It's now been over a month since I arrived in Philly. Time has flown and my head has spun but all in all the welcome has been very inviting. I am working (part time and for free but still working), we have a great house and have met some weird and wonderful people. But I do find myself pining for all things English. I have developed a desire to watch and read everything football related. I dragged Brent along to watch the England game against Austria in a bar and had to pay $20 for the pleasure. Before I got here I didn't care about football. This settling in thing may take quite a while.
On Sunday we got off our arses and went to a yoga class (one of the things we had been saying we would do for years). We left in a limping daze. The only yoga I had ever done was a very gentle Uni course taught by a 50ish woman who took you through each pose very slowly letting you relax for ages afterwards. In my uneducated yoga mind I thought this is what happened at every class. I was wrong.
The studio was gorgeous, lots of low lighting, candles, mirrors, plinky music. We were all lined up on our mats and the teacher entered the room, with no hi or intro she started the class with rapid instructions - inhale, arms up, exhale, bend forward, inhale heads to knees, exhale push up, inhale back bend, exhale lift hips and hold for 5 breaths, inhale jump up and head to knees, exhale arms up and inhale back to standing - again and again with no stopping. I felt like I as going to collapse, waiting for some let up that did not come for the whole hour. Near the end she asks us if we want to go into headstand - I'm like are you joking, I'd break my neck - and kindly declined her offer to help push me up. We left the place as limping sweaty messes. For the next two days I had real difficulty getting dressed let alone walk. Relaxing was definitely not what we experienced but becasue we are glutton for punishment and have paid for another four lessons, we have been back again and it was a hell of a lot easier the second time round. But I'm not sure if my hamstrings are ever going to be my friends again.
Love xxxxxxxxxxx
Listening to: the terrible radio station the builders outside are playing
Feeling: sore
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Neighbours, everybody loves good neighbours
Stereotypes are a necessary evil. By placing vast proportions of the population into a few standard characteristics life is made a lot easier; there's no need to consider the infinite differences that exists in and between every person. Women are caring, emotional and enjoy shopping, accountants are middle aged men who listen to Phil Collins and enjoy golf, British people have terrible teeth, drink tea and constantly complain (that's right yeah?). This said, I am very quick to argue against strerotyping seeing them as a cause of a lot of trouble, but this week one was proved to be totally spot on.
We are slowly trying to meet our neighbours and get a feel for the dynamic of the street. On Sunday, Brent was on tea (!) duty and quickly discovered the milk had turned to cottage cheese. So he goes to get more and doesn't come back for an hour. I call to make sure he hasn't been killed (we are in Philly), he's alive and well just got held up because he had just met Frankie, our street's Italian-American Mafioso man about town . Think Godfather, every Al Pacino/Robert DeNiro movie and Soprano episode and you get the stereotype: leader of family who knows everyone in the city, politically connected, legit business and a lot of money. This guy ticked every box.
Brent met him on the street in front of his house (that was two row houses he knocked down and turned in to one huge one, complete with sculpted fountain out front) and start chatting. He discovered that Frankie owned half of the houses on the street (mostly bought for $5000 20 years ago) and was slowly selling them off for a huge profit (one is on the market now for $250 ,000). He asks about our plans and when he hears we want to buy eventually tells Brent that we shouldn't go to real estate agents but come to him with pre-approved money and that he could sort us out. I know alarm bells should ring but at that point I really started to like Frankie. He then continues to list all of his jobs... he works for the city water company, owns a plumbing business, and is the local democratic representative!!!!! This guy has his fingers in every pie going and then some.
Brent eventually makes it to the supermarket which is a five minute walk and Frankie is in the first ailse (having driven) chatting to a woman while holding her baby! He see Brent and calls,
"Hey buddy, you should've told me you were coming, I could've given you a lift. It's Sunday, I'm buying meatballs and macaroni. I am Italian you know."
Obviously this guy might not have any connections to the mob, the stereotype just fits so well, I kinda hope he does!
Love Jem
Listening to: Prince
Considering: if this post could jepordise our potential Frankie friendship....
We are slowly trying to meet our neighbours and get a feel for the dynamic of the street. On Sunday, Brent was on tea (!) duty and quickly discovered the milk had turned to cottage cheese. So he goes to get more and doesn't come back for an hour. I call to make sure he hasn't been killed (we are in Philly), he's alive and well just got held up because he had just met Frankie, our street's Italian-American Mafioso man about town . Think Godfather, every Al Pacino/Robert DeNiro movie and Soprano episode and you get the stereotype: leader of family who knows everyone in the city, politically connected, legit business and a lot of money. This guy ticked every box.
Brent met him on the street in front of his house (that was two row houses he knocked down and turned in to one huge one, complete with sculpted fountain out front) and start chatting. He discovered that Frankie owned half of the houses on the street (mostly bought for $5000 20 years ago) and was slowly selling them off for a huge profit (one is on the market now for $250 ,000). He asks about our plans and when he hears we want to buy eventually tells Brent that we shouldn't go to real estate agents but come to him with pre-approved money and that he could sort us out. I know alarm bells should ring but at that point I really started to like Frankie. He then continues to list all of his jobs... he works for the city water company, owns a plumbing business, and is the local democratic representative!!!!! This guy has his fingers in every pie going and then some.
Brent eventually makes it to the supermarket which is a five minute walk and Frankie is in the first ailse (having driven) chatting to a woman while holding her baby! He see Brent and calls,
"Hey buddy, you should've told me you were coming, I could've given you a lift. It's Sunday, I'm buying meatballs and macaroni. I am Italian you know."
Obviously this guy might not have any connections to the mob, the stereotype just fits so well, I kinda hope he does!
Love Jem
Listening to: Prince
Considering: if this post could jepordise our potential Frankie friendship....
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