don't go out tonight.

Yesterday I wrote a short story and debuted it to laughter at Workshop, my favorite pub in the world I think. Good thing: the laughter was intended.

Today, Alice and I are going to Cambridge, to see these people sing.


I hope they aren't actually that large, that would be terrifying.

And I'm taking Pierre. Y'all only comment on entries about Pierre, even when I address you specifically. Here he is turning a lion into a statue with his mind.


If it were up to me, this whole entry would be in exclamation marks. I am so darn excited to see the Pipettes. It's not up to me though, exclamation points are boring to read over and over.

A sob story: Once, the Pipettes were going to play a free show in San Francisco. I left three hours beforehand, thinking I would get there two hours early and get a spot up front, because I tend to idolize and idealize bands. The traffic had different plans though. I got there four hours after I left, right as riotBecki said, "Thank you!" and they disappeared.

Tonight, I get my heart mended.

we want the new temptations.

Last night I saw Alphabeat, and words fail me for the moment so I'm going to watch this...



Mama, I thought you would like them. And Dad, is that changey color effect something you would do in post production? Or are they just doing fun editing tricks?

I didn't have my camera so I can't post the usual tried-and-true blurry photo with light streaks that I enjoy so much. But you should watch that and you can have a mild understanding of the sheer pop ecstasy that they are.

And the bands before, Pandering and the Golddiggers and Das Pop were gleefully poppy as well. PATGD was something to look at, I will say that much. And Das Pop were really nice guys.

Other than that, business as usual. Well, I mean... I don't think I have a "business as usual" but I am trying to lead a relatively quiet life because the rest of this week is absolute madness. Joseph and I ate a "pub lunch," which consisted of roasted potatoes, broccoli and carrots, and roast beef slow simmered in gravy. Our repast was at a 750 year-old pub called Adam and Eve, . And we drank "true norfolk ale." Which was good, but only because it came with the meal. I would not drink "true norfolk ale" on its own. Give me cold, on tap cider anyday.

Sunday was a pub quiz and fireworks. Watch the british Office episode called "The Quiz" if you want to know what a pub quiz is... it's exactly like that. I think Aqua Teen Hunger Force has an episode with a pub quiz as well... and now that I have thought about that show, my mind is spiralling out of sanity. We didn't win, by the way. But I realized I know a lot about water, which is handy.

The next couple of weeks go like this:
Wednesday - Cambridge to see the Pipettes (more of that pop ecstasy I so enjoy)
Thursday - Traveling Circus in Norfolk
Friday - Halloween
Saturday - Monday - Amsterdam
Thursday, Friday - London
Saturday - Tuesday - Paris for Ariane and Vampire Weekend
Tuesday Night - Sunday - Erin visits!

Oh and I go to school too. Promise.

This is to answer the healthy eating question. Look at that! I'm eating an apple.

And as far as literary allusions, Father, Harry Potter was set in the late nineties, early zeroes, which is the England I'm experiencing. The literary allusions are indicative of a book based on a culture that embraces its past as well as its present. Also, just last post I referenced A.A. Milne and Kenneth Grahame. ALSO, shouldn't I take my audience into account? When was the last time you picked up James Joyce, Mr. I-Hate-James-Joyce's-The-Dead? ALSO, Jane Austen is spelled with an E.

BAM!

I spent all of yesterday discussing whether or not Joseph was being a cad as defined by Jane Austen over a cup of earl grey. Verdict: no.

chasing dragons through echo park.

It started with that Knickerbocker Glory. Those of you up on your Harry Potter references will know that in the second chapter of the first book (Philosopher's Stone) Harry decides his day out for Dudley's birthday isn't so bad because he got to have the rest of Dudley's second Knickerbocker Glory. Faced with the choice of this strange treat on a menu, I had to have it. And it was delicious. It's going to be a bi-monthly treat I think, because the cafe is in the Sainsbury center, which is where my art class is, and where I like to sort of... meditate, I suppose. That's the best word for it.

From that fantastic feat of fructose-laden frozen feast, Tuesday to Sunday has been a gag reel of good moments. Like... a caffeine-driven first draft of my play in an evening. Coming out even on the electronic pub quiz with Joseph, Sam and Jonny. Accidentally delicious red-wine sauce pasta. British comedy until 2 am, coffee chats about london and weather, gin and tonic after terrible cinema, pints of cider after halfway decent cinema.

It's difficult to describe the time I'm spending, and I realize that when I leave it this long between telling you all what I'm doing, I make these long highlight reel-esque posts where I don't really explain the fine moments of everything. So here goes:

The sun came out on Thursday, and I found myself on campus with Kaitlyn, faced with a decision. Do I allow her to continue studying and outlining whatever it was she was doing, or do I lure her out of her library tomb to visit the lake. Everytime I see it as I walk to class I think of it as the Hogwarts Lake (named the Black Lake in the fourth film, but I'm not convinced. Those of you truly astute, however, will know that Slytherin's common room is below the Black Lake. Interesting.)

So we ventured, and I had a profound feeling of peace and tranquility along with intense literary triumph for I got to, once again, pretend I was in Harry Potter. I also pretended I was in the Hundred Acre Wood with Pooh and Piglet at some points, and at others I pretended I was with Toad and Mole along the Thames. But at all points, I was supremely happy. In this photo, I am taking the road less traveled by, which led to horses. Fat ones.



Look at that, and the one below. Lovely!



I think it's a testament to the wonderful friends that I have when I have no shortage of people to see bad films (Ghost Town, Eagle Eye) or have a cup of coffee with. Another sign of excellent friend choice was yesterday, in the cold breeze of Norwich amidst smatterings of drizzle, Hannah, Joseph, Alex and I saw a poster for a Book Fair and then spent a good, long time finding it.

That's not Hannah, by the way. In the middle of creepily smiling Joseph and I is lake buddy and all around wonderful companion, Kaitlyn. That was pre-Ghost Town, which is just an awful movie.

Go see it though.

But perhaps the most profound thing of note recently is that I finally have the ability to lose myself in a good book again. This was a difficult thing when I first got here because of all the things that I was seeing/experiencing for the first time. But now I'm settling into life here, for better or for worse, and although I'm not taking Norwich for granted, I no longer stop and skip on the cobblestones. At least, not everyday. On the bus, I get lost in this:


It's really bizarre. Take a look, though, if you like secondhand books, because that's basically what the story is about.

Cheerio, pip pip and all that nonsense.

ooh-hoo child...

Yesterday I ate a cake and drank apple/lemon tea with Hannah.

Here's a picture of us, but at an unrelated function:



Yes, I should have buttoned one more button on my shirt. My bare chest is embarrassing.

There was a point to this...

Oh yes. So Hannah and I live in opposite flats. Once or so a day I manage my way through the six doors it takes to get to her place and read a bit from my notebook for opinion. And she does the same. She is an excellent audience and I like to think that I am just that for her. She is a poet trying to do prose, I am... well, I am me. You all know who I am.

Last night was another concert, this time for Blood Red Shoes. We started the night in the raging, dancing, jumping crowd. Then we found our way to the back for a couple songs. Then we fought our way back into that same roiling mass of people. Lyrics yelled together, over and over, that I liked: "I wish I was someone better/ I wish I was someone better." And "How long, how long, how long can you miss someone?"


They are a duo. Like the White Stripes, but in reverse. I think that is a cool picture. Do you?


They brought their own decorative lamps.


I went with Joseph and his friend James. I wore a flagrantly mismatched tie on purpose. Also, Blood Red Shoes' music is much more cathartic live. But, isn't that always the case?

Today is a trip to deconstruct (in paper form) a museum. It's tea with Kaitlyn, it's possibly salsa lessons and definitely script writing. It's drinking more hot chocolate, more coffee, more tea. It's eating more sandwiches and probably riding my bike. It's a Wednesday, in the east of the UK, where I am living and wishing and hoping and playing and working. In that order.

warm fuzzy feeling.

Sorry sorry sorry I lied horribly and said I was going to blog yesterday. I didn't. I didn't and I'm sorry. Here is a comic from Drew at toothpastefordinner.com to make up for it...



Yesterday, it got really cold and rained on me and Hannah as we wandered aimlessly around Norwich and then into the really neat library they got here in town. I didn't get anything, because I have enough to read/write, but still...



And then we planned our trip to Amsterdam. Joining me is Alice, from New Zealand, Hannah from Canada, and Grace and Jonny from England. So far, our plans are the Van Gogh museum and the Anne Frank museum, and go on the canals. Any other wonderful ideas? I like ideas! Tell me yours. We leave November 1st!

Lemme see lemme see lemme see. My whole life is a blur. Last night Hannah and I also went to a writer's workshop at a bar called "Workshop, a place for writers." There were lesbian line drawings on the wall, spiderwebbed fairy lights from the ceilings, and bookshelves full of books-they happen to have a lending library of their own. It was a sort of preliminary meeting last night, next week we bring new work. I love writer's workshops. Then we went back to Jack and Joe's house for some red wine and music, from no-wave to rap. Did you know rap is an acronym for rhyme and poetry? Jack and Joe talk very well at one another. It's like a british male version of Gilmore Girls. I like the picture below to illustrate it.


And finally, ancient history: I forgot to let you all know that I saw Tom Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead at the Maddermarket Theater! The theater is literally a minute and a half from my place. It's a lovely, tiny place, and my friend Fuchsia and I had great seats. There is a sequence in the West Wing of Josh flipping a coin and it landing on heads every time lifted straight out of this play.


Okay that's it I think. Rain, libraries, pubs, theater, skinny jeaned brits. I think I covered it.

What treasures does today hold?!

one day I drifted away...

So I went to see The Streets with my friend Samanta the other night. I remember when I bought their first album, at Amoeba, and then tried to play them on the ride home and Dad said, "I can't understand a word he is saying. Why would you want to listen to this?" and I think I have an answer now. I listen to The Streets because I like figuring out what he is saying and when I actually do figure it out, I realize it's a story about a man's life that spins out of control but he always pulls it back somehow. And he has been telling this story via string and horn samples and drums and computer blips and guitars for four albums and now he isn't thinking about the day to day. He has a line on his most recent album, "For billions of years/since the onset of time /every single one of your ancestors survived/every single person on your mums and dad's side/successfully looked after and passed onto you life/what are the chances of that like" which is a nice sentiment. It was a really "wicked" concert. There was this moment where he got everyone to freeze pose for five seconds and the music paused on this synth line that echoed, and then he yelled "DANCE!" and everyone did, like mad people, and I felt pretty gosh darn euphoric.

That was a long paragraph!

Other things I have done recently: researched astral projection, visited a zombie party with Bob Dylan and David Bowie as the soundtrack (so a zombie party from the early seventies?), learned to waltz (not box step) and ballroom jive, jammed with Joseph on ukelele and guitar, crosswords, tea, gin and tonic... It's hard to sum up the life you are leading in a pleasing and entertaining fashion, but believe me, my life is pleasing and entertaining. I should REALLY stop leaving it five days in between updates.

Onward!

This is a path that you can walk on near the Norwich Cathedral, which is a peaceful (if sullenly grey) place. Not that I'm surprised, I'm just commenting. The trees in this picture look as though they had the night out to dance and got frozen and then forced to line this walk for my pleasure.


So I drank a lot of coffee the other day and then got horribly lost on my way to school on my bike because I thought to myself, "Hey there, I left an hour early. This looks like a shortcut." If you are wondering what drinking a lot of coffee has to do with that, it's that coffee makes me believe that all my ideas are not only great, but should be acted on swiftly and without much thought to repercussions.

It was not a shortcut. Of course my camera didn't have batteries, and of course I forgot my water that day, but I found this incredible bikes-only path, where I was almost alone except for cascading yellow leaves on a tree-lined path, broken intermittently by a bridge over a river. One of these bridges had two children with fishing lines in the water, I kid you not. I stopped here to (eavesdrop) look at the water and it was a little boy and girl.

LG: I have actually gotten quite into Indiana Jones.
LB: What, more than Star Wars?
LG: I just think it's a little more real. You know, it could happen.
LB: Show me with hands.

Little girl holds her hands about a foot apart.

LG: I like Star Wars about this much.

She brings her hands another six inches apart.

And I like Indiana Jones this much.

LB: I think I can understand that.
LG: We are adorable!
LB: I know, let's have tea and discuss the queen in this same manner!

Those last two lines of dialogue didn't happend, but my god! What an amazing long-cut!

I went looking for the path and couldn't find it. But here is another picture to prove Norwich is a lovely, chilly little city:
That is all. I promise you, I will update tomorrow.

Oh, also, check out Dylan Moran on youtube. I think he is really, really funny.

why did I never tell you?

(Pretend it's Monday, please. Not Tuesday. Monday I was exhausted and Finding Nemo was on.)
Okay so I'm not crazy.

Well, I'm a little crazy.

But not as crazy as you may think.

My baby dragon, named Pierre, joined me on my cavorting around London-town. It was lovely, and the coat was mostly not needed, but it definitely made me look like a tough, grizzled detective. And perhaps, in low tones, I narrated the whole trip to Pierre as though we were a team of detectives. And perhaps I pretended like Pierre was like a french Ned, and we were bringing statues to life to tell what happened at the crime scene.

Perhaps.

Here's Ned... I mean, Pierre, making friends with Ben.

This was after a winner's breakfast of water and a lemon meringue tart. This was in a coffee shop in Soho that had a broken coffee machine.

Chelsea and I met up, and she took me to a Democrats Abroad Obama rally. Pierre approved! "Oui, Monsieur Obama!" he said.


Pierre and I went to a 3d movie at the Scien?e [sic] museum. I inferred (that's science talk for guessed) that they did not have any 3d glasses that were his size. He enjoyed it anyway, because Kate Winslet narrated.


Chelsea and I took Pierre to see Spamalot! which was in a different type of 3d. LIFE 3d. It was hilarious and a lot of fun and in this picture it looks like Pierre is going to break down the Palace theater, Godzilla style.


Perhaps one of the best things I did was walk around the Kensington gardens. Pierre was sleeping in my pocket when I finally found the Peter Pan statue. If I look scruffy to you, it's because I AM scruffy. I haven't shaved in over two weeks.


I also took Pierre to get right and cultured after being lost all over London. We found the British Museum eventually and I finally got to take off my coat. That museum is absolutely one of the most amazing things I have ever seen in my life. Ever, literally. I spent five and a half hours in there, and a lot of them were spent in the Chinese Jade room. Jade is as hard as diamonds apparently, but people still work it into amazing things.


Pierre was really interested in the Rosetta stone. So interested that this picture is super blurry.


Not pictured, because the pictures aren't as good as these ones and blogger is starting to fail on me: me and Pierre reading in a pub, Pierre taking over Trafalgar square, me and Pierre asleep in our hostel beds, eating Indian food, shopping at Harrods, learning how to survive, checking out modern art, meeting a finger puppet Van Gogh, and debating art at the Tate.

My trip to London was fantastic. Sometimes it was lonely though, because I am small and London is quite, quite large. My last day, when I was completely lost and my phone was badly in need of topping up and I had a bug bite on my leg from my hostel beds and my hair was in need of a washing and my bag was starting to feel as though I had accidentally switched my clothes for bricks... I had this moment where all I wanted to do was sit in a cafe and read.

And that's exactly what I did, and three hours later, when my book was finished, it was time for my train back to Norwich.

Most of London wasn't like that though. It was 95 percent fantastic, with fantastic art (National Gallery, Tate Modern, Victoria and Albert), incredible museum pieces (British Museum, Science Museum, Natural History museum), great entertainment (Spamalot, street musicians along the Thames, conversations with Pierre), and a whole lot of time to think.

I love being wherever I am, almost all the time.

jokes on you, we still alive...

So I'm going to visit London with my baby dragon who you should meet when I return.

I will be seeing Chelsea. And hopefully I shall see Mollie.

Last week, we had to write a silent scene for an unnamed play in playwriting. This week, we have to write character studies and plot arcs for each one, as well as the overarching plot of our play.

I'm not complaining, it's just rather unbalanced.

One more note on homesickness: I am not really homesick. It is the only way that I can really describe the feeling that I get struck with for a passing moment. It's ephemeral, like the first fizz on a bottle of soda, or perennial flower blooms. Both of those things are rather pleasant too, if you think about it. It isn't a pang, it's something more... well, I'll write about it on the train.

I have a "young person's railcard". I have Revolutionary Road. I have a Cadbury creme bar. I have a wallet full of this next week's budget (hmmm...) and a pocket full of dreams. I would like to see a show! See the rosetta stone! Take pictures wearing ridiculous hats in Harrod's!

I like being a tourist. I like being alive. Don't you?

See you Monday.

And count to three...

I guess it's about that time to post, isn't it?

It's been a long time. Since the last time I posted, I have written a dialogue referencing zombies and Christmas for prose, a scene without dialogue for playwriting, had a night in and two nights out.

Most notable was CSS, featuring the Kabeedies. The Waterfront is an incredible club owned and operated by UEA, and I drank a lemonade and watched as the Kabeedies stole my heart with their enthusiasm and jumping, and then CSS wowed with their excellent stage presence and lots and lots of glitter and confetti.

That was Tuesday. It's funny, but that's how I think, "Okay, Tuesday was the night of glitter, confetti and my ears blown off by electro-pop and teen-punk... and then... last night was Milkbar."

Milkbar, with my american friend Kaitlyn, was a bizarre pastiche of indie-dance and Kubrick visuals. Lots of interesting outfits. Lots of mod, all about. Moptops and thin ties and wingtips. I think, sometimes, the best way to experience this all is with another fish out of water (like Kaitlyn) who can stare - politely - at the tiny dresses and long boots that seem to be in style here and wonder, collectively, a resounding, "What?!"

I think I am finally finding routine here. I read and write in the morning, have a tea with my flat when they return from studies, and then bike about, looking for things that interest me, where I either write some more or just go in, look around and think "I'm in England!" This thought process never tires, either. It's hard to really show exactly what I mean, but I walk on cobblestones and look and observe and then I go back home, to this odd little desk and write or lay on my bed and wait for people to return so that I can ask more questions. I may be belaboring the difference between the US and the UK, but I think the point is important. So I sharpen away.

And then at night, people go out. I go out with these people. It is a symptom of being around roughly 20 clubs and 240 pubs. One of the things they use to sell Norwich to tourists is "A different pub every night of the year!" This is a lie. Many of those pubs have shut. But a good 2/3rds hold strong, full of the same sort of lecherous old people and fun-seeking young folk.

I've danced more in the last month than I have in my entire college years. I have also written a lot of bizarre things. I don't like any of them, but I think it's all a symptom, as said above... it's a symptom of just being completely entranced with the world around me that everything I write seems like a love letter to whatever it is I have decided to write on. Tesco's, for instance. Meeting people at the university bar. Time traveling with the ballroom dance society. It doesn't make much sense, does it? But it's happening, and it's happening to me, and if I got it in my head to update this more perhaps I would be able to explain it a bit better.

It's weird though, writing in this blog is a sort of homesickness. And I try not to indulge that side of me very often but I have been away from everything I know for a month and eight days now and sometimes all I want to do is walk on over to the 7-11, buy a slim jim and a cup of bad coffee, walk back and play wii until Kristan comes out and berates me.

Perhaps one of the best things I did yesterday was go to a fellow creative writing student's house and help them write their dialogue. Working with someone, on their laptop, drinking hot chocolate and talking to their housemates... that felt a lot like home.


Another one of the best things, and a bit like home, was eating chili and talking literature with two guys from my creative writing class as they took me to a couple of their favorite places in Norwich. The best was a pub called the Birdcage, where we finished our Chili and went through their back catalogue of magazines. We debated the merits of The Strokes on the top 100 guitar songs, according to Q in 2005.


They are mod guys. They are cool. I am very happy that they found me cool enough to hang out with.

Sometimes, though, like in this picture, I make chocolate chip cookies and I drink milk and I give warm cookies to everyone and then everyone can pretend like this is home. It isn't though... it's a long term hotel.


Speaking of hotels... off to London tomorrow. Adventure!

C'est la vie!

This is my Dad. I have no idea what is going on in this picture, but he is open-mouth-happy, which is probably the type of happy he will be all day because it is his birthday!

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Not only was my Dad born on an October 6th, but Edith Piaf got married on an October 6th, Jane Eyre was published on October 6th, The Jazz Singer was released on an October 6th, and LSD was declared illegal on one o' them October Sixes as well!

Wild.

If it weren't for my Dad (and Mom, but whose birthday is it?) and his generous contributions to the cause, this blog would not be possible. Nor would this trip. Or my entire college experience really. I like to think that when my Dad celebrates life, he does it by helping other people celebrate life... every one of his birthday's has been a trip to a show, or a trip to Disneyland, or a trip to the aquarium... was that a birthday? I seem to remember that...

Anyway. It's the morning here, but it's an ungodly hour there. Happy Birthday, Dad! I hope the people there surround you with a joyous air and you have a nice day, reminded of how nice it is to be alive.

Colin Meloy was born on an October 6th as well, and this song is called O, Valencia!

Bread has been proven to be addictive.

So far, my favorite thing that I did today was bake apple/cheddar cheese scones and finish a crossword with Abbey, Sam and Alex while drinking tea. Joseph came in from giving tours and sighed and sat down. We poured him a cup of tea and he dipped his face in steam, saying, "I'm tired of the sound of my own voice." He got the last answer. It was "intent".

I also got myself a ukelele because I missed playing a musical instrument. A ukelele, a case, a pitch pipe and a chord book was about 15 quid.

(I'm trying to use the word quid more. I remember reading Indian in the Cupboard and asking Mom what the word quid meant, and now everyone around me says it. I'm living in a book!)

Last night started at the Ballroom Dance society, where a vivacious woman taught 15 guys and 45 girls how to foxtrot effectively. Natalie, who is on the governing board, told me to come to the intermediate class on Wednesday. That's a compliment! Patrick and I then managed to get to a stand-up show for Mark Watson, which was excellent, and then I ran into folks from creative writing, the eap program, and the ballroom dance society in the university pub, drinking "Snake Bites" (1/2 cider, 1/2 beer, blackcurrant syrup) and joking. A guy named Jabis did graphology on me. Apparently I have loving parents because of the way I write my "y"s.

Thursday was Jess' birthday.




(Jess has her hands over her mouth on the right side.) We classed it up at the British institution "Pizza Hut" and then found our way into an empty club with a british elvis impersonator upstairs and a literally empty dance floor downstairs. Woo, 19!

That Goldilocks script I had to write? I did my scene in a German toy company called "Vunderland" where Alice, from marketing, is telling "Goal D. Locks" to go and talk to the investors. Sometimes I like to pretend I am clever.

A pub on campus is a very strange thing to me. It's pretty much always full, and students are drinking beer and reading psychology textbooks. I'm trying to add more british-isms into my vernacular, like "I can't be bothered," as in, "Will you turn the music down in the other room? I can't be bothered." (Make sure you are imagining that in your british accent.) Every day I endeavor to meet new people, or do something different than normal... today, that was making scones. Tomorrow, it is the rowing society.

On Wednesday I went into the castle museum. It is a museum with a taxidermy (like a polar bear!), a teapot collection, a castle keep display, and modern art. Read: that is a weird museum. I went with a friend from ISS who did not know how to hold a conversation, which made the whole experience stilted and strange. I would ask a question and she would answer and then ask, very quickly "and you?" even if it made no sense to be asked that, or if I had been asked already.

Sample:
me: "It's actually been really great to live in the city center. I'm close to everything. How is it on campus?"
her: "It's fine. It's much different than my old house. And you?"
me: "Yes, my room is different than my U.S. home, but I expected it to be."
We look at the last of the modern art exhibit.
me: "Lots of bright colors, don't you think?"
her: "Yeah, and you?"

Difficult. But look at that! I have another thing to turn in for my script writing class.

I am going to try to start a smaller creative writing group than the creative writing society I am already in. I want to have a smaller group of people read things. Erin? Ryan? Chris? Daniel? Want to come to England?

Cash up front, and direct.

Whoops!

I completely forgot about the most important moments of yesterday... I wandered (purposefully) into the Creative Writing Society's first meeting. We did four or five excellent group prompts where we wrote about an opera-loving skateboarder, a cocaine deal made through blackmail, cowboys and space... I am going to enjoy that group.

Notable quotes:
-"I went to Essex, and thus developed a penchant for short skirts."
-"Sort of midgey."
"Midgey?"
"Tiny."
"Ah. Midgey means tiny."
"Are you going to write that into your blog as well?"

When the governing board introduced themselves, they all said, "if you have any questions, you can find me in the pub downstairs."

Think what the future would be with a poor boy like me.

Welcome to Mary Chapman Court. I'm trying to get everyone to lovingly refer to it as "Shawshank". Shall we take a look around?



There's our kitchen! See that washer on the left side? It's a dryer as well! That's what we call a "space saver"!

There's the dining room. There are five of us in here, but only four chairs. The message from UEA is clear: eat quietly alone!


There's my bed! It's probably about 6' long. I'm 6'1" and 3/4s...



And there's the ol' desk. I'm writing at that desk right now.


I covered up the previous British student's graffiti with... all of that junk. Pictures and the like. Those three blue post-it notes have my phone number (it's too long to memorize!), my Pipettes ticket confirmation number, and my Barcelona confirmation number. How exciting!

Patrick says, and I agree, that British graffiti is much nicer than American graffiti. There was a huge sign on someone's garden wall that just said "Hey There!" His postboard had all sorts of encouragement on it. Conversely, Joseph still hasn't put anything on his postboard, and there is a lovely poem urging him to fall into a pit of despair. I don't call it Shawshank for nothing!



This is Patrick and me. We were getting ready to go out. The ties are a big hit, Mom! I'm glad I brought them, despite your raised eyebrows.



This is Joseph. Someone told him he looks like Orlando Bloom. I don't think so.

Life is quieter now that fresher's week is over - on Monday, we had a mildly offensive "French Night" where we drank red wine, ate brie on baguettes, listened to the Amelie soundtrack and drew moustaches on. British accent + french = fun!

And last night, we went to the pub up the road that we are trying to make our own - so far, each night that we are there, we take over one of the rooms and discuss such far ranging topics as CSS, prices at Tesco's, our love of Mary Chapman Court, and the weather.

I don't have class for these first few days of the week, so I have taken to wandering. I have time to write letters finally, and time to cook. The campus has a lovely lake that, I'm almost positive, has mermaids and a giant squid underneath. And every street in Norwich is just too picturesque and quaint to describe in anything other than tired cliches. I'm going to try and explore more of that today with a Belgian girl I met at that awfully loud international students night.

I also have time to go to Barcelona (I bought my tickets yesterday), Cambridge (I bought my tickets last weekend), and Amsterdam (still working on it.) Europe, here I come!

(exclamation mark count for this post: 12)