Some Days.timez

Classes have officially started on this side of the pond!  I cannot stress how excited I was for this day to come.  To be honest, I couldn’t take another day of orientation activities.  It would have driven me stark bonkers; no thank you.

Of course I was 30 minutes late to my first class this morning.  Anyone surprised?  In all fairness, it wasn’t entirely my fault.  A few of us boarded the tube this morning, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to take the day by the metaphorical balls.  Unfortunately, not all balls want to be grabbed and September 14^th was one such instance.  As we boarded the Piccadilly line in South Kensington, we hear the following announcement:  All lines travelling on Piccadilly will experience severe delays due to signal failure.  Wah Wah!  So, after 35 minutes between South Kensington and Knightsbridge (the very next station), a transit that should take less than 3 minutes, we got off and road the line back to SK and boarded the Circle and District line instead.  After three more switches, we got off at Holborn and walked to the Centre.  Luckily, my prof hadn’t started the course yet as every other student was experiencing severed delay as well.  Got to love understanding faculty!

My first class on Monday is an Art History course taught by Lucinda Hawksley.  I am a tad intimidated because this chic chick has three books, from what I remember on the syllabus, published in the area of Pre Raphaelites.  It is going to be a fun course, even though I haven’t once learned about Art History.  Unless you count the art unit in High School Spanish.  You don’t, right?  Right. 

Next.

I had this class called Censored!  What the British Couldn’t See.  Basically we took an 2 hours or so to do introductions and to decided that to ‘censor’ means ‘to limit what can be seen, and to promote the ideal.’  I was rather sleepy, but Wendy, the course instructor, is pretty chill so I am cool with her.  Over the course of the semester we will be watching a lot of films: The Exorcist, A Clockwork Orange, etc.  I am excited to see how the class turns out.  Already, I know that there will be a lot of reading this semester since we only meet once a week.  I have a feeling that this will be a tad dangerous for me…I may or may not wait until the very end to get things done.  Looks like that will have to change!

Following the first day of classes, I rushed back to the LRH to enjoy some delicious curry made by Drew and get ready for a night out at the clubs. 

We didn’t go to bed until 3:30.  I had to leave at 9 this morning.  It was rough.

The club we went to had three floors, including a VIP lounge which each IES member was invited to.  The lounge was pretty comfortable (sans the crying Spanish girl in the corner that we tried, ineffectively, to comfort.  I don’t think she was looking for support, just attention.)  A little note about the music: Tiger Tiger—the club’s name—loves a good bout of 90s music.  Naturally, this was a-okay with a majority of our group.  Quite a good time.

Anyway, we all sweat through our jeans and tees and decided it was time to leave.

Waking up for class this morning was especially difficult.  The sun was pouring in and there was nothing , no nothing, I could do to stop it.  That star is one difficult bitch to beat.

Today I had my first class period of Playwriting.  Vulnerably, I don’t think that I am going to enjoy it.  As much work as the class I took at Gustavus was, I really prefer Mat’s teaching style to Marina’s.  It will definitely be a unique experience.  Perhaps things will change as the time passes.   

Following class, Drew, Steve, Jacque, Virginia, Jamie, and I had lunch at Pret (£2.5 sandwiches!).  It was scrumptious.  The tube ride back was strange.  I was by lonesome and I ended up sitting down and falling asleep.  When I was jolted awake by an unnecessarily sudden stop, I realized that I had missed my leave.  Still, I wasn’t panicked or worried.  Actually, it felt quite good.  I was so aware of where I was and how to maneuver back to the correct location that it ended up filling me with pride.  I know it sounds so miniscule, and a little self promoting, but it caused a click within me.  I am doing this.  I am really getting around this enormous place with my own instincts and judgments.  I think that’s pretty cool.

I miss ANTM. 

I miss my friends.  I miss Spence.  I miss my family.

I am loving this new routine.  It is challenging and exhilarating and exhausting.

Shit.  I just blew out my adapter.  Do not attempt to plug in a power strip to an outlet even if the voltage is converted and adapted.  The strip must have been too much for it to handle.  Lame.

Tonight, Billy Elliot: The Musical.  I’ll let you know what I think.   

Secret.gayz

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Riding.bumz

Of course it’s natural to feel lonely in a city that eleven million people call home. Today, I am lonely. I am embraced by the wind in an awkward hug that reminds me that I am somewhere very far away from comfort. It’s surprising. It’s exhausting. Elaine said it would be a roller coaster of emotions for the first couple of days. Perhaps it is possible to take such rides minutes at a time and this phase will snap like the way my glasses did this morning. The crunch of hideous sunglasses beneath bare feet in the morning: nothing like it.


The visit to the Centre today was draining. Oh hey, Jet Lag! Orientation could not be longer. Until tomorrow and the next day and the next day houses the same activities. Bleh. Luckily, I had not the need to stay back for the breakout sessions following the three hour orientation and immediately dashed home—by ‘dash’ I clearly mean walked 10, tubed 15, walked 15—and found my room unoccupied. I sat down to an Internetless computer and sighed a large, unnecessary sigh.

I took my first nap of the trip. It was amazing.

The desertion of day took place beneath the ground in a 30 minute trip to Mansion House aboard the district line. Destination: Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. We stood (STOOD) at the show for 2.5 hours of Shakespearian dialogue and humor. And you know what? It was positively lovely. Brilliant, even. The players were phenomenal and the story, The Merry Wives of Windsor, was surprisingly hilarious. Everything about the show was endearingly Shakespearian; it couldn’t have been more enjoyable or necessary.

The night was warm and the walk back was pleasant.

The time spent on the first floor kitchen was less than appealing. You know when people are obnoxiously straight/condescendingly heterosexual? It was like spending forty minutes at The Swamp freshman year. What a waste of breath.

Ugh. Cleanse. Wash, rinse, DO NOT repeat. The sour blog is already come. Now, be gone.

There are people here that are more than worth an hour of bad interaction. I am not lonely, I am just riding the ride, waiting to get off at the gate where orientation is over and classes have started.

On the River.amayz

This would definitely be what I would call the first official day in London. Yesterday doesn’t count because of the a)late arrival, b)lack of exploration, c)unfamiliarity even on a basic level, and d)actual time I spent here being equivalent to less than a day. So… Welcome, Jish!

Today we took a tour of the “campus” we will be studying at and the various libraries surrounding the area that are free for students of the IES program to utilize. Now you may be wondering, why on earth is ‘campus’ surrounded by quotations? Well, dear reader, that would be because the IES building—yes, singular—is the only building on our campus for the semester. Each one of the courses is 2.5 hours long, and you only have each class once a week. This allows the academic building to utilize just offices and 5 total classroom settings for every semester. Cool, right?

Anyhoozle, here are the classes I am taking this semester: Pre Raphaelites, Censored! What the British Could Not See, Playwriting, Creative Writing, and Theatre in London: An Introduction. Between the playwriting class and the intro to theatre course, I will be seeing 18 plays as a result of homework. Ugh, why do these things always happen to me?! *maniacal laughter*

Right, so, classes don’t start until Monday, but I think that it’s going to be quite fantastic. The centre is only a mere 10 minute walk to the tube and then a short ride over. The stop at Holborn is only a block away from classes. Easy peasy when you understand what you’re doing; and, it is actually much easier than it looks.

On to some more interesting notes/reflections/happenings/observations:

1. There are no Bumpits© in London. NONE. I haven’t seen a single mini, regular, or mega around. And believe me, I’ve been looking.

2. Pigeons, like many human beings, enjoy bathing. Unlike many human beings, pigeons thoroughly enjoy bathing in public. Today at Russell Square, roughly thirteen million pigeons swarmed the local fountain and began to cleanse their exteriors. I suppose even flying possums need to bathe every once in a while.

3. Today, four of us saw a celebrity. There were five (Iszy missed the famous person by staring off at the local residences) of us walking in a group up Sydney Street in South Kensington when, just steps ahead of us, who should come waltzing down the sidewalk but none other than thee HALLE BARRY. What?! Did that really just happen. In person, she is every bit as hot as she is on the big screen.

4. Attn: any fan of a certain novel phenomenon that will be releasing part one of two of its 7th and final cinema installment this November. Tonight, following a dinner with 9 other people, Drew (the roommate) and Iszy (proud member of the 8th floor) and I took a random bus to a random location. As we walked around the darkened streets, stumbling upon such sights as Big Ben, the London Eye, and Westminster Cathedral, (you know, the usual, everyday occurrences) we happened to cross a few bridges over the Thames. The final bridge, however, was the Millennium Bridge. This is the very bridge that Harry and Company fly over during the chase scene in the beginning of the sixth book/film. It was positively magical to be walking on the “Harry Potter Bridge” while surrounded by some of the most majestic monuments in all of Europe. Words could not help explain it. So I won’t attempt.

We saw a guy that carried a living python around his neck. I guess that was decent, too.

Natch.luvz

It should only be obvious that I was the last person to arrive at the IES residence hall today; it might even solicit a “natch” from my friends and family who are more than familiar with the phrase—and my chronic lateness for that matter.
Regardless, I AM IN LONDON! I am actually here spending time in the city with people that get to love and embrace the same place as I do for the next four months.

I won’t lie, the initial trip to the residence hall was a tad scary. I felt unsure about every single thing I was doing. It was so nerve wracking that I couldn’t even project my voice loud enough for the cabby to hear my destination request. Ugh, how pitiful!

Steps: Arrive in London and go through Customs. Customs takes approximately 400,000 hours to get through. The queue is very long and will be full of people that do not give a shit about what your name is, who you are, or where you come from. Then, at the end of it all, the only person you’re talking to wants to know what the hell you’re doing in their country and how you intend to hurt it. After you’re finished being emotionally and mentally manhandled, you will be happy to not that all you need to do is find and reclaim your luggage. Of course, you were too excited on the plane to listen to the pilot or head attendant and you have no idea where the carousal containing your suitcase is. Eventually, the bag will be found and the Heathrow Express, a very simple to navigate bullet train, takes you to Paddington Station. Perf. Then it’s a simple, yet terrifying, trip to Manresa Road and the building.

Mieke: “You must be Josh! GOOO GUSTIES! IjustloveminnesotabecauseIgrewuptherewithgreatfriendsandIevenworkedatMcAllisterforthreeyearssoIamveryfamiliarwiththeareabecauseIhadafriendthatlivedinHermantowwhichisrightbyWalkerohhowfun!”

Josh: “Yeah. Cool. (HE collapses with exhaustion) I’m last aren’t I?”

Mieke: “well that’s better than not all, woo!” She seems pretty great.

I managed to arrive with just thirteen minutes to unpack and leave for the guided tour. This meant that NO ONE received a safety call from me until about 5 o’clock my time. Woops! Guess what? I am safe so let’s all be thankful.

I am on the 8th floor and the view from my window is disgustingly awesome. In addition to my reflection, I can see the buildings of London City glowing across the river and dwarfing the Frasier logo by tenfold.

Roommate: Drew Tharp. He seems pretty chill. Easy to get along with. Thank. God.

Also met this guy named Ben tonight who did theater with Miles Duffey, an old speech competitor, all summer. It was not all that surprising to find out because they actually appear somewhat alike. Which one do you think is the heartless/nobody?? (I am not insulting either of them. This is a VERY NERDY reference which I do believe no one will understand.)

Had dinner with five other people this evening, more on that later and my first experience with dining in London.

I think I am really gonna like it here. I really, really do.

Ambien.plz

For all those interested, this is how you successfully pack for a trip abroad: First, pack a suitcase, preferably a heavy, cumbersome one with as much as you possibly can. Make sure that you make multiple attempts at filling the suitcase to the brim before finally zipping the damn thing shut; there should be a gratuitous amount of bumps, projections, and other odd shapes pressing against the fabric of the front of the bag. Second, weigh your bag. Third, notice that bags over 50lbs cost $173 to check and that if the bag is over 70lbs it will not be allowed on the plane. Fourth, read the digital read out of the scale to notice 64.4lbs; accompany this discovery with several curse words under your breath or a very vocal: "what do you mean it's above fifty pounds?!" Sixth, take everything, EVERYTHING, out and restart the process by cutting out half of your clothing. Congratulations, you are now ready to go abroad.

Shit. You forgot toiletries. Whatever, just buy them.

The Fear I am feeling right now, from the toilet mind you, is unsettling. (No, mother, I am not typing and pooping, I am sitting on top of the toilet because it's the quietest place in the house.) I capitalize "Fear" because this isn't simply an emotion or realization. It's an embodiment. Like some macabre puppet dancing above my head, the Fear drills into my head with headlines like, "Plane Loses Engines, Wreckage Disastrous in Atlantic," and "American Student Held Hostage in Eleven Hour Stand-off." I can't say the newsprint of the Fear is very comforting. Frankly, it's horrifying.

Grandpa says it's safer to fly than to drive. I have never believed him. Then again, he did try to get me to golf as a child and the dude that won today walked away with more than six figures.

Ambien and Wine force Grandpa to sound right.

Tomorrow when I am in the airport--for four GD hours because I just want to be sure I will make it--I will watch the people around me and wonder if they have the same little puppets around their heads and in their minds and if they have any tricks to make them go away. My guess is that no one will have thought about it as much as I do. Then again, maybe they have? Maybe people think about these things all the time and we never talk about them. There are not many things we talk about as a people though... Imagine if the first things we talked about were imaginary marionettes dangling above our heads and whispering things in our ears. Gross.

Also, I am really sorry, little blog, that I didn't write on you for three days. I was busy finishing up those loose ends in America, You know, like family, the boy, the friends. Just those little things that kinda need attention.

I have a playlist for the moments like this.  Right now it's lead off with the song Beautifully by Jay Brannan.  I suggest listening to it.  It helps the tears flow when they were going to anyway.  I call the playlist, "That Mood" ala Tony Spain.

(I am aware, painfully so, that I have been using italics and quotation marks interchangeably for this post.  I do not support my own actions and my lack of consistency, but I am far too tired to give a damn.  Apparently not too tired to take the time to point out something no one cares about.)

Spencer is calling on my phone.  He won't be able to do that for another 4 months.  He will hate it.  He's a talker.  :)

     A Haiku
Pulling strings to move
little limbs.  Jaw cracks wide; says:
Fear is natural.

Tomorrow I will experience birth by sleep in more ways than one.

The Road.duhz

The little things hit you when they aren't supposed to.  Like when you sit down to watch an episode of Bravo's Top Chef and realize this will be the last episode of the show you'll see before travelling nine hours by plane.  Or when you pick out the next summer read from your bookshelf and suddenly become painfully aware that there is no way in hell that you will be finishing it.  But maybe you could....if you could only fit it in your bag.

But black bag cannot hold everything; black bag can only hold the things that are most necessary.

And a book isn't necessary?  Since when?  Since when are Tana French and Augusten Burroughs not worth a spot in four months worth of life?  What could possibly be so much better than a novel to on a bench in South Gate or a chapter (or two or three) amidst the contemporary art gracing the Serpentine Garden? 

Oh, right.  A toothbrush.  A pair of *SEXY* grey jeans.  A camera.  A contact case.  A pencil.  A journal. A Passport?  I suppose there are many things that could replace a bound set of paper and words, but nothing can emulate the scent of letters or the way the a page feels as it turns across your fingertips.

I will miss reading.  Perhaps a paperback can fit in my carry-on.

Six days.  SIx daYs.  XI Days. Nope.  There's no way to type those two words without evoking terror, anxiety, and more than a hint of excitement.

(I think Tiffany is going home;  she's my favorite.  There will probably be tears.  In no way could they all be attributed to reality TV.)

The Swan Thieves, The Lost Symbol, Blink, Pyres, PUSH, The Magicians, City of Thieves, In the Woods, This Will Kill You, The Convalescent, The Shack, The Passage, Her Fearful Symmetry, Angelology, A Spot Of Bother, Liberal Fascism, Dry, The Tin Drum, To Kill A Mockingbird, A Good and Happy Child, The Memorist, The Children's Book, The Abstinence Teacher, Lanceheim, The 13 and 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear, The Angel's Game, Perfect Family:  How could I leave pieces of my soul on the shelf?  I remind myself that it's a month or two or three or four.  That's it.  At least they will have each other; I will have hygiene.

Erick, the little brother, the best, is going off to school tomorrow and the few moments we have during the morning hours amidst the countless other first years will be the last for quite some time.  Duluth is going to be great to him.  London, be good to me!

Tiffany is out.  I squeeze a copy of Cormac McCarthy's The Road into my bag.