Lazy Sunday morning/afternoon.
As you can see, my dedication to updating this journal is stellar. Exemplary, if you will.
Don't worry, it's not as if my life is too exciting and jam-packed full of wonderful things that prevent me from finding 5 mins here and there to add a little entry. No... I just don't feel like boring you with the mundane details of my daily existence.
Anyway. Since finishing the thesis, I've been a significantly happier individual. London is nice is the summertime, except for a few days when it was around 85, humid, and generally gross. There's no AC on public transportation, and my apartment has this unique ability to reach a temperature about 10 degrees warmer than it is outside, and then take several hours to cool down once the temperature has dropped, even with open windows and fans. Luckily, I got out of here and went to the seaside for two of the hottest days. Brad and I went to Barcelona for a few days at the end of June, which is an altogether kick-ass city. It might be improved only by eliminating some of the roving packs of American and British twenty year-olds. Cities and beaches make for a nice combination, and Barcelona was such a friendly and laid-back place that I think I'd take it over Paris any day. (Not to mention London.) And since it was my first trip to the Mediterranean, and it was also my first foray into public topless sunbathing, which was strange at first, but now I'm a big proponent of it. There's something very liberating about having your tits out in public and realizing that no one cares enough to stare at them. London, on the other hand -- or at least the neighborhood where I live, which is culturally diverse in a strange sort of way -- has a sort of predatory feel about it: people always seem to be sizing each other up, whether the motive be sexual or otherwise. I almost never go out in a short skirt, or even a low-cut tank top, because I'm sick of unsollicited attention from men who -- coming from countries where women cover their heads, limbs, or entire bodies -- interpret my attempts to keep reasonably cool in the middle of summer as an invitation to commentary and none-too-subtle glances.
Since I'm digressing, I'd like to add that the English have a huge PDA problem. My only complaint about London parks in the summer is that they are full of couples who see them as the perfect place to make out, straddle each other, and even produce a bit of friction. It's basically useless to get up and move to a new spot when a couple of gross, pasty 30 year-olds start eating each others' tongues right next to you, because inevitably another couple will be doing the exact same thing elsewhere. Fucking English people. They can't take your titties out on the beach because that's scandalous, but they don't see any problem with dry-humping with total strangers -- as well as families -- about five feet away.
Okay. Rant over. New topic: still no job, and no certain prospects. This used to be a source of anxiety, but I've decided to chill and not worry about it too much. I'll find a menial way to pay the bills when I get back, and explore my options until something exciting comes along. Very few of my friends here have definite plans for the next year or so of their lives, and the people that do know what they're doing seem to have relatively boring jobs set up, or they're the super-aggressive twaty type that might be making shit up just to get attention. Fuck 'em.
So, graduation is tomorrow, which is just strange. First, because it doesn't seem possible that I could participate in another graduation this soon after the last, and also because it doesn't quite seem to me like I have an MA now. I'm still not sure if I'm going to walk or not -- I was too distracted and lazy to order a cap and gown in advance. I'm going primarily for the free champagne. Art historians really do know how to throw dignified yet sufficiently lubricated parties. I cannot begin to estimate the quantities of free, Courtauld-provided wine that I consumed over the course of 10 months. One last go at the schmoozing and boozing, which I will sincerely miss after tomorrow.
Don't worry, it's not as if my life is too exciting and jam-packed full of wonderful things that prevent me from finding 5 mins here and there to add a little entry. No... I just don't feel like boring you with the mundane details of my daily existence.
Anyway. Since finishing the thesis, I've been a significantly happier individual. London is nice is the summertime, except for a few days when it was around 85, humid, and generally gross. There's no AC on public transportation, and my apartment has this unique ability to reach a temperature about 10 degrees warmer than it is outside, and then take several hours to cool down once the temperature has dropped, even with open windows and fans. Luckily, I got out of here and went to the seaside for two of the hottest days. Brad and I went to Barcelona for a few days at the end of June, which is an altogether kick-ass city. It might be improved only by eliminating some of the roving packs of American and British twenty year-olds. Cities and beaches make for a nice combination, and Barcelona was such a friendly and laid-back place that I think I'd take it over Paris any day. (Not to mention London.) And since it was my first trip to the Mediterranean, and it was also my first foray into public topless sunbathing, which was strange at first, but now I'm a big proponent of it. There's something very liberating about having your tits out in public and realizing that no one cares enough to stare at them. London, on the other hand -- or at least the neighborhood where I live, which is culturally diverse in a strange sort of way -- has a sort of predatory feel about it: people always seem to be sizing each other up, whether the motive be sexual or otherwise. I almost never go out in a short skirt, or even a low-cut tank top, because I'm sick of unsollicited attention from men who -- coming from countries where women cover their heads, limbs, or entire bodies -- interpret my attempts to keep reasonably cool in the middle of summer as an invitation to commentary and none-too-subtle glances.
Since I'm digressing, I'd like to add that the English have a huge PDA problem. My only complaint about London parks in the summer is that they are full of couples who see them as the perfect place to make out, straddle each other, and even produce a bit of friction. It's basically useless to get up and move to a new spot when a couple of gross, pasty 30 year-olds start eating each others' tongues right next to you, because inevitably another couple will be doing the exact same thing elsewhere. Fucking English people. They can't take your titties out on the beach because that's scandalous, but they don't see any problem with dry-humping with total strangers -- as well as families -- about five feet away.
Okay. Rant over. New topic: still no job, and no certain prospects. This used to be a source of anxiety, but I've decided to chill and not worry about it too much. I'll find a menial way to pay the bills when I get back, and explore my options until something exciting comes along. Very few of my friends here have definite plans for the next year or so of their lives, and the people that do know what they're doing seem to have relatively boring jobs set up, or they're the super-aggressive twaty type that might be making shit up just to get attention. Fuck 'em.
So, graduation is tomorrow, which is just strange. First, because it doesn't seem possible that I could participate in another graduation this soon after the last, and also because it doesn't quite seem to me like I have an MA now. I'm still not sure if I'm going to walk or not -- I was too distracted and lazy to order a cap and gown in advance. I'm going primarily for the free champagne. Art historians really do know how to throw dignified yet sufficiently lubricated parties. I cannot begin to estimate the quantities of free, Courtauld-provided wine that I consumed over the course of 10 months. One last go at the schmoozing and boozing, which I will sincerely miss after tomorrow.