17 again

i am finishing up my two-year-long substitute teaching career this week, and i am thrilled to be almost done. as i sit here in freshmen geography listening to 15-year-olds debate the merits of the death penalty, i can actually feel my brain dissolving into a pool of useless goo. except for the $400 worth of electronic equipment in the backpack of each pubescent moron, i am constantly amazed at how little has changed in the world of high school since i attended 15 years ago.

Erin and i went and watched the movie 17 Again last night, and i realized that, not only do i have no desire to re-live the late 90s, but even if i had an opportunity to "do it all over again" nothing would be that different. you would look as you did when you were 17, you would be treated the same way, the kids are in the same cliques with the same insults and insecurities. everything would seem tedious and dull, again.

you would know better and you're smarter, but that would just cause a severe case of claustrophobia and frustration. and being smarter than a high school student doesn't help people relate to high school students. if it did, maybe parents would have better relationships with their teens. i think the only part of me that apparently doesn't mind being 17 again is my chin, since i've had more zits in the last month than i have had in 11 years.

just thinking about going back seems sad and depressing. if high school was the highest point in your life, what does that make the rest of your life? you wouldn't even want to seduce the captain of the football team anymore because he would be SEVENTEEN, and the thought of sex with a 17-year-old child makes most sane people cringe. and if you are insane, and that barely legal action still appeals to you, talk about the most disturbing, awkward, skinny, fumbling, 15 seconds of your life.

many of us had great fun in high school, because we were 17 for the first and only time. there is a reason we're not a bunch of benjamin buttons. keep moving forward, folks. from what i've heard, things keep getting better and better. well, at least 45 seconds better, anyway.

going legit, sort of

i am getting a job. it's a semi-fake job, but it is a job. something i can do to give my life a little bit more structure and a little bit less of watching entire television series between going to paris and going to the gym. sure, i still plan on going to paris and going to the gym, but now those in-between hours will be filled with work (i would call it 'paid' work, but it is barely paid) instead of Weeds.

some people do fine in a world without structure. they make projects for themselves, cultivate an active social life, volunteer, and do all manner of other activities. i am really struggling in this structureless environment. i am volunteering, coaching, subbing, travelling, finishing up my master's degree, keeping things organized at home, studying spanish, and still i find hours where i feel a little bit unorganized, unmotivated, and uninspired. is getting a job the answer? i have no idea.

what i do know is this: the grass is always greener. you always want what you can't have. and all things in moderation. i've had too much of this free-time gluttony for now. it's time to take a job, if for nothing else to give me the appreciation for what i once had.

the contest

i was asked if i thought i'd travelled more in these past two years than anyone else in my peer group. honestly, i think i've done pretty well, but when talking with most people around here, it seems we all travel quite a bit. i just tend to talk about it more and do it at regular intervals. i also tend to go to many cities in one trip.

because of my extreme Type A tendencies, i decided to start a running catalogue. my goal in moving to england was to go on one trip per month (average) hoping for 32-36 trips in three years. so far i am reaching those goals nicely. here is my tally so far -- number indicates overnight trip, cities during trip next to number, "A" for airport.

Updated Nov. 7, 2010

1. london
2. canterbury, dover
3. venice (A)
4. tonbridge, hever
5. sevilla, granada, marbella, nerja, gibraltar (A)
6. hong kong, chengdu, tongren (A)
7. k-town, portland (A)
8. dublin, cashel, killarney (A)
9. amsterdam (A)
10. brugge
11. rome (A)
12. edinburgh
13. mannheim
14. boleslawiec (A)
15. naples (A)
16. prague (A)
17. dublin (A)
18. san francisco, santa rosa (A)
19. brugge
20. florence, pisa (A)
21. portland, k-town, boise, CDA, las vegas (A)
22. the cotswolds, stratford-upon-avon, warwick
23. rome, amalfi (A)
24. istanbul, ephesus, mykonos, santorini, crete, alexandria, gisa, corfu, olympia, athens (A)
25. stonehenge, salisbury (day trip)
26. zurich, lucerne, interlaken, murren (A)
27. provence (A)
28. bath
29. copenhagen (A)
30. madrid, segovia, avila, toledo (A)
31. london
32. paris
33. rothenburg, bavaria, munich (A)
34. wales
35. kas, turkey (A)
36. scotland (A)
37. yorkshire
38. boise (A)
39. normandy, brugge
40. heidelberg (A)
41. morocco (A)
42. krakow (A)
43. chiavenna, italy (A)
44. london
45. las vegas (A)
    
46. norway (A)
    
47. south africa, zambia (A)
    
48. washington, d.c., las vegas, oregon, road trip to north carolina (A)
    
49. romania (A)
50. red sea, egypt (A)
51. brugge
    

Open publication - Free publishing

brush with royalty

i've seen The Queen!

a few months ago, it was advertised in the local paper that the HM The Queen would be visiting BSE for Maundy Thursday, some random royal tradition where at a mid-morning cathedral church service she gives money to old people who do volunteer work. she gives little coin purses full of cash to as many men and women as years old she is (83 men, 83 women this year) on the Thursday before Easter.

i marked it in my diary, expecting my embossed invitation to arrive by royal courier. it never did. so i decided that i would try to go out and see her drive by, at the very least.

then the newspaper reported that there would be "very little" opportunity to see her, as she was popping in the church, crossing the street for lunch, and then back on the road for some other royal engagement. so i lost hope.

as i was cooking lunch this Maundy Thursday, i saw little girls and boys walking by my window with their teeny Union Jacks, headed home after having been flag-waving, loyal subjects when Q arrived. i put my dreams of seeing The Queen to bed.

an hour later I headed downtown to pick up my bike from the shop. and who should be rounding the corner in her black limo with the full Hot Fuzz escort? HM The Queen and The Duke of Edinburgh themselves! i stopped by the barricade and gave a wave, and she waved back! no shit, there were only me and a man and his son on our part of the street, and she waved at US!

of course i didn't have my camera. why would i have taken my camera to pick up my bike? doh!

a visit from the milkman

what perfect timing. i am home alone today and was beginning to be a bit sullen about it. oh, lonely, lonely me. when, "ding, dong," the milkman visits. now most of you sex-starved friends of mine would automatically jump to the conclusion that he was young and handsome, blue eyes, perfect smile. of course you'd imagine him wearing no shirt to show off his tanned biceps and chiseled six-pack. those abs developed from long days wrestling steers and bucking hay bales...hello? are you still paying attention? please remember that i live in england.

my milkman was a pudgy 40-something dude with bad teeth that was only interested in delivering fresh dairy milk to my door every other morning. despite my lack of physical attraction to this british milkman, i was so happy to finally sign up for milk deliveries. i am so charmed by england and its narrow streets, crooked houses, hedge-rowed-milkman-sporting countryside. it makes me want to give everyone a big smooch, except for my milkman. maybe the postman is cuter?

plaza del toros 2: the photos

great light this time of day, but i needed a better lens.
suit of lights. classic move.
to prove he's got a pair, the matador turns his back on the bull at least once. between the tight pants and the fact that he is in a ring with a 1200 lb. bleeding, angry animal, it isn't as if we need more proof.

the importance of reading Ernest; or should blogging be banned?

of course blogging shouldn't be banned. but there is an argument out there that blogging is creating lazy writers. take me, for example. i am supposed to be able to put out a press release or write a newspaper article without much effort. but after blogging for some months without doing those other things, i find that i am loathe to use correct grammar and seldom capitalize letters.

there is another argument that blogging is creating an army of people who think they are writers. a legion of bad writers who think they are good writers and who have equally bad writers as critics. critics who aren't even qualified to criticize what they, themselves, can't do.

i have always fancied myself competent with the pen when forced to turn a phrase, but competency and being a writer are two different things. that is why i think it is important to read good writing. read as much good writing as possible. then, as Ernest Hemingway writes, it becomes easy to spot a fake.

-- This too to remember. If a man writes clearly enough any one can see if he fakes. If he mystifies to avoid a straight statement, which is very different from breaking so-called rules of syntax or grammar to make an effect which can be obtained in no other way, the writer takes a longer time to be known as a fake and other writers who are afflicted by the same necessity will praise him in their own defense....incompentence in writing seeks to mystify where this is no mystery but is really only the necessity to fake to cover lack of knowledge or the inability to state clearly. -- Death in the Afternoon

now, i'm not talking about you people who don't think you are writers but are simply using the blog as a forum to keep in touch or post cute pictures of your kiddos. or those of you who obviously have no writing ambitions as every time i read your blog i suddenly wake up with a keyboard impression on my forehead, having nearly died from boredom. who am i talking about then? i am talking about you, and you know who you are, who, when you sit down at the keyboard, visualize your blog as the next Oprah's book club selection. you over explain. you use disgusting, sentimental language similar to that woman who wrote Twilight. you are all trying too hard, and not taking enough time to see what good writing really is.

to conclude, i am probably talking about me.

lips and assholes

having grown up in the country, i've had my share of cow tongue, bacon rind, frog legs, catfish, various livers, and even fresh-from-the-field Rocky Mountain Oysters. as i travel, i am brave but not stupid when sampling the local cuisine. i ate goat in china, shared a date bar with some students in egypt, tried tacos "carne" (meaning any sort of meat?) in mexico, and had one of those weird green eggs in hong kong. this week in Segovia, i was happy to add to my resume the lips of cow served with chorizo in a spicy sauce. i am going to steer clear of the assholes, unless you count the tail of bull and potatoes i had on thursday?