Tube.cutz

Just because I plugged the Ethernet cord in, doesn’t mean I have to use it right?

I am sitting in the kitchen because I tell myself that I work better in there than I do in my room.  Really, I don’t work well in either space, but at least there’s no internet in the kitchen!  Unfortunately, there isn’t an outlet either; time spent away from a power source can be very taxing when you’ve been bumming around on your laptop for the better part of an evening.  So: I am out of power which means it’s time to go back to the room and “work” on this midterm essay that I have been trying to tackle since that time I went to gay pub and got a substantial amount of work done.  How I managed to get more done amidst a sea of laughing gay men and their surrogate daughter than I can finish anywhere else will always be a mystery to me.

Now I’ve just made the terrible mistake of plugging my Ethernet cord into my computer.  That means, if I wanted, I could go on Facebook!  Or go to blogspot!  Or go to gamespot!  Or go to texts from last night!  Or go to BBC!  Or…well, do so many, many things!  But I am resisting for now.  I am going to write a post instead of doing real work because than I am actually doing something meaningful even if I am avoiding the glaring problems behind my pseudo productivity.

Oh, guess what happened on the tube today!  These things:

When I was boarding the tube in Holborn, returning to South Kensington to do something drastic and perhaps too impulsive (IMAGINE THAT!), I watched a father and his 2-3 year old son board the train and take the two vacant seats across from me.  The dad, who was mighty fine, mind you, was carrying a light blue bag that was filled to the brim with organic snacks and files of legal paper.  (Yes, I looked.  I shameless stuck my neck out and looked into this man’s bag.  Yes, he caught me.  Blah blah blah, I am really awkward.)  The boy was snacking on a bag of panda shaped potato crisps and I couldn’t help but smile at him in his little blue waist coat, skinny little chords, and miniature doc martens.  Then he got the hiccups.  If you’ve ever wondered what the most adorable thing in the whole world is, I have an answer for you: a little boy with a mop of curly blonde hair trying to stop his hiccups while his very attractive father sings aloud to him in an attempt to make him laugh and forget that he has “bubbles in his mouth.”  SWEET BABY JESUS.  Sweet-seven-pound-six-ounce-Jesus is that not the most precious thing in the world?

I happened to be sitting next to a very smelly old man at the time.  I remember that his hair was gray and long and straggly.  The way he smelled was…ick.  Not icky, ick.  He smelled as though he had rolled in a trough of expired milk and then dried himself off with moldy bread.  He was dressed well, too!  He appeared to be a normal, upstanding citizen of London, but that smell…No, I will never forget it.

    

When the guy in purple rimmed glasses boarded, I didn’t so much mind the smell anymore.  Rather I smile up at him until he caught my glance and returned it with an inquisitive cock of his head.  I looked back down at my book and visibly smirked.  When we arrived at Knightsbridge, he left the cart and I thought about how badly I wanted his frames.  They were bomb.

The last figure to catch my eye before I left the station for the Residence Hall was a woman sitting just down the way on the opposite side of the aisle.  She was wearing four coats.  Count them, four coats.  They all had hoods and each of them was a different color.  I was perplexed.  I wanted to ask her why she wore so many coats and why she needed them.  Are you cold?  Are you destitute?  Are you moving and couldn’t fit those coats in your pile of boxes?  TELL ME!   Maybe she would have if I had the balls to ask.  I imagine she would have just shrugged me off and retreated into a layer or two of her garmentry.

I saw a pigeon with one leg when I came up from the station.  At first I thought, OMG!  One legged pigeon!  Then I felt a strange mixture of sadness and humor.  There is nothing funny about an animal missing a leg though…what’s wrong with me!

And now I have plugged my computer into the internet which means that this post is finished because I am about to get distracted.

Oh.  Today I got a haircut.



Forgive the Myspace Photo, but this is the first image 



Sunday.nightz

Sometimes when I wake up, I think: HOLY SHIT!  It’s usually the result of some fantastic sex dream or revelatory moment in sleep land.  Less often, it’s because I had too much wine and had a lucid dream about being in a Nintendo 64 game.  This morning—I guess yesterday morning now that midnight has passed and 1:00am is swiftly approaching—was a matter of the latter.



"There's Something Wrong with the G-Diffuser"



If I could describe to you what it feels like to be the pilot of an Arwing in all-range-mode, I would.  I have neither the time nor the sensibility to actually put into words what it feels like to be flying with Fox, Peppy, and Slippy.  (Obviously I replaced Falco because I am too cool for school.  My best instincts are telling me that this is not what would actually happen as I am clearly a Slippy.  You know, “Thanks, Fox!  I thought they had me!”  Such.  A.  Flirt.)  Flying felt enjoyable in my dream, which was odd because I actually despise flying; the thought of doing it on my own, as a pilot no less, is even less comforting.  Still, it was like one of the top ten dreams ever.

Anyway, when I woke up I caught myself say “Do a barrel roll!” out loud and subsequently thought: HOLY SHIT! 

I was inspired.

Drew’s family is here in London.  Well, his parents are here.  His brothers were left out of the equation, though I don’t think that Christy (spelling?  Why don’t I just ask Drew… ah, yes, he’s sleeping) and Todd mind spending some time alone together in Europe; I certainly wouldn’t!  They are wonderful individuals.  Christy is just radiant and Todd is a grown up Drew—who could mind that?  We were all gushing over them after dinner (which they paid for; many thanks!) and I am sure that Drew was thinking: Here we go again; everyone just loves to hang out with my parents.  Seriously though, so nice.

I bring them up because I miss my family and my friends back in the states and I am starting to wonder what it will be like to see them again.  I have tried to keep an okay handle on what’s going on back home, but I admit that I am more interested in living in the moment here.  Will it be like meeting old friends for the first time in ages where everything is all about catching up and reconnecting?  Or will it be like I never left on this adventure and we’ll all just mesh together perfectly as soon as I step off the plane?  I worry about these things.  I worry about many things, really.

My worrisome habits do not mix well with my impulsive nature.  Though, it does make for some pretty interesting internal banter.

Most importantly: I miss my family and friends, and though I hate to use the ‘J’ word, I am jealous that I’ve seen two sets of parents visiting their sons.   Catharsis at its finest: I don’t miss them as badly already!

Next! 

Last night held a brand new experience: seeing a movie, in a cinema, alone.  I went to Easy A, featuring Emma Stone and Amanda Bynes, all by my lonesome.  First, I had planned on seeing it with someone who, turns out, had already seen it.  Then there was a group of us going, but each of them backed out.  I said I wasn’t going to go, but I figured, Hey, why not try this whole “just one for Easy A” thing out.  Simply: it just isn’t as fun without someone to go with.  The movie, luckily, was fracking hilarious and strangely poignant at times.  I thought Stanly Tucci was a standout as well.  I guess that I am glad to have had the experience, but I don’t think that I would recommend it over seeing a film with friends.

On my way home from the film, while listening to Beyoncé chronicle my life through her music, I watched a very attractive man board the tube and sit down just across from where I was standing.  (There were plenty of empty seats, but I like to practice being taller when I can help it.)  Anyway, while he was sitting, fiddling with his ear buds and twirling the tassels of his scarf, he must have felt subconscious of the small, and I do mean very, very small, spot of acne on his upper lip.  He puttered around with it, pushing it, prodding it until it become much more noticeable than it ever was.  Suddenly there’s blood everywhere and the poor guy cannot get it to stop.  He smeared his finger on the bridge of his nose without noticing it, creating a line of war paint from the corner of his eye all the way to his nostril.  He continued to wipe the blood from his lip onto his scarf until he gave up and just let the wound drip.  When I exited, casually taking the longer route in order to pass him by, I said “missed a spot” and pointed to my nose.  He turned and looked into his reflection in the glass behind him.  He was still staring when I walked passed him from the outside.  He smiled and asked, “Did I get it?”  He hadn’t.  Still, I grinned and replied, “Looks great.”

Interactions like these stick out to me more than the big, exciting events in my life ever do.  I want to know why that is…I want to know very badly.  What’s so much more interesting about a bloody spot than the idea of leaving for Scotland in three days?  My attention is misplaced, me thinks.

I guess that’s why you get to hear about my odd dreams and my first experiences rather than the mundane details of this Monday afternoon like, “I went to the library for three hours and tried to put a schedule together for next semester.  Then I returned some books.  Then I ran for thirty minutes and did some abs.  Then I…”  I am more interested in the little things that somehow feel much bigger than they are.  Strange phenomenon, eh? 

I stayed up reading until 3am for no reason other than pleasure: it was worth it, definitely.  When I finish this book today, it will be the third novel I've read in my short time in London, and I already have three more in line!  I am happy that I have been able to read for pleasure still; that's something I don't get to do during the school year.       

Then again, this isn't a normal school year.  This a school year for me.

Farm Fresh.animalz

Let me tell you: I LOVE ANIMALS.  More specifically, I love farm animals.  There’s something about semi-domesticated creatures that really gets me excited to be alive.  Don’t ask me why I find them so appealing, I couldn’t tell you.  Maybe as this post continues I’ll figure it out.  Until that time comes, I guess we’ll just have to deal with the fact that farm animals kick ass: no questions asked.  Cool?  Cool.

But Josh, aren’t you in London?  Isn’t that one of the world’s largest cities?  Why on earth are you talking about farm stock when you should be retelling your adventures about falling into the Thames or playing with Beefeaters?  Well, dear beautiful reader, there just happens to be city farms—25 of them no less—all over the place. On Friday, I visited one such farm with Steve and Izzy.  The following chronicles our adventures with pigs, goats, medieval playground equipment, a little boy who is better at playing than all of us, a girl who may or may not have been possessed by the devil, and a holiday treat. 

A Conversation

Izzy: You guys.  I really just want to go to Greenwich.   

Josh: Let’s go to Greenwich then.

Izzy: Do we have time?

(Steve: Goddamit!)

Josh: I think so, it’s only 12:30, we’ll be back by 5.

Izzy: So are we going?

(Steve: I love politics!)

Josh: Yeah.  It’s free, right?

(Steve: I hate peas!)

Izzy:  Yea, it just takes a while to get out there.

Josh: Cool, let’s go

(Steve: Katie Blinn!)

And that’s how we decided to hop on the District Line and head towards Tower Hill.  From there, it was 5 stops on the DLR to Island Gardens where we would walk under the Thames and over to Greenwich.  Our day was set. 

Of course, what is life without a little intrigue?   A little spice, a little curveball? 

When we arrived at Island Gardens, just one stop after Mudchute—yes, this a real place, not some inane attempt at potty humor—we were greeted by a little park.  Steve, who had already been to Greenwich, asked if we wanted to see the park before we went onward.  As a sucker for parks, I had already walked through the winding little gate system.  It was then that we discovered that the little park was actually an enormous playfield!  Off in the distance, I could see some great colored structures towering over the small children frolicking about.  I was mesmerized.  Shiny things?  Laughter?  SIGN ME UP.

We took a paved path around the perimeter of the park.  The trees were so green and full of life that it was easy to forget that it was 50^o and autumn.  Among the towering trees and billowing branches, there were well placed trunks that had been over turned and dried: perfect for sitting, standing, posing, etc.  Most of the bark was oddly chipped and it appeared as though someone had attacked a majority of the surrounding foliage with a potato peeler.  It then brought to mind a very strange image of a man dashing through the trees, wearing nothing but a potato sack and war paint, wielding a colossal vegetable peeler.  I want to be that man’s friend.

Just past the fallen tree trunks, we happened upon the most brilliant playground equipment I have seen in a very long time.  The structure was the perfect cross between pirate ship crow’s nest and bible camp ropes course; simply: genius.  Red, blue, and yellow ropes dangled from a giant metallic structure in the middle and connected to variously placed baskets capable of holding a human or two.  What was most entertaining was the way the whole thing rattled with every step or shook with every touch; this was not your run-of-the-mill-don’t-sue-me-if-your-kid-breaks-an-arm playground equipment.  That shit was heavy duty.  Obviously: we played until Steve slipped through one of the squares in the rope ladder and fluttered gently to the ground on the breeze.  He’s just a little guy.

While we played, we noticed a girl on the swing set next to us.  As she swung back and forth—and let me tell you, this girl could swing—she decided to stand up just in time for her body to be parallel to the earth below her.  At the time I was nothing but impressed.  Thinking about it now, there’s no way she was human.  NO ONE can swing like that, you guys!  No one!  The only answer: demonic possession.  It had to be.

Nearby, on a wire cable, there was what appeared to be a great zipline.  Unfortunately, Izzy, Steve, and I were at a loss to figure it out and had to rely on the awesome kid next to us to show how it was done.  He ran the swing to the very end of the cable and then hopped on with such great effort that you could tell he was an old pro.  We were impressed as he zoomed by.  He asked if I wanted a turn.  Of course I did(!), but I had to let him go again so that he wouldn’t watch my embarrassing attempt at doing it correctly.  After all, there is nothing more embarrassing than being shown up by a 7 year old.

We found a makeshift Merry-Go-Round next.  Actually, it was more of a spinning disc.  It reminded of a circular treadmill than anything.  It was exciting to watch Steve and I attempt to stop running once it started, but it ended in me aggressively tumbling to the ground after “jumping” from the platform. 

Clearly a pigeon

We realized then that we had spent a lot of time at this place and that we might want to get scooting on our adventure.  Steve mentioned that there was a farm just up the road if we wanted to visit, or we could just get going to Greenwich.  I have been trained to be opinionless: you never know if someone just doesn’t want to do what you want to.  So, I kept my mouth shut.  I really, really wanted to go to the farm though.  Luckily, everyone I hang out with refuses to make decisions so I blurt out: LET’S GO TO THE FARM!  I think Izzy and Steve were thinking the same thing.

Up from the paved path, there was a fork into the woods that looked like a pretty sweet spot for some off-the-beaten-path walking.  We hopped into the forest and walked along the dirt trail up a hill and through some groves of trees.  Atop the hill, we noticed someone was riding a horse around a pen.  We watched as she galloped around, a small dog tailing closely behind.  The farm, as it turns out, appears to double as a 4-Hesque club for the public; pretty neat, yeah?

We walked over the farm grounds, taking notice of the bunnies, some “guinea pigs,” domesticated chipmunks, shimmering ducks, and even a mouse in a small, caged window.  Oh, there were birds too.  They were pretty…for birds. 

The main attractions, though, were just up the road from the smaller animals.  We happened upon some goats (no dyk-dyk’s though), a pair of pretty alpaca, a gaggle of terrifying turkeys, some soft looking sheep, and, most importantly, a GIANT pig.  Seriously.  I don’t know how else to describe the beast.  Just enormous.  I was very enthused.  I had a thought, as I knelt down to the pig’s level, that Wiggums must be very lonely in that big ol’ house on the lake in Walker, MN.  Then, another thought: “Josh, Wiggums is an inanimate piggy bank.  He doesn’t care if he’s alone.”  Oh, Mind, how right you are!

We walked around for a great deal of time, weaving through the surrounding forests, until we stumbled upon an enormous open space with a pair of trebuchets at the end of the lot.  Too frightened to hang out with the medieval weaponry, we instead turned our heads to the second set of zipline equipment we’d seen that day.  This set up was even better.  There was a central platform with two lines streaming in opposite directions.  At the end of each run, there as a pyramid structure for you to push off of.  Naturally, we spent most of our time crashing into the structures.

 

Bam

 

An Aside:

I’ve developed this habit where, upon seeing odd pictorials or interesting situations, I say: “I call it_______________” like I am some pretentious, starving artist.  For example, I once put a phone in a cardbox and balanced it on the handle of chili pot and said, “I call it…Memory.”  On one of the poles holding up the center platform, a little heart had been drawn on the wood and had smeared in black and red with the rain.  This was one of those artsy situations that needed to be named.  “I call it…Distance.”

Distance

When we exhausted the fun to be had on the great play things, we returned to Mudchute for an hour long tube ride home.  Before returning to the Residence Hall, we stopped for coffee at the café across from South Kensington.  I had a soy mint mocha with no whip and an extra shot, the first specialty coffee of the season.  And, it was a fair trade product.  WIN.

 

When you read this, I hope you miss me.  Regardless if you’re in a library, in the IES Residence Hall, at an outside classroom, in your own living room, in your poorly paneled bedroom, in a comfortable coffee shop, on a boat, at an airport, or wherever, know that I miss you too.  I am feeling love everywhere tonight, even in this shabby little kitchen on the 8^th floor of a building in Chelsea, London. 



Greenwich: We Almost Made It



I hope you are too.

Espresso beans,

Josh

          

A Night: Before and After.polez

For the faint of heart, take caution: there better be some gratuitous dancing ahead.

Tonight, we are going to a new bar in Camden Town called The Flowerpot.  Fancy, no?  No, it isn’t a new establishment—sadly, it’s closing at the end of the month after what I understand to be a great run—but it will be our first time attending this swanky little place.  And the first time you step into a new place, there is something magical that happens: you determine, quickly, if your night is going to be awesome or if it’s going to be shit.  Sometimes you can be wrong (usually the result of too high hopes), but first impressions typically paint a pretty helpful picture. 

I can already feel the dance floor pulsing: I am in a rowdy mood.  Tonight, dear friends, is going to be a good, good night.  It’s one of those nights that you start with Pour Some Sugar On Me because nothing gets you going like that song.  (Am I alone in this?)

Here is something you may or may not know about me: I am a pole dancing competition winner.  Sure, it was nothing professional, and it might have been a little more underground than I make it out to be, but I still won a pole dancing competition in the winter of 2009.  Good times.  But why share this little tidbit of information?  Who actually needs to know that their friend, son, acquaintance, grandson is the winner of a competition that promotes loose and filthy behavior?  Here is why it’s relative: tonight, I want to dance until I die.  Aggressive, dirty, silly, lewd dancing that just makes everything so indescribably fun and adventurous.  Tonight is for the girls who saturate pop music in sweat and the boys who make dancing feel like more than rhythm. 

Turns out, tonight was not what first impressions made of it. 

Turns out, it was still pretty cool.

The Flowerpot, while described to me as a dance club by one Ben Hertel, is anything but.  It’s more of a glorified mid-town venue for emerging artists on little tours around the county or, if they’re lucky, the nation. Let’s get real.  I wanted to fucking dance.  I wanted to move around and throw myself into the lights and let them guide me home.  Oddly, it didn’t matter what I wanted.  It simply wasn’t the place I wanted it to be; The Flowerpot could only be itself, and it is not a dance club.

The first band we heard tonight was called Transfer and they are based out of San Diego.  It was easy to pick out their American influence amidst a crowd of Brits and I did not mind hearing some familiar sounds in a big new territory.  They played some cool stuff: reminiscent of The Killers and an odd mash up of Duffy and Kings of Leon.  Eclectic, I guess?  I couldn’t help but think that Laura (Lowrah) and Dan would have been totally at home.

The second band was made up of 4-5 guys that all wore costumes.  My mind goes right to Ryft, but it definitely wasn’t them.  They played some MGMT at the end of the night which everyone enjoyed.  The lead singer really loved what he was doing: you could feel it.  When an artist has that much love for their craft, you appreciate it much, much more.

No one was enjoying themselves nearly as much as Jenny and I were, so the gang retreated to Leicester Square to find some food to help sober up.  Who knows if they found it…we’ll see in the morning, me thinks.  I hope they’re all right.  Nicole and Izzy: YOU WERE DRUNK J 

So now it’s quarter past midnight and that means it’s one day closer to November.  November.  No matter how many times I say it, it won’t settle in.  I have less than two months left here and that sucks.  It sucks because you never expect to form relationships so fast; regardless of how amazing the people are, it’s always a surprise.  You’d think I would have caught on by now that strange connections with people are a specialty of mine.  I have this odd ability to form bonds with others.  The bond then acts as some soul sucking device and forces me to put all have into maintaining that relationship or trying to strengthen it.  Sure, it’s devastating when things don’t work out the way you want, but it’s awesome when that connection lasts and people are exactly who you thought they were.  Personally, it’s caused a great deal of anguish, even in this short chapter here, but I would have it no other way.  Go big or go home; give it all you have or don’t waste your time trying.  It’s reckless and impulsive: it’s me!

I guess it’s that same impulsivity that I am starting to understand is something neat about me.  I am learning to love and embrace it here in this little city of mine. 

It’s that same impulsivity that leads me to tell you things like: “I won a pole dancing competition.”  And you know what?  I was damn good.

Still young in London,

Josh

Puppy Battle Wounds and Other Tales.hahaz

And then God said, “Let there was wireless in the lounge.” 

That’s right, folks!  This is going to be the first blog from a wholly wireless access point.  I guess that doesn’t change my writing in the least.  Actually it’s pretty irrelevant for anyone to know.  Still:  I AM PUMPED!

Alright.  So.  When I sat down to write this I had a few points that I wanted to discuss and here is that ever so tiny list: (Don’t the last three items pair frighteningly well?  And would you even say pair since there’s three of them?!  ZOMG!)

1)      Impromptu Waltzing and Or You Could Kiss Me.

2)      Purple Clothing

3)      Some Quotes from Jenny Katz

4)      Hogwarts Housing

5)      Puppy Battle Wound

6)      Chocolate

7)      Wine

8)      Sex

I think that I am missing some things from this list, the written one that is.  I know that I had some interesting things to say about little snippets of life here and there, but they are escaping me now.  When they come back, I’ll let ya know.  Also: How awful is Facebook when you’re trying to write a blog?  So much distraction in one website.  Now that our network is wireless, will I ever get work done? 

Nah.

One:  Impromptu Waltzing and Or You Could Kiss Me

           

This Tuesday night, Miss Izzy Brown and I took a trip to the National Theatre.  (Really, it was our third trip to the National in four days in the attempt to see the italicized show above.  The first night we tried, we ran the whole way there and were only disappointed by a sold out show.  The second time we travelled was Sunday.  When we arrived at 7pm to buy tickets for the 7:30 showing we were puzzled.  The theatre isn’t open?  It’s Sunday?  They only show matinees on Sundays?  We knew that ahead of time?  We knew that ahead of time and still tried to show up?  God. We’re awesome.)  When we got to the ticket office of the Cottisloe—one of the three venues at the National Theatre—the gentleman at the booth was nearly as excited as we were that tickets were still available for that night’s performance.  How much were these coveted tickets you ask?  Ten Pounds.  Done.  Embarrassingly, Izzy and I were seated between two elderly couples and spent about 80 minutes of 100 minute show sniffling and sighing.  The show features a relationship between a gay male couple.  For the most part, the show highlights the later part of their life.  Heart wrenching, really.  Oh, did I mention that it was done with wooden puppets that somehow make it more emotionally draining? 



Not Quite Waltzing



When did I start crying so much, by the way?  I am usually a much more put together person than this.  Awkward!

Before we saw the show, however, Izzy taught me some basic waltz procedure and we practiced a little outside.  It was endearing.  I think anyone that saw us thought, “My goodness, what an adorable couple!”  Or, “What a couple of whack jobs!  What the hell are they doing?”  I guess I don’t care either way.  It was nice.

Two: Purple Clothing



IT GETS BETTER!



Today you should have been wearing nothing but purple.  I get it.  It’s not actually possible for everyone to wear nothing but purple, but you could try right?  It was in memory of the six cases of teen suicide as of recent in the United Sates: six boys who took their own lives because other individuals bullied them in reference to sexuality; six kids took their lives because people made fun of them for being gay.  I don’t pretend to be a pillar of morality.  Let’s face it: I am guilty, guilty, guilty of many, many things.  But seriously, Americans?  This is who we are?  I think that everyone should adopt the mentality of Stacy Little.  She is the person I put on a level of goodness that is hardly attainable.  Regardless:  She is an upstanding human being and I wish that these youths had people in their lives like her. 

This was quite tangential.

Anyway:  I am wearing purple underwear, a purple v-neck, purple socks, a purple bandana on my wrist, and a purple bracelet.  Lots of love to those families.

Three:  Some Quotes from Jenny Katz

Jenny Katz is a fantastic person.  Also, as I have mentioned before, she has no filter.  Of course, I love this.  I don’t like to gush while writing (because I love punctuation and when you write how you feel it’s pretty much just continuous thought), but holyshit sheislikethe funniestever so funny you couldkeeloveranddiewhilelaughing!  I can’t decide if these quotes need context.  I will try to set them up a little.

  

A)    Drew is actually a freak when it comes to knowing the music we grew up on.  So I was quizzing him one night and Aaron Carter’s Aaron’s Party came up on my iTunes.  Jenny started humming I Want Candy and Izzy and Drew called her out on grounds of “wrong song.”  Jenny replied with:  “I was doing a mash-up; fuck you!”



Our Relationship



B)    When discussing how much we love Laura, a girl in our program, and what we would say to her: “Your eyebrows are so far from the color of your hair that I just want to rub my face on your eyebrows!  So pretty!”

C)    When discussing sexuality: “I lean toward the peen.”

D)    “Tequila.  That shit gets me horny.” No context needed: the two of us agree on so many things.

Four:  Hogwarts Housing

Not only do I LOVE Harry Potter, but I recently realized that I get to see the premiere of part 1 while I am over here in London.  Where better to see HP?!  Anyway, given my unhealthy obsession—who writes four critical essays on HP in COLLEGE?—I have taken upwards of 15 housing exams and even worn several speaking sorting hats.  (I am not even counting tests with questions like: “Would you rather take potions or transfiguration?”) I can only remember one occasion that I was placed in Ravenclaw and one occasion that I heard a hat shout: GRYFFINDOR!  Every other time I have interacted with the sorting hat or a test pretending to be the sorting hat: Slytherin.  I think it’s because that’s where they put the evil gay kids!!!  But really, why me?  I think it’s because I secretly want to have a mischievous image.  I want people to look at me and think, holy, what a bad ass!  I want to be that kid that everyone thinks about when something has gone terribly wrong.  

A Seriously Sinister Guy

I don’t warp my answers to reflect this; I always answer very truthfully and instinctively.  I think that I must just be destined for anything green or menacing.  Anyway, this was on my mind for a multitude of reasons.  All of which escape me now, except that I saw a bunch of people take the quiz on FB.

Five: Puppy Battle Wounds

I was returning from South Ken today and I happened upon an adorable puppy.  When I first saw her, I was like, OH, PUPPY! (in one of those weird voices I do)  The puppy was equally excited to see me and tried running up to me, only to be recoiled by her leash and collar.  I couldn’t help myself from giggling as he toppled over and rolled around on the dirty sidewalk while his owner looked onward, obviously skeptical of my obsession with this little critter.  So, he offered: “do you want to touch her?”  OMG. YES.  I was like a small child. PUPPY!  As he jumped up and yipped and scratched I couldn’t help but fall down to his level and make small child noises at his face.  Then, a small victory: I started bleeding from a puppy scratch!  A puppy battle wound!  I don’t know why it hit me as awesome; I must really be missing my dogs.

Six:  Chocolate

As I highlighted in a previous post, I recently attended a wine tasting in the greater Chelsea Area.  Of course, all the wine samplings I have attended, including conventions, gatherings, etc, have had great pairing selections on site.  Luckily, this gala was no different; we got to sample some INSANE chocolate.  The morel that first comes to mind is 91% cocoa, chocolate covered almonds.  They’re delicious, especially when paired with a simple blush or a rich merlot.  But, let’s get real:  I will eat chocolate and drink wine until I die.

Seven: Wine

I know nothing about wine, other than what I learned about it this weekend.  However, I have started having a glass with meals and at night just as a pleasant experience.  I feel grown up.  But really:  when did I get this age-ed?  (I realize I could have written “aged,” but I wanted you to pronounce it as two syllables.)

Before I get to eight, here is a quote from Miss Izzy Brown referring to a person in our program.  She’s a classy lady: “I really like how he talks.  And he has that cute face…And I really want to fuck his body.”   

Also: Fable III comes out in less than a week now.  I have to keep telling myself that I didn’t come to the EU to play video games, but I will miss that part of life a lot next week.  What I did come here to do, however, was see some phenomenal theatre; I’ve accomplished that.  On the agenda for tomorrow?  Hamlet. I am ill with anticipation.

Eight: Sex

I really enjoy this aspect of life.

It’s a lot of fun.

Sorry, no details here, I just used it as a ploy.

I just wanted you to read this entry.  And it looks like it worked! BAH!

All that Jazz,

Josh