post-game report

Action Jackson

finally (now can we get a trailer sometime soon, hmmm?)

not so pointed observation

you know how in warmer climates (aka any country south of the Channel) the first day you know summer is close is when girls' hemlines get mysteriously shorter? Well here in the UK that day is the first time someone tells you "my God it is boiling today" when in fact it's at most 13°C. And the way you know you've integrated in that country is when you start having those thoughts yourself. If that weren't enough, I actually spent half the weekend in shorts and flip-flops, when the weather probably dipped above 17°C for all of three minutes. Now if only I could elevate my British accent skills to a level above that of Don Cheadle's...

spring hopes eternal

while I'm always ready to argue about Opening Day being the best sports day of the year, it really doesn't get any better than the first day of the NCAA basketball tournament. Actually it's really the first four days, as the tournament holds its first two rounds, aka 48 games, from Thursday to Sunday every year, giving very little time to reflect or catch one's breath. With the single-elimination format the games generally live up to the hype every year, which is why March Madness is pretty truthful, contrary to so many other overcooked sports marketing terms (okay for once with this year's Superbowl Super Sunday was an apt description, but usually it's flatter than a four-day old souffle).

Having to follow it from an ocean away does take away some of the excitement, what with litterally no one around here being aware of the event. I guess I could head over to one of the bigger sports bars, like the Sports Cafe, but with some many games going on I might as well enjoy the hoopla from the comfort of my home, beer, chips and other instruments of culinary depravity in hand. Official broadcaster has been showing the games live online for the past few years, and this time the coverage has been improved even more, with HD quality streaming for every single game. I remember the "old days" of insufferable buffering and their oh-so -fun virtual waiting lines, so all this added technological boost is a godsend.

But really anyone who's lived in the US knows that at the heart of this massive three-week affair is the opportunity for everyone and their third-cousin to make predictions on the games, no matter how little they know about the game. ESPECIALLY if they know little about it. Office pools get filled up, online banter heats up, and for once everyone is pretty much acting like a graduate of Michael Scott University, work ethics-wise. Even if the current economic climate will put a damper on some celebrations, the tradition of playing hooky to go watch some ballgames will be as tempting as always to many. Being 4 hours ahead will spare me this issue, but I guess the lack of sleep due to late games will be the karmic counterpoint to that. But hey, that's where my extensive experience will come in handy. Not to mention my affinity for late-night snacking.

pub humor, Irish style

photo.jpg, originally uploaded by lematt.

The Reader (USA, 2008)

while Winslet's performance does justice to the Oscar she was awarded on Sunday, her character's story often seems way too unconscionable. Perhaps the book goes into things more, but there's a form of heartlessness here that had me more than a little uncomfortable (not the good kind), to the point it affected my opinion of the whole movie.

*1/2

and all that jazz

Michael Yada/EPA) @ TimesOnline

thoughts from this year's surprisingly breezy (by usual standards) Oscars telecast:

• for all the talk about toning it down in the face of the recession, the ceremony lost no luster at all. Though it seems the producers went for timeless class rather than gaudiness, the moon-sized chandelier setting spoke louder than any speeches about "the times we live in".

• good job by Hugh Jackman in a number of dance numbers that aren't easy to pull off in a live show. Not as good during the joke segments, but he was more than honest.

• funniest bit of the night: Steve Martin/Tina Fey presenting the screenplay awards ("...and I'm Steve Martin"). Close second: Seth Rogen/James France/Janusz Kaminski laughing at sad movies, and Ben Stiller's Joaquin Phoenix impersonation. Too bad he didn't rap though.

• despite Slumdog Millionaire being a good movie, winning this many awards seems destined to push it into "overrated" territory. More diversity in the nominations on a regular basis would be nice, instead of having one "little indie that could" become a juggernaut simply because it's likable enough. For all its flaws, The Wrestler should have had a nod, and The Dark Knight definitely should have too.

• while my vote would have gone to Robert Downey Jr for his incredible performance in Tropic Thunder, Heath Ledger's Joker was acting at its very best. And his family gave a very dignified speech that was one of the more moving moments of the ceremony.

• despite a frenzied movie-viewing slate in the past few weeks that had me feeling at times I was watching The Curious Case of Slumdog/Nixon Getting Married, I didn't get around to catching a few of the front-runners like Milk or The Reader. With the releases for so many of these movies jammed up together in a couple of months, it would be nice if they moved the show back to March, like it used to be.
  

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to make my 14th cup of tea of the morning.

Tokyo Sonata (Japan, 2008)

Though the subject (a man loses his job but does not tell his family) was tackled in the excellent L'Emploi Du Temps by Laurent Cantet a few years back, this film is praiseworthy in its own right, commenting about social success and the role of each within the family with a mix of violence and restraint. Inowaki Kai, who plays the youngest son, is a true revelation, and helps make some difficult scenes into an unqualified success.

***1/2

Rachel Getting Married (USA, 2008)

Featuring no less than four stellar acting performances (of which only Anne Hathaway got an Oscar nod), this delightful little movie doesn't do much, except show what family can be like. Which is in many ways one of the hardest things to do well. This will bore many people, but if you're into that sort of material, dive right in.

***

but I don't wanna go home

The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button (USA, 2008)

though Fincher proves here that he is one of the top directors working today (also, the movie is absolutely gorgeous, to the nth degree), he must've forgot to schedule some time for the editing room, as this feels too long by at least 20mins. Still there are some knockout scenes, and a mesmerizing last 1/2 hour, that justify at least some of the hype that's been bestowed on this potential Best Picture winner.

**1/2

Frost/Nixon (USA, 2008)

supremely satisfying effort from Ron Howard, helped by some truly standout performances. The fake-real interview portions are a bit gimmicky, but they're short enough for that not to matter, and you won't find a better example of ensemble acting this year. Even knowing the ending to the story shouldn't deter from enjoying the experience, proving once more that good movies are about so much more than getting from point A to point B.

***

best commute ever

squares and circles

here's a sequence of events:

• go see a concert in a church
• do not drink (see above)
• get home before 10:30pm
• make a salad for lunch the next day

Which begs the question: is this behavior so far from rock n'roll that it actually is totally rock n' roll?

resistance is futile

Revolutionary Road (USA, 2008)

going into it I was confident that there was no way it would compare to the incredible Richard Yates novel, one of my favorite books. Especially now, after two fantastic seasons of Mad Men. Still, the outstanding acting and Roger Deakins' typically gorgeous cinematography are worth the trip.

***

Wendy And Lucy (USA, 2008)

like a non-idealistic, credit-crunch version of "Into The Wild". Michelle Williams is heartbreaking, the storytelling stark and simple. There are no big moments, but all is said during these quiet 80 minutes. So far that's 2/2 for Kelly Reichardt.

***

Valkyrie (USA, 2008)

a lot has been made of this movie being a flop before it even came out, but it's actually a very solid, if by-the-numbers, historical thriller. Knowing the ending in advance takes away some of the tension, but by no means is it as bad as the advance buzz could have made it seem. Even with Tom Cruise wearing an eye-patch.

**1/2

holiday cheer

Cult movie alert! Five is showing underrated classic Bad Santa tonight at 9pm, and though I don't often advocate staying in on a Thusday night (Thursday = new Friday = new Saturday, blablabla), this is as good an excuse as you'll find. Featuring the dry comic genius of Billy Bob Thornton and a whole cast of incredible supporting roles, this is possibly the only, and ever, Xmas to which you can play drinking games. Which means, of course, that's is totally awesome and should not be missed.

the curious case of the self-cancelling credit card

one of the first thing you notice after moving to the UK is how prevalent credit is in everyday life. Ads in the tube, constant mail from your bank and of course the ubiquitous store cards are there you remind one that it doesn't matter when you pay for it, as long as you keep shopping. As Sarah Palin might say, "charge, baby, charge". Of course with the current economic downturn we have a reminder of how quickly that can change once banks and financial establishments decide to turn off the spigot, but overall you still get the sense that much of the growth of UK's economy is aided by future income, since that is in essence what credit is. In fact the Guardian reported this year that debt growth was higher than GDP growth, a fact that highlights how systematic the recourse to credit has become for consumers. In comparison, the level of household debt stands at 47% in France, or less than half that of the UK, which has the highest such level among the major European economies.

As a new-arrivant here it is awfully tempting to participate in this real-life Monopoly (side-note and top 5 WTF of the year: is Ridley Scott really directing a movie based on the board game?), but as I've found out, it's not at all that easy. Having opened a current account (Barclay's) within the first few days of my arrival, I was still using my French-based card for most expenses and, focused on starting a whole new life, didn't feel the need to go beyond the basic debit card provided by Barclay's. Over the next few months I thought about it from time to time, but never felt a need to take the plunge. In late 2007 I took a trip to Brittany, where I'd booked a rental car from the Nantes airport. This is where I found out that none of the major car-rental chains accepted debit cards, or even any alternatives I suggested (getting my mom's CC number over the phone, paying cash for the deposit...). With a 150km journey still to go to my destination, I had to improvise, which resulted in 1 cab ride, 2 trains and a 11:30pm pickup from my grandma at the train station. My grandma's in her late 80s, so let's just say driving late at night isn't her favorite thing to do. Once back in the UK, I decided to apply for a credit card at last.

This is where the main sticking point happened: in the UK, if you want to get a credit card, companies look at your credit score. If you've just moved here for the first time, you don't have a score. So you need one to get one, but if you don't have one you won't get one. Clear? Having got rejected from online applications to Amex and Barclays, I realized this might be a bit trickier than I thought. Yearning to stay away from the cold automated rejection letters (and complete lack of explanation from the associated helpdesks), I decided to stop by my bank branch a few months ago to see if my application could be processed by a real-live person, who could perhaps look at my situation and at least explain to me why I wasn't authorized to join the splurging masses. Going through my salary and current financial situation with the advisor, I was told there was no reason why I wouldn't get approved and that we'd do the application together to ensure success. And sure enough, two weeks later, I got a shiny new credit card in the mail, with a humongous £250 credit limit. Really nothing to brag about, but I figured it was a start, and at least I'd have one if necessary.

Needing to activate the card, I called the number stamped on it, thinking that it was pretty good timing, since i had my trip to Australia in a few weeks and would definitely be able to use it there. But when I called the number, I was told the card was already activated. Thinking that was a tad weird, I called the Barclayscard helpdesk and asked if there was a problem. After a few minutes of looking around on the system, the helpdesk operator explained to me that in fact the card had been cancelled, since Barclays had realized I wasn't fit to hold one after all. By this point I was wondering if I was stuck in a personal-finance episode of the Twilight Zone, and asked for more explanations. Unfortunately the calculations made to authorize or reject people are all automated, so no one can really tell you what is wrong when you're not accepted. All the person on the line was able to tell me was that I could cut up the card since I wouldn't be able to use it. Now there's some sound advice, not sure I would've thought of it on my own.

This happened over the summer, and since then I'd kind of resigned myself to being credit-less for a few years. Indeed through my application processes I'd noticed that they always ask for 3 years' addresses history in the UK, which I obviously do not have. Was it possible that my lack of credit score, and recent arrival in the country was the thing blocking all my applications? Too bad I couldn't ask the giant robot running the process, that guy's pretty heartless if you ask me.

Then last week I saw an ad for Capital One, and remembered how in the US they were known for giving out credit cards to pretty much anyone. Despite knowing that each negative application can adversely affect you credit rating, I decided to try once more, figuring that it was worth a shot, having done my last one five months prior. Upon completing the grueling two-minute online form, I got the usual "we'll let you know" message and figured they were just cordial and preferred to send the rejection letter through the mail instead of telling me straightaway. Because nothing says courtesy like a mass-reproduced letter of denial. Only thing is I actually got accepted for the basic card, apparently, and sent back my signed agreement yesterday. So theoretically in 7 to 10 working days I should be the (oh-so) proud possessor of a Capital One credit card, with a minimum credit limit of £100, and a sweet 34.9% APR. Unless they decide to go for the sneaky Barclays-style now-you-see-it, now-you-don't technique. Either way I'm not sure I'll have a better understanding of how logical the process is, having seen so many shows on TV about uni students being able to get into £40,000 of debt while I'm stuck with my junior-high debit card.

After these various ups-and-downs I don't think I've become any savvier to the credit card scene here, but I do know one thing: my next salary falls on the 16th (hooray for Xmas early payment dates), on the 17th my primary bank account won't be at Barclay's.

it's not a trend, it's a movement

the good life

In these turbulent times when nary an article (be it about banking bailouts, factory closures or baby seals) fails to mention the credit crunch, it's reassuring to see that in at least some neighborhoods, the specter of recession is still as far away from reality as my plans to move to Hawaii. To illustrate, here's 3 random sights observed during my morning walk to work. Keep in mind these are but a sampling of the many signs of opulence seen throughout the area. Let's just say I'm not worried about seeing too many for sale signs in the neighborhood just yet.



You know what I hate when I buy a crapload of stuff from Selfridges? How to get rid of all the packaging it comes with. But the solution was there all along: re-use the bag it came with. Al Gore knows what I'm talking about.



Ah yes, drop off my ski-wear at the dry cleaners', that's what I was supposed to do this weekend.



the funny part about this picture is the car is generally parked not fifty yards away from Tony Blair's crib. I totally knew his wife was big on luxury German cars.

back to the future

back in college, I took up a habit where I would wake up in the middle of the night once or twice a week to watch live NBA games on cable. I would lose a precious few hours of sleep, staying awake through a steady munching of krisprolls and diet coke, all the while relishing every second of it. Once I joined the workforce such occurences diminished to the point where I now wake up only for major sporting events, like a baseball playoff game, or Alain Bernard's winning 100m freestyle race in the Beijing Olympics.
So with Election day finally upon us, after what feels like the longest political campaign in history, I initially thought I would turn back the clock and pull an old-school half-nighter. But, having stayed at work past 1am yesterday, and, truth be told, not feeling as spry after 4hours of sleep as I used to, I've decided to take the old-man way out. 1am will probably be enough for me, which means I'll only get to see some early returns, not the nail-biting suspense from the battleground state results. Then again if it means I get to avoid the letdown of four years ago, that's probably a good thing.
And, most importantly, in the spirit of unity I prepared a new, special bi-partisan smoothie for desert: strawberries for Republicans, blueberries for Democrats, and some banana for the independents. Now that's change we can believe in.

relax

ugh, being sick for the entire weekend with food poisoning was not exactly what I'd planned. (stoopid Brick Lane tandoori). But I guess if you're gonna get some rest before starting the work week, being stuck in bed for 24hours is one way to do it. And now that I've finally emerged from my place of slumber, I get to enjoy a delicious meal of soup and donuts. Because as we all know, there is nothing that can't be cured by donuts. Nothing.

pas de deux

it will probably take me a couple more days to even think about going for a run again (and many more to consider using stairs), but I already understand why runners say that their first thought when completing a race is often when they're gonna run the next one. Okay, maybe my first one was "where's that Mars stand?", and perhaps I said it out loud, but I'll admit the physical fatigue felt quite faint compared to the general feeling of accomplishment of having finished. Not that I thought I wouldn't be able to do so, but as I laid out last week, I had no such long-distance experience, and so I had real doubts as to how I'd hold up after 7 miles. Doubts which were compounded when I realized that it was actually going to be sunny and warm -for London standards- that morning. But these terrific weather conditions were just one more point in the success column for this first edition of a race that's now destined to become a staple of UK running events. Tremendous organization, a great route and a nice turnout all contributed to rave reviews from all participants I talked to, with which I heartily concur.
Crossing the line at the same time as a coworker, we waited on the Hyde Park grass with a couple of others while we waited for the rest of the corporate team to trickle in. While we were doing so the sun got progressively warmer, and it felt like summer had finally hit London. Adding greatly to the satisfaction was that, finishing in 1h35, I did better than I was aiming for, and some of the coworkers did really well too (the first guy in our group did 1h30, and that wasn't even his PB...).
While initially I had a stated goal of sub-1h45, and an unofficial one of sub 1h40, I had too little experience to know what I could really aim for. For that reason, and out of habit, I just looked at my pace on my timer, trying to stay under 7'30/mile as long as I could. Only after 11miles, the full distance being 13.1m, did I look at the time and realize I was at 1h20. The mental boost this gave me was immeasurable, though unfortunately my stubborn legs refused to follow suit. And the fuzzy math that came with that moment did not help things, as I quickly realized that though I was getting close to finishing, those last 2 miles wouldn't run themselves. Thankfully I was able to find inspiration in the weird pace of a nearby runner, who kept slowing down, get passed by me, then would fly back ahead again only to repeat the same pattern. This reminded me to try to keep going at a steady pace, and the thought of running a good time was enough motivation to not falter. 400 yards from the end there was a final turn and the finish line appeared. At that point it felt like I still had 2 more miles to go, but I spotted the above-mentioned coworker slightly ahead of me and, after tapping him on the shoulder, motioned to him that we should make a go for it. The only problem is that the final sprint works so much better in Hollywood movies than in real life, so I'm not convinced we gained that much speed over those excruciatingly long last "few" yards. And crossing the finish line was weird: it wasn't really the "moment" I thought it would be as much as a bookend to something both horrendous and fantastic. But the bad feelings were gone pretty quickly, and it was the very enjoyable to wait for the rest of the group to join us (the last one finished in 2h30), while drinking gallons of free Powerade. And then we went to the pub, because this is England after all, and because having that first beer after a long run is a fantastic feeling that words would fail to describe.
Before I finish this, 2 stats from the day which I thought were significant:
- my sportband says I used up 1,800cal during my run. Ho-ly cow! Speaking of which, if you don't think I went to Burger King for my post-race meal, you're crazy.
- my finishing time put me in the 95th percentile of the runners, which is a pretty cool, considering there were over 7,500 of them. Running for me is a solo thing, but it's nice to be able to be able to compete in sports again once in a while. Maybe soon I'll start wearing the No Fear t-shirt I loved so much in high school, with its irrefutable slogan: "second place is the first loser". Or not.

While I haven't actually decided what race I'd like to run next, I know there will be a next one at some point. Some point very very far away, while I give my poor calves and joints some much needed quality time. And though I still don't consider myself a runner, today a coworker who took part but hadn't seen my time until this morning came over and said "I didn't know you were a runner?". She meant it as a compliment, and I'll take it.

ready teddy

with just 4 more days left until the Royal Parks half-marathon, here's a sampling of some thoughts going through my mind

- 10am start on a Sunday??? Shouldn't this nullify the race on grounds of unconstitutionality? Or at least flagrant abuse of human rights or something. Although not drinking on the night before (or the whole week for that matter) will for once provide me with a good reason not to go out and go to bed early on a Saturday night.

- traditional "energy" music, like techno or metal, is overrated. Recently I've discovered the virtues of listening to classical music during my runs (try hearing Ravel's Bolero and not feel like you could take on the entire Russian army by the end. Or at least run up that hill 30 secs faster) and I love it. Running has actually become a cool -but tiring- excuse to listen to music you like while looking at the scenery. For instance here's the playlist I had during my last outing:
Lil Wayne - I'm Me
Kings of Leon - Use Somebody
Bon Iver - Lump Sum (live)
Blink 182 - Stockholm Syndrome
Tchaikovsky - 1812 Overture
Air Traffic - No More Running Away
Explosions In The Sky - Welcome, Ghosts
Eluvium - New Animals From The Air

- Having never run more than 8 miles in a row, I have literally no clue how I will cope with the extra 5 I'll have to do on Sunday. Will I crumple to the ground like the world financial markets during the 9th mile? Will my pace be the same throughout and enable me to finish under my initial goal of 1h45? Part of the motivation to show up on race day is to actually find out the answer to these queries.

- How the heck are they going to shove 12,500 people through this course? I might have to resort to my old friends thunder and lightning (aka my elbows) to get out of that mess. Or maybe run faster, but that just sounds too tiring right now.

- Not having prepared so much during the past two months due to a three week vacation, then complete insanity at work during 3 more, my energy level has felt noticeable lower during the couple of runs I did since. To try to ward off any such weakness on Sunday, I've tried this sports-drink-in-a-jellybean product called Sports Beans, and I have to say it works pretty well. And it's actually kind of savory, which is more than you can say when it comes to its liquid brethren. Speaking of energy levels, here's the sad evolution of the adrenaline boosters I used on a particularly busy day at work last week:

first we have the classic red bull + diet coke mix, which is one of the many fascinating things I learned to do during an investment banking internship. It goes without saying that the diet coke completely negates the calories from the red bull (as if you were even going to ask)



then to step things up a notch, one of my personal inventions, and a matter of great personal pride: a green bull. Yes, you have guessed correctly, that is a green tea mixed with some red bull. Cheaper than cocaine, with double the heart palpitations. It's stroke-tastic!


and then a few hours later, because there really is nothing you can do to top the green bull, a big ol' glass of red wine. And maybe another (or four) after, I'm sort of hazy on the details.

I did feel awesome afterward, so I'm still undecided whether to stay the course of teetotalism before this godforsaken race, or to revert to the above-described plan. But hey, at least I've got my running playlist sorted.

jetting it

when the summer sucks as much as it does in this country, the only rational thing to do is to go to another one half a planet away, where it's the middle of winter. Australian winter that is. So after long months of never taking time off from work, the day is finally here. I'm leaving for three weeks, traveling in the Northen Territories and Western Australia, and ohboyicantwaititsgonnabeamazing.
Considering my very infrequent posting habits when I'm in Central London, I don't expect to do too much of it while traipsing around in the Bush. But I will be taking a ton of pictures, so that first post back should be a doozy.
So, off I go then. First up: the pool at Changi Airport in Singapore.

August, you say?

throwaway

among the many human innovations of the 20th century, television advertising is certainly one that deserves its fair share of criticism. So many billions spent every year to make people buy more stuff (they don't really need), in a cycle that keeps getting more pervasive year after year. In that game, Nike has always been at the forefront of savviness, using the medium to its full capabilities to extend its brand from a little-known athletics apparel and shoe maker in Oregon to a behemoth of world renown.
The thing with advertising is, when it's well done, it's very hard to not be affected. Especially for a company like Nike that knows how to play on the basic human emotions that are exposed to the core during sporting endeavors. Their latest campaign, simply titled "Courage", uses images of athletic feats spliced together with seemingly unrelated images to create a spine-tingling montage. The overall effect recalls what Foo Fighters did in their "Best of You" video (including an insanely badass scene of a she-lion attacking a condor in mid-air). Because the direction behind the images is clear without being overbearing, it is hard not to feel thrilled, even when your cynical side knows the whole thing is just designed to shill for shoes made by underpaid workers in god-awful conditions. Thankfully most advertising sucks a lot, so it's not very hard to feel turned-off, but ads like this one make it harder to disengage. At least until you've see it 27 times in a week.

free will

having completed my second shirtless run in a row today, I am now officially declaring open the summer season. It will probably last just two more days, but that would still be one more than last year, so who's complaining. Although since I was the only topless runner (I think I just increased my google searches by 479%) in sight, you wouldn't have known it. Walk past any English pub at 4pm on a Saturday and you're likely to find a few guys with their shirts off, pasty complexion and all, but apparently this doesn't apply to a situation where it's actually convenient to do so. Their loss, because there's definitely something liberating about the outfit. Although if you're gonna go for it, try to avoid a day when you're gonna stumble and fall across the gravel path.

stats
distance: 6.82m
time: 51'01"
pace: 7'28"
cal: 921

old fashioned

charm·ing / ˈchärming/ • adj. pleasant or attractive. ∎ (of a person or manner) polite, friendly, and likable
(Oxford Pocket Dictionary of Current English, 2008)


And to the guy running behind me who didn't stop or even ask in passing to check if I was ok after I took a big fall on the gravel path in Green Park, thanks buddy, really. Glad to know your training for Beijing didn't get derailed by any pesky mishaps.


Stats
distance: 6.77m
time: 49'26"
pace: 7'16"/m
cal: 915

laissez-faire

with a good friend and running buddy from work (now relocated to a different office) in town for the week, we decided to see if the old magic was still there. While I've improved vastly since this friend has moved away and I've started running mostly on my own, there is a very enjoyable part to jogging with someone. At least it was enjoyable to me, considering we went considerably slower than my usual post-work pace, but my friend soon had trouble keeping up with even small talk, and got to panting like he was running an extreme marathon. I could've sped up and waited for him at the finish line, as he kept insisting I do, but I decided to stick to the Army rangers motto, "leave no man behind", and tagged along for the easygoing ride. Sometimes the best way to get rid of the day's stress isn't to go full throttle, but rather to slooow it way down.

Stats
distance: 4.08m
time: 31'45"
pace: 7'46"/m
cal: 551

weezy

since I'm going to suffer from these stupid summer allergies, it sure would be nice to have some semblance of summer weather, too. And no, 19° sunny afternoons do not count, although to hear my British coworkers when we stepped out to get some lunch, it was like we were in Ibiza. Although you never know when they're joking about these things, considering how good they're at the deadpan humor. Something tells me they weren't in this case though.
Today's run was definitely the yang to yesterday's yin. Immense motivation, but 0 legs and not a lot of breath, which made for a slightly uncomfortable outing. In a way it's good because it's a reminder that running isn't about ease or comfort, but about perseverance (and good old-fashioned work ethic). Also I've now started tracking my pace when I run, instead of time/distance, and it does seem to make a big difference in regularity. Anyway I'll probably take tomorrow off, see how my legs react next time I go.

distance: 4.41m
time: 33'17"
pace: 7'32"
cal: 596

1 2 3 4

after my third run on Thursday, it looked like it would be easy sailing to complete a fourth one before the week was done. With 3 days to do so, the question wasn't if but when. At least that's how it should be in theory, but every since I took up the goal to run 3-4 times a week, I've hit a mental block anytime I've reached 3, no matter how soon. It seems there's always other things to do, people to see, places to go, before you can force yourself to go out there and achieve the elusive fourth run. While doing 3 in a week isn't bad in itself, there's always some resentment when you get to Sunday night and you feel you could have done (one) more.
Today I finally managed to motivate myself to go at 7:30 tonight, initially for a relaxed 4miler, but then ended up doing 6.7. One reason is that the weather was very nice, if a bit drafty, and with The Mall being closed to traffic the conditions were too perfect for me to shorten my run. Pace was pretty average at 7'56"/m, but I want to go out tomorrow, and possibly Tuesday, so I was trying not to do too much. Today was basically a reminder that it's always good to go for a run, as long as you feel well physically, and the only issues preventing you to do so are mental.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to enjoy a delicious dinner of baby carrots and ice cream.

Updated running playlist:
1. Jordin Sparks - No Air (duet w/ Chris Brown)
2. Wil.I.Am - B Boyz
3. Madonna - 4 Minutes (feat. Justin Timberlake)
4. Cute Is What We Aim For - Do What You Do
5. Coldplay - Viva La Vida
6. Eluvium - An Accidental Memory
7. Eluvium - An Accidental Memory In the Case of Death
8. Sigur Ros - Festival
9. Sigur Ros - Ara Batur
10. Sigur Ros - Fljotavik

can't stop won't stop

after yesterday's longer-than-usual run, I wanted to go out today to see how well I would do, and to make sure I got my minimum 3 runs in this week. Having a minimum number of weekly runs is one of the toughest things to achieve, once you factor in work, social life (oh, who am I kidding) and the occasional weekend trip. A couple of things I do to make sure I get to 3 every week is to start early (run on Mondays), and do at least 2 back-to-back. For some reason I often feel compelled to do the successive runs after one of my longer runs, just like today.
Because I wasn't looking to achieve a fast pace, I decided to try a slightly different route, doing 7.4k through Green Park and St James' Park, basically a shortened 3 Parks run with a twist. The weather was slightly end-of-worldish when I left the gym:

Yet in typical London style, the clouds just hovered in a menacing fashion without ever breaking open into streams of rain. In fact, after 35 mins, there was a dash of sunlight to be admired over the horizon. It never got warm, but that doesn't mean I didn't sweat my usual half-gallon:

(so that's where those 621 calories went)

Even though my pace was fairly average, if not mediocre, the satisfaction of putting in that all-important third run, while still enjoying the different route, more than made up for it. Repetition might breed familiarity, and increased performances over time, but change can be a much more powerful incentive when used sparingly.

where do you see yourself in 2 hours?

With my first ever race (6th grade cross country 3k notwithstanding) still three months away, I've started talking to coworkers about what kind of goals they have and what the best training tips are. And so it seems I've already got 2 preliminary issues:
1. My ideal time (1h30) seems way over-ambitious
2. I'm not going to be able to train much, if at all, from Aug 15 to the end of September

The time issue:
Since I don't have any reference points, not having ever run a race, or even such a distance, before, I'd previously guesstimated what my time could be based on my performance during my usual runs. The typical Hyde Park loop I do is about 6.8k, and I generally finish under 30 mins. 3 times 6.8k is about one half-marathon, so 1h30 should be feasible, yeah? Sounds foolish, but that's pretty much the reasoning I had before I actually gave some thought to it. First of all I've never timed myself for longer runs, so who knows what my pace would be beyond those first 7k. Second I always cross the street when the sign is green, so if it isn't that means I can take a mini-break (happens 1-3 times during a typical outing). And though such pauses don't amount to a lot of time, they give me time to recover, while my timer is paused. In race conditions, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to do too many of these if I wanted to do well.

The training issue:
Based on the feedback I've gotten from experienced runners at work, and multiple readings online, it seems most sensible training plans call for a gradual increase of distances over the 2-3 months prior to the race, to the tune of 10% per week or so. This is supposed to give the body some time to get used to the higher mileage, and avoid stress injuries so common in runners. With my race in mid-October, this means I should be doing regular but short runs right now (aka my usual Hyde Park loop), then increase it progressively in August and September, by which point I'd get to weekly 20k training runs. Only issue is I'll be away for 3 weeks from August 15, driving through Western Australia where I can pretty much bet a can of Pringles I won't be able to run at all. I'll be traveling in a van with my brother and cousin, and don't really foresee myself going off for even 20 minutes of jogging in the middle of the bush. An occasional run on the beach why not, but with a trip as awesome as this one, even that might be missing the point. And then I'll get back just in time for the busiest month of the year at work, with extended hours, pizza nights and weekend sessions sure to be part of the festivities.
So yeah, but the time Oct 1 rolls around, I'll probably be looking forward more to a few good nights' sleep than a return to pavement pounding.

Still, while these two aspects might pose a serious challenge to any record-breaking mindset, I should still aim for something that will motivate me to go running over the next few months, and beyond. 1h30 might sound like a perfect round number, as far as targets go, but in this case, I think I'll shoot for 1h37. Close to my initial goal, yet far enough to keep training, and improving, as I build on my pseudo-running habits of the past year. Which also means one thing: more donuts.

2008 mid-year top 10 albums

1. Bon Iver - For Emma, Forever Ago

2. Vampire Weekend - S/T

3. Sigur Ros - Me Su I Eyrum Vi Spilum Endalaust

4. Sun Kil Moon - April

5. Lil Wayne - Tha Carter III

6. Cute Is What We Aim For - Rotation

7. Fuck Buttons - Street Horrsing

8. Drive By Truckers - Brighter Than Creation's Dark

9. M83 - Saturdays=Youth

10. Hammock - Maybe They Will Sing For Us

OK GO

Having amped up my running schedule lately (I would say it’s to enjoy the great summer weather, but irony is soooo 1995), I’ve been wondering what makes a runner. More specifically, when do you call yourself a runner and why? Ple1der wrote an excellent post on the subject, where he states that it's not about the look, it's all about the attitude. Meaning if you push yourself when you're tired, or wake up at ungodly hours to get a run in before work, that makes you a runner. While parts of his argument sound a tad elitist, the fundamental reasoning that a runner is defined by perseverance and resilience, i.e. inner qualities, is one I whole-heartedly agree with. And overall one I tend to practice, or at least try to. Just last Monday I spent 20 minutes of my run (the classic lap around Hyde Park) under a battering rain, with visibility close to zero. And I loved every second of it. In fact I might prefer running under the rain than in sunny conditions, because it clears the roads and gives an extra incentive to go faster. At least I do for 2-3 months a year, as doing this in mid-Feb is a bit more gruesome.

Despite this at no point have I considered or called myself a runner. To me runners are the people who do highly-detailed training sessions (sprint for 400m, then slower for 2k, then fast again for 800m, etc...) and do things like wake up at 8am to go run 12 miles. What I like about running is that it's a very simple act, that generally feels like the most natural thing in the world. My running method is based on 1 rule: if I feel good I go faster, if I don't I go slower. I always try to go as fast as I can, but if I can't so be it. Also, since I did a lot of competitive-level sports in school, ever since I have been looking to sports mostly for pleasure and performance, not really to put a quantifiable result on my level. Which might explain why the upcoming Royal Parks half-marathon in October will be the first time I participate in a race in about 15 years. And even then, I mostly joined because a lot of people at work are doing it and it should be a fun and sociable event.

However I have recently bought the new Nike watch-usb thingy, which connects to your computer to upload your stats after you run, and I L O V E it. I have to admit that getting an immediate feedback on your performance during and after your run is pretty amazing. Not just the timer, because any fake Casio bought in Chinatown could've done the trick for that, but having the pace, calories, and especially the great Nike+ website where you see your updated stats as soon as you plug it it: instant gratification/disappointment. I do understand the point of competing against yourself more now and the thrill to see you've just beat a PR (that's runner-speak for personal record. See, I'm even talking like one now). I still enjoy the sport more as an aid toward a healthier lifestyle than as a primary hobby, but if I can inject a relative level of competition into it, why not. After all a lot of my best memories from childhood are linked to sports, and though my dreams of being an Olympic champion might be far behind, a little competing here and there can't hurt.

So while I might still have a pretty narrow definition of what a runner is and not consider myself one, I think it's interesting to see how this definition might be incredibly different from person to person, just like I encounter dozens of people of different age, fitness level and running style during my jaunts through the parks. It's what makes running the ultimate democratic sport, and shows that it will never go out of fashion.

Oh, and I almost forgot the important part: thanks to running I can get that "occasional" raspberry-cream glazed donut from the Krispy Kreme stand at Tesco, without a single degree of guilt. If that's not something worth sacrificing for, I don't know what is.

stay easy

after a tough but satisfying post-work run around Hyde Park, I turned my attention to the thumping sounds emanating from across the field. I'd noticed a week ago that they'd set up the usual fence for the annual 02 music fest, but wasn't sure when the actual gigs were. Walking around to chill out my muscles (I hate stretching like a fat kid hates broccoli), I realized the current concert was by none other than rap megastar Jay-Z, and that the open-air park setting pretty much meant I could enjoy the show as though I was part of the audience. Due to the usual boring reasons (read: work-related), I haven't been able to go to any shows since May, and having the opportunity to listen to one of my all-time favorite rappers was a definite and unexpected treat.
I plopped down on the grass for 10-15 minutes and was delighted to hear some of my favorite tracks, including 99 Problemz, a freestyle over the "Back to Black" instrumental, and a fantabulous rap over Lil' Wayne's "A Milli", renamed "A Billi" for the occasion (that Jiggaman, always with the one-ups).
The setting sun, fresh grass, post-run adrenaline and a pleasing soundtrack. Yeah, I think I kinda like it here.

Coldplay - Viva la whatever

Describing a new band's record as "just on the safe side of edgy" might sound more like a backhanded compliment than an actual endorsement, but when it comes to heirs to the U2-throne Coldplay, such a statement is actually a good one. Having achieved things in terms of commercial and critical success that 99% of their counterparts will never get close to, Coldplay could have played it either way: a decidedly pop-sounding effort, completely geared toward total radio domination, or a weird artsy release, in a bid to reclaim their future-Radiohead title of yore. Of course, either would not have been truthful to the ethos that has guided this band since their beginnings, which has seen them compose some of the most memorable pop songs (Yellow, The Scientist) of the past decade, while staying away from the saccharine excesses displayed in most radio hits. Coldplay have always been about honesty, but also about keeping it (somewhat) real.
Ever since word got out that their new album would be released this summer, anticipation has been sky-high, contrasting with the relatively low-key profile the band had managed to keep these past few years. At least as low-key as you can get when your singer is married to a Hollywood star. When details about the album started leaking out, most notably that U2 producer and ambient master Brian Eno would be producing their opus, even some of the more jaded members of the MP3 blogosphere took notice. Already the album is the most pre-ordered album in the history of the iTunes music store. And sales are sure to be astronomical when compared to the sad state of music sales in 2008 (down 10% this year according to an industry institute. Those damn kids and their Myspace!).

So what gives? Is the album a tepid retread of past success, kind of like many songs on previous effort X&Y were pretty much copy/paste versions of previous hit? Or is this the sound of a band going for fresh ideas, embarking on a groundbreaking journey where only few survive? The answer, as is hinted above, is a bit of both. While Eno's influence is unmistakable and very appreciable on some of the album's forays into sprawling epic (Death And All His Friends, with its quasi-electronic piano loops and ambient-y ending; Viva La Vida and its urgent pace that refuses to go up-down-up-down like all well-behaved pop songs should), there are a few duds that betray the band's still evolving musical bagage, where one gets the idea the guys still have some automatisms from their past they've got trouble shaking off (Violet Hill, Cemetaries Of London). Though not bad, these songs commit the ultimate sin of being kind of boring and not memorable. Yet there is enough material here for repeat listens of some of the highlights (DAAIF, Life In Technicolor, Viva La Vida) which are able to sound as though they would be as well-suited for an arena concert or a road trip to the coast on a warm September day.
With so much new music now available at one's fingertips, it is hard to pay attention to any album that sounds less than stellar over the first few listens. But music is not just an intellectual pursuit, it is also very much a common human experience, one that is shared with friends, family, coworkers and strangers. Coldplay seems to understand this, striving to compose songs that are sound different yet are immediately relateable. Time will tell whether their output will manage to stand the test of the years, but they at least deserve credit for not selling themselves or their audience short.

Official Myspace

a new world

The separation between the sexes in Saudi Arabia is so extreme that it is difficult to overstate. Saudi women may not drive, and they must wear black abayas and head coverings in public at all times. They are spirited around the city in cars with tinted windows, attend girls-only schools and university departments, and eat in special “family” sections of cafes and restaurants, which are carefully partitioned from the sections used by single male diners.

While this sort of statement is a familiar occurence in most media reports about Muslim countries, the current series in the New York Times, Generation Faithful, manages to explore the subjects facing the average youth in hyper-traditional Muslim countries with a relative level of subtetly. Examining things from the male point of view in one article, then spending time with their female counterparts in another, one gets a remarkable feeling of immersion in the environment of these young men and women. Though many anecdotes will boggle the mind of most Western readers, they are presented as facts, in order to give a sense of how conservative these young people's social environment is. While it's hard to believe how such conservatism manages to hold on, even when so little of it makes sense, at least the article let the reader make up their own minds about it, and eschews the proselytizing so common in these stories.

While the systemic violence against women is, appallingly, worse than most people might imagine, one does get a measured sense of hope through the fact that at least these youngsters seem more exposed to the outside world than previous generations. Here and there small but significant proofs of desire and expectations show up, as underlying signs of how universal much of what they are going through is. While that will not compensate the darker sides of these countries' social conservatism, it does give a face to these issues. And in the process, invites the reader to reflect on these problems not just in those countries, but in theirs as well.

lift your head

what, me worry?

Used to be, I figured my student-era trips through the Parc Monceau on my way to class were as good as commuting got, for now and ever. But I have to admit, a blissfully calm walk back from the office through Hyde Park, listening to Miles Davis work his magic on Concerto De Aranjez, might just take the proverbial cake. Goodbye stress, I hardly knew ye.

Osmosis Jonesin'

- brain: "hey, let's go for a run"
- heart: "um, not sure that's the greatest idea"
- feet: "yeah dude, that's the fourth day in a row. We're getting kinda sore down here"
- legs: "Are you kidding me? We're not 19 anymore, you dumbass"
- brain: "screw you guys, I'm in charge here"

45 mins later

- heart, feet, legs: "TOLD YOU SO!!!!!"
- brain: "...."

northern lights

10 reasons why Shout Out Louds are possibly the coolest band in the world:

1. they're Swedish
2. consistently play at London's hippest venues. Last year it was the Institute of Contemporary Art, and this past week they were at Bush Hall (where the overall vibe is prom night at Nijni Novgorod dance hall)
3. had several songs featured on the indie-tastic soundtrack of The OC
4. take on the synth-driven pop sound made famous by the Cure and manage to make it sound as fresh and modern as ever
5. sole-female bandmember Bebban Stenborg plays all sorts of instruments, from the accordion to the glockenspiel
6. 5 bandmates, 5 different hairdos
7. have a track on their new record called Meat Is Murder (even if it isn't a cover of the Smiths song)
8. always seem happy to be up on-stage, even after doing so much of it.
9. sell band logo-emblazoned tote bags for their eco-conscious fans to carry their groceries from Tesco
10. only make the audience wait for a couple of minutes before going back onstage for their encore

walk of life

it was an unseasonably warm spring day, the year 1996. I walked from my house, 5, maybe 10 minutes, over to the main road where the usual parade of cars was stopped for once, instead replaced by groups of friends, family, strangers, milling about in anticipation for a moment that, even for a small town like this one, does not come too often. By no means could this be considered a crowd or a throng, but still, seeing so many people out and about on this usually unremarkable piece of suburbia gave the whole thing a certain antiquated charm. This was the sort of scene you see in those Rockefeller paintings, or in the Dreyer's ice cream commercials.
After about half an hour of leisurely waiting, the first sign came upon us: the TV news choppers, not a frequent sight in this tranquil village, were buzzing not too far, and with them we started to hear a joyful cheer. Kids stopped playing along the sea docks, and strained their eyes up the road. By now the sides of the road were much more full, just like on the 4th of July parade with the fire trucks and parade of vintage cars. As the cheer got closer, the excitement spread, and enthusiastic shouts of "I See it!" could be heard. Only a few minutes more and there it was: the Olympic torch, on its way to Atlanta. Not at all imposing, but beautifully symbolic all the same. And just a few moments later, it was gone from our view, though the general good mood lasted long after. Just one moment in one small town, but hopefully there were many others like it that year, and for many more to come.

shortcuts - 06/04/08

listening: The Most Serene Republic. The Arts & Craft family (of BSS fame) strikes again

watching: That 70s Show, not the greatest comedy by any means, but it's always good for a laugh

buying: Uniqlo shoe-cut jeans

eating: plums, clementines - it's all about the fruits

reading: trying, and mostly failing, to read the Economist every week

the count is 0-0

on average there aren't that many good Mondays in a year, but today is one of those rare glorious ones. Indeed baseball's opening day is upon us, and with it the return of all that is good for us fans. Johan Santana's starting on the mound for my beloved Mets, and that's pretty much all that's gonna matter for the next few hours.

OK, let me run through the official Opening Day Success Check List:

Beer? Check.

KFC? Check (fast food on a Monday night, the recipe for success).

Blackberry off? Check.

Good times? Most definitely, check

parting shots

after spending 5 years in Paris as the bureau chief for the New York Times, Elaine Sciolino is about to move to a new post and last week filed her leaving piece, called A Guide to the French, about things she learned in the City of Lights. Even though she seems appreciative of her time there, the article doesn't exude too much warmth warm, toward the country or its inhabitants. From harping on France's obsession with history, to underscoring French women's evergreen sexiness, the list reads more like a jumble of slightly amusing observations than a true attempt at describing what makes the French so, well, French.
Where New Yorker correspondent Adam Gopnik had managed to make light of the tons of small annoyances one encounters when living in France in such a breezy and enjoyable way in his book Paris To The Moon, Mrs Sciolino sounds mostly like an outsider who never really figured out how to adapt to the charms and frustrations of this old country. It's far from bad, and she actually nails some of the details about life in France that generally take some time to understand (for instance the air-kiss thing, one of the big mysteries to Americans when they move to France), but there is unfortunately no sense that she understood the country beyond those details. Not to say it's an easy thing, in fact it's not one I'd necessarily try to describe myself even after spending nearly 10 years there, but if you're going to try, moving beyond the cliches might be a good start. Stating that no one says "bon appetit" before a meal make me wonder what type of French people she encountered during her stay. Methinks a lot of Varenne-St Germain-Montorgueil types and perhaps not too many of the 99.5% of those she's trying to describe. I might be incredibly dismissive here, but that's the feeling I got from reading her article.
In the end the reader's response to this piece will depend on their initial opinion of the French. Which means that publishing it will have had no positive impact whatsoever. And that, unfortunately, is fast becoming the norm when it comes to the traditional news media's cultural relevance.

random Monday nights are the best

gee, I wonder if they mean that in a good way

Vampire Weekend - Vampire Weekend

so, Vampire Weekend. What to say that hasn't been said 36 789 times in the past few weeks on music blogs around the world? Actually, it's pretty simple: this is fantastic music. Beyond the "new Strokes" labels being banded about, at the heart of their debut album is a desire to give it their all, to meld their influences (afro-beat and indie rock with a varnish of Ivy League preppiness) in a way that is neither overbearing nor self-indulgent, and to basically make music that is fun to listen to, yet rewarding after continuous listens. A lot of what's on this record has been heard in various forms before (Paul Simon's Graceland, Talk Talk), but the freshness and sheer exhbuberance of the songs makes worrying about the orginality of this work a moot point. What's most satisfying is that the songs on here bounce around, yet never have that sticky-candy attribute that many pop songs seem to acquire so fast.

In a year where winter has never really happened, it seems fitting that January would see the release of a great summer album. There are songs to drive to Hyannisport to, to reminisce about your college days and to wish for the weekend to last forever. And if the summer never really comes around (see: last year), what better way to tide us over to the next one than this pretty little gem of a album?

striking gold

dragging his body across the screen after falling into the oilpit he was digging Daniel Day Lewis has already done more in the first few minutes into the haunting There Will Be Blood to present a character than other actors will ever accomplish in their entire careers (made even more impressive by the fact he really fell and kept acting even though he had broken his ankle). And that's without uttering a single word. What follows is 2 1/2 hours of pure acting bravado, on a level that reminds us why we bother going to the movies in the first place. DDL is Daniel Plainview, a scheming, opportunistic, hard-working, evil and undeniably charismatic oilman building his fortune in early 20th Century California. Through his story emerges a portrait of American capitalism itself, in its relation to others, to nature, to religion.

What makes the movie so palpably exciting is the way director PT Anderson captures this energy with other tremendous actors (most notably Paul Dano as the flawed small-town pastor, and Dillon Frasier -in his film debut!- as Plainview's young son) to craft an enthralling tale of greed, dedication and family bonds. There is a lot of the great Stanley Kubrick in the restrained way in which the movie unfolds, and I'm not talking about Eyes Wide Shut-Kubrick. But at its heart, this movie is about what is, simply put, one of the great performances of all time. It might take a few years for Mr Day Lewis to make a new movie, as he has never been one to rush into projects, but when you create something this extraordinary, you're allowed all the time in the world. And one Oscar too, it goes without saying.

shortcuts - 17/02/08

listening: Vampire Weekend. Is it summer yet?

watching: The Bothersome Man, easily the best Norwegian black comedy I've ever seen

buying: vinyl rhymes with joyful

eating: gratin dauphinois, the perfect comfort food for these cold February nights

reading: Bill Bryson - I'm A Stranger Here Myself. Aren't we all Bill, aren't we all?

who goes out on Friday nights anymore?

When you've got back pains, a mosh pit is probably not the smartest place to hang out. Matter of fact, if you've got a backache, you're possibly too old to even be loitering there. But shortness of breath and achy spine aside, yesterday's Queens of the Stone Age show at the Hammersmith Appolo was a great reminder of how brilliant this band is on stage. They might sound a tad less "heavy" since bassist Nick Oliveri was fired from the band, but they still RAWK, no doubt about it, especially with Joey "the Hulk" Castillo manning the drum kit.

With that said, having today off from work was a most welcome respite from the corporate grind. As far as I'm concerned rock n roll might not be dead, but it does need a day to recover.