So, I tend to blog about worries or hangups or issues in my life; I often feel the need to get that stuff out on paper (well, "paper"). That can be quite dreary and boring (also, sneaking suspicion that I worry about people reading just the hangups and issues of my life--not sure I want you all to know how insecure I can be). Also, I don't quite believe in this blog. I'm still not sure what to do with it or do about it. But I also don't quite want to abandon it yet. So, I'm going to copy my very creative friend. She is blogging things she loves. Maybe I'll do that, too. But, for right now, I'm going to blog memories. I love stories. And I love telling stories. So, here's one:
Memory number 1: London.
The Time I Saw Kenneth Branagh
As background to my story, I love Kenneth Branagh.
So, fall 2001. My first study abroad to London. One evening, my friends and I were heading to a movie in Leicester Square. Jamie mentioned that Kenneth Branagh was directing a play called "Play What I Wrote." I said I wanted to go see it, and then we joked about him maybe being in London, and maybe even being at his play, and then we moved on to new subjects. A minute or two later he passed right by me heading in the opposite direction, smoking a cigarette, and talking to some guy. I stopped in the middle of the crowd in shock:
Me: "That was him!"
My friends: "Who?" (obviously they aren't as obsessed w/ KB as I am)
Me: "Kenneth Branagh! He just passed us."
Them: "No he did not, you're lying."
Me: "No way, he's right there."
My friend looks.
Friend: "Holy crap! It is Kenneth Branagh."
We turn around and stealthily stalk him. I wrack my brains for things to say...only stupid things come to mind. He goes into a restaurant. And we go to our movie. I did go see the play later, and it was very funny. The end.