easy acess

In the hostel in Newcastle, Dave and I met a group of guys drinking beers and eating in the kitchen. One or two of them were from Australia, one was from Ireland, and one was from Britain. They were really pleasant and welcoming. They had all just met each other a few days before.

I talked to all of them, but I ended up talking with the man from Britain the most. I think his name was Robin, and he works in a gym in Bristol. Somehow, we got on the subject of Stella Artois, and how in the US it is marked as a classy beer, whereas in Europe it is nothing special. Robin told us that in the ‘80s, it was called ‘the wife beater’ beer because it had some ingredient in it that made guys go a little crazy. Robin himself stays away from Stella, because it makes him feel a bit funny.

We got on to the subject of movies, specifically ‘80s science fiction movies and Bill Paxton. Robin was very enthusiastic about this subject. He quoted several Paxton lines, including, ‘game over man, game over,’ and ‘well why don’t you put her in charge then?’ (both from Aliens). I told him he should watch A Simple Plan. We both agreed, Bill Paxton is good at being pathetic.

Later in the night, this attractive German girl that Robin obviously wanted remarked that the top button on his pants was undone. I keep them that way for easy access, he said. Paramedics are underpaid and I want to save them time should something happen. It could mean that they could move on faster to save another life, he explained. I added: it’s like how I have down on my driver’s license that I’m an organ donor, so I can save lives.

A while later, Dave and I challenged another guy and a girl to a game of pool, but I went upstairs for a while and lost track of time. When I got down, Dave was in bad shape, but I was able to clean things up a little bit. One of the Australians was talking to these two scantily-clad women about a club called ‘club sin.’ I said to the two women, you two look like you must be familiar with club sin. Surprisingly, I got away with it, and they just laughed. When I went upstairs, I told Robin about what’d I said. Oh, those girls? They’re from Essex. Jack the Ripper always went for girls from Essex, and that bastard had good taste, Robin informed me.

When we went out, it was noted by several people that I looked like Napoleon Dynamite. Much later in the night, when we were back at the hostel, I put my head out the window to call to Dave who was outside in the smoking are, and some bro again remarked that I look like NP. Well, I gave him some attitude, and for the rest of the night he was nice to me. I guess my glasses just don’t always translate well. You can’t win them all. That’s what my friend Amanda often says, or some variation thereof.

'the sports'

Very often I’ll ask my flatmate Sebastion what he did with himself over the weekend, and he’ll respond by saying he did ‘the sports.’ Likewise, when I return from a run, he’ll ask if I just got back from doing ‘the sports.’ Apparently, as far as althetic activities go, Germans do not make any distinctions—anything from jogging to swimming to soccer or even going to a sauna falls under ‘the sports.’ We asked Dave’s German friend Christoph about this (who, I should add, refers to his math homework as ‘the maths’) and he confirmed that in German, there is only one word that refers to althetic activity. I did try to explain the difference between playing a sport and exercising to Sebastion, but he continues to use his catch all phrase ‘the sports.’

Scottish bros

Last night we went to a flat party in the apartment above Dave’s. The building has mostly students in their first year—except for the exchange students like Dave—so it was very reminiscent of my early days at Hampshire. In fact, some of them are even younger than the average first year at Hampshire. The party was very loud and rowdy, I was reminded of a party with the Frisbee team, except there was a lot more hair gel. In think they were basically English bros. I don’t understand how English girls put up with all that hair gel.

One the guys with an especially excessive amount of hair gel was talking about his 18th birthday that had just passed. Apparently, his friends took him out to a strip club and he got so drunk he climbed up on the stage. The stripper poured hot wax down his pants and, so these group of guys said, every time his friends yelled out she lit his ass on fire with sambuca. These Scotsman, they rage hard.

Well, not long into the evening, I realized that I was really in no shape to be going out. At the time, I tried to ignore it, but now it is obvious to me that I was terribly feverish, as I was having hot and cold spells, and feeling generally lethargic. Luckily, I didn’t drink too hard.

When we got back, I went straight to bed. I woke up countless times during the night soaked in sweat, but I soon as I got out of my sleeping bag to use the bathroom, I got the shivers. At one point, I awoke from a dream about being alienated in the United Kingdom, and when I got to the bathroom, there was a huge truck tire in the shower. That was really disconcerting.

Today I had a fried mars bar.

golfing

I went to a club again yesterday in Edinburgh. I don’t know why. I was, and still am, suffering from a fairly severe cold. When I wanted to talk to people, I had to yell very loud, and nearly every time my voice broke. That was awkward. Several times, this girl complimented me on my glasses and asked to try them on. At one point, I ran into her later in the night and she took them to show to her friend. This was all very flattering, but I would’ve appreciated being engaged in a conversation. Again, the problem seems to be that I just don’t understand clubbing. I don’t understand clubbing the way I don’t understand golfing. Going clubbing for me is kind of like if I were to enter a golf tournament, except probably worse. Maybe I need to start using drugs. That’s the ticket.

Before we went to the club, however, I had a very nice time meeting Dave’s friends. We talked about v-necks, because I thought Dave’s German friend Christoph was wearing a uni qlo v, but it turns out it was another brand. Also, Dave’s friend Helen has the same v-neck that both Dave and I have, and she wore it out.

Sometimes I wonder if I write about the right kinds of things in here. I wonder if, in five or ten years, I’ll look back at this blog and think, ‘Damn, why couldn’t I have done a travel blog?’

Today Dave and I were walking home and I saw a construction worker using some sort of of vehicle with a jackhammer attached to it. He was using it to break up some stone on the street and for some reason that image was satisfying. I said, "I could have fun doing that for a few hours." I lack ambition.

Florence

When I got home tonight, I noticed that there was still a pot of soup from a few days ago left on the stove—it’s my host mother Florence’s soup, she seems to live off of vegetable soup. My host mother hates living with me and my other flat mate Sebastian. She has told us both on several occasions that she will never again host people. She often says, “It’s impossible (c’est impossible)” or “I don’t understand anything anymore (je ne comprends plus rien)” or “I can’t take it anymore (je ne peux plus le supporter).” Very often I will be alone in the apartment, and then she comes back and I hear her cursing or talking to herself. “Shit” or “fuck,” (in French though) she’ll say to herself. This worries me very much, because I think I’m somehow responsible for whatever she is angry about. One morning this happened, and since I was groggy and hungover, I decided to approach her and find out what was the matter. I found her in the kitchen. Immediately, to try and make myself look good, I started cleaning. Well, she complained about us not keeping the kitchen clean enough and not taking out the garbage, etc. However, she said that in fact I am rather discreet and clean, and she put most of the blame on my flat mate Sebastian. She said that he is “lourde” (which literally means heavy, although I think she meant to say that he is dense) and German. I also mentioned to her that I think the three of us should eat together one night, so that we can perhaps discuss the living arrangements so living together can be more agreeable. She said she does not want to eat with the German. Well, I think I am right in suspecting a little bit of prejudice here on Florence’s part.
Well, what I’m getting at is that, in terms of my own cleanliness, well, I base it on her cleanliness. Today, when I opened up the lid to the soup pot left by her, all I saw was a congealed, moldy substance. What is this supposed to mean? If she can get away with that, I ought to be able to be a little lazy about recycling my beer bottles. Or am I supposed to clean out the moldy pot? I don’t want to deal with that shit.

desperados, boners

Today I ran into a girl from my high school who is studying in Paris. She is one of these people who really just loves Paris. She's what one might call someone who would have a travel blog.

Later in the evening I went to Dave’s uncle’s apartment in the Montparnasse and we took a run. I had to take a cold shower because the hot water wasn’t working. Afterwards, we ate dinner with Jackie, Amanda, and Nicola. Well, I will say again, that I enjoy spending time with these girls, in fact I told them that I was considering devoting an entry just to them. I’m not going to do that now, I don’t want to flatter them too much and inflate their egos. Perhaps if they flatter me a bit, and inflate my ego, then I’ll devote an entry to them. Well, look, I suspect that at least one of them is reading this entry, so I’ll say that an entry about them is warranted, and they’ll get it sooner or later.

Well, I had some more desperados today. On the metro, I was drinking one. A young man and his attractive girlfriend (young men with attractive girlfriends are quite common, I should add) sat down in the seats next to us, and after a few stops he asked me, in a somewhat broken English, to see the desperado bottle, so that he could prove to his attractive girlfriend that a desperado is a French beer. I gave it to him and he showed it to her, then he handed it back. A while later, I was on the phone with Jared and I had to tell him what stop to get off at. When I said ‘Bonne Nouvelle’ Amanda made fun of my accent, so I told Jared to get off at ‘boner nouvelle.’ Well, this French guy, he thought that was really funny.