Wednesday, April 12, 2006
In England: Golf still gay
On Saturday April 8, 7 of us, 3 americans and 4 brits met up in Huntingdon, about an hour north of London, to play a little golf.
As we arrived at the club house where we learned that anyone renting clubs, in this case me, could not play on the course we had scheduled our tee times on. hmm, that's interesting, please do tell the sensible reason behind this policy? Oh, if you're renting, you must be a beginner and therefore are not worthy of the primary greens. OR MAYBE YOU'RE FROM AMERICA! hey whatdaya say! ok well i am a beginner and a po'd beginner who has every intention to destroy all greens, fairways and starter boxes.
i had to look those last 3 terms up.
after swallowing the club's policy i was brought a partial set of left handed clubs that included a 4, 7, 8 and 9 irons, a sandwedge and a putter. when asked to describe my set of clubs in the US, a certain UVA scratch golfer I know said they were the equivalent of driving a Dodge Neon. If those are Neons, I was pushing a Fiat on Saturday. Italian junk is evern worse than American.
we opted to play on a different course within the same club where rental clubs, or for hire clubs, were permitted.
it worked out well because as a deserted part of england would have it, no one else was on the course. good news for all of our police records as suddenly, drinking, littering and large amounts of profanity were suddenly allowed and encouraged.
the match, unlike anything else (masters slogan, also gay), began with a mini-unprofessional-nothing-like-the-real-thing-in-anyway-except-golf-was-being-played Ryder Cup. the Ryder Cup typrically sees the US verus the world. in this case, there were 3 americans slated against 4 brits. off to a poor start, pete, kirkman and myself found ourselves down 4 strokes after 9 holes. although kirkman was driving the ball as well as he was smashing broken bottles, pete and i couldn't get it done. after 9 we mixed up the teams and yadda yadda my team won and i did very little in support. there was a small movement for me to steal the clubs i had been given since i provided no deposit to the clubhouse. but since they were terrible and i think some one spit in my bag, we returned them. this is a gentlemen's game after all.
to our surprise, minutes later we found ourselves in one of the local pubs near the river Ooze, a name that invites public urination. or maybe it just seemed like a good idea at the time.
have you ever seen some one really piss themself? i mean really just go to town in their pants as if it made sense? the symmetry is astonishing.
it wasn't me, but i will reveal who it was for a ham sandwich.
drinking continued on the hour long train ride back into london. by the end of the ride, a friendly scrum broke out amongst the boys. apparently some one thought it was serious because when we exited the train car, the police came running asking where the altercation was . back there! we exclaimed in well timed unison. off we jetted into the gritty neighborhood of charring cross.
and i think a few more pubs got some business, more glass was broken, a big girl hit on me, glass broken, chair kicked and a foggy cab ride home.
oh so in conclusion golf is gay b/c:
the best compliements you get include "nice shot" "yeah, real nice shot" " good short game" and i get that last one daily.
the most action you get when watching the professionals is mr. united nations, some call him tiger, pumping his fist after a long putt. right.
how about the announcers whispering? whispering isn't cool unless you're breaking an entering.
i was routing for mickelson to win the masters. he's a rich fat white left handed guy with a hot wife. i love golf.
tomorrow morning i leave for ljubljana. say it fast and i promise it will induce a coma.
As we arrived at the club house where we learned that anyone renting clubs, in this case me, could not play on the course we had scheduled our tee times on. hmm, that's interesting, please do tell the sensible reason behind this policy? Oh, if you're renting, you must be a beginner and therefore are not worthy of the primary greens. OR MAYBE YOU'RE FROM AMERICA! hey whatdaya say! ok well i am a beginner and a po'd beginner who has every intention to destroy all greens, fairways and starter boxes.
i had to look those last 3 terms up.
after swallowing the club's policy i was brought a partial set of left handed clubs that included a 4, 7, 8 and 9 irons, a sandwedge and a putter. when asked to describe my set of clubs in the US, a certain UVA scratch golfer I know said they were the equivalent of driving a Dodge Neon. If those are Neons, I was pushing a Fiat on Saturday. Italian junk is evern worse than American.
we opted to play on a different course within the same club where rental clubs, or for hire clubs, were permitted.
it worked out well because as a deserted part of england would have it, no one else was on the course. good news for all of our police records as suddenly, drinking, littering and large amounts of profanity were suddenly allowed and encouraged.
the match, unlike anything else (masters slogan, also gay), began with a mini-unprofessional-nothing-like-the-real-thing-in-anyway-except-golf-was-being-played Ryder Cup. the Ryder Cup typrically sees the US verus the world. in this case, there were 3 americans slated against 4 brits. off to a poor start, pete, kirkman and myself found ourselves down 4 strokes after 9 holes. although kirkman was driving the ball as well as he was smashing broken bottles, pete and i couldn't get it done. after 9 we mixed up the teams and yadda yadda my team won and i did very little in support. there was a small movement for me to steal the clubs i had been given since i provided no deposit to the clubhouse. but since they were terrible and i think some one spit in my bag, we returned them. this is a gentlemen's game after all.
to our surprise, minutes later we found ourselves in one of the local pubs near the river Ooze, a name that invites public urination. or maybe it just seemed like a good idea at the time.
have you ever seen some one really piss themself? i mean really just go to town in their pants as if it made sense? the symmetry is astonishing.
it wasn't me, but i will reveal who it was for a ham sandwich.
drinking continued on the hour long train ride back into london. by the end of the ride, a friendly scrum broke out amongst the boys. apparently some one thought it was serious because when we exited the train car, the police came running asking where the altercation was . back there! we exclaimed in well timed unison. off we jetted into the gritty neighborhood of charring cross.
and i think a few more pubs got some business, more glass was broken, a big girl hit on me, glass broken, chair kicked and a foggy cab ride home.
oh so in conclusion golf is gay b/c:
the best compliements you get include "nice shot" "yeah, real nice shot" " good short game" and i get that last one daily.
the most action you get when watching the professionals is mr. united nations, some call him tiger, pumping his fist after a long putt. right.
how about the announcers whispering? whispering isn't cool unless you're breaking an entering.
i was routing for mickelson to win the masters. he's a rich fat white left handed guy with a hot wife. i love golf.
tomorrow morning i leave for ljubljana. say it fast and i promise it will induce a coma.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Long time no post
I'm not apologizing, just saying.
I think my parents arrived the day of my last post and I've been occupied with free dinners, lessons on latitude from the fine exhibits at Greenwich and an excellent history lesson on the one and only Winston Churchill thanks to Miss Thatcher's salvation of the Cabinet War Rooms. Did you know that Churchill used to wear a full suit jumper to bed? When I say jumper, I'm talking about an outfit that is strikingly similar to what fat people in the US wear, usually bright in color and wedging itself between body rolls - but it's great and I wish I had one
Took the parents to Borough Market - the greatest market in London. See why below.
(yes that's my dad behind me already in line!)
Since I've blown by the first quarter of my stay here I figured it was time for a new segment properly entitled, Quarterly Update. This will provide me a chance to reflect on the major achievements, happenings and flat out disappointments of the last three months. Mostly it will allow me to negatively compare the UK versus the US.
Let's start with food (most food, not indian or borough market).
It's horrible and expensive here and it is the thing I miss the most about America. I would run naked through an acre of thorn bushes to have a burrito ultimo from Baja Fresh with that good ass hot sauce.
I don't want to pay £2 ($3.50) for a bagel with cream cheese. And might I add, a bagel so small it would get laughed right out of deli in Queens.
Thank God for the British imperialism of India or there wouldn't be an acceptable dish on this island. For the 99% that don't know, my favorite restaurant is called "The Standard Indian." He's tall, brown, thin and excels in math and science. No seriously the chicken tikka is good.
Let's move on to work culture.
Strange is a kind description. I say strange because it's the right word. Different would mean things aren't the same but make sense. Strange means something is off. Por ejemplo, WHY DO YOU LEAVE YOUR F'ING CELL PHONE ON YOUR DESK, ON, IN AN OPEN OFFICE ENVIRONMENT, AND THEN WALK AWAY LETTING IT RING FOR HOURS?
This is what is known as a convergent question, there is a finite range of acceptably accurate answers.
They include:
A) I'm an idiot and forgot my phone
B) I'm an idiot and a jerk
C) I'm an idiot and I'm deaf
But thank you to those who participate in this game, it makes me get up off my fat ass to hit that silence button. from now i'm just going to hit the answer button and walk away.
Also, have you people never seen a piece of fruit before? When the gross looking old hag drops off the fruit basket and the mad dash begins, you'd think you were watching an army of the constipated march. It's like they believe that jostling over the basket for that small fiber injection is going to dislodge the fecal buildup that a lifetime of beer drinking and fried fish consumption will bring you. Pathetic.
On that note, I learned that UK has an obesity rate of 22% while the US is still cruising at 31%. Still, for all the fat jokes I hear about Americans (I inspire a few), the Brits are not too far behind.
If you happen to pick up this week's issue of Jews Spending Money, you'll learn that young Will Stern has purchased himself a flight to Ljubljana, Slovenia. Yes, I bought a ticket to a city I cannot begin to pronounce. The not even close to honorable John Kirkman will be joining me as we head into some Yugoslav runoff that calls itself a country. What to do there I'm not sure. Skiiing and white water rafting are on the agenda. I think they have a brewery.
I learned that it is apparently safe, Ljubljana a city of 300,000 only has 1,000 in jail. Make room for two more.
As you read through Jews make sure to read the short article about "Other People's Money" that details how Stern paid for none of his hotel stay there thanks to the good people who employ Kirkman.
Tomorrow I play a little golf with the guys from my Lax team. My team here has nothing in common with the Lax players at Duke. For one, we have no talent, but we also don't have any trust funds so hiring strippers is out. Most of us can neither read nor write thus disgusting emails are also not possible. I don't write this blog, I dictate to a hobbit I kidnapped from one of the local shires.
Go Blue Devils! YORKE ALLEN.
Stern
I think my parents arrived the day of my last post and I've been occupied with free dinners, lessons on latitude from the fine exhibits at Greenwich and an excellent history lesson on the one and only Winston Churchill thanks to Miss Thatcher's salvation of the Cabinet War Rooms. Did you know that Churchill used to wear a full suit jumper to bed? When I say jumper, I'm talking about an outfit that is strikingly similar to what fat people in the US wear, usually bright in color and wedging itself between body rolls - but it's great and I wish I had one
Took the parents to Borough Market - the greatest market in London. See why below.
(yes that's my dad behind me already in line!)
Since I've blown by the first quarter of my stay here I figured it was time for a new segment properly entitled, Quarterly Update. This will provide me a chance to reflect on the major achievements, happenings and flat out disappointments of the last three months. Mostly it will allow me to negatively compare the UK versus the US.
Let's start with food (most food, not indian or borough market).
It's horrible and expensive here and it is the thing I miss the most about America. I would run naked through an acre of thorn bushes to have a burrito ultimo from Baja Fresh with that good ass hot sauce.
I don't want to pay £2 ($3.50) for a bagel with cream cheese. And might I add, a bagel so small it would get laughed right out of deli in Queens.
Thank God for the British imperialism of India or there wouldn't be an acceptable dish on this island. For the 99% that don't know, my favorite restaurant is called "The Standard Indian." He's tall, brown, thin and excels in math and science. No seriously the chicken tikka is good.
Let's move on to work culture.
Strange is a kind description. I say strange because it's the right word. Different would mean things aren't the same but make sense. Strange means something is off. Por ejemplo, WHY DO YOU LEAVE YOUR F'ING CELL PHONE ON YOUR DESK, ON, IN AN OPEN OFFICE ENVIRONMENT, AND THEN WALK AWAY LETTING IT RING FOR HOURS?
This is what is known as a convergent question, there is a finite range of acceptably accurate answers.
They include:
A) I'm an idiot and forgot my phone
B) I'm an idiot and a jerk
C) I'm an idiot and I'm deaf
But thank you to those who participate in this game, it makes me get up off my fat ass to hit that silence button. from now i'm just going to hit the answer button and walk away.
Also, have you people never seen a piece of fruit before? When the gross looking old hag drops off the fruit basket and the mad dash begins, you'd think you were watching an army of the constipated march. It's like they believe that jostling over the basket for that small fiber injection is going to dislodge the fecal buildup that a lifetime of beer drinking and fried fish consumption will bring you. Pathetic.
On that note, I learned that UK has an obesity rate of 22% while the US is still cruising at 31%. Still, for all the fat jokes I hear about Americans (I inspire a few), the Brits are not too far behind.
If you happen to pick up this week's issue of Jews Spending Money, you'll learn that young Will Stern has purchased himself a flight to Ljubljana, Slovenia. Yes, I bought a ticket to a city I cannot begin to pronounce. The not even close to honorable John Kirkman will be joining me as we head into some Yugoslav runoff that calls itself a country. What to do there I'm not sure. Skiiing and white water rafting are on the agenda. I think they have a brewery.
I learned that it is apparently safe, Ljubljana a city of 300,000 only has 1,000 in jail. Make room for two more.
As you read through Jews make sure to read the short article about "Other People's Money" that details how Stern paid for none of his hotel stay there thanks to the good people who employ Kirkman.
Tomorrow I play a little golf with the guys from my Lax team. My team here has nothing in common with the Lax players at Duke. For one, we have no talent, but we also don't have any trust funds so hiring strippers is out. Most of us can neither read nor write thus disgusting emails are also not possible. I don't write this blog, I dictate to a hobbit I kidnapped from one of the local shires.
Go Blue Devils! YORKE ALLEN.
Stern
