Fifty Ways for An American to Have Fun in London

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1. Pick up a random public phone; answer it and announce “London Calling.”
2. Attempt to impress British girls by explaining that if not for the U.S. they would be speaking German.
3. Attempt to impress British historians by explaining that if not for William I they
would all be speaking a sort of modified Welsh.
4. Purchase tweed.
5. Go to William Bligh’s house and put a Pitcarin Island flag on the door.
6. Point out your fanny pack to the locals.
7. Ask the cab driver to take you to see the Eiffel Tower.
8. Put Christmas decorations on the statue of Cromwell.
9. Collect prostitute calling cards. Trade them with your friends for a complete set.
10. On the road, look over at who’s sitting in the passenger seat of the car. Children
or dogs can be especially disconcerting.
11. Head over to 11 Downing Street and say hello to the Chancellor of the Exchequer.
12. Giggle like a school girl when things cost “pee.”
13. Sneeze on the Magna Carta.
14. Don’t even bother trying to make the Beefeaters laugh.
Just punch them in the nose and run away.
15. Go to Westminster Abbey and dance on Isaac Newton’s grave.
16. Point out that the sculptor of Nelson’s Column forgot about the other arm.
17. Get some of those famous Fish & Chips.
Discard after three bites because British food sucks.
18. Ask random people why “Big Ben” isn’t digital yet.
19. Smoke marijuana while strolling down High Street.
20. Order a pint of bitter. Send it back complaining that it’s too bitter.
21. Sew a picture of yourself into the Bayeux Tapestry.
Make it so that you’re riding Haley’s Comet.
22. Dress up in a sheet and scare people at the Tower.
23. Go to Buckingham Palace and protest the impressments of American sailors.
24. Ask people if they know Danger Mouse.
25. Insist that the proper way to pronounce it is Thaymes, not Tems.
26. Show Britons pictures of your television for which you didn’t have to get a license.
27. Call for a vote of no confidence on your waitress.
28. When you see a Londoner down on his luck, sit down and remind him of
how thoroughly they kicked William Wallace’s ass.
29. Talk about how they just let Americans through customs with their guns.
30. Enjoy some Smarties, but say they’re not as good as M&Ms out of patriotism.
31. Mention how much worse your terrorist attack was than theirs.
32. Wonder aloud if the band Queen was named after Queen Elizabeth II.
33. Ask why they can’t get a decent domain name, like .com or .america.
34. Congratulate Londoners on their performance in the Falkland Islands.
35. Go to Euston Station and sing Catatonia’s “Londinium” loudly and annoyingly.
36. Respond with a Vicky Pollard impression to every query.
37. Complain about the beer being too cold.
38. Taunt them on their performance in the French and Indian War.
39. Declare peace in our time.
40. Organize a protest against the execution of Thomas Moore.
41. Point out how different Kew Gardens, London is from Kew Gardens, Queens.
Then make fun of them for ripping off the names for Chelsea and Soho.
42. Complain about so many nearby highways being named after the
Messier catalog designations of globular clusters and galaxies.
43. Act really impressed when looking at the London Stone.
44. Laugh at barristers and their silly wigs.
45. Sarcasm is absent from British culture. Use this to your advantage.
46. Stock up on Euros so you can enjoy London’s famous gambling dens and
corner craps games.
47. Ask a bobby if he keeps his lunch under his big helmet.
48. Set up your very own official turnpike in London City.
49. Wear a hoodie to obscure your face from London’s plethora of surveillance
cameras. Claim to be a monk when questioned by police.
50. Find an old-fashioned call box. Get in and then tell people your Tardis isn’t working.

Seven Cures for Procrastination to Try Someday

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An Editorial by Faith DaBrooke

faith

If you’ve decided to make significant use of your time by attempting to read this article, I’m certain that you are eager to be led toward a straight-forward, painless solution to your procrastination dilemma. This assumption, however, leads me to believe that your impatience has prevented you from following through with any previous step-by-step solution. Therefore, do not stop reading, for this article has so far put you on the verge of overcoming your addiction to delaying progress. You are now partially on your way to abolishing the procrastination which has held you firmly in bondage.

Your friends and family are probably fed up with your excuses and justifications and are most likely frustrated by your apparent lack of mental capacity. Perhaps they wonder why they’ve been forced to take a part in the drama that is your self-perpetuating failure. Indeed, you’ve come to regard yourself as a failure and are depressed my the misassumption that life is beyond your control.

Always remember, work begun is half done, and now I shall unquestionably be in jam for ripping off Mary Poppins. If you read the previous sentence, then you have just progressed half-way towards finding the solution to your unwillingness to lead a life of productive activity.

First of all, before you continue reading, you must confront your denial. Put aside your pitiful excuses and say out loud “I have a problem.” Retreat from blaming external sources, such as alcoholism or a lack of electricity. Did that work? Good. Soon, you will learn how to demolish the problem that complicates your life and causes stress and anxiety, leading inevitably, to sickness and death. But do not despair, for you are on your way to resolving what is universally deemed the most anxiety-provoking situation since the beginning of time.

Statistics show that individuals do not like stress, specifically work-related stress. How often have you been depressed by thoughts such as “there’s always tomorrow” directly followed by “there’s never any time!” These thoughts lead to feelings of dread and indifference towards accomplishing anything meaningful. In turn, you will procrastinate and drown yourself in more dismay. The cycle of anxiety and procrastination is infinite and was unstoppable, at least until the creation of this article.

Therefore, my advice to you is as follows: never procrastinate! For if you do, you may end up composing solutions to procrastination and will never arrive at any solution because you’ve simply run out of time.

By reading this article, you have struck procrastination to the ground as soon as it has reared its ugly head. Congratulations! You have now conquered your inconvenient behavioral pattern. So don’t despair, you have just succeeded in your pursuit by completing this insightful composition and by not allowing your impatience to provoke you into destroying this article in a fit of anger. Huzzah!

With Special Thanks to Irene Baras

Rock and/or Roll

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rock

When I was fifteen-years-old, I traded the last of my Warhammer 40K miniatures for a copy of the Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. A handful of dusty and neglected Ork and Spacemarine models were a small price to pay for one of the most significant albums of my time. Yes, I had been a geek, but I gave it all away for the joy and depression found in what the shadowy marketers of music called alternative rock.

It takes an exceptional person to be able to say the words “rock and roll” seriously, with reverence. During my teenage years, I was one of those people, though none of us added “and roll.” I just wanted music that rocked. I’ve met fans of every genre under the sun, but only rock seems to function as a religion, eliciting awed, sometimes whispered tones of exaltation. For fans of hip-hop, country, or pop, music appears to be merely soundtrack. Something to listen to.

For rock fans, music is something else: the Library of Alexandria full of secret knowledge to absorb and study; The Pharos lighthouse showing us the way; the Pyramids that stand forever as the greatest of human achievements. This was rock. It made sense at the time.

My walls were a shrine; a 350 square foot collage of posters, pictures and postcards representing music’s pantheon. Hours were spent reading liner notes, searching for hidden clues or mysterious messages, analyzing lyrics, compiling information for study and enlightenment. Like the Crusaders of old, I bore upon my chest the T-shirts declaring my true cause and allegiance.

Conversations with friends were Socratic dialogs on bands, singers, engineers, albums, lyrics, songs, liner notes and videos. My provincial town was too small for good acts, and so concerts became pilgrimages; journeys whose reward was a few hours of basking in the glory of bands. Moshing was a rite. The obligatory T-shirt showed those back in the sticks you had made the journey, that you had marched around the sacred black stone on the hajj of rock. Truly, everlasting glory and honor were ours, at least for several years.

We needed that as teenagers. It was not rebellion. It was not a hobby. It was the pivot around which lives turned. What else was there? We were forced into school and it certainly wasn’t interesting. Sports were divisive and competitive; only the physically gifted succeeded. Rock was all inclusive, all ages. Anyone could join and share in the glory if they were devoted.

Rock stars weren’t superheroes, gods or idols then as before or now. We believed in them because they were ordinary people of greatness. They wore our clothes on stage, yes they did. No matter how geeky, or uncoordinated, or unpopular, you were part of a family. Music gave us what religion gave to others. It gave us meaning, identity and a way of life.

A decade has passed and luckily I’ve forged something of an identity, a meaning, and way life apart from my favorite albums. The sad truth is there isn’t any secret message in the liner notes. There certainly aren’t any hidden meaning to lyrics like Mickey Mouse has grown up a cow; the wrong side of the quicksand and dark flashlight destiny; Graceful swans of never topple to the earth, and you can make it last forever; doll steak, test meat; or feeling like a hand in rusted shame. Nor do I have any solid concept of what exactly a “seether” is, except perhaps that it is a she, she is medium sized, and she seethes.

Those of us who spent our teen years marching to the beat of a drum kit weren’t any better than our fellow teens who couldn’t spend hours debating the production skills of Butch Vig versus those of Steve Albini. We just needed to fill those tumultuous years between fourteen and twenty and, well, there wasn’t any thing else around. School, church, philatelics, tropical fish; none of those gave us that sense of hope, rapture and barely-controlled violence that rock provided. Now, sadly, we all have jobs, our favorite bands have broken up, and the Alternative Nation has been annexed; its territory divided amongst emo, progressive rock, and indie. No, I can no longer seriously say the words “rock and roll” with reverence or awe, but I can say that it was fun while it lasted. Spin the silver circle, spin spin.

Ask Montezuma: Mapril 2007

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It’s The Answer Man from Tenochtitlan!

montezuma
Montezuma is a collector of Meno Corporation macaroni and cheese
products and maintains an almost-complete collection in his home.
He is missing only the #5 rotini style from the summer of 1956.

Dear Montezuma,
My aunt is 56 years old and dresses inappropriately for her age. She wears very short dresses and skirts, usually in a floral print. She also likes to bake, so we unfortunately get ample view of her procedural cop show-themed thongs. She is also at least 300 pounds. Do you think it’s possible to find a way to make her change her personal style for everyone’s personal comfort without hurting her feelings?
Tiger Tanaka
Kobe, Japan

TT, I would be incredibly interested to know your aunt’s choice of thong. I am, in actuality, quite a fan of procedural policeman television shows. My favourite this season is Crime Haven Belgique which is all about the intricacies of tax investigators in Antwerp. Last week’s show involved the assessment of a fee against a man who left his government ceiling repair assistance remuneration off of page four of form 35a. It was quite exciting.

Hi Montezuma,
Every fall I get depressed. It’s not a deep depression. It’s just sort of a general feeling of sadness that pervades my psyche when the temperatures and colors change. Which is better: the catamaran or the canoe?
Jason Vitali
Habberdasher, WI

Mr. Vitali, have you perhaps considered a super tanker or super carrier? Both have super in their name, so they must be better than any other type of ship. Of course, choosing between those two might present one with an incredible challenge. Never fear, though, for I believe I’ve solved the conundrum. You see, a carrier implies moving things around, whilst the tanker reminds one of tanks, which are mighty powerful.

Dear Montezuma,
I heard that tobacco is bad for you. Is this true?
Louis C. Camilleri
New York, NY

To me visiting Australia sounds terrifically bad for anyone. The sheer number of poisonous shellfish, insects, arachnids, snakes and other reptiles, and even mammals would turn anyone off to visiting such a continent. Australia is also rather out of the way, you see, so were you to become empoisoned by one of these creatures, you would be leagues and leagues away from medical treatment. Avoid Australia altogether.

Montezuma,
What’s a Rorschach test?
Robert Pollard
Dayton, OH

Bobby, I cannot say with certainty. Once I received a “TB” test, but with surety I also cannot respond in its regard. Children supposedly take what is called an AP test, however these at least sound dirty and likely are, due to the fact that they involve children. The HIV test is quite popular, or so I hear. I am quite positive that has something to do with allergens. Tests are often administered to cars in states such as California, New York, and New Jersey for something called smog, though I am not sure how an object of mechanical manufacture could contract a disease. The only other test I know of is the DNA test, but I can only guess this has something to do with whether or not one is able to properly alphabetize files.

Dear Montezuma,
My fiancé has just told me that he is bisexual. He said that he has never told anyone else and has hidden it from me until now. I cried all night. I have many self-esteem problems. He also said that if he were in my shoes, he would end the relationship. However, he is glad that I haven’t. He promises me he will be true. What should I do?
Viviane Travin
Ramstein Air Base, Germany

Why are you such a cry baby? Some men simply enjoy the sound of four testicles slapping against each other.
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