Sometimes Inspiration

A few years ago I read a book about writing. In fact, quite enough years have passed (and it was at a time where I was practically inhaling different books on methods of writing) that I have no memory of the name or author of the book, but something I recalled today from that book, was something the author said about how sometimes, seemingly out of nowhere, an idea strikes a writer. He (or she?) called it inspiration, something that just happens to writers (the author then followed up by saying that this is not necessarily a common occurrence in writers and therefore, the best way to produce a flux of ideas was to make a pattern for yourself: writing at the same time daily so your brain knows: now is the time to come up with ideas).

Inspiration does not happen to me often. And even though I semi-regularly sit down to write each night, I often sit there, writing because I know I must, but grimacing at the page, thinking 'Idiot, that line sounded so stupid, you're going to have to go back later and completely revise that entire section.' (Another thing that book--or possibly a different book I read that summer--told me was that you must silence your inner critic to just get everything down on the page, I have as of yet, to learn to silence the critic in my head).

Now, when faced with less than two weeks to write 3 essays (2 of 1,700 words and 1 of 3,000 words) the pressure is on to write, but (in my opinion) the most stressful/difficult form of writing: essay writing.

'But you're an English major!' all my friends protest whenever I groan about it, 'All you people DO is write essays!'

True, but that doesn't mean I enjoy it.

I have a method for essay writing. It comes in stages.

Stage 1: Procrastinate. Television, Doritos, rereading books you know you love,
youtube.com, iwastesomuchtime.com, collegehumor.com. Put off the writing
as long as possible.

Stage 2: Open the word document, adjust the settings to 12 size font (which for some
reason never stays that way. Write name in top right corner. Write a title
if you can come up with one or if professor has provided one. Add page
# to bottom of screen.

Stage 3: Stare blankly at screen. 15-18 min (Itunes playing optional)

Stage 4: More youtube! You deserve a break! 5 min

Stage 5: Begin writing, not your essay, but an angry letter to your professor/TA
about all the reasons you cannot
write this essay and how stressed out you are and all the reasons you are
currently stressed (profanity and emotion encouraged).

Stage 6: As you are writing your angry letter, use specific details about the book
you're supposed to write the essay on about how stupid it is. This will
somehow (about 1/2 to 3/4 of the page down) begin to turn into an idea (ex:
and I don't know how the HELL to write about the oppression of women
expressed through Jane Eyre! The
entrapment of Mrs. Rochester in the attic perfectly exemplifies a physical
entrapment of the female in the nineteenth century, while Jane portrays the
emotional and psychological aspect) This can also lead to a thesis
statement.

Stage 7: Delete the angry letter portion and continue writing off of your idea.
Open your essay like your ENGL 200 professor taught you: with a specific
line showing that you did close reading. Then use an overabundance of
textual support to make it look like you know what the hell you're talking
about.

Stage 8: Finish and proof read. Despair over how horrible it is and the terrible
grade you will receive.

Stage 9: Get A- to A+ on the paper.


Yes, it's a long process, but like I said, it normally works out for me.

Except now, I am in England, and my whole system is out of whack.
Things are different here. For the first time, I am in an upper level course (here it's actually considered to be senior year courses!). They have a completely different citation method (called MHRA which is completely stupid and confusing in regards to footnotes vs bibliography vs in text citations) and I actually have absolutely no expectation of getting a good grade. I have worked hard the past 3 semesters to get straight A's, while I'm here, however, I'm here for the experience. If I leave with C's, I'll be satisfied. Because I've already gotten out of this adventure more than I could have hoped for.

Like yesterday, for example.

Yesterday I went with Don't Be a Tourist to Warwick and Stratford Upon Avon.

We spent around 3 hours in Warwick Castle and it was (I think I can safely say) one of the most beautiful place I have yet been to in my life.
To anybody else, it might seem cool, ok, but nothing fantastic. The reason I enjoyed myself so much was that it inspired me. I mean HELLO it was a literal castle that people once lived in! I was walking through living quarters that Duchesses had stayed in and walking up ramparts and towers and there were peacocks in the gardens and I got to see a catapult shoot a flaming boulder across a field! I saw a vulture, an eagle, a knight, wax figures, and went on the ghost tour.

The trip gave me so many ideas for creative writing and I took so many pictures, my tiny memory card couldn't hold them all, and I had to delete some so that there was space left for Shakespeare's grave.















And here's some of Shakespeare

His grave:


His grammar school:


His Bust by his grave (the only true likeness ever recorded of him, approved by his wife)




I may also add now, that this entire blog post was my attempt at procrastination on writing my essays. However, I do already have one page done of one essay and have a pretty strong thesis (I hope?) for another. So...yeah.

Dinner: a Semi-Success (and a bit of Scotland)

I did it.
For the first time in my life, I cooked myself a real dinner.
SUCCESS!!!

In the wonderfully/magical/super-fantastic package that BZ sent me, I received, not only the salad dressing mix and two kinds of soup (broccoli and alphabet) but also free samples. The samples were two kinds of curry powder and a pizza pasta flavoring powder.

I decided to be brave and give cooking a shot. I bought some broccoli, I bought some carrots, I bought pre-sliced boneless chicken breast, and I walked into that kitchen today, and I cooked!


A minor setback: I didn't exactly know the curry to water ratio, so what ended up happening was that I was essentially boiling my chicken, carrots and broccoli in yellow curry soup. But I just emptied the liquid when it was done and ate the rest as it was and...

and it was fine!

Not delicious, not I MUST have more of this, but definitely something I would be willing to eat again. Especially if I figure out the curry part! But the curry gave the otherwise bland ingredients a nice spice to it. I was thrilled.

There was one point where my condescending, officious neighbor came in. At that point I knew I'd already put way too much water and when she asked me what I was making, I didn't want to tell her. She enjoys trying to make me look stupid with little comments that sound innocuous. So I mumbled something about kind-of frying it, hoping she'd get off my back. "That's not frying, sweetie" she said with her usual snark.
"Ha ha, yeah," I said with a serene smile, flicking her off as she walked out the door.

I did, however, end up frying. The other chicken breast was already defrosted and I didn't want it to go to waste, so I fried it in a different pan and soaked it in lemon juice (yum!! Yes, I'm a lemon addict) and added that to the lettuce, tomatoes, and avocado salad.

Needless to say, that was probably the best meal I've cooked for myself....ever.

I almost wish I'd taken a picture of it. I'm really quite proud of myself.

Another thing that happened while I was making dinner was that I got to talk to one of my other flatmates, Bella.
Yesterday was her birthday and she had her friends come over. Bella is a graduate student and all of her friends are older, male, Nigerian dudes.
I met one such gentleman around the building. He was very nice and very chatty.
Yesterday, coming back from classes, I ran into him and he asked me for my number.
I balked. I do not like giving my phone number to strangers, no matter how kind they are. I averted that by giving my name, telling him to look me up on facebook because I don't use my phone.
And of course, when I walk into the living room last night to say happy birthday, who is there amongst her male friends? Yup! Him.

Another problem of mine, I really really suck at understanding people that speak English with an accent. So I sat on a couch, surrounded by 8 dudes with heavy accents asking me about my life.
I bolted out of there after two minutes, declining offers of drinks.

I locked myself in my room, putting in my earplugs. About an hour later, I heard a knock at my bedroom door.
I knew it was none of my flatmates, they wouldn't come at this time of night. So I knew it was probably this guy. I decided to pretend I was asleep.
You gotta give the guy some credit, he is persistent. He stood there for at least 3 minutes (I checked my clock) knocking on my door every 2 seconds. Eventually, he did quit.

While I was cooking my curry soup, Bella informed me that her friend said he couldn't find me on facebook and if I want, I can give her my email address so he can find me that way. "I think he likes you, but I don't know," she said "he kept asking about you."
"Oh." I said, not sure if it would be polite to say I am certain I don't like him "He seems very nice" I said instead.

Her friends are returning tomorrow (or tonight? She was vague on details) and I'm planning to lock myself in my room and avoid human contact at all costs.



Moving on: SCOTLAND!


(courtesy of Sarah)


Keeping it short: I LOVED Edinburgh!
It was a very walkable city (once I figured out ways to avoid stairs, it's a very steep city and painfully reminds me how out of shape I am).

The highlights:
The castle, which could be seen from my hostel:


The Elephant House cafe where JK Rowling wrote the first few Potter books:





It's also where Sarah and I had dinner the first evening (and it was DELICIOUS)



There was a lot of Harry Potter history there (a school behind the cafe that Hogwarts is based on, a grave in the graveyard nearby with last names of Mcgonagall, Granger and, of course, Thomas Riddell!). Needless to say, I was in nerd heaven.


We also went on a pub crawl with the tour group where an intoxicated Scots man, out with his friends for a stag party, hit on Sarah. It was highly amusing, although I learned that Sarah, apparently, loves random encounters with strangers because she finds them fascinating.

We also climbed up Arthur's Seat (an extinct volcano) the next morning.


It kicked my culo, as it was a very steep climb, but the view from the top was really awesome (especially since it was a beautiful, sunny day).

(*warning to family members: I had on 6 layers! I have not become morbidly obese in the UK...yet*)



I say yet, because after our volcano climb, Sarah and I explored the city, and tried one of Scotland's delicacies: deep fried Mars bar!
"That sounds too disgusting, we have to try it." we agreed.



And of course, it was so incredibly delicious I nearly died right there. It was like a very thin crusted chocolate pancake that dissolved into your mouth. It was a darn near religious experience.
Add to that IRN BRU (pronounced Iron Brew) the soda that is brewed in Scotland (and is the only locally made drink in a country that outsells Coca-Cola) and my life was basically complete. Irn Bru was described as creme soda on crack and bubble gum soda. It also has a mildly addictive chemical in it. SO yeah...Sarah and I ended up trying it and buying 3 bottles of it to bring back to England with us (rest easy though, I found cans of it in my 99p store in Leeds city centre!)

On the ride back, Sarah and I learned that our team (comprising of ourselves and 2 other U.S. guys that used to live in my residence hall in Leeds) had won the Scotland quiz we'd taken on the ride up. We got the prize of Scottish fudge! It was pretty awesome. When we got to Leeds Sarah went to take a picture with our tour guide (a guy that looks kind of like Alonso from Doctor Who, which therefore lead to us referring to him as Alonso amongst ourselves for the entire trip). He assumed we wanted a picture with him because we'd won the quiz (although I would've been pleased just to have a picture of him because he's hot) and I was dragged into the picture too while our other tour guide took the photo.


(courtesy of Sarah)



Sarah stayed in Leeds and I got to show her around campus and city centre and showed her the best part of our city:




That's it. Sorry for it's length, just catching up on things (and using this as a vent for anxieties I have nobody to share with).
=)

Me Speak Spanish Pretty

There is a Spanish International Student in my Shakespeare class. And I have come to love and dread talking to her.
I love hearing somebody speak Spanish. It's weird, I didn't even realise I missed hearing it. I dread sometimes having to have a conversation since I am not 100% fluent and to be honest, I sometimes completely don't understand things she says. She speaks rapidly and I get the gist of most of it.

Another thing that talking to Paula makes me note is how beautiful the language is.
Without even realising it, I had come to think of Spanish as an unattractive sounding language. Maybe it's the slight hostility (racism? What's racism for ethnicities?) in the US towards Latino people, the way white people use Spanish, purposefully mispronouncing words, like O'Rielly on Jon Stewart's show a few months ago saying "Simpatico?" (the implication of stupidity, and sort of like when people use "That's gay" to mean "that's stupid/dumb/bad", I see white men using Spanish to imply negativity or stupidity).
That rambling had a point: somewhere along the way, I'd come to think Spanish was an ugly language. I wasn't even cognitive of this until I had been deprived of Spanish by removing to England, the country with the lowest number (read: non existent) of Latinos.
Hearing Paula speak, it was like a relief. I listened, hearing her form sentences in a language that took on a new charm for me. It's a flowing, somewhat poetic language. And as we laughed, abusing our rubbish TA, Spanish seemed the only language that could quite capture our delight.

Spanish is beautiful.

And I received a great surprise yesterday when I heard her say "Coňo".
As all my Cubans (and Puerto Ricans) will know, Coňo serves as an all purpose swear word.
Mexicans, Gautamalans, Nicaraguans, basically, all other Latino groups I have met except Puerto Ricans always start at hearing it.
"What does that mean?" they chortle "Con-yo! You sound Chinese!"

Imagine my delight to see another Hispanic person to use a word that I thought unique to Cubans and Puerto Ricans. Good times.


Last weekend, I went on a day trip to the Lake District.
I'd read in various Brit Lit books of it's beauty and was very excited about it.
After a 2 hour bus ride, we arrived:
it was cold, there was snow on the ground and fog so dense, you couldn't see the other side of the lake.

We (the Grayson Heights troop) went through town, found a nice Turkish Tea Shop and the woman who worked there gave us maps for the hiking paths in the hills surrounding the lakes.

Yeah. I went hiking. Thank god I'd finally bought some wellies the night before!

Despite the fact that I was slow moving and out of breath as we trekked up the never ending hills, it provided some really beautiful views and we got to take a ferry across one of the lakes for 50p.









We went walking around the town of Windermere and stopped at a restaurant for lunch, where Sarah (an Australian undergrad that lives in Grayson) was asked if she'd like her toast regular or fried. When she inquired as to what 'fried' meant, the waitress sighed as if this were the dumbest question she'd ever heard and retorted "It's bread fried on the stove in fat!"

Sarah went with regular.

Windermere also had an awesome cake shop with cakes in the shapes of a castle and one that reminded me of the Diaroma Diaroma from the ever funny show, Community.

Pizza with a side of Embarrassment

Tonight my dorm had a pizza party as a 'get to know your neighbors' event.
I went down, plate in hand, ready for some good old fashioned (and might I add free) pepperoni.
The pizza was late.
Not so horrible, I socialized, met some new people (and was surprised by the large number of children that reside in the dorm.) I mostly hung out with the people I've already met and hung out with.

The pizza arrived, delivered by a hot pizza guy (seriously--WHY are all the guys in England so attractive?) and to my...dismay? Surprise? Shock?
Let's go with surprise.
To my surprise, these were no mere common pizzas. Nay! Grayson Heights is far too posh for a simple pepperoni and cheese. We had peppers and pepperoni, eggplant and feta cheese and sausage, chicken and pineapple.
To my delight, however, the pizza was actually pretty good. And I got to spend some time talking to some other people about Harry Potter, Doctor Who, South Park, Jersey Shore and Hoarders.
Always a good time when you're talking about television.

The slightly embarrassing part of the evening was when the drinks arrived: glass bottled Coca-Colas.
Delicious? Yes. Awesome? Obviously. The problem: they require a bottle opener.

Anyone who knows me, knows I'm not a big drinker. Alcohol has never really been my thing. So while I'm here (and it's legal) I think I've probably had 2 drinks.
At home, I don't drink much either.
What all this comes down to, is that I'm not very familiar with drinking culture and I don't know names of different kinds of drinks and I don't know how to open a beer with a bottle opener, because I've never done it before.

Well...the dutch guy had a bottle opener.
And though I protested, the group gathered around me to watch me struggle for two minutes as I tried to pry the damn lid off the top of the Coke bottle.
Lack of familiarity with bottle openers and my low upper arm strength made it a tad embarrassing. Once I finally managed to pry the top off, my flatmate said condescendingly, "Congratulations, you're an adult."
I laughed, pretending I was jokingly British as I responded "Sod off."


A good meal is nice, a free meal is better. And I had a nice pizza night, despite the little set back.

It's Rainin' Men! Hot, British Men

By nature, I am a hermit.
While others adventurously seek the outdoors and explore their surroundings when they're in new places, I like to find a nice, cozy, warm, indoor place where I can hole up and read, watch TV, write, rub gunk out of my eyes or sing and dance without having anyone notice me.
Being out in the world makes me uncomfortable, because the other human life forms can see me, and I'm pretty sure they can tell I'm not one of their own. I have a tendency to look stupid due to my shyness and often mishear what people say which leads to me looking even more of a weird idiot.

Days like today, however, remind me of how much I sometimes enjoy being out in the middle of things.
Although it's my day off, I went out to the grocery store (because after my weekend away, the only food I had left was peanut butter, jelly, Cheerios and milk).
After returning to Grayson Heights, I ventured out again to the City Centre to buy my train tickets for upcoming travel. I normally enjoy this a lot because every time I've gone to the train station to buy tickets, I've been helped by the same woman behind the desk, and she is always cheerful and kind and makes me feel at ease (that may also have to do with her telling me that she's a Doctor Who fan).
Today, though, I got one of those worker drones, so angry to be doing their job that they treat you as if you're inconveniencing them by requiring them to...you know...do the job they're being paid for.

It was with this unpleasant woman that I got my card rejected for the second time today (it was also rejected at the Grocery store but I assumed it had meant that their machines didn't read cards that weren't chip & pin, not an actual problem with my card).
Embarrassed, I quickly charged it, not bothering to buy the 2 other tickets I need for my March 2nd trip to London. I then left hastily.

Walking back to the bus stop, I gazed around at the buildings that I passed, the smashed in screen of the National Bank of Scotland ATM, the old, stone buildings, and a smile came to my lips. I was casually walking down a beautiful street in England, by myself, knowing exactly where I was going, surrounded by the hurried voices of British people. I felt adult (although I was aware that 'feeling' adult means you're not really one yet). I thought back to five years ago, and how I never could have imagined that I would ever be in England, walking down a street, by myself. Despite my social awkwardness, I really enjoy being out in the City Centre, taking in all the sights.
It reminds me why I'm happy to be here, and it usually brings an uncontrollable smile to my face.



Another bonus: Leeds' city streets are FULL of hot men. They must put something in the water here because the number of attractive men is just over whelming. I fall in love multiple times daily with numerous men. They're hot, well dressed and have fantastic accents, it is so wonderful, and also makes me realise how deprived I've been at the University of Illinois and the United States in general.

My opinion? Send our children to grow up here so they can grow up to be attractive (it must be something they do here to make the vast majority so fine) and then ship them back to the US once they're 18.


In other news, my Chinese flatmates (yes, I still don't know their names, I'm a horrible person) made me and my other flatmates dinner last night.
I was wary, considering how much our kitchen smells of spices.
They made dumplings and had vinegar dipping sauce and curry with a variety of vegetables. It was so good. Spicy, yes, but also really, really delicious, and, the first home cooked meal I've had in my dorm.
We all sat and ate together, 2 from China, 1 from Ethiopia, 1 from Canada, and me, the US/Cuban representative. We laughed and ate and I was pleasantly surprised by the good time we had.

The Hippo, the Turtle & The Trumpet

I just got back from my weekend visit to University of East Anglia in Norwich, where my friend, Sarah, is studying this semester.

I learned, while visiting, to be ashamed of my negligence in the writing of my blog (although to be fair, I'd be willing to bet money that Sarah is the only one reading this). But the most valuable thing I learned was to be appreciative of Grayson Heights.
Because UEA's dorms are GHETTO! Like: kitchen is crammed full of dirty dishes and empty beer bottles with no oven and one burner on the 'stove' (can you call it a stove, really?) isn't functioning (let's not forget the ONE fridge for 14 people), the toilets take five minutes of flushing to actually do their job and they have no overhead lights in their rooms, ghetto.

Comparatively (chicken bones and spicy scented kitchen aside) Grayson Heights is a haven of wonders, where I have not one, but TWO overhead lights, control of heat in my room, a living room in my flat, 4 toilets and 2 showers for 5 people and almost an overabundance of cupboard space.

The other thing about UEA (and Norwich, for the matter) is, it's gorgeous.
My first day there, Sarah and I went walking around the lake that's behind her dorm. It was so picturesque, I felt like I was walking through a scene of The Secret Garden or some fantasy novel. Addicted to taking photos as I am, I stopped nearly every two seconds because I was overcome with awe of a fallen over tree or a small dock near the lake.



The second day, we went to Norwich City Centre and walked around, popping into the sweet shop, antique bookstores, roaming around the Roman Market and (best of all) spent obscene amounts of time in possibly the best store in the whole world:

If I were a junkie, and TV were a drug, the best description of my time in The Television and Movie store would be to call it an overdose.
It was AMAZING! Doctor Who paraphernalia was
everywhere: old series, current ones, cut outs of Amy, the Doctor, the TARDIS (I spent much time trying to figure out how I could ship it home), action figures, TARDIS pens, posters, and other TV shows as well....it was what I imagine heaven would be like if I were more religiously inclined.

Norwich also has a Cuban restaurant called Revolucion de Cuba, for which, the city got my Cuban stamp of approval.

It then proceeded to snow, and people quickly bundled up and spent the day outside playing, building snowmen, cross country skiing and hurling snowballs at each other (unsuccessfully) and at one guy's open window (successfully). If you know me, you can guess where I was through all this: yep! Sitting in Sarah's room, as far from the cold as I could be.
The group of snow frolicking students were cheering and one guy had a trumpet he was blowing, a call to arms for the rest of the inhabitants of the dorm to come join their fun. I had plenty of fun watching trumpet guy, and one guy inexplicably in a Santa footie pajama--he was one of 3 people I saw at UEA in footie pajamas, one as a dog and another as a bear (I'm guessing the animals they were supposed to be).

Much of our time was spent in Sarah's room, watching Sherlock, singing along with our good friends Captain Hammer and Dr. Horrible, laughing and gasping at Cartman of South Park, introducing me to the ever so impressive Indiana Jones and despairing over how long we'd have to wait for Sherlock to come back.
Sarah apologised a lot about how "boring" it was.
She must think I'm some kind of grand adventurer or something, because I was not bored this past weekend. In fact, it was probably what I'd consider an excellent time.
Watching and talking about television is probably the best of times for me, although I do concede that for normal human beings, it might not be considered a blast.

Another reason I enjoy hanging out with Sarah, is that her interests are so very similar to mine that I sort of regain my passion for things like writing and TV and my future. I can share my worries about Grad school and discuss the different thoughts about script writing and the film industry; and Sarah's passion and delight in shows like Sherlock reminds me to appreciate them too. Being able to talk to someone that has the same interests as me makes me more excited for my future.

One of the weirder parts of the trip was a dream I had Saturday night.
I dreamt that I was in my grandmother's house, and out of her bathtub drain came a baby hippo and, shortly after it, a baby turtle.
I called my Dad and BZ in to come see. They were overjoyed at seeing the adorable baby hippo, and sat by the bathtub that was not full of water and began to play with it.
Although I actually find hippos adorable (and this one was no exception) I was immensely anxious in the dream, warning them
"Be careful! In Africa, more people are killed by Hippos than they are by Lions!"
They just laughed it off and continued to play with the baby hippo.
I then noticed the baby turtle, which had been resting on the edge of the tub, had plopped itself into the water as well.
I snatched it up out of the water quickly, certain the hippo would have crushed it in it's jaws, "They're very territorial," I said, by way of explanation to my Dad.
"They can open their jaws very wide and really hurt you," I said, "so be careful!"
"Really?" BZ asked, playfully placing her fingers in the Hippo's mouth, much to my unease.
I placed the turtle into the sink, pulling the drain shut so it could sit in water. I realised there was too much water in it, it looked like the turtle would drown, so I pulled the drain plug and the turtle magically lost his shell and disappeared down the drain.
"You killed it!" one of my family members averred. I felt tremendously guilty.



Most of the time, I can try to derive some meaning from even my most random dreams, but this one, was just completely bizarre and seemed to have to purpose. Although it did lead to some online research about turtle shells. LOL.


Overall though, I'd say it was a successful, fun trip. I'm excited to do more.