The Excuses To Go To GR Start Now... AND The SC Resolution You've Been Awaiting
Tuesday, May 24th
Our official 1-Day Anniversary called for a celebration, so I delayed my trip back to Chicago long enough to stop in GR for an extended lunch. I picked Chelsey up at her house and we headed to Max and Erma's (our unofficial restaurant... even though Chelsey only likes two things on the menu). We met C Dub's good friend, Heather, and proceeded to have a lengthy discussion about whether or not some douche bag likes her. What I got from the conversation: He sounded like he doesn't; he sounded like a big D; Heather is a very nice person. It was nice to be able to meet one of Chelsey's friends from home and to be liked by aforementioned person. It felt as though one of my hurdles was already... hurdled. What else does one do to a hurdle?
After lunch, we took a lazy stroll around Woodland mall... simply enjoying the company for as long as we could. And, far too late in the evening, I ended up leaving for Chicago.
Wednesday, May 25th
When I finally got back to Chicago after a very long England trip and an extended weekend in various Rapids, I found an email from my previous SC instructor waiting for me. Tim emailed me the day before the audition to let me know that I had done everything I needed to do, and that there shouldn't be any problem getting me into Level 2. This just upset me greatly... so I very politely emailed him back to ask him what I had done wrong, what I should have done differently, and if he could tell me why they decided not to let me into Level 2.
Then Keith came over to my place for the first time (he came into town because of class, but realized we didn't have class that week), and we proceeded to leave my building to head up to IO to see some shows. On the way out of my building, he and I helped an old woman to get up a step, through a gate, and down the other steps. I'm not exactly sure why I'm telling you this... but maybe because I want you to know that not everyone in big cities are heartless and without feelings. There are good people everywhere, even if some might be hiding.
So Keith and I ended up at IO to see a couple of shows with Adam... and in one of the shows, they pulled a member of the audience up to the stage. They asked that person (who was a very large, semi-Irish looking man) what his day was like. He proceeded to tell them about a day which was very much like my own days... waking up late, doing jack shit during the day (he even was drinking in a bar before the show)... and then they asked him what he does for a living. His response? He's an actor. He's in Defending The Caveman. You know that show I auditioned for and didn't get the part in? Yeah... that's because this guy got the part. He looked more the part of Neanderthalic caveman than I do (I'm far too cute)... and I was both jealous of him, and happy I wasn't in that stupid (yes, stupid) show. The groups behind him than sat him down and proceeded to reenact his entire day in a hilarious and mocking way. I was then glad of two things: A) I didn't get cast in that show; B) I wasn't Chris [the guy].
I then stuck around to see the TJ and Dave show. Now I have seen TJ Jagdowski twice in my life... and I must say that he is the best improviser I have ever seen. Everything he does is pure GOLD... and I would love to be able to watch him work every single night. Also, from what I hear, he's one of the nicest guys ever... and he's a really involved and interested teacher, too. It was the second time I've seen that show, and Dave is also amazing. They are both incredible... and I would see that show every week if it was less expensive (or if I was making money). They even, get this, started the show with their backs to the audience as if they were in a theatre waiting for a show to start themselves. And it was brilliant. Positively brilliant! I loved it!
And that was the end of that night. I suppose I should resolve the Second City class issue right now, because I don't know when else I would get to it. Tim emailed me back within a day or two to let me know that there had been a mistake and that he would try to fix it. He then emailed me back again to let me know to call the office because I was all set. A few days go by and I actually call SC... sign up for my normal Thursday night class... and it was as if none of this bad stuff had ever happened. A few more days go by and I email Tim to let him know that I was all set, and to thank him for working so hard at getting everything settled. Apparently Tim took exception to the "thank you" email taking so long to get to him, because he's been giving me crap (playful crap, but that's still crap) about it ever since. One time I saw him and he asked me: "Is everything okay, Mr. Steeno? Can I get you anything, Mr. Steeno? Do you need anything, Mr. Steeno?" Which I just played along with ("Have a fiver, Timmy, and get a little something for yourself")... but which secretly hurt me. I HAD thanked him... and I was honestly very grateful for what he had done for me... but I can't go back in time and thank him right away, or else I would. What an immature response to my situation! I love the guy to death but, please... I damn near got shafted by the training center and no one would have been the wiser had I not said anything. Additionally! I had the latter half of my England trip almost ruined by the news that I didn't make it into Level 2. So, excuse me... but there's no reason to be pety about this. *sigh* I just want to learn and be good at whatever it is that I'm doing... I hate (HATE) gossip and politics, and I know it will but hope it won't follow me to wherever I go from here.

No! Not My G. Love!!!
I totally just saw my boy G. Love on a Coca-Cola Zero commercial. At the Coke Zero website, you can put a pushpin in a map of the globe and say how chill you are. I did it already... and Chicago is a pretty chill place. Oh, by the way... no where on the site does it tell you what Coke Zero is.

Goodbye to the British! Hello Conservative, Religious, Militants... I mean Americans!
Saturday, May 21st
It was because of the fact that Mike and I were on the later flight, that our morning was a very easy, lazy morning. Neither of us showered; we were both already packed; and we had plenty of time at breakfast to sit and relax. I wished that every morning was like that last morning... it was wonderfully relaxing.
When we got to the airport, Mike and I did some last minute shopping. I actually got my sister something and my dad a couple things at the airport. I know it might sound tacky... but there were some things at the airport that I thought my sister and dad would really like (and they did! So in your faces, kids!).
We all soon boarded the plane and, here, I'm going to toot my own horn a bit. Shelby realized that she was in a middle seat, and she gets airsick. I realized that I was on an aisle... and that I can sit anywhere (as I am an Olympic-class sitter). So I let Shelby switch with me... and ended up in the middle seat of five, in the very middle of the airplane--arguably the most undesirable seats on the plane. That's how nice of a guy I am. And I was such a nice guy that the couple from Toledo next to me just absolutely loved me. I even had the wife insisting that I finish some of her food, as I was a "bachelor." I must also state that I am such a champion-level sitter that I spent the entire flight in that seat... not standing or leaving my seat once in the 8/9 hour flight. I am so totally awesome.
When we landed, the goodbyes were awkward and scattered. I said goodbye to a few people and ended up having to stand next to them in customs or at the luggage claim or wherever. And, in all honesty, graduating from high school AND college makes one an expert at not really saying goodbye to people if you want to see them again. It's not goodbye to them... and the other people aren't important enough to worry about saying goodbye, in all honesty. That comes from being too old to care. Isn't that great? I'm great.
And the Bohne's are great as well. I went to their house to pick up my car... and ended up being asked to stay for dinner, so I did. We had Chinese food, and I spent some time hitting on Mike's oldest sister, Karen. What? I mean, hitting on Mike's sister. Oh, that was the same thing... why would I do that? I wasn't actually hitting on Mike's sister... I just want all my friends to know what it's like to have friend date their immediate family. So Mike is lucky that there's a young lady I like a lot more than his sister, or else I'd be movin' hard on that. Oh Snaps!
I left their house far too late at night, and had a very long drive ahead of me. I arrived at my house very late, but both my parents were still awake. And, even though it had been a very long day already, I ended up staying up with them until about 2 AM (my voice coarse, my throat sore) talking about the trip. They were very interested to hear everything I had to say... and I had missed them terribly, so I wanted to stay up and talk. But, at around two, after being up for a million hours straight, it was time to finally get some sleep.
Sunday, May 22nd
I'm not going to say much about this day. I spent a lot of it sleeping and jet-lagged, actually. I gave my parents a full-picture slideshow of my England trip, complete with boring slideshow commentary. That was fun. Then my mom prepared a nice meal, which was all-the-nicer because it wasn't bar food. I also ended up watching Desperate Housewives with my mom. I think it was the season finale and, if I was writing this in May instead of almost July, I'd have something interesting to say about it. I'm basically done with that show... as it seems like they are going to continue to manufacture 'mysteries' by adding new characters on the street. How forced is that? "Ooo! There's a new family who just moved in and they're MYSTERIOUS!"... That's bullshit. It's just bad writing. So, yeah, I'm done with that show... particularly since Family Guy is back.
Monday, May 23rd OR Genesis
Monday I was not going to drive back to Chicago. I decided, instead, to head to Grand Rapids to see Miss Chelsey. Yes, Emcee Dubs and I decided to lunch at TGIFridays on Alpine. We were treated to a very animated waiter named Caesar (AKA Mr. Dog), who ended up talking me into buying dessert by the clever use of Caesar: "What was your favorite cookie growing up?" Me: "Chocolate Chip?" Caesar: "How about Oreo?"... Very well done, indeed. He loved Chelsey and I so much that he told us that he bartends on weekends and that we were welcome to stop by for free drinks whenever he was working. Oh, how I loved Caesar!
After lunch, we headed to Best Buy to kill some time before a movie. We were going to see Star Wars: Episode III with... my parents. Yeah, my parents were in GR Monday because my mom had a doctor's appointment in GR that day... so we were going to meet them for a movie. I think Chelsey was nervous... but I don't think she was as nervous as I wanted her to be. What do I mean? Well, I get really nervous when meeting parents... and I want everyone else to feel the same way. But, she didn't... she handled herself magnificently. But moron the movie! Caution: Spoilers! I must say I enjoyed Ewan McGregor's performance. After his portrayal of Obi-Wan, and because of the movie Big Fish, I must say he's becoming one of my favorite actors. And, despite the SUPREMELY WHINY portrayal of Anakin, Hayden Christensen is better in this movie than in Episode 2. Plus, it must be said that, upon seeing Episode IV: A New Hope again, Luke was also a big whiner-pants. We only give him some leeway because he's the hero. Finally, because of the way the first two Episodes were constructed, and because of the way the story ends in Episodes 4-6, the plot of Episode III unfolded as it should have. Okay, having said all that, let's get into all the problems of this movie. Problem 1): Like Jim mentioned, these movie have a big problem: people dying like bitches. His list consisted of: "Boba Fett in Episode VI, and Mace Windu, General Grievous and Count Dooku in Episode III." Now, it should be mentioned that Boba Fett does not die in the Sarlacc Pit, but in fact gets out while the pit is still digesting him and goes on to continue his bounty hunting (see the books post-Episode VI *pushes up glasses*). But let us add to that list my favorite Star Wars character: Darth Maul... who dies like a complete bitch in Episode I. And so, back to Episode III, we get Count Dooku's death--the main antagonist in Episode II gets defeated far too easily in Episode III; General Grievous's death--a robot who can wield four light-sabers at once should have taken both Kenobi and Skywalker to defeat; and Mace Windu's death--can beat the Emperor even though Yoda can't, but is electrocuted and flung out a window. I will, however, give Windu one thing... at least he went out with some style. But all the villains--Maul, Dooku, and Grievous--die too quickly and too wussily. It's almost as if (and this is from a fellow writer's perspective) Lucus got to the point where he needed them to die to further the plot, but didn't really want to write their death scenes... so he said in the script "And he dies," waiting for the fight choreographer to come up with something brilliant. Well, the choreographers didn't come up with anything brilliant... and probably felt pressed for time as well (I assume Lucas wanted to get on with the rest of the movie and gave little room for anything elaborate to occur).
Problem 2): Hayden is better, but I didn't say he was good. My new favorite personal impression is of him in this movie: "I will be the most powerful Jedi EVER! I will learn how to stop people from DYING! *whines*" Good grief.
Problem 3): And this one is the biggest... the ending is TERRIBLE. Absolutely awful. We've got Padme giving us the great lines like "Luke... Leia" when the twins are born... we've got Vader's "Noooo!" which is the height of ridiculousness... and we've got boring exposition at the end of a movie! That's got to be a huge screenplay no-no. The audience KNOWS where Luke and Leia end up... the audience KNOWS about Vader and the Emperor--the movie SHOULD end when we get "The Emperor: Lord Vader, can you hear me? Darth Vader: Yes, master" END CREDITS. BAM! That would be powerful shit... but, instead, we get this awkward try-to-tie-everything-together montage which is just plain boring.
DONE BITCHING ABOUT THE MOVIE!
Okay... so, having said all THAT, it must be said that I still enjoyed the movie. And after the movie, my parents took both Chelsey and I to Outback for dinner. The food was good... my mom likes Outback a lot more than I do, I think. I'm not much of a steak person, actually. And like I said earlier, Chelsey handled herself quiet well. So well, in fact, that I think my parents really liked her right away.
And then my parents promptly left right away... leaving Chelsey and I in GR to do as we pleased. We pleased to head to Rivertown Crossings and walk around. She and I walked together for a while, just talking and looking into stores... until we decided to see another movie: The Interpreter. My parents had raved about it... and I was semi-interested, so we went. It was not a great movie... it wasn't a bad movie, but I didn't really find it to be a thriller. (Caution: Spoilers!) For one to believe this movie a thriller, one must believe two things which I did not: 1) Nicole Kidman's character was in danger; 2) Nicole Kidman's character had more to do with what was going on than she let on. At no time during that movie did I fear Kidman's death... and, furthermore, I had no reason to distrust the main character of the movie. Had the movie seemed to be focused more on Sean Penn's character, then I might have believed that Kidman was lying and she was expendable... but the movie is ABOUT Kidman's character, and I didn't buy that they were clever or bastardly enough to give us a huge twist at the end. If you want to see it, don't think of it as a thriller... think of it as an exploration of two characters, particularly Sean Penn who plays within himself in this movie. This is the complete opposite of him in Mystic River, where he plays a character so over the top emotionally that he's not believable as a human being. Yeah, I said it. And I meant it. But I like him in The Interpreter because he's very believable and likeable.
I dropped Chelsey off at her house that night. It was such an amazing day... and an amazing time in England... I really wanted to be in a relationship with her. So I asked. And she thought it would be a pretty good idea too. So Chelsey and I started dating that day. Hooray for me! Hooray for us! This blog is going to get unnecessarily cute and gross and I'm not going to bore you with details. Or excite you with details... *smile*

Take Hockey From The Canadians And Look What Happens
Further proving that Canada is one of the grooviest, most laid-back and open-minded countries in the world (easily being the coolest country in the West), here's a story about Canada passing a same-sex marriage law. They are the third country in the world, behind the Netherlands and Belgium (w00t!), to pass such a law. Good for Canada, who continues to be a more and more attractive place for me to live. They are a relaxed and welcoming people... and they will always have hockey, even if the NHL tells us to stay out of the rinks.

How Much Do You Miss Hockey?
Do you miss it enough to drink and drive?
What? A new post? From me?! Oh shut up... I had to comment on this while it's still fresh, and while some people still haven't heard about it. Here's a story about a New Jersey Zamboni driver. He, apparently, was drunk-driving a Zamboni on the job, was SPEEDING, and nearly crashed it into the boards. The driver is looking at having his driver's license AND his Zamboni license revoked. I think that's hilarious... and I miss hockey so GD much.

England: V Day OR The End Of The Road
Friday, May 20th
By Friday morning, Mike and I had completely figured out when and how to eat a hotel breakfast. We moved swiftly through the lines, grabbed exactly what we wanted (with nothing wasted), and ate in plenty of time to be on the coach to leave. For future reference, it only takes a week to get the hang of hotel continental breakfasts.
We were on the coach in time to head out to tour the HMS Victory. To be honest, I was not looking forward to the tour. Who is Lord Nelson? Why should I care? Why was this on the tour? None of these things I knew... so, yes, I was most definitely not looking forward to this tour. So, as we approached the harbor, I was sure to snap a picture when the tour guide woman told us that the HMS Victory was over there *points*. Wanna see?

There's only one problem with this picture: That isn't the HMS Victory.
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Yeah... the TOUR GUIDE didn't know which ship was the ship we were there to see. She was an idiot! So I've now got this completely useless picture which I didn't delete so that I could show everyone what an idiot our tour guide woman was. But, regardless, we eventually found the actual HMS Victory, which looks a lot like this:

1) If I were to crop this, it would be perfect; 2) Three levels of cannons + cannons on the top deck = a whole lot of cannons!
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And so, the tour of the HMS Victory began. I must say that they have made NO attempt to make it handicapped accessible, which made me feel pretty crappy. Big H was able to wheel herself onto the ship, listen to the tour-guide for about five minutes, and then wheel herself off... without getting the full tour. And what a tour it was! I never thought I would be as interested in the HMS Victory as I was. The tour guide (whose name escapes me) was informative and interesting... and we learned the origin of certain phrases and terms like "the head", "three square meals a day", and "cat by the tails". I still don't care about Lord Nelson... but I was very happy that the Victory was on our tour.
After our HMS Victory tour, we were magically whisked away to Chichester... where I spent some time trying to find a gift for my father. Having no luck, I accidentally and serendipitously found a group of people for lunch at the Cafe Nero. And, after lunch, Miss Chelsey and I had enough time to walk around Chichester. It was an absolutely lovely afternoon, but we basically only had time to walk up and down two streets before we had to get back to the Chichester Cathedral for rehearsal.
Now I have been told that my blog has turned a bit "whinny"... and, if you thought before was bad then you're going to love how I felt about the Chichester concert. I was DONE... I was done singing, I was sick of singing, I was actually a little sick... I was done by Chichester. And, to make matters worse, we had a two/three hour rehearsal before the actual concert.
Now, about the rehearsal... we were quasi-forced to sit next to a member of the Chichester choir. I sat next to a dude who introduced himself as "Steph"... which I guess is cool in England, but made me think of a woman's name. Sorry Steph. At any rate, Steph and I were only able to communicate cross-culturally by talking about what comedy movies and TV shows we liked. Family Guy, Simpsons, Kevin Smith movies, and Who's Line were all shows we talked about... and it became quite clear to me quite quickly that he was not one of the 'cool kids.' I suppose I fall into that category as well. Ehh... at any rate, we didn't have much time to talk, because it was time to sing again.
It was the Chichester choir director who warmed up the combined choir... and that was great! I've never had as good a choir warm-up as he led. We warmed up diction, the high range, and the low range and everything... it was a great, full warm-up.
We then sang what I would refer to as a "whole bunch." I, honestly, was just trying to get through it before my throat got too sore (which it was after a week of staying up late and lots of singing). I was almost not paying attention enough to notice when DRR said "I need more organ"... but I was paying attention enough to titter quite loudly.
After the rehearsal, a group of about eight of us only had time to walk across the street (quite literally) to West's, which was a bar that was a converted church. Yeah, church converted to bar... would NEVER happen in the States, but was an awesome ambiance! I got the most perfect looking Guinness in the history of beers (which Jill took a picture of... and I'm still waiting to get a copy of it), and we had a great meal (Two for Five pound cocktails makes any food taste better!).
But, before long, we were forced to go back to the cathedral to 'take our medicine' and finish our concert tour with the final concert. By the time the concert started, my throat was completely sore and I already didn't want to sing. Ouch! I'm a whiner!
The other conductor, however, was so into the concert and the music that I enjoyed the long piece for which he conducted. He also was quite good at queuing entrances... and cut-offs... and I enjoyed singing for him. I wish I remembered his name. Regardless, half the concert was good and fun and I enjoyed it even though I was in pain. However, Scotty P leading the choir onto the wrong riser (partially my fault) led to the second, less interesting half of the concert. By the time we were doing the Chichester Psalms, and DRR was back to conducting, I was supremely done singing on this tour. I just wanted to get it over with... and, soon enough, it was.
And then, before long, I was on the coach headed back to the Marriott. As is our choir tradition, we decided to sing the Alma Mater before we got to the hotel... it was that song that really got me. I teared up... thinking about how it was the last time I will probably ever sing with the Albion choir. It will be certainly the last time I sing with the college choir still feeling somehow a part of them.
As we reached the hotel, I changed clothing to go down to the combined choir reception. I grabbed some greasy, pretty weird tasting hors d'oeuveres... and made a quick round of the room. It was somehow decided that the choirs would sing a little something to impress each other (or something) and we sang "Lean On Me"... the Euphonic's arranged full choir version. That song was probably the first time on the whole trip that I felt completely comfortable (as I had done the perc for it a couple of times before) and as if there was no pressure on me to be any good. Yes, I had felt pressure to be good because I was the old guy who shouldn't have been there... I needed to be good to prove that I should have been there.
Regardless of pressure, I left that reception pretty soon after the song so that I could spend as much time with Miss Chelsey as I could before we left the island. Ooo... was that something juicy? Hold on, it gets better...

After a weekend of Wedding wonder, it's time to get you all caught up. My goal is to catch up by the first of July... if I haven't caught up by then, I'm dropping unimportant portions of June and moving forward. Now, back to...
England: My Stake in Salisbury
Thursday, May 19th
Let's say that you yelled an obscenity in an historic and beautiful place in a foreign country as part of a large tour group... how would you appease everyone the next day? What would YOU do to work for forgiveness; to get the rest of the tour group back on your side? If you answered "Make everyone on the bus wait almost an hour for me the next morning"... you'd be right. And you'd also be Squidward... because that's what happened Thursday morning. For the first time in the entire week, my coach was loaded and ready to go before the other coach that morning... ready to go except that Squidward wasn't on the coach. And we waited... and waited... and as we sat, forty-five minutes after we were supposed to leave, Mike turned to me and said we should do a slow clap for him whenever he does board the coach. Done and done, I replied... as I figured that I was too old to care what the people on tour thought. As such, at 9:50 (almost a full hour later than we were supposed to leave) when Squidward boarded the coach... I started the slow clapping. And, because half the other coach had switched to our coach by Thursday, there were no seats in which for him to sit except for at the very back of the coach... where Mike and I sat with our 'sarcasm' turned up to high. As I said before, what a big D he was.
While we were waiting, Ken called me from the States. It was great to be able to hear from someone in the States while I was on tour... and Ken had much on which to catch me up (which I have to catch YOU up on), but that doesn't go here yet, does it? No... not quite yet.
After we finally left, and as we were driving towards Salisbury, we listened to a CD made from a recording of the Strewsbury concert. DRR had placed microphone down to record the concert to a DAT tape (that ancient religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes), which was then converted onto a laptop, then burned to a CD. Oh the long, winding road that is concert music! Huh? I don't know... let's get to my point, shall we? My point is that... well, guess where that microphone was. Go on... guess. I'll wait.
Nope. Try again.
Gross... it wouldn't even fit.
No! Are you even trying?
Fine... I'll just tell you. The microphone had been placed right next to me. The whole concert on that stupid CD ended up sounding like Johnny Chicago and his Albion College Choir! And, as it was playing over the coach's speaker system... I became as self-conscious as I have ever been. I actually felt exposed... as if my singing in the concert had suddenly become me changing on stage during Charlie's Aunt. Needless to say, hearing yourself and having everyone else hear just you is enough to make any insecure singer even less secure. I was embarrassed by my own voice... and felt REALLY uncomfortable for the first time on tour.
Thankfully we arrived in Salisbury before we could listen to the entire concert. And Salisbury's Cathedral was architecturally brilliant!

Salisbury's absolutely beautiful cathedral... under construction.
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And it wasn't just an impressive building from the outside. Inside the cathedral were scores, if not hundreds, of minute but beautiful artistic details. We had a tour of the cathedral, which was interesting... but I was frankly a bit bored of old churches by Thursday. I wasn't really into how remarkable this building was. I would like to someday go back there... but we'll see about that. A wonderfully intricate building. Unfortunately for the choir, it looked better than it sounded. We were forced to stand in the absolute middle of the church... on a riser too small for the choir, with choir members spilling over and smashed together. In retrospect, it was the beginning of the end for my interest in singing on this tour. Actually, the CD was the beginning of the end... as I was certainly holding back when we sang. I wasn't into the music... I was uncomfortable... I was embarrassed by my voice... it was the beginning of the end, my friends.
When we were done with that concert, I was actually pretty happy to not be singing. So the fact that we were going out to eat, just added to my joy! And, to add even MORE joy, C Sads actually asked me to lunch. Yeah, that's right... I've got attractive Chelsea's asking me to lunch. So I whisked her away to a little bistro before she changed her mind.
After lunch, I was excited for the next stop on the tour: Stonehenge! I had been looking forward to seeing Stonehenge ever since I heard that it was a stop on the tour. Every picture I've seen of Stonehenge has been beautiful... and I've seen at least four different Discovery Channel/TLC specials on Stonehenge and the mysteries surrounding the stones and their erection (I constructed that sentence on purpose... I am the most intelligent five year-old ever). Having said all that, I must admit I was horribly disappointed by Stonehenge. It is surrounded by a fence (so that no one can get close without paying)... but that fence is chain-link, so people who don't pay can still see it. Additionally, there is a path surrounding the monument, so that even the people who pay the money don't get much closer to it than twenty or thirty yards. There was an audio tour at Stonehenge just like at Bath. And just like Bath, the audio tour was TOO LONG and got quiet boring (particularly since so much is only conjectured and there is no hard evidence, so they can't really say for sure). There was yet another reason that Stonehenge was so disappointing: They had to close it early. Someone got close enough to accidentally knock over one of the stones...

I was tired from all the walking and needed to lean on something... What?!
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Whoops! Um... let's move on, shall we? We left Stonehenge for the Marriott Hotel in Portsmouth. Mike and I had a room that overlooked the entrance and the breakfast area... so we could, basically, spy on everyone. I enjoyed it... but was too hungry to sit and people watch (even though we sat with a whole bunch of people and watched competitive darts... and THEN watched a show where smart kids get asked semi-tough questions, and then when we knew the answers we talked smack at the TV to the kids).
A large group of us walked next door to a pub called Beefeater. They, apparently, didn't like Americans... as a few of us got terrible service from the manager, of all people! I got fairly good service, even though it was too expensive for what I got (about twice as expensive as food in the States).
So, since we got such crappy service, we decided to head to a Tesco (Tesco Extra! Ooo!) and got some food and drinks. It was because of Chelsey's love for Strongbow that I decided to purchase an entire 2-Litre of the beverage. Needless to say, I didn't get as many people to share with me as I wanted to, and ended up drinking a lot more of it than I wanted to in the next two days. How much? Enough to spend a significant amount of time talking about all the women who liked another man... which is something completely sober, completely awake John wouldn't allow himself to do. What else did John in England do that he wouldn't normally? Only one more day!...

England: Time to Take a Bath
Wednesday, May 18th
Remember what I said about sabotaging the shower? Yeah... today was the day! I don't know what I did, but my shower was fine... and then Mike's shower putzed out on him so that he had to take a bath. Ha ha... bathing... how apropos for the day!
Our full English breakfast was made all the more interesting that morning because of a young man who decided to join us. Since I will most likely be talking about him in a derogatory manor, he shall be named "Squidward." Actually, if you knew him, you'd know just how appropriate that nickname was... the way he talks, his attitude, it all fits my friends. He's a big D.
After the interesting breakfast, the group was off to the fabulous town of Bath. The first stop once we got to Bath was the Roman Baths (for which the town is named). They were somehow both beautiful and gross at the same time.

Notice the beautiful tint of green to the Roman Bath water. That's from literally thousands of years of algae growth... and very little chlorine, if you know what I mean.
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But it was also quite an interesting place. In addition, I was treated to something new and interesting: a self-guided audio tour. We were given these electronic tour "phones" wherein all we needed to do was punch in a number, and we were treated to an audio description of whatever we were looking at. Still too difficult to imagine? How's this...

Here's Morgan, Jill, and Justin listening to the audio tour phones... notice the large number in the upper-righthand corner. Punch that in, hold up the phone to your ear, and hear everything there is to hear about something boring and old!
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There you go! Someone once said that a picture is worth a whole bunch of words... like twenty words. But, to be honest, the audio tour was too long. I listened to the first few audio tour points... but then decided that they were too long, and I didn't want to listen to all of them. After picking up a few interesting facts about the Roman Baths, I was very ready to leave them.
And leave them we did... to find lunch. A group of us and I decided to stop at a French bakery and we got these delightful (did I just say delightful?) baguettes. They were fabulous!
After a sensational lunch, it was off to the Bath Abbey.

Absolutely GORGEOUS! Perhaps the most beautiful building we saw in the entire country. Breath-taking!
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Mmm... the greatest! And then we went inside. WOW! WOW... it was amazingly beautiful on the inside as well. How beautiful, you ask? Stop hounding me, I yell! Oh... I mean, let's look at some inside pics, shall we?

Here's a pic from my seat before the concert. Ooo Ahh!
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And then...

Check out how artistic this pic is... mmm, the arts! Interesting architecture, no?
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And would that I could have taken a picture of the sound! Oh the sound in this building... was incredible! It was so acoustically amazing, I dare say it had better acoustics than Carnegie Hall. It was the most acoustically beautiful place I have ever been. So acoustically amazing, in fact, that if one were to say "Oh why don't you shut the phuk up," everyone would hear him. Remember Squidward? Yes, he did just that. I don't know the full story, but I do know that he said that quite loud and was pulled aside for being an idiot.
Nevermind that... the concert was so incredible! We sang amazingly. It was a beautiful concert, seriously. And it made me so glad I was there.
After the concert, we were given walking tours of Bath. Our tour guide was named Felicity... and I wondered to myself if she had ever watched the show. My guess is no, as she was a 60 or 70 something British woman, but you never know. It doesn't behoove one to stereotype... and now you know (and knowing is half the battle!). Anyway, we toured around Bath, which is an absolutely gorgeous town. I loved it there. And one of the reasons it was so nice was the walking tour, as Felicity had that infamous dry, British wit. She, however, was not hip to American lingo. What do I mean? Well, she was telling us about the Royal Balls which were held in one of the beautiful Bath buildings... you can see where this is going. Mike asked, "How big of balls can be held here?"... and two other ball-related questions were asked to Felicity. She was looking at Mike, Kent, and Justin and I was behind her... so I got to laugh freely while those three guys had to stand dead-pan. Ha ha to them!
But Felicity was great... and our tour seemed to be over all too soon. We then went on to do a little Bath shopping... and ended up in a bar called The Rat and Parrot. The food was good, but Mike and I found the most horrendous smell in the world when we went downstairs to the bathroom. It smelled like a combination of sulfur and urine. It was horrible.
That night at the hotel, I had a decision to make. I was told by Second City that I could either take a 1A class again for half price or I could just wait until the next audition. If I wanted to take the 1A class again, I could take it on Sunday or on Wednesday... but they needed to know by Wednesday. Well... it was Wednesday, and time to make a decision. I actually called Keith and asked him which 1A class he was in. He called me back on Wednesday and let me know that tonight was his class! That solidified it. I would take the Wednesday class, and reunite with Keith! But here was another kicker. The instructor of his class? A Mr. Holly, the head of the program and the guy who was responsible for me not making it into level 2. Would I be a big enough man to let bygones be bygones? Only time (and this blog) will tell...

After an extended Father's Day weekend, I'm back to try to spill my life onto the information superhighway. I want to thank everyone who has come out to support my Second City troubles... but relax, there is a happy ending here. Just wait for it...
England: Burton-On-The-Water, A Fire In The Sky
Tuesday, May 17th
It should be said here that Miss Katie pulled me aside the night before and took a real interest in trying to help me work through my frustration over my Second City situation. She was a good friend to me that night.
I wish the same could be said for the Prince Rupert cooking staff. When Mike and I got down to breakfast we found it was the first "cook-to-order" breakfast we had encountered... so we would have to order food and they'd have to, obviously, make it for us. Well, Bones and I hadn't gotten up early enough to spend that much time waiting, so we had to tell the waitress that we wouldn't be ordering any food... that we'd eat from the ready-to-eat table (cereal and bread and cheese and fruit). The response we got was "Got a late start this morning, did we?" which could be cute and playful if it hadn't been said in such a judgmental tone. You're not the one who's not going to get a full breakfast because you're late, lady... what is it to you? What a big B she was.
We finally left that terrible hotel and hit the road. We actually made an unscheduled stop that afternoon, in a little place called Burton-On-The-Water. It was a beautiful little town... with a river running straight through the middle of town.

A beautiful town that looks like this.
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We stopped unexpectedly in this town to get lunch... so Mike and I decided to try a Fish and Chips Take-Away store. I also decided to be bold and try something called a "fish burger." Why not, I figured, as this is supposed to be a country that does fish well. The dude asked me if I wanted mayo on it, and I was like "yeah"... and he proceeded to dump as much mayo as humanly possible on the stupid sandwich. He backed a truck up and dumped extra mayo on the sandwich, just to make sure I couldn't see it under all the mayo. After shoveling the mayo off the sandwich, it wasn't that bad... wasn't as good as I had hoped, but not terrible.
After an unscheduled stop, we were off to Cirencester. When we arrived, we were given some time to walk around right away. Mike, Kent, Justin, Dan, and I headed to a place called the Crown Pub. Some of us got pints, but I did not. It was too early in the day... and I just wanted to relax. We ended up walking around Cirencester for a little while, shopping and just looking in shops. I also came about this *puts fingers next to each other* close to buying Laura Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. What stopped me? Three things: 1) I didn't know if she'd want the first book or another book she liked better; 2) Something told me Laura already got the British version of that book... I don't know if that's true or not, but I got very nervous about it; 3) Men suck... and when the "guys" saw me checking out Harry Potter books, I got a little razzed. It made me flustered and then, not thinking straight, I had to make a quick decision. In my haste, my decision was 'no dice.' Sorry Laura dear... I can always go back and get it for you if you want me to.
Later that day, we headed back to the hotel. Now, not to get into specifics, let us say that there was a little miscommunication between Mike and I... and, while a lot of the people in the choir headed to Swindon, I stayed in the hotel. Which was fine because I spent a few hours that evening napping. It had been a long, tiring trip so far... and the nap was actually time well spent. I had gotten locked out of the room, and had to get two new keys... so Mike's key wasn't going to work when he came back. When Mike came back and woke me up, I had to find someone else who hadn't gone to Swindon. And wonders never cease... if Miss Katie and Miss Chelsey hadn't gone into town. So the three of us had dinner in the expensive Corus Hotel restaurant. We had a pleasant (if expensive) dinner together and headed back to our respective rooms.
Mike and I had a large room at the end of the hallway, so it was our turn to host the evening's festivities. It was fun to have a room full of people enjoying themselves... it was also interesting to have a room full of variously aged students drinking themselves silly. Interesting to me because I was sober and was able to watch people go from "hello" to "ehhgg." Mmm... egg.
Let me just say one more thing about Tuesday before I go. Mike and Jennie had various phone conversations while we were in England... and I'm not as opposed to confrontation as, say, Jim ("ahh... an argument! Run away!" heehee)... but hearing one side of an argument is very odd, and I actually did run away to give them some privacy. It was more about me feeling uncomfortable than Mike feeling uncomfortable... but, still, feeling chased from your room is off-putting. Off-putting enough for me to sabotage the shower? Stay tuned...

Um... this is me saying it's been a while (obviously), and I'm going to try to get back on track with this whole "typing/entertaining you for free" thing. I'm sorry that I've been gone. As such... let's head back to England, shall we?
England: Finally a Taste of England OR Proof the United States Could Still Ruin My Trip from Across the Pond
Monday, May 16th
For reasons I can't/won't explain here... the evening of debauchery that stemmed from that Pen and Parchment visit left me very VERY tired in the morning. For some reason, I have listed a "quick breakfast" for this morning... but I honestly don't remember it. Oh wait... now it's coming back to me. I thought there was a chance that I would be punched in the face Monday morning... but I wasn't. I thought some people may have been talking about me in the morning... but I think everyone was worried about everyone else finding out what THEY did Sunday night, that no one was talking about anyone else. See what happens when you give a whole choir a night free in a boring little town? Bad things, my friend... bad things.
But we left Stratford-Upon-Avon before anything illegal happened and we headed to Warwick Castle. I felt as though Warwick Castle was a more beautiful, more classical castle than Windsor. When I think of what a Castle should look like in the future, Warwick is the castle of which I will think. That was disgustingly good English.
But, anyway, there is a tower at Warwick castle called Guy's Tower that has the absolute greatest view of the surrounding area. Here are two pics from the top of that tower:

This is the view looking one way!
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This is the view looking the other way! That building has an exhibit that makes it look like there's a party going on... and there creepy wax figures over here too! Hooray!
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I actually made the walk up to that tower twice. Once on my own to get these great pics... and a second time with Mike, Justin, and some of the other Euphonics. As I ascended the tower, I realized that they have made no attempt to make this castle handicapped accessible. I became somewhat irritated that England can give Americans crap for not being culturally sensitive, but they themselves care very little for the physically handicapped enjoying their landmarks and monuments. And it's such a shame because the view up from that tower was so beautiful... I actually would have taken a lot more pictures of Warwick, but my camera battery decided it didn't want to charge the night before... and my battery ran out pretty early that day.
And this has nothing to do with anything, but, at lunch, we were waiting in this little cafeteria in a fairly long line... and everyone ahead of us was waiting ten minutes for a hot lunch, but we just wanted food. As such, five or six of us ended up politely asking a British woman to pass us chips and bottled water. The woman was very very nice... and I felt bad asking her for my chips and water when the time came... but, seriously, move out of the way lady. Geez! Make me feel bad! I don't know where I was going with that... let's move away from this.
Yes, Warwick Castle was beautiful and the day was going quite well, until we got to Shrewsbury. Now, don't get me wrong, Shrewsbury is a great little town with a really cool vibe. I finally felt like I had gotten a taste of an actual English town when we got to Shrewsbury... and I really liked the way it felt. It is a fabulous little burb, and the problem was not the town but what happened while I was there.
The first thing we did was to check into our hotel, the Prince Rupert Hotel. This was, by far, the worst hotel at which we stayed. The problem being that all the rooms seemed different... so while Chelsey and Katie's room looked like someone's cute little loft apartment, mine and Mike's room was small... and Mike's bed was complete crap. It was the worst mattress ever... and the fact that they had a placard over the bed boasting that fact was a little off-putting. In addition to the crappy room, the entire hotel had one elevator which wasn't big enough for anyone... so we all had to lug our luggage (although that's what it's there for) up to our rooms. It wasn't a problem for me, but just thinking of all the small people on our tour with big bags... it irritated me.
After complaining to each other about our room, Mike and I were off to choir rehearsal in the Shrewsbury Abbey. The choir then spent a good fifteen to twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get us all to cram into a very small space so that we could take a group photo from about ten feet away. Why didn't we get some more distance between us and the camera? There wasn't enough room. Why didn't we move the picture someplace else? The Abbey was being reconstructed... and there was gross scaffolding all over the place. Why didn't we get the picture outside? It was drizzling rain outside. Why didn't I just complain a whole bunch? Because I knew I could do it here, thank you.
We then quickly rehearsed about half of the selections we were going to sing at the concert. The bane of my existence on this trip was a little piece we like to call the Chicester Psalms. Not only was it incredibly nonsensical rhythmically, but it was in a language that I'm not sure has ever been spoken on this planet. Suffice it to say, I didn't know the piece. And, when I'm messing around, having fun rehearsing, I laugh it off: "ha ha ha... I'm having fun." No big deal. There's a huge choir around me and somebody here knows this crappy tune... let them sing it. I had myself focused on something a lot more important.
On the way to Shrewsbury, DRR asked Mike if the BriTones were ready to sing. The BriTones being a male acapella group consisting of the men in Euphonics and maybe two other guys (one of them=me). What were we going to sing? Good question... we hadn't rehearsed together as a full group ever. I think they might have rehearsed without me... but, being myself and highly anal retentive, I prefer to rehearse something a bunch of times before I have to go out on stage and perform it (improv what?).
Mike, apparently, felt a little bit the same way because he decided to scrap the BriTones idea in lieu of having the Euphonics perform. That was a good idea, I figured... but what would I do? Should I bow out gracefully and let the NextGen kick the funk? Or should I show them all how we did it old school (by arguing over nothing and having a big ego)? The latter seemed the best choice, and soon I was practicing with the new group. And, by practicing, I mean I went through the songs once... because they already knew them all. In all honesty, I'm fine with singing something in front of a group that I've only sung once before... but I'm not fine doing vocal percussion. To me, the perc stands out... it's a completely different sound than anything else that's going on, and it's the most noticeable part of the song (yes, even more so than the solo in my opinion). So I became worried when the Euphonics decided to do a song for which I would have to do the vocal perc on by myself ("Crazy Little Thing Called Love"). To be fair, Mike seemed to notice and try to address my level of discomfort... taking the drum fills that stand out by themselves... but, needless to say, I was quite nervous.
Imagine my surprise when, out of the blue before the concert, someone in the choir (who will remain nameless... but shall be labeled Exhibit "Tactless Bitch," for identification) came up to me to give me some advice. TB said "I noticed that when you don't know your part in Chicester that you giggle,"(the italicized portion should be read with as much disgust and inherent judgment as possible, thank you) "and you're right in front of everyone, so might I suggest that you either switch with someone or..." "I'm gonna stop you right there," I said. "I perform for a living, and I will not 'giggle' during a performance. But thank you for your suggestion." Can you believe how almost polite that sounded? Coming from ME?! But let me tell you, inside of me, I was ready to rip her stupid glasses off her pompous face and smash them on the ground. The NERVE... The AUDACITY (of IRS!... that's from a wrestling action figure commercial from when I was younger. Anyone remember that? "The audacity of IRS" it said... referring to the wrestler Irwin R. Scheister who used to wrestle in business attire and would bring a briefcase to the ring. I always think of that commercial when someone uses the word "audacity." Stupid consumerism)... What a BITCH! This is why you don't have any friends, TB.
Regardless, that shut her up and sent her back to the soprano section (anyone notice that it's the sopranos and tenors who have the assholes in their section? Do you know any asshole altos? No... they don't exist). I was so furious at her that I gave the performance of my life. Never before have I been so focused, so loud, so energetic, so emotional... And it didn't matter that I had only sung the songs a grand total of once, I was on. And the emotional part was easy, know why? Not only because my emotions were raging because of Miss TB, but also because DRR looked like he was going to cry after we finished a couple of songs. He honestly looked like he was going to cry right there in front of us. How can seeing your director cry because of what you just sang not get your blood pumping? HOW?!
The answer is "I don't know." But I do know that, before I knew it, it was time for the Euphonics to sing. We were asked to go up in front of everyone by ourselves and sing our songs. I suppose this is nothing new to me, but I didn't like knowing that we were going to be doing a song that I wasn't ready to perform in front of people, well, in front of people. (My sentence structure sucks... I must be rusty) The first song we sang was "My Immortal" by Evanescence. Anyone who really knows me, knows about me and this song. It was not a song I want to necessarily ever hear again, much less sing. But I think it did me good to have to sing it... making the song more about doing something good rather than being affected by something bad. I hope that makes sense... if not, tough. I'm rusty. And then we ended with "Crazy Little Thing Called Love"... which sounded pretty good, actually. I actually found myself (there I am!) being able to hear the echo of the vocal perc while we were singing, and thinking to myself that I sounded pretty much like a drum. Good for me. And being able to sing peppy songs like "Crazy Little Thing..." is my favorite thing about singing. The music moves me... makes me merry... many mumbling mice... I hate alliteration! I'm all over the place today! Anyway... my point is that I enjoyed being able to sing with the Euphonics and the concert, on the whole, went really well for me. There, was that too hard?! (Apparently it was)
After the concert, a large group of us went to a grocery store to pick up some snacks and some drinks. For some reason I have ADAS written as the name of the store but, upon trying to look that up online, I got a government agency which is not a grocery store. Nevertheless, to envision the store, think of a British version of Wal-Mart and you've got it. Cheesy though it seems, this was my first taste of what it would be like to live in England. I think food says a lot about a people... how long it takes to make something worthwhile, what the food tastes like when you're done, how spicy the food is, or bland, and what foods are eaten for "comfort" are all indicative of the kind of people you're dealing with (with whom you're dealing?). So I walked around this grocery store, completely fascinated by the rows of "biscuits" and all the junk food, by the rows of cheeses, by the breads, and by my first encounter with Jammy Dodgers! "Jammy Dodgers?! Nnneeerrrr *plane crashes* and we hit a mountain. And I died." Sorry about that, I became Eddie Izzard for a second.
But it needs to be said that I found pancakes for sale. They sold CD-sized pancakes in packs of 8... isn't that wild? So I bought some... because, hell, I'm buying pre-made pancakes from a store! Miss Chelsey's continued fixation with Strongbow lead me to buy some of that, too. And I also bought "Digestive crap biscuits." Heehee... oh Eddie.
I think it should probably go without saying that my night was going pretty well. And, when we got back to the hotel, we were all going to get together in Chelsey and Katie's room (as it was largest and nicest), I just needed to make a quick phonecall first.
Ah yes, a simple and quick phonecall. No big deal... just calling The Second City to make sure everything was all set for me to move on to Level 2. More of a formality than anything else... as I had done everything they asked of me. After trying unsuccessfully to reach them twice, and eating a pancake, I finally reached someone at the Training Center. "Hi, I called to see if I made it into Level 2" "Okay, just a second John"... pause while they play old Second City skits over the phone instead of light rock music or some lame instrumental... "Hi, John?" says a different voice than who answered... I had been transferred to someone else. "Yeah, you did not make it into Level 2. So you can either... " the voice seemed to fade out. What? How could I not have made it? Didn't I do everything they asked? Well? DIDN'T I?! I guess not. My choice was simple: wait until the next audition and audition again; or pay a half-off rate and retake 1A. I told the voice, which was now very distant, that I would need to think about it. That was okay, he said, but he needed to know if I wanted to be in the Wednesday Class before the first class (T-minus two days)... and he hoped I had a nice day.
Well, kids... What was I to do? I wanted to cry but, in typical me fashion, I started to tear up, called myself silly, and stopped to stuff my face with something I didn't need to eat. So I ate. And then I called my parents... and a long time later, Chelsey stopped by my room to see why I hadn't gone to the 'party' yet. A long conversation later, and I was persuaded to head to where everyone else was hanging out... to have to explain my situation to them as well. It was a hard night for me... confusing and frustrating... and it would be the only time on the trip that I wished I hadn't gone.

England: Stratford-Upon-River
Sunday, May 15th
*Yawn* It's Sunday and time to wake up to a full English breakfast (which we all know was my favorite phrase from the trip). Actually, by Sunday Michael Joseph and I still hadn't figured out how much time we were going to need for breakfast, so Sunday's breakfast was hurried and only came after we had packed and left our stuff down in the lobby with people who had already eaten. So the "full" English breakfast didn't leave me feeling very full.
Sunday was the first day the choir was going to sing together on the trip (at Wesley's Chapel)... and I became increasingly nervous when I realized just how little I had practiced the music. And then I remembered how bad I was at sight-singing. And that made me more nervous. Once we got to Wesley's Chapel and had everyone stand in sections, I noticed I had been CBed (so to speak) by my section. The basses were all tight in a row, the baritones refused to move down for me because they were all in one perfect section of pew... and I ended up asking Kopec (a tenor) if he wouldn't mind moving down one so that I could squeeze in. How out-of-place I felt! Right off the bat, I had been made to feel like I didn't belong. "You're an outsider, alum," my section seemed to be saying. Kopec, as always, was nice and welcoming and didn't make me feel bad in the least... so I guess there's something to be said about good people who do good things. Too bad I'm not going to say it here and rather will focus on the negative. Hooray!
Anyway, our first "concert" consisted of three songs and just further proved something about myself I should have already known: I hate "choir" music. When I say choir music, I'm referring to the rigid, Christian, "I'm Singing About God in Latin" music that most college choirs are forced to sing. Give me a spiritual... something that you wouldn't necessarily expect from a college choir (particularly a 90-some percent white college choir) and like McDonalds I'm lovin' it. We did this African song (which I will misspell right...) Siyahamba (now) that I was totally into. It was repetitive and "easy," but it spoke to me on a level that Haydn or the stupid Chichester piece couldn't possibly speak to me on (on which they couldn't possibly speak). It moved me... and I have always felt that music that doesn't move you isn't much in the way of music. That's why I love the Euphonics so much... I could move and do whatever because I FELT it in the music. So, thankfully, we had a couple of the moving pieces and then one that wasn't too bad as far as 'choir' songs go. I think I was born the wrong color.
During the mass, the minister spoke about being welcome to travelers from all over the world and I was actually pleased to see that she made an effort to reach out to our choir. That didn't stop Mike and I from mocking the building or the man who built the religion upon which our college was founded. See pic below.

We're going to Hell.
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However, the nice people of the parish (and they were very nice) packed us a sack lunch for our trip to Stratford-Upon-Avon that afternoon. So lunch was free and taken care of. Because it was a sack lunch, and we were in England, I wondered aloud if the lunch had been fired. No one found that amusing. No one besides me. Regardless, it was already time to leave London... and I hadn't even gotten the chance to really know her. Alas... some day, London. Some day.
After a fairly lengthy coach ride, we arrived in Stratford-Upon-Avon with about an hour before the closing of Shakespeare's birthplace. I had become so discombobulated by this time that I actually thought it was Saturday... so I asked the woman taking our tickets how late the Holy Trinity Church would be open. "On a Sunday?" said she "It's already closed to the public. They're holding an afternoon service in an hour." "Blast!," I thought, "I really wanted to see Shakespeare's tomb!" And it's true. There is almost nothing that interests me about the birthplace of someone famous, particularly Shakespeare. He did all of his major and important writing in London... what could I possibly learn about the man (that I didn't already know) from his birthplace? Uh... nothing. I went very quickly through his birthplace and only learned one thing: His house was HUGE. His parents must not have been too well off for his house to have been as large as it was. Actually, here's a picture of one side of the house:

I think the gutters are new. And the electrical outlets. And the windows. And probably the roof has been replaced. And the side of the house has probably been redone. I'm not sure what about this picture is actually part of the original house. That's history for you!
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I'm not sure why I went through the house so quickly... but it was probably because I wanted to do other things in the city. Like head to the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in town and check out another show! But guess what the planners of this trip didn't realize when they planned the trip? No shows on Sunday! There was, honest to God, nothing to do in Stratford-Upon-Avon on a Sunday. So a large group of us went to a pub, The Garrick Inn, for dinner and some drinks... and we found another large group of us already there... so we had two large tables of choir folks right next to each other. And, in a stroke of pure genius on Bishop's part... when I mentioned I was left-handed he threw a fit and demanded I switch with Mike... who was sitting across from Miss Chelsey. Pure genius. My view now improved, I had a pre-dinner Guinness... my first taste of famous English Fish and Chips (not worth the hype... tasted like fried fish and fries to me)... and gave that Strongbow cider another shot. [Naysayers (naysayers named Amber) have said some negative things about Strongbow (like "nay")... but it had a very light, pleasant, not-too-overpowering taste which is a perfect compliment to my heavy, loaf-of-bread tasting Guinness. So there.]
After a filling dinner, a huge group of us left the bar to walk around the little town. We made our way to see the outside of the Shakespearian theatre, walked around the court-yard of Shakespeare's final resting place (he's INSIDE the church), and walked passed the bar (The Black Swan/The Dirty Duck) where all the Shakespearian actors like to grab a drink after a performance. Thrilling, huh? No? I didn't think so either. If we had stayed in London on a Sunday, there may have been something to do, but, since we didn't, there wasn't a whole lot to do. (Actually, there is an interesting photographic tour of Stratford-Upon-Avon here)
So little, in fact, that about 80% of the choir ended up at a pub called the Pen and Parchment to celebrate Jason and Dan's combined birthday (for a summer pic of the Pen and Parchment, see the photographic tour, a quarter of the way down the page). Would that many of us had ended up at that pub if there was actually something to do on a Sunday night? No... but it was kind of nice to have the whole choir (almost) in one place at one time so early in the trip. I was able to talk to a lot of new people all at once. I was also able to talk to people I already knew... like DRR who, in the most awkward bathroom conversation ever, suggested that Bohne and I have our beds zipped together (as they were already very close to each other).

This is how close the beds were anyway... we might as well have zipped them together. Or... we slept as far apart as is possible on these two beds. One of those two.
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In addition to the fabulous conversations, Mike and I invoked an old choir tour tradition from the first choir tour. This turned out to be a bad idea in retrospect for multiple reasons... but, if you take me out of this picture, look how COOL we look!

I should have been looking at Kent. Look how cool he and Mike are! I'm like that loser guy who's always hanging around in the background so that someone will hopefully think I'm cool by association. What's he called? Oh yeah... the drummer.
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England: All The World's A Stage... That Closes At Midnight
Saturday, May 14th
After getting tickets, we stopped and grabbed some food at a little bagel shop near the half-price ticket booths. I say grabbed because, again, it costs more money to stay in and eat than to carry something out. I grabbed a egg salad bagel with bacon on it because I figured eggs plus mayo would be one egg food that England couldn't screw up. It was quite good... but I ended up eating it, for the most part, on the Tube.
Ahh the London Underground... let's compare it to Chicago's very own CTA, shall we? As far as ease of transport goes, the CTA has the tube beat hands down. The CTA has very easy-to-understand lines denoted with colors (Green, Red, Brown, etc); whereas the Tube has all kinds of lines that intersect at points and, yes, have colors but are referred to by names which are not necessarily the names of a stop (which will tell you in Chicago which direction the train is going. For example, a Brown-line train headed north will say "Kimball" whereas a Brown-line train headed south will say "Loop"). Additionally, the Tube has "zones"... so that if you want to travel further out of London to zone 5 or 6, you have to pay more money. The CTA is one flat rate... whether you're going one stop or ten. I feel this stops people from hoping on the L just to go a block or two and forces those people to walk. In London, you might as well hop on the Tube to go two blocks... especially since we got a weekend pass, so it didn't cost us a thing extra. Furthermore!, you have to scan your pass when you enter AND when you exit from the Tube which makes absolutely no sense to me and just seems to slow one down after they leave the train. The CTA only has people scan their cards to get in. After that, all transfers and exits are made quickly and painlessly. And, not that I needed a bus, but I think one has to buy separate bus tickets to ride a London bus... whereas CTA passes work in all CTA transportation. So there!
But, least you think I'm a CTAer all the way, let me say that the trains on the Tube are about a million times cleaner than any CTA train (which I have a feeling are never ever cleaned). I could even tell that the Tube train had been reupholstered with the last year or two... which beats the CTAs 1970s look anyday.
All in all, however, I was very proud of my little CTA. I think it stands up to the best public transportation systems in the world... and fares quiet well (Fares! Punny!). The Underground, frankly, is more confusing than it needs to be... and the kicker, the reason why the CTA is actually SUPERIOR, to the whole Tube system will come later in the evening. Stay tuned for that.
Mike, Bishop, Kent, some lovely ladies, and myself all took the Tube to the South Kensington (I believe) stop to do some shopping. The Tube put us within walking distance of Harrods, that famous London Department Store. For those of you who have never heard of Harrods (read: Me before the trip)... here's a little story and then their motto: Pres. Reagan wanted and Indian elephant for some reason. He called Harrods. Harrods shipped in the elephant and delivered it to the White House lawn in a helicopter. Their motto: We can get anything for anyone from anywhere. And it's true. I was able to get an underage Southwest Asian hooker to ravage and a partial-birth aborted fetus to munch on... what a wonderful place. That was one of the grossest things I've ever written. Moving on... we went to the actual store in Knightsbridge, and struggled to find a public lue. For anyone doubting me, download the store guide and find me a men's toilet that does not involve walking through the delicious Lingerie section. I bet you can't either.
While in the store, we heard over the loud speakers that a certain DJ Yoda was going to be on the toy floor to spin some phat beats at 3:30. As it was nearing that time, the four of us guys went up to the fourth floor to check it out. After waiting for about twenty minutes with no DJ Yoda, we dejectedly left. You should have seen poor little Bishop's face... it was as if someone just told him they shot the Easter Bunny (which is a lie! The Easter Bunny is fine, kids. I promise... he's fine).
After Harrods, the four of us split up... with Bohne and Kent going... um, someplace? and Bishop and I headed to Baker Street. I had wanted to see the Sherlock Holmes Museum and Justin said he'd come with me. When we got there, six pounds was more than I wanted to pay to get in, so I got a nice pic of the outside, went into the free gift shop, and called it even. After that, Justin and I headed to Oxford Circus for some more shopping. We found ourselves in a nice little trendy store called Burton... where Bishop looked at shoes, and I pretended to have a worthwhile opinion. I think I actually did help him a little, being half-gay as I am.
After looking around for a while, we headed back to the hotel... having someone ask us if the park we were passing was Regent's Park when that very man had passed the huge sign saying "Regent's Park." We told him we were from out-of-town. When we got back to the hotel, I was lying down on my bed from an exhausting day of walking when I got a call from Miss Katie... who was wondering if I was still interested in trying to go to the Globe to see a show. "Yes!," I responded emphatically and with emphasis! The Globe was actually one of the places I was going to go walking to later that evening (I was kind of looking forward to spending some time alone walking around London. It didn't happen... but I guess that just means I'll have to go back sometime). Well... time to get my ass in gear because we're going to be late if we don't hurry! So I went down to the lobby where Katie and I had to wait for C Wage to finish changing... and when Chelsey finally got to the lobby, she looked so happy to see me. And she looked remarkable... as I am clearly remarking about it here.
We hopped into a Black Cab waiting outside the hotel (conveniently) and told him to head to Shakespeare's Globe. I'm almost positive that he took the longest route possible, so I didn't feel the least bit bad when I gave him a crappy tip ("Floss regularly!")... and there we were, getting tickets to see a show at Shakespeare's Globe. I have to admit, the show being The Tempest (not one of my favorites), I was just looking forward to the experience. But I was blown away. The entire show was done by three actors... three fabulous actors who played all the roles, sometimes two at once. It was incredible... one of the greatest five pound shows in the history of the world... and I was right up close. We had purchased yard seats... which put us right there. Right. There. I was no more than 10 yards away from the stage. I was super-close. It was a fantastic experience. The only thing that possibly could have made it better would have been if I hadn't been standing and walking all day... the two hour show became a bit uncomfortable after having been on my feet all day. But, I can't stress enough how amazing the performance was... and the actors even dance after the performance as kind of a thank you to the audience. I was completely floored... what an incredible show.

Here's a badly composed picture of the Globe's stage. I actually got closer than this for the actual show... but just to show you approximately how close I was, here you go.
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After the show, we spent far too much time in the souvenir shop. I ended up buying a shirt that said "Thought Is Free", which is the official t-shirt of this season at the Globe... but which is also a total ME shirt. I couldn't think of a more perfect phrase for a t-shirt for myself. I love that shirt.
Once it was clear that the three of us were pretty much the last people in the shop, we left and decided to go try to find food. Perhaps it's because it's one of the only places we'd ever heard of, or perhaps it was famous and we wanted to know why, we decided to head to Piccadilly Circus for dinner. I was actually pleasantly surprised to find a TGI Fridays in London, as I was actually a little homesick for some non-greasy or fried foods. A spicy pasta dish, some spilled water, and a far too expensive dessert later, and Katie, Chelsey and I were ready to leave. As it was just after Midnight, we were not only ready to leave, we were ready to get back to the hotel and finally get some shut-eye. Reminder... only a few minutes after Midnight and the restaurant/bar that we had just left (TGI Fridays) had just closed. When Katie, Chelsey, and I got to the Underground stop, it was closed... gated off. CLOSED! At Midnight! Which is exactly when the bars were closing... they didn't keep the Tube open an extra half hour to accommodate the bar traffic. I could NOT believe it. How inconvenient is THAT?! (THAT'S why the CTA wins!) So Katie, Chelsey, and I were left wondering how to get from Piccadilly to the Regent's Park area. We stood around for about half an hour trying to get a cab (they were ALL full)... we ended up finding a few other members of our choir tour... and we finally decided to just start walking North and we'd eventually (hopefully) find a cab. I had wisely (and anal retentively) brought a map of London with me. But, like every story of my life, no cab came and we had to walk the whole way... after a full day of walking, and standing, and more walking... I was so exhausted I couldn't wait to sleep. And I would need my sleep for the long and interesting day that would be Sunday.

England: London Bridge Did Not Fall Down, When I Was On It
Saturday, May 14th
After our full English breakfast, it was onto the coaches for a driving tour of London. On my coach, our tour guide was Sue and our bus driver was Mike. I only mention Mike because he looked about twelve... and with his red hair and boyish face looked like that red-headed pizza vampire from that one cool episode of the X-Files. Laura knows who I mean.
Anyway, let's talk about the tour. Sue was awesome... she had that infamous dry British wit. I'm being serious... she was great. At one point saying that they named a gift from Egypt Cleopatra's Needle because she was "the only Egyptian we'd ever heard of." Our first stop on the tour was the Prince Albert Memorial. It was a time for us to actually hop off the coach and stretch out a bit. I have a picture of an Asian tour group taking a picture in front of the memorial... which I think is absolutely hilarious. I also think that Victoria's love for Albert is also a little hilarious. When he died, she had the Memorial built, the large acoustically-atrocious concert hall across the street, and there's another statue to both of them near Buckingham Palace. Maybe that's not love... maybe that's showing off because you're an immature Queen. Not her... you.
The tour, of course, showed all sorts of sights including Big Ben (which is the bell, not the clock), Westminster Abbey, the Tower Bridge, and a stop at Buckingham Palace. The stop at Buckingham did little to excite me... and it only showed me what I came to dislike about London during the rest of the day: frankly, there were too many damn foreigners. And I'm not talking like a typical American about non-Americans... I'm talking about non-Brits. Everyone we saw at Buckingham Palace were from other countries... not England. Now I know that the English have no reason to show up at Buckingham Palace (particularly on a Saturday when there are SO many tours), but I went on to notice that there weren't many native Brits around the entire rest of the day. Maybe I was in the wrong parts of London (which is possible), but I became very annoyed with the false, touristy London with which I was being faced. And now, in retrospect, I really wish I had been able to see London on a weekday. I think that would have better shown me what London is really like. Oh... nothing cool happened at Buckingham Palace.
After getting back on the coach, Sue asked if we'd like to get our picture taken next to one of the famous Palace guards. We, of course, said yes. So our coach headed to St. James's Palace to the one guard we could walk up to. Yes... one guard. And we just walked up to him and stood next to him like, well, like irritating tourists. I was actually so annoyed by us--by our group--that when I went up to the guard I said, "Now say Americans are irritating and intrusive" and snapped my picture.

Notice the smallest, tiniest little smile from the guard. And I am an idiot.
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I would later find out that the other coach did the exact same thing with the exact same Palace guard... so this guard had to stand with two large annoying groups of tourists. Furthermore, as we were leaving, ANOTHER tour group was coming up to do the same picture taking thing. How annoying for that guy!
The tour ended in Covent Garden which I really didn't get a chance to see. Mike wanted to get tickets to We Will Rock You: a musical by Queen... so we left Covent Gardens to go to the half-price ticket booth. When we found Bishop and Kent and the ticket booth, his show was already sold out. He was upset by it but pretended not to be, which made me feel worse for him. They ended up deciding to go see The Phantom of the Opera... which did not interest me in the least. Andrew Lloyd Weber, it has been proven, is the devil. So I didn't get tickets to anything, holding out hope that the fabulous city of London would have something greater in store for me that evening.

England: London Calling
Friday, May 13th
After Windsor Castle, we had very little time for lunch, but I was introduced to two staples of the English deli scene: 1) Mayo, in the form of a chicken salad sandwich. Those Brits love their mayo... and they seem to dump it on everything; 2) Higher cost for dining in than for taking something to go. This is something I didn't know about until Samata pointed it out. There is such a premium on space that they charge you extra if you want to sit down in their restaurant. Isn't that wild? So we (Samata, Mike, and I) took our food and headed outside to eat.
After lunch, we headed to London and checked into the Holiday Inn-Regent's Park. My first taste of London was anti-climactic as I really can't remember it. I may have slept or, at the very least, completely zoned out. Leave me alone, I was really tired from the flight (and two hours of sleep on the plane). When Mike and I finally got to the hotel, I was happy to see that they weren't going to try to stick four of us in one room (four is too many people in a hotel room when you don't know the people well enough) AND I was happy to see that Mike and I would have a twin bed each. No offense to Mike, but I preferred my own bed if possible.
After a quick shower and some lying down time, we were off with a large group of people to find dinner. With too many names to name, our globule of a group headed without direction towards what we hoped would be restaurants. Mike and some other peeps found a little bar (more a bar than a pub), but I headed with a fairly large group to a small Italian Bistro just down the street. The place was quite empty for a Friday night to the point where my large party were the only guests in the restaurant at the time. Needless to say, we got excellent service. The food was very very good... and I wish I could remember the name of the place but, to tell you the truth, I don't think I ever saw the name. The whole table (pretty much) got rigatoni and felt quite full when all was said and done.
After dinner, we ended up in a little pub called the George and Dragon. Here is my conversation with the bartender (see if you can guess which one is me): "I'll have a Guinness", "Do you want it code or normo?", "Um... I'll have it normal.", "I think you'll like it code." Code means cold, by the way. So I felt very American and looked down upon by this dude... who wouldn't give me a room temperature Guinness, which is supposedly how they drink them in England. But I quickly went from wussy American to annoying American after the owner gave Bishop Guinness hats to pass around to his friends. I say hats, but they're really sombreros (BTW, if anyone has a picture of me in the Guinness sombrero, I will gladly post it here). And so this fairly large group of Americans became the large group of annoying Americans easily recognizable in their Guinness hats... and, at the time I was having too much fun to notice, but in retrospect I feel a bit like a starred Jew... as no one in one of the hats talked to anyone else in the bar besides each other. It's okay though because I had a really good time and the owner was nice to us, even if I'm making it seem like he wasn't. Ooo! And this was also the night I was introduced to Strongbow... that most fabulous British hard cider. Mmm... so delicious. Mmm... I said soda.
After spending a little too much time at the pub, I headed with Miss Katie to a Tesco (probably akin to a convenience store) where I purchased some British Chocolate. I had a mild obsession with British chocolate while I was over there, I'm not going to lie. I'm not actually sure why, either... I just loved the idea of foreign chocolate. I got myself come Cadbury chocolate and a Kit Kat (which I heard was completely different, but actually only tasted a bit sweeter) and headed back to the hotel for a long-overdue sleep.
Saturday, May 14th
In the morning I was treated to something I wanted for a few days: a full English breakfast. There is a heavy sarcasm to that last statement. Our fantastic tour guide used the phrase "full English breakfast" to describe our hotel breakfast at least a dozen times before we even got to eat a breakfast. I wanted to force-feed her an full English breakfast... in her mouth! Wait... that wasn't a very good one. I apologize. But, now to the FULL PHUKING ENGLISH BREAKFAST... which consists of eggs, bangers, toast, fruit, and other stuff. (when I wrote this sentence I realized I needed something to explain it... so get your minds out of the gutter right now) The English sausage is more plump and fuller than American sausage... it's like a solid tube of gross meat... and it's really rather gross. Speaking of gross, English eggs. Gross! The overeasy eggs are swimming in oil or grease or other grossness... the scrambled eggs are also swimming in something else gross and taste like those faux eggs one can purchase if one is clinically insane. Eventually along the trip my breakfasts consisted of beans (chew thoroughly to break down the legume and avoid any gassy, unappealing by-products!), cereal, one sausage (couldn't stop eating the meaty grossness!), some kind of sweet pastry thing, and any kind of muffin I could steal. Mmm... sugar muffins. That was an allusion to breasts... and now onto the tour of London!

England: Touch Down
Friday, May 13th
Right before we landed in London, we were asked to fill out this form stating who we were and where we were headed. It included our name and an address of where we were going to be staying while in England. You can imagine how confusing that particular question could be to a group of touring students. The result? A lot of us left it blank. I, personally, included the address of the first hotel we were staying in (the Holiday Inn-Regent's Park) just so I could finish the stupid form. As we touched down, we were corralled (sheep style... as is England's custom) into customs. Ironically for our group, most of our party were directed to the most asshole customs agent in all of the United Kingdom. It is my guess that he was trained over in the states... because only over here one learn the true art of the dark side. I didn't get that customs agent... I got a very nice lady who welcomed me to the country. Mike, however, will always remember the Holiday Inn-Regents Park because the asshole customs dude damn near ate his face off.
Finally, we were able to move into the airport, where we got to stand and wait for everyone to get through customs. And to wait for people to pull out British money from the cash point. And, once we did, we realized that not all the choir robes had arrived in London. In fact, those fine people in Detroit forgot to (read: didn't bother to) put the robes on the plane. So the robes were safe; just safely in Detroit. (We would receive them in time to wear at our first gig Sunday morning)
Our first taste of English freedom came after our already annoying tour guide made sure we knew how to get out of the airport: The airport that seems like it has only one major exit. Praise the gods for our fantastic tour guides.
But enough of the sarcasm. I noticed two important/interesting things about England once we got onto our coach: 1) The British countryside reminds me a bit of the Appalachian Mountains/hills. The area just South of London very much reminded me of West Virginia and certain areas in Pennsylvania with their rolling green hills and inbreed inhabitants. What? I don't know where that came from... but I do know that I didn't feel all that uneasy about the countryside because it felt like places I have been before; 2) British drivers. As we were driving to London, there was a section of carriageway that was congested with traffic. To alleviate that problem, there were electronic signs suggesting all drivers "Stay in your lane." And, to my shock and amazement, everyone DID in fact stay in their lanes. As far as I was concerned, this was a very obvious difference between Brits and Americans: No one driving felt it their RIGHT to be able to go as fast as they wanted. We've got such a fixation in this country with Freedom that we feel like everyone should be free to do whatever they want... particularly on freeways. In the States, if there was a sign that said "Stay in your lane" most people would... but you'd still see some people switching lanes, trying to go faster, etc. There was none of that in England... and I had a feeling that I was going to like my trip.
Our first stop was Windsor Castle. The first flight/coach arrived early enough that they left as we arrived. I found this annoying. Regardless, I found myself quickly within the castle walls of Windsor... on a self-guided tour of the castle. I started in a room with time-lines and dates of various important historical landmarks of the castle, and started my "mocking tour of history" by focusing on the pictures. They showed period pictures of the castle... the first being 2-D, the next being in black-and-white, and the third being a crude 3-D colored drawing. So, obviously, I started saying (as loud as I could) that the castle went through a two-dimensional period and a black-and-white period, etc. I got a few choir members laughing and felt like I had found what would be a constant source of humour on the trip. But then, someone who will remain nameless, asked me to read something written on the wall, thinking it would be "hilarious" if I did it. I started reading it and, get this, it was a story of how the castle had partially burned in a fire. I stopped reading it aloud and felt guilty about mocking the partial destruction of this historical home. Needless to say (even though I'm saying it), I stopped that right quick.
I was unable to get any pics of the inside because they don't allow pictures to be taken of the inside... but there was a fabulous vestibule (the Grand Vestibule) full of armor and weaponry artistically arranged. It was actually quite beautiful. And then I was bored by most of the rest of the tour. The only thing that REALLY made me laugh was a pic Mike and I decided to take out in the courtyard. To mock Alex's "Hollywood eating" pic, we decided to have Mike eat something in England. The best part of this picture is that three French woman (who obviously didn't speak any English) wanted to see the pic after I took it... and they giggled in French (Ugh huh huh) when they saw it. This further proves that comedy breaks down all language barriers. But what an interesting start to this fabulous trip.

Take THAT, Alex!
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