At some point, I went into Brighton -- a free trip sponsored by classes on romanticism and modernism. It was cold but really cool and there is a pavilion that is "Oriental" in every sense of the word.
Meaning, of course, that it is an utterly ridiculous mishmash of Indian, Chinese, and god-knows-what-else put together by an English ruler. It's beautiful, though. There is a chandelier with a dragon holding it up.
Brighton also has a huge street market, or whatever you call those things where the shops spill out into the alleys for a square mile or two.
That was March 5th, anyway.
Today, I just got back from a weekend in Edinburgh, Scotland. My head is so full of everything I've seen that I don't know where to start.
The bus tour, I suppose. Paula and I took a 12-hour trip around Glencoe, the Highlands, and Loch Ness. Unfortunately, it was very cold and wet out that day, and snowed more often than not. Paula had never seen snow before and was visibly enchanted at first, but then disappointed by the timing of it. The snow made it difficult to see very far, meaning that our tour guide was often reduced to saying things like "And now on the far right is [insert awesome memorial/landmark/Nessie], which. . .you may not be able to see." I opted for the optional "tour" of Urquhart Castle and "cruise" of Loch Ness. The "tour" was self-guided, which I actually liked, since Urquhart is a ruin and fun to explore on your own. The "cruise" was a bit grand of a label, though, considering that the boat was too small to allow all guests to remain in the saloon, where it was warm and dry. They sold tea, though, so I stood out on deck with a cup and watched. Not for anything in particular. Remember how I mentioned the snow? It was still coming down at that point. And it was extremely windy. At one point, I swear I saw snow going upwards.
More on Scotland later -- for now, it's one a.m. and I have class in the morning.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
STILL no place like London!
First off, yesterday was my mother's birthday. And before anyone asks, she's twenty-nine. Happy (belated) birthday, Mum! <3
If you hadn't guessed from the title, I just got back from London again. This time, I went with some of my flatmates -- taking the train there with Love (seriously) and Matt, then meeting up with Robyn and Isa and Baya (Bea? Beya? someone correct me here please. I don't know how to spell it because she doesn't actually live in our flat) for lunch and general wandering. Isa had obtained buy-one-get-one-for-one-pound vouchers for gourmet burgers at...someplace near Soho? I cannot remember the name, but my burger had guacamole and bacon on it and was delicious and also huge. And I paid five pounds for it, which was very cheap considering the size of the burger (i.e., comparable to my head) and the fact that it had avocado on it, and the fact that we are in England. :3
We checked ticket prices for musical matinees at Leicaster Square -- which I still can't pronounce quite right. However, the girls were none-too-enthused by either the choices or the prices (Grease and Chicago were playing, both for about thirty pounds, and I don't remember any others because I am lame). They also had their hearts set on seeing Wicked, though, so I can't really blame them. It was decided that we would go shopping instead, so we spend the afternoon on Oxford Street, which has all the really big clothing shops. The ones I remember hitting are H&M, River Island, and a place called Primark (yes, Disser, it's pronounced like you think it is) which is kind of like a British Sam's Club but only for clothing. In all the shops, I tried on a ton of things -- including some awesome heeled boots that I couldn't really walk in -- and had a good deal of fun because I still hadn't quite figured out British sizing. I didn't buy a lot. Actually, I bought exactly one item: a River Island shirt that was on sale and fit me very well. :) I also tried Ben's Cookies for the first time. Triple Chocolate Chunk, which was basically three large chunks of chocolate held together by a small amount of chocolate cookie. Friggin' delicious.
After Primark, we decided we were all tired but too full from lunch to go get dinner, so we spent 30-45 minutes or so trying to track down the boys. The directions we were given over the phone amounted to something like this:
"We're somewhere off Regent Street. On Kingsomething. In a pub. Take the first left and the first right. The pub's name is C-A-somethingsomething." (In the boys' defense, they'd already been there a little while.)
We still found it, though I think I can take full credit for finding the boys themselves, as we initially thought we still had the wrong pub and were about to give up when I checked upstairs. Found 'em, and they'd been joined by Charles at that point as well. The girls and I sat around for a bit, debating about where to go. I was heading back to Colchester for the evening, but the rest of the girls had more local lodgings. During the discussion, I snagged a rum and coke from the bar (it was overpriced but tasty). The girls decided to just grab some fast food and head home. I decided to finish my drink and head home, and so we said goodbye to the boys and left, the four of us parting ways at Oxford Circus.
Robyn said she felt bad about leaving me to head home alone. I, er, may have laughed a little. It was nice to hear, though.
Also, earlier this week, while I was trying dragonfruit* for the first time in our kitchen, Robyn and Matt jokingly suggested that I post descriptions of all my flatmates in the blog. I won't be doing that, because it could lead to trouble, and also there are thirteen of us so I don't know everyone that well, and also because I am lazy. But for the record, Matt is a comfortably-closeted individual whose favorite pastimes include kicking puppies and playing ultimate Frisbee, and Robyn is secretly a unicorn.
----
*Verdict: Interesting but not as tasty as expected. Kind of like starfruit, but with white flesh, no funny shape, and a lot of little black seeds like kiwi. And less flavor. It is from a cactus, after all.
If you hadn't guessed from the title, I just got back from London again. This time, I went with some of my flatmates -- taking the train there with Love (seriously) and Matt, then meeting up with Robyn and Isa and Baya (Bea? Beya? someone correct me here please. I don't know how to spell it because she doesn't actually live in our flat) for lunch and general wandering. Isa had obtained buy-one-get-one-for-one-pound vouchers for gourmet burgers at...someplace near Soho? I cannot remember the name, but my burger had guacamole and bacon on it and was delicious and also huge. And I paid five pounds for it, which was very cheap considering the size of the burger (i.e., comparable to my head) and the fact that it had avocado on it, and the fact that we are in England. :3
We checked ticket prices for musical matinees at Leicaster Square -- which I still can't pronounce quite right. However, the girls were none-too-enthused by either the choices or the prices (Grease and Chicago were playing, both for about thirty pounds, and I don't remember any others because I am lame). They also had their hearts set on seeing Wicked, though, so I can't really blame them. It was decided that we would go shopping instead, so we spend the afternoon on Oxford Street, which has all the really big clothing shops. The ones I remember hitting are H&M, River Island, and a place called Primark (yes, Disser, it's pronounced like you think it is) which is kind of like a British Sam's Club but only for clothing. In all the shops, I tried on a ton of things -- including some awesome heeled boots that I couldn't really walk in -- and had a good deal of fun because I still hadn't quite figured out British sizing. I didn't buy a lot. Actually, I bought exactly one item: a River Island shirt that was on sale and fit me very well. :) I also tried Ben's Cookies for the first time. Triple Chocolate Chunk, which was basically three large chunks of chocolate held together by a small amount of chocolate cookie. Friggin' delicious.
After Primark, we decided we were all tired but too full from lunch to go get dinner, so we spent 30-45 minutes or so trying to track down the boys. The directions we were given over the phone amounted to something like this:
"We're somewhere off Regent Street. On Kingsomething. In a pub. Take the first left and the first right. The pub's name is C-A-somethingsomething." (In the boys' defense, they'd already been there a little while.)
We still found it, though I think I can take full credit for finding the boys themselves, as we initially thought we still had the wrong pub and were about to give up when I checked upstairs. Found 'em, and they'd been joined by Charles at that point as well. The girls and I sat around for a bit, debating about where to go. I was heading back to Colchester for the evening, but the rest of the girls had more local lodgings. During the discussion, I snagged a rum and coke from the bar (it was overpriced but tasty). The girls decided to just grab some fast food and head home. I decided to finish my drink and head home, and so we said goodbye to the boys and left, the four of us parting ways at Oxford Circus.
Robyn said she felt bad about leaving me to head home alone. I, er, may have laughed a little. It was nice to hear, though.
Also, earlier this week, while I was trying dragonfruit* for the first time in our kitchen, Robyn and Matt jokingly suggested that I post descriptions of all my flatmates in the blog. I won't be doing that, because it could lead to trouble, and also there are thirteen of us so I don't know everyone that well, and also because I am lazy. But for the record, Matt is a comfortably-closeted individual whose favorite pastimes include kicking puppies and playing ultimate Frisbee, and Robyn is secretly a unicorn.
----
*Verdict: Interesting but not as tasty as expected. Kind of like starfruit, but with white flesh, no funny shape, and a lot of little black seeds like kiwi. And less flavor. It is from a cactus, after all.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
hrblhrblhrbl
I haven't done anything massively interesting in the past week and some. I did, however, go to see Ghost Train Porters (a local country-ish band) at The Bull (a pub which does not serve food >.< ) last week.
Normally, I'm not big on country music. I don't hate it, but I don't truly hate any genre of music. I grew up listening to country music because that's pretty much the only thing my dad will stand to listen to in the car. Oh, and NPR if Mom's driving. So I do like a good handful of songs. I like Reba McEntire, though not so much that I didn't have to Google her to check the spelling of her name. And it turns out that I haven't heard a Johnny Cash song I didn't like. However, I'm not a huge fan of Taylor Swift and I do not think that "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" is a classic masterpiece. (I am not making that song up. It exists and it is very, very bad)
But anyone who has lived in the rural US is aware that everyone, at some point, tries to form a country group. And usually they're mediocre at best.
Ghost Train Porters was the best local country group I've seen. And they're freaking British. WTF. They were a lot of fun to listen to, though -- they had a strong reggae influence, even nodding to it by explaining that one song was specifically "cowboy reggae." The singer was good, with a touch of growliness to his voice -- which I like in male singers. Probably helped that he and the other guitarist were kinda cute. :3
Also, I wanted to thank them afterward for not all showing up wearing cowboy boots, chaps, and cowboy hats. I appreciated the lack of bullshit there.
I've also discovered yet another Sam, who Mona and I have dubbed Achilles because we simply cannot have two Sams in one conversation (Samuel is now Samwise to us as well, just because we can). Unfortunately, Achilles and I have discovered that we are perfectly capable of having an entire conversation in tropes (if you don't know what I mean by that, go to this site and search for your favorite movie or book. I'll wait). This can only end badly. (And if you don't know why that is, go here.)
I probably should acknowledge Valentine's Day -- though I'm the sort of person who always kinda likes it, regardless of my relationship status. I don't like the marketing, I don't like the assumption that you're supposed to spend as much as you care about a person because that's bogus any time of the year, but I like the general idea of a day reminding people to be thoughtful. To not take their boyfriend-girlfriend-spouse-serious-sort-of-whatever-thing for granted. Of course, the majority don't think like this, and plenty of couples get into arguments because someone forgot somehow or "didn't spend enough" or whatever. Me, I like making cards, or going to a chocolate shop and picking out a few specialty truffles, or baking things. Please note that none of those things would cost more than $15 maximum. I like thoughtful gifts, and while shinies are very nice and I love getting them, I've never been in a relationship where I expected to receive them as a matter of course.
And if you don't have a serious-sort-of-thing-going, Valentine's Day is an excuse to hang out with other friends who don't and eat chocolate and watch bad movies. This year, I made brownies for my flat- and class-mates. Which were delicious, by the way. The brownies. Not the people.
Also, I always get something on Valentine's Day regardless, because my father always gives all the females in the family gifts -- my mother, my sister, and me. Chocolates and a card, and this year was not an exception and I have chocolates with booze in them. :D This probably has something to do with me liking the holiday. Chocolate is awesome.
Normally, I'm not big on country music. I don't hate it, but I don't truly hate any genre of music. I grew up listening to country music because that's pretty much the only thing my dad will stand to listen to in the car. Oh, and NPR if Mom's driving. So I do like a good handful of songs. I like Reba McEntire, though not so much that I didn't have to Google her to check the spelling of her name. And it turns out that I haven't heard a Johnny Cash song I didn't like. However, I'm not a huge fan of Taylor Swift and I do not think that "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" is a classic masterpiece. (I am not making that song up. It exists and it is very, very bad)
But anyone who has lived in the rural US is aware that everyone, at some point, tries to form a country group. And usually they're mediocre at best.
Ghost Train Porters was the best local country group I've seen. And they're freaking British. WTF. They were a lot of fun to listen to, though -- they had a strong reggae influence, even nodding to it by explaining that one song was specifically "cowboy reggae." The singer was good, with a touch of growliness to his voice -- which I like in male singers. Probably helped that he and the other guitarist were kinda cute. :3
Also, I wanted to thank them afterward for not all showing up wearing cowboy boots, chaps, and cowboy hats. I appreciated the lack of bullshit there.
I've also discovered yet another Sam, who Mona and I have dubbed Achilles because we simply cannot have two Sams in one conversation (Samuel is now Samwise to us as well, just because we can). Unfortunately, Achilles and I have discovered that we are perfectly capable of having an entire conversation in tropes (if you don't know what I mean by that, go to this site and search for your favorite movie or book. I'll wait). This can only end badly. (And if you don't know why that is, go here.)
I probably should acknowledge Valentine's Day -- though I'm the sort of person who always kinda likes it, regardless of my relationship status. I don't like the marketing, I don't like the assumption that you're supposed to spend as much as you care about a person because that's bogus any time of the year, but I like the general idea of a day reminding people to be thoughtful. To not take their boyfriend-girlfriend-spouse-serious-sort-of-whatever-thing for granted. Of course, the majority don't think like this, and plenty of couples get into arguments because someone forgot somehow or "didn't spend enough" or whatever. Me, I like making cards, or going to a chocolate shop and picking out a few specialty truffles, or baking things. Please note that none of those things would cost more than $15 maximum. I like thoughtful gifts, and while shinies are very nice and I love getting them, I've never been in a relationship where I expected to receive them as a matter of course.
And if you don't have a serious-sort-of-thing-going, Valentine's Day is an excuse to hang out with other friends who don't and eat chocolate and watch bad movies. This year, I made brownies for my flat- and class-mates. Which were delicious, by the way. The brownies. Not the people.
Also, I always get something on Valentine's Day regardless, because my father always gives all the females in the family gifts -- my mother, my sister, and me. Chocolates and a card, and this year was not an exception and I have chocolates with booze in them. :D This probably has something to do with me liking the holiday. Chocolate is awesome.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
But There's No Place Like London. . . .
So, this past week I've gone to see a live production of the musical Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, gotten a haircut, visited a sweet shop and a bookshop in Colchester, and went into London for the first time! Unless you count the airport, but if you count the airport you are a stupid butt.
Samuel and Mona went with me to the sweet shop, bookshop, and musical. I think I entertained them by being way too entertained by all the different kinds of candy and how good everything was. But I have a sweet tooth the size of Manhattan, and besides that, English sweets are massively better than American. Something to do with using real flavors and real sugar instead of wax and corn syrup, I think. But I tried black licorice filled with fondant (which was a bit weird) and some rum raisin fudge (which tasted like sweet, solid rum), and Samuel shared some sherbet-y thingies (the English kind, which is a fruit-flavored sweet powder that fizzes; in the US, if you get sherbet it will actually be a type of ice cream), and Mona got a bunch of things and shared all of them -- including some boiled sweets with sherbet in the middle. Then we ate McDonald's, so I guess it wasn't so different from being in America after all. Except here, the apple pies are deep fried rather than baked, so they're more like a doughnut than a pie (turns out Mona has a sweet tooth to rival mine, which is great because I'll have someone to share candy with). On the subject of sweet things, I think I may need to try some ice cream parlours around here as well -- during the intermission of Sweeney Todd, Mona bought a miniature tub of vanilla ice cream from concessions. It tasted like vanilla extract mixed with cream.
So, screw drinking. I'm saving my money for sweets. (Though before the show, I did also try a lemonade shandy, which was interesting but not quite to my taste.)
Seeing Sweeney Todd live was utterly amazing, but I kind of wish we'd gone earlier in the run. As it was, the show was a week in and the actors had obviously been pushed too hard. Sweeney's voice was downright raspy at points (which admittedly could have been intentional), but I knew there were problems when the Johanna started having to force her notes. Still, the show was lovely, the Mrs. Lovett was a classless manipulating bitch (as is proper), and Anthony and Johanna's duets were amazing.
Now. London. OhmygoodnessLondon.
To start off, I didn't get much sleep last night due to being overexcited. Which was fine until like ten minutes ago. Or maybe an hour. I've only just started winding down, so it's hard to tell.
First, I took a train to Liverpool Street Station, which was uneventful. I also got a very good deal on a travelcard, which allowed me to use the Underground all day as well as the Colchester-London train. Emerging from the station the first time, though. . .
It probably would've been properly romantic if I hadn't almost been knocked off my feet by the wind. Now I know why everyone in movies set in London wears a hat. It's not a matter of style, but necessity. My hair was everywhere at once -- more so than usual, considering that even normally it's in ringlets. I wandered around like a dope for a little while before realizing I was going in the wrong direction, but eventually I oriented myself and made my way to the Tower of London. Where I took pictures. Then I hopped back into the Underground and went to the Houses of Parliament and Buckingham Palace, with a brief detour into Victoria Gardens. Again, pictures were taken.
After all this, it was barely ten o'clock, since I'd caught the first train out, but for some reason I was starving. So I stopped at a tea house and had a cup of tea and a Danish. Halfway through my pastry, I looked up at the shop clock. It was past noon. Checked my phone again. Still 9:50. Turns out that when my phone loses its network (such as when going underground), it freezes the clock until I manually select a new network. I think maybe I should buy a pocket watch. Still, it was a very good Danish.
I hit Covent Gardens next, and this was where I first started finding crowds. It wasn't, say, the UofM Diag at one o'clock, but it was close. I watched street performer AJ James make a surprisingly large number of innuendos for a family-friendly show (seriously. He used the term "love-hole." Brilliant). He also juggled knives, did backflips, and enticed two grown men to chain him up. After he'd stripped down to just his trousers. He turned out to be a fairly good escapologist as well.
The Apple Market was nearby, so I wandered through there for a while (and bought a knitted headband to help me manage my hair). Really, most of my visit today was of the wandering sort. I grabbed an actual lunch at a cheap Japanese/Asian place, then went to the British Museum.
I didn't spend long enough in there, and really only seriously viewed the Egyptian and Greek statuary. I know a fair amount of the history behind these, so frequently I know what I'm looking at. Also, Egyptian statues, while not as sensuous as the Greek and Roman, are awe-inspiring for sheer size. I'm afraid I don't quite have my mother and sister's appreciation for fine art*: I adore Impressionist and Surrealist works, but not to any greater extent than "I like how they look/how they make me feel."
I'm still not sure how I feel about mummies being put on display, though, and allowing people to take photographs. I did end up taking a few myself, though, so apparently it's not a very strong feeling either way.
Lastly I took a run into Piccadilly Circus, where I took a quick look into Hamley's. Hamley's is a five-story toy shop. Tons of teddy bears and hobby-type toys like Playmobil. However, not a stuffed dragon in the place, which was disappointing to me. Then a look into TopShop, a mishap with US vs UK sizing, and I headed back home because my feet hurt. I arrived back in Colchester at about 7:15 pm, having left at roughly 8:15 am.
A good day -- and I apologize if my summary of it is rough. I think my flatmates are planning something again. Hopefully this time they'll be wearing more than towels.
-----------------------------
Footnote added 6/2/2011
*"fine art" -- my sister just pointed out that my usage of the term implied some very nasty things, including that Egyptian -- or any non-Western art -- isn't really "art." Not what I meant, at all.
I should have said something like "more modern-ish art," because that is what I meant. I know very little about art made after about 100 CE. And only an idiot could look at hieroglyphs, Nordic weaving, or Celtic metalwork and believe that they weren't art.
As I said, I do love "modern" paintings, and my sister has even shown me abstract pieces I enjoyed. I just don't know enough about their history or composition to, I feel, truly appreciate them. Some pieces still make me want to cry or laugh, though, which I think is more the point. Egyptian and some Greek and Roman works do the same to me. More than once, while in the museum, I couldn't fight back a gasp. Even Celtic and Nordic pieces, of which I have so far mostly seen only photographs, have inspired a quieter awe; when I get the chance to view originals, I may indeed have a more visceral response.
Samuel and Mona went with me to the sweet shop, bookshop, and musical. I think I entertained them by being way too entertained by all the different kinds of candy and how good everything was. But I have a sweet tooth the size of Manhattan, and besides that, English sweets are massively better than American. Something to do with using real flavors and real sugar instead of wax and corn syrup, I think. But I tried black licorice filled with fondant (which was a bit weird) and some rum raisin fudge (which tasted like sweet, solid rum), and Samuel shared some sherbet-y thingies (the English kind, which is a fruit-flavored sweet powder that fizzes; in the US, if you get sherbet it will actually be a type of ice cream), and Mona got a bunch of things and shared all of them -- including some boiled sweets with sherbet in the middle. Then we ate McDonald's, so I guess it wasn't so different from being in America after all. Except here, the apple pies are deep fried rather than baked, so they're more like a doughnut than a pie (turns out Mona has a sweet tooth to rival mine, which is great because I'll have someone to share candy with). On the subject of sweet things, I think I may need to try some ice cream parlours around here as well -- during the intermission of Sweeney Todd, Mona bought a miniature tub of vanilla ice cream from concessions. It tasted like vanilla extract mixed with cream.
So, screw drinking. I'm saving my money for sweets. (Though before the show, I did also try a lemonade shandy, which was interesting but not quite to my taste.)
Seeing Sweeney Todd live was utterly amazing, but I kind of wish we'd gone earlier in the run. As it was, the show was a week in and the actors had obviously been pushed too hard. Sweeney's voice was downright raspy at points (which admittedly could have been intentional), but I knew there were problems when the Johanna started having to force her notes. Still, the show was lovely, the Mrs. Lovett was a classless manipulating bitch (as is proper), and Anthony and Johanna's duets were amazing.
Now. London. OhmygoodnessLondon.
To start off, I didn't get much sleep last night due to being overexcited. Which was fine until like ten minutes ago. Or maybe an hour. I've only just started winding down, so it's hard to tell.
First, I took a train to Liverpool Street Station, which was uneventful. I also got a very good deal on a travelcard, which allowed me to use the Underground all day as well as the Colchester-London train. Emerging from the station the first time, though. . .
It probably would've been properly romantic if I hadn't almost been knocked off my feet by the wind. Now I know why everyone in movies set in London wears a hat. It's not a matter of style, but necessity. My hair was everywhere at once -- more so than usual, considering that even normally it's in ringlets. I wandered around like a dope for a little while before realizing I was going in the wrong direction, but eventually I oriented myself and made my way to the Tower of London. Where I took pictures. Then I hopped back into the Underground and went to the Houses of Parliament and Buckingham Palace, with a brief detour into Victoria Gardens. Again, pictures were taken.
After all this, it was barely ten o'clock, since I'd caught the first train out, but for some reason I was starving. So I stopped at a tea house and had a cup of tea and a Danish. Halfway through my pastry, I looked up at the shop clock. It was past noon. Checked my phone again. Still 9:50. Turns out that when my phone loses its network (such as when going underground), it freezes the clock until I manually select a new network. I think maybe I should buy a pocket watch. Still, it was a very good Danish.
I hit Covent Gardens next, and this was where I first started finding crowds. It wasn't, say, the UofM Diag at one o'clock, but it was close. I watched street performer AJ James make a surprisingly large number of innuendos for a family-friendly show (seriously. He used the term "love-hole." Brilliant). He also juggled knives, did backflips, and enticed two grown men to chain him up. After he'd stripped down to just his trousers. He turned out to be a fairly good escapologist as well.
The Apple Market was nearby, so I wandered through there for a while (and bought a knitted headband to help me manage my hair). Really, most of my visit today was of the wandering sort. I grabbed an actual lunch at a cheap Japanese/Asian place, then went to the British Museum.
I didn't spend long enough in there, and really only seriously viewed the Egyptian and Greek statuary. I know a fair amount of the history behind these, so frequently I know what I'm looking at. Also, Egyptian statues, while not as sensuous as the Greek and Roman, are awe-inspiring for sheer size. I'm afraid I don't quite have my mother and sister's appreciation for fine art*: I adore Impressionist and Surrealist works, but not to any greater extent than "I like how they look/how they make me feel."
I'm still not sure how I feel about mummies being put on display, though, and allowing people to take photographs. I did end up taking a few myself, though, so apparently it's not a very strong feeling either way.
Lastly I took a run into Piccadilly Circus, where I took a quick look into Hamley's. Hamley's is a five-story toy shop. Tons of teddy bears and hobby-type toys like Playmobil. However, not a stuffed dragon in the place, which was disappointing to me. Then a look into TopShop, a mishap with US vs UK sizing, and I headed back home because my feet hurt. I arrived back in Colchester at about 7:15 pm, having left at roughly 8:15 am.
A good day -- and I apologize if my summary of it is rough. I think my flatmates are planning something again. Hopefully this time they'll be wearing more than towels.
-----------------------------
Footnote added 6/2/2011
*"fine art" -- my sister just pointed out that my usage of the term implied some very nasty things, including that Egyptian -- or any non-Western art -- isn't really "art." Not what I meant, at all.
I should have said something like "more modern-ish art," because that is what I meant. I know very little about art made after about 100 CE. And only an idiot could look at hieroglyphs, Nordic weaving, or Celtic metalwork and believe that they weren't art.
As I said, I do love "modern" paintings, and my sister has even shown me abstract pieces I enjoyed. I just don't know enough about their history or composition to, I feel, truly appreciate them. Some pieces still make me want to cry or laugh, though, which I think is more the point. Egyptian and some Greek and Roman works do the same to me. More than once, while in the museum, I couldn't fight back a gasp. Even Celtic and Nordic pieces, of which I have so far mostly seen only photographs, have inspired a quieter awe; when I get the chance to view originals, I may indeed have a more visceral response.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Things and Things, part 3
Since I still needed to talk about the rowing come-and-try, which was exactly what it says it was.
The rowing team arranged a meeting for newbs to come to the lake. And try rowing.
Okay, first off, let me explain the premise of rowing. You get eight people and put them in a boat that is basically a flat-bottomed canoe with lower sides. But, to add to the fun, no one is able to move from their seat; you actually have to buckle your feet in. You sit on a little wooden seat with holes in it so you don't end up sitting in a puddle of water. The seat slides forward so you're able to push off with your legs when you move the blade, i.e. oar. Which is wooden, and must be rotated in addition to being, er...rowed...which is what tears the skin off your hands.
Now move the whole thing to England. In January. It was around zero degrees (Celsius, which is 32 degrees Fahrenheit for us backward Americans, and late spring temperatures in Michigan), with a wind that simply didn't stop. You're on a lake. In winter. Only a couple inches from the water at all times. You spend the day on the water.
In short? People who agree to try this are nucking futs. Within half an hour, my feet were damp, my fingers too cold to properly grip the blade, and my face too numb to form multisyllabic words.
It was still awesome.
Unfortunately, due to time constraints, I don't think I'm going to join. There's also the bit where I'm terrified of any water deeper than a bathtub and had to be rather insistent in order to be given a life vest even though I told them I'm a weak swimmer. Still. My legs are sore, it was an incredibly English thing to try, and I'm glad I did it.
The rowing team arranged a meeting for newbs to come to the lake. And try rowing.
Okay, first off, let me explain the premise of rowing. You get eight people and put them in a boat that is basically a flat-bottomed canoe with lower sides. But, to add to the fun, no one is able to move from their seat; you actually have to buckle your feet in. You sit on a little wooden seat with holes in it so you don't end up sitting in a puddle of water. The seat slides forward so you're able to push off with your legs when you move the blade, i.e. oar. Which is wooden, and must be rotated in addition to being, er...rowed...which is what tears the skin off your hands.
Now move the whole thing to England. In January. It was around zero degrees (Celsius, which is 32 degrees Fahrenheit for us backward Americans, and late spring temperatures in Michigan), with a wind that simply didn't stop. You're on a lake. In winter. Only a couple inches from the water at all times. You spend the day on the water.
In short? People who agree to try this are nucking futs. Within half an hour, my feet were damp, my fingers too cold to properly grip the blade, and my face too numb to form multisyllabic words.
It was still awesome.
Unfortunately, due to time constraints, I don't think I'm going to join. There's also the bit where I'm terrified of any water deeper than a bathtub and had to be rather insistent in order to be given a life vest even though I told them I'm a weak swimmer. Still. My legs are sore, it was an incredibly English thing to try, and I'm glad I did it.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Things and things, part 2.
I've made friends with Mona and Samuel (called Samuel here to differentiate from one of my flatmates who is also called Sam). They're in my Myth and the Creative Process class (which is swiftly becoming my favorite course, btw). But the three of us went out to lunch after class last week, and they invited me to go out with them Thursday evening. Naturally, I accepted.
We met at the Top Bar, which is a good deal quieter than the SU Bar (which, to be fair, is essentially a sports bar. Being loud is in the definition of such) but a bit more expensive. Worth it to me, though, to not have to shout in order to have a conversation. Also, there were more pool tables. Samuel bought the first round of drinks, and the three of us killed time until the club opened in much the same we killed our afternoon at lunch -- talking.
Then, finally, Second Level, one of the clubs on campus. It was Alternative Night, which is billed as "rock indie punk metal" and probably a few others. I heard an awful lot of American eighties pop, though. Seriously, eighties music is ridiculously popular here. I can't get away from it. But they also played a bunch of rock music I didn't recognize, some blink-182, Green Day, and Michael Jackson's "Thriller" because it was also Zombie Night.
Much different than the clubs in Ann Arbor I've gone to, which only play eighties when there's some appropriate theme, and otherwise play Top 40's hip-hop-py stuff or an "industrial" mix which is basically metalmetalmetalTRANCEmetalmetalmetalZYDRATECOMESINALITTLEGLASSVIALmetalmetalmetal. But it was also different in basic atmosphere. The dancing was more slightly awkward, high school dance-flavored as opposed to virtual vertical sex. People were dressed much more conservatively than I was used to seeing (Industrial/Goth/Fetish night at Necto aside, where pretty much anything goes, I'm used to at the very least getting bombarded with cleavage everywhere. Keep in mind that I'm five-foot-three, so chest-level for most people is eye level for me). There were still short skirts and hooker heels, but. . .it seemed less aggressive to me.
Yes. That's the right description. Because, besides this -- no one tried to touch me without permission. That shouldn't be such a big deal, but part of the reason why I avoided Necto most of last term was because even when I felt well enough/wasn't too busy to go. . .I didn't feel like getting groped by strangers. Which happens. It happens, no matter what you wear or how you dance. There is no asking. There isn't even any eye contact -- just the sudden realization that a frat boy wearing cheap eyeliner is grinding on your ass. This can generally be cut short if you're with the right sort of girl friend -- the sort who notices before you do and immediately turns lesbian. Typically this is enough to confuse the would-be predator into backing off. But the only way I've figured out to avoid it completely is to bring a guy with me and hang all over him for a night. Not my idea of a good time.
It was expensive, though. Where I'm used to being about to get into a club for free (for arriving early/being female) or for only a dollar or so, then being able to share a coin-operated locker with three or four other people, here there was a three pound cover (about $4) as well as a one-pound charge to store your coat. Drinks are expensive too, but then again, if I go to a club, I'm there to dance, not get hammered. (Though I have to admit, being able to buy a cold drink -- I traded between hard cider and club soda -- and take a break was kind of awesome).
I'll probably go clubbing more frequently here than I do back in A2, but probably still no more than once a week or so. While the club was cleaner than what I'm used to, it made up for it in volume. It took a full two hours for my ears to stop ringing after I left.
We met at the Top Bar, which is a good deal quieter than the SU Bar (which, to be fair, is essentially a sports bar. Being loud is in the definition of such) but a bit more expensive. Worth it to me, though, to not have to shout in order to have a conversation. Also, there were more pool tables. Samuel bought the first round of drinks, and the three of us killed time until the club opened in much the same we killed our afternoon at lunch -- talking.
Then, finally, Second Level, one of the clubs on campus. It was Alternative Night, which is billed as "rock indie punk metal" and probably a few others. I heard an awful lot of American eighties pop, though. Seriously, eighties music is ridiculously popular here. I can't get away from it. But they also played a bunch of rock music I didn't recognize, some blink-182, Green Day, and Michael Jackson's "Thriller" because it was also Zombie Night.
Much different than the clubs in Ann Arbor I've gone to, which only play eighties when there's some appropriate theme, and otherwise play Top 40's hip-hop-py stuff or an "industrial" mix which is basically metalmetalmetalTRANCEmetalmetalmetalZYDRATECOMESINALITTLEGLASSVIALmetalmetalmetal. But it was also different in basic atmosphere. The dancing was more slightly awkward, high school dance-flavored as opposed to virtual vertical sex. People were dressed much more conservatively than I was used to seeing (Industrial/Goth/Fetish night at Necto aside, where pretty much anything goes, I'm used to at the very least getting bombarded with cleavage everywhere. Keep in mind that I'm five-foot-three, so chest-level for most people is eye level for me). There were still short skirts and hooker heels, but. . .it seemed less aggressive to me.
Yes. That's the right description. Because, besides this -- no one tried to touch me without permission. That shouldn't be such a big deal, but part of the reason why I avoided Necto most of last term was because even when I felt well enough/wasn't too busy to go. . .I didn't feel like getting groped by strangers. Which happens. It happens, no matter what you wear or how you dance. There is no asking. There isn't even any eye contact -- just the sudden realization that a frat boy wearing cheap eyeliner is grinding on your ass. This can generally be cut short if you're with the right sort of girl friend -- the sort who notices before you do and immediately turns lesbian. Typically this is enough to confuse the would-be predator into backing off. But the only way I've figured out to avoid it completely is to bring a guy with me and hang all over him for a night. Not my idea of a good time.
It was expensive, though. Where I'm used to being about to get into a club for free (for arriving early/being female) or for only a dollar or so, then being able to share a coin-operated locker with three or four other people, here there was a three pound cover (about $4) as well as a one-pound charge to store your coat. Drinks are expensive too, but then again, if I go to a club, I'm there to dance, not get hammered. (Though I have to admit, being able to buy a cold drink -- I traded between hard cider and club soda -- and take a break was kind of awesome).
I'll probably go clubbing more frequently here than I do back in A2, but probably still no more than once a week or so. While the club was cleaner than what I'm used to, it made up for it in volume. It took a full two hours for my ears to stop ringing after I left.
In a world where I do things half again as fast as I can blog them. . .the solution is clearly to do half as many things.
Busy, busy week!
(answer: it's hidden under my bed, next to that forgotten pair of pants*)
First, the Holocaust Memorial cabaret.
Oh, good gods. This was a performance at the Lakeside Theatre (the on-campus venue); a collage-type work that featured five singers and a supporting band that included clarinet, violin, percussion, electro-acoustic guitar, and a keyboard synth. The actual material performed, however -- this is where the "collage-type" bit comes in.
The creators of this piece adapted and merged a slew of poems and short stories written by Holocaust survivors as well as one documentary featuring the same. The libretto provided to the audience included a few photographs of paintings done by Jewish artists as well as the words/lyrics for most of the concert. For certain pieces, images were projected onto the back of the stage.
Mind you, most anything about the Holocaust is going to be depressing. This wasn't depressing. It was soul-crushing. I broke down sobbing at one point -- overwhelmed. The singers alternated between singing and speaking styles, between anger, hope, sadness, fear, and apathy. One moment, a man was the hardened Jewish guard at the gas chambers: "This way for the showers. . .this way" (while the singers intoned "It's this way for the gas. . . ."). The next? Breaking down, sobbing. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't. I had to. Yes, we're survivors. Remind them what we did. Remind them how we cheated death.
And then -- they laughed, danced, whirled in circles, because how can you not be happy to be alive, to be free?
But how can you forget those who aren't?
The show was celebration and memorial all in one, perfectly fitting with that paradox.
To me, it's not so amazing that people survived the camps. Humans are adaptable, are at our core the most fierce of survivalists.
What is utterly fantastic to me is how anyone at all managed to make it out sane. Minds have shattered under less, gone completely and left rambling husks.
Remembering requires more strength.
------------------------------------
*Intentionally refusing to clarify whether I'm using American English or British English here. Have fun, kids!
- Holocaust Memorial cabaret show
- My first night dancing at one of the student clubs
- Rowing come-and-try!
(answer: it's hidden under my bed, next to that forgotten pair of pants*)
First, the Holocaust Memorial cabaret.
Oh, good gods. This was a performance at the Lakeside Theatre (the on-campus venue); a collage-type work that featured five singers and a supporting band that included clarinet, violin, percussion, electro-acoustic guitar, and a keyboard synth. The actual material performed, however -- this is where the "collage-type" bit comes in.
The creators of this piece adapted and merged a slew of poems and short stories written by Holocaust survivors as well as one documentary featuring the same. The libretto provided to the audience included a few photographs of paintings done by Jewish artists as well as the words/lyrics for most of the concert. For certain pieces, images were projected onto the back of the stage.
Mind you, most anything about the Holocaust is going to be depressing. This wasn't depressing. It was soul-crushing. I broke down sobbing at one point -- overwhelmed. The singers alternated between singing and speaking styles, between anger, hope, sadness, fear, and apathy. One moment, a man was the hardened Jewish guard at the gas chambers: "This way for the showers. . .this way" (while the singers intoned "It's this way for the gas. . . ."). The next? Breaking down, sobbing. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't. I had to. Yes, we're survivors. Remind them what we did. Remind them how we cheated death.
And then -- they laughed, danced, whirled in circles, because how can you not be happy to be alive, to be free?
But how can you forget those who aren't?
The show was celebration and memorial all in one, perfectly fitting with that paradox.
To me, it's not so amazing that people survived the camps. Humans are adaptable, are at our core the most fierce of survivalists.
What is utterly fantastic to me is how anyone at all managed to make it out sane. Minds have shattered under less, gone completely and left rambling husks.
Remembering requires more strength.
------------------------------------
*Intentionally refusing to clarify whether I'm using American English or British English here. Have fun, kids!
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