American Tartan

Where Fun meets Awesome...meets Agriculture

2011-02-22T08:14:00.000-07:00

Well, the keeping on top of writing my blog thing isn’t going as timely as I’d hoped, but at least we’re at 2 per month by this point. Progress is sometimes slow, I suppose.

My week has been mostly filled with bureaucratic filler, such as learning policy and playing team building exercises/games. I half have a feeling that my generalized apathy was misconstrued as overwhelmed information overload. These expressions probably look pretty similar on my face. No matter, they’ll figure it out soon enough.

There’re a surprising number of people who have been to Edinburgh in my group. I learned this because I think I’ve built up a strange aura of mystery around myself because I mentioned I went to grad school there, and then didn’t say much of anything else. And then I said I worked in bars, and told a story about being a bar manager. And then they learned I brought a banjo and an accordion with me. Drew them in like flies. I may have laughed a bit when they asked me if I liked “soccer” – one of them is a big Arsenal fan.

But they’re about 90% good people (one or two exceptions always apply to any situation) despite their football lust - and their predilection for hippie music. My two male bosses provide much needed, although underappreciated, banter during training, and Sophie my roommate and female supervisor-type person, is a good natured, intrinsically hilarious person. Funny bosses make life bearable, so I’m satisfied with that aspect.

Highlights of training thus far has been our driving test – yes, that’s right, although I won’t slag it as there are still some pretty bad drivers out there holding licenses – our hike, during which we all fell about 10 times because the paths were pure ice, and food shopping. All the lessons I’ve learned over the past few years in the food service industry have finally paid off! I know how to plan food cost per meal per person.

On Friday night, I went out on the town with my new colleagues. We met neo-Nazis and a pirate, failed to get kicked out of a bar by dancing around on a stage, and watched a cowboy play a hunting video game, enthralled. On a personal level, I learned that American youths can’t drink like champs, and attempting to go drinking with them makes me nostalgic for pubs and true drinking culture. This is probably a little sad, but true. Also, they have slot machines and free popcorn in just about every bar in town. Which you’d think would be awesome, but still doesn’t make up for the lack of character of the bar or its patrons.

Last night, I went out with my two roommates to a dive bar on the outskirts of town. I found cheap whisky (Glenlivet, but still better than Glenfiddich which is what’s normally available), and a jukebox that played the new Broken Records album. Also there, though, were drunken ginger rednecks trying to pull my lesbian roommate. And when I asked for a whisky neat, I received several weird looks, questions about ice, and then a shot of whisky. Wrong crowd, wrong questions, wrong place.

This week we’re off to state orientation with the other regions, and then a two-day stint in a cabin, where we’ll get to smell each other and teach each other about lighting a camping stove and Montana natural history. Oh yeah, and more team building exercises and calisthenics. Never ending. At some point I’m also going to figure out how to get my photos off my new camera – I think I need to reformat the memory card, but then I’d lose the pictures. I’ve got some awesome photos of Paul Bunyan statues in Minnesota, so I don’t want to lose those. Quite the dilemma.

Hopefully I’ll have something more exciting for you, or a more detailed story about Americans’ inability to have banter (argh! So frustrating! How am I supposed to talk to you in a bar or workplace setting?). Until next time.

Big Sky Starbucks

2011-02-12T19:52:00.000-07:00

I bet most of you forgot that I kept a blog. I pretty much had, based on the fact my last post was in November. Or was it October? Either way, a really long fucking time ago.

You're probably also wondering where the hell I am. Well, the answer is simple and completely expected - Montana. The obvious choice after Leith. Things in between are loosely this: Shonagh and Fee threw me a super fantastic going away party with lovely people singing for me, a snowstorm came and delayed my flight, and then I arrived in America minus a suitcase. No big deal, I've flown this route before - 2 days later it was Fed-Exed to me. I'd go into poetic, flowery detail about the goodbyes, and how I was sad to go, blah blah blah, but that's for my mind to remember, and anyway, I'll probably mention it later. No time, now!

So, I went back to Northern Michigan and its snowy bosom. I visited relatives, saw Cathy & Corey, Danielle & Jacob, and Amy & Andy. Had a surprisingly non-dramatic Christmas, went and worked at the bookstore. Looked for a job. And kept looking. And applied for jobs, kept applying, heard nothing - sometimes worse yet, got a form letter in the mail. Things were starting to look dark for Dianna. So, I did what desperate people who can't stomach getting another low-paying job in craptastic Michigan do - I applied for the Americorps, obviously.

What is Americorps, you British friends are asking. Well, I'm glad you didn't actually ask me that question. It's like the Peacecorps, only in America, and the term of service is only about one year. What's the Peacecorps? For fucks sake, that's what Wikipedia is for - I can't hold your hand through life.

Short story summarized, I applied, I got an email from the Nevada Conservation Corps and the Montana Conservation Corps a week later, and had a phone interview for the position of Crew Member a week after that (for the MCC, to be clear. Because, fuck Nevada, seriously. Although they offered me a job as well. But, they have Reno, so fuck 'em). Three hours later, they called me and asked if I wanted to be a Crew Leader instead because I'm just so damn awesome. Seriously, they said I was a "strong applicant." Pays more, gives me the authority to make people dig latrines, why the hell not? What - I have to leave in 2 weeks? Fuck. Well...what the hell else am I going to do for 4 months? Might as well go and get wilderness first aid and other awesome things like that.

I got all of my ducks in as close to a row as ducks can go, packed my car to the gills with things that were essential, like a coffee grinder and cafetiere, a box of shoes - both sensible and not - and my banjo and accordion. Hey, fuck off, I'm totally going to learn how to play that banjo this time around. The accordion is already in the bag. You know, I could totally start my own ultra-hip band with this stuff...I'd call myself something great like Post-Modern Warfare...and sing songs about how my ironic faux vintage glasses got broken, just like my heart when you made out with that other girl at the party...anyway, lunacy over. Although, I'd probably listen to that shit. Sounds trendy.

I chose a route leading up through the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (the U.P. to the uninitiated), and encountered very little resistence from the weather to Duluth, Minnesota. I walked from my hotel (it had a king-sized bed!!!) to a brewery that was supposed to be good, with decent food, almost died from exposure in the goddamn ridiculously cold weather, and waited patientily for a table - I figure a wait is always a good sign. Plus, I had brought along a book like a sad-o, so I was set. Once seated, I enjoyed a delightful vegetarian burger made out of local wild rice. I know! It sounds idiotic. But it was absolutely the best veggie burger I have ever, ever, had. And the beer was alright. I mean, I drank two glasses, but that was really just out of politeness. It's no Short's, I'll tell you that much. Anyway.

The next day, I set out once again into the unknown northern Mid-West states. I'll tell you something right now - I hate North Dakota. This is entirely to do with their lack of snow-clearing know-how and infrastructure. Ever since my stupid accident two winters ago, I've been a little freaked out performing freeway driving in slushy conditions. So, I traveled half the state going 45 fucking mph. It's not a little state, either. Know what I had for dinner? Wendy's. I did receive surprise chili in my bag, though, so I can't compain. But it was no wild rice burger, I'll tell you that much.

The whole trip I listened to Song, By Toad podcasts from last year. Yeah, I'll admit, I'm not the greatest on keeping up with what the hip kids are doing. It was funny hearing Matthew talk about all of the gigs, and album launches, festivals, and stories from last year. Like a recap of my musical life in 2010. I'm glad the trip is over, though, because I started to worry I was going to hear his voice in my dreams, narrating and telling people to fuck off.

Finally, FINALLY, after 29 hours of driving, I got to Helena, MT, my new home, my new sight-unseen apartment, and my new room mates. Helen is from the U.P., and went to university at St. Andrews, which is weird considering, and Sophie went to art school, but decided to go into outdoor education. I'm doomed to be around people who went to art school. Can't tell you much about Sophie, but she seems sound as a pound, as they say, and Helen - well, I know Helen's life story by this point, I think. She's a bit of a chatterbox, as they say. Helena seems as strange and American as the rest of America, so I don't have much to comment on there yet. I've only been here a day, after all, so back off. There is a pretty banging art house-style movie theater, and I went and saw Blue Valentine today. Which, by the by, is wonderful and heart wrenching. I may have squirted a tear, but I won't confirm that rumor.

That's about it, I think. I'm sure soon enough these "pages" will be filled with hilarious stories of people cutting off their legs with chainsaws, and not making the latrine in time, because I made them dig it too far away. Strangely, these tales will be alcohol free, so it'll be a departure from the original tone of American Tartan. But for now, I've just given you a rather shitty recap of the past two months, because I'm a terrible communicator and I have to force myself to give a fuck.

God, I really hope they don't expect me to be wholesome at all for this.

On a bench

2010-10-15T06:23:00.000-06:00

Last night I went to Sofi's after work. When they kicked us out at closing time, which thankfully meant that we escaped the drunken neds who were molesting us, Dylan and I went and sat on a bench overlooking the Water of Leith.

While he drunkenly rambled on about how Leith was the center of everything, and how it was his favorite place (which I agreed with), I realized we were sitting on the very bench that Shonagh, Stuart and I had sat upon watching the sun rise after Louise's leaving party. That was over two years ago, but it feels like a million.

Surprisingly, this didn't give me the depressed, nostalgic feeling that I would have expected. Because, you see, in a little bit, I won't be looking on that cesspool of footballs and shopping carts - with fondness or any other emotion - because I will be in America. This time, probably for keeps.

After an initial period of denial, which skipped all other stages and went directly into grief for about a week, I've now become settled into the warm embrace of acceptance. The Great Scottish Adventure is coming to an end - two years and several thousand US dollars in college loans later.

But - it's weird. I'll miss people here, and some of the benefits like eating seafood and not having to own a car, but I'm pretty content in my (forced) decision.

I've realized something - the US isn't the strange prison it used to be. The things I wanted to escape from, the people, have all either changed or gone away. And fuck knows I'm not the same person I was when I graduated from MSU - not even the same person I was when I left Edinburgh the first time (thankfully). No, now it just feels like a gigantic space filled with amazing places I haven't yet lived, and interesting things I haven't yet done. The entire time I've lived here, I've never been one of those Americans living abroad who say stupid things like "I live in Europe because America is filled with hypocrisy and racists and guns and blah blah blah." I like the US, and the rest of the world is just as shit if not more so than America (Sorry Europe. You're still very nice.). And I like my countrymen, even if their accents aren't that melodic and any attempt to have banter with them just comes across as being a wise-ass (or flirting, strangely).

The facts are as follows: America, I love you and I'm coming home. It's not necessarily on the happiest of terms, and I won't lie to you and say I won't be thinking about Scotland when I'm with you, but if you want me around you'll just have to come to terms with that on your own.

In ten days, October 25th, I will purchase a one-way plane ticket and pay rent and council tax here for the last time. At the end of November, I will force a large amount of my worldly possessions upon my friends. A little while later, I will get on the plane I bought that ticket for, and go home to a world of ice, snow and not much else initially (because I will be very poor). And then...who the hell knows? This week I've been thinking of moving to Austin, Texas. Or maybe Colorado. Perhaps Wyoming. New Mexico? Something like that. And I'll start all over again, just like I did in Edinburgh. No job, no friends, no place to live. It sounds awful, but I don't know, it worked out alright the first time.

I just need to find a new bench to sit on.

Hopefully the next one will have a less polluted view.

Time surplus

2010-09-26T08:30:00.000-06:00

I read somewhere recently that scientists have discovered/proven that Einstein's theory of relativity is true - time passes more quickly at higher altitudes.

I'm at sea-level, more or less - apparently Leith would be the first to be submerged in Edinburgh if global warming causes the water level to rise - and from my own tests, time does seem to be crawling by.

Boredom combined with poverty is doing strange things to me. From the time I entered my junior year of college, I've worked and/or attended school full time. I always felt like I could still be doing more, like I should join a club or take up a hobby. Now, however, I'm working part time and completely finished with school. And the world has suddenly dropped out from under me.

It seemed ideal, in theory. Plenty of time to read, watch tv, sleep in, and maybe finally get the personal writing accomplished that I always put off because of school. I don't do any of these things.

I mean, I do. But not to the extent I'd like to. And since I don't work full time, and all of my money goes to rent and food, with the occasional splurge on a pint or a used cd, my options are severely limited.

Where is my creativity, my drive to do new things, and my desire to use this time to explore new areas of my psyche?

Fuck knows. I can't even finish a book in a timely manner.

I might sit on the internet for hours, or pace the short distance from the kitchen to the living room. Mostly, I have no idea what I do with my time. I do know that it seems to stretch out endlessly in front of me.

It's a bit of a lie, that whole line that teachers and parents told our generation when we were young. Go to school, do well, keep out of trouble, etc. and you'll get a great job and never have to worry about being - gasp - poor.

At least, that's what they told the middle class kids. They probably told the working class ones that life was shit and you'd better learn how to make change at McDon's.

Heather and I have conversations about the expectations placed on us by society all the time. Neither of us have taken what could be remotely considered the "normal" life path after college. Or, for her, during. And while we aren't blissfully happy, we're also content in the fact that we're trying to figure something out in our lives instead of just trying to get a mortgage in the suburbs.

Thankfully, we do have that to fall back on, because like I said - all of that shit that we were taught about being able to do anything, be anyone, is an obvious and bold faced lie. I mean, hell's bells, did they just say that to torture us? Of course we can't. We can only be ourselves, and reality rarely intersects our ambitions.

...

This is what I was talking about. I've gone a bit strange and scatty and ranty lately. Right now the sun is shining, and it's the kind of fall day that I wish every day could promise, but I'm not in a cheery mood. My mind gets stuck on odd points, and the less admirable qualities of my personality are dominating the nice ones. I've finished graduate school, the world should be my oyster. Instead, I'm in an endless cycle trying to acquire basic needs like a trapped animal, with no hopeful goals for the future because I have NO IDEA what I want to do. None at all.

So neurotic paranoia and petty cruelty crowd around in my brain, making it increasingly difficult to gain any sort of perspective.

I wish that I were back in Michigan so I could sequester myself in the cabin for a few months and remember how to be without artificial living aids, like television and the internet. And phones.

On teh Internetz

2010-09-10T06:48:00.000-06:00

My broadband is down. My fancy new phone is on the fritz. I am cut off from the world and that isolation, which is so strange in the modern age, has made me angry and uncomfortable.

Realistically, no one needs to urgently get in touch with me, and the biggest problem this caused was a delay in the evening’s pizza order. It feels like the world has suddenly been ripped away from me, though – I am cut off from everything.

It wasn’t always this way. I remember a time when a landline was enough and none of my friends had access to the Internet in rural Michigan, which meant its biggest use in my house was looking up tarot card layouts and magick spells. Yes, “magick” with a “K” – 12 year-old me was very much into Wicca. Please note that 13 year-old me firmly settled into the role of town Athiest. 14 year old me loved to argue with the Baptists, Jehovah’s Witnesses and Mormons of her childhood. Religion was a wonderful rollercoaster ride in my adolescence, and afforded me the rare opportunity to argue with adults who should really have known better. It makes me a bit sad in retrospect that I could, and often did, prove them wrong in theological discussions about their own beliefs. At the time I thought I was just amazingly witty. Now I know they were just horribly out of touch. I digress.

It wouldn’t have mattered if my friends did have email or we had all had cell phones, I suppose. I wasn’t a very social person. I went to a grand total of 2 parties in high school where alcohol was present, and only drank 3 times before I went away to college. I didn’t get drunk until I met my friend Danielle in our terribly pretentious honors “Soviet and Post-Soviet Film Studies” course our first year. (We drank tequila and Sprite – combination that surely doesn’t exist in nature and has never been repeated.) Instead of teenage angst, I spent a lot of time alone either reading or with my horses.

Thankfully, I think my mother could tell at the start of puberty that I wasn’t going to be the social butterfly she had always hoped and dreamed. So, she got me a horse and some riding lessons. Of all of my mother’s grand ideas for my future – dance class so I wouldn’t get fat (you want a flat stomach, right?) music lessons because band was a good place to pick up a boy (what? Yeah, those marching uniforms sure got me hot under the collar. Literally, those things were made out of some sort of super synthetic craziness. No one looked good), bowling league so I was forced to spend time with my, *ahem*, working class cousins – none of them turned out quite so well. I’m an extremely sensitive person with an affected thick skin. Keeping me away from the strange stage play that was high school dramatics probably saved me from becoming a delinquent druggie slut. Or, remaining a socially awkward nerd forever. It really could have gone either way, looking back at my high school friends.

I spent hours every day with my horses, despite the season, weather, or illness on my part. I got up early to put turn them out to pasture, went out before dinner to feed them in blizzards – my parents were adamant that my pets ate before I did. Some sort of strange animal pecking order equity I guess. Gave them all sorts of shots, bandaged all manner of cuts, groomed them in some rather bizarre places for shows, and spent hundreds of hours teaching them incredibly mundane things like walking alongside me, and stopping IMMEDIATELY when I did. My feet were stepped on, my arm was bitten, I fell off of them for any number of reasons, and once I was run head first into a tree (it is possible, those bastards can turn really quickly when they want to). Of course, I did quite a lot of stupid things as well. I liked to stand on their backs to pick apples, for instance. I used to race through the forest with no saddle or bridle to rely on – just a rope around their neck and a false sense of invincibility. Once, I even rode through a field with some bears. Calm down, they were black bears. They eat berries and my horse could have stepped on them. (He’s run over a porcupine and a squirrel that I know of – who knows what else he’s managed to kill over the years).

My first horse was 20, technically the size of a pony, and cost a whopping $600 – saddle and bridle included! What a bargain, considering she lived until the summer of last year, when she turned 30. It was a strange, sad day – she just started shivering and wandered off alone. She died in the night on top of a hill and we had to hire a tractor to bury her there. I’ve seen a lot of dead animals in my life. I grew up with hunters and farmers; death of pets and cuddly forest creatures was just a part of life. I refused to look at my dead horse. I regret that I didn’t, it seems disrespectful now.

My second horse was actually my dad’s horse. I stole him. I rode him every day and taught him countless tricks. He remains one of my favorite things on this earth. At shows people tried to buy him from me. He liked to drink beer (but not Canadian beer. I agree. That shit is not good). He was the most steadfast thing in my life for a long time.

My brother went away to college when I was 12. It’s around then that my parents started fighting. They always put on a united front when he came home, though, as if nothing was wrong. Therefore, I didn’t really have an ally, and I was a bargaining tool/negotiator/battle ground for my parents. But I didn’t realize that it was weird. All I knew was that I had a seemingly uncontrollable rage, which was directed at adults. I had an urgent need to prove them wrong at every possible opportunity. I argued about politics, religion, anything and everything they held sacred for the sake of it. I didn’t like that they thought their lives were in order and good. No one’s life was good, and they were all blind to that fact. I had to show them. If they thought differently, they were just stupid.

At that time my mother thought I was spoiled, stubborn and incredibly rude. I was, I know I was. I cringe at some of the things I said and did. But I also remember that my mother tried to get me to ask my dad to start taking Prozac. (He also had the rage. But it miraculously disappeared when my parents got divorced. We used to fight all of the time – horrible fights. We haven’t since the day he moved out of our house.) And that after my one and only really rebellious period in my life, my mother blamed herself and started crying. A rather vain trend she’s carried on until the present. She’s convinced I only got a tattoo to spite her. 18 year-old me might have done that, but college grad 23 year-old me wasn’t really thinking about her much at the time. At 14, I started taking antidepressants myself. Years later, studies showed that children on antidepressants had a tendency to exhibit manic behaviors, such as shoplifting or promiscuousness, and to commit suicide. It explains rather a lot about my black moods during this period.

Adding to my teenage misery and confusion, my grandmother died when I was a freshman in high school. She was probably one of the strangest, craziest and most interesting people I’ve ever known. She was also incredibly petty and manipulative. We were very close. She told me if I didn’t come to visit her often, she’d haunt me after she died. I was bitterly disappointed when she didn’t. Since her death, my mother and I have come to the conclusion that my step-grandfather greatly contributed to her death. An ex-alcoholic, my mother claims that he was a wonderful person before he sobered up. He was a cruel man who once told 9 year-old me that I had no real friends and that I didn’t know what friendship was. I have no idea if it was born out of some strange “band of brothers” war nonsense (he fought in WWII like everyone else his age), or if he was just a bastard because I wasn’t his blood kin. Either way, it deeply affected me – he was the only grandfather I have ever known, and he made it very clear that I wasn’t actually related to him, and that I therefore didn’t matter. I never saw him again after my grandmother’s funeral. I’m not even sure if he’s still alive. I don’t really care, part of me hopes he’s fallen into a debilitating dementia and doesn’t even recognize his “real” grandchildren. He used to go golfing instead of taking care of my dying grandmother. I hate golf now.

So, the angry, rude teenager who had no “real” friends spent a lot of time outside with horses. I talked to them, wove elaborate stories about things that I wanted to happen, but knew never would. Things about boys I liked but was too painfully shy to talk to, girls who were savage to me, but who I never stood up to. I remember one winter night, I fed the horses and then laid down in a pile of hay while they munched all around my head. For some reason, I was never afraid of them. Other horses, yes – they were strangers, and like all strangers, they were unpredictable and not to be trusted. I stared up at the sky, which held particularly interesting dark grey clouds swirling all around. The world felt enormous; I was the only person who existed, and the sky was endless. It may be the most peaceful I’ve ever felt. I think I understood the world best in that moment, I’ve definitely never been that certain of myself, my actions and my beliefs since. I’m not saying that I was right and wholly perfect then, just that I understood better than I do now.

I was alone then, with few people who truthfully were my “actual” friends. I wasn’t around people much outside of school and the numerous clubs to which I belonged. Now I live in a city, surrounded by people all the time. I felt less lonely then. Now I have this constant need to be connected to text messaging, social networks, email, the “world”. I feel completely out of sorts otherwise. I think it’s a form of self-affirmation. If I put this thought out into the universe, will someone notice and acknowledge it? If they don’t, does it mean that I’m socially rejected? Even now, I’m writing this with the intention of putting it on my blog so that someone will read it, and hopefully tell me how wonderfully clever I am.

The Internet is full of people seeking validation, and I am one of them. I’d like to say I write these posts to reveal inalienable truths about humanity or to entertain for the sake of entertainment and craft, but I do it to say things that for whatever reason I can’t normally express without a joke or by seeming petty and bitchy. A thousand times a day I teeter between believing people I consider friends think I’m wonderful and think I’m insufferable. The good days are when I go to bed and the former outweighs the latter. The bad days don’t end quite so well. Maybe one day I can live in the happy medium between living in the world and having a firm knowledge of myself and my place in it. I seem to be able to do one or the other fully, but never at the same time. The other always seems unattainable and ethereal. These are hard times to be without a horse, when the tall buildings of the city make the sky seem so small and inconsequential. Especially when you can’t get Facebook to work on your smartphone.

James Cagney was Short.

2010-08-22T14:56:00.000-06:00

Remember how old (American) movies were all variations on the same theme? Underdog vs. big evil - newspaper man takes down evil mayor/governor/business tycoon, gangster against the world, etc. Shonagh and I watched "Johnny Come Lately" with the surprisingly tiny James Cagney this morning. Other than being slightly racist and sexist (You can't run a newspaper - you're a woman!), it reminded me of my fascination with frontiers. We Americans sure love us some frontiers. Watch "Once Upon A Time In The West" and you'll see what I mean. Plus, it's a cracker-jack film. Or read Steinbeck, or even Kerouac although I wouldn't if you like words.

It's such a well-covered historical trend in American history. But, I feel like it's fallen by the wayside and it's made us lose a bit of our identity. Pilgrims, revolutionaries, cowboys, pioneers, crack pot religious nut-jobs, and even Texans (who didn't want to be Americans, and we shouldn't pushed the issue in my opinion. Although, then we wouldn't have Austin...I digress) - it's a country and a people hell-bent on pushing past hardships - real and imagined - in order to scrape out an existence and/or push some indigenous people off their land. At least, that's the easy version that makes it to the newfangled post-modern history books.

But it has a deeper significance for the American psyche. The idea of "frontier" is so etched in our bones that recently we've hit a bit of a wall. The world is essentially conquered - our industries, products and people have influence more or less in every corner of the world (for better or for worse, I won't go down that road). The internet and global trade has made everything small, easy and faster than should really be possible.

So what's a pioneering American to do?

If they're like me, they move back to where their family came from in the first place. Not because I particularly like that part of my family, mind - I still can't put a finger on why I came to Scotland in the first place. No, people like me turn this frontier seeking outward so that it becomes a sort of wanderlust. A lot of Americans aren't like me though, and it gets turned inwards. Frontiers in our own borders - constantly redefining what it is to be American, and who can't possibly be one by virtue of their birth/beliefs or whatever.

We're just reconquering the West - again. Push to the Mississippi, push past it, take the Oregon Trail and die of dysentery after hunting some buffalo and fording a river (sorry, too easy), take the "unsettled" lands of the prairies, get rid of those pesky Mexicans and French, have a war, have another war, have an economic boom because of some oil and a different war, have a recession so bad that people lived in shanty towns that WEREN'T in New Orleans after the hurricane, and were so awful they were forever dubbed Hoovervilles because of the wonderful policies of the unprepared administration, had a famine that forced people west yet again to find some sort of relief, had another war, had another war, had another war - kept having wars that pushed our ideas outside of our borders - and we were ok with all of this for a while. But the world caught up, and there suddenly were no more frontiers, although we kept trying to find them. Currently, we're trying to say immigrants aren't Americans - for about the millionth time in our very short national history.

So now, I ask those Americans who keep trying to define themselves, where do we go from here? Who are we, what are we, and most importantly - what the hell are we supposed to be doing?

Because I think that the only single thing you can pin Americans down on is our need to constantly push. And when there's nothing left to push against, well...what comes next?

And, why the hell should anyone listen to you?

The Mastering of Science!

2010-08-21T14:29:00.000-06:00

Well, I've done it. I've made science my bitch. At least, I wrote a lot of words and they put them all together in a pretty binder. Very surreal. I certainly don't feel like I've mastered "environmental sustainability", or anything else for that matter. Just like the last time I did this whole "degree" thing, I feel like I know even less than when I started. I guess that's what life is for, constantly reminding you that you know less than you think, until you realize you don't really know anything at all. And then, you die.

Something to look forward to! You're welcome.

Anyway. The upside to all of this is that I can actually write things for fun. And read books! I actually finished a book for the first time since June today - "Lanark" by Alastair Grey. (Awesome read, if you need something to tickle your mind-grapes.)

Forgive me if these first couple of posts aren't that great. I'm a bit out of practice writing things people actually are going to read - what with the academic psuedo-intellectual bullshit I've been spewing for the past four months that will remain forever locked away in a tiny university library and a shoebox in my closet.

Or maybe I'll turn it into a fabulous best-selling novel based on the tumultuous world of restaurant sustainability practices! I can feel the world collectively holding its breath in anticipation.

In other news, it's August. Which means it's festival. All year I've been looking forward to the day when I could enjoy the festival without the spectacle of the D. So, the Friday of the D deadline comes around and I go home at 11. Despite a house party and the promise of the Udderbelly, all I wanted was to go home and watch shit TV with Shonagh and go to bed. Which I did! Success. I did feel bad, though - I've had a habit of not being the most avid of social butterflies when it comes to my school chums, but things usually conspire against me in those situations. I have a really bad habit of planning exciting nights out. They're only usually 50% successful - when I get into the mindset that I don't want to be around people, there's no changing my mind and it puts me in a shit mood. I possibly have some sort of personality/social anxiety disorder. But, whatever. Tonight is another night out - Victoria and Meagan's flat warming. And then I will hibernate for a week, until the Broken Records concert and Retreat! the next day. Because I've turned into an old person who doesn't like going out every night...what has happened to me?! Argh! Luckily, I learned on Tuesday night that I still have the knack for drinking a lot while still appearing sober to the other drunk people.

Anyway. Anchorman is on and I should really get dressed. It is 9:30 pm after all. Time to start the day.

Jazz flute.

"A Tale of Two Taverns" - As seen on Song, By Toad!

2010-05-30T14:53:00.000-06:00

Dylan asked me if I'd write a Sunday Supplement for Song, By Toad about a million years ago. At the time, I wasn't very keen. I had several papers due, a few of which had the ability to cause me to fail out of school. Now I only have a dissertation due. No big deal. Plenty of time to write complete shit about nothing much.

He wanted me to write about the experience of working at the "official" Song, By Toad pub (the King's Wark. Obviously). I feel there are two large problems with this topic, however. The first, and I feel the most important, is that this is a bit overly-pretentious and the basic concept makes me feel too groupie-ish for comfort. The second, and the most important in actuality, is that I don't work at the King's Wark anymore.

However, I work in Anstruther at the Dreel Tavern - which is now owned by Chris and Ewa, an ex-chef from the King's Wark and his girlfriend and an extended family member of the King's Wark. And of course I still live with Shonagh. And I'm still friends with everyone there and eat a couple of meals a week there. And still refer to it as "the pub." Just a caveat.

Basically what I'm saying is that I'm only kind of going to write about that. I'm also going to write about bonding over music in Fife, and the strangeness that is the music nerd-dom.

Beginning at the beginning, though, we can discuss the wonder that was serving the Song, By Toad crew. I'd like to say that it was continually enlightening and that I learned about cutting-edge bands and met fascinating people. What actually happened was that we always ran out of Anapai Pinot Noir and gin, Mr. and Mrs. Toad ended up swearing far too much and usually too loudly, Dylan talked absolute drunken shite and got into arguments about the Sugar Babes, Shonagh hid her head in her hands, and various members of Meursault came along for the ride. The music choice gets alternately slagged and lauded (the latter due to my legacy of cd mixes (I like to think)), and the staff table (which they usually occupied) becomes a loud, no-mans land where the staff fear to tread in case they're mocked for saying 'erbs instead of Herbs (in my own bitter experience). Because you know what never gets old when you're an American living in Scotland? Being teased about how you say things. Just a barrel of fun. A laugh-riot you could say. I wouldn't.

I won't lie, it was nice having music people who were also my friends hanging out at my place of work, which also happened to be a really cool pub with awesome food. But I have no grand illuminations into the inner workings of the Edinburgh indie/alt folk scene. Other than they tend to get drunk. A lot. Which everyone probably already figured out by this point. As I'm not usually impressed with ideas of coolness or (relative) fame, I probably wouldn't have realized that what these gin-soaked people were saying was anything other than nonsensical ramblings. But I digress. Very cool for some, though.

Which leads me to my next topic. Music nerds. They are intrinsically different than other sorts of nerds in that there is a patina of coolness to them. Sometimes, a rather thin patina, but a patina none the less.

Now, this concept of the music nerd should not be confused with the cool kids with the hair cuts and the slouchy jeans. I speak of what Americans call "hipsters." Who also wear slouchy jeans. And have hair cuts, but it's different. Anyway. Hipsters rely almost entirely upon knowledge of obscure indie bands from the mid-80's onwards. But not prior to. Because old music is bad. Especially jazz. Yikes! Anything but that. Not that it's the basis for quite a lot of modern music or paved the way for "controversial" themes in music which constitute several things that the hipster holds sacred. Never mind, that's an old chestnut.

The music nerd, in my opinion, is the UK's answer to hipsters. Mostly because I don't really have a label for them and hipster isn't quite right.

I should probably mention that I am one. Not to the degree that some people reach where they know every member of every band and what their favorite color is. I really cannot be fucked with any of that. I usually don't even know the names of the lead singers of most bands that I like. I don't really see the point - my brain can't hold all of that information and still remember what day it is, and it doesn't really affect how I feel about the music the band produces. I like music because, for whatever reason, I connect with something in it, not because the bassist of X band, which was highly influential in the Seattle scene in 1998 is now in Y band with the singer of Z band, which never really made it into the mainstream, but that only makes them more obscure and therefore cooler.

Obviously, other people don't feel the same way. Those people probably can do all sorts of things like walk and chew gum AT THE SAME TIME, which is more than I can handle. More power to them.

BUT. They are still nerds. Encyclopaedic knowledge of anything is nerdish behaviour. It's just...music is cool. Therefore, the music nerd is the coolest of all of the nerds in nerd-dom. And when they wear Chuckie T's and Journey t-shirts it's ironic. In fact, nearly everything the hipster/music nerd does is ironic, and therefore cool. Irony is the coolest of the literary devices, after all.

The music nerd is a socially awkward being by nature, and they tend to flock together like near-sighted seagulls around a Joy Division record. When two music nerds meet, they must judge each other to see if their particular nerdish beliefs conflict or correspond. It's a bonding ritual, you could say, as the relationship between music nerds contains a bit of the "us against the stupid world" mentality. Although, if it all goes bad, I would probably say that it's a territorial dispute. Or something. I've sure Levi-Strauss has an opinion on the subject.

Anyway.

I shall use an example from my life to illustrate this phenomenon.

The setting: the fun side of the bar at the Dreel Tavern (you know, the drinkin' side)

The players: me and my new Dreel comrades

Graeme was going to Argos, and Mike decided to take the plunge and purchase his first iPod. However, he didn't have much music on his computer, so he asked me if he could take some from mine to fill the tiny music machine.

What ensued was a solid hour of subtle jabs, recriminations, defensive positions and guarded approval until mutual respect was achieved. Because, you see, two music nerds had just stumbled onto the border of their mutual stomping grounds. And it was on, just like Donkey Kong. "You like them? They're shit." "Yeah, but have you heard this..." "You should really just plunge an ice pick into your skull if you think that's good." "I can't believe you know this band! No one knows this band." etc., etc.

Mike's friend Matt, and outsider to the process, attempted to become involved with the conversation. And, in a typical guy manner, tried to protect me from the insults my music collection was receiving, with such helpful things as "Don't listen to him, he's an ass. You can like whatever you want." All very well-meaning and noble, I'm sure, but completely lost in the game. This was the testing grounds of music nerd bonding, and there is no place for hurt feelings, only strong defences and pointed observations.

You can all visualize it, because you all - to a man - have experienced a similar thing. Maybe it wasn't your iTunes library, probably it was your wall of cd's. Or, if you're the coolest of the cool, your vinyl collection. Or just a scroll through someone's iPod when they've left it around unattended. Music nerds know this ritual in their very souls, because it's a part of us. We love to geek out over music, and we like it when someone actually gives enough of a shit to play along. And when they do, we've found a comrade in arms, someone to shake our fists with at the corporate shit machines that produce pop music. A temporary soul mate, for a few moments in time.

And they all get together and drink far too much gin.

Hey, remember when...

2010-04-13T14:03:00.003-06:00

...we had to take exams? Yeah, that sucked. What also sucks is that the little undergrads (some of which are my age, I'm aware) have to take them, and therefore take up precious library space.

So, my big trip uptown was a bust today. Not a single laptop friendly seat available anywhere! What a squandering of bus fare. Well, I did buy new special pens for work, so it wasn't completely a waste. I'm branching out from just using green! I got a teal pen as well as a maroon one. Still, everyone will know whose pens they are, dammit.

Hmm, add pens to the "things about which Dianna is a bit psycho" list. It grows each and every day.

<-----Actual pen in question.

I think I've settled on a title for my dissertation: "The democratization of sustainable restaurants: economic practicalities and social acceptance in Anstruther, Scotland." I know, what a scorcher, right? Just wait for its adaptation to paperback - it will just fly off the shelves!

I think my perception of what is interesting has become a bit warped of late. And by that I mean time-warped. But not in a RHPS sense. I think I'm reverting to my olden academic days. I saw a boy in the library with a giant stack of books about existentialism and actually thought, "Ohh, I wish I could write a paper on existentialism." Really? I'm not sure that's 100% accurate, brain. In fact, I remember those days. They weren't always that great. Then again, throw in some religious persecution and a war or two, and paper-writing became down right fun. Ah, those halcyon days.

I sometimes wonder if I've been here too long. Not only has the vocabulary firmly settled into my brain, but accents have started to lose meaning to me. It took me a good 5 minutes of ease dropping on the bus today to determine if someone actually had a Scottish accent or not. It was rather unsettling to my proud American linguistic sensibilities.

Then again, I've met three Americans in the past two weeks from Michigan. And all three had painfully American accents to me. I don't know. Can some Americans be more American than others? I'm pretty sure that's a meaningless statement. It's like that one episode of 30 Rock where Lemon and Jack go to Georgia to find a new cast member, so they can identify with "real" Americans. In the end, they discoverd "American" is a multi-faceted identity. I suppose I really shouldn't feel embarrassed about these tourists any more than most Brits should feel embarrassed about the BNP. Then again. Yeah, maybe I'm completely wrong about that.

Yes, I did just draw important life lessons from a prime-time sitcom. But hey, I disqualified it right away.

What am I even talking about? I blame the cold medicine.

Anyway. Tomorrow marks my first official day working at the Dreel Tavern. So maybe I should suck it up and stop being sick like a big baby. Illness is for losers with poor moral fiber.

Life in Fife and other stories of interest

2010-04-12T09:30:00.003-06:00

Hey, guess what I should be doing right now? Not writing a blog post! However, in my delicate state, actual work remains elusive.

Am I hungover? No! I've been remarkably sober for ages now. I did have a bit of a headache leftover from the exploits of Saturday night, but nothing noteworthy. When asked on Sunday night why I hadn't gotten too drunk, the only truthful answer I had was that I'm afraid of hangovers. I am. Truly, truly frightened of them. I was then told - by two people the same age as me - that I was old. ! Jerks. Anyway. I think I have the flu, which really sucks because I have an abstract due next Wednesday. Oh, well.

Events are unfolding for ol' Dianna over here. Last week I traveled all the way to the Kingdom of Fife to visit Chris and Ewa for a few days. Several whiskies and free meals later, you're now reading the blog of the "General Manager" of the Dreel Tavern, in Anstruther, Fife. That sounds a bit like they got me drunk for this...but yeah. It's not. And I'm not really the general manager, I doubt they'll be having me deal with food cost or ordering or anything. Well, maybe. Dunno. I'm mostly there to teach some youngins how to be awesome bar people. No more leaving Ewa to do everything, no sir. Plus, there's the added benefit that they've agreed to let me do a case study of them for my dissertation.

However exciting as this news is, it doesn't touch the events of 3 am on Tuesday night. Which is when George woke me up. Who's George? George is a ghost. That's right, a ghost. The Dreel is apparently one of the most haunted places in all of Scotland. I've never given a shit about such things, but sometimes that place is creepy.

The event transpired thusly: I felt a tug on my blanket. I figured it was Muf, the cat, trying to climb up on the bed, so I tugged back. And then something tried to rip the blanket off of me. I yanked back, and then something sat on me. And then full out laid on me. I kicked my legs and it was gone. The room wasn't completely dark, so I could see - nothing at all. Nothing was there.

So yeah. Was it a ghost? Was it just a waking dream? I don't know. Ewa's pretty sure it was a ghost. Other Scottish people think it was a ghost. I'm a bit skeptical at heart, but find myself enjoying the story too much not to tell it. So thank you George, for giving me a conversation point.

Anyway. The other point of recent interest in my life is that I've started volunteering at an Oxfam bookshop in Stockbridge. Far from glamorous, for sure, but it's certainly nice to have my used book talents appreciated. This time around, I actually get to reject books for content and quality! The other day we recycled a copy of The Game instead of forcing freshmen to read it! Hooray! Plus, I get first crack at the really awesome ones. Yesterday a guy brought in his collection of graphic novels and history books because he was moving in with his girlfriend, who is apparently mega-lame. I mean, I would consider moving in with someone BECAUSE they had an awesome book collection. Psh. Broads.

However, all these extra-curricular activities mean that I have little spare time for things like a life (I'm still working at the KW on Friday and Saturday nights). Granted, I didn't really do much with it before, so now I'm just spending less time watching Gilmore Girls with Shonagh in the morning.

So, this means last Saturday's adventures with the hip scenester kids will be my last for a while. Besides, too many social occasions with them and they'll sniff me out for the fraud I am. Yes, I love music (to an obnoxious degree) but I have neither the resources, time nor inclination to follow it constantly, and with the minutiae required. If they want, though, I can tell them about...graphic novels? The environment? My cats? Thus my problem.

Sigh. So, I'll just snuggle back into the comforts of nerd-dom, and read a book where someone does some magic or there's a dragon or something, and lie to myself about my superiority to the people who go out instead of staying at home studying. You know, high school.

Wow, way to end that a negative note. So, to liven things up again, here's a picture of me making a crazy face! (Courtesy of Dylan)

Ode to a sandwich

2010-03-17T14:27:00.004-06:00

There is no better feeling,
no higher bliss,
than the perfect sandwich,
a turkey with swiss.

Yummy yum yum yum. Sandwich!

Two post mania!

2010-03-09T09:49:00.003-07:00

Can you believe it? Two posts in one 7 day period. Crazy!

The existence of these posts is directly related to the amount of school work I'm supposed to be doing at the moment. I've done the statistical correlation and everything. I could show you the equation, but that's probably unnecessary.

Shonagh and I got a kitten over the blogging hiatus. Her name is Atticus. She is no longer really a kitten. Despite her more annoying traits (which happen at night, so I sleep through them while Shonagh suffers), she's doing as intended and keeping Pablo entertained. So he doesn't eat our faces off in the night.

Right now, she's sitting beside me, acting all cute and innocent. I know her game.

I'm so bored with school it's unreal. Strange to think I'm nearly finished - with classes that is. Still have that damn dissertation, but that's on my terms so I'm ok with it.

Work has been nuts lately. In more than one way. The pub won Best Pub Food in Scotland (or something similarly titled), and it's somehow managed to become even busier than before. How? Beats the hell out of me. I really thought we'd reached our carrying capacity.

With Chris leaving for Fife, Owen going part time to become a rock star (status pending), and Mairi hurting her ankle (high heels + drunk Moo = extra shifts for everyone!), dynamics are shifting. And there are growing pains. I think there's a general feeling of discontent floating around, especially among the part-timers. The job keeps getting harder, and as horribly tacky and un-teammanship-like as it may be of me to say, there's no sense of things getting better. Relationships are straining and fraying, and I'm a bit worried about morale. Hopefully, I'm wrong. But.

You know, I used to spend a lot of time going for walks and reading for pleasure. Now I just sit on my laptop reading terribly boring papers on fecal bacteria pollution. Did you know there are two kinds? Fecal coliform and fecal streptococcus, or FC and FS if you're cool. Riveting, eh? I can't wait for the day when 'work' belongs in clearly defined parts of my week, and the rest is mine to do with as I wish.

I was thinking yesterday that some my friends have chosen to define growing up by getting married, while I'm doing it by going back to school and fucking off to Europe so I can hang with the hipsters and be cool. I think I'm ok with that.

I should really mention that Chris is going to Fife because he and Ewa got a pub and they will now be running it. And next weekend, we're all trooping up there for its opening. I may or may not have promised to play the accordion. I will need a lot of alcohol for this. And a better grasp of how to play the accordion. Fingers crossed they won't have purchased one by then.

London

2010-03-02T14:54:00.003-07:00

Wow. November. I really sucked at life these past few months. That's probably why I can't think of a wittier title for this post. I'd like to dedicate this one to Mairi, who is bored out of her mind right now.

Last Friday, I feel asleep on the train and woke up in a different country.

Well, ok, it was England. I'm not going to pretend it was like Narnia or anything, but for a foreigner with pretensions of anthropological leanings, it was quite a change.

Am I going to go all poetical on this post about the differences about the Scots and the English? No. Don't worry. There are a lot of English people in Edinburgh. Besides, this is going to focus on Americans. Specifically one - me. I've been rather introspective lately (which probably hasn't gone unnoticed as I haven't posted anything since last year).

I took the train to London to meet up with Rebecca and see her cousin Jon's band. And, you know, see London, as I'd never been.

As soon as we stepped out of the station, I felt a strange sense of ease. Why strange? Well, I've always been a little weary of going to London. It intimidated me. Look at a map - it's freaking huge. It's one of those cities of the world classified as 'great' - and it is that in both senses of the word.

Unlike Edinburgh, it had (in most places we went) large, open streets and people of every kind, color, creed, whatever. It was a bit like being in a city in the States in that regard. Want a new perspective? There's a million to choose from.

I can't say that I visited every attraction. I can't be bothered with that stuff anymore, I think I got fed up with it after the great european vacation of '08. But, I did have a really nice time with Rebecca, her cousin, and Chris C. - former fellow Warker.

The weekend started off in a rather interesting manner. We went out for dinner in Islington (where Jon lives) to a Turkish restaurant. It seemed like a normal sort of place. Pleasant smells, staff adorned in red satin and little gold bangles. There was shit Euro house music playing, which we laughed about, but otherwise we were so far content.

Rebecca ordered a San Miguel , Jon a vodka martini, and I ordered a gin martini. The waiter looked a bit confused, hmm-ed and haw-ed, and then went away to get our drinks. A few minutes later he came back. Rebecca's straight-forward beer presented no problems. Our two martinis, however, were another matter. One, he informed us, had soda, the other lemonade. This, we felt sure, was not what we had ordered. A group examination revealed that the 'martini' on the drink menu had BOTH vodka and gin, and had a choice of either soda or lemonade. Obviously, the fault resided with us - we ordered it off the menu after all. We assured the worried waiter that this was ok, we would drink them. He left again, conferred with his colleagues, and returned to tell us that they would make us something else. No, no, we were fine. Contrary to a lot of popular thought, Americans generally are pretty easy going when it comes to these things. Alcohol is, after all, alcohol. A few minutes later, another member of staff put a prawn cocktail down on our table. We all leaned in to examine it - yes, prawns with mayonnaise on some lettuce, prawn cocktail - and agreed that we had not ordered this. The waiter came back while I was poking it with a fork to determine its illusory status. It was, apparently, on the house. Well. Who can argue with free? So we ate it. Kinda. I mean, it was just prawns with mayo. It exactly haute cuisine or anything. Soon, our food arrived. It was really lovely, and the craziness from the whole martini debacle obviously did not extend to the food menu. We had just decided that we were going to follow Rebecca's lead and order beer, but before we could even flag down a waiter, one brought two more martinis. Again - on the house. Well. We won't be the ones to complain about a free drink situation. Sometime during the meal, the music had changed to an album of Turkish covers of 90's hits - REM, Phil Collins, Michael Jackson - complete with authentic Turkish instruments. We laughed and laughed about the strangeness of the evening thus far. Oh, how our poor naive little minds were unprepared for the strangeness to come. Towards the end of our meal, the staff sang happy birthday to a table of women next to us. The room shared that sense of empathetic embarrassment for the woman in question, and then returned to their meals. But this was not the end to the festivities. The lights were turned down, and the music abruptly changed to some sort of clangy middle eastern instrumental thing, and a belly dancer emerged from behind the bar. At 9 pm. There was a belly dancer. Around food. At 9. The women drunkenly danced with her, but soon her attention was focused on a table of older Turkish men. I made some (most likely witless) quip about them being part of some sort of important Turkish crime syndicate. She danced around the room for a while, and then wiggled her way over to us, at which point she firmly hip-checked Jon. Which was, to say the least, a bit awkward. Then she tried to get him to get up and dance with her. An offer he politely, but pointedly, declined. Eventually, she left, and we paid our bill - shaking our head at the somewhat hallucinatory meal we had just shared. When we left, she had money in her spangly bra top - a clue, perhaps, to her behavior.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly in a nearby bar filled with Americana and a rather sad wall of 'donated' bras. We decided to take a touristy open-topped bus tour in the morning. Perhaps we would wear fanny packs and the Filbey cousins would break out their southern accents. Oh, how we laughed at the prospect.

The next day was fun-filled, but rather tame compared to the night before. We were tourists, we ate dim sum, and went to the National Portrait Gallery, after which Jon left us for his band's sound check (Sinner in the Mirror, in case you're wondering. They have a myspace page and everything.) Mike and Lesley suggested that I go to a particular Italian restaurant in Soho, so Rebecca and I planned a circuitous route that took us through some markets. Well, Rebecca planned it and I followed. How nice to have someone do the mental work for you!

We had done the mental math and decided that the best time to eat was at 530 - giving us plenty of time to get back to Islington to change for the gig. However, we got distracted by a music store, cupcakes (adamantly recommended to us by our friend Fiona), and a vintage clothing store. Especially the last - we are, after all, girls. We arrived at the restaurant at 6. There was a 45 minute wait, which was unacceptable. We decided to come back the next day instead, and headed to the tube station.

Which was closed. So, we decided to be adventurous and take the bus. Number 73 would serve us perfectly. We could see it across the street - if only we could get to the bus stop in time...We walked and walked, casting looks over our shoulders. But the bus disappeared. Confused, we just went to the nearest tube station from that point. When we reemerged at Angel, there the bus was - taunting us. Jerk.

We did make it to the gig on time. The band was really quite good - and we all know how skeptical I can be in these situations, I'm no good at pretending I don't hate something. I won't go into details about style or anything, as that's not really my forte, so if you're interested I suggest you hit up the aforementioned myspace option. They were really well-polished and had a strong sound, the lack of which is the number one thing that turns me off to band I see live that I don't know. Plus, I do love spunky female leads. Anyway. After a few more (less delightful) bands, a DJ came on. Who was actually pretty good. What's a good way to transition from the classic dance anthems of Motown to poppy French Phoenix? How about a little Scottish Camera Obscura? Brilliant! Through in some Talking Heads and I'm sold.

Rebecca and I went home early, leaving Jon to make celebratory merriment with his friends and bandmates, to a house full of Australians watching curling. After making fun of the erstwhile sport for a while, we went to sleep.

I should mention at this point that this was the cleanest guy-inhabited house I've ever seen. Especially the kitchen - maybe I'm just used to college kid living, or Shonagh's and my interpretation of cleaning, but it was a little out of the ordinary I think. This was especially true Sunday morning, after I'd made our hosts breakfast. As soon as everyone was finished, and Rebecca and Jon disappeared to get ready for the day, the housemates scurried off the the kitchen like little Australian elves, and cleaned the place top to bottom.

I tried to apply their fey lessons to my own life when I got home, but there are currently dishes in the sink and a feeling of general apathy in my heart.

Anyway. We set off to Spitalfields Market. We didn't know much about it, but we (mostly me probably) wanted to go to a market. What does it sell? Who cares! It's a market.

Poor Jon. Hand made women's clothes are far as the eye could see. To Rebecca and me, it was like Christmas in late February. There were a few poster, music, art and food stands, but otherwise...pretty, pretty dresses. And jackets!

After an hour or so we got cold and ran out of capitalist steam. So we went to a pub. Because we're in the UK. I had played texting tag with Christopher most of the weekend, and we met up at said pub. Drinking ensued. Rebecca and I discovered that London is a parallel universe to Trainspotting, and found the Worst Toilet in London. Yuck.

Jon left, and the three of use decided to wander off to find a new pub. Preferably without the strange smell and questionable grafitti in the bathrooms. But we couldn't. We only managed to make a giant circle and end up back at the market. A short tube ride later, we finally found one. Questionable music seemed to be following me from place to place, though, so we spent an amusing hour rehashing King's Wark gossip and mocking the musical selection.

We parted ways with Chris, and met up with Jon and Rebecca's friend Andrea for some Thai food and talk about rodent control. The rest of the evening was spent watching the USA vs. Canada hockey game.

It's been a long time since I've been around Americans who really like sports a lot. It took me back to my college days of watching my ex and his friends nearly have a heart attack when MSU was in the Final Four. Such a strange intensity and investment come over us (I should probably include myself in that).

We lost, went to bed, woke up and went to the station.

On the way home, I feel asleep on the train and woke up in a different country. And saw things a bit differently. (Stop reading here if you're not very interested in my own personal angst. If you are, it concerns me a bit...)

For reasons that are not yet entirely clear to me, I've been feeling a distinct sense of dissatisfaction for the past few months. As much as I'm told I don't like to admit when I'm wrong, I'm going to do so now. No, coming back to Scotland wasn't everything I'd hoped and dreamed it would be; it's something that's at the same time more and less than I'd expected. My friends are just as great, the pub is just as awesome (Scottish Pub Food of the 2009!), it's just that the magical element from the summer of 2008 is gone - whatever that was. Probably alcohol. Mostly, though, I think it was my complete surrender to youth. This was something I really hadn't allowed myself to do during college (for a whole shit load of reasons), and I can't do now (because I want a job at the end of this course. That'd be great.). So, in short, I'm current residing firmly in a liminal stage before true adulthood (sorry - I'll try to make that the only anthropology catchphrase. Couldn't resist).

The other day, after telling Ewa about my adventures in the big city, she more or less knew what was on my mind - I'm not going to stay in Edinburgh after graduation.

Here comes another admission: my mother was right. I'll never be satisfied. But, in this case I think it's in a good way. If I stay here, I know I'll be stuck in this state of itchy dissatisfaction. Will I go to London? Maybe. I think it was pretty cool. But it's more than that - I hadn't left Edinburgh except for a field trip in September since I got here. And it started to feel a bit like a trap, as if it contains a bit of my past that's over now but still hangs around the periphery but doesn't exist in the present. Like Northern Michigan does now.

If any bit of that makes sense to anyone. I suppose it doesn't need to really. But, I've felt a change and should probably go with that.

Good news for New Orleans

2009-11-19T07:05:00.003-07:00

An American court just ruled that it was the Army Corps of Engineers' fault that New Orleans got so very soggy. Damn straight! Those bastards and their shit flood management strategies. Well, when you change the course of a major river just so you don't have to wait to get your steamboats to the end, some shit is bound to hit the fan.

I am sick. I have a cold, and it isn't pleasant. And Heather is coming in 2 days. And I have to finish this poster project. And I have to work tonight. And tomorrow night. Basically, I'm not pleased with the universe and its shit idea of a joke. This is bullshit.

I did something completely retarded this morning. I always put my cellphone under my pillow (to ease my crazy need to know what time it is at any given point in the day/night). Well. I was being domestic and washing all my linens so that Heather thinks that I'm clean to the point of anal retentiveness, and then I realized that I needed to leave to get any work done today. So, I began to look for my cellphone. Not under the heap of pillows, not on the floor, under the bed, etc. etc. Shit. It's in the sheet - which has been in the washer for about 15 minutes. After finally figuring out how to open the damn door (our washer/dryer is fucking bizarre), I fished around until I saw the light - of the cellphone trying desperately not to die. I took it apart and stuck my sim card into my now defunct iPhone.

Safe.

However, there's a number or two that I'd really like to get from my (apparently) dead phone as I don't know how to contact them otherwise. Drat. I really wonder sometimes how I'm such a disaster. It's almost as if chaos follows me around, nipping at my heels - just waiting to drag me down and eat my soft, gushy innards.

Damn chaos, anyway.

Teenage angst

2009-11-16T10:33:00.003-07:00

So, about that post last week. People keep reading into it - sometimes really interesting things, but mostly incorrect. Just to clarify, most of you know that I get dark, bitchy moods sometimes. Instead of cutting myself or making a shrine of some pop star that I one day want to marry and then ceremoniously kill, I write angsty things in my blog. I really think that's the healthiest way, overall.

But, after that day, my week picked up and I had really great speakers in both of my lectures, I started listening to NPR and reading the newspaper, and started giving a shit about things outside of my own head. It really works wonders, that.

What I'm saying, I suppose, is that my dark moods are all sound and fury signifying nothing. So don't call suicide watch quite yet.

And despite the fact that I went to yet another party this weekend, and got blissfully drunk to the point that yesterday's 10-6 breakfast shift nearly broke my spirit, I'm extremely elated today. Why? Because - HEATHER'S COMING!!! On Saturday! And we'll eat cake (not pie) and be happy and skip along the streets of Leith (strategically missing the dog poo). Plus, me and Shonagh are going to get a kitten, a Wii (fingers crossed), and hopefully, at some point, a piano - which would my life almost complete in every way.

Is feeling...

2009-11-10T09:58:00.003-07:00

...a bit jaded. Nihilism is setting in, once more. But not the cynicism of a disgruntled youth, or the depression of someone who's unsatisfied with the current state of things, but more the sort where you realize that despite your idealist viewpoints, there may not be a silver lining, people aren't usually essentially good (just people), and the fairytale life promised to middle class American youth is nothing but a bunch of bullshit.

Ok. So, I did already know those things. High school me still remains the most cynical young person from everyone in my life - she shouted these things from rooftops. Somewhere along the way, though, I seem to have bought into this a bit. Not even the 'boy meets girl at college, they get married, have 2.5 children and a mortgage' sort of thing - it was more the indie/alternative party line that true happiness did not lie in these things, but rather in a non-conformist lifestyle where you drink fair trade coffee, talk about literature, be well versed in 'important' topics such as the foreign affairs of obscure countries, and be just generally pretentious and overbearing to everyone else. But, it doesn't seem to lie here, either.

I once thought that graduate school was going to be just about the ultimate thing I could do with my time. Why? I don't know. I'm a giant nerd, in many ways. This has been a bit of a let down, as well. I've met some cool people, but honestly - the classes don't provide anything I couldn't do just by cracking a book. Once again, towing the middle class party line of higher education.

The crazy party lifestyle doesn't really work well, though. The past few weeks haven't been all that fulfilling, either. Don't get me wrong, I'm a bit of a social whore and I love gatherings, but I've been getting 'post-party depression', as Heather calls it. It's a bit like eating candy - the idea of it, and the moment of consumption, are more satisfying than the after effects.

There's a feeling out there in the world that life is supposed to be complicated, you're only a success if you're an expert, major goals fall into a small group comprised of marriage, children, retirement, a 401k - but I can't shake the unsettling feeling that I don't want these things. Or do I, and I'm so ingrained with anti-establishment doctrine that I think I don't?

Take this graduate program. I'm doing it because a) I would like to get a decent job so I won't die alone in abject poverty somewhere in the Midwest, b) I do care about the environment, c) I'm good at both science and social science - which makes me a hell of a potential go-between. But, do I really want to do this? I'll be honest, if I could make a living off of writing, I'd do it in a heartbeat. The only things I do that I feel truly proud of and confident in involve writing. But...that whole abject poverty thing.

So, should I just soldier on, try and write on the side? It obviously hasn't been working lately. I've had several extremely interesting goings-on going on in life over the past few weeks, and this blog has been quiet. Must be all the angsty post-party depression.

But still - instead of being able to see issues in piles of research and in presenters' arguments, I notice silly things about awkward social situations (of which I am queen of, by this point), and making pithy, entertaining statements about them. By the way, these aren't always well received at the moment when expressed vocally. Just an aside.

It boils down to this: I honestly don't know what the plot is. Well, I guess the plot is less important than I think - but what's the resolution? I know that it's usually the best part, and you shouldn't ruin it by learning about it beforehand, but I've always been more excited about why what's coming, is coming, and not what - exactly - is coming. And sometimes, through this feeling of detachment, there's the concern that - just maybe - I'm not a very good person. That maybe, I'm actually a terrible person. I mean, I don't have a firm grasp on what a person essentially is, or is supposed to do, so how do I know I'm not fucking everything up?

Well, enough of my existential pity party for now.

My apologies to Shonagh, as I'm sure she was expecting a rave review of our awesome Halloween party. Well, it'll come, just not today.

Paper writing in real time: a study in non-sequiturs and stream of consciousness writing

2009-10-22T06:45:00.003-06:00

It's a good question, Vampire Weekend. Who DOES give a fuck about an Oxford Comma? I know I just don't.

Why does a 2000 word essay need subheadings? Maybe if this broad knew how to write well, she'd know that's retarded. Maybe if she knew anything at all I wouldn't be in this position.

GAAA. Stop thinking about your personal life. It takes up brain energy and precious paper writing time!

I really need to use the facilities. But do i give up this precious spot to spare my bladder? Oh, if only I carried a catheter!

No. No, that's gross.

I wonder which facebook friend I have the most friends in common with...focus!

Why did this bitch sit at my table? This is my table. Take your Samuel Beckett and your shitty pre-algebra textbook and get out of my face!

Oh good, she did. But now I'm lonely...

Not really though, as I'm a lone wold - a renegade. A renegade of science! In that I'm not actually a scientist.

What, asian girl, leave my table! There are plenty of other tables for you elsewhere. The library is for serious work only and not reviewing your lecture notes while you file your damn nails.

I wish I hadn't had so much coffee today. I wish my leg would quit twitching.

I wonder how annoyed my table neighbor is that I keep dancing in my chair to of Montreal? How awkward can I be before she gives me a look?

1300 words! 700 more to go!

Mutter mutter mutter. Hum. Tapping foot. I wonder if anyone else can hear my stomach growl? It sounds like a lion roar!

Sigh. Everyone leaves in the end. Except for me.

1700 does not equal 7 pm. It's only 5, chill out.

Seriously. I think someone put speed in my coffee. Either that or I'm so unused to caffeine anymore that I'm going to have a heart attack.

HA! 1800 words! My back, elbows, neck and ass all hurt. What a physically demanding discipline this is!

Neat! Shingles made out of recycled tires. Dammit, Heather...getting me all sidetracked.

Hmm. I didn't know I had My Morning Jacket on my computer.

Conclusion = torture!

Oh. My. God. It's not even midnight and I've written 2000 words! Holy fucking tap dancing shit! I might not fail out of university and lose my student visa after all!

Shit. Should I include a figure or two? Probably. Hello, google images.

Fuck it. Good enough. Fuck you B. Harvie, you dirty bitch.

Pukey Pants

2009-10-13T14:13:00.003-06:00

I haven't really written one of these in a while. Not a blog post. I wrote one of those the other day. No, this is the fun/funny kind: a post about me getting stupidly drunk. And then puking all the next day...

I spent most of the past weekend in the library. Probably not all that surprisingly, there aren't very many people in the university library at 11 pm Saturday night. They were all out in the street wearing all manner of ridiculous clothing that made me feel old and jaded. (But seriously, girls, miniskirts+no tights+October Scottish nights=silliness. And maybe a venereal disease.) Anyway. I had promised myself a steak on Sunday night if I managed to finish the papers for my Monday class by 8 pm (that's right, papers - plural, as in three of them.) I finished at 7:59, just managing my self-appointed deadline. So, off to the pub I went - with a song in my heart and a hole in my liver that was just waiting to be filled.

Rebecca went with me, as she also had to write these awful, pointless papers and needed a bit of a respite. Instead, what she got was her first introduction to Meaghan.

Ah, Meaghan. I should explain. She's Lesley's niece who now works at the KW. And, she is absolutely bat-shit crazy. Usually in a fun way, but still - one of the loudest girls in the world, with an incredibly thick Scottish accent. As it was Sunday, everyone who wasn't working had been drinking since about 4, so her accent was even more prominent than usual.

Even if you've been in this city for a while, if you're not native, you sometimes get lulled into thinking that the city center Edinburgh accent is all there is to Scottish linguistics. This is not so. I've gotten used to Meaghan, but Rebecca...well, I just wonder if she actually understood most of what the girl even said.

Anyway. Rebecca left after eating to finish her last paper, and I decided that I was going to get drunk. I hadn't been since the Withered Hand gig, which was weeks ago, and I was so elated that I had actually finished those damn papers, and had gotten a decent grade on the one that was returned on Friday, that I felt like celebrating.

However, I forgot something really important. I can't keep up with my co-workers anymore. Well, apparently I can, but I really, really shouldn't

We went from the KW to Pivo (which is always a dubious thing to do), and from there to Victoria's (the girl I work with, not the bar. I'm pretty sure that was closed at this point, anyway) While there, we ended up watching '24' dvds, and then Mairi and I had to witness a bizarre argument between Victoria, Kyle and Owen about whether or not the moon landing happened. Besides the fact that who the fuck really gives a flying fuck...I really don't have an end to that thought.

After that the group dispersed. Victoria, obviously, stayed at her place, we lost Owen somewhere on Leith Walk, Mairi went home, and Kyle and I thought it would be a good idea to finish the bottle of wine I had in our flat. According to Shonagh, we didn't so much as 'finish' it as we spilled it on the floor and then left half empty glasses on the floor. Which she cleaned up the next morning. And apparently she woke up to Kyle loudly saying something about Barack Obama. So...in other words, I just may be the terrible roommate my mother said I would be. Dammit.

I woke up like a shot the next/later that morning, got up, made coffee, chatted to Shonagh, and took a shower. And then I felt tired. So I went back to sleep for an hour, woke up, had crazy hair, felt like death, made a mad dash to school, and preceded to throw up 4 times during my 3 hour class. And it's not a small class - there are only about 10 people in it, so it was very obvious that there was something very obviously wrong with me.

I got home, felt generally very sorry for myself, and laid down for about 30 minutes until Mairi came over for dinner. Shonagh had made a steak pie, and it was delicious - the first time it passed through my upper digestive system. It was at this point in the bathroom that I decided that I couldn't actually go to Owen's gig like I had planned on. I bitched about feeling sick for about 20 minutes until Mike and Lesley showed up in a taxi - and suddenly I felt (nearly) fine, and went along.

And I'm quite glad that I did - despite being mocked mercilessly for drinking nothing but cokes and water all night. The boys' band was better than I had expected (no slam against them, it's just they broke up over a month ago and only practiced yesterday before the show), the middle band was just ok but had a hot guitarist (who, evidently, is an asshole, but that's only in keeping with the rock 'n roll image, probably), and we were blown away by the headliner, Doll and the Kicks. Well. They were good, but mostly it was Doll (or whatever her name is), with whom we were blown away. Shonagh, Mairi, Lauren and I all left with a gigantic girl crush. I think the boys just had the normal kind.

The really good news from that little excursion is that I didn't puke again, and when we got home I could actually eat the dinner Shonagh had made. Plus, today I had a disconcerting amount of fun in my GIS class - we got to talk about social implications of maps, as opposed to technical jargon I can't follow, and then use a feature in ArcScene to fly around the isle of Skye like a demented seagull, as my instructor liked to say. Ah, geeky, nerdy, good times.

Something pretty cool - or - it's cool to me, but maybe not to you

2009-10-11T14:03:00.001-06:00

Hey, look what I did!

In the end, Daisyworld dies.

2009-10-09T09:18:00.002-06:00

I have had a remarkably good day, despite this headache's attempts to thwart me.

For the first time in school today, I felt really smart. Not because I'm particularly more intelligent than anyone else, I'm pretty sure there are some ridiculously smart people in my program (albeit socially retarded ones, mostly), but because I'd had the fortune to have been forced to learn a complicated process by an extremely dickheaded honors biology professor in my undergrad. That process? Positive and negative feedback. Not that bad once you get a handle on it, but until then, damn. Anyway, this put me in an amused mood, and then we watched a film on the Gaia theory, which had an amusing animated planet (Daisyland) which sported the most creepy rabbits I've ever seen. Also, the most ineffectual foxes in the world.

After class, we had our now weekly Friday lunch, but this time we went to Earthy's, a local and organic grocery store/restaurant and had the best meal I've had in a while (that's only sort of true. It's definitely the best meal I've had today, though.) Veggie pad thai and a butternut squash, walnut, and cinnamon salad - which was one of the most delicious things I've ever tasted. Sooooooooo good, it was like a desert - only healthy!

On my way out of the shop I was accosted by a chocolatier, which wasn't really that much of an accostment because he gave me free chocolate. Turns out that he makes my favorite new chocolate bar - bramble, cardamom and dark chocolate. It's absolutely to die for and I'm usually against fruit and chocolate combinations. So that was nice - putting a face to my chocolate. He has a shop under the grocery store. That's why he was in a position for accostation.

I wonder what other words I can make out of the verb 'accost'...Hmm...

Anyway. Not only did we have a tasty lunch, but we made a new school friend. Well, I did. Jill already knew him from her economics class. His name is Stymie, or something similar, and he's from Iceland. It turns out that a few weeks ago I wasn't hallucinating at the Withered Hand gig, because he totally was there. I tried to convince Shonagh I knew him, but I don't think she believed that I knew someone outside of the pub at that point. Funnily enough, he knows the Song, By Toad crew without actually knowing anything about SBT as he's friends with some fellow named Ben, or Benji or something Icelandic that's close to that, who's in a band and knows Neil...maybe? But still. Teeny tiny world I live in sometimes.

Speaking of all that, I've managed to do something that's slightly interesting. I went to a gig at the Toad House (Toad of Song, By Toad obviously) last Friday with Rebecca, and long story short, I wrote a review of it for the SBT blog to accompany Dylan's Blueback Hotrod pictures of the occasion. Which I will link to when it's Sunday, otherwise it's cheating. Or something.

Well, it's time for my prework nap. Just a side note, I did not proof this because I don't really just can't be bothered to.

Naked underwear guy

2009-10-07T15:25:00.002-06:00

I may have mentioned, but Shonagh and I have moved into our new flat.

Tonight we I was entertaining Ewa and Frankie (well, we set up a mirror for her to entertain herself (because she wandered over to the cat litter and began to search around for playthings)). I was making open-faced smoked venison sandwiches with an oyster mushroom cream sauce. Yum. Anyway.

Ewa and I were sitting and eating when across the compound we saw what appeared to be a named middle aged man. Upon further observation, we decided that he was more youngish. For 20 minutes, he just wandered around in his boxer-briefs (they were gray), talking on his cell phone. I mentioned to Ewa that I'd seen some girl cooking in their kitchen most nights, so I figured she must be kicking around. Perhaps we'd be privy to some neighbor lovin'. Obviously, we'd turn Frankie's pram around. Babies shouldn't see that.

Soon enough, we saw him hugging someone. Oh, any minute now! But...no. Instead, she saw us looking at them and they left the room.

It's 4 hours later and I just looked over again. This time, the girl was smoking a bowl! I mentioned it to Shonagh. 'Smoking a what?' 'You know, a pipe, pot, weed, marijuana.' 'Ahh. I see.' Strange. I thought that was a fairly ubiquitous term. So, I texted Ewa, who had left for home. Her response? 'Smoking a bowl?! What do u mean?' Hmm. I'm sensing a trend over here.

Regardless, I'm looking forward to being a voyeur. They seem like they could prove to be very entertaining.

That came out much creepier than I intended.

Stomping around in Leith

2009-09-29T04:53:00.002-06:00

Why am I stomping? Because there isn't much else you can do in boots like these. Slinking, sneaking, tip-toeing - all out.

I realize that I've been absolutely awful at posting on this lately. You'd think I'd have more going on than just one post. Well, I do/I did, but I've been completely unmotivated to write for whatever reason.

So here's a short summary of what's been going on in sunny Leith:
- It's actually been sunny for a week or two
- I went on a field trip to the highlands with my new classmates. Oh, bonding experiences! I still only know about 10 of their names.
- Went and saw Withered Hand. We ended up in Pivo, much to the dismay of Shonagh's liver.
- We found and have moved into a new flat. Which is amazing. It's hands down nicer than anywhere I've ever lived. Ever. It has two bathrooms!
- There are new workers at the pub. Victoria, Kyle and Fiona. All super nice and great, etc. There are also a few new KPs, but as they tend to be transitory creatures for the most part, I won't go into much detail.
- I'm generally in a better mood with a better outlook on life than at anytime since...some point in college I suppose. Freshmen year? That seems a bit dire, but hey. It's probably because, just like then, there was a sense of starting a new life with tons of (employment) possibilities!

A shock to this list is the absence of shameful amounts of drinking. There has been drinking, but nothing on the scale of last summer. Which is good, because combined with work and school and the cold that I seem to be developing, would be awful.

Well, the time has come to do some reading.

Oh, Scotland!

2009-09-08T17:12:00.004-06:00

Well, I'm in Edinburgh. I've somehow made it. The only other real obstacle is wading my way through orientation. I have to admit, the Brits are the world leaders of bureaucracy. But I don't mean that as a good thing. It is my one real complaint about them. Anyway.

It's been about a week or so since I've been back, and despite 9 months of absence, it's managed to feel like I haven't left. Mairi said much of the same tonight.

Today was full of all sorts of excitement. Shonagh and I may (hopefully) have found a new place to live. It's gigantic, has a brand new gas hob, a freezer/fridge combo (!!!) and a fantastic view of Arthur's Seat. And TWO bathrooms!

At 4, I went into the pub to undergo training. Because, for some strange reason, the Scottish government decided that Scottish people may be abusing alcohol and perhaps something should be done about it. Are those things going to be effective? Probably not, because they hit places like the King's Wark the hardest instead of crazy places. Moving on, because I don't have the presence of mind at the moment to bitch about the new licensing laws.

It was nice, though, to be back. I didn't mess anything up, really, and we managed to finish on time with no issues kicking people out. Unlike poor Mairi's experience the other day. Some jerk from Newcastle through a completely unnecessary pint in her face when she tried to tell him to drink up and leave. How awful! Hopefully there isn't too much backlash from all of these stupid new laws. But, I did have some wonderful Shepard's pie - with actual lamb in it!

I had a rather interesting weekend as well. Thursday night was a bit of a piss up. Shonagh and I went to see Aidan Moffat at the Bongo Club, which was great, and then went to The Shore to have drink with everyone and watch (most) of Aberfeldy. They only played one Aberfeldy song, though. I saw Ewa drunk for the first time ever, as she no longer has a child in her belly. Stuart was over from Glasgow, and most of the old gang was out until late. Even though I was on the brink of collapse, what from the flight and all.

Friday I did nothing. And it was great.

Saturday night we went out again to see Withered Hand and Frightened Rabbit. We then boozed it up downtown with Shonagh's Song By Toad friends who alternately welcomed treated me with what can be closest described as mistrustful scorn. Which I'm ok with, as I do it to others. Tit for tat, etc.

Anyway. Sunday included breakfast, of course, and then alcohol. Which meant that the new staff got a crash course on how Dianna likes her Scheihallion. (With oranges, of course!) Then we went up to Calton Hill (yes, at night) to watch the Festival's closing night fireworks. Then Mairi and I almost died following Stuart and Owen around the backside of a pillar 15 feet up with only 4 inches of foot space instead of going around the front steps like normal people. More drinking, then Mairi and I got sausages at a chippy that tasted great until the morning after.

Monday was rough and Shonagh and viewed flats and ate a pizza.

So far, so good. Even though I did have a bit of nervousness about coming back, it has actually been like coming home, which is more than I can say for when I went back to the States.

Here's a picture of our future kitchen!

Oh, and I forgot to mention that the letting agent who showed it to me was a superfox. Like, whoa. I should have taken a picture of him instead of the kitchen...

Coffee RAGE!

2009-08-22T12:37:00.005-06:00

So I may have said something in my last post along the lines of all of my subsequent posts will be about Edinburgh. This one will be true to that, but first I must rant and rave because I am angry.

Why are people retarded? I mean, the American education system is supposed to be soooo awesome, but apparently most of the population hasn't even acquired the skill of reading.

Example: Yesterday a gaggle of girls came in about 9 pm. The head girl (presumably they were sisters) was bedecked in all sorts of leopard print nonsense. Her sister (presumably) wanted a chocolaty drink, so I pointed out the Icy Blended Espressos section. Then the kitty cat told her, 'you should get a Milky Way' - which is located under Hot Espresso Drinks. Her sister acquiesced and that's what they ordered.

When she received said beverage, the leopard managed to make her dour face even more pouty. 'Is this the Milky Way? I thought it was cold.' Well, the sign clearly states 'hot espresso drink' and it is the first item under that heading, so...nope. I offered to make it again, and she agreed. I just had a feeling this time, though. 'Do you want the espresso in that?' 'Um...' 'It normally comes with it.' 'Er...sure.' Pause, then, 'What's espresso?'

I'll just add this to the long list of shit that I have to put up with. I understand a little bit of confusion and ignorance, but goddamn. There is a limit.

No, our coffee does not taste like McDonald's. That bitter taste in your coffee? That would be the coffee, actually. Put some more cream in it, you plebian. If you order a caramel macchiatto, what you will get is NOT what Starbucks makes - it is a completely different creature. And on the subject of Starbucks, that bitch, Frappuccino is a made up brand name, much like the McRib or the ChocoTaco. It is not anything that we have on our menu. We have blended ice drinks, but not Starbucks fucking products, so fuck off and get your half caf skinny latte elsewhere! And no, we do not have 'restaurant coffee' because I have no fucking clue what that even means.

Which leads me to my final thought on coffee. If you order the following religiously, you are extremely boring and never take any chances in life and will probably die alone, because you're stuck and a loveless marriage and your significant other will be with his or her exciting mistress/lover in some exotic locale while they tell you that they're on a business trip in Ohio: A medium (the most average size) skinny, sugar free vanilla latte. No fat, no sugar, no whipped cream, no adventure!

That was my coffee rant to go along with my last (real) day working at Crema.

And now for the Edinburgh news. Instead of student housing, Shonagh and I will be getting a flat together! I don't know where yet, but it's looking more and more like Leith. I don't want to say for sure, but there is a possibility of a piano... I'll say no more.

Are you ready?

2009-08-07T08:32:00.002-06:00

ARE YOU READY!?! Because for the next 28 days I'm going to be completely obnoxious. Starting with this, it's going to be all Edinburgh, all the time. My co workers will want to kill me, and my friends will stop calling. That's ok though. I can deal.

Today, I clicked on a link for the University of Edinburgh International Office page for new students. This is the picture that greeted me:

Now, I think this can mean a few different things. One, only dorky Irish ginger boys and girls from American trailer parks can be truly happy at Edinburgh. Two, I just may be the most attractive International student, if these are faces of the International Student Body. Three, dark roots are back in.

Now. I'm going to move onto something that will initially have nothing to do with Scotland, but will miraculously end up there somewhere in the middle.

Cathy and I traveled to war torn Royal Oak on Wednesday to see Dungen and their closing band, Fleet Foxes. It was a good show, but there were so many hipsters smoking clove cigarettes that I got a headache. Which was lame. (here it comes!) In the bathroom, while I was waiting for Cathy to try on her fancy new Dungen shirt, I overheard a girl - an American girl - say that she was gutted about...something, doesn't really matter. The point is, she was AMERICAN. I had never heard this term until I went to Scotland. I don't know where she knew it from, but it was the hipster set, so perhaps she had read an interview with Lily Allen or something and thought it was cool and that it would make her appear edgy and mysterious. Then Cathy burst my mocking little bubble by saying that she'd heard Americans use this term before. Hmm. I'm still skeptical.

You know, I said that was going to be in the middle, but I ran out of writing steam. So, really, it ended up as the end. Whatevs.

Speaking of slang and whatevs, my present co workers' lingo has started to infiltrate my vocabulary. I used the term 'chill' and 'legit' in actual sentences yesterday. !!! If I use 'sketch' - EVER - I want someone to immediately punch me right in the face. I'm serious about this, too. If I can't be bothered to say an entire word, I deserve to have a black eye.

Well, back to surfing teh internetz.

Things that are worth $5

2009-07-25T16:08:00.002-06:00

A quart of local cherries. Particular cocktails. The sale price on laundry detergent (the good stuff, none of that store brand bs). And, the price of admission to certain gigs.

Last night was one of those certain times, even though it pains me a little bit to say it, as it was my least favorite of all types of shows - the jam band. (Ok, 2nd after Scottish and Northern Michigander rappers. Yuck.)

It's not even the music that bothers me about bands like Phish or DMB, nor is it the scene - hippies can be ok as long as they shower and don't try to get me to be a vegan. Fuck that. No, I think it's my association of that world with my 'younger' days of naivete and complete and total lameness. Ask Chana, she was there.

Anyway. In true middle American hippy tradition, the band was called 'Ultraviolet Hippos'. They were pretty entertaining - they covered NIN, some classic rock that I can't remember at the moment, and the theme to Star Wars - as well as the required Allman Brothers bit. Which, you know, yawn - but still. Star Wars is cool, and for some reason I have a love of the song 'Closer', so I was content.

What was really worth the cover was my ever keen, snarky little observations I got to make about people I didn't know. And still don't. For instance, the hippy chicks: my favorite at any type of these shows. Noodling, stupid hippy chicks. One asked me to dance, an offer that I firmly but politely declined, and then asked me my name. When I told her, she asked me if I knew that Diana was a goddess. I replied in the affirmative, and she proceeded to ask me if I were in touch with my inner goddess - because apparently I have a lot of it. Well, she may have been using 'you' in a general sense there, but still. When we left, she told me 'you guys be safe, now.' I don't know if she meant driving or what, I mean, I went with two dudes. I really hope she didn't think...ew. Dirty minded hippy.

In addition to the requisite hippies, I also saw two pirates at this show. One was just wearing a striped shirt, a red knit cap and had a goatee. The other had full on Cap'n Jack Sparrow dreds and eye makeup, as well as - oddly - bondage pants and a Misfits lunch box as a man purse. And one hip hop attired black guy who kept stomping on my foot.

Last night's show brought to my attention an important difference in how guys and girls express their enjoyment of a band. A girl will, unless she's 15 and at an N*Sync concert (or whatever the equivalent is nowadays), calmly turn to her friend and say something along the lines of 'They're really good' - that is, if they say anything at all. Boys, on the other hand, will turn to their companion with a complete look of astonishment and wonder as if Jesus just got on stage and sang a version of 'Highway to Hell' in harmony with himself. And then they say something inane that I don't care about like, 'they're amazing! the way there's two leads and no rhythm guitar!' etc. How do they get so excited about seeing someone play that are slightly above mediocre? I don't get it.

Moving on. Still no word on the visa. My worst fear is that it'll come on my birthday and I'll once again be denied. That would suck. Alternatively, if it comes and it's good news, it will make for the best birthday EVER. Or since I had that roller blading party when I was 12. Pretty good, though.

On this subject, I made myself rather sad the other day. I got an email from the university telling me about orientation week and what classes I could choose from. I picked out which ones I wanted and figured out how it would mesh with a work schedule. Oh, and I get to go on field trips before class even starts! One is at Glenlivet, and another is at this wave generator, and another is at some ecovillage (dirty hippies). Neat! I also got my required reading list. And then I became a complete nerd and checked the amazon.com prices versus the amazon.co.uk prices, and bought the ones that were cheaper after the exchange rate over here. That's right. AND I plan on reading them before I come over! Jesus H. Christ I'm awful.

Then, I remembered the whole visa thing. Mother fucker.

Nearly in the clear

2009-07-13T17:38:00.003-06:00

Pretty much everything that needs to be set in order has been for the Great Migration of '09. Flight plan: check. Travel from the airport: check. Place to stay for the 9 days I'll be homeless: check (cheers, Shonagh). Accommodation after that: check as of today (7 Richmond Place in case you're wondering. Which I assume you're not). Bed linens: check. Job: check. Student Visa: NO. And, it is arguably the most important part of the whole damn system - one might even say it is the lynch pin.

After an initial rejection last week for not having enough t's crossed and i's dotted, I am driving to Grand Rapids - for a third time - to get fingerprinted - for a third time - after paying a $250 fee - for a third time. This time, I have ample evidence that I really do have more than enough funds to cover this increasingly ridiculous venture.

Of course, it could be a ploy as I am obviously a terrorist. They just don't want me to know that they know I am. Because then shit would be real. Word.

In other news:
Over the weekend I was privy to a staff party at my work mate Britney's house. It was great. Not, perhaps, in the way a truly epic party can be - more in the 'holy shit I can't believe this stuff is going down' sort of way. To me, it was a fairly average staff night out, replete with alcohol abuse, substance use, and drama of the sexy variety. For once, though, I was firmly on the outside of the situation. Which was both weird and highly entertaining. Work the next day was tense for a few, but still hilarious to me. Oh, man. I am such a dick at times. Let's all laugh at the misfortunes of others. Hardy-har-har.

I am currently embroiled in a full-scale chili battle at work. I plan on being the winner, but someone might come out of left field with a homer. Erm, or something. At any rate, as I told my boss today, my chili has international accolades - therefore I will be victorious.

Ra Ra Rioting

2009-07-09T12:43:00.002-06:00

Yesterday was rather unique. I actually did something fun and youthful-like on my day off instead of watching whatever my DVR had recorded for me the night before and sleeping.

I went with Amy and her posse to TC for a concert. Now, it didn't end up being a very good concert, but I was drunk by the time we got there and the fun had been had already, so it didn't much matter.

We drank some beer on the beach (which I'm pretty sure is illegal, but whatever), had dinner at Amical (I had the beer braised lamb - fucking beautiful), and accosted my coworkers on the way back to the car. I think Amy may have said crazy shit to them, but no matter.

The venue - which was at Interlochen - was chocked full of arts camp kids. Which are, we learned, really fucking annoying. We agreed that they were the type of kids who would get beaten up had they been around other high school students. Not because they're artsy, not because they're flaming homosexuals, no - because they are fucking annoying. Jesus tap dancing Christ - stop trying to clap out a beat to the songs which already have a beat, and don't need another fucking rhythm. Fuck.

On the way home, we stopped at Wendy's. We were all very excited to get our spicy chicken sandwiches, when some guy backed right into us. Amy's bf Andy leaped out of the car and started yelling at the guy - who was very drunk and who promptly left the scene. The Wendy's manager call the cops and a few minutes later they came screaming past us. They didn't catch them, but it was all very exciting.

Independence Day -not just a Will Smith blockbuster!

2009-07-04T12:40:00.002-06:00

Two months from today, I will be a terrible combination of hungover and jet lagged. It's fate, there's no stopping it. Today, however, I'm sitting in the sun, overlooking the West Bay and plugging my ears whenever the fucking Blue Angels pass over head. Bastards. I hate the tourism industry. Screw all of these people and their complete lack of spatial awareness. Don't walk slow, I'm right behind you and I need to get to work sometime in the next week. But, there's a lot of cherries, alcohol and fireworks - so not all is lost. Viva la revolucion!

On being careful what ones wishes for

2009-06-26T15:00:00.002-06:00

It is currently 81 degrees in Alden, MI. That's 29 to you metric folk. Which means, earlier in the week when it was in the 90's, we were pushing 35. Wow. That's really obnoxious. And warm. I've recently learned that I hate being hot more than just about any other state of being - perhaps even being inconveniently naked. I don't care that I have a deeper tan now than at any point in the past 18 months, or that I don't have to carry a sweater around with me at all times. Nor do I care that instead of hoping for sun, we're all impatiently waiting rain. I don't like being sweaty. I don't like seeing sweaty people. The whole prospect makes me uncomfortable.

Moving on. My Visa Letter came via DHL yesterday morning, so hopefully they won't reject my 1 day late application. Not that I would know for 8 weeks, at which point it becomes impossible for me to get a visa before I enter the UK.

Ugh. I'm sitting in the sun and now have sunshine headache. I'm trying to feel suffieciently jealous of my new work friends, Chris and Joe, for going to Rothbury, but I really can't handle another hot, sunny, dirty weekend without AC or showers. Plus, I have no desire to see the Grateful Dead or an aged Bob Dylan, or the multiple electronic bands for that matter.

I can't take it anymore - I'm going to go sit in a dark room.

Still not finished, but...

2009-06-24T12:29:00.003-06:00

I want to write about my hair. Because I got it cut. And dyed it burgundyish. Also, there may be a teeny, tiny possibility that I am absolutely fucked beyond all help or reason.

The University of Edinburgh is backlogged sending out new Visa Letters to everyone, because the border guard or whatever changed all of the requirements for entering students. Which is, you know, awesome, because I don't have my Visa Letter and I'm supposed to send in all of my shit today. So...the chick in the admissions office today told me it's better to send it late than w/o the letter - hopefully I'm not totally boned.

Fingers crossed.

Beastie Boys

2009-06-19T17:50:00.003-06:00

All I have to say about this performance is that it was exactly like listening to their albums in a large field with a bunch of hippies who are slightly confused about why they're there. Take from that what you will.

St. Vincent

2009-06-18T20:11:00.000-06:00

St. Vincent

This was the second show that I saw - and in true funny circumstance fashion, it was the worst. The best followed by the worst. Anyway.

Annie Clark, whose voice you may recognize from Sufjan Stevens albums, is the lead singer and guitarist of this group. Heather didn’t much approve of her convulsive playing and singing, but I contest that it was the only thing interesting about this band. At least it gave you something to look at while they played their music. Decent music it is, too - and I was looking forward to this group immensely. However, there was something off about their performance. I can’t quite put my finger on it - they played their individual pieces well, but together it all just fell apart. Horribly, painfully apart. Annie had some sort of special effect microphone that she tried desperately to sing her back up vocals into, but for music that relies so heavily on one person, the technology - and singer - just couldn’t cut the mustard. We were left, as so often happens to girls, completely unsatisfied.

Chairlift

2009-06-18T19:41:00.003-06:00

Unfortunately, I didn't get so see Chairlift's full show on Thursday night, but I did get to see their shortened set Saturday morning. I was slightly surprised to learn that this band was American, not French or Swedish - which for some reason I thought they were. But they weren't. Which just means they have a slightly odd take on the English language instead of the more sensible explanation that they're foreign. Anyway. It was an alright show, but a little bland in the sense that it was more or less (but more) like listening to their album. It was far more interesting when their lead singer joined MGMT later that night during their horribly cramped set.

I would tell you the set list, but you probably don't care. Instead, enjoy the above video of 'Planet Health' - my favorite of their songs next to 'Evident Utensil', 'Bruises', and - of course - 'Le Flying Saucer Hat.'

MGMT

2009-06-18T18:33:00.006-06:00

Wow, so I apparently suck at timeliness. Anyway, here's a much shortened review than I had once planned on writing.

Blah blah blah, they were awesome I love this band. You probably don't want to hear about all of this. It's obvious. MGMT was my Bruce Springsteen at Bonnaroo. They played new songs from their upcoming album, and had a cover that they played with the chick from Chairlift.

The only thing I can really comment on this show was the sheer press of people under this tent and how completely retarded the event planners must have been putting then on one of the smallest stages at the festival. I heard buzz about this ALL WEEKEND. Everyone who found out I was going asked me if I was going to see MGMT. I mean, WTF? It wouldn't surprise me to hear that someone came out of that crowd with a broken rib or something.

In summation, when I could see over the twirling hippies and the apathetic hipsters with glow sticks was fantastic.

Katzenjammer

2009-06-18T17:51:00.002-06:00

While this was the first show we saw at Bonnaroo, it proved to be the best (2nd to Heather - Bruce Springsteen had that accolade).

You probably don’t know who this band is. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m a complete nerd and knew that ‘Katzenjammer Kids’ was a comic strip in the early days of, well, comics, I never would have looked them up. They’re a all female foursome from Norway - and surprise of all surprises, they aren’t a black metal band. In fact, they are quite twee - cute girls in cute dresses playing cute instruments (banjo, accordion, kazoo, upright bass with a kitty face on it). And they can all sing. And play each others’ instruments. Their stage presence was simply phenomenal - I’ve rarely seen an energy that accompanied actual talent. Now, I don’t really like to listen to the cd as much as I liked their performance. Not because it’s not good music - it’s very similar to their live performance - but because you don’t get to see them making it. For this band, it’s where their true gift lies.

Muddy

2009-06-17T16:00:00.000-06:00

Muddy

Funny thing about mud. It’s a color that isn’t thought of as so. But as sure as there’s green leaf green, or blood red blood, you can also be sure that there’s muddy mud mud - as a color I mean. And which, if it weren’t all around, would leave little hope for a bar we call soap. Mud, or muddy - whichever you prefer - is the bane of existence to every human her. But to the sellers of soap, mud - or muddy - is the great white hope. Hooray for dirt - and even dust; both are considered a muddy mud must. So next time you say ‘Oh, no’ to yourself when muddy mud mud makes dirty what’s clean, think what this doggerel’s logic has been as you take from it’s shelf its antidote soap. If there wasn’t a color called mud, or muddy, or muddy mud mud, there would be very little hope - for soap.

Ken Nordine, “Muddy,” Colors

Well - this pretty much can be a testament to Bonnaroo. Mud - Bonnaroo mud on everything you own. It’s a special kind of mud - stickier than most and with a unique bouquet.

Anyway. I’m going to attempt to cover an extremely eventful 5 days. If I don’t succeed, I’m sure that Heather will vociferously correct me. This post will be an overview of our activities and adventures, and the next few will be my very amateur reviews of (the better part of) the acts I saw.

First, let me give an overview of the festival that is Bonnaroo. Now. We all know that I am judgmental, and some might even say pretentious. They probably just don’t know anything about anything anyway. However, I think it’s fair to say that this festival is attended by a few subgroups of society. 1) local stoners/drugdealers who know a good time when they see it, 2) hippies - of the new variety, 3) hippies, of the old variety - although these were less common than the last time I went and the Allman Brothers were there, 4) hipsters, 5)whatever Heather and I are. I’ve recently termed us self-aware hipsters and hippies in denial.

There are only porta potties. No toilets. I think Heather was expecting something better. Also, showers cost $7 for a 5 minute shot of cleanliness.

There are a lot of people. Of every kind. I heard an estimate of 75,000. On this weekend in June, it’s the 6th largest city in Tennessee.

Bonnaroo has an environmental slant. This year, RFK, Jr. spoke out against strip mining. No one really listened, because the environmentalism at this place - for most of the attendees, including me probably - only really involves a thin patina of greenness.

There’s a weird assortment of food. For example, an entire booth devoted to friend seafood. Also, a Cajun, Indian, and Thai stand. I don’t think this is a good idea for a large group of drunk and/or stoned people to ingest when all that exists for bathroom facilities is an inadequate supply of porta potties.

And finally, some random words/phrases to capture the over all setting: dirt, beating sun, sweat, the smell - the SMELL - of hippies, twirling on the grass, swaying in a large group, taking acid that you’ve picked up off the ground, mud, idiots trying to rinse off the mud on their be-sandaled feet, too many Phish fans, really decent chai, dick wipes, too much exposed flesh, skinny jeans, corduroy patch shorts, men in skirts, girls with painted on tops, overpriced food.

Heather’s Bruce Springsteen fixation.

A lot of music.

Wednesday:
I had the distinct pleasure of driving for about 12 hours to Tennessee. On the way, I had to get fingerprinted in Grand Rapids for my visa - again. This time, I got all sorts of lost trying to get to the damn place because of the detours. You know the saying, there are 2 seasons in Michigan - winter and road construction. After a bit of flustering around, I found the place and got the deed done. Afterwards, I had sushi. This may not be exciting to you, but I was extremely exciting to me. I had uni for the first time. I’m now a huge, lifelong fan. Finally, I headed for Nashville. I had a pleasant 10 hour singing session to myself while driving through the Appalachians. Heather and Meggan were not so lucky. Due to some thunderstorm and such, their flight was delayed. I got the pleasure of checking into the hotel instead - and what I encountered was surprising. Never before have I heard a southern Middle Eastern accent. It was...unsettling. After I picked them up from the airport, we discovered something that defintely sucked. None of us brought shampoo. Our last shower before heathen-ton was performed with bar soap in place of shampoo and conditioner.

Thursday:
We left at 12 - as in noon - the next day. We were surprised to see that all of our fellow hipster/hippy hotel occupants had already left several hours prior. Unconcerned, we - faffed about for awhile in town, having lunch and buying beer. We arrived at the Manchester exit at around 2:30 - and encountered not one but TWO 15 mile lines to get into the festival. We were directed to the back road version - and stayed there for 9 hours. I’d like to say we made lifelong friends in that time - but the only people we had contact with was the very drunk/stoned/weird Canadians behind us who became offended at Heather’s offhand comment about not putting a maple leaf amongst her car window art and, after not talking to us anymore, ‘borrowed’ her window crayons and then fell back in line. Coincidence? You decide.

For a festival that is supposed to be all about environmentalism, I can’t imagine how much shit all of our cars put into the atmosphere - especially ours, because I’d be damned if I was going to sit in a hot car with no air conditioning. You know, I look forward to a future filled with personal hypocrisy. Environmental sustainability be damned!

Anyway. When we finally neared the camp, the Bonnaroo radio station told us that there was a tornado warning. Great. A tornado amid a city of tents. It didn’t happen, but it would have sucked a lot. We got in and set up camp - quicker than most due to the easiness of the tent and the awesomeness of my air mattress pump. Then the rain hit. And the tent we were formally heralding as the coolest thing since peanut butter allowed what Heather called a fine mist to enter. We slept in the worst way I can think of - damp. I shudder just remembering.

Yes, I am aware there are worse ways to sleep. It’s just the one I hate the most while camping.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see Chairlift or any other band for that matter.

Friday:
We woke up, bright eyed and slightly sweaty, and visited Bonnaroo’s fine toilet facilities. Thankfully, we brought our own toilet paper - because they often ran out.

Despite frequent applications of sunscreen, I managed to burn the shit out of my neck, chest and back. Also, my ears.

Here’s the lineup from that day (for me):
Katzenjammer
St. Vincent
Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Ani DiFranco (kinda)
Lucinda Williams
Beastie Boys (kinda)
David Byrne

Some things witnessed:
A lot of hippies. Some hipsters - but they’re hard to spot when they can’t actually bathe instead of spending hours applying product to look like they didn’t bathe. Anyway.

During the Yeah Yeah Yeahs concert, a southern stoner - the most trashy kind, btw - asked Heather and I if we liked Phish. After we replied in the negative, he tried to sell us handmade hemp jewelry. Later, he and his 15 year old looking stoned girlfriend shared a bowl with some fellow Phish heads, or whatever the fuck they call themselves.

On a related note, at the David Byrne concert, some friendly hippy offered me a joint. Now, while I’m not theoretically opposed to such things, I don’t trust any sort of anything an unbathed stranger hands me.

Also at this concert there was a hippy of the twirling variety covered with glow sticks and hula hooping. A lot of these crazy youngsters came equipped with hula hoops. A new fad? Perhaps.

Saturday:
This morning Heather and I washed each others hair with bar soap. Hooray for semi-cleanliness. Meggan and Heather’s boss - Richard - gave them wet wipes. Which, of course, were then termed ‘dick wipes.’ Dick wipes were our main way of keeping clean. Let me tell you, dick wipes can be useful in just about any situation. Ahhh. Enough of that joke. One weekend wears it out.

Saturday’s lineup:
Chairlift
Katzenjammer
Daily Show Allstars (comedy show)
of Montreal
nap/beers
Yeasayer
MGMT

We/I lost Heather for most of these shows because she was waiting in line for Bruce Springsteen. Obviously, I cannot recount tales of this because I was not there, so I shall refer you to her blog if you’re, you know, interested in how sweaty the Boss was and such. I don’t know. About the only interesting thing that won’t be covered in my micro reviews is when Meggan and I went and saw of Montreal (which was, as she said, trippy), and overheard some truly classy ladies talking about where to find crystal meth. CRYSTAL METH. WTF? Who does that shit who doesn’t live in a trailer park? What? Why? Ugh.

I had to take a nap after dinner in order to be fully ready for MGMT. And it’s a good thing I did. More on that later.

Sunday:
Our last unwashed day. After some excitement watching the stuck BMW that had been stuck in the fire lane all weekend without a single sign of its owner being pulled out by a tractor, we headed back inside the festival.

Our last days lineup:
Andrew Bird
Okkervil River

I know that I should have seen more, but we were pooped, and the girls had to go to work early the next morning.

As we drove out of the camp, a small group of hippies asked us if we’d take them to Walmart. As we continued on our way without slowing, we yelled ‘No!’ Meggan then commented, ‘I see we’ve officially left the Bonnaroo spirit behind.’ Oh, how we laughed and laughed.

5 June 2008

2009-06-04T13:27:00.001-06:00

Today I am filling out my visa application - for real, this time. With that in mind, today is a bit of an auspicious one. On a Thursday night a year ago I worked my first shift at the pub. So, even though it isn’t really June 5th - which was the date last year - I’m going to pretend it is, because that would make it more poetic and shit.

I was thinking of going the obvious sitcom direction for this post - anniversary show wherein the characters constantly say, ‘Hey, do you remember when...’ with the obligatory fade out to a rehashing of the entire season. Then I decided not to, because that’s lame and you - the reader - were there or read about it already. No need for repetition.

Instead, I will look at this Thursday in June, and see what’s changed since then. Which is, probably, just as trite and worn out as far as literary devices go - but it’s my blog and I want to.

Last year I was a King’s Wark virgin, and today I am a its worn out slag and have been shoved onto the next John. This time I’m considered ‘experienced’ and they gave me a modicum of authority. The joy of my elevated status is a bit tainted, though, as I’m mostly in charge of high school teenagers, slightly delusional college students (although, to be fair, they mostly all are(especially the kind who listen to Phish)), and one or two middle aged people who are probably irked that I’m in charge of them and can tell them their business. Yesterday I was reading the managers’ log book (which is confidential, so keep this next bit on the QT) that one of the morning crew had an attitude problem and had to be talked to (think Table 3 confrontation, here). !!! Juicy, wonderful gossip! But who to tell it to? The apathetic boy who works in the kitchen? The 18 year old barista? Notice I use no names here, it’s just not the kind of place that I give a shit about to the extent of getting into that sort of thing. So, while I won’t be getting involved in any sort of workplace drama, it makes for a rather boring work week. I’d like to hid behind the idea that since I’m a supervisor, I should be above that sort of thing, but the reality is that I just don’t have any sort of emotional involvement with these people or the place. Fuck it, the owners are rich and don’t have that much of a vested interest in the place (i.e. it isn’t their dream or whatever to own an uber contemporary coffee shop with the same color scheme as a Panera), the managers take interest, but at the end of the day, they have their own shit to deal with. In short, none of us love this place, and it certainly isn’t home. I have no interest in going there when I’m not working, if it weren’t for the discount of food and beverages, I probably wouldn’t patron the place. It is a strange non-entity in my life - strange because I more or less live there now.

But...let’s not dwell on the negative. I am getting a raise and there is the internet there, so I can check my email and facebook regularly throughout my shift. And...uh...hmm.

You know, I probably would have loved this job if I had just come out of the bookstore. A hell of a lot more freedom, and there are even windows! But I am ruined, ruined forever - I have too high of a standard for minimum wage jobs now.

So, a year ago today - I’m going to go back on my word and do a recap.

Those first weeks over there are burned into my mind - details, etc. Mostly, I think, because I hadn’t killed my brain cells with massive alcohol consumption yet. As a result, I remember every person I worked with that night: Lesley, Stuart, Chris, Daniel, and Greg (the be-dreadlocked KP). I formed initial opinions that, in retrospect, came pretty close to the mark. Lesley and Chris were nice and friendly (which, of course, they are), Daniel and Greg were quiet - although that certainly changed for both at certain points, and Stuart appeared to be a bit of a flustered madman. Which in normal life, less than true - but I feel sums up his working persona pretty well. Mostly I set tables, but occasionally I had to take an order - which was a little tricky, as I had been in the country for exactly one week at this point, and the Leith accent can be, at times, a bit thick. Somehow, my brain translated things like Strongbow into Redbull, and I had no idea what a Long Vodka was. And how to pull a pint! That probably took me the better part of a month to learn properly. A blur of activity and my first taste of seafood chowder later, it was time for an afterwork pint. I even remember what I had - McEwans 70/-. And then I was mocked by Stuart for it. I didn’t know better, I feel no shame. Chris and Stuart talked about Joy Division - a precursor for music conversations to come, and then they invited me to Sofi’s with them and Mairi and Ewa. I thought Sofi’s was a person’s place - I had no idea it was another pub. I declined (so unlike me now, eh?), because the next morning Emely and I had to move our things from our hostel near Prince’s Street to our new flat. Three days later I worked my second shift - which was my first ever Sunday Breakfast. I don’t remember too much from the actual shift except that I met Mairi, Shonagh, Lesley-Anne, and Louise. And Shonagh buying me a pint and discussing American football with her at the Malt n Hops, Lesley-Anne sporting all sorts of sexual innuendo, Louise making all of the coffee drinks, teas, and hot chocolates, Mairi being cheery, and re-meeting Ewa and learning she was pregnant. And some weird guy trying to get people to help him with his cramp on the sidewalk...and a suitcase bomb being held by a Big Brother contestant underneath Cruz (at least, that’s what I think it was)...me thinking Shonagh was a chef...my first uncomfortable encounter with the European kiss on the cheek greeting method (involving Ginger Craig - perhaps you can understand my dismay?)...and many, many other firsts.

Oh, all the warm little memories that sit in my belly. I’ve been trying not to think too much about them, lest I make myself all homesick and stupid, but as yesterday was the 3 month mark for my return to Edinburgh, I feel there’s room for a little sentimentality.

This deadline isn’t all fun and games, though - I’ve only just paid off my credit card, and so I don’t have all that much time to save up, AND I have a reading list a mile long - my goal of teaching myself micro and macroeconomics is not going according to planned. In fact, it’s not going at all. I haven’t been playing the banjo - although I do still intend on taking it with me. I’ll need some sort of outlet since I won’t be able to rabble rouse as much. Although, I have been playing the piano with more regularity than any other time in the past 6 years. As usual, when faced with a big ‘to do’ list, all I want to do is curl up and sleep. The schedule I’ve been keeping with this new job is almost as bad as the one I had while working at the pub. I get up every day at 11, go into work at 2, come home about 11, watch tv/read/play music until 3, wash, rinse and repeat. As you can surmise, I have no social life and see my mom and coworkers with much more regularity than I’d like. Plus, I still haven’t found out about that damn celiacs disease. In my head, I don’t have it, but when that’s the case, bad things have a tendency to happen. Like - I’ll probably end up having it. But I won’t, because I don’t think it’s that likely. You see the conundrum?

Next week is Bonnaroo, and all of my delusional hipster college kid coworkers are jealous. Re: ‘You’re going to Bonnaroo? I wanted to go this year...I’m going to Rothbury, though’ Psh. Rothbury. Rothbury is for suckers. No, really, the line up isn’t that great - for people who suck. The high schoolers think I’m cool because I have a tattoo, went to MSU, and moved to a foreign country - you know, moved away from Traverse City. The managers like me because I’ll drink with them and listen to their bitching in a sympathetic manner. And my fellow (albeit subordinate) closers like me because I have less than exacting standards. I’m generally well liked, it seems. Which has nothing to do with Bonnaroo...I just wanted to brag, I guess.

So, in closing, tonight I will share a bottle of Spanish wine with Danielle and go to Thirsty Thursday with Emely and Amy (and Danielle) - because I can’t think of a better way to celebrate any anniversary that involves Scotland.

PS this is also my 200th post.

Spirit Guide Weekend

2009-05-31T15:30:00.000-06:00

This post is days late, but hopefully not as many dollars short. Work has stolen my life for the past week. Last weekend was my Memorial Day Weekend Extravaganza - which wasn’t really the -anza bit, but it was a bit extravagant for those involved. The group was a tad smaller than last year, but it was fun nonetheless. Heather flew in from Richmond on Friday to the Cherry Capital Airport, where I picked her up after work and a trip to Meijer for a mini keg of Oberon. Amy had invited us to a party up at her new beau’s, with a stop at Short’s beforehand. It was to be an unsuccessful trip to the brew pub, however, because due to our combined intelligence - 3 bachelor’s degrees between us - we were unable to figure out the door handle to get in. Oh well, let’s go down to the Bellaire Bar - they carry the stuff we were after, anyway. We get down there, and it’s packed full of Red Wings fans. Heather looked recalcitrant - understandably. We made a team decision to not go in. Instead, we went to Danielle’s and waited for Amy’s imminent arrival to Central Lake. Banter ensued, etc. etc.

The following day, Heather and I get garage saleing. I bought a dress for $2...and much to my chagrin, Heather took a picture of me in it. It probably goes without saying, so I won’t. (I’ll whisper: I should have thrown the dress and the money into the gutter.) Cathy and Corey came up that night, and the four of us went to Short’s. This time, we managed to get inside. Maybe we shouldn’t have, though. The band that was there - from the time we arrived to the moment we left - was one of the most mediocre that I’ve ever had the displeasure of being around. Somehow, it was much worse than if they had been bad. Instead, they were just earnest and boring. Anyway.

THe next day we enjoyed brunch at Pearl’s, visited TC, and had a delicious cookout. Grilled chicken with Brownwood Cherry BBQ Sauce, asparagus with lemon and parmesan, and grilled corn. And, of course, beer. What was really neat about it was that my old grade school chum, Tiffany, and her friend Mary came along. They just got back from nursing school in the Caribbean. We all traded living abroad stories and had a nice time. Charlene and Nicole stopped by for a while as well. After dinner came the inevitable bonfire. This one was special, however - we brought along the guitar, banjo, and the accordion. Cathy, Corey and I played the respective instruments to the delight of Heather. This was the first time since high school that I had played anything with other people - I didn’t suck, which is the best I could have hoped for in the situation. We joked about what to name our new band, and I came up with the perfect name the other day - ZZSpec and the Textlings. Those of you in the know, know.

Monday was relaxed and chill - Cathy and Corey went home, Heather and I worked on our tans, and later I took her to the airport for her glorious exit from northern Michigan.

You may be wondering at today’s title. Well, I’ve decided that foxes are my spirit guide. I’ve seen more of the goobers in the past year than I have the rest of my life combined. I think it all started when I tripped down Owen’s stairs, sprained my ankle, stumbled outside, and came face to face with a fox under a full moon while intoxicated. After that, I’ve seen them outside of my house, around town, and last weekend while driving - I almost nailed a whole family of them with my car while Heather screamed at me - and while leading a train of cars to the back for the bonfire. What does it all mean?!

The rest of the week has been a blur of work - with one or two bits of minor news. The first is that I got a promotion, and will now be the closing supervisor - aka heid bummer - and I’ll get a raise. For all of my jobs and my sense of self importance, this is the first time I’ve been in charge of other people. Oh, the power.

The other piece of news isn’t so hot. I went to the doctor last week for a standard lady checkup, and I mentioned an issue that I’ve always had with the ol’ plumbing. I won’t go into details for the sake of propriety. The gist of all of this is the following: I may have Celiacs Disease. What does that mean, you ask? I’ll tell you, Virginia - I won’t be able to eat gluten ever again. No wheat, no rye - no pizza, no beer. It’s too tragic to contemplate - so I’m not really going to until the test results come in next week. The really funny part about this is that if I do happen to have this malady, it’s because of my Scottish ancestry. And by funny, I mean not. Apparently, 1 in 100 Scots just can’t handle that piece of chemistry. Which means that my mom would have it, too - which explains some things about us both. Besides the aforementioned GI issues, it causes depression and irritability (check) and lactose intolerance (check). Ah, crap. Here I am, worrying about it. Shit, shit. Let’s turn to less crappy topics.

I’m thinking about styling my hair like Anais Nin. Also, I got the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs and the Grizzly Bear albums - both of which are fantastic. As is the Chairlift one. The only Bonnaroo artist I still want to get is Andrew Bird, and I’m still not convinced that I want to spend money on something that pompous fellow is selling. Speaking of B, I’m super excited about it. Two weeks and I’ll be camping with a bunch of hippies in a field. Anyway.

For those of you in the Traverse City area, I’ll give you an update of forthcoming Crema events. Mondays will be open mic night 6-9 pm - please, please do not come and read poetry. I’m in charge that night, and I will kick you out. Please, please come if you have your own material and can play whatever instrument you choose. I hate covers, hate hate. Tuesdays are Cafe Disco - named after The (American) Office episode of the same name. Discounts on espresso shots and macchiatos and dance music all day (yay...?) Wednesdays are Latin Dance nights courtesy of the assistant manager’s husband’s band. I saw him play the other night at Phil’s (a modestly named cafe/bar/chocolate shop with a lovely atmosphere and a decent selection of whisky), and he’s quite good, as are the dancers that follow him. Come these nights - and any nights - because it gets rather boring there as the evening wears on. I’m used to action at night, not hours of mind numbing tedium.

I’m pooped. Look forward to my next post: I’ll give you a hint - it’s a year anniversary of an extremely big milestone in my life. Those of you in the know, know.

Are we feeling great tonight?

2009-05-20T17:22:00.002-06:00

Too many chiefs - they're pissing off the Indians.

All I want to do at any given job is to be givens task, and then allowed to do it. Awesomely - because it's me and all. When all four non-food service owners and both managers are around for only six employees, shit gets tense. It doesn't help when one of the employees-yours truly-turns into a homicidal maniac when the only music she gets to listen to for 7 hours is Phish, Dave Matthews Band and shitty pop from the early 90's. It makes me long for the days when the worst I had to bear was Dolly Parton and TLC.

Three cheers for hangovers

2009-05-17T13:05:00.003-06:00

Better stop at one, my head hurts.

Or rather, it did a bit yesterday. It wasn't as bad as the hangover I had on Tuesday, though. That one was rough. As Heather can attest, getting drunk on Oberon can end badly - the next morning.

It may not be officially summer, but I feel we've started it off with a preemptive bang. Monday was one Amy D's birthday, and of course we had to celebrate. Friday was her birthday party, and celebration was once again called for. Next weekend is the Crunked @ The Cabin/Dirty North Memorial Day Three Day Festival - a long name for a drunken spree at my house involving lots of beer, grilling mania, and bonfires. Ah, country living. The following weekend will be the resurrection of the Luau.

I'm no longer used to so much awesomeness. Yesterday was the soft opening of Crema, replete with customers who didn't actually pay for anything, and I was hung-over. And pissy. One of my new co-workers has some real personal space issues, and although I'm far touchier since my European excursion than I once was (and that isn't really saying that much), I need at least 18 inches at all times from people I barely know or just don't like. Which, in this kid, is both. I have a feeling that I'm going to have authority issues with this one, as in if he fucking tries to tell me what to do because his daddy owns the place, I will be compelled to put his Dave Matthews Band obsessed head through a wood chipper. Fact. (I have a sneaking suspicion that he likes Bela Fleck, too - it would figure.) Anyway, if this is any indication of how this summer and this job will play out, things look bleak - for my liver.

Especially considering last night after closing, when the general manager (an executive chef by trade) gave me and another kid, Taylor, a beer. While sharing a beer with one's boss after work certainly feels homey and right to me now, I'm unsure whether or not it's the right course of action for saving money this summer.

I just want to state that I drank that beer, even though I was hungover. Why? To show my liver who's boss.

I don't want to sound angry at the hangover. In fact, both of them were worth it. I was beginning to think that I was going to end up a boring loser who just watched TV with her mom and gardened because Danielle works all the time - and, you know, has that kid - and most of the other people I know don't live up here. However, I rather enjoy hanging out with Amy and her gang - who, unsurprisingly to my mind - all work in the same restaurant, mostly work in the kitchen, and are very musically inclined. Hmm. I should maybe branch out...

Anyway. A quick rundown of my drunken nights. Monday: went to Amy's new beau Andy's for a birthday fajita cookout. Drank a lot of beer. Was privy to a 4 hour long philosophical debate about - well, a lot of things, but mostly the nature of philosophy. Which ended at 5 am. And was the source of a minor cockblock. Interesting, yes, but not in my state, at that time in the morning. Was also, in addition to the c.b., a cause for a major headache that extended into the next/later that day.

Friday: Amy rented a pretty decent hotel room on the West Bay for the evening. Pre-party involved ample jello-shots. As did dinner. In fact, Amy tipped our waiter with one. And he was grateful. I had pheasant curry soup (awesome) and a lobster and crab quesedilla, which was pretty nice as well. We ate at a brewery, which to happy astonishment, had a cask ale on tap. Mmm, slightly warm delicious ale. Yum. It's probably the reason I wasn't that hungover (all things considered) the next day. My body recognized it and accepted it with open arms. Then we went to the 'Irish' pub next door, that despite being crappy pseudo Irish, is actually quite nice and pub-like. The rest is an uninteresting blur, involving several other bars. We ended at Shimmers, which is a 'nightclub' in the lobby of our prestigious Holiday Inn. I got kicked off the dance floor because I had a drink in my hand - to which I say a hearty 'fuck you' bouncers, because who really wants to dance in a hotel night club sober? No one. Andy's brother Wes and their friend Ryan disappeared with some random girls at the end of the night, apparently because they heard the latter and me talking about MGMT or Vampire Weekend or something and thought that he looked like Russell Brand. Which, in true American form, he later took as an insult when he was sober. It all reached a dramatic climax when this same kid ripped up the Gideon's offering and royally pissed off Amy's religious friend who was trying to sleep. Later, some of the boys rolled a joint out of one of the tattered pages. I don't think I need to say that I found the whole situation highly entertaining and had to suppress my laughter. My brain is so inappropriate at times.

So today, I'm hanging out inside, watching my mother's cat walk on the roof. How the hell did she get up there? Anyway. I must mentally prepare for the forthcoming weeks.

Dead (spring) animals on parade

2009-05-10T14:53:00.003-06:00

If, in the world of small furry animals, there is a tale of a house that no one has entered and lived, it is mine. My mom's cat (the ridiculously named Spooky) has given young Iggy the skills necessary to perpetrate a full assault on all things that go 'squeak'. At least once a day we find some decapitated mouse, mole, vole or chipmunk in our hallway, waiting to be unpleasantly trod upon. Earlier in the week, they brought in a live chipmunk - which they promptly released into the wilds of our living room. We heard it scurrying around until yesterday, when my mother found it dead under a pile of wet towels in her bathroom. Despite all of this gratuitous rodent murder, it by far surpasses the heyday of my cat Sabrina, who would capture a bird, and devour - most of it - in the basement. Feathers everywhere, like some sort of deranged chicken coup.

What does this have to do with anything worth writing about? It doesn't, really, except to show that Spring has finally sprung, and the frozen North is thawing. No more snow, the flowers are in inappropriately cheerful bloom, and the sky is the achingly blue of summer more often than it isn't.

All of which taunted me throughout last week as I stood indoors listening to 4 different people give their opinions on how - exactly - an iced mocha should be made. There are 5 ex-baristas, but since I both don't care and haven't ever made one for public consumption, there were only the 4 opinions. Once again, I have been able to secure a job based on other people assuming that I know more than I do. 'You used an espresso machine in a restaurant on a daily basis? You must know how to do everything ever!' Of course, they weren't taking into account that it was in - what is, first and foremost - a pub, and that 9 times out of 10 the latte was indistinguishable from a cappuccino, or that the most exotic coffee drink I came across in Scotland was par for the course in the States. But hey, I'm the best bullshitter I know next to my dad when it comes to pretending like I've done something before and getting away with it. In other words - with any luck they'll continue to think I'm awesome.

While the people, as I think I've mentioned before, seem pretty competent, I'm not confident that I'm going to end up with a crew of co-workers that are as cohesive as the KW staff - or the textlings for that matter. Of course, the textlings bonded over shared misery, and I don't think we'll be having the same kind of soul crushing bureaucracy as was provided by the Spartan Bookstore. And, there's no alcohol to speed up camaraderie as was the case at the pub. There is only coffee, tourism, and the promise of raises at the end of the month for the best performers - all of which I predict will work against our potential lifelong friendships. Ah well, such is life.

The other day I decided that it was so nice, that I simple had to place the dressage tack on my favorite steed and go for a country ride. Of course, my horse has only been ridden 5 out of the past 365 days, and it showed. Not in his lack of stamina, but rather in his insistence in being a total jackass. He was so rowdy, in fact, that at one point in our struggles, I became short of breath. That has never happened to me in my 11 year riding career. I didn't think it was possible, honestly. Every muscle in my body has ached for days. I'm planning on taking him out again as soon as I finish with this. Unfortunately, it's Mother's Day, and mine has decided that she wants to also go for a ride. Fan-fucking-tastic. Now I not only have my own horse to deal with, but also her completely bat-shit insane one (whom she is completely unable to handle on her own). And, who is 25 (75 in horsey years), and refuses to admit it. I sometimes wonder if part of her brain was removed at an early, developmentally important stage. If this is my last post, it will be because I am a)dead, b)in a coma or c)completely paralyzed. I'd say pray for me, but as every god has forsaken that horse and anyone who has anything to do with it, it wouldn't really do me any good.

Training daze

2009-05-05T19:49:00.002-06:00

I know, that title wasn't very creative or clever.

Yesterday began my two week long training period for my new job as a barista. Or possibly a cashier. Maybe a deli worker? Time will tell.

It started off with a quasi-inspirational speech by the new owner(s) (you're not our employees, you're our partners. etc.) and an employee handbook, thus completing a trifecta of things I have never had for any job (a training period, hollow motivational techniques, and set guidelines for...anything, really).

Other than learning how to use a fancy pants smoothie maker (aka giant freaking blender), washing some windows, and making 2 lattes, the training goes slowly. I'm a creature of chaos, dammit, who needs this organization/standardization nonsense? I want anarchy! I crave drama!

Eh, it'll end up ok I think. They keep talking about getting 'slammed', but after working at the bookstore during rush and the KW...most nights, really, I think I can handle some busy times. Plus, most of the kids seem at least competent. Mostly. I dunno, I have my doubts about one or two - but that's my judgemental character shining through. And the glittery bit says, 'some of those boys seem like dipshits.'

That could also just be my gender biases. Meh.

Speaking of boys, though, my tat FINALLY paid off in the form of delicious Short's beer the other night. A good lookin' fella thought it was neat that Leith meant so much to me that I got a tattoo of it, and bought me a Nicie Spicie (which is served with a slice of orange. Hey!) Pleasant banter ensued.

In the last few days I've managed to play the piano about 900 times more than I have been. I've almost got 'Into My Arms' down pat - which I should have done much sooner, as it's an extremely easy song (comparatively). I can't decide which Debussy to tackle next - Valse Romantique? It's my favorite, but then there's The Girl With the Flaxen Hair (loose translation) - it's about a Scottish lass AND - best of all - it's only two pages. What to choose, what to choose.

Well, I'm pooped. I've been up since 630 - an extremely long time considering my recent lazy ways. It's off to slumberland for this blogger.

PS: 90% of my spelling mistakes in every post are due to my made up/slang words. I'm still fairly certain that trifecta is a word, but maybe I'm spelling it so incorrectly that spell check doesn't know what the fuck.

Finally, I'm wrong

2009-05-02T11:42:00.001-06:00

At 134 this afternoon, little Iggy returned home. Hopefully, the kitty death cycle is broken. Three grey kittens in three years is just more than I can handle. Fingers crossed, she won't go too far afield again.

3rd time is not, apparently, the charm

2009-05-01T15:28:00.002-06:00

Fuck it. I've managed to kill - or have killed, somehow - my third grey kitten/cat. Well, that is to say, Iggy ran away last night and has yet to return. Which, in this part of the universe, means that a coyote probably ate her. How absolutely fucking depressing.

On the plus side, today was my last day of subbing - hopefully forever and ever. As you may be able to imagine, it went out with a bang. I sent bout 6 kids to the office, and had to report one for an alleged joke made about how it would be funny if there was a massacre in the school. I say alleged because she claims the joke was about a fart. I can't say for sure because I wasn't there, but I'm inclined to believe her knowing the way 6th graders think.

Later, I treated myself to a DQ Blizzard with extra cookie dough chunks. The Dairy Queen was made for shitty days at school.

Yesterday was that coffee tasting tour thing at Higher Grounds. I didn't learn much more about coffee than I already knew (basics like lighter roasts have more caffeine than darker, it takes 3 shots of espresso to equal one cup of strong coffee in terms of aforementioned caffeine, and where co-op coffee comes from and why fair trade is a nice thing to do), but I did learn that Higher Grounds delivers their local coffee orders by bike. Save the planet by buying expensive coffee. Well, that and it's pretty tasty.

Some of you may have noticed (although most probably didn't) that I've changed the comments section/area thing. I think you just click on the 'x Comments'link to post something, but I'm only looking at it from my current, logged on state, so if it doesn't work I'll fiddle with it some.

I've really been slacking in the musical education department lately. I worked a bit on the piano last night, but that's been about it for several weeks. I just can't seem to give a fuck about it. Or anything else, if you couldn't tell by my lack of blog posts, facebook activity, and general lack of internet usage. Home has just sucked the will to care right out of me this past month. Luckily, my new job starts on Monday. And it's getting warmer and sunnier and I have Amy D's Birthday party, a Memorial Day celebratory gathering at my house, and Bonnaroo to look forward to in the upcoming month and a half. And yet - bored, bored.

You know, I should have known today would be shitty when I reached up to turn off my alarm this morning, and spilled a full glass of water on my head.

Unclean

2009-04-29T11:01:00.002-06:00

Thank goodness that this is my last week of subbing, because I screwed the pooch this morning. I had written down that I only worked a half day (starting at 1130), but apparently I'm retarded. Emely called me at 817 to tell me that I was supposed to be in the school in the morning. As you may have guessed, she woke me up. As of 106, I have yet to bath today. I hate not showering every day. Sure, I may be killing the planet slowly, but damn it's nice to be fresh. At least now I have the benefit of having dark hair and not blond - there's no hiding greasy blond hair. Yeesh.

I suppose the upside is that if today is a whole day, then Friday is a half day. If I wanted, I could get shit faced on Thursday night. I don't, but I could.

Hmm, I feel a bit bad. There's a boy in here who is real clingy. He wanted me to be his partner. I'm not really interested in actually working today, so I said he had to find one of his own. I may be a bit lazy and apathetic, but I can still feel pity. Although, maybe I can't if I'm apathetic. I'm going to have to re-examine my grammar.

Tomorrow is the first unofficial day of my new (hopefully more fun) job. At 1100 tomorrow, I have to go into Higher Grounds in TC for an informational session on the proper care of a coffee bean. (Roasting, brewing, etc.) I'm going to be absolutely intolerable after this, I can just tell. If my mom thinks I'm pretentious now... Oh boy, just wait until I can authoritatively tell the different between a Middle Eastern and Latin American beans and know the exact temperature each should be brewed at. Exciting stuff. Plus, I get to wear stylish non-slip footwear - we all know how much I love clunky shoes.

This Sunday, Emely goes back to sunny Scotland for a few weeks. She wants to take Scott to the KW for Sunday brekkie, but it didn't happen the entire time we were there, so my guess is that it won't happen. But maybe they can make it for a nice dinner or something. I should be madly jealous about her trip, but I'm curiously not. Maybe because I know that I get to go later. Plus, you know, new job and the possibility of new friends. Aww, friends are heart warming.

We just had lunch(we're in the same school) and we were reminiscing about foods we missed. Cheese ranked #1 on my list. She really liked going out for tea. And the sandwiches we had in Rome - although I didn't really count that because it wasn't in the UK. The conversation put me in mind of last Friday's debacle, though. I made the horrible mistake of going to a fish fry in Alden. I knew I would be disappointed, but I didn't know how much. The fish was soggy, and yet overcooked and the fries (chips) were just pathetic. I just about cried. And then I drank a domestic lager. Yuck. It put me into such a bad mood for the rest of the weekend, that the next day when my mom and I were driving through the rain and fog, which she hates, I said that I liked it because it reminded me of home. This, of course, set her off onto another rampage about how Scotland is not home, northern Michigan is home. Well, in truth neither are. I'm a home orphan, a straggler wondering from town to town, country to country. King of the road.

I drank about 6 cups of tea that night. I didn't even drink tea when I was over there.

The fog/home conversation is far from the worst we've had lately. Yesterday I accused her of not being a very good mom (yeah, I know) because she's not at all proud that I got into a good graduate school - that I'm paying for. Because she isn't. She's still convinced that the school I'm going to is crap - because it isn't American. And we all know that Americans are the smartest and have the best schools. HA!

The last of the subbing

2009-04-21T11:25:00.006-06:00

May 4th will be my official last day of substitute teaching. Huzzah! Then, I can leave this horrible nightmare behind me, once and for all.

Funny, I thought that I had left if far behind after I dropped education as a major in late 2007, BUT...I guess not. Soon, though. Very soon.

Last night I made a series of to-do lists for the upcoming months in an effort to become more organized. It's already prompted me to start looking into my RBS account and the possibility of opening a new student account. Like an adult and shit.

I also sketched out some ideas for short stories last night. I need to force myself to write something with structure, so I don't get out of practice for school. Everyone who's even read just one post can tell that I'm more of a free-form writer. Or, in actuality, someone who uses for real forethought.

I've given myself deadlines to learn certain songs on the piano, and a rather loose goal of learning A song - any song - on the banjo and the accordion by the end of May. However, the banjo goal seems the most attainable. I've decided that since I'm going to be spending so much time in TC, that I may as well get banjo lessons at Marshall Music. I'm just not as self-motivated to practice as I once was. Well, I never really was, I suppose. Up until college I always had lessons, so there was some outside accountability going on there.

I'm attempting to make my own artisanal bread. I tried it when I first got home, but my mom's house - permanently set at about 62 F - was just too cold for it to rise. Now, with the slightly warmer weather, the yeast can go to town on that carbohydrate goodness. I baked a loaf last night, but it was rather smaller than I had imagined it, so I think I need to readjust some things. I'm wondering if the yeast is a bit old and busted.

It's funny to think that I haven't been drunk in well over a month, and yet I don't get any more stuff done. How bizarre. What's even more unsettling, I had two beers on Friday night, and my stomach was a little rumbly. Where is my ability to drink? Where is my desire to?

Probably residing firmly in the United Kingdom. They didn't want to leave - they had found a home and refused to come back to stodgy, prohibitionist America. No more tee-totaling! Now, if only my tolerance also stayed there, I'd be set. Instead, I envision some pretty rough nights when I get back. Because we all know 'moderation' isn't something that enters easily into my vocabulary.

Ah, well. Back to 'teaching'.

Shit.

2009-04-19T21:43:00.000-06:00

I spoke too soon. It's cold and gloomy and it sucks. Oh well, I'm going to get more than my fill of sweaty days all too soon.

I do, however, have a slight tan now. Huzzah!

Yesterday was an overall success in terms of, you know, life. It was Record Store Day, so Cathy, Corey and I hit up all the independently owned record shops in the area. I have to, you know, keep up my indie street cred.

Which I have just destroyed by saying 'indie street cred'.

Today Chana and spent a lovely morning sharing the Sunday New York Times over coffee. Aww, just like old times. Later, we beat Cathy and Corey at The Newly Wed Game. I don't really know how to feel about all this, in retrospect.

Tomorrow means back to the semi-frozen north. Bliss is such a fleeting thing.

Mainly, it involves sushi and/or a burrito followed by a nice coffee and a chat. 50% of which I can only truly obtain down here.

Tipping point

2009-04-18T08:45:00.003-06:00

Apparently the official day has come when the weather in Michigan becomes better than the weather in Scotland. At least, according to my iGoogle page.

I can say, without a doubt, it is hotter right now in East Lansing than any single moment that I was in Edinburgh. Currently: 23 C. Or, as Chana calculated, 73.4 F. At least, it feels that way. It could just be because of the horrendous winter that I just had to endure and any hotness is the fucking Sahara.

Enough nonsense, there's a lot of cover.

First things first. I managed to land a job that - most likely - will not suck the soul out of me with a very tiny vacuum cleaner. (I am, of course, alluding to the Spartan Bookstore - but more on that later).

This past Tuesday I had a job interview at a coffee shop in downtown Traverse City. A place called Crema. Imagine, downtown TC during the Cherry Festival AND the Film Festival. Sometimes I think that I'm only going to be employed in places that cater to either tourism or some other form of high and low traffic periods (re SB during book rush). Anyway. Perhaps I'll get to meet Michael Moore. Oh wait, I already did that. HA! Madonna was at the film fest last year. Maybe someone way cooler will come and I can sell them overpriced food and drink they don't need.

Anyway. I will be, as you may have figured out by my rambling, a barista and possible and sandwich maker. I've decided that the pub will be a wells font of skills I can bullshit for future jobs. Americans don't really know what goes on over there. I said I could make a latter and cappuccino, which I can, but to American standards of coffee preparation. I may be getting the benefit of a training session this time around, but this may prove to be just as much of a trial by fire as my first night at the KW. Time will tell.

The only potentially disturbing aspect of this position is the fact that I will be required to wear a beret. Fuck. As if I didn't already hate french things enough. And hats.

Which leads me in a very indirect and convoluted way to the bookstore. There was a great to do this week at the old evil corporation, when it was learned that Cathy, Ken, Adam, Tom, and Aaron (from Ned's) are branching off to form their own autonomous textbook store. Huzzah! I'm sure it will be a smashing success. If by some sort of miracle there are current MSU students reading this that aren't somehow tied to the bookstore, buy your shit there. It will be the only independently owned textbook store in EL, except for Gibson's and everyone knows that place sucks. Wait, is it even around still? Nevermind.

Down with the man!

When corporate found out that the gang was doing this, they made Cathy leave the store. Luckily, she had already put in her two week notice, so they essentially paid her to not work for the better part of the week. Right now the most knowledgeable person working there is Chana, and she does not give a shit. Ha, they are boned.

The coffee shop job offer combined with the silliness of Nebraska Book Company made my decision relatively easy. That, and the fact that I can live at home and not pay rent.

Hmm, I really need to stay current with this blog. I was going to go on a rampage about my Easter spent with a family of Mormons, but I've suddenly lost my vitriol. Instead, I'll give a summary.

Mom and I went down to the Hall's last Saturday (old family friends, Cathy is mom's college roomie). Initially caught shit for my tattoo (of course, you know those baby boomer conservatives. Apparently, I will never be able to secure a job. We'll see.) Later got into no less than 6 arguments with the patriarch of the household - ex-undercover cop, crazy - CRAZY - conservative.

'Discussion' 1: Socialism vs. Capitalism. Most memorable moment: according to said patriarch, capitalism is not about letting the market sort itself out - as if by magic! - and medicare, social security, and other old people bullshit programs that I could give a fuck less about (not really true) are not socialist. Nationalized healthcare, now, watch out. Obama's going to turn us into commies. Fucking pinko. Oh yeah, and socialism is when the government takes everyone's money and redistributes it equally. Really? I'm pretty sure that's communism, and it's never existed in the real world.

#2: The NHS system and dental hygiene in the UK. I won't go into specifics because this one isn't as interesting and/or retarded, but what got my hackles up was the fact that I would state a fact - not an opinion, mind - and I would be told it was not true. Because, you know, I'm not the one who live there. He was. Oh, wait.

#3: My tattoo. Blah, blah, blah, stupid rebellious act, and everyone has to - and should have to - live in the mainstream world. I politely declined this offer.

#3: The reason why my airbag did not deploy when my car rolled over. Listen. I grew up with cars, I know the 2 reasons it did not: a: it was not hooked up because it was one of those cars that dad fixed up to loan out, and b: I didn't hit anything head on. However, my rather selective sense of humor - this time aimed at my brother, I feel, prompted me to make a joke about how my American made car was shit because of this fact. Why was this controversial? In case you've forgotten or have never lived in Michigan, giving abuse to the Big 3 is akin to saying god is a dick and Jesus was a pussy. Psh. Passive resistance, my ass. Also, the sons work at Ford and the dad's dad work for Chevy. I may have instigated that one.

#4: Child pornography and the, uh, normal kind, are just as evil for the soul. This one, oddly enough, also stemmed from a discussion with my brother on the subject of google street view in the UK - which just makes Americans giggle about the Brit's anger, considering CCTV. Anyway. The dad then told some rather unrelated story about how a town - presumably full of good Christians - run a Sex Shop out of town by photographing everyone who entered and publishing it in the local paper. What a punch in the arm for wholesomeness everywhere! I, in typical 'can't leave well enough alone' fashion, said, "that was childish." To which I got a series of retorts and lectures about the evils of porn, the most disturbing of which was the child porn and consensual adult porn are just as bad statement, to which I replied, "if that's your view on sexuality, you're pretty warped." To which he responded, "if that's your view, you're even farther gone than we had thought." I could have exacerbated the situation by saying that I've both watched porn and been in a sex shop, but instead I stepped outside.

#5: Whether or not all university degrees are equal. Once again, this was a statement I made to my brother about how mom thinks MTU is just as good as UE. It's not. However, said patriarch had to chip in and give some bullshit about how it's not what school you go to, but what you do after. Yeah, no shit Sherlock. However, what school and what kind of knowledge you acquire has a direct result on what job you get right out of school - and who the fuck you know. I'd much rather hob nob with rich kids at UE than, well, a school full of engineers. Plus, going there would be akin to being sent to Siberia. Almost literally. It's really fucking cold up there. I found this particular argument extremely frustrating because the only person in that family to actually go to college was the mom who went to secretary school. I'm pretty sure that doesn't count.

#6: This one was perhaps my only real victory. It didn't even start out that I was involved in this particular 'discussion,' but once again my honor was threatened. My brother, the oldest son, and the dad were engaged in a heated debate about whether or not hybrid cars were all just advertising or if they actually got the reported MPG. The dad insists that all cars should have diesel engines because they get better mileage, and even though diesel is more expensive, it would all even out in the end. I couldn't bring myself to bring up the principle of supply and demand in that situation. How I became a part of it was when he claimed that most, if not all cars, in Europe are diesel. I said no, at least not in the UK. Those cars, then, must get as good as gas mileage as ours. Nope, I replied, about 60 mpg. Well, they must be diesel. No, no they are not. Well, that's not true. Really? Because I lived there. And I, out of American habit, pay attention to cars. Nope, not true, they must be diesel. We then went online to the Vauxhall and Peugeot websites, and he then questioned the 'combined fuel efficiency' statement that preceded the mpg. That, obviously, means that it's a hybrid. Uh, no. Not all that many hybrids around. In the end, I won, as will happen when I'm right - which is always (ha).

The most obnoxious part of this series is the fact that I was treated like a silly idealistic 17 year old kid or something, instead of a person who managed to get degree with pretty high marks who has also seen a bit of the world. But no, I'll one day earn money and become a conservative because taxes are bad. Hmm, really? Because I actually think taxes aren't that bad. Blech, enough of this shit. Nobody wants a dose of lame liberal/conservative battles. I didn't even tell the part about how I went to Mormon church.

It was boring and there was communion. I'll never get over how fucking hypocritical protestant churches are. Oh, we're not like Catholics because we don't have money and there's no pope. No, you're just a bunch of crazy poor people who think that Native Americans are the lost tribe of Israel and they came over here in submarines. TRUE. Mormons.

I love springtime at MSU. Look at those squirrels run. They've lost their winter coat!

An ex-procrastinator's lament

2009-04-10T09:14:00.002-06:00

I don't think I want to live in a world that has no place for promptness.

Two minutes ago (give or take), I faxed a request to the British Consulate to cancel my visa application.

Why, you may be asking yourself, would you do that? Haven't you been going on about grad school and Scotland and blah blah blah, ad nauseam for (what month is this...April?) 4 months now?

Yes. However, you can only apply 3 months prior to entering the country. Does this mean that my application fee won't get refunded because I already got fingerprinted? Probably. Which blows, because I will have to get RE-FINGERPRINTED. Fucking bureaucracy. All because I didn't go over the 14 million different visa requirements pages on the 5 different websites the British Consulate uses with a fine-toothed comb. Silly me for expecting a website to be easy to navigate. I mean, the internet has only been around for about 20 years now - why should anyone be able to create web pages in a logical way at this point? My bad.

ARRRRGGGGHHHH.

My rage was only compounded by the jerk driver that I pulled out in front of this morning going 80 down my road. It's a residential area, mother fuckers, that means it's a 35 zone. Not, of course, that I go 35. I live on it. I can do whatever the fuck I want. But your poor white trash ass does NOT - if you do, you live on the South side of McPherson, which we all know is the redneck part. Where the rest of my family lives. N. McPherson is the nice area where we actually have pavement. I know you must have gotten excited when you saw it, what with it being so foreign and fancy and whatnot, but you need to CALM THE FUCK DOWN and NOT TAILGATE ME. And, you certainly shouldn't pass me going 90 when we turn onto Alden Hwy, because I will speed up and tailgate you. Oh yes, I will. And if your inbreed little shit of a child (sex indeterminable due to the horrors of genetics), I will flip you off and call you and asshole. And I will find where you live, with your shitty pick up truck that probably runs on oil, and I will cut you, bitch. I will fucking cut you.

Wow, well, now that the unpleasantness is over with, let's turn to more upbeat things.

Upbeat, upbeat. Hmm.

Ah, fuck it. I haven't had coffee yet and it's noon. I can't handle the world and the sunshine and the happy TGIF-ers right now. It's Easter weekend and I hate pastels with a fiery fucking passion. I'm going to go home and watch the rest of my Summer Heights High dvd. Thank you, Amazon.com, you fucking homo. You can't break dance for shit, sir. Ha!

PS: a Google image search for 'rage' turns up, unsurprisingly, a lot of photos of Rage Against the Machine. None of these photos are particularly angry. In fact, they're reminiscent of most Counting Crows publicity pictures that I've seen. I have no idea what this could mean. Am I trying to make some kind of post-modern statement? Who knows! Who the hell cares.

Fifteen feet of pure white snow...or less

2009-04-07T10:29:00.002-06:00

Ok, so I know using a song title and/or lyric for a blog title is a little trite, but it seems fitting as it just came on the radio and it's snowing.

Why is it snowing? Because, like I told Heather last night, god hates me and wants me to hate myself and the world. It's true.

The aforementioned snow has caused me to go into a mini-hibernation - which is the excuse I'm going for in regards to my lack of posts in the past two weeks. It's not that there hasn't been anything going on, I just haven't bothered to put it up.

So, in no particular order, here are the things I've been up to/experiencing/observing, etc.

Heather and I are going to Bonnaroo. I'm pretty sure I said I'd never go to that smelly hippy fest ever again, but we all know how fickle I am and I really like MGMT, of Montreal, and recently Andrew Bird. I will be avoiding Phish, Bela Fleck, and Merle Haggard - and anyone who claims to like them. Not to be trusted. I put together a Bonnaroo playlist of bands that I've never listened to, and I've discovered two more that have piqued my interest: Chairlift and Neko Case. There are others, of course, but at last count there were 20 acts that I wouldn't mind seeing, so I won't bore anyone with the entire list.

I am having issues with my student visa application. Well, it's just the one, really. Apparently, you can't submit your application until 3 months prior to entering the country. This wouldn't have been a problem if I hadn't ALREADY APPLIED and hadn't already PAID THE FEE. Are they seriously going to cock-block me for being on top of my shit? This is what I get for being organized. Dammit.

There is a very great possibility that I will be moving back down to East Lansing to - once again - work at the Spartan Bookstore. At least there's slightly less snow than up here. Which is almost worth paying rent. There is a now fairly large-sized hole in the textbook staff, as Cathy quit yesterday and Ken quit on Friday, which will leave the textbook area without knowledgeable leadership in about 2 weeks. Except for Chana. Poor, poor Chana. I hope she doesn't go postal. Hmm. Actually, I do hope she does. It would be pretty great.

I should note this is really a last recourse, as I am poor and shudder at the idea of bills. However, I need money and there is no money up here. Especially if I'm going to pay for this Bonnaroo excursion. Which will cost a pretty penny. In fact, this is a crazy expense! What the hell was I thinking?

Oh yeah, that I'm awesome and I do awesome things.

Speaking of, I found my squirrel messenger bad. Best thing about it - it was on clearance! Bonus! It has joined a pair of shoes and my new wool coat in my suitcase in preparation for the future.

Hmm, anything else of note...Let's see...I watched 24 Hour Party People last week with Chana. That was pretty good. I also had a shit ton of sushi (just can't get enough of the raw fish goodness), and a burrito. Not in the same day. Or was it? Shit, I can't remember. No, it was. I was a multi-cultural eater that day.

You know, it's probably a very good idea to move downstate as it appears that I am losing my mind.

I also had coffee with my friend Jim - the one who visited Em and I in Edinburgh during his time in Germany - and we reminisced about Europe and it's silly collection of roads and other infrastructural anomalies.

On Saturday, I found two annihilated deer carcasses while riding my horse around the property. This means, of course, that I must keep the cats inside so they don't get eaten by coyotes. Jesus christ, it's like I'm living in an episode of Little House on the Prairie. Hell, today I did research on Pioneer logging tools for the ACD. For, you know, the Pioneer Day they're having.

Wow.

Moving on. It's my new goal to actually finish a book I've started to read. Currently, I am about a third of the way through two books on environmental policy, a microeconomics textbook, a book about contemporary Britain (because I know fuck-all about their current events that don't involve some sort of entertainment/famous person), Burning Babylon (music history from punk to grunge), My Generation by Gunter Grass, and one other that I can't remember the name of at the moment. I really need some follow through at this point. I keep getting distracted by shiny objects and HBO.

Speaking of which, I'm half considering getting Curb Your Enthusiasm on dvd. Oh, that Larry David. What a goof.

Ugh. I have a headache, so I'm going to stop writing. 'Defenestrate' is the word of the day (well, defenestrate is the word of the day, every day), here is a fun cartoon that has nothing to do with anything to illustrate it. Good day.

Bringin' back the 90s colloquialisms

2009-03-25T12:46:00.003-06:00

I'm ill. But not in the, 'that '92 Firebird is ill,' kind of way - more in the I caught some sort of disease (most likely from one of those punk-ass kids I subbed for) and now I'm ill way. Even my eyes feel stuffy, which hardly seems possible.

Big news of the week thus far: I applied for my student loans and my student visa. Now all I need is a paper copy of my acceptance letter and I'm ready to rock. Ok, so I'm always ready to rock, but I'll be able to formalize all of my paperwork. Which isn't really rocking at all, it may even be the antithesis of it.

Other news: I started volunteering at the Antrim Conservation District today (officially). Somehow, no matter what company I work for, I always end up making some sort of brochure. It's probably some sort of sign that I should have gone into graphic design or some other nonsense. Not really, though, as my only real qualification for this is "making stuff look pretty using a computer." Not really that specialized of a skill, if you think about it.

Other than that, the only exciting thing that's happened since Monday was the cracked out dream I had last night because of the allergy medicine I'm on. It was long and complicated, but the gist was that I arrived at the airport with only a half-full suitcase to my name - and it contained neither underwear nor socks. I mean, what kind of half-assed packing job is that? I may have to make an inventory so this doesn't happen for real when we get down to the wire.

Probably not. I don't want to be that creepily organized.

One thing that I've decided that I really need - not want, but NEED - is a messenger bag covered in tiny squirrels. My life won't be complete without it. There was one at the bookstore downstate, but I keep forgetting to get it. This could end in disaster as well as the complete break-down of my mental well being. I must have the tiny squirrel bag.

The need for speed

2009-03-23T09:31:00.002-06:00

Why would anyone make a third "The Fast and the Furious?" Strange.

Anyway. I've acquired a pet project: I'm volunteering at the Antrim Conservation District. Guess what I'll probably be doing there - writing a blog! Funny old world.

Good lord, I really hope I don't turn into a full blown hippy. I did buy free range, organic, vegetarian eggs the other day...shit. At least I'm not wearing hemp underwear.

I'm sitting in Mokka, a local coffee shop (with a heavy slant on local food, fair trade coffee, and all things delicious(dammit - more hippy shit)), and I looked up and saw this woman crossing the street. My initial thought was: "Hey, it's that woman who always says that Leith is the Bruges of Scotland." But then I realized that she really, really wasn't. Unless she had some sort of burning desire to use the post office in Bellaire, MI. Which I'm sure she didn't.

Wow, this chair is not comfortable for typing. Yikes.

So my dad bought another house. That would bring the grand total up to 2 houses, a cabin, a 20 acre chunk of land, and two commercial buildings. He wouldn't tell me how much it cost (not for any reason, he knows I hate not knowing things and gets a kick out of not telling me. We're too alike in that regard, I suppose), but I'm guessing between 5,000 and 10,000. That's right, a house - on 5 acres - for under $10,000. Oh, housing market, how far the mighty fall. Now that he's on his way to being a slumlord, I should get a pair of leopard print leggings and some gold hoop earrings. Shit, there isn't an American Apparel up here. I'll just have to wait.

Coolness factor

2009-03-20T09:42:00.004-06:00

I've gone from being that 'weird looking lady in Mrs. Manning's room' to the sub that a) will get in you in trouble if you suck at life, and b) wears cool shoes. Goals completed in life: check and check!

Hmm, now that I wield absolute power over my domain, I think I'm going to have to develop an evil laugh. I already gave one student a nickname. Neat!

Holy wow!

2009-03-20T06:21:00.002-06:00

So I opened my homepage this morning, and was shocked - but not wholly unsurprised - to see that the temperature here was -12!

Until I saw that it was in Celsius (somehow my iGoogle account is stuck on the UK and refuses to change). My next thought, of course, was 'what the fuck is that in American?"

Turns out it's 10. Less dramatic, but still...after 65 F weather (20 C) earlier in the week, this kind of shit is just downright depressing. I want spring flowers and butterflies, goddammit, not another month of snow and bullshit.

Moving on. Today I am back in the Mancelona Middle School for the second day - teaching the same grade but in a different classroom. Yesterday was quite the adventure. 6th graders are sent from the devil in order to make me reconsider the relative evil of alcoholism and recreational drug use. I used every weapon in my arsenal - up to and including sending kids to the office, having a special list of naughty kids, and warning those who ride my dad's bus route to beware. Yes, I know he's a slight wee fella, but my dad can be outright scary when he feels inclined. Stage presence, or something. I dunno. It worked on the three kids who did, though. Oh, their faces! Priceless.

I'm a little excited about today's class, actually. They're reading 'The Phantom Tollbooth' in Reading (I used to freaking love that book), and learning about Latin America in Social Studies. I'm going to have to restrain myself for that one, though. I read the outline of the chapter in their textbook, and there was a line - hand to god - that read: 'The United States intervenes in Latin American affairs'. End quote, nothing more. !!! That's it? That shit went on for centuries! It had layers of meaning and consequences, and it's boiled down to a single line. Ugh. This is one of the #1 reasons I never went through with teaching. You're not really supposed to say that Castro only became a Communist and sided with the USSR because we were a bunch of jerks. In the American school system - paid for by the government that is firmly upholding the Cuban trade embargo that really should have been dropped after the end of the Cold War...not so good of an idea. If, you know, you want to keep your job and reach tenure. So, fuck it.

I had lunch with my old friend Heidi on Wednesday. She used to lead our Envirothon group when I was in high school. (Just so you know exactly how nerdy I am, the Envirothon is like Mathletes only with environmental science instead of math.) I'm going to start volunteering at the Antrim County Conservation District. It's probably not as exciting as it sounds - I have a feelings I'll be answering phones and filing. But at least it will be office work with a good cause, eh? Plus, I really should start thinking about that resume. While I think having a collection of wildly different jobs is a good thing, employers, by and large, do not.

Missed mark

2009-03-17T12:48:00.002-06:00

I can't believe it! Eleven days ago this blog was one year old! That is hands down the longest commitment I've had to any sort of diary/journal type thing. I feel quite accomplished now.

Well, a few exciting things have happened/are happening recently. (One more / device and I'm officially bad at writing).

I suppose I'll start with my travel plans. I finally bit the bullet and bought my plane ticket to Edinburgh last week. $371 one way - not too shabby (although, with fees and such it was more like $500 - still, I'm not complaining). I'll be flying out of glorious cosmopolitan Cherry Capitol Airport on September 2nd, and arriving sometime on the afternoon of September 3rd in deary old Scotland (just kidding - I wouldn't call TC glorious). Strangely, a flight out of TC only cost $4 more than one out of Chicago. I don't understand airlines, I swear.

I went down to EL on Friday, as promised. Chana, Sam and I saw Coraline 3D (not really that 3D but the flick was good). Then we went to some ultra hipster venue to meet Cathy and Corey and listen to some tunes. You know the kind of place I mean - girls wearing stuff that looks like it came straight from TopShop (unusual, as we don't yet have one in the states), people chain smoking and ashing on the floor, and the look of affected boredom everywhere. Chana said she didn't feel cool enough to be there, and I felt too cool to be there. Oddly enough, these two seemingly opposite reactions where essentially the same, because Chana's was in a facetious manner. The best was when the Indie-scruffy kid with the skinny jeans and neon sneakers' phone went off and the ringtone was "Kids" by MGMT. I almost peed myself trying not to laugh. I bet the girl in the yellow tutu thought it was cool, though. Maybe they hooked up later.

The place was so cool, in fact, that we had to go down a seedy alley into an unmarked door to find the place. In Lansing. I know, I know. That is a generally retarded and dangerous thing to do, but Chana and I live for danger. And, you know, several other things including beer and comic books. Mostly danger, though.

The highlight, far and away, of that experience was the band Bitter Tears. I know I just endorsed a band that I didn't properly listened to and haven't really reviewed, but this one is fantastic. I mean it - I just bought both of their albums. Not only was it a top notch show (anything with props and macabre humor that makes you feel a little guilty for laughing so hard at it gets my approval), but the music is really sound. I was a little hesitant about listening to their recorded stuff, because I wasn't sure how well they'd translate to a purely audio medium seeing as a lot of the enjoyment of the show stemmed from visual gags, but I can easily say that I was pleasantly surprised. The highly prestigious iTunes reviewers compared it to Ween - although I would say that they're less commercial than that band (obviously), and slightly more bent than them as well. All for the good, I think. So, you know, give them a listen and if they come to your town definitely go to their show. You won't be disappointed.

Anyway. Perhaps the most exciting news of all is that for the past two days, I've been able to walk around in a t-shirt. Up north! I was sweating yesterday! I rode my horse yesterday AND today in the sunshine. This morning I saw a piece of grass growing. It's made me remember why it's neat to live here. I seriously had that forgotten there was any upside.

I've decided that I'm going to teach myself economics. Micro and macro, both. I have the textbooks, and I think I'll need it for grad school, so why the hell not? Why the hell not, indeed.

Speaking of textbooks, there is a middling chance that I'm going to move back downstate to Lansing for the summer. The job market is atrocious up here, and the bookstore is going to be opening up some full time, higher than minimum wage positions in April. If Chana's roommate leaves for the summer, that is. I'm not going to live with just any jerk.

Goddammit customers, go away and stop calling. My dad isn't here to give a shit.

Moving on. Tonight I'm off to the big city (of the Northlands, so TC) to drink some green tinted beer and generally be an idiot. So watch for me on the news. I'm likely to do something ill advised. (I always do when I get bored. You know, to shake things up.)

Erm...

2009-03-13T12:14:00.002-06:00

So I listened to that album. I don't really know how I feel about it. Don't get me wrong, I think it's good, but hippy-type folk music grates on my ears these days. Perhaps it's too cheerful? I don't know. Judge for youself.

Well, it's a good thing that I took that blood borne pathogens test. That's right - I had a bleeder. Just an ear - and the external bit, we aren't talking from the skull or anything. So what did I do? What any sane person would do in this situation: I sent him to the office.

In an hour I'm leaving the Northland for the urban sprawl that is East Lansing. Hooray! I really want some sushi. Mmm...raw fish. How palatable.

Exciting music news on the Michigan front!

2009-03-12T13:27:00.005-06:00

I was informed by one Chana Lee last night that her friend's band, Frontier Ruckus, just got a very favorable review in Under the Radar. Neat! Her friend Zach plays the saw and the trumpet. The saw! Oh, how I love folky indie. I've only listened to one or two songs, but so far I approve. Apparently, they're touring Europe this summer due to their recent love of Americana, I suppose.

Tomorrow I'm off to visit Chana once again - but only after I substitute teach a middle school special ed class. So...potentially the worst class ever. Oh, boy!

Decision time

2009-03-10T13:38:00.007-06:00

Rain, snow, rain, snow. Mother Nature - MAKE UP YOUR MIND YOU CRAZY BITCH.

Now that that is out of the way - on to more pressing matters, such as what I'm going to make for dinner.

Pizza. But awesome pizza, with mushrooms, feta and perhaps artichokes if I can find them for cheap. Plus, I made the dough, so that makes it even classier.

There!

Do you have your brand new leopard skin pillbox hat? It's a valid question. A better - and more reasonable one - is if you've gotten War Child Presents Heroes, Volume 1 yet. Because you should. You should also get Dark Was The Night. Because a) the proceeds go to charity(s), and b) they're freaking awesome. And I'm pretty sure it's a law that you have to get awesome things whenever possible.

Oh, Psapp has a new album out...

No! Stay strong. Damn you, iTunes, for knowing exactly where to strike. Like a precision fucking bomber, that thing.

I'm trying - in vain, it appears - to apply for a few scholarships online. However, the website is being a little bitch and keeps timing out. Grr...

I have some exciting news on the music front. The other days my grandmother gave me a new addition to my ever-expanding instrument collection. What could it be, you ask? I will tell you - not a kazoo, not a violin - nothing less than an accordion! (nothing more than that, either). That's right - an accordion. It is way neater than it sounds. Well, I mean it literally sounds neat, too, but I think you knew what I meant. The other bit of news is that my Nick Cave Anthology piano music book FINALLY arrived. I mastered the pretty intro to "Into My Arms" this morning. Very cool.

I'm making tentative plans to go visit Chana this weekend (again, I know, but last week did not end well (stupid Danielle's junkie ex)), so if anyone is around and wants to buy me a meal, or at least eat one with me (although I would prefer the former), send me a shout.

Back to the begging.

I will shortly commence to begin this post

2009-03-09T12:53:00.002-06:00

You know, I'm beginning to think I'm a word snob. That's a lie, I know I am and I'm completely unapologetic for it.

However, I feel that I'm a strange kind of snob - the kind that picks and chooses her snobbery. For example, I don't mind if people use colloquialisms such as 'ain't' and 'yous' (for both Brits and those from N. Jersey). Or, for that matter, do I mind mixed metaphors if used in a humorous or ironic manner (why don't you make like a tree and get the hell out of here). What I hate - HATE - more than anything is the improper use of words by someone who only has a vague idea of what they mean or how they should be used in a sentence. My sterling example of this is anytime someone puts 'to' after commence (and then, to rub salt into the wound, writes 'begin' after that). It just really gets my gourd.

Also, 'they themselves' 'her herself' 'it itself' or any other variation.

Anyway, enough being insulting to probably a vast majority of people.

Well, the new kitten came out of her shell. She is now the terror of the feline tribe. What do I do to cute, shy little demure kittens to make them go absolutely mental? I just don't know.

I saw just a ton of people over the weekend that I haven't seen for years. My friend Nikki - although that was planned; one of my oldest friends Becky - MIA for these past 4 years or so do to some interesting life choices; and Bellaire kids who are hardly worth mentioning. Other than in that statement, that is. I'm afraid the longer I hang around such places as Short's and the BB, the more of these types I'll run into. Nothing really wrong with it I suppose, it's just rather awkward and sometimes uncomfortable.

Anyway. I've decided that M. Nature is a bitch whore and I'm starting to regret my decision to be on her side as a career. (<- hyperbole.) Yesterday I let myself have a glimmer of hope that spring had sprung. This was, of course, a terribly stupid thing to do on my part. Just because most of the snow melted in two days and it was 45 degrees out means ABSOLUTELY NOTHING in N. Michigan. Instead of pretty little flowers, we got a foot of snow and shitty roads. I don't care if it's pretty, it's time for this shit to go.

My mother started on a new round of passive aggressive disapproval when I got accepted to the U of E. This came to a head last night when she made yet another comment on how her children should go into XYZ profession. I went crazy, on account of my uncontrollable rage when it comes to her, and ended up slamming a door so hard I'm pretty sure I broke something in the next room. No matter. Then I had to listen to her talk about herself for an hour. Same old conflict, I'm afraid.

Enough procrastination, I need to write a mini essay for some scholarships and finish these damn postcards.

Everyone likes to feel accepted

2009-03-06T14:37:00.002-07:00

Well, most if not all of you already know, but I got accepted to the University of Edinburgh. You'd think that I'd have written a post right after it happened, because of the excitement and all, but instead I went into panic mode because of my uncertain financial future and have spent all of my internet time trying to figure out VISAS, student loans, and scholarship bullshit. I just sent a pleading letter to my two ex profs asking for a couple more letters of recommendation for scholarships.

Why can't there be an endless pool of money that I can draw from in order to never deal with this sort of shit? Oh wait, because then I'd never go to school or work. Well, at least not in a manner that would bring me anything more than a pittance.

Yesterday Danielle and I went down to East Lansing to visit Chana for her birthday, but as these things tend to do when they involve Danielle and trying to have fun, Dani's ex ruined everything. You really shouldn't make threats against people's lives when you're in jail. They tend to keep you there. Or at least, put you back in.

Shit, I don't think my self-abasing email sent the first time. Dammit, I'll have to rewrite.

I got a new kitten. Well, rather my mom did, but I'm raising it because I'm better at it. Gray once again - hopefully, third time is the charm and this one won't get eaten by coyotes. I've named her Iggy. Not, though, as in Pop. Just Iggy for no reason.

Ugh. I have a list of things to do a mile long. Top of it: write some damn postcards for Scotland friends. I got really fun ones - and by that I mean Chana bought them for me for her birthday (you read that right).

Well, I need to go clean my room before I go to the cinema to see Watchmen with my mom, Emely, and some kid that she just met.

Artificial cheerfulness

2009-02-26T11:27:00.002-07:00

You know that old saying that says if you smile, eventually you'll mean it? I really hope that works, otherwise I'm just going to have a very fake, very idiotic grin on my face. Not really; I don't smile as a general rule.

Eh, life's not really that terrible, only incredibly boring and lacking in any form of excitement. I have, however, identified about 25 species of birds and squirrels in my mother's feeder. So, huzzah for that I suppose.

Well, I take back the excitement quip. On Sunday, my mom slipped on some ice and bruised her arm. However, since she's old and doesn't have the greatest constitution overall, her friend talked her into going to the ER. In other words, I had to take her to the ER. So we packed ourselves into her car and headed for the big city. The weather was so-so until we got near the bays. Freaking lake effect snow - it was so bad that I could barely see 10 feet in front of the car. To top it off, we had to wait around for 3 hours so she could get an x ray no one really thought she needed anyway. Of course, it showed nothing. Back into the car we went. If anything, the snow got worse. It was a veritable white out for most of the way.

Luckily, I didn't have to teach the next morning. I would have only gotten 5 hours of sleep at that point, and hormonal teenagers would have only angered me in that condition. UInstead, Emely and I went cross country skiing. Perfect day for it, too. Sunny and only slightly warm, with barely any wind. Plus, Emely didn't fall. All in all, a good afternoon.

Unfortuneatly, Tuesday morning I did get a phonecall from Bellaire High School. I had to sub for the Biology/Physics teacher. Bioloy=ok, physics=suck. Anyway. I'd only ever been in BHS once, and that was freshman year when I stilled played volleyball. Therefore, I had no idea where anything - namely, the office - was. I must have walked around that damn school 3 times before I figured it out. Because of constuction (BHS is just now getting around to having a decent building), the HS office was now located in the Athletic Office. You know, because that makes sense.

I had forgotten how completely silly adolescents as a group were. With the amount of sweatshirts and jeans being worn, I'm surprised that they didn't noticed that they're wearing a self-imposed uniform. Hmm... Also, the showboating for the sake of the opposite sex was a little tiresome. Plus the constant talk about genitalia. And the drawing of said genitalia on the blackboard when they thought I wasn't looking. And the boys asking me such questions as "are you married?" and "how old are you?" Don't even get me started on the iPods. No, I don't believe for a second you're allowed to have them in class. No, I don't think you're supposed to check Myspace during classtime. Grr. I may not like the Jonas Brothers, but I wasn't born yesterday. Unless that iPod Touch has a physics application on it, I don't think it's appropriate in this setting. Jesus H. Christ on toast. I swear, kids these days - they're exactly like kids in those days, only they have fancier toys.

I had to have a little talk with my mother about boundaries that night. I came home and her silly friend was over with her delinquent adopted kid who had been suspended the week before (the other day he drank a fifth of vodka before school and fell out of his desk). I had a massive headache and wasn't in the mood for whatever crap movie they were watching, so I went to take a nap. When they left, my mother barged into my room, turned on the light and asked "oh, are you sleeping?" Not anymore, I'm not. After that, I couldn't fully appreciate my nap. So, I informed her that even though I'm her kid, I'm an adult now and coming into my room unannounced was not acceptable. Ugh. If I don't get into U of E, I'm moving to Portland, asap. I was going to wait until the end of the school year so I could sub as much as possible, but I don't really see the point in that. My sanity isn't worth a few extra bucks in my pocket.

Well, hopefully I'll be seeing Chana next week - on account of it being her birthday on Sunday and all. That, at least, will provide me with some entertainment.

Once more, with feeling

2009-02-17T13:09:00.001-07:00

Sorry, I can't seem to help myself. Here's jet another Oasis jab - this time from a review of their latest opus from Pitchfork:

"As startling as it was to see Noel Gallagher attacked onstage last month at the Virgin Festival in Toronto, it was arguably the most exciting thing that's happened to Oasis in over 10 years."

Burn.

Observations from a somewhat uncomfortable bar scene

2009-02-16T10:59:00.002-07:00

In true anti-holiday form, Danielle and I went to the bar the night of Valentine's Day. Er, so I guess that would be Valentine' Night. Or something. Anyway. It started out quite pleasant, really - a pretty boy who is often there was playing with a few other folks onstage, which gave me a perfectly socially accpetable reason to gawk at him. However, Danielle had done the thing that she's notorious for: she smiled and said hello to some poor schmuck. Game over. He was attached to our side for the rest of the night.

Don't get me wrong, he was a perfectly nice fellow. I've been around Dani in these sorts of situations, though, to know exactly what's going to happen. She makes small talk, hooks 'em like a fish, and then disappears to talk to someone she knows (she always knows someone, wherever we go - hell, if she actually does go to Scotland with me, I wouldn't be surprised if she knew half my friends already), leaving me to have an awkward conversation that I wasn't interested in speaking to in the first place and who really only wants to pull my friend anyway.

The experience did give me a nice occasion to be a creepy anthropologist sort, though - my common defense when I'm in a lame situation. Mostly what I observed was that small talk is incredibly boring. Please do not confuse this with flirting or its bastard semi-platonic cousin, banter. These entail a certain amount of interest or commitment to the current conversation. No, small talk is not like these things, it is not fun nor is it engaging. It's tedious and makes me wish I were anywhere else or at least here - but very, very drunk.

Plus, the first chance this kid got he asked me if she had a boyfriend and told me that Dani's eyes pierced into his soul. I told them they do that to everyone, and then went and talked to my middle school nemesis who had just walked in. I mean, gag me with a spoon. Seriously? Be a little cooler than that.

Moving on. Last night I made beef pasties with caramelized onions and Stilton for my dad and his girlfriend. Maybe a little sophisticated for the latter, they enjoyed it nonetheless. I did not make them for the children. The lord help me, if I make one more thing for them and they turn their noses up at it, I will push them down a well. If I ever kids I'm going to force feed them vegetables and they will never - EVER - get a special meal made for them because they don't like what's being cooked. My parents never did that shit, and that's probably why I'll try just about anything without hesitation today. These little shits will be living off of pizza and fish sticks until they die of obesity, heart disease and/or diabetes by the time they're 32.

Speaking of kids I want to punch in the face, my mom woke me up this morning with the news that her (note: not mine, I claim no one in that freaking family) cousin Bryce was coming over and she was going to babysit him. First of all, babysit? This kid is 13 years old. When I was 13, I had been watching myself for about 3 summers running while my mom, dad, and brother were all at work. I mean, wtf? Then again, this is the little shit that stole my camera. Which I made a somewhat big point of taking with me today. I took everything of value that could easily walk off. Camera, cell phone, computer, ipod - my whole life in a nutshell, really. The latest poop on this little asshole is that his special ed teacher has accused him of attempted murder because some kids saw him loosening the screws on a shelf in his classroom that held the TV - you know, because this kid obviously is a criminal mastermind who timed out perfectly when a)the tv would fall and b)the teacher would be directly under it. Now, I have a certain amount of animosity towards this kid, but seriously? Stop being an idiot, for chrissakes, you're teaching the future of America. Well, the future townies of Mancelona, at any rate.

I'm in TC right now at some coffee shop that appears to be a chain, but I think may actually be independently owned. I made the trek today because I just applied for a job at a local big-name artisanal bread company. I think I'd be good at it, but who the hell knows. 5 million people will probably apply for the position because there's zero jobs to be had up here at the moment. Unless you're in the medical field. Which I'm not. Nor do I want to be.

While walking downtown to this aforementioned coffee shop, I went past the Traverse City Opera House. Apparently, Ani DiFranco is coming there in April. Not that I'm the world's biggest fan, but that is a pretty big name for the likes of here. Maybe this is a sign of things to come. Hopefully?

Hmm, is it wrong that I think the term for a hot milk drink is referred to as a 'steamer'? Probably. Who the hell orders a skinny steamer with sugar free syrup? I'm surprised this person even leaves the house - what if they get a paper cut, or - heaven forbid - a splinter?! Ugh. Life must suck when you're so very bland.

Addendum: How to survive your V-Day date

2009-02-14T12:33:00.001-07:00

V Day

2009-02-14T11:39:00.002-07:00

Well, it's Valentine's Day. Again. I have no idea why it keeps coming around - it's probably the single most loathed holiday that ever existed - and yes, I am including certain ancient pagan ones that entailed human sacrifice. They both may involve the ceremonial ripping out of one's heart, but the metaphorical version isn't over after the immediate event.

About the only thing VD related that I've participated in today was giving my mom a lame card (because she's easy to please) and having an eye-rolling fest with Danielle over the whole concept. Who, really, needs this shit.

At least I don't feel bad about not having a 'Valentine' this year - who the hell would I date, a raccoon? Non-icky boys my age are not really to be had up here. Legal, non-icky boys of any age, really.

My mother got on one of her 'we should go out and do something' kicks last night. So, we did the only thing that you can do up here in the winter if you don't ski or snowmobile: we went to the movies. What did we see? 'He's Just Not That Into You.' Seriously. When it was over, I needed to be around other cynical people in a bad way. Instead, I got to listen to my mother's skewed views on relationships. Oh, the fun to be had in Northern Michigan!

She also told me to get a hobby. Her idea? Make beaded watchbands. I think that's a little specific and weird, so I think I'll stick with the whole music thing instead.

I managed to spend about 4 hours yesterday messing around on the piano and banjo. I tried to figure out the tabs to 'Anthems for a Seventeen Year Old Girl', but I failed miserably. My brain just doesn't think in tabs, it's stuck in the normal kind of notation. It's like trying to learn a new written version of English - it's just clicks and whistles to me. However, I was able to pick out 'Beyond the Sea' from an old piano book of mine. Oh, and I think I've got Scarborough Fair down pat. How weird is that? I need to find someone to teach me this crap. Or, you know, get a book on it. Who needs human interaction? Not this guy.

So Monday will hopefully be the big day. Not, you know, in a good way. I'll probably get my first subbing job then. Great!

I really could use the money and the time outside of my house, though, so I won't bitch too much.

My thoughts turned back to my idea of making a N. Michigan version of The Skinny the other day. Then, I decided to never think about it again. Except for right now, when I'm talking about it. Anyway. I think the idea is pretty bust. I've been doing a bit of digging, and about the only bands worth anything at the moment are of the folk persuasion. Not really my cup of tea. Oh well, most of my big ideas turn to shit anyway. That's why I try to have a bunch of them. Eventually, something cool will happen.

Well, I think I'll go home and can the rest of my bottle of wine. Who cares if it's only 2:30? It's drinking time somewhere else in the world.

But first, I'm going to watch back episodes of Kitchen Confidential on hulu. I swear, Anthony Bourdain is becoming my new Hunter S. Thompson. Anything remotely related to him I'll watch/read.

PS: I noticed the cartilage in my ears isn't symmetrical. Not a big deal, but it may drive me slowly insane until one day I start killing people so I can find the perfect set. Just a cheery Valentine's Day thought for you.

New ways to murder children

2009-02-09T12:18:00.002-07:00

I'm taking an online test about blood borne pathogens at the moment in order to be a substitute teacher. Just a second ago, they showed an animation of a person washing a blood-covered screwdriver in a sink. Now, its been a few years since I attended a public school, but I'm pretty sure that stabbing someone with - or being stabbed by - a screwdriver isn't part of the school setting.

Dang, I wish I had some popcorn or something. This is getting entertaining. Apparently, if you spill a large amount of blood on the floor, you should mop it up with a 1:10 ratio of bleach to water. Good to know.

Moving on. All parts of the U of E application are in the hands of said University. Hooray? I don't know. I just got an email from the University application system saying that they're going to delete my application sometime in March because it's not complete. I give a hearty WTF to that.

My dad and I saw Gran Torino last night. It was fantastic - I've never laughed so hard at Clint Eastwood. And, you know, there was social commentary. Blah blah, love your neighbor etc.

Oh, boy! I passed the test. Next is sexual harassment. Hmm. I'll probably fail that by virtue of my nature. One type of sexual harassment is quid pro quo: example of a Positive Employment Decision, "Sleep with me and you can have a promotion!"; example of a Negative Employment Decision, "Sleep with me or you're fired!"

I'm a little fuzzy as to just how 'positive' and 'negative' these truly are. What does the sexual harasser look like?

Wait, what the hell is 'sexual graffiti?' Is there something no one's ever told me about?

Strangely, 95% of the sexual harassers on this test are female. I don't think that's true to life.

Hey! They just said only unwelcome conduct is sexual harassment. What if the person is just really socially retarded and is unable to pick up on subtle social cues? I feel this is a gray area.

"Therefore, the safest thing to do is avoid any language or behavior of a sexual nature at work."

Hmm. Most people I know have probably broken the law. Great!

Well, that was almost fun. I'm going to watch tv. Screw the fafsa.

Hey! I'm not dead.

2009-02-06T14:37:00.002-07:00

I know you're all shocked and horrified that I could spend 2 whole days without the Internet and not be somewhere in a hospital under sedation, but I can and I did.

This is probably the most pleasant day we've had since I got back to the States. I think it may even be above freezing! The sun is shiny and the snow is blinding when you drive. You know, winter in N. Michigan.

Well, I'm slowly becoming a functioning member of society. I'm getting finger printed on Tuesday so I can substitute teach (The Man is going to know where I am at all times. Damn.), I only need one more letter of recommendation sent in and then they can make a decision, and I'm searching out grown up jobs in case that whole grad school thing doesn't pan out. Blah. In the meantime, I'm also going to try and get a crap minimum wage job to pay for my expensive food and music tastes.

Speaking of which, (nice segway, eh?), Danielle and I went out on the town yesterday. I visited Kyle's record shop - Sound It Out Records (nice little setup, by the way, check it out in downtown TC), and bought a few albums (23 by Blonde Redhead and Microcastle by Deerhunter), and had a nice dinner at Red Ginger - TC's new fancy pants sushi joint. The food was absolutely phenomenal. We had calamari for starters (tempura with some sort of spicy Korean sauce - I'm thinking red chili and perhaps some sort of fish paste), three rolls (including one with Scottish salmon, no less), and coconut rice pudding for desert. Hopefully, Dani and I will never get rich because we'd probably get so fat we wouldn't be able to leave the house. Anyway.

I'm off home to make a few bracelets and such for gifts. Maybe I'll cook something. Oh, shit. No - Em and I are going bowling and getting cheeseburgers.

!!!

2009-02-03T19:02:00.002-07:00

That's all I can think of to say!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My other prof just emailed me to say that he sent off his letter of recommendation! This doesn't mean that I'm going to get in or anything, but I was starting to think that I was never going to finish applying. AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In celebration, I think I'm going to go finish that chapter on Gregorian chant. I learned about fun things such as Plato's notational ratios, and Aristotle's refutation of them. I didn't understand most of it - bet then, I've never been a proponent of the music+math=fun equation. After all, I hate Bach with a firey passion. But I can get behind chant. Good stuff, I love Hildegard von Bingen.

Moving on.

I was a whole mess of awesome today. I got up late, ate some soup - and brainstormed about my breakfast soup scheme. I came up with two seperate ideas; a savory one and a sweet one. The savory one just comes out sounding like a dinner soup - ham, bacon or sausage plus potatoes and peppers - not that interesting, really. The sweet one, on the other hand, has promise. Some sort of whole grain(s) - although which I don't know, I need to do some research - dried fruit, nuts, and a cream base. I think this might not be as crazy as I thought at first. Hmm...

Ok, so no one really cares about breakfast soup except me, I'm sure, but I have an obsession with the stuff. Anyway.

I did do something worthwhile today: I moved from my brother's ex-room (the one I was forced to live in while we had that foreign exchange student - you know, because the actual child of my parents didn't deserve her childhood bedroom anymore. I'm not bitter.) to his current room/the guestroom. Why? To get the hell away from my mother's stale menthol ciggarette smoke. I threw away a bunch of crap and put aside three garbage bags filled with clothes that I won't let my packrat of a mother go through in case she has a fit of the "you might wear that sleeveless lime green button up rayon shirt again"s. The rest of my clothes have to be rewashed to get rid of said cig smell. What fun!

Not really. I found dried-up cat poo in my closet.

In a way it was cathartic, though. For the first time since I got home, I feel like I have my own space. This feeling is amplified by the fact that I got to hang up my clothes for the first time and NOT live out of a suitcase. I've been here 5 weeks now, you wouldn't think that was too much to ask. Meh.

Tomorrow Em and I are going skiing at Schuss for $5. Hopefully, it'll be as sunny and pretty as it was today. Also hopefully, I won't break anything.

Shit, where the hell did I put my ski pants?

On chicory coffee and dead sea lions

2009-02-02T12:34:00.004-07:00

It's been over a month since I've been home, but today was the first day that I've been to Pearl's. Danielle and I did it up properly - appetizers, mains, cocktails, and desert - just like old times. And yes - I had the crayfish etouffee, but not the alligator. Not today - had the smoked crayfish spread. It was a crustacean themed afternoon, really. Oh, and obviously - the Bloody Mary with an entire crayfish as a garnish. Plus some chicory coffee. God, I love that place. Once I can move again, I'll consider going back soon.

The banjo thing is going well. I just found a guide in my chord book that told me the corresponding notes to each string and fret. !!! So exciting; now I can actually understand what the fuck I'm doing. Plus, I'm forming calluses. Neat!

I've only just faffed around on the piano, but it's good to know I can still sight read like a champ. Had In The Mood down in about 15 minutes last night.

HOWEVER, I had some disturbing news of a sort yesterday when I got back to my mom's. My amazon.com packages haven't arrived yet. That means no The Clash autobiography OR Nick Cave piano book. What the hell?!? I need those things to live. Speaking of books, though, Dani and I stopped at our local library's book sale today and I got some gems - 7 books, a cd (Bach Brandenburg Concertos), and a Bela Lugosi dvd for a grand total of $5! I love being a cheapskate. One of the books I got was a history of Western music (only like 4 decades old). I've been meaning to read up on the Baroque and Neoclassical periods. No, seriously - I'm weird like that. I'm pretty hopeful that they'll have a bit about Impressionism, and therefore Debussy - time will tell.

At this point you're thinking, 'Wow, can your life get any more interesting?' It can! I just got an email from the U of E - they finally 'located' my transcript, so all we're waiting on is their online referencing system not to suck. Fingers crossed that the Scottish academics can figure out technology! Long shot, I know.

So, I mentioned a while ago that I've recently subscribed to the magazine Under The Radar. When I got home last night, my mom gave me a small, cd shaped package. Oh, boy! It's my free Deerhunter cd that I chose when I subscribed!

But wait, who are these naked men? What is Megapuss? This isn't right, this isn't what I wrote down on the little form thingie! But, it was free and I'll give it a go.

Luckily, it doesn't suck. Well worth nothing at all! I mean, I probably wouldn't have purchased this, but it's ok for free.

I'll still probably get the new Deerhunter album, though. I hear good things.

Moving on: relationship drama. Not my own, that would require having one. It's funny how when you don't even sleep with someone, you somehow still get pulled into all of the tomfoolery associated with it. For example: I liked this kid I used to work with ages ago. I liked him, I went to Scotland, I got over it, and came home. He is my friend, if that really, and nothing else. However, over the summer he started dating another friend. She, thankfully, didn't know anything about this situation. Until yet another friend (I won't point any fingers - Chana) told her that I used to like her now-bf. Crap. Then she got all weird and shit. I know, I know, who wouldn't be intimidated - I'm awesome. Anyway. Now, they've broken up. What the hell. Where does that leave me? If I talk to the boy-friend, the girl-friend might think I'm still interested. And we all know that it's all about me - me and my feelings and problems. AHHHHHHH. I hate interpersonal bullshit. I should just become a nun, hand to god.

Enough whining. Down to the meat and potatoes: I'm filling out paperwork to become a substitute teacher. Why? I don't know. Good blog material? 'Hey, guess what those punk-assed little bitches did today!'

Speaking of blog, I've decided to stick with the non sequitur format. It's how my dirty, twisted little mind works, so why not? I may occasionally throw in a review or recipe or something, but other than that - meh. Speaking of which, I've decided to do something revolutionary: I'm going to create a breakfast soup. I know, but stifle your gasps of horror. Why shouldn't there be one? It'll work out.

No assembly required

2009-01-31T20:31:00.003-07:00

Oh, if only that were the case my friends. Alas, blogs do need some sort of structure to them. The whole, 'hey, I'm moving to Scotland - read about my life' thing only really worked when I was actually in Scotland. I'll admit, in my head I'm sitting at table 19 with a pint on a Sunday afternoon, but...reality and my mind aren't exactly well acquainted at times. Anyway. My point is that while my life is currently a disorganized mess, my blog shouldn't have to be. Therefore, I'm going to have a think about what to focus on here. Unless, of course, my non sequiturs prevail in the end. I would like to have a point at, um, some point, though. Maybe I'll just shoot for one topic per post. I dunno. We'll have to see.

HOWEVER, this will not be that post.

I was planning on going home today, but I got sidetracked by going over to my brother's near Ann Arbor. Bonus, though: I get to use the internet for one more day.

What can you mean? You use the internet everyday! Some might even say too much (although I fervently disagree). However, in the frozen north, all I have available to me is my mother's dial up (not an option), and the wifi at my dad's comes with the price of spending a large amount of time around paint fumes. Not as awesome as it sounds.

So...I may not be as accessible as I have been in the past 3 weeks. That's alright, though. I'll give me some time to hang out with myself, and ya know, think. About...stuff. And, um, perfect my previously untested skill of catching foodstuffs in my mouth.

Ah fuck. I need a job...and a hobby. Maybe a nice looking fella to take out on special occasions. And to keep in the rest of the time. Hey-oh!

Seriously though. I'm just being all angsty because I want to shake some academic types both here and on the other side of the pond. I hate waiting. I'm no good at it.

So, new things. You may have noticed that I've changed the look of this blog. Time for new things I feel. I downloaded The Killers first album - people I respect keep telling me it's decent, and even though I don't think I'm going to like it, I'll give it the old college try.

Well, I've run out of the little bit of steam that I had. Next big plans: lunch at Pearl's with Danielle.

A quickie

2009-01-30T14:50:00.002-07:00

My last 5 minutes at the Spartan Bookstore! Thank fuck for that, eh?

I'm using my last chance to get a discount to purchase a cute MSU hat for baby Frankie, some blank cds, and some little speakers for my iPod. Hahaha, take that, Nebraska Book Company!

I have to give some props (despite my hatred for that term) to Shonagh's friend Matthew for his blog, I wasted a lot of time reading it today at work. Even if you don't know anything about Edinburgh music, it's worth a read because of the free listens and reviews. Who knows, you may find something you love!

Anyway. Off to sushi with Sam and Chana, and then Ann Arbor to see Heather for the last time in many months. She'll be traveling the country for her job, which I'm extremely jealous of. I'll definitely be visiting her in Portland. Probably Virginia, too, so I can go to the beach.

Later gators, and have a good weekend.

More boring nonsense

2009-01-29T19:56:00.005-07:00

Good news: my stalkerish tendencies have finally paid off! After a week of no response from either of my profs who promised to write me letters of recommendation, I decided to take matters firmly by the throat and shake them.

Yesterday I went to my British prof's office hours. He wasn't there, but prior experience with this particular matter reminded me to go to Espresso Royale. He wasn't there, either. So I decided to think like a rabid grad student: I found out when his class ended on Thursday (today) and waited outside of the room for him. He didn't recognize me at first (better and darker hair probably the biggest reason for this, as I saw him 9 months ago), so I got in his face. It's not as crazy as it sounds; he laughed and asked if I was going to harass him now. I responded in the affirmative, and then he started to pump me for info on my trip.

'Tell me all about Scotland.'

'It was small.'

'Haha, yes indeed.'

Then we moved on to the heart of the matter. Why the interest in the environment? Why Edinburgh and not somewhere in sunny England (he's a Cambridge man)? Etc. He had received the email from the University of Edinburgh, but hadn't gotten around to the actual letter yet. So, he was going to write it then and there and I could tell him what to put in it.

Knock knock, who's there? Golden fucking opportunity. In a half hour, he said to me, 'Well, you're going to Edinburgh.'

Despite his optimism, I still don't know if the other one has sent his in. Time will tell.

Moving on. I was perusing nme.com today, which is British in origin I gathered, when I stumbled upon an interesting comment under a Vampire Weekend review. It said 'the best thing about this band is that they don't sound American!'

Don't sound American? Well, they sure as fuck don't sound British, guy. What does that even mean? Let's run down a list of bands that this website also reviewed (with high marks) within the past 18 months: MGMT - American, Vampire Weekend - American, Kings of Leon - American, Interpol - American, Oasis - thankfully British (sorry, I couldn't resist a good Oasis jab), Glasvegas - ok, so they're Scottish, but still. The majority of these bands, on the forefront of popular Indie music, are American and represent the traditional American value of breaking from tradition.

Blah, blah, blah, silly patriotic rant. My point is, I get annoyed when people - especially AMERICAN people - talk shit about American music. Hey, we have good music, it's just grossly under appreciated. And you have to search under rocks for it - unless you live in the UK, in which case they headline your festivals. I mean, would I ever have heard of K of L and cared if I hadn't been there? Or MGMT? Or Micah P. Hinson (thank you, Shonagh)? Well, maybe. But still, under rocks. Anyway.

Speaking of musical research, I was reading up on punk today (once again, getting to know thine enemies), when I saw something that reminded me why I was always kinda drawn to the punkers in high school. They, too, share my irrational hate of Billy Joel. Hold your gasps, I've heard them all. Put it right into the pile with the Nirvana and Oasis fans' insults.

So, new tattoo. I picked out an artist, Dawn Grace out of The Tattoo Factory in Chicago. Look up her stuff, it's beautiful. I haven't quite decided what, but I'm going to wait until I hear back from the U of E to decide for sure in order to stick to my promise to only get them for significant milestones. In the meantime, I have a few ideas for little guys that I could get done by average inkers.

Ok, so I'll only get big ones for significant milestones.

Banjo progress has slowed to a halt, despite my recent purchase of a capo, strap, and tuner. And much better picks. I already had a tuner, but I realized that it was just for guitar, so the tone range was a bit off. Anyway. Once I go home on Saturday, I'm going to have plenty of alone time to turn into a broody artist. Maybe I'll even get back into painting. When it gets warmer, I think I'll pull a Hemingway and run away to the cabin for a week to concentrate. Take some whiskey - or whisky, depending on my whim.

Well, tomorrow is my last day of work at the Spartan Bookstore. And, I finished my textbook guide in time for it. In case you haven't read it, you can find it here, on my new blog: How not to be an idiot. I can't say that I'll be sad to say goodbye to the store, for the, um, second time. Hopefully it will be the last.

My striped socks

2009-01-28T08:10:00.003-07:00

Before I begin today's non sequitor, I want to address something. Sometimes, I sound really American and British people make fun of me. Sometimes, I sound British and American people make fun of me.

Listen. I am a vocal chameleon. After becoming friends with Danielle, I started speaking like some sort of Canadian. After Heather, kind of like...well, Heather and Ryan. I don't really know how to describe that one. Very articulate? Anyway. Chana and I have our own unique lexicon as well. Sometimes, I use big words because I've been around academic types too much. Now I sometimes say things like my Scottish friends. I won't apologize; I don't apologize for the others. As the great prophet once said, I yam who I yam.

Next item. My funny story from yesterday.

I was riding the bus back to Chana's in the early afternoon, when we stopped to pick up two gentlemen. I use this term loosely. One stops to pay the fare, the other brushes past him and mutters, 'I need to go to the hospital, I ain't got no fare.'

The bus driver, a scary looking sort with a large bald head and even larger mustache, yelled at him to come back up to the front. After some explanation, the driver let the guy sit up in the front. However, the cheeky bastard then had the nerve to ask for a transfer. At this, the bus driver erupted. 'Get up here!' he shouted, and then proceeded to tell the guy to get the hell off the bus. This didn't go over well. The guy (did I mention he was reeking?) started stomping around the bus saying, 'I've been stepping, I've been stepping, I've been stepping all my life motherfucker!' The driver called the police. The guy left, we moved on. I, however, will carry it in my heart forever.

That was the highlight of my day. After that, all I did was watch Bones and House reruns on Hulu (the coolest thing ever by the way).

Oh, and I looked for a job. Without success. Ugh. I need one. Please, would someone just give me a job that doesn't suck? That's all I want at the moment, average. I can deal with that. Maybe I'll go join the circus. Except - I have no real skills to offer. Hmm.

Fun new word: bagbride. Look it up. I'm going to call the next person I see that. Hey bagbride, no you can't return your books for a full refund.

Hey pal, your chicken's on fire

2009-01-27T18:03:00.004-07:00

So last night was the Kings of Leon concert. I'll get to the nitty gritty of the performance in a minute, but first let me surround it with some social analysis. Like always.

I don't remember whether I've covered my strange interest in the band or not in these pages, so let me do it anyway.

One of the first questions I was asked when I started working at the pub - after the requisite why are you here, what did you/do you study, and are you a serial rapist - was do you like the Kings of Leon. For whatever reason, this had an impact on me. It may have been what was, I felt at the time, the overreaction to my answer. 'I think I've heard of them.' I remember this well, it was also the same night that I met Ed - which was also the night Ed met Emely (how well that turned out!). His, and I believe Shonagh's, expression of shock and horror were evident. It was like telling grunge kids that Nirvana is only mediocre (ha! I've done that, too). 'But they're American! How can they not be popular!?!' At the time, I just shrugged it off - hey, there are a lot of bands in the States. They don't all get to be popular. Anyway.

It was a month or two later that I gave any more thought to K of L - when that damn chicken song came out. With the emergence of Owen on the KW scene (well, reemergence...but we're getting into semantics), a whole new world of music videos was foisted upon me. Now, Owen is what I like to think of as the 3rd member of the Kings of Leon super fan club. At least of people I know. The other two, as you may have surmised, are Shonagh and Ed. Little did I know that this club extends to include almost every person in Scotland. I couldn't go anywhere after that damn chicken song was released without hearing someone preaching the glories of the Kings of Leon - those musical geniuses, those scions of the audio arts.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP TALKING ABOUT THAT DAMN BAND.

That's all I could think. They were everywhere. It's all I heard, and heard about. The Kings of Leon, Kings of Leon, KINGS OF LEON KINGS OF LEON KINGS OF LEON. I couldn't escape! Even lame-o Andy Cutt at work talked ad nauseam about them. My moment of perfect insanity came when I was serving some 40 something women who shrieked 'Food and the Kings of Leon, can life get any better?' one night when Shonagh's iPod was on deck.

So I did what I did when I got fed up with God kids preaching at me all the time - I read the Bible. By that I mean I bought a Kings of Leon CD in order to tell people exactly why they were over reacting. And I liked it, to my horror. Those of you who understand me too well know how much it irritates me to like something popular. Popular=common=average in my book - a convoluted and unprovable equation, I'm aware, but there it is. It's the most probable reason why I dislike The Daily Show now.

Anyway. To pare down this story, they got under my skin and I didn't mind too much.

Jump to the future and a different continent. I saw that the Kings of Leon were playing on campus and tickets were going for a song. How exciting! This band (along with a few others) composed the soundtrack to my time in Edinburgh. I won't lie, I get a bit sentimental when I hear some of their songs. Anyway. Excitement! Who wants to go with me? Danielle, Heather? Chana? Luke? Someone at work? Anybody?

Time and time again, I heard the same response, 'who are the Kings of Leon?'

I was confused. I went from a culture saturated with the band to one that couldn't give a shit less. I started reading reviews - they all said the same thing: so popular in the UK, but unrecognizable in the States.

Wha..?

So, I forced my friends to listen to them. See? No. They did not. They're ok, but not spectacular. Nothing to write home about, or spend $23 to go see.

Now I was the one who couldn't understand. I mean, I don't really 'get' or appreciate their new shit, but still...they're extremely good for pop music.

Finally, I talked Luke into going with me. As he likes music and lives across the river from the venue, it wasn't that hard. No one else bit, though. I showed up at the Aud and waited for him out front. As I did, I observed the incoming crowd. Do you know what I saw? DO YOU? I saw Ed and Owen. Well, not actually Ed and Owen, but their American counterparts. These kids were hipsters wearing skinny jeans, those white tennis shoe Keds looking things that seem to be popular over there, and lumberjack shirts. Oh yeah, and longish Indie kid hair. Oh, and those skinny jeans? Yeah, they were falling off these super cool kids' asses. Ah, home sweet home!

But wait! I'm not in Scotland at all, I'm in sub-arctic Michigan with a different kind of super cool kids - the ones who wear Ugg boots, North Face, and are clean shaven. Hell, they're just clean all the time. But wait! (again!) They're here, too?

It was quite the cross section of the student body. Except, you know, for the lack of minorities. Middle class white kids all. However, there was a difference in the fans - those who looked like Brits were singing to all of the old songs (or the good ones as I like to call them) while the Sorority and Fraternity members belted out the chicken song.

What is this chicken song you keep referring to, you're asking me in frustration and anger - perhaps even mild curiosity. All in good time.

Oh, no, nevermind. Now.

Well, not quite. A quick word about the opening act: The Whigs. They're average. Don't bother. Although, the lead singer was quite amusing: imagine Sir Robin's minstrel from Monty Python and the Holy Grail and you're there.

Anyway. Before the gig, Luke and I were chit chatting about K of L. Then he asked me about the million dollar issue: the video for Sex On Fire. Please, if you haven't yet, watch it here before continuing.

I felt, after my first - admittedly drunken - viewing of this video no small amount of confusion. Why are those chickens there? Why is he eating the chicken? Why is his hair like that? Wait, no that's a whole other set of things. Now, the K of L super fan club don't understand my fixation. I feel, however - and young Luke agrees - that this is no small part of the video. It may even be the entire point of the song - perhaps even the thesis of the band. I don't know. It disburbs me. It disturbs Luke. It even disturbs Ewa, who is essentially a disturbed person to begin with.

But I digress. Let's skip ahead to the music, shall we?

It started out well, with their older stuff. Then, they transitioned into their new album. It wasn't too obnoxious at first, I have to admit. I started to understand what Shonagh and Owen were talking about so much, it did translate pretty well to a large arena-type setting. I mean, not great to sit and listen to, but large speakers and a mob mentality can do wonders with certain music. But then, they did something I'm going to have to disagree with. They played ballads. Or, as close as they really come to them. Now, the occasional one is ok, don't get me wrong. But this was not the crowd for that. Plus, they played them in a big chunk towards the end. I'm not going to lie, I got bored. Luke stopped bopping his head. The girl in front of him kept dancing like an idiot, though. Oh yeah, her. She was one of those types who thinks sexy=wiggling in tight t-shirts and jeans. Hell, maybe that is sexy. All I know is that I'd just get annoyed if I was a dude. Anyway.

I've seen some rock bands in concert, along with the less rocky kinds, and I do have to say they put on a hell of a performance. True enough to the recordings, but deviant enough to make people who are there for more than a sing along have a good time. Molly's Chambers was especially good in this aspect - a slower take kept it interesting.

HOWEVER, time and time again the same thing happened - a song would start, and the hipsters would go mental while I thought 'what fucking song is this?' And, every time without fail, it was one from their new album. Then, the pinnacle for Tiffany, Amber, Brittany, and the effeminate boys - Chicken On Fire. The crowd went ape. I rolled my eyes.

Despite playing about 5 new songs, they played nearly twice that from their old cataloge. And their encore was the single longest I've ever witnessed.

I give the concert an A- - granted, I like the band. I think Luke would have given it about a B.

I have a few further insights to share. At this point, you probably never want to hear about the Kings of Leon EVER AGAIN, but if you keep reading, you will.

I'm not 100% certain, but I think the Aud holds about 800 or so people. The place wasn't sold out. Nearly 100 seats were left empty. Now, I know for a fact that if these guys were in the UK, they probably would be in the Breslin Center like Incubus - which was a sold out show, by the way. (Don't worry, guys, K of L were much better).

Umm...actually, I have nothing else to say. I'm Kings of Leoned out at this point.

But, I did discover some new stuff. For instance, The Postal Service. Well, re-discovered really. Also, The New Pornographers, Vue, She & Him, The Dears, Whiskeytown, and Noah and the Whale. Once again, rediscovered. Also, I downloaded the Grinderman album - although I haven't listened to it much. I do think that Lesley would like She & Him, so if you feel like mentioning it to her, kids, go right ahead.

I have a funny story to tell, but I'm going to wait until tomorrow as this has turned into the first ever Kings of Leon novel and I'm sick of typing.

You are on the right path

2009-01-26T14:13:00.002-07:00

...or so my fortune cookie told me.

However, Cathy has one taped to her desk that reads 'The pleasure of what we enjoy is lost by wanting more.'

It's all a bunch of BS. Life can't be boiled down to a cookie. Unless it's a really good cookie. With pecans and some chocolate. Maybe cherries, but it depends. (The cherries represent the good times. They're not always there, you see.)

Plus, that second one isn't even a fortune. I'd consider it more advice than anything. A word to the wise.

There's about 12 minutes left of my shift. Let's see if I can do 0 work in that time.

And...go.

Lazy Sunday

2009-01-25T17:56:00.003-07:00

This may already be the title for one of my posts, but I'm in no mood to change it at this point.

I went with Cathy and Corey to Dark Horse Brewery today. The food and beer was delicious, as you can imagine. I am, however, a little inebriated at this moment. Strangely, this may be the first time I've posted under the influence. Which, considering everything, is a little odd. But there you go, I guess.

Don't want to work tomorrow, don't want to work ever. Not at this job, not at any shitty job. I want a fun job that I enjoy. Is that too much to ask for?

Yes.

I've decided that if I don't get into U of E that I'm moving to either a) Portland, OR or b) Albuquerque, NM. No more Michigan. I just can't take the anguish. Those of you who live here know what I mean.

Good news if I do go to Edinburgh, though. The exchange rate is an all time recent low at $1.36 = 1 lbs. It was ~ $1.89 = 1 lbs when I went over the first time. Perhaps by the time I require a student loan/have to pay off bills it will be about even. Huzzah!

I just bought a copy of the magazine Under the Radar. It's good. I might just think that though because in it's Top 50 Albums of 2008 I had about 5 of them (and I more or less agreed with the assessment) and I knew at least 10 other of the bands. This made me feel special and in the know, so I ordered a subscription to it. Hey, I like to feel special and smart, what can I say?

So I subscribed to it. Also, they gave me a new cd free! A band called Deerhunter or some such thing. I listened to a bit of it on iTunes. Sounds alright. Free's free, though.

Just found out about a festival called Coachella. It's in CA. Anyone interested? I've got the music listening bug now.

Limbo

2009-01-24T18:17:00.002-07:00

Ok, so life is starting to reach a balance. I'm really glad I'm spending this transition period down here in EL, because if I were at home, I'd just about kill myself and everyone around me.

I'm starting a new blog. It's called "How Not to be an Idiot." I don't know when exactly it will be initiated, but I may have to read the blog "How Not to Procrastinate" before I officially finish the first post. It's super, super long. I'm going to see if I can't submit it to the State News as well. Not because I think it's a fantastic example of modern journalism or anything, but because it's a guide on how to buy and sell textbooks. It sounds stupid, but you'd be surprised at how much stress is released upon all of us at the bookstore because people are idiots about this stuff.

Anyway. Read it to see.

Just talked to Kati on the Facebook. AHHHHH!!! I can't believe I missed all the fantastic King's Wark Night Out/Christmas Party drama/carnage/awesomeness. Snogging, bowling, drinking, drama, more drama, and yet more drama! And here I am - with Chana at 1103 on a Saturday in the computer lab while she does her homework.

...

I'm not going to dwell.

Stupid immigration laws.

ANYWAY. Fun things in my life: I bought some stuff for my banjo today. A stand, some picks, a tuner, a book that's far too advanced for me but will give me something to aspire to. Also, a coloring book. Don't laugh, it's a really cool one. I'm investigating new tattoo possibilities. I had some tasty soup today. See? My life is awesome.

...

The fish were unwelcome guests

2009-01-19T06:48:00.004-07:00

Last night I made chili for Cathy and Corey. I did this because this is what I do to show friendship, I think. It was great fun.

Chana and I had been on a mission to get our hair cut, but we discovered - too late to make alternate plans - that the salon is closed on Sundays. Instead, we perused the local comic book shop, and attempted to do the same at the local record store, but that, too, was closed. Finally, we just bought the newspaper (my first Sunday NYT of the year) and sat in a coffee shop for about 4 hours so I could simply bask in Chana's awesomeness. Or so she claimed. I think I stuck around for the coffee. Anyway. After that, we went next door to the used book place and I bought a book by Gunter Grass (My Century) and one by Nabokov (Bend Sinister). I've been meaning to read the Nabokov for about a year now, and Stuart told me about Grass a while ago. However, this is the first time in months and months and years that I can joyfully buy a book to read and know that I can a) actually read it and b) not have to give it away in a few months. Why? I'll tell you. I finished my grad school application on Friday, and I wrote the last of my letters to Scotland on Saturday (a grand total of 7. My hand hurt). That means that I have no goals or responsibilities until I hear back from the University of Edinburgh.

Anyway, I digress. I sent a text to Cathy on my way home asking what kind of beer she would like with chili. She sent me one back telling me that Corey was drunk. I think this may have been around 4ish. I get back, and not only is Corey drunk, but Cathy is a bit toasted as well. They jumped around and sang Hank Williams, Sr. and generally regaled me with silliness. Very entertaining. After dinner, I practiced the banjo while they danced around, and then Cathy started whispering to Corey. She disappeared into her bedroom, and came back out with a folder of CDs. Then, she made me sit down in front of the TV - very strange behavior on her part. However, what she showed me changed my life forever. Well, at least for these past 16 hours or so. She had a vast collection of 16 mm educational videos. My favorite was one about having good habits. You need, apparently, to comb your hair and hang up your clothes at night (so that they can hang and to relax the fabric) in order for society to accept you. That's what Barbara found out. What a scamp she was! Turning off her alarm in the morning, not eating her eggs because she's late for school. Not like her neighbor, Nancy. That bitch. She always did everything right. Not a single spot on her shirt AND her nails were always clean. That's why, in the end, Barbara had to kill her. Not because Nancy was a bad person, you see, but because her good habits were taunting poor, poor Barbara.

Another gem was the instructional video on how to ride your bike safely. This, I think, is all that I need to tell you about that: a group of children with monkey masks and tails on and all except for one gets killed in a horrible freak biking accident. All because they didn't signal. Or they rode into a dark tunnel, Wile E. Coyote style, and bought the farm. Fantastic.

I think it goes without saying that I laughed so hard that I was crying. You all know how I do.

Agony

2009-01-14T17:36:00.002-07:00

I'm pretty sure I'm dying. Not from an illness - I don't have the consumption this time - but from something psychological. It may be work, it may be homesickness, or it may be a messy combination of those two things plus some other ones. I don't really know for sure, I'm reluctant to dwell on it too much.

Blah, blah, blah. Feel sorry for me. Blah blah. I'm sure that's all you're hearing at this point. Whatever.

Work sucks. I know I said it didn't, but it does. Now that people are around and expecting us to do stuff for them (stupid customers) it's mega lame.

WHOA. This just overheard by some old guy next to me at the coffee shop: 'Nipples are great. They're the window to the soul." No joke. Now he's telling his date something about Buena Vista Social Club. "I say it like a Puerto Rican you say it like an Argentinian." I hate academics. Blech.

Speaking of old arrogant academics who don't realize that the person they're talking to secretly hates them, my old nemesis came into the bookstore early this morning. I was just thinking about how desperately I needed coffee to make it through the next 5 minutes when I heard a voice that my stomach clench up in rage: Ken David. Who is this mysterious person? The most noxious prof I have ever - EVER - had. And I majored in a social science. Anyway. I hate him and he was being a dick to Cathy. There was one - 1 - used textbook for some class and he stalked it online trying to find it for his daughter. It was, of course, sold right away. He kept telling Cathy to look for it, despite the fact that it obviously was not there. Why, oh why, did he have to come into my store? Because. A) the universe hates me in a very large way lately and B) he gets a faculty discount at our place only. Damn.

Moving on. Other people in the coffee shop. Well, there's a super hot guy with a mac sitting in a comfy chair. We keep eyeballing each other. I will not be approaching him today, however, as I'm about to leave to go get Chana. At least, that's the excuse I'm using instead of 'I'm a big fanny.' There's also a guy who doesn't know how to use his laptop. Example: 'Excuse me, why is on even though it's not plugged in?'

Time to bounce.

Werk

2009-01-10T13:51:00.006-07:00

Nothing to do with kraft.

This may prove to be a mountain of a post. Or an ocean. Are words a solid or a liquid? Perhaps it's a star. Shit, is that plasma or gas. Screw this. This post will be long.

I'm back the Spartan Bookstore in good old East Lansing, MI (home of the spartans (and pointless riots (they only burned couches last fall though, so they're toning it down))). Anyway. I'm unboxing books and listening to Pandora - and generally feeling at peace with the world.

I probably shouldn't, but I get to see Chana, Cathy and the rest of the bookstore crew, so nothing can get me down. Well, a totalled car, an impending cold, and silly cashiers might. But it'll take a hell of a lot of annoyance at this point.

Right now I bet you're thinking, wow, this is a completely different tone than when you first came back to the States. Where's the nihilism? The anger and/or apathy? Well, I'm not up north, so it magically disappeared. The world is looking up.

Now what you're probably thinking is: no, actually I'm more interested in the terrible car crash that you walked away from with only a few scratches to show for it. Well. That doesn't interest me that much, so I'm less inclined to talk about it. I got a new car from my dad so he could fix my busted window, and on my way down to EL I hit some slush going 65-70 and did a movie quality rollover with it. I crawled out of the broken window and was fine. More or less end of story. Well, I mean, I went to the hospital so I could be told that I was ok by people with expensive degrees and given a tetanus shot (which sucked more than the crash) and I got a ticket, but that's not too interesting.

What do I find interesting is that absolutely nothing has changed here. Well, there are a couple of new people and Andrew doesn't work here anymore, but other than that it's the same. The cashiers still have shit taste in music and are more or less retarded, the other managers operate on the assumption that textbook workers do nothing because we can do the strange thing of mutitasking (talking AND working. Whoa.), and we're still the more awesome group in the store.

Let me give you a small taste of the drama from the bookstore. Because I know you're hungry for it.

Yesterday I had a hankering for Pizza House pizza. However, that shit's expensive, so I started asking the other textlings if they wanted in on the action. Most did, some didn't. We ordered it and then I went to pick it up. I only asked textbook workers because I only care about them and I have no reason to ask people I don't even know if they want pizza. Anyway. We sit down to enjoy our kill when some non-textlings walk into the breakroom. 'Oh, pizza!' They say. We return, 'Yeah, but it's just for us. We paid for it.' 'Why didn't you guys ask anyone else if they wanted some?' Uh, probably because about 50 people work here and we don't like the ones who aren't textlings. Mostly. Also because I organized it and I didn't have that kind of follow through. Anyway. Today Chana found the receipt from the pizza box taped to the fridge with the super passive agressive statement : 'Thanks for asking anyone else if they wanted some!' Julia brought said receipt back to show me. I promptly placed it back on the fridge with this note: 'You're welcome! (smilely face). I don't care if they know that I hate them. In fact, it would save a lot of mindless pleasantries if we all just operated on the assumption that we all hate each other.

I'm making this sound like a shit place to work. It's not. The textbook department has hands-down the best banter of anywhere this side of the pond - which is due to the fact that Chana and I start it. We've trained the others as well, so it's really a well-oiled machine. So good.

Unfortunately, I'm stuck up in recieving by myself with only Pandora to keep me company. I'm pretty stoked about tomorrow, though, as Sam will be returning to work. I love her because I can always, ALWAYS, make her laugh so hard that she turns pink.

I'm going to take a brief intermission here to finish this stupid job and then get the hell out of here.

Big city misadventure

2009-01-05T17:52:00.001-07:00

Well, I had my car stereo stolen this morning in the big city. Ugh. Not enough time to write about it now, but all will be explained.

Also, on Wednesday I'm off to EL to work at the good old Spartan Bookstore for a few weeks. Hooray! I found a perfect excuse to not be at home - a job! (Albeit a low paying one).

Whoa, I almost wrote ’08’ instead of ’09’ up there. Crazy!

2009-01-04T17:52:00.000-07:00

It’s been a day or two since I last wrote anything. This is mainly because my bid city adventure settled into a comfortable pattern that’s probably only interesting to Heather and me. (For example, we went shopping two days in a row. Bet you’re on the edge of your seat, eh?)

Point of interest, though. I finally filled the sushi-shaped whole in my soul that’s been open for about 7 months. Mmmm, spicy tuna. Plus, BYOB. Champagne + sushi = crazy delicious.

After our big shopping and sushi eating spree yesterday, we went and saw Heather and Ryan’s friend Rocky play at a bar close to downtown. It was pretty good, just him and his guitar. I mentioned to Heather that his voice reminded me of Lou Reed, and then he played Venus in Furs. Spooky.

Big news, though. I finally got to meet my future husband. That’s right, I have an arranged marriage.

I had completely forgotten about this, but before I went to Scotland, Ryan kept joking to Heather that Bill (their roommate) was my future husband. Why? Who knows, it’s one of those things that Ryan gets a kick out of. However, I never actually met the kid or anything. When we got to the bar, Heather asked Ryan where my husband was. I was momentarily confused, but then it all came rushing back. Apparently, Bill was going to come to the gig in just a t-shirt, but Ryan forced him to shave and where a jacket (over the t-shirt). And then, when introduced, he said “I’ve hear a lot about you” - words to strike fear into anyone’s heart - “you’re Scottish, right?” At this, Ryan interjected, “No, Bill I told you she went to Scotland.” Of course, this didn’t stop the endless guys wearing kilts, whisky, sheep jokes. I learned something interesting about myself, though. Last night was the first night that I’ve been drunk - not just buzzed - since I came home (I can feel you Brits staring at the screen in disbelief, but it’s true). It seems that when I’m tipsy, I sound Scottish. Not because I use Scottish slang (I’ve been attempting to ween that out of my vocab because I’ve been getting a lot of shit for it), but because I have a lilt. Now, I don’t mind - it’s part of why I like the Scottish accent as much as I do, it’s much more musical than the American one. However, I don’t notice that I’m doing it. The words are there, I can choose to use them, but not the lilt. I’m sure it too will be dragged out of me with time, but hopefully when I go back it will return en force, because it’s looking more and more like reality that I’ll be going to Edinburgh for grad school. I’ve gotten both of my chosen profs on board for the letters of recommendation, and it’s my goal to write my personal statement tomorrow. All I need then is a transcript and I’ll be ready to go. I’d say fingers crossed, but I don’t believe in that shit, so here’s hoping.

After a bit of dancing, we went back to Ryan and Bill’s. There, I royally kicked their asses at Phase 10. I mean, it was brutal. It only made it worse that I’d never played it before. It reminded me a lot of rummy though, and of all the card games in all the world, I’m the best at that one.

Tomorrow, I’m off to East Lansing (home of the Spartans.) That’ll hopefully feel more like coming home than up north did. However, as my apartment is no longer occupied by me and Chana, it probably won’t either. My head is still programmed to think of Leith as home. I don’t think I want that to change, necessarily. If I go back, I want it to feel like I’m coming home - and not like how I felt when I came back to Michigan. That would break my heart I think, to have to go through that range of emotions twice in one year. Plus, I know I’m driving everyone nuts here with “In Scotland” this and “at the pub” that, which is also what happened when I first came to Scotland in the first place. I just want to be able to be in a place that fits for long enough to feel comfortable.

A swollen heap of pleasure

2009-01-02T17:51:00.000-07:00

Today started out a bit slowly. We stayed abed for a long time, then made a pizza, and tried to figure out what to do with the day. We went grocery shopping (although it was food stamp day so the place was packed) and came back to get ready to go out. After much debate, we chose a bar that was recommended by one of her co-workers and from the online reviews appeared to be hipster central. Heather plotted a public transportation course and we set off into the night. We arrived without incident and immediately felt at home. We were a bit put off, though, because we realized that we should have come here for our New Year’s festivities. Laid back with cheap beer and good looking hipster boys (low incidence of skinny jeans, thankfully), we had found our bar home away from home. Our two favorite parts of the bar: the jukebox and the bartender.

The jukebox was filled with wonderful things that put the Peanut Barrel to shame. Well, it was certainly more pretentious. The Pixies, The Cure, Clash, Dead Kennedy’s, Misfits, Cars, Radiohead, New Wave compilations, and much, much more. We dominated that thing for most of the night.

The bartender was a middle aged woman, who, as Heather put it so aptly, was unintimidating. She entertained us with tales of omelets with interesting descriptions. Example: a spinach and feta concoction dubbed ‘a swollen heap of pleasure.’ She gave us a free PBR because she said the last one she had given us was flat because it was at the end of the keg. We didn’t notice, but we didn’t contradict her. Free is free.

We also got a free beer from some drunk guy (but he bought one for the rest of the bar as well). Our attempts to figure out our lives was far less successful than our free beer getting venture, however. All we managed to do is convince ourselves that as long as we don’t get stuck in a rut somewhere along the way, we’ll be ok.

We took the El back home to Heather’s. Once again, we were set upon by two urban youths. This time, their aim was not to share with us their joviality of the season, but to get in our pants. Heather thinks they were 18, but I disagree. The younger looking one appeared to be about 16 to me, but no matter. Neither here nor there. When they found out our age, the older one told the younger baby-faced one that he was out of his league. Baby-face replied ‘they’re out of your league, not mine.’ Classy. They also offered to buy alcohol for us. Not in a ‘would you like a drink’ sort of way, but in a ‘I know a guy who can buy for us’ high school pick up line way.

Oh, big city living.

Don’t piss on me an tell me it’s raining

2009-01-01T17:50:00.000-07:00

Whoa. 2009. I think Heather said it best when she asked her sister ‘Can you believe we’ve lived to see this day?’ Weirdness to the max.

So, let me tell you about our New Year’s Extravaganza. Our plans were rather limited, as I don’t live in this city and Heather doesn’t go out on the town often. We picked our destination, Nick’s Beergarden, based on the fact that it had a band and no cover. Which probably should have been some sort of indication of something. It was alright, don’t get me wrong - despite paying $5 for pretty much every drink ever - it’s more the people we encountered that got us down.

We got there before the band started, more or less guaranteeing us a seat and a table. They had Blue Moon - complete with orange slice, as this photo indicates (take note Scottish friends, I didn’t make it up.) - and yes, it is just as delicious as I remember. I can’t wait for Oberon. Mmm. Anyway. As you probably can infer, there weren’t that many people there at this point. However, as we got closer to the End, more and more began to filter in. Now, as both Heather and I are unattached agents currently, we did the thing that single girls do - evaluated the hotness of the guys (for obvious reasons) and of the girls (for competition purposes). This is what we came up with: the relative hotness of the girls overcame that of the guys, and there were more girls than guys at any rate. We picked out one that was kind of hot, but we decided only kind of. Not all the way. Being the eternal optimists that we are (ha!(on my part, she is pretty optimistic)), we had resigned ourselves to simply enjoying each others’ company instead. That is, until Frank showed up.

No, I’m not talking the rabbit from Donnie Darko.

Out of nowhere, this group of slimly looking guys infiltrated our table. They were past 30, who knows by how much - maybe as high as 45, and they started telling us these rambling, pointless stories. Something about frats at U of M and U Wisconsin, and there was a bit about Gene Wilder in there somewhere. Heather thought they were foreign because one of them said ‘Yous guys’ but I figured they were mobsters. That, at least, would have been slightly cool. After the 3rd time Frank forgot Heather’s name, we did the only sensible thing to do - cut our losses and got the fuck out of there. We had some shapeless plan to go to another bar, but it was really cold out. The kind that numbed my legs in minutes and made me forget what warm felt like. In other words, the kind of cold that we northerners know is coming every winter, but still surprises us when it freezes the snot on our faces. Instead we decided to go home and drink the rest of our champagne.

We got on the el to get back to Heather’s house. The car was mostly empty, except for an odd looking kid who appeared to be going to the airport and a homeless man who was asleep in the back. Four kids got on a couple of stops after us, aged about 19 or 20. Two of the boys were black and so was the girl, and the other boy was white (this is pertinent to the story). They were loud and exuberant, and lifted our spirits a bit. Then, one of the boys asked us if we voted for Obama. We automatically responded yes (as I think it’s a point of pride for everyone who did). He told us that we didn’t have to be afraid of black people in 2009, then, but we should be afraid of him (pointing at white kid) because he’s the man. Heather, quick to make the connection, asked him if she had to be afraid of herself. He responded, ‘No, you should love yourself!’ The two boys then danced for us, gave us lots of high fives, and cracked jokes about how the homeless guy partied too hard too soon (it wasn’t yet midnight). Mostly, they renewed our faith in the future. Frank and his creepiness are old and busted, and young inter city kids who get excited and hopeful about politics are the new hotness.

Our night wasn’t quite finished, however. Ryan, her recently exed ex-boyfriend, had been texting Heather for the better part of the day, first asking her if I had arrived yet and then to tell her that his friend wasn’t coming into the big city after all. As these things do, the conversation rapidly devolved the more drunk he got, until he sent some things that weren’t that nice. Before she could get these texts, Heather had called him to see if he and his roommate were still out (this is immediately after the run in with Frank and his gang). He didn’t answer, and we got on the train, which went underground so she couldn’t get said texts. When we arrived home, Ryan called her back to ask her why she was calling him after the mean texts he had sent. During the resulting conversation, she got them and read one of them out loud to me. It was something along the lines of ‘I hope the guy you kiss at midnight knows what he’s in for.’ We both laughed quite loudly at this, as it was funny and you should always laugh at things that are funny. His response to this was to term us the ‘Women’s Lib movement’. Which, of course, was even funnier. The hilarity didn’t end there - oh, no. We they were (finally) done talking, she was recounting the conversation that I hadn’t overheard to me when Ryan called her back. She picked up her phone, pushed a button, and set it back down. We kept talking - in no way talking trash, by the way - when we heard a small voice yell ‘I can hear everything you’re saying!’ That’s right, she had accidently put him on speaker phone. I almost peed myself trying to contain my amusement, which I felt would only exacerbate the situation. After she calmed him back down, she hung up and we both looked at each other - and immediately started to laugh. Tears were streaming down our faces.

What a night.

Home, or what passes as it these days

2008-12-30T13:13:00.000-07:00

Well, it’s been a full week since I wrote my last entry. What a week. Not a busy week, just a week.

So here’s what happened with my flight.

I did take a nap, but my constant paranoia kept waking me up every 30 minutes or so to check the screen to see if my flight was going to leave - by some Christmas miracle - earlier.

At around 815, I got my miracle. It was slated to leave at 845! Hooray!

At around 1040, we finally got on the plane. At 12, we finally left the runway. Why were we on the ground so long? I’ll tell you, Virginia. An earlier flight to Traverse City had been canceled, so every seat on my flight was filled. However, this overloaded the plane. Three people had to be kicked off in order for us to make weight. I felt slightly guilty about this, as I had two heavy bags in the hold. Or so I thought.

We arrived at TVC at 150. Both 24 and 12 hour clocks are correct. We stumbled down to the baggage claim, glad to be home (well, mostly). Bags came down, and went around the turnstile, and no one claimed them. Well, obviously this is not our flight. But wait - no other flights came in. Where are our bags?

Turns out, they were still in Chicago. The bags belonged to a flight that came in THREE DAYS PRIOR. People got kicked off our flight for bags that didn’t even belong to us.

We were told that they would come in on the next flight from Chicago, and that we would be called when they did. Having previous experience with this particular problem with this particular airport, I didn’t believe them. I waited three days (after Christmas btw, so no one got their presents on time) and tried to call the baggage claim thingie. I couldn’t get through. First, I didn’t have the right number for the automated message service, and then I tried the website. Same deal - TVC doesn’t print out the right kind of slip. So I called back and was on hold for about 20 minutes trying to get a human on the phone. And then they dropped my call. Son of a bitch.

Next step: physically go to the airport. I was told to wait by the baggage claim and someone would help me. I waited for a half hour. Finally, I went back to the United desk. The same girl, much chagrined, took me into a magical back room where ALL OF THE LUGGAGE WAS JUST SITTING. Who knows how long it had been there. I didn’t much care, I had my good underwear back.

So. That was my exciting event of the week.

In case you’re all wondering, I did get a banjo. And it’s lovely. After whining to Heather last night about how I hate my life, I told her that the banjo will be my one salvation. She told me if that’s true, life is really pathetic. I agree.

Here are a few things that are contributing to this feeling of suck. 1. Dress code. The way I dress now doesn’t correlate with the way Northern Michigan dresses. As Danielle said to me before we went to Short’s the other night, it’s a bit much. However, I feel like a slob dressing any other way. What can be done? Be unapologetic, I suppose. It’s what I do. 2. Home. I don’t really need to elaborate, I think, but I will. It hasn’t changed. At all. Which is a problem, as I have. And it (meaning my mother) refuses to acknowledge this. Mostly because change is not something she can handle, as is represented by the way she still talks about the same things that she did 4 years ago. Meaning my father. Wow, mom, really? You’re bitter about the divorce? What a revelation! Please, tell me more!

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I can’t take this. Not for months, and maybe even year.

Did I mention that my cat ran away a month after I left and no one told me? Hand to god.

So, I’ve started my application for the University of Edinburgh. I emailed my two choice profs to get letters of recommendation. This is the first critical step. The keystone, if you will. I really hope they come through on this. I know I can write a hell of a personal statement, and my grades are more than adequate, especially in the sciences. Hell, I never got anything less than a 4.0 in Chemistry, and nothing less than a 3.5 in the rest. (except Physics, which sucks and doesn’t count. Moving on.) In other words, if I don’t get in, I blame them. Because we all know that nothing is ever my fault. Ever.

When I told my mother that I wanted to go back, can you guess her response? Those of you who know her might be able to, but I doubt it. ‘You know those people won’t be your friends anymore.’ That’s right. Because A) I’m not capable of making decent friends (this is exhibited best by Danielle, Chana, Cathy, and Heather I think. False people if ever I met them.) and B) I base all of my decisions on my friends (who all suck. apparently). Which would be why I went to Scotland in the first place. You know, to hang out with all of my friends. C) My decision is based solely on other people. It has nothing to do with the fact that it’s the first city I’ve lived in that I actually liked, that I truly enjoyed the culture there, and that for the first time ever I built a place for myself - by myself. Emely was there, but let’s face it, we were roommates who happened to know each other beforehand. We rarely saw each other, had different friends, and drastically different hours. On the other hand, as Heather and I discussed last night, it will be impossible to make new friends. Because this is a problem for me. Why even bother? Maybe I should just stay in bed. Why do anything? I know, I’ll got get an office job and hate my life forever. Great! Problems solved. Who needs friends when you have passive aggressive family members?

Last night I drank a whole bottle of wine by myself. And I wasn’t even drunk. This is no good. No good at all. It doesn’t appear that my time at home will allow me to dry out.

I also haven’t had fresh food since I got here. My mom’s version, and dad’s for that matter, of holiday cuisine is wholly constituted by canned, processed, and heavily preserved fruits and veggies - and meat. A lot of meat. I’ve had more meat in the past week than I have in months. This is such bullshit. I had better food in Scotland, where it’s harder to get decent produce (comparatively), than in America, the land of plenty and grocery superstores. Ugh. Irony. What a bitch.

Luckily, I’m off to Chicago tomorrow to see Heather. And then, it’s East Lansing to see Chana and Cathy. And then - back here for more awesomosity. I can’t wait! I may become nihilistic in future months. Beware.

Airport

2008-12-23T13:13:00.000-07:00

Well. The completely expected happened: I’m stuck in the airport at Chicago. Stupid snow. Why the hell did I leave Scotland? I knew something like this would happen.

It’s almost as though reality didn’t want to wait until I was officially home to make it’s presence known. The past two days when I was back in Edinburgh, I felt a certain sort of giddiness, almost as if I were on some sort of drug. I wonder now if that’s how it always was, and I only noticed it after coming back from a brief stint away. This airport, the States, it’s crushingly real, though. Horribly and terribly, the place I grew to love is gone, and even though I’m going to try and lie to myself and say there’s a way to get it back, a way to return, there never will be. It was a beautiful phase, but it’s finished now. Thank you, Chicago International Airport, for disabusing me of my notions. It doesn’t mean that I won’t continue to have them, though.

Anyway. Onto the funny sort of thing that you all log on to read, not my pity parties.

I sat next to a rather lovely young fellow on the flight from Manchester. His name was Matthew. It may have been Matt, but his boarding card said Matthew, so I’ll stick with that. Plus, Matt doesn’t sound very British to me. And that’s what he was. Now, I didn’t actually talk to the bloke, but I got a very good vibe from him. We often ended up watching the same thing on the in flight channels, he had a music magazine that I considered breaking the silence and asking if I could read (there was a bit about Nick Cave and someone else who I can’t remember that piqued my interest), and we both chuckled at the same moments at the end of the flight (the story of which I’ll get to in just a second). All in all, I’m pretty sure we may have been soul mates. Or, two random people sitting together on an overseas flight. They essentially boil down to the same thing, I suppose. If you, I don’t know, squint and look at it sideways.

So, the end of the flight. As we came down out of the clouds into Illinois, all of the Brits on the flight ‘Oohed’ and “Awwed” on account of the snow. A couple of kids started freaking out and yelling ‘I love Chicago!’ and ‘Can we throw snowballs?’ (you know, that sort of precocious thing that they do). At this point, Matthew and I smiled quietly to ourselves. It was quite the bonding experience. But as is so often the case with these things, it was a brief fiery spark that just disappeared into the night sky, never to be seen in that form again.

After getting my things all sorted with my luggage and whatnot with the customs, I did two things that I’ve been dying to do for months. I bought a copy of the New York Times and I had a margarita. Well, ok, two margaritas, but hell my flight is delayed. Who gives a shit?

My flight originally was supposed to go out at 720 (1920 to you crazy Europeans), but the screen just informed me that it’ll leave at 11 (23(00)). Great. Time for a nap.

Last days in Edinburgh

2008-12-22T13:08:00.003-07:00

This speaks for itself. Oh, Scotland.

Geneva

2008-12-20T17:53:00.000-07:00

It's my last night on the continent. The European Tour is at it's end. I wonder if I've changed at all in the past three weeks. You know, grown as a person.

Probably not.

Tomorrow I'm back in Edinburgh. Thankfully. I'll be glad to see the tail end of Switzerland. Everything is overpriced, and we got anally raped on a cab ride to our hotel. Also, they speak French here. And we all know how I feel about that.

Have a pint ready, King's Wark, I'm coming home. Even if it's for a too-short visit. I promise I'll be back for a proper one someday soon.

Extra note

2008-12-18T15:07:00.003-07:00

I just re-read all of my blog. Because I´m crazy! And I was feeling nostolgic. I´ve decided that although shit seemed rough over the summer at times, it was weak sauce compared to the shit I had to deal with in the spring. School trumps drama, every time.

Anyway. Just wanted to reflect on the past 9 or 10 months. I´ve made myself a bit sad doing so, however. Blech.

I discovered that I never wrote about the Nick Cave concert. How distressing! This was one of my favorite Scottish nights ever and I didn´t say boo about it. I´ll have to remedy this. However, not until after I get back to the states. Give me something to look forward to.

Also, I never said anything about Pig´s Head Night. I really should, because I have funny things to comment on.

Sigh. Two more days until Edinburgh. And then my Scotland trip - the whole point of this bloody blog - is over. How weird. I was looking so forward to this trip, and it seems to have gone by in a heartbeat. It sucks. I wish I had another 6 months. But then, I may never leave.

Salzburg

2008-12-18T11:33:00.002-07:00

Once again, I return to the german keyboard. Damn zou, reversed z and y kezs.

Not much to say about this town. It snowed and Em got a stomach ache. That about covers it.

Depending on when I go back to school, I may need a project. I was just looking at The Skinny, thinking how awesome it is and how I´ll miss it, when I got a thought. It would be freaking awesome if Northern Michigan had one of these babies. It´s right up TC´s alley, I feel. Local art and music scene? Uh, yeah, it´s definitely got one of those.

Of course, it would have to start out as a website, as these things often do nowadays.

Holy shit! Eagleowl´s album is on iTunes!! If only I can wait until Sunday to download it...

Anyway.

This is a thought I´ve been thinking for a while now. I was reinspired by the discovery that my old high school chum Kyle and his cronnies have opened a bad-a record store in TC catering to the independent and local music scenes.

Hmm. My preliminary research tells me there is no comparable website online. Interesting.

Well, tomorrow is Geneva. And a long ass train ride. I´m way more excited about the train than the city. I´m really going to miss trains when I´m back in the states. How can there be hobos, and therefore hobo names, when there isn´t a decent rail system? Oy, I tell you.

What to write, what to write. I finished Maus, which I bought for Ewa for what I thought was her birthday tomorrow. Apparently, I got it some how confused with Chris´s birthday. Ewa´s is in March. Anyway. I read it. I even got Emely to start it. Which is crazy, considering her reaction when I asked her if she wanted to: ´What do I look like, a geek?´ I´m not going to touch that one. I then started on Alice in Wonderland, which I downloaded on my ipod. Blah, blah, blah. I´m boring myself with this.

Wien

2008-12-17T12:55:00.003-07:00

Here we are in Vienna. City of...wienerschnitzel and Mozart.

I really like this particular city. It's real chill. Small and compact, with great coffee and a crazy amount of fried food. Also, a shit ton of ultra deluxe designer stores. But still.

We got up early this morning to attend the practice session of the Lippizaner stallions. Em was less than enthusiastic, but I thought it was fantastic. Closest thing to a show I've seen in ages. Next we went on a walking tour, and saw not one but two guys begging with the aid of...miniature horses. You read that right. After that, we visited the Imperial Apartments and saw a lot of plates. Then we were all cosmopolitan and shit and sat in a cafe and read the newspaper. Well, I read the paper -Em read the guidebook. Maybe not so cosmo afterall. We ended the trip with a stop to get schnitzel. It was nice.

The hightlight of the evening had to be when we were sitting in our all girls room in our underwear, playing 'what would you do...?' to the tune of 'if you had a gun to your head and you had a choice between giving Tige Rose a blumpkin or lose your pinkie toe, what would you do?' when a BOY walks in. !!! Now, we didn't care really, but we are wee chancers and saw room for potential gain in the situation. So downstairs we went to reception. After stressing that we didn't want to move, and that we didn't want him to move per se, the girl got the idea to give us free breakfast. Success! Just what we were angling for.

All in all, Vienna has been ok by us.

Tomorrow, Salzburg. Friday...well, Geneva. Then Edinburgh on Sunday. But then, the world! And by that I mean the US.

Munich and beyond

2008-12-15T13:02:00.002-07:00

I won't be writing much this post, as I'm typing on my ipod and it takes far too long.

Bare bones of the past three days:

Saturday: took train to Munich. Ate food, drank beer.

Sunday: took tour of Dachau. Well worth the money. Ate food, drank beer

Today: took train to Fussen. Saw a castle, got annoyed. Ate streudal, no beer

Tomorrow: take train to Vienna

Of course, I'll go more into depth at a later time.

I finished Lady Chatterley's Lover today. One of the most beautiful and affecting books I've read, period. It may have changed my outlook on love. A bit from the A Propos of 'Lady Chatterley's Lover' that I find poignant, even though it was written close to a century ago:

In contrast to the puritan, hush! hush!, which produces the sexual moron, we have the modern jazzy and high-brow person who has gone one better, and just 'does as she likes.' From fearing the body and denying it's existence, to the advanced young go to the other extreme and treat it as a sort of toy to be played with, a slightly nasty toy, but still you can get some fun out of it, before it lets you down. There young people scoff at the importance of sex, take it like a cocktail, and flout their elders with it.

...

There are, some young women say, no real men to love. And there are, the young men say, no real girls to fall in love with. So they go on falling in love with unreal ones, on either side. Which means, if you can't have real feelings, you've got to have counterfeit ones: since some feelings you've got to have: like falling in love. There are still some young people who would like to have real feelings, and they are bewildered to death to know why they can't. Especially in love.

But especially in love, only counterfeit emotions exist nowadays. We have all been taught to mistrust everybody emotionally, from parents downwards, or upwards. Don't trust anybody with your real emotions: if you've got any: that is the slogan of today. Trust them with your money, even, but never with your feelings. They are bound to trample on them.

I believe that there has never been an age of greater mistrust between persons than ours today: under a superficial but quite genuine social trust. Very few of my friends would pick my pocket, or let me sit on a chair where I might hurt myself. But practically all my friends would turn my real emotions to ridicule. They can't help it: it's the spirit of the day. -So there goes love, and there goes emotional sympathy. And hence, counterfeit love, which there is no escaping.

...

But we are very mixed, all of us, and creatures of many diverse and often opposing desires. The very men who encourage women to be most daring and sexless complain most bitterly of the sexlessness of woman. The same with women. The women who adore men so tremendously for their social smartness and sexlessness as males, hate them most bitterly for not being 'men.'. In public, en masse, and socially, everybody today wants counterfeit sex. But at certain hours in their lives, all individuals hate counterfeit sex with deadly and maddened hate, and those who have dealt it out most perhaps have the wildest hate of it, in the other person - or persons.

Just something to chew on. I think that most every person I know is guilty of these sins against love and sex; I know I'm not innocent. Counterfeit love, sex, emotion-these things are a symptom of the modern age, of our need for one-up-manship. In our mad quest for 'true love' do we settle for the ideal that is too often less so? I dunno. I'd say it's for smarter people than me to decide, but it's really for us all to figure out on our own I think. No wonder so many people look back on their lives and feel they were wasted.

The Real World, and Berlin

2008-12-12T12:48:00.005-07:00

But not the MTV kind. Although it´s surprising that I haven´t seen that show in the past two days. Em and I are hooked on the TV that´s in our hostel room (because yes, it is the best hostel ever), but the only channels that are in English are MTV and CNN International, which we only discovered 15 minutes ago.

Even though I´ve seen Pink and Rhianna videos more times than I can count in the past two days (as well as the Kings of Leon one, you know, with the chickens), I´ve found Berlin a very enjoyable place. Mostly because of said hostel, but also because there are about 5 million street fairs going on at the moment, which are free, and Emely and I have been able to eat like kings on a tight budget. Today we had a bunch of German food that I don´t know the name of for about €10 a piece. And we´re stuffed. Although, we may have eaten too much cabbage-time will tell.

Despite my gastronomical reveries, however, the real world-the grown up one-has been knocking on the door to my brain lately. I´ve more or less the best time of my life since I graduated 7 months ago, but unfortunately it has to end. That idea´s taking some getting used to, mostly because it´s the first time except for about one summer that I lived for the sake of it and did whatever I felt like doing. Which was apparently getting drunk and acting like an idiot with my friends. Not that it was a bad thing, quite the opposite. I digress.

I just applied for this office assistant job for an environmental firm in TC. While I would very much like an interview with them, who knows if that will happen. It does seem a bit too good to be true. However, now I have ants in my pants to find a job. Any job. My mom is right (how I choke saying that) Northern Michigan isn´t going to be as easy as Edinburgh for finding a job. I had jobs falling into my lap there. Home is going to be bleak and desolate. I´m planning on subbing, but that will only cover a short bit of my week. Ugh. I want to just stay in the UK for a while until reality isn´t so scary. So, I guess that means forever.

Side bar: not only is Greece freaking out with riots, but now Rome is flooded. We´re leaving death and destruction in our wake. Agents of chaos. Italy flooded.

Anyway. I had to update my resume. It depressed me. Why do I have so much office work in my background? I find it so loathesome. I wouldn´t mind this job, I think, because of the company, but in general...blech. If restaraunt work wasn´t so unforgiving and low paying, I´d just stick around that for a while. Hell, I might just do it anyway. I feel so unhopeful about the future, like there probably isn´t a spot for me in it. If I were alone in this feeling, I´d just chock it up to my general paranoia about the world. But I´m not. It´s getting hard to live again, and I fear for our weak generation. For the most part, my contemporaries are middle class and have only one desire: make more money than their parents and have more shit. Well. That doesn´t look like it´s going to happen for us, folks, so tighten your Coach belts on your A & F jeans and get ready for difficulty. Dylan´s hard rain is fallin´, and it ain´t necessarily the kind he was talking about.

I wonder if it´s Germany making me so nihalistic. Hmm.

Someone tell me, give me, or recommend me something happy quick, or else I´m going back to Michigan and becoming a townie. I can feel it.

This is how I feel about the planet:

End of Ze World

Well, I think some German people are skulking about waiting for a computer. I can´t wait until I can use the internet for as long I freaking want to. Oh wait. Mom has dial up. Shit. Home is looking better and better. If only I were horribly maimed in a freak accident that was completely avoidable, my life would be complete.

Lazy Tuesday...and Wednesday

2008-12-10T07:18:00.003-07:00

Laundry Day is a very dangerous day. Mostly for me, as Em was walking around in her underwear while washing some of her shirts. 'Plunge and scrub' she demonstrated. Yeesh.

Anyway. Where to start, where to start. The beginning, I suppose, which means Monday. Which means...the Alps. Oh man. Emely and I agree that it may have been the best day ever. Definitely of the trip so far, and maybe just in general.

We got up at 430 in the morning to get the train at 6 going to Aosta, a town near the Italian Alps. From there, we took a shuttle bus to Courmayeur. It was a silly little place; everyone spoke Italian, the street signs were in French, and it looked like a Bavarian village. It was nestled in the mountains, obviously. Now, I've been to mountains. The Rockies, Appalachian, Smokies, those ones in Scotland (I dunno which, all of them). They were nothing like these - think of every stereotypical mountain you can, I had in mind the Paramount logo, and that's what these were. Unreal. Absolutely, fantastically, perfect. I almost fell about a million times going down the slopes just because I couldn't take my eyes off them.

Which brings me to the skiing. In my mind, this was to be my great expenditure. I've always associated skiing in the Alps as an upper class sort of thing. Imagine my surprise when a lift ticket cost €33, and the rental skis €10. !!! Plus, the train ride out was €11.20, one way, and the bus was €5.50 return. With food and all that bullshit, we still spent under €100.

Now, I haven't downhill skied for over a year. Sure, x-country, but it's not the same - at all. Emely did get out a bit last year, but she was still a bit rusty. We really had no conception of what we were getting ourselves into. It took about 25 minutes to make it down one beginner run. Think about that, people from home. It takes us 5 minutes to get down one of ours. We were completely out of our element. It was unsettling knowing that all that separates you from certain death is a thin rope on the side of a cliff and your ability to ski. Or rather, your ability to not lose control while skiing and fall off the side of a cliff.

The length of the runs messed with our time management skills a bit, however. The last run was at 430, and at 4, we found ourselves on the other side of the mountain with no way to get back but a gondola ride down and two different shuttle buses. By the time we got back to the other gondola, we had to beg in a mixture of English and Spanish for them to let us go back up. Why would we want that? Because. Unlike resorts at home, the ski rental was at the top of the mountain. We not only had to return the skis, but our bags with our money, passports, and shoes were also up there. We had to run from the top of the lift to the rental place - which is kinda hard in ski boots. We made it though, and all was good. Got the bus back, then the train, and luckily - as if by magic - a sandwich stand was open right outside of the train station on the way back to the hotel. We had left at 5, and got back at 11. We passed out right away and didn't get up until 2.

How did this come about, I thought you were going skiing in Germany, Austria, or Switzerland? you may be asking yourself. I'll tell you: Milan doesn't have much in the way of tourist attractions. After we decided that 5 days was just too long in Rome, which does have a lot going on, we figured 3 days in Milan would drive us mental. In addition, after looking at our schedule, we realized that it would be really hard to squeeze skiing into our whirlwind 7 day tour of said Central European countries. So, we hatched this plan to take the train into the Alps from Milan and go skiing. Emely was all for the detailed planning of said...plan, but I enforced my general lackadaisical philosophy and it came off without a hitch.

However, fate has stepped in. It seems as though the universe wanted us to spend more time in Germany/Austria/Switzerland. I mentioned the riots in Greece in an earlier post. Well. They haven't gotten better. In fact, I would say quite the opposite is true. So much so, that Easyjet canceled our flight there. Fortunately, they gave us a full refund for it, and hopefully for the flight out of there. Instead we're off to Berlin 3 days early.

Germany! With its beer and food. And cuckoo clocks. Can't forget those (as if they'd let you...). I'm pretty stoked.

I was thinking today, though, and it's odd to think that Em and I have been traveling now for 12 days. That would be 12 days with bad hair, little to no makeup, and at times - smelly clothes. How attractive. Whatev. All in the name of exploration. I could do with a really long, hot bath, though. Mmm...

Now, the meaning of the title. As you read, skiing was on Monday, which means it's been three days since my last post. Why not one yesterday? Why not, indeed. We got up at 2, as previously mentioned, and went and saw the Duomo. At this point, we felt like a couple of lazy Turd Sanders, as well we should've. Once we got to said cathedral, however, craziness ensued.

We bought a sandwich from an Asian vendor who spoke better English than most N. Italian people we've encountered. As we ate it, we noticed that the Italian version of TRL was playing on a large screen in the Piazza. We watched with curiosity while we ate. It slowly dawned on us that the very church we were visiting was in the background...which meant that they were filming from a nearby rooftop. Then they sent a camera crew into the plaza. And they tried to talk to us - yikes! We ran away. Not far though, and this is where the next leg of the saga comes in. Em wanted to take my picture in front of said Gothic Cruciform, and I obliged. However, a man rushed up and forced popcorn in my had so that pigeons would eat out of it for the picture. You know, a scam. Except I was yelling, 'No! I hate pigeons!' the whole time. And after he let my hand go, I threw the stuff onto the ground. He then tried the same with Em, who did the same, at which point he tried to demand money. We declined and entered the Duomo.

What can I say? It was a big, old church. Lots of stained glass windows.

After, we went for a wander. We found the coolest thing in Italy after skiing: a street fair with food. Cheeses, dried fruit, olives, knick-knacks, and...cannoli. !!! By the way, it is just as delicious as you would think, and I would definitely leave a firearm behind for it.

Today, we just slept and read a lot. We weren't planning on being here this long, where were supposed to be in Greece right now. So today has also been worthless, more or less.

It appears that someone is waiting for the computer, so I'm going to sign off. More to come at a late date.

Milan

2008-12-07T12:53:00.002-07:00

Today we flew into Milan. Now, for the past month or so, all I've heard is 'Rome is better than Milan.' From a purely tourist attraction point of view, yes it is. But from a city standpoint, as in a place I'd want to live, no it's not. Milan is beautiful and - more importantly - clean. So much cleaner in fact, that I would rather eat off the ground here than sit on it in Rome. You can take that to the bank and smoke it.

Anywho. Two exciting things in my life at the moment: I started Lady Chatterley's Lover, and it is one of the best books I've read, or at least partly read, in a really long time. Since The Memoirs of A Survivor, or even before that. I can see why Nin was so obsessed with him, they're so similar. Except it's odd reading a book on female sexuality (well, amongst other themes) written by a guy. He comes really close, but there's something just slightly off to it. Anyway. The other exciting news is that tomorrow Em and I will be skiing in the Alps. We'll be somewhere near Torino (Turin), which is mega cool. Granted, I haven't been skiing in about a year, so the snow plow maneuver may be employed, but it will still be fantastic.

Enough of how awesome my life is at the moment. Let's turn to more dismal subjects, such as the fact that Emely and I ate at McDonald's. Now, as always happens to me, I feel bad about myself. Blech. I need to sleep and detox. I also had to wash my undergarments today and hang them in the window using Em's clothes line. Oh, it sounds great/funny, but considering its almost freezing here, it may take a while for them to dry. And unlike Emely, who has taken to turning hers inside out to get a second use from them, I live by the one day, one pair of underwear mantra. Its all I know, and all I care to know.

Unfortunately, there is something serious that worries me. On Wednesday, we're headed for Athens. As some of you may have heard, they're having riots there. Now, being an MSU alum, I know a thing or two about riots. Stupid riots with no real point. However, this riot is not that kind of riot. It is the serious kind, the kind that screams for blood and some sort of retribution and resolution. They're the worst riots, or public outcries of any kind, since 1985 - eerily the year of both of our births. Now, I'm not typically one for superstition, but... Let's just hope that it's not one of those things that ushers an era both in and out, if you catch my meaning.

On the other hand, there is a morbid sort of curiosity in me that really wants to see the chaos. Who knows, maybe I'll be the next Martha Gellhorn. Probably not, unless I marry an alcoholic. And become a war correspondent.

Oh well, the world is full of shit and this won't be the first or last time I'll be confronted with it. Well, hopefully not the latter. Although there are less cool ways to die.

Hey, wow, let's steer away from the macabre. Skiing! Yay! After Greece, Germany and good beer! (Sorry Scottish friends, I must call a spade a spade. Beer of the German variety suits me much better than Scottish/British ale. Truth.)

Hmm, there appears to be a Mr. Bean film on in Italian. How strange.

Funny side story: When Em and I met at the top of a narrow staircase and we were at an impasse as to who was to go first, Emely gestured and said 'Age before beauty.' I laughed uproariously at this while she stood there puzzled. She's 12 days older than me. Classic.

Hmm, what else. Oh! I finally, after 6 months of searching, managed to find a copy of the NYT. In Rome. For €7.50. As you can probably guess, I did not buy it. I was, however, very happy to have discovered it.

I'm slowly formulating this plan that involves my return to Edinburgh. And grad school. I'd be able to start school sooner, as GRE test scores and would not be an issue, and if the pound keeps losing value to the dollar, then it would be so much cheaper to go to a UK school. Plus, then I wouldn't have to make a new circle of friends, as I would already have one! Awww...mushy. Cons: living overseas for a year or more (if you get a degree from a UK school, you get a 3 year visa to work as part of the Make Britain Cooler by Having US Citizens Contribute to the Work Force Plan. I may have gotten the name wrong.), not being able to hang with Chana, Heather, and Danielle, and being far away from my cat, horse, and snake. I think in the long run, the pros outweigh the cons, but we'll have to see. Oh, also Meijer and Target. I freaking love those stores.

Speaking of animals, I have nixed the puppy plan. For purposes of posterity and alliteration, I should say I've postponed the puppy plan. Instead, I have asked for...a banjo. You heard me. I'm going to learn the banjo. I can hear Chana rolling her eyes from here (yes, it is audible). This has nothing to do with a certain Bela Fleck obsessed ex, but rather a yen to learn a stringed instrument, a strange affinity for this particular one, and a whim - as most of my plans start from. I'm also going to relearn the piano. I must admit, this goal was put into effect more because I think my Scotland friends don't actually believe I was ever able to play - mostly because I would never play for them. So, for my grand return - whenever that may be - I will have a song or two ready for them. And maybe a banjo.

In case you're wondering, dear reader, why I'm being to verbous today, it's because for the first time since Madrid, I have access to free internet. !!! We're in this tiny little hotel in the center of town, and although it's old as shit, it's fantastic for the €22 a night per person we're paying (this is good for Milan - cheaper than 95% of the hostels, and much better).

Well, I'm headed to bed. We have a train to catch at 0600. Aosta is 3 1/2 hours away from Milan, so it'll be quite a day ahead.

Last night in Rome

2008-12-06T10:41:00.002-07:00

Finally, a really great day in this god-forsaken city.

It was 15 C and sunny all day. We walked around in sweaters, and it was just like autumn back home. We had cheap food, and it was tasty, and didn't pay for anything else. We walked around the Colosseum and the Senate, but elected to not pay for the admission inside. Cool old shit is cool old shit, and we've seen our share since coming here. No need to spend potential food money.

We're off to Milan tomorrow. Monday we're doing a side trip to Turin in order to ski. In the Alps. Freaking fantastic.

Last night some grocery store clerk who looked strangely like Larry Conrady, Jr. told me that he loved me. Even in death that kid finds ways of creeping me out.

In case you're wondering, I thanked him politely and waited for my change.

Two girls are staying in our room with us from the UK. I'm pretty sure they're from London, and I desperately want to ask them 'You sound like you're from London', but I've never even seen that movie, and don't want to be rude. I seemed to pick up more than those veneral diseases from Ed and Owen. I mean... But seriously, they sound like the most stereotypical English people ever. Just like Moaning Myrtle and Hermione in the Harry Potter movies.

The Leith of Rome

2008-12-05T10:38:00.002-07:00

We moved across town this morning. But not before Emely also saw naked guy butt. This one had a tramp stamp - I shit you not, I saw it too.

This hotel/hostel is much better. Cleaner, quieter, and no co ed bathrooms. It is, however, in what Emely terms the dodgey bit of town. I like the cheaper better food, myself. Therefore, I have termed it the Leith of Rome. I may have even seen dogshit. Uncanny.

Rome: Part 3

2008-12-04T10:33:00.003-07:00

We got up early once again to go on a tour of the Vatican Museums. We had purchased some yogurt and juice at a grocers last night to break our fast, and Em enjoyed hers with much gusto while I took a shower. However, when it was mu turn to partake in my fare, I discovered that someone had gotten to it first. They had stolen my yogurt and juice! WTF? You know its not yours, and drunkeness cannot be a factor, who would think it was a good idea to eat dairy products then? So why would you do it? Jerks.

Its just one more reason to change hostels. Oh yeah, and I saw naked guy ass in the co ed shower this morning. Not cool.

In case your wondering, yes the Sistine Chapel is very lovely. I was more interested in the 5 million statues of Diana all over the joint. Sweet.

And the Pope Wore Red Shoes

2008-12-03T10:11:00.002-07:00

Em and I attended mass this morning, presided over by none other than the Pope. He was respeldent in all of his Popish finery, from his skull cap thingie and his white dress down to his bright red shoes. I was too far away to be suyre, but I'm pretty positivbe that they were shiny.

After he started (in Latin) I decided that it was a good time for a nap, because even though mass wasn't until 1030, we got there at 9, which meant that we had to get up at 730. Plus, I didn't really give a shit. I mean, I saw the guy, heard him talk, didn't understand a damn word, and didn't care as I'm far from being Catholic.

It turned into a pep rally there at the end, though. His cronies (aka priests) announced the various groups present (such and such university, church group, etc.) and they - I shit you not - cheered as if their basketball team just scored a touchdown (yes, I know that's wrong. It's called a joke). It may have been one of the most surreal things I've ever seen. The gigantic driftwood Jesus sculpture and jumbotron didn't help that feeling very much.

Gastronomically speaking, I have had three of the world's most extreme dishes today: the world's worst pasta, the world's best espresso, and the world's most mediocre gelato.

Em and I hadn't eaten since yesterday lunch, so by the end of mass, we were starving. I had picked out a pasta place near our next destination, the Pantheon, where they had (allegedly) the city's best amatriciana. Any of you who have eaten at an Italian joint worth its salt with me know that amatriciana is my all time favorite dish - period. When we found this place, however, it was closed for another 1/2 hour. This fact, combined with my hunger and Em's sneer at the slightly higher than usual prices prompted my to move on. We ended up at this place that seemed at first contemporary, but what I'm now sure was a chain. I had the amatriciana here, but it was not only the worst amatriciana ever, but also the worst pasta I've ever had. Too salty, not spicy in the least, and the bacon (pancetta) was not meaty, but all fat - and not even crispy nice fat, but chewy nasty fat. I ate all of it though, and was left hungry because it wasn't even a big portion. I can't believe it, I came to Italy and found the Olive Garden.

Let's move on to the coffee. The guide book told me to go here if I love coffee, which I do. On the unassuming door, there were two NYT articles and reviews about how this place had not only the best espresso in Rome, but it was also better than any place in good old Manhattan. Huge buildup. I followed the serpentine queue and did what the Romans did (sorry, sorry): 'un caffe'. I had no idea what I'd just ordered, but no matter. What I got was the most magical espresso ever created by man. The crema was so thick that I had to use a spoon on it. The coffee wasn't bitter in the least - smooth, unburned (which is difficult I think to do in espresso) and almost sweet. I could taste the cinnamon undertones. Ugh. It completely made up for the pasta.

At the end of the day, we got some gelato at a touristy place near the Trevi Fountain. It was ok. Really, that's all I can say about it. Pistachio, cold, creamy and completely average.

We also had some snacky street food that was worth a mention. We got some sort of pistachio candy that seemed a bit like Spanish turrone, but we don't actually know what the hell it was besides delicious. We also got a foccacia sandwich with salami and fresh mozzarella. Awesome. We decided street food is the way for us and have vowed never to eat at an establishment for the rest of our stay in Rome.

As for the rest, we took some pictures and I found a new book to read. Lady Chatterly's Lover. I figure if Anais Nin likes Lawerence, then I will, too. Oh yeah, and we're going to switch hostels because the one we're staying in smells like urine.