Tuesday, March 30, 2010

23 days gone by, why can't eagles fly?

There's a SheDaisy song that says, perhaps, the grass isn't greener on the other side when you realize you should be with a certain individual but you aren't. I love you, ladies, but I must disagree because from here:

the grass is always greener. You look at greater Paris and things are put into perspective. The silly and petty ceases to matter. If you can make it here & survive living on the other side of the pond for a few months, you should be able to handle anything old-Concord might throw your way. And if you get the opportunity to eat crepes and sing Tim McGraw from here, well, you're just extra lucky then.

bon soir & cheers.

I think I could sit here forever.

Sometimes life is surprising and magical. You find yourself in places that you could only dream about. The things my friends and I are getting to do this semester shouldn't be real. When else will I ever be living in London and have the ability to decide to pop over to Paris to hang out with a friend & be lazy and watch LOST & laugh until my side hurt. Never. When else will we be able to ride the metro to Trocadero to merely stare at the Eiffel Tower in party dresses just because we feel like getting dressed up for no reason. They always say your college years are the ones you remember the most. Maybe they were right after all.

Like looking at Big Ben in Pariliament Square (or just standing on Waterloo Bridge at night) THAT is something I could never get sick of. It is a surreal image, presently at my fingertips; I feel immensely blessed.

a bientot & cheers,

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Konnichi wa come and move it my way.

I remembered thinking about this the first day I was in Paris, but I forgot by the end of the evening. Sitting in the cool air at a sidewalk cafe on a delightful spring evening (and, more importantly, watching people walk by), I remember. I DEFINITELY remember.

But I must preface this, I like to think that I am not one of those girls obsessed with evaluating the aesthetic value of every guy I see, but I am just another flawed human and Parisian boys are hot! Different than British boys and far removed from anything an American boy could ever be. They all look slightly hipster-chic and very much like Bob Dylan, hair, tight jeans, wayfarers. I support their look entirely. They have a nonchalant swagger (I say swagger, but in no way do they have the slow trudge of dragging feet that American boys do when they pitch their weight backwards over a preferred shoulder and nod their head.) that hints that there just might be a well-worn paperback of Montaigne or Rousseau rolled up in one of their pockets. Like British boys, they naturally exude more intelligence than I have even seen in a boy in America. Theirs, though, is not one of histories and Eton learning, it seems to be inherently more skeptical, investing in the intricacies of language and literature and inherently more romantic.

I should stop myself. I fear my fantasies are merely superimposing themselves on the visions I see. I’m looking at them just like a flaneur or construction worker on lunch break watching women go by. (That, however, is a completely OTHER topic. London construction workers should be in a league of gentlemen all their own. I shall speak of that another day, though.) To simply consider boys aesthetic pieces for my enjoyment is demeaning and sexist, but oh the boy that just bicycled past was cuuuuutttteeeeeeee. :))

If I had more French-esteem I would approach the next one I saw, say “Hi. Your hot. Let’s be friends.” (in perfect French of course) We would get coffee, fall head over heels in love, and I would retire to a lovely chateau in the French countryside as well as spend my winter’s in his family’s beach house in the South of France because OBVIOUSLY he would be the son of French aristocracy, erudite, eloquent, and wealthy with a love of literature and travel - and Bob Dylan; I’m sure he would also paint and play the guitar, and know how to cook and fix things . . . have I gotten ahead of myself again? Never. (Bahah I can’t take myself seriously.) No, I should answer that question truthfully. Always. ♥

au revoir & cheers,

Zip your lips like a padlock.

Blois. Blois. Blois. No I have not misspelled Ke$ha lyrics. Before I explain this most recent and most epic fail, let me speak of my first evening in Paris.

We made fondu.

When trying to ask the grocer if he had cheddar (he didn’t) and stick to the recipe, a nice guy from Texas (here working as a chef) pointed us to a better direction, reminding us “it’s fondu, you can thrown whatever you want in it.” It was a quasi-success. We had melted cheese that we spread of bread and ate on Sarah’s balcony.

The only problem was, as the pot of cheese wasn’t sitting in a proper fondu pot in order to sustain the heat, the cheese got chilly as we ate in the breeze. After 15 minutes we had to cut it with a knife and spread it on the bread/apples. A little jank, a lot of entertaining.

Moving on.

The cover of Eyewitness Travel Guide’s Europe book features a picture of Chateau Chambord on the cover (for those of you who aren’t lucky enough to own the page-turner and already know what the cover looks like). Sarah has wanted to see this chateau since getting the book. We decided to do lots of research on the internet and map out a day trip of biking through the Loire Valley, where this and many other wonderfully picturesque chateaus are. Bikerentalsplus.com promised us a place to rent a bike in a town called Blois and it seemed like a great way to spend a Saturday in France, biking to from Blois (which has a chateau of its own) to 2 other nearby chateaus. Sarah and I miraculously made our 7:25am train without any hiccups. We ambled through Blois towards the tourism office (in order to get a biking map/directions to the nearest bike rental) admiring the lovely town.

(I spent forever getting that second picture to not be blurry.)
It was raining, but we had our backpacks and felt like real college travelers. (And Emerson as we were going to spend a day as one with nature. Don’t snicker CT, I say such completely literally.)


All the bike places were closed/out of business. We were told of a bus that would take us to Chambord alone, and leave us with 5 hours to explore . . . . we said no thanks and sought other alternatives. A few phone calls later, we found a bike place in a nearby town. We ask the men in the ticket office the best way to get there and they told us the bus to take. It’s in 2 hours. We meander more.

We wait at the bus stop for 45 minutes. The bus never shows. We compare maps (all with different or no legends) and find an alternative route to this town/elusive bike shop. It’s close and we should be able to walk. It will be a bit of a hike (like an hour or so) but the sun has finally started to shine. Walking commences. We cross a lovely bridge and get even more lovely views of Blois, which is starting to become irksome.

Walking proves to be taking longer than expected, but bus comes that should take us to where we want to go, so we think. After a 15 minute drive through a genuine French subdivision, we find out, however, that it is a Blois-city bus only when we find ourselves at the center of an industrial park beside a gas station and grocery store. The bus driving, pitying us, takes us back across the river to the train station for free.

More time passes. We eat some lunch too (Our 1.5 litre water bottles purchased for our long day of biking never get opened. In fact, I just opened mine upon getting back to Sarah’s apartment a few minutes ago.) Finally we decide to give it one last shot. We’re just going to take the original bus to Chambord. Small problem: the bus we need leave Blois at 14:36. It arrives in Chambord at 17:01. The last return bus from Chambord to Blois departs at 17:10. 9 minutes of a chateau. At this point, we’re okay with it. We just want to see that it is, in fact, possible to leave the city of Blois because our multiple failed attempts had us seriously considering the possibility of magical spells existing around the city limits. Perhaps the town was founded by people just like us, poor souls who found it impossible to leave so they just built houses.

Bus ride success: here is Chateau Chambord:

We get back to both Blois and then Paris without any problems. Ironically, our train back to the real world was at 19:25, exactly 12 hours after our first train of the morning. Sarah’s internet is down, so this will probably (hopefully) not be posted until tomorrow - she and her roommate think that their neighbors found out they were ciphering their internet, though the network still isn’t locked. My body is sore from the obnoxious amount of walking and map reading & my core being is very sad I didn’t get to ride a bike today. At least tomorrow’s Sunday and there is no 7:25a train to catch.

I now make a pretentious allusion to Wilkie Collins.
Nota Bene: The reader should note that all references to interactions with Blois-ians (???) have been roughly translated or summarized for an easier readership experience due to the fact they occurred in FRENCH. Just saying.

xoxo & au revoir (cheers too),

PS - We’re thinking of attempting to bike to Versailles Monday afternoon to make up for today’s fail . . .

Friday, March 26, 2010

Goodbye London, Hello Paris.

Half of my life has passed since the last time I was in Paris, but the city is just as magical as I remember. 10 then and 20 now, it's taken me just a few hours to fall back in love with the city of light. I wish I was kidding. I've even managed to spit out a few sentences of broken French.

Every place I go this semester I can see myself living in for a period of time, like I'm destined to be an expat. (Those guys in the 20's were really onto something.) Seriously, maybe eventually I'll find some where I'm just not that into. This place is not it. This is a place of boulangeries and boulevards, a place that reaches my soul unlike New York. It's a planned city that opens itself to the air above it, allowing for sunshine and trees in a way that's possible when someone gets above 14th Street.

au demain & xoxo,

CT: I am sorry.

I'm keeping myself up in order to catch my obnoxiously early train. I haven't had a real post for a while, I know. As always I fail and promise to post one soon, but something always happens.

As usual, I'm trying to situation my life within the context of some functional canon and failing. Registration for next semester is coming up . . . bahh. I'm desperately hoping that one day Act I will end and I'll get to Act II, but sometimes I think that will never happen. (Tom Stoppard) I freak out with an attack of "I'm never going to amount to anything more than a cat lady with a poorly managed blog," but then I watch Shakespeare in Love and think that just maybe I'll be able to contribute something worthwhile to the magical world of English literature. I certainly don't equate myself with Judith Shakespeare by any means, and I'm fully aware that I will never touch studs like Emerson and Whitman. But maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to produce something that does not only get printed and bound. If I'm super lucky I might even be able to provide some guidance to another young soul or two.

All I know is that nothing is for sure. Tesco never disappoints me. My iTunes genius is, in fact, genius. And it's finally really actually spring (even though it's still raining in London and is supposed to rain in Paris the entire time I'm there).

Off to pack & hop on the Eurostar to jam to Rascal Flatts en Frace avec mon meillur ami Sarah Digby (excuse my terrible spelling) and try to remember all the French I've forgotten. Next time I attempt to share something, I'll be on the continent.

xoxo & cheers/au revoir,

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Spring Break is 3 hours away.

Thought you might like some light reading: http://www.themorningnews.org/archives/the_non-expert/is_he_cute_or_is_he_british.php/

I have one Mod. British Drama class standing between myself and spring break. Angels are singing. My postcolonial Indian literature paper turned out to be a success too. Too bad RADA's latest production of Measure for Measure and Judy Dench's performance in A Midsummer's Night's Dream weren't (in case you're concerned, Zac Efron's performance is 17 Again totally is).

Tomorrow I will watch the season premier of Vampire Diaries (party on) and PACK FOR PARIS because Friday at 5am I go there to visit one of my most favorites. Alas, now I must do a little world on Midsummer.

It's not spring break quite yet.

xoxo & cheers,

Okay no.

I had something really important to say, but I lost my thought. Similarly, I lost my ticket to the play I'm supposed to see tomorrow night. Hopefully my NYU card and talking-skills will be able to get myself in. (Thank goodness I kissed that Blarney stone many years ago.)

xoxo & cheers,

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Fastpass is the opium of college students.

I woke up at 4:45am this morning to take the bus with my friend and make sure she got onto the Heathrow Express successfully. Once I was back at Nido at 7am, the sun had come up. All the dryers and washers were empty, and the hallways were still. They didn't smell of the musky cologne used to mask other smells, late night cooking, or empty bottles. There was no loud music playing in the background of a friendly or loverly gathering. It was just quiet. It was nice. After spending some time with both Ghandi and Nehru, I then proceeded to have the seemingly least productive day possible.

I watched the following movies:
*Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief
*Sunshine Cleaning
*Up in the Air
*The Hurtlocker

It was completely necessary to tune out and watch. 1 day at Senate House and 3 days of class then I'm on Spring Break. :)

xoxo & cheers,

London is tiny.

You would think that London would be a huge town, one of those places where when you really really didn't want run into someone you wouldn't. You would think wrong. The one place on my road I hadn't been to, my friends and I went to this evening. Low and behold the boy who was supposed to ask me out and FAILED was there . . . FAIL. Alas, I may just be destined to be a cat lady. I guess I could be okay with that - as long as I write the next best-selling novel.

Whatevskis, cheers & love,

Friday, March 19, 2010

Some people just plain suck.

There are some people in the world that fail at life. Though I often say I am one of those people, in the context I am presently talking of, I am not. I'm not dealing with people that fail at life anymore.

That aside aside, the entertainment provided by my friends that came across the pond was immensely wonderful however cramped my room was. We ate lots. It was pretty cool.

Other things going good in my life:
LADIES WHO LUNCH on Wednesdays (after Javeed). It doesn't get any better than that. Furthermore, Thursday evening at 5pm I will be on spring break. 12 hours from that moment, I will be on the Eurostar headed to Paris. :)) It'll be spectacular.

For now . . . . I gotta be productive though.

Oh yeah, my roommate's pretty awesome too.

xoxo & cheers,

Hold up - Hold up

Stories to come. ♥
xoxo & cheers, D

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Got a picture of her mama in her heels & pearls.

I'm really alive and doing things. Tomorrow night I'm seeing A Midsummer's Night Dream with JUDY DENCH as Titania. Party on. I'll write something worthwhile on Wednesday, I promise.

xoxo & cheers,

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Don't you just hate it when a girl gets a boyfriend and goes AWOL.

I haven't gotten a boyfriend, but I have two friends from the states eating my life and bank account with very amazing activities. (I love it, I love it, I love it, though I do feel as though I'm cheating on my main man Ghandi.)

xoxo & cheers,

Friday, March 12, 2010


Two friends from the states (and my LITTLE! from NYU in Florence) are here this weekend. Hence, I am occupied. Stories to come . . :))

xoxo & cheers,

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Ask me whether or not I liked it tomorrow.

Sorry for tardiness, a Skype date over extended itself. The paper was turned in this morning, though, success.

Sleep is now required.

xoxo & cheers,

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Just like dust, I rise.

Today I politely told the Arthur L. Carter Institute of Journalism that I would like to have my soul back. They said no problem; I just have to sign a form when I get back to NYU in the fall. It was a nice feeling. (Bigger fish.)

Not to be brief, but I have 2000 words pertaining to the representation of India through the narrative form of Wilkie Collins' novel The Moonstone due at 9:45 tomorrow. Adieu.

xoxo & cheers,

Monday, March 8, 2010

you can walk around with your sexy tank of oxygen

A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far away I found myself in a magical land called North Carolina Governor's School. (Don't worry, this isn't going to be a GSW ode.) The first Friday there, sitting in the auditorium waiting for our que to start my first dance performance of the summer, my Area II teacher read a poem. Since that singular moment, it has been my favorite poem. I think the reasons why will be self-evident. Enjoy. ♥

I wish I could claim that I’m clumsy
because I’m intelligent,
riptide lightning surging through
my synapses as I correlate & codify
the infinite set of cross-references
the world is to itself,
so that my blood remains in
my swollen brain, leaving
the rest of my body faint,
my fingers chilled & numb,
unable to hold onto the
objects assigned them.

I wish I could claim that I’m clumsy
because I’m innocent,
like the fairytale stepdaughter
whose body continually cooked
rubies, sapphires, & Fabregé eggs,
so that with every word,
jewel showers spewed from her mouth,
no doubt occasionally tripping her,
as loose precious & semi-precious stones
rolling around, by, between, &
in front of one’s feet
tend to do.

I wish I could claim that I’m clumsy
because I’m holy,
like St. Catherine of Sienna
who begged Jesus to exchange
His heart for hers,
& though He did, in fact,
remove her heart,
He waited three days
before replacing it with His own,
during which time she no doubt
bumped into a chair or two as the
fist-sized vacancy pulsed
in her ribcage, throwing her
slightly off-balance.

But I’m neither brilliant, innocent, nor holy.
My clumsiness is not derivative,
which doesn’t mean, of course,
that is serves no purpose;
if that’s true that the main trick
of the highly successful
individual is to make life seem
easy, maybe I’m here to
demonstrate its difficulty-

difficult to get from one room
to another with the floor
pitching & plunging as it does;
difficult to pour a glass of milk
when the very nature of milk
is to spurt away, defying gravity;
difficult to move
from afternoon into evening
when my feet can’t help
entangling each other in the
selves of my former shadows,
bruising them cruelly
through not vindictively.

Maybe I’m here
to dispel the illusion
that life proceeds smoothly
as long as one pays attention;
for the clumsy person,
the closer, the more minute,
the most exacting the concentration,
the more extravagant the disaster,
no only in the physical realm,
but the mental realm as well-
everyone knows that thoughts
possess declivities, gaps, &
edges of their own,
not smooth but jagged,
splintered, serrated,
& not just painful thoughts, but
gratifying ones, too-
it isn’t any easier navigating
the inner life than it is the outer,

though despite all this
complaining, I must in
fairness admit there’s
a kind of pleasure in
any kind of stumbling;
it’s like hitting the gas
in a jeep with no shocks
when you go over
a speed bump-not just the
lift but the delay, not just the
delay but the suspension, not just the
suspension but the vertical drop
as the soul slams back
into the body or
the body slams back
into the soul, the brief,
swift thrill of Honey, I’m home,
like Dick Van Dyke or rather
Rob Petrie simultaneously
waving to Laura & tripping
over the footstool,

which is why I wouldn’t
trade my awkwardness for the gift
of flight belonging to the tabloid baby
born with a pair of wings, or for the
“trick-shot” accuracy demonstrated by
Amy Blackburn of Pigeon Forge, TN,
seven-year-old sharshooter reputed to be
the reincarnation of Annie Oakley
able to “pulverize an aspirin
into powder with the pill standing
sideways on edge.” The flying infant,
still heaven-intoxicated, had simply
forgotten to retract its wings
as previously directed,
& the little Annie Oakley avatar lives in a
rarified state of perpetual hyperclarity,
as drunk on the idea of accuracy
as any Pythagoras or Spinoza-
but to be a klutz, an oaf, a dolt,
forever inept, maladroit, bungling,
blundering, graceless, & lubberly
without becoming apologetic,
sarcastic, recriminatory, or morose-

in other words, to remain
in a state of metaphysically
pure clumsiness, a wholly self-
sustaining clumsiness
without cause or cure, credit or blame,
& to achieve all this while remaining
perfectly sober-
THAT is what our pre-pre-pre-
ancestors must have aspired to when they
crawled out of the oceans onto
the warm sand, &,
over long epochs with largely
unpronounceable names, sprouted
arms & legs, lifting their heads,
moving into a crouch,
a stoop, an alarmingly vertiginous
upright stance as
slowly, ever perhaps sadly,
but with unprecedented determination,
they worked their way up
toward the right to
trip & fall.

It's called "Clumsy," and it's by Claire Bateman.

xoxo & cheers,

Sunday, March 7, 2010

I like Sunday mornings when video streaming works in Nido.

I find it really strange that you can edit your friends. I went through and deleted connections with about 20 people today. Most of them I should never have became friends with in the first place. Some I had only met once in passing (a cute boy that I wanted to stalk on), some were girls that only heightened my sense of insecurity - girls mutually stalk each other, looking at the failures always makes someone feel better. I don't need that. It's highly immature, so it's deleted. And I would like to think I have too much pride to go back and request to renew a friendship that was only a cyber title.

On a lighter note, The Princess and the Frog is excellent, and it's another sunshine day in Londontown. Even the most ridiculous NYU in London/American University Student in London hang out spot wasn't too bad last night (though I did apparently miss "Blah Blah Blah" each time Mr. DJ Mark played it).

Here's to be not only productive *COMMA* - that's for emphasis, always - BUT ALSO proactive. And here's to Indian Lit. readings/paper I'm about to dive back into.

xoxo & cheers,

Friday, March 5, 2010

Yeah, he's been creeping since August.

In one week two of my favorite people will be crossing the pond to see me. Words cannot express my exciting. Looming over this joyous event, though, is a 2000 word postcolonial Indian literature paper. . . that's what I'm dedicating my life to now.

Note: Skype interviews are strange.

xoxo & cheers,

Thursday, March 4, 2010

So I'm very angry BBC iPlayer won't let me download Becoming Jane.

Today was a successful day. I woke up early to catch up on Greek and finish the first season of the Vampire Diaries (best trash TV out there), got a new Loyalty Card at Coffee-to-Go, and managed and add a comment in class discussion that my professor replied to with "brilliant."

Now I'm boiling Tesco pasta before I do laundry and spend the evening with a man named Wilkie Collins, I'm sure all the usuals will show up too (i.e. Ghandi, Shakespeare, etc.) I haven't checked the weather for tomorrow yet, but I'm sure it's going to be a great day to spend in the Senate House stacks.

Here's to productivity & relaxing juxtaposed, and as one my dearest friends often quoted on Thursday evenings freshman year, "everything in moderate, including moderation."

xoxo, cheers and love,

So I sort of know someone in the Royal Shakespeare Company.

My beautiful orientation tour guide was in the play I saw tonight. CHECK IT! Dunsinane was the play - it's a quasi-sequel too/work inspired by MacBeth; it's amazing.

My mailbox also featured NOT ONLY a card from my amazing NY Eta sisters *COMMA* BUT ALSO, (I don't think I need to repeat the negation phrase for emphasis, capslock will do) a box from my even more amazing mom. It featured Cherry Lemon Sundrop, 2 bags of Starburst Jellybeans (aka CRACK!), Rolos, Hersey Kisses with Almonds, ALMOND CLUSTERS (aka heroine), a Scrabble card game, Cheerios, TWIZZLERS (any Schrader/friend of the Schraders know a bag of Twizzlers, once opened, lasts for 10 minutes maximum), 100 Calorie packs, and of course my bank statement! (I love you & miss you mom! Thanks! Thanks! Thanks!)

Looks like my work filled weekend is going to be calorically satisfied as well. :))

xoxo & cheers,

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

It was the perfect day.

The Lady Antebellum album remains in my head.

I have a couple amendments to make regarding my York post.
#1: Casey Talbot has other interests besides LOTR. She is a multifaceted and lovely individual, not a dork.
#2: York features a pub of the same chain as The Angel. Although we were introduced to some lovely knights, we decided not to go in because we didn't want to go to a chain. This was a mistake. Breakfast there (a sure, cheap and easy bet at full English breakfast) proved it to be THE gathering place in York. Basically, while consuming huge plates of food, our small two-person table was surrounded by beautiful 20-something men. Not kidding, the ratio was about 20:2 (1:10 if you simplify it).

Today I got to wear my sunglasses again and only a blazer and scarf. I don't have a paper due for a week (drafting tomorrow). It's another party on-excellent kind of day.

xoxo & cheers,

Upside down, bouncing off the ceiling. . .

Today felt like a spring day.

The sun was shining (a rare & special thing) and my coat didn't have to be buttoned. Quite frankly, if I had been returning home before 8pm, I could have gotten away with leaving my dorm at 1 in a blazer and scarf. I even got the opportunity (an even rarer & more special things) of wearing my most favorite sunglasses - circa Blues Brothers, Risky Business, and another of my most favorites, Bob.

I certainly appreciated the sun shining on my back in the stacks. I can't begin to express how much more preferable that is to the sound of wind howling.

Not to mention, I finally got my free coffee latte and croissant from Coffee-to-Go. Talk about a party time-excellent kind of day.

Spent the evening with one of my many men, William Shakespeare, and now its a little after a quarter after one, I'm not all alone, and I need sleep now. (I pushed that pop culture reference, I know. The song's stuck in my head, though.)

xoxo, peace & please,