Home from home

Somehow, the first seven weeks of semester has slipped through my fingers and fallen behind me without my even noticing. It's odd for me, now, to look back at my first blogs, with all the excitement and awe in which I beheld my new home for the next year - now, against all my expectations, America seems as normal, everyday and un-intimidating as Skipton. It's crazy, but I feel totally at home here now, settled, happy and sorted with what I'm doing. But in some odd paradox, I am also a whole lot more home sick this semester. Maybe it's because I'm not being distracted by all these crazy, new experiences, or because going home over Christmas reminded me of all the things I'm missing out on back home. But at the same time, I feel like I'm handling the sadness and homesickness in a whole lot more mature manner than I did last semester, or I could've last year. It's not crippling and acute, but more an acknowledgement that yes, I miss a lot of people and places back home, but then I get out of bed, have a bowl of Bran Flakes and get on with my day. South Carolina is the same crazy place as last semester; lots of trips to Five Points, jello shots, epic (victorious) beer pong battles, countless Insomnia Cookies orders and highly temperamental weather - wearing flipflops in January one minute, and five inches of snow (the most SC's seen in 2o years) next. Ed came to visit two weeks ago - it doesn't feel like a month ago that he came East to SC in November! We had a lovely ten days of studying in coffee shops, take aways, drinking in the afternoons and sleeping until midday. On Valentine's, we had a field trip to the local zoo, which turned into quite the adventure. We had a lovely time watching the penguins, koala bears, elephants, and feeding the goats (Ed's favourite), and being effectively attacked by tropical birds after buying cups of nectar to feed them, with their response being total bombardment, sitting on our shoulders, hands and heads. Unfortunately, our attempts at returning to campus was slightly more of an issue. Somehow, between the two of us, we had no cash, no mobile phone and no taxi number. Unfortunately, the zoo did not aid this situation by having not only a broken ATM, but also a broken payphone. Bummer. After scamming a mobile phone off a staff member, begging taxi drivers arriving for others to return to collect us, and waiting for an hour, we were rescued by some friendly soldiers who were training to be ministers in the military, who let us have their taxi. So what if they shouted "Jesus loves you!" as we pulled away, I can take a bit of fundamentalism if they saved me from spending Valentine's night in a lion's den! We followed that up with an epic seafood dinner at a posh restaurant in the Vista, with calamari, scallops, fried flounder, crabcakes, tortilla slaw and seasoned french fries, with beautiful Key Lime Pie to finish. And, as usual, the portions were so massive that the meal fed me for the next two days! Bargain. Last weekend, I went to Tennessee with FMLA (Feminist Majority Leadership Alliance) for a USAS (United Students Against Sweatshops) conference. After driving for six hours across the Appalachian mountains, through the most hill billy towns I've ever seen, stopping at gas stations manned by hick women with strong mountain accents, and passing towns called 'Lonesome' littered with shacks and broken down pick up trucks, we arrived in Knoxville. We'd been told we were sleeping in a church. Now, I had two conclusions in my head; either we would be kipping in the pews, crucifix and stained glass windows bearing down upon us, or (ideally) it would be a misunderstanding and we would be escorted into a comfortable, but shabby room in university halls. Nuh uh. We arrived at the biggest church I have ever seen - four stories tall, with multiple massive rooms on each floor. And we were sleeping on the floor. Of the church hall. At least there wasn't any crucifixes. But there was upwards of one hundred smelly activists camped out on the floor, strongly giving off the appearance of a refugee camp. For the next three days, we ate countless sandwiches, lentil dishes and pizza, attended workshops on fund-raising, creative activism techniques, facilitating meetings, and talked about "collective liberation" and "preferred personal pronouns" (every time you introduced yourself to anyone) - apparently, one can "reject the gender binary" or label oneself a "sis-male". Which means a man who is comfortable with his gender. So, just a guy right?! We attended a rally against budget cuts at the university, and met some South American factory workers who produce university apparel. We sang trade union songs, fists aloft, trying very hard to keep a straight face. Sometimes, when the activism, worthiness, and general self-hatred of a bunch of white, middle class students got too much, we snuck off to buy Starbucks coffee and gorge on big greasy breakfasts of egg omelette and spinach sandwiches. We also had a couple of nights out on 'The Strip' of student bars filled with frat boys and barmaids in knee socks and pleated skirts. I threw a tantrum at the master of ceremonies at a karaoke bar who wouldn't let us sing Wannabe by Spice Girls immediately. We encountered a friendly (?) cab driver named Ron, whose window Sydney broke on entry to the cab, and seemed a little too over-enthusiastic on us calling him to take us back to the church when our night was over. We accosted people as to the whereabouts of Pita Pit (having secured Free Pita vouchers) and loudly abused the televising of women's curling in the bar, which we tried, and failed, to understand - either the rules, or the point of. I managed to evade the moonshine shots, but fell for the dollar beers...waking up three hours after this event for a day full of workshops and driving was not the best morning of my life, to say the least. The party the conference held for us got very out of hand (to our complete obliviousness) - urinating on drum kits, kicking at walls, drug and alcohol use inside the church, fireworks, and sexual assault. Let's just say we made a quick exit the next morning, stopping at Sydney's parents' house for spinach lasagne and strawberry pudding and some cuddles with her adorable cat and dog. Unfortunately, socializing with such un-washed hippies and camping out on the dusty floor of a haunted church, and only sleeping for ten hours over the entire long weekend gave me some kind of feminist-flu, and I've spent the whole week languishing in my flat, moaning, drinking tea and swigging cold medicine. Now I must sanitize my hands and watch Bridget Jones'.