Monday morning I popped awake bright eyed and bushy tailed, ate a healthy breakfast, and traipsed off into the rising sun, ready for another adventure. (I'm lying. I dragged my poor, sorry carcass out of bed, jammed some terrible muesli into its interior, and blearily tottered off down the roat into the mid-morning sun.)

I was off to the Globe!

I checked out the performance schedule, and the only thing playing that I could have caught was Henry VIII, and I didn't particularly want to see it.

And looking at the prices, I probably would have ended up getting a standing room ticket.

So I decided to screw that noise, and just go see the exhibit they had, and do the tour.

It was quite interesting, though not quite as in depth as I was hoping for. Don't let that discourage you! If you get near the Globe, go do the tour and see the exhibit, but, well, they didn't really tell me much I didn't already know. I could have expanded on the tour guide's information about the technical elements of the shows quite a bit.

There were some technicians working on stage, setting up for that evening's show. You have no idea how much I wanted to ask them for a job. (Screw you, Steve!) (I KID, I KID. Please don't fire me...)

After the Globe, I went and ate my picnic lunch on the banks of the Thames. DELICIOUS SANDWICH. Then I started wandering around, and discovered the Tate Museum of Modern Art.

"But you hate modern art, Rosie," I argued with myself.

"Yes, but it's free, and it's close," I argued back.

"Oh, very well, suit yourself, but you'll be sorry," I said.

So I went into the Museum of Modern Art.

It was about at the point where I was standing with a few other people, quietly contemplating a pale red canvas decorated with a dark red vertical line, that I realized MODERN ART IS STILL SHIT.

BLEAGH.

I should point out that this painting was in the very first room I walked into.

Needless to say, I took a very fast walk around the Museum of Modern Art, with every room only reconfirming what I already knew.

Not to say there wasn't pieces I didn't enjoy. There was a Dali piece I quite liked. I have to say, though, I'm not a fan of Picasso's cubist period. I much prefer his blue period stuff, but even then, I'm not a big Picasso fan at all. There was a room dedicated to a particular style of art which, for the life of me, I can't remember (it surfaced briefly around WWII, I believe), involving hyperrealism and giant canvasses. I liked those paintings, and not just because they were all naked people.

I walked into a room wallpapered in neon pink cows, and I thought: WHAT THE HELL IS THIS CRAP? And I checked the label, and it told me it was Andy Warhol, and I thought: ANDY WARHOL IS CRAP.

There was a room of photographs, done by a woman who was travelling around, knocking on people's doors and asking to photograph their livingrooms. I thought that was quite interesting. It was neat to see other people's livingrooms.

Then I left the Museum of Modern Art in a dignified, incensed huff, and had a lay about on the grass, reading my book and making friends with pigeons.

The one in the back is called Louis, and the one in the front is named Louise.

They don't talk much.

Afterward, I toured a church that was nearby, because I like old churches. There were plaques everywhere, commemorating people of the parish who had died. Even the flagstones were carved with people's names. I found a flagstone commemorating one of Shakespeare's younger brothers, who apparently was an actor in the area, and died of the plague (along with his other brothers). Of course, I can't for the life of me remember the kid's first name. George? Something like that.

Then, because I felt like doing something that wasn't very touristy, I went to a nearby mall. On my map, it looked comparable to Northland Mall (or Chakko Mika Mall), but in person, it was TINY. Ten minutes to walk the whole thing.

That was boring. So I went back to the hostel. Stupid mall.

Yesterday I hooked up with Scott, and we went wandering through street markets. A man tried to sell me a hat that was Too Small, but I was having none of it.

"No, no, it fits just fine!"

"No, it's tight."

"It's just your hair, maybe if you moved you hair--"

I hate to break it to you, man, but no matter how I arrange my hair, providing it's all pointing downward, my head will always have the same circumferance. Whether it's braided or not just affects what overall shape my head has.

Silly man. He had nice hats, though, just none that were big enough for me.

Ate Indonesian for lunch. Wandered more.

There's a lot of really neat architecture in London. I'm not just talking about historical buildings, but modern ones, too.

This one on the left did not look finished when we first saw it in the distance, but coming closer, we realized it was just a style.

Very cyber-punk evil-villian. I approved heartily.

After wandering on by this place, we discovered the Tower of London.

It's not so much of a tower an a lumpy bunch of buildings.

I didn't feel like paying for a ticket and going it, so we watched the recreationists from the railing, then walked around it.

Their herald was very good. Even us, way up on the railing, could hear everything he said clearly.

The 'fights' were amusing, but got boring quickly. I couldn't help but think they needed more rehearsal and a better fight director.

Silly people.

They could have dome something really great and terrifying, for both children and adults, but instead they took some fantastic garb and information, and just made a farce.

Oh well. Can't win them all, right?

After that, we took a walk across Tower Bridge, then went looking for a tube station, because Scott had to work. I figured I'd follow him and check out the cheap ticket booths, and see if I could catch a show.

I ended up going to see Wicked, because I always had a hard time picking up the storyline from the soundtrack alone. Plus, I heard it was a spectacle show, and I hadn't seen a spectacle show yet.

OH. MY. GOD.

Technicians wet dream.

Mechanized set pieces rolling on knife tracks, a giant dragon puppet that spanned the proscenium and spat smoke, lights and fans and smoke machines imbedded into the floor, traps and rising platforms, robotic fly system, multiple flying monkeys, gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh...

I spied on the technicians operating the dragon puppet (which was actually quite simple, but required obvious practice and coordination) and two of the followspots. I would love to have that job. I would love to work there.

Technically, it was the second best show I've ever seen (next to Ka), with the bus from Precilla coming in as third.

It was also superbly cast, which made me happy. I didn't like the casting for Avenue Q. I found their cast to be all hobbnobbed together. They didn't work well as a unit. But the Wicked cast sure did.

And damn, the voice on the woman they had as Elpheba! Wow! Goosebumps, I tell you.

Anyway. After the show, I went back to the hostel, and pretty much straight to bed.

And now? I'm gonna drag my sorry carcass off this couch and go check out the Horniman Museum, I think, and perhaps the Wallace Collection, if I have the time.

Rock on, peeps.