The big finale...

So this is it, this is (for all purposes of intent) my last blog for UT's study abroad office. It's been a fantastic semester with lots of laughs, some questionable moments, weird buses, and of course great memories.

I've debated for awhile about how I would write this blog, afterall (yes I misspell that word, if you haven't figured it out by now I always do) it does feel pretty important and there are a whole slew of ways I could take this. I could write about differences between home and the places I've been, but that's worn out and in all honesty something you need to experience more-so than read about. I could just post messages about my friends, and while it would be sappy and maybe move the heart of my one day future wife (if she stumbles upon it when looking at things from my past with my mother of course), it just doesn't feel right. I could just tell stories and throw out quirky little anecdotes, but I've been relying on that for awhile now. As I said, there are so many ways I can write this, ways I've planned and thought about or ways I could emulate from similar instances. I could just resort to an Academyesque 'thank you' spree that would put Scorsese to shame. Or I could just start writing and see what comes out, aftall that's what feels right at this moment.

When I first learned that I was going to be keeping a blog under an actual contract, it kinda hit me that in a way which made me realize that I was taking the first steps in a long-time dream of mine to become a paid writer. While I've technically been paid to be a journalist since I was 17, this was different. This was someone telling me 'We want to hear what you think' and not just 'Tell us what happened at X event'. I was nervous, I was going through a rough time in terms of that I began to question whether I really wanted to go abroad or not. Afterall I'd be sacrificing an eighth of my college career to go halfway around the world to do... well I wasn't really sure what I would be doing and that's a scary feeling.

Despite all of this I had this strange calmness about me leading up to it, there was no anxiety. The only sign of any real emotion was when I occasionally cracked a smile as I thought about what I'd be doing a month from a particular moment. Why did I smile? To this day I can't really articulate it, it was just my little way of showing that I felt something even if I didn't know what that 'something' was.

In the weeks leading up to my departure, it felt like I had a million people asking me my thoughts on going abroad. I had some friends and acquaintances who, in their own way, kinda made me feel bad because it seemed as if I was abandoning them or becoming snotty. The short of it is, before I even left I was beginning to feel the ups and downs of going abroad. The joys and the fears, the low points and the high points which make you break into an unexplainable smile. Like I said there are things about doing what I've done that I just can't explain, but you can see them in a person's face. I remember meeting a guy who had just gotten back from being abroad in England at a function the C Geo office put on for the kids heading out. He'd sit there and reminisce, occasionally breaking into a sorta quirky smile. It wasn't fake, but it wasn't natural. It wasn't a 'funny haha' smile, but just something that made you see that he had memories inside him that he couldn't really explain. To me, that's something that I've gotten out of my experience that I'm not sure I'd find anywhere else. Finding humor in the low parts, finding strength in yourself and your friends. Having to build yourself up as a support system and thing finding out how much stronger of a person you can be once other people start to become part of that support system, these are things I would not have experienced had I stayed at UT this semester. Would I have had fun? Probably more than I am here, but at the end of the term I wouldn't be the person I am today.

I remember when I was struggling to come up with an idea for my first blog, I was really excited about some classes I had taken last fall. I had just switched majors and for the first time was really enjoying school. Ironically that excitement also made me a little wary about my decision to go abroad, I do feel that I've sacrificed in terms of schooling here as I honestly haven't enjoyed my time on campus as much as I did last semester at UT. But back to the point. The realization about that excitement was that despite my struggles during the semester and the craziness that finals always bring, I had time for my thoughts and opinions to just sit and begin to really form while I rested at home and generally just sat around my parents house. I became better at speaking about my studies, my arguments and discussions were more succinct and illustrated better. In general all the things I wanted to say in those final papers had come to a head, a maturity if you will. As I'm sitting here writing whatever comes off the top of my head (much like a final huh?), I can't wait for that point to reach after I've returned home. When my thoughts and opinions can really start to blossom and become more than just thoughts and opinions, they become part of who I am and change the way I look at everything in life. While I can't articulate them now, I look forward to that point when I realize that my time here in England was worth it and I can say to someone "this is why_____. "

Another thing I actually wrote a very lengthy blog about but never published is identity, so I'll try to do a little service to that. I've never really thought of myself as a Texan, my father is from Mexico and I was born on the border. If anything I've always felt kinda torn in multiple directions about affirming who I am as a person. That's one of the best parts about being here, you really have to decide who you are (unless you just want to make it all up *shrug*) as a person and then defend it. If you want to say "Yes, I'm an American" get ready for someone to poke and jab at you. You gotta realize that when you show up, you're like a weird species locals have only heard about on the news or seen in movies. So they're gonna want to prod at the stereotypes, they're also gonna be happy when you live up to those stereotypes so be prepared for it. The most important thing to realize is that you can't take offense to what people are saying, you're on their turf and you're here to learn about them... not bring American Democracy to wherever your host country is. Chances are if someone offends you, it's a miscommunication. I've found that 95% of the people here are quite nice despite the crappy whether, so keep that in your head when you get off the plane and that customs lady is absolutely the biggest jerk you've ever met in your life. So remember, because you're different you're automatically going to be subject to being judged, but give them good things to judge you on and not bad traits... if you do that you'll be fine.

One of the greatest things about going abroad is the environment you are forced to thrive in. We'll call it a controlled chaos. It's a funny thing really, if you had asked me last December where I would be in April I could have guess that maybe France, or Spain, or Italy would have been the answers. But I never, in my wildest dreams, would have said the Isle of Man. Hell I didn't even know it existed and I could have never guessed that some of my favorite memories in life would come from a little island situated between Liverpool and Ireland. As I was there Flipper's mom said to me, "Would you ever have guessed you'd be here when you were in Texas five months ago?" There's no way I could say yes, none. That's the thing about doing something like this, you never know where you'll end up or who you'll meet. And the last thing I woulda guessed is that I could find a home at a place so far away from home. Realizing that gives you a confidence in new situations that just can't be taught, it has to be experienced and I'd wager just that one trait justifies all the costs and sacrifices you have to make to go study abroad.

I remember a saying that went something like "If someone wants to be in a relationship, they will be". That can be said about finding comfort in your surroundings. If you want to make friends, you'll make them. I could have come here and totally shut down like some of the abroad kids who I noticed disappeared midway through the semester, they weren't happy and they really weren't trying to be. One of the most frustrating things for me since I've been here is that for the first two weeks in England I didn't have a computer. Despite how disconnected from the world I felt, this was the best thing that could have happened because it forced me to be connected with the local world. Becoming friends with Phil, Charlie, Alaistar (I still can't spell his name to save my life), and Flipper showed me that no matter where I am in the world, if I want friends I will find them... or maybe they'll find me. So don't be discouraged if after that first week in your host country you don't feel like you've made many friends, just be open to people and be who you are (unless you're a jerk, then don't be who you are) and things will turn out just fine.

So I guess in closing, I'll miss the people I've met but in the modern age we can still keep in touch. I'll see their updates on facebook and maybe run into someone who met one of them in the future, weirder things have happened to me since I've been here. To my friends back in America, I'll be home very soon and you can expect to be putting up with me again for another year, especially you Adam because you have the very unfortunate task of being my roommate. To those who want to visit me in Texas, by all means come on down. Flipper already has his tickets for a two week trip, last I heard he'll be forswearing those tickets and swimming just so he can justify his name. Now that people, is a friend.

To the people who are reading this because someone at the C Geo (that's the study abroad) office thought it might help you or give you some insight, I hope it has. It took me about a year to pull the trigger on going abroad and I absolutely don't regret doing it. If you're on the fence or if money is an issue, just sign up and go to wherever you want... you're student at the University of Texas, the money is there if you need it. If you go and have a bad time, you'll build character but if you think you might want to and you don't, twenty years down the road when you're locked into a career with a family you'll regret never pulling that trigger.

Spiderman 3 goes emo and the merry men of rugby...

Since coming back to the Leicester five days ago, I haven't done much aside from working on my three finals and reading a lot of news on the internet. Let's just say that my last week and a half in England is definitely not going out with a bang, but I'm ok with that.

I had been finishing this study abroad survey UT (which really annoyed me with it's repetitive questions) when it asked me to rate how often I do things native to my host country. See I'm in a bind in answering this question because the stuff people do here isn't what I would call a far cry from what we do back home. They go to dinner, maybe the pub, watch sports on TV, awkwardly talk to the opposite sex, and hang out with their friends much like everyone my age in America does. To say the least this hasn't exactly been a voyage where I really really put myself into an uncomfortable situation, that isn't to say it can't be emotionally taxing at times, but I never felt lost in my environment.

Now that whole digression there does have a point, the question about free time reminded me that I had a attended a Rugby match for the world famous Leicester Tigers earlier this week thanks to Charlie's sister hooking the group up with some tickets. It's kind of a strange phenomenon that's hard to explain going to a rugby match. This is, after all, one of the best teams in the country with players that play nationally. Despite the renown, it felt like I was at a Westlake High School football game, only a slightly scaled down version. There was a small food stand, a crackling loudspeaker system that cut in and out, and about 15,000 fans from what I remember (or was able to hear) the announcer saying. The realization hit me, fairly softly I might add, that America is vastly wealthier on an individual level than anywhere else in the world. I played sports in high school stadiums with jumbotrons and one of the best professional Rugby teams in England didn't even have one. It wasn't some divine realization, but it did give me something to think about while standing in the rain.

Now I'm gonna get to the question that everyone here prods me about so far as sport goes. In the far corner of the stadium there was a sign that read, "No helmets, no pads, just balls". This is a big selling point for the sport as, for some odd reason, it seems that football (I'm only talking about the American variety here, not soccer) is rugby's main competitor. Periodically throughout the game a friend would ask me what I thought about it compared to football, which I kinda shrugged off as I hadn't formed a real opinion yet, and then continued to mutter something about "Real men don't wear helmets" or "These are the hardest guys in the world".

As the game continued on, I began to grow bored. I'll admit that Rugby is more continuous than football, but it is by no means faster. The pace of these big guys is really on par with a decent high school football team in the US. On top of that they wore ridiculously short shorts which carried the potential to permanently scar some young children. I felt like I was watching one of those Eighties movies where, for some unexplainable reason, the director spends a solid thirty seconds recording an outdoor body building gym at Venice Beach, only that these guys were pale as the weather here is not quite what it is in California. As the game continued on, it just seemed like there was a lot of hugging and pushing, no real hits. Sometimes a player would get pushed down by a bigger guy and fairly fun fight did break out (a rare occurrence Charlie assured me, the English don't fight they sip tea and litigate to sort out differences of course!).

After the game was over, one friend made the dire mistake of brazenly asking (I say "brazenly" because he was really just expecting me to say how much tougher these guys were than football players) "So what do you think about your American Football now with their pads?" And the honest answer was I couldn't rate rugby to it. The two sports are so different in their basic mentalities that I completely understand why football players wear pads and rugby players don't; these guys do not hit, they tackle. To illustrate the point, this (I was gonna link a rugby tackle but it's too much work to find a link, just imagine a corner back wrapping up a receiver) is what a typical rugby tackle looks like. How can I possibly compare the level of entertainment to this? Flipper came by after I gave my opinion, to the dismay of my friends, and after watching some videos on youtube he agreed. The speed and tenacity of football in America just gives it an extra level of excitement, you simply don't turn away because you might miss something if you do. Rugby is more social, if something big happens you have time to check your watch, read an email on your Blackberry, and then steal a swig of soda before the play finishes out. You know that sign at the stadium I mentioned that was basically trying to validate its sport over football? It should probably be re-written to read "Short shorts, Ralph Lauren Shirts, how's the food?"

I know I chastise the sport a ton, but it is good fun to attend. The guys do tend to get in little scuffles and throw one another around, but the majority of the game seemed to be spent in a dog pile trying to hand the ball off. It was like some weird fully clothed Greco-Roman wrestling orgy where people hugged a lot. I enjoyed myself, but it was more who I was with rather than what I was doing.

On a quick side note, Charlie and I went to see Spiderman 3 last night and I thought it was a decent movie. One thing they do well in these films is comedy even if it's unintentional. I think some people in the theater thought I was high because I was laughing through the majority of the movie. Tobey McGuire gets to do some killer dance scenes which had me in stitches the entire time. The story was ok for the third film and all in all it was a good break from writing papers. The fight scenes were well done and the cinematography was crisp, of course Kirsten Dunst sucked but that's just expected of her films (I love the irony of how her character is blasted by critics in the film just as she is in real life), but nonetheless they did a good job of bringing an over-the-top comic book to life. I especially liked the emo/goth scenes to showcase the internal struggle the Peter Parker character was going through, I dunno how Sam Raime got Tobey McGuire to agree to doing his hair like that but he should get an accolade from the Academy just for convincing the guy to part his hair like the singer from A.F.I. or Jared Leto in whatever his band is called.

Anyways I'm heading home in exactly seven days and they couldn't come faster. It's not that I don't like it here, but more so that I'm just ready to be back home. I'll miss my friends here, but we've already got Flipper coming to stay two weeks in the fall so I'm sure I'll be able to keep in touch. England really is a lovely place, but it's not Texas.

I miss the NBA...

Sooo I'm sitting in my bedroom at Flipper's house in my boxers and a sweater at 2 in the morning with nothing to do when I remember I had this little obligation people at CSPAN like to call 'blogging'. I'm sure my parents are wondering where I am or rather where The Isle of Man is but I assure everyone I'm safe and sound under the roof a nurturing family (this means lots and lots of food and chocolate).

I'm gonna rewind a bit and tap into the Edinburgh vein. Those of you who have read some of my previous blogs might recall my accounts and descriptions of one Mr. Phillip Lebert Francis (how to pronounce the surnames is still in debate, I'm in the camp that believes a heavy French accent must be used). To say the least that city was a blast and I absolutely understand why he has missed so much school (you also might recall that Phil did not attend the last 6, yes count them 6, weeks of school and was totally MIA with some ailment. I was quite worried getting off the airplane that he would forget to meet me at the airport but low and behold his 6'8 frame bumbled across the terminal to meet me). Not only is Lucy, his girlfriend, awesome but the city of Edinburgh is on par with any I've ever been to. The architecture itself makes Edinburgh a place worth visiting and the nightlife was the most fun I've had overseas. It's questionable about whether this is because of the actual scene or because of the company I kept, but to give yous peoples a glimpse into it I'll focus on a single night.

We decided that watching the Man U v AC Milan Championship League football match was a must. Not only is Man U my team (and it has been for years, I'm not a bandwagon fan) but this match is a clash of the titans from arguably the two biggest football countries in the world. I'm not going to go into details but Man U won on a stunning extra time goal from Wayne Rooney. Anywho our venue of choice was a local establishment by J.D. Weatherspoon (it's a massive British chain) called "The Standing Order". Why might a bar be named such you might ask? Well the answer to that would be because it's build in an old bank. To paint the picture, I was a bit surprised to be walking through an entrance with massive stone columns out front. The inside was spacious, the drinks were cheap as can be especially in a city like Edinburgh, the crowd was raucous, and the game was a shoot out. This might not sound exciting to some, but if you're a sports fan it's about as good as it gets. Watching your team on the biggest stage possible going toe to toe with another colossus in a slugfest to the finish with cold exotic (hey, I'm American... anything not from North America is exotic to me) bevies and some good banter set the tone for a great night out.

How might a night get any better than this for a person like me? Well that answer lies (lays? eh whatever) in the form of two (or is it one?) characters from the mind The Great Robert Louis Stevenson in the form of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Confused? You should be. There's a bar in Edinburgh that spawns exactly from that character called Jekyll and Hyde's. I'll admit theme bars do sound a bit corny but when it's two in the morning and you're on number 7 of the 'Seven Deadly Sins' drink list because you want the 'I committed The Seven Deadly Sins' t-shirt, have been taking shots out of test tubes with corks, and couldn't find the bathroom the first 30 minutes there because it's hidden through a secret passageway in the bookcase next to your table... things are looking pretty good. Basically Austin needs a place like this, it was way more fun than I can ever explain.

Although it might seem unlikely, I did actually do things besides drink and watch TV in Edinburgh. I cooked fajitas for Lucy, Phill, and her brother one night to bring a little Texan flavor to the scene. We also did a bit of a walking tour through old town and up to the castle and even managed to survive the certain stomach issues of an all you can eat Chinese buffet. On top of that Phil and I beat FIFA World Cup 98 on the Nintendo 64 no less than 5 times which I think is an amazing feat and puts us in the ranks of great football nations such as Brazil, France, and Germany, and of course England.

If I was forced to give advice to anyone thinking about going abroad in the UK it would be to do it in Edinburgh if you have the option, I guarantee you won't regret it.

So let's take a quick train ride and a not-so-quick ferry ride across the sea to the Isle of Man. I'm came here expecting something along the lines of Baytown, Texas. From what some of my friends have said about it and the numerous allusions to sheep raping Phil made I came here expecting nothing. However despite all the negative swirl about this place it's really quite nice. It's quiet, secluded and a great change of pace. Did I mention there seems to be an endless supply of food and chocolate here? Flipper's house is very nice and around 200 years old which is hard to find back in the US. It's in the quaint village of Castletown which is named aptly as it is literally built around a castle. The streets are narrow and cobbled with vintage houses and shops lining the sidewalks and the sea rises up between buildings in canals with boat after boat waiting for the tide to take them out to sea. It's quite an view to behold and I couldn't ask for a better place to spend my last week of vacation before heading back to Leicester to slave away at my final papers.

In a flash update I'm going to be attempting to cook King Ranch Chicken tomorrow night for the first time ever. It's not that I doubt my aptitude in the kitchen, it's that I question the ingredients I can get on an Island anyone near England.

Anyways I'm off to bed or something.

Chris

P.S. Pray for the Spurs, my friend from back home is really talking up the Nuggets.

What do 6ft tall model-types and The Oprah have in common?

Hej from Copenhagen. Week four in Thorburn vs Europe 2k7 is coming to a close from the beautiful land of Denmark and what a week it has been.

First and foremost I have to talk some trash about Easyjet. To quote my friend Taylor "Seriously, anything called "easyjet" has to be very cheep, tin can kinda airplane." That about sums it up. It's like Southwest Airlines and Greyhound had a love child and then abandoned it. My main beef with this company is that they don't connect flights or transfer luggage. I'll explain, let's say you need to get from point a to point b, we'll call point a Malaga, Spain and b Copenhagen, Denmark just for fun. Now since Easyjet is all thuggish ruggish and doesn't fly anywhere without stopping at London Stansted, you basically have to connect points a and b with c, c being Stansted. No biggie right? Well unfortunately this meant about an 800 hour layover sitting around an airport that can only be described as a "wasteland" by anyone who has ever flown.

Now this wouldn't be a gigantic deal except that there was a flight to Copenhagen that left 40 minutes after I arrived in London. Here's a quick explanation of why no connections = suck. You have to go through customs and then pick up your luggage and then go check-in again then go back through security and customs again just to sit around for five hours in an airport with nothing to do. It really added injury to insult. The only way I can equate this is going to a restaurant and being forced to order appetizers, then giving up your table so someone else can have appetizers while you sit by the dumpsters, then switching back with them so you can have your main course. To quote Laura the advisor, "You get what you pay for."

And speaking of getting what you pay for. The so-called "low fair" airlines in Europe are all scams. They advertise they great prices which tragically double due to taxes, company surcharges, credit card charges, ticket charges, using a phone, the internet, or at the desk charges (are there any other options for getting tickets? I dunno maybe a scalper will hook you up). Basically if it says $90 flight (converting prices), expect to actually pay around $200. On top of that, there are zero free bevies or snacks on the planes. To say the least, I am wildly disappointed with the cheap airlines that people always ask me about. Ryanair sucks, Easyjet sucks, myair.com (who wants to fly on an airplane that has a web page address on the side anyways?) sucks. If I had the chance to do it all again, I would have spend the 700 euro to get a month long Eurorail (is that even a word?) pass and just taken the long way. I woulda gotten better views, no sickness, and could probably have avoided screaming children. On the downside you can get stuck with a fantastically odorous cart-mate who wreaks of body odor, wet socks, and poop. Nice enough guy though.

Now on to Copenhagen. This is a really cool city and I suggest anyone studying abroad in the near vicinity (read: Europe) come check it out if you have a place to stay. It's a very down to earth city, the people are generally kind and polite and there are lots of places to go and see. Plus the nightlife is honestly far superior to anywhere I've been thusfar. I'm not a huge "go out and get drunk kinda guy" and I generally scoff at the "nightlife" sections of the big Europe guide books, but I've had more fun here standing in line to get into a club than I did in Leicester actually inside the clubs. And inside is even better, it's like a scaled down version of the crazy club from the opening of XXX (The Vin diesel flick not Ron Jeremy porn, pervs).

I only have two complaints and they're pretty weak at that. First, it's morbidly cold here. My friend was trying to convince me that it was about 70 degrees last week but I'm totally skeptical. It's the kind of cold that stings. I'm guessing this is the part of the world people like Santa Clause flourish in. The second downside is the price. I don't think I've blown through money this fast at any point in my life before. Drinks run 10-20 bucks a pop which quickly rips into the bank account, so plan accordingly. Actually let me take that a step further, anyone traveling in Europe needs to take whatever their budget is and double it. If the price of drinks won't get you, Easyjet will find a way to.

So, the city has a great atmosphere, but I know what everyone is thinking. Guys are wondering about the womenfolk and you womens (not a typo) are wondering about the dreamy Dolph Lundgren-type hunks waltzing around the streets. The honest truth is that the stereotype is dead on about Scandinavian people. They are tall, thin and beautiful. I feel like the fashion industry has missed out on this part of the world by not getting 100% of their models from here. It's ridiculous, and the people are so good looking they can wear whatever the hell they want. Guys in white leather pants with tattoos running down their forearms? Bring em home to your parents girls. Girls with massively puffy bleach blond hair in biker boots, wifebeaters (it's a type of undershirt), and strange jeans? Your mothers will love them guys. I don't even know what to do with myself, this city is so attractive it's scandalous. Bill Clinton would go into conniptions if he was in power here. I'm at a loss of words.

To digress quite a bit, I've been staying with a female friend and apparently she (am I wrong in thinking that at least 90% of American women are?) is an Oprah addict. This is something I originally couldn't understand, I tried to explain it and it ended up getting me into trouble about my inability to understand gender relations (I do have a penis after all which makes me automatically bad at gender relations). Despite this I have to agree, The Oprah rocks. Annie borrowed some DVD collection "Best of" type thing and I got hooked on it worse than Lost. I, sadly enough (I can feel my testosterone going out the window), found myself wondering what the other "Heart Songs" and "Stars" (interviews with celebrities) would show me about people. People overcoming immense hardships and obstacles while staying positive, seeing the other side of a celebrity's personality. I totally (see I'm already talking like a Valley Girl) see women love this show. It's like ESPN, Beyond the Glory, Entourage, and Queer Eye mixed into one big shebang. So to answer the title question, what The Oprah and six foot model-types have in common is that I like them. Rock on Oprah, rock on.

In a completely different vein, I'm ready to go home. I've stated in previous blogs that this trip has felt like on big vacation and it's still true. It is, despite what people say, exactly what I called it: a trip. As Annie pointed out it might be a quarter of your year, but in the grand scheme of things it's really not that much. If there is one thing that being abroad has taught me above all else, it's how much I really value home and the daily things I've taken for granted. I've got less than a month until I'm done here, and it's going to be fun, but I think I could head back to Texas today and feel fulfilled. I got what I was looking for out here, I hope anyone else who goes abroad or is planning to finds that "something" as well.

Copenhagen, good stuff.

Chris

I'm from the streets!

Ahem, so we had to catch a late night plane from Palermo to Milan then catch a bus into the city from Bergamo and then another bus to Malpensa. Basically Milan has three airports and they're no where near one another making a connection about a two hour endeavor for most people, but not us, oh no my friends it turned into a six hour marathon of a night on the streets of Milan, literally.

(Editor's note: The following was actually written when Chris finally caught a bus at 4:30 AM following turmoil and fears that few people should ever endure, he thanks everyone for their prayers. Anything in brackets was added after the night in Milan)

This night was bizarre, it was like something out of a Thomas Pynchon novel sans the deaf people dancing in unison.

Milan: Arrive at 12:15 which is 15 minutes after the last bus to Malpensa Airport. (Next bus goes out at 4:25, apparently the airports, train stations, and world shuts down at night in Milan)

• No where to rest, able to leave bags at a close by hotel however they won’t let us hang out in the lobby… who would think a night clerk would be snooty about his company?
• Walk around, find strip club across the street which isn’t happening due to the exorbitant prices of Milan and the exorbitant prices of strip clubs. (Plus I've never been to one, maybe that'll salvage some face with the woman I end up marrying one day considering some of my other exploits)
• Sit by bus pickup on a bench for awhile, talk to last bus driver of the night who tells us the next pickup is 5:45 while pointing to a sign that clearly states 4:25. (The comical part about this was how assured and snotty he was about it being 5:45. You know how it goes, busy people don't have time for details or accuracy)
  
• Shady cab driver offers his services for a ride, I bargain at 50 Euro firm (standard is about 90) and he argues about the difference of 10 Euro (he wanted 60, but really what kind of bargaining power did he have here? There was literally no one else). Eventually we leave and while I’m standing a phone booth, killing time more so than trying to call anyone, he comes back agreeing to 50. However once we get in to go pick up our bags, we notice he doesn’t have anything on his BMW that says Taxi… a little shady. Once inside the hotel the snooty clerk from earlier saves us by letting us know that the airport is closed meaning riding out there wouldn’t matter because we’d have to wait outside anyways. Either way he saved us from getting ripped off, mugged, or raped.
• Try to rest in the gateway to the underground which is locked, Bart accidentally kicks the door and we hear the cleaning man making a phone call which we assume is to the police so we leave. Our night as homeless ragamuffins continues. (One of my finest moments as a human being, finding shelter on the streets of Milan in a subway entrance)
  
• Find our way to the front of Milan Centrale, apparently the mecca for wary travelers of the world. This is where the night gets good.
• After eating the best hamburger I’ve had since leaving America we went to sit down on a bench and were offered drugs and alcohol, we moved before prostitution came up.
• We play basketball with a trashcan and an empty water bottle, it’s hard considering the wind. Bart wins, and when I say “wins” I mean he makes the first basket after like 257,008,089 tries combined.
• Off in the distance I spotted a giant mutant rat that I’m pretty sure is on it’s way to becoming the real life Splinter from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, since there was nothing else to do we followed it to a little patch of grass and shrubbery where, surprise surprise, two more giant man-eating rats popped out of the bushes. But wait, it gets better. Apparently two of the rats didn’t get on so well which resulted in a mega-rat-mega fight royal. Seriously if we had gotten it on camera I swear it would become a viral video on TV or made it to the front page of youtube and collegehumor. (One of the most surreal moments of my life, I couldn't stop watching and hoping they'd continue fighting. I felt like a boxing fan during the 60's and 70's)
  
• Just before leaving we met Robert, a homeless chap from Romania who spoke fairly good English. He talked about being a business man about twenty years ago and traveling to Dallas and even spoke, with convincing knowledge, about other parts of the US and history. This is one of the few homeless people I’ve encountered here whose story I actually believed. So we talked for about 15 minutes, took some pictures and headed on our merry way to Spain, somehow alive and not male prostitute converts (I’m pretty sure one of the guys going around the station was trying to recruit some other Americans into his pimp ring).
  

Ok so that's the unedited version of what I wrote down as we finally escaped to the airport. I can't even begin to adequately describe how strange and surreal this night was. We were constantly suspicious of people walking up near us, Bart was falling asleep all over the place and things were just flat out crazy. However it seemed like we were in a pretty nice part of the city and that my fears might have been unmerited, on the flip side that cabbie in the unmarked BMW didn't settle well in my conscious especially when the hotel clerk said he thought the guy was probably going to rob us.

On a lighter note, the hotel in Malaga is beyond anything I expected. We each have our own double bed, a full size bath, and there is a casino just up the road. Few people get to see how excited I am about playing poker or roulette but man is it fun. On our first venture there last night I almost tripled my money so that'll help easy the pockets a little for the big hit my bank account is taking from this month-long excursion around Western Europe. However the sun and the casino aren't the best part about this hotel, it's the food. Oh my God, after months eating crap in the Beaumont Hall cafeteria this is divine. Seriously, there is so much gourmet food and massive amount of desserts that I've never seen before. Templeton (the rat from Charlotte's Web people, if you didn't know that you need to lock up your knowledge about children's cartoons...) would be in heaven.

Anyways, I'm off to do something lazy and unproductive because that's what vacation is all about no matter what other people say.

Chris

I don't understand you...

Alright so our plans in Italy took a sharp turn when 1) We realized we couldn't find anywhere to stay for less than 90 Euro per person a night and 2) We, like idiots, booked Rome on Easter weekend. So in a last minute gasp to keep ourselves from sleeping on park benches, Bart and I grabbed a train to Sicily w/o even having a place to stay. Now while my mother might be worried about this complete disregard for my safety and other stuff that parents worry about, like gum disease (I think they're more worried about footing the root canal bill but I digress), having clean sheets (more on that later), and actually knowing where their child is. Anyways time for some shameless plugging about why you, readers, should visit Palermo over Rome.

• First and foremost I can't get around this, Sicily is home to the world famous Mafia. The Godfather, The Sopranos, and all those other Mafia movies/shows that begin with "The" owe their thanks to this place. It's actually hilarious, my friend Bart seems to think every group of old men in suits we see is "definitely mafia". I'm guessing he's wrong, but if I turn up missing after publishing this... I suppose Bart would then have the last laugh.
• Compared to the weather in England, this place is majestic. It's like going from bread and water (the dorm food is on par with this) to spaghetti carbonara... literally. I've managed to get some color back on my body from such dubious pastimes as playing soccer in the park, reading on the beach (that's point three), and napping on ceramic seaside beds. Translation, this place rocks if you're feeling like stepping outside. You'll get a tan just walking from ancient site a to ancient site b.
• Palermo is on a peninsula meaning it's surrounded by beaches with crystal clear water. Rome is.... well it has The Pope.
• It's cheap here, we pay about the same for a full meal in Palermo as we paid for juice in Rome. Since this doesn't seem to be a big international tourist spot (it is in the middle of nowhere), prices seem to be fit for locals instead of flocking English people.
• Did I mention the Mafia thing?
• The women are out of control hot. I mean this is ridiculous, I swear I saw Norm from Cheers walking around with some local girl who could be on America's Next Top Model.
• Bart and I are pretty sure we found John Candy running a little Pizzeria, seriously he's down here with Biggie, Tupac, Elvis, JFK, and John Belushi throwin some dough and romancing the locals with big words and small prices baby!
• The people are way friendly here, they'll try to get past the language barrier (which is quite easy if you speak some Spanish) as opposed to the Romans who just wanted to sell me some overpriced ______(edit: I just realized that looks like I'm cussing, it's meant to signify "insert anything purchasable here") with The Pope's face on it. On a side note, I did actually buy a kitchen magnate with John Paul's beautiful mug plastered on it. Rock on JP, rock on.
• The accommodation is great. The first night we stayed in this shady bed and breakfast (I call it shady cause there was no breakfast, isn't that false advertising?) Which had a den, en suite bathroom, half kitchen with a mini-fridge, and separate beds in a loft. The only downsides were that the water heater made this creepy noise that sounded like a puppy in a situation I'm not allowed to discuss here, and some questionable stains on one of the comforters which, again, I'm not allowed to talk about. Our current place, however, is better. Despite only having one bed, no personal kitchen and being on the fourth floor, it has a great breakfast, cable TV, internet in the room, and is clean beyond belief. Both are great and at 30 Euro a night, they're destroying the junky hostels in Rome that were running upwards of 100 Euro a night.
• There's gelato everywhere. I dunno if it's a part of life in Sicily or something, but I've never had this much ice cream in such a short stretch of time. I feel like a kid who had his tonsils pulled and is using that to his advantage to sugar coat his stomach. Seriously, this stuff rocks.
• Again, the Mafia started here. I mean does it get any cooler?

So I've done some pretty cool things. We did take a bus tour of Rome once we realized our stay there would be shortened dramatically. I've also walked through catacombs with over 8,000 mummies (I know your question and the answer is yes, very creepy), seen one of the most important theaters in Europe in the Teatro Massimo, and had a little kid lead me through the winding, cobblestone, streets of Palermo to find the aforementioned catacombs. There are only two things I haven't been able to do here which would fulfill my journey and those are a) See a genuine Mafia shootout with the Polizia and b) buy some fake over-sized aviator sunglasses. I'm banking on those two happening tomorrow though as it's our last day before heading the sunny beaches of Malaga, Spain to work on doing nothing. On a side note, apparently the resort I booked us is all inclusive, so that'll be nice on the pockets.

Now for some personal anecdotes and other random rabble:

• The Sicilian in my overnight train cabin smelled like nothing I've ever encountered. It was like b.o. mixed with wet shoes that had dried up and molded but were still worn sockless, "garbage or sewage that has been out in the warm sun" (thanks Bart for adding that), and poop. Seriously it was so bad that I pulled out my bed and stuck my head in my own armpit despite having traipsed around Rome all day without taking a shower. I pray no one else has to go through this.
• My hair has gotten to be way too big, I'm starting to get this crazy lion's mane thing going. I could seriously be Patrick Duffy's double during his 178 episodes of Dallas. Fabio would be proud of my fledgling lady killer. At the absolute least it sharply contrasts all the shiny gel in everyone else's hair in Europe.
• Bart doesn't have much soccer experience which resulted in him hitting an old couple strolling through the park, a young couple making out, and a family of four... twice. Pretty comical stuff if, uh, you're not the person getting hit in the head with a bouncy ball.
• Everyone here automatically assumes I'm a David Beckham fan because I'm white. I'm tired of the prejudice, I'm a David Beckham fan for so many other reasons than our similar skin color.
• The Italians seem to be a much more outgoing group of people with a stronger sense of community than both England and America. They actually use their parks, are seen in the streets hanging out and yelling hello at friends as they drive by, and flirting with the local shop merchants.
  
• The ye olde stereotype about Italians talking with their hands is dead on. It doesn't matter what these people are talking about, they could be lecturing on long term IRAs investments of the Sherpas and it would appear as if they had just had a vision of the Virgin.
• If you find yourself in Palermo, don't ride a bike seaside. We saw not one, but two people eat it in the exact same spot today. Sadly enough one of them was a little kid, however I didn't see it happen making me very curious how someone with training wheels was able to fall off their bike. One thing I do know for sure though is that if this was America whoever manufactured those so-called "training wheels" would be getting a letter from the law offices of Wayne Wright very soon.
• If you haven't watched Extras get on it, we watched both seasons in the past few days and it's a great show.
  

So that's about it, I'm sure I left a ton of stuff out, but it's late and I'm tired. It's been a very relaxing week, yet because I'm a wuss and stuff I'm still really worn out and sore. Week two of Thorburn vs. Europe starts tomorrow at midnight so I gotta get ready to deal with my second sleepless night in the past week. Umm I better explain that, because Easyjet is so cheap all of their flights take off at like 6 a.m. and rather than trying to wake up at 3 to get ready to get all the way out to whichever airport I need to be at, I've just stayed up. No hanky panky, I swear.

Tootles,

Chris

April, a month for lounging.

Alright so the main part of term is over, I finished my essays and got everything turned in in a timely manner. What does that mean I've done the past four days? Played video games and slept till odd hours of the afternoon! I've slept like only a true college student at the helm of a month long break can. I've slept till 11 in the afternoon, 1 in the afternoon, 3 in the afternoon, and 1:20 in the afternoon, respectively. I mean this is impressive, I'm sure my family will read this and gawk (not our little Chris! (I'm the baby of the family)). But yes folks that's right, I've done nothing productive whatsoever outside of ordering a pizza online. This is something that people rarely get to do, and it mostly happens during those college years apparently, but I tell you all what, when it does happen it is friggin sweeeeet. But I guess nap time is over, no longer will I lounge around rivaling cats and stoners for "most time doing nothing". You see, tomorrow is a little preliminary warm-up trip for the great "Chris Thorburn vs Europe 2k7" marathon. I'm heading to Oxford to meet Charlie's family (the same Charlie who always starts fights and ends up losing them) and hang around there for the day. Then I come back Thursday to see some other friends in London before heading out to Rome in the wee hours of Saturday morning to meet my friend Bart for the first leg of our grand adventure.

I'll give a quick rundown of what my April is looking like:

• Saturday, March 31. Leicester to London (I'm here now) to stay at my cousin's apartment (Thank you Patrick and Clare).
• Wednesday, April 4. London to Oxford for some Chillin With Charlie (doesn't that sound like it could have been a 90's TV show? It's reminiscent of "Hangin' With Mr. Cooper").
• Thursday, April 5. Oxford to London to have dinner with my friend Alice who was an English exchange student at UT my freshman year.
• Saturday, April 7. London to Rome, no definite accommodation plans as of yet.
• Monday, April 9. Rome to Venice to see cool stuff. I'm a bit of a closeted art fan, but more about that later.
• Wednesday, April 11. Venice to Milan to do, well I'm not sure what we'll do here but getting to Milan is integral to us reaching the high point of our journey. Mainly we needed its airport.
• Friday, April 13. Milan to Malaga, Spain. We booked a room at a beach front resort and we are going to try and break my current streak for laziness. Seriously, beaches and beer is the theme of our 6 day stay. You could say that we had to resort to resort, get it? I know, it's a sucky pun.
• Lounge, lounge, lounge, eat, lounge, lounge, did I mention this was all inclusive? Lounge, lounge, lounge, whatever.
• Thursday, April 19th. This is where it gets tricky. I'm going to Copenhagen, but because EasyJet is bootleg and I couldn't figure out a system to link two flights properly I booked a flight that arrives in London at 1:10 and then try to catch one that leaves at 1:50 for Copenhagen. Sounds simple right? We'll see where my check-in luggage ends up before any opinions are formed.
• Monday, April 23. Copenhagen to Edinburgh for some serious party time. I'm really pumped about this part of the trip because I'll be staying with Phil, yes the same Phil who is a giant 6'7 child and was out of town for the last month of school. Seriously, where is this guy? Anyways, he's talked up The Burgh so much that I couldn't pass up visiting. Should be a smashing old time, muahahahahaha.
• Sometime in April. Edinburgh to Yorkshire for camping followed by a trip out to the Isle of Mann to hang out with Flipper and play video games or something. It should be fun and seeing as I've decided to adopt him and bring him back to America with me, it's kind of fitting that the child takes care of the parent for once before we get old and senile. Mom's of the world, I totally know how you feel.

Yeah so that's the gist of it. It's gonna be huge, epic even. I don't know what I'm going to do, probably die at the end of it. Sleeping at hostiles (thanks for the tip about it being spelled 'hostel' Greg, again my skills with the puns are limited and slight so that one flew over some heads) is scary, luckily I only have the do that a few nights this entire trip. I'm really excited about Rome and Venice seeing, as I stated before, that I'm a closeted art fan. I think I took Adam by surprise when we visited the Louvre and I showed him around like a bit of a tour guide. I don't know why I'm so impressed by great works of art, but damn it I am so deal with it. Here's a list of the top five, yes count em folks five, things I'm excited about:

1. St. Peter's Cathedral and The Vatican, don't be surprised if I come home a Catholic (I bought a rosary at Notre Dam, dunno why).
2. Sitting at a beach in the south of Spain reading my massive Alfred Hitchcock biography.
3. Being totted around Edinburgh by someone with the personality of Phil. I really can't describe this guy adequately. It's like my friend Dax back home, one of the craziest people I've met hands down, mixed with Robin Williams, Vince Vaughn, and one of the guys from Queer Eye (I'm not sure if I mean the hosts or the person getting a makeover... yeah it's that tough to pin Phil's personality), and to boot he speaks four languages so you never know what he'll randomly yell at you.
4. Eating Italian food, sorry England but the food here is not so great. You guys might have the whole "Greatest Empire the Modern World has seen" thing going for you, but apparently all that energy that went into spreading your customs missed out on all the great food those little countries could have taught you.
5. Seeing Denmark, everyone talks it up and I have a friend staying there so we'll see if its culture can cash the checks its fans are writing with their mouths.

Here's a list of what I'm not excited about.

1. Airports, hate em. I'd rather travel by boat.
   
2. Toting around 2 bags and a backpack. This wouldn't have been so bad if The University of Leicester didn't kick us out of the dorms completely for 5 weeks. Yeah, we had to move our stuff out of the rooms so they could put seminar people in them, get some hotels jerks.
3. Taking showers in weird places. I love showers as much as anyone, and taking them in weird places doesn't settle well with me. I get paranoid about some creep putting hidden cameras and stuff in there so I come out all tense instead of relaxed like I should. I blame television for this phenomenon as hour long specials about hidden cameras and perverts has made me paranoid.
   
4. Having to carry both cold and warm weather clothes, it makes my luggage heavy as hell.
5. Taking my computer to a hostile. I don't trust these places, too many horror stories. Avoid them all costs, I swear if my computer gets stolen from one I will come down with the fury of 1000 suns.... or something like that.

Anyways, I'll be sporadic in my updating as I won't be grounded for awhile. But I'll get to it. I also plan to read two books and write one paper during this month so that my last two weeks in Leicester aren't as hectic as they could be. Oh yeah one other thing, I didn't get to watch the Florida Gators win the National Championship last night but c'mon Ohio State! I've been sticking up for you guys all year and you let a Florida school beat you in not one, oh no my friends, but two National Title games in a row? Get it together, get a new AD and step up in a title game! You guys are going to reach the pantheon (In a negative manner!!!) of suck that only Judas, Benedict Arnold, and the early 90's Buffalo Bills have reached. I mean listen to me, do you guys really want to have your names and schools uttered in the same sentences as Thurman Thomas or Jim Kelly? I didn't think so. Lock it up.


Cheers,
Chris

So this is me blogging...

I have literally nothing insightful to talk about from the past week. I have been sick with some odd flu/infection/earache/headache/unknownretrovirusthatwillmorphintothenextpandemic. To keep it simple, I've done nothing worth talking about that will give people a slice of English life to mull over or help anyone going abroad or thinking about going abroad build up their confidence about why they should make the trip to Where-ever, World. In fact, the amount of complaining I'm about to do might turn people off to the whole experience, but don't let me deter you I'm just some American guy in England with a blog, not the definitive expert on studying abroad. However, if you are someone thinking about going abroad that has stumbled upon this on accident or by request of one of the advisors at C-Geo, make sure you read the other blogs I've written or will write after this one as they'll offset the ridiculous amount of frustration I'm about to unleash. So now that the disclaimer is there, off we go to into the office Chris "The Criticism Captain" Thorburn.

I came back from Paris at noon two Sundays ago feeling good. I had just spent the week with my best friend sightseeing and joking around in Paris and London. However, as I sat down to eat lunch I started to feel tired which quickly thereafter went from travel exhaustion to full-fledged sickness. I spent the next 6 consecutive days in bed with myriad ailments ranging from fevers, shivers, coughing, sneezing, wheezing (whatever else they list on the Night-Quil commercials), thinking I'm going to throw up, ear aches, jaw pains (which apparently is normal with ear infections), complete sinus blockage, and it was all topped off with a 3 day mother of a headache like I've never had before. I'm not one to call home when I'm sick, but after about 5 straight days of this crap I had to call my dear old mother (she used to be a nurse) and get some thoughts. Since I literally couldn't breath out of my nose or get any type of (get ready to be grossed out) phlegm movement, I started wondering about clots and whatnot (one of the funny things you think about when you can sleep and muse that it might be your deathbed). She suggested, as I had already been doing, taking a really long hot shower. So back into my pod (it's a plastic room with a shower, sink, and toilette all together) for another hour of steam therapy I went.... to no avail. Luckily that night I fell asleep due to shear exhaustion while dreaming about what it felt like to live in Communist Russia.

Right, so last Saturday I wake up and decide I need to see a doctor (This is going to lead to my two major complaints about England which has, for the most part, been a very good and fun place to live). Since it's a Saturday the bus only runs every 30 minutes, however the bus guy arrived early meaning I waited for another 30 minutes on the street, sick and freezing in the cold (it might not have been that cold but my condition sure made it seem that way). So I waited and waited and waited giving me time to think and mull over some questionable things I've noticed here. First, for some reason the number of people at the University of Leicester is up in the air. Based on the percentages they gave in regards to student population versus city population, I surmised that the Uni has about 12,000 students. However the number 20,000 keeps popping up all over the place on school stuff. I refuse to believe that there are 20,000 students at the University, there is no way the amount of housing for first years and the size of the campus could support that many people. Maybe they have 20,000 people sharing internet through Beaumont Hall (our internet here is horribly slow), but there is no way that 20,000 people actively attend this University. It's gotten to the point that I feel like a character in one of those dystopian novels where the protagonist is forced to believe that a black pen is red by the people pulling strings behind the scenes. It's like the university says, "There are 20,000 people here" and everyone believes it because no one cares. Anyways so that's a lot of rambling, but it leads me to this complaint about the Uni. If there are, for purpose of argument, 20,000 students here... why are we relying on some crappy national bus service like Arriva with drivers who will half-ass the schedule when our university SHOULD be able to afford their own buses like we have at UT? If the University of Texas can have consistent bus service every 3-10 minutes throughout most of a city like Austin (horrible, horrible road system with the amount of traffic that goes through it), why can't the University of Leicester have a bus that will be there every 5-10 minutes? It's not like this is a major city and people live far away. It's Oadby and Leicester, stop making students wait 30 minutes to go into town or get back to their dorm.

Anyways back to the story. So I wait for 30 minutes, finally get a bus and ride it up to the campus medical center to find, surprise surprise, that it was closed. I don't know much about socialized medicine, but this is one topic where I'm going to vote "no" the next time some third-party member puts it on his Presidential agenda. What kind of sickbay is closed at 2 in the afternoon on a Saturday at a major University? I don't have a car, hardly anyone here does, so what am I supposed to do call an ambulance because the flu is beating me up? To make matters worse I mosey back over to the bus stop to realize that, surprise surprise, I have to wait another 30 minutes for the next bus.

So by the time I finally get back to the housing area, I've decided that I must make the trek up to ASDA to get some medicine. This is where living in a different culture really "shocks" you. Over-the-counter medicine really seems to be exactly that. I don't know if this is how it works at all drug stores and whatnot, but at this particular ASDA if you need anything medically-related (even bandages), a clerk behind the counter must get it for you. Now I was a bit relieved when the cheery clerk came up to me being all talkative asking me about my accent and where I was from," This is good, I'm going to get some relief," I thought to myself. WRONG. I don't know if she thought I was addicted to cold medicine or what, but she refused to sell me Sudafed after questioning me about my symptoms. Instead she advised me to seek "medical services" which I explained to her were closed upon which she responded, eerily like a recorder, the exact same thing she had just told me. "I advise you to seek medical services" appeared to become her mantra for the moment as all my rebuttals were responded to with a stark disdain for any real thought. Eventually she decided to "advise" me to use hot water treatment... thanks mom. So I left in utter frustration, cold, and quickly realizing that I had spent the past 2 hours of my life getting absolutely no medical treatment or help for an ailment which had afflicted me for nearly a week. Again, not voting "yes" for socialized medicine.

Luckily Flipper had just returned from his hockey match and was nice enough to go up to ASDA and buy me some Sudafed. I have no idea why they sold it to him and not me, but whatever. He was also smart enough to get me some orange juice citing the whole rhetoric around vitamin C and your health. So after drinking some of that, taking some Sudafed and sleeping well that night, I finally started to feel better. However even today, 3 days since getting the medicine, I still don't feel 100%. Anyways, because I've had two papers to turn in this week and because I excel in the art of procrastination, I've avoided going to the doctor. "Why go when you're getting better?" is my motto.

Anywho my last round of complaints is going to be about the papers due not-today and not-today. Confusing right? Well I have no one to blame but myself for the confusion about one of those papers that wasn't due today. My friend Lauren said they were due Tuesday so I assumed she meant today when in fact she meant next Tuesday. That's ok cause I had been working on it for awhile and finished it over the weekend. The paper that really busted my butt was my History of Arts paper about Alfred Hitchcock and David O. Selznick. This paper is due tomorrow, that's Wednesday, and I knew it. Yet last night at dinner my friend Bart planted a seed of confusion when he said it was due today, that's Tuesday. So I was very surprised this morning when I checked my inbox and found an email about turning in my History of Arts paper today at 5pm. In a mad dash I set to work (thank God I had done a good bit of preliminary reading) finishing my reading and forming a case study around the film Rebecca. I started at 10:30, worked till 1 when I had to go up to campus to give a presentation, and finished it while I ate lunch at the Red Fern (campus restraunt/pup that trumps anything we have at the good ol' Forty Acres). I finished about 3:30 with my paper and bibliography (for some reason I had to explain why I used each source besides the obvious reason, they talked about my topic), and went to turn it it online only to discover, surprise surprise, that the paper meant to be turned in today was for another History of Arts class. I'm not trying to whine too much about the practices at the HA office, this was after all my own fault for not reading the email as carefully as I should (who really reads emails seriously anyways?), but why on earth am I getting an email about another class? I'm not enrolled in this class, so isn't it logical that at the end-of-term-crunch-time I shouldn't be getting emails in regards to a class that I have nothing to do with? Again it's my own fault, but c'mon with 20,000 students (I jest) you should at least have some sort of up-to-date emailing system that differs between a History of Arts student in American Filmmakers and the Studio System versus a History of Arts student taking Film Analysis. It's one of those points that is probably moot and will annoy those of you who actually read this because it was my fault, but seriously c'mon figure out how to use Microsoft Office and email databases.

Ok so that's it, I'm sorry for the crass and massive amount of complaining and whining I've done but I'll end it on a light note. The main tower has this utterly frivolous lift system that is like a wooden elevator with multiple carts traveling up and down continuously on a pulley system. It's like some archaic form of movement (stairs instead of escalators anyone?) that makes even less sense, besides the obvious danger, because 10 feet away from it is a very nice and advanced elevator. Anywho, I seriously love this thing. The first time I rode it I thought I was going to die as it plunged into the abyss below floor 2 (who knew that "Alight Here" meant "Get off"?). As I was succumbed by darkness I convinced myself that this was the end, the cart would fold itself into some weird shape and crush me. Of course when you're life is flashing before your eyes you aren't thinking logically... would they actually make an elevator that crushed anyone who didn't get off in time? Of course not, only myself and Edgar Allen Poe (and maybe the people running The Spanish Inquisition) would devise such a device. Right, so I know this contraption makes no sense but just imagine one of those Hot Wheels lifts they have in the parking garage that lucky little kids get at Christmas. Anywho, so today I'm riding the thing because it's actually in service and I get the two biggest delights of a rather, wrongfully, stressful day. First I'm positive I saw Screech Powers riding one ahead of me and second this really rude women (she berated a friend of mine cause SHE bumped into his backpack) jumped on my cart which led to a moment of realization of profound proportions. Men actually have more style sense than women at times. Yes it's true, call my a misogynistic pig or "Chauvinistic Chris" or whatever have you, but please ladies DO NOT EVER wear purple lace stockings with purple shoes and a purple dress. In fact never wear purple lace stockings with anything, boycott the industry, down with whoever makes purple lace stockings.

Alright I'm done, peace out.

Chris

In regards to social discrepancy and the return of The Prodigal Son...

Spring Break Part II: Please read the previous post as it's easy to miss that I updated earlier today.

Alright, so this week was fun. Adam, my best friend from Austin, came across the pond to the little island for a visit. However there were some complications.

First a foremost, make sure you charge your phone before taking a transatlantic flight. All I knew about his trip is that his plane got to London a little after nine and that he would be catching the train to Leicester (about a 1 hour ride) at noon. So I moseyed up to the train station getting there around 1:30 to find, surprise surprise, no Adam. On top of that his phone was going straight to voicemail meaning that a) it was dead, b) he couldn't get service in another country, c) he was in a bad situation. Assuming it was option a or b, I waited..... and waited and waited. I waited till the cows came home, which is about about 3:30 in lay terms, before submitting to hunger pains and hitting up the local Dixie Chicken. By the way, these little boutique chicken joints are a godsend. They're cheap, filling, and remind me of something you can only find on Riverside. I love it.

Anywho back to the story. On my way back to the train station I ran into Flipper upon his return from a weekend away meaning I was lucky enough to have a companion loitering at the train station with me. However this didn't last long as my patience ebbed and I returned to my room to start playing detective. First I tried calling Adam's dad, but because Skype calls show up on caller ID as the most random assortment of numbers (and maybe letters?) that anyone has ever seen, he didn't answer. So I finally succumbed to calling his ex-girlfriend to get his parent's number. Now don't get me wrong, I wasn't really worried at this point but I was quickly moving down the path of mother hen. So when I got ahold of his step-dad Mick, I may have flagged some worrisome parental nodes in the poor guy when I said "Adam is 5 hours late and I can't get ahold of him". I've never heard someone's demeanor go from cheerful (and Mick is an extraordinarily cheerful guy) to borderline panicked in such a short time. It's was like when pregnant ladies have those vicious mood swings that sitcoms love to showcase. Anyways he took down my cell number and I proceeded to go through my disaster checklist. First up was to check cnn.com for plane crashes. Second was to see if his plane arrived on time. Third was to call customs and see if he was being detained. Fourth was to get ahold of the train company (this proved impossible on Sunday). Luckily amidst the flurry of phone calls and webpage loads (the latter was more a sloth-like flurry considering how slow the internet is at my dorm) Mick got a hold of me saying Adam had just arrived at the train station. So although it was a bit worrisome, everything ended up just fine. However I did lose five hours of my life I'll never get back, and for that I blame you and your inability to use a pay phone Adam, fear my wrath. Luckily (for his sake) he came bearing peanut butter cookies which quickly diverted my fury focusing it on the consumption of cookies.

The first leg of SB2007 (I wonder how many peopled got that tattooed at South Padre or Cancun) took us to London on Wednesday early afternoon. We had a bit of trouble finding our hostile which appeared to be in a bootleg ghetto (yes this is possible, a weak ghetto) where young kids were screaming at us from the balconies of their counsel house balconies. Our group compromised of us two from Texas and six girls from Buffalo, two of who go to Leicester with me. In all honesty, I'm surprised no one was mugged. At one point in our trip we saw a domestic dispute at a chicken joint (HFC this time) which ended in some guy throwing a cup of Sprite at his lady friend and her attacking him then running out of the building with him in full pursuit. This felt like the part of London that Cops (tm) would make their living if they brought the show to England. Despite the constant fear of danger and worry about STD's from the hooker infested streets (err that sounds wrong, it was a dirty area that's all I mean) we got through the two days safely. My one regret about London day 1 (there is a day 2!) is that Adam didn't get a chance to go inside Westminster Abbey or The British Museum which I think have effects that no where in America can.

So the second leg of our journey took the prodigal son (that would be me) back to Paris for the second time in exactly six years. This trip was a little different than my previous travels, the first noticeable difference was the hostile we stayed in with our six companions. When I say that this hostile had a gangsta-lean, I literally mean it was leaning. Walking up to our fifth floor room proved to be quite a hassle not because there were so many steps, but because the steps leaned and sunk in odd ways bucking our awkward movements up and down the stairwell. On top of that, there was no desk person on duty for... well at all. The cleaning lady let us into our rooms, and we never really found anyone to properly check in. I'm still not sure whether we paid for our rooms or not, this place was thuggish ruggish to say the least. Another thing I didn't recall about Paris is how pricey this joint is. Adam broke down and paid 6.50 Euroes (about $9) for a glass of coke at one restaurant and the average tab for the 8 of us was about 70 Euros. This doesn't seem that bad until you realize that for the most part only Adam and I ate. The girls somehow convinced themselves that saving money by not eating was a good idea, I'm still not sure whether or not they realize that this behavior is a certifiable eating disorder (shopaholics we call them). We did manage to have a good time but the fun was taxing. I spent most of the time on the verge of sleep with sore feet. Adam and I only managed to hang at the Louvre (btw it's free for students after 6 on Weds/Fridays) for a little under two hours which is horrible by my standards. I mean this place has some of the most important art collections and easily the most famous individual work (Mona Lisa) in the world. Somewhere in the mix, we were able to visit Notre Dame, The Eiffel Tower, Champ Elysees, Arc de Triumph, and walk 45 minutes downriver in the wrong direction (my bad). One thing I found personally satisfying is the confidence I have as a traveler in unfamiliar cities. At one point Adam asked me if I was worried about being in a country where I didn't speak the language and the answer was a hearty no. This is a huge upside to going abroad and one of the few things that Austin and The University of Texas can't offer. I remember being in NYC last summer and being hesitant to use the subway by myself, now I'm all over the Metro, Ubahn, Tube or whatever other strange names different cities call their subways. It's a great feeling and an attitude that very few people have naturally, for most, like me, it only grows through experience.

Alright so I just realized how long and bulky the last paragraph was getting so I'm randomly starting a new one, deal with it. I was getting into the realm of horrid editing technique that only Peter Jackson (The director not sports analyst) is currently a member of from his Illiad and the Odysee length Lord of the Rings films. So back to the story, by the time we got to day 3 the two of us were so worn out (him from jetlag/travel and me from just being a wuss) that we spent three hours at an internet cafe playing video games with French people and perusing the internet. Somehow playing counterstrike against French guys became one of the highlights of our trip, I don't know how either but it was memorable. We finally got to the train station, couldn't find the girls, and boarded last minute without knowing where they were or if they had figured out the confusing process of getting on the Chunnel. With this particular eve being St. Patrick's Day we decided to hit up a pub called The Three Stags for some Guinness where the nice bar tender lady hooked us up some uber-dorky leprechaun hats for free. I'm pretty sure Adam is still wearing his.

Anyways, Adam and I woke up at 6:30 the next morning to get him back to the US and me on my way back to Leicester. Along the way my train broke, yes you read it right it broke, and I was forced to switch trains. With my keen eye for rule breaking I used this opportunity to upgrade myself to First Class on the new train, deal with it Mainline. Despite the posh treatment and cushy seats, I still didn't rest up enough to avoid to consequent sickness that came from travel, lack of sleep, and staying in the scariest hostel ever. When I got home yesterday I went down hard. You know what I'm talking about, I might as well have had Howard Cozel screaming "Down goes Thorburn! Down goes Thorburn!" to a live televised broadcast. I ended up staying in bed from about one yesterday afternoon till eight this morning. Somehow I mustered the strength to get up and write this, but I'm still in my PJs and my nose is running down my face at record pace.

So that's about it. It's been a long two weeks filled with ups and downs, travels, visits, good food and bad food, getting lost in London, getting sick in Leicester, babysitting, reading, and generally being worn out. But it's been a good two weeks and I've enjoyed myself.

And now for some random things I've learned or noticed:

• I haven't seen Phil in over two weeks, apparently he's broken his record for longest time away from Uni and is up to nineteen, yes folks that's right NINETEEN, consecutive days without being here. Hopefully I can get ahold of him and hit up Edinburgh during my epic length Spring Break which goes from March 28th-May 3rd. I'm pretty sure Peter Jackson is editing the dates for that break.

• Alastair and Charlie are definitely a couple. They nitpick, argue, fight, wrestle, tickle (weird huh?), and practically live together. Of course when I say they're a couple I mean it in a totally manly-man way.
• Another funny thing I've noticed is that these two wrestle as if they were brothers. Not a day goes by without Charlie trying to tackle Alastair, however Ali always wins. His monopoly over their fights might change soon as his girlfriend recently divulged Ali's weakness, nipple twisters.

• Also I just realized that Alastaire's email is frodo_huddy@hotmail com. I don't know what this means, but I'm intrigued.
• Flipper is coming to America to live with me and Adam, it doesn't matter what he says about our country this guy is our new little brother.
• Adam smells funny.
• French guys have the best accent to mimic ever. It's so simple and can easily be used to confuse other American tourists and beggars.
• Spanish women are smokin hot.
• Spanish women are smokin too many cigarettes. Not hot.
  
• Being sick is really not fun, especially if your mother or girlfriend isn't around to dote on your every need.
• Scotch and tea is not a good remedy for a sore throat.
  
• Cold weather + sickness makes me really lazy, walking to ASDA (Wal-Mart) is such an annoyance to me that I've been two days now without minutes on my pay-as-you-go cell phone or cheese.
• It is freaking cold here. When you couple sickness with weather that Texas doesn't get on sunny days like this, you start to notice just how different the climate really is.
• I must be the only person who prefers rain to sun. Maybe it's due to my painfully pale skin, but I'm going to attribute it to the serenity of a shower.
• I need to figure out how to import Strongbow to the US. I'm for real, this drink is a serious cash cow. Every American I've talked to here loves the stuff and whoever gets the rights to distribute it in the US is on their way to millions.
  
• There is nothing that draws in attention like drunk American girls. Holy cow I was so busy defending their loudness, yelling at them about their loudness, apologizing to French and English people for their loudness, and arguing with the crass French dude about whether or not it was my job to police the girls actions or not (I say it's not).
  

Alright so that's part two. It's an epic post, but I had a lot to say and I'm sure the study abroad people are happy that I didn't actually disappear and stop blogging anyways.

Love peace chicken grease,

Chris

Hokay so here is the earth...

Since it's been a long time since I last posted, I'm going to break this blog down into two parts as I have a lot to talk about. The last two weeks have been really busy with school, friends to entertain, and travel but somewhere in the mix of all that I actually had time to sit and ponder some of the things you miss when living abroad.

I remember a former study abroad student telling me that my time in England would feel like one big vacation, and so far he's been right. I travel quite a bit, only have to attend 3 classes per week, and have more free time than ever before. I fill my days with guitar, soccer, reading magazines, lounging, and playing computer games with my friend Flipper. It's not too much different than home, just less taxing. However despite that I constantly feel tired which can only be attributed to travel and lack the of feeling at home. Don't get me wrong I'm definitely comfortable here, but it's not home and the subsequent comfortable feeling home gives. This might be due to some mild form of culture shock or whatever, but I'm gonna attribute it to what I like to call vacation-pains. You all know what I mean. Think about that feeling you have after returning from a ski trip to Colorado, or Spring Break at the beach, or a trip to New York with someone who wants to see every site (sight?). It's that mild exhaustion you get after spending hours in airports and just need to be in your own bed, however I can't be in my own bed. So it's not that I'm unhappy or anything like that, just feel a bit stuck in vacation purgatory.

Another downside to being abroad are the family events that I miss while across the pond. I'm not going to lie part of the point of this semester is to scout out other countries I would be interested in living in, even if just for a little while. England is a great country and I'm enamored with the city of London, however moving here full time would be a tough choice. I'm used to seeing my parents, siblings, in-laws, and nieces and nephews all the time. I don't feel as if being here has taken a toll on me or that I'm in some despondent rut, but I do miss the interactions with people I'm used to having around me. For instance, about two weeks ago my brother and his wife had their first child and all I've been able to see is a picture whereas my parents flew out to see them. I'm not saying I could have pulled the strings to get out to California for Ben's birth, but I'm not saying that I couldn't have either. On top of that, last week my closest Cousin got married which is a wedding I definitely feel I should have been at, but it's just not practical or economical to return home for a single weekend.

To me this is the anomaly of being abroad. Taking this journey really is rewarding in terms of getting out of your comfort zone and growing as an individual, at the very least I'm fortifying my resume. However I'm also missing some important family events which I will never again have the chance to attend. This makes me wonder about the impact it would have on me if I were to move here for work after graduation. At this time I can't really form a solid answer or opinion, after all this still feels like one long vacation. But I must be honest there is something enchanting about this country, and I'm not at all opposed to trying to live here if I find a job after graduation.

Speaking of graduation, I'm in a weird place because I've started to realize, little by little, that within a very short time I will be on my own and needing a job. So, assuming my career as a chef doesn't pan out (Still no one wanting to sponsor my TV show!) I'm going to need to line something up in the very near future otherwise I'll be moving back to the guest house which I doubt my father would like to happen. I'd like to take this time plug in some shameless self promotion. If anyone reading this works for or knows a company in the market for a young, handsome, dependable, future UT grad with a knack for communication and grammar skills that borderline obsessive, hook me up. One thing I've learned is that having the degree matters most and since ESPN hasn't gotten back to me about that job as a senior NBA columnist (I would sooooo be money) I'll take anything interesting.

Anywho, I'm sure the melancholy undertones of this post sent off all kinds of motherly instincts in my mom (send sugar cookies please!) but rest assured I'm not depressed or anything like that. I'm just having to deal with the realities of living abroad and being away from people that matter to me. As I said before (at least I think I did...) weighing the pros and cons of moving away from home is a tough line to walk. There are upsides and downsides which are plain to see, but making a choice about which points hold more merit is not so simple.

The week that that was...

Last week was one of those "blah" weeks that the chick flicks showcase and end by having the actresses veg out with some desserts and movies at home. You all know what I'm talking about, those weeks that really just take it out of you and cause you to turn hermit al fin de semana (that weekend) and not do anything. For me this meant not going to Scotland, clubs, bars, dinner, breakfast, the bathroom, outside etc. A psychologist might have called it "depression" I call it mandatory nap time.

Now it might not seem a great topic to talk about but there is a lesson here. After all there is a lesson learned in anything, right? I'm not sure either but that's what adults have always told me. Anywho, the important thing that I realized and anyone considering coming abroad should realize that there are down weeks where you just have to put your nose to the grindstone and muscle out some work and then take some alone time instead of jetsetting across Europe for the weekend. As my adviser (and maybe one of yours someday) Laura Bayne put it, this is part of the roller coaster of going abroad. It had to happen eventually, the low point where you get homesick and need to just mentally flush things out. It was a build up of factors, lack of sleep, drinking, traveling to Berlin all weekend, and actually having to do some serious work that just built up and knocked me down. And maybe it took me a few days to get over it, but once you do it is freakin sweet. You get your energy back and actually feel like being productive (see I do write my blog!) so I guess it's just important to note that you'll get over the dip, you just gotta keep going.

The downside of the "downside" is that I don't have any good stories this week. I lost my bus pass in Berlin last weekend so I pretty much just stayed in as paying $3 to ride the bus one way isn't very economical and neither is riding the bus to a place where I'll just spend more money. Some American friends of mine are surprised that I don't ever go to City Centre because they love it there, in all honesty it probably reminds them of home a bit. Malls, department stores, people shopping etc. I have this problem about being a compulsive spender and so I know that if I go anywhere near that place I'll spend because I can somehow (go:figure::stinking:advertising) rationalize needing a new jacket or shoes.... which I unfortunately did on both accounts the one and only time I've been to city center. The other downside is that you're buying regular consumer quality products that you can get in the US or here, but you're paying twice the price when considering how much butt kicking the pound is doing these days in the global economy.

Speaking of the economy, I get really annoyed with my American peers who translate every pound they spend into dollars and then complain. I know it might sound a bit hypocritical after my previous paragraph but bear with me here. When I complain it's about lifestyle products, clothes, shoes, sunglasses etc. Some of them do the calculations for everything including food, drinks, bus passes, feminine products or whatever. Basically things that most people consider essential (if you're not a minimalist) to life. My argument is that when you consider the ratio of income to spending in England, it's about the same as America. If someone in England Makes 50,000 pounds a year and spends 45,000 of those pounds, they have pretty much the same lifestyle as an American who makes $50,000 and spends $45,000. So yeah while it hurts those of us here, I think it's a bit ridiculous that some Americans assume English people are wealthier just because they have a stronger currency. On a side note, it's pretty simple to see why England doesn't want to jump on the Euro bandwagon (or as my friend Flipper called "a flaming train wreck"). All national pride aside, it comes down to simple economics.

In other news I've become the resident chef of Beaumont Hall Block 3. My skill with the blade, block, and steel (read: pans) have rendered me a formidable reputation around this joint. Be looking for me line of cook books, cutlery, and pots and pans at your local Targets, Wal-Mart, ASDAs, and Saks 5th Avenue. I haven't decided on my namesake yet, it's either Chris "The Pasta Blasta" Thorburn (they pronounce it pa-sta, not pah-sta here) or Chris "The Raman Shaman" Thorburn. I'm leaning towards the latter.

I'm already planning my first infomercial. It'll be like a Barry Scott or Emeril, "Bam, this is Chris "The Kitchen King" Thorburn to sell you my cookbook 1001 Ways Raman Noodles Can Improve Your Life". You guys can see where this is going, up baby! (Seriously, someone fund me it's a sure success)

Au'revoir,

<3 Chris "The Pasta Blasta" Thorburn

Berlin Baby, Berlin.

Before I get started on about Berlin I’d just like to say that I had a blast on my second outing into London. There’s just something about this city that draws me in. There isn’t anything I can really pinpoint about the city, but just the entire atmosphere and history of those streets. I originally tried writing this entry before I went to Berlin while I was sitting outside the British Museum (my favorite museum ever btw) but there was just too much bustle to really bog down outside a pub a bang out some words that weren’t there. So what did I do? Well in lieu of my plane leaving at 6:25 in the AM meaning a bus ride to the airport at 4:10, I decided to booze the night away on what may be my favorite city in the world. Along with some newfound cousins (go figure) and old friends, we had a raucous night starting with dinner at the Museum Tavern and moving into the city of London (the business district) to cap the evening off. Anywho, it got to be so late that I ended up staying up all night making Thorburn vs London Round 2 a very memorable experience.

So on to Berlin.

As the title would suggest, I came in expecting Europe’s version of Vegas. To my disappointment it was more Detroit and less Vegas (I did spot some casinos!). I even went in with a positive mindset (no sleep, all go) yet the city just never won me over. Don’t get me wrong this is a great city, but it needs to rebuild some more and really capture the history it possesses. Most of the historical information I saw in cathedrals and museums seemed to omit the 20^th century which I feel like deserves more attention from the city. It wasn’t Germany’s brightest 100 years, but it was one of their biggest and should be treated that way. They owe it to the remaining and deceased people involved in the wars of the 1900’s.

The mantra for my weekend was “Berlin, City of Love” due to the fact that everywhere I turned I was accosted by some couple snogging or groping one another. Before I even got all the way into town from the airport, I came across a couple in the station making out with more tenacity than I’ve ever seen, and this is at about 10 in the morning mind you. I don’t know what it is about Berlin that caused this epidemic outbreak of PDA (public display of affection as Briesemeister Middle School called it) but I definitely wasn’t feeling the love. Berlin is one of the stranger cities I’ve ever been to. It felt like I went back 15 years in the past, and the strange clothes and dreadlocks confirmed that feeling. I’m not sure if it is still struggling from the effects of WWII or the Cold War, but this definitely wasn’t the party extravaganza I was expecting.

Berlin felt like a city on the verge of either collapse or greatness. To its credit Berlin is much cheaper than England, but as the old saying goes you get what you pay for. They have great buildings and museums, but they don’t seem to mix with the new array of post-modern structures scattered all over the place. Even the Jewish Museum (one of the most emotionally effective structures I’ve been in) seemed to be missing something once inside. I don’t want to criticize too much, there’s simply too much history there but for a world class city Berlin felt as if it lacked the soul of a London, New York, Paris, or Mexico City. I definitely had fun there but it was mainly due to the people I was with, not the environment. At the very least I can say I’ve been there.

Story of the weekend goes to Friday night when a friend of a friend (yeah one of those) got so scared in this sketched out dark alley way (it was lit by black lights) that she ran out of it dropping her wallet which sent the group on a backtracking goose chase. Her fright came with good reason, I mean this definitely felt like a scene out of the opening of Triple X where the secret agent is killed by some chain smoking Eastern European metal-techno/terrorist group. Strange right? Well not as strange as second nod of the weekend which goes to the 60 year old man walking around Zoo Platz in grandma clothes. I think I found a more conservative relative of Leslie.

Nod for best exhibit of the weekend goes to the aquarium which was really a lot of fun despite its small size. Any place that has crocodiles in a close enough proximity to eat a patron gets my vote.

So that’s it for Berlin, not the greatest weekend ever but definitely worth the trip. Unfortunately I didn’t take any pictures cause I just don’t think that far forward, but at least I have the shirt to prove it.

In other news…

• Beaver Bus Lines is a company in Leicester with transport for rent. Apparently they’re pretty cheeky with the signage because the joke isn’t lost in translation, it means the same in thing in England and the US. So with my detective duties for the week fulfilled, I’ll have to find something new to investigate. Oh and thanks to Michael Kantor for looking that up for me, Holmes could have never done it without Dr. Watson just as I could have never done it without Kantor B.S.

• Ryanair is scary. It is seriously a bootleg version of Southwest. Yes the prices are dirt cheap, but from now on I think I’d like to have reclining seats and free bevies when I jump on a 2 hour flight hung over with no sleep. I will give them props on the flight attendants who fit that old legend your grandpa tells you about when they were young, but I haven’t quite figured out if youth and beauty beats age and experience yet. I’m leaning towards the latter because they come with complimentary peanuts.

• As a final side note, England needs to chill out on the train prices. I just had to dump 50 pounds on my train ticket (sorry Mom and Dad) back to Leicester because I originally bought the wrong one in advance, go figure that being under 26 doesn’t make you a young person unless you actually buy the rail card to prove it.

So that’s about it. It’s going to be a busy next few weeks with Scotland coming up next weekend and UT’s spring break the following week. meaning Adam is in town and we’re hitting up London and Paris. So maybe we’ll be able to teach that youngin some culture.

Ride The Beaver and The Arctic Monkeys

Yes I realize what that title connotes which is why I picked it. See one thing that hasn't happened much, against promises that it would, is total miscommunication between American and English idioms. While spotted dick may sound lewd to an American, it's a type of dessert, or pudding as they call it, in England. However before I get into all that, let's get back to The Beaver.

All adult humor aside, I was perplexed to see a single-decker bus fly by my usual stop this morning brandishing the phrase "Ride The Beaver!". I don't know what this means and I can't pretend to even begin to comprehend why this particular bus is "The Beaver" but I figured it was some distant relative of a Duck Boat. See, in the land of the double-decker the bus with one level is most definitely not king. They're out of place and strange. I can only compare it to seeing a Duck Boat in the US. You all know what I mean, like when people passing by may pretend it's a normal occurrence yet they all manage to sneak a gaze and sometimes do a quick 180 like Freshman do when they first realize that a) Leslie is a man and b) Leslie is a man in purple lingerie.

So it got me thinking, as the empty Beaver flew by (does this mean it's hungry?), what exactly does The Beav do? Does it give tours like a Duck Boat? And if so, tours of what? Creeks and trees? Are you supposed to eat off your tummy (two points if you got that reference)? I'll be honest there isn't much worth getting on a tour bus for in Leicester even if Ricky Gervais is manning the mic. Perhaps the bus is a single-decker so that it may drive below the branch line (England is very, very green) which would explain it's functionality as a rare sight in a land where anything less than two stories is plain silly really (two more points if you get that reference). Anywho, I'm going to turn Inspector Morris (read: Columbo) on this whole Beaver phenomenon and figure out what the deal is. With my archivist-like knowledge of archaic detective shows (Murder She Wrote anyone?) and the fact that I can stumble into any situation then pull the "I'm sorry I'm just an American!" card, this surely won't take long to figure out. But I'm gonna have to save that episode for another entry as I have simply too much to write about at this juncture!

Back to the whole spiel about idioms... they seem to have bridged our cultures. While some of the things I may say make my British friends laugh and giggle like little schoolgirls checking out the new kid (Charlie & Phil this means you), it's not offensive because most of those things are humorous to me and said in a joking manner as well. And while they might not say (to my dismay) "Care for a shoeshine governa?" I still get my fill of British mannerisms all the time. I suppose most of that doesn't make sense, but what I'm getting at is that our cultures really aren't so different. Perhaps it's because the kids I'm around come from largely the same background as me (minus the whole different country thing... but I digress) but we seem to speak mostly the same and get one another... well aside from Alizter who is pretty much incomprehensible not to mention still has a name which is impossible to spell correctly. This phenomenon can probably be attributed to watching too many American TV shows which, despite what our parents may have told us as children, appears to not be a bad thing. While the content may be gash (2 more points), they do help lessen the gap between cultures.

As a side note. One word the boys like to describe the ladies with is "fit" which just means attractive as opposed to in shape. And after thinking it over the answer, Greg, is no. You are not "fitted" to someone if you think they're good looking. There is no conjugation this word is standalone.

Ok so I'm done being academic. I'm going to talk about music now and not just any old type of 80's cover bands, but England's very own Arctic Monkeys who I was lucky enough to see at a club at Uni (translation: on campus) the other night. Going to concerts might not seem like a big deal back home, but it was the way this concert took place that really resonated with me. See the Arctic Monkeys are huge in England, think of it as like seeing N'Sync, The Fray, 50 cent, and The White Stripes all rolled into one. This is a band which seems to thrive here and with good reason. They're young, catchy, and smart lyrically while spreading their musical flare out just enough to not sound redundant. On top of that, they sing about local things, such as fruitless flirting vs actual desires, which anyone who has ever been attracted to someone else can understand. The crowd ranged from a kid who couldn't have been more than 12 to a group of 40-somethings chain smoking right in front of me. Thousands of people, both different and similar, were crammed into a tiny University club (think of the Iron Cactus with a stage) to watch this globally renowned band play their gig. It was pretty amazing, I'll admit the band isn't my favorite but the atmosphere was made of the same stuff American Gladiators made their reputation off of: late nights, legal or illegal ( depending on your views) substances, and pure unfiltered Nitro (2 more points). To top it off, there was no sign letting you know these guys were coming. No PR team thrusting fliers in your face like the Young Democrat Initiative around election times. There wasn't even a mention in the school newsletter which circulates to every Leicester email address. The only PR this band had was a flier on ONE bulletin board somewhere in The Student Union. Needless to say, it was great experience and something you just can't get at UT. I can't imagine Justin Timberlake (bad comparison) showing up unannounced and playing at Cain and Abel's or something, it just doesn't happen.

In another side note, it is now my quest to see Muse live. After the way they took over ACL this year (or maybe it was SXSW?) and the way they've taken over my iTunes, it's time to see this band in person. So if anyone knows someone with a ticket to one of their shows or a way to get one at a reasonable price, please hook it up. For those of you who don't know Muse, the only way I can describe this band is the Eighties gone right.

Anyways that's about it. I recently got Skype which is quite possibly the best thing ever invented. And I know what all the female audience is thinking and the answer is yes, even better than hair straighteners. So that's about it, stay up. (3 points if that makes any sense to you whatsoever).

PS - Tally up your points and send em my way.