colibris

This is totally Corinne...not Lisa, not even at all

2007-08-26T18:17:00.000Z

Riding Off Into the Sunset

2007-05-27T09:40:00.000Z

Last night I stripped down all the little postcards and photos and magazine pieces and maps, and fabric, and stuff that adorned my walls and realized I should have taken a before and after photo. The difference is pretty stark, as usual.

Last night Enrique was saying goodbye, in case he's alseep when I leave. I asked if he wanted my hairdryer, and he did, and while I was happy assuming it was for his girlfriend, he leapt into discussing the merits of blow drying greasy hair. I laughed and laughed. I will miss this crazy kid, who's probably going to save africa and stop forced migration, but who doesn't want to wash his hair.

And this morning I woke up, looked out the window and noticed it was pouring rain. Seriously, England? You can't even spare me a crumb of mercy on my last day?

There's a Mike Doughty song about America; he sings 'I love my country so much, like an exasperating friend.' I think that works nicely here.

And it's ok. After my exam (Which was in a big church, again; why does every church basement have a stage with a sombrero on it? Did the wise men swing by Guadalajara on their way to Bethlehem? I did not pay attention in church.) I walked around in the City; took pictures of the Old Bailey for my dad. The Old Bailey is the big law court, where the TV show Rumpole took place. I did not know that until my mom told me maybe I should get my dad a souvenir having to do with the Old Bailey. Unfortunately, the law court doesn't have a gift shop; I would love to see what they come up with for t-shirts. 'Barristers do it in front of a jury of their peers...' I ending up getting him a CD, 'English Drinking Songs' which should go over well.

After that, I went and had lunch on the steps of St. Paul's. Because I am awesome and knowledgable and carry maps, I gave tourists directions to their various destinations. It's really hard telling someone that they are not where they think they are, and the landmark they want is right in front of them. Kills their confidence.

Crossed the Thames and did a circuit through the Tate Modern, one last peek at the Lobsterphone. (Lisa:) I think I may have ran into Christophe and Joffrey, but only if Joffrey's had a haircut and I didn't realize it until about ten minutes later.

Back over Blackfriars bridge and wandering through streets, finding cool tiny presents for my sisters. Have I mentioned it's been about 80 and sunny this whole time? It is. It's wonderful.

Yesterday, more of the same; Trafalgar Square-- that conniving bastard of a landmark-- and the National Gallery, where I saw the Hans Holbein piece where the skull is distorted...you know the one I mean? It's pretty awesome, the fact that someone figured out how to do that, and the intensity of the colors after 400 years. It's huge in real life. Wandered through Soho and its prostitutes and CD stores and whole foods shops and wholesale fabric stores.

It's occurring to me that in Ithaca I won't be able to indulge in going for a walk with the knowledge that on any corner I can stop for a coffee as a break and then continue. I can't wander in to a free national museum, idle away a few hours looking at famous famous things on a whim. I'm seriously thinking about stocking up on liquor at the airport while I still can (August 29th, it's sick--I've been acting like I was thirty since I was about twelve. Let me buy my own beer.) It's hard to know at this point what I'll miss about being here.

I have a whole grand Summer of Adventure and Eating Things ahead of me. I'm probably going to give Boston another chance to make a good impression (I say, staring at it tight-lipped, with my arms crossed). I'll be glad to see all of your shining faces, except for Rich, but I'll be glad to be 3,000 miles closer to your shining face. It's not that this thing in particular is ending, but that something is ending. Aww.

I'm sitting here in the computer cluster, alone, wearing my rain boots. Also, clothes, but the wellies are classic, Morton-Salt-Girl yellow, and I will bet you a Dairy Milk someone at the airport says something about them when I have to take them off for security. I'm quite proud of having dealt with all four of the big London airports. For the record, Stanstead is my favorite, Heathrow second, then a mile passes and Luton and Gatwick can both burn in hell and I hope they do.

Not sure what I'm going to do next. I have to pack up my bed, abandon my hairdryer and hand cream and a few last odds and ends, and then...nothing much. I'm going to be anticlimactic leaving girl on the tube, in my boots.

I will write to my flatmates on a spare sheet of notebook paper in a little while, and I will tell them thanks for being great, help yourself to the things on the table, and don't forget to lock the door. So, internet, you too. See you in real life!

Done!

2007-05-25T22:03:00.000Z

Well that went.

!!!

2007-05-22T23:07:00.000Z

In an email from my mom:

Guess who is about to make an appearance? Your aunty Bird is coming to USA for her Yale reunion! She is going to have a counselling session with Dad and Uncle Chris at her request. She is bringing her "partner" 8Ball Aitken. We don't know what happened to Douglas who was her husband. Well that's it for now. See what happens when you leave? Love, Mom

I am so excited I cannot even speak. A counselling session? Including her "partner" "8Ball"?? Bound to be Amazing.

[If this doesn't make sense to you, I can't even get started right now. Someday.]

Edited, to Add:

It seems that her reunion weekend is the weekend I'm going back up to Ithaca. I don't know if I should feel relieved or disappointed.

However, you can find them both on myspace. Of COURSE.

Slog

2007-05-19T22:33:00.000Z

I should know better...

...than to start my studying 2 days before the exam.*

...than to go grocery shopping when hungry*

--because I buy chocolate chip brioche and banana bread.
--and consume it sitting in the shopping plaza

...than to agree to be surveyed for consumer research

--because I will have to admit I came for a snack, and it sounds very childish, and I am holding a brioche-loaf.
--because the nice lady will comment: 'Are you eating that whole thing as a snack?'
--because, still self conscious about my apparent gluttony, I will have to listen to the nice lady talk about her son and his girlfriend and their trip to New Jersey, and Tony Soprano. All I want to do is eat my fatty snack.

...than to think chocolate chip brioche will make me feel satiated, or indeed better about anything, because it's really just too much sugar and now I feel gross. And still have to study.

Pretty much everything's just a pain in the ass at this moment. I'm going to leave England in a week, and be in a shitty mood about it, * and get off the plane, and my parents are gonna be like, So how was it? And I'm going to be all grouchy and twelve, and say 'FINE' and cross my arms over my chest and pretend not to hear them in the car when they talk about me.

* This is also the kind of thing that's annoying, because in my psychology-exam head I'm all, 'Human learning and memory! Spread it out for maximum retention sleep improves memory 7+/-2!' 'Applied decision making consumer decisions Lecture 15!' 'Peaks and ends!' I did life wrong, and I know it. And it KILLS me.

Alright, I'm going to go memorize some names for a while. See you in a week(ish)!

Challenge

2007-05-15T20:13:00.000Z

So I got this in the mail:

Pictoral Scavenger Hunt

to help make your last couple weeks more interesting, at least while you're walking around the city (bring your camera everywhere)...

1. a middle-aged man wearing trench coat and bowler
2. a bulldog

This bulldog's name is Success.

Please also note the steel-toed boot in the corner. I love it when people adhere to stereotypes!

3. an animal (living creature) bigger than a dog

Hey, guess what, I live by a zoo:

Guess what else, it costs a ton of money to go into the zoo. Thus the fence:

Zookeepers.

Warthogs: Still bigger than dogs.

4. someone swimming

I think that ought to cover it, since I felt SUPER CREEPY taking these pictures, and will not be doing it again.

5. a grandfather clock

I thinkI can do better than this. We'll see.

6. a can of baked beans

By the crate.

By the can.

Enough with the beans.

7. a gun or cannon

Ok, first, the loose interpretation:

Guns and cannons. Did you know, in Ethiopian art, 'good' characters are signified by the 3/4 view, and 'bad' characters are always in profile? I did not know this, but now I will never forget it. Thanks, photo challenge!

Now getting realer:

Not only is this a gun...it's a 16th century grenade launcher:

What a shame there aren't more of these floating around.

And now:

Guns. Clap your hands for the British Museum.

8. your hand in a lobster tank
9. someone (living person) playing a wind/brass instrument
10. yourself with smiling child (simpsons reference)

Unfortunately it is both rainy and exam season, so I'm not doing as much wandering as I should. I'm also not doing as much studying as I should, so I will update as I collect these.

Anybody got any good ones to add?

Another Lisa Story

2007-05-14T16:03:00.000Z

Riding on the tales of Italy-story below, here's another.

So, Ryan came to visit a few weeks ago, and Lisa was also here because she fell in love with my flatmate via MSN conversations. As one does.

She takes a crazy bus full of small children through the chunnel, carrying a box of French pastries the whole way. They got a little squished, but made it through in very good condition overall.

So, the scene is a little Shakespearean, and has nothing to do witht he rest of this story, but here it is:
--Lisa likes my flatmate
--My flatmate used to like me
--But seems to be into Lisa
--My flatmate doesn't think I know Lisa likes him
--And we intend to keep it that way

Also:
Lisa met an Italian dude at an airport on a different trip than the one I took with her. She fell asleep and he covered her with his jacket. He didn't want to hit on her, just to work on his English. He lives in London, works as a pastry chef in a sushi restaurant, and wants to hang out.

And that is how, moments after arriving in London, Lisa's getting us ready to go have free coffee and desserts with her Italian airport soulmate. I eat a sweet potato first, though, because I was hungry. That's not important to the story, but sweet potatoes are easy to prepare and full of vision-saving vitamin A. KT, pay attention.

We leave the pastries--which were beautiful--and start walking to the sushi place. It's kind of hard to find, but we get there and it's nice. It's also closed, and the staff is just cleaning up/hanging out, while the Italian was waiting for us to show up. The Italian guy, his Filipino/Italian/mystery boss, and some other employees of the sushi place were there. We awkwardly sit down and have free drinks and chat. The Boss loves chatting. He is basically someone's overly jovial Dad as the boy waits around for the girl before going to the movies in 1965. Everyone in the room speaks some English, but it's the native tongue for only 3 people, so there's some Telephoning going on.

The coworkers offer to make some sweet potato crisps, and confusion ensues where they think I don't like sweet potato, when really I do like it, in fact I just had one. They make regular potato crisps, but that was good too. And then the Italian guy has to show off as well, so he disappears to the kitchen, leaving us with Dad.

Dad wants to show us the samuri armour hanging in the restaurant, and tells us all about the samuri, and gradually shifts his story from the suit being ::the:: armour worn by the last samurai himself, to the type of armour worn at that time, to a reproduction of that style. Ok dude.

The Italian returns, makes a crack about the japanese, and gets a death glare from Dad. But he also had pastries which were very, very beautiful. Also, tasty. He basically won Lisa over with the good, free dessert. Lisa's ready to follow wherever the Sushi staff wants to go next, and I am always ready to follow Lisa, and Ryan's just happy to be here.

As the most London-knowledgable member of our party, I'm trying to figure out where we're going. 'The bar' is as much as I'm told. Ohkay.

Turns out the one they want is closed, but Trader Vic's in the Hilton is open. I should point out that we are wearing jeans and hoodies, and the doorman is in tails and a top hat. Oh well. It's also a tiki bar which dresses its staff in cheongsams, decorates the walls with giant shells and fish nets thrown whimiscally about the walls and ceiling, serves Grog, fruity umbrella drinks, and a mystery drink in a ceramic vat embellished with mermaids and seashells. Dad chats to the waitress in tagalog. Of course he does.

Somehow Dad is talking about his wife, and also his girlfriend, and also his partner. He had a kid with someone as well. It's hard to keep track--are there actually 3 love interest here, or does he refer to the same one with 3 titles? He stole the show. He ran right off with it and didn't look back.

Everyone gets a straw and shares from the vat. Dad expresses his concern to the waitress, pointing to one of his sushi chefs 'But he has AIDS...' and laughing uproariously. I sit next to Dad, and he wants to talk about politics, art, restauranting, the world, while holding my upper arm and emphasising really good points with a pat. He was just really into being the center of attention. And I like grog.

We close the bar after a burly top hat-wearing dude suggests that it's time to pay the bill. Dad kisses everyone; Italian kisses everyone.

I like remembering that night because it's pretty much prototypical of any outing with Lisa. She wants to hang out with someone she met under unusual circumstances; she obtains free food and drink; end up, underdressed, somewhere strange; and have to walk home for a long distance.

Equus!

2007-05-12T17:28:00.000Z

I saw Equus. Expectations fulfilled.

During the hour of sun today.

2007-05-08T01:24:00.000Z

la la la on the street where I live...

You can't see the advertisements for costumes as well as I would have hoped.

But hey! The cars, they drive on the wrong side!

Banksy.

forgot to flip it, sorry.

Reflecty.

Aaaand Reflecty.

Massive!

2007-05-05T14:38:00.000Z

I am so in love with Lisa.

To balance out my love for Li, how about I tell you story about Italy and my hate for it?

The Story Of Italy

So, many moons ago, Lisa came to visit me in London. After a ridiculous encounter with jack the ripper, basketballs, indian food, glassware, a drunk named Kirsten, and White Dorm Bob Marley, we got on a plane and headed to Pisa. Totally exhausted and half drunk.

In quick succession: Meet friend in Pisa! Look at the tower! Visit his high school because he is 17! Eat panini! Get on a train and go to Florence!

Lisa taught me the Italian I would need to survive:
Dai! -- Come on/ Gimme a break!
Basta! -- Enough!
Che cazzo dicce! -- What the fuck are you saying?! (Literally, what the penis are you saying.)

Florence is where Lisa spent last fall. It is her territory. I'm trying to get through this part fast. At the time Lisa came to Florence, Lisa was dating Jon the Pirate, a nice fellow. But then when she was leaving for Paris, they broke up. Jon is thus still in Florence, not dating Lisa.

Lisa, I say. Where exactly are we sleeping tonight?
Oh, she says. The bartender from my favorite bar said we could stay at his place.
As an afterthought, she adds: He pretty much tries to sleep with anything that moves. Italian guys are like that. Italian guys are crazy.

. . .

FORESHADOWING!!!!!

So, Florence: Old! Tiny streets! Big Palaces! Dog Shit! Scooters! And, after wandering the cobblestoney streets a bit, and running into J0n, aka Lisa's exboyfriend, aka Jon the Pirate, we meet up with Sergio, the bartender.

Sergio is about thirty. He takes the cheek-kissy thing a little seriously. He's got a wicked widow's peak and speaks pretty decent English. He is an avid facebooker--facebook, for him, reflects real life. He had an extra key made to his apartment, and we put our stuff down there.

I think you can really tell a lot about a person by the state of their bathroom. (FORESHADOWING!!!!!!) The layout couldn't actually be Sergio and associated roommates' fault, but it was laid out all in a line-- [sink area][shower][toilet], so that there's no way to move between toilet and sink without stepping in the shower area. Which did not drain effectively, so you stepped in a cold scungy shower-puddle. That was the part that WAS their fault--the general damp and grodyness. Also, I took a nap and sergio said the sheets were 'mostly clean.' Dude, don't admit it even if it's true.

We--Lisa, Sergio, two other girls, and I--eat dinner. An entire can of beer falls into a girl's purse, and no one notices until I see foam dripping on my foot. Goodbye, cell phone.

Time passes; bars happen. At Lisa's favorite bar, I have never been so gawked at in my life. The guys don't even bother to pretend like they're not checking you out. Odd moment when Sergio's guy flatmate is talking to me, and asks where Lisa and I are sleeping. I say Sergio's room, and it becomes his task for the rest of the night to convince me that I should sleep in his bed (Nothing will happen, it will be cozy!) so that Lisa can sleep with Sergio. Uh, yeah.

Lisa, awesome Rebecca of the cell phone beer bath, and I move on to irish car bombs in scottish pub in italy?. there is running on the tiny nighttime streets. Lisa leads me through the maze like Lassie; and at the end of an alley is a door and sign telling us to be quiet. So we quietly open the door, quietly enter the back door to a secret 4-am bakery where a quiet old baker-woman is taking trays of croissants out of the oven. Quietly. Drunk, quiet croissants. Lisa and I eventually return to Sergio's and sleep.

Next day: Remember, Lisa's knee is still messed up for mysterious reasons, so she can barely walk and her shoes hurt. We go to find her some new shoes, walking the length and breadth of the city in search. I convince her that abandoning her old shoes in a square is a good idea. No going back. She also shows me the sandwich place where she practically live for the semester since she was in love with the sandwich-maker. Sandwich artist. Sandwista?

I decided he was very unattractive. I'm not sure if this broke Lisa's heart or made her feel better about things. Sorry luv.

Dinner: again with Sergio, at the same place, and with a gaggle of girls from Syracuse for someone's birthday. Lisa and I are sitting at the end of the table; towards the end of the meal, the parents and teenaged daughter sitting at the next table overhear something, and, eyes shining eagerly they lean over with interest:

Dad (he has a mustache, if this helps you imagine it): Do you girls go to Syracuse?
(Mom and daughter lean in)
Lisa and I: No, they all do. I'm living in London right now, usually I'm at Cornell...and she's studying in Paris.

Awkward Pause. All eyes at the Fam's table go dead. Me, thinking both of these items could be of considerable interest to start up a polite conversation if all you wanted was to talk to a bunch of girls you've never met. What are you going to do over the syracuse connection? Talk about street names? Try and find people you know in common?

Family, babbling: Oh, well our oldest daughter goes, and belongs to XYZ sorority, and yadda yadda yadda.
Lisa and I, nodding politely.
I ask the girls sitting immediately to our left to talk to the 'Cusers. They all play Small World: Syracuse, and talk about housing issues. Family babbles on, happy to have an attentive ear. Lisa and I talk shit about them in French over the psedoconversation, and continue once that breaks up.

Other highlights: Apparently Lisa never learned how to spin pasta around a fork, despite a) being italian, b) living in Italy for 6 months, and c) intense instruction from a table of italian dudes and syracuse girls.

That night, we returned to Lisa's favorite bar with the group. I met Sal, Yoel's doppleganger and all around nice guy, and played pool with Italians, and everyone was horrible at it, except for girl-who-I-forget-her-name. And every Italian guy tries the 'Oh let ME teach you how to hold that thing,' but the Girl totally cleans up and schools them. But we were having a good time. Jon, the pirate, was there, and I talked to him because I hadn't in a long time.

It was getting to be the end of the night, so Lisa, Jon and I move outside, waiting for Sergio to meet up. He says he'll be ready to go in 20 minutes, but that is a lie. We're sitting on a stoop near the bar, and an italian dude approaches, asking for a light. Lisa has one, and six minutes later he is crooning into her ear how in love with her he is. Two things about Lisa: She knows how to say 'Do you have a light' in about twelve languages, and carries around lighters for just that purpose. And she attracts european boys like flies. She is like that.

So Jon and I are talking, and Lisa and Italian are cooing. Jon and I are mostly talking about how creepy sergio is and how uncomfortable he makes me. Jon is the one who first noticed that Sergio looks like a vampire. and after like an hour and a half Sergio returns. Lisa goes to talk to him, and Italian follows. And then Lisa comes back absolutely sobbing, and to this day no one knows what exactly the Undead Bartender said. The Italian disappeared.

I give sergio a dirty look and start walking away with sobby-lisa through a crowd of kebab-eating customers. If you haven't had kebab/falafel with the sauce they use for kebab, it's really pretty delicious. But at this point I was trying to figure out what happened. And then asking Jon if we could stay over at his because I was afraid Sergio was going to slit my throat in my sleep.
Me: Thanks Jon, you're a real pal.
Jon: It's cool, do you know where sergio's is so we can pick up your stuff?#
Me:...no.
Lisa: sobbing.
Me: Lisa, you don't have to give me directions, but can you guide us back to his house?

Jon and I drag knee-broken, drunk, sobbing lisa through the streets of Florence. She is like a little compass, this girl. We go inside using the copied key, and I pack up our stuff, consider stealing something as asshole tax, decide against it, throw the key on the couch, and leave. Estimated time between entering door and departure: four minutes. I don't mess around.

We go back to Jon's. Lisa is not in hysterics anymore, so she and Jon talk as I do Jon's dishes because he had a lot of them and I feel bad for imposing. As I'm doing that, Lisa goes to use the bathroom, and comes back.
Lisa: Dude, what's the red stuff on your mirror?
Jon: Oh, yeah, it's kind of messy in there. Last week, I had a huge dinner with some people, and had a bunch of wine, and threw up a lot, and some of it splashed. I haven't cleaned it all up yet.

We are now all standing at the threshold of Jon's bathroom. There is indeed a pile of pink ribbon-shaped pasta, corralled in the corner by some pink paper towels. There are pink flecks on the walls, ceiling, and mirror.

Lisa: Why is the toilet seat in the shower?
Jon: It came off when I was throwing up. And I didn't want to lose it.

(The next day, I say to Lisa I think I will clean up Jon's bathroom as a thank-you for letting us stay. She tells me I should not. And I am glad.)

Sergio is now calling Lisa every ten minutes or so, so I turn off her phone. Lisa wants us all to snuggleare. Jon laughs, because that is a made up verb. Jon's laugh is great, it's like an explosion.

Jon sleeps on his couch, and Lisa and I sleep in his bed, better to snuggleare.

The next day, Ididn't know it was day and not night anymore because jon's shutters totally block out all light. I was impressed. Lisa checks her messages and the series of Sergio Messages are priceless:
'Leeza, come back right now, this is sillyness'
'I cannot believe you, this is not very polite'
'Leeza...I do not know what I did to upset you? I do not think I said anything that terrible? I did not use any bad words?'

She calls/texts him, he doesn't answer. (because now that it's daylight he's turned into a bat, and bats don't have thumbs so can't operate cell phones.)

We go and get kebab/falafel, meet Jon's friend Kelly (Who I thought was named Cali, and also thought that was an funny choice since she's from California. No, I just didn't listen well enough.) It was sunny, and we were sitting next to a well/fountain in a square. Some guys jumped in/threw each other in, and everyone watching suddered because it was pretty filthy water. Visited Boboli Gardens, a Medici palace. It was very, very pretty. We also got a lot of gelato on this day.

I forget when we sat on the triangles, it might have been this day. But on one of the bridges over the river in Florence, there are these structures that stick out in a triangular fashion from the side of the bridge. And lisa and I sat on them and took pictures and communed with the dirty river. Lisa told me about the water rats that eat people and the blood poisoning you get from swimming/drinking the river water. It was a day with dirty water.

We met up with people for dinner, and this girl was coming to visit London so I told her things and gave her my email and my number. She never called or emailed, I hope London didn't eat her. Also, a tiny girl tried to sell us flowers at dinner, and tried to charm us with her sad eyes. We gawked at the attractive waiter and tried to figure out if he was Italian.

I headed to the airport after dinner, since my flight left at 6 AM and the first bus/train didn't get there til 5:50. (I had been carrying around my stuff, don't worry, the story has continuity) The last bus/train got there at 1. Sucks for me, i figured, but at least I don't have to impose on Jon for another night, and anyway sleeping in an airport is not that terrible.

On the way to the station Lisa translated as guys catcalled a girl for wearing tight pants. She was basically wearing leggings with a pink puffy/furry trimmed ski coat. It's not like she wasn't pulling it off, but on the other hand, why would you do that?

The bus had about 7 people on it, and all of them got off before the airport. The radio was on and played a string of easy listening music in Italian, and then My Heart Will Go On. I just remembered that. All of the italian singers had that whisper-sing thing going in their songs, I suppose to express 'longing.' Maybe 'regret.'

I get off the bus at the aeroporto. There is another guy ahead of me, walking to the sliding glass door. He walks up to it. The door does not open. He knocks against the glass. The door does not open. He looks frustrated, turns right, and walks to another door.

This smells like trouble.

I walk to the sliding glass door. It does not open.

Holy shit, I think to myself. For real, Italy?

I walk to another door to the left. Nothing. I walk the 3/4 of the airport that is accessible, and it seems that I am screwed.

I walk back to one of the doors and start knocking furiously. A trio of guards eventually come by and open the inner door. I tell him, 'sera, Englese? Evening. English? using up everything I have learned since Che cazzo dicce. What?
He tells me...something. And then retreats to the other side of his door, with his giggly cohorts.
'The airport isa close.'
Me: What time will it open? What time in the morning?
Him: (something) and waves a hand at me.

Shit. I am frustrated and angry and spat at the door as he left, because that is how frustrated I was. (Remember Pyramid Books?)

I consider the options. There is the bench I am currently sitting on, just outside the doors. There is a road, and a parking lot. There is a parking structure. Then there is highway and nothing.

It's cold. I head for the parking structure.

There was a vending machine with a wide selection of flavored waters.

And a bathroom.

The bathroom, I noted, had CCTV going for it. So at least if a bloodthirsty Italian decided to cut my throat in the bathroom, there would be a trace of it. I was suddenly aware of the fact that I hadn't take a shower in two days, so I washed my hands and face and tried to revive my hair by flipping the hand-dryer around. I learned the words for 'liquid soap' and 'fire extinguisher.' I read some random class notes that were in my bag. I generally made myself at home for three and a half hours, and then went to stand with the crowd of unhappy people at the eastern entrance.

One guy seemed to be a professor for american students in florence. He was very eager to prove he knew everything about everything. He also had a man-ponytail run through his baseball hat. One guy was just a travelin' dude who met his fiance due to Ryanair cancelling a flight. Two guys were canadian students doing the eurotrip thing, and shamelessly flirting with a gaggle of Italian girls who arrived moments after I did. I didn't talk to anyone, choosing instead to sulk and sit on a bench, and write a letter to avoid eye contact.

The Letter I Wrote:

Title: Shitaly

Italy is stupid, I hate it. After being terrorized by short, swarthy guys or thirty year old predators for as long as I could stand, I was informed that I could not spend another glorious night in an anonymous airport. No, Galilea International Airport 'Was close. The airport isa close.' Fuck off, rentacop guidos, and see you in three hours as I sit six feet away from your precious fucking sliding doors. You know what? I spat on you and I didn't feel bad about it, because every bathroom I've been in in the past three days has been filthy. Jon this is not including yours per se, the red wine/tartaglia vomit was just Italy rearing its ugly head. At least it does make me glad to return to London, where at least I can predict people's behavior and find generally up to date information about businesses and public places.

Italy: Aside from the obvious delights of the food, coffee, sometimes architecture, and weather, BIG thumbs down.

(end of letter)

I think that accurately reflects my feelings at the time.

A little while later, some dude walks in a hurry arounds the corner, up to the doors--The Doors Open! And into the airport. We all look expectantly, and Professorial Dude tries to follow him. Doors do not open. We are, as a group, dumbfounded.

About 20 minutes later, dude comes back and opens the doors.

There is much rejoicing.

Further insults, though, as no one is around yet to start the check-in process, and then I eat a gross breakfast, and then I get a bottle of water AFTER I go through security and they take it away from me, and I say, 'Dai!' and get a shrug, and watch the smarmier Canadian get the talky Italian Girl's email, and sleep on the plane.

So that was Italy, in one Massive post.

I Found it, though.

2007-05-04T00:05:00.001Z

Ohmigod, you know what I forgot about?

PATCHES!

A Day in Review

2007-05-02T20:21:00.000Z

I took a shitty test

I got interviewed by German TV. It was a sort of 'jaywalking' thing, as far as I could tell; I don't think I said anything sufficently wacky to be aired, though.

I gave directions to a kind of wildebeest-herdsman kind of dude not two minutes later. He had a
keffiyeh and homemade shoes and a big, awesome, scary walking stick. Gnarly, weathered, taller than me. I hope he found his herd.

I saw a big float of a lion wearing a crown. Given its placement (at Soho Square), I assume it has something to do with this

I laughed at this

I met random english dudes who had heard of Down to Earth Approach and Say Anything. I'm still shocked.

Assortment

2007-05-02T19:58:00.000Z

This is the view from the parking lot.

Nifty.

Demolition, and the spire of a Wren church.

Work

2007-04-26T23:33:00.000Z

So, I am about to embark upon my first exam in the british system. And I have a complaint.

Classes ended March 23.

Then, a month passed.

Next week, exams begin. And they continue until the beginning of July. I have about a week to study for each exam and one to write a paper.

How is it possible that people can complain about not having had enough time to revise? You had Six Weeks! I was traipsing around europe, so I'm screwed, but you live here--you can traipse any old weekend you want! There's a tone of voice that goes with this whingeing, and it makes my skin crawl. It is actually like nails on a chalkboard.

I'm used to having five days, and one of them is after slope day, i.e., recovery day.

Part of me feels like a marine, someone's one-eyed grandpa sitting at the table at the family party, all 'Yeah, I was in the shit...five exams and a paper in six days, and I had to move out before the paper was due. You pansies wouldn't last one minute out there...' and making your friends uncomfortable, because he's blocking the dip and talking about charlie.

But in six weeks I could memorize the class. In six weeks I could teach the class. In six weeks I could cure cancer. I could solve a rubik's cube.

I know that in reality I'd spend the first five weeks drinking, watching tv, playing with my hair, and panic as usual during the last one. But still, at least CU knows that's how it is and gets it over with quickly.

Down and Out in Paris

2007-04-26T20:07:00.000Z

Cafe with dragon tables. Pissed off Lisa and Corinne.

C'est la vie.

Epilogue: Lisa bought me another ticket. No one checked it on the train, so it was still valid when I got to the airport. Lisa found my ticket right where I dropped it. And then when she came to London, I gave her the other one. She is set for a free train journey to luxurious Charles de Gaulle. And the last coffee in Paris was good.

2007-04-26T20:02:00.000Z

Lisa, I say, stomach tight and hands cold. Which ticket was I supposed to hold onto?

Lisa, examining my tickets: You dropped it. Oh my god. You dropped it.

Big Sigh.

Adorable. Unlike my dropping of the ticket.

Last Hours in Paris

2007-04-26T19:54:00.000Z

Huuuuge glasses, like beacons in the night.

This lady!

This is the bar where I opened my mouth and a sentence later they were all laughing because 'She talks like an arab!!!' Momma Brenz is proud.

One time, I made lisa take me to montmartre mere hours before my plane took off.

OK, she said, but let me buy your train ticket to the airport first.

I am A Tourist.

OK, says I. Sounds good. I shuffle around in my pockets, thumbing old, used tickets, as Lisa buys the new one.

Hold on to this, she says. Don't drop it.

I take the ticket.

She carte oranges and motions me to follow, as I no longer have a carte orange.

I drop the real ticket and put the used ones back in my pocket.

And we go to montmartre.

one last Big Head, some Bar Strangers

2007-04-26T19:49:00.000Z

biiiiig head

I'll eat your face?

One time, we were walking around in paris, and some strangers waved us into a bar.

They had huge glasses in that bar. So we went in, and did not look back.

You want pictures?

2007-04-24T18:11:00.000Z

May I suggest http://www.tshirtexmachina.blogspot.com/ ?

Commentary to follow.

Monday, April 23rd

2007-04-23T08:08:00.000Z

Ryan is now at the airport, waiting for a plane.

It didn't rain the whole time he was here. Remarkable.

Tomorrow I have to converse about a paper I haven't written yet. Having already fainted in front of this prof, I feel that, if I'm really getting stuck, I can probably just drop to the floor and call it a day.

I am coming back to the US on May 27th. Get ready.

More on Spain and Ireland later, but the thing about Ireland is that it's pretty great, and the people are so nice, and the history is very sad. And the whole thing kind of makes you hate England, if you didn't already.

Also, KT and Cait, was Mary the Irish Psychic operating out of a tiny red storefront on O'Connell Street, Dublin?

Now is a time for napping.

Goings-on

2007-04-15T18:19:00.000Z

Ryan is here.

Lisa is here, and oh my god. Stories.

I'm going to Spain and then Ireland on Tuesday-Sunday

And then I have exams and such.

I'm going to try and backtrack and fill in stuff that's happened.

Lisa forgot to bring the CD of my pictures, so hopefully she'll get that to me sometime or post them for me. She remembered the pastries, though.

I forgot to post this on Sunday.

2007-04-07T17:43:00.000Z

I like easter, because tomorrow chocolates in many shapes and with various fillings will go on sale.

The last time I remember hearing my uncle donald was on an easter phone call. He told me about roman traditions, and egg dyes, and goddesses for about 20 minutes before taking a measured pause and asking if my father was around.

This was before he faked his death to evade the CIA. Also before he died for real.

But it was years after he had baptised his grand-nephew--and 3 or four other unsuspecting infants-- uninvited and under false pretenses, pretending to be 'Father Donald' (in the vestments, and all) , when the jesuits had, in actual fact, kicked him out many years previously.

Also after he got off illegal possesion of a firearm due to a technicality in search procedure.

Oh man. The cops had to commandeer a bus, because Uncle Donald was in a wheelchair and they couldn't get him to a station any other way.

Oh, they were taking him to a station because he pulled a gun on a parking lot attendant who was giving Donald's nephew and future niece-in-law a hard time. Like, making them follow the rules of the parking garage.

The technicality in search procedure came into play because, after producing the gun, Donald put it away in its silver, locking briefcase home, and put it in a closet. Did I mention he did not have a license for this firearm? Anyway, the cops did not have a warrant when they searched his home. And they did not have just cause for searching his home because the man was in a wheelchair, and thus, not in danger of escaping or reaching the locked, hidden gun.

Know your search procedure, guys. I can not stress this enough.

We have the briefcase in my house. We do not have the gun, though. The state kept it.

You can bet your life on the fact that the punchline to all of this is the image of unflappable, ex-jesuit, debarred-lawyer, part-time swindler and full-time paranoid Uncle Donald rolling out of the courtroom and asking my harassed father 'So do I get the gun back?'

And that is the story we tell every Easter, chez cjb.

I wish i were making this up. Happy Easter!

Tristan and Big Head

2007-04-07T13:39:00.000Z

Wandering through the paris metro, a pack of beautiful people carrying saxophones and luggage.

Lisa's friend tristan is all the way to the right; he learned half his english from american movies, which is awesome. he is also awesome. Anne-Sophie is to his right, and she is the sweetest thing in the world. Florent has the face of a cherub. And I have the face of a jerk.

Shortly after this picture was taken, a blast of air wrenched my carte orange (weekly metro ticket) from my hands, into gate apparatus.

Me: (Screaming, wearing a saxophone case, trying to reach into the machinery to rescue the stupid little ticket and also keep the gate doors from closing, by throwing my shoulders against them.) NOoooooOOOO!! My carte hebdo!!!

Everyone else in the station: wtf?

Lisa: Your head's stuck in the thing.

Indeed, it was. Nobody understood how or why I had become entangled in the gate, and the ticket was definitely gone. And I was wearing a saxophone.

One way to cheat the metro is to have two people squeeze through while the gate is open for one ticket. So some nice french passer-by ran his ticket through and swept me through the other side. I was still very sad about the ticket; more the loss of ticket than the loss of dignity.

Also, 4 out of 5 of this group slept in Lisa's one person apartment that night. We are adorable, like puppies.

I'm sad I don't have pictures of it, but the next day Tristan and AnSo took me to his school to work on a project of his--painting the damn saxophone on backdrops. So I was at Paris tech crew all day. I didn't have any idea how to do anything or what was going on, it was just like high school tech crew. Also, AnSo is the most adorable person you will ever meet, and pretty (perfect bangs, no joke) , and very understanding of your limited knowledge of french art and set design.

On my last night in paris, I climbed a big head.

Florent came up, too.

We were between bars, and it just seemed like a good idea.

Made some phone calls from the somatosensory cortex.

And then just chilled out on the orbito-frontal region.

My goodness, that is a big church behind us.

Lisa needs some climbin' time too. My foot is in Head's ear, gross.

She's up!

Florent: face of a cherub, apartment of an art student.

So much of paris was walking around...

2007-04-03T22:01:00.000Z

Sometimes, in Paris, you walk around all morning and it's nice, and then as you're supposed to meet Lisa at a metro stop, it gets rainy and gross, so you go in it to get out of the rain and become entangled in conversation with a homeless guy. And the conversation uses literally every weather-related vocabulary word you know, so it fizzles out once you've exhausted them all. And so you watch emo girls glissent and fall on their fesses on the stairs. And you wonder where Lisa is. And then, lo and behold, elle est revenue! And it turns out she was upstairs in the rain, talking to a dude about SIDA (AIDS) and he ends up asking her out. So to get over the stressful hour, you stop in a pub, like any good british lass.

Pas de CB? shut up no way.

A 'pub' in which an MTV special about twins was playing in the background as The Doors alternated with Fergie on the soundtrack. Our bartender seemed to be from everywhere, including, New Jersey, (he was a bit vague on the deets) and flirted with everything in the bar, including his fellow bartenderess's shirt strings, a jolly old man holding a bucket of ice, and the bucket. But he made Lisa take this dumb picture, and now it's on my blog, so I guess Bien Joue, Casey. Wherever you are.

While discussing the lack of trashy gossip magazines in her life, I spot a pile of them on the street and hand one to Lisa. What a windfall. It's a british one, too!
Furthermore, after two pints, Lisa is drunk and wants to find a toilet.

A toilet on the sidewalk suddenly appears. how convenient.

Unfortunately we were not specific enough in our thinking-out-loud, so it was not connected to any plumbing. Ours is a charmed life, for real.

We stumble off into the sunset, towards her SIDA friend (alias: The Corsican) and his friend (aka He Who Shops at Hot Topic).

The Direction in which We Walked. p.s. this was at, like 9 pm, I have no idea why it's so light out.

Topical!

2007-04-01T19:53:00.000Z

As I return and reflect on Paris, here comes asofterworld in (quebecois) french.

As you may know, asofterworld is a comic that comes out every friday, and is written by Joey Comeau (Q: Joey of this blog's title? A: The very same!)

They are here for now; supposedly a french main page is supposed to come up soon.

http://www.asofterworld.com/francais/

Tower?

2007-04-01T12:36:00.000Z

One day, I went for a walk in Paris and decided I would take a picture of the tower...you know, the cliche one...every time I saw it.

There are more. But I like this one:

And then I turned to my left and took this one:

Paris Street

2007-03-27T23:54:00.000Z

Walking around in the Jewish/Hungarian/Gay area. We found pink toilet paper.

This kid was hilarious, he was playing soccer with his grandfather in the park. I like Paris because old people and toddlers can leave the house and play, wheras London seems to be populated with middleaged men in overcoats.

Paris Walkin

2007-03-27T23:41:00.000Z

Horse on the way to the arc de triomph

nap outside the Grand Palais

Arc de Triomph...there's a whole series, it's coming.

Alice Yorke, Lisa made this one happen for you. I wish you well on your Merrymount Stage. I think it's an omen that we foudn this store full of colorful glassware, lamps, and whirlygigs.

Mecca

2007-03-27T23:26:00.000Z

2007-03-27T23:16:00.000Z

First night in FRANCE

2007-03-27T23:06:00.000Z

We went to a bar, of course. It seemed to be an irish bar. Amanda did not want to leave, ever.

Even when the flower guy was there! I was terrified. One thing I will say, Parisian flower-seller dudes seem a lot better of in terms of health and happiness than the Florentine flower-sellers. People actually made eye contact with them. Also, I didn't see any sad gypsy kids trying to sell flowers at 2 in the morning in Paris.

We are silly tourists.

THE BUS RIDE HOME.

When it did come time to leave, we took a night bus home. Amanda was all for getting a cab, but, no, night bus. It probably took longer to get on the right bus than it would have taken to walk; it was crowded with drunk people and lurchy and smelly.

But had we not taken the night bus, we would not have overheard French/Arab Drunk dude with Earring chat with Sassy French-Speaking German Girl, and completely fail to pick her up. And completely fail to notice that she was making fun of him in front of the entire bus. It was like third grade, it was awesome.

And then he moved on to Amanda, who does not speak french. that's ok, he would admire her golden hair in Spanish. She just repeats, drunk and two years out of any spanish class, 'No. No.' He points at her necklace, which is a cross. He thinks he's reaching out to another christian, or something, but Amanda pulls it together for a 'NO. QUIERO. HABLAR. CON. TU!'

It was perfect. And then it was our stop, or close enough. And that was the end of that.

Pisa/Florence

2007-03-27T22:57:00.000Z

Ice cream truck 100 yards from big white famous tower. Give the people what they want.

It Leans.

Pretty, Florence. Very pretty.

Yeah, I'd probably save the Pont(e? I don't know.) Vecchio from bombs too.

Bye Florence!

Faces at Boboli Gardens

2007-03-27T22:47:00.000Z

that bitch.

Big Face

Slidey Brenz.

You can't really see it here, but these big Mentos-shaped rocks had a dip in the middle so you couldn't sit on the edge, you slid in. It was kind of fun, but not relaxing. Especially for Lisa of the Wonky Knee.

Also, I found a 5 Pfennig from 1984 near that particular rock-Mentos.

Boboli Gardens

2007-03-27T22:37:00.000Z

Lisa: So, the story behind the Duomo is, that the architect was this guy and he wanted to make a dome on top of the church. But nobody said it would work, it would cave in. So to prove his point, he had a challenge contest to see who else in the realm was a better architect, and would make the design for the Duomo. The challenge was to stand an egg up on its end and make it stay.

Me: Does this involve salt?

Lisa: No. He takes an egg and smashes it down onto a plate, so that the end buckles in, and then it stands up. The End.
The Lisa D. Tour of Italy: Hey, let's go to a really pretty place...it was probably a medici palace, because every frickin thing in Italy is a medici palace.

And so, the view of Florence from the Boboli Gardens. A Medici Palace.

Lisa and Cal(l)i(e).

Pretty.

Florence at Night

2007-03-27T22:28:00.000Z

Sometimes you have to go to a scottish pub in italy to get a really nice car bomb.

That magical pig. Will you bring me good luck, or wealth, or love? No one remembers, because you are only visited by drunk people.

Like monkeys at the zoo, looking back at you.

New shoes for Lisa's poor feet...the boots were never seen again.

Eeevil Sergio and his cool friend, in the plaza.

Lisa needed a break. Her knee hurts, guys.

Or maybe she was just looking at this.

London things

2007-03-27T22:16:00.000Z

We went to Nando's like four times. This was the only time in daylight.

RFH'ers: Remember that time english teacher and ear-puncturer Mr. C told us he had a brick with his name on it at the new Globe theater?

That's not true, as far as we could tell.

The lady behind the desk explained that a brick in the wall, which costs but $10, doesn't have names carved into it. Furthermore, no 'C....' was listed in her book of the flagstones in the courtyard which cost Six Hundred Dollars!

A sum which, obviously, a mere high school teacher could not afford.

But Japan can.

lobsterphone at the Tate. More enjoyable than the slides.

Pub Quiz, with enrique and Itesha, and Sabine's hands.

Late Nights

2007-03-27T22:04:00.000Z

Lisa in her shopping cart wheelchair. This enterprise was abandoned after I accidentally dumped her out of it for about the third time. We got high fives from strangers, though!

Did you know you're not supposed to sell alcohol after 11pm in London? true. This was on the Great Beer Search.

We found wine! And an old-man hat! (not pictured)

What do you do once the nice gents at Great Portland Street Food and Wine sell you some beer? Bring it back to the computer lab, of course, and make Mark play some music.

A ship! Near Nando's. Apparently it got climbed...

Londontown

2007-03-27T21:58:00.000Z

After visiting the Nando's afterhours french/polish birthday party...and watch J. stomp on half full bottles, then climb on top of the bathroom to dance...we got on a night bus.

A night bus of delights.

Sitting on the top of the bus = seeing amazing views of the river and city and feeling every lurch and bump of the ride, every swing, every near-miss of overhanging branches and lampposts. And before descending for our stop, we met Jeremy, who was drunk and covered in ketchup and who charmed lisa with his accent. and ketchup.

If you can't change it, you have to stand it, as Ennis del Mar once sort of said. Lisa could not change the brokenness of her knee on our pre-dawn trek back from south London. But there was a shopping cart for bringing her home. And I stood on it.

Lisa is good to know for many reasons, not least of which is her ability to trick foreign-born restauranteurs into giving her lifetime discounts for talking to them and taking an interest in their culture for 10 minutes. Brick lane is the place for indian/bangladeshi food. And Spice Brick Lane is the place to say Lisa says hi.

My Camera:

Lisa's:

Oh, were you in London?

Nando's

2007-03-27T21:48:00.000Z

It's big inside.

You can see how a party could take place after hours, right?

In London, Moms come out at night to hit on boys half their age.

Exactly.

Lisa In London

2007-03-27T21:39:00.000Z

us & Annmarie in Piccadilly Circus.

This is what Oxford Circus looks like. You think those red buses are cool until they get in the way of your pictures.

Us looking at Tower Bridge. Old men took this picture for us.

People and things in koeln.

2007-03-27T21:27:00.000Z

This is Katha's father, in the poncho, and brother in the bowler and pompoms. Lisa called him a superman, because of his clean cut good looks. The words 'super' (uber) and 'man' (menschen) when put together like that, actually mean those Hitler's Aryan ideal SS guys. Cultural faux pas!

Legs!

So cute.

Yes.

Day Parade!

2007-03-27T21:16:00.000Z

Angela and me and lisa, being fabulous.

Adorable. Germany is smart about parades in winter, people actally wear costumes that cover them, and dress for warmth. No slutty cats here.

Just Friendly brazilians.

Ghost Parade.

2007-03-27T21:10:00.000Z

Ghost Parade.

2007-03-27T21:08:00.000Z

Meet Katha's sister, Alex. Meet Alex's tonsils. Looking good there, guys!

Parades

2007-03-27T21:05:00.000Z

at the Ghost Parade...there was fire. This was the only one where the spectators joined the marchers and it was just a big, swarming mass of people with fire (not candy). This was also the one we couldn't find, until Katha asked an entire deli.

Airport Faaaace

2007-03-27T21:03:00.000Z

First Thing I Saw in Germany

2007-03-27T21:00:00.000Z

Meet Lisa and Katharina. Note Lisa's cheek art and Katha's lovely Koeln scarf. I have its twin on my wall.

Piracy in Koeln

2007-03-27T20:56:00.000Z

Oh christ.

2007-03-27T20:54:00.000Z

So i just did the picture thing and it ate them I fuckin hate this blog.

It might not have helped that I also drank bottle of champagne tonight, but this is all on blogger. Gah!!

Guys, I fuckin hate this blog if it just ate my pictures.

2007-03-27T18:40:00.000Z

What Did I Do Today?

2007-03-26T23:14:00.000Z

Li has class and real life to live, so while she awoke to a bright and early start, I chilled out on my half of the floor. Literally chilled, it's cold at night. To arouse me from my slumber, li told me internet lies and then left, leaving instructions on how to find her school later. I was neither aroused nor titillated.

It seems as though the AUP is shitty indeed, because class was cancelled and all that travelling and instruction-leaving was for naught. We swung down to a favorite boulangerie , were assaulted by kids wielding berries, and then...lisa had to go to class. So I promptly forgot which metro stop she told me to head for and started walking.

I had one quest: find a map, cause I don't know how paris works. There are quite a few bookstores south of the river...and most of them seem to deal with very narrow spheres of literature, and not maps. Leading to conversations consisting of "Can I help you?" dead stare as the translation creaks past..."No, I'm looking for Paris...uh, a map of paris. Goodbye."

(The appropriate pictures will be added later)

But I went by the Pantheon...

And the Luxembourg Gardens...

And down St. Germain...

and up to the Seine..

I admire the Paris police for sporting the flat top. I'm basically liking anything that is the opposite of London.

And the Place des Invalides...avec les Rollers

And then this...

And then got quiche with Lisa.

Remember when Katie complained that A Year in Provence was really a year long menu? I can see how one would let that happen. Because on vacation, your whole day basically hinges on when you eat.

And then we went on the ile to watch the sun set, and got tricked into talking to toothless Didier for too long.

Lisa's ascenseur is so good. I expect to die every time.

I'm in Paris

2007-03-26T10:35:00.000Z

the weather is nice
my french is ridiculous
and the bread is good

last night we left lisa's place to buy bread and ended up eating dinner at the amelie cafe. and then going up montmartre to watch the eiffel tower do its hourly sparkly. They were actually holding catholic service in the church, it was very creepy.

my throat is sore from doing raspy french r's.

Homeless people like to ask lisa for her hand in marriage.

I've seen a bunch of gypsies. I'm more fond of he accordion than the bagpipe, I'll tell you that right now.

My Favorite Thing

2007-03-23T16:02:00.000Z

...about Sabina, is, when she spots two boys making out on the dance floor, she stops in her tracks, points, and says 'Gay boys! Gay boys! LOOK!'

Ten minutes later she hasn't forgotten about them: 'They're still at it!'

She refuses to move from her vantage point until 'Oh, they've come up for air. Let's get drinks.'

Strange Things Afoot in the M25

2007-03-13T23:01:00.000Z

--It's been sunny and nice for four days. Crazy! Beautiful! Just like that Kirsten Dunst movie, only good.

--My parents aren't coming to visit after all! This means I can go to the Netherlands or Scotland!

--Ryan is coming instead! !!

--I fainted at the V & A during my architecture class! It was awesome, because my professor (nicest female architectual historian grad student I've met) was like, 'I've never seen someone so moved by columns before.' And then I got to go home, feeling totally fine and free to enjoy the sunshine.

Some more.

2007-03-07T23:58:00.000Z

Party in the computer lab. Did you know, you're not supposed to sell alcohol after 11pm? After a treasure hunt taking us all over the empty early morning city, finding 2 wine glasses (half full!) and a newsie cap, Great Portland Street Food and Wine did not fail us in terms of selection.

Hooking up the state of the art sound system, with Newcastle.

On Lisa's last night in London, we set out to go on a Jack the Ripper Tour. That didn't happen, so we decided to drink instead. Dinner on Brick Lane again, at Aladdin's, where the BYO policy encourages finishing ones purchase of a bottle of wine. The surly service also encourages the retaining of glassware.

Onward, to Cafe 1001, where we all got carded and it was awesome. Add some shot glasses to the collection, and then, oops, the place is closing, so we move on tooo...

The Big Chill.

I'd call Mark a tool for not looking at the damn camera, but without him we would never have gotten the pitcher to go with the champagne glasses.

I love both of these, can't pick just one.

Mark cornered Lisa while some dude complimented me and explained that, because my friends and I looked 'really, you know, together and with-it. Really hip.', we could come along to his housewarming party after the bar closed if we liked.

Sadly, we didn't like, as we were bound for the last tube home.

None of my Brick Lane Adventure pictures are right side up, so here we are coming home, laden with glassware. From left to right, we have Newcastle making a face, Lisa, and the lovely Sabina. Adorable.

Why, What's over there?

Uh-oh, looks like trouble...and smells like an empty bottle of Jack.

A Call to Action

If You Give A Meth head A Hug, She'll Probably Try To Climb Up Your Skirt Later, At The Hospital, Screaming 'Vipers!' And Probably Also Grab Your Ass.

So yeah, that was Kirsten. She was probably about 30 and completely out of it when we found her, spent the whole tube ride licking Sabina's neck and making Lisa laugh. Our stop happens to be right across form the hospital, so we decided to take wasted, moneyless, ID-less, balance-less Kirsten with us.

On the way she regaled us with tabloid fodder...''Ee was to have her Killed! 'Ee was settin' her up for Murder!' and, yes, grabbed Sabina's ass.

Once inside the hospital, it took a good long time to explain that even though Kirsten didn't want to see a doctor, we couldn't take her home with us since 'We don't actually know her...We found her on the Tube...' In the middle of all this, she stiffened up, eyes wide and arms rigid, and jumped into the safety of Sabina's arms, screeching 'Vipers!'

And, then, miraculously she sobered up. Wondered why we had taken her to a hospital, when she now missed the last train home. Was so embarrassed.

Cue exit from the crazy lady.

But the night was not yet over, no. We still had to meet Jasper of big hair and Bob Marley fanaticism, and stay up all night until I had to pack and Lisa had to sober up so that we could leave straight for the plane to Pisa.

Long, long day, that was; planes and trains and then panini and the best freakin coffee in the world.

Really aggressive touristy-junk-sellers and wicked cobblestoned streets and running into scooters and dog shit everywhere in the tiny tiny streets with the big big castle walls and sgraffito. and everything is old.

And a few from Italy:

Lisa and Rebecca, at the Scottish Pub. In Florence.

We kissed the hog. No euphemisms, just the simple truth.

Some Pictures That I Don't Have To Reformat

2007-03-07T23:46:00.000Z

This is my Sainsbury's. It is one place where I shop for food. The man in the red cap is my homeless man. He calls me 'pretty lady' and wants me to buy his homeless magazine, 'The Big Issue.'

These are some books in the library. They are all hefty tomes that feel like skin. People skin.

This is Lisa. She's eating chips at a McDonald's. Lisa's saying, 'Why the fuck are you taking this picture?' She's saying it with her eyes, and I do not know the answer.

Creepy house, about a block from Westminster Abbey.

I haven't forgetten about you

2007-03-06T17:12:00.000Z

But I went to Cologne, and then Lisa came to London, and stuff happened, and then I went to Florence, and things have been busy. There's whole essays I want to write, and pictures to post, but I want to do it right. In the meanwhile:

Jack the Ripper Tours Attended: None.

Indian Meals Consumed: 3 Discounts obtained? 1

Nando's Visits Arranged: 3 Discounts obtained? 3

Giraffes Observed: 2

Glassware Permanently Borrowed: 12 Pitchers: 1

Sleepless nights: Stansted airport, Cologne falafel, computer lab camp outs, computer lab dance-ins, drinking in the streets, stealing from Brick Lane, becoming my flatmate's connection, the parking structure bathroom across from Galilei International airport

Hours on bus/train/plane (Approx): 20

Surliest Passport Control Gaurds: Italy.

Best Bread: Germany.

Passport Control Gaurds Requiring the Most Tearful Apologies to Obtain Entry: Stansted.

Most Horrible Men: Italy.

Tallest Population (Observed): Germany.

Countries Host to Most Yoel Doppelgangers: Italy! Hi, Sal!

Number of Syracuse Students Encountered (Approx): 20

Number of American Tourists Scorned: Legion.

Horoscope for March 6, 2007

2007-03-06T17:05:00.000Z

"Pirates are your role model and inspiration, because today you need all the speed, vigor and relentless antiauthoritarian energy you can muster. Tilt your hat, set your sails and be as irrepressible as you can be. "

Lisa and my conversation

2007-02-28T00:49:00.000Z

Lisa: Is that him?

Me: That’s ‘Crispin Glover’, a guy who’s in here EVERY DAY even more than mark…and always wears a black ‘leather’ jacket, but APPARENTLY NOT TODAY. That’s what I’m shocked about.

M: 7 or 7.30? Thursday? If tomorrow’s not pub quiz?
L: OK. We should get Bangla.
M:Early or late?
L:Thursday = bangla, and we should invite your flatmates. Including Crispin.

M:He is not my flatm,ate. He is my mortal enemy. I’ll fight him.

L:You should fight the ‘british’ keyboard.
M:I am locked in combat with the thing.

L:Shhh.

M:Fuck you, you’re sleeping on the cushions.

L:Finally.

aaand scene.

Koeln 1

2007-02-26T22:12:00.000Z

The people you meet at airports are the flotsam and jetsam of society. Australian expats bent on describing 'footie' in detail? Little people who want to make friends by telling you about living in majorca and clearly alcoholic making you very uncomfortable by reading over your shoulder? Peruvian nut oil salesman who wish you a nice life after making you promise to forget about money and come to Macchu Picchu? Yes sir, may I have another?

I recommend Germanwings for all your low-cost German air travel needs. They work with deadly efficiency, motormouthing the safety spiel in english and german with nary a pause. It is hilarious. Every other word is 'flugen;' every other word, I am pleased.

Cologne-Bonn airport looks like the future. It's all glass and metal and pictoral representations of 'arrival' and 'departure' since it's a waste of signage to translate everything german-french-english-whatever. Also, duty-free shops!

Passport Control German: You are American?
Me: Yes.
PCG: What are you doing in London?
Me: Studying.
PCG: Why are you coming to Germany?
Me: Karneval.
PCG: Resigned sigh, emphatic stamping of the passport.
Me: Thank you!

Ok. You have never been greeted by friends until they are chanting German anthems at full volume in a crowded crowded airport. LOVE.

Katharina is an inspiration. Within minutes of arriving, she got me caught up on her life of the past year, taught me about eight Cologne songs, gave us directions to the club where Lisa and I would meet her brother, taught me how to say 'Get away from me' for use in the club, figured out what train we needed to get on, and gave me candy. I adore her.

At one point, we're lost and looking for a parade. Katharina storms a deli and asks the entire room where it is.

Her whole family seems to be the same way; her sister alex wanders into the big parade to charm the candy off of the mayor. Her brother quietly commands the action, sending us on goose chases through the streets with a guy nicknamed 'the vomiting bumblebee.'

So, Karneval is about a couple of things. It's about Cologne/Koeln/Kolle, the city and the things that make it great--including the giant double-spired cathedral by the water, its distinct 'koelsch' accent, the story about three kings buried in the cathedral and the tears of eleven virgins that did something. It's about indulgence before Lent, which means drinking and eating a lot. And then the parades, which are awesome because you get dressed up in whatever ridiculous attire you scrounge together (drunk and far from home, means VERY ridiculous) and then get candy thrown at your face for three hours, surrounded by singing people.

Psych 101 TA Application

2007-02-23T00:10:00.000Z

Germany will live forever in my memory, guys. This is important. Last question on the thing.

What are your three main weaknesses?

I always get this one, and I can never remember what I said the time before.

So far I've come up with:

Micromanaging, insubordination, dislike of psychology
Femural, deltoid, bicuspid
Whiskey, men, travel
Procrastination
Irreverence, a childlike soul, a burning desire just to find my place in this big big world.

Das Ist Prima

2007-02-20T21:11:00.000Z

I went to Germany and didn't tell my blog! oops.

It was great. I am tired.

More after I sleep for a thousand hours.

VIVA COLONIA.

Conclusion

2007-02-15T15:14:00.000Z

So, I finished the paper, gave a big sigh of relief, and then spell checker totally schooled me on 'colour.'

Oh, England!

::laughtrack::

I Am Nothing of a Builder

2007-02-14T18:21:00.000Z

La la la. writing a paper

Blah blah blah. Christopher Wren

Flim flam sam. balustrade

'He was to produce dozens of churches on a timeframe that would neither leave congregations in liturgical limbo, nor use more stone than the quarrymasters provide. The city was hungry for stone. '

slee lee loo...limbo. I bet that's gonna go over like a ton of bricks...

doop dee dee. hey. I'm hungry.

Someone Beat Us To It

2007-02-11T00:21:00.000Z

Shit, Fair Haven ladies:

http://www.onceuponanepitaph.com/

Remember Troy? Remember Boston? Remember Dancing Jesus of Middletown, NJ? The quaker graveyard across the street from the episcopalian graveyard next door to the methodist graveyard on that stretch of 35 after the grove but before the mall? I'm forgetting some. But Ithaca ones: the 'natural graveyard' by Arnot woods, the deer-infested graveyard of Maple Ave, the creepy graveyard I walked past after getting lost on the bus...and haven't seen since.

Although considering these are just canadian graveyards, maybe we could do a U.S. version?

***

There's a candy bar called a 'Yorkie' and it's labelled 'NOT FOR GIRLS' with a red bar-in-circle symbol (like a no smoking sign, except with a standard restroom-style dress-wearing lady-silhouette on the inside). See below.

I'm on a quest to eat all the candy, everywhere, and I like a challenge, so on my way to class yesterday I decided it was time to try the Yorkie.

At the check out, the nice Jamaican man started handing me my change, but did a double-take.

'Did you see this?!?' He asked, pointing to the NOT FOR GIRLS.

He starts giggling. He has a crazy man-giggle.

'I cannot complete this transaction!' He says. Giggling.

'It's ok, I'm not very ladylike,' I say. And then I take my candy and run.

Epilogue: It's just a bar of solid chocolate. Not worth the effort, really.

haiku

2007-02-08T20:52:00.000Z

Snow in the morning
Damp, gritty ankles by noon
Hot chocolate weather.

Thelonious Monk
Wilco, Pixies, Sonic Youth.
Bloody Valentines.

Try to recruit me!
I can't work in the U.K.!
Your dumb smile fades.

Germany! Cologne!
Bags are packed in my head
God bless EasyJet.

The couple upstairs--
It's not the humping I mind
Her, laughing, for hours?

This is My School

2007-02-07T21:24:00.000Z

Portobello Road

2007-02-04T15:55:00.000Z

I'm skipping Camden and Giraffes for now because I need to have pictures to show you and I have no pictures! So, Portobello Road instead.

Actually, let me start by saying I had a good week. Something happened every day. Free movie and chocolate? Tuesday. Fish and chips? Wednesday, with Jana and the Syra-crew. Thursday, Patrick Stewart as Antony sweat on me because I was sitting in the front row at Antony and Cleopatra.

Two things about that: One, don't let the ticket lady bully you into sitting in the front row. Two, Professor X works out. Oh, and the royal shakespeare company really knows how to put on a play. Also, I REALLY want to see Equus (with Harry Potter's Daniel Radcliffe) when it comes out, and I am in just the right part of the world to do that. Friday I was sick, so that was a thing, and Saturday I continued to be sick but also made it to Portobello road.

It's basically a street market specializing, at one end, in silver and antiques and jewelry. Magnifying glasses were many. Pocketwatches abound. I'm sure you could find yourself a pipe, and then your sherlock holmes costume would be complete. It was all very shiny. There are stretches of houses all painted in sherbet colors, which seems very out of place in london. But it's cute. Also, sherbet or sherbert? I say it 'sherbert' but I think that's wrong.

The other end of the market, at least as far as we walked, was food. It's a very long road. Along with the oranges and potatoes and regular things, you also get not-so-common items like passionfruit. And a cheese stand and an olive stand and a paella stand which was doing some very brisk business.

On my way home I stopped by the library because I'm sick and thus not drinking, so might as well catch up on my contemporary american literature. I (finally) read franny and zooey and just finished Naked Lunch. I am not sure how I feel about either of these.

Also, the fun continues tonight. I'm going to see ricky gervais do a thing.

Remember mo rocca?

Well, for one reason or another, I liked the american office more.

I'll let you know how it goes.

February

2007-02-04T01:08:00.000Z

We're into february, I'm sitting here, thinking to myself.

I may or may not have done the first-of-the-month rabbit-rabbit thing. If you don't know what I'm talking about, don't ask. It will haunt you like breathing in graveyards and putting your hand on your head in tunnels. A first-of-the-month ritual to make you feel bad if you acknowledge someone with a 'morning' before doing 'rabbit rabbit' later on in the street when you remember. Did I say 'morning' or just think it? Really--it doesn't matter. Really.

Groundhog Day was a movie. It seems to be about the passage of time, and trying to get things right. Bill Murray does it by living the same day over and over. I would contrast this to how I shop for shoes.

--First I have to look at every shoe in the store, not trying on or even touching any.
--Then I try some on, infuriating the sales person by repeated trips for another size or color or style.
--Then I leave without buying anything and look at everything the store has online.
--A few weeks later, I buy something which is now on sale and non-returnable.
--And get buyer's remorse upon leaving the store, seeing something in the window which I love.

I've lived about eight different lives in the past 6 months, as opposed to Bill murray re-living the same day for 6 months. That is as far as I'm taking this. Happy groundhog day! I know today's the fourth!

Security

2007-02-01T00:56:00.000Z

I think it's funny that the password protection for this blog is as secure as that for my online bank account. I feel really good about that, actually.

***

In Orwell's 1984, the description for the Ministry of Truth did not just come from heroin dreams or paranoid delusions. It's likely that that building is based on the Senate House of the University of London, a building that I pass each day.

***

The University of London is quick to tell you when you're under surveillance; all of London is, actually, cause I think it's a law. But everywhere you go are round signs telling you this area is under CCTV surveillance for protection and crime prevention.

***

I am torn when I see the cameras before the signs. Do I ignore it, like catching someone stare at you? Or do I stare it down like a bear? (A bear hungry for my delicious profile). Because if ::I:: know they're there, and ::they:: know they're there, why shouldn't they ::know:: I know they're there?

Still with me?

***

Today I got real chips with vinegar and they were delicious. Jana helped--hi Jana!

***

Also today I went to a pub quiz and contributed Cristopher Wren, Chemistry and Physics, Drowning, Gems, Lichtenstien, and Iraq to the group's efforts. We didn't win, (Gems was wrong; the answer was Diamonds) but I did not end up puking all over lower Manhattan. And Rich Monahan.

Which is all I ever ask!

Russian Winter Festival

2007-01-28T16:19:00.000Z

This was from a week or so ago when the Russian community of London celebrated the Russian Winter Festival in (motherfucking) trafalgar square. Heej and I went because cultural awareness is important. Also, it was free.

You can tell that it's trafalgar square by the giant pillar which does not fit in the frame of any photgraph ever taken.

Basically, the festival involved several rock/pop groups singing in very enthusiastic russian on the stage in the center, as a crowd of tall blondes and people wearing fur hats (see: man in lower left 1/3) drunkenly cheered them on. T

here was borscht, there was beer, there were people advertising cheap airfares to St. Petersburg.

It was good fun.

Next: Camden and Giraffes.

Figuring Out Photos...

2007-01-26T21:31:00.000Z

The Washbasin, as promised.

A Story of Impotent Rage

2007-01-26T01:37:00.000Z

Something I wrote to Ashley Awesome earlier, but have decided to share with the rest of the world:

***

hey lady! I have a Story of Impotent Rage for you.

So, the guy from cornell in my flat of 5 people thinks he's julia fucking child and cooks these elaborate meals for dinner involving many spices and pots and pans going at once. He has a recipe/instructions written out, and follows it to the T, using every cutting implement in the process.

More background: I ran out of cash on friday and so haven't gone grocery shopping until yesterday. I am reeeaaaally looking forward to actually having some food that's not a selection from Corinne's Desperation Cookbook.

Now, I'm not one to begrudge another of thier culinary dreams, so for the first week or two, it's like, cool, he can cook. But the thing is, our kitchen has very limited space and resources, i.e. pots and pans and cutting implements.

So, even though his and my 'dinner times' coincided at first, his complex endeavors made it very difficult for me to boil a fucking pot of water to make pasta.

So, graciously, passively, silent like the courtesy ninja that I am, I have been trying to arrive home later and later in order to give him time to do his thing and clean up afterward before I get in the kitchen to make some food.

However.

He is either taking longer and longer or purposfully stymieing my plans for diffused kitchen-time. That Rat Bastard has been cooking fucking homemade meatballs for, like, 2 hours. I am HUNGRY. He is a DIRTY MOTHERFUCKER.

Now, for the kicker: You know my feelings about cooking in pans used for meat. I don't like doing it. I purchased new frying pans after an argument about damage incurred to the british girl's stuff, even though it was not my fault and almost certainly his, to smooth things over, and hey, I'll keep the pans when we leave.

HE IS COOKING HIS MEATBALLS OF ETERNITY IN MY FUCKING PANS.

FUCK. FUCKING SHITFUCK.

So, now, with nothing to do in my room because I have no entertainment, and no sign of when he will be done and cleaned up, I decided to stop vulturing around the kitchen, giving pointed stares to the back of his oblivious fucking head, come down to the computer lab, and express this grievious injury to you. I hope you enjoyed it!

***

PS: Not to worry children, now that my blood sugar has evened out a bit, I am totally over this.

A Thought

2007-01-21T15:59:00.000Z

I would like to start a band, and I would like for it to be called 'Apocalypse Flashlights'.

Ugly Naked Guy

2007-01-18T16:23:00.000Z

Lecture, 3:13 pm

Internal monologue: This girl smells like chicken soup...Why can I take notes without paying any attention?...Hey, is that back-fat?

Narrator: Indeed, as the psych building faces a residential apartment complex, and the resident in question did not believe in curtains, it was.

Internal monologue: Ugly Naked Brit! heeeee. hee hee. I am twelve.

Things (No Order)

2007-01-16T17:54:00.000Z

Rachael: Washbasin and other photos are forthcoming...I am too lazy to remember both my camera and the usb/whatever cord when I'm in the computer lab(s). UCL terminology calls these charming nooks 'clusters' but I feel like those are what you find in breakfast cereal...you know, the grain-nuggets that aren't flakes or raisins? Clusters. Clusters are also places with public notices forbidding downloading of pornography onto the system. Also I can't make youtube work, which is agitating.

Covent Garden

So, Covent Garden was the site of an actual food-producing garden in the middle ages (this is all according to Wikipedia, so, you know) but circa 1600 beame an open-air market, and then a couple hunderd years later a massive enclosed market space was built, and centuries of history boil down to me hopping over puddles in this mess of little cobblestone streets lines with superexpensive stores and supercheap chinese food places and supercool vintagey shops.

There's usually musicians/street performers doing their thing during the day, and some urban landscaper genius has giant chandeliers on some streets which is very pretty after the sun starts to go down (at like 4 in the afternoon) and you've got crazy-old ornate storefronts on either side of you and the ground is always kind of damp so it reflects the little points of light from the chandeliers...all very fairy-tale cute.

And also, it smells nicer than NYC, so there's not even that to bring you down.

From my doorstep, it's probably a 20-25 minute walk there, but from the site of most of my classes it's like 8 minutes max. So I've just been shopping/wandering in the downtime between classes, a luxury that Ithaca, historically, does not afford. Cities are awesome.

However, there are some things that are not as awesome.

Smoking

Everyone smokes, everyone smokes everywhere. I knew this was going to be true in your paris or your rome or your south carolina, and I'd expect to see it on the street, and I always kind of laugh when doctors stand outside hospitals to take a cigarette break. I didn't expect the entire bar or club to be smoking, but I wasn't ::surprised:: that it was allowed. But the residence hall faq sheet-type thing practically begs you to smoke in the rooms. It's fine! It won't set the alarm off! Bring your friends, make it a party! That surprised me a little. Also, we've had 3 fire alarms in 8 days. J'accuse!

Exhorbitant drink prices

Holy sweet goddamn. Wine and beer at a grocery store or liquor store ( = my favorite word, 'offy') are mostly the same or cheaper. The bars/clubs make up for it, though. Any mixed drink is going to cost you £7 or more, which is $14 for those of you playing at home. A shot of jack daniels was £11. That is a twenty-two dollar drink, my friends, and that is just out of my league.

Until next time,
cjb

Motherfucking Trafalgar Square

2007-01-10T19:43:00.000Z

So, about three this afternoon I decided it would be a good idea to go for a walk, look for some notebooks, get ready for classes for tomorrow, that kind of thing. I left my house and headed off, having a pretty good idea of where I was going and how to get back.

This plan went awry right about at Motherfucking Trafalgar Square.

Three hours later, it is dark and I am walking along a big iron gate, looking at the house inside it, thinking, 'Gosh these people have nice houses. Who even lives here? it's ridiculous. I wish I knew where I was. ' Then I turn a corner, see a giant fountain and statue, and realize I have been walking along Buckingham palace.

Oh, London. Your delights are endless. Also, your sidewalks.

Also, every guy over the age of 25 wears a black overcoat and is in a stressed out hurry.

The O.C.

2007-01-10T00:08:00.000Z

They think american teenage life is like the O.C. On wearing a cornell hoodie: 'That's very O.C., that top.'

They ask questions about prom. They want to know if the politics of it are really liek the O.C.

London

2007-01-09T12:41:00.000Z

I'll start from the beginning and move along.

JFK is terrible. We sat on the plane for 3 hours, taxiing along, unsure of where we were headed or if the plane was wandering of its own accord. However, this provided me with the opportunity to get acquainted with the women sitting in my row, who were from Cardiff and had spent the last 10 days shopping in NYC. I had the window seat, so it was my job to keep the row informaed as to whether we were moving. We laughed, we whined, we traded magazines and crisps (which are chips. chips are fries. Learning happens all the time.) and gum. Many hours later, over an anonymous portion of the atlantic, I remembered that Cardiff was the capital of wales. Thanks, 6th grade geography and Mrs. Egan!

Behind us were a row of guys who might have been speaking gaelic or might have had such crazy accents that I just couldn't figure it out.

I watched the sun rise. It was cloudy below us all the way across, just this whipped up mountain of froth from horizon to horizon. So then all of a sudden, you look and there's the slighest demarcation between sky and cloud-line, just a little icy blueness peeking over. Then you nap for a minute and look again because the layer of marshmallow fluff has been stained grapefriut orange-pink and gold and purple and some altogether surprising combinations. But, then it's the sun and you can see a coastline (ireland? wales? I'll never know.)and have to give up all pretense of sleep.

Yeah, so no sleep 'til london, so by the time they were serving breakfast I was in that sort of dreamy random mood. They passed out blueberry muffins. Blueberries are not my favorite things, and upon picking them out of the muffin I had a weird freudian flashback to being five years old after my little sister was hot off the press, and my mom finding dried-up, fallen-off umbilical cord remnant on the floor. I bet you a hundred pounds no one expected this paragraph to go in that direction! But, that solves the mystery of Why Corinne Doesn't Like Blueberries.

In my head the past couple of days, I've already ended up using 'a bit of...' and 'yeah' or 'innit?' at the end of sentences...I will come back sounding like madonna.

I had a very good time navigating from heathrow through the underground to my place dragging 2 enormous bags. Please send Karmic goodwill to the guys who helped me drag them up the stairs at paddington (sadly, no lost bears) and oxford circus (sadly no fire eaters). In sum: if you can handle the subway, you can do the underground.

The other people in my flat are good; one other cornell guy, a girl from manchester and a guy from newcastle, and a guy from spain who I haven't really talked to yet.

it's been rainy but warm. Grey like ithaca.

They make it hard to sign up for classes. You actually have to go talk to a body, half the time just to find out you're supposed to do it online. And classes are in hour blocks--so if you have an 11-12, you're screwed for your 12-1.

Food shopping was a revelation. orange juice comes in two incarnations: smooth or 'with juicy bits.' And I think I understand America's obesity problem. Everything is too big. If you sell things in smaller packages but charge as much (or more) as Americans usually pay, then portion sized are kept in check. Ingenious.

I've been doing this from a public computer room and now I don't want to sit here any more, so I'm leaving it for now. Later!

2007-01-05T17:26:00.000Z

The Day Has Come...

It's raining here. It's raining there, too, which should not surprise me.

I hope the fact that that my luggage weighs very nearly as much as I do won't be a problem.

My mom is picking up a sandwich for me from the italian sandwich place. It is going to be perfect, delicious and melty, and also coated in garlic. I hope that hours from now, in the stuffy congested plane, my cotravelers will also think fondly on sandwiches and refrain from pitching me out the cargo hold, a la Wet Hot American Summer.

If you haven't seen that movie, you ought to. You've got time, it's break. I promise, it's worth it, and paul rudd is excellent.

Ok, I have to go put shoes on now. Yes, I did all my packing between 12 and 4 last night. No, I have no idea what's in my suitcase. This is about adventure, guys.

Goddamn!

2007-01-03T19:23:00.000Z

T minus fifty three hours until departure...

I just saw a commercial for fresh human liver.

Dirty Jerz

2006-12-19T22:31:00.000Z

Every time I come back to New Jersey from Ithaca, my days take on a certain pattern:

1. I start eating all day. Not because I'm hungry, but because I have goals... things like finishing 3 bananas before they go bad, or having the last pita/english muffin/yogurt because it is the last one (it's lonely?). Dreaming big, I have set out to finish the cheerios before christmas.

I am thus faced with the strange gastronomic choices my family makes. Here is a list of things in the fridge:
--A tupperware container filled with approximately 20 pickles, quartered lengthwise and less than cripsy
--Many cheeses: Parmesan (grated), parmesan (shredded), gruyere, monteray jack, cheddar (block) and cheddar (fancy shredded), cream cheese, cracker barrel sharp cheddar, cracker barrel baby swiss, spreadable (light, because we are concerned about fat) cheese wedges in garlic & herb and original flavors, colby jack, feta crumbles. THIS IS OUT OF CONTROL.
--a tin of lump crab
--a can of pinapples, opened, covered with tin foil as if still half-full. And yet, when I lift the tin foil to investigate, it is empty. I return it to the fridge.
--a tupperware shaker filled with an unidentifiable tan powder...too fine to be sugar or salt, wrong color to be flour, too scared to taste it, I'm hoping it's heroin. Would explain some things.
--in the freezer: a plastic baggie full of wool. Now, my mom does crafty project things and I suspect this has something to do with dyeing or treating the wool for something, but still.

2. I sleep a lot. This is to be expected, since I am exhausted from exams and moving and driving and so on, but it's part of the reentry pattern, so I mention it. I like to blame it in the difference of atmospheric pressure between ithaca and sea level making my blood oxygenated more than usual, but that's totally fabricated.

3. All of my will and sense of efficacy goes away. It's been 2 days and I still haven't unpacked my car. Every afternoon I wake up with plans, and somehow they unravel by 8 pm.

Tomorrow I will go presents shopping, though, since I have lists for that! (JERSEY MALLS!!!)

***

If you were wondering, I will be leaving on the evening of january 5th, arriving the morning of the 6th, and staying until the 12th of June.

They tell you to make copies of your passport in case it gets lost or stolen, so I did that. I'm kind of in love with my passport photo, since it's so very vague. If mine does get stolen, the future recipient has hit the photo jackpot: I look like any woman with brownish/blondish hair of caucasian/hispanic/southeast asian descent.

Exciting!!!

2006-12-12T16:44:00.000Z

I have a place to live!

It's Schafer House, allll the way at the bottom!
http://www.ucl.ac.uk/prospective-students/accommodation/residences/houses/

According to the description, rooms are "Centrally heated, carpeted, and each with a washbasin."

The first picture I post will be of my washbasin.

Tornado Kills 6 in London

2006-12-07T23:22:00.000Z

http://www.guardian.co.uk/weather/Story/0,,1966688,00.html

London, why are you so badass?

The Countdown Begins...

2006-12-06T04:19:00.000Z

Hey guys. Hey.

I have a blog. I know, it's weird, right? Because the internet, I have always asserted, is not real. Therein lies the beauty!

Well, a month from now, I will be perched on a blue polyester Economy-class seat, with one carry-on and two checked bags, hurtling over the ocean with no idea where I'm going to sleep that night or who may try to grab my ass while navigating public transportation.

I've seen zombie movies begin with less foreboding.

So I thought I might want to share some of my (inevitable, mis)adventures with some of my closest friends and the entire world who was stupid enough to google "grab ass."

Admission to this delightful handbasket to hell is this:
Friends: Say hi to me once in a while. (CAITLIN.)
Friends who have friends in London: Give me thier names and some way to contact them. Give them my name so that they know I'm coming and don't think I'm just after some foreign ass.
Strangers: Don't even let me know you're here, it's weird.

So:

Today was the "Women's Pre-Departure Informational Meeting" which was full of lovely tips and advice and free condoms, and was the last official word I shall get from this university as to what I am supposed to be doing while misplaced. Ass grabbing was a big topic of conversation. Everytime a member of the audience veered off into language barriers or clothing choices, the moderator got us right back to the important issues related to grabbing.

Did you go to third grade? Remember those uncomfortable talks the school nurse would come in to give, using ten dollar words like 'special places' and 'white van' with 'tinted windows?' Leaving half the class bewildered and the other half thinking about Uncle Billy a little differently? This felt a liiiittle like that.

But given the topic, I don't know how they resisted calling it Broads Abroad or something. Maybe I should suggest it for next year?

blog?

2006-12-06T04:15:00.001Z

testing...testing