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.
Friday, 13 August 2010
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.
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