Space…

“A boy has the right to dream. There are endless possibilities stretched out before him. What awaits him down the path he will then have to choose.”

 

The vicious guitars of Force Feedback cut out with the ignition, their sounds giving way to the quiet of a chilly April evening. He stepped out of his vehicle into the frigid air and thought to look upward. The cloudless sky seemed to drag the endless reaches of space just a bit closer to him. If only he could reach up and pull it the rest of the way down. The vast illimitable dark, dotted indiscriminately with stars served as a momentary reminder of the scale of everything. Every one of his thoughts, ideas, and dreams were simply minute in comparison.

He climbed on the hood of the car and leaned back, keeping track of a soundless plane flying overhead. He wished that the plane were actually a spaceship that could come and pick him up, taking him out there on an adventure, or maybe just a brief trip around the world. Anything to make the things happening in his world seem bigger. Even though that evening he had spent time sharing ideas, providing confidence for his friends, and performing, it began to drift into the realm of meaningless.

However, he was rational. Too pragmatic for his own good, perhaps. But this time, it aided him and allowed him to be further inspired. There is no barrier for creativity when coupled with a pragmatic mind. He began to realize that ‘meaningless’ was a relative term. You could allow anything to be meaningless, such as your worries, your stresses, your pains, your hate. Certainly all these things seemed quite meaningless and small when compared to the vastness of space.

And yet your joys, your thoughts, your ideas; these things are only limited in scope by your own constructs. Comforting a friend, hearing applause in your ears, or sharing an idea, these things all have levels of meaning that you can attribute.

He realized that with a quick look up at the stars he could strip himself of worry with ease, and also put into perspective his ability to affect those around him. Space was not a demoralizing foe, but a constant friend. Space was what he wanted it to be, and anyone else could make it so as well. He lifted himself from the hood with a smile and went inside to get himself warm.

 

Stop worrying, and look up at the stars.

It ain’t about the dog in the money, but about the money in the dog. Or something.

Salutations, friends and neighbors!

Your ol’ pal Jimmy here is fresh off a wonderful Easter Sunday where he made bank at the restaurant and then got to open a nice little Easter Egg when he got home in the form of watching Arsenal score a last gasp winner to defeat and end the title aspirations of Manchester City. Ignoring momentarily how they’ve continually poached our best players. Ignoring momentarily how much of a crybaby piece of trash their manager is. Ignoring momentarily how much of a neckless twat Samir Na$ri is. Ignoring momentarily that they’ve spent upwards of 500 million pounds assembling the deepest squad of mercenaries ever assembled. Ignoring momentarily that Mario Balotelli is perhaps football’s biggest sideshow. Ignoring momentarily that Man City would be a fabulous name for a gay bar. Yes, ignore all of that as best you can for a moment and realize that a Manchester City side embroiled in a title race with their hated local rivals came rolling into the Emirates and got spanked by an Arsenal side that a few months ago was left dead and buried. In the midst of totally outplaying the Citizens from whistle to whistle, the Gunners could quite literally have taken a break to wheel out a chalkboard to go over the definitions of words like “Heart,” “Character,” “Determination,” and most of all, “Team.” Because it was very clear on Sunday that these things have been long forgotten by those wearing that pansy sky blue color.

What Arsenal taught Manchester City on Sunday was that in order to succeed in this league, and in this sport, above all else you need to be playing for each other. Once you’ve given up on each other, it doesn’t matter what your squad’s average weekly wage is, you can’t win anything. Victoria Concordia Crescit, motherfuckers.

Now is the part where I try to tie what’s happening with Arsenal into my daily life and ambitions because that’s becoming my sort of schtick. If that was the case, I suppose I’d say something like: Arsenal’s win on Sunday illustrates that money isn’t everything it’s what you have on the inside that counts and yada yada. Well that’s not true at all. Money is everything. Sorry bout it. For example, if I had a lot of money I would already be in London now, and the title of this blog would be JamesHasLondon or some other such thing. If I had a lot of money I wouldn’t be busting my ass in a restaurant every single holiday to earn money to pay for my education. If I had a lot of money, my life would be a lot better. This is indisputable fact. The same goes for you. If you had a lot of money, your life would be better. If you already have a lot of money, imagine how much worse off you’d be if you didn’t have it. Starting to get my point?

The discrepancy comes in how you use your money. Despite my relative lack of funds, the universe has taken it upon itself to grant me some wonderful things. I’m going to Japan. I’m going to London. I’m an aspiring writer. I’m enjoying so many things about my life. I just got done with a full year of improvising with a team of amazing people, and I’m about to perform in a show that I helped adapt the script for. My life is brilliant right now, and I’m using what little wealth I do have to accentuate and accommodate that brilliance instead of trying to force it into existence.

For most of my life I’ve had to watch a family member of mine possess a considerable fortune. Over the years, I’ve watched it grow and had it rubbed in my face. He shared it with no one, and used it to alienate his own family while he tried to prop himself up on a false reputation, generated by hollow dollar bills. I grew very embittered toward this person, wishing him all manner of ill will. But eventually the balloon popped on him, and all that brilliance he tried to force with his fortunes came crashing down. He found himself alone and broken, having alienated those who would have been there to try  and lift him up when most he needed it. Swallowing his immense pride, he reached out in a final effort to seek what I hope is forgiveness and attain a closeness that should have always been there. It warms me to say that this is all he ever needed to do.

The universe will bring incredible things to you, all you need to do is let it. But don’t fool yourself into believing that money isn’t everything. It’s just a matter of using that wealth to accentuate what the universe gives to you instead of trying to force things.

I know, doesn’t that sound like some cheesy romantic bullshit? I feel like I need to do a hundred pushups and chop down a tree just for writing it, but it makes sense to me in spite of how cheesy it is. And I really can’t help it, but I like to romanticize things. I think it’s part of having an active imagination.

Anyway, I’ll be performing this weekend in “A Night of Stories from Edgar Allen Poe.” It is a play which I helped adapt for our site specific performance, and fingers-crossed it will be dynamic and excellent. That and Arsenal are about all I have time to focus on right at the moment, but I’m trying to squeeze some writing in there as you can see, and if I have time for my academics this week it’ll be astounding!

A quick shout to my best friend over at: http://wanderlustandgone.wordpress.com/

He’s another writer with a very restless mind with a lot to share. Hopefully you’ll check him out and enjoy his stuff if you enjoy mine. I hope you’re doing well and that the universe will give you the brilliance that you deserve. As always…

 

Cheers, James

Euphoric

“Attack. Attack em.”

“Flicked forward, towards Ramsey—VERMAELEN !!!!! HAS WON IT FOR ARSENAL! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? WITH NINETY FOUR MINUTES PLUS ON THE CLOCK!“

I was very lucky because my best friend had managed to make the journey over to watch the match with me. We’d enjoyed the usual fare for us watching the match together, calling the opponents names, making fun of them. Groaning when things didn’t go our way. When Ben Arfa scored for the Toon we both simultaneously said “FUCK” and then lamented SCZC getting beaten near post for all of fifty seconds until that lovely Dutch striker of ours leveled the score after some wonderful combination play between he and the rapidly improving Theo Walcott. The first half plodded out uneventfully and then the second half started.

And we started battering them. Sometimes we have days like this, or at least it felt very familiar. Where we come out, rip a team apart, and cannot get that one slice of luck or one composed finish to put a match away. City at home last year immediately springs to mind. We absolutely ripped them to pieces that night and had an RVP shot go off the bar, Cesc hit the post and had it rebound back through Joe Hart’s legs and a myriad of other missed opportunities saw the night finish 0-0. I thought we were doomed a deflating 1-1. Theo’s brilliant work on the right should’ve seen Rosicky score but his left footed effort ended up out for a throw-in. Oxlade-Chamberlain fired high and wide when it looked like it might have just dipped in. Gervinho missed from point blank when it looked easier to score, and Van Persie fired wide with his chocolate leg from close range.

Chris and I lamented the poor luck and were re-signed to the draw, especially as Newcastle had the ball in our end during the waning moments. And then, what could perhaps be one of the more important moments of our season happened. We took the ball after a sloppy Toon throw-in, Alex Song found Van Persie in the middle who turned and ran before playing the ball back to Song who ran toward the right. He played a lovely ball into space for Theo who took it toward the defender who was backing away. Theo clipped in a marvelous ball thatjust missed Aaron Ramsey’s head. The ball bounced off some Newcastle wanker and seemed to hang in the air for a moment as Thomas Vermaelen, who had ran the length of the pitch, arrived to slam it home just before the ironically slow off his line Krul could arrive to block it. 2-1 in the 95th minute.

What followed was me bounding around the room shrieking “YES! YES! YES! YES!” like a woman and embracing my best friend as bedlam at the Emirates commenced.

I saw someone say that the relationship between the players and the fans recently has become something special. We’ve all combined basically to say “We are the fucking Arsenal, and we are not going to allow this horseshit to keep happening. So fuck off, all of you despicable bastards. And Tim Krul is a time wasting piece of shit.”

Well okay that last part is probably not necessary but still. It’s fantastic to see. The support from the away fans and now the home support has been dynamite and the players are feeding off it to stage this massive revival and I have to say that I’m more excited every day to finally see them play live and sing my lungs out for them. Where at one point we were behind Sp*rs by an unassailable 12 points,  that gap is now only 1 point. We’ve got the tougher run-in, but we also look the tougher team at the moment. I don’t think any team will fancy playing us with the way we look right now. In fact I saw some Manchester United fans talking about how relieved they were to have gotten their trip to the Emirates out of the way earlier on, and snickering that $ity still have to come play us. Let’s hope we can dent Na$ri and co’s title hopes with a massive result, and let’s hope we personally bury those blue scumbags from West London as well. I’ve gotten to sing “Champions League? Yer havin’ a laugh!” about Liverpool and Newcastle in the past few weeks. I am mighty looking forward to saying it about the Chavs next.

This is all starting to spoil us a bit, I think. But I got to thinking about just why all of this has felt so good. The only thing from last season that I can remember feeling this great with Arsenal was the win against Barcelona and the win against Chelsea… but neither of those really compared to the feeling of beating Sp*rs 5-2, and honestly even though we crashed out, the 3-0 against Milan made me so damn proud. I think it’s because of what we’ve come through this season. Some absolutely haunting results, the loss of our best player to those fucking twats in Catalonia. Crashing out of cups, injuries, watching Johan Djourou play. All that uncertainty about not making the top four and what a blow it would be for us financially. I think it’s all combined to make what would already be some incredibly enjoyable results into something resembling euphoria.

Like I said, we’ve got a tough run in and we risk becoming victims of our own spoiled expectations, but right now it does indeed feel like this club can do anything. And I fucking love it. Come on Arsenal!

Spring has arrived really early in the place I call home. We’ve had a really nice week and today I was able to get out there with the football behind the old garage for the first time, and let me just say that working out for over a month has paid dividends. I’m no Robin Van Persie but I curled in some wicked left footed shots from distance (of course there was no goalkeeper but who needs them anyway. They’re a waste of time.) It was wonderful to get out in the fresh air, though.

Everything is becoming very busy again with school back in swing. I’ve really got to nose-to-the-grindstone these last six weeks to improve some of my grades. I can definitely do it, it’s just mighty tough to focus on anything but the incredible stuff looming in my future and of course my true love, that awesome cannon. But I am six weeks away from the finish line and I can’t drop the ball now. I just cannot. I know that the end result will be just as euphoric as Tommy V’s late winner on Monday.

Cheers, James

 

 

I’m on my way…

I’m on my way.

 

That’s right. I am on my way. Where to, you ask? Well, I’ll give you a clue. It’s in the the title of the blog. About two weeks ago I was accepted to Study Abroad in London, England for a semester. I sat in the computer lab on this auspicious Friday afternoon, typing away at a project I’m currently working on. I was anticipating the e-mail saying whether I was accepted or not, and I was rather filled with terror at the prospect of being turned down. Certainly, there would be other opportunities, but this has been put off for multiple years now. I didn’t want to wait.

 

To properly understand how much this moment meant to me, you have to go back nearly four years ago, to the summer of 2008. I was isolated, living in Michigan. I was living with my ex-girlfriend and her mother, and while they were good hosts, I had no friends and no realistic outlet for my dreams. I was working fifty hours a week as a manager of a Kentucky Fried Chicken that I had an hour long drive to and from. I remember one particular Saturday morning that summer. I had just finished my hour long drive after waking up at 6:30am to leave by 7:00. I got out of the car and stepped into the morning sun. It was beautiful. People were just rousing, kids getting out onto their bikes, people getting ready to do yard work, and folks getting ready to enjoy a fine, sunny Saturday. And there I was, trudging into the door of my KFC to spend the next 12 hours serving chicken to people. “KFC, this is James, how can I help you?” is something that would be repeated what felt like five hundred times. I would be keeping track of how many pieces of original and crispy chicken were sold. I would be cupping mashed potatoes. I would be missing Arsenal.

And when I left? Well, on my return I would often have arguments with my ex, or I would simply retreat to my room to wile away the hours on the internet until I fell asleep so that I could wake up and repeat the process the next day.

On that Saturday, looking up into the striking, cloudless blue sky, I made the decision that that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted something different for myself. I decided that I was going to go back to school, and that I was going to end up getting to London.

 

"Dear Pitt in London applicant,I'm pleased to inform you that you have been accepted
to the Pitt in London program for fall 2012. Congratulations!"

That was what I opened and read in the Blaisdell Hall computer lab on that Friday. The computer lab was empty, but it could’ve been filled to the brim and I’d not have cared. I leaped up and bounded around the room.

“YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! I’M GOING TO LONDOOOOONNN!”

The art director heard me from the other room and poked his head in to see what was going on, and saw me bounding around the room pumping my fist in joy. I ran over and shook his hand profusely and told him the good news. If only there had been a way to adequately share my joy with him, but oh he looked so confused. As he left, I burst into a wondrous rendition of the football song “We’re on our way” that’s usually reserved for Wembley. Well I am on my way, to Wembley but most importantly to London.

I came from that direction-less hell out in Michigan, and I fought and clawed to drag my GPA up to a respectable level (from the 0.90 it was at). I worked myself to the bone, fighting through setback after setback. And there, in that email was the first part of the pay-off. The next part will be stepping off that plane onto English soil, and the last part? Well, that will be when I take my seat at the Emirates.

I’ve had so much going on in my life that I’ve not been able to update this for a while, so I figured I should do so now that I’ve had this wonderful news fall into my lap. I wish there was some way to describe how wonderful my life is, but I simply don’t know how to do it right now. London isn’t the only great bit of news I’ve received.

At the beginning of this semester, I learned from my Improv Team’s adviser and Study Abroad adviser that there was an opportunity to travel to Japan for two weeks this May. I figured it was a pipe dream, but she told me to apply anyway. I did, and I started taking this semester’s Japanese Language and Culture class. I went through the application process, and interviewed for it, not really thinking I had a good chance until I got the e-mail that was in much the same vein as the previous one I listed.

So in the span of one year I will get to travel to Japan for two weeks, and then to England for a semester.

What?

No, really.

What?

It’s all a bit much to take in. Right now I’m just trying to smile and enjoy it, but I really don’t know how I ended up being so fortunate. All I can do is hold my hands up and say ‘Thank you, more please’ to the universe.

Though I’m currently on spring break, everything seems like a blur. Between Improv (I’m in my school’s improv team), classes, writing a play (yep!), working, and following the love of my life (Come on You Gunners!) I haven’t had time to write. But that’s not an excuse. I need to keep my thoughts written down, and I’ll try to do it with more frequency. I think I’ll make myself write after every Arsenal match. We’ve just gone out of the Champions League but in valiant fashion. Trying to turn over a 4-0 first leg loss, we made it to 3-0 and just fell short. But it was a match that just kept re-affirming to my why I love this club and why I want it to be a significant part of the rest of my life. We love you Arsenal, we do. I love everything about that fucking cannon and I don’t know how I’m going to stop myself from crying when I finally make it to the Emirates. Some bloke next to me is going to be like “What the fuck is wrong with you?” as I’m bawling my eyes out, but hopefully someone will know what I’ve come through.

So yeah, I’m back to writing, and I’m on my way to London (and Japan). I love my life.

Cheers, James

That was a long month, wasn’t it?

Goddamn. It’s been just over a month since I could last write and chronicle what’s going on in my life. I’m literally forcing myself to do this tonight as I’m at the tail end of a Wednesday, which is my long day. So let’s see.

My status as far as getting to London next fall for Study Abroad is alright. I have picked up a passport application form, and I need to get to work on filling that out so I can have that ready, and I also need to start looking at what programs I want to apply to. There’s so many options that it makes my head spin, but it’s better to be overloaded with options than to have none, yeah?

My football team is making it very uplifting that there are other things to do than watch football in England at the moment. Arsenal are in shambles just at the present. The last month has included a hysterical two own goal self destruction at last place Blackburn, and a devastating loss at the shit hole to the scum. Not good. The first sentence was obviously silly, but after two weeks without Arsenal I am jonesing to see us get back in action and hopefully tear up Sunderland on Sunday. It can’t get much worse than the last game, anyway.

So much has fucking happened in this last month though that I don’t even know where to begin. Let’s start with the biggest.

After over twenty years, I saw my father for the first time. There are a lot of details that I need to get into about this, and I’m writing a longer memoir style piece describing it, but let’s just say that it felt incredibly normal. It’s so interesting to see someone whom you’ve built up as this horrible monster turn out to be just an average guy.  Obviously there’s so much more to be said about this, but it was certainly an experience.

What else? I’ve made the Improv team at school. Initially I hadn’t realized what a feat this was, but honestly it’s like making an athletic program. We auditioned hardcore for two weeks (at least 25 of us), and in the end there were all of like 6 spots available. One of the members of the team that had been there the past year actually got removed. That’s how serious this shit is, and that’s how good you had to be to make the team. So I’m pretty excited about it, even if it is a little nerve-wracking. Our first show is tomorrow, and while I’m worried about screwing up, I’m also happy about the prospect of performing again. It’s been a while.

Speaking of performing, I auditioned and got a part in what will probably be my favorite ever show. Metamorphoses by Mary Zimmerman is an adaptation of the classic Ovid poem of the same name. It’s fucking fantastic. There are so many talented people working on it, and so many amazing images that we’re creating. I’m so pumped about this.

I was also approached for a pretty big project next semester. I will hypothetically be adapting some of Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories to the stage. This is such a mind-blowingly neat and difficult project that I’m a little blown away that I was suggested for this by my professors, but in talking about it I actually received a great ego boost in the form of some sustaining praise. I am a ‘great student’ and my writing is ‘some of the best’ that my adviser has ever seen. I hate non-ironic bragging, but I might be a legitimate writer here. I fucking might.

So yeah, that’s a brief-ish update that I just wanted to get out of the way so I could start writing regular stuff here again. I’m going to force myself to write about something tomorrow. Maybe I’ll talk about the horror story projects that I’ve started or something. I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll talk about the serious decision I have to make about diving back into a certain emotional black hole. Good luck, me.

Cheers, James

This will be in my mind when I first sit down to watch a match at the Emirates.

“Being there in person is not the same as watching. You might see things better on television, but you’ll never know if you were alive or dead while you watched.” – Alice Greer, Pigs in Heaven.

My country, ’tis of thee. Sweet land of liberty…

Her wrinkly gloves betrayed her only slightly less wrinkly hands as she piled ingredients into the foot long. The place was busy today, like every other day this week had been. Lots of travel, she suspected. She finished up the latest sub and slid it down the line to her teenaged co-worker. Sighing, she met the gaze of the next patron and asked what they wanted on their sub. This would be her next six hours, clasped in the iron jaws of monotony at Sub-Way. Eat Fresh.

Arthritis made a piece of tomato slip through her hands and she hid her frustration, something she’d grown accustomed to doing. Years of unfulfilled promises and even less fulfilled potential will do that to you. As the auto-pilot took over, her mind wandered to what led her here, a seventy three year old woman struggling through eight hour shifts at a pit stop gas station/Sub-Way hybrid. A poor upbringing in rural Pennsylvania led to a lack of adolescent ambition. A lack of adolescent ambition led to an early marriage to an unsuccessful man. An early marriage to an unsuccessful man led to a fast divorce. A fast divorce led to years alone, with father time’s merciless hand whittling away at her looks, energy, and drive.

Looking out now at her clientele, she wanted to cry. Businessmen, college kids, travelers in her midst only here because they were on their way to something better. They regard her less than they do their sandwiches. Her face will not be remembered by any of them as they put this pit-stop in their rear view mirror. And with no pension to rely on, no health care afforded to her, and no one else to take care of her, she will keep coming back to this place until the day she dies. A lonely old woman, failed by her country.

 

At least, that’s how I saw it when I was on my way to New Jersey to visit my best friend a few years ago. My other best friend and I had stopped to get some Sub-Way, and the place was packed. Obnoxious American people filing through, the irony of ordering veggie laden subs and then slathering them with mayonnaise lost to their obnoxious minds. The overweight, demanding patrons were not the saddest thing I saw on that dreary day in that gas station/Sub-Way hybrid, though. The  saddest thing was behind the counter. Taking the orders of people who regarded her less than their sandwiches was a woman old enough to be my mother’s mother. Her hands shook as she lifted bread out of the oven, and I was terrified that she’d slice her hand open when she began carving the bread in half. Her thin and wiry gray hair was kept together in one of those baggies that older women put on their hair when it rains, and her wrinkle wrought expression displayed dismay, betraying her forced smile.

Seeing this woman who was at least three times as old as her co-worker make subs for people made me feel quite unlike anything. I was angry. Mad that she had to be doing this. People this old should not be working at Sub-Way, however capable they might be. I began wondering what sort of circumstances led her to this? Why wasn’t she at home teaching her grand children how to play bridge? Why couldn’t she be relaxing in Florida with her husband in their retirement home? What in the hell had happened that forced her to be at Sub-Way?

I could think of very little. Now I didn’t know this woman, and I’m sure it’s possible that it had been her life long ambition to work at Sub-Way. My rage could’ve been misplaced. But as my best friend returned to our table with our subs in hand, I kept watching this woman. Sadness exuded from every pour on her face, and I started to get angry at the fat woman ordering subs for her and her miscreant children, barking out orders at someone forty years her senior. I wanted to stand up and tell her to slow down, to show some goddamn respect. I really wanted to tell her that ordering wheat bread to try and cut calories was pointless. That battle had been lost.

I got to thinking about how this country fails people. About how it shows you this golden path to success, and tells you how to get there. Before throwing up every obstacle in the book to try and make that goal an impossibility. I wondered what obstacles had impeded this old lady at Sub-Way from getting to her goals.

As I left that Sub-Way, crumpling up my wrapper and tossing it in the garbage, and bantering with my friend a bit, I was immeasurably sad. There were so many things going through my mind about that old woman, about opportunities, and about how unfair life was, but it never hit me back then that your country could fail you. It certainly failed her.

These days I watch as kids with two parents and scholarships get enough financial aid to get large returns that they can spend on down payments for vehicles while I struggle working nearly full-time to pay my tuition. I think a lot about how much my country tries to limit my opportunity, and the image of that old woman in the Sub-Way. I see the dark rings around her sad eyes, and I think about the tears trickling down her face, and I refuse to let that happen to me. My country can try all it likes to make a failure out of me, but I refuse to let it. I will spit in its face, take everything that I possibly can, and move somewhere else. I’ll use my talent and ambition to contribute to that country’s economy, and help that country’s people. I will become extraordinary.

And I will never be regarded less than someone’s sandwich.

Tumultuous Transfer Trouble!

Alliteration for the win.

I’m writing this blog to jot some of my thoughts down about yesterday’s closing of the transfer window for European football clubs. All of whom are a bunch of cunts except for my beloved Arsenal. =)

Arsenal’s transfer window has been much maligned, and deservedly so. This has been covered on every single Arsenal blog, and on every single comments section of every single Arsenal blog millions of times over, so I’ll be brief. We’ve gone and fucked around so much with the Fabregas and Na$ri transfers that we have set ourselves back significantly for the beginning of the league season. That it took an 8-2 hammering at Old Trafford to finally spark Arsene Wenger into action on transfers that should have been made YEARS ago is unacceptable.

It pains me to think about how different our fortunes might have been in the past if we’d had Per Mertesacker and Mikel Arteta in our squad. If AW had sprung 15m out on Arteta in any of the previous two seasons where our league challenge faltered near the end, maybe we’d have finally ended that trophy drought?

Blah blah availability and all that. Through their refusal to spend money in the past, the board and Arsene Wenger have deprived this great club of seeing the success it deserves, and we’ve subsequently lost two of our best players because of it. Na$ri would’ve likely fucked off for 200 grand a week either way, but I have a feeling that if he’d been raking in trophies with Arsenal, Cesc might not have been so quick to jump ship back to Catalunya. That I wasn’t able to see Cesc lift a trophy as Arsenal captain hurts me, and it should hurt Arsene Wenger and the board and everyone involved with Arsenal just the same.

Frustration out of the way, this was a fucking FUN deadline day. As has also been covered on tons of other blogs, Arsenal fans usually get shit on during deadline day. Such was the case  last Summer when our major deals were a bargain French defender (two I think? I don’t care what nationality Squillaci is honestly) and literally nothing else. Meanwhile Sp*rs reeled in Rafael van der Vaart from Real Madrid for some stupidly low price and he ended up being an absolute stud.

So yeah, this deadline day felt like Christmas and a Birthday all rolled up into one. It started over the weekend with the signing of Park Chu-Young, South Korean striker and captain, from Monaco. Now, it wasn’t a grand marquee signing, and it was on the cheap, but it showed that AW was willing to buy experience. Next we signed Andre Santos from Fenerbahche. When my friend asked me what I thought about the signing, I said ‘He’s a warm body to play at left back.’

No, seriously, that’s how I feel about that signing. As long as we have someone to play left back who is actually a left back, I’m all for it. Then came the big one. The signing that Arsenal fans have been clamoring for over the space of three seasons! Per Mertesacker. Tall. Robust. Experienced (70 caps for Germany). Fucking quality. Vermesacker. Mervaelen. They have every potential of becoming a dominant CB pairing in the Premier League, and I can’t wait to watch it happening. You could almost hear Wojciech Szczesny cheering ecstatically after being subjected to the shambles of a defense set in front of him last Sunday.

Then of course we all looked to midfield. Light as a feather there as late as three hours before the window’s closing, who would we bring in? I, personally was most excited at the link between Arsenal and Clint Dempsey. The reasons for which are obvious. Clint Dempsey’s arguably the best American footballer at the moment, with proven Premier League quality and experience. Not to mention the absolute heart of a lion that Arsenal have been missing since 08 when Flamini left, I feel.

Well, it was not to be, sadly. That would’ve been an immediate jersey purchase from me. The other names bandied about were M’Vila, Marvin Martin (sounds like a NASCAR guy) and Eden Hazard. I really rate Hazard, but I know fuck all about M’Vila and Martin.

What did we end up getting? Mikel Arteta and Yossi Benayoun. Mixed emotions from this guy, but honestly after so many deadline days of nothing, who am I to complain about signing experienced Premier League midfielders. Mikel Arteta is someone I’ve rated highly for a while, and I feel like we should’ve brought him in a while ago to AUGMENT Cesc, not replace him. But there you go. Benayoun is an unknown quality at the moment due to his absence from action for a while, but Arsenal fans know first hand that he can take over a match by himself on his day. Have a look at him cancelling out Arshavin’s heroics at Anfield a few seasons ago if you need a reminder.

I’m happy, I have to say. Not thrilled or exuberant, but very happy. I’m looking forward to moving FORWARD, as our 125th anniversary logo says. The additions to the squad mean we most certainly could challenge for fourth now (which has been my goal for the club all along. Speak not of challenging the likes of the Manchester clubs or Chelsea at the moment). I think this team has every probability of bringing some great excitement to the Emirates and I’m sure the new boys will want to go out and prove their quality, and I hope they do it. I hope Arsene Wenger brings us back to success because he deserves to win, and we deserve to win.

But at the back of my mind I have to wonder what it was that let us fall so far? It seems impossible to me that Arsene Wenger, as brilliant a man as he is, seriously thought that his squad that was put out at Old Trafford on Sunday with the tactics he was employing were going to do anything but get blown out of the fucking water. There was no way he thought that they would just go out and outplay the team that Sir Alex had the luxury of fielding on the pitch. So why did he do it? Was it to prove a point to the board? Was it to get the situation so truly dire that not acting would’ve been grounds for expulsion from the club?

I don’t know. No one knows. That’s the problem. There’s still a big lurking problem at Arsenal Football Club at the moment. Not to sound like we’re in some kind of murder mystery, but there needs to be some fucking honesty from someone why the outright refusal to improve the squad for the past three/four seasons has been allowed. It has allowed our captain and best player to seek elsewhere long before he should’ve, and honestly it has been at the expense of every die hard Arsenal fan whose week is ruined when we lose. So I’m afraid we’re going to have to find out what’s going on behind the scenes at the club before we can truly start moving forward.

None the less, I am prepared to start ‘earning my wings’ as a supporter this year, as some of the elder statesmen among my fellow Gooners have said. It’s much easier to be a die hard supporter when you’re challenging for titles, but I’m going to prove that it can be just as fun when you’re scrounging for fourth place. Come on Arsenal!

Must. Have. London.

Hello!

 

To my perspective current audience of zero, I welcome you to my blog. ‘musthavelondon’. It took me a while to come up with that title, because I wanted to find something that properly conveyed just how much I want London right now. If I could compare it to something, I’d say it’s sort of like the way a man lost in the desert wants water. It’s a craving right now. I’m being dehydrated with boredom and slowly choked by my inability to experience a culture other than the one which I am slowly starting to loathe.

Let me explain. I live in a place called Bradford, Pennsylvania. It’s a small, quiet town in the northern part of the state. It’s basically inside of a small valley in the Appalachian mountains. It’s very secluded, and it’s starting to feel like it has trapped me a little bit. This isn’t to say that Bradford is a bad place. I don’t yet have the vehement hatred for the place that a lot of other people seem to have. But my mind has left Bradford behind, honestly. And it’s time for my body to do the same.

So why London? A lot of people my age seek plenty of other escapes. Some move to Pittsburgh, others get to New York, over to California. Why don’t I just move to a bigger city in my country? Well, there are several reasons. One reason is that I’m starting to absolutely hate the United States. I can’t stand a lot of the things that this country places value in, or the hypocrisy. This summer’s Casey Anthony saga has left a horrible taste in my mouth, for one example. The explosion on facebook when the verdict was handed out appalled me. “I hope someone kills her.”

If I understand this correctly, people spent months following along with the insanely overly publicized trial, rooting for Casey Anthony to be convicted and sentenced to death as if it were a sporting event, and then when the verdict reached wasn’t the one they wanted, people hoped for her to be murdered anyway. Isn’t the reason people hated her so much because she killed her daughter (allegedly)? The mind of Americans is an interesting thing. The willful ignorance that allows for the disconnect there to take place is impressive.

But I’ll speak in length about that more in the future. There are other things that bother me about this country. The racism. The bigotry. The sense of entitlement. The religion. The fact that your entire life you are told exactly what you need to do in order to succeed and then when attempting to do what you were told, every card in the deck becomes stacked against you (I am talking about attempting to pay for higher education, here). Among other things, anyway.

That still hasn’t answered the question thoroughly enough though, has it? Why not Canada, or Mexico? Mexico has gorgeous women and Canada has…

Well yeah, both of those countries are a lot closer than England, but England has something they don’t. Arsenal Football Club.

I have spent the better part of the last 6 years following Arsenal FC. They are a football (soccer to most Americans, but I will never refer to it as such on this blog) team located in a place called Ashburton Grove that’s in Northern London. Over the past six years, supporting Arsenal has become a bigger and bigger part of my life. To the point that I want to start a career working for them. It’s a lofty goal, but I’d love to do promotional writing for them. To help them become a bigger global brand, and to perhaps share what has made me love the club so much with as many people as I possibly can.

While Arsenal are the main reason I desire London so much, it’s also just the football culture over there. I honestly love the sport itself almost as much as I love Arsenal. During the last World Cup, I watched nearly every single match. This included getting up during the early morning hours (gross) to watch shitty bore-draws and loving every second of it. I love the tactics, I love the pace, I love the passion. The feeling when a team scores a late winner or equalizer is unparalleled. The feeling when it’s your team? It’s better than sex.

So I want to get to London for Arsenal, and football, sure. But there’s more to it than that. There’s the sense of independence that comes with experiencing another country, and another culture. There’s the fact that I love English accents, especially on girls. I don’t know. It’s just this massive allure that I’ve been feeling for so long that I need it. I must have it, you could say.

That all established, the question becomes: How you gonna get there, mate? Well fortunately I’ve got that planned out. I’m going to a University at the moment that offers a Study Abroad program. It, as you might imagine, is fairly expensive. I am currently saving money in order to make use of it. In a year’s time, I will hopefully be able to afford this trip. That’s the goal. Next year at this time, the goal is to be typing to you from some cramped up dorm room at a school in London, where I will be having the time of my life, going to football matches on the weekends, studying during weekdays, and taking in all the culture I can handle during weeknights. All the while establishing connections and laying the groundwork for what will hopefully be a successful career over there.

That is what the point of this blog is going to be. I am going to talk about my progress toward London. Share with you my thoughts about life, love, the pursuit of happiness, share some of my writing with you, and also talk in length about my one true love, Arsenal. I’m hoping that I can snag a couple dedicated readers, but if I don’t, that’s okay too. It will be nice, once I’m finally in London, to be able to look back and see what my endeavor was like. What snares will I have to get out of? What bullshit am I going to have to overcome? What neat people will I see? What great experiences will I have? I’ m going to try and chronicle as much of my life as I have time for.

I hope that this won’t be completely boring to anyone that decides to read, and maybe it can inspire someone to start their own fun little blog. I’m also hoping that I won’t be too bogged down with school to update. I think the acquiring of the laptop I’m on will certainly help, though.

So I suppose I should leave it there. Know that I won’t normally be quite so long-winded, and normally I am pretty funny. I like to sit and poke at things, be sarcastic, and sometimes be overly enthusiastic. Should be a broad range of emotions here. I’m really looking forward to it.

 

Cheers, James