sidetracked

with already agreed-upon plans to visit a museum with a friend on Sunday, all that was left to do was decide which one we'd go to. Having done most of the classics in the past few months, I decided yesterday to text her a meetup time and let her decide which establishment we would call on. Her pick was the Science Museum, which was great news as I hadn't been to one of those in a while, probably not since I've stopped playing with Lego (just to be clear: a long time ago). And I had great memories of the one in Hong-Kong, where the space section in particular was always one of my favorites.

Sunny skies, 21° weather. Winter in Sydney? Nope, July in London

nice use of the question mark. This is why I could never be a graphic designer. Stuff like this is probably kiddie stuff to them, brilliance to me

a revolutionnary new exhibit on families' eating habits, or museum cafeteria, I forget

first up, space. Since being a kid I've always loved stuff about space and the exploration of it, and this section contained a few interesting exhibits

like this replica of an Appolo lunar module

or this huge one of a satellite-launching rocket

speaking of satellites, this animation showed how many orbit the earth, including quite a few "dead" ones. Each little speck represents a satellite, and that's the earth in the middle (no really, it is, I swear)

one cool thing about science museums is they've always got random things lying around. Cars, planes, shampoo bottles...

"YAY!" Um, I mean, "sure, let's go to the 'Plastics and other polymers exhibit' "

then there was the Launchpad, a room filled with fun contraptions designed to teach kids about basic scientific phenomena. We thought that one can never know enough about science and decided to try out most of them

MY HAND, IT CONTROLS THE ELECTRICITY, MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

honestly, apart from the space room (and the Launchpad) most of the museum was pretty underwhelming, with exhibits that looked like they hadn't been updated since John Major was in power, so we chose to head to a slightly-less brainy place, the temple of consumerism: Harrod's

because the walk from the Science Museum to Harrod's is such a long one, we stopped on the way for a well-deserved snack break, where I was lucky enough to watch a few games of the insanely good Wimbledon final between Federer and Nadal. Seriously, some of those shots were out of this world

and what says Wimbledon more than strawberries and cream?

finally at Harrod's, in the food hall

there is no such thing as too much mustard, and you can quote me on that

feeling slightly out of place in the handbag section

yes, that is indeed a £400 fanny pack, or, as I like to call it, the answer to the age-old question "will the wonders never cease?" I hovered in the area for a few minutes to see if anyone would buy it, but amazingly no one did

H&M after Harrod's, guess at which store I spent money?

making our way back through Hyde Park, checking out the lake

the duck-equivalent of a golddigger. This little guy would only come over to you if you held some food out in your hand. I swear, ducks are so cynical about human nature

the remnants of yesterday's Tour de France first stage. Still doesn't make anymore sense why they held it in London, but I guess Hyde Park can always use some more heavily-marketed events, it's really too peaceful as it is

the usual crowds and weird rants in Speaker's Corner

I guess a full day of sunshine would be too much to ask. Oh well, at least it didn't rain

intervention

despite being a big fan of non-rural rock festivals, I tried to resist Rock en Seine this year, I really did. When the programme initially came out I found a heap of reasons why I wouldn't go: I'd already seen Arcade Fire (ReS 2004), I'd heard the Shins were crap live, there weren't any interesting bands on the smaller stage, blablablabla. But hearing AF's (Antichrist Television Blues) in the HMV and 1h later having a seemingly innocuous messenger chat with a friend about his plans in Paris for that weekend made me throw away all pre-existing qualms and book a ticket for the big show. I'll just be going to the Friday part of the festival, since that's the day with the most artists I like, but it looks like I'l be making a fourth consecutive trip to the Parc National de St Cloud. And if the day is even half as much fun as last year's Broken Social Scene set was, it'll be more than worth it.

good manners

today I learned that here, if people are staying late at the office to finish some stuff up and dinner plans start getting made, when someone suggests opening a wine bottle it's not a joke, it's actually an invitation to go rummage through various drawers in order to find the perfect pair of scissors to open said bottle of wine. Also, it is pretty customary for people to order beer along with their takeaway order. And I'm not one to disoblige with tradition, hence:Excel had never seemed this fun before, let's just hope waking up tomorrow will feel as festive.

back to school

photo by bystrouska on flickr

just found out that Kevin Drew, frontman for the best band in the whole damn land Broken Social Scene, is playing a one-off gig at La Scala on September 5. As they say in Papua New Guinea: I.am.so.there.

Coincidentally, my song obsession of the past week is the first cut from the Drewster's forthcoming LP, Spirit if... The song is called Tbtf, listen to it below to find out what the cryptic title means (first Lover's Spit, now this-that Kevin, always the jokester)

get on with it

It is midnight on Sunday, temperature is currently at 14° in London (and not a very warm 14°), pretty much the same it was two days ago when I left for work with a backpack, my camera and an empty memory card. Here are some images of what happened in between:

The weather wasn't the only thing cold and depressing about that morning in London. The news being unfortunately full of car-bombs and renewed terror alerts, my decision to go away for a couple of days seemed like an even better idea

Sitting on the Gatwick Express, mentally preparing myself for two grueling days off work.

The small HMV store in the departure terminal was nice enough to offer £5 PSP movies, and I promptly obliged. "Are you suggesting that coconuts migrate?"

"Hey, ho, let's go"

A nice view of Marseille from the plane. My uncle lives in the Luberon region, and I hadn't been there since he moved from Paris. My cousin now lives with him, and it was great to see her too.

Speaking of views, this was the one from my uncle's house. "Oh well, it'll have to do" thought I.

How to feel at home in 4.3 seconds.

A typical house in my uncle's village.

I got my first taste of the local lake, it was tremendously refreshing.

This little fella was chilling out in the lake, he didn't seem to mind my presence too much.

On Saturday morning I played my first game of tennis of the year, needless to say I was a tad rusty.

The lake was about 30 meters from the tennis courts. As Borat would say, "I liiike" (no, Borat jokes are still not played-out).

Apparently, when you leave your sunglasses and car keys on the roof of your car, you can look for them for 10 minutes in the trunk without figuring out where they are. Like mother, like son it seems.

La Tour D'Aigues' old castle, which burned during the revolution and was never rebuilt, although they renovated the old entrance, which dates from the mid-XVIth century.

Lakes are great and all, but if you're a water-enthusiast, the sea is where it's at. Although I'm partial to the Indian Ocean myself, the Mediterranean is pretty cool. Literally, since the water was at no more than 18° on that day. Which is where the 30° temperature comes in handy.

Not having been to this part of France before, it was nice to go on a small-scale pilgrimage of some of my dad's family history. This was the site of the house (Captain Obvious: now destroyed) where they lived for a year in the late 50s.

And the old Martigues cemetary, where ancestors on my (Italian) grandmother's side are buried

As always, the time to leave came all too soon, so back to Marseille it was. Which is where I learned that different countries have different items on their banned-from-airplane-cabins lists. In France, that includes spreads, which means I had to throw away a brand new mega-size jar of Nutella. It didn't put a damper on the weekend, but I did have to buy two packs of Regal'ad to make up for the emotional loss.

Oh, intermittently-functioning Tube system, I almost missed you.

life is just moments strung together

at 10pm, after a long day at work fueled by half a skimpy meal, a few small things can make a nice difference:

- as I hit the logoff button, a friend from work who I hadn't talked to since she finished her internship two weeks ago IMs and we catch up for a couple of minutes: good for the morale
- exiting the building, I go to the corner pub out of habit, but the place is mostly empty: good for the liver
- during my 1 min stay in the pub the bus doesn't come, in fact it pulls up to the stop just as I get back: good for the nerves

Tomorrow means having to be at work at 7:30am, but at 11am I'll be on my way to Gatwick, and then on a plane to the South of France to spend the weekend. If that's not something worth rejoicing about, I really don't know what is.

summer water

as has now been custom for the past few weeks, we went to play football with a few of the guys from the office after work. Oddly enough what was originally a contingent of 14 (based on yesterday's response to the email asking for participants) soon turned into 10 as the weather got uncooperative this afternoon, until finally it was 6 of us in the lobby at 6:40pm. Which isn't nearly enough to organize a football game, so we quickly found another bunch of guys who were playing near our usual Speaker's Corner area. As soon as we started our game a torrential downpour started, and we thus found ourselves playing in conditions reminiscent of mid-November Northern Scotland weather. Which is actually pretty damn fun, once you get past the first 5 minutes and your shirt has become like a soggy second skin. The other guys were pretty good too, so there was a bit of a challenge compared to our usual intra-office matchups. And you know how us guys like our competition. So there were plenty of sliding tackles, wild shots and even several made passes. The score was kept, but that wasn't really the point.
And when we finished playing, and the skies opened up for some much-deserved sunshine, a massive rainbow appeared in the Hyde Park horizon, as fitting an ending as ever could be. Well actually not technically an ending, since I then went back to work to finish some things up. But at least for 90 minutes all the tedious stuff was forgotten, just a bunch of grown-up kids in the park, playing footy in the rain.

watershed

we're barely halfway through the year but already it looks like it's gonna be a tremendous one for rock. I was recently ordering my iTunes library and noticed how many great albums I have listened to this annum (in no particular order):
The Shins - Wincing The Night Away
Arcade Fire - Neon Bible
Editors - An End Has A Start
Bloc Party - A Weekend In The City
The National - Boxer
Explosions In The Sky - All Of A Sudden I Miss Everyone
Loney, Dear - Loney, Noir
Eluvium - Copia
Modest Mouse - We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank
Klaxons - Myths Of The Near Future
The Twilight Sad - Fourteen Autumns And Fifteen Winters
Paramore - Riot!
Kings Of Leon - Because Of The Times

And that's before giving a thorough listen to Ryan Adams' and Interpol's latest efforts. Looks like the annual top ten's gonna be a tough one to make this year.

a couple of doorsteps away

while the UK does not have quite the level of coziness found in French vacation laws, the paid leave regimes are still more than decent here, especially compared to countries like the US or worse, Japan. I once met two Japanese girls on the train to Versailles who explained to me without any sort of resentment that they had six days off per year, so in effect their three-day weekend to "visit" Paris represented half of their yearly allotment. Yikes indeed. At my current job I get a yearly equivalent of a little less than 4 weeks (having joined mid-year I obviously will not get my full due in 2007), which is plenty enough in my present lifestyle.
Still, this summer will be the first time since graduation that I won't be taking some sort of extended vacation. For one I feel I'm still in a learning stage at work, and would rather soak up as much of it right now as I can. And secondly even should I have the potential for more time off, I don't have any interesting trip ideas anyway at least with travel-mates involved. I've traveled solo in the past, and it's fine, but I'd like the next sojourn abroad to be a shared experience, which means some measure of planning that wouldn't allow for a last minute decision. There might be a road trip of some sort next year, but for 2007 I will probably keep things close to these shores.
To that effect I've booked 3 weekends (an average of 3 days each) to spend in various locales and with different family members this summer:
- next week in the South at my uncle's, aka the official first beach outing of the year, aka AWESOME
- mid-August at my parents' in Brittany, aka I like change, but not too much
- late August at my grandma's in Brittany, aka crepes-r-us

These trips might not have too great of an effect on my British Airways mileage count but I wouldn't exchange them for a trip to a more tropical destination for anything. Sometimes the simple choice really is enough.

it's never over

after three months at my new job I managed yesterday to accomplish a feat I hadn't even come close to doing since starting work: go straight home on Friday night without stopping by the pub for "a quick one". Hanging out at the pub on Thursday (which I did do this week) and Friday has been a great way to get to know people at my company, and I've definitely been active on that front since joining the company. But yesterday I just felt like I needed an early exit, and try for some peace and quiet. So I left a little after 6, went home, called up a few friends/family, watched some Planet Earth while eating seedless grape and had an all-around most excellent evening. I love my new working environment and the people I've met, but I have to admit a mellow evening can be the best thing in the universe once in a while.

However because I hadn't finished all the stuff I wanted to do this week I had to go back for a few hours today. Just like going to the corner pub, clocking in on Saturday is a thing I've done pretty much every week since starting, mostly because when time comes to leave on Friday evening I always feel there's a few things I would like to finish up. And Saturdays offer up the perfect opportunity to do them, what with the central location (I'd be less motivated if the office were in Canary Wharf, that's for sure), an office that's uncharacteristically quiet and my actual bona fide excitement for the job. Oh, and on my desk I've got this:


Which means I can do this:
The real connoisseurs will recognize that this is, in fact, a French jar of Nutella, not one of the clearly inferior local products. Don't ask me why, but it just tastes better. And that's not just my arrogant French side talking, I've put other world experts to the test, and my claim won hands down, Pepsi challenge-style.

Anyway as scheduled I went into work around lunchtime today, but on my way there got a little sidetracked as I kept remembering stuff I had to buy. Thus did I end up making one of the most eclectic unplanned shopping errands in human history. Check out the booty:
- The Guardian
- guitar strings and a capo (now if I could actually learn to play the damn thing)
- a tennis racket
- a shirt from Gap
- a nice bottle of single malt whiskey for my dad (delivered to Paris so he can have it on his birthday)
- a DVD (Heat, bought for the third time)

All this in the span of about 45 minutes, now that's some pretty efficient, if random, buying.
After these numerous stops I finally made my way to mi segundo casa, armed with some oh-so delicious EAT soup (discovery of the month, for sure) and worked until 5:30pm, when I took the bus home like it was any other weekday. Now the only problem is that whenever I get home from work on the weekend I tend to be a little sapped of energy, if only mentally. I've got drinks in Soho semi-planned in a few hours, but I don't know if I'll make my way there yet. Which is where the Thursday night corner pub habit comes in handy: even if I stop going for some pints on Friday evenings as much as before, there's always the previous night. So I'm calling it now: Thursday's the new Friday.

first impressions

despite being pretty open-minded when it comes to my music tastes, classical music is never a genre I have ever delved into very much. I like a few random tracks (Das Rheingold's Vorspiel, the 1812 overture, Barber's Adagio For Strings), and from time to time I'll put on France Inter's classical music program as I get back from work, and leave it on for 10-15 minutes to unwind, but that's the extent of it. Part of it is due to an already crowded listening schedule, but it also might be due to hearing so much of it at home growing up that I might have soured on it at an early age. I do know that because of this, I will never be able to hear harpsichord and truly relax, as it will always be the epitome of cloying to me. And I've heard plenty of tracks where I totally couldn't relate to the melody, which is a non-negotiable breaking point for me.
But maybe what I need is to go see a performance to gain a better appreciation for the genre. After all I really got into rock once I started going to concerts, and I haven't looked back since. The problem is I tend to be lazy when it comes to pushing myself into entirely new cultural forms. I have the same issue with theater, where I tend to enjoy it when I go, but I would never think of it, while I could go to the movie theater on the smallest of whims. So until a friend forces me/provides support to go to a classical concert, I'll probably stay on the sidelines, wondering what all the fuss is about. That is, whenever I'm not busy listening to one of the 127 other music styles I try to keep up with in my leisure time.

such a scene

because Sunday night often ends up movie nite for me, I thought I'd post some scenes from my favorite movies. Mild spoilers included, naturally.

heartbreaking: Ben Chaplin gets a letter from his wife in The Thin Red Line


inspired: the dance scene in Bande A Part


cringe-worthy/hilarious: Jon Favreau being answering machine-challenged in Swingers (something most guys know all too well)


thrilling: the shootout scene in Heat, as shown in countless home-theater sections in electronics stores


deep (or not): the opening scene from Contact

one nation army

OK, so much for rocking out at 4 and being anti-corporate, as we ended up leaving the office round 7:15, which means we pretty much went just for the two main acts of the day, Queens Of The Stone Age and The White Stripes. To be honest that really was our objective for the event. Since Modest Mouse had cancelled their appearance I wasn't too interested in the other supporting acts, at least not enough to leave early from work. When we got to the all-the-way-on-the-other-end-of-hyde-park entrance (so much for working 5 minutes away) QOTSA had started shredding and we came across some sort of large tent stage where Air was playing. While I like Air on CD, I'd come with the intention of listening to some rawk, so the chilled-out sounds of Versailles's favorite electro tunesmiths weren't exactly cutting it. After about 2 very mellow minutes I told my friends, who were very content to stay there, I'd see them later and made my way to the main stage area. QOTSA had been playing for a while apparently, and were in fine form. Frontman Josh Homme was in pure rock mode, playing up to the crowd and unleashing his short but brutally efficient guitar solos while his bandmates did their part to prove rock is still alive and well in 2007. Particularily thrilling was the final song, Song For The Dead, with a monstrous drum intro that had me forget where I was for a moment. That song was a top 5 concert moment for me, no doubt. In all I probably caught 15 mins of their set, but they were so good I did not feel the least bit frustrated. I then wandered around for a bit, with a definite non-highlight being the 02 "VIP" area whose main interest was that the toilets weren't portable. I did cross paths with Noel Gallagher, and a lone papparazo, while I was traipsing on my own, so that's always something I guess. Having rejoined with my compadres, who apparently quite enjoyed the Air gig led me to try to describe the intensity of the performance I had just witnessed but I didn't manage to elicit their interest. We were in a hurry to catch the White Stripes thus didn't spend too much time talking about it, so the following day I mentioned it again to my friend at work, thinking he'd be more apt to realize the error it was for a rock fan to have gone for lazy electro instead of pure rock, but the conversation went something like this:
Me: "dude, you totally missed out"
him: "nah, Air were incredible"
me: "but, like, that last song was a.ma.zing, on some pure rock hardcore stuff"
him: "dude, Air played 'Sexy Boy' last, that was amazing"
me: " 'Sexy Boy' ?!??"

Needless to say this was not one of the prettiest arguments, lucky for us it was not had at a bar or things might've gotten messy (well not really, I'm just trying to sound tough). Anyway sensing the impending start to the White Stripes set we tried to get as close as we could to the stage, but the crowd was so packed it got hard very fast. We then ended up disseminated through the crowd as "some of us" (ahem) could not handle the cramped quarters and 'preferred to watch things from the back'. I ended up near the middle and overall enjoyed a solid yet unspectacular performance from Detroit's favorite combo. Part of my enjoyment did come from the stellar form the crowd was in. Lots of singing, dancing, and all-around good moods made for a festive time in the audience. Okay, and there was a fair share of drugs involved apparently, but this was a rock festival.
After the performance we stayed a short to soak in the decidedly upbeat atmosphere, suprisingly-affordable pints in hand. Upon exiting the premises we then decided to head to our usual corner pub near work, where we bumped into more than a few of the regulars. So in a way the evening ended like any Thursday evening, with the bartenders urging us to finish our drinks so they could close up, and I taking my normal bus home. Not much originality there, but after a few hours of eardrum shattering, familiarity was just what the proverbial doctor ordered. McDonald's maybe not so much, but we'll just pretend that it was the only place open at King's Cross.

Bonus footage: it's like you were there too!

silver lining

tomorrow is a joyful occasion, for it is the start of the four-day O2 Wireless Festival in Hyde Park. I work about 5 mins from the location, and got tickets to the first day, when The White Stripes and Queens Of The Stone Age are headlining, so essentially I'll be Joe Conscientious until 3:55pm, then BOOM, rocking out at 4.
Naturally, the weather has decided to not cooperate, but that should only be a minor impediment to such a great day. And one more advantage to working close by is that I can leave some fresh clothes there, and even take a shower should things take a class-A downpour occur. Who says the corporate lifestyle has to be the antithesis of rock n'roll?

Loney update

the other day I heard a Loney, Dear song while waiting for my drink at Starbucks. Instead of viewing this as a sign of impending indiecalypse (aka not being cool anymore) for the smooth Swede, I prefer to see it as just one notch on what I hope will be a success-filled year for Mr Emil.

les professionnels

yesterday was the first round of the Parliamentary elections in France, which saw Nicolas Sarkozy's party take an impressive lead and with it the prospect of having a massive majority in the Assemblee Nationale. This was to be expected. By electing Sarko with such a wide lead during the presidential elections in May, voters had shown they were looking for a new and strong government, and this election was for many simply a confirmation of that choice.

One thing that did come to my attention was that most of the members of the new government were told by their new boss to uphold their candidacies in order to win a seat in the assembly, apparently to show that they had the confidence of their constituents. That even goes for government chief Francois Fillon, who handily won reelection in his native Sarthe. Now campaigning for your party "friends" I can understand, but when you've just been chosen as government minister, what's the point of being a candidate to a seat which you will not occupy if you do get elected? I mean Frankie boy, you're the newly designated Prime Minister. Of the entire country. Seriously, don't you have other things to worry about than making sure yours and your ministers' names are on the winning lists?

The main argument that was presented by Fillon and Sarkozy was that this election would provide their new government members the opportunity to partake in a referendum of sorts on their legitimacy. But they've only been in place for a month, at most, so it seems a tad early for voters to have any kind of informed opinion on what kind of job the government is doing. And if these ministers are going to let their second in command seat at the Assemby anyway (ministers are forbidden by law to hold more than one seat), why go through the travesty of presenting themselves as the main candidates, and have people vote for them? Can they even pretend the election means something? Personnally I'm more interested in learning what sort of solutions to the many problems facing France this team will come up with, than in hearing about their performance in an election that generally feels like an afterthought following the Presidential one. This is probably more of a PR move, to put government members in the best possible light before the sure-to-be tough months laying ahead, but like all campaigns based on image, the underlying message rings disheartingly hollow.

neon

ever since its unveiling last week, the official logo for the 2012 London Olympics has been the subject of much ridicule, heaps of scorn and lots of bemused head-shaking. I haven't seen or heard a single positive thing about it, and I can't say I'm shocked, considering how laughingly bad it looks. Supposedly representing the youthful spirit of the Games, the logo was designed by branding agency Wolff Olins for a reported £400,000, which is fast looking like the biggest waste of money since Brewster was given all those millions. The thing is so ugly, even Klaxons fans wouldn't approve. And they wear Wake Me Up Before You Go Go-style tee-shirts, so that's saying something.

To add to the ridiculousness it was reported late last week that the video ad for the Olympics which was posted on the official website contained scenes that had caused seizures for several people suffering from epilepsy. Not a great way to pull back opinion in your favor, that's for sure.
And since the Brits are generally a cheeky bunch and are quite good are poking fun at themselves (the source of many 'We're not in Kansas anymore' moments for me since moving), the email forwards have been plentiful on the matter, with people everywhere trying their best to make fun of the ill-fated design. Personnally I liked this one:

The furore has reached such proportions that's there now a backlash to the backlash, consisting mostly in newspaper columnists using the argument "well, it's not that bad", without sounding very convinced themselves. While I think this whole matter isn't really that serious to begin with, I just hope that the world will not evolve to the point where in 2012 this logo is considered good taste. The 80s happened once, and humanity managed to get past it, so let's not revisit it too much, shall we?

And in another piece of news about dubious use of money, artist Damien Hirst has created a £50 million artefact: a diamond-encrusted skull. Apparently it's supposed to bring joy to the world or something. I really don't have anything to add to that.

tourist at home: the Tate Britain

when it comes to the London museum scene, the Tate Britain is kind of like the sleepy kid who doesn't say much in class to get himself noticed yet is consistently on the honor roll. And like many things that are solid and unremarkable, this establishment is often exactly what one needs to quench a craving for art when Sunday rolls around. Sure there's tons of edgier choices (Shoreditch art galleries) and the big 3 (British Museum, National Gallery, Tate Modern) are always good for a stroll, but I have to say that over the years the "other" other Tate has fast become one of my faves. Of course a lot of that has to do with my personal tastes, which tend to veer to the classical and expressive, but there's also a tranquil serenity one feels when walking through the halls of this place that isn't always found in major museums.

As far as its permanent collection, there' s a good mix from masters of British painting like John Millais, with a particular highlight being the prodigious Turner collection, the biggest in the world. And there's one of my all-time favorite paintings, a depiction of the Channel under a particularly resplendent sky, of which I can never seem to recall the creator, but that I've never failed to stop by on my visits to the TB. Many of the works are grouped by theme and historically, with generally insightful commentary on the signs that gives some clues as to what symbolism was placed by the artist in the work in question, which is always good for neophytes like me. One minor quibble I have is the languid heat that reigned in some of the rooms (isn't it kind of bad for paintings to have too much heat and/or humidity?).
There's also generally an exhibition for which admission is paying, whereas for the permanent collections it isn't. Right now there's one about British photography, which I would've loved to see as a big fan of photography but we preferred to spend more time in the general wings, since the friend I went with had never been to the museum.

Overall this is a museum I like going to because I always seems to discover new things each time, even though its collection is far from massive. It might not be for the more contemporary-inclined (although right now there's a couple of more modern pieces, like Mark Wallinger's recreation of the Parliament Square protest camp), but if you've got an itch for the classics and think bucolic portrayals of typical English life in the XIX century are nice to look at, you can't go wrong with this choice.

sack full of dreams

so this just happened:


disclaimer: the second apple pie was graciously offered by the cashier because I had to wait 5 minutes. What was I to do, spurn his excellent customer service skills and refuse it?

sound advice 4 - Mumm-Ra

as far as naming a rock band goes, taking your cue from the titular villain in an 80s-tastic sci-fi cartoon might not seem like the most logical of choices, especially when said name sounds like the latest addition to the British Museum. But none of that matters with Mumm-Ra, because they've got the musical chops to make you remember them for more than having an unusual name. Having made noise last year with a few singles that did pretty well in the NME-MTV2-XFM universe, they released their debut album, These Things Move In Threes, last month to mostly good-to-great reviews. The first few months of 2007 have already seen a bunch of really good releases by young British rock acts, among which Fields, The Maccabees or The View, but I have a feeling that this particular band will manage to avoid getting lost in the glut thanks to their confident mix of catchy hooks and peppy guitars.
The album starts off strong with two of the best cuts, Now or Never and 2006 semi-hit Out of The Question back-to-back. The following four songs keep up the same level of intensity , and it isn't until the seventh track that things slow down a bit (but not too much). Out Of The Question, in particular, sounds even better than the already impressive version released last year, with the band clearly in no mood to take things as they come. Of course, this being yet another Brit guitar band, nothing feels truly original, but the energy and wide-eyed lyrics ( "If i failed to deliver/if the world left you bitter/if waitin and prayin hasnt led to you payin/of course i will care") are enough to listen to the entire album without ever feeling truly weighed down or bored.
If anything, the only reproach might be that some of the material feels a bit "too" honest and innocent, both in the lyrics and music, for the experience to feel memorable. While Out Of The Question manages to avoid the artificial feel many of the arena-hits tend to have (The Automatic's 'Monster', anyone?), some of the songs toward the end of the album do sound like they're on the wrong side of the mainstream-anthem debate. Take 'Starlight', which typically sounds like the sort of song that could be featured on an episode of Grey's Anatomy, meaning superficially it's got some of the rock edge, but in the end it's a bit too glossy to be considered anything more than just decent. Snow Patrol does this sort of thing really well (and live they are absolutely killer), but there's a reason why it took them a while to find their successful formula. Mumm-Ra seem like a band that's got the requisite punch and skills to last, let's hope this first release is a harbinger of good things to come for them.

Official site
Myspace
Youtube: Out Of The Question video

previously:
Sound advice 1 -Arcade Fire
Sound advice 2 - Loney, Dear
Sound advice 3 - Jeremy Larson

hello sunshine

let's see:
- got sunburned while playing football for 3 hours in Hyde Park yesterday
- just bought a couple of shorts from Gap
- booked some plane tickets to spend a few weekends with vacationing family members
- Hollywood has unleashed its usual blockbusters on the unsuspecting mass audience (Spiderman 3 suuucked by the way, except for those few scenes with "suave" Peter)
- the other day I had a sudden craving for gelato

yup, it seems that after some hesitation, summer has decided to grace us with it presence. If that's not worthy of three cheers, I don't know what is. Of course this being London it doesn't mean we'll get 30°-days for the next 3 months (Thank God, say the Tube commuters), but the overall trend is appreciably bullish.

sonic moods - 04/06/07

nkotb: fennesz+sakamoto

where have I been: The Beatles-Rubber Soul

still going strong: Eluvium

one and done: Spoon - Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga, The Used - Lies For The Liars

blast from the past: Raphael's first album

next concert: Andrew Bird, tomorrow @ Scala


find out more on my last.fm page

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.