Oh, yes, you’re proper evil. I thought you were just a bit careless with your scheduling, had to make a few last-minute changes, nothing that would really destroy anyone’s soul. Little did I know the kind of subtle dissimulation of which you were really capable, the kind that preys upon American students with vicious cruelty.
First you sent an email saying the lecture had been changed to 10:00 on Tuesdays; I went to your department and got told it would probably get changed back, and the next thing I knew, I found another email saying that class had been changed to 1:00 on Tuesdays. Pay close attention, American readers, this is a trick. So I was cross but I was not destroyed to the depths of my soul because I could still have all the classes I had before, and my schedule would just be less nice. I did not go to the seminar class that conflicted with the new 1:00 time, because I believed at that time that I was going to have to switch my seminar class to the Wednesday date. I went instead to the 1:00 class, and what did I find? WHAT DID I FIND?
I found that the lecture had been held earlier that morning, that in fact the class that had been changed was the seminar portion, here called classes but in America called seminars. That in fact the class in toto conflicted with two of my quite necessary classes, being held in lecture at 10:00 (conflicting with my research course) and in class (read: seminar) at 1:00 (conflicting (though fixably) with my American lit seminar). That was crafty. Oh, I won’t underestimate you again.
Add to that the fact that the class was full of people from different countries, which means that I would have gotten the most fantastic array of viewpoints (from Spain, Italy, Britain, America, China, Japan, and somewhere else because there was another international student who had emailed the professor to say she wouldn’t make it that day) on the gays. It’s just unkind, isn’t it? You’ve forced me to take some class on symbolic imagination, which is, I know, my subject, but it is also much less cool and interesting, you great Satan! You just don’t want outsiders in your department, is that it? Only sociologists allowed? Come on! Admit it! We already know anyway!
Well, I hope you enjoy it, that’s all. I hope you enjoy your insularity. And when you become the America of the University of Essex, hated by all the other departments because you don’t want anyone else’s viewpoint, just don’t blame me, that’s all. I tried to integrate. And I will publish your infamy to the world! And in the days to come, history will judge you, sociology department, and it will not be pretty. That’s all I have to say. It will not be pretty.
Here is my new fall schedule, and I hope you’re satisfied, all right, I hope you’re bloody satisfied! I have three days off all year now! I don’t need you and your Thursday-classes-in-the-spring nonsense! I don’t need your holier-than-thou, you-can’t-take-this-class-in-the-spring-unless-you’ve-taken-the-
autumn-option, stay-out-of-our-halls parochialism.
Tuesdays: 9-1:30
Fridays: 10-12; 2-4
Really, how do you live with yourselves? Dangling the chance that I might be able to keep the one course I have always looked forward to with unqualified enthusiasm, and then snatching it away at the last minute, simultaneously forcing me to miss the first US Lit class of the year? How do you sleep at night?
With all due respect (I need hardly say what that entails), etc. etc.
P.S. (I can never resist a P.S.) My US Lit professor played us a video of Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock doing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” And it was beautiful. I was moved almost to tears. That’s what literature classes are like. Yeah. I just want you to know exactly what you’ve lost by throwing away our discipline. Just remember that. Remember that.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Monday, October 9, 2006
Dear Sociology Department,
Stop changing my schedule, you big meanies. I had a perfect schedule wherein there were no class at all throughout the entire year on Mondays and Wednesdays, and no classes on Thursdays for the entire fall term. First you destroyed my soul by trying to act like you were going to put my queer sociology class in direct conflict with my research methods in history class; and then you were all like Oh we’re probably going to change it back; and now you’re all like, You remember that thing where you had Wednesdays off because you cleverly chose the Tuesday timeslot for your US Lit seminar? Yeah. About that. We’ve decided to put the queer sociology class in direct conflict with that US Lit seminar instead, and we’re going to let you know at 5:30 so that you won’t have time to change the timeslot before class tomorrow.
So now instead of this:
Tuesdays: 9-4
Fridays: 2-4
My fall term schedule is like this:
Tuesdays: 9-12, 1-2, 3-4
Wednesdays: 2:30-4
Fridays: 2-4.
See how much less good that is? See how I have really inconvenient hour-long breaks in which to spend money buying lunch I don’t want just so I can use the chairs at the restaurants to sit and read? See how it’s not tidy and compact anymore but in fact hateful and spread-out like nasty jam all spread out on nasty bread instead of localized Cane’s sauce on yummy Cane’s chicken fingers? WHY ARE YOU SATAN?
Okay, I know it’s dumb to bitch about these things when I have a whole day off which is mostly impossible at colleges in the States. BUT STILL. It is the day before Tuesday. This is NO TIME to freak out and change everything, Sociology Department, and why in God’s name does the professor of this class want to have the lecture part and then have an hour-long break before the seminar part? How is that helpful to anyone? (Hint: IT ISN’T.)
In conclusion, POO.
Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Jenny the Disgruntled Exchange Student
P.S. I also now have class at exactly the time when I’m meant to go meet my boyfriend at the train station. So you are even more horrible than I had previously believed you to be.
So now instead of this:
Tuesdays: 9-4
Fridays: 2-4
My fall term schedule is like this:
Tuesdays: 9-12, 1-2, 3-4
Wednesdays: 2:30-4
Fridays: 2-4.
See how much less good that is? See how I have really inconvenient hour-long breaks in which to spend money buying lunch I don’t want just so I can use the chairs at the restaurants to sit and read? See how it’s not tidy and compact anymore but in fact hateful and spread-out like nasty jam all spread out on nasty bread instead of localized Cane’s sauce on yummy Cane’s chicken fingers? WHY ARE YOU SATAN?
Okay, I know it’s dumb to bitch about these things when I have a whole day off which is mostly impossible at colleges in the States. BUT STILL. It is the day before Tuesday. This is NO TIME to freak out and change everything, Sociology Department, and why in God’s name does the professor of this class want to have the lecture part and then have an hour-long break before the seminar part? How is that helpful to anyone? (Hint: IT ISN’T.)
In conclusion, POO.
Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Jenny the Disgruntled Exchange Student
P.S. I also now have class at exactly the time when I’m meant to go meet my boyfriend at the train station. So you are even more horrible than I had previously believed you to be.
Having no car is not joyous and free but just unhandy
Here is a picture of my arm four hours after I got back from Tesco’s. Observe how it is still bearing the marks of carrying really really heavy bags all over the place, and bear in mind that I did not even walk home; this is just getting from the bus stop to my dorm, which is normally like a two-minute walk. That’s how heavy my bags were.
Okay, that doesn’t look very horrible, but I swear, it looks like way angrier in real life. It’s so uncool, it’s like a streaky bag-produced arm hickey. (And nobody likes hickeys.)
In other news, all I have to do for dinner tonight is give Kieran a pound fifty and I get steak pie (Kieran says: If I get a pie, just proper steak pie straight through with gravy, can I share your mash?) and mash made by Sarah and Trish who have mash seriously every single night. And then, instead of learning to read secretary hand like I should be doing, I shall watch American Dad with my flatmates.
Okay, that doesn’t look very horrible, but I swear, it looks like way angrier in real life. It’s so uncool, it’s like a streaky bag-produced arm hickey. (And nobody likes hickeys.)
In other news, all I have to do for dinner tonight is give Kieran a pound fifty and I get steak pie (Kieran says: If I get a pie, just proper steak pie straight through with gravy, can I share your mash?) and mash made by Sarah and Trish who have mash seriously every single night. And then, instead of learning to read secretary hand like I should be doing, I shall watch American Dad with my flatmates.
Sunday, October 8, 2006
The Shrub: Dumb, or just dumb?
George Bush says, “The attacks were meant to bring us to our knees. And they did. But not in the way the terrorists intended.”
Yeah. Insert blow job joke.
Yeah. Insert blow job joke.
Saturday, October 7, 2006
My Very Telling Synopsis of Beauty and the Beast
I just told Steve that if I could be any Disney heroine, I would be Belle because she reads books and gets a big library.
Steve says that’s a pretty good sum-up of the film, hits all the high points, and I agree.
(But I like Eric better than I like the scary guy the Beast turns into.)
Glad I could share this with you.
Steve says that’s a pretty good sum-up of the film, hits all the high points, and I agree.
(But I like Eric better than I like the scary guy the Beast turns into.)
Glad I could share this with you.
Flat 6
There are exactly fourteen people staying in my flat, and here they are, in alphabetical order.
Dave is laid-back, fancies himself good at Shithead (a card game we play a lot involving much cursing but no slapping of cards, which I think takes a lot of the fun away), and has a bottle of Ouzo (observe shot glass in hand) that he shares liberally and mostly with Edward.
Edward is the youngest in our flat, has a shot of Dave’s Ouzo in his hand, and believes that AIDS was manufactured by the American government to get rid of the gays. Ebola also. I explained to him that it was not so, but he clearly thought I was simply taken in by my government.
Elliott insisted on being photographed with his, er, beer goggles, is not very good at teaching people to play Shithead, and is very interested in muscles (where they are and what they’re called).
Flick is studying languages and is totally crazy about them (quite rightly!), and her real name, Felicity, led to her being called Toilet as a schoolgirl because Felicity-Facility-Toilet, which is much more inventive than any of my classmates ever got.
Holly is studying law and I didn’t understand her the first three times she said that to me because I kept translating what she was saying into “Lor” and being bewildered.
Iva is one of two Lithuanian guys in my flat. He likes to pretend he is chewing tobacco and say “Howdy” in his level Lithuanian best at a Texan accent. One time when he and Vyga were about to have vodka shots, he said, “To Texas, our favorite state!” and Vyga said, “What is it that they say?” and Iva explained that it was “Howdy pardner” and then they both said that and drank their vodka shots and I nearly fell off my chair laughing.
I am me, and you have never seen me in a skirt that short before. It’s Sarah’s, and she made me.
Kieran looks like a leprechaun and plays drums in a band and has had his hair straightened by Sarah and/or Trish.
Memo (oh, dear, is that how he spells it? I swear that’s what it sounds like he’s saying) is of Turkish extraction but has been in the UK for at least a year, studying at the University of Manchester, from which he has transferred for his second and third year. He is usually very quiet but had an extremely loud and rejoiceful birthday yesterday (observe shot glasses).
Noriko (left) and Mai (right) are from Tokyo, and I think they are on exchange. They do not spend a lot of time hanging out with the rest of the flatmates, but they are terribly nice, and Mai is majoring in English literature! Like me! They also do cute drawings on their kitchen things, as seen below.
See? There is Noriko, and there is Mai, and there is happy toast.
Sarah very generously lent me all her clothes so that I would have a proper English school uniform to wear. She thinks she might do directing and tries to eat the gravy left over on her plate with a fork, to limited success.
Trish has a large family and feels very strongly about mashed potatoes (they are very delicious and should be consumed as often as possible, and it is little short of criminal to leave mash on your plate).
Vyga is the other Lithuanian guy, and he is very good at hauling drunk people around, and he does not like the Poles but was vague as to why. He is not going to drink all of that.
P.S. My flatmates do not normally dress funny and draw freckles on themselves and drink vodka shots at random. There was a school disco which meant everyone had to dress up, and yesterday it was school uniform night. (Actually, I found out later and to my intense chagrin, it was skool uniform night.) Like a wild woman I had a vodka lemonade, which is exactly like Sprite, but I did not dance because I do not like to. Instead I went home earlyish and was thus treated to the sight of an astoundingly drunk Memo. Luckily the Lithuanians handled up on it. Lucky for him, I mean, because I would have just let him fall asleep on the narrow bench in the kitchen. Actions have consequences. I am pitiless.
Dave is laid-back, fancies himself good at Shithead (a card game we play a lot involving much cursing but no slapping of cards, which I think takes a lot of the fun away), and has a bottle of Ouzo (observe shot glass in hand) that he shares liberally and mostly with Edward.
Edward is the youngest in our flat, has a shot of Dave’s Ouzo in his hand, and believes that AIDS was manufactured by the American government to get rid of the gays. Ebola also. I explained to him that it was not so, but he clearly thought I was simply taken in by my government.
Elliott insisted on being photographed with his, er, beer goggles, is not very good at teaching people to play Shithead, and is very interested in muscles (where they are and what they’re called).
Flick is studying languages and is totally crazy about them (quite rightly!), and her real name, Felicity, led to her being called Toilet as a schoolgirl because Felicity-Facility-Toilet, which is much more inventive than any of my classmates ever got.
Holly is studying law and I didn’t understand her the first three times she said that to me because I kept translating what she was saying into “Lor” and being bewildered.
Iva is one of two Lithuanian guys in my flat. He likes to pretend he is chewing tobacco and say “Howdy” in his level Lithuanian best at a Texan accent. One time when he and Vyga were about to have vodka shots, he said, “To Texas, our favorite state!” and Vyga said, “What is it that they say?” and Iva explained that it was “Howdy pardner” and then they both said that and drank their vodka shots and I nearly fell off my chair laughing.
I am me, and you have never seen me in a skirt that short before. It’s Sarah’s, and she made me.
Kieran looks like a leprechaun and plays drums in a band and has had his hair straightened by Sarah and/or Trish.
Memo (oh, dear, is that how he spells it? I swear that’s what it sounds like he’s saying) is of Turkish extraction but has been in the UK for at least a year, studying at the University of Manchester, from which he has transferred for his second and third year. He is usually very quiet but had an extremely loud and rejoiceful birthday yesterday (observe shot glasses).
Noriko (left) and Mai (right) are from Tokyo, and I think they are on exchange. They do not spend a lot of time hanging out with the rest of the flatmates, but they are terribly nice, and Mai is majoring in English literature! Like me! They also do cute drawings on their kitchen things, as seen below.
See? There is Noriko, and there is Mai, and there is happy toast.
Sarah very generously lent me all her clothes so that I would have a proper English school uniform to wear. She thinks she might do directing and tries to eat the gravy left over on her plate with a fork, to limited success.
Trish has a large family and feels very strongly about mashed potatoes (they are very delicious and should be consumed as often as possible, and it is little short of criminal to leave mash on your plate).
Vyga is the other Lithuanian guy, and he is very good at hauling drunk people around, and he does not like the Poles but was vague as to why. He is not going to drink all of that.
P.S. My flatmates do not normally dress funny and draw freckles on themselves and drink vodka shots at random. There was a school disco which meant everyone had to dress up, and yesterday it was school uniform night. (Actually, I found out later and to my intense chagrin, it was skool uniform night.) Like a wild woman I had a vodka lemonade, which is exactly like Sprite, but I did not dance because I do not like to. Instead I went home earlyish and was thus treated to the sight of an astoundingly drunk Memo. Luckily the Lithuanians handled up on it. Lucky for him, I mean, because I would have just let him fall asleep on the narrow bench in the kitchen. Actions have consequences. I am pitiless.
Tuesday, October 3, 2006
Official stock conversation with people in England
British person: Where you from then?
Jenny: America.
British person: Where in America?
Jenny: Near New Orleans in Louisiana.
British person: Is that near California, like?
Anyone have any light to shed on this? I have not picked California at random - that is exactly what they say to me.
Jenny: America.
British person: Where in America?
Jenny: Near New Orleans in Louisiana.
British person: Is that near California, like?
Anyone have any light to shed on this? I have not picked California at random - that is exactly what they say to me.
Why Middleton Library is better (and worse) than the one at Essex
Okay, here’s why.
Worse
The Sloman library (for such is its name) has a handy paper inside the lifts (authentic British phrase!) that explains what sections are on each floor, so you don’t have to interpret the Library of Congress numbers when you have no idea what they’re supposed to mean. They also have it printed on the shelf tags on each shelf, in pretty specific detail. So hurrah for that! although I don’t need it because I know where the Oscar Wilde books are, and what more is really necessary?
Better
Essex is smaller.
Revolving doors. The perpetually revolving ones that you have to leap into as they go around and walk quickly enough that they don’t smack you in the ass. What do you do if you’re extremely old? Or handicapped? That’s what I want to know.
Lifts. They also move perpetually, and they’re open, so you just have to leap on them as they’re coming and going and tough shit for you if there’s somebody getting off when you’re getting on because then you just have to wait for the next one. And it’s only two people to a lift at a time. And no children allowed. And you know what they’re called, do you know? They are called paternoster lifts, as in like Our Father, and yes, they are actually called that because you pray getting on and off that you won’t fall flat on your face or whatever. Check them out on Wikipedia and please take note of the terrifying picture. My favorite part of the post is the common misconception paragraph, which helpfully informs you that the elevator could shut down with you inside if you don’t stand totally still if you miss getting off at the ground floor and keep going down (or up at the top floor, whatever). P.S. My university is mentioned in the article as being one of the only ones left (aren’t we honored?). THIS IS TERRIFYING.
Worse
The Sloman library (for such is its name) has a handy paper inside the lifts (authentic British phrase!) that explains what sections are on each floor, so you don’t have to interpret the Library of Congress numbers when you have no idea what they’re supposed to mean. They also have it printed on the shelf tags on each shelf, in pretty specific detail. So hurrah for that! although I don’t need it because I know where the Oscar Wilde books are, and what more is really necessary?
Better
Essex is smaller.
Revolving doors. The perpetually revolving ones that you have to leap into as they go around and walk quickly enough that they don’t smack you in the ass. What do you do if you’re extremely old? Or handicapped? That’s what I want to know.
Lifts. They also move perpetually, and they’re open, so you just have to leap on them as they’re coming and going and tough shit for you if there’s somebody getting off when you’re getting on because then you just have to wait for the next one. And it’s only two people to a lift at a time. And no children allowed. And you know what they’re called, do you know? They are called paternoster lifts, as in like Our Father, and yes, they are actually called that because you pray getting on and off that you won’t fall flat on your face or whatever. Check them out on Wikipedia and please take note of the terrifying picture. My favorite part of the post is the common misconception paragraph, which helpfully informs you that the elevator could shut down with you inside if you don’t stand totally still if you miss getting off at the ground floor and keep going down (or up at the top floor, whatever). P.S. My university is mentioned in the article as being one of the only ones left (aren’t we honored?). THIS IS TERRIFYING.
Initial Observations
So I went on a London taxi in proper traffic, and I observed the following things:
1) Lanes are very narrow indeed. Luckily this does not bother the British because no one seems to be the least bit perturbed to having the driver in the lane next to them swerve halfway into their lane while going 50 mph. Instead of braking furiously to avoid the mad driver with the lane issues, they just swerve over a little themselves. Furthermore, the lane markers are completely meaningless because every now and then one lane will get narrower and narrower and narrower and you assume it was a merge lane even though there were no signs and nobody was behaving in a manner that might suggest that they were going to let each other over. But actually it is not a merge lane, it is just that the line gets closer and closer to the kerb (notice the incredibly authentic English spelling), and then finally I guess the painters were like, Well shit, this won’t do, and a whole new sets of dotted lines appears a few feet to the right of the other one, recreating two lanes. It is totally ridiculous.
2) London taxi drivers are much less friendly than Colchester taxi drivers, and I say this based on my experience of one of each. (I drove with a London cab driver last time I was in London but it was a different kind of cab and therefore doesn’t count, and besides I endeared myself to him by knowing about Sri Lanka and thus he was bound to be a bit more amiable.) The Colchester cab driver told us that his missus always says London cab drivers are mis’rable bastards (he himself does not hold with this view).
3) It does not do any good for your nerves to watch the cab come extra close to hitting things in front, in back, and on either side of you.
4) The bicyclers wear neon jackets and they pedal furiously, and every now and then they glance back over their shoulder in much the same way as Johnny Depp in Sleepy Hollow when he is being chased by a sinister headless horseman, which they might well do because they know that the drivers of the cars are going to Run Them Down Without Mercy™. It’s true. We nearly hit like seven bike drivers, and they just kept going faster and faster, and I kept thinking, hurray, they’re escaping! but instead the taxi driver would accelerate so that he could hit them. I was always glad when they veered away.
1) Lanes are very narrow indeed. Luckily this does not bother the British because no one seems to be the least bit perturbed to having the driver in the lane next to them swerve halfway into their lane while going 50 mph. Instead of braking furiously to avoid the mad driver with the lane issues, they just swerve over a little themselves. Furthermore, the lane markers are completely meaningless because every now and then one lane will get narrower and narrower and narrower and you assume it was a merge lane even though there were no signs and nobody was behaving in a manner that might suggest that they were going to let each other over. But actually it is not a merge lane, it is just that the line gets closer and closer to the kerb (notice the incredibly authentic English spelling), and then finally I guess the painters were like, Well shit, this won’t do, and a whole new sets of dotted lines appears a few feet to the right of the other one, recreating two lanes. It is totally ridiculous.
2) London taxi drivers are much less friendly than Colchester taxi drivers, and I say this based on my experience of one of each. (I drove with a London cab driver last time I was in London but it was a different kind of cab and therefore doesn’t count, and besides I endeared myself to him by knowing about Sri Lanka and thus he was bound to be a bit more amiable.) The Colchester cab driver told us that his missus always says London cab drivers are mis’rable bastards (he himself does not hold with this view).
3) It does not do any good for your nerves to watch the cab come extra close to hitting things in front, in back, and on either side of you.
4) The bicyclers wear neon jackets and they pedal furiously, and every now and then they glance back over their shoulder in much the same way as Johnny Depp in Sleepy Hollow when he is being chased by a sinister headless horseman, which they might well do because they know that the drivers of the cars are going to Run Them Down Without Mercy™. It’s true. We nearly hit like seven bike drivers, and they just kept going faster and faster, and I kept thinking, hurray, they’re escaping! but instead the taxi driver would accelerate so that he could hit them. I was always glad when they veered away.
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