CityHangover

CityHangover Guestblog Vol VIII

2007-02-02T03:02:00.000Z

About a month ago, I had the pleasure of backpacking (for a week or two, at least) across Southern Africa with Dr. Rajat Gupta. (I can imagine many of you assume I'm still wandering aimlessly somewhere in the hills of Swaziland, but that's neither here nor there.) Given that I pulled DRG away from curing AIDS, eliminating the conflict diamond trade, and generally saving the world from a Botswanan hospital, we shall stretch the "Guestblog" guidelines for one final entry.

With that, my friends, I present the first CityHangover Guestblog to originate nowhere near London. Coincidentally, today's entry is the first (and probably last) to be absolutely free of hangovers. It is a testament to the trip that I even made it through...

How To Win Friends and Influence People: Lessons learned from 8-days in Southern Africa

Eight days is not much time to travel in Africa, but I had the pleasure of sprinting across a corner of the continent with finance extraordinaire CJB. By applying a few simple management techniques learned in the corporate world’s boardrooms, we were able to see and do more than I could have hoped for. Now I share these secrets of success with all of you, with the hope that you can apply them to your lives and African safaris as needed.

Sexual Harassment: A Team-building Activity For Every Group: On Day #2 we left crime-riddled Johannesburg for a pre-arranged Safari-in-a-box. For a couple thousand Rand we were assured a ride from Johannesburg to Kruger National Park, room and board for 3 days, and open vehicle guided tours through the park. Noticeably missing was a promise that we’d see the Big Five animals—Lion, Leopard, Buffalo, Elephant, and Rhinoceros. Anyone can see a worthless Zebra or Giraffe, but success is determined by the Big 5. Three out of five is acceptable, four out of five impressive, and five out of five unheard of. By the end of our first day we were stuck at 1 out of 5 (and a goddamn buffalo at that), so the pressure was really on for day two.

Lucky for us, the next morning kicked off with the perfect start. One of the women in our safari group had a little too much to drink the night before, and spent the night with a gentleman she met at the bar. Clearly setting an alarm wasn’t on their list of priorities, and at sunrise she had to be found, awoken, and rushed to the jeep so we could start the safari on time. CJB seized the opportunity for team building, and orchestrated a round of applause as she made the walk of shame. The jokes kept coming through the morning, and everyone got in at least one good zinger. Our safari guide was clearly better at innuendo than spotting animals, and he was followed by a randy Frenchmen, Pascal, his fellow French expatriate Chantele, Aaron the chain-smoking Australian, and even a married Dutch couple chiming in. You could feel the tension of needing to see the Big 5 melt away with every dirty joke, and that’s when the animals started rolling in. Lions, Rhinos, and Elephants started showing up out of nowhere, and at the very end the coup de grace came with a spotted leopard eating an impala.

Some would say we sacrificed the dignity of one of our own for the good of the team, but she was a great sport the whole time, and was just as happy to see the Big 5 as we were. So there it is, sexual harassment—a victimless crime.

Everything is a Negotiation: Fresh off the success of conquering the Big 5 we decided to trek to Mozambique with Aaron the chain-smoking Australian. Mozambique may be the land of beautiful beaches along the clear blue water of the Indian Ocean, but getting there is easier said than done. Since we hadn’t arranged visas beforehand we couldn’t take direct buses to the capital city, Maputo. Instead we made makeshift arrangements to travel in mini-buses, which basically means “dudes with vans”. One mini-bus took us to the border, and we figured after a quick stop at the immigration office we could find a comfortable ride to Maputo. That did not happen.

Turns out they only recently completed a violent revolution to overthrow the Socialist regime, and the immigration office is still run like a Soviet-era bread line. And it was hot like I can’t even explain. After waiting in line we were dripping with sweat, which made filling out the forms written in Portuguese all the more interesting. By the time we got our passports stamped all the air-conditioned buses had left, leaving us with few options. I halfway expected to spend the night at the border, but luckily there was a mini-bus headed for Maputo. We knew it wasn’t going to be comfortable with 16 people packed into an 8-seater van, and we knew it wouldn’t be safe packing into the 20 year old pile of junk, but at least we knew it was going to be cheap—just 3 dollars a person.

But clearly I know nothing about the art of corporate negotiation. So CJB stepped into talk the driver down by 5 rand, which is about 60 cents. 60 cents?!?! 60 cents. Even better, the driver had no idea how to respond. I mean three years ago this guy was living in a Communist country, so the capitalist rules of engagement did not apply. He shook his head and muttered something in Portuguese (which I bet loosely translates to: From Each According To His Ability, To Each According To His Need). Without other options we just turned back and paid the original price.

Once we got to Maputo we saw the cultural insensitivity of our tactics. We were staying on Mao Tse Tung Avenue; a stones throw from the intersection of Vladmir Lenin and Ho Chi Min. The lesson learned: In countries without a Mao Tse Tung Avenue, everything is a negotiation.

Common Sense Trumps Executive Decision Making: Our final adventure took us to Swaziland, where we were reunited in the picturesque mountains with the randy Frenchmen, Pascal. The decision we were agonizing over was whether to go white-water rafting on the Great Usuthu River, which sounds great until I tell you that a medical school professor of mine who was working in Botswana was EATEN BY A CROCIDILE ON A NEARBY RIVER. That’s right, eaten by a crocodile. No matter how irrational it sounded, I did not want to go rafting.

CJB, however, brought the art of executive decision making to our dilemma. He quickly decided not to raft, but before we even knew it we were carrying our bright yellow crocodile-attracting raft to the river bank. I still don’t know what happened there, but am glad it worked out how it did. We even got tossed out of the raft on a couple of rapids, but crocodiles be damned we got back in and finished the trip.

And there it is, three easy to apply business principles that will streamline efficiency in your next African safari. Enjoy.

Yes, I'm Alive

2007-01-14T22:51:00.000Z

New Years Resolutions, as stated on January 1st, 2007:

1. Get a new job (or a job, at least)
2. Go on a budget
3. Stay off the booze (at least for January)
4. Re-Launch CityHangover from New York

Status, as of January 14th, 2007: 0/4.

Yeah. I have my work cut out for me. In the interim, I'm on my way out to spend an exorbitant amount of money on margaritas. Even in racist states tomorrow is a holiday, after all. Patience, Daniel-san.

Temporary Service Disruption

2006-12-14T07:34:00.000Z

I'll be leaving you all to your own devices for the next week or so, as I'm off to Africa to adopt Dr. Rajat Gupta and return him safely to The Land of The Free. Don't worry, I've shot up with a plethora of immunizations and am popping the requisite anti-Malarial pills (and enjoying the subsequent insomnia/nightmare tandem), making Africa far less dangerous to my health than a night at School Disco.

From there, I guess this London experiment has to come to an end. It's been a lot of fun gathering cultural learnings for make benefit glorious U.S. and A., but home is calling and the dollar sure as hell isn't gaining any ground on the British pound.

I'm not sure what I'll do with this quaint website of mine come 2007, although I don't doubt I could find a way to continue to drink excessively and put myself into awkward situations in NYC. And what could be better than weekend travelogues from White Plains, New York and Newark, New Jersey?

Hmm.

CityHangover Guestblog, Vol VII - The Lost Weekend

2006-12-12T17:54:00.000Z

Apparently, emotional trauma often results in adverse affects on the brain. In extreme cases, this trauma can even cause memory loss. I have no better explanation for such an inexcusibly tardy post of the 7th, and likely last, CityHangover Guestblog entry. Admittedly, the weekend of Nov 17th was a rough one for all of us (insert moment of silence here). I myself only remembered it when I felt the BCS knife twisting in my back a few weekends ago.

Lest you think I associate my guests with curious human poll reshuffling and computer calculations shrouded in secrecy, I should note that Arshi, as one of my first direct employees, taught me many positive things. Inappropriate office eye rolling and the term "floater" (a 2nd shot for one's post-work drink) come immediately to mind.

Without further ado...

London Lessons

Since I'm new here, I thought I'd introduce myself -- I am one of the lucky few who used to work for CJB. That's right, folks, they actually let him manage people and their careers (all jokes aside, he's pretty good at getting other people to do his work). Anyway, plans for my trip initiated when CJB was back in NYC for a brief stint in September – we were at a happy hour with some colleagues, enjoying beers while listening to his newfound fake British accent. After a few, he says, “Oh, you should totally consider coming to London – I have an extra room now!” Given his history of making offers he doesn’t mean while under the influence, I confirmed that it was indeed okay the following day under more sober conditions. With that, my roommate and I proceeded to book the trip to London.

Following the trend of past Guest Bloggers, I’ve listed out a few of the lessons that I’ve gathered based on my experience:

1. Bring his dorky PowerPoint directions with you unless you want to be detained upon landing at Heathrow. I was almost detained since I could not provide an exact address for where I was going – the woman wanted postal code and all (in hindsight, I should have gone to the Indian guy, where I may have been able to flirt my way through — see below). I mentioned as many places as I remembered based off of conversations with CJB. Still no progress. Anyone who visits CJB knows of the uber dorky PowerPoint slides that provide directions to his office. Immediately after I presented these slides to the woman, I was granted admission into the country, as I guess they offered some legitimacy to my visit. One point for the dorks!

2. Curly-haired women beware – your flat-iron may cause explosions and black-outs. Admittedly, I have an unusual and slightly ridiculous obsession with ensuring that my curly hair is straight at all times, so I brought my $200 hair straightener to London to tackle the frizzies that would surely generate in London's humidity. CJB was at work, but told me that my electronic devices would function if I just used the converters that were lying around all over the flat. I plug my flat-iron into the converter and am ready to beautify – as soon as I make contact with the converter, there's a brilliant pyrographic display of sparks, a minor explosion, a loud pop, and smokiness. About 1.2 seconds later, the lights and power go out, and I'm left in complete darkness in a total state of panic. I run around trying to see if anything had been salvaged – TV? DVD Player? Phones? Stereo? Nothing was working. Finally, I find the circuit breaker, flip the switch, and an overwhelming sense of joy pervaded as all the power came back on. This joy only lasted a short while, as I realized that not only did I lose my expensive straightener, but that my hair was still curly. I did manage to straighten my hair using a normal house iron (it's a sick obsession) – now that's perseverance and innovation.

3. Timing is everything in London: Don't go to clubs before 10pm and do not search for food after midnight. After a few Peronis at an after-work bar, we ended up heading to a super-trendy club called Pacha. CJB and I were unsuccessfully pleading with his Brazilian friends to go to a karaoke bar, but the thought of him drunkenly belting out "Glory of Love" and "You Oughtta Know" just didn’t appeal to them for some reason. We arrive at the velvet ropes of Pacha and are charged a €15 cover, only to discover that the six of us are the only people in there (besides these two 12-year-olds and a gay guy who was blatantly making the moves on the men of Amex). There was this one fascinating woman who sported a pair of excessively tight red patent leather pants and had a penchant for dancing – on tables and on laps. Meeting her almost did make our investment pay off, and don’t ask me why I woke up the next day with her email address in my purse.

We ended up leaving the crew after a surge of hunger for non-alcoholic nourishment took over, so we hit the streets of London searching for anything edible. Dramatic proclamations such as, “Oh my God, I’m going to DIE if I don’t eat soon” were made, but there was nothing in sight. After walking around and nearly getting hit by a couple of cars (we couldn’t figure out when to cross the street because the lights make absolutely no sense), a beacon of hope shone out to us in the form of a tiny Indian diner – our eyes lit up and we salivated at the thought of chicken tikka masala and naan. As we approached our savior, CJB devised a strategy to ensure that we satisfied our hunger, “You have to go first and flirt with them – speak to them in Hindi or something.” Normally I don’t flirt to get my way, but this was a matter of life and death. After some clearly drunken and broken phrases in Hindi (where I insisted on getting whatever our waiter recommended), we managed to order £29 worth of food, headed back to the flat and devoured it like animals. One of the most satisfying meals ever.

4. Do not depend on CJB when he’s drunk and trying to get with a girl.
I became an Ann Arbor girl the day of The Game and proudly donned maize and blue – I mean, let’s be honest, I went to NYU, where our only D1 team is fencing and our school colors are purple and white (uhhh, Go Violets?), so this was pretty exciting for me. I approached Sports Café, the only bar that shows American sports, only to find a line a block and a half long. While the line was ridiculous, it was comforting to see so many obnoxious Americans in one place – feels like home. During my hour and a half in line I learned "The Victors" and trash talked to a bunch of OSU folk. Once inside, I got so into the game that afterward, an OSU guy came up to me and consoled me because, “I saw you, and you were the one that was watching the game.” I guess I played the part well?

Meanwhile, CJB was trying to cope after the loss by making the moves (“Here’s my business card…oh yeah, you like that, don’t you?”) on Girl With Boyfriend (GWB). The initial plan was to head back to his flat, change, and then go to my roommate’s birthday party, which was being held at a London club known to guarantee a hook-up, but after GWB entered the picture, I was on my own. I head outside searching for a taxi, only to find that the taxi to human ratio is far too low in London, and earlier I had learned that some taxis are affectionately referred to as, “Rape Taxis.” After running around outside for 15 minutes, I finally find one, get in, and cross my fingers that it’s not a rape taxi. Upon safely reaching the flat, I realize that I have no idea where the party is, so I try contacting CJB via text message, voice mail, and several phone calls to no avail. Finally, I receive a phone call at 2:45am, “Where are you? You should come out – we’re at this club. What’s it called? I really would like you to come.” I politely refuse and spend the night with Yul and “Aitu” as I watched two episodes of Survivor. At around 4am, I hear stumbling and awaken to find CJB sitting on the couch, staring into space. He explains how unfair life is because GWB had a boyfriend. After seeing the pain in his eyes, I decided that it was redemption enough for being ditched, and almost felt bad for making the lengthy long-distance calls that I made on his landline earlier in the night.

5. Other miscellaneous thoughts
-Expect 2-year-old toddlers to dress better than you do – they’re wearing fur coats and heels before they can walk.
-In order to fit in, say everything a little cuter than you normally do – for example, add the suffix “-loo” to everything you say. “Sorry-loo” “Nice to meet you-loo” etc. Also, check out how you’re supposed to describe your cough to a pharmacist.
-Embrace the Ugly American in you – the trip wouldn’t have been as enjoyable without: Making fun of the euro-mullets and pseudo rattails that were everywhere, going to Westminster Abbey and discussing the hottest dead royalty based on casket paintings, and just being generally loud and obnoxious.

'Tis the Season - Cont.

2006-12-08T16:07:00.000Z

I received the letter to the right under my door today. It's from John and Glynis (worst name ever?) Billett, who apparently lead the management board of my swanky temporary apartment complex. J&G are hosting a Christmas party next week in the lobby of the building and welcome my (me?!) attendance. How nice.

I've underlined my favorite parts of their invitation letter, in which they firmly establish that Jesus' manger bound first days and resulting Christmas spirit mean nothing come January. You got that, County Estates? Happy Effing Holidays, suckas!

'Tis the Season

2006-12-07T20:33:00.000Z

Ahh, the holidays. A time for giving, family, and drunken office parties. You would think the latter would have found itself phased out of Corporate America given years of awkward mornings after, right? Nish nish. And in Europe, these things appear to be even more likely to result in a post-open bar visit from the ombuds~~man~~person. Words can't begin to describe the hilarity of my company's black tie London party, which took place this week. As such, I've included a brief trailer for your viewing pleasure.

Let's start with some context. I work at a Fortune 100 company known much more for its conservatism and general stodginess than for innovation or groundbreaking products. It's a "Best Careers for Working Mothers" kind of place, if you will. If only those poor house husbands knew what their women were up to.

I think my favorite part is when the guy on the left, in a celebratory nod to our strong year-end net income results, starts dry humping the woman laying on the floor. Admittedly, it's tough to catch with that flame eating woman gallivanting all over the place. Yep. This is where I work. And I haven't even mentioned the women dancing in suspended cages. During dinner.

School Disco Postmortem

2006-12-06T21:23:00.000Z

Well well. Here we are, nearly a week after my courageous foray into the world of School Disco, and I haven't provided you with a proper update. My bad. Really. Unfortunately, between work ~~Christmas~~ Holiday parties (separate post forthcoming), work work, and turning 50 ish (holla AARP), this week has left little time for recaps. But enough is enough, as they say. Back to business.

First, I can imagine that none of you are familiar with this "School Disco". I'm not surprised, as my research indicates that it was unfairly left out of Lonely Planet's 2006 guide to visiting London. Then again that may be because it's a borderline brothel (would that get listed under "sights" or "nightlife"?). Picture this: It's 1988, and you've stumbled across a large congregation of people - about 60% women. It appears to be Halloween, but unlike most years, in which girls are dressed in an assortment of slutty (insert costume here) costumes, these women have exhibited a Nostradamian level of foresight. Each and every one of them is dressed as Britney Spears circa 1999 - at the height of the intoxicating video for "...Baby One More Time". And man are they frisky. You, my friends, have found heaven...ahem...School Disco.

I had been hearing legends about this place all year, and finally got to see the ridiculousness with my own eyes Saturday night. I learned the rules, threw on my favorite cardigan and borrowed English school tie, and proceeded to make a series of poor choices at the expense of only my own integrity. What can I say? My loneliness was killing me.

I have a hard time believing that this place opens its doors to these types of crowds every single Saturday night. That said, I've never been more relieved to wake up on my couch alone. I brushed my teeth like 3 times just at the thought of where my mouth had been. Ugh.

Who's up for next week?!

'Cause Mama Didn't Raise No Fool

2006-11-29T18:12:00.000Z

As I embarked on my walk to work this morning I was surprised to hear 2Pac's Changes blaring from my iPod earphones. I didn't remember listening to 2Pac on my way home last night, nor was I particularly in the mood for a "2 Pack" joint, as my dad would call him. However, after a few bars, I realized that my iPod was trying to tell me something by shuffling to this posthumous anthem.

As a result, I've committed myself to a difficult, yet important change of my own. I'm putting myself on detox until, well, Saturday. At that point I'll dress up in a school tie and trousers in hopes of meeting some studious ladies in short skirts and knee highs at a club called School Disco (what else?).

I think I'm going to go as a teacher.

Rat tat tat tat tat, that's the way it is.

CityHangover Guestblog, Vol VI

2006-11-28T19:39:00.000Z

Look out people, the CityHangover Guestblog series can now be counted on two hands...

This installment comes courtesy of the illustrious J-Buckets, known for her skills in luxury living and underage drinking, to name a few. As the better half of the visiting New York born and bred L-Unit (her partner in crime has a bunch of his own internets), Buckets came, saw, and conquered Londontown like ~~none~~ only a few before her. And when the going got tough, she singlehandedly saved Thankgiving dinner, for which I am forever indebted.

Surviving Thanksgiving

If there is one thing I truly learned during my time in London, I’d say it is that Survivor is everything. EVERYTHING. All of the crucial moments of the trip can somehow be understood through a Survivor lens. (Survivor Wiki).

The Immunity Challenge: Cooking a Thanksgiving dinner in a country other than the United States. There were a number of reasons why cooking dinner was so difficult. In the first place, CJB’s sweet apartment did not come equipped with many of the necessary materials for cooking like pots, pans, measuring cups and measuring spoons. We got about half of these, not including the measuring items. CJB’s oven is not exactly what we Americans come to expect in a fully equipped kitchen. One would think since duck is so popular in England, turkey would be also common. Well, it’s not. Finding the ingredients for turkey—and pumpkin pie and various potato dishes—is not an easy task. The most challenging aspect was converting all of the American recipes into metric measurements so we could buy the right amounts (a shout out to Microsoft Excel). The carving of the turkey was not easy either. In this challenge we even had our very own Jeff Probst in other Americans at the grocery store. We were so loudly and comically struggling to find the ingredients and amounts that the other Americans in the store came over to us offering candid commentary and advice. I think Probst would have appreciated their efforts.

The Reward Challenge: Pilfering a bottle of wine from a restaurant (don’t worry, it was one that we had purchased) during an already dramatic meal. (Note: most of this is heresay from Joey.) Somehow, a viewing of the Chelsea v. Manchester United game took a serious turn to drunken town. After we returned from Clapham two porn magazines richer, we had dinner at Pizza Express (I think). We immediately had the waitress watching us because of an altercation with a lemon. I really do not like lemon in my water. So before the water was poured into the lemon-bearing glass, I threw the lemon on the table. CJB then threw it on the ground, to which the waitress responded, “I can see the lemon.” It was an auspicious beginning. At the end of the meal, we had only half-drank our bottle of wine. We attempted to take it, but the waitress wouldn’t let us. Not letting a wine tyrant get in our way, we successfully snuck that wine out of the restaurant. I think the reward is obvious: pride and wine.

Camp Discussion Between Challenges: 4 words—Yul, Terry, Gupta, Claudia. Not only was this trip Survivor-esque, but we talked about Survivor a lot. Yul from Survivor: Cook Islands was definitely the most discussed, but was closely followed by Terry from Survivor: Panama. Joey filled many conversations with his deep love, admiration and respect for this Terry character. CJB and I were unfamiliar with this Terry, but Joey just would not stop gushing. He must be pretty special. After Terry, there is Dr. Rajat Gupta. Gupta was mentioned up the wazoo. He was cited as someone to ask a bevy of questions; someone who has great achievements; someone who everyone loves; Gupta this Gupta that. There was really a lot of Gupta talk. Joey and CJB also claimed that I talked about one of my friends, Claudia, just as much as they talked about Gupta. However, I think that it is just not true. (Note: this Survivor discussion may not have been so dominant had this past episode not been so solid. I am still reeling from it.)

Tribal Council: 13-year-old English girls vote out three Americans. One of the funniest moments of the trip occurred as we were approaching Windsor Castle. We were discussing something, and given my two companions, it can only be assumed the discussion was of high volume. I guess something that was said was ridiculous or typically American because these three 13-year-old English girls started making fun of us. And how did they make fun of us? They invoked the rhetoric of Borat! They taunted us with “Yegshemesh! Yegshemesh!” It was HILARIOUS. Borat is really taking over the world. Or maybe I should say, the tribe has spoken and they are in an alliance with Borat.

The moral of the story, of course, is that Survivor is everything and if it doesn’t fit into a Survivor metaphor, it is just not worth mentioning. In any case, it was a great trip.

Mission: Impossible

2006-11-24T11:52:00.000Z

Wish me luck. Although I typically prefer to drink my holiday meals, in a few hours I'll be hosting 10 people for a reenactment of the first Thanksgiving. Coincidentally, this will be my first attempt at cooking a turkey, mashing potatoes, and opening a can of cranberry jelly and slicing it into little pieces (you wouldn't believe how many stores I had to go to to find those effing canned cranberries). Fortunately I've got some help.

I was surprised to have so many attendees after pitching the meal as a chance to be poisoned and relegated to a future of alcoholism and gambling addiction - but it just goes to show how far some people will go for free food, doesn't it? Although we may not be able to replicate the harsh, violent aftermath of that first Thanksgiving meal, with an even split of British, American, and Brazilian attendees I'm hoping for at least a little cultural warfare via Taboo or charades. And drinking, of course. U. S. A. ! U. S. A. !

I've got two friends and my mother on call beginning at 9am EST for support with any disasters. And there are sure to be some.

(Note the cans of Ready Whip in my fridge (well, a look-alike whipped substance, at least), which is what Thanksgiving is really about anyway.)

007

2006-11-21T21:40:00.000Z

What does one do when feeling down about recent struggles with the ladies? Why, go see the new James Bond movie, of course. With just any Bond movie I could have really taken myself over the edge this week. Fortunately, Casino Royale isn't just any Bond movie. In fact, compared to recent installments, it's far better. Though it still sucked to see him scoring all the ladies.

The last 007 movie I, and probably many of you, saw was Die Another Day. Die Another Day featured invisible cars, an aging Pierce Brosnan, an overdone caricature of a Bond girl in Halle Berry (the "Yo Mama!" line comes to mind), and quite possibly the franchise's worst theme song to date - a Madonna tune carrying the film's name. Ugh.

Casino Royale steps away from the polished CG approach of its most recent predecessor, opening in black and white and featuring a lot of closely shot fight sequences. Daniel Craig is a certified badass (as previously suggested by his performance in Layer Cake) and is very believable as a young, less refined 007. Note: I'm still listening to that effing Die Another Day song from YouTube on another browser tab. My ears hurt. Eva Green ups the Bond girl ante (whoaaa, casino pun...) and has also coincidentally become my new girlfriend. Or as I allegedly said this weekend at a bar, "Dude, I'm going to the bathroom, don't talk to the smaller one - she's mine". The only parallel disappointment when looking at Casino Royale is its own theme song, which sucked so bad I didn't catch its name - though I did see that it was sung by Chris Cornell from Soundgarden. Cop that.

So there you have it. Casino Royale is good. What wasn't so good was all of the product placement. I thought we had lost Bond forever when he perpetrated in a Ford sedan (fortunately he quickly got his ass into an Aston Martin, though we only saw Ford cars throughout the film, GM Matrix style), and I found it hilarious that all terrorist related mysteries could be solved with a few clicks on a Sony Vaio (they have wireless in the canals of Venice now? Shiiiit). Or worse yet, by checking the saved text messages from the bad guys' Sony Ericsson cell phones. A friendly tip to terrorists everywhere: stop saving your text messages.

Gutted. But Coping.

2006-11-20T00:50:00.000Z

During the week prior to Saturday night's match-up I had numerous dreams about The Game. Some foreshadowed blowout losses, while others lent credence to triumphant, dominating wins. Each morning I considered how I'd react to the diverse emotions accompanying each of these outcomes, weighing the frivolity of a match-up between two college football programs. Like many Michigan Men Saturday night, however, I had a hard time convincing myself. In fact, by the end of the night, I sort of felt like I had joined Job in the Land of Uz. Was I being punished?

As I often do after Saturday nights out, let's work our way backwards by leveraging contextual cues from the morning after. First, I wake up wearing my contacts and clothes from the night before. Hmm. My shirt has beer stains all over it. Oh, right, some idiot at the post game bar spilled a TRAY full of beers and shots on me. Wait. Didn't I buy those beers and shots? Ugh. Oh no. How much money did I spend last night? Wallet check: empty. Credit card: found. Whew. But in my front jeans pocket, dangerously far from its safe back-of-wallet resting place. Doh! Why are the bottoms of my pantlegs cold? Oh, they're wet. Wet? That's right, I braved the elements and subjected myself to a 45 minute walk home from the bar. Why did I do that? I must have been annoyed at something. Or someone. The girl. Who I met at the game. Who then proceeded to like me a lot on the dancefloor. But liked her boyfriend more, evidently. Women. Ohh, my sometimes latin office crush. We also had a heart to heart. At 3am. And she went home with that Fonz-like guy. Two missteps with the ladies in one night? Perhaps a new record? Oh. No. And don't forget. We lost. To the worst University ever.

So there you have it. My internal Sunday monologue (which is not typically all that internal, as my friends know all too well). I marched through about half of Sunday feeling pretty shitty about the night. And myself, to be honest. And then I pulled my isht together.

When I took a step back, I had no choice but to acknowledge that Michigan has had an amazing season, which most of you (you know who you are) would have wagered your first-born child against. Losing this game will probably leave a bad taste in my mouth for the next 365 days. It hurts more than any other, but this season's turnaround is unquestionably something to be proud of.

And for me? On Saturday night nearly all of my closest friends in London came out to watch the game. Many proudly sported Michigan t-shirts, some waited over 45 minutes in line just to get into the bar, and all of them yelled, clapped, and hailed as fervently as any alumni I've ever been around. Granted, there were a few missteps along the way ("Hail to the Victorious", and a number of challenges with the unconventional diction of "Leaders and Best" come to mind), but I couldn't have picked a finer group with which to experience the game. To those of you now reading these posts - thank you. And the girl? Well, if nothing else, she's got my business card and at least a handful of comments about getting me a job. She works in Mountain View, California at burgeoning French Internets giant Quaero's main competitor, after all.

It would be too easy (and, well, too Michigan State) to enter into an "I did my part!" diatribe after Saturday night. On Sunday morning it became only marginally less embarrassing to have anything to do with Ohio State. And you know what? It's still great to be a Michigan Wolverine.

Go Blue!

T-Minus 1 Day

2006-11-17T11:08:00.000Z

Lest you be confused: Yes, I live in London, and yes, that woman from my office is wearing an effing Ohio State t-shirt today. Casual Friday has never looked so bad.

It’s on, Bitches.

Go Blue!

In Today's Evening Standard

2006-11-12T22:26:00.000Z

So maybe I was a bit tough on CNN.com after all?

Evidently while Dems were taking control of the House and Senate this past week, England decided to let babies launch campaigns for some type of cryptic lesbian TV tribe?

Please. I see right through this sham.

CNN Breaking...News?

2006-11-11T16:24:00.000Z

Once again, CNN.com has outdone itself, managing to lower the news bar yet another notch.

Admittedly, I came this close to stepping off my soapbox after recognizing the 3 top stories I had visited before taking this screenshot (note the grey links). But on a day when Burger King is selling pot burgers and men are baking small puppies, what's a man to do?

And this is supposed to be the more globally conscious "International" edition.

CityHangover Guestblog, Vol V

2006-11-09T10:09:00.000Z

There are rules. As well as previous Guestblogs: I, II, III, IV. And with that, I turn it over to my double-crossing sister, who despite her well chronicled exploits made for a great travel partner.

I’m Bringin’ Guestblogs Back...

Although I was nearly booted from the family due to my extracurriculars on the first night of my travels, I am honored to be able to write a guest blog chronicling my holiday with the infamous CJB. Being the youngest, and the only girl, the big bro has always sort of had me under his wing. Usually his influence comes out in discussions about my career (I need to get out of Michigan – okay, I get it), but on this occasion, it was the “What do you want to learn from this trip?” conversation on day 2 that really took the cake. Call me stupid, but I was looking at the trip solely as a break from work, not an experience that would change my life intellectually. Looking back now, however, whether I was trying to or not, I actually did learn a few things from my trip. Sure, they might not be as deep as the lessons CJB had envisioned for me, but they taught me something valuable nonetheless.

Lesson 1: Italy can’t refuse the charm of a bright eyed, small town, American girl. Evelyn, our inn keeper, or more appropriately, our house mother during our stay in Florence, was intent on ensuring that big bro took good care of me while we were on our trip; she greeted us with a cheerful “Bonjourno” every time she buzzed us in and, when we left, instructed the big bro to bring me home safely at the end of the night (to which he later replied to me, still quite irritated, “If she only knew…”).

Lesson 2: Rome is indeed the city of romance, just as I’d always heard.
Not that I’m entirely against romance and affection, but given the number of old couples we spotted making out in open areas throughout the week (that’s right, people, the over 50 crowd), I think they should put some restrictions on the PDA. CJB, on the other hand, seemed amused by all of this necking, exclaiming in reference to one older couple, “Oooh…look, they’re at it again.”

Lesson 3: It’s completely acceptable – and common – for women in Europe to date shorter men.
So…I guess there’s hope for me after all, if I’m up for moving across the ocean and trading my desire for an athlete for a guy who carries a Gucci man purse and prefers a Vespa over an Escalade. We might have to save this option for one of those if-I’m-thirty five-and-not-yet-married sort of things.

Lesson 4: When it comes to flying, if you’re too poor for first class, the emergency exit row is the way to go.
This position on the plane offers plenty of leg room (read: an increased opportunity for sleep), provided that you’re willing to accept the responsibility that comes with the position and live without your possessions for a good chunk of the flight. Not that anyone has ever actually survived a water landing, but we obliged with the flight attendant’s instructions to put everything of ours in the overhead compartment (magazines, books, water bottles, etc) so that if we did crash, our aisle would be clear enough for us to make history by saving everyone on the plane.

Lesson 5: If you’re going to do something stupid on your trip, do it on the last day rather than the first.
That’s right, ladies and gents, I saved the best for last. This might go without saying, but I think it’s imperative to remember, especially if your travel partner is CJB, the man notorious for always getting the last word in and never letting others live things down.

Vatican Addendum

2006-11-02T13:18:00.000Z

Given that my previous post likely resulted in most of you booking flights to Rome to visit the Vatican, I wanted provide a “heads up” on the venue’s dress code.

That's right. No bathing suits, people. You know who you are.

Dov’é el Vino Rossi?

2006-11-01T16:52:00.000Z

Greetings from Rome, people. After a rough week (see my previous post), I was more than ready for some time off. England has its charms, but there’s something to be said for sunshine and 70 degree weather, amazing food and drink, and a plethora of kamikaze Vespa drivers. I’m now remembering why Rome was one of my favorite stops in my halcyon days as a backpacker through Europe. I’m also remembering how sneaky those Roman Catholics are at making a buck.

We paid no less than 12 euros ($15 or so) each to snake our way through the Vatican Museum for an hour in search of the Sistene Chapel. During that hour, I counted no less than 9 sales desks pawning rosaries and other traditional catholic relics. Like designer wallets (?). I’ve also confirmed that, without exception, every museum ultimately spits you out at the souvenir shop. Jesus wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Although I had to toil through this maze of questionable capitalism, you, my loyal readers, can experience the glory of Michelangelo’s masterpiece for free. I risked priest molestation to capture these poorly lit and blurry photos from the chapel’s confines:

Trust me, it was better in person.

CityHangover Week in Review: Bender Edition

2006-11-01T16:43:00.000Z

Sorry for the length, but it’s been a bit of a week.

Here in the realm of City Hangover, bender weeks are typically welcomed with the pomp and circumstance expected of such a namesake event. After seeing four straight “1 beer” nights turn into far more, however, I’m beginning to rethink my position. (Alright. A few of those nights were destined to be something more like 10 beer nights, but still.) This week has run the gamut with team drinks, friend’s birthdays, and the much heralded arrival of my little sister to Londontown. What’s a man to do?

Things began innocently enough on Tuesday night at our post-work pub. I shared some QT with San Miguel (underrated, that San Miguel), and then later at my (oft blogged about) local Mexican restaurant with my new roommate and the Mexican kitchen staff. Yeah, that roommate. I also finally took the opportunity to test my drunk Spanish skills with the guys at the restaurant. It was a hit! Or so I’d like to think.

Wednesday brought the celebration of yet another friend becoming nearly as old as I am (always worth celebrating). We graced the same local pub with our presence, but this time upped the ante with a night dominated by shots and a myriad of sappy and sarcastic toasts. Birthdays are a great time to showcase ones ability to make ridiculous statements while holding a drink in the air. Unfortunately, I was given a bit of a birthday surprise of my own about halfway through the night. The birthday girl and another friend had actually stumbled upon this website a few weeks back from a Google search gone bad (all those “Fernando Torres mullet” searches are starting to make sense), and decided it was time to out me as the hipster blogger I aspire to be. What a generous gift. My immediate reaction must have read something like this:

“Uhhh…hmmm. Interesting.”
Gauges if he’s pissed them off with any of his posts
“What did you think?”
Pauses as part of a lifelong search for approval
“Oh, you liked it?! I’m glad!”
Proceeds to bar for a few shots of his own, just in case

Fortunately, they were cool about it and seem to be enjoying my take on London and my other travels. Whew. A close call indeed. But if I thought that was traumatic, I had no idea what was in store for the end of my week.

Thursday was advertised ominously as “Team dinner and drinks” night with my new team from the office. The night exceeded my typical free drinks expectations, although I’m not sure I’ll be asked to any future team drinks nights with these co-workers. My greatest accomplishment of the night had to have been of the “side-cup” variety, as I was able to convince the group that any purchase of shots must be accompanied by a round of B.A.U. drinks, effectively doubling everyone’s alcohol intake for the night. And yes, things got a bit messy. Let me elaborate. I discovered that one of my co-workers’ girlfriends recently had DD breast implants (and, of course, proceeded to make lewd comments about it all night), might have shared a questionably long hug/kiss on the cheek (with a bit of lip coverage) with a menopausal woman on the team, and woke up to find the breast implant guy on my couch (he lives out of town). To make matters more hilarious, my laptop was tuned into his girlfriend’s MySpace page. Evidently I've become one of those types.

Friday brought the arrival of my little sister into town, and signaled the proximity of my first true vacation all year. Before heading out to Italy on Saturday morning we grabbed a few beers with some friends at, you guessed it, that same local pub. I only had a few this time out as I hadn’t packed and still had some work to do before leaving town, but my sister had what I now recognize as different intentions altogether. She convinced me to let her go out with my roommate as her chaperone, and I hesitantly obliged. Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20.

I spent Friday night/Saturday morning packing and working on my laptop, walking to the office at 5am (curiously closed) and 7am (fortunately open, lest I throw a rock through the glass doors) to login, and generally hating my life. My sister returned around 2am and went directly to sleep. Safe and sound. Great.

Or not. Although we managed to catch our 9am car to the evil Stanstead Airport on Saturday morning, something just wasn’t right with Lil’ Sis. With a bit of prodding, I discovered that she was seen kissing one of my co-workers at the bar the prior evening. What?! I’m still working through my issues with this (which will magnify substantially when I return to the office next Monday), and am vacillating between calling a hit out on her (Godfather style) or excommunicating her (Catholic style – we are going to the Vatican, after all) for the shame she’s brought to the family. Kids today.

Anyway, I’m off to Italy to spend some quality time with my double-crossing sister, hopefully detox a bit, and relax over some good wine (we’re defining detox loosely here, right?). Expect to see some posts from Italy, as I’ve packed along my trusted laptop. What a hipster blogger.

Sometimes I Question My Own Judgment

2006-10-23T22:36:00.000Z

Me, Saturday night, around last call: You mean you're getting kicked out of your apartment? You can stay with me if you need a place to crash. I've got all kinds of room. Yeah! Cheers! Another round of shots!

Annoying fellow-American co-worker: I might have to, hehe. lol. OMG! IMHO!

---------

Me, tonight, carrying bag after bag (after bag) of her shit into my apartment: So how long until you move into your new place?

She, with even more bags and a smile as big as Texas: Hehe, this place is so cute! OMG! I want to stay here forever!

Me: *Rolls eyes* *Dangerously audible groans emit from mouth*

Can't Everyone Just Leave Me Alone?

2006-10-21T16:26:00.000Z

I finally took some pictures of my neighborhood. That's Vincent Square...

One of the things I knew I'd like about living in big cities is the relative anonymity it affords. Unlike most people, I don't mind feeling like I'm only one of millions of people trekking through a city each day. I actually prefer being left alone with only my iPod and judgmental thoughts by my side. It may be because this couldn't be more different from how I grew up, where it's more common than not to run into friends, family, or friends' family around town. I'm convinced my parents get most of their social interaction at the grocery store (always keeping me abreast of my high school friends' happenings - 8 years later). The last time I made a call (from London) to a local flower store in my hometown, the woman immediately recognized my name and chatted me up about her daughter, who I graduated with. Like most of my friends from home, she's a homeowner, married, and well on her way to having a minivan family. Crazies. I prefer being left to assume that most of the kids from my graduating class are unemployed and depressed as punishment for their suburban living. Just kidding. Sort of.

What I'm realizing about anonymous city life, however, is that it quickly becomes, well, nonymous? By my third year in New York, I'd frequently see my landlord and roommate's family on my weekend coffee and bagel jaunts, cross paths with co-workers during my runs in Central Park, and find myself running into nearly everyone else I knew during my subway commute. I'll have to admit that, at first, I felt a bit like New York had breached its "beat down" contract with me. You know, the one where it promises to deliver weather only in extremes, subway trains only at the most inconvenient times (with long stoppages while in between stops), and down-to-earth girls only when you're too drunk to play nice for them. Ok, maybe that last one is an addendum to my own personal contract. After countless run-ins, I reluctantly bought in to my new neighborhood feel. It added a personal facet to a city so notoriously impersonal, and kept me honest. Trust me, it's pretty embarrassing running into your friend's parents at Food Emporium when you're buying only a 12-pack and Doritos. For dinner. On a Wednesday.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that London wasted no time in ruining my idyllic anonymous existence. With it's peaceful neighborhoods, disdain for high rises, and transient global population, it's simply far less surly when it comes to newbies. That said, this week was the first where it became blatantly clear that I had lost all hope of not being recognized. I'm now considered a regular at my local (and quite possibly the city's only) Mexican restaurant. They know my order and tolerate my remedial Spanish (I've yet to visit with my drunk Spanish, which trumps the sober version hands down), and better give me free guacamole next time or I'm removing them from this post. I've also got 2 new girlfriends at my local Starbucks. Or, well, one of my 5 local Starbucks...es. They get my coffee ready for me when I come through the door and always ask me what I'm listening to on my headphones. I've thought about responding with something sort of lewd and suggestive (like "Sexual Healing", or better yet, "Ain't No Fun") but they're not really my type. One has hypercolor red hair, and the other is cross-eyed (Again!). I hate when that one works the register. Man. Eye contact. Let me tell you.

I'll be moving back to New York in a few months, and may find myself in a new neighborhood with a fresh anonymity grace period. Within a few weeks though, I'm sure I'll wind up high-fiving the newspaper stand guy or running into friends from college. And with that, all hopes of anonymity will once again be doomed.

Eff the State Pen...

2006-10-18T19:44:00.000Z

Maybe I should just give in and only post after traveling...

There are a lot of famous losing streaks in this world of ours. The Orioles lost 21 straight in 1988 to set the bar in Major League Baseball, Susan Lucci returned home from the Emmys winless for 18 years, and hell, yours truly has gone countless months without some good lovin' from British women (anyone? anyone?). This past weekend I witnessed what I hope will become another infamous losing streak, as my Michigan Wolverines defeated Penn St. for the 8th straight time, in Happy Valley (aka Nowhere U.S.A.) no less.

My jet setting weekend (coach is so comfy!) kicked off in NYC, established itself as first-class in Happy Valley, and concluded depressingly at Newark...ahem...Liberty International Airport Sunday night. In fact, those of you who still read this probably got a phone call around the time I was waiting to take off, as is requisite for airport time. Along the way I caught up with some old college friends from yesteryear, most notably the $5 Pitcher and $1 shot. What? Real life is overrated.

Penn State's campus was of Big (11) Ten caliber, and at the risk of being cliche, I'll note that college girls have indeed stayed the same age. Don't get it twisted, there were some misses along the way (most notably my punk ass landlord's college girl referral. I've never been more happy to NOT have dibs. Ugh.), but for every dud there were innumerable hits. We crashed a Penn St. family tailgate, beat our Happy Valley alums 5-3 in flip cup, caught up with some of our college friends (yeah, we're old), and generally annoyed people around us. A perfect weekend.

Septemberfest Oktoberfest

2006-10-06T19:43:00.000Z

A bit overdue...

Endless mugs of beer, shameless singing and dancing, cleavage baring waitresses. These are a few of my favorite things. Which is why my trip to celebrate Oktoberfest in Munich will be remembered (albeit vaguely) as one of my best weekend jaunts to date. Amazing weather and great company also didn't hurt. And did I mention the beer?

In an uncharacteristic and short-lived money saving campaign, I found myself on a 5:00am bus to the evil Stanstead airport (previous experience chronicled here) on Saturday morning to easyJet my way into Munich for two days of celebration, Bavarian style. We launched our drinking efforts at the Theresienwiese at around 3pm, where we were welcomed by a plethora of beer tents, bratwurst stands, and a host of what I now recognize as "bierleichen" - translated quite literally as "drunk corpses". (Although we felt like late arrivals at the time, I can now look back to our 3pm tee time as nothing short of a godsend. No one passed out all weekend, and only one of us puked. Um, in the hotel lobby. In her defense, my co-hort insisted on a riding a roller coaster prior to calling it a night and she wound up paying the price.) Our two days consisted mainly of life's necessities - eating and drinking - in a festive atmosphere. I devoured no less than 5-6 brats and 3 full chickens (so good), not to mention the beers, which will remain undocumented for the faint of heart.

Anyway, a few highlights from the trip:

-Meeting Randoms. I can't be the only one who could spend hours meeting random foreigners, right? We wound up toasting hometown Germans, friendly Portuguese, ubiquitous Aussies, and a fair number of obnoxious Americans and Brazilians. Or maybe that was just my friends. By the time we got to the airport Monday, we were already reminiscing about the "lap sitter" (who, as the name suggests, insisted on sitting only on the laps of willing dudes, and after further review, shared my exact same birthday - year and all), the "fat cousin" of the lap sitter (he was not impressed with her antics at all), the "hot chick with the piercing" (fat cousin was equally unimpressed with our flirtation with the H.C.W.T.P.), and a brother and sister tandem that seemed to have some Flowers in the Attic isht going on.

-Leading Revelers in Song and Dance. After a few liters of brew, I found myself really getting into the "raise your mug and sing songs thing". Aside from German songs I didn't understand, we discovered that the crowd loves them some Country Roads, Summer of 69, etc. Hilarious.

-"Borrowing" Souvenirs. Despite a crackdown on the practice, I was able to orchestrate the ultimate beer mug heist with a little help from a friend. The mug served as my water jug that night, and now sits on my kitchen table waiting to be called to duty. I see myself getting a lot of use out of this thing.

Drinking aside (for a second), Munich itself is also a very interesting city. Its streets share a unique assortment of traditional buildings and uber-modern architecture due to damage from the second World War, and there has been an obvious emphasis on renovation of surviving landmarks. They've made most of the city centre pedestrian only, which makes for a lot of sidewalk cafes and general foot traffic. A worthwhile weekend, indeed.

And again, did I mention the beer?

Sunday's Best

2006-10-02T19:57:00.000Z

CityHangover Blog Circus

2006-09-29T21:28:00.000Z

'Cause it's the freakin' weekend. I hit "Next Blog" ad naseum, you reap the comic benefits. Foreign language blogs will be skipped (They have the internet in non-English speaking countries now?) and one "Pass" will be tolerated. Here goes:

1.) tay loves you to death (literally)
Author: Tay kay. She's in love, has feelings, and is "over emotional but not emo."
Subject Matter: High School stream of consciousness
Recent Blog Brilliance: "I saw Blayr today, and BTW I havent seen her in about 4 months or so. And her birthday is coming up.. so I had a flower and I gave it to her. Well, first off, she rolls her eyes at me when I walk out of Fulmore. Then, right as she is leaving, she throws the flower on the ground and smashes it. I dont know if she is mad at me..?
Blog Roll? Uh, No. But I am curious about what's going on with Blayr.

2.)Bush Plays Politics with 9/11
Author: LAGARESH. He's "a proud of American". What?
Subject Matter: Anti-Bush musing(s) - it appears he's pasting in the same post over and over?
Recent Blog Brilliance: "Although I did not listen to the President’s speech on September 11, 200 celebration read it online the next morning. I can say that I was very surprise to hear the President making basically a political speech for the sole purpose of saving the Republican party mid-term election coming this November."
Blog Roll? Doesn't really fit in with my subject matter (although W. did have a drinking problem, right?). That said, E.S.L. has never been so clear man!

Skip: The Idealistic Philosopher. Ahh, such a typical New Yorker. Quotes Myers-Briggs result, boasting that her classification (the blog's name) constitutes "only 3% of the population". Remaining 97% puke in their mouths.

3.) Running With Scissors
Author: A "Strange Bird" who was "raised by a cup of coffee". Witty.
Subject Matter: Her boyfriend. Her grad school (?) apps? Hmm, less witty.
Recent Blog Brilliance: "So I am reading this book called "Passionate Marriage" by David Schnarch. It's actually one of the textbooks for #1's couples therapy class, but since I insisted so strongly on borrowing it from him when the class is over (it was recommended to me by a friend some time ago), he bought me my own copy so we can read it "together" (or at least, at the same time). READ THIS BOOK! I'm barely into it yet but I'm already moved... this may be because it mirrors the growth and progress I am seeing in myself as of late, but it may also be because it is true."
Blog Roll? If I ever sound like this, put me out of my misery.

Best. Haircut. Ever.

2006-09-27T21:21:00.000Z

Tonight I was given a sign that God does indeed exist (and that he's aight with all past and future church sign renderings). During what has become a requisite post pub Macker's stop, I was blessed with one of my best Euro haircut sightings to date - which I can only describe as some type of euromullet/tail hybrid (click on the photos above for life size evidence). Amazing!

I've made a note to stop at Supercuts tomorrow to inquire about how I might shift my current euromullet growth trajectory to incorporate a tail. I'll let you know how it goes.

(Did I mention that I faintly remember having a "tail" haircut as a child? I also allegedly wore bolo ties on special occasions - which, according to its Wiki, is the official neckwear of Arizona.)

I Thought Only Drinking Caused That?

2006-09-25T21:14:00.000Z

Ok. I get it, England. I won't smoke. Sheesh!

See the full PSA here. (You don't know how much porn I had to ~~enjoy~~ endure to find the website.)

My Sunday's Best

2006-09-24T11:15:00.000Z

A new Sabbath tradition?

Another Day at the Office

2006-09-23T18:28:00.000Z

Some days I fear that I'm destined for an interminable cubicle existence. I cringe when I consider 30 years of powerpoint slides, project plans, blue button up shirts and khakis, working endless days with only casual Friday to look forward to. Other days though, I realize why I chose to work in the financial services industry after all. At the end of the day, it's really all about the people, isn't it?

Case in point: as part of my project at work, I've begun to spend a day each week at our call center in Brighton. As part of my first visit this week, I was scheduled to listen in on calls made by a woman named "Michelle". Why the quotes, you ask? Well, on the train ride down, I was informed by a colleague that "Michelle" actually used to be "Michael" (it was pitched to me as "just so you're not taken by surprise"). You can imagine my general excitement upon hearing that I was going to be working with a bona fide transexual! Unfortunately, when we got to the office I was informed that Michelle was actually off for the day. Guess where? Yep. You got it - a beauty pageant! Although disappointed, I bounced back in time to get on Michelle/Michael's calendar for next week and proceeded to the cafeteria for my lunch meeting. Also now known as the hardest 45 minutes of my life.

Having never met my lunch "date" (I'm just putting that one in quotations to be annoying), I was, well, surprised to find that she was substantially cross-eyed. Like cartoon-character-after-getting-hit-in-the-face cross-eyed. So there I was, avoiding eye contact at all costs, thinking about my meeting next week with Michelle/Michael, and generally wondering what the hell I was doing with my life. And let me be the first to tell you, when you're trying your damnedest not to look someone in the eye, eye contact becomes frustratingly easy. It was hell.

My trip down to our call center got me thinking about one of my favorite episodes of The Office from season 1 called Diversity Training. A clip for your viewing pleasure:

Update: On my way to work today I stopped at my local Starbucks, like I do most days. (Relax. I usually order a regular house coffee, not some type of $6 "dos chai latte por favor" shit.) Anyway, today the woman that served me was cross-eyed, call center style. Am I being punished? And am I the only one that feels like they need to look back and forth at each eye individually when confronting those of the cross-eyed faith? Hmm. I feel a church sign in the making.

So Julia's Last Name is Going to be Gulia?

2006-09-20T20:56:00.000Z

Did you hear that? Listen really closely. Yeah, that. Uh huh. You've just witnessed a universal sigh of relief as we reach the end of yet another summer wedding season.

Before I continue, I should clarify a few things at the risk of seeming completely misanthropic. (Because you haven't all already seen that side of me, have you?) As I've mentioned, I made a trip back to the states recently. My visit was motivated largely by not one, but two civil unions. At each, I'll admit to experiencing a somewhat foreign emotion best described as genuine happiness for my newlywed friends. In fact, at the first wedding, I may have even gotten something in my eye resulting in a marginal amount of moistness. (Don't worry, I proceeded straight to the men's room to ~~do a few lines~~ give myself a firm mirror pep talk). Despite these emotions, I'm still somewhat apprehensive about weddings. I just find them weird. Anyone?

The first wedding took me back to my hometown in Michigan, which is, I believe, indicated on most maps by its more appropriate pseudonym: "Bizarro World". What is it with Michigan and country music, anyway? But I digress. Said wedding was at a beautiful golf course and the couple went to extra lengths to personalize the ceremony. (Think individually written vows, slideshows, and the groom's writing/singing of a love song for the bride. Shiiiiiiit.) The couple went as far as to invite yours truly to conduct a reading to lead things off. Although I was still emanating alcohol from my pores due to the prior day's NYC Michigan tailgate festivities, I was reasonably awesome if I do say so myself. Then again, my dad did liken me to a newscaster (I may have told the crowd to "stay classy", but wasn't that in Maya Angelou's poem?) so I'm not quitting my day job. Anyway, yeah, the wedding was nice. But trying to make small talk with people I haven't seen in, oh, up to 8 years? Painful, to say the least. I called people by the wrong names, asked parents (who look wholly the same after 8 years, by the way) about their children - by the wrong names, and generally got my awkward on. I was given ample opportunity to talk about how successful I've become too (you know - hungover, in debt, single, and generally a mess), which made me ready to get out of there just as the bride began rolling around on the dancefloor. Bummer. I barely got a taste of the open bar.

At my second wedding I was intent to right the wrongs from the first, so I took a tried and true approach and skipped the wedding altogether in favor of the reception. If anyone asks, I'm pretty sure I said I was toward the back of the church during the wedding, so play along. This wedding was quite different from the first - a Chinese American couple looking to celebrate with a reception recognizing both cultures. It included an 8 course meal of Chinese delicacies (interesting, albeit somewhat challenging to eat), some traditional costume changes (who knew?), and what quickly became the highlight of the evening - the best wedding DJ ever. Given the crowd, I'm convinced he came from the now defunct best sort-of-Asian bar ever, 46 Grand (R.I.P.). Dude played originals of well known hip-hop samples during dinner, and heated things up after dinner with just about every song you learned most of the words to in the last 8-10 years. Since I didn't get my money's worth from the tap at wedding #1, one could say I hit the open bar at wedding #2 a bit hard. By the end of the night everyone else had done the same, and I resurrected my relationship with Positive K's I Got A Man during a passionate duet with a co-worker. Great professional decision, I know. Can't wait to talk about how successful I've become next year!

I've already been invited to another wedding in the winter, but am just not sure I'm ready to face these demons again. Instead, I'm thinking about taking on the approach voiced over dinner by a friend at wedding #1. When speaking of the aforementioned winter wedding, she noted dryly, "I think I have a policy against going to weddings that are so clearly going to end in divorce". Right on, man.

What Would Jesus Do?

2006-09-18T20:31:00.000Z

These, of course, are real (Dixie Highway, man), but you can make your own here.

(Stolen, quite shamelessly, from our friends at Be A Human Being.)

Waking From My Slumber

2006-09-17T12:19:00.000Z

A dark cloud has been hanging over CityHangover for the last week or so. After a triumphant return to my homeland, I must have eaten some bad spinach (or could it have been too many open wedding bars?) and have been on my death bed ever since. As in fever, headache, STD symptoms - you name it.

But yesterday my body received a miraculous jolt of energy pulling me out of this downward spiral of illness - a cortisone shot to the heart, if you will - by means of a resounding Michigan football win over the Notre Dame Fighting Douchebags.

Like my Wolverines, I have intentions of being back and more relevant than ever on this here "weblog". And after polling some loyal readers across the pond, I've got a clear understanding of what you people want. Social commentary? No. Unbiased coverage of current events? Nope. Embarrassing stories of my own ridiculousness? You got it!

As some guy once said (ha!), "Ask, and ye shall receive". I've got a host of stories to share in the coming days, and I promise I'll focus on the parts where I have too many drinks and offend innocent women. Ah, it's good to be home.

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

2006-08-28T11:02:00.000Z

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

2006-08-22T21:49:00.000Z

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

2006-08-21T20:43:00.000Z

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

2006-08-19T19:35:00.000Z

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?

2006-08-13T16:03:00.000Z

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

2006-08-07T20:07:00.000Z

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

2006-08-04T19:04:00.000Z

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

2006-08-03T21:01:00.000Z

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.

CityHangover Miscellany: Gateway Edition

2006-07-30T12:35:00.000Z

In this substance laden edition of CityHangover Miscellany: Marijuana may or may not be your first step in turning tricks at a truck stop to fund your next bump, Germany asks us to consider their history of innovation, more marquee athletes get effed by flaxseed oil, and your mom starts to DJ. Whew.

So who's up for a trip to Amsterdam? Depending how you spin it, a new study out of the Mount Sinai School of Medicine either cements the After School Special theory that pot leads to a slippery slope of drug addiction, or suggests that smoking up has very little to do with heroin use after all. At its core, the study concludes that while rats exposed to pot wound up shooting up (or, well, pressing a bar) 25% more than straight edge rats, both groups took a hearty liking to the heroin sauce. So I guess the learning is, if you try heroin, you'll probably get addicted. Stay in school, kids!

Germany - Land of, um, Ideas. I was in Germany last week for work. Although I had little time to take in the sights, I did manage to satiate my cravings for German beer, particularly of the wheat, or hefeweizen, variety. I can trace my first foray into the world of wheat beer from my college days with Bell's Oberon out of Kalamazoo. From there, I remember sharing 6-packs of Hacker-Pschorr Weisse on the front porch of my spring term house on Division, and more recently adding Hoegaarden as a staple to my beer-based diet in New York and London. Although each of these beers has its own merits, none compare to a classic German hefeweizen. The Germans were one of the first to add wheat to their brewing techniques (in place of barley) back in the day, resulting in a unique smokiness to the beer, with aromas of citrus and clove. It sounds weird, but the taste is a perfect compliment to a hot summer day.

Evidently while I was off tasting as many hefeweizens as a 48 hour trip (and my boss) would allow, Germany was kicking off a new advertising campaign from New York to Tokyo heralding their country as the "Land of Ideas". I'll be the first to celebrate innovations like hefeweizen, but "Land of Ideas"? I'm not sure Germany should be asking the rest of the World to think back to some of their great "ideas"...

BREAKING NEWS: Athletes use steroids. Man. This is getting rough. First, Tour de France winner Floyd Landis fails a drug test the day of his tour-making stage 11 mountain climb, and now, USA Track & Field wunderkind Justin Gatlin admits to testing positive for "testosterone or its precursors" after an April track meet. I'll admit, Landis' positive test didn't surprise me that much. He seems a bit Nascar, and this is cycling, after all (who else thinks Lance Armstrong is laughing his ass off right now? Sucka!). Gatlin's positive test, on the other hand, is a disappointment. I remember his interview after he won the Olympic 100m in Athens, and was impressed by the way he handled his win without the requisite hubris of most world class sprinters (think Maurice Green, Donovan Bailey, etc.). Until now, he's been squeaky clean (well, except for that Adderol induced positive) in a sport desperate for a new face, and seemed mature enough to handle his recent success. Like many sports fans, I'm really hoping that Gatlin is cleared of any wrongdoing. At some point though, the public needs to recognize that drugs have become an unfortunate, yet integral component of professional athletics. Maybe we need to start having separate heats - runners on vs. off The Clear?

And another one... These days everyone is a DJ. That quiet Indian guy I had Psych with at college, the dude who works through my P&L from Finance, you name it. This weekend I made my first London DJ friend, and hope to be well on my way to insider status at raves across the city. Kidding. He actually DJed a lame house party where the only excitement was derived from making fun of girls for requesting Belinda Carlisle songs. What's with girls and bad music taste, anyway?

Hello? McFly?

2006-07-29T15:12:00.000Z

Ah, the joys of Sunday morning. Fresh coffee, the weekend newspaper, and debilitating hangovers. That said, I'm feeling much better having spent the last 20 minutes watching Back to the Future on TV. I had no idea that it's been over 20 years since BTTF came out. Well, at least until watching the following opening sequence unravel: Michael J. Fox practices electric guitar, skateboards to school behind a Jeep while Huey Lewis' "Power of Love" plays in the background, kisses girlfriend after school (backed by, you guessed it, Huey Lewis' "Power of Love"), meets Doc in the mall parking lot to unveil the DeLorean time machine, gets ambushed by Libyan terrorists (1985 style?) in, oh I don't know, a VW Minivan.

Can you imagine reading this script for the first time? Really, with hangover cures like this, who needs Chaser?

Not a Good Look

2006-07-24T23:06:00.000Z

How could something that feels so right be so wrong?

Update: McDonald's reports largest quarterly sales increase in Europe in 10 years. Coincidence?

Your Search Results

2006-07-23T10:40:00.000Z

Google has really outdone itself this week, bringing a host of crazies to this website. Some of the more interesting searches leading to CityHangover:

-Drunk saki bombing
-Andre Agassi mullet photo gallery
-Sex teenage girl
-And about a gazillion image searches for Scarlett Johansson.

You know you've made it when porn searches link to your blog. For those of you with websites - what are some of the most ridiculous searches leading to your blog?

An Open Letter to Al Gore

2006-07-20T21:33:00.000Z

Dear Mr. Gore,

First things first - how are the wife and kids? You know, I still remember that romantic kiss you gave Tipper during the 2000 Democratic National Convention. You really showed Michael Jackson who's boss when it comes to PDA, didn't you? Anyway, on to the purpose of my letter. I've had a very rough week, Mr. Gore, and I'm hoping you can wield your considerable influence to help me out. Let me explain.

You see, since last Friday my life in London has felt eerily similar to an episode of, well, Family Feud. Weird, isn't it? You know how every Feud episode has one family member who effs it up for the others? Like Ray Combs (pre-suicide, of course) will ask the family to "Name something you use to eat", and the group will be moving steadily along with responses like "knife", "fork", and "plate", until arriving to Aunt Margaret, who responds with something ridiculous like "garden hose", or "sock"? To be honest, I'm starting to feel a lot like Aunt Margaret.

Time and again this week, I've felt Ray Combs perched on my left shoulder, asking me to show him "a place most likely to have air conditioning". Initially, I felt destined for the Fast Money Round upon hearing the topic. Brimming with confidence, I took Ray with me to ride on the trains and buses of London's public transport system. Ehhh! Strike one. No air conditioning there. Being the resilient guy that I am, I bounced back from this misstep and took Ray to the supermarket, which had to be a top 3 answer. Ehhh! Strike two. Finally, feeling the need to raise my game, I took Ray to a museum - surely ancient artifacts feel the cool breeze of conditioned air, right? Ehhh! Strike three. And just like that, the Fast Money Round had slipped from my grasp.

I found myself agitated and (still) sweaty, so I decided to go check out your global warming movie, An Inconvenient Truth (actually I was planning to see Rusted Jesus' Gay Superman Returns, but it wasn't showing). I must have looked desperate for a respite from the sweltering heat, as the cashier immediately warned me, unprovoked, that the movie theatre was also not air conditioned. What?! No A/C in a movie theatre? Doesn't the summer blockbuster season rely entirely on the allure of cool theatres? Confused, I aborted the mission, choosing to walk the 20 minutes home (the bus, after all, was about 200 degrees).

So what does all of this have to do with you, Mr. Gore? Well, to be honest, I think you're up to something. I've read the articles and seen the magazine covers (albeit not on recycled paper), and can't help but think you've got a vested interest in this heat wave. Perhaps you're basking in the satisfaction of your message finally being heard? Or simply making the common man pay for not having heeded your warnings? Worse yet, could this all just be a ploy to strengthen your 2008 candidacy? Regardless of your motive, I humbly ask that you consider my plea. Can you please talk to your guys and cool this place down?

There are over 820 days left until the 2008 Presidential Election, and old people are going to start dropping like flies if you continue to ratchet up the heat index in such dramatic increments between now and then (admittedly, most old people are republican...). There's no question that you're a big deal these days, but the last thing you want is to peak too soon. Maybe a cold front could be just the break the public needs to avoid Al Gore overkill? Plus, if this heat continues, I'm going to be forced to overdo the post work beer drinking ("Once it hits your lips, it's so good!") to stay cool, and may yet again wind up drunk in Macker's late at night ordering seconds off the Extra Value Meal menu. (Yes. Two cheeseburgers, two large fries, and a coke or two. Disgusting, I know. But it was air conditioned!).

Seriously. Do something about this before Hillary does.

Sincerely,
CityHangover

Am I Making Myself Clear?

2006-07-19T20:53:00.000Z

I've noted the direct nature of English PSAs before, but nothing beats their approach to warnings on cigarette packages. Consider the picture to the right compared to these (relatively) weak words of wisdom from the U.S. Surgeon General:

"Cigarette Smoke Contains Carbon Monoxide."

"Smoking by Pregnant Women May Result in Fetal Injury, Premature Birth, and Low Birth Weight."

"Quitting Smoking Now Greatly Reduces Serious Risks to Your Health."

Carbon Monoxide? As a warning? I'd bet half of America thinks the Dentist uses Carbon Monoxide as an anesthetic when filling their cavities.

Although there's little evidence that cigarette warnings are effective - and in my experience far more people smoke in London than New York - you have to give the Brits a high five for trying.

Week(end) in Review

2006-07-17T18:45:00.000Z

OK. You win. All of you daily, or even every-other-daily bloggers can now step off of your soapboxes: I concede defeat. (In fact, although you can't tell since most of you are halfway around the world, I'm waving my tighty whiteys humbly in the air as we speak). I am, at best, the JV to your varsity, the yellow card to your red, the Smirnoff Ice to your shot of Patron. But starting this week, I'm going to get back to a respectable posting schedule. That's right, Junior is gettin' moved up for States! ("Ohhhh, man I wish I could go back in time. I'd take State.")

Before we look forward, let's look back to address the ~~two~~ 100's of emails I receive daily inquiring about both this site and my life:

1.) Where have you been? Working too late, staying out too late, and generally "burning the candle at both ends", as my Mom would say.

2.) Are you dead? See #1.

3.) Are you still "hungover"? Does the sun rise in the east and set in the west? Did Yoko Ono ruin the Beatles? Did Lance Armstrong use steroids in winning the Tour de France? In the last week alone, I've managed to close down a pub "whilst" serenading a friend with "You've Lost that Lovin' Feeling" for her birthday (her request, not mine), rediscovered my love affair with hefeweizen at an outdoor beer garden, and downed double caipirinhas at a traditional Brazilian churrascaria.

4.) When are you paying me back that $100 I loaned you? That's enough questions for today, class.

So stay tuned. This week will (hopefully) allow me to capture some of my final thoughts on my time in London before heading out on vacation, and ultimately back to New York, at the end of the month.

Week(end) in Review

2006-07-09T20:08:00.000Z

In this U.S.-centric edition of the Week(end) in Review: I celebrate our nation's independence by breaking bread with the enemy, women take a net loss on equality (but work so hard!), and the World Cup ends in thrilling, albeit violent, fashion.

And I Gladly Stand Up. I'm actually not that big a fan of the 4th of July. In fact, my most vivid 4th memories involve failed attempts at chasing down candy thrown from local parade floats. I hated those bastards for not throwing candy my way. Seriously. I am, however, a fan of grilling, drinking, and telling innocent Brit's to "eat it!" when it comes to U.S. independence. And these, my friends, were the driving forces behind hosting a 4th of July barbecue this week. Another American colleague and I invited 30 of our closest friends (what's your name again?) over to enjoy a classic 4th party, starring a wobbly Argos grill, a bathtub of beers, and even vintage sparklers. Only 3rd degree burns and the requisite trip to the ER were missing from the equation.

A Room of One's Own? It's been a confusing week for you women readers, hasn't it? First, you try to make sense of the All England Club pay scale, taking solace in the fact that only you can get away with weird isht like this on the tennis court. Now a few national studies, as well as statistics from the Department of ~~Mis~~Education (NY Times article here), laud your increased prominence and strong performance on American college campuses. According to these studies, you're more likely to earn bachelor degrees than your male counterparts and wind up committing much more time to your studies overall. Unfortunately, while you're slaving away in the Grad Library stacks trying to make the grade, the dudes in your class are out socializing, trading firm handshakes, and practicing their signatures for when they sign your, oh I don't know, discounted Wimbledon checks perhaps. But at least we're not an oppressed British colony anymore, right?

So Doesn't This Mean...? Alright math nerds. Italy beat France 5-3 on penalties tonight to win the World Cup, shortly after French über Captain Zinedine Zidane received a red card for trying to score a header goal against Marco Materazzi's chest. There has to be a way our U.S. team can pose as internationally relevant given our group stage draw with the Italians, right? Simple transitive relationship mapping should do the trick...

The Championships, Wimbledon

2006-07-08T11:45:00.000Z

Last Friday I had the privilege of spending an evening strolling along the grass courts at Wimbledon, the most revered of Grand Slam tennis tournaments (at least according to the British press). For a few years now I've been catching matches at Flushing Meadows during the U.S. Open, so I was looking forward to experiencing big-time tennis, England style. Unfortunately, I left my seersucker pants at home, so my ability to WASP it up had inherent limits. Never one to give in, I popped my collar, put on some khakis, and proceeded to the All England Lawn Tennis & Croquet Club.

Within moments of arriving I realized that Wimbledon is, for better or worse, a tournament of contradictions. Although the event shamelessly caters to the bourgeois set (think champagne, strawberries and cream, etc.), it's also one of the few top tier sporting events to spurn Corporate ~~America~~ England (?) and offer a significant number of tickets to the general public each day for that day's matches. As a result, the duchess of Kent could conceivably rub Centre Court elbows with your smelly neighbor Bob, which in my opinion is pretty cool. That said, we found ourselves ~~waiting in line~~ queueing for about 2 hours (next to your smelly neighbor Bob) to obtain same-day grounds passes. Another, more publicized, contradiction for this "peoples tournament" involves the checks that will be written by the All England Club this year. In what can only be considered a statement play by the AEC, tomorrrow's men's champion will walk away with 655,000 GPB, while today's women's champ will walk away with 625,000 - a variance of about 5%. Now CityHangover doesn't want to get all feminist on you, and both winners make a hell of a lot more than any of us (unless one of you is sandbagging when you make the rest of us buy your drinks), but this just doesn't make sense. Supporters of the pay gap usually cite that the men play best of 5 sets, while the women play best of 3. However, based on my admittedly suspect math skills, this logic would support something closer to a 33%-40% pay variance. The measly 5% gap is simply unfounded. And for a tournament that walks away with an annual profit in excess of 25 million pounds, well, it's a bit embarrassing. Venus Williams wrote an interesting piece on the pay gap at the start of this year's tournament.

Anyway, back to business. My visit to Wimbledon didn't result in any massive checks being tossed my way, but did allow me to relax amongst a pristine setting and watch some good ol' grasscourt tennis. We were lucky to stumble upon Williams and American Bob Bryan playing mixed doubles, and given that they were playing on one of the smaller courts, witnessed the impressive size and speed of Venus in person. She's ridiculous. We also had our first glimpse of this year's linesman uniforms, designed by Ralph Lauren and worthy of a Straight Bangin' summer fashion discourse. Now that's a WASP look. After catching a few other matches, we made our way to Henman Hill (I'm resisting this "Murray's Mount" isht). As the sun set, a Pimms in my hand, I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else. Wow. That was cheesy.

The only disappointment on the evening came from yet another Grand Slam visit sans Andre Agassi. Kimbo has pulled the rest of us into an endless pursuit to see him play before he retires, but luck (and the draw) were once again not on our side. I'm cautiously optimistic that our patience will be rewarded at this year's U.S. Open.

Viva la Euromullet!

2006-07-02T17:56:00.000Z

Down but not out...

World Cup Ruminations

2006-06-25T19:06:00.000Z

As a self-proclaimed World Cup novice (apart from this year, I've watched about .5 games a tournament since the early 90's), I hesitate to burden the interwebs with my poorly conceived Cup commentary. That said, I've never been big on restraint (I did, after all, popularize the side cup) and thus feel compelled to add my own two cents.

For those of you off at baseball games, church, and such, I'll bring you up to speed on Sunday's matches. England beat Ecuador 1-0, "whilst" Portugal survived a disgraceful display of officiating (and something like a gazillion yellow and red cards) against Holland - also 1-0. I wound up picking Portugal to win it all in one of my office pools, so I've developed a bit of a vested interest. (It became difficult to find a suitable underdog winner due to my stated distaste for local favorites England, real favorites Brazil, France (just because), the Axis of Evil teams, and any team without at least one player sporting a euromullet (that's Spain's Fernando Torres in his longer mullet days).

Anyway, as we've progressed through the nascent stages of this year's tournament, I've become more and more enthralled at how player "injuries" are handled. Does anyone else find footballers as adept at melodramatic displays of pain and anguish (often after tripping on their own feet) as their NBA counterparts? I particularly enjoy watching the replays, when the fallen Striker realizes the match has moved on and quickly returns to his feet to continue play. In those instances when the player is actually injured, I've been surprised by a few things. For one, the trainer always brings out a stretcher, which alarmed me until I realized that it carries no correlation to the severity of the injury. In fact, it's quite likely you'll see the player sub back in minutes later. As well, the trainer appears to carry with him a magic spray, which does wonders when applied to the area of injury. You know it's only a matter of time until they start selling that isht at Walmart. Which means, of course, that it's only a matter of time until suburban American teenagers try out a new household inhalant.

I'll save my other thoughts for later, in hopes of spacing out the ignorance into more manageable pieces...

I Guess You Could Say I Sort of Like the Sound of My Own Voice...

2006-06-25T12:09:00.000Z

But who doesn't? After surviving a long week at a work "offsite" (i.e. take everyone to a hotel in the middle of nowhere, balance 12 hour meetings with trust falls and cocktail hours, repeat), I felt like doing this, and was in desperate need of a bump - or at least a bender.

Enter my guilty Japanese pleasure. Oh how I wish that referred to something else.

My Friday night began innocently enough at a hipster lounge serving stiff drinks and dim sum. Somewhere around midnight, however, we found ourselves in what appeared to be a neighbor's unfinished basement singing along to "Summer of '69" via lyrics displayed on a 23" television (circa 1985). After a few hours of sneaking drinks out of the family liquor cabinet, we proceeded back upstairs with the intentions of calling it a night. Low and behold, we ran smack into a band of 10-15 South Korean football hooligans! Jerseys, face paint, you name it. You know how I feel about South Korean football fans, so there was no way I was going home without infiltrating this band of ~~brothers~~ 형제.

The SoKo's had just witnessed their team's World Cup dream come to an abrupt end thanks to those snooty French bastards, so we decided to grab a few bottles of saki and commiserate with them on their loss. In no time, we were doing saki bomb deathmatches. It was heaven, really. There were high fives all around, lessons in Korean cursing, and a lot of Hello Kitty. Just kidding.

It was a great way to end the week, and a close rival to Champion House folklore.

CityHangover Miscellany: "Beat Down" Edition

2006-06-18T23:29:00.000Z

I'm heading out of town this week for work, thus denying the masses an uptick in my posting schedule. Clearly, all work and no drinking makes CityHangover a dull blog. But fear not; I am already planning a massive bender for when I get back.

To help you occupy yourselves in my (continued) absence:

-The World Cup continues, and the U.S. team earns international respek with a hard fought draw against Italy. Yank McBride takes an elbow to the face, prompting me to call out the bloodied result as the "Rocky-esque" turning point in the match (You know, USA! USA!...). The Brazilians I'm watching the game with stare blankly back at me. (No Rocky movies in Brazil? A shame, really.) France also effs themselves against the South Koreans, increasing the likelihood that I beat the Knicks girl in our office pool. And really, you've usurped Straight Bangin' as Public Hater #1 if you don't love South Korean ~~soccer~~ football fans.

-Watching UK Big Brother makes you stupid. But you can't tell me there isn't something *a little* compelling about watching these people interact. I'm just sayin'. Check out this clip.

-Coffee makes excessive drinking ok. Sort of.

May you light up the comments section while I'm being used by The Man...

CityHangover Guestblog, Vol IV

2006-06-11T22:10:00.000Z

Here you have it. The first (and maybe last) ever family-style CityHangover guestblog. You know the drill. You visit; you blog. I cede editorial authority. At least unless you write something I really don't like. This time around, we take the guestblog to a generation far, far away...

Hey look kids, there's Big Ben...

Ever since CJB had mentioned an upcoming guestblog from the parents, we've hoped we wouldn't disappoint. All in all, we found our visit to Europe brought many firsts for us.

To start, this was our first trip abroad. And let us mention more than likely our last. It's great to say we have been, and we enjoyed all that we saw, but without our tour guide we would have been lost. And almost were. This was actually also the first time we ventured off in a big city without our guide, so he gave us explicit directions where to go and how to get there on the London tube. However, when we went to board the train according to these explicit directions, we noticed our target stop was actually in the opposite direction. I now understand why other guestbloggers have mentioned getting lost under his direction. Thank goodness for the phone number (and cell phone) accompanying our directions.

In London we had our first visit to Buckingham Palace to witness the changing of the guard. While waiting for the switch, we also witnessed our first fainting tourist (who was kindly helped by a woman introducing herself as "a nurse from the U.S."). While in Paris we visited the Louvre for the first time. We caught the Venus de Milo, but unfortunately couldn't find the guys who had broken off her arms to get at those bottles of Bud Light. From there, we moved on to our first glimpse of the Mona Lisa. Dad commented that she was better looking than she seemed on TV, and I thought she looked about my size.

That evening, we saw the Eiffel Tower, and on the second day started at the Arc de Triomphe and strolled down the Champs Elysees. With that, we were back on our way to London. As our trip came to an end, I came to a realization. After 3 trips to New York, 1 to England, and on that day in Paris, we had finally figured out mass transportation. Which makes me wonder, why did we walk 15-20 miles during this trip?

Summer, Summer, Summertiiiiime

2006-06-11T09:50:00.000Z

You know the rest. And where the hell have I been? We're nearly two weeks removed from the Trip of a Century, and I've also now had a full week of recovery time from National Lampoons European Vacation: Meet the Parents Edition.

While it may seem that my absence is the result of a general sense of bereavement due to the departure of friends and family, it's actually something else altogether. (No offense, guys). It's warm and sunny in London, people. Let me pause for a moment so you can consider the full gravitas of that statement. A point for global warming, perhaps?

I'm heading out for a run, but will share some recent highlights in the unlikely event that you still read this thing.

-The World Cup has commenced, meaning that everyone in this country has become a raving fanatic for England football. (Which, despite the tendency for fisticuffs, is actually a pretty good time). Lest you think I've turned my back on the good ol' USA, note that I've picked our boys to emerge from their group (commonly referred to as "the group of death" by, uh, people who refer to the World Cup) in both of my office pools. Although I do expect them to be pummeled by Brazil shortly thereafter.

-I've recently doubled my Fresh Prince of Bel-Air London sightings tally (to 2) after catching Shakespeare's Coriolanus at the Globe Theatre. I thought there was something familiar about Coriolanus's friend Cominius, and, well, there was. He played Banks household butler (and Will's comic foil) Geoffrey. Awesome. You aren't allowed to take pictures during the show, but I snuck a (poor) camera phone pic here.

-Oh, and my parents came to visit. Despite the inevitable "fish out of water" feeling one gets from going abroad for the first time, they enjoyed their trip. Or at least said they did. And how could they not? Within a day of arriving to London my dad was calling my mom a "bird", and they were both proactively spotting muffin tops by day 2. The rents wrote a stellar guestblog post with their thoughts on the trip, which I intend to post tonight. Stay tuned.

CityHangover Guestblog, Vol III

2006-05-31T21:58:00.000Z

As promised, D'Brickashawn delivers the 3rd installment in the CityHangover Guestblog series. I've known dude since his first days at The U, where he alleges he single-handledly bankrolled my 2000-2001 late night pizza habit. And this whole time, I thought he was simply repaying me for being the best R.A. ever. (By the way, read that wiki on the term Resident Advisor. Evidently I was a "goody-goody" and a "killjoy"? What happened?)

Rules of Engagement

The following are a set of rules or guidelines for a group of ugly Americans (i.e. CJB, The Jesus, Bangin’ and I) to raise hell, insult multiple cultures, and bring a once great empire to its knees. I suggest that you read my fellow companions’ blogs first to help gain a better understanding.

1.) Brush up on Chappelle Show quotes, as they will come in handy when insulting the many birds you will encounter in the discos and pubs.

2.) Tipping is frowned upon. This is understandable due to the fact that I had to sell my left kidney to some limey for a pint of Carlsberg.

3.) Having the most horrible haircut will actually get you laid, at least at the dog tracks. This dude, had an incredibly smokin’ bird accompanying him. I mean on a scale of PBR to Heineken she was an ice-cold Bud light. That’s impressive in my books.

4.) When hot Indian bitches shut you down at a club reminiscent of a scene out of Bad Boys, make sure the Jesus is there with the following Rick James quote, “You’re cold as icccceee,” and then proceed to sing, “Coooold blooded.” I have never seen a more perplexed look on a girl’s face. Wait, yes I have. The Jesus drunk and frustrated at not receiving any attention from girls at Inferno’s, invented a sort of Thunderclap/Indian dancing move to try and seduce girls from 30 feet away. It was the most horrifying thing I had ever seen; yet I could not look away.

5.) Ethanol may account for 50-60% of total energy intake in alcoholics. It is thus possible that ethanol consumption displaces many normal nutrients, resulting in malnutrition and subsequent organ damage and predisposition towards cancer. That’s science. And these f’ing Brits wanted to do a pub-crawl on an empty stomach. So feed yourself prior to the pub-crawl and then watch the Brit die a slow death.

6.) A ‘strawpedo’ is chugging a Smirnoff Ice with a straw in it, which allows you to ingest the entire thing in approximately 3 seconds. Yes, this sounds like a girly drink, but say that after downing two in less than 30 seconds.

7.) You are allowed to sleep in pubs, clubs, buses, and bus stations. Just ask cjb, because he managed to sleep in all the aforementioned places in just one weekend. Just make sure you don’t miss your stop otherwise you will be coming home when the sun comes up.

8.) While visiting monuments and the British museum… well there are no rules. We witnessed British rug rats desecrating a WWII monument despite their parents standing right there reading the “keep off” signs posted everywhere. Even though it was commemorating the Canadians, it still deserves respect. In addition, the Jesus has taken pictures of little British girls (sounds pedophile-like but I assure you he is not) climbing over Egyptian sculptures that were dated 5,000 years old. The kicker is that their parents were helping them on the statues!

9.) If you ever have the opportunity to attend a birthday party of one of cjb’s co-workers, do it. Especially if she is over 30. And when she begins to start bawling over the fact that she thinks her friends are forming rival gangs, do not console her. Instead, do as I did and mock her by singing “It’s My Party” by Lesley Gore. That may sound callous, but at least I didn’t spend the night with her and steal her cell phone and not say goodbye in the morning. Ahem, Jesus.

10.) When Bangin’ needs to get some bread he’s got the keys to the bakery. That’s a fact. If you are ever spittin’ game to a bird like my boy Straightbangin’, tell CJB to refrain from giving benign looks and/or thumbs-up signs to you or the girl. This directly resulted in the girl saying to Bangin’, “Is this a bet?” It was ghastly to watch Bangin’ feverishly scramble to try and salvage the situation.

11.) If you are a heterosexual male with curly hair, make sure to straighten your locks otherwise you will attract lots of gay men. Normally this is complimentary since all the gay men that I know are very particular, however, when the gay waiter asks if he can personally show you where the ‘toilet’ is, it’s not so flattering.

12.) The last rule. CJB, though inappropriate at times, is an amazing host. He willingly sacrificed his reputation socially and professionally to make sure we had a ridiculous time. And that we did.

Trip of the Century: A Survival Story

2006-05-30T21:00:00.000Z

I know I've been a long time gone, but blog updates come a distant second to wreaking havoc on Londontown with my yahoo friends from The Best University Ever.

Rather than provide a full play-by-play of our ridiculous (I'm using the term carefully, mind you) weekend, I've attempted to organize some of the trip highlights for your reading pleasure. I've categorized the debauchery in remembrance of our trip to the dog races Friday night, which saw "Oklahoma Pat" deliver over $20 on the equivalent of a $4 bet. The Dogs also taught us a bit about child rearing and bad haircuts (see pics above). If you can't tell, that little girl is wearing a harness (As I didn't want to spill my beer, I couldn't get a good pic of her running around with the tether), and that guy is wearing the worst haircut ever.

But I digress. And the award goes to...

	Show	Place	Win
"Eating is Cheating" - Building Pub Crawl Bridges	Talking your way into a free Budweiser football (i.e. soccer) t-shirt, and insisting on wearing it all afternoon.	Exhanging digits to meet up with a dude who spent time in, of all places, Cheybogan, Michigan. Dude proceeding to shout "Cheybogan!" repeatedly as high-fives abound at pub #2.	Finding out that two guys sharing dirty cell phone videos in pub #5 (#6? Who knows.) are actually in SOCA, the UK's "James Bond" equivalent of the FBI. Subsequently discovering that said guys know all of the words to "Ain't No Fun". Belting out this new pub anthem.
"Some Racialism Isht" - Learning About Other Cultures	Learning that most of the artifacts from the Parthenon in the British Museum were "controversially" ~~stolen~~ acquired by one Lord Elgin. Coronating the term "Elgined" as the new "Parikhed", which was incidentally the new "screwed over".	Causing a near melee in the Mexico wing of the museum by (jokingly) referring to it as a "bankrupt culture" in earshot of a Mexican-American woman.	Witnessing the desecration of ancient sculptures at the hands of unruly riff-raff kids. If you didn't know, parents, your kids really shouldn't be climbing on two thousand year old museum artifacts.
"It's Your Party..." - Birthday Etiquette	Calling ahead to birthday girl to ensure 4 pints are waiting at the bar upon your arrival.	Creating unnecessary birthday conflict while trying to cozy up with a fellow visitor, eliciting tearful (yet admittedly priceless) "But it's my birthday!" claims.	Stealing birthday girl's phone to facilitate obtaining directions for your walk of shame back to the apartment.
"Bombed Out and Depleted" - Stumbling Home at Night	Night 1: Falling asleep on the night bus (yes, again), waking up at the last stop, and deciding to take a nap on a nearby bench before venturing back. Proclaiming "it's getting light outside!" upon returning home.	Night 2: Sprinting to catch the night bus, and somehow managing to take a picture for a nearby group of girls before boarding.	Night 3: Supplicating desperately to be given access to the Gloucester Road Burger King. Abandoning the effort after multiple futile attempts, and instead loading up on a hodge podge of sandwiches, chips, and candy bars at the Tesco Express.

Stay tuned for Dishan's upcoming Guestblog entry, which I expect will play an integral role in connecting the remaining dots from the weekend. And just when you thought this blog couldn't get any hotter, I'm bringing the parents in this weekend and expecting another Guestblog for the ages. You heard it here first.

Most Improved Player?

2006-05-23T23:48:00.000Z

As I extolled the virtues of The Best University Ever yesterday, I neglected to recognize key developments at one of our fellow Big Ten institutions across the lake.

Last weekend, our favorite Northwestern sorority girl staked her claim as the heir apparent to the CityHangover throne, earning her ~~first ever~~ second M.I.P.

Congrats on this crowning achievement! May you continue to do me proud.

Hail to the Victors

2006-05-21T14:11:00.000Z

Get in the De Lorean, folks. CityHangover is going home! Well, sort of.

Late last week The Best University Ever (coincidentally my alma mater) saw its Board of Regents approve a $226 million plan to renovate a stadium that I've had the benefit of visiting 28 times. Although many football purists argued that the U should continue to deliver a gameday experience more fitting for its "rival" up north (e.g. long lines at concessions, a 1:10,000 toilet to fan ratio, etc.), I fully support the renovation plan.

The most controversial component seems to be the addition of luxury boxes on both the east and west sidelines. To be honest (and when aren't I?), I think this "controversy" reeks of ignorance. I've been to my fair share of away games at institutions that would willingly bear Tom Cruise's demon spawn to be considered the "Leaders and Best", and have been disappointed to find these competing facilities to be far superior to our own. To those against the full stadium renovation plan, I say go to Eugene, or Madison, and tell me you don't believe Michigan needs to make some changes. Hell, go to South Bend (admittedly, I never thought I'd write that) even!

I've had a long day of hateration at work, so check out Schembechler Hall for more insight into why these yahoos are so far off base. For my part, I'd like to remind us alumni (and most of you are) why our kids, and their kids, are going to want to go to Michigan. Even if we have to pay out of state, or worse yet, international tuition:

First rate Michigan Difference video here:

More well known (and kick ass) spot here

Go Blue!

An Hour of My Life I'll Never Get Back

2006-05-21T11:07:00.000Z

I stumbled across the finals of the Eurovision Song Contest tonight on TV, and wound up watching it in awe for nearly an hour. Are you kidding me? Essentially, the contest pits 24 countries (at least for the finals, I can't imagine how many preliminary rounds exist) against each other to determine who has the best, uh, song. The countries are tied by their national broadcasters' membership in the European Broadcasting Union, but otherwise have little in common (the UK performance was followed by that of the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia, for example).

Partly due to the format, each performance goes one step further in reinforcing all of your bad stereotypes about European pop music. The singers have 3 minutes to deliver a memorable, moving performance, and viewers across the world have only 10 minutes at the end to cast votes for their favorites. Because of this, the songs are delivered with more drama and cheese than you could ever imagine. Even for Europe. A typical performance includes no less than 15 people dancing frenetically on stage, 3 costume changes (in 3 minutes, people), 2 back-up choirs for the climactic key change toward the end, and at least 1 person emerging from the stage during the bridge (Russia had a ballerina rise out of a grand piano and spew rose petals, and Moldova had a scantily clad woman breaking through the stage backdrop). And you think I'm kidding. The only outlier appears to be Finland, which sent a band to the finals dressed as a cross between klingons and extras from Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video. They sang a song called "Hard Rock Hallelujah". Awesome.

In addition to the painful songs, each country airs a 1-2 minute promotional clip to lure tourists to their homeland prior to performing. The funny thing is, each of these clips is exactly the same. Evidently tourists are only interested in the following: sweeping aerial views of historic cities, sun-drenched beaches, drinking fine wine at a luxurious restaurants, and watching children play innocently in the street. I didn't even know some of these countries had beaches. And you know that kids should not be playing in the street in many of these locales. Then again, I couldn't point out Moldova on a map if my life depended on it. But that song was tiiiiiiight!

All of this comedy reminded me of when a friend of mine in college returned from studying abroad in Denmark. She came back with a penchant for blaring this one Danish song - "Fly on the Wings of Love" (or "Smuk som et Stjerneskud" for you Danes). I remember her mentioning that the song won some type of competition in Denmark. After some strategic googling, I discovered that the song actually won the 2000 Eurovision contest. And we both know I found that isht on YouTube for you. The two old guys are the Olsen Brothers (Jorgen and Niels). I particularly like the key change at the end. Listen to that crowd go wild.

Update: Evidently the klingons wound up winning the whole thing last night. The band is actually called Lordi, and you can check out their winning performance here. Love it.

Another Update: The Russians are pissed.

The New Pornographers

2006-05-16T23:26:00.000Z

Tonight I caught The New Pornographers show in Camden. I picked up the band's most recent album a few months ago after reading about them in an assortment of "best of" lists, and quickly got hooked on their indie pop sound. Did I just say that?

Anyway, the show was great. The venue, Koko (formerly Camden Palace), was a Victorian theatre in the 1800s and seems to have kept most of its unique charm despite being refurbished as a hipster mecca. I also appreciated that the show was entirely general admission, although we hung out in one of the balconies for most of the night due to our recent excommunication from the 18-24 MTV demographic. I'll admit, I sort of missed being down with the sweaty youngsters. But all was not lost in the "adults" area. I did come across a Seth Cohen doppelganger. I wanted to get his picture, but he left with his teenage girlfriend before I had the chance. (Which begs the question - when did Seth Cohen look-alikes get girlfriends?)

The band ended the night with one of my favorite songs, "Sing Me Spanish Techno" (check out their music video here), and I made it back in my neighborhood just in time to grab a doner kebab from my new late night hangout.

Not bad for a Tuesday night.

Go See This Movie

2006-05-14T19:24:00.000Z

I can imagine I lost some of you after last week's M:I:III confession, but I've got another movie recommendation for those still in attendance. Anyone? Anyone?

The movie is Brick, which I mentioned a while back in a post. At its core it's a detective movie with a film noir feel. It's difficult to explain, really (or at least seems so now that I'm sitting here trying to do so). If I were to tell you, and I am, that it's set at a high school and stars the kid from Third Rock From the Sun, you'd probably write it off. I hated that show too. But this movie is completely worth it.

Brick plays differently than I expected, being both tense and funny at the same time. It's self-consciously cool (which admittedly merits a few eye rolls along the way) and completely unique. Per my background research, this is writer/director Rian Johnson's first go at a feature film, which made me jealous given that I crunch numbers in excel while people like him edit full-length features on their Powerbooks. Ah, aging is such sweet sorrow.

Check out the trailer here, and if you play around on the website you can find an interview with Rian Johnson where he describes how he approached the film. He also mentions that it took 6 years to get Brick made, which is why I really need to give up on this screenwriting pipe dream of mine.

Let me know what you think if you see it.

Peanuts and Cracker Jacks

2006-05-13T12:06:00.000Z

We kicked off our company softball league this week with a team practice. I know. I didn't really anticipate playing the great American pastime (or at least a variation best suited to the elderly) while in London either. But I guess working for an American company abroad has its unique merits?

I was a bit skeptical of the outing when, after being prompted to explain the rules of the game, I was asked if the batter has to run the bases if s/he hits the ball (there were others, including something about the ball bouncing before it crosses the plate). That's what I get for playing with a bunch of cricket loving members of the Commonwealth. I don't think it helped when I began to explain the bases and fielding positions with "First base is kissing, second base is above the waist", etc. Despite these challenges, I had a ridiculously good time. And no one knew that I pretty much sucked since many had never really played before. I highly encourage playing American sports abroad when in need of a self-esteem boost.

The weather was amazing, Hyde Park is as good as, if not better than Central Park, and we even had enough Lefty gloves for all of us (4 southpaws out of about 12 people - represent!). And because we're in England, there were more than enough tallboys to go around. Interestingly, after a few tallboys I started to feel sort of Justin Gatlin-esque when running the bases. I recommend it.

Unfortunately, things turned for the worse on my walk home. When I pulled my key chain out of my backpack there was no key to be found, and I wound up sleeping on a friend's couch when the yahoos who own my property didn't respond to the emergency pager. Glad I wasn't dying, people. I couldn't stay angry for long though, since when I put my shoes on the next morning I noticed my apartment key looped into my laces. I'm still not sure how I missed that. Then again, sometimes even I am surprised by my own stupidity.

Week(end) in Review

2006-05-07T08:49:00.000Z

Welcome to this week's review of what may or may not have happened to me over the weekend. To add an aura of intrigue to the debauchery, I've decided to take a quiz bowl approach this time around. By answering just a few easy questions, you can marvel at how similar (or you hope, how different) we are! Answer honestly, because at the end of the day, you're really only fooling yourself. Think Bayside vs. Valley, with a date with Kelly Kapowski on the line.

Here goes. Oh, and keep track of your answers for a complimentary personality assessment at the end.

1.) You've begun to establish friendships with like-minded colleagues from work, and are invited to join one of their birthday (i.e. bar) parties. Upon arriving, you meet a lot of new, cool people and start to have a great time. However, one gent seems inept when it comes to remembering your name, repeatedly calling you "Carl". You...

A.) Say nothing. You are new, after all, and wouldn't want to rock the boat.
B.) Politely correct him, and try using your multi-syllable work name to make it easier for him to hear you in the crowded bar.
C.) Note that he is drinking rose wine (seriously), and take to calling him "White Zin". Continue doing so all night, even after he has self consciously traded in said wine for beer. Overhear him refer to you as an "American Prick" at the end of the night.

2.) The party begins to get rowdy, and you start flirting (er, being obnoxious) with some ladies at a nearby table. However, your accent proves a formidable handicap, as one girl, visibly irritated, stops the proverbial record to ask you where you're from. You...

A.) Say you're from the United States, but that you feel particularly privileged to be spending time in London.
B.) Tell her you're from Michigan, and hold up your hand to provide a visual aide in hopes that she is familiar with the area.
C.) Say you're from Canada. When she excitedly responds "me too!", you articulate further (Manitoba, of course) and lead the table in a rousing rendition of 'O Canada despite knowing few of the words. The bartender asks you to shut the eff up. Twice.

3.) After much sleeping, water drinking, and groaning the following day, you're hit with an indescribable urge to see Tom Cruise Scientology vehicle Mission Impossible III. You...

A.) Realize that Tom Cruise, Scientology, and impossible missions don't align with your values, and instead read a book.
B.) Determine that your urge is being driven from the desire to make fun of Tom Cruise, Scientology, and impossible missions. Scour the internet in search of the endangered South Park Scientology episode (short clip here) wherein "Tom Cruise and John Travolta will not come out of the closet". (Note: R. Kelly makes a cameo as well.)
C.) Pony up $20 to see MI:III. Find yourself laughing giddily at the amazing action sequences, and almost choked up during a scene where Tom Cruise is faced with the prospect of watching his wife die. Enjoy nearly the entire thing. Stay through the closing credits to hear the new Kanye West MI:III song. Listen to 3-4 bars. Run out of the theatre spewing vomit and feeling repentant for your worldly sins.

4.) Feeling a need for fresh air, you take advantage of the weekend weather and walk around a bit in Hyde Park. Eventually, you and a friend find yourselves resting on a park bench in a peaceful area of the park, adjacent to a small pond. You...

A.) Rest in silence for 15 minutes while enjoying the unlikely British sunshine.
B.) Talk quietly about, well, the unlikely British sunshine.
C.) Engage each other in a heated debate over the feasibility of swans and ducks having sex, where all of the pigeons go when they die, and why idiots insist on feeding those flying rats. Annoy those around you, including innocent young couple feeding flying rats. (Seriously, though. Wouldn't you think you would see more dead pigeons?)

5.) Anticipating a tough work week ahead, you plan to spend some time catching up on work emails and project planning on Sunday night. However, a friend calls to invite you to watch the Pistons in game 1 of their conference semifinal. You...

A.) Stick to the plan, and dig into monotonous work tasks.
B.) Watch the game on T.V. in your apartment while multi-tasking with your work laptop.
C.) Head to the sports bar to watch the Pistons put a beatdown on Lebron's Cleveland Cavaliers. Order rounds each time Ben Wallace or Tayshaun block a shot. Return home around midnight.

Alright. That's enough for this week. How did you do?

If you answered mostly "A": Join the Nice Police immediately. The Academy needs you, and the rest of the world may eat you alive.

If you answered mostly "B": You've probably got your isht together. Life management tips are welcomed.

If you answered mostly "C": You and I must be friends. Sorry, man.

CNN Breaking...News?

2006-05-07T08:20:00.000Z

I caught this on CNN today. Essentially, dude has conducted a study suggesting that the British are more healthy than Americans, even though we spend more than double per capita on health care. Interesting. But check out the video for some hidden treasures. My favorites:

-The CNN interviewer struggling to decide what to call people from England. She settles on "Britains". Hilarious.
-The 30 second obesity discussion, wherein they show a gazillion clips of really fat people's asses at what appears to be a McDonalds. U.S.A.!
-The general condescension of the (British) scientist. He gets some good jibes in (we all carry guns, we're rich bastards, etc.) and suggests that a nationwide gut check is in order.

Is it me, or has CNN really embraced this whole "non-news" as news phenomenon?

And I Thought the French Liked Us...

2006-05-06T11:03:00.000Z

There are a few things that have become blatantly clear in the last few years when it comes to U.S. international relations with Europe. The first is that Britain Labour prime minister Tony Blair is at the unfortunate risk of leaving a legacy as George Bush's "poodle" in his final days, and the second is that the French sip haterade when it comes to anything even slightly American. But who knew hateration could be this fun?

Read recently in The Guardian:

The French president, Jacques Chirac, yesterday unveiled what he hopes will be his great legacy to France's struggle against the global dominance of the US: a series of technological projects including a European search engine to rival Google.

Mr Chirac, who walked out of an EU summit last month when a fellow Frenchman committed the grave offence of speaking English, styles himself as the defender of France in the globalised world.

Uh, yeah. A perfect way to change our perception of French commerce. Just duplicate what may be the most innovative organization in the world. That should be easy.

"My biggest turn on is a girl with a tatt."

2006-05-01T21:24:00.000Z

I wouldn't normally post about this, but it's a City Hangover recovery day, so...

One of the great things about Blogger is the randoms that it sends to your blog. For those of you not into this isht, it can go one of two ways: First, when you update your blog, a ticker on the blogger website will link to your blog until it is displaced by the next updated blog in the blogosphere. Second, you'll notice a "Next Blog" link at the top of most Blogger hosted sites. This will link you to a random Blogger, um, blog. Whew. I've never used the term "blog" that much before. What a loser.

Anyway, so this results in probably half of my site traffic on days I make updates (which is around never these days, but I digress). I know this because I track every visitor with eagle eyes in hopes that Scarlett Johansson has finally read the emails I've been sending her. Nope, just Mom again. Scarlett, I want that table tennis lesson you promised me. You know, the one where you said you'd wear that white dress from Match Point? You can't ignore me forever, dear Scarlett. No one can. Insert evil laughter.

Well, I had a really good random today. The guy's site is called Guy Goode. I didn't spend too much time on his site, but instead went straight to his profile. It is classic. And if his picture is real (please, God), I want to be his friend. An excerpt for you:

"...I have a couple of tatts. One on my thigh is the tasmanian devil breaking a baseball bat over his knee. I don't like baseball, but I like the intensity, you know? My biggest turn on is a girl with a tatt. I like dolphin tatts the best."

Dolphin tatts? Now that I think of it, we may be competing for the same girls...

Week(end) in Review

2006-05-01T09:56:00.000Z

I've had a relatively fair and balanced weekend. And for reasons unbeknownst to me (the term "bank holiday" shrouds the historical origin in secrecy), I've got today off to boot. Suckas!

Even yours truly gets run down by city life every now and then, so this weekend I pulled a bunch of my fellow expat colleagues together for a day trip to the English coast. After a 2 hour train ride through the countryside (of course we nearly missed the train, since that's how I travel these days), we found ourselves perched at the edge of the famous White Cliffs of Dover. After picking up some sustenance at the local farmers' market we embarked on a 10 mile hike along the the coast to a town called Deal. (Lest you be impressed - or surprised - and confuse us with true outdoorsmen, I'll clarify that we city slickers chose a relatively easy path which allowed us to make pub stops in local villages along the way.) The scenery was beautiful, and the weather managed to hold up for nearly the entire trip. An early Christmas miracle! Unfortunately (or fortunately, perhaps) we just missed our train back to London, and wound up spending an extra hour at a pub playing songs on an old jukebox. For some reason I find myself really digging R.E.M.'s "Man on the Moon" these days.

I also saw Inside Man this weekend, which I highly recommend. (Has this movie been out in the U.S. forever?) It's a Spike Lee Joint, and like some of his other recent films (25th Hour comes to mind) manages to come off as both poignant and funny in the way he integrates themes of race and privilege into the storyline. As usual, New York City also plays a key role in things. Denzel Washington, Clive Owen, and even Jodie Foster put in great performances. And they better have, since the theatre I saw this movie at charges over 12 pounds a pop for tickets. Yes, I paid about $22 to see Clive Owen orchestrate an intricate bank heist for a few hours. Well, actually, I paid about $26 if you include my $4 Pepsi. Is that irony?

Because I'm cultured like that, (and I was sort of told I was going...and it was free) I also made time to stop in to the Tate Britain this weekend to check out their Gothic Nightmares exhibit. Henry Fuseli's "The Nightmare" is the exhibit's focal point, which I actually found quite interesting. You'd be surprised by the type of people that show up for a gothic exhibit, too. I saw a lot of black eyeliner and long trench coats. In true form, we were in and out of there in 1 hour - my key museum requirement.

I know what you're thinking. This week(end) in review seems to be missing something. An unwelcome respite from stories about excessive partying, perhaps? Don't worry. I'm just saving up some energy for this month's aptly titled (how, I don't know) "Trip of the Century". The Jesus, Straight Bangin', and even Dishan (get a website, man) are going to descend upon London for Memorial Day weekend. Let the chaos begin!

The British Are Coming

2006-04-24T21:04:00.000Z

Hold the (emergency elevator) phone. I thought we Americans owned the "fat, oversexed, tv addicted" market.

First my hometown (and by hometown, I mean nearest city I never went to growing up in fear of being robbed, or worse yet, depressed) loses the dubious distinction of being America's fattest city, and now this? Get back to eating, folks.

Week(end) in Review

2006-04-23T21:47:00.000Z

With my friends well on their way back to the U.S. of A, a few interesting "takeaways" from their time here in London:

The emergency phone in my building's elevator can be used for much more than emergencies:For the past few months, I've never thought to try to make a call on the elevator phone, assuming it was a direct line to the London Fire Department or some isht. Sarah took it upon herself to test this assumption after being out one night, and, well, let's just say I have a new (free) means to keep in touch with family and friends in the states. I'll keep you posted on the inevitable tenant letter detailing charges to Michigan and New York.

The ladies at work apparently think I'm "eye candy": There have been a few rumors about this emanating from the States, but evidently I've got a bit more opportunity here than I realized. Woo hoo! Just when I thought I'd be chang-ing bics for the rest of the Summer, Tim brought me back to reality by suggesting that "There must be no other single men in London". Thanks, man.

There is Karaoke in London after all: You just have to search for it (which for us entailed asking a bunch of randoms in the streets). Unfortunately the selection was quite limited, and the MC curiously shut down additional requests just after Sarah and I had warmed up the crowd with Stevie Wonder's "I Just Called to Say I Love You". Coincidence? After we butchered the high notes at the end, I think not. Bastard.

I've become a bit obsessive about cleanliness: I'm placing blame on this one. First, I spent a good two years living with an obsessive compulsive roommate of Danny Tanner proportions. (No offense, Joey). Second, my visitors were a bit sloth-like when it came to keeping the apartment clean. (To their credit, they were relegated to sleep in my small living room). At one point I scolded them about how often we were repeatedly losing the TV remote, cell phone, and keys amongst the squalor. However, they weren't deterred, and instead just started calling me "Dad" and repeating my comment - "This is how things get lost!" for the rest of the weekend. Sorry guys...

Guestblog entry (and, now that I think of it, likely revenge) from Tim on it's way as soon as he gets his act together.

CityHangover Guestblog, Vol II

2006-04-22T09:54:00.000Z

As promised, the first of two CityHangover Guestblog entries. First up, Sarah. (Who, by the way, insisted that we use her grossly outdated 2002 edition of Let's Go Europe! throughout the trip, despite us having a myriad of more recent travel guides.)

This May Be The Spaceshake Talking...

It is my honor to contribute to the CityHangover tradition, which, against all odds, seems to have developed something of a following (who ARE you people, and why do you tolerate him if you don't have, say, a history from the college years or a familial obligation?). I will do my best to, as Curt instructed, "walk the fine line of appropriateness." To know Curt is to know that said line is generally disregarded, so I'll obey to the greatest extent possible.

So after a series of travel adventures and a lovely day (Brits' term, not mine) in London, Curt, Tim, and I set off for Amsterdam, home of the world-famous Van Gogh museum, Anne Frank's horrific end, and stoners from 'round the world. Admittedly, the third item seems to have really made its mark on the Amsterdam culture, with an embarrassing human-to-Pizza Hut ratio of somewhere around 3:1. The famed Red Light District, which I had imagined as a gritty-glamorous epicenter of sexual deviance, was actually just sad, and even its sticky streets were not immune to the Pizza Hut influx. But one burning question was answered: Sex shows do not, in fact, close for Easter. (Maybe we're NOT going to Hell!)

In an attempt to recreate the carelessness (read: laziness) of our college days, we decided to simply find lodging upon arrival. We soon realized, however, that two things have changed since our glory days past: (1) The Euro has significantly strengthened against the dollar; and (2) Our standards have risen (who knew?). Thus, we were left with but one hotel option: A double room at the Golden Tulip Inn. Sounds lovely, eh? For 200 Euros a night, we were blessed with an intimate room just off the elevator shaft with a sloped ceiling, one window that couldn't be opened, and one hard double bed. In case you are worrying that the one double bed would prove awkward for the three of us, rest assured: The proximity to the elevator ensured that anyone coming or going actually seemed to be in the room with us, detracting from any otherwise uncomfortable moments.

Sadly, among the excitement of the Golden Tulip Inn, Amsterdam's quaint coffee shops, and Pizza Hut, we saved the Anne Frank House for our final day in the city, and the lines were too long to bear. I was momentarily disappointed that I would not get to see the tiny space that Anne shared with several members of her family, trapped inside while the city bustled outside. But then I realized that our night at the Golden Tulip Inn was more or less the same. And isn't it better to do than to imagine? Holla!

I'm still not sure how Vegas got rights to "The City of Sin" distinction but Amsterdam should definitely put up a fight for that whole "What happens in...stays in..." mantra. Never have I felt so dirty or disoriented upon leaving a historic city. Then again, maybe it was the Dutch language, which seems to operate on a simple principle: Take an English word, add four syllables, stick "laan" on the end, and call it a day. And with that, I'm finishedstraatschmubenlaan. Dank u wel (or, as Curt told many a native waiter, "Donkeyville")!

I'm Baaaaaaack

2006-04-21T12:29:00.000Z

Relax people. I'm alive. And I've finally recovered from a great weekend in Amsterdam.

Although I've been to Amsterdam before, this most recent trip far exceeded my expectations. The weather was amazing, so we spent our days strolling through the Jordaan, smelling fresh tulips and dining in quaint outdoor cafes. Our nights were quite low-key, and often punctuated by a hearty broodje dinner and espresso. We relaxed amongst the linden trees and gardens near Museumplein, and soaked up the history and culture of both the Rijksmuseum and Van Gogh Museum for an entire afternoon. We also took the time to visit the Anne Frankhuis, a "difficult yet important" experience which left us all emotionally drained.

Ok. So maybe none of that happened. And maybe it was suggested (by my boss) that I go home from work early on Tuesday because "your body is here, but your mind is somewhere else". But that's neither here nor there, is it?

To make up for my extended weekend absence from, well, reality, I have a surprise for you. Not one, but two CityHangover Guestblog entries are on their way courtesy of NYC hipsters (and current London visitors) Tim and Sarah...

Fun With Words

2006-04-12T23:03:00.000Z

A famous quote by George Bernard Shaw suggests that England and America are "two countries separated by a common language". I'm finding, however, that the language isn't common after all. That said, I've been having a heck of a good time ramping up on my British slang. And best of all, like most of my key phrases/actions, it's tough for others to decipher if I'm being ironic or just stupid when I flaunt my newfound vocabulary. I'm not sure I really know anymore.

So you probably already know that a guy is a bloke, a 5 pound bill is a fiver, and the London subway is the tube. You also probably overuse the term bloody when speaking of the British. Easy, right?

I imagine you're less likely to have heard that the term fanny pack refers to something far more vulgar than your parent's must-have travel item, or that taking the piss refers to when you're giving someone a hard time (while to be pissed is to be drunk). You might not realize that if you pull with a fit bird you're hooking up with a good looking girl, but then again, said birds are tough to come by in this city anyway.

I'm still undecided on my favo(u)rite British slang. For a while, the term chav seemed to have just the right amount of versatility and staying power to lead the list. Unfortunately, it appears to be a bit more classist and offensive than I first realized (even after providing for a generous "gimme" level of British classism). Check out a full description (with pictures!) here.

Feels Like Home

2006-04-09T18:20:00.000Z

Have you ever had a nagging feeling that something is missing in your life?

I've had an indescribable void in the pit of my stomach for a while now. A yearning for something characteristically "New York", so to speak. I was finally able to put my finger on it today while walking through Tralfalgar Square (because that's what people in London do). I miss the crazies!

Fortunately my pleas were heard, as London delivered a whole slate of NYC worthy weirdos on this lazy Sunday. First, I came across the man pictured above, who danced in circles to some sort of Gaelic-like (?) music blaring from his boombox while carrying a sign with an Israel/rapture/God's chosen people message. (Don't worry. I couldn't figure out the connection between his message and his miniskirt, either). Dude must have been cold.

Shortly thereafter, I had to endure a painful rendition of "Tears in Heaven" from a shady guy on the subway, er, tube. Evidently, crazies come in threes too, because on my walk home I passed a homeless woman pushing what appeared to be a shopping cart full of empty plastic grocery bags. She was wearing a large plastic bag to stay dry, and also had bags around her shoes. When I passed her, she barked incoherent insults (well, mostly. I did catch some cursing in there) at me. For those of you who have spent some time in Brooklyn Heights, she actually reminded me a lot of that hefty homeless woman that resides along Henry Street and tends to favor high-heeled boots and midriff baring tank tops.

This place is really starting to feel like home.

Remember, Remember the 5th of November

2006-04-08T15:56:00.000Z

I finally saw V for Vendetta - as you may recall, movies don't come cheap around these parts. As a whole, I liked the film. That said, I think I came into it predisposed, or at least wanting to like the film given that it was a Wachowski product. (I'm letting them off the hook for the Matrix sequels.) I won't attempt to construct a review, or consider how it compares to the graphic novel - the rest of you can do that far better than I can. But a few thoughts:

-I found the entire plot far too overt, as though the Wachowski's had a list of hot button political topics they were committed to checking off as each scene progressed. Terrorism and biological warfare. Check. U.S. International relations (particularly with the Middle East). Check. Gay marriage/homosexuality. Check. Wire tapping. Check. In fairness, I tend to feel this way about most of the movies I see, so it may be that I just like working a little harder to decipher a film. I guess it could have been worse, a la Oscar favorite Crash. And speaking of overt references to racism, where was that in V? At least we can look forward to racial harmony as our metropolis crumbles in 20 years.

-Is anyone else finding it harder and harder to hate Natalie Portman over time? It was so easy when she was going to Harvard and making those stupid Star Wars films (sorry guys). Now she's actually acting quite well (particularly in the scenes in which she is held captive), delivering a British accent that exceeded my low expectations (far better than Jude Law's American twang in I Heart Huckabees), and looking borderline hot in the pre-shaved scenes. I may need to find a new Harvard grad to hate. Any nominees?

-The American and British press seem to be responding to this film quite differently. In the U.S., it seems like the film is earning a respectable B average from critics - definitely worth seeing, but admittedly flawed. In England, I've found the reaction to be much more negative. I'm not sure if it's just that the issues the movie addresses are so clearly American in nature, or if Brits are simply annoyed that American filmmakers had the audacity to destroy parliament on the big screen. A few examples: In The Guardian, Peter Bradshaw's review finds the film condescending toward London and Britain (although he does get points for calling the filmmakers out on the weird Beauty and the Beast(iality) thing at the end), while the review on easyCinema (I know, a literary gem) considers the actors' performances largely, well, rubbish.

In other movie news - I saw a trailer on iTunes for Brick, which apparently generated a lot of buzz at Sundance. Anyone seen it? If my one college film class taught me anything (unlikely), it appears to be a modern take on film noir. And the girl in the preview looks a lot like Summer from the O.C. But then again, these days, who doesn't?

Nepotism vs. Trust Funds

2006-04-02T21:29:00.000Z

In my experience, Sundays are best spent napping, doing laundry, catching up on DVR, and feeling generally morose about returning to a Monday morning cubicle existence. If I'm feeling particularly motivated, I might go running or pick-up some groceries (to be tossed out a week later when I replace them with duplicates and curse myself for never cooking). That's more or less the extent of my Sabbath activity. (A note to my Muslim and Jewish brethren, I'm using the term Sabbath in the traditional Christian sense here. No offense.)

Like most days best spent catching up on life, Brits instead approach Sunday as one final opportunity to get rowdy and toss back a few pints before the week starts. This activity is typically centered around watching football or rugby, but this weekend it was all about "The Boat Race". And it was awesome.

The Boat Race is a gazillion year old tradition featuring gazillion year old Oxford and Cambridge Universities. The schools' crew teams compete each spring in a perilous 4 1/2 mile journey along the River Thames, and the winning team gets to take home the losing team's girlfriends. Or something. As a spectator, you spend most of the day "socializing" along the river banks, traveling from bar to bar in anticipation of the big event. Inevitably, by the time said big event starts, no one is in any shape to care about a slow ass rowing race between two popped collar universities.

I, however, rose above all of this debauchery to snap a photo at what I believe was the 1 mile mark of the race. If you squint really hard, you may even see the two boats duking it out on the right side of the pic. I also did some research after the race to bring you this year's critical stats. Because you deserve to know. Oxford won the race by about 5 lengths, clocking a time of 18 minutes and 26 seconds. Interestingly, the Oxford team was lead by a trio of Americans (gasp!). More interestingly (?), I believe I was biting into a two cheeseburger meal (large sized) right around the time of the Oxford finish. My stomach is still recovering.

If only I had TIVO

2006-03-29T22:29:00.000Z

When I arrived in London, I expected the media culture to be more secular and avant-garde than in the U.S. - particularly in our post Nipplegate society. I wasn't completely surprised, then, when I saw FCUK's controversial new Fashion v. Style campaign, which stretches things a bit further than our modern day FCC would allow. Click the link. It's well worth it.

I didn't, however, realize that this tendency to take things a little too far would creep into the (formerly) pure world of Public Service Announcements. Evidently, Brits find it necessary to be explicit not only with sex, but also with public safety messages. This became most clear to me last night when wasting some time watching television. In the span of 30 minutes, I caught two very curious, and actually quite disturbing PSA commercials courtesy of the UK Department of Transportation. They weren't sexual in nature, but in my opinion went overboard nonetheless.

The first was to address "Drink Driving" in the UK. See the ad for yourself here. The second took a look at public safety risks for teenagers specificifally. See it here.

Although I'll admit to being a fan of the somewhat dramatic truth.com campaigns, I found each of these to be surprisingly sensationalist. Am I off base?

Update: I re-read this post this morning (yes, I am that egocentric) and found myself annoyed with, well, myself. To be clear - I'm not a raving conservative (don't you like how seamlessly lunatic and conservative interchange?), and I'm not completely humorless. I actually did think these PSAs were funny when I saw them. But I think I found most of the humor in the fact that a bunch of suits in a conference room actually signed off on these things. And do I always sound like such a prick? Don't answer that. I think it's because I initially wrote this right after work, which meant I was still in "follow-up, touch base, reach out, synergy" email mode.

Also, Tbauma reminded me of another overt ad. We saw this one at a bus stop when she was here in London.

Getting to Know My Colleagues

2006-03-27T20:24:00.000Z

I've been meaning to post about this for a week or so, so just pretend that it happened today.

As part of my work assignment, I periodically get invited to global employee functions. These ~~boozefests~~ social activities are designed to provide us with an opportunity to get to know our fellow expat colleagues (as if many of us don't already see each other far too much). Usually, these nights are pretty low key.

Last week, however, I met a woman at one of these events who made it well worth it. No, not like that. (Don't worry family, I am still desperately looking for the right girl. And when I do, I promise to get married well before I have the chance to change my mind.) Anyway, this woman made my night. We talked on and off throughout the evening as I made my rounds to see if anyone interesting had showed up. As usual, no such luck. Or at least that's what I thought.

The woman (her name escapes me) is here in London from Australia, and seemed a bit uncomfortable with meeting so many new people at a work event. Perhaps because of this, I saw her hitting the G&Ts pretty hard early in the night. Given that I am considerate, and well, into peer pressure, I made sure to always bring her another one when ordering from the bar. As the night wore on, she became a bit more comfortable and talkative, and shared with a small group of us that she had quit smoking a few months before coming over to London. She wasn't a chain smoker, having just a few a day. However, in order to quit, she starting chewing Nicorette gum.

So none of that is particularly funny. But the next part is. After kicking the habit, she realized she had actually become addicted to Nicorette gum. Now, she chews over 15 pieces of Nicorette a day and has family and friends smuggle it over from Australia (I guess you can't get it here) when they visit. She even switched to the unflavored kind to try to quit (the gum), but realized she actually likes the (un)flavor even more. What?!

She asked us not to tell anyone, but at that point in the night I don't think anything was really binding. I haven't seen her in the building yet, but am obviously really looking forward to it. $20 says she'll be chewing gum.

CityHangover Miscellany

2006-03-25T00:54:00.000Z

Because I can.

The Mummy: I neglected to mention a curious site in Budapest in my week(end) in review - St. Stephen's Basilica. For those of you who've done the whole Europe backpacking thing (for you silver spoon types, that's the Europe luxury hotel and rolling luggage thing), you've surely seen your fair share of Catholic churches. Those Catholics really had Europe on lock down! Anyway, St. Stephen's Basilica is a lot like other catholic churches, with one exception. It houses a true national treasure - King Saint Stephen's mummified hand. Seriously. This hand is well traveled, too, having been sneaked out of the basilica during WWII for protection. (I suggested that maybe some guy had pulled his sleeve over his hand and used St. Stephen's as his own to sneak it out, but my travel cohorts quickly shot that down.) I'm admittedly unsure of why Steve's hand merited mummification, but much of Catholicism leaves me similarly confused. Evidently for 60 HUF (eh, 25 cents) you can get one of the church's minions to light the thing up. I wasn't aware of this, so I'll always remember Steve-O's hand as resembling a prop from Tales from the Crypt. No offense.

Tourney Pool: Remember when I mentioned that I had organized an NCAA tourney pool for my London colleagues? And remember when I posted an excerpt from an email wherein one of my colleagues shared her tourney favorite - the New York Knicks? Well, friends, I have some news to share. Said colleague is currently in 3rd place in our pool (there are 29 of us), and she has a damn good shot of winning the whole thing. I spent the first 20 minutes at work on Friday morning feeling pretty emasculated, but I've since decided that I was simply hustled. (As Ice Cube, and subsequently Bel Biv Devoe, said "Don't trust a big butt with a smile". Have truer words ever been spoken?) I'm currently avoiding any responsibility for my own 2nd quartile performance. Instead, I'm blaming it all on Adam "trash stache" Morrison and his Gonzaga Bulldogs. How the hell do you lose a game in which you were up by 17, and actually leading for the first 39 (of 40) minutes? That ain't right.

Movies: I recently saw a great movie, called Hidden (Caché). I highly recommend it, although be aware that it is devoid of a clean-cut Hollywood ending. The premise is pretty simple - a well off family begins to receive videotapes in the mail which basically show their home being watched. The film is about the slow unraveling of the family as they search to understand where these tapes are coming from. One of the best films I've seen in a while.

Music: I've been in a bit of a lull when it comes to new music, which has resulted in far too much iPod airtime for bands like Wilco and Sufjan Stevens. To freshen things up, I went on an iTunes rampage today. I'm not sure if this was a good thing, though. After a few hours of Bright Eyes, My Morning Jacket, and The New Pornographers, I kind of feel like slitting my wrists.

Budapest

2006-03-22T20:30:00.000Z

And just when you were hoping I'd finally gone away. Has anyone else experienced Navarre like speed on Blogger this week? I feel like a Netflix member being throttled. And just when I had graduated to comments spam?! Say it ain't so.

Anyway, we've got some catching up to do. Let's start with a week(end) in review, and then move on to a few miscellaneous updates.

As I mentioned last week, I spent Friday through Sunday in Budapest, Hungary with some friends from work. One of the great things about being in London for an extended period of time is the convenience of weekend side trips - particularly to Eastern European countries that are just too far away and expensive to get to from the states. I had been meaning to visit Budapest for a while (it has always been in my master travel plan, which, due to its scope, requires more funding than a botched Iraq rebuilding campaign), and was expecting something along the lines of Prague circa 2000. I couldn't have been more off base.

The city was beautiful, and actually the perfect size for a weekend trip. But unlike Prague (at least back when I visited), Hungary feels a lot like the rest of Europe. Although the country hasn't adopted the Euro currency, it seems to have adopted just about everything else (e.g. fast food restaurants, H&M, and a plethora of western themed bars). I imagine this is an inevitable result of its recent EU membership? Of course, as bright-eyed American tourists, we made the most of the situation.

Our first night kicked off with a traditional Hungarian meal. I started with a delicious Goulash soup/stew, and then had a main course of pork medallions served, according to the waiter, "Hungarian style". If I could pronounce the name of the place I would recommend it to you, as the food was well worth the 45 minute walk we subjected ourselves to by not confirming which street we were looking for. Foiled again! Given that Friday was St. Patrick's Day, we settled in for the rest of the night at Budapest's first ever Irish bar. I can confirm, once and for all, that no matter where you are in the world on St. Patty's day there are drunk Irish guys in kilts making fools of themselves.

We spent the rest of the weekend mixing sightseeing with hearty eating and drinking. Despite being a bit disappointed in the overall feel of the city, I was quite impressed with a few museums that outlined the country's history. In particular, I hadn't realized the full scale of Hungary's fascist and communist roots until visiting the House of Terror (I really do believe that something was lost in translation with that name). The museum is housed in a building that was first a Nazi, and then a Communist regime headquarters - the basement was actually used to torture local deviants. Outside of the sheer atrocity of the events that took place, everything resonated with me a bit more given how recently it all occurred. Many of the leaders of these oppressive regimes are still alive, and the last Russian soldier didn't actually leave Hungary until the 90's.

"Shifting gears" (Corporate speak! Lest you fear that CityHangover has decided to pursue some type of political agenda), I will also share a brief account of my ongoing travel woes before signing off. In summary:

Some "bloke" decided to commit suicide on the Gatwick Express train tracks (selfish, if you ask me) minutes prior to our train's departure to the airport Friday morning. As a result, our train was delayed, re-routed, and well, mad late. Fortunately, I became 2 for 2 in racing through the Gatwick airport and being one of the last people let on the plane (I've yet to walk through that place). If you're keeping score, that's 2 for 2 at Gatwick, and 0 for 1 at Stansted. Unfortunately, this time my luggage adopted its own batting average, and I spent yet another weekend trip searching for inexpensive underwear.

This post is already far too long, so I'll save my other updates for next time.

On Laziness

2006-03-15T23:57:00.000Z

Have you ever been alarmed by the depths of your own laziness?

For a while now, I've been in the habit of snoozing (verb?) nearly an hour after my alarm time. I may just be setting myself up for failure, given that I'm always planning to wake up early to go to the office or to run. It almost never happens. In fact, usually I snooze far past my "aspirational" wake up time, float right by my "on time" target, and find myself teetering precariously over the "very late for work" precipice. Each day I go through the same exercise. (Yes, I know it's ineffective to try to play psychology tricks on myself, but I do it anyway.) More recently, I've upped the ante by continuing to lay in bed until I have to go to the bathroom so bad I can't stand it. Anything to get a few extra minutes of sleep. Weird, right?

Living alone again has forced me to stare more deeply into this heart of darkness. With no one to harass me about my odd behaviors, I find more and more of them creeping into my daily life. For example, tonight I worked late and didn't feel like thinking through a proper dinner. The grocery store (on my way home) seemed like an unnecessary diversion, and spending time and effort to identify a carry-out option wasn't in the cards (although I'm itching to try that fake Papa Johns again). Instead, I dug through my (barren) cupboards and ate the following: sea salt & vinegar chips, a glass of flat Dr. Pepper, a pan au chocolat croissant, a bit of wine, and a granola bar. The funny thing is, I didn't remember I had half of these items in my apartment. (I should note that I had a 3pm lunch due to meetings at work.) Is this what it has come to? I'm already prepared to be mad hungry in the morning.

Unrelated: I am heading to Budapest for the weekend, which means this blog should benefit from some interesting pictures and stories come Sunday night. It also means that I'll wind up with a bunch of Forint (Forints?) in change that I won't be able to convert at the currency exchange on the way back to London. Inevitably, these will be added to the growing pile of Euro, US, Swiss, and low value GBP coins in my top drawer. Did I tell you about the cab driver in Seville who gave me 30 Euro in change (~$35) on my trip to the airport? I still have most of that isht, even after buying bocadillos and a plethora of other useless snacks in the terminal.

Workplace Hazards

2006-03-15T22:25:00.000Z

When I was home in Michigan for Christmas, my brother gave me a book to aid in my assimilation to British life. The book, Brit-Think, America-Think, takes an admittedly tongue-in-cheek look at the cultural gaps between Brits and Americans. Ultimately, the author hones in on a single difference between how the two cultures approach life by looking, interestingly, at how the two cultures approach death. The idea is that Americans approach death as (nearly) optional - hence the common preoccupation with health, plastic surgery, education, etc. Brits, on the other hand, resign themselves to a fate out of their hands, and therefore are content to roll with the punches and take what comes to them. A Brit would find it useless to try to take too much control of things, arrogant to try to outwit destiny, and, well, uncool to be seen as trying too hard. I tend to avoid sweeping generalizations derived from coffee table reading, but I must say that I'm beginning to agree with this book.

This laid back British approach to life becomes much less charming (and, consequently, much more annoying) in the workplace. Especially for an earnest American like myself. (Stop laughing. My "Curtis" work persona is all business). Take, for example, facilities issues in the office. When I arrived to work on Monday morning, my typical route to my mini-cubicle was blocked by yellow warning tape and and signs instructing me to steer clear of the main conference room on our floor. Upon further inspection (see photo evidence above), I realized that the conference room door had been shattered to pieces. Despite the protective plastic covering, there were small glass shards all over the place. Just when I thought that a year-end review had gone awry, a colleague informed me that the door shattered because a part on the latch was broken. This allowed for the sliding door to slide out of control without proper guidance. The latch had been malfunctioning for months. (But evidently a part is on order, as you can see from the sign above).

The busted glass door itself was only marginally humorous. But when I left today (Wednesday) and noticed that no clean-up had taken place, I really cracked up. People have removed the warning tape and pushed the signs to the side, and you sort of have to keep an eye out for glass shards, but otherwise we aight.

And, apparently, the part is still on order.

The NCAA Cup...ahem...Tournament

2006-03-12T19:28:00.000Z

I was a bit ~~lazy~~ busy this weekend, but am now finally sitting down to upload a somewhat coherent post. My bad.

As part of this cultural intercambio (say it like "dos chai lattes") of mine, I'm doing my best to give a little something back to these well intentioned Brits. This week, this has taken the form of an NCAA Tournament office pool. Another American colleague and I went to painstaking lengths to not only organize the damn thing (Ok, that was pretty simple), but also to explain terms like "March Madness" and "The Big Dance" to our captive audience. Luckily, one of my new obsessions, Wikipedia, came to the rescue yet again.

For the most part, everyone seems game to get involved, although I think they're more interested in the opportunity to make a friendly wager than in the games themselves. A few have even tried to get me to take their money without fully filling out a bracket. Ultimately, I think this amateurism will make things more interesting. For example, one of the Australian guys in the office turned in his completed bracket today with Arizona going all the way. The reason? Daniel Dillon, a 6-3 Sophomore guard from Melbourne. Another British colleague, who is actually back in NY on a short-term project, had the following to say: "Hey there! This sounds very cool. I have no idea what most of it means but I'd like to join in. What is a bracket? All I know is that I want to choose the Knicks - better support the local team while I'm here!" So good.

Of course, given that my own alma mater chose against making this year's tournament (I'm no basketball pundit, but check out Schembechler Hall for some hateration), I'm forced to sit through endless comments along the lines of, "Hey, I chose Michigan State since I remembered you went there." Effing Wolverines.

I'll let you know when the woman who picked teams based on their mascots wins the whole damn thing.

Weird Dreams

2006-03-07T22:39:00.000Z

Ever since I moved to London my sleep has been disturbed by really odd dreams. I'm not sure what's causing it. It could be the move to an extra firm mattress. (Do I miss my Ikea mattress? Hell to the no. Plus, by selling that piece of isht on Craigslist I met Emeley, and now my life will never be the same.) Or perhaps it's my newfound affinity for the snooze button (an hours worth on average)? Who knows.

I often forget my dreams shortly after waking up, but lately I've been making a concerted effort to lodge each sequence in the back of my mind for future analysis. I have a recent dream that I feel obliged to share.

Here goes. I'm in a Target/Best Buy type megastore feeling very anxious. People around me are focused on protecting this kid that terrorist types are trying to kidnap, and evidently I've been selected as the best man for the job. Something is unique about this kid - like he's a young Bobby Fisher, or maybe the kid from The Last Starfighter. (Or maybe just rich?) Anyway, the kid is sequestered in the hot dog/pizza/frozen Coke area while I stay on guard. I've got a bead of sweat on my brow, and begin scoping out the premises to ward off security threats. Within minutes, however, the kid is gone. What?! I start freaking out, but somehow have the peace of mind to put on a bluetooth wireless headset (very cool) and then proceed to login to Skype on a laptop (which, of course, shows up out of nowhere). I begin to bark orders at my fellow operatives via Skype (I'm clearly in a leadership role in this dream) to seal off the area. I believe I start to say something reminiscent of Tommy Lee Jones's "...Every warehouse, outhouse and doghouse" line from The Fugitive. Then, all of a sudden, I wake up.

What does this mean?

Here's a Little Story All About How...

2006-03-06T00:12:00.000Z

I finally got out to one of London's überclubs this weekend - the dramatically titled Ministry of Sound. I tend to prefer low key pubs or shady (sometimes) Asian bars a la 46 Grand in NY, but a T-baum was in town so all bets were off. Plus, DJ Jazzy Jeff was there to guest DJ. I have to admit, I was a big fan of Parents Just Don't Understand. And according to those who know, Jeff is now actually a reputable DJ from Rome to New York City.

Of course, I was tasked with keeping up with undergrads all night so DJ Jazzy Jeff didn't get my full attention. This wasn't at a Weezergate 2005 level, but when we were belting both The Victors and The Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song in the tube I knew I was in for a great night. (As an aside, at what point did The Victors become the new rabble-rousing party anthem? I'm not protesting. In fact, I love it. But just asking).

And no, there were no glowsticks.

The CityHangover Price Index

2006-03-01T20:14:00.000Z

At this point, it's no secret that London is expensive. Being "from" New York City and all (North Shore, and now Joey, put it best - "You flew here, I grew here"), I was expecting only a negligible cost of living increase. Ha! Such naivete.

Fellow Yankees have suggested that I avoid the conscious conversion from pounds to dollars to prevent purchase anxiety. I've started to do so, but also wanted to dig a bit deeper into these price gaps. Who knows? With a bit of clever analysis perhaps I can find ways to stretch my dollar. Pound. Whatever.

And with that, I provide you with the inaugural CityHangover Price Index. My, um, basket is indicative of things I tend to spend my money on, and all London prices were converted at yesterday's final currency conversion rate. (1.749 dollars to the pound):

	NYC Price	London Price	Premium
Monthly subway pass	$76.00	$148.67	96%
Movie ticket	$10.75	$17.14	59%
Six pack of beer (Hoegaarden)	$11.99	$9.60	-20%
Chicken pad thai (takeout)	$8.00	$12.24	53%
Dry cleaning (pants)	$5.00	$10.41	108%
Bottle of wine (Ravenswood)	$12.99	$10.48	-19%
CHPI	$19.10	$32.04	68%

Notice any outliers? As Corso would put it on College GameDay, "I say nothing!"

Going Postal. Again.

2006-03-01T13:04:00.000Z

In case there was any lingering doubt that my postman, ahem, postperson, is insane:

When I entered my apartment building a few days ago I was welcomed by an abundance of letters spread neatly on the floor. The (9) mailboxes were completely empty. What is this?

This time, I left all of Mr. P Singh's mail down there. I'm already harboring far too much of his isht in my small apartment.

Embracing the London Music Scene

2006-02-27T00:00:00.000Z

We checked out the much lauded London music scene on Saturday night. Our destination was Camden, a "gritty" neighborhood in the north part of the city. (By gritty, I mean that the hipster to Starbucks ratio is a modest 10:1 - vs. the more robust 50:1 ratio in gentrified areas). Camden's venues have played host to a lot of now famous bands (think Blur, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Smashing Pumpkins).

I would have much more to say about the night, but unfortunately I'm still catching on to how early people go out here. By the time we got to our destination, Barfly, we had missed the openers and caught only about 3/4 of the headlining band. Regardless (you say irregardless, I say regardless. Or maybe you say disirregardless?), we had a good time.

The band we saw was called Tahiti 80, and a bit more pop than rock. They put on an entertaining, but admittedly pretty standard show for most of the night. At least until the bass guitar player came out in a Panda costume for their encore (see photo above). I don't know. But it was funny.

CityHangover GuestBlog, Vol I

2006-02-25T16:40:00.000Z

Here's how it works - you visit, you blog. I provide complete editorial freedom (sort of like the Michigan Daily). Sharon leads us off.

'We Traveled Together'

Overwhelmed by this new acquisition of complete editorial freedom, I'm speechless. Almost. I feel my duty as the first-ever guest blogger is to provide all you future guest bloggers with a few tips on how to survive a week with Curt in London (and Spain).

Never Trust Curt's Map Skills: After arriving in London on an early Friday morning, I followed Curt's more than impressive PowerPoint map of the Underground and a zoomed-in view of his neighborhood with his apartment marked. Too bad the apartment address had the wrong street number. So there I stood on the street corner with my two heavy bags (filled with books, contacts, etc. per Curt's request) reading People magazine waiting for him to meet me. That point on I knew I'd be the point-person for all things direction related.

Murphy's Gonna Getcha Getcha: Saturday morning Curt and I headed to Sevilla (I studied there for 5 months so feel completely confident in using the Spanish name) to visit my youngest brother. After hurdling several obstacles to get to the train station (including station fires, closed Underground lines, and the like), we boarded a bus to take us to the airport. Too bad the coach driver missed the airport exit and had to drive an extra 30 minutes out of the way to the next turnaround. We arrived at the airport at the exact time our flight took off forcing us to purchase new tickets. Instead of a flight to Seville, the best we could get was to Malaga where we would then take a train to Sevilla. We finally checked in to the hotel after a 14 hour journey, and then proceeded to drink. Cheers to Murphy's Law.

Pack Lightly, But Not Too Lightly: Let us all learn a lesson from Curt's forgetfulness to pack underwear on our trip to Spain. Oops. Because every legitimate store in Sevilla is closed on Sunday, he finally located some at a Spanish-style flea market. He is now the proud owner of "Indero" boxers.

It's True: Brits Lack a Sense of Humor: Proceed with caution whilst at the passport control line at Gatwick airport. When asked by a passport control agent how much money I brought with me to England, I cheekily replied "Not Enough." Taking my comment seriously, he proceeded to interrogate me on how many credit cards I had, how much money I earned, who I was visiting, and what the nature of our relationship is. Next time, I'll remember to answer briefly and seriously.

Emily Post Would Be Proud: Despite his affinity for trips to the dark side and borderline cruel comments and lewd getures, Curt's a surprisingly great host. Not only is there an endless flow of snacks and drinks (alcohol, of course), he willingly gives up his bed for the Argos-purchased air mattress (bring D batteries as it's not plug-in style). And he even has 'Laguna Beach' on his iTunes just in case those crazy British shows don't do it for you. Most importantly, as a visitor, you get to blog. Who could ask for anything more?

Dos Chai Lattes, Por Favor

2006-02-21T20:13:00.000Z

Just returned from a relaxing weekend in Seville, Spain. (You may know it as "Sevilla" if holding on to your halcyon days on study abroad.) Despite the infestation of American students (to be fair, we were visiting one), Seville provided a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle of city life. We spent most of our weekend walking the city and dropping into cafes for drinks and tapas along the way.

All of this free time should have led to a host of profound thoughts, but, as it often does with my friends, instead resulted in endless fun at someone else's expense. This time around it was Jessica, a classic sorority girl transplanted straight from Jersey to wreak havoc on unsuspecting Spanish service workers. We were lucky to run into her at a Seville Starbucks. (Yes, Starbucks is omnipresent. Like NYC cockroaches.) Jessica insisted on applying her Jersey accent when speaking Spanish - which provided endless entertainment for the other patrons. The Spainiards in line actually started to make fun of her when she spoke, ordering quintessential American coffee drinks like Cappuccinos "Desnatadas" and Chai Lattes. Despite our own amateur Spanish language prowess, we joined in.

Rather than improve our own skills (like nunchuck skills, bowhunting skills...), we spent the rest of the weekend honing our SpanJersey accent - which meant we said things like "Sin Azucar" (without sugar) and "Cappuccinos Desnatadas" (Skim Cappucinos) repeatedly as obnoxious as possible. It proved quite fun.

Update: Stay tuned for Sharon's take on the weekend, courtesy of the CityHangover GuestBlog

Going Postal

2006-02-17T18:50:00.000Z

My mailman hates me. Either that, or I still have a lot to learn about the "Royal Mail" system.

When I arrived here in London, my mailbox was full of what appeared to be junk mail for nearly every tenant of the last 20 years (see photo at right). I live in a corporate housing unit catering to expats - so it's very unlikely that Ms. Jacinta Allen, Mr. P Singh, or for that matter, The Occupier, are coming back to get their mail any time soon. Considering this, I tossed all of the stuff into the trash, ahem, rubbish, next to the mailboxes.

When I came home from work the next day I saw that my mailbox was once again filled with unwanted junk mail. Had spammers caught on to my whereabouts already? Those clever bastards. Nope. Upon closer inspection, I realized It was the same mail. Damn Jacinta Allen!

I figured that my mailman must have thought that I dispensed of the letters in error, so I gave him another shot by tossing them back into the trash again. At this point, I can imagine you're getting the hang of this. If you guessed that I returned home the following day to find the letters back in the #8 basket, you're on the right track. Who is this guy?

To avoid a standoff, I decided to tuck the letters safely away in my apartment until I move out. At that point, I'll probably toss them in the trash once again, leaving the subsequent fallout to the next tenant. Sucka!

Oh, and if Mr. P Singh is reading this, I think I have a chiropractor bill for you. My bad.

In today's Evening Standard

2006-02-15T19:33:00.000Z

Hmm. I'm guessing a 2/3 majority "against" terror?

I have seen the future, and it is "Argos"

2006-02-13T21:33:00.000Z

I'm quite disappointed with the U.S. of A. today. Not because of our crap president, our weak dollar, or even our Hallmark holidays. It's something far worse. We've let another country out consume us.

I found my way into Argos yesterday on the way home from work. It's OK - I had never head of Argos either. Until now, I've embraced a life with intermittent trips to New Jersey to experience Costco, Ikea, and Target, never knowing that the holy grail of "all you can buy" shopping was actually across the pond.

Here's the way it works: You enter the Argos store, go to one of their many "selection stations", and peruse the catalog. And this ain't no Sunday circular. This is somewhere around 1 million laminated pages of excess. Yep. It's that good. You pick out what you want, write down the product number, and then pay for it at the counter. Within 5 minutes or so someone has walked out of the back room with your goods. It's that easy. And if we're considering British Pounds without the conversion, it's also relatively cheap.

Yesterday I went in with the intention of buying an Aero bed, but came out with both the air mattress and an all in one down duvet/mattress cover/pillow (and something else I think, though I haven't opened it yet) set. I found myself there again today in search of a Brita filter. Check. Anyone who has ever lived in a city knows how annoying it is to not be able to find simple household goods. With Argos, you don't leave the city to hit the big box store - the store comes to you. Or whatever it is in that back room (Elves? East Asian children? Who knows).

In this time of overt Olympic patriotism (the berets? Again?!), it's tough to admit that the British are ahead on this one. Maybe we've got hope, though. With our inability to save money, it's inevitable that an Argos store will open stateside sometime soon.

All Is Well That Ends Well?

2006-02-13T19:25:00.000Z

This past weekend was my first opportunity to get the locals to warm up to me. A colleague from work had a party at her apartment, and a handful of good looking girls were expected to be in attendance. I met another guy who is here on a project assignment for dinner and beers, and then we made our way to the party. The night proceeded as follows...

Oh, first - taking a step back - you can drink in public here. Given this, and because we had to show up with some beers, we sort of got a head start on the way. Anyhow...

9:44pm (they do it early here): We arrive at the party, recognizing our work cohorts and sharing requisite hellos. There seem to be more girls than dudes which I note as a positive start. I drop my coat off in the back room and see that there is a sizable balcony with a heater outside. Great place for a party.

9:48: I drop my (remaining) beers off at the fridge and notice a huge bowl of unknown alcohol concoction (think citrus, and probably something you've seen projecting from your mouth after a college party). I take special note to avoid said unknown alcohol concoction (U.A.C.) and stick with my beer.

9:49: I begin chatting with the girls tending the U.A.C., and somehow wind up with a cup full. The girls seem nice and OK looking, but the night is young and I'm still feeling ambitious. I make rounds introducing myself to the other guests, and head outside to the patio to enjoy the backyard view - which elicits nostalgia for life on West 89th.

10:15: An American guy joins the balcony crowd and begins telling terrible, completely self-promotional, stories. Worse yet, he vacilates between an American and British accent. Huh? I have to get away from him, and, against my judgement, take solace in the bowl of U.A.C.

11 ish: One of the girls that had been tending the U.A.C., Tall Big-Boned Girl (T.B.B.G), comes over and begins chatting with me. I feign interest for a while but begin inadvertently looking around the room. We chat for a good 15-20 minutes. I consider heading outside to listen to AmeriBrit's stories but decide against it. We continue to talk, though I allow a bit of sarcasm to trickle into the conversation. I need another cup of U.A.C.

12 something: I've somehow pissed off T.B.B.G., and she - quite publicly - begins to tell me off. She makes references to my "trainers" (Saucony) and "jumper" (argyle - which I thought was ironic but now I'm not sure) coupled with some sort of "Who do you think you are?" accusations. I smile, not knowing how to react. She gets more angry. I'm confused.

1 something: At this point I've circled in on the 5 cool people at the party and sequestered myself accordingly. Unfortunately, T.B.B.G. is back on the prowl. I fear more harassment, but am wholly surprised. T.B.B.G. is apologizing, saying she was harsh and it's just that I must have said something and that we really should hang out and blah blah blah. What's going on?

Later: We're all hanging out in the back room as the party starts to thin out. Somehow I manage to rile up T.B.B.G. once again, and decide to spice things up further by telling her that I don't remember her name. This time T.B.B.G. makes me pay, dumping her cup of U.A.C. all over my head. She also gets the hostess' dress wet, inciting near girl-on-girl violence. I am surprised, but we've all already decided that T.B.B.G. must be crazy, so it's shaken off.

Yet Later: We depart the party and head outside to catch a cab. I even shake hands with T.B.B.G. to ensure our split is amicable. Weird party. After waving a cab down, we're caught off guard by the arrival of Louise, a really out of it drunk girl (R.O.O.I.D.G.). Louise half begs us to drop her off on the way home, and we oblige, if only for the entertainment.

Still Later: We're chatting with R.O.O.I.D.G. in the cab. She shares how she had been waiting for the bus for the last 40 minutes, but then she realized that the bus # she was looking for actually doesn't exist. We begin to laugh. The cab hits a sizeable bump, and R.O.O.I.D.G.'s head bangs against the car door with a thud. Somehow, she continues to speak with no audible pause. We begin laughing uncontrollably. Finally, we drop off R.O.O.I.D.G. (she didn't really know where she lived, either, but you get the point) and contemplate the likelihood that she has a concussion. She seems to be balancing OK, so we proceed.

And Finally Later: We sit down in a Chinatown restaurant for a 4am meal. Highlights of the evening are discussed, as is the feasibility of an underground rice distribution system across London's Chinatown. We agree, unanimously, that it must exist. We also realize that the guy (owner?) sitting adjacent to us has fallen asleep. From the layout in front of him he must have been balancing the books. One leg rests on the floor, while the other is propped on what appears to be a cash box (see photo above). Bizarro night comes to an end.

And there you have it. I'm hoping to give the locals another try next weekend.

Good News

2006-02-11T17:17:00.000Z

They have SuperCuts in London.

What's the same: They can still only do one style. You know, the one where they use the clippers on the sides and back and then trim the top to an inch or two. A glorified bowl cut, if you will.

What's different: The famed $12.99 cut has been replaced by one that cost me somewhere around $30.

"I'll Cut You With Words"

2006-02-09T22:13:00.000Z

I watch way too much television. It all started when I was a kid watching channel 9 (I remember the theme song all too well - "Kids in Chicago, having a good time. They are watching, channel 9". Kind of lame, now that I think about it.) My favorite was the Woody Woodpecker Show (check out the opening clip here). I always felt for Chilly Willy - never able to get warm and all. I guess I was one of the few fortunate kids in my generation whose parents didn't catch on to the correlation between television and violence/ADHD/stupidity in children. I owe my parents a high five.

I've since graduated from cartoons to useless teen dramas (The O.C., and quite possibly the best/worst show ever, North Shore) and predictable reality TV programming (Survivor, The Amazing Race, all things Real World, etc.). Lost is one of my only redeeming shows. There might even be bootleg copies of an Amazing Race application video out there with my name on it. Check eBay.

Fortunately, iTunes has allowed me to carry these poor TV habits with me into my new habitat. Tonight I watched the newest episode of The Office, followed up with yet another classic episode of The Gauntlet II. (Timmy referred to his team as "a bunch of drunk ferets", Syrus got beat down in the gauntlet, and Alton caught a case of bigtime beer goggles.) If Lost was actually ever on I would have caught up on that as well.

I've been a willing victim of the iPod halo effect for some time now, but I have to say that I've got Apple on a 52 week high for this isht.

Is Anyone Here a Marine Biologist?

2006-02-06T19:03:00.000Z

I went to Cambridge this weekend to experience the life of a privileged British youth at University. For those of you who don't know, Cambridge is a small town 50 miles outside of London with a college of the same name. Its university is the second oldest (to Oxford) in the World, blah blah blah. On second thought, just picture "Dead Poet's Society" and you're all set.

The University and town were great - a lot of old architecture and character. Aside from checking out campus, we stopped in at a local pub for beers and fish and chips. (How British!). Despite it being cliche, I fully expect to eat fish and chips at least once a week while I'm here. That must be Atkins or something?

The day was going perfectly until we got on the train to head home. After a few minutes on the train, I heard a loud thud a few rows behind me. I looked back and saw that some guy had passed out onto the train floor. Fortunately, someone began to help him, and within a few minutes he regained consciousness (although he had no idea where he was). It wasn't until well after he was back in his seat that I realized two disturbing things. First, that I hadn't moved at all to help him when he fell, despite being closest to his seat. Second, that my first thought upon seeing his body in the fetal position was that it would really suck if my one trip to Cambridge got ruined by some guy dying on the train.

Luckily, I felt better when I remembered that I still had 1/2 of the weekend edition of the International Herald Tribune to read on the way home.

Week 1

2006-02-04T16:32:00.000Z

I've successfully survived week 1 in my new habitat, and have posted a few pics of my apartment building and street. I feel lucky to have landed in a nice neighborhood, sight unseen. A few highs and lows from the "experience" (I feel sort of like a reality tv cast member using that term) so far:

Travels

Highs: I wound up flying business class, which I must say made a big difference in my attitude regarding the 12 hour (door-to-door) trip. The seats were spacious, and they even came around with menus so you could choose the courses you wanted for dinner. I apologize for sounding a bit too impressed, but I spend most of my time in the last open coach seat - boxed in by the fat woman and the bathroom. I wound up eating well and then sleeping through the night. I even got to skip the long customs line. I knew I wasn't too far from home when the car service driver who picked me up was blaring R. Kelly's "Ignition (Remix)" in the car.

Lows:The guy in the seat next to me was quite fidgety and insisted on wearing a SARs mask the entire way, which was a bit unsettling. I was also outed as a business class amateur when I couldn't figure out how to get my personal tv screen out of the middle armrest. I took both as a sign that I should just sleep through the trip.

Apartment

Highs:My flat is newly renovated and a hell of a lot better than I could afford in this city. I was disappointed to find myself so excited about the presence of a laundry machine (what has become of me?) in my kitchen. I also have a housekeeper (completely unnecessary, I know). Although she's (or He's? to be fair) billed to handle only light clean up and dusting/vacuuming, s/he seemed quite adept at washing the sink full of dishes I left out. I'm going to leave clothes our for ironing this week to see what happens.

Lows:The apartment is very "British" by design - meaning that its floor plan is really choppy and each room has a door. Interestingly, all of the doors open in the less convenient direction. I wouldn't care, except the living room door opens into the couch and the kitchen door opens into the refrigerator. You have to really commit to being in any one room.

Work

Actually, I'll save that one. It merits an entry of its own. As a teaser: The water filtration machine has been broken since I arrived. Not a big deal. But instead of it getting fixed, people seem to have taken things into their own hands - inserting objects into the exposed wires to try and fill up their cups. The best part is, I wouldn't be surprised if they were still doing it in 2 months.

Changing the Game. Or Something.

2006-02-02T20:57:00.000Z

Hello people.

First, let me state the obvious. I want to be cool, too.

Over the last 2-3 years, hipsters across America have actively chronicled their lives online. These web logs, or blogs, as they're called, have risen in popularity. Unless you're over 30 (or, as I recently found, one of my colleagues at work) you've heard of a blog. In fact, even old school, brick and mortar companies have taken to "blogging". Take CNN, for example.

Second, I have just moved. Not to the East Village, or even to Westchester. I've moved to London. Essentially, as I began to move up the corporate ladder I decided that New York City just wasn't expensive enough for me. People didn't drink enough, and the weather was too nice. Enter London.

Although I've only been here a few days, I have already had a number of comedic experiences. I've attempted to cache these in the back of my head for the day, but by the time I get home from work they're lost forever (actually, things typically unravel when I head to a pub after work, but that's neither here nor there).

Because of this, I'm "launching" a blog of my own. City Hangover. Hopefully this will give me the chance to share some of my more noteworthy experiences in my new hood, and ruminate a bit on life in my old one. And if anyone winds up reading it, even better.

Let's get started. Eat it, hipsters!