Nott What You'd Expected...

Pops and Mimi, in the flesh

Distracted? Yes. 190 pages of Wuthering Heights to read, a flat to clean, a bag to pack, and no motivation.

G-rents here until Monday. Luxury hotel in London, trip up to Notts, back to London for touring and family love time.

Back Monday.

posted by Kevin @ 11:10 PM 4 comments

Two Nations separated by the same Language

The English language.

Sometimes described as 'two countries separated by the same language', the US and UK have what can only be described as a special relationship.

The strange fixations and obsessions between the two- be it the American tendency to melt at the mere mention of Hugh Grant's accent, or the British fascination to the immense size of the States....

After having lived here, stereotypes are being crushed at an alarming rate, and sometimes in an unflattering way. The typical snooty Brit, donning a tophat and smoking a pipe while simultaneously beer-bonging tea and reciting Shakespeare is something of a misnomer.
A quick tour of Nottingham is a great way to categorize and classify the modern Brit. In the same way that a 'typical' American would be impossible to describe or categorize, the same holds true for anyone from the UK. However, there are a few groups that exist.

First, it's important to sadly accept the death of the British accent as aphrodisiac. Admittedly awesome, smart sounding at times, and clearly distinct from Americanized English, the novelty has officially worn off.

Two days at the Cob shop, and already I've come to accept the regionalized, slack jawed accent as gross. Hilary brought it up a few days ago, and I've been wondering how I could ever approach the topic, and here it is. Don't get me wrong, it's the same way some people in the states sound like idiots by using slang, terrible grammar, or profanity- but for some reason, and maybe it's because of the expectation of intelligent speech always being associated with the Enlgish accent, nothing is more repulsive than a thick, trashy English accent.

I can't understand a word that the girls in the kitchen say. Seriously, it's like a foreign language. Not even the words used- those i can get used to, accustomed to- but the sheer laziness it seems- slang, bad usage, and slurred speech.... I'm not offended, just a little turned off maybe?

Enter: chav culture and the death of the monacled Brit.
One of the first things I told the group I met at the airport from America while working for admissions was to delete any conception of what Englishness or Britishness meant in terms of looks or behavior. Walking around downtown during the day, when people should be at work or classes, and you'd be overwhelmed with pregnant mothers, shabbily dressed middle aged wanderers, be-hooded and be-gloved (yeah, they wear batting gloves...i don't get it) teenagers- usually all in black.
The chav culture, however, sharply contrasts the highculture and super trendy culture that radiates from campus. It sounds egotistical, terrible even to call the city crap without well dressed snotty college kids, but it's hard to imagine just how Chavish and Brittrashy this place would be without the working professionals and students that seem to keep it classy.

Classy is a strong word.

The rambling and accusatory fashion of this post is maybe unwarranted, but the contrast in expected stereotype and actual persona of the British landscape is something that has fascinated me since our arrival here, and every day seems to be another brick in the wall, so to speak.

I'm sure i'm not exclusive in my feelings, and i'd be more accurate to say that i'm sure the English feel the same way about Americans (although slightly different, considering we're the smart ass rebels who have now taken over the world)...

Perhaps it's the culture difference, or maybe even more simply, a more diverse environment than i'm used to- Urbandale and Decorah aren't exactly gems of diversity, and neither are Iowa or the Midwest in general- but my interest remains, and it will be interesting to see if my view of Americans is in any way skewed by this new found awareness of stereotypes as real or harmfully fabricated.....

posted by Kevin @ 11:53 AM 0 comments

The Grass is always greener... When it's subtropical

In the most shattering move of culture shock since arriving five months ago, today I witnessed the unthinkable.

Uni grounds crews are mowing. Not shoveling, not dispensing salt over ice slicked sidewalks, not huddled in doorways taking drags of cigarettes held in mittened hands to keep warm..... they were mowing. Mowing grass that has been growing all winter long, tending to bulbs of flowers now sprouting on the hill between the Union and Science complex, and continuing landscaping work around the busted gazeebo on the hill behind Cripps.

What is wrong with this country?

I'll side with Gore and go with Global Warming. An inconvenient truth? More like the most messed up February i've ever witnessed. This is supposed to be the bone-chilling English winter that we've braced ourselves for... snowless but still cold...
Maybe the Paidiea presentations today on our lengthy papers will bring me back to some sort of Lutherlibrium.

In other news, the G'rents have officially landed (or are in the air as i type), and Johnny makes the draw of a lifetime when he decides my rooming fate at 4pm CST and takes part in Room Draw for Baker.
Godspeed John, Pine Sofa Grand-rents.

posted by Kevin @ 11:39 AM 0 comments

Rachel Ray is a Dirty Whore

Here goes- a much delayed, perhaps unwarrented but otherwise productive blog entry detailing the boring happenings of the past week....

Monday?
I earned my chef's whites.... for those outside of the Kitchen Stadium lingo, who don't tivo Food Network, or who don't have a glossy black and white picture of Emeril in their dorm room, I'm referring to the ultra-hip and actually quite slimming white chef's jacket (double buttons, rubber actually) that chefs don while cooking.

Maybe my cooking isn't up to par with say, Mario Batali, Cat Cora, Elton Brown, or even (shudder) Rachel Ray, but I've got a white chef's jacket, which is more than be said for the Italian bombshell with the huge forehead, or the Barefoot Contessa.....(so pretentious sometimes)
While I didn't slice my finger off, I did manage to get sick... or sicker than the weekend, and having to read Wuthering Heights didn't make it any better. As with Jane Austen, a great sedative. Bronte is much more interesting (9 deaths in the first 130 pages) but still not the FightClubesque action I'm looking for in a novel. My future English 10 students will be treated to a very unconventional education to be sure.

Tuesday, boring. More reading, no work as Gary (my Droopy-looking boss) came down with pneumonia, and I took a much deserved 3 hour nap instead of reading or doing other homework.

Gramps and Grandma are taking the final step in their transatlantic journey, and our emails have been fired back and forth in a torrid pace over the past few days. Grandpa gave up on the ALL CAPS approach, and settled for an otherwise confused attempt to answer my equally confusing questions and requests.

I'm looking forward to having family in Notts, being able to show people the day to day aspects of my life in a way that can't be expressed with pictures or overly depressing blog entries. As much as my bloated and critical writing exposes some of the raw feelings i've had here, nothing beats actually being here for getting a taste of Nottingham.

With Valentine's Day in full swing, and the unloved members of the flat pondering a Wine Wednesday and Movie Night collision, I'm off to bigger? and better? things. Namely, cheap drinks and more Bronte.

And now, your Moment of Zen...

posted by Kevin @ 8:51 PM 0 comments

They Say Bad Things Come in Threes

I'm waiting on number 3. Yesterday the LCD screen on my beautful camera mysteriously shattered while in my pocket, and today I feel sickish. So, using the rule of threes, most likely i'll chop a finger off tomorrow at work.

I hate to linger or settle in some kind of funk, some depressed state of loathing, but this whole camera thing could not have come at a worse time. Considering my current financial state, exploding cameras are probobly on the top of my list of SHIT THAT I COULD REALLY DO WITHOUT RIGHT NOW. Maybe the flu is a close number two.

Shattering financial futures aside, this weekend reaffirmed the total sweetness of the flat crew. Mark and Carol were paternal as usual, we complained about hiking as is our nature, and all in all it turned out great.

First we visited a coal mining museum, tucked neatly in the slushy mess that is snow-covered England..... just imagine the wettest, most optimal snowball snow you've ever experienced, and cover a small island nation- that's snow in England.

The mine was 450 ft deep, pitch black, and inhabited by a small man with the thickest accent i've ever heard while here in the UK. His pronunciation of common words like 'water' were so far skewed from the Americanized words that whenver he asked questions or told jokes, we stood around looking completely clueless. The best part about his tour, aside from wisecracks and jarbled accent, was his use of nicknames- being the ogre in our group, i became Big Lad. Each girl had a nickname- ranging from Dorris to Florence, names which were shortened depending on the situation.... "C'mover here, Flo".... "Pick this one up, Big Lad"

good stuff.

Howarth, our destination, was the home of the Brontes, literatures' Partridge Family, the Jackson Five of novel writing. We're currently reading Wuthering Heights (well, we should be, I haven't quite started), and so the appreciation was heightened by constant referneces within the town to certain books, characters, or family members.

The weather was drippy, cold and oppressive. The night was spent in a YHA (Youth Hostel Association... the best reccomended and regulated you can find) that looked more like Professor X's mansion in the XMen movies than a hostel. The place was HUGE, and its outside was comprised of bricks similar to those found on Alnwick Castle (Harry Potter Castle), while the inside was amazing- huge ceilings, a ballroom, a dining room, a lounge, etc.

We spent the night playing Scrabble (it's no Upwords.... that's all I'll say....it's no Upwords), and lounging in the girls' room until they became to tired to entertain.

It was at this point that I discovered my broken camera, and at this point that I needed my new favorite TV Show Undeclared to console me rather than delve into Wuthering Heights.

Today - in a move very Bronte of us- the gang hiked the moors, a winding, hilly, wet, windy mess of English landscape that can only be described as desolate and fitting for a dark, brooding 19th century novel.

Our last stop was in Saltine or Salt something... a town built away from the nearest town by a mill owner in the middle 1860s for the sole purpose of creating a Utopia-like city, free from alcohol or other distractions. The owner built schools, hospitals, and even rows and rows of identical houses for his workers. Creepy? Yes. Wrinkle in Time meets Charles Dickens? Why not. Still, it was neat.

The mill has since been turned into a David Hockney gallery/coffeeshop/home supply store (think IKEA on crack)- it was super modern, super european, and super expensive. Made me feel artsy and cultured. As if I didn't feel cultured enough rooting through the Bronte's childhood home....

This week is looking busy- find a new LCD screen, work 12 hours, say hi to Gramps and Gram (show them Notts, hang out in London for a few days), and read Wuthering Heights while studying for other classes which shall remain nameless....

Can't wait.

posted by Kevin @ 8:07 PM 1 comments