'Ju Need People Like Me!

Just got finished watching Scarface again....damn Pacino is good.
So I think that during this time, while i'm busy writing essays for med schools to drool over, (excuse me, essays over which for med schools to drool), i will drop by my blog w/ a snippet or thought of the day. Today's snippet: Aussie Aussie Aussie! Oy Oy Oy! - I went to the Australia v. New Zealand rugby match Saturday night, lost my voice for sunday, and had a blast. The All-Blacks NEVER lose, and we beat them 20-15, thanks to a blinder by my boy Stirling Mortlock. It was the cat's pajamas, the bees' nees, the, dare I say, ants' pants, if you will*.

*And you will

Welcome Back, Bitches

Let the blogging recommence!!! I have returned from the USofA, prepared to attack my final two months in the land of the plunging necklines with renewed vigor. Well, that and finish off the application process, but you get the idea. You will be happy to know that I have concluded the initial stages of med school application, the effects of which will no doubt be made apparent by my inconsistent punctuation: namely, I may end a sentence with either one or two spaces after a period. In strenuously paring down my application's essay materials, I learned that one space is just as correct as is two; the old standard was rendered irrelevant with the dismissal of the typewriter. But I digress. Oh! didn't see that coming did you!?
Anyway, I will keep this second inaugural address fairly short, and give you a brief recap of the not-so-brief trip from Logan airport to Melbourne, TLOTPN. First of all, I was neatly snuggled next to Johannas, a portly airship mechanic from Orlando. On my right was a 250 pound hasidic jew whose beard nearly spilled into my aisle. While his beard did not quite infiltrate my bubble, his aroma surely did. Fantastic. When the lovely flight attendant came 'round to take drink orders, and my eastern partner was bequeathed a glass of manischewitz, I politely requested a decant of formaldehyde to kill my nasal epithelium. Alright, I shouldn't be so hard on the guy, he did offer me a handful of cashews. He must have recognized my nose-of-Jacob. Besides, after the 20 hours spent flying just to land in Sydney, I realized part of the unsavory odor I was picking up was from myself. Understandable. So now I'm sweating through my new Samoan rugby jersey (thanks, Colin), and wonder to myself if this is what a sweaty Samoan rugby player smells like. I guess yes. I then head for the nearest duty free shop to cleanse myself using the bathing methods of a french whore.
Now I know the following may be deemed "too much information," and I know I have "close friends" and "family" reading this blog, but I feel it must be shared, if for no other reason than for someone to tell me that it's not normal and that I should probably have it looked at. Anyway, I think it has something to do with the changing pressure with altitude, and its corresponding effect on blood pressure, but without fail, no matter how homely the flight attendants may be (and in this case, I would describe them as a poor man's joan rivers), every time my plane descends and lands, I end up with a massive erection. Fortunately I had much carry-on baggage I could use for slight-of-hand (and by that I mean covering myself, you sick vultures), but I really wonder if I can be cured. Either way, it might be a risk-free version of viagra. That is, unless you are poisoned by airplane food.
I am getting bored with you so I will wrap this up. Since TLOTPN is an island, they want to keep their pristine little country free from "contaminants" like foreign egg products, frogs, and rabies. So they have adorable little beagles all through customs to sniff for intruders. At this point in my day, I wonder if my canine compatriot is the one who busted Sly Stallone for steroids upon his arrival down under. If it is, I should probably be careful: as evidenced by my severe B.O. and erections, I most likely have an obscene amount of testosterone oozing out of me, hopefully Rover doesn't mistake it for illegal performance enhancing drugs. And hopefully it doesn't cause me to turn into a monosyllabic washed up actor.

I'm starting to do what I promised I wouldn't

What is it, you may ask. Am I joining Hillary's campaign trail? No. Beginning yoga? Hey, I never said I wouldn't do that! Trading in my dress-shirts and cufflinks to score some smack on North Ave? Still wrong. Actually I'm starting to stress out about med school applications. Turns out I have more to do than previously estimated, and I really need to get down (low for the bf? nah) and get to work on that stuff for the next few weeks. Seriously. No more blogging, no more drunken posts, until everything that is in my hands to complete is accomplished. I will eat, go to work, exercise, hoop it up, and annotate cliche rehashes about my life. That's it. Though the first thing I post afterwards (besides, potentially, a drunken rant after I am finished... which might be 1 week, might be 3, but no more), will be a definitive list of "what they say - what they mean" for TLOTPN. Anyone that wants to help ensure that I stick to this plan by writing me scathing emails telling me to finish up and write something for the rest of you vultures is gladly welcome. I'll even stop playing free-cell (I got up to 42 consecutive wins, look out).
Oh, and those of you that are living in places other than baltimore, or have knowledge of places other than baltimore/DC or boston, I need to know what cities ya'll like. I'm still trying to compile a list of schools to which I wouldn't mind donating my mere presence, so I'd appreciate any geographical knowledge outside of those metro areas I designated (though obviously boston is top pick, off the bat). OK, back to work, and maybe you can drop me an email pushing for a weekend of fun (and by fun I mean tedious filling out of ludicrous amounts of paperwork).
Holla

Feeling Ill

Sorry (again) for not writing in so long, the internet at my place is down (read: I have some sort of computer virus that has negated my internet explorer's function). I'm working on it. I also do not have a cell phone presently because apparently Vodafone does not repair water damage. I should have pressed the issue and pointed out that urine is not exactly water; whatever, they're now on my S-list, and I will boycotting their products for the duration of my stay in TLOTPN.
So I just ate about 300 grams (over a half pound) of kangaroo meat, and I'm not feeling so well, so you'll have to excuse me. It's like my inards have been exposed to a sushi-boat full of larva. The good news is I'll probably feel better in the morning. The better news is that I have 700 g of cooked 'roo meat to polish off sometime in the near future.

going awayag

1. there was a going away party for one ot hf the lab peeps - arzu ( it's turckish, don't make me explaing) - lots of chinese foood, and plenty of libation for the thristy in our griozup. so now, my vision isn blurred. whey are therey numbers 9(i.e ithe number 1) ) - i think i discuered a csecret blogging passageway)
2. damn, there's a nother number. i'm not even dontroclling it. this reminds me of st.aint patricks' s day - a day for flutes, and beer, and bearded green leprachaiugnagas with flutes and nsankes and bailierys. on st. patttty's day, this year, we ended up at a bar named, aptly the corkman. Cleraly it was naematred after myself , the great Ian, from the coutny cork - one o fthe crucial ingredients to linoleum. theo thers being linseed oil and resin. Trus me. Anyway, St. patricks day ocnsisnted of round oafter round of Irish car bombs - i felt a little weird aexplaining these t and even ordering the m frolm the bartendres at irish pubs, cause they didn't nknow what they ( the bomb, the drink) was. drinks here are differeent - for insatnce - there's no such thing as a vodka collins - in fact, there's not even a c toomms collins, so that leaves me high and dry if i want a VC. Dry. so car bombs of the irish variety were the weapon of choicsce for st .a mapthpatricks day (that was an attempt at ian indternal "motharfuckin" day), and let me tell you: i've bn=ever been so proud to be irish. I was abosultely destroying everoyeone else with these basatards, even was asked by some girl to pretend to be ana irish fireman for her friend. The only accent or impression i can do is ebonics, so iyou can imagien how that turned out. either way, the night concluded with me having to cget helped o.f f the floor bhy a 45 kg japanese girl. And by helped I mean dragged. like a puppy's scrusff.
3. Wow - i hope my going away party doesn't end up like this... i hope i get a wgoing away party - that would require people to miss my ass, guess i'm juss assing you and me that that will happen. ih vavent' looked at the cscreen 4 minutes noew, let's hope my spelling is aspell chec k worthy.
4. ok, seriously - one two three sober. can we all agree to take a moment to think about VT for a sec. i don't even the knew wthe thedated date that it happened off right now, but it deserves conscious consideration. you have no idea how hard it is to type "consideration" right now. thank you mr. something who taught my typing class in 7th grade. i forgetr his name but he proetended to have a gwin brother - that hoax didn't work on me. I told him his borther was ugly - try that shikt again, mr. knepp - oh yha , mr. kneepp. that's it. anyway, i'm bout to sight tn the fuck off, but let's al agree not to bee mentally screwed up and come to eahch other's friends/aid ofif we notice someone acting way the helll out of line. for comlumine the first issue was maryulain manson. here the issue is gujn contrl. how about we ...you know what - i thought i had something poignant, but i don't. this is totally fucked up, and i can't think of any other option (conservative thoug i may be) other than stricter gun control. you can't crack down on kids for strange writing, and you can't really have shades of grey when it comes to who can and can't buy a gun. maybe automatic handguns shouldn't be available TO KIDS WHO HAVFE TAKEN TIME IN A MENTAL FACILITY. shit. i really don't have any answers for this; but it sucks.

Prison Reform

TLOPL is, as you probably all know, a prison colony. I am not talking about the poor and indebted that made up Georgia's foundation as a debtor colony (though I'm sure Mike Tyson would fit right in). I mean an actual haven for convicts. This means that everyone living here is either themself, or a direct descendent of dangerous felons. John Hicks, Crocodile Dundee, and Heath Ledger are just a few examples of the barbarians inhabiting this harsh land. Anyway, while it is slightly more civilized than when the britons sent over a boat full of arrested prostitutes to populate the island (the "floating brothel"), there are still obviously criminals, and, therefore, facilities to house them. Quick note here: One woman I work with has a [female] friend who happens to be a prison guard. Suspend for a minute your intuition that the following is replete with sexism on my part. I was slightly surprised, because such dangerous inmates as I can only imagine are found here probably don't make the best water-cooler companions for a female employee, traditional gender roles blatantly incorporated. When I asked what she did, specifically, the reply was, "she works in the kitchen." OK, now this is sounding like a bad joke, but I swear I couldn't make this up, "...but she used to govern the laundry room." Seriously, I did my best not to laugh, but my best wasn't good enough. Nice to see the equal opportunity prison assignments here; political correctness is not australia's strong point (and that's not necessarily a bad thing... I wonder if there are any nappy headed inmates).
Anyway, from my discussions about the prison system here, I learned a shocking truth: sexual predators, pedophiles, and rapists, are all housed in a separate detention center, segregated from other societal dregs like murderers and violent robbers (apparently this is the same in England). And the reason? You guessed it, to protect these "weaker" people from being brutalized by more "respectable" detestables; you know, like if you're a child molester serving jail time, someone who loves his daughter but murdered a family might take offense to your actions and serve to punish them further. You know what? Fine by me. Refined correctional facilities only coddle sex offenders - why shouldn't they be beaten and raped (obviously behind the turned heads of the - i'm guessing here - male guards) in the same vein as the offense they committed? Let the punishment fit the crime. I think it's clear that jail time and rehab doesn't always work. The only reason I'm writing about this now is due to the CNN article on the guy in South Carolina who raped a 12 year old girl in 1991, served 9 years, and was released to torture and rape two more teenagres recently (in addition, the judge in 2000 denied two committees recommendations that he be placed in a program). Honestly, this makes me angry. It's like granting probation to murderers who should be on death row, only (and I'm certainly not marginalizing murder or death) murder victims don't grow up (duh) with mental and social problems of their own, more likely to pass on the crimes enacted on them.
To grant leniency to sex offenders (and especially pedophiles, fuckers) is a little bit too liberal for me, sorry. I don't care about the argument that they might get killed if placed in the general prison population - so might anyone else, and for that matter, if they prey on the weak while in society, why should they be cordoned off with more of their kind, the week? Way to go, Queen's commonwealth, nice work treating your rapists with what's essentially physical protection (from what could be considered justice). And with stricter gun control laws here, if you're stuck in a cell with a murderer, you know he was man enough to do it the old fashioned way, all glorification aside. Maybe that would make someone (but probably not) think twice about assaulting children. Now where's that woman that cleans my stripes and cooks my food?
In terms of worthwhile punishment, by the way, I thought about this. One girl here thinks they should cut something off so they can't have the same kind of arousal feelings for little kids, or so they can't get erections (obviously dealing with male offenders here). I vehementally disagree. They should actually be fully capable of having those desires, but be locked up (for life) with a huge window (or two-way mirror) just outside a playground: so many kids just out of reach (for their eternity) might be the most tortuous response ("you will never get this, you will never get this"). Oh, and slice their achilles and take their thumbs (the felons, not the kids).

Herrow, Mr. Bawa

Ok, Fox, you guys can stop pretending that this show has any remaining ties to reality. Not that I'm complaining or anything, I am still as addicted as ever, but please don't insult my intelligence by pretending (via ominous foreshadowing) that there is any predicament that Jack cannot dominate; he is like a Nebraska Cornhusker competing against Pop Warner players, or like me in a classroom setting. The man has not yet used over 12% of his mental powers, and probably nowhere above 17% physically (though the recurring internal bleeding is a cute little obstacle you've "saddled" him with. Really, I'm supposed to believe a floating rib spur causing hemorrhaging to his organs is going to slow the man who has been clinically dead, what, like 3 times already? If you want to handicap this little competition to make the bad guys have an eensy-weensy tide in their favor, take away his phone, his gun, his tattoo, his military boots, both thumbs, one achilles tendon, and, oh I don't know, stroke out one of his major cerebral arteries. And emblazon an east-bloc german flag on his forehead. Then I suppose I'll be maybe be a little bit starting to feign "surprise" when he comes out on top (of the alien stormtroopers and their photon beams). Oh, and bring Elisha Cuthbert back).