The Next Crazy Venture Beneath The Skies

The End

2007-12-17T07:16:00.000-08:00

Dear Everyone,

I hereby announce my official retirement from the blogging industry. It's been a good ride. All 20 or so of my blogs were very special to me and will always be remembered for the next couple weeks or so. After that, I'm sure I will forget them. I have arrived home safe and sound. The journey was terrible as usual. I will not go into detail but I will tell you it involved 3 planes, a non-functioning in-flight entertainment system, broken/lost luggage, and lots of running. In a way I suppose it was a fitting end to my trip. Thank you to everyone who sent me letters during my stay or who read/commented on this blog as well. You are good people. Well, as much fun as I had abroad, it sure is good to be back in America! Now if you will excuse me, there is a hot dog and some french fries waiting for me...

Day 1: Take Off (Sort of)

2007-12-14T00:43:00.000-08:00

In less than an hour a taxi will come to take me to the bus station (hopefully)
At 10:30am my bus will make a 3hour journey to Heathrow Airport (hopefully)
I will then check into my hotel (if all goes well)
The next morning my flight to DC leaves promptly at 11am (one can only hope)
From DC I fly to Charlotte, NC (granting I make my connection in time)
Then I hop on a plane to Norfolk (fingers crossed)
Finally my family picks me up from the airport and drives me home (if they remember)

...I see a lot of potential for mishaps here.

Day 2: Goodbye Bham

2007-12-13T17:03:00.000-08:00

I have a weird feeling in my stomach. I believe it is sadness. I spent all day sleeping and procrastinating, and then all evening packing. Then I had dinner with some of my close friends and we just hung out for a while and took silly Polaroid pictures and watched The Office and they made me cards which were very sweet. It's weird, because although part of me loathes my suffocating cubicle room and dimly lit flat, the other part of me will really miss it because it has, after all, been my home for the past few months. And seeing as it costs money to go out, I've spent a lot of time hanging out with friends in here. All of us foreigners have really bonded as a strange dysfunctional family, and I will really really miss eating with them and having tea and laughing when they get excited over learning a new English phrase. My time in England has been eventful to say the least. There have been good times and bad times, but the good far outweigh the bad, and soon all the negative things will become laughable. It is very late now, and I need to get to sleep because tomorrow morning I begin my journey home, and knowing me it will be nothing short of an epidemic...

Day 3: Meredith on Ice

2007-12-12T15:54:00.000-08:00

In celebration of our freedom, a few friends and I went ice skating this evening. The rink was outdoors in the middle of downtown Birmingham, which means tons of people lined the outside of the rink, ready to point and laugh at those who fell. And lots of people fell. And I was amongst them. Actually, I made it through most of the night without falling. This was primarily due to the fact that I never strayed more than an arm's length away from the wall for the majority of the time. Sadly, I was actually holding onto the wall when I fell. It was embarrassing and borderline tragic. I didn't let go of the wall as I fell, which was probably a bad idea because I think my arm popped out of its socket. But overall it was an extremely fun (and FREEZING COLD) night. And to top it off, I was able to document it:

(Eniko, Francesca, Michela, and Claire are pumped for ice skating!)

(Slow and steady wins the race)

(our friend Nathan showed up, a local Brummie and a skating whiz kid)

(I finally let go of the wall! Clearly I am petrified)

(The Italians and Claire put on a post-skating skit)

(our train back to campus was delayed 30mins and we froze waiting for it. I am actually still frozen now. In fact I am dictating this type to a scribe because a frozen person cannot move their fingers. This picture is a visual representation of our breaths in the cold)

Tomorrow is my last day in Birmingham. Unfortunately a category 5 hurricane swept through my room recently, and now I have to spend the entire day packing up the aftermath. Thanks a lot, Mother Nature.

Day 4: I Ate Too Much

2007-12-11T16:52:00.000-08:00

Things I ate today and the order in which I ate them:
cereal (Frosted Flakes, or "Frosties" as they are called here)
clementine
apple
more Frosties
cheese (just a hunk of cheddar)
chicken
potatoes
carrots
brussel sprouts
Yorkshire Pudding (not actually pudding, by the way)
sausage wrapped in bacon (delicious)
ice cream
Mystery Pudding (also delicious, also not actually pudding)
Christmas Pudding (poison dressed up in a fancy name...and nowhere near actual pudding)
even more Frosties (to get the taste of Christmas Pudding out of my mouth)

The reason for the binge eating was a Christmas Dinner cooked by some of the English people in our building. We put 4 tables together in the hall of our apartment building and feasted. As is evident by my list, some food tasted delicious and some made me want to die. Really it was just the Christmas Pudding that made me want to die. It looked so brown and delicious, like a little dome of chocolate bliss, and that name! So enticing! But I soon (and tragically) found out that Christmas Pudding is some horrible, horrible take on Fruitcake. The brown color comes from the poo they most likely mixed in it. Because that is what it tasted like. Poo.

Day 5: Erin

2007-12-10T16:19:00.000-08:00

I bet you didn't think I'd actually name my blog after you, did you? Well, kiddo, that's the last time you underestimate me!

Meanwhile...today I had an in-class essay test for European Economic Issues. What kind of issues do Europeans have? Tons! First of all, they smoke too much. Secondly, they never got the memo that mullets and David Hasselhoff are NOT cool. All right, I'll admit David Hasselhoff is pretty cool, but mullets? In your dreams, Europe. Economically speaking, Europeans farm too much. That's about it. That's what I wrote my essay on. They squeeze too much milk out of their cows' udders and harvest too many sugar beats. How tragic. I guess in the past they've had a rough time of it: wars, genocide, evil mustachioed dictators and all. But I find it hard to feel sorry for an economic community whose currency can buy SO much more than the dollar. Maybe I'm a little resentful. Maybe if my bank account didn't pull a disappearing act on me over here in Europe I'd be a little more sympathetic.

But probably not. Because I was kidding before...David Hasselhoff is definitely NOT cool.

Day 6: GO PATS!!

2007-12-09T15:03:00.000-08:00

It is really a pain to watch football via the internet. Sure you can get the scores, the stats, and a tiny animated picture of a football being thrown up and down the field, but you have no idea what the tone of the game is. You can't see how tired one team looks, how close the field goal was to going in, the evil glares exchanged at the line of scrimmage, and my favorite part of the game: ridiculous end zone dances. Sometimes I imagine what my end zone dance would be like if I were a football star. It would definitely involve flapping imaginary chicken wings and "shaking my tail feathers." I sometimes even throw in a standing flip for fun. I know doing a flip is unrealistic because I'd get penalized for excessive celebration, but the possibility of me being a football star is probably unrealistic as well, so why not dream...

...back to reality...Yesterday I set a goal for myself: to finish a first draft of my essay. And who could've guessed that I'd actually achieve that goal? Not me, that's for sure. I spent the entire day working on that sucker. I was the epitome of a crazed author: my hair was dirty and unkempt, I was wearing sweatpants all day, pacing back and forth in my room, shaking my fist in the air and silently cursing Ernest Hemingway for making my life so difficult. I consumed nothing but copious amounts of tea and clementines, and by 2am the storm had passed. I did not leave my tiny cubicle of a room the entire day, save to go to the kitchen to get more tea and clementines, and consequently to the bathroom to pass the all the tea through my system. As I lay in bed, I felt completely physically exhausted, like I just gave birth. But instead of baring a live human being, I bore a six page, weakly supported essay on post wwi disillusionment. If child birth is half as painful as writing that essay, I'm totally adopting.

Patriots update: Wes Welker just scored a touchdown. I wonder what his end zone dance looked like...

It's The Final Countdown (The 7 Days of Meredith)

2007-12-08T04:06:00.000-08:00

In keeping with the holiday spirit, as well as in honor of my last week in Birmingham, I've decided to create 7 posts in 7 days. Like the 12 days of Christmas or the 8 days of Hanukkah: the 7 days of Meredith. I like the way that sounds. A national holiday dedicated to me...

Day 7:
Today I woke up and it was not raining. Cool! I went to the bathroom for my morning pee and came back to my room and it was raining. Uncool! Now I'm debating whether or not to go back to bed...it is 12:13pm.

My goal for the day is to finish the rough draft of my second essay (about Ernest Hemingway and John Glassco and the 1920s and post-world war one disillusionment) You will all be happy to know I FINALLY finished my Islam essay. You will all be unhappy to know that a portion of my soul was destroyed in the process. Let's hope I have to sacrifice less of myself to write this one. Generally, I have no problem writing English-type essays. The only thing that annoys me is when teachers expect you to extract meaning from every word, comma, and indentation in the book. I know Hemingway was a "genius" and all, but think about it: the man had a family history of mental illness, was mentally disturbed himself after participating in the War, and also was an alcoholic. So you really think he wrote all those fragments for a reason? You can't chalk at least a few of them up to one bottle of whiskey too many? Let's be realistic.

Here's to hoping my last week in Europe is one filled with joy, laughter, merriment, and no soul destruction!

Phew! For a Moment There I Thought I Actually Liked the All-American Rejects...

2007-12-01T14:17:00.000-08:00

You can learn a lot about yourself by procrastinating. The key to procrastination is to think about anything EXCEPT the work you have to do. My favorite subject of thought is myself. I like to explore the depths of my soul and get in touch with my innermost feelings. Usually this consists of listing my favorite movies (Almost Famous, Good Will Hunting, Forrest Gump, Better off Dead, and A Hard Day's Night, in that order) or debating whether I like giant chocolate chip cookies better than cereal (still on the fence about that one).
My latest obstacle on the journey of self-discovery is to figure out my favorite songs, perhaps the most telling insight into a human's soul. Needless to say, this is no easy task. I'd almost rather finish my Islam essay (hah!). To aid myself in this mission, I have been scouring YouTube in search of songs I once loved but have since forgotten about. I have, as usual, discovered many things about myself in the process...

Pleasant Discoveries:
--I could probably listen to the first 52 seconds of Led Zeppelin's "Over the Hills and Far Away" on repeat until the end of time.
--I un-ironically love Rooney. I don't care that they "sold out" by performing on the OC or that the lead singer starred in the ultra-cheesy Princess Diaries Movie (which I also un-ironically love, by the way). They are the happiest band since the Beatles and I love them.

Mildly Amusing Discoveries:
--The average IQ of the people who comment on YouTube videos ranks somewhere between 0 and .0001. I know that doesn't have anything to do with me, but still, those comments are ridiculous...

Discoveries that Make Me Uncomfortable:
--After watching the music video of Billy Joel's "Goodnight Saigon" one or two (or twelve) times, I feel an irrational emotional connection to the Vietnam War. Which leads me to believe that in a past life I was either a soldier slain in the war or --worse-- Billy Joel. "But wait, " you may say, "Billy Joel is still alive." I know, it's weird...
--I've become oddly attracted to David Bowie in the music video for his best song, the epic "Life on Mars?" The song itself is soul-crushingly awesome, but keep in mind this is Bowie in his androgynous "Ziggy Stardust" phase, complete with blue eyeshadow and a bright red mullet. Again, it's weird, I know.

Discoveries that Terrify Me and Make Me Question My Worth as a Human Being:
--I think I really like the Nickelback song, "Rockstar." Now, you must understand that I despise Nickelback. I've always been a strong advocate of the theory that God put Nickelback on Earth to punish the human race for Adam's transgressions in the Garden of Eden. Harsh? Yes. But I really hate Nickelback. I don't know what to make of this...
--I like the All-American Rejects? I revisited their old hit song, "Swing, Swing" and found myself enjoying the listening experience. I was actually ENJOYING listening to what could be Earth's most annoyingly whiny band. Then I listened to their song, "Move Along" and kind of liked it as well. Could I actually like this band? This is when I nearly went into identity crisis mode. Luckily I then listened to their song, "Dirty Little Secret." It was so repulsive I threw up a little bit in my mouth. I then skipped to the bathroom to brush the vomit off my teeth, overjoyed with the knowledge that I am not a completely terrible person.

After looking back on my journey I have come to the following ultimate conclusions:
--I spend too much time on YouTube
--I have yet to decide what my favorite songs are
--I am extraordinarily egocentric
--I still have 3 essays to finish

...but at least I don't like the All-American Rejects.

My Actual Thanksgiving

2007-11-25T04:54:00.000-08:00

Last time I posted I was too lazy to talk about my own holiday experiences, so I detailed the Thanksgiving of two unfortunate turkeys. Now I will tell you a true Thanksgiving story. (not to say the previous one was untrue, there is probably a good chance it happened)

Thursday morning I awoke with a grin because the greatest day of the year had arrived, The Day of Gluttony and the Great Feast! I spent the previous two days with my American friend Melissa scouring British markets and grocery stores for Thanksgiving foods, and ended up finding enough to make a small feast for 20 or so of our fellow exchange students, none of whom had ever really heard of Thanksgiving before. The only one who knew anything was my roommate from Hong Kong who said they play the Macy's parade on TV, and she just thought it was weird that we let turkeys walk down the street.
I went for a run that morning to ease some of the guilt I would feel for gorging myself into oblivion later that evening. I ran for 30 minutes and called it a day. Then I showered and got dressed and walked into the little town of Harborne to mail some postcards and letters and to buy a loaf of bread for the dinner. I was paranoid that we wouldn't have enough food for 20 people, so I figured if I tricked them into eating lots of bread, they would be too full to notice a lack of real food. When I came back to my flat I had a horrible realization: I had to go to class.

Never in my life have I ever gone to school on the sacred day of Thanksgiving. I didn't really feel I could skip the class, however, seeing as I only have it once a week. Also, my professor, Toby Kendall, is really weird and goofy looking and sometimes he comes in wearing a sweater over a t-shirt and when he gets all worked up about International Trade Theory he starts to sweat and takes off his sweater and then some guy in the class always wolf-whistles at him, which makes Toby very embarrassed and then he starts to stutter and I crack up. I wasn't willing to miss a chance to see Toby get all flustered, so off to class I went. To my dismay Toby kept his cool for most of the class. There were some noisy kids outside the auditorium and for some reason Toby couldn't concentrate with them laughing in the background, so he kept losing his train of thought and then would nervously go out and ask them to be quiet. What a man. Sometime soon I will try to sneak a picture of this fellow during class and post it here.

Anyways, soon enough class was over and I headed back to the flat where I put on the Indian headband I made in preparation for this night and when down to Melissa's flat to help cook. By help cook I really mean peel a lot of stuff. I peeled apples for the pies. I peeled carrots. I peeled parsnips. And I peeled a TON of potatoes. I peeled like a champ. I peeled like it was my job. And in a way, it was. Melissa did a great job cooking, and by 8:30 we had all of the food out on the table and 20 foreign kids pointing to everything and saying "What's that?" The idea of sweet potatoes and marshmallows seemed to really disturb some of them.

I also was asked several times to explain the origins of Thanksgiving. Basically my story went like this: "When the pilgrims landed in Plymouth, they didn't know how to harvest this new terrain, so the Indians helped them learn to grow crops, and after the first successful crop season, the Pilgrims invited the Indians to a big feast in celebration. Everyone sat together and loved each other and had a great time. Then the Pilgrims systematically slaughtered all of the Indians and took over America. But today we let them gamble, so it's alright." Generally I either get a look of confusion or repulsion or amusement after that explanation, so I try to change the subject quickly and discreetly. We spent the next 4 hours or so eating and chatting and having a jovial time.

An international circle of friends: Germany, Hong Kong, Australia, America, and England

From the left: Julie (my roommate from France), Roberto from Italy, me, and another Italian whose name I cannot remember

Melissa the great American chef from LA and her bf Janosh from Germany. With little Claire from France making a French gesture in the background. Not sure what it means.

A French trio: Eniko, Claire, and little Claire

By midnight, everyone was full and happy and started to go their separate ways, some out to pubs and others to bed. I was exhausted and ready for bed. All of the food was gone and the kitchen was a mess, but no one felt like cleaning that night so we decided to do it in the morning.

I guess the sweet potatoes weren't so gross after all!

The next morning after my class, I came to Melissa's flat to help clean, only to find that the place was immaculate. Turns out two of Melissa's roommates had cleaned it for us, since we did all of the cooking. I was very grateful and went back upstairs where I immediately fell asleep for a solid couple of hours. It was no American Thanksgiving, but great nonetheless!

PS: This is my favorite picture of the night. I have no idea what Yoanne (my roommate from Hong Kong) was telling me, but it must have been very entertaining...

A Moment of Silence (for the turkeys)

2007-11-24T06:57:00.000-08:00

Dear Faithful Readers,

I would like to request that all of you take a moment of silence in remembrance of those (turkeys) who died this past month so that we may stuff our faces with their juicy thighs, legs, and wings. From the moment they hatch out of their eggs, each valiant turk dedicates its life to eating as much corn as turkishly possible, so that in 9-21 weeks they will be deemed fat enough for the slaughter. As they trot in line to their death, I can only imagine what brave turkey conversations these heroes have with one another:

Turkey 1: "Where are we going?"
Turkey 2: "I don't know, but it sure is nice to get out of the coop. In all my 10 weeks of existence, I have never spent so much time standing in turkey poop"
Turkey 1: "Man, I wish I hadn't eaten all that corn, I'm so bloated"
Turkey 2: "Oh please, you look fine. You're like the skinniest turkey on the farm"
Turkey 1: "You really think so? I mean look at Turkey 3, she's like feather and bones"
Turkey 2: "She's too skinny. You know, like so skinny it's gross?"
Turkey 1: "Yeah, I know what you mean. Plus, she's still stuck in the coop. Sucker..."
Turkey 2: "Hahaha....hey, what's that shiny metal thing the farmer is holding? It looks sharp."
Turkey 1: "Uh-oh..."

Adventures (of the mind)

2007-11-17T03:38:00.000-08:00

This weekend is adventureless. Unless you are my brain. In that case you are in for the quest of your life. I must write 3000 words explaining "the relationship between the Qur'an and the Hadith as sources for Islamic belief and practice." I am an economics major. I am a math minor. Besides what my professor told us in two 1hr lectures, I do not know anything about the Qur'an and the Hadith. So here I sit, surrounded by 9 library books, an empty bowl of cereal, and some paper with a lot of scribbles on them, trying to understand the depths of Islamic society. I'm not completely helpless. I do know the answer to the question. That part took me about 20 minutes to research. The answer can be easily summarized in less than 100 words. However, the challenge lies in stretching those 100 words thirty-fold. The other challenge is summoning the will power to sit still and blather on for 3000 words when I am constantly distracted by the internet, the sounds of rugby practice outside my window, the internet, cereal, sleep, filing my nails, cleaning my room, dusting off my phone, picking the gum off the bottom of my shoe, counting the blades of grass outside my window...basically I have done everything in my power to procrastinate writing this paper (including this blog entry). It appears the time has come for me to finally face my foe. Maybe I should brush my teeth first...

Hives, Sneezes, and Phlem: My Trip to Italy

2007-11-10T08:05:00.000-08:00

Well, I had my first experience in a non-English speaking country. And what an interesting experience it was. My friend Katie and I flew out of Birmingham International Airport on Friday evening, and we arrived in Rome at 11pm or so. Our plan was to catch a train to Florence, where we would stay with my friend Becca for a few days, but as usual our plans were foiled. We got to the airport too late, and all of the trains for the day had gone. We had to spend the next seven hours trying to sleep in the freezing cold airport. There were actually a ton of people sleeping on benches and windowsills. Not sure if they were homeless bums or poor travelers (not that there is much difference) However, I couldn't get comfortable, so I just read the Bourne Identity and ate some nasty airport food.

The next day we took a 3.5 hour train ride to Florence, passing through the Tuscan countryside on the way. Becca met us at the train station and we walked back to her apartment (palace). Really, our living situations could not be more drastically opposite. She is like Donald Trump and I am like the poor schmuck he fires on the Apprentice. On the first night is when the hives attacked. It was a sneak attack of epic proportions, and I never saw it coming. Following the hives was most every other allergy symptom you could imagine: runny nose, sneezing, itchy throat, watery eyes, etc. The biggest question: what was I allergic to? Italy? Friends? Fun? I may never know. We spent three glorious days in Florence, even making a day trip to Pisa. Sadly, on Tuesday, Katie and I took the train back to Rome, where (happily) we spent the next day and a half touring the ancient city.

Rome was both good and bad. Good because we got to see all of the famous monuments and statues and ancient ruins (Pope Ratzinger included). Bad because by law, every Roman citizen must smoke at all times and blow said smoke into the face of the girl ridden with allergies (me).
We stayed in a hostel, which was surprisingly clean and safe. For 17 Euros I got a nights stay in my own bed in a room with 3 others, free dinner (pizza) free breakfast (croissants and nutella and corn flakes) free internet (facebook) and free tv (the OC). The only bad part of the hostel was that the guy who we shared a room with was the most massive snore-er I've ever heard. I woke up in the middle of the night because I thought there was a thunderstorm. Seriously. Katie and our other roommate Francesca were awake too, and also astonished at the noise coming from one human being.

Finally, It was time to leave Italy, and we boarded a plane late Wednesday night for Birmingham. We got back to Birmingham Airport too late to catch a train back to campus, but we weren't about to spend yet another night freezing on an airport bench, so we begrudgingly paid an obscene amount of money for a taxi ride home, where I passed out in my bed and woke up hive free!

I took way too many pictures to put them all on here, but I made a photo album of them, which you can view by clicking HERE (the album has a running monologue which will give you more information about my trip)

Hi, My Name is Meredith

2007-11-05T05:11:00.000-08:00

You may remember me as the person who used to update you on her life. And then I fell into a crack in the earth's crust. But finally I have resurfaced. If you want the truth of my absence from correspondence, here it is:

1) I actually did not fall into any cracks
2) This thing called the World Series took up much of my time and internet traffic allowance
3) The school's internet service was broken for 2.5 days
4) I am lazy

This post is especially special and interesting because I am writing it from Florence, Italy, where I am spending my fall break visiting my friend Becca. She's in class now, so I finally have a chance to use a computer. If the internet would let you see where I am typing from, you would be amazed and probably jealous. But as you can only see the letters I type, you probably feel no jealousy at all. Don't worry, I am taking plenty of pictures and will actually gather the energy to post them here when I return, and then you may fall sick with envy. But by that time, I will be back in Birmingham and it will probably be cold and rainy, so really it's me you should feel bad for. Really, it is.

p.s. I want to take the time to thank my amazing wonderful friend Elizabeth Phillips, the pride of RIT, for writing me an extremely funny and entertaining letter which I cherish greatly and have posted on my wall in my room. THANKS, PAL!

Are You Shakespearienced?

2007-10-24T01:44:00.000-07:00

After last weekend, I can safely say that I am. Much has happened since my previous post, and the majority of it began on Friday...

The most exciting thing: One of my best friends (Becca) came to visit me from Italy, where she is studying abroad in Florence.

(me and Becca!)

The least exciting thing: I got banned from the internet after using too much "traffic" watching Red Sox games live (it was worth it though!)

(This could qualify for most exiting also)

Averagely exciting things: 1) I went to Stratford-Upon-Avon, the tiny city which bore and bred William Shakespeare and his (fairly large, as it turns out) extended family. 2) I ate ice cream for the first time since I crossed the Atlantic, and 3) I got a stomachache from eating ice cream for the first time since I crossed the Atlantic

(this was not the actual ice cream I ate)

It was so much fun to have Becca here, even if it was only for a few short days. Luckily for her, the sun appeared EVERY day, and it never rained. I took her to Stratford with Katie, Katie's roommate Eunice, and myself. Stratford is a small, quaint town which is economically stable solely because of the massive amount of tourism they get. People flock from all over to see "The House where Shakespeare was born" and "The House where Shakespeare's future wife lived" and "The House where Shakespeare's son-in-law lived" and "The House where Shakespeare's outhouse-cleaner's uncle's grandson's fiancee had her first bath." That last one is not as well known as the others. But more so than the houses, I enjoyed the scenic landscape of Stratford, located Upon the river Avon (as it's name would imply). There were tons of swans swimming gracefully in the river, tons of geese chasing petrified tourists on the grassy banks (they are REALLY, really scary up close), and tons of people beautifully dressed for a wedding taking place in the church where Shakespeare and countless numbers of his family are buried (creepy? I mean, that church is basically a shrine to a dead poet, and people want to get married there? Maybe they are big Hamlet fans...)

(the beautiful swans)

(the evil geese)

A day is certainly enough time to see everything there is to see in Stratford, as it is a fairly small town, so at 5pm we headed back to the train station for our return home. Just so you know, on Saturdays only, the train doesn't run from Birmingham to Stratford, so we had to take a bus to Shirley, and then a train to Stratford. If I ever travel somewhere via one form of public transportation, I may die of shock, which would be tragic because then I would not be able to write about it to you, and also because I would be dead.

After our eventful Saturday, Becca and I spent Sunday exploring downtown Birmingham. We walked there along the canal and did some nice window shopping in the city center. It was not as good as real shopping, but way cheaper. Then we walked to the nearby town called Five Ways, where we watched the movie Ratatouille with my free movie pass. Movies come out a lot later over here. Once the movie was over, I tried to lead us back home, but ended up guiding us in a big circle around Five Ways, so we just hopped on a bus back to the University. Sadly, the next morning Becca had to leave for the South of France, where she will spend the remainder of her fall break (not so sad for her) whilst I remain in Edgbaston, Birmingham. Don't feel too bad for me though, in a week and a half I fly out to Italy, where Katie and I will spend our fall break in Florence visiting Becca, and in Rome. Can't wait!

p.s. Dad, I fixed the comment thing, so now you do not have to be a member to comment.

p.p.s. I'm not sure why the lines are so close together on this post, making it hard to read. It bothers me, but I can't figure out how to fix it.

Tangible Correspondence

2007-10-17T14:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Faithful Readers of My Digital Journal (I don't like the word blog),

Today I got my first piece of mail that wasn't pizza coupons! Cassandra sent me a letter all the way from Mongolia, and it made me feel special and cool. So, if you would like to contribute to the growth of my ego and self-esteem, please send me a letter or a postcard or even just an empty envelope addressed to me. My address is as follows:

Meredith Weiner
Flat 16 Ashcroft
Pritchatts Park
Edgbaston, Birmingham
B15 2Qu
United Kingdom

If you send me a letter I promise I will be eternally grateful to you and even dedicate a blog post especially to you as a person, a wonderful, wonderful person.

Love,
your pathetic attention seeking pal,

Meredith

Something Suspicious Is Going On...

2007-10-16T13:03:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, as I lay gently slumbering in my bed at about noon, I heard a strange racket above me. Normally, this would not bother me, but it happens to be that I live on the top floor of my building, leaving no logical reason for noises in my ceiling. I begrudgingly opened my eyes, only to witness one of the most disturbing scenes of my life. Above my bed is half a smoke detector. I sometimes wonder why there is not a whole smoke detector, since they are pretty important devices to have in a room, but I have grown to accept my fate as toast in the incident of a fire. Yesterday morning, I opened my eyes in time to see two red rubber hoses poke through the smoke detector. I do not know who put them there. I quickly exited my room, for fear that I was to be a victim of some creepy gas chamber experiment. In my kitchen was a strange man reading a newspaper. By my front door were two men listening to techno music and climbing into my ceiling. The whole scene was other-worldly. Apparently they had come to install smoke detectors in our rooms. Finally it all made sense. But not for long. There is no smoke detector in my room. Nor is there a smoke detector in anyone else's room. Simply two red hoses, poking down, creeping me out, day and night. Will the strange men in the ceiling ever return? Will I be gassed in my sleep? Will I ever figure out why there was a man reading a newspaper in my kitchen? Only time will tell...

(is this normal???)

It's True, I Only Have One Outfit

2007-10-14T11:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went to Liverpool. Wearing the same jeans and sweatshirt that apparently I am wearing whenever anyone takes a picture of me. Originally we (Katie and I) had planned to go to Liverpool and take the Magical Mystery Tour--a cheesy yet interesting tour of the significant Beatles related sites within the city, riding a bus designed to look exactly like the bus from the Beatles' movie Magical Mystery Tour:

Yes, that is what we wanted to do. What we actually did was a little different, but no less fun. 8:30 am came pretty quickly after I stayed up all night Friday to watch the Red Sox beat the Indians in game 1 of the ALCS (we'll just ignore what happened last night). But it was indeed at 8:30 that I met Katie at the University train station where we took the train into the city center and bought a ticket to Liverpool. As it turned out, there was no direct train to Liverpool that day, so we rode halfway there and stopped at a city called Crewe, where we took a bus to another city called Chester, where we took a train into Liverpool. Public transportation at it's finest. Call me pro. What I saw in Liverpool surprised me. It generally gets a pretty bad rap from Englanders, but I was quite impressed. The city was cute and not at all dirty or run-down. I would go as far as to call it thriving. It was after all selected as Europe's capital of culture for 2008. A view from the famous Albert Dock:

There were a few other surprises upon arrival. One major one was the sheer mass of little punk kids loitering about. They couldn't have been older than 12, and they amassed by the dozen, dressed head to toe in black, smoking and brooding. I thought their city was pretty nice, there seemed to be no reason to be so angry at the world. I wanted to take a picture of them, but I was afraid they would try to fight me. So on we went to buy our Magical Mystery Tour tickets. I should have been less surprised to find out they were sold out. I am still a Weiner. Nothing has changed. But I wasn't put out. Liverpool has much to offer, and I was ready to take it.

So Katie and I went to a local pub for lunch, where I encountered my next surprise of the day: quite a few bathrooms in England have a hair straightener plugged into the wall, and for one pound you can use it for 90 seconds. ? That was kind of weird, but not altogether surprising since every girl here has stick straight hair (blonde). After eating a burger that definitely wasn't made of meat, we headed down to Albert Dock to check out the Beatles' Story, a museum tour dedicated to the fab four:It was neat, but nothing I hadn't seen before. Not sure what to do afterwards, Katie and I roamed about and took a bunch of silly pictures of unimportant things:

We stumbled upon a free museum that had 4 floors of exhibitions, each very unrelated to the next. Floor one was about tragic ship accidents related to Liverpool (the Lusitania, Titanic, etc). Floor two was about the history of gay life in the British Navy (both weird and extraordinarily random). Floor three was about slavery, and we didn't bother with floor four. I'm not sure, but I'd assume this picture was taken on floor three:Exiting the museum, we ran into a taxi and on a whim decided to go to Penny Lane, the suburb where the Beatles grew up. It was about 6 miles outside of the city center, and pretty quaint. Nothing too spectacular, but interesting to see where these famous people grew up. Very quintessentially English:
Finally, we caught a city bus back downtown and found the Cavern Club, the joint where the Beatles played a countless number of shows and were eventually discovered by future manager Brian Epstein. There was a band playing in the tiny club (very loud) and after twenty or thirty seconds, we decided to leave, saving ourselves a few years of hearing. We passed two different troubadours downtown, both oddly enough singing the Beatles classic, Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown). Both pretty good. It was getting dark by then, and we had just enough time to grab a bite to eat before catching the last train to Birmingham.

(John [Lennon] and I outside of the Cavern Club. I can't believe I ran into him!)

As luck would have it, the train service was canceled, and we had to ride yet another bus to Crewe, where we could then take the train to Birmingham. This bus ride was very entertaining, to say the least. There were maybe 10 passengers, and the three guys in the back were very intoxicated. For the duration of our nearly two hour bus ride, I got to listen to "Danny Boy" and his friends sing Journey at the top of their lungs while the bus driver purposely sped over every bump, trying to make them barf, and then chimed in over the loudspeaker to make fun of them. They were just some small town boys, living in a lonely world, taking a midnight bus to anywhere... (Crewe) At long last, and after many games of War on the train to Birmingham, I was back. I turned on my computer to watch the second game of the ALCS in time to see Cleveland score their first run, then quickly shut it down and went to bed.

Conclusions I've Come to After Reflecting Upon My Trip:
1) Maybe if the sun shined more in England, the children would discover the art of smiling
2) Liverpool just might be England's best kept secret; I think I liked it more than London
3) If you ever decide to become a troubadour, sing Norwegian Wood
4) If you ever decide to become a drunk on a two hour bus ride, sing anything but Journey

Ouch!

2007-10-07T05:33:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I spent the day in London. It is a city in Southern England. It is also the capital of England. My American friends Katie and Melissa ventured with me, and we had a very enjoyable time using a lot of public transportation. (Dad, you would've been so proud!) At 8:30am we took a train from the University of Birmingham to the Birmingham City Center. From there we took a bus to the Digbeth Coach Station where we boarded a coach (charter bus) that would take us to Victoria Coach Station in London. From there we used the cheapest form of transportation (walking) to find Buckingham palace. After walking in a giant, unnecessary circle for 20 or so minutes, we finally found the palace:
It was pretty spectacular and put the White House to shame. Two boys from San Diego State University took this picture of us. Melissa (from LA) is on the left, and Katie (from UVA) is on the right. We then walked along "The Mall" which took us through St. James Park (probably cooler than Central Park--no homeless people) and to Trafalgar Square. First, we passed through an oddly deserted and pebbly abyss, which I think was called the Horse Guards Parade. Whatever the case, I felt like I was in Russia:
(you can see the London Eye in the background). Inside that walkway was one of those guards who is not allowed to move. Of course tons of people were surrounding him and taking pictures and making a mockery of him. It was both funny and sad. I did not take a picture of him because at that moment the patheticness of the situation outweighed the humor. Maybe next time...By this time it was 3pm and we were starving. So we went to a pub called "The Silver Cross" and had lunch. We also got to use the restroom for free. Note to all those planning on going to England: Public restrooms are not free! At every train and coach station, you had to pay 20pence to access a toilet. Lame. So luckily we did not have to pay 20p to use this restroom. I only had to pay $6 or however much my meal cost. After lunch, we headed towards the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben (connected to each other). I was taken aback when I saw how awesome the giant clock tower looked:And then I remembered making a gingerbread Big Ben/Parliament my freshman year of college:The resemblance is remarkable. Near Big Ben is Westminster Abbey, the place where a lot of famous dead monarchs are forever entombed. Unfortunately, it was closed by the time we got there, so we added it to our to-do list for the next time we come to London. We then walked to the River Thames and strolled across Westminster Bridge:This is when my camera died (tragic). The worst part about the death of my camera was that it came at the most inopportune moment; right before we headed to the most historical and awesome place in London: Abbey Road! Luckily, Katie and Melissa were smart enough to charge their cameras before they left, so I got them to take pictures for me (I will post them when they send them to me). To get to Abbey Road we ventured to the "tube," London's Underground public transportation system. It was a fun trip. Much cleaner than NYC's subway system. And I didn't feel like I was going to die at any moment, so definitely an upgrade from New York. At Abbey Road, there were about 10 or so people trying to get pictures of themselves crossing the famous crosswalk. Cars continuously swerved to take another route once they saw all of the tourists. It must be the most hated street in all of London if you are a local. If you are a tourist, it rules. After risking our lives to take our fair share of pictures in the middle of the road, we signed the famous wall in front of the recording studio, and got ready to leave. Before we could, a Japanese girl traveling alone asked the three of us if we could pose with her in the road, so she could have a legit picture. It was funny. Beatles People are nice. At last, it was getting dark and we made our way back to the Tube. Some guy tried to run into the tube at the last second and the doors closed with him in the middle. He pushed them open and they shut on him again. He pushed them open again and finally made it in. It was scary. Everyone was quiet, and I blurted out, "HOLY CRAP!" It was an accident, but everyone seemed to agree with me.
After the near decapitation in the Tube, we made our way back to Victoria Station, where we ate nachos in a nearby pub, biding our time until our coach left. The Rugby World Cup Finals was playing on the TV. New Zealand vs France. Rugby is very odd, and extremely violent. We watched a French player get smashed (no pads or helmet!) and knocked completely unconscious. They had to scoop his tongue out of the back of this throat. Gross. Finally, our coach came to take us back to Birmingham. I bought a magazine in the station, and spent the ride home reading an article about the triangle between Bill, Hilary, and Al Gore during the Clinton Administration. Also there was an article about how the manager of NSync and Backstreet boys was a fraud and a pedophile. They both made for an interesting read, and before I knew it, we were back. By then it was 11:30pm and the train station was closed, so we got a taxi back to campus. I fell asleep almost immediately, and woke up today at noon.

All in all, it was a good trip.

The Current State Of My Life

2007-10-01T07:39:00.000-07:00

To all those who were worried about the former state of my life after reading my previous post:
May your fears subside. I am fine. Great, actually. Life is back to normal, except I am on a different continent. So maybe it's not so normal, but it's pretty neat.

There are many pros and cons of studying abroad, and, considering I am an optimist 65% of the time, I'd like to think the pros outweigh the cons. Let's see:

PROS:
1. I have made friends with people from many countries (well, mostly just 4 countries: Germany, France, England, America--and as a note to certain members of my family, no, I didn't count myself as the American to make myself seem cooler)
2. I am starting to plan excursions to fun places like London, Paris, Cambridge, and Liverpool!
3. Rice pudding here is both tasty and cheap (I am eating it as I type...)
4. Ditto for pita bread
5. When you are foreign, people tend to take pity on you and either give you stuff for free or are extra nice to you.

CONS:
1. I have yet to see one public water fountain and therefore am thirsty most of the time
2. I almost get hit by a car everyday. Firstly because (obviously) cars drive on the other side of the road here, and secondly because the rule "Pedestrians get the right of way" clearly does not apply here.
3. My hair straightener exploded when I plugged it in to the electricity converter. I seem to have bad luck with electric sockets in all countries actually...
4. When you are foreign, people tend to think you are crazy either because you can't understand them and say "excuse me?" all the time, or because you chose to come to England of all places. Hey, I don't mind all the rain. Now that my hair straightener is broken, it's not like I have to worry about the rain ruining my hair. And my umbrella has a built in flashlight, so any chance I have to show it off is fine with me.

There you have it. It would appear that the glass is definitely half full. And I've only been here one week! I think this means more good things are to come...

Nothing Ever Comes Easy For A Weiner

2007-09-25T13:43:00.000-07:00

Brief Overview of the Last Few Days:

Saturday:
-Finish packing my two (large and overstuffed) suitcases just in time to leave for the airport
-Arrive at the airport in time to have a last meal with Mom and Dad before boarding my 7:15pm flight to DC
-Oh, wait, make that my 8:25 flight to D.C. because of course my plane was delayed
-Arrive in Dulles Airport just in time to speedwalk six to seven hundred miles to my terminal
-Wait in extremely long line to board plane
-Get rejected from line because I didn't trade in my boarding pass
-FINALLY board the plane in the window seat protected from the aisle by two large African men

Sunday:
-My seven hour flight from DC to London comes to an end.
-My bladder may or may not now be infected since I couldn't get to the bathroom at all during the flight (remember the two large African men?--I didn't feel it would be a good idea to disturb their slumber at 2am)
-Wait about an hour to get through immigration. Somebody near me smelled bad (BAD)
-Watched the same bag go round and round the baggage claim for, oh, 15 minutes before I accepted the fact that my suitcases were MIA
-Waited another hour in the customer service line. Watched three employees stand around and do nothing while two others dealt with all the customers
-Made my way up to the arrivals to meet the U.of Birmingham representative who will take me the bus
-Wandered around in a helpless blur for 10 minutes looking for my (non-existant) representative
-A U. of Sussex rep sees me looking lost and helpless and tells me U. of Birmingham people are in terminal three
-Take a train and a few thousand escalators to terminal three where, surprise, surprise, a plethora of Birmingham reps await lucky terminal three students
-Trade in 100 US Dollars for 43 pounds
-Board my bus to Birmingham (2.5hours)
-Meet roommates Amy (from Reading) Jodie (from Bham) and Rachel (from Bham)--they feel sorry for me since my luggage is lost (I also feel sorry for me)--and so they feed me

Monday:
-Finally call Mom and Dad to let them know I have arrived (at 5am their time, haha, suckas)
-Lost 60 pence to the payphone, since I am a useless foreigner who can't work it properly
-Wait in a 1hour line (queue) to pick up my ID card from the International Student tent, located outside in the freezing cold
-Meet my roommates inside a nice, warm building where the normal, respected students pick up their ID cards
-Take a train to Birmingham city center to waste money buying stuff that can be found in my suitcases, wherever they may be
-Run out of cash
-Go to a Traffic Light Party at the local social center/bar in my residence and watch 18 year olds buy alcohol (weird) while I drink tap water (FREE!)

Tuesday:
-Waste 40 pence trying to use a payphone to call the airport to track my luggage
-Vow never to use an English payphone again
-Go to meeting for International Study Abroad students
-Become shocked at how many of us there are (300)
-Become even more shocked when I see how many are German (299)
-Leave meeting virtually uninformed
-Make my way to the International Tent (homeless shelter?) and try to track down my luggage from a guy who barely speaks English
-Become emotionally distressed at my misfortunes and continue to feel sorry for myself while I trudge back to my flat in the pouring rain
-Stop by the reception room in my residence to see if they got the bags
-PRAISED THE LORD WHEN I SAW THEM!
-Accepted help from a girl offering to roll one back to my flat and found out she lives right below me and is also an International Study Abroad Student and is German (surprise, surprise) and is named Raph, short for Raphaela
-Became very suspicious of the Department of Homeland Security when I see one of my suitcases has been busted open and wrapped up in Dept of Homeland Security tape. Inside, my belongings have been rifled through and stuffed back in all bent and out of order (I have my eye on you, George W)
-Go back to main campus to trade in 15o dollars worth of travelers for 70 pounds and 14 pence
-Frown
-Accept my fate as a poor foreigner
-Register for the internet and think about unpacking my bags
-Become extraordinarily tired at the thought and take a 5hour nap
-Wake up and go downstairs to visit Raph and meet her 5 other roommates and two other boys (all fellow international students-a relief-70% are German-not surprising)
-Smile because now I know people in my situation and I don't have to hang out with my 18year old British first years all the time (even though they are nice and very helpful)
-Access the internet and see the Red Sox are now 2games up on the Yankees
-Smile again and also fist pump
-Type a really long and (maybe) boring update about my life

The moral of this story is: never expect anything to work out easily for you if you descend from a family of Weiners. Also, avoid using English payphones.

Hello friends

2007-09-21T17:44:00.000-07:00

Since I will be gone for a few months, some people have asked me to make a blog like Cassandra so I can keep people updated. This is my attempt. In case you are wondering, right now I am not in England. I am not even in a plane. I am at home in Virginia Beach. Tomorrow I will be in a plane. The next day I will be in England. Perhaps then I will have something more interesting to say.
Goodbye.