|[nothing is classier than a monocle. though, he is missing a top hat.]|
This afternoon, the essence of class, The Royal Family, is splashed all over screens around the world with the announcement that a new heir in the line for the crown has been born. Not gonna lie, I just had an exaggerated British accent saying the words in my head as I typed that out. Words like "heir" and "crown" will do that.
Although nothing that has happened in the last week can surpass the level of bombastic excitement surrounding Kate, Will, and the new baby boy, I will attempt to bring forth some more news clips that are equally dignified and, by coincidence, U.K. centric.
Neither Jane Austen, or anyone for that matter, could have imagined that a 12-foot statue of one of the novelists most famous characters would be constructed. This unlikelihood only makes it a zillion times better that it has actually been done.
Seen as entirely appropriate by any BBC miniseries fan, the statue can be found ascending out of a Hyde Park lake, rocking one of culture's most famous wet t-shirts. Of course it is an homage to Colin Firth's interpration of the seemingly prideful character, who, befuddled with love, dove in a pond for a quick cooling off.
That's it, I'm on a plane heading to jolly ole England as we speak to go swimming with the towering Mr. Darcy. Not only did this make my week, it has partially made my life. Nothing is better than pop culture randomly showing up in real life. Nerds forever.
People of the older set and I have always just got each other. Some of the closet compatriots I've made at each of my jobs have been with ladies over forty years older than me and I wish my grandma and I had matching BFF bracelets. I also can't help but root for those old zaney contestants on Jeopardy to take down those young whipper snappers.
I'm not sure if this is because I'm what they call, "an old soul", but nonetheless I can't help bonding with our world's greatest generation.
With all this in mind, nothing made me happier through the years than catching snipits of one elderly lady, sitting front row center in the White House Press Room.
Helen Thomas, who consistently covered the White House for over fifty years, from Kennedy to Obama, passed away over the weekend at the age of 92. It has been several years since she had given the press secretary hell (she retired in 2010 after she made some dicey comments about the Palestine/Israel conflict), but is passionately being remembered this weekend as a pioneer for women in Journalism.
Since becoming passionate about the news, I've admired Thomas' accomplishments, drive, and tenacity. Helen, we'll try to do you proud.
Pseudonyms or pen names are not new to the world of writing, and are used for a variety of reasons.
Famously, Susan Eloise Hinton disguised her name as the gender neutral SE Hinton so that no one would know that a teenage girl wrote the novel about tough dudes in gangs - The Outsiders. For Stephen King it was more about hiding a famous name and his ulterego Richard Bachman was born.
After writing a world renowned set of stories, no one can really blame J.K. Rowling for doing the same.
This week the jig was up when it came out (via a tweet people) that The Cuckoos Calling, released back in April by first time author Richard Galbraith, had actually been written by none other than the creator of Harry Potter.
Obviously, the woman doesn't need any more dough, so it's actually quite sad that her secret couldn't remain that way.
Reportedly, before this sort of scandal, the crime novel had only sold 1,500 copies in England. Me thinks those sales are going to steadily pick up.
Keep your eyes and ears wide open for the latest interesting headlines - you know that's what I'll be up to. Until next time.