Ready For The Floor

I now have a working phone!

The man behind the counter was rather incompetent and kept pushing a T-Mobile pay-as-you-go card on me, but it wouldn't work when I put it in my phone. I ended up getting an Orange card. I have already called a friend, so I know everything is in order. I started off with 15 pounds, and I'm hoping that lasts me a while.

The phone I'm using (Mikko's phone?) is ridiculously confusing. The numbers are arranged in a circle, so the dialing (and texting) habits I have acquired through years of owning a cell phone are useless. I feel like I'm technologically challenged with this phone. I'll learn.

My second week of classes is over now. I finally had my last class, which is Issues in Contemporary British Politics and Culture, not society. (I called it by the wrong name in a previous post.) The class starts at 6:30 pm, but they tell us to get there ten minutes early if we want our attendance counted. The building was rather hard to find, so I was two minutes late (as in 6:22, not 6:32) and us late-birds (of which there were quite a few) were told to sit in the back (instead of our assigned seats) and we were singled out for being the "late kids." I figured they provided that extra ten minutes for those of us who might be a few minutes late, like an "Aim for 6:20 and you'll be there before class starts" type thing. Nope. Looks like I should start aiming to get there at 6:10 instead.

However, it seems we will have some impressive speakers in that class. In our first meeting, we had political strategist Bob Shrum lecture. (He was supposed to come later in the semester, but he had to come on Monday because he can't make the other scheduled date.) It wasn't the most stimulating lecture, but British politics isn't the most stimulating subject either.

And now for something completely different:
As I sit here and write, I have a maid cleaning my room. This polite Russian lady with a big mole over her lip is cleaning my bathroom (which was in desperate need of a good scrub). There is a slight awkward tension between us, but I'm sure she gets it from every student. Turns out that NIDO housing does provide basic cleaning for the rooms once a week. The maids clean the bathrooms and mop the floors. This is about one of the only things NIDO does that actually pleases me.

The people who run NIDO seem to have no idea what they're doing. I think they just decided to make a building in which they could cram a bunch of students and take shortcuts anywhere possible to make money. Either that or they're just stupid.

FOR EXAMPLE:
One morning, I went into my kitchen to have breakfast. I noticed that my key wouldn't go into my cupboard lock. I figured I was being silly and left it open or something. Sure enough, it was open. Yet, I never leave my storage area in the kitchen open. I thought little of it; I was hungry. Later on, as I ate my cereal, a locksmith came in. He and I struck up conversation. He started talking about how NIDO had hired him to replace the locks on the storage cupboards in the kitchens. Why? NIDO realized they didn't have spare keys for these storage spaces and, apparently, the students had the only copies. Solution? Replace all of the locks so that they can make spare keys!

The locksmith went to work, except he needed the key to get into the cupboard to change the locks. NIDO's response? "Oh! Here's the spare."

He was working and considering that he should tell the people at NIDO about their mistake. If they have spare keys for him to replace the locks, then, well, they have spare keys! I asked him if he had already changed my lock and he said he had (hence the trouble I had earlier and the reason it was open). I'm so glad NIDO informed me that my lock was to be changed. I told him to do his job and make as much money from these people as he could. He agreed.

BUT, I live in a great area in London. Why complain? I only have to deal with a sweltering hot kitchen (that makes food go bad sooner than it should), small living spaces, and that dorm-y living for three and a half more months. I can handle it.


NEWS: I gave myself straight bangs.













Kristen and me after a night out. We found a place that sells a microwaveable piece of pizza for 99 pence (well worth it, let me tell you) and this picture shows some of our crazy adventures in our kitchen at the wee hours of the morning.

La Femme d'Argent

Every Sunday night, I get that horrid realization that I have a lot of work to catch up on for the week. We have only had one week of classes, so it's hard to imagine that I would have too much to do, but since each of my classes only meets once a week, the professors are sure to provide enough work to last until the next class meeting. I need to have one third of Bleak House read by Wednesday. Considering it's a 989-page novel, that is more of a task than it may seem.

But my classes are shaping up to be great. My Reporting the Arts class has several mandatory theatre visits, but on weeks when we don't have an outing, the students must choose their own live performance to attend. This means I can count concerts I go to as part of that, which makes things easier and more interesting for me.

In Contemporary Art in Britain, the professor gave me the impression of a street ruffian who just knows a hell of a lot about art. She's very open to beginners and different interpretations and, since she didn't like school when she was a student, she tries to make our work load desirable. This means that there is no final 15-page essay, but two smaller ones earlier in the semester. (She knows that our other classes are bound to give us huge final assignments.)

Writing London also seems extremely interesting, though I have a feeling that this will be my most work-heavy class. We have plenty to read (Bleak House), which I'm half looking forward to, half dreading. The professor is a smart Italian woman who used the three-hour class time wisely (unlike my other professors during the first week). Instead of spending huge amounts of time talking about nothing while thumbing through the syllabus, she brought two Jonathan Swift poems and a William Blake poem about London for us to read closely and analyze. I got the chance to show off a little bit of my English-major pizazz.

I haven't yet been to my final class, Issues in Contemporary British Politics and Society, the mandatory London class for NYU students. The first meeting is tomorrow. We have assigned seating. I'm curious to see how this class unfolds because, as of now, I'm not too thrilled about it.

I have newspapers strewn around my room for my Reporting the Arts assignment, and I have an onion (which I got from an interesting night out) sitting on my desk. I'm not a very neat person, as if we all didn't know this already.

As for the London nightlife, I can tell that I'm going to have a good time. I found another bar that I enjoy, with cheap drinks and loud music. The great thing about going out in London: You don't need to tip the bar tenders! When a drink is one pound and 50 pence, that's all you pay! I have met some interesting people too, ranging from an art museum curator to a biotechnologist to a 17 year-old rich boy who has twin baby girls. London has quite an interesting mix of people, and I'm slowly (but surely) piecing the different areas of London together in my head and where my home (King's Cross) is in relation to the places I go out. It's getting easier.

It's going to be a good semester, I think.

SOME PICTURES:



















Me in front of a statue of Winston Churchill.



















Kristen and I (temporarily) swap clothes sometimes.

Justice

Tonight I am going to see my first theatre production in London for my Reporting the Arts class. There will be two one-act plays by Harold Pinter: The Lover & The Collection. I have seen the advertisements for this show all over the tube, and they really roused my interest. And what do you know? Going to see the production is my first assignment in one of my classes.

Life-wise, I'm slowly adjusting. I figured that moving here would be much like the first time I moved to New York, but there are few similarities. When I first moved to New York, I was probably more open to making new friends, but now that I have made a solid friend base in New York, I generally don't like the cheesy meet-and-greet type of social environment. My roommate and I are getting along great (one week down, many more to go) and we hang out on occasion. I met someone new, though. My friend Austin back in New York would always talk about his roommate Ricky, and I heard the name Ricky so often that it was almost as if I knew the guy, yet I knew nothing about him. And I had never met him in person.

Ricky had the same experience with my name. Turns out, Ricky and I have that Reporting the Arts class together and we recognized each others' names immediately. He's this intelligent little gay boy who likes poetry and musicals and gets tipsy after one drink. He and I went out to a few bars last night, to explore areas other than King's Cross. (He's already been in London for a full semester, so he knows the city better than I do.) We picked a bar from the non-touristy guide to London that my brother gave to me for Christmas and decided that The Grenadier in Belgravia sounded classy, but not swanky. (We are poor.)

We ventured out to this bar, which was in a cul-de-sac that stemmed off of a small, curvy street. (I don't know how anyone but locals would ever find this bar, unless they had the same City Secrets book that I use.) Since it was a Wednesday, that bar closed at 11, and Ricky took me to a little Italian bar near Piccadilly Circus. It was unnoticeable from the street, another one of those you-wouldn't-see-it-unless-you-knew-about-it kind of pubs. It had a young crowd and a DJ that played old, pleasantly scratchy 7-inch vinyl records. It was fun (and the cheapest bar I've seen thus far).

I am going to try to see a band called The Duke Spirit play tomorrow night, and I'm really looking forward to it, but the details are still hazy and I'm worried my plans might fall through.

I will update about my classes soon.

King Kong in London

I just spent an hour trying to call Peter to wish him a happy birthday. I was trying to call his house phone, which doesn't accept blocked calls. I could not figure out where to put the *82 to reveal the number. Putting it before the country code didn't work, and neither did putting it after the country code and before the area code. I called home to see if there was a chance that there may have been a problem with the card, but I got through. I tried to put the *82 after the area code, and someone picked up, but when I asked for Peter, the man on the phone said I had the wrong number (which I didn't; the *82 probably just affected the number I was dialing). I found Peter's cell phone number and I know that at his house, he has no service. I got through and left a message. I never heard his voice mail message (because the calling card lady was talking) but it told me to leave a message. Let's hope it worked.

Today, I went on a bus tour provided by NYU in London. The first two hours were great. We did the major tourist stops: Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, St. Paul's Cathedral, a galleria-type building on the Thames River, etc.


My roommate, King Kong Kristen.

But after that, our bus got stuck in traffic in a boring high-class shopping district. The once soothing and entertaining British tour guide's voice then became a crackling annoyance that gave me a headache. The bus vibrations didn't help. At that point, my roommate and I were tired and wanted to go back to our dorm building.

Oh yes, and my roommate is alive. She came back home later that day. Since the metro closes down at just past midnight and she was supremely drunk, she spent the night at the friend-of-a-friend's place. She is currently with him at a movie.

She and I make good roomies. She and I generally have the same interests in terms of style, music, movies, social interactions and activities and more. We have gotten past the initial awkward boundaries. We can both talk about anything from guys to clothing to pooping. (Yes, pooping.) She and I can hang out on a regular basis without feeling weird. I don't want to be friends with only her, but it's nice to have a companion to induct myself into London life.

London Loves

I can hear the fluorescent lights buzzing. This kitchen is startlingly white, and it's the first time I have been in here completely alone since the first day I got here. My generic Tesco brand sweet and sour chicken is done heating, and this will be the first meal I have ever "cooked" in London.

I arrived in London with my mother on the 16th of January. She left earlier this morning for American soil and now my living-in-London adventure begins.

I start classes on Monday. I'm still unsure of where, exactly, they are, but as soon as I finish eating and get my act together, I plan to walk down to 6 Bedford Square, where the New York University in London main office is located. I was hoping, actually, to go shopping (for necessity, not enjoyment) with my roommate, Kristen. I only met her the day I moved in, but I can already tell that we have a lot in common. This is a good thing. We need some basic essentials though, like a working alarm clock (since mine just recently broke), a toilet brush cleaner, etc.

Unfortunately, my roommate hasn't returned home from what I was playfully calling a "date" last night. She went to get some cheap dinner and drinks with a friend of a friend, but after several emails between the two blind buddies, the conversation transformed into veiled flirting. I assume that she just ended up having a good time with him, maybe got a little drunk, stayed at his place, etc. If she fails to show up to our room by this evening, however, I will get worried.

But it's not even 2pm yet. It's still prime sleeping-in time.