Mom keeps reading the blogs my classmates and I have to write for class on the Dickinson account (I know this because she told me so when I was skyping with the cat today), so she gets to see all my cranky evaluations of the English class system never quite measuring up to the egalitarian utopia that American Studies has brainwashed into me. Seriously, Mom, stop reading my cranky Dickinson blog. Conversely, Prof. Karl Qualls (you remember, the guy that doesn’t wear suspenders or play the oboe) is now reading this personal blog because I’m trying to get academic credit for my very philosophical musings regarding the state of skinny jean appropriateness in England and the possible presence of zombies in Russell Square.
Another glorious week has passed, and I am no closer to cracking the code of the mysterious British nor their mapping system. I still attract strange looks, and I still get lost every time I leave the hotel. To be fair to me though, there is no grid system, the streets change names for no reason, the numbers have semblance of order, and most houses are either unmarked or decided to grow an enormous shrubbery in front of the address. I have, however, managed to master an ambiguous foreign accent which I can adopt when talking to strangers so angry that British people won’t attack me (seriously, the other night this guy told me to go back to America just because I was preaching the glories of the Razor Scooter). It is a rare combination of Philadelphia suburbs and New Zealand (from watching too many episodes of Flight of the Concords). I successfully purchased a scarf with it just yesterday without being bludgeoned to death or asked about cowboys.
Rather than travel, a lot of this week has been devoted to research for my walking tour project which we just finished this morning. It was on the Kray Twins, Britain’s most famous gangsters. But they were British. Which means they drank tea. And possibly wore top hats. Just saying.
Speaking of top hats, we had cocktails with President Durden and a bunch of alumni at Barclay’s Wealth this week. I say “speaking of top hats” as both a metaphor for how this event was more horrifying than that time Dad and I went to visit Princeton and they took us into the impressive hall-of-austere-old-gentleman-paintings for the two hour info session in which the father of one of the frantic note scribbling high school freshman asked about the “psychological repercussions of being rejected from a Princeton eating club” and because I literally saw people on the Barclay Wealth street wearing top hats. They were not dressed up as the Planters Peanut; they were the real deal. Anyway, I’m pretty sure I successfully tricked the Barclay’s people into thinking I belonged in the world of cucumber foam hors d'oeuvres on hilariously bent Matrix spoons, (for instance, I did not trip even one time in my heals and someone helped me put my make-up/war paint on) until I started talking to Durden about the caf.
My recent adventures have been more exciting. I got to go to a synagogue and a mosque this week (which were both the best thing in the whole universe), and saw a few more performances – 39 Steps (another best thing in the whole universe. 4 actors to play about 100 different characters. Hilarious). We also went to see this play called The Habit of Art yesterday which was definitely not the best thing in the whole universe, but Gandalf was sitting 5 seats away from me. I’m serious; Ian McKellen was there. I was going to shout “YOU SHALL NOT PASS,” when he tried to climb by to get out of the row, but I thought it might be rude. He does not wear a wizard hat in real life. Also a side note: literally every single play we have seen has contained cross dressing, even the really serious ones. I have no idea why.
I’ve also visited a few parks around here now. They’re insane. I walked around Hyde Park for like 2 hours yesterday. Imagine the most awesome landscaping you could possibly do when you get to the upper levels of Rollercoaster Tycoon, you know with the decorative cottages, crazy marble statues, hedges shaped like mythical creatures, and duck ponds complete with gazebo and elaborate fountains and multiply it by a million. I’ll have to go back and take some pictures. There aren’t a lot of open fields, though, so you can’t play sports. It’s just this big picturesque labyrinth (there are giant hedges everywhere and no visual confirmation that the city outside exists once you enter. Sort of like how there are no windows to remind you there is a world outside when you enter a Walmart, except Hyde Park is pretty and not soul sucking). Sadly no Triwizard Tournament trophy at the middle.
My newest and most exciting adventure of today: scientology protestors in V for Vendetta masks on Tottenham Court (pronounced Tauttnum Caut. I really miss the letters R and H). I went into the scientology clinic and talk to the scientologists for like an hour and then talked to the protestors for another hour or 2 (they invited me to go the pub with them! Unfortunately, my stranger danger instincts kicked in at that point). It was awesome.
These are my last four days in London. It’s been really awesome. I definitely recommend it to any sophomores thinking about it for next year. We’re headed off to Norwich to start orientation on the 22, so I’ll report back after that.
Seriously, Mom, stop reading the boring Dickinson blogs. I'm really proud that you're that creepy, but they're all super pompous, angry American Studies posts.
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