Classes are under way again. My final year of university has begun.Of course, one of the highlights of walking across a crowded university campus is the opportunity to see myriad fashion disasters. My favourites are the ones that are woefully climate inappropriate -- extremely skimpy clothing in Britain in October. Obviously I am more forgiving of the females who do this.The weather today was cool enough for the intelligent people to wear undershirts or light jackets, but that didn't stop several others from prancing about trying to pretend that they were attending university in Cardiff-by-the-Sea rather than Cardiff, Wales. Walking toward classes today I spotted a dude wearing a white tank-top, white shorts and flip flops."Yeesh," I thought to myself. "Does that guy not know what country...
"What exactly is the consequence should I refuse to pay?Is there still a Dickensian debtor's prison?Oh, there isn't?Well."The song I'll be...
It's been a while since I've written any sort of update on what's actually going on in my life. A fair number of this blog's readers are family members who check in occasionally to see how the child bride is doing, and who have no interest in "Doctor Who." Sorry, y'all.Rachel's fine. She's been in better spirits since summer arrived and her Welsh course ended. I think the latter may have had more effect. The summer is typically British. Occasionally the sun will peak out and make you think: "Ooh, I'm a bit busy at the moment, but tomorrow I will go out and make the best of this weather. I'll make a lunch and bike out to Gelynis and pick strawberries and it will be lovely." But then it will rain for three days. The child bride is planning to carry on with her Welsh learning in the autumn;...
Cunard persists on sending me e-mails promoting their transatlantic voyages. I never asked for these e-mails but I can't seem to get myself to mark them as spam out of that crazy desire for them to be relevant. I want to be someone who has the time and money to spend six days crossing the Atlantic. I have this vision of my taking a laptop along and spending the time happily typing away, occasionally venturing out to go... uhm... do posh things. I don't actually know what I would do; it is an economic bracket beyond my comprehension. In truth, though, I would probably hate it. I have always had a similar vision of travelling via train across the United States -- writing and staring at the landscape and writing. But Owen Martell told me once that he has already pulled this stunt and it was,...
My second year of university finally comes to an end this week. Like the Democratic Party nomination process, it has dragged on for far too long, with my last lecture actually having taken place more than a month ago. In the interim I have had to try to stay mentally in tune for exams. The exam process in Britain is comically archaic, placing massive groups of students into large halls and gymnasiums to sit in uncomfortable chairs and scribble out essay questions for two hours. It is an unnecessarily stressful set-up that forces me to develop ridiculous patterns and superstitions similar to when I played sports. You know, the "I always wear these socks and I put them on in this exact way" sort of thing. Before every exam I have to do 100 push-ups and 300 stomach crunches, eat two pieces...
Sport is an emotional opiate. Watching it on television is, at least.Occasionally, watching sport produces intense emotional highs -- memory-searing moments that stay with us all our lives. The moment that Wales won the Six Nations, and the whole of the Maltsers Arms seemed to be in midair in an explosion of celebration, the way I could feel the whole city screaming, that's a moment I won't forget. But those moments are rare.Generally, to watch sport on television means a few happy hours of emotional detachment that you simply can't get from watching, say, a film. This is why men prefer watching sport. We can sit there comfortable in the knowledge that at no point will there be some cute and quirky female character who we will fall in love with, only to watch her die or make some ass-hat...
I have fallen out of habit of directing to my columns, but I am still writing them. Here's my latest one, which I am sort of pleased with simply because of the imagery, e.g., "dairy-treat-bearing land shark."To that end, I'm pretty sure that Bomb Pops to the Malevolent is a good name for a...
There is more to the story of English Major.I finished my overpriced tea and walked over to the library for a bit of tedious Welsh-language post-modernism. It is a genre that annoys me in the Welsh medium. I think that is because it didn't arrive until the late 80s, which is about when most people elsewhere were starting to think that postmodernism was dead. Welsh-language culture has a bad habit of jumping on the band wagon only after the wagon has actually stopped and been abandoned. Grunge is scheduled to take the Welsh music scene by storm next year.The library and the humanities building are within a stone's throw of each other, separated by a small green area with trees and shrubs and a wee hill that seems to be the exclusive domain of cute girls when the weather is nice. In the...
As if to make up for the intelligent kids of last week, standing outside the humanities building Tuesday was a bloke with one of those Chinese yo-yos that are the staple of a music festival, renaissance faire, cannabis legalization rally, or any other event where long hair and a goatee are the look de riguer. This bloke was relatively clean cut, though, wearing the internationally recognised uniform of the English major. I'm not really sure what an English major is called in the UK; they don't tend to use the word "major" when referring to university courses of study. But you probably know the look: sport coat or velvet jacket, T-shirt or untucked frumpy dress shirt, corduroy trousers and trainers (FTYPAH: "sneakers"). Often the look is accentuated with an oversized scarf worn in such a...
My latest column is out. It contains an edit that makes no sense to me. In talking about my university experience it says: "Consequently, I am struggling. Despite my ability to start a sentence with la-dee-da words like 'consequently,' I feel I'm just not good enough to be here."But "consequently" is not the word I had there. Originally I had "hitherto.""Hitherto" means "up to this point," whereas "consequently" means "as a result of;" so the meaning of the sentence is changed and it makes me seem like a person who thinks "consequently" is an obscure word. Ah, well. I'm not...
About a week ago, Cardiff experienced a series of days that were brilliantly sunny and unseasonably temperate. People flooded from their dreary brick confines to just sort of linger in the spring-like warmth. In this country, it takes at least a week to get anything done (I am still waiting for my student loan cheque to be converted to pounds sterling -- I endorsed it on 11 January), but people respond to good weather instantly. As soon as the pavements (FTYPAH: sidewalks) are dry they are milling about, with at least a handful of the chavs doing their best to pretend that they are, in fact, in Magaluf -- stomping around in shorts and T-shirts. It speaks to the priorities of the British peoples, I think: - Good weather = important. - Getting things done in a timely fashion = not so...
Here's an academic tip from your good ol' Uncle Chris: Know what day to show up.Up until about 11 p.m. Monday night, I was under the impression that not until next week did the spring semester get under way. To that point I had been feeling happy with myself."I've got everything pretty much nailed down," I was thinking. "I expect it will be a challenging semester, but by Monday I should be ready."Then I saw I had missed a day of classes. My immediate response was to swear profusely. Then I thought about it for a bit more -- how stupid a person has to be to spend a whole fucking month on academic break and never once really check the university calendar -- and decided the best course of action would be to stomp around the house, alternating between growling profanities and occasionally...
I tried to take a picture of this but it wouldn't turn out. I saw this on a table in the library today, written as below:I like toeatFLUFFY pussy...
Here's a strange but generally true fact about Americans: We don't like it when you ask us who we're voting for."That can't possibly be true," you're saying. Americans post signs in their front yards, they slap bumper stickers on their cars, they wear T-shirts and badges and hats with the name of their chosen candidate gaudily emblazoned on them. They spend hour after hour after hour consuming incessant political coverage and writing MISPELED ALL CAPZ RANTING on internet message boards.But, see, no one's asking them to do that.Despite all evidence to the contrary, Americans like to think that we are somehow above the political fray. So it is traditionally bad form to ask an American point blank who he or she will vote for. You are asking him or her to pick sides. You are asking him or her...
My latest column is out. And contains a sentiment that I will save for when I'm famous and asked to speak at high school graduations: Older people are not superior, they've simply had more time to formulate arguments that they...
It feels like winter in Yr Hen Ddinas, which means that it is wet and windy and miserable. It's not all that cold, admittedly; by Minnesota standards it is spring-like. But the conditions make you want to stay inside, wrapped in a blanket and refusing to move, unless to shuffle to the kitchen for more port. This is Christmas in Cardiff.We are supposed to get 80 mph wind gusts overnight, but already the tree in our garden is dancing a strange sort of solitary mosh in the wind. On top of the house across the garden, there is a magpie clinging to a TV aerial (FTYPAH: "antenna"). He looks absolutely miserable and it strikes me as a particularly odd place for him to attempt to station himself. Surely birds instinctively understand things like wind and know better than to position themselves in...
My latest column is out, complete with family-friendly edit. My editor (who loves the Longhorns, by the way) felt that I would be less likely to receive grumpy e-mails if he changed, "I was singularly focused on getting her to take off her shirt," to, "... singularly focused on getting her alone."It defeats the point of the joke, which was to finish off a navel-gazing statement about my sub-conscious with a crass reference to sex, but almost certainly Adam is right. American news consumers are desperate to be offended and a reference to my fondness for certain parts of the female anatomy would give them too easy a target.Amusingly, I had already self-censored an entire paragraph. It is said that when Custer got his ass handed to him at Little Bighorn, some of his men went into such an...
My latest column is out Actually, it's been out since Tuesday, but I haven't really had time to get at the computer until today. I am busy reading Welsh-language novels. There appears to be an unwritten rule that in every single fucking Welsh-language novel the English must be nefarious, arrogant and ignorant/spiteful of the Welsh language. I'm a bit disappointed in this week's column because I wasn't able to come up with a way to directly reference the Triple...
I don't really have a nifty segue into this, but I was amused by this video, which was brought to my attention by Gin.Life's been like that lately -- I don't have the mental energy/time for segues. I'm not really able to craft anything, which is why the blog has gone a bit dead. Any writing energy I have at the moment is going into my column for bARN, because they pay me, or my column for IB, because they give me a large audience. Well, a potentially large audience. In truth, the audience is probably no larger than that of this blog, which has yet to deliver those big advertising dollars (a).But with life swirling around me, I am doing my best to still take notice of it. I'm not sure whether it's my notoriously poor memory or climatologic fact, but this autumn seems more autumnal than...
I think I've mentioned before that one of the more amusing elements of British university-campus fashion is their strange love of random Americana on T-shirts and sweatshirts ("hooded jumpers," for international viewers). For example, I often see faux-worn-out clothing promoting Minnesota kayaking clubs or non-existent Wisconsin colleges.Thus far my favourite of these had been the shirt that simply said: "CENTERFIELDER." But today I saw one even better: a girl wearing a sweatshirt that said:CHEESECAKE97I want to believe that it was an ironic shirt, that someone somewhere spotted this ridiculous trend and decided to take it to its ridiculous extreme. But it's so hard to tell...
It's a simple fact that some peoples are naturally cooler than others. Black people for example: on the whole, blacks (and especially in the United States) are so cool that it is almost a super power. They can make anything cool. Remember that fashion of pushing up one's trouser leg for no particular reason? That was ridiculous. In a strictly controlled environment, jacking up the leg of your trousers is a sign that you haven't figured out how to wear clothes. But black people made it cool.I can't tell you how many times I've seen black guys wearing silly hats and managing to pull it off. I'll think to myself: "Hey, I like silly hats. I wish I could wear a hat like that." But I know I can't -- not unless I want to get punched in the face.That's life. I like to think that karma is somehow...
I am now fully registered, and on Monday I return to classes for my second year of university. It feels a bit momentous because despite years and years of previous university experience I've never been this directly focused, this likely to actually end up getting a degree. That, the experiences of last year, and the fact that I need to do better than last year* has me feeling a certain amount of sickness at the moment. And I am brought back to the old feeling that at any minute someone is going to pull me aside and say: "Look, we're sorry for messing you about, but there's been a terrible mistake. We got you confused with JC Cope. Obviously, as even you must have figured out by now, you don't belong here at all."And I feel even more pressure knowing that I am attending the British...
I've got three good names for bands that I need to mention straight away:Heroic Doses (from Eric) Aural Small Print (from Mr. Phin)Absent American (from Chris)The last of those is inspired by the fact that once again I will be missing a blogger meet-up in London this weekend. I am genuinely upset about it, but I suppose that on the plus side, I won't yet have to pay up on my bet with Huw that he couldn't create a Chris Cope fan club on Facebook that would have more than 50 members. Currently there are 83 members, which I find both delightful and disturbing.Instead of drinking in London, I will be travelling off to Nant Gwrtheyrn as part of Cwrs Meistroli.I'm doing my very best to temper all the good things people are telling me about Nant Gwtheyrn. The Welsh have a certain knack for...
I have three different people asking me to write articles by the end of the week. I'm not complaining. I want to be a writer, and having people press me to write is certainly better than sitting around wishing I had an outlet. My only problem is that I am unsure whether I will meet these deadlines. Because at the same time as I am supposed to be writing I am also immersed in my Welsh Cult Experience. A few days after I ungratefully accepted a position on a Welsh course for the month of July, I got a call from one of my professors informing me that I was, in fact, being offered a place on a higher-level course, Cwrs Meistroli. I was much happier about accepting a place on this course, if not simply because it involves a weeklong trip to a secluded area of North Wales. So, I get to go on...
Well, scrap the book idea, I think. I got an e-mail today from my university adviser that said: "Hey Chris, how's your summer going? I was thinking that a really good thing for you to do would be, uhm, actually learn Welsh."I'm paraphrasing, of course. The e-mail was in Welsh and contained three words that I had to look up in the dictionary. I was informed that an intensive month-long course for intermediate speakers would be starting up on Monday and it was very politely suggested that I attend.The course is for people who have had one year* of Welsh. I have been studying the language for nigh seven years. So, my first reaction was something to the effect of: "Ouch."This Welsh experience is like a Howitzer to my ego. I don't yet know how I did in exams, but I can't help but think that it...
I feel disoriented. It's been a fortnight (FTYPAH: "two weeks") since my last exam and I seem to have gone into hibernation mode since then. I spent the first week of my summer holiday sitting on the couch. Occasionally I'd turn on my iPod, but for the most part I'd just sit, staring at the wall, not really thinking about anything.I've spent this past week putting together a 20-page outline for a book that no one will read, either because they have no interest or because they can't -- the book will be written in Welsh. I'm writing it in Welsh so I can say really awful things about my parents without them knowing. No, I'm lying. Ideally, said book will be completed (if not polished) by the end of the summer. I will then store it away with my other book that no one will ever read (the novel...
A few days ago, I was contacted by a writer from Gair Rhydd, Cardiff University's student newspaper, who was doing a story about anti-Americanism in the United Kingdom. She asked me to comment about my experiences and I responded with a rambling e-mail that I later put into a blog post.The story came out today and I am happy to say that I got a mention. Unfortunately, the story claims I am from Florida and has me saying something I didn't say: "Chris Cope, a student from Florida, adds: “We are loosely confederated individuals. We share very little commonality aside from our participation in the State. Our social experiences are vast, our heritages unique, and our sense of ‘us’ is predicated on none of ‘us’ being anything particular at all.”"The quote attributed to me is...
Cardiff University's student newspaper wrote to me the other day because they are doing a story on whether US citizens encounter any prejudice over here. I was amused by my response and since they almost certainly wouldn't use all of it, I'll put it here: "I personally have not ever experienced anything that I would describe as prejudice. Britons hear the American accent and it's an instant conversation starter. It sets me out as different but not too different. They tell me that they've been to Florida (seemingly all of you have, or are planning to go), and suddenly I've got a new friend who's buying me beer. No complaints.Part of the reason for this is that the connection between the United Kingdom and the United States is much stronger and closer than most Britons care to admit. Have...
Spanish grammar fact that can be interpreted as a general statement: "Ideas are feminine."Revision hell persists. Despite having at one time or another attended Moorhead State University (now Minnesota State University Moorhead -- it's always a sign of a quality institution when a university feels the need to re-brand), University of Portsmouth, University of Nevada Reno and Mesa College, this year is really the first time I have cared about the outcome of things.So, this is my first real occurrence of revision stress. I don't have the experience of coping and knowing how much panic is reasonable. Obviously it's good to have a bit of a fire lit under oneself for these things. But at the moment I seem to be suffering pretty much every stress-induced ailment imaginable. If I were an old man...
Exams are Ivan "I must break you" Drago at the moment. It's yet to be determined whether I am Rocky or Apollo Creed. In the meantime, here's a bit more insight into what's going on in my head at the moment: My latest column is...
