For the record...
It's been a quite a while--here's what's up. I'm up in Burlington for a few weeks more finishing the internship before having a week off and moving back to the 'Cuse. Since the last blog entry, I went to Vegas and turned 21, had practically the whole family out to CT for Katie's graduation and then moved out of the house and to VT for good. I also went to Saratoga this past weekend with the Doddster and saw him for the first time in over a month.
Vegas is first. We got there in a semi-heat wave in mid-June where the desert temps were around 110. We stayed at the Riviera, with the grandparents across the street at Circus Circus. I didn't entirely know what to expect in Vegas, but it was a fun time. The first night, we had dinner in a restaurant in an off the strip casino with some extended family who live in the Vegas area, then had some gelato and watched the water show in front of the Bellagio.
There are definitely some characters in Vegas. I went in after hearing a story from my aunt and uncle about a guy who they saw on the Strip who bent down and slurped water out of a puddle on the street. And of course there were some things you might expect from Vegas. This next statement may be in poor taste but, in a place where prostitution is legal and flyers for hookers and strippers and other sorts of naked women litter the streets, why is anyone catcalling me?
The next day we went on a tour of all the big casinos: Caesar's, the Bellagio, New York New York, Paris, Bally's and MGM Grand. Then we went for dinner at a pretty spectacular restaurant inside the Venetian, and Mom and I headed over to The Mirage to see Cirque du Soleil's Love, set to Beatles music. She got a $14 margarita, which we both drank and the show was amazing. (I'm pretty sure it would have been amazing without the margarita too, but I can't be sure.) We got out of the show around 11:30 p.m. on June 20 and by the time we cabbed it back to the Riviera for a couple more margaritas, my first use of i.d. as a 21-year-old, opening cards and playing a couple of slot machines, it was the birthday.
Then it was to bed, only to wake up in the morning to go to Denny's with the family and then sat at the bar in Circus Circus to watch the Cubs game and play video poker. I got 4 aces and won almost as much money as you can win on a penny slot. The g-rents left to get back to Chicago and get ready to come out to CT for Katie's graduation. We went to the Riviera to play Caribbean Stud poker for a while, before heading to the Social House at Treasure Island for sushi and blueberry mojitos. Then it was a couple more slots in Treasure Island before going to the Venetian for raspberry martinis, and back to the Riviera's Caribbean table to play and simultaneously witness drunk Asian tourists pissing their money away at the table, while drinking Jameson and coke. Around midnight it was time to head up to the room for 4 hours of sleep before catching the first leg of the day's flights to D.C. at 7 a.m.
After a variety of liquors and beer the previous night, the early morning flight was less than pleasant. I've never thrown up from drinking, but that day I sat myself conveniently near a garbage can at the gate and stared up at the ceiling in misery. We, of course, were seated in the last row of the plane where the trip is the bumpiest, but luckily it was pretty smooth and I was feeling less nauseous by the time we took off. It was a short trip, but it was fun and it feels pretty great to be 21.
We got back to Hartford that night to a full house--the Munks grandparents and Auntie Brenda and the three Berndt kids. The next day was graduation, and since it was raining I had to sit in the auxillary gym with the four grandparents. Then Katie opened presents, including the quilt from Grandma Munks and the scrapbook from Mom. The next day a group of us headed to southern CT for some gambling and eating at Mohegan Sun, where I won $80 at the good old Caribbean table. Thursday was the grad party and Friday was the last time I'll ever be in the CT house.
Leaving the CT house was really hard--after crying at Katie's graduation party when I said bye to some people, the floodgates were pretty much open for the next few days. This might sound a little dramatic but when I left I hugged the yellow walls of my bedroom and went from room to room. I had a hard time tearing myself away from the house to say goodbye. Even though I've probably spent more time in the Vermont house than the CT one since starting at Syracuse, middle and high school and so much else has gone on there. Plus, all of the difficult stuff with moving from Illinois way back when, was sort of transferred onto that house. It's where I grew up and I will really, really miss that house.
summer 08
Gramps and I in the Venetian
summer 08
Bellagio
summer 08
The Doddster
Summer 08
The Whole Group
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Friday, June 13, 2008
Living the Life...of a College Student
For the record...
Here I am back home again for the second weekend. And you know what that means: when no one else is to be found at the lake, it's laundry on a Friday night. Yep. I could be bonfiring in Syracuse or going out to dinner and the movies in Connecticut, but no. Ever since I started my internship, everyone in my life has decided to ditch me. Or more likely, I have (necessarily) ditched them. At any rate, I've never really been one to shun staying in on the weekend, and this one in particular is my LAST WEEKEND OF BEING UNDERAGE! That makes me feel better actually. It's the last time I have an excuse to be lame. But I am sort of ready to get at it, because I haven't legitimately been out on the town since London. What better way to reintroduce me into the going out scene than to spend a weekend in Vegas celebrating the big
2-1? It would be really something if I were able to get a blog post out that night, which if I were to guess, would look a little something like this: a;lsdjfkhdgkjdsahfoaweiruglvnjfkna;sdlfkjsdfkl. But alas, I will be heading straight from the bars to the Vegas airport to catch a 7:30 a.m. flight back to Hartford for Katie's high school graduation.
I love my birthday. And I know that sounds weird and I'm sure most people love their birthdays, but I just love the month of June and that fact that it's the longest day of the year and the first day of summer. That being said...so far my month of June has been unlike all others, in that I'm living in a college town with college students during the summer. I've never even set foot in my own college town during the summer, and here I am living the college life with some other college kids. Frankly, I feel like a little bit of a traitor.
But anyway, this is the first time I've ever lived with guys. And everyone's cool. It's not that weird, sort of like living in a dorm, except that you don't have to share a bathroom with them in a dorm. And I don't know if it's kosher to say this, but I have to: someone apparently feels that either they need to save water by not flushing, or they just forget to. And then there's the showering at 5:30 a.m. every morning. And then the showering at 7:30 a.m. with the blaring shower radio right on the other side of the wall from where I'm sleeping, and my alarm doesn't even go off until 9:05 when I'm working! Oy vay. Mostly I just hang out by Lake Champlain or on Church Street if I'm not working. And then, as you know, I come home on the weekends.
There were some pretty nasty storms that broke the heat wave earlier this week, and being from out in the Midwest, it's funny to hear those Vermonters talk about tornadoes. I walked into the newsroom on Tuesday in the 95 degree heat, and it was all abuzz with talk of possible afternoon or evening tornadoes. Before long, the whole state was under a watch. One intrepid reporter has been doing blog entries entirely devoted to tornadoes recently, and he said he would go stormchasing that afternoon. Later, when storms actually came through, he decided to forgo the proposed storm chase. Then when I got back to the apartment I was greeted with "Isn't it crazy there's a tornado warning!" To which I had to explain that we were under a tornado watch, because a warning would mean that a tornado touched down nearby and that we should take cover immediately. (And by the way: as someone who is from the Midwest and has spent an evening in a bathtub with my sister and our cat while the tornado sirens went off, and who has crawled into a likely rodent-infested crawlspace to avoid being swept away with another tornado, I hate the damn things. And I was secretly praying that nothing happened because I had very little faith that if one rolled through that neighborhood in Burlington, that crappy house I am temporarily inhabiting, would stay rooted to the ground.)
BUT alas the bylines are picking up and the internship is going well. And it's going to be half over before you know it. Hopefully, I will be able to update you on the Vegas adventures soon after they happen, but we will have a full house for the graduation right after that happens. (And then, I'll need to update you on THAT. Which should be very interesting.) More later.
Here I am back home again for the second weekend. And you know what that means: when no one else is to be found at the lake, it's laundry on a Friday night. Yep. I could be bonfiring in Syracuse or going out to dinner and the movies in Connecticut, but no. Ever since I started my internship, everyone in my life has decided to ditch me. Or more likely, I have (necessarily) ditched them. At any rate, I've never really been one to shun staying in on the weekend, and this one in particular is my LAST WEEKEND OF BEING UNDERAGE! That makes me feel better actually. It's the last time I have an excuse to be lame. But I am sort of ready to get at it, because I haven't legitimately been out on the town since London. What better way to reintroduce me into the going out scene than to spend a weekend in Vegas celebrating the big
2-1? It would be really something if I were able to get a blog post out that night, which if I were to guess, would look a little something like this: a;lsdjfkhdgkjdsahfoaweiruglvnjfkna;sdlfkjsdfkl. But alas, I will be heading straight from the bars to the Vegas airport to catch a 7:30 a.m. flight back to Hartford for Katie's high school graduation.
I love my birthday. And I know that sounds weird and I'm sure most people love their birthdays, but I just love the month of June and that fact that it's the longest day of the year and the first day of summer. That being said...so far my month of June has been unlike all others, in that I'm living in a college town with college students during the summer. I've never even set foot in my own college town during the summer, and here I am living the college life with some other college kids. Frankly, I feel like a little bit of a traitor.
But anyway, this is the first time I've ever lived with guys. And everyone's cool. It's not that weird, sort of like living in a dorm, except that you don't have to share a bathroom with them in a dorm. And I don't know if it's kosher to say this, but I have to: someone apparently feels that either they need to save water by not flushing, or they just forget to. And then there's the showering at 5:30 a.m. every morning. And then the showering at 7:30 a.m. with the blaring shower radio right on the other side of the wall from where I'm sleeping, and my alarm doesn't even go off until 9:05 when I'm working! Oy vay. Mostly I just hang out by Lake Champlain or on Church Street if I'm not working. And then, as you know, I come home on the weekends.
There were some pretty nasty storms that broke the heat wave earlier this week, and being from out in the Midwest, it's funny to hear those Vermonters talk about tornadoes. I walked into the newsroom on Tuesday in the 95 degree heat, and it was all abuzz with talk of possible afternoon or evening tornadoes. Before long, the whole state was under a watch. One intrepid reporter has been doing blog entries entirely devoted to tornadoes recently, and he said he would go stormchasing that afternoon. Later, when storms actually came through, he decided to forgo the proposed storm chase. Then when I got back to the apartment I was greeted with "Isn't it crazy there's a tornado warning!" To which I had to explain that we were under a tornado watch, because a warning would mean that a tornado touched down nearby and that we should take cover immediately. (And by the way: as someone who is from the Midwest and has spent an evening in a bathtub with my sister and our cat while the tornado sirens went off, and who has crawled into a likely rodent-infested crawlspace to avoid being swept away with another tornado, I hate the damn things. And I was secretly praying that nothing happened because I had very little faith that if one rolled through that neighborhood in Burlington, that crappy house I am temporarily inhabiting, would stay rooted to the ground.)
BUT alas the bylines are picking up and the internship is going well. And it's going to be half over before you know it. Hopefully, I will be able to update you on the Vegas adventures soon after they happen, but we will have a full house for the graduation right after that happens. (And then, I'll need to update you on THAT. Which should be very interesting.) More later.
Friday, June 6, 2008
B-town
For the record...
I’m writing this to you five days into my Burlington summer adventure. On Microsoft Word. Because I don’t have Internet. And I’ll have to copy/paste it into a post when I am reconnected with the rest of the world. Things are a little rustic here. As I mentioned earlier, I had come up to look at a place a couple weeks ago, and wound up subletting that same place, for lack of time and other options. I think my parents were a little leery when they dropped me off and the place reeked of cigarettes and pot, but my ‘Super Odor Killer’ air fresheners and leaving my molding windows open whenever I’m in the room has helped a little bit. As for the musty smell throughout the rest of the apartment...well, at least it’s just for 2 months.
I will have three roommates—one of them is moving in tomorrow and the others are already here. One is cool...the other is a little on the anti-social side. He wakes up at 5:30 a.m. and doesn’t get back until 9 or 10 p.m. (I know the 5:30 part because I hear the toilet flush around that time every morning, get paranoid that my alarm didn’t go off and look at my phone, only to find that it’s 5:30.) But anyway...things are going well so far. The internship is going pretty well: the newsroom is a lot bigger and younger than in Rutland, I got to go out on a good story assignment on my second day, and there are other interns. People are nice, but much more serious about their jobs than anyone in Rutland was, which puts a little more pressure on me to do a good job, but it’s great to be at a better paper. Here is the link to my first BFP story: http://www.burlingtonfreepress.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2008806040308
And (supposedly) at the end of all of this interning, I’ll be getting paid for some work that I do...from my musty apartment as a freelancer. Oh and the best part of all? I have Mondays and Fridays off, which obviously means four-day weekends. (It’s kind of like a dream come true, even for someone who is undoubtedly Type A and likely to be a workaholic for the rest of her life.)
Last but not least, let’s face it. Burlington is a great town. I just went for a run in Battery Park and took in a sunset over Lake Champlain, which can only be considered majestic. It has a distinct flavor and personality where Rutland has...very little going for it, to be perfectly honest. The only things I can really think of at the moment are: A. It’s at the base of Killington and B. It’s in the southern part of Vermont, making a trip to get the hell out of there that much shorter. Oh and it’s an hour from Saratoga. (Still, let’s keep in mind that Burlington is in Vermont. Meaning you’ll still run into some characters. See: woodchucks*)
So there you have it. I’m getting psyched up for Vegas (where I will be landing 2 weeks from right now) and my twenty-first birthday (T-16 days) and then relaxing with family who are in town from Illinois for the following week. (Although as experience has had it in the past, time with the extended family will probably end up less than relaxing. I remember back on the day of my graduation, when my parents and sister ditched me, and I ended up having to chase around one of my four grandparents, who shall remain nameless, because they were cutting the grass around the house with scissors, while I was trying to shower and get dressed. But I digress.)
And Burlington is cool, and I think it’s going to be a really good experience and I’m meeting good people, but I’m hoping it doesn’t prove to be a lonely summer. Even though I was working two jobs last summer and wasn’t home all that much, it was nice to wake up to a fresh pot of coffee, courtesy of Dad, that I could have with breakfast before going to my internship, and to have someone to talk about my day with when I got home from my restaurant job that night in either my Mom, Katie or even Rusty. But this is how it’s probably going to be next year when I start up on a job God-Knows-Where...being in a crappy apartment and not knowing much of anyone. I’ll survive, as long as there aren’t rodents.
*Woodchuck. A name given to a native, backwoods Vermonter, who may be seen wearing flannel, sporting long greasy locks and missing teeth. Essentially it’s a Vermont redneck. Perhaps named a Woodchuck because both the people and the animals are a nuisance? Also important to note, it was a pair of Woodchucks who first told me what a Woodchuck was.
I’m writing this to you five days into my Burlington summer adventure. On Microsoft Word. Because I don’t have Internet. And I’ll have to copy/paste it into a post when I am reconnected with the rest of the world. Things are a little rustic here. As I mentioned earlier, I had come up to look at a place a couple weeks ago, and wound up subletting that same place, for lack of time and other options. I think my parents were a little leery when they dropped me off and the place reeked of cigarettes and pot, but my ‘Super Odor Killer’ air fresheners and leaving my molding windows open whenever I’m in the room has helped a little bit. As for the musty smell throughout the rest of the apartment...well, at least it’s just for 2 months.
I will have three roommates—one of them is moving in tomorrow and the others are already here. One is cool...the other is a little on the anti-social side. He wakes up at 5:30 a.m. and doesn’t get back until 9 or 10 p.m. (I know the 5:30 part because I hear the toilet flush around that time every morning, get paranoid that my alarm didn’t go off and look at my phone, only to find that it’s 5:30.) But anyway...things are going well so far. The internship is going pretty well: the newsroom is a lot bigger and younger than in Rutland, I got to go out on a good story assignment on my second day, and there are other interns. People are nice, but much more serious about their jobs than anyone in Rutland was, which puts a little more pressure on me to do a good job, but it’s great to be at a better paper. Here is the link to my first BFP story: http://www.burlingtonfreepress.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2008806040308
And (supposedly) at the end of all of this interning, I’ll be getting paid for some work that I do...from my musty apartment as a freelancer. Oh and the best part of all? I have Mondays and Fridays off, which obviously means four-day weekends. (It’s kind of like a dream come true, even for someone who is undoubtedly Type A and likely to be a workaholic for the rest of her life.)
Last but not least, let’s face it. Burlington is a great town. I just went for a run in Battery Park and took in a sunset over Lake Champlain, which can only be considered majestic. It has a distinct flavor and personality where Rutland has...very little going for it, to be perfectly honest. The only things I can really think of at the moment are: A. It’s at the base of Killington and B. It’s in the southern part of Vermont, making a trip to get the hell out of there that much shorter. Oh and it’s an hour from Saratoga. (Still, let’s keep in mind that Burlington is in Vermont. Meaning you’ll still run into some characters. See: woodchucks*)
So there you have it. I’m getting psyched up for Vegas (where I will be landing 2 weeks from right now) and my twenty-first birthday (T-16 days) and then relaxing with family who are in town from Illinois for the following week. (Although as experience has had it in the past, time with the extended family will probably end up less than relaxing. I remember back on the day of my graduation, when my parents and sister ditched me, and I ended up having to chase around one of my four grandparents, who shall remain nameless, because they were cutting the grass around the house with scissors, while I was trying to shower and get dressed. But I digress.)
And Burlington is cool, and I think it’s going to be a really good experience and I’m meeting good people, but I’m hoping it doesn’t prove to be a lonely summer. Even though I was working two jobs last summer and wasn’t home all that much, it was nice to wake up to a fresh pot of coffee, courtesy of Dad, that I could have with breakfast before going to my internship, and to have someone to talk about my day with when I got home from my restaurant job that night in either my Mom, Katie or even Rusty. But this is how it’s probably going to be next year when I start up on a job God-Knows-Where...being in a crappy apartment and not knowing much of anyone. I’ll survive, as long as there aren’t rodents.
*Woodchuck. A name given to a native, backwoods Vermonter, who may be seen wearing flannel, sporting long greasy locks and missing teeth. Essentially it’s a Vermont redneck. Perhaps named a Woodchuck because both the people and the animals are a nuisance? Also important to note, it was a pair of Woodchucks who first told me what a Woodchuck was.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
The Memorial Day Weekend Boyfriend Extravaganza
For the record...
The weekend was largely a success, somewhat surprisingly. Everyone seemed to like everyone, nobody got shot and awkward moments were minimal. Dad and I started out the weekend a little bit early to take a load of my stuff up to the Vermont house, and to take a quick trip up to Burlington to check out an apartment for me for the couple months I'll be living and working there (starting in less than a week.) That actually was kind of awkward, but it was before any of our house guests arrived. There was a miscommunication between the current tenants and the landlord, and the tenants whose lease starts on Sunday, who I'll be subletting from. I got there (where someone was supposed to be to let me in to look at the apartment) and when no one showed, I rang the bell. A couple minutes later, a raspy-voiced and disheveled kid who looked to be around my age answered the door. So even though the place was a mess and he was mad about getting woken up on a Friday at 10 a.m. by someone to come look at the apartment when he wasn't alerted to this earlier, he showed me. The place was a mess, but I will be living there from around June 1-August 1 this summer while I intern at the newspaper there.
So after Dad and I drove around the UVM campus a little bit, looking for flyers about apartments to sublet, we headed back to the lake to put the boat in the water. We stopped for a quick lunch in Middlebury, and then got back by around 1 to get the boat in the water. By this point, I had heard from the Doddster that he had not left at noon as was planned, because he had spent the entire previous night moving into his new apartment and needed a couple hours of sleep before the 4-hour drive to Vermont. So we got the boat in the water, ordered some pizzas and hung out until around 10 p.m. when he finally arrived. The first meeting was a little bit awkward, considering that both of my parents had fallen asleep and, as Mom put it, 'looked like hell.' But we started the weekend off right with the first few episodes of the third season of The Office. Upon awakening on Saturday morning, there was some breakfast, a couple more episodes of The Office, and then golfing in the afternoon. I rode along and drank beer while The Doddster and the 'rents played golf. After being out on the course for a couple hours, we headed back to the house to have burgers for dinner, take some quick showers and have the neighbors over for some gambling dice games--the Vermont way. (We had also taken Rusty for a walk that evening, where he got loose from the leash, farted at me and proceeded to eat some dried up frog roadkill within a span of about 30 seconds.) But anyway, that night there were beers and Pomtinis, displays of drunkenness and several rounds of LCR, Gramps' horseshoes game and Screw Your Neighbor. There was also a Battle of the Sexes on whether or not there should be a jointly-owned Jones-Munks paddleboat. (The ladies ended up taking that one, as there was a paddle boat in the yard by the next afternoon.) After the alcohol had been flowing for a bit, The Doddster and our dear friends and neighbors' niece's boyfriend began quoting stoner movies. Before the night was over, the two of them embraced good-bye. After which he said, 'I think we would have a lot of fun together. He seems like a really fun, drunk guy. I mean, he hugged me!' And, once the guests had gone, we headed down to the basement where he drunkenly got SPANKED by me in Ping Pong before we retired for some more Office. It was by this point that I knew that the weekend was going well: after the fun golf game and when The Doddster said 'Your parents are officially cool. Especially because I don't think your dad is going to shoot me.'
On Sunday morning we woke up to the nicest day of all, and headed to The Lakehouse for brunch. We ended up sitting smushed in between the band and a table full of muscle-bound, pervy Jerseyans or Long Islanders (you never can tell the difference: except one knows how to pump gas and the other doesn't...summer from S.U. is supposed to be getting away from that breed.) Then we set out for a little cruise around the lake. Once we got back there was more Office, cooking up some dinner and waiting for the other half of the Boyfriend Extravaganza to arrive. The Doddster and I were assigned the task of retrieving kindling for that night's bonfire, during which time he went to go down a little slope off of the driveway to grab some sticks. He fell and slid down the hill a little bit, which I proceeded to laugh at. Only later when I saw the raspberry on his elbow did I feel bad about that. Got some good kindling though.
After dinner, we and the 'rents and I went out for a disappointing sunset cruise and came back to find The Doddster's high school spooning buddy in the kitchen with Katie. We got in one episode when everyone else was out starting the fire. The 'around the fire conversation' was quite a bit tamer than usual (usual being The Inspector talking about sparkers...I'm sure both The Inspector and sparkers are things that will probably be explained once the Saratoga Track opens in a couple months.) Although we did get a story about a midget with a fake leg. But that isn't my story to tell. So we headed inside, grabbed some snacks and surprise! watched some more Office. (Which I am ashamed to say I fell asleep during.) Katie and I had to bunk together for the last two nights so that the boys did not actually have to spoon on the futon in the guest room. And she, like seemingly everybody else, snores.
When we woke up on Monday, my goal was to get out on the boat by 1 p.m. at the very latest to get some sun. Between The Doddster's sleeping schedule, which normally doesn't permit him to arise before noon, and the fact that Syracuse made it to the lacrosse championships (and won) and the game started at 1 on ESPN, my goal wasn't met. After a while, we got down to the lake, and took the paddle boat out. It started raining, so we headed back upstairs to catch the end of the game. Then we headed back downstairs to drink some Magic Hats on the dock. After watching some old, underwear-clad neighbors struggling with getting their pontoon boat in the water, we headed back upstairs yet again to play Yahtzee and for a make-your-own-kebab Memorial Day cookout, followed by apple and blackberry pie, cappuccinos with Baileys and, inevitably, more beer. Then there were several competitive rounds of Scattergories, a game of Apples to Apples and some Texas Hold 'Em until late, which didn't leave much time to squeeze in the last 5 episodes of Season 3.
We woke up on Tuesday, also Mom's birthday, to get ready to leave. (More like I woke up, and then woke up The Doddster between the hours of 11 and noon...this happened all four days, which is one of the many reasons I'm sure he's glad to be back at home: back to the old sleep schedule.) Around 2 o'clock we all headed home in different directions: Katie and Matt to Granby in his car, Mom and I took the Vibe back to CT as well, Dad and Rusty in the truck and The Doddster back to Syracuse. All in all it was a great weekend, and like I said earlier, there were few awkward moments (which may not be as fun for the blog, but is better in that it will help ensure that I don't develop an ulcer.)
The weekend was largely a success, somewhat surprisingly. Everyone seemed to like everyone, nobody got shot and awkward moments were minimal. Dad and I started out the weekend a little bit early to take a load of my stuff up to the Vermont house, and to take a quick trip up to Burlington to check out an apartment for me for the couple months I'll be living and working there (starting in less than a week.) That actually was kind of awkward, but it was before any of our house guests arrived. There was a miscommunication between the current tenants and the landlord, and the tenants whose lease starts on Sunday, who I'll be subletting from. I got there (where someone was supposed to be to let me in to look at the apartment) and when no one showed, I rang the bell. A couple minutes later, a raspy-voiced and disheveled kid who looked to be around my age answered the door. So even though the place was a mess and he was mad about getting woken up on a Friday at 10 a.m. by someone to come look at the apartment when he wasn't alerted to this earlier, he showed me. The place was a mess, but I will be living there from around June 1-August 1 this summer while I intern at the newspaper there.
So after Dad and I drove around the UVM campus a little bit, looking for flyers about apartments to sublet, we headed back to the lake to put the boat in the water. We stopped for a quick lunch in Middlebury, and then got back by around 1 to get the boat in the water. By this point, I had heard from the Doddster that he had not left at noon as was planned, because he had spent the entire previous night moving into his new apartment and needed a couple hours of sleep before the 4-hour drive to Vermont. So we got the boat in the water, ordered some pizzas and hung out until around 10 p.m. when he finally arrived. The first meeting was a little bit awkward, considering that both of my parents had fallen asleep and, as Mom put it, 'looked like hell.' But we started the weekend off right with the first few episodes of the third season of The Office. Upon awakening on Saturday morning, there was some breakfast, a couple more episodes of The Office, and then golfing in the afternoon. I rode along and drank beer while The Doddster and the 'rents played golf. After being out on the course for a couple hours, we headed back to the house to have burgers for dinner, take some quick showers and have the neighbors over for some gambling dice games--the Vermont way. (We had also taken Rusty for a walk that evening, where he got loose from the leash, farted at me and proceeded to eat some dried up frog roadkill within a span of about 30 seconds.) But anyway, that night there were beers and Pomtinis, displays of drunkenness and several rounds of LCR, Gramps' horseshoes game and Screw Your Neighbor. There was also a Battle of the Sexes on whether or not there should be a jointly-owned Jones-Munks paddleboat. (The ladies ended up taking that one, as there was a paddle boat in the yard by the next afternoon.) After the alcohol had been flowing for a bit, The Doddster and our dear friends and neighbors' niece's boyfriend began quoting stoner movies. Before the night was over, the two of them embraced good-bye. After which he said, 'I think we would have a lot of fun together. He seems like a really fun, drunk guy. I mean, he hugged me!' And, once the guests had gone, we headed down to the basement where he drunkenly got SPANKED by me in Ping Pong before we retired for some more Office. It was by this point that I knew that the weekend was going well: after the fun golf game and when The Doddster said 'Your parents are officially cool. Especially because I don't think your dad is going to shoot me.'
On Sunday morning we woke up to the nicest day of all, and headed to The Lakehouse for brunch. We ended up sitting smushed in between the band and a table full of muscle-bound, pervy Jerseyans or Long Islanders (you never can tell the difference: except one knows how to pump gas and the other doesn't...summer from S.U. is supposed to be getting away from that breed.) Then we set out for a little cruise around the lake. Once we got back there was more Office, cooking up some dinner and waiting for the other half of the Boyfriend Extravaganza to arrive. The Doddster and I were assigned the task of retrieving kindling for that night's bonfire, during which time he went to go down a little slope off of the driveway to grab some sticks. He fell and slid down the hill a little bit, which I proceeded to laugh at. Only later when I saw the raspberry on his elbow did I feel bad about that. Got some good kindling though.
After dinner, we and the 'rents and I went out for a disappointing sunset cruise and came back to find The Doddster's high school spooning buddy in the kitchen with Katie. We got in one episode when everyone else was out starting the fire. The 'around the fire conversation' was quite a bit tamer than usual (usual being The Inspector talking about sparkers...I'm sure both The Inspector and sparkers are things that will probably be explained once the Saratoga Track opens in a couple months.) Although we did get a story about a midget with a fake leg. But that isn't my story to tell. So we headed inside, grabbed some snacks and surprise! watched some more Office. (Which I am ashamed to say I fell asleep during.) Katie and I had to bunk together for the last two nights so that the boys did not actually have to spoon on the futon in the guest room. And she, like seemingly everybody else, snores.
When we woke up on Monday, my goal was to get out on the boat by 1 p.m. at the very latest to get some sun. Between The Doddster's sleeping schedule, which normally doesn't permit him to arise before noon, and the fact that Syracuse made it to the lacrosse championships (and won) and the game started at 1 on ESPN, my goal wasn't met. After a while, we got down to the lake, and took the paddle boat out. It started raining, so we headed back upstairs to catch the end of the game. Then we headed back downstairs to drink some Magic Hats on the dock. After watching some old, underwear-clad neighbors struggling with getting their pontoon boat in the water, we headed back upstairs yet again to play Yahtzee and for a make-your-own-kebab Memorial Day cookout, followed by apple and blackberry pie, cappuccinos with Baileys and, inevitably, more beer. Then there were several competitive rounds of Scattergories, a game of Apples to Apples and some Texas Hold 'Em until late, which didn't leave much time to squeeze in the last 5 episodes of Season 3.
We woke up on Tuesday, also Mom's birthday, to get ready to leave. (More like I woke up, and then woke up The Doddster between the hours of 11 and noon...this happened all four days, which is one of the many reasons I'm sure he's glad to be back at home: back to the old sleep schedule.) Around 2 o'clock we all headed home in different directions: Katie and Matt to Granby in his car, Mom and I took the Vibe back to CT as well, Dad and Rusty in the truck and The Doddster back to Syracuse. All in all it was a great weekend, and like I said earlier, there were few awkward moments (which may not be as fun for the blog, but is better in that it will help ensure that I don't develop an ulcer.)
Saturday, May 17, 2008
One Month
For the record...
Right now, I'm about halfway through that awkward transition month where one is at home after finishing up with the year of college, and before the summer really gets underway. Younger siblings still have a month of school left, the nights are still cool and that official kick off to the summer season: Memorial Day Weekend hasn't happened yet. (The kickoff for boat owners is a bit more specific: it's whenever that boat gets into the water. This year, that will coincide with Memorial Day Weekend, where I will get to watch my Dad fumble with the dock in his wetsuit for hours on end, swearing and dropping tools into the lake, before the boat can finally go in the water. Lucky me, this event is only about 4 days away.) Last year, I had this hang time between finishing up sophomore year and starting my internship at the Rutland Herald.
I've been home from the Foggy Town for 2 full weeks now, and I've gotten to see some of my high school friends, I've gorged myself on Panera broccoli cheddar soup bread bowls and sushi, I've stressed out over internship decisions that need to be made immediately, I've unpacked and repacked, unpacked and repacked. But it still feels weird. Last night with one of my dearest friends, we'll call her Y*, we were talking about how difficult it is to come back to the 'burbs after living in a big city for several months. Y* spent a semester in D.C. her sophomore year, on an exchange program with a university there. And I've just returned from one of the biggest and best cities in the world, to a little suburb of Hartford. And I don't mean to complain, because these are my last days living in Granby. But you don't realize how little there is to do in a suburban or rural area until you've lived the big city life. This is particularly true if you are under the age of 21 in the U.S....also if you are broke. I am both of these things. (This month and a half, between being able to legally drink in Europe and my 21st birthday next month, seems unnecessary and ridiculous.)
Think of the nights I could be out with my friends checking out the sketchy nightlife in Hartford and Springfield! Oh, the drinks we could have sampled! Instead, I spent Wednesday night with Y* and our friends M* and P* over at P*'s house, watching P* do shots of Sambuca, dance to a Paula Abdul workout video and then nearly fall into his bathtub while trying to reach for his Swiss Vanilla body wash that he wanted us to smell. Then he proceeded to teach us all about the difference between the habitats in his African and South American fish tanks, and we got into a good conversation about evolution. But just think: if I were 21, we all could have done shots of Sambuca in a bar, and rather than watching P* alone in his house, we could have watched him hit on people in the bar!
But anyway, for whatever reason, I'm excited to head up to the even less city-like atmosphere of Vermont on the lake. Memorial Day Weekend should be even more interesting than usual, as we will have two visitors for a couple days. I shall entitle it: The Memorial Day Weekend Boyfriend Extravaganza. On Friday, The Doddster will be gracing us with his presence, and it will be the first time that he meets the 'rents. Then on Sunday, after a long weekend of packing meat, my sister's boyfriend Matt will be coming up for a couple days. It should be a great time for all parties involved, except maybe Dad. When I heard that both of them were going to be up for a couple weekends, I told Katie that perhaps we should instate some sort of hazing ritual where both of the boys have to sleep in the guest room together, and we only give them one blanket and pillow so they're forced to cuddle on the futon together. (When I mentioned this to the Doddster in Syracuse last weekend, his first concern was about the legality of 'spooning with a high schooler.' I assured him that Matt is 18.) At any rate, it appears that they will be sleeping in separate rooms for the time they're both there. At this time next week, the Extravaganza will be in full swing. I may even have to keep a journal to make sure that I remember all of the events and witticisms and awkward moments for the next post. Then once that is over, I will have about a week before I head up to Burlington to start my internship at the Free Press...but that's another story for another post.
Right now, I'm about halfway through that awkward transition month where one is at home after finishing up with the year of college, and before the summer really gets underway. Younger siblings still have a month of school left, the nights are still cool and that official kick off to the summer season: Memorial Day Weekend hasn't happened yet. (The kickoff for boat owners is a bit more specific: it's whenever that boat gets into the water. This year, that will coincide with Memorial Day Weekend, where I will get to watch my Dad fumble with the dock in his wetsuit for hours on end, swearing and dropping tools into the lake, before the boat can finally go in the water. Lucky me, this event is only about 4 days away.) Last year, I had this hang time between finishing up sophomore year and starting my internship at the Rutland Herald.
I've been home from the Foggy Town for 2 full weeks now, and I've gotten to see some of my high school friends, I've gorged myself on Panera broccoli cheddar soup bread bowls and sushi, I've stressed out over internship decisions that need to be made immediately, I've unpacked and repacked, unpacked and repacked. But it still feels weird. Last night with one of my dearest friends, we'll call her Y*, we were talking about how difficult it is to come back to the 'burbs after living in a big city for several months. Y* spent a semester in D.C. her sophomore year, on an exchange program with a university there. And I've just returned from one of the biggest and best cities in the world, to a little suburb of Hartford. And I don't mean to complain, because these are my last days living in Granby. But you don't realize how little there is to do in a suburban or rural area until you've lived the big city life. This is particularly true if you are under the age of 21 in the U.S....also if you are broke. I am both of these things. (This month and a half, between being able to legally drink in Europe and my 21st birthday next month, seems unnecessary and ridiculous.)
Think of the nights I could be out with my friends checking out the sketchy nightlife in Hartford and Springfield! Oh, the drinks we could have sampled! Instead, I spent Wednesday night with Y* and our friends M* and P* over at P*'s house, watching P* do shots of Sambuca, dance to a Paula Abdul workout video and then nearly fall into his bathtub while trying to reach for his Swiss Vanilla body wash that he wanted us to smell. Then he proceeded to teach us all about the difference between the habitats in his African and South American fish tanks, and we got into a good conversation about evolution. But just think: if I were 21, we all could have done shots of Sambuca in a bar, and rather than watching P* alone in his house, we could have watched him hit on people in the bar!
But anyway, for whatever reason, I'm excited to head up to the even less city-like atmosphere of Vermont on the lake. Memorial Day Weekend should be even more interesting than usual, as we will have two visitors for a couple days. I shall entitle it: The Memorial Day Weekend Boyfriend Extravaganza. On Friday, The Doddster will be gracing us with his presence, and it will be the first time that he meets the 'rents. Then on Sunday, after a long weekend of packing meat, my sister's boyfriend Matt will be coming up for a couple days. It should be a great time for all parties involved, except maybe Dad. When I heard that both of them were going to be up for a couple weekends, I told Katie that perhaps we should instate some sort of hazing ritual where both of the boys have to sleep in the guest room together, and we only give them one blanket and pillow so they're forced to cuddle on the futon together. (When I mentioned this to the Doddster in Syracuse last weekend, his first concern was about the legality of 'spooning with a high schooler.' I assured him that Matt is 18.) At any rate, it appears that they will be sleeping in separate rooms for the time they're both there. At this time next week, the Extravaganza will be in full swing. I may even have to keep a journal to make sure that I remember all of the events and witticisms and awkward moments for the next post. Then once that is over, I will have about a week before I head up to Burlington to start my internship at the Free Press...but that's another story for another post.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
The 'CUSE!
For the record...
I recently took a trip back up to Syracuse to take care of some business and see people before they vacate the premises for the summer months. This was probably the weirdest part of being home so far: going to the place where I was supposed to be all semester instead of galavanting in London. I remember back in December, treading through slush on the quad to get to class at 9 a.m., and questiioning my decision to go abroad. Then, I was sleeping on a friends' couch in Queens the night before boarding the plane at JFK, overtaken by fear of the unknown and regretting my decision. In retrospect, if I would have given up on my abroad semester to spend another miserably cold and windy winter in Syracuse, I may have become self-destructive enough to venture into Thornden Park after dark. That being said though, it isn't so bad and it was nice to be back.
I headed out for the train station in Springfield, Mass. last Tuesday, where I had planned to take one of two trains to get out to the 'Cuse. After Dad and I navigated through the slums of Springfield, and watched a pregnant woman bum a cigarette off some guy, we ended up at the train station, the lobby of which smelled more like a public restroom. I got my tickets and was told that the bus would be out front of the station in 10 minutes. I had no idea it would be a bus, seeing as it was Amtrak, but whatever. So the bus pulled up and everyone who was already on it, got off to chain smoke for half an hour before we left. (None of these people appeared to be pregnant, however.) We finally got underway and my question of, how can it take 3 hours to get to Albany from Springfield when it should only take 1? was answered. We headed over to the Mass Pike, where we eventually stopped at a rest stop to pick up a busload of people whose Amtrak bus had broken down.
They all got on, and my roomy double seat immediately vanished. A huge Texan man sat in front of me, who apparently knew everything about everything. He was spewing out facts about everything from politics to peanuts. Unfortunately for me, I was really into my book, but everyone around the guy was riveted by what he had to say, and kept on encouraging him with questions. I eventually had to succumb to the iPod to attempt to drown them out. After what felt like another 5 hours, we stopped in Pittsfield, Mass. (At this point I was appalled that we were still in Massachusetts, as it felt as though we must be to South Dakota by that point.) No one even got off the bus at the stop--I could have sworn it was just so everyone but me could get off and have a cigarette. That was a busload of characters, that is absolutely for sure. So we FINALLY got to the Albany train station, a place I have become well-acquainted with in the past few years. I grabbed a coffee and settled in to read one of my stack of Vogues during the 2-hour layover. Then I got on a train (it actually was a train this time) for the second leg of the trip.
When I finally got to Syracuse, right on time the Doddster was there to pick me up. There were flowers, candles, sushi and sour Jelly Bellies for dinner...following right on the tail of the red roses, champagne and teddy bear for Valentine's Day when I was in London. Over the next 3 days, we watched the second season of The Office in its entirety, took a long walk to the park, on campus and to look at our apartments for next year and I met the parents. (Now comes the opposite parents meeting in 2 weeks for the Vermont summer kick-off Memorial Day weekend extravaganza, where Katie's boyfriend will be gracing us with his presence for a few days as well.) If spending a few days amongst Vermonters, particularly Dad, isn't enough to drive someone away, not much is.
In addition, I met with my favorite professor to talk about next semester and the summer internship prospects, and spent the next few hours running around talking to people while they packed up their offices and getting signatures to take the summer internship for credit. Then of course, there was some quality Gwen and Janis time and a trip to bubble tea. It was good to be back there for a few days. And when it was time to get back home on Friday, the train from Syracuse was over an hour late, as usual. But that's another story. More later.
I recently took a trip back up to Syracuse to take care of some business and see people before they vacate the premises for the summer months. This was probably the weirdest part of being home so far: going to the place where I was supposed to be all semester instead of galavanting in London. I remember back in December, treading through slush on the quad to get to class at 9 a.m., and questiioning my decision to go abroad. Then, I was sleeping on a friends' couch in Queens the night before boarding the plane at JFK, overtaken by fear of the unknown and regretting my decision. In retrospect, if I would have given up on my abroad semester to spend another miserably cold and windy winter in Syracuse, I may have become self-destructive enough to venture into Thornden Park after dark. That being said though, it isn't so bad and it was nice to be back.
I headed out for the train station in Springfield, Mass. last Tuesday, where I had planned to take one of two trains to get out to the 'Cuse. After Dad and I navigated through the slums of Springfield, and watched a pregnant woman bum a cigarette off some guy, we ended up at the train station, the lobby of which smelled more like a public restroom. I got my tickets and was told that the bus would be out front of the station in 10 minutes. I had no idea it would be a bus, seeing as it was Amtrak, but whatever. So the bus pulled up and everyone who was already on it, got off to chain smoke for half an hour before we left. (None of these people appeared to be pregnant, however.) We finally got underway and my question of, how can it take 3 hours to get to Albany from Springfield when it should only take 1? was answered. We headed over to the Mass Pike, where we eventually stopped at a rest stop to pick up a busload of people whose Amtrak bus had broken down.
They all got on, and my roomy double seat immediately vanished. A huge Texan man sat in front of me, who apparently knew everything about everything. He was spewing out facts about everything from politics to peanuts. Unfortunately for me, I was really into my book, but everyone around the guy was riveted by what he had to say, and kept on encouraging him with questions. I eventually had to succumb to the iPod to attempt to drown them out. After what felt like another 5 hours, we stopped in Pittsfield, Mass. (At this point I was appalled that we were still in Massachusetts, as it felt as though we must be to South Dakota by that point.) No one even got off the bus at the stop--I could have sworn it was just so everyone but me could get off and have a cigarette. That was a busload of characters, that is absolutely for sure. So we FINALLY got to the Albany train station, a place I have become well-acquainted with in the past few years. I grabbed a coffee and settled in to read one of my stack of Vogues during the 2-hour layover. Then I got on a train (it actually was a train this time) for the second leg of the trip.
When I finally got to Syracuse, right on time the Doddster was there to pick me up. There were flowers, candles, sushi and sour Jelly Bellies for dinner...following right on the tail of the red roses, champagne and teddy bear for Valentine's Day when I was in London. Over the next 3 days, we watched the second season of The Office in its entirety, took a long walk to the park, on campus and to look at our apartments for next year and I met the parents. (Now comes the opposite parents meeting in 2 weeks for the Vermont summer kick-off Memorial Day weekend extravaganza, where Katie's boyfriend will be gracing us with his presence for a few days as well.) If spending a few days amongst Vermonters, particularly Dad, isn't enough to drive someone away, not much is.
In addition, I met with my favorite professor to talk about next semester and the summer internship prospects, and spent the next few hours running around talking to people while they packed up their offices and getting signatures to take the summer internship for credit. Then of course, there was some quality Gwen and Janis time and a trip to bubble tea. It was good to be back there for a few days. And when it was time to get back home on Friday, the train from Syracuse was over an hour late, as usual. But that's another story. More later.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Back in the 860
For the record...
It's my second full day back in the States, and the first glimpse I've seen of the sun from the States! I had pictured that upon landing in Boston the clouds would part and the sun would be shining to welcome us back...but no such luck. It's been more like Foggy Londontown here the past couple days than it has in Foggy Londontown. It's good...and weird to be home. It's sort of different than I thought--not reverse culture shock so much as just having to get used to not living in one of the biggest cities in the world anymore, but being back in a suburb of Hartford, Connecticut. It's a reality check too because now I have to come to terms with selling this house and moving up to Vermont for good for the last year I'll be living at home (God willing I get a job after college) and really get after these internship people...because odds are I'll be starting at the end of May or the beginning of June.
I miss the tube, and the knowledge that I'm a short walk away from Big Ben or going shopping in Oxford Circus. But on the other hand, it's nice to be able to watch the Cubbies, to have access to a car and a bed that not only doesn't practically stab me while I'm sleeping with it's springs, but is big enough to house me, my stuffed Eeyore and a body pillow, and is like sleeping on a cloud. As I was telling one of my friends, I once had a near-death experience in London of jumping into my bed and suffering what felt like a broken butt.
The flight actually went really well--we flew from Heathrow to Boston Logan on Friday, and it only took 6 1/2 hours. Unfortuneately, I was in row 55 so it was loud and bumpy nearly the whole way, and I was sitting next to some middle-aged American guy who had his knees up against the seat in front of him, hogged the armrest, all-around was infringing on my personal space and to top it all off he smelled like Guinness. (You can always spot the people who aren't very good flyers who request a Bloody Mary with a double shot of vodka when the flight attendants are doing the first round where only water and coffee are offered.) The flight seemed longer than it was, probably because I was eager to get home, but I occupied myself by reading Vogue and Into the Wild, and watching No Country for Old Men, Juno and an episode of Californication. And by eating...and drinking the free Virgin Atlantic wine. I was looking out at snowy Nova Scotia for a while too.
Of course we had to get into Boston right before rush hour, ensuring a 2 1/2 to 3 hour trip back to Granby. So far I've been sleeping (or trying to: I was up at 5:30 a.m. on Saturday, which is of course 10:30 London time), eating (a lot!) sushi, Panera, Mom's red velvet cupcakes, getting Dunkin Donuts iced coffee (now THAT is something I missed) and fighting the urge to kiss the $20 bill in my wallet, simply for the fact that it is worth exactly that and not double! And of course, getting food ready for the Cinco de Mayo dinner tomorrow!
Unpacking hasn't been much fun. I'm finally about done, but I'm just repacking to go up to Syracuse on Tuesday and for the big move to Vermont in June. AND the trip to Vegas for the 21st! I'm sitting here at my desk, overlooking our woods with the window open and the smell of freshly cut grass and Dad blackening salmon on the grill for dinner wafting through. I'm really going to miss this place--it's been my refuge through everything all the way back through the big move from Illinois. Even back when I was an awkward seventh grader when I dreaded going to school some days, this is the place where I've felt safe. The transition out of this house has been going for sometime now--since I started at Syracuse and with interning in Vermont last summer, I've probably spent more time at the Vermont house during school breaks than I have here. And I feel like I'm constantly packing at this point in my life! Not even just with coming from London, but going between Granby, Syracuse and Vermont for the past 3 years.
I'm going to miss having these friends close by (even if a lot of them do go to UConn.) I'm going to miss the mini-road trips to Canton and Enfield for Panera and some shopping, and being just about halfway between NYC and Boston. But at the same time, Vermont has sort of become home too. In the summer anyway. (I am a fair-weather Vermonter.) I am itching to get out on the boat, and I don't know if I'm going to be able to wait another 2 1/2 weeks to do it!
I probably won't write until I'm back from the 'Cuse on Friday, but I'll be sure to let you know if I see anyone good while I'm there;)
It's my second full day back in the States, and the first glimpse I've seen of the sun from the States! I had pictured that upon landing in Boston the clouds would part and the sun would be shining to welcome us back...but no such luck. It's been more like Foggy Londontown here the past couple days than it has in Foggy Londontown. It's good...and weird to be home. It's sort of different than I thought--not reverse culture shock so much as just having to get used to not living in one of the biggest cities in the world anymore, but being back in a suburb of Hartford, Connecticut. It's a reality check too because now I have to come to terms with selling this house and moving up to Vermont for good for the last year I'll be living at home (God willing I get a job after college) and really get after these internship people...because odds are I'll be starting at the end of May or the beginning of June.
I miss the tube, and the knowledge that I'm a short walk away from Big Ben or going shopping in Oxford Circus. But on the other hand, it's nice to be able to watch the Cubbies, to have access to a car and a bed that not only doesn't practically stab me while I'm sleeping with it's springs, but is big enough to house me, my stuffed Eeyore and a body pillow, and is like sleeping on a cloud. As I was telling one of my friends, I once had a near-death experience in London of jumping into my bed and suffering what felt like a broken butt.
The flight actually went really well--we flew from Heathrow to Boston Logan on Friday, and it only took 6 1/2 hours. Unfortuneately, I was in row 55 so it was loud and bumpy nearly the whole way, and I was sitting next to some middle-aged American guy who had his knees up against the seat in front of him, hogged the armrest, all-around was infringing on my personal space and to top it all off he smelled like Guinness. (You can always spot the people who aren't very good flyers who request a Bloody Mary with a double shot of vodka when the flight attendants are doing the first round where only water and coffee are offered.) The flight seemed longer than it was, probably because I was eager to get home, but I occupied myself by reading Vogue and Into the Wild, and watching No Country for Old Men, Juno and an episode of Californication. And by eating...and drinking the free Virgin Atlantic wine. I was looking out at snowy Nova Scotia for a while too.
Of course we had to get into Boston right before rush hour, ensuring a 2 1/2 to 3 hour trip back to Granby. So far I've been sleeping (or trying to: I was up at 5:30 a.m. on Saturday, which is of course 10:30 London time), eating (a lot!) sushi, Panera, Mom's red velvet cupcakes, getting Dunkin Donuts iced coffee (now THAT is something I missed) and fighting the urge to kiss the $20 bill in my wallet, simply for the fact that it is worth exactly that and not double! And of course, getting food ready for the Cinco de Mayo dinner tomorrow!
Unpacking hasn't been much fun. I'm finally about done, but I'm just repacking to go up to Syracuse on Tuesday and for the big move to Vermont in June. AND the trip to Vegas for the 21st! I'm sitting here at my desk, overlooking our woods with the window open and the smell of freshly cut grass and Dad blackening salmon on the grill for dinner wafting through. I'm really going to miss this place--it's been my refuge through everything all the way back through the big move from Illinois. Even back when I was an awkward seventh grader when I dreaded going to school some days, this is the place where I've felt safe. The transition out of this house has been going for sometime now--since I started at Syracuse and with interning in Vermont last summer, I've probably spent more time at the Vermont house during school breaks than I have here. And I feel like I'm constantly packing at this point in my life! Not even just with coming from London, but going between Granby, Syracuse and Vermont for the past 3 years.
I'm going to miss having these friends close by (even if a lot of them do go to UConn.) I'm going to miss the mini-road trips to Canton and Enfield for Panera and some shopping, and being just about halfway between NYC and Boston. But at the same time, Vermont has sort of become home too. In the summer anyway. (I am a fair-weather Vermonter.) I am itching to get out on the boat, and I don't know if I'm going to be able to wait another 2 1/2 weeks to do it!
I probably won't write until I'm back from the 'Cuse on Friday, but I'll be sure to let you know if I see anyone good while I'm there;)
Thursday, May 1, 2008
I'm Leaving My Heart in London
For the record...
So here we are on the last day with nothing to do except blog, watch the BBC, pack and have a final pint at the place where we had our first one. After the last Walkabout Wednesday last night and my exam this morning, I said my goodbyes to London by going to Trafalgar Square. As it happened, at that particular time, there was a pro-Communist rally going on... AHAHAHAHAHAHA! It was pretty awesome and everything was so peaceful. They had red 'Mao' signs and were yelling something or other as all of the police officers looked on. Only in London.
Then I walked over to the River Thames to say bye to Big Ben and walk along the river to St. Paul's and then down Fleet Street where all of the newspapers are. It is sad, and I don't think the weight of leaving has fully hit me quite yet, but at the same time I sort of got closure with going to those places today, and I think I made the most of my time here without neglecting schoolwork. (These was the hardest final schedule ever and I still feel like a champion.) The only things that I wanted to get to that I didn't were the Imperial War Museum and actually paying to go inside St. Paul's and take the tour. But that will just give me a reason to come back. Plus, who isn't looking forward to getting back to using dollars instead of pounds and the movies and free wine on the Virgin Atlantic flight? So I've looooved it and I'll miss it, but I'm not going to be sad now.
There are a lot of things I'm going to miss, and a lot that I won't. I think more than anything, I'm going to miss the tube! I mean, to think that I won't be hearing that pleasant woman say 'Please mind the gap when exiting the train' or 'You are on a Piccadilly Line train to Cockfosters' until the next time I'm here (and who knows when that will be) is sad. I mean, of course I'll miss Professor Serb and his 'embarrassingly easy' exams (his words, not mine.) My BFF French barista at the Starbucks on Southampton Row. Plus, it's just so great to live in a town where you can just take a walk down to Big Ben whenever you please...not to mention the free museums! And even more than that, I've made so many great friends here! But, this is where I leave you. I'm off to pack and clean and have one final pint before heading home in the morning. I can't believe I'll be back in the States tomorrow!
It's been real, London. Thanks for showing a lady a good time.
So here we are on the last day with nothing to do except blog, watch the BBC, pack and have a final pint at the place where we had our first one. After the last Walkabout Wednesday last night and my exam this morning, I said my goodbyes to London by going to Trafalgar Square. As it happened, at that particular time, there was a pro-Communist rally going on... AHAHAHAHAHAHA! It was pretty awesome and everything was so peaceful. They had red 'Mao' signs and were yelling something or other as all of the police officers looked on. Only in London.
Then I walked over to the River Thames to say bye to Big Ben and walk along the river to St. Paul's and then down Fleet Street where all of the newspapers are. It is sad, and I don't think the weight of leaving has fully hit me quite yet, but at the same time I sort of got closure with going to those places today, and I think I made the most of my time here without neglecting schoolwork. (These was the hardest final schedule ever and I still feel like a champion.) The only things that I wanted to get to that I didn't were the Imperial War Museum and actually paying to go inside St. Paul's and take the tour. But that will just give me a reason to come back. Plus, who isn't looking forward to getting back to using dollars instead of pounds and the movies and free wine on the Virgin Atlantic flight? So I've looooved it and I'll miss it, but I'm not going to be sad now.
There are a lot of things I'm going to miss, and a lot that I won't. I think more than anything, I'm going to miss the tube! I mean, to think that I won't be hearing that pleasant woman say 'Please mind the gap when exiting the train' or 'You are on a Piccadilly Line train to Cockfosters' until the next time I'm here (and who knows when that will be) is sad. I mean, of course I'll miss Professor Serb and his 'embarrassingly easy' exams (his words, not mine.) My BFF French barista at the Starbucks on Southampton Row. Plus, it's just so great to live in a town where you can just take a walk down to Big Ben whenever you please...not to mention the free museums! And even more than that, I've made so many great friends here! But, this is where I leave you. I'm off to pack and clean and have one final pint before heading home in the morning. I can't believe I'll be back in the States tomorrow!
It's been real, London. Thanks for showing a lady a good time.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Hopping the Pond
For the record...
I know I've been talking about leaving for a long time, but it's really starting to hit everyone now. We're working on finals (when it gets to 2:30 p.m. tomorrow, I will be incredibly relieved.) But tonight is the last Professor Serb session! And everyone is dashing around to see the things they still haven't seen (Abbey Road and Camdentown Market for me) and doing some last minute shopping. (I had an incredibly successful day on Oxford St. yesterday, when I didn't have class.) And of course, visiting all of the tourist shops to find a Union Jack speedo for a certain someone. Although in light of recent photographs that have surfaced, I'm thinking a bikini might be more fitting.
At any rate, it's starting to get sad! Last night was the film club finale, and they showed a foreign film called L'Auberge Espagnole, about a French student who studies in Barcelona for a year. More than anything, the movie was about the bonds that were created between all of the students who were living there together (French, English, Danish, Italian, Spanish) and the three categories life has gotten divided into: school, traveling/exploring during the day and then doing the same at night. (In other words, going to see the tourist sights during the day and getting 'legless' at night, as Prof. Serb would say.)
The thing that hit home the most in the movie was when the main character went home and had a hard time re-adjusting. I've gotten so attached to this place. There were even some tears during the movie (Stacey;) because the weight of leaving is finally hitting. Leaving and saying goodbye is always particularly hard with me. Ever since the move from Illinois-->CT. and saying goodbye to Granny and Pops, I always get upset, even with minor goodbyes. I still well up when my parents drop me off in Syracuse every year.
There were some scenes that really stuck out and were easy to relate to: when the whole group went out to a club at night and ended up finding a guy (American) with a guitar who played a Bob Marley song for them. You could tell that they were just all so happy. It's been those moments--the sort of unexpected ones, where you just have this feeling of freedom and happiness. Paris in particular was one of those. And now there's really this bond between the people here, because we all experienced it together. I have no idea how I'll be able to explain the experience to people at home, because there's just so much. When I used to think of studying abroad, I would just think of traveling for a few months. But this was our home, and how can you describe your whole life to someone if they ask you? I can tell you stories about getting farted at in Dublin or unruly Irish Ryanair passengers on the way to Barcelona, but I can't describe how happy I've been here, how much better my life is now that I've had this experience or how freeing it is to navigate yourself all over Europe. The past three and a half months have been the best time of my life.
I apologize for getting kind of schmaltzy and emo, but like I said I'm not good with goodbyes.
Thanks for listening.
I know I've been talking about leaving for a long time, but it's really starting to hit everyone now. We're working on finals (when it gets to 2:30 p.m. tomorrow, I will be incredibly relieved.) But tonight is the last Professor Serb session! And everyone is dashing around to see the things they still haven't seen (Abbey Road and Camdentown Market for me) and doing some last minute shopping. (I had an incredibly successful day on Oxford St. yesterday, when I didn't have class.) And of course, visiting all of the tourist shops to find a Union Jack speedo for a certain someone. Although in light of recent photographs that have surfaced, I'm thinking a bikini might be more fitting.
At any rate, it's starting to get sad! Last night was the film club finale, and they showed a foreign film called L'Auberge Espagnole, about a French student who studies in Barcelona for a year. More than anything, the movie was about the bonds that were created between all of the students who were living there together (French, English, Danish, Italian, Spanish) and the three categories life has gotten divided into: school, traveling/exploring during the day and then doing the same at night. (In other words, going to see the tourist sights during the day and getting 'legless' at night, as Prof. Serb would say.)
The thing that hit home the most in the movie was when the main character went home and had a hard time re-adjusting. I've gotten so attached to this place. There were even some tears during the movie (Stacey;) because the weight of leaving is finally hitting. Leaving and saying goodbye is always particularly hard with me. Ever since the move from Illinois-->CT. and saying goodbye to Granny and Pops, I always get upset, even with minor goodbyes. I still well up when my parents drop me off in Syracuse every year.
There were some scenes that really stuck out and were easy to relate to: when the whole group went out to a club at night and ended up finding a guy (American) with a guitar who played a Bob Marley song for them. You could tell that they were just all so happy. It's been those moments--the sort of unexpected ones, where you just have this feeling of freedom and happiness. Paris in particular was one of those. And now there's really this bond between the people here, because we all experienced it together. I have no idea how I'll be able to explain the experience to people at home, because there's just so much. When I used to think of studying abroad, I would just think of traveling for a few months. But this was our home, and how can you describe your whole life to someone if they ask you? I can tell you stories about getting farted at in Dublin or unruly Irish Ryanair passengers on the way to Barcelona, but I can't describe how happy I've been here, how much better my life is now that I've had this experience or how freeing it is to navigate yourself all over Europe. The past three and a half months have been the best time of my life.
I apologize for getting kind of schmaltzy and emo, but like I said I'm not good with goodbyes.
Thanks for listening.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Professor Serb Addendum
For the record...
Here are some more recent Professor Serb musings to keep you interested...as it is nearing finals week and I am getting too burnt out on that to have any original thoughts of my own!
-"I am not wasting paper. I am creating jobs in Brazil."
-"Hi Arielle how is your blackberry?"
-"I've flown from what's it thingy" (In reference to Russia.)
-"I mean, I'm not a very moral person...I'm not going to say I don't have mistresses...I met my paht-nah in December 1971, it was the best day of my life and I don't fiddle around with what's it." "Marilyn Monroe?" -"Not my cup of tea."
-"A. I don't know. B...."
-"I don't think much of common sense."
-"We've been together 37 years...Blimey!"
-"You could be sadomasochist bisexual lesbian or what's it. As long as you don't make me a lesbian too."
-"Kennedy said to Kruschev...listen you schmuck."
-"Gene, take the banana off. It's kind of always in my eye."
-"There is this weirdo country, Kazhakstan, wherever that is."
-"Today there are those weirdo fricks in Bandledesh or what."
-"You want a new kidney? Muldova. $5,000."
-"Are your glasses last century or are they with it man?"
-"Americans walk in and say 'what women can't vote or drive cars here?' And the locals say 'no we know better' and the Americans shoot them."
-"The Europeans are minor bastards."
-"I hate your glasses. Four eyes."
-"Hey where is your blackberry? How will you survive?"
-"I mean, I'm not a fascist, however..."
-"Then at the Tower Bridge I got twice wet."
-"I know nobody likes me anyway. I am a loner in this world."
-"He tried to trick me again the little trickster, beggar. I will give him F."
-"I'm German. I don't know if I mentioned it."
-"No no you find your paht-nah on the Internet!"
-"Those stupid people. I've been to Beijing, you can't breath there."
-"I'm fat and pasty-faced and German. I love it."
-"You can get 60% of your last salary to stay home with your flipping child."
-"There are so many jokes about Irish being like rabbits. 18 children per mother or what."
-"What do you want to know about his sexual behavior?"
-"Do you think I want that Dutch army that smokes weed all the time?"
-"Wow those are some colors. Nice one." (While entranced by my pink coat.)
-"Do you have a lady you want to please sexually?"
-"You're funny people. You ask questions. I would be scared if he hadn't smoked dope."
-"60% of London kids have smoked dope. I hope our kids aren't nerds."
-"I don't know anyone who's 20 and hasn't taken E."
-"Sit down Gene."
-"If you're the proverbial black, Jewish, lesbian communist from the ghetto of Chicago, God help you."
-"To the chocolate fountain."
-"If I ever offended anyone with my loose words I apologize...Kareen."
Alright I'm headed to the pub soon, before Professor Serb's class this evening! Cheerio...
Here are some more recent Professor Serb musings to keep you interested...as it is nearing finals week and I am getting too burnt out on that to have any original thoughts of my own!
-"I am not wasting paper. I am creating jobs in Brazil."
-"Hi Arielle how is your blackberry?"
-"I've flown from what's it thingy" (In reference to Russia.)
-"I mean, I'm not a very moral person...I'm not going to say I don't have mistresses...I met my paht-nah in December 1971, it was the best day of my life and I don't fiddle around with what's it." "Marilyn Monroe?" -"Not my cup of tea."
-"A. I don't know. B...."
-"I don't think much of common sense."
-"We've been together 37 years...Blimey!"
-"You could be sadomasochist bisexual lesbian or what's it. As long as you don't make me a lesbian too."
-"Kennedy said to Kruschev...listen you schmuck."
-"Gene, take the banana off. It's kind of always in my eye."
-"There is this weirdo country, Kazhakstan, wherever that is."
-"Today there are those weirdo fricks in Bandledesh or what."
-"You want a new kidney? Muldova. $5,000."
-"Are your glasses last century or are they with it man?"
-"Americans walk in and say 'what women can't vote or drive cars here?' And the locals say 'no we know better' and the Americans shoot them."
-"The Europeans are minor bastards."
-"I hate your glasses. Four eyes."
-"Hey where is your blackberry? How will you survive?"
-"I mean, I'm not a fascist, however..."
-"Then at the Tower Bridge I got twice wet."
-"I know nobody likes me anyway. I am a loner in this world."
-"He tried to trick me again the little trickster, beggar. I will give him F."
-"I'm German. I don't know if I mentioned it."
-"No no you find your paht-nah on the Internet!"
-"Those stupid people. I've been to Beijing, you can't breath there."
-"I'm fat and pasty-faced and German. I love it."
-"You can get 60% of your last salary to stay home with your flipping child."
-"There are so many jokes about Irish being like rabbits. 18 children per mother or what."
-"What do you want to know about his sexual behavior?"
-"Do you think I want that Dutch army that smokes weed all the time?"
-"Wow those are some colors. Nice one." (While entranced by my pink coat.)
-"Do you have a lady you want to please sexually?"
-"You're funny people. You ask questions. I would be scared if he hadn't smoked dope."
-"60% of London kids have smoked dope. I hope our kids aren't nerds."
-"I don't know anyone who's 20 and hasn't taken E."
-"Sit down Gene."
-"If you're the proverbial black, Jewish, lesbian communist from the ghetto of Chicago, God help you."
-"To the chocolate fountain."
-"If I ever offended anyone with my loose words I apologize...Kareen."
Alright I'm headed to the pub soon, before Professor Serb's class this evening! Cheerio...
Sunday, April 20, 2008
<3 London.
For the record...
Things are really starting to wind down--everybody is busy with final projects and papers and getting some of the last quintessential London things done before we leave in less than 2 weeks. This weekend was our 'love london' weekend, where there are lots of activities that the school puts together for all of us to do. On Thursday night it was a trip to the theater to see Billy Elliott, which was great. (Though quite long, and the Victoria line was closed for repair--go figure, so getting home could have been easier.) Then on Friday it was a tour of the Tower of London, and then a little detour by myself to Brick Lane on the (sketchy) east end for some browsing of the vintage shops.
And yesterday we all headed over to the QPR vs. Charlton 'football match' as they say. We were cheering for QPR and then won 1-0. I really don't get how these Europeans can be so into watching soccer. I mean it's fun to play I guess but 1-0? I can count on two hands the number of shots on goal there were in the entire game! They were basically just headering (I don't think that's a word) the ball back and forth.
It was cold and rainy, but a lot of fun. This is apparently the 'family friendly' league, although i have never heard such vulgarity out of the mouths of children under the age of 10 before. We also got an e-mail from our program director saying that Gisele Bundchen had been spotted on the arm of 'her boyfriend.' These British...in the U.S. we'd say Tom Brady was spotted on the arm of some Brazilian skank! (Or that's what I would say anyway.)
And last night it was over to O'Neills in Leicester Square to see a cover band play AC/DC, Bon Jovi, Bryan Adams, etc. (This however was not an organized school activity, but it was a lot of fun.) We got ourselves a semi-circle booth and immediately regretted that decision when we noticed a big pile of puke on the floor in the middle of the semi-circle. We investigated from afar for a while, trying to figure out what it was (even though deep down, we already knew.) Then some guy came over to claim his coat from the booth and stepped in it...to a chorus of our "Ohhhh Goddddd"'s. Even the employees would stare at it as they blazed on past--nobody wanted to deal with cleaning that up. Finally, someone came over with a mop, and was eyeing the boys suspiciously to try to decide who was responsible for it. They all blamed it on each other.
And now today it's work work work.
I am getting excited to go home, but I'm going to miss London so much! I haven't seen most of my family in over 3 months, which is the longest I've ever gone without seeing them. And, I am excited to start out the summer, figure out internship stuff, go to Vegas in 2 months! But meeting people in London and traveling all over Europe has been one of the best experiences of my life so far.
I've always said I want to live in a big city when I'm done with school (namely Chicago, but there are a lot of places that would be nice.) Still, I had only ever lived in suburbs before this and I had been wondering if I could really pull it off. But this proves it: it's been great--day to day life is so much more exciting when you're living somewhere that's the center of so much activity. (This also may play into me deciding whether to intern in Burlington, VT or NYC this summer...)
The time really has flown by here, and leaving in a week is going to be bittersweet. But I'll always think of London as one of my homes from now on!
Things are really starting to wind down--everybody is busy with final projects and papers and getting some of the last quintessential London things done before we leave in less than 2 weeks. This weekend was our 'love london' weekend, where there are lots of activities that the school puts together for all of us to do. On Thursday night it was a trip to the theater to see Billy Elliott, which was great. (Though quite long, and the Victoria line was closed for repair--go figure, so getting home could have been easier.) Then on Friday it was a tour of the Tower of London, and then a little detour by myself to Brick Lane on the (sketchy) east end for some browsing of the vintage shops.
And yesterday we all headed over to the QPR vs. Charlton 'football match' as they say. We were cheering for QPR and then won 1-0. I really don't get how these Europeans can be so into watching soccer. I mean it's fun to play I guess but 1-0? I can count on two hands the number of shots on goal there were in the entire game! They were basically just headering (I don't think that's a word) the ball back and forth.
It was cold and rainy, but a lot of fun. This is apparently the 'family friendly' league, although i have never heard such vulgarity out of the mouths of children under the age of 10 before. We also got an e-mail from our program director saying that Gisele Bundchen had been spotted on the arm of 'her boyfriend.' These British...in the U.S. we'd say Tom Brady was spotted on the arm of some Brazilian skank! (Or that's what I would say anyway.)
And last night it was over to O'Neills in Leicester Square to see a cover band play AC/DC, Bon Jovi, Bryan Adams, etc. (This however was not an organized school activity, but it was a lot of fun.) We got ourselves a semi-circle booth and immediately regretted that decision when we noticed a big pile of puke on the floor in the middle of the semi-circle. We investigated from afar for a while, trying to figure out what it was (even though deep down, we already knew.) Then some guy came over to claim his coat from the booth and stepped in it...to a chorus of our "Ohhhh Goddddd"'s. Even the employees would stare at it as they blazed on past--nobody wanted to deal with cleaning that up. Finally, someone came over with a mop, and was eyeing the boys suspiciously to try to decide who was responsible for it. They all blamed it on each other.
And now today it's work work work.
I am getting excited to go home, but I'm going to miss London so much! I haven't seen most of my family in over 3 months, which is the longest I've ever gone without seeing them. And, I am excited to start out the summer, figure out internship stuff, go to Vegas in 2 months! But meeting people in London and traveling all over Europe has been one of the best experiences of my life so far.
I've always said I want to live in a big city when I'm done with school (namely Chicago, but there are a lot of places that would be nice.) Still, I had only ever lived in suburbs before this and I had been wondering if I could really pull it off. But this proves it: it's been great--day to day life is so much more exciting when you're living somewhere that's the center of so much activity. (This also may play into me deciding whether to intern in Burlington, VT or NYC this summer...)
The time really has flown by here, and leaving in a week is going to be bittersweet. But I'll always think of London as one of my homes from now on!
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Let's Play Catch Up
For the record...
The trip to Venice was great. It was relaxing, there was good food, and it was nice to see Dad on his birthday. The getting to and from Venice however was kind of a pain. I'm sick of airports and the millions of modes of transportation it takes to get there when you don't have a car! So I left on Friday and took two tube trains to get to the bus station, where it proceeded to start hailing. Then about 10 minutes later there were clear skies. I got to Gatwick, went through security and got a sandwich and I finished with all of that with 3 hours left until my flight took off. (I get really paranoid I'm going to miss things and leave way too early.) And of course, it took off late. (P.s. despite having ginormous orange planes, easyjet is wayyy better than Ryanair. No drunken Irishmen asking how old I was or passing out in the aisle and trying to steal cans of beer from the stewardesses cart.)
So we set off to Venice and everything was going smoothly until it was about time to land, and it started to get bumpy. So I thought...ok we're just going through some clouds and it's getting windy since we're starting to get lower. Then I see a flashing out my window and realized we had just descended into a thundercloud. It was cool to watch once we got far enough away that I didn't think we could possibly get struck...but when it was right outside I was freaking out!
So I got a bus to meet Dad, and we found out that the only way to get to our hotel was by waterbus. We stayed at a little place right next to the Rialto Bridge. So we checked in and then had dinner outside near the Grand Canal. The seafood was amazing! And then it was off to watch a little CNN and go to bed. On Saturday/Dad's birthday it rained for part of the day, but we did the touristy things anyway. San Marco Square (luckily no one got pooped on by pigeons), cappuccino, gelato and some pizza and "water with gas" for lunch. Those Italians make me giggle. Why can't they say bubbles instead of gas?
On the way back to the hotel, Dad found a restaurant that he really wanted to eat at because they had cantaloupe with proscuitto, but since Venice is all narrow alleys and canals, we had a hard time finding it and just ended up going somewhere else because it was raining really hard. We went back to the hotel a little while after that and were looking for something to do, but there wasn't anything except for bars and "discos." So we watched a documentary on Darfur instead.
On Sunday we went for a little boat ride out to the Murano glass factory, which is on an island that's just before you get into the open water of the Adriatic. It was pretty awesome to watch...however the tour was less about the glass making and more about Italian people trying to sell you 20,000 euro glass sculptures. (A lot of them were amazing, and then a lot of them were of two people making out...which was kind of weird.) Speaking of that, what is it with Italians? I can't tell you how many couples I saw fully making out in the streets. PDA is awkward anyway, but particularly when you're with your Dad who says "get a room." I mean, I know Venice is romantic and all but hold it together, people.
So then we finally went to the restaurant Dad wanted to find for dinner the night before, and I ended up getting sick after spaghetti pomodoro and a cappuccino. But we walked to the train station to get his ticket and to walk along the water since it got nice and warm in the afternoon anyway afterwards. Then it was out for the last dinner and gelato, to head out in the morning for another hectic day of travel. So after a boat, a bus, a plane, a train and two tube trains I finally got back to London for my last couple weeks!
Unfortunately those couple weeks are going to be filled with finals and figuring out summer internship stuff. I've been trying to get these people to talk to me since October and then in the span of one week I get three offers and now have to decide between them! Oh well. It's certainly better than the alternative. Alright off to dinner with Dad!
Thanks for listening and more later
~Jamie
The trip to Venice was great. It was relaxing, there was good food, and it was nice to see Dad on his birthday. The getting to and from Venice however was kind of a pain. I'm sick of airports and the millions of modes of transportation it takes to get there when you don't have a car! So I left on Friday and took two tube trains to get to the bus station, where it proceeded to start hailing. Then about 10 minutes later there were clear skies. I got to Gatwick, went through security and got a sandwich and I finished with all of that with 3 hours left until my flight took off. (I get really paranoid I'm going to miss things and leave way too early.) And of course, it took off late. (P.s. despite having ginormous orange planes, easyjet is wayyy better than Ryanair. No drunken Irishmen asking how old I was or passing out in the aisle and trying to steal cans of beer from the stewardesses cart.)
So we set off to Venice and everything was going smoothly until it was about time to land, and it started to get bumpy. So I thought...ok we're just going through some clouds and it's getting windy since we're starting to get lower. Then I see a flashing out my window and realized we had just descended into a thundercloud. It was cool to watch once we got far enough away that I didn't think we could possibly get struck...but when it was right outside I was freaking out!
So I got a bus to meet Dad, and we found out that the only way to get to our hotel was by waterbus. We stayed at a little place right next to the Rialto Bridge. So we checked in and then had dinner outside near the Grand Canal. The seafood was amazing! And then it was off to watch a little CNN and go to bed. On Saturday/Dad's birthday it rained for part of the day, but we did the touristy things anyway. San Marco Square (luckily no one got pooped on by pigeons), cappuccino, gelato and some pizza and "water with gas" for lunch. Those Italians make me giggle. Why can't they say bubbles instead of gas?
On the way back to the hotel, Dad found a restaurant that he really wanted to eat at because they had cantaloupe with proscuitto, but since Venice is all narrow alleys and canals, we had a hard time finding it and just ended up going somewhere else because it was raining really hard. We went back to the hotel a little while after that and were looking for something to do, but there wasn't anything except for bars and "discos." So we watched a documentary on Darfur instead.
On Sunday we went for a little boat ride out to the Murano glass factory, which is on an island that's just before you get into the open water of the Adriatic. It was pretty awesome to watch...however the tour was less about the glass making and more about Italian people trying to sell you 20,000 euro glass sculptures. (A lot of them were amazing, and then a lot of them were of two people making out...which was kind of weird.) Speaking of that, what is it with Italians? I can't tell you how many couples I saw fully making out in the streets. PDA is awkward anyway, but particularly when you're with your Dad who says "get a room." I mean, I know Venice is romantic and all but hold it together, people.
So then we finally went to the restaurant Dad wanted to find for dinner the night before, and I ended up getting sick after spaghetti pomodoro and a cappuccino. But we walked to the train station to get his ticket and to walk along the water since it got nice and warm in the afternoon anyway afterwards. Then it was out for the last dinner and gelato, to head out in the morning for another hectic day of travel. So after a boat, a bus, a plane, a train and two tube trains I finally got back to London for my last couple weeks!
Unfortunately those couple weeks are going to be filled with finals and figuring out summer internship stuff. I've been trying to get these people to talk to me since October and then in the span of one week I get three offers and now have to decide between them! Oh well. It's certainly better than the alternative. Alright off to dinner with Dad!
Thanks for listening and more later
~Jamie
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
15 Americans and a Wolfgang in Paris
For the record...
O.k. so if you have facebook you know that this isn't the first place I've used this title. But it's too good to pass up. I know it's been a while since the previous post, but of course there were the 3 nights in Paris and the 2 days it's taken to recover from a weekend running on 10 hours of sleep for 3 nights...(aka what I ideally get in one night.) But, after a 12 hour snooze on Sunday night, the fun times that were had proved to be worth it.
So let's start at the beginning...we took the Eurostar via the chunnel to Paris (much more original than flying) on Thursday evening. Who knew it only took 20 minutes to go underneath the English Channel? And plus, who isn't a little sick of airports at this point? (Although I am really looking forward to Venice this weekend...free food and hotel! And...it'll be nice to see Dad.)
So that night we got a complimentary drink on Syracuse University and listened to a Wolfgang speech/recitation of the itinerary, and then set off in search of food. Half of a margherita pizza later, we headed back to the hotel to go to bed and prepare for a very special wakeup call from the Prof. 5 hours of sleep later...there came a sharp rapping at the door, alerting us that it was time to get up, grab a croissant and head to the OECD and the World Bank to ask our questions.
We bussed it over and had three rounds of questions for people at the OECD. It was surprisingly interesting for the most part, considering that the vast majority of us hadn't heard of the international think-tank-esque organization much before the visit. Then we had an amazing and cheap lunch in the cafeteria there (white fish with shellfish sauce and fresh green beans...steak--not had by we vegetarians of course, and some sort of espresso mouse concoction) before trekking over to the World Bank for another round of questions. After waiting in the lobby on some comfy leather couches and admiring the defensive thick windows, we headed down to a padded room in the basement for an awkward hour where we interrogated a French woman who seemed to know little about the organization she worked for. The Prof made a habit of essentially saying to our four speakers 'I disagree with everything you just said but I think it is important for us because...' which contributed to further awkwardness.
Afterwards, we hit up some touristy attractions, like the Arc de Triomph and the Eiffel Tower, chased Red Bull cars, fended off gypsies and watched the cops break up the apparently illegal vendors of Eiffel Tower key chains under the statue itself. Then it was over for dinner at a restaurant nearby the tower (FYI: une crepe avec champignons et du fromage, aka a crepe with mushrooms and cheese, is not a good idea even if you're trying to be an economical vegetarian.)
Finally, we found a metro station with the help of a Frenchman who told the boys in the group to take the girls over to the Eiffel Tower to "smooch in the moonlight," we washed up at the hotel and met up to go out as a group. We headed over to a lounge in a neighborhood called 'Odeon' (made with real bits of panther...so you know it's good) where we stayed for a bit. Then, the majority of us went to another lounge in another neighborhood to avoid spending 25 euro for the cover charge at a club. We were navigated back to the hotel, where we all got about 3.5 hours of sleep for another Prof. door knock early the next morning.
I don't really know what exactly we got up for. It was pouring, and we went on a tour with this crazy french guide named Jean-Miguel or some crap, who wouldn't leave me alone the whole time because I 'looked mad at breakfast' and the Prof. told him my name. (Which he proceeded to pronounce 'Janie' for the remainder of the tour.) I had seen the majority of the sights in Paris, but the one thing I really enjoyed was going to the Pere-Lachese cemetery to see Jim Morrison's grave. Unfortunately, we also heard the nasty things kids do in the cemetery from the psychotic tour guide. And, we unfortunately missed the grave of Oscar Wilde, that homosexual. (Refer to the list of Professor Serb quotes.)
So then we spent a rainy afternoon scrounging up crepes and hanging out around Notre Dame. Then after a long, wet walk back to the hotel, a shower and a nap that lasted several hours, we were ready to meet up with the group for dinner and a night out on the town all together. We headed down the street for an extravagant dinner, which lasted until around 1 am, and the bill came to 425 euro for 15 people. (They gave us our own room upstairs.) P.s. pesto-stuffed gnocci (which is apparently pronounced 'nochi' is amazing.) Finally, we headed out to find a club to dance the night away in Paris. We succeeded, just a bit down the road, where we all went in and partied for the next few hours together. It was great--who knew you could have so much fun with a class? Maybe when I get more time (aka when I get home...since the end of the semester workload has begun to set in) I can put up pictures to illustrate the experience. The only thing that would have made the night better is if the Prof had been there himself. After another night of 3 hours of sleep, a group of us got up early and walked around the Louvre like zombies for a little bit. Then we headed back to meet up with the group to grab the Eurostar home. We passed the class quote list around and shared pictures and videos. We emerged from the chunnel to a snowy England.
The only thing I needed to cap off the weekend was a nice nap in the afternoon and then 12 hours of sleep into Monday afternoon to avenge the lost sleep over the weekend. I hope this hasn't been a 'you had to be there post'...and I will be sure to include quotes from the weekend later on!
Thanks for listening.
~Jamie
O.k. so if you have facebook you know that this isn't the first place I've used this title. But it's too good to pass up. I know it's been a while since the previous post, but of course there were the 3 nights in Paris and the 2 days it's taken to recover from a weekend running on 10 hours of sleep for 3 nights...(aka what I ideally get in one night.) But, after a 12 hour snooze on Sunday night, the fun times that were had proved to be worth it.
So let's start at the beginning...we took the Eurostar via the chunnel to Paris (much more original than flying) on Thursday evening. Who knew it only took 20 minutes to go underneath the English Channel? And plus, who isn't a little sick of airports at this point? (Although I am really looking forward to Venice this weekend...free food and hotel! And...it'll be nice to see Dad.)
So that night we got a complimentary drink on Syracuse University and listened to a Wolfgang speech/recitation of the itinerary, and then set off in search of food. Half of a margherita pizza later, we headed back to the hotel to go to bed and prepare for a very special wakeup call from the Prof. 5 hours of sleep later...there came a sharp rapping at the door, alerting us that it was time to get up, grab a croissant and head to the OECD and the World Bank to ask our questions.
We bussed it over and had three rounds of questions for people at the OECD. It was surprisingly interesting for the most part, considering that the vast majority of us hadn't heard of the international think-tank-esque organization much before the visit. Then we had an amazing and cheap lunch in the cafeteria there (white fish with shellfish sauce and fresh green beans...steak--not had by we vegetarians of course, and some sort of espresso mouse concoction) before trekking over to the World Bank for another round of questions. After waiting in the lobby on some comfy leather couches and admiring the defensive thick windows, we headed down to a padded room in the basement for an awkward hour where we interrogated a French woman who seemed to know little about the organization she worked for. The Prof made a habit of essentially saying to our four speakers 'I disagree with everything you just said but I think it is important for us because...' which contributed to further awkwardness.
Afterwards, we hit up some touristy attractions, like the Arc de Triomph and the Eiffel Tower, chased Red Bull cars, fended off gypsies and watched the cops break up the apparently illegal vendors of Eiffel Tower key chains under the statue itself. Then it was over for dinner at a restaurant nearby the tower (FYI: une crepe avec champignons et du fromage, aka a crepe with mushrooms and cheese, is not a good idea even if you're trying to be an economical vegetarian.)
Finally, we found a metro station with the help of a Frenchman who told the boys in the group to take the girls over to the Eiffel Tower to "smooch in the moonlight," we washed up at the hotel and met up to go out as a group. We headed over to a lounge in a neighborhood called 'Odeon' (made with real bits of panther...so you know it's good) where we stayed for a bit. Then, the majority of us went to another lounge in another neighborhood to avoid spending 25 euro for the cover charge at a club. We were navigated back to the hotel, where we all got about 3.5 hours of sleep for another Prof. door knock early the next morning.
I don't really know what exactly we got up for. It was pouring, and we went on a tour with this crazy french guide named Jean-Miguel or some crap, who wouldn't leave me alone the whole time because I 'looked mad at breakfast' and the Prof. told him my name. (Which he proceeded to pronounce 'Janie' for the remainder of the tour.) I had seen the majority of the sights in Paris, but the one thing I really enjoyed was going to the Pere-Lachese cemetery to see Jim Morrison's grave. Unfortunately, we also heard the nasty things kids do in the cemetery from the psychotic tour guide. And, we unfortunately missed the grave of Oscar Wilde, that homosexual. (Refer to the list of Professor Serb quotes.)
So then we spent a rainy afternoon scrounging up crepes and hanging out around Notre Dame. Then after a long, wet walk back to the hotel, a shower and a nap that lasted several hours, we were ready to meet up with the group for dinner and a night out on the town all together. We headed down the street for an extravagant dinner, which lasted until around 1 am, and the bill came to 425 euro for 15 people. (They gave us our own room upstairs.) P.s. pesto-stuffed gnocci (which is apparently pronounced 'nochi' is amazing.) Finally, we headed out to find a club to dance the night away in Paris. We succeeded, just a bit down the road, where we all went in and partied for the next few hours together. It was great--who knew you could have so much fun with a class? Maybe when I get more time (aka when I get home...since the end of the semester workload has begun to set in) I can put up pictures to illustrate the experience. The only thing that would have made the night better is if the Prof had been there himself. After another night of 3 hours of sleep, a group of us got up early and walked around the Louvre like zombies for a little bit. Then we headed back to meet up with the group to grab the Eurostar home. We passed the class quote list around and shared pictures and videos. We emerged from the chunnel to a snowy England.
The only thing I needed to cap off the weekend was a nice nap in the afternoon and then 12 hours of sleep into Monday afternoon to avenge the lost sleep over the weekend. I hope this hasn't been a 'you had to be there post'...and I will be sure to include quotes from the weekend later on!
Thanks for listening.
~Jamie
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
The J-Word
For the Record...
There have been a startling couple of entries to the laundry list of Professor Serb quotes!
A class field trip we took for one of my journalism classes yesterday to Al Jazeera English really got me thinking about my future profession. First of all, it was amazing, and I was really impressed by the devotion of everyone we talked to in making sure their news is unbiased. (If anyone carried it in the states, I would watch it.) Also, if we could see anymore of it, we would know that it isn't just bin Laden videos streaming 24/7. But there's my little mini-speech.
Talking to some of my fellow Newhousians, I have begun to think 'what have we gotten ourselves into?' Most of us are in the same boat at the moment--frantically searching for summer internships, and worried that if finding one of those is so hard, how are we going to find real jobs next year? (My stomach is churning at the thought.) I mean think about it...when you're going into a profession where your salary is dependent on selling newspapers...as we move towards a paper-less world. And it isn't just the fact that we're all competing against each other for the same jobs--the industry is changing so much that it needs less and less people. The Chicago Sun-Times let almost a third of their newsroom go several months ago to save money. And Al-Jazeera's cameras are all robotic! So much for camerapeople.
We all have our different reasons for deciding to study at a J-school. Some people are just naturally good writers and reporters. Some want to be the next Ted Koppel or Bob Costas (ayooooo!) Others went to college without any idea what they wanted to go into and settled on that. (One thing we don't go into the profession for: money. At starting salaries of around $20,000 a year, even if we do get jobs we'll be living in a box on the side of the road.)
My particular reason was something that happened about 10 years ago, before moving from Illinois to Connecticut. A bunch of Northwestern investigative journalism students were able to prove that several prisoners were innocent, some of whom were on death row and scheduled to be executed soon after. They saved their lives and helped influence Gov. Ryan to institute a moratorium on capital punishment in the state of Illinois. (Say what you want about him as a person--it's pretty incredible that they were able to do that.)
So there you have it. All there is that's left for me to do is go to grad school at NU to take that class, and then start working at The Trib. My life will be complete. Now if I could just find an internship...
On a somewhat lighter note, all of this talking about Chicago-related things has gotten me to thinking about the Cubbies, who had their season opener the other day! I'm not going to get into the heartbreaks of years past, or the fact that mine and every other fan's blood is boiling about the selling of the naming rights to Wrigley (but I will say WTF!?) but I will say, as we have hit the century mark this year since the last time they won the series, this is the year! (It better be...)
It's off to Paris tomorrow, for a weekend with Professor Serb. You can be sure there will be several posts on his antics when I get back!
Thanks for listening.
~Jamie
There have been a startling couple of entries to the laundry list of Professor Serb quotes!
A class field trip we took for one of my journalism classes yesterday to Al Jazeera English really got me thinking about my future profession. First of all, it was amazing, and I was really impressed by the devotion of everyone we talked to in making sure their news is unbiased. (If anyone carried it in the states, I would watch it.) Also, if we could see anymore of it, we would know that it isn't just bin Laden videos streaming 24/7. But there's my little mini-speech.
Talking to some of my fellow Newhousians, I have begun to think 'what have we gotten ourselves into?' Most of us are in the same boat at the moment--frantically searching for summer internships, and worried that if finding one of those is so hard, how are we going to find real jobs next year? (My stomach is churning at the thought.) I mean think about it...when you're going into a profession where your salary is dependent on selling newspapers...as we move towards a paper-less world. And it isn't just the fact that we're all competing against each other for the same jobs--the industry is changing so much that it needs less and less people. The Chicago Sun-Times let almost a third of their newsroom go several months ago to save money. And Al-Jazeera's cameras are all robotic! So much for camerapeople.
We all have our different reasons for deciding to study at a J-school. Some people are just naturally good writers and reporters. Some want to be the next Ted Koppel or Bob Costas (ayooooo!) Others went to college without any idea what they wanted to go into and settled on that. (One thing we don't go into the profession for: money. At starting salaries of around $20,000 a year, even if we do get jobs we'll be living in a box on the side of the road.)
My particular reason was something that happened about 10 years ago, before moving from Illinois to Connecticut. A bunch of Northwestern investigative journalism students were able to prove that several prisoners were innocent, some of whom were on death row and scheduled to be executed soon after. They saved their lives and helped influence Gov. Ryan to institute a moratorium on capital punishment in the state of Illinois. (Say what you want about him as a person--it's pretty incredible that they were able to do that.)
So there you have it. All there is that's left for me to do is go to grad school at NU to take that class, and then start working at The Trib. My life will be complete. Now if I could just find an internship...
On a somewhat lighter note, all of this talking about Chicago-related things has gotten me to thinking about the Cubbies, who had their season opener the other day! I'm not going to get into the heartbreaks of years past, or the fact that mine and every other fan's blood is boiling about the selling of the naming rights to Wrigley (but I will say WTF!?) but I will say, as we have hit the century mark this year since the last time they won the series, this is the year! (It better be...)
It's off to Paris tomorrow, for a weekend with Professor Serb. You can be sure there will be several posts on his antics when I get back!
Thanks for listening.
~Jamie
Saturday, March 29, 2008
That one time we got farted at in Dublin
For the record...
When in London, it's necessary to do the quintessential British things. (Or rather, the things that we foreigners/tourists deem to be British from what we've seen in movies: photo ops in red telephone boxes, eating crumpets (nasty, by the way) and having bad oral hygiene. (O.k., no one wants that, but we keep our eyes peeled for it.) I've just returned from a very Sex and the City-like high tea with 3 of my fellow future inhabitants of Clarendon 560 at Kensington Palace, where Princess Diana used to live. (Champagne, a pot of tea, smoked salmon sandwich, a scone with winter berries and creme and of course the Belgian chocolate cake.) There was talk of suspicious doctor's appointments, gongs and of course making plans to go out this evening. It's sort of a farewell weekend for the fashion girls, who are already going to be headed back to the States soon. I'm sad to see them go, but senior year is fast approaching--when we'll all be living together in the best houseful Syracuse has ever seen!
I'm going to keep this one relatively short because I have to go work on a paper about land mines for Professor Serb (Paris trip in T-5 days!) But as I promised earlier, here is a quick recounting of the Dublin debauchery. O.k. so when we were in Dublin, we got really lucky and stumbled upon a really cheap but also extremely nice hotel in the small town of Tallaght, just outside of the city. We had to take a little tram called the Luas to get into and out of Dublin, but that beats 40 pound cab rides from Brighton to the Hickstead Travelodge last weekend! We encountered a lot of interesting characters on those many tram-rides we took, particularly when it was late at night. When we were there at the end of February, they were in the midst of the 6 Nations tournament. We encountered one particularly happy Irishman who led the entire tram car in song (he thought more people were singing, but it was just him) and another who took song requests for his harmonica. We toured the Guinness and Jameson factories, tooled around the Temple Bar neighborhood and walked along the River Liffey. However, the ultimate moment, or the piece de resistance of the Dublin experience, happened around dinner time on our last night. We were walking around downtown--bidding Dublin adieu before catching an early flight back to London in order to make it to class on Monday afternoon, when we encountered a man who was urinating on a building, on a crowded street. (I mean we all know the Irish like to drink, but come on!) So I said to Katy..."Ew that guy's peeing!" So we started to hurry past, and just as we were passing him (you could draw a straight line between his back and my side at this point) he let out the loudest fart I have ever heard in my life. It was as though it was on purpose, as if to say 'yeah. I'm peeing on the side of a building, what are YOU going to do about it?' Probably the best way to describe it was, in Katy's words "vindictive." We broke into a run, laughing yet also very disturbed and appalled--"dude...that guy just farted at us!" was most likely uttered. We passed him on our way back down the street, stumbling, and it all seemed to make a bit more sense. Part of me wishes I had an audio recording of the sound to attach to this blog. The other part of me wouldn't want to put anyone else through that experience. At high tea today, being the distinguished ladies that we are, we began pondering what actually happened. For instance, did we actually break into a run? Or did the force of the fart actually blow us down the street? I'm so glad my friends are as o.k. with such meal time subject matter as I am...it takes me back to the family holidays on the Kowalski side of the family when bathroom festivities (the euphemism to end all euphemisms) always seem to come up at the dinner table. (Weird and gross? Yes. But I wouldn't have it any other way.)
So there you have it. I've put of the Professor Serb paper for long enough, and I've probably disturbed the readers, so I will sign off.
Thanks for listening.
~Jamie
When in London, it's necessary to do the quintessential British things. (Or rather, the things that we foreigners/tourists deem to be British from what we've seen in movies: photo ops in red telephone boxes, eating crumpets (nasty, by the way) and having bad oral hygiene. (O.k., no one wants that, but we keep our eyes peeled for it.) I've just returned from a very Sex and the City-like high tea with 3 of my fellow future inhabitants of Clarendon 560 at Kensington Palace, where Princess Diana used to live. (Champagne, a pot of tea, smoked salmon sandwich, a scone with winter berries and creme and of course the Belgian chocolate cake.) There was talk of suspicious doctor's appointments, gongs and of course making plans to go out this evening. It's sort of a farewell weekend for the fashion girls, who are already going to be headed back to the States soon. I'm sad to see them go, but senior year is fast approaching--when we'll all be living together in the best houseful Syracuse has ever seen!
I'm going to keep this one relatively short because I have to go work on a paper about land mines for Professor Serb (Paris trip in T-5 days!) But as I promised earlier, here is a quick recounting of the Dublin debauchery. O.k. so when we were in Dublin, we got really lucky and stumbled upon a really cheap but also extremely nice hotel in the small town of Tallaght, just outside of the city. We had to take a little tram called the Luas to get into and out of Dublin, but that beats 40 pound cab rides from Brighton to the Hickstead Travelodge last weekend! We encountered a lot of interesting characters on those many tram-rides we took, particularly when it was late at night. When we were there at the end of February, they were in the midst of the 6 Nations tournament. We encountered one particularly happy Irishman who led the entire tram car in song (he thought more people were singing, but it was just him) and another who took song requests for his harmonica. We toured the Guinness and Jameson factories, tooled around the Temple Bar neighborhood and walked along the River Liffey. However, the ultimate moment, or the piece de resistance of the Dublin experience, happened around dinner time on our last night. We were walking around downtown--bidding Dublin adieu before catching an early flight back to London in order to make it to class on Monday afternoon, when we encountered a man who was urinating on a building, on a crowded street. (I mean we all know the Irish like to drink, but come on!) So I said to Katy..."Ew that guy's peeing!" So we started to hurry past, and just as we were passing him (you could draw a straight line between his back and my side at this point) he let out the loudest fart I have ever heard in my life. It was as though it was on purpose, as if to say 'yeah. I'm peeing on the side of a building, what are YOU going to do about it?' Probably the best way to describe it was, in Katy's words "vindictive." We broke into a run, laughing yet also very disturbed and appalled--"dude...that guy just farted at us!" was most likely uttered. We passed him on our way back down the street, stumbling, and it all seemed to make a bit more sense. Part of me wishes I had an audio recording of the sound to attach to this blog. The other part of me wouldn't want to put anyone else through that experience. At high tea today, being the distinguished ladies that we are, we began pondering what actually happened. For instance, did we actually break into a run? Or did the force of the fart actually blow us down the street? I'm so glad my friends are as o.k. with such meal time subject matter as I am...it takes me back to the family holidays on the Kowalski side of the family when bathroom festivities (the euphemism to end all euphemisms) always seem to come up at the dinner table. (Weird and gross? Yes. But I wouldn't have it any other way.)
So there you have it. I've put of the Professor Serb paper for long enough, and I've probably disturbed the readers, so I will sign off.
Thanks for listening.
~Jamie
Friday, March 28, 2008
Home?
For the record...
The abroad experience has been amazing and London feels like home. As much as I am trying to savor every second of it, however, I'm going to be ready to go once May 2 rolls around. I've done some research (a.k.a. talked to some of my fellow Syracuse London abroadites) and we've agreed that it's getting to be that time. We talk to people at home who always say 'what are you talking about...you're in London--how can you possibly want to come home?' But lets be honest, the people at home have never gone through the agonizing process of looking at prices and then mentally doubling it to figure out what it sets you back in U.S. dollars.
And lets be honest. We all miss the 'Cuse a little bit. The familiar faces, house parties, basketball, sushi/bubble tea...(ok maybe that's just me), being greeted with a searingly painful shade of orange everywhere you look...And then there are the general U.S. things. Anybody who has spent the semester flying Easyjet and Aerlingus (that's what she said) and of course good old Ryanair, will probably feel my pain when I say that as I was sitting on the runway at Heathrow heading to Dublin for the weekend and the pangs of familiarity when I saw a United Airlines plane taxi up behind us brought tears to my eyes. I mean, it will be nice to get on a plane again with an assigned seat or the fear of unruly Irishmen needing to be physically restrained on the plane. Once upon a time...while catching a flight to Barcelona for spring break, we were standing in line at one of London's out-of-the-way airports, when a group of Irish guys spanning in age from early twenties to mid-fifties got in the line to check in for our flight whilst drinking beer. (Keep in mind there isn't an open container law here. Also keep in mind that it was 11 a.m.) One of them tapped on my shoulder in line and asked...'how old are you?' without any other sort of interaction. (I just gave him the stinkeye and turned back around without answering.) At any rate, we were worrying as we waited for the flight that we'd end up sitting near them. Well...since my buddy from check-in was too large to fit into his original seat, the flight attendants decided to put him in our little row of three. (We were thrilled.) At various times, he passed out with his legs facing into the aisle, which made maneuvering the drink cart difficult, he started walking around when the fasten seatbelt sign was on. Finally after chugging another beer on the flight and hollering back to his equally drunk friends across rows and rows of seats, it was time to land. In the mountains. It was at this time that he decided it would be a good idea to walk around. After about 20 times of telling him to sit down, the flight attendants finally told him that if he didn't sit down the police were going to meet us on the runway to arrest him in Barcelona (a.k.a. in the middle of nowhere 2 hours south of Barcelona.) Ahhhhh yes....at any rate, the point is that flying the European budget flights isn't necessarily living the life.
It's been great, but it's going to be good to get home. I'm sure the Dublin story (a.k.a. getting 'farted at' on a busy city street will come up at some point in the near future.)
Have a great weekend everyone, and thanks for listening.
~Jamie
The abroad experience has been amazing and London feels like home. As much as I am trying to savor every second of it, however, I'm going to be ready to go once May 2 rolls around. I've done some research (a.k.a. talked to some of my fellow Syracuse London abroadites) and we've agreed that it's getting to be that time. We talk to people at home who always say 'what are you talking about...you're in London--how can you possibly want to come home?' But lets be honest, the people at home have never gone through the agonizing process of looking at prices and then mentally doubling it to figure out what it sets you back in U.S. dollars.
And lets be honest. We all miss the 'Cuse a little bit. The familiar faces, house parties, basketball, sushi/bubble tea...(ok maybe that's just me), being greeted with a searingly painful shade of orange everywhere you look...And then there are the general U.S. things. Anybody who has spent the semester flying Easyjet and Aerlingus (that's what she said) and of course good old Ryanair, will probably feel my pain when I say that as I was sitting on the runway at Heathrow heading to Dublin for the weekend and the pangs of familiarity when I saw a United Airlines plane taxi up behind us brought tears to my eyes. I mean, it will be nice to get on a plane again with an assigned seat or the fear of unruly Irishmen needing to be physically restrained on the plane. Once upon a time...while catching a flight to Barcelona for spring break, we were standing in line at one of London's out-of-the-way airports, when a group of Irish guys spanning in age from early twenties to mid-fifties got in the line to check in for our flight whilst drinking beer. (Keep in mind there isn't an open container law here. Also keep in mind that it was 11 a.m.) One of them tapped on my shoulder in line and asked...'how old are you?' without any other sort of interaction. (I just gave him the stinkeye and turned back around without answering.) At any rate, we were worrying as we waited for the flight that we'd end up sitting near them. Well...since my buddy from check-in was too large to fit into his original seat, the flight attendants decided to put him in our little row of three. (We were thrilled.) At various times, he passed out with his legs facing into the aisle, which made maneuvering the drink cart difficult, he started walking around when the fasten seatbelt sign was on. Finally after chugging another beer on the flight and hollering back to his equally drunk friends across rows and rows of seats, it was time to land. In the mountains. It was at this time that he decided it would be a good idea to walk around. After about 20 times of telling him to sit down, the flight attendants finally told him that if he didn't sit down the police were going to meet us on the runway to arrest him in Barcelona (a.k.a. in the middle of nowhere 2 hours south of Barcelona.) Ahhhhh yes....at any rate, the point is that flying the European budget flights isn't necessarily living the life.
It's been great, but it's going to be good to get home. I'm sure the Dublin story (a.k.a. getting 'farted at' on a busy city street will come up at some point in the near future.)
Have a great weekend everyone, and thanks for listening.
~Jamie
Thursday, March 27, 2008
London.
For the Record...
Oh, Foggy Londontown, where do I begin? It's been over two months and sometimes I still can't believe I'm living here. Free museums, cute accents, the tube, fish 'n chips...and oh the shenanigans. I don't even know if I can possibly even begin to blog about the past two months because there's been so much--but I can at least provide you with some humorous anecdotes, a greatest hits list, if you will, as I sit here on my bed, listening to NPR and breaking in my new 9 pound pumps. (O.k....maybe I'm just admiring them.)
O.k. so...here goes. At the sweet little building/high school-esque establishment that we call Faraday House, a.k.a. the S.U. London Center houses the craziest professor that has ever walked the planet. We'll call him...Professor Serb. I just so happen to have a list of quotations that this fine man (who our class is traveling to Paris with a week from today) has uttered during class over the past two months. Sit back and enjoy the following:
"All Serbs rape all the time."
"AND...YOU...ARE...A...LESBIAN!" (making believe he was talking to his female "pahtnah")
"Rich people go to hell because they are all bastards! His mother had to screw somebody to get millions!"
"I have a thing about red-headed people. I think they're all stupid."
"Germans don't drink tea with milk! Only perverts do that."
"...I have a weakness for handbags. I'm a cross-dresser on the weekend."
"You don't push your grandfather down the stairs and say 'why you walk so fast, grandfather?'"
"Those Arabs. They're dodgy people."
"I was born a Catholic Jew."
"You peasant!"
"Switzerland's a nice country, but what is this?...yodeling up the mountains?"
"I know our kids have taken E and smoked dope, but I think they just shouldn't do heroin or coke...you know?"
"Holland is a nice country full of wooden clogs, tulips and dope."
"A. Yes. B. No."
"What does Hungary provide N.A.T.O.? 15 soldiers and a gun."
"I will get them a present from Body Shop."
"Then you ask questions. If not, I kill you."
"You know Oscar Wilde, that homosexual?"
"There are few places where you can make millions. Prostitution, drugs, gambling, buying and selling Cuba."
"The Germans say no no no the Ruskies are stupid--they drink out of toilets!"
"I am a caring sharing German."
"You have a tattoo on your foot? Nice one. I have never seen an American with a tattoo in a classroom. Maybe they have them on their bottoms or what."
"Don't tell me your life."
"I know you are a cool hip hop dude."
"I just explode inside because they are fat bastards!"
"...especially the Mexicans. Crawling across the Arizona desert, these guys."
"Single mothers. They deserve to be hammered. They never work, the bastards."
"I made 16 copies--you want them for toilet paper or what?"
"Kick her."
"Don't be German."
...Hours of entertainment. More London anecdotes and Professor Serb quotes to come in the future.
And a happy 10th birthday to my puppy!
Thanks for listening.
~Jamie
Oh, Foggy Londontown, where do I begin? It's been over two months and sometimes I still can't believe I'm living here. Free museums, cute accents, the tube, fish 'n chips...and oh the shenanigans. I don't even know if I can possibly even begin to blog about the past two months because there's been so much--but I can at least provide you with some humorous anecdotes, a greatest hits list, if you will, as I sit here on my bed, listening to NPR and breaking in my new 9 pound pumps. (O.k....maybe I'm just admiring them.)
O.k. so...here goes. At the sweet little building/high school-esque establishment that we call Faraday House, a.k.a. the S.U. London Center houses the craziest professor that has ever walked the planet. We'll call him...Professor Serb. I just so happen to have a list of quotations that this fine man (who our class is traveling to Paris with a week from today) has uttered during class over the past two months. Sit back and enjoy the following:
"All Serbs rape all the time."
"AND...YOU...ARE...A...LESBIAN!" (making believe he was talking to his female "pahtnah")
"Rich people go to hell because they are all bastards! His mother had to screw somebody to get millions!"
"I have a thing about red-headed people. I think they're all stupid."
"Germans don't drink tea with milk! Only perverts do that."
"...I have a weakness for handbags. I'm a cross-dresser on the weekend."
"You don't push your grandfather down the stairs and say 'why you walk so fast, grandfather?'"
"Those Arabs. They're dodgy people."
"I was born a Catholic Jew."
"You peasant!"
"Switzerland's a nice country, but what is this?...yodeling up the mountains?"
"I know our kids have taken E and smoked dope, but I think they just shouldn't do heroin or coke...you know?"
"Holland is a nice country full of wooden clogs, tulips and dope."
"A. Yes. B. No."
"What does Hungary provide N.A.T.O.? 15 soldiers and a gun."
"I will get them a present from Body Shop."
"Then you ask questions. If not, I kill you."
"You know Oscar Wilde, that homosexual?"
"There are few places where you can make millions. Prostitution, drugs, gambling, buying and selling Cuba."
"The Germans say no no no the Ruskies are stupid--they drink out of toilets!"
"I am a caring sharing German."
"You have a tattoo on your foot? Nice one. I have never seen an American with a tattoo in a classroom. Maybe they have them on their bottoms or what."
"Don't tell me your life."
"I know you are a cool hip hop dude."
"I just explode inside because they are fat bastards!"
"...especially the Mexicans. Crawling across the Arizona desert, these guys."
"Single mothers. They deserve to be hammered. They never work, the bastards."
"I made 16 copies--you want them for toilet paper or what?"
"Kick her."
"Don't be German."
...Hours of entertainment. More London anecdotes and Professor Serb quotes to come in the future.
And a happy 10th birthday to my puppy!
Thanks for listening.
~Jamie
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
The Origins
For the Record~
When faced with the daunting task of starting a blog, usually the first question the blogger (or bloggeuse, if you will) has an answer to, is what it's going to be about. However, it has taken me a while to figure out where to begin. And then...eureka! it came to me...I'll start at the beginning.
I was born a chubby baby girl in a northwest suburb of Chicago, Illinois, and I moved to Connecticut at the gawky, awkward (gawkward if you will) age of 12. Then I began studying at the illustriousish Syracuse University in good old upstate New York as an aspiring journalist. (We'll get to that later.) Additionally, I spend what many might deem an unhealthy amount of time in the Green Mountain State, due to my parents' decision to build a house on Lake Bomoseen in Vermont. At the moment, I'm abroad, studying in Fabulous and Foggy Londontown. My ultimate goal is to do my graduate work at Northwestern University, move to the Wrigleyville neighborhood of Chicago, become a star legal reporter for The Trib and live happily ever after with my adopted Guatemalan children. (Just in case you wanted to look me up in 15 to 20 years, now you'll know where I'll be and what I'll be doing.)
This talk of origins brings me to the utter confusion and sometimes madness, that I feel when someone asks me where I'm from. Ever since I went away to college 2...almost 3 (holy crap!) years ago, it seems like everyday someone is asking me where I'm from. Particularly since I've been living in Europe for over two months now. These Brits won't stand for an answer of "the states" to that age old question "where are you from?" Sometimes they're so inquisitive that I'm surprised they don't pull out a frickin globe so I can point it out to them.
I mean, what am I supposed to say to these people? Technically I'm from Illinois, but I've been living in Connecticut for 8 1/2 years and now I consider myself to be from there too. Everything is made even more complicated by the fact that I'm actually not going to be living in Connecticut when I go home anymore since the P's are moving up to Woodchucksville on the lake for good now that my pesky sister is college-bound and whatnot. And to top it all off, going to college in Syracuse means I've sort of actually been living there for the past several years. (If you consider dorms "living," that is.) I guess I could be really lame, yet also semi-clever and tell people I'm from "Illinnectimontacuse" like that cell phone commercial that I saw roughly 9,000 times during football season last year. (For the record: I'm going to wait until Pats' training camp starts up in July to blog about them because I am in fact still recovering from the Super Bowl. Unless Tom and Gisele get engaged or pregnant or something, then I'll have to address it.)
The point is: I don't really know if anyone can really get me unless they know that I'm from Illinnectimontacuse, or at least Illinnecticut because both of those places matter so much to me. Before I go totally sentimental on this post, I'm going to sign off. But next time some bloody Brit asks me where I'm from, I'm not going to choose one spot, I'm going to lay it all out there.
Thanks for listening.
~Jamie
When faced with the daunting task of starting a blog, usually the first question the blogger (or bloggeuse, if you will) has an answer to, is what it's going to be about. However, it has taken me a while to figure out where to begin. And then...eureka! it came to me...I'll start at the beginning.
I was born a chubby baby girl in a northwest suburb of Chicago, Illinois, and I moved to Connecticut at the gawky, awkward (gawkward if you will) age of 12. Then I began studying at the illustriousish Syracuse University in good old upstate New York as an aspiring journalist. (We'll get to that later.) Additionally, I spend what many might deem an unhealthy amount of time in the Green Mountain State, due to my parents' decision to build a house on Lake Bomoseen in Vermont. At the moment, I'm abroad, studying in Fabulous and Foggy Londontown. My ultimate goal is to do my graduate work at Northwestern University, move to the Wrigleyville neighborhood of Chicago, become a star legal reporter for The Trib and live happily ever after with my adopted Guatemalan children. (Just in case you wanted to look me up in 15 to 20 years, now you'll know where I'll be and what I'll be doing.)
This talk of origins brings me to the utter confusion and sometimes madness, that I feel when someone asks me where I'm from. Ever since I went away to college 2...almost 3 (holy crap!) years ago, it seems like everyday someone is asking me where I'm from. Particularly since I've been living in Europe for over two months now. These Brits won't stand for an answer of "the states" to that age old question "where are you from?" Sometimes they're so inquisitive that I'm surprised they don't pull out a frickin globe so I can point it out to them.
I mean, what am I supposed to say to these people? Technically I'm from Illinois, but I've been living in Connecticut for 8 1/2 years and now I consider myself to be from there too. Everything is made even more complicated by the fact that I'm actually not going to be living in Connecticut when I go home anymore since the P's are moving up to Woodchucksville on the lake for good now that my pesky sister is college-bound and whatnot. And to top it all off, going to college in Syracuse means I've sort of actually been living there for the past several years. (If you consider dorms "living," that is.) I guess I could be really lame, yet also semi-clever and tell people I'm from "Illinnectimontacuse" like that cell phone commercial that I saw roughly 9,000 times during football season last year. (For the record: I'm going to wait until Pats' training camp starts up in July to blog about them because I am in fact still recovering from the Super Bowl. Unless Tom and Gisele get engaged or pregnant or something, then I'll have to address it.)
The point is: I don't really know if anyone can really get me unless they know that I'm from Illinnectimontacuse, or at least Illinnecticut because both of those places matter so much to me. Before I go totally sentimental on this post, I'm going to sign off. But next time some bloody Brit asks me where I'm from, I'm not going to choose one spot, I'm going to lay it all out there.
Thanks for listening.
~Jamie
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Venice
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Inside St. Mark's
Venice
The View
Venice
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gondolas!
Venice
The Rialto Bridge
Venice
Murano glass master
Venice: San Marco Square
Pigeons, pigeons everywhere
Venice
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Paris
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The Eiffel
Paris
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La Tour Eiffel by night
Paris: Professor Serb and the Crazy Tourguide
And now...I would like to say...
Barcelona
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Montjuic
Barcelona
.jpg)
Palm Trees!
Barcelona
Paella!
Barcelona
The view from Parc Guell
Barcelona
.jpg)
Sagrada Familia
The Dublin staple
So happy for the Guinness.
Dublin
The scene of the fart
Scotland
Atop the mountain
Scotland
The hike
Scotland
Doune Castle--Where Monty Python was filmed!
Scotland
Edinburgh Castle
Scotland
Edinburgh
Scotland
Bagpiper
