Well I'm pretty cold right now. My cunty landlord always turns the heat off. I know that frugality is smiled upon, but having a lot of money doesn't do you much good if you're dead and frozen.
I was going to write something else and vent about something, but I think the process of my nipples freezing off kind of took the forefront of my mind.
I'll keep in mind to post more here.
I've just been inundated with stuff to do at my school-- which is awesome.
Just draining and befuddling as well.
Excuse my lack of eloquence.
I'm going to finish some note-work on my feature scripts and a piece I'm trying to get done over the holidays and then I'm sliding into bed where hopefully I won't suffer hypothermia and pass in my sleep.
The best part is, if I don't die, I still have to deal with the tube strike tomorrow.
God this is so awesome.
Adios.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Revival
So as we nearly approach the one year anniversary of this unattended blog, seeing as I yet again across the Atlantic on this rain slicked rock in the sea, I felt it prudent to jolt this lifeless abomination with some juice.
London.
Enchanting though you are it surprises me the simplest things, beyond your control, which so mercilessly mar and disfigure your visage in my eyes.
Securing housing, for example, is a challenge I was exceptionally ill prepared for on the psychological front, though I've no doubt that physiology is also taking part to add to the grim nature of my circumstance.
Most of all company which seems always to find the swiftest route to my most sensitive nerve endings, turning the fire beneath my silent rage from spark to inferno.
Even now I wish to throw at them verbal lances and pin them to the wall before tearing their world asunder.
I will be elated when the situation is resolved and my life can again become the happily coursing river it once was. This deluge of drama is intolerable.
I'm off to make a cup of tea.
I hope you survive your day.
London.
Enchanting though you are it surprises me the simplest things, beyond your control, which so mercilessly mar and disfigure your visage in my eyes.
Securing housing, for example, is a challenge I was exceptionally ill prepared for on the psychological front, though I've no doubt that physiology is also taking part to add to the grim nature of my circumstance.
Most of all company which seems always to find the swiftest route to my most sensitive nerve endings, turning the fire beneath my silent rage from spark to inferno.
Even now I wish to throw at them verbal lances and pin them to the wall before tearing their world asunder.
I will be elated when the situation is resolved and my life can again become the happily coursing river it once was. This deluge of drama is intolerable.
I'm off to make a cup of tea.
I hope you survive your day.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Cooking is Fun
Just for kicks I thought I'd toss up what I've prepared and eaten for the last two nights. If anyone [namely my father] takes interest, I'll be sure to make this a weekly update.
10/01/09
2 chicken thighs
1 chicken drumstick
Salt
Pepper
- Heat pan, add olive oil. Put chicken in pan, put salt and pepper on top, turn and fry all exposed area until meat is cooked through and all exposed skin and flesh is browned and crispy.
1/2 large potato, chopped
1/2 large onion, chopped
1/2 large tomato, chopped
1/2 yellow bell pepper, chopped
5-6 chives, minced
1 clove garlic, minced
1 spring green union, sliced
- Heat pan, add olive oil. Add onion, cook till 1/4 translucent. Add potatoes, salt and pepper, stir/toss often. When potatoes are partly done, add tomatoes, peppers, garlic and green onions. Cook until potatoes are tender.
Serve and nom.
Save the leftovers for lunch the next day. 8D
_________
10/02/09
1/2 yellow bell pepper, chopped
1 whole firm, but ripe mango, cut into chunks
1 medium garlic clove, minced
4-6 chives, minced
Combine, mix, and put in the fridge to chill.
1/2 large potato, chopped
1/2 large tomato, chopped
1 large garlic clove, minced
4 chives, minced
5-6 sprigs parsley, minced
- Heat pan, add oil. Add potatoes, salt and pepper. Half way through cooking, add tomato. When just done, add garlic, chives and parsley. Add more salt and pepper if desired.
Serve and nom potatoes.
Eat fruit/veg/herb/garlic salad after.
Try it at home, kiddies. 8D
10/01/09
2 chicken thighs
1 chicken drumstick
Salt
Pepper
- Heat pan, add olive oil. Put chicken in pan, put salt and pepper on top, turn and fry all exposed area until meat is cooked through and all exposed skin and flesh is browned and crispy.
1/2 large potato, chopped
1/2 large onion, chopped
1/2 large tomato, chopped
1/2 yellow bell pepper, chopped
5-6 chives, minced
1 clove garlic, minced
1 spring green union, sliced
- Heat pan, add olive oil. Add onion, cook till 1/4 translucent. Add potatoes, salt and pepper, stir/toss often. When potatoes are partly done, add tomatoes, peppers, garlic and green onions. Cook until potatoes are tender.
Serve and nom.
Save the leftovers for lunch the next day. 8D
_________
10/02/09
1/2 yellow bell pepper, chopped
1 whole firm, but ripe mango, cut into chunks
1 medium garlic clove, minced
4-6 chives, minced
Combine, mix, and put in the fridge to chill.
1/2 large potato, chopped
1/2 large tomato, chopped
1 large garlic clove, minced
4 chives, minced
5-6 sprigs parsley, minced
- Heat pan, add oil. Add potatoes, salt and pepper. Half way through cooking, add tomato. When just done, add garlic, chives and parsley. Add more salt and pepper if desired.
Serve and nom potatoes.
Eat fruit/veg/herb/garlic salad after.
Try it at home, kiddies. 8D
An Expanding List of Pubs I've Visited
The BrewMaster, Leicester Square
The John Baird, Muswell Hill
O'Neills, Muswell Hill
The World's End, Camden Town
The Elephant Head, Camden Town
The Devonshire Arms, Camden Town [You can tell I absolutely hate Camden.]
The Alexandra, Muswell Hill [Though I've yet to order there yet.]
The One Tun, Bloomsbury
The Duke of York: Greene King, Bloomsbury
The Duck N' Dive, Univerity of London Union, Bloomsbury
The John Baird, Muswell Hill
O'Neills, Muswell Hill
The World's End, Camden Town
The Elephant Head, Camden Town
The Devonshire Arms, Camden Town [You can tell I absolutely hate Camden.]
The Alexandra, Muswell Hill [Though I've yet to order there yet.]
The One Tun, Bloomsbury
The Duke of York: Greene King, Bloomsbury
The Duck N' Dive, Univerity of London Union, Bloomsbury
A Brief Aside
Upon looking over the photos, nearly three weeks in now, from my exploits in London, I completely and entirely forgot that for nearly the first week I had- what I felt to be anyhow- a massive, reddish brown scab on my face I received from some hot cooking oil that splashed on my face before I left the states. Flipping through the photos, I thought it looked like a small spot of ketchup or some such. I realize that it looks so insignificant and would I just left it alone it probably would've healed in four days instead of longer with me picking away at it.
Funny how things go like that.
A longer, more worth while post will be along within the next few hours.
Funny how things go like that.
A longer, more worth while post will be along within the next few hours.
The Cultural Orgasm that is Camden Town
You stare, from the corner of your eye, down the barrel of a shotgun- you feel the eager desire of the shot nestled within its chamber grinning, you are sure, with delight at the immanence with which it will soon be burrowing through your skull. You've been warned of this, of the fate which you so willingly set yourself to, a fools fate, a laughable fate. Your body should be tense, every muscle fiber taught, and quivering in anticipation for the thing with which you are about to marry, to be forever wrapped and warped with by a smoldering conflagration: you'd been told to prepare yourself.
Bowed upon your tender knees, thin moments before the hammer trembles upon its silvery, delicate hinge and swiftly swings to execute the duty which you so foolishly asked of it, you do no such preparation; kneeling upon the cold stone, damp with some unknown wetness. You but notice one word etched into the metal of the gun, a stolen glance of your assailant.
You hear a flash and smell- for but an instance- gunpowder, of a variety which you know to herald from India, and grease which is often shipped from Mexico.
You breath in.
Camden.
You brain and blood spray across the walls in arcs painted with sundered angel wings or demon wings or some other winged thing unknown to the eyes of man, glistening dazzlingly in the fire and sparks still rocketing from the orifices of the shotgun, the orange-white glow mixing opulently with the deep red sliding in great drips down the aged stone; collecting in the crooks and crevices betwixt the bricks, only to fill and spill further down and pool into the splattered collective of your once intelligent bits, now lain bare upon the floor.
Camden Town.
A Labyrinth of Wonders.
You hear of it before you smell it, you smell it before you see it, and you see it before your mind is removed and thoroughly disposed of by all the wonders kept snugly tied within its confines.
I'm referring specifically to the Camden Lock Market and interwoven Camden Stable Market, though the conjoining sections of Kentish Town Road or any branch from the square where the tube empties should by no means be discounted.
The smell of High Street, I believe is it called, is a savory, decadent one; a lesser version of the mouthwatering extravaganza of the Lock and Stable markets where you would be hard pressed to not walk through the billowing aromatic clouds wafting from food vendors rooted at every street corner and seeding thoroughly through out. Chinese, Thai, Indian, Crepes, Italian and even Mexican cuisine are available in delightful excess. These stands need no advertising, the smell alone draws patrons in droves to their counter top. Stitch in the intermittent curl of incense smoke, slithering up from a lit stick crouched by a shop door; the occasional wave of sumptuous leather tang rolling out from among thousands of other perfumes native to each respective good for sale within the market and the Lock and Stable Markets are an veritable olfactory orgy.
The visuals of Camden Town are, to say the least, overwhelming; especially when throngs of people swarm through the narrow passages like minnows within a great coral reef. The trodden gray stone streets, framed ever tightly by lofty buildings, further truncated from the world by thousands of reaching shade canopies from store fronts, further stuffed with steel-lace pagodas and monstrously massive metal horses are the walkways which spill out into vast plazas, exhaling the sweet riches packed within the thin market mazes to the sky above and city beyond. Even outside the Lock and Stable Markets, the tall shops that line the street leading in are decorated with fantastic sculpted figurines that advertise the wares within as no two dimensional sign ever could; massive Chinese Dragons peer down bemused, giant Scorpions dangle shoes of equal size above pedestrians below.
The most notable example of this is Cyberdog, whereupon potential patrons are greeted by two giant metallic cybernetic figures standing like soldiers at either side of the store entrance in stark contrast to the rustic, stone and iron Marketplace. A human worm shuffles in and out of Cyberdog ceaselessly, a testament to their keen advertising and amazing product. The whole of Cyberdog is nothing but silver metallic and clean whites, neon lights and low black lights, their wares to sell being raver attire. upon entering the vast chasm of pulsing techno beat, you can spot the various wonderfully outlandishly dressed attendants ready to answer any questions that may arise from the constant sea of people. High above on platforms jutting out from the wall, two dancers move- liquid popping- to the music, clothed in the goods of the store. A steep escalator takes shoppers downstairs to the real merchandise floor which, underground, stretches for yards and is filled with menagerie of designs and accessories.
Most of the Lock Marketplace is above ground and stretches the length of the Camden Lock. Somewhere within the perplexing network of that Marketplace several entrances to the Stables Marketplace are found, two of which descend to be subterranean. I've yet to trek the whole of either Marketplace, let alone the bits below of the Stables Marketplace. But what I've seen herein so far has been the biggest clash of culture that I've ever seen. It's absolutely remarkable how different clothing styles, cultures and people can traipse the streets side by side with not a shred of disdain for one another. It's like some miraculous sort of equilibrium in this gorgeous city that balances out every walk of life into a harmonious blend so savory you'd want steep it and sip it every morning instead of coffee.
Naturally I don't live there or have the benefit of drinking in the atmosphere everyday, and I've no doubt it gets tiresome, as everything does. But at the moment, Camden Town is be far the most whimsical and peculiar of places, a spiced bizarre in the midst of tight laced London. Not to suggest that the quaint and quiet of High Barnet, where I reside, is no less satisfactory. I wouldn't live anywhere but where I do, even if I live here full time.
Camden Town is simply a wonderful place. I plan to visit there as oft as I can, while spending as little as I can. A tall order for a short individual; a challenge I am often faced with and take great pleasure in accomplishing.
I must hop to the bath and get ready for the Fresher Fayer today, whatever is left of it. Trying to network with Brits.
Wish Me Luck. ;3
8D
Bowed upon your tender knees, thin moments before the hammer trembles upon its silvery, delicate hinge and swiftly swings to execute the duty which you so foolishly asked of it, you do no such preparation; kneeling upon the cold stone, damp with some unknown wetness. You but notice one word etched into the metal of the gun, a stolen glance of your assailant.
You hear a flash and smell- for but an instance- gunpowder, of a variety which you know to herald from India, and grease which is often shipped from Mexico.
You breath in.
Camden.
You brain and blood spray across the walls in arcs painted with sundered angel wings or demon wings or some other winged thing unknown to the eyes of man, glistening dazzlingly in the fire and sparks still rocketing from the orifices of the shotgun, the orange-white glow mixing opulently with the deep red sliding in great drips down the aged stone; collecting in the crooks and crevices betwixt the bricks, only to fill and spill further down and pool into the splattered collective of your once intelligent bits, now lain bare upon the floor.
Camden Town.
A Labyrinth of Wonders.
You hear of it before you smell it, you smell it before you see it, and you see it before your mind is removed and thoroughly disposed of by all the wonders kept snugly tied within its confines.
I'm referring specifically to the Camden Lock Market and interwoven Camden Stable Market, though the conjoining sections of Kentish Town Road or any branch from the square where the tube empties should by no means be discounted.
The smell of High Street, I believe is it called, is a savory, decadent one; a lesser version of the mouthwatering extravaganza of the Lock and Stable markets where you would be hard pressed to not walk through the billowing aromatic clouds wafting from food vendors rooted at every street corner and seeding thoroughly through out. Chinese, Thai, Indian, Crepes, Italian and even Mexican cuisine are available in delightful excess. These stands need no advertising, the smell alone draws patrons in droves to their counter top. Stitch in the intermittent curl of incense smoke, slithering up from a lit stick crouched by a shop door; the occasional wave of sumptuous leather tang rolling out from among thousands of other perfumes native to each respective good for sale within the market and the Lock and Stable Markets are an veritable olfactory orgy.
The visuals of Camden Town are, to say the least, overwhelming; especially when throngs of people swarm through the narrow passages like minnows within a great coral reef. The trodden gray stone streets, framed ever tightly by lofty buildings, further truncated from the world by thousands of reaching shade canopies from store fronts, further stuffed with steel-lace pagodas and monstrously massive metal horses are the walkways which spill out into vast plazas, exhaling the sweet riches packed within the thin market mazes to the sky above and city beyond. Even outside the Lock and Stable Markets, the tall shops that line the street leading in are decorated with fantastic sculpted figurines that advertise the wares within as no two dimensional sign ever could; massive Chinese Dragons peer down bemused, giant Scorpions dangle shoes of equal size above pedestrians below.
The most notable example of this is Cyberdog, whereupon potential patrons are greeted by two giant metallic cybernetic figures standing like soldiers at either side of the store entrance in stark contrast to the rustic, stone and iron Marketplace. A human worm shuffles in and out of Cyberdog ceaselessly, a testament to their keen advertising and amazing product. The whole of Cyberdog is nothing but silver metallic and clean whites, neon lights and low black lights, their wares to sell being raver attire. upon entering the vast chasm of pulsing techno beat, you can spot the various wonderfully outlandishly dressed attendants ready to answer any questions that may arise from the constant sea of people. High above on platforms jutting out from the wall, two dancers move- liquid popping- to the music, clothed in the goods of the store. A steep escalator takes shoppers downstairs to the real merchandise floor which, underground, stretches for yards and is filled with menagerie of designs and accessories.
Most of the Lock Marketplace is above ground and stretches the length of the Camden Lock. Somewhere within the perplexing network of that Marketplace several entrances to the Stables Marketplace are found, two of which descend to be subterranean. I've yet to trek the whole of either Marketplace, let alone the bits below of the Stables Marketplace. But what I've seen herein so far has been the biggest clash of culture that I've ever seen. It's absolutely remarkable how different clothing styles, cultures and people can traipse the streets side by side with not a shred of disdain for one another. It's like some miraculous sort of equilibrium in this gorgeous city that balances out every walk of life into a harmonious blend so savory you'd want steep it and sip it every morning instead of coffee.
Naturally I don't live there or have the benefit of drinking in the atmosphere everyday, and I've no doubt it gets tiresome, as everything does. But at the moment, Camden Town is be far the most whimsical and peculiar of places, a spiced bizarre in the midst of tight laced London. Not to suggest that the quaint and quiet of High Barnet, where I reside, is no less satisfactory. I wouldn't live anywhere but where I do, even if I live here full time.
Camden Town is simply a wonderful place. I plan to visit there as oft as I can, while spending as little as I can. A tall order for a short individual; a challenge I am often faced with and take great pleasure in accomplishing.
I must hop to the bath and get ready for the Fresher Fayer today, whatever is left of it. Trying to network with Brits.
Wish Me Luck. ;3
8D
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Small but Prominent News
I have internet at my house.
Rejoice in that updates will be more frequent and far less disjointed.
HUZZAH 8D
Rejoice in that updates will be more frequent and far less disjointed.
HUZZAH 8D
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