Monday, October 17, 2005

Las Catarátas del Niágara, parte 1

Hola gentecilla, este finde estuve en las Cataratas del Niágara.

Alucinantes…

Pensaba que me iban a apestar un poco porque están llenas de turista. Al parecer van como 12 millones de turistas a verlas al año. O_o

Pero me encantaron.

Estuve con mis padres que se van hoy de vuelta a España.

: ´(


No pasamos a la parte estadounidense de las cataratas porque las canadienses son bastante más bonitas y puedes ver las grandes “Horshoe Falls”, las que tienen forma de herradura.

Para vuestra información, están en el río Niagara al este de Norte América, en la frontera entre Estados Unidos y Canadá.

No son demasiado altas (máximo 57 metros), pero son famosas porque son muy anchas, muy bonitas y porque son las cataratas más voluminosas de Norte América.

Ahora llega el lado chungo. Una vez ves las cataratas, haces mil fotos, te abres camino entre las oleadas de japoneses a machetazos (sumimaseen), te montas en la barquita y bla, bla, bla; se acabó lo interesante, porque se han montado una verbena gigante alrededor.

Al más típico estilo de esta zona del mundo, han llenado el pueblo de basura. Me explico: la calle principal está llena de atracciones apestosas del tipo, museo de los horrores, museo de los record Guinnes, salas recreativas gigantes, museo Coca Cola, Hard Rock café, tiendas de recuerdos, tienda de Pressing Catch (he hecho mil fotos Juanjo, no te preocupes), Foster Holliwood, hoteles, casino,… y tantas otras mierdas que te acabas deprimiendo…

Pero por lo menos las cataratas merecen la pena.

No tengo las fotos listas todavía, pero esta semana cuelgo alguna…

Friday, October 14, 2005

más Osaka

...cuando tenía algo de tiempo libre al salir del curro o algún fin de semana, me iba a Den Den Town, que significa "ciudad de la electricidad".
Es un barrio entero dedicado a las tiendas de tecnología y al manga, vamos el paraiso para un friki asqueroso como yo.




La calle principal de Den Den Town

No es tan grande como Akihabara, su hermano mayor en Tokio, pero no deja de ser alucinante.
Aquí puedes ver cosas que puede que nunca salgan al mercado occidental.
En otro post hablaré de Den Den Town y de Akihabara con más detalle. Además tengo miles de fotos de los dos sitios.



Para llorar...




Resumen parte 2: Osaka

... pues sí, ahí me encontraba yo volando desde Londres a Dubai desde donde pillábamos un vuelo a Osaka.
Uno de los grandes sueños de mi vida se estaba cumpliendo delante de mis ojos.
Eramos 4 compis del curro, un italiano, un francés, un alemán y yo. La que iba a ser nuestra manager nos estaría esperando en el hotel en Osaka, ella venía desde Lión. Era la misma con la que había trabajado en Dallas.






Conseguí que nos dejara hacer una foto de su impresionante tatuaje de yakuza que llevaba.
Una tia más maja que las pesetas.
Nos lo pasámos muy bien pese a que trabajábamos hasta 12 horas al día.
Todos nos disfutamos mucho y nos llevábamos de lujo.
Yo me pasaba el día con la boca abierta.



Los japoneses alucinaban cuando veían el tatuaje


El hotel era, como todo en Japón, chiquitillo. Pero yo estaba tan feliz que no le di ninguna importancia. Tenía mi baño y mi váter automático (los adoro).
Todas las mañanas desayunábamos como animales en un buffet libre que tenía comida japonesa y occidental.





Sección de aseos de Yodobashi Umeda

Yo me ponía ciego de sopa miso y sushi...
Además llegué a desarrollar una oscura pasión por los robo-váteres ^__^





Tengo una colección de fotos de váteres y catálogos.
¿Me estaré volviendo un poco fetichista...?

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Mi primer post


Este soy yo en el Pabellón Dorado de Kioto.


Pues este es mi primer post.

Tenía ganas de tener un blog así que aquí está.
Salí de España hace casi 4 años y desde entonces me han pasado bastantes cosillas, he conocido a mucha gente interesante y he estado en algunos sitios curiosos.
Tengo cantidad de fotos, que siempre se agradecen, para acompañar los post.
De momento pongo esta que es de mis favoritas. Tiene algo más de un año, es de cuando fui a Japón por primera vez en mi vida. Después de haber estado soñando con ello desde que era una mierdecilla en mi habitación de mi casa de Alcorcón. Hace ya unos cuantos años de eso...

Me fui de Madrid hacia Brighton, en la costa Sur de Inglaterra, cerquita de Londres...


Esta es la playa de Brighton

Mi idea era ir a ver a un antiguo amigo mió del barrio (el Ripi), que estaba viviendo allí, y quedarme un tiempecito por la zona; al final la estancia se prolongó tres años y pico...

Después de estar un par de meses arrascándomela, y gastando el poco dinero que había ahorrado currando en Madrid, decidí ponerme a buscar trabajo de lo que fuese.
Encontré curro en una apestosa fábrica de apestosas camisetas con mensajes en los que se podían leer genialidades literarias como "Untadme de chocolate y lanzadme a las lesbianas" o "Si piensas que soy una zorra, deberías conocer a mi madre". Esto es verídico.
Al poco tiempo (1 mes) de doblar camisetas, empaquetarlas y hacer pedidos, mis jefes decidieron que era el momento perfecto para discutir una revisión de mi contrato: me echaron....
... a mi y a Rubén "Muñeco" un personaje bastante gracioso.
Nos largaron con la excusa de que habían cambiado la estructura de la empresa y ya no nos necesitaban.
Algo después el Muñeco se enteró de que nos dieron boleto porque, según ellos, estábamos todo el día cantando y dibujando.
Nadie lloró ese día, os lo aseguro. Los muy perros nos pagaban menos del mínimo.

En veranito vino a verme mi novia (ex) y nos metimos a currar en un parque de atracciones construido encima del mar. Es uno de los sitios más deprimentes que os podéis imaginar. Apesta a aceite de feria con el que "cocinan" en los puestecillos de "comida" que tienen dentro. Las atracciones son lamentables y tan antiguas que no se ni como siguen en pie y los jefes eran la tiranía personificada.
Enseguida me di cuenta de que el truco era no dar ni el huevo y así hice. Me pasaron mil cosas graciosas y conocí a mucha gente de todas partes, incluyendo unos brasileños muy salados que conocí el primer día (se pasaban el día fumando marihuana y manejando las atracciones); algunos compañeros que trabajaban en los puestos de "comida" y nos alimentaban de gratis lo mejor que podían; caraduras y demás trapicheros y buscavidas.
Duré un mes...

Nada especial que destacar, aparte de algún que otro viaje a Escocia a ver a mi hermana y al festival de Edimburgo, mil fiestas en casas, mil personas que llegan y el doble que se van, curros de mierda, ni una libra en el bolsillo y cosas así.

Edimburgo, una de mis ciudades favoritas de Europa

En la primera casa que tuvimos recuerdo que nos visitaron todo tipo de plagas. La peor fue una de ratas, luego una de arañas y otra de bichos bola.
En esa época teníamos que ahorrar para llegar a pobres. Ripi y yo íbamos a su universidad andando o colándonos en el tren para luego allí compartir una sopa que costaba una libra, ahora lo recuerdo y alucino.
También recuerdo con mucho cariño la segunda casa que tuvimos, donde Cristo perdió el mechero, a la que había que llegar después de subir una espantosa cuesta. Estuvimos en ella un año entero y nos juntamos allí una buena tropa de golfos. Fue genial, la verdad. Nos pasaron mil millones de cosas, algunas bastante bizarras. Todos seguimos en contacto, unos más que otros.

Acabé encontrando un curro de "Video Games Tester", si, como lo oís, probador de videojuegos.
¿Que como?, pues después de mucho intentarlo, el Ripi que ya estaba dentro consiguió que me entrevistaran, me hicieron la prueba y voilá.

Desde entonces es lo que he estado haciendo, poco más o menos. La diferencia es que antes era freelance (autónomo) y me iba de vacaciones durante 4 ó 5 meses al año. Se podía decir que vivía como un rey. O eso me decía todo el mundo.

Estuve un par de semanas en Dallas probando un juego de misión imposible. Tejas es un poquito chungo, pero también hay gente muy maja, como en todos lados.

Hicimos un par de fiesta gordas en un garito bastante interesante. Aunque después de estar más de un mes preparándolo todo, flyers, posters, llamar a los djs y bla, bla, bla... solo nos sacamos para pagarnos un taxi al aeropuerto a pillar un vuelo que nos compramos el Ripi, el Invikto (otro personaje que ahora es padre) y yo para Marsella, la meca del Hip Hop en Europa.

Tiempo después me fui a Cuba con el Ripi 5 semanas increíbles.
Viajamos de una punta de Cuba a la otra en "amarillo" (son inspectores de transporte que van de amarillo y se encargan de que la gente comparta sus vehículos).
Fuimos a los carnavales de Santiago de Cuba en camiones sin techo ni paredes con otras 60 personas, en carretas de bueyes, bicitaxis, cadillacs de los años 50, camionetas, motos con sidecar, camellos (camiones enormes que arrastran cabinas con asientos y ventanillas, tienen forma de camello), etc, etc...
Nos abrasamos bajo el sol de las Playas del Este, al lado de la preciosa Habana. Aprendimos a bucear en las aguas inigualables del Caribe. Conocimos a bastante gente entrañable que nos daba todo sin tener nada. Vivimos con una santera y con su hija y en 5 ó 6 sitios más...
Supongo que los dos aprendimos algo de ese viaje, inolvidable.


Este es el malecón de La Habana, inolvidable

La guinda fue que cuando llegué a Brighon. Me acerqué por la oficina para ver si se seguían acordando de mi cara y al rato de llegar y saludar a mis compis, me preguntaron si me gustaría irme a un proyecto a Japón. ¡Imagínate!, yo estaba flipando, no me lo podía creer...

Y ahí estaba yo, al poquito de llegar de Cuba, embarcado en un vuelo Londres - Osaka.
Bestial.

Bueno, otro día sigo...



Thursday, October 6, 2005

Scalpel please, nurse.

Its funny how things work inside an operating theatre.. people running around, getting on with their workday while patients are wheeled in and out of that big green room with all the fancy gadgets and gizmos. Nurses chatting away and socializing while they get ready for the next patient, doctors going off to get a cup of coffee before coming back to scrub in and get to work. Theatre lists that resemble indices of books in busy hospitals usually mean a less friendly work environment (example: SMC), while shorter lists lead to a more laid back, relaxed atmosphere in which everyone knows that they might just be able to sneak in lunch at around 2 or 3 in the afternoon.

Where does the medical student fit into all of this? I'm usually that inanimate (as far as everyone else is concerned) object in the far corner next to the medical supply cabinet. I must admit, it does get quite boring in there, and I tend to avoid going into theatre unless the consultant spots me wandering the wards and drags me with him. See, the novelty wore off around two years ago, and if you're not learning anything then its a pain in the ass to stand around for two hours staring at the back of the doctor's head while he points out things you have no idea about.

The other day things changed. Being in final year means you are expected to know more and actually help out when needed. The bitch-work involved in assisting in minor surgeries (things such as retracting the skin and clearing the way for the doctor to do his thing) is something that not even junior doctors enjoy doing unless they're hoping to become surgeons one day. So I'm standing around in my scrubs, trying to stay awake when the surgeon points at me and goes "You. Scrub in."..

This is where I almost lost all tone in my anal sphincter muscles. I'm not the proactive type that tries to scrub in and assist whenever I can. I know a lot of people in my class who have scrubbed in and assisted as far back as 3rd year, but I'm just not the volunteering type.

So I try to recall our little scrubbing tutorial and get to cleaning my hands and arms.. everyone's helpful.. the murse (male nurse) helps by unpacking the sterile kit and guiding me through the whole robing process.. and then just as I'm ready to go I scratch my nose with my germ-free glove and have to redo the whole thing again. It was one of those moments where your inner Homer is so close to manifesting itself with a resounding D'Oh! that would shake the hospital walls to their core. I managed to contain my anxiety and annoyance and made it safely to the operating table.

The next 45 minutes are spent retracting and pulling while the doctor removed a large lipoma out of our patient's back. It was benign and encapsulated, so the process was relatively simple. I got to do the honors by separating the final attachments with the cautery device and then I helped stitch and staple the wound and ended up doing the last bit by myself. Job done.

When asked later on by members of my family how it felt to cut open a real human being and stick my fingers inside the wound.. it made me think. It felt more like work, something to be done.. it never crossed my mind that this was an actual person.

All in all a good experience. I enjoyed it very much and I'd be happy to assist on any surgery from now on. It helped that the doctor guided me through the whole thing and was super nice. I also realized that even though I might enjoy the work and seem to be adequately skilled when it comes to tasks requiring manual dexterity (thanks to a life spent videogaming), I still wouldn't want to be a surgeon.

Its definitely a boys club, and I think I'd have a blast if I joined. Its cut 'em up and stitch 'em up without the requirement of patient empathy or sympathy. I enjoy the human element of it all and wouldn't want to give it up. Besides, ward rounds at 7am every morning for the rest of my life? On-call at all hours of the day, and a proper battle to get to the positions you aspire to get to? No thanks.. I might love medicine, but I certainly don't love it more than my own life.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Poem

I lay on my bed with a smile on my face
I looked at her in awe of her shimmering grace
I held her in my hands, my fingers twitching
To play with her all night, I truly was itching

The day she came home with me I was in ecstasy
Holding her in my arms, I unwrapped her carefully
I promised to take care of her, to never let her go
I stared at her intently, her whole body was aglow

A few weeks passed and I still feel the same
Around her I'm myself, I feel no shame
She's been with me on my journeys to far away cities
Places like Waterford, and the train station in Kilkenny

I woke up this morning, a morning so pleasant
For my little baby, I had quite the present
I went to the post office, the place was no mansion
But there is where they had, my honey's memory expansion

My PSP is so dear to me, I'm so glad she's mine
With this new memory stick I beam while she shines
I can now use her to watch three, full length movies
With some long battery life she keeps it all groovy

My PSP, she's oh so dear to me
I wish we'd be together eternally

(Or at least until the next hot new toy comes out).

Tuesday, September 6, 2005

One Last Time

Back in Dublin (not quite.. actually in Waterford for a month's rotation right now) for one last year as a student. The last time I ever come back from a "summer vacation" to resume studies at an academic institution. The last student card I ever get issued, as well as the last set of student discounts I'm ever going to recieve on all my purchases.

June 2006. The promised land for so many years now.. and its finally within sight. There was something so distant about my final year (or Final Med, as we affectionately refer to it). The fact that I was going to spend an age and a half in med school while all my high school friends went off to enjoy their brief spell as university students before starting to pull in the redback (bahraini dinars, of course), it was something that I used to get taunted about. Back in high school no one would even consider medicine because of the amount of time spent studying (5-6 years in the UK and Ireland, up to 8 years in the US) but I chose to take a step in that direction and try to survive through it.

My oh my has time flown by. I remember arriving here as a child, in both body and mind.. the shit that I've had to grow up through.. I mean, at 17 how much do you REALLY know about anything at all? After all is said and done, however, and looking at how everyone else's life has turned out.. I'm pretty glad I chose to stay a student for such a long period of time. I honestly needed it to mature enough, God knows it took me 4 years to just get my head on straight and focus on what I was here to do to begin with. Everyone who's back and working in Bahrain struggled to adapt.. at 20 and 21 you still want a few more years of the relatively worry-free life of a student. Your sole responsibility is towards your studies, you don't have to fret about real-world issues. Granted, I've been lucky enough to be blessed with parents who have given me all that they can, and have been so generous as to pay for all my expenses and my tuition.. and I hope to repay them by making them proud on my conferring date of June the 1st, 2006. This one's for you Mom and Dad, thanks for everything.

Its an unwritten rule here in RCSI that you're only allowed to drape your stethoscope around your neck when you make it to your final year.. its almost a rite of passage. As I type this I'm sitting here in Waterford with my stethoscope around my neck, freeing up one of my lab coat pockets for other items such as my phone and my wallet. It feels good.

Monday, August 22, 2005

Veni, Vidi, Vici

I was hanging out at the library today just doing some work when I completely lost my way. I ended up reading all about Julius Caesar and how the Roman Republic became the Roman Empire. In retrospect the topics I read about on the way to my final destination were linked in quite a peculiar fashion. It all started like this:

I look up from my book to see Ainsley Harriott's pretty face staring back at me from this medical journal with the headline "Ainsley Harriott talks about cooking, life and arthritis".. or something of the sort. So my mind wanders to a comment a friend of mine made as we stumbled onto Ready, Steady, Cook! when channel surfing on a hangover sunday about how Mr. Harriott is a former member of the Harlem GlobeTrotters. Lo and behold, I'm onto google in a flash to confirm the truth behind the rumor, so I type in his name and a Wikipedia link comes up. Nope, nothing remotely having to do with basketball.. he's been in the cooking business his whole life, apparently.

Hmm, so who WERE the members of the GlobeTrotters? Using Wikipedia again, I searched for that and came up with an article listing their history and members over the years.. interesting. Wilt "the Stilt" Chamberlain was one, eh?

While searching for that, one of the results was about Harlem, New York.. so I decide to click on it and read about the history of the area. It's quite informative, teaching me about the physical borders of the area as well as the years in which the African American populations started moving there and how throughout the years it gained notoriety as a hotbed for criminal activity. The article mentioned Hell's Kitchen as another area of New York, so I click on that and read about it.

From there the idea pops into my head to look up The Hells Angels (without the apostrophe in Hells I learn) which brings up a mention of the Rolling Stones concert at Altamont in 1969 when the gang were used for security and ended up stabbing a fan to death. Always wanted to know what happened that night, so I decide to read more about it by reading up on the Rolling Stones. After a quick whiz through their history in which it highlights quite the rift between Jagger and Richards, I decide to read more about Keith Richards' drug problems.

While reading about that, the article comes across two pieces of jewellery that he wears, one being a handcuffs bracelet that reminds him of how much he doesn't want to go to jail again, and a ring that looks like a skull with no jaw which apparently is a Totenkopf ring. What's that now?

On we go as I click on Totenkopf to read that its a german word that means "Death's Head" and is a military insignia associated with the Nazi SS. Hmm, click on that then and as I read the introductory paragraph the SS is described as the Nazi party's "praetorian guard".

Praetorian.. hmm.. so I click on that, which leads me to read about the Praetorian guard and their role in the Roman Empire and how they've become synonymous with intrigue, conspiracy, disloyalty and assassination. From there it lists the Roman Emperors and how the guard had affected their reign (whether by assassinating, deposing or assisting them) and from there I read about a few of the famous ones such as Nero, Caligula, Commodus etc.. There was actually an emperor called Philip the Arab who ruled for 5 years before being killed. Alllllriiiighhhttt.

You can see where this is leading, I hope? I spent the next hour and a half reading about the life and death of Julius Caesar, followed by the first Roman Emperor Caesar Augustus (real name being Octavian) who old Julius had written down as his heir in his will and who was actually his nephew and not his son.

Wikipedia is fantastic. I literally had to pull myself away otherwise who knows what I'd be reading about right now.

Monday, August 8, 2005

Bahraini in London

Well, I'm here.

Its strange when you see it on the news (and you know that you're going to go there and be there for a month), but it never actually sinks in until you get there and ride the tube and buses every single day. I'm quite the public transport fanatic, so I don't really care much about the threats of terrorism and what-not. If given the choice of free cab rides to wherever I wanted to go or a tube/bus travelcard for a month then I'm afraid the famous London Black Cab Company will have to do without my patron.

It was strange at first, normaly blank-faced commuters wore nervous expressions. Their eyes were shiftier than usual, and they scoped any suspicious passenger for signs of trouble. You could almost see the question arising in their minds as they examine the different pieces of luggage on the carriage.. "is that big enough to hold an explosive device?".. it was strange, to tell you the truth, and the more I thought about it myself the more I got worried. What would an explosion feel like? What were the odds? Should I stop using public transport? (BLASPHEMY! *slaps himself across the face* Get a hold of yourself man!).

Now that I've been here for a while I've gotten more used to seeing policemen and women scattered across the tube network's stations and platforms. I've realized that initial paranoia about how I would be percieved when bestrode those tunnel-travelling engines was unnecessary and excessive. Aside from a few wary glances I haven't felt labelled or singled out when travelling back and forth, which goes to show how well this metropolitan city has dealt with such dark times. "Goddamnit, we're going to continue with our lives whether you like it or not you dirtbags" is the general vibe you get from the city's residents.. and what better way to relay that specific point across than by carrying on like nothing's happened?

As for the rest of everything else, the hospital is nice and modern, the staff are very professional and I'm getting a good kickstart to my final year of studying by realizing that I have much work to do before I'm up to scratch. I'm just glad that the Picaddilly line is finally back in service.. I've missed riding that diagonal, navy blue bugger.

Monday, July 25, 2005

Reflection

Since I'm leaving Bahrain in a few short days to start an elective at a hospital in London, I thought I'd write a post about 10 things I've learned, achieved and experienced over the last few weeks:

1. Bahrain to Dublin, direct, three times a week starting December 2nd.. the best bit of news I've ever heard from Gulf Air.
2. Golf can be a very entertaining game if you persist with it (and manage to bag a free membership to the club for a week).
3. The heat.. the godawful heat. Not to mention the sporadic waves of uber-humidity.
4. Meeting new people who you expect to figure prominently in your life from now on can be quite a gratifying and enjoyable experience. Its been a pleasure, gentlemen.
5. You can get very fat, very fast in this country if you don't stick to your gym plans. So much for all the weight I managed to lose during exam time.
6. I've become more emotionally volatile when it comes to things I'm passionate about. In an effort to maintain a more characteristic cool, I will now try to take criticism more calmly.
7. Bahrain is growing at an unbelievable rate. A few months abroad and you're dumbstruck at the amount of roads and buildings constructed in the short span of time you were away.
8. It takes me approximately 5 weeks of doing absolutely nothing to recharge my batteries. All the physical and mental effects of a gruelling cross country commute-filled academic year have slowly been washed away.
9. I've realized that within less than a year I will be entrusted with the lives of people, and that no matter how worried that makes me feel I'm reassured by the fact that internally I have the confidence to cope with whatever fate throws my way.
10. I never knew one person could make me so happy. I never thought I'd be so head over heels. I love you sweetness.

See you in five months, Bahrain. Don't go changing too much on me now.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

The Elusive Idea

The Million Dollar idea. That one project that can net me a load of cash to set me up for further investments and wealth. I've been dwelling on this for the last couple of days. I have no money to my name, I have no assets I can sell, I have no investors to back any plans and most importantly.. I have no idea.

The focus has been on a cheap and creative way to provide a service that the Bahraini people require. A friend of mine has launched FeedMe, an online food ordering service (check it out!) and is slowly but surely building up a solid customer base. It caters to Bahraini (and Arabic, in general) people's love of food by providing another way to get the good stuff delivered to your doorstep. Integrating the Internet was meant to speed up the process for office workers with no time to pick up a phone, but it has also proven to be a hit with the younger generation (particularly teenagers), since ordering off a website is infinitely cooler than doing it the old-fashioned way. If you're reading this Fady then I expect a decent amount of free food vouchers delivered to my mailbox in return for all of this free advertising.

So I've been trying to come up with something similar, even simpler. Something that requires little start-up cash and yields instantaneous returns. The problem is, the market is quite small which means that to get the profits I'm looking for I have two options:

1. Target a large demographic and have a cheap and affordable service.
2. Provide the service to a niche market and charge a lot of money.

I'm also not in Bahrain for a good 8 months of the year, so running and propagating the service is also an issue. This is why the idea has to be spectacular, something that only needs to be introduced for the customers to flock to it. I have no time to start small and utilize word of mouth publicity.. I need instant impact. Its a get-rich-quick scheme/dream. I want to do the least amount of work possible and get the most out of it.

We were given a talk once about how doctors are notorious for their poor money-management and investment skills. Most medical practitioners earn a decent wage and could be much wealthier and have more free time to dedicate to their families/pro-bono work/social lives if only they invested wisely. Maybe in the future when I've got some greenback to my name I'll actually sit down and think up a proper way to start a profitable business. Until then, I'm just going to keep dreaming about my Million Dollar Idea.

Thursday, July 7, 2005

A Strange Dream

You'll all be pleased to know that I passed my exams and am officially in my final year of study. Before the results were released I had frequent dreams about them, not particularly about failing.. just ABOUT the exams in general.

Anyway, ever since the results came out and all was confirmed, the dreams ceased.. except for last night. I had a very strange dream that I thought I'd share with everyone. Quite random, so I thought it would be fitting to post it onto my "Random Blog":

**Begin Dream**

I'm sitting at home and I check my college email to discover that the results for the multiple choice exam have just been released. Hello.. what's this? What exam? I thought the results were all published? Anyway, I got a mark of 0 out of 20. Disastrous, since it means that I'll have to resit Pharmacology (of course, pharmacology was a subject I did 3 years ago but nothing makes sense in this dream, so read on). But how could I have gotten none of the questions right, I could've sworn I did better.. even though I don't remember taking the fucking paper! So I'm enraged at this point, I pick up the phone (some crazy Washington-Kremlin Red Hotline looking thing) and call the exams officer. I inquire about the result, about how I could've failed so miserably and how if I had gotten 2 questions right then I would've made it through.. so the guy tells me this:

"You see, you answered two questions correctly.. except we had Mario (from the Nintendo videogame, Super Mario Bros.) take five penalties in a shootout. Mario had to make at least the same number of penalties as your correct questions for you to pass, but unfortunately he missed all of his kicks."

So this is where I completely lose it. What the hell does a fat, Italian plumber videogame character have to do with my grades? Why does he decide if I pass or fail, and since when has this system been standard practice?

**End Dream**

I was quite agitated, which I believe is the reason I woke up without finding out the answers to all of my questions. A possible explanation is my being completely hooked on the Zelda videogame (which I completed yesterday after a week of vigorous, life-interrupting videogaming.. a period of time in which my girlfriend learned many new things about the way my childish mind prioritizes tasks sometimes).. but what does Link (the hero in Zelda) have to do with Mario? And yes, I've had football on the brain.. which could explain the penalty shootout.. but don't I always have football on my mind?

So many unanswered questions that are destined to remain as such.

Monday, June 27, 2005

Nostalgia

Spending time back home never fails to send me on trips down memory lane.

Its been five years since I've graduated from high school. That's half a decade. That equates to slightly less than 1/4 of my entire life (21.7% to be anally exact). A lot has happened since then, and it almost seems like living in Bahrain was an entire lifetime ago. I bet this is amusing the over 30s of you out there, that a relative youngin has the nerve to go on about how old he feels.. to that I say: isn't it time to empty out that colostomy bag?

Alright, I'm sorry. That was harsh. I'm actually quite excited about growing up, becoming more mature and knowledgeable is quite gratifying. It's funny looking back at the past five years and realizing how dumb I was.. and I'll probably look back on this five years from now and realize how stupid I am at the moment, its kind of a depressingly never-ending kind of thing.

Getting back on topic: Its things like fishing through my bookcase and taking a look at all the novels I used to read back in high school. Its opening a drawer still stuffed with old IB notes that haven't been touched in five years. Its catching up with old friends, running into people you haven't seen in such a long time and realizing that most of them have jobs and some even have children (yeah, one guy in my class is actually a father now). Its visiting your high school for the first time in five years only to realize that things are not quite as you left them. Its seeing all those kids graduating (June is graduation season, of course) and reading through this year's yearbook, all that stuff about how old they feel and how they've just accomplished something tremendous and thinking.. that used to be me. Its remembering the old days with your buddies, all the things we used to get up to and all the childishness of days past. Its hanging out with my parents and realizing how different our relationship has become, how its become a horizontal one of friendship, rather than a vertical heirarchy of authority. Its seeing my siblings growing older and wiser, becoming interesting people that make me want to spend time with them, changed from the kids who's silliness I tried to avoid. Its thinking about things like domestic and foreign politics, personal finances, career decisions, future aspirations, religious beliefs.. just.. serious stuff.. things that have replaced the peaceful, innocent, oblivious contents of my childhood cranium. Its things like having to renew my driving license and getting a new 5-year UK visa because the old 5-year one expires next month. Its looking at old photos of senior year and seeing the difference. Its starting to think about what happens after I'm done studying. Its looking at myself in the mirror and spotting a few stray grey hairs (for fuck's sake, that's just unnecessary.. I'm only 22 and a half).

I think I lost my way there, I set out to write about random nostalgic moments I've experienced since I got back but ended up ranting about growing older. I guess they're inextricably linked, the older you get the more nostalgic you become.

I just read an article about this Haitian man living in Cuba who's 120 years old. Apparently he doesn't remember the first 40 years of his life. Amazing.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Balls: Curve or Straight?

Before your mind beings to wander, I'd like to state that the content of this post is quite innocuous.

I went bowling with a few friends yesterday and I discovered an interesting new fact.

Let me give you some background info: See, the thing is.. I've been bowling in Bahrain since I was 15. That's 7 years. I had a phase between 15 and 16 where I used to bowl every other day at Bushihri (old school bowling place which I believe has been unfortunately shut down recently). Obviously I'm out of shape these days since for the last 5 years I've been abroad and haven't bowled much on the occasions that I did come back. I would say I'm a decent player, averaging 135 per round on a good day.

Okay, so I've got some experience when it comes down to it, right? I even know how to calculate spare and strike scores! How come I've never heard about the curve and straight variations of the ball until yesterday?

Apparently, the curve ball is the one the professionals play with. You roll it down the lane and it looks like its going to take out 2 or 3 pins max, but then it takes a wicked curve and heads towards the middle, resulting in a strike most of the time. I've known that the method existed, but I never knew it had its own seperate ball. The balls provided for the masses placed on the racks are all straight balls, and I've been using those for the last 7 years.

No wonder all my finger-breaking attempts at generating that curve from a straight ball have proved so painfully unsuccessful.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Impromptu Paella

Long grain rice
Diced chicken breast
Seafood mix (prawns, scallops, mussels, and calamari)
Diced onions
Mixed vegetables (courgettes, traffic light peppers, baby tomatoes, red onions)
Paprika
Cayenne Pepper
Piri-Piri, Lime and Tequila Marinade
Salt and Pepper

No exact amounts necessary, go wild. Mine was pretty damn spicy. Ring of fire.

Wash rice and drain. Boil for 10 minutes until half cooked.
Fry onions, mix spices and throw in chicken. Fry until cooked.
Throw in seafood mix.
Throw in mixed vegetables, quickly stir fry. Mix in marinade.
Toss in rice. Mix furiously.
Allow the mix to dry up a bit (not too dry).

Make sure you make a huge amount. Do not under any circumstances try to eat the whole lot by yourself. Invite some friends over, but not too many.. you gotta make sure you have some leftover to eat the next day. If it tastes shite, invite many people you don't like and get them to bring you some booze.

Heading back home in a few days. Summer's started!

Saturday, June 4, 2005

Menace II Society

Something interesting happened to me today. I realized that recent good results in my Obstetrics and Gynaecology exam have meant that I've actually earned a qualification. Yup, I couldn't believe it either. Me? With some sort of qualification other than a high school degree? Surely not..

Well, apparently its true. It forms one third of the long string of letters I get to add to the end of my name sometime next year. BAO.. Bachelor of Obstetrics. Alllriiiightttt.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am now officially qualified to deliver your babies. Scary thought, isn't it?

Wednesday, June 1, 2005

Videogame Session Dynamics

It quite interesting observing a bunch of guys sitting around playing videogames in a competitive environment. The key here is that it has to be competitive, with two or more of the players at a relatively equal level of skill. If there's no competition, the whole process ceases to be fun as attention is diverted elsewhere. There MUST be a singlemindedness towards the task at hand, a sharp focus on doing nothing but defeating and humiliating your best friends.

Many games are played, covering all major genres. There are the first person shooter games (such as Halo) which can involve anywhere from 2 to 16 players. There are the sports games that can involve 2 to 4 players (such as Fifa, Winning Eleven, Topspin tennis) and those which should be played strictly on a one-on-one basis (NBA Live, Madden, Tiger Woods). There are also fun games such as Mario Party which take on a very lighthearted and childish nature of play, but still manage to preserve that all-important competitive edge.

The whole aim of playing videogames is to prove that you are the best player beyond any doubt. Your task is to take on all comers and destroy them, making your friends pass the controller from one person to another and suffering the frustation of never being able to play two games in a row. Trash talk is a necessity, but you must also be able to back it up. If you talk trash and you suck at the game then no one will take you seriously. You will not be considered a threat to the top dogs and will be treated as nothing but cannon fodder or target practice. You will become the easy kill in Halo, the amount of times you're hunted down and killed will seperate the best players since they're too good to kill each other most of the time. You will become the lucky draw in a sports tournament such as Fifa, since playing you usually means easy passage to the next round. You will become the last person to be challenged to a game, the last person allowed to touch the controller in a shotgun scramble for a turn at the beginning of each session. No one will want to be your partner in a 4 player game. You will lose the respect of your friends when it comes to videogames and the only way you can redeem yourself is by getting better.

No, don't go practicing against the computer by yourself at home. Even the most difficult CPUs are no match for the top human players. And no, don't go researching tips and tactics on the Internet.. that's not going to help you. Improvement takes time, effort and heart. You'll have to play your games and get beaten the hell out of.. but you must also learn from every defeat. Everytime you get a chance to play one of the better players, you swallow the bitter pill of losing and make sure you give it a right go. And then, when you're matched against one of the more average players, you use what you learned and aim to beat them. Slowly but surely you will move up the ranks to being a mediocre player, capable of giving a top player a good run for his money if he happens to be having a bad day.

But that's where it stops I'm afraid. If you start off shit, you're never going to become great. Not amongst a respectable group of gamers, that is.. you can't call beating your little sister making it to the top. Becoming a constant winner at videogames is partially genetic, partially early conditioning. If you were big into sports when you were a kid but never really played any videogames then don't expect to be much good at them when you grow older (except if you're really extremely naturally gifted). Good gamers can pick up any new game and beat any other person who's never played it before. They learn how to play the game much faster and after a couple of turns are better than most players. They leave mediocre and poor players eating their dust, frustrated with the steep learning curve they must encounter to become semi-competitive.

I consider myself a damn good gamer. I think I'd be a match for any gamer 20 years old or above. If I've played the game before, chances are I'll beat you. This only applies to those who are 20 years or older, as the younger generation are a different breed. Those kids will school my ass and make me feel useless. My 13 year old cousin once beat me three times in a row while playing Winning 11.. he had the controller in one hand and was eating his dinner with the other.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Noisy Neighbours

If you've been reading through my past posts, you might've caught a mention or two of my neighbours. The current site of the Irish Financial Services Center happens to be right next to one of the historically poorest areas of Dublin. In actuality the residents of the area are being systematically relocated to government housing further away from the city center, but there are still quite a few who enjoy their ghetto's location too much to pack up and do as the Taoiseach says.

Next year will be the fourth year for me in this apartment, and as I've had a nice little run of two years in the bigger room, the time came for me to move back into the smaller room with no ensuite bathroom. Its only fair, and we did play a videogame tournament to decide the order. Can't break them rules now. Anyway, this room is at the back of the apartment and directly overlooks the Sheriff street (the name of the most dangerous street in Dublin) children's playground. Its sometimes fun to just stand on the balcony and observe the little community of neighbours that we have.. drunken fathers stumbling around, angry mothers beating kids up, teenage girls pushing prams and young men fully engaged in a life of delinquency.

My direct concern is that damn playground, however. I've been studying for my exams at home for the past few days and those kids are driving me mental. Its not the screaming kids on the jungle gym that annoy me as much as it is the strange activites some of the other kids are involved in. All day today I was plagued with the loud noise of a motorbike in various states of motion. It was either idling and sputtering every once in a while, or it was whizzing away to some unknown destination only to be back five minutes later. Now, when you're studying you don't exactly focus on these things.. but the frequency and the variability of the noise was just pissing me off. Everytime the sound got louder I found myself scampering on to the balcony to try and catch a glimpse of my tormentor. When I finally did, I saw that it was a 5 year old kid with an oversized helmet sitting on a tiny-ass motorbike toy thing. He then stopped next to the playground fence and a bunch of older kids walked over, smacked him on the head and rode off on his little bike. Thank fuck for that.

Around 8.30 the kids are called in for dinner, and I hear the same mothers calling the same children they used to call three years ago when I used to live in this room. This one lady calls out her son's name at the top of her lungs for a good half an hour. Goddamnit Paddy, go home and eat your potatos if only to shut your mother up.