Once upon a time, long ago, there lived a Queen from the Isle of Hooliganslivehere. The Queen was flown to the Side of Canadia, where her sparkly blue eyes fell upon your story weaver and she declared ‘you remind me of my daughter’, a statement I would soon discover was no small compliment. And by ‘no small compliment’, I mean ‘a really, like really huge big one’.
Her daughter’s name was Princess Hannah, her Hooliganslivehere title She of the Usually Late, and her Indian name Gets There Eventually. Princess Hannah was dating Prince Charles, Him With the Hair, and Indian name withheld for reasons of national security.
After The Queen made her declaration, she provided P. Hannah’s phone number to yours truly and the rest is, as they say, Bob’s Your Uncle. And by ‘Bob’s Your Uncle’, I mean I just forgot the saying I wished to plug in….oh! HISTORY. The rest is history.
Princess Hannah and I chatted over the phone first ever in 2005 where it was decided I would sleep in her castle on (then) Bethnal Green Pasture (‘BGP’, because Princesses like acronyms, you see) when on the Isle of Hooliganslivehere. I believe the first time we met, we were both uncertain of the friendship and the potential for greater and deeper friendship what with her being a Princess and I, a mere Canadian.
By the end of my first visit to her BGP, something had shifted and I had fallen in love with the Princess, as well as with Him With the Hair (because it was he who convinced me to start a thing called a ‘blog’. From that day forth, Princess Hannah and I shared a bond that has only become stronger. Enough to ensure that when I visited Welovefreeshit (above Hooliganslivehere), I popped into Hooliganslivehere to do nothing more than catch a show, have dinner, and a sleepover with both the Princess and Him With the Hair (during which we discussed Briggs Meyers Something I Can’t Spell and Princess Hannah declared that I was a clear example of Something I Can’t Remember).
Recently, I was sent by the Land of Canadia to complete some work in Hooliganslivehere. I was excited because the Princess and the Prince would be in town and we would have most all evenings together for nearly ten days.
Sidebar: I must say that I don’t often like people – something which may come as a surprise to many because I give off the impression that I am extremely social. Which I am. Thing is, I am social only to a certain extent. And then I become extremely antsy and in need of me time to recoup my energy and become social once again. Also, my social extends to one evening and not more. That I am ever excited to be spending multiple evenings with the same individual(s) is a great achievement and it means I really and truly am in love with said folk(s). Otherwise, my attention trails off and I start imagining Taylor Kitsch eating pizza, drinking a beer, and listening to live music while I am perched on his lap. An image extremely pretty inside of my unusually large head.
Ten days of heaven I spent in London. Hannah and Charlie were lovely, beyond measure, and made my stay at theirs incredibly comfortable and warm and engaging and hilarious. Really and truly, they are one of history’s Great Couples. Team Harlie!
Harlie are currently going through an extremely difficult time, and have been for over a year. It is emotionally and physically a challenge faced daily and which Harlie may continue to do so for some time still. For this reason, I would love for each and every one of you to please take a moment and send them your warmth, prayers & strength (as well as energy because they are somewhat Boheme and as we all know, them Bohemes? They love good energy).
Thank you. Love you.
(Of interest: When not in London Town, Harlie can be found roaming and raising olives in the mountains of Portugal.)
The last time I was in Beirut was in 2006 while helping with the evacuation of Canadian civilians. That experience was, to say the least, mind-blowing on too many levels. But even with the blowing of one’s mind, Beirut was still a beauty to behold, and though we were working insane hours and running on very little sleep, we still managed to make it out in the late evenings; ultimately, I think, it was in attempt to forget about what was happening around us.
This reality is something which may very well be specific to Beirut because it has seen so much war. A clear example of this would be us, sitting atop Sky Bar watching and feeling the shake of Israeli bombs dropping on the country. Ultimately, the human mind and body does what it needs to do in order to create a semblance of normalcy even in the most insane circumstance. The blow-back comes only once you’re pulled out of the situation itself and you’re left reliving its brutality.
In 2006, the airport had been blown to shit by Israel. It was a tactical move, the same as the blowing up of several bridges which linked many parts of the country to one another. Because there was no airport to land at, we were flown in via military helicopter. This time, I came in through the gleaming airport – all of which looked entirely new, for obvious reasons.
I am staying at the same hotel, and maybe even in the same room. Everything appears to be the same.
Only it’s not. Where the billboards were then of Nasrallah declaring ‘The Divine Victory’, they are now of Scarlett Johansson selling Dolce & Gabbana; where the sounds of dropping and exploding bombs would then quiet a conversation, the sounds of car horns and home-made fireworks serve as typically Middle Eastern compliment; where the shaking of this country wouldn’t then let me sleep, the peace of the bed now lulls me into sinking away from the outside; and, where the sky over Beirut was previously covered by the air of Israeli bombs and fighter planes, it is today saturated with the density of humidity.
When I stepped outside of the airport, I was met by the smell of sand and humidity and welcomed by al-athan, the Muslim call to prayer. I was momentarily overwhelmed by what I had experienced in 2006 and had to push back unexpected and surprising tears, saving them instead for the privacy of the taxi…until we were nearly hit by a crazed man in a van who honked his horn and declared – with a fierce waving of his hand – that my taxi driver was a ’7ayawaan’ (translation: ‘an animal’, and not the cute and cuddly variety), even though he was the one at fault.
I am giddy with pleasure to be back. Beirut, you have been missed.
++++++++++ Note: Written while seated outside at Le Royal, overlooking the Mediterranean sea.
Note: The below was written on March 20th, while I was in London. My writing will slow for the next while as I will be up in the air (sadly, without Clooney) next week for three weeks, also for work. I will be in Syria, the UAE & Lebanon. Be safe & keep emailing…xoxoxo
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My Beloved London Town,
If you recall, you raised me during my formative years, providing a warm hug every summer spent with you. I have since returned regularly, though stopped my visits three years back. I fail to find the proper words explaining the ‘why’ of my vanishing.
I have missed you beyond measure, and I can tell you’re not at all upset about my absence because your warmth swallowed me whole the very moment I touched a toe to your streets.
This time, I am here for work and so staying by Trafalgar Square. I plunked my suitcase down and ran to see your streets after a harrowing travel and taxi ride because your tribe does not fix one street in a particular direction, but rather all streets in that particular direction. No matter.
Without hesitation, I ran to Pret to have my favourite nicoise salad, which is from where I write this letter, as I face Trafalger, and as I wave at the several folks who have already waved at me, perched at the window like an awkwardly large cat.
My next stop will be to the Caffe Nero across the street, for her cappuccino and world’s greatest biscotti.
Dear Costa Coffee Shop,
Really sorry that, in my excitement to find Nero, I confused you for them. Also, deepest apologies for then slightly harassing your staff, demanding an explanation as to when and why you had stopped carrying the proper brand of biscotti.
Thanks for helping me out of your shop. I really like it when people hold my elbow, because it shows me they care enough to make certain I don’t slip.
xox m
On my way here, by the way, I stopped into the Playhouse Theatre where I will later tonight be seeing the musical ‘Dreamboats & Petticoats’. Do you want to know how lovely your tribe are? I was looking to purchase a simple – and your least costly ticket – only, the gentleman at the front told me he liked my smile and so was instead going to charge me the same, but for a seat in your double-the-cost-and-bestest section. See, London Town? This is why I love you and have missed you and am beyond the moon, stars and skies to be in your arms once more.
Dear Members of British Parliament Who Say That These Scanners Are Not Invasive Technology,
Two simple requests: (1) next session in Parliament, please attend in the nude. We promise to destroy the images immediately; and, (2) before I walk through one of these, I expect every single one of your family members to do the same…females first.
I am doing this on the fly and so please forgive my quickness and really shit grammar and spelling; also, I am a Muslimah – and God is my savior, not Jesus. I hope this won’t make you wish to send me to Hell. Thank you.
A few things – primarily, your home is gorgeous and I thank you for letting me in at a cost. Really.
I have some recommendations on how you may improve your generosity. Primarily, I would ask that you improve your signage, because on a few occasions, I didn’t know whether my bum was to my left or atop my head. At first, I assumed this was because of my chosen Faith, until the Catholic with whom I was traveling shared that she was as confused as I.
Second, please consider contracting Disney to take care of ‘the situation’ of the staircase which leads one up to the Dome of the Basilica – your 551 steps are not the problem, but you should have both rest-stops for peeing and drinking. If not, then consider adding some cute pages who would throw water at us as we ascend the stairs (much like those who hang on the side of a race track).
Also, maybe consider adding a slide for the descent back down. Give your gatherers a choice to slide down…and maybe land in a vat of holy water? This would be fun.
Or, you could possibly have a ride (with ‘It’s a Small World After All’ in the background) that takes one up to the Dome while seated in mini Pope Mobiles, and with all of the different popes coming out and spinning around us. Naturally, your pages would be the ones who help us on and off in their Court Jester like suits. Adorable, are they with their gorgeous thick luscious heads of hair. Did you choose them this way on purpose? Do you think they’re pretty? Because, really, they are very pretty, and very young boys.
Finally, my deepest apologies for the near international incident I caused. Two actually. The time when I was waving into your cameras on the stairway from the Dome, and which nearly led to the tumbling down of many of your Catholics. Also, the time I thought it would be fun to stand inside of your confessional and have my picture taken. Really – if you had proper signage (please see above reference) then I would not have thought such a shot would make an excellent photo opp (although it did, as your boys were a little late on the tut-tutting).
Thanks again. All my sisterly – and not in a nun kind of way, although I did greatly admire their hijab – love in Faith and belief in God.
Blogging on the fly; pardon all shit error and spelling.
Jumped off my flight and landed at Elixir for dinner, with these two gorgeous broads.
Not surprisingly, we were asked to quiet down from one of the adjacent diners. Also, we ate an apple tartatartartine, a sweet French dessert, the name of which I have likely misheard.
Kitty had never been to Granville, and so I took her for a stroll before we ate in the market. She had a chicken butter bowl and I had Mexico’s most tasteless wrap, the name of which I have likely misheard. Note that: Kitty is snack size, smaller ever than the official Olympic mascotians.
Canada Gear 101
Dear Folks Visiting Vancouv for Olympics:
Overkill is indeed possible re how many CANADA gear clothing items you wear at one given moment. You’re welcome. Love, m
First sign of ‘winter snow’ was upon our arrival at Cypress (Canadians can’t spell; this you should know by now) Mountain, where we were to watch the Biggest Badasses in the History of Winter Sport; Men’s Aerial-ists Freestyle Skiing FEARLESS Foxes. Copied word for word, that is exactly what is written on the backs of each athlete’s bum. (Note: The American outfit appears to be flannel pyjamas. Canadians can’t spell; American’s can’t fashion.)
Before we watched them, though, we were forced to play with two massive and very aggressive balls which, if not careful, would smack one in the head.
And immediately before we watched them, we watched how Canadian girls do it better; a gorgeous shut-out or shut-down or something against the really terribly aggressive US female hockey-ists. 2-0 wins Canada GOLD in female hockey-ing. (Beautifully done, ladies.)
(I have a video of the last 20 seconds of the game; will upload when home.)
Finally, we watched the FOXES aerial-ing, supported by a Smurf Army.
And finished our evening eating much too much sushi…or that which pretended to be sushi but was neither good, really, nor well wrapped at The Eatery. I strongly recommend you forego this place; but if you must, then only go for a very light and not-so-good meal, and just to enjoy the fantastic art creations hanging above and next to you.
All above photos are from the berry; once home, I will complete the circle and post nicer photos and video. xox from Vancouv. (Go Canada Go!)
This is the final entry about this just last trip to Austin. I have written about Lisa before – a wonder of a woman who, from the moment we met, I began crushing on rather heavily. Lisa, by the way, is pregnant…having become so just around the time I last visited, and so I have begun calling myself her Fertility Charm. Unless her and her man need me to sit atop their bed while they copulate, I don’t mind being such a charm. (Please wish her congratulations and send her your best belly energy – both men and women.)
Anyway. Point of this entry isn’t her belly, but rather her wonderful and amazing sense of generosity where my very awkward love of COACH ERIC TAYLOR, HI! and Friday Night Lights is concerned.
Lisa, see, has a friend who works with the FNL crew. This friend was able to confirm two things for Lisa: (1) shooting locations of FNL; and, (2) that the day she surprised me with our little FNL sojourn, was not a day on which they would be shooting. Why this later? Because Lisa had no interest in placing myself (and by extension, herself) in an embarrassing situation wherein I would freeze, or worse yet, lunge into inappropriate touching of either COACH ERIC TAYLOR, HI!, Tim Rigglett Riggins, or Tammy Taylor.
Honestly, I would be hard-pressed to behave myself in such a situation.
First stop was the football field that the Dillon Panthers called home (GO EAST DILLON!). It was raining and I was exhilarated. Unfortunately, you can’t really see the sameness between the filming and the reality and so my excitement was contained:
I tried to pick the lock that held the wire fence closed and that kept me on the other side of the field. Lisa suggested that perhaps it wasn’t the greatest idea to attempt a break in, so instead, I quite sadly held on to the fence and stared at the field which eluded me, imagining COACH ERIC TAYLOR (!) putting The Dillon Panthers through their drills and making certain they played their hearts out on that field (because they are real people, who play real games, yes?). Eventually, Lisa wrestled me back into the car.
Second stop: Landing Strip, the locale at which the Riggins brothers as well as Buddy Garrity hang. It is a strip bar, and as it was the middle of the day and Lisa and I were without a man (as an excuse to enter), we merely creeped around the entrance and enjoyed it from the outside. Being in Texas meant not even the hint of lesbian-anity.
Third stop: Broken Spoke. I really don’t have anything interesting to say about this joint except that I wanted to return in the evening to enjoy a little honky tonk, but never made it. I am interested in having a dance-off with a local; any local, and so have decided to make this my top priority next trip.
Finally, and most notably, was the burger joint at which most of season 1 was filmed. This place is recognizable as soon as you pull up to it, and Lisa said I in fact jumped out of the car before she had placed it into park. More incredibly, she said that as soon as we walked in, I short-circuited and staring at the ground, turned a complete 360 laughing to myself. I think she’s lying because I don’t remember any of that. I do, however, remember how I felt as though I were to come crashing out of my own skin when I laid eyes on the restaurant, and for those of you familiar with FNL, you will immediately recognise the location spot in the photos.
In summation, the following picture is worth a thousand words. This was taken by Lisa while we were seated in one of the booths at the restaurant (the staff of which would not let us pay and who wanted to feed us french fries, because of the energy vibeing off of us, no doubt). When C saw this expression, she said: “That’s the exact same expression Nora-May had on her face the entire time she was in The Princess Castle”.
Nora-May is five years old.
Thank you Lisa. Love you. Owe you.
*************** P.S. I have just returned from Costa Rica. I have been getting caught up with everyone and am relatively exhausted and so not very write-y. I promise to make up for this soon enough – thank you for your amazing emails. Love you all.
Before the game began, pomp and circumstance were the leading culprits on the field. Wherever one looked, there were sad little people wearing costumes which were likely sewn by Lou-Ellen in 1963. Take this gentlemen, as example, and the unfortunate reality of his long torso, as stuffed within his Cowboy Cartoon outfit. No doubt, on a regular day, he rocks his everyday clothes, and so it must be with great distress that he meets UT’s insistence to dress as Woody from Toy Story, rather than the Marlboro Man…from my dreams.
Alongside the band was a crew of UT students flopping around next to and beneath the State of Texas flag. Among the more memorable points of the evening was when a few of them were caught beneath the flag. Uncertain as to whether or not they would ultimately survive, I overheard one gentleman cry out ‘Oh ma Gawd, them kids is caught’eneath the flag. Fkn BIN LADEN!’
The audience watches as the team comes out on to the field, and as each player slaps the horns of a longhorn beefer hung on the wall. This ritual was not at all a surprise as I have learned from Friday Night Lights, each team has a very specific baptismal right of passage through which each player must enter and exit before hitting the field (e.g., before exiting the locker room, each Panther slaps the ‘P’ on the wall. PANTHERS SUCK! GO EAST DILLON!). What was wholly unexpected to me was the eruption from the fans; literally, as the images began to float across the Godzillatron, the audience erupted and kept erupting long past the point at which the entire team was on the field. I was so busy being shocked that I in fact missed the Longhorns’ run out on to the green.
Before the game began, the Longhorns had a little chat with Jesus, because no one – and I mean no one – pays more attention to Longhorns football games than Jesus Christ (peace be upon him). When it’s game night, there is no room for poverty or lepers, war, famine and disease for The Lord; no doubt, he changes from white robe to pumpkin orange robe on game day. (All snarky sarcasm aside, I think it’s all kinds of awesome that they say a prayer before the game; I really do. GO LONGHORNS! I’ll say a little prayer for you with Allah.)
For the first half of the game, it appeared as though the Longhorns defense were either asleep or drunk. Either way, I was surprised to watch them get their asses kicked all over the field by Denver (or Colorado). So much so that I expected, as COACH ERIC TAYLOR (HI!) would have done on Friday Night Lights, Mack Brown to be Angry Hair Yelling at the team. But he was not; instead, he was mostly squatting and watching and secret-talking into his headset. For those of you who watch Longhorns football, you will have seen the Official Mack Brown Squat, which is him, legs bent, hands on knees, looking like he is ready to go for a poop in a Vietnamese bathroom. My guess is that somewhere behind his bum and atop his hamstrings is an invisible $3M cushion which makes this comfy – the $3M being his annual salary.
Luckily, the Longhorns made a serious and amazing comeback and went on to win the game. I will not bore you with the details of the game itself, as you can find them on line, though I will say I would make an excellent football commentator as I was filled with gems such as “The hell?” “What?” “Are they drunk?” “Is that Billy Riggins?” “Do you know Taylor Kitsch?” “Oh! They’re running really fast” “Is my hair ok?” & “Where can I buy a pretzel?”.
I won’t even tell you the final score since, honestly, I can’t remember. I will, however, tell you that for every touchdown, there were cowboys in the corner of the stadium who would fire a cannon…a Longhorns game is not for the faint of heart..after which, this gentleman would run out on to the field and wave the giant Longhorns flag, followed by five others with a flag each, spelling out T E X A S because subtlety is key.
Overall, the experience was amazing and I found myself yelling loudly and with serious pain and excitement and anxiety during the fourth quarter. I had become invested without even knowing it. It helped that I was surrounded by a wonderful group of folks, two of whom are Connie (HI!) and Tams (OLA!). Connie very diligently and awesomely sends me Longhorns updates almost post every game. As of today, the Longhorns have ten wins and zero losses. These boys may just go all the way this year with Mack Brown, making it the Longhorns’ second Championship under his coaching (he would only require one more to equal the championships under the leadership of Darrel Royal – whose son, incidentally, was named ‘Mack’). If this happens to be the case, I plan on taking all of the credit.
In closing, please enjoy the near-religious-fervor overcoming the crowd after the win; this is a video of the Longhorns fan singing the UT anthem…under my breath, I was singing MC Hammer’s Can’t Touch This, in my small effort to sing-along.
My camera battery died, shortly before we began our drive along California’s Highway 1, and so this is the only video from our California Roadtripping. In fact, the entire photo set (to come) of the drive currently sits on disposable cameras, so I am excited to see their outcome.
Once stories from Austin are wrapped, I will write a few short pieces about California. Enjoy xox.
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By the end of my first visit to her BGP, something had shifted and I had fallen in love with the Princess, as well as with Him With the Hair (because it was he who convinced me to start a thing called a ‘blog’. From that day forth, Princess Hannah and I shared a bond that has only become stronger. Enough to ensure that when I visited Welovefreeshit (above Hooliganslivehere), I popped into Hooliganslivehere to do nothing more than catch a show, have dinner, and a sleepover with both the Princess and Him With the Hair (during which we discussed Briggs Meyers Something I Can’t Spell and Princess Hannah declared that I was a clear example of Something I Can’t Remember). 
