Calendars and the Real Life

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March 2010

April 2010

May 2010

I use the above screenshots to open this post because I am not ready yet to let go of the image that study abroad is glamorous and whirlwind and fabulous. I want you to see me being a jetsetter and literally packing my months to the brim (see: April). I want you to imagine me falling into my bed at the end of another day spent hopping ‘round London taking in all this history and beauty and experience.

 

I don’t want you to know that sometimes I have days like today, where the most exciting thing that I do is throw together an outfit that gives me one more day away from the laundry room. I want to write, to give you my stories, but all I have is this: just because they are called “digestives”, that does not mean they are the same as Activia, and that does not mean that the 86 calories each of them offers is any special, magic sort of calorie. What I’m trying to say is, eating upwards of 15 of them in one day does not leave you feeling like you’ve really done good for your digestive system. See, these are the things I really discover each and every day here in England. Glitz and glamour be gone.

And since words are not with me right now – I started this out thinking they were and am too stubborn to give up on it – I will leave you with these tidbits:

Even though I am a little upset at words (as an entity, which yes, they are, don’t argue) right now for failing me, my new favorite is “voracious”. My English Novel professor used it in class on Tuesday and I rediscovered it and love it. I want to live voraciously; is that possible? I will make it happen. What’s your favorite word?

This is the song I wake up to every morning:

Live versions (here and here, especially) do it so much more justice but at the same time are not an accurate depiction of my morning, which is less celestial and transcendental and beautiful, and more “WHERE IS MY SNOOZE BUTTON” followed by lots of ceiling-staring. But still, I like to think waking up to this, once I am up, sets me off on the right foot.

And for a sneak peek of my Cambridge entry – which I PROMISE will be up by the end of the weekend, between studying for Management and finally tossing out my trash. I am telling you, this study abroad is more than meets the eye.

 

 

 

A Fergalicious Few Days

This entry is about my weekend so far, which subsequently means that it is pretty much only about my English Novel in the 19^th Century class. It gets incredibly – though I’d like to think not painfully – long near the end; I almost want to apologize but I don’t because I just really want to share with y’all all of the awesome things I am seeing! So skip over it, I won’t be offended (I guess), but it’s pretty cool stuff, yo.

Tuesday was a yucky day, weather-wise, but I think it added to the whole experience. I spent the morning trudging around Chiswick House, the Earl of Burlington’s old digs in west London. The grounds are pretty (gorgeous labradors running all over green lawns!), and every room of the house is a different shape: rectangular rooms flanked by a circular room on one end and an octagonal on the next; the whole idea is not very space-efficient but I didn’t think it nearly as heinous as I would expect myself to. 

Then it was another afternoon of English Novel, in which we chatted about Jane Eyre and sat for a 40-minute lecture (I mistyped 400-minute at first, which seems more accurate) on “What is a metaphor?” because we were not performing up to snuff in Professor Ferguson’s (known forevermore as Fergie Ferg) group activity. It was painful, to say the least, but we made it through and definitely earned our pizza at a delicious little café nearby campus. The pizza was a pitstop en route to north London (though we were all convinced she was actually taking us to Scotland), where we saw a community theatre production of The Importance of Being Earnest, in this teeny theatre above one of the neighborhood bars – cozy alarm. I always forget how much I absolutely LOVE The Importance of Being Earnest; the pacing and wit of the play are to die for, in my opinion. Aunt Augusta forgot some lines and hilariously broke her umbrella (at which point the scene was toast; Gwendolyn was sitting right in front of the discombobulated accessory trying so hard to keep a straight face for the rest of the act) but all in all I was impressed. It was still a torrential downpour by the time we were heading back, but it was an absolutely fantastic trip with countless hilarious moments. It was a bonding experience, to say the least; I loved it!

Wednesday was spent inside doing work and pilfering away a fantastically beautiful day, which I intended to make up for Thursday only to wake up to more clouds and rain. I made it out of the building finally last night, to Piccadilly Circus for the three-story O’Neill’s bar: there was a live cover band, with a few questionable song choices (“Creep” by Radiohead? What am I supposed to do with that in a scene that is a glorified frat party?) but a good night of dancing nonetheless.

I woke up this morning to another great sunny day! I just tooted around most of the morning before meeting my Novel class at the British Library, just down the street from my dorm. I pass it every day, and after today’s adventure I will be stopping by much more often! Here is where it gets long, but read on for an extensive list of all the things I saw!

- The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. As of this morning, I was a total stranger to this, so hearing about it for the first time ever from a woman with a relatively heavy Scottish accent blew my mind on impact. It’s a translation, most notably by Edward FitzGerald, of Persian poems attributed to this Omar Khayyam fellow. The quatrains were displayed all throughout the exhibit, and just from reading a few of them I’ve decided to read them all on my own and then revisit the exhibit so that I have a better idea what I’m looking at. I noted a few that I particularly liked:

“With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,  
And with my own Hand labour'd it to grow:  
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd --  
‘I came like Water and like Wind I go.’" (30)

“Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn  
I lean'd, the secret Well of Life to learn:  
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd -- "While you live, 
Drink! -- for, once dead, you never shall return." (37)

- Samuel Johnson’s first English dictionary. This was the beginning of the manuscripts room, and I was impressed by it largely because defining words is such an interesting science. When you try to do it, it’s always so hard – remember in elementary school when they’d lecture us not to use the word in the definition? Imagine being the person to assign words meaning! It’s like a modern-day Noah. Look at me, calling 1755 modern-day; maybe I am coming to grips with how old everything in this country is? But probably not, it still really freaks me out. Also, “his selection of illustrative quotations ‘from the best writers’ helped establish the literary canon”; no pressure, dude. Finally, one of the placards in the case had this quote of his, which I loved: “Language is the dress of thought.”

- Beowulf manuscript. To be honest, it went pretty much right over my head; I’ve never read Beowulf and haven’t heard rave reviews (though all the reviews I’ve heard have been from high school students, who have been scientifically proven to hate reading and, to some degree understandably, especially when it’s assigned for those pesky high school English courses). But still, it’s the only surviving manuscript of it in the world so that’s pretty sweet. And to be the oldest is impressive when it’s believed to have been written TEN TO THIRTEEN CENTURIES AGO. What is that. (Besides being 1,000 to 1,300 years, which I can tell you what that is: utterly nuts. Nutterly.)

- JANE EYRE MANUSCRIPT. “Reader, I married him." To see the first-ever version of this line – the one Charlotte Bronte literally penned herself – was incredible. Next in the case, Persuasion was sitting on Jane Austen's actual writing desk, as were her glasses. The ones on her face. They touched Jane Austen’s face as she wrote a novel that I just studied in class.  

- The original Alice in Wonderland. Complete with incredibly Tim Burton-esque illustrations in the margins; I felt like I was back at the MOMA exhibit! I thought it was really interesting that two men, both so drawn to this story, had such insanely similar drawing styles, over 100 years apart.

- So much music!

-- Manuscript of Handel’s Messiah, and the libretto used for the first ever performance. No explanation needed.

-- Autograph score of Mozart’s Horn Concerto in E-flat. A young girl stood in front of it doing what I, in my musically-inept state, can only assume was reading it and singing it under her breath. It was such a beautiful example of music’s transcendence of time and space to see someone born in the 21^st century interacting with pieces from the 18^th century.

-- Beethoven’s Violin Sonata in G Minor. It was covered in editing marks, which made me like it more than had it been pristine. I love seeing artists work through a piece. It reminds me of the first time I saw Monets in person, which was actually just this past fall semester at the MOMA. In one of the pieces (forgive me, I don’t remember which), he didn’t take the paint all the way to the edges of the canvas, which I really liked. Becca and I both noted how it made it feel so real, how you could feel him sitting there putting this beautiful art together piece by piece; in fact, B recently blogged about the sensation I’m trying to describe! Yeah, that was a plug, but I love her and so do you so go read it. Besides, she says it a lot better than I ever could.  

-- Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. It was pretty surreal to see the origins of something that is now such a tradition – I totally fall for wonderful things like the viral wedding entrance to “Forever”* (still h8 you Chris Brown), but there’s nothing like those chills you get when this start, everyone stands up, and she’s standing in the back of the church. And it all started in this notebook!

-- Beatles. There was a whole case with sheets of the lyrics for some of their biggest songs: Yesterday (working title: “scrambled eggs” – so incongruous, right?), Help!, Michelle (on the back of an envelope), A Hard Day’s Night (on the back of a birthday card), a few lines by George Harrison on the back of directions to their agent’s flat. The ones scratched onto the back of other papers were my favorite, because I love the image of being overcome with an idea and needing to get it out into the world as soon as physically possible – even if that means you have to go buy your son a new birthday card because you’ve just grabbed the one that was supposed to be his. And these ideas became worldwide hit tracks!

- Intricate notebooks and bindings from Switzerland, France, Spain, England, Italy. Still too gaudy for my taste; I don’t want to shut any doors and say I will never be down with the baroque/Rococo style but I really am beginning to wonder if there’s hope for me. Nonetheless, the elaborate decoration of the covers – and the edges of pages even, not just gold but with full-on art on them! - is suggestive of so much respect and reverence for the words and stories inside; if the books are this beautiful closed, imagine what they must be like once opened and delved into.

- Codex Sinaiticus. Produced around the middle of the 4^th century, it’s the earliest manuscript of the New Testament in Greek, and earliest and best witness for some books of the Old Testament. Just SO OLD. Also, the Codex Alexandrinus, and Psalms 12-15 on papyrus, from the 3^rd century. Seriously, older than most dirt.

- Copy of the gospels completed by presbyter Constantine 27 May 995. I flipped out over this because, though I wasn’t entirely sure (I put a question mark over the word “presbyter” because I’m a nincompoop) I liked to think that they meant the Constantine; but alas, we have about a 600-year discrepancy that tells me two things: I was wrong, and I suck at history. But, it was really gorgeous – scripture arranged on the page to be in the shape of a cross; beautiful writing – and just so freaking old.

- Early sutras – to be continued; at this point I had to regroup but I will be back to see... the Magna Carta! Gutenberg Bibles – 2 of them! And, the 19^th Century Photography exhibit - the whole reason we were supposed to go for class, the exhibit I’m supposed to write a short paper about but was on museum-overload by the time I got to it.

* I was going to simply link to this, but if you're like me, you're not all that likely to follow the link. And I figure if you made it all the way to the end of this entry you deserve to have this delivered straight to you, so as my thank you to you - enjoy!

 

 

ketchup: Bath and Stonehenge, 07/02/2010

WHERE: Stonehenge, Bath

WHEN: 07 February 2010

WHAT: Stonehenge, sheep; Roman Baths, the city of Bath

Last weekend (look at me go! So close to caught up), I went on another day trip with NYU. The week before had been spent stressin’ max over presentations, books to be read, and architecture papers; actually none of the aforementioned work was completed by my departure on Sunday morning, but I did my best to let the day be about the trip I was taking rather than the thoughts of “Oh I shouldn’t be here because I have so much work to do.” Adopting this mindset wasn’t as difficult as I make it sound (as any recent student probably knows all too well), and it paid off!

We set out bright (not really, since it’s London) and early Sunday in two coaches, and the organizer on our coach was nice enough to our tired brains to leave the history lesson for right before our arrival at the big rocks. I missed some of the pretty countryside views because I was a-snoozin’, but what I saw was really gorgeous and totally what I expected. The landscape reminded me kind of the Northeast in the fall, like what I saw when took the bus to Washington DC for Thanksgiving, or the not-blizzardy trips we took to Massachusetts.

We de-coached with busses to one side and this view to the other, so there were plenty of cheeky comments about, “Wow, it must be smaller than I imagined,” but then we traversed our way through the “subway” (that’s what they call underground pathways here, and it throws me off everytime!) and… voila!

Vanna White-style, ya knowww

The area is roped off with a path that goes all the way around Stonehenge, so here’s a view a little farther along the path – kind of the back if circles could have backs. But this segment seemed to me rather unorganized, they really should have picked up after themselves; or maybe the neighborhood meanie (see: Sid from Toy Story) came and totally messed it up. In which case, revenge is a dish best served cold.

The sheep were also a big hit; we are such city kidz.

Stonehenge ROCKS!

Here, I think the igneous ingenious artist was trying to send a message about the social climate; on the right we’re shown the alienation of the other, and to the left the structure and order of an exclusive social group.

And upon closer investigation, we’re drawn to believe the outsider is such because of his appearance; his sedimentary lifestyle has left him pock-marked and asymmetrical, much unlike his sturdy counterparts. Again, a commentary on the materialism and image-consciousness of society.

Turning around, we’re reminded of just how solid the group is, how set in stone their hierarchy and group dynamic is; we’re almost lead to believe it’s been this way for thousands and thousands of years. Is there hope for social change, a metamorphic revolution?

Or are we destined to forever face angst and depravity like that we see exuding from this character?

After such in-depth analysis (and some extensive child-stalking – see Facebook), I was ready for the Stonehenge-Bath leg of the excursion, but not before I got something in my belly; I am unfortunately not over my propensity towards car-sickness, no matter how hard I try to act like I am not 7 years old anymore. I couldn’t not order a “rock cake” at the Stonehenge snack bar; it was really just a glorified cinnamon scone, but it was still yummy, and washing it down with a cup of warm peppermint tea really took it to the next level. Emeril would have BAM’ed.

The trip was a quick hour, and ended with the most AMAZING views of the city of Bath. I am going to cheat and add some Google pictures (I couldn’t get to my camera in time) because they were literally breathtaking, and I think I would be morally remiss not to share them with you. At this point, I had already resolved to retire to Bath, and the rest of the day only solidified this decision.

We were split into groups and met up with our tour guides in the little plaza outside Bath Abbey, which is this pretty little thang.

They were just closing the doors for afternoon services, but I managed to snag a little glimpse at the pretty stained glass on the inside. Apparently, because of all the stained glass and the way the church is situated on a hillside, when the inside is lit up for evening services it earns itself the nickname “Lantern of the West”; we didn’t get to see this in action but I’m sure it’s absolutely breathtaking.

Also in the plaza is the entrance to the baths, and the pump room, with this inscription (in the frieze; under the pediment – a feature of classic architecture; situated atop Corinthian orders – MDS, if you’re reading, still waiting on that A). It means “Water is Best”, which I really like (the phrase, but also water itself).

Then our absolutely, unbearably, fantastically adorable guide Felicity took us around the corner to the King and Queen’s baths, to the new Thermae Spas (which had quite the opening ceremonies, read on), to this random complex of apartments that are sort of their version of a nursing home only cuter and more European and beautiful. Retirement, for real.

Most of the buildings in Bath are stone, and they all have dings like these all over them. The hail-damage is actually from shrapnel during World War II; Hitler bombed Bath as part of this vendetta to bomb certain cities, chosen because they were beautiful. That Hitler, he was kind of an idiot, not to mention a mean guy.

The building on the left has some of the windows filled in; apparently, Bath (and other English cities) have seen their fair share of taxing schemes, one of which had property taxes pegged to the number of windows your house had. Maybe it’s the accountant-mom/IRS-dad gene, but I loved this story.

These houses make up the Royal Crescent. These houses are gorgeous. These houses will be mine. All of them. They are only about £5m each, or £10m, I don’t remember at which point I doubled it to translate it to USD. The point is, all of them. The big green field was the site of those opening ceremonies I told you about; seating was constructed for 15,000 to watch the Three Tenors (Luciano Pavarotti, Placido Domingo, and Jose Carreras) show off their pipes and subsequently trigger fireworks out of sheer musical, epic force.

A view of the houses on the side, in case you get lost on the way to see me, or want to move in close to me. We can picnic in the park!

Over the past few years, Bath has been trying to clean itself up (in Britain, the puns make themselves) , and here we can see just how tough of a job that must be. The house on the right has been scrubbed (obvs) and the ones on the right still have their gunk – and all that gunk is just from air pollution! Carpool and recycle, yo.

Inside the Assembly Halls, which are very pretty and I would not say no if anyone wanted to marry me in one of them. Each of those chandeliers are insured for £1m each, so they will clearly look just great if I spread them throughout my Royal Crescent flats. And because I know you are too distracted to actually be looking at these chandys I speak of, that is of course tour-guide Felicity. She’s a blast. My favorite was when she told us we could go to the Fashion exhibit to look at Queen Victoria’s dresses and “see how dumpy she really was” and then promptly turned on her heel and continued the tour. The delivery was flawless. She (Feliss, not Queen V) will probably be hanging out with me often at RC, so if you wanted to come over for a dinner we’d love to have you.

Sedan-chairs, the taxi (or car-service, depending on your status) of ancient Bath. The entire tour kept coming back to these suckas (or at least Baby F mentioned them at every opportunity) so it was a little bit of a let-down when turns out they are not the majestic Jesus-toters she made them out to be. But I still would not say no to being hauled around in one. The black one is the working-man’s version, the white one is for important people like you and I.

At the end of the tour, we had a photoshoot with our new best friend, sampled orange-chocolate fudge (like Chocolate Oranges, but fancy), and roamed around Bath looking for real lunch. We ended up at Las Iguanas, where I split a tapas sampler: mussels, nachos, and strips of breaded chicken with Piri-piri sauce; no lie I still think about those chicken strips today. We rushed the waitress and hustled back to the plaza to meet back for our entry into the Roman baths, but luckily made it back with enough time to pop back into the fudge shop and grab ourselves slices “to take away” (the English “to go”). I went with the chocolate orange we had tried earlier, but snuck some of my friends’ Belgian white chocolate swirl. I try not to live with regrets, so I will instead say that I could have picked better, but there it is. Not to say I didn’t finish off my slice within a few short days. I may lament, but I do not hate.

Once armed with our handy-dandy audio guides, we were let loose within the Roman baths.

From the balcony, with Bath Abbey in the background.

Another section of the baths, off to the side. In this pool, you could see the water naturally bubbling to the surface; jacuuuuzzi jacuuuuzzi!

This was probably my favorite part of the whole thing. It was kind of off to the side and quieter, and we were able to get close enough to really feel the heat, and I really got a sense of what an experience the baths must have been. The stones are stained that bright orange, and the greens to the side, because of minerals and nutrients (which are one in the same, I’ve always assumed) in the water. Looking at it now I am really so glad I ingested an entire glass’ worth of this deliciousness.

Later on, after seeing remnants of old entryways and tombstones, and after playing around at the exhibit that showed the hook apparatus they used to get ‘er done, I found my orange water again! (Who loves orange water; Kel loves orange water). I also found the light at the end of the tunnel.

After the religious experience, I went back out to the main area and touched some of the water, which I will say was the perrrfect temperature for bath water. Our Earth is so good at its job; love your Mother.

A random steam room off of the main bath

Finally, the moment we’d all been waiting for! The Bath water is apparently really great for your joints; tastebuds, no. Blood, pennies, my permanent retainers, (D) all of the above. But I did the deed and emptied my glass!

VD

Even though one of my words for 2010 is "love", I am not really one for Valentine's Day; nevertheless, I hope everyone had a good one! 

via

ketchup: tower of london 30/01/2010

WHERE: London

WHEN: 30 January 2010

WHAT: Tower of London

NYU so kindly allocates us each a virtual budget of £50 for the semester; there are three phases of programming from which we can sign up for various events: tours, rugby/football games, museums, theatre shows, etc. The first, and only, so far, expenditure from my personal budget was £12.50 for the Tower of London. 

Before leaving the states, I decided it would be a good idea to do some research of the big sights in London, because I really lament the fact that I've seen quite a bit of cool stuff in my lifetime, but at the time didn't fully appreciate it; part of this is an issue of consciousness, which is a huge undertaking and a lifelong process, but part of it is also just because I didn't know the (hi)story behind a lot of the things I've seen. So I started with the Tower of London (seriously, don't ask why the Tower was the first thing, I have no clue). I guess now is the time to admit that by "research", I obviously mean "extensive research", and by "extensive research" I obviously mean reading the Wikipedia page. Don't hate. Nonetheless, I was still really pumped to see the Tower, so I was especially pumped when it was offered for faux-free! 

Unfortunately, dedication to my personal side-project ("I Am Old Enough Here To Drink: A Cultural Discovery") called for an especially taxing bit of research the night before, so the majesty of the whole traipsing-around-castle-grounds thing really was largely lost on me and my pounding headache and rolling stomach. I did make it to the Crown Jewels, though, and even trooped through the maze of videos of Queen Elizabeth's crowning, getting to see some of the Jewels in action. Once you're done with the exhibit and are on the edge of your seat, they tease you with a few really old things before they let you get to the good stuff. I'm really not one for opulence and extravagance, especially not in terms of jewelry, but these puppies are impressive. It was also cool to stand there and know that a queen's hair had touched that crown, that one right there! I should clarify that I wasn't really standing; they toss you on a moving sidewalk to bring you past each case, and for someone in my state the moving sidewalk might as well have been the Tower of Terror. My friends opted for a trip back on the other sidewalk, to get another perspective, but I opted for a trip back to my bed. On the way out, I saw the Imperial Crown of India, which was probably my favorite in terms of appearance and also in its perfect summarization of my views of grandiosity, in such an English way - I can't remember the quote exactly but it was a complaint of King George's that wearing the crown for so long (6 hours, if not more, I think, but I kind of just made that up) was just really difficult because it was just, so, heavy. I'd imagine, with SIX THOUSAND diamonds; seriously, what. What is that. Why.

Then it was out to fresh air for a glimpse of the ravens, whose flight will signal the end of the empire, according to fable (I feel like that is not the right word but mama's tired, y'all). But Grancy just told me today that they clip their wings to keep them from flying away, so I call cheating on that. 

I'm sorry this post involves a fake-out picture, a story of me being dumb, and some made-up facts. Okay I'm actually not sorry about the made-up facts part, and you're probably better off it you just get used to that right now because I know for a fact (haha) this won't be the last time I do it. Stay tuned tomorrow for Bath and Stonehenge, and one of the best days of my life! Now, it is time for bed; a long day of blogging, reading* in the park, and dawdling through ancient Mesopotamian artifacts, all so as to not study for a Marketing test, will do it to you.

*except that I am fancy and read it from an actual book. It was so picturesque and English and adorable, you know, and I hoped the boy across the park thought so too, and it was going to be a romantic-movie scene when he came over to sit on my park bench and ask me what I was reading as he gazed longingly into my eyes and had a voiceover of how he had met the girl of his dreams but he didn't know it yet (the film's structured like (500) Days of Summer you see) before he asked me to coffee around the corner and subsequently sealed our fate as international lovers. But then I predicted all this, the universe got angry at me for jumping the gun, and instead he got up and left before I looked up next (and I even forced myself to stay focused til the end of the chapter, to give him ample time to keep staring at me from across the way before mozying over to start the show). Valentine's Day, you suck.

ketchup: Greenwich - 22/01/2010

Well it's no secret that I need to start out this post by apologizing from the bottom of my deep heart that it is about a trip I took no less than 3 weeks ago. Thanks everyone for sticking around even though I haven't really done much to earn my keep yet! I've really picked up my writing for my own personal journals though so the next step is to transfer that from deep, philosophical groanings (the philosophy is deep, not the groans) into this travel log. My goal is to get you guys all caught up to where I am today (in my bed, sitting on sheets that really should have been washed last round but oh well, they will wait) and then to operate on no more than a 2-day turnaround for future adventures. I don't want to admit to myself that as a result of waiting so long, I've probably let a few thoughts/ideas from this trip slip into the netherregions of my brain, but if I'm going to be honest... All the more reason to keep it up! So let's get this show on the road.

WHERE: Greenwich

WHEN: 22 January 2010

WHAT: Greenwich Palace, The Royal Observatory

After dragging myself out of bed way too early for a Saturday morning (okay, I think it was like 8:30, but back then my sleeping was out of control), I arrived at the place we were supposed to be boarding our riverboat that would take us to Greenwich (it's a borough in south-east London, but takes a while to get to no matter what mode of transportation is used). Because I was going for a class (19th Century English Novel, because Dickens sat in a pub that I never even saw), I had to be a part of the earlier echelon, the one with all the other required-for-a-class kids, the one that had to get there earlier, the one whose boat was broken down and wasn't going to be leaving after all. So we waited for the optional-day-trip group to arrive (45 minutes later, with 45 minutes more worth of sleepy-eye-junk in their eyes - jerks), to share their boat; in the meantime, Big Ben announced the arrival of the 10 o'clock hour. That was pretty neat, and was a good beginning to a day's adventures that went relentlessly back to the concept of time.

After finally boarding the riverboat, latte in hand, I was able to take really quality photographs like the one pictured here. London. Rain. That is all.

Okay, I shouldn't be so rude, I got a few good shots once they had turned on the windshield wipers. Okay, I shouldn't be such a pathological liar, there weren't wipers. But what if there were (all you kids doing InventAustin, hit that up.) All you kids lucky enough to be reading this instead of coming up with stupid inventions like binder organizers for your lockers (©KE), go to Facebook because I am not a good enough writer to segway into these random shots I have.

Unfortunately, in the span of our little riverboat gambling cruise (just kidding, there wasn't gambling), the rain did not manage to scurry away, so it was a very wet and cold afternoon, but quite enjoyable nonetheless. We started in the middle of Greenwich Palace, which is not actually a palace anymore but is instead the University of Greenwich. I have never lamented my lack of campus, as an NYU student, so badly. You will see why. In the meantime it was also a Naval Hospital, thanks to William and Mary who I guess were nice people, but that doesn't matter to the story.

Here, the palace is behind me; this is, of course, the River Thames, with Canary Wharf on the opposite bank.

Then I turn around, this being the left side of the palace grounds. We came back here last week for my British Art class, and I really should be able to tell you which "block" this is - the palace ended up being completed in 4 blocks, read on - but I might have to make something up. I am thinking Anne? Oh my God, called it. Give this girl an A+, since I'ma need it after my atrocious paper I just wrote.

Back to the blocks, King Charles to be specific. (And this is going to be all from memory, just you watch me. Seriously Michael (Douglas-)Scott, A+ right by Edelen, Kelsey). So the whole point of Greenwich Palace was that Chucky wanted to build himself a Versailles, but turns out there wasn't enough money in the bank to make it happen. This one building is as far as he got. (The domed building on the left is the next block, um... William. Yep, I seriously rule.)

I am truly embarassed to tell you that I couldn't tell you who this is, but it might be George II. In any case, it's in the middle of the lawn between the Charles block and the Anne block, and it's pretty. I imagine whoever-he-is to be doing that move where you clasp your hands and shake them over each shoulder, which I have no idea what it's called or where it's from, but you know I just spent 10 minutes Googling/Youtubing trying to find it. Don't tell me I'm not dedicated to this blog. And he's probably so excited because it's kind of a big deal to be here, given that:

I meannn, no big deal, really, when you think about it.

Behind the Anne block is Mary's digs, and here we can find the chapel, where, among other things Four Weddings and a Funeral was filmed. The guide was really proud of this fact and mentioned it multiple times, so I wanted to pass it on. 

Across the yard from Mary is William, and the Painted Hall.

When Greenwich was a naval hospital, this room was used for dining. The fancy-pants would sit up through the archway, while the regular guys sat at long tables in the first part of the room. Those columns are fully painted onto the wall, as is the frame around the ceiling art, and the piece that is up in the fancy-pants zone is also straight on the wall. Not a fan of the concept, but to each their own.

We went into the village and grabbed lunch, which for me consisted of a bowl of minestrone that was probably the farthest thing from minestrone (it was white (minestrone is not) and creamy (minestrone is not) and not delicious (minestrone is)) but at least there was bread - oh wait, except that it was literally just a hamburger bun. But it didn't set me back more than £2 or £3, so it could have been worse. Our next stop was the Royal Observatory and the Prime Meridian!

The hill was killa, but allowed for great views! 

There is a whole little tour you can do that I'm sure explains the origins of time and ends with a trip through a black hole, but we were wet and cold and just wanted to be in the Eastern hemisphere. I managed to get this picture of part of the telescope that was used to finally determine the Prime Meridian. Okay, so I kind of just made that part up, but at least it is an educated guess using context clues.

Anddd... finally! 

If I'm going to be totally honest, I have to admit that I couldn't fully comprehend - rather, I didn't let myself even attempt to comprehend - the fact that I was on two sides of the world at once. I mean, I know it's all just man-made and any point could be the Prime Meridian (take France, who refused to recognize Greenwich for years after it was established because Heaven forbid an admission that England might be the center of the world), but still, it's pretty crazy, you know? And my fascination with - nay, fear of - timezones is no secret, so I think it would have really sent my head rolling if I had really thought about it too much. But on that note, now I want to go to the Equator; it only seems right.

And one more picture of the view, just because I can.

At this point, we were all pretty soaked through and were ready to go. That evening, I went to shabbat services at the local Chabad, with the group I spent the day with at Greenwich; only about half of us were actually Jewish but they were so welcoming. I had gone to a service at NYU's hillel, and really enjoyed it, and this one was no different! During dinner (absolutely wonderful, might I add), we all went around and introduced ourselves, and NYU was very well-represented; a string of literally 15 of us were "from NYU studying in London" and then near the end a group over on the other side of the room picked it back up - to groans and laughter and sighs. There were also people from all over London, and eastern Europe, and other places scattered in there too. It was incredibly packed, but so comfortable at the same time. I left services with that warm feeling in my heart, walking out of a room full of love with a group full of love, both of which I had not been a part of until that day. Until that long, rainy, exciting, warm, beautiful day.