Sunday, August 26, 2007
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Riding Off Into the Sunset
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!
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!
Friday, May 25, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
!!!
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.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Slog
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)!
...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)!
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Challenge
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
3. an animal (living creature) bigger than a dog
4. someone swimming
5. a grandfather clock
6. a can of baked beans
7. a gun or cannon
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:
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?
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?
Monday, May 14, 2007
Another Lisa Story
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.
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.
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