Tie food.

Being in America makes it hard to observe things in England and make potentially hilarious commentary on them.  Fortunately, I smuggled my notebook over.  Within its sleek black walls, its off-white, lined pages have literally sentences full of witty perceptions of life in the UK.  Once the reservoir of material has run dry (probably by the next post HAHA), I shall attempt to draw comparisons of life here and there.  Look forward to it.  It might be good.

I've had to put my stamp collecting on hold whilst I'm here.  I was doing well - I was up to about 20.  I do admit I have cheated a bit, though.  A few of the stamps came on the same envelope.  Oh snap.  Was that a joke?  A beautiful four-liner, if ever there was.

I don't like the fact that in most toilet cubicles, one has to straddle the toilet in order to successfully get out of the way of the arc of the door and close the door itself.  Which way do you stand?  Back to the porcelain, legs akimbo, chancing the awkward eye-catch of a fellow restroom-goer?  Back to the rest of the place, bracing yourself against the wall in the desperate hope that it has been cleaned in at least the last 24 hours?  At least if you go for the latter, you can casually flick the door closed behind your back.  But pray that you do.  If you don't you run the risk of leaning back onto the door and having it push you back against the wall and further towards the toilet.  Much to the merriment of the four other gentlemen in the cinema restrooms.

I have been trying to learn snippets of different languages while I'm here.  To say hello, at least, in as many languages as I can.  I've got quite a few down.  Konichiwa.  Sin Chou.  Nei Hou.  Ketcha.  Anyon.  Chescht.  Salut.  Hola.  Tschuss.  Hej.  Howdy.  Sawat Dee.  etc.  These are in no way spelt the way they are meant to be, it's just how I picture them being pronounced.  In our alphabet, at least.  I also know 'monkey' in Mandarin:  Hoú-zi.  One of the funniest things you can hope to experience is a group of international students who are all very, very tired.  When accents start to slip, it is amazing.  Once of my friends just started speaking Hindi to another friend who is Born and Bred American.  Too tired to realise!  Immerse yourself in culture.  Meet people from outside the country and don't be afraid to talk to them about it.  If they have a foreign accent, don't be afraid to ask where they're from.  Unless they're Welsh.  It's best to avoid them in that case.

Maybe I have a little bit left in the well of my notepad.  We'll see.  I'll be sure to make some comical observations as the days go by.

Good talking to you.

In one peace.

I saw my first ever armadillo the other day.  They look pretty cool.  I couldn't describe to you their temperament because I was in the car and couldn't really stop and even if I could get to it, it was roadkill.  But it was an armadillo.

I am in America.  Land of the free, home of the brave, standing room only.  I spent a week with a beautiful girl in sunny, sunny Arkansas.  Like a true Brit, I went on about the weather more than I needed to, but who else was representing the country?  I did my best.  It's pretty humid on top of being rather warm.  On one of the nights, we sat outside at 3:30 in the morning and it was as warm as the day back home.  The thunderstorms here are something to write home about, so I'm going to write home about them.  They are big.  NOTHING HERE IS DONE IN SMALL DOSES.  Rolling thunder hangs round for hours at a time with very little rain to show for it.  If it does rain, the humidity keeps the ground wet longer than the heat itself would allow.  The roads and the cars are all bigger.  The products in the shops are all bigger.  Most of the people I have met at the moment are other exchange students, so I cannot vouch for myself just yet when I say all the people are bigger...  It is a wonder to behold.  I have been fortunate to have been here 4 times now, so I'm somewhat expectant as to what things are like here, but it never ceases to amaze me how much bigger things are.

The insects here are pretty big.  I was chasing a mantis that was nearly as long as my hand.  There are beetles the size of my thumb, grasshoppers the size of my fingers and... other... big insects.  I can't think of any more right now.  Once I find my card reader, I'll post some pictures of everything here, but for the moment, just imagine it.  You know the black Ground beetles at home?  The ones that run like the wind when you move the rock they're under?  Yea.  They are about 1.5 - 2 inches here.  It's like some sort alternate dimension where the insects are bigger.  Or the people are smaller.  I haven't decided yet.

My week was amazing.  It started fairly badly.  I was at gate G8 in Chicago, Illinois, waiting to fly out to Tulsa, Oklahoma.  I was reading a magazine and looking out of the window when I noticed the bags from the plane at G8 getting unloaded.  I kept looking back and forth and after a while, I saw my bags along with a few other people's bags.  All of a sudden, there was an announcement for all who are waiting for the plane to leave from G8 were to move to gate G12 instead.  I went there, along with everyone else, but noticed that the bags didn't appear to have come with us.  They were sat by another plane no more than 40 metres away from the plane they were meant to be on.  No worries, I thought, This is Chicago.  One of the biggest International airports in the world.  They'll deal with this sort of thing every day - why wouldn't they do the same today?  So I got on the plane and went to Tulsa.  Standing at the carousel at the baggage claim in Tulsa, I realised that my bags had not, in fact, got on the plane after all.  Neither had the few other people's bags.  They had obviously gone to wherever the plane at G8 had gone to.  I still don't know where that was, but it didn't really matter.  A few days later, m'lady's mum kindly picked them up for me from Fort Smith airport (as "deliver[ing] them to your house" over here evidently means "deliver[ing] them to an airport that is out of the way and at a time when the need for clothes within the luggage has long since passed").  THANKS AMERICA.  YOU ARE A BIG HELP.

At 4' 11", with firey-red hair and sea-green eyes, my girlfriend is gorgeous.  Combine this with her heart for God, her love for the people around her and her integrity and sincerity, you have yourself one of the most beautiful people you will ever have the chance to meet.  The way her nose crinkles when she smiles, the bounce in her step and her unreserved giggle just adds to that.  A beauty pageant winner and an ex-cheerleader on top of all this, I can safely say that she is more than out of my league.  I have done for too well for myself.  But don't tell her that.

I had an amazing time with her.  We did errands and things.  Picked stuff up for people, went to various places.  Nothing massive, but it was perfect.

Oh, goodness.  Sorry lads.  I went all sloppy.  I shall go and buy a gun from Wal*mart and shoot down a tree.  Maybe redeem some manpoints.

We came up to Missouri at the weekend so I could get settled in my accommodation.  It's like a resort!  I have my own room and sink and although I share a flat with 4 people (and a pathetic dog), we have 1 shower between 2.  There is also a swimming pool outside.  It's got a volleyball net across it, a volleyball in it and a hot tub on the side.  A big fire pit-type construction stands beside it, with a BBQ on either side of that.  Indoors, there is a movie room with big, cupholder-endowed arms, a pool table and a little gym.  I went there tonight and I am now tired, hence the blog.

I am going to start another blog for the sole purpose of this trip.  It'll be cool.  Depending on how many pictures I get, I'll make it a bit more picture-orientated.  I am wanting to make it into a book at the end, but I'll need numbers or something if it's going to be worth it.  Eh.  It's worth a thought.

I am off for the night, folks.  I shall try and talk here again soon.

Smooches.

Not what I knead.

My, it's been a while.  I have broken my habit of posting 3 a month, it would seem.  No matter.  It was bound to happen sooner or later.  Generic niceties to one and all.  My reason for not posting is that I have been somewhat preoccupied by getting ready to spend a few months in America.  It has taken more out of me than I thought it would.  It didn't help that I had to do quite a bit of chasing about my finances, as the ever-helpful Sefton Council decided that it was not fantastically important that I have the means to live in a house come one fortnight's time.  I applied for my finance, as one does, but for one reason or another, my application went to Darlington.  I don't even know where that is.  Now fair enough, this was not the fault of the Council here, but they were so half-assed about the whole thing I could feel them giving me the finger as they spoke to me on the phone.  They told my uni that they had no means of contact with their central office and that it was my uni's fault for not giving them the right papers.  Or something.  I phased out half way through the whole thing.  Fortunately, the situation is ameliorated now.

As I was once a child, I have a good few childhood memories.  Some of them are of places, some of items, some of TV programs.  It is the latter that I am finding a bit challenging as of late.  The changing theme music to Fireman Sam, the changing theme music and narration of Pingu.  One thing that has changed most of all is Postman Pat.  Now I haven't had time to watch a lot of this program, but what I have seen is disappointing.  See, they have taken the changing-the-theme music angle.  They have also changed the opening animation.  They have also changed the style of animation and EVERYTHING ELSE ABOUT THE PROGRAM.  It looks like good old stop-time animation is out of the window in lieu of the easier, quicker and more mass-produce..ier computer-aided animations.  Postman Pat has a child.  There are new, politically-correct characters throughout.  I hate talking about this because I always end up thinking I'm a bit chavvy-blinging-Daily Mail-reading-esque.  It just annoys me that Political Correctness has become what it has.  Going out of our way to make sure we don't offend anyone, lest we get an angry letter.

  This part of the blog is opening up a large can o' worms and hasn't really gone anywhere in particular so, like a gangrenous hand, I shall cut it off, only to be haunted by its loss later on when I need to scratch myself.

I like creating clips in my head of memories that other people may have had.  Or making memories and reliving bits of my childhood, á la The Butterfly Effect.  (I know the accent on that 'a' is the wrong way round, but I couldn't find the right one.  Deal with it).

  Putting things together to make makeshift memories from someone else's point of view of you, if you get that.  If you look at people living today, your life experience will have given you the views and angles to be able to superimpose them on the people you see.  If you see someone crossing the road, you apply your knowledge and memories of crossing any road and you'll be able to see what they see.  Same goes for talking to someone, looking at something, eating something. You have the viewpoint to cover what anyone is seeing.

  Try it sometime.  (I hope it's not just my imagination.  I'm not crazy).

I thought it was common knowledge that we die because our cells lose the ability to regenerate.  I honestly did.  I thought it was a given.  I read it in the paper a while ago.  It turns out that it was not, in fact, common knowledge. Sometimes I should speak more; make people aware of my underlying genius.

Well.  That's all for now.  I am very tired, as you can probably tell.  Once I am refreshed and have had enough sleep, I shall probably look back at this blog and come to the slow realisation that I may have made a big mistake.

Oh well.

At least it means I'd have had some sleep.

Stick around.  It gets better.

Ewe want what?

I do not like television adverts for books.  I just don't.  If I am going to read a book, I will find out about what is within by reading a review or the blurb on the back.  If I see an advert that involves explosions, shouting and/or chases, then it is already promising me more than it will be able to deliver.  If you want to advertise a book, either read an excerpt or don't bother.  If I see a trailer-style advert for something that has neither pictures nor sound, then I will wait until it is at least on DVD.  Similarly, don't advertise films on the radio.  If something has been made - specifically - to be watched, don't attempt to sell it without the pictures.

It's like going to a gig where the band you want to see and the band that are supporting them are of two different genres.  Why?  What would possibly drive someone to see it as a good idea?  I once went to a Reel Big Fish gig with my brothers and my dad.  Lively, personable, funny ska.  Bring on the trumpets.  What were we greeted with as a warm up?  A big welshman who was somehow fusing together metal and dance, whilst shouting aggressively at the crowd for not dancing.  He may have been lively, but he wasn't personable or funny.  Nor was he playing ska.

My point for the two is keep things in the medium that people want them in.  If it's a film, advertise it at another film showing; if it's a warm up act, have it play in a similar style to the band that it's supporting.  It's not that hard.

Rowntree has brought us some new and exciting sweets.  Huzzah.  Rowntree's Randoms.  Now.  Are they random?  Or are they just another stupid use of the word random?  (Clue: it's the latter).  I posit that they are, indeed, far from random.  I think you will find that they are all created by machines, presses and moulds that have been created - exclusively - to form the shapes.  Maybe if they just dripped molten gelatine from a point to form truly adventitious shapes.  That would make them random.  At unspecified times, with different sized drips and of whatever colour they happen to be.  In packing, differing amounts would be put into the bags.  Maybe one bag contains 15 sweets, maybe another holds none.  This would be random and deserving of the name.  These are created with colours in mind, shapes designed, approximate number of sweets per bag and to a deadline.  This is what they should be called.

I went to Rockin'Asia tonight.  It's a little club in my little town.  I went there because Beats Phatree were playing and they are very good indeed.  Not only are they highly skilled in their instruments of choice, they are pretty intelligent to boot.  A fantastic all round group.  Their renditions of songs are fresh, their sets are tight and you can see that they are having a good time doing what they do.  Cheeky smiles from one to the other, a chuckle half way through the songs.  Had I known the words to the songs they were playing, I would have been up on the dancefloor, singing along.  Unfortunately, my knowledge of pop music (and indeed classics) leaves much to be desired, so I simply sat and watched.  I'm not a dancer and I'll write about that another time, so sitting and watching a band is my way of enjoying it.  A Michael Jackson song was played.  I know the tune but not the title.  It was delivered in their ever-fresh style and was neither cheesy nor cliché.  A fitting tribute to the King of Pop.  As the night went on and their set was coming to an end, they were still spot on, showing no sign of tiring.  If you ever get the chance to see these guys play, take it.  Grab it with both hands.  Truly a joy to experience.

Well I'm not sure how to finish this.  I'm going to find a picture that seems to fit the content and then I'll try and think of a witty title.  Of course, you will have seen both before you read this, so this little paragraph is pretty moot.

Join me again next time, when I'll be talking about Postman Pat, fake memories and things that I though were widely known but are not, in fact, widely known.

Stop that - you'll brake it.

This evening I did something that I have wanted to do for as long as I can remember.  Ever since I saw someone on TV letting a little bird go, I have wanted to do the same thing.  Swinging my arms up and opening my hands as, in a flurry of feathers, the little creature flies off to freedom.  It's a thing of beauty.  Tonight, a little collared dove got into the chicken's little fenced off area and couldn't get out.  I went in to catch it - and catch it I did.  I was surprised - I thought it would just find a way out and be done with it.  But I caught it and went into the open and gracefully chucked it skywards.  I have only had one opportunity to do such a thing before.  I caught a little bird in Pizza Hut when I worked there.  I put it in a little wings box (insert joke or amusing observation here), and went home.  Upon entering the house, I proceeded to look around for our cat.  Unless the reason for this is not too clear, most cats like to eat - if not, kill - birds.  I did not want this bird to be eaten or killed.  Long story short, I bury a dead bird at the end of this anecdote.

I bought another Moleskine book the other day.  It was £10 and it's a little smaller than A6, but it's worth it.  I got it because I have found myself coming up with things to write about (which I have found is good for a blog), but not having anything to record them in.  I thought about getting a dictaphone, but then I'd have to grow a moustache, wear big glasses, and look at people as I smugly talk into my hand.  Since I don't like looking at people, I bought a book.  I'm getting the hang of it, this writing thing.  It's always hard to start a new sketchbook - slightly more so when you're writing in it.  But I have found a small passion - a smassion, if you will - for writing things that I (and hopefully a few others) find slightly amusing.  I'll let you know how it goes.

It was my little brother's 18th birthday the other week.  It was my other little brother's 21st a couple of weeks before that.  Good planning on the parent's part.  For my brother's 18th, we all went go-karting.  It was very nice.  My little brother is as much of a racing chav in a kart as he is in a car.  Hunched forward, one hand on the top of the wheel, one on the 'gear stick', looking round through rolled up eyes.  Oh dear.  The track itself was very good - it was quite big and it had a couple of bridges.  The karts were fantastic - nice and low, very tight steering, good grip (for the most part.  I swear my kart in the final race had less grip than my kart in the qualifiers.  And the seat was uncomfortable).  It was a pretty sweet way to spend a good few hours.  We had a BBQ in the afternoon and then we went out in the evening/night/early morning.  That's a whole new post.

One thing that I did notice when we were karting, was the fact that in a few 'man-sports' the people involved are, more often than not, inspired to recall the events of the day with much vigour and relish.  And usually a deeper voice and a different argot.  Well - not so much a different idiom, more of a change of emphases on certain words.  Words that would normally seem geeky or are previously untouched by the lips of the speaker become commonplace.  Go-karting and Paintballing seem to be the biggest culprits.  People are transformed into petrol heads and commandos.  They suck you in and give you a different life for a few hours; a 'life' after which, you are more than qualified to talk about what you have no idea about.  Even the shyest, most preserved folk turn into men who know what they're talking about - and talk about it with an almost unwavering certainty.

That said, you should have seen the way I entered the eleventh corner.  Nice and tight to the tyres, keeping it in until the last minute.  The steering was trying to get away, but I kept it under control.  I had to tap the brakes a bit towards the end to keep it from spinning out, but I think I dealt with it pretty well.  And so forth.

Solar flair.

Well, here's another after work, pre-shower post.  It's early in the morning and I need to go to bed.  As I pointed out in my last post, my inspirations seem to strike in the early hours when I'm in need of sleep.  Although this post is not particularly inspired, I wanted to post something either today or tomorrow, and I don't think I'll remember any of it tomorrow.  Well I probably will, but even if I save this today and post it tomorrow, it will still show today as the date I posted it.  Man, I'm just talking nonsense now.

Arguably, the chances of anything entering the Earth's atmosphere and burning up, creating a Shooting Star, is one in a googol.  Miniscule.  Pretty much too small to be bothered about.  But I am always filled with a childlike sense of optimism whenever I look up into the night's sky.  Hoping beyond hope that such a chance will occur.  (I think there might be a bigger chance than one in a googol - what with the asteroid belt floating round between Mars and Jupiter.  And the asteroid sphere that encompasses our Solar System.  Still - space is pretty big.  We've got a bigger chance of being missed by things flying towards us).  Tonight, my anticipation of this event was quenched.  I saw a Shooting Star.  It lasted long enough to not only catch my eye, but to allow me to look in its direction and watch it for the few seconds it lasted.  Bear in mind that a few seconds is ages for a Shooting Star.  It was enough time for me to see that it was, in fact, several pieces falling together after breaking up a bit - it was long enough for me to at least guess where it was heading - it was long enough for me to appreciate the orange colour it burnt with.  I can think of few things that are as awesome as a Shooting Star.

I learnt something new about the fourth state of matter the other day.  I have known what it is for a long time, but I've never thought of anything that is made from it, if that makes sense.  There is solid, liquid and gas.  And plasma.  The fourth, and most badass, state of matter.  It is ionised gas that is neither gas nor solid.  "Where can we find this?" I hear you ask.  "Fire," says I.  "And lightning," I further add.  I love that fact that it is something so simple.  Two everyday things.  Made of PLASMA.  That is all.

I am going to bed now.  It's got to the stage where I'm barely able to keep my eyes open and I've started to nod embarrassingly.  As well as this, I can hear noises that I shouldn't be hearing at this time of night; playing in my head like some sort of built-in speaker system.  My mind is telling me that I can hear the cars on my way home from work and that I'm on the 'Airfield' level of Call Of Duty 5.  At the same time.  And I know I'm not doing either.

I'm also reading my sentences over a good few times each before finally posting this, lest I make some hideous typo or grammatical error.

Wish me luck.

Early mourning.

I find that I get my best ideas and inspirations when I need to go to sleep.  More to the point - when I need to go to sleep because I have to be up early the next day.  Sometimes I want to take a picture that I know will not be possible to take again for a long time.  Other times, I just want to draw until I have no more ink.

I have just come back from work after closing up and finishing later than I thought possible.  It's 04:20 (as you can probably see form the 'time posted' bit at the bottom).

I was offered a lift home, which I declined (in the end).  The allure of the early morning birdsong was too much.  I just wanted to walk home and listen to Ms Nature.  I was trying very hard to think of when I would have another possibility to experience such an opportunity to find myself, by chance, in this situation again.  I thought I could easily set my alarm and go out for a dawn-break walk, but that would defeat the spontaneity somewhat.  Besides; I'd just go back to sleep anyway - annoyed at myself that I thought it was a good idea to wake me up at 03:00.

This walk home was pretty amazing, though.  As it was dawn, it was possible to see things, which gave me more confidence to walk home through a stretch of Southport that rivals the notoriety of piss bridge/rape bridge/nazi bridge/junkie bridge/death bridge.  You know where I mean.  If you don't, don't worry.  It is pretty much exactly how I have described it.  You're not missing out.

The birdsong was intense.  Calls from everywhere - the trees on the outskirts of my view, the tops of the lamp-posts, the tops of the buildings in the distance.  Geese honking across the other side of the Marine Lake.  A single gull drifted above me, highlighted pink by the rising sun.  Another gull a bit further on changed the status of the first gull to one of a pair.  It didn't seem to care, though.  I did.  It spoiled this part of the blog.  The bridge was silhouetted against the pink sky; the Lake mirroring the colours above it as its edges lapped against the banks.

Some more walking brought me to the edge of the calmer area, where the giggly shrieks of a girl and the slow silencing of the birds could be heard.  Getting further away, the gulls started to squawk.  I always imagine them as the English equivalent of the Hyena.  As the hyena chuckles, it conjures up images of blokes in their mid 20s, snickering like ne'er-do-wells at something inexplicably funny.  As the gull squawks, it brings images of a fat lady cackling to mind, with an association to Bingo, for reasons that escape me.

As I crossed the road, the giggling girl and her friends passed me in a car.  A bloke gestured a thumbs up to a cab that was parked in the middle of the road, asking for a lift.  No such luck.  The man and his lady friend crossed the road and started walking behind me, where she let out a big, classy belch.

Moving towards the outskirts of the town, the birds got louder once again.  The kebab shops had long since closed and the pubs were shut.  The beautiful sound of nature had only really been interrupted thrice by cars, but for a much longer time as I walked through the desolate streets.  It's a shame they have been driven out somewhat by the want of a cushy life.

Even so, I sit here now in bed, typing away to the sound of several birds behind me in the garden and the ever-funny Danny Wallace on iplayer.  I love our garden.  I love this part of town.  Junkies next door aside, it's a very nice place to live.  But I shall talk about that another time.  (Turns out that the time in the second paragraph is now wrong.  Huzzah).

As for now, I must rest my weary legs and close my tired eyes, 

for in three hours hence, I must once again arise

to work a ten-hour shift, finishing early in the night,

I'll hopefully sort my hours out, so that they might not be so rubbish.