Matthew Gallaway

Time Fades Away: The Morning Commute

On Wednesday morning, my last in Oxford, I stood outside the courtyard of the hotel. I felt as if I had not slept in days, in large part because I had not slept in days. Sunday night I was still adjusting to the time change, and Monday night was the night the hotel inexplicably decided to schedule the carpet removal team from 11pm-4am. (I would recommend the hotel, which is called the _____, on the condition they assure you not to undertake any midnight construction during your stay, that is, if you care about sleep.) On Tuesday night, I went out with a group of work colleagues and we 'raged' into the wee hours to celebrate the successful conclusion of a second full day of meetings.

I felt placated by the moss on the nearby stone wall, and felt thankful that British beer does not deliver the same searing hangover that U.S. beer does (via pasteurization and preservatives, or so I've been led to believe); I was numb to be sure, but vaguely functional.

I walked past the graveyard of a nearby church.

I noted a sign that I felt was distinctly British. In the U.S., it would simply say: 'Fuck you. Go somewhere else and die. Call my lawyer if u have a problem.'

I took a right onto Little Clarendon Street.

I admired a manhole cover, which may or may not have dated from the year ____.

In just a few minutes, I arrived at the site of my meetings.

Before going inside, I took a few moments to admire the leaves next to yet another beautiful old wall.

Time passed. I went out for lunch. I walked past a line of row-houses that also struck me as characteristically British, or at least European.

I wondered how long this phone booth would last in New York City. I remembered how I spent years looking for a red shirt of almost the exact same tone, and how difficult it was to find.

I stumbled upon an outdoor market, where I was hypnotized by the flowers. I felt relieved not to be scrutinized by the older woman on the left. 

Walking back from lunch, I passed a perfect Japanese Maple. If I were such a tree, I felt certain that I could be happy here.

Like My Dreams, The Morning Light Was Amber and Fleeting

This morning the light was amber and fleeting; I still felt vaguely fatigued from jet-lag and my continuing dissatisfaction with almost every facet of my life in the modern (i.e., post-balloonboy) era.

I was cheered by the sight of a delivery truck marked with a single word -- SNACKS -- unpolluted by any trademark symbol. I wished that all advertising was similarly generic.

I watched a person cross the street and waited for the traffic light to turn.

I stumbled upon a rare but certain truth: SNACKS -- EVERYBODY LOVES THEM.

The fading light reflected off the wet sidewalk, and I felt relieved to be alone in the city of my dreams.

Guest Blogging by Zephyr

Some weeks time seems to go very slow.

Other weeks it goes even more slowly.

I always thought that by this point in my life I would have fewer doubts, not more, that I would be someone I had always aspired to be, that I would like back on my life and say: 'Yes, I did that for a reason, because I knew it would eventually lead to ____.'

So many others seem to have so much purpose and direction, and have achieved all sorts of success, whereas I just want to sit around and think.

Maybe it's enough that I can actually do that once in a while.

The Wall of Red Leaves

This was a wall of some sort of Virginia Creeper (maybe?) in Oxford. Damn -- have serious climate envy now. I'm back in New York, now -- and will resume blogging with more regularity soon!

More Shots from the Courtyard of Your Dreams

Ugh -- it rained all day in Oxford today, so here are a few more shots from yesterday of my new favorite courtyard.

And could you ever get tired of looking at this beech tree?

You'd better not say no. (Srsly, miss u!)

The Pleasure of Old Things and Bicycle Commutes

This morning I waited for the rest of my work colleagues in front of our ridiculously charming hotel. I wondered if people who live here become inured to the effect of so many beautiful old walls and plants, but decided it would be something of an affront to ask.

During our meetings, it was hard not to sometimes drift off and consider the magnificent beech tree in the adjoining courtyard. Although part of me regretted not having this back in New York, another part realized that I would probably never get anything done if I were continually hypnotized by the medusa-like branches of such an amazing tree.

During a break, I went out and admired the rows and rows of bikes, which I think it's safe to say you never see in New York City, at least in the context of commuting. This made me jealous, particularly when I thought about my subway commute; some day, I would like to walk/bike to work, although it seems likely that I would have to leave the city to do it.

Time Fades Away: Today I Am a Tourist

After an exceedingly turbulent flight that several times had me praying to ___, I finally arrived in England. I took the bus to Oxford and walked to the hotel, which was appropriately old and charming. I had instant garden envy!

Although it was raining, I decided to set out immediately for the Oxford Botanical Garden; this was my only afternoon off, and I wanted to make the most of it! On the way, I passed the famous tavern where Tolkien and Company used to 'chill.'

Along with many bikes, there are quite a few professorial types wandering around here.

Miraculously, the sun came out the second I arrived at the botanical garden, just in time to take in this incredible conifer (I forget the exact name).

The alpine garden was beautiful in the late-afternoon sunlight.

As were the flower beds. I ended up taking about a million pix, so more TK in future posts!

I walked home on High Street, which like much of downtown Oxford seems a 'lil touristy.' There's always something a bit incongruous to me about seeing modern chains/storefronts in such old buildings; it's not an easy trick to pull off without coming across as garish or 'Disnified.' (I'm not sure what the solution is.) I'm guessing that the locals make a point of taking the back routes, where the throngs are less likely to deviate.

I saw a restaurant called 'Zizzi,' which is our nickname for Zephyr. I felt a little homesick. As I write this, the church bells are tolling and I'm thinking about a Walter Benjamin essay in which he describes the melancholy of church bells on a Sunday afternoon. It's time, I realize, to get up and go.

Travel Angst and Red Leaves

Tonight I'm going to England for three days as part of a 'business trip.'

A part of me is looking forward to it -- the town where I'm going is supposed to be historic and beautiful -- but a part of me is also reluctant. Things I worry about include: 1) falling asleep during meetings (via jet-lag), 2) leaving the cats behind (Dante, Zephyr, Elektra and Stephen), 3) missing Mad Men on Sunday night, 4) the plane crashing either on the way there or back, and 5) missing the fall crocus in the garden, which are just starting to open.

The time passing now -- i.e., the hours and seconds and minutes leading up to my departure -- are always the worst. This morning I tried to console myself by admiring the little bits of red that were showing up on the columnar pin oaks, and reminding myself that as much as I hate to leave, it will be that much better to come home.

Time Fades Away: Il y a un jour

With a group of my work colleagues, I emerged from the subway station in front of the Museum of Natural History into the amber light of an usually warm fall day. 'Look how beautiful the sun is,' someone said, and I took a photograph to prove that this assertion was in fact true (subjectively speaking).

I admired the lumbering bears on one side of the steps of the museum.

I was amused by a pigeon sitting on the head of ____.

Walking through the front doors, I was momentarily entranced by the beautiful metalwork design that filled the archway. 'Don't you wish this was your apartment?' I asked my friend J___. 'Yes,' she instantly agreed.

In the lobby, we waited for the rest of our group and were divided into 'teams' by a representative of a 'scavenger hunt' company. We were given packets of information and told to choose a name for our team. J___ suggested 'The Tale of the Dinosaur,' and we all concurred that it was a clever idea, since we were in fact sitting only a few feet away from the tail. Choosing a good name was not unimportant, because the best one -- chosen by the representative -- would result in an additional point for the team in question.

Before we could begin, we each had to sign a waiver (via life in the modern world).

While everyone else signed, I admired a nearby torch lamp, which was even more ornate than the deco one Stephen and I just had repaired. Then, once everyone was ready, we were told to begin. I regretted that our organizer didn't say 'Your time begins now!' like Padma on Top Chef, but we all quickly dispersed to begin seeking answers to the lists of clues that were provided to us. Because it was a work function, everyone maintained an appropriate balance between seeming enthusiastic and 'chill,' because nobody wanted to seem 'like an overly competitive a-hole.' This made it actually pretty fun! I knew that if I had ever done this in my family growing up, the museum would have been littered with corpses by the end.

I enjoyed myself as we looked for clues by taking in some of the dioramas in the museum. I'm not sure anyone would create a museum like this in 2k9, because you can see all this stuff IRL on YouTube.

The dinosaur bones were awesome, of course.

ROAR! I remembered taking my nephew here when he was ___ years old, and how all he was interested in was eating astronaut ice cream in the gift shop. Even though I was a non-heterosexual child, I was exceedingly fascinated with dinosaurs, and so was probably a lil dismayed that my nephew didn't share my interest.

Time passed until all the teams reconvened in the lobby and turned in our answers. A winner was declared after a suspense-filled tie-breaking question -- how many miles underwater can you hear a great blue whale (500!) -- and we returned outside into the fading sunlight.

We walked en masse to a nearby bar and ordered drinks. It felt like the last warm day of the year.

The moon was out and we wished that we lived (but not together) in the sweet penthouse on top of a nearby building. We wondered what life would be like 'post-scavenger-hunt' and one thing was certain: it would never be the same.

In the Weeds: The Blank Garden

Click through for my latest 'In the Weeds' on THE AWL, about my recent trip to DC.

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Hi! We're August and Julia and we live in DC with the MG's cousin! We're 'adorbs'!