My dear friends, I'm sorry to bombard you with posts about Arsenal, posts that you most likely care nothing about. But it's my blog and studying abroad has given me a perfect excuse to start it. Admittedly, I am probably approaching the dreaded status of "blog-whore."
Nevertheless, here is another Arsenal post. Take comfort in the fact that their season is now over so I will not be writing about them anymore.
I really have nothing to say about the match tonight. It speaks for itself. But here is what I wrote down, before it, in a message I was planning to send. I wanted to keep the vibrations positive so I decided not to send it. Here you go:
I just watched footage of Arsenal 2-1 Man Utd in 2006, and Arsenal 2-1 Man Utd in 2008 to pump myself up for this game. I won't be watching live due to a prior soccer-playing commitment, but I will be up into the wee hours of the morning watching the replay on ESPN.com.
Starting XI's from 11.08.08
Arsenal 2: Almunia, Clichy, Silvestre, Gallas, Sagna, Nasri, Fabregas, Diaby, Denilson, Walcott, Bendtner
Man Utd 1: Van der Sar, Neville, Ferdinand, Vidic, Evra, Anderson, Ronaldo, Ji-Sung, Anderson, Rooney, Berbatov
From watching the highlights of that match, plus watching the first leg from this time around, I've gathered the following:
1. Adebayor is a donkey and shouldn't start. His work rate has dipped significantly since that contract extension in the summer and since captain Henry left. If I were Wenger, I would sell him to Milan for £20. Bendtner at least works hard. If you watch the highlights from November, he at least holds up the ball well.
2. Fabregas needs to play deep in the midfield, not at the second striker role. He was able to dictate the game against Man Utd in November, whereas he was lost in the first leg. For whatever reason, Diaby started in "the hole" behind Bendtner in November, but it was Fabregas in the first leg.
3. Van Persie should not start if he isn't fully fit. He'll just be wandering aimlessly and his set pieces haven't been all that great recently either.
4. Song over Denilson.
What would I do then?
-----------------Almunia-----------------
-Sagna---Toure----Silvestre-Gibbs-
---------Fabregas---Song-------------
-Eboue---------Nasri-------Walcott--
----------------Bendtner----------------
If Eboue is having a good day, leave him on. He can take Evra, as he did in 2006. If not, take him out in the 30th minute, put van Persie on and switch to a 4-4-2.
But of course, we already know what Wenger is going to do.
--------------------Almunia-------------------
-Sagna----Toure----Silvestre----Gibbs-
-Walcott---Fabregas---Song-----Nasri-
----------Adebayor-----van Persie--------
Or the same lineup that started the first leg, in which case, see you in August 2009. One goal, and it's over tonight.
But of course, that's just me being pessimistic.
Showing posts with label football. Show all posts
Showing posts with label football. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
Wenger May Need To Go
Venting my anger at the outcome of Man Utd - Arsenal on Wednesday has been somewhat delayed by festivities here in Uppsala. I'll talk about those in an upcoming Blog.
Obviously, the sensationalist title needs meriting. As a supporter, I'll admit that I am very fickle when it comes to discussing my Gunners, criticizing them when they lose, praising them when they win. But now that season has come to an end – yes, Arsenal can theoretically snag third place for a guaranteed trip to next year's group stage or win this year's Champions League still – we can begin to discuss the overarching themes of this season. Unfortunately, these themes are very similar to those in past years.
Last year could have been Wenger's vindication. He had a team that worked beautifully together. Flamini, Fabregas, and Hleb were all great friends, a fact that was reflected by excellent teamwork on the pitch. Flamini provided the bite to Fabregas and Hleb's bark and Arsenal were within a whisker of winning the league.
Now that two out of those three cogs are gone, in search of pastures anew at two Europe's biggest and most successful clubs, Arsenal are not likely to win anything soon. They were lucky to be drawn with Roma and Villareal, two beatable teams in similar positions in their respective leagues as Arsenal. Had they drawn Barça, Inter, or Bayern, they would have been ousted earlier. This team are not England-beating, let alone Europe-beating.
This comes down to Wenger. He didn't buy players Arsenal needed this past summer, replacements for Flamini and Hleb. He bought Aaron Ramsey, a 17-year old, Silvestre, an aging, injury-prone donkey, and Amaury Bischoff who had played but a handful of games due to injury problems.
He finally replaced Hleb's creativity with Arshavin in the winter, but it was too late and Arshavin is cup-tied. This season, we have seen Denílson, Diaby, and Song played at Flamini's position, only to see Song improve in any way. Song has matured really well this year, and he could be as good as Flamini next year. But if Arsenal have to keep waiting a year for new talents to emerge, they'll get lost in the pack. In this respect, the youth movement has failed.
Arsenal should have more buying power. They have a 60,000 seater stadium and are a world-renowned club. If someone starts following football in a weak footballing foreign country, they are most likely to pick a club in the most-exposed league in the world, the English Premier League. And we all know there are only four teams to choose from, and Arsenal is one. I'm glad Arsenal have managed to stay out of debt, but surely they could stretch the finances a bit more at this time to bring in some talent that would pay for itself. Such is the case of the world's most indebted, yet the world's most successful club, Man Utd.
Not only did Arséne fail to replace two players integral to his team, but he failed to get the most out of what remained. Wenger has lost some of the most unforgivable matches this year, Hull at the Emirates and Stoke at the Britannia spring immediately to mind, and failed to win the biggest matches as well. Man Utd at the Emirates earlier this year was a cracking game that Arsenal deserved to win, but they did not deserve to beat Chelsea (van Persie standing 10 yads offside) or Liverpool either time. More recently, Arsenal lost to Chelsea in the FA Cup after one of the most mystifying tactical decisions I have ever witnessed in Wenger's decision to drop Arshavin to the bench. And Arsenal were well and truly outclassed at Old Trafford on Wednesday.
With the exception of Kieran Gibbs, Manuel Almunia, and the hard-working Alex Song, Arsenal were awful and out of their element. How do you think Guus Hiddink would have started the match if he were Arsenal's manager? Do you think he would have started Diaby, who is a playmaker who is not nearly physical enough for his size, at left-center midfield, let alone kept him on the pitch the entire match? Do you think he would have started Fabregas, Arsenal's most influential player available, at a shallow striker position, essentially in no-man's-land? Do you think Adebayor would have been able to get away with his absolutely shambolic performance yesterday? Not a chance.
A truly world-class manager can get his players to overachieve. Chelsea should never have dominated to the extent that they did on Tuesday. Granted, it wasn't pretty, but neither was Arsenal's performance at Old Trafford. First and foremost, a team such as Arsenal that try to play football need a solid, hard-working, tenacious foundation. The pretty play can come later.
At what point does losing, but trying to play beautiful football become tiring? Right now. Arséne, if you can't win on Tuesday, you may have to go.
Obviously, the sensationalist title needs meriting. As a supporter, I'll admit that I am very fickle when it comes to discussing my Gunners, criticizing them when they lose, praising them when they win. But now that season has come to an end – yes, Arsenal can theoretically snag third place for a guaranteed trip to next year's group stage or win this year's Champions League still – we can begin to discuss the overarching themes of this season. Unfortunately, these themes are very similar to those in past years.
Last year could have been Wenger's vindication. He had a team that worked beautifully together. Flamini, Fabregas, and Hleb were all great friends, a fact that was reflected by excellent teamwork on the pitch. Flamini provided the bite to Fabregas and Hleb's bark and Arsenal were within a whisker of winning the league.
Now that two out of those three cogs are gone, in search of pastures anew at two Europe's biggest and most successful clubs, Arsenal are not likely to win anything soon. They were lucky to be drawn with Roma and Villareal, two beatable teams in similar positions in their respective leagues as Arsenal. Had they drawn Barça, Inter, or Bayern, they would have been ousted earlier. This team are not England-beating, let alone Europe-beating.
This comes down to Wenger. He didn't buy players Arsenal needed this past summer, replacements for Flamini and Hleb. He bought Aaron Ramsey, a 17-year old, Silvestre, an aging, injury-prone donkey, and Amaury Bischoff who had played but a handful of games due to injury problems.
He finally replaced Hleb's creativity with Arshavin in the winter, but it was too late and Arshavin is cup-tied. This season, we have seen Denílson, Diaby, and Song played at Flamini's position, only to see Song improve in any way. Song has matured really well this year, and he could be as good as Flamini next year. But if Arsenal have to keep waiting a year for new talents to emerge, they'll get lost in the pack. In this respect, the youth movement has failed.
Arsenal should have more buying power. They have a 60,000 seater stadium and are a world-renowned club. If someone starts following football in a weak footballing foreign country, they are most likely to pick a club in the most-exposed league in the world, the English Premier League. And we all know there are only four teams to choose from, and Arsenal is one. I'm glad Arsenal have managed to stay out of debt, but surely they could stretch the finances a bit more at this time to bring in some talent that would pay for itself. Such is the case of the world's most indebted, yet the world's most successful club, Man Utd.
Not only did Arséne fail to replace two players integral to his team, but he failed to get the most out of what remained. Wenger has lost some of the most unforgivable matches this year, Hull at the Emirates and Stoke at the Britannia spring immediately to mind, and failed to win the biggest matches as well. Man Utd at the Emirates earlier this year was a cracking game that Arsenal deserved to win, but they did not deserve to beat Chelsea (van Persie standing 10 yads offside) or Liverpool either time. More recently, Arsenal lost to Chelsea in the FA Cup after one of the most mystifying tactical decisions I have ever witnessed in Wenger's decision to drop Arshavin to the bench. And Arsenal were well and truly outclassed at Old Trafford on Wednesday.
With the exception of Kieran Gibbs, Manuel Almunia, and the hard-working Alex Song, Arsenal were awful and out of their element. How do you think Guus Hiddink would have started the match if he were Arsenal's manager? Do you think he would have started Diaby, who is a playmaker who is not nearly physical enough for his size, at left-center midfield, let alone kept him on the pitch the entire match? Do you think he would have started Fabregas, Arsenal's most influential player available, at a shallow striker position, essentially in no-man's-land? Do you think Adebayor would have been able to get away with his absolutely shambolic performance yesterday? Not a chance.
A truly world-class manager can get his players to overachieve. Chelsea should never have dominated to the extent that they did on Tuesday. Granted, it wasn't pretty, but neither was Arsenal's performance at Old Trafford. First and foremost, a team such as Arsenal that try to play football need a solid, hard-working, tenacious foundation. The pretty play can come later.
At what point does losing, but trying to play beautiful football become tiring? Right now. Arséne, if you can't win on Tuesday, you may have to go.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
A Week in Sweden
Well, actually, it's more like 5 months in Sweden. But this is one of the first weeks in a long time that I have remained entirely in Sweden and not ventured to some other mythical European capital. And with the exception of Kiruna in Northern Sweden (which is the capital of the Lappland province), all of my travel destinations have been capitals of their respective nations. But I digress.
I changed the look of the blog a little bit. I decided while narcissistically reading my blog that it is hard to read white text over black background. Hopefully, the new colors make it easier for me (and you) to read. I also changed the title because my previous title "What is a Blog?" is now irrelevant. Of course I know what a blog is. The new title "Utbytesstudent i Sverige" (Exchange Student in Sweden) is more pertinent and also flaunts my immense knowledge (maybe 30 words) of Swedish (see below).
This week I have been to two Swedish football (soccer, for my American readers – whoops, that's everyone I think) matches. The first was on Monday in Stockholm, a derby match (both teams from the same city) between Hammarby IF and Djugårdens IF. The atmosphere at the match was incredible, with both sets of supporters on their feet the entire match, singing and lighting off flares like there would be no Tuesday. It was a sloppy but entertaining match, and BC Alum Charlie Davies scored the second of Hammarby's goals in their 3-1 victory. I must add that the 3.5% beer we had at the match was comparable to Bud Light, but smelled slightly more like it had been scooped from a urinal.
The second match was in Uppsala yesterday evening and was contested by IK Sirius, the local team, and Jönköpings (pronounced Yenshehpings) Södra IF. Though Sirius dominated the run of play, Jönköpings had the better of the chances. Neither side could capitalize, and the match ended in a 0-0 draw, lulling me to sleep and, thus, scuppering plans to head to a pub afterwards.
But enough sports commentary. The rest of my week has been filled by class. I started the M.A. level class – titled "Legacy of the Holocaust in the Development of the European Union," a right mouthful – on Monday and was not surprised to see I was the only B.A. student in the class, as well as most likely the only person my side of 25. I was also not surprised to learn that I will soon be writing a 15-25 page paper. I'm sort of taking this as a challenge, though, and I've already begun endeavors to finish two 15-kilo-weighing books, totalling a measly 1,217 pages between them. Whether the motivation will last remains to be seen.
I should add that the weather in Sweden is improving by the hour. The forecast for the foreseeable future is for sunny and right around 20˚C, 68˚F for you English unit snobs. It also begins to get light out at 4 am and only gets dark at around 9 pm, a vast contrast from 10 am and 3 pm, respectively, when I first arrived. Consequently, public morale in Uppsala has increased significantly and restaurants have increased their capacities tenfold by putting tables and chairs outside.
Now for your inaugural Swedish lesson. The main reason I'm giving you a Swedish lesson is because I have only just learned enough Swedish words to sound like I know any Swedish, and I feel the need to show off that I know Swedish. But, hey, at least I'm honest about my motives.
Hej (pronounced hay) = hello
Hejdå (pronounced haydoe) = goodbye
Tack (pronounced tock) = thank you
Kyckling (pronounced shykling) = chicken
Göteborg (pronounced Yotebory) = Gothenberg
Malmö (pronounced Malmeh) = Malmo
Stockholm (pronounced, well, who am I kidding) = Stockholm
Hope you've enjoyed this installment. Hopefully by the time of my next blog entry, I'll have learned some more words.
I changed the look of the blog a little bit. I decided while narcissistically reading my blog that it is hard to read white text over black background. Hopefully, the new colors make it easier for me (and you) to read. I also changed the title because my previous title "What is a Blog?" is now irrelevant. Of course I know what a blog is. The new title "Utbytesstudent i Sverige" (Exchange Student in Sweden) is more pertinent and also flaunts my immense knowledge (maybe 30 words) of Swedish (see below).
This week I have been to two Swedish football (soccer, for my American readers – whoops, that's everyone I think) matches. The first was on Monday in Stockholm, a derby match (both teams from the same city) between Hammarby IF and Djugårdens IF. The atmosphere at the match was incredible, with both sets of supporters on their feet the entire match, singing and lighting off flares like there would be no Tuesday. It was a sloppy but entertaining match, and BC Alum Charlie Davies scored the second of Hammarby's goals in their 3-1 victory. I must add that the 3.5% beer we had at the match was comparable to Bud Light, but smelled slightly more like it had been scooped from a urinal.
The second match was in Uppsala yesterday evening and was contested by IK Sirius, the local team, and Jönköpings (pronounced Yenshehpings) Södra IF. Though Sirius dominated the run of play, Jönköpings had the better of the chances. Neither side could capitalize, and the match ended in a 0-0 draw, lulling me to sleep and, thus, scuppering plans to head to a pub afterwards.
But enough sports commentary. The rest of my week has been filled by class. I started the M.A. level class – titled "Legacy of the Holocaust in the Development of the European Union," a right mouthful – on Monday and was not surprised to see I was the only B.A. student in the class, as well as most likely the only person my side of 25. I was also not surprised to learn that I will soon be writing a 15-25 page paper. I'm sort of taking this as a challenge, though, and I've already begun endeavors to finish two 15-kilo-weighing books, totalling a measly 1,217 pages between them. Whether the motivation will last remains to be seen.
I should add that the weather in Sweden is improving by the hour. The forecast for the foreseeable future is for sunny and right around 20˚C, 68˚F for you English unit snobs. It also begins to get light out at 4 am and only gets dark at around 9 pm, a vast contrast from 10 am and 3 pm, respectively, when I first arrived. Consequently, public morale in Uppsala has increased significantly and restaurants have increased their capacities tenfold by putting tables and chairs outside.
Now for your inaugural Swedish lesson. The main reason I'm giving you a Swedish lesson is because I have only just learned enough Swedish words to sound like I know any Swedish, and I feel the need to show off that I know Swedish. But, hey, at least I'm honest about my motives.
Hej (pronounced hay) = hello
Hejdå (pronounced haydoe) = goodbye
Tack (pronounced tock) = thank you
Kyckling (pronounced shykling) = chicken
Göteborg (pronounced Yotebory) = Gothenberg
Malmö (pronounced Malmeh) = Malmo
Stockholm (pronounced, well, who am I kidding) = Stockholm
Hope you've enjoyed this installment. Hopefully by the time of my next blog entry, I'll have learned some more words.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Up the Arse
For some reason, the last few days all I've wanted to do was sleep. I didn't end up going out this weekend, partly to save money and partly to sleep as much as I could. The only real thing of note I have done this weekend, though it just really angered me, was watch the FA Cup Semifinal between Chelski and Arsenal.
I start a new class tomorrow, a graduate level class about the Holocaust, so now that I am not going to be away as much, I'll have something to take up my time. After class, I'll be heading to Stockholm to watch a Swedish Allsvenskan football match between Hammarby and Djurgårdens, a Stockholm derby match. BC Alum Charlie Davies will be playing for Hammarby. Other than that, this week will be pretty boring for me, I fear.
Boredom Equation
Hours of class x Level of classes – Little Money available = Zero fun
Now if you don't like Arsenal, stop reading.
I have now had time to cool down a bit after watching bits and pieces (bad stream) of that abject performance. Having read Arséne Wenger's comments, though, my blood now boils again.
Diaby? Just back from injury and terrible. Denílson? Out of his element in a midfield with Ballack, Lampard, and Essien. Frustration boiled over at the referee. Fàbregas? Couldn't find his feet. Adebayor? Looked like he didn't give a toss. van Persie? Worked hard until he got injured, as usual.
So why leave all of these players in until the 76th minute? That's not enough time for Arshavin to make an impact. Adebayor out at 82? He should have been given ten minutes to up his work rate in the Second Half and then been sent down the tunnel. He didn't care. Denílson out at 86? That doesn't give Nasri time to do anything! Plus, why Denílson and not the much worse Diaby?
Arséne just needs to admit he got this one wrong. Chances of winning the FA Cup, prior to yesterday? Good. One match against Chelski and one against Man Utd. Winnable. Chances of winning the Champions League? Slim. Two matches against Man Utd an one against Chelski or Barça. Not very winnable, especially now without any confidence.
That's the worst part about this match. All confidence gained from the past couple weeks will be gone. Fabianski is going to be timid on Tuesday. Silvestre will probably not have recovered from getting beat like a drum.
Point is, once again, that Arséne got this wrong. He started with the wrong lineup and was too slow to change it. Guus Hiddink? Saw Arsenal were getting too much space in the midfield and made an adjustment in the 20th minute.
Now the meaningless game against Liverpool. Rumor has it Milan are willing to trade to get Adebayor. Let's take Flamini back.
I start a new class tomorrow, a graduate level class about the Holocaust, so now that I am not going to be away as much, I'll have something to take up my time. After class, I'll be heading to Stockholm to watch a Swedish Allsvenskan football match between Hammarby and Djurgårdens, a Stockholm derby match. BC Alum Charlie Davies will be playing for Hammarby. Other than that, this week will be pretty boring for me, I fear.
Boredom Equation
Hours of class x Level of classes – Little Money available = Zero fun
Now if you don't like Arsenal, stop reading.
I have now had time to cool down a bit after watching bits and pieces (bad stream) of that abject performance. Having read Arséne Wenger's comments, though, my blood now boils again.
"Alex Song has played many games, and I believe when you do that you need rest." – Arséne on why he rested the in-form Alexandre SongOkay, its understandable that players need rest, but why on earth give it to them in the FA Cup Semifinal, the trophy Arsenal can most realistically win? And where the hell was Arshavin? Someone on the BBC commented that Hiddink, being Russia's coach, new how to stop the little man and that was possibly why he did not start. That is ridiculous. You start your best player even if there is a possibility he won't do much.
Diaby? Just back from injury and terrible. Denílson? Out of his element in a midfield with Ballack, Lampard, and Essien. Frustration boiled over at the referee. Fàbregas? Couldn't find his feet. Adebayor? Looked like he didn't give a toss. van Persie? Worked hard until he got injured, as usual.
So why leave all of these players in until the 76th minute? That's not enough time for Arshavin to make an impact. Adebayor out at 82? He should have been given ten minutes to up his work rate in the Second Half and then been sent down the tunnel. He didn't care. Denílson out at 86? That doesn't give Nasri time to do anything! Plus, why Denílson and not the much worse Diaby?
Arséne just needs to admit he got this one wrong. Chances of winning the FA Cup, prior to yesterday? Good. One match against Chelski and one against Man Utd. Winnable. Chances of winning the Champions League? Slim. Two matches against Man Utd an one against Chelski or Barça. Not very winnable, especially now without any confidence.
That's the worst part about this match. All confidence gained from the past couple weeks will be gone. Fabianski is going to be timid on Tuesday. Silvestre will probably not have recovered from getting beat like a drum.
Point is, once again, that Arséne got this wrong. He started with the wrong lineup and was too slow to change it. Guus Hiddink? Saw Arsenal were getting too much space in the midfield and made an adjustment in the 20th minute.
Now the meaningless game against Liverpool. Rumor has it Milan are willing to trade to get Adebayor. Let's take Flamini back.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Another Boring Trip Story: London
Wow.
Though I may call this a boring trip story, this excursion was in no way, shape, or form boring for me. It began innocently enough with the usual trip to Uppsala Centralstation – it's become customary for me to take a bus to the station, but walk back on my return leg – the 260 SEK round-trip ticket to Stockholm-Arlanda airport, printing out my boarding pass at the airport, scurrying through security, and waiting impatiently at the gate to get it all on with. Though, this time, I had to, somewhat oddly, get my passport stamped before heading to my gate.
The Boeing-767 I flew to London on was the nicest plane I've been on. The British Airways vessel made me feel as though I was in business class, when in reality, I was smack in the middle of coach. I must admit, though, that in spite of the free beverage and Daily Mail newspaper, the complimentary Chicken, Cheddar, and Mustard Chutney sandwich left something to be desired.
We landed right on time, and after waiting in the kilometer-long customs line, I made my way to the Heathrow tube station. It was around 9 pm when I sat down for the 50-minute long tube journey on the Piccadilly Line. Strangely, as soon as I felt I had escaped from the old "hearing nothing but Swedish in public places" dilemma, a foursome of juvenile Swedish girls began gawking away.
Dear friend Daniel met me at the Gloucester Road tube station, and after a stop at the all-important liquor store, we trudged to his dorm. We nursed some Scotch, guzzled some beers, and left for a four story bar. With its live music and bustling energy, this Irish bar made for a good time. After a few hours, we hailed a cab, along with the friends we had joined there, and headed back to the dorm.
I should add here, that although I'm not going to disclose why, I ended up sleeping in three different places in the three nights I spent there. I'll leave you with the fact that I had no choice.
Anyway, on we go. We awoke rather early, maybe 9 or 10ish, and stepped on the Piccadilly Line once again, again heading Eastward, but this time towards a certain Arsenal stop. Anyone who has spoken to me for more than 10 minutes probably knows that its hard to stop me babbling about my beloved Gunners. Being in London, and Arsenal happening to have a match in North London, I figured I'd drag Dan along to see if we could conjure up some tickets.
We got off at the Arsenal and walked excitedly up the tunnel. A good friend back at BC had given me some tips on how to find spares, so we tried all of those. After lacking success, we asked around for spares, and oddly – I don't know how anyone could think of this – were directed to the Emirates Stadium box office. Apparently, they were selling Will Call tickets people had failed to retrieve on time.
We got in line, but, to our amazed chagrin, the folks in front of us snagged the final tickets. Discouraged, we walked back the way we had come, hoping something would fall into our laps. It then did. A somewhat mysterious, but business-like, fellow approached us, probably seeing the Arsenal crests in my eyes and disappointment on my face, and offered us tickets. £125 each, he said. Done, I said. After following him into a sidestreet, he pulled the folded tickets from his shoes, and the transaction was completed.
I then began to think it was too good to be true, and started to worry whether they were authentic tickets or not, especially because they lacked any barcode. At this point, I was shaking in anticipation for the moment when I would finally step gloriously through the turnstiles. I couldn't even put down my share of a four-pack Dan and I purchased.
We walked up the steps that lead to the Emirates itself, my knees wobbling profusely. Our intent was to attempt to enter long before the match started, so if we had been shammed, there would be some hope of beating the shite out of the crooked vendor. No problem. We got in.
We walked through the tunnel, and the beautiful, sun-brightened grass came into view. We examined the row number on our tickets, then those on the side of each seats. To our amazement, we kept walking towards the pitch. Finally, we stopped 11 rows from the lot of orange-clad ushers. I was sat directly on line with the middle of the goal. I almost cried.
The rest is irrelevant, other than that I had a goofy smile on my face the entire match, which Dan can verify, and the drunk Englishman spouting his mouth the entire match. Admitedly, I quite enjoyed the "ABC, 123, City girls have got VD" cheer he employed, but the rest was, to borrow an English expression, rubbish.
The match itself was wonderful. Arsenal never looked second-best, and thoroughly dismantled the shambolic Manchester City XI. Robinho was awful, and it was great to jeer him in person.
Anyway, I'm going to stop gaga-ing about the Arsenal, as I'm quickly running out of blogging steam but still want to talk about the rest of my trip.
After the match, we headed back to Kensington for a much needed nap. We then met some of Dan's friends for a pre-party drink, then headed to what some may describe as a rave. Ecstasy was present, and the environment at the place, called The Ministry of Sound, put me into a trance-like state. I should add that I did not, in fact, take ecstasy.
We headed home after nearly inciting a brawl, and after walking around Kensington a bit and seeing the exterior of the Royal Albert Hall, I fell asleep.
The next day, in order, consisted of tossing a football in Hyde Park, eating fish and chips, going to Harrods (which includes perusing their vast liquor and cigar collections and eating Krispy Kreme donuts), going to a pub, smoking some Cubans while sipping on Scotch, then going to bed.
The next morning, Dan and I parted ways, as he had class to attend, and I explored Trafalgar Square before returning to where I now sit, in Uppsala.
I leave for Vienna tomorrow, so expect Another Boring Trip Story in the middle of next week. Meanwhile, I'm going to work on getting some pictures available to you.
Though I may call this a boring trip story, this excursion was in no way, shape, or form boring for me. It began innocently enough with the usual trip to Uppsala Centralstation – it's become customary for me to take a bus to the station, but walk back on my return leg – the 260 SEK round-trip ticket to Stockholm-Arlanda airport, printing out my boarding pass at the airport, scurrying through security, and waiting impatiently at the gate to get it all on with. Though, this time, I had to, somewhat oddly, get my passport stamped before heading to my gate.
The Boeing-767 I flew to London on was the nicest plane I've been on. The British Airways vessel made me feel as though I was in business class, when in reality, I was smack in the middle of coach. I must admit, though, that in spite of the free beverage and Daily Mail newspaper, the complimentary Chicken, Cheddar, and Mustard Chutney sandwich left something to be desired.
We landed right on time, and after waiting in the kilometer-long customs line, I made my way to the Heathrow tube station. It was around 9 pm when I sat down for the 50-minute long tube journey on the Piccadilly Line. Strangely, as soon as I felt I had escaped from the old "hearing nothing but Swedish in public places" dilemma, a foursome of juvenile Swedish girls began gawking away.
Dear friend Daniel met me at the Gloucester Road tube station, and after a stop at the all-important liquor store, we trudged to his dorm. We nursed some Scotch, guzzled some beers, and left for a four story bar. With its live music and bustling energy, this Irish bar made for a good time. After a few hours, we hailed a cab, along with the friends we had joined there, and headed back to the dorm.
I should add here, that although I'm not going to disclose why, I ended up sleeping in three different places in the three nights I spent there. I'll leave you with the fact that I had no choice.
Anyway, on we go. We awoke rather early, maybe 9 or 10ish, and stepped on the Piccadilly Line once again, again heading Eastward, but this time towards a certain Arsenal stop. Anyone who has spoken to me for more than 10 minutes probably knows that its hard to stop me babbling about my beloved Gunners. Being in London, and Arsenal happening to have a match in North London, I figured I'd drag Dan along to see if we could conjure up some tickets.
We got off at the Arsenal and walked excitedly up the tunnel. A good friend back at BC had given me some tips on how to find spares, so we tried all of those. After lacking success, we asked around for spares, and oddly – I don't know how anyone could think of this – were directed to the Emirates Stadium box office. Apparently, they were selling Will Call tickets people had failed to retrieve on time.
We got in line, but, to our amazed chagrin, the folks in front of us snagged the final tickets. Discouraged, we walked back the way we had come, hoping something would fall into our laps. It then did. A somewhat mysterious, but business-like, fellow approached us, probably seeing the Arsenal crests in my eyes and disappointment on my face, and offered us tickets. £125 each, he said. Done, I said. After following him into a sidestreet, he pulled the folded tickets from his shoes, and the transaction was completed.
I then began to think it was too good to be true, and started to worry whether they were authentic tickets or not, especially because they lacked any barcode. At this point, I was shaking in anticipation for the moment when I would finally step gloriously through the turnstiles. I couldn't even put down my share of a four-pack Dan and I purchased.
We walked up the steps that lead to the Emirates itself, my knees wobbling profusely. Our intent was to attempt to enter long before the match started, so if we had been shammed, there would be some hope of beating the shite out of the crooked vendor. No problem. We got in.
We walked through the tunnel, and the beautiful, sun-brightened grass came into view. We examined the row number on our tickets, then those on the side of each seats. To our amazement, we kept walking towards the pitch. Finally, we stopped 11 rows from the lot of orange-clad ushers. I was sat directly on line with the middle of the goal. I almost cried.
The rest is irrelevant, other than that I had a goofy smile on my face the entire match, which Dan can verify, and the drunk Englishman spouting his mouth the entire match. Admitedly, I quite enjoyed the "ABC, 123, City girls have got VD" cheer he employed, but the rest was, to borrow an English expression, rubbish.
The match itself was wonderful. Arsenal never looked second-best, and thoroughly dismantled the shambolic Manchester City XI. Robinho was awful, and it was great to jeer him in person.
Anyway, I'm going to stop gaga-ing about the Arsenal, as I'm quickly running out of blogging steam but still want to talk about the rest of my trip.
After the match, we headed back to Kensington for a much needed nap. We then met some of Dan's friends for a pre-party drink, then headed to what some may describe as a rave. Ecstasy was present, and the environment at the place, called The Ministry of Sound, put me into a trance-like state. I should add that I did not, in fact, take ecstasy.
We headed home after nearly inciting a brawl, and after walking around Kensington a bit and seeing the exterior of the Royal Albert Hall, I fell asleep.
The next day, in order, consisted of tossing a football in Hyde Park, eating fish and chips, going to Harrods (which includes perusing their vast liquor and cigar collections and eating Krispy Kreme donuts), going to a pub, smoking some Cubans while sipping on Scotch, then going to bed.
The next morning, Dan and I parted ways, as he had class to attend, and I explored Trafalgar Square before returning to where I now sit, in Uppsala.
I leave for Vienna tomorrow, so expect Another Boring Trip Story in the middle of next week. Meanwhile, I'm going to work on getting some pictures available to you.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Another Boring Trip Story: Oslo
I'd like to point out before I begin my next boring trip story that I intend to cover a massive amount of material in this particular entry but won't get to most of it. This is mainly due to the fact that I have a very short attention span. This is why I don't participate in staring contests or online poker tournaments. Well, I guess it's only one reason why I don't participate in staring contests or online poker tournaments. But I digress.
I left for my next trip at an ungodly hour on Saturday morning – so ungodly, in fact, that I must have blocked out the exact time. My good friends (three Americans and three Aussies) accompanied me on this journey, first to Arlanda Airport outside of Stockholm. We flew via Norwegian Airlines to Oslo, or rather, Oslo Airport, 50 km (too lazy for a mileage conversion) outside of the Norwegian Capital. After taking a bullet train to Oslo Central Station, we walked to our Hostel.
This first stroll through the streets confirmed something we had heard about Oslo. There are many beggars on its streets, probably because of the extremely high price of living in the city. I even resorted to eating McDonald's (for the third time in Europe: once in Uppsala, once in Copenhagen, and once in Oslo – I'm trying to limit it to once per country), where I somewhat happily spent $10, an ridiculous sum for such processed food. I have to admit, though, it did taste good.
Our hostel was in a rather rough part of town, which isn't saying much for Scandinavia. I never felt unsafe, but I didn't feel I should count my money on the streets. Then again, do I ever?
We met up with our Austrian, German, and fourth Aussie friends and headed to find food. After walking for miles, I decided to part with the group, caused by an emotion I call "hunger-rage." You heard it here first. Anyway, three of the girls followed me – naturally – so we took our aforementioned trip to the home of the golden arches, then trudged to the National Art Museum, home to the paintings of Edvard Munch, artist of famous "The Scream" painting below.
The following day, an American friend and I headed to some more manly museums: The National Armed Forces Museum and the Norwegian Resistance museum. Basically, they were full of a lot of guns and stories of heroic people. The Armed Forces museum had some great displays of old army uniforms and weapons, while the Resistance museum catalogued the Norwegian resistance against the Nazi occupation in the early 1940s. That evening, Sunday, we had planned to go out but ended up hanging out in our hostel room, or maybe I should say we did not make it out. Read between those lines.
Monday morning, we, the gentlemen, headed to the Viking Ship museum, which I have to say was one of the best museum experiences of my life. They had three Viking ships, over a thousand years old, on display, two of which were perfectly intact. The museum also housed the remains of three ancient persons who had been buried with the ships, along with analysis of their lives and deaths. This museum made my trip.
We returned to the hostel Monday afternoon and thought of a funny prank to play on the girls. One of us had a half-full bottle of 50% (100-proof) Smirnoff vodka. We decided to replace the vodka with water – don't worry, the vodka was saved. The plan was to, when the girls returned, give him stick for not having finished his bottle (two of us already had). He would volunteer to drink it on the spot. We would pretend to give him all of our Norwegian currency in order to do so, and with much delay, he would 'chug' the entire bottle.
The plan was put into action, and the girls, and one guy, were all fooled immaculately, due to our wonderful acting. The protagonist in our plan pretended brilliantly to be hammered drunk, and the three of us stepped out for a cigarette break to determine the next course of action. We decided that we would return to the room, and he would lock himself in the bathroom and later exit acting completely normally. Incredibly, the girls did not pick up on this prank until we attempted to sleep that night at about 11:00, continually expressing amazement at how okay he was. A nine-hour prank.
We left on a train home the next morning, about a 7-hour journey. I was hit with a barrage of e-mails as soon as I turned on my computer – of course, most of them were fan mail for this blog.
For those of you who don't care about sports, you can stop reading. Thanks for your time.
Arsenal have been picking up the results lately, and it's nice to see. I watched the FA Cup Quarterfinal yesterday versus Hull City. It seemed like it was going to be the same-old new Arsenal, the one that cannot pick up results against the weakest teams. With Barmby's lucky goal, I got flashbacks of that infamous match in September, back when Phil Brown still had a beard. The second half was a massive improvement, and though Gallas's winner appeared to be offside, the Arsenal deserved their win and a date with Chelski in April's Semifinal.
Eboue and Song, two players who have appeared less-than-quality, have been playing well – Song especially. Arshavin is absolute quality, despite appearing to come from Santa's workshop. Fabregas will be back soon, but for now, I guess he'll just be spitting at assistant managers. If he's willing to spit for Arsenal, you know where his heart lies. Phil Brown and his ass-istant are tossers, anyhow. They whine more than infants.
As for Boston College basketball, it's nice to see they made the Big Dance once again after a year's absence. Credit Al Skinner for the brilliant work he is doing. I'd really compare him to Arséne Wenger, for finding the diamonds in the rough. For him to make the tournament so often at a non-perennial basketball powerhouse in a less-than-desirable location is fantastic.
It's funny to see them going against USC, a school for which I have such little athletic respect. Hopefully they'll be able to get it together to defeat the red-hot Pac-10 winners. I realize, by the way, that I am not a college basketball expert and that I should not be talking about something I know nothing about. But I'm going to do it anyway.
This may be the first year I can remember when I won't fill out a bracket. Given my placement in the world right now, there is hardly any enthusiasm for the sport, and I won't be able to watch because of the time difference.
Sorry for this massive case of "diarrhea of the mouth." I'll try to keep them shorter from now on. Amsterdam Friday...
I left for my next trip at an ungodly hour on Saturday morning – so ungodly, in fact, that I must have blocked out the exact time. My good friends (three Americans and three Aussies) accompanied me on this journey, first to Arlanda Airport outside of Stockholm. We flew via Norwegian Airlines to Oslo, or rather, Oslo Airport, 50 km (too lazy for a mileage conversion) outside of the Norwegian Capital. After taking a bullet train to Oslo Central Station, we walked to our Hostel.
This first stroll through the streets confirmed something we had heard about Oslo. There are many beggars on its streets, probably because of the extremely high price of living in the city. I even resorted to eating McDonald's (for the third time in Europe: once in Uppsala, once in Copenhagen, and once in Oslo – I'm trying to limit it to once per country), where I somewhat happily spent $10, an ridiculous sum for such processed food. I have to admit, though, it did taste good.
Our hostel was in a rather rough part of town, which isn't saying much for Scandinavia. I never felt unsafe, but I didn't feel I should count my money on the streets. Then again, do I ever?
We met up with our Austrian, German, and fourth Aussie friends and headed to find food. After walking for miles, I decided to part with the group, caused by an emotion I call "hunger-rage." You heard it here first. Anyway, three of the girls followed me – naturally – so we took our aforementioned trip to the home of the golden arches, then trudged to the National Art Museum, home to the paintings of Edvard Munch, artist of famous "The Scream" painting below.
The following day, an American friend and I headed to some more manly museums: The National Armed Forces Museum and the Norwegian Resistance museum. Basically, they were full of a lot of guns and stories of heroic people. The Armed Forces museum had some great displays of old army uniforms and weapons, while the Resistance museum catalogued the Norwegian resistance against the Nazi occupation in the early 1940s. That evening, Sunday, we had planned to go out but ended up hanging out in our hostel room, or maybe I should say we did not make it out. Read between those lines.Monday morning, we, the gentlemen, headed to the Viking Ship museum, which I have to say was one of the best museum experiences of my life. They had three Viking ships, over a thousand years old, on display, two of which were perfectly intact. The museum also housed the remains of three ancient persons who had been buried with the ships, along with analysis of their lives and deaths. This museum made my trip.
We returned to the hostel Monday afternoon and thought of a funny prank to play on the girls. One of us had a half-full bottle of 50% (100-proof) Smirnoff vodka. We decided to replace the vodka with water – don't worry, the vodka was saved. The plan was to, when the girls returned, give him stick for not having finished his bottle (two of us already had). He would volunteer to drink it on the spot. We would pretend to give him all of our Norwegian currency in order to do so, and with much delay, he would 'chug' the entire bottle.
The plan was put into action, and the girls, and one guy, were all fooled immaculately, due to our wonderful acting. The protagonist in our plan pretended brilliantly to be hammered drunk, and the three of us stepped out for a cigarette break to determine the next course of action. We decided that we would return to the room, and he would lock himself in the bathroom and later exit acting completely normally. Incredibly, the girls did not pick up on this prank until we attempted to sleep that night at about 11:00, continually expressing amazement at how okay he was. A nine-hour prank.
We left on a train home the next morning, about a 7-hour journey. I was hit with a barrage of e-mails as soon as I turned on my computer – of course, most of them were fan mail for this blog.
For those of you who don't care about sports, you can stop reading. Thanks for your time.
Arsenal have been picking up the results lately, and it's nice to see. I watched the FA Cup Quarterfinal yesterday versus Hull City. It seemed like it was going to be the same-old new Arsenal, the one that cannot pick up results against the weakest teams. With Barmby's lucky goal, I got flashbacks of that infamous match in September, back when Phil Brown still had a beard. The second half was a massive improvement, and though Gallas's winner appeared to be offside, the Arsenal deserved their win and a date with Chelski in April's Semifinal.
Eboue and Song, two players who have appeared less-than-quality, have been playing well – Song especially. Arshavin is absolute quality, despite appearing to come from Santa's workshop. Fabregas will be back soon, but for now, I guess he'll just be spitting at assistant managers. If he's willing to spit for Arsenal, you know where his heart lies. Phil Brown and his ass-istant are tossers, anyhow. They whine more than infants.
As for Boston College basketball, it's nice to see they made the Big Dance once again after a year's absence. Credit Al Skinner for the brilliant work he is doing. I'd really compare him to Arséne Wenger, for finding the diamonds in the rough. For him to make the tournament so often at a non-perennial basketball powerhouse in a less-than-desirable location is fantastic.
It's funny to see them going against USC, a school for which I have such little athletic respect. Hopefully they'll be able to get it together to defeat the red-hot Pac-10 winners. I realize, by the way, that I am not a college basketball expert and that I should not be talking about something I know nothing about. But I'm going to do it anyway.
This may be the first year I can remember when I won't fill out a bracket. Given my placement in the world right now, there is hardly any enthusiasm for the sport, and I won't be able to watch because of the time difference.
Sorry for this massive case of "diarrhea of the mouth." I'll try to keep them shorter from now on. Amsterdam Friday...
Monday, February 16, 2009
Destruction and Subsequent Recovery of Dignity
I promised some of you I would post the story of what transpired Friday evening, the night of 13 February (Blimey! How appropriate it was a Friday the 13th!). But for fear of future background checks and possibly younger children, for whom I am supposed to be setting an example, reading this entry, I'll condense the events of the evening into two piece of advice. 1) Never drink anything described by friends as "paint." 2) Never get cocky about riding a bike. In any case, some scratches and a lost phone resulted. I'll leave it at that to spare myself any further loss of class.
Now to, as I quite appropriately described, the "subsequent recovery of dignity." It was nice to have Matt Reardon and his friends visiting from Copenhagen Business School, and although certain circumstances from the previous night – possibly having something to do with the above – precluded quality hanging out time on Friday, we did walk around Uppsala for awhile on Saturday morning. We witnessed some snowboarding on the hill below the Uppsala castle (along with collecting some free hotdogs, Red Bull, and Jägermeister apparel).
Then it was time for the highlight of my studying abroad. The Reccegasque, or reception dinner, for all new members of the nations. The new members first met at their respective nations dressed in their formal attire (I wore a charcoal suit with a blue tie) for a walk behind the nations's flags to the main university building. The assembly there was less-than-enthralling as it was conducted entirely in Swedish (with the exception of a performance by a big band of a silly song whose title and theme I can't currently recall). We members of Värmlands nation then walked back to the nation itself, where we (I'd say about 70 of us) hung our coats and went into the upstairs lobby for champagne. At 18:00 (6:00p, American style), we proceeded into the dining room.
We were seated randomly in an arrangement of alternating genders (i.e. m-f-m-f), with I being the exception to that rule, being surrounded by ladies. Gasque code requires each male to pay the most attention to the female at his right and each female to obviously spend most time with the male at her left. After the Inspector of the nation (think faculty advisor, except inspector is a full time job) was seated, the new members followed suit.
From there, we indulged in a three course meal (cheesecake and caviar followed by broiled reindeer and scalloped potatoes and ending in a dessert of white chocolate mousse and raspberry "something-or-other"), sipped on snaps (yes, spelled correctly – a traditional Swedish liquor), red wine, beer, and Bailey's, sang drinking songs in Swedish (again, one was in English), and enjoyed speeches by the nation's curators (administrators) and Inspector and performances by the various Värmlands nation ensembles. Most notably were a very funny performance by sketch comedy group Spex and an unbelievably outstanding performance by the nation's choir. The latter received a standing ovation.
Swedish (Svenska) is a very difficult language to speak, but singing in Swedish is far more difficult. Nevertheless, as the alcohol flowed, the English-speakers in the room were more willing to attempt to follow along. The only song sang more than once was a thank you song to all performers, who in turn had their own part to play in this song.
After meeting new people and thoroughly enjoying their company, as well as the new found traditions and belonging – approximately 23:00 – we left for the after party at Smålands nation. This, in my opinion, left something to be desired, but I personally had already had an immense amount of enjoyment from the evening.
Today, I booked trips to Oslo and London. I'm very much looking forward to the travels I have planned. This weekend, some of my new friends and I head to Kiruna in northern Sweden. Hopefully, we will see the Northern Lights, but if nothing else, we'll experience a new part of the country we are studying in, a definite must in my opinion.
And Boston College again shocked the world (or the small fraction of it that care) by beating #5 Duke in yesterday's men's basketball game at Conte Forum. I was following along on ESPN Gamecast, but when it was a one-point game with 2+ minutes left, I'll admit I couldn't watch. Though, minutes later I refreshed the page and we had won by 6! BC will hopefully make the tournament after a year's absence! Well done, boys.
And Arsenal. I must just say, it was an absolute delight to see Eduardo playing again. He decided to upstage his own return, though, by scoring twice. What a class act. Arsenal walked all over Cardiff, 4-0. It could have been much worse had van Persie and Bendtner converted easy chances, Cardiff goalkeeper Heaton not been playing out of his head.
Song: "Cherub Rock" – Smashing Pumpkins
Now to, as I quite appropriately described, the "subsequent recovery of dignity." It was nice to have Matt Reardon and his friends visiting from Copenhagen Business School, and although certain circumstances from the previous night – possibly having something to do with the above – precluded quality hanging out time on Friday, we did walk around Uppsala for awhile on Saturday morning. We witnessed some snowboarding on the hill below the Uppsala castle (along with collecting some free hotdogs, Red Bull, and Jägermeister apparel).
Then it was time for the highlight of my studying abroad. The Reccegasque, or reception dinner, for all new members of the nations. The new members first met at their respective nations dressed in their formal attire (I wore a charcoal suit with a blue tie) for a walk behind the nations's flags to the main university building. The assembly there was less-than-enthralling as it was conducted entirely in Swedish (with the exception of a performance by a big band of a silly song whose title and theme I can't currently recall). We members of Värmlands nation then walked back to the nation itself, where we (I'd say about 70 of us) hung our coats and went into the upstairs lobby for champagne. At 18:00 (6:00p, American style), we proceeded into the dining room.
We were seated randomly in an arrangement of alternating genders (i.e. m-f-m-f), with I being the exception to that rule, being surrounded by ladies. Gasque code requires each male to pay the most attention to the female at his right and each female to obviously spend most time with the male at her left. After the Inspector of the nation (think faculty advisor, except inspector is a full time job) was seated, the new members followed suit.
From there, we indulged in a three course meal (cheesecake and caviar followed by broiled reindeer and scalloped potatoes and ending in a dessert of white chocolate mousse and raspberry "something-or-other"), sipped on snaps (yes, spelled correctly – a traditional Swedish liquor), red wine, beer, and Bailey's, sang drinking songs in Swedish (again, one was in English), and enjoyed speeches by the nation's curators (administrators) and Inspector and performances by the various Värmlands nation ensembles. Most notably were a very funny performance by sketch comedy group Spex and an unbelievably outstanding performance by the nation's choir. The latter received a standing ovation.
Swedish (Svenska) is a very difficult language to speak, but singing in Swedish is far more difficult. Nevertheless, as the alcohol flowed, the English-speakers in the room were more willing to attempt to follow along. The only song sang more than once was a thank you song to all performers, who in turn had their own part to play in this song.
After meeting new people and thoroughly enjoying their company, as well as the new found traditions and belonging – approximately 23:00 – we left for the after party at Smålands nation. This, in my opinion, left something to be desired, but I personally had already had an immense amount of enjoyment from the evening.
Today, I booked trips to Oslo and London. I'm very much looking forward to the travels I have planned. This weekend, some of my new friends and I head to Kiruna in northern Sweden. Hopefully, we will see the Northern Lights, but if nothing else, we'll experience a new part of the country we are studying in, a definite must in my opinion.
And Boston College again shocked the world (or the small fraction of it that care) by beating #5 Duke in yesterday's men's basketball game at Conte Forum. I was following along on ESPN Gamecast, but when it was a one-point game with 2+ minutes left, I'll admit I couldn't watch. Though, minutes later I refreshed the page and we had won by 6! BC will hopefully make the tournament after a year's absence! Well done, boys.
And Arsenal. I must just say, it was an absolute delight to see Eduardo playing again. He decided to upstage his own return, though, by scoring twice. What a class act. Arsenal walked all over Cardiff, 4-0. It could have been much worse had van Persie and Bendtner converted easy chances, Cardiff goalkeeper Heaton not been playing out of his head.
Song: "Cherub Rock" – Smashing Pumpkins
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Sweaters
First, I'd just like to clear the air on a nasty rumor about me that has been circulating. Yes, I DO trim my eyebrows. Otherwise, I'd look like this. Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration.
Okay, now on to the topic. Every Swedish male wears sweaters. Every Swedish male wears sweaters. Brian does not wear sweaters.
Now, anyone that knows me could tell you that I care little about my style. Usual attire for me consists of a t-shirt or Arsenal kit and jeans with sneakers. This fashion (or lack thereof), maybe mainstream in America, makes me stick out like a Hasidic Jew when I'm walking around in Sweden. Okay, another exaggeration.
I am not usually one to pay attention to this, but it's quite obvious that the Swedes are well-dressed. Most Swedes of my age wear nice shoes, tighter jeans than I am used to, and a sweater over a button-down.
I received a package from home today with all sorts of goodies that I haven't been able to find here in Uppsala. Mum was nice enough to send me some Nyquil, dried berries and mixed nuts from Trader Joe's, some vitamins, Emergen-C, and most importantly, my DVDs for all the down time I have here.
I once again cooked a chicken dish tonight – Chicken à la Brian®, as I think it's called. I marinated the chicken in garlic, olive oil, salt, pepper, and paprika for the vast majority of the day and sautéed it along with mushrooms, broccoli, and tomatoes. I ate all of this with some pasta (with olive oil and butter) for my dinner. I topped it all off with a glass of yellowtail® red wine. I'm not going to lie, I felt quite sophisticated. I took a picture to commemorate the occasion, but it will not be included here (due to an extreme, but hopefully temporary, case of laziness).
I found a great website to watch football online, but due to copyright restrictions (actually, I just don't want anyone to clog the bandwith), I cannot share it here. In any case, I watched Argentina (mainly just Lionel Messi) put on a clinic – which finished 2-0 – for the French national team at the Stade Vélodrome in Marseille. Then I watched as curiously only David Beckham and Shaun Wright-Phillips felt up to taking on Spain (the two managed to keep the score to 2-0 also). I suspect the other members of the England team (maybe even Capello) enjoyed the Sevilla nightlife a bit too much last night. But Xavi is the best footballer in the world right now.
I'd like to stay up to watch the ever-entertaining United States v. Mexico World Cup Qualifying match, but it begins at 4:00. I have an appointment to wash my clothes tomorrow at 13:00, and given the size of the laundry monster inhabiting the Southwest corner of my room at the moment, I cannot miss it.
Song: "Twenty-Five Miles" – Edwin Starr
Okay, now on to the topic. Every Swedish male wears sweaters. Every Swedish male wears sweaters. Brian does not wear sweaters.
Now, anyone that knows me could tell you that I care little about my style. Usual attire for me consists of a t-shirt or Arsenal kit and jeans with sneakers. This fashion (or lack thereof), maybe mainstream in America, makes me stick out like a Hasidic Jew when I'm walking around in Sweden. Okay, another exaggeration.
I am not usually one to pay attention to this, but it's quite obvious that the Swedes are well-dressed. Most Swedes of my age wear nice shoes, tighter jeans than I am used to, and a sweater over a button-down.
I received a package from home today with all sorts of goodies that I haven't been able to find here in Uppsala. Mum was nice enough to send me some Nyquil, dried berries and mixed nuts from Trader Joe's, some vitamins, Emergen-C, and most importantly, my DVDs for all the down time I have here.
I once again cooked a chicken dish tonight – Chicken à la Brian®, as I think it's called. I marinated the chicken in garlic, olive oil, salt, pepper, and paprika for the vast majority of the day and sautéed it along with mushrooms, broccoli, and tomatoes. I ate all of this with some pasta (with olive oil and butter) for my dinner. I topped it all off with a glass of yellowtail® red wine. I'm not going to lie, I felt quite sophisticated. I took a picture to commemorate the occasion, but it will not be included here (due to an extreme, but hopefully temporary, case of laziness).
I found a great website to watch football online, but due to copyright restrictions (actually, I just don't want anyone to clog the bandwith), I cannot share it here. In any case, I watched Argentina (mainly just Lionel Messi) put on a clinic – which finished 2-0 – for the French national team at the Stade Vélodrome in Marseille. Then I watched as curiously only David Beckham and Shaun Wright-Phillips felt up to taking on Spain (the two managed to keep the score to 2-0 also). I suspect the other members of the England team (maybe even Capello) enjoyed the Sevilla nightlife a bit too much last night. But Xavi is the best footballer in the world right now.
I'd like to stay up to watch the ever-entertaining United States v. Mexico World Cup Qualifying match, but it begins at 4:00. I have an appointment to wash my clothes tomorrow at 13:00, and given the size of the laundry monster inhabiting the Southwest corner of my room at the moment, I cannot miss it.
Song: "Twenty-Five Miles" – Edwin Starr
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Treatise on the Stupidity of Laundry
Normally, the number of driers in a laundry room is equivalent to the number of washing machines. That way, one may transfer N washing machine loads to N driers. It may summarized by the equation N(washers) - N(driers) = E[effiency], where if E >= 1, the universe explodes.
For whatever reason, the washroom at Eklundshofsvägen 4B has four washing machines and two driers. That leads to an efficiency of 2, which in the self-contained laundry room, only resulted in the explosion of Brian.
Overreaction, you ask? Yes, of course, as usual. Obviously, I can just let one load sit in the washer while I wait for the other to dry. Actually, no, I can't here, in Eklundshofsvägen 4B, because residents here must sign up for time slots of three hours. If we come back at 3:01, the key card will not let us in. Therefore, I had to force all of my clothes into one drier, resulting in a drying time of just over two and half hours and more wrinkles than a retirement home. And, of course, the provided Iron did not work.
Now that I've got that rant out of the way, I can tell you what things I've been doing here that actually make me happy. I've been going out to pubs or clubs most nights here. Friday, my nation, Värmlands, hosted International Students for a Greek-inspired buffet dinner that was delicious. Afterwards, it was Klubb 054 in Värmlands for drinks and dancing. Saturday, I went to Kalmar nation for their club night, which featured such songs as "Smells Like Teen Spirit." Last night, Monday, I played football (soccer) in a gym with a bunch of fellow Värmlands members – a very good time – and of course, headed to a pub for some pints afterwards. Tonight, I believe, will be movie night.
I've also headed to some museums in the area: the Museum Gustavianum, which had an interesting ancient Egyptian exhibit; and the Upplandsmuseet, which gave the history of Upplands, the province in which Uppsala is situated. Tomorrow, I'll be heading back to Stockholm for a friend's birthday, but I'll go early in the day to explore the city some more.
Onto Arsenal – what is the deal with this Arshavin transfer? It seems like both Arsenal and Zenit St. Petersburg are being little children. Hopefully, the Premier League will sanction the transfer, as I'm sick of all these zero or one goal performances. What happened to the old days, Arséne?
Song: "God's Dice" – Pearl Jam
For whatever reason, the washroom at Eklundshofsvägen 4B has four washing machines and two driers. That leads to an efficiency of 2, which in the self-contained laundry room, only resulted in the explosion of Brian.
Overreaction, you ask? Yes, of course, as usual. Obviously, I can just let one load sit in the washer while I wait for the other to dry. Actually, no, I can't here, in Eklundshofsvägen 4B, because residents here must sign up for time slots of three hours. If we come back at 3:01, the key card will not let us in. Therefore, I had to force all of my clothes into one drier, resulting in a drying time of just over two and half hours and more wrinkles than a retirement home. And, of course, the provided Iron did not work.
Now that I've got that rant out of the way, I can tell you what things I've been doing here that actually make me happy. I've been going out to pubs or clubs most nights here. Friday, my nation, Värmlands, hosted International Students for a Greek-inspired buffet dinner that was delicious. Afterwards, it was Klubb 054 in Värmlands for drinks and dancing. Saturday, I went to Kalmar nation for their club night, which featured such songs as "Smells Like Teen Spirit." Last night, Monday, I played football (soccer) in a gym with a bunch of fellow Värmlands members – a very good time – and of course, headed to a pub for some pints afterwards. Tonight, I believe, will be movie night.
I've also headed to some museums in the area: the Museum Gustavianum, which had an interesting ancient Egyptian exhibit; and the Upplandsmuseet, which gave the history of Upplands, the province in which Uppsala is situated. Tomorrow, I'll be heading back to Stockholm for a friend's birthday, but I'll go early in the day to explore the city some more.
Onto Arsenal – what is the deal with this Arshavin transfer? It seems like both Arsenal and Zenit St. Petersburg are being little children. Hopefully, the Premier League will sanction the transfer, as I'm sick of all these zero or one goal performances. What happened to the old days, Arséne?
Song: "God's Dice" – Pearl Jam
Thursday, January 29, 2009
The Everything Post
There's so much for you to read me write about. Get that? Where do I begin?
I guess I better start with changes to the blog, since you all (that's right, the two of you) have definitely noticed them. I made the page black because I think it looks cool, not because I am emo or gothic or anything. Also, I added a nice photo to the top. Thirdly, I enabled comments from those of you who aren't members, so anyone can comment now. Nice, right? I think I also may put the song that was playing when I finish each blog at the bottom, since I like music.
Alright, now onto sports. So Arsenal drew Everton yesterday in Liverpool, courtesy of a late Robin van Persie equalizer. I'm glad to see Robbo is fit and scoring. Also, I suppose the Arshavin deal is imminent. It'll be nice to have another threat.
It's nice to see BC basketball winning again after their appalling post-UNC performances. And I guess since BC football player William Ferguson is okay with the hiring of Frank Spaziani as head coach, then I am too.
Okay, now the stuff that I think some of you care a little about: Sweden. I'm not sure where to begin on this, either. Some differences I've noticed in my room alone:
At the supermarket (called Willie's), they have everything that an American supermarket has. Just a lot more sausage and less of a cereal selection. On my last purchase, I bought 1.5% Milk, pear juice (delicious, actually), dill-flavored Pringles, Frosties (Frosted Flakes, Tony the Tiger and all), Werther's caramels, salame, turkey, and pita bread – typically health conscious of me.
I just finished booking some travels! I am heading to Amsterdam for a couple of days in March to meet some BC guys (Lucas, Anthony, and Dorian, for those of you who are concerned), Vienna in April, and Lapland, the northernmost province of Sweden, to freeze my arse off (and see some nature, too!). This is all getting very exciting.
Until my next moment of inspiration,
Brian
I guess I better start with changes to the blog, since you all (that's right, the two of you) have definitely noticed them. I made the page black because I think it looks cool, not because I am emo or gothic or anything. Also, I added a nice photo to the top. Thirdly, I enabled comments from those of you who aren't members, so anyone can comment now. Nice, right? I think I also may put the song that was playing when I finish each blog at the bottom, since I like music.
Alright, now onto sports. So Arsenal drew Everton yesterday in Liverpool, courtesy of a late Robin van Persie equalizer. I'm glad to see Robbo is fit and scoring. Also, I suppose the Arshavin deal is imminent. It'll be nice to have another threat.
It's nice to see BC basketball winning again after their appalling post-UNC performances. And I guess since BC football player William Ferguson is okay with the hiring of Frank Spaziani as head coach, then I am too.
Okay, now the stuff that I think some of you care a little about: Sweden. I'm not sure where to begin on this, either. Some differences I've noticed in my room alone:
- First, and most obviously, the plugs are different. I purchased a converter before I left the U.S., but when I plugged by hair-clippers into the socket, it went bezerk. I'll guess I'll be rather unkempt when I get home. I'll shave at least.
- Second, the shower floor is not separated from the washroom floor. There is only a curtain separating them, so I have been squeegeeing (sp?) the floor after each shower.
- Third, the small oven (almost comparable to a toaster oven) I have in my room is hooked up to a wall outlet that has a digital timer on it. In order to cook, I have to press the button on the timer and then turn on the oven, which has a separate timer.
At the supermarket (called Willie's), they have everything that an American supermarket has. Just a lot more sausage and less of a cereal selection. On my last purchase, I bought 1.5% Milk, pear juice (delicious, actually), dill-flavored Pringles, Frosties (Frosted Flakes, Tony the Tiger and all), Werther's caramels, salame, turkey, and pita bread – typically health conscious of me.
I just finished booking some travels! I am heading to Amsterdam for a couple of days in March to meet some BC guys (Lucas, Anthony, and Dorian, for those of you who are concerned), Vienna in April, and Lapland, the northernmost province of Sweden, to freeze my arse off (and see some nature, too!). This is all getting very exciting.
Until my next moment of inspiration,
Brian
Friday, January 23, 2009
Arsenal
In my all important opinion, the Arsenal of today have few world class players. I'd like to make a run-down of this team, at full strength, compared with the Invincibles of 2003-04.
Before I start, though, I just want to say that I think signing Arshavin would be a bad signing. I think an out-and-out winger is needed more than he. Who plays on the wing for Arsenal these days? Diaby (a natural CAM), Nasri (a natural CAM), Rosicky – when healthy (a natural CAM), and Walcott (maybe the only natural winger). To me, it seems like Arshavin is in the same mold. Arsene needs to sign that holding midfielder and possibly a center-back as well.
TEAM COMPARISON
GK Jens Lehmann v. Manuel Almunia: Jens Lehmann at his best in 2003-04 is an unbeatable goalkeeper. Almunia is just above average. Invincibles
LB Ashley Cole v. Gael Clichy: Cole was an absolute monster in 2003-04 but it's hard to give him any credit after the way he treated his boyhood club subsequently. Clichy, on the other hand, is very classy. Current Team
CB Sol Campbell v. William Gallas: This one is a sitter. Campbell is far better in the air, but also a fantastic defender. Strangely, both seem to be a bit unstable. Invincibles
CB Kolo Toure: I can't make a judgment here, although the Kolo Toure of 2003-04 was remarkably better than the worn out one we see today.
RB Lauren v. Bacary Sagna: As great as Lauren was for Arsenal, I think Sagna is pure class and an unbelievable defender. Current Team
LM Robert Pires v. Samir Nasri: As much as I like Samir Nasri, no sane person would choose him over the Pires of the Invincibles. Invincibles
CM Gilberto Silva v. Denilson: Gilberto was pure class for us that year, and although Denilson is a consistent player, he is not nearly as dominant. Invincibles
CM Patrick Vieira v. Cesc Fabregas: The two number 4's and central midfielders and captains. It would be sacrilege to pick one over the other. Draw
RM Freddie Ljungberg v. Theo Walcott: Ljungberg was a much smarter player than Walcott is right now, and he had roles in many of the goals scored that year. Walcott is for the future. Invincibles
ST Thierry Henry v. Emmanuel Adebayor: Ha ha. Invincibles
ST Dennis Bergkamp v. Robin van Persie: As well as Robbo has played this year, how can I go against the brilliant Flying Dutchman? Invincibles
So in the end, only the outside backs of today's team would get a spot in the Invincibles, with Cesc and Vieira starting every other game. Also, look at the average age of the team. I'm not one with statistics, but it is remarkable. What happened, Arsene?
Cardiff may be tricky this weekend, but a loss would be inexcusable. I'll be travelling Saturday so I probably won't be able to catch the match.
Before I start, though, I just want to say that I think signing Arshavin would be a bad signing. I think an out-and-out winger is needed more than he. Who plays on the wing for Arsenal these days? Diaby (a natural CAM), Nasri (a natural CAM), Rosicky – when healthy (a natural CAM), and Walcott (maybe the only natural winger). To me, it seems like Arshavin is in the same mold. Arsene needs to sign that holding midfielder and possibly a center-back as well.
TEAM COMPARISON
GK Jens Lehmann v. Manuel Almunia: Jens Lehmann at his best in 2003-04 is an unbeatable goalkeeper. Almunia is just above average. Invincibles
LB Ashley Cole v. Gael Clichy: Cole was an absolute monster in 2003-04 but it's hard to give him any credit after the way he treated his boyhood club subsequently. Clichy, on the other hand, is very classy. Current Team
CB Sol Campbell v. William Gallas: This one is a sitter. Campbell is far better in the air, but also a fantastic defender. Strangely, both seem to be a bit unstable. Invincibles
CB Kolo Toure: I can't make a judgment here, although the Kolo Toure of 2003-04 was remarkably better than the worn out one we see today.
RB Lauren v. Bacary Sagna: As great as Lauren was for Arsenal, I think Sagna is pure class and an unbelievable defender. Current Team
LM Robert Pires v. Samir Nasri: As much as I like Samir Nasri, no sane person would choose him over the Pires of the Invincibles. Invincibles
CM Gilberto Silva v. Denilson: Gilberto was pure class for us that year, and although Denilson is a consistent player, he is not nearly as dominant. Invincibles
CM Patrick Vieira v. Cesc Fabregas: The two number 4's and central midfielders and captains. It would be sacrilege to pick one over the other. Draw
RM Freddie Ljungberg v. Theo Walcott: Ljungberg was a much smarter player than Walcott is right now, and he had roles in many of the goals scored that year. Walcott is for the future. Invincibles
ST Thierry Henry v. Emmanuel Adebayor: Ha ha. Invincibles
ST Dennis Bergkamp v. Robin van Persie: As well as Robbo has played this year, how can I go against the brilliant Flying Dutchman? Invincibles
So in the end, only the outside backs of today's team would get a spot in the Invincibles, with Cesc and Vieira starting every other game. Also, look at the average age of the team. I'm not one with statistics, but it is remarkable. What happened, Arsene?
Cardiff may be tricky this weekend, but a loss would be inexcusable. I'll be travelling Saturday so I probably won't be able to catch the match.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
