Dear Places

Dear Barcelona, Nice, Pisa

You are beautiful. Especially Barcelona and Nice. Pisa you are pretty, and quaint, but the tower was a surpising let down. Sorry, and the fact that we couldn't get dessert at 8:30, whats with that?!
But otherwise first half of the trip, amazing!

Love
Komal

Dear Security People and my samsung SL605

Dear Security People at Alexandra Palace.

YOU SUCK! At concerts it is customary for people to get up and dance. Forbidding this is really not cool. And when the artist performing says "Wow thats lame" after you make the only person brave/bold/crazy enough to get up and dance sit back down, you should know that its really really not cool. But at least you couldn't stop us in the end. Bastards

And
Dear my Samsung SL605
I got you becuase my other amazing camera broke which was also a samsung, so I thought the brand would still work the way I want...nope you suck really hard too. Almost every single picture I took is too pixely. Not matter what setting I used throughout the night, so I don't have a single crisp clear picture of my beloved Shaan. Thanks a lot...piece of shit.


Love
--Komal

Dear Maria Sharapova

Dear Canon digital camera makers,

     I don't very much appreciate my shiny new (and blue) camera lasting for a total of 5 photos before the new batteries die.  Wales trip?  Sorry, no pix for you - I hope you have a very good memory (which i don't...).  Anthropology walk?  Oh don't worry about passing the class; course credit is sooo over-rated.  Giant rally, march, and riots?  Screw awesome stories and their visual evidence - visual evidence is like the Les Stroud of evidence: dull and so 20th century (Bear Grylls forever, just sayin').
     Now, I'm not going to say that Canon lured me into buying a camera by painting it shiny blue and calling it PowerShot(!).  I'm not going to go there...  But that's exactly what they did, and no one's going to be able to stop them from doing it again and again because Canon is such a huge, faceless corporation.  What ever shall we do...?  Maybe hold a protest rally against it...oh wait, I wouldn't even know how to do that because I couldn't take pictures to help me remember.  Damn you, Canon, with your catch-22s and Chinese fingertraps of logic!  Maybe instead of the PowerShot A495 I should have bought the A496, or the B495.  But they were just so darn expensive (and made up for comedic purposes).  I dare say that Canon is capitalizing off of and discriminating against poor students and economy-stricken photographers.  Shame on you, and your little dog too.  (That's right, like the Wicked Witch.  But I suppose I should have made you say that then...damn it never mind.  I thought it was kind of clever at least, what with the rhyming and the pop culture references...for the 1920s.  Ugh.).
     Now I need to find a new camera very soon or my 21 days of travel are going to seem very lame to my family.  As a result, they're going to make me pay for my plane ticket home, which I won't be able to do, leaving me with no choice but to join the traveling circus.  Shucks, I'm terrified of clowns...

             Love,
                  Photogra-forget-about-it
     
P.S. I hope people get the reference (Sharapova had that commercial: "Make every shot a PowerShot".  She's still fairly attractive, I guess, so I'll leave her out of this)

Dear Kitchen Door

Dear Kitchen Door,
     Normally I like to rant for several paragraphs against such vile fiends, but you have already defeated me with your constant slamming and I just don't have the energy to be so long-winded.  People in my flat: STAY or GO!  Don't do both.  I really think that door is going to drive me insane, and I would love to trade rooms with someone who is not situated directly across from a heartless vacuum.  Or is it a reverse vacuum because it reflects all sound straight into my brain?  Whatever, I hate them both.

    Love,
       The person who would like to rip the door off its hinges (like my closet haha, but that's a different story)

Dear Taxation Without Retaliation,

Dear Brightsiders,

     Imma gunna let you finish, but this blog is strictly for lashing out at an otherwise mellow society (it also has one of the best albums of all time...just sayin').  There is far too much coddling here in the lives of these British students: tuition es poco o nada, first-year grades are laughably suited for "finding oneself", and the pound remains free from our pesky exchange rates.  What I'm getting at here, if you'll read between the lines is: WE are poor.  WE are beaten down by an educational system of Nazi-esque suffocation.  [We are Legion.]  And we are, once again and for always, quite poor.
     Jealous am I?  Absolutely.  But I will not stand for it.  Therefore, on March 26th (NOT...!...not the 26th of March, cus that's just ludicrous), I - the royal blog 'WE' - will be attending the March Against Cuts.  I/WE will wear my smile and voice my outcry against god knows what's going on in the British government.  However, behind that facade will be a smile of much a different sort: one of vengeance!  One of smugness.  And one of ill-restrained peace.  For I/WE have a suspicion that all these marches have been a desperate attempt to stay 1-up on the visiting American students.  In other words, 'na na na na, we don't pay and you still do'.  How dare they!  How dare them!  How dare America!  For the record, I submit that the US government pay our tuition while we are abroad, if only to reiterate the royal ass-kicking of 1776.  Queen, WE still know where you live (I think...some of us were a little lost when I WE wandered over to the area so who knows.  Might have been a Subway restaurant or a BK - they're everywhere now!).  Regards, and God bless.

               Love,
                      The New Sons and Daughters of Liberty, post-dated 2011

Dear all things that make me happy

Too many posts on here are complaining.

So here is one for all the things that make me happy.

Dear Sun that has been coming out very frequently, I am so glad that you do, at home all I do is hide from the sun, but for some reason while here all I want is to see you, and sit in the grass with you shining on my face, which has been happening a lot and I thank you for it.

Dear Erika, and Lexii, for always being there for me to talk to. You guys have both adopted me as your older sister of sorts, and I appreciate that, and you know I will always be here when you need me to be. I also miss you like crazy.

Dear Alcohol, I fully understand why people drink you so much, I just understand how they can afford to, but I love what you do, loosing people up, and making some people more fun, and some dance like fools, either way, thanks

Dear my Itunes, thank you for reading my mind all the time and playing just the right songs for my moods.

and before I drone on too long
Dear  Internet, I may love you most of all for providing me with almost everything :-)

Love
--Komal

Dear Arriva

Dear Arriva

you can go fuck yourselfs, seriously. 12 hours is a tortuous amount of time to make people wait for a fucking train.

Love
Jackie and Komal
and Catrina, and Gary
except Gary didn't have to wait that long, so not really.

Dear Legs

Dear legs
Please function

Love
--Komal

Dear Gmail

Dear once-heralded Interwebz email provider,

     I want to love you, I really do.  But goddamn it Gmail, when you tell me I can successfully link my various academic email accounts with no problems you really oughta deliver.  At first, like most torrid affairs, you fetched me my documents like a doting lovebird.  Where did we go wrong?  Apparently, you have NOT been fetching various important emails, e.g. security reminders, credit notifications, and family how-are-ya's.  Of course, you have brought me some: spam and useless club reminders.  (I'm very far away, Gmail; I don't need to know when the snowboard club is having its next meeting.)  But fetching nothing would have been far too obvious, and that's what this all really boils down to, right Gmail?  Lies and cowardly deceit!  Well I won't let you hurt me anymore!  You get one more chance (cus I still like your useful, attractive interface), but any more screw-ups and I'm done.  Thanks.

                   Love,
                           Labour's Lost    (get it?  god, I'm clever :]  )

Dear Flatmates

Dear Flatmates of Hardcastle 4:

     Thanks for keeping up with the obnoxious slamming of the kitchen door until 4am.  Thanks also for the wonderful mess in the kitchen (I wish I could use the sink and not have to deal with a clogged murky mess-o'-a-thing).  But thanks most of all for apparently throwing eggs and bottles out the kitchen window and getting me put under investigation.  That's exactly what I need: no sleep and having to look over my shoulder for unmarked vans.  I do hope we can resolve this problem without deportation slash/ uncalled-for banishment.  'Til then, regards.

                            Love,
                                  International Room A

Dear Goldsmiths/Arcadia

Dear Goldsmiths/Arcadia,

Once again, thank you SO much for not telling us something important. Like, oh, I don't know, the fact that we have RAs here? The only reason we found out is because we got in trouble, and some chick walked in the flat telling us to STFU. Good thing she did, because we ended up needing to sic her on some other assholes later that week. Bitches.

Love,
Jackie and Komal

Dear Birds

Dear Birds Outside My Window,

It is 2:40 am. The sun is not yet up, nor will it be for another four hours or so. Please shut the FUCK up and let me sleep.

Love,
Jackie

Dear Arcadia/Goldsmiths

Dear Arcadia and Goldsmiths Academic Advisors/Staff

I just really really want to thank you for screwing me over royally. I love the fact that I had signed up for 5 classes that were not first year courses and that actually could help me graduate but instead you put me in only one of those, and proceeded to put me in only another 3, sorry, 2 other courses. Neither of which really has any relevance to what I'm going to be doing with my degree. Also I mentioned that it was not infact 3 courses but 2, because yes you geniuses put me in the same class twice. Bravo! No really bang up job you fucking wankers. So what am I now supposed to do for the rest of the term, and when I go back to the States?! Becuase remember I didn't sign up for these courses nor do I want to take them now, but was I given any options, no, I wasn't. Then you also tell me that I one of the courses I had signed up for, I was in, 4 weeks in I find out and the prof ws just like, nope you've missed to much and I took  you off my register. Great. Superb. Glad I'm wasting my time, energy, money, and life.


Love
Komal

Dear Shower Drain

Dear Inanimate Shower Drain,

     The water company is doing a fine job of providing my bathroom with water.  The (likewise inanimate) shower head, fresh and squeaky clean, is doing a noteworthy job of transferring the water to me and to the space between the pipes and the floor.  I as well, my pride put to the side for a moment, am doing my job of enacting a thorough self-hygiene initiative.  From there, Mr. Shower Drain, there seems to be a miscommunication, a "weak link in the chain," if you will.  The water is not supposed to be sent merrily along to the non-showering portions of the bathroom.  Laziness is a shame and should be an executable offense.  Pick up the slack, Mr. Shower Drain, or I am afraid I'm going to have to look elsewhere for my water removal needs (buckets and sham-wows come immediately to mind).  I look forward to your swift response, and have a great day.

            Love,
                  'It's Pouring Inside Loring'  a.k.a.  'I'm a Poet and You Know Damn Well that I know It'

Dear Flatmates

Dear my flatmates
I have expressed countless times that I am allergic to cigarette smoke, yet you all insist on smoking inside. Please, or at least smoke out of the window in the kitchen, that would be wonderful.

Love
My lungs, and throat, and nose, and all other vital organs that you are slowly destroying


p.s. they really don't need the help.

Dear Face

Dear My Face,

Okay, seriously. We've been in the country for a month now. It's time for you to finish adjusting to the new water and stop breaking out. I'd like to not look like a pizzaface for the entire time I'm here. In return, I promise to sleep more and treat you nicely - I'll even use extra moisturizer so you're not quite so scaly looking! Just please, for the love of all that is good and zit-free... Stop breaking out so dang much. Pretty please?

Love,
-Jackie

Dear Designers of the faucets

Dear Faucet Makers/Designers Who ever you are

Seriously whose fucking idea was it to separate the hot and cold water so that when doing dishes or anything else in those sinks you are forced to choose between scalding your hands or freezing your hands. I mean really. Worst idea ever!

Love Komal

Dear Goldsmiths, University of Etc...

Dear Goldsmiths and the fabulous English Department,

     So far, there have been three weeks of classes and, surprise surprise, three weeks of royally screwing me over.  Fiction has been cool and anthropology uneventful (likewise, Shakespeare, as one would suspect, doesn't change much in this modern day), but then comes glorious Friday mornings.  Bright and early (or just early if it suits your fancy - thanks London), I've walked to Approaches to Text, a lecture of perhaps hundreds of English students attempting to learn God-knows-what. 
     The first lecture, two weeks ago this morning, was cancelled.  There was no obligatory email from an intellectual official of higher learning.  There was no professor ('lecturer' does seem like the proper and necessary step down).  There *was* me and five other confused students as to why there was no information posted.  So I waited an hour and went to seminar, where I was cheerily informed that lecture had been cancelled and "wasn't the extra hour of sleep wonderful?".  How everyone learned of such a sudden termination I still haven't the slightest...  In addition, lest I forget, the lilliputian instructor let me know that they had decided to change my seminar location and time.  Not just the location...but the *time*.  That kind of unobstructed power is scary, for who knew that Goldsmiths was actually a closet dictatorship?
     The second lecture began promisingly enough.  Swimmingly even, if one will pardon my colloquialistic habits.  Though the topic at hand - education paradigms for K-12 - did seem a bit beyond the course description.  Ah, a handout, this should clear things up...oh, it appears to be the wrong course.  I got up, defeated, with my mental arms up in the air in complete despair, and walked out, much to the confusion of the education lecturer, who I'm sure had nothing to do with the secret and infuriating plot against international students.  I went to the *correct* seminar an hour later, reading the note apologizing for the second sudden cancellation and welcoming Miss Greene's seminar students to join any of the other available seminar groups for this week only.  Ah, futile promises - so fragile, petals to the wind.  An email would be nice, though, as it is officially (not sure if the time difference affects this, so I'll have to get back to you) 2011.  Organization would even be better.
     So we've come to the third week.  After suffering several blows to my patience, I decided to visit floor 5 of Warmington Tower, a grand name for a run-down office building, and the home of the English department.  The secretary, perhaps also consumed by the plot to ruin my sanity, apologized for the lecturer and for the miscommunications.  (Understatements, how I loathe your eternal appetites).  She also let me know - hallelujah, in advance - that the lecture would be moved up an hour.  Okay, a little less sleep, but at least they told me.  Would they have done the same if I hadn't shown up in person?  One of those *what-if* situations that can only make matters worse for wear.  And it's Friday morning again.  I woke up on time (albeit, a trifle cranky) and made my way down to the lecture.  Smiling, I opened the door...and stood facing a dark room.  Silence; there were no other students in the lobby, likewise questioning the professionalism of the course moderators.  Were they all in there anyway, biding their time in the dark, mocking the stupid and naive American?  I wouldn't doubt it.  Maybe there was a surprise party in waiting.  Maybe my email account was broken.  There are no answers, just stupid puns and questions aplenty.  I waited until 10 past and walked back to my dorm.  I checked my email, and if you expected a polite explanation waiting in the inbox for my tired eyes, then you haven't been reading closely enough.  I don't blame you though, as it's a long and tear-stained story.  Guess I'll again wait for seminar for some more answers...there better be someone there *haha*.

                      Love,
                            Adam (the lone soldier, fighting for a cause that might not exist)

P.S.  [bashes his head against the keyboard: the most effective means of submitting a blog post]
    

Dear Sonnets

Dear Sonnets,

You suck. Shakespeare had you wrapped around his little finger, but ever since then you've been annoying. Why did you make it take me over an hour to write one of you? All I wanted was to sleep, but noooooo, you had to go and be all prissy and difficult. Die in a fire.

Love Hate,
-Jackie

P.S. Dear Shakespeare, your sonnets are lovely and fun and great. Come back to life and teach me, please.

Dear IT Department

Dear Goldsmiths IT Department,

     Please note that some of us do not appreciate being randomly disconnected from the internet.  XpressConnect (you know who you are!) may indeed be fast, but if someone were to multiply (fast) X (a shit ton # of times), he or she might be UNpleasantly surprised to find that they'll arrive at a large, unwieldy number.  Because I do not have to *enter my credentials* when I plug my charger, for example, into the wall outlet, I hereby propose that ethernet cable + ethernet port = internetz.  Please note the previous theorem, and have a nice day.

               Love,
                    Adam and angry techies everywhere

Dear Goldsmith's Maintenance

Dear Goldsmith's Maintenance people.
I would really appreciate hot water for showers, if its not too much to ask...oh wait it is.
Taking showers in a friends room for the rest of the term is just not gnna fucking cut it. k thanks.

--Komal

Dear Tunbridge Wells

Dear Tunbridge Wells,

Heat is nice. Especially in winter. Just sayin'.

Love, Hayley

Dear SEPTA

Dear SEPTA (and pretty much every other form of US public transit I've ridden),

     You should learn to be more like the Tube. Even the overground. They're quick, they're efficient, and when shit goes down they actually APOLOGIZE for the unforeseen circumstances that have made your day less than perfect. Oh, yeah. AND THEY'RE CLEAN.

Love,
--Jackie

P.S. Dear London,
     Public Transit: you're doin' it right.

Dear Homestay

Dear Homestay,
You can go fuck yourself, becuase we all hated you, and wished you didn't exist.


--Love Komal, and probably everyone else.