For those of you playing along at home, I hope you had a good Thanksgiving. The child bride and I held our feast on Friday because I had a Spanish exam on the actual day. We had a handful of people over and I think it went relatively well. Thanks to the fact that Welshies (and one Scot*) don't eat as much as Americans, Rachel and I have leftovers and desserts to last us well into the next week. We especially cleaned up in beer -- at the end of the night, I had gained 36 bottles or cans of lager, ale or bitter. The lesson there is to always invite the BBC to your parties.
I was thinking Friday about the end of "A Christmas Carol" when Mr. Scrooge has an enormous goose anonymously sent to the Cratchit family. I wonder how Mrs. Cratchit felt about that: "Oh, fuck you very much anonymous donor. I was already stressing over putting together the Christmas meal and now I have to use up precious extra coal to cook up this fucking great goose. This being the Victorian era, I don't have a meat thermometer handy, and I may not be able to read a cookbook let alone afford one, so all the things I know abut how long a goose should be cooked and at what heat kind of go out the window in the face of this monstrosity."
The night before the Wales-New Zealand match, I was talking with Chris and Geraint about the two teams and somewhat dancing around my deep-rooted dislike of the All Blacks. Ooh, I hate them. This goes back to the 2003 Rugby World Cup when they soundly defeated Canada 68-6. After the match, I saw a Canadian player motion to exchange jerseys with one of the All Blacks who just waved the Canadian off and gave him a look that said the Canadian wasn't good enough to expend the energy removing a jersey.
Fucking cocky bastards is what the All Blacks are.
They are also babies. In response to the haka, Wales were Saturday planning on singing their national anthem back at the All Blacks, but they were having none of it. Like the proverbial kid who gets upset, takes his ball and goes home, New Zealand performed its precious little tradition in the locker room because they refused to allow a response to it. All Blacks are the NBA players of rugby.
Note to Gavin Henson: You have to get in front of a person to tackle him -- stepping to the side in matador stylee won't actually stop someone from getting past you.
Just in time for the various Spanish essays I have due over the next fortnight, Merriam-Webster now has a Spanish/English dictionary. I think that says something about the exponential growth of Spanish-language influence in the U.S.
To answer a question from Isabella Snow (dude, a professed writer of smut reads my blog -- I am definitely doing something right) the child bride turned 30 this month. Here's the explanation of her nickname.
I was standing at the train platform Thursday morning, looking at how miserable my fellow Arriva-sufferers looked in the wind and spitting rain, and I found myself wondering why they all looked so miserable and I was fine.
Then I realised it was my coat. My pea coat is proper military clothing and it actually works, bitches. I was so impressed by this fact that I actually said, aloud: "Dude. This coat rocks."
No one shared in my happiness.
*The Scot who was born in Herefordshire and has a slight Australian accent.