Visiting Fisherman's Wharf

The flags at Pier 39: Take the F tram from Embarcadero

Break the rules and you go to prison: Break the prison rules, and you go to Alcatraz. 

Golden Gate- from several miles away. 

Rainbow Kites!

Five Moments.

Here are five isolated moments I can't figure out how to work into a proper blog post. Think of them as soundbites. 

1)      I climb a tree to watch the Chinese New Year Parade

This was a while back now, admittedly, but the Chinese New Year parade in San Francisco is tipped as being one of the top ten parade events in the world. I went up to town with the Laconic Australian and the Irish Aristocrat . Stepping out of the Montgomery Street BART station the first thing I heard was a sharp rat-tat-tat, and, in a moment of extreme paranoia, thought it was machine gun fire. I hit the floor, dragging the boys with me, but they were less than impressed with my life-saving ability, and only pointed out the sight of firecrackers hitting the tarmac. 

The volume of people lining the streets was extraordinary, and there was no way of seeing anything happening on the street. We wandered along helplessly until the Irish Aristocrat had the genius idea of climbing a tree: we found one sturdy enough to support the three of us, and soon we were drawing almost as much attention as the dragons. The parade was spectacular, despite the relentless advertising, which often dwarfed the performances (since when was the Coca-Cola Polar Bear a fundamental aspect of Chinese tradition and culture?). We stayed in the tree for two and a half hours, before limping back to Berkeley on dead legs.

2)      I see a giant

Co-op parties carry a very different vibe to the Frats. They are less predatory, but druggier and rather more naked affairs. The Laconic Australian potato-sacked me to a ‘Willy Wonka’ night at the effete Oscar Wilde co-op, where I stood in the middle of a packed dance floor and watched lithe boys in nothing but their underwear turning themselves upside down on the two poles flanking the DJ decks and wave their pointed toes at the ground. I’d been standing on the balcony with a complete stranger who was smoking a large pipe and talking to me about the theatrical production of Billy Elliot. Drying our tears half an hour later we parted ways, and when I re-entered the room, through the haze of dancers and, dwarfing everyone else in the place by at least a foot, I saw A Giant.

I don’t mean a ‘really really tall guy’, I mean a giant. To my alcohol-fuddled brain he was about ten feet tall, and broader than feasibly possible: bizarrely dressed in an open waistcoat, no shirt, and cut-off trousers. It’s true that America breeds a strange species of superhuman who play football at college, but this guy was truly extraordinary. . Or perhaps it was just that I was up close.  I spent the rest of the night trying to dance as close to him as I could without looking a little bit weird- just so I could feel what it was like to be a child again; but he must have left the party at the moment everyone got distracted by the completely naked boy cavorting behind the DJ decks, because I couldn't find him again all night. I've been keeping an eye out for him on campus ever since, but no luck yet. 

 

    3)      I get hired by US News and World Report

       My first piece: tips on making the transition to an American College workload, can be found here.  I am very, very lucky. 

    

     4)      I attend an evening of Japanese Rope Bondage

I was writing an article about Bay Area erotica for my journalism class, and had one of my interviewees- a fine artist who specializes in kink and bondage- invite me along to her gallery opening at the Wicked Grounds cafe. The models from her paintings would be there, and were going to give demonstrations. Why not, I thought. When in San Francisco...

The portly and slightly balding model chewed gum and complained about the bad traffic as his colleague tied his arms behind his back, wound him in some heavily knotted rope until he was trussed like a raw turkey, and winched him up until he was suspended  from a hook in the ceiling, about a foot off the ground. He revolved on a slow axis, still chewing his gum, and revealed that his leather thong was, in fact, backless. 

“My goodness” the Laconic Australian said, through a mouthful of strawberry waffle.

5)      I make it to Spring Break. 

Where I'll be if anyone needs me this week. Ta-ta. 

     Berkeley has been evacuated as thousands of students return home or go storming off on road trips, wreaking havoc across the state of California and beyond. I've stayed behind to save money, and to look after the Irish Aristocrat, who worked himself into early-onset pneumonia and got ordered to take it easy. 

     I rather like a quiet Berkeley. The seventh floor is so deserted I can walk around in my underwear and no-one comments. The campus carries the air of a fatigued parent after all the kids have finally left home; a weary peace has  descended on the buildings as everyone regroups for the last big push through the next five weeks. I  have seven days to recharge, go swimming, and sleep. Lots of sleep. It's hard to  believe there are only five weeks of class left. Where has the year gone? 

Apologies and love

I'm really kicking myself because it's getting to that part of term- midterm season!- and the days are piling up without proper blogposts. I hope you can all forgive me this week: I have five different article deadlines for various publications looming for this weekend including, in no particular order, tweets from beyond the grave, an evening of Japanese rope bondage, best ways to get a free day out with a student card, and coping mechanisms for academia in a strange country (the solution to the last one being to not try and run an independent blog at the same time).

I am also cripplingly worried about flopping again after the ridiculous success of my last blog post, which has had the most traffic out of anything posted so far. Big thank yous to everyone who has been reading; for your personal enjoyment I promise to spill my proverbial guts online more often in the future.

While I try to get my act together over the next couple of days, why not check out Issue 7 of Caliber Magazine? There's a nice big article in which I mull over American adaptions of British TV shows and mock MTV for their ridiculous censorship policies.

To all those back in Blighty, here's hoping Spring arrives with you before the year is out!

xX

Caliber Journalists discuss my accent

@onelifeonemic @emilypburt @jenniferwrong @kelseymoty I love everything she says! It all sounds authoritative and yet hilarious. #accent

— Meg Elison (@paganmeghan) March 5, 2013

The Long-Distance Relationship

I’ve gone backwards and forwards trying to write about this. I even fleetingly toyed with posting on Valentine’s Day, because when your other half is on the wrong side of the ocean there are only so many ways to make a gesture. But the potential for self-indulgent rambling was too great, so I shelved it for another week.

I decided the time had come to blog firstly because I’ve been doing the long-distance thing for about five months now and have a vague grasp on what it entails, and secondly because for the past week I have wanted nothing more than to sit on my boyfriend’s back and mash his face repeatedly into the ground; a feeling that should act as a foil for excessive emotion. Mawkish content aside, this is a blog about my experiences at Berkeley, and having a significant other beyond the sea is part and parcel of that. 

The long-distance relationship is something most people have to face up to at some stage. My parents have been married for over twenty years, my Dad’s work takes him to other countries a lot, and my mother has always said to me, with that edge of steel in her voice that after ten years of trying I’m still failing to replicate: “The key to a successful relationship is spending lots of time apart.” I don’t know whether I took this too closely to heart (anyone who has met my mother knows she’s not the sort of person you ignore) or if it’s just been pure luck, but The Graduate and I are close to our one-year anniversary: and while that may be peanuts to some, it’s the longest and most functional relationship I’ve ever had. We’ve spent about half of it five thousand miles apart. 

To recap: I have been angry with my boyfriend. Has he done anything to merit this aggression? No.  Then why am I behaving like a lunatic? Because he is on the wrong continent, and I don’t like it. Can either of us do anything about that? No; it is what it is. When I came out to Berkeley last August I belonged to a fairly sizeable community who were all trying the long-distance thing. Now with the second semester people have moved back home, fallen into an open relationship, or broken up altogether, and I’ve become one of the strange ones. People are curious: always asking what’s it like, or don’t you miss him, though, which is stupid; or trying to draw me into a would-you-ever-cheat or what-if-he-cheated game, which is voyeuristic and weird. I’ve also had friends and acquaintances- because guess what, everyone is extraordinarily good-looking out here and people fall in love left right and center- asking how I manage it, as they try and figure out if it’s a step they want to make when this year ends and we are scattered back across the four corners of the globe. So here are a few long-distance (and largely hypocritical since I’m sure I’ve failed at all of them at one stage) bullet points for your consumption.

What Makes It Hard: 

1)      You don’t see each other and missing each other is an absolute bitch.

2)      Relationships are not just two people. Having each other is all well and good, but you also need the affirmation and affection of family and friends to prove you’re going in the right direction. I’ve never forgotten the anxiety when my last boss told me “You want to stay with this guy? Forget it, it just won’t work,”; or the delight when I first introduced him to my housemates and my best friend, breath heavy with whisky whispered in her Irish lilt “Oh my God Em he’s wonderful.” When you’re apart, your other half doesn’t have a place in the community you build, and that makes it much harder to get a second opinion on how the two of you are doing. “I can’t even picture what he looks like.” The Laconic Australian said the other day, scrutinizing the photos pinned above my desk “his face looks so different in all of these.”  

3)      Touch. The old chestnut about how you never realize what you have until it’s gone. Being able to hold hands, lean against their shoulder or hug them until they wheeze is vastly overlooked in short-distance relationships. Being able to touch makes difficult conversations easier, and is a mark of comfort, security, happiness otherwise. Going without it is a strain. 

 

   4)      The lack of immediacy The Graduate and I are limited to windows of contact due to the eight-hour time difference. For him it’s normally five in the afternoon by the time I’m even awake, and what with my classes and other commitments we normally don’t get to talk until around nine in the evening his time. I have to take time out of the middle of my day for us to chat, and when I’m winding down in the evenings it’s three a.m. at home. You get on with that. Even more frustrating is the moment when you’re in the crux of a joke, a sentimental moment, or a heated debate and your webcam or microphone goes on the blink. Say what? It’s not great for spontaneity.

What Makes it Okay- and eventually worth it: 

1)      You’re forced to work through the ugly stuff: Not having the physical side of a relationships is one of the most painful things about it, but what it does mean is that you’re forced to really talk to each other when you have a scrap, or if one of you is feeling a bit shit.

  

2)      Technology makes the world a smaller place: When it comes to actually being apart, most of us don’t even know we’ve been born. Facebook and Twitter keep a constant running commentary on the most mundane of activities, and Skype means you can speak face-to-face with your beloved every day, if that’s what you want. Outside of immediate contact there are all kinds of online communities, blogs, advice columns and forums where people offer tips and support. There’s even a terrifying Japanese pillow that captures your lover’s heartbeat, although I haven’t felt driven to this stage quite yet.

3)      At some point it ends. I know he hasn’t booked his plane tickets yet (yes that’s a dig Mister it’s March now, get a bloody move on), but we are planning a roadtrip and when that ends I will be back in Blighty. And for those long-distance couples who don’t have the luxury of a fixed end-point, that doesn’t mean you should give up. Walk around the International House and you often come across small brass plaques outside the bedrooms, celebrating couples who met here, kept it together, and frequently ended up married. The whole building is like a weird Neo Mediterranean Colonial testament to love across the distance.  It can work.

4)      Statistics show that if a long-distance relationship is going to fail, the average timespan for that is in the first four and a half months. Break past that barrier, and you can be fairly sure you’re onto a good thing. And when you do get to see each other it’s hella good times. 

Making it Work: 

1)      Be sure it’s what you both want: For long-distance to work, both sides of the agreement have to be fully behind it. If one person isn’t sure then leave it, come back to it, but don’t try and push it. 

Helping me cook at Thanksgiving

2)      Set your boundaries. If you want to be monogamous, if you want to be in an open relationship, if you want to take time out and see where you are when you’re home again, then be 100% open about it. Taking emotional ambiguity and putting several thousand miles between it is not a recipe for success. 

3)      Talk, often. Talk about any and all stuff happening to you, however big, small, weird or mundane. What seems boring or run-of-the-mill to you is often interesting to them because they don’t get to live it. The internet is your oyster: use it. Share articles, videos, memes, that trending video of the dancing pony. 

4)      Not too much though: This is my ultimate long-distance flaw. I still spend too much time sitting in front of the computer hoping he’s going to appear. Then if he doesn’t appear I get angry and he doesn’t understand what he’s done. Step. Away. From. The. Computer. Which segues neatly into

5)      Learn to be happy and functional without each other. Can’t stress it enough. Yes you need each other and you miss each other, but you also need to have a life outside of each other, if for no other reason than it will give you lots to talk about. The relationship has to work around your life, not the other way round. 

I miss The Graduate every day, but through trial and error we are making the distance work. We have a common enemy in the ‘big bully Atlantic’, which frequently finds itself victim to attacks of rage. We have both messed up at one time or another. He still makes me laugh until I feel sick. I hope he forgives my temper tantrums of the past week, because the fact remains that I’m deeply in love with him, and there’s no-one I’d rather share the frustration of a broken Skype video with. And if you’re thinking of going long-distance yourself, the only other thing I can suggest is that you try it. You never know where it might take you. 

Oh, and here's that dancing pony, to a strangely appropriate soundtrack. Happy March!