Grab Life By the Balls... Grow a Moustache.

Next to road accidents and suicide, Cancer is the third largest killer across the world; and these days, everything causes it. It seems that we cannot step out of our homes for fear of getting too much sun, inhaling second-hand smoke, or even breathing too loud. Even in our own homes, there are a million and one things that cause Cancer. But even for those teetotal non-smokers who don't drink carbonated drinks or greasy food or use mobile phones or own microwaves, have perfect parents who passed on perfect genes, don't vote Republican and use SPF-80 in winter, Cancer may still sneak up on you. Because it just knows. When you least expect it, it might just jump over the garden fence and hack you up with a machete.

"Surely not!" I hear you cry. "There must be something we can do!"

Well, dear readers. Just you wait.

All across the world, men are sprouting moustaches of all different shapes and sizes in support of Movember. The month formerly known as November is now a thirty-day sponsorship to raise awareness for prostate and testicular cancer, as well as money to be donated to charities that help research the disease and aid those affected by it.

These disturbing thigh-ticklers have sprung up throughout my Sixth Form; two of my close friends, Pedro and JB have grown a set of rather shocking womb-brooms (at the protests of Pedro's girlfriend Audrey). JB sports a blonde, Swedish-paedophile-esque crumb catcher, whilst Pedro's is more caveman-meets-Judaism.

You too could be saving balls all over the world! Make a difference at http://uk.movember.com/ - donate your face; SAVE YOUR NUTS.

Why Rhythm?

In high school, we stereotyped. You've all seen Mean Girls; even across the pond we have the jocks, the becks, the chavs who come high to the exams and fail their GCSEs; the nerds, the dorks, and the ones that utter about three words per term and whose name you probably don't even know. In Sixth Form, everyone breaks down that invisible barrier, and, more or less, integrates themselves. With this kind of social climate, it's easier to admit that you're a Harry Potter geek; a Twilight nerd; a Trekkie. And, as it turns out, everyone's a secret nerd for something.

I, for example, am a movie nerd.

Every few weeks, I gather a few of my closest friends and host a movie night. We sit in, we cuddle up, and we watch. Due to my rather expansive DVD collection, I will probably be hosting these well into my thirties. And though this alcohol-less, drug-less, sex-less event may seem dull and ordinary to some of you, nights in may surprise you.

Taking advantage of the rare four-day-weekend, on Sunday evening, six good friends braved the cold, English winter weather, and gathered in my living room to experience the mind-blowing phenomenon that is Fight Club. Now, this short episode of my life is not about the film itself. Make no mistake, Fight Club is an extraordinary, marvellous piece of culture, and I could talk extensively on the topic. But we shall leave that discussion for another day.

When the film was over, we were far too energetic and excitable to settle down and watch another. Our bubbly and mildly hilarious friend Pedro leapt at the opportunity and introduced us to a new game: Party Quirks. The game is played as follows: one person, the "host" of the party, leaves the room, whilst the others decide on different "quirks" that one another will have as the different "party guests." The host comes back into the room  and must guess the different quirks that the guests at his party have.

Our various party guests included an old man in a bathtub, a Chilean miner, a dentist, along with the entire evolution of man. Perhaps the most difficult party quirk given to me was the inability to speak any vowels; I immediately tried to think up as may vowel-less words as possibile, but could only come up with "why" and "rhythm", which in itself made for some very interesting conversation, and some pretty radical dance moves.

As you can see, my friends and I are a very particular class of nerd- but at least we have rhythm :)

Until Next Time...

To New Beginnings

For those of you who endured the excruciating literary torture that was my last, much older blog, I extend my sincerest apologies for the diabolical writing style that featured. The Whistling Kettle came to a sad end last year, and although it is a comfort to think of the sheltered, innocent life of a GCSE student, I must accept that I am now a member of a much darker, sinister class of student.

The A-Level student is a curious species. Not unlike the Upper East Side girls, we live, go to school, play, and sleep- sometimes with each other. Curious to discover the various other opinions on the Sixth Form student, I consulted the Urban Dictionary. It regurgitated the following: "A machine that turns coffee into essays, charts, and various equations."

I cannot help but notice that the key term in this definition is "coffee". The truth in this is inexplicable. I do not recall the first day I began drinking coffee, but on the other hand, I can barely remember life without it. In fact, I often feel that there is far too much blood in my caffeine system. After finding this linked so humorously to the A-Level student, I searched for the definition of coffee.

The results were side-splitting.

COFFEE: "some people drink it because they think they look cool walking into class with a big ass cup off caribou coffee talking about how they need to wake up yet its 40% cream 40% sugar and 20% coffee"

COFFEE: "It is the lifeblood of nerds, and the drink that keeps America's workforce complacent on their journey to work."

COFFEE: "The master of many slaves that make up the working class."

In naming my blog, the only obvious choice, moving on from the kettle, was to associate it with a hot beverage. My mind, of course, turned only to coffee; my loyalty never wavering,  I searched for the appropriate synonym. I bounced from the questionable "forty weight", to the seductive "hot stuff", to the masculine lover "Joe", before coming to the realisation that, essentially, coffee is the fuel, the battery, that keeps me running.

My choice was clear.

Stay tuned, dear readers, for although I may bullshit my way endlessly through ridiculous rants and anecdotes, I entertain myself at least. Perhaps one of these posts may strike your interest and I will have you hooked; not unlike caffeine, you may say.