things into pre-Festival and post-Monsoon...
Pre-Festival days were pretty similar to what I described all summer long: boring, full of the drudgery known as work, etc. A wee excursion to Paris on the weekend of the 13th (of July), was a welcome intrusion, seeing as I hadn't been to the city since I was nine years old. It was quite cool to be there for the Bastille Day celebrations (read: fireworks/"feur d'artifice") and be able to practice my pathetic French, although most shops were closed for the holiday so I got exactly zero shopping in. How sad. It didn't render the whole trip useless, but still... Paris and no shopping? What sort of woman do I consider myself? Not that kind, that's for sure. At any rate, I trudged on with work for a few more weeks until the beginning of the festival...
All this Festival madness began on or about the 2nd of August, when we at Fresh Air started broadcasting our Fringe Festival coverage. The Edinburgh Fringe Festival, for those of you who don't know, is the biggest of all the festivals on in town in August, and features mostly comedy shows (stand-up, sketch, all kinds) but also lots of theater and music and other genres of shows. I'm the Press Office Liaison/Reviews Coordinator for our Fringe Festival coverage, meaning I am responsible for booking press tickets for our crew and editing the resulting reviews to go up on the website. Reviews aren't the main thrust, though; live (but then recorded and made available for download) interviews are going up all the time, as well as fantastic audio features.
I realize I've just spent a paragraph selling Fresh Air to you. Sorry, too much time spent liaizing with Press Offices and trying to schmooze PR people for tickets. Right. So I've been involved with interviewing, editing interviews, ticket-getting, writing and editing reviews... there's little I haven't done around the station. It's all unpaid and time consuming and exhausting, and gets me anywhere from 15-25 urgent e-mails a day. Still, it's better than working in a shop for minimum wage! Did I mention I'm not getting paid to do this? Not so easy on the wallet, the way prices all over town get jacked up for the festival -- 3 or 4 pounds and up for a pint -- but as a Scottish friend put it to me, it's just overdue revenge on the English. The funniest thing about not getting paid is realizing that everyone we work with, all the PR, all the Press Offices, all the other press and artists and comedians and musicians... everone seems to assume we're getting paid. It's a sometimes pleasant, sometimes annoying feeling when you get the reaction, "Oh! So you're not getting paid anything to do this? At all??" What did we say? It's student radio, people. Use those little brains you were given. Actually, that's a lie, we DO get paid -- in sunshine and rainbows.
So you can tell I've been busy since the start of August? Yes, I struggled through a week of part time in front of house before quitting at Monsoon, and am all the happier for it. This is my first week free of work, and I'm, of course, thoroughly enjoying it. How could I not? Freedom is amazing, even though it makes me dread settling into the post-graduation rat race even more than ever. With any luck, that's a little way off. (Wahey, student loans, I'm lookin' at you!) I think I have too much of a problem with authority (christ, I sound like I've got a box full of asbo's) to ever work for a company or large organization. Guess I'll just have to start my own business.
Alright, let's see, how about some festival highlights? You didn't ask, and yet I still deliver. You're welcome:
-Interviewing Les Dennis. Yes, that's right, "Who?" Same thing I thought. Wrong wrong wrong, as I learned when his PR screamed, "Didn't you read the press release?!" at me. "Of course not," I said. "I looked at your website and googled the show. It just said there were some famous British actors in it, whose names I didn't recognize." Any Brit will know Mr. Dennis from his Saturday afternoon so-bad-it's-actually-sort-of-good game show hosting for years, but he's not a name any American would recognize. Particularly myself. Sort of like, the Bob Barker of Britain, I think. But less old and less dead. Right, long story short, he's in a play at the Fringe and came in with the author and co-cast member to chat about it on Fresh Air. The interview, is (I think) insightful and intelligent, and doesn't make too much of a fuss about the huge star in the studio. Unfortunately, the rumor around town now is that Fresh Air doesn't know who Les Dennis is. Sigh, I'm such a black sheep.
-Getting to go to loads of press launches. Previews of various venues' line-ups, where one was often plied by the odd free drink or two. 'Schmooz and booz' was the atmosphere, which, I decided, was unsatisfactorily Los Angeles-like. Sure, having a pint in an outdoor beer garden in pleasant weather is nice -- except when everyone's trying to act like they're someone important. I hate the egos of PR/Press people.
-The atmosphere of the city. It's crawling with... foreigners. Ick. English, Aussies, Americans, you name 'em, they're everywhere. I count myself out of this group, as I am a resident. Not for much longer, but I've been here a year and I know the back streets, so that counts for something, right? Anyway, you can't deny that there's a really fun atmosphere about, even if the Scots have almost been diluted out and the prices have run through the roof.
-Having seen more shows than I can shake a stick at. Woo. Too many to count in two weeks, and plenty more to come. Not to mention a lot of exciting films coming up at the film festival!
More later. I'm tired. Hey, this turned out to be a long post after all... you owe me five pounds. I accept cash and check, no cards, though.
Sunday, July 8
Life, which includes A Much Better Day in Glasgow
Whew, am I tired. Knackered. Shattered. Kerplonked. You know. I'm even too tired to think of anymore "tired" slang terms. As Hard-Fi says, "I've been working all week and I'm tired." Nine hours a day, five days a week on my feet. Although, if it wasn't for the cd player in the stockroom I'd go mad -- the music in the shop drives me off the wall. Our big summer sale is getting kicked off soon, so that's going to be lots of fun. And by fun, I mean work. I've not really had a weekend to rest for awhile, either. Last weekend Stephanie came and visited me in Edinburgh and we had a grand time. Not going to get much rest next weekend, either, as I'm going to Paris for the first time since I was nine.
Also had a great day in Glasgow last week, visiting the radio show Tallah's working for. It's on the BBC. So Katie and I went to the BBC! The building is amazing, it's right on the Clyde River in Glasgow. Made me want to work for them. Or just any amazing radio station.
Other than that, my life has been gorgeously unexciting. Call me a scrubber, but I miss being able to go out on week nights and stay up past midnight. So what's coming up in my fascinating life? Going to see Nine Black Alps tomorrow night here in Edinburgh, Paris for the weekend, and lots and lots of of prep for Fresh Air coverage of the Edinburgh festeival. I'll be going part time in August when the festival is, so I can devote more time to my duties as Press offices Liason/Reviews Coordinator and as a festival crew member.
That's all I have the energy to write about tonight. More later when my life is thrilling again.
Also had a great day in Glasgow last week, visiting the radio show Tallah's working for. It's on the BBC. So Katie and I went to the BBC! The building is amazing, it's right on the Clyde River in Glasgow. Made me want to work for them. Or just any amazing radio station.
Other than that, my life has been gorgeously unexciting. Call me a scrubber, but I miss being able to go out on week nights and stay up past midnight. So what's coming up in my fascinating life? Going to see Nine Black Alps tomorrow night here in Edinburgh, Paris for the weekend, and lots and lots of of prep for Fresh Air coverage of the Edinburgh festeival. I'll be going part time in August when the festival is, so I can devote more time to my duties as Press offices Liason/Reviews Coordinator and as a festival crew member.
That's all I have the energy to write about tonight. More later when my life is thrilling again.
Tuesday, July 3
Second Adventures in Dublin and the Night I Almost Spent in Glasgow's Bus Station
So I went to Dublin last weekend to visit my friend Stephanie, who I went to Eastern Europe with. It was a good weekend, but I was flying in and out of Glasgow Airport since that's where I could get the cheapest flight. In case you've had your head under a rock, this should explain why alarm bells should be going off in your head right now.
I flew to Dublin Friday night, so no problem there. Had a good weekend with Steph, did a little shopping, had a night out on Saturday, walked around Trinity College some on Sunday... all in all I really enjoyed my second trip to the city. Dublin seems like a very cool town, a good sized city that, while lacking huge numbers of tourist attractions, feels to me like it'd be a really cool place to live -- kind of like Edinburgh. Lots of culture, lots of energy... lots of pubs. Anyway, enough romanticizing about Dublin, I'm sure the winters (and summers) are just as cold as Scotland.
I was due to arrive back into Glasgow on Sunday night about 9.45, but thanks to flight delays I got in about half past 11. I'm still amazed that the airport was open and functioning, though I wish they'd re-routed my flight to Edinburgh. When I got in, the terminal was all cordoned off and smelt of burnt rubber. They weren't allowing traffic anywhere near the airport, so I and a bunch of other passengers had to walk over to a bus stop way out under some overpass, next to a gas station. Finally the airport bus comes and I get back into Glasgow Buchanan Street Bus Station about 20 past Midnight. Thinking that, like any other night of the week, there were busses at 1, 1.30, and 3am I'd be ok for getting back to town. Oh no.
So the 900 bus pulls up, and I head over to it to ask the driver if he's going back to Edinburgh right away since it was a bit early for the 1am bus. He looks at me and informs me that the next bus is at 5.30am. Clearly, at this point, I am screwed.
So I'm sitting in the bus station, not wanting to spend the night in the bus station, but least of all wander around Glasgow in the middle of the night looking for a place to stay or to catch a 100-odd pound taxi home. While considering my fate and how I was going to manage staying awake until 5am, a tour bus pulled into the station and one of the station workers came up and asked if I was trying to get back into Edinburgh. Hearing the desperationin my 'yes' he recommended that I go over to the coach that pulled in, as he had a hunch the driver was going back and that I might be able to get a lift. This was indeed the case, thankfully, and the driver (grudgingly) gave me a ride. So I arrived back into town well into the early hours of the night. And I say nothing good ever happens to me.
Why would you attack Glasgow? Honestly. I know it's the biggest city in Scotland, but the airport's not exactly a hub and as far as mental significance goes, Edinburgh is the capital. Besides, weegies aren't a good bunch to choose to mess with. They will go after you -- and they have knives.
Anyway, I'm safe now. At least when I fly to Paris in a couple of weeks it'll be in and out of Edinburgh.
I flew to Dublin Friday night, so no problem there. Had a good weekend with Steph, did a little shopping, had a night out on Saturday, walked around Trinity College some on Sunday... all in all I really enjoyed my second trip to the city. Dublin seems like a very cool town, a good sized city that, while lacking huge numbers of tourist attractions, feels to me like it'd be a really cool place to live -- kind of like Edinburgh. Lots of culture, lots of energy... lots of pubs. Anyway, enough romanticizing about Dublin, I'm sure the winters (and summers) are just as cold as Scotland.
I was due to arrive back into Glasgow on Sunday night about 9.45, but thanks to flight delays I got in about half past 11. I'm still amazed that the airport was open and functioning, though I wish they'd re-routed my flight to Edinburgh. When I got in, the terminal was all cordoned off and smelt of burnt rubber. They weren't allowing traffic anywhere near the airport, so I and a bunch of other passengers had to walk over to a bus stop way out under some overpass, next to a gas station. Finally the airport bus comes and I get back into Glasgow Buchanan Street Bus Station about 20 past Midnight. Thinking that, like any other night of the week, there were busses at 1, 1.30, and 3am I'd be ok for getting back to town. Oh no.
So the 900 bus pulls up, and I head over to it to ask the driver if he's going back to Edinburgh right away since it was a bit early for the 1am bus. He looks at me and informs me that the next bus is at 5.30am. Clearly, at this point, I am screwed.
So I'm sitting in the bus station, not wanting to spend the night in the bus station, but least of all wander around Glasgow in the middle of the night looking for a place to stay or to catch a 100-odd pound taxi home. While considering my fate and how I was going to manage staying awake until 5am, a tour bus pulled into the station and one of the station workers came up and asked if I was trying to get back into Edinburgh. Hearing the desperationin my 'yes' he recommended that I go over to the coach that pulled in, as he had a hunch the driver was going back and that I might be able to get a lift. This was indeed the case, thankfully, and the driver (grudgingly) gave me a ride. So I arrived back into town well into the early hours of the night. And I say nothing good ever happens to me.
Why would you attack Glasgow? Honestly. I know it's the biggest city in Scotland, but the airport's not exactly a hub and as far as mental significance goes, Edinburgh is the capital. Besides, weegies aren't a good bunch to choose to mess with. They will go after you -- and they have knives.
Anyway, I'm safe now. At least when I fly to Paris in a couple of weeks it'll be in and out of Edinburgh.
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