Yeah, yeah, yeah, I have been, once more, lapse in updating this thing.
I haven't done anything new, and that's why there hasn't been so much as a peep or a squeak from this tiny patch of the blogosphere. Don't worry though, there have been plenty of hangovers in between then and now, and plenty of utterances of 'Never again.'
Good stuff.
At the moment I am grappling with the advent of Halloween. That's new. Normally I don't give a shit about that, but when you go past two massive stores dedicated to one evening, then you get the sense it's a big deal. So, why the fuck not? Making a tit of myself has always been a by-product of my life, so I see no reason not to do so intentionally. Yes, I have an idea for a costume, and maybe you'll be lucky enough to see a pic of it. However, should any of you guess who it is, then geez, I owe you a beer.
Maybe not Dom, I know he'll get it straight away. Meh, fuck it, a beer and a Yao Ming statuette sounds good.
Other than that, I have no real news.
Oh, well, Marcus' parents are in town, so I have had to move into a different room. I actually prefer the new room.
I've been getting into NFL in a big way, too. That's kind of new. Actually, I should qualify that statement. I've been getting into the Houston Texans in a big way. I've always had a peripheral eye on NFL. Blame Dad for that. I've known enough to blag it and look like I know what I am doing, but fucking hell, when you are dropped into a culture that is 100% sports 100% of the time, motherfucker you best get wise.
But you know what? I've loved it. Sitting in a bar, or just sat on the sofa, having a beer and talking trash, it's... Well, it's fun. I will actually seek out a pub back home to watch it over Christmas and who the fuck knows, maybe I'll get in on a fantasy football league next year.
Maybe.
Tuesday, 5 October 2010
Wednesday, 22 September 2010
Post Pumpkins Progression
Every muscle in my body is tired. Every single bead of sweat is being felt. My eyes ache. My ears ring. My skin itches to rest. My head is still pounding. The alcohol I have drunk has yet to string me up, but I know it plans on it. The bus ride was a torturous one, all menace and no pay-off. I am experiencing the thirst usually reserved for the walk home after a night out - drinking so much yet never feeling quenched. I have a bit mark on my wrist that itches like a hooker's ladysatchel after a night on the beach and her customer was the Sandman.
Yet I cannot sleep. Shitting Christmas trees I want to sleep, but my mind will not let me. I think I overthought on the bus. I think that I have maybe overthought that. You see? I'd like to tell you what sparked it off, but I couldn't tell you without doubting it. It could anything from the fact I am tired, so tired from the day itself. The fact that I can say that I have seen one of my favouritestestest bands ever play some of my favourite songs, and now I wonder if I could say a similar thing again. Perhaps it was the fact that the bus driver was reading a fucking book while driving (I really wish I was kidding) and I pondered if I would make it off the bus through the normal exits and not through someone else's skull on the way to the windshield.
But I do know that there was a distinct smell from my hoodie, a tiny trace of a memory nestled in the combination of sweat, fabric softener, and that smell that clothes have when you haven't worn them in a while, taking on the odour of the clothes they sat next to, hung with, or just looked at. And that smell reminded me of being back at school.
Year 7 or 8 languages in those crappy wooden huts. The smell of my uniform, the freshness and newness. The innocence I guess. What happened to that kid? I know he's dead, that child hasn't been seen for a long time, but I do know there's a man in his place who looks an awful like him. Completely different attitude though. Much better hair, too.
So yeah, that's what the hell I've been over-analysing.
I doubt I'll go into Con Law this afternoon. I really, sincerely, most honestly, need to chill. Today was meant to be that day, but Democrats and Billy Corgan happened.
I need to detox, I think. No drinking for a while. I won't go out on Friday, won't go out on Saturday either. If I do go to this cook-out doo-dah I will think long and hard about what the journey there and back will take out of me. It is hard work riding the bus. Every single drop of energy can leave your body if you're not careful.
I will think long and hard, too, about what I want to do after this. 'Cos now I don't know anymore. I knew this wasn't going to be an easy career path and nor should it be. But at times like this, when I have no motivation to think in any manner that isn't completely self-centred and whiny, when I just don't want to get out of bed or see a time that I might want to, I just have to think if I can be bothered.
Ugh, go to bed.
Yet I cannot sleep. Shitting Christmas trees I want to sleep, but my mind will not let me. I think I overthought on the bus. I think that I have maybe overthought that. You see? I'd like to tell you what sparked it off, but I couldn't tell you without doubting it. It could anything from the fact I am tired, so tired from the day itself. The fact that I can say that I have seen one of my favouritestestest bands ever play some of my favourite songs, and now I wonder if I could say a similar thing again. Perhaps it was the fact that the bus driver was reading a fucking book while driving (I really wish I was kidding) and I pondered if I would make it off the bus through the normal exits and not through someone else's skull on the way to the windshield.
But I do know that there was a distinct smell from my hoodie, a tiny trace of a memory nestled in the combination of sweat, fabric softener, and that smell that clothes have when you haven't worn them in a while, taking on the odour of the clothes they sat next to, hung with, or just looked at. And that smell reminded me of being back at school.
Year 7 or 8 languages in those crappy wooden huts. The smell of my uniform, the freshness and newness. The innocence I guess. What happened to that kid? I know he's dead, that child hasn't been seen for a long time, but I do know there's a man in his place who looks an awful like him. Completely different attitude though. Much better hair, too.
So yeah, that's what the hell I've been over-analysing.
I doubt I'll go into Con Law this afternoon. I really, sincerely, most honestly, need to chill. Today was meant to be that day, but Democrats and Billy Corgan happened.
I need to detox, I think. No drinking for a while. I won't go out on Friday, won't go out on Saturday either. If I do go to this cook-out doo-dah I will think long and hard about what the journey there and back will take out of me. It is hard work riding the bus. Every single drop of energy can leave your body if you're not careful.
I will think long and hard, too, about what I want to do after this. 'Cos now I don't know anymore. I knew this wasn't going to be an easy career path and nor should it be. But at times like this, when I have no motivation to think in any manner that isn't completely self-centred and whiny, when I just don't want to get out of bed or see a time that I might want to, I just have to think if I can be bothered.
Ugh, go to bed.
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
Homesick?
People that I have met out here frequesntly ask me if I feel homesick.
'No,' I tell them, 'I feel friendsick.'
And I do. Don't get me wrong, I do miss parts of Plymouth, I miss mum and dad, Nicola and Toffee, but I've been to university. I know I can cope with being apart from them. This is just like that, but with an ocean between places.
But truly I am friendsick. I would really quite like to go to the pub quiz with Sumika, Zack and co. Have cup of tea in Paul's back garden. Pretend to be eating steak and chips with Steve. Going on an aimless walk with Stefan.
It makes it harder seeing them do stuff together. I missed Zack and Dhani's housewarming. That sucks. I have missed countless nights out. That sucks. I have missed, no doubt, the stupid trips to KFC and marathons of My Super Sweet 16. That really sucks.
But do I begrudge them that? Hell no. Do I wish I hadn't come out here? Definitely not.
I know the obvious flaw in that argument is that I am away from them at uni. Well yeah, but I have friends in Norwich and they have their friends where ever.
Ugh, fuck this mood. I need to eat crap now.
'No,' I tell them, 'I feel friendsick.'
And I do. Don't get me wrong, I do miss parts of Plymouth, I miss mum and dad, Nicola and Toffee, but I've been to university. I know I can cope with being apart from them. This is just like that, but with an ocean between places.
But truly I am friendsick. I would really quite like to go to the pub quiz with Sumika, Zack and co. Have cup of tea in Paul's back garden. Pretend to be eating steak and chips with Steve. Going on an aimless walk with Stefan.
It makes it harder seeing them do stuff together. I missed Zack and Dhani's housewarming. That sucks. I have missed countless nights out. That sucks. I have missed, no doubt, the stupid trips to KFC and marathons of My Super Sweet 16. That really sucks.
But do I begrudge them that? Hell no. Do I wish I hadn't come out here? Definitely not.
I know the obvious flaw in that argument is that I am away from them at uni. Well yeah, but I have friends in Norwich and they have their friends where ever.
Ugh, fuck this mood. I need to eat crap now.
Monday, 13 September 2010
9 days without a post, how did you manage?
Well, I guess I owe you an apology.
Sorry.
There.
Look, I've been busy doing stuff. Class takes up some time if we throw in the amount of time it takes to get there and back on the bus, and the studying I do at home, and the shit done downtown. So there's most of my day gone, really.
Plus, I have been socialising a bit. On Friday I went to a trivia night hosted by one of the fraternities. It was at a pub in Midtown and yes, I got smashed. The hangover took up Saturday morning, and the rest of the day was, of course, spent drinking some more, watching college ball and doing nothing. Oh yeah, Marcus held a dinner party type thing. Well, he had some friends round (I was the youngest person by about 20 years) and cooked a massive dish of paella. It was tasty and so was the copious amounts of wine being consumed.
Thursday we went to another baseball game. Must stop doing that. It was Kayleigh's first time, so I guess it was alright. But no, the game is still shit.
Oh, Sunday was full of NFL and drinking. I do like that game, it's actually pretty exciting.
Um, look, I dunno how much effort I feel like expending on my blog. I haven't really had anything exciting to write about. I have a routine and it's not likely to change for a while.
Yes, I have a birthday coming up that may change all that, but what time do I have? How can I go anywhere not a bus route? People have been asking me if I have been making friends. What am I? A fuckin' 5 year old starting school? What do you expect me to say? Of course I've been making friends, but I hesitate to use that word. I have made acquaintances. I have gone drinking and met people who are in my classes and then I talk to them. I have people's numbers, added them on Facebook, made plans. What do you expect me to say? 'No, I am a lonely fuck'?
Ugh, sorry, but it frustrates me. It's such a dumb question.
I don't like talking about myself. I seriously hate it. I also hate being asked to tell someone how I feel and what has happened. If I have anything to tell, I will tell it when the occasion arises. If I have cause to say how the people are, who I made friends with, where I went, what is so 'craaaaaazy' about Texas, I will say it. Just don't ask me outright. Just don't. Makes me feel like a tourist, and I never want to be a tourist. Hence why there are no photos. I don't take them, because I want to see the world through my own eyes and not through a lense. If that isn't good enough, then I am terribly sorry that you feel that way. Yes, I get it, people want a record of what they have done, where they have been, but that's not. If I've done it, I've done it.
Man, I sound like a cunt.
On the upside, I have been getting mail from mother, so that's a bonus.
Sorry.
There.
Look, I've been busy doing stuff. Class takes up some time if we throw in the amount of time it takes to get there and back on the bus, and the studying I do at home, and the shit done downtown. So there's most of my day gone, really.
Plus, I have been socialising a bit. On Friday I went to a trivia night hosted by one of the fraternities. It was at a pub in Midtown and yes, I got smashed. The hangover took up Saturday morning, and the rest of the day was, of course, spent drinking some more, watching college ball and doing nothing. Oh yeah, Marcus held a dinner party type thing. Well, he had some friends round (I was the youngest person by about 20 years) and cooked a massive dish of paella. It was tasty and so was the copious amounts of wine being consumed.
Thursday we went to another baseball game. Must stop doing that. It was Kayleigh's first time, so I guess it was alright. But no, the game is still shit.
Oh, Sunday was full of NFL and drinking. I do like that game, it's actually pretty exciting.
Um, look, I dunno how much effort I feel like expending on my blog. I haven't really had anything exciting to write about. I have a routine and it's not likely to change for a while.
Yes, I have a birthday coming up that may change all that, but what time do I have? How can I go anywhere not a bus route? People have been asking me if I have been making friends. What am I? A fuckin' 5 year old starting school? What do you expect me to say? Of course I've been making friends, but I hesitate to use that word. I have made acquaintances. I have gone drinking and met people who are in my classes and then I talk to them. I have people's numbers, added them on Facebook, made plans. What do you expect me to say? 'No, I am a lonely fuck'?
Ugh, sorry, but it frustrates me. It's such a dumb question.
I don't like talking about myself. I seriously hate it. I also hate being asked to tell someone how I feel and what has happened. If I have anything to tell, I will tell it when the occasion arises. If I have cause to say how the people are, who I made friends with, where I went, what is so 'craaaaaazy' about Texas, I will say it. Just don't ask me outright. Just don't. Makes me feel like a tourist, and I never want to be a tourist. Hence why there are no photos. I don't take them, because I want to see the world through my own eyes and not through a lense. If that isn't good enough, then I am terribly sorry that you feel that way. Yes, I get it, people want a record of what they have done, where they have been, but that's not. If I've done it, I've done it.
Man, I sound like a cunt.
On the upside, I have been getting mail from mother, so that's a bonus.
Saturday, 4 September 2010
Fuckin' alcohol, how does that work?
It works well, dammit.
This week was good. I liked it. Not much happened class wise, and Ngoni and I went to another baseball game ('cos we didn't learn our lesson the first time). No, dear gentle reader, this week was good for the sheer amount of alcohol swimming through my veins.
You see, the Democrat Society are a great group of people. On Thursday they invited me to a bar Downtown called Charbar. Of course I went. It's a great way to meet people, and fuck, the girl's are hawt.
It was a good shout.
For some reason, and one I will never challenge, everything was paid for. At least for me it was. Ngoni had to pay for shit. Other people were paying for shit. But not me. I think we both know I abused this. How much I drank is irrelevant.
It's quite astonishing how small the bar is, yet managed to encompass all of us. I can't put into words the fun I had. Talking to everyone, just meeting people and discovering which of my classes they were in. I doubt I'll go a day at school without seeing someone from that night.
So, whatever time we left (I have a feeling it was about 2, maybe 3) Ngoni and I split a cab to his place. Fuck am I getting a cab back to mine. I crash on his futon and wake up knowing I'll have to face a class.
I kinda wanted to go to class, but I just felt so rough. The bus ride back home was broken up by visiting a few shops. I went into Marshall's and Old Navy by the Galleria, got another bus, stopped into Academy (a huge fuck off sports and outdoor store), went into Boston Market and had an amazing chicken sandwich, then finally got on another bus.
I knew that there was to be a social hour on Friday. The fliers for it were all over the college. I just didn't know if I was going to go. First, getting there would be a bitch. Second, HOW THE FUCK WOULD I GET BACK?! Third, I had just tied one on.
But, I went. You know that feeling where you feel like you missed out? That you could've had the best night of your life? The feeling that eats at you and makes you feel moody?
Well, that feeling I didn't want to have.
The bus ride in was a bitch, requiring three separate buses, some waiting around and a whole lot of avoiding eye contact, I arrive at Rebel's.
It's a country bar. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but let's face it, I'm a geeky white boy. This ain't my scene. Fuck it, let's do this scene.
Ngoni was already there. He was the fuck who persuaded me to go, so I expect him to show up. He had a beer waiting for me, which was nice. So, we spoke to people we already knew from around the school. And kept talking, drinking, meeting people, recognizing faces, drinking, talking, drinking, etc.
I do not recall at what point the music became intensely country, but I do know that, beyond my own belief, I liked it. I know, I was shocked too. Now, let me qualify that statement. I don't love country, I certainly won't be buying any albums, nor downloading anything, and fuck off will I go to a country concert. But I can dig it in the context of a night out. When in Rome, right?
The dance floor ebbed and flowed with the dances that EVERYONE knows. I can't dance. I am not getting on that dancefloor. Then the linedancing happened.
OK, I linedanced. Just once, I swear. Obviously I was awful, but the blatantly gay guy (who was in denial) insisted I do it. He was in my personal zone far too often all night. Hey, buddy, you're a nice guy an' all, but you are making far too much bodily contact. Unless you are a lady I do not want this contact. No sir, not today, no way, no how.
The night wa--
Sorry, I've just come back from the cinema. The American is a damn fine film. Watch it. Watch it now.
Anyway, the night was good. I dunno where I was going with that.
College football is on. I am not invested in who wins.
This week was good. I liked it. Not much happened class wise, and Ngoni and I went to another baseball game ('cos we didn't learn our lesson the first time). No, dear gentle reader, this week was good for the sheer amount of alcohol swimming through my veins.
You see, the Democrat Society are a great group of people. On Thursday they invited me to a bar Downtown called Charbar. Of course I went. It's a great way to meet people, and fuck, the girl's are hawt.
It was a good shout.
For some reason, and one I will never challenge, everything was paid for. At least for me it was. Ngoni had to pay for shit. Other people were paying for shit. But not me. I think we both know I abused this. How much I drank is irrelevant.
It's quite astonishing how small the bar is, yet managed to encompass all of us. I can't put into words the fun I had. Talking to everyone, just meeting people and discovering which of my classes they were in. I doubt I'll go a day at school without seeing someone from that night.
So, whatever time we left (I have a feeling it was about 2, maybe 3) Ngoni and I split a cab to his place. Fuck am I getting a cab back to mine. I crash on his futon and wake up knowing I'll have to face a class.
I kinda wanted to go to class, but I just felt so rough. The bus ride back home was broken up by visiting a few shops. I went into Marshall's and Old Navy by the Galleria, got another bus, stopped into Academy (a huge fuck off sports and outdoor store), went into Boston Market and had an amazing chicken sandwich, then finally got on another bus.
I knew that there was to be a social hour on Friday. The fliers for it were all over the college. I just didn't know if I was going to go. First, getting there would be a bitch. Second, HOW THE FUCK WOULD I GET BACK?! Third, I had just tied one on.
But, I went. You know that feeling where you feel like you missed out? That you could've had the best night of your life? The feeling that eats at you and makes you feel moody?
Well, that feeling I didn't want to have.
The bus ride in was a bitch, requiring three separate buses, some waiting around and a whole lot of avoiding eye contact, I arrive at Rebel's.
It's a country bar. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but let's face it, I'm a geeky white boy. This ain't my scene. Fuck it, let's do this scene.
Ngoni was already there. He was the fuck who persuaded me to go, so I expect him to show up. He had a beer waiting for me, which was nice. So, we spoke to people we already knew from around the school. And kept talking, drinking, meeting people, recognizing faces, drinking, talking, drinking, etc.
I do not recall at what point the music became intensely country, but I do know that, beyond my own belief, I liked it. I know, I was shocked too. Now, let me qualify that statement. I don't love country, I certainly won't be buying any albums, nor downloading anything, and fuck off will I go to a country concert. But I can dig it in the context of a night out. When in Rome, right?
The dance floor ebbed and flowed with the dances that EVERYONE knows. I can't dance. I am not getting on that dancefloor. Then the linedancing happened.
OK, I linedanced. Just once, I swear. Obviously I was awful, but the blatantly gay guy (who was in denial) insisted I do it. He was in my personal zone far too often all night. Hey, buddy, you're a nice guy an' all, but you are making far too much bodily contact. Unless you are a lady I do not want this contact. No sir, not today, no way, no how.
The night wa--
Sorry, I've just come back from the cinema. The American is a damn fine film. Watch it. Watch it now.
Anyway, the night was good. I dunno where I was going with that.
College football is on. I am not invested in who wins.
Sunday, 29 August 2010
Sunday, Sunday here again, tidy attire
The weekend makes me feel a bit restless. In theory, I could go anywhere I damn well please, but let's face facts. I'm restricted to the bus routes, and thus, the amount of time I am willing to suffer in order to get to where I want to go. Also, I'm a lazy fucker, so by the time I get out of bed, have a shower, get dressed and eat a Pop Tart or two, it's gone 12:30. That limits the times of stuff I could do things.
Downtown is doable within those parameters, but then, why do I want to go to place I go four days anyway? If there was anything there I would know about it and probably have seen it or been there already. Or made plans to do it.
The Galleria, while a nice mall, is expensive. And really doesn't have that many shops that I'm interested in. OK, the Lego shop is badass, but the lack of any visible prices isn't inspiring for my budget.
West Oaks Mall is 30 minutes by bus at the end of Westheimer, but I really can't see myself going there. I'll probably check it out at some point, but for the moment, there's not much (judging from the website, at least) to interest me.
Everywhere else requires getting on a different bus. And that requires planning and details. It hardly leaves the way open for adventure. I'm not necessarily pining to discover a cool/quirky/fruity/bitchin' shop or restaurant (and certainly not a bar before the 18th), but it would be nice to just check shit out. But then, I'm a lazy fuck.
Honestly, I don't need to buy anything. I guess I could do with some more pairs of shorts, a couple more shirts and a few more pairs of boxers* wouldn't go amiss, but what do I sincerely need? That's the question.
And out here, it's very easy to get 'need' and 'want' confused. My MP3 - while old and prone to crashing - does the job. Yet, I 'need' a new one. (That said, the current range of MP3 players are pretty hit and miss. Maybe the Zune would be the best choice, but why in the name of Kunte Kinte would you not have a dedicated volume button?)
It's the same thing with my phone. It's perfectly alright and works like a charm over here. Yet, I 'need' an Adroid smartphone. Well, no I don't. I just want one. It makes no sense to get one out here, it'll have to be a UK purchase. But then it'd be more expensive and taxed like a motherfucker.
Since I am a whore for DVDs, I had a semi-complete list written out in my head of DVDs I wanted to pick up. Spaced, for example, has a pretty sweet selection of commentaries on the R1 release. Oh, and pick up a bunch of volumes of MST3K, too. Yet, confronted on Amazon with these items I still look for the cheaper prices, only to find there are none. And the prices are pretty high. It seems that sales on that kind of item are just not happening. Dammit.
Still, I did pick up Better Off Ted season 1. Should be arriving any day soon now, so I will bask in that glory.
It's coming up to 1pm, I'm still in bed, need a shower, have work to do and no big ideas. If I am quick enough I could check out a KFC...
*Boxers out here are fucked up. It seems the most popular type of pants is the boxer brief. I'd hate to piss on anyone's cornflakes, but I will never wear boxer briefs. They do nothing to make my junk look appealing. Upon finding a cheap pair of proper boxers, I can guarantee that they won't have any buttons. Just a flap. I don't care for my penis escaping from the cosy ensconcement of my pants, thank you very much. Digging about for boxers that DO have buttons reveals that buttons out here must cost the fucking eart. $8-10 for a pack of three boxers with buttons compared to four or five pairs for $5. Oh and socks? Fucking hell, when did men's socks be confined to 'BLACK' and 'WHITE'. I pine for Primark.
Saturday, 28 August 2010
Week Dos Equis
Bars around STCL are surprisingly lax in their ID policies.
"Hey, can I open a tab?"
"Yeah, sure!'
"Sweeeeeeeet."
The weekend is here and it means that I give another wrap up. This is probably how it's going to go from now on. I don't really have too much time during the week to put my thoughts together in a cogent manner, if they ever were cogent. Tuesdays (being my only free weekday - henceforth dubbed 'Midweek Friday') might yield a blog post if I find anything sufficiently interesting to talk about.
So, last weekend was pretty killer. Saw Piranha 3D at a multiplex. A cinema is a cinema, I guess, and there's a few minor differences. This one had the box office actually outside the building in a separate booth. Great idea - sweat while in line and feel the need to buy drinks. Sneaky fuckers.
A word on Piranha 3D - FUCKYEAH!
Wait, I've said that.
Saturday also saw the purchase of a Houston Astros baseball shirt. I do look like a massive twat in it.
On Sunday I made the silly choice of walking as far up on Westheimer as I could before getting murdered by sweat. However, Whataburger made up for all that. Best burger beer and pizza evenever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. So fucking good.
So, Monday was Monday. Get up at 9, get the bus at 10:10, get into STCL at 11:20 (sigh), do Con Law, go find some food (Quiznos), eat said food, go back to STCL, do Legislation, get the bus at like 5:20pm, get home at around 7pm (sigh).
Quiznos Subs is Subway with a bowl. As in, they put your sandwich in a bowl so the filling doesn't go everywhere. As for the food, Subway is better. By a million times.
Tuesday saw STCL do a beer and pizza evening. So obviously I took advantage of that. I can't tell you how many or even which societies I joined, but my name went down on a lot of lists. Plus, I met a ton of people, but damned if I can remember their names. It was fun. After that, me and Ngoni checked out a few bars in the surrounding area. My word they are nice. And cheap(ish). And don't care about my lack of ID. Oh dear.
Wednesday through to Friday was uneventful. Nowt much happened. I had a Taco Bell at some point (and wished I hadn't), had a Sonic meal (and wished I hadn't) and went to a bar with Kayleigh (who was in awe that we could get served, bless).
Anyway, I need to brush up on my American football. I really am enjoying that game more than I remembered.
HOODAT!
"Hey, can I open a tab?"
"Yeah, sure!'
"Sweeeeeeeet."
The weekend is here and it means that I give another wrap up. This is probably how it's going to go from now on. I don't really have too much time during the week to put my thoughts together in a cogent manner, if they ever were cogent. Tuesdays (being my only free weekday - henceforth dubbed 'Midweek Friday') might yield a blog post if I find anything sufficiently interesting to talk about.
So, last weekend was pretty killer. Saw Piranha 3D at a multiplex. A cinema is a cinema, I guess, and there's a few minor differences. This one had the box office actually outside the building in a separate booth. Great idea - sweat while in line and feel the need to buy drinks. Sneaky fuckers.
A word on Piranha 3D - FUCKYEAH!
Wait, I've said that.
Saturday also saw the purchase of a Houston Astros baseball shirt. I do look like a massive twat in it.
On Sunday I made the silly choice of walking as far up on Westheimer as I could before getting murdered by sweat. However, Whataburger made up for all that. Best burger beer and pizza evenever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. So fucking good.
So, Monday was Monday. Get up at 9, get the bus at 10:10, get into STCL at 11:20 (sigh), do Con Law, go find some food (Quiznos), eat said food, go back to STCL, do Legislation, get the bus at like 5:20pm, get home at around 7pm (sigh).
Quiznos Subs is Subway with a bowl. As in, they put your sandwich in a bowl so the filling doesn't go everywhere. As for the food, Subway is better. By a million times.
Tuesday saw STCL do a beer and pizza evening. So obviously I took advantage of that. I can't tell you how many or even which societies I joined, but my name went down on a lot of lists. Plus, I met a ton of people, but damned if I can remember their names. It was fun. After that, me and Ngoni checked out a few bars in the surrounding area. My word they are nice. And cheap(ish). And don't care about my lack of ID. Oh dear.
Wednesday through to Friday was uneventful. Nowt much happened. I had a Taco Bell at some point (and wished I hadn't), had a Sonic meal (and wished I hadn't) and went to a bar with Kayleigh (who was in awe that we could get served, bless).
Anyway, I need to brush up on my American football. I really am enjoying that game more than I remembered.
HOODAT!
Sunday, 22 August 2010
Post-game musings
I've decided to write a little piece to sum up my first proper week of classes. It's been about 17 days since I landed in Houston and it's seems like I've always been here. Sure, I've still got a ton of stuff to learn, experience, work out, do, inject into my bloodstream, and so on, but the routine has been established.
STCL is a hell of a college. Its reputation is sincerely impressive - I believe they have won more mock trial awards and shit than any other law school. So obviously they don't dick around. The staff are beyond professional and certainly the professors I have know their stuff inside out. It's astonishing to think that I am part of this community, coming in with my bumblefuck ways, stealing knowledge and leaving a legacy of 'Who the fuck was that vulgar English kid?'. That'll work.
Anyway, in terms of new experiences I have:
My latest class finishes at 7:30. First Amendment is a brilliant subject and straightforward enough. But it finishes at 7:30. Which means I get home at about 9:30 when it's dark, the freaks are out, on the bus and so eager to sit next to me. I might have to invest in that MagLite. Heavy AND practical. What a steal!
Strangely, the bus ride home after the Astros game was better even though I got through the door at about 11:15. I guess its cos there were less 'undesirables', a load of fans and people who were too tired to give a shit.
Oh, and the plan of taking the laptop in everyday will have to be tweaked. While not heavy in itself, the whole thing plus the books I'll need to carry and other bollocks just adds up to shoulder ache. So, the netbook makes a return appearance. It'll do what I want it to, just slower and more frustrating.
Why the fuck am I writing that crap? Who cares about my technology intricacies?
STCL is a hell of a college. Its reputation is sincerely impressive - I believe they have won more mock trial awards and shit than any other law school. So obviously they don't dick around. The staff are beyond professional and certainly the professors I have know their stuff inside out. It's astonishing to think that I am part of this community, coming in with my bumblefuck ways, stealing knowledge and leaving a legacy of 'Who the fuck was that vulgar English kid?'. That'll work.
Anyway, in terms of new experiences I have:
- Been to a Charley's Grilled Sub - Zack would love it
- Been to a Popeye's Chicken and Biscuits - They're scones, for fuck's sake
- Been to a Burger King - So much better than in the UK
- Been to a baseball game - NY Mets v Houston Astros (a dull game but I can see the appeal if you had good teams)
- Been to a bar without Marcus - A strange, yet charming sports bar by Minute Maid Park
- Ordered a pizza from Pizza Hut - Stuffed crust is different and not in a good way
- Been to the cinema - Piranha 3D is such a fantastic film: Good, bad, horrible, sexy, slutty, bloody, funny, dumb, stupid, glorious
My latest class finishes at 7:30. First Amendment is a brilliant subject and straightforward enough. But it finishes at 7:30. Which means I get home at about 9:30 when it's dark, the freaks are out, on the bus and so eager to sit next to me. I might have to invest in that MagLite. Heavy AND practical. What a steal!
Strangely, the bus ride home after the Astros game was better even though I got through the door at about 11:15. I guess its cos there were less 'undesirables', a load of fans and people who were too tired to give a shit.
Oh, and the plan of taking the laptop in everyday will have to be tweaked. While not heavy in itself, the whole thing plus the books I'll need to carry and other bollocks just adds up to shoulder ache. So, the netbook makes a return appearance. It'll do what I want it to, just slower and more frustrating.
Why the fuck am I writing that crap? Who cares about my technology intricacies?
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
Pic dump
Blogger is a pain to post pictures on if you don't have a decent grasp of HTML. I lack a even rudimentary grasp of it, so this may look messy and will piss me off.
Anyway, here are some pictures.
This is a $166 book. It was expensive. It cost more than this:
Oh, Tessa. $80 from Guitar Center, plus a bag, a tuner and an extra set of strings for a total of about $12o. Guitar Center is the most fantastic shop ever invented. 'OH HAI $1200 Fender Telecaster I will never own, I will play you for 30 minutes and feel like the indie kid I was born to be.'
That kind of fantastic.
Another picture, because she's a babe. However, I've noticed a lack of willingness to stay in tune for more than 2 minutes of playing. I think it may just be the strings, but I dunno. I don't really care, I like her and may marry her.
These shoes remind me of Paul. So I bought them. That, and they were only $33.
Look at the sexy. LOOK AT IT!
I call these shoes 'Mayer Shoes'. Why?
Because those hearts are eerie similar to the Battle Studies icon. I like them, anyway.
I bought both pairs of shoes at Ross. It's like TK Max on steroids. And much cheaper.
Um, yeah. Those the pics.
Anyway, here are some pictures.
This is a $166 book. It was expensive. It cost more than this:
Oh, Tessa. $80 from Guitar Center, plus a bag, a tuner and an extra set of strings for a total of about $12o. Guitar Center is the most fantastic shop ever invented. 'OH HAI $1200 Fender Telecaster I will never own, I will play you for 30 minutes and feel like the indie kid I was born to be.'
That kind of fantastic.
Another picture, because she's a babe. However, I've noticed a lack of willingness to stay in tune for more than 2 minutes of playing. I think it may just be the strings, but I dunno. I don't really care, I like her and may marry her.
These shoes remind me of Paul. So I bought them. That, and they were only $33.
Look at the sexy. LOOK AT IT!
I call these shoes 'Mayer Shoes'. Why?
Because those hearts are eerie similar to the Battle Studies icon. I like them, anyway.
I bought both pairs of shoes at Ross. It's like TK Max on steroids. And much cheaper.
Um, yeah. Those the pics.
Friday, 13 August 2010
Here is the shit piss.
So, I know I've been remiss on this blog, but this is a very quick update. I say quick because I have been drinking quite a bit of the nicest lager ever (Kirin Ichiban - hint hint motherfucking hint for those wondering what to get me for Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Eid) and haven't really eaten in a while, so I may be pretty incoherent. Plus, I am about to finish watching MST3K and have an 'early' night.
So!
Wednesday: Met up with Ngoni. Got my timetable. Ate at Murphy's (another fast food place to cross off). Bought a guitar at Guitar Centre. Named her Tessa. Maybe I'll do a separate post about her on the weekend, maybe I won't. Who cares? (If you care, let me know!)
Thursday: Got on the bus to Galleria. It pissed it down to the point of absolute madness. Wheels could not grip the road. Aquaplaning was the order of the day. Got drenched in the short distance between the bus and Galleria entrance (about 100 metres and less than 2 minutes running. Maybe less than a minute). Galleria is big. Subway and Chick-fil A can be crossed off the fast food list. Subway is Subway and Chick-fil A is disappointing. Played guitar for an unhealthy amount of time.
Friday: Woke up at 6:30. Thought long and hard and seriously and optimistically about not going in to orientation. Decided against it. Attempted to jump in the shower, but barely wet my head before decrying: 'Fuck this shit'. Got a bus. It took an hour and a bit. Had an interesting orientation. Skipped a shitty class. Learnt a few things about STCL. Ate too much. Joined the Hispanic Society and the Democrat Society. Looked forward to reacquainting myself with the ladies of the Democrat Society (Paul would be proud :)). Got the bus back. It took an hour and a half. Got in the house. Drank a ton and had another great conversation with Marcus.
At this point (as I said to my dear Clare) I am questioning the pros and cons of a 3 hour journey to and from Downtown. I find in favour of sticking with it because Marcus has given me such a deal on rent, bus fare is so cheap, and being any closer would just negate any advantages I have.
I'll probably have to rethink this position when I settle into my schedule. If I am spending a dickton (I use the word {profanity]ton a lot) on studying outside of my time in the college, then a closer location might save me time which I could spend on being wankered. You know?
Anyway. That's where it stands. I should probably e-mail Mother, but MST3K awaits.
So!
Wednesday: Met up with Ngoni. Got my timetable. Ate at Murphy's (another fast food place to cross off). Bought a guitar at Guitar Centre. Named her Tessa. Maybe I'll do a separate post about her on the weekend, maybe I won't. Who cares? (If you care, let me know!)
Thursday: Got on the bus to Galleria. It pissed it down to the point of absolute madness. Wheels could not grip the road. Aquaplaning was the order of the day. Got drenched in the short distance between the bus and Galleria entrance (about 100 metres and less than 2 minutes running. Maybe less than a minute). Galleria is big. Subway and Chick-fil A can be crossed off the fast food list. Subway is Subway and Chick-fil A is disappointing. Played guitar for an unhealthy amount of time.
Friday: Woke up at 6:30. Thought long and hard and seriously and optimistically about not going in to orientation. Decided against it. Attempted to jump in the shower, but barely wet my head before decrying: 'Fuck this shit'. Got a bus. It took an hour and a bit. Had an interesting orientation. Skipped a shitty class. Learnt a few things about STCL. Ate too much. Joined the Hispanic Society and the Democrat Society. Looked forward to reacquainting myself with the ladies of the Democrat Society (Paul would be proud :)). Got the bus back. It took an hour and a half. Got in the house. Drank a ton and had another great conversation with Marcus.
At this point (as I said to my dear Clare) I am questioning the pros and cons of a 3 hour journey to and from Downtown. I find in favour of sticking with it because Marcus has given me such a deal on rent, bus fare is so cheap, and being any closer would just negate any advantages I have.
I'll probably have to rethink this position when I settle into my schedule. If I am spending a dickton (I use the word {profanity]ton a lot) on studying outside of my time in the college, then a closer location might save me time which I could spend on being wankered. You know?
Anyway. That's where it stands. I should probably e-mail Mother, but MST3K awaits.
Updateless update.
I've been a bit lapse now, haven't I?
To make up for that I am sending this post from my phone. My phone, dammit! Feel the correct level of gratitude, please.
The next couple of posts will be about my Wednesday, my Thursday and the rain it brought, and today's fun-filled orientation. Maybe I'll do it all as one. Maybe I won't. No promises.
To make up for that I am sending this post from my phone. My phone, dammit! Feel the correct level of gratitude, please.
The next couple of posts will be about my Wednesday, my Thursday and the rain it brought, and today's fun-filled orientation. Maybe I'll do it all as one. Maybe I won't. No promises.
Tuesday, 10 August 2010
On the buses
I am just copying what I wrote to Clare. So if it is a bit haphazard, then you know why.
The bus ride was interesting. On the way in it was a pretty short and comfy 40 odd minutes. Downtown is pretty immense. Found the college alright but can't figure out where to get into it...
Walked around for about an hour and half and went into Starbucks for breakfast.
The bus ride back, however, was a strange experience. I mean, it was a bus journey, but it seemed to just drive in a straight line. For a long time. So, from where I caught it to where I stopped off took an hour. Could I deal with essentially 2 hours each day of sitting in a bus? Maybe. For $1.25 flatrate, it's certainly a cheap way to travel.
After my experience on the buses, I went to Wal-Mart again via McDonalds. Food is good. Bought some bits and bobs for studying and ended up in a queue behind a 60-70 year old lady who paid by cheque and couldn't understand how to sign on a computer screen. It pissed me off to the point of tutting. Tutting!
Deciding that, fuck it, I haven't drowned in my own sweat enough today, I went the other way from the house and went into Target.
The whole walk took about 30 minutes, maybe 40, in total. When I got back the pool could not be ignored.
And that's what my day consisted of.
The bus ride was interesting. On the way in it was a pretty short and comfy 40 odd minutes. Downtown is pretty immense. Found the college alright but can't figure out where to get into it...
Walked around for about an hour and half and went into Starbucks for breakfast.
The bus ride back, however, was a strange experience. I mean, it was a bus journey, but it seemed to just drive in a straight line. For a long time. So, from where I caught it to where I stopped off took an hour. Could I deal with essentially 2 hours each day of sitting in a bus? Maybe. For $1.25 flatrate, it's certainly a cheap way to travel.
After my experience on the buses, I went to Wal-Mart again via McDonalds. Food is good. Bought some bits and bobs for studying and ended up in a queue behind a 60-70 year old lady who paid by cheque and couldn't understand how to sign on a computer screen. It pissed me off to the point of tutting. Tutting!
Deciding that, fuck it, I haven't drowned in my own sweat enough today, I went the other way from the house and went into Target.
The whole walk took about 30 minutes, maybe 40, in total. When I got back the pool could not be ignored.
And that's what my day consisted of.
Monday, 9 August 2010
Low prices. Everyday.
You fuckers are all getting gifts from Wal-Mart.
It has everything one could need, and for stupidly low prices. I think I spotted at least two things I could get for every person I give a shit about, and still not spend $40.
I bought some socks and pants and a Beatles shirt for a grand total of $22. The shirt alone cost $9. I mean, the quality isn't fantabulous, but Primarni could take a lesson or two from 'em.
Before my journey into the plebeian superstore, I took a walk around the area to get my bearings. Fuck me, walking is a bad idea. Sweat comes from places you had no idea existed. But it creeps on you. You don't realise you've lost 50% of your former moisture until the shirt on your back is a moist towelette clinging desperately to your shoulders. Not pleasant.
At the same time, it's not entirely uncomfortable. Yeah, you might die, but keep water handy and don't dilly dally and you're set. I don't think I could hate the heat as some do, rather, I'd have an understanding not to take the piss out of it. And maybe it won't rape me. In the ass. I'm just grateful I have access to a pool.
Anyway, the stretch of walking of about 15-20 minutes left me sweaty and horribly wet. I had seen a Jack In the Box on the many drives to and from places and had been interested to try it. I am not going to leave the nation until I have sampled all the fast food joints. So far Wendy's and Denny's have been struck off the list. Jack was next.
Side note: I've just realised how many places are named after people. Jack, Wendy, Denny, Debbie, McDonald, etc. I think I'll get them done before I move on to the less personal places.
So, yeah, Jack In the Box. I didn't take a photo 'cos I forgot, but the Ultimate Bacon Cheeseburger combo is alright. Hardly a magnificent burger, but edible and filling. The chips are bit shit, but what can you do.
Dr. Pepper tastes sweeter and slightly more artificial here. It's pretty obvious why. I don't like it as much as the British stuff, but it has the right flavour when I want it. Meh.
From Jack and across the road I hit Wal-Mart. And then I walked back. All in all I was gone for about and hour and half, maybe two. Not a long time, but fuck it, I didn't want to spend too much money and lose too much liquid.
More as it happens, folks. And remember to buy war bonds!
It has everything one could need, and for stupidly low prices. I think I spotted at least two things I could get for every person I give a shit about, and still not spend $40.
I bought some socks and pants and a Beatles shirt for a grand total of $22. The shirt alone cost $9. I mean, the quality isn't fantabulous, but Primarni could take a lesson or two from 'em.
Before my journey into the plebeian superstore, I took a walk around the area to get my bearings. Fuck me, walking is a bad idea. Sweat comes from places you had no idea existed. But it creeps on you. You don't realise you've lost 50% of your former moisture until the shirt on your back is a moist towelette clinging desperately to your shoulders. Not pleasant.
At the same time, it's not entirely uncomfortable. Yeah, you might die, but keep water handy and don't dilly dally and you're set. I don't think I could hate the heat as some do, rather, I'd have an understanding not to take the piss out of it. And maybe it won't rape me. In the ass. I'm just grateful I have access to a pool.
Anyway, the stretch of walking of about 15-20 minutes left me sweaty and horribly wet. I had seen a Jack In the Box on the many drives to and from places and had been interested to try it. I am not going to leave the nation until I have sampled all the fast food joints. So far Wendy's and Denny's have been struck off the list. Jack was next.
Side note: I've just realised how many places are named after people. Jack, Wendy, Denny, Debbie, McDonald, etc. I think I'll get them done before I move on to the less personal places.
So, yeah, Jack In the Box. I didn't take a photo 'cos I forgot, but the Ultimate Bacon Cheeseburger combo is alright. Hardly a magnificent burger, but edible and filling. The chips are bit shit, but what can you do.
Dr. Pepper tastes sweeter and slightly more artificial here. It's pretty obvious why. I don't like it as much as the British stuff, but it has the right flavour when I want it. Meh.
From Jack and across the road I hit Wal-Mart. And then I walked back. All in all I was gone for about and hour and half, maybe two. Not a long time, but fuck it, I didn't want to spend too much money and lose too much liquid.
More as it happens, folks. And remember to buy war bonds!
Sunday, 8 August 2010
I held a gun.
Yep. A gun. A sodding firearm.
Oh, I know I joked about it. I know I had the odd giggle here and there about shooting Mexicans/Gypsies/chavs/dickheads. But really. Fucking hell.
I never thought I would actually hold a gun. It's true what 'they' say that they are heavier than you anticipate. But what they don't tell you, or maybe what they can't quite prepare you for, is that feeling that you are holding in your hand - and trust me I was holding the pistol very gingerly, finger away from the trigger, no matter how unloaded it was (very unloaded) - a piece of equipment that will kill. As in murder, destroy, end, finish, expire a life. It will kill.
That is a very scary and alien concept to me.
To Americans (and I guess especially to Texans) a gun is something you don't think twice about. For fuck's sake, some people have five guns in every room.
But Marcus calls it a necessary evil. And I totally understand why. If your area has been plagued with break ins and robberies, then christ, load yourself up and take aim at your intruder. The police take 10 minutes to get to your hours. A gun takes thirty seconds to kill. Which would you rather have to protect your property, never mind your family.
What really drove it home was when Marcus handed me a single hollow point bullet. At this point, I would like to stress, the gun was far, far, faaaaar away from the bullet. One of those fuckers can rip into flesh and cause a surgeon a nightmare. And that is never good. They kill without even letting you know that you are dead. They're that bad.
Okay, I may be overstating things, but you try holding a fucking weapon in your hand, no fuck it, a fucking gun. A GUN FOR PISSING HELL'S SAKE. And you tell me that you don't feel terrified, for even a fraction of a second.
But by the same token, you feel the power. But for me, the power was such a tiny, insignificant feeling that it barely registered.
So, what have I learnt? Well, I dislike guns. I was never one to pass judgement on them before, and that was simply because I had never had reason to come into contact with them. Now that I have, I know where I stand. And I don't like them.
I would not be adverse to actually firing one - in a very controlled, very safe, very bubble-wrapped scenario. I think in order to get a fuller understanding of what I have just dismissed as the Devil's work, I owe it to myself to shoot one. But that is a long time down the line.
A loooooong time down the road.
Huh. Had that gun not come out this post would have been about American grocery stores - by which I mean supermarkets on steroids.
Or it would have been about the dive of a bar that we went to that encapsulated a slice of real America.
Maybe those will come at another time. I dunno. It depends if I handle any bloody rapiers along the way.
P.S. Excuse the spelling mistakes (for I am sure there are some), but I am typing on my new lappy and I am not sure if the grammar/spelling doodah is set up correctly. Ho hum.
Oh, I know I joked about it. I know I had the odd giggle here and there about shooting Mexicans/Gypsies/chavs/dickheads. But really. Fucking hell.
I never thought I would actually hold a gun. It's true what 'they' say that they are heavier than you anticipate. But what they don't tell you, or maybe what they can't quite prepare you for, is that feeling that you are holding in your hand - and trust me I was holding the pistol very gingerly, finger away from the trigger, no matter how unloaded it was (very unloaded) - a piece of equipment that will kill. As in murder, destroy, end, finish, expire a life. It will kill.
That is a very scary and alien concept to me.
To Americans (and I guess especially to Texans) a gun is something you don't think twice about. For fuck's sake, some people have five guns in every room.
But Marcus calls it a necessary evil. And I totally understand why. If your area has been plagued with break ins and robberies, then christ, load yourself up and take aim at your intruder. The police take 10 minutes to get to your hours. A gun takes thirty seconds to kill. Which would you rather have to protect your property, never mind your family.
What really drove it home was when Marcus handed me a single hollow point bullet. At this point, I would like to stress, the gun was far, far, faaaaar away from the bullet. One of those fuckers can rip into flesh and cause a surgeon a nightmare. And that is never good. They kill without even letting you know that you are dead. They're that bad.
Okay, I may be overstating things, but you try holding a fucking weapon in your hand, no fuck it, a fucking gun. A GUN FOR PISSING HELL'S SAKE. And you tell me that you don't feel terrified, for even a fraction of a second.
But by the same token, you feel the power. But for me, the power was such a tiny, insignificant feeling that it barely registered.
So, what have I learnt? Well, I dislike guns. I was never one to pass judgement on them before, and that was simply because I had never had reason to come into contact with them. Now that I have, I know where I stand. And I don't like them.
I would not be adverse to actually firing one - in a very controlled, very safe, very bubble-wrapped scenario. I think in order to get a fuller understanding of what I have just dismissed as the Devil's work, I owe it to myself to shoot one. But that is a long time down the line.
A loooooong time down the road.
Huh. Had that gun not come out this post would have been about American grocery stores - by which I mean supermarkets on steroids.
Or it would have been about the dive of a bar that we went to that encapsulated a slice of real America.
Maybe those will come at another time. I dunno. It depends if I handle any bloody rapiers along the way.
P.S. Excuse the spelling mistakes (for I am sure there are some), but I am typing on my new lappy and I am not sure if the grammar/spelling doodah is set up correctly. Ho hum.
The big rock candy mountain
I guess an update is in order.
On Saturday Marcus came and picked me up from the hotel. It was a fairly quick drive from there to his house, and by fairly quick I mean about 20 minutes. His house is situated in a very suburban area, a picture of what the suburbs is – nice lawns, nice houses, kids playing with dogs, the requisite signs informing you of a police presence. You know, the suburbs.
But for a place that is so totally the suburbs, amenities are close and many. Driving to the house passes a smorgasbord of food places, hardware stores, supermarkets, smaller stores, banks, and everything else. There is literally nothing you could want for. And if you did, I doubt you'd have to go much further to find it.
Though they've left not too long ago, Marcus' brother, Hans, and his niece, were finishing their two week stay in Houston. They were staying with him so I had an airbed for one night. Honestly, I would've slept in the pool if it meant that I could stay somewhere.
Marcus and Hans look like Willem. They sound the same. They are, and I would be convinced of this if I had not seen them so frequently together at once, the same person. It's proof of genetics in action.
Literally within an hour of dumping my stuff in a temporary room – if that – we were on our way to the pub for eats and drinks. Marcus is on first name basis with the owner and staff of a pub hardly 5 minutes drive from his house. It's a very, very, very nice establishment and – so I have been told and can readily believe – the winner of the best pint of Guinness in the state of Texas. The owner is Irish. It makes sense.
So, there we are, sat at the bar, drinking, talking, joking and the conversation turns to food. 'Pub nachos,' I am told 'are brilliant'. Obviously, I must order those. The full order is ordered for me.
It was a mountain of nachos, cheese, beef, jalapeños, tomatoes and whatever else they had in the kitchen. I barely made a dent in it, and I am ashamed of that. Apparently it was a respectable try though. It was, however, soooooo fucking good.
My defeat over, and another pint of Guinness imbibed, the brothers Sprenkel decided to show me Spec's, a liquor store. It was the size of a small supermarket – a Somerfield type affair. And it was full of booze. And cheap booze at that. Mecca.
There's a bigger one, apparently. One the size of city block. I MUST GO!
Back home (that's odd to say) the three of them head into the pool to cool off. They say that a pool is advised in Texas. It's not considered a luxury; it's a necessity. The heat and the humidity is so constant, so inescapable that jumping into a body of cool water is the only respite outside. I don't like swimming, but dammit, I like being cool. I spent about half an hour, maybe 45 minutes in there, chatting with Marcus.
Oh, but before that, Hans made frozen Magaritas. Strong, tasty, cold, fucking lush. Just what the doctor ordered.
Anyway, later on I have my first proper steak. It was heaven. Medium rare, bleeding all over the show, nicely cooked chips, and a few glasses of red wine. Nice conversation to boot.
The rest of the evening was spent in front of the TV watching the Life of Brian and a few shows. I turned in around 9ish, hot, somewhat drunk and ready to crash.
Sunday morning (this morning) I woke around 8:30. By the time I checked my email, got dressed, and headed downstairs, Hans and his daughter were in the pool. A cup of coffee later and I was awake.
Denny's is essentially an all-day breakfast restaurant. Obviously it does more than breakfast, but I think that's their selling point. There are no rules to American breakfasts. Have whatever the fuck you want, any way you fucking want it, so long as the portion is the size of a small city. NI mention this because we went there for breakfast.
The All-American Grandslam is not too alien a breakfast. Two sausages (tiny and thin), bacon rashers (tiny and thin, crispy and flavourless), slices of toast (sweet and sugary bread is cheap here or else no one would eat it), eggs (scrambled, but in a congealed, thick mound – nicer than they look) and a hashbrown shredded across the plate (not in one parcel as it should be, but still nice to eat). I can't see myself eating there too many times, but I think it would be a decent substitute to a greasy fry-up. Not that I eat breakfast anyway.
Following Denny's, we headed to a supermarket type thing. That's hardly an accurate description. It was more like a warehouse with aisles and displays of food and drink and other wares. It specialises in food from around the world, but with a bent towards Mediterranean foods. I think there's a tendency to eschew aesthetics and focus on function and purpose. And why not? It works, it's probably cheaper to maintain and you probably get more shit on the shelves.
About 20 minutes, half an hour after we came back, Marcus offered to take me to Best Buy and sort out a laptop. It was about a 10 minute drive from the house and within 5 minutes I had found a cheap and cheerful machine. $350ish including taxes gets you 2GB of ram, 250GB HDD, a 15.6'' screen and a nice processor with Windows 7 Home included. That's £220. That's fucking ridiculous. I had set out to buy a laptop and then sell it when I leave. Now, I may just keep it since it was such a good buy.
Of course, the downside was having the sales guy push crap I don't need on me, and no matter how many times I said no he would keep trying. He shut up eventually, but forgot to ring up the bag. I paid for that with cash.
After uninstalling all the schlock on the machine, the cry went round of 'pub', so we went to the pub again. A few bevvies and we came back – about an hour in the pub. Not long after than and Hans and his daughter had packed and were preparing to go. So, they went.
Which is where we are now. I've been in the pool, had a quick shower and am awaiting the laptop to finish updating. BBC America is playing Come Dine With Me and all is good.
So, uh, yeah.
On Saturday Marcus came and picked me up from the hotel. It was a fairly quick drive from there to his house, and by fairly quick I mean about 20 minutes. His house is situated in a very suburban area, a picture of what the suburbs is – nice lawns, nice houses, kids playing with dogs, the requisite signs informing you of a police presence. You know, the suburbs.
But for a place that is so totally the suburbs, amenities are close and many. Driving to the house passes a smorgasbord of food places, hardware stores, supermarkets, smaller stores, banks, and everything else. There is literally nothing you could want for. And if you did, I doubt you'd have to go much further to find it.
Though they've left not too long ago, Marcus' brother, Hans, and his niece, were finishing their two week stay in Houston. They were staying with him so I had an airbed for one night. Honestly, I would've slept in the pool if it meant that I could stay somewhere.
Marcus and Hans look like Willem. They sound the same. They are, and I would be convinced of this if I had not seen them so frequently together at once, the same person. It's proof of genetics in action.
Literally within an hour of dumping my stuff in a temporary room – if that – we were on our way to the pub for eats and drinks. Marcus is on first name basis with the owner and staff of a pub hardly 5 minutes drive from his house. It's a very, very, very nice establishment and – so I have been told and can readily believe – the winner of the best pint of Guinness in the state of Texas. The owner is Irish. It makes sense.
So, there we are, sat at the bar, drinking, talking, joking and the conversation turns to food. 'Pub nachos,' I am told 'are brilliant'. Obviously, I must order those. The full order is ordered for me.
It was a mountain of nachos, cheese, beef, jalapeños, tomatoes and whatever else they had in the kitchen. I barely made a dent in it, and I am ashamed of that. Apparently it was a respectable try though. It was, however, soooooo fucking good.
My defeat over, and another pint of Guinness imbibed, the brothers Sprenkel decided to show me Spec's, a liquor store. It was the size of a small supermarket – a Somerfield type affair. And it was full of booze. And cheap booze at that. Mecca.
There's a bigger one, apparently. One the size of city block. I MUST GO!
Back home (that's odd to say) the three of them head into the pool to cool off. They say that a pool is advised in Texas. It's not considered a luxury; it's a necessity. The heat and the humidity is so constant, so inescapable that jumping into a body of cool water is the only respite outside. I don't like swimming, but dammit, I like being cool. I spent about half an hour, maybe 45 minutes in there, chatting with Marcus.
Oh, but before that, Hans made frozen Magaritas. Strong, tasty, cold, fucking lush. Just what the doctor ordered.
Anyway, later on I have my first proper steak. It was heaven. Medium rare, bleeding all over the show, nicely cooked chips, and a few glasses of red wine. Nice conversation to boot.
The rest of the evening was spent in front of the TV watching the Life of Brian and a few shows. I turned in around 9ish, hot, somewhat drunk and ready to crash.
Sunday morning (this morning) I woke around 8:30. By the time I checked my email, got dressed, and headed downstairs, Hans and his daughter were in the pool. A cup of coffee later and I was awake.
Denny's is essentially an all-day breakfast restaurant. Obviously it does more than breakfast, but I think that's their selling point. There are no rules to American breakfasts. Have whatever the fuck you want, any way you fucking want it, so long as the portion is the size of a small city. NI mention this because we went there for breakfast.
The All-American Grandslam is not too alien a breakfast. Two sausages (tiny and thin), bacon rashers (tiny and thin, crispy and flavourless), slices of toast (sweet and sugary bread is cheap here or else no one would eat it), eggs (scrambled, but in a congealed, thick mound – nicer than they look) and a hashbrown shredded across the plate (not in one parcel as it should be, but still nice to eat). I can't see myself eating there too many times, but I think it would be a decent substitute to a greasy fry-up. Not that I eat breakfast anyway.
Following Denny's, we headed to a supermarket type thing. That's hardly an accurate description. It was more like a warehouse with aisles and displays of food and drink and other wares. It specialises in food from around the world, but with a bent towards Mediterranean foods. I think there's a tendency to eschew aesthetics and focus on function and purpose. And why not? It works, it's probably cheaper to maintain and you probably get more shit on the shelves.
About 20 minutes, half an hour after we came back, Marcus offered to take me to Best Buy and sort out a laptop. It was about a 10 minute drive from the house and within 5 minutes I had found a cheap and cheerful machine. $350ish including taxes gets you 2GB of ram, 250GB HDD, a 15.6'' screen and a nice processor with Windows 7 Home included. That's £220. That's fucking ridiculous. I had set out to buy a laptop and then sell it when I leave. Now, I may just keep it since it was such a good buy.
Of course, the downside was having the sales guy push crap I don't need on me, and no matter how many times I said no he would keep trying. He shut up eventually, but forgot to ring up the bag. I paid for that with cash.
After uninstalling all the schlock on the machine, the cry went round of 'pub', so we went to the pub again. A few bevvies and we came back – about an hour in the pub. Not long after than and Hans and his daughter had packed and were preparing to go. So, they went.
Which is where we are now. I've been in the pool, had a quick shower and am awaiting the laptop to finish updating. BBC America is playing Come Dine With Me and all is good.
So, uh, yeah.
Friday, 6 August 2010
"I have never seen this phone before in my life."
I bought a SIM card today.
It was expensive.
The plan for unlimited calls, texts and web is pay month by month, but I'm paying about $70. That works out to about £45. That includes tax and what have you and considering that it's a short term plan, but still it hurt to pay. I might look around for better plans, safe in the knowledge that a month from now I could be free from T-Mobile.
Anyway, the SIM itself cost $19.99 plus taxes and really I was expecting to take a hit on that. No such thing as a free lunch blah blah blah.
Speaking of lunch, I evidently went to Wendy's. That bad boy up there is a double Baconator with 'medium' fries and a 'medium' Coke. That fucker can hold a small child, that's how large it is. Larger than a large at McDonald's back home.
The burger was awful. It did not taste nice. No sir. Lesson: avoid Wendy's. For $8.10 (£5) I can't complain. The vast quantity of it makes up for quality. If I had eaten, that is.
You see, I was so fucking hungry that I couldn't eat. If that makes sense. So when I attempted to gorge, it just didn't work. I don't think I could comfortably finish a whole combo. Maybe after a bit of practice, but I really don't want to practice.
Anyway, more fun soon.
It was expensive.
The plan for unlimited calls, texts and web is pay month by month, but I'm paying about $70. That works out to about £45. That includes tax and what have you and considering that it's a short term plan, but still it hurt to pay. I might look around for better plans, safe in the knowledge that a month from now I could be free from T-Mobile.
Anyway, the SIM itself cost $19.99 plus taxes and really I was expecting to take a hit on that. No such thing as a free lunch blah blah blah.
Speaking of lunch, I evidently went to Wendy's. That bad boy up there is a double Baconator with 'medium' fries and a 'medium' Coke. That fucker can hold a small child, that's how large it is. Larger than a large at McDonald's back home.
The burger was awful. It did not taste nice. No sir. Lesson: avoid Wendy's. For $8.10 (£5) I can't complain. The vast quantity of it makes up for quality. If I had eaten, that is.
You see, I was so fucking hungry that I couldn't eat. If that makes sense. So when I attempted to gorge, it just didn't work. I don't think I could comfortably finish a whole combo. Maybe after a bit of practice, but I really don't want to practice.
Anyway, more fun soon.
Banking and yawing
So, in Houston. It took a while to get from the gate to the baggage claim area, and on the way I spotted a McDonald's. I'd like to say I spent my first dollar in there, but I really couldn't be fucked. Leaving the building itself and getting into the outside was a shock to the senses. The heat just hits you. And the moisture. Holy shit.
Anyway, I jumped in a taxi and spoke to the driver. He was a proper nice bloke and drove like the fucking clappers. Eugh, I hate that term. Anyway, pulls up to the hotel at around 6:40-6:50, paid the driver and get out. Yep, the heat. I check into the hotel, get my keycard, find my room (eventually), lock the door and just get as much as I can off me. I mean stark naked.
I turn on the TV, turn on my mobile and get 10 or so messages. Great, that'll cost. After checking my emails (getting connected to the wi-fi was too much of a hassle) and sending an email to mumsy (and updating Facebook) I watched an episode of the Daily Show and Colbert on the netbook. For the first time I didn't need to use a proxy. It felt good. What felt bad, however, was the lack of Comedy Central on the cable. Bastards.
I doubt I would've stayed awake that long, in all honesty. The last time I checked my watch it was about 8pm. The next time I did it was 3:43am.
That's pretty much it. I haven't eaten in ages, and I am hungry, but I think I've missed the free breakfast. There's a restaurant across the way, so I might pay that a visit. There is practically no one in the hotel. I have a feeling I am nearly the only guest. Bang goes my fleeting dream of flirting by the pool. Not that I have any trunks.
I have a shit ton of things to do. I need to get a SIM card, I need a laptop, I need to eat. I need to check my money. I need to nap. I need to stop sweating.
In Houston.
Anyway, I jumped in a taxi and spoke to the driver. He was a proper nice bloke and drove like the fucking clappers. Eugh, I hate that term. Anyway, pulls up to the hotel at around 6:40-6:50, paid the driver and get out. Yep, the heat. I check into the hotel, get my keycard, find my room (eventually), lock the door and just get as much as I can off me. I mean stark naked.
I turn on the TV, turn on my mobile and get 10 or so messages. Great, that'll cost. After checking my emails (getting connected to the wi-fi was too much of a hassle) and sending an email to mumsy (and updating Facebook) I watched an episode of the Daily Show and Colbert on the netbook. For the first time I didn't need to use a proxy. It felt good. What felt bad, however, was the lack of Comedy Central on the cable. Bastards.
I doubt I would've stayed awake that long, in all honesty. The last time I checked my watch it was about 8pm. The next time I did it was 3:43am.
That's pretty much it. I haven't eaten in ages, and I am hungry, but I think I've missed the free breakfast. There's a restaurant across the way, so I might pay that a visit. There is practically no one in the hotel. I have a feeling I am nearly the only guest. Bang goes my fleeting dream of flirting by the pool. Not that I have any trunks.
I have a shit ton of things to do. I need to get a SIM card, I need a laptop, I need to eat. I need to check my money. I need to nap. I need to stop sweating.
In Houston.
These titles are really not indicative of what's inside.
Bahaha, I'm watching Fox News to get used to idiocy. I can't believe it. So awful. Oh hai Karl Rove! Actually, I'm getting pretty pissed off at this shit. Fuck, I need to turn over.
Anyway, in Detroit the plane taxied in preparation to take off and then... Just sat on the tarmac for 40 minutes. Because of the route. I don't understand what that means, but I know we weren't going anywhere.
I was sat by the window and next to me was an elderly Hispanic lady who was on her way to visit her daughter.
Snoop's favourite chore is cooking. I bet he makes a mean bolognaise. He does look blind in those shades...
Anyway, she was a very genial, polite, friendly and sweet woman to talk to. She took a great interest in what I was doing and gave me nuggets of advice, and kept offering me food. I had a tootsie pop. Intriguing.
The flight, cos it was delayed because of 'the route' took about three hours. I think I fell asleep but I can't be sure 'cos there was no way of telling how much time had passed. Well, there was my watch, but I hadn't looked at that in ages and my phone was off. So, maybe I caught of few minutes, but I still felt shit when I got off the plane.
Snoop is making an album with Susan Boyle? Wut.
Anyway, in Detroit the plane taxied in preparation to take off and then... Just sat on the tarmac for 40 minutes. Because of the route. I don't understand what that means, but I know we weren't going anywhere.
I was sat by the window and next to me was an elderly Hispanic lady who was on her way to visit her daughter.
Snoop's favourite chore is cooking. I bet he makes a mean bolognaise. He does look blind in those shades...
Anyway, she was a very genial, polite, friendly and sweet woman to talk to. She took a great interest in what I was doing and gave me nuggets of advice, and kept offering me food. I had a tootsie pop. Intriguing.
The flight, cos it was delayed because of 'the route' took about three hours. I think I fell asleep but I can't be sure 'cos there was no way of telling how much time had passed. Well, there was my watch, but I hadn't looked at that in ages and my phone was off. So, maybe I caught of few minutes, but I still felt shit when I got off the plane.
Snoop is making an album with Susan Boyle? Wut.
Up in the Air
Heathrow to Detroit was an alright flight. It was delayed for 40 or so minutes due to whatever the fuck, but whatever. I was sat next to what looked like a 12 year American-Indian girl. She had no luggage, save for a backpack and a violin case. I'm guessing she's a prodigy. I dunno. She was quite all the way through the flight so that was a bonus. She was completely on her own, though. Fair play to her making it such a journey and then back again on her own. I couldn't have done that when I was her age.
On the other side of the aisle was another American girl. She was about the same age as the other, probably younger, but was with her father and brother. They were Mexican-Americans and on their way to Houston too. She kept telling me stuff. Not making conversation, just telling me where she had been, what she had done, why she had been there, who she I DON'T GIVE A FUCK JUST STOP TALKING TO ME OH JESUS HURRY UP AND WATCH A MOVIE.
Entertainment wise, Delta had a nice selection of movies, music and TV. I watched THE best episode of Mad Men – Guy Walks Into An Advertising Agency. As soon as I saw the season number and episode number I knew I had to watch it. An awesome start to the flight. After that I watched Date Night. Meh. Then I played Pokemon for a while, got bored of that and then had chicken and yellow rice shoved in my face. Badass.
I grew restless and listened to some of the tracks on the flight jukebox thing. Plastic Beach, Battle Studies, The Resistance, Broken Bells, Tonight: Franz Ferdinand, Slash, etc. Great tunes to be had, that's for sure. I didn't fall asleep, so much as I let my eyes rest. I couldn't quite sleep and I don't know why. Anyway, after that I watched Kick Ass. I was a bit wary of it since I'd heard mixed reviews from friends, but actually it was a very enjoyable flick. There were bits that have been overhyped, but all-in-all, it was pretty sweet.
All that chewed up about 6 hours. With about 2 hours to go, more food was shoved in front of me and then ----
Sorry, Snoop Dogg is on the View. Fo' shizzle!
Holy shit, Snoop's kid has lupus?! It's NEVER lupus, dammit!
Anyway, yeah, two hours to go and I really just sat and let the flight end. I rested my eyes some more – sleep was still elusive – and watched the plane on the map get closer to Detroit.
We landed later than expected, causing me to panic I'd miss my connection. It took fucking ages for people to get off the plane and when I finally stepped off it I was instantly hit with the heat. I dunno whether it just felt hot because I'd been in a cold tube for 9 hours or whether it actually it was hotter than the UK. Probably the latter.
Rushing from the gate to the border control took ages. The line took ages to process, though I got through without much hassle. Security into the airport proper was also pretty quick, but long enough to have a decent chat with a middle aged couple ahead of me. They had been to Wiltshire and insisted that I would need to have my shoes sprayed because I 'live on a farm'. Um... No.
From the security post to the actual gate I seriously had to rush, rush, rush. I dunno the distance but it was a proper sesh to my gate. I got on the plane with about 5 minutes to spare.
On the other side of the aisle was another American girl. She was about the same age as the other, probably younger, but was with her father and brother. They were Mexican-Americans and on their way to Houston too. She kept telling me stuff. Not making conversation, just telling me where she had been, what she had done, why she had been there, who she I DON'T GIVE A FUCK JUST STOP TALKING TO ME OH JESUS HURRY UP AND WATCH A MOVIE.
Entertainment wise, Delta had a nice selection of movies, music and TV. I watched THE best episode of Mad Men – Guy Walks Into An Advertising Agency. As soon as I saw the season number and episode number I knew I had to watch it. An awesome start to the flight. After that I watched Date Night. Meh. Then I played Pokemon for a while, got bored of that and then had chicken and yellow rice shoved in my face. Badass.
I grew restless and listened to some of the tracks on the flight jukebox thing. Plastic Beach, Battle Studies, The Resistance, Broken Bells, Tonight: Franz Ferdinand, Slash, etc. Great tunes to be had, that's for sure. I didn't fall asleep, so much as I let my eyes rest. I couldn't quite sleep and I don't know why. Anyway, after that I watched Kick Ass. I was a bit wary of it since I'd heard mixed reviews from friends, but actually it was a very enjoyable flick. There were bits that have been overhyped, but all-in-all, it was pretty sweet.
All that chewed up about 6 hours. With about 2 hours to go, more food was shoved in front of me and then ----
Sorry, Snoop Dogg is on the View. Fo' shizzle!
Holy shit, Snoop's kid has lupus?! It's NEVER lupus, dammit!
Anyway, yeah, two hours to go and I really just sat and let the flight end. I rested my eyes some more – sleep was still elusive – and watched the plane on the map get closer to Detroit.
We landed later than expected, causing me to panic I'd miss my connection. It took fucking ages for people to get off the plane and when I finally stepped off it I was instantly hit with the heat. I dunno whether it just felt hot because I'd been in a cold tube for 9 hours or whether it actually it was hotter than the UK. Probably the latter.
Rushing from the gate to the border control took ages. The line took ages to process, though I got through without much hassle. Security into the airport proper was also pretty quick, but long enough to have a decent chat with a middle aged couple ahead of me. They had been to Wiltshire and insisted that I would need to have my shoes sprayed because I 'live on a farm'. Um... No.
From the security post to the actual gate I seriously had to rush, rush, rush. I dunno the distance but it was a proper sesh to my gate. I got on the plane with about 5 minutes to spare.
Aztec Camera in my head for days on end.
I've just had a shave, a shower, cleaned my teeth and changed into new clothes. In Houston. That's a weird sentence to type. In Houston.
It's the morning after my journey, about 9am, and I am physically tired. I can almost taste the atrophied muscles, but one must fight on to bring you glad tidings of aforementioned journey. It would appear that people back have sent me well-wishes (is that a phrase?) since my inbox is far too heavily stuffed to be the normal bacn and spam.
It's probably going to be a long post, but I might give each leg of the journey its own post, just to space things out and not bore anyone. Huzzah.
We (mother, father and I) left Plymouth at around 11am on Wednesday. The drive up to Heathrow was pretty uneventful. We stopped at a few rest stations to catch our breath. I kept my head down playing Pokemon and listening to music. Wonderfully, my Zen decided that it would freeze on me, and when that happens I have to wait for the fucker to run out of battery. But because I'm not an idiot I made sure it was fully charged. So, no MP3 to use. Fucking great. Luckily my phone has some music on, but not as wide or current as I would like. It provided a relief.
I couldn't tell you what time we actually pulled into the car park of the Travelodge, but I'd hazard a guess and say it was about 4:30. Dad, being dad, wanted to drive a dry run to Terminal 4 so he knew the timings and such. Dad, being dad went the wrong way and nearly drove into a runway. I am not kidding.
The Travelodge was your bog-standard affair, so there's nothing to talk about there. We went for a drink in the bar, and then for a walk around the immediate area. Dad's glasses nearly lost a screw and thankfully a shop owner fixed that problem. After that we stayed in a pub for the rest of the evening drinking, watching the planes come in, and getting fed. It was a nice – and typically Williams – way of saying what needed to be said. You know, 'Bye' and shit.
We turned in around 10:30. Dad fell asleep almost immediately which meant no one else could. I had about 5 minutes of sleep that night. I wasn't happy with that.
'Getting up' at 4:45 and spending roughly 45 minutes packing bags and making sure the room was clear, was an interesting experience considering I was a shuffling idiot, desperate for sleep. Nevertheless, we parked and got into Terminal 4 by about 5:45-6. It was a very short wait at check-in and nary a problem to be had. There were plenty of children, however. Great.
With my boarding card in hand and my bag on its way to the plane, there was not much to do but wait. A cup of tea and a chat later I was on my way to security. There was the inevitable tears on their part, but I can honestly say that I had no real feeling that I would cry. I knew I would miss them – I DO miss them – but the overriding wish was just to get on the plane and get it started.
Security was a piece of piss, not at all like the hassle I was anticipating. I got into to the departure lounge at around 7, maybe earlier. Though I did beat the morass of travellers wanting to check-in and then bundle through security, 2 hours to wait is not a pleasant experience. There's only so many duty-free items you can look. Boarding rolled round soon enough and I was on the plane at like 8:45. The bitch of it was that my phone would have to be switched off, so bye the fuck bye to music.
It's the morning after my journey, about 9am, and I am physically tired. I can almost taste the atrophied muscles, but one must fight on to bring you glad tidings of aforementioned journey. It would appear that people back have sent me well-wishes (is that a phrase?) since my inbox is far too heavily stuffed to be the normal bacn and spam.
It's probably going to be a long post, but I might give each leg of the journey its own post, just to space things out and not bore anyone. Huzzah.
We (mother, father and I) left Plymouth at around 11am on Wednesday. The drive up to Heathrow was pretty uneventful. We stopped at a few rest stations to catch our breath. I kept my head down playing Pokemon and listening to music. Wonderfully, my Zen decided that it would freeze on me, and when that happens I have to wait for the fucker to run out of battery. But because I'm not an idiot I made sure it was fully charged. So, no MP3 to use. Fucking great. Luckily my phone has some music on, but not as wide or current as I would like. It provided a relief.
I couldn't tell you what time we actually pulled into the car park of the Travelodge, but I'd hazard a guess and say it was about 4:30. Dad, being dad, wanted to drive a dry run to Terminal 4 so he knew the timings and such. Dad, being dad went the wrong way and nearly drove into a runway. I am not kidding.
The Travelodge was your bog-standard affair, so there's nothing to talk about there. We went for a drink in the bar, and then for a walk around the immediate area. Dad's glasses nearly lost a screw and thankfully a shop owner fixed that problem. After that we stayed in a pub for the rest of the evening drinking, watching the planes come in, and getting fed. It was a nice – and typically Williams – way of saying what needed to be said. You know, 'Bye' and shit.
We turned in around 10:30. Dad fell asleep almost immediately which meant no one else could. I had about 5 minutes of sleep that night. I wasn't happy with that.
'Getting up' at 4:45 and spending roughly 45 minutes packing bags and making sure the room was clear, was an interesting experience considering I was a shuffling idiot, desperate for sleep. Nevertheless, we parked and got into Terminal 4 by about 5:45-6. It was a very short wait at check-in and nary a problem to be had. There were plenty of children, however. Great.
With my boarding card in hand and my bag on its way to the plane, there was not much to do but wait. A cup of tea and a chat later I was on my way to security. There was the inevitable tears on their part, but I can honestly say that I had no real feeling that I would cry. I knew I would miss them – I DO miss them – but the overriding wish was just to get on the plane and get it started.
Security was a piece of piss, not at all like the hassle I was anticipating. I got into to the departure lounge at around 7, maybe earlier. Though I did beat the morass of travellers wanting to check-in and then bundle through security, 2 hours to wait is not a pleasant experience. There's only so many duty-free items you can look. Boarding rolled round soon enough and I was on the plane at like 8:45. The bitch of it was that my phone would have to be switched off, so bye the fuck bye to music.
Wednesday, 4 August 2010
Romantic notions
I leave for London today. Which can only mean that tomorrow is the flight. To Houston.
That's a bit soon, isn't it?
I don't want to say it's crept up on me, but I haven't been counting down the days, nor kept in a pin in the calendar. I just let it come to me. Which is typical of me, really.
In my mind I did have these - in hindsight, pretty dumb - ideas of what the flight would be like. I even semi-planned a planned a suitable playlist of tunes that would take me into the new world. But then I realised I'll be stuck near a kid or a morbidly obese lady who breathes heavily, sweats profusely and demands extra legroom. Well fuck her, that's no romantic notion.
So, instead I have merely packed as much entertainment as I can cram into a carry-on bag and hope that my DS isn't labelled a security risk.
And through all this I'm not excited. Not nervous. Not scared. I'll miss people and that's what it comes down to. But in their place will come vague imitations of the personalities that keep me sane and happy. And that should be enough. And if it's not then I'll just cram as much junk food in my face.
I'll probably write something tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe on the flight.
That's a bit soon, isn't it?
I don't want to say it's crept up on me, but I haven't been counting down the days, nor kept in a pin in the calendar. I just let it come to me. Which is typical of me, really.
In my mind I did have these - in hindsight, pretty dumb - ideas of what the flight would be like. I even semi-planned a planned a suitable playlist of tunes that would take me into the new world. But then I realised I'll be stuck near a kid or a morbidly obese lady who breathes heavily, sweats profusely and demands extra legroom. Well fuck her, that's no romantic notion.
So, instead I have merely packed as much entertainment as I can cram into a carry-on bag and hope that my DS isn't labelled a security risk.
And through all this I'm not excited. Not nervous. Not scared. I'll miss people and that's what it comes down to. But in their place will come vague imitations of the personalities that keep me sane and happy. And that should be enough. And if it's not then I'll just cram as much junk food in my face.
I'll probably write something tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe on the flight.
Saturday, 31 July 2010
Living in the sprawl, dead shopping malls rise like mountains beyond mountains
OK. I'll be honest. I'm typing this literally five minutes after I've gotten in from what can only be described as a fantastic and fanatical send off. Maybe not fanatical but fuck it, it sounds good. What I'm trying to drive at is that I am not sober. I wouldn't say I'm hammered, but drunk couldn't cover it.
I'm talky. Let's put it that way.
I've been listening to Arcade Fire's new album a lot recently. Technically that statement is true, yet a fairer description would be that I have been listening to Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains) a lot. If you haven't heard it then do it now. It's like Kate Bush and The Knife made a musical baby and taught it to say 'Fuck you!' to the suburbs. I mention this because that song resonates with me. I don't know why, I have no reason to say 'Fuck you!' to the suburbs (Elburton is a pretty nice place to grow up - I should know, I grew up there), but even so, that song is catnip to me.
That sense of legging it from your past, the underlying desperation with the situation, just wanting something else. That song has it. And a pretty nice synth part. I don't feel those things, I don't want to leg it or feel a desperate need to get out, but maybe I should. I dunno, is that what's missing?
'Cos really, all night, all week, fuck, all year even, people have been saying that I will love this experience. Asking if I'm nervous. Asking me what I'm feeling.
The truth of the matter is that it's not yet really registered. Don't mistake me, it's unavoidable. Mum has been breaking her back to get me to this point, and will no doubt break it further to make sure I stay out in Houston. That said, I - me, this chap right here with the glasses, strangely gay hair cut, and lack of fashion sense, me! - don't feel it. It hasn't sunk in.:
Maybe it will when I get on the plane. Maybe when we leave for Heathrow. Maybe when I go to the pub on Monday. Maybe it'll never sink in.
Fucknuts, this is quite the stream on consciousness, isn't it? I had a point when I wanted to write this. Hang on it might come.
So, yeah, not sunk in. I dunno what I was expecting from this evening, but I know I got one thing from it, and it's this: I can legitimately call my friends some of the best people in the world.
They didn't have to make that effort. They were tired, they have work, they were working minutes before they came out. Fuck, two of them had no cash, found a way to our group and felt bad that they didn't get to see me for long enough. What the fuck? How did I get to a point where those people would feel duty bound to wave me off?
Fuck.
Just, fuck.
So, yeah. I say that a lot. While the 'going to Texas' part hasn't really hit me, the fact that I will be leaving behind some of the most - and I really can't think of any other word for this - beautiful people in my life, has.
To them I say thanks.
Fuck, that was emotional, wasn't it? I'll just keep the luvvie crap to a minimum in future. I really need to sleep. It's not healthy this lark.
I'm talky. Let's put it that way.
I've been listening to Arcade Fire's new album a lot recently. Technically that statement is true, yet a fairer description would be that I have been listening to Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains) a lot. If you haven't heard it then do it now. It's like Kate Bush and The Knife made a musical baby and taught it to say 'Fuck you!' to the suburbs. I mention this because that song resonates with me. I don't know why, I have no reason to say 'Fuck you!' to the suburbs (Elburton is a pretty nice place to grow up - I should know, I grew up there), but even so, that song is catnip to me.
That sense of legging it from your past, the underlying desperation with the situation, just wanting something else. That song has it. And a pretty nice synth part. I don't feel those things, I don't want to leg it or feel a desperate need to get out, but maybe I should. I dunno, is that what's missing?
'Cos really, all night, all week, fuck, all year even, people have been saying that I will love this experience. Asking if I'm nervous. Asking me what I'm feeling.
The truth of the matter is that it's not yet really registered. Don't mistake me, it's unavoidable. Mum has been breaking her back to get me to this point, and will no doubt break it further to make sure I stay out in Houston. That said, I - me, this chap right here with the glasses, strangely gay hair cut, and lack of fashion sense, me! - don't feel it. It hasn't sunk in.:
Maybe it will when I get on the plane. Maybe when we leave for Heathrow. Maybe when I go to the pub on Monday. Maybe it'll never sink in.
Fucknuts, this is quite the stream on consciousness, isn't it? I had a point when I wanted to write this. Hang on it might come.
So, yeah, not sunk in. I dunno what I was expecting from this evening, but I know I got one thing from it, and it's this: I can legitimately call my friends some of the best people in the world.
They didn't have to make that effort. They were tired, they have work, they were working minutes before they came out. Fuck, two of them had no cash, found a way to our group and felt bad that they didn't get to see me for long enough. What the fuck? How did I get to a point where those people would feel duty bound to wave me off?
Fuck.
Just, fuck.
So, yeah. I say that a lot. While the 'going to Texas' part hasn't really hit me, the fact that I will be leaving behind some of the most - and I really can't think of any other word for this - beautiful people in my life, has.
To them I say thanks.
Fuck, that was emotional, wasn't it? I'll just keep the luvvie crap to a minimum in future. I really need to sleep. It's not healthy this lark.
Monday, 26 July 2010
Joy of joys, a new blog post!
That was a sarcastic title.
It's hardly a joy writing this stuff, primarily because I'm a pretty private person when it comes to lovely-dovey-touchy-feely-feelings, so when I write I have to mine my state of being and come up with an interesting read. We'll see what this post will be, though if previous efforts are indicative of what's about to follow then we're in for a disappointment, aren't we?
So, I've just come back from the pub, which fans will know is where the pub quiz goes down.
The original version of 'Starstrukk' is pretty dire, really.
I think that group of people is one of the things I'll miss the most. Obviously, my BESTESTESTESTEST BUDDIES!!!!! will be missed no questions asked, but when you add in people that I hardly even talk to or can be annoying as all fuck, there's just some kind of magic. Plus, a confined space with questions being shouted at you, I mean, c'mon!
I think the Katy Perry version is better because of the presence of those breasts. Honestly, did she apply for a licence for those puppies?
I actually have to ponder if that kind of rapport, or anything close to it, would emerge in Houston. Let's face it, I'm not really a friendly person, nor am I likely to establish in any meaningful sense a friendship close to what I have with my dearest friends.
That said, I'm witty. Right? That can work in my favour. I'll just say something uniquely British, dry, charming and probably profane and then BOOM!
Nah. That won't happen.
But yeah, the pub quiz on a Monday. It's one of the things that defines my friendships. It's not the most exciting thing, but it's the hub where the people I actually want to talk to will be. Where the week starts.
Fuck, the free food will be missed, never mind the people.
So yeah. Give me pool, give me a quiz and a quiz machine. Give me a jukebox and the songs that make up the pub playlist. Give me a pint of Guinness. We'll go from there.
It's hardly a joy writing this stuff, primarily because I'm a pretty private person when it comes to lovely-dovey-touchy-feely-feelings, so when I write I have to mine my state of being and come up with an interesting read. We'll see what this post will be, though if previous efforts are indicative of what's about to follow then we're in for a disappointment, aren't we?
So, I've just come back from the pub, which fans will know is where the pub quiz goes down.
The original version of 'Starstrukk' is pretty dire, really.
I think that group of people is one of the things I'll miss the most. Obviously, my BESTESTESTESTEST BUDDIES!!!!! will be missed no questions asked, but when you add in people that I hardly even talk to or can be annoying as all fuck, there's just some kind of magic. Plus, a confined space with questions being shouted at you, I mean, c'mon!
I think the Katy Perry version is better because of the presence of those breasts. Honestly, did she apply for a licence for those puppies?
I actually have to ponder if that kind of rapport, or anything close to it, would emerge in Houston. Let's face it, I'm not really a friendly person, nor am I likely to establish in any meaningful sense a friendship close to what I have with my dearest friends.
That said, I'm witty. Right? That can work in my favour. I'll just say something uniquely British, dry, charming and probably profane and then BOOM!
Nah. That won't happen.
But yeah, the pub quiz on a Monday. It's one of the things that defines my friendships. It's not the most exciting thing, but it's the hub where the people I actually want to talk to will be. Where the week starts.
Fuck, the free food will be missed, never mind the people.
So yeah. Give me pool, give me a quiz and a quiz machine. Give me a jukebox and the songs that make up the pub playlist. Give me a pint of Guinness. We'll go from there.
Saturday, 17 July 2010
Music
Somehow I have to cull over half a terabyte of music to fit onto a 140GB hard drive. Well, less than that, since I'll want room to download some more music while over there. So, lets say 100GB. Actually, less than THAT, 'cos I'm debating on throwing on some TV shows, so that'll chew up some space. Let's call it 80GB.
This'll be fun.
It's easy to start with the bands that I know I cannot live with out - Smashing Pumpkins, Radiohead, The Beatles, SSPU, NIN, John Mayer, Rilo Kiley, dEUS, Pink Floyd, etc. And these are the entire discographies, the whole kit and caboodle. Seriously, I can't be without that Silversun Pickups remix album. It's a cracker. I could lose the original masters of the Beatles albums since I have the remasters (and what a treat they are), so that's SOME space saved. But get rid of John Mayer Trio? Fuck. You.
After that, you throw on the stuff that you really like, maybe even love, but don't take up too much room. Stuff like Rumspringa, QOTSA, The Raconteurs, obviously George Michael, Weezer, and so on.
But when it comes to bands where there are a few albums that I like, do I chuck a few shrimps of theirs on the musical barby, or all of it? I'm not a massive fan of all of Slipknot's work, and will argue the point that Vol. 3 is their best work 'til I ejaculate in anger (it happens, okay?), but you never know when you want to hear People = Shit. So it all goes on.
And then we get to crap that I know I don't like, but have because one or two tracks necessitate it. Par exampleamontesque (I told you I didn't like French) Keane's Somewhere Only We Know is such a summer song. Every time it's on it's like summer is about to cuddle you in beaming (Zack's word strikes back!) rays of fun and adventure, expectation and yadda yadda yadda. Thus, Hopes and Fears goes in the pile. What about the other two albums, the titles of which I have forgotten 'cos they were pretty bland? Well, Spiraling was a badass track, giving that album a pass.
You see the shit my mind deals with constantly?
AND THEN!
Soundtracks. Compilations. Stand-up. Audiobooks. What do I want from that wee collection? All of John Williams is a no-no, so maybe just the Jurassic Park soundtrack? But then what if I want Star Wars? How will I cope?! And from the compilations I simply must have SXSW. All years. All of it. Need it. Can't do without it. Same with the 100 Greatest Guitar Riffs/Solos/Songs/Intros/Faces/Songs to Fuck Watermelons With. Need all of that.
As for audiobooks, a ton of Doctor Who will suffice (BLATANTLY taking the soundtracks to that bad boy), so check that off the list. And stand-up is easy: David Cross, Lewis Black, Louis C.K., the gone-too-soon-but-never-forgotten Mitch Hedberg and Bill Hicks, and Patton Oswalt all get thrown in the pile.
See? Easy
Oh, wait, I have HOW much left?
Welp, won't be taking any videos with me...
Thursday, 15 July 2010
That's what she said
FUCK SCREWS
I am not impressed by the lack of appropriate screws for this external hard drive casing. I demand a formal investigation.
And don't get cocky with me and say 'use the two huge ones' because I tried, dammit, and it only caused me misery and desire for alcohol.
Anyway, aside from thaaaaaaat, I'll be sad enough to make a post about the music I'll whack on to the little blighter tomorrow, maybe.
Bring your wetsuits, kids. It's gonna be a wet one.
I am not impressed by the lack of appropriate screws for this external hard drive casing. I demand a formal investigation.
And don't get cocky with me and say 'use the two huge ones' because I tried, dammit, and it only caused me misery and desire for alcohol.
Anyway, aside from thaaaaaaat, I'll be sad enough to make a post about the music I'll whack on to the little blighter tomorrow, maybe.
Bring your wetsuits, kids. It's gonna be a wet one.
There's a French word for this...
I can say it, but I can't spell it. 'Cos it's French. And I hated French.
Anyway, the whole point this blog exists is due to the witty banter between me and an old teacher involving 'pink shorts, a t-shirt and American landmarks'. Hilarious, I know. Upon reflection, a blog wasn't a bad idea (an idea kinda confirmed through a phone call with a good friend) to put down in writing my thoughts about the whole process I am embarking on. Not all my thoughts, and probably not the good thoughts, but thoughts nonetheless.
'But what are you embarking on?' I hear my English teacher asking, since I just spent a paragraph bullshitting and not actually getting to the point. English teachers hate waffle. It's fucked me over in the past. 'Sure, you write well, but what the hell does this have to do with Shirley Valentine in the post-feminist world?' Nothing, that's what, 'cos I hate Shirley Valentine and you should too.
And yet another paragraph.
Um, yeah, so... I'm going to America. For about 9 months. To study. Law. In Houston. English teachers also hate staccato sentences. It's like reading a shopping list compiled by schizophrenic. Or so I believe. I don't know.
I wish I named this blog 'Holy Shit, I'm Blogging!' since I rag on it a lot. Well, not a lot. A bit.
I jet off to sunny Texas on the 5th of August at, like, 9? I'll check closer to the date. To be honest, I'm not as nervy as I once was. Now that the visa is sorted and I have a place to stay (first a hotel, then a room with the gracious Marcus Sprenkel) it feels like it's coming together.
Hang on, I'm turning off Paul McCartney, it's doing my head in at the moment.
The Wombats, that'll do. That reminds me, I'll have to sort out my music for the trip at some point.
So, that's cool. I see it like going to uni again. Just in a different country. There are a couple of things I am worried about:
I'll finish these thoughts at another point, but for a first post it's everything I wanted to be: Waffle.
Anyway, the whole point this blog exists is due to the witty banter between me and an old teacher involving 'pink shorts, a t-shirt and American landmarks'. Hilarious, I know. Upon reflection, a blog wasn't a bad idea (an idea kinda confirmed through a phone call with a good friend) to put down in writing my thoughts about the whole process I am embarking on. Not all my thoughts, and probably not the good thoughts, but thoughts nonetheless.
'But what are you embarking on?' I hear my English teacher asking, since I just spent a paragraph bullshitting and not actually getting to the point. English teachers hate waffle. It's fucked me over in the past. 'Sure, you write well, but what the hell does this have to do with Shirley Valentine in the post-feminist world?' Nothing, that's what, 'cos I hate Shirley Valentine and you should too.
And yet another paragraph.
Um, yeah, so... I'm going to America. For about 9 months. To study. Law. In Houston. English teachers also hate staccato sentences. It's like reading a shopping list compiled by schizophrenic. Or so I believe. I don't know.
I wish I named this blog 'Holy Shit, I'm Blogging!' since I rag on it a lot. Well, not a lot. A bit.
I jet off to sunny Texas on the 5th of August at, like, 9? I'll check closer to the date. To be honest, I'm not as nervy as I once was. Now that the visa is sorted and I have a place to stay (first a hotel, then a room with the gracious Marcus Sprenkel) it feels like it's coming together.
Hang on, I'm turning off Paul McCartney, it's doing my head in at the moment.
The Wombats, that'll do. That reminds me, I'll have to sort out my music for the trip at some point.
So, that's cool. I see it like going to uni again. Just in a different country. There are a couple of things I am worried about:
- Money
- Getting about
- Money
- Public transport
- Money
- Who else is going?
- Money; and
- Money
I'll finish these thoughts at another point, but for a first post it's everything I wanted to be: Waffle.
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