Only in the A.M.

I woke up early for the first time in a while, and I couldn't go back to sleep. So I decided to go on campus early. How early. I think I beat most of the students on campus for their 7 a.m. classes. Other than my sheer absurdness for choosing to go to campus so early, especially when my class doesn't start until 10:30, I kind of like the morning ambiance.

All the crazy people are here, drinking their coffee and studying what seems to be molecular biology. I can't understand what they are talking about, but I read the cover on the test book. I don't know why I decided to adventure out so early this morning, but I like it. Well, I like it because today it is supposed to be 90+ again and it isn't hot out right now.

I also have a ton of work to do today and maybe I can convince myself that getting such an early start to day will help me complete my tasks. But we will see. I am the self-proclaimed king of procrastination after all.

As for what I am going to do for the next three hours, I don't know. I am just having breakfast at a reasonable time and maybe I will have a "Late" lunch, according to my roommate. That would be at about noon. That is a whole other story. All this brain power sitting around me makes me want to study. So in preparation for my mid-term tomorrow and on Wednesday, I will do just that.

'Till next time. Oh and the student cafeteria plays good music in the morning — The Who, The Animals, the Beatles and WHAM.

Update: I have collected a decent amount of license plate evidence for the blog I wanted to write, so expect that later this week.

A Slight Change In Content

I know it has been a while, you and I. It seems ironic that not too long ago I said I was back for good, just to throw you for a loop and be gone for multiple weeks.

But now that the countless pages of research papers and the endless amounts of poem analysis are over. I am, well ... I won't use the "B" word, but I am anticipating getting back into my blogging habits.

As far as the "Bus Ride of the Week" or BRW goes. I am going to can the idea. I have been getting to school earlier and earlier with each growing week and have, out of my own determination, eliminated the bus out of my commute.

Instead, I will take on new ideas stemming from one of the things I love most. Automobiles. I have found myself shuffling up and down the highways of the Bay Area for the last few weeks and I figured, "why not write about that?"

So here is my new idea. I will write more often if you keep checking in, and as often as I can, I will write about my love and some of things I hate about driving and inevitably the roads of a few East and South Bay communities.

So look out, you might see me snapping a photo of you driving with your cellphone, or my car traveling up and down your street ... if it reminds me of a famous race-track corner. The first topic I am going to tackle is specialty license plates. I have been gathering photos and debating whether I like them or not.

Until next time.

Clarkson's Doppelganger

Yes, I know, I am not British, but each day I find one more thing I have in common with the esteemed Jeremy Clarkson. His latest review of the Alfa Romeo MiTo explains it all. You can read it here, or you can read the excerpt below. I will put in bold the things we have in common.

"I suppose that in the days when your fishmonger knew your name and what sort of cod you liked on a Friday, “brand loyalty” made sense. Now we live in a world of supermarkets and corporations, it is the most ridiculous thing on all of God’s green earth. No matter how many loyalty cards you have in your wallet.

That said, I am the worst offender. Even though I know Virgin is the best airline, I always try to fly BA. Even though I know HSBC is in fairly good shape, I bank at Barclays. Even though I know the new style of Levi’s reveals my butt crack when I bend over, I would still never buy a pair of Wranglers.

And this brings me neatly onto the question of watches. For some time now I’ve been on the hunt for a new one but the choice is tricky. I couldn’t have a Breitling because I don’t own an Audi. I couldn’t have a Calvin Klein because they are pants, I couldn’t have a Gucci because I’m not a footballist’s wife, I couldn’t have a TW Steel because my wrist isn’t big enough to sport something that can be seen from space, I couldn’t have a Tissot because I’m not eight and the only thing in the world worse than a fake Rolex is a real one.

Have you noticed something odd about Rolexes? Especially the modern ones that wind automatically when you move your wrist about? A great many owners wear them on their right hand. I jump to no conclusions here but you can feel free. (I agree)

Mostly, though, I cannot wear any of these watches because I am an Omega man. I have worn a Seamaster for years, not because James Bond has one and not because Neil Armstrong wore something by the same maker on the moon but because on the day I went away to school my parents gave me a Genève Dynamic.

The trouble is that for the past few years Omega has been the Pillsbury dough of Swiss watches. The Terry and June. Omegas were dreary. They were boring to behold. They were Vectras in a world of Ferraris and Lamborghinis. The De Ville Prestige, for example, was plainly designed by someone who had a black-and-white telly.

This filled me with despair. I wanted a watch. For the same reasons that I bank at Barclays and wear Levi’s, it had to be an Omega, and it just wasn’t coming up with the goods. It was like Leeds United. Once the home of Peter Lorimer and Gary Sprake but now an also-ran bunch of unimaginative clod-hopping no-hopers.

And then one day, in Hong Kong, I saw it. A new Omega. It’s called the Railmaster and it is a thing of unparalleled beauty. There is no button that owners think will call for help if they find themselves in a crashing helicopter on Kilimanjaro, it is not waterproof to 8,000 metres, there is no stopwatch, there is no swivelling bezel to tell you how much air you have left in your tanks and you even have to wind it up every morning or it will stop. Plainly this is a watch for the sedentary soul. The man with no hang glider or mini sub in his garage. I bought it in an instant.

And so it goes with Alfa Romeo. My loyalty to the brand began when I had an old GTV6. It let the air out of its tyres most nights. It would weld its twin-plate clutch to the flywheel if you didn’t drive it for a day or two. And once, it dumped its gear linkage onto the propshaft when I was doing about 60mph. The noise that resulted was extraordinary: a bit like Brian Blessed being raped. (Sounds like my Camaro)

Even the design was silly. It was a hatchback but the rear seat couldn’t be folded down because someone who’d had too much wine had put the petrol tank between the cabin and the boot. And the driving position had to be experienced to be believed. The only way you could get comfortable was if you had arms that were 6ft long, a compressed spine and feet attached directly to your knees.

You might expect me to say that I forgave it all these trespasses because it was so glorious to drive. But it wasn’t. In fact, not since the Alfasud has there been an Alfa which is demonstrably better than the competition. And now, of course, Alfa is just a division of Fiat.

However . . . I have argued many times that owning an Alfa is a portal through which all petrolheads must pass if they genuinely want to know what it is that differentiates a car from a toaster or a washing machine."

To read the rest of the review, go here.