An Englishman in New England

An Englishman in New England

Work like no-one's watching, dance like you don't need the money, and hurt like you've never been loved.

All About The Englishman


Be informed
Be entertained
Be perverted
Confess, sinner
Things fall apart. The center cannot hold.
Change your perceptions. They're lame.
I have a dream.
I am Jack's imaginary friend
Don't think. Just Grow.
For all your multimedia needs
Rehabilitating Mr. Wiggles
Filthy Lies
Hey! You make me throw up a little!
The Framley Examiner Personals
From the creator of 'Grow'
Fura Neko games!
This man is everything I hope to be, artistically
Tokyo Plastic 2.0h!

I love free speech. Talk to me.


December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
March 2004
April 2004
May 2004
June 2004
July 2004
August 2004
December 2004
March 2005


Belle De Jour
C h a p e l . P e r i l o u s
Another Girl, Another Planet
Robber Rabbit

currently. . .

[Playing] Oh, holy Halo 2, Xbox
[Reading] War of the Worlds
[Songs of the Moment] Freelove Freeway, Ricky Gervais/David Brent & Noel Gallagher (The Office), Let Me Love You, Mario
[Movie(s) of the Moment] Before Sunset

highlight reel

Pussy Perspectives
The Laid List
Liquored Up and Lookin' Fer Pussy
Orphan Rampage
The Office and David Carradine
Urkel's Calling
A Wee Turtle's Head
Non-Event Horizon
The Illusion of Time
Born To Run
Bush Humor
Fiendster: The Anti-Friendster
Crusoe and the INS
Peak Oil
Smile for me, Mona
Spin the bullet bachelor party
Spin the bullet part II
Heaven and Home
Heal the world

Atom Feed me, Seymour

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Thursday, March 11

"Thank God", breathed Crusoe. "It's Friday"

After 5 years of dealings with the INS, I view our relationship as a castaway on a desert island views the sea. I am surrounded on all sides by it as far as the eye can see. Our interactions consist of me sending out little messages in a bottle, and occasionally, after months of waiting with no word or confirmation of receipt, they reply with bits of floating detritus with which I might build a fire to keep me warm for a little while, or some rope with which to repair my crumbling abode. Or, they send angry storms that flatten all I have built, forcing me to start from scratch and curse the gods that allow them to exist.

Today's particular interaction, submitting my Green Card application, fell snugly into the 'message in a bottle' category. Up at stupid o'clock in the morning (as Lump would say), a few hours' wait in the sub-zero pre-sunrise temperatures, and a strip-search at the door, all for the priviledge of meeting for less than five minutes with a dismissive customs officer who glibly informed me that "I'll have to wait a while" for them to reply.

No shit, I thought.