pipe dreams

if I had a proper Internet connection I would:

- be able to stay online for more than 20 minutes
- do all sorts of productive things, like updating my facebook picture and watching basketball games
- blog about fascinating stuff, such as that time I did homemade soup (chunky but yummy), or when I bought my first tuxedo (scratchy)
- start planning for my trip next summer. Looking at opodo.co.uk at work is so cliche

And did I mention I don't have a TV at my place? It's starting to feel like casa de Ludd over here. So do I miss having a normal Internet connection? Nah, not really

no chill pills necessary

30 seconds of live action from the petanque playground in Gruissan, southwest France

W1's best kept secrets

when it comes to central London, Mayfair isn't the most enthralling of areas. Overrun with tourists and assorted daytrippers traipsing up and down Oxford Street (and its slightly more upscale brethren, Regent Street), working here sometimes reminds me of the summer I worked at Eurodisney. Come to think of it I probably get asked "do you know where the toilets are" by tourists about as many times as back then. Yet spend enough time in the area and you begin to discover its quirks and idiosincrasies, just like the most colloquial of neighborhoods. Shoreditch this ain't, but at least they make the place seem more personal and, dare I say it, a bit pleasant.

the lower-ground floor at Selfridges:

At first I would look down at this floor when going up the escalator to the men's section and see people having lunch, or a display of cristal carafes and china sets, and think nothing of it. But venturing down one day on the recommendation of a coworker, I realized that this is in fact a tremendous emporium-like floor, where one could find not only the afore-mentioned carafes, but a fairly decent hardware and kitchen section, bags, a library, electronics, and most importantly, an HMV! No more wandering down to the overcrowded Bond Street store when I need to pick something up during a lunchbreak. Selfridges might be all about luxury goods and elitist consumption, but if all you need to buy is a couple of nails and an adapter plug, you can get that too.

Lancashire Court:

a stone's throw away from New Bond St, Lancashire Court is the ideal place to get a couple of after-work (or shopping) drinks and relax from the hustle and bustle of the area. Although service is typical of fancy establishments, aka not very good and sometimes downright snotty, the overall mood is laid-back, and the crowd mixed yet quite British compared to Eurocentric Soho. At the front of this small courtyard there's Hush, a bar/restaurant with a terrace that is well worth a try in the warmer months (some people call that summer, I'm still waiting on the evidence that such a season exists here). Then there is a narrow alleyway that separates 2-3 bars which quickly becomes cramped up during the happy hour rush. But the mojitos and Long Islands are pretty tasty, not that expensive and that, in my opinion, is reason enough for me to patronize the place.

the secret tennis court at :
what, you didn't think I was going to give away all my secrets, did you? Well-hidden to the unfamiliar eye, this haven for tennis aficionados is open to private members, yet is so unknown that nearly no one plays there. In fact, when a coworker and I got our membership we found out the were the 12th members, which might explain why last week we were able to book at court for 1pm at 12:59pm, even though it was sunny and fairly warm out. Located less than 100m from our office, this is the perfect antidote to boring gym sessions.

Grosvenor Square:

When you're just looking to sit down in the grass and enjoy a leisurely talk, it's better to keep it simple. Grosvernor Sq is definitely smaller than Hyde Park, way smaller even, but it feels quieter, with a very posh vibe befitting its West End location, which makes it perfect to just lay down, close your eyes, and forget where you are.

shortcuts - 22/11/07

listening:Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, his stuff is pretty good isn't it?

watching: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia might be the funniest show on television since Seinfeld. Charlie Reilly for president.

buying: a few basics from the new Uniqlo store on Oxford Street, with its wall of cashmere sweaters.

eating: Thai food, always and forever.

reading: still stuck on Crime and Punishment. Here's hoping next week's 1h+ plane ride will help with that, although not if the iphone has its way...

attack of the spiteful playwrights

perhaps feeling miffed by the spectacularly bad reviews garnered by his recent screenwriting effort on the Jude Law/Michael Caine thriller Sleuth, Harold Pinter had the following to say about action blockbuster The Bourne Ultimatum and its namesake character:

"I saw a film, The Bourne Ultimatum," Pinter begins, "and I thought: Fucking hell! This guy is clearly the strongest man in the world. He can beat up about 12 people in about 35 seconds and kill half of them.

"The whole thing is totally unreal. I was stupefied by it, it was so lacking in intelligence." He adds that he sat in the cinema "seething, thinking: What am I doing here, being bombarded by this sound? It knocks you out."

Harold my dear, I know you're pretty well respected and all, what with your Nobel Prize, your prestigious plays and your pauses (hey look, a quasi-alliteration, I'm sure you love that!), but this is just silly. If this is the worst example of mindless moviemaking you can find, then I'm wagering that you don't venture out to the multiplex too often, and thus lack the proper perspective to judge the current crop of flicks put out by Hollywood.
Now myself, I go to the movies pretty often. Not as much as when I lived in Paris, but still enough to know how ridiculous this statement of yours is. See, what you didn't realize when you saw this quite-terrific movie, is that you were actually viewing a quite nuanced and smart(ish) work, one in which the hero isn't on the typical "rah-rah I will save the world" mission, but simply a man trying to right a wrong done to him, moral considerations be damned. You want a really stupid action movie, try Die Hard 4. I'm sorry, Die Hard 4.0. In it you'll see a hero take down a hovering helicopter with a police car, 40 feet off the ground. And there's also an episode between a supersonic jet and an eighteen wheeler, but I'll admit to you that the details of that remain fuzzy, I'd need to see it again (or not). Or go see recent vampire flick 30 Days of Night, about a gang of vampire seeking to kill all inhabitants from a small Alaskan town. Yep, I saw that one too, and even enjoyed parts of it, at least those when the 13 year-olds four rows back weren't gabbing loudly on their cell-phones.
You see the whole reason these movies exist is that, more and more, people are looking to escape. Modern life throws a lot of information at you, all the time, and going to see an action flick is now one of the rare moments when you can not think about that for a couple of hours, and just enjoy the moment. I agree, that doesn't mean those movies should abandon all semblance of realism and decent writing. And this is where that Bourne movie, and its two predecessors, come in. It's not an intelligent movie, by any means, but at least it's not trying to outdumb itself every passing second. It has great action scenes that feel more real than 99% of the other offerings in the genre, a story that actually progresses quite organically, and even decent acting. Unfortunately in today's cinematographic wasteland, that makes it a rarity. And if you still don't believe me, just watch Transformers. Then you'll know.

P.S.: okay I'll admit it, 30 Days of Night sucked

ambrosialism

Not that I'm a curmudgeon or anything, but I've never really adhered to the cult of cute that has become a major trend on the Internet in recent years (warning: link may contain pictures of baby chipmunks). With that said, when I bought a smoothie from Sainsbury's last Friday morning to ease myself into the start of my workday, I was instantly smitten:

The reason for this fetching sight is that juice and smoothie brand innocent has put little wool hats on all of their products sold at Sainsbury's to benefit the Age Concern charity, as part of their Big Knit campaign. It aims to help older people cope with the cold winter months, and with each sale of a hat-wearing drink, innocent and Sainsbury's will donate 50 pence to the cause. Now there's a fantastic reason to get behind the cute movement.

read more about it here

line of duty

even more surprising than horses clopping along on Oxford Street, this morning I came across this most random of sights:

Through exactly which circumstances could this seemingly-authentic NYC police car (with Empire State license plates no less) have ended up parked on tony Porchester Terrace? Maybe a newly-retired (and wealthy) member of NY's finest who decided to move to London couldn't bare losing his favorite vehicle. Or perhaps it belongs to a particularly enthusiastic collector of Die Hard 3 memorabilia. The car was still there in the evening, so it would seem like its (necessarily awesome) owner lives in the area. Heck, he probably went to work in his ambulance that day and this car is just his weekend impress-the-girls ride.

this year's model

out with the old:


in with the new:

Released in the UK to the usual Apple hullabaloo last Friday, the iPhone is that rarest of convergence devices: one that actually delivers multiple functions without overwhelming its user with unnecessary bells and whistles, while still looking good. Which is all I'll say about it for now. I'm still getting used to it, though I'm already at a point where I wonder how I could have functioned so long without it. As in, before this thing, what did I do when I was preparing dinner? Certainly not listen to Ryan Adams while reading a LA Times article, that's for sure. Which isn't the most necessary of things, granted, but as far as entertainment goes, it's pretty nifty.
Full(er) review to come.

just breathe

shortcuts - 29/10/07

listening: the band you can't tell your grandma about, Holy Fuck

watching: season 1 of the Hills. It's even worse than I remember. Which means, of course, that I'm loving it to death.

buying: a coat (H&M) and a jacket (Uniqlo) to gear up for the winter. So naturally today the weather started heating up. Come on cold, you can do better than that! (I kid, you can keep hiding for a while. I'll definitely see enough of you over the next few months)

eating: homemade raita salad at work. Take that, EAT.

reading: Crime and Punishment. It's a beast of a novel when you only have about 5 minutes a day to devote to it, but highly worth it.

Jeremy Larson - Jeremy Larson

no, this post title isn't some sort of facetious tribute to John Malkovich, it's actually the title of sound advice alumnus Jeremy Larson's debut album, released to little fanfare last month. The pride of Springfield, MO, he has taken the modern pop sound that had been introduced on a couple of EPs last year to an even more ambitious brand of pop with hints of electronics and classical music. In a genre that has seen its share of repetitiveness and lack of innovation over the years (Keane and Coldplay: I used to kinda like you guys, what happened??), this album feels like a harbinger of very good things to come. It's far from perfect, but it succeeds where so many fail by being fresh and assertive.

Most of the songs are piano-based, yet there is as much emphasis on the additional layers to give it a very modern sound. For sure, this is no electronic music, but there is a clear influence by the laptop-pop scene that has developed recently (DNTEL, The Album Leaf...). As a result many of the tracks create a mood that can feel cold and aloof, but also yearning for warmth. Consequently a lot of the material is about alienating distance and loneliness (Make Believe), but, equally importantly, about not giving up (Swim).
Yes, the music on this record is pretty, but thankfully on songs life More Than You or The Sound Of Snow Larson exhibits a modicum of desperation that is so often lacking in the genre. When you notice how innocuous the subject of love has become in mainstream pop songs, that is refreshing to hear.

Naturally not all is perfect on here, there are still a couple of skippers that, though not bad, aren't particularly memorable either (A Neutral Conclusion, Martyr). But consistency can always come later, what we have here right now is an artist unafraid to take chances to try to come up with an original take on a tired cliche, and that is most definitely a good thing.

listen to songs from the album here

silver lining

no doubt about it, London is an expensive city. Not only do the basic essentials (rent, food, CDs) add up to an arm and a leg here, but indulging in any sort of hobbies generally tends to drive up one's budget to Himalayan heights. This past summer I enjoyed a great recital of Le Corsaire by the Bolshoi ballet, something which I felt very fortunate and delighted to see. Still, the seats cost £90 each, and they were in the upper ranges of the theater, so you can imagine what some decent spots would run you. And how unappreciative you might feel should you witness a less-than-stellar performance. Same goes for pretty much all forms of entertainment in this town, from theater to rugby matches.

But naturally that is the gloomy view of things, one that only the most cantankerous of Londoners would espouse after living here for a while. Because although the options for free/cheap entertainment might seem less comparatively to a city like Paris, there are nonetheless bounds of them for the motivated individuals to partake in. Take movies for instance. At first sight it might seem difficult for movie buffs to keep a regular habit of catching screenings regularly, what with 1 adult ticket in a typical London cinema costing the equivalent of an unlimited movie pass in Paris. But while that might be true in most movie theaters, there are some ways to catch more screenings without breaking the bank, from Cineworld's monthly pass to the BFI Mediatheque, as well as screenings at the ICA. Among these outfits, one has emerged as the go-to place to go see movies from mega-blockbusters to artsier fare while on a budget, a mere few weeks after their general release: Prince Charles cinema. Located a few short hops from cinematic mecca Leicester Square, it provides a wide-range of movies in all genres, special screenings with Q&A sessions, as well as their famous Sound of Music singalong. The prices are on the right side of affordable, going for a maximum of £4.50 for general screenings, while members pay from £1.50 to £3. More importantly, the selection of flicks is top-notch, with recent blockbusters cohabiting with smaller movies. It's thanks to this varied slate that I was able to catch New-Zealand indie rom-com, Eagle vs Shark, this past Sunday. The movie is touching and hilarious, and it was a real treat to be able to watch it with a large audience.
When it comes to cinemas London might never equal Paris, or even New-York, but it's nice to know that there are decent options out there not part of the major chain behemoths. Now if only the Prince Charles would install cup holders in their seats...

pret-less

forecast for tomorrow's lunch break: deeelicious (I hope)

had a nice time

Dedicated to the fortress of suckitude that is Heathrow Airport. My dear, dear Gatwick, you were sorely missed. I promise not to be unfaithful anymore in the future (if I can, you know how these things work. It's not you, it's me).

free music

is there anymore space on the Radiohead bandwagon? Because I've been off it for a while, actually I've never really been a full-fledged passenger, but it seems like I'm gonna have to climb back on again.

seriously, this is pretty amazing. More coherent thoughts later. Maybe.

mercy mercy

at Burberry, less is definitely not more. All I bought was one tie, and they put it in an elaborate package inside a bag fit to hold Imelda Marcos' shoes collection. Oh, and a ribbon? Really?

The receipt was put in its own not-so-little portfolio, maybe so it feels it's worth more than the paper it's printed on? And so we can kill a few more trees, just for the heck of it I suppose.

pinched

Horace Greeley, this is for you

fashion fauxrward

5 crucial reasons why not wearing a belt with your suit pants is a tremendous idea:
- saves time at the metal detector, letting the x-ray machine people focus on the really important stuff, like reminding the people in front of you for the 127th time that day that you have to take your keys and change out of your pockets before passing through. If you wear a belt, the terrorists have won
- 2.1 seconds more sleep time in the morning
- it's a proven scientific fact: when you work, your belly gets hungry and lets you know about it. A belt is just a cruel reminder of the vicious constraints of society. Just let it be, man
- demonstrates your staunch refusal of corporal punishment
- gives you an assured look even if you're doing it out of complete laziness (not me of course, I would never do that)

MC Hammer so hates this post

youtubin: blackass

meet the anti-Jackass, as played by comedy genius and Youtube legend Tracy Morgan in this sketch from Saturday Night Live. And watch for his reaction at the pool.

shameless

on the guilty-pleasure-o-meter, MTV's sorta-reality show "The Hills" has got to rank a very strong 9 banana splits out ot 10. A sequel of sorts to the drama-tastic Laguna Beach, The Hills follows Laguna Beach alum Lauren Conrad as she starts her life in the Los Angeles fashion world, as a FIDM student and intern at Teen Vogue magazine. But LC's fledgling career is merely a pretense to follow her love-life and friendship, with plotlines worthy of the best Beverly Hills, 90210 episodes.
The main ongoing story concerns LC's relationship with her former best friend Heidi, who has now become her nemesis, mostly because Lauren can't stand her boyfriend (now fiance) Spencer. Which isn't surprising considering the guy is pretty much the mayor of Weaselville and has been trying to figure out a way to get Heidi to ditch Lauren ever since meeting her. This has led to some momentous scenes worthy of the most intense Gaza Strip standoffs, including Lauren's memorable observation about her friend's beau that "he's a sucky person. He's a sucky person". The use of this adjective to describe Spencer is so brilliant I have literally nothing to add to it, other than that once you hear it, there is absolutely no way you will not eventually use it in some sentence or another.
There's also Lauren's on-off boyfriend Jason, with whom things invariably ends in tears, generally for no particular reason to the outside eye. Yes, he does seem a bit more distant than usual and, yes, a tad douchy at times, but overall it seems like the breakup happens because the drama is just meant to be. The fact that he's almost the most redeemable male on the show says a lot about the type of people encountered. My favorite is Justin, also known as Justin-Bobby (why? he just wants his friends to call him that. I wish I were making this up), Audrina's (Lauren's roommate) ex-future-whatever boyfriend. Even in the sea of clueless guys the girls encounters, he stands out by his amazingly casual behavior. And I don't mean casual in a good way. From wearing combat boots to a beach party to talking about his other girl to Audrina during a date, this guy is the king of uncomfortable random. Which is to say that every scene he is in manages to heighten the already deliciously-high unintentional comedy factor by at least 250%.
Confirming popular stereotypes about young Hollywood, most of the people on the show are as attractive on the outside as they are unappealing from the inside, and in the end what you see on the screen manages to reach a point of superficial ridiculousness that you can't help but watch. As the trekkies say, resistance is futile.

As a guy in my late 20s, I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to be the target audience for this sort of stuff, but I'll be damned if I've missed a single episode of the show's 3 seasons. And unlike other candidates to the guilty pleasure tag like, say Desperate Housewives or The OC, this one only requires you to switch off your brain for 20 short minutes. More than that would be unbearable but as it is, it makes this highly recommended viewing. Or not. But either way it behooves us to realize that this is Lauren Conrad's (and MTV's) world, and we're just living in it.

youtubin: let's get hyphy

you know what? When I grow up, I want to be a hip-hop dancing professional sports mascot.

faster, faster

with my work schedule still in full madness-mode (one week to go!), I did manage to find myself a new flatshare last week. My lease was due to end on the 24th (today), and though I barely had time to look at places, I felt it was time for me to find accomodations a little bigger and possibly closer to my workplace. Thanks to the magic that is gumtree, I found such a place pretty easily: went to see it on Wednesday afternoon, said I liked it, and when I called back Thursday morning, the room was mine. The rest was straightforward as well: 2-3 tube return trips to move my stuff, a transfer of the deposit+1 month's rent via internet banking and presto, I'd changed flats.
One of the greatest things about the new place so far is that I can walk to work. Or at least will be able to when there isn't a mini-typhoon lashing out at London like this morning. Walked just 3 minutes to the bus stop and my feet were still wet 6 hours later. And that's after changing socks, and letting my shoes dry with newspaper stuffed in them (grandma-tip style).

One thing for sure is that, compared to Paris, looking for a place to live here is very very easy. No need to give landlords a file with ridiculous amounts of information, not to mention guarantees from your parents. Here you pay a deposit (generally 4 weeks' rent), the first month of rent and you're good. Now this situation is linked to the fact you can get expelled pretty fast if you fail to pay rent, compared to France where multiple laws protect renters, which leads many landlords to stay away from anyone who doesn't have the ideal profile. And with so many people (including more and more foreigners) wanting to live in Paris, it isn't hard for them to cherry-pick. Not to say London is heaven when it comes to renting an apartment, far from it, but at least when it comes to moving in/out, it doesn't feel like you're going through an adoption process.

droning on

warning: this post is about as rock n'roll as an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond

these days my schedule has started to get a bit blurry: weekdays turn into weekends which are workdays, after which I go out like it's the weekend. Things are busy at the office (which will only increase as the month goes along), yet there are still things I want to do after spending 12 hours staring at three computer screens, so evenings chilling at home have not been part of the agenda recently. I'm not partying like an art school student or anything, but I keep finding things that keep me out of la casa, even if it's just a run in Hyde Park after work. I think tomorrow I will go home straight from the office, but I can't be certain seeing how things have gone.

This has me thinking that out of the many concepts branded about in the modern corporate environment, that of work-life balance rings particularly hollow. Early in one's career, spending long hours at the office is almost a pre-requisite to move up the proverbial ladder. In that sense, the notion of balance does not really exist. Work takes up most of your time, energy, and motivation. Of course in return you get plenty back, from increased self-confidence, financial willpower, and if you're lucky a decent social environment. But in order not to feel too drained, it's essential to be able to maximize one's rest/leisure time. In my case I've found concerts to be one of the better ways to forget about everything for an hour or so, without staying out too late. Two weeks ago I had an absolute blast at the Justice gig, with a tremendous Rex club-like atmosphere, yet I was home by 12:30. The previous night I had seen an amazing concert by Broken Social Scene, one of my all-time favorite bands, and was safely home by eleven.

The trick in those busy times is to keep things bordering on predictibability without feeling like you're living a real-life Groundhog Day. Although who knows, being able to punch that guy Ned every once in a while might turn out to be a good stress-reliever.

emergency office weekend survival kit

one big holiday

Q: what's better than a 3-day weekend?
A: a 4-day weekend!

Tomorrow is the first of my 3 August mini-trips, with a 4 day jaunt to the -mostly- sunny shores of Brittany. Eating, sleeping, reading, swimming, laughing, sleeping: sounds like a decent agenda to me.

lead me to your door

as one of the most diverse cities in the world, it is hard not to feel at home very quickly in London. But feeling like a Londoner can take more time, if only because when moving here (or anywhere else) you still carry over the instincts and behaviorism you've picked up in previous homes.

For me the first time feeling like one happened not too long ago while, quite fittingly, riding the bus. A couple of French 20-somethings here for the weekend were talking with their friend who apparently lived here or something, and they got to discussing the weather, remarking how horrid it was. The bus passed the James Smith store and the guy make an innocuous joke about how that store would never go out of business considering said crappy weather. And even though it is probably exactly the sort of remark I would make, my first thought when I heard this was how so not better Paris (which is where they were from) weather was and that their miffed criticism was a bit annoying. So in effect I got sort of defensive, which is a common reaction when you feel a sense of belonging somewhere. It's not very rational, after all talking about the weather for 5 minutes is something you'd do with perfect strangers here, so for friends to do so seems totally normal. But in that context this small moment kind of served as a personal realization that I do consider London to be more than just where I live - it's also my home now.

the night starts here

Tuesday morning I'm feeling good, it's quite sunny out, for once not too chilly, and I decide to go for a run during lunch. Though not yet a runaholic like some people at the J.O., I've managed a decent time last week and it's got me wanting to get back into regular running. I even start thinking about the London marathon while on the tube (NB: i have never run a marathon, or even an official race since my glorious participation in the Hong Kong French middle-school olympics) and start scheming about how to deal with the hordes of groupies that will soon pave the way of my training runs.
Typically busy morning, I really should stay at the office during my lunch break but it's too nice out to resist, so I go for a run with a friend from work. We start kinda slow then I push a little bit, manage to beat my time from last week, and also push my buddy to beat his, although 2 minutes behind (hey I never said I wasn't competitive). Back to the gym to change, I'm barely out of the shower when I get a message asking if I'd go for a run that evening. Can't refuse, so I text back to accept, even adding an exclamation point to my answer to show my eagerness, which is a technique I believe I learned from Shakespeare. I know that getting pasta salad for lunch isn't an option at this point, so I oblige.
After an even busier afternoon, run number 2 does not sound like the most inviting of activities. But actually it goes fine, my running partner is in a similar state of mind to mine, so we shuffle along. Hyde Park can be really gorgeous in these conditions, I even forget I'm tired by this point.
I am due at a work social for a friend who's leaving the company, and manage to get there at 9:15pm, also known as 3 hours after everyone else. By this point a few people are hunched around a table waiting for food, the rest near the bar just having drinks. Of course I make the sensible choice and opt for staying with the stand-up crowd (zing!), despite my belly's protestations. Some drinks are had, conversations partaken, a general enjoyable night out, prolonged with the inevitable last mojito at a hotel bar (why do bars close so early in this city again?). At 1:30am I stumble somewhat into bed, a bit dizzy but my pillow seems like the softest pillow in the world and I promptly pass out.
1:32am: bzzzzzz. I get a text, then a call from the friend we were feting that night. She thinks someone has been in her apartment (door was open, lights on, etc...). I somehow dress up normally, get a cab to her place, and make my best to reassure her. Considering my state of tiredness, I am pretty sure I would've dozed through any break-in during the night. In fact I am pretty sure I ask her where I can sleep within 40 seconds of my arrival. Who says chivalry's dead?
Work today feels kinda bad, to say the least. Unshaven, with mostly the same clothes as the previous day (which is where the extra tie in my desk comes in handy), with mental reflexes far from sharp, I slowly realize that this is going to be the busiest day of the month, as first days generally are. Hooray for red bull!
All this to say: I am going to bed now. Attention would-be burglars: if you could leave my friend's flat alone (and mine while you're at it) it'd be much appreciated. And to all other, as a great man used to say: good night, and good luck

sugar kid

they say the secret to living well is learning at least one thing per day. Today I learned a fun fact about strawberries: a portion of 100g of the stuff only contains only about 25 calories. Thus a carton of 400g like those they sell at Marks & Spencer only comes out to about 100 cal, barely a third of what chomping down on a Snickers bar would provide. Pigging out while eating healthy, now that's the way of the future.

rollin' and tumblin'

if you think about it, rock is mostly about dirtiness, uncomfort and frustration. But during last week's Black Rebel Motorcycle Club show at Somerset House those sentiments were conveyed just through the music and for once not in the overall concert-going experience. With some of the best conditions I have ever witnessed at a gig in terms of personal space (enough people (it was sold-out) to make you feel you were part of something, but also enough room to let you breathe and move at ease) or organization, this was one concert that really was all about the music. So kudos to the organizers, these people are often mentioned in a negative light even though I'm sure it must not be an easy job.
To be fair the perfect conditions don't mean a thing if the performances aren't there, and on that aspect the boys in black from BRMC did not disappoint. Whether it was when unleashing their thumpier tunes (Whatever Happened To My Rock n Roll, Took Out A Loan) and thereby eliciting an awe-inspiring number of beer-showers, or taking things back with the slower but soulful numbers from their acoustic blues-influenced third LP Howl, the show was a solid 2 hours of the many facets of good old-fashioned rock music. They might have played a few too many of their unhurried songs in the second half of the gig, but all was very quickly forgotten when they gave the audience a rousing rendition of Spread Your Love which launched a modest but spirited moshpit session at the front, which my friend and I briskly joined. The following picture should give you an idea of that experience:

The band then played one more song before leaving the stage to raucous applause, though it isn't always easy to gauge the mood in such an open space, especially when you're near the front. But the discussions overheard on our way out seemed to confirm my personal feeling of great satisfaction. Rock is a pretty simple thing, and as such a good rock concert just is, no highfalutin explanation necessary.

BONUS:

• more pictures in my flickr set
• video from Whatever Happened To My Rock n Roll:

vagrant weekend

kelly watch the stars

watching a movie is an activity generally better enjoyed with minimum disruption. Noisy teenagers, chirping cell-phones and pop-corn munching are some of the reasons why more and more people are turning away from cinemas, opting instead to stay home and make it a DVD night. But watching a movie outdoors overrides all these claims, and is one setting where the magic of film resounds most clearly. London might not have as many options as Paris in this department, but there are still a few events held in the summer for outdoor screening enthusiasts. New venue The Scoop has free screenings throughout the season, and various festivals throughout the London area offer such showings. Then there is the Film4 Summer Screen, held in the prestigious Somerset House location near The Strand from Aug 2-11. Boasting a mostly mainstream yet eclectic program, the series of screenings is sort of the posh cousin of these events, what with tickets costing £12.5 and the afore-mentioned venue. But it should be good fun, with the always-intriguing possibility to drink up some champy (or Pim's for a truly ritzy experience) while catching an old -or new- favorite. Tickets are mostly sold out, but a small allotment will apparently be available on the day of the showing at the Somerset House box office.
The lineup consists of the following:

• Thursday 2 August: Knocked Up
  
• Friday 3 August : The Descent / The Thing
  
• Saturday 4 August: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly
  
• Sunday 5 August: Rushmore
  
• Monday 6 August: Rear Window
  
• Tuesday 7 August: E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial
  
• Wednesday 8 August: Walk the Line
  
• Thursday 9 August: Chak de India
  
• Friday 10 August: Hot Fuzz / Point Break
  
• Saturday 11 August: 2001: A Space Odyssey
  

Personnally I would've loved to go see either Point Break ("that's Johnny Utah, man"), or my favorite movie I can't explain, 2001. But since I won't be in London that weekend, I will be attending the showing of The Good, The Bad and the Ugly with a friend, which isn't too shabby a pick either. I had a terrific time watching Charade at the Trocadero in Paris two years ago, I'm glad I can do the same sort of thing here too, even if it does come with a London-sized price tag.

sonic moods - 16/07/07

nkotb: Los Campesinos

where have I been: DJ Zebra's mashups

still going strong: The Strokes-Zeitgeist

one and done: Smashing Pumpkins

blast from the past: Manic Street Preachers

next concert: BRMC, Wednesday @ Somerset House


find out more on my last.fm page

from now on

for "all" those interested, I am changing switching the RSS feed of this blog to Feedburner, so anyone keen to keep up with the various going-ons of my existence should update their subscription to the following address:

http://feeds.feedburner.com/fakeexpat

Do it and you can expect many more posts with as much intellectual substances as those three lines you just read. Don't do it and I won't know anyway. Everybody wins!

tourist at home: the British Museum

with nary a thing planned today after a busy Saturday, I managed to kick myself off my bed after realizing that spending an entire day listening to Neil Young and half-heartedly reading a book might not be the most ambitious of schedules, even for a lazy Sunday-aficionado such as myself. Thus did I find myself heading to the British Museum under a typically undecisive sky, with a firm commitment to finally seeing the fabled mummies. Not that this project could be considered a sign of self-motivation, considering I live a short 15 minute (if that) walk away and that I've already been countless times. But at least it would get me to stop listening to laments about heartbreak and southern men, and in that sense the decision to go seemed like a small moral victory over my shiftlessness.
One thing that is nice about visiting a museum several times is being able to able a personal relationship with it, establishing your own preferences, shortcuts and itineraries. I was lucky enough to frequent the Met in NYC enough to kind of feel a measure of ownership over it, and I see it as a good thing. Trying out new places is great and the definition of curiosity, a quality I always try to strive for, but for situations like today, familiarity is more than acceptable.

Once inside I quickly made my way to the Egypt wing, which for some reason I cannot recall ever having been, despite having visited the British 4 or 5 times. Unfortunately most of the rooms were thronged like all superstar museum can be on a summer day, rendering difficult any prolonged observation. Pestering about tourists is a bit easy considering we all are one at some point in our lives, so I'll simply state that if people understood how pointless it is to pose in front of a glass-encased mummy to have your picture taken with the flash on, I think the world might be a slightly better place. I did find some respite in the other Middle-East rooms, where I spent some time learning about ancient Mesopotamia and Phoenicians.
Most of the exhibits in this wing are well done, but the explanations given are a bit dry. It seems to me that the notecards in the fantastic Asia room, which I never fail to call on during my visits to the museum, contain a more personal description of the artefacts and thus give one a sense of how people lived in these times. Or perhaps it's that I feel personally more engaged by that region than the Middle-East, that's a definite possibility. Either way I was glad to finally have stepped into the realm of mummies and scrolls, and have no doubt in my mind that future visits will include these rooms in my customized walk through the museum.

a few more pictures: