Speeding to the eastern end of the country on one of England’s fastest trains, I realized that within five minutes of meeting a friend of a friend I’m telling her about my dental history. Am I boring? Have I become that person, the very self-deprecating, pity-partying, attention hound whom I loathe?

Halfway across the world and a week and a half later, I was vulnerable: I was in a reluctant sprawl in my dentist’s office with a dentist to my right and an oral hygienist to my left. I was being prodded, poked, and probed by hooked metallic objects that would probably be more suitable in husbandry than in dentistry. The dentist made noises of intrigue during the process, lots of “hmms” and “mmhmms.” Allow me to explain why this is noteworthy.

Due to my excessively strange sense of humor, I have decided that having a minor inflammation of the gums was simultaneously one of the more hilarious and equally terrifying diseases in the field of medicine. No, it’s not gangrene, but it’s no scraped knee either.

I don’t have bad hygiene habits, either. Please, for the love of God, don’t think that. I can brush, floss, and rinse with the rest of them. I think I have bad genes. My uncle, coincidentally (and irrelevantly) a Californian, has had the infliction as well.

It seems to be like a right of passage to us Hanlons. We’re a good people, if you can look past our dental shortcomings.

On the bright side, though, I don’t have gingivitis. I have minor irritation and that’s it. I’ll keep fighting the good fight, don’t you worry about me.

Hi friends.
It's been a while since I've posted and there have been many changes in my life. I will present these changes now in a list format:

1. I'm now living in Chicago. This will be different in one week, when I move to Florida for the month of July to work.

2. My camera broke. I can't take pictures until my cell phone comes in later this week.

3. Today we went to this restaurant for lunch called 41 North. It was very mediocre. Things tasted microwaved. And the portions were too big. And our waitress was needlessly informative ("I'll be over in a sec, I just have to change someone's order.")

That's about it. I've been laying low pretty much otherwise. I rented Arrested Development from Blockbuster. Hilarious. Absolutely hilarious.

I just finished my second essay.

I am hugely excited.

In more tragic news, my camera broke. It'll be a while before I get some new pictures up.

Darn.

Victory.

I've finished one http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifessay. I have one more to do and then I am done until August. I'm very excited.

It's been a couple days since I've posted last. I had some problems with blogger (the godforsaken website which uploads to here) so I couldn't get on. Anyways, there have been several recent developments in my life.

In the criminal affairs department, all of the residents of flats G2 and F2 of Loring Hall have been asked to meet for interviews over the theft of recent artwork. Who knows about that?

This weekend we're going to Brighton, a lovely beach community on the coast of England. I might be going to the white cliffs of Dover on Friday if I get my Kosovo essay done in time.

I'm excited to go home. I come home June 17th. I've had a great semester here. I've loved it.

I'll get a picture up tonight. I love all of you.

Last night was the much hyped Summer Ball, an end of the year summer party with a hefty £30 ticket price. Thanks, but no thanks. That's almost $60. Because of this, many of the Americans who weren't going came to my counter-ball, where we basically sat in my kitchen and shot le shit, chewed the fat, and etc. After about an hour, a lot of people left to go into central London. On seeing Jonny, I got an idea.

Because the first part of the party was outside, they were using wristbands to see who had a ticket and who didn't. The wristbands were red, and I we got a red-colored (coloured?!) flyer in the hall looking for summer cleaners. I made my forgery and went to the ball.

Everyone was dressed up which was kind of a problem. I didn't have anything formal, so I borrowed a blazer from Jonny and I snuck in. I was wearing jeans. Flip-flops. Paying customers were in suits and ties. Chumps.

After 11:00, they moved the party inside. We had to stand single-file as bouncers checked our wristbands walking in the door. I flashed mine quickly and he let me in. It was perfect. We came back and stayed up until about 4, chewing the fat once again. It was a good night.

Five books about Kosovo, a bowl of pasta and a tall boy. For no real reason at all, I’m pulling an all-nighter to finish my Kosovo essay. Besides boring me to tears, the stack of books pictured above is two days overdue from the library. I’m sure it’ll be some monumental fine. With this exchange rate, It always is. I submit to the outrageous conditions on their library card and they hand me these ludicrous fines. Unacceptable. In any event, I will write about Kosovo.

It’s about 1:46 AM GMT here, which puts us at just 28 minutes since the fire alarm went off. Proper protocol mandates that we all assemble like sheep in front of our building while we (theoretically) watch it burn down.

My neighbor Simon came over and said, “I can’t be bothered to go outside. I just fell asleep!” I told him we should go, that it would be adventurous. And adventurous it was.

There was the usual accusations of who triggered the alarm. In all actuality, it’s not that hard to do. Steam from the shower can set the room detectors off. I’ve set it off by air-freshening the begeezus out of my room, because of the aforementioned Simon’s stench after a casual game of frisbee. Sure, it may have been dramatic, but nothing else can make my room smell so garden fresh.

This early in the morning, you see people as they really are. That girl from my English class actually has a face that isn’t marinated in skin-toned foundation. People were in robes, pajamas. Lex from upstairs came down in his boxers. If we had some booze, it could have been a themed party. It was nice seeing everyone from our building. It’s nice to see just how faux emergencies can bring people together.

Hello, reader. I know it’s been far too long. You may be asking yourself, “Why has Tom decided to write to me again?” You may be asking, “Why has Tom put up a picture of his kitchen?” You may also be asking yourself, “Tom’s not in that picture.” For your information, that is not a question.

Because of my benevolence, I will answer these questions and non-questions alike. First and foremost, I restarted this blog because I like to write. It’s therapeutic for me to recount hilarious experiences of the day. On to the second question, I’ll be adding a new picture with every post. I chose this picture because it seems like a very summery picture to me and it’s kind of a regular event. We’re always hanging out in my kitchen. If you want names, I’ll give you names. Starting with the girl with the camera sitting in the windowsill and going clockwise sit: Holly, Abi, Alex from Flat 3, Jonny (one of my best friends this term), Alex from Meghan’s flat and also from Cambridge, which makes him posh as fuck, my American friend Meghan, an Italian friend Elizabeth, and Simon in the back with the goatee. I’m behind the camera’s unforgiving lense acting as documentarian, photographer, and dually witty and completely unbiased commentator.

In other news, I was talking with newly 21 year old Meghan about fashion the other day. She called her coat a “layering piece” and made an analogy comparing fashion to an onion, with her “layering piece” being the outermost skin on an onion. Other suitably stylish layers act as intermediaries between outer skin and pale Meghan skin. I told her that it’s funny that she decided to use an onion for her analogy. If I had her style, I’d pick a vegetable that was far more tasteless.

Zing.

P.S. A big thanks to Dan for revamping this site. He made everything. He is saintly.