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.

chug chug chug

so travel/hustle-blog gridskipper asked Brooklyn wunderkind Zach Condon from Beirut and his buddies from mp3 blog La Blogotheque to come up with a list of the best watering hole for indie types in Paris, which resulted in this interesting post. The thing is, all of the spots they came up with are located in the northeast corner of town. Which makes total sense considering it contains the hipper-than ever 11e, 19e and 20e, which is where I'm guessing most of those compadres live. To be fair, it is also what I would consider to be the epicenter of indie Paris these days, what with the great concert venues (le Nouveau Casino, la Maroquinerie), record shops (Ground Zero) and afore-mentioned bars. But since the list is supposed to be about the entire city, it would have been nice to branch out beyond the Bastille-Republique-Belleville triangle. For instance the rue Mouffetard area has a few interesting bars, including the decidedly-indie Shebeen. And not too far from that there are a few cool bars near St Michel with the kind of music and atmosphere that would not seem out of place in the backstreets of the 11e.

But hey, at least the list doesn't have le Truskel, le Pop-In or le Point Ephemere (who are like the Bloc Party of the Paris indie bar scene) on it, you gotta give credit for that. And really, if La Blogotheque really wants to keep things edgy and cool, they should try to come up with a list of taverns in the barren landscapes of the 14e-15e, now that would be an interesting read.

too close

although most of the media coverage on the death of Heath Ledger today has been yet another debilitating example of the sensationalization of news, I found Belinda Luscombe's article for Time magazine to be an interesting and nuanced homage to an immensely talented man. It evokes some of his personal issues while still staying away from the wild speculation seen today, which has become norm in today's gossip-led mainstream media. To be sure, plenty of other important things happened in the world today, but since this is a subject people are going to talk about, at least this piece gets the tone right. I didn't check my coworker's copy of the Sun, but I have a hunch their commentary was slightly less subtle.

southward-bound

planning a trip to Australia, as easy as

1

2

3

Okay, not quite, but it definitely is a great excuse to enjoy a delicious nutella crepe from Crepe Affaire. Although nowhere near as delicious as the ones made by the French guy at Exmouth Market (and certainly not in the same universe of deliciousness as the ones made by my mom). Something tells me a lot more trip planning sessions are going to be necessary before this thing gets off the ground...

"only in London" is the new "only in America"

today at work, while crossing paths with a coworker:

me (sorta-French guy, American accent): "hi mate"
him (British-educated Sri-Lankan): "what's up dude"

hip hip

Well it was bound to happen eventually: I've started up the (meager) vinyl collection again. Now I need to figure out how to get my stuff that's in Paris. And possibly get a turntable too, so I can, you know, listen to the records and stuff.

perfectly acceptable existential questioning

if I get asked "do you have a Boots card?" enough times, will I just break down and get one?

majestic

Sad news from New Zealand this morning, with the passing of Sir Edmund Hillary, one of the first two men (with sherpa Tenzing Nagay) to successfully climb Mount Everest. From all accounts he was a simple man who happened to do something extraordinary, and it is to his credit that he apparently never let that go to his head. A kiwi coworker was telling me today how revered he is over there, and a great source of pride for a country which, besides its tremendous rugby team, does not have a very visible international profile. His lifelong friendship with Nagay, modesty about his exploits, as well as his continued work for the communities living around the Nepalese Himalayas (helping build schools and other badly needed infrastructure through the Himalayan Trust), speak to the quality of a man who led a great and fulfilling life. The fact that he will be getting a State funeral seems highly fitting.

We live in a celebrity-obsessed culture, where most people seem more interested in Britney’s latest meltdown than in what’s going on in Pakistan, and in which so many celebrities are famous because they are famous, with nary an apparent skill to account for it besides being media-savvy. In this world a person like Sir Edmund Hillary is a definite throwback. Not to go all Ayn Rand (yeech), but hopefully stories like his can remind people of how greatness can be simple. The point is not to worship people, but to celebrate their actions, especially when they are so eloquent. Actions speak louder than words goes the saying, and no one was a better example of that than Sir Hillary.

NY Times article
The Guardian obituary

The Times Obituary

TIME profile on Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay