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The student newspaper of, by, and for Ames High School.

The WEB

The student newspaper of, by, and for Ames High School.

The WEB

Am I a Brit?

How long does it take for something to change? A couple hours? A couple days? I mean, Peter Parker was bitten by a spider (a Common House spider irradiated by a particle accelerator to be exact) one minute, and the next he discovers he has an amazing ability to climb walls, shoot webs, and a likeness to spandex. In a very short amount of time, this once nerdy and insignificant American boy was transformed into a great, new being. Nay, my story is not as grandiose as Spiderman’s, as I have not had the honor of morphing into a giant arachnid. Though I’m beginning to wonder, after five months in Britain, if I haven’t had a transformation myself. . . . Am I a Brit? How about you? (You very well could be, as a friend of mine has taken to reading my articles online and checking for accuracy. You know who you are). I guess the question here is this: ‘What does it mean to be a Brit?’ Surely it has to do with the fact of one’s residence in the United Kingdom, but to delve even deeper into the deep concaves of deepest delving, the truth is that being British carries a greater legacy, a huger power. And with great power, comes great responsibility. The process by which one becomes a Brit is not a simple occurrence, nor a peculiar infrequency, nor even a bafflingly perplexing anomaly. A human being does not merely wake up one morning and suddenly start drinking tea with crumpets. No, the first step to this metamorphosis is exposure to Doctor Who . Doctor Who is a TV show here in Britain, and as I learned rather quickly, it’s more than a TV show. It’s broadcast on BBC, and to give you a quick synopsis, here is what the show is about: The main character is a Time Lord, a witty alien who looks human but is part of a race that has the ability to be transported to any time, any place, past, present, or future. He does this with the help of his handy TARDIS, a big blue box that lets him go wherever he pleases, and is bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside. Trouble finds the Doctor (who is surnamed “Who” by bewildered humans) wherever he goes, leading him to save the Earth on multiple occasions. And, of course, he does all this with his companions by his side (ladies who come along for the ride). Oh, and one more thing – he has the power to regenerate into different person. Sounds bloody brilliant, doesn’t it?! Sorry, excuse my outburst. But I have really found myself massively into Doctor Who , and I can now proudly include myself in dorky conversations at lunch about the latest Dalek encounter or the scary but slightly rubbish display by the seemingly harmless Ood. And, of course, there are days when talk turns to the subject of the estimated hotness of Amy Pond (the current companion), but I won’t go into that now. Despite an obsession towards awesome science fiction pizzazz, there are many more masculine ways of showing one’s nationality ‘round these parts. Wearing a kilt (yes, a kilt, and not a fancy patterned skirt) is a rather wicked way to achieve this goal. The fabric, soft to the touch, caresses the wearer’s bare legs so that even in winter warmth surrounds them reassuringly at all times. Even without the mystic powers that encompass this sacred fashion statement, kilts make a person look kick-_ _ _. A third, and very important hurdle I’ve noticed that must be jumped so as to reach full British status is the classic British accent, with matching quick-wit. Together these forces combine to produce a wondrous and dangerous mix. Although I haven’t quite mastered the entire UK brogue or the classic humor, I have been known to automatically say a few choice words, such as “Aye,” and “Cheers.” Sometimes I even catch myself saying “Blimey.” Smashing, innit? Who knows how far off I am from Ricky Gervais’ humour level, or David Beckham’s spicy looks, or Daniel Radcliffe’s magical powers. All I know is I’m on my way to an ever-emerging, slightly dorkier, but all-for-the-best new character. And blimey, who knows, I might come back home a little European.

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