Candy Shop

I've always been sceptical about Tom Cruise's relationship in and with the media. But having seen La Cruise's recent interviews on Oprah and Access Hollywood I am now deeply suspicious.

And apparently I am not the only one who is. Check out this (shades of jim-jam) http://liquidgeneration.com/poptoons/tomcruise_katieholmes.asp

Long Day's Drive

Yesterday I drove to New York and back (a 650 mile round trip). And if that wasn't bad enough, yesterday was the beginning of Memorial Day holiday weekend, the official beginning of summer in the US, and a day on which when 31 million Americans are meant to be on the road going somewhere.

Most of the 31 million seemed to be lining up at the toll booths on the I-95. There are an obscene number of tollbooths on the I-95, which is the main road which runs up from Washington DC through Baltimore, past Philadelphia, through New Jersey and onto New York City. Some parts of it have so many tolls that you have only just wound up your window from the last toll before you are winding it down again for the next.

At the Holland Tunnel, which goes under the Hudson and emerges on the west side of Manhattan, you have to pay a toll of six bucks for a trip of less than one mile. It took about an hour to travel that one mile, though, so I suppose I got a lot of time for my money. (And just after I came out of the tunnel, I did see that trapeze thing in Battery Park that SJP goes on in the fifth season of SATC. )

I also made a point at stopping at as many service stations as possible on my trip. I can confirm that they are mostly just as horrendous as UK ones, except perhaps (surprisingly?) much smaller. And there is a great emphasis on the sale of NYPD t-shirts and fried chicken, and much less emphasis on all day breakfasts, newspapers (I saw only one newspaper the whole day, a solitary USA Today at the McDonalds in Gainesville, VA on the way home) and amusement arcades.

The only detour I did was in New Jersey. Having taken 2 hours to go 30 miles, I decided to leave the turnpike and have a look to see what else was in New Jersey, apart from gas stations where they won't let you pour your own gas or look at maps. The New Jersey I have known to date is mainly the bit near NYC which is one of the greatest holes on the planet: ad hoardings for discount jewellery, grim motels, and industrial wastelands belching smoke. Hotels around Newark airport actually have to hire off duty police to stand guard in the lobby all night. There are areas near Newark, NJ where you are advised never to stop your car and get out, not even if the car on fire and you are choking on toxic smoke from the polyester fluff on your dice. Perhaps this is why in NJ you are not allowed to pour your own gas.

The NJ I found off the turnpike, however, was like fairytale America. Rural: with fields that looked like they were growing things (central and northern Virginia does not have any of these), and a village that claimed to have been founded in 1697 but I still believe may have been a Disney film location dating from 1997. Every house was perfect, with red white and blue rosettes outside, a perfect village church, a village tavern, a village pond, and village post office. All that was missing was a village green with a cricket match in progress.

In case I was overwhelmed by this perfection I was reassured, however, when the vicious little man with bloodshot eyes at the BP gas station refused to let me look at one of the maps to see where the village was. He said I was not even allowed to look at the cover of the map unless I bought it first.

***

On the radio I heard about a striking worker in West Virginia who has been on the picket line outside his employer's plant since November last year. This week he was arrested for turning up on the picket line in a Grinch outfit, complete with mask. Apparently in many states, including W. Va, it is illegal to wear a mask if you are over 12 years old and it is not for health and safety reasons, and so this guy could be locked up for several months.

Last one out, turn off the lights

Peter Farqhuar is leaving Darden after only one year.
Yiorgos is leaving, allegedly on a two year break but methinks once he tastes the bright lights and big city he won't be back.
Mark Parry is leaving, for a mid western school.
Joe Harder is leaving, though he will be coming back to teach Spirit of the New Workplace and exec ed.
And of course the Dean is leaving. In the light of the seemingly failed search, they must be wishing they hadn't been quite so hasty to get rid of him.

PS the latest rumour is that Horniman is going to take over as Dean. Horniman has been on the search committee so this may be a rumour he started himself, however one must remember that his wife is a Very Important Person at UVA, knows Casteen and Block etc. It's not out of the realm of the possible. Like a sort of Benedict XVI appointment.

Time immemorial

Boxes packed today: it's only midday, but my target for this afternoon is 8.
Weather: cold, damp, and grungy, as has been and is forecast to be all week. Almost like I am being conditioned for going back to England.
People definitely coming to my Leaving Event so far: 5
Target attendance at my Leaving Event: 6

***

So I scored a semi big victory yesterday. My sometime evilemployers in NYC have agreed, after two weeks of badgering, to let me write a case about them. Now I just need to find a competition to enter it into. Winning competitions pays so much better than the actual writing of the cases.

Bizarrely, in the last few days I have had a whole load of folks offering congrats about my Page Society case competition prize. It's a bit odd because it was announced way back in early March. Just goes to show how slowly time moves in academia, I guess.

Talking of which, the search for a new Darden Dean is no longer running in slow motion: it appears to have stopped altogether. Originally the headhunters said they wanted to find someone by March to start in July. Then the search committee issued various flaky pronouncements about how they had hundreds of leads and were busy pursuing them. Then absolutely nothing. And now, although Gene Block, the Provost of the University and President Casteen's chief henchman, has done an impressive job enforcing secrecy during the search with his ceremonial truncheon, there are still enough Deep Throats round school for word to have leaked out that all three of the shortlisted candidates have turned the job down, including the first choice, Paul Danos, who is current Dean of Tuck.

The thing is, the rules of academic cricket say that anyone moving to a new university needs to resign from their old institution by April 1 of the previous academic year. And we are almost into June now, so it looks like we can't get a Dean from academia until September 2007.
Anyone know Carly's cellphone number?

***

I haven't written anything about graduation, which was on Sunday. It was fun being an observer, rather than a participant. However I was reminded once again of my major gripe from last year about the disgusting colour of the b-school and McEntire school mortar board tassels and hood linings. The medics get Robin Hood green, the lawyers, regal purple, the engineers, cheerful orange, and the architects, a sexy "blue violet" (ie, pink). What do we get? Sludge brown. Revolting. It would be better if we had red or black, depending on whether Darden was running a surplus or deficit that year.

***

In other graduation news, I worked the Second Year Pig Roast Graduation Picnic for the third year running on Saturday. I was chief parking superintendent, with a little pork shoulder carving on the side. It was kind of amusing having well meaning parents coming up to me to say don't worry, it will be your turn [to be a second year and have first years wait on you] next year. If only they knew.

I arrived at 2.30 to help set up, and was surprised to see that BFR was there with the GirlFromAcrossTheCreek. BFR apparently thought that his new girlfriend - who's not connected in any way with Darden and who knows no-one - would enjoy a date spent working the pig roast. They had been there since 12pm, and she was still lugging black plastic trash sacks back and forth when I left at 8pm.

I also managed to freak out David Perdue III's dad. David Perdue II is the CEO of a company called Dollar General, which runs those stores where you can buy anything for a dollar. My only previous acquaintance with Perdue pere was from a class he once sat in that I was in, and even then I barely recognized him. However, the Duncanadian introduced us, and I said hello, and then without thinking, blurted: gosh, it must be a busy week for you, what with your son graduating tomorrow and your first quarter results out on Thursday.

Now Dollar General is not a huge company by US standards (c$8bn market cap) and is neither famous or glamorous. The poor man just could not understand why a random girl at a BBQ in a stetson and pork grease stained t-shirt was so intimately familiar with his financial calendar.

Standing next to his super high achieving son, who is shortly off to Goldman Sachs in New York, I was not about to confess the truth, which is that my own evilemployers in New York were looking for someone to proofread the transcript of Dollar General's earnings conference call on Thursday.*

*A great opportunity I was unable to take advantage of, owing to my expired visa status.

In moderation

Boxes packed today: 2.5 (would have been more but ran out of packing tape)

***

While in the garage packing today, I was listening as usual to NPR. Alex Chadwick's show ran a report on the fact that apparently, scientists have found, sunshine may actually prevent cancer. It seems that our bodies rely on the vitamin D they produce from exposure to sunlight to fight a whole host of cancers, including, bizarrely, skin cancer. So seriously is this new study being taken, that the powers that be are apparently reviewing their guidance on staying out of the sun. The eventual advice, as with anything government feels the need to poke its nose into and decree upon, like eating carrots and burned toast or hunting bears, is likely to be "in moderation is OK".

But as a reporter on Chadwick's show alluded to, America is not about moderation. Immigrants to this country do not come with dreams of living moderately. (Britain, or Holland, are probably better places for doing that.) America is all about Monster ThickBurgers and Hummers; it is a land where the average wedding has ten groomsmen and ten bridesmaids and even trailer homes have multi-door refrigerators and 470 cable channels. What's the point of Las Vegas Lite?

Which is why the feds could have save a lot of tax payers' money not bothering to redesign their food pyramid or reconsider their advice on sun bathing.

Moving thoughts

Top 10 Reasons I am not going to be popular in London

1) I won't concur when gratuitously nasty things are said about Bush or the Republicans
2) I will keep exclaiming over the price of things.
3) I will say "like" a lot.
4) I may be heard to say "trash", "gas" and "elevator".
5) I will wear cowboy boots and listen to country music.
6) When not in cowboy boots, I dress like Barbie.
7) In restaurants, I will request iced water, menu substitutions, and dressing on the side.
8) I drive too slowly.
9) I split my infinitives.
10) My favourite phrase is "yes, may-yam"

The Single Reason why I will be popular in London

1) I've learned to always tip 20%

***

Today some people who I'd applied to about a job asked me for a writing sample. Normally when this happens I send off one of my cases or something. But this time I sent Vince's obituary. It was a job in New Jersey, and it seems appropriate that his name be known throughout his home state.

***

I heard today that there are some people who are bored by my blog. To these people, I would say, 1) you know where the Post Comment button is and 2) if you really don't like it, please do yourself a favour and stop reading.

Odd Tunes

Boxes packed today = 0, it was looking like rain.

***

So I was just on my way home from the bank, when I heard a song on the car radio which sounded rather unusual. Now I was tuned to 99.7, a country music station, and admittedly an awful lot of country songs are either a) depressing b) very depressing or c) about a woman on death row about to die from lethal injection (viz Loretta Lynn on Van Lear Rose, complete with Mr Cheerful Jack White Stripes on guitar). But here is a brief taste of the lyrics to this one:

I hear people saying we don't need this war/I say there's some things worth fighting for/What about our freedom and this piece of ground?/We didn't get to keep 'em by backing down

CHORUS Have you forgotten how it felt that day/To see your homeland under fire/And her people blown away?/Have you forgotten when those towers fell?/We had neighbors still inside/Going through a living hell/And you say we shouldn't worry 'bout Bin Laden/Have you forgotten?

Music has got very odd. I think people are running out of possible word combinations.

***

Today I applied for a(nother) job I don't want to do, in a place I don't want to live; however I am perfectly well qualified to do it.

***
I have nothing more to say today. There is nothing left to say.

In and out

Good news: got an unexpected - miraculous - even, tax refund check in the mail this morning.

Bad news: ... the dentist's receptionist rang this afternoon to say they want me in for my first three fillings at 9am tomorrow... and the bill will be $570 (ie, all my tax refund plus some...)

*

Good news: a cute, fun, very intelligent guy bought me lunch today

Bad news: ... he wanted to talk business (all right, and some gossip: but mostly business)

*

Good news: someone is buying Pat's car

Bad news: ... I am not confident it will start.

*

Good news: I'm going to the Graduation Pig Roast on Saturday...

Bad news: ... as chief parking supervisor.

*

Good news: somebody told me I looked hot today

Bad news: ...it was Barbara Millar

Goodbye, Sofa

Boxes packed = 0
Temperature = 65 degrees, unspectacular.
Suitcases the Czech ladies managed to wedge into my car going to the airport today = 9
Factoid of the day = Virginia is the 35th biggest state in the Union by square mileage, and 80% of it is forest.

***

Just got back from my weekend excursion to Richmond (Virginia, not on-Thames, though the two are apparently twin towns: that must create some interesting exchange trips..), home of the Confederacy, NASCAR, large tobacco companies, Ella Fitgerald, Warren Beatty, and as of Saturday, my furniture.

When I arrived in the US three years ago, I spent my very first night in Richmond. The following morning I was escorted by my local guide round the key sights of Richmond: namely, Home Depot, Target and CostCo.

This was quite an appropriate initiation, given that most Darden people only went to Richmond - which is about 65 miles away - for one of two reasons: 1) to interview at Circuit City or Capital One (both HQ'ed there); or 2) to shop at Target. I am definitely guilty on the second count, and indictable on the first, on the grounds that even I have taken the CapOne King's shilling when I did some consulting for them earlier this year.

But now there are additional reasons to visit. Just under one trillion of my classmates landed jobs at C1 or Circuit City in Richmond, and most of them are now happily ensconced in luxurious houses in leafy suburbs, with a choice of luxury spare bedrooms for me to sleep in. One of these houses is owned by Dave and EnglishHelen: and is now the new home of the little bits and pieces of furniture I have accumulated since I've been in the US.

Fortunately what could have been a sad day turned into a fun weekend. I had a few brief moments communing with my bed and sofa for the very last time, but Dave and EnglishHelen kept me far too busy trying to identify the mystery plants in their yard, splashing our clothes with bleach for a trendy 1980s look, and gambling on how many hours late Bob The Dawg was going to be for dinner.

***

BobTheDawg was on fine form (hi Bob). He was actually only 45 minutes late, which was a world record. Five minutes before he is due somewhere, BobTheDawg has this peculiar habit of deciding to clean a carburettor, paint someone's house, or rewire his stereo. Knowing this, I had promised to clean SapphireTheCat's litter box out with my bare hands if he showed up before 8, and he very nearly called me on it.

The food was great at the place we went out to: ate half a dozen Virginia oysters (factoid: the oyster is the state mollusc of Virginia - yeah, I know I said it was the clam yesterday but I looked it up and I was wrong) and a whole trout (the state fish) with herbs. Although I drew the line at accompanying this feast with milk (the state beverage), this outburst of Virginia patriotism must have overwhelmed me because I managed to leave my purse behind at the restaurant, complete with all my ID, credit cards, ATM card, everything. I didn't realize until I got back to Middleofnowheresville and went to the bank this afternoon.

guilty pleasures

Boxes packed today: 1 (full of stuff to give to Dave and EnglishHelen).
Temperature: 73 degrees, and hopefully rising.

***

Went to the End of the World party yesterday, traditionally held on the night after the last exam of the year. This was the third End of the World party I've been to, which is rather sad: but on the other hand it has helped me to realize that leaving Darden is maybe not literally the End of the World.

Because of the free bar, the place was heaving like a rugby scrum. I would not have lasted long had it not been for running into the Duncanadian. It was nice to see him. He's just got back from an exchange to a b-school in Barcelona for a quarter, and was telling us about the "Multi-Culti" they have there: their equivalent of Darden's International Food Festival.

I should explain that Darden's IFF, as with virtually every Darden social event, is sadly handicapped by the very heavy handed rules at UVA about alcohol consumption. It is rare for alcohol to be permitted anywhere on university owned grounds (even though we are all over 21) and those that are, are limited to plastic cups of watery Budweiser and Miller Lite, served by the director of student affairs and her sidekick. In fact, there was a major witchhunt following an IFF two years ago when an unidentified guy was seen allegedly urinating over a wall into the grass. With the tact and finesse we have come to expect from Darden, the school threatened to ban all alcohol from all school events ever again.

Barcelona's "Multi-Culti" however, is all about the booze. The Mexican table had tequila, the Croatian had a backpack full of grappa, and apparently the Spanish had a dartboard. The area your dart landed in dictated what bizarre regional drinking feat you would be challenged to complete. In the Duncanadian's case, this was drinking cider out of a five feet long tube. If this had been at Darden, it would have been iced tea...

***

PubHound's blog is all about guilty pleasures this week. Let's get them all out into the open. Here are my top five.

1) Watching six or more Dawson's Creek episodes back to back on DVD.
2) Lounging round in bed at the weekends cackling at This American Life on the radio.
3) Ordering nice underwear online.
4) Eating an entire bag of lychees in one go.
5) Reading a whole book in one go, no stopping for anything.

And yours?

Pimms, Scourge of the Innocent

Temperature: 64 degrees, looking like rain
Boxes packed = 0
Attempts to inject insulin into squirming cat = 2
Number of times student loan company called before breakfast = 1

***

BTW don't think that I haven't noticed that, with just a couple of honourable exceptions, no-one comments on my blog. Why is this? I know that lots of people are reading it, and I can't believe that everyone agrees with every word I say. You do realize that you can use a pseudonym?

***

This week, after a few days of hot weather and the arrival of new garden umbrellas, it seemed time to get the Pimms evangelism going again. Pimms, for the uninitiated, has been described by some as alcoholic fruit salad, but that is grossly undervaluing this fabulous concoction. It consists of gin and lots of top secret essences and extracts of god knows what, to which one adds ice, fizzy lemonade or ginger ale, and slices of lemon, mint, cucumber, strawberries, and apple. The beauty of this is that you can make it as strong or as weak as you like, according to taste and stamina. It is deceptive, however, particularly when the sun is strong. You can knock back several glasses as if it were iced tea, and then find that your legs give way when you try to stand up.

NB, this is not a cocktail. Pimms is a drink which should only ever be drunk in daylight hours, between the months of May and September, and god forbid you should ever add a cocktail umbrella or a cherry to proceedings. In fact, even in the bars of the Stewards' Enclosure at the Henley Royal Regatta it is only served by the pintful, in big fat beer mugs (going rate: about $15 a pint last time I looked, but I guess that's the price of doing business at Henley...)

***

Anyway, I started off on LandladyLynn. After practicing our syringe wielding technique at the vet yesterday afternoon, she looked like she could use a stiff drink. She said she liked it, but as a sample of one that was definitely not statistically relevant. So later I took all my Pimms paraphenalia with me to BigMouthLloyd and BostonKate's (for what I hope will be the first of many 222blonde-is-leaving-boo-hoo BBQs).

Now, people not born and raised on Pimms are always a little suspicious. While in the UK, it is drunk everywhere during the summer - in pubs or at home, at weddings or informal back garden BBQs, on college lawns in Oxford and Cambridge, or in splendour at Henley, Wimbledon and Ascot - in America it's not an easy drink to label, or be labelled by, either chemically or socially.

For American men, in particular, whose masculinity and self image seems entirely dependent on the tone of voice in which they order a Bud Light, the prospect of sipping a tall glass with strawberries and cucumber floating around in it is absolutely horrific.

And fear is catching. Even the women seem nervous. There is hard liquor (gin - mother's ruin) in the Pimms concentrate - most unladylike. Will it be too strong: will it reduce them to dancing on tables flashing their knickers after a couple of swigs?

***

My audience last night was semi impressed. TheSplash - clad in pink and white striped seersucker pants from J Crew which a more insecure heterosexual would surely have balked at - made some convincing sounding appreciative noises, it is true. And the others made polite efforts. But as we were half way down the drive departing for home, BigMouthLloyd came sprinting down the lawn with the perfectly good 2/3rds full Pimms bottle, insisting I take it home with me. This confirmed my worst suspicions. Pimms is a tough sell to the Yanks.

Far to Go

Boxes packed today = 0 (but have v good excuse)
Temperature = 86 degrees F
Number of tumours or cysts I have in my jaw = 0 (that's the good news I suppose)
Number of fillings the numero uno dentist in town says I have to have new or replaced = 12
Amount of money he charged me for this information = $329

***

Major exciting thing today.... Digs came round with a bulldozer and dug up the septic tank.

This is my cast iron (literally) excuse for not doing any packing today. The septic tank is right under the spot where I drag all my boxes out to be packed. Official announcement: all packing - not that there has been much of it going on this week anyway) is therefore suspended until Sunday.


Unearthed after twenty years: one septic tank.

***

I must say, American dentists are expensive and this one in particular is v v expensive, but to use a soccer analogy, they are Chelsea compared to the British NHS's Grimsby Town. All the mags in the waiting room are this week's latest. The furniture is mahogany, there are fresh flowers everywhere and the bedside manner of the dentist himself is breathtaking in its smoothness. Everything (well, I suppose they haven't started on the really bad stuff yet, but even so) is done with novacaine patches, TV cameras, lasers and ultrasonic water jets, to the sound of smooth jazz in the background.

I almost gave myself away at one point. I asked what metal they would use in my fillings. The Smoothdentist looked at me as if I was mad and said he hadn't used metal fillings for ten years. I am not sure if this is the case in the UK or not, seeing it is - horrible and exclusive internet confession here - well over fifteen years since I ran away from my last dentist's surgery.

My last dentist, in the UK, was a friend of my fathers (vaguely) so I have to watch what I say here. However, the long and short of it was that he told my mother that my wisdom teeth were out of whack and that I would need immediate surgery in hospital to dig them out before they grew backwards into my brain. The sixteen year old me decided I would sooner die of wisdom teeth in the brain than go to hospital. So I ran away from the dentist.

In case you are all thinking to yourselves, that explains a lot about the way her brain works: there are eight large teeth where the common sense should be, may I just say that the sixteen year old me was perhaps not so dizzy after all. Left to their own devices, the wisdom teeth grew in two years later, perfectly straight and healthy.

Wednesday's Child

Number of boxes packed today: 0
Temperature: 83 degrees F.

***

Technically today should be full of woe, because it's Wednesday. But tomorrow looks like it is the candidate of woeful day of the week.

The first bad thing that is happening tomorrow is that I am going to the dentist. I cannot remember the last time I went to the dentist: I am ashamed to confess that we're talking years not months. However, I do have several excellent excuses:

1) Shortly after I moved to Nowheresville, I was tricked into accompanying TheDentist as his date to the Annual Nowheresville Dentists Association Christmas Party. What I saw there did not hasten my signing up to a local dentist.
2) I find it extremely disconcerting to be prevented from talking in anxious situations.
3) I had a lot of bad experiences as a child (NHS dentistry was never known for its compassion or artistry).
4) I am British, and everyone knows we have bad teeth (look at Tony Blair, KiltGuy, etc)

Anyway, I finally succumbed to making an appointment with a dentist in March when I learned that LandladyLynn is a patient of the Numero Uno dentist in town. His name is Larry Brannon, and he was not at the Dentists Christmas Party. Officially he will not take new patients, but LandladyLynn has been a patient of his for 14 years and she got me in to see him. I've only had to wait two and a half months for my appointment: I suppose in that respect it is comfortingly reminiscent of home. What will NOT be reminiscent of home is that this guy is expensive. You may go home with great teeth, but you will be missing an arm and a leg.

***

The other reason tomorrow is a woeful day is that SapphiretheCat has been diagnosed with diabetes. He is due to go to the vet for his initiation into what will be a twice daily regime of insulin shots. Poor LandladyLynn is terribly upset. However, given that the alternative diagnosis would have been kidney failure, I guess it could be a lot worse.

The Stones They Are A-Comin

Just imagine: Mick here... on 6 October. (photo is Scott Stadium in early November: note t-shirts and shorts...)

DMB

Number of boxes packed today: 0
Number of boxes packed yesterday: 0 (was in DC most of the day)

Number of slices of Czech apple strudel eaten yesterday: 5
Number of friends wearing orange trousers yesterday: 1

***

Who? I can hear all my British friends saying. The DMB?

I could not leave Middleofnowheresville without explaining.

Without a doubt, Dave Matthews is the biggest man in Nowheresville. Not because he has enjoyed remarkable success in competitive funnel cake eating contests, although the residents of Nowheresville naturally believe that if he had time to enter he would surely sweep all before him.

Dave Matthews is everywhere in town. He and/or his business manager (a shadowy figure named Coran Capshaw; it is common to see black clad men lurking around town at night muttering into cellphones "Coran is very clear about what needs to be done here..." ) own just about every decent eatery, music venue, and prime piece of real estate in town; run an internet retailing company, bankroll 28 local charities, and are probably, directly or indirectly, Nowheresville' second biggest employer after UVA itself.

But that's not his biggest claim to fame. Dave Matthews, Nowheresville's favourite son, is the front man of one of America's biggest "alternative" rock groups, The Dave Matthews Band, aka DMB). To put this in perspective: piece of evidence number one: the DMB over the last eight to ten years has been one of the highest earning bands in the US: they can apparently sell out stadiums of 100,000 people. Piece of evidence number 2: the other day in the South Street Brewery, we saw a Nowheresville girl who had persuaded the great man to sign her shoulder blade, and then had it tattooed in for posterity, complete with a Wall Street Journal esque portrait of The Dave etched alongside.

***

Q. Is this man good looking? Is he a sex god? Is he Simon Le Bon? Er.. no. He looks like a completely anonymous bloke, pudgy cheeks, balding on top, but with a sort of pained artistic expression on his face.

Q. Is his music any good? Taking my life into my hands here, I would hazard to say that to my ears it is unrecognizable and instantly forgettable, almost dirge like. But then what do I know, I'm not a native daughter of Nowheresville. Someone, politer than I, described his stuff today as "laid back, so laid back you don't notice it's there".

Q. Why is the DMB totally unknown in the UK? Well, see above. Though, I would not be entirely surprised if I learned The Dave and his band did not possess passports.

***

HUGE NEWS hot off the press: the Rolling Stones are going to play Scott Stadium (ie, the UVA football field) in 'Nowheresville this summer. Coran Capshaw (naturally) is already being given the credit for setting it up.

The advantages of Paddington Travel

I need to take a leaf out of P. Bear's book.

Travelling with only a hatful of marmalade sandwiches and a small attache case makes a whole lot of sense.

I, however, came to the US with 21 boxes of air freight, weighing just over 500kg. At the time, it seemed to make sense - paying for storage in London was, unbelievably, going to cost more than my sister's discounted BA cargo charge, and that's not counting all the money I would have had to spend buying new bedding and dishes etc when I got to the US.

But things are never that simple. All 21 boxes were "accidentally" put on a plane to New York, instead of Washington where they were meant to go. Then, in a brilliant flash of inspiration, BA put all 21 boxes back on a plane to London, where they were reloaded onto a flight out to Washington. Only 20 boxes, however, were released to me when I was eventually called to collect them at DC. One was missing: the one containing all my underwear...

***

It is hardly surprising that I have been resisting returning to the UK. The prospect of repeating this little adventure is not appealing. And although I've been doing my best to "bequest" or donate or plain throw away as much stuff as I can, it seems likely that I will have even more boxes to take back with me.

So for the last week, I've been in the garage, trying to sort out and repack this mass of stuff. It's an Operations problem that would tax even the mighty Ed Davis, so much so that today I seriously considered trying to write an optimization spreadsheet that would tell me how to divide up stuff between air freight and surface (a function of handling limits, $ cost, cubic feet, weight, urgency of need of the contents, the price of New York crude oil for June delivery and the number of cardboard cuts on my fingers).

Bridget Jones liked to keep track of cigarettes, calories and National Lottery scratchcards. I, contrast, will be keeping daily and cumulative total of number of boxes packed from now on on this blog.

Today's magic number: 17.

Partayed Out

This partying-like-it's-1999 business is getting tiring.

Buddhist Biker, South Street, Bang (where, I realized this evening, with the exception of the tuna sashimi pizza, I have now eaten every single thing on the menu), Rapture, ZoCaLo, Wild Wings, West Main...

- I am known to every bouncer in town, and then some. I have a variety of quips in my back pocket for when they take one look at my face and say it won't be necessary to see my ID.

- I know which places you need to take your own toilet paper to.

- I know how to wedge the Explorer into the very last free parking spot in town, often to the applause of an awed audience of passers by who obviously have never lived in London.

- I know precisely which Darden people will be there, no matter where it is we go or how hard we might try to escape them: NoCatDan, WeirdTallDarren, SouthernTallGuy and the perennial DaveRouse.

- I know where the cops wait on the R250 to pick up late night speeders and DUI on the way home.

***

Tonight was a bit unusual because it turned out that a bunch of Darden acquaintances were in town for a wedding: John Garofalo's, at Farmington. John Carr, Andy Sidford and Breeze Taylor(now dating), and Justin Zandri. And where else did they decide to have their prewedding party but the upstairs bar at Rapture?

JohnG was one of those Darden guys who always dated really attractive women from out of town. He's ended up marrying one too, rather conveniently. Anyhow, any satisfaction I was feeling at being able to fit into my not-so-large 7 jeans right now was completely dashed when we went upstairs to join the party and saw all these tiny women in size 2 pants, gold sandals, immaculate blown out hair and painted-on freckles. It makes one wonder why one bothers.

Election 05

Dear American Friends,

How The British Cover Their Elections 101: a short video .

I should explain by way of a bit of context that the man being interviewed was a Labour MP who liked to go on all expenses paid friendship missions to Saddam Hussein’s Iraq. Kinda like Hanoi Jane, but without the looks. He has also been quoted as saying the disappearance of the Soviet Union is the biggest catastrophe of my life.

Anyway, after Britain went to war in Iraq, this guy was kicked out of the Labour Party (for, among other things, suggesting that British soldiers should disobey their orders). He then became leader of RESPECT (the Socialist Worker Party rebranded for the 21st century) and moved to a very poor, very multi-ethnic area of east London to run for election there.

So, maybe not a guy that most people in the UK have a whole lot of sympathy for, whatever their views on Iraq.

However, bizarrely, in this interview he ends up coming out as the sane one. Go figure.

Cinco de mayo

Big day today: Visa Expiry Day, Last Day of Classes (for second years), the DRC end of year BBQ, the UK general election, and of course, Cinco de Mayo.

(Cinco de Mayo, for all my English friends, is an anniversary of an obscure battle between the Mexicans and the French, which even in Mexico itself is celebrated in only one province. However, in the United States, it's used as an excuse for a party by everyone who's ever even tried to spell Mexico. Sombreros and alcohol and jalapeno pepper eating contests are much in evidence.)

Anyway, my big day ended with me propped up on a kitchen stool talking to ASM's roommate at 1.30am. ASM's roommate is a peculiar colour: very pale, as if he never gets outside. He's also not much of a party animal: in fact ASM's friend Cherbs thought she might even take him on in an Evelyn/Adam sort of of project to liven him up a bit. However, he got a whole lot more interesting this evening when I found out that he is actually a serving Navy officer, and better still, when he graduates from Virginia Law he is going to transfer into JAG... we all know that those uniforms are totally hot.

***

The rowing club BBQ went well - surprisingly superlative burgers (courtesy of BFR, who is in love with the girl across the creek, and excellent sausages and beer (courtesy of the CFYRG). The only people missing were TheSplash and SmoothMike. Unfortunately we got evilAaron instead. When asked for something towards BigMouthLloyd's leaving present, evilAaron lied and said he had already contributed. If the CFYRG had not restrained me (and he does seem to have a peculiar ability to defuse such circumstances) I would have gone over and probably got myself in a major fight with the nasty little s**t.

Anyway, a much nicer thing that happened was that TallPete came to the BBQ with his little daughter - maybe four or five years old. Just before they went home, TallPete brought her over to where I was sitting, and she boldly asked me if I was a princess. Ahhh. I can only attribute her confusion to the fact I was wearing pink and white and had pigtails in my hair.

***

In some ways, it has occurred to me, my visa being up is a good thing. For starters, it means I don't have to do any more slave labor for my EvilTaskmasters in NYC, because it is no longer legal. What a great excuse.

The 'Crew

Not crew as in rowing, no.

I decided to make a start on my To Do Before Leaving List.

I went down to Fashion Square (site of the John Grisham Charlottesville massacre scene) to have a little chat with the manager of J Crew. I had hoped he would see reason.

After all, I have been an excellent customer, as are increasing numbers of my British friends. Only a month ago, I sent a parcel of JC goodies onto PubShy in London, and last week the CRM was unceremoniously dispatched there to buy a pair of Foxfield worthy pants.

I had not bargained with the fact that the J Crew manager is a pathetic corporate amoeba. He said he would have to ask head office permission before he could post stuff from his store to England. Even if it was paid for in advance by a US-issued credit card? Yes.

The game, I knew, was up.

***

Of course, head office said no. I could have told him they would say that, and saved the price of an out of area phone call.

We had a brief and lively (on my side) debate. His side of the conversation involved repeating the words "corporate policy, corporate policy, corporate policy" over and over again until he became a Distinctly Boring Corporate Amoeba.

***

I went home, determined not to give in. I rang J Crew's customer service center, just down the road in Lynchburg, Virginia, and politely asked if someone could tell me the reason for the corporate policy that J Crew do not want any overseas customers.

The girl, astonishingly, went to find out.

"Well ma'am. The reason is that there is not enough demand."

"No demand??? How do you know?"

She went to find out.

"Our New York office does surveys of our customers."

"And these would be customers in the United States?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Do you see any logical flaws in this argument?"

***

I dictated a long message to her to pass onto these people in New York.

Mr Big

This isn't going to be a long one, 'cause it's 3am and I had too many Mr Bigs (powerful white cranberry cocktails from Bang) tonight and need to go to bed.

I must say we underestimated SouthernTallGuy. We all thought he was a bit of a dork, you know: shy, not competent with women, keeps his J Crew polo shirt buttoned up all the way to his neck etc.

But it turns out he is a veritable fiend when it comes to undergraduates. Even applying an 85% discount rate to his claims of having scored 10 women this academic year, that's an impressive number, given that most Darden men who try to pull undergraduates get their egos shattered in record time.

In fact, one reason there weren't too many guys at SSB tonight was because a bunch of Darden men were having an "I'm hot, you're rich" social with the Theta sorority. We're talking about a bunch of fat, balding, humorless 29 year olds pursuing 19 year old undergraduettes here. It ain't a pretty sight.

Four days and counting

Technically I have four days before my visa expires. Plus a few days (non-working) grace to leave the country.

It feels timely to try and compile a list of Good Things About Going Back to England.

1) See more of my mum
2) Go to Villa games (combined, conveniently, with 1) above)
3) See more of family (and friends, those who remain) in general
4) Supermarket food
5) Curry houses
6) um....

Now, a list of Things I Need to Do before I Go:

1) Have Quiet Word with manager of local J Crew store (about sending me care packages.. cause J Crew don't normally ship outside the US)
2) Buy large bottle of Kentucky bourbon
3) Eat Fried Chicken for last time
4) Tell Mark Reisler to stuff himself
5) Take back that library book I took out in 2002

... andA List of Things I Probably Won't Get to Do But Wish I Had Done

1) Found a Virginia wine worth drinking
2) Been to Williamsburg
3) Been to beach
4) Skied
5) Been more Charitable ( community good deeds)
6) Mastered the 3-turn