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Where Seldom is Heard a Discouraging Word
Sep. 20th, 2006 12:04 amI miss fruits and vegetables in a way I can't describe. This may be largely an effect of how often I've eaten out in the past week; however, I am prepared to blame it on England. It's not that England has restricted my access to produce; quite the opposite. However, England itself has made a starch-and-protein-based diet necessary.
You need something heavy to face the rigors of a day here - lots of walking, lots of staircases, long breaks between mealtimes, lots of cold and damp. And I can't afford to eat much here; my school is in a fashionable part of town, and restaurant prices would be steep even if they weren't in pounds. I don't know that a stir fry could get me through all that - it really does take tea, egg, chicken, sausages, cheese, fish, fried potato - hopefully all at once, with some mushrooms and a tomato.
Nothing else would be stout enough. French steak and fries or Indian curry could try, but they are insufficiently fortifying psychologically in a place with such cloudy, bleaching light. It does strange things to color. Bright hues struggle as though the painter didn't mix the base right. This despite the populace's clear interest in them - bright colors everywhere, on everything and everyone. I appreciate the effort, but it depresses me; I know what color is supposed to look like. (I despair of learning color timing in this climate.)
I sound miserable, but I'm not. There's a lot to like about London. The tapwater here is excellent; I don't know why anybody drinks bottled. That may seem like faint praise for a city - the water is excellent - but I adore water. Aside from that, people - average people - have more fun with how they dress, a better fit and more variation. More style, and more ownership of that style. Also, instead of bringing catsup and mustard to the table, they pair ketchup with brown sauce (which is savory instead of tart). Instead of wheat bread, they call it "brown bread." I may not always like the color brown, but I love the word; this tends to hold true across languages. The city itself is always busy, and full of people. It's wonderful.
A couple of people here have asked me whether I'm homesick, and when I've said "no" have tried to reassure me that I'll adapt, and anyway will be home soon.
I'm already being called "the Texan," as predicted. Everyone is very excited to have a Texan (perhaps especially the Americans). It's nice to know that Texas has not lost its international cachet - I'd been a little afraid that Bush had tarnished its reputation abroad. Nope. It's universally understood that all Texans are eccentric, outgoing loners, who do not actually agree with any other Texans.
I don't know where to start when talking about the film school. This is an irregular week, and I've met dozens of people. I'm not sure what it common yet, what is signal. So far, it's been intense and boring - lots of introductions, lots I have to know, nothing I care about. Soon it will be film school, but for now, it's just school - one large group and a week of lectures. I'm terrible at school school - or at least it makes me feel terrible. Classes always go at a slower pace than I want them to, so I talk to speed things up. I try to anticipate what the teacher is going to say and say it concisely before he can say it long-windedly; I answer questions quickly and fully to preempt wrong or slow answers from other students; I jump ahead in the lecture (or even the term) with questions about minutiae - anything to get past the big-picture broad-brush stuff that I instantly know without being told. Still it is too slow.
And then I remember, too late, that other people must not already know; other people must not be so fast, or the explanations wouldn't be necessary. The questions aren't to enlighten the question, or to check whether we already know; they're to let the other people in the class discover the knowledge themselves, so that it will be more concrete for them.
I feel awful for stealing from the slow people, who need the teacher more than I do. I always worry that they'll hate me, or fear me. But if I'm quiet, if I let things continue apace, I get so bored I fall asleep; if I go at their speed, I don't get anywhere. So whatever I do, I feel like an ass. I have a long history of cutting classes for this reason.
Everyone at the film school assures me that they don't mind - that they're bored by basic lectures too, or relieved that someone's so detail oriented, which is sure to come in handy. However, anyone who disliked me would be unlikely to tell me so - wouldn't want to talk to me to tell me. I'll be relieved when we split into units at the end of the week, sub classes of five to six people. It's one of the reasons I came here.
I hate going slow.
Nevertheless, I have made a great many friends very quickly, and I'm excited about what's coming.
You need something heavy to face the rigors of a day here - lots of walking, lots of staircases, long breaks between mealtimes, lots of cold and damp. And I can't afford to eat much here; my school is in a fashionable part of town, and restaurant prices would be steep even if they weren't in pounds. I don't know that a stir fry could get me through all that - it really does take tea, egg, chicken, sausages, cheese, fish, fried potato - hopefully all at once, with some mushrooms and a tomato.
Nothing else would be stout enough. French steak and fries or Indian curry could try, but they are insufficiently fortifying psychologically in a place with such cloudy, bleaching light. It does strange things to color. Bright hues struggle as though the painter didn't mix the base right. This despite the populace's clear interest in them - bright colors everywhere, on everything and everyone. I appreciate the effort, but it depresses me; I know what color is supposed to look like. (I despair of learning color timing in this climate.)
I sound miserable, but I'm not. There's a lot to like about London. The tapwater here is excellent; I don't know why anybody drinks bottled. That may seem like faint praise for a city - the water is excellent - but I adore water. Aside from that, people - average people - have more fun with how they dress, a better fit and more variation. More style, and more ownership of that style. Also, instead of bringing catsup and mustard to the table, they pair ketchup with brown sauce (which is savory instead of tart). Instead of wheat bread, they call it "brown bread." I may not always like the color brown, but I love the word; this tends to hold true across languages. The city itself is always busy, and full of people. It's wonderful.
A couple of people here have asked me whether I'm homesick, and when I've said "no" have tried to reassure me that I'll adapt, and anyway will be home soon.
I'm already being called "the Texan," as predicted. Everyone is very excited to have a Texan (perhaps especially the Americans). It's nice to know that Texas has not lost its international cachet - I'd been a little afraid that Bush had tarnished its reputation abroad. Nope. It's universally understood that all Texans are eccentric, outgoing loners, who do not actually agree with any other Texans.
I don't know where to start when talking about the film school. This is an irregular week, and I've met dozens of people. I'm not sure what it common yet, what is signal. So far, it's been intense and boring - lots of introductions, lots I have to know, nothing I care about. Soon it will be film school, but for now, it's just school - one large group and a week of lectures. I'm terrible at school school - or at least it makes me feel terrible. Classes always go at a slower pace than I want them to, so I talk to speed things up. I try to anticipate what the teacher is going to say and say it concisely before he can say it long-windedly; I answer questions quickly and fully to preempt wrong or slow answers from other students; I jump ahead in the lecture (or even the term) with questions about minutiae - anything to get past the big-picture broad-brush stuff that I instantly know without being told. Still it is too slow.
And then I remember, too late, that other people must not already know; other people must not be so fast, or the explanations wouldn't be necessary. The questions aren't to enlighten the question, or to check whether we already know; they're to let the other people in the class discover the knowledge themselves, so that it will be more concrete for them.
I feel awful for stealing from the slow people, who need the teacher more than I do. I always worry that they'll hate me, or fear me. But if I'm quiet, if I let things continue apace, I get so bored I fall asleep; if I go at their speed, I don't get anywhere. So whatever I do, I feel like an ass. I have a long history of cutting classes for this reason.
Everyone at the film school assures me that they don't mind - that they're bored by basic lectures too, or relieved that someone's so detail oriented, which is sure to come in handy. However, anyone who disliked me would be unlikely to tell me so - wouldn't want to talk to me to tell me. I'll be relieved when we split into units at the end of the week, sub classes of five to six people. It's one of the reasons I came here.
I hate going slow.
Nevertheless, I have made a great many friends very quickly, and I'm excited about what's coming.
