From beer to bagels

Oh, Shakespeare. No matter the situation, good old Willy has something striking to say about. Wednesday night saw me attend a production of what is apparently one of his more maligned works Titus Adronicus, at the accurately recreated Shakespearean Globe Theatre along the south bank of the Thames. This piece has been getting rave reviews for being the first production to really manifest itself fully within the unique confines of the ancient layout, inhabiting the space and actualizing itself in a unique manner. Part of the fun of going to shows there is getting some of the £5 standing tickets that put you in the pit hard up against the stage, and Titus is the first play where much of the action takes place in this space. Orators, processions, and hostages are carted through the audience on towers, with guards alternately pushing the contraptions and audience members out of the way to "make way" for people such as the emperor. Those who fall into a pit tumble off the stage into a net hastily assembled in the middle of the recently displaced crowd, and the entire night I had to stay on my toes to keep grabbing my bag and water bottle to scurry out of the way of actors. Excellent fun.

And my evening of Shakespearean fun was preceded by a trip down to Brick Lane to grab some goodies at Beigel Bake, the famous 24 bagel joint in East Central London.

Speaking of the Bard, I've recently had a few passages from Othello stuck in my head. You see, alcohol has been a harsh mistress to me lately, and my drinking experiences have been, to be blunt, flat-out rubbish. And it's not just one thing, either; an entire host of maladies hit me on the rare occasions I tip a few back anymore. One time I'll be too sauced to even understand what people are saying to me, other times I start talking bollocks about some random subject at extreme length. Worst are the times when I find myself in a self-pitying funk, which always makes for a pleasant night out, usually followed up by a morning filled with vague waves of shame or guilt over acting like a fool. Ugh. I've really cursed the very word alcohol to the heavens recently, and have given it a wide birth (more or less). But Othello tidily gets to the point, with Cassio lamentingHere are a few of the more choice lines from this section:

-O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil!
-I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!

This one is my favorite, and the one that really has been ringing in my head often:

-To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! O strange! Every inordinate cup is unblessed and the ingredient is a devil.

Amen, padre. A-fucking-men.

In the spirit of avoiding the juice, I made a rare foray out into the public eye with a group of people from the dorms the other night, but decided to go entirely sober. Anyone who has ever been to a big city in Europe, especially during summer, is probably familiar with the sight of a large group of 19-year old Americans still struggling to cope with being able to drink legally while still maintaining some hint of dignity. The group I was sort of with, sadly, failed spectacularly in this task, behaving in the loudest, most boorish behaviour imaginable. I deftly peeled myself away from people and stood a bit clear of everyone as they yelled and swore on the tube, all the while planning to call it a quick night. When "our" stop came I feinted towards the door to seal the illusion of me coming along, then stopped short and took up a spot on the tube as it rolled along, sans my fellow students.

I don't know, maybe if I was drunk too it wouldn't be bad at all, but when you are the lone sober guy with a bunch of people teetered on the verge of being wholly out of control, it is no fun at all. And, to bring this story full circle, I took the tube near Brick Lane, ending up again at the Beigel Bake for some bread and sweets late at night. I had never actually been there at night, and realized for the first time that it gets spectacularly busy at night, and there were some 20-odd people in line in front of me. I was not alone in succumbing to the soft seductions of bread and pastries, it would seem.