Daze of yore.

Well this isn't too good. Apologies all round. No post for nearly a month? What have I become?

Cheery corn, cheery oats, cheery rice and wheat. Cheery something something-thing CHEERIOS, so good to eat. I think they're the lyrics. It doesn't matter. My point is that there are four types - if you will - of Cheerios. Americans have five. Five. I don't know what they make the fifth cheerio out of and frankly I don't care. It's just not right. There's no symmetry in it. The spoon will be all over the show.

Another somewhat comical observation here is the fact that tax is put on to things at the till. If the price of an item is on the shelf next to it, you'd better be very good at working out obscure percentages because it's going to be tacked on to it when you get to the paying. I know, it's not comical - even somewhat. I just chuckled bitterly to myself when I thought I had enough for an item from the dollar menu at McDonalds and then had to frantically turn out my pockets in the hope that I wouldn't have the embarrassment of the staff there giving me a dirty, yet pitiful, look as they slowly pour my small portion of fries back into that little heating semi-cabinet that they use. Pah. One dollar eight cents. Pathetic.

One thing that is pretty big over here (or may have been. I'm not the best at keeping up to speed on these things) is the idea of introducing National Health Care. I don't know why I capitalised it. It just seems important. I was asked about the differences the other day. In summary England, with it's healthcare service, gets a lot of free perks. Well, it gets a lot of free everything. It gets completely free everything, in fact. America doesn't. Call me silly, but I can't see why people don't want this.

I went to a petrol station the other day with my mates to get petrol - because that's how we roll. All of the pumps were out of order and we weren't sure why, until a kindly young man came over and informed us that they were too full. Too full. There was too much petrol in their reserve to sell us a few gallons. Just when I started to get my head around the way this country works, BAM. Curveball. I don't know how long the people who owned the station have been in business; and I myself have no business sentience, if I may use that term, but I would like to think that I at least know that selling what your property is renowned for selling - expected to sell, I would go as far as saying - is at the very least the bottom line. The base of all sales. The bread and butter. But I've never owned a petrol station. They call them gas stations here anyway, but that is a whole post by itself.

Actually... Who's up for some crazy word comparisons next time we're here? I know I am.

I'll make a note.

kisses

Didn't get court.

A pregnant girl I know thinks that airplanes are part of a conspiracy to get money out of us people.  She thinks that it is perfectly viable to dig big holes through the crust of the earth and slide to wherever it is we want to get to.  Sometimes I weep for the future of humanity.

I like to think that my ramble filter is working well, but I haven't posted anything for a while.  After reading that again, I think I may have just put the two together...

Melissa came up to see me on the Thursday before Labour Day weekend.  Labour Day is an equivalent here of a bank holiday back home.  They just feel the need to give it a flashy name.  She came up from Lavaca to Warrensburg (bonus points if you can find either on a map) on the Thursday and then on the Friday, I drove back so we could spend some time with her family.  It's the first time I've driven properly here and it was amazing.  It's a six hour drive and I drove for five hours.  In those five hours, I had to turn at a junction about four times.  It's brilliant.  I also made great use of the cruise control.  Get up to speed, hit cruise control, move your legs back into a more comfortable position and then only worry about steering.  We got back to Lavaca when it was dark and I can't really navigate my way round at the best of times.  Moving into the turning lane too early, I got back on to the main road.  Moving in again early, I started to move back to the main road but then realised it'd be easier to stay there.  After turning, I saw some headlights.  Asking Melissa if it was the police, she confirmed my fears that it was, indeed, the 5-0.  I won't bore you with the details, but they pulled me over and took my details (as they do with everyone they pull over, regardless of why they are pulled over).  We were let off at least one ticket because the guy knew Melissa's family.  Turns out he's a weirdo.  But my point is I was driving for 5 hours and then in the last 5 minutes of the journey, I got pulled over by the Fuzz.  Ramble filter: rusty.

I heard that there's a town or State nearby that is thinking of introducing the sale of deep fried butter.  DEEP.  FRIED.  BUTTER.  Missed out on a trick there, Scotland.  SATIRE.

I am in dire need of what I believe is known as 'filler'.  Normally, I have enough to talk about.  In future, I will have enough to talk about.  At the moment, I am stuck.  My lady has left for the UK and I will not be seeing her until the 19th of December.  I'm not really in the mood for being witty this evening.  (Because I am the rest of the time HAHAHAHAA).  I guess this is the equivalent of a teacher letting you out of class early.  You're expecting a bit more, but you don't really want to be here, you know?  You know.  Go on, kids.  Scarper.

Quite a weight.

It's been a good while.  And I'm sorry.

This little blog post is simply to inform you good people that I will update this blog once more tomorrow with a message of more substance.

Not that this message is completely empty - there are plenty of words.  I'll post a picture, too.

...

<--- Here you go.

Now you have nothing to complain about.

See you tomorrow, when I'll be talking about my brush with Bobby Law, amongst other things.

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.