Geography Awareness Week Part IV: Hunka Hunka Burnin' Lava

Geography Awareness Week Part III: The Art of Seduction and/or GIS

Happy GIS Day!

Geography Awareness Week Part II: Hip? Hip-hop? Hip-hop anonymous?

Geography Awareness Week Part I: Getting Down With Geography (And The Moon)

SMILE! IT'S GEOGRAPHY AWARENESS WEEK!

MORE EXCITING GEOGRAPHY STUFF TO FOLLOW!

Sorry if I get a little ANIMATED about this subject...

Normally, within this quiet little hamlet of a blog, I try to talk about England and my interactions therein. But as the weather has been nothing but poopy lately, and the goings-ons have been more-or-less disappointing (Guy Fawkes day was rained out so I missed the fireworks show,) I'm just going to suspend all talk of this silly little island for a post and, instead indulge in my current fascination: animation.

It is unreasonable to ask someone to sit down for hours at a time and continuously work on learning the Chinese language. It is doubly unreasonable to ask me to do it. Not that my time is more valuable, but my hand cramps easily and it takes me a while to digest even the small ammount of 5 Chinese characters. For somereason I have to procede in blocks of time. This is not an unheard of study tactic. But what to do with those blocks in between...

The answer has appeared over the Youtubes and various other media-spreading intertube places. Animation shorts provide a nice 6 minute or so break for my head to take a small break from the rigor of assembling random lines into Chinese words. (Don't get me wrong. I love assembling those little lines into words. It's why I give UoN more money than the education deserves.) These animation shorts run from the heartwarming, to the ribald, to the downright jarring and terrifying. I've been sleeping with the lights on since a (VERY SHORT) trist into stop-motion clay shorts depicting H.P. Lovecraft tales.

But after reviewing quite a large sample of various independent and professional animated features over the past week or so, I found myself trolling (the fishing activity, not the giant squids of anger activity) the internet for Top 10 lists of favorite animated films. Each web-browsing click brought about a disappointing, yet not altogether unexpected, serialized tribute to Disney. Sometimes these lists payed homage to Hayao Miyazaki, but only usually to one of his films in a sea of Disney. (Occasionally, by which I mean rarely, I hit pay dirt. In two instances I was directed to never-before-viewed-by-me movies. And what a pleasure those were.) For the most part these lists were tributes to Pixar. More often than naught, Toy Story sat at the top of the list, donning a CGI-sculpted crown.

And while I love Toy Story, this over-arching fellating of the Pixar golden calf really chaffed my craw. I could say that many of these Top 10 lists were insulting in their sheer adherence to American animated film, but I would be telling a half truth. I'm not insulted. I'm sad. And not just about Americans unfamiliarity with animation from other nations, but the fact that geniuses of animation such as Bruce Timm or Don Bluth are mostly unknown except by other animators and weirdoes like me. It's in the spirit of cultivating the cultural palatte of friends and family back home that I have constructed a list of, what I consider to be, 10 must-see animated films that aren't necessarily Disney (some are.)

10. The Iron Giant


The Iron Giant came out when I was about 12 years old. As far as recognition for its animation goes, it's stayed rather low on the public radar. Just now it's beginning to be unearthed and recognized as the animating feat that it is. To be fair, I had to watch it myself for the first time in years, just to make sure that I remembered the scope and magnitude of the animation correctly. It's actually a lot better than I remembered. I doubt it would have ended up on this list unless I had re-watched it and noticed one of my favorite parts about the film: the Iron Giant himself. The ammount of detail that went into his mechanisms and his sypathy-generating, emotive expressions and gestures planted this movie on my list. Beyond that, the subject matter is intriguing (to me anyway) and it's a good flick for all ages.

9. The Sword In The Stone


The Sword in the Stone is probably my favorite Disney movie of all time, and I think much of its magic is acquired the stylings of Don Bluth who breathed life into this film that I think would have been amiss otherwise. In my estimation Don Bluth was responsible (as director of animation) for a sizeable portion of Disney's animated run. What's more, the clip above depicts Disney at it's best. The attitude, the evironment, the music and the character imparted upon everyday, pedestrian objects leap right off the screen. It's this kind of infectious energy and good feeling that endeared Disney to everyone so that the company could later go on to produce utter crap like Cars and nobody would complain.

8. Tekkonkinkreet



This was recommended to me by a friend of mine who teaches Animation at Hangzhou University. It's her favorite animated film and I can see why. The city becomes an emotional thing, often reflecting whatever mood the scene calls for. It does this without making the city seem a disjointed or completely unbelieveable place. What's more, the fluidity of the characters and their body movement is well articulated on the screen and it gives the movie a pace that matches the story. The forrays that the film takes into the surreal only add to the depth of this film. I must warn that it is violent, and certainly not for kids, even though it's about kids. But it's also a tale that comes from the heart, which is more than can be said about a lot of the CG stuff we get inundated with these days. It's not there to give an obligatory moral. It's free from that. Instead it uses its talents to delineate from the typical animated fable and instead dive into questions of humanity and brotherhood.


7. Tokyo Godfathers


This was one of the two movies I found while searching lists of animated films. It sure wasn't on any normal list, like TIME magazine's top 25 animated films. I had to dive into the depths of a DC comics forum of all things to find this one. This isn't a superhero movie. Well, at least not in the way that Sueprman is a superhero comic book. This is a tale of unsung heroes, and interesting ones at that. The main characters are all homeless, and they've all got their stories and character quirks. Their development as characters (a general must for me) is performed artfully and with great care. I'd like to say that this movie has animation better than the 3 previous movies, but that would be a lie. It's animation is not just good, it's great. It's expressive and sometimes breath-taking. That being said, this is a very human story, that concerns itself with realism. To be fair, it animates this realism stupendously, but it's nothing ground-breaking. It's sitting at number 7 simply because on top of some really nice animation it's a good, heart-warming Christmas story with some of the best characters I've ever seen or endeared myself to in an animated film.

6. Fantasia


Delightful for little kids and baked college students alike, Fantasia was a must for this list. It was something that had not been done before and we've not seen it's kind since (omitting the 2000 re-release.) It's magic, it's classical music, it's colorful, it's got that classic Disney energy and best yet, it's got that damn mouse. The rodentia cum icon of all things celluloid. You've all probably seen Fantasia, so I won't go on about it, but to say that it has the best soundtrack and subsequent choreography and dance numbers out of all the movies on here. Except for maybe number 2 on the list. But we'll get to that soon enough.

5. Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind


Finally, I get to Hayao Miyazaki. Dubbed the "Walt Disney of Japan," by some jackass, Miyazaki is, without equal, my favorite animator. Ever. Disney was good at proliferating dated 50's era social standards. (Ever watch the Little Mermaid? Women, in order to be wanted by your dream boat prince, you gotta shut the hell up and never talk. Disney says so. If not, just use your voice for damseling yourself while in distress. ) Miyazaki is cerebrally and visually lightyears beyond Disney in my opinion. He knows how people move and emote. Saying that his environments are imaginative is like saying that quarks are small. What's more, Miyazaki knows how to paint a hell of a tale. These tales aren't just restrictive to the epic. (I picked Nausicaä because it's some of his most epic fare.) Miyazaki also gets down with simple episodes in life, giving vitality to simple everyday events and intriguing you with something as mundane as playing a violin. He's that good. He's great for kids and adults alike, and he's always branching out into new realms.

4. The Triplets of Bellville



This was the second film I recently discovered, and is a true testament to the skilled animation team behind this piece. I think that any animator worth their salt should be able to tell an intriguing story without a single word uttered. (As the Pixar people demonstrate with the film clips that appear before every one of their theatrical releases.) The thing's in French, but don't let that stop you from enjoying it. I think there may be five sentences uttered in the entire film, and even then it doesn't take a Big Bang Theory character to figure out what's going on. The soundtrack is... supercatchy and ultimately essential to the success of the movie. (It's a plot device, en fait.) What's more, Sylvain Chomet, the frog...er...man responsible for this breathtaking film is crafting another called The Illusionist that looks every bit as luscious as this one. And if the trailer for the Triplets of Bellville didn't catch your eyes and ears then I'm sorry. I must have posted the wrong video.

3. The Secret of Nimh


What a cheesy trailer... but hey, it was the 1980's. Who can blame 'em. This is another Don Bluth great and probably my favorite of all his work. This is post-Disney for him and features some brilliant use of perspective, as it's all done from the perspective of rodents and other things that live in fields. Or hunt in them. It's a wee bit scary, but hey, that was the 80's for you. We weren't worried about kids feeling secure all the time, and the stray "shit" "hell" or "damn" wasn't just standard fare for a kid's movie, it was obligatory. But that's not what this movie is about. This movie is about taking a farmer's cropfield and turning it into a magical warren of danger and excitement. And that's danger and excitement with the Don Bluth touch, folks. So you know it looks good. As an added bonus, Dom Delouise is the comic relief. Yayyyyyy!

2. Ferngully the Last.... GOTCHA. It's friggin' Akira



And I lied. There are no song and dance numbers in this mo-fo. Just some hardcore mind-frickery and some of the best animation to ever touch a movie projection screen. I can remember hijacking the Cartlab in Monroe at UMW to do a private showing for this film, and it blew me away, even though I'd seen it numerous times before. Akira is a movie that should be shown in cinemas every 10 years or so, so that
A. People can be reminded of what one can do with a crack team of animators
B. So that every generation can get their mind stired with the cerebral egg-beater that is this movie.
Akira's not for kids by any means. It's violent as hell and I think there's a boob at some point. But it's a movie designed to posit questions about humanity and God-like omnipotence and our place in the natural order of things. And it looks damn good while doing it. I mean Tony Robbins good. Dad, please dig this out of the DVD closet and watch it sometime when you're bored. I'm curious as to what you think. Mom, you won't like it. You should probably knit or read or something while he watches it.

1. Spirited Away



I know I just raved on about Miyazaki 4 movies up, but hey, I'm a fan. This time I'll actually talk about the movie. It's brilliant, imaginative and above all, a masterful yarn. It takes place in the spirit world, and the spirits that inhabit it are beautifully rendered, and push our preconceptions about what a spirit is and isn't. The bath house in which much of the movie occurs pulses with a life of its own. Even when the movie ventures outside of the labyrinthine bath house, it reveals a nuanced and fun-to-watch expansion of the spirit world. In terms of credentials, it was the first non-American film (and only non-English language film so far) to win an Oscar for Best Animated Movie. And in the political sphincterfest of a movie midden that is the Academy, that's saying something. It's a great family film and it's got so much heart they use it as an organ donor when nobody's watching it. It's so good I stayed up till 1:30 in the morning writing about it. There you have it. Ten animated movies that aren't CGI that you should see. Unless you're a kid. Then it's like 6 or 7 animated movies you should see. Gah it's late. I'll stop writing now.

Th-th-th-that's all folks.

-Jonathan "No More Clay Kthulus Please" Trenary

Happy November Ma, I Gotcha Som' Roadkill!

Maybe This Post Is Such A Downer Because I Had To Walk Home In The Rain Without A Jacket. Or Maybe People Just Need To Take A Fistfull Of Chill Pills.

So, I went to the Robin Hood Beer Festival once again, and once again I was met with the sour, feculent taste of disappointment. That being said, thank goodness it's a long festival. The first day I went (last Thursday) was, in the words of everyone's favorite Kazakh reporter, 

GREAT SUCCESS.

Lots of good beer and ale to be had. The food was decent, if not English enough for me. (I just wanted a pasty-serving tent. That's all! Is it too much to ask?) I had a good time and ran into many friends. I even made a few temporary ones. It reminded me of the good ol' times at Capital Ale House (except more festive and less expensive.) It was so good I was raring to go the next day. Unfortunately, when I showed up on Friday for a mate's birthday, I queued for almost two hours only to find out that they were at capacity. I was roughly 20 feet away from the entrance when they gave me this news. This is even worse than last year when I showed up on a Saturday only to find out they had RUN OUT OF BEER by 5 PM. (The festival goes until 11 PM.) And that's the Robin Hood Beer Festival for me. Ups and Downs. Strike and Gutters. Star Trek Movie marathons and reality television.

Oddly enough, my upheaval over the (to me) mis-management of what's otherwise a crackerjack beer festival is nothing compared to reaction to the faux-documentary that is to be aired this week on BBC 4. Some of you may have heard of this, others unsurprisingly will have not. The Taking of Prince Harry is a documentary-like film that imagines what would happen if Harry were to be captured by the Taliban while serving in Afghanistan. Apparently at some point he gets mock-executed, or so the Daily Mail tells me. The film has become so controversial that UK Forces Chief (I'm giggling whilst I type this name) Jock Stirrup has asked for a banning of the film. Wowsers! Sounds like a doozy! Am I gonna watch this movie? Oh, you betcha. (Sarah Palin does NOT have a monopoly on this quaint American expression. Somebody watch Fargo and tell me she does) It could be tasteless as all hell, but then again, it might do the job well. 

But why are Brits getting their knickers in a twist? To use the most over-used and cliche phrase in academia, let's unpack this.

The British royal family, including Harry, is rather unhappy with this development. That's somewhat understandable to me. Harry's a human being and the thought of his abduction is probably a really uncomfortable and unwanted thought for his loved ones. Also, there is some speculation that al Queda, or any other fanatical anti-imperialist proverbial boogieman you wish to name, will... act on this? What? Wait. Maybe. There was a Die Hard movie about destroying America by causing technological breakdown on a massive scale, but the only uproar there was over it's lack of an R rating. Nobody cared that it might give terrorists ideas. (They likely already thought of that one, anyway.) I don't think you can say that terrorists are going to suddenly be inspired to abduct someone because they saw a movie on the BBC. Especially since Harry isn't even IN Afghanistan any more. Is it disrespectful? Probably not any more so than the many war films that have come out in the last 10 years.

So why would people, other than Harry's family, LEGITIMATELY get upset about his hypothetical capture and execution. Surely it isn't because he's a real person. Replace Prince Harry with Tony Blair and ask "who cares?" The reality in and of itself is not the problem. It boils down to a matter of nationalism, or so I believe. I think it's fair to say that nationalism is on the rise in England. The recently climbing popularity of the British National Party (thankfully still at a marginal level) demonstrates this. And what is Harry if not one of the Ultimate symbols for the United Kingdom. Although the film is merely hypothetical it is seen as an attack on one of the foremost icons of Britishness. 

Personally, think it's asking an important question. Although not the main impetus for the War of 1914, the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand played no small part in spurring Europeans, Canadians, Turks and Arabs (and for a very brief time Americans) into a bloody, alliance-bound free-for-all. The meat grinder as an old professor of mine used to call it. Surely with France neck deep in riotous anarchy and ongoing war in an old British colonial haunt, it's conceivable that even the capture (to say nothing of execution) of Harry would send enough Brits into a frothing, and ultimately for Europe, destabilizing rage. Or it might not. Who knows? But just because some panties are getting twisted over it doesn't mean it's not an important question. In fact, these days I assume that the more underoos rendered into a bunch by a question, the more likely that question needs asking. 

And for all that speculation and the outrage of some Britons, I peer over the channel and thank my lucky stars and garters that I'm not over in the French quagmire of rioting, gas(petrol) shortages and violence. Bon chance Nick and Chiew-Fong.

Sometimes the madness is too much for me to ignore.

- Jonathan "At Least I'M Doing Well" Trenary

Rugbyvangelistic Purple Spuds

Eight Legged Freaks

In this house we had a pet for roughly 4 days. He was very quiet and I'm not quite sure where he went, but now that he's gone, I'm not sure I'm even impacted.

Let me rewind. I walked into the bathroom about a week or so ago to find an upturned glass sitting on the little plastic wal*mart-esque dresser that contains toiletries.

"That's odd," I thought I neared the glass, "why on earth would someone upturn a glass in the bathrOOOOHHH MY GOD THAT IS THE BIGGEST DAMN SPIDER I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!" I'm not kidding, this spider inside the glass was so damn big we could have put a lamp on it used it as an end table. It was so large that it warranted a sign warning people not to feed it, lest it get any bigger and start demanding its own bedroom. A few days later I found that the glass (and massive spider) had disappeared. I'm hoping that someone released the fellow into the wild to wreak havoc on someone else's bathroom.

This episode isn't COMPLETELY unexpected, as we do have a number of spiders that tend to make a commute through the various rooms of our house. I don't know where they come from, but there's like some sort of perverse spidery highway running through our house. Usually I'm not big on killing things, but since our house became the set for Charlotte's Web VII: The Spidering, I've adapted my harm no living thing rule to: "Harm no living thing that doesn't have more than 7 limbs and is larger than your palm and is skittering across your floor." Thankfully the little devils have yet to make it into my room. It will become a guaranteed arachnocidal hotspot the minute they do.

Now that I've scared my girlfriend away from ever visiting me, let me tell you about my day. I went to a my first geography class of the year, and guess what? It was about geography! We talked about real, honest-to-goodness geography. Not statistics. Not interviews. Space! SPACE! How refreshing.

I am torn, however, because of one of the readings we had for the class. Some of you may know of the eminent Marxist geographer, David Harvey. And some of you may know of my general disdain for Marxist geography. (If you don't know what Marxist geography, wait for the bottom where I'll explain it.) Well, my first readings for todays class were David Harvey writings, the first of which was a piece that ripped into the RAE and the subsequent effect that it has on British Academia and the output of work.

Woah woah woah, Trenary, you didn't tell us you were going to go into academic mumbo jumbo. And what in the sam hill is an RAE?

Okay, I'll make this easy. RAE stands for Research Assessment Exercise. To make it even easier, it's like No Child Left Behind but for higher education. Essentially, this means that unless academics put out enough published research of a certain caliber, funding money can be withheld by the British government. And while we're at this, let get a few things straight. "A certain caliber" doesn't necessarily mean that the work is good. It just means that the committee of scholars that judges the works submitted from any department in whatever university have to approve of it. Oh, and even though geographers will oversee geographers, the specialties of the graders doesn't necessarily coincide with that of the work being submitted. A problem since geography is a widespread discipline (or undiscipline.) So you have these academics investing a shit tonne of energy into putting out as much research as possible so that they have a chance of getting money. What's more, according to David Harvey, is that the governments desire for certain types of work has led to a decrease in the actual quality of the scholarship. Once again, think No Child Left Behind. 

And here I am thinking, "Hmmm... this makes sense." 

So here I am, having an academic that is at the bottom of my list of favorites (Aside from one particular fellow at Nottingham who serves as my "absolute zero" against which all other professors may be gauged.) championing my assertion that many (but not all) British academics are in-the-box-thinking research drones. Not necessarily a bad thing to be if you like writing stuff more than you like disseminating knowledge. (These things aren't the same thing at all.) 

Unsurprisingly the 3-professor panel that was hosting the class all argued against this, citing things like differences in how much American university costs and bringing up the protection that tenure brings about. But really it's all excuses. It wasn't acceptable for me to write about the wrong topic and it isn't alright for them to pawn off their academic and teaching failings on the Academic system. But I digress. The class is really good, and I'm looking forward to it.

And with that in mind, Imma retire and do some reading, cause that's what I pay the University lots of money to do.

You can dance if you want to, folks.

- Jonathan "Death From Above" Trenary

*Marxist geography is a subset of social and economic geography that basically looks for spaces of inequality concerning class and money. The most irritating thing about Marxist geography, though, is that there's always gotta be some conflict or crisis acting as an agent of change. Stuff can't just happen. Always gotta be something. Bah.

Polar Bears And My House (Separately)

Who are you?

I'm Bapman.

Hello boys and girls. Today we're gonna talk about acclimation. More specifically, surprise-acclimation. (Surpracclimation?) I got off the boat from China and walked back into England to find a strange feeling of familiarity. It almost felt like coming home. Home? Is that right? Can England be my home? It's a strange notion for me. I didn't grow up here and although when in the presence of three or more limeys I might get an accent from time to time, I'm pretty American about the way I do things. (For instance, I tolerate queues. I don't revel in them.) I don't feel like it's right for me to call England my home, as I'm not English, nor do I ever plan to be. And yet, chere Angleterre feels more familiar to me than Virginia these days. It's an odd realization to stumble on (as I and countless others in history have) that while you're away from the place you deem home, that place and the people in are still moving and living and doing the things that people do, whether you're there or not. This isn't an Earth-shattering revelation, to be sure. But I think it's important to remember this.  

I know that I will come back to Purcellville to find a Taco Bell, but what other surprises does the old girl have in store for me? New roads? New speed limits? New houses spawned by malevolent, avarice-fueled developers, dumped without abandon in the countryside like a bad case of diarrhea? I don't know. It's a mystery to me. But Nottingham, it feels natural these days. If a Taco Bell shows up, I'll damn well know about it. 

This whole line of thinking creates some rather interesting geographical questions of a cognitive nature. Can homes be mobile things? Surely anyone who's lived in a trailer park will say yes. Ah, says I, but those are places to live. A home is more abstract than a simple box with furniture in it. It is a thing of meaning. And how about the multiplicity of a home? Is it possible to have more than one? In the past I would have said, "yes," but now that I think on it, England and Virginia have never shared home status for me at the same time. There's never an easy footing in this realm of geography. Cognitive geography is such a hazy place all of the time. Until technology reaches a point where humans can share their cognitive geographies, contemplating it is merely mental masturbation.

Since coming back to England, I've noticed or have been re-reminded of things in the country. The first is somewhat pleasant. It seems that every time I go through customs, the person processing me through is always super-interested in me and what I do. My ever-sagacious Uncle Gene would tell me it's because I look like a terrorist. I don't think this is the reason. It's more of a general human interest that these customs officials seem to have. When I came into the country a few days ago, the fellow at the desk asked me all sorts of questions. "Why did you decide to study in England?" "How are you finding it here?" "What's your favorite pub food?" "Do you like pina coladas or taking walks in the rain?" That's par for the course. It's kind of nice, actually. 

I've also come to love the bap. Black American Princess? No, a bap is a fluffy on the inside, crispy on the outside sandwich bun.

This is a bap. A Bacon Bap to be more precise.

Anyone that knows me, knows my love of the sandwich. Given the ability to give high fives to historic figures, Jesus would receive the first, but the Earl of Sandwich would get the second. The sandwich is, without a doubt, the finest and most important invention in the history of mankind. More important than the alphabet, the automobile or even the printing press. I could go through life illiterate and riding a donkey as long as the sandwich still existed. Automatically, you might understand why bread plays such an important part in my life. I don't know why it took me so long to start using baps for my sandwiches, but since I have, the game has changed. I believe I have experienced  a point akin to when the first cave-people discovered that they didn't have to sit around waiting for lightning to strike a tree in order to cook their meals. Baps are that good.  Fixin's are also crucial, but in England fixin's are called *"salad." And I've known about "salad" for some time.

I've been having some intestinal issues of late, that I suspect result from the difference in foods since coming back from China. As a result, I must take my leave of you. And although we shall part, take solace in the fact that the toilets in this house have wide pipes and are nigh uncloggable.

May it never rain on your parade.

-Jonathan "I'm Baptastic Thankyouverymuch" Trenary

*It should be noted that the "salad" referred to here is not the code-name for steak and cheese sandwiches that my father used to use when he was trying to convince my mother he was eating healthy lunches. 

Dubai: Some Like It Hot

What a wacky couple of months it's been for me. Shortly following my last post I found myself kidnapped by Basque separatists. I was put up for ransom, however; the separatists made a common error with the spelling of my name. Thus the newlywed couple, Don and Jane Trinary of St. Cloud, Minnesota were told to send the separatists $ 2 million or their son would spend a night in the not-fun section of a Basque abattoir. Due to a strange mishap involving 7 INTERPOL agents, a genetically engineered bull and a helicopter, I was able to escape. In order to evade any Basque agents that might have been following me I blended in to a Spanish yacht rocker look-alike convention and took on the guise of  a Kenny Loggins imitator. It was two days into the convention while I was having manhattans with 2 Messinas and a Michael McDonald that all hell broke loose. It was at that same hotel (the Barcelona Marriot Suites) that the prog rocker look-alike convention moved in. The two groups were immediately at war. Jackson Brownes fighting Peter Gabriels. Halls and Oatses fighting Pink Floyds. Chaos! Fleeing the carnage, I managed to make my way to Gibraltar where I managed to win a dinghy from a one-eyed fisherman in an illegal underground game of baccarat. The dinghy got me most of the way up the coast where I managed to land at Sandwich. After being accosted by an old man with a cane that kept screaming something about "the bloody Jerries comin' back" I managed to get a train ticket to Nottingham.

And that's why I haven't made a blog post in a loooooong time.

As of the moment, I'm in Dubai. And it's hot. And it's nice. And it's also almost 3:00 am. Or, midnight in England. Or 7:00 pm in the USA. After finally getting on a normal sleep schedule about a week ago, I'm going wreak havoc on it over the next 17 hours or so. Let's try not to think about that. It's depressing.

Instead, let's talk about Dubai Airport, which is probably the nicest airport I've ever been in. Ever. The things a piece of art. And it's huge. Atlanta has nothing on this place. In fact, I'm really getting to like the Emirates. Nice airport, really nice planes. (If you get a chance fly Emirates. It's the nicest airline I've ever flown. The ceilings of the plane have CONSTELLATIONS!) 

My only gripe is the lack of food selection for budget minded travelers. But hey, no biggy. The gardens in the middle of the airport more than make up for that. That's right, there's a garden just hanging out in the middle of the food area of terminal 2. You see it and you're like:

"Hey, garden. Are you lost? This is an airport."

And the garden's like:

"Nah, man. I'm fine. I'm supposed to be here. Ambiance."

And you're like:

"Far out."

And everyone else is like:

"Why the hell is that crazy American talking to a palm tree?"

I'd take pictures, but my stupid camera has dead batteries and I don't feel like blowing my money on airport batteries. That's almost as criminal as spending 5 dollars on a bag of Raisinettes at the cinema. 

Wow. Look at the time. I gotta get on my plane to China.

Take care folks.

-Jonathan "The Garden Whisperer" Trenary

Black Holes in London

I took Lauren to the airport yesterday. She had been visiting for a little over a week, so I have been too distracted to write anything or make a video. Starting to miss her already. Glad to say she got home at all. Her flight was canceled at the last minute due to a volcanic eruption (In Iceland, not Britain.) Ash in British airspace has shut down most outbound flights from the UK, I'm sure as well as inbound ones. We managed to get her on one of the last flights going out of the UK. Go us.

I wrote most of this on paper while sitting on the Bank of the Thames. It was a nice paper outside, so I figured I'd write something. From the moment that Lauren rushed off to make the plane I had 12 hours to faff about London until the train to Nottingham.

Twelve hours in London yielded some interesting stuff. I now know what any Londoner has known since the advent of tourism. If you aren't trying to see Parliament, stay the hell away from it. It is not a thoroughfare. It is a black hole. A black hole of tourists. I don't think it is a black hole of tourists simply as a result of Parliament's presence. No, the insufferable vortex located on Bridge St. is an independent entity. An anomaly in London town. A vacuum created maw attracting vacuous politicians who opted to build a government building and a big farkin' clock on-site. The poor tourists just get caught in it all.

When I was young I had an incident with a waffle iron that has been oft cited by my mother, supposedly for my benefit. She likes to remind me that, despite her warnings, I touched a very hot waffle iron, resulting in a burned finger. It is apparent to me that I will be touching waffle irons of some form or another as long as I live. It's just how I do. For example, I KNEW how much of a zoo it is outside of Parliament on any given day as I made my way to the Westminster Bridge. I still went there though, even though I should have known better. Except, instead of just burning a finger, I lost 3 hours of my life. According to Big Ben it was only 15 minutes, but I know what it felt like and it FELT like 3 hours. Besides, we all know that according to Trenary's Law of Clocks and Holes any clock near a hole will lose fidelity to time as we know it. Those near black holes are doubly so. Big Ben was telling me a big chronological fib. 3 hours.

I have also come to the conclusion that the best people are park people. Well, most park people. Not the guy in the trench coat that wears sunglasses and hangs around playgrounds. He's bad park people. But park people in general are great. Yesterday, for about an hour, I was a park person. Park people are great because they demonstrate the need for outdoor recreational space in an urban setting. And they do it with a quasi sense of community. In my case today, I was one of a seas of people that littered the grass in St. James park, just lounging for the sake of lounging. We were a community that didn't overtly interact. We just loafed together, like bread in an aisle of the supermarket that is St. James Park. This is just one example. You can look about and find others. Think of the speed chess community in Central Park. Consider strangers that meet in Rock Creek Park and let their dogs/children play together. I think there's something about outdoor recreational space that makes people more sociable and overall nicer than normal.

On the other hand, there's something about sitting inside, hunched over a computer and typing on message boards that turns people into hate-filled trolls that expectorate their ire all over the internet community. An inverse relationship between Park People and Trolls, methinks.

In a while I'll finish this in video format. I still have to take you all through my experience in the London Tate museum.

In the words of Signor Martinez: Via... con dios.

Love,

Jonathan "Park Person Troll Hunter" Trenary

To War.

It Is Time.

Spring Break in England is awesome. Of course, it's no Cancun, but it's a month long. I get yelled at by my Limey friends for calling it Spring Break, and not Easter Holiday, but we all know that Easter does not take up an entire month. Besides, American habits die hard. The fact that it's a month long give me lots of time to do things like work on papers, catch up on Chinese vocabulary, and see Lauren. There is one more endeavor that I think it is time to pursue.

Not so long ago I was watching Marshall Bowen talk about the history of the Mary Washington Geography Department. It goes without saying that Marshall can talk about anything and make it interesting. He is one of those people that should be on television but isn't. Well, he's on YouTube. Which got me thinking about the one thing the discipline of geography really needs. Good public relations. Any geographer reading this surely knows the deficit of geographical awareness in America. I don't trust statistics, but when I'm told that large portions of the American population cannot find Iraq on a world map, I'm inclined to believe it.

The University of Mary Washington Geography Department has more than done its part in alleviating this blight of geographical neglect. But plenty of others in the field of geography can't be bothered to share and explain the benefits of geographical understanding to others. (There's a few professors here at Nottingham that certainly fall into this category.) To be fair, geography as a discipline has an identity crisis that rivals that of John Nash. I think a lot of geographers become casualties of this. (Personally I think that geographers are better off embracing the expansive anarchy of geography than wasting their wit on trying to give the discipline that which it lacks most: discipline.)

So, I'm going to begin my own public relations campaign for geography. I'm going to do it via YouTube. I do this hoping that I might make geography a little more interesting. Hopefully a few people will watch and make at least a small step towards geographic edification. Either way, I plan to have some fun doing it. My first video should be out in the next few weeks.

There's also one other thing I wish to talk about.

The North-South Divide in England.

It's generally accepted anywhere I go in England that Scottish people are barking mad. And the Irish... well, the're Irish. 'Nuff said. But the most obvious divide is the one between the North and the South.

In America there's the "Mason-Dixon Line." It supposedly divides America's rude, intellectual and industrial north from the sweet tea-drinking, NASCAR-loving, tobacco-growing, bigoted south. Anyone that has spent more than 5 minutes in either of these "demarcated" regions knows that these stereotypes are hogswash. Having lived my entire life south of the Mason-Dixon I don't put sugar in my tea, I think NASCAR is damn boring, I've never once grown tobacco, and my only bigotry is towards West Virginian and Maryland drivers regardless of creed or color. I will say that the south has risen again, but I say that from an economical standpoint, not as part of a lunatic separatist minority.

To be honest, it's easier to take the piss out of individual states. There ain't too much I can make fun of my Connecticut brethren for. (Way to have covered bridges. Those are soooo two centuries ago.) It's far easier to antagonize those from New Jersey. I mean, the show Jersey Shore speaks for itself. On the other foot, (or tar-coated heel as the case may be...) how do you make fun of North Carolinians? Way to have several esteemed universities and a growing banking industry? I hear your pine is more sappy than up north? Mississippi on the other hand... well. About the only things you can't poke fun at in that state are the blues, the catfish and the Jim Henson museum.

And so our own regional divide is not so concrete as some people would have you think. With England it's a little more intense and evident. The North is full of hard-headed, not-too-bright, out-of-work steel workers who can't speak proper English and have a propensity towards violence. Or so I'm told. The south is full of rich, snobbish, pony-riding fops and dandies that can't survive hardship and would be nowhere if not for hardworking northerners. They cannot speak proper English as well. I don't spend much time in the south, although I've met my fair share of southern Brits. My northern friends assure me that whatever I see is superficial. They're all apparently fops and fopettes under the surface.

The only real constant in the North-South English stereotypes that seems to apply is the fact that few in this country can actually speak English. I think the purporters of that stereotype on both sides hit that nail wham-bam-thankyouma'am smack dab on the head.

And while the divide certainly isn't serious enough to lead to a civil war, there seems to be far more antagonism between northerners and southerners in this country. It's almost as much of a point of division as social class is, but I'm not gonna poke that turd today. Let's just all agree to hope that NASCAR doesn't catch on over here...

That's the end of it.

It's raining here in England like a cow pissin' on a flat rock.

So if you're here, wear your galoshes. If not, have a pleasant tomorrow.

- Jonathan "Real Geography Has No Boundaries" Trenary

Mustachioed Alphabet

Lord Voldemort's Holy Week.

Long time no see, guys n' gals. I'm not going to go on about how busy I am. I think I go on about that one enough. To be honest, it's probably for the best that I only post every so often. All the time now we are inundated with information and needless prattle from just about every possible source. Talk show hosts, news pundits, disaffected college students, celebrities and stay-at-home parents feel the need to tell you every possible thing they can. Even if you don't want to know it. So think of my infrequent postings as an effort to avoid overwhelming you with the inanities of my life.

I've got a few things to talk about, and since I have some time this weekend, I'll probably split my subjects of interest into a textual segment and a video.

The first thing of interest is the end of the Rugby season. We stand defeated. We have yet to win a game. This isn't one of those endearing situations like those found in quality 1990's era kid-oriented sports movies like Little Giants or The Big Green. There is no comeback for us. (Fortunately there's no Rick Moranis or Steve Guttenberg. as coach either.) The most we can hope for is to not finish last in our six team league. How can we justify losing so much? Well, it's not that we're bad. It's just that we're old. Most of the guys on the teams that are trouncing us are lads half a decade our junior. They don't have the benefit of 4+ years of drinking beer and sitting on the coach watching Spongebob Squarepants, wearing nothing but skivvies. (Justin, I apologize for putting you through that.) So these boys are a bit fitter than us. They also have yet to gape into the ugly maw that is the final, frantic year of an undergrad degree. (At that point beer intake has to double in order to cope with the pressures of graduating.) This means that they have yet to be psychologically scarred by the onset of what I like to call "The Real World." Hmmm.... Perhaps I should take out the capital letters. Surely every college grad doesn't end up on a crappy MTV reality show. Or maybe they do, and I just wasn't invited.

Anyway, so they haven't faced what I like to call, "the real world." The looming reality of having to pay bills, get a job and act like a responsible adult. A hell to which the only remedy, albeit a brief one, is to go away to grad school. This will provide relief akin to that which is achieved from scratching bug bites. A brief second of reprise and then a condition even worse than the initial one. (i.e. $30,000 in debt.) Brrr. Gives me shivers.

Where was I?

Oh yeah. The kids. So we play a different set of kids every week, limp off to have a beer and crack wise afterwards, and do the same thing a week later. We're the old man team. My buddy Luke likes to joke that we're a drinking team with a rugby problem. But he exaggerates. Really.

Also, I need to give you a Voldemort update.

This is Lord Voldemort. I've talked about him in the past.

The guy behind Lord Voldemort is my buddy Dave, who also happens to be on the "Old Man Rugby Team" with me. I want to talk about Lord Voldemort here, though. For those of you that don't know, Lord Voldemort is not his real name. I just call him that because he is the most cynical man I know. Track back to previous posts if you have more questions. Or trek onwards to avail yourselves of his most recent exploits.

I recently had the privilege of working in a group with Lord Voldemort for my most favoritest class: Research Methods. He is probably the most interesting group member I have ever worked with. Let me start by giving him some praise. He is a hard-working individual with a sharp and critical mind. He's more than willing to do his fair share of the work. He also gets good results. That being said, he is the most cantankerous person I have ever met. If there was a Lord Voldemort action figure with a pull-string, it would say two things.

"It's shit"

&

"I'm going for a fag."

(Note: Most of you probably know this, but I should point out that the Brits call cigarettes "fags.")

He says other things too. Most of the other things he says are rants. He will rant about anything. Traffic. Not being able to smoke in pubs. Students. Assignments. The color of the wall paper. Waste dumping licenses. How ugly your baby is. The British government. Oh lord, the British government. Some of his best rants are conspiracy theories. The formula for a typical Lord Voldemort rant goes something like this:

JT mentions something to Dave.

Voldemort overhears and says:

"Oh yeah, [Thing JT mentioned to Dave]. It's shit."

A rant goes on for anywhere between 3 and 15 minutes.

It dies down and Lord Voldemort eventually says, "I'm going for a fag."

Lord Voldemort exits, presumably to smoke a cigarette.

My favorite exploit of Lord Voldemort's happened on the eve of our project being due. He informed us that he would be giving us his part of the work early on the grounds that it was holy week. Holy week? He didn't seem like a very religious person, but who can tell. Then I tried to think of religious holidays in the middle of March. Easter was a big fat no. I know when that is and it's definitely not in the middle of March. Passover doesn't start till the 30th. Ramadan is in August. Then I thought maybe he's part of some smaller religion like Jainism or Zoroastrianism. But even those holidays have yet to occur. (The next Jain holiday is Mahavir Jayanti, which occurs on March 29th. The next Zoroastrian holiday is Norouz, or the Persian new year, which takes place on March 21st.

Dave finally let me in on his religion: Gambling

Specifically, horse racing. The 16th to the 19th of March is the Cheltenham horse racing festival. Apparently Lord Voldemort wouldn't be able to do any work because he would be sitting in a pub for four days watching horse races and smoking cigarettes. The cigarette smoking would have to be done outside of the pub. (I know he would be smoking outside because that's one of his favorite things to rant against.) What a holy week!

Anyway, everything else will be in a soon-to-follow video.

Chip Chip Cheerio.

Don't give in to the darkside.

-Jonathan "Wish I could post blogs as frequently as the FOX network cancels good shows" Trenary

PS: An entertaining follow-up to to my last posting HERE

A Pair Of Guns To Match My Skis

Sometimes I feel like an old man. Many of you would say, "Yes, you are an old man. You at least act like one!" And now I feel like one. A week after my last rugby game, my shoulder still hurts from time to time. I know it's not serious because it gets better every day. At the same time, I still have some pain when I take my shirt off. (My Chippendale's career is on pause at the moment.) The main reason I feel like an old man, though, is that the pain is the most cumbersome when I wake up. It's barely noticeable by lunchtime. Thank God I have a two week hiatus for rugby. That's all I'm gonna say on that topic.

My pain can only be so amusing and informative.

On a different matter, I am noticing a certain disconnect that has recently emerged between me and folks back home. It's ironic because this disconnect stems from something that usually brings people together: The Olympics.

But, in fact, I know relatively little about the Olympics right now. I know that the U.S. beat the Great White North at their own game in a 5-3 hockey match. (What the hell is "Ice Hockey?" If it's hockey, of course it's on ice, silly Brits!) I also know that my girlfriend Lauren really likes this one guy named Yoko Ohno or something like that. I've never heard of him before, but apparently women want to have his babies. Man, I hope Lauren isn't one of those women...

And that's about all I know. I'm sure Shawn White is doing 900's on the snowboard as usual, but even that is speculation. And yet, I bet plenty of you back home could tell me all sorts of stuff about the Olympics. Hell, you people probably even know where they are. The thing is, I can't even watch the events I want to see unless I stay up till 4:00 a.m. my time. After finally getting back onto a semi-normal sleep schedule, 4:00 a.m. is reserved for sleeping and the occasional old man bout of waking up and suddenly having to pee. What's more, if I try and watch something "as it is shown on television," the British TV police will break down my door, give me a stern talking to and charge me 1000 quid for not having a TV license. Or so the mail they send me every week tells me.

So here I sit

Broken hearted.

Came to... watch the Olympics

And I can't.

I don't feel too bad, though. Other than the hockey and the curling there's not much else that I care to see. Maybe that one where the guys ski around and shoot stuff. What's that called again? Oh yeah... Bad ass!

Also, I took a break from work tonight to go see Up In The Air. I liked the movie for several reasons. The first being the Remote Sensing time trial that appears in the opening credits. You get shots of agricultural fields and cities from above. If you're good, like Remote Sensing prodigy, Taylor Harper, you'll have no problem identifying the locations. Later in the movie they use the same technique as an establishing shot, which gives you roughly 5 seconds before they reveal which city the viewer is seeing. I know my boy Tay can get it in 3. How long will it take you?

I say "will" instead of "would" because you are going to see this movie. You don't know it yet, but you will. It's one of those movies. It's certainly funny, but it's not a comedy. I guess you could call it a drama, but the movie doesn't get extremely dramatic very often. If you've seen Thank You For Smoking, you'll know what I mean. It's not surprising as both movies were directed by Jason Reitman, son of...Frankenstein? No. Close. Son of director Ivan Reitman. You may remember him as Egon from the 1984 classic, Ghostbusters.

I hated E.R. I thought it was contrived and basically General Hospital with a new set of beau hunks. In fact, George Clooney didn't even exist for me until the Ocean's 11 remake. But now the guy's on fire. Definitely works his magic in this movie. Go see it when you got the time. Unless you spread lame sauce on every sandwich you make, you won't be disappointed.

And that's all I got for the moment. So I think I'll go grab my guns, my skis and and chase after the proverbial James Bond of happiness. If it's Roger Moore, I'll probably catch him. If it's Sean Connery... well, let's just hope it's not Connery. For my sake.

May your slopes have ski bunnies.

Seeya.

- Jonathan "Biathlon Buster" Trenary

Aliens and Spaghbol

Strange Days.

You guys ever have one of those days? Not those days. THOSE DAYS. I mean the really strange day where so many odd things happen that it becomes like watching a car wreck. You wanna go inside to normalcy, but you can't stop observing the weird. That's the kind of day I'm having. I woke up this morning, as usual, and things seemed to be going along quite nicely. The weather was pleasant enough to wear just a hoodie. No Jacket Required. I then went to my research methods class. This is where things got weird. I've been in this class for a semester now and I've been doing mostly statistical work. Well, that's done now - thank the maker. So now the class is all about the interesting world of interviews. The professor started off class by talking about statistics and then saying, "And now for something completely different." I lost it. If it weren't for the other students snickering, people would have thought I had gone crazy. I thought John bloody Cleese was going to do a silly walk right into the classroom. The best part is that I don't think she meant to quote Monty Python. I think that's just a British thing that British people say. I think the Python boys were just the first to realize how silly this island and its inhabitants can be.

I must say, however, that everything else she said today was nowhere near funny. We listened to her speak for 2 and a half hours about interviews. Let me tell you, if there's one thing that shouldn't take 2 and a half hours to explain, it's interviews. 30 minutes. Tops. Part of it may be due to the fact that. She. Talks. Like. William. Shatner. Can? You? Imagine? 2? And? A? Half? Hours? Of? That? I was starting to go crazy. Except for the guy who sits in front of me. His real name is Alan, but I tend to think of him as the Lord Voldemort of Research Methods. I'll explain why in a minute.

First. Allow. Me. To. Digress. (I learned today that you are not supposed to let your interviewees do that.)

Digression: Many of you may already know this, but I suspect that some of you don't. The middle finger is recognized world over for being an easy way (as long as you were careful in shop class) to tell people where they can go. The British have and use the middle finger. En fait, it was a gesture born from British archers. (I'd tell you the story but that would be a Double Digression. Some lines I just won't cross.) There is, however, another way to insult people in Britain. I will use a picture from the inter-tubes (and Churchill) to demonstrate.

Mr. Churchill says good morning and sod off

Anyway, that's the v-sign, or as the Scottish call it, "The Vicky." Back to my day.

This guy, Lord Voldemort of Research Methods, sits in front of me and makes cynical comments all day. He's older than me, probably in his late 30's or early 40's. When the professor asked if any of us had done interview or survey work Lord Voldemort says he has. She begins talking about ethics and he subsequently reveals that in order to identify people taking supposedly anonymous surveys, they would individualize each survey with a typo, so as to know who said what. I'm pretty sure that's unethical. Judging by the look the prof gave him, I'm pretty sure she thought so too. I had to laugh, though. He justified it by saying that they were poor, marginalized scum. Should have just called them all filthy mudbloods and be done with it. Later when she asked if there were any questions he raised his hand, pointing his index finger out like so.

Oh! Oh! Pick me! Pick me!

Voldemort then raises it higher when she fails to call on him. She obviously doesn't see him because she's down front pulling a Ben Stein.

"Anyone? Anyone? Anyone?"

Voldemort's buddy next to him jokingly pushes Voldemort's arm up higher. The professor still doesn't see him. She's still on like Ben Stein. Voldemort seems annoyed. When she starts to move on with the lecture, Voldemort flicks his wrist, extends his middle finger and creates an instant v-sign. Instant Vicky. Sounds like a cocktail. There was much gasping and head-shaking. Some teeth probably gnashed somewhere. The professor missed this entirely. I couldn't believe it. The whole scene had John Bender written all over it.

The Walk Back.

The Chinese have a racist term for westerners. Europeans, Brits, Americans, Canucks. They call westerners Da Bizi. (Pronounced Da bee zuh) It means "big nose."

As I was walking back I started noticing a trend. I started seeing people with big noses. I started paying closer attention to the people I was passing every single one had a huge Schnoz. It was a little less than a mile and every nose I passed was huge. I was left speechless. Which is fine because I had nobody to talk to anyhoo. The weirdest part though, was that when I crossed the street, everyone I passed had a normal looking nose. I can't explain it. Act of God. Whatever it was, it was $#%@-ing weird.

That was my weird day.

On a non weird note, I met the other three guys I would be living with next year and they're all upstanding folk. Nice guys, every one. We also found a house, which is really nice. It's located next to a pub, just like my current place. The atmosphere at that pub is better, but the food isn't. Cheap pints though. All in all, this has been a VERY interesting week. I hope next week is just as interesting.

Number one, make it so!

Engage!

-Jonathan "Medium Bizi" Trenary

Love and Tetris

Back in the Saddle Again.

Well it's good to be back in Nottingham.

Mostly.

I was pleased/displeased to find that several things had occurred whilst I was away. To my horror I had left my lights on. For an entire month. I feel really bad about that. I take great effort to make sure my lights and computer are off if I am leaving the place. I also am keen on turning off the kitchen light after I am finished doing whatever it is I do in the kitchen. Presumably cooking. Imagine my horror and surprise when I opened my door to find out that I had left my lights on. I'm sorry planet. I'll never do it again.

Also, my room smells less weird than it used to. I must be doing something right. The strange acrid mustiness has seemingly been replaced by a more familiar, warm me-stiness. I guess it smells like me in here.

And there was also the usual, One Thing. What is that look on your face? Confusion? Ah so! I see. You do not know what the One Thing is. The One Thing is (as the name implies) one thing that just chaffs your craw, screws your pooch, throws a monkey in your wrench or does something of equal value to make your day not good. It's usually just bad enough to make you forget about all the good things that happened to you that day. One Thing to rule them all... I digress. Anyhoo, I came back to find that I had no internet. Furthermore, I really needed to look up my exam schedule. I trekked and trudged through the snow and cold and wind to the housing office so that I could simply ask, "WTF?" Upon arriving and forcing "WTF?" into a slightly nicer and better worded inquiry for the girl at the desk, I was told that I should call the (And this is seriously the name for the group that takes care of the intertubes) U-WANT tech support. I suppose the (dis)service is called U-WANT because they always leave U WANTing more.

The grand reason for my lack of internet was: My new computer.

I finally got internet this morning. 2 days after my arrival.

But that's was the One Thing and now it's done. And now I can get down to some serious business. Exams. Fortune smiled upon me (as if sympathetic towards me and my tribulations with my maniacal landlord company) and come to find out I only have 2 exams this week. Not 3 as I had originally feared. So I am able to study at a more comfortable pace. And I feel pretty good about my Chinese, having practiced a meager 10 hours or so while home.

I must say, the travelling was pretty good overall. Because of all the maniacs trying to do bad things with explosives recently, I was expecting all sorts of invasive probings by the airport security. The process was surprisingly straightforward, easy and probe-less. The new security area at Dulles is pretty snazzy looking and reminded me of something out of Blade Runner or Minority Report or any other movie based off a Philip K. Dick novel. They even have cute little videos preparing you for the process as you stand in line.

Lastly, I have a new project I will soon be unveiling. Some of you have heard me talk about. Some of you have helped me come up with some crackerjack ideas for it. Some of you are pretty much the main impetus for it.

That being said. I have a question for any geographers that take the time to read this: If there is one thing that you could tell everyone about geography, what would it be?

Thanks all,

Back to the ol' Zhong Wen (Chinese)

住你新年快乐!

Zhu Ni Xin Nian Kuai Le!

Happy New Year!

- Jonathan "Yet To Be Probed" Trenary