[My stockpiled journal entries reached critical mass, and this is that explosion.
I’ve been here for about half a month, I guess, and though I haven’t put anything out on Facebook for a while, I have been devotedly recording the interesting happenings of late (I’ve become quite an avid journaler). Though I know the current trend is to blog every day, popping up short thoughts or recaps for (if you’re lucky) a few people to read and maybe care about, I’m old-fashioned; I still prefer the longer, more collected entry, and aging and editing only improves that, methinks. At any rate this is what’s been happening in and around my mind since our last formal contact.
It’s very long, long enough that you may not want to down it in one sitting, unless you’re one of the few people alive endowed with massive amounts of free time. Make it last – these notes won’t be coming out with the same frequency in the next few months, for things are picking up and I’m getting involved in various activities. I’ll try to keep you ‘abreast’ of those too, though.]
While waiting at the free city bus stop to go shopping a man dressed in a fancy sweater and disturbingly tight white pants spontaneously struck up a conversation with us about how terrible Bradford was. I think a car revving by set him off. There is certainly an improportion between reckless drivers showing off and police officers, and I think I heard that there are races on this hill sometimes. As I write this, even, a car outside is making a completely unnecessary amount of noise outside. If it’s not the engine it’s the stereo, which at times (late at night, naturally) somehow manages to vibrate my entire room. I always think, if I had music tastes that bad I certainly wouldn’t make it so obvious…
To be honest, over-testosteroned drivers unaware of what constitutes classiness don’t really concern me. But it was fascinating to hear the tight-white-pants man’s views on how Bradford is going to the dogs but they somehow think that redesigning the city centre will change that, and that the uni is the best part of the city. Good for us.
Then at Tesco we were waiting in the checkout line and an Indian international student in front of us got caught trying to pay with a counterfeit fifty-pounder. Wow. A burly shaved-headed security guard came out and starting expounding on how the note was obviously fake – felt like paper. The student was protesting that it’d come straight from the Bank of India. If he didn’t know it was fake, which he probably didn’t, I feel really sorry for him. He was still with security when we left, trying to get ahold of his bank manager.
Amusingly, I also paid with a fifty and was a bit nervous, but the cashier said he could tell from a mile away that it was real. Good for him. Shall we test out that range, and I’ll take my purchases with me while we’re at it?
I’ve had to use fifties quite a lot in the stores around here because that’s what I was given at Narita, and they always get checked, apparently it’s quite unusual, but I haven’t had any problems so far.
Why would a counterfeiter ever make fifties? Make fives, they never get checked.
* * *
“Did you say you’re from London?”
“Yeh, how about you?”
“Where do you think I’m from?”
“Erm…I can’t tell by your accent…London?”
Score. Brace yourself, England – you’ll never stop me now.
I’m getting really mixed reviews on the accent, though. Just when I think I’m doing alright, maybe getting some compliments or people thinking I’m British, I’ll get some odd comment that I can’t quite figure out – is it the accent or is it that I’m an international student, that I said I’m from Japan, that my name is Brad, or something else? There’s a weird combination of people not really thinking about accents and thinking about accents a lot which is hard to maneuvre. I guess all I can really say with confidence is that no one’s accused me of faking it outright, which is good, because I am. And it’s not Japan, people don’t have this terrible revulsion to/fear of speaking their mind, so I am making progress.
I went to the comedy night this evening, and it was actually very funny. The host, Ed Gamble, did a bit before each act and was hilarious, though profane. He’d interview people and make fun of them – seems that’s quite a popular thing to do in England. More audience interaction than American stand-up. There was a guy, Phil, who apparently comes to every comedy night and is quite strange, so he got a lot of making fun of. Was in a cage on stage by the end of the night.
The first guy was Scottish and probably really funny, but no one could understand him. It wasn’t completely his fault, the mike booming added some murkiness, but really, isn’t is possible to tone that sort of thing down? It really would’ve helped. Felt sorry for him.
The second guy, Chris Ramsey from Newcastle, was great. Really entertaining. Told a lot of stories, audience interaction. He had a habit of interrupting his jokes with other jokes that some word reminded him of. But he always remembered his place, except one time he forgot what the TV show host did next, and that was when Phil went in the cage. Fortunately he remembered and finished up the show. So I’m impressed with British comedians, and happy that I could understand it for the most part, and that I’m starting to see the regional variations in accent as well. I should get a big map to put up on the wall to look at it that way as well.
Oh yeah, we almost didn’t get in. I didn’t buy a ticket because I couldn’t be bothered to during my napping this afternoon, and then I was waiting with Edward and Stefan, and of course they didn’t have tickets. We got to the front of the line and that was when the UBU officer came out and said they’d run out of seats. But we were able to get in on standing room, and it turned out there were still plenty of places to sit, if not seats. We got the pool table on the side. But it would’ve been almost funny if they cut the line just in front of us. All because I decided to have chips with my sandwich beforehand. Or that I wanted a tom-ah-toe in it.
Oh, and ‘whilst’ the hall is stinky and stuffy, my room is fresh and fragrant with a bathroom-y version of 畳（たたみ）smell thanks to plug-in air fresheners. Well, one. It’s quite strong. Not exactly authentic nor manly but gets the job done. Girls would like it but there won’t be too many of those in here.
* * *
I went to Lloyds TSB this morning to finalise my account, but she said she hadn’t done it, could I come back at 12? Yes, of course (this wouldn’t’ve happened in Japan). In the afternoon it was packed and I had to wait ages for a few minutes of obvious stuff. I felt sorry for the guy in front of me; he hadn’t done anything beforehand and had to wait even longer than me. I’ve noticed that in most shops the staff certainly aren’t plentiful. They’re plenty helpful, but I’ve several times wished there were more available. I suppose that’s culture too, and perhaps the recession.
Another interesting thing happened: I was walking up the hill from the bank to the mall and passed a group of Middle Eastern-looking girls, and right before I walked by, one of them turned her head in my direction and said in a thick Indian/Northern England accent, “What the f*** are you staring at, you motherf***er!” It took me a second to discern what she’d said, but as soon as I did the next second was spent freaking out inwardly, thinking she’d said it to me (I had glanced at them right before that). But then I realized there were two guys walking in front of me that she’d been looking at as she profaned, and was immediately relieved. Wow. Imagine that happening in Japan. Not easy, eh? I’d love to see it though.
* * *
I came to the UK to get away from American pop, but it’s here too! Ack. Be proud of your own music! Granted, there’s not much to be proud of, but try! Kidding, kidding. Oh, I found they have a music centre here and I’ll be able to go in and practice drums regularly. やった！（-マン）
* * *
I went to the gym for the first time today. It’s really nice – it better be, considering what I paid for it. I should work out a schedule to go there. I don’t want to get huge muscles, though, just fit – why am I writing this? I know all this, and not much interesting happened there. Oh, but I found out the treadmills have TV (as well as radio) so I guess I should just go there to get my British culture and entertainment. And exercise all the while!
Blue Tack is to this year what scotch tape was to my PBU year. You can see that I’m moving up in the world. It’s amazing. It’ll stick anything in place, on the wall or on my desk. I’m tempted to stick down everything – indestructible organization. I’ve just built two…what would you call them. Paper receptacles? for all the papers that I’m bound to get this year. One is marked ‘In’, the other ‘Useful’. I may have to add another category at some point. The point is not to let piles build up and to sort everything. I was moved to ambition after hearing the introductory speech to Peace Studies this afternoon – things like timetables and assignment lists do that for me. I want to start strong and keep going strong, especially since the deadlines will start sliding into home base very soon.
* * *
I was scared again this morning. I was in the kitchen eating my cereal as always, and thought it would be nice to have some toast, though I have yet to buy anything other than butter to spread on it (I’ll start going into withdrawal if I don’t get peanut butter soon, ha). I pulled out a slice of bread and stuck it in the toaster. It made a mashing sound and smoke immediately began snaking up from the slots in no small amount.
I panicked when I couldn’t at first get the bread out by pulling up the lever, but with a little work it popped out and the smoke stopped. I looked inside and sure enough, there was a chunk of bread wedged down there, and not from my slice. Unplugging it and wondering if I was supposed to turn the outlet off first (every socket has a power switch here), I took it over to the sink and emptied it. A lot more than that one chunk came out, although I suppose it’s only natural that the bottom of a toaster would be knee-deep with crumbs. Having cleaned it out sufficiently (or so I thought) I returned it to its original setting and tried my bread once more. Same result, minus the mashing sound.
However the smoke wasn’t quite ‘billowing’, so I decided I would just go for it (same thinking as plugging my Japanese electronics into the too-high voltage sockets here, except that then there was no smoke); the bread hadn’t taken that long to toast anyway, last time I’d tried it.
That decision was overturned in my mind a few short seconds later when I remembered the smoke alarm. Our dorm’s had gone off about a week earlier due to someone accidentally (hopefully accidentally) spraying deodorant too near it. The security had said that if it happened again they’d search room-to-room until the culprit was found. If the sensor in our kitchen went off I could be expelled.
I hurriedly popped the bread out once more and threw the two kitchen windows open. Phew. Safe. And cold.
Being the persistent type, I still hadn’t given up on having my toast and so chose to try one more time, this time with the toaster next to the open window. Alas, the smoke refused to cease, so I held it outside and watched the wisps waft into dispersed oblivion. No toast today. But also no expulsion, I suppose, if you’re determined to look on the bright side. I’d been hoping for a little bit darker sides on my bread, however. In the end I used our tiny microwave to melt the butter onto the bread. It wasn’t great.
* * *
Went bowling with the Christian Union this evening. On the way Duran asked if I was good and I said no, but conditioned it with the disclaimer that I sometimes get very lucky. I know that sounds dumb, I mean, it’s true for everyone, right? But no joke, I once got a 185 on a Sunday School outing. I wasn’t even into it, I didn’t want to be there and I was way more focused on mailing someone. But 185. And I wanted to cover myself on the minuscule chance that something like that happened again – it’s annoying when people say they’re not good at something and then blow you away. If you’re not good, what am I? But I didn’t expect it to happen. I just wanted to get over a 100.
The first game was something in the 80s. Terrible. Several of us felt similarly which led us to play another. I got 172. Four strikes in a row. I honestly don’t get it.
My only explanation is that I’m like a machine that’s great if it’s on track but utterly awful if it’s not. In other words, when I’m on I’m on, and when I’m off I’m really off. I guess I have a good method, but I don’t play much so I always forget it in the intervals. It’s really cheap here, though, so I think we’ll be going more often and maybe I’ll develop some consistency.
All that to say, 172, sucka. Beat that.
I hate movies and TV shows that use vocal music as BGM. It’s nothing but a distraction from the story, and annoying, to boot.
* * *
Today was a good day, although I’ve spent too much of it in front of this screen.
* * *
I just got back from snowboarding. I’d heard about the snowboarding club the night I arrived, actually, and at the Fresher’s Fayre found their booth and signed up for their emails. They said they go every Tuesday evening for ten pounds (including everything) to an artificial place nearby. I was ecstatic. This is a price unheard of in Japan. I wondered if what sounded too good to be true, in fact, was.
It turned out my vision of it would’ve been too good to be true. On the way the driver said that it was like a glorified doormat, and I thought he was exaggerating. He wasn’t. We arrived and I saw a hill covered in large mats that, upon closer examination, looked exactly like white, thickly haired doormats. But I was feeling fairly authentic, wearing the boots and strapped into the board, with a hat and gloves as well. The only difference in my wear was the replacement of pants and coat with jeans and hoodie.
The lift was an experience. I walked outside with my stuff (including my goggles around my neck, which stayed there, as I quickly realized they were completely unnecessary) and saw a guy holding onto a cable and being dragged up the hill. Easy enough, I thought. I’ve held a rope behind a pickup while snowboarding down a road before, ruts and all. This should be no problem. I strapped my front foot in, the required ‘official’ slope form, and grabbed the bar.
The lift was alright once I got the hang of it…
About halfway up I started wondering if I’d be able to make it. And started to get worried. That side of the hill was steep – if I let go I might tumble all the way back down. It was also then that I realized the little plate-like metal thing at the end of the cable was not for holding onto, but for sitting on. Ah. So much easier. But seeing as I was hanging on for dear life I didn’t really have the option of changing to a seated position. I relied on muscular strength built up two years ago working as grounds crew and somehow managed to reach the top. Phew.
That circular bit is meant to be sat on.
Figuring that the lift is the hardest part of any slope (it is, that much is true) I dropped into the slope, thinking I was now in my element. Oh no. Snowboarding on the mats was basically like boarding through very short, thick grass. My board was unresponsive and hard to maneuvre. I didn’t make it very far before bottoming out.
Intense jumps considering that if you fall, you’re falling on doormats. Some people were quite good.
I’d been envisioning some sort of artificial powder. I think that’s what indoor slopes are made of in Japan. But that would take a lot of upkeep and equipment, and therefore a much higher price. So I guess you can’t complain. For ten pounds, you can do it almost any time of the year, almost any time of the day.
My runs got better with time, and I’d guess that if I stuck with it I’d soon be pulling out some jumps and tricks and maybe even improve before hitting some real slopes this winter (hopefully). It was just a little disheartening at first. But they go every week. That’s what’s good about uni, especially uni in the UK. There’s so many ways you can spend your time. And here I am writing this up for you guys. Aww.
I got a cell phone today, or ‘mobile’ as they call them here. It sucks. But I expected that – I only paid twenty pounds for it. It works, that’s what matters. That’s what I’ve been telling myself. Since I’m here for two years, I may at some point switch from pay-as-you-go to contract, and get an iPhone in the process. But for now I can call and I can text, and I can see the time, that’s enough.
The lecture today contained a brief conversation about the war in Iraq, and during that there were several moments where I imagined myself pounding the table, standing up, and declaring, “I’m Amerrrican and we do what we want!” The image was quite a source of amusement for me, but I have to remember that while the irony would be hilarious to me – the fact that I’m one of the most atypical Americans you’ll ever meet, and very much unpatriotic – everyone else would, in their minds, place me in the dead-center of their stereotypes, and I would spend the rest of the year, no, three years trying to escape those crosshairs. Not worth it. I’ll laugh inside. Though I could probably make that joke with people whom I get to know, and who get to know me. I think I just used ‘whom’ properly!
People always ask why I’m laughing. Well, honey, when you live a life such as mine, there’s just so much to find funny.
* * *
The British Brad is more social, I will say that. It is fun, shaping this new character.
* * *
I was looking for information about the various citing styles and found this on a custom-writing website (you know, where you pay people top dollar to write mediocre essays for you): “…You have another loyal customer. I just got 95 on the paper for my Bible studies that I ordered from you…” Jordan, USA
Screw you, Jordan from USA, screw you.
[Unless you’re someone I know. In that case, we’ll have words.]
* * *
[…]
I felt like I had a lot to write about today (it’s actually tomorrow; I was tired) but maybe that’s about it. I want to record what I see, experience, and think, but I don’t want to fall into thinking that not documenting is not living.
* * *
Our lecturer said “freedom from speech” haha.
Money spent on books is rarely wasted, that’s part of my doctrinal statement.
When I hear a loud blast in Japan I assume it to be fireworks – here, it seems more likely to really be a gunshot (is it? I don’t know about gun laws in the UK). I wait for sirens.
However I also found out that it’s legal here to shoot off fireworks at a wedding, so maybe that’s what the no-less-than six successive shot-sounds were this afternoon. That would explain why the two guys walking outside didn’t react at all. Either that or this is a far more dangerous neighborhood than I imagined, ehe.
* * *
I just had a good idea. What if I used one browser (Firefox) for work and one browser (Safari) for play, turned on Apple Spaces and allocated one to each? Then I’d have more room for bookmarks and I might not get sidetracked so easily. It’s worth a try, at least. Better than what I have now – a mess of unsynced bookmarks and bookmark folders. Unacceptable.
Today’s the first day of the best month of the year, by the way. What will it hold? In nine days it’ll be ten-ten-ten. Should be some significance in that.
* * *
I just went to the local Lloyds branch to deposit the cash I exchanged at Narita and have been hiding in my room. I’d been told that I could do this at any ATM, or Cashpoint, but so far had been unsuccessful. But I was hopeful.
Sure enough, there was a ‘Deposit’ option on the screen, so I pressed it and followed the instructions. I expected to be able to put my money in and be done with it, but instead an empty envelope slid out, which I was supposed to put my money into and reinsert into the machine. I felt pretty vulnerable transferring my block of bills (mm, I’m not as rich as the imagery) from my bag into the envelope, which I couldn’t figure out how to close securely.
Good thing the screen said “There is no need to write on the envelope” too, because there were a lot of suspicious markings that probably would’ve led me to fill something in otherwise. And all the while the machine was beeping, hurrying me along, and getting impatient, too, for the beeping went into double-time after not too long, as these annoying pathetic substitutes for human interaction are prone to do. The screen asked, “Would you like more time?”, which at least was nicer than the Japanese ones which just spit your card out and revert back to the main menu, causing users to exasperatedly start the whole process all over again. But at least they don’t beep at you there.
I of course did need more time and pushed yes. Still somewhat dubious as to whether I could trust the bulk of my wealth here in the UK to a half-open unmarked envelope slid into a slot in a brick wall, I dropped it in. The machine told me to wait for the receipt with instructions to print, I did, it came out, and it was blank. Huh.
Taking solace in the fact that I’ve never needed an ATM receipt for anything, I retrieved my card and left, marveling at our age in which we can slide money into a wall with complete peace of mind and access it electronically in stores just minutes later. I try to maintain a sense of wonderment at our present age, otherwise I risk taking things for granted and losing the awareness of me living at the head of thousands of years of cumulative events. Only I did not have complete peace of mind at that point.
Upon closer examination back in my room, I realized that it was not blank but rather looked like a sheet that had been printed out of a printer with no ink. I could faintly make out slight indentations of words. Either they’re really, really big on privacy or the machine was, indeed, out of ink.
Being a bit knowledgeable on matters of code decryption and mail interception (see previous note) I was not stymied. I pulled a pencil out of my top drawer and began shading. Yes, it really does work, that education literature for young spies is reliable (oh, really? you weren’t trained under any such literature as a child?). After a bit of work and much craning of the neck I was able to gather that it was, as I’d thought, unnecessary information. I checked online and it was already there, so that’s that.
Probably not even worth writing one paragraph about, much less eight. But I’m a master of doing anything but what I’m supposed to be doing, which is structuring an essay on peace studies and international conflicts. The reading is great, don’t get me wrong. There’s just something about knowing you have to do something that makes you really not want to do it.
* * *
1:30 a.m. talking about favorite cheeses. Ha.
[Alright, thanks for reading, guys. Much love.]
Inspiration's Waiting Room 