Notes from the Midlands

The occasion was the 21st birthday of my cousin, Sarah, at the family home in Bewdley, not far away from Kidderminster. In the final year of a teaching course at York University (while I, as she remarked, am in New York), she is a bright and very affable young girl, though no doubt teaching will change all that soon enough. One's 21st birthday is, of course, a moment for celebration and looking to the future; though left largely unspoken throughout proceedings, there was also a certain sense of poignancy, if not sadness, that my cousin - her sister - Claire could not be present. She had died while still a teenager in a minibus crash in the Midlands in the autumn of 1993. Had she lived, she would be about my age and have celebrated her own 21st five years earlier.

Still, it was a lively and boisterous occasion, the party being held in a marquee in her parents' capacious garden and supplied with copious quantities of food and drink. Most of the guests were Sarah's friends from York University and from her childhood in the Midlands, though there was still a sizeable representation of older friends and family. It didn't half make me feel old, though. Less than a month away from my 27th birthday, I was never entirely sure whether I should be chatting with the 2nd and 3rd year undergraduates that composed the majority of Sarah's guests, or making rather more adult conversation with the rest. I am ashamed to admit that I couldn't help silently drooling over one or two of the student body; one girl, in particular, was in possession of what I think were the two most perfect breasts I have seen in recent times and was not shy of displaying them. Proof, if it were required, that I am a drooling pervert. God knows what will happen when I have to start teaching (or rather, TA-ing) in a year's time. Put me and the English accent in a room with some nubile 18-year old American girls and it will probably be all I can do not to trip over my own tongue, let alone avoid getting kicked out of the University and summarily deported (needless to say, K is less than thrilled at this prospect, because, as she said, "we always fancied our TAs in college").

Still. It was all good fun in a teacher-at-a-school-disco kind of way, and I think most of them were suitably impressed at what I laughingly refer to as my 'jetset lifestyle'. I was rather happy that I didn't have to venture outside much, though - aside from the Worcester countryside, I find most aspects of the West Midlands - not least the accent - to be uniformly horrible. We went for a pub lunch on Sunday before I came back down to Cambridge at the pub at the end of the road. My family on my mum's side seem to have this bizarre obsession with pub lunches, even when they're manifestly horrible, and especially (as in this case) ridiculously overpriced. I got a leathery piece of beef and some overcooked vegetables for 8 quid or so, though everything else on the menu was at least ￡15. For the equivalent - $30 or so - I could get quite a feed in NYC. But then, as Mum reminded me - "this is the Midlands, dear, they're not very sophisticated round here".

Summer lightning

It's summer in England. You can tell by the rain.

Been back a week now, and though it seems to me pleasantly cool, those in the know and those on TV (usually not the same thing) are all on about the heatwave. It seems that summers in New York and Japan have given me a higher tolerance than most of my countrymen for hot weather; although whether this weather marks the beginning of a long-term trend, only time will tell. Certainly last year's summer was pretty cool overall, if I remember rightly - but right now the humidity has burst and there's a thunderstorm outside, which has been going on for a few hours now.

The flight back was passable - leaving at 4.00 a.m. was not fun, but the flight was 80% empty and I got a bulkhead seat, so I was able to stretch my legs out a bit. Normal modus operandi when coming back is to go to Stansted (it's only 20 mins drive from where I live in Cambridge), and so I did, but it was so packed with holidaymakers returning from the continent that I missed my Dad and had to get a taxi home. Was about 1 a.m. before I got to bed. But then, seasoned traveller that I am, I suppose I'm more or less used to that...

This last week has not, I regret to say, been very exciting. I've been reading some of my old books and magazines and enjoying my DVD collection again, partly through tiredness and the need to get over my jetlag and partly because I don't really have any money until I get paid tomorrow. This was always the point at which things might get a bit stretched financially, especially as I had to pay for a flight back to New York to resume my studies in mid-August, but I think I'll just about manage to squeak through. As from September 1st, Columbia will thankfully be giving me money instead of taking it away from me.

Off to Birmingham this weekend for a family function. May God have mercy on my soul...

Master of the Universe

So I got my MA thesis finished, finally. It's done, basically, though I will need to make one or two revisions to it before I submit it at the end of August. In the meantime, I have a translation to finish off, though that's not particularly urgent. In any case, it does feel good to have got the bulk of my work done; now I can relax for a bit back home.

It's hot in NYC right now; it hit 35℃ yesterday and will apparently be much the same way for most of the next few weeks. Thankfully I'm not going to be here, as I'm off back to the UK for a month or so. I managed to find someone to sublet my place, thankfully, so that's saved me a wodge of cash I would otherwise have had to pay on rent for the time I wasn't here.

The McCollums, friends from Japan, were visiting from California yesterday; we had lunch down in Bryant Park, then I showed them around Columbia and Riverside Park. Current and ex-JETs from Miyagi will no doubt remember both of them, especially their not insignificant contributions to Miyagi football. That's one of the great things about New York, people just are queueing up to come to visit.

In sort of related news, I'm also now the secretary for the New York JET AA association (which stands for Alumni Association; not, as one might think, Alcoholics Anonymous, although I think it's fair to say that there are more than a few JETs we know who would find the latter rather more useful). Not entirely sure how that happened, given as how I've only been to a couple of events, but I think it'll prove an interesting experience; I got an invite to a reception at the Japanese embassy at the end of the month because of it, but sadly I can't go as I won't be here.

One further invitation I sadly cannot respond to - my good friend Pocket's wedding in September. He and his bride-to-be have been great friends to me over the years, even coming out to visit in November of last year, and I'm genuinely distressed that I can't make their big day - but unfortunately I have to be here. I have no doubt it will be one to remember...but circumstances dictate otherwise for me.

Anyway...chances are the next time I blog I will be back in Blighty!

Red, white and blue

I celebrated the 4th of July down in Brooklyn, at a small gathering held by one of K's friends. We watched the fireworks from the south of the borough, from an area known as DUMBO - Down Under Manhattan Bridge Overpass - in the tradition of SoHo and TriBeCa. The fireworks were, as you'd expect, spectacular. Pics below for your viewing pleasure.

Sun, sea, sand and stupidity

Got out of the city on Sunday and went down to Sandy Hook in the neighbouring state of New Jersey. A long way south of New York, it's a peninsula on the east coast of the neighbouring state. It also represented the first time I had managed to get out of New York State, pathetically enough, so a jaunt out to the coast was really rather overdue. Went with Juliet, Jo, Tanya and Paul, friends and acquaintances of varying degrees of proximity mainly from the Business School - including me, two Brits, one Russian and one Frenchman, so a fairly cosmopolitan mix.

I can't imagine writing about lying on a beach would be very amusing for most of you, so I'll just post a couple of pics.















Jo, Juliet and Tania.














Self, Jules, Jo and Paul on the way back.

24 hours earlier, I was unfortunate enough to witness another England campaign fall short of expectations. In its manner of unfolding, it does rather bear out the adjective I used in my previous post, especially Rooney's stunningly brainless stamp on Carvalho with the ref less than two feet away. A further, more unpleasant aspect is that now the recriminations begin, and as they often do it's a case of let's-blame-Jonny-foreigner. Granted, Ronaldo's intervention was unnecessary and deplorably unsporting, but let's face it, Rooney has nobody but himself to blame for his actions. I hope that this event turns out to be an epiphany for him as a player, much as France 98 was for Beckham; I fear that too many excuses will be made for him and he will not have to accept the responsibility for his actions.

It's funny, really - there's always a scapegoat, someone or something to blame, never an acceptance that the players just weren't quite good enough. 98 was Beckham (or Simeone, for the connoisseur of xenophobia, or if you prefer, Alan Shearer), '00 was Phil Neville (or Keegan), '02 was Seaman, '04 was another cheating foreigner in the shape of the referee, Urs Meier. Always a sense that 'if only' that hadn't happened, then our boys would have gone all the way. English cricket didn't improve to win the Ashes by always looking for excuses; it recognised its shortcomings and took action to address them. I wonder how long it will be before English football decides to do the same thing.

In the meantime, though, it's all very depressing...

Fireflies

Most evenings, I'm at work til late in Butler Library, inching towards completion of my MA thesis. It's usually dark when I walk back along College Walk. Lined as it is with trees, I usually catch the blinking of one or two fireflies for just the briefest second before they disappear again.

They remind me of nothing so much as a discarded cigarette butt flying through the air.

And there was you thinking I was going to say something romantic and artsy.

On another, completely unrelated note...200 posts! My double-hundred up. Thank you, thank you, I couldn't have done it without you...

Sense and stupidity

I've got nothing much of interest to report over the last week or so, I'm afraid. It's all about the hard yards; I've just been working away in the library and on my thesis, K's gone to Florida for the week (lucky her), and I'm still here watching the World Cup.

Which reminds me, I've been meaning to have a little bit of a rant about the WC so far. It's been pretty good stuff, all things considered - except, of course, when England are playing. And what's concerned me more than anything, really, is that you can sum up virtually all of the last two months for English football with one word. Unfortunately, that word is stupid.

It works on a variety of levels, really. In the Ecuador game, it was a matter of practical stupidity - Paul Robinson's kicks, for example. I don't think I exaggerate when I say that every single one went straight to an Ecuadorian player - in many cases the opposing keeper. Fair enough, you might think, these things happen - but ten or fifteen times? Didn't he notice and think, hang on, better try and distribute a bit better? And in any case - with Rooney as the 1 in a 4-5-1 - who comes in at about 5'6" or thereabouts and was never going to win a decent percentage of knockdowns - it was such a daft idea as to leave me utterly dumbfounded as to why he kept on doing it. Unfortunately, as his outfield companions showed, the instinct for the long ball is just so deeply ingrained in many English footballers that they cannot help it, no matter how inappropriate the circumstances. A bit of thought, boys?

And the manager. What the hell was he doing only taking four forwards, two of whom were not fully fit? Why does he not know his best team or formation? I have until now generally held Eriksson in fairly high regard, but increasingly I'm coming to the conclusion that he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, either.

And the FA who appointed him. We could have had a world-class manager who actually knows what he's doing replace Sven - namely, Luis Felipe Scolari - but the FA so utterly mishandled the affair that Big Phil got the hell out of dodge as soon as he realised what a bunch of clowns he was dealing with. Instead of a World Cup winner, we now have Steve McClaren, about whom the best thing that can be said is that he didn't get Middlesborough relegated.

And the English media. Before the tournament, we had our best side in 40 years, seven world class players, genuine chance this time. Oh yes. Four games in? Um...

But the stupidest thing of all is that there's a reasonable chance we could actually do the ridiculous and win the whole bloody thing. Portugal have to be weakened by injuries and suspensions - and once you get to the semis, well it's anyone's game...

Not that I'd put money on it, mind you, but mark my words. It's a funny old game.

From river to I-River

In a moment of unparalleled stupidity, I managed to put my MP3 player in the washing machine. And then put it in the drier for an hour as well.

Incredibly enough, it still works perfectly. I salute the makers of the i-River brand of digital music accessories. Well done, sirs.

Staying cool

K and I went down the to the Boat Basin Cafe on Friday night. It's right on the Hudson River, which forms the boundary between New York and New Jersey, and is a wonderful place for a long drink on a warm evening as the sun goes down on the other shore. It was, as it always is when I have been there, absolutely packed; it seems that all of New York had more or less the same idea that we did. Still, we got a table nonetheless...must be that inimitable British charm (cough).















We walked the mile or so back along the Hudson and Riverside Park. It was perfect early summer evening, balmy and fresh, and the park was full of people walking their dogs, barbequeing, playing football, and all sorts of things. Further up, back towards Morningside Heights, one could see the George Washington Bridge lit up along its span, which, along with the sunset and the leisurely walk, made for a quite perfect evening.















The following day, I went downtown to the Nippon Club for a little bit of nostalgia as I helped out with the orienation for new JETs departing from New York. It brought back no end of memories, and of course the peachy-keen bright-eyed young things all champing at the bit to get to Japan reminded many of the JET Alumni present of the shallow, bitter and cynical shells of human beings they have since become. I was responsible for orienting the new CIRs; in the event, there were only a couple of them, so I just sat down with them, had a bit of a chat, and let them ask questions.















I also got involved later on in the afternoon, with what was titled a "cross-cultural exercise", involving various role-play scenarios designed to get the new US JETs thinking about different cultural frameworks in Japan and situations they might encounter. In an inspired piece of casting, I was required to act the part of a scabby old school superintendent and sexually harass a young female ALT. As John F Kennedy might have said, ask not what JET can do for you...

This was followed by Happy Hour at a bar a few blocks away, where I and other JET alumni sank a few cold ones with some of the new recruits, showed off our knowledge about Japan, and generally tried to be as useful as possible. I think I may have been a bit less coherent after the fifth pint, but such is the way of things. I did advise them to encourage the stereotype that Americans always carry firearms, since it might prove useful in controlling the classroom.

And Sunday morning, I got up bright and early to attend the JETAANY brunch for the Japan-Croatia game. 9:00 is a little early in the morning even for me, but I did see this on my way through Greenwich Village. Those of my readers who work in consulting, perhaps the time has come for a career change...?

Ferries and football

Doubtless it will not have escaped my readers' attention that it's the World Cup. For a country that supposedly doesn't pay much attention to 'sawker', it's getting a lot of coverage; I was able to watch England's game on normal broadcast TV, to my delight, instead of getting lagered at 9 a.m. They were pretty bad, though they still managed to win. A good rule of thumb for the England team is that they're never as bad as they seem when they play badly, nor are they as good as they seem when they play well. It's kind of hard to get an objective opinion or a cool head anywhere; the British media were convinced England would win the whole thing, but one unimpressive game later and we're suddenly the worst team in the tournament. A little perspective and objectivity, chaps. Myself? I think many of the England players are vastly over-rated - but the team is definitely among the top four or five at the tournament. So who knows...?

Mike came back from Boston on Saturday, and we went to see the Da Vinci Code downtown for want of anything better to do. It was twaddle from start to finish - as I'd more or less expected it to be - but mildly entertaining twaddle nonetheless. I wholeheartedly agree with those who have said that the dialogue is as leaden as Victorian plumbing, though.


We took the ferry to Staten Island on Sunday, for a view of the island of Manhattan from the south. It's free, mainly by virtue of the fact that no-one in their right mind wants to go to Staten Island. We didn't linger - straight back on the next ferry to Manhattan, a course followed by about two-thirds of the passengers. That's Mike to the right - as you can see, he got all the looks in the family. Brief though my sojourn on Staten Island was, that does now complete my set of all the boroughs of New York City - Manhattan, the Bronx, Queens, Brooklyn and Staten Island. Quite an impressive achievement. Well, not really, but I thought I'd mention it.

O brother, where art thou?

He's in Boston, actually, at least until Friday afternoon. He's gone up to visit our uncle in Cambridge, MA, and should be back in time for the England game on Saturday afternoon. It is, after all, the first game of the World Cup tomorrow, Germany vs. Costa Rica, and I shall be off to watch it in a nearby hostelry. I have a suspicion, given the neighbourhood, that there might be one or two Costa Ricans around to watch as well.

I've been slogging away in the Law library for the most part, doing my thing as usual. It's not a boring job; the time usually passes quite quickly, and there are many worse things I could be doing. And after all, I need the money; it was K's birthday on Tuesday (06/06/06, a number which, while of no real significance, caused a little bit of a stir here), and I took her out for a lavish dinner at a fancy French place. An excellent meal - you get what you pay for.

I was downtown on Sunday, doing some shopping, and saw an advert on the subway; a picture of a peanut butter sandwich with the legend "You don't need a therapist to get in touch with your inner child", and below it, "A friendly reminder from the peanut grower's association of America". Maybe I've been watching too much of the Sopranos recently, but the phrase "friendly reminder" did make me think that I might be losing one or more kneecaps if I didn't eat more peanuts.

In other news - and I know it's not really my business any more - but I had word of the whackjob from one of the girls I see occasionally in the Law library, who lives on what used to be my floor. Apparently, though his lease expired on the 31st May, he's still there - he never made any attempt to leave or gain an extension. He's been asked to leave, and if he doesn't they'll apparently call the police and have him evicted. I suppose that means he'll literally be out on the street. However much of a pain he may have been, nobody wants to see that happen - but if I were a betting man, I'd put money on that being the eventual outcome. I know, I don't live there any more and it's not my business...but I suppose it just shows what a complete mess Columbia made of the whole thing.

I saw Steven Spielberg's Close Encounters of the Third Kind yesterday evening. Never seen it before, I'm ashamed to admit, but I have to say that I got the distinct impression that the cast, crew and most of the reviewers must have been on some pretty powerful mind-enhancing drugs for most of it.

Up steps the weekend

I can't say it's been an exciting last few days. I'm working extra hours at my job in the law library (legally, if anyone from the Department of Homeland Security is reading this. Lovely chaps, they do a great job), mainly with a view to buying a ticket back to the US after I go home for a month in July. I've more or less finished off my term papers, and now I've got to get my actual thesis complete. I've been saying that it's about 80% complete, which isn't strictly true...it still needs a fair bit more work, but I have about seven weeks left before I head back to Blighty.

It's hot, sultry and rainy here right now, reminding me of nothing so much as Japan in the rainy season. Summer storms are in vogue right now; barely a day goes by without a rumble of thunder somewhere along the line. There is, it's true, a certain majesty and even a sensual beauty about the storms; unfortunately, they don't make it any less humid like they tend to do back home once they've passed. And you should see the amount of grime that the rain brings down with it...we are, after all, right in the heart of the metropolis.

My brother is coming to town for ten days or so on Sunday. I haven't seen him since Christmas, and he will be the first of what will likely be many new guests in my new apartment. And to celebrate this momentous occasion - we'll be havin' ribs.

Central Park, today. Just a perfect day... 

New Digs

The apartment rocks. It's just orders of magnitude better than the shithole I was living in before. I'm sleeping better, partly because there aren't eight other people with their own schedule at all hours of the day and night, and partly because I don't have to worry about the whackjob any more. In fact, my flatmate's been out of town all week and I've had the place to myself. It's been very therapeutic to have some privacy once again.

I've been steadily furnishing the place - now is actually a good time to be moving, since everyone else is moving out and I can pick up their unwanted stuff cheap or for free. I've more or less got my room the way I want it, and tomorrow I'll be moving my couch (also acquired for free) up here from K's place, where I'm storing it. She's not so keen to part with it, understandably enough...

I've also been helping a professor at Columbia with his effects - he's moving to Kyoto fairly soon, and as one might expect he has a lot of stuff that needs processing. I and another grad student have gone out to his house in Scarsdale, which is in the suburbs and marks the first time in nearly nine months that I've actually been outside the city limits. Kind of lame, I know, but this place has a habit of being all-consuming. Picked up some free stuff from him - a couple of books, and the desk I'm writing this on right now.

And summer is here now. It's hot and humid - 27℃ out there today - and I'm off to spend a lazy afternoon in Central Park with K.

One year on

I realised today that it's been a year since I started blogging. I started this whole enterprise on the 13th May 2005, and in that time have managed 190 posts. Not bad, all things considered - that averages a post every other day, although it's actually not all that impressive since quite a lot of those are pictures. But still - it's been quite a journey. One year ago I was sitting at my desk in my place in Shiogama, wondering what life would be like in New York City and at Columbia. A lot has gone on in that year - the last rites in Japan, the terrorist attacks of that summer, the Ashes, moving to New York, Columbia, getting on the PhD track, meeting K (it's been six months now), the whackjob, and now, a new apartment as well. I've put some photos up below - it's not much to look at yet, but it's getting furnished steadily enough.

So it's been a bit of a rollercoaster ride, really.

My room, looking inward. It's about 13' by 12', a reasonable size. 

My room, facing outward 

The kitchen and living room. Not a lot in here yet - so far I've concentrated on furnishing my room.  

Good Friday

So I've moved. I'm installed in my new apartment, and very nice it is too. There's one sort of downside, in that there was not a stick of furniture in my room when I moved in, so that's something I'm going to have to sort out. I do have a bed, an air mattress which will doubtless come in handy when people come to visit. The place needs a clean, overall, but I can get to work on that perhaps tomorrow. It doesn't have ethernet, unfortunately, but as luck would have it the building does have a few unsecured wireless networks which I can tap into since I bought myself a wireless card to go with all the other new stuff I've acquired. I'll have photos of the place up as soon as I find the cord that connects my camera to my PC; it's in one of my moving boxes somewhere.

The move itself was smooth enough, though it was preceded by a torrential thunderstorm and I did get a bit wet moving stuff. Sure enough, it cleared up and presented blue skies almost immediately we got my belongings into the service elevator.

I do have a flatmate, a bloke by the name of Matt who seems agreeable enough. He actually left this morning with his girlfriend for a week in Thailand, so I have the place to myself, more or less, and he will be going back to Chicago for most of the summer after that, so for this summer it's basically my exclusive pad. Awesome. But it's a good sign that he has a girlfriend...it means he's not only not a nutcase, but sufficiently socialised that at least one woman is prepared to sleep with him.

It's a huge relief to have managed to get out of Harmony Hall. The place was just a shithole; it wasn't very nice to begin with, but having to live next door to that fucking nutcase took the biscuit. Now, at least, I have a space I can call my own, a proper apartment as opposed to a dorm room, one with natural light, space, and best of all one not shared with eight other muppets.

I think my luck is changing, all things considered. Especially as at poker that night, I came up with a Royal Flush on one all-in hand. Perhaps a bit of background - the Royal Flush is the highest possible hand in poker, consisting of Ace, King, Queen, Jack and Ten, all of the same suit (in my case Spades). In Texas Hold'em, where you can only possibly have a maximum of seven cards to call your own, the odds of that happening are astronomical - apparently something in the order of 650,000 to 1.

It's not changing that fast, though. I still only finished 3rd. Baby steps, baby steps...

For a few blocks more

I know where I'm going. I'm moving a few blocks north of where I am now, to a two-bedroomed apartment on the third floor of a building just next to Morningside Park. It's slightly closer to campus, and from the floor plans it will even have some natural light, which is a wonder beyond wonders as far as I am concerned. I'll be moving in on Monday. I don't yet know who my roommate is or even if they're there yet, but I guess I'll find out in good time. Frankly, I don't care - I'm just relieved to get out of where I am now and move to a place with a semblance of privacy to it. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my mind.

I and K (and K's parents, actually) went to see the Yankees play again last night. Just as last time, they lost, to the Texas Rangers on this occasion. It was actually a good close game, well worth going to see and we got excellent seats, by which I mean ones that weren't open to the elements as there was a delay or two thanks to showers. I love the atmosphere of Yankee stadium; it's hilarious to listen to the vendors shouting to each other and throwing bags of peanuts at customers.

It's been raining on and off for most of the week, and it was enough, just about, to put a damper on the graduation ceremonies that seem to be going on here at the moment. I myself won't be taking my degree until the autumn, but there're still plenty of proud parents and their offspring clad in blue robes cluttering up the sidewalk. The speaker was John McCain, a somewhat controversial choice as he's a rather conservative Republican who just a few days ago was talking for your friend and mine Jerry Falwell's mob. Not a popular choice amongst the whole of the student community; there were more than a few people handing out, or wearing, badges that said "John McCain does not speak for me" or some such. Not that I paid them much attention; I was too busy with my papers. And fantasising about my new place, too.