IX: Phenomena

Phenomenon (n.): An occurrence, circumstance, or fact that is perceptible by the senses.

Phenomenology (n.): A philosophy or method of inquiry based on the premise that reality consists of objects and events as they are perceived or understood in human consciousness and not of anything independent of human consciousness.

The more I get to know this city, the more fascinated I am by the endless possibilities of cultural research. Nerdy? Yes. But duhh, I'm here for school and the hunt for potential dissertation topics is always at the forefront of my daily routine. For a subject as broad as visual culture, it's really difficult to filter through the infinite jumble of symbols that constantly affect us at all levels - even down to the subconscious and doxic. In case you didn't know, "doxa" is the official word to describe the stuff you know without knowing you know it. But really, that's just me showing off my newly acquired vocabulary.

So basically, as long as I'm awake, I'm always trying to consciously develop a heightened sense of observation for all things that can be considered cultural phenomena - because you'll never know when that light bulb will go off.

Ever wonder what makes something attention-grabbing? What is it about anything that makes it interesting to the human individual? And what exactly happens to us physiologically or psychologically when we show "interest"? Why do we like the things we like? Are we shaped by our culture or does our culture shape us?

Okay, I really don't mean to get all academic on you because I know conversations like these are only interesting to some people. So instead, I'll take a more personal route.

I like signs.

Here's one that I saw while walking through the pedestrian subway en route to the London Science Museum:


I saw this one in a sketchy part of Soho that was filled with a distinct combination of restaurants, sex shoppes and strip clubs:

(Ironic, isn't it James?)

And this one, I saw inside of a cafe called "Bite Me" in Westminster, where a few friends and I had lunch between classes yesterday:


Each one of these signs serves a specific and different purpose. The first one was part of an advertisement. The second was a typical London street sign. And the third was a decorative painting. Regardless of what they were for, I liked them all... for one reason or another. But obviously, me liking them says very specific things about who I am. And the fact that they exist says something very specific about Western culture. Do you see where I'm going with this?

Don't worry. I'm not about to get into a theoretical analysis of signs... I'm saving that for my research papers. Take this as more of a "kill two birds with one stone" entry- an update of what I've been up to AND a crude form of data collection.

Okay so moving on...

Yesterday, during my Theoretical and Critical Perspectives class, I noticed that we had a new classmate. HE (who increases the man count to a whopping TWO) has long hair and a scruffy beard, dresses like an artist, wears white converse, is a photographer by trade and is an international student from Serbia. He was cute... and by the looks of him, you'd never guess he was Serbian. Ahhh, stereotypes...

At one point during class, we were split into groups of 3-4 students, where we had to come up with and agree to a single definition of "art." Turns out, different people have different definitions, and so this little task wasn't as easy as it sounds. Long story short, the Serbian and I were in the same group and ended up getting into a heated debate about what art is. The only reason it got heated in the first place was because he flat-out said "no, you're wrong" after I gave my opinion. Pompous... I know!

Our other two group mates weren't contributing to the conversation at all and they spent the 15-or so minutes smiling and nodding. Come to think of it, maybe our little argument made them uncomfortable. It took forever, but we eventually came to an agreement on our definition, but I think I may have given up a point just to stop the arguing.

Anyway, after initially getting on my nerves because of his pretentious narrow-mindedness, the Serbian decides to drop a bomb on me (no pun intended) during our "tea break." I was outside, cigarette in mouth, searching for a lighter inside my purse... when out of nowhere, he comes up and lights it for me. (The oldest trick in the book.) Then he proceeds to say, "thanks for the debate... you're interesting... do you want to have coffee with me after class? Or maybe dinner later?"

WOAH... didn't see that one coming. (Un)fortunately, I already had lunch plans with a couple of my other classmates. AND, I still had an afternoon class to go to. I'm still not sure if that was good or bad. (Note to self: way to a girl's (or my) heart??... insult her intelligence and then, without letting TOO much time pass by, call her "interesting.")

Why is this story pertinent? Well there's a lot of cultural phenomena hard at work here: my initial judgment of attractiveness based on fashion and style, his use of the cigarette as a social tool, the connotation of having dinner and my entire reaction to how he got my attention. In terms of whether or not I'd consider dating him... I can't tell yet.

Well... I know that last bit was missing some visuals, but it would've probably been slightly awkward if I had taken out my camera in mid-argument to get pictures of him for my blog.

But I DO have some more pictures from today's adventures.

My friend Allison and I went to Waterloo to check out an art exhibit at BFI (British Film Institute) Gallery. On the way, we saw this:

London loves reading. There are independent bookstores everywhere. And book-fairs on the street are common.

We also discovered a section right off Jubilee Gardens designated for skaters and graffiti art. Talk about fostering culture and creativity:



And then, by far one of the coolest bits of high-culture I've experienced in my life... "The All-Seeing Eye (hardcore techno version)" by artist Pierre Bismuth and filmmaker Michel Gondry:



This film installation is an art-sequel to the movie Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind. It places you in the movie by setting up an experience where you feel what it's like to have pieces of your memory taken away little by little. You sit in this dark room, where a projector moves across the walls - and each time it make a rotation, a part of the picture is gone or different. All the while, the accompanying soundtrack is made up of clips from the movie where they talk about "getting rid of items that remind you of her." It was a really amazing piece of work.

So that's it for now. I guess I'll leave you with one last piece of interactive cultural phenomena, spurred by the relatively new field of "net art". It's jello-time! Have fun!

p.s. I'm going to Holland and Belgium for the weekend. Let the fun continue...

VIII: Hard to Explain

I missed the last bus, I'll take the next train.
I try but you see, it's hard to explain.
I say the right things, but act the wrong way.
I like it right here, but I cannot stay.
I watch the TV, forget what I'm told.
Well, I am too young and they are too old.
The joke is on you, this place is a zoo.
You're right it's true...

I went to the doctor today. Don't worry, it's nothing serious. Last weekend, I went in to the Tollgate Lodge Primary Care Center to register for NHS (National Health Service) and after the nurse spent about 20 minutes interviewing me about my medical history, she told me to make another appointment for a proper asthma examination.

Like every other asthma-related doctor's appointment I've ever had (and I've been going to these since I was about 13), I had to go through the whole routine... "take a deep breath and blow as hard as you can into this peak flow meter so we can measure your lung strength and air capacity." Over the years, I've seen this meter evolve from an archaic piece of medical equipment into a 'highly-sophisticated' digitized version.



So it was safe to say that I expected the nurse to open her drawer and pull one of these babies out. After all, this is London, not some third world country. But instead, she came back to me with a laughably pitiful model - the kind that comes with a disposable cardboard mouthpiece (which looks like a mini-toilet-paper roll) and where you have to manually reset it by pushing the pointer down with your fingertip. It looked like something you'd find in a children's toy medical kit. Remember those? We all had them, the black Fisher-Price doctor's bag that includes a stethoscope with big red plastic tips on the earpieces. All that was missing from this thing was its lack of McDonald's colors.

She also had a giant ziploc bag full of different sized TP rolls... which she subsequently slipped her ungloved, maybe even unwashed, hand into to grab one for me. BTW... if you haven't put two and two together, this is the part that I have to put my mouth on. Thank God I didn't ask her for a flu shot.

So what if I'm spoiled and used to the luxuries of sanitized medical paraphernalia? I guess this is just an example of "the price we pay" for having nationalized health care. And in case you're wondering... here's the prognosis: I still have a mild case of asthma.

Anyway, that's my little anecdote for the day... though I'm not quite sure why I've required myself to have one. Oh who cares. I promise this won't go on too long because the only thing I really wanted to do with this post is to list some of my favorite British idiosyncracies. In other words, I'm copying Kim. Perhaps this is my chance to lay down all the little things about London life that I can't necessarily explain in my usual colorful way. So here goes (in no particular order of importance):

1.) When grocery shopping, you have to bag them all yourself. Sad, but true.
2.) Fries are chips, chips are crisps, cookies are biscuits, cream cheese is soft cheese (or simply Philadelphia), jello is jelly. Also, "Lay's" brand crisps are "Walker's" here - except the graphics on the bag are exactly the same... down to the typography.
3.) They have tea time, not coffee breaks.
4.) Cigarettes are fags (though most people already know that).
5.) Products that exist in the US are given a different brand identity. Example: I finally found Vitamin Water, but the usual citrus-flavored "Energy" that I like is called "Spark" here.
6.) Soda is significantly flatter and blander here than it is in the US.
7.) When ordering fish and chips at a restaurant, it commonly comes with peas.
8.) There is a borderline irrational, national obsession with chips... they even come with breakfast.
9.) "All right?" is code for "Hello" or "How are you?"
10.) Even girls call girls "love."
11.) "yeah?" follows nearly every question in casual conversation. Example: "See you tonight, yeh?"
12.) People here drink lots and lots of alcoholic cider and Foster's beer.
13.) Every true Londoner owns at least one pair of boots, one peacoat and an umbrella. Sorry Chuck, I have to trade you in on rainy days for these:

14.) Londoners make fun of everyone else. Southerners are trouble, midlanders are hicks, northerners are just plain insulting, and if you're from Newcastle you might as well kill yourself for being a "jordie."
15.) Having a pint (of beer) is just part of the culture... at any times of the day, during lunch hours or after dinner. It doesn't even matter.
16.) British network television includes health programming that shows anatomically-correct body parts without censorship. Boobs, bush, penis, what have you. I actually just saw a show where they were teaching a bunch of 12-year-olds how to use a condom.
17.) If you're a tourist, you're probably into "west end" attractions. If you're a local, you'd rather do "east end" things.
18.) When walking down the street or riding the bus, expect to hear at least 5 different languages being spoken on any given journey.
19.) Please jaywalk. Or else you'll annoy somebody.
20.) Bic lighters are hard to find. Having one makes you slightly cooler than the guy using matches or a cricket.

Okay, that's probably enough for now. I have to get ready because I'm meeting some friends at the "Drunken Monkey" dim sum bar in Shoreditch (EAST END) for dinner and drinks.

Love and bollocks! (I totally stole that from James.)

VII: Magical Mystery Tour

"When a man buys a ticket for a magical mystery tour, he knows what to expect. We guarantee him the trip of a lifetime... and that's just what he gets. The INCREDIBLE MAGICAL MYSTERY TOUR."

SCENE 1

It was 9:47 a.m. on Sunday morning and I was on the 243 bus heading south to Waterloo. I was already two minutes late. And as if he was reading my mind, Will, who was meeting me at the train station, sent a text message that came buzzing through my mobile.

"I am near platform 17." he wrote.
"Ok... I'll see you soon. On the bus right now... almost there, I think," I replied.

As I anticipated my arrival at Waterloo Station, I gazed out the window and noticed some of London's famous landmarks. I took out my moleskin notebook; in the section that I had previously hand-labeled "places of interest," I wrote down "St. Paul's Cathedral." And somehow that reminded me of another place I wanted to see, so I also wrote "Bunhill Fields Burial Grounds" in Islington- the final resting place of poet William Blake, along with hundreds of nameless others who had died during the plague.

I carefully closed my book, placed it back inside my purse, and then continued to take in the surrounding scenery from the top deck of the bus. It was a beautiful day. Traces of a bright blue sky peered through the narrow patches of mild London fog, which was beginning to dissipate in the crisp autumn air.

Moments later, I heard a lady's voice announce the words "Waterloo Station." I pressed the "stop" button next to my seat, gathered my belongings and made my way down the stairs to exit the bus. The mechanical doors made a squeaky whoosh noise as they opened, and as soon as I stepped onto the pavement just outside the station I took an exhilarating deep breath. I turned the corner and was approaching the stone steps of the station, when my mobile phone began to ring...

SCENE 2

"Hey! Are you almost here?" Will asked.
"I'm right outside. I'm walking in now," I said.
"Oh okay. There's a long line so we're getting in the queue to buy tickets. It's right across from platform 17," he said.
"Cool. I'll be right there."



The concourse at Waterloo Station was quieter than usual. The absence of weekday commuters left the platforms free for day-trippers, leisure travelers and some who may have been returning to the city after a weekend at home with family or friends.

Across from platform 17 was a row of ticket machines, with short queues of people forming behind each one. I walked past the row and found my friends, Will and Allison, standing in a much longer line of people who were all waiting for a manned ticket window. I hopped over a few ropes and joined my friends in line. By 10:02 a.m., we had reached a ticket window and purchased three discounted round-trip fares to Salisbury for just under £54.

With 13 minutes left before our train was scheduled to leave, we stopped at a nearby coffee stand to get some drinks. I had a latte. Will had a mocha. Allison had a chai.

Drinks in one hand and our tickets in the other, we made our way to our train- already waiting at the platform for its passengers. We entered the second carriage and inched through the aisle, which was constricted by other guests looking for their ideal seats. We agreed on a set of four cushioned chairs- arranged as two on either side, facing each other and separated by a mid-sized table.

The journey from Waterloo to Salisbury was an hour and thirty-eight minutes. By the time we had arrived, we had passed through seven different English cities and witnessed the picturesque landscapes of the southern-most midlands. As soon as we stepped off the train, we were struck by the change in ambiance. We were definitely not in London anymore...

Scene 3





Having spent the last month living along the loud and crowded streets of London, the three of us were surprised by the calming quiet of this quaint little town. We walked no more than a mile from the Salisbury train station into the city centre. And as we passed by the cute little shops and mom-and-pop eateries, all closed for their day of rest, we all felt a sense of tranquility and appreciation for the nice departure from our busy school-week schedules.

We had just over an hour before we were supposed to catch our 1:10 tour coach at the Salisbury bus station. So we roamed the main street and found a nice pub to have some lunch. Quite different from the average pub in London, this one was full of locals- people who probably raised their families and lived in Salisbury for years. It was very easy to feel like an outsider.



After our meals, we walked to the bus station and saw the coach immediately. It looked just like any other bus, except it was painted black and decorated by subtle earth tones... with the big letters on the side that spelled out the name of our next destination...

Scene 4

"Oooh I see it!" I exclaimed from inside the bus.

I pointed to a spot straight ahead as the coach climbed the road. Both Will and Allison wriggled in their seats to get a clearer view. And as the image of Stonehenge began to materialize before our eyes, the three of us welled up with excitement to see one of the most famous landmarks in the world.



No matter how many times I had seen Stonehenge in photographs and films, it wasn't until I actually saw it in real life that I felt the magic of its existence. As soon as we stepped off the bus, we turned in the crudely-designed parking lot to get a better look at the site. "Cool," we thought. "It's really Stonehenge!" And yet... there was something very awkward about it...

"Really?" asked Allison, with a tone of disappointment, as she clapped me on the arm.
"Aw, that sucks," I said.
"Yeah, my friends told me it might be anti-climactic," Will added.

Contrary to what we expected, the site was completely roped off. Instead of feeling the widely-believed aura of magical mystery associated with Stonehenge, we suppressed the urge to laugh... for there was no mysterious hill or tall, waving blades of grass. It was instead situated on a well-manicured lawn full of grazing sheep, and directly adjacent to an active highway. Oh, the grandeur!



With our digital audio tour guides pressed up against our ears, we followed the rope circling the site and learned about how the experts didn't seem to know ANYTHING about Stonehenge... besides how the giant rocks came from far, far away and that it might have something to do with seasons and solstice. There was also some speculation that the stumpy hills surrounding the site were once used for mass burials.

"And while we're not exactly sure about what it was used for, we do know what it WASN'T used for," the voice in my ear piece said."It is widely rumoured that the Druids used this site for mysterious ceremonies and sacrifices, but that is simply untrue."

Ooooh. Aaaaah.

Still, despite our obviously slight disappointment in the environment, we were still happy to be there. Because after it all, it's STONEHENGE. And even if we were unable to learn much new information about it, at least we were in the perfect place for a photo op.









For the rest of the day, we took full advantage of the spectacular weather and rural scenery. After leaving Stonehenge, we spent a few more lazy Sunday hours meandering through the charming streets of Salisbury...

We gaped at an original copy of Britain's magna carta... stored at the great Salisbury Cathedral.





And we finished our day-trip with a nice cup of rosehip and cranberry tea... English style.



All-in-all, the three of us had a great time. And if I could do it again, I definitely would... because even if Stonehenge wasn't as magically mysterious as I had hoped, it gave me but another memorable story to bring back home with me.