April 2003 Archives

I love to say that the lack of an update yesterday was due to not being able to squeeze it in among the hectic events of the day. I'd love to say that, really. The truth is more mundane: I didn't have anything to write about. Still don't, really, but now I can write about why I didn't write yesterday. Aha!

There's nothing quite like sitting outside in the sun, talking with friends on IM, buying music from the fabulous new Apple Store, and wondering what I'm going to do next. Which reminds me that I should start looking into buying that wireless router for back home.

Back to writing my goodbye letters now. It's turning out to be quite difficult. I spent five hours working on two yesterday (not spending all five hours on them, but writing a little, wondering what to say next, ripping it up and starting again, going off and doing something else for a while...), which seems like an extraordinary amount of time for two one-page letters which aren't exactly mind-blowing. I've now finished Rishi's, Laura's and Sona's, so just Kavi and Shafaq to go now. But I think I'll have some lunch right now, as I've just realised that I haven't eaten food since yesterday morning...

When somebody asks you to join in with a football game, it's probably a good idea to remember that a) you haven't played football for over five years, b) you're really unfit, and most importantly c) that hip thing can come back at any time.

Now, where did I put the antiseptic?

There should be more people who believe in unbridled optimism and make wide-eyed, starry statements. There's so much cynicism about these days.

Which, in a fortunate coincidence, brings me to my current musical obsession:

You can mock all you like. This record is fabulous. It's just so earnest, so musically pure and heartfelt, yet maintains a sense of humour about itself, so it doesn't feel like the group is trying hard to "keep it real" (unlike, say, refusing to use any sonic equipment made after 1963, which is just stupid). Instead, they acknowledge their sentimentality, embrace it, and refuse to apologise for their actions:

But if you see a man crying, hold his hand, he's my friend.
If these words sound corny, switch this off, I don't care.

The album is filled with wonderful tracks: "The Celtic Soul Brothers" is as good as an opening song as you'll ever going to hear, delineating the record's intent with broad strokes; "Jackie Wilson Said" (a Van Morrison cover) is transformed into a majestic love song, full of bombast and swing; "I'll Show You" contains the quote mentioned above, and is a lament on all the people left behind in today's world (or Thatcher's world, if we're considering the time period, but anyway).

And, rounding off the album, there's "Come On Eileen". Taken in context, the song is altered beyond all recognition; it transcends the "song played at weddings after Wham!" label it has been afflicted with, and becomes an affirmation of the album's principles; a joy-filled celebration of soul, pure and true.

I'm off to enjoy the sunshine.

If you thought that my going to a frat party was amusing, I have just two words: salsa club. I know I'm not supposed to be putting myself down, but come on.

Enough of this negativity. Instead of remembering the bits where I wanted to run out the door, let's remember the parts where I was having fun, shall we? Good. Let's move on.

Apparently, every year, Chapel Hill holds an Apple Chill fair. The main section of Franklin Street is cordoned off and filled with stalls selling pots, jewelry, and food. And more food. But no apples in fridges, so the name remains a mystery. In further attempts at cultural exchange, I had my first funnel cake (a huge plate of fried dough covered in powdered sugar — one serving is enough to double your cholesterol level instantly), and I explained that cotton candy is known as candy floss back in Britain. They didn't like the imagery that the different name conjured up; I'd never thought about it before, but they do seem to have a point there.

The weirdest food choice would have to be the corn. Yes, corn-on-the-cob. On a stick. Not something that I expected to see. Or that there would be a queue for that sort of thing.

We arrived fairly late, so when we got to the merry-go-round, it had just closed. But it wasn't playing any carousel music, so we convinced ourselves that it wasn't all that good anyway, and we didn't mind missing out. Denial is such a great thing.

Hurrah! Another fire alarm. I suppose I should leave, before the flames consume the building. Or, more likely, when the firemen turn off the over-boiling pan...

Okay, so I've been staring at a blank screen for close to an hour now. Maybe I should think about writing something.

Last night, then. It began with a comical UNITAS dinner in a fairly small Chinese restaurant. The expression on the proprietor's face when we casually requested a table for fifteen was priceless. They eventually managed to squeeze us onto two tables. If nothing else happened this past year in America, i have discovered the joy of sesame chicken, so it hasn't been a total loss.

As far as I was concerned, that was probably going to be it for Friday; Rishi was on duty, and so couldn't leave the hall at all (he wasn't best pleased about missing the final Friday of the term). He's the one who normally organises these things, so I wasn't expecting anything to happen. Not that I minded too much, either, as Thursday's outing had turned out to be more depressing than enjoyable.

Having said all that, when Laura asked me if I wanted to go to the Carolina Coffee Shop with her, I didn't hesitate in saying yes. She was writing a feature on somebody for one of her courses, and he was performing at the Coffee Shop that night. I'm not exactly sure why she asked me, of all people, to go along with her, but I'm happy she did.

We spent an hour or two at the coffee shop (which, incidentally, doesn't sell coffee. It's all very confusing), talking about music, stalking, politics and other weird and wonderful subjects, before going on to her friends' doom room. They live in a triple-bed room, but there's only two of them there, so they turned the third bed into a bar. Seriously.

I'd just like to pause here and point out that I've now spent five hours writing this entry. It doesn't show, does it?

Anyway, it seems that there's a competition between Laura and her friend (I'm fairly sure her name was Nicky, but I'm so hopeless with names I can't say that with any certainty) about who is the most English. Even I was beaten into second place behind Laura, as both her parents are English, but I was given bonus points for having an authentic accent. It's good for something, i suppose.

After roughly an hour there, we all decamped to go to the "Moat Party" in the Greek area of the university. Yes, that's right, a frat party. You can pause for giggles as you try to imagine me at one of those things, if you like. I'll be over here. The idea behind the party is that they create a moat around several of the Greek houses and… actually I'm not sure if the reasoning gets more involved than that. I presume that they imagine that the combination of water and alcohol needs little explanation. Of course, as the weather had been rather miserable all day, the moat was sparsely populated, and looked more like a large children's paddling pool, but these things never quite work out in reality.

We didn't hang around too long (did I mention that it was a frat party?), instead choosing to go back to the hall and watch Office Space with Rishi and Shafaq. At 2am, naturally.

I'm going to miss this place, and the people. My main regret is that it took me so long to come out of my shell, and by then, it was already too late. Oh well.

That was quick.

All I'll say is that I knew that my knowledge of fairly obscure British bands would get me in trouble eventually.

Something I tend to forget is that, although the site has a regular audience of under ten, people who you'd least expect also come through here every now and then. So I shouldn't have been too surprised when Allison mentioned that she'd been reading the site. I apologise for not having been to the cinema for over two months; there just hasn't been anything I've considered worth watching. Hopefully that should change this weekend, as I'm going to try and see All the Real Girls and Better Luck Tomorrow (recommended by the normally-reliable Charlie Chu).

Re: the last entry: still have Michael Collins quotes lodged in my brain after ten years…

Oh dear.

Kavita has joined me in the never-ending fight against the coming squirrel tyranny. We shall overcome!

Stupid thoughts that cross my mind, number #134 in a series of ∞: isn't it strange that the Patron Saint of England is famed, for, well, killing things? Not exactly saintly, is it?

I had a whole theme ready for today's entry, but I'm feeling a bit unwell, so you'll just have to go without. Sorry about that.

Against all expectations, I did have a good time last night, so things aren't all bad.

Okay, according to the BBC, he didn't actually kill a dragon. Somebody lied to us when we were growing up, you know...

Today's entry was quite long. It had a reasonably amusing fictitious conversation with a supermarket clerk, various shots at how I seem to be slipping into American far too much, ending with a shouting match between myself and the iBook's dictionary over the spelling of 'centre', a filler paragraph about 24, and some more gubbins about how the day went. That was followed by some links to the current situation, with a wisecrack about the US military's plan to get Seoul razed to the ground, and the news that there's children in Camp X-Ray. I finished by mentioning that I was going out tonight, which could be fun, or could leave me wanting to jump out of the window again. The track playing was a fine tune by Charlie's Angels by the name of "It's Never Gonna Happen To Me", in the pleasing faded gray Verdana font.

And then of course, the Internet swallowed the entry. NetNewsWire didn't like that, and so crashed, obliterating my entry (which yes, I had saved as a draft, but NNW seemed to forget about that bit). Did I mention that I hate computers? I did? Excellent. Keep it in mind.

Apologies, then, for this shoddy entry. The original was far better, I promise you. Perhaps it's better this way; now that you know that another copy of today's entry existed in this universe for a brief period of time, you can imagine that to be the perfect web post, full of erudite charm and wit. And there's no chance of you seeing the real thing and having your hopes dashed, either. Dream on, my young heroes, and (At this point, the writer been sedated for his own good. We would like to apologise for his behaviour. And believe us, having seen the original version, we can safely say you're not missing much — Ed.)

I think my favourite part has to be on page 7:

"That's the way everything in life happens. If you're a person known to be around Jesus, you can go and do anything. And that's who you guys are. When you leave here, you're not only going to know the value of Jesus, you're going to know the people who rule the world. It's about vision. 'Get your vision straight, then relate.' Talk to the people who rule the world, and help them obey. Obey Him. If I obey Him myself, I help others do the same. You know why? Because I become a warning. We become a warning. We warn everybody that the future king is coming. Not just of this country or that, but of the world." Then he pointed at the map, toward the Khan's vast, reclaimable empire.

It'd be funny if they weren't serious...

I have rediscovered The Cure. Bwahahaha. And I'm checking up on hermit tailors.

Typical. I go away for a few days, and return to discover that my favourite comic has been cancelled. On the other hand, considering that Marvel would have been justified cancelling it at #35, I suppose I should be glad that they stuck with it for so long. Priest seems to be taking the death notice in his stride, focussing his attention onto the new CREW book, which looks quite interesting. While it's a sad moment, no-one thought that a comic starring Panther (and written by Priest, of all people) would go beyond twelve issues. Yet it managed to last six years. So, let's not feel too sad about its untimely demise.

Today entry is a bit later than usual. This is due to me taking hours to fill out the UNITAS survey. It's for the scrapbook that is produced each year by the residents of the floor. It's supposed to be a record of who was there, and what happened. To help, everybody was given a huge questionnaire to fill in. By huge, I mean that there were 40 categories, and for each category you had to choose both a female and a male member of the floor. Exhausting. But thankfully anonymous.

In other news, I've worked out how to get five hours of battery power from my iBook. Which is quite nice. The trick is to turn the brightness of the LCD all the way down, as this eats much of the power (yes, if I wasn't thick, I would have thought of this before — obviously the LCD is a large drain).

The only thing worse than a nightmare is a dream where everything seems to be going right. Then you wake up, and the slow realisation creeps over you. It never happened.

I'm here all week. Try the tuna...

At two in the morning, those three words don't inspire confidence. Especially when you're convinced that you made a wrong turning a few miles back. However, we managed to make it to the beach house without being savaged by alligators, bears, or deer. And we only got stopped by the police once (this was a friendlier officer, in case you're some sort of freak who reads entries backwards. You should probably seek help).

The weekend alternated between the standard "I'm having a good time here" and the sadly usual "Oh God, I'm a social misfit — I should probably just throw myself off the top of the building and do everybody a favour." This is why I'm so much fun to be around, people. Smiles and existential crises, all for $37.

We arrived in two groups; nine of us on Thursday night, and the French contingent of five arriving late on Friday. It turns out that there's not a lot to do in the Outer Banks. But! But! They do have the largest lighthouse in America. We visited that on Friday, to discover that a) tickets to climb the building were $4, and more importantly b) the lighthouse had only reopening yesterday after a year of renovations, so all the tickets had sold out. Rishi was undaunted by this, and sweet-talked one of the wardens into letting us in for free ("We're international students from Chapel Hill. We've come all this way just to see the lighthouse" and so on).

For those reading at home: yes, I did climb up the lighthouse. All 208 feet. None of the others knew I was scared of heights, but soon found out as I started to fall apart. They were very supportive and helpful, and so I managed to take this picture:

That was probably the high point of the weekend, actually. That was followed by the extremely uncomfortable part of the day where the girls cooked the evening meal (I helped wash up, set the table, and take things out of the oven, but I felt very guilty).

And then the French people came. Which was the signal for me to retreat back into the shell; Sona and I were the only two there who didn't speak multiple languages, so we were left out of a lot of the conversation (me moreso, due to the normal situation) until later on in the night, when Rishi and Shafaq took pity on us. Shafaq got quite drunk that night, and treated us to some authentic Bhangra dancing. Yes, I know how that sounds, but it was amazing to actually see somebody do it in person

Saturday was a very short day. Due to people not going to sleep until about 5/6am, we didn't get out of the house until three in the afternoon. At this point I suppose I should mention something about the weather. It's only traditional of course. Three words: English Bank Holiday.

We're now going to take a break while I get control of my breathing back. And, as I've already written the final paragraph, I'd just like to point out that the first item cannot be emphasised enough. Oh, have a look at the house that we stayed in.

Anyway, yes, the weather. That's what the English talk about, when we're not enslaving half of the known world (yes, just to add the weekend's woes — English White Guilt. Did I mention that I'm a hopeless case? I did? Good. So, we'll move on then?). It started out fairly sunny, but as soon as stepped onto the beach, the sun went away, and the rest of the trip was spent under a gray cloud. Of course, as soon as we left, the sun came out again.

Rishi decided that Saturday, therefore, would be the best day to visit the sand dunes. Admittedly, they were impressive, but with the gale-force winds, it was like someone had transported the Sahara to the North Pole. Have a look at a picture:

Saturday night itself was fairly low-key, as supplies of alcohol had been drained to dangerously low levels. As I said, not being able to speak French, Portuguese, or Spanish was just one of a myriad of reasons why I felt slightly isolated (This is possibly the worst travelogue in the history of Man, but I want to point out that I don't actually regret going, as spending Easter alone in Chapel Hill didn't sound like an intriguing prospect. And hey, I seem to be able to touch-type. Now, back to the story, wherein Ian doesn't do a lot and goes to bed at 2am. Oh, that is the rest of the story. Erm. I think I should probably close the bracket sometime soon. Okay, here it comes).

The journey home started off nicely, as the sun decided to make a welcome reappearance, but this soon changed. About two hours into the trip back, we were pulled over by a police car. Remember, we're in the South, Sona (who was driving) is Amercian-born, but is of Indian decent, and we're all students, who are obviously no-good liberal communist-supporting drug-abusing hippies. It was not pleasant. Especially because he kept avoiding Sona's questions; it took him three attempts of asking to find out what speed he was going at, and he refused to be identified beyond "Trooper Williams". Sometimes, it seems, stereotypes can be true. Not the best way to end a holiday.

Things to remember from the weekend: no matter how bad you're feeling about yourself, there's always a way to feel worse; "over there" is possibly the worst thing you can say to a person who is legally blind; trust your clothing labels over Rishi's advice on trouser length; North Carolina police officers are not people you want to trifle with; if someone can't see, youwill be invisible if you don't speak, and never, never attempt to buy pizza if the group is six or larger.

Final group shot:

I know it's childish, but I really had to fight the urge to jump the bunny at the mall today.

All packed and ready to go. See you again on Sunday.

Security forces 'aided' loyalist murders

This needs to be addressed now, before I come back home: last Saturday, I accidentally called a football a soccer ball. I'm so sorry. I am willing to be sent to the English Re-Education Tea Camp as punishment.

New crazy guy in the Pit today. A proper crazy person; not somebody who was willing to have a theological argument. No, this was a man clutching a Bible, decrying the "homosexuals and lesbians that are teaching our children that we're descended from apes!" It was like watching a real-life Usenet troll in action. Including the part that I never understand about this type of person — he's been coming here since 1979. Surely, at some point, they must realise that people aren't listening to them? Couldn't they go and something more productive instead? Like construct a machine intelligence that can only be defeated with Shake'n'Vac?

There's probably only five people on the planet who understand that last sentence. And I'm not sure that I'm one of them.

I love the Internet. There's always someone ready to take things a little too far. Filthy nostalgia aside, there's nothing inherently scary about a site about the BBC Education show Look And Read When you see that they have a page dedicated to the precise transmission schedules (from the 1960s onwards), it's a little creepy. On the other hand, it's nice to know that someone is cataloging this type of history.

There might not be anymore entries on this site for the rest of the week; I'm apparently going to the Outer Banks for the weekend. I'll be leaving on either Thursday or Friday (I'm still a little hazy on the details), and come back on Easter Sunday. So if I don't have a chance beforehand, I hope everybody has a happy Easter weekend. But watch out for those bunnies.

I may have to spend the first month of coming back home doing nothing but watching DVDs. Thanks to everyone for wishing me a happy birthday, and special thanks to my family for sending me a helium balloon. In a box. GENIUS.

Surprisingly, this is my first birthday away from home; when I was at Manchester, it was always in the Easter break. Which makes today a little weird, but I'm sure I'll get used to it.

I didn't mention this yesterday, but the professor was very impressed with the slides I made for last week's lecture. Nice to know I did something right.

DVDWatch:

• Wait Until Dark (slowly getting there)
• Where Eagles Dare (Clint Eastwood as Nazi Killing Machine!)
• The Iron Giant S.E. (Suuuuuperman!)
• The Hot Rock (classic William Goldman film that inspired the title of the fourth Sleater-Kinney album)
• Sneakers (special new edition with fancy-free features)

Updating, because I can: Oh dear. So that's why they're changing me $800 for a flight home. And for those of you fretting about me not celebrating, Rishi is seeing to that tomorrow, so worry no longer.

I've just finished watching the Three Colours Trilogy. The ending was cute. I did, however, get a similar feeling as when I re-read the Pirate sections in Watchmen — stop hitting me over the head with the colour symbolism! Please!

Did you know that during the run-up to the November 2000 Presidential Election, over 50,000 people were excluded from the Florida electoral roll, due to having a criminal record? And that not only were these names never checked to see if the exclusion was correct, some 500 people were disenfranchised for committing crimes supposedly in 2007?

Greg Palast is an American investigative reporter who currently writes for the Guardian and the Observer newspapers back in Britain (plus some Newsnight reports on the BBC). He can't get a job in the USA, because of the stories he writes. Over the past few years, he's exposed corporate involvement in the death of Tanzanian workers in gold mines, Enron's finances and manipulation of the Californian energy crisis, and the 2000 election. Katherine Harris calls him "tyrannical and a maniac".

He's got a book out, The Best Democracy Money Can Buy, which is a collection of his writing for the Guardian/Observer (with some extra material which was subject to D-Notices or removed for libel law reasons in the UK), and today he visited Chapel Hill as part of a book tour.

As you can imagine, he's not particularly enthused with the current Administration. He brought a raft of letters and papers, from the closed FBI file on the bin Laden family (re-opened on 13th September 2001, fact fans), to the letter that Katherine Harris received from Jeb Bush about the 'scrubbing' of suspected felons from the Florida vote. Plus lots of jokes. It was an interesting way to spend an afternoon; full of strange connections and fun stories of interviewees suddenly realising that they've going to be asked awkward questions, and calling state troopers to remove the interview crew.

One question though. Palast kept mentioning that in British law, truth is not a defence for libel. Now, my knowledge of libel law is limited to things I've read about Ian Hislop, but I thought that British law gave two exceptions - one for truth, and the other for 'fair comment'. Care to explain (or is it that the burden of proof is on the defendant in the UK, while US law places burden on the prosecuting side)?

Hrm. Something ate today's original entry. Probably for the best. Imagine some pointless mumbling and apologising for not answering email. And a predictable joke involving Saddam Hussein and Mötorhead. You didn't miss much, honest.

Something to remember if you're ever planning to stage a picnic in a national park: if it has been raining heavily for the past week, it's probably a good idea to phone ahead to see if, say, the park is completely flooded and they won't be allowing visitors for some time. Still, the car ride was nice...

Anyway, after not finding any open entrances to the park, we went back to the hall and had the "cook-out" there (yes, it's much the same as back home, except there's no alcohol anywhere). Then I was introduced to a popular playground game, Four Squares.

It's a fantastic game; like French Cricket, it has no concept of scoring, or really any point at all, except to start playtime arguments. It goes like this: The game is played inside a large square subdivided into four smaller squares. Each square contains a player, with everybody else lining up by the side of the court. One square is called the "King" square, and that person gets to serve (oh, by the way, it's played with a football). The idea is that the ball has to bounce once in your square, and then you have to get the ball inside another person's square before it bounces or goes out of the court. If you fail to do this, or your shot goes out of the court before bouncing, you go to the back of the line. The rest of the players on the court move anti-clockwise to fill up the empty space, and the person at the front of the line enters in the free space. And so on.

Simple. Pointless. And we spent over two hours playing it.

HULK SMASH PUNY FIRE ALARM! HULK CRUSH ALARM! HULK IS THE SLEEPIEST THAT THERE IS!

At least, it was at 1am this morning, when Kavi was reading her current book assignment to me. I'm still not entirely sure why she thought that was the best use of her time, but anyway...

I have presents! But they're wrapped. Boo. And some hiss. They're just sitting underneath my bed, saying "Unwrap us! No-one will ever know!" Of course, we all know that that's not true, so they'll just have to stay wrapped up until Tuesday.

Also, I'm going to write this down here so I remember it in the future: when the forecast says it's going to rain, it probably will, so it's your own fault if you get caught in flood conditions while walking to Carrboro. Silly.

Get Your Syria On. I'm really hoping that someone, just someone in the Bush Administration has their head screwed on. Or are they simply going to conquer the entire Middle East?

Yesterday's fun juxtaposition: the Iraqis being freed from their oppressive leader, while back in Congress the groundwork begins to make the PATRIOT Act permanent. And here's the Secretary For Education, who obviously needs a good kicking. IS THERE ANYBODY IN POWER HERE WHO ISN'T INSANE? ANYONE? BUELLER?

You know, I was fairly happy when I started writing this entry...

I think it almost managed to last twenty minutes, after I dragged it out to include corrections to the previous homework assignment. It was terrible, but as someone pointed out to me afterwards: at least I made the slides myself and didn't stop in the middle of the lecture to realise I'd made a mistake ten minutes ago...

In today's other news, I have been visited by the Vending Machine Pixie. This morning I got two cookies from the CS department's machine for the price of one, and the machine downstairs gave me a bottle of Cherry Coke in addition to the Diet Coke I wanted.

Senator John Kerry is kicking it old-style. He's looking like the most interesting Democrat candidate so far (although I can't quite shake off the McGovern similarities); not that it'll probably matter. Mind you, the original Bush had a huge popularity rating after Gulf War I, and look what happened to him...

Dick Cheney! They let him out! I feel so much safer.

No, I don't know why they're arguing about the Belgians either.

I want to stab the TV with a thousand white-hot knives. "I'm so proud to be an American!" Take that, you anti-war scum! Is it so hard to imagine that people can be pleased that the Iraqi people are freed from the old regime, yet still abhor the way that America went about starting the war in the first place?

This must be a hoax. Please, tell me it's a hoax. I don't want to live in a world where such things are possible. What's next, Citizen Kane 2004, starring Seann William Scott and Clare Kramer? My Fair Lady starring Catherine Zeta-Jones? The Italian Job starring Mark Wahlberg and...oh. Get my gun, would you?

Words of encouragement from Sona and Laura. The window option is still quite tempting, though.

Today's educational moment: a "cook-out" is American for what we would normally call a barbeque, apparently. I've been invited to one on Saturday, so I'll report on further differences then...

Obviously, the cockroaches just couldn't wait for a nuclear holocaust. We're DOOOOMED!!!

However, the broadcaster did not feel that the use of the word "tosser" had been inappropriate for inclusion in a programme whose presenters made much of their Mancunian bluntness.

Sigh. I miss Mark and Lard. Mind you, in just a month's time I'll be able to listen to them again.

The professor has complete confidence in me. I, on the other hand, appear to be in for two more sleepless nights. Hurrah! Or something.

This war is confusing. You turn on Fox, and we've already taken most of Baghdad, met minimal resistance, and everybody loves us. Go over to Iraqwar.ru, and Russian military intelligence seems to indicate that the US/UK forces are having a hard time holding onto the airport, let alone securing Baghdad itself.

At last! A situation where knowing what P = NP means actually turns out to be useful...

Since I got out of bed this morning, there has been precisely one event which didn't make me regret venturing out of my room. And I'm fairly sure I managed to screw that up anyway.

But yes. A frantic call from the professor. He has to go to Ohio later this week, to attend his uncle's funeral. Which means I have to give Wednesday's lecture. Oh dear. I still think that attempting to fake my death on Wednesday morning is the best option. Or, turn up in a SARS mask and refuse to hold the lecture on health grounds.

I don't have the words to describe how I feel about this. Well, actually, that's a lie, but most of them aren't printable. Blackmailing for Jesus!

Finally! A Democrat contender with a spine!

John Simpson's interview.

The RIAA has filed suit against four college students for copyright infringement. $150,000 in damages for each song illegally shared. One student shared 652,000 songs, so he's facing a fine of $97 billion. Enough to buy a CD for every person on the planet. I think his credit rating is going to suck for a few years...

There's a rugby team here. Yes, a real team, with no body armour or anything. They're a proper team as well; last Thursday they went on the town, got completely drunk, and started a fight. Some things are apparently universal.

Bah. My Jane Eyre/The Rock crossover was years ahead of its time...

Fox News from history.

It's midday, and the weather forecast says that today is likely to be the hottest day of the year so far. Obviously, a sensible thought at this point is "Hmm. It looks nice. I think I'll go outside." An insane thought would probably be something like this: "Hmm. It's a nice day. I think I'll try and walk to New Hope Commons."

I got to the Sheraton Hotel before I finally saw sense.

I have Pez things. And Cadbury's Fingers! Thank you, Mum...

Yes, Bill Hicks quotes may now be considered passé, but who cares when they're so apt. Unless of course it's all a trap to lure the Allies into Baghdad and then launch a counter-attack, but I'm sure Donald's thought of that.

And you can watch in real time. Admittedly, the camera seems to be more concerned with Baghdad's early morning traffic patterns at the moment, but I'm sure that'll change in the next few hours (or days, depending on whether the Americans stop advancing).

It's not as hard as it looks. You just have to wait until all the cars are gone (note: this technique doesn't work so well at 5pm).

Yes, I have pictures of Morgan Creek. It occurred to me afterwards that I could have taken pictures of random houses that weren't an hour's walk away from the campus, but that wouldn't have been very nice. So I braved the bugs, the bees, and the other flying things which defy classification on a British scale (except: ewww. Oh, and Big! Flying! Thing!). All in 28˚C heat. I'm sure you feel sad about that.

Having listened to the new Radiohead album a few times now, I think I can best describe it in the following way: what would happen if you put The Bends, OK Computer, Kid A, and Amnesiac in a blender? Well, for a start, you'd probably be down 4 CDs, and the blender wouldn't be quite as healthy as it was before you decided to do something as stupid as blending CDs. Arf. It really does sound like a mixture of their past four albums, although it leans towards the later releases more than some people I know were hoping (i.e. I don't think Richard is going to like it). It doesn't make my heart melt like the Saturday Looks Good To Me album (which, sadly, you will be hearing all summer if you're around me, so consider this a warning), but it isn't a disappointment. Also, rumours indicate that this leaked release might not be the final version, so you may still need to buy the album, copyright infidels...

And so, I have decided that once I have conquered the world, and the people bow to my wishes, I shall eliminate the phrase "tilting at windmills", and order the removal of every person called Brad. Have you ever seen anybody tilt at a windmill? Ever? If so, could they just have been leaning in a slightly awkward direction? Was there a point during the Middle Ages when somebody said "Stop tilting at that windmill, Jeremy. You'll put your eye out?"

Oh, okay. It's from Don Quixote. But still, it's stupid, and must be eliminated. Your ruler has spoken. Obey.

I managed to avoid lots of April Fool's jokes, but instead found myself attempting the test that my students will be taking tomorrow. And failing miserably. I followed that by a final attempt to get that Athlon chip working in my computer. As you can imagine, technology laughed in my primitive face. Addendum to my wishes, once the world is all mine: find the inventors of the PC architecture, and torture them for fifteen years. They will be forced to repent for the sins of LIM EMS! The blasphemy of the POST! And so forth.

To finish the day off, I sat in the Pit, and had a three-hour theological argument with today's Guy In The Pit. He came across much better in person than he does on his website, now that I'm actually reading it:

However, being a Catholic does not necessarily make one a Christian.

Umm, I'm fairly sure that it does, you know. Given that Catholicism is one of the two main branches of Christianity...

Anyway, it was an interesting discussion, although he couldn't answer one of my main points: The Trinity insists that Jesus, God, and the Holy Spirit are the same thing, aspects of God. God is All-Knowing. Therefore, he knew that he would be resurrected after he was crucified on Good Friday. Which, to me at least, seems to cheapen the notion that he died for our sins. If anyone (i.e. Phil and his brotherly connections) wants to put me straight on this, please go ahead. I'm genuinely interested.

UPDATE: I'd just like to point out that St. Anselm didn't understand the concept of infinity when he wrote the Monologion...

UPDATE 2: Who died and made Paul head of the Church? Oh.

UPDATE 3: I have spent the last hour reading about St. Augustine, St. Thomas Aquinas, and St. Anselm. Truly, I have no life.

UPDATE 4: I like updates.

UPDATE 5: Look, I have to be stopped. I'm now looking into irreducible complex systems, Zeno's Paradox, and other anti-Evolutionary arguments. Zeno's fairly easy, but then I've studied a bit of Cantor, so—HELP ME! SOMEONE!

UPDATE 6: *cries* I'm now reading the Second Council of Constantinople (not Istanbul). There is no hope for me.

UPDATE 7: Okay, so when I brought up that Jesus wasn't strictly human today, I was told that God worked through Jesus to perform the miracles. However, the Second Council seems to say that the two were one and the same. In fact, it uses quite strong language to that effect.

Stop laughing at me.

UPDATE 8: And now, the Apocrypha. An intervention! I'm begging you!

UPDATE 9: Seems to me that Peter has Secret Diary of Sam Gamgee-type issues:

Peter also opposed her in regard to these matters and asked them about the Savior. "Did he then speak secretly with a woman [cf. John 4:27], in preference to us, and not openly? Are we to turn back and all listen to her? Did he prefer her to us?"

Thomas will kill him if he tries anything.

I'm so going to hell for that one..

UPDATE 10: I finished Kavalier and Clay over a month ago. I just haven't got around to changing the graphic.

UPDATE 11: Stopping now.