Hard Times Come And Go: Making Friends Part II

Yesterday, I made my first British friend.

There are probably a good amount of my readers who will think this is no big deal. After all, I am living in London, going to a British school, and living with British students, so common logic dictates that I would have made dozens of friends with British accents and habits. Sadly, that's not the case.

I've come to the conclusion that London is a very introverted city. Having grown up in the suburbs, I have no way to know if this applies to all cities, and the fact may be amplified by the fact that I came to London on my own and have taken the time to notice the habits of strangers. London is known as a very literary and music-oriented place, but even people who forget to bring their newspapers or iPods to their respective buses and cafes would rather look at their shoes than at other people.

Inconceivable! : A Weekend in Scotland

My trip to Scotland began without a voice.

The night before, I went out with my Australian friends to celebrate "Australian Day," otherwise known as Let's Drink and Scream Along to ACDC Day. Such activity made it possible to sleep during the five hour train ride to Edinburgh. I even had the luxury of occupying two seats, because no one in my study abroad program wanted to sit by me.

I took this as a compliment, because I couldn't stand anyone in my study abroad program. All but four of the thirty are girls, and the ones I'd attempted to talk to aspire to be like stars on Paris Hilton Reality TV Shows. They were not so much interested in anything I have to say, but more preoccupied with their own petty opinions about clubs and eyebrow threading. Of the four boys, three of them were in relationships with girls from the study abroad program, and one was just as bad as any Lindsey Lohan wannabe.

Harsh? The truth hurts.

High Society

If you search "Harrods" on Google, the first available link is entitled: "Harrods: Luxury Beauty and Fragrance." This is the sort of reputation I was aware of before my venture to this glorified department store. In preparation for the event, I dressed in my finest clothes (the only really nice things I brought with me to London): a sweater dress I recently wore to my cousin's wedding and a posh pair of boots.

I looked good. (Trust me, I'm not being vain. I am allowed to claim such things when I'm in desperate need of a saving grace in the following situation).

My Modern Life

So I hit up Tate Modern today.

Ideally, when visiting a contemporary art museum, one must choose their companions carefully. The last thing you want is someone who spouts off text book chapters at every single painting/sculpture/toilet, or someone who hates modern art because their "dog could do that." You need someone with enough imagination to appreciate some works and laugh at others. Someone who will come up to a piece you've been staring at for hours and casually point out something you hadn't even noticed, which completely changes how you view the work.