I just got back from my run, during which I fielded my fourth request for directions. I like to interpret this as a sign that I’m not completely obviously American, that maybe I look like I might possibly look like I know what’s going on around here, and which way to go to get to it. Unfortunately, I follow up these flattering episodes by revealing that I really have no idea what’s happening – I’ve had to tell three of them that I just don’t know where the street they’re looking for is. With one guy yesterday – who was foreign himself, maybe Spanish – I think I was able to provide some guidance, but it was sheer luck. He asked where Euston Station was, and I, stupidly thinking of King’s Cross, pointed way ahead down the street and said, “See that turret? It’s past that building, and it’s on the other side of this street.” He said okay and kept going. A few minutes later I saw the actual Euston Station, yes across the street, but way before the turret-building. Hopefully he saw it too. Hopefully he did not know what the word “turret” meant and thought I was indicating a closer building.
Also during the run, I was going up a hill when a young roller-blading British couple passed me and stopped at an intersection ahead. (By the way, what happened to roller-blading? I never see anyone doing it anymore in the States. It was fun, wasn’t it? I’ve probably way outgrown my old roller-blades by now. But I liked them, and that was back when I didn’t do sports.) So they’re trying to decide whether they’re supposed to go or not, according to the traffic flow -
WOMAN: Well, we would, wouldn’t we, if we’re like cars?
MAN: (patient) But we’re not like cars.
I thought that was hysterically funny. I don’t know why.
By the way, yes, I thought Pridge was pretty good in the end. A much more satisfying love story than Sense and Sensibility, though I think the latter is much funnier – the satirical edge is sharper. It’s present in P and P, but it’s much more liable to get swallowed up by the emotional side of the piece – I think readers are way more likely to get distracted by the somewhat idealized romance. It’s like how Brecht thought the audience should be constantly reminded to distance themselves from the action, and NOT get swept up in the emotion of it, because otherwise they wouldn’t recognize the play as a comment on society. Then again, strictly Brechtian theater never sounded like a lot of fun to me.
And one last rando thing (not a typo that I left the m off, rando is rando) – go here and listen to this:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=Qxg3DvApg34
LOVE this woman. I mean, there aren’t a lot of contemporary musicians who start a song with the line, “Oh, an incurable humanist you are.”
