Alright, here's a summary of Day 1 of the Great London Adventure. I wandered campus so when I get lost in the future I'll at least to be able to recognize buildings, even if I won't have any idea of where I'm going. It cuts down on the feelings of helplessness.
I learned how to get into my room. I learned how to get out of my room (it's more complicated than it sounds.) I made two trips to the little convenience store on the first floor of my building. It's not half as well-stocked as I wish it was, but the first time around I got milk, cereal, microwavable macaroni and cheese, and some frozen veggies. Of course, after that grocery run I realized I had no bowl in which to eat cereal, and I didn't know of any place that sold dishes. On the second trip I grabbed paper towels, toilet paper, plastic wrap, and cereal that's pre-served in a plastic bowl, so at least I'll have breakfast tomorrow.
So. Then I asked around as to where I could buy a bowl, and after some confusion of accents ("Wait, a ball? Like a football?") I found that people didn't seem to have a sure idea of where to get dishes. I guess the English students all pack stuff from home. Because, you know, they're not idiots.
I set off on a journey to get dishes. After about 15 minutes of walking, I realized I didn't have my purse on me. Did I leave it in my room, or had it fallen down along the way? I had to retrace my path to be sure. But by the time I got back to the dorm (and discovered the purse was, indeed, right there) I was too tired to make the return trip. So the rest of the day was spent unpacking my things.
Until the fire drill. No, I kid you not. I spent 10 minutes in the cold in my slippers and T-shirt and cursed whoever burned popcorn/smoked a cigarette/whatever and set off the fire alarm. But at least I got to meet new people.
Oh, and I spent about half an hour trying to figure out where to put my socks and underwear. Right now they're in my laundry hamper while the laundry sits on the closet floor because the latter pile is smaller. Maybe I'll clear out a desk drawer...
Anyway, college is college is college. The examination of the dorm room, the unpacking, the creative use of insufficient storage space- it's all practically a ritual by now. So over here I need to buy toilet paper and a lot more groceries. It's still pretty much the same thing.
Of course, in the U.S. I don't get to take the subway on a noble mission to find a dish to eat on. *cracks knuckles* Marks and Spencer, here I come.
I made it to London alive and pretty much in one piece- my main souvenirs from the trip are exhaustion and the feeling that my shoulder was almost wrenched out of its socket. Damn suitcases.
I'm in my room, which is by far the nicest housing I've had since I started college. Not only do I have my own bathroom, they gave me a mini-fridge. And it looks a bit less mini than the one I own, to boot. I have a rolling spinny chair! And air conditioning! Seriously, this is looking like dorm paradise. Going back to the States is going to be such a letdown in that respect.
All I've done so far is make the bed and wire up this computer. Clearly my priorities are in order- reattach myself umbilically to the Internet and get some much-needed rest. I'm a bit worried I'll miss some urgent orientation meeting, but no one gave me the impression that there's somewhere I'm going to need to be.
My "welcome" packet consisted of my swipe card, room key, mailbox key, and about 27 ads for clubs and bars. Or pubs, I guess. Alcohol! Alcohol everywhere! There's even an offer of a free pint of beer, which I might actually try. Even though I don't drink. And I think beer tastes like piss.
Anyway, I'm going to look through all my stuff again to make sure there isn't some terribly important informational seminar I'm skipping. Naps are no good when you have a 5-hour time change to adjust to.
ETA- Okay, a bit of the bloom is off the rose. Why are there no drawers in the closet? How the heck do the Brits store their socks? In a big pile on the floor? All I have is one shelf and a few hangers. Oh lord.
Jesse Tyler Ferguson performing "I'm Not That Smart" doesn't get any less funny on the 18th listen. It isn't quite complete without the, er...visual effects, but that doesn't diminish the hilarity of Ferguson's delivery. Just file that under "facts you really don't care about."
Anyway, the theme of the last few shows I've seen has been an often self-conscious silliness. The Banger's Flopera was the least accomplished of the three, a mostly heavy-metal tirade with lyrics that were mind-numblingly obscene when they weren't incomprehensible. The writers showed a fertile imagination for profanity, and occassional glints of real wit showed through, but this updated version of The Beggar's Opera was mostly puzzling. By the time a character put on a rubber mask of Bush Jr., I didn't even care about figuring it out.
SILENCE!, on the other hand, was about as polished as a Fringe show gets, and had the blessings of an eager, sold-out audience and a cast studded with Broadway performers. This was the quintessential post-Urinetown Fringe satire, the kind of show where Dierdre Goodwin gets underused then has a big dance number lamenting that fact. (First Spamalot, now this. Are underused divas to 2005 what, oh, I don't know...gay musicians were to 2003?) Anyway, the cast was uniformly funny if not uniformly good at singing, and Christopher Gattelli's direction and choreography were very sharp and funny- Lecter's "dream ballet" was a real hoot and his escape from prison was downright ingenious. Too many of the jokes were overextended, but in such a lighthearted atmosphere, it didn't matter much. Special props to Spelling Bee's Lisa Howard, who used her gorgeous soprano and comic chops to their full effect playing a Senator and her soon-to-be skinned daughter.
Finally, I caught a preview of The Great American Trailer Park Musical, a show that really needs to decide what it's going to be before it opens. The plot is standard stuff- a toll collector in a frustrating marriage has an affair with the stripper next door, and wackiness ensues. This show's real assets are its cast and score- the direction and choreography need work. When it satirized trailer park culture, the show just came off as condescending and cruel to its characters, a huge no-no if you want them to keep the audience's interest and sympathy. But when it stopped being so self-consciously "hip," it became divinely silly. Picture, if you will, Shuler Hensley's hapless toll collector breaking out into a disco dance solo for the Act I finale. Or Kaitlin Hopkins, as his agoraphobic wife, singing about their troubled marriage using the infomercial vernacular.
To be sure, the show has troubles outside of its tonal inconsistencies. Wayne Wilcox is underpowered as the marker-sniffing maniac Duke, and though Shuler Hensley has just the right woebegone look and ability to instantaneously generate audience sympathy that his role demands, his songs are completely unsuited to his classically trained voice, and it shows. Orfeh's powerfully sung stripper needs to be more clearly outlined as a character, as does Marya Grandy's third of the Greek chorus. But most of the problems are exactly the kinds of things that get cleared up during previews, and from what I've heard the creative team has been doing a good job of addressing concerns so far. Hopefully The Great American Trailer Park Musical will bloom into the endearing fluffball of a show it has the potential to be.