Life is Old There, Older Than the, um, Trees?

Evidently there's a techno version of John Denver's "Country Roads" floating around out there. Or at least according to a text from my sister (international texting - add it to the growing list of groundbreaking family learnings. Passports, airport transfers, and now this!). It's hard to see the kids clubbing to this isht in Chicago but I guess some things have changed while I've been away?

Fortunately, in just 5 days I'll be getting rubbed down at airport security in preparation for my first return trip home (to the place I belong? Got it. Enough.) since January. With two weddings, a trip or two to the U.S. Open, and the kick-off of the Michigan Football season on tap (not to mention a bunch of nights loitering with great friends), I'm bracing for Lohan-like exhaustion when I get back to London. Oh, and in case you're wondering, I still don't have a Visa. The U.K. Home effing Office has 4 days to make me legit or I'm not coming back at all.

So what do I need to prepare for? Unlike in college, I've taken the time to do some research in advance of my trip. Here's what I've got so far:

1.) Technology is alive and well. When it comes to public transportation in London, innovation extends about as far as a "travel tips" campaign for dealing with the heat. These tips include "always carry a bottle of water with you" (in bold, no less), and, well, "we told you to carry a water bottle, dumb ass". Thanks guys. Let's juxtapose, shall we? Evidently New York is beginning to roll-out living, breathing subway trains, starting with the N line. So basically, between now and when Londoners begin to get air conditioning on the tube in 2009, NYC will already have been taken over by MTA bots a la I, Robot.

2.) Sleeping on friends' couches ain't as cheap as it used to be. Of course, high rent prices are an inevitable constant in New York,
but recent increases in excess of 15% are resulting in a lot of folks getting priced out of their places. In the old days, I remember couch accomodations going for a bottle of wine or a Calcutta Cafe takeaway meal. Has the proverbial ante been upped? My landlords for the week (you know who you are. I think) may be in store for two Calcutta Cafe meals. Holla!

3.) Airport strip searches have become standard. What? They haven't? My bad. Wishful thinking, perhaps. Nonetheless, I am expecting to wait in line for hours at airport security, pack my most embarrassing belongings in clear plastic bags, and generally hate everyone at each airport stop along the way. And why? Because the newest crop of terroristas watch too much Prison Break (I can't be the only one who thought of the PB toothpaste bait and switch?). I have also convinced myself that the mountain mama next to me will inevitably insist on bringing her loud ass baby along for the 7 hour flight. That is, of course, if Northwest Airlines employees don't strike and take their own company's 101 Tips to Save Money advice, such as "don't be shy about pulling something you like out of the trash". And always carry a bottle of water with you, dumbass.

What am I missing?

Superpower Deathmatch: A Football Comparison

My workplace ingratiation scheme finally panned out last week, and I found myself in the company box (please, go ahead and snicker. I did.) for Chelsea's Premiership opener against Manchester City this past Sunday. Chelsea, from what I gather, is England's version of the Yankees - largely successful with a bloated payroll to match, and widely hated by non-fans nationwide. They won easily, 3-0.

I enjoy soccer now and then, and had a great time at the match. But on the eve of college football season, all of this Chelsea madness got me thinking: could my struggling Michigan Wolverines take Chelsea FC in a superpower deathmatch?

I can imagine you've wondered the same thing, so I ran the numbers. Here, my friends, is my final side-by-side assessment, split into key categories:

	Michigan Wolverines	Chelsea FC	Edge
Tradition	NCAA leader in all time wins (849) and winning percentage (.745) since teaching Notre Dame how to play the game in 1887. 11 National Titles and countless (figuratively, at least) Big Ten Championships	101 years of tradition, but little hardware to show for it - 3 Premiership and 3 FA Cup titles	Wolverines
Coach	LLLLLoyd Carr. Hailed as a strong recruiter and football purist, criticized as an old timer single handedly jeopardizing Michigan's football legacy. Lacks a confidence and swagger required to win championships, or even rivalry games. Hell, or night games, for that matter. One championship, albeit 9 years ago. Sometimes acts like a prick.	Jose Mourinho. Credited with Chelsea's recent rise to national supremacy, criticized as arrogant and overly confident. Two straight Premiership championships. Threw his 2005 championship medal into the stands to reward fans (or, well, a fan) for their support. When given a 2nd medal, threw that one to the crowd, too. Portuguese (but no mullet). Charismatic personality has resulted in a number of high profile endorsement deals. Also sometimes acts like a prick.	Chelsea
Stadium	The Big House. At 107,000+, the largest football stadium in the world. Gathering place of generations of diehard Michigan fans each Saturday. Extensive renovation plans, including widened seats, luxury boxes, and increased concessions and bathrooms in the works for 2010.	Stamford Bridge. Originally developed to hold 100,000 spectators, but ultimately reduced to it's current 42,000 capacity. Gathering place of generations of diehard Chelsea fans each Sunday. Passable seat width and bathroom facilities, as well as luxury boxes. Although you have to pay for your own drinks.	Wolverines
Fight Song	"The Victors." Written in 1898, it overwhelms you in just a few bars, sending the troops off to battle. Establishes both university ("leaders and best") and regional ("the champions of the west") supremacy. Stamped "Best Fight Song" by Sports Illustrated.	"Blue is the Colour." Released in the 1970's, it actually reached #5 on the pop charts. Catchy and triumphant, although a bit long. Complimented by a number of chants, including "We Are the Chelsea", which asserts "We are the Chelsea, so fuck all the rest!"	Wolverines
Recent Results	2005 saw the Wolverines end the season with their worst record since the early 80's, falling to 7-5 after a typical late game collapse against Nebraska in some 3rd tier bowl game. Selective amnesia prevents me from discussing any further.	2005 saw Chelsea capture their 2nd straight Premiership title with a 29-5-4 record - the best points total in English top-flight history.	Chelsea
Ownership	Currently owned by Ohio State and Notre Dame.	Currently owned by Russian gazillionaire Roman Abramovich. Boast the league's highest payroll at $200M, meaning even the ugly ones get way more chicks than you do.	Chelsea
Intangibles	Those wing tipped helmets, that stadium entrance, those last second wins...	Those Samsung jerseys (Nope. No team name), that pesky offsides rule, those long stretches without goals...	Wolverines

And there you have it. The Michigan Wolverines edge Chelsea 4-3. Could this success on the pitch provide a glimmer of hope for our upcoming gridiron campaign? Or are we destined for an annual 7-5 existence? In 9 days we may have a pretty good idea.

I work at Initech

I can faintly hear the assistant saying it now. "Enough is enough. I have had it with these motherfucking unwanted office supplies in this motherfucking stationary cupboard!" (Yes, that joke is played out, but so is my office.) Who knows, maybe she followed that with a "I don't need a fucking gauntlet bitch, I will cut you with words!"

Speaking of YouTube, what the hell was this? I'm so glad I emigrated.

In today's Evening Standard

And to think, The New York Times front page has been dominated by stories about the ceasefire between Israel and Hezbollah. Get your priorities straight, NYT...

Yes. Yes. Yes. And, Well, Maybe?

It's been a rough day. One of those wake up in your clothes, eat Mexican food, sleep on the couch kind of days. (In what can only be considered divine intervention, I actually managed to find a Mexican restaurant to deliver my meds.) All of this means, of course, that upon finishing this post I'm heading back out to the scene of the crime for a few pints.

As a few of you may have noticed (or haven't you?), I'm not back in New York after all. In a dramatic, last minute twist (it might have been "The most dramatic rose ceremony ever"), my work assignment has been extended. I'll be spreading my gospel until the end of the year. Or given that my visa extension still hasn't gone through, at least until I'm deported. This has necessitated a few apartment moves (long story) and a long time without internet access at home. At first I began breaking out in cold sweats, but was able to manage after 3-4 days. Fortunately, I got this isht back on today.

This will be my first Michigan football season abroad, but I've already confirmed that I can get the big games on TV here and will also be making an appearance in Happy Valley in October for the night game against Penn State. After last year's theatrics, the atmosphere is going to be amazing. I'll also be kicking off the season in style at the 3rd annual 336 tailgate in New York. Aside from those travels, Oktoberfest tickets have been booked, the Amsterdam Paris trilogy will surely come to fruition, and other trips are in the works. Stay tuned - I may even start posting interesting stories again...

The Provinces: Now With 50% Less Clothing

Sometimes the city can get a bit oppressive, the hangover a bit unbearable. Enter Bournemouth, England's "gem on the South Coast" (well, at least according to the tourism website). I woke up last Saturday to a sky of endless sunshine and the beat of Ice Cube's "A Good Day" in my head (or was it because we played it on the stereo?), and headed south in search of sandy beaches and sun-tanned birds. Let me recollect.

As often happens in England, our "sky of endless sunshine" is replaced with a "sky of endless cloud cover" by the time we get into Bournemouth Saturday afternoon, but as I'm traveling with calloused Londoners, we proceed to the beach undeterred. We may have to wear sweatshirts when wading into the frigid water, but we're on the beach man! Plans to sleep on the sand that night are reconsidered, and we decide to scour town to find a place to stay. An extensive search (damn Stag and Hen parties) for cheap hotel rooms yields bunk beds for a few of us, while the other guys are left to spoon on a single double bed. Discussions shift toward the appropriate positioning of grotty bunk beds to the ladies.

The early evening is spent observing an endless progression of scantily clad women (my bad, Hen parties, you're aight after all - except for that one with saggy old women in devil outfits) while sipping beers outside a bar. As the party moves inside, I find myself speaking to one of the hottest girls around, and she, inexplicably, seems to be thrilled by our conversation. Am I being Punk'd? It's like some type of utopian pick-up, really. "Oh, you're from the States? I love the States! What, you used to live in New York? I want to live in New York! You now live in Kensington? I'm moving to Kensington this week? Let me give you my number (seriously, she took my phone from me) and we'll hang out IMMEDIATELY when I get into town!" What? Is this happening? Meanwhile, the bar is filling up with tanned girls in what may be the best fashion trend ever: short shorts. Get on that, ladies.

The rest of the night, like most of this caliber, gets a bit foggy, although pictures and credit card receipts suggest that there was a fair amount of drinking, a bit of nipple sucking (can I say that? Unfortunately, it wasn't me), and at least one violation of the "1/2 your age + 7" rule. Evidence also suggests a late night pizza stop, which, given that the walk home took about an hour (vs. 15 minutes on the way there), was clearly off the beaten path.

The following day was spent on the beach (with sun, no less), and even a brief highway breakdown on the way home (I highly discourage waking up to the sound of your friend's car's exhaust colliding with the road) couldn't sour the mood. By the time I got home that night, I was already plotting my next trek out to the English provinces.

Working for the weekend

Heading to Bournemouth for the weekend. I'll do my best to bring back a lot of stories, of which I'm sure at least a few will be CityHangover safe worthy...

Learn Something

What? You mean there's a different way to get women?

In what can only be seen as further proof that I need to pony up for Sky TV ASAP, I found myself completely absorbed in Seduction School: Size Doesn't Matter tonight on ITV. The show's aim, quite shamelessly, was to teach three men how to pull despite their body insecurities (the voiceover hilariously referred to them as "three mishapen men" - one tall, one with rickets (yes!), and a token big guy).

Some key takeaways from the life coaches, er, "Seduction Gurus":
-First comes the "approach". Nothing ground breaking here - mostly a cold call approach to introducing oneself to hot mamas.
-Then comes the S.O.I., or "statement of intent". From what I saw, this means getting really close to the girl and telling her she looks sexy. Noted.
-The final step is the "close". There appear to be a number of different levels here, including passing your cell phone to the girl so she can enter her number (technology, the great enabler) or asking her to close her eyes so you can go in for the kiss (a bit cliche?).

I took mad notes. Although I think I'm sticking to booze.