So I'm in the South of England. The occasion? My sister's 19th birthday (May 1st) as well as a general catch up with family and - to a lesser extent - friends. Life moves on, I guess. Now I have been here for almost a week, and between wrestling with jet lag and wrestling my sisters dog - a clinically retarded Chocolate lab with an oral fixation - for the many remote controls, shoes and plastic bags he decides he needs to chew on, there's something I have noticed. Having been to a few bars since being here, it appears that nobody knows how to bartend. I went to a restaurant bar/grill and it took no less than 10 minutes for two cocktails - a Lynchberg lemonade, and a fruity rum drink for my sister. She made them one at a time, and didn't appear to know what was in them. Maybe the girl was new, I don't know. What I do know was that, not for the first time on this trip, I wanted to jump the bar, make it myself, and give her the money. Ah well. I suppose if you're strapped for cash and know your Jack Daniels from your Jose Cuervo, get a job in England.
In other news, I found this great comic online that i have been reading all morning. Subnormality deals with science in a non geek way, humour in an off the wall way, and its hatred of Nickelback in a glorious way. Which got me thinking: I don't think I know anyone that likes Nickelback. I don't even know of anyone that likes Nickelback, although Google gives 11,400 hits for "I love nickelback" and under 3,000 for "I hate Nickelback". There's proof right there that the world is a fundamentally flawed place.
Here's the real kicker: I love music, and I roll with people who share my tastes. (No wonder we get along so well.) How then, is this, this and this happening?
Just thought I would alert the world to some injustice, that's all.
By The Way: I am hungover. But it's that horrible kind, the one where you think you've dodged it when you wake up, then around 10am it kicks you in the stomach. I haven't worn anything but sweatpants all day.