Off to Sea Once More...

Well hello there, I suppose it's time to begin blogging again, as I find myself in London for five whole months. It's only my second day but I'm so exhausted and have done so many things it feels like a week. It's after 4am here in London, but thanks to jet-lag I can't sleep, so I suppose I shall write.

I got into Heathrow yesterday morning at 7am, took forever in the customs line, then looked for the shuttle my program director had promised, and upon finding no shuttle took an express train to Heathrow Central intending to take a coach bus to Victoria Park, but ending up taking the tube. Now, I saved a bunch of money, which is very important in a place like London, BUT I had a hellish time getting my luggage into the tube, making a changeover, then walking three blocks from the nearest station (London Bridge) to my residence hall. Really, how could my luggage have been that heavy? It wasn't overweight at the airport... Anyway, my shoulders still ache.

Finally, I arrived at Wolfson house, quickly unpacked some essentials, then took a bus to Strand campus for registration. I was about an hour late, but it didn't seem to matter, as everyone else was still lined up and I got through the process fine. Then I spent about an hour in a Starbucks smelling the familiar smell and feeling terribly homesick and exhausted. Then we had a bit of a welcome lecture at 2, and were told all manner of things about King's and London and I tried my damnednest not to fall asleep in my seat. Afterward, I walked back to Wolfson house with a friend, and in the evening had a little wine-and-beer get-together in the common room and met all the study abroad students staying here, as well as a few regular students. Then a bit of dinner and... can't sleep. Didn't fall asleep until about 2am, and I had to get up at 9 this morning. Oh, the wonders of international travel. If only I could teleport home for a hot shower and a sleep in my own bed - did I mention that Wolfson doesn't provide linens? Well, they don't. I have no sheets, just a pillow and duvet. And no towels. So no showering until I buy some. I suppose I'm still adapting.

Today was a bit better, as I'd gotten at least some sleep (I'd slept only about 2 or 3 hours on the plane, and fitfully at that - I can't sleep upright, or on moving things), and I had the English Department welcome and a lecture on student life in London, then walked to Tesco to do a bit of grocery shopping before a student union event at the Waterfront Bar. On which walk I took this photo, my first in London:

It's right on Waterloo Bridge. See, there's the London Eye, and Big Ben, and a tiny bit of Westminster... and that's about all I know right now. I'll post more pictures once I do more exploring.

Anyway, grocery shopping, bus back home, tube to the Waterfront, silly pub quiz, met lots of lovely new people, and then went out for a night on the town. In fact, I didn't get home until 3:30am. But that sort of adventuring isn't for blogging about, now is it? So I'll leave it at that, and maybe try to get some sleep... Still can't believe I'm really here. Blimey.

An Unwelcome Message

Well, for once I am writing an opinionated blog post. I took a break from my desk in the English Office to visit the ladies' room, only to find an unsettling flyer taped to the door.

It read: "Food For Thought: Did you get into Skidmore because you're smart, or did Mommy and Daddy buy your admission? Think about this the next time you question whether students receiving financial aid deserve to be here."

I almost tore the damn thing down. Now, I am attending Skidmore on financial aid. A LOT of financial aid, without which I would certainly not be here. I am under the impression that I am receiving this aid because my family is in a situation of financial need and, perhaps, because I have maintained a 4.0 as long as I've been here. Sentiments like the one on that flyer make me sick. I do not need some anonymous outside party to defend my right to be at Skidmore; I'm confident that my past academic achievement got me here, and that my current academic achievement places me on a top rung here.

But what really gets me is that an attacking message like that sparks anger on both sides of the divide. I do not like to think that lots of students are here just because of the wealth of their parents. I like to think that Skidmore accepts students based on academic achievement, as all college should. But if I were a student from a wealthy family, a flyer like that would most definitely NOT make me think twice - it would make me angry. The simple fact that a student's parents are wealthy by no means indicates that the student isn't smart, or that the student is just getting a free ride based on their parents' income tax bracket.

If you're a student on financial aid, one sure way to get people to question whether you deserve to be here is by attacking other students who you have never met and probably, because you are probably classist, will never meet. Class generalizations go both ways, Skidmore - your assumption that a wealthy student is stupid or doesn't deserve to be here is just as bad as, if not worse than, the (supposed!) assumption of wealthy students that you do not deserve to be here. Honestly, such a message is a declaration of class warfare; sentiments like that draw a dramatic and uncrossable line between classes, barring communication and understanding while encouraging broad generalizations, bias, and outright hatred. If you don't want generalizations and unfair assumptions made about you, don't make unfair assumptions about others; don't make enemies out of your classmates.

In any case, if you're the kind of person who would put up such a nasty flyer, maybe you don't deserve to be here. You should know better, Skidmore.

Extremely Sad and Incredibly Happy.

This weekend I finished a book by Nicole Krauss called The History of Love. It is the most wonderful thing I have read in a very long time, and I was reminded of that bittersweet moment of ending a beautiful story, unwilling to let the characters go but glad to see them through to the end - a moment that I do not believe I have felt since I read The Neverending Story (over and over) as a kid. Although I guess The Buddha of Suburbia by Hanif Kureishi was bittersweet to finish as well, but mostly just bitter - I dragged out the last pages for a week.

In any case, The History of Love is an indescribably beautiful book that I shall, at this moment, feebly attempt to describe. I could not put the damn thing down. I spent all weekend reading it in my window-seat, ignoring much more urgent homework (yes, the glory of being assigned a novel for homework is a double-edged sword). It tells the story of an old man, Leopold Gursky, who survived the German invasion of Poland with the sole motivation of a girl, Alma, who had left their hometown in Poland for a school in America shortly before the Nazis arrived. It also tells the story of a young girl, Alma, whose father has died and whose mother refuses to fall in love with anyone else. It also tells a story of a book, The History of Love, which Alma's father gave to Alma's mother in the first days of their courtship, and for which Alma is named - you see, each girl in The History of Love is named Alma, who the author describes as "the first girl." Alma's mother is asked by a mysterious benefactor to translate the book from Spanish to English as Alma tries to find the real history behind The History of Love. Meanwhile, Leopold lives his life alone, alternately awaiting death and celebrating life. The stories are tied together in beautiful linguistic subtleties, words and sentences appearing in one section and then another, a theme from The History of Love repeated by one character or another in conversation or narration. Also, the passages from The History of Love that are revealed in the novel taste of a magical realism, reminiscent of but more tender than Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude.

It occurs to me that I have said almost nothing here about the enchanting, magnetic nature of the story, and why it made me sob outright in my window-seat and turn the final pages with an anticipation that might have been appropriate only if I was actually a character in the book and ache inside as if the book had put love there, or at least reminded me of the love that was already there. And the truth is, I have no idea. It's books like this one that both remind me of why I wanted to write in the first place, and fill me with despair that I will never, ever write anything as good. But it's just gorgeous - the language; the humanity and mystery of the characters; the carefully interwoven web of story, themes, and language; and the astonishingly accurate account of what love feels like, looks like, sounds like, and is. I was consumed by a ferocious desire to read the book, The History of Love, that is mentioned in the novel, as well as a childlike sadness knowing that it isn't a real book. However, the actual book The History of Love was plenty satisfying. I only wish that there were more of them... although, upon reflection, wouldn't they all be the same?

Interestingly enough, I discovered that Nicole Krauss is married to Jonathan Safran Foer, most famously the author of the novels Everything is Illuminated and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. I have only read a couple of his short stories, my favorite being "Here We Aren't, So Quickly," but from that beautiful piece of work I would have to say it's a lovely match that makes me deeply envious in a way that I don't entirely understand. She dedicates The History of Love "For my grandparents, who taught me the opposite of disappearing, and for Jonathan, my life." Ah, to be writers in love - especially writers of such lovely things.

So, everyone who is reading this now ought to go out and read The History of Love and be ready to put aside a whole weekend and, most likely, if you are as sentimental as I am, a box of tissues.

You're welcome.

Ha Ha Ha.

That's the London Eye. I learned this fact in a book called Netherland that I read for my Contemporary Imaginations course. It is not a Ferris Wheel at all. How foolish I feel.

By the way, Netherland is by Joseph O'Neill and it's quite a good book, in addition to its inclusion of trivia about the geography of London. I shan't go into it now as I should be doing various and sundry other tasks.

Also, these various and sundry tasks include researching the pragmatic (as in, belonging to pragmatism, not pragmatics, which is different) take on the philosophy of language and language acquisition, and this leads me to recommend another thing to my loyal and I'm sure by this time immense group of readers: WNYC's Radio Lab, specifically an episode entitled "Words." Well, I told you I was an English major, didn't I? Here I am doing a philosophy project and all I can think about is language. And Public Radio. TYPICAL. But anyway, that episode of Radio Lab discusses oodles of interesting things, such as how Shakespeare originated an absurd quantity of our current familiar phrases and aphorisms in English, AND the startling question of whether pre-verbal children actually "think" or not - the conclusion of one scientist being that they do not. Check it out.

Now I return to my studies, hoping to have left you all slightly more enlightened. (TYPICAL)

Off To Sea Once More.

Well hello dear readers, it looks as if a more interesting blog is once again on the horizon.

This morning I got an e-mail informing me of my acceptance to King's College London's Study Abroad program - so in early January I shall be off overseas again, this time in London, where I will speak the language and thus (I hope) have even more exciting adventures than the ones I had in Paris.

I will also (I hope) have a better camera by that time, so the quality of the pictures on this blog should improve.

So aren't we all terribly excited about these new and wonderful things to come? I'm sure we are. However, I am still at Skidmore College in lovely Saratoga Springs, so I predict a prolonging of this somewhat dry spell in this lovely blog I have here.

Nonetheless, Halloween may be interesting enough to document, and I'm sure I'll be bored enough (or procrastinatory enough, as the case often is) to write occasionally between now and January. But until then, wish me luck with regards to getting the courses I want :)

That seems to be all for now, folks.

Oh, but here's a picture of King's College:

I wonder if the enormous Ferris Wheel is there all the time...

I lied.

That was not all. That was not it, at all.

Here is a link to my new favorite webcomic, at the beginning of a strange and entertaining series that warmed my little English-major heart:


Pictures For Sad Children

However, I suggest you just go ahead and read the whole damn thing. That's what I've been doing anyway.

And It All Begins Again...

Well, here I am at Skidmore again, already two weeks into the fall semester. Oddly enough, I have little to write about, or perhaps not oddly at all, as I have been ungodly busy since the semester began. But I still have time to put off starting my homework for this evening, thus I have time to post a long-awaited (but by whom, really?) new entry in this blog.

And what, you might ask, is the occasion for this post? Surely not simply procrastination? Well, not entirely. I could post about the exhilarating hike I took the weekend before last, in the White Mountains in New Hampshire. You see, I'd never hiked a mountain before, but jumped at the chance, not fully realizing how large Mount Lafayette is. But I did it - and lived to tell the tale. Honestly, it was an amazing experience, looking out not only across a huge, picturesque mountain range, but also at the long uphill trek we'd taken to get to the top, and the long, irregular ridge we still had to cross before beginning our descent. Even below the treeline the views were absolutely gorgeous, and I took a few pictures at a peak (Lincoln, I believe?) across the ridge from Lafayette. I will most likely deposit them at the bottom of this post.

In any case, while climbing, and especially while crossing the ridge, I couldn't deny the alarming comparison of the path up and over the mountain to a semester in college - or the whole college experience, for that matter. You start out easy, and when it starts to get steep, you put some effort into it but you think you can handle it. And then it evens out again, and you breathe a sigh of relief, only to see another steep face up ahead of you. The steep bits start to seem endless, but when you take a break and sit down, you get a second wind that lasts for a little while before petering out again. You finally get to the top and you're unbelievably happy and proud, but then you realize that there's another peak you have to cross, and another, not as large as the first, but given how tired you are... you get the picture. And then, you hit the descent (here I'm thinking that year or two you take off after college and before grad school), when you think it will be easy going, but it turns out that it's way easier to fall or sprain your ankle, and your toes start to get blisters, and the sun's starting to go down... and the next day or two you're SUPER sore, but still feel great that you did it. And a while later, you meet up with those same friends and say "let's do that again!" - Bam. Grad school. I am indeed my father's daughter - by which I mean my father is a master of the metaphor, and that I spent half of my time climbing a BEAUTIFUL mountain and thinking about a metaphor for the higher education system. What an English major.

But, now for the REAL reason I began this blog post. Out of curiosity, and over-thinking, and the fact that I inhabit the future more often than I do the present, I went on Skidmore's website to look at the academic calendar for the next couple of semesters. And I discovered that, if all goes as is (tentatively) planned on the Skidmore College website, my college commencement will occur in 606 days. Scary, isn't it? Well, not for you, for me. Actually, maybe for you too, because my mother makes up about %33 of my readership. Anyway, here's to worrying about the future.

And speaking of the future, I have one last bit of news before signing off. Tomorrow morning I will be submitting my application to study at King's College London this spring. If I get into the program (fingers crossed, everyone!), I should have oodles of things to post about come January - January 3rd, if I understand correctly, and am compulsive about dates.

Somehow, I feel as if the fall semester should be ending already, given that I'm already planning for next semester. But it is not, and for now I am stuck in America, so I shall try to find a few things to write about and keep this thing active until I find myself overseas once more.

Anyway, here are the pictures from New Hampshire:

That's all, folks.