Pulling up roots

I've never really given much thought to where my family came from. Not really a history buff. I remember my sister doing a pretty nerdy geneology project that she subsequently leveraged into an even nerdier geneology hobby back when I was in middle school. I think it was discovered that Mark Twain and Babe Ruth are both not-too-distant relatives. Which explains a lot.

Being here, I have become slightly more curious, but still with an underlying air of indifference. I usually tell people I'm Swiss-German.

When I was in Germany a few weeks ago I wondered whether I was genetically predisposed towards liking the food. I also made note of how easy a time everyone was having with the pronunciation of my last name. I'm going to Switzerland in a few weeks -- maybe I'll have some more "A-ha" moments. I love those. Especially when my first reaction is: I'm a genius. And that reaction is immediately followed by another "A-ha" moment which is: You're not a genius - this is something you should've known or considered a long, long time ago.

We don't get French benefits?

Still can't think of a #20

It's a perfect fall day today and I have a bunch of fun plans this weekend.

My audience enjoys my misery

I got a note from my dear cousin Amy encouraging me to write more about (I'm paraphrasing) not having friends, being lonely and out of place, and the embarrassing and awkward situations I've gotten into recently, as opposed to (I'm paraphrasing) jet-setting, my successes pulling Swedish girls, professional and social accomplishments and how happy I am to be alive.

With pessimism in mind, here's what's making headlines:

1. It's still raining. Rain expected through the weekend. And then next week = more rain.
2. And it's cold.
3. Oh, and back on the subject of rain -- when it rains people here carry umbrellas (or 'brollies'), which can hurt people.
4. I'm pretty much over the cold sweating and violent redistribution of my insides as caused by the faux-Mexican tacos I enjoyed a few days ago.
5. Once, I asked this girl out and she totally said no.
6. I had a few meeting-free days earlier this week, so I didn't shave (or shower?). I also dressed down considerably. I probably looked pretty silly to those proper Londoners with their bespoke suits and top hats.
7. Rent here is really expensive.
8. But in order to live somewhere cheaper... I'll have to move. Which is never fun. And ends up being expensive.
9. When I think about it, I'm thousands of miles away from my mom. And any baked goods she may have produced recently.
10. Notre Dame will probably be losing again tomorrow.
11. Arsenal will probably be winning, but since I got scammed out of a season ticket, that's kind of bittersweet.
12. Foreign exchange, eh? It's really just beating me while I'm down. 2:1? and now 1.4:1 for the euro? Come on guys. Even Canada's nearly level.
13. Europe seems to be largely godless.
14. Unless you're talking about money as god, in which case a quick trip down to Abacus on Thursday night can be your witness. Bottle service anyone?
15. I just realized I lost my woolie. Given that hoodies aren't really socially acceptable for non-knife-wielding members of the population, my ears are going to be cold until this gets sorted out.
16. My Pilate's instructor is never going to notice me.
17. I forgot to eat lunch again today.
18. But even if I'd remembered, how many cucumber-mayonnaise-egg-chickpea-bacon sandwiches on brown bread can one man eat?
19. Still haven't met my new nephew.

I'll just end with 19. I can't even think of a good #20. That's just me and my bad luck.

Bless.

Cheats

I'm backdating this entry, which is a little trick I occasionally use because sometimes I just don't have the time or inspiration to write something.

But because I'm quasi-OCD and need to feel like things are organized and on-track (one post everyday that I'm in town, zero when I'm traveling -- THOSE ARE THE RULES!), I sometimes need to put things in their proper place retroactively.

So mom -- don't worry: I'm a happy boy once again. The mad cow talk really was just some food poisoning from a new burrito restaurant in town. One that was so good it was almost worth it. I'm going to give them a second chance sometime soon.

Talk to you later today/tomorrow.

Unhappy cow

So last night, on the advice of some [former] friends, I went to check out Upper Street's newest burrito restaurant, Mucho Mas. The food was fantastic; similar in style and format to Atomic Burrito (C'ville favorite) or Chipotle.

But today I'm not feeling so hot. In particular, my hoofs and my mouth hurt. Not sure what that's all about. All it means to you is that today's post is short and uninspired. That and I'll probably be dead within a few days.

Until then!

Bobby Digital

So I'm no longer lugging around my 35mm, which is sort of shame. The good news is, my little Casio digital is small and light and way cheaper to operate. And once in a while it actually captures something worthwhile.

Look who's 24

So my "little" brother Kyle turns 24 today. I say "little" because he's younger than me but I could also say it because he's shorter than me.

He lives in Brooklyn. It's where the cool kids live. He's more than a little bit hipster and more than a little bit post-modern. But he doesn't have an ironic haircut.

I remember when my brother was this loser who wanted to play tennis instead of soccer, and wanted to learn how to bake cookies inside with my mom instead of letting me beat him repeatedly at the sport of his choosing outside. He was a strange kid too -- randomly developing a strange and sudden addiction to jazz music, then to Hakeem Olajuwon and the Houston Rockets, then to hardcore rap, then to chess, then to crying whenever we wrestled, then to singing, then to drama, etc. And not in that order. Even stranger to a pessimistic older brother was that he tended to have good taste in whatever his musical genre of the moment was, and be pretty successful at everything he tried hobby-wise: baking, tennis, acting, drawing, chess... his collection of gigantic chess trophies makes my single "Most Improved Player" plaque seem a little underachieving.

For my first few years of college I thought he was pretty lame. Whenever I came home he'd be wearing some clothes he stole out of my closet. Also he was really into singing but I wasn't that impressed. I could sing too and I didn't think he sounded that much better than me.

But by the end of college we'd had some real bonding moments. Like the time he threw up on my dorm room floor after eating some bad Mexican food and the time he came to a party with me and I completely ignored him, but he still managed to make some friends. I also remember sitting outside our piano room (we have one of those, seeing as how we are - as a family - so incredibly gifted musically) and hearing him sing again. And it didn't sound like me anymore. It was so amazing that I cried. Or at least, that's the way I'm going to remember it.

There was more brotherly bonding after college. We agreed to stop picking on our sister Monica for no reason. He visited Charlottesville and I'd visit New York. We saw some great concerts. He continued stealing my old clothes.

And here we are. He's 24 and more of a friend than a brother. I love the kid and I'm always cheering for him and bragging about him. I've always got his back and I'm always going to be the older (and bigger) brother with the stable-but-kind-of-boring-finance-job who will fund his hipster lifestyle as I live vicariously through his creative adventures (if he ever needs it).

If you haven't read his fantastic music blog yet, give it a read (and take his advice): http://cemusic.blogspot.com/

Sorry your brother isn't as cool as mine.

Happy Birthday Kyle.

Quaker

I think I might become one out of [in]convenience. The only Mennonite church/centre is all the way in Zone 3, a drawback those familiar with London Transport Oyster Travelcards can relate to.

Also the one time I went there was skepticism related to my first appearance coinciding with a potluck.

So I may give the Quakers a shot. I like the whole silence and quiet contemplation format. And the Peace Church thing is a must.

I wonder if they have potlucks.

Mmm mmmm

That toastie was delicious. (Toasties are nothing more than a cool name for grilled cheese sandwiches.)

I feel better.

Went to send-off party last night. At one point I looked around and made note of the geographic composition of my circle of friends for the evening. Those results:

One Venezuelan.
One Chinese Canadian.
Several Bostonians.
Some crazy English chippies.
This French guy who's always touching people inappropriately.
Another Canadian.
Another Canadian.
A few English blokes.
Co-worker from Texas.
Co-worker from Pennsylvania.
Friend of co-worker from Pennsylvania from Brooklyn (hipster, post-mod variety).
Couple chippie friends of Brooklyn friend of co-worker from Pa's (they may or may not have been 20 years old).
A guy whose parents my grandparents are friends with.

That's a typical mix. That kind of randomness and diversity is fantastic. Good old Londres.

er/uk is tired

Let him sleep. Let him take a nap, then wake him up and give him a glass of milk and a toastie.

Let him change out of this suit, as much as you love the way it fits him and the way the blue brings out his eyes -- let him put on some mesh shorts and a worn-in cotton hoodie and lay on the couch and dip tortilla chips in melted nacho cheese, while watching football (of either continental variety).

Don't allow him answer the phone or check email. Provide him with casseroles and homemade baked goods. Don't ask him how his day went or how he's finding London or what he did this week.

If you enjoy giving backrubs, er/uk may be interested.

Last time I ever go out on Thursday night.

R.I.P. Chelsea

Stick a fork in you.

Come on Arrrrsenal

I love it when Arsenal play on [Inter?]National Talk Like a Pirate Day.

Come on you Reeeeds.

Where are your friends tonight?

I moved to London in March.

In March I had no friends.
In April I met all the people who live in London that my friends in the States know via little awkwardly arranged plutonic blind-date scenarios.
By May I started to accumulate a list of folks that I could call to hang out with during the weekends.
In June they started calling me back.
In July I stopped calling them back.
In August I traveled a lot and so didn't really hang out with anyone.
When I came back in September they were all leaving town or had already left.
So in October I'm going to start kickin' it with my parents again.

The aftermath

There was good news this weekend:

1. Arsenal 3, Sp*rs 1
2. The weather.
3. That party that I went to in Dorset.
4. Colts won again.

And there was some bad news:

1. 0-38. Notre Dame 2007-08 is the worst team I've ever cheered for
2. The day after that party I went to in Dorset.

That doesn't sound too enlightened does it? For as deep a person as I'd like to think I am, I still live and die by sports, parties and the weather.

I need to pay closer attention to the ethnosphere. Maybe get back to that novel (screenplay) I've been writing, hmm?

0-38

I'm speechless.

Fox murdering

A couple of months ago I was hoping to go a conference in Hertfordshire where I might participate in a quadathalon of shooting events in addition to falconry. Sadly, this never transpired.

But all is well because tomorrow I am for sure going to Dorset where promised activities include:

1. A feast, including:
1a. Yorkshire pudding
1b. Steak
1c. Chocolate cake (though I'm more of the carrot cake type)
2. Night swimming
3. Tractor pulling
4. Cow tipping
5. A bonfire
6. Games of chance
7. Feats of strength

Anyhow I'm just sure fox hunting was accidentally left out of the list in the interest of breviloquence. I'm definitely going to kill one.

[And go on for three nil to the Arsenal!]
[And a competent showing by the Irish!]

Ibitha

This has been bugging me for a while: People, if you're not from Thpain, then it's Ibiza.

And I've heard it's a great place if you love methamphetamines and $30 drinks.

England v Russia

The hopes and dreams of England rest on this game. Started one minute ago so I better go order some fish and chips. Hold the mayo.

Low expectations

Yesterday's post was so good -- I want to make sure you're not expecting too much out of the blog. So aiming low today.

What do you call cheese that doesn't belong to you?

Na cho Cheese.


That should do it.

Acropolis Now

I know, I know: Best. Title. Ever.

Got back from Athens yesterday. It was pretty great, if you're in to jet setting in 5* comforts in the Mediterranean. So it was pretty great.

I especially liked:

1. The food.
2. The fact that my hotel shower had a multiple shower head options, one being a frisbee-sized waterfall-style mechanism.
3. The supply of roof top bars and restaurants.
4. The ladies.
5. The word malakas.

Athens as a city isn't in my Top 10, but the beach/location/weather/food were incredible. And the ladies. Stunning talent there. I could go on.

I definitely need to make a return trip to the area, which will be spent checking out the Isles (a far bigger draw than Athens) and probably Turkey. It's going to be crazy malakas.

My big fat Greek conference

I'm off to Athens so the blog will be quiet through the weekend. Don't really know what to expect there but I expect I'll make the most of it. Hoping to reach the Isles after a successful few days of work at a big real estate conference.

Thanks to Gabe for the clever title.

Khairete.

Strike 1

The operating group that manages all the Underground workers is filing for bankruptcy, so the union that represents those workers has organized a friendly little strike to make sure its workers are guaranteed jobs and pensions, etc., in lieu of a contract with the city that designates the like.

So we all have to ride the bus til Thursday. Or to put it another way: everyone who usually rides the Tube is going to be sitting in my seat on the bus for the next few days. Which means I'll be standing and probably sandwiched between a few people with BO, some crying babies and a hoodie gang. Which means an escape to lovely burning Athens on Wednesday will be a welcome retreat.

Even though the conference I'm going to is going to be a total loukaniko fest.

Where we live

Me and the other two guys I work with.

I live in edgy Angel.
Oliver lives in posh Notting Hill.
Gabe lives in Wapping.

Notre Dame plays tonight which means I'll be a mess for a few months

I don't handle college football season very well. Win, lose or draw, I get very very anxious prior to games, and during games I'm basically a trainwreck. My mom used to leave the house during games; my dad usually disappeared to the garage to varnish something using his old underwear as a varnishing rag.

I'm not really able to watch games with other people who don't have the same focus and also because I'm superstitious. If things are going right I'll keep doing whatever I've been doing. Such as:

1. Once during a comeback I continuously walked to the kitchen and back to the living room in a circular pattern. Each time I passed a particular plant, I would rip off a small leaf. By the end of the game (an Irish victory), the plant was dead.

2. I once replayed the same song on iTunes over and over again for 2 1/2 hours.

3. If things aren't going right, I will shift positions, move to different places in the room, add/remove clothing, eat/drink something or stop eating/drinking something, etc.

Here's a conversation I once had with my friend Mark (granted this was during an IU basketball game, but you get the idea):

Mark enters the room midway through the game.

Mark: Hey man.
er/uk: Hey Mark.
Mark: How's the game going?
er/uk: Pretty good. Up by 10.

A few moments pass and the other team pulls within 7 points.

er/uk: If this gets any closer you're going to have to leave.
Mark: haha. Yeah ok.

A few more minutes pass and the game is tied.

er/uk: You should go.
Mark: Yeah.
er/uk: I'm serious.
Mark: What?
er/uk: Go NOW!

Mark leaves, but the damage has already been done. We lost. Way to go Mark.

This season is sure to be even more tedious as the Irish are sure to be underdogs in many games. Add to that the fact that I'm forced to watch games at an awful venue (The Sports Cafe) -- imagine taking the worst parts of an ESPN Zone and combining them with the worst parts of a Hooters.

Here goes nothing.