An uneventful few days...minus the witch.

Sunday we went to St Paul's cathedral for the Anglican mass, which was pretty pretty, right under the dome, with chorus boys and the whole shebang. The funny thing is, though, is that is essentially the Catholic mass, bar a few changed phrases and no kneeling, but more standing. I expected it to be changed a bit more, and was even a bit disappointed. I wanted a new experience and all. It was raining when we got out, so we hid on the covered part of the steps and ate our Marks and Spencer sandwiches, and decided to postpone our trip to Greenwich due to rain. Several of us headed home, promptly changed into pjs, and watched TV the rest of the day. We did get dressed to go see Children of Men, which I thought was very good but it was sad bc Julianne Moore was only in it for like, 10 min. And then I went to go meet ROBERT HUFFAKER for a drink at a pub at tube stop between us. It was crazy seeing him (we went to Keystone together, I was a freshman and he was a sophomore, and he left randomly in the middle of the year bc his parents divorced and he moved with his mom to the Netherlands, and now goes to school in London) and we had a good time catching up on the past 6 years (yikes!) and reminiscing about things like West Side Story.
Class yesterday was of course great, bc we were provided with ever more material for our Christina impressions. Oh, and learning about King Arthur is cool, too. Before class I went with my roomate to discover the University of London's library and get a few books for class we were unaware we needed until last week, and then we read in a park until class. After class we all went to the White Hart, apparently the oldest pub, for "linner" (not exactly tea bc we ate food food). We had tickets to go see Canterbury Tales Pt 1, but the map I looked at directed us to the wrong tube station, so we were running around central London to find this theatre and finally had to take a cab to get there. We were about 10 min late, but they still let us in, which was good. It was funny, but we were mooned not once, but twice. It was quite disturbing, because we assumed there ought to be leotards or something. But no, there they were, bare asses. Oh well. Eventually I'll recover from the emotional scarring.
Today after class we did lunch, and then part of the class went to the East End for a tour with one Prof Bill Fishman, who apparently is a historian in high demand. We met him on the street, and suddenly this guy shoves his way into our group, interrupts the professor, and says "Professor Fishman! My name is so & so and I'm here to interview you. This here is Vidal Sassoon!" and he drags this overtanned and dapper oldish man (I say oldish bc Prof Fishman is like, 80, and this guy was 60ish) to shake hands with him. Meanwhile, about four guys with cameras are physically moving us out of the way to get their cameras into the action. It was incredibly rude and intrusive, and I was really pissed off, but Prof Fishman was very courteous and was like, "I'm giving these students here a tour, maybe if you scheduled a time to come by?" Anyway, they finally left, and we started our tour. It a very strange experience, with the professor telling all the girls that they wouldn't get married if they didn't know history, reminiscing about how he marched against the fascists in the 30s (admittedly, a very good story), and telling us that Jack the Ripper's first victim was last seen in the same alley (Angel Alley?) that the anarchist bookshop was. Along the way, he passed some of his neighbors and began speaking in Arabic to them, which was kinda cool. He showed us Toynbee Hall, where Jane Addams stayed for a while before starting Hull House in Chicago, which was based on Toynbee. It was the first place that social studies were, well, studied. Lets say observed to be less redundant. After a lecture there, he brought us to the museum we were seeing, the Immigration Museum. This is off Brick Lane, a big street full of cheap Bengali restaurants (aka heaven).
Not a museum, really, but a dilapidated old house literally falling apart, in a residential area, with no markings whatsoever but a plain brown door like any other on the street and number 19 on the side. We arrive 5 minutes before we are supposed to, and naturally stand outside, talking. This woman comes out the door, and the first thing she says is "Shhhhhhhhhhh!!!! This is a residential area, and you're sitting on someone's doorstep!!!!" This while movers are shouting at each other and banging around in a truck less than three steps away. Then she sees that not all of use are here (because its impossible to find for those who were not in this weeks tour), and tells us to wait on the other side of the street. No reason, really. Just to be rude, I suppose. She was really good at that. We are finally ushered in after it begins to rain, where she begins to have her slaves (two women who were actually nice but did everything she said and were clearly as intimidated as we were) take our bags from us (not asking us to leave them at the door, just taking them). Then, since I'm at the front by some cruel twist of fate, she pulls me over to the visitors log and forces me to sign it. Its just signatures, not printed and legible names, so I felt like I was signing a contract unknowingly. Like, the devils contract. yes, I have just now decided she must have been a witch. Clearly there is no other explaination.
Then we are told to look at the "exhibit" in clockwise order. The "exhibit" is a series of stacks of old suitcases with little things made by schoolchildren (likely at the 2nd grade level and lower) supposed to envoke the feeling of the immmigrants. The main floor had a "diary" of a French Hugenot girl, written in English with a purple ballpoint pen, and a tiny suitcase of potatoes shooting sprouts every which way but with writing on it in Crayola finger paint "No food!" and other cheesy things to represent the Irish immigrants. There was a silent video of these kids acting out the potato famine. It was hilarious, which is clearly oughtn't have been. Down in the basement, there were brief exhibits on all the other immigrants within the past 100 years or so. Upstairs, there was an exhibit by adults.
Now, don't get me wrong, the woman was insane (I've already had an anxiety attack just remembering how scary and insistent she was, so I won't continue the story for the sake of my heart, but if you want to know more, ask about the luggage tags) and the exhibits made you giggly rather than pensive, but the building was actually cool. Originally a house, it had an addition made from the garden when the Hugenots were there, which later became a synagoge when the Jews were there, etc etc, and they are trying to raise money to preserve it but not restore it, bc they want to leave all the marks of ppl who were there. Very cool building, good cause, but rabidly avid people who scare you away rather than make you want to donate and help them out. Like, the woman tried to force postcards down our throat. "Don't you donate to museums in America?" and later, as we were preparing to escape, "Its common to say goodbye in Britain, is that not done in America?" Not when you are trying to escape after being stuck for two hours in a collapsing building with a witch! Gah!
Indian food for dinner, delays on the tube, too late to do my reading for tomorrow. The end.