Spaced Out

Nothing of note to report today, I'm afraid. No class, and I spent most of the day reading. I'm torn between reading Our Mutual Friend, which we're discussing in a couple weeks, and Lady Audley's Secret, which we're discussing next week (after Tennyson's "Lady of Shallott"). So I read them both, and don't get anywhere. And I fall asleep with increased frequency, as I always do when I try to read for hours on end. In this case, I'm not particularly worried about it. It's not like I'm missing class or work, after all.

On the plus side, I did find these in my coat pocket.

All Children Grow Up

There's a housekeeper, Trudy, who cleans the common areas of our house twice a week, and our rooms once a week, on Thursdays. As this was the first of these Thursday cleanings, I was a little anxious about my room not being a total mess. The great thing about not having much here is that it's easy to clean, although this also makes me wonder just what was so heavy in the bags I've lugged halfway across the world. She's very chatty, Trudy, and fulfills another harmless stereotype: that of the nattering English housewife who won't stop once she gets going. What I thought was really interesting was that she warned Kenji (my neighbor in 10A) and I to make sure to lock our windows because "there's gypsies about." This really piqued my curiosity, because I'd already commented on the travellers I've seen camped not far away. She said they'll come up here sometimes for a bit of thieving, but whether that's true or idle gossipy speculation I have no idea. It does confirm my initial impression, though, that people in general are concerned about them.

While we were talking, she told me, "You seem a bit more maturish." (At first I thought she said "Jewish.")

"Yeah, well--"

"Older, I mean."

"Yes. I'm a nontraditional student."

We smiled at my evasive answer, and then she asked, "How old are you, then?"

Now, when I say "nontraditional student" it usually means "Don't bother asking again," but she couldn't know that, I guess. "Thirty-three."

"Thirty-three!" Kenji was shocked. "Wow, you don't look it. I thought you were, like, in your twenties." So did Trudy.

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

Trudy tried to chalk this up to taking good care of myself, which we all know is patently untrue, but I'll take what I can get. For those of you who may be ascribing ulterior motives to Trudy's line of inquiry, I'll have you know she's a grandmother.

Anyway.

Not much else to report today, actually, because I've been spending all my time reading. I will say this: read Peter Pan. It's really very good. If you haven't read it, or if you read it as a child, read it again. I wasn't expecting much beyond a quick read, but I was wrong. Very funny, too, in a way and on a level that most children probably wouldn't get. I hesitate to say that, because there are people out there who take every opportunity to tell you they read Foundation when they were five.

I did take the opportunity on the way to class to get a few pictures of campus, or that part of campus which lies between Park Village and Arts A. On the way, I pass York House, which is home to a 24-hour computer lab (a "cluster") and a little convenience/grocery store, Norwich House, which is the other housing (the slums, from what I've heard), and Bramber House, which contains the bookstore and the cafe where I was fool enough to buy a panini that one time.


Bramber House is just off to the left in this last picture, for those of you drawing a map. Nice and leafy green, isn't it? The university is in an area of, as I recall, "outstanding natural beauty," something like the equivalent of a protected wildlife area or national park. So it's greenery all around.

I got to class early and sat outside to read excerpts from Nicola Brown's fascinating book on fairies in 19th century art and literature (I believe its full title is Fairies in 19th Century Art and Literature). While I did so, a bird did a bundle on my course packet. I'm starting to feel like I shouldn't sit outside anymore. And I wouldn't, if the campus weren't so outstandingly beautiful.

One of the UC students in my class dropped (the one from Berkley), but the one who wasn't here on Monday showed up yesterday, so we're still at seven. Turns out he's from Wash U in St. Louis too. What are the odds that three out of seven students in my class are from the same arts college in St. Louis? Somewhat greater than this other coincidence.

As we were going into class, Jonathan (new guy) and Annie (English/Italian major at Wash U) were talking about their school. She asked him where he went to high school, and he returned the question.

"I went to Calabasas High School," she said. I stopped in my tracks and turned around.

"No way. I went to Calabasas too!"

We agreed that no one had heard of our school, and what were the odds, etc.

"When did you graduate?" she asked.

"When you were four," I told her. When she asked again, I told her the exact year: 1990.

"You're right," she said a minute later. "I was four."

Then we discussed Peter Pan for two hours. All children grow up, indeed.

Lick The Pier

I almost forgot to mention this priceless exchange I heard on the pier between a man and his young charges (at least one of whom must've been his child) as they left a candy/souvenir store behind me on the pier.

Child #1: I didn't get sweets; I got a souvenir.
Child #2: Likewise, thusly did I. [Note: Paraphrased.]
Man: I think the people who got souvenirs instead of sweets made a really smart choice. Think about it. What happens when you lick a lollipop? It disappears! Now what happens when you lick the pier? It doesn't go anywhere! Or when you lick a ferry? Nothing!

I find it hilarious that he apparently assumed (possibly correctly) that everything they bought was purchased with the intent to lick.

Fool's Errand

This is where I live, more or less. Park Village consists of a number of these adjoining brick blocks. Not exactly friendly architecture, but when you get them at the right angle, and when the sun happens to be out, as it was this morning, they look pretty homey.

So! First class meeting yesterday. We have a whopping seven students, of which four of us represent four different UC campuses: Irvine, Riverside, Los Angeles, and Berkley. The other three are from Washington University in St. Louis, MO and SUNY Binghamton. How do I know this? Tutor Therie Hendrey-Seabrook had us play a little icebreaker "game." It was "heaps" of fun. You should try it at your next party or get-together.

It works like this. Everyone sits in a circle, right, and the first person gives some personal information, such as name, educational background, and an interest, and then the next person does the same thing but also rattles off the first person's information! Oh, the fun we had! What a British "game." I'm sorry, but that's the dullest icebreaker I've played, and let me tell you I've played a few. Don't get me wrong, I really like Therie, but this is the same kind of thinking that calls a TV show about building wacky machines out of junk and spare parts "Scrapheap Challenge." You may know this show as "Junkyard Wars," the title it acquired upon hitting U.S. shores. It's rare that I'll tout something American over something British, especially where TV is concerned, so mark the date.

(For the record, the girl from UC Riverside cheated by writing down everyone's details. Draw what conclusions you will from that.)

At any rate, the class is called "Victorians and Visual Culture," and the reading list includes Peter Pan, Our Mutual Friend (Dickens), Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, Henry James' What Maisie Knew, and many, many more. I just want to emphasize that this is for a four-week class, and Our Mutual Friend alone is nearly 800 pages of small print (my edition is, anyway, but more on that later). The coursework consists of two papers and a 10-minute presentation, for which I feel more than adequately prepared by my experiences at UCI so far (and I'm not just saying that because one or two UCI professors may be reading this). It all looks very interesting, but I will be (and have been) spending most of my waking hours reading as much as possible.

Oh, also, the bookstore doesn't necessarily carry the books we'll need. That's just a given, apparently. It's SOP to run out into town and look for books on your own, I guess, because Therie didn't seem perturbed by it in the least. Compare that to UCI, where if a book isn't in the bookstore on the first day of classes the professor apologizes profusely to the class for the delay.

Anyway, she gave a little lecture on Queen Victoria and the "long" 19th century, a term with which I wasn't previously familiar, and then it was back out into the rain. I was pretty preoccupied with getting home and getting back to my reading, just because there's so much of it to do, and thanks to my propensity for staying up too late and the fact that I still haven't completely adjusted to the time difference, I slept and woke at odd times.

Today, then, was all about getting some books on the cheap, if I could. I located a handful of bookstores in Brighton (besides Borders and WH Smith's), hopped on the 25, and was off. I shouldn't say "hopped," really. It's a 10 or 15 minute walk to the bus stop; it's not like it's just down the block or something. But that's neither here nor there. Literally!

It's about 30 minutes to the city center, and on the way we pass a couple spots where I wish we could stop long enough for me to get some pictures. One of them is Brighton University, with whom I can only assume we are bitter rivals. Their signage, unfortunately, includes a lot of white space, which made it all too easy for someone to write "is gay" beneath "Brighton University." Surely this was accomplished by someone from Sussex U. Go Badgers! Also, we pass a genuine gypsy encampment: a semicircle of trailers and RVs in an open field beside the road. Well... "travellers," I should say, not gypsies. That's the correct term, as far as I can tell. The travellers are a serious concern for many Brits, at least according to the TV, and I can understand why. I don't think I'd want a half-dozen trailers appearing overnight in my backyard, either. Of course, we've dealt with this problem in advance in Irvine by nearly abolishing open fields altogether, and those who have backyards barely have room for a hibachi, let alone a gaggle of roving squatters. Hopefully I can get a picture of the travellers at some point, because I have a great Borat reference to make. I can hardly wait! You're going to love it! Stay tuned!

But I digress. Having already been lost once in Brighton, I arrived in the city center with a something approaching a sense of direction. I got off at the Old Steine, a large square with a fountain, a park, and a bunch of people relaxing in the middle of a Tuesday. I don't know if it's "Old Steine" or "the Old Steine," but throwing a "the" in there gives it some Old World charm.

It's also right next to the sprawling Royal Pavilion, which comprises a museum, a theatre, and... well, I'm sure there's a lot more, because it basically takes up an entire city block. It's all under some serious renovation. Apparently it just sat around rotting for a hundred years until 1982, when someone had the bright idea to fix it up. As I recall, 1982 was also around the height of Bob Vila's popularity, which I think is no coincidence.

The theater is called the Brighton Dome, although I can't see anything particularly dome-y about it. Maybe it's a metaphor. There are really quite a few theatres around here. It's like how Westwood is with movies. If you don't know Westwood, then... I dunno... guess.

The big event at the Dome right now is "Jerry Springer: The Opera." I don't know why, but Jerry Springer seems to be of particular interest here. When they gave us advice in one of our EAP orientations on how to answer the question "Are all Americans like the ones on Jerry Springer?" I didn't take them seriously (my short answer: "Yes"), but I can see now why they covered it. It opened in London a few years ago and played to nearly half a million people. The BBC even broadcast it last year and drew close to two million viewers (and almost a thousand complaints). I haven't the heart to tell people here that I and everyone I know avoid Springer like the plague, especially after that one episode where the guy's mother was sleeping with his stepson, and then it turns out she was also sleeping with his wife, who was the stepson's sister-- you saw that one, right? After that, I stopped TiVoing it.

The Dome and the Pavilion proper (which houses the museum and event facilities) make kind of an "L" shape, and nestled inside is another huge park, once again full of people who must be on the dole. Seriously, it's a Tuesday afternoon. Quick history lesson: The Royal Pavilion was built by George IV after he visited Brighton to "take the waters." At some point in the 18th century, qualified scientitians discovered that drinking sea water was good for you. With their limited understanding of science, however, they didn't know why it was good for you. Today, of course, with our modern advances in physiology and anatomy, we know that salt water aids in digestion because it is poisonous to the evil trolls that live in your stomach.

I went wandering through the Lanes after that, looking for the bookstores I'd Googled earlier. The Lanes are a series of tangled, narrow streets barely wide enough for four people to walk abreast, let alone for a car to fit through (i.e., they're like most of the other streets), lined with shops and restaurants, all of them packed to the gills. Brighton's kind of a funky town, somewhat reminiscent of Vancouver in that there are some rather upscale areas right next to "alternahoods" where shoes are hung from wires overhead for no apparent reason.

By sheer coincidence, I ran across a Games Workshop. If you're a geek in England, you have to go to a GW at least once. 40K is the football of British geeks. Later, by even sheerer coincidence, I found a really good comic store. Seriously! It was just called Dave's Books on the Web. I had no idea it'd be a comic store. I went into a few other second-hand bookstores too, convinced that I'd find what I was looking for without trouble. What self-respecting bookstore in England wouldn't have a ton of Dickens? Or Conan Doyle? Or Henry James? Answer: all of them. I wandered around like this for quite a while until, frustrated, I resigned myself to looking for my books at the bookstore on campus or at a chain store.

By this time I'd started panicking about wasted time, so I tried combining sightseeing with schoolwork and walked back to the Brighton Pier. I figured it'd be a good place to read.

I was immediately distracted, however, by the pier itself, starting with these "American style" donuts (you can sort of see one of the donut stalls on the right-hand side of the picture above). First "American style" peanut butter, and now this. It can't be higher sugar content. Donuts are inherently high in sugar, no matter the nationality. So what's the difference? Maybe other donuts give aid and comfort to our enemies.

Like most coastal cities, Brighton offers a lot of seafood, frequently in the form of fish and chips. Unlike fish and chips in the States, here you routinely have a choice of what kind of fish you want: cod, halibut, etc. I was getting pretty hungry by this point, but I wanted to save my money for the market and get some real food instead of blowing £4 on a single meal. Besides, I wasn't hungry for long.

The pier has a couple of arcades, a skating rink, and the usual carnival accoutrements, like a "fun" house, unwinnable games, and some rides. All the rides looked pretty lame and tame, but I think I've been spoiled by the likes of Magic Mountain and Disneyland (and hell, even Knott's) so don't take that assessment too seriously. One of the rides was playing dance versions of '80s Brit Pop though, which was a mitigating factor. Riding a dinky roller coaster on the edge of a wooden pier is one thing, but combined with a Pet Shop Boys remix? That's a kind of twisted poetry.

One thing I found kind of funny was a string of three food stalls, one selling fish and chips staffed by two white British guys, the next selling Chinese food staffed by two Asian guys, and the third selling Indian food staffed by two Indian girls. Wow, it must be authentic British/Asian/Indian food if they hired authentic Brits/Asians/Indians to sell it! That was far from the weirdest thing on the pier, though.

After some walking around I settled into a deck chair to read Peter Pan. The sun was out, but it couldn't have been more than 60 with the wind. Still, it was a nice view. A little like Huntington Beach, actually, with its broad beaches and waterfront properties.

While I was reading, a whole troop of public school kids came trotting by in handheld clumps. A few of them were very interested in a guy on a Sea-Doo who was zipping around in the water below, and they ran from one side of the pier to the other to track his movements. "Oh, he's just playing about," said one little girl, apparently disappointed. I don't know what else she thought he'd be doing, but it was all cute anyway. They even waved to the guy. Some other kids came by and one of them read the cover of my book aloud: "Peter... Pan." It must have been a mystery to her why an adult was sitting on the pier reading a kid's book. They were all dressed in traditional British public school uniforms. I love it when harmless stereotypes turn out to be accurate.

Soon it got so chilly out there that seaside reading was no longer pleasant, so I packed it in and went back to the Old Steine to catch a bus to Churchill Square, a big mall. I'm willing to admit that maybe WH Smith's wasn't the best bookstore to go to, since they devote more shelf space to magazines, DVDs, CDs, software, greeting cards, and candy than to their books, but I still expected them to come through on the Dickens and Conan Doyle. They had one end unit display labeled "Classics" that had about six short shelves of books, and that was it. Everything else was Stephen King, Dan Brown, and Nick Hornby. The only one of my list of books they had was Our Mutual Friend, so I snapped that up, but I'm disappointed in the lack of variety. Grr. I guess I'll try Borders later in the week. Buying it new also meant that it cost more than I'd anticipated, which meant that stopping at the Sainbury's on the way home wouldn't have been as effective as it should've been, so I skipped it and went straight back to US instead. I can get to Sainsbury's or Asda later.

So it was back here for more reading. I don't meant to complain about reading Peter Pan, but the threat of Our Mutual Friend looms ominously on the horizon. The next time you're in a bookstore, find a copy and you'll see what I mean. I have the Penguin edition. You could knock a guy unconscious with it.

Big Scary Human

6/26/06, 11:56 am

General panic today. The orientation didn't clear anything up, but at least it finished early. Near the end, they asked everyone but the UC students to leave (our UC guy from London was there to say hello), and when the dust cleared the theater was still mostly full. I'd say we make up about two-thirds of the student body this summer. In fact, everyone I've met is a UC student. On the ground floor of 10 Park Village, there are two UCI students and a UC Davis student, plus a UCSD student who hangs out with the Davis guy. What're their names? Chris, and... someone. Whatever. I have eight weeks to learn them.

Anyway, the panic was a result of not knowing when or where my class is today, but by 11:30 I'd managed to learn all that. Monday, Wednesday, Thursday (they don't believe in Friday classes here), 1:00-3:00, Arts A183. I hunted it down immediately, because otherwise, knowing me, I'd head out at 12:40 and still be looking for it 15 minutes later.

After that I got a panini for lunch and went outside to eat it. There's no good way to say this: A seagull stole half of it. I'm sitting there, minding my own business, when this bloody great seagull swoops down towards me. I'm thinking “He couldn't be coming right for me – I'm a big scary human.” But no, he does a touch and go and flies off with half my sandwich. Fortunately, two UCLA girls were walking by just then to witness me at my lowest. I mean, we all laughed about it, and it was really funny, but I did look like an idiot. Still, now all three of us have a story to tell (for the record, I did have my camera on me but completely forgot about it in the heat of the moment). I knew it was a bad idea to buy lunch. As soon as I have a chance to get to the Asda I'm buying some real groceries.

So I went to the little convenience store run by the student union and got bread and peanut butter as a backup. They had “American style” peanut butter. I have no idea what that is.

And now it's raining. About time!

The Eagle Has Landed

6/25/06, 8:03 pm, University of Sussex, Brighton

All right, this is it. My ultimate destination, the objective of all this planning and stress and activity. It felt great to finally arrive here, but I'm getting a little ahead of myself. I need to backtrack to this morning.

Despite my reasonable bedtime last night (before midnight, which is almost unheard of for me), I woke up at about 5:00 this morning. Jet lag is partially to blame, of course, but so is the bloody sun, which was up and shining even then (and didn't set until nearly 10:00 last night). I tried desperately to stay in bed until 8:00, but I didn't make it past six. I took the opportunity to shoot a little video of the meandering, claustrophobic hallways that lead from my room to reception. It may make you a little motion sick, now that I think about it. (Also, it's 9 megs, for some reason, so if you can't download it quickly... well, don't bother.)

Later, I took advantage of my coupon for a free £2.20 breakfast in the hostel's restaurant (it's a pretty big hostel). I had my choice of several items, most of which didn't look particularly appealing, including the three I got: hashbrowns, baked beans, and fried bread. Fried bread, not toast. I chose the beans because they're a classic part of the “full British,” and the fried bread because nothing else looked worth the risk. Breakfast is the most dangerous meal of the day.

Always take a camera. That's the lesson I learned after I checked out. Leaving my baggage in storage (£1 per item – cheap!), I headed back to Oxford to see about transport to Brighton. I'd anticipated being able to use the hour of wifi access I'd purchased to do that, see, but because the wifi couldn't be accessed I got my £2 back and moved on. At any rate, I'm walking down Oxford when I hear this rhythmic thumping up ahead, then the faint sound of low brass, and then I see a flag of some kind in the distance on the street itself. It was a Salvation Army brass band, parading down a major London thoroughfare at midmorning on a Sunday. The really amazing thing, though, was that they didn't suck. I'm used to Salvation Army bands in the U.S. being pretty terrible, but not these guys. I would've walked alongside them just to listen if I'd had the time. They were that good. I should've brought my camera.

I managed to put my £2 to good (or fairly good) use at a nice Internet cafe, but couldn't purchase a ticket for the Megabus online. I did get to see the schedule, though, and saw that it left Victoria Station for Brighton only twice today: 12:40 and 10:40. It was 11:00 at the time, so I hoofed it back to the hostel, got my bags, and caught the Tube at Warren Street to Victoria.

I really can't overemphasize how much all my crap weighs. It didn't feel all that heavy from LA to Calgary, but in the UK, when nearly all the walking I've done has meant lugging 50 (?) pounds or more of personal effects, it's been a slog. By the time I followed the “Way Out” signs to Victoria Station, I could feel how red my face must've been and my brow and back were wet with sweat. My shoulders are like two Gordian knots with arms hanging off them, and my lily-white collegiate hands, hands who have never known an honest day's work in their lives, are stiff and sore.

But anyway. I still had a good 20 minutes to catch the Megabus, though, so I wasn't worried... until I couldn't find any sign of it anywhere. Victoria Station, if you don't know, is huge. Trying to find a single bus, even a mega one, is like looking for a needle in a stack of needles. At around 12:35, I stumbled onto Victoria Coach Station, which I knew must be the fabled bus's home, but I was too exhausted to be particular. I got a round-trip ticket on a National Express coach and was happy for it. By 1:15 I was on an air-conditioned bus with nothing to do but watch the scenery go by. It was great.


Apart from my constant and false fear that we were driving into oncoming traffic, of course. It'll take me a while to get used to the left-hand driving thing. My instincts betray me when crossing a street and I invariably end up looking in the wrong direction, and even when someone else is driving (apparently) a voice in my head screams “You fool! You'll kill us all!” At any rate, when I wasn't preoccupied by that, I alternated between checking my registration materials and dozing for the next two hours, but when we arrived in Brighton I paid rapt attention to the city itself in case someone had posted “University of Sussex: This Way” signs. They hadn't. We did pass the Royal Pavilion, which is nothing short of bizarre. Magnificent architecture, but it just doesn't belong in its environment. I'll check it out later. Finally, we arrived at Pool Valley Coach Station, our last stop, right across the street from the ocean and the famed Brighton Pier.

I made it to the University about as elegantly as I'd made it to the International Student House yesterday. In other words, the less said, the better I look. While I sat on the number 25 bus anxiously watching the stops and consulting my schedule to make sure I didn't miss my stop (normally, the 25 stops right at Park Village itself, where I was supposed to go to check in, but currently, of course, due to some construction and my bad luck, it doesn't get so close), we stopped outside a Sainsbury's and about 50 EAP students got on accompanied by a girl in a University of Sussex “International Summer School” shirt who just had to be a guide. At least I didn't have to worry about missing my stop.

“I'm following you guys,” I told her when we got off.
“Are you one of the International Summer School students?”
No, I just like following strangers. “Yep. I just got here.” Everyone else, of course, was loaded down with bags of food. Me, I have 50 pounds of luggage.

Soon I found out her name's Rachel, and she's one of the residential advisors: US (as opposed to “U.S.”) students who stick around during the summer to deal with us ugly Americans. I got around to telling her part of my wacky story about being in transit almost constantly since Thursday, and she was nice enough to take me to get my registration packet and keys and show me to my room here in Park Village. I really appreciated the attention, probably because, I've later realized, I feel like I've been completely on my own since I left LAX. Here, finally, was someone whose job it is to help me. The other RAs I met are cool too, including Jayce, with whom I spoke at UCI a couple months ago. I was very surprised that he remembered me.

I like my room. It comes complete with a bag of “Restmor” bedding (sheet, duvet, duvet cover, pillow) and a towel. The hostel provided a towel, too, which means that I've lugged a towel all the way here for no reason at all. No, that's not entirely true. I did use my towel as a blanket in Calgary. I couldn't bring myself to travel without a towel on hand.

It's been a long time since I experienced dorm living. Each house in Park Village is three stories, with twelve single bedrooms, two kitchens, and hopefully more than one bathroom. I was happy to learn I'm on the ground floor (not to be confused with the first floor, which is on the second floor), since that meant not carrying my bags up a flight of stairs. Internet connectivity will have to wait until tomorrow, unfortunately. I have to go in and see a guy about that. Also, no wireless in the dorms! Lame.

There was a party-thing tonight, and went and ate and drank, but it wasn't really my scene. I did take the opportunity to register for a couple day trips, though. They offer a ton of extracurricular excursions to everywhere from the Royal Pavilion here in town to an overnight trip to Paris. In all the commotion, I neglected to sign up for any of these before my arrival, and as a consequence some of the better ones, such as Stonehenge, were sold out. However, Jill and I talked about seeing Stonehenge and Glastonbury Tor when she's here in August, and I know we're going to Oxford (I think), so that narrowed down my choices a bit. On the July 14, I'm taking a river cruise in London (since I saw almost none of it this weekend), and on August 5 I'm making a pilgrimage to Canterbury. Best of all, because they sent us all two £25 trip vouchers, all of this is free. However, as the brochure warns, lunch is not included. They lure us in with the free trip and then jack up the price when it comes to lunch!

My first class starts tomorrow, although I have no idea when or where. We all have a mandatory orientation at 9:00 am, though, so hopefully I'll have a chance to sort things out then. In the meantime, I should probably fall asleep while trying to read something.