Keep delaying getting new posts up...my apologies. Each time I return to college I go through the process of forcing my mind and habits back into the track necessary to finish, though the freedom that comes with a PhD program makes it insidiously more difficult. No deadlines, no teachers. Just a recognition of what you are supposed to be doing and where you are going.

Meanwhile I have an entire island of wonders unexplored right outside of my door. Arrgghhh.... Nothing I would like more than to just hit the road for a week but it ain't gonna happen, at least not yet. If I can just get ahead of my targets I can take some time off, and if I just had a pony and a hot fudge sundae everything would be great...

Town seems to be calming down a bit, though my neighbors do continue to play indoor cricket all day. The bowler winds up out in the street and pitches through the open front door, where the batsman tries to drive it through whatever opening he can find or create. Great soundtrack to my studies. In the evenings when I need a break I just go and sit on my balcony in the dark, with my intoxicant of choice, and watch the madness. Occasionally I take a picture:

Not that I am spending all my evenings in seclusion, mind you. Abbey College has the benefit of being full of nothing but grad students, most of whom are international. The range of interests is immense and there is almost always someone to join you on a journey. Last night we went and saw a punk band (Die!Die!Die!) at the campus club. Our group was a Brit, a Dutchman, a Canadian, a kiwi, and a couple of yanks. The show sucked, and the pit was weak, but it was nice just hanging out in that setting again and then returning to watch Curb your Enthusiasm at 2 AM with two French students and an Iranian gent. You know you are in grad school when after a punk show you go home and watch pseudo-intellectual sitcoms with the United Nations. Must say it is better than the requisite vomiting and Village Inn runs of my youth. Cleaner too.

Friday night caught a fantastic show at a club about 16kms north of here called the Chicks Hotel. I had heard that it was a local musician's favorite, so I went up. You know it will be good when it is situated literally next door to an active container port, it looks like you are driving into the port of Oakland. No pretensions. The club itself is just the ground floor of a European style cheap hotel, the pub/cafe area, maybe 1500 square feet. No chairs to speak of, just big section couches and ottomans/divans scattered about the place. After getting a drink and retiring to a corner I started to watch the attendees. Hippie guy in a serape', Check. Red-head in a top hat and Victorian skirt, Check. Guy in a bad 70's lounge suit, Check. Girl in a North Face/thrift store combo either depicting the pointlessness of brands or the economic impact of buying them, Check. Satirical professorial garb, mohawks with blazers, witty t-shirts and brogans, check.

It was then that I realized; Dear God, I have wandered into a hipster bar.

After the initial shock I began to enjoy the ambiance, and the mellow, intellectual vibe was perfect for a band I have never seen but very much hope to see again. Steve Abel and the Chrysalids seem a mix of early REM and mid-career Tom Waits. Double Bass, Accordion, two guitars, and a singer who moves like John Cleese at his best. Check it out:

Sweet, eh?

Right. back to the books. This week I will try to get some pics of town and post them, and I should start with the radio station as well. Many stories to tell, I am sure.

Much love