I never thought I would utter the words " I've been to Liverpool".
Now I can.
I've been to Liverpool.
Every obsessed Beatles fan's wet dream is to stand in front of the tiny stage in the damp, dingy, smelly ol' Cavern Club. Yeah, I lived it. I got the pictures to prove it (which, of course, I am far too lazy to post). Although it isn't the true cavern club. It was partially demolished in the 70's and then was rebuilt using all original bricks. The archways are, as far as I know, true originals. They also moved it 15 meters up Mathews St. and a couple floors lower.
But it was still the Cavern Club. Lets not argue about this.
I spent 7 quid on a cheesy Beatles museum called "The Beatles Story". The most amazing thing they had, and it isn't THAT amazing-but kinda is- was George's first guitar. It looked like crap but man oh man, it was real. They also had the original collarless jackets the lads wore in the early days. I find it so hard to believe that every record company had declined to sign them. Sometimes I really love irony.
Then I went into the Beatles shop and bought stupid things like buttons and the like, but didn't spend hoards. I also visited the Tate Liverpool the night before (all this is located on the Albert Docks) and it was okay. I have a beef with modern art that may never be understood.
Back to the Beatles...after the hour and a half cheesiness, I headed off to Mathews St. otherwise known as "Beatles Street". This is where the Cavern Club is, The Cavern Pub, really bad Beatles memorial things, and The Grapes Pub. All of these places hold a special place in every Beatles fan's heart. When I laid eyes upon the cavern club, rounding the corner in the dark, dankness and sweaty place, my heart stopped. I was silent and nothing existed except me and this club. All the scallies were non existent. It was a moment of bliss between two lovers.
So after all my Beatles fun, I met up with me mate, Mark. His dad was kind enough to pick me up from Liverpool Central and take me to his home in Beddington on the Mersey side (which used to be called Lancashire- ignore spelling) We went to a real, English like pub for a night out with his two mates and little brother. Ironically, the real English pub had some guy singing Frank Sinatra tunes all night. It was a strange atmosphere but most enjoyable to get pissed in.
We headed back to his house and he was kind enough to let me sleep in his bed while he took to the floor. What a gentleman!! In the morning, I was going to head back to get my stuff from Marcin's place (Marcin is the CS guy that was kind enough to host me, but I feel bad that I ended up staying with Mark rather than him for the last night. He's polish, works for Ryan air-yikes- and was super nice although a bit strange and a loner.) Anyway...Mark's dad makes me breakfast and then they all offer to take me to a small town called Chester and to Penny Lane! What the hell? Why are these people so fucking nice? Their hospitality towards me was honestly amazing and I am beside myself and very grateful. We went to Chester which is a small town that has a medieval wall surrounding it along with ancient roman ruins. Then they bought me LUNCH!!!
And several Pints!!!
Then we watched Liverpool play Ebbington in a football match which was sorta boring.
I ATE MORE FOOD!!!
Got on the train and here I am in a hostel in Manchester. It's late, I'm tired. And I was in Liverpool.
Sunday 30 March 2008
Tuesday 25 March 2008
Long Overdue
I haven't left Furzedown Hall today. Not once. Not even for a breath of fresh air. I have been inside for a good....well, all day. Tomorrow will be different. I've been packing and I am basically done except for odds and ends that can't be put away until the last minute. But I'm not hear to talk about packing-I was in Paris!
I started my journey last Tuesday and decided that I wanted to spend the day in Dover. I wanted to see the Castle because I haven't been to any proper castles since I've been here. I'm not sure I want to count Hampton Court or the Brighton Pavilion. Okay, I will.
It is atop a huge hill overlooking the ocean and the entire of Dover. The view was breathtaking and so was the fucking walk up the hill. But I did it. I climbed to Dover castle.
The castle itself is sorta blandish. No period furniture, just crevasses and tunnels. There were medieval tunnel that scared the shit outta me so bad I dared not even venture past the light. I went to the roof of the castle and took photos and froze my bum off. The castle had been used as an army base during the centuries including the 2nd world war. They had secret tunnels and even a hospital built into the white cliffs.
After an enchanting day on top of a hill, I made it down to the valley in search of some food. I wanted something good. Something to remember. I ended up at some greasy spoon, dying of hunger, and going face first into a chicken and mushroom pie with veggies and spring potatoes covered in gravy. They fucking love gravy here. I don't get it.
The next day it was onto the Ferry. The port was massive and like a giant car park with all sorts of dotted lines that cross and intersect confusing even the most expert of motorists. The ferry was pleasant enough as a ferry ride could be. The wind was forceful and the sight of the white cliffs going off into the horizon against a bright blue sky will stick with me forever. When we arrived at the port I tried to find the bus that would take me to my final destination of a train station. But to my surprise, the train station was all the way in Siberia and I needed a taxi to get there. This is where it gets good.
I consider myself to be okay in French. I can get by so so. At least I can order a meal and reserve a hotel room. So this taxi driver, his English is about where my French is. On our lovely little drive, he talks on his mobile to some phantom on the other side. Promptly after hanging up he speaks to me in french. I caught these words. Drive, wife, on route, grocery store, okay. Its adding up in my head. We begin to go down all these side streets and pass various patisseries and boutiques and I know we are not going to any train station. He pulls into a neighborhood development and it hits me. He is going to rape me, kill me, and hide my body in the foundation of one of the these 1/2 constructed houses. Huzzah.
Turns out we just pull up to his house and his wife gets in. I'm in the back seat of a taxi who just took me to pick up his wife and drop her off at a store while I need to catch a train. Only in France, my friends. Only in France.
The train ride was relaxing. The French country side is exactly like it is in all the films highlighting it. Broad, green, and charming. I expected to see oxen plowing the land.
12 hours later I am in Lyon.
Lyon is a nice city. Small compared to the demigod that is Paris, but charming non the less. My friend Anata was nice enough to let me have shelter in her home with her mother. I get there and enjoy a croissant. The architecture in the south of France makes me feel Mediterranean. Large buildings with long, tall windows. Wooden shutters. Red roofs. And mountains. Very Beautiful.
We set off the next day to the center of London. Chatting about school, friends, boys, and mothers, we arrive in the center with food on our minds. We settle on a little Brasserie and have a set menu for 12 euros. I ordered a starter of a chicken cake (don't ask, it just tasted good) and fish. She had a steak with chips and a chocolate mousse. But when she orders her dessert, who do they bring the chocolate mousse to? Me. That's who. The fat one at the table. Why does everyone assume that I ordered fucking dessert? Cmon people, just because I am portly and American doesn't mean you can dump a bag of sugar down my gullet and call it a meal. Yes it does, actually.
We went to the Musee Beaux D'Art. I took two photos of Jesus being circumcised and felt proud. Saw some mummies, some other art, more art. art. But the best was going up to the Basilica that sits atop a huge hill over looking Lyon. You could see for miles. I saw the entire city of Lyon including the silhouettes of the mountains below. I was in awe of the whole thing. The view would most defiantly make me want to be christian.
The next day was another day filled with travel. I got to Paris and it was snowing/hailing/raining. I struggled to find my Hostel which was in the northern Boulevards part of the city. It was in a very nice, quaint neighborhood and was near a cemetery. I walked around the cemetery looking for Truffaut and Degas's graves. I only found T-mister and Degas is a sneaky son of a bitch because I looked for a good hour and never found him. Then I met up with Caryn and Tracy. We saw the Arch and that's when it hit me that I was in Paris. My heart fluttered and I looked down the Champs-Elysees and lost myself. I was really in Paris. Who is going to get that chance? I am sure a lot of people, but really. France. Cmon.
We walked down the street to the center with the Obelisk and then moved on to the Louvre where I saw the Mona Lisa, Winged Victory, The raft of the Medusa, The lace Maker, The astronomer, Krotos boy, and some other gems. But after all that fucking art we were tired and hungry. We made ourselves to an island in the seine river and ate like kings!
If the french know a thing or two, its about food. I have never eaten so well and so much fucking bread, my god! But I couldn't help myself. Bread and cheese. That is all I will ever need.
The next night I did a bit of shopping which was fun and realized how much money I was spending. I quickly stopped shopping at that point.
The trip home was not so great. I was stuck in Calais for 4 hours due to heavy winds. I was supposed to be back on the Island around 8pm, I got there at midnight. The Ferry ride was on rough seas and I don't ever get sea sick...but I did this time. Then I tried to sleep on the floor of the Ferry and imagine I was a baby being rocked by my mother. It didn't work.
When we got to Dover, everything had closed. I mean everything. No buses. No trains. Nothing. I was stranded in the massive port with only my journal to keep me company on account the ipod died. One can only write so much before it just becomes incoherent babble. I ended sleeping on the floor of a nursing room which was the only warm spot in the entire place. I remember dreaming.
Then it was the long trek back to London from Dover. I started at 6 am and got to Tooting at 10:30. On the way I had taken a taxi, a bus, and train, then the tube and had eaten the most ghastly of breakfast sandwiches. It was called the mighty butty or something like that. It was bacon, sausage, cheese, and egg. The sausage was a long sausage roll rolled into a sphere with slabs of thick, English bacon with melted cheese and a bit of egg. All on a butty. Fuck it was nasty as hell and I regret every moment of it.
So there you have it. My trip to Paris to avoid immigration. Whooo!
I started my journey last Tuesday and decided that I wanted to spend the day in Dover. I wanted to see the Castle because I haven't been to any proper castles since I've been here. I'm not sure I want to count Hampton Court or the Brighton Pavilion. Okay, I will.
It is atop a huge hill overlooking the ocean and the entire of Dover. The view was breathtaking and so was the fucking walk up the hill. But I did it. I climbed to Dover castle.
The castle itself is sorta blandish. No period furniture, just crevasses and tunnels. There were medieval tunnel that scared the shit outta me so bad I dared not even venture past the light. I went to the roof of the castle and took photos and froze my bum off. The castle had been used as an army base during the centuries including the 2nd world war. They had secret tunnels and even a hospital built into the white cliffs.
After an enchanting day on top of a hill, I made it down to the valley in search of some food. I wanted something good. Something to remember. I ended up at some greasy spoon, dying of hunger, and going face first into a chicken and mushroom pie with veggies and spring potatoes covered in gravy. They fucking love gravy here. I don't get it.
The next day it was onto the Ferry. The port was massive and like a giant car park with all sorts of dotted lines that cross and intersect confusing even the most expert of motorists. The ferry was pleasant enough as a ferry ride could be. The wind was forceful and the sight of the white cliffs going off into the horizon against a bright blue sky will stick with me forever. When we arrived at the port I tried to find the bus that would take me to my final destination of a train station. But to my surprise, the train station was all the way in Siberia and I needed a taxi to get there. This is where it gets good.
I consider myself to be okay in French. I can get by so so. At least I can order a meal and reserve a hotel room. So this taxi driver, his English is about where my French is. On our lovely little drive, he talks on his mobile to some phantom on the other side. Promptly after hanging up he speaks to me in french. I caught these words. Drive, wife, on route, grocery store, okay. Its adding up in my head. We begin to go down all these side streets and pass various patisseries and boutiques and I know we are not going to any train station. He pulls into a neighborhood development and it hits me. He is going to rape me, kill me, and hide my body in the foundation of one of the these 1/2 constructed houses. Huzzah.
Turns out we just pull up to his house and his wife gets in. I'm in the back seat of a taxi who just took me to pick up his wife and drop her off at a store while I need to catch a train. Only in France, my friends. Only in France.
The train ride was relaxing. The French country side is exactly like it is in all the films highlighting it. Broad, green, and charming. I expected to see oxen plowing the land.
12 hours later I am in Lyon.
Lyon is a nice city. Small compared to the demigod that is Paris, but charming non the less. My friend Anata was nice enough to let me have shelter in her home with her mother. I get there and enjoy a croissant. The architecture in the south of France makes me feel Mediterranean. Large buildings with long, tall windows. Wooden shutters. Red roofs. And mountains. Very Beautiful.
We set off the next day to the center of London. Chatting about school, friends, boys, and mothers, we arrive in the center with food on our minds. We settle on a little Brasserie and have a set menu for 12 euros. I ordered a starter of a chicken cake (don't ask, it just tasted good) and fish. She had a steak with chips and a chocolate mousse. But when she orders her dessert, who do they bring the chocolate mousse to? Me. That's who. The fat one at the table. Why does everyone assume that I ordered fucking dessert? Cmon people, just because I am portly and American doesn't mean you can dump a bag of sugar down my gullet and call it a meal. Yes it does, actually.
We went to the Musee Beaux D'Art. I took two photos of Jesus being circumcised and felt proud. Saw some mummies, some other art, more art. art. But the best was going up to the Basilica that sits atop a huge hill over looking Lyon. You could see for miles. I saw the entire city of Lyon including the silhouettes of the mountains below. I was in awe of the whole thing. The view would most defiantly make me want to be christian.
The next day was another day filled with travel. I got to Paris and it was snowing/hailing/raining. I struggled to find my Hostel which was in the northern Boulevards part of the city. It was in a very nice, quaint neighborhood and was near a cemetery. I walked around the cemetery looking for Truffaut and Degas's graves. I only found T-mister and Degas is a sneaky son of a bitch because I looked for a good hour and never found him. Then I met up with Caryn and Tracy. We saw the Arch and that's when it hit me that I was in Paris. My heart fluttered and I looked down the Champs-Elysees and lost myself. I was really in Paris. Who is going to get that chance? I am sure a lot of people, but really. France. Cmon.
We walked down the street to the center with the Obelisk and then moved on to the Louvre where I saw the Mona Lisa, Winged Victory, The raft of the Medusa, The lace Maker, The astronomer, Krotos boy, and some other gems. But after all that fucking art we were tired and hungry. We made ourselves to an island in the seine river and ate like kings!
If the french know a thing or two, its about food. I have never eaten so well and so much fucking bread, my god! But I couldn't help myself. Bread and cheese. That is all I will ever need.
The next night I did a bit of shopping which was fun and realized how much money I was spending. I quickly stopped shopping at that point.
The trip home was not so great. I was stuck in Calais for 4 hours due to heavy winds. I was supposed to be back on the Island around 8pm, I got there at midnight. The Ferry ride was on rough seas and I don't ever get sea sick...but I did this time. Then I tried to sleep on the floor of the Ferry and imagine I was a baby being rocked by my mother. It didn't work.
When we got to Dover, everything had closed. I mean everything. No buses. No trains. Nothing. I was stranded in the massive port with only my journal to keep me company on account the ipod died. One can only write so much before it just becomes incoherent babble. I ended sleeping on the floor of a nursing room which was the only warm spot in the entire place. I remember dreaming.
Then it was the long trek back to London from Dover. I started at 6 am and got to Tooting at 10:30. On the way I had taken a taxi, a bus, and train, then the tube and had eaten the most ghastly of breakfast sandwiches. It was called the mighty butty or something like that. It was bacon, sausage, cheese, and egg. The sausage was a long sausage roll rolled into a sphere with slabs of thick, English bacon with melted cheese and a bit of egg. All on a butty. Fuck it was nasty as hell and I regret every moment of it.
So there you have it. My trip to Paris to avoid immigration. Whooo!
Monday 24 March 2008
eh?
That night ended up being neither. It just turned out to be mediocre. Which is more than I could have asked for. I did fall asleep at 3 am again like I always do. I am such a lame person to party with if I have access to a bed. I will knock out around 2 and never be able to awake till the next morning. I miss so much action because of my need to sleep.
Went to Paris. More on that later.
Went to Paris. More on that later.
Friday 14 March 2008
The toss up
Tonight has the potential of being the WORST night of my life or a REALLY GOOD ONE.
damn it.
damn it.
Friday 7 March 2008
I'm not laughing
A good laugh was had at my expense at about 5am. Everyone thought it was fucking hilarious-even I laughed. But then the reality of what was said set in and I wanted to run screaming and crying. I think it would have been funnier if it were said behind my back. In fact, I'm sure it was at one point.
Sometimes I can hear my name through the walls. I heard my name whispered while I was in the room and it caught my ear. Then I heard some laughter. My heart sank a little.
What am I doing to warrant this back talk? I don't understand or get where it's coming from. I mean, am I making a fool of myself on a daily basis? I don't mind as long as I know I am making an utter fool of myself, but when people are talking I get nervous. Someone knows something about me that I would rather they didn't and they could spread the details like butter around the dorm. And things get around the dorm, believe me.
When people laugh at me it makes me sick to my stomach. I think the reason I want to do comedy is so that I get people to laugh with me before they get the chance to laugh at me. If I can make them like me through laughing, then I don't have to worry about them laughing at me.
I do this thing, where if I like someone and I find out that they don't share such feelings, I'll sorta of ignore. Then they start ignoring me and I get to the point where I don't even say Hi to them because my vocal chords just lock up with nervous energy. I don't mean to ignore them. I just feel like they can see that I like them all over my face. Written in big, red letters all over my fat face. I LIKE YOU.
The laughing. The laughing. Perhaps I spoke to soon when I said I would miss everyone. My self esteem has been tarnished beyond repair right now and I want to crawl into a hole and never come out. I want to leave the fucking country. I want to scream, shout, cry, kill, swear. Things right now are not going very well. I am either going to be deported or....oh god. I haven't slept since 4 am and its 8am. I should just lie down and relax but there is far too much going on in my head right now.
Why can't I just convince myself that I am worth things? That I am attractive? Why do I gauge my worth by how many guys dig me? (so far, I think it's at 2- and both are creepy as hell).
Oh fuck this post. Seriously. No one reads these damn things anyway.
Sometimes I can hear my name through the walls. I heard my name whispered while I was in the room and it caught my ear. Then I heard some laughter. My heart sank a little.
What am I doing to warrant this back talk? I don't understand or get where it's coming from. I mean, am I making a fool of myself on a daily basis? I don't mind as long as I know I am making an utter fool of myself, but when people are talking I get nervous. Someone knows something about me that I would rather they didn't and they could spread the details like butter around the dorm. And things get around the dorm, believe me.
When people laugh at me it makes me sick to my stomach. I think the reason I want to do comedy is so that I get people to laugh with me before they get the chance to laugh at me. If I can make them like me through laughing, then I don't have to worry about them laughing at me.
I do this thing, where if I like someone and I find out that they don't share such feelings, I'll sorta of ignore. Then they start ignoring me and I get to the point where I don't even say Hi to them because my vocal chords just lock up with nervous energy. I don't mean to ignore them. I just feel like they can see that I like them all over my face. Written in big, red letters all over my fat face. I LIKE YOU.
The laughing. The laughing. Perhaps I spoke to soon when I said I would miss everyone. My self esteem has been tarnished beyond repair right now and I want to crawl into a hole and never come out. I want to leave the fucking country. I want to scream, shout, cry, kill, swear. Things right now are not going very well. I am either going to be deported or....oh god. I haven't slept since 4 am and its 8am. I should just lie down and relax but there is far too much going on in my head right now.
Why can't I just convince myself that I am worth things? That I am attractive? Why do I gauge my worth by how many guys dig me? (so far, I think it's at 2- and both are creepy as hell).
Oh fuck this post. Seriously. No one reads these damn things anyway.
Wednesday 5 March 2008
extra
Okay...so two things have made me sick to my stomach today.
1. Knowing that when I return to Boston, I will be alone (in the life partner sense). I always thought that didn't matter. I never had anyone so I didn't know what all the hype was about until I did. Now I know and it sucks.
2. There is basically no chance of me renewing my visa. So I have options. Stay in the country illegally, or wait for a while to leave and not be able to return. I think there is some "Over stay" of 28 days and that I get a stamp in my passport that will hinder my ability to get another UK study visa.
But honestly, what is waiting for me back home? Rocky.
I want to put offensive and angry things down but I refrain. This is a London blog, not a brothel.
1. Knowing that when I return to Boston, I will be alone (in the life partner sense). I always thought that didn't matter. I never had anyone so I didn't know what all the hype was about until I did. Now I know and it sucks.
2. There is basically no chance of me renewing my visa. So I have options. Stay in the country illegally, or wait for a while to leave and not be able to return. I think there is some "Over stay" of 28 days and that I get a stamp in my passport that will hinder my ability to get another UK study visa.
But honestly, what is waiting for me back home? Rocky.
I want to put offensive and angry things down but I refrain. This is a London blog, not a brothel.
I am missing it already
Please ignore all spelling errors as I have no way to edit them:
I saw Amy Winehouse! Well, I think it was her. It really could have been a man in drag dressed as her but considering the location I think I can say it was 82% her.
She was walking and I saw her hair and thought to myself "Gee, that is very Amy Winehouse of that woman" (who was walking with her coat collar covering her face. Then our eyes met and she dropped her collar. It was magic. My heart jumped. Then I thought "Is that a dude or Amy"? My first London Celeb spotting!
Last night we went to a club called Madame Jojo's. It is a hot spot of trendy as fuck mods and rockers along with their tights wearing counterparts. I think I had been wanting to go to a place like that for a while. I needed to see all the hipsters that I strive to be and dance along side them feeling inadequat as hell.
Don't get me wrong, I had a wonderful time. I am just pointing out the silliness of our world. But then again there will always be that sect of people who are going to be cooler than the next and so on and so on so I might as well be cool for myself.
Anyway, I danced to music I actually knew instead of computer beats. There were guitars and real drum sounds! Vocals and harmonies! Daft Punk! So for the first time in my clubbing history, I was actually able to dance AND sing which makes the whole process of dancing so much more enjoyable. I didn't get too drunk as my wallet just won't allow it.
My wallet hates my guts right now. I am just spending money like its no thang. I always have a budget for myself but it never really works.Drinking, Eating, all so expensive. And I have to buy gifts soon!
The term is almost over and it is really bumming me out. I have become quite attached to my fellow roomies and I like them a lot. So much that I have been trying to find options of staying another term. But this is normal and I think all study abroad students go though it. I wouldn't mind it so much if the term was an actual term. Not 10 lousy weeks. They talk to me as a friend and I can walk into a room of them and not feel so strange and alienated. They tell me how they don't want me to leave and it melts my little jew heart. After I leave, will we still be friends? Will we keep in touch? All these questions I have! I wonder about the future. What will happen when I go home? Will my friends still be my friends, do I really have any friends, will I get a job, will I have enough money, how long can I live off loans for....all those wonderful and exciting inquiries.
I want to put those in the back of my mind right now. All I want to think about is the weekend, the parties, the FUN I'm having now and then when I get home all the WORK I will be doing. Job time. Yeah....
I saw Amy Winehouse! Well, I think it was her. It really could have been a man in drag dressed as her but considering the location I think I can say it was 82% her.
She was walking and I saw her hair and thought to myself "Gee, that is very Amy Winehouse of that woman" (who was walking with her coat collar covering her face. Then our eyes met and she dropped her collar. It was magic. My heart jumped. Then I thought "Is that a dude or Amy"? My first London Celeb spotting!
Last night we went to a club called Madame Jojo's. It is a hot spot of trendy as fuck mods and rockers along with their tights wearing counterparts. I think I had been wanting to go to a place like that for a while. I needed to see all the hipsters that I strive to be and dance along side them feeling inadequat as hell.
Don't get me wrong, I had a wonderful time. I am just pointing out the silliness of our world. But then again there will always be that sect of people who are going to be cooler than the next and so on and so on so I might as well be cool for myself.
Anyway, I danced to music I actually knew instead of computer beats. There were guitars and real drum sounds! Vocals and harmonies! Daft Punk! So for the first time in my clubbing history, I was actually able to dance AND sing which makes the whole process of dancing so much more enjoyable. I didn't get too drunk as my wallet just won't allow it.
My wallet hates my guts right now. I am just spending money like its no thang. I always have a budget for myself but it never really works.Drinking, Eating, all so expensive. And I have to buy gifts soon!
The term is almost over and it is really bumming me out. I have become quite attached to my fellow roomies and I like them a lot. So much that I have been trying to find options of staying another term. But this is normal and I think all study abroad students go though it. I wouldn't mind it so much if the term was an actual term. Not 10 lousy weeks. They talk to me as a friend and I can walk into a room of them and not feel so strange and alienated. They tell me how they don't want me to leave and it melts my little jew heart. After I leave, will we still be friends? Will we keep in touch? All these questions I have! I wonder about the future. What will happen when I go home? Will my friends still be my friends, do I really have any friends, will I get a job, will I have enough money, how long can I live off loans for....all those wonderful and exciting inquiries.
I want to put those in the back of my mind right now. All I want to think about is the weekend, the parties, the FUN I'm having now and then when I get home all the WORK I will be doing. Job time. Yeah....
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