Enough Excitement-- It's Time for a Boring Post.

You know why I don't like communal living? It forces me to ask questions like "how did someone get pubic hair on the showerhead?" and "is that blood in the stool?" I don't want to think those sentences. I like to devote my inner monologue to creating witty rejoinders to hypothetical insults people may someday hurl in my direction. ...Hey, I may be a weird guy, but at least it's not my pube up on the showerhead.

I haven't done a whole lot since Oktoberfest besides keep a consistent level of inebriation, so as not to send my body a mixed message (I can't be pro-sobriety and in Europe at the same time, can I?). I did manage to go to class for the first time, though. I have class for the second time Monday. How are your midterms going, schmucks? Also, I tried surfing, which is unbelievably fun, slightly easier than you'd expect, and an excellant workout. Want to know what looks bad in a wetsuit? My junk.

In addition to "catching waves" (surfer lingo-- only fellow surfers and I will understand it. Yeah, I'm pretty cool now that I can stand on a moving board for almost three (3!) seconds straight). I also went and saw Chepstow, which is home to the statue in the above photograph. The statue comes complete with a big metal penis, which I believe I'm elbowing in that photo. Also, about five kilometers (those are like whacky European miles, to those of you who are morons and have never been to a day of school in your life) away from Chepstow was Tintern Abbey, a monastery founded in 1131. It's now in shambles, but very cool shambles-- visiters can climb up on the rocks and take pictures of everything, which is unusual over here. If I had tried to touch Stonehenge I'd have been arrested, neutered, and lobotomized. Also, there's signs to explain what the hell each room was for. For instance, this room...

... is where the religious officials molested their altar boys, a tradition that continues in the Christian community to this day.

Since I don't have a whole lot more to say at the moment, here's some media shiznatty (Lord, I'm so hip it hurts sometimes) that I've been enjoying.

Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrill, by Susanna Clarke. Incredibly good book about two magicians who rose to prominence during the Napoleonic Wars. If I remember correctly, it was 19,945 pages, so it kept me entertained for awhile.

A Long Way Down, by Nick Hornby. About four people who attempt suicide at the same spot in London, and then start hanging out. But, um, don't worry. I won't go find the place and commit suicide, because I've learned that if I'm feeling suicidal all I really need is a sandwich and a pickle spear.

A Spot of Bother, by Mark Haddon. The new book by the author of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime. Overall, a very good piece of work, especially the parts where the old guy starts going batshit crazy (it reminded me of my parents). The only troublesome thing is that over the course of the first, I dunno, 180 pages, every single sentence is around the same length. 180ish pages of short, choppy sentences can get really grating. He could have done it for artistic reasons--as the family starts communicating more, the sentences become more complex-- but that doesn't justify it. Radiohead apparently makes all sorts of choices for the sake of "art," but they still sound like shit and act like pretentious bastards.

Adverbs, by Daniel Handler. This is an adult novel from the author of "Lemony Snicket's 'A Series of Unfortunate Events.'" It is also remarkably terrible. It tries to structure itself like Kurt Vonnegut (a large cast of characters, events that happen out of order, and all the pieces eventually falling together), but ends up a muddled, horrifyingly dull mess. Slightly redeemed by this conversation "What would happen if we had sex?" "I'd probably ejaculate." Sidenote: I've also read the last Lemony Snicket, but I'll talk to people about that on an individual basis.

Wicked, by Gregory Maguire, and also Wicked, the musical. The book is terrible-- while it raises some interestinng questions about the nature of/difference between good and evil, it has absolutely nothing to do with Oz, and easily could have been based in, well, Kansas. The damn witch doesn't even cast a spell until the last thirty pages of the book. Bullshit. The musical, however, improves on the book by using almost none of it as inspiration. It focuses on the relationship between Glinda and the Wicked Witch (which is a cool good/evil commentary that should have had more attention in the book). But Jesus is it corny. I mean, I know all musicals are, but Jesus. I especially enjoyed when the dumbasses in monkey suits ran out and did bad fake monkey gymnastics.

Two other quickies: 1) The new Weird Al album is god damn hilarious. I know most everyone refuses to acknowledge his glory, but how can you argue with an album that, on a parody of Usher's "Confessions pt. 2," has a line as funny as "FYI: it's not a cold sore." Now that's funny.

2) Arrested Development season 3. Absolutely brilliant show, even though it's apparent how much they were limited by budget constraints and by only having 13 episodes to tell the story. I will end this incredibly boring blog (sorry, I haven't done anything lately and it's 1:30 am) with my favorite quote of season three. Here's Gob's take on his relationship with his religious girlfriend-- "I’ve got this Christian girlfriend now, and she’s trying to get me to be a better man, and reconnect with my son, and I’m trying to get her to renounce God and fuck me, and I just want to prove to her that I’m worth it." With sentiments that sweet, how did this show fail to capture an audience?