tourist at home: the Cabinet War Rooms

with a rainy bank-holiday Monday came the perfect opportunity to take things underground and visit the Cabinet War Rooms in Westminster. Recently renovated, this museum is comprised of the actual rooms used by a cadre of British political and military authorities, as well as a support staff, during WWII. Designed as a bunker with a heavy concrete protection to prevent damage from the heavy German bombs, the entire complex was very extensive, and housed up to 500 people. The CWM are just a small part of this, but a major one in terms of historical significance. Indeed right at the start of the visit there is the actual cabinet room, where Churchill and his cabinet met to discuss war matters. One of the great things about the museum is how well preserved things have been kept, as though nothing has been touched since 1945. The living quarters, in particular, present an interesting personal side to the place. Seeing Mrs Churchill's bedroom or the tight quarters shared by the staff secretaries remind us that personal comfort was not really an option in these times of war. I also hope Mr Churchill's detectives (his security guards) didn't dislike each other, because that was one small room they shared. Besides the cabinet room, the map room is a tremendous showpiece, giving visitors insight into how these rooms were at the center of the war effort.
To accompany visitors there are free audioguides which explain what the purpose of the different rooms were (like the BBC communications center or the transatlantic telephone room). These are mostly well made, even if the reenacted scenes featuring actors can get a little overplayed. The guy "playing" Harry Truman was particularly overdoing it, to our great amusement.
During our dwell I remembered my dad once mentioning that my great-grandfather, who was living in London at the time, had a run-in with a V2 during one of the bombings, though it was thankfully inconsequential. The CWR is another reminder of how many sacrifices were made by our elders during those times. This abnegation is especially amazing if you consider the type of lives many of us are leading now. Not to say I embrace a fully idealist and sepia-tinted view of this chapter of history, but I think these museums are a good way to ensure future generations acquire some measure of knowledge about it.

Adjacent to these rooms is the Churchill Museum, which covers his entire life. Admission is included in the general ticket price (£11 full price, £9 for students), but lacking time we did not get to visit it. Overall I found this visit quite fascinating, as someone who's always had a thing for this part of history and would definitely recommend it, even on a day when it isn't raining cats and dogs.

Got To Get You Into My Life

here's a few facts about what may be the best TV show ever:

• lasted just 19 episodes in 1994, when it was cancelled due to middling ratings
• was later broadcast on MTV, which means it was shown 47 times per week at one point, which is how I came across it
• starred a then unknown skinny and unconventionally pretty actress, who became a style icon in the post-grunge world
• had one of the more realistic portrayals of marriage on a TV show (some good, some bad, a lot in between)
• featured one of the first non-cliche gay characters on a TV show
• had a terrific theme song by the TV composer, WG Snuffy Walden
• included the presence of a heartthrob character so emblematic, millions of women everywhere will forever refer to Jared Leto as "Jordan Catalano"
• is now available on DVD as a wide release in the UK, after years of online petitions
• is the TV show equivalent to Death Cab To Cutie to me: it gets sad and emo at times, but never pathetic, and more importantly, feels pretty true to life. Which isn't what I generally associate with TV programming

ride

another day, another horse-related post. Tonight I went to a performance of West-End sensation Equus, my first time at a play since moving to London. First of all, yes, it is the one where Harry Potter gets naked (I'll be honest, we definitely talked about it-a lot with the friend I went with on our way to the theatre. Like, 'if the play sucks, at least we'll have seen Harry Potter naked and we can tell others about it' or 'that play was great, and hey, we saw Wizard boy get nude and get to tell people about it'. Shallow, but these are the things you talk about at the end of a long workday and three days of rain). Also I was mistakenly under the impression that a real live horse was to appear during the performance, and was pretty excited, definitely more than by Daniel Radcliffe's (that's Harry Potter) impending nakedness. Unfortunately that never occured, but there were 6 fake-horses, so that's gotta count for something. Plus the actress who plays DR's girlfriend gets naked too, so that's one for the plus column as well. But enough with the base comments, let's talk about aaaaarrrt. I'm not a huge specialist of the stageplay world; indeed having seen 2 is a performance that puts me perilously close to my all-time record of 3, reached back when I saw them during school field trips, aka would go to even when I didn't want to just to hang out with friends. But I always enjoy attending one because it takes me out of my artistic comfort zones which are music and film, and generally leads me to rewarding intellectual stimulation. What, you thought I went to oggle boobs and wait for a live animal to appear?
Written by Peter Schaffer, Equus tells the story of a psychiatrist who is presented with the odd case of a youngster whose fascination with the equine race has led him to a terrible crime against them. The shrink was played with tremendous ease by Richard Griffiths, which presented a more than compelling partner to Alan Strang, the character of the teenager played by Mr Radcliffe. The story touches on many themes often found in psychanalysis, like religion, family or sex, but is open-ended enough for everyone to reach their own conclusion. While I wasn't totally convinced by logic behind the story (especially when related to Alan's childhood and his initial fascination for horses), I thought it progressed coherently, and was aided by mostly strong acting. The directing and lighting was simple and efficient, never getting in the way of the story while still presenting the audience with some nonlinearity.
We only decided to go see the play during lunchbreak, when we went to the Leicester Square tkts booth (which I highly recommend) and saw the list of shows on offer, but overall I enjoyed seeing it. And yes, I did see Harry Potter nekked, but the play and the overall artistic choices are interesting enough for it not to feel like a gimmick. Still I sure would've loved to see an actual horse on that stage.

somewhere

after a week in which I went out every single night (capped by the inevitable Friday night pub session, which even though you come home at 11 make you feel as though the night's been much much longer than that), the prospect of a three-day weekend with most everyone I know here away gallivanting in the countryside or in foreign lands was looking might fine.
Of course it has since been raining almost continuously, but such was my motivation to spend the ultimate low-key weekend (highlight so far: watching West Side Story) that the weather has almost been validation of my plans: this rain means it is my destiny for me not to do anything.
Being sociable and meeting people is great, but sometimes you just gotta hang out with yourself for a while, funny how some people (read: certain ex-girlfriends) never seem to understand that. And I do have a museum session planned with a girl from work tomorrow, so it's not I'm holed up junkie-style for three days, but the "lesson" here is that getting away from it all doesn't necessarily mean moving to a cabin in the woods and eating canned beans.

silent sigh

walking around Selfridge's, I noticed a t-shirt with the slogan "Working Class Hero", as made famous by John Lennon. They were selling it for £35, which made me wonder, is there any possible way for someone to buy this t-shirt (and wear it) without looking like a huge tool? Non-rock fans wearing CBGB tees is one thing, but this is pretty far out. What's next, replica bejeweled-crown of thorns for Born-Again bapesters?

short and not sweet

roses are red, violets are blue
Pippo Inzaghi, Oh how I hate you

un groupe de chevaux

a good concert is:

- seeing the unknown opening act coming on stage, all looking like Jack Black at the beginning of School of Rock, only with less fashion-sense, and then enjoying the heck of out their songs, enough to buy their CD at the merch stand after
- watching from the front row even though you're generally cramped and bumped into, and not giving a rat's ass until the very last note has stopped resonating long ago
- very clearly feeling your hearing diminish like polar ice as each song goes by and thinking 'hey, those ear plugs might be a good idea', then completely forget about it instantaneously because the band just hit the killer part of a song
- not be able to stop smiling for minutes at a time. Seriously, where else in life does this happen?
- feeling close to strangers swaying next to you even though you won't talk to most, if any, of them
- feeling good about yourself for not spending your money on beer for once, then immediately blowing £30 on band merchandise, including a girl's tee-shirt you bought because you were paying too much attention to the Sienna Miller lookalike working the merch stand than to the garment she was handing to you. In a related note, anyone want a girl's medium Band of Horses tee?
- coming out of the place and calling up the friend you usually discuss music with, so you can share the joy. Cell phones really are a tremendous innovation for mankind

get away from me

the notion of personal space definitely has different interpretations according to whom you ask. Personality plays a part, and culture is a big component of how one's view on this matter. Still traditionally people have tried to not get in the way of others, so that this crazy thing we call living in organized society could be just a tad bit easier. But all that has been changing in recent years, with the advent of the "bigger is better, and you best get out of my way" attitude. And nowhere has that pleasant trend shown up more than in large cities. The first time I saw an SUV stampede through the small streets of the 6e might have made me smile, but by the 5th or 6th time it didn't seem that funny anymore.
Or take two recent annoyances of mine. I wouldn't call them pet peeves, it's not like I'm forming a committee or anything, but I've definitely had evil thoughts at the sight of these. First is the gigantic stroller you see parents - generally young- carry their latest addition to the tax bracket in. These things probably could give SUVs a run for their money when it comes to maneuverability, and are generally as pretty to look at. I'm guessing for a lot of those new parents the decision is to put safety first, but really when you baby-carrier is the size of a small tank, wouldn't that make it that much easier to get into accidents. When I was a kid people used the classic McLaren models, which were foldable and very convenient (apparently McLaren doesn't make that model anymore). Sure they couldn't have been that comfy, but if you're a kid and someone's pushing you around, there's not a whole lot you should be complaining about. I'm not too much into old-school values like ass-whooping and all that backwards stuff, but in this case it seems like we've taken the need to protect our young ones a bit too far. And with it the premium on available space in public transportation.
Then there are the humongous umbrellas that always seem to be used by just one person who doesn't look at where their instrument of eye-popping is being thrust around. Those things might be half of the size of Manhattan, but you will rarely see more than one person under one of those things. For this reason I propose we institure a rule for umbrellas like those we have on clogged highways for cars: umbrella-pooling. If your umbrella is one of the large models and the street is crowded, you're not allowed to use it on your own. This way we'd reduce some of the pavement-crowding, while also promoting increased social interactions between heretofore selfish owners and their rain-challenged fellow denizens. Of course for those like myself using the Jack Bauer-approved solo umbrellas no rules would be necessary.

follow-ups are for losers

me and my sunnies: not five days after having bought them, I lost my latest pair of cheap sunglasses while browsing in le Mouton a Cinq Pattes two weeks ago. If you've never been to that store, it's pretty small, and I only stayed near the entrance, yet did not manage to find them after spending maybe 4 minutes in the shop. In turn I then bought an expensive pair of Ray-Ban which I haven't lost yet. Maybe this whole deal with the sunglasses was just a self-realizing prophecy. Just to be sure, I bought the same £5 pair at Marks again, to see if i could come up with a successful counter-reverse jinx strategy.

the footy charity tournament: I found out during the first practice that the tournament was to be held on a weekday for which I wouldn't be able to take some time off, so I didn't go to the subsequent practice sessions. I am hoping however for regular pickup games in Hyde Park once the weather remembers that it's the middle of May, not early March. Such was the case today, and it was great fun. And I even managed to hit up the British Museum afterwards, so that small brain of mine wouldn't feel left out. Okay, just for 30 minutes because they were closing, but just like in football, a victory's a victory, no matter how narrow. And I went there to meet with two girl interns I know from work, so you could say this was another manifestation of my theory at work. Damn you subconscious, you are so weak! Then again I'll be able to tell my grandma I went to the museum recently, so the end justifies the means I guess. Or whatever cliche fits this sort of situation.

sonic mood - 16/05/07

where have I been?: Andrew Bird
one and done: Linkin Park-Minutes to Midnight, Maps-We Can Create, Wilco-Sky Blue Sky
still going strong: Loney, Dear
blast from the past: French rap from the golden age (1997-2001)
next concert: Band of Horses @ Scala

find out more on my last.fm page

eenie-meenie-meinie-moe

besides the job itself there are many things that I enjoy about my new work environment, but one of the main ones has to be the proximity to multitudes of places to get lunch. I eat at my desk most days, have done so for a few years now (I find it's just more efficient, and see the time needed to go get the food as enough of a mental break before getting back to the grind), but at my previous workplace I only had a couple of places to choose from, which got very dull very quickly. Going to the same sandwich place every day probably played a part in my feeling restless and ready to move on (and the bland Issy Les Moulineaux area I was based in did not help matters much), which isn't that ridiculous a claim when you think about it.
Now I've got all the choice in the world, which doesn't guarantee that I change every day, but at least I exit my building most lunch breaks not knowing where I'll end up at. While my life isn't sad enough (yet?) for that fact to actually have me excited, overall it is a nice change. There's the typical (Pret, delis, Cafe Whatevers), the budget (Boots, Marks), the bad-bad-bad (KFC, Pizza Hut) and then there's Selfridge's Food Hall. Consisting of several food stands, from the pretty mundane Square Pie one to an oyster bar, there is no way you can enter it and not come out with something. Recently I've been trying out the Mediteranean section, where the shish tawouk is something special, and the organic section which does a killer berry juice smoothie. This being Selfridge's, the bill generally comes out pretty steep, but that's mostly because you're always tempted to get something extra. The other day I noticed they sold some French yogurts, and almost got some to stock in the fridge at work, as I've been very underwhelmed by the local yogurt situation so far. So whereas before I'd hesitate between the chicken salad and a chicken sandwich, comparatively now I feel like those little kids entering Willie Wonka's factory.

pheromoronic

speaking of men and women, has a guy ever successfully hooked up while wearing Axe deodorant? That is some pungent stuff, definitely not to be messed with (I mean that litterally). Kind of reminds me of Sex Panther now that I think of it ("it's made with bits of real panther, so you know it's good").

And it's not as if the commercials were getting any better. Witness this beaut which thanks to the TV 10 feet away from my desk (it really should be showing stock quotes or something, but for some reason it's always footy and cricket, not that I really mind) I've probably seen 44 billion times in the past few weeks:

a matter of trust

this morning the French intern who sits next to me came into work kind of limping, having apparently twisted her ankle during a basketball tournament that Saturday (she wasn't sure exactly what happened, except that when she got home it sort of hurt). Her ankle was swollen and she said it hurt a little. Since she only had a strapping to put on it, thus nothing to actually reduce the swelling, I proposed to go down to Boots and get her some proper anti-inflammatory gel. Having played a lot of basketball in years past, I've had my fair share of ankle twists and know how much they suck. For pretty much 90% of players I know (and myself) there's the initial injury, be it serious or not, then it's an endless series of infrequent incidents that show how fragile that ankle has become. Last year I even twisted my ankle pretty bad and limped around for 3-4 days after injuring it on the big bad floor...of the St Michel metro station. So I definitely related on a personal level to what this girl (who's pretty cool and I actually have gotten to know a little) was going through this morning, which made my offer all that more natural. But still you have to wonder how much motivation I would've shown if the person had been a large bearded dude and not a cute intern. It seems like in situations like these when as a guy you're able to provide comfort or protection to a girl, some kind of primal instinct ("I man, I protect tribe") takes over at least part of your decision-making, as though such an act was a way to prove your manliness. Which is pointedly absurd of course, but these things happen all the time, and I'm not sure we even realize it a tenth of the times. Heck I only thought of this because I was on the bus going home and thinking about what I could write about today. And, apart from at work, I tend to be pretty laid-back and not particularly alpha, so you have to think this sort of thing is quite prevalent. In these so-called post-feminist times there's often debates about the resiliency of sexism and the more subtle ways in which machismo still thrives, but I wonder where this sort of behavior would get classified. I definitely do not see it as an outright form of sexism (by virtue of playing on the imagery of women as weak) but more as evidence that these are never black-and-white issues, however curt some discussions on the matter might be. As for me all I can promise is that if I ever a bearded coworker dude I'm friends with twists his ankle, I'll make the same 3-min trip down to Boots and get him the anti-inflammatory gel he so rightfully deserves. That's what a real 21st century man would do, and I'd like to think I might one day be one of them and carry the torch of Rand-esque masculinity.

between the lines

they say only idiots never change opinions. In that case i must be some sort of genius, because I do it all the time. Take freebie newspapers for instance. Back in Paris I used to think they were kind of a disgrace, a shoddy excuse for articles which did not contain the sort of beyond-the-facts journalism found in establishment stalwarts like Le Monde, Le Figaro (*shudder*) or Liberation. Since their content would take you about 15 minutes to read on Yahoo! News I never saw the interest of reading them instead of a good book or a magazine, and definitely not a "real" newspaper.
And now that I've adopted a new commute in a new city, I have to admit that I'm not so gung-ho against the idea of freebies. Although in general their quality still leaves a lot to desire, they're not all that bad. I have to admit that The London Paper is very pleasant to read, if a tad hollow. It's very breezily written with mostly local news and some columns which add a lot of personality to take it beyond the taken-from-Reuters style those papers often have. But since it's distributed after 4pm, when you're on your way home, that's often the kind of content you are looking for anyway. As for the morning part of my commute, having only 5 Tube stops (on the Central line no less), I barely have time to read more than a few articles. So if I get Le Monde or The Guardian it means I have to split my reading between the morning ride, my lunch break and the bus trip back home. But by getting Metro I know I'll be able to get a bird's eye view of what's going on in the world. Or at least, the way it is seen from an average British newspaper's POV. So I alternate depending on my mood (and mental fatigue on the way to the station).
So although I haven't entirely changed my opinion on this matter, I now see these publications as being of some use for certain situations. They probably will never be on par with the venerable old guard of journalism, but if the two can find a way to co-exist (aka paid newspapers can find a way to keep existing) why not? It is my belief that reading, no matter what the material, makes people less dumb, and humanity potentially more secure. And yes, that includes the Sun too.

seeing things

some of the things I've noticed in the few months since moving to London:
- the flower print dresses + leggings look is more out of control than mogwais at a water park. And if you include all sorts of dresses or skirts, the phenomenon is surreal
- if someone bumps or brushes against you, they'll say "I'm sorry" afterward, but I very seldom hear someone say "excuse me" before making their move, however narrow a passage there might be
- people love talking about the weather in all social circumstances, be it with friends or strangers. But since said weather tends to change more often than a politician's opinions, it kind of makes sense. When I was in Toulouse, talking about the weather was generally a sign conversation had reached bottom-point ("sure is nice today, ain't it?" "it sure is"), but here it's often a pretty good conversation starter
- I see runners carrying around a backpack all the time, it's got me very intrigued. Especially in the morning: do these people run to work, and show up all sweaty and panting? Not to mention that, unless they live in zone 17, the workout benefits of such a habit aren't that extraordinary. Yet I see people like this every single day, so there must be a reason why so many of them take up the habit. This is probably the biggest mystery I've encountered so far, along with the proper use of "ta".
- people seldom talk about politics in public. This is possibly the biggest difference I've noticed with France, where the subject is broached about as frequently as the weather is here. Thankfully with the hordes of Frenchies roaming about one such conversation is never too far, like that one time in a loft party in Brick Lane where I found myself in a 3am vodka-fueled debate about Bayrou's merits with a downstairs neighbor. Good times.
- TM Lewin's special prices (4 shirts for 100, 2 ties for 60...) aren't that special, considering I've never seen them actually sell their stuff at non-sale prices. Does this make them the Wal Mart of luxury shirtmakers?
- when going to the corner pub after work on Thursday or Friday, you NEVER 'just get a beer before going home'. In fact merely pronouncing the statement while exiting your company's building condemns you to an evening of oddly-timed tequila shots, armies of pints, and the always-fun sudden noticing of female colleagues in a new light

when it's gone

because having a typically intense day at work can get boring, sometimes it's nice to spice it up with some unplanned mishap Today for me that was finding out someone had used my credit card to the tune of 2,000 euros over the week-end. The kicker? I never lost the card, it's actually sitting pretty (and useless since I had it cancelled) in my wallet. So some hacker got my number who knows how, and managed to withdraw some money in the US with it. Thankfully I checked my account today, and managed to spot the offense. After a good few phone calls and visit to the nearest police station I was able to send a simple letter to my bank letting them know about the incident, saying in effect "please sir, may I have my money back? I pinky swear it wasn't me".
Still the feeling out of this isn't a very pleasant one, and proof that when it comes to credit card fraud, there's no fool-proof system. Regularly checking your bank balance and operations is the only way to be sure nothing malicious has happened to you. And even then the repayment process can take up to a month, so you better not have an urgent need for that money.

a breathtaking view

stand up

first came the power lunch, then there was the power nap, and now, behold...the power shower.
This latest innovation in the field of multi-tasking is yet another shiny tool in the garden shed of skills of modern harried professionals. Where until now people were content to just stand in the shower letting water splash over them while at times using various types of cleaning products, this tremendous advancement for the cause of lost sleep puts you back in charge of your agenda. For instance on any given day I manage to shave, brush my teeth, clean my muscular hair and luscious body, with the whole thing never taking more than 8-10 minutes. Of course this feat is not for the weak of heart, as the first few times might require the kind of coordination that is not usually seen in the wee hours. But after a few broken bones and instances of after-shave smelling hair, you too will be able to make the most of your shower time, and never again have to endure the endless parade of sequential acts necessary to make you presentable before going out into the outside world. And the best part is that the power shower is highly customary, subject only to the bounds of your own imagination. Want to drink a Yakult before brushing your teeth? Sure, go right ahead! Fancy some chinups on the curtain bar? Alright, do me 20! Of course you should try to not get too carried away with the wonderful possibilities presented by this concept, as any shower longer than 10 minutes would not conceivably be in the realm of time-saving brilliance to enter that of shiftlessness and responsibility-shirking. But still, there are a great deal of things that can be accomplished in that time, and soon, you too will be able to extol the virtues of this revolution in workday preptime. The morning shower is dead, long live the morning shower!

so what now

after a campaign that seemed to go on forever (but don't they always), the centre-right candidate Nicolas Sarkozy, or Sarko as he is commonly known, was yesterday elected as president of France, winning the run-off against Socialist candidate Segolene Royal with an impressive 53.1% score. And now comes reality: Sarkozy is finally where his ambition pushed him to, the highest post in the national political ladder, giving him the ultimate opportunity to prove he can put the country back on track.
Many things aren't going well in France right now, especially on the economic front. One of the biggest problems I've noticed is how constant opposition to change is. There's always someone to point out the flaws in the government's plans or laws, and too often strikes to go along with it. While public criticism of government is part of the essence of democracy, the unreleting way with which it is done in France gives an overall feeling of stagnancy, of systemic obstacles whenever the country needs to adapt to a new context. Unfortunately the best at this game seem to be the socialist, and the left in general. I say unfortunately because I believe they should incarnate a positive current of propositions, constantly adapting and trying to bring economic progress without too hard of a social impact. Instead they tend to live in the old ideology of the 60s, if not way before, using obsolete terms like "the rich" over and over again. I consider myself a left-leaning voter, if only based on my record, but I found Mrs Royal so vague on many of her positions, particularly the economic ones, that I sort of felt I had no choice but to vote for her opponent. I might not live in France anymore, but it doesn't mean I want to see it keep losing pace in the global economy, even while I'd like it to retain its social values. Vague optimism is okay when you're running for middle-school class president, but in this case the stakes are too high to keep things fuzzy. Of course because this is the country of drama some Royal supporters are acting indignant, comparing Mr Sarkozy to Bush, Putin, and even a nazi (I wish I were kidding but I heard this comparison with my own ears). But all that doesn't really matters now. Barring a surprise socialist win at the upcoming assembly elections, Sarko will have the mandate he wants. And what he does with it is what matters, not all the inconsequential things we might have heard during the past few months.

two days of bliss

one of the reasons I wanted to get away from Paris was that I felt I might grow to resent being there. I never reached that state, but I felt it might not be far off. So it was very cool to feel excited about my return there this weekend, seeing friends again and generally enjoying the city for how great it is. Skype is cool, but it just doesn't compare to catching up with a buddy during a 20-minute bus ride on the way to your favorite bar. Plus you don't even have to wear a ridiculous bluetooth headset, that's always a plus.

Two random highlights from the weekend:
- during one family lunch we had asparagus as appetizers. One of them was particularly massive, which prompted me to utter this brilliant morsel of punnery: "man, that's a MEGASPARGUS". I really should copyright that one. And make t-shirts or something. And definitely not post about it on the Internet.
- at the Bensimon store I wanted to know where the fitting rooms were, so I walked to a salesperson, asked her my question as she was looking at me...except she didn't say anything, just lingered there like I'd just uttered the most boring thing in the universe (which wasn't that far from the truth, but still), then went away a few seconds later. I guess she just didn't want to deal with my pathetic questions. Aaaahh, Parisian girls, sometimes you just warm my heart (except not really, but some of you are really hot in that aloof attitude of yours)

this one ends with a pun

amazingly, I'd forgotten how much fun working 13 intense hours on 5 hours of drunken sleep could be. I'm actually half-serious about this: you know when you enjoy these situations that you're in the correct corporate setting. Sure, the red bull on the way to work is still necessary, but mentally it's good to have these situations to keep your routine self on your toes. It's weird to actually have that motivation to go to work in the morning, and not be living through it as a chore. After 3+ years at my previous job that was the mindset I was tending to, without necessarily realizing it, so to have that "hunger" back provides me with equal amounts of excitement and surprise. Although part of me likes to wallow in contentedness like an overweight hippo, I try to keep that feeling to a minimum, so as to not have any regrets, at least when it comes to my professional life. So right here, right now, definitely feels to me like I am exactly where I should be.
Still, there's a 3-day weekend coming up that sounds just about right. I might have to pop back in the office for a couple of hours Monday, but the forecast for the weekend should be very mellow. It's all gonna be about seeing friends and family, putting in my vote, and eating some ridiculously good bread. Because although enjoying your job is key to finding some measure of happiness, those periodic breaks are what makes it really work.

everybody loves free money

in preparation for yesterday's crucial semi-final Champion's League game between my beloved Liverpool Reds and local super-team Chelsea, I made a £50 wager with a good friend (who I happen to work with now) that my team would go through. The good guys having won, I happily collected on the bet this morning and started to wonder what good deeds I could enact with the loot. But, although I never bet on sports, I quickly formented a scheme was to play these winnings on tonight's game between AC Milan and Manchester United. So I went to a betting shop during my lunch break and placed a £50 bet on Milan going through, with 6/5 odds. Not surpisingly I won the wager (I mean, Milan at home needing to win just 1-0? Half the team could come down with mono and they could still do it handily) since Milano won 3-0. Thus in two days I made £110 pounds as a total bonus. As Emmanuel Kant might say, "Ka-ching baby!". Then again in London £110 won't get you very far, so instead of doing something wasteful like buying a pair of fancy sunglasses I think I'll just stick this windfall on my savings account and wait the pennies to roll in. Who said easy money doesn't exist?

a mouthful of bread

for some people periodically losing their personal effects isn't just a temporary annoyance, it's a way of life. Keys, cell-phones and small children are, for them, just things waiting to be stressed over when they turn up missing again and again. Thankfully I've been spared this particular trait for the most part. Sure I lost or forget stuff now and then, like the time not too long ago when I went to the gym keyless and came home in shorts and flip-flops under the rain only to find myself locked out of an empty house, leading me to have to break into my own place. But overall this is not a problem for me. Except when it comes to sunglasses. Sunnies are the one item I keep losing again and again (and again). On average I probably have to buy a couple of pairs a year, if not more. Consequently I've resigned myself to buying only cheap models, generally from street vendors (no knock-offs though, that's tacky) or discount stores.

A few years back, when earning a monthly salary still felt like a pleasant novelty, I decided to splurge and got myself a pair of Hugo Boss that I could wear to work. They cost a little over 100 euros, and were definitely quite nice. Of course three weeks later they had vanished to whatever vortex where these things go to and I sheepishly had to buy a new pair from the guy near the rue de Rennes/Bd Montparnasse corner. Since then this losing trend has continued unabated, and I have stuck to my stingy philosophy on this matter. Just a couple of days ago, while at Selfridge's during my lunch break (never a good idea, even for a casual shopper like myself) I got to admiring their various models. A pair of Ray-Bans, in particular, caught my eye (pun very much intended). But in the end I slowly backed out of there, stopped by Marks next door and copped a £5 pair. Maybe this will be the pair I keep for more than a year, but I'm not getting my hopes up. Let's face it, all those sunnies I've lost have got to have been found by someone eventually, so in a way this habit of mine kinda makes me a secret Santa of sorts. And if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that there can never be too many Santas in this sunny world of ours.

part deux

it could only be so: no sooner had I posted about my current musical idée fixe, do I find out that they are playing another show (unannounced on their site as of yet) in London, on May 24 at the ICA.
Oh well, sometimes it's easier to just give in.

oh dear

it's official, my interest in Loney, Dear has now reached obsession status. Let's see:
- last week I listened to them 163 according to my last.fm, and that's not including my iPod. The actual total is probably twice that figure. And judging from today's listens it doesn't seem like the number for this week will be much lower
- I've viewed every single live video of them on Youtube, including mine (more than once, like I needed to say it)
- I looked at the upcoming tour dates, none of which are planned in London, and was actually trying to see if going to a Wednesday night concert in Brussels was feasible or not. Or a Tuesday-night one in Paris, for that matter
- I bored at least two people with how great they were and how a-ma-zing the concert was. I'm sure I used the word amazing, or awesome, or any other variation of it, more times than a thirteen-year old girl after a Justin Timberlake meet-and-greet at the mall
-I even emailed the guy today to say how much I appreciated the show and his music in general (thankfully managing to keep it under 5 sentences), and he answered me back to say thanks, and I gotta say I felt pretty excited when I saw he'd responded. I'm 29, have a pretty serious job and all of that grown-up stuff, but at that moment it was like I was a LOTR fanboy and Peter Jackson had IMed me "kewl tks"

So basically, yeah, I'm that guy.

This feels very much like Broken Social Scene circa 2003, or Kristofer Astrom circa 1998. Except with these guys I had one album to listen to, whereas in this case I've got four brilliant CDs to digest. And I don't really see how to get out of this bubble of loneyness. I can listen to a couple of songs by other bands, but I invariably get a craving and go back to my North Korean-like mono-programming.
Music, it's that serious.

eat simple

making my way up Oxford St yesterday around noon I started to feel the familiar hunger pangs which for some reason are synonymous with shopping for me. Like the automaton that I am, I made a few hops and arrived at my favorite house of snacks, Bar Remo. I hadn't been there in a few weeks, but as soon as I sat down, it was as if the hiatus had never happened. I was greeted with a 'ciao bello' that was even friendlier than usual, and no sooner had I told the waitress I didn't need a menu since I knew what I wanted she actually knew exactly what it was (large diet coke, tuna melt on a ciabatta). Big cities are cool when it comes to trying new restaurants, but I have to say that at times finding a sense of familiarity, especially for a recent arrivee, can make an unfamiliar town feel a whole lot like home. And if there's one thing that's true about eating at home, it's that it can make a delicious tuna melt that much more special.

Loney, a review

hindsight might be 20/20, but my foresight was plenty fine on Wednesday night apparently, when I decided to opt out of watching the footie game and go to Loney, Dear's concert. In the end Liverpool lost the game, and I witnessed a magical concert. The venue, Monto Water Rats (um...cool name?) was basically the back room of a theater-like bar, so big it was not. But I've been to enough concerts to know that a good gig can happen in any circumstances, on the biggest stage as well as in the dingiest setting. The two opening acts, whose names I'll pretend I did not hear, had their moments, but they kinda seemed like they were put here by the record label to get some experience under their belt, as their relation to Loney's music was imaginary at best. With their sets were done Loney, Dear frontman Emil Svanängen casually strolled upon the stage with his band and, after some equally casual instrument set-up launched into an opening salvo of poppy goodness that went on relentlessly until the end of their curtain-call. This was the sort of concert that, for lack of better words, makes you glad to be alive. Not because it's the most crazily inventive thing you've ever heard, but simply there's a group of people onstage playing their hearts out for their pleasure as much as their audiences, with lyrics that anyone having been in a relationship can relate to (aka everyone on planet Earth and beyond). This band does pop music right: as something that's cute, but not boring and overdone. They incorporate just enough folk and other various influences for the mix to achieve maximum palatability, seemingly without even trying.

Despite not having been "discovered" until this year, Emil has been making songs for a few years now. And so the setlist was a pleasant mix of the 4 albums he has put out, with a very easygoing rapport between the band members that added to the overall feeling of camaraderie. All of which the audience gladly ate up, grooving through the dancier numbers like I Am John and observing with rapt attention during the incredible version of In With These Arms. To be honest I was pretty giddy myself, and probably would have clapped along to a song if the band had started doing it, even though that's definitely my least favorite concert cliche of all time.
And since the new and improved me now remembers to carry around his digicam, I had the presence of mind to record a few digital memories for posterity.

Ignorant Boy, Beautiful Girl


Saturday Waits


Carrying a Stone

conundrum

tomorrow, for me, means a cornucopia of good tidings, almost too many to handle in fact. Witness:

• though not a surprise, tomorrow is hump day. One should never discount the psychological boost of hump day
• my co-favorite soccer team, Liverpool, is playing a hugely important Champion's League semi-final game against local mega-rich club Chelsea. There are many fans of Chelsea at the office, but us 'Pool fans have the heart of a champion. To mark the occasion I will wear my best red tie tomorrow, to counter the ocean of blue ones that should be present.
• 2007 Swedish phenom Loney, dear (he of sound advice 2 unfame) is playing a show near my place. He's not due to play again in London for the present, so this might be my last chance to see him play in a while.

Thus a dilemma presents itself to me: should I watch my team play in a game which promises to be both intense and spectacular, or go see my main man Emil Svanängen for my first gig in two months? If I don't watch the game the sport fan part of me will feel like I'm potentially missing an event people will be talking about...at least until next week's return game at Liverpool. On the other hand the Loney gig will probably have a bevy of cute indie chicks, and probably many Swedish ones as well, with many dudes staying home or at the pub to watch the game? Of course my intentions are gentlemanly, but I've only been here a few months, I'm not above making new friends.
But of course the final decision won't be made on a purely logical standpoint. It'll probably happen on my bus journey home, when I'll have a thought along the lines of "screw it, I'm going to...". After all, whatever happens, by tomorrow night another hump day will be over, and that's always good whatever life choices you may make.

lacing up

got an email at work today concerning a charity corporate soccer tournament. Excuse me, football tournament. I'm not really good at the sport, in fact you could even call me a very mediocre soccer player, but one of my favorite Sunday activities in Paris was getting together with friends at Bagatelle for an afternoon of the beautiful game. Having almost never played from ages 0-18 I'll never get over my gross technical shortcomings, but I try to use stuff I learned from other sports in order to avoid looking like a less-agile Mr Bean out on the pitch, to varying results.
Still, to make absolutely sure there would be no misgivings about my potential prowess, I made sure to be very clear in the following answer to one of the confirmation email questions ("what's the highest level you played at?"):

To be honest, occasional Sunday games in the park is the extent of my "experience". Though I haven't played since moving to London, 3 months ago

With this, and the upcoming training sessions, I'd be surprised if I'm picked to be in anything but the worst team, which is just the way it should be. But just wait for the corporate swimming tournament, and then I'll be talking up a storm about my uncanny athletic abilities. Some people are above trash talking, and I'm clearly not one of them (mostly because I like to have fun and reserve my buddhist tendencies to meditating weekend train trips).

not too shabby

this past February , basketball demi-god Michael Jordan announced his divorce from his wife of 17-years, Juanita. So what's the guy been keeping up to since then? Apparently, chilling in Cabo-San Lucas with other pursuers of the fairer life:

This picture just about made my day, if not my week. While chica numero uno has a very classic (some might say Austen-ish) pageant-girl party pose, chica numero dos takes the cake with her mystified yet entranced air. And they're cutting rug with Mike Jordan, possibly to the bopping sounds of My Humps or some such sonic twinkie. Truth be told I don't know if there's anything better in the universe than Michael Jordan on spring break. And if there is, I hope the Internet gives me at least a week before finding out. I can't be coming across glorious pics like this one too often, I need some moderation.

And speaking of the good life, here's the booty I was able to sneak past the tight Eurostar security. Something makes me think I'm gonna have to keep going to the gym four times a week for the foreseeable future...:

never far

with a weekend back in Paris planned for the weekend, I stepped through to the passport control line at Waterloo station this Saturday morning. A Japanese chick in front of me was doing some light flirting with the customs official checking her passport, he seemed to enjoy this, as I probably would have. It was then my turn to present my passport. Being a believer in good manners and all-around courtesy, I said "bonjour" to the guy. But since his gaze was still intent on said Japanese lady, no doubt entertaining chaste thoughts of how some clever line he could have regaled her with. So he then turned to me, who had been standing there for a few seconds now, and said his own "bonjour". Thinking he was simply being courteous back to my initial greeting, I did not offer one back, waiting for him to do his 2.1 second check to ensure my passport had the right color. Alas, so preoccupied his mind must have been with my predecessor, he must have not heard me say hello first, and so repeated his "bonjour" with the friendliness usually reserved for people with a passport color very different from mine, all the while focusing his now less-than-copacetic look on me. His passport check still lasted 2.1 seconds, but those were much less jovial than my general mood was until that point.
In a way, I felt this was sort of a "welcome back", showing me that although my life may have changed, I could still count on unsmiling civil servants to make sure I felt I was coming back to familiar waters. French people's rudeness is generally quite exaggerated abroad, but such random acts of surliness feel, oddly enough, just like home to me.

animal instinct

as I was walking to the Tube station this morning on my way to work, I happened upon one of those atypical-typical city sightings that make me regret not having my camera on me: a group of four or five policemen on horses on their way nonchalantly making their way down Gray's Inn Road. Apparently they were off-duty or something, because they had some sort of training gear, like they'd gone for a stroll to exercise their equestrian compagnons. I've seen mounted police before, but this was quite unusual to see at the start of rush hour. Of course I kicked myself for being camera-less and just went about my business.
Five tube stops later, I'd just made my way out of the station when I heard the same rumbling of hooves on the pavement, except this time much louder. Apparently all police horses are let out at this hour or something, and here I had a whole gang of them going along Oxford Street, to the bemused attention of passers-by. That's when I remembered I now own a halfway-decent cameraphone, and had the good sense to correct my missed opportunity of 20 minutes before.

And then they blocked a street as they made their way to their stables/police station/who knows where, and people didn't get annoyed but just watched the spectacle as absorbed as four-year olds at a puppet show. It sure was nice.

louder

seriously, what is up with teens listening to their music on their cellphone's "speakers". I see this more and more: a bunch of youngins (thank God unfortunately this seems to be limited to the under-15, apparently that's when their sense of reality kicks in. Which begs the question: is 15 the new 7?) walking around while "blasting" some top-40 tune on their latest Nokia. Not only is this annoying when it happens in a closed-off space like the bus, it's actually PRETTY FLIPPIN RIDICULOUS. Cell phones speakers are kind of loud, but without any definition at all. The result is that it sounds like the music is coming from some underwater radio station. Yet the kids seem to love it, acting as though they were circa-80s LL Cool J rocking the humongous boombox. Except, really really small, with no bass at all and much more expensive.
On the flip-side, they're not listening to music through their headphones, which means they might actually retain their hearing longer than I will. So who's really dumb now?

St Cloud-stock

the initial lineup for this year's Rock En Seine festival was recently released, and unfortunately it looks like I won't be making the trip back to attend. Having been two years running, I'm a big fan of the concept: major rock bands as well as smaller acts playing in a nice park on the outskirts of Paris, enabling you to experience a rock festival without that funky tent smell. This year ReS is scheduled over three days, as opposed to two, meaning more bands will be there, but there really aren't any that pass my personal test: would I pay the full ticket price just to see this one group? Of course I didn't go before just for one band, but each time I found one of the days where there was a band I loved and a few I was interested in, and was very happy overall. Like Broken Social Scene last year, which played a great , life-affirming show, under light rain which actually made the experience more memorable.
Among the acts programmed so far are Arcade Fire, The Hives, Jesus And Mary Chain, Klaxons, Tool, Bjork and Craig Armstrong. Out of these I guess Arcade Fire would narrowly pass my test, because I have tremendous love for their songs, but I saw them two years ago (at ReS) and do not feel the need to see them again. Seeing JAMC live is an intriguing prospect at best, and out of the other announced bands (with more to come) there's none that really blow my mind. The 3 day pass goes for 98 euros, so I'm guessing a day pass will be around 40 ducats. Not that outrageous if I was seriously into 2-3 acts, but as it stands I'd just rather go to some indie shows in London here and then. Like Loney, dear on April 25 at a venue 5 mins from my place (I am so wearing shorts and flip-flops to that one), or Grizzly Bear and Band of Horses in May at Scala. Music is one of the rare artforms where smaller often means better, so until I get tired of overpriced beer and generally feeling old at these things, I will do my best to keep my indie-yuppie cred alive.

preach!

I don't always agree with what this blogger writes, but I thought this recent post was particularly spot-on. Kinda sad, but very truthful. My generation can be a bit lame at times, and I'm not hopeful that the following ones will pick things up.

witty like Sunday morning

this is an example why I should carry around my digicam more. I've been past this store countless times since moving here, yet this weekend was the first time I had the opportunity to take a picture of its great sign.
I often feel self-conscious when taking pictures in public, but I'm trying to force myself to overcome that mental block because, although I'm a very average picture-taker (note my avoidance of the p-word), they're always fun to look at later. Plus Flickr is harder to stop than Pringles once you open an account. It is a beast that needs to be fed, constantly.
Next up: going up to the top-floor of the double-decker I take home from work and filming the journey home. I'm sure Oxford Street will provide scenery as enthralling, if not more, as what I filmed in my Lelouch-like On The 39.

does this mean I'm old?

home is a fickle concept for me. Having moved around quite a bit growing up, the notions of roots and origins were, well, foreign to me. Home was wherever I lived with my parents and siblings, and though I loved going back to France for the holiday and seeing other family members, that country did not seem like home to me. And neither did it when I came back as a fresh-faced 18-year old to study. Hence, in part, the title of this blog. I have a French passport, but don't really feel like that defines me. Living in the land of cheese for nearly ten years did make me appreciate it a lot, which is good because that was one of the reasons I wanted to move there, but overall I never felt any sense of loyalty to the country I imagine some who have lived there all their lives might have. That isn't to say I harbor any particular apathy toward France; I might not want to live there permanently, but I will always feel a need to come back to visit, if only because there are plenty of people I care about there.
That said, if I had to say where home was for me, I would probably answer Paris, because it's where my parents live, and as all children now live elsewhere (in 3 different countries actually), is generally the rallying point for our semi-regular reunions. In fact, even though I moved out for good 4 years ago, the entry in my cell phone for my parents' number is still "home". If (cliche-alert) home is where the heart is, I have no doubt where that is for me. We're not the gushy type in our family, telling each other "I love you" constantly like in 7th Heaven (and if we're having arguments, they're generally not resolved by minute 42), but we're pretty close. This was definitely a factor in my decision to bolt for these greyer skies, as I did not feel like I would lose out anything in my relationship with them.
It's probably one of the reasons why the following lyrics by matt Pond PA resonate so much with me, even though I'd be the first to admit they're no Dylan material (then again when your all-time favorite line of lyrics are "but the feelings that stay with you now / get lost over time somehow" your tastes aren't based on pure wordplay, to say the least):

i’m going home, back to new hampshire
i’m so determined
to lay in lakes
and see my sisters
i will hit my brother
and hold my mother

Now I've only been to New Hampshire in passing, and I don't even have one sister, but these words mean the world to me. It reminds me how fantastic it feels to go home again, that familiar feeling of comfort and general peace. Of course the habitual arguments might spring up here and there, but in a way they are part of the relationship too. Family means no bullshit, and growing up into adulthood you learn to appreciate this. Doesn't mean everything's Rockefeller-peachy either, after all being annoyed by family is a near-obligation, but these aren't the things I remember after a weekend or more with la familia. I realize it isn't always that easy, that many people have the bad luck of being in abusive family relationships, or maybe worse, not having family at all, which is why I think someone in my situation can feel fortunate to have had good people like them put up with my punk-ass for so many years. I don't have my own family yet, but when (if?) that happens I can only hope to replicate what I see as a successful model. Although if we could avoid the middling-to-bad eyesight and mediocre teething that would be the bee's knees. Not that I'm complaining, no sirree, that is definitely not what blogs are for.

quibbling

one of the advantages of having lived in Paris means that you get to see "your" city on the big screen a lot. Countless films have been shot there, and to the knowing eye there's always a small detail waiting to be recognized (mostly so you can bore other viewers with your stories about how you once bought a poulet-croudités from that boulangerie). Recently I watched Paris Je T'aime, a collection of 18 shorts about Paris made by 18 different directors in so many neighborhoords. While the movie itself is more of a novelty project than a truly interesting oeuvre, some of the segments are decent enough for this to be a pleasant viewing. However, in the part with Nathalie Portman, which takes place in my old stomping grounds of the 10e, she goes to the Conservatoire du 10e for some acting classes. You see her boyfriend drop her off a few times in front of the place...except it really isn't. It's actually the town hall building, which is located just in front of the street where the Conservatoire is truly found. I should know, I partied at the Cons' after-hours, which to those in the know holds as much indie cred as saying you once shared a banana-split with Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs (you decide). I wonder how and why such a mistake could be made in a film where location, admittedly, is everything. It's not major, but it's the stuff you notice when you "know". Of course what I'm really mad at is that apparently Nathalie Portman filmed scenes all over my neighborhood (including pre-renovation Gare de l'Est, O how I miss thee) and nobody bothered to tell me. Just another classic example of Parisian rudeness, hmph.

Spaced out

despite having a few such titles among my favorite movies, science-fiction is not a genre I am particularly enamored with, to say the least. Too often I find these movies focus too much on the technological and futuristic aspects, jettisoning character development in the process. No such problem with Sunshine. The basic plot premise (50 or so years in the future, a team of astronauts are sent to the dying sun to try and reactivate it) and the strong team behind the movie (director Danny Boyle and writer Alex Garland) had this pegged as one of the can't miss releases of the year for me, and I wasn't disappointed. In fact I saw it twice this weekend, something I had never done before and usually associated with Star Wars or Lord of the Rings fanboys. But this movie really spoke to me, on a core emotional level. It was far from perfect, but the fact that it had some flaws (mostly in the last 20 minutes) made me relate to it even more, if that makes sense. At the heart of the story is an interesting exploration of how man deals with his humanity, and even though some of the plot points near the end were a bit questionable, they never took me out of the movie.

From a cinematic POV it had many different qualities, from an assured direction and cinematography, to terrific acting by all involved (Cillian Murphy was great as always, but the real revelation to me was that Chris Evans is actually a pretty decent actor. Oh, and Rose Byrne did make me a bit weak at the knees) and a great ambient-y score by John Murphy and Underworld. But what really made the movie successful, in my mind, was that all of the action took place on the spaceship, with these 8 characters. Very little time was spent explaining exactly what the problem with the sun was, or pontificating about the fate of humanity, with the complete focus being on the mission. For someone who's always been interested in these types of questions, albeit from afar, the blend of action and contemplation provided by this film was exactly the type of setting I needed to turn off my sci-fi oblivion.

take care

as a huge fan of modern technology-enabled communication means, I love that you can change countries, or even continents and still maintain healthy contacts with your friends and family. Skype, instant messenger and email are all great complements to the traditional phone call. I remember when I was growing up in Asia we'd call my grandma and have this little hour glass thingy to check the length of our phone calls. With Skype that sort of concern is but a faint memory.
Still, more ways to communicate doesn't mean you necessarily do it better, so it's up to one's motivation to make sure distance doesn't put a damper on your personal relationships. For instance this week I sent my first-ever care package to a friend. It only contained a mix CD and a short note, but it's nothing I'd never done before. The reason I did it is I because I often gave compilations of recent musical discoveries to this friend back in Paris and I thought that this gesture would be more appreciated than receiving an email with the same content. The whole process actually felt pretty fun, kinda like I imagine riding a horse buggy might be. I do anticipate I'll try to keep the habit.

Also in the same vein, I tried my hand at a crossword puzzle today. I'm pretty sure the one I tried out (from New York magazine) isn't considered a tough cookie like, say, the NY Times, but it felt nice to work on a potential new hobby. Still, I'm guessing the PSP which I recently bought might win out in the battle for my attention, old-school revivalism or not.

and so it begins

although it might not be evident to 99.99% of people living in this country (or continent), today is one of the greatest days of the year, also known as Opening Day. To put it in layman's terms, tis the first day of the baseball season, and thus all seems right in the world. Well, maybe not, but at least us baseball fans get to look forward to a few months of the real beautiful game.

I first got into the sport when I spent a few weeks in Massachussets back in the mid-90s. I was staying at a friend's who was pretty good at the sport, and this being summer, he played a game with his various teams almost every other day. I wasn't very familiar with it at first, but I quickly became enamored with the many facets of it, from the on-the-field action to the surrounding setting. Baseball is a very relaxed sport, to say the least, sure there's action on the field, but there's also a strong social aspect to it, much more so than any other sport I've witnessed. Indeed going to a game with friends is to me not simply about going to watch athletes throw and hit a ball around. It's also very much about just hanging out with said friends, or talking with seat-neighbors about anything from the pitcher's motion to the best itinerary to go back to Albany, and just basically enjoying being outdoors for a few hours. Like most baseball fans my love for the sport can border on geekiness (please remind me to never tell you about my fantasy baseball team), but I dig that it's not just about that.

Of course living in Europe isn't really conducive to sharing this love of baseball. There's fans here and there (mostly expats), but as far as I know, my brother's the only other Met fan I've ever met in Paris. Thankfully the MLB (baseball league organization) is very good at providing access to the games online, so for the past 3-4 years I've been enjoying as many games as I can of my team and others from the comfort of my home. Since many games are played during the day, the time-difference doesn't affect me as much as it does for other sports like basketball (for instance tonight's college basketball finals start at 2:00am here. ugh). And although I've come to enjoy soccer a lot since moving to France ten years ago, I'm glad I can still enjoy this personal pleasure of mine, for a few hours at a time.

where's the beef

as we all know fast food is bad for you. Bad, bad, bad. There's been a book and a movie about it, both of which I've both ingested (ha). There's also this quaint concept called common sense: if you eat too much of something that's got lots of fat, you're gonna become fat yourself.
But there's a reason why people, myself including, keep eating it, it's that it's the ultimate comfort food. Sure a lot of it, okay most of it, is gross, but the 8-year-old in all of us really likes it, so once in a while we succumb to the crave. For many, myself included again, that happens in a drunken stupor in the wee hours. Seriously, I cannot fathom how much it must suck to work at any of those fast-food joints downtown after midnight. Except for the Wiener Circle in Chicago, because the Wiener Circle is Awesome. But it's no revelation to say that fast food is here to stay

Overall I tend to stay away from fast food, thankfully in part because I don't like it too much anymore. But every so often I'll come across an ad for a new product from one of the merchants of fats and feel compelled to try it out. Such was the case with KFC's latest offering, the Honey BBQ Boneless Bites. Now at 7am in the tube seeing a poster for this might not make your taste buds whimper in anticipation, but on a Sunday with no known plans for lunch, it sounded like a most excellent idea.

Thus the trek was made this morning to my local bluegrass state poultrian establishment, like a man on a mission. Come to think of it, I kind of was a man on a mission. For some that means climbing Mount Everest, for others trying out a new delicacy of modern chemistry.

Here they are, the BBQ bites in all their sticky glory


Feeding the belly is one thing, but real men need intellectual stimulation too (um, and footy results)


Overall I wasn't disappointed: the honey BBQ sauce was very tasty, and the chicken breat tender. Since I try to keep these sorts of outings to a minimum (drunken shenanigans notwithstanding, although recently I am proud to say there have been less of those too), I'm glad that I enjoyed this experiment.

Speaking of which, after dining at Chez Colonel Sanders, I went to Sainsbury's to pick up a few essentials, and came upon this miracle of modern science: red Coca Cola. Now there's something that lies beyond the curiosity of even an adventurous lad like myself.

highlights

after a month or so spent in London, here's a short compilation of some of the things I've seen and done since arriving. The music is by Loney, Dear.

Jackass (no, for real)

In light of Londonist's post today on the moronic ski stunt pulled by some extreme-sports dude at Angel station, with which I agree 100% (the post, not the stunt), I thought I'd give an example of a similar exploit witnessed on camera that is actually funny, if you're into that juvenile, kinda-dangerous drunken tomfoolery stuff. And truly, who isn't?

throw away your television

it is an inescapable fact that television is now THE main source in entertainment in any household. Sure, people still go out to plays, read books and sometimes might even play some Hungry Hungry Hippos, but in most houses TV is just turned on all the time now. Not having one currently, probably for the first time in my life, I have realized that not only do I not mind, I don't really miss it. Despite never having been a huge TV watcher, I've done my fair share of it over the years. But the truth is that nowadays I have a perfectly acceptable substitute in my computer. Sure it's only got a 13-inch screen, so I'll never be able to plop down on a couch eight feet away and enjoy a movie, but in my room, it's great. Pretty much all of my video-watching needs are covered, and it should only get better in the years ahead:

Movies:
with online DVD-rental services, movie lovers have thousands of titles at their disposal, generally much more than at their local rental spots. Personnally I use lovefilm, with a service plan that allows me unlimited rentals, with 2 DVDs out at any given time. I've thus been able to watch a mix of never-seen classics and new releases. The monthly price of £12.99 seems even more worth it when you consider that that's what a weekend seat at a Leicester Square movie theater costs. I'm not joking, I went to see 300 this Saturday and the seat was £13.
But the real future of this area is in the offering of movies through online stores. Lovefilm offers the service, with the possibility to rent for £2.99 (meaning a download which allows you to view the movie for a 24-48 hr period) or buy for £9.99 (you keep the download forever). Other sites have different formulas, but the common problem with these services is the DRM which prevents some users, say those with a Mac OS, from using them. For my part I'm waiting for iTunes to offer movies on its store, as it does in the US, although there it's only buy-to-own for now.

TV shows:
As a huge fan of certain shows (Lost, The Office...) and having lived in the US, I have never liked the long delays that it takes for these shows to be shown abroad, if they are at all. In France it was ever worse as many times they were dubbed. And we all know dubbing is one of the deadly sins. So for this I had to use the Internet to "acquire" my favorite dramas and comedies in a timely fashion. That way I can watch them when I want, even where I want since I do so on my laptop.
Again, TV shows can be bought in the US iTunes store, but not abroad, seemingly for rights issues. When they will, I would love to get a season pass for my favorites, and keep watching them on my computer.

News:
This is a recent discovery of mine: major news organizations now provide video podcasts which enable anyone with Internet access and a podcast application, like iTunes, to receive some of their programs. Right now I've got daily podcasts from a variety of sources, both French and foreign (iTele, LCI, NBC News, BBC morning edition, M6) which give me a pretty comprehensive roundup of the day's news. Now if only more broadcasters, like Arte with their fantastic Arte News, would offer their programs this way.

shine on

today was a glorious one, for this was the day I was able to wear shorts outdoors for the first time in 2007. The sun was blazing, the wind not too brisk for once, and my weekend hangover gone (goshdarn calvados), thus all conditions met for London to enjoy the sight of my oh-so pristine legs for the first time. No, don't thank me, really, I insist.

Also, I hit up the Abercrombie store this weekend, to see if it would remind me of the countless establishments I visited in yesteryears. Well, apart from the fresh-faced Dawson's extras working as staff, it was no dice on the nostalgia for me. A very prestigious location that was barely advertised on the outside, a near-dark interior, and LOUD thumping dance music had me wondering whether I'd mysteriously wandered into one of those shady Camden stores. Still, I'm a sucker for buying stuff, so I did end up getting a pair of jeans and a shirt. Self-control, what's that?

press, fold, repeat

part of the appeal of moving to a new city, for me, was to change my lifestyle. Living in the same apartment, with the same roomies, for 3 years gave me some pretty regular habits. Not that I'd do the same thing every single weekend (that would be hard and kinda sad in a city like Paris), but I had my supermarket, my bar, my Italian "traiteur", and so on. Moving to London was definitely an opportunity to change all that and get some new habits. Right now I'm at a time where I'm looking to explore as much as I can, but it's always good to know what secrets your neighborhood holds. You know, finding a great Thai restaurant or an indie music store just a couple of blocks from your place for those lazy Sunday strolls. And speaking of lazy, I very quickly decided that I wasn't going to do any laundry anymore, save the occasional gym clothes load. So I quickly made an appraisal of my various possibilities and found this place where I can drop a bag off in the morning and get it back at the end of the day, all clean and fresh and folded (although I refold the clothes since they tend to do it in a weird way that's not very cupboard-friendly).
So basically every week or fortnight (if I'm feeling resilient) I give them this:
And then for £6-8, I get back my smelly clothes all fresh and clean anew:

Hooray for financially-empowered laziness.

forever young

as must have been apparent to anyone hanging out in Central London recently, Abercrombie & Fitch is opening a store on Savile Row today, and to mark the occasion has plastered many a double deckers with prominent posters announcing the event. True to the brand ethos, the ad features a shirtless young man turning his back to us, I guess because when you're an "edgy" brand like A&F, you like to defy social conventions like it ain't no thing.
As the premier purveyors of preppy teenage chic, A&F have been big in the States for a while now, so I guess it was to be expected for them to explore these shores one day. After all, as crappy Hollywood actioners have shown, it's not the quality of your product that matters, as long as you find new countries to sell it in. Not to say Abercrombie products are bad, they're definitely a step above American Eagle, Gap and other competitors, but haute-couture this is not, despite the ever-increasing prices. Having been a high schooler in the US, I know how powerful the brand is in the coveted youth market, power from which it derives most of its value. I'm sure Ralph Lauren, that other supplier of preppiness, would love to have Abercrombie's image, as it is seen as rather dowdy, to say the least.
A&F has been criticized in the past for being a bit too image-conscious, sometimes relegating people who fit less with their brand image (i.e. not fit, teethy and, um, white) to the back of stores. The brand bases a lot of its marketing on sex-appeal, be it through regular ad campaigns of shirtless young guys (see: any double-decker on Regent Street right now) or girls in skimpy outfits, as well as through its annual Christmas calendar, with its SHOCKING photos of quasi-nude models. Seeing as how this brand is geared toward teenagers, you can imagine how that might not please everyone in mainstream USA. Cue the yearly CNN reports about A&F's calendar and the various Christian organizations making their statements and you get a good example of the sex sells adage. Not to mention a few other scandals like having offensive slogans on tee-shirts.
But for now there's just this one store in the whole of Europe, so we'll see if it works well enough for the expansion to go on. I suspect it will, seeing as how kids these days seem to be used to spending massive amounts of money on their clothing. As for me I'll definitely be making a visit to the store soon, and see if they'll be able to make me buy one of their hoodies so I can feel like I'm dressing "young". Nostalgia is a powerful thing, that's for sure.

southern comfort

back in 2001 I spent three months in London for an internship, months during which I barely got to explore the city due to a pretty heavy workloads (night-sessions, weekends). But I still had a lot of fun, due to being part of a team of interns, all French, most of whom I actually lived with. Since we spent so much time at the office, we had to rely on our neighborhood restaurants for most of our meals. Thankfully that aspect was not a problem, however we often went back to the same places, namely a thai restaurant and an italian eatery. The latter was called Bar Remo, and I still have fond memories of us 5 going to pick up our orders with the head waitress saying "ciao" and "thank you bello" to us.

Over the past years I've come back to London regularly, and made a point to visit these old haunts, in part due to nostalgia, but really because when it comes to simple, kind-of affordable food in that area (Oxford Circus), the pickings can be pretty slim. Making a permanent move here last month provided me with a renewed sense of newcomerness, and coming to Bar Remo for a quick bite has been one of the things that has allowed me to quickly feel at home in this tremendous city. Though some of the staff has changed, they're still as nice as always, the tuna melt tastes as great as back then, and the old pictures of soap stars on the walls haven't moved. These past few weeks I've been going every Saturday for lunch, generally after running some quick errands (located on Princes Street just off Regent Street, you can't beat that), and it feels like the tradition we had in 2001 might just get replaced by a new one. Because truthfully, who doesn't like being called "bello" while entering a familiar place?

Bar Remo

sound advice 3 - Jeremy Larson

once upon a time I tried to use the full power of the Internet to discover new music. Scouring mp3 blogs, myspace and amazon.com listmanias (wait, is it listmanii?) were almost like a full-time hobby, and being the kind of fellow who enjoys his social life as much as his eyesight, I quickly realized this was not something a working man could do seriously. I guess there's a reason why many of those mp3 blogs are tended to by college students.
But my love for discovering new music never went away, of course, so I just took my searches down a notch or three, and enjoyed the bands and artists I found that much more. One brilliant example of that is today's focus. I came across one of Jeremy Larson's songs on some random TV show and after listening to the guy's myspace, knew I had something special on my hands.
Hailing from Springfield, MO (no, I don't know where that is either. I'm afraid the closest I've ever been to the Midwest is suburban Chicago), Jeremy Larson uses his classical music performance background in pieces that are sometimes subdued but always vivid. Listening to track like Today or The Thief, there's a sense that he likes layers (with the piano as the main instrument) and enjoys seeing how these various sounds can play together, while still remaining mostly within the familiar canons of pop. Speaking of familiar, the piano riff on Make Believe sounds very much like Elephant Parade by Jon Brion off the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Yet to me it seems more like a winking homage than a rip-off. Elephant Parade is a gorgeous 26-second interlude, and Jeremy Larson sounds like a fan who wanted to see what he could come up with for a 4 minute pop tune.
With the release of his debut album scheduled for 2007, this guy could be one of the good finds of the year. He doesn't have any dates planned yet, but here's hoping that touring will be on the cards for him, especially if he manages to come to Europe for a few shows.

official site
myspace
youtube: live performance of Today

I don't know what to say to that

the internet is pretty awesome, everybody knows it. And everyday, we get more proof of it. In today's watershed example, we have people collaborating to answer the age old question:
does masterbation (sic) make you lose weight?

By the way, if you're looking for more unabashed fun, check out Yahoo! Answers' section on dating. Random and weird, yes, but also quite useful.

routine lunch

okay, so mayyyybe the brownie wasn't necessary

something old, something new

although not a music expert by any means, I've come to listen to a lot of music over the years, and appreciate a wide variety of style and artists. As a child of the 80s I have fond memories of the first cassette album I bought (the Dick Tracy soundtrack, score one for artistic integrity), but as the digital revolution has accelerated in recent years, I've also appreciated the ease with which we can now listen, buy and share our music pretty much anywhere. As such I've always been a big fan of peer to peer, as it allows me to listen to stuff before deciding to plunk down some hard-earned cash for it. Of course the whole peer to peer debate is full of grey areas, as it should be, considering how different uses there can be of it. For instance I know people who do not buy any CDs at all, when they would purchase at least one a month before they got into P2P. Myself I consider that if the music is good, the artists/band deserves the money, whatever opinion I may have of the current music distribution system, and also I like to have some sort of physical backup of my music, not just bytes floating accumulating on my hard drive.
My love for music has caused me to frequent many a record stores, and work in one even, but I'd never been truly satisfied with the options offered in Paris. Sure, if you get away from the main merchants some stores are pretty good (Gibert, for one), but I never understood how in the 21st century many CDs were not available because they had not been officially released in France. Sometimes you'd find an (overpriced) import, most times not. So I'd keep going from time to time to these sonic establishments, but more out of habit than from expecting to find that new CD from this indie Canadian band I'd heard of on the net. Mostly I'd order online, through Amazon's vendor system, because it was cheaper, and when you spend as much on music as I do, that kind of thing counts. A lot.
But since moving to the UK I have rediscovered my inner music nerd, going to record stores (or shops, as they say here), talking to the sales clerks and other expressions of tomfoolery. Music is adored here, truly, and by a great deal of people. Here, indie doesn't really mean anything anymore because the Kaiser Chiefs or Bloc Party can, and do, top the charts. People invest themselves in music, as a way to develop their identity probably, which is exactly the sort of quasi-pathetic behavior I exhibit.
And since I'm a big fan of well-stocked chain record stores, I'm pretty much in heaven here. HMVs and Virgin Megastores everywhere, this feels like NYC all over again. One thing I've started doing is checking out the new releases (every Monday they update it with new stuff. crazy!), and if I have the time I do so on Monday. HMV Mondays, I call it, because when you're a consumerist, or at least a pretend-one, you need spiffy labels to justify your irrational need to accumulate earthly possessions. I actually get the feeling that one of these days I'll actually buy a CD from that new releases section, without having listened to it beforehand. Kinda like what I used to do in the olden days. Pretty cool, I think, although I'm not missing the cassette format, and never ever will.