Hahvahd

So I haven't written a blog for a while now, but since in the last month I have: partially emigrated & started university; I figure that right now is a good time to start.

Basically, coming to America from the UK has been relatively simple. Being bombarded by American culture for as long as I can remember, a lot of things seem more normal to me than in the UK. Take Oreo's for example. They've only been available in the UK for the last few months, but suddenly, I get to a place (America to be precise) that treats Oreo's as a standard snack. In fact, not only here do they treat regular Oreo's as standard snacks, but they also lots of different kinds: Double Stuf, Peanut Butter, Golden... I can't imagine a time when these beautiful things were not part of my life. And root beer, and pumpkin pie and co(wa)ffee. It's crazy how these things, like I've said, have just become so normal.

And currency, well apart from the coins (which are really confusing; I still don't fully understand what a dime or a nickel is, all I know is that the smaller one is worth more) the notes are simple enough. There's a $1, a $5, a $10 and a few others that really aren't as common. What's really crazy is the Golden Dollar, i.e. the coin form of a note. Why have two formats for the same value? Why not? It happens because it can.

One of the biggest shocks has been the naming of things. Before I got here, I'd never walked on a "sidewalk", I'd never put my "trash" in the "can" & I most certainly did not think that I had a "fanny". So often, I have to navigate around some of these crazy words to try and get to the root of what people are saying. I'm constantly translating from American to English in an effort to understand the world around me better. Turns out that waffles aren't made of potatoes, and at Harvard, you can get truth in them. Literally, there's truth in them waffles.

So I haven't really written anything like this for a long time, and so it's not very good. But I hope to keep my blog going from now on, so that hopefully I can give some more snippets of American life to people back in England, and let the Americans know what their culture is like from an outsiders perspective.

To hammer home the stereotypes:

Cheerio!

The Theme Continues

Summer really has started.

I saw my first bee today.

I also got my railcard for this summer's holiday.

I'm so excited!

By the way, if you haven't already, listen to No Age - they rule.

Summer

When does summer actually start? Especially in Britain, this is quite debatable since astronomically it's some ridiculously late date (June 21st officially) that is often far past when summer is thought to have begun. But I think the problem with most people is they cling to a succession of warm weather dates in May/June and instantly think Summer's begun. So what is the best system? Stars or Sun? I think it's the third S.

Shorts.

Everyone associates Summer with shorts, or at least I do. And no matter how hot it is, and no matter what the alignment of the stars is (and also no matter what my local boutique is telling em the season is), I don't feel like Summer has begun until I wear shorts legitimately. Today was that day. My summer has now begun, and because of this, I'm naturally very happy! Summer rules. But this method is pretty flexible, it means Summer starts at different points for different people, and for those that don't own shorts, despite being attirically (?) retarded, they'll never get Summer in all its bare-leg glory. I pity them really. But one thing I don't advocate is clinging on to shorts, i.e. don't wear them when despite your protests, Summer is definitely over - it just looks lame. When the season's passed, put the shorts away, please! No-one wants to see your bare calves out of sync.

Screw flowers, beaches and BBQs, public shins are where it's at! And I am now thankful that my Summer has had the opportunity to begin so early, and I can only hope that others get to share this same feeling, before it's too late.

[NB - The picture above was the fourth one that came up on Google Images when I typed in shorts; mine aren't actually, surprisingly, anything like those.]

[NB II - Mine are light camo River Island cargo shorts. That's right, I'm giving you a taster of my wardrobe online.]

I Know I'm Sad.

Look, I know it's probably not cool to admit, but yesterday I discovered in my highly cluttered box of games, one that I'd neglected for quite a while: Final Fantasy X.

Anyone that has ever played any of the Final Fantasy games will no exactly what I'm talking about - they're just epic. I started out with the uncomparable VII, skipped VIII because the sword-gun thing looked really lame, had a dabble with IX, but felt that a protagonist with a tail was a bit crap (and also the card games!?!), and have now finally (pun) settled with the awesome X.

This game is horribly addictive and has occupied quite a large portion of my time since I doscovered it. I don't mind though, it's all been worth it! Travelling through Spira as a Guardian to a Summoner so that she may call upon the Final Aeon to defeat Sin and return to Zanarkand has never been this much fun (I remember the last time...)!

Now if you'll excuse me, my overdrive is full, and I have a flying guardian to kill.

So, so sad...

Politics.

Today I was able to exercise my right to vote for the first (of what I'm sure will be many) time(s). It felt good to actually be making at least a small change in society, in fact my 'influence' extended only to Borough level. There were three parties represented in the parish election: Liberal Democrats, Conservatives and the BNP, with those three plus Labour in the borough vote. I swear that I will never vote for the disgracefully racist BNP - it's groups like that that make me sick to the core to be British. They claim to restore British values, yet none of their 'policies' overlap with my intentions. I absolutely fucking love the multiculturalism of Britain - it makes it so much more interesting and a great place to live. But when narrow-minded white supremacists spout their doctrine, inciting racial hate (helped along by the media), that's when I start to get angry, but not like the Hulk gets angry, more inward. And the worst part is how they claim not to be racists, yet racism is defined as the favouring of one race above another, and they sure seem to favour Brits. Bastards, the lot them. Not much gets me angry, but the BNP, the Ku Klux Klan et al. seem to always get me substantially, how shall I say, annoyed. There we go, I've calmed down now since the start of the paragraph.

Breath.

What Makes A Man Start Fires?

Is it the desire to destroy?
Is it to feel heat, warmth and security?
Is it to create the destruction that entails?
Is it for fun?
Is it because there's nothing better to do?
Is it to feel powerful?
Is it to assert control?
Is it to prove a point?
Is it to prove something to yourself?
Is it for revenge?
Is it for love?
Is it the same for everyone?
Is it inevitable?
Is it to teach?
Is it to learn?
Is it for a reason?
Is it spontaneous?
Is it a by-gone past time?
Is it instinct?

Perhaps its all, none or a combination of the above.

Perhaps we'll never know.

Cocktail Party

I love Holy Fuck, and I love Radiohead. I also love Holy Fuck's Remix of "Nude" by Radiohead.

Boy am I happy with this discovery!

Check it out here (Top of the list).

Enjoy!

Espresso

[Written in Rome, Italy: 21/03/2008]So far I've paid anything between nothing and €1.50 for a humble espresso, and from my taste observations, the free one came out on top, with the expensive one right down at the bottom. In fact, it would appear that there is a degree of inverse proportionality between price & quality. Why this is so, I can only speculate. However I will hypothesise using the two extreme, paid examples: an 80c shot fro the renowned Tazza D'Oro and a €1.50 abomination from a tourist trap.

Now Tazza D'Oro is a big place, able to serve many people at any one time, and no doubt its barista are pumping several hundred shots a day. Perhaps they charge so little as an added incentive to come; not just quality, but cheap also. And by pumping hundreds a day, they will no doubt accumulate a sizeable profit. As for the expensive one, I said it was in a tourist trap so it will no doubt be expensive. But unlike the specialist Tazza D'Oro, this place was a souvenir shop, a newsagent & a café - all presided over by the same person. With experience I've found these sort of small establishments to be very keen to clinch profit wherever possible, and overcharging for an espresso is no doubt an extension of this. (N.B> Assuming that £1.20 is an average U.K. espresso price, €1.50 is about on a par with that). But they won't be reliant on coffee to boost their income and so they will be less likely to centre their business plan around it.

As for preparation, the only difference was in the machines: Tazza D'Oro had electric machines and the tourist trap had a hand pump, which I'm told are inconsistent and when in the wrong hands (as I'm sure they were that day) they can produce terrible espresso. But apart from this, preparation was identical. What most shocked me was the obvious disregard for certain practices that were drilled into me as a trainee barista. Offence one, they banged the coffee from the portafilter and that was it - no brushing away of the previous coffee's traces or washing... just bang and reload: like a gun. Offence two: they didn't wash through the pumps between coffees, meaning they would probably accumulate dirt over the course of the day. Saving the worst for last however; offence three: grinding the bag of coffee all at once, implying that thew portion going into your shot had probably been ground hours ago and had since gone stale. As for tamping, that involved a brief touch of the portafilter against a flimsy, plastic dish attached to the grinder.

Yet even the worst is far superior to any found in the U.K. Which leads me to conclude that two factors affect quality: blend of beans and number of shots pumped a day.

Tazza D'Oro is owned by a third generation barista (or some intense lineage anyway), who blends, roasts and grinds all his own coffee less than 10 metres away from where it will be sold. The recipe of the blend is over a century old a a closely guarded secret (so I'm told). No wonder that with sub-standard preparation, this was a superior shot. The tourist trap probably bought in its beans either from a local distributor or a major company (e.g. Illy) and the mass production no doubt involved will have hindered the taste from being fully realised.

As for the latter variable, it is said that Guinness should only be drunk when you can see at least one other person drinking it. This is because, by allowing a relatively continuous flow through the pipes, it is prevented from going stale and flat and is poured in its optimum condition. From experience (there goes that experience again...), espresso seems to follow a similar trend. A machine used hundreds of times a day will pump far superior coffee to one used infrequently.

These observations are based on two days in Rome and one day in Sorrento. I therefore finally conclude first off, that Italian coffee is far superior to coffee bought elsewhere. Secondly, a cheap espresso will probably be better than its more expensive counterpart.

[My excuse for coming to an abrupt and unnatural end is that while I was writing, the bus was pulling into my stop, and obviously I had to get off. My apologies.]