Death, Hyde Park and Indian Food

Okay, so there hasn't exactly been anything exciting going on lately. Classes are starting to pick up a little bit and, as a result, I have two 10-page papers due by the end of the month, along with three presentations and a review for The Merchant of Venice. Being the Park Scholar that I am, this entitles me to the freakish feeling of excitement of being able to write a 10-page paper for European Mass Media by answering the question, "Has technology made life better or worse in 21st century media?" Questions like those are the ones I feel qualified to answer, as if I could get into a suit and tie and be on a televised debate with someone about it.

Of course I could never do that, but it's nice to dream.

But at any rate, when there's nothing else to write about and I'm in the mood to write something at work while my boss is catching up on e-mails, there's always something to grasp at. Hence the title. The death discussion wasn't necessarily planned, it just sort of happened. While visiting London, a good friend of Norah's family passed away. I had only met him once, but he sticks in my mind as one of the most genuinely nice, teddy bear personality kind of people I can remember. And then my mind started running with the baton of the afterlife it had been handed through this course of events. My own grandfather had a heart attack a couple of months ago and the seriousness of it is beginning to set it as he is recovering. It scares me that virtually no one close to me over the age of 75 has died yet. Granted, that may sound callous when you first read it, but it stems from the innate fear that everyone close to me within that age bracket will die within a year of each other. Death is inevitable and I'm confident in heaven, but the thought of losing these people is like repeatedly being beaten; one death knocks you down and then more keep coming and kick you over and over again until you're curled in the fetal position. A term coined by John Mayer, "quarter-life crisis," comes to mind when I think of why death comes to mind. Man, I'm morbid.

On the lighter side, I've started to take on a new English hobby that's quite fun and quite catchy. It's called reading in a park. This activity combines two relaxing activities and makes them even more profound when placed together. If you think you're chillin' out in your flat while reading C.S. Lewis' Perelandra (or in my case, Campuzano's ¡Ole Mi Sevilla!), try it on a bench in Hyde Park, surrounded by blooming daffodils, budding trees and the rushing fountains of the italian Gardens. or if you're really ambitious, sit in the grass and lean up against a tree.
It's an experience that pulls you out of the craziness that is life in a city and lets you escape into the world of an author's imagination. If you have a sandwich or some cheese to snack on, that helps too.

Sidenote: Hyde Park has a concert series coming up June 28-29 that is totally unfair. John Mayer. Eric Clapton. Sheryl Crow (whatever). And Jason Mraz. I want to be here.

But, speaking of food, I've fallen into the college routine of buying food only when it's absolutely necessary and scraping together what meals I can from what's left over. At this point yesterday, I had a box and a half of cereal, spaghetti and some orange juice. Oh, and a lemon. I was able to pull off three meals, but eventually gave in and bought groceries. But thanks to some Spanish visitors over the weekend, there are at least five meals worth of Indian food in the fridge. Mix that schtuff with some spaghetti, add a little pepper and it's good to go. A cup of water is always nice to have on the side too.

Well, my boss is finishing up with his e-mails, so I'd better get back to work. But keep me posted on what's happening where you are, whether by e-mail or by a quick comment. Comments by people without registered accounts on blogger.com are now enabled on here, so feel free to leave one (coughcoughmomanddadcoughcough).