Nothing Important

I realized that I haven't posted anything for over a week, and that this should probably be remedied. The problem is that when I think of what to write, I get stuck. For me, life is just going on as normal. Nothing seems fantastic or noteworthy anymore. Then I remember the rest of you who are not living the good life over in England, and my duties are remembered.

So, let's see.

I've been ill the last week or so. At one point I got on WebMD and diagnosed myself with bronchitis. This was probably an exaggeration, but I swear, I thought I was dying. I'm feeling better now, although I still am hacking up some lovely green stuff from time to time.

Medieval Writing is getting better. We've moved on from the truly inane to subjects with slightly more substance. My seminar instructor still talks to us like we're third graders, and most of the people in that class might as well be. At one point we were looking over the end of The Pardoner's Tale, where the Pardoner and the Host get into a fight, and the noble Knight comes in to tell them, literally, to kiss and make up. This one American girl (who, at least for now, seems to be one of the most giggly, air-headed people I've ever seen) and her friends went on for fifteen minutes about how this was totally gay and they can't believe Chaucer would write something like that in his day and age.

My flatmates continue to leave every weekend in some sort of bizarre rotating fashion. Last weekend it was just me, James, and Adam in the flat. This past weekend those two and Corie went home to visit significant others, and Kristy's boyfriend Rob came to visit, so I didn't see her much on Friday. I don't mind it so much, but it does make it difficult for us to hang out as a flat on the weekends, like we did that first weekend. I'm hoping that as the semester progresses and they all get used to the distance, they'll feel better about going two weeks without seeing their boyfriends/girlfriends. Or maybe they'll actually let their significant others hang out when they come to visit, instead of letting them stay sequestered in their rooms.

Circus and LitSoc are both going well. I can now juggle three balls, though not very well. I constantly argue with my Polish friends Pawel and Stephan about the correct way to spin a fire staff (my color guard skills vs. their Japanese fighting staff skills...technically neither of us learned on a fire staff).

I went out with Chad and Abby last Wednesday to the LitSoc trip to see Brideshead Revisited. The movie wasn't bad, although I wish I had read the book before seeing it. I'd like to read it now. Afterward, Chad, some of the other LitSocers, and I went to the Queen of Iceni pub for a drink. We discussed books and movies...all good LitSoc things. After the pub kicked us out around 11, we stood outside a while and were accosted by two very drunk townies. I never thought I'd see a British cowboy, but I was wrong. This woman came over to Chad, licked a 5p coin, attempted several times to stick it to Chad's forehead. She started to talk to him, realized that he was American, and promptly asked, "Wha', are you American? Well wha' the fuck are ya doin' 'ere?!" She then proceeded to go on a rather nonsensical but well-intentioned rant about how her daughter is in the British army, stationed in Germany, and how this war is just pointless and how "this thing about Sunnis versus whatever and you know..."

Allow me to digress momentarily, on a curious phenomenon. Somehow, the universe has created two frighteningly similar people. One is our pissy, sarcastic, and self-proclaimed Writing Center Satan-figure, Chris. The other is the president of LitSoc, a third-year literature student named Max who likes postmodernism, has a wicked sense of humor, and an eeriely familiar shit-eating grin.

So, as this woman was presenting her inebriated theological discussion about "this thing about Sunnis versus whatever and you know..." Max comments with exclimation "Shite!" which he pronounced as "Shi'ite." The woman didn't even hear him, or if she did, she didn't catch the joke. I had to gag myself to stop from laughing.
The woman's husband/boyfriend/escort, the man wearing the straw cowboy hat and standing with a decidedly John Wayne posture, then told us all how he had served twenty years as a sniper, occasionally raising his hands, squinting his eye, and shooting with his imaginary gun. He then took off his cowboy hat, revealing a large bump and prominent scar above his left temple where, he told us, an enemy bullet had gone straight through his head. "Tha's why I wear this hat, yeah? Cuz it ain't so pretty to look at." I do appreciate the gesture...but he could have picked a better hat.

Anyway, we said goodbye to our new friends. The woman grabbed Chad by the shoulders, kissed his cheek, expressed a desire to go home, and then preceeded to ask where she actually was. We left them in front of the pub and walked over to the bus stop. But our adventures were not over yet! No sooner had we gotten to the bus stop then a large man dressed in all sweats, carrying a can of Strongbow, and obviously drunk, came over to us. He called out to us and began to harass us about our choice of clothing, how we all got our fashion sense from "what? Rock stars or something? Why do you dress like that? Why don't you be an individual?!" He then walked away, and we all sort of looked at each other. Then he came back, discovered that we were students at UEA, and went off on this diatribe against us, basic arguments that we were "just kissing up to the Man," and other such nonsense. Most of his comments were addressed toward Max, and Max answered him frankly, but with a subtle sarcasm that the drunk guy certainly didn't get. Finally, our bus arrived and we got on as quickly as we could. The guy in the sweats gave us the finger, and Max grinned and blew him a kiss. (Chris, don't tell me that's not something you would do.)

After that encounter, nothing seems quite as entertaining. I went to Circus last night, played around with poi some more, worked on my juggling, and reaffirmed my delight in spinning five foot aluminum poles. Afterward Pawel, Stephan, Matt, Alex, this girl Jenny, and I went to the pub and played foosball until closing time.


There are plenty of things I have to muse on outside of this simple description of my comings and goings in the last week, but I think I'll save those for another post.