"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."

-John Lennon

Ms. Carolyn Elizabeth Cramer Lackey, en route to her childhood home in Chelsea.
You wouldn't know it, though. F-.

Wednesday was Liz's birthday. We partied hard. She was a sweetheart and went to Harrods and got a whole bunch of alcohol for her own 21st birthday and hung around and came back. We all got her cards, and then Helen and I went to Liz's old house in Chelsea with her. It was a really "smart" area. Very nice. It was very blissful, like we'd stepped out of Central London. Perhaps that was because the sun was out while we were there or maybe because sometimes the sun shines there. Who knows.

Regardless, I got her some flowers while we were there, and then we all came back and threw a ridiculous party that I didn't thoroughly enjoy, but it was her birthday. We went to a club called Chinawhite that sucked real hard. 20 quid for a cover, 9 pounds a shot of tequila, and a plethora of pretentiousness. I didn't much enjoy the evening.

The next day, we recuperated. Then, we all had class. That was an interesting experience. In class, I learned nothing. Not because I didn't listen, but because no one taught me anything. They just talked. I was there at least. However, I'm kind of at college to learn something. I'm willing to be taught. They're just not really saying anything. I don't know what I learned besides that this whole "school" thing isn't really what I'm interested in any more.

With the way my life has transitioned I don't know if it could be that I don't want to learn anymore. Maybe I've made the gross miscalculation that I've figured it out. I don't think that's the case, because I'm definitely lost out here. I'm lost everywhere. I'm not entirely positive of anything. I'm just willing to admit that to myself, and I kind of wish everyone else admitted at least to me that they don't really have any clue what's going on either. This is life. It's fucking stupid and it has all these problems and we have to deal with them. We can't change the fact that they will happen. No one has any idea what's really going on, myself included.

Make Art Not War, Bob and Roberta Smith, 1997, Acrylic on Wood

Friday, I decided I'd go around the Tate Britain. As I wandered from the tube station towards what I thought was the right direction, I marveled at how grey and rainy and slightly nice it was. I wondered about my whole life. How I got to where I am. Where I am going. What it all meant. That was what really bothered me- what does this all mean? Heartache, loneliness, happiness, joy; where does it all fit? Without an iPod, you're sometimes forced to just plain talk to yourself. I decided Friday was a good day to do that. The rain, my feelings, and the activities seemed to completely even themselves out, as the rain came down, my heart leveled for a bit and the museum acted as a quiet portal outside the world I have been in. Alone in the rain is a hell of a way to see parts of a city.

So, I walked up the steps to the Tate. In I went, and some person runs by me, in running gear and stops and goes down a corridor, and I'm like, "Wow, this is a really nice place to end a run. I should do that." Then, I go up to the member's cafe to get lunch and there were more runners. I wandered around the museum, browsing the great British artwork displayed. Some of it was really nice, like "Chatterton" which you can view later on in this post.

So, I'm taking a few pictures here and there, and I walk up the stairs and I see more runners running by. I take a picture of some artwork and a guy at the museum comes up and says, "Sorry, no pictures. You can take pictures of the runners, but not of the artwork." At this, I smiled.
"Are they here everyday?" I asked.
"Everyday for three months. Opening to closing."
"Just running through the museum."
"Just running through the museum."
"Weird, doesn't that get annoying? Why do people decide to run to here?"
"It's an installation."
I laughed at him. Really? He insisted it was. Told me to take a picture, even directed me where good light is. The light was shitty. But still. I found it absolutely hilarious that people running through the Tate Britain was artwork and that I had completely thought it to be normal.

I personally feel like this picture is garbage. D+. I think I'll go retake it.
Running byartwork is kind of funny because it's just totally undermining
the purpose of the museum.

The artist, Martin Creed, fed the visitors of the Tate a whole bunch of bullshit saying it was a testament to the human spirit or something like that. It was all hogwash. Total garbage. People running is not artwork. It's not like a painting. Creed and Damien Hirst can go fuck each other with expensive, platinum and diamond dildos. This isn't to say that there aren't amazing installations out there. Take Meeting by James Turrell, an installation artist that puts you in the artwork itself and makes you a part of the experience. There's no experience of avoiding runners at the Tate. Art has to do with a feeling. It's about the things that you can't put words to. Art isn't a business, it's a form of expression. It says things that words can't. It shows things that the eyes can't see. It is sounds you cannot hear. Damien Hirst, for instance, is one of those phenomenal businessmen. He's a terrific investment. He's a piss poor artist, though. He doesn't have feeling. You don't look at his separated animals and think "wow, it's like he knows me." It is an interesting thing to see, but I mean, it doesn't move me. You take a look at a Rembrandt painting and you see him, everything he is, everything he could show you. You can look at the Pietá by Michelangelo and you can weep. You feel for Mary, holding her dead son, the cloth made of stone draped across her knee as if it was as soft as silk, the depressions in Jesus's skin from where she bears his weight turning marble to flesh. That's artwork. That you can't sell, or teach, or do anything but feel. When people run by me, I feel nothing. So, I felt it necessary to get a beer at a pub right outside the Tate. Sitting alone, it was kind of nice, as the sun peeked through the clouds and I sipped on an ice cold beer. I took this picture, which isn't all too bad, but still pretty bad. I don't know what kind of a story it tells.

Four men sit enjoying pints in a pub near the Tate Britain. I give this photo a C.

That night, we got drunk on wine and looked at art on our computers hooked up to our television. It was actually spectacular. We just browsed famous art and we talked about it. It was actually unbelievably pretentious. We were so fucking cool. We knew what the hell we were talking about. When we finished, we all had to roll up our trousers to avoid stepping in all of the bullshit. Regardless, it was an intellectual pursuit. We tried. We attempted to have intelligent conversations. I'd like to think we succeeded, but we were just drunk.

The Wall at Abbey Road Studios.

Saturday, I got up late and didn't go for a run, despite planning on doing it. Luke's brother's friend happened to be in London for the past two months, so we met up with him, and wandered down to Abbey Road. I saw Abbey Road Studios, which was pretty awesome. It's unfortunate that the place is known solely for the Beatles, because, for instance, Pink Floyd recorded there, as did Radiohead and Oasis.

Afterwards, we went on down to the British Library. That place was absolutely incredible. I highly recommend it to anyone. The archive of its "treasures" includes the Magna Carta, original Beatles writings, original artwork and journals from all over the world, Charles Darwin's notes, letters from Sir Isaac Newton, and Leonardo Da Vinci's notes. It is beautifully displayed, but you're not allowed to take pictures. It does a great job of being unforgettable anyway.

We then went out to some pub right by there, called O'Neills. Grabbed a few pints, had some Steak and Ale pie, and it was really good. Vibrant interior, good pub food, and right across from the King's Cross St. Pancras station. I'll take it.

We then came home, and here we are, fumbling with real life. Everyone, I've begun to realize, is on a very similar emotional plane. Everyone in life has someone they wish they were with instead. Everyone has somewhere they'd rather be. Everyone's got somebody to lean on. The only thing is that it's hard to lean 3600 miles.

It's so nice to hear music and see art that reflects the things you're feeling. It's so captivating, the way that artists can convey emotion through notes or strokes. We are all battling through all of these things in our own ways, and it's so comforting to find that everything we feel isn't unique to us. Sometimes it feels that way. Sometimes it really does. Sometimes you feel as if no one can ever understand how much it hurts or how much you miss them or how much you wish you weren't having to deal with whatever is going on in your life, but no one's ever alone. Art and this experience of living abroad are a wonderful testament to that.

"Chatterton" by Henry Wallis, 1856, Oil on canvas
Depicts Thomas Chatterton, who attempted to pass off fabricated medieval histories and poems that he put on parchment and sold as authentic. Penniless and unable to get work as a writer, he took his own life by swallowing arsenic at the age of 17. Fascinating. Artwork: A+, Photo: C

Graham and Ada are living the love without complications that all twenty-somethings are ready for, or so we tell ourselves. Luke is experiencing the pining to be anywhere with someone else. It's holding him back from this place, but he wants that, because he's ready for that sort of a commitment to someone, like we all swear we are. I'm getting the fuck out of dodge, personally. I'm running away from everything. Liz is dealing with the end of something, and she's ready to move on, she's ready for that part of her life. Everyone's ready. Everyone's ready for life to start making sense with new realizations about how it all will end. I'm left sitting, wondering, "Well, come on now, where are they?"

Music I Like This Week:
Jeff Alexander - "Come Wander With Me"
Ben Sollee - "A Change Is Gonna Come"
Yeah Yeah Yeahs - "Maps" (Acoustic)
Nas - "Black President"
Apparat - "Fractales Pt. 1"
Apparat - "Fractales Pt. 2"

If I Were You I'd Pay Attention To:
Sarah Palin, now not only annoying, but running for vice president.
All of the hurricanes and tropical storms hitting like rapid fire across the Caribbean.
A bit about Gaza and how it is changing.