Hmmmm. I feel physically sick. I just typed a brilliant, 45-minute long, gut wrenching account of my experience at Nottingham Forest's agonizing playoff loss to Yeovil this past friday, and it's gone. Blogger's like that sometimes. I'd like to hurt someone or something right now. Honest to God, it was a 800 word masterpiece that would have put ....a famous essayist.... to shame.
Damnit.
At the risk of wasting another hour of my life, I'll bullet-point it. A tacky cop-out, yes, but at this point, the grief is so fresh that I'm not sure if I could handle another episode.
To summarize an otherwise genius account (now I know how authors must feel when they find out someone CliffsNoted their book), here goes:
-Forest Game. Friday. They win, they're headed to London to play for the championship at Wembly Stadium. They win, they also move up to next level in English Football.
- Cost? 20 pounds. Brandon turns back. Mary in York with friend, Andrea. Brandon sees cool fire on the way back.
-We're all in our Forest jerseys. 28,000 people at game. We sit on edge of seats, somewhat obstructed view. Very close to other fans, from rival Yeovil. -Yeovil plays sloppy, but manage to score in first half. Forest hold 2-0 lead in series (2 games, one at each home stadium), so must not lose by 3 in order to move on to next round. -Forest playing like shit. Score in second half to force overtime. Overtime not good. Yeovil score right away. We score soon thereafter. Force second overtime. Yeovil score. Our fans cry on way out. Very emotional.
- Cool chants include:
And, COME ON YOU REDS (said very similarly to HEY YOU GUYS, from Goonies)
Other hilarious things to note? Lucas LookALike, #12... bald, short, fast as hell.... the guy was tenacious, and made me smile.
For a little more about Nottm Forest football.....
So pissed off right now. See Aaron's blog for a better account. I have a feeling his computer didn't implode at the time of his musings. Better luck next time.
High Fidelity. Great movie. Now a musical? The premise, plot, etc of the movie is irrelevant. The best part about this Nick Hornby adaptation is the LISTS. Top 5 breakups. Top 5 first albums. Top 5 Things to do this summer.
I felt motivated, after reading a decent number of books this year, as well as after realizing my time in Notts is dwindling and there is much I haven't seen, that I should 1) make lists. and 2) blog about said lists. They always say something about writing a goal down makes it real. Well, here it is world.
In all cases, there is no order whatsoever.......
Things to See in Notts before I leave: 1) Wollaton Hall.... famous architecture, famous building. 2) Southwell (pronouncedSouthull) Cathedral in nearby Southwell. 3) Go to a final Forest game.... this Friday possibly? Forest have the chance to move up to the Champions League (from their current position at the top of the CocaCola League One table)... a win with a point differential on Friday could put them into the promotion game to be played at Wembly Stadium sometime next week....
First things to do when back in Des Moines: 1) plan trip to decorah. duh. 2) TsingTsao crab rangoon. again, a resounding duh. 3) family, friends, new puppy, gush gush gush 4) Van Dee's 5) Texas Roadhouse 6) run, hopefully.... with all of this food clouding my lists, I'll balloon.
Road Trips to take loans out to pay for: 1) Decorah. it's been waaaaay too long. 2) Chicago. Grandparents, Cubbies, hot dogs.... what more could a person ask for? .... how about a giant metallic bean. 3) TC. Twin Cities, MF. With all of my newfound Minnesotan brethren, there is no excuse to not make it up to the cities at least twice this summer. Twins games? I'm game. 4) Ames. on a nightly basis. good. 5) because of my isolationist attitudes, I'll actually give Downtown DSM it's own category. I'm that pathetic.
Music to explore/download/see performed live this summer: 1) Guster, in concert. 2) New Maroon 5 album 3) New Eliot Smith CD (posthumous obviously, but still looking forward to it) 4) Wilco's new one 5) Rufus Wainwright's new CD 6) Spring Awakening, i dunno... some kind of show in Chitown or NY 7) try to keep up with the BritRock that makes me so happy here.... Razorlight, The Fratellis, etc. 6) BasillicaBlockparty 2007. Almost went last year, this year it's a for sure.
To Read this summer (bolster my arsenal of literary ammo)....most of these are old, and in no way cutting edge on the literary circuit....
1) Hemingway's Nick Adams series, Farewell to Arms, all that 2) In memory of Vonnegut, everything and anything I can get my hands on.... 3) Favorite author from winter break, a genius in my mind.... the man, the legend, John Updike 4) Beloved, Toni Morrison 5) White Noise by Don Delilo 6) Tim O'Brien's work.... I was blown away by The Things They Carried 7)End of Faith by Sam Harris 8) God Delusion by Richard Dawkins 9) Anything and Everything (not a title, just literally anything) that Dave Sedaris has written 10) Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man, Ulysses, both by Joyce 11) Room with a View, EM Forster...also his huge posthumous novel that i can't recall... 12) Sillitoe's short stories... notably Loneliness of a Long Distance Runner 13) The Idiot... was that Dostyoeski?
Movies to Watch... 1) all of the British cult classics.... Fever Pitch, Trainspotting, etc 2) Pan's Labyrinth 3) 28 Weeks Later 4) Pirates 2, 3 5) Ocean's 13 6) Hot Fuzz
Shows to get caught up on: 1) Weeds 2) Nip/Tuck 3) LOST recap 4) The Tudors 5) Planet Earth 6) Anything on FoodNetwork, Comedy Central, and sweet lady ESPN
Important crap to do... some of which will be put off for yet another year.... 1) I can handle this.... get a subscription to The New Yorker. Damn. Life goal? Get published here. 2) here's where it gets shitty..... Wisdom Teeth 3) take PRAXIS exam for entry into Luther Ed dept. 4) check on Luther classes.... make sure I can graduate...
LISTs complete, I'm tired.... THE paper is done, first draft at least, and at about 3400 words, long enough to rip apart and still be over the limit. This bodes well. Studying tomorrow, some peer review, possssssibly the Forest game on Friday night, TV Final squeezed in on Saturday- once Thursday (next Thursday) hits, it's smooth sailing.....
Hmmmm. 21st birthday thoughts..... Overall impression? As probably expected, a little overrated. I think we've talked it to death here in the flat, the merits of a non-US 21, and the buildup to Birthday is always a little overrated (something about our already ego-centric society gearing up for even more ME time...) anyway, so getting the most out of the day was a careful balance between researching for the British Novel paper due Thursday and figuring out exactly what places would be open in Notts on a Tuesday night.... as we found out.... not many....
Still coming off the buzz of a solid Final test, I pretended to research before meeting up with Mary downtown at Starbucks for some quality slacking/socializing time before her friend Andrea arrived from Luther. I'm always amazed at how packed or absolutely desolate the basement in the Starbucks can be... and also how loud people will talk on their cell phones...
The guys decided to test out some local pubs pre-dinner, so we made it to the Whitemoor (maybe a block from the house... visible on a clear day from the kitchen....?)- much closer than The Lion, our usual digs, but just as full of liquid. My first legal drink, graciously purchased by Brandon, was a Guinness-wannabe mild ale- full bodied and....yeah, it was beer. We 'redhotchilipeppered' our way through Electric Cars, the now attractive qualities of the Weakest Link Lady, and more- We returned to the flat for dinner, smokey and a little more relaxed.... For dessert, Carol baked a delicious marble cake in the shape of a TV Remote, thus solidifying my position as 'that tv guy'. It's an interesting, pressure-filled job- the job of cake maker, especially after 9 months- what could she possibly pick? The themed birthday cake is a symbol for your very existence. One symbol in the world to describe you, in cake form.... what would it be? To be perfectly honest, as she brought it out, I thought it was a pint glass.... but no dice.
Aaron had a trombone cake, Hilary today was on the receiving end of a huge chocolate and coconut cake covered in flowers- flowers resting on a hill (Hil), get it? So what could I expect? A mouth for talking so damned much, perhaps, but certainly not anything to do with running (it's been a while), or anything academic. Maybe it's my aversion to silence, but whenever conversation at the table lulls, I try to spice it up- maybe something in the news, maybe a tv show I saw... is it worthy of a TV remote for a cake?
Yeah, it is. I take a TV class at the university, I relate everything in my life to Seinfeld, The Office, Arrested Development, or any other critically acclaimed yet avoided by viewers kind of bit. To be fair, I've never actually confused exploits from tv as my own, nor do I refer to characters as 'a friend of mine' when recounting the plotline, but as my memory goes, it can't be far off...
Our night out was a race against time. Ready by 10, on tram by 10 something, tram guy announces trams aren't running because of accident, walk to other tram stop a mile away, ride into town, find out three of the places we want to go are closed, and try to get as many drinks down before another one locks its doors.Eventually we found Lloyd's, a bar that could care less that Hilary was turning 21 in an hour, but more than willing to serve a pack of 10 eager Americans. The girls ordered girly drinks in pitcher-form, while I was lucky enough to have willing buyers all night... there are some perks to 21....I guess I'll never understand why, in a city with close to 40,000 students, in a country where people are drunk or drinking at 9am, and kids can drink when they're 18, the bars and pubs close so damned early. It boggles my mind. I've never been in a place where, when the final bell rings, there have been less than 20 people there.... the way I see it, if you've got willing drunkards, go for it. I'm sure they're trying to curb (or kerb) wild late night drunken behaviour, but it was my birthday. And on birthdays, selfish musings can be more selfish than normal. ___________________________________________________________
I write now, with a ticking timebomb to diffuse in front of me- my British Novel paper, which for all intensive purposes, has kindof ruined Hil's birthday. After last night, the focus in the flat shifted from Novel test to Novel paper- due today (Thursday) at 6. Yesterday, Hil's bday, was spent laboring away, trying to fit a month's worth of work into 36 hours.
There should be some kind of personality test or indepth research study on the different ways people handle stressful situations and papers like this. I tend to do one of two things: do it all right away, then laugh (this is a very rare occurance), or wait until the last moment and cram.
This time, i took door #2. I have been struggling with a topic for weeks now, and finally came up with something not altogether interesting, but maybe worth hashing out for 3000 words. This time yesterday, I had zero research and zero words, while now- a few nalgenes and poptarts later- I'm resting on my laurels- if by laurels I mean 1800 words and room to improve.
Research is ok, but organizing this crap is a nightmare, especially when one of the books is considered to be a Cult Classic for the working class in postwar Britian, but not classic enough to do any scholarly work on.... thus I'm left with thousands of movie reviews of its adaptation, but nothing to work with otherwise. Basically, the paper is a comparison between Jane Austen's narrative stance and use of free indirect discourse in Persuasion to Allan Sillitoe's use of second-to-third person narration in Saturday Night and Sunday Morning. It's a gas.
After this though, it's smooth sailing. Revisions tomorrow, peer reviews, big TV test (let's hope all of this 'research' pays off.... on Saturday, followed by actual paper due Tuesday, and International Studies final on Wednesday.
It's hard to focus when Luther's just getting out, but now's when a semester's worth of work at Uni actually pays off, so a semester's worth of laziness will have to subside.....
Bill O'Reilly: poster child for ignorant argument. If you were to take every cliched, pre-packaged argument for or against religion and put it in a blender, you'd be better off than listening to this guy try to hold an adult conversation with a leading author on the subject....
...come to think of it, Geraldo does have a mustache...
Belief or no belief, you've gotta realize that there are better ways of going about reasonable discourse on the subject.
Today was the first time in my life that I was, and this is a huge technicality, older than my wiser and more popular sister, Katie. Born 40 minutes before me, without teeth and not breech, she was gifted with the ability to hold it over my head- 40 minutes is still 40 minutes, thus relegating me to the pathetic role of Middle Child.
As the clock struck midnight in England, poor Katie was still sloshing through a foot of sewage (sorry about that, not the best way to start the summer) in her summer living space, thinking about what to wear on the big night out. So there. Biologically, not so much, but sneakily with the help of time zones and legal drinking ages, I've been living the high life for 6 hours longer... Turning 21 in the UK is like going shopping for Christmas presents with your mom in March, and then opening them in December. Being able to buy drinks, the only reason anyone gets excited about 21, has been a way of life.... make that a very small yet convenient... part of living in the UK. Having experienced the 'thrill' of ordering drinks at a bar without ID or partaking in the English past time of walking around with open containers, 21 has lost its luster. Even the word luster is a bit strong.
I won't wax philosophic on the pressure put on birthdays, 21 especially, but there is a certain ALL EYES ON YOU (or me, or that person) quality to birthdays that can be a bit unnerving. I promise I'll have fun. I promise I'll be safe. I promise I won't make Carol feel bad for asking Hilary what she wants on her cake for Wednesday but forgetting my birthday entirely. These I promise. The difficulty arises in the fact that, surprise surprise (bad, sarcastic surprises), M and C have scheduled Major Exams for this morning (ergo, no partying last night at midnight), and a huge paper worth 25% of the final grade for Thursday at noon.
So, subdued partying will take place, or is taking place as I type- bottle of gin in one hand and mouse in the other- but all mental capacities are focused on British Novels rather than Blood Alcohol Contents..
In flatnews, Mary's buddy from Luther (our 18thLutherite to visit? I exaggerate) Andrea is going to be here today, just in time for festivities... hopefully we won't shock her with our lack of Fratboy Party Skills that have waned since last being in the states.... maybe she will provide an injection of Good Ole USA GetrDonebadditude that this flat needs right now in a time of high stress...
Happy Birthday Katie, Carl, and anyone else kickass enough to be born on the Ides of May.
(This means you, Wizard of OZ creator, L. Frank Baum)
The weekend began with a hastily-organized and quickly-dissolved slumber party/sleepover in the living room, in which we guzzled down tea, ate freshly baked (a-thankyou) chocolate chip cookies, and watched Lord of the Rings - Fellowship of the Ring.
Suffice to say, I passed out before Orlando Bloom showed his pale, almost albino face, and slept well into the morning, waking only for the changing of Disc One, the end credits, and the sun- which shown brightly at 5am...(sidenote: if it's light until 10, and bright by 5, where the hell does the sun go? 7 hours of night? It's like bloody Alaska here) Mark and Carol cheerily arrived at 9:35, and packed us into the car for a rain-soaked trip to Hardwick Hall, a local masterpiece of architecture and design that is more glass than stone- a testament to the wealth of local regents in the past, and a decent place to visit, even while wet.
Our first stop was a Well Dressing, a traditional (although almost unheard of outside of Derbyshire) festival in which the wells of a town are decorated for the coming of spring. Tissington is the most famous, drawing tens of thousands of visitors, but we instead opted for Milford's maybe 50 spectators and a few pints. This year's theme was SPACE, THE FINAL FRONTIER, and the 'traditional' dancers did their best to dress the part. Taking cues from Dr Who (superfamoustv show here that's been running for 30 years- very scifi, very unwatched by the flat), they dressed up as famous characters from the show, and confused the hell out of the visiting Americans in the process. As noted, we grabbed a pint while Carol imbibed on some tea, thus the cause of countless stops at the loo. We paused for lunch at an old flour mill, before heading to Hardwick. We gazed upon tapestry after tapestry, almost fell into the HaHa, paid entirely too much to get into the Old Hall, and walked over cattle guards to look at the Stone Mason's building. Then it rained harder, I bought some crisps, and Ryan got soaked. Wandering in the gardens, practicing our awkward "No, Carol, you're a great driver... I'm always carsick...." smiles.My night concluded with LOST catchup with Hil and otherwise pointless insomnia.
Today, my cup hath runneth over with maternal love. Mom, Stepmama Cheryl, faux-momma Carol, Grandma Carol, yet another Grandma Carol, Grandma Peg, and of course the vicarious maternal waves brought through the flat via the life lessons, motherly advice, and otherwise subtle motherly hints that radiate from each flat member. The phone was white hot today, and mothers across the Midwestern United States cooed with motherly love as each flatmate took his or her time to do some long distance wellwishing. Top off the evening with a Carol-centric Mother's Day tea, and my study habits were as good as busted. Happy Mother's DAY! Needless to say, I woke up at noon and did some 'preliminary research' for a paper due Thursday, all while dreading tomorrow's lecture, a Novel test on Tuesday, and a TV final on Friday. Just when I became jaded from hearing certain Lutheran College students bitching about papers and finals, the Week to End All Weeks appears to beat me senselessly into the rain soaked English soil.
The pressure is on. Without it, there's no motivation, nobody pushing me out of the plane. So it's a good thing, I tell myself, that this week will drain highlighters and render me sleep deprived and aching after having typed for 29 hours straight. It's the little things in life. Tomorrow will be ok- study novel, think about thesis, go to TV lecture, study some more. Tuesday? Aside from Novel test, Tuesday is a wash- (See also, Jim Gaffigan) " I have to study on my birthday?" It's not happening. So Wednesday it is... the Wednesday to end all Wednesdays. That's a lot of pressure, but if anyone can handle it, it's Wednesday.
Go ahead, ask it. It's on the tip of your tongue. Everyone else has, I'm surprised it's taken you this long...
You: "You excited to go back home?" Me: "Home? As in...." You: " You know, America... near Canada... speak English..." Me: "Oh, yeah, yeah right... America, sure.. Iowa, of course..." You: " Remember? Obesity, pricey prescription drugs, actual guns, Church?" Me: "Oh, yeah...No, I remember... I was just distracted by the sounds of ice cream trucks outside and rain on the sunroof.." You: " Rain? What's that like? England must suck with all that crappy weather!" Me: "Yeah... aside from the lack of winter.... Have I mentioned the daffodils in February?" You: "And the food.... it must be awful!" Me: "Best Indian food you'll ever have... Where did that rumor about bad food start?" You: "So when's the flight?"
(and scene)
I'm not sure how I feel right now. You know where dead babies used to go when they died, babies that were not baptised yet, but old enough to be racked with the oppressive guilt of original sin? The place that existed before the Pope got rid of it last month? Limbo was it?
Yeah... I feel like I'm in limbo. I won't try to assign the labels of 'hell' or 'purgatory' or 'semi-heaven' to each locale (although Kevin Costner would be quick to point out that Iowa has a head start in the Heaven department)... There is a very strange, looming quality about the end of the journey. I dread leaving most because at times I honestly can't remember what home is like. I remember it, but the details are exaggerated. Things are bigger, smaller, more impressive, more depressing than they actually are. My schema (philosophy majors?) are out of whack. My comparisons no longer include only Chicago, Decorah, Minneapolis, Colorado (yes, I realize this is a state), and Des Moines. My experiences are not limited to one continent or even one hemisphere. At the risk of sounding like the cocky bastard I'm dreading I've become, it's very possible that A) I'll feel insignificant and small back in Iowa, or B) I'll come to regret the things I did not take advantage of here in Notts.
I don't mean to say that Iowa is easy to forget, or that all of my life experiences are slipping away, but for the past year, this is all I've known. It's even at the point where, when looking at old pictures from this fall, I can hardly remember it- It's like in the opening credits of Duck Tales when the brick bridge starts collapsing as they run across it- I'm outpacing my past, but only fast enough to not fall into the lava. I would say that I'm verging on 'too deep', but the reference to Duck Tales has to take it down a few notches. I'm afraid of Hobbit Syndrome... a aptly named disorder first discussed in Florence with Aaron and Hilary in which, after destroying the ring and returning to the 'shire, Frodo and his hobbity friends share a bond between themselves- a bond forged in life-threatening battle, journeys no man has ever seen, etc- but completely unknown by the barmaids, town drunks, or other friends from the past. Will we become hobbits, so engrossed in our past experiences that we can't take things for what they are, or will we (like the jolly brave hobbit who approaches the barmaid with new found confidence after his worldly travels) take life by the proverbial horns and suck the marrow out of its bony...worldness... ? Time will tell... 24 days time to be exact. (not that anyone's counting) ::UPDATE:: Hilary has just informed me that schema, as used earlier in the post, is actually a term used in psychology. I'll keep it as 'philosophy' for the sole purpose of maintaining a sort of realism that only mistakes can provide.... leave it to future textual criticism to figure out which word I actually meant....
This is what HAPPENED when 9 students from the middle of nowhere WERE picked to live in a flat in the middle of Nottingham, England.
This is what HAPPENED when people stopped being polite, and start being REAL.
This WAS Luther- Nottingham Campus, 2006-2007
...And now I'm back.
-Yeovil plays sloppy, but manage to score in first half. Forest hold 2-0 lead in series (2 games, one at each home stadium), so must not lose by 3 in order to move on to next round.
-Forest playing like shit. Score in second half to force overtime. Overtime not good. Yeovil score right away. We score soon thereafter. Force second overtime. Yeovil score. Our fans cry on way out. Very emotional.
Other hilarious things to note? Lucas LookALike, #12... bald, short, fast as hell.... the guy was tenacious, and made me smile.
