Epilogue.

11:20 PM nutella on toast. Walking down Homefield Rd heading towards the flat on a sunny day. Dragging my trombone onto the consistently inconsistent 53 to campus. Kevin lounging around facebooking in the basement. Ryan's frequent excusals to leave dinner early for ninja practice. A late night walk to The Lion for real ale and conversation. A frenetic bike ride through the rain to baseball practice. 96 Trent FM on the kitchen radio. Carol's lamb burgers. Mark's strangely funny sense of humor. Friday afternoon coffee at Starbucks on Clumber St., sitting at my table. Wine Wednesdays. Sonny at Thirsty Boozers explaining why we should go to Dubai. Walking along the canal towards Nottingham city centre. Riding lazily in the front seat of the top deck of the 77. My victorious attempt at chocolate cake. Blogging. Yorkshire Gold tea. My new collection of glassware and mugs. All nine of us standing in the kitchen, laughing and talking at who knows what...

I could go on and on and list little things like this. I could rattle off things like the Eiffel Tower, Hagia Sophia, St. Peter's, etc, etc, etc. And they would be very memorable things to list, to be sure. But for me, the essence of my year spent in England is in the little things. The things I did every day. Because when you do things every day, when you have things that are so routine and comfortable, when you're surrounded by people that you care about, that means that you have found a home.

I promised the readers of this blog and myself that I would write an epilogue, a final statement of sorts on my time spent abroad. After thinking hard these past three months or whatever since I returned, I've realized that is harder than it sounds. I had expected to try and distill a year's worth of experiences and adventures into a convenient little statement of what it all "meant." That, as I have learned, is impossible. It's simply too much.

I left Minnesota last September as a nervous college student who had never "taken the plunge," so to speak. Going to Luther was the extent of my independence. I returned on June 5th as an individual that had traveled continents, entirely by his own doing and responsibility (and a little financial help from mom and pop). I think that's the only tangible thing I can say right now. If I can travel from London to Istanbul and back, I can do whatever I want to and go wherever I please. I've proven to myself that I'm capable of navigating the challenges of life. But I really don't want to sit here and yak about how I've become a better person, because that's something that I think I'll still be trying to determine 10 years from now.

I think the greatest phenomena that happened in England was the fact that by January, I was no longer on a trip. Rather, it had become my home. That was something I had never expected when I arrived, somewhat scared shitless on September 11th. The cold flat that seemed like some sort of a prison full of strange people was transformed into a zone of safety and comfort. A culture that I had previously thought to be boring and dowdy had suddenly become something I was immersed in. It turned out to be something I embraced, from the conversation at the pub to afternoon tea. I got into a football riot, and my heart sank as Yeovil refused Forest promotion. And how dare those bloody European nationalists try to bring England into their socialist super state...

I have to say, as much as I love France, I think it has to take a backseat to my island home. Of course we all know I love my country as well, for many reasons. But I can see myself returning to live in England once more. Not permanently I don't think, but I'd like to go back for a while. Anyways, that's beside the point. The point is, England is a wonderful little place, and everyone should go there at least once.

But of course, the final key to Nottingham wasn't the fact it was in England or any other place. Rather, it were the people that came together to make 67 Homefield Rd something very special. I've talked about it before, but I guess I just can't verbalize how amazing it was to be privileged enough to share these 9 months with such a group. I have surely made friends that I will have for the rest of my life, and that is something that doesn't come along every day. From 2 jocks, one "granola," another art freak, a science nerd, a history geek, theater girl, and a cheese stealer came 9 of my favorite people. Funny how that works.

Anyways, the long and winding road of this blog has finally come to an end. I started it to tell people back home about what was going on in England, and I think it has accomplished that. I've enjoyed so much writing in it and sharing experiences, and I thank everyone for reading it. But the fact is its purpose was to provide "a collection of thoughts, experiences, and photos related to living and learning in England." And seeing I am no longer in England, its purpose has been fulfilled. It will stay up as a record of what I did, and I hope to print it out and maybe put it in a book. But this is going to be the last post. Go out on top, just like "Seinfeld."



So my friends, I hope you've enjoyed everything. I sure have.




Cheers.

Work, work, work

It's been more than a week since returning from England. Life has quickly settled back into its comfortable dips and swells. I drive my car, have frozen pizza, watch ballgames, reluctantly go into work, etc, etc, etc. Although my reluctance to work is a bit of a falsehood. For 9 months, I had the privilige of not having to work. Sure, I had to make dinner, clean bathrooms, do homework, etc, etc, etc, but I didn't actually have to work to earn money. It was glorious. However, now that my English dreamworld has given way to the reality of the poor American college student, work has taken on a newfound priority. But the wonderful computer scheduling system of the pharmacy America trusts has prohibited me from actually being scheduled for another week, which has left me both strapped for cash and somewhat bored during the day. Additionally, budget cuts have recently cut back 26 of our pharmacy's weekly allotted hours. Suck. But nonetheless, opportunity came knocking, in the form of the store being short one cashier this morning. So after an early morning phone call, I dutifully made my way to Walgreens store #5634 to spend 6 hours in my white vest, CPhT name tag, and "Je Parle Francais" sticker earning way more than the other storefront employees putting away candy and ringing people out. It was comforting to know my nearly complete college education and international awareness was put to such good use dispensing Marlboro lights to unsuspecting suburbanites. After they pointed out where they were, I don't know where the hell all the cigarettes are. The American tobacco industry gives you a great variety of ways to acquire lung cancer, you have to give them that. I also spent a very satisfying 20 minutes in the refrigerator stocking all manner of Arizona iced teas. Thank you Luther College. Thank you University of Nottingham.



As a result of this, my lack of work opportunities, I did something extraordinary the other day: I applied for a second job. Acting on impulse, I attended a STARBUCKS HIRING FAIR, and interviewed for a position as a barista somewhere in the south-metro area. It was sort of strange, interviewing along with a gaggle of high school girls obsessing over their makeup and middle aged women attempting to be coffeehouse-chic, but I persevered. I think I gave a solid interview. Nothing flashy, but whatever. I mentioned my weekly patronage of the Clumber St. Starbucks in Notts, my historical relationship with their company, and made good note of my position as a Certified Pharmacy Technician. I've always sort of wanted to work at Starbucks, ever since I visited the FIRST STORE EVER in Seattle. I like the atmosphere, like coffee, like to think I'm an urban-hipster, and just think it would be a fun job. Make coffee all day? Yeah, I can deal with that. Plus it's one of Fortune's 100 best companies to work for.

Speaking of Starbucks, I went there tonight with a friend of mine from Luther. A girl I know works there and she hooked us up with some chocolate chip cookies to go along with our frappuccinos. A sweet girl, she might come swing dancing on Thursday. Anyways, it was really nice to be able to have some time to talk with my friend. He was one of the people who really inspired me to go to Luther. He also studied abroad, in Muenster, Germany. It was fun to share stories from the Hofbrauhaus and other smatterings of European travel. And I don't know, it was just nice to be able to relate a bit to another person who has experienced what I have.

England seems so far away, but also at times very near. I don't know, the sea of American life has definitely swept me up, moreso than a few of my fellow English friends. But then again, I live in a dynamic environment, close to a large city and with friends and family all around. Coming back to the States has been easy for me. I haven't really been struck too much with blatant missage for England the country. I have missed the people though. I miss going to baseball practice with Adam and Lynn. I was watching The Office today (I bought seasons 1 and 2) and was sort of disappointed that Kevin wasn't watching as well, making some sort of witty remark. Sort of miss seeing people walk around in their flat clothes, be it Luther running gear, Edina socks, UNott sweatshirt, or fuzzy Bath-bathrobe. Maybe not the fuzzy Bath-bathrobe. But you get the picture.

I feel this blog is starting to run on fumes, which I sort of expected it would start to do. I promised to write a few posts on returning to America, which I have. I don't know what else I have to say. I would like to keep blogging, I enjoy it. I appreciate all the nice comments about how good my writing is, I really do. But I think extensive further blogging on England would be a redundancy. It was a beautiful year, and I'm so glad to have this record and to be able to share my thoughts. But I don't want to bastardize what I have done by dragging it out. I'd rather be like Seinfeld and go out while I'm still on top. So, fellow readers, expect perhaps one or two more posts on this particularly English blog sometime this summer. I'm okay to see it ride off into the sunset. Or more approriately to the subject matter, ramble off into the misty vale.

Walk Or Take the Train Down Memory Lane

It's Saturday. Aside from immense frustration at the Minnesota Twins, it's been a good day. I went to a few open houses and saw a lot of people that I haven't seen for a while, so that was nice. The other day I dropped by my high school and said hi to my high school band director. He told me to call him and he'd have me and my friend over for a beer at his house and tell us all the stories he couldn't tell us until we were 21. Score.

Re-acclimitation has been going well, but I've noticed some definite changes in how I think and act. Being abroad and seeing America in a new lens definitely liberalized my political standing. For many years I have been blind to politics in America, which is really a shame, since political action was one of the great founding principles of this country. I decided to become more political, and take more of a stand for those newfound ideals. In short, as a result of my liberal leaning political tendencies and general common sense, I've been trying to live more environmentally conscious. No, Al Gore did not turn me over to the dark side. It's just a more fulfilling way to live, I feel. Part of my personal campaign is going to try and utilize public transportation, as well as biking and walking more often. The car is a wonderful thing, it truly is. But do I need it to walk to my grandma's house, or to drive what would be 15 minutes on a bike? No. It's just stupid. One thing about England is the incredible walking culture. That's the one thing that I truly appreciate more. I love to drive, and I love America's driving culture as well. But that's a culture for the open road, for driving Route 66, for epic road trips. Not for driving downtown to a Twins game while there's a perfectly good light rail that will take me instead.



One little thing I loved about Nottingham was public transportation, which I utilized frequently. Took the 53 to campus, the 77, 78, 79, or tram downtown, and the 34 from uni to the city centre. It makes you feel like such an urban citizen, so street smart. Not only do you save on emissions, but you get to see the people who live where you do, and that's cool. Friday, as I was taking the light rail downtown, a service disruption forced us to take a bus service from Lake Street to the Metrodome. As I sat on the bus, I noticed the incredible diversity surrounding me. I sat next to a middle aged hispanic woman who happily chatted away at me about the overloaded bus. On the other side sat a pseudo-goth woman. A middle class white family stood in front of me. A few black teenagers stood a bit of a way down. An Indian-American talked on his mobile. I loved being a part of this, this wonderful diversity that our country features. I think riding the tram or bus helps you be a little bit closer to the "essence" of this place. Yes, it takes longer. Yes, it probably costs the same as the gas that would take me downtown. Yes, sometimes it's cramped with people. But it's the right thing to do, I like doing it, and dammit, I don't care.

Wasting some time this afternoon, I stopped into the Barnes and Noble near my house, which is sort of my hangout. Nerdy, yes I know, but something about Barnes and Noble is very soothing. It's got a certain mellowness to it that relaxes you, as well as makes your wallet scream "BUY BOOKS! SPEND MONEY!" Plus, I like to think that I'll finally get around to reading all the books I want to. But I found myself in the travel section, facing a shelf chocked with guidebooks to Britain and London. And for the first time, I had a gut-wrenching pang of desire for my English home. It's been great to be home in America, no doubt. And that is the honest truth. But a part of me is always going to be English now. Looking at books designed to guide green Americans through my second home was just very strange. I felt a certain satisfaction, knowing that I no longer need such literature. But also, a certain burst of uncomfortability and longing, knowing that it will be quite a while before I return. Ah, sadness.

What to do, what to do. Well, I got a new pair of shorts that actually fits me. I had a cup of tea. I swore violently at my new internet capable mobile as I learned the Twins lost again to a bad team. And now, I think I'll watch an episode of The Office (UK version) on good old TV links. Some things never change, no matter what continent you find yourself on.

God's Country

Call me lame, but I knew I was home when flying into Minneapolis, I looked out the window and instead of seeing endless fields of football pitches, I instead saw 4 immaculate baseball diamonds. And turning on ESPN to see baseball on Sportscenter without the smarmy commentary of Channel 4's resident American sports expert was quite fulfilling.



I've accomplished my twin goals of purchasing a new Twins hat, replacing the one that is currently roaming the Avignon-Uzes bus line in southern France, and purchasing a new mobile. So call me. Went into the pharmacy America trusts and got rehired, so my re-entry into the American workforce is imminent. Life has been flying by, all this returning home stuff. It's a very strange sensation, so different but yet comforting to be thrown right back into normalcy. Driving down Pilot Knob from the airport was exactly like it was 9 months ago. There's something sort of comforting about that, to finally be in a state of complete control over one's surroundings, or at least as much as one can be. So much freedom as well. No more searching NCT websites for bus schedules and connections, no trying to get cheap train fares, none of it. If I want to go somewhere, I just hop in my car. Ah, the car. Specifically, the 1985 Camaro. Yes, Americans drive way too much. Yes, we drive unpractical cars. Yes, we use up some 75% of the world's fossil fuels. But driving a 1985 Camaro almost, just almost, makes all those concerns null. Haven't driven down the left hand side of the road yet, but you never know.

In a way, the sudden normalcy has condensed my year. It feels as if I just left home for a week or so. It just deosn't completely register that I was gone for 9 months. It's a very strange sensation. I feel like I should be radically different, or that home should be radically different, as befits 9 months away. Maybe it's the fact that I'm seperated from the other Notters, which I think plays a big role. Periodic e-mails and facebook messages have already been streaming in, both from those of us now spread out over the Midwest, and those few who remain in Europe. For a long time, I wondered whether the bond we forged in England would last returning to America. Thrown back into comfortable surroundings and familiar people, would something like that continue to exist amongst such different people? I'm immensely happy to think that they will. I'm already looking forward to hanging out when I go to Decorah, others come to the Cities, or whatever else.

Damn this country is big. It is so damn big. I don't know if you've realized it, but that's the truth. Just driving around, I'm stunned by the seemingly endless tracts of land we have. The car parks are immense, the stores are immense, the parks are immense, the roads are huge. Coming from a small island, that hits you. And it's one of the things I appreciate. That sort of reckless bigness seems to sum up the classic American attitude. It's refreshing to hear friendly American accents from everyone. The guy who sold me my new cell phone would have wasted any British clerk in an employee of the month competition.

I need to go grab some food and get ready to go swing dancing. This has been sort of random, but I wanted to post some initial reactions to being back in the States. As time progresses, I hope to get some more insightful commentary up. Anyways, here's to big roads, baseball, good Mexican food, and 1985 Camaros. Cheers.

Last Minute Notice

Hey folks, I put up some more pictures that I've sort of been hoarding the past few days. There are a bunch under the "Nottingham" album of the university and city centre. I realized I didn't really document where I went to school ever, so check it out. Also, there's a new album entitled "Cricket." When cleaning the closet on Saturday, I discovered an unopened beginners cricket set. Somewhat bewildered by this game all year, me and Ryan decided to try our hand at it today, with Emily photographing and Kevin popping in. The pictures make us look a lot better than we actually are...

I'm surrounded by a battle zone of clothes, bags, garbage, and random crap. Thank God that I found a giant duffel bag in the closet, or I might have had some serious complications.

Conclusion.

So, we've finally arrived at this, the last post to be created in England. After deciphering Blogger's confusing notion of writing dates the American way (mm/dd/yy) instead of the British version I'm so used to now (dd/mm/yy), I figured out I wrote my first post on August 7th of last year. 103 posts thus far, that's a pretty big number. But I've enjoyed writing every bit of it. Not only was this supposed to give folks back home an insight into my life in England, it's also become my own sort of personal journal. Blogging has been somewhat ubiquitous in the flat, with Kevin, Hilary, Brandon, Mary, and myself keeping blogs. I really hope you guys took some time to read some of their thoughts, because they all provide great wisdom and an alternate perspective to the propaganda I spew out. Hilary's is very to the point, and jam packed with information. Brandon's is very impetuous, full of vigor and enthusiasm. Mary's is beautifully poetic. And Kevin, who gets my vote as our blogging MVP, has caused many a chuckle with his witty comments and clever anecdotes, as well as impressing me with his technological prowess. All of them reflect their personalities so well, and that is awesome. I'm pretty pleased with what I've written and posted too though, and I hope I've spiced them up enough to make it obvious that I am writing them. Suffice to say, I hope everyone has enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing in it. Although this is my last post in England, I will most likely post a few more entries upon arrival in the States. A few on re-entering American life, little quirks and differences, reflections, etc, etc, etc.

I'm sitting here surrounded by all the shit I've accumulated over 9 months. And that's a lot. I think I've mentioned that before. My trusty messenger bag and backpack, a trombone, and a duffel bag that quite literally is large enough to ship Hilary home in (we tested it last night). Full of things and memories. It's funny, a lot of the things are so ordinary, yet contain memories as vivid and clear as the blue sky and red brick houses I see out my window right now. My cheap baseball glove reminds me of many hours spent running about the university sports ground, struggling to get in front of a ball as Lynn politely reminded us to "stop playing fucking cricket." The Forest jerseys remind me of football chants rising out of the City Ground on a perfect afternoon, seemingly following the trajectory of the ball as it rose over the pitch. A rather large Starbucks mug, deftly acquired from my favourite haunt reminds me of long Friday afternoons entrapped in conversation and thoughts, as well as countless mugs of tea while struggling to think of something witty to write in this blog. An empty pint glass tells the story of our weekly pilgramages to the Lion for laughs and conversation over genuine English Real Ale. What will all these things mean when I return to the States?

It's very hard to measure something as intense as a year abroad. All I can say is this. Last September, I nervously got on a plane, flew halfway around the world to a country I knew little about, and ended up in a flat in the middle of gritty English post industrial city with two people I knew from mock trial and 6 complete strangers. We had two quirky ass English professors leading us on what seemed like an endless parade of cathedrals, stately homes, and rambles through the green hills.

And here at the end, I find myself in a land that seems like home. I'm in a flat full not of strangers, but of dear friends. The quirky ass directors have become what can only be described as not only teachers, but also our surrogate parental figures. This city that at first seemed so cold and dangerous has become pleasant and comfortable.

Going out for a game of catch last week in the park, Brandon and I started talking about the year and going home. He used a metaphor that I loved, so I'm just going to pirate it. This year is like an alternate reality almost, a dreamworld. Back home, life has continued without me. Classes go on at Luther, people still pick up their prozac at Walgreens, PK still sermonizes every Sunday, the Twins keep playing, and people still go swing dancing every Thursday. But for 9 months, I have stepped out of that life. In England, it has felt like there are seemingly no consequences. Instead, we've been given this time to do all the things that normally would not be possible. I'm bored this weekend. Why not fly to Vienna? Take the train to London and see a show? Go rambling in the Peak district? Check, check, check. For one year, nearly every opportunity has been seized, every wildest dream fulfilled. I don't have to go to work, class has been undemanding compared to Luther, debts are for the future.

That paragraph makes it sound like the year was some sort of Dionysian celebration of desires. Not true. It's been hard, stressful at times, confusing, and frightening. Leaving home is always hard, especially when you don't have another home to go to. And for a while, that was the case. There's always a period of adjustment. And even when that adjustment and comfortability came, there were papers to write, trips to plan, relationships to figure out, things to do, and dinner to cook. And of course, the pangs for home home that periodically come up. But I've gotten through all of them, and as a result, am better for it. Not only have we been given this time to go places and experience new things, we've also been given the opportunity to grow and mature. Of course, I will always look back with fondness at the thousands of photos I have from my travels. I have a baseball uniform to remind me of my days in British amateur baseball. I have a very nice Turkish carpet for my room. But in the end, this year has been above all things the time where I have finally reached some point of honest maturity. I still own a (ahem) Jedi robe (ahem), still talk in a sort of half sarcastic/pseudo-intellectual/supergeek lilt, and will continue to do a lot of stupid things. But underneath all of that, I think I've reached a point of adulthood. I hope that is more evident than the pretentiousness I fear.

Have I changed? Assuredly, which I am confident is for the better. Is that change obvious to the outside observer? I have no idea. Crazy stuff happens when people go abroad and experience new things. A very dear friend of mine from high school studied in Ecuador for the spring and came back and decided she had to call off her wedding scheduled for this summer and break it off with her fiancee. Now, I don't expect anything that drastic to happen in my case. No fiancee. My life will most likely continue along the same path it was when I left, but with a new perspective, maturity, and fondness for tea and acoustic rock (thank you Brandon and Kevin). Perhaps the greatest question of all, can I do a proper British accent? Kevin, Ryan, Brandon and myself have been practicing lately, but I would still characterize it as marginal at best. A pint of ale or two typically helps. I guess people can judge for themselves.

So yes, it is almost time to become fully American once more. To don traditional summertime apparel consisting of a Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, and moccassins. To drink unlimited refills of Coca-Cola with as much damn ice as I want. To watch a ballgame and eat a real hot dog. To drive a gas guzzling sports car on the right hand side of the road. Time to return to the land of the free.

And that is good. The US is a wonderful country, full of friendly people and huge roads. Even though we're run by possibly the worst President ever, it's a very nice place. Ask people over here, it is a very pleasant place indeed, paved with a favorable exchange rate. So I hope you all don't think I have some sort of vendetta when I yearn for someone to ask if if I'm "alright love," or respond to a pleasantry with "cheers," or cause highway carnage when I get behind the wheel for the first time in months and promptly drive down the wrong side of the street. Because I love the US as much as anyone, and I'm looking forward to seeing family and friends. And the dog. I can't wait to go to Twins games with Scott, coffee with Laura and Heather, talk trombone with Benjamin, eat grilled chicken with mom, go to more ballgames with dad, and play some catch with Corey.

But Britain is a wonderful little island, full of rain, dry stone walls, and green fields. It's full of grand cities, Nike-clad chavs, friendly policemen, and copious litter on the streets. There is a unique and beautiful history here, and I love it. Seeing the real England, not the Hugh Grant "Love Actually" version only endears it more. Surprisingly enough, this land is not full of charmingy foppish travel bookshop owners and old men in tweed coats walking quaint country lanes. It is a modern place, full of all the fruits and failures of modern society. But it's real. Like Minnesota, this place is home. And that is the truth.

Funny that of all the grand sights London has to offer, my very favorite place is a brown flat attached to a dying Lutheran church on the north side of a completely normal East Midlands city. Nottingham has no great sites, we only boast what is possibly England's oldest pub, an extremely cheesy Robin Hood attraction, and a very nice market square. Our flat is in an area populated mostly by Indian immigrants and the sort of people who have lived here forever. Very undistinguished. But this has been a very special place. Here is where 9 strangers became dear friends. We lived here, learned here, watched entirely too much TV here, fought here, talked here, and got to know each other here. It was our base for exploring England and our home to return to from Europe. It's just a simple flat, really nothing special. The people who have come to Nottingham, who have sacrificed a year at Luther, being with their family for Christmas, and Mountain Dew for this crazy idea of trying to become English, they are the ones who have made it special. Goodbyes to my flatmates will be as bitter as saying goodbye to my family and friends back in September. But I can tell you right now, the most prestigious address in all of England is not No. 10 Downing Street, but rather 67 Homefield Rd.

The Stories that Really Matter

Two more days left in Nottingham. I'm sort of awestruck, that after nearly nine months, it's come down to this. I mean, crap, nine months is a long long time. It's not supposed to come to an end like this. Nine months seems to last forever, doesn't it? It's supposed to always have four months remaining, or three weeks, or whatever. But two days? This sort of limitation is never supposed to rear its ugly head.

With my return to America drawing ever nearer, the past few days have taken on a decidedly nostalgic tone. But not nostalgic like the end of summer camp nostalgic. Nine months of experiences can't be distilled into a 2 hour "sharing" time with other campers. Instead, what could best be described as a subdued hysteria has enveloped 67 Homefield Rd. People are almost fearful of uttering the words "Tuesday," "America," or "going home." Last night, we all presented our "I, Traveler" papers, which were about how we grew as travelers throughout the year. I sort of dreaded what looked to be one last drawn out class period, but it actually turned out to be incredibly fascinating and fun to hear everyone's various stories of travel and growth. My paper was about the differences between traveling England and Europe, and how England becoming my home affected that. So cool to hear all of these insights into people that hadn't really made it out before.

After 8 hours spent cleaning the flat, we all got dressed up and went out to a fancy dinner at Ben Bowers, a pretty schnazzy Notts restaurant, courtesy of Mark and Carol. Following our return to the flat, we had what is probably the closest we'll get to a "sharing" session. Mark and Carol shared some remarks on the year, which were at times both extremely funny and tear-jerkingly (literally) poignant. Mark wrote a limerick for everyone of us, while Carol gave out "awards." I was named the "hardcore traveller," the "dreamer with le mot just," and the "intense historian." I also had my baseball playing and tromboning mentioned. Much as Mark and Carol have frustrated me this year in terms of trip planning and vague essay assignments, let's face it. Not only have they directed the program, taught the classes, and led us around England, they've also been our surrogate parents. I will genuinely miss their educated wit, fresh perspective, and general good naturedness. This year would have not been the same without them, no doubt. And I thank them so much.



Anyways, Kate is leaving early this morning to head to France for a month in Grenoble, so tonight is our last night as "the Nine." Being a geek, I always equated us nine travelers with the nine members of the Fellowship in Lord of the Rings. Nine companions on an epic journey in a foreign land, unsure of what the future held. We came from different backgrounds, we came with different interests and talents. Nine people who could not be more different, people I would never have dreamt of associating with at Luther. But like the Fellowship, our travels and adventures bonded us. Over coffee at Starbucks, innumerable bottles of cheap wine in overwhelming European cities, pints of ale at the Lion, and the common fate of being stuck as travelers in a land other than our own, we became family. We even had semi-serious discussions about getting the word "nine" or Roman numeral tattooed on our feet. So, it's a pretty emotional night, the Fellowship being broken, so to speak. Kevin and Mary made a movie consisting of music, video, and photos from the year which we sat down and watched. It was so cool to reminisce as a group, to see from the present the many adventures and experiences we've had together throughout the year. Nine of us, plus two directors. Missing even a single one would have lessened all that has happened. It is always sad to say goodbye to people you love, and it will be very difficult to confront that when we finally part ways on Tuesday for good. Actually, difficult cannot even begin to describe it. I've always been an only child, but I now feel like I'm going to be torn away from brothers and sisters. From good friends. Not the friends that you see once or twice a month, or have a class with, or sometimes stop over to chat. No, these eight other people are the friends that really matter.

Bottom of the Ninth

This afternoon was my last practice as a Nottingham Thief. It turned out to only be a 20 minute game of catch, but you know, that's alright. It was a beautiful afternoon, perfect for a ballgame. I was sort of sad that my friend Lynn wasn't there. She's our resident girl/Chicagoan/second basewoman who I sort of clung to, being a sympathetic American. But alas, she was off in town. After throwing the ball a bit (I threw really well), we retired to the campus bar for a pint (or two... or three) and some baseball talk. Since a lot of the guys are either Yankees or Red Sox fans, there was a lot of ribbing about the spectacular failure that has been the Yankees' season thus far. I proudly mentioned the Twins' recent sweep of the ChiSox, their beautiful new outdoor ballpark being built, and their two World Series championships. I also brought up the prospect of them retiring my number. I at least have the satisfaction that it will be retired for a year. Then I dramatically said my adieus and biked off into the sunset.

Last summer, I got very excited about the prospect of playing softball in England. "Yes," I thought, "a chance to relive my glory years in a way that demands less physical skill and time commitment!" The baseball team seemed much too intense. Three training sessions a week? No way. Plus, I still had nightmares of 95 MPH fastballs screaming STRAIGHT TOWARDS MY FACE. As I realized that softball would not fit in my schedule, but still desiring to relive my youth, I meekly signed up for the upstart baseball team, practically convinced that I wouldn't stick with it. Although I had attempted to build up my arm the previous summer playing catch in the park, I realized upon going to the first practice that I was woefully inadequate in nearly every category. Throwing? No velocity, no accuracy, and I couldn't play catch for 15 minutes before my elbow felt like it got ran over by a bus. Fielding? Couldn't field a grounder to save my life. Hitting? Let's not even talk about it. Besides my freshman trombone experience at Luther, I don't know if I've ever felt so out of my league.

I was out of my league then, and probably still am. But I kept going to practice. I went in the sun, rain, sleet, and wind. We practiced sliding in the mud, stealing bases, and leaping for fly balls. I got hit in batting practice, had bruises all over my body from passed balls off the grass, and my right arm seemed to continually hover somewhere between falling off my body and exploding. God knows how much £££ I put into cleats, the uniform, practice clothes, and whatever else. It took up roughly 5 hours of my week, plus transport time. I probably have left a rut in the pavement where I biked to practice every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday. But man, looking back, it was all worth it.

Baseball in England, it seems like such a bizarre concept. You can't think of anything much more American than a ballgame. But the people here who play, those who showed up to our sometimes sparse practices, they love this game. I was sort of amazed and mystified by this. Football, rugby, and cricket dominate the English sporting world. The only opportunity to watch baseball on TV is to stay up until 1 AM. The weather is completely not conducive to a ballgame. But still, the niche survives. Adam, our coach, stays up until 3 AM practically every night the Red Sox play to catch the game online. He studied for a year at the University of Virginia, saw a couple of games in Baltimore when the Sox played the Orioles, and was hooked. Returned to Nottingham and started a team.

Ever since my baseball career went on sabbatical at the tender age of 12, I've sort of shunned participatory sport. My focus turned to music, which it has pretty much stayed. But this year, the most gratifying thing I have done at university has been playing ball. It's really been one of the most essential elements of my year. It felt good to be a part of a team. It felt good to feel like I was in some tiny way representing this school that for the most part was large, distant, and disconnected. I actually met a fair amount of people, from all over the world. I learned how to wear my socks up high so that they wouldn't fall down. But most of all, it was just fun to play. I haven't played ball for so long, I sort of forgot how much I enjoyed it. Running out onto a field of green, feet anxiously waiting to spring forth to track down a long fly ball. It was like going back to 5th grade. When the uniform came, I sat around in the flat wearing it like an over-excited kid. When people weren't looking, I would practice my major league windup. It was fun.

I did improve as time went on. The powers that be were ever tolerant of my awkward throws and lame defence, and they slowly improved. I had the best attendance rate of anyone on the club. By spring, I had found my natural throwing motion to some extent, could put a good amount of speed on the ball, and made small strides in making better defense. I never was the best player on the team, nor was I the worst. But for whatever it was worth, I played as hard and as well as I could. A wise man who once played outfield for the Minnesota Twins (and who coincidentally also wore #34) taught me as a kid to always do that above all. Play the game the right way, and have fun. I think I at least did that.

So, a fond farewell to Adam, Lynn, Tats, Andy, Adam, Rowan, John, Khalil, Peter, Rod, and Matt. It was a blast.

100

NOTICE- THERE ARE A FEW PHOTOS FROM MY DAYTRIP TO THE PEAK DISTRICT ON THE PHOTO SITE. CHECK THEM OUT.

This marks the 100th post of my English blogging career. Let's all take a minute and reflect on all the memories and fun times this blog has (hopefully) given everyone, as well as look forward to a fabulous and life changing future.

Yes? No? Maybe so?



In a last minute decision last night, Brandon, Kevin, and I decided to wake up at 7:45 and go catch a bus into the PEAK DISTRICT for a last week trip into the glory of England's largest national park. And only 2 hours away in nearby Derbyshire! Nearly every flat trip we've taken has involved some sort of ramble or another, and I guess I've become pretty attached to it. The British take their walking pretty seriously, and don't let middling things like the weather get in their way. And neither does it deter me. Or Brandon. Or Kevin. So in spite of the grey skies and quasi-mist that seemed to stick around Nottingham, we got on the Trans Peak to Ashford-in-the-Water and two hours later, found ourselves in said village.

I was a bit hesitant last night as to whether or not I actually wanted to go. After all, we have this "I, Traveler" essay due Friday that we have to orally present to the WHOLE FLAT. It's hard to talk about yourself and traveling and crap. But I relented, and spent most of the bus ride thinking about how my contacts were going to give me a massive headache. But dang, I'm so glad I went. It felt so good to get out in the countryside one more time. Between Paris, Rome, Athens, Istanbul, London, and Nottingham, I've been cooped up in cities far too long. We hiked a 6 mile loop around Monsal Head and the Wye valley, and it was very pleasant indeed. There is a 19th century railroad viaduct crossing the river which makes it very picturesque. I'm continually amazed at the overwhelming greenness of England, you're absolutely surrounded by almost every hue of green you can imagine. One of the things I will miss most about England is the beautiful countryside. Of course, nearly every country has natural beauty, but England's is very unique, just as Minnesota's or Fiji's or Zimbabwe's is. There was one point where we hiked up a rather steep hill, and seemed to be encased in brilliantly green trees. Beyond them stood the huge (green) Monsal dale, looming over the valley. The three of us had a good time talking, walking, and consuming the last of the flat's custard creams and girl scout cookies. And the weather actually held out for us until the very end, when it started to very strangely mist. Luckily for us, we had returned back to Ashford by then. Only one rational solution to the crappy weather. Go into the nearest pub for a pint of ale and wait for the next bus back to Nottingham. We actually found a really sweet pub in this tiny village, the place was huge. I think Kevin and I had Pedigree while Brandon threw down a Black Sheep bitter. A really good day away from the city, in any event.

So, less than a week until coming back to the States now. Excited? Yes. Nervous? Yes. Missing England already? Yes. Excited that the Twins swept the ChiSox? Yes. The issue now is attempting to figure out how to send all my (sorry if you're offended, but this blog is intended for mature audiences) shit home. And I have a ton of it. I just seem to accumulate stuff. It doesn't help that I have 10 CD's that I bought, a small Turkish carpet, numerous mugs and glasses, and a pair of football cleats. Plus two rather large boxes of Yorkshire Gold and Twinings English Breakfast blend tea. So yeah, I need to figure that out soon. Gah. But the Yorkshire Gold is worth it. As the label says, "It's worth paying a little more for." But still... Advice to the traveler abroad, particularly in England. Don't ever ship stuff home.

So I don't know, tomorrow will be filled with this essay, possibly a farewell trip to campus to photograph it and return music (sniff), one last trip on the good ol' 53 bus (sniff, sniff), the final baseball practice of the year (sniff, sniff, sniff), and the first of a series of nighttime celebrations to ride out of Nottingham with a bang. I just got a text from my trombone teacher, he's off in the North Sea on his yacht, so at least I don't have to lug that thing to campus. I am a trifle disappointed though, Doug Wilkie has been an integral part of this year. I haven't mentioned him much in this blog, but I've very much enjoyed our weekly lessons. Maybe another blog post? Riding out of Nottingham will be another blog post too. It's too late to think about it now. Icelandair flight 637 from London Heathrow to Reykjavik is racing towards me at breakneck speed. Scares the hell out of me. At least it's making me take advantage of the time I have left.

Almost Famous

NOTICE- I POSTED A FEW MORE PHOTOS OF NOTTINGHAM AND WOLLATON PARK ON THE PHOTO SITE UNDER THE "NOTTINGHAM" ALBUM

Check this out. Look at the roster, particularly under "outfielders." As Kevin said at dinner, I am famous. Not to mention the fact that my team was once mentioned on national TV (albeit at 2 in the morning), and yes, I guess I am famous. Wow. But then again, I haven't been to baseball for two weeks...



In other news, 4 of us took up Mark and Carol on an offer Sunday morning to drive out to Southwell for church. Southwell is a small village about a half and hour drive outside of Nottingham and has a very historic cathedral. Myself, I found my way to Southwell earlier in the year on account of our class assignment to visit a small local village. I had Upton, possibly the deadest village in England, so I copped out and took the bus back to Southwell and checked out the cathedral. It's a very pleasant church. Very local, if you get the idea. What's cool about it is that they've incorporated all this modern religious art into the cathedral. And parts of the cathedral are some 1,000 years old, so it's very striking. They do have a very frightening golden Jesus looming over the nave though, which sort of strikes more fear than anything else. But church went well, it was nice to catch one more C of E service. Afterwards, we ate lunch in the cathedral refectory. Carol persuaded Mark to buy us all desert, so I had treacle pudding along with my cheesy jacket potato. It was nice for the 4 of us to spend some time with M and C. Even among all their frustrating class stuff, they're good people, and essential to this year's experience. It would have been very different without hearing their dry, extremely cultured, professor-ish witty comments at dinner and on house trips.

Anyways, it's been sort of rainy and gross out lately. Today however, it's clearing up a bit, so that's nice. I think Brandon and I are going to go play some ball in a nearby park, try and get out of the house. The flat has been absolutely frigid lately, as the boiler has been broken since spring break, and it's been colder lately. Over the past few weeks, we've slowly been working through The Lord of the Rings as a group. We usually start too late to want to watch all 5 hours of any given movie, so we have been splitting up the discs for different night. All that's left now is the second disc of Return of the King.

In other flat news, yesterday was most likely my last day cooking. I think I went out with a bang, I literally spent 4 hours making steak and Guinness pie, a traditional English dish with a bit of an Irish twist. I was really pleased with how it went out, and could tangibly feel like I'm getting better at cooking. So, huzzah. Last night we went out to The Lion and the Vernon Arms to celebrate Ryan's birthday. It was a good time, it was fun for all of us to be together (minus Kate, she was on a last hurrah trip to London and Oxford). But, ale was consumed, a few indulged in Brandon's graciously proferred Polish cigars, and good conversation was had. I go on and on about how close we've become, and how much I'll miss these people. So in lieu of actually saying it, I'm hoping to just intimate it this time.

Well, better get off and try to get a start on this I, Traveler essay that represents the last academic commitment of this school year. You would think it would be easy to write about yourself as a traveler. You would be wrong.

London #5, or The Final Journey

NOTICE- A FEW PHOTOS FROM MY WEEKEND TRIP TO LONDON ARE ON THE PHOTO SITE IN THE "LONDON" PHOTO ALBUM. MORE PHOTOS FROM NOTTINGHAM ARE ON THE WAY.

Got back this evening from a very enjoyable day and a half or so in London. I took the bus down there on Thursday afternoon after a really good trombone lesson. Instead of taking the bus all the way into central London, I decided to get off at Golders Green, which is a more suburban area north of the city, but within about a half hour walk from my hostel. One of the smartest decisions I've made this year. I walked through leafy suburbs, quaint homes, neighborhood shops, etc, etc, etc. I decided I could definitely live there. On the way to check in, I found a Yo! sushi and finally sucked it up and ate there. Had some very good sushi and some fried Japanese noodles, plus a Kirin. Checked in to the hostel, went to a pub for some ale (I couldn't bear the though of going to bed at 10:00), wrote in my travel journal thing, hit the sack.

I must say, hostels have generally treated me okay this year. I mean, I don't like them, but I haven't typically had any major problems with them. No longer. My two nights at Palmer's Lodge in Swiss Cottage were hellish. I stayed in a large dormitory that echoed of Auschwitz, with floor to ceiling wooden bunks, stifling heat, and no circulation. Plus, the hostel double booked my bed, so both nights I went to try to sleep only to find random men sleeping in what was supposed to be my bed. Most unpleasant.

Friday, I got up, took the tube to Leicester Square to get coffee at my favorite London coffeeshop, then strolled down Whitehall and across the Thames to hit up the touring Star Wars exhibition now in London. Although the price was steep, I'm very glad I went. I was fortunate to be able to go on the 30th anniversary of the original film, so that was cool. A little prequel heavy, but whatever. I couldn't have with good conscience gone to London and not seen it. I have a reputation to live up to. Anyways, after that, I considered going into St. Paul's, but couldn't bear to part with the necessary £8, so I ate lunch on the steps instead. Marks and Spencer food outlets, you provide the culinary foodtrack to my life. Headed over to the British Museum and saw a really great special exhibition on Sir Walter Raleigh's first expeditions to America through an artist's original 1585 watercolours of Virginia Indians and wildlife. I seemingly milled about the museum for quite a while, drinking tea and buying a magnet until I met Emily (just arrived from Nottingham) at Trafalgar Square. Her and I went to a Belgian restaurant for dinner in Covent Garden, then did our first ever pub crawl. Can you believe that, I've been here over 8 months, and still no real pub crawl. We only hit about 4 places, but that's a start, right? Like I've mentioned before, I am not skilled at doing an English accent, but it got pretty good as the night wore on. Ask Emily. Anyways, we eventually got on the tube and headed back to the hostel where I passed another miserable night. Some obese Polish man was sleeping half naked in what was supposed to be my bed. Obviously, I slept somewhere else, in yet more sweltering heat. I'm sort of surprised I didn't contract malaria or some other tropical disease.

Sunday morning was pretty chill as well. We got up, took the tube to Knightsbridge, hit up Starbucks, and went to Harrods, London's venerable department store. It was extravagent, opulent, uber-expensive, and sort of lost its charm quick. Went back to the south bank area, where Emily was gracious enough to take my picture with a stormtrooper who was advertising the big Star Wars exhibition I saw the previous day. We ate lunch, and then parted. I had 2 hours to kill before I left, whereas she was staying until 7:30, when she was attending a play at Shakespeare's Globe. I thought about going to the Imperial War Museum, but had a bit of a crisis of conscience. I asked myself, "How can you have lived in England for over 8 months, and not seen Westminster Abbey?" So I caught a bus, forked over £7, and went. And I was not disappointed. The Abbey is like a pleasant junk heap of English history, chock full of tombs and memorials. It was fun to see the Poet's Corner, seeing the memorials to all the writers we've talked about this year. From Wordsworth to Dickens, they're all there. There was also a very moving tomb of the unknown soldier. There's just something about adding the words "for King and Country" to anything that adds a touch of regality and nobility that we don't get back home. In any case, I was very glad I went. I sat for a while while the choir practiced for the evensong service. The Church of England is a very funny institution, sort of an Anglicized Catholic Church. But its real legacy lies in the beauty of its liturgy and its strong musical tradition. The English language is the greatest cultural achievement of this small island, which accounts for all the literary greats that Britain has produced. The Church in turn, utilizes eloquent speech in liturgy in song that more than makes up for the typically flat sermons and such. I guess there's just something sublime about hearing a choir sing in a cathedral that really seems to represent the best of England to me.

Speaking of the English language, we've had to read a multitude of books for the various British Novel, Paideia, and International Studies classes this year. One such book is the following. "Notes from a Small Island," by Bill Bryson.



I, along with most of the flat, read it over Christmas break for our IS 135 class. Bryson is a chap who was born and raised in Des Moines, Iowa, and ended up emigrating to England in the 70's. He married an English woman, had kids, and worked as a journalist for The Times. Anyways, he decided to move his family back to America in the mid 90's after living in England for some 20 years. As a sort of final farewell, he took a grand tour around Britain, with this book as the result. He is an extremely funny writer, so funny that I laughed out loud while I read the book. He obviously loves the English people and the country in general, but he shows it through an extremely good natured ridicule of all the quirkiness of this very unique island nation. If you want to better understand England, my experiences living in England, or just want a good laugh, read this book immediately. I own a copy, I'll lend it to you in 2 weeks or whatever.

What does this have to do with me going to London? As I was running out the door on Thursday, I grabbed a book out of the flat library to read on the 3.5 hour bus ride. I ended up with this.



As you may have guessed, this is the more or less "sequel" to "Notes from a Small Island." Bryson wrote a newspaper column for 2 years for a British magazine about life back in America as he struggled to readjust. This book is the compilation of those columns. See my last post to refresh yourself on my ongoing fear with "hobbit syndrome" and coming home. I don't know, it's just been really fun reading this book, hearing Bill's very humorous take on American life in the late 1990's. He's in the same place we are, I think. Stuck between two nations that (most of us) find more or less equally pulling in our hearts. Some sort of therapy for the inevitable difficulty, I suppose.

So, that's goodbye to London, at least for the time being. It's too depressing to think that I'll never be back. I'm confident I'll find my way though. I don't really anticipate jumping back across the pond and living in London, but if there's a city in England besides Nottingham I could happily live in, it's London. Everyone knows I love Paris like no other, but I have to be honest with myself and say that London is on equal terms with the City of Light, maybe even edging it out. There's an energy and excitement about it that is intoxicating. Now, Minneapolis is a splendid town. It's the cultural capital of the Midwest, home to the two-time World Series champion Minnesota Twins, and contains the greatest burger joint in the civilized world. But let's be honest here, it was never the capital of the world's largest empire. I don't know, I love the idea that I am less than 2 hours (by train) away from one of the world's truly great cities. To get to New York, which I would argue is probably the world's greatest modern city, it's however much in airfare, plus 2 hours flying. I have been so spoiled, just being able to pop down to London for the weekend. I'm going to miss it. Getting on that bus to leave was bittersweet. Minneapolis, you have a hard act to follow, that's all I've got to say.

Well, it's 1:40 A.M., my empty tea mug is depressingly staring at me, I haven't slept well in 2 nights, and I need to be ready by 9:45 for a Sunday morning excursion to Southall Minster with some of the flat folks. Time to go to bed, I suppose.

Cheers.

Land of Hope and Glory

Woke up early this morning, took the International Studies 135 final. Went fairly well I'd have to say, could have probably gone better. Mark and Carol picked some pretty finicky dates. But that's besides the point. It's over.



A fortnight (two weeks) from now, and I'll probably be sitting in my room at 6 AM, still on English time and thinking it's noon, gazing longingly at photos from this year, listening for one of the flatmates to start complaining about the lack of food in the house, craving some Yorkshire Gold tea, and trying to figure out my way through the incomprehensible ailment that is "hobbit syndrome." Also known as trying to figure out how to re-acclimatize to the good old US of A. Yeesh, that's a problem to not dwell too much on now. It's just very hard to face up to the fact that there is no longer much time left. For so long (8 months), it's been like, "Dang, we're here a whole year practically, plenty of time." Not so anymore. And let me tell you, that is scary. I feel like there's so much I haven't done, and now I have to face the fact that time and money are going to prohibit me from doing. A few things come to mind, such as seeing Liverpool, rambling in the Scottish highlands, getting down to Sussex or Cornwall, and maybe seeing a cricket match. Strange to think of that way, because we've been able to see so much of England. Last night, as we frantically tried to study for this final, 8 of us sat down and read through all the itineraries from the flat trips we've taken around England this year. It was lots of fun to reminisce, and share stupid stories and jokes from what seems like so far away. We've come a long way from our first tentative steps out to the door to York way back in September to our recent continent spanning travels. It reminded me of how much we've all come together, and how much we've experienced. And I guess how good we've become at traveling. But anyways, you sort of think that if you live in a country, you should know it intimately, you know? You should see it. But then again, we come from a country that is so huge, it would take an entire lifetime to see it all. And the fact is that most English people haven't even seen their own country, much less Wales or Scotland. So, at least I've gotten a good head start, and I feel fortunate for that.



I'm dreading all the questions that will surely be hurled at me starting June 5th. "How was your year abroad?," "Are you glad to be back?," "What did you all do?," "Do you like it better than home?," "Do you think you're changed?" Those are questions that really can't be answered. How was my year? I can't distill 9 months into a pleasantly packaged one sentence answer. Physically can't. Am I glad to be back? Of course, but I also miss England. What did I all do? See answer to first question. Who is to say whether Britain is better than America, or the reverse? Not me, I don't think. Who's to say whether America or Britain is better than Iraq, or France, or Japan, or Fiji? I like some things here better, true. See the above photo of the tea, or double decker buses, or vinegar on chips, or using the word "cheers" as an almost blanket term for anything polite. I don't like everything closing by 18:00, the exchange rate of one pound to two dollars, or putting mayonnaise on freaking everything. I guess the point is, I'm sort of struggling with this question that I feel will be posed about the US and UK. I'll be glad to come back to the US, but will be waiting to return to England. And vice versa. I don't know, I guess I sort of now consider myself to some tiny amount Anglo-American. Americish. Englamerican. An illegitimate child of Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan (God I hope not). You get the point.



Anyways, enough on that. The weather is beautiful today, so a few of us are headed back to Wollaton Park to see the stately home. I'll take some photos and post them soon. I hope to get up some more photos of Nottingham and the University. I have plenty of photos from Paris and Istanbul, but very few of where I actually live. I'm headed down to London tomorrow afternoon and staying until Saturday. What do I plan to do? Hit the British Museum again, see the big Star Wars exhibition on the 30th anniversary of the film, maybe go to Harrod's. But mostly, I just want to "be." I sort of consider London my second home here in England, as I feel very familiar and comfortable with it. I'm also getting coffee at Café Vergnano, which is amazing, and hoping to go to Yo! Sushi. I'm going solo, so I think I'll take these two days to try and be as English as I can, without bothering to use my horrible British accent. Everyone told me before I left that girls loved the English accent. Besides the fact that I'm dating Emily, I don't think I'll bother, because mine is terrible. But anyways, me, London, this weekend. Wish I had some more time, but it's just so damn expensive. Whatever, it'll be fun. Not much time left. Better make it last.

Then...Now...Forever Forest (sort of)

Last Thursday at approximately 3:00 P.M., I completed my last academic obligations to the University of Nottingham. Earlier in the day I had printed off the crucial first copy of my 2500 word British Novel essay. Moral of the story, the hump has been passed. All that stands in my way now from summer is an essay on myself as a traveler and a International Studies final which shouldn't be too bad at all. It's very weird to think of summer coming up, especially still being in England. To be honest, I haven't even thought of it until I just typed it. Weird.

Friday night 7 of us decided to shell out £20 to go to the Forest playoff match against Yeovil. It was a really big game, if the Forest could win by the combined score of Friday's match and a match they previously won, they would go to a final at Wembley stadium in London. The winner of that match would then be promoted to the Championship league. Thousands of Forest supporters descended upon the City Ground, which was sold out for the match. We got sort of crappy seats behind the goal. An interesting perspective, but not as cool as being able to see the entire pitch from the side. But it was cool, as we were in one of the sections which featured a lot of chanting and singing. Learned to pick up a few of the verses. The "Come on you reds" one was the only one I definitively got. Needless to say, it was a great atmosphere to watch the game in. I haven't watched as much football as I would have liked this year, but I think I've learned to appreciate it a lot more. I can see why it's called the "beautiful game." Whenever the goalie would kick the ball deep down the field, the ball would rise up against the massive Trent End stand at the other side of the pitch, seemingly floating in front of thousands of rabid Forest supporters. It was a very majestic sight, for the few instants when all you heard was the boot of the ball, the roar of the crowd, and seeing the ball rise skyward. Unfortunately, the poetry of the goalie kicks didn't apply to Forest, who played a sloppy game and ended up losing by a margin in double overtime that allowed Yeovil to go to the final. Nottingham will once again be playing in League One next year. A sad end, but it was a very fun night.

My sadness at Forest's loss has been pretty much erased by the Twins' recent success in Milwaukee. Strange to think that quality pitching and good hitting results in winning. Hmm, maybe we should continue this trend?

Saturday was a typical English day with the usual schizophrenic weather. Got up, watched the season finale of "The Office." Brilliant, I thought about crying with both parts joy and laughter. Electing to go to baseball practice, I biked through alternating bouts of drizzle and sunshine before showing up to the sports field and discovering I was the only one there. I decided not to have made my journey in vain, so I explored the area of the city south of the university a little bit by bike. I ended up biking around the perimeter of Wollaton Park before entering and biking around for about 20 minutes. Wollaton Park is a huge green space, possibly the Nottingham equivalent of Central Park, but 20 minutes away from the city centre. I've been walking there once before, but I only saw a bit of it. Today I biked around a gorgeous pond, past middle aged Britons out with their dogs, and through the deer park. Yes, they have a deer reserve. The centrepiece of the park is Wollaton Hall, a large stately home with very unusual architecture. It's a free museum, but since there was no place to lock my bike, I decided it was a good excuse to return on foot in the coming weeks. Met Emily downtown for dinner at an Asian noodle place, which was quite good.

This morning I got up early and went to church at the crazy evangelical church I researched for my January Paideia II paper. I had wanted to return once more. It was what I expected. I guess I just find it fascinating, it's so different from what I'm used to. Plus they give away free coffee, tea, and doughnuts. Afterwards, I did one of my favorite Nottingham activities. I walked from Lenton (the district of town containing the church, nearby the University) to the city centre along the canal. My dad knows the system of British canals well, but for those of you who haven't captained a canal boat, I'll attempt to explain. Britain is criscrossed by a number of canals, created in the 1800's to move goods about. A lot of them are here in the Midlands, and nowadays, people just cruise them in canal boats, which are like long houseboats. One of the canals goes right through Nottingham and empties into the river Trent. They have a path alongside of the canal which provides a very pleasant walk with great views of the canal boats, the Castle, and the waterfront. I stopped at Sainsbury's (British supermarket) on the way downtown and loaded up on tea to ship back to the US. Went downtown, had coffee (actually a mistakenly ordered Banana Java Chip Frappuccino) with Emily, and now find myself back at the flat.

The rest of today probably will be filled with trying to plan my weekend trip to London, revising my British novel paper due tomorrow, practice, and going to Brandon's choir concert later tonight at St. Mary's. Plus every Sunday night at 1 in the morning there is live MLB on TV here, streamed from ESPN. During the commercial breaks the British commentators go to work. Well, one fairly ignorant Brit and an extremely over-zealous American. Weirdest dynamic ever. Tomorrow will be duly lazy as well I feel. Ryan, Anna, and I are grilling beer-can chicken for dinner. Tuesday will mark the 2 week point, only 2 weeks until we bus down to Heathrow, jet to Reykjavik, and then onwards to Minneapolis. I've been trying to cram as much as I can in. Probably going to continue.

HELL WEEK

You know when you become a Navy SEAL, and they put you through that first week of training where you don't sleep, you have to pilot amphibious vehicles in freezing cold, storm rocked water, and then run out with a 80 pound pack and do a million push-ups? That has felt like my week thus far, as I've been rocked with a 2,500 word essay and three final exams all in the space of 3 days. Needless to say, the rough draft of the essay is done and awaiting peer critique, the British Novel and American History finals have been conquered, and all that is left is a somewhat frightening final on war and ideology in interwar Europe. Whatever, I have all morning tomorrow to study for it. Right? Right. Anyways, I'll be glad when tomorrow is over.

In quick news, the Twins were the featured game on Five on Sunday night, live from the Metrodome at 1:00 AM, so I watched a bit of that. Was glad to actually see the Twins score some runs. Although that sort of built my hopes up for their crushing defeat last night. I don't want to talk about it. Today is Hilary's birthday and yesterday was Kevin's, so we hit the town for a somewhat subdued celebration. The seemingly always rowdy city centre was tame last night, probably on account that it's Tuesday and finals week. But we had a good time. Guinness for £1.99? Unbelievable.

The weekend you ask? We're trying to catch a huge Forest match on Friday. In layman's terms, they're in the playoffs to be promoted to the Championship League, and if they maintain a winning point differential through Friday's game, they'll play in a final at Wembley Stadium in London to be promoted. So, it's a big game. Let's go Reds!

More postage will come later on this weekend. Right now, it's back to my friend Eric Hobsbawm and his theories on the failure of liberal democracy.

For lack of a better title.... this is the title

Friday we didn't have the British Novel course, so Ryan and I decided to exercise our rights as students living in a major urban area and hang out in the city centre. I'm in a vain search to find a pair of sweet British glasses. Although I love the glasses I have now, I feel they're very very scholarly. I want a "cool" pair to wear around, partially to enhance my mystique as a world traveling hipster for all the underclassmen at Luther, partially because I just want a new look now and then. But damn the British pound and its cursed exchange rate, looks like I'll have to take my search stateside. Somehow glasses to the tune of £200 aren't my cup of tea. Besides that we grabbed lunch at Greggs, found a mythical store that stocks Oreos, Mountain Dew, and Hershey's chocolate (you don't even want to know the prices), wandered around shops, and stopped in for a pint at the Old Salutation. I had this amazing dark ale called Black Gold. I also bought a cool Forest goalkeepers jersey on sale. A chill afternoon, which was really nice.

Last night, in a moment of flat togetherness, the 7 of us not in Norway decided to have a sleepover in the living room. Mary had never seen Lord of the Rings, so she wanted to watch The Fellowship of the Ring. The flat unwittingly agreed, somewhat dimmed to the fact that we (I) only have the special extended editions (the only ones worth watching). Needless to say, we were up until 2:30, bundled up in duvets and munching Kevin's recently baked chocolate chip-nut cookies. It was a good night. Mary was sort of pissed that she didn't even get to see them destroy the ring (that's another 8 hours of movie). Anyways, everyone except Mary and I got up and headed for a daytrip to Hardwick Hall with Mark and Carol. It's a stately home in Derbyshire, which is near Nottingham. I had elected to go next week and use today to get a jump start on finals studying (all of mine are this week) and the British Novel paper that everyone is flipping out about. To be fair, I did start to flesh out an idea for my paper, and I looked over all the past exam papers for my American History and War and Ideology class. But other than that... not so productive.

I watched "The Office" (see below), milled about on the internet, had some cheerios and tea, and basically felt useless. To combat this, I decided to make the 18 minute bike ride to campus for baseball practice, even though the weather seemed spotty. I'm glad I went, I think I found my natural throwing motion, which has been a long standing quest. It's all in the wrist flick. We (the three of us who showed up) also practiced fielding grounders, which I need help on. It's doubtful I'll be able to make the final game, so I'm just sort of going for fun now. Meaning, I don't know if I'll ever get to show off my newfound skills, I'm just doing it for my own personal gratification. In typical English fashion, the schizophrenic weather decided to rain just as I biked home. 5 minutes after I peeled off my wet clothes in the flat, the sun was shining. Figures.



As I may have hinted at in previous posts, I've become addicted to the TV show "The Office." It was originally a BBC series, but it was remade in a US version, which is what I've been watching. Sort of ironic. Needless to say, throughout my 21 years, I've never considered myself much of a TV watcher. I always assumed most of the shows on TV were not worth my time. A year or so ago, Corey introduced me to "24," which redeemed some faith. I also discovered the joys of "Seinfeld." Kevin, our resident TV expert/addict has been the undoing of me, introducing both "Arrested Development" and "The Office." Kevin, I'm holding you personally responsible for all my unproductivity from here on out. Don't even try to use that wack TV Cultures class as some sort of defence. Anyways, "The Office" has restored my faith in the American TV industry to produce smart, witty, and ridiculously funny shows. It is laugh out loud, gutbustingly funny. Steve Carell leads a perfect cast. And it is also very touching, I feel. Well I'm very absorbed in the characters at least. The latest episode (with an awesome speech by Pam) has me on the edge of my seat for the 1 hour season finale on Thursday. Will Jim and Pam finally get together? Will Michael get the job at corporate? What will Dwight do? Gah.

But however, the time has come to be productive, starting early tomorrow. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday each feature a final, with the big paper rough draft due Friday. Add in the necessary practicing, and it's going to be busy. On a quick sidenote, I've been happy with my tromboning as of late. I sort of feel like Peter Parker in Spider-Man 2 when his powers come back to him. Back on topic, maybe if I get all my laziness out now, I'll be super efficient this week. Hopefully. I'm pretty much resigned to that doctrine, so it better work.

It's Saturday night. Off to The Lion.

Cheerios

It's morning, I'm done with classes, it's much too early to start studying for finals, and no one else is up. What to do, what to do. There's only one thing. Grab a bowl of Cheerios and watch Indiana Jones. Strangely enough, plain Cheerios in the UK are the equivalent of "Multi-Grain Cheerios" back in the States. It's one of those little things about this year that I will always remember. I've never been much of a cereal person, but Cheerios have become a staple of my morning diet. It's become a bit of a running gag with Mark on the weekly shopping list. Every single week, without fail, "multi grain cheerios" is scrawled on the list, leading to any manner of little comments.

It's been another fairly humdrum week, partly consumed by finishing up classes. I spent mostly all day on Monday creating a banana nut roll for dinner. Tuesday was involved with the last American History lecture, which was somewhat bittersweet. We learned about George W. Bush, Paul Wolfowitz and neoconservatives, which sort of made me feel ill, but that's beside the point. The last class of a class you enjoy is always a little sad. I'll miss the hilarious British attempts to pronounce "Ronald Reagan," my quirky seminar tutor/American economic historian who looks like my grandma, and my status as resident expert in my seminar, simply for being American. Maybe if I wear a cowboy hat I'll get a better grade on the exam.

Anyways, the flat is a bit dispersed right now. Kate and Emily left yesterday for Norway. It made me realize that my days of globetrotting are over (this year), which was sort of a bittersweet recollection to make. I guess I've sort of gotten addicted to traveling, which is better than getting addicted to crack or heroin, I suppose. I'm still planning on spending a weekend in London, or perhaps some other major city I haven't seen (Liverpool?). But let's be honest, it will probably be London. There's so much more to see though (Highlands, more of Wales, Cornwall, the South in general). Good fodder for a return trip I suppose.

Even as I sit and complain, I really can't sit and complain. Mary and Kevin have been in the midst of creating a group slideshow of the year, mainly consisting of photos from Nottingham and the various house trips around England. This in turn inspired me to look through my own photos, which led to a realization. I've seen a ton of stuff. A ton. But more importantly I think, in the process, I've come to intimately know this country. Or as Kevin put it, "this quirky-ass nation." I like that description. England is sort of like your crazy uncle, you just can't help but love him. For all the tea drinkin', chip eatin', football riotin', and shoe buyin' ridiculousness, I love this place.

I think that's all for now. I'm going down to the city centre today, just to sort of hang out. Probably grab coffee sans Emily, look around with Ryan or Mary, do whatever. It will probably also be a pretty chill night here at the flat. Everyone's gearing up for the insanity that will be the double blow of Kevin and Hilary's birthdays next week. In the meantime, I'll just sit around and seeth in raging frustration at the Twins' 17-17 record and their inept and inconsistent play. I might as well play left field, or at least pitch for Sidney Ponson. Mr. Ryan and Mr. Gardenhire, you know I respect you both, but really? I'm going to take my mind off this unpleasant subject by making tea and grabbing some toast with our newly purchased jar of Nutella. Later.

"Strikeout? 19 Can't Help Thieves Overtake Sox"

Like my Sports Center-esque title? Stuart Scott, eat your heart out. Welcome to college baseball UK style, where 19 strikeouts from your starting pitcher don't necessarily guarantee victory, especially when coupled with 12 walks.

Since I'm not sure whether ESPN is going to carry the game recap for today's game between the University of Nottingham Thieves and the University of East Anglia Blue Sox, I might as well just post one here. In short, we lost 13-9. We played a pretty sloppy game defensively, especially in the middle innings. Lynn, our fearless Chicagoan captain/second basewoman deemed it the "most shit game we've ever played." I played left field. The extent of my defense consisted of when I fielded a line drive hit down the line for a double and relayed it back in. At the plate, I think my showing could be classified as pretty much futile. I grounded out, walked, and struck out three times, all looking. I guess that's sort of to be expected, since we basically never take batting practice, but it was still frustrating. I mean really, just one hit? Hell, I'd take a bunt (I guess I never tried that though). Is it too much to ask? I'm really not the team's worst player. Not an unreasonable request.

Disappointing result notwithstanding, it was a perfect day for a ballgame. Even among helpless flailings with a bat, legs falling asleep for lack of action in left field, and facing the reality that your life calling may not lead to the major leagues, there's something about freshly mowed grass, a blue sky, and the satisfaction of wearing hiked up green socks that makes everything seem golden. We all looked very professional in our uniforms, the weather strangely decided to be beautiful (see earlier post on the rain soaked hell that was our game against Manchester), and everyone seemed to be having fun. We hit up our usual put, the Three Wheatsheaves afterwards for a pint and sausage and chips. Quintessential British fare.

I felt for perhaps the first time this year that I was a part of something at university. The nature of the musical beast at Nottingham, unlike at Luther, is very removed. Meaning, practices are so few and far between, there's no sense of community or anything. It's a very individual activity I feel. Learn your music, show up, play, go home. And even though I'm not really very social with the baseball guys other than Lynn and Adam, at least it feels like I'm a part of something, like I'm doing something worthwhile. 3 practices a week will do that for you. As much as I try, I'm really not too much of a ballplayer. Wish I was, but I'm not. As a result, I have to define myself as that guy who always shows up for practice, even though he sucks. I'm like "Rudy," except not really. In any case, through all the sore elbows and bruises, I've come to really enjoy playing ball here. And I like the guys on the team, even though I don't know them too well. A lot of the Luther folk in the flat have talked about not feeling a part of the university. We live removed from the campus, and I guess a lot of us have just not gotten that involved. I feel very fortunate that I joined both musical ensembles and baseball, because I at least feel like I'm doing something. Something small. It's a good feeling. And a sunny day spent on a makeshift baseball diamond just makes it better.


Since this is a shamelessly baseball related post, I just have to include this photo, in case anyone hasn't seen it yet.

It's beautiful.

Spider-Man 3 (among other things)

SPOILER ALERT! (I've always wanted to say this, it sounds like I'm a real blogger)

THIS POST CONTAINS A REVIEW OF SPIDER-MAN 3. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT IT, DO NOT READ FURTHER.





After much anticipation, Kevin, Emily, and I entered the downtown Cineworld theatre at 12:45 this afternoon to catch Spider-Man 3. The past two nights, we've watched Spider-Man and Spider-Man 2 respectively, to catch up with the story. For those of you not in the know, Spider-Man (along with TMNT and X-Men) was MY SHOW back in the good old days of Saturday morning cartoons. Naturally, I've followed the movies closely as well. The sequel is on my top 5 list, I would have to say. Whatever, that's not the point. The point is we went and saw the new film.

After much consideration (about 2 hours), I've decided to give Spider-Man 3 my full endorsement. Although a little busy at times, the film does a good job handling the plotlines involving Harry and Peter, as well as the Sandman. It also was very good in how they portrayed the black suit and how it affects Peter. That scene in the middle when he gets all cocky and is walking around NYC like an idiot was hilarious. Don't know how I felt about the dancing though. But it was cool when he ripped it off in the church bell tower (just like the comics). I thought they didn't do enough with Venom. He just sort of seemed to be tacked on in the end to add an extra jolt. The Venom story was so big in the TV show, I guess I just expected it to be given a bit more weight in the film, but whatever. He served his purpose. Although I really like Topher Grace, the story just didn't give him a lot to do.

Acting wise, Tobey Maguire was once again spot on as Peter Parker/Spider-Man. Kirsten Dunst was pretty good too. They could have used some more of J.K. Simmons as J. Jonah Jameson, but what are you going to do? I think the unsung hero was James Franco. He was really good as the schizophrenic Harry, and his sacrifice and death was very poignant for me. And Rosemary Harris as Aunt May was once again brilliant. Damn they casted well. Great movie. I think I would rate it below Spider-Man 2, but it is a worthy movie of the name.

In other news.... not much. The flat has been gripped by the discovery of www.tv-links.co.uk. It has either given us a fun new way to relax or is destroying all productivity, depending on how you look at it. It basically has links to a million TV shows and movies, so you can watch them streaming on your computer. Tons of back episodes, and it's updated practically every day. So, I have a reliable place to watch 24 at least. A bunch of us are probably going to The Lion tonight to listen to a ska band and have a pint or two. I have a baseball game tomorrow against the University of East Anglia. I'm starting in left field, hopefully I can channel my blind love of the game into actual competence in the field. First game with the "kit" (uniform), so at least I'll look like I know what I'm doing. Funny how that works.

Classes are going well, especially in the wind down here. We're learning about Clinton and Bush Jr. in American History, so it's sort of cool to examine things I can remember. We're also starting on WWII in my War and Ideology class. So yeah, just have to crank out a few things for Mark and Carol and I'll be golden.

In Twins news, two crap losses to Tampa Bay?! Seriously guys.....

That's all for now. Later.

Videos

Hey folks. Just as a public service announcement, I got a bunch of videos up on YouTube today. Here's a trailer of the awesomeness that is my spring break cinematography....



After trailing behind Kevin in blogging technology all year, I'm finally making up some ground. Now I just need to work on my witty observations...

Pretty mundane day. Woke up, sucked down about 5 gallons of tea, read a book for Mark and Carol, practiced, walked to Spar for some delicious Coca-Cola, drank more tea, made an apple streudel for dinner that the Hapsburgs would have envied, went to baseball, had another one of those pseudo-look-like-an-idiot-but-still-not-the-worst-player practices, returned home, skyped, wasted time online, and watched a few episodes of "The Office". Damn it's funny. I'd highly recommend it.

Aaron's TV Recommendations

1. 24
2. The Office
3. Arrested Development
4. Grey's Anatomy (I don't actually watch it. I'm just putting it down in honor of my 8 other freakishly obsessed flatmates)

So, fairly successful day. Tomorrow I actually have class. An exciting lecture on George H.W. Bush and an early morning spent discussing "Brick Lane" with Mark and Carol. Nothing like 2 married, pretentious, poor question-phrasing professors to kick off the academic week. But really, isn't this whole week just a big countdown to Spider-Man 3 on Friday? I think so.

Back in Routine

After cranking out that paper on Monday and Tuesday, finishing up the blogging and photos from break, and having already read the novel for this week's British Novel discussion, I was left with few options. Namely, be lazy, go to baseball, and catch up on 5 weeks of missed episodes of 24. I can confidently say that all three of these objectives have been accomplished. I'm justifying the lack of productivity on the surplus of active living that was had on break, so it's only natural that the two should balance each other out.

Today was a beautiful day. I woke up, brushed my teeth with my newly purchased toothpaste, ate my usual breakfast of multi-grain Cheerios, practiced trombone, then headed off to baseball. My Wednesday practice was horrible. One of my worst showings all year. I guess today went a little better, although I do have a bit of a bruise thanks to a passed ball off my shin. But the day was so nice, and we were all so lazy, we decided to stop early and go to a nearby pub for a pint. Welcome to Britain. In other English news, we were apparently shaken by a 4.5 scale earthquake today. I missed out.

Bad news last night in the flat. We received an omen of a bad night to come when, in the midst of playing catch in the front yard with Emily, a bush ate our ball. No joke, we searched this bush for 20 minutes, and could not find it. But the real suckiness is the fact that we were burgled, thieved from, robbed, call it whatever you like. The fact of the matter is that criminals walked off with Emily's Mac laptop (and its assorted cords), her camera, and Kevin's camera. The theft was due to a very rare circumstance where the downstairs church hall door was inadvertently left unlocked. Earlier in the day, some people came in to drop off supplies for upcoming city elections, and I guess the door wasn't locked back up or something. I'm a bit fuzzy on details. But the point is, it blows. Luckily, I wasn't affected, but I think all of us are feeling a certain sense of loss. Emily lost all of her photos from the year, plus all her writings and poems (she's an English major). So right, bad news.

Tonight I'm heading off to see Brandon's play with a bunch of other folks from the flat. It has something to do with the Third Reich. After that, maybe go to the cast party downtown, or just chill back at the flat. Excitement is rife.