spaghetti

This post has nothing to do with pasta. Instead, I will try to give you a blow-by-blow account of my alien abduction. Just kidding. I'll save that for another post.

No, the fact is that as usual, I got caught up in the whirlwind of school, and sailing, and writing (my novel, not this blog - OBVIOUSLY), and in the process managed to neglect my little corner of blogville, and that one armchair in my living room where I have a tendency to just toss all the stuff I plan on getting to later. When the pile of crap on the armchair finally avalanched this morning - with a spectacular crashing sound, I might add - I knew it was about bloody time I posted something.

So let's see... I'm sitting on my couch, listening to the Robin Hood score, which I consider to be pure awesomeness - much like the film itself. If I had to pick one director whose work I consistently love, Ridley Scott would be that director. If I could cheat and toss in the director's brother, then Tony Scott would be up there as well. And need I say how mindblowing the Scott-Crowe combination is? Yeah, I didn't think so.

School has been fine - very busy near the end (yes, I'm already done - go ahead and be jealous). I am proud to say that my final exam this year has made several kids cry. That's right. I'm that kind of teacher. I'm now just tying up loose ends, preparing my classroom for next year (yep, I'm coming back to Kuwait for a third year), watching movies on the huge projection screen in my classroom... you know, the kind of thing teachers do at the end of the school year.

Sailing is amazing, but physically gruelling now that temperatures have finally spiked. Spending an average of six hours on the water trying to harness Kuwait's fickle winds in temperatures reminiscent of a blast furnace is, quite literally, nauseating. I will miss the Wanderer over the summer, but not the temperatures.

I still can't believe that in less than three weeks, my friends and I will be gallivanting around the UK and Ireland. We all really, really look forward to rain, and pints of icy cold beer, and rowdy boys cheering for the World Cup. Kirsten and I are particularly stoked since we're both history buffs with a penchant for all things Roman - the mere prospect of standing by a section of Hadrian's Wall gives us the vapours.

In preparation for a summer of cool, light travel, I'm having my tailor make me linen capris and silk tank tops in various colors - they pack small, and I can mix and match to my heart's content.

And when I say summer, I mean it - if that damn volcano in Iceland doesn't threaten to (or actually) burp again, then I'll be spending July and August on the continent with friends and family. If, however, we decide to play it safe, I'm either going to do a sailing certification course with Kirsten at the local yacht club and chill with the family units, or I might pop over to Hawaii for a week or two to hang ten with Anita.

Well, that's all I can think of for now. I'm off to raid my Hayao Miyazaki collection and pretend that it's not one hundred billion degrees outside.