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Holy Oxford Punting, Batman!

2009-06-04T07:44:00.000-07:00

Let me break down what makes Oxford, Oxford. (1) The only reason you miss a lecture is to attend another lecture or finish an essay: This is a frequent occurrence. (2) After attending a lecture/tutorial for more than two weeks you think, "This person's name is just SO familiar," only to realize that they wrote the text book you used last year. You didn't understand them then, either. (3) There are no sports; there is a sport. Rowing. Everything else is just a hobby (except for maybe the Cambridge/Oxford Rugger match). (4) People you know have taken their bathroom and coffee breaks together. That way they can save time on a myriad of levels. (5) Finishing an Oxford term is like sprinting into a wall. It's looks something akin to essay essay essay essay essay essay essay essay essay essay essay essay essay essay essay essay BREAK. There is no finish line, there is just an abrupt stop and collapse. (6) There are more tourists than there are students at any given time. Weekend happiness is the ratio of tourists you see to tourist photos you ruin. The closer you are to one the better the day (getting less than one is cause for immediate and undiluted celebration). (7) Besides coffee and sleep, the most often cited reason for taking a break is fear of carpal tunnel syndrome. Between essays and the facebook statuses about your essays typing is a bigger health concern than swine flu. Although not quite as big as Jimmy Fallon's "jokes". (8) In Oxford, garden parties are no longer restricted to the rich, flamboyant, and green-thumbed. They're bigger than pub crawls and twice as sloppy. (Including Blackfriars', where the Dominicans just keep finding Port no matter where we hide it). (9) Movie nights are not about popcorn, they're about aesthetic principles. Can something be aesthetically pleasing if it's ethically wrong? No. Now shut up, Christian Bale is killing something. (10) It's not an Oxford party until there's cross-dressing, drinking from a shoe, and at least one discussion on ethics. The discussion always ends in tears and more rounds, not necessarily in that order.

Now that I've given you an overview of the Oxford life, I think the most "Oxford" activity I've participated in, besides the one where I get my paper shredded to bits by an acknowledged expert, is punting. This does not include a ball and a distance which you must kick the ball. Punting is a leisurely boating activity, with punts flat, long boats that you propel and steer with a very long, usually wooden pole. It looks like this:
Punting encapsulates Oxford life: You're supposed to drink, it's an old, upper-class leisure activity, and it is perfect for pompous, sometimes interesting discussions. Oh, and you can joust if you want to. I hear you're not supposed to, but what would YOU do if you were charging towards another boat and had a 16ft pole in your hand? If they're wearing anything Cambridge, the only question is how much speed can one add by using the oar.

Punting, especially for newbies, regularly involves t-boning other boats, drinking champagne, eating chocolate and strawberries, getting sunburned, and one person falling in the river. We almost accomplished all of the above, barely avoiding the last one thanks to yours truly, who caught the punter just as she was about to go in. We switch who punts, and sometimes the later you punt the less balance you have. I'll let you figure out why. (Note: my balance has never been compromised. I'm the Lance Armstrong of punting, minus the cancer and subsequent miracle athletics.)

The most dangerous, yet rewarding punting you can try is ultimate punting. This involves at least two boats, a frisbee, and a willingness to sacrifice the body for the good of the game. If you hate getting, wet, can't throw a frisbee, or in general are too much of a ninny to ram someone in the legacy of Blackbeard, you should not consider it a pastime worth trying. However, ultimate punting can be accomplished in more than one way. Although a frisbee is the preferred missile/object of exchange, an American football would be appropriate as well. And, really, there is nothing more ultimate than river jousting, but only experienced punters should take such an athletic challenge. Pads are recommended, but not required.

Oxford life is a hodge-podge of hearty pubbing, countless hours of studying, meetings for different clubs and societies (which often end in pubbing), and frisbee. Well, my house, at least, plays a lot of frisbee. The rest of Oxford is pretty poor when it comes to the sport. The last couple of weeks have emphasized the beauty of Oxford, since the sun has shone for six days straight, an occurrence not experienced since George was king and Benjamin Franklin the world's most annoying pun maker. (Hang together, really, Ben?) Honestly, though, the towers, rivers, and multitude of parks and gardens have never been nicer, all of which look even better from the seat of a punt. What more could a person ask for in the waning Oxford days?

Well, Batfans, that seems to be all I have in me for today. Who knows when I'll blog again, but hopefully it'll be sooner than later. Until then, adieu.

Much Ado About Nothing

2008-11-16T09:28:00.001-08:00

Unfortunately, there are no riveting tales or drunken misadventures with which to fill my blog this week. Well, at least none that I was involved in. So what will I write about, you ask? That's a good question, my cherished reader, so hop to the next paragraph and read what I make up as I go.

This week was a long one. It was filled with four o'clock nights, of the AM variety, and lots of reading and writing. But not of the type you'd think, with me being at Oxford. I mean, I DID read a lot, especially for my Shakespeare tutorial, even if it most of it got done mere minutes before I met with my tutor. What I really spent the week reading were some "candy" books that I found at the bookstore around the corner. And no, you can't know what they are because they would totally embarrass me and practically ruin whatever English snob standing I now have. I need to maintain that until I at least have an MA.

What I really focused on in writing, however, was my own writing. I find that I go in spurts, mostly because of school, of creativity. Having spent my week writing though, I felt particularly drained by the week's end, not sure why I poured so much into stories that will probably only ever be read by myself. However, I came across some music, via my friend Jake here at Oxford, that reminded me of the power of language.

It's a song from "Einstein on the Beach," by Philip Glass. It was a distracting, thrilling, and altogether captivating piece. Music was intermixed with these monologues of prose, creating an atmosphere that didn't depend on what was being said, but how it was said. That energy, raw and unfiltered through connotative analysis, reminded me that words change people through more than their meaning. That seems trivial, but it is the particular distinction of art, where presentation matters as much as the themes behind the work. Both are vital, but an imbalance of either lessens the impact on the audience, or reader.

This isn't as joke-filled as usual, but that's only because I didn't have anything to talk about. Unless you wall wanted to hear about how Shakespeare's motifs and motives have been crystallized with perfect clarity for me by my tutor. Pompously glorious, yes, but very, very boring.

So, now what? Well, what would this blog be without a diatribe, no? And since it's been a bit since I've really gotten into it, I'm going to go off on something that really grates my nerves: headlines.

I have a fair amount of news sites, be it CNN or some movie or sports site, that I regularly check. Now, being in Britain, and having a fair amount of news to keep up on independently, I like to skim the headlines. They are either one of two things: boring or lies. Usually I fall for the lies. Haven't you ever picked up a paper that said something like, "Derek Jeter finally admits hate for A-Rod!" You can't help but look! I mean, Derek Jeter! A-Rod! Two guys you couldn't hate more and in the same article. It's like a hate-fest dream come true, no?

Well, as you read you come across the line, "Yeah, Alex is pretty much a jerk," and then as you keep reading, you see that Jeter is joking. The reporter even says he is joking. In fact, Derek Jeter loves A-Rod, thinks he's the best thing since Barbara Streisand's retirement. Well that's just great! Here I've worked myself up into a gossip frenzy, dying to hear why two over-paid prima donas hate each other only to find out they're in love just short of marriage. That is beyond disappointing, it's down right depressing. I mean, it's bad enough I was going to read the article for what I thought it was. But, well, now I've read it despite what it actually is - bland news.

For all of you marketing people out there - this is your fault. Yours and likely mine. But I'm a capitalist, and it's all about me until something goes wrong. Then it's about you, my friend. You and your lying little headlines.

As always, forgive any typographical errors as I don't have time to edit.

All the Best,
Joel C.

P.S. For all of you business and economic people who think philosophy is a joke, Socrates had already formed the entire framework for the egotistical motivation of neo-classical economics by the time he downed the hemlock. Not bragging, just sayin'...

P.P.S As long as I'm saying. A pre-Socratic philosopher, Zeno, invented the paradox that led Leibniz and Newton to the idea of limits in math. So, you know, philosophers still rock and please stop picking on our jobless futures.

BarACK In Action

2008-11-09T09:01:00.000-08:00

Do you get the title? 'Cause if not I am totally not going to explain it. Harsh, but fair, I think.

So, my adventures in Oxford have been quieter this week, with most of us feeling the drag of being through half a term here. Term, granted, is only eight weeks, but they're very INTENSE weeks. It's like drinking straight juice concentrate versus drinking it with water. Either way you're drinking juice, but the juice concentrate is much thicker and less voluminous. Oh yeah, and, just like Oxford, it makes you want to puke and cry and feel dumber than a Bush with alcohol poisoning... What, too soon? (For those of you counting, that's TWO president allusions now. It must've been election week, right?)

I really shouldn't complain too much about my studies here, though. I've sort of been let off the hook as far as essays go, because so far I'm only averaging one and a half a week. Trust me, the half is not superfluous because it represents the preparation work for one of my lectures. So there. I also have a sort of easy tutor in my philosophy tutorial - she's really smart, but has low expectations because we're visiting students. Not that that's an excuse, or anything. The tutors here, though, have let me appreciate my philosophy teachers back home. Overall, tutors we take here are world-class, especially because the Hall I'm in makes sure we get some of the best tutors from other colleges, and if we have tutors from my Hall, they're all Oxford and Cambridge learned anyways. Still, some of my profs back home, in the philosophy department at least, have easily been as challenging as some of the Friars and philosophy tutors here.

That being said, my English tutor is about ten times more on top of the English canon of literature than any English teacher I have yet to meet. It's amazing. But like how a bear killing a caribou is amazing. You know, it's incredible, but a little disconcerting and definitely not always as self-esteem building as you're used to.

To cap this week, we did have a Halloween party a week late - because we're American and are determined to be as ornery as possible amidst all these English folks. One of my compatriots decided, even, to hang a huge American flag in the basement where the party mostly took place. It was incredible, and definitely very funny. The party itself was a little sloppy, but a lot of fun. Even though I hid in my room for an hour and watched highlights of football (of the British persuasion). Totally worth it, antisocial or not. Especially cause it allowed me to miss the whole puking incident that happened after a German buddy from a neighboring college decided to drink some vodka pretty much straight. If he was really German, he wouldn't have puked. I was very disappointed. (Just a message for any of you Christian kids, especially any of my youth group kids, reading this, I still do NOT encourage getting drunk - especially by way of straight vodka. If you do, you will be judged and beaten. Loved still, but definitely beaten... So there.)

Well, now for the time we've all been waiting for, the obligatory blog diatribe! Yay!

Actually, today's will also be a little more serious, and political, so feel free to not read if you think my disagreeing with you will cause any enmity between us. As for me, I get my jollies through argument...

People's reactions to our new president have been foolish on both sides of the fence. One, Obama is NOT the savior of our government. Two, thinking that Obama is going to ruin this country single-handedly is foolish because it makes the same mistake the first problem makes - it assigns too much power to the executive branch. Now, I'm going to make the argument that our government isn't completely broken and matches at least some of the complicated proceedings laid out by Madison and other boys like that, but I'll also look at if that's maybe not the case. Either way, the reaction people are having seem to be a little narrow-minded, and not necessarily in a liberal or conservative way.

We have THREE branches because, as a republic (not a democracy), we have decided that three branches will help the government avoid falling into the trap that monarchies have fallen into; the leviathan that Hobbes describes, but with none of the "redeeming" qualities he argues for. Even more so, having two houses, a judicial branch, and the President and his cabinet is supposed to avoid the flaw of Locke, whose theory creates a leviathan through majority. Now, who knows if that leviathan is ever truly aviodable, but the checks and balances were at least attempting to avoid that.

If a president is so powerful as to decide the fate of the entire country, with no check on his power, then have we not returned to, essentially, the state of a monarchy? I'm no fan of Bush, but if his cabinet is to be blamed for everything that when wrong with him as president, then shouldn't that require a redefinition of the presidency itself, since his ability to single-handedly capsize America would suggest that, hmm, maybe he's too powerful? That, even, maybe our vaunted checks and balances have been forgetten in the actual practice of governing? This is the essential flaw with people's reactions to Barack - he should not be able to single-handedly lift or break the nation. Now, maybe he's the straw on the camel's back, or maybe the final piece of the puzzle that makes everything click. Even so, that still LIMITIS his impact, so that we should look to other parts of the government for how to fix our country's issues, and not put it all on the president.

I'm not dismissing the extreme power and influence of the president, either. I'm simply trying to make the argument that he is held too responsible for all the issues that go wrong. Then again, if he is that responsible, we have a much bigger problem than we think, because a president who has overriding power in the government breaks the entire purpose of our country's intentions. I realize that it is not black and white, that maybe presidents have too much power, but not complete power, or some such thing. But even if THAT is the case, we should be concerned about such an imbalance, just as people have voiced concern about the Supreme Court and its possibly being too strong of a check.

There's a lot more I could say, talking about the shift from states' balance in the government to party balance or about the change in how presidents can make "conflicts" without going to war, but I think I'll leave it alone and let the haters use that to create counter-arguments based on what I haven't said. Now, this is not a pro-Obama or an anit-Obama "diatribe," rather, it is just something that has been bugging me. The president is a piece of the government, and if we really believe that he has become powerful enough to put the entire country on his back, then THAT is what we should be raising our voices about, because that would spell disaster on a scale that doesn't depend on just one term in office, like the president or not.

On that happy, optimistic note I'll take my leave.

All the Best,
Joel C.

Ice Ice, Baby...

2008-10-30T03:23:00.000-07:00

Greetings denizens of the world. I have been rather remiss in my updating of this blog, and I promise, wholeheartedly, to try to think about changing that once every other week. Or so. Give or take a week.

In this edition of my narcissistic ramblings (come on, you know you think blogs are way self-consumed, even though you have one and count the number of times people view it) I am going to talk about my adventure to London last Saturday. I went with some buddies of mine who live with me here in Oxford. They were Cap'n (his real name is Cornelius so I think I did him quite a favor by labeling him with so swaggering a title), Matt, Julie, and Salmon (real name Samone, nicknamed Salmon because her name is spelled poorly and looks more fishy than Simone-y). We met up with a friend of Matt's and a friend of Julie's, both friends stopping by because they were also on study abroad, just not in England.

So, London. Let me say that London, though everyone has a bit of an accent and no one drives on the correct side of the road, felt remarkably like New York City. I mean, at least the part of London that we were in. Even so, it was a great place with stuff open WAY later than Oxford, which isn't hard since everything in Oxford is shut down by midnight, and most far before that. Except for kebab vans - the greatest single gift, other than pubs and football, I see England contritubing to the world. Seriously, forget parliament or the breaking off from the Catholic Church, kebab vans are slowly revolutionizing our blue globe with their greasy amazingness and awesome cheapness.

Anyhow, our main point in going to London was to go to this "Ice Bar," which is fashioned after the ice hotels in Russia - you know, the ones made completely of ice and stuff. The whole place is a restaurant with the actual "ice bar" only a small part of the establishment sequestered off by itself. You pay 12 quid to get into this little room where the walls are ice, the bar is ice, your glasses are ice, the seats are ice - hence the ice bar label. It was actually really very fun, though a total one time experience. Indeed, going from the warmish London air to the ice bar was sort of like going into Narnia, only Tumnus had vodka and insisted you have some too. That Tumnus, what a guy, huh?

In the bar they even gave us little parkas and gloves, which were totally necessary since, as I mentioned, you were drinking from a glass made of ice! Pretty schway, huh? You could only be in there for 40 minutes, but that was completely acceptable because after 40 minutes I was like, "I'm from Colorado, ice is only impressive for so long..." Not really. Although, for those of you who didn't know, in the 1800s/early 1900s (not positive on dates, but feel free to check) Colorado's biggest tourist attraction was, get this, an Ice Palace! Yes, a true hotel/club sort of building constructed from ice much like those now made in Russia. Man, what DOESN'T Colorado invent, right? (That's for you, Troy...)

The rest of our London evening was a good time. As I've alluded to, I chill with a band of drunkenly fellows, and the worst of doing so is that drunkenly fellows are always HUNGRY. And of course, bottomless pit that I am, if something looks good I eat too. Funny thing is, on this outing, no one was really all that into drinking. Instead, Matt and I forced the entire group to look for Cinnabons as we had heard there was one nearby. Alas, our expedition to find the creamy delight that is a cinnabon failed - but we stacked up on some burgers, some candy, and some nachos instead. Mmm, nachos.

Thus, with our bellies bursting and our ice bar need fulfilled, we headed back home on the bus. It was a grand old time and the ice bar really was neat, but I hope to get back to London to, you know, actually see some of the historical sites and more touristy things. But, on to more important matters. Namely, today's diatribe!

Today's diatribe has a slightly more serious note, but fear not, sports fans, it is all in good jest and I'm sure you'll agree.

Why is it that political debates are ANYTHING but debates? If I wanted to watch someone stand on stage and poorly outline vague notions of their beliefs, being careful to never really get into anything tangible or thought-provoking because they don't want to offend anyone or have too many guffaws, I'd just turn on Oprah (or Joel Osteen, for that matter). And although she is more annoying than the Jonas Brothers and Hannah Montanna combined, at least you know she's being authentic - you can't fake that kind of annoying, you just can't. But when politicians debate, they're annoying not because their personality is flawed beyond social repair, though that is the case sometimes, but because they have the ability to talk for three hours and never say a thing.

What's more, in no sense of the word is what they have a debate. There is no structured argument, just random assertions and curmudgeonly (if you're McCain) or pompous (if you're Barack) retorts. Where are the point by point arguments? Where are the counter-points? In each candidate's case, they begin to answer the question and then veer off into some distant land where they can be sure what they say is safe and belongs to the party line. Oy freaking vey, people! It almost makes me wish Hillary was back in the race because then at least ONE of the candidates would have some huevos when it comes to mincing words...

The real tragedy of course, is Joe Plumber. That's right, Joe, I'm talking to you as well. Not because you're poor, or rich, or white, or black, or for any other reason than you're supposed to represent the average American. Let's say that's true, Joe. You are the average American. Well, if that's so, why the crap, Joe, are you picking candidates based on incomprehensible debates and 30-second advertisements? Or, worse, why are you picking like a sports fan, rooting for your party no matter who's playing? This isn't football, Joe, where no matter the players your support the team. And so, I can only conclude that America, from the top down, is becoming foolish in their common sense and lazy in their reasoning, both because of how candidates expect to be judged and how we, as voters, proceed to judge them. It's a shame, really. But hey, both candidates promise change right? I mean, neither ran a groundbreaking campaign, but I'm sure once they get into office they'll be flooded with original thoughts. Just like the last 43 guys...

All the Best,
Joel C.

Tutors, Tudors, and Two Doors

2008-10-17T13:11:00.001-07:00

First, fans of mine, the last homophonic phrase of my title doesn't really have a meaning. Now, I tried long and hard to find a good anecdote so that it would make sense. But it doesn't. That's life, friends. Let's move on.

Second, and more joyfully, the first two homophonic pieces of my title DO have meanings (and there was great rejoicing). You see, this week was my first week of tutorials (hence the "Tutor" part of my title for those of you who hate derivations, as I do with a passion), and in my English tutorial, we read Richard III, in addition to Richard II, and as we all know, Henry VII is the hero of Richard III and begins the Tudor dynasty. Thus, my title is born from both sense and nonsense, as all good literature is. Booyah suckas.

Tutorials are amazing, in that you get a one-on-one education with a brilliant scholar in your particular area eight weeks a term. Tutorials are also hellish, in that you are forced to talk one-on-one with a brilliant scholar in your particular area for eight weeks a term. Oh, and during your time with the brilliant scholar you read them an essay you wrote, likely the night before, and have them react right there, usually with nods of approval or grunts of disgust. The hours of discussion themselves are pretty doable, but because it's only one hour a week, the workload outside of class is usually pretty hefty. Doable in its own right, but hefty.

However, as everyone knows, college is really not about learning and academics. This is true, although it slightly less true, at Oxford as well. As such, I am currently trying to play as many club/intramural sports as possible, with Ultimate Frisbee being the leading candidate right now - and these boys are good. I'm just playing with the beginners right now, some of which are about at my level, but most are definitely just beginning. The first team, though, are pretty awesome and I look forward to playing some games, hopefully. If I do it. I'm not, like, undecided or, uh, anything...

Moving on to something far more important: I SAW ROGER MOORE. That's right, Bondaphytes, the replacement for Sean Connery was signing books in the Borders right down the street from me. And he was gross. I mean, really gross. I don't think I could even get a picture of him just because I had to get out of there before that badly colored hair and Botoxed face weighed me down anymore. None the less, it was pretty magical.

Seeing as how I can't think of anything else to say, we shall now move to the only reason I still do this blog: the write-as-I-think-it diatribe. Let me think. Aha! I've got it. (This one's for you, Roger...)

How, in the name of all that is right in cinema (which isn't much), do people really try to make the argument that the new Bond movies are inferior to the old ones? This is like suggesting that The Dark Knight or Batman Begins is worse than Tim Burton's misguided hack-job that involved, of all people, Michael Keaton. "Well," people tell me, "it's not that they're not good movies, it's that they're not James Bond, you know?" No, I don't. And, in all honesty, apparently neither do you. Let's review what makes James Bond awesome. One, his charm. Two, his ability to remain cavalier in the face of danger. Three, that he is the best spy in the world. And, four, his ability with women (maybe immoral, but essential to Bond, like it or not).

People, in what way does Daniel Craig or the latest Bond movie lack these qualities? Charm? The boy's got it in bucket loads. Seriously, I'm pretty sure he convinced Jason Bourne to spoon with him one time just by smiling. That's charm baby. And we don't even need to discuss his cavalier nature, which, as it should, flirts with that beautiful border of Bond arrogance. Daniel Craig makes you feel like less; it's just how he rolls. As for being the best spy, did any other James Bond, EVER, kick so much trash as Craig does? I can't even answer it's such a silly question. And, finally, raise your hand if you're a girl and need nothing more than to see Craig's blue eyes to make you swoon. Yes, my hand is raised as well; whose wouldn't be?

And all of this ignores the film's cinematography and writing, which far surpass any other Bond movie. Now, Sean will always be Bond, but be glad denizens of Westerndom, for his heir has finally arrived.

All the Best,
Joel C.

Pub Crawl

2008-10-07T11:16:00.001-07:00

Well, friends, it's time to review the age restriction rule of this blog: You must be 21 (or 18 if you're not in America) as we will be discussing adventures involving alcohol. As a note, yours truly did NOT become inebriated, so if anyone feels like judging, please see this. Now, for the blog itself.

On Monday, our first day of orientation, the JCR (which stands for Junior Common Room and is basically the college's social club or forum for undergrads) decided that our nightly adventure should be a pub-crawl. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, it is a night that involves walking around with your college buddies and attempting to visit as many pubs as possible. Yes, it involves drinking.

As fate would have it my group has "that guy" who after one pint is joining every cheer in the pub and making more friends than anyone else, even though we all think he's coming off a little creepy. In all honesty, what made the trip so fun were the pubs themselves, which all had great character and much better environment than any sticky, plague-ridden bar involving bright lights and too many shots (tsk tsk those of you who laugh because of memories). Overall the night was a blast and our group got on really well, despite "that guy," whose name is Tom, doing his best to give his e-mail to the prettiest girl at any given pub - and usually very successfully. He was pretty amazing.

I recommend a pub-crawl to anyone who comes to Oxford, but make sure you're with the right crowd. Now, for today's diatribe...

It is time that people in the U.S. stop raising their ignorant noses at that God-given drink called cider. First, for all you "But it's a GIRLIE drink" crowd, British cider actually has more alcohol than beer or ale - not that that makes it better, mind you, it just counteracts that lots point. Second, the stuff tastes like more fun than other beers. Now, hear me out. Ale is usually bitter and beer is often, well, gross (not all, mind you, but more than is right) and when it isn't gross it's not nearly as jovial or happily-trivial as cider. But cider, cider is fresh and exciting, like Fun-Bobby from "Friends" or that happy guy who never seems to wear out his stay because he really is enjoyable and you can tell he has some real integrity or character beneath all that warmth. Cider invigorates with a lightness of spirit that ale and beer just can't imitate (through taste, you boozers, taste). It's not that either one is bad, it's that they're not as cheerful - don't believe me? What's a happier color, muddy- to ruddy-brown, or gold? Gold, of course. And cider, my dear friends, is always gold. More importantly, it tastes like it should be gold.

All the Best,
Joel C.

In Oxford!

2008-10-05T09:44:00.000-07:00

It's finally come to manifestation: I am IN Oxford! Woo-to-the-hoo, people; this is a big deal. So, as of yet we haven't had too many adventures. For our first night, all of the students in my house (which is narrow but has something like 6 floors including the basement) and Mark went out for some grub at a local pub. That was something of an ordeal, of course, because so many of the pubs stopped serving food in the afternoon. After a search, we did indeed come upon The Crown, where cheap food was had to everyone's delight. And it was glorious.

In truth, that was our only real outing as today, Sunday, has been spent going around gathering the few odd things we still have left to gather and getting of our things ready for orientation week. Of course, a lot of us (me included) left our orientation outlines online and now have to cram into a cafe that offers finicky wi-fi. At least it does have wi-fi, though, unlike our house. Well, actually, our house does, but they're not giving us the password until Tuesday. Crazy Blackfriars, they'll probably make us kill a goat first or something. I keed (mostly as goat-killing is really a Mason thing, and we don't want to get confused with THAT crowd, do we?)

As for the diatribe of the blog, today will be an anti-diatribe, wherein I will happily rant and be as uplifting, though still snarky, as ever.

Liverpool, my friends, is the greatest club ever. Let me tell you why: First, what makes a great game? I mean, think about the best games you've seen and you'll think, almost always, of the COMEBACK that really lit you on fire. People - no one does comebacks like Liverpool. Today, in fact, we had a comeback against those cash-cows from Man City when we were done 2-0. But that's nothing, loyal followers, NOTHING. Three and half years ago Liverpool were down 3-0 at halftime to AC Milan, one of the greatest clubs in the world, and came back to WIN. And what did they win, you ask? The CHAMPIONS League, people, the veritable Super Bowl of Soccer! Liverpool is the most winning club in England and have done it with more entertainment in single games than Man U has generated in entire years of play. Liverpool now; Liverpool forever. Boo. Yah.

All the Best,
Joel C.

P.S. - Getting to Oxford took forever as Mark and I went a roundabout way and then had a train delayed because of a fatality. Oh well, still got here and all is awesome.

Kebabs Galore!

2008-10-03T16:09:00.000-07:00

Good news, fans of Joel, I have been inducted into true U.K. society as tonight I went out for a drink in a pub, then accompanied my Scottish and Welsh compatriots to a kebab shop, the only place to really get food in a small, U.K. town like Amersham (where I am staying currently with Mark). Unfortunately for all you devoted readers, there isn't too much to report about my time here in England except that I am now wishing my kebab meal wasn't quite as greasy as it had been. Though at the time you would have heard no such complaints. Mm mm, grease! Tomorrow I actually go to Oxford so there really isn't anything of importance to write about. However, the thought of a good ol' write-as-you-think-it diatribe was simply too scrumptious to pass up.

(This one comes via a conversation I JUST had with Mark literally just after I'd written the above paragraph.)

Why is it that Coldplay is such a posh taste, as if they've always been so amazing? I mean, have a look through any Joe-Shmoe's music list and Coldplay will surely appear. Of course, I write this listening to Coldplay's newest album, the latest crave among people of all nations, ages, and colors; and perhaps most popular with those who, well, suffered through the interminable mire of muck-ridden music they used to write. Before I'm mugged, let me explain. Coldplay's newest work is really good, even bordering on really really good (though it's no Joshua Tree), but how is that everyone keeps telling me, "Oh yes, well they've always been one of my favourites because they're so consistently awesome." Don't tell me that. Don't. Just, you know, don't. Unless you want to me look down on you, because I will and I'm England now and we do that quite well over here. Coldplay was a nuisance before this; at best it was a stop-gap on the radio where one could wait in hopes of better things to come. This new album is good, but everyone who acts as though this was in the making is simply wrong. Indeed, the reason Coldplay's newest album is so exciting is because this WASN'T in the making, but was rather a beautiful sucker-punch of sonic-loveliness that no one really saw coming. So, here's to you fans of old Coldplay, they're finally worth the billing - just don't tell me you always thought they were and knew one day everyone else would too.

Editor's Note: The snarky, arrogant tone used in the diatribe section is by no means meant to incite bad feelings or ill-will towards the author, or to have those think he is trying to insult anyone. Rather, it's meant to be a diatribe. You know, a really snarky one, but hopefully not ever genuinely arrogant.

All the Best,
Joel C.

P.S. Although Coldplay's music is better their music video for Viva La Vida (I think) was horrible. Rubbish, I tell you. Positively rubbish.

Here We Go!

2008-10-02T07:10:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the soon-to-be popular blog about, well, you know who... *blushes* So, I've begun this blog out of requests from those at home and abroad who feel they want to be included in my life still. To be honest, though, I'm not the best at this sort of consistent life-updating schtick, but I certainly will give 'er a go. Hopefully, for your entertainment, I will have a vast amount of adventures that range from trivial to grandiose, from mundane to exhilarating, and everything in between (hence the range bit). So, in honour (notice the BRITISH spelling, which will be inconsistently dropped in throughout my blogs, maybe) of this beginning, I will now post my first write-as-you-think-it diatribe.

Is there a reason in particular why football fans refuse to appreaciate good football just because they hate a particular team? Now, for those of you in the U.S. this is SOCCER, but really this diatribe can extend to any sport. I mean, how many people have you talked to who balked at perfectly wonderful games simply because those blasted "insert hated sports team" were playing and how could that be enjoyed? Seriously. Last night I was forced to sit through an awful game involving Chelsea versus some unknown Polish (or who knows what) club when a perfectly riveting game involving Liverpool was being played. I realize, of course, that the pub I was in was situated closest to London (where Chelsea F.C. is based) and so was, more or less, a "Chelsea pub." However, there were two TVs, at least, which, by my calculation, means at least ONE of those screens could have showed my beloved Reds beating the tar out of PSV while the ruddy, drunken Chelsea fans watched in boredom as their team faded from form before their eyes. Oy. Vey.

All the Best,

Joel C.