a hog-killin' time

Hay bales.  Line dancing.  Cowboy hats, flannel shirts, and British accents.  Something doesn't quite fit, right?  I'm going to go ahead and hazard a guess that no one associates hoedowns with England.

However, for reasons that will remain forever a mystery to me, this is exactly where I found myself last night- at an English hoedown.  My host sister is running the London Marathon in two weekends and all of the participants are supposed to choose a charity to raise money for while preparing for the race.  Amy has chosen the North London Hospice, where both of my host parents' fathers spent their final days.  I'm sure a lot of marathoners raise their money by simply asking around for people to sponsor their run but the Smart family simply does not roll like that.  If there's any opportunity for crafting or parties, my host mom Diane is on it faster than you can say "giddy up."  On Friday night, I found her in the living room sewing leather fringe onto a denim vest.  This lady means business, ya'll.

Thus, the Hospice Hoedown Fundraiser was born.  Before I knew it, Danielle and I had brand new cowboy hats waiting for us in our room, courtesy of Diane, and we were donning our Western-most attire for a night of rough ridin' with some London city slickers.

Soon after we arrived at the country club where the hoedown was held, we were greeted by my host dad Fred, complete with sheriff's badge, neckerchief, and low-slung gun holster, and Diane, who was carrying around a long black leather whip.  Unfortunately, we arrived too late for the official line dancing.  Not that the rest of the night was devoid of it. . . I did learn a line dance that accompanies Billy Ray Cyrus' hit single "Achy Breaky Heart" from a small group of middle-aged women.  However, we missed the "official" line dances, which, of course, means that there was a caller.  They actually located someone who was sufficiently well versed in American country line dancing that they could act as a caller.  In England.  When I asked Diane if people knew how to do the dances, she replied, "Oh, it's easy, all you have to do is yell 'yee-haw' at the end!"

Now, first of all, I would like everyone to take a second here and imagine someone with an English accent saying "yee-haw."  Now try and say it.  I tried my darnedest to copy the way it rolled off Diane's tongue but I really just couldn't do it.  It doesn't work.  That little detail of the night is what made this strange culture fusion so glaringly obvious to me.  The hoedown was essentially a group of English people's interpretation of a very narrow slice of Americana.  If I felt like being a brat, it would be easy to be offended by this oversimplified representation of my culture.  Obviously, I'm not going to do that, because I love me some good honky tonk line dancing as much as the next girl.  However, the bizarre ways that people mimic different cultures is definitely worth considering.  Imagine if we had some sort of British themed party back in the States.  I immediately picture a group of Americans pretending to be overly polite and posh, while imitating an exaggerated British accent and drinking from tea cups with pinkies extended for extra sophistication.  I'm sure that Diane and Fred would think that would be just as odd/hilarious as I found the hoedown.

No matter how weird it was, though, I have to say that English people know how to throw a damn good hoedown.  That's probably a bit of an overgeneralization- my host family is most certainly a special, fantastic, eccentric breed.  Either way, if you ever happen to find yourself with an invitation to a wild west shindig in England, cowboy up and show 'em how the Cotton-Eyed Joe is really done.

blog? what blog?

Alas, I've forgotten about this yet again.  As a token of my sincerest apologies, please accept this video of the miniature accordion master that I saw on the metro in Rome.

I was about to start writing about what's happened since I've returned from spring break, but this baby busker has reminded of something I've been meaning to do for a while.  BUSKING aka playing music in public places as a backhanded way of begging for money- I think it's pretty awesome.  I recently added it to my bucket list.  Not that I actively plan on living in such a manner that would necessitate begging for money on the streets... I just think it would be really fun to sit outside and play music for people for a bit.  I could sing and play some undetermined instrument (maybe I'll do this after I learn how to play the cello?), perhaps with a friend and entertain passersby.  I'm thinking lovable town troubadour, Gilmore Girls-style, not creepy lurker.  

The reason I've suddenly thought so much about this is because London is overflowing with really talented street musicians.  I've heard/seen classical violin, really intense rock (complete with mini drum set), sultry jazz trumpet, didgeridoo, beat boxing, and countless other musical acts- and that's only in the tube stations.  At first, I was really amazed at how good all of the tube performers are.  Then, I did a bit research.  I noticed that most tube buskers stand in areas with large decals, either on the floor or on the wall behind them, which say "Let the music transport you" and have a little "Mayor of London" logo in the corner.  They're all really great because they're all licensed buskers that have auditioned for a much sought after spot in the London underground system! That's actually a thing that people can do! The city sponsors a busking program to promote the arts and make Londoners' hectic commutes a little more pleasant.  I don't know if this is unique to London, or if I'm just really inexperienced with cities.  Either way, colour me impressed. 

I see you, London.  Keep doin' you.