This is a plea to America’s future … our youth. If you are smart adequate to be accepted into a college or university however can not pay for tuition, please get complimentary college grants from the United States federal government, or the different nationwide personal approving companies that supply them. America is depending on you to insure a bright and effective future for everybody. As our country’s common objective is peace, joy, and serenity for all, of course we wish you a sophisticated education for your own personal complete satisfaction. However for all self-centered purposes, America requires you to be properly educated and prosper. Every American citizen’s future depends upon the knowledge and education these days youth. This is precisely the reason why the majority of government financial help is dispersed among university student to provide them with the important innovative education that they have to insure their success and eventually, America’s future.
Each and every year, over 375,000 fantastic young American minds forgo their college education and settle for a less than preferable social presence, working tasks that are less than psychologically revitalizing and making little bit more than base pay. Unfortunately, this disgraceful situation is due nearly totally to that these individuals, who are doing not have in the methods to pay for college tuition, are uninformed of the massive amount of funds readily available to them in complimentary college grants and government financial help. The federal government is not needed to market this totally free cash, but they do undoubtedly choose to award it to those who show pledge in finishing an advance educational curriculum, in efforts to insure an intense future for all who stay in our fine country.
If you are a prospective college student whose only challenge in between you and your education is an absence of monetary affordability, I advise you to investigate the possibilities of obtaining complimentary federal government cash for college through academic grant programs. Your country is depending upon you.
Apply for Individual Grants.
Inside the Tube
Image by Wootang01
The air travel arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed rapidly and without event. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary when again.
Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The design comes straight out of the sterilized 80’s and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such pressure, at the fore. There definitely are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of mankind which is refreshing if not entirely renewing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.
Internet access is sealed in England, it appears. Absolutely nothing is complimentary; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has actually ruined me with its plentiful, complimentary access to the details superhighway.
Regardless of remaining in a space with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The bed mattress and pillow are company; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and just as intense as, possibly, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul’s is an exceptional place to remain for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer – couchsurfing might be a tenable option; I’ll check for next time.
Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of scrumptious, tasty victuals. There was absolutely a European taste to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found all over; and much as the meat was numerous, and real, so were the dairy products specials, through myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with generous quantities of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the very first time I attempted mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch – the ideal restorative for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later eliminated the afternoon at the bar, shooting the breeze while imbibing numerous small half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at 4 in the afternoon doesn’t look like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the business of pals; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!
Previously in the day, we checked out the Tate Modern. Its turbine space measured up to its popular billing what with a huge spider, complete with round egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a pleasure upon which to feast one’s eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the items of their lithe wrists; and I wound up ending up being a big fan of cubism, while developing a contempt for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both inspiration and emotion.
My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Arena, home of the Collection Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did get later, however, once the armory store opened, and dozens of fans came down on it like bees to a hive. I, too, stroked in on a gift-buying mission, and end up buying a book for Godfrey, a headscarf for a student, and a jersey – on sale, obviously – for excellent procedure.
I’m sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my tired legs and strained back. Up until now, I have actually been verily impressed with exactly what I’ve seen, such a confluence of splendor and history prior to me that it would need days to absorb everything, when regretfully I can spare just a couple of hours. My preferred part of the abbey is the poets catch where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace – his bust verifies his homely existence, which was so clearly recorded in his bio.
For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken together with a Guinness, additional cold – 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender described. It decreased well, like all the other delicious meals I have actually had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past 2. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was total.
Having had my fill of football, I chose to avoid my ticket scalping undertaking at Stamford Bridge and rather roamed over to the British Museum to examine their extensive collections. Along the way, my attractived a theater, its doors wide open and confessing customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently examined the show times, saw that an efficiency was set to begin, and at last hurried to the box workplace to purchase a reduced ticket – if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That’s how I got a seat to enjoy Hairspray in the West End.
The program deserved forty pounds. The music was addicting; and the phase design and effects were not so much gaudy as wonderfully promoting – the pulsating background lights were at when scintillating and penetrating. The actors too were lively, exuding charm while they danced and provided lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most absolutely recommended.
At breakfast I sat across from a male who asked me to which nation Hong Kong had actually been returned – China or Japan. That was quite amusing. Then he began spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle where the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one’s mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!
We really conversed on London life in basic, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, attempting to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn’t as though the Brits were attempting in vain to be all things to all guys, utilizing Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, despite whether Hindi was their native language; not even thinking about the ridiculous idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; therefore totally keeping English in English hands and enabling its proud polyglots to “” practice”” their languages. Indeed, the effort of the Londoners to get themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic understanding, and to seek a typical understanding with a common English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.
I celebrated Jesus’ resurrection at the St. Andrew’s Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, consisting of one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in truth had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more standard and the followers less in number than the “” progressive”” services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that’s what makes this part of the body of Christ distinct; besides, the message was as quick as a powerpoint slide, and useful no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a concern from John 21:22 – what is that to you?
Big trees; exquisite yards; and old, sharp colleges; that’s Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde’s Wherry, I have actually had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole task including walking while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, cam in tow.
I am back at the superb beer, enjoying a pint of Sharp’s DoomBar prior to my fish and chips arrive; the legal age is 18, but anybody whose visage even tips of youthful luster is most likely to obtain carded these days, the bartender informed me. The youth drinking culture here is practically as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.
My remain in Cambridge, unwinding and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an unsure if there is anything left to see, conserve for the American graveyard which rests an impossible 2 miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am glad for the access into its living history – the locals here should demonstrate amazing perseverance and tolerance what with numerous travelers ambling on the streets, peering – and photographing – into every nook and cranny.
There are no rubbish bins, yet I’ve seen on the streets numerous combined race couples where the guys have the tendency to be white – the females likewise belonging to a light colored ethnic background, generally some sort of Asian; also saw some black guys and Indian guys with white chicks.
Individuals here hold doors, even at the entryway to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous concern.
I went to the British Museum this morning. The 2 hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there actually is excessive to study, sufficient captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The endless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as varied as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting many of this fantastic booty would be unavailable for our province; better, I believe, for these valuable treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than far from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of dishonest collectors or in the rubbish bin, potentially.
Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The structure is a plush marvel, and a testimony to this city’s love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half transcending to the 2nd, where the active dancers demonstrated their incredible dexterity in, of all locations, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, odd.
Two friendly girls from Kent persuaded me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, “” working”” Leeds Castle and the magnificent interesting home of Charles Darwin wait for.
I’m nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and questioning the abundance of British ales and lagers; the British have actually done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be taken pleasure in at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their injustice is this: besides this endless supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself placing on my freshman fifteen, nearly 10 years after the truth; I am going to need to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I desire to burn all this malty fuel off.
Irene suggested I visit the National Art Gallery given that we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently provides a special exhibition on Picasso, the non-ticketed area of which includes a number of seductive makings, consisting of David spying on Bathsheba – repeated in creative variations – and parodies of other masters’ works. Furthermore, the main gallery homes 2 incredible pictures by Joshua Reynolds, who takes place to be favorite of mine, he in life being a friend of Samuel Johnson – I went by Boswells, where its namesake initially satisfied Johnson, on my method to the opera house.
I hoped last night, and went through my list, lifting everybody on it as much as the Lord. That felt great; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my siblings and sisters.
Doubtless, then, I have actually felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, remaining in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for numerous, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more costly tourist locations than liberating homes of worship these days. Undoubtedly, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I went to in Cambridge – for such a thrilled moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only gone to by at the majority of three dozen perky ones. Individuals of England, and Europe in basic, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the peaceful vault of their hearts. May it be gotten in the sudden time out prior to mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still wish for a revival in this place, for faith to increase like that remarkable sun every early morning. God would like to save them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.
I wonder what Londoners believe, if anything, about their cops state which, like a vine in the shadows, has settled in all corners of day-to-day life, from the terrorist alerts in the underground, which urge Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of pet dogs which excitedly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more unbelievable is the truth that even the United States, the indomitable bane of the fledgling, rebel order, does not attempt bombard its residents with such worry mongering nowadays, specifically with Obama in office; possibly we’ve grown smart in these past couple of years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked all over – London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; in some way, that does not accumulate for me.
I’m in a magnificent bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and definitely to confirm my suspicions, there are simply as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which try to murder Christianity all over. I did discover, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the previous.
Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant close-by New Street – yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both attempted their omelette, while her partner had the fish, without chips. Discussion was light, the levity existed therefore was our recollecting about those short lived minutes during our very first year in Hong Kong; it is remarkable how relationships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their suggestion, I am on my method to Warwick Castle – they also recommended that I visit Cadbury World, however they can not handle added visitors at the moment, the tourist office personnel informed me, much to my frustration!
Checking out Warwick Castle truly produced a great day out. The castle, parts of which were developed by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a garish traveler trap as a careful preservation of history, sometimes a sillier variation of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most remarkable, inexorably English past. The castle accommodates all visitors; and not remarkably, that which thrilled all audiences was a huge trebuchet siege engine, which for the 5 p.m. efficiency tossed a fireball high and far into the air – great! Taliban beware!
I’m leaving on a jet airplane this night; don’t understand when I’ll be back in England again. I’ll miss this wacky, yet endearing location; and that I will miss Irene and Tom who so kindly welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I’m grateful for God’s lots of blessings on this journey.
On the schedule today is a trip to John Wesley’s home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already today I got a tube of Oilatum, a week late possibly, which Teri suggested I use to alleviate this obstinate, dermal weak point of mine – I enjoy to report that my skin has stopped sobbing.
John Wesley’s house is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, up until now from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, large museum where all things Wesley are on display screen – I never understood how much of a renowned figure he became in England; at the height of this idol craze, paradoxical in itself, he has to have been as popular as the Beatles were at their pinnacle. The house itself is a multi-story erection with narrow, sheer staircases and roomy spaces decorated in an 18th century style.
I discovered Samuel Johnson’s house within a labyrinth of red brick concealed alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical fixation, this, without a doubt, is the climax of my check out to England! The finest definitely has been saved for last.
There are a plethora of pictures hanging around your house like accessories on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, thoroughly retold on the crib sheets in each space. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the home. I have actually developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, “” His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly influencing the easy gentleman. It looks like though I, too, could utilize a more lovely description of myself!
I regretfully couldn’t stop to attempt the curry in England; I think the CityU canteen’s take on the dish will need to do. I did, nevertheless, have the appropriate task of flirting with the charming Cathay Pacific counter staff who inspected me in. She was beautiful in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she stated; and her little, fragile face, commanded by an opulent British accent rendered her favorably irresistible, electrifying. Not just did she give me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she should be a pro at this now.
I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, gathering tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my mission for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a male has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had excessive punch. I am simply an amateur, alas, an “” Oliver Goldsmith”” with the women – I got no video game – booyah!
Some last, substantial bits: due to the fact that of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those stylish baseball caps; since of the Individual Retirement Account, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from remote, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has handled the tedium of perfunctory procedure that does not make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.
At last, I saw numerous Indians working at Heathrow that I might have easily mistaken the location for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me since their part of the basic population certainly should be less than their portion of Heathrow personnel, showing some strange hiring bias. Regardless, they do an exceptional task with general airport checks, and in general are ridiculously funny and amusing when not thoughtless.
That recommends England!