Ridiculous You

ACL = Welcome Back Party

2009-04-29T02:29:00.000-07:00

I just bought a 3 day pass for ACL. This means, obviously, that I have to be back in Austin on October 2nd. The deadline has been set. It is official. This will be my homecoming.

Buy tickets. Celebrate music and my return. See you there.

Kimya Dawson - I Like Giants

2009-03-06T05:22:00.000-08:00

When I go for a drive I like to pull off to the side
Of the road, turn out the lights, get out and look up at the sky
And I do this to remind me that I'm really, really tiny
In the grand scheme of things and sometimes this terrifies me

But it's only really scary cause it makes me feel serene
In a way I never thought I'd be because I've never beenS
o grounded, and so humbled, and so one with everything
I am grounded, I am humbled, I am one with everything

Rock and roll is fun but if you ever hear someone
Say you are huge, look at the moon, look at the stars, look at the sun
Look at the ocean and the desert and the mountains and the sky
Say I am just a speck of dust inside a giant's eye
I am just a speck of dust inside a giant's eye

When I saw Geneviève I really liked it when she said
What she said about the giant and the lemmings on the cliff
She said 'I like giants
Especially girl giants
Cause all girls feel too big sometimes
Regardless of their size'

When I go for a drive I like to pull off to the side
Of the road and run and jump into the ocean in my clothes
I'm smaller than a poppyseed inside a great big bowl
And the ocean is a giant that can swallow me whole
So I swim for all salvation and I swim to save my soul
But my soul is just a whisper trapped inside a tornado
So I flip to my back and I float and I sing
I am grounded, I am humbled, I am one with everything
I am grounded, I am humbled, I am one with everything

So I talked to Geneviève and almost cried when she said
That the giant on the cliff wished that she was dead
And the lemmings on the cliff wished that they were dead
So the giant told the lemmings why they ought to live instead
When she thought up all those reasons that they ought to live instead
It made her reconsider all the sad thoughts in her head

So thank you Geneviève, cause you take what is in your head
And you make things that are so beautiful and share them with your friends
We all become important when we realize our goal
Should be to figure out our role within the context of the whole

And yeah, rock and roll is fun, but if you ever hear someone
Say you are huge, look at the moon, look at the stars, look at the sun
Look at the ocean and the desert and the mountains and the sky
Say I am just a speck of dust inside a giant's eye

I am just a speck of dust inside a giant's eye
I am just a speck of dust inside a giant's eye
And I don't wanna make her cry
Cause I like giants

It's not a tumor

2009-02-13T15:29:00.000-08:00

It’s hard to take a doctor seriously when all you can hear in your head is Arnold Swarzenagger. It particularly doesn’t help that the above quote is, in my mind, always immediately followed by “who is your daddy and what does he do?” If you don’t know what I am talking about, shame on you. Go rent Kindergarten Cop.

I spent the last three days in the hospital. Yes, an NHS hospital. It was one of the more terrifying experiences of my life. However, I’m glad I endured it as I have now gotten to the bottom of what most people didn’t even know has been ailing for the last 3 or 4 months.

I’ve been in and out of my GP complaining of severe abdominal pain and all the fun things that go with that. I was finally referred to a specialist after I’d lost 10 lbs and y blood work showed some high markers for inflammation. I was meant to wait until the 20th of Feb to see the specialist, but after meeting with my GP on Wednesday morning, she decided I “didn’t look like someone who can wait” and shipped me off to the hospital.

When I arrived, they just sent me to the ER. I wasn’t very excited about this as I had been in that same ER just three days earlier and was turned away after waiting 5 hours since “only my GP could do anything” for me. However, this time I was armed with a letter from my GP which explained the situation and ended with big bold letters that said “DMIT THIS PATIENT URGENTLY FOR FURTHER INVESTIGATION”. The letter seemed to do the trick and I was whisked back to a bed in record time.

The ER doc had a look at me and agreed with my GP’s “you look like shit” assessment and had me sent upstairs to the admittance ward. Let me explain something to you about English hospitals, which I don’t think exists in the States. They have wards. Not rooms. So, instead of being in a room with one other person, you are in one long giant room with about 30 other people. Fortunately, with one of the more embarrassing side effects of sever abdominal pain, you aren’t legally allowed to be on a ward with other people so I got put in my own corner room. Nice, right? Wrong.

The room was dark and musty and smelled of mold. The blinds were basically falling off the window and the paint was chipping off the walls. To top it all off, a jug of the previous patients urine was sitting on the bathroom floor.

A nurse came in and introduced himself as Jeff. Jeff said he was going to have to take my vitals and then ask me a bunch of basic questions as part of being admitted, he just had to go and get his things but would be right back. An hour later, Jeff came back and took my blood pressure. He put the cuff on the same arm as my IV and when he started to pump up the cuff, the blood started to go out my arm and up the IV tube. I pointed this out to Jeff who decided that “maybe [he] should do it on the other arm”. I agreed. After we were done with my blood pressure and temperature, Jeff told me I needed to give a urine sample and do a couple of swabs (nose, throat and unmentionables). Jeff preceded to leave a giant bucket for my urine and several sterile swabs on the table and then left without any further instruction as to how to use them or what to do when I am done. He also never asked me any of the questions he said he needed to ask me.

I managed to figure it al out – kind of, though I am still unsure of exactly how far up my nose I was suppose to cram that thing – and I left all the samples on my bed side table for Jeff.

Next thing I know, some other nurse comes in the room and we have the following conversation:

Nurse: Ms. Smith?
Me: Yes?
Nurse: I need to take a blood sample
Me: They just took some downstairs about an hour ago
long pause
Me: Well, you can have some more.
Nurse: Great, thanks.
Nurse then ties the band around my arm and is about to stab me
Pause
Nurse: What is your date of birth?
Me: March 4th 1985
Nurse: Ok, cool
Nurse almost stabs me.
Pause
Nurse: What is it?
Me: March 4th 1985
Nurse: Are you sure?
Me: Pretty Sure
Nurse: Hold on.
Nurse leaves room and comes back 30 seconds later
Nurse: Are you Amanda Smith?
Me: No, Shelley Smith
Nurse: Right. Never mind then.

A few hours pass and there is no sign of Jeff or any other incompetent nurses. At this point, it’s about 6 pm and they bring me some dinner. They place the dinner directly next to my Urine sample which Jeff has never come back to collect. I ask politely if perhaps someone could take my pee away or, at the very least, move it so I don’t have to eat next to it and the response was “Oh, this will be fine”. It was not until several hours later that someone finally came and got all my samples. I assume they were normal, as I never heard anything about them ever again.

Another hour or so pass and I finally meet the Gastro guy. I sort of lucked out in that the doctor on call just happened to be the gastro specialist and he just happened to be one of the top gastro specialists in the UK. He walked in with a gaggle of junior doctors and proceeded to ask me a bunch of questions and we went through the normal rigamaroo. I really liked him. He was the first competent person I had met since moving into the ward. He told me that he would fit me in for a scope on Friday morning and I would have to stay in the hospital until then.

At about 10:45 – just as I was about to drift off to sleep – some new nurses come in and tell me I have to be moved out on to the ward as someone else needs the room. So they wheel me down the length of this horribly depressing ward to one of the very last beds.

The woman directly across from me was clearly confused/out of it/crazy and had been tied to her bed because she kept trying to run away/break the windows. She screamed for the first 30 minutes I was over there before they gave her something to calm her down.

The woman caddy corner to me had tried to kill herself and was telling one of the nurses how angry she was it didn’t work and that she would try again when they weren’t looking.

The woman next to me was, bless her, obviously unwell. She was having a lot of trouble breathing and did look pretty miserable. They had to keep giving her these nebulizers (the things that poison me) which are really loud and last about 20 minutes at a time. She also had some machine/alarm that kept going off and it would BEEP BEEP BEEP for five minutes or so until a nurse would come and turn it off. But, what really put me over the top was her moaning. She just laid there and made the most horrible sounds a human being could make. The nurses would come around and ask if she was in pain and she would say no, but then she would just keep moaning. If you’re not in pain, shut the hell up! I felt guilty for being mad at her, but I was also not feeling well (which is sort of why we were all in the hospital) and I just wanted to go to sleep and I couldn’t.

I think I finally fell asleep about 1:30 and then was up every couple of hours when the nurses would turn the lights on to deal with the moaner.

The next morning, my mom turned up. She’s not very good at being a long distance mom when there is a crisis – or really, at any time – so she had hopped a plane the night before to come sit with me in the hospital. At first, I thought this was silly, but ultimately I was really glad to have her there.

Thursday was a bit of a better day. They moved me to a nicer/quieter ward and I was given and very nice and attentive nurse named Barry. What made Thursday suck was that at about 2:00pm I had to start “prepping my bowel” for the scope. We don’t need to go into details. We all know how much this sucks. Let’s just say it was a long day/night.

Friday morning, I was woken up bright and early to finish my prep and head down to the scope room. I’ve had a colonoscopy before, when I was about 13, and they totally knocked me out for it so I don’t remember anything about it. This time, they kept me awake in a “twilight” state. There wasn’t anything twilight about it. I was pretty much completely lucid. It was kind of cool, because I could see the screen and my insides, but it also hurt really badly. As it turns out, poking inflamed things from the inside hurts WAY worse then poking them from the outside. After about five minutes of this, they realized I was in pain (probably because I shouted profanity) and they gave me a second dose of the sedative.

Then I was high.

I actually remember more of the procedure than I do of the hour or two after it, which I don’t think is how it’s meant to work. Apparently, the doctor talked to me right afterwards, but I couldn’t tell you what he said if my life depended on it. About four hours later, he came up and re- explained it all to my mom and me.

Though he technically can’t diagnose me until he gets the biopsies back, he told me I have Crohn’s Disease. There is a good article on Wiki, if you’re interested in details, but basically it’s a chronic autoimmune inflammatory disease, which you have to be genetically pre-disposed for.

It’s kind of interesting because they don’t really know a lot about it. They say it’s genetic, but not 100% of Crohn’s patients have the genetic marker. They classify it as autoimmune, but only because you have to suppress the immune system to control it not necessarily because it’s caused by your immune system attacking you. It can present at any time in someone’s life, but most often it’s in your mid-twenties. They don’t know what causes it. They have no known cure for it, but they can control it pretty easily.

When you have a flare up – like I do now – you have to take steroids to reduce the inflammation and suppress your immune system. I’ve been given seven weeks of a pretty serious steroid to take, which means I am going to have super chub face and might possibly go manic depressive (two very unfortunate side effects of steroids). I have to take next week off work just in case they make me go crazy, but I’m sure I’ll be fine on them.

After the steroids, I have to go back to the doc and be tested to make sure I’m not one of the 1 in 300 people who do not produce a certain enzyme. I’ll need that enzyme in order to break down the drug they want to give me as a daily medication. I’ll have to take it, or something like it, every day for the rest of my life, which is kind of weird.

I’ll also need to do another scope after the steroids so that they can judge the extent of the disease. If it’s only in my large bowel, there are far fewer complications. If it is in my small bowel as well it can affect the amount of nutrients I absorb from my food and I might need to take/do some further things to help with that.

If all goes smoothly, it’s a very manageable thing and all I’ll need to do is take regular medication and have yearly check ups. Once I get through the steroids, I should be back to a relative normal and finally start feeling like myself again. All in all, it could have been a lot worse – Arnold could have been wrong.

Leaving generations of children obeese and scared of clowns

2008-10-08T05:58:00.001-07:00

http://blogofhilarity.com/2008/10/02/the-7-most-completely-bizarre-mcdonalds-commercials/

Follow the link and enjoy a small sample of some of the most fucked up McDonald's Commercials ever produced.

Obama v McCain

2008-10-06T02:05:00.001-07:00

These were generated by an automated script using the RSS feeds from Obama’s blog and McCain’s campaign RSS feed. The more often a word is used, the larger it appears. (Click on them to see a larger image.)

Interesting.

Hello. My name is Shelley, and I'm a knuckle cracker

2008-10-02T05:23:00.000-07:00

I crack my knuckles. A lot. To the point that it has become a detriment to myself and those around me. Laura (work colleague/housemate) has bought earplugs. I'm not kidding. In light of such drastic measures, I thought it might be time to try to stop. So I did what all people in the modern age do: I went to the internet for advice.

I found a rather interesting article on Wiki (of course).

There is quite a bit in that article I find note worthy, particularly this: "Truly excessive knuckle popping, especially accompanied by the popping of other joints in the body, can be an early sign of more serious anxiety disorders."

They (Wiki and a few other resources I've read through) seem to be convinced that all nervous habits, such as knuckle cracking, nail biting, hair twirling, etc, all stem from some deeply seeded anxiety and that the easiest way to stop is to pinpoint said anxiety and take steps to reduce it. There is no doubt that I fall under the ‘excessive’ and ‘multiple joint’ categories, but I don’t feel as though I am particularly ‘nervous’. Could it be possible that I have some horrible anxiety disorder and not even know about it? Could it be the left over symptoms of a childhood anxiety disorder that has since resolved itself?

There also seems to be a widely held belief that the best, and perhaps only, way to stop yourself from knuckle cracking is through some basic behavioral techniques.

From the perspective of an addict, I think both of the above theories are crap. Cracking my knuckles feels good. This is why I started doing it. I continue to do it for the same reason, and because it is such an ingrained behavior that I do it subconsciously. Further, if I don't do it, it causes great discomfort in my joints - hence why I don’t/can’t stop. It'd be like telling someone they can only breathe once every 30 seconds. A person could do that, and they could live like that, but it would be uncomfortable and unnatural.

My question is open to anyone, but I am particularly interested in what John and Mike (and any other psych kids out there), think of this. How do I stop cracking my knuckles?

I hold no reservations that I would be able to do this cold turkey. So, as a first step, I have chosen a compromise. There are five different ways I can crack my knuckles. I am restricting myself to one. We'll see how that goes...

This, of course, does not take into account my neck, wrists, back, knees and toes, which I also pop on a regular basis. Baby steps people, baby steps.

breaking the silence

2008-09-22T03:26:00.000-07:00

I realized today that I’ve had a couple of rather significant changes in my life over the last three weeks that you folks may or may not be aware of.

First up, I’ve got a new home and, despite any fears and hesitations, it’s absolutely awesome. You may remember my last house – i.e. the box in Camden. I loved it, but the size and plumbing (to put it nicely) left something to be desired. My new house is a two storey, three bedroom flat with two – count them two – bathrooms. I have one of those huge overhead rain shower things. I am still basking in its glory. The whole place is newly remodelled, modern design and furnishings, super spacious and just generally nice. The girls I live with are lovely, hilarious and Australian. They both cook well and often and I take full advantage of this. We get along well, though their love for crappy TV rivals that of Brandan. I thought my previous roommate had trained me fully in the realm of reality TV, but these girls put Brandan’s TV obsessions to shame. It’s almost terrifying. I’ve been watching a lot of Girls of the Playboy Mansion and Run’s House. Go one, judge me. I dare you. I’m really very happy with my current living situation. I’ve got some picture somewhere that I may get around to posting for those that are curious.

Next up, I’ve got a new job. As most of you know, I’ve left the law firm for an architect’s firm. What most of you don’t know is that my boss (from both the law firm and now the new place) resigned last week leaving me in a slightly different position than I ever expected. It really sucks that she’s gone – she was a great boss to have – but the company is now forced to give me a lot more responsibility than they otherwise would have. I’m now directly involved in the rebranding of the firm; from deciding the new name up to designing the look and feel of the new brand. I am also moving a lot of the design and production work in house. I spent last week putting together the interim report which will be published next week. I am a hell of a lot busier now than I ever have been at work, but I think that’s a good thing and I’m kind of enjoying it (for the time being at least). It’s kind of worked out to be a good opportunity for me, even though I miss my lovely boss.

Other news: I’ve got a cold and I miss my car something fierce.

New music obsession: Regina Specktor “That Time” and “Fidelity”

New music disappointment: I heard “Paper Planes” on the radio the other day and, I suspect due to the excessive street violence in London, they have removed the the gun sound effects in the chorus and replaced them with some guy shouting “click click click... ching... BOOM”. It just doesn’t do it for me.

Iritis

2008-08-14T01:20:00.000-07:00

I have a made up disease. At least, it sounds completely made up.

I saw two doctors who didn't know what was wrong with me before I went to a third who said "Hmm. Well, I think you have.... Iritis!". Essentially, my eyeball is swollen. Weird, right? I have to use steroid eye drops for a month as well as a dilation drop - which means I have one giant pupil and one normal one. I look like an Alien. If you know me, you'll know what a problem this is for me.

Creepy eyes indeed, Lauren.

Love is watching someone die

2008-08-11T05:15:00.000-07:00

That song came on last night and it brought me to tears. The thought of my grandmother holding my granddad’s hand as he died is heart wrenching. Yet, at the same time, there is something beautiful in the idea of her watching her husband of fifty-seven years take his last breath. I don’t think lucky is the right word, but maybe it is. My granddad used to tell us about the first time he met my grandmother; he went straight home and told his parents he had met the woman he was going to marry. My grandmother was, as she puts it, “less sure”. I’m not sure what he did to convince her, or if she even needed much convincing, but fifty-seven years later, I think about the time they have shared together, the things they have accomplished together, the life they have experienced together, and the love they had for each other up until the very end and, well, I think I would wish that kind of luck on to everyone I know.

There was a brief moment during John and Lauren’s wedding reception in which Jeremy and I thought one of us might need to make a speech. While it never panned out – which is most likely for the best as I had no idea what to say at the time – it made me think later on about what I would have said given that opportunity. It’s important for me to let all of you know (you who read this and care about where I am and what I am doing even though we don’t talk every day) that I consider you my family. I’ve grown up with you, I’ve laughed with you, I’ve cried with you, I’ve argued with you, I’ve learned from you and I’ve probably broken several laws with you. I am so proud of the things we have all managed to accomplish and I sometimes can’t believe we haven’t completely fucked it up. This whole ‘life’ thing can be a little complicated and I am infinitely grateful to have had you all to help me through it. I don't mean to be overly sentimental, it's just that, in light of recent events, I wanted to take a moment to let you all know how honored I am to be your friend. That’s all. Love!

So who’s gonna watch you die?

Brecon Beacons and various other things

2008-05-20T07:03:00.000-07:00

I spent the weekend in the Brecon Beacons, a national park in the North of Wales. We went horseback riding with a group called "Bushwhackers", which (as you may have been able to tell from the name) is not an entirely serious tour group. We spent maybe five hours horseback riding on Saturday. It was gorgeous. We rode through a tiny village on our way to the park, where we rode through rolling fields and then over a mountain. My horses name was Evan. He was my bud. It was a lot of fun, if not a little painful (my ass still hurts). However, we then spent about twelve hours drinking. Of the whole group, there were about five nationalities represented. We combined all our various rules for Kings and created a masterpiece of a drinking game. The whole weekend was great and there are a few photos up on facebook if you're interested.

Last Thursday, I went to a music festival in the Shoreditch area. Of the 100+ bands that were playing that night, I had only ever heard of one: The Octopus Project from good ole' Austin, Texas. They were great and made me feel at home. I saw a couple of other bands that night which I picked based solely on their names. The first one was The Strange Death of Liberal England. They were good. The second was The Keyboard Choir. They were freakin' awesome. They were literally five keyboards and a conductor (please see below). It cracked me up.

Summer is slowly starting to creep its way into London. We had some glorious weather last week; 80's and sunny. I've spent as much of my last three weekends outside as possible. I particularly enjoy taking a book to the park and sitting in the grass. Apparently, so does the rest of the city. Since the sunny weather, I have discovered my favourite thing about British people: give them a little bit of warmth and a patch of grass and they all get naked and eat ice cream. (please see below). It's hilarious and wonderful.

Creative Writing: read the second first.

2008-05-07T06:49:00.000-07:00

The U.S.A. is repossessing the U.K.'s repossession.
A message from someone considerably less famous than John Cleese…

To the citizens of the United Kingdom:

In reply to your recent allegation of American incompetence and neglect of social norms and customs, please find laid out below a point for point response to each of your illegitimate claims.

First things first, lay off Kansas. Sure, it's not exactly a glamorous state, but Kansas was home to both George Washington Carver and Paul Rudd. Do you like peanut butter and emotionally immature gender neutral romantic comedies? Then give Kansas a break.

Secondly, we already hold a national survey to determine the populations' level of political awareness. It's called the general election, and 64% of us took part in 2004. If the UK finds this turnout unacceptably low, and I can already hear the “whinging” from across the Atlantic Ocean, I would suggest you address the matter of your own electoral letdown of 61% in 2005 before taking issue with ours.

1, 2, & 3. American English (which will henceforth be referred to as simply 'English') has far fewer regional accents and dialects than British English, and can therefore be regarded as being much closer to a standard form. For your reference, the Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines 'standard' as something established by authority, custom, or general consent as a model or example. Some of your “accents” are so impossible to understand that they can scarcely be labeled as “language”, let alone any form of standard English. Also, please take note that adding extra, unnecessary letters to certain words is pompus and inefficient. This is yet another example of our impressive ability to streamline everything. Why type "doughnut" when "donut" is so much faster and less ridiculous? The next time you see fit to develop an operating system(or any piece of software) worthy of worldwide distribution, you can feel free to impose your spell checker on people. Until then, it's "realize" and "center", best you just get used to it. Also, on a somewhat unrelated note, we already know God Save the Queen. It's called My Country Tis of Thee.

4. The UK is just jealous of our eleven bank holidays to your eight. Besides, everyone likes fireworks and you know it. If you do not, I am suddenly not surprised that you live in England.

5. As 70% of the American population supports stricter gun control, we actually agree with you on this point. We have logged your complaint and will bring this to the attention of the other 30% in a timely manner. And another thing. If your barristers spent less time dressing up in wigs, you might feel inclined to make more use of them too.

6. We're ignoring this comment as it is simply far too silly. I will make an agreement with you, though. When your policemen cease wearing those absolutely ridiculous hats (I won’t even get into the guys in the red coats), we’ll consider carrying around vegetable peelers.

7. You may think your cars are more efficient than ours, but we know ours are more aesthetically pleasing. Case and point::

American Made Car

British Made Car

Of course, some of you might cite Aston Martin as the pinnacle of British automotive engineering. I would concede that they make a fine automobile, but then I would kindly remind you that they are owned by Ford, which means that once again, we, the Americans, have taken something you were careless with and seen it swiftly groomed to perfection (See: English language).

8. If it's all the same to you, we'll keep our infrastructure and units of measurement as is. We do just fine with Fahrenheit as the majority of us are capable of understanding numbers higher than 50.

9. This is why we got rid of the monarch - so we wouldn't be Royally screwed over gas prices.

10. Crisp isn't a food product, it's an adjective. In the good ole' U S of A we name our products after verbs, like sane people. When you fry a potato you end up with, you guessed it, a fry. Perfectly logical. Not to mention the fact that although a thicker-cut, English-style fried potato wedge is a popular dish in most Commonwealth countries, the thin style of french fries has been popularized worldwide by the US (please see the definition of "standard" above).

11. The United States of America would like to take this opportunity to state that the views and opinions of the Mass Production Breweries within our borders are expressly those of the Breweries and do not reflect the views and opinions of the country as a whole. In our defence, we would like to cite the Steam Brewery of California, as well as the Rogue Brewery of Colorado. We would also like to take a moment to point out the popularity of Budweiser within the UK. Shame on us? Shame on you.

12. According to the filmsite They Shoot Pictures Top 1000 Films, which collects votes from well over 1600 different film lists, there is only one British director listed in the Top 10 films of all time as of December 2007. (Well done, Alfred.) How’s about when you start to contribute more than 10% to the world's film industry, we'll think about including you in more Hollywood blockbusters. You've got to give a little to get a little. Also, isn’t Hugh Grant British? He’s in pretty much every movie over here. You can have him back, if you really want him, but we’re definitely keeping Paltrow.

13 & 14. You play a sport that takes three to five days to finish one match because the players are all faffing about sipping tea and enjoying little finger sandwiches with the crust cut off. And you call us nancies?

15. Lee Harvey Oswald. Apparently Google hasn’t made it into main stream British culture. This is forgivable, as it is our understanding you all still live in isolated villages of thatched-roof houses tending sheep and growing potatoes (or is the potato thing Ireland? All the same to us!).

16. The IRS has a hard enough time getting Americans to pay our own taxes (see: Wesley Snipes). If you want to have a crack at it, you're welcome to it.

17. We see where you're going with the cookies and cake angle. And, although we're a bit hesitant of the tea aspect of it all, we're intrigued by this "tea time" of yours. However promising this idea may be, it will have to be over promptly at 5 pm, as this is Happy Hour.

God Bless the USA.

Thanks for all of the great TV,
The Committee for American Retort

Britain is Repossessing the U.S.A.
A Message from John Cleese

To the citizens of the United States of America:

In light of your failure to nominate competent candidates for President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective immediately.>> Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths, and territories (except Kansas , which she does not fancy).

Your new prime minister, Gordon Brown, will appoint a governor for America without the need for further elections.

Congress and the Senate will be disbanded.

A questionnaire may be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed.

To aid in the transition to a British Crown Dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect: You should look up 'revocation' in the Oxford English Dictionary.

1. Then look up aluminium, and check the pronunciation guide. You will be amazed at just how wrongly you have been pronouncing it.

2. The letter 'U' will be reinstated in words such as 'favour' and 'neighbour.' Likewise, you will learn to spell 'doughnut' without skipping half the letters, and the suffix -ize will be replaced by the suffix -ise. Generally, you will be expected to raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. (look up 'vocabulary').

3. Using the same twenty-seven words interspersed with filler noises such as 'like' and 'you know' is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication. There is no such thing as US English. We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell- checker will be adjusted to take account of the reinstated letter 'u' and the elimination of -ize. You will relearn your original national anthem, God Save The Queen.

4. July 4th will no longer be celebrated as a holiday.

5. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers, or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you're not adult enough to be independent. Guns should only be handled by adults. If you're not adult enough to sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist then you're not grown up enough to handle a gun.

6. Therefore, you will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous than a vegetable peeler. A permit will be required if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.

7. All American cars are hereby banned. They are crap and this is for your own good. When we show you German cars, you will understand what we mean.

8. All intersections will be replaced with roundabouts, and you will start driving on the left with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion tables. Both roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.

9. The Former USA will adopt UK prices on petrol (which you have been calling gasoline)-roughly $6/US gallon. Get used to it.

10. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips, and those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called crisps. Real chips are thick cut, fried in animal fat, and dressed not with catsup but with vinegar.

11. The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all. Henceforth, only proper British Bitter will be referred to as beer, and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as Lager. South African beer is also acceptable as they are pound for pound the greatest sporting Nation on earth and it can only be due to the beer. They are also part of British Commonwealth - see what it did for them.

12. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as good guys. Hollywood will also be required to cast English actors to play English characters. Watching Andie McDowell attempt English dialogue in Four Weddings and a Funeral was an experience akin to having one's ears removed with a cheese grater.

13. You will cease playing American football. There is only one kind of proper football; you call it soccer. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which has some similarities to American football, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like a bunch of nancies). Don't try Rugby - the South Africans and Kiwis will thrash you, like they regularly thrash us.

14. Further, you will stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the World Series for a game which is not played outside of America. Since only 2.1% of you are aware that there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable. You will learn cricket, and we will let you face the South Africans first to take the sting out of their deliveries.

15. You must tell us who killed JFK. It's been driving us mad.

16. An internal revenue agent (i.e. tax collector) from Her Majesty's Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all monies due (backdated to 1776).

17. Daily Tea Time begins promptly at 4 pm with proper cups, never mugs, with high quality biscuits (cookies) and cakes; strawberries in season.

God save the Queen.

Regards,
JC

Cheese it, the fuzz!

2008-04-29T04:43:00.000-07:00

I was awoken at 1:00 a.m. Monday morning as every single buzzer in my apartment building roared to life. These buzzers are, at the best of times, obnoxiously loud. Being woken up by a symphony of them nearly gave me a heart attack. My neighbour, Charles, took the initiative to find out what was going on. As soon as he lifted the latch to our main door, he was pushed aside by ten armed police officers.

All I heard was Charles informing the officers that "the stairs only go up one flight" and an officer responding "GET BACK IN YOUR FLAT!". As they clamoured up the stairs I, being half asleep and partially nude, had a sudden moment of panic; convinced I was about to be exposed to several members of Scotland Yard as the burst into my apartment looking for God knows what. Of course, this was not the case. The band of bobbies stopped on the first flight and turned into our strange courtyard (more like an enclosed alleyway) and searched the 5'x10' area much longer than you would think necessary for a 5'x10' area. I then heard them say something to the affect of "All clear, get back to the street" and they were gone.

The next day, I asked Charles if he knew what the hell that was all about. He shrugged and said "they wanted to get to the roof to arrest two Chinese woman in bathrobes".

I can now proudly say I have survived my very first police raid. I live in an interesting place.

Shelley

2008-04-22T09:55:00.000-07:00

I've always held that I have a pretty crap name. I mean, Shelley? It's so awkward. It's only half a name, really. Everyone always asks if it's short for Michelle. No! If my name was Michelle, why would I want to go by Shelley? It's a name for a turtle, not a people.

My dad picked my name and has always justified it by saying "it's a proper British name". Didn't do me a lot of good - until now. I usually cringe when I hear people say may name. It always feels awkward to me. But, here in London, spoken with an accent, my name sounds normal! It's kind of nice.

Anyway, that was pointless. Here's a chart I found:

This is sort of hard to read, so I'll summarize. My name has not been popular since the late 50s, early 60s. It's been in steady decline ever since. Way to fight the trend, dad!

How do you feel about your name?

Funny Games U.S.

2008-04-14T09:17:00.000-07:00

Has anyone heard of this or, God forbid, seen this? I think it's important to state upfront that it's not a bad movie. I only include the "God forbid" because you are all dear friends of mine who I don't want to see mind-fucked.

Let me explain.

Funny Games U.S. is a shot for shot remake of an Austrian film of the same name (minus the U.S. part, obviously). It opens on a happy little family - Mother, Father, and Son - on their way to their luxurious lake house in a well-to-do gated community. They quickly run into two young men, who are "guests" of their neighbours. The young men climb over their fence to ask if they can borrow some eggs. After what seems like a painstakingly long conversation - just as you start to scream inside your head "GET OUT! Get them out!" - the father's leg is broken and the whole family is gagged and bound. The rest of the movie is a truly disturbing depiction of these people desperately trying to survive. It's not a fun movie to watch. You will not enjoy yourself. You will cringe. You'll feel disgusted. But, it's a well made movie. It's well written, it's beautifully acted and it's well shot.

I hated it.

But, not for the reasons you might think. The theatre I was in started with maybe sixteen people. By the end of the movie, at least a third of them had walked out. I think these people were turned off by the violence and by the nature of the story. I didn't necessarily mind that (though it bothered me (because I'm human)). What really got to me was the way the movie gets into your head. The plot of the movie revolves around these two sadistic kids playing "games" with this capture family. But, what you don't necessarily realize throughout the film is that these guys are really playing a game with you, the viewer. There are a couple of moments where the lead sadistic kid breaks the fourth wall and talks directly to the audience. Asking us "who's side are you on" and inviting you to take part in the bet. At another point, when you think there might actually be hope for the family, he tells you "neither of us want it to go this way". A subtle remark that could be taken as "neither of the young men" or "neither the young men nor the audience" (I'm arguing the later here). At the end of the movie the kid stares straight into the camera with this insanely sick smile and it's not until that moment that you realize you've lost. You sat through the whole movie. You watched them kill that family, and that's what they wanted. Maybe you even wanted them to kill that family. The whole time they are daring us to make them stop, to walk out, to keep it from happening. But, by sitting there and watching it, we let it happen. This is confounded by the fact that it's a remake. A shot for shot remake. It's not like you didn't know what you were getting yourself into, if only you took the time to find out. It's kind of hard to explain, and I don't feel I am necessarily doing a good job. It's the only movie I can think of that has actually made me feel violated. I felt tricked. And I felt dirty.

Maybe that's just me. Maybe everyone else who sees it won't think twice about it. But I thought it was an interesting psychological commentary. I mean, we're all voyeurs - these movies are made because we like to watch people get hurt (or wrecked, or blown up, or eaten by zombies). But this movie takes that to a whole knew level. It's too real in it's simplicity and straight forward approach. It draws you in. It doesn't necessarily feel like a movie. In the same respect, I find it interesting that the collapse of the fourth wall doesn't take you out of the movie, as is usually the case. It actually brings you into it even more, which I think can be attributed to the over all style of the film.

I don't know. I'm kind of rambling at this point. I'll leave it at this: on the one hand, I did not enjoy this movie and would never recommend it. On the other, I found it very interesting/intelligent and would recommend it to a certain kind of person. That means this review is completely worthless and you'll have to decide for yourself if you want to watch it. If you do see it, let me know what you think.

It's the best friends that need you

2008-03-23T08:17:00.000-07:00

If you'd like to hear some of the more memorable exploits of my college life as told by some of my favorite people, you can check out a series of nine clips on youtube that Blair put together for me for my birthday.

I have to say, this is one of the best birthday presents ever. It made me so very happy - and sad - and I love it. It is a bit disconcerting, however, that the majority of the stories revolve around me being embarrassingly drunk. Fond memories, indeed.

From a monstrous email to Germ:

2008-03-17T10:15:00.000-07:00

I've cracked my knuckles, stretched out the arms, and am ready to type. This is going to be a long one…

I can safely say Rome is the greatest place I have ever been. Having been to Italy twice now, I may even go so far as to say it's my favourite country I have yet to have the pleasure to visit. There is something about the culture - a certain vibe - that I can't seem to get enough of. If I spoke Italian, I could happily live there. Maybe I'll try to teach myself some of the language…
We arrived around 7 o'clock Tuesday night. As you know, Darren was gimp-tastic, so we didn't do too much walking around that night. I wanted him to rest up for the two walking tours we had scheduled the next day. There was no way I was going to let him crap out on me - not in Rome. That night, we had an amazing dinner at a little place not far from our hotel. I think one of my favourite things about vacations - particularly in Italy - is that food becomes an event. We sat outside this little restaurant for nearly four hours nibbling and sipping away. For dessert, we shared some sort of apple cinnamon meringue custard pie thing. We tried to get the waiter to explain to us exactly what it was, but we never figured it out. All I know is that it was delicious.

Wednesday, we got up bright and early and went over to the Castle of the Angels. Rather unfortunately, with Darren's gimpness, we didn't have the opportunity to walk from point A to point B, which I think would have been the way to go. Instead, we cabbed it everywhere, which got particularly expensive but was necessary. The Castle was really cool. The guide book I had with me (what? I'm the greatest tourist ever, and you know it) described the structure as a veritable hamburger of history. The place started as a mausoleum for Hadrian (I think) and then had bits and pieces added on for each of it's new uses. It spent most of it's life as a Papal stronghold for treasures, papers, and prisoners. One of the popes even walled himself up in it for a while when he thought his life was at risk. Because of this, there was a really crazy mix of run down Castle rooms next to wildly adorned rooms gilded and covered from floor to ceiling in frescos. I have never spent so much time admiring ceilings in my life as I did in Rome. They were all about the ceiling decorations. The castle had an adorable little café tucked away on one of the top levels. We sat and had a coffee while enjoying the views of the city. It was, I think, a pretty splendid way to start my first day in Rome.

We had the first of our guided tours at one. We hobbled our way down towards the Vatican (and I say "we" hobbled because I did develop a sort of sympathy limp) and proceeded to get incredibly lost. Well, actually, we weren't lost. I knew exactly where we were - I just didn't know where we were suppose to meet the guide. I had also managed to forget the piece of paper with said guides number on it. This is where I cried. Silly? Yeah. But I was really truly horribly upset that we had missed the tour and thought that I had completely ruined out trip within the first twelve hours. Fortunately, (after being incredibly rude to my mom on the phone because she can't work computers (for which I later apologised profusely)) I got the number and was able to get in touch with Matthew, our tour guide. It turns out, our "group" tour consisted of just Darren and I, so we hadn't missed anything nor had we been holding anyone up. So we met up with Matthew and he took us into the Vatican. Matthew is a Canadian Art History major studying within the Papal schools. In short, he knows absolutely everything you would ever want to know about anything within the Vatican walls. I could not have asked for a better guide (and he was pretty cute). We managed to get Darren a wheelchair, which was good for him and fun for me; I let him go roll down a lot of ramps and pushed him into a lot of walls. As far as what we saw, I am kind of at a loss for words. This is true with everything I saw - it was really just too incredible to take in.

Have you been inside the Vatican? I am going to assume you have and just start rambling about my favourite things. Again, the ceilings (in particular the Sistine Chapel - oh my sweet Jesus that's the definition of humbling) were mind-boggling. The Map Chamber was incredible. The Tapestry Hallway was amazing. All the statues, and tombs, and that giant bath tub! In the same room as the giant bath tub, is this absolutely amazing mosaic floor. Matthew explained how this Vatican found this floor in an ancient villa in South Italy and, since they liked it, they ganked it and brought it back with them. Apparently, that's how the Vatican got most of their stuff; through pillaging. I think my absolute favourite thing inside the Vatican had to be Raphael's
School of Athens. Freshman year, I took a ancient art history course and the School of Athens was one of the paintings we talked the most about. I have studied, in great detail, every inch of that piece of artwork and taken several tests specifically about this one piece of art. And there, in the Vatican, I turned a corner and came face to face with it. It was just there on the wall, or rather, it was the wall. It wasn't behind glass, it wasn't framed, it wasn't cordoned off by any security. It was just there. The freakin' School of Athens. I could have touched it if I had wanted to (but I obviously didn't as the last thing I would want to do is ruin some of the greatest work ever produced by touching it with my grubby, unworthy, hands). That pretty much just bowled me over. Even more than the Sistine Chapel. Don't get me wrong, that was indescribably amazing as well, but seeing that equally famous (if not more so) work did not have nearly the same effect on me. I also got really annoyed by all the people who used flash photography (that destroys frescos!) and insisted on talking very loudly even after guards asked them nicely to show respect and refrain from speaking in the chapel. I hate tourists - or, rather, I hate people who don't appreciate what they are experiencing. Oh! Speaking of: as we were leaving the Raphael rooms and heading towards the chapel I over heard another tour group conversation that went a little something like this:

Woman: What's back there? (indicating towards the Raphael rooms)
Tour Guide: Oh, nothing, just more museum. You don't need to see that, we go to the Sistine Chapel now.

JUST MORE MUSEUM?! I wanted to turn around and grab that woman by the shoulders and insist she DID need to see that. In retrospect, I probably should had - well, not grab her by the shoulders, but at least let her know what she was missing. Matthew said that a lot of the tour guides that take groups through there act like that. Apparently, they get paid more the more tours they do, so they rush everyone through. Again. I am so glad we found Matthew. After the Vatican Museums and the Chapel, we were walked through St. Peter's church. I now know this is the single largest church in the world, with St. Paul's in London (which we will climb to the very top of and look out over the city) coming in second. The Vatican has actually taken the time to mark along the centre aisle the lengths of the other large churches in the world just to show how much bigger theirs is. This is where I made an accidental penis joke and told Matthew that the Vatican, of all people, should know it is the size of the church that matters. I was going for a "it's the size of the faith" thing, but it came out really dirty and I felt bad for having accidentally blasphemed in the world's largest church. We then learned about how the Vatican found St. Peter's bones directly below the centre alter in the church after centuries of looking for his tombs in the surrounding fields. I find this a little too convenient and don't think I buy into it, but it's a good story nonetheless. Another good story: a crazy dude came into the church with a hammer and started pounding away at Michelangelo's Piety, knocking off an arm, a nose, and a few other chunks of beautiful artwork before security was able to tackle him. In the chaos, a bunch of tourist grabbed the pieces of broken marble and ran off with them. First off, who the hell strolls into a church and destroys ancient masterpieces for no apparent reason?! Secondly, who the hell then STEALS pieces of said masterpiece?! The Pope then issued a release in which he kindly requested that anyone who had a piece of the Piety return it to the church, and there would be no action taken against them. I think, even if you aren't religious, you sort of HAVE to obey the Pope. Apparently, a lot of other people agree with me on that one and every single piece of missing marble was returned and they were able to restore the sculpture. Unfortunately, they now keep it behind bullet proof glass and you can't get as good of a look at it as you could before.

We said our goodbyes to Matthew, and headed to our second group tour of the day. This one was a night tour of the city and, again, we found ourselves as the only members of the "group". This time, our guide was an (also cute) Irish writer named Shane, who just happened to know a lot about antiquity - and I mean A LOT. The sheer knowledge this guy has was seriously overwhelming. He asked us up front how much we already knew about Rome and how much we wanted to know. We explained we knew the basics and were really interested in knowing as much as he could tell us. This wasn't a mistake, per say, but he did then proceed to unload more names, dates, and details than I thought any one person could know. We walk through sort of the central part of the city, starting at the Monument of Victor Emanuel (also known as the Wedding Cake), stopping at Trajan's Column, the Trevi Fountain, Piazza Monteaiterro, the Pantheon (Oh My God, Breath Taking), Piazzo Navone, the Teatro di Pompeii, and the Area Sacra. Again, I am just going to assume you know what all these things are. At every stop, Shane imparted more knowledge on us than I could handle. I wish I had taken notes. He did a really incredible job of explaining all the connections between popes and emperors and architects and artists and how they all worked with each other and against each other to create what we see today. I wish I could explain the experience better, but really I am just at a loss for words. It was, simply put, perfect. Having two incredibly educated guys give you private tours of Rome is not a bad way of seeing the city.

Thursday, we spent the day at the Roman Forum, the Coliseum, and Palatine Hill. We didn't have a tour set up for this day, and ended up joining one once we got there. In retrospect, we should have asked Shane what he was doing Thursday, and paid him to be our educated friend for the day. Oh well. Instead, we had a fairly adorable old Italian man show us around the Coliseum. I can't say I really trust any of the tid-bits he told us, but I didn't really care. I was just excited to be standing inside the Coliseum. You could have told me puppies ate my mom and I still would have been happy. One thing that I would really liked cleared up - because my Latin teachers and this old guy seem to be in disagreement over this fact - is whether or
not they actually held Naval battles inside the Coliseum. Old dude made a pretty fair argument as to why they couldn't have; the arena was too small, there was no way to get the boats inside, and flooding the arena meant flooding the chambers below. But, at the same time, I find it hard to believe that every Latin/Classics teacher I have ever had lied to me. Wiki, here I come! After the Coliseum, the old dude passed us off to a smarmy dude in a track suite who then showed us around Palatine Hill. Just looking at this guy, I had zero respect for his knowledge of anything and proceeded to take a lot of pictures and pretty much ignore him completely. I think we had just been spoiled by Matthew and Shane, who had not only told us the basics but really went in depth and gave us some great information. Old dude and Smarmy dude, understandably, we playing to the lowest common denominator and really didn't tell us anything we didn't already know. And, occasionally, told us things we knew were wrong because Shane and Matt had taught us otherwise. Despite my snooty opinion of the tour guides, Palatine Hill was amazing. I think it has to be one of the prettiest places I have ever been. It's just gorgeous. I nerded out pretty hard core over this tiny little plaque in the ground that signified the "exact spot" Romulus founded Rome. I also liked the trees way more than I normal person should. I know, what a weird thing to like. But they were seriously awesome trees! Anyway, once we climbed back down the hill (which was a bit of an effort of Darren's part) we went to the meeting spot for the next part of the tour. We, along with about ten other people, had paid ten euro each to be lead through the Coliseum, Palatine Hill, and the Forum. However, whether it was a miscommunication or we were swindled, there was no third part of the tour. Darren and I waited around with a Scottish couple, a British kid, and a Mom/Daughter duo from D.C. for about twenty minutes before we decided to go it alone. All of us went together over to the forum and between the three guide books we had and my (in)ability to read Latin, gave ourselves our own tour. We didn't do too badly, actually. But, it was not nearly as informative as I would have liked it to have been. The people we were with were really nice/interesting to talk to. The mom of the American duo turned out to be from Dallas originally, so we bonded (I accidentally typed boned, and almost left it for humour's sake). They were excellent company, and it was really a shame we had to leave them so soon. Darren and I had to get to the airport by seven and we wanted to go back to the Pantheon one more time before we left. We spent our last two hours in Rome sitting at a little café just outside the Pantheon, eating wonderful food, sipping wine, and people watching. It was, I think, the perfect way to end the trip.

During the cab ride to the airport, my heart was literally heavy. You know that sinking feeling in your chest? I've gotten that both times I have left Italy. I think my body is trying to tell me something. As I said before, I just absolutely love Italy and, now, Rome. I was very sad to leave it and will (not might) be going back soon. I really would like to learn a little Italian and maybe spend two or three weeks over there. Want to go with me?

Twenty Three

2008-03-06T03:26:00.000-08:00

Ok, we need a new post; time to push Downer Debbie on down the page a bit.

As you all know, Tuesday was my Birthday. And it was, I have to say, a pretty damned good one. I spent Friday and Saturday at my Aunt's house in the country. It was also Will's (cousin's boyfriend) birthday, so we had a little joint celebration. There were decorations, presents, and cake. My mom mailed a big package of goodies for me and included, for reasons I don't necessarily understand, a Pin the Tail on the Donkey game. I think it was the first time in my entire life I have actually played that game - it only took twenty-three years.

Sunday was Texas Independence day and there was a bit of a shindig at the Texas Embassy. A group of us went around 2:00, expecting to have some lunch and our free drink and be on our way. They finally kicked us out eight hours - and eight margaritas - later. As Adam said, drinking Margaritas all day is a really great way to spend your Sunday - until you look in your wallet and realize your missing £40. I should really move somewhere more conducive to my lifestyle; that lifestyle being "poor".

Tuesday it snowed! In Texas anyway. I like to think that Texas got me snow for my birthday, but I just forgot to leave a forwarding address. All London got for me was freezing rain. Psh, I doubt I'll be inviting London again next year. I didn't really plan anything special, but I think that's exactly why I had so much fun. A couple of the girls from work and I shared a bottle of wine at my place before heading up to the weekly pub quiz. I feel I need to apologize on behalf of Laura and myself, as we were the only two to reach giggly drunk. For everyone else who was there, I hope we didn't embarrass you too much.

All in all, I have to say it was a pretty alright birthday. I sort of had this expectation that 23 would make me feel older. 22 just sounds so young to me. I didn't expect to wake up Tuesday morning to a whole new world or anything, but I did think that people might respect me a little bit more and maybe see me as less of a "kid". I was pretty excited about the 23 mark, that is, until people at work kept gasping at how young I am saying, "we thought you were 29!". Oh well, I guess one of these days I'll become an adult. I can't say I'm really in a big hurry...

I noticed the other day that I have managed to maintain the standard school holiday schedule since I've entered into the "real world". I took three weeks at Christmas, and I am taking next week off for Spring Break. Darren gets into town on Sunday, and we'll be spending three days in Rome next week. I'm incredibly excited about this trip. I've wanted to go to Rome since 8th grade, when I first started studying classics. I think my nerdometer may, in fact, explode. I'm taking the SLR on this one, so expect A LOT of pictures.

Heart Sick

2008-02-27T09:22:00.001-08:00

The last few days have been particularly hard. Why? I'm suffering from a pretty serious case of home sickness. I don't know where it came from - well, actually, that's not entirely true. I found out last week that I can't afford to come home in April like I had hoped. It will be at least another four months before I make it make to Texas. So, my sickness is not completely inexplicable but it's more than just that.

I miss Sunday night dinner and cartoon parties. I miss watching kung fu movies at John and Adam's. I miss the Alamo Draft house. I miss sing-a-longs. I miss downtown and sixth street. I miss cheap booze. I miss cheap anything, for that matter. I miss my mom. I miss home cooked meals. I miss having a roommate (specifically, roommate). I miss my cat. I miss my dog. I miss my car. I miss driving in the rain. I miss thunderstorms in general and the way the sky turns green and you can actually smell the brewing storm. I miss weekly lunches. I miss my brother. I miss my Skye-pie. I miss my dad's bad jokes. I miss shopping with Jackye. I miss the sun. I miss having a purpose (i.e. graduating college). I miss arts and crafts projects at Kelly's house. I miss the excitement I always felt as I exited 35, turned onto MLK and glided down that big hill. I miss burnt orange. I miss having more than three close friends. I miss always having someone to call. I miss the central time zone. I miss Jimmy Johns. I miss Thai Noodle House. I miss Vulcan Video - or any rental place. I miss the music capital of the world. I miss the Mythbusters and Mike Rowe and Futurama. I miss guitar hero. I miss people who miss guitar hero as much as me. I miss people whose idea of a spring break is watching How it's Made and playing Wii at the beach. I miss Shiner. I miss being able to say Shiner or double fisting without being laughed at. I miss John's house. I miss vanilla chia. I miss impromptu parties. I miss theme parties. I miss Halloween. I miss Tex-mex and Mexican Martinis. I miss watching reality TV marathons with Brandan and considering it a productive Sunday. I miss hobby lobby. I miss convenience. I miss feeling like I belong. I miss feeling loved.

Speaking of, I am a bit love sick too. I've just got a bit of a nostalgic, sentimental, longing to be in love thing going. I don't think this is detrimental to my well being, but I do think snuggling could go a long way toward improving my general mood.

It's just one of those days…

My Town Burned Down

2008-02-11T09:18:00.000-08:00

Naples, Italy

2008-02-04T09:16:00.000-08:00

The Stereotype

On first impression, Naples is a loud, crowded, dirty, mismatch of people, buildings, cars, animals, and garbage. While I am aware there is a garbage strike on (in fact, I was privileged enough to witness a garbage riot on town hall in which people threw trash at politicians), you are given the distinct impression that litter is not a new problem. There are dilapidated, graffiti ridden apartments butted up against modern glass front business complexes. Buildings are painted all shades of red, yellow, and green. Every building is covered in balconies and every balcony is covered in hanging laundry and hanging plants. The streets have no lanes and the cars zip along wherever they want, and as fast as they want (usually faster than you would have thought possible). But mixed into and made from all of that, is a real feeling of life and culture. Italians are loud, passionate, and shake their hands a lot when they talk. Every overdone stereotype of the accent is spot on. Italians seem to always be in a hurry and completely apathetic at the same time. They embrace slow walks and long lunches. They use their horns too much. There are scooters every where and I love to watch them inch down the street with a hairdryer between their legs and say "ciao". (That's an Eddie Izzard joke for ya). The woman are beautiful and the men have no shame; I was asked out on three dates and proposed to twice. It's a hectic, "in your face" kind of town that you really do have to see to believe.

The Highlights

I went to dinner my first night at this little, well, Italian place recommended to me by the B&B guys. There were only three people in the restaurant, the owner, the chef, and me. I told the owner to order his favourites for me and I got some of the most amazing fresh steamed clams and oysters on linguini, some interesting (but still tasty) fried sardines with roasted eggplant in a vinegar gravy, and a free bottle of wine. The food was amazing, but what really made the night was the ambiance. Me, alone with two happy old men, watching Walker Texas Ranger in Italian. When it first came on, they turned to me and said "Chuck Norris! Boom, boom!". I could have gotten on a plane back to London right then and there. It pretty much made my life.
Pompeii was one of the more incredible things I have seen in my life. I was first and foremost surprised by the size of the place. For some reason, I was expecting a few ruins here and there and maybe some display cases of the more important artefacts. But, no. Not at all. It's an entire city - square grid blocks of roads and alleyways, sidewalks, crosswalks, remnants of temples, government buildings, gladiatorial arenas, graveyards and tombs, houses, restaurants, theatres, launder mats, fish markets, meat markets, bath houses, graffiti (both political slander and immature jokes), and even swimming pools - amazingly preserved and waiting to be explored. I got there rather early in the day and would often walk through the ancient city streets for twenty minutes without seeing another living soul - except, of course, for the many stray dogs that make the dead city their home. It's such a humbling and invigorating feeling to see and touch the things that people in the 6th century B.C. built and used in everyday life. It kind of blows your mind.
As is now a tradition when it comes to Shelley sightseeing alone, I partook in another Hop-on-hop-off bus tour. I've decided this really is one of the best ways to see a big city when you're alone, prone to getting lost, and short on time. The tour took me through the main squares of the town, stopping at the most significant churches, catacombs, castles and museums. I took the time to explore the Museco Archelogico di Napoli - where all the exciting Pompeii and Herculeum finds end up. They had an "erotic exhibit" featuring a few of the fetishes and penis jokes antiquity had to offer. Be on the look out for a fabulous photography of my favourite penis piece. The tour also took us up to the highest point of the city where I sipped my café while overlooking the entire bay.

The Pizza

If I had to pick a down side of my Naples experience it would be this: I can never enjoy pizza again. I've been trying to think of a way in which I can describe the absolute perfection of the margarehita pizza without making it sound like an overstatement. I don't think I can. You'll just have to accept it when I tell you that the tangy-sweetness of the tomatoes, the bubbly pockets of buffalo mozzarella, and the fresh basil leaves combined into a singular tastes explosion that can only be described as pure happiness. This is not an exaggeration, it is simply fact. I can only hope that you believe me and are, one day, lucky enough to eat pizza in Naples.

The Conclusion

Many of the people I talked to were surprised Naples was my first Italian city. They found it very odd that I didn't start with Rome, Venice, or Florence. In fact, many of the locals even apologized for Naples being my first impression of Italy and implored me to visit the "nicer cities". I understand their point, I think. Naples isn't the "normal" Italian city. They have their own language, they have their own style, they don't have any of the huge attractions or monuments but, despite what they say, I think Naples is fantastic and I am so glad I went.

How to get from Gatwick to Victoria

2008-01-31T08:21:00.000-08:00

Or: An Exerpt of an Email to my Brother

Once you deplane and go through immigration, there is a counter to the right that will sell you a train ticket. You want a return ticket on the Gatwick Express to Victoria - make sure to tell them the return is on Tuesday (more on this later). Go down the ramps and get your luggage, go through the lovely green "I have nothing to declare except my genius" customs door, and exit into the main terminal. You are looking for signs that say "trains" - I know, it's really complicated, but stick with me. You follow these "trains" signs in order to get to the trains. You might have to take a little shuttle train to switch terminals (I think the express goes out of the north terminal, but I'm not sure). Don't be confused by this little shuttle train - this is not the Gatwick Express. When you exit the shuttle, continue to follow the signs that read "trains" until you find the train station. It will be pretty easy to locate as it is the place with all the trains.

There will be a big board that tells you what trains are on what platform. Make sure you get on a Gatwick Express to Victoria. I cannot stress this enough. Getting on the right train is crucial to getting to the right place. There will be non-express trains going to Victoria, don't get on those. Those will take upwards of an hour, but the Express only takes 30 minutes - this is, I believe, why they call it the "express".

You will know you have arrived at London Victoria when the train stops moving, and does not start again. This is called "the end of the line". Exit the train (be sure to get your luggage) and follow the signs labled "WAY OUT". This is British for "exit". There is only one exit, or "way out", so it is quite difficult to get lost. However, just in case you are confused or overwhelmed by the foriegn culture, I have selected a familar landmark where we will meet. There is a Burger King immediately to the right as you exit the platform and enter the station. This is where you will find me.

Clearly you're a jackass

2008-01-28T04:27:00.001-08:00

I've been accosted today for a mistake my boss made of which I knew nothing about. But, she is not here, so it's my fault and my responsibility. Honestly, it’s not a big deal and it took all of five minutes to fix, but I don't much like getting phone calls from partners who talk down to me and give me attitude for something I had nothing to do with. I get it, you are paid much more than I am to do a much more important job - that doesn't make me your servant. No respect I tell ya, no respect.

Thus I have come to a conclusion: I could never do this for a living. Secondary conclusion: I need to find a job doing something I like before my will to live is sucked away and I become complacent enough to work here for another year (or worse, the rest of my life).

On another note, I nerded out about this morning's Metro wrap. Often times, the metro sells the front and back of both the first and last page of their paper to advertisers (FYI: this is known in media lingo as a "wrap"). This morning, the paper did some shameless self-promotion in which they filled the four pages with a variety of designs for a "remake our masthead" competition. I've scanned it in for your amusement, which unfortunately means it's b&w only, but I think it's still pretty neat. EDIT: Thanks to Alex over at Zurich Media (who happened to stumble upon the entry), we now have these lovely jpegs - now in color!

I'd like to take a moment to point out that a girl from Texas Creative was doing the hand typography thing two years ago. And when she did it, it related back to the product (it was for the Body Shop and she used all part of the human body, not just hands). In short, the winner here is not, in my opinion, all that special or relevant. Having said that, I'm not sure which I would pick for the winner. Maybe the 7th one on the second page, thrid column. I like their simplicity. A lot of them I find too busy or overly complicated for a masthead (read: the last one in the same coloumn). Anyway, I thought it was interesting....

"You're Kidding"

2008-01-23T04:38:00.000-08:00

While I found Jeremy's analysis of the current stock market situation in my previous post insightful, it's his second comment I wish to elaborate on: Heath Ledger is dead.

When I heard the news last night I was, it's safe to say, shocked. In fact, I was much more shocked than I would have expected. While the death of any person is always tragic, I never would have thought that the death of Heath Ledger would upset me so much. Not "upset" in the crying hysterical sense of the word. No, not that at all. But, nonetheless, it has resonated with me in some way. Maybe it was his potential as an actor. Maybe it was his two year old daughter. Maybe it was his youth. Maybe it was how unexpected it was (I haven't heard much of the guy for years and all of a sudden he's dead?!). I'm not sure why really, but this death is - I think -particularly sad. I won't get into how this personally affected me because, honestly, it hasn't. But, I will say, it's truly tragic that we only get one opportunity to experience this:

"America is closed today"

2008-01-21T10:48:00.000-08:00

I am sitting here watching the news and, during a report on the stock market, they uttered the above phrase. What a strange thought. Happy MLK day - though, I don't think that is something you send out best wishes for. In any case, I hope you enjoyed your day off.

I don't believe in New Years' Resolutions

2008-01-16T07:27:00.001-08:00

Despite how excited I was to come home this Christmas (and we are talking giddy excited), I was a little worried about having to answer the same dreaded question over and over again, "So what are you doing with your life?".

It seems that people expect me to have it all figured out. They want to know if I like my current job. Will I stay with them for a year? Two years? Will I look for another job? What kind of job do I think I can get? How long will I stay at that job? Do I want to travel? Where do I want to travel? When will I travel? Do I have a boyfriend? Do I plan on finding one when I get back? (Like it's that easy.) Do I have any friends? Will I join any clubs or groups to make friends? When will I come back to Texas? Will I live in Austin or Dallas? Have I thought about going back to school? What grad program would I want to do?

Here's the only questions I have: What the hell is the rush?

Since I don't have any answers to these questions I started telling people I was living on a six month plan. This is something I used when I first decided to move to London six months go (side note: can you believe it was six months ago?). I discovered it was acceptable to not know the answers to these questions so long as you explained that you knew you didn't know. Weird, right? But it worked. I've been leaning on this as a crutch, all most, to keep myself from having to think too far ahead. What I didn't realize until this Christmas is that it's true. I am living in the short term and I am really, truly, happy with that.

I came to England in September with absolutely no plan. That's terrifying and down right stupid. But, do you know isn't terrifying and stupid? Coming to England for three months. That's not scary at all. So I lived from September to December and I found a job, and I kind of enjoy that job, and I get paid well, and I travelled to Dublin, and I visited Holland, and I made a couple of friends, and when I came back to Texas for Christmas I was considered successful in my venture.

Now, I just have to make it to April. I'll keep going to work, maybe even find another job better suited to me skills and interests. I'll visit a few more countries and experience exciting things I otherwise wouldn't be able to. I am thinking about joining a theatre troop. I have set a few "professional goals" for myself that involve becoming more active in design again - rebranding my website and my business cards, building my portfolio on my own, reading more design and ad books, visiting museums, and trying to get more design projects at work. You might say these are "New Years' Resolutions", but I don't think of them that way. If something is important to you, you shouldn't have to wait until January 1st to promise yourself you'll drop 10 lbs or quit smoking. It's just a coincidence that I have promised these things to myself at the beginning of the New Year. I am going to take active steps towards these "resolutions", but I have no idea if any of it will happen. It could be that I'll never find a proper job, that I can't travel, that I find myself lonely and homesick, and that I suck at design. Maybe. I don't know. But it doesn't matter, does it? Not in a long term king of way. This next three months is so miniscule in the grand scheme of my life. All I have to do is live as best I can and wait to see what might happen next.

This isn't to say that I am now completely passive in my life and will just wait for the tide to pull me where it will. No, not at all. I have an idea of what I think I would like to do and I am going to do my best to achieve that ideal. But, I am not going to stress myself out if something doesn't go "according to plan". I feel like people get too caught up in the future and forget about the now. I just want to enjoy what I am doing without having to taint it with fears and worries. I am too young to tie myself down like that. I'm not sure when I'll hit that magic age when I have to "grow up", but I figure I'll know when I get there.

So, for now anyway, I am playing it by ear. I was explaining this to a family friend and his response was, "you really have your shit together". I kind of laughed and said that it's really easy to look like you have it together when you, in fact, have nothing to put together. I find that this outlook really simplifies things for me and makes it (life) so much easier to handle.

I said it once, and I'll say it again: Puppets really are smarter than people. I'd like to believe that my life philosophy is a bit more complicated than a spoof Sesame Street musical could understand (and, honestly, it is), but I find this lyric to be a nice little cliffs note version of what I am talking about here: "Everything in life is only for now".

This is what I look like on my way to work

2008-01-15T02:00:00.000-08:00

Except, not Asian.
Anyone want to buy me a gustbuster??

Also, for Lauren (of the Dawson variety):

I am amazed with just how many hits "wrinkly puppies" gets on getty. I promise not to punt your puppy, but only if you promise to let me hide things in his folds. How could I not?!?

Across the Universe

2008-01-10T07:40:00.000-08:00

I have done a lot of thinking over the last 3 weeks and I have a lot to say, but I haven't quite collected my thoughts yet. So, bear with me and be on the look out for an analytical post about life (or rather my life and how I want to live it).

In the interim, I'd like to recommend a movie to you called Across the Universe. It's like Yellow Submarine meets The Wall meets The Science of Sleep on Acid. I think it's really incredible. I watched it on the plane and surprised those around me with my very obvious reactions, which I guess you aren't supposed to do on a packed plane surrounded by strangers. But sometimes you just can't help laughing out loud, or smiling, or gasping, or crying (though I didn't do the latter, but that would have also been frowned upon). Anyway, it's a really fabulous film and one I would never had expected an airline to show. Way to go American Airlines.

In fact, this is the first time in a long time that I have really enjoyed flying American. There seemed to be more space than BA, they give you more freedom to watch as many movies as you want, they had half of the first season of the American Office, and they had video games. I found the flight attendants to be more obnoxious and the food less than tasty, but when it comes to nine hour plane rides the crucial factor is the entertainment package. I give a big thumbs up for American's international service - just you remember that next time you are flying over seas.

The "e" button on my lap top is acting up. Do you know how many words include the letter "e"? It's a lot. I know this bcaus vry tim I come to th "" in a word I hav to paus and really push down th button or els my sntences nd up looking lik this. Annoying, isn't it?

I was reading my latest copy of one. a magazine (the publication for one of the most accredited advertising organizations in the world) and, low and behold, they mention Sean - my Creative prof who runs the Texas program and is all around a pretty awesome guy. This made me happy and rather proud. Hook em'? I think so.

I'm about 90% sure I am happy to be back in England. I miss my family and my lovely friends and, perhaps more than both of those combined, I miss having a shower. But when I looked out the window of the train and saw Big Ben, and when I emerged from Mornington Crescent and turned towards my house, I got that contented feeling I always get from being back somewhere familiar. It's dark and rainy and I'm going to have to lug 40 lbs of groceries up two flights of stairs and I think I kind of missed it. I'm telling you this now in case you are worried about me. Don't be. More on this later.

For now, just know I had an absolutely fabulous time in Texas and, if I were you, I would prepare for an on slot on abnormally long emails and random facebookings - I plan on staying in touch so much you'll never want to see me again. =)

Touche British Television

2007-12-14T12:05:00.000-08:00

There is a tv show here in England called "Can Fat Teens Hunt".

The reality of it isn't quite as entertaining as my imagination, but I give them a A+ for going balls out of the title. PC? What's that?

I can't remember the last time I cried so hard

2007-12-13T12:17:00.000-08:00

If for no other reason, you need to watch the entirety of Six Feet Under just so you can experience the last three minutes of the final episode.

I have never seen the end of a series be so complete, so beautiful, so depressing, so honest, so meaningful, so full of loss, and so wholly satisfying.

T.V. can be an incredible artistic medium.

And, it's all worth it.

2007-12-11T09:35:00.000-08:00

My trip to Amsterdam is better described as my trip to the Netherlands. I flew in Friday afternoon a hopped a train to Leiden, where Sean lives. This comparatively small town is located about twenty minutes South of Amsterdam and boasts all the canals, windmills, and stereotypical Holland "culture" you would expect, but in it's own, rather wonderful, way.

Within twenty minutes of arriving in Leiden, I was experiencing some of that "culture" for myself. We met up with two of Sean's friends, Chris and Tad (who became our compatriots of debauchery for the weekend), and proceeded to go from bar to bar enjoying rounds and hilarious conversation. Apparently, these guys have recently embarked on a no-holds-barred "your mom" competition of epic proportion. Needless to say, I immediately felt at home (and homesick for my dear friends). At the third or fourth bar, I befriended a Dutch girl named Ester, who had an uncanny resemblance to Liza Minnelli. A good friend of Ester's was having a birthday celebration of some kind, so we ended up tagging along. At some point in the evening, I had my first kebab - it was delicious, as promised. We stumbled home sometime around three.

Saturday morning we explored the weekly market along the canals. I've never found the smell of fresh fish appealing before. There were stalls of all kinds of fresh produce, cheese (they're really big on their cheese), and stroopwaffle. If you ever have the opportunity to eat some stroopwaffle in your life, take it from me, don't pass it up. For breakfast I had a traditional Dutch pancake. The best description I can come up with for this delicacy is as follows: an open-faced breakfast taco on a crepe tortilla. Mine had mushrooms, bacon, and cheese and was the size of my face. Later that day we collected Tad and Chris and hopped a train to Eindhoven (about two hours further south). Sean had read about the Eindhoven Winter Festival and was eager to go experience all the ice sculpture, sledding, wintry glory. Since Sean had proposed this idea (and it was, sort of, the reason I went this weekend), I figured Sean must have had some kind of plan. Not really. Once we got there, we sort of just wandered off in a random direction. (Though it wasn't entirely random as there was some thought put into why we went that way. It was more of an educated guess). The first thing we stumbled upon was an ice rink - that's "winterfest-esque" enough for us. So we got some skates and (I at least) proceeded to fall down a lot. It was fun, if not a little painful. We asked the people running the rink where the other festival stuff was and they pointed down a little road to our left. As we headed down said little road, Chris got distracted by an Irish pub and we ended up in there drinking and playing pool for a couple of hours. When we finally did make it thirty seconds down the road, we found several tents and sledding ramps and all sort of fun - but it was closed. There was nothing else to do but find another bar. Eindhoven, in case you didn't know, it home to the "longest strip of bars in the Netherlands". This strip of bars consists of about eight dodgy looking places. For those of us familiar with 6th street, it's kind of a joke. The rest of the night carried on much like the previous night except for one major difference: getting home consisted of catching a two hour train back to Leiden at some point. That point, we decided, was 2:30. We bundled up and headed back to the train station only to find it was closed. After a couple more drinks and an hour or so of trekking from booked hotel to booked hotel, we started up negotiations with local cabbies to see who we could convince to drive us the two hours back to Leiden for less than 300 Euro. I say "we" here, but really Sean was the only person making much effort to get us home. Eventually, with the help of some pretty stellar negotiating powers, Sean got a Mercedes to agree to 160 Euro, and we made it home safe and sound.

Sunday, I left Sean to study and I went up to Amsterdam for the afternoon. I went to the Rijst Museum, where they house a hilariously random array of Dutch painting, sculptures, artefacts, and china as well as an impressive collection of Rembrandt's work (including the Night Watch which is IMPRESSIVE, to say the least). I then went to the Van Gogh Museum, which might have been one of my favourite tourist things in Europe so far. I embraced the nerd within, rented the audio tour, and proceeded to listen (with undivided fascination) to the entire thing. After the museums, I attempted to go find the Red Light District just to say I did. The tram system got the best of me and I ended up fairly lost. I got a little more panicky than I needed to, but I attribute this to the fact that everything was in Dutch and to the fight that broke out within five feet of me. This guy got jacked in the face, twice, and ended up very bloody and (understandably) very irate. So, I gave up fairly quickly and decided to seek the safety of the train station. This is the only thing traditionally "Amsterdam" that I missed out on - but I'm not that broken up about it. If nothing else, it just gives me an excuse to go back in the future. That night, I went with the three guys to watch the Steelers game. There was a girl from Pittsburgh there who, after one look, I immediately disliked. Other than her presence, it was another excellent evening.

Monday, I spent the morning wandering around Leiden while Sean was in class. I found several neat looking churches, loads of interesting nooks and alleyways, some of the best chai I've ever had, and a medieval citadel. After a cup of coffee with Tad and Sean, I had to head to the airport for my flight home. If my Dublin trip was a prime example of the tourist's sightseeing weekend (which I think it kind of was), then this trip was the exact opposite. It was a trip full of stories and exploits best categorized under "you had to be there". It was a much needed weekend of over-indulgence and I had an absolutely wonderful time.

"Unfortunately, you have not been successful at this time"

2007-12-05T06:52:00.000-08:00

I would die happy if I never heard this phrase again.

WARNING: Mopey and depressing rant ahead.

I just don't know what I have to do. Honestly. I had three decent enough internships, I have a 3.6 GPA in the number three portfolio program in the country, my portfolio isn't complete crap (at least, I am pretty sure I can say it shows that I can do what needs to get done), I've been involved in creative extracurriculars, and I currently hold a respectable position in business development overseeing the creation of internal and external communications. I'm not saying I'm the best candidate, but I'd like to think I'm better than the average candidate. I'd like to think I am at least somewhat marketable. I'd like to think I'm worth at least an interview before I am rejected.

As you can probably guess, I didn't get the TBWA graduate program I really wanted. It's a fucking training program, and I'm not good enough. I mean, how bad do I have to be for them to reject me flat out. It's not like they can say I don't have enough experience; you don't need experience for a graduate training scheme! It's not like they can say I don't have enough expertise; the point is for them to teach you! So, they must of looked at my CV and just thought, "she's such complete shit, we might as well train a monkey". For Christ's sake! I never really expected to get invited for an interview, but I did have one ever-so-tiny amount of hope that, perhaps, just maybe, I might be good enough to do what I want to do with my life.

No, I'm not the next great designer. No, I don't strike awe into everyone who sees my work. But, you know, I would put my fucking heart and soul into a job like this and I would do a damn good job. They also had this to say: Please don't take it too hard - some of the best names in the industry didn't make it first time either. What is it's not your first time? What if you've been trying and trying and applying and applying and no one gives you the time of day? How do you convince someone - anyone - to give you a chance?

I am still waiting to hear back from one last place. But I have no hope left. It hurts too much to get my hopes up - but, I guess you never know. This may mean I'll be back in Texas sooner than I originally thought. I can't really justify staying in London and spending the kind of money I am to live here in order to pursue a career I have no desire to pursue. I mean, if I'm going to be doing generic office work for the rest of my life I might as well do it somewhere more affordable. I think I could be happy just wandering around the globe. Does anyone want to donate to the "Shelley has no future and needs to postpone it for as long as possible" fund?

Everything is just such a God damned joke. *Deep Breath* I'm not posting this for pity. Writing it down and putting it out there is a nice way of venting and it will keep me from obsessing over this. I'll be over it tomorrow, but for today I get to be disappointed.

I've found my people, and they've embraced me.

2007-11-26T03:49:00.000-08:00

Part One - Getting There

I realize I have a problem. I will never again be able to enjoy travelling as I used to. Why? Simple; for the last 5 years of my life, I have not had to pay for airfare. Because of this, I was never stressed out, angry, or upset when something went wrong while travelling. If the plane was delayed, oh well. If I was bumped from a flight, oh well. If they ran out of peanuts - oh well. I hadn't paid for anything, so I couldn't expect anything. Now that I am paying for my flights, I do expect things. Things like good service, timely push-offs, and free peanuts. And when I don't get these things - these things I paid for - I get stressed out, angry, and very upset. It's not really being spoiled, because when I was spoiled with free airfare I was always polite. It's simply that I expect to get what I paid for. Perhaps I am too demanding (or, perhaps, I fly on shitty airlines where "what I pay for" is shitty service).

This weekend was one of the worst travelling experiences of my life; definitely in the top three. Ryanair is atrocious. I have heard them called "the Southwest of Europe". This is not only a disgrace to the good name of Southwest Airlines, it also offends me on a deep, personal level. I won't bore you with the details of the seven hours I spent in airports this weekend, but I will say one thing. After a 20 minute argument with a customer service representative, I was told that I was "bitchy, even for an American" (not to my face, but to a co-worker as I walked away). I would have said something in response if I wasn't somewhat proud of this statement. My return trip found me wasting an equal amount of time in an airport, but it was much more enjoyable as I was much more drunk. I can now check "drinking alone in an airport bar" off my list of things to do. In the end, I am thoroughly unimpressed with Ryanair. Sure, I would probably fly them again, but only if their price was significantly (£60 or more) cheaper than competing airlines. Otherwise, I just don't think it's worth it.

Part Two - Being There

My jaunt to Dublin was spectacular. Saturday, I explored the city via a hop-on-hop-off tour bus service. The drivers were stereotypically Irish and, when they weren't talking, they played stereotypical Irish music. It was cliché-tacular and I loved it. I saw the Book of Kells at Trinity College (an ornately illustrated book of gospels from AD 800), Dublin Castle, The Doors of Dublin (all the old Georgian squares have these really ornate and colourful doors), St. Stephen's Green, Christ's Church Cathedral, St. Patrick's Cathedral, The place where Bram Stoker wrote Dracula, all sorts of random political and historical buildings, and (most importantly) the Guinness Storehouse. Is it sad that my favourite thing was the brewery? You didn't get to tour the actual brewery itself, but they had this awesome eight-storey interactive museum kind of thing with all the technical information, history, and advertisements you would ever want. There was a whole floor dedicated to the history of Guinness advertising. I don't think I need to tell you how much I enjoyed this. I am a nerd. Saturday night I wandered around the Temple Bar (a sort of 6th street style) area of the city with some friends I made at the Storehouse. Throughout the day, I kept being stopped by lost tourist looking for directions. They were fairly shocked to find I was American and, often, just as lost as they were. It wasn't just the tourists either. I fooled many an Irishman, who was equally shocked to find I was American. Apparently, it's not just the freckles and red hair (I didn't have the heart to tell them it was fake) I have going but it's "my face and my charm". It turns out Irish people like me a lot because 1. I look Irish and 2. am from Texas. The combination of the two is, to them anyway, hysterical. I may be living in the wrong country.

Sunday, I went with ten other people on a Celtic Tour of the countryside. Since it was such a small group, everyone got fairly chummy. I particularly got on well with these two girls from Newcastle and the driver, Paul. He called me Texas all day and, I'm not going to lie, it fulfilled a life long dream of mine. Who from Texas doesn't want to be nicknamed Texas when in a foreign country?!? Unless of course if you are in a war movie, because then you would have to die first. We travelled about an hour outside the city and visited Fourknocks' Tomb (built over 5000 years ago and home of the oldest carving of a face - though, 5000 years later it's not so impressive), Mellifont Abbey (where there are these really neat Celtic Crosses), Monasterboice Abbey, the Hill of Slane, and the Hill of Tara. It was really rather interesting and it was nice to see the famous Irish Countryside. You know that whole "Ireland is green" thing? Honestly, I have never seen such a vivid shade of green in nature before. It was gorgeous.

I learned something about my family while I was over there. We're Irish. Yeah, yeah, I know my Grandparents were Irish, but since my mom grew up in England, I always thought of us as British. Nope. All the quirkiness I used to attribute to being English is really not English at all. Our personalities, our sense of humour, our looks, our attitudes - it's all Irish. I never really thought about the fact that my mom and her siblings were first generation Brits. They grew up more Irish than they did British and that's what's been passed on to me. I really liked Dublin and the people I met there. They got me. I felt very comfortable there; very much at home. Part one aside, it was a very nice weekend. I've got a ridiculous amount of photographs, some of which I'll get posted to facebook in the next few days. (I would have posted them in here but in order to write a photograph based post I would have to write it at home and then what would I do at work?)

Rob is my Hero

2007-11-22T02:33:00.001-08:00

Back when I first arrived in England, I had a little bit of Mac trouble. My battery wasn't charging properly and I had to go into the Apple store to get it swapped out for a new one. Who is it that ends up helping me out? This guy from UT, who happens to be good friends with my dear ad partner, Cesar. What are the odds?

This guy's name is Rob. And Rob is my hero.

He graciously accepted my Genius Bar appointment via Facebook and squeezed me in during appointments last night. Apparently, the Regent Street store in the single busiest Apple store in the world - based on what I saw last night, I'd believe it. After a few hours, it was concluded that the problem must be something physically wrong with my hard drive. I ended up leaving my laptop there for surgery - they have to open her up - but, I should get her back, good as new, in just a day or two. In fact, she'll be better than new, as there may be an upgrade to the new leopard OS and (finger crossed, cause' this would rock) the addition of CS3.

I apologize for completely flipping out and being, perhaps, a little overdramatic in my previous entry. But honestly, it did feel like my world was upside down. There was a girl at the Apple store last night who had, in fact, lost everything on her hard drive. She had been in the day before balling her eyes out. I could, obviously, empathize with her, but I was just so glad I wasn't her. So much so, that I felt rather guilty sitting next to her with my working computer and all it's music, pictures, and files.

I'm just really, truly, relieved. And you know what I am going to do to celebrate? Buy an external hard drive. A.S.A.P.

I am broken hearted.

2007-11-20T07:56:00.000-08:00

I installed a normal update on my computer last night and, when prompted to restart, I did so. Now, my computer won't load the operating system; it only boots into Darwin (Mac's equivalent on DOS). After several attempts to contact the UK Mac Support line (did you know you can receive 24 hour technical support on your iPhone, but no other Mac products?), spending about 30 minutes using Google via a calling card and Jeremy, and calling the American tech support line (in this respect, the time zone thing really helped me out) I was told that, essentially, this was a freak accident that sometimes happens when installing normal updates and I may or may not have lost everything on my computer.

This is where I went into hysterics.

Everything. EVERYTHING may be gone. All of my music. Every picture I have taken over the last five years. Everything I have ever written. Things other people have written for me. Every design project I have ever created. All of my ads from portfolio. What it comes down to, is that my entire life has be erased.

I know that sounds incredibly dramatic, but I can't tell you the sense of loss I feel right now. It's like a loved one dieing - not like your mom or brother or someone else equally important; more like an estranged Aunt. It's just this profound feeling of helplessness. There's this sinking feeling in my chest when I think about all of the things I won't be able to replace. I feel victimized. I feel like someone has raped and pillaged my memories. All of these things that did once exist now, simply don't.

Again, I know how ridiculous this sounds from a purely logical standpoint. I should be able to restore a good 60% of my music library from my iPod, not to mention what I will steal from you lovely people at Christmas time. I should be able to get my portfolio work back from my Ad partners if I harass them enough. Most of the pictures that are truly important to me are in my scrapbook (mega-props to Brandan for getting me to do that) and then there are all those pictures online. That's the big three, as it were.

But it's all the little things that make my heart break. Random individual songs I've collected but never put on my iPod. New music I've bought in the last six months that never made it out of iTunes. Play lists I had made. Pictures that were too embarrassing or inappropriate to print, but were still brilliant nonetheless. A lot of random pictures I had saved from high school that never made it to the scrapbook. Things I had written in my spare time, just for fun. Things people had written for me as a romantic gesture or as a pick-me-up. I had a word document, from forever ago, of things John would say on AIM that made me laugh (John, I am pretty sure you know this, which makes it less creepy). I had a word document of everyone's reply to an away message question, "what's your favourite thing from this summer?" in reference to our last Summer before college. It's these things that I cannot replace that make me feel so empty all of a sudden.

I use to think losing my music collection would be the worse thing that could ever happen to me. This was a statement made back when I had a 500 CD case and the iPod had yet to be invented. Just a few days ago, I updated this statement and said that losing my facebook profile (as apparently you can, just randomly, have your facebook profile deleted) would be ghastly. It didn't even cross my mind that I could lose everything on my computer. It's like my brain could not even comprehend the horror of that reality and, therefore, refused to recognize it. Ironically, I have been toying with the idea of buying an external hard drive to back up all of my files for about a year now, but the cost/benefit analysis never worked out (i.e. I didn't think this was likely to happen and I didn't have $200 to spend on one).

Worst decision ever.

Double irony (as long as we are talking about irony) is that I never EVER update my computer when I am prompted. I just can't be bothered and, as of late, my internet has been too slow to do it. But, last night, for reasons only the gods will ever know, I decided to click "update" when prompted.

My mom is fed-exing me the original installation discs for my Mac. Best case scenario seems to be that they will be able to do an "archive re-install", meaning that they will be able to recover everything in my home folder. The only real downside to this is that I have no idea what my home folder is. So, if I was suppose to be adding things to my home folder (seems likely) there won't be much of anything to recover. I have my fingers crossed that things get automatically saved into my home folder… maybe?… please?

To top it all off, with my laptop out of commission I also lose my sole form on home entertainment. I can't watch DVDs, I can't listen to music, and I can't hang out online (not that I could really anyway (read: shitty internet)). I think part of why I was so upset last night was the realization that my entire pathetic life revolves around this one machine. I mean, I would have had a very happy evening watching Six Feet Under, listening to some music, reading, and falling asleep. But as soon as you take that away, I was struck with a serious moment of panic. The idea that that is all my life is; it's really disappointing.

To sum up: I've potentially lost a significant chunk of what I hold dear and have realized my life is an empty sham.

The lesson to be learned: Buy a fucking external hard drive, and buy it now.

And then there was this

2007-11-17T10:29:00.001-08:00

This was the view outside my window at work on Friday afternoon. I have to admit, no one felt particularly guilty when we spent five minutes sipping tea (coffee for me), watching this guy work, and arguing the possible repercussions of flashing a man repelling from a 20 story building.

What an odd job.

A Busy Day at Work

2007-11-16T08:58:00.000-08:00

Well, I had stuff to do. Now I find myself with an hour and fifteen minutes still to go and I am bored! I was instructed by Sarah, who is away today, to call her if I needed something to do. I have done so, several times, and to no avail. I know the people around me are busy and I keep asking them if I can help, but it would appear as though I am of no use to anyone. By trying to be helpful, I've put myself in a bit of an awkward situation; I am just dicking around and my overworked, stressed out colleagues KNOW that I am just dicking around. It really makes me feel guilty; guilty enough to open up Word and start typing while occasionally glancing at the Corporate Vehicles document sitting next to me in a vain attempt to appear to have found something important to do. Every so often I pause from typing and flip through the document with a pensive look on my face; I think that's a nice touch.
I've already written my abnormally long email today, spent a necessary amount of time on facebook, read through a stranger's blog, read through a friend's blog, and caught up on the last month of Gofugyourself.com entries. I don't know what happened. I was so busy this morning! We have a microsite we have to roll out this weekend, so Val and I were left to double check the consistency of the pages in regards to formatting, information, and branding. We had to work through 5 - 8 WebPages of varying length per a total of 22 countries. Val (who is in charge of this one) was worried it wasn't going to get done. She had me burning through those like wild fire; which is fine, I rather enjoyed my morning - I like when I have something that has to get done - but now I find myself with nothing left to do. Where is the bloody fire now?! Val is still working on bits and pieces of it, but it seems as though my area of expertise (mindless labour) is no longer required.
In short, through an exceedingly high level of efficiency and productivity, I have worked myself out of a job. I vaguely remember having a conversation with Ben about this a few years back, when he was working at a law firm one summer (funny, now I work at a law firm). He had observed that his peers and colleagues worked at an alarmingly slow pace, which he originally chalked up as laziness and/or incompetence. It wasn't until a few weeks into it that Ben started to realize the benefits of slowing down your productivity in order to extend your work load over longer periods of time. I guess this had just slipped my mind until today. I should not have been so hasty in my work! It was wrong of me to work as quickly and effectively as I could in order to not only meet, but beat, the deadline that was given to me. Why, oh why, did I think that was a good idea?
Now, I'm not saying you should slack off, or ever just do the bare minimum. One hurts thos you work with and the other is simply lazy. You certainly aren't going to climb the corporate ladder with only 15 pieces of flair. BUT, there is something in the idea of always being busy vs. always looking for something to do.
Say you are an over achiever and you accomplish all your boss gives you to do in the first two hours of your day. What next? You have to go ask for more to do. In the beginning, I'm sure this makes you look like a stellar employee, but after days, weeks, months of you having to ask what to do your boss ends up thinking, "Why do I always have to TELL her what to do. No one else has to ASK what their job is. I should fire her.". How awful! And all because you wanted to work to your full potential.
On the other hand, lets say you do you work, you do it well, and you do it in your own sweet time (though, of course, you never miss a deadline (without fair warning)). In this scenario, you never have to ask you boss, "what's next". You simply do what you are told, when you are told, and no one can make a complaint about you. When your boss sees you, intensely focused on your computer monitor (apparently amending some Corporate Vehicles document - you look so pensive) he can't help but think, "Now THERE'S and top notch employee. Always hard at work, never has to bother me. I should give her a raise". If you ask me, that's a much better situation to be in.
Unfortunately, this has chipped away thirty minutes of the hour and fifteen I needed to kill. Ironic. I worked too quickly through this post. I gave myself an hour deadline (well, goal really) and I blew it away; cut it in half!
Balls.

Zen Day

2007-11-11T06:39:00.000-08:00

Sunday is quickly becoming my favorite day of the week. I have fallen into a very relaxing and productive little Sunday routine that truly makes me happy.

I get to sleep in. Whenever I do get up, I mosey on over to the gym where I get to enjoy a nice workout and a proper shower. (Remember how mine is made for midgets? I've gotten very accustom to showering in public.) On the way home from the gym, I pick up the Sunday Times (about 3 lbs of newspaper) and stop in my now favorite coffee shop, the Bean and Cup. I am on a mission to become a regular there. After a few hours of reading the paper, I pack it all up and go to the grocery store where I pick up whatever I need for the week as well as something special for dinner Sunday night. I like cooking something properly for myself every now and then. Part of me thinks it's kind of pathetic - picking up the single sized serving of chicken - but I really enjoy cooking and I really see no problem with treating myself to an extravagant home cooked meal once a week. Last week I made grilled red pepper and black bean fajitas and this week I am going to make a proper roast dinner with roast potatoes and everything.

I've always been a bit of a loner (and too shy for my own good), which is why it's always been hard for me to meet new people/make friends. During the rest of the week, this sometimes gnaws at me. I worry that I'll never really have a close group of friends again. I worry people actively try not to include me. I worry about how other people view me or what they think of me. But, on Sundays, I don't have to worry. I just get to enjoy my workout, my paper, my coffee, my dinner... my routine. I just get to be with myself and forget the rest of the world for a little while - and it's really nice.

I think this might make me a crazy person, but I'm ok with that.

Extras

2007-11-09T07:32:00.001-08:00

As I don't have a TV or a DVD hire near me I have gotten into the bad habit of simply buying movies and TV series without really knowing anything about them. So far, this has worked out well for me; I discovered Band of Brothers this way.
And now, it pays off a second time. Everyone, please watch Extras. You can borrow it from John as, apparently, he has known about this and been hiding it from us. You'll love it.
And by "you'll", I mean Jeremy.

Less than 24 hours later

2007-10-31T14:46:00.001-07:00

Ha! Screw you Wall Pleasant! I got a job!

Starting tomorrow, I am working for a company that rhymes with PLA Diaper (I've been instructed not to use their real name to protect their integrity) in their marketing and PR department. It's starting out as a temporary position, but that is more than fine with me. From at least now until Christmas I have a guaranteed pay check and way to fill my days. The girl I am working for is beyond nice and I think I am going to get along really well with her. I am actually really excited about this. I am making (relatively speaking) bank. I get to work in a fun environment and it's only a few tube stops away.
I no longer have the postgraduate, over educated, unemployed blues. I thought about changing to another Wally Pleasant classic, "Stupid Day Job", but I don't think that will necessarily apply to me. At least, not yet. I'll keep you posted on how it goes.
Oh, and I have a date tomorrow. Things are coming together....

Wally Pleasant

2007-10-30T13:10:00.000-07:00

My problems all started on commencement day
When people started asking me what my plans were I didn’t know what to say.
I thought about hanging out in Europe or traveling around the states,
But my car was total junk and I couldn’t afford airline rates.
So I got down on my knees and prayed and sent out resumes cause I needed a job.

Well, I was just looking for an easy, high paying, career,
But I could wall paper my bedroom with the rejection letters I got this year
Because the entry level job picture just ain’t what it ought to be,
But at least I can blame all my problems on the economy.

I got the postgraduate, over educated, out of work blues.

Well, 1 and 1 is 2. 2 and 2 is 4. 28 squared is 784!
I know a lot of useless facts that I’ll never even use,
When I’m not at the MECS office, I’m at job interviews.

I got the postgraduate, over educated, out of work blues.

I should of joined the Army instead of taking that SAT test
Because my BA degree is a bunch of BS.
And I wish I worked in a factory, I wish I knew how to weld stuff.
I should have gone to Botech and got a job where I don’t need to know stuff,
Like the 18th theory of economics, or the houses of Croy.

I once wrote a 35 pages paper about the significance of the United States having a service based economy and now I’m unemployed. I’m unemployed.

I got the postgraduate, over educated, out of work blues.
I got the postgraduate, over educated, out of work blues.
One more time for everyone whose got a masters degree!
I got the postgraduate, over educated, out of work blues.

Weekend Holidays

2007-10-29T09:37:00.000-07:00

I spent the weekend in the country (though not the technical country, just more "country" than the city where I have been spending all my time) at my Aunt's house. I took the train down - all told about a two hour trip - and spent most of that time listening to my iPod and staring out the window. At one point, as I looked out on the rolling green landscape dotted with grazing sheep and listening to Imogen Heap, I quietly smiled at myself and my situation. A very nice old man sitting across from me asked me what I was smiling at and I don't think he quite knew what to say when I answered, "England". What an astoundingly beautiful place. I can't say it's perfect and there are things I wish were different - but not many things and not drastically different.
Spending time with my Aunt (who looks nearly identical to my mom) and my cousins (three sisters who are incredibly close) made me miss my family just a little bit. I'm feeling particularly lonely this Monday afternoon, now that I have returned to my little apartment. But overall, it was nice to have a family and home cooked food and more than one room to live in for the weekend.
I've been spending a lot of time with this Israeli exchange student I met named Lena. She's pretty cool - over here doing graphic design - and it's been really nice to have someone who is equally interested in all the dorky things I am. We've been going to film festivals, pop art exhibitions, and documentaries on the typeface Helvetica. We are starting to make travel plans for after Christmas. Top of our list; Ireland and Scotland. We might make it over the channel, depending on how much money I am making at that point.
I sort of, not really, but kind of got a part time job at this club around the corner from my house. They posted on gumtree looking for a sound engineer for their live gigs. I applied, not really expecting anything, but got a call for an interview. So I went over there to have a chat with the girl who owns the place and it turns out that she Loves Austin. With a capital L. That was actually the main reason she called me up. She said she had a huge response, much of which was compiled by people more qualified than I am, but that she has never met someone from Austin she didn't like. We talked for about an hour about ACL, her club, and music in general. I am now on a standby list of sorts, for when she needs someone to come in a cover a shift. Basically, it is something I'll be doing once every 3 weeks or so, but I am pretty excited about it. She said she would make sure I was there whenever they had an Austin band in.
I just read Nick Hornby's "A Long Way Down". I highly recommend it. It only takes a day or two to read, so go pick up a copy.

Reasons why I am going to Hell

2007-10-21T09:22:00.000-07:00

I went to mass today with my Grandma for her birthday and because it was the annual memorial mass for my Granddad. While at church, I picked up on at least a few of the reasons why I might not be sharing eternity with the Lord Savior up in Heaven.

1. Today's sermon was about the individuals role in the church and in their religion - sort of a "don't ask what God can do for you, but what you can do for God" theme. At one point the priest (who really reminded me of Eddie Izzard's parody of English priests, which perhaps could be a whole separate reason) said "God loves us completely and fully....long pause... He just loves us to bits". I may have laughed inappropriately, people may have noticed.

2. During Communion the violinist played Paco Bell Cannon in D and instead of reflecting on my life/sins and praying silently, I was singing Taco Bell Cannon in D to myself. So, whilst drinking Christ's blood, in my head I was singing, "I like tacos, I like tacos... taco bell taco bell taco taco bell taco bell"... etc.

3. When Mass ended there was a mass exodus (I am hilarious) towards the street. I won't lie - I haven't been jostled about so much by a crowd the entire time I've been here. I was getting shoved left and right and little kids were punching my legs and stepping on my toes and, completely by accident, I may have muttered something along the lines of "Jesus Christ! Watch where you are going" in reference to an 80-year-old woman who nailed my ankle with her cane.

So yeah, if you find yourself waiting for me at the pearly gates, don't hold your breath.

What do you do with a B.S. in Advertising?

2007-10-19T06:15:00.000-07:00

Apparently nothing.

Fours years of college, three semesters in one of the best portfolio programs in the nation, several internships in the industry, and I am completely and totally unmarketable. I don't seem to fit into ANY job requirements, mainly because I don't have any agency experience - though I don't see how the hell I am supposed to get any.

Today is my first self pity day. I am frustrated, pissed off, disappointed, and pretty much convinced I am a failure. I really don't want to come back to Texas in December and have to answer everyone's "Oh my god, so how is London? What are you doing over there?" questions with a very simple, "nothing. All I've managed to do is waste a bunch of money".
That is where the failure part comes in. I just want a fucking job. It doesn't have to be glamorous, it doesn't have to pay well, it can have shit hours, it can be stressful and in the company of people I hate. All I ask is that the job be at least SOMEWHAT relevant to what I want to do with my life. I don't want to be in Ad sales, I don't want to be a receptionist at an ears/nose/throat hospital, and I don't think this is asking to much.

It's really hard to stay motivated in the whole job search thing when all you get in response is rejection after rejection. I mean, I am used to critique - I really rather like it - but this is starting to grate me in a way that can't be good for my self esteem. How the hell are you supposed to get a job?

*rant over*

WTF?

2007-10-16T14:19:00.001-07:00

I was in my local Sainsburys this evening when I happened to notice this:

It's kind of hard to read, but you are looking at Kleenex for men. I am not kidding, the name on the box is "Kleenex for men".
Now, I've done a little research and according to the UK Kleenex website "KLEENEX® For Men tissues are big, strong & reliable enough for all your needs — everything you would expect from the number one facial tissue brand for 50 years." However, according to the somewhat less reputable site, dooyoo.co.uk, a man writes in a review of the product, "I have found that they are best at absorbing three of my body fluids which I produce and discharge in large quantities on a regular basis. These fluids are snot, sweat and sperm". There are over a dozen comments following this review praising it's accuracy and honesty. So we have to wonder if this is the true reasoning behind Kleenex's new subbrand or if, perhaps, some sort of geographical marketing scheme.
It's interesting to note that this product is not available in the states - it isn't even listed on the US Kleenex website as an existing product. So what is it about British guys that made the corporation feel they had room to expand? Are British guys more sensitive? Are British guys more gullible and, therefore, willing to shell out the extra cash? Or do British guys just wank off more?
Help me figure this out - I find it fascinating.

Ann Coulter is a Stupid Bitch

2007-10-13T04:09:00.001-07:00

There is no other way to describe her.

I would like a religious opinion on this - I know the woman is insane, but since I don't know the bible/Christian beliefs that well, I don't know just how crazy she truly is. Do Christians really consider themselves "perfected jews"? I have never heard this idea before....
I just really can't believe how completely and utterly thick headed and arrogant this woman is. She makes some rash generalizations about the world and how it works and then makes all sorts of emphatic statements based on very little to no fact. People like that really piss me off. How can ANYONE listen to her and think she brilliant?! It's times like this that I fear for the well being of humanity.

Stones are rocks

2007-10-10T05:52:00.000-07:00

I signed up at a gym 'round the corner. It's fantastic! It is probably one of the nicest facilities I have ever used, which may or may not be saying anything since I have spent most of my recent gym life at UT. Not only do they have your standard equipment and classes (they have ab lab!), but they also have a salon that does facials, nails, massages, and all that good stuff.
It's a neat little place, except for one thing: everything is in kilos. I almost caused the ellipticals brain to explode when I tried to tell it I weighed 145 kilos. That did not compute. It is also a little difficult to use the weight machines when I am not entirely sure how much I am lifting. I am sure it looks as though I have never been to a gym before in my life.
The scales in the locker room measure in stones. Stones! Like that means anything; how archaic. As the title of this entry says, stones - as far as I am concerned - are rocks, not units of measurement. The nice thing about the stones approach though is that your weight sounds so small - "so-and-so weighs 9 stone". 9 is such a nice little number! The bad thing is that I am not sure how much I weigh or how much weight I want to lose or what stone weight is my healthy stone weight. Stupid stones.
This country is weird.

My New House

2007-10-05T11:50:00.001-07:00

This is my building. I live above a shoe repair shop (as you can see) and it has already proven handy. I took a pair of boots down to get the heel fixed and I got a discount. Robert and I are tight like that.

Here is my “flat”. It’s more of a glorified dorm room. It’s one room with, basically, two closets that have been converted into a bathroom and a kitchen. This is a shot from the front door – that far door you see is the kitchen.

Speaking of kitchen, isn’t it cute? In this context, "cute" and "tiny" are interchangeable. Interesting tidbit, that oven doesn’t actually have any numbers on the temperature dial. Cooking is a guess and check process for me these days. So far, it hasn’t been a problem. I have been setting it in the middle and just watching what I have in there. I figure “middle” must be somewhere around 350f and, really, isn’t everything cooked at 350f anyway?

Here are a couple of shots of my “living room”. That first one is back towards the front door and the second one nicely shows off my fun/sentimental picture collage. Please ignore the pile of trash waiting to go out...

This shows you my “bedroom”. Like I said, glorified dorm room with a lofted bed and all. That door behind my dry rack (today was laundry day and Britain doesn’t believe in dryers) is my bathroom.
You don’t really need to see a picture of it, but you might like to know it was made for a midget. I don’t know if that is true, but I think it could be. It does have a full size bathtub, which is nice, but the “shower” is just some y-shaped tubing attached to the bath taps with a showerhead shape on one end. I can’t actually stand in my shower – it’s about 4 inches too short for that. Bathing is awkward, to say the least. Also, my toilet makes an atrocious sound every time I flush it. My landlord is supposed to be in next week to fix it. But for the time being, I wake up the entire building every time I pee. So that’s good.
To continue the midget theme, my lofted bed (which is very comfortable) doesn’t have quite enough clearance for me to sit up in bed. It’s about 2 inches shy of an acceptable height. I hit my head a lot the first couple of days, but I have gotten use to it now. Yesterday morning I sat up to check the time and automatically dipped my head to one side - I am a quick learner.

Here are some photos of the neighborhood. I live on the high street - just a 5 minute walk from the Camden Locks and the Camden Market Place. It’s a really neat area and apparently very trendy which means I totally fit in, because we all know how trendy I am...

The High Street (above)
The Locks (Above)

I went a spent several hours at the market today. It’s a really interesting place. It’s an old stable/horse hospital that has been converted into a bunch of independently owned stalls. You get a little bit of everything in there: proper antiques, jewelry, clothes from cute to Goth, shoes galore, nick knacks form all over the world – and all very reasonable priced. The only down side is that the whole place smells of food an incense which means, depending on the direction of the wind, it either makes me hungry or nauseous. I picked up a few pieces from local artists today. Below are my favorite two.

This is by a guy named Bansky. You can google him and see more stuff, which I strongly recommend. He did a whole series (which this one comes from) where he went around stenciling the sides of buildings around town. He’s also done a lot of sketches and traditional canvas work. It’s all pretty cool – I think you can all tell why I like this one. NHR, represent.

And this I got from a “local” who is actually from Dallas. He had a stall in the market full of crazy bunny art (Bunnies riding rockets, Indian Jones Bunnies, Bunnies at War) as well as a couple of other cool series – urban fairies, romantic sketches, etc. He had a couple of different distinct styles too, which I thought was neat. It’s always interesting to see two paintings that have so little in common it would be hard to guess they were by the same guy. This one is called “Injection”. It might be my new favorite thing.

Thus is life

2007-09-29T07:37:00.000-07:00

Well, I had a very exciting night last night. I went out shopping/errand running all day and on the way home stopped at a take away Chinese place to grab some dinner. While I was looking over the menu I struck up conversation with another woman picking up dinner. I asked her if she ate there often and if she could recommend something. She proceeded to give me a full run down of the menu, including her likes and dislikes as well as her favorite combinations of starters and main meals based on flavor/sauciness combinations. Apparently she goes there on what we could safely call a "frequent" basis. She told me she has been there the last three days in a row, but usually only goes there two or three times a week. There is an Indian place around the corner she likes to mix into her routine.
She made me sad. In the ten minutes I spent talking to her I got the strong impression I was the only person outside of work she had talked to in a while. I don't want to be her. So, I've set a new goal for myself - don't be a pathetic loaner. Make friends, or at least try.
On my way home from said Chinese take away place, I was whistled at by a kid on a bike who could not have been more than 8-years-old. His friend, a slightly older kid (we're talking around 10) followed up the whistle with a "shake that ass". Though it was pronounced more like "arse" which amused me.
This also made me sad. It seems as though I can only successfully attract prepubescent boys. So, the second goal I set for myself last night - attempt to be bolder with men. Don't come off as shy and/or uninterested, unless of course the "men" are 8-year-old kids.

How am going to reach these goals you ask? Well, I've been putting some thought into that. I finally get to move into my apartment tomorrow. I am so excited! It will take me a few days to get settled, but after I do I am going to go secure myself some part time employment somewhere near by. This way I at least have a semblance of a routine and the opportunity to meet some new people. In addition to this, I have an appointment set up with the creative director of The Courtyard Theater on Wednesday. I think he is going to let me do some volunteer tech work with him, which would not only be another fun addition to some sort of routine, but will hopefully throw a few potential friends my direction. I am also going to make myself go to the Texas Exes events from now on. We get to watch the game live tonight! When you scream for a touch down, I will too! How exciting! Only it will be 9 pm where I am. I think there is only one way to achieve my goals: I need to force myself to stop being such a shy git. I think I can do it, fingers crossed anyway.

I've been to three interviews for "real jobs" and while they went well, nothing came of it. One person said they would hire me, but were concerned about my "commitment to London". Apparently they think I will just pack up my bags and leave in four weeks or something. Which I suppose is fair enough - but how do they guarantee that even someone living down the street won't up and quit on them when they get a better offer? They can't, but it doesn't really bother me as I didn't want their job anyway. The other company offered me a position, but I turned them down, or rather I "have chosen not to proceed with this offer and to instead pursue other opportunities". They were shady and pretty much refused to tell me exactly what it was they wanted me to do for them. It was nice to say no to someone, but it very quickly reminded me how poor and bored I am.

Anyway, the point of the employment rambling is that all this job searching has got me missing school. I don't know if I am entirely ready for "the real world". I definitely know I am not ready to hunker down and work a job I don't really like just to make money. I am not 100% sure what I want to do yet, and I don't want to get stuck with some career I hate just because it was time to find a job. So with that thought in mind, I started looking into some masters programs over here. I can go to one of the best Comm schools in Europe, get a masters in about a year, and it will only cost $4,000. That is so ridiculously cheap! I might be a good idea to work part time somewhere while going to class for a masters. I'm not sure yet, so I am going to keep looking for "real" work a little bit longer. But I am also going to keep my options open.

That's all for now. When I get my place set up I'll post pictures.

A Very Brady Lesbian Affair

2007-09-26T14:35:00.000-07:00

Marsha and Jan got it on? I find that disturbing for some reason...

Also, they had a moment of silence for Marcel Marceau. I find that funny.

Tina Fey knows my deepest fears.

2007-09-19T14:49:00.000-07:00

I had a strange moment today - it's the first time in a long time I've been sad to be single. And it wasn't just sad, it was really a moment of panic. And here's why: I have some sort of bump or bite on the back of my shoulder. It's been soar for the last two days. I can't see it and I have no one to ask to look at it and make sure it's not cancer or a chigger. I'm more worried it might be a chigger honestly. I've always had a paranoid fear of chiggers.
It made me think of the 30 rock episode in which Tina Fey is terrified she will die alone in her apartment having choked on a piece of chicken. I understand now.

I've moved in to Ann's tonight and am really enjoying it - though i would still like to be in my own place. sigh, soon enough. Other than the chigger bite, I'm quite happy. =)

New Number

2007-09-14T02:42:00.000-07:00

My new UK number is: 0778 999 5337
I think if you want to call me you dial 011 44 778 999 5337 (look at all the numbers!)

I also now have the internet. Did you know the internet comes in a box now? I got this little doodad that you plug into your USB and that is all you need. So where ever I go, I have internet. Neat, isn't it?

I live in England?

2007-09-07T03:02:00.000-07:00

I have a whole lot to say and not a lot of time to say it - I am on a Library computer in Woolich and on a strict time limit as (it seems) no one in England has yet jumped on the technology bandwagon.

So, a real quick update on my semi-success here:

I have found an "apartment". I like to call it a 2 story, 2 bed flat. That sounds much nicer that 120 sq foot box with lofted sleeping and sofa bed. I can't move in until the first of October and I am going to do some serious redecorating (paint, light fixtures, etc) so when I can Ill get some pictures up so you can see. It's tiny, but in a really good location and sort of more cozy tiny than depressing tiny. I am only a 2 minute walk from the mornington crescent tube station and only 5 minutes from this rather trendy night life area of Cadmen Locks. My future address is: Flat 4, 84 Cadmen Highstreet, London, NW1 OLT. You can google earth me if you'd like. I live above a shoe repair shop.
Send me mail! (But not until October).

As far as bank accounts, cell phones, and Internet goes - it's been one huge frustration after another. I can't get a cell phone because I don't have a UK credit history. I can't get a credit card because I am "seeking work" and don't have a previous UK bank account. In order to get credit history without a credit card I need to get Internet/cable set up and pay some bills. I can't pay bills until the end of October AND I can't pay bills without a bank account which I (originally) was told I couldn't get without a bill that showed my proof of address. Confusing, isn't it? This country is backasswards. But, I've got some things in motion that should have me set up with a bank card in two days, which lets me get a cell phone in 4 days, which will let me start getting credit, which will allow me to get Internet set up as soon as I move into my studio.

Anyway, things are slowly falling into place. It will take me another 3 or 4 weeks to really get settled (I wish I could move in sooner) but I think it's going to be ok. I can't log on to facebook from these computers because it is restricted for the safety of the children or something. I apologize for the delay in response - I might be able to get on a non restricted computer tomorrow...

Hope every thing's going well back Texas way - give me some gossip! I am dying for it!

2 More Days

2007-08-30T12:53:00.000-07:00

I have two more days until I leave for England.

I have new glasses that barely look like glasses (see photo).
I have pretty, fixed up hair.
I have the paper work started for my bank account in London.
I have my British Passport (complete with, perhaps, one of the worst photos of me ever).
I have appointments(ish) set up with a few letting agencies.
I have tickets to see Spamalot on Tuesday night.
I have an interview with a media agency in London (ew. media. But, maybe it'll be something).

I have no sense at all - I think I must be bat shit crazy to be doing this. But hey, what sane person ever had real fun?

18 hours later...

2007-08-23T07:39:00.000-07:00

BJ and I made it to Florida at 5 pm last night. It really wasn't as bad of a drive as I thought it was going to be.
We left at 1o on Tuesday and drove towards Shreveport. We got out of Texas in about 2 hours and then turned south to meet up with I-10 around Lafayette. Louisiana is a long, very tall, state. We spent about more than half of the first 13 hours in LA... and there isn't a whole lot to see. Except(!), the "live tiger exhibit" at a gas station in Gross Tete. Yep, in the middle of no where Louisiana there is a tiger sitting in a cage with a jet of water spraying on him to keep him cool. And it isn't even an Exxon...
We spent the night is Defuniack Springs, Florida and only had about 5 hours in the car the second day. We got in right before rush hour, which was nice. Last night we went to the local Indian Casino where they gave us $40 for opening a player's club account and were handing out a lot of $2 beer. A few beers and 40 (free) dollars later I was out of money - i blew it all on a sot machine that I had payed me big on the cruise... and there was a cat involved that looked like Bruce; my gambling methods are amazing. BJ played some poker and ended up ahead by about $30 (which if you count the money my mom and dad gave him for the trip and the free casino money, he was really up about $280). It was, all around, a pretty fun night.
We have to take Bj to the airport today and then I've got a list about a mile long my mom has for me to get done in the next 6 days. I got my British Passport in the mail just before I left Dallas. It's very pretty. I am all official now.

Last Days in Dallas

2007-08-20T12:00:00.000-07:00

My time in Dallas as been incredibly easy going. I spent my days working out, reading, dining, and putzing (there was a lot of putzing).
My dad really got into guitar hero while I had it here. We had a bonding day which consisted of playing two hours of guitar hero and then watching the new Dawn of the Dead (both his selection unaided by me).

I went and saw Invasion. It was alright. Overall I would say it entertained me, but there was such a heavy handed political message (particularly in the ending) that I was left with a sour taste in my mouth and, therefore, don't really feel like recommending it to anyone.
I also saw Superbad - that I will highly recommend. I was about to launch into a big discussion about Judd Apatow and how stellar his directorial style is, but I just looked it up and Judd Apatow did not direct Superbad (according to the article "Breaking: ‘Superbad’ Director Greg Mottola Is Not Judd Apatow"). Well, I suppose my point still stands: I was really impressed by this film's (and other movies like 'Knocked Up') ability to be an on-the-surface-silly-masterpiece-of-immature-humor flick while also boasting some of the more realistic and honest characters seen in movies today. I once read an interview with Judd Apatow in which he discussed how this is basically his goal in movie making - to develope characters that people identify with on a frightening personal level. It seems to have rubbed off on Greg Mottola. Superbad is hilarious and absurd, but at the same time does a pretty damn good job of portraying what it really is to be that drunk girl on the floor at a party giggling, "I fell down" (not to mention how that girl feels the next day). I may have felt something for that girl... overall, a seriously excellent movie.

Jeremy and I had our graduation celebration last night. We started out at Javiers for dinner; this really lovely gourmet Mexican place. Afterwards, we kept the shnaz at full throttle and made our way to the Main Event for an hour of bowling. Let it be known that I won all three games. I am a bowling machine. After dominating Jeremy at the lanes, we headed downtown for dessert and wine and the Ritz Carlton's new restaurant, Farrings. I don't think I have ever been to a nicer place, it was just incredible. The host took us on a little tour around the place before seating us - the walls were covered in suede, there were amazing light fixtures everywhere, the art work was all different designs made with amber, there were 2 bars (one inside on out), 3 dining areas (a more traditional atrium room, a sort of hunter's club looking room with these Awesome high backed white arm chairs that would make anyone look important, and then a dining area built around a kitchen so you could watch the chefs, this is where we ate). Our water cost $8 and I received many apologies from the waiter when he saw me refilling my own glass. The whole place was the definition of high class. Oh right, and the food was stellar as well. It was a really really nice evening.

I went and said goodbye to my grandparents today. It's the only goodbye that has made me cry. I am absolutely certain that I will see everyone else again, even if it is not until December. But there is a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that this was the last time I'll see y grandparents. Very sad thought indeed.

Tomorrow, Bjesus and I are driving to Florida. I can't say I am excited about being in a car for 18 hours, but I am glad Bj is coming with me. I'll be sure to let you know we made it without incident.

You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of the sudden even though you have some place where you can put your stuff that idea of home is gone. You'll see when you move out it just sort of happens one day one day and it's just gone. And you can never get it back. It's like you get homesick for a place that doesn't exist. I mean it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.

for real?

2007-08-16T16:29:00.000-07:00

I shipped half of my worldly possessions to England yesterday. Now, $200 and 24 hrs later, no one can really tell me where they are. That's not entirely true. They know they are somewhere over the Atlantic and they know that they are not accompanied by the proper customs forms. Apparently, in the hour I spent filling out paper work at FedEx, it didn't occur to anyone to tell me one of those forms needed to be notarized. The very smart people employed at FedEx called me last night informing of the problem but went ahead and shipped them anyway before I got there this morning to fix it.
In theory it'll all be ok. Customs is done by random draw. If they don't pick mine to search, no worries. If they do, they will notice the lack of paperwork and hold my items "until they decide otherwise". I'm not sure what that phrase means, but I am scared it means I am never getting my stuff back.
This whole mishap has done more than aggravate me; it has made this whole "moving" thing real. I am actually leaving. In 17 days. Gone. I haven't been worried about it until now. I have been in the position (here in Dallas) of explaining my plan to Friends and family on a twice daily basis. The repetition has really drilled into my head the fact that I have no plan. None. Freaky.
I hope my stuff shows up. And I hope my life works out. My confidence is faltering, but for the time being it is still there. I am (somewhat) confident that this is a good idea.

The end of an era

2007-08-08T15:40:00.001-07:00

My last night in Austin proved very entertaining. We overstayed out welcome at the Dog and Duck and proceeded to hang out way too late with the few reamining friends at a house down the street. I got to see, pretty much, everyone I wanted to and got all the hugs I needed. I also got a Dog and Duck t-shirt and porceline Smithwicks tap from dear Chris Kelly. I am still a little unclear on the how and why of that. But let it be known, Chris is an excellent negotiator.
I had lunch this morning with Kelly, Blair, Christine, Blake, and Bobo before taking to the road and leaving Austin behind me. I selected the Bjesus Accoustic Mix as my soundtrack - the same CD I listened to when I drove to Colorado for my freshman year of college. It will also be the CD that takes me to Florida, and I am sure, the CD that will take me out of the country. I think that's important, and it makes me happy.
I made it through the first 40 mintues of the drive before I cried. It was a rather strange moment actually. I didn't feel any saddness swelling up inside me. Instead, as I was singing along to Brand New's "Play Crack the Sky", I was hit by this wave of nostalgia and longing. I let out one or two tears and then felt completely composed again. I think its a good sign that I didn't cry the whole trip (i.e. my initial drive to Colorado, and we all know how that turned out). I didn't really cry much at all. I texted Kelly:

me: I made it 40 minutes before I got sad. Can I come home to Austin now?
Kelly: Aw! You can always come back, but now its time to be having exciting adventures!
me: Yes. Right. Adventures!
Kelly: Go Forth! Slay Dragons!
me: Someone has to slay that dragon...
Kelly: Shelley, that dragon is not going to slay itself.

Nothing has ever been as inspirational.

Though I am, quite obviously, going to be sad about leaving Austin, I don't feel sad. This is, I think, a good start. *deleted content* The point here is that I am "home" and will be for the next 11 days. Those of you in Dallas, please take the time to hug me.
For my dear Austinites, some lyrics I found particularly fitting for my drive:

its the best friends that make you
sometimes they break you
its the best friends that move you
in my case see through you
its the best friends that need you
in my case believe you
its the best friends lives kiss you
in my case I'll miss you

I'm Homeless!

2007-07-31T22:23:00.000-07:00

The plan for the next month:

Simpson's Feast/Master Pancake August 1
Hairspray (viewing #2; it rocks) August 2
Winedale August 3 - 5
Salt Lick August 6th
Last night in Austin: August 7th.
Before I go, I reallly, REALLY, want to see the bats. Anyone want to go with me?

Dallas August 8 - 2o (during which time there are several movies I must see including Superbad, The Golden Compass, Stardust. I will also need to consume a sick amount of Tex-Mex and BBQ. Sadly, I can't think of any hot spots I feel the need to hit before I go)
Leaving Dallas August 21st (with BJesus to drive to Florida. Excitement!)

Florida August 22 - September 1

Land in England the morning of September 2nd. One month from today - wacky.

Someone stole my bike. I had it locked up on a railing for the past 3 months and just in the last few days someone decided to kick in said railing and take off with my bike. Tis' unfortunate; it was a really nice bike. But, it is nice to not have to worry about driving it up to Dallas. Oh well.

I've been kicked out of my house - one step closer to leaving Austin and being officially homeless. =(

Tentative Schedule

2007-07-26T11:09:00.000-07:00

I have less than a week until I need to be out of my house in Austin. At that point, I will be living out of 4 giant suitcases. Who'd of thought I could fit my life into such a small space. You would all be very proud of me - I got rid of about 15 garbage bags of clothes and 20 pairs of shoes. This made me rather sad. That is, until I realized that I still have 4 suitcases of clothes and roughly 25 pairs of shoes left over. Yeah, I own a lot of crap. I still have some things I am trying to get rid of: a bookcase, my TV, my couch, a set of flatware. If you need any of these things more than goodwill does, let me know and I'll find a way to get them to you.
So, the plan for the next five weeks...
Brandan is graciously taking a few things as well as Bruce to Dallas this weekend. I get kicked out of my house Tuesday and will live out of my car until Friday, when I go to Winedale for the weekend. Ill be back on the 5th and probably head to Dallas shortly thereafter to spend some time with family and friends for a week or two. Around the 17th I am going to drive to Florida. There is a spot (maybe two) in that car for anyone who wants to drive with me and get flown back. Ill spend two weeks in Tampa. On September 1st my mom and I will fly to London.
So, quick summary. My last night in Austin looks like it will be the 5th or 6th of August. Last night in Dallas the 16th or 17th. Please see me. I am going to miss everyone like mad.
On another note, I got the 80s encore edition of guitar hero today. It was rockin' pretty hard core until I got stuck on "what I like about you". Brandan, Jeremy, and I passed the guitar around for about a hour with each of us consistently failing at 30% each time. ARG! What other glorious songs of the 80s am I missing?! It seems as though I will never know. My hands hurt and my eyes have gone all screwy. What a brilliant game.

A new life

2007-07-19T14:13:00.000-07:00

I am switiching over to blogspot. Why? Well, first of all, I like to copy Carmen. Secondly, I am consolidating. I've got two or three blogs I don't really use and I think it's time to scrap them and post everything in one place. The real reason though, or at least my optimistic reason, is that I would like to use this as one place where everyone can come and check in on my European adventure.

As of right now, there isn't much to report. Except that it is now official; I am moving to England. My mom and I are leaving the first week of September. She will be there a week to help me find a place and get set up (thank god) and then I'll be on my own. Any by on my own I mean surrounded by more family than I have had my whole life as well as a good friend or two to keep me company.

Between now and then there is so much to do. I need to finalize all this passport stuff. Anyone known me for two years and consider themselves a civil servant or professional? If so, I need you to countersign some stuff for me. I need to pack up, sell, donate, or burn all of my possessions. In the next week I should have a good idea of what I am giving away. I'll make sure to post that for those of you who want to pillage. I also need to consolidate my financials, get Bruce's papers and shots figured out (that's right, he's coming with me), see one of every doctor you can imagine before my insurance runs out, and get my car to Florida.

This is weird. But I am excited. I hope it all works out the way I imagine it will - or, if it can't be so ideal, I just ask that it works well enough. In the end, if I find myself over there and miserable with nothing falling into place, I can always come home. And I'll come home with no regrets. That's the beauty of life, you can almost always start over.