Gamecock article

This gamecock article started with good intentions but began to wander and ramble near the end. Oh well--i had fun writing it. And since my editor seems to be flatly refusing to put me in print, my internet-published articles can be as lousy as i want, as i know nobody but my mother is going to read them. (Yay mom!) Anyway, I entitled it "Not So Different" but if you look at it on the 10th of February on www.dailygamecock.com, chances are you'll find that the published version is Quite Different from the draft I'm putting here. (They usually are, anyway.)


In going about my life in Canterbury, UK it has gradually dawned on me that, like it or not, there is not a whole lot of difference between Brits and Americans. Sure the English culture is older and has the written history and crumbling buildings to prove it, but the age of the country has little to do with the sophistication of its people. Though we may go about achieving our goals differently, in the end we generally wind up in the same place.
For instance, Brits like to pick fights with me over gun laws. They claim that England is a lot safer than America because they don't have guns. The number of Brits that are shot every year is low even in the seediest parts of London, but what they try to hide is the fact that stabbing crime is as high as ever and spreading to schoolchildren. It's because human beings are going to find means of killing one another no matter what. If they ban knives the number of people who are brained with big sticks will rise proportionally. Its just the government's cruel experiment in natural selection. At least guns level the playing field.
Another embarrassment that America and England share is the trophy wife. As much as Europeans blather on about being progressive, you cannot deny that almost every rugby, football, and even cricket player has some svelte, blonde, brainless piece of arm-jewelry waiting for him when he comes off the pitch. The girls generally have job titles like “aspiring model” or “freelance karaoke singer.” As long as they're happy, I'm not going to nit-pick. It's just that English folk seem to enjoy chastising Americans for objectifying our women. Pot, meet kettle. At least our girls dress like it's 2005, not 1992. The shoes in this country are ugly enough to replace syrup of ipecac for expelling harmful substances from the body.
Seriously, I've got to hand it to SC girls. We value comfort over style on our way to 8:00 lectures. I went to class in my pajamas once here and received scornful looks from every pointy-toed, dolled-up female who crossed my path. I almost pity the ladies here, trying so hard to look nice so that they can be upset when boys don't notice.
One would assume that they would learn before university age how male/female interaction works, but you must be patient with the English. It's not that they mature slower here, just later. Many grade schools here are same-sex and the first time boys and girls come into contact is university. The only reason I can find that they're able to grow up while they're still young enough to start families is a low drinking age.
The University of Kent has 9 bars on campus, run by the school. The drink is cheap and plentiful, the lights are kept low, and the music is loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. I'm pretty sure the function of these watering holes is to bring the students up to speed in social interaction and dating. It's a need-based drinking age. So while American kids spend the better part of a decade fretting over our inadequate bodies and drooling over that cute boy in the third row, Brits are undisturbed by teen angst as they dress in their smart little uniforms and focus on their schoolwork. We take the long road, they take the dull road, but we all wind up in the same place--hung over in some stranger's bed, searching for our underwear.


This column seems short somehow. Maybe i've just gotten used to writing 5,000 word essays full of bullshit and waffles for grades here, but i know i couldn't say all i wanted to and fit in the 600-word limit. Pity--i didn't have the heart to cut anything but i wanted to put in some sort of conclusion. Oh well.