Wee on the Hob
If any American can tell me what “wee on the hob” means, I will title my next entry after you.
Classes began yesterday, and, much to my dismay, it turns out that there is a lecture for my Intro to Narrative class every other Monday. What will I do?!
In all seriousness, though, I don’t have too much of a sense of what my classes are really going to be like yet. Aside from the Intro to Narrative seminar, my classes are all big lectures and involve little class participation. Despite that, Lauren and I have been very warmly received when introducing ourselves to our professors, who had all been anxious to meet “THE ONES FROM NEW PALTZ!!!” It’s nice knowing that not everyone hates Americans, like we thought they would—maybe it’s just because we’re from New York!
Last night, Kirsty, Lauren, Berit, and our new Finnish friend, Marianne, and I went to a comedy show at The Graduate, which was, to my surprise, actually funny—except when one of the comedians’ sets was at least 50% made up of jokes about rape. Being a women’s studies major, I have learned some frightening statistics on rape, rape in colleges/universities in particular, and it sickens me to know that one in four of the female students in the bar last night were laughing along with the “jokes” so that no one would know they were really recalling their history with sexual abuse.
Tomorrow, Lauren, Berit, Lucie, Marianne and I are going to Castle Hill, which is the most important ancient (as in 4,000 years old) fort in Yorkshire from the Iron Age. I hope that when I hike up the 5 mile hill tomorrow, that’ll mean a bit more to me!