I wondered, idly, what it was to look American: by the standards of the great mixing bowl. My mother had always said that I looked typically English with by big eyes and light brown hair- although currently bleached to a ruddish gingery frizz- but I was anything but. My genes, I knew, came from Prussia and Scotland and Ireland and Wales and maybe just a little bit of England and France. I looked Russian, and I looked German, and I bore, in my inheritance, a Jewish surname now covered up. My mother's nearest kin were either tall and thin or short and squat and my half-French (half-Irish? No one knew for sure anymore where the Devines had come from) was a true nutbrown English rose. I and my brother took after our father's side: wild hair, huge shoulders, large heads and deepset eyes- big, big, always big. A little European subrace all of our very own, big and heavy and built for the farm. He had a nose and half, though he was growing into it- our mother's length, our father's width, a hook of his own invention. My own was small and short and thick-rigged, shattered as a child and left to make a life of its own.
I had very large hands and short fingers, and a stubby thumb and my mother's curved middle fingers. Large feet and a heart face and a vaguely hour-glass like figure. I put my weight on my hipss and breasts and could eat like a horse and was in all ways large, even when underweight. And sometimes I thought I would go hunt for a man of similar genes, and sometimes I found myself leaning towards the thinner, more delicate end of the spectrum, and I supposed it was all just my body trying to make it all work out. And at the end of it I realised that I still didn't know what it was to look American, but that my body shape seemed to blend in far better in than mixing bowl than in Her Majesty's green and pleasant and slightly overweight land.
Monday, 6 June 2011
Saturday, 28 May 2011
Packing: Part III
ARGH.
Does that sum it up?
We have four bags (four!), and a guitar, and I haven't finished the carry-ons yet and we leave tomorrow at 17:45.
Also, I don't want to leave, and I will miss America terribly, and the culture shock will be horrible, and blah. But mostly ARGH.
Does that sum it up?
We have four bags (four!), and a guitar, and I haven't finished the carry-ons yet and we leave tomorrow at 17:45.
Also, I don't want to leave, and I will miss America terribly, and the culture shock will be horrible, and blah. But mostly ARGH.
Sunday, 8 May 2011
A nostalgic post
Remember when:
'Come August' meant a time still far in the distant future.
Packing was the most stressful thing ever.
Walking 45 minutes to someone's house was quite normal.
My fangirling was confined to private conversations with consenting adults.
Coffee was a treat, rather than a necessity (no, me neither).
9 months looked more like 3 years and would never be over.
The aspect of America I was most excited about was pickles.
The idea of cooking dinner in the microwave horrified me.
My jeans were still too big. (Ouch- and I swore I wouldn't do the all American morbid obesity thing.)
I was scared about meeting new people because I didn't want to leave them. (Still painfully true.)
Travel was scary.
New York was nothing more than a movie backdrop.
Taking a cab was for RAs and the lazy.
Pepper spray and guns only existed on screen and in jokes.
A five hour flight was a big deal.
Cross-Atlantic travel was a big deal.
The library was for reference only.
Nothing could ever compare to first year / second year / last summer.
Graduating was scary.
I was convinced my options closed when I hit 23.
I couldn't make an F chord (nope, still can't).
Living with strangers scared me.
Worrying about keeping in contact with people stressed me out.
I was convinced my little brother couldn't grow up without me. (Still not entirely sure on this front.)
I was convinced I knew everything there was to know about living on my own.
I was convinced I would somehow prefer US law.
I would put the UK down at every opportunity, while defending the US tooth and nail.
I like the idea of the Constitution and the US Governmental structure.
All I had to worry about in any one day was how many skirts to pack.
I was going to have travelled the entire US by November.
I didn't really think of the Netherlands as anything other than a good example of a flexible marriage structure.
I didn't really think of Germany as anything other than 'where Cora is going.'
I was convinced I'd never see my friends from Exeter ever again ever.
I couldn't get on a plane without crying. (Still true.)
I was excited about American television. (Oh, dear.)
I didn't watch television unless DW was on.
I was going to come back with a thick US accent.
I was going to impress all the little American freshmen with my English accent (hmmm).
I was going to spend all my time outside.
Bloody scary.
'Come August' meant a time still far in the distant future.
Packing was the most stressful thing ever.
Walking 45 minutes to someone's house was quite normal.
My fangirling was confined to private conversations with consenting adults.
Coffee was a treat, rather than a necessity (no, me neither).
9 months looked more like 3 years and would never be over.
The aspect of America I was most excited about was pickles.
The idea of cooking dinner in the microwave horrified me.
My jeans were still too big. (Ouch- and I swore I wouldn't do the all American morbid obesity thing.)
I was scared about meeting new people because I didn't want to leave them. (Still painfully true.)
Travel was scary.
New York was nothing more than a movie backdrop.
Taking a cab was for RAs and the lazy.
Pepper spray and guns only existed on screen and in jokes.
A five hour flight was a big deal.
Cross-Atlantic travel was a big deal.
The library was for reference only.
Nothing could ever compare to first year / second year / last summer.
Graduating was scary.
I was convinced my options closed when I hit 23.
I couldn't make an F chord (nope, still can't).
Living with strangers scared me.
Worrying about keeping in contact with people stressed me out.
I was convinced my little brother couldn't grow up without me. (Still not entirely sure on this front.)
I was convinced I knew everything there was to know about living on my own.
I was convinced I would somehow prefer US law.
I would put the UK down at every opportunity, while defending the US tooth and nail.
I like the idea of the Constitution and the US Governmental structure.
All I had to worry about in any one day was how many skirts to pack.
I was going to have travelled the entire US by November.
I didn't really think of the Netherlands as anything other than a good example of a flexible marriage structure.
I didn't really think of Germany as anything other than 'where Cora is going.'
I was convinced I'd never see my friends from Exeter ever again ever.
I couldn't get on a plane without crying. (Still true.)
I was excited about American television. (Oh, dear.)
I didn't watch television unless DW was on.
I was going to come back with a thick US accent.
I was going to impress all the little American freshmen with my English accent (hmmm).
I was going to spend all my time outside.
Bloody scary.
Saturday, 7 May 2011
Scriptwriting- a productive evil?
Emma Zunz is done. Finished. Finalised. Sent off. Many edits, spellchecks, and new characters later, I have handed in a completed 20 page play. (Single spaced, TNR, 12pt.) I actually now have two versions of the play- the stylistically correct, drama-student approved, 'audiences are idiots' version, and the over-punctuated, Borges fangirl, Professor-esque version. No prizes for guessing which one I handed in. At the end it seemed that I was walking a thin line between the demands of the drama students (bloodthirsty creatures, seriously) and the suggestions of my Borges-loving prof. I only broke down once, and that was when Borges original dialogue was struck down by the dramas for being 'too melodramatic.' Ah, well.
I don't honestly know what to do with myself now. On the one hand: woo, 2nd paper handed in and approved and out of my hair. On the other hand- Emma is my baby. The one I turn to when the Westboro Baptist Church and Southern Slave Laws are getting too much; the one I would never get bored of editing. Scriptwriting, it seems, is an addictive drug.
"So what did you do, JJ?" I hear you cry. (Nickname is laid entirely at Siobhan's doorstep, by the way. Bloody Criminal Minds.) Well, to be honest, I would hope that by now you'd know what I did. I started writing other things instead. You know, productive procrastination. Because a half-finished script with an implausible plot is going to get me so much further than a decent degree.
Right now I'm spending my leisure time on 'Stalker, a weird and wonderful concept which was developed during a late-night Facebook session in Doctor Who season. (Speaking of DW, consider this my Gaiman squeeing for the next week. OMG. OMG. OMG.) It's surprisingly fun to write, probably because it doesn't involve referencing homophobes or Nazis or ... anything. Exciting. Doing nothing for my remaining two papers, of course (I fricking hate papers. I somehow seem to think that were I back in Exeter I would concentrate better.), but there is seriously nothing more fun than writing fangirls. I think I may have found my calling. Now I simply need to get Abbi to inject 1) plot, and 2) humour.
Oh, and I short-circuited the power on our floor by trying to make coffee and cook dinner at the same time. Is this an American thing?
I don't honestly know what to do with myself now. On the one hand: woo, 2nd paper handed in and approved and out of my hair. On the other hand- Emma is my baby. The one I turn to when the Westboro Baptist Church and Southern Slave Laws are getting too much; the one I would never get bored of editing. Scriptwriting, it seems, is an addictive drug.
"So what did you do, JJ?" I hear you cry. (Nickname is laid entirely at Siobhan's doorstep, by the way. Bloody Criminal Minds.) Well, to be honest, I would hope that by now you'd know what I did. I started writing other things instead. You know, productive procrastination. Because a half-finished script with an implausible plot is going to get me so much further than a decent degree.
Right now I'm spending my leisure time on 'Stalker, a weird and wonderful concept which was developed during a late-night Facebook session in Doctor Who season. (Speaking of DW, consider this my Gaiman squeeing for the next week. OMG. OMG. OMG.) It's surprisingly fun to write, probably because it doesn't involve referencing homophobes or Nazis or ... anything. Exciting. Doing nothing for my remaining two papers, of course (I fricking hate papers. I somehow seem to think that were I back in Exeter I would concentrate better.), but there is seriously nothing more fun than writing fangirls. I think I may have found my calling. Now I simply need to get Abbi to inject 1) plot, and 2) humour.
Oh, and I short-circuited the power on our floor by trying to make coffee and cook dinner at the same time. Is this an American thing?
Wednesday, 27 April 2011
A listy listy list that doesn't have much to do with anything
Last night on Glee (yes, I'm sorry, stick with me, I promise it will only be for a paragraph at most), they tried to 'cure' the woman with severe OCD by attempting to force feed her unwashed fruit. While this did provide decent build-up to the Gaga cover, which was the sole reason for my watching, it also made me flinch. Just ... ouch.
Later that evening, I found myself standing in the kitchen watching my roommate tidy everything, and it got me thinking. And, as usually happens when I think, it resulted in me taking a dinner break from the final legs of my EHR paper to write a '10 random things about me only acceptable because there's some kind of context and it's not on FB' type post.
Things I'm not OCD about
- Putting everything in its place.
OK, so I like my room to be tidy, and I like my wardrobe to be organised, and I don't like clutter. (I'm pretty sure my home-home room is some kind of weird masochistic joke on my part). On the other hand, I don't usually find myself running around because someone left a pair of scissors on the counter or the lid up on the washing machine. Which I guess is good. Although I do make an exception if someone deliberately moves something out of place. That's just not funny.
- Laundry.
One of the girls tends to come around twice a month or so to use our washing machine. Watching her do her washing (that sounds a lot weirder than it actually is, honest) actually made me realise that in some respects I'm an irresponsible bastion of flexibility. I really wish I had pictures for this, because while she's all "unfold this and turn it inside out and match all my socks together and make sure everything's washing-machine safe - oops, hand-wash only, into the other pile with you!," I'm very much "put it all in! PUT EVERYTHING IN! It's probably colour-fast!"
I don't know if this is actually normality or simply some sort of weird and hampering reverse-OCD.
- Papers
Don't get me wrong, I suffer a lot of anxiety about papers, but I can't help feeling that if I were properly OCD this would be more caused by the fact that I missed my self-imposed, two-week early deadline and less by oh my god it's due in tomorrow morning and I really don't have an argument syndrome.
- Cleaning fruit and veg / Sharing food (unless someone gets saliva on it, in which case NO.)
I don't know why not. Again, possibly maladaptive, but I like to think that this is simply one of the few good by-products of my good old-fashioned mud-pie eating childhood.
- The whole fine-cleaning thing.
A bucketload of bleach and a sponge do me fine, thank you!
- Compulsive habits.
This one I'm not sure about. On the one hand, I thank the lord every day that my distinctly O-inclined personality keeps me free of numbered doorknob turns and the like. Seriously. Out of the two C is clearly the evil twin. But sometimes I imagine it would be nice to develop a permanent habit which saw me finishing my work promptly at 9, making myself a packed lunch for the day, and settling down to an early night's sleep. Although I think my cider-obsessed side might have problems with that.
Next time: last week's currently unpublished post detailing the things I can and cannot do when suffering from finalsitis. It's written by braindead!Jessie, and it makes normal(maybe)!Jessie giggle.
Later that evening, I found myself standing in the kitchen watching my roommate tidy everything, and it got me thinking. And, as usually happens when I think, it resulted in me taking a dinner break from the final legs of my EHR paper to write a '10 random things about me only acceptable because there's some kind of context and it's not on FB' type post.
Things I'm not OCD about
- Putting everything in its place.
OK, so I like my room to be tidy, and I like my wardrobe to be organised, and I don't like clutter. (I'm pretty sure my home-home room is some kind of weird masochistic joke on my part). On the other hand, I don't usually find myself running around because someone left a pair of scissors on the counter or the lid up on the washing machine. Which I guess is good. Although I do make an exception if someone deliberately moves something out of place. That's just not funny.
- Laundry.
One of the girls tends to come around twice a month or so to use our washing machine. Watching her do her washing (that sounds a lot weirder than it actually is, honest) actually made me realise that in some respects I'm an irresponsible bastion of flexibility. I really wish I had pictures for this, because while she's all "unfold this and turn it inside out and match all my socks together and make sure everything's washing-machine safe - oops, hand-wash only, into the other pile with you!," I'm very much "put it all in! PUT EVERYTHING IN! It's probably colour-fast!"
I don't know if this is actually normality or simply some sort of weird and hampering reverse-OCD.
- Papers
Don't get me wrong, I suffer a lot of anxiety about papers, but I can't help feeling that if I were properly OCD this would be more caused by the fact that I missed my self-imposed, two-week early deadline and less by oh my god it's due in tomorrow morning and I really don't have an argument syndrome.
- Cleaning fruit and veg / Sharing food (unless someone gets saliva on it, in which case NO.)
I don't know why not. Again, possibly maladaptive, but I like to think that this is simply one of the few good by-products of my good old-fashioned mud-pie eating childhood.
- The whole fine-cleaning thing.
A bucketload of bleach and a sponge do me fine, thank you!
- Compulsive habits.
This one I'm not sure about. On the one hand, I thank the lord every day that my distinctly O-inclined personality keeps me free of numbered doorknob turns and the like. Seriously. Out of the two C is clearly the evil twin. But sometimes I imagine it would be nice to develop a permanent habit which saw me finishing my work promptly at 9, making myself a packed lunch for the day, and settling down to an early night's sleep. Although I think my cider-obsessed side might have problems with that.
Next time: last week's currently unpublished post detailing the things I can and cannot do when suffering from finalsitis. It's written by braindead!Jessie, and it makes normal(maybe)!Jessie giggle.
Tuesday, 12 April 2011
I may have a problem
In hindsight, reading myself to sleep with a fantasy horror book when the birds in the attic started kicking up a fuss at 3.30 am was probably a bad idea. As it happened, though, I ended up having nightmares in which a tumblr blog (oh, the spelling, it kills me) went all Ring and began driving people crazy. Then I had one of those wonderful happy dreams where all I can remember is walking away from a group of people saying 'I love these fantasies,' but which was nonetheless still the best dream I've had for ages.
The problem is that my nightmare may not be as far fetched as it undoubtedly sounds. Let me explain. There is nothing to do in Hartford. Nothing. Much as I've enjoyed this year, Hartford is and will no doubt remain, the ghost town of America. My weekend activities are limited to going to the mall, going to the park, or going to West Hartford, which is pretty much like going to the mall except outside and prettier. So, as I've alluded to before, since coming here, I have watched more TV than I ever have before in my life, save for that stint when I was 11 and off school sick for a while. I am a dedicated follower of Criminal Minds. I have seen every episode of Downton Abbey. I watched the whole of the 2009 production of Alice. I'm up-to-date with my Family Guys. I've just started Pushing Daisies. And I am slowly being transformed into a so-called 'Gleek.'
Glee is probably taking over my life. It's an odd show. I imagine that had I started watching it when it first came out in the UK I would still be a fan, but one who catches up in her spare time rather than a dedicated, on the sofa at the same time every week type of fan. It's generally decent TV, at least as far as I'm concerned. It's set in hyper-reality, it is full of pretty primary colours, it has wonderfully snarky comments, and they randomly break into song at least twice an episode. All of these things are good. However, being in Hartford with nothing to do, all these things suddenly transformed into The Best Things Ever, and I transformed into a scarily dedicated, Tuesdays-at-8 girl. It's sad, yes, but generally I've been able to cope. The problem is that the show has recently taken a break with all sorts of unresolved plot lines, and well- I have an obsessive personality. More so when writing essays, and desperately so when bored solid. Which leads me to tumblr.
Tumblr is a terrifying place. It reminds me vividly of the days when, as a 15/16 year old girl who liked Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings and shinies, I joined online groups in which 'squee' and 'OMG' constituted appropriate conversation starters and making fan posters was a legitimate use of one's spare time. Tumblr, much like those groups, is also desperately shiny and, more importantly, full of people who are also struggling with Glee withdrawal symptoms. Now I think I need an intervention before it's too late, because I'm beginning to scare myself, and I'm getting online jokes which no one should ever be able to understand. I actually know what 'Klaine' means, and if that isn't a cry for help then what is? Besides, there is never any excuse for following fictional characters' Twitter feeds.
So the moral of the story is that I need to get a life, and fast. A deeper moral is that if you find yourself in a place like Hartford, for god's sakes get a car, or join a club, or something. If I had joined an aerobics class instead of discovering Glee, well, things would be very different, wouldn't they?
Normal posting returns next week.
JJ
The problem is that my nightmare may not be as far fetched as it undoubtedly sounds. Let me explain. There is nothing to do in Hartford. Nothing. Much as I've enjoyed this year, Hartford is and will no doubt remain, the ghost town of America. My weekend activities are limited to going to the mall, going to the park, or going to West Hartford, which is pretty much like going to the mall except outside and prettier. So, as I've alluded to before, since coming here, I have watched more TV than I ever have before in my life, save for that stint when I was 11 and off school sick for a while. I am a dedicated follower of Criminal Minds. I have seen every episode of Downton Abbey. I watched the whole of the 2009 production of Alice. I'm up-to-date with my Family Guys. I've just started Pushing Daisies. And I am slowly being transformed into a so-called 'Gleek.'
Glee is probably taking over my life. It's an odd show. I imagine that had I started watching it when it first came out in the UK I would still be a fan, but one who catches up in her spare time rather than a dedicated, on the sofa at the same time every week type of fan. It's generally decent TV, at least as far as I'm concerned. It's set in hyper-reality, it is full of pretty primary colours, it has wonderfully snarky comments, and they randomly break into song at least twice an episode. All of these things are good. However, being in Hartford with nothing to do, all these things suddenly transformed into The Best Things Ever, and I transformed into a scarily dedicated, Tuesdays-at-8 girl. It's sad, yes, but generally I've been able to cope. The problem is that the show has recently taken a break with all sorts of unresolved plot lines, and well- I have an obsessive personality. More so when writing essays, and desperately so when bored solid. Which leads me to tumblr.
Tumblr is a terrifying place. It reminds me vividly of the days when, as a 15/16 year old girl who liked Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings and shinies, I joined online groups in which 'squee' and 'OMG' constituted appropriate conversation starters and making fan posters was a legitimate use of one's spare time. Tumblr, much like those groups, is also desperately shiny and, more importantly, full of people who are also struggling with Glee withdrawal symptoms. Now I think I need an intervention before it's too late, because I'm beginning to scare myself, and I'm getting online jokes which no one should ever be able to understand. I actually know what 'Klaine' means, and if that isn't a cry for help then what is? Besides, there is never any excuse for following fictional characters' Twitter feeds.
So the moral of the story is that I need to get a life, and fast. A deeper moral is that if you find yourself in a place like Hartford, for god's sakes get a car, or join a club, or something. If I had joined an aerobics class instead of discovering Glee, well, things would be very different, wouldn't they?
Normal posting returns next week.
JJ
Sunday, 3 April 2011
My life as it happens
I haven't updated for a while, no. I've had quite a lot going on, in Hartford and back in the UK. To make that sentence relevant to the study abroad issue- I think one of the hardest aspects of living in another country is that when things go wrong at home you really do feel the difference. Skype is amazing, but sometimes it doesn't quite cut it.Which brings me onto my next point, which is general marvelling at technology. My friend Dale, champion of all things shiny and technological, has a 'magic' phone, which allows him to use Skype / Google Voice etc, which means that we actually can have proper phone-to-phone conversations over the internet. If you're thinking about studying abroad, get yourself a friend with one of these! Hell, get yourself one!
As for my life: I don't like papers, I don't like editing, I do like talking to people and going out for breakfast, and preparing for Spring Fling (in two weeks, and yes, I'm wearing 5 inch heels), and cheering on the UConn Huskies (the varsity basketball team) in tomorrow's "March Madness" final, and sitting in the sun.
Oh, and I also very much like Law School sponsored trips to Washington DC. I've always had a soft spot for DC and Virginia (that's what spending the formative years of your childhood there will do), and it was fantastic to go back and see the place through adult eyes. Plus, a $300 / night hotel room is always welcome in my books! We did very much, and we took many pictures, and we saw very many examples of cherry blossom, and I'm now very much of the opinion that Justice Scalia bears a passing resemblance to Jabba the Hut.
I also got to see some very dear friends of the family while I was there, which was amazing, and made me feel very nostalgic, and I got to ride the AmTrak home, which was an experience and a half. That is:
Experience : Meeting a couple at the Harper's Ferry stop who had hiked the Appalachian trail over 4 days and got engaged just above the Harper's Ferry church.
And a half: Waiting for 45 minutes to cross a bridge in NY because "the President was flying over in his helicopter."
Here's a picture:
In other news, I have a house for next year, with a big yellow room and a boat in the back garden which I'm very happy about. And I'm debating, in the spirit of using my 'Bizarre' tag to its fullest extent, of uploading my 'Things I love / Things I hate' list which I drew up following a very odd conversation with Siobhan. Oh, and I've written a few more poems for my other blog.
JJ
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