Sabado moribundo

So today I woke up puking. Well, not literally woke up puking, but I woke up feeling sick, and after a few minutes lying in bed trying to make myself feel better I realised I was going to let it out sooner or later, so I just let it all out... many times. Ick, hadn't vomited in a long time... forgot how disgusting (but good) it feels.

I didn't puke because of the alcohol, though. Didn't have nearly as much. But I did have a kebab on the way back yesterday, and I'm 100% sure it was that. It happened some time ago, only that I didn't puke then. But I did spend the whole day tossing about. I hate kebabs... but when you're starving in the wee hours of the morning and that's all you've got, it's the only thing you can do. Eat the poison!

Not much happening today, just chilling at my flat and listening to music. What else can you do on the day after you go out drinking (and, most importantly and stupidly, eating kebabs)? However, I do have a rant ready to go.

I found out via Pietro that Vzla's flag had changed. I knew the shield was bound to change as someone had mentioned it to me, but when he sent me a graphic of a flag with 8 stars I just couldn't believe it. But I never believe anything that Pietro says--I always double check. Sadly, I found a report on the BBC that confirmed it. So here we go:

WHAT THE FUCK!? I might be known as the communist here (or Red Jimmy), but I fucking hate that guy!? Why the fuck would he go about changing our flat just like that? And how come I had to find out via Pietro? Fucking disgrace! BUT, there is a funny side to all this (small... very small, but still there). If you visit the presidency site, you'll notice that on the right, where the Vzlan shield is displayed, it's still the old one. Yep, Chavez's webpage still has the "revolutionary" shield (or "el escudo moribundo" as I'm sure he said at least once). Go on, take a look: http://www.venezuela.gov.ve/. And there you have it. Fucking cunt...

Today Ryan and I watched Downfall (the film about Hitler's last days)... very good film. I just have a comment, though. Everyone goes on about how "even Hitler had a girlfriend." Well, it's not much of a surprise, is it? I mean, he was quite powerful, and we all know women will go after powerful men even if they are complete brutes. It's just the way women are. Same thing with fame. You see ugly guys that are famous with these gorgeous women, even guys who you know are idiots. I mean, even Ronaldo and Ronaldinho get laid, don't they?

It's a bit o' the Irish

My sincere apologies to my faithful readers. I'm really sorry about the delay, I've sort of been busy in my own special way (call it lazy if you want). I now make it up to you.

So today was St. Patrick's Day. Now you know what that means: go out drinking and partying, obviously! Ryan had done some work as well (first time this year, I believe) so it was an even more special occassion. So well, the plan was to go down to the pub, drink quite a few Guinness' (Irish stout beer) and earn a Guinness hat in the process, and then head down to Legends (the club) for a good night out.

So well, we end up leaving the flat at 7, and you just know that nothing good can come of that (leaving so late on a day when people start drinking at noon). As expected, every bloody pub is filled up to it's maximum capacity, so we're not sure where to go. I suggest the Percy, where they play good music (most of the times... sometimes... I'm still not sure--very unpredictable). So we manage to make it in and it's packed. But the music is great, so we decide we'll stay. The bummer, though, was that they had run out of hats, so that meant that no matter how many Guinness' I drank, I wouldn't get my hat. Shame, really. We could've tired going elsewhere, but we managed to find a place to sit down and there was good music (where probably elsewhere they'd be playing the crap music they always do).

I leave the table to go buy my round, and much to my amazement, I get asked for ID. I was hurt. Really hurt. First time in Newcastle (when I haven't been with Steve) that I've been asked for ID. Disappointing. But well, I did have my passport with me (lucky, eh?) because I had taken it the other day to the doctor's just in case and I had forgotten to take it out of my jacket. So well, when I make it back to the table I see Ryan's talking with this strange guy. Hmmm. He's a Geordie, you can tell right away. Not only because of his accent, but because of the way he looks (I won't say anything just in case... dont' want any trouble). I'm trying to make out what they're talking about, but it's really difficult given that there's loud music and his accent is... well... Geordie. He sees me evesdropping so he start talking to me as well. Fuck, what a mistake. It turns out that he had asked Ryan what he was doing and he had told him Ancient History, and then the Geordie bloke was trying to persuade him into becoming an engineer. Not only that, though, but also to join the army as there he would learn everything he would need. Although he kept saying that he wasn't trying to persuade anyone, it was clear that he was. He later asked me what I was doing and when I told him IS he left me alone... perhaps he has no problem with computer people.

We finally manage to break free after about 20 minutes (that's right, 20 bloody minutes!) and we just make our way to the other side of the pub, hiding from the guy. We had always been told that Geordies were really friendly, but this friendly? Fuck me. I really needed to piss, though, so I took a risk and went to the bathroom (it was on the other side of the pub, very close to where we were sitting). I seem to go by unnoticed and well, go up the stairs and take a wee. When I'm done, I turn around and see the guy taking a piss right next to me. Fucking hell, I didn't know what to do, so I just saluted him and moved on. Rushed out.

We stayed a while more at the pub (again, good music, you don't get that everywhere) and we even picked Creeping Death (Metallica) to be played... and it did! Ah, good stuff. But then it was time to leave, the club had opened and we were risking getting caught. So we headed.

When we left the flat earlier, we had agreed not to take coats. Why? It's a pain to take care of a coat at a club, so we thought we'd leave it at home and just put up with the cold. We were going to be drinking at the pub anyway, so that'd warm us up. And then when we got out of Legends we'd be all sweaty (and, again, we'd be drinking) so it would be okay. But it was fucking cold. So very very cold. We were both going to freeze, so I suggested that we'd jog to Legends. Ryan agreed so we just jogged across the Newcastle city centre. Yes yes. People looked at us as if we were insane, which, of course, we were. Ryan had to make a pit stop halfway through, though, so I had to make sure that no policemen saw him. I still can't believe we jogged in the middle of the night. But it actually felt good... I miss doing exercise.

Legends was okay. It didn't pick up until very late, so there was a lot of idle time. However, it was nice to chill out for a time. However, even at the peak of the night, not too many people showed up, probably because they had been drinking from noon, they were probably extremely pissed so they either went home pissed or they got lost (or run over) on the way. Still, we had a good time as they did play some good stuff--some different music for a change.

We ended up having about 8 pints, I think. Okay, but not nearly as much as you'd have on a hardcore proper night out. But hey, we had a good time and that's what counts. The weird thing, though, was that I didn't feel the effects at all. 8 pints, that's about 4 litres of beer. Some might say it's because of my tolerance, but if I'm to let you in on a little secret, I haven't been drinking much as of late other than in special ocassions. I think I'm getting too old for that (or it's just not a good idea to drink a lot in the cold weather... at least for me it isn't). Shame, oh, the shame.

Cropduster

So Ryan has been trying to persuade me to watch The Little Shop of Horrors for quite a while now. I've been reluctant to watch a musical regarding a flesh-eating plant, but yesterday there just was nothing to do and it seemed as if the whole block invaded our flat to watch Bruce Almighty, so I thought I'd give it a try.

I happened to watch a scene in advance when he was flipping through the extras, and it was Steve Martin (looking very young... no white hair for a change!) doing some really odd stuff, so I thought it'd be a good laugh. So well, we ready his room and stuff, and then we start to watch it. Towards the end of the beginning credits the director comes up: Frank Oz. "It's directed by fucking Yoda!" I cry out. He seems confused, so after my initial panic attack I clarify for him "Frank Oz, he's Yoda..." and then he realises it. It was a pretty good film (musical, whatever you want to call it), but what else could you expect when Yoda is directing it? Can't you just see it? "No no... hmmm... terrible that scene it was, redo it we must!" and then after a few bad takes he'd start to get pissed until the point where he goes "Not do this I should, but deserve it you do!" and he uses the force to strangle the actor to death. Ah, good old Yoda.

A few days ago I was having my usual lunch with James at the Union. There was this stand that said "the arms trade has got to stop" and a bunch of other stuff, including a picture of a small boy (as you'd expect). James tells me that one of the girls working there is in his French class, and that she used to have long blonde hair but she decided to dye it ginger... but then she didn't like it and she had dyed it like 4 times and it had stayed ginger. She was ginger for life now! Anyway, we knew they were going to come to our table to ask for something eventually, and James mentioned it would be funny if I said that back home my dad's business was to manufacture arms. It would be pretty funny, I guess.

So, as expected, she approaches the table and tells us that she would really appreciate it if we took a picture with a sign that said "stop the arms trade" and whatever. "My dad manufactures weapons in Venezuela. In fact, that's the reason why I'm studying here: those arms are funding my education. I wouldn't be able to take a picture against arms trade because they've only been beneficial for me" I say. She's shocked to death, but she doesn't want to show it. After a few seconds of silence, she says "oh, well, that's interesting... uhm... well, if you change your mind.. I mean, have a... erm... yeah, we'll be over there" and she rushed off. I wonder what she told her coleagues. It was well fun to watch her reaction, and James did his best to not laugh. However, after she was gone he burst in laughter and told me he didn't believe I had actually said that.

Then, when leaving, he says he's going to take the picture, just because he knows the girl and whatever. So I decide to tag along. She sees me there and she seems a bit uneasy, but doesn't say anything. The other girl asks me if I'm going to take the picture, and James tries to talk me into it briefly. Since I don't have anything against being against arms (get it?) I tell him to fill out my details. So in the end I take the picture, much to her amazement. I wonder what she must've thought of me. Just as we're about to leave, I let her in on a small secret "my dad's really not a weapon's manufacturer" I tell her. I was going to leave her in the dark, but I figured that then she'd think bad of Venezuela (not that she doesn't already, but just making sure) so I thought clearning things up would be appropriate.

Ain't Enough

So I don't have much to say, thankfully. I've been really busy fixing up small things for my Java program and sorting out my modules for next year. However, I do have a little treat for those of you who are faithful enough to come back everyday and read my shit. You know how wankers say that a picture can say a million words? Well, how many can three? I've got the whole Manchester trip for you in three pictures. Enjoy.

Before: Big men drink bitter... there's some hitting going on to my left... good thing you can't see it.

While: I'm not drunk, I'm just... yeah, okay. So fucking borracho. I'm proudly holding a Newcastle Brown Ale (or trying not to drop it to be more accurate). Ryan's transforming into a monster to my right lol. Unfortunately you can't see the lass on my left... she was fit.

After: She thinks it's funny... it's not funny! I'm only smiling because I'm too drunk to figure out what's happening. Look at me... what a twat.

Fixxxer

So I decided--for some unexplainable reason--to go with Steve down to the pub to watch Palace play Stoke (Championship football... what was I thinking!?) So well, we go and we have a few drinks while watching the match and then play some pool and yada yada yada, we're on our way back. We're walking through Castle Leazes (the uni halls... dorms if you like) and we're just walking through the middle of the road. A few seconds after we're right in, we notice something's wrong. The car stick thingy (the one where you have to present a ticket and stuff in order for it to get lifted and the car can come in) was gone. And it was there when we passed earlier to get to the pub. So, we figured either somebody had been drunk enough (and strong enough) to steal the thing, or some car just ran through it. They both seem so surreal, but it's the only explanations we could come up with. Ah, vandalism in the UK... it's funny how I've never seen that happen in Venezuela!

My marketing professor was just talking about cultural issues and marketing, and then she decides to give an example of something (yes, so much for paying attention in class): "for example, in [the United States of] America, when the French decided not to go to war in Iraq, they had the French fries--what we call chips--renamed to 'Freedom fries'." And then the whole lecture theatre burst up laughing. So gay Americans... McDonalds allegedly had to change the names and all... I would like some confirmation from my correspondant in the US, if possible. Lol, so gay...

Steph (the girl that made the comments about Peter Crouch having the "biggest dick in the world") was back in our flat tonight. She was again horny as ever, and the first comment she made was that Tom was probably strong enough to lift her up. He was indeed, he lifted her almost all the way above his head with very little effort, to which she said "you could probably lift me up and lick my @$#%! with no problems." We were just shocked at the comment, but then Oliver finally broke the ice: "that sounds like an invitation to me!" to which Steve seconed. She didn't say anything.

Later on they were talking about Everton players (she's Scouse so she supports Everton) and she names a few before she comes to Matteo Ferrari. "... Ferrari... mmm, how I wish I could ride his Ferrari." Shocked again, but just to clear things up Tom says "stick, eh?" and she smiles. Who says girls aren't horny?

So then things sort of go back to normal and we're talking and stuff, when all of a sudden Oliver asks me if I'm black. I'm about to make a sarcastic comment when I notice that he's actually seroius, and that the other guys (including Steph) are looking at me expecting an answer. So I take a few seconds to reflect: why would they think I'm black? I mean, they're not that white... I'm as white (or dark) as some of the guys so it can't be that. Could it be my hair? What the fuck? "Do I look black?" I say more than question. They all say I don't, but they're curious as I'm from Venezuela. I thought that would be the end of it, but they're all expecting a straight answer. "No, I'm not fucking black... not that there's anything wrong with it!" I say. Nobody gets it, of course, because they're not Seinfeld freaks. "So what are you?" they enquire this time. I really wasn't sure what to say, so I decided to use my card down my sleeve "Uhm, Latin I guess." Right after I said that Steph turned completely around towards me and looked at me for a few seconds... then she half-smiled.

Big Rass

So we're in our CSC166 lecture, and the computer will just not co-operate with the lecturer. He tries logging on to linux a couple of times and the console just won't do it. Then he tries to open the browser and it takes ages to open. He's not on his best of moods, so he gets a freak attack and just calls the lecture off due to "a crap computer." So well, that's 40 minutes early, we're not going to complain. We start getting ready to go and then this guy comes in (obviously late) and looks around him--how everyone's standing up and grabbing their coats. He looks well confused. Perhaps he thinks time has elapsed faster than he thought and that he arrived at the end of the lecture. Well, who knows what he was thinking, but his face was hilarious to watch--the puzzlement. When everybody starts heading for the exit, he looks even more confused. Finally, someone decides to inform him. He didn't look too disappointed as he left the lecture theatre.

There's a switch outside one of the lecture rooms I attend. There's a big label above it that roughly says "do not switch light off--security camera in operation." I believe that is one of the stupidest things to put. If they dont' want anyone to switch it off then don't put a switch there... especially because if a robber walks in a reads that, guess what's the first thing he'll do...

I've got a new professor for programming (it seems I have a new one every fortnight, doesn't it?). The thing is, this guy's really great. Why? He looks like a cartoon: he has huge ears that stand out! It's well funny to watch. That was, though, until I got a side glipse of him reading some stuff before a lecture. I've got to say that the guy looked just like Mr. Rasmuson right down to the smallest detail... only that he had huge ears that made him look like a cartoon of Mr. Rasmuson. Many of the motions he does are Rasmuson-identical as well, which makes me think that this is where he came for his retirement...

By the way, I remembered what I was talking about with Ryan (well, he remembered to be honest). We had just gone to McDonalds for a quick bite (they weren't serving food at the pub at that time) because there was a promotion where you got two burgers for the price of one. So we're sitting down eating, and he's praising McDonalds (even though we both hate it) because of the free burger we get, and I say "yeah, it's great, because when you're alone in your room you can just take it out and make yourself feel better." Yes, it sounds like the dirtiest comment ever, but honestly, I was only thinking about the burger... it just came all wrong.

The thing that should not be

So today was just a footy day, pretty much. Woke up late and then made my way to the pub where I watched Man Utd play Newcastle, then England play France (in the rugby Six Nations) and then Arsenal play Liverpool. Quite a sporting day, eh? Yep, so I decided to do that instead of my work... but I think I deserved my sporting day after working so hard throughout the week.

While at the pub (my favourite pub... not only are the prices very reasonable, but the girls in the bar staff are all blonde and fit), there was this tough looking guy sitting in front of me. Everytime it was his turn to buy the round, he's come over and play the pub slot machine that was located right in front of me. What was peculiar, though, was the he won every time he played... and with the money that he won he would buy the round of drinks. And he did that at least two times! What the hell was going on I've got no clue, but it seems like something I'd like to do. Very economical.

Oh, today it snowed all day! Finally, the day I've been looking forward to. By the time I left my flat to go to the pub (make that oneish) everything was white... and it kept snowing. What I noticed when I got to the pub, though, was that I don't like snow as much as I thought I would've... not only did I slip and almost fall a couple of times, but also my ears were freezing, giving me a headache! Overrated I say! But it was really good... my first heavy snowing day. On the way back everything was covered in snow, and my usual path--one that I walk almost daily--seemed like a new one. That was quite amusing. Snow!!!

There's this record store here in Newcastle that's a bit more than a record store--it's like a music centre. There not only can you find rare records, but you can also find rare singles and even autographs. So the usual prices are of around 60 pounds if the artist is famous and relatively recent (say 90's). Then you can find some of the better artists from the past at around 100-120 pounds (David Bowie, Robert Plant, Eric Clapton (although he's only 90 quid!) and so on). So well, I see no Zep so I tell James that he can get me Plant whenever he's feeling generous. However, I was in there recently, and I spotted a Led Zeppelin one in the far corner in the entrance (I spotted Jimmy Page on the picture somehow) and marvelled at it for a while. I was just about to text James to tell him I had found his Christmas present to me when I saw the price. Fucking 200 quid! Talk about abusing... so well, if you guys want to send me some money to help fund James' Christmas gift you're more than welcome to. Just send the money to... just send it to my flat. I'm receiving so much mail they won't notice.