This morning I walk into City Hall at 8:25 for Court and what do I see but an older overweight man sitting casually on a bench in the lobby. He was dressed normally, except for the fact that he was wearing a platinum blonde, page boy, shoulder length wig. He is still there when I walk out 30 minutes later after having requested and received a continuance for my client who is in jail in another city.
Fabulous.
Then one of MadDog's oldest clients calls me thinking he needs to declare Bankruptcy and I explain to him how to get out of his mess without going through Bankruptcy. Good deed for the day done, I read the comments on my blog and Southern Magnolia reminds me of a story from my days at Oxford:
Ok, I'm riding the train up to London with a guy who lives in the dorm next to me who is a graduate researcher and has special access to these really wonderful documents at the British Museum. We'll call him the Kiwi because he's from New Zealand. I am going to achieve one of the items on my personal list of things to do before I die which is to touch the Rosetta stone. Please note: I did so underneath the carved face as I would never want to mar the actual stone- but I just had to touch it. And I did! I also want to see the Magna Carta and some of the Ben Johnson stuff the Kiwi is going to see which I will only get to see if I go with him... And of course the Elgin Marbles and the Egyptian collection. Oh, and I'll meet BL at his Club for lunch.
So, we're on the train. There is a group of young people about four rows down from us and they are all wearing University of Alabama T-shirts- of some form or another- the two girls had on Sorority shirts and the boys were wearing readom Alabama football shirts. At first its fine. The Kiwi and I (quietly) discuss the American penchant for wearing clothing with logos on it. I have never done a lot of this, but you can usually pick out Americans abroad by either their garishly loud athletic jackets, the fact that we're wearing tennis shoes at non athletic events (and I do that one all the time!) or their T-shirts emblazoned with school logos. The only time I saw British people wear logo shirts was at an athletic event (and then primarily only if they were practicing for said event or participating in said event, not as a guest at said event) or in some other similarly super casual event. Riding the train to London required lace up shoes, cloth pants (not shorts or jeans) and a button down shirt of even my college friends.
While we're doing this, these Americans begin discussing, loud enough for me to hear four rows back, how awful and stupid England is. How bad the food is, how crappy the weather is, how stupid the accents are (in thick redneck accents no less) and how great the University of Alabama is.
I have my back to them so I turn around with the rest of those who are within hearing range and give them the evil eye. They are oblivious. The Kiwi wants me to get up and go give them a piece of my mind but I am loathe to do so for several reasons-- I'm blending in, I might actually know one of them, I wouldn't really care if someone decided to beat them up because they should know better, (Yeah, I'd like to see someone say that stuff about Alabama to them...) and frankly, the more people who believe Alabama is a redneck idiot's paradise, the nicer the state stays for me. I was quite relieved when the ire of the carriage was diverted by some very drunk Australians playing rugby while running through the carriage.
The ugly Austrailian just doesn't have the same ring as the ugly American thought does it?
The lunch at the Club was far far worse than that for the Great State of Alabama. Apparently in England, it is not polite to set your knife and fork down when speaking to someone- it is a sign you're done. They naturally use the European method aka don't switch hands with the cutlery method, while I was taught the switch hands/ rest the knife at the top/right of the plate/ set your fork down to the side of the plate while drinking/talking method. The napkin placed on the table being the signal one was done. BL said the waiter was going nuts behind me. After that I went with the When-in-Rome theory and switched to the European method, which is really far easier than all that pesky hand switching. Mommy Dearest and MadDog were not amused when I returned.
Next week I'll tell you the Kakhi Pants story if I haven't already...have to check the archives. I'll preview it with the quote I heard somewhere, "America and England are two countries seperated by a common language."
4 comments:
Can I just say that I never understand why people are so desperate to touch artefacts in Museums. Why isn't just looking at them enough.
Please explain.
Perhaps some of those people are afflicted with obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) and feel that they simply must, must, MUST touch the artifact or their world will become unbalanced. (:
Having attended British schools (by no choice of our own, I might add), my brother and I gained an "appreciation" for the table manners there. My brother will still tell tales to anyone who will listen of being whacked on the knuckles for not adhering to the dining protocols. Whereas I seemed to have escaped without incident, I sucked in knitting class.
I do want to reiterare that I touched it UNDERNEATH the surface, where I would do no damage to the stone.
I wanted to touch this particular artifact because its The Rosetta Stone. The Rosetta Stone represents to me both the knowlege we have lost and the knowlege we have discovered. Sort of "Those who do not understand history are doomed to repeat it." captured. It symbolizes so much.
I have no idea why people want to touch artifacts in museums in general. Some ideas that come to mind are that one's experience is always greater the more senses one uses,and that the artifacts are in a museum because they were/are facinating to someone on some level and are thus probably also going to be facinating to other people. Most objects in Museums were designed to be touched- for their original purpose they were touched and used regularly and are of pleasing proportions and form. Finally, touch is often what confirms reality to us- without the use of multiple senses we can be fooled. The first thing a child does is try to touch that which he sees- then taste and so forth. It is basic to our nature to touch to form a greater mental picture and experience. I could go on forever...but read some Descartes Hume...they expound on this and other questions ad infinitum.
So, since you're getting snarky, why do British people feel it is appropriate to go around the world discover amazing things, dig them up, steal them and bring them back to their country? Hmmm?
(And, as always, Southern Magnolia captured another part of the reasoning By the way...thank you)
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