Yes, I'm finally home. Back in Blightie. Returned to the Land of Eng. And to be honest, I kind of miss America.
Don't get me wrong, I'm damn happy to be back. I just miss the friends I made out in Happygunland. I also miss the girls who want to know me just because I'm English. I also miss not having to worry about a job, sleeping in and having any kind of idea what time it is when I wake up.
Jet lag has struck with vengeance after my long sojourn from flying and what I believe is 11a.m. is in fact 4p.m. Yes, that's the time difference and should be expected but if I go to sleep at 1a.m. my body clock shouldn't conspire to keep me asleep for well over twelve hours. Unless it hates me.
My flights back weren't plagued by misfortune, as I had feared they might. No inhumanly gross co-passengers and no delays. Just lots of security checks. Lots and lots and lots of them. Mainly in Iceland, believe it or not; apparently the recent rise in terrorism has the Icelandic authorities incredibly concerned. On the face of it, there's nothing in Iceland worth terrorizing - maybe cows and grass, but there are easier places to find those things.
No, instead I have come to the conclusion that there must be some great treasure or artifact of power hidden in the Icelandic wilds. The cross Jesus was crucified on maybe? Or the Holy Grail...A quantum computer laboratory? Or even a doomsday device the likes of which only Marvel Comics has come close to imagining?
Or there's just an unbalanced amount of paranoia in Iceland - never before have they needed it, and suddenly now they've received centuries worth of concentrated, industrial grade paranoia all at once. Hence the four security checks I went through, manned by stony-faced cops, some armed. All within the same terminal.
Off the plane - checkpoint. Upstairs - checkpoint. A second, in-terminal, passport control - checkpoint. To get to the separated area where my gate was - checkpoint. And again before I got on my second plane. I don't know many people who can change identity at will that fast. Perhaps they had a shapeshifting immigrant through recently or something. Who knows.
So now my summer plan is to unearth the possible-secret of Iceland. Depending on what I find, I'll share it with the world. If it's a lifetime's supply of peanut butter...don't get your hopes up.
Thursday, 21 May 2009
Monday, 20 April 2009
It's been a long time...
I have been unfortunately busy of late and so this is my first post for about a cyber-year (a mutable period of time ranging from one to whatever comes to mind). I'm realizing that I have two weeks left in the States before I have to go home. My suitcase looks suspiciously inadequately sized for all the random junk I have accumulated over my stay and I am probably going to need a second. *joy*
Now it comes to leaving, it seems a bit jarring; I've lived out here for almost a year and made some really good friends, but everything has to be left behind. Of course, those things can come visit - I could name one very attractive thing that could come visit - but that is up to them. I am doing my best to tempt anyone back over the pond for a European sojourn but apparently no one has the money. Which is where the first point of this entry comes in:
ICELAND!!! Yes, the country. No, not the cheap supermarket for those of you in England. Iceland suffered under the economic crisis a lot, and subsequently air travel to, from and through Iceland is cheap. Very cheap. So to all those people out there wanting to cross the Atlantic, go through Iceland.
Secondly, if you know me, are American, and want to come to England, do. Traveling is well worth the money and time, trust me on this. I'm going to do as much as I can before I'm thirty and settle down to have a family. Admittedly, depending on how settling down goes I may start traveling again at thirty-one.
American families seem to be generally more dysfunctional than English ones - I'm not trying to be insulting, I'm basing this on observations I've made while here. My corridor mate has told me on several occasions that they hate his mother and another has said that they're never having a family because it just doesn't work. There are more examples but this is a blog, not a psychology report. I know for a fact that there are dysfunctional families in England - look at East Croydon for proof - but I didn't meet so many people with those issues. Maybe I was lucky. Or maybe they avoid me out of sickening jealousy for my normal, happy, functional family.
Either way, Americans in general - key disclaimer there, IN GENERAL - believe that families tend to fall apart or not work, just like relationships. A friend of mine told me most relationships fail. Which, to be honest, is true. But then again, all wars are lost and everyone dies. Finding a relationship that works makes up for the ones that fail - and when I say works I don't mean makes you happy until it fails, I mean one that doesn't fail.
It has also been highlighted to me that I have not been in a relationship that works, by my definition. And this is, sadly, true. But not because of a fault on my behalf - apparently. Aside from being four hundred miles away due to unavoidable circumstances which if I'd have the choice I would have definitely changed. This being the case, I still look for the best in a relationship which I believe allows one to enjoy that relationship more than if you're constantly worrying over it. To be perfectly honest, I'd much rather just enjoy my time and intimate activities with a girl than constantly wonder if she's thinking about someone else - here's the thing, if you're doing it right, then she won't be thinking. And you can usually tell if you're doing it right.
So whatever you're doing, wherever you're doing it, stop worrying and just do it right. Sex, traveling or Iceland, just don't think; DO! Which means I'm going to stop thinking about my packing issues and just put all my stuff in one suitcase, probably breaking the laws of physics and discovering a new dimension in the process. Nobel Peace Prize, here I come.
Now it comes to leaving, it seems a bit jarring; I've lived out here for almost a year and made some really good friends, but everything has to be left behind. Of course, those things can come visit - I could name one very attractive thing that could come visit - but that is up to them. I am doing my best to tempt anyone back over the pond for a European sojourn but apparently no one has the money. Which is where the first point of this entry comes in:
ICELAND!!! Yes, the country. No, not the cheap supermarket for those of you in England. Iceland suffered under the economic crisis a lot, and subsequently air travel to, from and through Iceland is cheap. Very cheap. So to all those people out there wanting to cross the Atlantic, go through Iceland.
Secondly, if you know me, are American, and want to come to England, do. Traveling is well worth the money and time, trust me on this. I'm going to do as much as I can before I'm thirty and settle down to have a family. Admittedly, depending on how settling down goes I may start traveling again at thirty-one.
American families seem to be generally more dysfunctional than English ones - I'm not trying to be insulting, I'm basing this on observations I've made while here. My corridor mate has told me on several occasions that they hate his mother and another has said that they're never having a family because it just doesn't work. There are more examples but this is a blog, not a psychology report. I know for a fact that there are dysfunctional families in England - look at East Croydon for proof - but I didn't meet so many people with those issues. Maybe I was lucky. Or maybe they avoid me out of sickening jealousy for my normal, happy, functional family.
Either way, Americans in general - key disclaimer there, IN GENERAL - believe that families tend to fall apart or not work, just like relationships. A friend of mine told me most relationships fail. Which, to be honest, is true. But then again, all wars are lost and everyone dies. Finding a relationship that works makes up for the ones that fail - and when I say works I don't mean makes you happy until it fails, I mean one that doesn't fail.
It has also been highlighted to me that I have not been in a relationship that works, by my definition. And this is, sadly, true. But not because of a fault on my behalf - apparently. Aside from being four hundred miles away due to unavoidable circumstances which if I'd have the choice I would have definitely changed. This being the case, I still look for the best in a relationship which I believe allows one to enjoy that relationship more than if you're constantly worrying over it. To be perfectly honest, I'd much rather just enjoy my time and intimate activities with a girl than constantly wonder if she's thinking about someone else - here's the thing, if you're doing it right, then she won't be thinking. And you can usually tell if you're doing it right.
So whatever you're doing, wherever you're doing it, stop worrying and just do it right. Sex, traveling or Iceland, just don't think; DO! Which means I'm going to stop thinking about my packing issues and just put all my stuff in one suitcase, probably breaking the laws of physics and discovering a new dimension in the process. Nobel Peace Prize, here I come.
Wednesday, 1 April 2009
Brilliant Plan
This is just a quick note - I have come up with the greatest plan ever to motivate people.
Heavy. Metal. Cheerleaders.
Personally, I do anything for a black haired girl in black and silver cheerleader stuff and spiked collars or whatever. And if you weren't into that, then the dominatrix-styled ones would intimidate you into doing whatever it was you had to do. Or you'd get the hose again.
Commercialised sex and two fingered signs; I'm brilliant. Now...to find some heavy metal cheerleaders. Hayden Panettiere would probably be up for it. Win.
Heavy. Metal. Cheerleaders.
Personally, I do anything for a black haired girl in black and silver cheerleader stuff and spiked collars or whatever. And if you weren't into that, then the dominatrix-styled ones would intimidate you into doing whatever it was you had to do. Or you'd get the hose again.
Commercialised sex and two fingered signs; I'm brilliant. Now...to find some heavy metal cheerleaders. Hayden Panettiere would probably be up for it. Win.
Sunday, 29 March 2009
Welcome to the United States of Sporting Events.
Last night I went to an indoor Lacrosse game, Buffalo Bandits vs. NY Titans. Unfortunately, the Bandits lost even after putting up a great fight. The bigger shock for me was that I completely and thoroughly enjoyed every second of it - this is a shock because I'm usually not a sports kind of guy. Maybe this is because in England for some stupid reasons there are no cheerleaders.
I've only ever been to a few sports games before, and certainly nothing this big or televised. I don't know the rules for Lacrosse, at all. Even after my friend Dan explained a few to me. Although there didn't seem to be that many - clearly evident from the gloriously gladiatorial game play. But I found myself hooked on every second, so much so that I forgot I was holding a pint of beer when the Bandits equalized their second goal in the first quarter, which nearly resulted in me bathing a large number of people in over-priced alcohol during my celebration.
My only real explanation of why I enjoyed it so much was that the U.S. can do sports like nothing else; every part of the game and stadium was geared towards audience satisfaction. I loved it; the huge stadium with its dangerous over hanging balconies, the 100" TV's suspended above centre field, the bright primary colours of the arena building decor the violence inherent in the game itself and of course the cheerleaders.
Now, here's my issue; parents are supposedly worried about their darling little girls becoming objectified and seen as pretty faces rather than real people. And then they let them join a cheerleading squad - admittedly I was disappointed with the decency of the Bandits' cheerleaders but the Titans' girls definitely made up for it, wearing a belt and half a square foot of cloth. There were girls on the Bandits' squad that can't have been more than 8, which was worrying for a whole different reason, but apparently their parents were all for their objectification.
Not that I'm complaining. Certainly not. Except about the 8 year olds.
Back to the issue; the entire experience was thoroughly enjoyable, even for a poor foreigner like me who had no real idea what was going on, despite the explanations of the nearby crowd, especially the blond behind me who believed herself to be too manly. Clearly the girl had never looked in a mirror because she clearly displayed a good example of feminine physicality - so what if she liked beer and sports? That's not really a problem. At least she didn't obsess over shoes.
I enjoyed the experience so much that I got a Bandits' jersey and I'm going again as soon as possible. If I happen to accidentally run into some cheerleaders, that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. As long as they aren't 8 years old, as having me run into them could quite possibly lead to serious bodily harm.
I've only ever been to a few sports games before, and certainly nothing this big or televised. I don't know the rules for Lacrosse, at all. Even after my friend Dan explained a few to me. Although there didn't seem to be that many - clearly evident from the gloriously gladiatorial game play. But I found myself hooked on every second, so much so that I forgot I was holding a pint of beer when the Bandits equalized their second goal in the first quarter, which nearly resulted in me bathing a large number of people in over-priced alcohol during my celebration.
My only real explanation of why I enjoyed it so much was that the U.S. can do sports like nothing else; every part of the game and stadium was geared towards audience satisfaction. I loved it; the huge stadium with its dangerous over hanging balconies, the 100" TV's suspended above centre field, the bright primary colours of the arena building decor the violence inherent in the game itself and of course the cheerleaders.
Now, here's my issue; parents are supposedly worried about their darling little girls becoming objectified and seen as pretty faces rather than real people. And then they let them join a cheerleading squad - admittedly I was disappointed with the decency of the Bandits' cheerleaders but the Titans' girls definitely made up for it, wearing a belt and half a square foot of cloth. There were girls on the Bandits' squad that can't have been more than 8, which was worrying for a whole different reason, but apparently their parents were all for their objectification.
Not that I'm complaining. Certainly not. Except about the 8 year olds.
Back to the issue; the entire experience was thoroughly enjoyable, even for a poor foreigner like me who had no real idea what was going on, despite the explanations of the nearby crowd, especially the blond behind me who believed herself to be too manly. Clearly the girl had never looked in a mirror because she clearly displayed a good example of feminine physicality - so what if she liked beer and sports? That's not really a problem. At least she didn't obsess over shoes.
I enjoyed the experience so much that I got a Bandits' jersey and I'm going again as soon as possible. If I happen to accidentally run into some cheerleaders, that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. As long as they aren't 8 years old, as having me run into them could quite possibly lead to serious bodily harm.
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
Religiously musical
Now before I start, I want to make this clear - I understand there is a time and a place for every type of music. Before I continue, readers should understand this - I am still trying to find a suitable time and/or place for amateur emo lyrics.
My taste in music is far from being beyond criticism; anyone who sits next to me on the bus will tell you I'm probably crazy. Dragonforce/Cascada/ACDC/Lordi/Basshunter/Leonard Cohen isn't an average play list, I know, and it's hard to find something that escapes the title 'indie rock' or 'hip hop' that is in fact not either of these. I am not trying to be non-comformist - to do that apparently I'd have to listen to these genres - I just honestly do not like these genres.
Music is as close to peoples hearts as religion. You tell someone that their favourite artist is about as talented as an epileptic skunk on crack and they'll probably try to burn you - unless their idol is someone like Amy Winehouse who is an epileptic skunk on crack, albeit one with a good singing voice. At least, she had.
My point is that all music is appreciated by some people. Sub-cultures develop for a reason and, although I hate to say it, I'm sure there's a reason for emo music being maintained. Quite why I have yet to discover; if emo's goal in life is hating it so much it drives them to suicide how many of them can there be? Left, I mean. Surely they'll eventually wipe themselves out? Then where will emo bands be?
Maybe it's a global conspiracy. Maybe emo bands sing about almost killing yourselves so that their fan base never actually kills itself and their never left without a job. If that's the case, I cry out to all those emo kids out there who are having their dreams curtailed by their supposed idols: "FIGHT THE POWER! LIVE YOUR DREAM! KILL YOURSELVES!!"
I'm going to go play emo music to my lawn now in the hope it will cut itself. That's about the only useful application i can find. Maybe it would help at hairdressers too.
My taste in music is far from being beyond criticism; anyone who sits next to me on the bus will tell you I'm probably crazy. Dragonforce/Cascada/ACDC/Lordi/Basshunter/Leonard Cohen isn't an average play list, I know, and it's hard to find something that escapes the title 'indie rock' or 'hip hop' that is in fact not either of these. I am not trying to be non-comformist - to do that apparently I'd have to listen to these genres - I just honestly do not like these genres.
Music is as close to peoples hearts as religion. You tell someone that their favourite artist is about as talented as an epileptic skunk on crack and they'll probably try to burn you - unless their idol is someone like Amy Winehouse who is an epileptic skunk on crack, albeit one with a good singing voice. At least, she had.
My point is that all music is appreciated by some people. Sub-cultures develop for a reason and, although I hate to say it, I'm sure there's a reason for emo music being maintained. Quite why I have yet to discover; if emo's goal in life is hating it so much it drives them to suicide how many of them can there be? Left, I mean. Surely they'll eventually wipe themselves out? Then where will emo bands be?
Maybe it's a global conspiracy. Maybe emo bands sing about almost killing yourselves so that their fan base never actually kills itself and their never left without a job. If that's the case, I cry out to all those emo kids out there who are having their dreams curtailed by their supposed idols: "FIGHT THE POWER! LIVE YOUR DREAM! KILL YOURSELVES!!"
I'm going to go play emo music to my lawn now in the hope it will cut itself. That's about the only useful application i can find. Maybe it would help at hairdressers too.
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