The Goods

So, since basically all I have written about for the last couple weeks has nothing to do with what I've actually been doing, I figured I could dedicate one boring entry to my goingsons. And since I leave for Dublin in 18 hours, I thought I could leave you all with some pleasant thoughts as you think of me touring the Guiness factory and not you. You'll have to forgive me if I sound a little disheveled this evening. It's 1 a.m., I just finished transcribing a 6000+ word interview between my boss and Gary Cooper's daughter, and I paid about 25 quid for fajitas at Planet Hollywood for dinner. They were good, though. The memorabilia sucked.

Let me update everyone on what I've been doing, and what I will be doing in the upcoming days. Mom and dad, this is for you, since you have forgotten about me and don't call. I have been spending hour upon hour dealing with the incredibly inept forces of the London public libraries for the last few weeks. It's not that they don't know what they're doing, they just stare at me as if they'd never had anyone ask them a question before. And then it takes them a half hour to write me a receipt for the 11 photocopies I just made. But thank goodness their online catologue is accurate...For those of you who don't know, I am working for a woman who is currently finishing up her biography of Grace Kelly, Princess of Monaco. I have a list of about 100 books I need to locate, find any information dealing with Grace, photocopy the pages, and report back to the boss. It's dull. Or at least I thought it was until I transcribed this interview. Although being at the library is nice for one reason: I have perfected the Elliot Esch Memorial Library Nap. Let's see, I was "working" at the library for 4 hours today, Wendy...I was awake for one and a half. Tee hee. I've visited various museums, the best of which being the Imperial War Museum. So when you finally decide to come to Europe when you're 57, remember this post on my blog and go to that one. Who knows, by then we'll probably have many more wars to commemorate.

I've seen three theater productions: one musical and two plays. All decent, none of them stellar. I have realised that the letter "z" is nonexistant in Britain. I'm really struggling to come to grips with the fact that Kentucky Fried Chicken is HUGE here, yet they have no Mexican fast food. In fact, they hardly have any Mexican food at all, and the places that advertise it really mean "chili in a tortilla." That made tonight's fajitas extra satisfying.

I couldn't take it any longer--I'm re-growing the soul patch. For those of you who missed it, it's back. By January it should be fully operational, just like the death star. Speaking of death star, I found a theater that plays movies for 1 pound, so I went to see The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I've read all the books, and now wish I had been here before I read them, because the movie was much funnier and made much more sense to me than I remember the books making. I'm catching on to British humour. I've seen two other movies in my time here--the 40-Year Old Virgin, which was about a tenth as funny to the locals, and Crash, which was interesting to watch with a group of Euros, being the only Americans in the theater. I strongly recommend Crash, it is at least stimulating, and was one of the most gut-wrenching movies I've seen. Probably my favorite of the year thusfar.

I'm going to my first football match Monday night, so I have a few days to learn all the naughty chants.

I must stress to you all how unbelievably important it has been to have an iPod while I'm here. I take it everywhere. I listen to it in the tube, in the library, when I'm eating, to put me to sleep, in the shower, in class, while I'm writing this, while I'm talking on the phone, while I'm eating, while I'm watching TV, you get the idea. The only frustrating thing is not having any new music to add. Basically, since I've been here I've been rotating four 2005 albums, with bits of Neil Diamond and others here and there. Those of you over 24 can stop reading now if you'd like, it might be boring. So here are my thoughts on some of this year's best music (In my opinion

"Be," Common. Making a resurgance since I've been here even though it's a few months old. On pure rapping ability--tempo, cadence and style, I would say Common is the best there is right now. The songs are simple and tight, and there isn't much there that doesn't need to be. Good stuff, although I begin to lose interest near the end of the record. Best songs in my opinion: "Testify," which has a tight narrative and ends right when it should, and "Faithful," which has a well-constructed and harmonized choir ending.

"Late Registration," Kanye West. Let's face it: this album is very much borderline pop music. Even Kanye sings (if I'm hearing what I think I'm hearing). The production is absolutely fabulous, the rhymes not quite at Common's level. For me, the pinnacle of the album comes near the end of "We Major," when all music stops and Kanye re-enters, asking "Can I talk my sh*t again?" That is an almost orgasmic point of the disc. And he's right, he will have to figure out what he's going to wear when he collects those half-dozen or so grammys in February. I'm not a real fan of the first half of this CD, and I don't care for the interludes at all, but the second ten or so songs really bring the pain. My favorite has to be "Roses," which I think is the most well-put-together song on the album. Closely following that is the Jay-Z remix of "Diamonds From Sierra Leone," which is brilliantly layered. I think Kanye may be stepping a little out of his league by trying to be political, however. Stick to mixing and producing. "We Major" is terrific--I love the idea of introducing a hook halfway through the song, it's a pleasant surprise. And the sort of free-form glissando/archipeggio vibes is almost majestic. That sort of accompaniment can't be written down or transcribed. "Hey Mama" is lovely, "Celebration" is just that, and "Gone" is a good meld of retro blues and modern rap. All in all, a terrific CD, especially good to listen to while walking the streets of London.

"Twin Cinema," The New Pornographers. This all-star band from Canada's effort is probably the most fun album I've heard all year. Not a bad tune on the record, and most are head-noddable, even if it means making yourself blatantly obvious as a tourist on the tube. Led by A.C. (Carl) Newman, these pop songs are catchy, easy to follow yet somehow different and better than any other indie pop out there. With an almost Nintendo-like synthesizer, combined with electric and/or acoustic guitar and three of the most uniquely-recognizable voices in my collection the New Pornographers have quite an original sound. I am in love with Neko Case's voice as well, which doesn't hurt. If you are in the mood for some fun pop music, this is your album. I especially like "Use It," with it's tight harmonies and steady, heavy beat. Also good are "The Bleeding Heart Show," "Stacked Crooked," and "These Are the Fables," which showcases Case's voice and has a really sweetass funk ending. Actually, it's hard to pick my favorite tracks on this disc, which is always nice. Until I try to do a ranking, which I will get to at some point on this trip.

"Illinois," Sufjan Stevens. While "Twin Cinema" is the most fun of 2005, this is without a doubt the best. Playing every instrument on the album (Including guitar, piano, flute, all sorts of brass, violin...) Stevens is possibly the best thing going on the folk-indie circuit right now. The orchestrations and arrangements are absolutely mind-boggling, while the titles are utter and complete gibberish. He has a beautiful, soft voice that just feels good to listen to, and the songs are so elaborate that each one feels like a three-movement sonata. You don't mind that the songs may eclipse seven minutes, by that point you are so entranced that you have completely forgotton the opening theme. I would write titles of my favorite songs down here, but they are literally 20+ word titles, and my hands and back are sore. Read some reviews online. They are the most universally-positive reviews I may have ever seen. This man is a genius and this album is a masterpiece from beginning to end. Do yourself a favor, get over the fact that he's "folk," and listen to "Illinois." If you have any appreciation for musical creativity, composition, arrangement or the power of music as a drug, you will know so after listening to this record.

So, I think we've had enough for tonight, yes? I've been writing for an hour, and that doesn't include that 19-page transcript. Keep your fingers crossed for me, Carpel Tunnel is the last thing I need. By the way, this post is 1600 words long, so use that as a frame of reference. Understand now?

A Couple More Things

I wasn't warned about possibly the most curious thing about life in the U.K. I, apparently, am the only one who cares. But thusfar, the weirdest thing I have encountered is the regulation of the temperature of tap water. In the US, you can balance the hot and cold knobs to create one stream of universal water temperature. Not so here. The hot water and the cold water remain completely separate as they exit the faucet, and only mix together when they form a puddle in the sink. This makes doing dishes interesting. One side of the flow is literally too hot to touch, while the other is ice cold. Either way, touching the water is neither smart nor safe. Once again, I question the reports that we receive from abroad travelers as they tell us their stories. How can they leave something this obscene and crucial out of their tales? Baffling.

Let me just give you an idea of what I have to go through every Sunday, knowing NFL games are being played in the states. I am watching the live unveling of a giant 10 metre by 5 metre portrait of King Henry VIII, with 108 small canvases making up one giant painting. I'm telling you, they need to have fantasy live giant painting ceremonies. Imagine that following.

I guess in order to fully understand why people tell you never to consume a hot dog from a street vendor here, you really should find out why. And find out I did. And let me say, the bun was good. I'll defend that. The only problem was that it was nearly impossible to distinguish between the texture of the bun and that of the hot dog. And the meat. Oh the meat. Apparently, they take whatever's left over from the nearest pub's shepherd's pie or beef stew and mold it into a dog. It's terrible quality, just crumbles in your mouth. I also made the mistake of asking for mustard. There's a reason you won't find it in any pub or restaurant here. It's disgusting. I literally had to chew it. So please, take my word and don't give in to your temptation to try a hot dog on the street in London.

Since I Can't Post Any More Photos

For some reason, it is not allowing me to put up any more pictures tonight. So you'll all have to wait another day. I know how much that saddens everyone.

Exciting news! I got to watch my Gophers beat Purdue live at a pub here!! It was thrilling, there were about 5 of us Minnesota students watching it, I just wished I would have been there. But when you watch sports in a pub by yourself and you just sit in silence for four hours, you realize what the Europeans were thinking when they developed the rules for their major sports. Except for cricket (which is played during the day anyway), all of Britain's favorite sports are played on a set timer. Their football and rugby last 90 minutes, with a discretionary amount of added time at the end to account for stoppages. This is genius for a pub setting. Here's why. BEER IS EXPENSIVE. So when you're sitting by yourself or with people you just met, watching a game, there's little to do but drink. When there's a commercial, you drink. When something bad happens to your team, drink. Something good? Drink. Lull in the action? Drink. Now, when a game lasts 3+ hours, that's a lot of drinking, and a lot of money spent. With a limit of an hour and a half or so, the spending is minimized, and depending on the outcome of the game, the drinking will probably continue somewhere cheaper. Luckily, tonight I only had one drink, because the game was interesting enough to me. Tomorrow, however, I am guaranteed seeing at least 3 AFC games. I've got the cash ready.

Me and My Girl Around the Town

Having a little fun at Kristie's Flat


In front of Buckingham Palace. The person who took this picture didn't speak English, and apparently had never taken a picture either.


Kristie at Battersea Park on the Themes River.


Kristie behind Buckingham Palace. You can only get here by paying 11.50 (That's pounds) for a tour of the palace.


Outside Battersea Park Zoo.

What else is wrong with the U.K.

They don't have 8.5 x 11 paper. Doesn't exist. Consequently, all handouts, syllibi and other random sheets of paper I've received have had to be folded before going into my folder, which is really annoying when you're sifting through your papers trying to find one of the 40 release forms and emergency contact information sheets I've had to fill out. I mean, can't the U.S. impose their will and force all foreign countries to abide by our sheet paper regulations? Why is no one else talking about this? Do they have #2 pencils? Or do I have to convert that too? For those of you keeping tabs on the exchange rate, that would be about a #1.15 pencil in London. I'm actually getting way more enraged over this issue than I thought I was when I started typing.

They measure liquids by millilitres and litres over here, we all knew that. And on maps, the map scale will usually be shown in increments of 500 meters or a kilometer. Yet, on the highways, distances listed on signs are miles. I'm fairly certain of this at least, because I timed the trips, and there's no way it took us an hour and 45 minutes to go 45 kilometers. This is ultra confusing to me. I've completely given up on trying to decide whether 73 pence for a 500 mL bottle of Diet Coke is a good deal. I'm pretty sure it isn't.

While we're talking Diet Coke, let's talk about the huge difference between brand name and generic item prices here. As a rule, 2 litre bottles of brand name soda are 1 pound, 32 pence (about 2 bucks). I bought a bottle of Sainsbury's Diet Soda today, the equivalent of Our Family or--I don't even think Cub or Rainbow has their own soda--I've already forgotten the generic brands--anyway, I bought a 2 litre of Sainsbury's Diet Soda for 18 pence. (35 cents or so). You could buy 7 bottles of generic soda for the price of one Diet Coke. Needless to say, my cupboard is full of Sainsbury's. Not only are the generic prices cheap, but they have different levels of generic. Let's take soup, for example. A can of Sainsbury's extra chunky vegetable soup is 52 pence. Or you can go with Sainsbury's regular vegatable soup for 38 pence. Or you can put on your super generic pants and buy a can of Sainsbury's Basics vegetable soup--with a plain white label--for 19 pence. Take a guess at what I'm buying. These things need to be talked about--they should be in every travel book. Everybody knows the Tower of London is here, we've all seen pictures of Buckingham Palace, but did you know there were three tiers of generic soup?

There are a couple things I like about London. Everybody drinks everything and everywhere. On the bus, walking down the street, in Harrad's, on the Tube, in the shower (B.I.T.S.), it's terrific. And you can buy a 3 litre bottle of cider (7% alcohol, might I add) for less than 3 pounds. And the beer is so much smoother. I really haven't had one that I disliked. The chuggability factor goes up exponentially here. The "I Bet You Can't Mug" seems fairly pedestrian now.

People here are my size. I really do not feel short here. My pants feel a little loose, but everyone knows I'm American anyway. Actually, one really refreshing thing about classes here, and mostly this has to do with my professors, but there were no "Let's go around the room" introductions, or "Here's a 3x5 notecard, write 3 facts about yourself, 2 of which are true and 1 that's false and we'll all guess!" routines. No get to know each other games. I would guess that 2/3 of my classes began like that. I began coming up with the most ridiculous "facts" about myself just to keep myself interested. Such as:

"In 7th grade, I mistook an owl pellet for a burned mini corn dog and took a bite, only realizing it wasn't one when I felt the vole bones crunch."

"I was in a raggae band in high school called ""An Appreciation of Our Tokin'" and we opened for Jimmy Cliff's son's band in South Dakota during the Sturgis rally."

or "I've been dumped because I was too nice and once got dumped due to her suffering relationship with God."

No, wait. That actually happened to Conor. But you get the idea, those games are tired. Well they don't bother with them here! I'm especially excited tonight, however, because I get to watch Monday Night Football (Well here it's Tuesday Morning Football) live in my flat! I've got the Sainsbury's Diet Cola on hand.

Pictures, Part 1

Sunrise at the airport in Iceland--the only picture worth taking there.


A few shots of my flat.



My roommate Jake.



Keep in mind, at this point I hadn't slept in about 30 hours, so cut me some slack.


A tube station in London (This is the nicest one I've been in).



Your average street shot in London.

Apparently I can't put any more pictures up right now. There will be many more coming soon, and better ones.

BY REQUEST

This is now the third attempt at this post. But, I had a special request that needs to be dealt with. This will not be a typical post, yet instead a trip into Valbowskis past to revisit an old favorite. I bring you, Euro-style, MUTILATED BEAST VS. MUTILATED BEAST.

In one corner, representing a race of creatures so fierce, yet now so incredibly endangered, I present to you

THE GIANT GOLDEN MOLE (http://www.animalinfo.org/image/chrytrev1%20jpg%2060.jpg)

In the other corner, we find a beast that has been distint for ages, but has agreed to come back for this special bout. I give you

THE GIANT LAND SLOTH (http://www.museum.state.il.us/exhibits/larson/sloth.html)


Now, this matchup may seem a bit unfair, but we must take a closer look at the animals. While the sloth dominates in size and strength (20 ft and 3 tons compared to 8 inches and 19 ounces--the sloth's claw is two-and-a-half times the length of the mole's body), the mole can use his unmatched cunning and escapeability to wear down the large mammal. We must also keep in mind that the mole has no eyes, but it has a tremendous sense of hearing and can detect the most undetectable of vibrations.

Now for the mutations.

The mole, known for its burrowing capabilities, is able to tunnel underneath the sloth's skin. While burrowing, he plants small explosives that detonate in sequence when he exits the sloth's body. (He can't stay inside for the entire battle--he would explode anyway.) While these explosives alone won't kill the sloth, they will slow him down. However, every time the mole plants an explosive, the sloth gains extra strength for his main weapon, his genital-ticking laser eyes. The mole is world-famous for his extremely large genitalia and reproductive system, and is widely regarded as having the most percentage of its body covered by its unit. When the sloth connects with his tickling laser, the mole gets sent lightyears beyond orgasm, past the point of pleasure and into pain. Therefore, he must plant his explosives wisely, and do his best to dodge the beams.

The sloth's powers don't end there. Seemingly built perfectly to exploit the mole's characteristics, he uses the mole's sense of smell against him, with his extremely potent flatulence. If the fumes directly enter the mole's nostrils, the effect may be lethal. I assure you that the first time I wrote this post, the language and delivery were far more superior, because I was borderline drunk, yet still coherent. I'm struggling to recapture that feeling. To combat the sloth's gas, the mole is equipped with a gas-repelling fan in each nostril. While the fan cannot completely repel the gas, it also launches killer pop rocks that ignite on contact. When these pop rocks connect in the right areas, the sloth suffers immensely.

Each creature has one final weapon, the deadliest in their arsenal. On the bottom of each of the sloth's four paws, you will find a nerf gun that shoots walnuts at a very rapid rate. Those walnuts hurt man. But these aren't your average walnuts. These nuts are covered in gravel, a texture that certainly hurts when launched at 350 miles per hour. The only disadvantage to this weapon is that the sloth must lift up his feet to fire, leaving him unbalanced and vulnerable. The mole's last line of defense is a good one. Since he is not large enough to have weapons inside him, he is able to use the surroundings as a weapon. In this case, the animals are battling inside a room that's walls are made entirely of file cabinets. Metal ones. At any time, the mole can magically make any drawer spring open. If the sloth is on the move, the mole can pull out a drawer and stop the sloth in his tracks. If the sloth is standing still, he can open a drawer that will connect with the beast.

So there you have it, Mutilated Beast Vs. Mutilated Beast, U.K. edition. I'm shuttered.

Let's Talk About Iceland

As some of you know, my flight stopped in Iceland before making its way to London. Strange route, it seems, but I thought this would be my opportunity to see a place very few have visited. Well, it didn't exactly work out.

The small section of Iceland I saw (the airport is not in Reykjavic), was made up of crusty, rocky, dried up lava fields. It was brown and boring. We got off the plane, sat outside the plane for an hour and a half, then got back on the same plane. Not a very large airport.

However, Icelandair does do one thing right: flight attendants. These were some of the finest Scandinavian?? ladies I've seen. All tall, with long legs, flowing locks and brilliant smiles, they made the 12 or so hours I was in an airport go by much quicker. These ladies were the real deal. If only the food was. For breakfast, I was served what looked to be some sort of Icelandic pastry--a croissant or strudel or something. Nope, it was eggs. Imagine what eggs mistakenly identified as pastries must have tasted like. One more thing about Icelandair. Near the end of a flight, the TV screen turns into a map, showing you where you have come from and where you are going and how long it will take. This is pretty standard. So, there was the U.S., there was our plane flying over the atlantic, and there was Iceland. On each continent, a few cities were marked. You would assume these would represent the major cities of each country. But apparently, word has not yet reached Iceland about America's most prominent cities. There were three on the map: Minneapolis, appropriate since we had flown from there. Baltimore, made sense because we flew over it. The third one made slightly less sense. Waco, Texas. That's right, Waco, Texas.

More things to know about London and the U.K. Not only is it illegal to possess pepper spray or anything similar, it is considered a firearm here, and the punishment is a six-month jail sentence. Thought that was interesting. Also, you are not permitted to carry any sort of knife, scissors, nail clippers, or anything else that could be used as a weapon. The police officers here don't even carry guns. What a refreshing thought; no guns, no tasers, and you need a written permit from the Secretary of State to carry mase.

Well I'm knackered.

What Your Mama Didn't Tell You About London

I told myself that I wasn't going to allow...myself...to eat at McDonalds or Burger King or Subway unless it was ABSOLUTELY necessary.

I didn't make it 36 hours.

But here's the thing: London SHUTS DOWN at 8 p.m. You'd think that one of the largest, most tourist-friendly cities in the world would have a booming nightlife everywhere. But no. Granted, there are areas of the city that stay awake late, but overall, shops close early. Restaurants and pubs stop serving food around 7, and pubs close universally at 11.

So here I was, wandering the streets at 9:30, craving some chinese, and not one buffet presented itself to me in my few miles' journey. And to add to my suffering, there just happened to be a McDos or Burger King or KFC (Yes, somehow KFC seems to thrive in London, however there are zero Taco Bells or Taco Johns...and now you know why Americans are fatter.) I caved. I stopped under the arches. BUT, I held strong, and ordered simply a medium Diet Coke. Pop is pop. It doesn't matter where I get it. I might as well get it for cheap. Two days in, and no American fast food for me. Plus I ended up finding a nice plate of Shawarma Chicken and rice in front of my face.

Everybody knows the huge differences between the U.S. and the U.K. They drive on the opposite side of the road (and crazily, might I add. I am seriously afraid to cross the street at some intersections.) Nobody wears jeans (completely false. ) Our "fries" are their "chips" and our "chips" are their "crisps." And it's not the fact that they're called "crisps" that bothers me; it's the flavours that really have me puzzled. Here are just the few that I can remember off the top of my head:

Thai Sweet Chili
Sea Salt and Fresh Ground Black Pepper
Cheese and Onion
Chinese Barbecue Spare Ribs
Of course, Vinegar
Slow Roasted Lamb and Mint

Lamb and mint? And I thought sweet and salty Chex Mix was bad. (By the by, turns out Ketchup chips are popular in Canada.)

I really don't have much to say yet, but I will. And I wasn't here for six hours before I had my first celebrity sighting: Renee Zellweger in the Tube. Good stuff.