If you are slow, or a product of the Texas education system, you might not yet have picked up that I am traveling to the UK on Wednesday. No, not that UK, this UK.
Britons (or, those people who live here -- whatever they want to call themselves) don't want you to know this, but they are, in fact, really great. Most Britons seem happy to hold on to the stereotype that they are the least-friendly people in Europe, but I think they do this for the same reason that Minnesotans persist in the myth that we are miserable and cold -- we don't want too many people showing up to spoil the fun.
Would unfriendly people put a roof over your head, as Jenny and the boy have offered to do for me? They have even purchased a sawdust-smelling bed for me to sleep upon. I suppose it's possible that this hospitality is a front and they will end up killing me in my sleep and turning me into man haggis.
But assuming I make it to Saturday, I will then be traveling to Ludlow to listen to my friend, Shiona, sing in a concert. Shiona and I have known each other for about nine years now -- we worked at Pure FM together. The fact that we are still such good friends gives away the fact that we never dated.
On Sunday I head to Cardiff, where I will be until Thursday. While there I'll be doing a number of things:
On Monday I am heading in to the Radio Cymru studios for another interview. Back in July I was interviewed in connection with a piece about Welsh-language bloggers; they're bringing me back in because... uhm... I don't know. Why should I care why they want to talk to me -- I get to be on the radio.
Monday night I'll be getting together with a few other Welsh-language bloggers. We're Welsh and we blog -- our getting together may spark some sort of black hole of dorkiness. This shindig started out with my asking something to the effect of "who wants to go out for a pint while I'm there?" But then Rhys, showing that sort of initiative that makes me sleepy, came up with an official sounding name for the get-together and even went to the trouble to create a graphic. A graphic for a handful of guys going to the pub -- how brilliant is that?
On Tuesday something very important happens that I don't want to write about because I am afraid that I will jinx it. I promise to fill you in after the fact.
On Wednesday I am going to see Wales play Azerbaijan. There is no point to this match, as Wales' World Cup hopes were dashed long ago, but I am looking forward to it because it will be the first time I have ever been to an international soccer match.
And somewhere in the mix I may get a chance to see the squirrels. Cheeky? Do Sunday or Tuesday evenings suit you? I have managed to lose the e-mail in which you told me which pub you frequent before Wales matches.
Meanwhile, here in the United States we are finally taking action to stem the tide of people* like Mike Meyers and Jim Carrey and Dan Akroyd coming to steal our comedy jobs.
If you had any doubt as to the level of sexual frustration experienced by astronomers, it turns out they refer to the solar system's recently discovered planet as Xena.
Xena's newly discovered moon is called Gabrielle.
Personally, I suspect terrorism.
Vote hard. Brain hurt Ohio.
I'm noticing a certain lack of remorse from Darlene Ann St. Clair: "OK, I hit the kid with the truck. I did, OK? Accidentally."
Yeah. Get off her case, man. Oh, what? Like you've never run over a kid? Oh, you haven't? I guess that means you can judge now, right? You fucking elitist.
Reason No. 19,856 that the BBC is cooler than all American media combined: It has a feature that will allow you to learn Somali words as you read.
*Here's something I didn't know: porn star Peter North is a famous Canadian.
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