thoughts of a female phoenix.

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standing in the cradle of mankind. first wonder of the world.

standing in the cradle of mankind. first wonder of the world.

Can I just say, walking on planes is a god-damn skill? It’s the unassuming love child of acrobatics and racing and what’s really trippy is you’re doing it 600X faster than you are on the ground. 

You’re picturing me bolting to my seat as I avoid knocking down people’s hats (WHO WEARS HATS ON A PLANE?) on my flawless return from the bathroom. Alas grace is not my strong spot. And flawless is definitely not how I would describe it. But as I was walking down the aisle I noticed a couple of things.

1. The bizarre shit that’s happening on other people’s televisions. Like Keanu Reeves lifting up Jack Nicholson while Diane Keaton flips out in a kitchen. Actually I suppose the second part’s pretty normal. For the most part though, you just sit there wondering what kind of cheap bastards would order these ridiculous movies for a 15 hour plane. 

2. What people look like on planes! Really unfortunate. All curled up into tiny balls with a perpetual frown on their face. I mean what kind of crazy lunatic sits there for 15 hours (the flight from JFK to Johannesburg) smiling, as if the world was perfectly fine and dandy and there wasn’t somebody’s arm draped over your leg and someone’s slobbery drool running down your shirt and nowhere to go but the bathroom for social relief? 

I’m glad I sort of had someone to spend the time with. Shoutout to the other Dartmouth student who ended up on the same flight as me! And of course, I had plenty of company from my movies (Strangers on a Train, Life of Pi, Argo, Oz: Great and Powerful)

Anyway, I’m not in Johannesburg. No, my 15 hour flight just began the journey. After that I had a 1 hour layover and another 4 hour flight to my final destination: Nairobi, Kenya. Long story short: I’m here to do an internship with the Africa Refugee Health Program at the CDC. Wish me luck on all my adventures and stay tuned for more!

I’ve got blisters on my feet from all the walking I’ve done today and I still have more walking to go but this was probably the most productive I’ve been in several years. 

This morning I went down to a couple thrift shops by Covent Garden, which were quaint and had a great selection but were a bit too pricey for my student budget so I decided to take a more scenic route around town and get my touristy shenanigans out of the way. So, after stumbling around covent garden and finding “the best espresso in London” (which was decent but rather unremarkable as caffeinated drinks go) at the Caffe Vergnano 1882, I made it all the way to the river Thames! Lucky for me some brilliant architect built a footpath/industrial bridge across the river right before the House of Parliament/Big Ben/London Eye so I was able to snap a glorious pic of me from across the water. 

The highlight of my day was when I got off the bridge and I ran into a bunch of old men and women holding picket signs. When I walked closer to investigate, an old geezer pokes a sign in my face (more like in my general direction but let’s make this as dramatic as it deserves) yelling, “I’m seventy and sexy!” … Noted. I mean, they were all huddled around a sponge cake-athon. There’s nothing more sexy than sponge cakes. 

After racing past Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace (and when I say race, I actually mean race, I ran to each location, took a snappy polaroid, and, fuck balls, this was not fun to do in heeled boots), I finally made it to Euston Square where I had lunch with my friend Cassie for the last time before we part again and meet each other after several years (hey girl hey). All in all, extremely successful day and it’s only just beginning. In a couple minutes, I will be skype-ing in for an interview and after a short nap, back outside to Camden Town! 

Appropriate essay-writing music for a Starbucks on Baker Street. 

Finally arrived in London after a weekend in Wellingborough with some family friends! Highlights of that weekend: good old fashioned Indian food, being told that I look 15 years old by a 9th grader, funky English surnames (i.e. Sidebottom, Peas, Jerck, the list is endless…) But after a great weekend of getting fat and owning it, I’ve finally arrived in London.

Before I get started on letting you know what I’ve been up to here, let us refresh our knowledge of London. Urban Dictionary defines it as

  • "a city in England where foreign bank accounts go to die," (truth) 
  • "new york, tokyo, paris all mixed up and pumped full of steroids," (nyc > london) 
  • metonymically, “London is the United Kingdom in its entirety.” (except for of course scotland, wales and ireland)

Unfortunately, I haven’t been to Tower of London yet, nor have I met any posh-tastic British folk, nor Hugh Grant to my utter dismay but I have been doing some creative stuff with my time. London is an awesome city, it’s too bad that I have essays to write (eek) and only 4 days to spend in this gorgeous place but I think, in some ways, it’s a refreshing sight compared to New York and even Glasgow. The buildings are huge, there is great architecture and the city itself is so spread out and huge. That in itself has its cons, because public transportation here is fucking expensive (like literally £95 30 minute trains during peak time and £8 subway tickets) but it is nice on the one hand to have a subway larger than one roundabout (hey glasgow). Also there’s just so much history everywhere! Just this weekend, I walked past a house with a decrepit old telephone booth in the garden. I wonder if it’s a nostalgic thing but I think it’s interesting that they chose to preserve the iconic telephone booth. 

Anyhow, other than catching up with a bunch of old friends (one from a summer program I did almost 5 years ago!), I went to Stonehenge yesterday! And I know it seems stupid to pay to see an ancient pile of rocks, I thought it was a great thing to be able to check that off my bucket list this early in my life. To be able to see one of the 7 wonders of the ancient world at 20 years old, … priceless.

My friend and I also began the day catching up at a quaint English breakfast place where I discovered what rashers are! (Turkey something, I didn’t pay attention to the rest because it’s not my jam). Anyway, later in the evening, I enjoyed a wonderful night out with my friends. And although I did not perform at Rockaoke night at the pub (where I was drinking water - hi mommy), I did have the distinct pleasure of seeing a William Hung wannabe in action singing Yellow by Coldplay. 

Today morning, I walked around and ran into the Sherlock Holmes museum! I didn’t go in, the entry fee was atrocious for being a 2 floor extravaganza but I did make a quick pitstop at the gift/curio shop. Expect some epic gifts, dear brother. 

But you know, I think after being in London for a bit, I think I prefer Glasgow to London. The city is smaller, the people are chiller and on some level just more simple. Glasgow is a young person’s city but it feels like a city you could grow old in without feeling old. And you know I think I’m going to agree with Nick on this one.

Ugh, okay now I better get back to my essays..


Art and all its questions.. by Maciej Ratajski

[via: sweetstation]

(via thinkwingman)

This is how I spend my afternoons. 

(via dailyotter)

is what I call this box on Tumblr. Here’s a picture to make it meta.

But I know what you’re looking at. It’s the title of my post which is not, Crank Out Post #3 as promised but a cheap joke. You feel duped. Betrayed. Swindled. Flimflammed. Hoodwinked even. You’re thinking you’re Jesus and I’m Judas. 1. That’s delusional, Judas is not a petty tumblr-whore. 2. Sorry I’m not sorry. 

Or maybe you’re not looking at that at all. Maybe you’re checking out the subtle tabs on the picture I posted above. Maybe you’re picking up on the fact that I’m now subtly drawing attention to my search activity. Maybe you’re wondering what I could possibly want that’s mauve colored. Maybe you’re deciding whether you like mauve better than puce. Maybe you’re wondering what the crayon names for those are. Razzmataz and Atomic Tangerine. Maybe you’re feeling guilty that you just took the effort to wiki that. Shameful. Maybe you’re getting tired of all this film-noir bullshit - Get to the point, Lipsa!

London. That was the point. I’m in London!! And after all the shit I just put you through to full up this diablo blanco, I’m just going to make you wait for the next post to find out what I’m doing here. 

Teasers: LSE fraaandz, beefeaters, and an ancient pile of rocks. 

This one’s going to be short and sweet. Got to see the Subways live at O2 ABC Glasgow for free. Epic music scene.

This past two weeks have been kind of a whirlwind. But to avoid increasing the week count, I’m going to crank out like 4 posts in a row. Wooooooo LEGGO

A couple of weeks ago, ages in Scottish time, I went to a play with a bunch of Dartmouth people. Wonderland, an interesting take on the pornography industry, was playing at Tramway theater in Glasgow and for whatever cultural reason he could come up with, my prof thought it would be appropriate for us to go. The play was interesting, it was sort of like a David Lynch film (just saw Mulholland Dr). The story was disjointed but the gist of story was something like: Girl loves sex. Girl becomes porn (or snuff?) star. Crushes Dad’s soul. BUT WAIT PLOT TWIST. Dad’s a porn addict. Dad accidentally kills daughter. Shit this is like a horrible National Enquirer headline. Actually the play wasn’t all bad as that. It was disjointed but artistic and it sort of commented on the nature of the pornography industry itself, its cyclic and haunting nature. I found some great reviews that do it better justice than I can because to me it all seemed rather bizarre but hauntingly beautiful. Actually what I found really interesting is that half the play took place behind a glass screen, sort of like a T.V so it felt like a story within a story, all modeled in a Alice in Wonderland fashion. At one point, a Brazilian online prostitute bares her teeth (in what was supposed to be an alluring way) on the screen, which I thought was the best attempt at a larger than life Cheshire Cat I’d seen. Not that it really follows Alice in Wonderland that much. Needless to say, lots of naked people.

I think I liked the next play, Medea, which we saw at Citizen’s Theater quite a lot more. (trailer) The play was a modern take on Euripides’s Medea but it was really well done for being a modern Greek tragedy. Medea, a recently divorced housewife, begins the play, shattered and angry, vengefully so, at her ex for leaving her for some younger girl (who’s simply just not as psychotic as she is). She has several long, though compelling monologues (tirades) on how it’s so difficult to be a woman in a man’s world but the whole killing off your son and husband’s future bride thing was a little over done, I mean…

It doesn’t exactly fit but you get the idea. I thought it was pretty good, in spite of her being kind of a psychotic character because the acting was pretty brilliant and in any case, Medea’s tragedy is that she can’t get over men which is why she can’t move on. And you know the best thing about tragic characters is that you learn from them. You don’t really want to end up spending your Friday nights with a bottle of tequila posting pictures like this on FB. Or at least I hope you don’t.

Anyway, it’s all kind of on the same vein as Batman, Edmund Dantes, V for Vendetta, all of my favorite movies etc. I’m not really sure what this says about myself. … 

Pithy Highlights:

"I divide all men into three categories : Wankers, Fathers, and Rapists."



"I’m Witching – It’s Like Bitching But Weirder!"

P.S. Like my writing? More literary travesty coming your way.

Disclaimer: I don’t hate men.