Big Plans

I was confused today.

Before coming to the UK, I realized I may have a problem. My flight back to the US is currently booked for June 15, while my visa expires on June 12. In the last two days, I have tried to gain some insight to determine whether or not this is a problem. First, I emailed the USC study abroad advisor. He told me it shouldn’t be a problem, students are allowed a three-month grace period after their studies in case they want to travel. He told me to check with the study abroad advisor here just to be sure, which I did. He told me that it would indeed be a problem, but one easily remedied. He said I would just have to extend my visa, a free process which couldn’t take more than a couple weeks. But he said I should go see the visa specialist to be sure, which I promptly did. She, to my dismay, told me it was a big problem. Extending my visa would cost 295 pounds, or roughly 450 dollars, and it would take longer than the four months I have left in the UK to complete.

I don’t know who to trust. I’m beginning to think that foreign visa operations is one of those things which the human mind just can’t understand, like five-dimensional space or why a cat always lands on his feet. We just don’t have the technology. I suppose my goal now is to find someone with some semblance of authority who tells me what I want to hear.

Ukulele practice continues, and my skill flourishes.

Tonight I booked a flight to Venice for April 4! Hooray! After much thought and some input from my father and other sources, I’ve decided, during my month off in April, to travel from the northern tip to the southern tip of Italy. It should be cheaper and more worthwhile than flitting all around Europe trying to see everything all at once.

Here is a picture of an orange peel which looks like a duck (amendment: Dave has informed me it actually looks like a SEAHORSE), and my precious borrowed ukulele.

Red Hot Ukulele Love

I have been consumed by the ukulele. I played for at least two hours today in between classes, going to the gym and doing homework. It makes such nice sounds! And I’ve found a website which pictographically demonstrates how to play each chord, and it even has some songs you can play along with. I’ve played a song by the Flaming Lips several times now, and can almost play it! That is to say, I can almost strum a shadow of the right chord a couple seconds after I’m supposed to, but it’s gratifying nonetheless.

This weekend Dave and I are going to Wiltshire, where Dave lives. It’s about two hours away, near Stonehenge and Salisbury. We bought our bus tickets today. It should be a fun trip, and I’m sure I’ll come back with some stories to tell. If I can tear myself away from my newfound love, the ukulele, that is.

Essay

I turned in my essay on the Natural History Museum yesterday. I was required to keep it less than one thousand words, or else I think it would have been a much better essay. It was good though, nonetheless. It was interesting to write, more interesting than I expected. Construction began on the current Natural History Museum in 1870, about ten years after Darwin published On the Origin of Species. By this time, the scientific world was divided over the evolution v. creation debate. The supervisor of the museum, a man named Richard Owen, was a staunch creationist. Owen had a huge part in designing the current museum, even though the official architect was Alfred Waterhouse. As such, there are plenty of architectural features of the museum which support creationism. First of all, the whole museum resembles a church more than a museum, and its two central spires were directly inspired by German cathedrals. Owen wanted sculptures of animals all over the museum, which there are, and they are very entertaining, but they are kept separate; sculptures of living species were confined to the west end of the museum, whereas sculptures of extinct creatures were kept on the east, stressing the separation between the two. Also, when the museum was built (I think I mentioned this before) there was a sculpture of Adam on the central gable above the entrance. He is higher than all the animals but well below the cathedral towers on either side of him, stressing man’s subservience to God.

Probably the most obvious hint at the museum’s pro-creationism bias is the main hall, which bears strong resemblance to a cathedral. There are stained glass windows and arches, with a huge vaulted ceiling overhead, and it was described directly after it opened as the Westminster Abbey for the animals, etc. It’s very clearly resembles a church. I found it very funny, therefore, when I discovered that the sculpted man seated at the far end of the hall where, in a cathedral, the altar belongs, was not Richard Owen or some other museum supporter, but Charles Darwin! Behind enemy lines! I guess he’s not technically considered an enemy of the museum anymore, but I thought it was very funny to find a sculpture of him in such a poignant place.

My friend Clara visited me for these past couple days on her way to Germany to start her study abroad program. It was nice to see a familiar face. We went out last night to the local Monday night pub (I think there’s a pub or two for every night of the week) and got some drinks with my friends.

One of my friends in the flat upstairs likes to play music, so we listened to him play the guitar songs he’s written, and he offered to let me borrow his ukulele to see if I can learn anything. It’s very exciting. I fashioned a pick out of a hotel swipe card I’d been using as a bookmark, and now I’m on my way. I already know two chords!

Top of the Morning!

This may be my first ever morning post. That is, morning over here, extreme morning over there in the real world.

I took my contacts out last night and my eyes burnt like fire. I don’t know why, but I think I’ve been using this pair of two-week contacts for over a month. I threw them away and decided to just wear my glasses today in order to give my eyes time to be eyes again instead of docking ports for soft plastic disks which, now that I think about it, turn me into something of a cyborg, or a human enhanced by something not human. Yes, I am a cyborg. But not today.

I forgot to tell you about the crayon party a few nights ago. Yes, we all decided it wasn’t such a bad idea after all, and we spent a night inside with (regrettably, instead of crayons) markers and drew to our heart’s content. I think it was much to everyone’s liking.

Today I need to finish an essay for my architecture class on the Natural History Museum by Alfred Waterhouse. It probably won’t be a very exciting day. But I should probably go visit it at some point today also so I can supplement my essay with cool pictures of it. Did you know there are sculptures of pterodactyls and other crazy wildlife all over the building? I bet you didn’t. And the original building was constructed with a statue of Adam on the top spire, indicating that Man was the height of creation, but the sculpture either fell or was pushed off during WWII. And the plot thickens.

Here's a picture of the shadow of part of my gumball tree on my curtains. I thought it looked like a bat. Or a pterodactyl.

Identity Crisis

A great many people gawked at me today. I don’t think I’ve learned to fit in yet. I wore a pair of gym shorts all day, and nearly every person I walked past stared at my bare legs. I know my legs are objects of beauty, but it was a bit absurd. I don’t think it’s very natural to wear shorts over here. But it was over 50 degrees! It was warm, one of the warmest days we’ve had! And I just didn’t want to put on pants (Or trousers, as they say over here).

I think I’m starting to learn more about myself. For those of you who don’t know, when I was between the ages of seven and thirteen, it was extremely rare to see me wearing a pair of “trousers,” and I NEVER wore jeans. I had almost forgotten my childhood proclivity for scanty clothing, but the habit has stayed with me, a fact for which I am very grateful. These hardwired quirks of personality help keep me in touch with my identity.

I have found, despite my utterly unfamiliar surroundings, that my identity had remained solid. I had a brief identity crisis today. I was walking back to my flat, returning from a brief shopping trip. I cradled a bag of muesli in one hand, and the other was clenched tightly around a green yoga mat I had just purchased. Walking down the sidewalk, I slowly realized I was displaying tell-tale signs of becoming a hippy.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against being a hippy. I like hippies. Maybe I was even trying to become a hippy. But I’ve never been a hippy before, and I quite like being who I have been; I don’t see any reason to change.

I became worried for a second; what would my parents think? Then I got really sad, sad that I hadn’t seen this transformation coming from far away and prepared myself for my new barefoot, dreadlocked life. Then I saw this big guy walking down the sidewalk towards me and I felt myself thinking, “Could I take this guy? Psh, ya, I could take him.” I tried to look as big and scary as possible as he walked past, and I think it worked. Well, there’s not really any way to tell, but he looked pretty scared. Or at least worried. Maybe curious. The point is that I won.

I realized that competition is definitely not a sanctioned hippy activity, and I had a revelation. I’ll never be a hippy. And I’ll never be classified (rugged individuality: a very ‘American’ quality). I’ll always be the obsessively competitive, neurotic, satirical, contradictory, cold (in temperature, not in demeanor), and, despite it all, inexplicably happy person that I have always been.

And that’s the end of that chapter….

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Tonight I was a robot.

Allow me to elaborate. My friends and I wanted to build forts tonight with cardboard boxes, and battle in some way. So, we went outside and found copious amounts of cardboard. We brought it back to the flat, and built a wall of cardboard in the middle of the hallway. This lasted for a couple of minutes before we decided to run through the wall. We still had copious amounts of cardboard, and our plans for a fort had lost interest, so we decided to make me into a robot instead. I was named R10-KEV and I spoke for a good two hours in nothing but robot talk. After I burst out of the suit (see pictures), I continued to talk like a robot for another hour or so. And there is a picture of one of the flowers I bought last week.

Deadly Flower Market

My French flatmate and I embarked this morning on a quest to find the elusive and dangerous flower market of Columbia Road. Last week, I searched for this market and failed miserably, returning home delirious and severely dehydrated after a determined twenty-six hour jaunt through the city, searching in vain for the mysterious flower market of Columbia Road. I remember only bits and pieces; my friends tell me they found me on Monday morning sprawled on the steps outside the flat, foaming at the mouth and whispering, “But they have lilacs!” over and over again. Last week’s trip was a harrowing one and I was wary to embark on another ill-fated flower quest. But, as my friend said, “I am a physicist and you are an engineer. What could go wrong?” What indeed.

We headed out of the flat at the seemingly-innocuous time of eleven thirty in the morning, taking the underground to Moorgate. Antoine was under the impression Columbia Street was just to the south of the Old Street tube station, so we walked from Moorgate, hoping to spot it on the way. We asked a street sweeper on the way if we were in the right area. He got a far-off look in his one functional eye. “The flower market, you say?” and he shuddered. “You don’t want to go to the flower market. If you value your lives, STAY AWAY FROM THE FLOWER MARKET!” he screeched, and then died on the spot. Actually, he said, “You guys should go down that street, you’re pretty far from the flower market.” We scoffed and continued on our chosen path. We got to where we supposed the market would be, but found nothing but a blood-soaked knife and a rose petal. (Not really. Are you confused by my story yet? I’ll try to stick to the facts. The real story isn't very exciting though.) Anyway, it ended up that the flower market Antoine had found online was actually just a flower shop, which we found! Hooray! And it was closed on Sundays. We did see a stencil graffiti painting by a famous artist named Banksy on a building in the area though, which was fun.

So, we ended up walking toward Liverpool Street, arriving there and instantly stumbling into the largest street market in London, the Petticoat Lane Sunday Market. It stretched for four or five blocks and was very crowded. We asked directions to the flower market from one of the vendors, trying to sound very masculine, and he pointed us in some odd direction. So we wandered for a while longer, and some stuff happened, and we found another market that wasn’t the flower market, and then we found the flower market! Hooray! The real one!

It was really more of a plant market. I bought a cherry tomato plant because it looks like it grows gumballs. I’ve included a picture of it and one of the original flower store we found, and one of the actual flower market. And one of Banksy’s art.

The markets were exciting today. There is a road near Queen Mary known as Brick Lane where we spent some wandering time today. Ethnic restaurants line the thin street on both sides, and the area is rich with art galleries and trendy fashion shops. Apparently the East End of London, where I live, has always been a hotspot for aspiring artists because it has always been one of the poorer districts in London. It is an interesting atmosphere.

So the day ended happily, and now I have a nice new gumball tree for my room. The End. Or is it!? Yes, it is.

An Angry Mum

Something funny happened to Dave and me today. We were taking the bus to the Senate House Library, which is the main library for the University of London, to do some research for papers we have to write. Halfway through the trip, we heard a bell ring for a stop, followed by a shrill British voice, “Excuse me, I’ve requested a stop!” After a few more quick bell rings, the lady became a bit more animated, swearing under her breath and once again yelling at the bus driver, “Excuse me, I’ve requested a stop!” She was with two or three kids, and her five-year old boy yelled to help out his mum, “Excuse me, we’ve requested a stop!” They both asserted their position a couple more times before the bus finally stopped. The woman was very angry when they finally got off the bus and went up to the driver to give him a piece of her mind, which she did with some arm flailing and some choice new words for her kids to learn. It was funny. And sad.

Here's a nice heart for Valentine's Day. I made it with two orange peels and a Babybel cheese wrapper. This is the type of gift which fits in the category "It's creative, which justifies its ugliness/worthlessness." Enjoy!

Casino Royale

Today was a very good day. During the first class I attended, I earned the teacher’s respect by the simple act of working on my homework when we were told to work on our homework. The teacher told me he respected my work ethic and was willing to help me any time I had trouble. It was nice to receive this affirmation of my hard work, because some of the kids behind me were doing something quite contrary to working. The teaching assistant who spoke to me is a very interesting man. He says he has a philosophy to life which directly follows the laws of thermodynamics: the conservation of energy, etc. He told me he would explain more to me later if I wanted. He's a cool guy.

My flatmate and I went to the gym today around four and had a good workout. I weigh 208 pounds (or 14.12 stone)! Can you believe it!? Anyways, I feel good so I must be gaining healthy weight from working out, which is nice. I went to a yoga class tonight (yes, for those of you don’t know, I practice yoga, half for the exercise and half for the beautiful yoga women) and enjoyed it thoroughly after my workout.

Tonight was a struggle. My flatmate and I were left all alone to find something to do. He refuted my initial suggestion of a crayon party, during which we would draw pictures with crayons and show each other. My second suggestion, that we go downtown to a fancy casino and lose a bunch of money, was slightly better received; but only slightly. We got a few drinks to have on the way, and went downtown to Leicester Square to go to a casino. We had to sign up for a free membership, and I got a card with my name on it, which was very exciting. Mostly we just watched other people gamble. In five minutes, we watched one smart-looking (which, in Britain, means fancy-looking) man lose five hundred pounds, which was an eye opener. I lost twelve pounds on the night, but thoroughly enjoyed the experience. We wandered for awhile after leaving the casino, then found the bus we needed to take and chased it for a block or two before it came to a stop and we could board. I consider it a successful night; but on the way home, we realized it was Valentine’s Day and we had nobody to love, so we were a little sad about that.

Backwards Day

It has come to my attention recently that I may have been neglecting crucial aspects of my foreign life as blogging material. Firstly, I never talk about the boring things. Well, I suppose except for making food and going to class, I’ve talked about those things. I also find that, because I talk about my day chronologically, I direct my reader’s attention to my night and leave them with my nighttime activities most fresh in their minds, which seems a terrible disservice to my morning activities. So, in an effort to fix this inequality, I will talk about my day backwards, starting a little bit in the future, and try to focus on the boring parts.

A few minutes from now, I will be in my bed. It’s quite a nice bed these days; a friend from upstairs had some leftover sheets and pillows he was kind enough to loan me, so now I have a very comfortable, attractive bed. I read before I go to bed. Right now, for research purposes, I’m reading Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut, and Metamorphoses by Ovid.

I suppose that brings me to right now, writing this blog. That’s what I’m doing. Writing a blog focused on the boring events in a backwards day. Why did I think this was a good idea?

Tonight, my friends and I walked a little ways to an area called Brick Lane. It is a very trendy area, despite being in the poor part of town, and I saw an art piece by the mysterious graffiti artist Banksy. We were in the neighborhood to attend an advertised free jazz concert. The bar we went to seemed nice, but the concert could only very loosely be called jazz. It was more electronic funk, which was still nice to listen to for awhile. There are some art galleries in Brick Lane I would like to visit during the day sometime.

Before that, I was turning in my homework. That’s right, sometimes I do homework. I was pretty pleased with myself (aren’t I always) because I had just begun to understand a problem in my thermodynamics homework which had given me trouble a short while before.

A short while before, a problem in my thermodynamics homework was giving me trouble.

This morning, I went to ask a man about the capabilities of the engineering workshop relevant to constructing my group design project, a lightweight tower. I learned some useful information, such as the pipe bender cannot bend perfect circles, and if you are cutting a square into a sheet of aluminum, you should put wider circles in the corner so the square can fit, because it’s very hard to square up the corners. You should do it like this:Before I learned that, I had a sandwich with eggs and ham and cheese in it. And I took a shower, and I got out of bed. And I woke up, and before that, I was battling pirates I think, on the coast of Micronesia....

Brazil v. Italy

I’m eating pizza right now. It always makes me so happy.

I read a weekly email from USC today and was severely disappointed when I learned I will be missing a guest lecture by the revolutionary physicist Stephen Hawking at USC this March. I know London is a very cool place, and I’m very happy I came here this semester, but USC is also a very cool place and it’s painful to miss out on some of the great things going on there this semester. There are just too many good things going on in my life right now; it is agonizing.

Tonight, some friends and I took the tube to Arsenal stadium to watch the Brazil v. Italy football (that’s soccer, for all you uncultured folk) match. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a crowd as excited as this one was. There were 60,077 people at the game, and all of them (with the exception of myself) were screaming their heads off. I had my doubts about how exciting a soccer game would be, but it was an experience. The players are unbelievably agile with the ball, and their passing skills are perfect. Brazil ended up winning the match 2-0. The second goal was very fun to see; one Brazil player, with some spectacular footwork, wound his way through three or four Italy players before kicking it into the goal. And I’m proud to say I upheld the seeming Maloney tradition of having the seat as far away from the field/court as possible. My assigned seat was one row from the top of the stadium.

Unfortunately, I forgot to put the memory card into my camera when I left, so I didn’t get any pictures. But, if any of you appreciate puns as much as I do, I could type a few thousand words for you to look at. (HAHAHAHA!!!!)

White Diamond

I was frustrated again today. My design professor, Graham Dorrington, did not show up for the extra help session he had scheduled and announced in class last week. This was the second time, out of two, he has missed the help session he scheduled. I waited, alone but for one other student, for twenty minutes, but he did not come.

My time in that room was not completely wasted. Sama, the other conscientious student, countered my attacks on Professor Dorrington, saying that he thought Graham was a genius. I asked him for proof, and he referred me to a documentary, produced by Werner Herzog, dealing with an expedition into untouched rainforest. Called White Diamond, the film revolves around Professor Dorrington and his spectacular airship, which he designed and produced single-handedly for the purpose of exploring the largely mysterious jungle canopy. I just watched the film, and must agree with Sama. Graham Dorrington is a genius. I just wish he was more organized.

I had another architecture field trip. We visited Buckingham Palace, which I have now seen four times, I believe. I’ve included a picture of it through the trees of Hyde Park. It was very rainy today.

Due to the unscheduled snow days last week, I will have makeup classes during every day of Reading Week, which is supposed to be a one-week break from school. I may leave anyway; class is not my priority here. But I don’t know where to go! My friends can’t leave, so I’m considering buying a plane ticket to Paris or Amsterdam or something for four or five days (I must be back by Thursday for a test), but I can’t make up my mind where to go!

Naked Queen

I planned to meet Hannah and her friend Julie today at eleven at Buckingham Palace, but my chronic tardiness and some ill-timed tube closures thwarted our plans. Even so, I arrived there at eleven thirty, in time to see some of the excitement. I walked through Green Park on the way to Buckingham Palace and was astounded by the beautiful blue sky above me. Today was warmer than any day so far, and the sun made everything more beautiful. Through the ancient trees I saw a legion of guards leaving the grounds on horses, dressed in red and wielding long sabers. I assume this was part of the changing of the guard, because they were replaced by another group of guards holding machine guns, who completed a circuit around the parade path before taking up their stations around the palace. I heard a band playing nearer the palace and decided to go investigate. I found a band composed of palace guards playing songs from the Pirates of Caribbean and the James Bond movies, so I stood in the crowd and watched them through the gate for awhile, joined eventually by Hannah and Julie. Hannah immediately began speculating loudly what would happen if Queen Elizabeth were accidentally changing by an open window and everyone saw her naked.

We left to go take pictures with the guards, but were disappointed when we saw they were wearing their gray uniforms, and we couldn’t even get very close to them. We took pictures anyway though.

We wandered around the city for awhile, stopping to get something to eat and looking for a post office, and eventually ended up by Big Ben on the Thames. We wanted to ride the London Eye, a tall Ferris-wheel-like contraption which offers a beautiful view of the city, but we didn’t have enough time to ride in it. Hannah made me promise to visit her in Rome sometime, so much to my dismay I’ll have to spend a week in Rome before I return. If I weren’t such a selfless person I may have refused, but if my friend wants me to go to Rome, I guess I’ll have to go to Rome.

The ladies were going to a play with a friend of Julie’s tonight, so we didn’t hang out. Tonight was very nice though. I played very laidback poker for about three hours with my two friends in the kitchen of our flat. We played with pennies and other assorted coinery all the way up to ten pence and listened to music and talked. It was very nice.

I've included quite a few pictures today. There is one of the new guards coming on duty at Buckingham Palace, one of a cop and the guard band, one of Hannah and I being guards, one of Big Ben and one of the London Eye ferris wheel dealy.

Long Walk

Well! Today was a loooooong day. I went to the gym, had six hours of class, and went out tonight, only having just returned from a two-hour hike back to campus from the Tower Bridge. Very exciting.

My friend Hannah came to visit me this weekend. I think she only came because she wanted to be in my blog, which is apparently very posh in Italy right now. It’s the least I can do to help out a friend in her budding blog-celebrity career. We, meaning myself and my friends Dave and Lewis, met Hannah and her friend Julie at the Tower of London (which, contrary to its name, is actually a big castle) and proceeded to wander aimlessly. Eventually we ended up in a pub called the Peacock. And this is where the fun began. As soon as I walked in the door, the barman began making fun of me. I was wearing a very peculiar hat, knitted for me by a dear friend, and the barman thought it quite a queer thing to wear out and about, so he let me have it in front of the rest of the pub. Then the jokes moved to being American, and being from Oregon, and just being me in general. It was pretty entertaining actually, he had a lot of material.

We each had a couple of expensive drinks at the Peacock. We talked, shared some laughs, became good friends, had a few tearful confessions, some love pentagons began forming; it was a good time all around, until we realized we had stayed out past the golden hour of 12:30 am, when the tube stops running, meaning it would be difficult for the girls to get back to their hostel. We went to look at a bus map, and found out the only night bus which came near us wouldn’t be helpful at all. Unfortunately, they ended up taking an expensive cab home, but at least they got back safe and sound.

We three men, on the other hand, decided to take the long walk home rather than try to decipher the bus schedule. We began our walk from the south end of the Tower Bridge and soon met a very drunk, very interesting and very French fellow. He introduced himself as John Wayne. If I remember correctly, he said to Dave, “You are as drunk as one thousand men, which is very impressive for a man of your stature,” which was frankly not true, and he did some very good impressions. We made him prove he was French by speaking in French, and he passed. Pretty crazy guy. Anyways, we continued on our sacred quest to return the one ring to Mordor, and returned home at about three in the morning after a vigorous walk along the Regent’s Canal. There were some beautiful swans floating in the partially frozen water.

Here are a couple pictures, one of Hannah and one of Dave doing a handstand.

Cooking

Today I would like to share a little bit more about my typical diet here in London.

For breakfast, I typically have either a bowl of cereal or some scrambled eggs. Lately I’ve been putting some ham and cheese in my scrambled eggs and making a sandwich or breakfast burrito with them, which is very tasty. I just drink tap water or milk, but I bought a package of eighty tea bags the other day, which I’m working my way through. I’m trying, for the sake of Britain, to learn to enjoy the acrid stuff.

Lunchtime typically calls for my first pasta dish of the day. By now, I have perfected my pasta skills. First, I choose between dry pasta, kept in the cupboard (see photograph), or refrigerated ravioli (see other photograph). Once I’ve made my decision, I boil some water in my pot and pour the pasta in. While it’s cooking, I gather the other necessary items, such as the frozen meatballs I found at the supermarket, the pasta sauce and cheese out of the refrigerator and the olive oil and salt from my cupboard (see photograph you looked at the first time I told you to see photograph). As soon as either eleven, eight, or five minutes have elapsed, depending on which pasta I’ve chosen, I take the pot off the burner and drain the water, using the lid to keep the pasta from falling into the sink with the water. I return to the stove and decorate the pasta with microwaved meatballs, pasta sauce and small chunks of cheese, and then place the pot back on the burner, stirring the mixture until it looks delicious (a very precise method I use on all my food to see if it’s ready). Then I eat it out of the pot.

For dinner, I’ll usually repeat the above process, except that it’s usually dark outside by this time, so I have to turn on the lights in the kitchen. Sometimes though, I’ll have a can of soup, or a sandwich of ham and cheese or peanut butter and jelly. Today I heated up a pizza I bought at the supermarket yesterday, and threw in some side dishes like a half-eaten sandwich and a cup of tea and some digestive biscuits (see the one of the two photographs I haven’t yet referred to which shows a picture of a pizza and a half-eaten sandwich and a cup of tea and/or some other things). I had quesadilla ingredients the other day, so I had a couple of quesadillas, and sometimes I heat up some of my frozen chicken nuggets or vegetables. But I can’t have vegetables with pasta, because I only have one pot. It’s a very complicated system.

Usually I’ll snack on digestive cookies throughout the day, and sometimes I have some fruit, like oranges and bananas which are good for me. I’ve bought raw meat a couple of times, but compared to pasta it’s a little bit expensive, and I have some trepidation about leaving it uncovered in the refrigerator. Tonight I tried to find the refrigerated rolls of cookie dough we have in the US to make quick, homemade cookies, but apparently that invention hasn’t crossed the pond.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this brief glimpse into the gripping, action-packed adventure thrill-ride that is my life in London. Stay tuned for another episode. What will I discuss tomorrow? Walking to class? Doing laundry? The world holds its breath in anticipation.

Snow Day!

I walked through four inches of snow today on the way to my first class and found a note on the door indicating that all 9 AM courses were cancelled, so I happily went back home. Shortly after, I was told all courses for the day were cancelled. Snow Day! My flatmates quickly arranged a sledding trip and we all headed to the lone hill near campus, a stout mound across the canal, to do some sledging, as the English put it. I discovered my French flatmate absolutely loves snow, and his excitement was reflected in many British faces who had never seen this whopping amount before. If the forecasts are correct for the next two days, this will be the worst snow storm in London in half a century. Which is to say, it will be about equal to an above-average storm in Klamath Falls. Hehe, we Klamath Falls-ians may not have Big Ben, or the Tower of London, or thousand-year old churches, but we sure live in a cold, miserable place! We’ve got that on these darn Brits!

Anyways, we sledded for quite a while this morning. Kids used plastic bags, lunch trays, chairs taped to pieces of cardboard, air mattresses, woks, road signs….My French flatmate even tried using an umbrella, but, sadly, to no avail.

We finished up sledding and decided to trek down to Westminster and Big Ben to see the sights all covered in snow. And they were quite beautiful. We saw the sights. I’m afraid I ruined the trip a bit because my stomach hurt, but it was still fun. We walked through St. James’s Park and took pictures of all the different sorts of birds, and walked up to Buckingham Palace.

Tonight I went out with my friends to the usual Monday night bar. It was very busy because this bar is very popular with students on Mondays. They offer heavy discounts on many of their drinks, so, predictably, it was very crowded. My second trip up to get drinks was pretty harrowing. I waited for about fifteen minutes just to get up to the bar. A guy behind me saw that I had a little extra elbow room and asked me to scoot over, so I begrudgingly complied. We talked a little bit, and I found out he was a professional surfer who was leaving for California for a tour in three days. He said he was sponsored by Nixon and they were renting him a convertible while he was in California, so he was pretty excited. The funny thing was, I believed him. He was a pretty nice guy and he bought me a drink for helping him get up to the bar once we finally got served.

Let it Snow

It’s snowing! It began about three hours ago and inspired a spontaneous snowball fight in the square outside my apartment building. My friends and I threw snowballs at each other for about an hour, capping it off with a fight with three other kids we didn’t know, but who were walking around with a box full of snowballs and were looking for a fight. It was very fun, and there are still tons of people outside enjoying this very rare snow.

There were fire trucks outside for some reason (probably a false alarm) just a little bit ago, and a kid threw a snowball at one of the firemen, who turned around and tried to chase him, but fell over and had about twenty people pelting him with snowballs. He took it well though, he was laughing.

I closed out my night watching an episode of Fawlty Towers with my flatmate. Fawlty Towers is an old British sitcom, and it was a good ending to one of the best nights I’ve had in London so far.

Here is a picture of me in front of an art piece on campus and a picture of my flatmate throwing a snowball at me while I photograph one of the fire trucks which were here tonight.