londonbythesea

I'm no Shawn. I'm pissed, and I can't type. So this may take a while for me to type. But not for you to read. Which I think is a con. So she's mouthy, cocky, and thinks she's Marilyn. She thinks she's Marilyn.

"Do you like her?"
"I don't think she likes me... Apparently, you don't think she likes me."
"She didn't at first, because her mate was a prick, and kept touching my balls and he was being a bell-end to you, and we had a blazing row about it, but now she really likes you."
(somehow I doubt it)
"But she doesn't talk to me. She'd much rather talk to Casey..."
"Yeah I've noticed that too,"
"That's because she doesn't like me,"
(and also because Casey is remarkably good at feigning interest)
"No, she does. You don't like her do you(?)"
"She's really nice," (cop out) "I think she's really nice..."
"..."
"... She's just... a bit young,"
"Yeah."
"Seventeen? That's young."

So everybody else pipes in. Even Will, who I thought would be desperate to shag her at the first opportunity. In fact, Will sparked it all off by saying "I don't really like her." Good old Will. Sillly (young) tart.

Also, I don't like the Spanish, especially girls. On the nightbus tonight, there were two Spanish students sitting behind me, and in the face of gargantuan xenophobia, I asked them about where they were from: "Remember your girlfriend," they said. I always do. But I worry about her in your poxy country. ONLY JOKING. I know Americans don't know what irony is. Po'yanks.

Finally, to any readers, I apologise for my overuse of cidillas(?) and punctuation in general - I'm a tosser. Good night.

"Apparently you were a bit drunk". It got messy. By ten I'd already had nine pints. We went to Flares. A terrible place. But I think I had a good night. I remember telling myself that I'd not done anything particularly embarassing, but I don't trust my drunk self. I just can't remember very much at all. But afterwards, I walked back to Jenny's and had a cup of tea, and we fell asleep on the settee, and Kristina fell asleep on the floor. I woke up this morning at about 9, still sitting up on the settee. I thought about going downstairs to wake up Jimbo who still has revision to do, but thought better of it, so I just walked home and went back to bed. I guess everyone had a good night. Oddly enough, I didn't meet Gobshite in the pub - he was hanging out with his archaeology buddies. But he just happened to be in Flares. I tried to fix him up with some girl I thought he told me he liked. He didn't. He thought she was a hound. It was her mate he was after. Whoops.

Current Mood: confused

So that's my University of Sheffield career over. Just sat my last exam a couple of hours ago. Next stop Oklahoma. Quite strange, really. Doesn't feel like I've 'finished', but I guess that since I was only going into to uni for a couple of hours a week anyway, there's not much to be missed. Except that I know I'm going to miss Sheffield with its bars and kebab shops and buddies and everything... So while I'm not yet reminiscing, it must be time to do something worth reminiscing about. In half an hour, Gobshite will finish his archaeology exam, and we'll organise a pub rendezvous. It'll be just the two of us since nobody else has finished yet. This could get messy...

I should've known. The Broomhill Friery is so popular that the other two have given up. They don't give a shit about food poisoning. Avoid them at all costs. Don't buy two pieces of 'Southern fried chicken' with potato wedges. It went down fine. Tasty, even. The wedges had an unsettling taste of chicken fat about them, but.... nyaaaa. 6 o'clock this morning, I awake to find myself covered in sweat and very, very cold. My stomach turning somersaults. Without going into savage detail, I had to wait for it to calm down before I could sleep again. It was being very noisy. I know sometimes your stomach grumbles when you're hungry, but this was really something else. It was screaming. It still hurts. But I hate throwing up.

So Adie was fucking wasted. We were on our way from a Tuesday at the Leadmill. Gobshite wasn't there to dispute it, but Chris stayed out of the Devonshire Chippy after claiming that food poisoning was a real possibility. He also claims that he can't drink, but he'd had as much as Adie, and still kept a straight line, or so it seemed to me. Some time ago (between one month and three years) Jimbo had asked them in the Devonshire Chippy if they shifted many spam fritters, and they asked him to leave. We all thought this was very funny, and Adie thought he'd repeat it tonight. We all got what we wanted - kebabs and battered sausages and chips covered in vinegar, and then Adie, swaying, said "Excuse me," and pointing at the heater/cabinet thing, said "could you just point out which ones are the spam fritters." They didn't look impressed and said "No." Adie asked if they'd sold many that night, and they asked us to leave again. I bet they get that a lot.

But I'd side with Gobshite - I once bought a battered sausage and chips, and so did he. I turned around and dropped mine on the mat on the way in. Shit. So, Gobshite in a rare act of extreme benevolence picked it up and gave me his battered sausage. "'Ere y'are, cowboy." If you don't get food poisoning from the mat, I reckon you're safe enough. Just stay away from the Chilli con carne and chips.

I passed too. Which was nice. Now I need to get my car. Which is approximately 250 miles to the south of me. But first I must visit young Casey in the Fatherland. And before that, I need to get up at 4:30am tomorrow for a 5:30am train to Newcastle. But before that, I need to get a ticket on the door for Supergrass, the best band Britain has ever produced (with the possible exception of the Kinks).

You know, I really think that a frailed banjo played in a minor key is about the most sinister sounding instrument out there. Rwally bitter, harsh, stark and desolate... and ultimately sinister. Like if you've seen 'Unforgiven' with Clint Eastwood, and it's been a long time since I have, but I seem to remember that's got some pretty sparse, harsh parts. Like when he leaves his kids to look after themselves, and I think the sky's heavily overcast. I might be making this up because I've only seen it once. Anyway, the point is... I can do it! See, there's two main ways to play a banjo:- Scruggs style, or bluegrass, which is like picking a guitar with two fingers and a thumb; and frailing, or clawhammer style, which (this is really for Wade, by the way) is quite unique. It involves the 'bum-titty strum'. You only use the nail of one finger and your thumb. You don't pick like a guitar. Instead you use the back (or front?) of one fingernail. You strike the string as opposed to picking it. And you play chords, which you don't really do in bluegrass style. I guess frailing's more adaptable to different kinds of music for the most part, since it's a bit like rythym guitar, whereas bluegrass involves picking a separate string for each quaver, in general. So while bluegrass might be easier for guitar players to pick up immediately, it's much harder to write parts for bluegrass banjo. Fascinating stuff, but it's MY journal, Casey, so up yours.

And I've got my driving test tomorrow morning.

So I've invested in a microphone/earpiece job so i can talk to Casey for free all day long, and my microphone port's knackered. It works, but there's a hideous hum. Any ideas on how to clean a 3.5mm jack port? Tried a few things, but only carefully - don't wanna make it worse. Normally you can just put the lead in and take it out again very quickly and repeat that for a while and that does the job, but not in this case. Also, I've been well ill. Dr. Wado - the worst headache of my life last night (hangovers included) became even worse this morning. It was around the back of my head and made my eyes twitch and want to stay open when I was trying to get to sleep. It also spread to my neck, which then seemed to become the source of the pain, the back of my neck. It got even worse when I woke up this morning. What is this shit, Dr. Wado? Oh, and I know it's no diagnosis and all that shit, but let's just say hypothetically that someone had a gun to your head and wanted your opinion on what you thought it was likely to be and all that shit... blah blah blah.

I'm thinking it's gonna whizz by which is both good and bad. Good because I'm excited about it, but bad because I'll hardly be able to clear my overdraft let alone earn some actual money. To my knowledge, we don't really do graduation presents over here. Which is a shame.

I just made some corn tortillas for enchiladas I'm meant to be cooking for Gobshite in the week. They good, but we don't have masa harina. So as an adequate substitute (but by no means more), I used 2 cups of maize meal to a little over 1/2 cup of plain flour. Worked out quite well.

I went to bed at 6:30 this morning. It's been years since I've done that. I haven't seen the Sun that early in the morning since... I don't remember when. Probably since I was 19. It's not something I plan to get into. But I really appreciate my sweetheart answering the phone at her 5 in the morning and listening to me for 2 1/2 hours. It was a good party.

The review's not been moving as fast as it should have. It's been halted the past few days as a result of too much boozing, but I'm thinking I'm saving it all up for Wednesday now - Liverpool are playing Chelsea. Scousers always feel hard done by, apparently. I think I agree with Boris Johnson. A scouser was moaning about 'Saint Lampard' last night, the man of the season. What's the difference between a scouser and Batman? Batman can go out without Robin.

I seem to have an unquenchable thirst today. Very strange. I don't want to wash up. It's OK, but you have to stand while you do it. Heather Hendershot is scary-looking. Derren Brown is about the most amazing thing I've ever seen. He can ask people to hand over their wallet/phone/keys seemingly voluntarily. If he weren't such a nice bloke he could be a terrible menace to society.

Sometimes yuo just want to be old and honest. Normally when you're terribly hungover. It seems so appealing sometimes.

"Isn't she looooooooooovely". I despise that song. It's been living in my head for about a week.

Current Mood: drained

Essays blow. Especially when you're not all that intersted in what you're writing about. Critically compare discourses of racism and citizenship between Germany and Portugal. Too specific for me, I think. I'd rather be general and maybe illustrate some points by using Germany, and possibly even Portugal. But to write the whole sodding thing about these two countries with very limited (and for the most part, extremely boring) resources... This sucks. And to top it all, my buddy just called to say he's going to the pub because it's such a lovely sunny day, and would I join him. Shit. I'm knackered already... brain's dead. It's only 3:20pm. Savage. Wish my essay was done. I've given up trying to get a decent mark for it. Just gonna do it and hopefully do better in the exam. Feel pressure. Must get essay done before going to Germany. Then I've got a 15 page son of a bitch waiting for me when I get back (that's 20 pages to all you namby-pamby-double-line-spacing-yankee-types), and THEN I've got my very final exam. And then I'm done. I'm looking forward to that. I've tried selling a guitar on ebay. There's about 3 hours left and it still hasn't received a single bid. I don't get it. £60 is cheap as! Guess there's not much demand for fairly non-descript George Washburns at the moment. Good job I've got a highly descript one then. A twelve-string electro-acoustic son of a bitch, the standard six string version of which has been used by the likes of Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Joe ELy (can you believe that? Washburns are po'man's guitars). No paragraphs. No energy. Rambling. Rambling is so therapeutic. I'm almost starting to feel better already. You know when you relax all your muscles? This is like relaxing the brain muscle.... Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh..... I'm so glad I'm not Shawn and I don't have anyone to entertain on here and don't have to think at all about whatever I'm writing. This is relaxing. I want a beer. Alas I can't. Distorts the brain. Portuguese immigrants. Bastards. Why can't the Germans leave the sodding Turks alone anyway? Mugs. I can't type the noise I want to make. How frustrating. It goes a bit like 'Phew', but without the 'ew' part. Sort of like a big sigh when you puff out your cheeks. That's how I feel. *sigh* Like the sort of sigh just before you say 'Shit' because you're in disbelief. Rambling. I love it.

Current Mood: wigged out

And I finished and handed my dissertation. 34 pages of crap.

What a bitch. I wrote an entry yesterday, but my keyboard packed up halfway through, so I couldn't finish it, nor be arsed to continue. All I was gonna say was that it's St. Patrick's day today, a day I've never celebrated before. But today, all that changes. We're going to drink and have a few bets on the horses, and tonight it's Fuzz time with Big Dan. Which means I'm going to have a very painful hangover tomorrow. I need to try and stay sober enough to pace myself rather than going at it hell for leather as soon as I get into the pub. This is no ordinary day.

So I guess it's official. I received word yesterday that the geography faculty at OU have decided to accept me onto the MA programme, and are offering me a 2 year teaching assistantship. Sweet. I haven't received the paperwork yet though, just an email, so I'm not sure about the EXACT details of it. But I believe that in addition to some degree of salary, I will also receive a tuition waiver, which would of course be very helpful indeed.

In other news, I've been out on the piss too much, and my dissertation is now due in under a week. It's still unfinished. And I need to leave enough time to do the appendix and list the references and have it bound and everything.

And maybe this is why we young men and women of the UK got messed up growing up:

http://rainbow.arch.scriptmania.com/rainbow_tv_episode.html

That's not a banjo!! It's a uke-banjo, or a mando-banjo... A manjo or ukejo. Who knows? I could play it if I knew what it tuned to, but I don't actually 'play it', heavens no. Point is, me mum's got me cleaning windows today.

I think I'm going to like Tom Waits. Looking for the heart of Saturday night is a right choon.

Also, I went to GAK yesterday and played on a real banjo. Low action, resonator on the back, slippery strings, all things that a poor chimney-sweep such as myself can only dream of. At last, I can say that some good workmen have shit tools, for although I was without fingerpicks, I could still pick that son of a beta (nod to who,Wade?) better than my current instrument. I wonder if I could intentionally warp the neck to lower the action. Guess it would go horribly out of tune. But maybe it's bowed and needs it. The action's scarily high, and it stops me from picking too fast. Also, I want to make the strings wet again. I wonder if sunflower oil would work...

Anyone who hasn't already, download and play (on repeat, if you like) Foggy Mountain Breakdown by Earl Scruggs. In addition to this, downlaod Tower Song by Townes Van Zandt... And what else... Straight and Her, both by Richard Buckner; She Ain't Going Nowhere by Guy Clark; Za and Sitting Up Straight by Supergrass; Time for Heroes and Up the Bracket by The Libertines. These are coming in pairs now. I must stop this.

What a lovely Christmas. Apart from screaming children. The serenity of having Casey around was today replaced by yet more screaming children. It's 9:40pm. When I was six, I was never allowed to stay up this late, except on Boxing Day, and probably New Year's. But I don't feel so good. So I'm going to leave. I tried. And failed. Bored as all shit.

Hangover.

Went drinking last night, forgetting that I had a lecture this morning. I don't know how. I have the same lecture every week, so how did I forget that I had it today? Well, I did. I completely forgot all about it. And went out drinking. Ironically, it was only when I was well pissed that I remembered that I had a lecture in the morning. So I went home singing away to myself, and set my alarm - in that over-optimistic drunken "I can do anything" fashion - for 8:45am. Savage. I was awoken by Uncle Tupelo's "Graveyard Shift"... A nice, gentle start to my hangover. I got up and felt terribly sick, pissed my own body weight, and went back to bed, turning No Depression way down Watson. Fell asleep on and off, checked the clock occasionally. Decided I'd take the bus. If I's to walk, I'd have to leave at 9:30, so I decided to get the 9:45 bus instead. Drank a pint of squash in 2 seconds flat. Put on clothes. Left. Watch said bus came 2 minutes ago. It hadn't. So I made it. Well, I was a couple of minutes late, but who cares. And I still have a hangover. But it's OK. It's medicinal - Dr. Wado told me that 8 or 9 beers would cure my headache. It's not working yet though. Maybe I should give it another go. Had fajitas for breakfast. Piss poor effort at fajitas, anyway, but you can't complain about having a full belly on £2.10. Got mumps jab too.

The Guardian says that our culture is retreating into an infantile state. I couldn't agree more. Why is it that most people are so childish these days? I think it's because people try to grow up too fast. 12 year olds think they're grown men until they get savagely mugged for their lunch money. But yes. I can agree. Our culture caters for fucking irritating, immature morons. Even the bars and clubs do. There's just no sophistication or tact in the public sphere anymore. It's all about getting pissed and laid and hating your job. Nobody does anything they like doing in the daytime. Nobody has an 'honest trade' that they enjoy. I mean, some do, but not many. Most people seem to work in mobile phone shops and the like. And I'm not talking about 18 year olds here. I think we're just too spoiled. Like spoiled children. And that's what's catered for by "society".

And another thing... I saw a fucking Socialist Worker Party flyer. It's for a meeting that took place last night called "Can Iraqi resistance defeat US Imperialism?" and it had a cartoon picture of some guy looking every-inch the real hero-rebel that loony lefties so aspire to be, shooting an American flag with a Kalashnikov (excuse spelling). I saw an advert the other day that goes on about some controversial TV programme, and they say things like "Nation" and have a picture of a white skinhead with an England shirt on, that sort of thing. Well, one of them goes "Greed" and it has a picture of a cowboy. I was outraged. I said "Let's have 'Crime' and stick a picture of a black guy up there as well". Fucking ridiculous. You can't escape prejudice by shifting it onto someone who appears to be in a better position to deal with it. That's not what it's all about. So the moral of the story is... Why can't people leave Americans alone? I feel genuinely sorry for you. People just don't like you because you have a dickhead in charge of your country. Well, I guess that suggests that the majority of your country supports a dickhead. But nobody ahs any sympathy for the poor sods that don't. Blaming the USA [read "Americans"] is the easy way out. Europeans try to feel that their countries can do no wrong - it's all America's fault. To a degree, I agree with them. The US's foreign policy is shoddy. But let's not pretend that Chirac is the nicest guy in the world either. Nor is the little revolutionary with the Kalashnikov. Wankers. What am I talking about?

OK. So here's a riddle:

When you push me, it normally takes one step back.
Sometimes when you push me, it gets shunted forward.
What am I, and what is it?

PS. Nobody will ever get this. I don't know where I got it from.

I've had a headache for three days now. At least. It's weird headache. Not like a standard headache, or a hangover headache, or even a migraine. But a dull throbbing pain emanating from the back-left of my neck and into the back of my head. Ever been on a ride at the funfair and gone upside down and laughed and felt all the blood in your head make it feel like it would burst? That's what's going on here. Maybe I need glasses. What does doctor Wado think? Think I should go to the doctor? Seems like hard work, does that. Have to phone up before 9am on the day to get an appointment. Else you're fucked till the next day. Savage, really.

And I'll tell you what else is savage. Money. Or lack of it. I don't have a job and my student loan for this semester's about done. And Christmas is coming, but I've not bought much yet. And young Taryn will be joining me for the festive period, and needless to say, I'll be trying to entertain her for the duration. But it all takes green. "This is a pretty green/this is society/you can't do nothing un/less it's in the pocket, oh no." I don't like those lines. My head's thumping. The bastard.

I think 'society' is such a terrbile word. I'd like to say it's over-used, and maybe it is. But I guess it's an important word and needs to be over-used. But it's such a vague word. People always 'blame society' and talk about 'society' but what are they talking about? I HATE it when people say "It's society's fault." Who the fuck is society? I like to use the word when talking about particular societies - things that are not quite 'real', but are least definite - but not in that arbitrary, nebulous way most idiot-students use it. They do my bloody head in. Society.

Now what else.... Watched Arsenal V Man Utd last night. Carling Cup quarter finals so no one gives a shit. Both fielded their shitty, childlike reserve teams. What a waste of an evening and of precious money. Comes to something when you have to watch when you spend your money on the same thing. What I mean is, last night I spent £4 on three beers in front of a shit game of football that I thought might be quite good. As a result, I was bored. I'd've been better off going to the pub quiz tonight and spending the same amount on the same beers and having more fun. Yes. I am skint. I need a job. Back to the bookies after Christmas. But then I have to deal with moody, rough, tough, burly Northerners. Wankers.

Yes. Back to the grindstone. Papers to write. Lots and lots of work this year. Critically examine the concept of 'rural community'. Devise an election strategy for a political party of your choice. etc. There seem to be some pretty obvious answers to most subjects, so why make such a big deal out of it? I don't really know about the USA, but the reason we have shit government after shit government is because people are all all happy to piss and moan about stuff, but they'll never actually do anything about it. They can't be arsed. They've got more pressing things to think about, like who's going to win "The X Factor". And how do you get around that? I think they only way for a party to get lots of bvotes that don't really matter would be to do something outrageous. Like employ Jordan and have her stand naked at a press conference. And call your party something like "The Muddafuckin' Krew". Arbitrary.

Good news is... I might be coming back to Oklahoma.... Yay!

I'm bored as FCUK to quote a terrible designer label. I'm in Deutschland, in Casey's room, and she's had to go out to do some work, and so I'm bored. I've got work to do. I've done a bit. But I can't be arsed with that anymore, So I tidied her room up a bit. Did a bit more work. Still bored. Come on, Casey. She must be coming soon. It's now 2:35pm, and she's got a class at 4pm, so if she doesn't come back soon, then she won't be able to come back before her class. And then she won't be back till about 6pm. That doesn't even bear thinking about. It'd be OK if I felt better, but I'm hungry and tired and I can't be arsed to do work. I'd like to go for a walk, but I haven't got a key to get back in. Sucks. Anyway. I didn't come here to whinge. I came here for something to do...

Germany's alright. I quite like it. Germans seem pretty militant about public order and not fucking up using public transport, but it's OK. On the train yesterday, and old couple were bickering near me. The man looked at me and raised his eyebrows and chuckled as he said something in German. I laughed politely in that terribly weak way, hoping it would end there. But then his wife chipped in, and before I knew it, I was immersed in German. So the only way to stop it all was to say "Ich verstehe nicht," at which the old man frowned, and shrugged, and they carried on talking to one another.

Last night we went to the bar - "Murphy's Law" with Casey's friends. They all seem like nice people. The beer's pretty good. A lot more expensive than I'd hoped, though. I mean really expensive. I spent 35 Euros last night on drinks and dinner... In a pub! I guess it works out the same as if I were in England, but I was hoping for a cheap holiday sort of thing - like in the USA. Anyway, I got pissed, and it got me bad because I woke up at 6am yesterday after 5 hours of sleep, and didn't even get a nap. Very stressful. So we came home and pretty much passed out early on. I couldn't bring myself to get up and brush my teeth. Terrible. I didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night, either. Woke up 8:45am (PS. Wade - I'm picking your pubes out of Casey's keyboard *Shudder*). Haven't napped yet. Maybe I should just sleep till she comes home...