I'm the best dancer in this country

I'm a foreigner and everyone knows it.

People keep knocking on my door, saying they've "heard about me". I'm the new girl, the American, the gringo. No, I just added that one for effect.

Hans asked me if I was into baseball, Georgia asked me how America felt about Obama (And I got so emotional and proud that I almost started crying), and Arron remarked about how "random" it was that "you're a black girl from Pittsburgh studying Russian in the UK." How curiously astute a comment it was, given the paucity of black people in my part of Pittsburgh. But anyway, everyone I've met in Goldsmid House is very interested in learning about what it's like where I come from.


Culture shock #1: Celsius
So I was baking in the flat's kitchen and did not turn the oven, only the fan, on. That's why it took 2 hours to cook chicken. Chicken cooks at 220 degrees. Thanks to my flatmates for understanding that I'm actually not retarded, just foreign.

(°F - 32) x ⁵/₉ = °C

Culture shock #2: Humour
While American audiences turn to the deplorable Dane Cook (who makes me embarrassed to be an American) and other kiddults who can't assimilate into the mature and responsible sphere, British people seem to appreciate a deadpan, potty mouth sort of humour. Case: my Russian translation teacher explains to us what a phrase with some words left out means, lit. Fuck your mom, but it takes him nearly ten minutes because he skirts around it with a series of dustups like, "Goodness gracious me". My teachers are hilarious though, especially Pete Duncan, my Soviet & Russian Foreign Policy teacher who is far too polite to be that damn funny. Maybe that's the joke.


Culture shock #3: Scenes
Because the drinking age is 18 in this country, kids can start clubbing as early as 16. On Tuesday I went to PACHA with the freshmen from my building and I felt like a geriatric. So not my scene. Everyone, still stuck in that "look at how much fun I'm having!" stage was Facebooking themselves to death. The grossest boys were photographing girls dancing, none of whom could actually dance, and the music was so outdated, as in late 2008 Rihanna. The DJ didn't even have "Single Ladies". Seriously, brush your game up Pacha.


Why I love it here #1: Great DJs
On the other hand, I seemed to have walked into an orgasm the following night when Mojan and I went to Favela Chic, where Gringo da Parada was spinning hip-hop, pop, breaks, and funk carioca, which is my favorite thing in the world. During an interlude, I found myself doing the Charleston. Only in England, really. Gringo da Parada finished off his set around 2am with "Ante Up (remix)" so of course I had to find a ledge and completely rock out while screaming the lyrics. I caused a bit of a spectacle, and afterwards three girls came up to me as said, "You dance really well!" Such lauding, and the video below from CARGO last night, may explain the title of this post:

Finished off Wacky Wednesday with virgin Bloody Marys in the hall kitchen at 3am. Mojan put Tabasco and pepper in them so the whole thing was quite off, but lovely nonetheless.

Why I love it here #2: Everyone knows someone in Georgia.

One would assume that on a different contienent thousands of miles away, one would not encounter people who had even heard of Georgia. False. Shehnal's boyfriend was visiting on Wednesday and they came into the kitchen while I was eating. I mentioned I was from Atlanta and, of course, her boyfriend's cousin goes to Georgia State. So we chatted about Atlanta, which he really likes, and Lenox, the mall. Too funny. Proves that no matter how far you go, you'll find something that reminds you of home.

Why I love it here #3: My legs look great.

By Tuesday I thought I was going to need medical attention for the searing agony in my legs. Then on Wednesday I met up with Lydia at Favela Chic and we had a screaming sesh about our first few days in London, after which we were nearly crippled by leg pain. Coincidentally, we had both been wearing rain boots, which are very heavy, for days and walking everywhere in them. Today is Sunday and my legs have adjusted to the intense hoofing I've been doing, and in fact they look damn good. I'm gonna have some ill stems by the time I leave town.