I’m collecting textbooks today so I have another fabulous guest poster: UK blogger Nic Piper. I’m not going to tell you how it is that I know Nic, but I will tell you that he is hilarious and wonderful. He wrote about this blog awhile back and heartily recommended it as “a good dose of American content without the guns or yeehaws.” Back then I was proud and 100% yeehaw-free, but times have changed. Isobel’s grandparents have taught her that “yeehaw!” is what you say when you ride a horse, though she has taken it to mean that’s what you say when you’re excited about things. She’ll regularly walk around the house saying things like, “Let’s color! Yeehaw!” or “Come on, Zorro! Dinner! Yeehaw!” He’s handy with a camera, word processor, and pen, and he even photoshopped the above photo in honor of this post.
(If you need a point of reference for which accent you should adopt in your head whilst reading this, go for anything other than Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins. Never Van Dyke. Never.)
Hello?! Hello! Is this on?
Right, lets start. I’m Nic and I’m guest blogging on this site for one post only. As a regular on here you’ll know that it’s a brilliant place to read brilliant stuff. It involves a lot of Carrie and her sparkly family, a-blummin-mazing photos and sprinklings of tip top advice. If you regularly read my blog you’ll know it’s a mish mash of bitter drivel, vitriolic sarcasm and health issues. I promise I won’t do any of that here and that this whole site shall remain unsullied by me dripping my views out like a big broken fridge.
I’m a tall skinny geek from the most culturally diverse city inEngland, Leicester. Visit me and I’ll take you for Indian food that will knock your socks off. The things I love most in the world are my friends, films, Doctor Who, avoiding the necessity to run, space, time, intellectual swearing, my camera, rude shaped vegetables and drawing pictures. I’ve got a degree in illustration and a job at a school. I also have a thing called Crohn’s disease. An illness that not only confuses my spell check but also makes me take so many tablets that I rattle like a big medical pinata.
I’d love to tell you a convoluted story about how I met the owner of this site while doing something hilarious. This would give you an insight into not only my past but also a reason as to why I’m here invading this blog. You can take your pick from these two stories (both involve heavy cultural stereotypes):
- It was a cold wet night in a small village inEngland situated in somewhere with ‘shire’ in it’s name. You know, the sort of place slightly less populated than Eleanor Rigby’s funeral. The local school had 30 kids and 2 surnames and rumors that the vicar had webbed feet were rife. As I stumbled through the fields of parsnips quoting Monty Python, I happened upon the figure of a woman (or, at least, something standing on its hind legs). I edged closer puffing frantically on my pipe. The shock of seeing someone with a slight tan jolted me backwards with such force my bowler hat slipped right down over my eyes obscuring the view of my ever present Harry Potter book. It was Carrie. She was over here on a tea drinking holiday and failed to remember which one of the twelve local castles she was staying in. I took her in and we chatted over a massive plate of roast beef. We got to know each others’ past, I apologised 12 times for no reason then taught her the finer rules of cricket. We finished the evening with a quick chorus of God Save The Queen and three more barrels of tea.
- I was on a road trip through the US of A trying to avoid mad gunmen and fat people when the gas guzzling 27 wheeled typical family truck I hired from the large man at the airport got a puncture. Stuck in the middle of one of America’s many vast deserts (like those ones on Road Runner cartoons) I was struggling. I stumbled into a town that was mainly populated by tumbleweeds and the Dukes of Hazzard. I wandered into a diner. There, sitting in the corner eating her 14th cheeseburger of the morning was Carrie. I sat next to her and told her my tale of woe. She flashed her perfect dental work at me and took me back to her 50s-style trailer park. We sat and watched Friends, The Sopranos and Judge Judy and ate grits, more burgers and a big vat of fried chicken. She taught me how to not open doors for people and I taught her that using the word ‘y’all’ like it was a punctuation mark wasn’t a good thing. We retired to bed early that night as she had to go and vote for George W Bush AGAIN the next morning.
Of course none of these borderline racist stories are true (apart from the dental work bit and the tea. There’s always tea). The truth is both boring and amazing in equal measures. A few years ago a chap called Berners-Lee cooked up the World Wide Web in a small room at CERN. Although widely used for dull things like online poker parties, boobies and kittens one of the good sites that came about was Twitter. I twitted Carrie up a right treat! Tweeted her good and proper. And that was that. That’s the boring bit.
This whole internet thing is basically inanimate beige plastic bits sending sparks of electrickery down long noodly wires to other chrome cased plastic odds and sods. You could get disheartened with the whole way it sucks you in, detaches you from reality and plops you out the other end having wasted your entire evening showing you videos of fat people falling over. You could of course embrace this utopian ideal of free information while you watch live streams of Steve Jobs belching out smaller and smaller products each year until you can’t actually see the thing you’re jabbing madly with your index finger but you’ve spent £400 on. You might want that. But of course you could use it to be brilliant. You could use it to be interesting. You could use it to write your fantastic words of love and life down for all to see. You could use it to make friends with people who live a million miles away. You could use it to make genuine friends who care how you are and that look out for you. Like we did. That’s the amazing bit.