Once again, I must apologize for real life getting in the way of the much more important realm of blogging. I had a major deadline for a project last week, and as such spent most of my waking minutes trying to make my project not suck. (It didn't, but I still felt I could have done better - making my thesis for my portfolio on said project basically write itself.)
Another of the side effects of said project was to immerse me in British culture in a way that 6 months living here couldn't match. Since 88% of my course is made up of either American or Canadian students, and our professors, though British, make allowances for that, and since my life outside the university is primarily restricted to business transactions, several sides of British life have become clear to me only in the last couple weeks.
Such as... what the hell is up with British schools and youth and whatnot? I'm not complaining about the curricula, of which I know very little; nor do I want the damn kids to get off my lawn. I'm just completely flabbergasted by the pastimes of British youth. For background, please remember that although I was a fairly straight-edged kid, I did go to school in Berkeley, where clouds of pot smoke would hang over the park where we gathered for lunch -- the park that was across the street not only from the high school but also the police station and City Hall. So it's not like I think teenagers are angels.
But when I was young, we did not set people on fire in order to wake them up. Nor was it cool to trick someone into drinking your urine. There may have been one knife fight at my school that I remember, but racial slurs shouted in the halls really weren't tolerated, and the authorities were not shy about expelling students who threatened death and dire bodily harm on other students. Or who wrecked school buildings. In the UK, however, these things were apparently a matter of course. But they're less violent than the states, because they carry knives instead of guns. I guess. I... I don't know. Don't look at me, I just live here.
I read The Anglo Files before I got out here, and it's tremendous, and I recommend it to everyone. But I really am waiting for the author to write a sequel covering violence in schools, pantos, the appeal of getting drunk at ten in the morning, why the British complain about having to pay for their prescriptions, and why they can't share the effing sidewalk.
Showing posts with label Britons in Their Natural Habitat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Britons in Their Natural Habitat. Show all posts
22.6.09
19.1.09
Stress Test
... is what this rehearsal process is turning out to be. And my reaction? Avoidance. As usual. I just want to stay home and drink cocoa and knit and maybe read. And watch TV. And not deal with rehearsals.
I know it's good for me to be this uncomfortable, and I'm learning and growing and blee blee blee, but being uncomfortable is still just... uncomfortable. Which is the kind of thing you always forget, isn't it? I'm always like, oh, Of COURSE I Would Suffer For My ART, yadda yadda, but I only ever say that when I forget about the actual "suffering" part. I Would Be Mildly Inconvenienced For My Art, more like, or I Would Do Things That Other People Might Consider Boring Or Annoying, But Which In Fact I Enjoy For My Art. Doesn't have quite the same ring though.
In other news: annoying things about Britain, part 26: Tesco's just changed its hours, and now is only open until 5pm on Sundays. DUDE, Tesco. That is sucktastic. First of all, Sunday is my only day off, so it's not like I can just stop in tomorrow. Secondly, I celebrate my days off by sleeping until mid-afternoon. It took me until five to find my damn jeans in the first place. When am I supposed to do my shopping if you're not open until 9? Thirdly, SAINSBURY'S manages to be open until 9, and so does the local co-op, and so yes, I can take my business elsewhere, sure, but Sainsburys stuff generally costs double what the same stuff at Tesco would cost, and I don't have very much money. Also, the Sainsbury's that is open late on Sundays has a much less impressive selection, AND I don't know where stuff is so it takes longer, AND they do not have individual green bell peppers, which is annoying. They have peppers, but they sell them in packs of three, one green, one yellow, one red, as if the green peppers might be planning a hostile takeover and they don't want the red peppers to end up picking cotton and riding on the back of the bus. Dude, Sainsbury's. They are PEPPERS. I only need one color. Also, your prices are atrocious. I do, however, support the fact that you sell elderflower cordial, now that the campus store has quit stocking it, in a shocking act of failure.
Also, I totally can't believe Obama is actually getting inaugurated! Yahoo! Especially since this last round of press conferences for W has made me hate him more than I thought possible. For serious. I thought I was used to the whole thing, but seeing his smirk now infuriates me and I have to go lie down and knit for like an hour.
Not that that isn't all I do anyway.
I know it's good for me to be this uncomfortable, and I'm learning and growing and blee blee blee, but being uncomfortable is still just... uncomfortable. Which is the kind of thing you always forget, isn't it? I'm always like, oh, Of COURSE I Would Suffer For My ART, yadda yadda, but I only ever say that when I forget about the actual "suffering" part. I Would Be Mildly Inconvenienced For My Art, more like, or I Would Do Things That Other People Might Consider Boring Or Annoying, But Which In Fact I Enjoy For My Art. Doesn't have quite the same ring though.
In other news: annoying things about Britain, part 26: Tesco's just changed its hours, and now is only open until 5pm on Sundays. DUDE, Tesco. That is sucktastic. First of all, Sunday is my only day off, so it's not like I can just stop in tomorrow. Secondly, I celebrate my days off by sleeping until mid-afternoon. It took me until five to find my damn jeans in the first place. When am I supposed to do my shopping if you're not open until 9? Thirdly, SAINSBURY'S manages to be open until 9, and so does the local co-op, and so yes, I can take my business elsewhere, sure, but Sainsburys stuff generally costs double what the same stuff at Tesco would cost, and I don't have very much money. Also, the Sainsbury's that is open late on Sundays has a much less impressive selection, AND I don't know where stuff is so it takes longer, AND they do not have individual green bell peppers, which is annoying. They have peppers, but they sell them in packs of three, one green, one yellow, one red, as if the green peppers might be planning a hostile takeover and they don't want the red peppers to end up picking cotton and riding on the back of the bus. Dude, Sainsbury's. They are PEPPERS. I only need one color. Also, your prices are atrocious. I do, however, support the fact that you sell elderflower cordial, now that the campus store has quit stocking it, in a shocking act of failure.
Also, I totally can't believe Obama is actually getting inaugurated! Yahoo! Especially since this last round of press conferences for W has made me hate him more than I thought possible. For serious. I thought I was used to the whole thing, but seeing his smirk now infuriates me and I have to go lie down and knit for like an hour.
Not that that isn't all I do anyway.
15.1.09
Metatheatricality
My professors toss that word around all the time. I'm pretty sure it means something, but your guess is about as good as mine about what that something might be. Maybe it's the section of the library above where they put the Theatricality books. (Ignore that joke if you don't know Aristotle trivia. What am I talking about? No one knows Aristotle trivia. I am so sleepy, you guys.)
I am actually still sleepy because I'm still trying to get back on normal time after being on Winter Break Time (go to sleep whenever you want and wake up whenever you want). And 'cause I stayed up till... um... well ... very late, to get my papers done and turned in. But! They are done, and turned in! See, I can prove it. That's one of them right there. The next time you have trouble sleeping, there it is, ready for your perusal. Guaranteed to cure any insomnia you might have. You're welcome. You know I've got your back.
Anyway. I chose that title (the metatheatricality title, not the title of the paper; the paper doesn't have a title) because it has been an intensely theatrical day. Theatrical days are difficult when you're on about four hours' sleep. (Not my fault, not entirely. Couldn't get to sleep to save my life, and the stupid smoke alarm went off at half past midnight. I hate my building sometimes.) What I was saying was, first I had rehearsal all day and then I saw a show.
Those two things alone would not really necessarily lead me to say I had a metatheatrical day. But the fevered pitch they maintained would do. It was the most rehearsalish of rehearsals, and the most showy of shows.
We're working on Much Ado About Nothing at the moment, and today was our first blocking/walkthrough of Act IV, scene i. For those unfamiliar, this is the scene where a young woman shows up to her wedding (to the guy she loves) only to get rejected by him, slandered by his best friend, disowned by her father, and talked into playing dead by her priest. So, kinda runs the gamut of emotions there. Who plays this young lady? Me. So I spent a solid chunk of the afternoon going from grinning and excited to curled up on the floor, half conscious and sobbing. Several times. And you know, it was really difficult.
It's interesting to me, because this is the first time I've acted in ages and ages -- two or three years -- and the last couple of parts I played didn't really require a deep emotional commitment. Or anyway, it was amateur enough that I could get away with just walking around charismatically, and not delving into emotional depths. And one of the reasons I stopped acting was that I didn't feel comfortable delving into those depths -- I mean, no one is really comfortable doing that, I don't think, although I've known some actors who were kind of scarily good at it. But I managed to forget just how uncomfortable it was, until today, when I really "let myself go there," (that being the technical term). It really shook me, possibly because I'm tired, and possibly because it's been so long, but also partly because "there," was a really scary place to be. It's off-putting, when you sort of know there's a scary place there, but you haven't been there in ages and aren't really sure you can find your way back there ever, and then suddenly you're right in the middle of it. And you know that you're in a process where the goal is to make it even scarier and more upsetting to be there. And that's your purpose, that's what you're doing.
I'm not sure if that makes any sense, but maybe the actors will know what I mean.
So that took me forever to deal with, and then after rehearsal (and dinner & pints at the pub; I do live in England) we went to a panto.
I'm pretty sure I'm physically unable to describe a British panto to American citizens. My theory is that with all the rain and tea and scones and whatnot, sometime between the Black Plague and getting sunstroke in India, the entirety of Britain went slowly and quietly insane. They stayed polite and dried-up about it -- they are British -- but nevertheless they are all secretly stark raving bonkers. They act all normal and then suddenly pull some sort of entertainment out of their collective asses that is basically the conceptual love child of a five-year-old and an evil genius. Case in point: Doctor Who.
Not to say these things aren't good and lovable and all that. But they are also completely insane and incomprehensible, and there's no good pretending otherwise. Our latest demonstration of this is the Panto.
A Panto (short for pantomime) is a stage play. Of sorts. I hesitate to say anything even that definite about it. Some of its elements include (in no particular order): a fairytale plotline, audience participation, live musical numbers, dirty jokes, men in drag (as queens and fairies, no less), stand-up comedy, small children, racy costumes, glitter, silly dialogue, elaborate sets, sparkles, zombies, pussycats, absurd make-up, sexy dance moves, drunk actors who forget their lines onstage and are prompted by their costars, and singing rat puppets. All of these elements (I'm not making any of this up, you guys, and all of it is pluralized for a reason) are held together with the largest serving of camp I have ever seen in my life. Think of the campiest thing that you have ever seen or imagined, double it, and add seven. It's campier than The Princess Bride, campier than Buffy, campier than Pushing Daisies. Campier than Bollywood, you guys. Campy like a redwood forest in the Sierra Nevadas.
The production I saw was The Sleeping Beauty, and did incorporate all of the elements I mentioned above. I will describe one scene, and you will just have to use your imaginations to fill in the rest -- bear in mind that the show was an hour and a half. Carabosse, the evil fairy (played by a man) has stolen into the castle by hiding in the orchestra pit (not kidding) along with her evil cat, Spindleshanks (played by a lithe young woman, in a costume that does not belong in the same room as children, even if the room is a theater). They have smuggled in a spinning wheel and plan to make the Princess Aurora prick her finger on it in a matter of moments. Everytime Carabosse enters, the audience boo and hiss. As loudly as possible. Also, every time she speaks. Manly Carabosse and sexy Spindleshanks cavort around the stage a bit, collecting these boos and hisses, and finally ask the audience if they should leave the stage. The audience boos and hisses more. Carabosse and Spindleshanks respond by launching into a live musical cover of "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" by the Clash.
Dude, could I make this up?
Other song and dance numbers included "Someday My Prince Will Come," "Any Dream Will Do," "We Go Together," and of course, "Mamma Mia." The audience is encouraged to sing along.
Those of you who were shaking your heads about my declaration of British insanity a couple paragraphs up? I rest my case. Facts, people. Cold, hard, facts. Educational experiences of the day.
I am actually still sleepy because I'm still trying to get back on normal time after being on Winter Break Time (go to sleep whenever you want and wake up whenever you want). And 'cause I stayed up till... um... well ... very late, to get my papers done and turned in. But! They are done, and turned in! See, I can prove it. That's one of them right there. The next time you have trouble sleeping, there it is, ready for your perusal. Guaranteed to cure any insomnia you might have. You're welcome. You know I've got your back.
Anyway. I chose that title (the metatheatricality title, not the title of the paper; the paper doesn't have a title) because it has been an intensely theatrical day. Theatrical days are difficult when you're on about four hours' sleep. (Not my fault, not entirely. Couldn't get to sleep to save my life, and the stupid smoke alarm went off at half past midnight. I hate my building sometimes.) What I was saying was, first I had rehearsal all day and then I saw a show.
Those two things alone would not really necessarily lead me to say I had a metatheatrical day. But the fevered pitch they maintained would do. It was the most rehearsalish of rehearsals, and the most showy of shows.
We're working on Much Ado About Nothing at the moment, and today was our first blocking/walkthrough of Act IV, scene i. For those unfamiliar, this is the scene where a young woman shows up to her wedding (to the guy she loves) only to get rejected by him, slandered by his best friend, disowned by her father, and talked into playing dead by her priest. So, kinda runs the gamut of emotions there. Who plays this young lady? Me. So I spent a solid chunk of the afternoon going from grinning and excited to curled up on the floor, half conscious and sobbing. Several times. And you know, it was really difficult.
It's interesting to me, because this is the first time I've acted in ages and ages -- two or three years -- and the last couple of parts I played didn't really require a deep emotional commitment. Or anyway, it was amateur enough that I could get away with just walking around charismatically, and not delving into emotional depths. And one of the reasons I stopped acting was that I didn't feel comfortable delving into those depths -- I mean, no one is really comfortable doing that, I don't think, although I've known some actors who were kind of scarily good at it. But I managed to forget just how uncomfortable it was, until today, when I really "let myself go there," (that being the technical term). It really shook me, possibly because I'm tired, and possibly because it's been so long, but also partly because "there," was a really scary place to be. It's off-putting, when you sort of know there's a scary place there, but you haven't been there in ages and aren't really sure you can find your way back there ever, and then suddenly you're right in the middle of it. And you know that you're in a process where the goal is to make it even scarier and more upsetting to be there. And that's your purpose, that's what you're doing.
I'm not sure if that makes any sense, but maybe the actors will know what I mean.
So that took me forever to deal with, and then after rehearsal (and dinner & pints at the pub; I do live in England) we went to a panto.
I'm pretty sure I'm physically unable to describe a British panto to American citizens. My theory is that with all the rain and tea and scones and whatnot, sometime between the Black Plague and getting sunstroke in India, the entirety of Britain went slowly and quietly insane. They stayed polite and dried-up about it -- they are British -- but nevertheless they are all secretly stark raving bonkers. They act all normal and then suddenly pull some sort of entertainment out of their collective asses that is basically the conceptual love child of a five-year-old and an evil genius. Case in point: Doctor Who.
Not to say these things aren't good and lovable and all that. But they are also completely insane and incomprehensible, and there's no good pretending otherwise. Our latest demonstration of this is the Panto.
A Panto (short for pantomime) is a stage play. Of sorts. I hesitate to say anything even that definite about it. Some of its elements include (in no particular order): a fairytale plotline, audience participation, live musical numbers, dirty jokes, men in drag (as queens and fairies, no less), stand-up comedy, small children, racy costumes, glitter, silly dialogue, elaborate sets, sparkles, zombies, pussycats, absurd make-up, sexy dance moves, drunk actors who forget their lines onstage and are prompted by their costars, and singing rat puppets. All of these elements (I'm not making any of this up, you guys, and all of it is pluralized for a reason) are held together with the largest serving of camp I have ever seen in my life. Think of the campiest thing that you have ever seen or imagined, double it, and add seven. It's campier than The Princess Bride, campier than Buffy, campier than Pushing Daisies. Campier than Bollywood, you guys. Campy like a redwood forest in the Sierra Nevadas.
The production I saw was The Sleeping Beauty, and did incorporate all of the elements I mentioned above. I will describe one scene, and you will just have to use your imaginations to fill in the rest -- bear in mind that the show was an hour and a half. Carabosse, the evil fairy (played by a man) has stolen into the castle by hiding in the orchestra pit (not kidding) along with her evil cat, Spindleshanks (played by a lithe young woman, in a costume that does not belong in the same room as children, even if the room is a theater). They have smuggled in a spinning wheel and plan to make the Princess Aurora prick her finger on it in a matter of moments. Everytime Carabosse enters, the audience boo and hiss. As loudly as possible. Also, every time she speaks. Manly Carabosse and sexy Spindleshanks cavort around the stage a bit, collecting these boos and hisses, and finally ask the audience if they should leave the stage. The audience boos and hisses more. Carabosse and Spindleshanks respond by launching into a live musical cover of "Should I Stay or Should I Go?" by the Clash.
Dude, could I make this up?
Other song and dance numbers included "Someday My Prince Will Come," "Any Dream Will Do," "We Go Together," and of course, "Mamma Mia." The audience is encouraged to sing along.
Those of you who were shaking your heads about my declaration of British insanity a couple paragraphs up? I rest my case. Facts, people. Cold, hard, facts. Educational experiences of the day.
28.12.08
Tidings of Comfort, Joy, and Irritation
New Year's Resolution: To write in my blog weekly, rather than whenever I feel like it. So Sunday is now my update day, and I am all about starting this week while the resolution is still fresh. Earlier the start, sooner the habit forms.
I'm hoping that will also work with flossing. I hate flossing.
Anyway. I've survived my first Christmas away from home with somewhat less pain than predicted. What sucked was that on like, December 23, I got sick, in the dramatic way that my body does, wherein I am perfectly fine one day and wake up the next with The Blob That Ate Tokyo sitting in my nasal cavity, and then on the third I have a light case of the sniffles. But I lost all energy for a few days and woke up Christmas morning in a room covered in Kleenex and it was faintly depressing.
But then I went over to my friend Allette's house, and hung around chatting with her and her husband and playing with her daughters and generally having a nice relaxing time of it. KitKat and Nebcla showed up a little later, and so we could talk a bit of shop and have plenty of fun. Thus the secret to Christmas away from home is the same as the secret of birthdays away from home: take it easy and give yourself a break.
What is not getting off so easy is stupid Royal Mail and UPS, who managed to deliver my big family box the day after Christmas. Like, thanks, kids. It is exactly a big enough deal to be annoying, because the presents for my family are small, and would have been a nice addition to Christmas but are a little silly to be getting their own party. But whatever. I am glad they got there, and there's not much else I can do.
SPEAKING of mail, I am unimpressed with the campus services (or lack thereof) over break. The building with the laundry room and the mail delivery point was closed over Christmas and is open now only six hours a day. Well, there aren't many of us here, and I can live with that. What annoys me is that the people who work to keep it open are leaving early every single chance they get. They're only even supposed to be there from ten to four, but they'll leave early whenever humanly possible. I got told off yesterday for bringing my laundry in at 2:03pm, because the porter had been planning on going home at two. "Last wash is at two," he said, all annoyed, "so that I can leave by four." What time was it? As aforementioned, it was 2:03. And then he complained that now, because I had the audacity to do my laundry, he would have to stay for "another two hours." Namely... until four. Which was when he was supposed to leave anyway. In the US, you do not get to complain about actually having to finish your shift at work. For serious. And he was, to me, quite a lot. Like five solid minutes of wondering aloud why I couldn't get out of bed sooner to do my damn laundry. What time did my laundry finish? 3:45. So it wasn't like I was making him stay late, even. When I tried to check my mail today, around 3, the office was long deserted. Dude, if you don't want to actually do the work you're paid to do, quit, fool. It's what I did. But don't bitch to me about actually having to work (read: sit around on your ass on campus instead of at home) because I need some clean clothes.
Now that the room's clean and the laundry's done, I have nothing to think about except how little I want to start my over-break homework. I've been putting it off all day. (Well, all eight hours since I woke up, anyway. You can tell I'm back at a university, anticipating paper-writing, from my sleep schedule, which has been atrocious recently.) Actually, I've been putting it off since the start of break, but now break is half over and I'm going to die painfully if I don't get going on it.
Jeez, if this is all it takes to get me going, updating every week should be cake. Possibly the trick is to have a paper due every Monday.
I'm hoping that will also work with flossing. I hate flossing.
Anyway. I've survived my first Christmas away from home with somewhat less pain than predicted. What sucked was that on like, December 23, I got sick, in the dramatic way that my body does, wherein I am perfectly fine one day and wake up the next with The Blob That Ate Tokyo sitting in my nasal cavity, and then on the third I have a light case of the sniffles. But I lost all energy for a few days and woke up Christmas morning in a room covered in Kleenex and it was faintly depressing.
But then I went over to my friend Allette's house, and hung around chatting with her and her husband and playing with her daughters and generally having a nice relaxing time of it. KitKat and Nebcla showed up a little later, and so we could talk a bit of shop and have plenty of fun. Thus the secret to Christmas away from home is the same as the secret of birthdays away from home: take it easy and give yourself a break.
What is not getting off so easy is stupid Royal Mail and UPS, who managed to deliver my big family box the day after Christmas. Like, thanks, kids. It is exactly a big enough deal to be annoying, because the presents for my family are small, and would have been a nice addition to Christmas but are a little silly to be getting their own party. But whatever. I am glad they got there, and there's not much else I can do.
SPEAKING of mail, I am unimpressed with the campus services (or lack thereof) over break. The building with the laundry room and the mail delivery point was closed over Christmas and is open now only six hours a day. Well, there aren't many of us here, and I can live with that. What annoys me is that the people who work to keep it open are leaving early every single chance they get. They're only even supposed to be there from ten to four, but they'll leave early whenever humanly possible. I got told off yesterday for bringing my laundry in at 2:03pm, because the porter had been planning on going home at two. "Last wash is at two," he said, all annoyed, "so that I can leave by four." What time was it? As aforementioned, it was 2:03. And then he complained that now, because I had the audacity to do my laundry, he would have to stay for "another two hours." Namely... until four. Which was when he was supposed to leave anyway. In the US, you do not get to complain about actually having to finish your shift at work. For serious. And he was, to me, quite a lot. Like five solid minutes of wondering aloud why I couldn't get out of bed sooner to do my damn laundry. What time did my laundry finish? 3:45. So it wasn't like I was making him stay late, even. When I tried to check my mail today, around 3, the office was long deserted. Dude, if you don't want to actually do the work you're paid to do, quit, fool. It's what I did. But don't bitch to me about actually having to work (read: sit around on your ass on campus instead of at home) because I need some clean clothes.
Now that the room's clean and the laundry's done, I have nothing to think about except how little I want to start my over-break homework. I've been putting it off all day. (Well, all eight hours since I woke up, anyway. You can tell I'm back at a university, anticipating paper-writing, from my sleep schedule, which has been atrocious recently.) Actually, I've been putting it off since the start of break, but now break is half over and I'm going to die painfully if I don't get going on it.
Jeez, if this is all it takes to get me going, updating every week should be cake. Possibly the trick is to have a paper due every Monday.
20.11.08
This Week in Devon
Seen: Cows. No, really, because today for the first time, there were cows in the pasture that I walk by to get to the Drama building. This pasture is reasonably large, and has quite a steep ravine running through it, as well as plenty of flora along the edges. So I do not know if the cows have always been there, or if they are a new addition. But there they are, a dozen or so black and white cows, now part of my morning walk.
Heard: A detailed plot synopsis of The Sound of Music including musical interludes of "Do Re Mi" and "Something Good." The interesting part is that I heard this through my kitchen window (which must perforce remain permanently open so that the super-sensitive smoke detectors don't go off merely because someone walks near the stove). So someone was giving this synopsis either above, below, or kitty-corner to me, also with their window open. I was tempted to start belting out "Eidelweiss" while doing my dishes, just to hear their reaction, but I have not the singing skills.
Smelt: The difference in the air between "cool," "crisp," "clear, but with a promise of rain," "foggy, but not rainy," and "pack your umbrella, fool." I am just getting the hang of this whole weather phenomenon. My favorite smell is "clear with a promise of rain" because it smells so soft, and clean, like some sort of atmospheric laundry detergent. Without actually smelling like laundry detergent, of course.
Tasted: Or rather, un-tasted: the avocado I bought from the farmer's market. I knew it, I knew that buying an avocado in England was a bad idea -- how can they ripen with no sun? -- and yet I missed California enough that I let the farmer's marked dude talk me into buying one for 70p. I knew better, I did, and yet I bought it anyway. And lo and behold, cooked into my quesadilla this evening was the Phantom Avocado of No Flavor. (The hot pasty I had for lunch was good though. God bless Oggy Oggy.)
Touched: My friend Nebcla's hair, which is awesome. If you've ever read Ramona the Pest, perhaps you remember how she got in major trouble in kindergarten for pulling Susan's hair. Susan is described as having red ringlets that corkscrew around so that when you pull them and release them, they bounce. (Ramona always says "Boing!" when she pulls Susan's hair, in the book.) I always thought such hair was a myth, created by a children's author, like princesses and dragons and children who drop out of kindergarten and mothers who let them get away with it. But no! Well, the other stuff is a myth, yeah, but my friend Nebcla really does have hair like Susan's and every now and then she lets me boing it.
Heard: A detailed plot synopsis of The Sound of Music including musical interludes of "Do Re Mi" and "Something Good." The interesting part is that I heard this through my kitchen window (which must perforce remain permanently open so that the super-sensitive smoke detectors don't go off merely because someone walks near the stove). So someone was giving this synopsis either above, below, or kitty-corner to me, also with their window open. I was tempted to start belting out "Eidelweiss" while doing my dishes, just to hear their reaction, but I have not the singing skills.
Smelt: The difference in the air between "cool," "crisp," "clear, but with a promise of rain," "foggy, but not rainy," and "pack your umbrella, fool." I am just getting the hang of this whole weather phenomenon. My favorite smell is "clear with a promise of rain" because it smells so soft, and clean, like some sort of atmospheric laundry detergent. Without actually smelling like laundry detergent, of course.
Tasted: Or rather, un-tasted: the avocado I bought from the farmer's market. I knew it, I knew that buying an avocado in England was a bad idea -- how can they ripen with no sun? -- and yet I missed California enough that I let the farmer's marked dude talk me into buying one for 70p. I knew better, I did, and yet I bought it anyway. And lo and behold, cooked into my quesadilla this evening was the Phantom Avocado of No Flavor. (The hot pasty I had for lunch was good though. God bless Oggy Oggy.)
Touched: My friend Nebcla's hair, which is awesome. If you've ever read Ramona the Pest, perhaps you remember how she got in major trouble in kindergarten for pulling Susan's hair. Susan is described as having red ringlets that corkscrew around so that when you pull them and release them, they bounce. (Ramona always says "Boing!" when she pulls Susan's hair, in the book.) I always thought such hair was a myth, created by a children's author, like princesses and dragons and children who drop out of kindergarten and mothers who let them get away with it. But no! Well, the other stuff is a myth, yeah, but my friend Nebcla really does have hair like Susan's and every now and then she lets me boing it.
11.11.08
"I will swear to study so, to know the thing I am forbid to know"
Yeah, um, that whole bit about promising to keep up with my blog when I left? *shrug* Ooops.
There's so many new things and so much is overwhelming, that it's always hard for me to write for a little while after first moving I think. Anyway, that's my excuse and I'll stick with it for now. To catch up I find I must list again.
1. Devon weather is both better and worse than I expected. There is actually occasional sunlight. Whee! I had no idea. It's thrilling. There is also HAIL. I HATE hail.
2. I don't want to say my program is better and worse than I expected, but in bits that's true. Tuesdays are my happy day: I have only one class, and it consists of theater games, ensemble building, and text work (three of my favorite things ever). My prof even made me enjoy a Dogberry scene today. I normally hate Dogberry. (Great miracles are being wrought, for reals. Last week, thanks to my other prof, I was able to conceive of a production of Hamlet that would actually have a point. I know! I too was shocked.) However, there is also a lot of slogging through Webster and Middleton plays. If I wanted to read Webster's plays, I would have signed up for a Webster course, uh duh.
3. Various aspects of university life are annoying, such as a dorm room that looks slightly like a prison, but various aspects are also enjoyable, such as living walking distance from everywhere I need to go, and having my friends over to watch Doctor Who with no planning involved.
4. Speaking of Doctor Who, and how I am in love with it, I have found a whole slew of DVDs of episodes from the sixties through the eighties. God bless the local library, exorbitant fees and all! I was a wee bit apprehensive, since I love the new one so, but after the first five minutes of "The War Machines" I am thrilled with my find. It's in black and white for crying out loud! It's ADORABLE. I love this Doctor with his monocle!
5. On the sad side, I wish my baby sis and my ducks were here to enjoy the awesome with me. How much do I miss my ducks? I love my new ensemble, but every time I learn a new theater game I feel like taking it home and teaching it to my ducks. I have like five saved up for you guys.
6. Cooking for myself is SO much more of a hassle without Trader Joe's. For fricking real.
7. The Brits join the majority of Americans in being very happy about our election results. My Obama t-shirts are big hits. However, the Brits will not get as much of my reciporical love until they learn to move out of the fricking way and let other people SHARE the sidewalk. Sharing is caring, you crazy wankers. Also, build some chairs with desks attached; taking lecture notes on my knees is annoying.
8. I wish I could offer some good book reccommends but I've been reading nothing but trash and plays lately. I will say that I am intrigued that they made a movie of a 16th century play and cast Christopher Eccleston as the lead. I think everyone should see it, but maybe only because I want to so badly.
9. I am hitting my self discipline issues again, but I have gotten a job (as one of those people everyone finds really annoying) and joined archery squad (though I was a bad girl and skipped it this evening in favor of relaxing in my newly clean room).
10. I'm sure I'll think of a ten once I post this; something I forgot to mention that everyone should see -- oh, my birthday was good. I had yummy cream tea and bought some new books. There, there's a ten.
There's so many new things and so much is overwhelming, that it's always hard for me to write for a little while after first moving I think. Anyway, that's my excuse and I'll stick with it for now. To catch up I find I must list again.
1. Devon weather is both better and worse than I expected. There is actually occasional sunlight. Whee! I had no idea. It's thrilling. There is also HAIL. I HATE hail.
2. I don't want to say my program is better and worse than I expected, but in bits that's true. Tuesdays are my happy day: I have only one class, and it consists of theater games, ensemble building, and text work (three of my favorite things ever). My prof even made me enjoy a Dogberry scene today. I normally hate Dogberry. (Great miracles are being wrought, for reals. Last week, thanks to my other prof, I was able to conceive of a production of Hamlet that would actually have a point. I know! I too was shocked.) However, there is also a lot of slogging through Webster and Middleton plays. If I wanted to read Webster's plays, I would have signed up for a Webster course, uh duh.
3. Various aspects of university life are annoying, such as a dorm room that looks slightly like a prison, but various aspects are also enjoyable, such as living walking distance from everywhere I need to go, and having my friends over to watch Doctor Who with no planning involved.
4. Speaking of Doctor Who, and how I am in love with it, I have found a whole slew of DVDs of episodes from the sixties through the eighties. God bless the local library, exorbitant fees and all! I was a wee bit apprehensive, since I love the new one so, but after the first five minutes of "The War Machines" I am thrilled with my find. It's in black and white for crying out loud! It's ADORABLE. I love this Doctor with his monocle!
5. On the sad side, I wish my baby sis and my ducks were here to enjoy the awesome with me. How much do I miss my ducks? I love my new ensemble, but every time I learn a new theater game I feel like taking it home and teaching it to my ducks. I have like five saved up for you guys.
6. Cooking for myself is SO much more of a hassle without Trader Joe's. For fricking real.
7. The Brits join the majority of Americans in being very happy about our election results. My Obama t-shirts are big hits. However, the Brits will not get as much of my reciporical love until they learn to move out of the fricking way and let other people SHARE the sidewalk. Sharing is caring, you crazy wankers. Also, build some chairs with desks attached; taking lecture notes on my knees is annoying.
8. I wish I could offer some good book reccommends but I've been reading nothing but trash and plays lately. I will say that I am intrigued that they made a movie of a 16th century play and cast Christopher Eccleston as the lead. I think everyone should see it, but maybe only because I want to so badly.
9. I am hitting my self discipline issues again, but I have gotten a job (as one of those people everyone finds really annoying) and joined archery squad (though I was a bad girl and skipped it this evening in favor of relaxing in my newly clean room).
10. I'm sure I'll think of a ten once I post this; something I forgot to mention that everyone should see -- oh, my birthday was good. I had yummy cream tea and bought some new books. There, there's a ten.
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