London Bye Ta-Ta

Posted by E | Posted in | Posted on 7:08 PM

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Closure. If there's a blog that needs it, it's this one. I've been absent for awhile, I know, but darlings, I will try my best to make it up to you!

First of all, I just need to say that I was very close to leaving this blog dormant for eternity, closure or no closure. However, after my friend Joey added closure to HIS blog, well, you all know me as the competitive sort.

"Panic in the Streets of London." When I wrote that title, I was in a very unique place. On one hand, I was sitting there like most of my fellows did, wondering what it would be like to live in London, so far away from home. On the other hand, I had already had the incredible opportunity of spending nearly a week and a half in London only months before. I had already passed step 1 (that's "tourism") and was ready to take the leap into step 2, "inhabitation." Even then, I realized the difference between "tourist" and "Londoner," though perhaps not specifically. I recognized that there was a difference, but not necessarily what that difference would be. That would come later, toward the end of my stint in London.

But, why "Panic"? Was I nervous? I was going from Orange County suburbia straight to city living. It would be understandable, a sort of panic, but at the same time, I felt a confidence regarding living in London. I had been there before, I had done the culture shock thing. I was ready. So what panic would I have in London? Perhaps, in a way, the panic I felt was not necessarily that of a chicken in the style of Marie Antoinette, but of someone excited to run around the streets of London in a panic-like fashion. Well, if that was the case, then mission: accomplished.

These days, I am back in California, smiling in the sun when we have it, still going around jacketless when we dont. I spend a lot of time doing nothing. I'm not depressed, I promise; I dont feel nearly that dramatic. I just dont have an opinion. I have no urge to do anything, only to let my roots sink deep down into the couch while I watch movies on HBO. I've been social, slightly, but it's hard when some of the people you really want to see are time-zones away. Will I remain in the mode of London's famous surrogate, OC, or will I return to the shell of a shy piece of human toast named Elise? I suppose that remains to be seen. I feel the essence of OC slipping away, as if I need to spritz myself with a fresh dose of her, but perhaps she is merely entering a period of rest, a period of hibernation. When I head back to Chapman this fall, we'll see if I can't conjure her up for some good times.

Anyway, that is in the future. In fact, that's about as far into the future as my London life is in the past. And who knows? Perhaps this time next year, I'll be starting the next chapter in my life, living in a flat and working a job in the UK. But for now, my job is to get back into the ways of America and graduating. Dear readers, thank you for joining me on my journeys. Many of you have seen photos and heard stories by now, but if you are curious about the many places that I didnt mention in this blog's dark months, please visit my Facebook and dont hesitate to ask!

Thank you, and cheers!

xx

Elise

Secret World

Posted by E | Posted in , , , | Posted on 6:55 AM

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So, it's been occurring to me for a while now that I haven't updated "Panic" for a long time. As many times as I have thought about remedying this, I just didn't have anything interesting to post. I suppose that happens when one crosses over from "tourist" to "quasi-resident." The interesting things that happen to me these days are merely interesting in the context of my life, not necessarily a blog.

However, I did go on a wonderful spring break. We can talk about that, cant we?

Two weeks ago Saturday, my friend Stephanie and I were on a coach from London. 8 hours and a septic mess later (it's not a long story, just a very unpleasant one), we arrived in the city of Edinburgh, Scotland. Of course, I can't leave out the university students who only an hour earlier were cooing and squee-ing at the sight of sheep and lambs. I'm by no means a city girl (well, maybe that's changed in the last few months), but I'm definitely not a country girl either. Seeing real sheep really grazing turns me into an 8-year-old.

Edinburgh was a faerie world. There were castles peeking around every corner and some that were on the corners of peaks. We climbed a volcano and were almost blown off the top by the strongest gales I've ever met. The view consisted of a pleasantly spiky skyline on a backdrop of swollen mountains covered in rivers of snow. On our last day in Scotland, Stephanie an I visited those mountains--the Highlands--and, despite being on a very long and incredibly awkward bus ride, I found that long-haired cows (heereecoos) and sheep really do belong in wild mountain environments. It is a shame that it wasn't until after we left that we realized how touristy Edinburgh is. I think we spoke to 4 Scottish people while we were there. A bit of a shame, but it was such a beautiful city that I can let bygones be bygones.

Dublin was--oh, how can I possibly describe it?--less magical, but more lovely than I could've ever wanted it to be. It's difficult for me to recommend Dublin, I've since learned, because as much as I do love it, most people find it much less magical than Edinburgh. I realized by Stephanie's reaction to the different cities that Dublin's magic for me lies in the fact that it was the first European city I ever visited. The streets are chock full of memories of LonDubs doing silly things. It was so comforting to be back! As we walked down O'Connell street to find our hostel south of the Liffey, I literally could not suppress my grin, a grin which I'm sure made many passers-by feel uneasy. It was fun to see things exactly as they were six months ago as well as seeing how things have changed. Dublina, the Viking Theme Park, has a new entrance that makes it actually look classy. A line of apartments that used to be covered with lush green vines was now covered with brown sticks that used to be lush green vines. I took Stephanie to see some old favorites of mine--the Literary Pub Crawl, The Queen of Tarts--and some new things. We saw a performance of "Macbeth" at the Abbey theatre, sitting so close that I'm pretty sure Macbeth landed some spittle on my arm. It was gory and fabulous, rekindling my love for both Macbeth and Shakespeare. We also visited the Dublin Writers Museum (near my old favorite, the Maldron) where I fell in love with Oscar Wilde all over again. We took a free tour as well, which was interesting. I was able to hear different aspects of the history I had read so much about a summer ago. But I think it was all worth it to hear the tour guide end the tour with a small quote that I'm sure many of the LonDubs will never forget: "All was changed, changed utterly, and a terrible beauty was born." Got to love monsieur W.B. Yeats.

Now, back in London, things are changing as well. Spring, as they always say, has sprung, yielding a very beautiful learning environment. All the daffodils are out, which I believe must be encouraging the trees to show their blooms. What used to be dead tree skeletons are now showing the true colors of magnolias and cherry blossoms. The birds are singing during all hours of a day that begins at 6 a.m. and ends at 9 p.m. It hasn't even rained for week--only beautiful skies and warm weather. Only yesterday, I took a wonderful afternoon boat ride through the canals in Little Venice with two of my friends.

But there are more changes over the horizon. One of our friends is ending her London semester next week and this shakes the very foundation of the dream I've been in for the last months. Not only will I be sad when she leaves for Holland--where she calls "home"--but her departure signals the end. She will be the first of us to leave, but not the last. Very slowly, people will start their departures to their respective parts of the world, ending with mine in June. Usually, whenever any of us mentions this sad fact, another one of us will tell us not to think about it. Unfortunately, once it starts, it will be a hard thought to stifle.

And then there's Eyjafyallajokull, the volcano that's brought Europe to its knees. Spring break is over tomorrow, and yet my friends are trapped in their respective vacation locations across Europe. Even if airports as far south as Rome can open up again, the chances that UK airspace will re-open soon is slim, as we are right under the cloud's path. As a Californian in London, it's very bizarre to see that same hyper-orange sunset that you usually see in fire season. The experts claim that you can't see the ash up in the air, but for those of us who are used to looking for it in November, it's easy to see. As fabulous as the volcano was a few days ago, the novelty has begun to wear off. I miss my amigos!

The Stars Are Underground

Posted by E | Posted in , , , , | Posted on 7:14 PM

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Although the all-too-familiar phrase "I should be asleep" comes to mind, I feel like posting. I always feel delightfully articulate after I've finished an essay. Why not share that with the rest of the world? And by world, I mean the five people that read this blog.

But a readership is a readership, no matter how small.

This upcoming week is both incredibly stressful and incredibly exciting. I am actually going to see Midori, one of the most famous violinists (and that's not saying much), and Yuri Bashmet, one of the most famous violists (and that's saying a lot), this week. All kidding aside, seeing one of these performers would be a huge event in my life, let alone two of them. And the repertoire they'll be performing is in a (terribly inarticulate) word, awesome. Tuesday is Yuri Bashmet performing Grieg's "Holberg Suite," Bach's "Brandenburg Concerto No. 3," and Tchaikowsky's "Serenade for Strings." Wednesday is Midori performing the Mendelssohn violin concerto, followed by a performance of Berlioz's "Symphonie Fantastique" by the famed London Symphony Orchestra.

If you haven't heard any of the aforementioned pieces, please, for the love of all things beautiful, go on youtube and listen to them. There must be at least one piece that intrigues you. (I'd recommend the Berlioz, movement V, for you classical novices, as it is so deliciously evil and demented.)

Meanwhile, I've discovered that there is something inherently (dare I say it again?) awesome about buying completely mundane things in not-so-mundane places. Well, I'm sure London is mundane for some people who live here, but for me, it's still rather exotic. I have collected a small amount of DVDs, books, and, more recently, some clothes. To me, it's the most intriguing form of souvenir. Whenever I wash my new jacket from Marks and Spencer, I will see the "UK" on the tag. Whenever I pick up "Run Fat Boy Run" to pop in to the DVD player, I will see the "15" enclosed in a circle on the cover (indicating age in the UK rating system). Whenever I compare my copy of "Midnight's Children" with someone else's American copy (which is, granted, not something I'm apt to do, really), I will know that mine is from Waterstones in London. The feigned exoticism is the entire reason that I don't absolutely hate "Transformers 2" (which I saw with some Londubs in Dublin this summer). I just dont feel the need to cart around "I Heart London" shirts or iron-cast Eiffel Towers back home with me. The french copies of H2G2 and Guy de Maupassant will work nicely for me.

Speaking of H2G2, I'm overdue for a visit to good old Bop Ad over in Highgate Cemetery.

And speaking of cemeteries (because most real segues are far too overrated), the BAFTAs were tonight! For those of you who are unfamiliar with BAFTA (British Academy of Film and Television Arts), it's Britains version of the Oscars. I don't actually own a television here in the UK, but I did follow a live blog or two and listened a bit to the broadcasted stream on BBC One (my connection was too slow for streamed video). I won't bother you with the results--you can find those yourself!--but I will say that being only 30 minutes away from the likes of Nick Frost, Edgar Wright, Peter Capaldi, Colin Firth, and various other British/Scottish/Irish actors was invigorating. Remember what I said about being an Anglophile? I wasn't lying. It was enough to distract me from my task of writing a 1,200 word essay on Rushdie (an impossible task, by the way).

But that is finished for the night, as am I. Over and out, space cadets.

Back to the Old House

Posted by E | Posted in , , , | Posted on 5:41 PM

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As I sit here at my laptop, watching the minutes that could be spent sleeping click away into the past, the acoustic genius that is The Frames "Seven Day Mile" permeates my blood-brain-barrier like a strong dose of something directly into the blood stream. There have been a few blog entries I've wanted to write, but somehow, through auto-deliberation, I have managed to coerce myself out of attempting them. I think now, feeling slightly sleep-drunk and silly, would be the perfect time to combine the several ideas into one strange bit of babble.

(I am aware that in my half-asleep state, the following will most likely come off as pretentious and somewhat offensive to my fellows, but I hope you can at least consider what I am saying and realize that it is not meant as any direct insult to any one person. I will concede it as an insult as soon as the guilty concede its truth. And yes, this disclaimer is most definitely a way for me to cover my ass--I am American after all.)

This week is reading week for two of my courses. That means that while most of my classes are cancelled so that I can work on my essays, I get to laze around, eating English Breakfast at 10:30 am and watching episodes of absolutely brilliant British television. However, the extra time, while allowing me to be quite lazier than usual, also allows more time for deep introspective thought. And we all know how dangerous introspective thought can be.

I've been feeling many different things since my return from Paris this past Sunday night. These feelings come over me in a heat, and, as a fever, break and drift away into the coolness of the British night. Feelings of home, of hate, and of hypocrisy.

I've begun to discriminate against other Americans. Not all of them, mind you. All of you back home are beautiful--I love you and miss you dearly. Even a few of them here at Middlesex are amazing. However, it is that brand of American that is far too common here that disturbs me. They are like pack animals, grazing upon the culture of a certain European city, only to poop it out in a mutilated form that somehow only Americans can manage. The top layer, the blades of tourist cites and stereotypes, that is their nourishment. They trample from London to Paris, knowing nothing about the culture beforehand and, through their method of pre-selected munching, come out knowing only slightly more. Perhaps this is perpetuated through the likes of British tour guides who cannot even pronounce the names of famous french foods. All I know is that, when traveling by myself, meeting up with various people for moments along the way, I am less loud, less obnoxious, and more open to learning true culture from those who live in it. It's all about context. Although these other young American students, most likely very similar to myself, are exploring a foreign country, they are doing so with herds of other Americans. The scenery changes, but does the context of culture truly change if you surround yourself only with the ideas of your home country?

I had a couple of ideas upon coming here to Europe. These ideas were by no means premeditated, but I'm trying my best to stay true to them regardless. First of all, I want to be myself. I want to be spontaneous, to have a good time. I dont want to be the Elise that people back home, many of which have known me for years, expect me to be. I want to be the Elise that doesn't have to worry about what people will think of her. So far, that has led me to being quite free, happy, and socially healthy. A close friend back home, one of the most astute people I have ever met, was able to perceive this change in me through my silly set of Facebook pictures. Second, I want to meet new people. By new people, I mean people not from the United States. If I had wanted to hang out with Americans and travel with Americans, I could've studied somewhere in America. I am here in Europe, surrounded by different peoples from many different countries and continents--those are the people I want to be friends with. I want there to be a whole slew of friends that I will miss when I return. I want to miss them as much as I miss my people back home right now.

But where does Paris fit into all of this? Ah! Paris, the beautiful city of lights! I've studied French culture for such a long time, in the scale of my short life. The Eiffel Tower was so much larger than I had expected, the Arc du Triomphe so much plainer than I had imagined, the Seine so much dirtier than I could have ever hoped. Seeing the Louvre and Notre Dame in real life for a change was fabulous. Being up on the top of Montparnasse was simultaneously embarrassing and breath-taking. The French were nicer than any stereotype could ever allow them to be and their pastries more delicious than any American or British recreation. That weekend in Paris wasn't about running past the Mona Lisa in order to catch a train to Versailles. It was about eating Chouquettes in a Parisian's flat with a view of the Eiffel Tower and eating steak tartare just to prove that I could be adventurous. Instead of squeezing through crowds to climb the Eiffel Tower, I squeezed through crowded mètro stations and No. 1 trains and missing stops. Getting lost in Montmartre, munching on a sausage and cheese crêpe, looking for a cemetery that I couldn't even get in to. Picking up a copy of "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" in french ("Le Guide du Voyageur Galactique") after stumbling accidentally (and completely frustrated) into a mall that exists under the Louvre. Paris on Valentines Day was, apart from the hoards of American couples doing the clichéd-yet-romantic thing, refreshing. There were no pink heart-shaped lights on the Eiffel Tower, no pink croissants. It was merely Paris on a Sunday.

But it was on that Eurostar ride home that I felt it. Night had fallen and we had been soaring through England's countryside for nearly half an hour, but as the train slowed down and I saw the towering glass buildings of London once again, I had that gurgle in my stomach. You know that feeling, I'm sure of it. It's that feeling of "I'm home!" that you get when your plane lands on the tarmac of your home town. It was that same feeling I felt this summer, landing amongst the concrete jungle of Los Angeles after a 10 hour flight from the very city I'm living in right now. But, how can my "home away from home" be a "home sweet home"? I love California dearly, yet I know that when the time comes, I will be torn to bits at having to leave London, my new home. My roots (perhaps egged-on by the rain) are growing deeper than I would have imagined at this point. I want to live here. I want a flat here. I want to curl up in this culture, in this huge city full of unsavory characters and lovely human beings. I thought that the magic of London had dissipated, but perhaps it has merely shown its true form as something more real, more tangible.

Or perhaps it's merely the enlightenment that comes with finally naming a chronic condition. It is true, I am indeed an Anglophile!


Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere

Posted by E | Posted in , , , | Posted on 6:49 AM

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Philosophy is wonderful, isn't it? Well, it's about high time that I posted something tangible, for those of you who are wondering if all I ever do I sit around and ponder the existence of the Universe.

(I don't, by the way.)

Anyway, this weekend was a very strange one, and a very long one being as it actually began on Wednesday night. As I alluded to in my previous post, my friend Mathias, while attempting to do the lift from "Dirty Dancing" with our friend Mie, fell down and hit his head on the wall. Six minutes later, he woke up to find us staring at him and calling an ambulance. Through someone's terrible advice (I'm not sure who--there were many people in the room), the ambulance was cancelled. Needless to say, ambulance or not, a handful of us were convinced that he was concussed.

Mathias's concussion mildly affected some other events of the weekend, but all in all, things have turned out all right.

Thursday was an attempt at staying out in London late enough to take the first tube on Friday morning. The attempt failed due to misconceptions with closing times, bad bartenders, and an aggravated concussion. I did discover a new drink that I enjoy: Malibu and Coke. I will probably grab one of those next time we go to B@1 for cocktails.

Friday was pretty much uneventful, which was good for all of us. The mid-week partying needed to be offset by a relaxed start to the weekend. However, Erika had gone back to visit family in Sweden that morning, so things seemed slightly quieter. Bored, I picked up a few cheap DVDs at ASDA, leading to my seeing "Hot Fuzz" for the first time. I highly recommend seeing it, by the way. Quite hilarious!

Saturday started at 2p.m. and consisted of sitting on the floor of the kitchen discussing random things with the Gubbay crew. We decided on making "pancakes" for dinner, but I soon realized that "pancakes" referred to what we Americans might consider "crêpes." The plan involved a quasi-casserole with pancakes and leftover pancakes for dessert, to be served with ice cream and jam. Louise and I went to get ingredients while Mie and Mathias were in charge of making the food. Unfortunately, while we were out, Mathias began to feel sick (concussion repercussions) and Mie took him to the hospital to get checked out. This left Louise and me in charge of the deliciosity which was to become "Frenchiladas with Italian Sauce." Essentially, "Frenchiladas" are enchiladas made with crêpes instead of tortillas. The filling is a tomato and corn meat-sauce. All of it is topped with parmesan cheese and thrown into the oven until bubbly. It was done by the time M + M returned, and we all agreed that it was a culinary success!

Sunday was fabulous. Louise took me over to Notting Hill to go shopping at Portobello Road. It was very quiet and less than 50% of the shops were actually open, but it was fantastic none-the-less. We bought scarves, spent way too much at Lush, and bought student-made oil paintings. Mine is an exquisite black and white painting of Paris and la Tour Eiffel. Finally, I have something to put on my drab white walls.

Paris is slowly coming into view in the distance. I leave Friday morning to spend both Camille's birthday and Valentine's day in the city of lights. What an exciting prospect! My best Valentine's day in years, I'm sure of it. Plus, my friend Stephanie, who is currently studying in Pamplona, Spain, just happens to be venturing to Paris during the same weekend! Coincidences make Europe so much more fun.

Also, allow me to take this time to recommend a novel called The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith. I read it for one of my courses here, but it is an absolute fun read. I will warn you that it starts out a tad slow, but once it picks up speed, it holds you at a steady pace right to the end. Tom Ripley, an American in Europe, provides a unique perspective, especially for another American in Europe. The crimes he commits are so atrocious, yet, because of Ms. Highsmith's writing, you can't help but root for him. It's a fun ride and a moral quandary all in one!

Family Snapshot

Posted by E | Posted in , , , , , | Posted on 6:02 PM

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Family is a strange idea. Your family is your relatives, yes, but it's simply larger than that. I have a Chapman family, a CoPA family, a Londub family, and various friends that I consider closer than a few of my blood relatives. It seems now that I have developed a European family--a Gubbay Hall family to be precise.

The differences between family and friends are both big and small. They can be as obvious as lowering your "personal space" boundaries, or as subtle as noticing that your personal world is just slightly quieter while one part of the family goes home to Sweden for the weekend. You remember how the slamming of a door exactly 7 paces away seemed so comforting, or how a familiar laugh drifting from the kitchen was like the pied piper's pipe, leading you into a land where the cacophony of pots and spoons is merely a folk-tune.

Disappearances can make you feel empty. Concussions can shake the foundations. Entire days spent sitting on the dirty floor of a kitchen talking of philosophy, politics, literature, and gossip can remind you of a family reunion.

These are the relationships I have already formed within a mere month in London. How can I possibly leave this after four more months? Granted, I will be back home with my birth family and my various other families, but all families are important, no matter how far away they may be scattered across the globe.

But let me speak of happier things. Let me spin tales of trains, strange tongues, Italian sun, and Azure coasts. One sentence from my french professor back home has sent me into the world of the Eurail. "I will be in Paris," she said to me as we munched on tartines and fudge, "and suddenly, in just 2 hours on the train, I will be in Salzburg."

Let me assure you--it is that easy. For about $500 (£319), you can travel for 10 days throughout four countries. I can start in Prague, spend a day in Vienna, see Mozart's birthplace in Salzburg, catch a glimpse of a gondola in Venice, feel the breeze off the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, see Rome, Pisa, Nice, Marseille, Lyon, and end in Paris. I can do all of this, and I will. Perhaps $500 sounds pricey, but I would rather come home broke, my brain stuffed with memories, than with some extra funds to splurge on movie tickets and expos. This extravagant spring break is what I've been saving up for. Sorry, Southern California, but seeing a quarter of Europe beats Cabo any day.

That is my Eurail trip. As tantalizing as it sounds, it will not be a social trip. Social is Paris this upcoming weekend. Social is Dublin. Social is Edinburgh. Social is Amsterdam and Bruges. Eurail, that's my solo. And I couldn't be happier, though I'm sure upon reading this, mom and dad will be biting a lip or knocking a knee (or two).

What I'm truly excited about is experiencing the change between countries. Paris, Rome, London--all of these cities stand alone in their reputation. But imagine spending each day in a new Italian city. Image seeing that relationship between Paris and the Côte d'Azure. Imagine seeing how entire nations change before your eyes in a matter of hours. Imagine walking with Mozart's ghost one day and visiting Tom Ripley's floating Venice the next. In a couple of months, I will no longer have to imagine.

I hate to echo my fellow American students (who announce that they have moved on from tourism while buying cheesy jumpers that read "Mind the Gap"), but this place, for me, truly is Narnia. Sure, the snow has all melted and turkish delights aren't nearly as appetizing as they sound, but for me, Europe will never be reality. Home is reality. The land of freezing 60º and shitty public transportation, that's my home, my reality, and I love it. However, I will wait as long as I can to finally step out of the wardrobe back into my own bedroom, perhaps with a sliver or two of proof that Narnia truly does exist.



Signal to Noise

Posted by E | Posted in , | Posted on 9:53 AM

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After another week of careful consideration, the jury is still out on the British University system. Seven days of Rushdie, bookstores, and loads of down-time, but there is still a question mark over my head.

That makes it sound as if I'm not happy. I am happy, very happy, in fact. However, the class system is very different than it is back home, as are the students. The social situation is fine--everyone is very nice and fun to be around--but the in-class interaction leaves something to be desired. It will take some getting used to, and I'm sure that I will get used to it, but I can't stop wondering if that twinge of annoyance will ever go away.

Here at Middlesex University, Awkward Silence is king. I don't know if it is that laziness I hear about or if it's shyness, but whenever a professor asks a question in a discussion, it feels like ages before someone (mainly me, it seems) speaks up. Sure, I could just be completely full of myself--hell, that's always a possiblity!--but there hasn't been a class that has resisted the stifling silence of these tight-lipped students! Here's a scenario many of you might be familiar with: It is the first day of a new course in a new semester. There are students you recognize and students you don't. The first discussion of the semester begins, but it begins with a heavy silence, flavored with hesitation and trepidation. Do you have an opinion, or are you simply blank? Will your peers agree with you, find you stupid, or find you a genius? There is a cloud of self-questioning that hangs in the air until finally, as if someone released the tension from a distended tire, some brave soul sticks out their neck and breaks the silence. The trail is blazed and soon, other students join in, creating an active and lush discussion.

For my American course load, I deal with this same situation at least 3 times a semester, 6 times an academic year. It's an atmosphere I am familiar with. It's an atmosphere that I'm used to taking on. However, it's an atmosphere that, in American Universities, lasts only an hour or so. Not a big deal.

However, things are different here at Middlesex. That same cloud hangs over the class as if it was the first day of a new class, but something is wrong. These classes are not semester-long classes, but year-long classes. These faces, apart from those of changeling exchange students such as myself, are the same for January as they were for December. Christmas break does not signify a shift in the classroom, merely a short break. So, why does the awkward silence prevail? Why does no-one raise their hand and partake in the discussion? Is it possible to still be uncomfortable with the 8-or-so students that have been studying with you for months? However, the seminars and lectures are quite infrequent, whereas, back at Chapman, within the first week of a new semester, you've seen your new classmates 2-3 times. I'm used to being mentally engaged during the entire week, not just a day. Whenever I feel myself start floating down from my academic frame of mind, I have the same class again to bounce me back. Here, I fall too quickly.

I get very anxious in these classes, waiting for the good stuff to start, but it never seems to begin. But perhaps it is just the sleepiness of coming back from a long break. Maybe next week, I'll feel the brains around me begin to defrost. If not, I suppose I'll have to do what I always try to do in these situations: force myself to make the best of it. If this is a type of institution that supports a regimen of self-enforced study, independent learning, and self-fueled curiosity, bring it on! I can take whatever they can dish out!

Shakespeare's Sister

Posted by E | Posted in , , , | Posted on 1:43 AM

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I had my first wave of English classes yesterday. Creative writing was first. It was pretty sweet, though I'm a little concerned that because that we are focusing on the novel this term, it won't count toward "Writing the Short Story" back at Chapman like I planned. Oh well, I suppose I'll fight off those dogs when I hop that fence in 5 months. The class itself reminds me of a class I took with Gattis last semester, "Writing the Novel." It'll be interesting to revisit novels from a different direction!

This school seems so boss when it comes to creative writing! I was looking at the courses for majors at Middlesex, and they have entire year-long courses devoted to one part of writing. They have a course just for character. They have a course just for narrative. They have a course just for setting! Forget Chapman's endless list of literature course requirements. Imagine complete immersion into the subject of writing! However, I have to say, I'd feel less enriched without lit courses. Though, I'm sure that in these year-long courses, they have you read a lot for class, not to mention the stuff they expect you to do outside of class.

Speaking of reading, I've got my work cut out for me. Chapman did not alert me that I needed to have Salman Rushdie's "Midnight's Children" finished by the first day of the new term, so I need to catch up on all 500 pages of that as soon as possible. Then, I have to finish two short novels for a compare/contrast essay in my CW class for mid-February. He gave a long list, but I'm thinking H.G. Wells's "The Island of Dr. Moreau" and Patricia Highsmith's "The Talented Mr. Ripley." I'll see which I can find at the bookstore today.

I also had my Literature and Otherness class yesterday, which was...interesting to say the least. Most people hated "Midnight's Children." One woman hated it so much that she couldn't resist saying needless things regarding how terrible an author Salman Rushdie is. She called his work "greedy" and "verbal diarrhea." Pleasant. She also said that "Life of Pi" was boring and mostly useless. "The last 30 pages are amazing," she said, "but why the other 200 pages? Just make it a short story!" Being as "Life of Pi" is my favorite novel, I felt a tad put off by that. I feel like she mostly missed the point of that novel. If you've read it, I'm sure you'd agree that the end of "Life of Pi" is only great because of how you got there. Take away what's before that, and you ruin the entire novel.

People like this person frustrate me, no matter how hard I try to understand where they're coming from. They decide they don't like something, but they are too busy bad-mouthing the author or the work itself to talk seriously about the work. She claims that the work "left her cold" or that she was "annoyed," but she leaves it at that, not bothering to look at why it caused her to feel that way (or even if that was the point). When you're so caught up in coming up with fifty different ways of saying a work is a piece of bona-fide shit, you miss out on the actual important stuff.

I was also baffled by the class. "I'm not sure about his narrative style," said one boy, "does he always write like this?" You mean none of them have read Rushdie before? This is a third year class! How can lit students nearly graduate from University without having read Rushdie before? He's only one of the most important writers of the 20th and 21st centuries! Regardless if you love his work or you hate it, you have to respect it. He literally risked his life to publish his work. Not to mention, he's one of today's most famous "British" authors (I use quotes because we all know he's an Indian writer at heart). That's like an American who has never read Mark Twain! Please! What is with these lit majors who don't understand anything about writers? They see a bizarre, seemingly unrefined narrative and don't even consider if it's intentional.

I apologize for what's now become a rant, but you have to understand that as a writer, many of these things are insulting to me and my prospective profession. I understand that some people don't like certain novels, writers, and styles. I respect that! But what I have trouble respecting is uneducated brutality toward a novel that requires education, spoken by someone who considers herself an english major. I'm not a big fan of "Ulysses," but I don't call Joyce a retard. In addition, because I've read more of Joyce than simply his most famous work, I know that his narrative style was specific and intentional for his novel. Unlearned learners are seriously going to be the death of decent criticism.

ANYWAY. I'm sorry for the outburst there. I have done other things than mope and fume, I promise! In fact, I've joined an "extra-curricular" string ensemble (I say extra-curricular because you dont have to register for the class, but I'm not really sure how you would consider it in the US). Apparently, I'm one of two violists here, so I should have some decent work. And we brainstormed repertoire, a session which consisted of awkward silences until I mentioned about 10 different works we could play as a string ensemble. The professor seemed impressed with my "wide experience," of which we all know I have none. The music department here is pretty small, but they have quite a bit of viola repertoire in their library, so I'm excited to pull out a few pieces to learn. In the meantime, I am performing in my Performance 1 class (original, huh?) in about two weeks. It's a good thing I brought my Piazzolla piece as well as the piano part. Though, I should start practicing again.

I realize that I am posting very often and about pretty unimportant stuff, but I think that it is merely because it's a very new, exciting experience for me. Most likely, I'll begin to cool off on the blogging in a week or so.

Also, Crystal informed me that commenting was not working. I've adjusted the settings and it now works for everyone! Hope to hear your thoughts!

Cheers!

It's been 3 days since you looked at me

Posted by E | Posted in , , | Posted on 4:57 AM

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I crunched through some old footprints, their edges soft from last night's light snowfall. Small things like that are magical. It's proof that something exciting happened while I was sleeping.

Yesterday, I visited the old Londub haunt--Camden town! With a shudder down my spine, I passed by the Camden Eye. The memories of a man named "Michael Jackson" who wanted four ladies for "should I say, sex" filled my mind, as did an echo of Crystal's famous line: "Why don't you just moonwalk out of here?"

As I walked through the miles of market there in Camden, I felt the absence of this summer's anxiety. I had hated Camden Town, feeling vulnerable there with the crazies and the dark alleyways. But yesterday, I loved it. It was both different and the same. Somehow, I felt more comfortable this time. Perhaps it is because I survived the "Payne" of the first impression.

I was astonished by how huge the market truly was. There are actually two markets that run together. There's the Camden Lock Market, which begins right outside of the Camden Town tube station. At the end of that, bridging Camden Town station with Chalk Farm Road station, is the Stables Market, a market that is built in the old stables, which you can actually see if you visit the shops in the basement. I enjoyed the Stables Market the most because of the way it was structured. In a labyrinth of tiny shops and food carts, the smells and sounds create the perfect atmosphere. I've always loved the smells of incense, especially when I wonder if it is really incense that I'm inhaling. Next to the hookah bars were lines of food shops whose cuisine ranged from American, to Japanese, to Indian, to Moroccan. It was an amalgamation of deliciousness. Each shop had different fare and the amount of stores focusing on antique or vintage clothing was astonishing. The sound systems (which played Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir," Bryan Adam's "Heaven," and a piece of Bollywood genius) pulled me from shop to shop, blasting my eardrums gracefully. It was a great ride. I cant wait to go again!

Today, we had our intro to the School of Arts and Education. It was a pretty great intro talk and it magnified my excitement for the classes I'll be starting next week. However, when I finalized my Creative Writing class, it turns out it conflicts with my lit class (Animals and the Other in 20th century Literature). I might have to change that course, which makes me a little sad. I was looking forward to reading Life of Pi and Midnight's Children. Hopefully, something can be worked out.

I am very excited about the musical prospects of London. Yesterday, I was looking at the schedule for Barbican hall and there are some amazing concerts during my months here. Yuri Bashmet, Midori, Janine Jansen, and Lang Lang are all coming to play with the London Symphony Orchestra, who alone is a treat. Plus, some of the programs are simply outstanding: Symphonie Fantastique, Alpine Symphony, Appalachian Spring, Shosty 5, Holberg Suite, Serenade for Strings, Mendelssohn Concerto, Sibelius Concerto. These are pieces I listen to on a daily basis and pray that I'll hear live. I have a recording of the Mendelssohn by Midori. I can see her play it live? For only £7?? I can't see how I would miss that. And Yuri Bashmet? As a violist, I could never face my instrument again if I didn't jump on that £9 opportunity!

After only 3 days, it's becoming rather difficult to contain my excitement. Imagine what it will be like after 3 weeks. 3 months! Goodness gracious!

*Edit* Well, it seems like I will be able to take Lit and Otherness after all! There was another course time. Oh, and it seems like most classes have a different structure here than in America. While my other classes are once a week, my lit class is twice a week. However, one day is a seminar, the other day is a lecture. Here is how they described it to me: a lecture is just as it sounds--the professor talks and we take notes--while the seminar is designed with class discussion in mind. Sounds awesome! Hopefully not too awesome though; I'm going to have to eventually come back and do things the Chapman way. ;)

The Shiek of Araby

Posted by E | Posted in , , | Posted on 10:41 PM

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At this point in time, everything has been very anticlimactic. I anticipated traffic, busy security lines, intense crowds of people squeezing through with caution. Instead, my original flight (yesterday) was cancelled due to weather conditions in London. These same weather conditions affected only the flights of British Airways, as most other airlines were able to land safely at Heathrow. Naturally, while other Chapman students arrived at Middlesex and began updating their Facebook statuses to alert the world of their triumphant arrival, I was sitting at home, watching “The West Wing” and blowing my nose.

Today, I anticipated the grand scramble. Sure, it would be a day late and I’d be slightly more prepared (I pulled hairs out the morning before), but it would turn out to be the hectic airport experience after all. However, here I am, sitting at gate 41 in LAX with a considerably low stress level. There wasn’t a line for self check-in. I was able to check both bags for free. My largest bag was a lucky 4 pounds under the weight limit. Security didn’t even need to open up my viola case. Painless, quick, calm.

And as I sit here, feeling as if hardly have any “exciting” experiences to write for this first true blog post, I cant help but laugh inside as the airport version of Louis Prima’s “The Shiek of Araby,” titled “The Shiek of Napoli,” plays over the speakers. In this version, the background singers never sing “Put that turban on!” It was a song from a very, very different time, I suppose.

There are thick clouds of fog intermittently heaving themselves over the terminals from the ocean, which is only a mile away. I wonder if British Airways had to cancel today’s flights as well due to “extremely foggy conditions.” Oh, BA, you make me laugh! But let’s leave the past in the past. In about an hour, I am going to be sitting on a plane, ready to say “A Bientot!” to my dear California. See you on the other side (of the Atlantic), folks!

(1/7/09)

...

I'm currently writing this from my home away from home, Gubbay Hall. It has a bed, a sink, a desk, some dressers, a radiator, and a view of the courtyard which is coated with a layer of ice-packed snow. It's not cold in the room, though I half expected it to be freezing. The radiator is actually quite effective. It's so quiet and magical at this hour--6:47 am--because the sun doesn't rise until 8 am. I've actually been awake since 4; I was so exhausted after my flight that I went to bed at 6 pm yesterday! It's amazing how 10 hours of sitting on your ass watching movies can be the most stressful and energy-draining thing a human can do. Though, the ride from Heathrow up to Middlesex was actually quite pleasant thanks to my Polish taxi driver. He was so amiable and was very interested in America.

It's funny. Because I wasn't able to arrive on the orientation day, there wasn't anyone to meet me at the airport. I had always figured I would freak out at being by myself in London, but perhaps those extra few days of being stranded this summer were for the best. Panic was the last thing on my mind. I just called the University, called a minicab, and did it! Elise, are you finally growing up? About time. Maybe I should change this blog's title to "Don't Panic."

London is so interesting! Everything is so different than what I've seen before, even the London I saw this summer. The sidewalks are covered in snow and the trees have that layer of snow on the top of their branches. I've always seen pictures of trees like that, but growing up in California, as most of you know, that kind of snow becomes more of a myth than a reality. Though, I have already seen someone fall on their butt, so I better choose my footwear carefully.

I'll probably venture out soon, wearing my wool coat, my gloves, a scarf, a hat, and some very unattractive New Balance trainers. It'll be chilly, but exciting, I'm sure.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Let it Snow

Posted by E | Posted in , , | Posted on 9:22 PM

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First of all, this blog is finally public! Hooray!

However, there are more pressing things to talk about. Here's a current weather update in London:

Temp: 34 F
Feels like: 27 F
Humidity: 93%
Snow expected: 10 in.

Well, I suppose that I should dress warmly for my flight tomorrow, as I might get rerouted to a different airport. It is supposedly the coldest winter in Europe in 30 years. My timing couldn't be more perfect! Ah, but I'll suck it up! It's about time this OC girl gets some snow...or slush, as the case may be.

In the meantime, I still have to finish packing and organizing and pacing. I've got my work cut out for me!
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