when you’re a jet, you’re a jet all the way

Big news in my little corner of London today: my modern drama prof has chronic vertigo and can no longer teach my class, and her replacement can only teach in the mornings. So no more elite afternoon class. We’ve been integrated.

Not only do I feel sympathy for Nesta (and prof. Dykes, her replacement), but I’m so sad about losing the intimacy and space to learn we had in the afternoon class. It was so fantastic to be in such a small class and really develop ideas through discussion. That has, unfortunately, been curbed a bit by the fact that we are now six in a class of eighteen. It’s not terribly huge, but it is such a vast difference. Of course, none of us are willing to sacrifice that, so we ended up dominating discussion today (hey, it’s not our fault that other people don’t raise their hands), and will still have our post-play drinks on Wednesdays. I really do like that group we’ve made, and I think everyone else does as well. We are passionate people, confident in our opinions and thoughts. We want to butt heads over differing opinions in order to arrive at more nuanced conclusions. This is discourse, and we love it and have gotten pretty good at it. It will be interesting to see how the class progresses from here on in.

The new prof. knows his stuff and seems to be a pretty good teacher, but he may have some my-way-or-the-highway tendencies. Plus, his name is nowhere as cool as Nesta (Steve, psh). Already there are tensions between the two classes, some of the morning kids I think feel bullied by us, but again, they didn’t raise their hand, and we’re going to be damned if we aren’t going to work to keep some approximation of the level of learning to which we’ve become accustomed.

*snap**snap* *snap*

catch me when you can, mr. lusk

Not too much to tell this week.

The play was The Vertical Hour, which was alternatingly didactic and just plain boring.  My entire class (all six of us) ranged from disliking/being bored by it to vehemently hating it.  To be fair, most of it had to do with the performances, I think.  The main female actor did a piss poor job, and the older male actor kept channeling Bill Nighy (who originated the role) in a somewhat distracting way.  Also, there was a  secondary actor in the first scene who appeared to have graduated with honors from the Nic Cage school of overacting.  The dude had a horrible sliding accent and somewhat spasmodic gestures that did not fit with his character (a business-majoring, preppy Eli).  As much as I disliked the watching of the play, we did have some great discussions after the play and the next day in class, and now I’ve decided to write on it for my paper.  (Yes, we have papers.  They are outrageously long [most are 3000 words], and there are rules regarding grade inflation that say that no more that half the class should get A or A-.  This doesn’t work out well when classes range from 6-12 students.  My study abroad program is ridiculously hardcore.  Thank god I’m only taking 3 real classes and the mandatory class.)

Oh, and I had two phone interviews: one on Thursday for the National Yiddish Book Center and one on Friday for the Institute of Southern Jewish Life.  Add to that, I went on a Jack the Ripper walking tour in the East End, followed by a visit to the two 24-hour bagel (or as it’s spelled here, “beigel”) shops on Brick Lane.  And today, Tottenham Hotspur beat Chelsea in the Carling Cup (a fantastic game!), and they’re known for having a large pop of Jewish supporters, to the point where their fans are sometimes called the “Yid army.”  It’s been a very Jewy few days (in a good way).

So, yeah.  Walking tour was great, but better was afterward going for Bangladeshi/Indian food on Brick Lane with some friends then the Beigel shop where I got a Chalah, a bagel, a huge chocolate muffin, and a big slice of chocolate cake for under £2.50.  It was good times.

I’ve been doing work (when not watching footy) today, and will probably be doing much the same for the rest of the week because Shelby’s coming to visit starting on Saturday!  So I don’t know when I’ll update next.

Peace and Love, y’all.

edinburgh: the land of desserts

Let me get this out of the way here: Edinbugh is AMAZING, FANTASTIC, BEAUTIFUL, FUN, and HISTORIC!!! I LOVE SCOTLAND!!!!

Friday, we woke up at 600, left nido at 630, and caught the 700 train to Edinburgh. We were a bit punchy from the early morning-ness of it, so we were very giggly and loud on the train, playing MASH and exclaiming at the views before Melissa and Erica nodded off and I tried to read some of The Moonstone. You know, I can’t really remember much more of that ride other than laughing a lot, but that was kind of the general theme of the weekend.

We rolled into Edinburgh Waverly station at 1130, and made our (brief) way to the High Street Hostel (which was just off the Royal Mile–great location, especially for only 13 pounds a night), then we set off to the Elephant Cafe, where JK Rowling penned much of the early Harry Potter books. Delicious, (relatively) cheap eats, loose tea, and one of the best chocolate cakes I’ve ever had. It had to be homade; it was so moist and just the right flavoring, with homemade icing, too. Little did I know that that would be the first of many heavenly desserts to be had over the next few days.

After lunch, we walked toward New Town, stopping at the Scottish National Museum (i think) which sits right in the middle of the park that disects the city between New Town (mostly Georgian) and Old Town (gothic). It was a wonderful little museum with some nice pieces from Raphael to Van Gogh, but the best part of it was the design inside. The large rooms with the huge Renaissance and Dutch school (i think) paintings and portraits were in huge rooms with deep red walls, and the religious altar works were in a smaller room dressed in rich forest green tapestry wallpaper, and the impressionist works were in rooms of all pastels. Each choice perfectly complimented the artwork of that room. Plus the docents wore tartan pants.

After the museum, we went shopping on Princes St (I finally caved and bought a nautical-inspired striped shirt). Then nap time at the hostel, followed by dinner at one of the taverns/pubs on the Royal Mile. Where I had haggis. That’s right, and it was pretty delicious. It came with the traditional sides of neeps and tatties (mashed potatoes and mashed turnips), which were also pretty good. Erica tried it, too, but Melissa did not, so she’ll never know the yumminess of that paragon of utility food. Our server there was awesome and Austrailian (few true Scots seemed to work at the restaurants we patronized), and recommended this beyond-delicious desert called the lumpy bumpy–chocolate sponge base, vanilla mousse, chocolate mousse, whipped cream, and chocolate ganache. It was gone between the three of us within a minute. Words cannot describe this dessert.

(mmm, haggis)
After that, we went on a ghost tour. It wasn’t especially scary, but it was pretty entertaining, especially when our tour guide chose members of the group to be English traitors and whipped them, witches, and a dismembered murderer (“How do you feel?” “Sore.”). The last bit of the tour took us to the Edinburgh vaults, an underground labyrinth beneath the city, and justifiably creepy. Both Erica and I felt a little off down there, but it might have been just psyching ourselves up about it. I also took a picture that showed an “orb,” be it dust or a ghost. The guide was a great storyteller and the stories were great, but I wish it had been creepier (maybe we should have done the midnight “terror” tour offered by another company). It was a lot of fun, nevertheless.

Next day, (and to preamble: I am NOT a stalker, nor do I have those tendencies, despite what the following anecdote may imply; I just don’t care too much about what strangers will think of me) we had brunch at a restaurant called Garfunkle’s, which is a chain, but they served breakfast until 1100, so we didn’t much care. One of the waiters there was gorgeous, but he knew it. We all ogled him throughout the meal, and one of the group suggested off-hand that we should try to get a picture. It was said in that way that you know nothing will come of it . . . if I’m not present. After we paid our check, I approached the waiter, saying that he looked just like a friend of ours and could we get a picture. I prefaced it by saying that I knew it was weird, but he totally shot me down. I was fine with that but for the fact that Erica and Melissa took their sweet time getting up from the table. That was one of those situations that required a hasty retreat, and it didn’t happen. Awk. but funny. A similar thing happened the next day, but that was only stalker-esque photography at a distance (cute boys in Holyrood park). Seriously, don’t mention things like that within my earshot unless you are prepared for the followthrough.

After breakfast/brunch, we went to Edinburgh castle, just in time to see the gun be fired at 1300. They shoot off a cannon (a gunpowder charge, not a cannonball) every day at 1pm and have done for ages. It’s a pretty cool tradition, and you really can hear it all over the city. The castle was really cool, as most castles are, and it housed the Scottish crown jewels and the Stone of Destiny, and seeing them was worth the long, rambling, mannequin/effigy filled path to the room that housed them. At the gift shop, I bought a CD called “Red Hot Chilli Pipers: Bagrock for the Masses” of Bagpipe covers of rock songs (the best being “We Will Rock You/Eye of the Tiger,” “Hey Jude,” and “Clocks”). I am my father’s daughter; it is a truly great impulse buy.

(the gun, no body reached for it)
After that, we took a cab to “the sea,” aka Leith, to get out to the city and see the sea. Because it’s pretty. We even got a lunch recommendation from the cabbie (cabbies really are fantastic in the UK) at the Peacock tavern, and a second to that recommendation when we had to ask this guy on the street where it was (“Can you tell us where the Peacock is?” “Yes.” “. . .” “I haven’t been down here for thirty years . . . ah, yes, go down that street and turn right go a wee three hundred yards. There are signs out front. Great for seafood.” [Can we take you home or steal your accent, you adorable old Scotsman?]). Delicious food, yet again, at not too bad a price, and of course, scrumptious desserts. (oh, and a door almost knocked me out, but none of you are surprised at that.)

(almost like home!)
After lunch, we bussed back to New Town, went souveneir shopping, then back to the hostel to prepare for a night out. We ate at a pub then made our way to four of five more (one had a great performer singing pop-rock covers but was super crowded), but the median age in all of them was about 35, so we kept moving on. It was fun anyway (duh), and we got back to the hostel in enough time to get a good sleep before the early check-out the next morning.

Sunday, we checked out, left our bags at the hostel, got breakfast (which for me included veg haggis, which was also quite good), then made our way down the royal mile toward Holyrood house. We stopped in a number of little shops and a few tourist traps, but I also got to revisit the Soap Co., where I got fantastic hand-pressed soaps two years ago, and Neanie Scot’s souveneir shop, where the same woman was behind the counter and still as locquacious and welcoming as ever. That was really nice, to be able to tell her that I remembered her shop and brought my friends (it’s family owned and a bit away from the main touristy areas).

We then went to Holyrood park to climb the cliffs around Arthur’s Seat; it was like a little bit of the highlands at the edge of the Royal Mile. Fantastic bit of nature. I loved it, regardless of the muddy paths and occasional slips. I even got a little Pride and Prejudice moment, standing near the edge, with the wind billowing my scarf and hair back. Alas, no Darcy to brood over, but brooding’s no fun anyway. I adore nature right on the edge or in the middle of cities. London parks, Vienna parks, Edinburgh parks, it doesn’t matter. Love.

We then made our way back up the Royal Mile, ate lunch (with again, great dessert), got our bags, made it to the train station easy-peasy, and got on the 1645 train to King’s Cross. It was an even longer train ride returning than out (both relative time and marked time), but we saw a beyond-beautiful sunset north of Newcastle: the sky burnt rust and orange, silhouetting the treeline of the horizon.

It was a fantastic trip, fairly close to perfect. Scotland, you rule.

(an homage to my favorite brother)

foggy london town

I’m going to try to be organized about this, so I’ll start where I left off (a very good place to start).

The rest of Sunday was pretty low-key, but I got some work done, finishing my reading and starting notes on my Shakespeare close reading. Monday was frustrating, for I had to deal with computer problems from 10am-5pm, ending with me buying a new computer (I still can’t believe it either). So now i’ve got a MacBook, pretty, shiny, camera-having MacBook, with a British keyboard, but it’s not that different than an american keyboard, and will probably be good if I end up at grad school over here. I had to go out to this huge shopping centre in North London (north of Hampstead) to go to the apple store, but once there, it was kind of cool because I apparently ended up in a Jewish suburb, or at least where the Jews shop. Yarmulkes all over the place!

My postcolonial Indian lit class continues to improve little by little, but I may have gone a bit overboard. The prof highlighted the “Confessions” part of the title of Confessions of a Thug, so I had to bring up Rousseau and Foucault, then he focused on the image of a character looking in a mirror, so I couldn’t but bring up Lacan’s “mirror stage,” but then I knew I went overboard when he brought up this religious image of the sea/a lake, and no one was speaking, so I said, “It reminds me of Freud, but to him the ocean/religion link was atheistic.” It really didn’t add much to the discussion, and the prof didn’t even know what I was talking about (Civilization and its Discontents, I think). I reigned myself in after that, but, well, whatever. If I turn into “that kid,” that kid who drops knowledge to make her seem clever and never shuts up, I do. It’s better than the painful silences that are a bit too prevalent in that class (though many would be mitigated if the prof looked up after he asked a question).

After class, I decided that I needed curry, so I got some Indian take-away on the way back to Nido, but it was fairly bland for Indian food. Then the internet died in Nido and was only revived late last night. One more item on the loooooooong Nido shit list. Luckily, I had a theatre visit last night, so I didn’t really need it. It was Harold Pinter’s The Homecoming, which makes the dynamics of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? seem normal and pleasant. The general reaction of the class at the close of the play was, “That was awesome, but now what do I do with my life after seeing that?” A pretty cool reaction, I’d say. After the play, my whole class (Mattie, Anna [who adores Eddie Izzard and spent ten minutes quoting Dress to Kill with me later in the night], Jillian, Joe, and Adam), Stephanie (from the morning class and who is also in my Shakespeare class), and I went to a nearby restaurant-cum-hookah bar, but we could only hookah outside. As cold as it was, it was also a lot of fun, as sharing a hookah almost always is. We talked about Mattie’s sister’s horrible date with the biggest mooch ever, were accosted by a tramp (Adam especially was hung out to dry, being on the outside of the seating, and gave the guy 20p, but the vagrant stood there after and gave Adam a look like, “are you freaking kidding me?” before wandering off), general theatre things, reactions to the play, and just generally shooting the breeze. After hookah, we walked back towards Nido, but stopped at the Long Hope, a pub right next to Nido with student discounts, so we had two rounds (at only £2 a pint for Stongbow or Stella) and stayed until they kicked us out. It was a good night.

Aliya and I just made plans to meet up in Paris and be art geeks together the first weekend in May, so that’s very exciting.

Also, this need saying: I have the best brother.  He sent me, our mom, and our grandmother Valentine’s Day e-cards.  Seriously.  The best.

It’s a foggy, grey day today, but no where near the zero visibility that’s been the norm in the mornings this week. It will be interesting to see where our discussion of Pinter goes today. Also: SCOTLAND IN 24 HOURS!!! woo!

the year of the rat

Basketball went pretty well on Friday. I was the only girl, but less than half of the guys were from NYU, but all lived in Nido. There was Fez from San Francisco (who I took a charge from, all 6′3″ of him. I am a defensive badass.), and a guy from Turkey, and a couple of other international students. I didn’t score. At all. But offense has never been my strong suit. I did pretty well on defense, and I felt in better shape than even in high school when I played last. Buoying, that.

Yesterday’s running club went not so well. I warned everyone that I am slow, but their reaction was, “oh no, don’t worry we’re going to take it real easy since this is our first run.” I started falling back after 3 blocks. Emma, who runs marathons, was very nice and stayed with me until Euston, when I told her to go on ahead and that I’d catch up with them in Regent’s park. I did but lost them again fairly quickly, never to see them again. I ended up doing my own jog/walk loop around Regent’s Park, getting a bit emotional when I emerged unexpectedly in front of Regent’s College. I got over it, remembering all the good times I had there instead of dwelling on how much more difficult it is being here now.

Then, I made the first of many dumb-in-retrospect decisions, deciding to walk back to the north edge of Regent’s Park then follow the canal to Camden Lock and check out the market as shops there. The only thing I ended up buying was some fresh squeezed orange juice (probably the best decision I made yesterday). I was sore, but manageable for walking, and I really enjoyed looking at all the vintage/hipster/punk/eccentric stalls. I didn’t so much appreciate the strong patchouli smell and astounding array of bongs in some of the shops.  Though I may have to go back for some Indian take away.  (By the way, I was there only hours before a fire hit the market.  No one was injured, but the timing freaks me out a bit.) Once I was done there, bad decision number 2: I don’t think King’s Cross is too far from here, I’ll walk. I was working from local bus station maps and my limited knowledge of main roads; not the best idea when trying to infer distance. It was like a mile and a half away (and bear in mind that I’d already covered about three miles that morning added to the fatigue from basketball the night before). By the time I figured that out, I couldn’t find the right bus stop. I was hobbling by the time I reached King’s Cross to buy my train ticket for Edinburgh, surprisingly it was my hips that were bothering me, not my knees, the usual problematic joints. Bought my ticket, made it to Tesco, and finally, finally, more than five hours after I left, I was back in Nido. Where I promptly fell asleep in one of the TV rooms (or, as I like to think of them, sofa rooms) when I should have been making a dent in the reading I had to do (though the fact that it’s kind of like an Indian Criminal Tom Jones and about as long, it’s not so surprising where my exhaustion came from).

This morning, I made dumb decision number 3: taking the tube to Bond Street and walking to Trafalgar Square. It turns out all the shops along that route don’t open until noon, so getting off the tube at 1100 did me no good and aggravated my left hip, which I discovered was not just stiff from sleep. Still hobbling, or at best, walking painfully (the ibuprofen doing nothing to help) I made it to the big Chinese New Year celebration at Trafalgar Square.

It was pretty cool, and I successfully refrained from buying any crap that I have no space for (though the miniature dragon dance puppet was so very tempting) and continued my way through the crowd to see the parade as it passed. Dragon dances, some weird but cool flag dance, awesome drum beats, a lot of white people holding decorative fish on sticks, and wushu demonstrations were all part of the celebration.

(That’s St-Martin-in-Fields under the scaffolding, and there were way more people than this picture appears to indicate.)

(Even construction workers cannot resist the lure of a good dragon dance.)

Also, somewhat disconcertingly–if not inexplicably–some of the head gear appeared to be promotionally provided by Kung Fu Panda. Firstly, it’s an animated movie starring Jack Black’s voice; the plot is pretty self explanatory. Secondly, there are so many stereotypes converging that I don’t even know where to start, but I know I don’t really like it.

After that, I made what some might consider dumb decision number 4, but I don’t becaue it ended up well. I really wanted to do some shopping, so I ended up walking to Covent Garden and then from there to Leicester Square (to be fair, from one to the next and the other are all within a few blocks from each other). I got two fantastic dresses, one on sale and the second at a student discount, and some tights to go with. One’s kind of fifties but with a modern print, sleeveless, and the other’s a bit seventies in a cleaned-up flower child kind of way. After a few weeks of no success shopping (despite going to some of the largest markets in the city) the shopping gods finally smiled down on me.

Now I’m back at Nido, watching Chelsea vs. Liverpool (after reading that Man City beat Man U, and on that all I have to say is: “HaHA! Suck it you overhyped pansies!”). It’s nil-nil at the half, but Crouchie’s had some chances, including one that missed by inches, so I’m giving the advantage to Liverpool. They haven’t been doing to brilliantly of late, stuck outside of the top four, and they don’t have star striker Torres, but I think they could at least maintain the draw status. We’ll see.

I still have 275 pages to skim read of Confessions of a Thug and my close reading for Shakespeare to do (note to self: must find copy of Much Ado), but I’ve got the rest of this evening and all day tomorrow to do that, so I’m not too worried. For now, I’ll enjoy the footie and the sofa and maybe work on stretching my hip.

Much love, C.

a tree in the wood, me

I’ve been in a bit of a lull these last few days.  Super Tuesday didn’t decide anything, really (though Mitt just dropped out, but I saw that coming a while ago.  Huckabee, I’m looking in your direction.  The only reason you’re still around is so that this could go on as long as it did.)  Went to class, walked around Angel, then to the Soho theatre for White Boy which was both cloying and necessary.  It was didactic but also powerful.  About racial tensions and generally being teenagers.  There were, however, also misbehaving/annoying/disrespectful/think-they’re-clever teens in the row in front of us.  Laughing at a kid getting stabbed (spoiler?) just is not cool.

Gym, class, Top Gear today.

No matter how boring or ordinary my day may seem, there is still that sheen of awesome that London imparts, mainly because I’m slowly learning to love the walk to and from class.  The Georgian row houses of Bedford Square contrast nicely with the Victorian monster that is St. Pancras and the modern office buildings on Euston Road.  And my view is still breath-taking.

Happy Chinese New Year!  It’s the year of the rat, and I plan to attend the huge parade and festival to be held on Sunday in Trafalgar Square.  Tomorrow, I’m going to join a bunch of Freshmen NYU-L boys to play some basketball (I’m apparently the only girl to express interest . . . and I’m rusty . . . great), and I’m working with the student center at Bedford Square to get some pick up football games going (girls or mixed).  As long as they aren’t tuesday or wednesday evenings, it should work out.  Oh, and I signed up for the NYU-L running club, and the first run is Sat at 9am to Regent’s park.  I’d much rather run in the park, but I’ll see how it goes.  Unfortunately, my knees have been feeling a bit loose and old of late.  I’m going to work on stretching them well before the run and general strengthening exercises, especially if I’m going to be back on the basketball court and the football pitch.

I’ve got some legitimate reading for class to do this weekend, and a close reading (1000 words) for Shakespeare to get working on, so that I don’t have much work to deal with when Melissa, Erica, and I go to Edinburgh next weekend (!!!).  I’m so looking forward to going back to that fantastic city!

My feelings in general have been a bit ambivalent.  I’m having a lot of fun doing stuff on my own–probably more than usual because I’m now sharing 200 cubic feet with another individual–walking my way through various neighborhoods in London (Camden’s next on the list) but I’m finally getting a bit homesick and missing my friends back in Cville and VB.  I miss Himalayan Fusion and Modern Studies majors and Jefferson and movie nights while ashley was on coverage and English Club and being able to pop in and see Liz (and sometimes John) on the way home.  But the feeling passes.  I talk to aliya or Lauren on skype or AIM and realize that I’m not alone.  I talk to Walter and remember how easy I have it.  Creedence comes on the shuffle.  I look out my window and remember that I’m in the most amazing city in the world, and all is right again.  The feeling has passed.   Tomorrow’s going to be fan-bloody-tastic!

Super Tuesday, big even across the pond

So the suspense is kind of killing me here.  I won’t know who’s won any primaries until tomorrow morning (darn morning class).  I voted for Hildog in the VA primary (absentee), but I’d be cool with Obama, too (though apparently there are fears–likely just from conspiracy-minded militant liberal cynics–of his assassination should he win, more on that later).

Saturday was lovely.  I took the tube to Hyde Park Corner in the afternoon, jogged around the Serpentine for about 45 minutes (my knees really miss running on soil instead of pavement or the treadmill), then I walked back to Nido (about an hour and a half walk at a pretty good clip).  It was nice, just me, “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me” podcasts, and the city.  But not the City because that would be in the other direction.  (Sorry, lame London geography joke).  Then Sunday, Melissa and I braved the wind and frigid air and went in search of Spitalfields market.  We were sidetracked by Petticoat Land Market (which is way sketchier) but eventually made it to our destination.  Unfortunately, much of the market space was closed off due to construction, so there were markedly fewer stalls than I had expected.  there were some cute fashions to look at (I had to drag myself away from some handbag stalls, natch), and some DELICIOUS food stalls.  I got some organic wheat bread (already devoured), a Jamaican jerk chicken pasty (so well spiced, Sunday dinner), and a slice of scrumptious (and gluten-free) chocolate and raspberry cake (it ended up a bit like a torte, but it was chocolatey with whole raspberries in it, so I was in sweet heaven).  After the market (where we got free tote shopping bags!  hooray for environmentally conscious market stalls!), we walked a block over to Brick Lane, the backbone of Spitalfields (which is a bit of a microcosm for English immigration: Huegonots in the 17th century, Jews in the 19th/pre-war 20th centuries, and now it’s a thriving Bangladeshi neighborhood).  The street smelled of curry, the signs were in both English and a southern Asian language, and I found one sign in Yiddish!!!!

The whole area was bustling on a sunday, and it was full of bohemian energy and people.  Very cool.  We’re definitely heading back there.

Monday, we had our mandatory class, and the speaker this week was a Muslim female journalist, who spoke about multiculturalism in London and England more generally.  She was pretty engaging, and obviously opinionated, making some good points and some spurious ones (like about how-by virtue of African Roman legions-blacks were in Britain before the British, but completely disregarding the Picts, or Britons, for whom the Romans built Hadrian’s wall to keep out), then she went off the rails near the end, talking about the fear of an Obama assassination and not-so-obliquely hinting at the “Royal Family Killed Diana” conspiracy.  Totally ridic.

Today, I had Shakespeare class, a favorite, and bonus that I got to bring up Judith Butler and queer theory (gender is all performance, the binary of sex (biology) and gender (social) doesn’t really exist because it’s all social, drag is political, etc.) and Orientalism (Said’s just busting out all over) while talking about As You Like It, and though the prof. does have a minor case of expert-itis, he said I was making a lot of great points, which feels really good to hear.  Tonight, unfortunately, I had to deal with a mess of problems from back in the states, but that was at least after I finished my culinary masterpiece of a chicken and zucchini pasta dish.  I made it, and it was good.  (yes, I am punchy enough right now to go a bit biblical.  what of it?)

Banner on The Guardian’s front page: “Super Chooseday, your guide.”  I wasn’t kidding when I said they were watching our doings.  (On that note as well, if I triggered any warning bells with the whole “possibility of an Obama assasination” thing, I just want to say hello to the federal agents who are reading this.  I meant nothing by it than to recount what someone else said.  So . . . how about those Giants, huh?)

Much love to you all (and a special birthday shout out to Aliya.  Bon Anniversaire, Aliya!!).

so busy, really busy, busy clippers, o-o-o-oh

title from “Hairdresser on Fire” by Morrissey, because I cannot get that song out of my head while here in london (I blame Liz entirely, but in a good way). Okay, classes continued this week, with Postcolonial Indian lit being a bit less boring, but the professor still needs to take a Lotta Lofgren symposium on how to effectively lead a discussion. Shakespeare was again excellent. The prof, Mick, does this thing where if you ask a leading question or occasionally take the opposing view he reacts as though you’re brilliant. I asked whether “protest” might have a double meaning in a certain scene, and he was a bit gobsmacked–in a good way–, and later we were discussing the film adaptation of Much Ado wherein he suggested that the opening sequence is meant to bring art down to an accessible level and I disagreed and said that it seemed to reflect more the artifice of the whole thing. He reacted like he had never even thought about that possibility. So now, I will say things that seem obvious but don’t necessarily fit into his thought patterns, and he will think me brilliant. ‘Tis a good plan.

The other main class drama this week was a great hullaballoo about the modern drama section distinctions between English/Drama majors and everyone else. I ended up in the afternoon class, and I think that will actually work out better for me. A little more sleep after two straight nights of plays, and a smaller class more apt to discussions. But the whole distinction thing leaves a bit of a bad taste in my mouth.

I finally did laundry on monday, and the facilities here get added to the ever-growing Nido Shit List, because it cost me 5 pounds to do two loads in the washers and one in the dryer for 45 minutes. It’s exorbitant.

Tuesday was a big, long, amazing day. I woke up at 400am, got on the bus at 515 (after waiting for Ricky for half an hour, but no biggie–though I was subjected to two episodes of the Real World: Austin while waiting in the Nido lobby) walked from the Tottenham Ct Rd bus stop down the sketchier-than-expected Charing Cross Road (not especially well lit, though a major road and full of random guys just standing in doorways [drugs? or legit deliveries? I don't know]). I walked with purpose, and I was fine. But it was about a 15 minute walk from the bus stop to the Donmar Warehouse, where Ricky and I proceeded to freeze our tukhuses off for the next five hours for the love of theatre, Shakespeare, and Chiwetal Ejiofor, specifically. Othello at the Donmar with Chiwetal and Ewan McGregor is the hottest ticket in town, scalped ones are going for hundreds of pounds, but because it’s partially government subsidised, they keep 10 day-of tickets available for purchase in person. So we waited on the stoop of the theatre, others joining us after day break, including Frank, a fellow american student who was waiting to take his girlfriend to the show. We all ended up talking for almost the entire time, and it was pretty fantastic, even if I couldn’t feel my feet by the time 1000 rolled around. We got the tickets: I got one for Melissa, and Ricky got an extra one for Rachael from our Shakespeare course. Afterwards, I was only able to shower and reast for about an hour at Nido before I had to get back down to Bloomsbury for class. Following that, the four of us went to wagamama at covent garden (I can’t believe I remembered it’s location from two years ago–it’s a bit off of the square, but I totally knew which corner we had to move towards) for dinner. The play, of course, was phenomenal. Both Chiwetal and Ewan gave virtuosic performances, and Ewan in one scene with no movement beyond a hardening of his eyes gave me the chills as Iago. The theatre was tiny (maybe 150 people max, including 20 standing seats), like a large black box theatre, so I was about 10 meters away from the stage. Occasionally the actors would seem to be looking right at me in the circle, or so I tell myself. Alas, they didn’t come out after the show, though we waited an hour to get their autographs. By the time I got back to Nido, I had been awake and doing stuff for more than 20 hours. It was redonkulous, but so totally worth it.

Wednesday, however, waking up at 8am after only 7 hours of sleep, was less than ideal. After class, I went to buy a new pair of boots, as my main pair for walking was giving me blisters, and apparently you can’t survive London in the winter without a pair. Every single woman walking the streets (minds out of the gutter, gentle readers!) is wearing boots. I ended up getting really bad-ass, military/biker style grey doc martens. They’re pretty awesome, but I wonder how much influence my love for Joss Whedon heroines influenced that purchase because they’re very Buffy/Faith/Zoe/River boots. In other words, they’re ass-kicking boots. My shopping excursion was also need-based, for the blankets they provide us with are not quite long enough for me, so I needed a throw to help my feet out, and the sheets they gave us were just a hair’s breadth from paper and were giving me a rash around the neck where I cucoon myself, so I had to go to Marks and Sparks to get a duvet set and blanket. Thank goodness for cheap(ish) department stores. And continuing my endeavours to walk all over London, I meandered from Bloomsbury to Covent Garden, down to Leicester Square, over through Soho and on the edge of Chinatown and up to Oxford street. Next on my list of neighborhoods to wander: Angel/Islington.

Wednesday evening, modern drama went to The History Boys, which is a great play and this was a fantastic production, but I feel a bit conflicted about one of the main fulcrums of the drama, and if any of you have seen the movie, you probably know what I’m talking about. The play, by the way, is much much much funnier than the film, but some of that humor came from the absurdity of some pretty awful situations. I’d post more, but Eamon asked me to write a feature for the Declaration and this was a major part of my first draft, so I’m a bit talked out about it.

Today was a pretty relaxing day, working on the aforementioned article, working a bit on my application to the Institute of Public History internship (both due monday), and watching an episode or two of State of Play, which is looking to be almost as good as The State Within, before Melissa and I went out in search of a pub serving food. We ended up at a place called the Queen’s Head, which was a bit of a working-class local not too far from Nido, but it wasn’t as off-putting as some of the other pubs we passed and they were still serving food (albeit pub food, so greasy and cheap, but that suited us fine tonight), so we ate, talked, and were generally baffled by the music playing (a taste: they played “Islands in the Stream” as sung by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton).

Okay, I think I’ve now caught y’all up on the events and minutia of my life the last week. Looking to the future: probably going to Spitalfields market on Sunday, and Mellissa and I (and maybe others) are going to Edinburgh for the weekend in two weeks (and we’re already squeeing over the prospect). I must have won the roommate lottery because not only is melissa a lot of fun and game for almost anything (and willing to say what she thinks), she too likes to sleep in the equivalent temperature of an ice box. We leave our window open at night and neither one of us could be happier about it.

Sorry, no pictures this time, been too busy living.