I heart...

While I’m thrilled about many aspects of British culture (including a later start to workdays and the kosher nature of chips/french fries accompanying all dishes), there are a few American things I’m pleasantly surprised to find are transatlantic.  A recent example is Roller Derby.

If someone had told me a few years ago that I would love watching women throwing elbows in while skating in fishnets, I would have looked over my shoulder to see if they were talking to a burlesque-loving punk skater behind me.  But I’ve caught the bug, which my fiance is all too encouraging of.  If it weren’t for my acute awareness of my clumsiness, I would be half tempted to tryout for a league, but then the thought passes and I remind myself that I have a half-finished knitting project next to my bed, three books on deck after “Seven Days In the Art World,” and a guitar lesson next week.  It’s still fun to watch.

Many moons ago I distinctly remember an elementary school tutor giving me a birthday card that had a unicorn on it.  I think at this point I already had my 2′ tall stuffed white pony that I imagined to be a unicorn and had watched “The Last Unicorn” on VHS more times than I care to claim.

Point being, I have a great love, nourished over many years, for the fictional creatures (although I asked that tutor if she thought it were possible for unicorns to be real, to which she replied, “I suppose anything is possible.”  I of course took that to mean “yes.”).

Europe seems to have an abundance of my dream pet.  I see them in decorative building facades, in display windows and in museums.  If I can find someone to volunteer for the unflattering role of horse-rear for a Halloween unicorn costume, I could live out the dream of my half-unicorn-half-human idol from the movie.  After all, I think I have most of the lines memorized.

My first few days living in London has made me appreciate these new amenities in my life:

• Kings Cross tube station.  It’s uber clean and bright.
• Lastfm.com.  Pandora, when are you coming to England?
• Radiators.  They warm my bath towels.
• Cloth grocery bags.  They’re environmentally friendly AND hold more weight without breaking, which is important now that I have to carry whatever I purchase to my flat.
• Writing dates DD/MM/YYYY.   It just makes more sense.
• The frequent use of the word “lovely.”
• Not being charged for in-coming calls to my cell phone.
• Free museums.
• One and two dollar coins (although I hate that the British have a coin not only for one pence, but also for two pence)

It’s the little things, right?

Why does the thought of regressing to being a little girl seem comforting sometimes?  Well, I definitely don’t have a bike with a banana seat, streamers on the handlebars, and a basket anymore.  Wearing my hair in pigtails isn’t so hip these days (yet I still do it from time to time).  And no one sings lullabies to me, although I bet my grandma would if I asked.  Eh, it’s just not the same.  But who other than Ingrid Michaelson could remind me of how great it felt?  I heart this song and especially this live version.

Yup, I like to be hugged.  I like to hold hands (even with friends).  I used to have a girlfriend who loved to hold the skin of my elbow between her thumb and index finger; I loved it back.  I’m like a loyal dog that will love you forever if you wrap one of my curls around your finger. Weird, huh?  This video makes me feel sligthly more “normal.”