This blog has moved. I've switched to wordpress... which means all previous and future posts can be found at http://mykaleidoscopeeyes.com or http://mykaleidoscopeeyes.wordpress.com.
See you there!
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Beatles Studies
From today's Guardian (I wonder what Paul and Ringo have to say about this):
The long and winding road to an MA in Beatles songs
Liverpool Hope University launches UK's first master's course in fab four studies
Sam Jones
Wednesday March 4 2009
The Guardian
Their thirst for reinvention saw the elegantly quiffed Hamburg rockers become the mop-topped fab four, hippy harbingers of sexual liberation and, eventually, druggy psychedelic visionaries.
Forty years on, the Beatles and their songs are to be hauled into the halls of academia and dissected by postgraduate students at a Merseyside university.
The masters degree in The Beatles, Popular Music and Society is being billed by Liverpool Hope University as the first such course in the UK and "probably the world".
Among the topics covered on the course, which comprises four 12-week modules and a dissertation, are the postwar music industry, subcultures, and the importance of authenticity and locality.
Mike Brocken, senior lecturer in popular music at the university, said it was time the band were put under an academic microscope.
"There have been over 8,000 books about the Beatles but there has never been serious academic study and that is what we are going to address," he said.
"The Beatles influenced so much of society, not just with their music, but also with fashion, from their collar-less jackets to their psychedelic clothes."
As well as investigating different ways of studying popular music, the MA will look at the studio sound and compositions of the Beatles and examine Liverpudlian life from the 1930s to see how events helped to shape the music emerging in the city.
Brocken said that the size of the MA course, which begins this September, would depend on the number of applicants, but would not exceed a "possible" maximum of 30 places.
He added that he had already received inquiries about the full- or part-time course from people in the UK and the US.
Asked what employment benefits a course scrutinising songs such as Octopus's Garden, While My Guitar Gently Weeps and I Want to Hold Your Hand might yield in the current economic climate, Brocken said: "I think any MA equips people with extra study and research skills. MAs of any description are vital for the workplace. You will find that once you have done a master's degree it separates you from the pack."
Similar arts and humanities MAs at the university cost around £3,445 for full-time students from the UK. Brocken said that although there might be some bursaries, "people will have to self-fund unless they have some backing from an institution".
Students on the full-time course will attend two evening sessions a week and cover all four modules in one academic year. Part-time students, meanwhile, will attend one evening session a week for two years. In both cases a dissertation will be due towards the end of the following August.
The songs and social significance of John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr have been picked over countless times since Philip Larkin observed that "sexual intercourse began/In nineteen sixty-three/(which was rather late for me)/Between the end of the Chatterley ban/And the Beatles' first LP".
But in recent years, the band and its output have been the subject of academic studies and polemics.
Last year, a Cambridge University historian attacked the view that the Beatles were counter-cultural heroes, claiming they were instead capitalists who milked the booming youth culture for their own financial gain.
"They did about as much to represent the interests of the nation's young people as the Spice Girls did in the 1990s," said David Fowler, who argued that the band provided family entertainment rather than an authentic youth perspective. "They were young capitalists who, far from developing a youth culture, were exploiting youth culture by promoting fan worship, mindless screaming and nothing more than a passive teenage consumer," said the author of Youth Culture in Modern Britain.
The long and winding road to an MA in Beatles songs
Liverpool Hope University launches UK's first master's course in fab four studies
Sam Jones
Wednesday March 4 2009
The Guardian
Their thirst for reinvention saw the elegantly quiffed Hamburg rockers become the mop-topped fab four, hippy harbingers of sexual liberation and, eventually, druggy psychedelic visionaries.
Forty years on, the Beatles and their songs are to be hauled into the halls of academia and dissected by postgraduate students at a Merseyside university.
The masters degree in The Beatles, Popular Music and Society is being billed by Liverpool Hope University as the first such course in the UK and "probably the world".
Among the topics covered on the course, which comprises four 12-week modules and a dissertation, are the postwar music industry, subcultures, and the importance of authenticity and locality.
Mike Brocken, senior lecturer in popular music at the university, said it was time the band were put under an academic microscope.
"There have been over 8,000 books about the Beatles but there has never been serious academic study and that is what we are going to address," he said.
"The Beatles influenced so much of society, not just with their music, but also with fashion, from their collar-less jackets to their psychedelic clothes."
As well as investigating different ways of studying popular music, the MA will look at the studio sound and compositions of the Beatles and examine Liverpudlian life from the 1930s to see how events helped to shape the music emerging in the city.
Brocken said that the size of the MA course, which begins this September, would depend on the number of applicants, but would not exceed a "possible" maximum of 30 places.
He added that he had already received inquiries about the full- or part-time course from people in the UK and the US.
Asked what employment benefits a course scrutinising songs such as Octopus's Garden, While My Guitar Gently Weeps and I Want to Hold Your Hand might yield in the current economic climate, Brocken said: "I think any MA equips people with extra study and research skills. MAs of any description are vital for the workplace. You will find that once you have done a master's degree it separates you from the pack."
Similar arts and humanities MAs at the university cost around £3,445 for full-time students from the UK. Brocken said that although there might be some bursaries, "people will have to self-fund unless they have some backing from an institution".
Students on the full-time course will attend two evening sessions a week and cover all four modules in one academic year. Part-time students, meanwhile, will attend one evening session a week for two years. In both cases a dissertation will be due towards the end of the following August.
The songs and social significance of John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr have been picked over countless times since Philip Larkin observed that "sexual intercourse began/In nineteen sixty-three/(which was rather late for me)/Between the end of the Chatterley ban/And the Beatles' first LP".
But in recent years, the band and its output have been the subject of academic studies and polemics.
Last year, a Cambridge University historian attacked the view that the Beatles were counter-cultural heroes, claiming they were instead capitalists who milked the booming youth culture for their own financial gain.
"They did about as much to represent the interests of the nation's young people as the Spice Girls did in the 1990s," said David Fowler, who argued that the band provided family entertainment rather than an authentic youth perspective. "They were young capitalists who, far from developing a youth culture, were exploiting youth culture by promoting fan worship, mindless screaming and nothing more than a passive teenage consumer," said the author of Youth Culture in Modern Britain.
Monday, March 2, 2009
XXIV: Conquest
More than 11,000 people ran in the Barcelona Marathon yesterday.
I sort of wish I could say I was one of these people... because that would be quite impressive. But as we all know, I am neither fit enough to run a 26.2-mile race, nor am I excessively desirous to be capable of such a thing. I'd much rather sit on the sidewalk and play my guitar while these specimens of ideal human endurance run past me, than exhaust myself within the first 30 seconds of my lame power-walking attempts.
I don't have a single athletic bone in my body. Which is why the only sport I can take up is snowboarding, where I can just slide down a hill strapped to a piece of wood without ever separating my feet from the ground.
So why even mention it, you ask? Well, because this marathon was precisely the excuse I had for a weekend trip to Spain. Obviously, I didn't run. But my friends Allison and Krysten did. And they both came in with times of 4:26 and 5:06 (hours), respectively. They're amazing... no doubt about it.
The most participation I had was to pin nametags on their backs before the race, take pictures and cheer them on from various parts of the route. I also jogged with Allison for about 20 feet at mile 23 for some moral support. But I was out of breath before she could even break her first sweat.
I guess that means becoming a conquistador is out of the question.
Oh well, at least I got a trip to Barcelona out of it. A whole group of us (4 Americans, an Irishman and 2 Aussies) rented out a 3-bedroom condo right smack in the middle of the city, which was a nice departure from the usual dirty hostel route. And between the 7 of us, it actually cost us much less - a mere 411 pounds total for the whole weekend.
The place was great - exactly the kind of European flat I would love to own, with floor-to-ceiling glass doors and multiple balconies. Not to mention the fantastic weather that allowed me to wear sunglasses outside and only one layer of clothing. I could totally live there. ;P
Barcelona is an interesting city. Oddly enough, it was a bit reminiscent of Manila, Philippines (I can definitely understand the Spanish influence in Philippine architecture and cuisine now) - except it's cleaner and more European. It's significantly more humid than London or LA, has bright skies, has a giant mall with a supermarket on the bottom floor and sometimes, I'd catch a whiff of the same mixture of city pollution (and I mean that in a completely endearing way).
It was also nice being able to use those 3 years of high-school Spanish. And to top it off, it was the first time since being in Asia that the majority of people around me were brunette instead of fair-haired. I felt right at home... especially when I found out that I was a local biscuit celebrity.
Since we arrived after 8 p.m. on Friday evening, and the marathon took up a good portion of Sunday (including post-race recovery and nap time), we only really had Saturday to do anything else.
I got to try some authentic seafood Paella (which was delicious alongside my glass of Sangria).
Then I bought a new pair of jeans for 19 euros on Las Ramblas (we reveled at the "cheap" prices until we realized our excitement was only because we'd been living in one of the most expensive cities in the world for the last 6 months). We ate WAY too much ice cream (fueled by the marathoners' justification of needing the extra calories to burn).
Actually, it seemed like we just kept eating for no good reason - because we could and because the "potatoes in spicy sauce," an appetizer that was on every restaurant menu we saw, were to die for. Lots of tapas, lots of sangria, and lots of dessert. Aside from the marathon, eating seemed to be our common goal.
Sightseeing was a secondary venture. And for the most part, the only thing we kept coming back to was Antoni Gaudi architecture.
La Sagrada Familia (Cathedral of the Holy Family)
Casa Batllo (which looked like it jumped out of a Dr. Seuss book/Tim Burton movie)
It's kind of funny to see Gaudi's buildings because they don't match with anything else around them. They look like beautiful cartoons juxtaposed with the boring real world.
For example, across the street from La Sagrada Familia was a bustling KFC. I don't know what Europeans are thinking - but man, do they love KFC. London, Paris, Barcelona - KFC!!! Yet, obesity is NOT a problem here. Hmmmm.
Okay, sorry for the tangent. But yeah, Gaudi is incredible. Even the insides of these buildings are artistic - with rumpled stone pillars, intricate carvings and ceilings that look like upside-down sand dunes. No wonder the guy has been Spain's national hero for the last century and a half.
Well, even though I didn't get to witness a bull fight this weekend, I'm still pretty happy about crossing off one more city from my travel to-do list. Maybe I'll come back one day (I still need to make it to Espit Chupitos - an unfortunate but necessary scheduling sacrifice this time around). The good news is that my passport's continuing to get a healthy accumulation of stamps... it's only a matter of time before I've conquered the world. :)
I sort of wish I could say I was one of these people... because that would be quite impressive. But as we all know, I am neither fit enough to run a 26.2-mile race, nor am I excessively desirous to be capable of such a thing. I'd much rather sit on the sidewalk and play my guitar while these specimens of ideal human endurance run past me, than exhaust myself within the first 30 seconds of my lame power-walking attempts.
I don't have a single athletic bone in my body. Which is why the only sport I can take up is snowboarding, where I can just slide down a hill strapped to a piece of wood without ever separating my feet from the ground.
So why even mention it, you ask? Well, because this marathon was precisely the excuse I had for a weekend trip to Spain. Obviously, I didn't run. But my friends Allison and Krysten did. And they both came in with times of 4:26 and 5:06 (hours), respectively. They're amazing... no doubt about it.
The most participation I had was to pin nametags on their backs before the race, take pictures and cheer them on from various parts of the route. I also jogged with Allison for about 20 feet at mile 23 for some moral support. But I was out of breath before she could even break her first sweat.
I guess that means becoming a conquistador is out of the question.
Oh well, at least I got a trip to Barcelona out of it. A whole group of us (4 Americans, an Irishman and 2 Aussies) rented out a 3-bedroom condo right smack in the middle of the city, which was a nice departure from the usual dirty hostel route. And between the 7 of us, it actually cost us much less - a mere 411 pounds total for the whole weekend.
The place was great - exactly the kind of European flat I would love to own, with floor-to-ceiling glass doors and multiple balconies. Not to mention the fantastic weather that allowed me to wear sunglasses outside and only one layer of clothing. I could totally live there. ;P
Barcelona is an interesting city. Oddly enough, it was a bit reminiscent of Manila, Philippines (I can definitely understand the Spanish influence in Philippine architecture and cuisine now) - except it's cleaner and more European. It's significantly more humid than London or LA, has bright skies, has a giant mall with a supermarket on the bottom floor and sometimes, I'd catch a whiff of the same mixture of city pollution (and I mean that in a completely endearing way).
It was also nice being able to use those 3 years of high-school Spanish. And to top it off, it was the first time since being in Asia that the majority of people around me were brunette instead of fair-haired. I felt right at home... especially when I found out that I was a local biscuit celebrity.
Since we arrived after 8 p.m. on Friday evening, and the marathon took up a good portion of Sunday (including post-race recovery and nap time), we only really had Saturday to do anything else.
I got to try some authentic seafood Paella (which was delicious alongside my glass of Sangria).
Then I bought a new pair of jeans for 19 euros on Las Ramblas (we reveled at the "cheap" prices until we realized our excitement was only because we'd been living in one of the most expensive cities in the world for the last 6 months). We ate WAY too much ice cream (fueled by the marathoners' justification of needing the extra calories to burn).
Actually, it seemed like we just kept eating for no good reason - because we could and because the "potatoes in spicy sauce," an appetizer that was on every restaurant menu we saw, were to die for. Lots of tapas, lots of sangria, and lots of dessert. Aside from the marathon, eating seemed to be our common goal.
Sightseeing was a secondary venture. And for the most part, the only thing we kept coming back to was Antoni Gaudi architecture.
La Sagrada Familia (Cathedral of the Holy Family)
Casa Batllo (which looked like it jumped out of a Dr. Seuss book/Tim Burton movie)
It's kind of funny to see Gaudi's buildings because they don't match with anything else around them. They look like beautiful cartoons juxtaposed with the boring real world.
For example, across the street from La Sagrada Familia was a bustling KFC. I don't know what Europeans are thinking - but man, do they love KFC. London, Paris, Barcelona - KFC!!! Yet, obesity is NOT a problem here. Hmmmm.
Okay, sorry for the tangent. But yeah, Gaudi is incredible. Even the insides of these buildings are artistic - with rumpled stone pillars, intricate carvings and ceilings that look like upside-down sand dunes. No wonder the guy has been Spain's national hero for the last century and a half.
Well, even though I didn't get to witness a bull fight this weekend, I'm still pretty happy about crossing off one more city from my travel to-do list. Maybe I'll come back one day (I still need to make it to Espit Chupitos - an unfortunate but necessary scheduling sacrifice this time around). The good news is that my passport's continuing to get a healthy accumulation of stamps... it's only a matter of time before I've conquered the world. :)
Friday, February 27, 2009
Live Forever
I've done it! 28 posts in 28 days (27 days to be more exact, but that's because I had to write in advance to make up for days I'd be gone - like tomorrow).
I'm pretty proud of myself - even for something so small - but the point is I finished something I started, and that makes me feel good. This just means I can start the month of March with a feeling of being on a clean slate.
The funny thing is, today is actually a sunny day in London - which is something I haven't really seen since last September. I was walking around the neighborhood this morning with nothing more than 1 set of clothes and a hoodie. It was fantastic.
So I'm good to go. I just picked up a few new boxes of contacts, I'm all packed, and in an hour I'll be on my way to Heathrow for my flight to Barcelona. I feel good enough to even bring book 4 of Twilight to re-read on the tube and plane. This weekend is going to be awesome.
I'm pretty proud of myself - even for something so small - but the point is I finished something I started, and that makes me feel good. This just means I can start the month of March with a feeling of being on a clean slate.
The funny thing is, today is actually a sunny day in London - which is something I haven't really seen since last September. I was walking around the neighborhood this morning with nothing more than 1 set of clothes and a hoodie. It was fantastic.
So I'm good to go. I just picked up a few new boxes of contacts, I'm all packed, and in an hour I'll be on my way to Heathrow for my flight to Barcelona. I feel good enough to even bring book 4 of Twilight to re-read on the tube and plane. This weekend is going to be awesome.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tomorrow Never Knows
I hate how youtube greatly reduces the quality of the videos I upload. Oh well.
I didn't have class today. Hence, my newest nostalgic concoction:
I didn't have class today. Hence, my newest nostalgic concoction:
What's in a name?
This makes me feel a little juvenile... but I think it's funny so whatever.
YOUR REAL NAME: Darleen Lizbeth Principe
2. WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (Mother and Father's middle names)
Maria Santos
3. STAR WARS NAME: (The first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name)
Prida
4. DETECTIVE NAME: (Favorite color, favorite animal)
Red Monkey ... (haha sounds Asian)
5. SOAP OPERA NAME: (Middle name, town where you were born)
Lizbeth Culver
6. SUPERHERO NAME: (Second favorite color, favorite drink, add "THE" to the beginning)
The Pink Oasis (p.s. Oasis sounded better than Vodka Cranberry)
7. FLY NAME: (First 2 letters of your first name, last 2 letters of your last name)
Dape
8. STREET NAME: (Favorite ice cream flavor, favorite cookie)
Mint Chip White Chocolate Chip Macadamia ... wow that's a mouthful, and doesn't really work.
9. SKANK NAME: (First pet's name, street you grew up on)
Poochie Bigelow... BEST SKANK NAME EVER.
10. GANGSTA NAME: (First 3 letters of first name plus 'izzle')
Darlizzle (it sounds better with the L)
11. YOUR GOTH NAME: (Black, and the name of one of your pets)
Black Penny
12. STRIPPER NAME: (Name of your favorite perfume/cologne, Favorite candy)
Pink Kit Kat - hah.
YOUR REAL NAME: Darleen Lizbeth Principe
2. WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (Mother and Father's middle names)
Maria Santos
3. STAR WARS NAME: (The first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name)
Prida
4. DETECTIVE NAME: (Favorite color, favorite animal)
Red Monkey ... (haha sounds Asian)
5. SOAP OPERA NAME: (Middle name, town where you were born)
Lizbeth Culver
6. SUPERHERO NAME: (Second favorite color, favorite drink, add "THE" to the beginning)
The Pink Oasis (p.s. Oasis sounded better than Vodka Cranberry)
7. FLY NAME: (First 2 letters of your first name, last 2 letters of your last name)
Dape
8. STREET NAME: (Favorite ice cream flavor, favorite cookie)
Mint Chip White Chocolate Chip Macadamia ... wow that's a mouthful, and doesn't really work.
9. SKANK NAME: (First pet's name, street you grew up on)
Poochie Bigelow... BEST SKANK NAME EVER.
10. GANGSTA NAME: (First 3 letters of first name plus 'izzle')
Darlizzle (it sounds better with the L)
11. YOUR GOTH NAME: (Black, and the name of one of your pets)
Black Penny
12. STRIPPER NAME: (Name of your favorite perfume/cologne, Favorite candy)
Pink Kit Kat - hah.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Banana Pancakes
Silly Brits and their goofy holidays.
Courtesy BBC:
"In the UK, there is a much-loved tradition of making and eating pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, which falls between February 2 and March 9 each year, depending on the date for Easter. In 2009, Shrove Tuesday falls on 24 February. Shrove Tuesday ('shrove' stems from old English word 'shrive', meaning 'confess all sins') is the day before Lent.
According to Christian beliefs, Lent commemorates Jesus' 40 days in the wilderness, and observant Christians mark this period by fasting. So Shrove Tuesday was cleverly invented to use up the ingredients that were given up for Lent - milk, butter and, particularly, eggs - which may not be eaten again until Easter."
This explains why every bloody Brit and their mom asked me if I ate pancakes today. Nobody mentioned Lent at all until I actually got home to look it up. No offense to anybody, but this whole thing is just goofy and weird.
The day is almost over, and I still haven't had a single pancake. Why? Because I'm not giving up milk, butter OR eggs for Lent. What can I say, I'm a bad Catholic.
Happy Pancake Day!
Courtesy BBC:
"In the UK, there is a much-loved tradition of making and eating pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, which falls between February 2 and March 9 each year, depending on the date for Easter. In 2009, Shrove Tuesday falls on 24 February. Shrove Tuesday ('shrove' stems from old English word 'shrive', meaning 'confess all sins') is the day before Lent.
According to Christian beliefs, Lent commemorates Jesus' 40 days in the wilderness, and observant Christians mark this period by fasting. So Shrove Tuesday was cleverly invented to use up the ingredients that were given up for Lent - milk, butter and, particularly, eggs - which may not be eaten again until Easter."
This explains why every bloody Brit and their mom asked me if I ate pancakes today. Nobody mentioned Lent at all until I actually got home to look it up. No offense to anybody, but this whole thing is just goofy and weird.
The day is almost over, and I still haven't had a single pancake. Why? Because I'm not giving up milk, butter OR eggs for Lent. What can I say, I'm a bad Catholic.
Happy Pancake Day!
Monday, February 23, 2009
Simple Kind of Life
Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be satisfied. I like to think that all people live their lives trying to move in a steady forward-direction. But I can only really speak for myself when I say my primary goal in life is to continually be better.
But "better" is completely subjective. I've learned from knowing other people that being "better" might simply mean settling for what's comfortable and familiar. In other cases, "better" might just mean earning a lot of money, being mom of the year or becoming the foremost expert in some random academic field. Maybe "better" is numbing yourself with drugs until you've reached insanity or complaining about everything you DON'T have until everyone in the world can hear you. Maybe "better" is just losing 10 pounds. Like I said, it's completely subjective.
"Better" for me has become much less quantifiable in recent months. As a kid, it's so much easier to see everything in the short term - to set easily attainable goals like earning a place on the dean's list or saving enough allowance to buy a new gameboy.
Adults have it much harder - especially living in a culture like this one, where virtually everything is measured by financial wealth... and the constant accumulation of new material desires just gives way to a parallel accumulation of new frustrations.
We go to school longer to get better jobs, to get paid more money, to have the ability to consume more - whether it be for a new wardrobe, a new house, or new "comforts" for our children. It doesn't matter what it is - in the end, everything that motivates us these days can be broken down to a distorted view of happiness and reality.
I've been thinking about my life experiences a lot lately. And I'm starting to wonder if all these things that I do - my constant need to excel and my continual desire for experiencing NEW things - are nothing but cultural abstractions. And if that's the case, is there anything really WRONG with that? Or is it just a fact of life to be accepted? Is my goal to be "better" just a way for me to run away from reality?
I don't really where all of this is coming from. Maybe it's just a part of growing older. I don't know what I'm going to want when this whole London thing is over, because this WAS precisely what I've wanted for years. And now that I'm living it, I'm starting to feel another existential crisis coming on. Not right now... but soon, I'm sure.
But "better" is completely subjective. I've learned from knowing other people that being "better" might simply mean settling for what's comfortable and familiar. In other cases, "better" might just mean earning a lot of money, being mom of the year or becoming the foremost expert in some random academic field. Maybe "better" is numbing yourself with drugs until you've reached insanity or complaining about everything you DON'T have until everyone in the world can hear you. Maybe "better" is just losing 10 pounds. Like I said, it's completely subjective.
"Better" for me has become much less quantifiable in recent months. As a kid, it's so much easier to see everything in the short term - to set easily attainable goals like earning a place on the dean's list or saving enough allowance to buy a new gameboy.
Adults have it much harder - especially living in a culture like this one, where virtually everything is measured by financial wealth... and the constant accumulation of new material desires just gives way to a parallel accumulation of new frustrations.
We go to school longer to get better jobs, to get paid more money, to have the ability to consume more - whether it be for a new wardrobe, a new house, or new "comforts" for our children. It doesn't matter what it is - in the end, everything that motivates us these days can be broken down to a distorted view of happiness and reality.
I've been thinking about my life experiences a lot lately. And I'm starting to wonder if all these things that I do - my constant need to excel and my continual desire for experiencing NEW things - are nothing but cultural abstractions. And if that's the case, is there anything really WRONG with that? Or is it just a fact of life to be accepted? Is my goal to be "better" just a way for me to run away from reality?
I don't really where all of this is coming from. Maybe it's just a part of growing older. I don't know what I'm going to want when this whole London thing is over, because this WAS precisely what I've wanted for years. And now that I'm living it, I'm starting to feel another existential crisis coming on. Not right now... but soon, I'm sure.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The Warmth
I just found out that a friend of mine from back home overdosed on heroin three days ago. He's not dead, but he's in a coma. I know he's got a history of depression, but people I've spoken to say it was an accidental OD. "His body just wasn't used to that dosage anymore," they say.
Still, a person doesn't OD on drugs unless they've got something heavy to suppress - something that needed to be numbed in the first place. I only hope, that somewhere in his quiet mind he's still fighting to hold on. Because he's a good guy and has a lot going for him. He just needs to find the strength...
My love goes out to you, R. Be well.
Still, a person doesn't OD on drugs unless they've got something heavy to suppress - something that needed to be numbed in the first place. I only hope, that somewhere in his quiet mind he's still fighting to hold on. Because he's a good guy and has a lot going for him. He just needs to find the strength...
My love goes out to you, R. Be well.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Past and Pending
Some people might not know this about me, but I spent about 4 years of my adolescence performing with a cultural Filipino dance troupe called Fil-Am. Come to think of it, I was a pretty active teenager with lots of extra-curricular activities to pass the time: choir, drama, speech & debate, volunteering with children & the homeless, and of course, the filipino dancing (just to name a few). It was a really great time in my life - fun and full of purpose, always with the goal of being exceptional at whatever I attempted.
The dancing was a great life lesson for me, because it gave me the opportunity to get in touch with my roots - a connection that was virtually missing, from living in a mostly-white suburban town in California. So I learned how to dance with fans and tambourines, how to roll on the floor gracefully while balancing glasses on my head that were filled halfway with wine, how to avoid getting my ankles caught between sticks of bamboo while hopping around to the ringing sound of 14-string bandurrias.
I got a lot of practice speaking tagalog, and even learned some of the traditional songs (one of which I actually earned a solo for during our shows). I wore the traditional dresses of my ancestors, learned about the different regions of the Philippines, and discovered an honest sense of pride for where I came from.
This experience also led me to my first real trip abroad- when our troupe was invited to an international cultural dance festival in Marseilles, France. It was 1997, and that was the trip that changed my life... it gave me a small taste of the outside and showed me a world full of amazing cultures. I met so many people during that festival: cultural dancers from France, Turkey, Laos, Brazil, Scotland, Germany, the Ivory Coast, and so many others I know I'm leaving out.
Recently, with the help of facebook, I've gotten back in touch with some of the old dancers from my troupe. Many of them are married with children now - which is a strange reality to face when I think back on all our teenage shenanigans. I remember all of us being so excited about being able to drink wine in France... without our parents there to forbid us.
And now we're all grown up, but we all collectively share this period of time where we grew closer to each other and to our heritage. Its weird to think now about the real, tangible impact this period of my life made on me. Up until that point, I think I struggled a bit with my identity. I was always different from my friends... I had a darker skin-tone and hair-color, ate weird food, had a strange language and practiced traditions that were alien to everyone else.
But after that time, I understood my uniqueness and learned how to embrace it. And when I really think about it, it gave me a significant foundation for who I am today. It makes perfect sense that I have a passion for travel, a knack for understanding peoples' differences, a genuine love for people and the consistent desire for the extraordinary.
The past is a funny thing when it actually becomes "the past". Because while you're in the middle of a life-changing experience, you're never quite sure how it will impact you in the long run. And then suddenly, perhaps 10 years or more down the line, you start to understand how it's shaped you.
I don't know about you, but it always seems to be the good things about the past that find their way back out in my memories - the experiences that make me better and take me closer to my ideal. So I wonder... I know that being here in London is something very heavy. It's impact on me might not manifest itself right away - but I can only hope that it'll take me further in the right direction.
The dancing was a great life lesson for me, because it gave me the opportunity to get in touch with my roots - a connection that was virtually missing, from living in a mostly-white suburban town in California. So I learned how to dance with fans and tambourines, how to roll on the floor gracefully while balancing glasses on my head that were filled halfway with wine, how to avoid getting my ankles caught between sticks of bamboo while hopping around to the ringing sound of 14-string bandurrias.
I got a lot of practice speaking tagalog, and even learned some of the traditional songs (one of which I actually earned a solo for during our shows). I wore the traditional dresses of my ancestors, learned about the different regions of the Philippines, and discovered an honest sense of pride for where I came from.
This experience also led me to my first real trip abroad- when our troupe was invited to an international cultural dance festival in Marseilles, France. It was 1997, and that was the trip that changed my life... it gave me a small taste of the outside and showed me a world full of amazing cultures. I met so many people during that festival: cultural dancers from France, Turkey, Laos, Brazil, Scotland, Germany, the Ivory Coast, and so many others I know I'm leaving out.
Recently, with the help of facebook, I've gotten back in touch with some of the old dancers from my troupe. Many of them are married with children now - which is a strange reality to face when I think back on all our teenage shenanigans. I remember all of us being so excited about being able to drink wine in France... without our parents there to forbid us.
And now we're all grown up, but we all collectively share this period of time where we grew closer to each other and to our heritage. Its weird to think now about the real, tangible impact this period of my life made on me. Up until that point, I think I struggled a bit with my identity. I was always different from my friends... I had a darker skin-tone and hair-color, ate weird food, had a strange language and practiced traditions that were alien to everyone else.
But after that time, I understood my uniqueness and learned how to embrace it. And when I really think about it, it gave me a significant foundation for who I am today. It makes perfect sense that I have a passion for travel, a knack for understanding peoples' differences, a genuine love for people and the consistent desire for the extraordinary.
The past is a funny thing when it actually becomes "the past". Because while you're in the middle of a life-changing experience, you're never quite sure how it will impact you in the long run. And then suddenly, perhaps 10 years or more down the line, you start to understand how it's shaped you.
I don't know about you, but it always seems to be the good things about the past that find their way back out in my memories - the experiences that make me better and take me closer to my ideal. So I wonder... I know that being here in London is something very heavy. It's impact on me might not manifest itself right away - but I can only hope that it'll take me further in the right direction.
(Untitled)
I'm late, I know.. but I just got in after being out ALL day.
The good news is I've officially passed all of my first semester classes with distinction. Let's see if I can keep it up for the second semester. (*_*)
Hence, being out to celebrate at the Founder's Arms in Southbank.
I don't really have too much to write about now... I'm pretty tired AND I've been drinking. Which means I don't have the brainergy to find a music video to put up either.
I'm going to a German Carnival party at the Bavarian Beerhouse tomorrow night (where one of my housemates works) so hopefully, I'll remember to post before I go out. The only thing left to do at this point is to get a costume for the party. I wonder what I should dress up as!?!??
The good news is I've officially passed all of my first semester classes with distinction. Let's see if I can keep it up for the second semester. (*_*)
Hence, being out to celebrate at the Founder's Arms in Southbank.
I don't really have too much to write about now... I'm pretty tired AND I've been drinking. Which means I don't have the brainergy to find a music video to put up either.
I'm going to a German Carnival party at the Bavarian Beerhouse tomorrow night (where one of my housemates works) so hopefully, I'll remember to post before I go out. The only thing left to do at this point is to get a costume for the party. I wonder what I should dress up as!?!??
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Such Great Heights
I inhaled uneasily as I flipped open the latch to the black leather case he’d left on my bed. My hands trembled nervously. It took all of my control to keep from throwing the entire thing out of my second-story window, surely shattering everything inside. But I knew I would never be able to destroy the only thing I had left to remind me of him. The only tangible thing beyond my memories that proved we ever existed.
I lifted the lid as slowly as I could, while a part of me hoped that there would be some clue as to where he might’ve gone. But there was nothing new inside. Just the worn cardboard sleeves filled with old records- the same ones we'd listened to night after night for months in the basement of his house, while smoking spliffs or making love on the couch.
I took another deep breath and held it in, as if it would keep all of the emotion inside my body. As if that would keep it from spilling out like a broken dam. But I forced myself to replay the scene in my head over and over again, to maybe figure out what had gone wrong.
"They're coming in to change the carpet in the basement tomorrow morning," he had said to me last night. "I wanted to make sure nothing happened to the records."
"Oh, okay!" I thought nothing of it.
"I'm just gonna' put them in your room," he said, smiling.
At that moment, I had returned to the kitchen to finish up the risotto. It wasn't often that I had the flat to myself, but my sister had gone out of town for the weekend so I asked Alistair to stay over. I wanted to do something special for him, for once.
It was a perfect night. I was proud of how well my mushroom risotto turned out. We shared a bottle of Pinot Grigio over dinner, while Iron & Wine played in the background. We never even made it to the bedroom after that.
But when I woke up this morning, something was different. I shifted on the couch drowsily and was surprised when I didn't feel him next to me. A few moments later, I saw that he was standing over me, fully dressed with a sad expression in his big brown eyes.
"Where are you going?" I mumbled, confused.
"I'm sorry, Daphne."
"What happened? What's wrong?"
"I can't do this anymore," his voice was suddenly angry. "I have to go."
"Wha... what!? Why? What's going on?" I was becoming frantic.
"I DON'T LOVE YOU!" His face was bright red, beads of sweat forming at the top of his forehead.
Before I even had time to react, Alistar was rushing towards the door.
"WAIT!" I screamed. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"
Was this really happening? I didn't understand. I ran to follow him outside, the fleece blanket falling off my still naked body as I jumped off the couch. He stopped quickly and turned around to grasp my shoulders and he bore his eyes into mine with such intensity that it was frightening.
"DON'T... FOLLOW... ME...!"
The anger in his voice shocked me. I had never heard anything like that come out of his mouth before. I was utterly stunned. And then he slammed the door behind him, and he was gone. All I could do was stand there, paralyzed. I heard a door slam and listened as the unknown car sped away. I didn't even look out the window to see if he had gone in a taxi or if someone I knew came to pick him up. Either way, he had been planning this.
And now, an hour later, I stood at the edge of my bed, gazing at the familiar box of records that had suddenly turned into a relic. Was this some kind of joke? Would Alistair come knocking at my door any minute to tell me that everything is okay? That he just had a momentary lapse of insanity? A part of me hoped it was nothing to be worried about, that he would be back any minute to tell me he had made a mistake. But the more intuitive part of me knew that this was the end. And I didn't know why.
I was afraid that if I eased up enough to accept his absence, I would never be able to pick myself back up again. Against my better judgment, I fought harder to hold on. I pulled the first record out of the box. Carefully, I took the vinyl disc out of its sleeve and walked over to the record player near my window. I lifted the needle, and with two nervous, but steady hands, I placed the record slowly onto the turntable.
I replaced the needle at the exact spot I wanted, and collapsed onto my bed in the wrong direction. The familiar electronic beat of the song drummed into my ears, and I knew I had made a mistake. I had opened the floodgates. But maybe this is what I needed. Maybe, wherever he was, he would hear me playing this record - and maybe he would turn around and come back.
I called out to him in my head, as the tears began to fall down my cheeks. Ben Gibbard's soft voice came ringing out through the speakers...
I am thinking it's a sign... that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images and when we kiss they're perfectly aligned...
I exhaled...
To be continued.
I lifted the lid as slowly as I could, while a part of me hoped that there would be some clue as to where he might’ve gone. But there was nothing new inside. Just the worn cardboard sleeves filled with old records- the same ones we'd listened to night after night for months in the basement of his house, while smoking spliffs or making love on the couch.
I took another deep breath and held it in, as if it would keep all of the emotion inside my body. As if that would keep it from spilling out like a broken dam. But I forced myself to replay the scene in my head over and over again, to maybe figure out what had gone wrong.
"They're coming in to change the carpet in the basement tomorrow morning," he had said to me last night. "I wanted to make sure nothing happened to the records."
"Oh, okay!" I thought nothing of it.
"I'm just gonna' put them in your room," he said, smiling.
At that moment, I had returned to the kitchen to finish up the risotto. It wasn't often that I had the flat to myself, but my sister had gone out of town for the weekend so I asked Alistair to stay over. I wanted to do something special for him, for once.
It was a perfect night. I was proud of how well my mushroom risotto turned out. We shared a bottle of Pinot Grigio over dinner, while Iron & Wine played in the background. We never even made it to the bedroom after that.
But when I woke up this morning, something was different. I shifted on the couch drowsily and was surprised when I didn't feel him next to me. A few moments later, I saw that he was standing over me, fully dressed with a sad expression in his big brown eyes.
"Where are you going?" I mumbled, confused.
"I'm sorry, Daphne."
"What happened? What's wrong?"
"I can't do this anymore," his voice was suddenly angry. "I have to go."
"Wha... what!? Why? What's going on?" I was becoming frantic.
"I DON'T LOVE YOU!" His face was bright red, beads of sweat forming at the top of his forehead.
Before I even had time to react, Alistar was rushing towards the door.
"WAIT!" I screamed. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"
Was this really happening? I didn't understand. I ran to follow him outside, the fleece blanket falling off my still naked body as I jumped off the couch. He stopped quickly and turned around to grasp my shoulders and he bore his eyes into mine with such intensity that it was frightening.
"DON'T... FOLLOW... ME...!"
The anger in his voice shocked me. I had never heard anything like that come out of his mouth before. I was utterly stunned. And then he slammed the door behind him, and he was gone. All I could do was stand there, paralyzed. I heard a door slam and listened as the unknown car sped away. I didn't even look out the window to see if he had gone in a taxi or if someone I knew came to pick him up. Either way, he had been planning this.
And now, an hour later, I stood at the edge of my bed, gazing at the familiar box of records that had suddenly turned into a relic. Was this some kind of joke? Would Alistair come knocking at my door any minute to tell me that everything is okay? That he just had a momentary lapse of insanity? A part of me hoped it was nothing to be worried about, that he would be back any minute to tell me he had made a mistake. But the more intuitive part of me knew that this was the end. And I didn't know why.
I was afraid that if I eased up enough to accept his absence, I would never be able to pick myself back up again. Against my better judgment, I fought harder to hold on. I pulled the first record out of the box. Carefully, I took the vinyl disc out of its sleeve and walked over to the record player near my window. I lifted the needle, and with two nervous, but steady hands, I placed the record slowly onto the turntable.
I replaced the needle at the exact spot I wanted, and collapsed onto my bed in the wrong direction. The familiar electronic beat of the song drummed into my ears, and I knew I had made a mistake. I had opened the floodgates. But maybe this is what I needed. Maybe, wherever he was, he would hear me playing this record - and maybe he would turn around and come back.
I called out to him in my head, as the tears began to fall down my cheeks. Ben Gibbard's soft voice came ringing out through the speakers...
I am thinking it's a sign... that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images and when we kiss they're perfectly aligned...
I exhaled...
To be continued.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Mushaboom
I'm still a little sick. Consequently, I didn't really accomplish much outside of the house today, even though I really should have been at the library taking out ethnography books for my dissertation. Oh well.
Instead, I spent most of the day inside my room (the only exception being when I was in the kitchen for meals). Still.. I got a lot of little things done:
- scoured the Internet for recipe variations of wild mushroom risotto
- watched 4 episodes of Shameless back-to-back (this is my pre-game for seeing James McAvoy in Three Days of Rain here in London soon)
- did laundry
- cleaned my room... I love having a clean carpet.
- spent hours on Facebook looking for people from my old Filipino dancing days
- played guitar
- read a little bit of Society of the Spectacle
- paid my rent, resulting in Mr. Mak once again declaring his undying admiration for me. He even brought me another box of Ferrero Rocher truffles, along with the usual 6-pack of Coke. I still haven't even finished the first box of truffles... LOL, bless him.
Hopefully life will go back to normal tomorrow - since I have class at 10 a.m. and I haven't been out of the house in 2 days. I don't like feeling unwell - it ruins my mojo.
p.s. I want some mushroom risotto.
Instead, I spent most of the day inside my room (the only exception being when I was in the kitchen for meals). Still.. I got a lot of little things done:
- scoured the Internet for recipe variations of wild mushroom risotto
- watched 4 episodes of Shameless back-to-back (this is my pre-game for seeing James McAvoy in Three Days of Rain here in London soon)
- did laundry
- cleaned my room... I love having a clean carpet.
- spent hours on Facebook looking for people from my old Filipino dancing days
- played guitar
- read a little bit of Society of the Spectacle
- paid my rent, resulting in Mr. Mak once again declaring his undying admiration for me. He even brought me another box of Ferrero Rocher truffles, along with the usual 6-pack of Coke. I still haven't even finished the first box of truffles... LOL, bless him.
Hopefully life will go back to normal tomorrow - since I have class at 10 a.m. and I haven't been out of the house in 2 days. I don't like feeling unwell - it ruins my mojo.
p.s. I want some mushroom risotto.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Miss Misery
I'm sick and aching today. I think maybe all the fun and lack of sleep over the past weekend finally caught up to me this morning. When I woke up for class, I got woozy... so I laid down for just a couple more minutes. But then, I passed out immediately and didn't wake up again for another hour and a half. Which means that I missed class. Damn. I really didn't want to do that.
So... I've been very unproductive all day long. And there's nothing worse than that to make me feel completely hopeless about nothing and everything all at once. Sometimes I just feel utterly unoriginal and absolutely un-extraordinary. This is one of those days. I hate it when that happens... it turns me into a full-blown Miss Misery.
Sometimes I feel wrong inside my own head... as if every excited feeling I've ever had has been completely imaginary. And then I just end up thinking myself in circles - not really coming into any coherent solutions about anything. Then after thinking that way, my mind feels totally blank and useless. It's all very confusing, and I don't even know how to properly put it in words.
I'm not sad at all. On the contrary, I think I'm kind of happy. But then again, I can't really be sure. It's just weird. The only thing I want to do right now is something, anything, to work the creative muscles... but I don't know what. I don't feel like playing guitar. I don't have a piano. I don't have a brilliant idea for a piece of creative writing. I can't draw to save my life. I don't want to go to sleep. I'm fully caught-up on LOST (which normally gets my imagination running). And if I start reading Twilight again, I'll be done for. There is nothing that I have enough motivation for to do at this moment except rant on my blog - and even then, I'll be done very very soon.
This is quite a conundrum.
So... I've been very unproductive all day long. And there's nothing worse than that to make me feel completely hopeless about nothing and everything all at once. Sometimes I just feel utterly unoriginal and absolutely un-extraordinary. This is one of those days. I hate it when that happens... it turns me into a full-blown Miss Misery.
Sometimes I feel wrong inside my own head... as if every excited feeling I've ever had has been completely imaginary. And then I just end up thinking myself in circles - not really coming into any coherent solutions about anything. Then after thinking that way, my mind feels totally blank and useless. It's all very confusing, and I don't even know how to properly put it in words.
I'm not sad at all. On the contrary, I think I'm kind of happy. But then again, I can't really be sure. It's just weird. The only thing I want to do right now is something, anything, to work the creative muscles... but I don't know what. I don't feel like playing guitar. I don't have a piano. I don't have a brilliant idea for a piece of creative writing. I can't draw to save my life. I don't want to go to sleep. I'm fully caught-up on LOST (which normally gets my imagination running). And if I start reading Twilight again, I'll be done for. There is nothing that I have enough motivation for to do at this moment except rant on my blog - and even then, I'll be done very very soon.
This is quite a conundrum.
Monday, February 16, 2009
XXIII: Weekend
Switzerland is a silly country. Aside from all of its obvious, kitsch characteristics... like Swiss army knives, cuckoo-clocks, cheese, chocolate and that one place where they collide atoms in Geneva (CERN for all you Dan Brown fans) - my favorite is probably the fact that the people there are lacking any REAL type of national identity.
This last weekend, I've learned in great detail and experience that the country is split into three very distinct regions (which shows that I've always been shite at geography) - French Suisse, German Suisse and Italian Suisse. And these three regions all speak their own languages.. you guessed them: Swiss French, Swiss German and Swiss Italian. Although the languages are very similar to their basic counterparts, the answer to why France, Germany and Italy didn't just claim their respective pieces of Switzerland and make it their own is beyond my immediate knowledge - but in any case, I find it kind of funny.
Why don't they just speak plain Swiss? Wouldn't that make it easier for the natives? And that stupidly long acronym for the national train station, CBB CFF FFS, could probably then be shortened to just ONE set of three letters. But wait, that would just be too easy. And perhaps this confusion is what keeps them from taking anybody's side and refusing to become part of the EU. But yeah, "just plain Swiss" doesn't exist. Maybe the whole country is designed to be the most confusing tourist spot in the world. Who knows?!?
Anyway, Allison and I made it out to Switzerland (aka Confoederatio Helvetica... yeah, I don't know how they got "Switzerland" from this name) over the weekend for a Valentine's Day weekend ski-trip, and it was more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. But it was also a bit ridiculous.
We left the "comforts" of London around 5 a.m. on Friday morning to catch our 8:05 Easy Jet flight to Geneva. But before I could even get to the airport, I was lucky enough to have my American debit card sucked into an ATM machine, never to be seen again, because apparently the bank was having technical difficulties. It wasn't my fault... but that still left me without my normal debit card. And I probably won't get another one for 2 more weeks. How convenient. It seems that all the forces are constantly working against me being here in Europe - but whatever, I'm finally starting to get used to these unfortunate situations. Thank God for credit cards.
Geneva was pretty. That's probably the only word I have to describe the place, because there's really not much more to it than that... except for maybe the super-expensive food and the unfriendly train station staff.
At least they have a geyser in the middle of a lake. It's called Jet d'Eau (Jet of Water... how clever).
After figuring out how to take a train, we ended up about an hour away from Geneva to meet up with Chris in Neuchatel. He and his flat-mate Jason were nice enough to let us stay with them and be our hosts for the weekend. They took fabulous care of us.
Neuchatel was cute. What else am I supposed to say about a little Swiss French town with a population of 50,000? We didn't stay within city limits long enough to really get a feel for it. And since Allison and I don't speak French, we let Chris take care of EVERYTHING. It was kind of nice getting to be the follower...
On Saturday, we took a day-trip to Lausanne, which was pretty much the epitome of adorable because of its snow-covered rooftops, cobblestone streets and giant cathedral on top of a hill.
But the absolute BEST part of Lausanne was this toilet I found in a random cafe:
It looks like any other toilet, I know. BUT here's the crazy part- instead of a lever, it has a twist-knob that you use to flush it. As you can tell, I enjoy the small things in life. Moving on....
Sunday was nothing special - just snowboarding in the Swiss Alps and a traditional fondue feast. SLAAAAASH the most perfect Swiss Day EVER.
That's the Eiger in the background (a.k.a. the mountain of glorious death):
No, we didn't ski that. Instead, we opted for a nicely steep and amazing mountain called Mannlichen (not to be confused with Man Lickin'). It just doesn't get better than that...
Actually, I lied. The fondue was the cherry on top of it all. Or should I say "cheese..." I was only a few congealed-emmental forkfuls away from OD'ing on the best meal of my life.
Luckily, Allison and I made it back home to London all right. We even got back in time to make it to our night class today. Not to sound pretentious or anything, but it still boggles my mind how easy it is to jump over the pond for a weekend getaway to Switzerland. Oh yeah, did I mention I went snowboarding in THE SWISS ALPS!?!?! Man, life is good.
This last weekend, I've learned in great detail and experience that the country is split into three very distinct regions (which shows that I've always been shite at geography) - French Suisse, German Suisse and Italian Suisse. And these three regions all speak their own languages.. you guessed them: Swiss French, Swiss German and Swiss Italian. Although the languages are very similar to their basic counterparts, the answer to why France, Germany and Italy didn't just claim their respective pieces of Switzerland and make it their own is beyond my immediate knowledge - but in any case, I find it kind of funny.
Why don't they just speak plain Swiss? Wouldn't that make it easier for the natives? And that stupidly long acronym for the national train station, CBB CFF FFS, could probably then be shortened to just ONE set of three letters. But wait, that would just be too easy. And perhaps this confusion is what keeps them from taking anybody's side and refusing to become part of the EU. But yeah, "just plain Swiss" doesn't exist. Maybe the whole country is designed to be the most confusing tourist spot in the world. Who knows?!?
Anyway, Allison and I made it out to Switzerland (aka Confoederatio Helvetica... yeah, I don't know how they got "Switzerland" from this name) over the weekend for a Valentine's Day weekend ski-trip, and it was more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. But it was also a bit ridiculous.
We left the "comforts" of London around 5 a.m. on Friday morning to catch our 8:05 Easy Jet flight to Geneva. But before I could even get to the airport, I was lucky enough to have my American debit card sucked into an ATM machine, never to be seen again, because apparently the bank was having technical difficulties. It wasn't my fault... but that still left me without my normal debit card. And I probably won't get another one for 2 more weeks. How convenient. It seems that all the forces are constantly working against me being here in Europe - but whatever, I'm finally starting to get used to these unfortunate situations. Thank God for credit cards.
Geneva was pretty. That's probably the only word I have to describe the place, because there's really not much more to it than that... except for maybe the super-expensive food and the unfriendly train station staff.
At least they have a geyser in the middle of a lake. It's called Jet d'Eau (Jet of Water... how clever).
After figuring out how to take a train, we ended up about an hour away from Geneva to meet up with Chris in Neuchatel. He and his flat-mate Jason were nice enough to let us stay with them and be our hosts for the weekend. They took fabulous care of us.
Neuchatel was cute. What else am I supposed to say about a little Swiss French town with a population of 50,000? We didn't stay within city limits long enough to really get a feel for it. And since Allison and I don't speak French, we let Chris take care of EVERYTHING. It was kind of nice getting to be the follower...
On Saturday, we took a day-trip to Lausanne, which was pretty much the epitome of adorable because of its snow-covered rooftops, cobblestone streets and giant cathedral on top of a hill.
But the absolute BEST part of Lausanne was this toilet I found in a random cafe:
It looks like any other toilet, I know. BUT here's the crazy part- instead of a lever, it has a twist-knob that you use to flush it. As you can tell, I enjoy the small things in life. Moving on....
Sunday was nothing special - just snowboarding in the Swiss Alps and a traditional fondue feast. SLAAAAASH the most perfect Swiss Day EVER.
That's the Eiger in the background (a.k.a. the mountain of glorious death):
No, we didn't ski that. Instead, we opted for a nicely steep and amazing mountain called Mannlichen (not to be confused with Man Lickin'). It just doesn't get better than that...
Actually, I lied. The fondue was the cherry on top of it all. Or should I say "cheese..." I was only a few congealed-emmental forkfuls away from OD'ing on the best meal of my life.
Luckily, Allison and I made it back home to London all right. We even got back in time to make it to our night class today. Not to sound pretentious or anything, but it still boggles my mind how easy it is to jump over the pond for a weekend getaway to Switzerland. Oh yeah, did I mention I went snowboarding in THE SWISS ALPS!?!?! Man, life is good.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Lost!
I have no discipline when it comes to certain things.
I should be sleeping by now, since I have to wake my ass up at 4:30... to be out of the house by 5... to get to gatwick by 6:30... so I can catch my 8:05 a.m. flight to Geneva. Sigh.
But no, instead I'm still awake writing this blog and contemplating whether or not I should watch the new episode of LOST. At least I'm all packed. And besides, if I go to bed now, chances are I won't actually go to sleep that quickly. What's another 45 minutes?
Exactly. LOST, it is.
Goodnight everyone.
p.s. Happy early Valentine's Day! <33
I should be sleeping by now, since I have to wake my ass up at 4:30... to be out of the house by 5... to get to gatwick by 6:30... so I can catch my 8:05 a.m. flight to Geneva. Sigh.
But no, instead I'm still awake writing this blog and contemplating whether or not I should watch the new episode of LOST. At least I'm all packed. And besides, if I go to bed now, chances are I won't actually go to sleep that quickly. What's another 45 minutes?
Exactly. LOST, it is.
Goodnight everyone.
p.s. Happy early Valentine's Day! <33
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
All Around the World
I'm going out of town this weekend on a Valentine's ski/snowboard trip to the Alps, and to visit Chris in Neuchatel. I have to leave my house at 5 am on Friday... which means I'm excusing myself from posting entries on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Unless of course I have some easy Internet access and then I'll do what I can.
But still, I've committed to 28 posts in 28 days, and seeing as this post already puts me two entries ahead, I know I won't mess that up. I will make them up as I see fit before the end of the month if I have to. And I have to admit, I'm liking this whole habit of posting something each day. I really thought it would be much harder than it is - but it's turning out to be pretty good. I find myself having to put more thought into what I do on a daily basis- always looking for possible subjects to write about. It's good observational practice, at least.
So I figured I'd take this opportunity to brag about my travels. One of the best things about living in London is that it's so close to everywhere else in Europe, relatively cheap even, to go to. Looks like my goal of filling up my passport with stamps before it expires in 2016 is going to be a cinch.
I went to Philippines and Thailand last July. Then since I've been living here, I've been to Edinburgh (Scotland), Amsterdam (Holland), Brugge (Belgium), Calais and Paris (France) and a few cities in England - Brighton, Salisbury, Liverpool.
As for upcoming planned trips:
Geneva and Neuchatel (Switzerland) this weekend
Barcelona (Spain) at the end of the month
And the tentative trips:
Dublin (Ireland) in March
Rome or Tuscany (Italy) in May
Transylvania (Romania) in May
Athens (Greece) in June
Cardiff (Wales) in June
And depending on whether or not I go home for good in June, I want to try and squeeze in Berlin, Prague and Lisbon. I wonder if it'll work out.. That would be awesome.
So many places to go... so little time.
But still, I've committed to 28 posts in 28 days, and seeing as this post already puts me two entries ahead, I know I won't mess that up. I will make them up as I see fit before the end of the month if I have to. And I have to admit, I'm liking this whole habit of posting something each day. I really thought it would be much harder than it is - but it's turning out to be pretty good. I find myself having to put more thought into what I do on a daily basis- always looking for possible subjects to write about. It's good observational practice, at least.
So I figured I'd take this opportunity to brag about my travels. One of the best things about living in London is that it's so close to everywhere else in Europe, relatively cheap even, to go to. Looks like my goal of filling up my passport with stamps before it expires in 2016 is going to be a cinch.
I went to Philippines and Thailand last July. Then since I've been living here, I've been to Edinburgh (Scotland), Amsterdam (Holland), Brugge (Belgium), Calais and Paris (France) and a few cities in England - Brighton, Salisbury, Liverpool.
As for upcoming planned trips:
Geneva and Neuchatel (Switzerland) this weekend
Barcelona (Spain) at the end of the month
And the tentative trips:
Dublin (Ireland) in March
Rome or Tuscany (Italy) in May
Transylvania (Romania) in May
Athens (Greece) in June
Cardiff (Wales) in June
And depending on whether or not I go home for good in June, I want to try and squeeze in Berlin, Prague and Lisbon. I wonder if it'll work out.. That would be awesome.
So many places to go... so little time.
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