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. :)

The White Stripes - New Music - More Music Videos

XXII: I'd Rather Dance With You

I can't dance to save my life. Which is probably why I would rather stay home and read a book than go out to the clubs, if I can help it. But sometimes... just sometimes... it's necessary to hit the town - especially when there's something extraordinarily fun going on. And besides, it's much easier to get on the dance floor when there's a healthy level of intoxication involved.

I went to a 1940's-themed Blitz Party on Saturday night with a few girlfriends. I was a little nervous at first, because I haven't gotten over my people anxiety enough to be fully comfortable going to an organized party with a bunch of strangers like this. But I was pleasantly surprised at how much fun I had, considering my lack of bootie-shaking abilities.

At least I got to dress up - I'm kind of a sucker for costume parties. We had a bit of a problem busting out the victory rolls (how in the world did women in the 40s do their hair every day so perfectly?) but we made do with our vintage dresses and shoes. And don't forget the fake lashes...

GO ALLIES!

(L-R: Ashley, me and Allison)


(L-R: Hannah, Ashley, Megan and me)

And it was great because the party took place in this abandoned community center in Shoreditch which had about six different rooms with low ceilings, separated by old brick arches - a perfect representation of an old wartime bunker. Big band music filled the rooms, while hundreds of costumed-guests slammed against each other with their boogie and swing moves. It really WAS like being in another era.



It was kind of nice getting out of the day-to-day monotony, which has slowly been creeping up on me since winter vacation ended. Between my painful obsession with Twilight and the extra research of putting together a dissertation proposal, it's been hard to get out and experience more of London. Exactly what I was afraid of... getting too comfortable and feeling too at-home that I was beginning to get lazy with my social interaction.

Fortunately, the girls administered just the right amount of peer pressure... and I got my lazy ass to commit to buying the ticket. And I'm glad I did. We met some wonderful new people... some of whom were dashing young PhD's who were kind enough to buy us some drinks. I honestly never thought I'd ever be in that situation (usually because I keep myself out of it) but it turns out that having lots of girlfriends and maintaining a constantly welcoming smile attracts this kind of thing. Who would've known? Hah.


(L-R: James, me, John, Megan and Ashley)

Which brings me to an interesting conclusion about myself. I think I have a bit of a self-confidence problem... and I don't think I smile nearly enough. I've had a sort of epiphany. I'm completely confident when it comes to school, work, professional and familiar relationships and that sort of thing. But I'm completely clueless when it comes to interacting casually with strangers.

I think I can trace it back as far as kindergarten - when the first friend I ever made was because a little blonde-haired girl named Ariana came running up to me to ask if I wanted to go play on the swings with her. Even then, I wasn't the one putting in the initial effort. The same holds to this day. It usually takes some extraordinary magnetic force for me to put myself out there and strike up conversation with a complete stranger. But I need to stop that. Because I'm missing out.

And since Saturday, I've caught myself in the tube or walking down the street with a leave-me-alone scowl broadcasted over my face. That needs to stop too. Because I know deep down inside, I can be a pretty friendly person... and what do I really have to fear? Embarrassment? Rejection? Just a few petty things that I can get over pretty easily. And I've come to realize that most people don't mind the conversation - in fact, they might welcome it - if for nothing else than breaking the monotony of day-to-day life.

From this point on, I'm resolving to break down the protective barriers a little bit and be a more confident and approachable person.

In the words of that one girl from Waking Life: "I don't want to be an ant."

XX: These Days (part 2)

continued from previous entry...

All the while, something inevitable was lurking behind us. James' flight back to the states was on the 9th of January. It was a little bittersweet. Him leaving meant that he could be out of the painful cold and back in the comforts of the U.S. (things like efficient plumbing, good customer service and atmospheric warmth, which I'm sure he was happy to get back). But it also meant that it was separation time again, which of course made me sad because I was getting closer to having to experience withdrawals. Luckily, I could still hold on to Shawn for another 10 days...

Outside the Tate Modern (James' last night in London... photo courtesy Shawn)


After we dropped James off at Heathrow that Friday, Shawn and I decided to head into Earl's Court on our way home for some provisions. At his request, we picked up some longoniza... and then mostly for refilling my stock, 3 boxes of Pocky, a bag of rice, a box of corn starch and some chitcharon.

Just as James suspected, the weather was relatively nice for the rest of the week.. Most of the time, Shawn and I just hung out (with exception to the times he would hang out with Helen and I stayed home attempting to finish up my essays). I'm a little surprised (but not really) that we remained harmonious throughout - given that extended periods of time with friends could turn into a really bad thing. But it didn't so I can only suppose that we really ARE pretty good friends. (*_*)

I spent a lot of time that third week being utterly distracted with getting my plans together for Shawn's birthday surprise. And in between, we got terribly drunk in my basement from my housemates' cocktail party, saw Slumdog Millionaire at the Barbican, went to the new Westfield and had some sushi, went on a behind-the-scenes tour of the Natural History Museum where we saw a REAL GIANT SQUID, ate cupcakes, drank lots of tea, and did a bunch more normal-ish activities. That is, until I was successfully able to secure Eurostar tickets to Paris.

Happy Birthday, Shawn!


Sounds like an extravagant birthday present, I know. But really... how could I NOT take advantage of him being here on his birthday and Paris just being a relatively cheap train ride away? It's not every day you can say you went to Paris for your birthday. Plus, I hadn't been back since I was 15 and it just seemed like the perfect opportunity. Since we had seen most of the sights on previous trips, we just focused on spending the one night/one day looking for lesser-touristy stuff.

Cafe de Deux Moulins (The Two Windmills from Amelie)


Moulin Rouge (no, the big elephant was NOT there)


Jim Morrison's grave


Shakespeare and Company (the bookstore from Before Sunset)


Les Deux Magots (The Two Magots? j/k I don't know... this place had some sort of literary/philosophical significance but we couldn't read the whole sign because it was in all French)


We went to a bunch of paper stores (to feed Shawn's obsession), drank as much coffee as humanly possible- because it's better there than anywhere else in the world I've been to (perhaps only Italy can beat it but I don't know for sure), and went back and forth across the city in the Metropolitain.

Pretty harmless sight-seeing, I would say. Except for the necessary tourist-esque photograph in front of the Arc...


Come to think of it, we crammed A LOT in those 36 hours. And we got back to London just in time to eat at Falafel King (that's not what it's really called but apparently that's the new nickname) one last time, and to have all of Sunday to veg before Shawn went back to the states on the 19th.

I guess the only significant thing that I haven't mentioned yet is that I finally started reading Twilight (the first book) the night before we left for Paris. With all the sightseeing and the last day to hang out with Shawn, I still managed to finish it on the tube on my way home from Heathrow on the 19th. And Shawn anticipated that... because he gave me New Moon (book 2) as a thank-you gift that Sunday.

It was all over from there. When I wasn't eating or sleeping, or trying my hardest to be a grad-school student, or watching the first movie, or ordering the next book, I was reading. I'm surprised I was even able to get out of the house to celebrate my friend Natalia's birthday last weekend. I even had to slow down reading book 3... because book 4 hadn't arrived in the mail yet.

So, I just finished Breaking Dawn (book 4) yesterday. But honestly, my decision to begin the series couldn't have been more perfect timing, because my unhealthy obsession with the books seriously dulled the separation anxiety that I barely even noticed it. Which is why it took me so long to blog. I kept getting distracted by the dashing vampire, Edward Cullen.

So that's it... back to real life again. I've got internship applications to fill out, situationist theory to read up on (yes Shawn, Society of the Spectacle is officially on my reading list), a dissertation proposal to craft, a March trip to Barcelona to plan, and a personal brainstorming session for the brilliant novel that I one day hope to write...

These days have been intense - moreso than I would have thought possible crammed into such a relatively short period of time. Exhale. Sigh. But at least I'm feeling inspired...

XIX: These Days (Part 1)

I'm back. To real life, anyway.

The last month has been wild. It would be an absolute injustice to try and describe it all through a bunch of meaningless words... because no matter how hard I try to develop a coherent story in my head, it simply ceases to exist in the proper way. It just comes out in my imagination as a series of images and wordless emotions, which look more like blurry, silent home-videos inside a darkened room, than anything else anybody would really fully understand.

Most of my friends and family have already heard some of the stories... about how we went to Edinburgh for New Year, about the long-awaited Beatles pilgrimage to Liverpool, and the brief few weeks afterwards where I got to smash my two worlds together (Simi life meets London life). Oh yeah, and I can't forget about the spontaneous one-night birthday celebration in Paris.

So instead of attempting to document every single minute little detail in what would surely turn into a thousand too many paragraphs, I'll try to take a more reflexive route. Which means, I may quite possibly write things that make no sense to you whatsoever, that serve more as personal reminders to myself about how I felt. Sorry in advance... but I promise to add in some photographs for nostalgia's sake.

I suppose I'll just pick up where I left off. After Christmas, Kim and I didn't have much more to do but wait for Shawn and James to arrive. So when they finally got here on the 28th of December, I was all but exploding inside my own skin for the excitement of seeing them. We were waiting for them inside Heathrow airport, and I'm pretty sure I was jumping up and down in anticipation for what felt like forever - because we knew their plane had landed and that any minute, they'd come walking through the doors with all their luggage. So when they finally came out, both wearing all dark colors and the only two in the entire airport wearing sunglasses - I felt absolutely hysterical.

Here comes the rockstar... and his accountant.


It was a fantastic feeling to see them. The few months in between, where they were there and I was here, all of a sudden seemed to have disappeared. The waiting was over and our friends were here - and it couldn't have been more surreal. For the first few hours, I couldn't stop looking at them. How strange.

After my initial hysteria started to wear off, we were finally on our way to begin the holiday. There was an excruciatingly long bus-ride to Edinburgh- somewhere in between point A and point B, we stopped at rest-point that looked like Baker's Square. There was a VW van... we could've been anywhere in the world. It was freezing but we smoked a lot of cigarettes anyway. Inside the coach, we TRIED to get some sleep and we played a little bit of musical chairs in the back of the bus. Shawn and I exchanged iPod's for a little while, then at the end, he found a battered copy of "Angels & Demons."



Edinburgh was cold. There was a leftover French funk in our room at the hostel, so we had to get air freshener. We drank A LOT, we talked to a ton of random people walking through the streets drunk in the middle of the night, saw people in kilts, watched the torch ceremony, ate warm donuts, had a temporary run-in with the devil (who was waiting for us in a wrapped package under a Christmas tree), gazed at a fireworks display and danced the nights away. We never saw the light of day until it was time for Shawn, James and I to leave days later.

The last 24-something hours of being in Scotland (Dec. 31 - Jan. 1), we stayed awake the whole time. I was miserably tired and I vaguely remember being babied while the guys took care of checking out and everything else. The girl at the reception desk was rude. And at some point, I was on the couch in the hostel common room, trying to get warm and squeeze in a few minutes of sleep before catching a 12:30 train to Liverpool. Eventually, we took a cab to Kim's dorm to say goodbye - and minutes later, found ourselves heading south back to England.






Liverpool was something else entirely. It was seedy, but the people were nice. And the lady at the cafe had super-long acrylic nails. We went on a Magical Mystery Tour... which turned out to be a spiritual journey through everything Beatles... including the real Penny Lane, the real Strawberry Fields, the real homes of the fab four, and the real Cavern Club. We went on a hotel-hunt for Ringo, then later I stood next to the spirit of John Lennon inside a museum, and we all celebrated being there by going to a dirty McDonald's. The last night the three of us were there, we experienced the heebie jeebies- which maybe should have warned us about the short series of unfortunate events that would follow...







On Jan. 4, while buying train tickets back to London, James had a fraud problem with his debit card and had to cancel it. Then, our train back to London from Liverpool was experiencing technical difficulties. A ride that should have only been a few hours turned into a 7-hour ordeal. We got on each other's nerves a little bit - probably from all the stress, the lack of sleep from the last week, and having to wait in the blistering cold through an unorganized mess of coach transfers. Which reminds me... I still need to go to Euston station to try and claim refunds for our tickets.



When we finally got back to London, we were exhausted. I stole the cushions from the downstairs couch so James would have something soft to sleep on. Shawn and I crammed on my single bed. The next five days were a little weird - partly because of the 24/7 close proximity the three of us were in, partly because James was in an unfortunate debit card situation, and partly because everywhere I wanted to take them seemed to be closed. I had no idea what was going on - maybe all of London was still on holiday. Still, we made the most of it by continuing our Beatles journey, walking around A LOT (of course in our billions of layers of clothing), having late-night dinners at "Falafel King" and seeing the city from the top of a giant ferris wheel.







The days just seemed to fly by. It was a bit unnerving to watch my two worlds collide the way they did... seeing people from home in a completely different context. But I was still having a great time, and I was happy to be with them. All the while, something inevitable was lurking behind us...

To be continued...

XVII: Start Wearing Purple

I'm so glad I didn't break my nose this week. But I definitely bruised it.

I went to a Gogol Bordello show with Helen at the Roundhouse in Camden on Thursday night, and I now know EXACTLY what it feels like to be repeatedly elbowed in the ribs and slammed against a metal barricade while the feet of crowd surfers fly dangerously within inches of kicking me in the head. It was amazing... and exhausting. Long live gypsy punk!

The best part was at the very end... when Eugene (the lead singer) walked onto the floor and asked Helen if she wanted to join him backstage. I couldn't believe rockstars actually did that. As I wasn't directly invited, and given that she's probably the band's biggest fan next to the band members themselves, I didn't want to be the third wheel anyway, so I left it to her to go entertain him. I went home... battered and bruised, but super excited and happy for her. (And no, apparently nothing too dirty happened between them... just a couple snogs and the exchanging of personal e-mail addresses.) Cool, huh?

Oh Eugene, you Ukranian cad!


There's been a lot of punk rock in my life lately. Besides seeing Gogol, I also went to a small punk show on Monday night at the Underworld - an old, dingy venue right in the middle of Camden Town. The place reminded me of a much cooler Cobalt Cafe, but not quite as hip as The Whisky. Actually, it might come pretty close to Paladino's, except underground - literally (a basement bar). Some of the bands were better than others... JB Conspiracy was ska punk and just awesome - they've toured with Rancid, so yeah. But American band Guttermouth, who I had never heard of before that (shows what I know about punk) was a little too intense for my taste.

Either way, I had a good time. It was for a first date... with a Brit... who is pretty awesome. He is a 27-year-old college graduate who likes cupcakes and Thai food, owns his own flat in South London, is friends with Reel Big Fish and knows a bunch of people who can potentially hook us up with free concert tickets. He's a proper dark-haired gentleman, who wears Converse and hoodies. I'm kind of surprised he exists. But that's all I can really say about him for now.

On Tuesday night, CT was in town. He stopped by London on his way home to Simi for the holidays so we went out for a semi-touristy night on the town (I only say "semi" because he's been here before on multiple occassions). I met up with him around dinner time at The Generator Hostel, an accomodation arrangement which was by my recommendation of course.

And in case some of you are wondering - the Generator is exactly the same... except now you have to ring the doorbell or slide a keycard to get in. The bar and Turbine are as tacky as ever, made even more visually explosive by the metallic Christmas decorations. And yes brothers, they still have the meet & greet. It was very, very, VERY nostalgic - especially when I walked past Valencia's on the corner and Pizza Paradise across the street.

For dinner, we went to the Founders Arms... then we went hunting in Putney for a quirky pub that CT thought he'd been to when he was in London years ago. It turned out to be a different pub with the same name - The Jolly Gardener's. But he said it was actually better than the one he went to. Consequently, it's going on my list of "places o' fun," and if it weren't so far away I'd probably become a regular - especially because of the comfy chairs, super friendly bar staff and the oodles of board games available for anybody to use. They also have quiz night! It was good fun!

Besides all this stuff, I haven't really done too much else except impose house-arrest upon myself so I can finish my essays. As of tonight, I've finished my theory essay, 3/5 of my human image essay, none of my production and discourse essay, and half of my digital tech essay. It's not easy attempting to write more than 12,000 words in a week and a half. But hopefully I'll be done by Boxing Day (the 26th) and I can rest easy for the rest of my holiday. There goes Christmas...

It's a good thing Kim arrived in London today so I can take frequent breaks and have someone to be merry with this week. AND, I know she'll understand when I go into "serious study mode."

This way, I can actually take productive friend-bonding breaks instead of "stop and watch British reality TV" breaks... which by the way, is officially my favorite way to spend weekend afternoons. I've got the schedule for the best ones memorized:

Friday
2:30 - Dickinson's Real Deal (Channel 1)
Oddly enough, this is an antique show. I never cared about antiques until I started watching this show. Basically, random people come on here, try to sell their stuff to dealers, but if they don't like the offers, they take their stuff to auction. It just amazes me what people will spend their money on. On the last episode, this guy sold an old talc container with a picture of The Beatles printed on the front for 60 quid. 60 QUID! FOR AN EMPTY CAN!

Saturday
12:30 - 101 Challenges
The hilarious Scottish brothers Lee and Leslie Vine take us on a journey across Asia where they try and complete a total of 101 kooky challenges submitted by viewers. Last episode, they participated in a Chinese Acrobatic circus, studied kung-fu wall climbing, and arranged a 101-person conga line down the Great Wall of China. They even stopped over in the Philippines to try some balut. It doesn't get better than that.

Sunday
12:20 - Unsigned Act
It's like American Idol or The X Factor - except with bands.

1:25 - Relentless
By far the best reality TV show of all time. Participants of this show are put through miserable/embarrassing/highly awkward situations for a chance to win 3,000 pounds of cash. For 48 hours, they are followed by hidden cameras - forced to do crazy stunts in order to receive and answer quiz questions that could help them win the money. But it's not that simple... dun dun duuuun. The guy who was on today had to sing the lyrics of "I touch myself" in a crowded rugby stadium. He also had a question stamped onto his ass without him knowing it... and was forced to drop trou in front of complete strangers to get it answered.
Wow, I'm really not doing this any justice. Just look it up online and watch it for yourself. It's fantastic.

I can't believe I've spent so many words talking about reality TV. I'm so lame.

XVI: Viva la Vida

It's been a while since my last blog entry. In the last two weeks, I've done the following:

- spent way too much money with my American friends at Chili's in Canary Wharf, spurred on by a bout of homesickness, after which we all decided it was worth it if only for the skillet queso and molten chocolate cake.
- tried my hand at making arroz caldo for the first time (which was easy and delicious btw).
- finished 3 presentations, including one home-made wikipedia and one home-made video that my professor has since called "impressive" and "ingenious." I am a bad ass, I know.
- gotten drunk after class with friends and aformentioned professor. (He is gay, fabulous and has a striking resemblance to Hugh Jackman!)
- had an average of 4 cups of tea per day to keep me going...
- developed an addiction to Nero white mochas
- learned how to properly fingerpick "I Will Follow You Into the Dark" on guitar... this is what I did whenever my brain started to hurt.
- kept craving cheeseburgers, which I have since learned to eat with salsa - it's the most fantastic thing ever.
- applied for an internship at the Institute of Contemporary Arts London (I haven't heard back from them yet)
- hung out with Aleem - I know, crazy, right? I didn't even know he was coming until the morning he arrived.
- went to Edinburgh to visit Kim
- saw Coldplay in concert
- almost got stranded in Glasgow (of which I know I will go into excruciating detail later in this entry)

As you can see, I've been busy. Which explains why it's taken me so damn long to update my blog. Oops. But at least I'm doing it now... and I have some photographic proof to back up some of my adventures.

I got an e-mail from Ashley on Saturday morning telling me that Aleem was on his way to London. My first reaction was, "is this a joke?" Not in a bad way, but more like "why the hell didn't he tell me beforehand?" So I called his hotel and left a message for him to call me. It was kind of exciting, It was like the movies - calling the front desk of the Hilton Metropole to leave a mysterious message for a friend who I feel like I haven't seen in ages.

At 5:30ish, I received a call on my mobile from a number I don't recognize. I picked it up and heard in the most familiar voice, "hey Dar!" It gave me goosebumps to know that such an important piece of my California-ness was actually in the same city and time zone as me. He was still going to have dinner with his parents and I had to finish my video presentation.

So we didn't meet up until 9:30 or 10ish, when I came knocking on his hotelroom door on the 11th floor. When he opened it, I started to hear Nico's "These Days" playing in my head - it was like the past and the present were mushed together all of a sudden. It was great.



Given that we only had one night to hang out, I gave him a choice. "Dessert and coffee in a touristy spot" or "Alcoholic beverages with a fantastic view, but off the beaten path." He chose the latter, and I took him to the Founder's Arms near Blackfriars, where we drank Pimm's and lemonade, and caught up as much as we could.

But because the tube stops running just after midnight, we had to head back a bit earlier than we wanted to. We parted ways around 12:30, but only after an emergency stop at Oxford Circus to find a toilet (because SOMEONE - not me - didn't anticipate the lack of potty rooms in the tube stations). Hahaha, sorry Aleem. Welcome to London!


The next day, I flew up to Edinburgh. I must've been absolutely insane to take a vacation during finals weeks, but I couldn't resist. Kim bribed me with Coldplay tickets - how could I say no?

I found out that airport security here is ridiculously strict. They stopped me at random and searched my bag... and used some weird device to scan my phone, camera and iPod for explosives. WTF?

The good news is, I'm not a terrorist. And I found this awesome juice stand inside Stansted Airport that reminded me of home:


No, there's no lovejuice in California... at least none that's made out of real fruit. (I hope some of you will remember this inside joke.)

I arrived in Edinburgh at 3:30 - where Kim came to greet me by way of Lothian bus transfer. It turns out that she really DOES live in a fantastic city.

They have a really big castle.


They have some spooktastically old cemeteries. (That big headstone belongs to William BONAR, born in 1773).


And the ugliest "traditional meets modern" Parliament building in the whole wide world. I hear that this is quite the scandal among the locals.


We spent most of the time just walking around the city. I think we may have easily walked about 10 miles over the course of 4 days... In the frigid cold, this is not a pleasant task. Two pairs of socks, legwarmers and leather boots and I STILL couldn't feel my toes. (James and Shawn - consider this a cautionary warning and I recommend that you bring all the thermals you own.)

But look! In a few weeks... we'll be walking down this street with torches in our hands (hopefully in a state of mulled wine inebriation) getting ready to burn down the city... I mean... an effigy... of some sort...



On Tuesday night, Kim and I (along with three of her other friends) took a train to Glasgow to see the Coldplay show. They were as awesome as expected. Though I suspect that Chris Martin was on some type of happy high during the concert.

Maybe it was the profuse sweating, the random proclamations of "that guy on the guitar is my best friend," the frequent tendencies to hug his bandmates, or the moments of forgetfulness where he depended on the audience to finish the lyrics for him and the subsequent giggles, that gave him away. Or how he would fall to the floor in ecstasy during rock-out songs like "Viva la Vida". Or how his eyes would bug out of his head every time he would play an epic piano song. Can you picture it? "Open up your eeeeeeeeyes...." Then again, he didn't name the last album X&Y for nothing. It was way too obvious for anyone not to notice. But the audience just ate it up.



Here comes the fun part... The last train back to Edinburgh was scheduled to leave from Glasgow Central Station at 11:28 p.m. By the time the concert ended and we finally made it outside the venue, it was 11:09 p.m. But that's only because we waited inside for two of Kim's friends who had seats far away from us. Turns out, they decided to leave early to ensure they'd make the train. We didn't get this text message... because Vodaphone service sucks.

Probably around 11:12 (I can't remember for sure because of our sudden panic), we got word that they had already gone and we found ourselves running in the crowd through an obnoxiously long tunnel headed for the overground station... where a local train would take us to the central station two stops away. Miraculously, we made it to Central Station with about 5 minutes to spare. We were home free... so we thought.

We were just coming up the escalator towards the platforms, when suddenly, Kim's phone regains service again and we find out that the other two are at Queens Street station - because the stupid transportation people decided to move the departure point to there. We had no idea where Queens Street was.

So again, we were running... We stopped to ask some cops where the station was, and they pointed us in some confusing direction... (right here, then left, then right, then left at the borders, or something like that...) Running... running uphill... text message that we have just a couple minutes left... panicking... running... can't breath... shit, where the fuck's the station?

We got to where the cop told us to go, but we couldn't find the station. So we stopped again and asked some girl if she knew where it was. She ever-so-slowly tried to give us two different routes, and at the same time, we inched further and further away from her as if it would make any difference. Then we went up the hill, through an alley and there it was - Queens Street Station. Hallelujah. By this point, my asthma had kicked in from the cold and all the running...

We finally made it inside, tried to go through the turnstile, but the man standing there told us we were on the wrong side. So we were running again... It was all a haze, but somehow we were able to jump onto the train, right before the doors quickly shut behind us. I couldn't breathe. Hooray for inhalers.

But we actually made it. I guess to compensate for moving the departure point to Queens Street, they added a couple minutes to the schedule. Who knows what kind of shenanigans we would've gotten ourselves into had we missed it. And to think... I thought that kind of thing only happened in movies. But at least I'll always remember my first trip to Glasgow.

Viva la Vida!

XV: Fascination

I've been feeling very A.D.D. lately. With everything that's been going on - trying to get coursework done, trying to find internships for next semester, planning for the holidays, maintaining a social life, finding time to read and play guitar for pleasure AND attempting to document it all (for my sake as well as whoever is interested) - has left me confused and flustered most of the time. And I'm betting that when I'm done writing this entry, it'll be quite a jumbled mess of information... just take it as an implicit reflection of the current state of my life.

Anyway, I was riding home on the Picadilly line last night (I barely caught the last train home just after midnight) and I was fascinated by this strange man sitting across from me who was counting through a giant wad of cash. What the hell was he possibly thinking? He was just sitting there, flipping through who knows how much money, with a stupid smirk on his face, looking up way too often to wink at me. Gross! What did he think, that his money would impress me and I would jump up from my seat to smother him with kisses? If anything, it just disgusted me and made me ponder all the CRAZY people I see day-in and day-out in this nutty city.

When you don't have a car and are forced to use public transportation, you become witness to all the nutters in the world... people like the cash cow, or the ones who constantly mutter incoherent words to themselves, or the ones who stare at you incessantly as if you couldn't see them, or the mothers who curse at or smack their little children right in front of everyone.

Or people like this one who do full-blown interpretive dance routines right on the platform :


Oh wait, just kidding, that's my friend Ashley... she's only crazy some of the time.

My favorite of all these are the Italian men (no offense James... they just always happen to be Italian) who always travel in groups of 3 or more and will sit right next to me or directly in front of me and say things like "che bella" with a really perverted look in their eyes. Then they'll lick their lips and talk to me in Italian, laugh with their friends after I take out my iPod to drown out their comments, then talk louder to interrupt my music and continue to stare and smile and talk at me until they reach their stop. Lucky for me, I live a bit further away from most people and never have to worry about any of them following me home.

I don't get it. Some people just have no tact... and the ones with mental problems, why are they allowed to leave their homes? I know they're not homeless because they're always dressed relatively nice, carry cell phones, and obviously have the money to ride the tube. You'd find a homeless person sitting in front of the stations begging for money before you'd see them anywhere past the turnstiles.

The worst part is, they always look and seem like normal people until the train starts moving and then it's like a full moon just rose. At least in Simi, we already know who the crazies are (Frankenstein, the hot water guy on his bike, that freak with Teret's who assaulted Becky, the parrot man and let's not forget EVIE) and we can just avoid them when we see them.

But here, no, they're much more sneaky. Maybe I'm just an asshole, but I won't pretend that I'm the most accepting or accommodating person in the world, because obviously I'm not... whatever, the truth's gotta' come out some time. Thank God I've got friends here who feel my pain... and we can talk about it to each other to maintain normalcy.

Speaking of friends (I guess I can change the subject now that I've got that rant out of my system)... Many of my friends here are American, and so we were all in the same lonely sort of mood this week with Thanksgiving and all. Most of us had class all day on Thursday, so we planned to celebrate it on Saturday. (Hence me having to catch the last train home last night.)

Given that we're in a country that doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving, it was a real interesting challenge to find all the necessary ingredients to make a proper Thanksgiving dinner - but I'm happy to report that our feast was still a success, even without the canned cranberry sauce and mashed potato flakes.



Our German friend Fabian even joined in and offered some homemade German cookies... (notice Chris' homemade Pumpkin Pie and yeah, store-bought chocolate cheesecake, but delicious anyway):


You know how you can buy those boxes of stuffing mix from the store and just add in whatever ingredients? Well, they don't have that here. So I had to make the stuffing from scratch. And I'm so proud, because I totally did it and it turned out super yum. (And sorry friends for not being able to host Stuffgiving this year... I promise it'll be even more fantastic in 2009 because now I'm a stuffing pro AS WELL as the turkey queen. (Wow, that sounded really conceited... sorry).

All I need is some white bread, apples, a lot of sage and a little bit of love... oh! and I might have to import this incredible Waitrose sausage:


Hooray for having leftovers to eat for dinner tonight. I love Thanksgiving.

Which then leads me into another train of thought... it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. The high street markets are in full-swing here - lights, inflated snowmen, happy Brits who have upgraded their demeanor to only "semi-grumpy" instead of 110% grumpy. But of course, this makes me a little sad because I won't get to see family (especially Francis). It's really weird, after being so used to spending holidays with my ginormous and wonderful family, to having to get through it alone.

But luckily, Kim is flying down from Edinburgh and we're finally (literally, not metaphorically) going to cut the Dutch cheese and make our very own 2-person feast. I think everyone in my house is going home for Christmas... and all the rest of my friends are going home as well. I told them to send my love to the states and to bring me back some hot cheetos.

Then on the 28th of December, Shawn and James are flying in for New Year's - and we'll be celebrating Hogmanay in Scotland, going on a Beatles pilgrimage to Liverpool on New Year's Day, paying homage to Oasis in Manchester and then back to London, where I can attempt to show them around town for a week or two.

And to equip us for all the wonderful friendtime goodness, I've started working on a new mapping project. I just learned that you can build your own personalized maps on google and share them with whoever you want. So, I've started compiling some of my favorite London spots so anybody anywhere can see where I like to go: My Lovely London


View Larger Map

Isn't it cool?? Besides all the other places I've been documenting on this blog, you can now follow me around London from the convenience of your own home. Now you don't only have to rely on my photographs of places like:

Millenium Bridge:


The inside of Tate Modern:


But you can also be geographically correct while doing it. Ah technology, how I love and fear thee.

Okay, so I hope it wasn't too difficult to follow this lame-ish, tangent-filled, random train-of-thought, digital excuse for a thing I like to call my blog. And if you've made it this far I congratulate you and offer you a musical reward...

I've been a little obsessed with this Danish pop band called Alphabeat (they are HUGE here), so I've embedded a video. They're very indie-pop and by the looks of this video, maybe too influenced by the 80's, random cinematic dance-sequences and nerd-rock, but man oh man, do I love them. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do...