Gender Bender

Today, twice. Twice, I have been called a lady. Twice. In one day.

...


Maybe it's time for a haircut?

Epiphany

Let me preface this post by saying two things. 1--Sorry I don't write more, but I don't have that much happening except on what's on my other blog. Well, I have a few stories that I'll try to post when the week calms down. 2--I have never been drunk. I have a drink at the JCR bar, but I have never been drunk. Now, that being said:


I was doing my laundry this morning when my nose had an epiphany. My entire two loads of laundry, as well as my laundry basket, smell like booze and the river Isis.


That is all.

Rejected with Jet--Rejeted.

I went out last night with some friends from Regent's, and we started at the Lamb and Flag pub and ended at Kukui (a club). Kukui gets crowded really quickly, and after queuing for like 20 minutes, we finally get inside and find a nice little spot on the dance floor. Well, I'm grooving and doing what I do when I do what I do, when I make eye contact with this girl. In fact, we were making lots of eye contact for about 20 minutes of on and off coy looks. And she starts circling our little group, moving around us, until she positions herself one person away from me. Eye contact stills happens. At this point, Jet's "Are You Gonna Be My Girl?" starts playing--this is the perfect opportunity to go over! She makes her way over to me so we are right next to each other on the crowded dance floor, and I smile at her, she smiles back, and we start dancing. By the way, great song. I do like Jet. And I'm singing along to her, "You don't need money when you look like that, do you honey?" She purses her lips and shakes her head and mouths, "Nope." Then, for the chorus, I sing along, "Are you gonna be my girl?" She looks at me, and again shakes her head no, turns around, and walks off. She leaves mid-song. I got burned. Badly. I had to go get a seat and nurse my wounds. I was so embarrassed and annoyed! So, new rule: mixed drinks and mixed signals don't mix.

Rowing Sitch

Hey, guys, sorry for the lack of bloggage, but I've been putting stories up on my safe one--check them out if you haven't. Anyway, I wanted to do an update about rowing. As you know, I'm not exactly the most sporty guy around, so me getting really involved in this physical activity is a step in the out-of-comfort-zone direction. So, yay me! But, I feel like every time I get in the boat, I get worse and worse. I've been out on the Thames (um, the Isis when it passes through Oxford) a total of three times, and this last time, the coach actually called me the hunchback of Notre Dame because my form was crazy bad! So, self esteem becoming an issue, but I think I might just man up and become an Oxford Rower! Wish me luck and inordinate amounts of manliness?

Future Career Plans?

So, guys, I've been attending some amazing lectures this week, and it really has me thinking about what I want to specialize in when I skedaddle off to an amazing grad school. (OK, just feed my imaginary ego, and let's pretend I'll go to an amazing grad school?)Anyway, Dr. Lape once mentioned that I study and work with eroticism and sexuality in lit, which certainly interests me. I mean, have you read any of my papers from last year?! Yeah... Well, one of the lectures that I found fascinating was about the belief and the body in late Medieval literature. It was about how the body was treated and regarded as a physical entity, while also exploring it as a spiritual symbol, as well as looking at Christ's wounded body. It was a fascinating lecture, complete with a great example of the highly sensual Song of Songs from the Bible where theologians and Church officials who can't deal with the complete SEXINESS of it just try to pass it off as a symbol for Christ's spiritual love. But let's be honest--it's hot. Then, there was what should have been a great lecture on Decadent Gothic: Sex, Science, Aestheticism, but ultimately, it was flaccid. I left feeling unfulfilled. So I guess what I'm contemplating is what area I should study? I love the whole Gothic horror side of literature, and I love drama, and the whole representation of the body in lit is so engaging. I'm not sure. I should really get back to my essay before a post-matriculation pub crawl. See ya!

New American Export

Hiya, guys. It is nice to know that America's standing in the global economy is on the rise. I mean, something's on the rise because of America's latest export--my butt. So, I went out again last night for a pub crawl and then party at Escape (a local club off High Street). The crawl was nifty, and I was having such a great night, but then we got to the club, and within 30 minutes of dancing, I felt this hand grab onto my butt. Now, this was not just a light squeeze, and not just a little tap, but a full fledged "break me off a piece of that biscuit" ass grab. I turn around, and there is this guy from some other college (not Regent's, because we have something called class), and I gave him the death look. He gives me the "Come on" look, and then moves up face-to-face with me, reaches behind my back, and with both hands, locks himself onto my butt as if the Titanic is sinking and I have the only life raft left. That's right--my butt is a life raft. Also, two of his friends are there to kind of corner me. So, I am yelling, "Get off!" (which maybe, in retrospect, might not have been the best phrase to use)and finally, I have to literally pry this guy with his death grip off of me, and I shove him hard in the chest. He maybe didn't get the memo because he comes back for another helping, but since I'm not a gay buffet, I shove him back again and make my way into the center of some Regent's freshers. And, that was that. Didn't see those guys again, and everything was toasty. The end.

Freshers Week-end!

Oh, yeah, one thing that I forgot in the video is that I met a Norwegian student who loves Blanche DuBois! We were at the International Student Orientation for the University system of Oxford, and we sat next to each other, and he turned to me and said, "Hey! You were at Starbucks a few minutes ago, right? Sitting by the window? I recognize you!" We greeted, and I found out he is studying bio, and he found out I am from the South, which prompted him to ask, "Do you read Tennessee Williams?" OF FREAKIN' COURSE! So, we had this moment, and I learned he LOVES Blanche DuBois. So, the lesson of this story is that the power of the crazy, whorish South can transcend borders, even across the ocean to Norway. I feel proud.

Wanna Be Corrupted by an Urn?

I went to London today with the gang, thinking we were going to catch a matinee of A Streetcar Named Desire, only when we get to the theatre, the tickets weresold out. Well, instead of seeing Blanche DuBois getting crazy, we went to the British Museum. I was disappointed by the loss of seeing a disturbed Southern woman crooning the line, "You make my mouth water," until I found DIRTY GRECIAN ART!!!



This is an urn from probably a Bacchanal or a worship of Pan, and as you can see, the man in the middle seems to be balancing some sort of bowl on his erection. Doesn't that just "perk up" your day, ladies and gentlemen?

Loo-Hoo: A Kevin Ramirez Special

Meeting Benny?

Hey, guys, good afternoon. I have been sans mobile for the past two days. Nam Hoang, my wonderful friend, gave me his old mobile that he picked up in Ireland this summer when he studied drawing in Waterloo. The service provider is 3 Mobile, a very popular provider in the UK because it comes with skype and teh interwebs use. Well, yesterday, I took the phone to the 3 Store to get a UK SIM card to replace the Irish one. When the 3 employee put the new card in, the phone locked up and required a security code. I got in touch with Nam later that day, and he gave me what could be the right code, but he wasn't sure. Well, I went back this morning as they opened (10am), and we went through the whole SIM card routine again. The code didn't work. (Way to fail Nam!) So, I left 3 Mobile discouraged, thinking I was going to have to shell out 50 pounds for a mobile. But, I didn't give up. I went across the street to The Carphone Warehouse, and walked up to this employee, and we had a dialogue that went like this:
Employee: Yeah, what's up, mate?

Me: Um, I have this 3 mobile from Ireland with a new UK SIM card in it, and it's locked up on me. Is there anything you can do?

Employee: Oh. Right. Well, what you need to do is go see Benny's down the street. It's right after the post office.

Me: Benny's?

Employee: Benny's.

Me: Right. Ok. Thanks.

Employee: Cheers!

Cheers. So, I went on to Benny's, this little convenience/corner store and explained the situation. This guy (who may or may not have been Benny) said, "Yeah. I think I can do it. It'll be 12 pounds." He took my phone, hooked it up to a computer behind the counter, played with it for about five minutes, and handed the phone back--unlocked. I payed him and went on about my great day (which you should check out on my other blog, The Way He Travels). But, um, you know, I'm not entirely sure that Benny's was entirely on the up and up, you know?

Just checking in!

Pray for No Cavity Searches, Otherwise Someone Will Owe Me Dinner

Yes, I am leaving. No, no, no, shhhhhh, it's ok--don't cry. I want to keep in touch. Touching is good. So let's do it online..um, the keeping in touch, that is.
I have to lead a double blog life. On one blog, I have to be Honors Program friendly, which means if rich donors or parents of perspective Honors students see it, they have to approve of what I do. Yeah, this is NOT that blog. This is the blog for my friends who are brave enough to follow the stories of my life where the Weird seems to follow me around for fun. You know I know you need these stories in your lives.
I feel like a fetus. I'm going to be gone for nine months, and it's like a pregnancy, which means tomorrow, I'll be a transatlantic zygote.Or maybe I'm like a po-mo, reverse Pilgrim? Like, instead of leaving England for the Americas, I'm leaving the Americas for England, which means this blog is like the diaries of the American settlers. Like John Smith (only honest) or Cotton Mather (only without the scary religious overtones). I just don't need it to end up like Mary Rowlandson. Captivity narratives aren't fun for anyone.
OK--I'm officially going to miss you guys. There is this horrible underlying sense of loss this year, and it's because I'm going to miss y'all. (Oh, yeah, check the dialect). So please follow this blog for all my stories, but also please leave me comments! Don't be strangers! (Gee, I miss you already...)