Part XI: Under Better Circumstances This Would Be The Last Chapter

I didn't sleep well. Nothing has gone well. Thanks to an ice storm in New York I'm stuck in London until Monday at 11:00 am. I suppose there's worse places to be stranded (Minneapolis). I'm just lucky I was able to catch Sarah before her bus to Oxford left. As soon as I found out my flight had been cancelled I sprinted to the bus platforms (I've come to know my way around Gatwick pretty well now.) She wasn't on the platform, but upon checking the windows of the bus to Oxford I found her.
Right now we're back in Oxford while Sarah does laundry and packs for Rome. As soon as she's done we're heading back to Gatwick. We will be staying at the Hilton, compliments of Continental Airlines. This means another day in London, and getting out of classes on Monday.

But I was ready to be home.

Part X: This Is London

London today. Big Ben. Parliament. Buckingham Palace. Tower of London. Etc. Etc. We were only there for about eight hours and we were all over. It's definately not a city to experience in half a day. I'm exhausted and ready to go home. I need to be at the airport by 9:00am tomorrow. Luckily our hostel here in Gatwick provides a free shuttle to the airport.
The hostel is very nice. Definately worth 50 Euro. And there's a TV. That's new. I am going to sleep well tonight.

See you in New York.

Part IX: Westport (The Clever Titles Have Officially Ended)

I've felt sick most of the day. We got to Westport early this afternoon, checked into our hostel and then walked and walked and walked. We ended up at a pub called The Towers where I had a small, 2.50 Euro glass of water and the girls each had an Irish Coffee that I don't want to know the cost of. After we walked back to the hostel, Nate and I decided to take a break from all this vacationing and go see "Blood Diamond" at the cineplex conveniently right next to our hostel. The show teim was for 6:00 so we walked over at about a quarter 'til to find the doors locked and no one inside.
Back at the hostel, the woman at the front desk assured us that they opened at 6, and that's what they did. At about two minutes 'til six they began turning things on and getting popcorn ready.
Now we're back at the hostel going to sleep because our bus to Knock leaves at 7:15 tomorrow morning.

I'm tired.

Part VIII: The Cliffs of Moher

We arrived in Doolin just after 8:00pm. The last hour of the bus ride found me throwing up in my shaving kit. Needless to say, I fell asleep almost as soon as we got to our hostel.
We got up early this morning and caught the eight o'clock bus to the Cliffs of Moher. We spent the first part of the morning walking around and climbing over walls to get to the edge of the cliffs. While Nate took a several kilometer walk to some ruins, I sat in the cafeteria. We took the bus back to Doolin and the bus driver asked us what else we had seen in the area, and then ended up dropping us off a little past our hostel right on the coast. We stayed there for an hour or two, except Nate who left early to catch the bus so he could get lunch. The rest of walked back to the hostel a little later.
The landscape by the coast was beautiful. The rock formations were incredible, like giant steps cut into the coastline. Further inland, it was simply a green, rock-strewn, plain that, along with the cliffs, looked exactly like the music video to Sigur Ros's "Glosoli".
The bus to Galway was about half and hour late. While we were waiting, we met a guy who was in the military (U.S.) who was finishing up a month long world tour. He had made his way West from Hong Kong and was spending his last few days in Ireland.
The ride to Galway was much less nauseating than the previous bus rides had been. We checked into our hostel, walked back to the coast, and then attended mass at what I believe was St. Nicholas Cathedral.

Onto the pubs.

Part VII: Ireland

After an uneventful flight into West Knock Airport, we managed to find a bus that took us to Charlestown, which is one of the least Irish sounding names I've ever heard of as far as towns go. From Charlestown, we got a bus to Galway. Tonight we're staying in Doolin, but the bus for Doolin didn't leave until 6:00pm, giving us a few hours to kill. We walked around Galway, saw a bank that was once a castle where the mayor hung his own son, saw an old church, and eventually worked our way to Galway Bay. We were all much more excited about Galway when we realized it was right on the coast. (Evidentally none of us bothered to look at a map.) After we walked along the beach for awhile, we stopped in a pub called The Quays and then bought towels at a department store before heading back to the bus station. There's about an hour and fifteen minutes left before we reach Doolin. I'm either going to read some more of James Joyce's Ulysses, or get some sleep.

We'll see.

Part VI: 4am, We Ran a Miracle Mile

We left Sarah's flat at 4:00 this morning and arrived at Glouster Green a little before 4:30am. I'm listening to Hail to the Theif as we put Oxford behind us. Our flight to Ireland leaves from Luton Airport sometime around 9:00am.
I didn't sleep at all. It sucked until I realized that I'm not really that tired. I will be later, but until that hits... Goodbye Oxford.




Thanks for not raining.

Part V: Last Day in Oxford

Nate got in this morning at about 11:15 am. I met him at Glouster Green after a light breakfast at a Starbucks while I read Thomas More, which I borrowed from Sarah. I definitely need to buy a new book before I fly back to Newark. We had lunch with Sarah at the Cock and Camel. Tonight, we went to Jude the Obscure for awhile, and then got dinner from a Kabob van and ate on the way back to Sarah's flat. Now we're all bedding down for the night, because we have to be back at Glouster Green to catch the bus to the airport at 4:00 am. So with that being said I am going to bed.

Goodnight.

Part IV: First Day in Oxford

The ride from Gatwick to Oxford is just about two hours. During that time I saw two soccer matches in progress, saw two cars in a row with "Cheeky Monkey On Board" window placards, finished Chuck Klosterman IV, and listened to Radiohead.
Oxford has been very accommodating so far. It's wonderful to see my sister again. I've missed her. She's done well in the friends department while she's been here. For dinner, the lot of us went to The Eagle and Child, which is a pub where Lewis and Tolkien used to spend a lot of time. We were going to go to Jude the Obscure, which is were Radiohead first played, but they weren't serving food.
I should point out that, in my mind, this trip has been a little bit of a Radiohead tribute. I like Radiohead. Some people think I like Radiohead for the same reasons I drink hot tea and read Charles Bukowski. True, I drink hot tea and read Charles Bukowski to appear artsy and feel superior, but I legitimately like Radiohead. I think Thom Yorke's pretty brilliant, and as far as bands go, they're intelligent, inventive, and particularly talented musicians.
Anyways, before I left, I made sure I had every Radiohead song on my computer on my ipod. Right now, I'm in the middle of "Morning Bell", the third track off I Might Be Wrong: Live Recordings. So far I've listened to Pablo Honey, My Iron Lung EP, The Bends, OK Computer, "Fake Plastic Trees" from the Tibetan Freedom Concert, Kid A, and Amnesiac. That only leaves the rest of I Might Be Wrong, and Hail to the Theif. (I don't have all of Thom Yorke's The Eraser, but I'll listen to it when I get back).
I'd also like to go on the record and say, contrary to what I've been told, that Pablo Honey is a pretty great album. Even if it is their worst (which I'm not sure it is) it still kicks an awful lot of arse.

Take that Chad's uncle.

Part III: Taking Off and Landing

To catch everyone up, Nate, who was supposed to arrive in Gatwick twenty minutes before me, is, as far as I know, still in Minneapolis. His flight from London was overbooked and he was bumped. It sucks. He should be able to get a flight out tomorrow no problem, but it still sucks. If I was going to get stranded somewhere, it sure wouldn't be Minneapolis.

Cheers.

Part II: Falling Asleep Against the Window Pane

They're double plated. You can't break them.
My worst flight was a red-eye from Anchorage, AK to Chicago. It was an increcibly small, cramped flight. The five rows directly in front of me were full of very blonde, very thin teenagers all sporting Abercrombie & Fitch, and they would not shut up. My flight from Newark to London is much better. At least the old woman next to me is sharing her gum.
I've decided that my favourite picture on the safety information packet is the one of the red-headed woman serenely floating in the middle of the ocean, calmly clutching the cushion of what was once her seat on the plane that is, assuming from its absence in the picture, now buried beneath the waves. She looks a bit like Rose from Titantic: stoic and determined. Perhaps they should make cushions with wistles to blow to alert the men in the life boats (see the inside of the safety information packet).

Cheers.

Part I: The Illusion of Safety

My flight out of Columbus is leaving a little behind schedule. The stewardess did her bit, and I felt like Brad Pitt through the whole thing. Not rich & famous, or sexy, or humanitarian, but cynical; wondering who any of this would keep me alive in an actual plane crash. We're finally moving now that I've heard "I Can't Stop Loving You" twice and they've kicked off two passengers to make weight requirements. The guy in front of me took a $400 travel voucher so he could get a direct flight to Rio de Janeiro. I don't know who else was bumped.
It's a small plane, and I'm a little cramped and hot right now. Chuck Klosterman just finished telling me not to worry about people in the UK hating me because I'm American, because they're just as unsophisticated and unintelligent as Americans hate French people for being French. I'm just hoping I don't miss my connecting flight to Newark.
Side Note: It doesn't inspire confidence that they had to bump two passengers to insure we have enough fuel for two hours of flight. Especially since we haven't even taken off yet.

Cheers.

Don't Say That... Say 'Bon Voyage'

Tomorrow I leave for London.
I hope everyone is paying attention.

Shawn, Bud, and I have begun planning our next trip. In April we're going to Boston. At least that's the plan for right now. That means I need to make some money appear.

Cheers.

Survivor: Kokomo, IN

I had a job interview yesterday. I think it went about as well as it could, but since there's no telling whether or not I got the job, it only seemed right to celebrate the fact that I'm being considered. Therefore Shawn, Julie, and I went to P.F.Chang's for dinner. After dinner, we made a quick stop by Joseph-Beth. Upon entering, we were greeted by a banner announcing that Rupert would be in the store next week.

No, not that Rupert.

Or that one.

That's the one.
You may be asking why I was intrigued by this announcement. Well, the truth is that Rupert and I share a similar background, in that we were both raised in Kokomo, Indiana. Ok, technically I was raised just outside of Kokomo, but I still spent a great deal of time there. And in that time spent in Kokomo, I have realized that it is a pretty terrible place.
As we were in line to check out, I picked up a copy of Rupert's new book, Just Being Me, and flipped through it to see if there was anything I could relate to. Near the end of the book, Rupert has a passage about a parade in Kokomo that he participated in a few years ago ( a parade I just happen to have attended) and writes about what it was like to be back in Kokomo. The short passage mostly speaks of bad memories and trying to explain to his daughter why he was so sad. He ended the section on Kokomo with something to the effect of "I'm just glad I don't live there anymore".

You and me both Rupert.

London Calling

One week from today, my plane will be arriving in London. From there I'll be on a bus to Oxford to see my sister after two months of brief phone conversations and email messages. Hopefully, during the one full day I'll be in Oxford, I'll run into Thom Yorke at a natural foods store or something.
The rest of the week we'll be spent in the Repubic of Ireland and London. (While in London, I'm hoping to meet Bansky. Or at least see some of his work.) As far as Spring Breaks go, this one's not too bad. Now I just have to figure out how to set up my tournament picks from across the Atlantic.


Cheers.

More of What Happens During Biology Class

Tonight we're supposed to be learning about Cell Division and Patterns of Inheritance. I should be paying attention seeing as we have a midterm next week, but never has something as miraculous as life at the cellular lever seemed as dull as it does right now. Usually Mitosis would be fascinating, but at the moment is's like watching my grandmother play Boggle with herself.
A couple days ago, Shawn and I were driving. We were stuck behind a pick-up with a Dale Earnhart sticker on the back when he made the comment that no one has become more famous by dying than Dale Earnhart. This was a ridiculous statement for two reasons. 1) Dale Earnhart was plenty famous before he died. I have a feeling that when "Ironhead" died, he didn't get a whole lot of new fans. His old fans just got a whole lot sadder, and began pasting 3's to anything they could stick a sticker to. 2) There are so many people who's only claim to fame is that they died. I would liken Dale Earnhart's death to deaths like Kurt Cobain and Princess Di. These people were famous in their respective circles (i.e. the "Seattle grunge music" scene and "the world" scene), but became pop culture icons when they died.
At the time, I tried to illustrate to Shawn what a ridiculous statement he had made, but when asked for examples my mind went blank. So here's just a few people who's names you only know because they're no longer with us. (This is not meant to be morbid, or to make light of these people. I'm just proving a point.)

Jennifer Strange
Nathan Hale
Terri Schiavo
JonBenet Ramsey- (This one seems the most obvious to me... just ask Clyde.)

Stay alive.