Well hello, Ohio. Or, as Legally Blond 2 would have it, the Sunshine State (?). After four weeks of basking in a healthy blend of said sunshine and the occasional tornado, I am still mostly unemployed and addicted to cheap wine, cider, terrible Eurotrashy jams and my expertly cultivated fondness for doing absolutely nothing. Besides the fact that I can't think about Heathrow and wish I could still text sex on the Samsung (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4npUdfEmbQ), things are going swimmingly. Life as the only England fan in the Midwest is lonely but SO OVER, because life as the newest Germany fan is full of much better man candy. Achtung, Steven Gerrard...we're through. Thomas Muller called, and he wants to show you his six-pack.
Other things I now like include: e-mail, because some people refuse to join me in the 21st century by having Facebook; pretending I can sing along with the Soweto Gospel Choir, learning to drive in the cemetary, paying for things in dollars (although I do miss all those coins), the fact that it's FINALLY always fashion week somewhere again, Russell Brand and 50 cent drafts.
Things I don't quite fancy: Americans, their accents, their clothes and their awful beer; the fact that Gavin & Stacey only comes on BBC America like once a week, keeping in touch by phone and generally not being in England.
I'd write something sappy about the last 2 weeks of study abroad, but nobody likes an alcoholic who cries all the time. Just rest assured that it included fire escapes, cigars, pasties, pub time, too many pictures, no sleep and something people apparently call 'exams'. Whatever.
I'm off to take pictures of fat people, SUVs, American flags t-shirts and pickup trucks for my tintillating 4th of July special. BAM.
England, you gave me my first cavity and took away my dignity. We're in a relationship, but it's complicated.
xxx
Thursday 1 July 2010
Friday 21 May 2010
April May (June?)
21 May is a scary date. Not as scary, of course, as 22 May (two weeks!), 1 June (June!) or 5 June (In British phone-speak: LATERZ, ENGLAND). Ah. Terror and nostalgia aside, there is much fun to report.
Easter vacation ended on 26 April, which meant absolutely nothing except that halls were no longer lonely. Commenting incessantly on the weather is an annoying British trait, but I'll do it anyway: it's gorgeous and warm and basically I wish my life could be a never-ending English summer. Although they reside in what is quite possibly the dreariest country in the world (and perhaps because of it), the Brits know how to enjoy their fucking sunshine. Sitting outside is an activity here, and it's glorious.
Revision is overrated. I spent an entire week of my life watching HBO's 'The Pacific' because apparently I'm a War Studies student, and I still can't answer an essay question about weapons in the 1940s. This is either because I hate weapons from the 1940s, or because TV programs should stop exclusively casting sexy men. How am I supposed to pay attention to flamethrowers if people keep taking their shirts off and staring pensively into the palm tree-filled abyss? Fuck me, it's distracting.
Village pizza is not overrated. Neither, accordingly, is the size of my waistline. Yikes. Let's just say that there is a week of my life that I can't seem to remember, but I do know that the pizza guy has my order memorized. April, you kill me.
We had an election! Nobody won, but the London Eye was rainbow for a night and everyone loves an excuse to drink to seats in Parliament. It's comical how similar the parties are here, but also reassuring that so little of their politics revolves around moral issues (or, in the USA, the vomit-inducing 'family values'). That's not to say that Britain is absent of debate about such things (if you want a scare, google David Cameron's appointment of everyone's favorite bigot, Theresa May, as equality minister), but people tend to vote on the drier issues. America, I've always judged you for this, but now you just look uneducated, simple and ridiculously easy to manipulate.
I got a new camera, which means that I've finally resumed one of my favorite activities: wandering aimlessly and taking photos of things that are only funny to me.
And now for a list of reasons why reintegration to the States will be difficult and annoying.
1) Cider. Why on Earth don't we have hard cider on tap? On the eighth day, God invented Strongbow.
2) Brit-speak. You alright, mate? I was on the lash last night, and I pulled a super fit bird. What are you on about? I'm headed down the shop for a curry. I'm in mine. Are you in halls? I can't be bothered. Cheers. In a bit. Etc.
3) 4od. British TV is amazing, and also the only thing I've watched online for months. Going back to Gossip Girl, Hulu and incessant reruns of Law & Order blows.
4) Chavs. I won't know what to call trashy people, and American ones are heavier on the scary and lighter on the comedic value.
5) Digestives. Beans at breakfast. Sainsburys Basics. Double-strength juice. Pasties. Vending machines full of snacks I've never heard of. Prawn cocktail crisps. Chips with everything. Chicken everywhere. High quality McDonalds. Sweet corn at Subway. Sweet corn on everything. CADBURY. Innocent smoothies. Double vodka Red Bull. Pub food. Something I won't miss: being fat.
This list will grow.
xxx
Easter vacation ended on 26 April, which meant absolutely nothing except that halls were no longer lonely. Commenting incessantly on the weather is an annoying British trait, but I'll do it anyway: it's gorgeous and warm and basically I wish my life could be a never-ending English summer. Although they reside in what is quite possibly the dreariest country in the world (and perhaps because of it), the Brits know how to enjoy their fucking sunshine. Sitting outside is an activity here, and it's glorious.
Revision is overrated. I spent an entire week of my life watching HBO's 'The Pacific' because apparently I'm a War Studies student, and I still can't answer an essay question about weapons in the 1940s. This is either because I hate weapons from the 1940s, or because TV programs should stop exclusively casting sexy men. How am I supposed to pay attention to flamethrowers if people keep taking their shirts off and staring pensively into the palm tree-filled abyss? Fuck me, it's distracting.
Village pizza is not overrated. Neither, accordingly, is the size of my waistline. Yikes. Let's just say that there is a week of my life that I can't seem to remember, but I do know that the pizza guy has my order memorized. April, you kill me.
We had an election! Nobody won, but the London Eye was rainbow for a night and everyone loves an excuse to drink to seats in Parliament. It's comical how similar the parties are here, but also reassuring that so little of their politics revolves around moral issues (or, in the USA, the vomit-inducing 'family values'). That's not to say that Britain is absent of debate about such things (if you want a scare, google David Cameron's appointment of everyone's favorite bigot, Theresa May, as equality minister), but people tend to vote on the drier issues. America, I've always judged you for this, but now you just look uneducated, simple and ridiculously easy to manipulate.
I got a new camera, which means that I've finally resumed one of my favorite activities: wandering aimlessly and taking photos of things that are only funny to me.
And now for a list of reasons why reintegration to the States will be difficult and annoying.
1) Cider. Why on Earth don't we have hard cider on tap? On the eighth day, God invented Strongbow.
2) Brit-speak. You alright, mate? I was on the lash last night, and I pulled a super fit bird. What are you on about? I'm headed down the shop for a curry. I'm in mine. Are you in halls? I can't be bothered. Cheers. In a bit. Etc.
3) 4od. British TV is amazing, and also the only thing I've watched online for months. Going back to Gossip Girl, Hulu and incessant reruns of Law & Order blows.
4) Chavs. I won't know what to call trashy people, and American ones are heavier on the scary and lighter on the comedic value.
5) Digestives. Beans at breakfast. Sainsburys Basics. Double-strength juice. Pasties. Vending machines full of snacks I've never heard of. Prawn cocktail crisps. Chips with everything. Chicken everywhere. High quality McDonalds. Sweet corn at Subway. Sweet corn on everything. CADBURY. Innocent smoothies. Double vodka Red Bull. Pub food. Something I won't miss: being fat.
This list will grow.
xxx
Wednesday 14 April 2010
Stolen Goods
Also, a few pictures that I robbed off of Kelsi (RIP camera), just for kicks:
This is why I'm fat.
Homeless chic in Bristol
Bristol
Standard
(Not New) York.
Cheers, Kelsi :)
This is why I'm fat.
Homeless chic in Bristol
Bristol
Standard
(Not New) York.
Cheers, Kelsi :)
Easter, Springtime & York
It's been a while, again. Since I last wrote, lectures have ended, most of my coursework is done, and I've been outside without tights on (once), which clearly means that summer is coming.
Life at uni is a bit odd when there is no uni, but it's still so good to be in England and everything has been kind of a haze since the end of March. If you know anything about me, you know that I like it that way. How could I possibly complain about an existence that consists of waking late, grocery shopping, consuming too much coffee, having drinks and wasting hours on end with lovely people? I won't.
Easter also happened, but not Easter as we know it at home--English people have a giant vacation from school and at least appear to make a pretty big deal out of the whole thing. Since I don't like Easter (I hate springtime rains and pale, ugly colors and church makes me angry), I was obviously thrilled to spend it having a late dinner at Nando's and drinking half a bottle of Sainsbury's basics vodka out of a super-sized Burger King cup. There was, of course, good company and lots of sunshine; there was also a spur-of-the-moment Michael Jackson dance, something that resembled a double date, and abundant happiness. I think I even watched There Will Be Blood, but I can't be bothered to remember. All in all, the best and most ridiculous least favorite holiday I've ever had. Props, London.
After Easter, the following: I contracted the plague, got lost in East Dulwich, found out I'm living alone next year, watched more Peep Show than I care to admit, and realized (yet again) just how much I don't ever want to leave here. On the topic of leaving, Kelsi, Khogan and I went to York for a bit last weekend/the beginning of this week to visit Ted. Aside from being whitewashed and a potentially boring place to spend more than a few years, York was lovely lovely lovely and nothing but laughs. We walked on a wall, ate shit food, froze to death by sitting outside at just about every pub we could find, were surrounded by daffodils, smoked in the garden and watched silly British children's telly. Joe even came out to play with us on Sunday. So much fun.
Finally, northern girls love tanning salons and crap makeup enough to seriously consider auditioning for the inevitable next cast of the Jersey Shore. English people call a sun room a 'conservatory'. Apparently I talk in my sleep (about horses?). When you're driving on the highway here, the road signs just say 'the NORTH' and point you in a straight line. It's so easy, even a non-driving mess like myself could probably manage to get to Leeds.
XXX
Life at uni is a bit odd when there is no uni, but it's still so good to be in England and everything has been kind of a haze since the end of March. If you know anything about me, you know that I like it that way. How could I possibly complain about an existence that consists of waking late, grocery shopping, consuming too much coffee, having drinks and wasting hours on end with lovely people? I won't.
Easter also happened, but not Easter as we know it at home--English people have a giant vacation from school and at least appear to make a pretty big deal out of the whole thing. Since I don't like Easter (I hate springtime rains and pale, ugly colors and church makes me angry), I was obviously thrilled to spend it having a late dinner at Nando's and drinking half a bottle of Sainsbury's basics vodka out of a super-sized Burger King cup. There was, of course, good company and lots of sunshine; there was also a spur-of-the-moment Michael Jackson dance, something that resembled a double date, and abundant happiness. I think I even watched There Will Be Blood, but I can't be bothered to remember. All in all, the best and most ridiculous least favorite holiday I've ever had. Props, London.
After Easter, the following: I contracted the plague, got lost in East Dulwich, found out I'm living alone next year, watched more Peep Show than I care to admit, and realized (yet again) just how much I don't ever want to leave here. On the topic of leaving, Kelsi, Khogan and I went to York for a bit last weekend/the beginning of this week to visit Ted. Aside from being whitewashed and a potentially boring place to spend more than a few years, York was lovely lovely lovely and nothing but laughs. We walked on a wall, ate shit food, froze to death by sitting outside at just about every pub we could find, were surrounded by daffodils, smoked in the garden and watched silly British children's telly. Joe even came out to play with us on Sunday. So much fun.
Finally, northern girls love tanning salons and crap makeup enough to seriously consider auditioning for the inevitable next cast of the Jersey Shore. English people call a sun room a 'conservatory'. Apparently I talk in my sleep (about horses?). When you're driving on the highway here, the road signs just say 'the NORTH' and point you in a straight line. It's so easy, even a non-driving mess like myself could probably manage to get to Leeds.
XXX
Tuesday 16 March 2010
Bristol, Piercings, Moving
First, the most important piece of new in all of the U.K.: SPRING HAS FINALLY COME TO LONDON. Praise Jesus or Prince Harry or whoever is responsible, because not spending my evenings shivering at bus stops in 4883 layers of clothing is good for the soul. There are even flowers (which, let it be known, I identified by name. Yo, mom).
On the topic of Spring, and because London gets boring when all the losers you hang around with skip off to Amsterdam for the weekend, I went to Bristol last Saturday. Home of Skins, chavvy girls and--apparently--the coolest suspension bridge ever, it's 2.5 hours from London by bus and completely bomb. Highlights include the aforementioned suspension bridge, taking pictures with a survey woman at Tesco (after having to admit that we, in fact, visited her Tesco solely because we could see it from the green where we wanted to drink...and spent only 3.60, on said drinks), not freezing to death, MAGIC ROLL, meeting a boy at a club who claimed to have gone to uni to study football, and Amanda's rapping skills at the bus station at 4:55 a.m. You should probably go. You should not, however, decide to keep it homeless and take the 4:55 bus back to London. There is nothing more soul-crushing than trying to navigate notoriously shitty Sunday morning public transport hungover and running on 2 hours of bus sleep. Oops.
Last week, I also left my overpriced, antisocial home on Stamford Street for a lovely Danehurst prison cell in Camberwell. It's nice to actually spend more than 2-3 nights a week in my own bed. Enough on that.
In other news, I pierced my nose and Shelley didn't kill me. It also didn't hurt at all. There is only one more week of lectures at King's, which basically means that my life will be the same, I'll just spend significantly less time feeling guilty.
xxx
On the topic of Spring, and because London gets boring when all the losers you hang around with skip off to Amsterdam for the weekend, I went to Bristol last Saturday. Home of Skins, chavvy girls and--apparently--the coolest suspension bridge ever, it's 2.5 hours from London by bus and completely bomb. Highlights include the aforementioned suspension bridge, taking pictures with a survey woman at Tesco (after having to admit that we, in fact, visited her Tesco solely because we could see it from the green where we wanted to drink...and spent only 3.60, on said drinks), not freezing to death, MAGIC ROLL, meeting a boy at a club who claimed to have gone to uni to study football, and Amanda's rapping skills at the bus station at 4:55 a.m. You should probably go. You should not, however, decide to keep it homeless and take the 4:55 bus back to London. There is nothing more soul-crushing than trying to navigate notoriously shitty Sunday morning public transport hungover and running on 2 hours of bus sleep. Oops.
Last week, I also left my overpriced, antisocial home on Stamford Street for a lovely Danehurst prison cell in Camberwell. It's nice to actually spend more than 2-3 nights a week in my own bed. Enough on that.
In other news, I pierced my nose and Shelley didn't kill me. It also didn't hurt at all. There is only one more week of lectures at King's, which basically means that my life will be the same, I'll just spend significantly less time feeling guilty.
xxx
Friday 26 February 2010
You're Fucking With My Hygge
Everything in London is well post brief but needed disappearance to Denmark. After more UK units of alcohol than I care to count, Kelsi and I missed our bus (twice, almost three times), missed our train by an hour and 20 minutes, and still got to Gatwick with time for breakfast. Baller, I know. No matter if we spent the entire bus ride fantasizing about bagging the whole operation, or if it took me five minutes to figure out how to get a Gatorade out of the vending machine on the National Express platform, we arrived in Copenhagen with no means of communication and a massive combined hangover. Clearly ready to take over the world.
Luckily, pay phones are a worldwide lifesaver, and we were able to find Andrea and make our way to the center of the city. Being the Ohioan that I am, I frolicked in the snow the entire five days we were there and basically rejoiced at my brief return to the winter I'm missing back in the States. Copenhagen--like the rest of Denmark--is extremely tiny, so Andrea was able to show us most of the city center before taking us back to her apartment in Norrebro. Despite the fact that Norrebro is supposed to be the sketchiest neighborhood in Copenhagen (if you've been to Denmark, you'll understand how funny that sentence is in the first place), it--like Andrea--is absolutely lovely. In short, we played house all weekend and cooked amazing food and sat around under blankets while drinking like Scandinavians to keep warm.
Highlights include: A hippie commune in the middle of Copenhagen where everyone legally buys weed and stands around trash can fires and is happy. Attempting (successfully) homemade gnocchi and trying to grasp the concept of hygge...also with great success :) Olympic curling stance. I'll leave that one at that. Walking across frozen lakes in the snow at 2 a.m., once the right way, and once narrowly escaping a Danish disaster. Noticing that Danish boys act like they're at a middle school dance when they're out at clubs; they stand behind you for like ten minutes before they even dare to touch you. And they go out in their ski jackets. Making it home much more easily than we got there, but mostly realizing that you can be really fucking stupid and still get around the world, and have a jolly good time at that.
Tryk = push, Traek = pull...and they sound exactly the same.
xxx
Luckily, pay phones are a worldwide lifesaver, and we were able to find Andrea and make our way to the center of the city. Being the Ohioan that I am, I frolicked in the snow the entire five days we were there and basically rejoiced at my brief return to the winter I'm missing back in the States. Copenhagen--like the rest of Denmark--is extremely tiny, so Andrea was able to show us most of the city center before taking us back to her apartment in Norrebro. Despite the fact that Norrebro is supposed to be the sketchiest neighborhood in Copenhagen (if you've been to Denmark, you'll understand how funny that sentence is in the first place), it--like Andrea--is absolutely lovely. In short, we played house all weekend and cooked amazing food and sat around under blankets while drinking like Scandinavians to keep warm.
Highlights include: A hippie commune in the middle of Copenhagen where everyone legally buys weed and stands around trash can fires and is happy. Attempting (successfully) homemade gnocchi and trying to grasp the concept of hygge...also with great success :) Olympic curling stance. I'll leave that one at that. Walking across frozen lakes in the snow at 2 a.m., once the right way, and once narrowly escaping a Danish disaster. Noticing that Danish boys act like they're at a middle school dance when they're out at clubs; they stand behind you for like ten minutes before they even dare to touch you. And they go out in their ski jackets. Making it home much more easily than we got there, but mostly realizing that you can be really fucking stupid and still get around the world, and have a jolly good time at that.
Tryk = push, Traek = pull...and they sound exactly the same.
xxx
Tuesday 16 February 2010
Fail
It's really hard to blog, especially when you have nothing to do. For instance, the only reason I'm writing this right now is that I'm supposed to be finishing (read: starting) a 2,500 word essay before I leave for Denmark on Thursday morning. Oops. So instead of pretending I actually know what happened during the Falklands War--my knowledge of which stops about 37 minutes into This is England and picks up again at 'Margaret Thatcher was proper shit'--I'm attempting to summarize the last 2.5 weeks of my life.
Lessons of the month:
1) While you're getting ginned, it's way harder than it looks to know when to drink. Thank Jesus for the fact that (though they'll deny it) '4 shots' in Britain are an alcoholic American 2. Nobody else thinks it's depressing to get older.
2) NEVER attempt new slang when drunk and tired -- you'll end up announcing to someone of the opposite sex that you "don't wear knickers". Knickers are NOT the same thing as trousers.
3) There is no right time for someone else to enter a conversation about oral fixations. Ever.
4) I will never live down 85% of the things I say in public.
5) I've said this before, but British people are RACIST. Like, scary racist. At 5 a.m. on the night bus a few weeks ago, this chavvy white woman literally physically assaulted some guy who wouldn't turn his music down 2 seats behind Amanda and me. When other people on the bus got involved, it only took a predictable 1-2 seconds for the 'go back to your country' comments to start flying. Ew. Stupid people piss me off at home, but somehow the smart accent makes Brits wear it even worse than we do.
6) Man panties are 1.50 at Primark, appear to only come in varying combinations of pink, and are the best pajamas of all time when you don't want to do your laundry.
7) British people don't understand the concept of iced coffee...it even sucks at Starbucks.
8) Double strength juice.
9) Nobody here checks their e-mail, which I love. I despise uptight, e-mail obsessed Americans. There's no way you're important enough at age 20 to check your e-mail more than once a day. Have a signature at the end of your e-mail in university? You're probably a douchebag.
10) There are some things that are the same everywhere, namely: vending machines, awkward conversations on public transportation, bitchy TAs, token inappropriate, offensive conservative kids in lecture (usually obsessed with the military, short-haired and unfortunately competent at borderline racial slurs in academic discussion), and chocolate.
11) It's probably always raining in London, even if it's sunny. If you think it's sunny, you're wrong...or at least you will be within the next 15 minutes.
Alas, poor Fanny.
xxx
Lessons of the month:
1) While you're getting ginned, it's way harder than it looks to know when to drink. Thank Jesus for the fact that (though they'll deny it) '4 shots' in Britain are an alcoholic American 2. Nobody else thinks it's depressing to get older.
2) NEVER attempt new slang when drunk and tired -- you'll end up announcing to someone of the opposite sex that you "don't wear knickers". Knickers are NOT the same thing as trousers.
3) There is no right time for someone else to enter a conversation about oral fixations. Ever.
4) I will never live down 85% of the things I say in public.
5) I've said this before, but British people are RACIST. Like, scary racist. At 5 a.m. on the night bus a few weeks ago, this chavvy white woman literally physically assaulted some guy who wouldn't turn his music down 2 seats behind Amanda and me. When other people on the bus got involved, it only took a predictable 1-2 seconds for the 'go back to your country' comments to start flying. Ew. Stupid people piss me off at home, but somehow the smart accent makes Brits wear it even worse than we do.
6) Man panties are 1.50 at Primark, appear to only come in varying combinations of pink, and are the best pajamas of all time when you don't want to do your laundry.
7) British people don't understand the concept of iced coffee...it even sucks at Starbucks.
8) Double strength juice.
9) Nobody here checks their e-mail, which I love. I despise uptight, e-mail obsessed Americans. There's no way you're important enough at age 20 to check your e-mail more than once a day. Have a signature at the end of your e-mail in university? You're probably a douchebag.
10) There are some things that are the same everywhere, namely: vending machines, awkward conversations on public transportation, bitchy TAs, token inappropriate, offensive conservative kids in lecture (usually obsessed with the military, short-haired and unfortunately competent at borderline racial slurs in academic discussion), and chocolate.
11) It's probably always raining in London, even if it's sunny. If you think it's sunny, you're wrong...or at least you will be within the next 15 minutes.
Alas, poor Fanny.
xxx
Sunday 31 January 2010
Well...
There are no rules in London, despite the plethora of CCTV cameras claiming to stalk my every move. Also, people like you to celebrate your birthday for 5 or 6 days straight, which is tiring. That's me: avoiding 21 and keeping it trashy. Things you wish you'd seen but weren't cool enough to handle...
1) The dirtiest drinking game known to man
2) Tequila bottles with sombreros for lids. Detachable sombreros...just in case you want to wear them when you're through.
3) Evangelical wackjobs on a Sunday morning bus telling you the world is coming to an end, and (shocker) you're probably going to hell. Especially poignant when, considering recent behavior, you just might be.
4) Sexual innuendos about curry vindaloo (don't ask, don't tell)
5) Any and everything that happens here, ever.
Weekly bus & tube pass? 25 quid. Drinks at Fubar? 1-5 quid, depending on the bartender. Narrowly escaping trouble via a butch security woman at 1:30 a.m., even when the evidence is right in front of her face? Priceless.
Some people think I'm bonkers, but I just think I'm free.
xxx
1) The dirtiest drinking game known to man
2) Tequila bottles with sombreros for lids. Detachable sombreros...just in case you want to wear them when you're through.
3) Evangelical wackjobs on a Sunday morning bus telling you the world is coming to an end, and (shocker) you're probably going to hell. Especially poignant when, considering recent behavior, you just might be.
4) Sexual innuendos about curry vindaloo (don't ask, don't tell)
5) Any and everything that happens here, ever.
Weekly bus & tube pass? 25 quid. Drinks at Fubar? 1-5 quid, depending on the bartender. Narrowly escaping trouble via a butch security woman at 1:30 a.m., even when the evidence is right in front of her face? Priceless.
Some people think I'm bonkers, but I just think I'm free.
xxx
Wednesday 20 January 2010
Photographic Evidence
Nothing of interest to report, except that I've finally found something I'm worse at than walking down stairs without falling: rolling cigarettes. Oh my God. I've been going to lectures (I get made fun of when I call them classes here), but they don't happen that often and nobody studies abroad to waste time pondering the greatness of their module choices, so yeah. Mostly I treasure my lunchtime pint of cider, try on beautiful British clothes and devise plans to prevent myself from gaining 60 pounds by June 5. We'll see.
I sort of feel like a freshman again here, which I'm actually enjoying. It's so refreshing not to be bored, and people here are less judgmental and jaded than they are in New York. Nobody looks at you like you're the spawn of the devil if you admit to--heaven forbid--liking something. Novel idea. I'm sure most of my perception of Londoners is clouded by the fact that they're all new to me, but on the whole they've seemed more open and less caught up than a lot of the people I'm used to interacting with at home. Less insecure, self-obsessed clones of each other and more interested in having a fucking good time. Obviously I love New York, but towards the end of last semester I was finding it almost laughably superficial and the people there increasingly drove me insane. It's nice to be around people who seem to care more about enjoying what they're doing than spending their time pretending (wishing, probably) that everyone is watching them and probably wants to take their picture.
So that's London. Different every day, but definitely always lovely.
Cheers.
I sort of feel like a freshman again here, which I'm actually enjoying. It's so refreshing not to be bored, and people here are less judgmental and jaded than they are in New York. Nobody looks at you like you're the spawn of the devil if you admit to--heaven forbid--liking something. Novel idea. I'm sure most of my perception of Londoners is clouded by the fact that they're all new to me, but on the whole they've seemed more open and less caught up than a lot of the people I'm used to interacting with at home. Less insecure, self-obsessed clones of each other and more interested in having a fucking good time. Obviously I love New York, but towards the end of last semester I was finding it almost laughably superficial and the people there increasingly drove me insane. It's nice to be around people who seem to care more about enjoying what they're doing than spending their time pretending (wishing, probably) that everyone is watching them and probably wants to take their picture.
So that's London. Different every day, but definitely always lovely.
Cheers.
Sunday 17 January 2010
68 to West Norwood
Ello, mates.
Long time no blog. Mostly, this is because if I were to actually recap the last week of my life I would sound like a lazy, nocturnal alcoholic nightmare. While that may be an accurate description, I figure it's best to spare my mum (+1 for Brit-speak) the details. Since most of my classes don't start until this week, my days have consisted of waking up at 1 (1300, according to my phone), eating at 4, and spending the rest of my time forcing myself to get dressed and make plans. Also, I Skype. Sometimes, I take a picture or two. I even shop. But mostly I lounge.
Things I've learned about Britain in the last 10 days? Instead of pre-game, they say 'pre-lash', and--considering that 'lash' is another word for get obliterated--this actually makes sense. Coffee with milk is 'white coffee'...if you don't order it the right way, be prepared for a condescending look and a correction. Apparently milk is not free. There are a lot of racist people here, and they really care about passports. When taking the night bus, know at what points in the hour it comes. This is especially important if you're in the middle of nowhere, alone and caught in the snow. Almost none of the rules in dorms (halls) actually apply. I should try harder to remember the difference between northern and southern accents. 'Estates' are housing projects. Don't offer a British person a lighter with a safety on it. They become annoyed. You can 'hire a mattress' for 1.50 should you ever need to stay on a friend's floor in another hall, because crashing on a bathroom rug with a sweater (jumper!) for a pillow is much too uncivilized. Everything comes with chips...everything. Stay away from Brown Sauce. Finally, if you go to the pub, you will never make it out.
Old people keep telling me that I'll 'take something away' from this experience, but as of yet the only thing I'm taking away are McDonald's chicken nuggets and brain cells.
London is fun.
Long time no blog. Mostly, this is because if I were to actually recap the last week of my life I would sound like a lazy, nocturnal alcoholic nightmare. While that may be an accurate description, I figure it's best to spare my mum (+1 for Brit-speak) the details. Since most of my classes don't start until this week, my days have consisted of waking up at 1 (1300, according to my phone), eating at 4, and spending the rest of my time forcing myself to get dressed and make plans. Also, I Skype. Sometimes, I take a picture or two. I even shop. But mostly I lounge.
Things I've learned about Britain in the last 10 days? Instead of pre-game, they say 'pre-lash', and--considering that 'lash' is another word for get obliterated--this actually makes sense. Coffee with milk is 'white coffee'...if you don't order it the right way, be prepared for a condescending look and a correction. Apparently milk is not free. There are a lot of racist people here, and they really care about passports. When taking the night bus, know at what points in the hour it comes. This is especially important if you're in the middle of nowhere, alone and caught in the snow. Almost none of the rules in dorms (halls) actually apply. I should try harder to remember the difference between northern and southern accents. 'Estates' are housing projects. Don't offer a British person a lighter with a safety on it. They become annoyed. You can 'hire a mattress' for 1.50 should you ever need to stay on a friend's floor in another hall, because crashing on a bathroom rug with a sweater (jumper!) for a pillow is much too uncivilized. Everything comes with chips...everything. Stay away from Brown Sauce. Finally, if you go to the pub, you will never make it out.
Old people keep telling me that I'll 'take something away' from this experience, but as of yet the only thing I'm taking away are McDonald's chicken nuggets and brain cells.
London is fun.
Friday 8 January 2010
Cheerio
Hello from London!
Since I've now been here for five days, I figured it was about time that I pulled the self-important study abroad move of getting a blog. So far London has been, as the Brits would say, above average. As some of you know, the incredibly incompetent (but, of course, exceedingly charming) King's College people never sent me the letter that I needed to cross the border, so I arrived with my knickers in a twist assuming imminent deportation. The verdict? Not a problem. After a little argument over the duration of my stay (according to him, January 4 to June 4 was somehow more than six months), he stamped my passport and advised me, for some reason, not to go home for Easter? Regardless, into the UK I came with a visa and 65 pounds (not the currency) of luggage.
After dropping my bags 483983 times and generally making a mess of myself on the tube for 45 minutes, I finally unpacked in my little room and napped...for twelve hours. Oops. On Tuesday, I went to this bizarre furniture store called Argos where, much to my surprise, you stand at a computer and flip through a catalog instead of actually shopping for things. Epic success, other than the fact that I got flustered when they asked me for ID to buy a 'place setting'. Apparently people under 18 are much more likely to stab strangers with dinner knives.
On Wednesday, we had orientation, which basically consisted of walking across the bridge in a snowstorm and standing in endless lines that resulted in nothing except for internet access. I did, however, get my KCL ID, which is not nearly as atrocious as ID pictures I've had in the past (NYU card, I'm looking at you). There was a meeting where several different people from the school talked at us, and I learned my favorite word of the week: tatty, as in "if you want to see what this building looked like before it was renovated, go up to the 4th floor and see how tatty those rooms are". Awesome. Lots of jokes were made about how drunk everyone is all the time. Ashleigh and I got assaulted by a strange man selling flowers, and then I finally learned how to Skype.
I went out yesterday night and realized that there are annoying things I don't know about London, like whether or not people tip here. I'm so used to tipping anyone who does anything, but the people around us didn't seem to be doing it at all. I got a UK cell phone, so I'm no longer wandering around the streets of London wondering what people did before they had them (conclusion: before they could text, people must have actually been reliable).
Finally, things are expensive here, but not as expensive as I thought they would be. I still don't know my address. I have roommates, but I only creepily hear them coming in at 2 a.m., so I haven't introduced myself yet. When in the UK, don't forget to dial the 0. When faced with tiny bathrooms, do not under any circumstances actually look at your face in the mirror while showering. Weird. 'Cheers for that' is the best version of 'thank you' ever. I need to get my saying of 'a bit', 'perhaps' and 'I suppose' under control ASAP, otherwise I'll sound like a douche when I get back to the States.
Flushin' MCs Down the Loo.
Since I've now been here for five days, I figured it was about time that I pulled the self-important study abroad move of getting a blog. So far London has been, as the Brits would say, above average. As some of you know, the incredibly incompetent (but, of course, exceedingly charming) King's College people never sent me the letter that I needed to cross the border, so I arrived with my knickers in a twist assuming imminent deportation. The verdict? Not a problem. After a little argument over the duration of my stay (according to him, January 4 to June 4 was somehow more than six months), he stamped my passport and advised me, for some reason, not to go home for Easter? Regardless, into the UK I came with a visa and 65 pounds (not the currency) of luggage.
After dropping my bags 483983 times and generally making a mess of myself on the tube for 45 minutes, I finally unpacked in my little room and napped...for twelve hours. Oops. On Tuesday, I went to this bizarre furniture store called Argos where, much to my surprise, you stand at a computer and flip through a catalog instead of actually shopping for things. Epic success, other than the fact that I got flustered when they asked me for ID to buy a 'place setting'. Apparently people under 18 are much more likely to stab strangers with dinner knives.
On Wednesday, we had orientation, which basically consisted of walking across the bridge in a snowstorm and standing in endless lines that resulted in nothing except for internet access. I did, however, get my KCL ID, which is not nearly as atrocious as ID pictures I've had in the past (NYU card, I'm looking at you). There was a meeting where several different people from the school talked at us, and I learned my favorite word of the week: tatty, as in "if you want to see what this building looked like before it was renovated, go up to the 4th floor and see how tatty those rooms are". Awesome. Lots of jokes were made about how drunk everyone is all the time. Ashleigh and I got assaulted by a strange man selling flowers, and then I finally learned how to Skype.
I went out yesterday night and realized that there are annoying things I don't know about London, like whether or not people tip here. I'm so used to tipping anyone who does anything, but the people around us didn't seem to be doing it at all. I got a UK cell phone, so I'm no longer wandering around the streets of London wondering what people did before they had them (conclusion: before they could text, people must have actually been reliable).
Finally, things are expensive here, but not as expensive as I thought they would be. I still don't know my address. I have roommates, but I only creepily hear them coming in at 2 a.m., so I haven't introduced myself yet. When in the UK, don't forget to dial the 0. When faced with tiny bathrooms, do not under any circumstances actually look at your face in the mirror while showering. Weird. 'Cheers for that' is the best version of 'thank you' ever. I need to get my saying of 'a bit', 'perhaps' and 'I suppose' under control ASAP, otherwise I'll sound like a douche when I get back to the States.
Flushin' MCs Down the Loo.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
