It's Always Sunny in Belfast

Hey evveybuddy,

News:
Nan bread and lemon/chive hummus has become my drug of choice. It is delicious.

I've become addicted to British game shows. Most daytime tv here is either antique shows, real-estate makeover shows, plus Jeremy Kyle (Jerry Springer UK) and the unfortunately named Loosewomen (The View UK).
But, oh, come afternoon it's all about Countdown, the cheapest game show in existence. With just a big fake-o clock (that only half of is required to work), some brains and dictionaries, it is easily my favorite show here. They even have celebrity guests who just gab about whatever they feel like in the middle of the show during an allotted time-waster spot each day (past topics have been butt-exercises and bad motels.
Sometimes the letters that the contestants have to unscramble even spell dirty words! Oo-la-la!



Next up is Deal Or No Deal. You may remember this as the most irritating show on the planet, featuring bikinis, shiny things and Howie Mandel post-transformation into a sentient penis. The UK version is surprisingly low-budg in comparison, featuring desperate people, ugly red boxes and some guy who looks like a lion in bad shirts.
Compare and contrast:





And lastly, it's the Weakest Link, still going strong in it's homeland. Until classes start next week, I am living the life of an unemployed pensioner.

I am, however, keeping up with American tv as I can. The Office is back and my oh my is it welcome. Project Runway's going strong, even though this collection of contestants kinda blows. I'm rooting for Leanne who resembles 15 other Portland girls I know and, with Korto, is heads above the rest of the competition. I'm also rooting for Kenley to choke on her own arrogent self-entitlement.
I've also been watching True Blood, because Alan Ball is sweet.

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In other news, yesterday I had the uncomfortable experience of walking around in my nice, blue soccer jersey from Portland. Little did I know that I was unintentionally representing the Unionist team the Raiders (I think) in my heavily Catholic neighborhood.
Therefore:



Everyone looked completely incredulous. Some people obviously wanted to beat me up, others were afraid I would start trouble in their shops. It was awful. Only after seeing about five guys in red jerseys did I really put two and two together and get my ass home. Luckily I had the necklace my aunt gave me of St. Christopher, the cannibalistic, dog-headed patron saint of travelers. Hopefully he will continue to protect me against these potato-eaters.
Now that the threat of death is looming and it's finally started to rain outside (goodbye sun for the year) I'll just wait it all out with Deal or No Deal for a while.