Oh England X X X

England will remember me as the person who started the Anti-X Campaign, and who failed at it miserably.

I don’t know how the British got so obsessed with X — You know the X (meaning “kiss”) that they put in the end of every message they send (be it a simple text, an e-mail, anything!) — but they are, really are. And it’s infectious, really is.

I asked Joe one time about it, and he replied, “I’m not sure, maybe you should change British culture and start an anti X campaign” (he then put like dozens of Xs in the end of his message). Yes, a British man said X is “British Culture”. Culture.

It was in June, when I sometimes got very irritated with all the Xs I received in e-mails and texts, that I started the campaign. Why couldn’t I just be cool with it? Well, I don’t know. I mean, you just don’t throw kisses around five times a day (sometimes five times in 15 minutes when you’re texting with friends)!

So yeah, I sent messages and ended them with “AX” and sometimes “Z Z Z” (which wasn’t really cool, I must admit) or “N N N”. Okay, I have to be honest, when I said messages, I mean, the messages I sent to Joe (I cannot just send “N N N” to people, they will think I’m crazy. After all, it was him who gave me the Anti-X Campaign idea). While to others, I simply never replied to their Xs.

But my Anti-X Campaign wasn’t really successful. The main reason was because of my British friends who weren’t really helpful — as they kept putting Xs in the end of their messages, and even comments of Facebook. And I suddenly developed a strange, guilty feeling every time I didn’t throw a kiss back at them.

It’s the end of September now, and I’m about to leave England for home. And I just feel weird that, even without realising it, I’ve been putting Xs in every message I sent to my (mostly British) friends.

Oh England… I surrender!

You’ll find Wheaton in the club

I went out to some clubs (yes, plural) last night. I had no other choice. Well, I had a choice: watching Doctor Who on my laptop; but then one of my best friends is leaving England soon (and will come back when I leave, how sad!), so this is our last weekend together. Then I thought I must go and surrender to her idea of “fun” (I am not a fan of clubs and crazy music, thus the quotation marks).

Anyway, so I went to some clubs and met people. And guess what? Among those people I met, there was one that looked soooo much alike Mr. Wil Wheaton. He is a friend of my friend. When I first saw him I was like… “OMG, Wil Wheaton!” then, I couldn’t control my mouth, I poked him.

The conversation:

Me: Hey!

He: Hey!

Me: *Super Excited* Oh my God, you look so much alike Wil Wheaton!

He: *Surprised* Sorry, who?

Me: *Super Super Excited* Wil Wheaton!

He: Uhmm… and who is he?

My Friend (but not his): Yes, who is he?

Me: Wil Wheaton!

My Friend (but not his): Yes, who exactly he is? [to 'Wil Wheaton'] Don’t worry, she’s like that! [I'm not sure what did she really mean by that actually]

Me: Uhmm, well, Wil Wheaton is an actor and some cool nerd. He played a character in Star Trek.

He: Oh…

Me: *Super Excited* Wait! I’ll Google Image him!

After five minutes.

Me: *Showing Him Some Images of Wheaton* Look! See! You are Wil Wheaton!

He: Oh? Ha ha. Yeah, I look a bit like him.

After five minutes (a friend of ours came back from getting another glass of alcohol). ‘Wil Wheaton’ came to our friend and said.

He: Hey, guess what? Your friend just told me that I’m ugly.

A Friend of Ours: What? Anita?

Me: What? Nooooo. I did not say anything like that! I said he looked like Wil Wheaton.

A Friend of Ours: Who is Wil Wheaton???

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What you’ll learn from pop culture*

That there is a class struggle in horror films: between vampires and zombies.

How vampires are upper class; they are usually educated, refined, rich, they live among us. While zombies are terrifying, inert, attacking from outside, poor.

In my case, I’ll be Zombie Anita.

*Everything (all those words, yeah) I wrote here is from the above Zizek clip.

But there’s lipstick on your teeth…

I HAVE A WHOLE new respect for flyers. You know, those people who handing out flyers to random people on the streets. Mad props to you boys, girls, old men, and well-aging ladies. Well, flyering is not that difficult, but definitely not so easy as well. Especially nowadays. Yes, I’m talking about modern people’s attitude and their tendency to say “no” to almost everything.

“Hey, wanna take one? International Development Conference!” “No”

“Hello, want one? International Development Conference next month” “No, no, thanks”

“Hi, International Development Conference?” *Hell-Na’ah Face*

So yeah, a lot of people I randomly approached today rejected me. Why wouldn’t they just take the flyers? It’s a very important piece of information I was about to share, this: Newcastle University’s 2013 International Development Conference.

Oh, but then there was this lady.

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Holden, the ducks stay during the winter

Okay. So I haven’t finished my essays, but whatever. This is more important and urgent. I have just discovered a bitter fact. A sad revelation.

The story: Do you know that I am obsessed with Holden Caulfield? Yes, a fictional character — but don’t you poor girls love Edward Cullen? (right, so shut up!) Yes, I love Holden, that witty guy who got kicked out of his school because the whole education system failed to understand him (shame on you mainstream education! Anita, stop, that’s another issue you can cover later! OK). So Holden, yes, I love him. What is so special about Holden? Well, everything about him is. But there’s this one thing that always makes me go “aww” every time I think of him: the ducks. Yes, those short-legged waterbirds.

“You know those ducks in that lagoon right near Central Park South? That little lake? By any chance, do you happen to know where they go, the ducks, when it gets all frozen over? Do you happen to know, by any chance?” Holden once asked.

Holden was afraid that someone picked those ducks and put them in the zoo. Oh, such a caring young man!

Central Park South is in the sleepless city, New York. Anyway, because I felt so sentimental and shits hours ago (because of the winter for your information and not anything else) I copied that line on my Facebook without even crediting Holden (Facebook is no academia!). A dear American friend, Trish, then shared this link.

That link literally broke my heart because apparently, those ducks stay during the winter. So WTF was Salinger talking about? Did Holden know shits he talk about? Holden knew stuff in NYC, why didn’t he know that the ducks stay? Was he trying to make himself sound so romantic? A caring hero? Phoney. Oh Holden, I am sad. And mind you, for decades scholars have been debating on the exact meaning of his fuss about the ducks in the winter.

SO WTF SALINGER? Oh but I still love you. But WTF the ducks STAY! Oh but who can hate Salinger/Holden? Nobody can.

When I get older, I just wanna be a catcher in the rye, ya know, just like Holden. And make sure that nobody hurts those ducks.  Sweet, I talk shits again. Time to go back to my books. Ciao!