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Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Thursday, November 20, 2008
XIV: Only in Dreams
Everytime I experience a new piece of art that I enjoy, I can't help but get the feeling that I've been missing out on this secret world of creativity for the last 27 years. This past week has been full of incredible artistic experiences... I have to keep figuratively pinching myself, just to make sure I won't wake up from what feels like a continuous lucid dream of epic proportions.
This is me declaring that I am officially in love with art. I am also in love with dreaming. So when I met Luke Jerram at the Institute of Contemporary Art (ICA) today, it was almost impossible to NOT fall in love with him too.
This artist, who also happened to propose to his (now) wife with the first-ever phonographic engagement ring, is the best thing to happen to sleeping and dreaming since the invention of the goose-down pillow. Some artists use oil on canvas; others use pencil on paper, light on film, or spray paint on cardboard boxes.
But Luke Jerram doesn't. He creates mental pictures on the spaces of our dreams. This is the Dream Director (I borrowed this photo from his website):
Participants of this art installation are invited to sleep over, inside the gallery, while an electronic eye mask monitors periods of rapid eye movement. When the computer senses that a person is in REM sleep, various sounds (like rushing water or chirping birds) plays through speakers in the sleep pod, consequently manipulating the dreams of the person sleeping. And apparently, it works!
Unfortunately, I didn't get to try it myself because the waiting list for this installation is super long... but I did get to review some of the data collected after last night's session. Everyone who's tried it has had remarkable dreaming results and really, I just find the whole concept for the work incredible. Think about it, you can see a piece of artwork while you're sleeping... that's just too cool. As for the artist's goal in his works: screw traditional paintings, it's all about exploring alternative realms of "perceptual locations." Brilliant.
Speaking of non-traditional artistic spaces, I also got to visit 2 installations by Rafael Lozano-Hemmer (that artist I was really excited about a couple entries ago...)
On Monday afternoon, I saw his "Frequency and Volume" installation at the Barbican Curve gallery. He utilizes flood lights to cast shadows against the wall as you walk past. Then, depending on the size, shape and movement of your shadow, a computer uses its measurement to tune-into various radio stations. As you move around, the volume of the radio also changes.
The second one, "Under Scan" took place in Trafalgar Square... again utilizing flood lights and shadows. In this installation, a video image of another person pops up within your shadow and starts waving to you or doing other weird things. If you walk away from it, your "shadow person" goes to sleep. But if you continue to pay attention to it, it will continue to interact with you.
I've had so much fun with Lozano-Hemmer's works that I'm actually doing a theoretical & critical presentation on him for one of my classes. This whole "new media" thing is just amazing when you look at it in an artistic context. I wish you all could see this stuff... but both installations will have moved on by the time some of you come out to visit.
As for other things I've done this week:
I saw the Annie Leibovitz exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery... which was obviously great. I got to see the original prints for the photos she did of Queen Elizabeth and a whole bunch of her celebrity portraits for Vanity Fair, including this one:
This past weekend, I went to Brighton to see another exhibit... but my friends and I decided to make a day out of it since it IS England's favorite beach town. Oddly enough, it reminded me a lot of San Francisco and Santa Monica put together - lots of hilly neighborhoods squashed into just a few square miles, complete with pier and carnival rides.
Last, but certainly not least, I saw Death Cab For Cutie at the Carling Academy Brixton. As expected, it was a perfect show... especially when they ended with a 4-song encore of my would-be requests: What Sarah Said, Title and Registration, The Sound of Settling, and Transatlantacism. Brilliant again.
So as you can see, it's been a pretty busy week for me. It's weird because all these things I'm doing are relevant to my education... it just so happens that I'm thoroughly enjoying it all. Basically, I'm getting a master's degree for experiencing a whole bunch of fun stuff. I think I really lucked out in choosing this major... who knows, I might even come out of this wanting to become a curator. I just hope it isn't all a dream...
This is me declaring that I am officially in love with art. I am also in love with dreaming. So when I met Luke Jerram at the Institute of Contemporary Art (ICA) today, it was almost impossible to NOT fall in love with him too.
This artist, who also happened to propose to his (now) wife with the first-ever phonographic engagement ring, is the best thing to happen to sleeping and dreaming since the invention of the goose-down pillow. Some artists use oil on canvas; others use pencil on paper, light on film, or spray paint on cardboard boxes.
But Luke Jerram doesn't. He creates mental pictures on the spaces of our dreams. This is the Dream Director (I borrowed this photo from his website):
Participants of this art installation are invited to sleep over, inside the gallery, while an electronic eye mask monitors periods of rapid eye movement. When the computer senses that a person is in REM sleep, various sounds (like rushing water or chirping birds) plays through speakers in the sleep pod, consequently manipulating the dreams of the person sleeping. And apparently, it works!
Unfortunately, I didn't get to try it myself because the waiting list for this installation is super long... but I did get to review some of the data collected after last night's session. Everyone who's tried it has had remarkable dreaming results and really, I just find the whole concept for the work incredible. Think about it, you can see a piece of artwork while you're sleeping... that's just too cool. As for the artist's goal in his works: screw traditional paintings, it's all about exploring alternative realms of "perceptual locations." Brilliant.
Speaking of non-traditional artistic spaces, I also got to visit 2 installations by Rafael Lozano-Hemmer (that artist I was really excited about a couple entries ago...)
On Monday afternoon, I saw his "Frequency and Volume" installation at the Barbican Curve gallery. He utilizes flood lights to cast shadows against the wall as you walk past. Then, depending on the size, shape and movement of your shadow, a computer uses its measurement to tune-into various radio stations. As you move around, the volume of the radio also changes.
The second one, "Under Scan" took place in Trafalgar Square... again utilizing flood lights and shadows. In this installation, a video image of another person pops up within your shadow and starts waving to you or doing other weird things. If you walk away from it, your "shadow person" goes to sleep. But if you continue to pay attention to it, it will continue to interact with you.
I've had so much fun with Lozano-Hemmer's works that I'm actually doing a theoretical & critical presentation on him for one of my classes. This whole "new media" thing is just amazing when you look at it in an artistic context. I wish you all could see this stuff... but both installations will have moved on by the time some of you come out to visit.
As for other things I've done this week:
I saw the Annie Leibovitz exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery... which was obviously great. I got to see the original prints for the photos she did of Queen Elizabeth and a whole bunch of her celebrity portraits for Vanity Fair, including this one:
This past weekend, I went to Brighton to see another exhibit... but my friends and I decided to make a day out of it since it IS England's favorite beach town. Oddly enough, it reminded me a lot of San Francisco and Santa Monica put together - lots of hilly neighborhoods squashed into just a few square miles, complete with pier and carnival rides.
Last, but certainly not least, I saw Death Cab For Cutie at the Carling Academy Brixton. As expected, it was a perfect show... especially when they ended with a 4-song encore of my would-be requests: What Sarah Said, Title and Registration, The Sound of Settling, and Transatlantacism. Brilliant again.
So as you can see, it's been a pretty busy week for me. It's weird because all these things I'm doing are relevant to my education... it just so happens that I'm thoroughly enjoying it all. Basically, I'm getting a master's degree for experiencing a whole bunch of fun stuff. I think I really lucked out in choosing this major... who knows, I might even come out of this wanting to become a curator. I just hope it isn't all a dream...
Friday, November 14, 2008
XIII: Life in Technicolor
How am I not myself?
Imagine a world where you can look any way you want to. You can change everything... from the shape of your fingers to the space between your eyes - all without spending thousands of dollars on plastic surgery. You can fly, you can teleport, you can visit any place in the world - and you can even create a piece of space on your own. You can never get physically hurt, you can meet as many people in a day as you wish, or not interact with anybody at all. And the best part about it? When you get sick of life itself, you can just turn it all off... without having to actually commit suicide.
Meet Daphne. She is me. I am her. But because of her, I got to visit Venice Beach earlier without ever having to leave my bedroom in London... and I even took a picture:
No, I haven't suddenly become a gamer. This isn't The Sims, though it might look like it. Daphne is me in my second life. Unfortunately, Daphne is still homeless and rather lonely, but I hope to find her a home and some friends quite soon. Right now, she's probably going to spend the night on a beachmat in Venice.
Okay... I swear I'm not crazy. Let me explain.
Second Life is a network-based virtual world that anybody can become a member of. Some people will call it a game, but in the academic world, that's becoming highly debatable. In my opinion, it's a very sophisticated networking site that, because of how it is structured, can easily replace the "real" lives of the people who use it.
It goes WAY beyond The Sims, in that it has its own working economy (with a fluctuating exchange rate), allows for the purchase (with real money) of land and other property (including brand-name goods). It has museums, theme parks, churches and LAWS. It's like real life... except it's not. Or is it?
Either way, I think my discovery of Second Life (which was made possible by one of my professors), has sparked a serious consideration for it as a dissertation topic. Here are a few of my observations of it thus far:
1. Everyone in Second Life is YOUNG. But I doubt that the real people at their computers are ALL 20-somethings... which then raises an interesting question about the value our culture places on youth.
2. People on Second Life start REAL relationships. Take this couple, for example, who according to BBC, got married after meeting on Second life (but not until after the man was divorced by his REAL wife for cheating on her in the cyber world).
These two are obviously not what you would consider "beauties," which is another interesting element in itself.
3. You can't just walk around naked and NOT get in trouble. But you do have the free will to do so... which is not something you'd find in a regular game. Daphne walked into this clothing store earlier and found this sign (she would have gotten banned for disobeying it):
4. Real companies like NIKE have extended their product line to sell goods in Second Life. These particular shoes were being sold at the SL Nike Store for $299 Linden dollars (no, you do not get a REAL pair sent to you AND yes, you do have to exchange your real money for Linden dollars):
Daphne's broke so she didn't get to purchase a pair. In fact, she hasn't purchased anything, particularly because I REFUSE to waste my real money buying pixels for my doppelganger to wear in her world.
Okay, so that's just a few observations...
When I first joined this thing, I was greeted in the welcome plaza by a girl dressed like a fairy named "Talatha." She was nice enough to give me some clothes - instead of the lame default ones that came with my avatar when I chose her. Talatha then showed me around a few places and told me to visit some of her favorite spots - like Prim Hearts theme park. I also went to a Buddhist temple where I had to "wash my hands" and "take off my shoes" before going inside.
It reminds me of how, in real life, Helen has taken me to some of her favorite spots in London... but in the virtual world, this is just insane.
So this is what I'm proposing: it's not a nerd-fest project because personally, I think Second Life is freakishly scary and that it has the potential of being REALLY detrimental to society.
However, I respect that it's created a place for people to come together in a new way. I've even heard of a professor at Columbia University holding his "media studies" classes in Second Life.
I think it's an incredible indicator of culture within the context of new media, especially in the increasing phenomenon of globalization. And it would be extremely interesting to look at it in terms of how we represent ourselves online - to go as far as comparing it with facebook and myspace. Those of us who have made the decision to participate in online networking are forced to develop a new kind of identity... But what EXACTLY is Second Life doing? Maybe re-defining the meaning of life in technicolor?
What do you guys think?
--------------------
EDIT 10:19 p.m. 11/26/08
I just had to add this clip. (Thanks for finding it, Ari!)
Imagine a world where you can look any way you want to. You can change everything... from the shape of your fingers to the space between your eyes - all without spending thousands of dollars on plastic surgery. You can fly, you can teleport, you can visit any place in the world - and you can even create a piece of space on your own. You can never get physically hurt, you can meet as many people in a day as you wish, or not interact with anybody at all. And the best part about it? When you get sick of life itself, you can just turn it all off... without having to actually commit suicide.
Meet Daphne. She is me. I am her. But because of her, I got to visit Venice Beach earlier without ever having to leave my bedroom in London... and I even took a picture:
No, I haven't suddenly become a gamer. This isn't The Sims, though it might look like it. Daphne is me in my second life. Unfortunately, Daphne is still homeless and rather lonely, but I hope to find her a home and some friends quite soon. Right now, she's probably going to spend the night on a beachmat in Venice.
Okay... I swear I'm not crazy. Let me explain.
Second Life is a network-based virtual world that anybody can become a member of. Some people will call it a game, but in the academic world, that's becoming highly debatable. In my opinion, it's a very sophisticated networking site that, because of how it is structured, can easily replace the "real" lives of the people who use it.
It goes WAY beyond The Sims, in that it has its own working economy (with a fluctuating exchange rate), allows for the purchase (with real money) of land and other property (including brand-name goods). It has museums, theme parks, churches and LAWS. It's like real life... except it's not. Or is it?
Either way, I think my discovery of Second Life (which was made possible by one of my professors), has sparked a serious consideration for it as a dissertation topic. Here are a few of my observations of it thus far:
1. Everyone in Second Life is YOUNG. But I doubt that the real people at their computers are ALL 20-somethings... which then raises an interesting question about the value our culture places on youth.
2. People on Second Life start REAL relationships. Take this couple, for example, who according to BBC, got married after meeting on Second life (but not until after the man was divorced by his REAL wife for cheating on her in the cyber world).
These two are obviously not what you would consider "beauties," which is another interesting element in itself.
3. You can't just walk around naked and NOT get in trouble. But you do have the free will to do so... which is not something you'd find in a regular game. Daphne walked into this clothing store earlier and found this sign (she would have gotten banned for disobeying it):
4. Real companies like NIKE have extended their product line to sell goods in Second Life. These particular shoes were being sold at the SL Nike Store for $299 Linden dollars (no, you do not get a REAL pair sent to you AND yes, you do have to exchange your real money for Linden dollars):
Daphne's broke so she didn't get to purchase a pair. In fact, she hasn't purchased anything, particularly because I REFUSE to waste my real money buying pixels for my doppelganger to wear in her world.
Okay, so that's just a few observations...
When I first joined this thing, I was greeted in the welcome plaza by a girl dressed like a fairy named "Talatha." She was nice enough to give me some clothes - instead of the lame default ones that came with my avatar when I chose her. Talatha then showed me around a few places and told me to visit some of her favorite spots - like Prim Hearts theme park. I also went to a Buddhist temple where I had to "wash my hands" and "take off my shoes" before going inside.
It reminds me of how, in real life, Helen has taken me to some of her favorite spots in London... but in the virtual world, this is just insane.
So this is what I'm proposing: it's not a nerd-fest project because personally, I think Second Life is freakishly scary and that it has the potential of being REALLY detrimental to society.
However, I respect that it's created a place for people to come together in a new way. I've even heard of a professor at Columbia University holding his "media studies" classes in Second Life.
I think it's an incredible indicator of culture within the context of new media, especially in the increasing phenomenon of globalization. And it would be extremely interesting to look at it in terms of how we represent ourselves online - to go as far as comparing it with facebook and myspace. Those of us who have made the decision to participate in online networking are forced to develop a new kind of identity... But what EXACTLY is Second Life doing? Maybe re-defining the meaning of life in technicolor?
What do you guys think?
--------------------
EDIT 10:19 p.m. 11/26/08
I just had to add this clip. (Thanks for finding it, Ari!)
Sunday, November 9, 2008
XII: This Fire
This fire, is outta' control! We're gonna' burn this city, burn this city!!!
While I was home sick this past week, I was a little bummed to miss out on the first round of celebration for the UK's Bonfire Night. For those of you who have seen the movie V for Vendetta, this British holiday might ring a bell... but if you've never heard of it, here's a bit of a history lesson:
In 1605, under the rule of King James I, a group of 13 English Catholics (who felt they were being persecuted) conspired to overthrow the monarchy and blow up London's Houses of Parliament in an act of murderous terrorism. So, the extremist Catholics got a hold of 36 barrels of gunpowder and stored them in a cellar within the Parliament building... waiting to blow it all up.
However, a few of the terrorists had attacks of conscience and one of them, according to legend, sent a letter to a friend urging him to stay away from Parliament during the early morning hours of Nov. 5. Supposedly, the letter was intercepted by the king, and when his authorities raided the building, they found GUY FAWKES (one of the terrorists) in the cellar with all the gunpowder. He was caught, tortured and executed. On Nov. 5, 1605, the Brits lit bonfires across the country to celebrate the safety of their king.
Since then, the UK has been commemorating Nov. 5th with parades, fireworks displays and declarations of patriotism & love for their monarch.
I know... why should I care about any of this? Well to be honest, I just wanted to see fireworks, because I heard it was quite the spectacle... and plus, what's the point of living in another country if you completely ignore their traditions? I've already adopted boots, skinny jeans and excessive consumption of tea - why stop now?
But like I said, I was home sick on Nov. 5th so I resorted to sitting at my window to listen and catch a glimpse of some of the fireworks, which were being illegally lit by people around the neighborhood. It was very anti-climactic. Aw.
LUCKILY, the following day, I received an invitation from one of my friends to attend the "Lord Mayor's Fireworks Spectacular" on Saturday night. I guess this was the better thing to see anyway, because it was a display on the River Thames near Westminster.
By the time Saturday rolled around, I had pretty much gotten over being sick - so a group of us got together to see the show. Hooray!
As you can probably tell from the picture, it really didn't look like much of a show - but that's only because we ended up standing on the wrong bridge. The fireworks started at 5 p.m. (an indication of how ridiculously early it gets dark here now that it's winter time) and we had a rather hilarious adventure trying to find exactly where we were supposed to be.
First, we got off at the wrong tube station. Then, there was some miscommunication with one of our other friends - and we had to meet her somewhere else... about 15 minutes walk from our original meeting place. Then we had to take a bus to somewhere else, all the while searching for a crowd that would show us the way. But all of this to no avail, because we still didn't make it to where we were supposed to be. In the end, we were standing at some random bridge, unable to hear anything, and limited to watching fireworks from behind a bunch of buildings. Oh well. At least we tried.
By the time we made it to the right bridge, the show was completely over... so we finished off the night with some coffee, then sushi (yeay!), and because it was still ridiculously early, we went to Leicester Square to see the new Bond movie. But it was sold out. Again...
Did I mention that this is probably how I ended up losing my cell phone and camera in the first place (more on this in my last entry)? Each time I tried to see the Bond movie it was sold out, so in the course of 2 weekends, I've now seen Burn After Reading, Eagle Eye, and How to Lose Friends and Alienate People. Oh well again.
The good news is, I'm feeling much better since writing my last entry. I've gotten my new phone, I'm no longer sick, and obviously, I've replaced my camera as well.
I was quite happy to see the exact same Panasonic Lumix on sale at Jessops in Islington... except I got it in black this time - in memory of the original silver one. Cheesy, I know. But I'm happy about it, so there.
And to celebrate my "rebirth," if you will, I spent all day Friday catching up with some gallery visits.
First, I went to see Rafael Lozano-Hemmer's solo exhibit at the Haunch of Venison Gallery in Soho. The artist loves interactivity... and the "finale" to this exhibit was this thing called "The Pulse Tank." It uses your pulse to create ripples in the water... and then the whole thing is illuminated so it creates light patterns on the ceiling and on the floor. It was really weird to activate something simply by touching it, but really cool at the same time. Expect to hear more from me on this artist - because I like him a lot and he's doing this giant-scale installation in Trafalgar Square in a couple weeks. I'm really excited for it...
Then, on my way to the tube station, I found this random cafe hidden down some stairs in a semi-quiet alley:
Victory Cafe! How fitting for my newly acquired sense of victory.. for bouncing back so nicely from those few days of hell earlier this week. I stepped in for a cup of tea, and was pleasantly surprised by the service (I'm convinced that most Londoners don't like being nice). The place is also connected to this large, underground antique mini-mall. It was like walking into a time capsule.
After my tea, I went to the Andy Warhol exhibit at The Hayward. (I know what you're thinking Roxy- and let me assure you, I only hoped to give the guy a second chance by seeing his work in a gallery setting.)
But besides the success of representing the scope of the work he did, the exhibition really just ended up being EXACTLY the way I expected - a high-ticket, over-exaggerated, kitsch and chaotic spectacle that was full of a whole lot of nothing.
All-in-all, it was too much to handle... down to the pink and yellow cow wallpaper, the Edie Sedgwick movies where she's not doing ANYTHING interesting, the sound "pods" playing old audio of Warhol and Capote bickering about something you can't really make out, and the "silver clouds" that were really nothing more than mylar balloons bouncing around in a small room.
Meh. I've made my decision that Andy Warhol is just one of those artists that I love to hate. But if anything, I'm still glad I saw it - if for nothing more than confirming the opinion of how much of a douche he was.
So that's it... life is good again. It's getting much colder, windier and rainier outside but at least, (thanks to all the time I spent at home this week) I now have a goofy poster of Shia LaBeouf on my wall (thanks Becky), I have calendars on my wall keeping me on track for finishing my 14,000 words worth of essays before Christmas break and most importantly - I'm not letting a few shitty circumstances keep me down. I guess I'm back to being the optimist. Take that, London! (p.s. I love you still... oh how I burn for you)
While I was home sick this past week, I was a little bummed to miss out on the first round of celebration for the UK's Bonfire Night. For those of you who have seen the movie V for Vendetta, this British holiday might ring a bell... but if you've never heard of it, here's a bit of a history lesson:
In 1605, under the rule of King James I, a group of 13 English Catholics (who felt they were being persecuted) conspired to overthrow the monarchy and blow up London's Houses of Parliament in an act of murderous terrorism. So, the extremist Catholics got a hold of 36 barrels of gunpowder and stored them in a cellar within the Parliament building... waiting to blow it all up.
However, a few of the terrorists had attacks of conscience and one of them, according to legend, sent a letter to a friend urging him to stay away from Parliament during the early morning hours of Nov. 5. Supposedly, the letter was intercepted by the king, and when his authorities raided the building, they found GUY FAWKES (one of the terrorists) in the cellar with all the gunpowder. He was caught, tortured and executed. On Nov. 5, 1605, the Brits lit bonfires across the country to celebrate the safety of their king.
Since then, the UK has been commemorating Nov. 5th with parades, fireworks displays and declarations of patriotism & love for their monarch.
I know... why should I care about any of this? Well to be honest, I just wanted to see fireworks, because I heard it was quite the spectacle... and plus, what's the point of living in another country if you completely ignore their traditions? I've already adopted boots, skinny jeans and excessive consumption of tea - why stop now?
But like I said, I was home sick on Nov. 5th so I resorted to sitting at my window to listen and catch a glimpse of some of the fireworks, which were being illegally lit by people around the neighborhood. It was very anti-climactic. Aw.
LUCKILY, the following day, I received an invitation from one of my friends to attend the "Lord Mayor's Fireworks Spectacular" on Saturday night. I guess this was the better thing to see anyway, because it was a display on the River Thames near Westminster.
By the time Saturday rolled around, I had pretty much gotten over being sick - so a group of us got together to see the show. Hooray!
As you can probably tell from the picture, it really didn't look like much of a show - but that's only because we ended up standing on the wrong bridge. The fireworks started at 5 p.m. (an indication of how ridiculously early it gets dark here now that it's winter time) and we had a rather hilarious adventure trying to find exactly where we were supposed to be.
First, we got off at the wrong tube station. Then, there was some miscommunication with one of our other friends - and we had to meet her somewhere else... about 15 minutes walk from our original meeting place. Then we had to take a bus to somewhere else, all the while searching for a crowd that would show us the way. But all of this to no avail, because we still didn't make it to where we were supposed to be. In the end, we were standing at some random bridge, unable to hear anything, and limited to watching fireworks from behind a bunch of buildings. Oh well. At least we tried.
By the time we made it to the right bridge, the show was completely over... so we finished off the night with some coffee, then sushi (yeay!), and because it was still ridiculously early, we went to Leicester Square to see the new Bond movie. But it was sold out. Again...
Did I mention that this is probably how I ended up losing my cell phone and camera in the first place (more on this in my last entry)? Each time I tried to see the Bond movie it was sold out, so in the course of 2 weekends, I've now seen Burn After Reading, Eagle Eye, and How to Lose Friends and Alienate People. Oh well again.
The good news is, I'm feeling much better since writing my last entry. I've gotten my new phone, I'm no longer sick, and obviously, I've replaced my camera as well.
I was quite happy to see the exact same Panasonic Lumix on sale at Jessops in Islington... except I got it in black this time - in memory of the original silver one. Cheesy, I know. But I'm happy about it, so there.
And to celebrate my "rebirth," if you will, I spent all day Friday catching up with some gallery visits.
First, I went to see Rafael Lozano-Hemmer's solo exhibit at the Haunch of Venison Gallery in Soho. The artist loves interactivity... and the "finale" to this exhibit was this thing called "The Pulse Tank." It uses your pulse to create ripples in the water... and then the whole thing is illuminated so it creates light patterns on the ceiling and on the floor. It was really weird to activate something simply by touching it, but really cool at the same time. Expect to hear more from me on this artist - because I like him a lot and he's doing this giant-scale installation in Trafalgar Square in a couple weeks. I'm really excited for it...
Then, on my way to the tube station, I found this random cafe hidden down some stairs in a semi-quiet alley:
Victory Cafe! How fitting for my newly acquired sense of victory.. for bouncing back so nicely from those few days of hell earlier this week. I stepped in for a cup of tea, and was pleasantly surprised by the service (I'm convinced that most Londoners don't like being nice). The place is also connected to this large, underground antique mini-mall. It was like walking into a time capsule.
After my tea, I went to the Andy Warhol exhibit at The Hayward. (I know what you're thinking Roxy- and let me assure you, I only hoped to give the guy a second chance by seeing his work in a gallery setting.)
But besides the success of representing the scope of the work he did, the exhibition really just ended up being EXACTLY the way I expected - a high-ticket, over-exaggerated, kitsch and chaotic spectacle that was full of a whole lot of nothing.
All-in-all, it was too much to handle... down to the pink and yellow cow wallpaper, the Edie Sedgwick movies where she's not doing ANYTHING interesting, the sound "pods" playing old audio of Warhol and Capote bickering about something you can't really make out, and the "silver clouds" that were really nothing more than mylar balloons bouncing around in a small room.
Meh. I've made my decision that Andy Warhol is just one of those artists that I love to hate. But if anything, I'm still glad I saw it - if for nothing more than confirming the opinion of how much of a douche he was.
So that's it... life is good again. It's getting much colder, windier and rainier outside but at least, (thanks to all the time I spent at home this week) I now have a goofy poster of Shia LaBeouf on my wall (thanks Becky), I have calendars on my wall keeping me on track for finishing my 14,000 words worth of essays before Christmas break and most importantly - I'm not letting a few shitty circumstances keep me down. I guess I'm back to being the optimist. Take that, London! (p.s. I love you still... oh how I burn for you)
Monday, October 27, 2008
X: Bicycle Race (The Amsterdam entry)
Everything you've ever heard about Amsterdam is true.
The sex, the drugs... it's all there. And to illustrate this fact, I'm going to give a few detailed definitions about the place using anecdotes from my trip this weekend. But hopefully, instead of simply justifying what you may or may not already know about Amsterdam, it'll just create a clearer picture of what is perhaps the "coolest" city in the world. And by "cool," I mean it in a very specific context of course - because truth is subjective, no matter how much or what kind of reason it takes to arrive to a truthful conclusion.
Having said that, I'll start with the famous and wind my way down to the not-so-obvious aspects of the city.
The Red Light District:
Running parallel to the Damrak (the main street of Amsterdam) is a small stretch of canal in which you will find a bustling, and very much active, center for legalized prostitution. It is aptly named after the literal red lights that accentuate the figures of dozens of women standing in the windows like live mannequins... who smile, wave, gaze and pose for potential clients walking down the street. You're not allowed to take pictures directly into the windows, unless of course you want to pay an exorbitant amount of euros. But it's okay for photo-ops on the adjacent bridge.
For those of us who haven't grown up in a place like this, it's easy to conceptualize prostitution as something very dirty and desperate. And when my friends and I set out on our quest to visit the district, we approached it with a mixed sense of fear and embarrassment... because based on what we've heard, we half-expected to see women naked and spread-eagled, possibly masturbating or performing lewd acts in the windows for all to see.
But when we finally found it, we were simultaneously amazed and nonplussed, because what we experienced on that street was sort of the opposite of what we were expecting. The women, some in costumes and others in lacy undergarments, for the most part just stood there not really doing anything obscene. And the people walking by were much more subdued than you'd think. They were seemingly unfazed by the whole situation. To most, it was like walking past a guy in a Ronald McDonald outfit.
We learned from our tour-guide that these prostitutes are screened for STDs regularly and are also unionized, making it a completely respectable and accepted career path. And a common service provided by these women is a "suck and fuck for 50 euros." Yet, a girl can make up to 1,500 euros in one session... makes you wonder what they do to make up for the difference in price.
Coffee Shops:
All over Amsterdam are the famous coffee shops, but one should be careful not to confuse them with cafes. Cafes serve coffee and tea. And so do coffee shops... but they also serve marijuana. The most famous and touristy of these coffee shops is called the Grasshopper. And although our tour-guide Erol recommended that we visit his favorite one, named The Bush Doctor, we opted to visit the Grasshopper anyway.
Upon entering the building, which was bursting-at-the-seams full of people, our delicate senses of smell were overwhelmed by the herbal, slightly sweet aroma of Dutch cannabis. People were smoking weed all over the place and we were extremely curious about the process of purchasing some. What do you say exactly? Was there some secret codeword that we needed to know? How do you order it... just ask for a joint or a brownie?
So when we walked up to the counter, we were all a little nervous. And perhaps because of the confused/scared looks on our faces, the man at the counter did all the work for us. "Do you want to see a menu?" he asked. We all replied simultaneously with a timid "yeah?" in the form of a question... connoting our sense of "is this okay?"
The man then pointed at a big red button on the wall that had a sign saying "do not push" right underneath it. Yet he said, "push the red button." After several seconds of hesitation where we wondered what would happen if we pushed it (like if the police would come speeding in to arrest and deport us all), we acted against our better judgment and pushed the damn button. Suddenly a glass case, which we didn't notice before, was lit up from behind, exposing a menu of various types of weed... 3 joints of white widow for 18 euros, 1.36 grams of purple haze for 20 euros, etc... take your pick. We had no idea what to do. So we stared at the menu for a while... then let the button go... the light went out... and my friends decided to go for a brownie for 7.50 euros instead. What happened after that? I will leave it to your imaginations.
The next day (Saturday), we had our official guided tour of the city (because the first night was left to us to find our own adventures). And so we noticed even more how pervasive marijuana is in the city... because as you walked down random streets, you'd catch a whiff of it coming out of restaurants, stores, whatever.
Then during our free hours, we came across The Doors Coffee Shop (which I assume was off the beaten path because there were only a few people inside). We walked in only to find an absolute gem of a place where people sat in comfy couches with their joints, listening to the best of The Doors musical concoctions. We went in for the coffee... and for the pictures of Jim Morrison all over the walls... and we found a great couch near the window with great lighting.
The guy making my latte had a joint in his mouth as he took my order. All the while, "people are strange... when you're a stranger..." was blasting through the speakers. It was beautiful.
Cheese, Clogs and Windmills:
As part of our guided tour, we went to a cheese and clog factory where we were able to sample Holland's famous dairy products and see a demonstration of how wooden shoes are made. Our "hostess" was adorable in her traditional Dutch garb, lace hat and all... and we got to be the most touristy of all tourists for about an hour and a half.
I left the place with a block of garlic/onion cheese... "cheese for lovers only," as described by our hostess. You can only eat the cheese with your lover, she said, because only your lover would be tolerant enough to smell your breath after eating it. How cute. But that wasn't why I bought it... after sampling everything in the house - that one was by far the most amazing cheese I've EVER tried in my life... no joke. I haven't cut into my block since I've gotten back but I have a feeling that once Kim comes down from Edinburgh this weekend, we're gonna' have to have some of it.
Unfortunately I didn't bring back any clogs... because let's be realistic, what the hell would I need wooden shoes for? Still, it was fun to see some authentic ones in real life.
On the way to central Amsterdam after leaving the cheese/clog factory, we stopped by a windmill to take some pictures. More touristy stuff... but they really do have them! There are a lot. And they're quite pretty.
Bicycles:
Amsterdam has lots and lots and lots of bicycles. I can't say I've ever been to another city where the sound of bicycle bells are more prevalent than car horns. In fact, bicycles are such a huge part of the culture that THEY have the right of way before cars or pedestrians. During a few instances where we were crossing the street or walking through a footpath, we were nearly trampled by cyclists... who only warn you with a bell just a fraction of a second before their front tire comes ramming into your bum.
It was amazing to see the hundreds of bikes lined up against every bridge and in front of stores on the sidewalks. And usually, they're not even chained or locked up.
It boggles my mind, among the hundreds, maybe even thousands of bicycles everywhere, how you can find yours after you've left it somewhere. But I figure that these people must have some ingrained homing device... and even if someone were to steal it, you'd probably be able to find it in another part of town.
Amsterdam, the city
It's an amazing place and my only regret is that I couldn't stay for just a little longer. Before getting there, I assumed it would be somewhat seedy and dirty because of all the stories that I've heard in the past. But if the trip had any type of real impact on me, it's that I was suddenly made aware of all the ways we are conditioned by our cultures. To us, drugs are bad. To us, prostitution is bad. But suddenly you are exposed to these things where they are a very real and accepted piece of the culture. (Let me add that marijuana is not actually legal in Amsterdam, but it's "tolerated").
Really, it was a bit of a reality check. Because while others may feel offended by some of these things, I found it to be beautiful. Not so much in the aesthetic sense... but more a sense of open-mindedness and liberation. I witnessed a 50-something suburban Australian ex-pat eat a weed muffin with her husband and 24-year-old son without even flinching. And then they went to a sex show (live porn) later that evening, as if they were visiting the eiffel tower or something.
You really can't understand something until you've seen it for yourself - and Amsterdam is definitely proof of that. Despite the more taboo things, it's also full of charming canals and buildings that are so old that they're practically falling over.
And it's a place full of history and art... from the Van Gogh museum to the actual home of Anne Frank. Everyone is so friendly, full of smiles, and relaxed - a very apparent difference from most people in London. All these things in one little city... definitely makes it "cool" in its own context.
The sex, the drugs... it's all there. And to illustrate this fact, I'm going to give a few detailed definitions about the place using anecdotes from my trip this weekend. But hopefully, instead of simply justifying what you may or may not already know about Amsterdam, it'll just create a clearer picture of what is perhaps the "coolest" city in the world. And by "cool," I mean it in a very specific context of course - because truth is subjective, no matter how much or what kind of reason it takes to arrive to a truthful conclusion.
Having said that, I'll start with the famous and wind my way down to the not-so-obvious aspects of the city.
The Red Light District:
Running parallel to the Damrak (the main street of Amsterdam) is a small stretch of canal in which you will find a bustling, and very much active, center for legalized prostitution. It is aptly named after the literal red lights that accentuate the figures of dozens of women standing in the windows like live mannequins... who smile, wave, gaze and pose for potential clients walking down the street. You're not allowed to take pictures directly into the windows, unless of course you want to pay an exorbitant amount of euros. But it's okay for photo-ops on the adjacent bridge.
For those of us who haven't grown up in a place like this, it's easy to conceptualize prostitution as something very dirty and desperate. And when my friends and I set out on our quest to visit the district, we approached it with a mixed sense of fear and embarrassment... because based on what we've heard, we half-expected to see women naked and spread-eagled, possibly masturbating or performing lewd acts in the windows for all to see.
But when we finally found it, we were simultaneously amazed and nonplussed, because what we experienced on that street was sort of the opposite of what we were expecting. The women, some in costumes and others in lacy undergarments, for the most part just stood there not really doing anything obscene. And the people walking by were much more subdued than you'd think. They were seemingly unfazed by the whole situation. To most, it was like walking past a guy in a Ronald McDonald outfit.
We learned from our tour-guide that these prostitutes are screened for STDs regularly and are also unionized, making it a completely respectable and accepted career path. And a common service provided by these women is a "suck and fuck for 50 euros." Yet, a girl can make up to 1,500 euros in one session... makes you wonder what they do to make up for the difference in price.
Coffee Shops:
All over Amsterdam are the famous coffee shops, but one should be careful not to confuse them with cafes. Cafes serve coffee and tea. And so do coffee shops... but they also serve marijuana. The most famous and touristy of these coffee shops is called the Grasshopper. And although our tour-guide Erol recommended that we visit his favorite one, named The Bush Doctor, we opted to visit the Grasshopper anyway.
Upon entering the building, which was bursting-at-the-seams full of people, our delicate senses of smell were overwhelmed by the herbal, slightly sweet aroma of Dutch cannabis. People were smoking weed all over the place and we were extremely curious about the process of purchasing some. What do you say exactly? Was there some secret codeword that we needed to know? How do you order it... just ask for a joint or a brownie?
So when we walked up to the counter, we were all a little nervous. And perhaps because of the confused/scared looks on our faces, the man at the counter did all the work for us. "Do you want to see a menu?" he asked. We all replied simultaneously with a timid "yeah?" in the form of a question... connoting our sense of "is this okay?"
The man then pointed at a big red button on the wall that had a sign saying "do not push" right underneath it. Yet he said, "push the red button." After several seconds of hesitation where we wondered what would happen if we pushed it (like if the police would come speeding in to arrest and deport us all), we acted against our better judgment and pushed the damn button. Suddenly a glass case, which we didn't notice before, was lit up from behind, exposing a menu of various types of weed... 3 joints of white widow for 18 euros, 1.36 grams of purple haze for 20 euros, etc... take your pick. We had no idea what to do. So we stared at the menu for a while... then let the button go... the light went out... and my friends decided to go for a brownie for 7.50 euros instead. What happened after that? I will leave it to your imaginations.
The next day (Saturday), we had our official guided tour of the city (because the first night was left to us to find our own adventures). And so we noticed even more how pervasive marijuana is in the city... because as you walked down random streets, you'd catch a whiff of it coming out of restaurants, stores, whatever.
Then during our free hours, we came across The Doors Coffee Shop (which I assume was off the beaten path because there were only a few people inside). We walked in only to find an absolute gem of a place where people sat in comfy couches with their joints, listening to the best of The Doors musical concoctions. We went in for the coffee... and for the pictures of Jim Morrison all over the walls... and we found a great couch near the window with great lighting.
The guy making my latte had a joint in his mouth as he took my order. All the while, "people are strange... when you're a stranger..." was blasting through the speakers. It was beautiful.
Cheese, Clogs and Windmills:
As part of our guided tour, we went to a cheese and clog factory where we were able to sample Holland's famous dairy products and see a demonstration of how wooden shoes are made. Our "hostess" was adorable in her traditional Dutch garb, lace hat and all... and we got to be the most touristy of all tourists for about an hour and a half.
I left the place with a block of garlic/onion cheese... "cheese for lovers only," as described by our hostess. You can only eat the cheese with your lover, she said, because only your lover would be tolerant enough to smell your breath after eating it. How cute. But that wasn't why I bought it... after sampling everything in the house - that one was by far the most amazing cheese I've EVER tried in my life... no joke. I haven't cut into my block since I've gotten back but I have a feeling that once Kim comes down from Edinburgh this weekend, we're gonna' have to have some of it.
Unfortunately I didn't bring back any clogs... because let's be realistic, what the hell would I need wooden shoes for? Still, it was fun to see some authentic ones in real life.
On the way to central Amsterdam after leaving the cheese/clog factory, we stopped by a windmill to take some pictures. More touristy stuff... but they really do have them! There are a lot. And they're quite pretty.
Bicycles:
Amsterdam has lots and lots and lots of bicycles. I can't say I've ever been to another city where the sound of bicycle bells are more prevalent than car horns. In fact, bicycles are such a huge part of the culture that THEY have the right of way before cars or pedestrians. During a few instances where we were crossing the street or walking through a footpath, we were nearly trampled by cyclists... who only warn you with a bell just a fraction of a second before their front tire comes ramming into your bum.
It was amazing to see the hundreds of bikes lined up against every bridge and in front of stores on the sidewalks. And usually, they're not even chained or locked up.
It boggles my mind, among the hundreds, maybe even thousands of bicycles everywhere, how you can find yours after you've left it somewhere. But I figure that these people must have some ingrained homing device... and even if someone were to steal it, you'd probably be able to find it in another part of town.
Amsterdam, the city
It's an amazing place and my only regret is that I couldn't stay for just a little longer. Before getting there, I assumed it would be somewhat seedy and dirty because of all the stories that I've heard in the past. But if the trip had any type of real impact on me, it's that I was suddenly made aware of all the ways we are conditioned by our cultures. To us, drugs are bad. To us, prostitution is bad. But suddenly you are exposed to these things where they are a very real and accepted piece of the culture. (Let me add that marijuana is not actually legal in Amsterdam, but it's "tolerated").
Really, it was a bit of a reality check. Because while others may feel offended by some of these things, I found it to be beautiful. Not so much in the aesthetic sense... but more a sense of open-mindedness and liberation. I witnessed a 50-something suburban Australian ex-pat eat a weed muffin with her husband and 24-year-old son without even flinching. And then they went to a sex show (live porn) later that evening, as if they were visiting the eiffel tower or something.
You really can't understand something until you've seen it for yourself - and Amsterdam is definitely proof of that. Despite the more taboo things, it's also full of charming canals and buildings that are so old that they're practically falling over.
And it's a place full of history and art... from the Van Gogh museum to the actual home of Anne Frank. Everyone is so friendly, full of smiles, and relaxed - a very apparent difference from most people in London. All these things in one little city... definitely makes it "cool" in its own context.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
IX: Phenomena
Phenomenon (n.): An occurrence, circumstance, or fact that is perceptible by the senses.
Phenomenology (n.): A philosophy or method of inquiry based on the premise that reality consists of objects and events as they are perceived or understood in human consciousness and not of anything independent of human consciousness.
The more I get to know this city, the more fascinated I am by the endless possibilities of cultural research. Nerdy? Yes. But duhh, I'm here for school and the hunt for potential dissertation topics is always at the forefront of my daily routine. For a subject as broad as visual culture, it's really difficult to filter through the infinite jumble of symbols that constantly affect us at all levels - even down to the subconscious and doxic. In case you didn't know, "doxa" is the official word to describe the stuff you know without knowing you know it. But really, that's just me showing off my newly acquired vocabulary.
So basically, as long as I'm awake, I'm always trying to consciously develop a heightened sense of observation for all things that can be considered cultural phenomena - because you'll never know when that light bulb will go off.
Ever wonder what makes something attention-grabbing? What is it about anything that makes it interesting to the human individual? And what exactly happens to us physiologically or psychologically when we show "interest"? Why do we like the things we like? Are we shaped by our culture or does our culture shape us?
Okay, I really don't mean to get all academic on you because I know conversations like these are only interesting to some people. So instead, I'll take a more personal route.
I like signs.
Here's one that I saw while walking through the pedestrian subway en route to the London Science Museum:
I saw this one in a sketchy part of Soho that was filled with a distinct combination of restaurants, sex shoppes and strip clubs:
(Ironic, isn't it James?)
And this one, I saw inside of a cafe called "Bite Me" in Westminster, where a few friends and I had lunch between classes yesterday:
Each one of these signs serves a specific and different purpose. The first one was part of an advertisement. The second was a typical London street sign. And the third was a decorative painting. Regardless of what they were for, I liked them all... for one reason or another. But obviously, me liking them says very specific things about who I am. And the fact that they exist says something very specific about Western culture. Do you see where I'm going with this?
Don't worry. I'm not about to get into a theoretical analysis of signs... I'm saving that for my research papers. Take this as more of a "kill two birds with one stone" entry- an update of what I've been up to AND a crude form of data collection.
Okay so moving on...
Yesterday, during my Theoretical and Critical Perspectives class, I noticed that we had a new classmate. HE (who increases the man count to a whopping TWO) has long hair and a scruffy beard, dresses like an artist, wears white converse, is a photographer by trade and is an international student from Serbia. He was cute... and by the looks of him, you'd never guess he was Serbian. Ahhh, stereotypes...
At one point during class, we were split into groups of 3-4 students, where we had to come up with and agree to a single definition of "art." Turns out, different people have different definitions, and so this little task wasn't as easy as it sounds. Long story short, the Serbian and I were in the same group and ended up getting into a heated debate about what art is. The only reason it got heated in the first place was because he flat-out said "no, you're wrong" after I gave my opinion. Pompous... I know!
Our other two group mates weren't contributing to the conversation at all and they spent the 15-or so minutes smiling and nodding. Come to think of it, maybe our little argument made them uncomfortable. It took forever, but we eventually came to an agreement on our definition, but I think I may have given up a point just to stop the arguing.
Anyway, after initially getting on my nerves because of his pretentious narrow-mindedness, the Serbian decides to drop a bomb on me (no pun intended) during our "tea break." I was outside, cigarette in mouth, searching for a lighter inside my purse... when out of nowhere, he comes up and lights it for me. (The oldest trick in the book.) Then he proceeds to say, "thanks for the debate... you're interesting... do you want to have coffee with me after class? Or maybe dinner later?"
WOAH... didn't see that one coming. (Un)fortunately, I already had lunch plans with a couple of my other classmates. AND, I still had an afternoon class to go to. I'm still not sure if that was good or bad. (Note to self: way to a girl's (or my) heart??... insult her intelligence and then, without letting TOO much time pass by, call her "interesting.")
Why is this story pertinent? Well there's a lot of cultural phenomena hard at work here: my initial judgment of attractiveness based on fashion and style, his use of the cigarette as a social tool, the connotation of having dinner and my entire reaction to how he got my attention. In terms of whether or not I'd consider dating him... I can't tell yet.
Well... I know that last bit was missing some visuals, but it would've probably been slightly awkward if I had taken out my camera in mid-argument to get pictures of him for my blog.
But I DO have some more pictures from today's adventures.
My friend Allison and I went to Waterloo to check out an art exhibit at BFI (British Film Institute) Gallery. On the way, we saw this:
London loves reading. There are independent bookstores everywhere. And book-fairs on the street are common.
We also discovered a section right off Jubilee Gardens designated for skaters and graffiti art. Talk about fostering culture and creativity:
And then, by far one of the coolest bits of high-culture I've experienced in my life... "The All-Seeing Eye (hardcore techno version)" by artist Pierre Bismuth and filmmaker Michel Gondry:
This film installation is an art-sequel to the movie Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind. It places you in the movie by setting up an experience where you feel what it's like to have pieces of your memory taken away little by little. You sit in this dark room, where a projector moves across the walls - and each time it make a rotation, a part of the picture is gone or different. All the while, the accompanying soundtrack is made up of clips from the movie where they talk about "getting rid of items that remind you of her." It was a really amazing piece of work.
So that's it for now. I guess I'll leave you with one last piece of interactive cultural phenomena, spurred by the relatively new field of "net art". It's jello-time! Have fun!
p.s. I'm going to Holland and Belgium for the weekend. Let the fun continue...
Phenomenology (n.): A philosophy or method of inquiry based on the premise that reality consists of objects and events as they are perceived or understood in human consciousness and not of anything independent of human consciousness.
The more I get to know this city, the more fascinated I am by the endless possibilities of cultural research. Nerdy? Yes. But duhh, I'm here for school and the hunt for potential dissertation topics is always at the forefront of my daily routine. For a subject as broad as visual culture, it's really difficult to filter through the infinite jumble of symbols that constantly affect us at all levels - even down to the subconscious and doxic. In case you didn't know, "doxa" is the official word to describe the stuff you know without knowing you know it. But really, that's just me showing off my newly acquired vocabulary.
So basically, as long as I'm awake, I'm always trying to consciously develop a heightened sense of observation for all things that can be considered cultural phenomena - because you'll never know when that light bulb will go off.
Ever wonder what makes something attention-grabbing? What is it about anything that makes it interesting to the human individual? And what exactly happens to us physiologically or psychologically when we show "interest"? Why do we like the things we like? Are we shaped by our culture or does our culture shape us?
Okay, I really don't mean to get all academic on you because I know conversations like these are only interesting to some people. So instead, I'll take a more personal route.
I like signs.
Here's one that I saw while walking through the pedestrian subway en route to the London Science Museum:
I saw this one in a sketchy part of Soho that was filled with a distinct combination of restaurants, sex shoppes and strip clubs:
(Ironic, isn't it James?)
And this one, I saw inside of a cafe called "Bite Me" in Westminster, where a few friends and I had lunch between classes yesterday:
Each one of these signs serves a specific and different purpose. The first one was part of an advertisement. The second was a typical London street sign. And the third was a decorative painting. Regardless of what they were for, I liked them all... for one reason or another. But obviously, me liking them says very specific things about who I am. And the fact that they exist says something very specific about Western culture. Do you see where I'm going with this?
Don't worry. I'm not about to get into a theoretical analysis of signs... I'm saving that for my research papers. Take this as more of a "kill two birds with one stone" entry- an update of what I've been up to AND a crude form of data collection.
Okay so moving on...
Yesterday, during my Theoretical and Critical Perspectives class, I noticed that we had a new classmate. HE (who increases the man count to a whopping TWO) has long hair and a scruffy beard, dresses like an artist, wears white converse, is a photographer by trade and is an international student from Serbia. He was cute... and by the looks of him, you'd never guess he was Serbian. Ahhh, stereotypes...
At one point during class, we were split into groups of 3-4 students, where we had to come up with and agree to a single definition of "art." Turns out, different people have different definitions, and so this little task wasn't as easy as it sounds. Long story short, the Serbian and I were in the same group and ended up getting into a heated debate about what art is. The only reason it got heated in the first place was because he flat-out said "no, you're wrong" after I gave my opinion. Pompous... I know!
Our other two group mates weren't contributing to the conversation at all and they spent the 15-or so minutes smiling and nodding. Come to think of it, maybe our little argument made them uncomfortable. It took forever, but we eventually came to an agreement on our definition, but I think I may have given up a point just to stop the arguing.
Anyway, after initially getting on my nerves because of his pretentious narrow-mindedness, the Serbian decides to drop a bomb on me (no pun intended) during our "tea break." I was outside, cigarette in mouth, searching for a lighter inside my purse... when out of nowhere, he comes up and lights it for me. (The oldest trick in the book.) Then he proceeds to say, "thanks for the debate... you're interesting... do you want to have coffee with me after class? Or maybe dinner later?"
WOAH... didn't see that one coming. (Un)fortunately, I already had lunch plans with a couple of my other classmates. AND, I still had an afternoon class to go to. I'm still not sure if that was good or bad. (Note to self: way to a girl's (or my) heart??... insult her intelligence and then, without letting TOO much time pass by, call her "interesting.")
Why is this story pertinent? Well there's a lot of cultural phenomena hard at work here: my initial judgment of attractiveness based on fashion and style, his use of the cigarette as a social tool, the connotation of having dinner and my entire reaction to how he got my attention. In terms of whether or not I'd consider dating him... I can't tell yet.
Well... I know that last bit was missing some visuals, but it would've probably been slightly awkward if I had taken out my camera in mid-argument to get pictures of him for my blog.
But I DO have some more pictures from today's adventures.
My friend Allison and I went to Waterloo to check out an art exhibit at BFI (British Film Institute) Gallery. On the way, we saw this:
London loves reading. There are independent bookstores everywhere. And book-fairs on the street are common.
We also discovered a section right off Jubilee Gardens designated for skaters and graffiti art. Talk about fostering culture and creativity:
And then, by far one of the coolest bits of high-culture I've experienced in my life... "The All-Seeing Eye (hardcore techno version)" by artist Pierre Bismuth and filmmaker Michel Gondry:
This film installation is an art-sequel to the movie Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind. It places you in the movie by setting up an experience where you feel what it's like to have pieces of your memory taken away little by little. You sit in this dark room, where a projector moves across the walls - and each time it make a rotation, a part of the picture is gone or different. All the while, the accompanying soundtrack is made up of clips from the movie where they talk about "getting rid of items that remind you of her." It was a really amazing piece of work.
So that's it for now. I guess I'll leave you with one last piece of interactive cultural phenomena, spurred by the relatively new field of "net art". It's jello-time! Have fun!
p.s. I'm going to Holland and Belgium for the weekend. Let the fun continue...
Friday, October 17, 2008
VIII: Hard to Explain
I missed the last bus, I'll take the next train.
I try but you see, it's hard to explain.
I say the right things, but act the wrong way.
I like it right here, but I cannot stay.
I watch the TV, forget what I'm told.
Well, I am too young and they are too old.
The joke is on you, this place is a zoo.
You're right it's true...
I went to the doctor today. Don't worry, it's nothing serious. Last weekend, I went in to the Tollgate Lodge Primary Care Center to register for NHS (National Health Service) and after the nurse spent about 20 minutes interviewing me about my medical history, she told me to make another appointment for a proper asthma examination.
Like every other asthma-related doctor's appointment I've ever had (and I've been going to these since I was about 13), I had to go through the whole routine... "take a deep breath and blow as hard as you can into this peak flow meter so we can measure your lung strength and air capacity." Over the years, I've seen this meter evolve from an archaic piece of medical equipment into a 'highly-sophisticated' digitized version.
So it was safe to say that I expected the nurse to open her drawer and pull one of these babies out. After all, this is London, not some third world country. But instead, she came back to me with a laughably pitiful model - the kind that comes with a disposable cardboard mouthpiece (which looks like a mini-toilet-paper roll) and where you have to manually reset it by pushing the pointer down with your fingertip. It looked like something you'd find in a children's toy medical kit. Remember those? We all had them, the black Fisher-Price doctor's bag that includes a stethoscope with big red plastic tips on the earpieces. All that was missing from this thing was its lack of McDonald's colors.
She also had a giant ziploc bag full of different sized TP rolls... which she subsequently slipped her ungloved, maybe even unwashed, hand into to grab one for me. BTW... if you haven't put two and two together, this is the part that I have to put my mouth on. Thank God I didn't ask her for a flu shot.
So what if I'm spoiled and used to the luxuries of sanitized medical paraphernalia? I guess this is just an example of "the price we pay" for having nationalized health care. And in case you're wondering... here's the prognosis: I still have a mild case of asthma.
Anyway, that's my little anecdote for the day... though I'm not quite sure why I've required myself to have one. Oh who cares. I promise this won't go on too long because the only thing I really wanted to do with this post is to list some of my favorite British idiosyncracies. In other words, I'm copying Kim. Perhaps this is my chance to lay down all the little things about London life that I can't necessarily explain in my usual colorful way. So here goes (in no particular order of importance):
1.) When grocery shopping, you have to bag them all yourself. Sad, but true.
2.) Fries are chips, chips are crisps, cookies are biscuits, cream cheese is soft cheese (or simply Philadelphia), jello is jelly. Also, "Lay's" brand crisps are "Walker's" here - except the graphics on the bag are exactly the same... down to the typography.
3.) They have tea time, not coffee breaks.
4.) Cigarettes are fags (though most people already know that).
5.) Products that exist in the US are given a different brand identity. Example: I finally found Vitamin Water, but the usual citrus-flavored "Energy" that I like is called "Spark" here.
6.) Soda is significantly flatter and blander here than it is in the US.
7.) When ordering fish and chips at a restaurant, it commonly comes with peas.
8.) There is a borderline irrational, national obsession with chips... they even come with breakfast.
9.) "All right?" is code for "Hello" or "How are you?"
10.) Even girls call girls "love."
11.) "yeah?" follows nearly every question in casual conversation. Example: "See you tonight, yeh?"
12.) People here drink lots and lots of alcoholic cider and Foster's beer.
13.) Every true Londoner owns at least one pair of boots, one peacoat and an umbrella. Sorry Chuck, I have to trade you in on rainy days for these:
14.) Londoners make fun of everyone else. Southerners are trouble, midlanders are hicks, northerners are just plain insulting, and if you're from Newcastle you might as well kill yourself for being a "jordie."
15.) Having a pint (of beer) is just part of the culture... at any times of the day, during lunch hours or after dinner. It doesn't even matter.
16.) British network television includes health programming that shows anatomically-correct body parts without censorship. Boobs, bush, penis, what have you. I actually just saw a show where they were teaching a bunch of 12-year-olds how to use a condom.
17.) If you're a tourist, you're probably into "west end" attractions. If you're a local, you'd rather do "east end" things.
18.) When walking down the street or riding the bus, expect to hear at least 5 different languages being spoken on any given journey.
19.) Please jaywalk. Or else you'll annoy somebody.
20.) Bic lighters are hard to find. Having one makes you slightly cooler than the guy using matches or a cricket.
Okay, that's probably enough for now. I have to get ready because I'm meeting some friends at the "Drunken Monkey" dim sum bar in Shoreditch (EAST END) for dinner and drinks.
Love and bollocks! (I totally stole that from James.)
I try but you see, it's hard to explain.
I say the right things, but act the wrong way.
I like it right here, but I cannot stay.
I watch the TV, forget what I'm told.
Well, I am too young and they are too old.
The joke is on you, this place is a zoo.
You're right it's true...
I went to the doctor today. Don't worry, it's nothing serious. Last weekend, I went in to the Tollgate Lodge Primary Care Center to register for NHS (National Health Service) and after the nurse spent about 20 minutes interviewing me about my medical history, she told me to make another appointment for a proper asthma examination.
Like every other asthma-related doctor's appointment I've ever had (and I've been going to these since I was about 13), I had to go through the whole routine... "take a deep breath and blow as hard as you can into this peak flow meter so we can measure your lung strength and air capacity." Over the years, I've seen this meter evolve from an archaic piece of medical equipment into a 'highly-sophisticated' digitized version.
So it was safe to say that I expected the nurse to open her drawer and pull one of these babies out. After all, this is London, not some third world country. But instead, she came back to me with a laughably pitiful model - the kind that comes with a disposable cardboard mouthpiece (which looks like a mini-toilet-paper roll) and where you have to manually reset it by pushing the pointer down with your fingertip. It looked like something you'd find in a children's toy medical kit. Remember those? We all had them, the black Fisher-Price doctor's bag that includes a stethoscope with big red plastic tips on the earpieces. All that was missing from this thing was its lack of McDonald's colors.
She also had a giant ziploc bag full of different sized TP rolls... which she subsequently slipped her ungloved, maybe even unwashed, hand into to grab one for me. BTW... if you haven't put two and two together, this is the part that I have to put my mouth on. Thank God I didn't ask her for a flu shot.
So what if I'm spoiled and used to the luxuries of sanitized medical paraphernalia? I guess this is just an example of "the price we pay" for having nationalized health care. And in case you're wondering... here's the prognosis: I still have a mild case of asthma.
Anyway, that's my little anecdote for the day... though I'm not quite sure why I've required myself to have one. Oh who cares. I promise this won't go on too long because the only thing I really wanted to do with this post is to list some of my favorite British idiosyncracies. In other words, I'm copying Kim. Perhaps this is my chance to lay down all the little things about London life that I can't necessarily explain in my usual colorful way. So here goes (in no particular order of importance):
1.) When grocery shopping, you have to bag them all yourself. Sad, but true.
2.) Fries are chips, chips are crisps, cookies are biscuits, cream cheese is soft cheese (or simply Philadelphia), jello is jelly. Also, "Lay's" brand crisps are "Walker's" here - except the graphics on the bag are exactly the same... down to the typography.
3.) They have tea time, not coffee breaks.
4.) Cigarettes are fags (though most people already know that).
5.) Products that exist in the US are given a different brand identity. Example: I finally found Vitamin Water, but the usual citrus-flavored "Energy" that I like is called "Spark" here.
6.) Soda is significantly flatter and blander here than it is in the US.
7.) When ordering fish and chips at a restaurant, it commonly comes with peas.
8.) There is a borderline irrational, national obsession with chips... they even come with breakfast.
9.) "All right?" is code for "Hello" or "How are you?"
10.) Even girls call girls "love."
11.) "yeah?" follows nearly every question in casual conversation. Example: "See you tonight, yeh?"
12.) People here drink lots and lots of alcoholic cider and Foster's beer.
13.) Every true Londoner owns at least one pair of boots, one peacoat and an umbrella. Sorry Chuck, I have to trade you in on rainy days for these:
14.) Londoners make fun of everyone else. Southerners are trouble, midlanders are hicks, northerners are just plain insulting, and if you're from Newcastle you might as well kill yourself for being a "jordie."
15.) Having a pint (of beer) is just part of the culture... at any times of the day, during lunch hours or after dinner. It doesn't even matter.
16.) British network television includes health programming that shows anatomically-correct body parts without censorship. Boobs, bush, penis, what have you. I actually just saw a show where they were teaching a bunch of 12-year-olds how to use a condom.
17.) If you're a tourist, you're probably into "west end" attractions. If you're a local, you'd rather do "east end" things.
18.) When walking down the street or riding the bus, expect to hear at least 5 different languages being spoken on any given journey.
19.) Please jaywalk. Or else you'll annoy somebody.
20.) Bic lighters are hard to find. Having one makes you slightly cooler than the guy using matches or a cricket.
Okay, that's probably enough for now. I have to get ready because I'm meeting some friends at the "Drunken Monkey" dim sum bar in Shoreditch (EAST END) for dinner and drinks.
Love and bollocks! (I totally stole that from James.)
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