I Am Going to Get Typhoid

Dear Anna Trebble/O Captain my Captain/Ban-Anna whose namesake happens to be a song that I make the kids at my summer camp sing when they have too much energy or I just want to watch the older kids get really embarrassed when I insist that they jump up and down screaming “Go bananas, go, go bananas” (the Aye Aye banana song is the same one that we sing at Mensch Mill),

I am currently (not) writing a paper about Norwich folklore, which means I have spent the day researching black demon dogs and ghosts of people who were hanged and disemboweled at Norwich castle and repeatedly checking my desk drawer to make sure that the Indian Consulate didn't sneak into my room and take back my freshly printed visa. But I have decided to take a well deserved break (from the 80 rounds of tetris I just played) to write about all the fun things I did this week in between sticking pins into my voodoo dolls of all the employees of Indian visa application center.

(Side note, Land of the Free: same deal as last time. We’re humoring the natives for this post, so put on your condescending all-cultures-are-equal-but-America-is-equaller hat, and prepare to snicker at more silly English jargon. For those of you who don’t know Anna Trebble, she is an extremely famous popular music artist from England. Not really, but her name sounds like it should be).

Last week after another Frisbee practice in which Anna Trebble’s ability to tap dance showed in the athletic grace with which she catches the disc, I had enough time to meet with Jess (of Average Height) and Holly (the Noble and Lovely Giant) so we could watch a battle of the bands at the Blue Bar. I fully expected this to be a hilarious display of all-first-guitarist bands who only know three chords, grow their hair like Justin Beiber, and point at audience members melodramatically/try to crowd surf as this is what usually happens when I see local bands in America. But all of the bands were actually fanatastic, and probably have visas for countries that want to go to also. My favorite had an accordion player, violinist, and BANJO PLAYER, plus really tight vocal harmony. Music in general has been pretty fantastic this week. Every time I go into Norwich City Center, there are street carolers, brass bands, and folk singers lining the streets, playing Christmas songs (Have I mentioned that I love Christmas music and all things related to Christmas? Now when I hum Christmas songs to myself people don’t think its weird like they do in June).

Actually last time I was in Norwich City Center I was picking up my malaria medication to prepare to India (that place I am going because I have a visa, a visa that is not lost in some filling cabinet at the Consulate or lost in mailbox limbo but is currently attached to a chain around my neck like a Flava Flav necklace so that I never have to part from it again). I still plan to contract rabies and Japanese encephalitis, and now there is a new development! I will also be contracting typhoid, a disease passed by people touching poo, not washing their hands, and then touching my food. Even though no one has mentioned it to me before, the English clinician scoffed at American medical practicioners (because they do silly things like prescribe antibiotics to people with chest infections) who apparently take typhoid too lightly and highly recommended that I get a typhoid shot. (She did not recommend that I avoid poo food, which sounds like a better option to me). I’m still not quite sure what typhoid is. I know that most of the caravan died from it in the Oregon Trail computer game when I was 8, and I was devastated. Now I’m upset because it means one of my virtual caravan chefs was serving us virtual poo food. Because I am actually still about 8 years old, I might risk typhoid rather than getting the shot as I hate needles, (Also, English doctors probably don’t give out lollipops being an inferior nation. So there are literally no perks to this shot… Except avoiding a horrible disease, but that’s dumb.) The clinician also insisted that I bring my own needle kit so I don’t contract AIDS. I’m not sure how serious she was so I’m actually bringing one. (I’m actually bringing it to continue my streak of taking extremely stupid, harmless but suspicious things on planes such as my laptop with the then recently completed research paper on jihad).

I have received word that my family has finally decided to throw away the kombucha which has been spawning in our kitchen since early summer. (I say spawning because kombucha is a giant, parasitic mushroom that you can grow in a jar to make tea, and the words parasitic and spawn just go together) According to Connor, the SCOBY mother – that is, the giant parasitic mama mushroom monster which gives birth to the baby mushroom monsters spawn – was taking up about three quarters of the jar and was planning to extend tentacles and enact mind control on small mammals around it before advancing to human mind control, like that one episode of Ninja Turtles where this giant brain creature enslaves an entire town with its tentacle induced mind control. Anyway, Connor has released in the woods and hopefully shot it with a silver bullet or else no one is safe.

And I will end with a short description of the American themed costume party the Frisbee team threw. In short, it was the most fun thing in the entire universe, 99% because of the people, but also because it gave me an excuse to cite American presidential speeches and obscure historical anecdotes that no one recognized for the entire night (I am serious about Teddy Roosevelt. Someone shot him in the chest during a speech and he just kept talking for an hour before he’d go to the hospital. This man is a champion. Take notes, England). Anna Trebble in her infinite glory, and many others from the Frisbee team made decorations, including Uncle Sam and High School Musical posters with team members’ faces superimposed on them, and there were three teams with different costume themes. I’m pretty sure every single costume theme somehow turned into lumberjack (except for me. I was dressed as George Washington.), and the Star Spangled Banner was actually on the playlist, so I didn’t even have to request it, like I usually do. I’m starting to get a little emotional about leaving because this party reminded me that I haven’t spent nearly as much time with the Frisbee team as I wanted to. Or my flat actually. There are so many truly amazing people here, and one semester is just not enough time. But I still have a week, so I’ll save it.

Back to staring lovingly at my visa and researching folkloristics, the only academic study in the history of the world that makes my American Studies major look useful.

My flatmate, Rob, and his beans and toast. Look how excited he looks.

P.S. I discovered the PB&J of England. It's beans and toast. My flatmates stared in horror as I spread peanut butter on a banana in an attempt to do missionary work and spread culture to this savage country, and they explained it to me..... Baked beans.... and toast. I don't get it.