Ladies and gentlemen...it's Newquay!

(Pronounced "newkey")

We arrived in Newquay at about 9 p.m. Saturday. I knew it was going to be a satisfying trip while listening to the musical selections at the MEXICAN!!! restaurant that first night. Over the speakers I heard a latin-instrumental version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," but wait...oh, it morphed into "Sukiyaki!!" You know it -- "It's all because of you..." Unreal-similar to the time I heard Barry Manilow's "Could This Be Magic" turn into "Mandy" and back again in a live performance. But I'd give the nod to the Mexican Sukiyaki instrumental.

I'll summarize our trip briefly, before getting into what I found most interesting about the area. Arriving late the first night, we had time only to eat, have a few margaritas, and explore the suprisingly active nightlife. Known as the U.K.'s surfing capital, Newquay is home to tons of surfer teens and twenties, as well as hundreds-thousands-of tourists. Literally, every other house in Newquay is either a bed and breakfast, guest house, or hotel. You could live in Newquay your whole life and never have a place of your own.

Sunday, our first full day, was unfortunately memorable mostly because of the constant rain...which we chose to enjoy at the zoo. Not really the best choice of the weekend. We did explore one of Newquay's several beaches, and perfected the art of taking timed shots with my camera. On a side note, Kristie's computer is tweaking out, so there won't be any pictures anytime soon. That night we explored the bustling Newquay karaoke scene. More on this later.

Monday was the most memorable day of the trip, and one of the best of the 6 weeks that I've been here. We took a bus to Tintagel (Tin-TA-jel) to visit the ruins of Tintagel Castle, the legendary birthplace of King Arthur. Built on an island on the cliffs of Cornwall, Tintagel provided brilliant scenery and plenty of photo ops, as well as authentic Cornish pasties.

With that said, for the first time since I've been here, it felt good to get back "home" to London. I'm completely acclaimated to this lifestyle now, and although Newquay was a welcomed change of pace, I was more than happy to re-enter the comforts of my flat and area in London. And I couldn't bear to go another day without internet.

Well, now that you've got the boring itinerary down, let's talk about the interesting things about Newquay and Cornwall.

I decided that zoo bathrooms are the smelliest kind of bathrooms in the world. Coming in a close second are the bathrooms of softball field complexes.

In Newquay, shots (or shooters) are served in tiny plasic cups--exactly like the ones I grew up taking communion from...

Probably the biggest submission a man can make in a relationship is letting his significant other pluck his nosehairs. I just can't imagine giving in to anything more horribly painful and, well, probably unecessary. Consider that I'd already given in to Kristie's desire to pluck my third eyebrow. The difference between eyebrow plucking and nosehair plucking is similar to the difference between eating your least favorite meal and puking that meal back up.

You think scarfing a Chipotle burrito is a daunting culinary challenge, you should try a Cornish pasty. These crusty, nerf football-sized pockets of goodness were more than enough for a chap like meself.

The bus system in Cornwall...well, at least there are buses. The slogan in the Western Greyhound pamphlet said "Western Greyhound: Poetry in Motion." I guess you could call it poetry, in the same sense that you could call flatulence music. As far as the motion part goes, it took us roughly 2 hours to move 15 miles up the coast. I guess that says more about the efficiency of the roadways in rural England.


And now, may I introduce to you, the flourishing world of Karaoke in Newquay. First of all, Sunday night is karaoke night. And from 8:30-12:30, the jams were flowing at the Barracuda Bar. Song selection was interesting--it made me realize that I need more (any) No Doubt on my iPod. It took a karaoke version of "Don't Speak" to convince me, but I'm convinced. Also, I can't imagine a couple guys getting up on stage anywhere in the U.S., stripping as they sing Tom Jones' "You Can Leave Your Hat On." That's just the way it goes in Newquay. I did enjoy the English accented "It's raining men, halleluyer," however. They can't end a word with an "a" you know. Always "er."

Anywho, after experiencing my first foreign karaoke, I decided to take it upon myself to develop a set of rules when considering getting up on stage and embarrassing yourself. So here are some simple rules you can follow to make sure your karaoke experience is a successful one.

Top 10 Karaoke Rules:

10. Avoid obscure songs. Usually, this is made easier by the available selection of songs, but say you're picking between Devo's "Whip It" and "S.I.B. (Swelling Itching Brain)," you probably should go with the hit.
9. Pick one of two types of songs: crowd-pleasing rockers or heartfelt ballads: Choose knowing that it's going to take a mediocre performance of the first type, and a compelling ballad rendition to win over the crowd. I suggest getting your feet wet before attempting a real "American Idol" heart-stopper.
8. Imitations are not the way to go. Sing as yourself. You're not Elvis. You're not John Popper. You're most definitely not Aaron Neville.
7. Songs that dwell on emotional performances are not the way to go. Karaoke bars generally have a very chill atmosphere, and shrieking Nirvana or sobbing Luther Vandross might not be the best choices. Go for something middle-of-the-roadish.
6. Size up the competition. When you arrive, take note of the other singers and their performances. Try to schedule yours after someone who is absolutely terrible. Like, say, Conor Leonard.
5. Make sure you're comfortable singing what and how you're singing. If you feel fine performing Prince's "Kiss" in full falsetto, go right ahead, I'm not ready.
4. There is a very thin line between drunk enough to sing and too drunk to sing. This is a delicate thing. Often times alcohol will loosen up your willingness to perform, but do we want it to? And do we want to hear you singing a song that your drunk self chose? Consult with your friends before making a decision. Of course, that might backfire depending on how badly they want to see you make a fool of yourself.
3. Don't sing your favorite song. Don't taint it forever. You may never be able to look at it the same way. I once saw someone try to sing U2's "One," one of the best vocal songs of all time, and it has tarnished each and every subsequent listening. On a related note, don't ruin a great song, even if it isn't your favorite. You just can't sing that well.
2. You're not Stevie Wonder. Or Michael Jackson. Or Whitney Houston. Or Mariah Carey. You're probably closer to William Hung. Avoid yourself the embarrassment and PLEASE don't choose a song you can't sing. "Tequila" is always a safe choice if you're really hung up.
1. Under no conditions is it EVER acceptable to sing Grease's "Summer Nights." This rule is non-negotiable. The single worst karaoke song of all time. Even worse than "I Got You Babe." Worse than "Don't Go Breaking My Heart." If you absolutely need a male/female duet, sing "Love Shack." Whatever. Anything but Grease.

So, to help you in your choices, I will now list my favorite songs to sing karaoke (if I ever do--I've only done it a couple times, and rule #1 is directly related to one of them)

Top 5 Ballads:

5. "Alison," Elvis Costello. Borderline too good a song.
4. "All Cried Out," Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam. Do the Allure and 112 version if you'd like.
3. "She's Gone," Hall and Oates. Two people needed for this one.
2. "Careless Whisper," Wham! When done correctly, this will move people.
1. "Eternal Flame," The Bangles. Passion. Sensitivity.

Top 10 Crowd-Pleasers:

10. "Never Gonna Give You Up," Rick Astley. Show off your vocal speed.
9. "Everyday People," Sly and the Family Stone. Good boy/girl combo.
8. "Everlasting Love," Carl Carlton. Come on. Everybody loves Carl Carlton.
7. "If," Janet Jackson. A sexy female choice.
6. "Stacy's Mom," Fountains of Wayne. Fun, and relatively recent.
5. "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now," Starship. This will bring back memories.
4. "Back Stabbers," The O'Jays. A little more adventurous vocally, but worth it.
3. "Raspberry Beret," Prince. I couldn't leave Prince out, could I? No, I couldn't.
2. "Invisible Touch," Genesis. Love those techno synthesizers.
1. "Sweet Caroline," Neil Diamond. Yes this is a crowd-pleaser. And if I wasn't being so generous, half this list could be Diamond. And let's not even talk about Barry Manilow. My only regret is that there are no words to Chuck Mangione's songs.


Well, in 24 hours I will be en route to Italy, where I will be spending 10 nights, in Venice, Florence, La Spezia and Rome. I hope I can have some time to write in that span, but no guarantees. I'll see you 'round Halloween.

It takes being in London to...

In London, you find yourself doing things, trying things that you just wouldn't find yourself doing in the U.S. So, here's a little segment I'll call "It takes being in London to..." Let's give it a shot.

It takes being in London to...buy a medium shirt. That's right, yesterday I bought not one, but two medium sized shirts. That's just the way people wear their clothes here. What's more, I actually tried on a small.

It takes being in London to...appreciate the variety of mustards available at your local grocery store. Variety, in general, is sacrificed. Choices are not encouraged.

It takes being in London to...stumble across "Rugrats" on television, and watch it. Spend six weeks here and you'll understand.

It takes being in London to...question the American phrases of "to go" vs. the British version "take away" or the logic of "restroom" vs. "toilet." The British terms seem weird and stupid, but actually, they might make more sense.

It takes being in London to...appreciate the efficiency of American banking. Via Kristie, I have learned that it might take 2 months for the banks to get your bank card to you. Even when you do receive it, you are not allowed to set up your own pin number. That will be assigned to you by the bank, and mailed four days after you pick your card up. By the way, banks don't answer their phones on Fridays.

It takes being in London to...develop a hatred for washer/dryer combination machines. They are impossible to work, and when you do figure them out, they don't work at all.

It takes being in London to...use words such as "gobsmacked." I don't know what it means, I just use it. When in Rome.

It takes being in London to...yearn for the simple scoring of American sports. Two points for a basket, one point for a run, it's simple. Try looking at the scoring in snooker or cricket. Makes no sense.


Depending on feedback, I might try to include this feature regularly. Anyway, here's what I've been up to this week.

Kristie and I went to a Lebanese restaurant, had some hoummus and smoked a shisha. I highly recommend it, it's very relaxing and fun. Last night we enjoyed a special gallery at the Tate Britain art museum, courtesy of my boss Wendy. As a member, she gets complimentary passes to all the special exhibits at various museums, and she gives them to me. So there we were, two young Americans browsing through the gallery of Degas, Sickert and Toulouse-Lautrec with high society Londoners. We also celebrated my birthday at the Giraffe restaurant, which has global food. Best meal I've had here so far. Tonight, hopefully I will find enough able bodies to spend an enjoyable birthday evening (Kristie is working).

Now, a few things that have been flushing through my brain this week.

You know why you've never heard anyone say "What happens in London stays in London?" That's because nothing ever happens in London. It's fairly innocent.

I think the most underrated horn section of 80's pop music is in Toto's "Rosanna." I don't think it's close. But here are my top 10 underrated horn sections of the 70s-80s in my iPod collection. And yes, "Rosanna" is on my playlist. Don't knock it til you've tried it.

10. "I'll Tumble 4 Ya," Culture Club. Not really that special, it's just prominent. And there's a real dropoff after number 9 on my iPod.
9. "St. Elmo's Fire," John Parr. Outshined only by Parr's voice, which sounds like it's being put through a meat grinder.
8. "Lido Shuffle," Boz Skaggs. OOOH-OOOH-OOH-OOOOOOOOOOHH
7. "Scenes From an Italian Restaurant," Billy Joel. Saxophone solo, it's not great, it's just featured.
6. "Looks Like We Made It," Barry Manilow. Very, very underrated. Sneaks in at the beginning of the tune. Sets the mood. And this is also on my iPod.
5. "Sussudio," Phil Collins. PC could have half a dozen songs on this list, but Sussudio really brings it home.
4. "Careless Whisper," Wham! Not underrated by any means, which is why it can't go higher on this list. Probably the best sax intro in the history of pop music. Seriously, I dare someone, challenge that.
3. "This Christmas," Donny Hathaway. This song has a full horn section, which really boosts the song to a whole new level. I think you should all introduce this song to your family/pastor/priest this December, petition for it to be considered as an official holiday anthem.
2. "Dr. Worm," They Might Be Giants. Prominent throughout the song, the horns give this song a jolt at the end.
1. "Rosanna," Toto. For some reason these horns reming me of Duck Tales. Nevertheless, the buildup they create before the chorus is magical.

In a related note, Barry Manilow's "Can't Smile Without You" has the best whistling intro of any song on my iPod.


I thought I had encountered the worst flavours of crisps London has to offer, but the other day I ran into a bag of Sausage and Ketchup crisps. I think anyone reaching for a bad of those really needs to consider the gaseous consequences and the well-being of those they spend time with.

I recently saw a commercial for one of the most horrific-sounding CDs I can remember. It's titled "Rock Swings," by Paul Anka. He has arranged several pop tunes into his lounge-style crooning. Here's the Amazon link. Have a listen.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/search-handle-url/ref=br_ss_hs/102-5973746-3594514?platform=gurupa&url=index%3Dmusic&field-keywords=rock+swings&Go.x=0&Go.y=0

I didn't think there was anything worse than Fox reality TV: Man vs. Beast, Joe Millionaire 2, My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiancee, Date My Dad, Celebrity Boot Camp, you get the idea. This was before I had the pleasure of watching the BBC. But nothing could possibly be worse than "The Mullets." Remember that one?

I just finished becoming the very last person in the world to read "The Da Vinci Code." For me, there's always pressure being "the last one" to do anything. In one sense, I feel forced to like it. In another, I feel like not liking it out of spite for everybody else in the world who loved it. Like when I was the last person to see "Napoleon Dynamite." I wanted to like it, but in another sense I wanted to be the one "cool" guy who didn't. It's a weird phenomenon. Well, "Code" delivered as expected, but I did get a little tired of EVERY chapter having a cliffhanger ending. See, there's that other side of me.

Every once in a while I run into a song that sounds familiar and I think, "hey, we sang that song in high school choir!" It makes you realize how horrible those arrangements were and what disservices they did to the original song. This week's example: Earth, Wind and Fire's "Fantasy."

Here's what I want everybody to do after reading this, out of respect for my sorrows. Go to your fridge, freezer, or nearest grocery store, or gas station, get yourself a bratwurst. And eat it. It's all I want to do right now. It's all I've wanted to do all week. It's probably all I'll want to do for the next 3 months. AND I CAN'T DO IT. You can, so go do it for me.

Who's peekin' out from under a stairway
Calling a name that's lighter than air?
Who's bending down to give me a rainbow?

EVERYONE KNOWS IT'S WINDY

Who's tripping down the streets of the city
Smilin' at everybody she sees?
Who's reachin' out to capture a moment?

EVERYONE KNOWS IT'S WINDY.

and don't you ever forget it.

I think it's time for a ranking

After all, rankings have been a part of every Valbowski in existance. So, I will give you all a taste of what I'm enduring over here while you enjoy the comforts of an American life.

Top 10 Things I Miss About My Life In the United States:

10. Target and Wall-mart. I know, it's a little sad, and obviously American, but you just don't find those type of stores here. If you have a shopping list that looks something like this: toilet paper, camera battery, DVD, greeting card, boxers, potato peeler, potted plant, candle holder, nose hair trimmer, grill, milk, plastic golf balls, beach towel, altoids, photo developing, prescription medicine, glitter, car tires, and a soft pretzel, you've got a week of searching and shopping ahead of you.

9. The Onion. Newspapers in general. There are a dozen or so daily newspapers here, but most of them are complete tabloids, and all are incredibly biased. I look forward to picking up the Onion every Tuesday and seeing headlines that I know are fake. I'm not sure here sometimes.

8. Free public bathrooms. It seems strange, but you notice the lack of lavatories here. I've already paid to use them twice. Some pubs don't even have them. It's no wonder I've seen countless drunks relieving themself at the curb.

7. Being able to get in my car, drive five minutes to a restaurant, movie theater, grocery store, liquor store, bank, post office--do my thing, and drive home. Not happening here. In fact, if you drive your personal car in London at all in the daylight hours of the week, you're getting charged. Eight pounds a day to drive your own car.
6. American cable TV. This is the one I'm most ashamed to admit, especially since in my heart I know it belongs higher than number 6. I just can't get into the British soap operas, and they take up much of the primetime lineup. Yes, we do have satellite TV, but if you're interested in seeing what channels we get, let me know when I get home and I'll show you some video.

5. Working out. You walk everywhere here, which keeps you in check, but if you want to work your muscles, it's gonna cost you 55 pounds a month, something which I cannot afford. Therefore, a couple years of consistent work is being erased in four months.

4. The streets. Streets here, in general, make no sense. For example, if you are trying to find Abbey Road, the location of the most famous album cover of all time and the recording studio of the Beatles, you will have 23 different streets to choose from. Even locals don't know the streets; my program director said she wouldn't be able to direct a cab driver to her house from the center of the city. That's not all. Streets will have one name on one side of a street, and a different name on the other. This becomes extremely difficult when they AREN'T MARKED. I can't tell you how many times I've walked aimlessly looking for a street, only to realize it wasn't marked or had a different name on the side of the street I was looking.

3. Music. In my time here, I will have missed Twin Cities concerts of U2, Coldplay (minor loss), Kanye West, the Arcade Fire, Sufjan Stevens and the New Pornographers. And those are just the ones I know off the top of my head. I'm not paining myself by looking anything up. Not to mention the fact that I can't put any new music on my iPod, listen to anyone else's newest tunes or read local publications and reviews. My current library is being stretched.

2. Food. I'll keep this list abbreviated. CHIPOTLE. VILLAGE WOK. Good Mexican food, good Chinese food. Bongards pepper jack cheese, salad dressing, real hot dogs, potato chips, Taco Bell, real guacamole, beef jerky, salmon, cucumbers, Hormel breakfast sausage, EZ Stop cheddarwursts and jalapeno cheddar dogs. The late hours most restaurants and bars are open. Old Chicago. The Sportsman's. Duffy's. Santana's. Being able to get home cooking if I want it. The promise of a Thanksgiving feast.

1. 1212 Como Avenue, #1. I miss being able to speak in abbreviations, acronyms and invented words. I miss naming public bathrooms. I miss Soraya's summer dresses. I miss Neil's craftmanship. I miss the eel. I miss the look that's on half of your faces right now because you have no idea what any of us in that house are saying. I miss being outnumbered as a Vikings fan. I miss Gopher football games on campus. I miss having people to talk to who know ANYTHING about sports. I miss the B.A.C. Hall of Fame, the breathalizer, the Aristocrat Vodka. I miss getting hooked on every reality TV show. I miss the skip count, the mouse count and the school day countdown. I miss walls crumbling, ceilings falling and pipes bursting. I miss seeding. I miss grilling. And I miss everybody who's ever set foot in it. Someone e-mail me.

Well, I'm getting quite homesick. Let's cheer up with some huge news.

It took 22 years, each passing year my doubts increasing, but the prophecy foretold that summer afternoon by the man at the hamburger stand at More 4 is finally coming to pass. In the years since, I have prepared myself for this day, storing hopes and stockpiling expectations in my brain like a fully-stocked Y2K bunker. I had nearly given up--resigned to the fact that my prophecy would fall as flat as those of Y2K. And what would I do with the three dozen cases of bottled water?

Yet today, as I type this, the seed that was to be my future has been sown. My turkey has been basted. It's happening.

I'm growing chest hair.

You see, that afternoon, I was asked a simple question: "Would you like onions on your burger?" Reeling from the unexpected query, I stood motionless, as frozen as the patties in the cooler at the inquisitor's feet. "You'll never grow chest hair if you don't have onions on your burger..." I scoped him out. This man definitely had onions with his burgers. More accurately, he had burger with his onions. This man should have been a Leonard.

Yes, I said, I will have onions, fully understanding what this decision could mean to my future. And then, in a moment frozen in time and space, the man gave me a look and a wink, as if to say 'Yes, my son, you too will one day join the fraternity.' I look forward to the day when I will ask my son that fateful question. I just hope I'm not working at a More 4 hamburger stand when I do it.

Dublin

Got home from our 48-hour Dublin experience about 15 hours ago, so hopefully I haven't forgotten anything particular I wanted to share with you all. Also, I wrote everything interesting down as it happened. So I could wait, because I have a big list right here, but I know you're all reloading your Valblogski page every minute, anticipating this post. I couldn't let you down.

Dublin was, in a word--no I can't think of one. It was enjoyable, but not uber-memorable. It was fun, but not over-the-top. It was rainy, but not torrential. The people were incredibly nice, and didn't run away from you when you asked a question like they do in London. It was surprisingly expensive. It was hard to find a meal under 10 Euro (in the area of town we frequented) and a pint of beer was gonna run you about 4-5 Euro. That's six bucks if you're scoring at home. The cheapest beer I had was my first, a Guinness, of course, for $3.90. The city center itself is very compact, and you can (and we did) walk from end to end of it if you so desired (we didn't after doing it once). The bus system was fairly user-friendly and we never got stranded anywhere. The buses, however, apparently have the right to stop their routes any time they want to, as we were twice told "last stop" before we were anywhere near our destination.

Our first night there was probably the most memorable, and one of my favorite cultural experiences of the trip so far. We ducked into the nearest shady-looking pub--lounge, as they say--in hopes of experiencing a Irish Thursday night. The Cat and the Cave, I think it was called. We were not disappointed, as a man playing acoustic renditions of Bob Marley's "Redemption Song" and Oasis's "Don't Look Back In Anger" played to a packed house of drunken sing-alongers. One of these drunks nearly fell into Kristie's lap as we were leaving. He ended his set with an a capella version of what we determined to be the Irish national anthem, as everyone in the bar stood up, stopped drinking and sung along.

Most of Friday afternoon was spent walking to and touring the Guinness Storehouse. Not part of the actual brewery anymore, this building serves as one of Dublin's very few essential tourist attractions. The tour itself wasn't terribly thrilling-the best part being the history of the advertising campaigns and display of the various artifacts from the beer's 250-year history. But, it did provide lengthy tributes to each of the porter's four ingredients: water, barley, yeast and hops. The hops description began like this (yes, I wrote it down): "Hops, coming from the Latin 'Wolf Plant.' Like the wolf, it grows wild in the country. And like the wolf, man has tried to tame it. But the hop will always remain wild at heart." A-ha.

The Dublin Airport was organized and its staff extremely helpful, but it wasn't without fault. For example, the entire airport had FOUR cash machines. I know this, because at the one I stood in line for 20 minutes for, there was a note explaining the location of the other three WHEN YOU REACHED THE MACHINE. I was delighted to learn of the other locations after I had finally reached the front of the line. Also, near the end of your transaction, you were asked if you "required an advice slip."

We also visited Dublin Castle, which is not a castle so much as a government building, and spent many hours walking up and down Henry St., Dublin's main touristy shopping area. Everything I had read about Dublin told me not to miss Temple Bar, which is not a bar but a hip area of the city center. Miss it we did not, and it was in fact the center of eating, drinking and local shopping. And it was filled with street musicians, playing all sorts of songs, from U2's "With Or Without You," (obvious), to Elton John's "Your Song," (not surprising), to Deep Blue Something's "Breakfast At Tiffany's," (completely bizarre). There were also unconfirmed reports of Hootie and the Blowfish's "Let Her Cry" echoing in the distance.

I continue to be amazed by the selection at American fast food chains in Europe. I completely understand that the menus differ according to the tastes of the culture. Baguette sandwiches at Burger King I can understand. But I had no idea that the Rodeo Burger remained popular ANYWHERE. Not only did they have a Rodeo Burger, but also a Double Rodeo Burger.

Also, the selection of U.S. sports apparel is confusing. Every store has tons of soccer, rugby and other European sports apparel, whether it be hurling or cricket or whatever. But you can usually find a small selection of American apparel, maybe a New York Yankees hat or a Dallas Cowboys jersey. Yet Dublin seemed to have a strange fondness for two teams: the Jacksonville Jaguars and the University of Oregon Ducks. I have no explanation for this.

Well that's my wrapup of Dublin. Hopefully, I will be able to put more pictures up soon. I keep promising that I have some, and I do, and I keep getting denied when I try to put them up. If you are really interested in seeing some, let me know, and I'll keep trying. Otherwise, I'll just show you the whole lot upon my return.