News From Nowhere

And so it is...

2008-12-16T15:07:00.000-08:00

I'm in Romania. I'm with Taylor. Nothing out of the ordinary there; some place no one would say, "Yeah! Let's go there!" with Taylor, go figure. We came to pursue a story for Taylor's graduate project on the street children, aka "urchins," that live on the streets of Bucharest following Nicolae Ceausescu's legacy, the Communist leader of Romania who banned contraception and abortion during his reign in hopes of creating a powerful labor force and world army. However, it backfired, leaving the country poor and the children homeless in a place that could not support the new population burst.

The story is sad. Following the Romanian revolution in 1989, the world began to focus on the current state of Romania (albeit for alternative reasons than altruism probably, but thus are international relations) and the horrible condition of these children's lives were thrust into the public eye. The children were living on the streets, or in sewers; they had no education, no family structure and no hope of pursuing a new life forcing many of them to resort to sniffing cheap solvents such as glue or paint thinner to make the days pass less painfully.

But, that's that. No more history lesson today, or probably, any other day, at least for a while. I'm at the point now where I'm ready to go home. In London, I dreaded the day I was leaving, and now, here, sitting in some guy's kitchen in the former Soviet Union, I'm counting down the seconds until I get the hell out of here. It's a strange and interesting feeling, especially in contrast with everything else going on in my life.

I haven't posted in a long, long time. Mostly because I felt it was pretentious. The writing was good, the photos were poor, and for the most part, it became a showcase of things I was forcing. Since then, I've taken my life into new directions - towards wanting to be a photojournalist. I found a story on a gay Muslim man, which my professor nixed due to the lack of Islam in his life (go figure, but finding an openly gay, practicing Muslim is like trying to find a shopping mall on the moon - they're just not out there). So, in a night, I found me a heroin/crack addict. Took some photos of him begging, went out and saw where he bought his drugs. Followd him to his rehab center and watched him sneak in his drugs. Saw him shoot up and smoke crack with the syringe still in his leg. Saw his prison tattoos. Shot horrible photos of it the whole time. No one will ever see them except those who already have.

But, the moral of the story is, I began to do serious work. I began to do things for me. I began to want to do this, not just have to do it. And that, let me tell you, was new to me. However, I was very disappointed in myself. There I had two stories, and I didn't do them right. There, I had something with real potential, and I let myself down. I'd always been a half-assed worker, aware completely of my potential so much so that I decided to never live up to it. Given the opportunity, I realized that maybe I overestimated myself. I continue to feel this way that my whole life I've thought more highly of myself than was actually realistic. That's a harsh blow to deal yourself, but necessary to my growth. I'll forever feel as if my ambition far outweighs my talent, my skills just one step behind my voice.

I've begun to think about the rest of my life, what is going on, where it's going. I've begun to take myself really seriously. Wearing nice clothes was an upgrade, carrying myself more professionally was a meager attempt, but to actually change the way I thought about myself was even more of a trip. I think that's what it all comes from. This trip. Ah, how my life has changed. The person who got on the plane to London in August has died, replaced by the one who will land in Newark on Thursday.

And so now, I find myself in more foreign places. Moldova, Transdnistria, Romania, airport lounges and taxi cabs where the writing is Cyrillic, where the money is small and the economies are bad. I am wandering beneath perpetual grayness in a land where the scowls are contagious. Where I feel unwelcome, unwanted, rejected. And now, I'm in some guy's kitchen smoking cigarettes, about to spend the day in Bucharest alone, trying to get deeper into this dirt; down into the sewers to see more of the street urchin community and doing what I can to soak up what's left of this place. It's as if I've gone out to eat and there's too much oil and vinegar on my plate and I've run out of bread to get it into me. I will leave this place with a feeling that I came at the wrong time, that I didn't give it my all, that I missed something essential.

I'm going to now, say a final sort of goodbye. To this blog, to this life, to the places I've been and the person I was. Goodbye London, you beautiful city of red buses and black cabs, goodbye great fun, goodbye flat 91. Goodbye Cafe Helen, goodbye Faraday House. Goodbye Oxford Street, Picadilly Circus, Hoxton, Soho, Camden and South Bank; goodbye Oyster Card, and my block phone that I paid by the minute for. Goodbye foreign terrritory, goodbye adventure. Goodbye strange feelings, goodbye whoever I was.

But also, I have to say thanks. Thanks for everything. Thanks for the memories, thanks for the growth, thanks for making me who I am, and thanks for putting my ass in gear. Thanks David Sutherland, thanks London staff, thanks London Photo Group, thanks to my friends, to William my landlord, thanks to my parents.

I don't know what I'll get out of these last moments in Eastern Europe when my heart is somewhere in Western Europe and drowning in the Atlantic, if anything. I'm too exhausted to really be enthusiastic about any of this. In the last throws of my passionate love affair with Europe, I find myself anxious and bitterly lonely, ready to endure the arduous journey back to New Jersey, back to my home, and to prepare to get up and get going again. I can't stop moving, I can't stop leaving, but I have to, I have to get my feet on the ground in some way, because despite the fact that I'm paralyzed, I'm ready to run.

I've just returned from Scotland

2008-10-27T13:54:00.001-07:00

This morning, I pulled into Euston Station from Glasgow and a weekend in lovely Oban, shortly before 7 am. Given daylight savings time here in the U.K., it gave way to a beautiful sight of mist shone through sunlight against a billowing and broadcasting sky of gray. As the sun rose, I felt home again.

I've got a lot to say on that topic, and frankly, I'm one glass of wine too deep to write about it and post the photos (it's quite a laborious task, you understand).

I've done a bit of writing, a bit of growing, and a bit of exploring of both my self and this wide world over the past week. A week off was much needed, and I return to class anew, as if with new eyes. I am determined to make something of this experience that cannot be shared in anything but story. I am on a mission to find myself a story to tell that is neither my own nor public, I am trying to find something to latch onto.

For now, here is a bit of work I did for my writing class. The assignment was, and I quote: Assignment 3: Analysis of 1) some object related to traveling, 2) some traveling place, OR 3) some London cultural custom that needs explaining.
Writers on this assignment unearth the meaning of a generic object related to traveling (the suitcase or backpack, the souvenir, the guidebook, the map, the passport, etc.) OR they analyse the meaning of generic traveling spaces like airports, train stations, youth hostel rooms, etc. OR they observe and explain something from the perspective of a foreigner in London - some bizarre, or common, or vital part of British society or culture (see the list of Sample Topics below, in this syllabus). Each piece of writing will be evaluated on how insightful and clear the analysis is. Some topics qill require research.

Now, once you get through all that mindless garbage spat at us like chewing tobacco, you get a simple mission: write about something. I originally wrote about my travel journal, but it was very self-worthy, almost like masturbation. I remained very... pretentious, comparing myself to Hemingway and Picasso, both of which, I admire greatly but am by no means comparable to.

In the end, I wrote this:

David Mountain
The Passport

The origins of the passport date back to the Persian Empire, as noted in the Hebrew Bible. The King Artaxerxes I gave a piece of parchment to his servant Nehemiah to grant him safe passage as he traveled through Judea. Though not as we know today, this was perhaps the first piece of parchment that acted as a symbol of safe passage during travels to lands unknown. They have, of course, since changed both in form and manner and have become the handy companion of all those who seek out to witness new territories, albeit legally.

Exact origins of the name “passport” remain unknown, though scholars of language could derive its meaning to “pass” through the gates (Latin: “porte”), or borders by common speak, of foreign lands. The general premise has always remained the same: to legitimize travel and to document the places the holder has gone, and will go.

Before photography existed, these passports were simple sheets of paper, letters even, that included where and where not one was allowed to make a destination. The passport was the key to lands only previously locked in imagination, the document was a silent witness of one’s past, there only for the journey to make these explorations valid to whomever cared to mind the passport. To the holder, it could act as a testament of a life once lived, in another place, with other people, as if in another reality. And, for all it is worth, this has fortunately stayed the same.

Passports have become the necessity of all those seeking to get up and leave, to try out a new set of soil and to dust oneself with the earth of another’s home. The common passport, varying in color and design, varies from country to country. Spain and some of Europe bind theirs in maroon, the United States donning a royal blue façade that has become markedly more elaborate through the years as to thwart counterfeiters. Strange, as it may seem; these passports that once granted passage and let all wanderlust adventurers’ dreams come true, now act as barriers to places on this earth, as the borders become more strict and the governments more exact as to who is allowed into their tracts.

When I was a child, I was given my first passport by my parents, though, I guess, technically it was by the government’s allowance. No more than a boy, I had my photo taken, and in weeks, I received a thick binding that has since, until its expiration, acted to remind me of the places I’d been. Though the picture, horrid, reflects a boy I once was, the places that stamped their seal announcing my arrival travel with me even to this day. Gone is the boyish grin or the curly cue at the front of my hair, but you’d be hard pressed to find a moment when these places have left me. I have since received two more passports. They each took their fair share of beating and their edges became worn, only to be replaced by something new and shiny. The pictures are in their places and they reflect someone I no longer am, though, upon further investigation they bring up memories I cannot shake. The Bermudan stamp marked in the summer of 2003 stings my back with sunburn attributed to shirtless snorkeling; the French mark tastes of cow brains and escargot; the fading Canadian pound fills me with fresh air and the ecstasy of a good trek through the woods.

My current passport, shiny and new, is far more sophisticated than that of my old one. Implanted with microchips and elaborate detail on each page, it bears no resemblance to my old one – except the photo is equally horrible. Dave Barry, a comic writer, said of passport photos: “To enter Europe, you must have a valid passport with a photograph of yourself in which you look like you are being booked on charges of soliciting sheep.” Though sheep herding is perhaps not my profession, I do look a bit appalling. Ugly and obtuse, this photo reflects nothing of me. The intense security blanketing the pages reflects little of my lifestyle; I am very carefree and walk down dark alleys with change in my pockets. However, the stamp is all me – Heathrow Airport / August 2008, says, as if admitting to the world and whoever’s face that is (certainly not mine) on the first page, that I had in fact made it there.

How glorious the days before passports must have been. Free, you were, to run amok across borders and into territories as far as the eye could see. No one to say “don’t do that” or “show me proof of your purpose” but only you against the elements across barren landscapes and pitted against or for foes or friends that you met in these places. Constricting, this passport is. Holding you in, asking you to check in with a faceless gatekeeper before exploring the globe how you see fit. It is sad that we now need permits, which is really what these passports are, to enter and leave.

You cannot travel without a passport any more. Though in older days it was entirely possible, today it is travelers taboo. It’s doubtful that Lewis and Clarke, on their infamous journey to map the West, took with them photographs or likenesses of themselves with a presidential seal allowing them to act as they pleased in Native American and French territories. However, today, it remains a necessity to both enter and leave a country. Even your own home you cannot return to were you to forget your passport. You would, of course, have it sorted out, but after much headache and brazen scolding by border police.

Strange, I often think, how much this little booklet of memories elicits fodder for fantasy as to where exactly I will go next. It is blank, new, and will not expire for some ten years. It holds no recollection of the passports past or the passports future, but it documents my travels for a ten year span. Oh, how it will fill with stamps that upon a second glance, will burst through the thick binding and rush through my eyes in the years to come, they will preserve those memories and forsake me for ever forgetting where I’d been, who I was, or what my life once resembled. The picture, too, a reflection of a life past, the blank pages pressing me further to fill them. Imploring me to explore. Daring me to leave it behind and see where I get.

Music I Like This Week:

If I Were You I'd Pay Attention To:
THE FUCKING ELECTION
and the fact that we bombed Syria.

Rainy Day Mix #1 - Complacency

2008-10-20T10:17:00.000-07:00

No photos. Man Week commences as Helen leaves Luke and I to our lonesome. Wonderfully rainy today, stayed in. Ahhhh.....

Because I'm bored, I've decided to make a playlist of songs for a rainy day. We shall call this, "Rainy Day Mix #1 - Complacency"

Music I Like This Week:

If I Were You I'd Pay Attention To:
That video above
Colin Powell Endorses Obama
Free bikes? Ballin...
Tijuana? Sweetest place ever? If you're into killing and drugs and other immoral activities.

A POST! WITH PHOTOS!

2008-10-17T11:18:00.000-07:00

Wow, what a week. Midterms are whores. Everything about school is ludicrous. I did however have an epiphany - I really like photojournalism as a career. Despite the fact that I don't really do much photojournalism, I think that the idea of it is simply fantastic. I like thinking about being a photojournalist a lot, maybe more than actually being one. This, is a little ditty I made in about three hours for class. I put Bach to it because it makes it more elegant, plus, the ladies love it.

With that said, news of my life- there are like 40 thousand people here. In reality, my parents, two friends, and one of Luke's high school buddies, are here. Liz went to Morocco. Graham and Ada were going, but they stayed. Let's view it as a math equation. L is Liz, Graham is G, Ada is A, Luke: Lu, Helen: H, and Me: D. Let's try and see if we can figure this out.

Originally, the house is LGALuHD. Now, when people go on vacation, we have one of those variables missing. We were expecting visitors in the house: N (Ned), E (Erica) and A (Amanda) as our new additions.

With the trip; LGALuHD - LGA = LuHD. LuHD + NEA = LuHDNEA. However due to the complications of GA staying, GALuHDNEA is the current solution. Now, we only have room in this house for six variables (and even then its cramped) but we have to equate that accordingly.

LuHDNEA = 8, AS (Available Space) = 6, so 6+8=14. 14*62 = 868. That is two 8's with a 6 in the middle of it. According to the commutative property of equality, I am not wearing underwear.

And now for something completely different.

The Alfred E. Smith Memorial Dinner was last night, and believe it or not... I laughed at jokes John McCain said. Obama was downright hilarious. I like him. Who do you think is funnier? Answer in my poll.

Nothing to pay attention to today, because I don't want to post much more. People want to do stuff, so, I'll post twice as much music tomorrow (and I've got some good ones to post).

I swear, later today, I will post photos.

2008-10-09T08:22:00.003-07:00

Carrotmob Makes It Rain from carrotmob on Vimeo.

Until then, watch that video. It's a great fucking idea.

A President Who Is Human

2008-10-08T04:02:00.003-07:00

Today's post will be a reprieve from the usual candor of photography and general awesomeness to bring you something I find pressing, the presidential elections:

According to Fox News (my favorite) Barack Obama bummed cigarettes on the campaign trail.

ALL THE MORE REASON TO VOTE FOR HIM- HE'S HUMAN.

Not to mention, he did some serious work last night and, as hackers would say, pwned the noob McCain. I am proud to say that most places are saying the Obama won last night. I'm eagerly awaiting the final one, which should be either the nail in the coffin, or the hand reaching from the grave. We will see.

I took some notes last night during the debate, because I am a gentleman and a scholar, and this is basically what my analysis says:

McCain uses the term "America" to talk about the middle class. He uses "America" because he doesn't know anyone in the middle class.

McCain had a wonderful opportunity to tackle the energy crisis we're heading towards when asked whether he would support a Silicone Valley type of deal (funding lots of people trying different things) or a government regulated and funded project, like the Manhattan Project. He didn't answer the question.

Obama often ran too long and didn't fully answer the questions at hand, using his time rather to attack his opponent and then drawing relevance when Tom Brokaw waved his hand and told him to stop talking. It was kind of arrogant of him to later ask to respond, despite the agreements set before the debate.

McCain is 72 and should be living off of Social Security. However, he isn't because he's married to an heiress and is a wealthy Senator. He knows nothing of the problem. To quote Good Will Hunting, "You're an orphan, right? You think I know the first thing about how hard your life has been, how you feel, who you are, because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you?"

Obama uses personal stories too much but has very few public speaking flaws. He sometimes belabored the points.

Obama clearly laid out three priorities (Alternative Energy, Health Care, and Education, in that order) and McCain claimed to be able to do everything at once. Obama leaned towards Keynesism and McCain leaned towards Friedmanism. Neither seem to be economists or too well read in the theories, like myself.

Obama is much better dressed and can lift his arms higher.

Teddy Roosevelt would have attacked Pakistan when he got information that terrorists were hiding there. He would have probably gone in himself, on horseback, and kicked at least three people in the face. Immediately after, he would have gotten drunk and shot skeet with Musharraf. I don't see McCain really emulating his "idol."

Obama constantly didn't answer questions, such as his last one.

McCain did answer the final question, he was asked what he doesn't know. He said what comes next remains a mystery to him. Which is to say, "I'm very experienced, look at how well prepared I've always been, I always see things ahead of time, I have no idea what being president will be like."

Tom Brokaw is awesome and I'd like to make him some sort of pastry.

Notes to look at:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2008/oct/08/uselections2008.johnmccain
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/uselections2008
http://www.foxnews.com/

Chelsea

2008-10-05T13:38:00.000-07:00

I went to Stamford Bridge today and saw Chelsea play some of the best football I've ever seen. Frank Lampard is a phenomenal player and I couldn't beat him in football even if I was playing xbox verse him in real life.

I am running out of money, and fast. The economy is tanking, the world is going to implode, and I have came up with a solution: I am including a wonderful new tool!

THE DONATE TOOL

Linked to my account, you can now give me money because you love me. Or this blog. Or need to come up with things to write off in your taxes. Please, if you have StumbledUpon this website. Give me money. You owe me for being in the presence of my blog (hey, it works for religion...).

Also, we eat at Cafe Helen all of the time, which has the best shawarma on the PLANET, living in Marble Arch, you can hold a competition.

Brian Skiba, in his infinite glory, happened across this:

I love you. Think of me when you need to get rid of some money fast.

Dave

2008-10-03T15:04:00.000-07:00

How life unfolds. Ah, with a deep sigh, it engulfs me. I am whole, I am who I am supposed to be.

Music I Like This Week:
Shankar Jakishan - The Title Music From "Bombay Talkie"
Thievery Corporation - Satayam Shivam Sundaram
Peter Sarstedt - Where Do You Go To My Lovely

The finest American export...

2008-10-01T08:50:00.000-07:00

This picture is a direct rip-off of other photographers' work in my program. It is not as good as theirs.

Over the last few days, I've been working hard on getting my work in for classes. I'm fairly upset with the way that school has become so mundane and such a chore; I used to enjoy the process of learning. I feel, sometimes, that the American tendency to require a higher level of education is more a business than a real opportunity. I say this with the full knowledge that you can get out of it what you put in. Life experience is way more important, in my opinion, in the whole game of life thing than some of the things I've been taught. That could be the life experience that I need though. Maybe I'm not putting enough in, or maybe I'm just not the type of person to continue on a track, because I was born to blaze trails of my own.

A nice day to see graffiti by the South Bank.

Anyway, Andrew, my brother's friend from high school, moved to Winchester, and I met up with him and showed him around London. It was pretty cool. We drank beers by the South Bank and watched street performers as they dazzled tourists by the London Eye. We also went to Leake Street, where street art / graffiti is legal and there are often people spraying the walls with their art. It's rumored that Banksy once covered the walls in his loveliness, and I found a Faile piece that had been covered maybe three times. Regardless, it was pretty cool.

We watched the presidential debates, and well, I'm still up in the air. McCain said nothing that piqued my interest, and Barack Obama continued to attack McCain and undermine himself, appearing cocky rather than confident, arrogant rather than self-assure. I am such a firm believer in the fact that he can do a superb job, as he rallied my spirit in his closing remarks about restoring the reputation of the nation, and I hope that he continues to prove to America that he is worth his weight in gold. The alternative is, of course, a horribly dense woman from Alaska in the White House instead of a capable, open-minded, well-educated black man and a Syracuse Alum.

Brian Skiba, the moment he realized Phish, his favorite band, was going back on tour.

Today, however, Brian Skiba arrived. He is very excited because Phish just announced a reunion tour. It's been argued that democracy is America's finest export. I, however, feel that Brian Skiba is the finest American export. His gentle looks and his kind smile remind me of my childhood and make me giggle like a schoolboy hopped up on pixie stix. When he laughs, it is like hearing a chorus of angels. When I grow up, I'd like to be half the man that he is, or a pirate, or a ninja, or the Lord of the Rings.

Tomorrow, the roommates, minus me, go to Amsterdam, leaving me with the house to myself, and a few days of what can be considered as "alone time" and "heaven." I'm so excited, more for the peace and quiet, than anything else. I've printed out a bunch of resumés and hope to have a job by this time Saturday.

Music I Like This Week:
Aphex Twin - Windowlicker
Bajofondo Tango Club - El Andén
The Beatles - Real Love
Beck - Debra

If I Were You I'd Pay Attention To:
Persepolis, in real life!
Donald Trump will find it harder to build view-obstructing apartments now...
European perspectives!
A sweet new animation, for my brother.

2008-09-27T15:04:00.000-07:00

VERSUS

WHICH IS BETTER?!

The Song: Eric Prydz - Call On Me

CHECK OUT: www.mediastorm.org/0018.htm
http://womenagainstsarahpalin.blogspot.com/

2008-09-26T20:57:00.001-07:00

I have cut off contact with the outside world as a social experiment.

I love you all.

Nude as the News

2008-09-26T07:09:00.000-07:00

My religion is to live and die without regret.
-Milarepa

Just got confirmation that I'll be going to Oban, Scotland for a home-stay in October. Right now it's scheduled for the 10th, but my parents were going to come that weekend, so I'll see what I can do.
There's not much going on, but I plan on working like a madman all weekend. I want to find a job to help me have some money around here (it's disappearing quicker than I'd like to admit).

These are a few shots from last night, using a slow rear-curtain sync with a built in flash. Also, there was something about the way that the light lit Ada's face that I had to capture. Taylor and I went to a babysitter's club last night, and even I felt a little old. We were making bets on who was born in 1990 or later.

Music I Like This Week:
Curtis Mayfield - In Love, In Love, In Love
Bon Iver - Flume
Orbital - Pal Pal Teri Yaad
Tïesto - Ten Seconds Before Sunrise
Old Crow Medicine Show - Wagon Wheel

If I Were You I'd Pay Attention To:
A Jetpack?!
Amphibians can live in both water and on land, but they cannot survive the wrath of man!
YARR!!! Pirates! (for Taylor who is deathly afraid of them)
The multiple uses of Shea Stadium

Personal Space

2008-09-25T14:48:00.000-07:00

This is where we live. This is my only "personal" space. Note that there is someone in my "personal space." His name is "Graham" and he is my "roommate." He enjoys things like "metaphysics, skepticism, philosophy," and "duality." Actually, he's very "intelligent" and you can read his blog "here." Behind our fridge is my room, known more commonly as "a closet with two beds in it and a window." Right now, I am sitting around with people drinking "gin and tonics" and we are about to "go out."

I really like the "unnecessary" use of "quotation marks."

Music I Like This Week:
Bob Dylan - Most Likely You Go Your Way and I'll Go Mine
Erik Satie - Trois Gymnopedies No. 1
This very well may be the most beautiful piece of music ever written in my opinion.
Manu Chao - Mentira...
Neutral Milk Hotel - The King of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1
Band of Horses - Plans

If I were You I'd Be Paying Attention to:
THERE ARE DEBATES TOMORROW, PEOPLE
Lawmakers, making moves
"There is no deal until there is a deal."

2008-09-24T14:51:00.000-07:00

The other day, I dipped into the Serpentine to get a photo of a new friend of mine, Thor, who hails all the way from Germany and goes swimming at the Lido at the Serpentine as many days a year as he can bear. It's impressive and reminds me of the Polar Bear Club.

It was ridiculously cold and for the life of me, I could not figure why anyone would want to go every day of the year.

Music I Like This Week:
Kings of Leon - California Waiting
Lee Scratch Perry & The Upsetters - Black Panta
Feist - So Sorry
Coldplay - Yes!
The Strokes - Reptilia

If I Were You I'd Pay Attention To:
Obama, Taking No Guff
The Death Of A Salesman
Oh fuck!

If the Romans knew that their Baths had become a shopping mall..

2008-09-20T11:46:00.000-07:00

The photo majors all went to Bath and Lacock yesterday. We were rushed around from spot to spot and all in all, we were common tourists. I didn't much enjoy the experience.

Harry Potter was filmed in Lacock, this photo has nothing to do with that.

We went to Lacock first, which is pronounced lay-coq, and saw the Fox Talbot museum. Fox Talbot was the inventor of the negative/positive principle of photography and patented the process, charging the first photographers a royalty each time it was used. Really, he changed photography forever by inventing a powerful way to capture an image and fix it to be viewed later.

Roger Watson, curator of the Fox Talbot Museum talking to Syracuse University Photojournalism students

Bath, as a child, was a whimsical place where there were epic baths that reflected the light of the sun in the English countryside. Today, from what I can tell, it is little more than a shopping mall with a bit of history tucked in it. Modernized and getting more modern, this city has lost its romance and has hidden its most impressive feature between a Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream Parlor and a Topshop. This, in my opinion, is despicable.

In my defense, I was in a poor mood due to an assignment I felt was asinine. The city is quite nice if you find something to do besides shop. I hear that the Crescent, at the top of the hill, is amazing. I was too lazy to go find it.

Music I Like This Week:
Zoot Woman - Calmer
Pixies - Gouge Away
Alpha - Firefly
Arvo Pärt - Fratres for Eight Cellos
Spiritualized - Ladies And Gentlemen, We Are Floating In Space

If I Were You I'd Pay Attention To:
Well Put, Matt Damon, Well Put
Pakistani Problems
10.6 Trillion is about to become 11.3 Trillion Reasons to Do Something

SCOTLAND!

2008-09-16T12:48:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I went and ventured off to Scotland; land of kilts and bagpipes, William Wallace and thick brogues. After and awfully cold and sleepless bus ride, I arrived in Edinburgh, and met up with my fellow travelers, as we had all been on different buses. We had booked on a whim and decided to go in less than an hour (at least in my case) and it turned out to be one of the most beneficial impulse-decisions I've probably ever made.

After a ridiculously long walk down to the shore, we rented a car from Enterprise. That was really funny because Taylor, our only "legal" driver in the car, had to nervously get us out of the parking lot. Unfamiliar with the right-hand-drive and the whole concept of driving on the left side of the road, we were in for quite an experience. We decided to drive up to Loch Ness to catch the fabled fauna of the Loch and to sell tickets to its viewing, thus becoming millionaires. The drive was an experience, with distilleries, pubs, and castles along the way, allowing us (while we were awake) to fully take in the beauty of Scotland.

Along the way, we constantly kept saying to each other things like, "This place is fucking awesome," and "You are an attractive man with good morals" keeping our spirits high and our imaginations constantly rolling. Juliette proved to be the most able driver of the lot, clocking in a good six or seven hours as our chauffeur. Along our journey to Loch Ness, we stopped at two distilleries, with the hopes of getting royally smashed off some good Scotish whisky. First, was Dewar's. Dewar's has a rich history that it boasts stylishly in its distillery, and gives you the opportunity to both smell the process (because we came during their "silent" brewing period in which no one can go into the factory to watch the process first hand) and then they gave us a menial amount of whisky. Definitely not enough to get us drunk (perhaps on purpose) and definitely not watered down. The main difference was the opportunity to really taste the whisky, which, if you try really hard, doesn't taste like an ass. It still burns like syphilis though.

Next was Edradour (which, if said properly, sounds like a Lord of the Rings location, and is definitely not the sort of place you can just walk into), to see the Edradour Whisky Distillery, an impressive distillery that takes pride in its three (yes, 3) workers, making it Scotland's smallest distillery, and having never sold-out (it's a high-class, rare whisky). The tour was simple and historic, and the whisky was definitely harsher and packed with more flavor than Dewar's. Our tour guide, who asked to not be photographed, was a feisty elderly woman a bit like the grandma in Beerfest who definitely thought that we were all horribly stupid people who didn't appreciate whisky. She could easily outdrink me. I'm also fairly certain she, in her 70 some-odd years, could beat me in an armwrestling contest, a race or a game of chess and take a harder punch to the stomach than me. She was perhaps the scariest nice old woman I have ever encountered.

Following the distilerry, we set off like bats out of hell to the land of the Loch Ness Monster. We stopped in Inverness, a small city not too far from Loch Ness and considered staying the evening. The city seemed a bit not up our alley, so we decided to trudge on, finally reaching Loch Ness by evening and settling in at a little hostel. The person working there was American, from California, who hooked us up with some good knowledge saying that Loch Ness was just another Loch and directing us to adequate pubs in the Loch (where we played pool with Armymen and found the people to be only slightly friendly, but in their defense we did kind of crash their locals-only party). I was too drunk that night to get any pictures (read: I didn't bring my camera) but Andrew Burton, a fabulous photographer, braved it and got some interesting shots. I got proper pissed and we stumbled our way back into the hostel, rising to a beautful, awe-inspiring morning, which gave itself to a nice day as we drove around the Loch. We caught the Loch Ness Monster, but my camera jammed. I swear.

We decided to go to Kilchurn, which we went to because it was supposed to be William Wallace's castle ruins, but it wasn't. We drove past it about six times (rather, I drove past it about six times as I was driving) and found our way first up to a spot known as Monument Hill, a burial ground of a poet and a simply amazing vista. AJ and Andrew climbed it, and we took a series of horribly awkward jumping portraits. This is a shot I took of the wheat (?) that was growing wild.
Also, below it is a sequence of AJ jumping from the monument to the ground.

At Kilchurn, the clouds trapped in the subtle greenery and made a really unique and peaceful area for us to lose ourselves in. Set along a lake and through a field, it was truly gorgeous. There were sheep running through it wildly, and walking down the field to get to the castle, you were avoiding droppings. We tried to corral a bunch of them, and I loudly remarked, "These motherfuckers love to get herded." They find power in numbers and stick together, which despite their intentions, allow them to be easily corralled. We all ventured up to the unsupervised castle, apparently owned by a local farmer or landowner, and found it to be not only pristine in current nature, but apt to intimate exploration. With no one to say "HEY! You can't do that!" Some of us jumped the walls and went up onto the areas boarded off. I took a series of HDR panoramas, which I'll admit was the original idea of the aforementioned Mr. Burton, they just aren't looking good, but this is a shot from the castle:

Anyhow, we found it spectacular, all of us remarking on how amazing it was. As we were leaving, we walked along the path towards the lot in which we'd parked our car (which wasn't really a lot, but rather an enclave) and I let the rest of the group walk up ahead. I stopped, there in the middle of this field, surrounded by clouds, a lake, and barren mountains that created a dramatic landscape of emptiness, I wanted to shout to hear if my voice would echo. It did not. But standing there, making noise, I opened my arms, looked to the sky, and felt the slow drops of an afternoon drizzle fall upon my face. My friends called back to me, "What are you doing?!" they asked, to which I shouted, "TAKING IT ALL IN!"

There is something miraculous about Scotland. There was no one around. Only the whirring of cars passing on the highway were making noises (and the occasional baa of the sheep) distracted from the silence. Beneath those grey, grey clouds, in the gentle rain of a Sunday afternoon, I found myself finally at peace. I hadn't a thought in my mind, only a quiet jubilation that at last, I had escaped the world around me. I had finally been freed from the confines of the rest of the world, allowed to be distracted by nothing. With the exception of the highway and the telephone and electrical wires that now line the landscape, I had escaped modern times. I had travelled back in time. I was truly happy. Nothing could bother me, but there was a sadness in my heart, for there are so many people I would have loved to have shared that moment with.

We resumed our life in reality, and hopped back in the car. We were going back to Edinburgh, during which I fell asleep, waking in Stirling. Rejuvenated by sleep and freedom, we contemplated staying in Stirling, as well. We couldn't find a place that intrigued us, so we continued the journey to Edinburgh, where, upon arrival, we settled into our hostel, that smelt a bit like Chinese food and wet paint, and decided to go out.

As per the suggestion of both the person who worked at the Loch Ness hostel, as well as the Edinburgh hostel, we went to Opium, a bar that plays ridiculous music and has cheap drinks. The drinks were very cheap, the pool table in the worst place possible, and the clientele the most hilarious people I've ever seen. Edinburgh is a gothic city, rich in history, and the modern "goths" of today, happen to reside there and as it seems, frequent bars like Opium. In the upstairs of the bar, with no live music that evening, there were long-haired Scots headbanging to the unbearably loud music on the stage. It was so fucking funny. They were just standing there, (by they I mean like three people) playing air bass (that was slung unbelievably low, mind you) and rocking their faces into oblivion. We all remarked at how hilarious it was.

We went to another bar, down the road, and dispersed. Taylor and I were in the mood to get shithoused and so we stayed out. We went to some other drum-and-bass bar and drank tons of Jägerbombs and got drunk. We then went venturing for another bar, and came across a Scotish bar with live music and a ton of people. There, Taylor and I kept drinking even long after most others were not going to the bar any more, and mingled. I don't remember talking to anyone. I do remember being VERY drunk and a hot girl that looked like an attractive Gollum. The music was loud and fast-paced and the people were very Scottish.

The next day, I woke up feeling like shit (read: hung-over) and decided that tourist stuff was not what I wanted to do. After returning the car, Taylor and I, in our intense hangovers, spent the day talking about life and seeing the movie Rock-n-Rolla, directed by Guy Richie. It wasn't very good, but has some intricacies that make it an interesting watch and a bunch of hilarious gags. The story was very predictable if you've ever seen a Guy Richie film and all-in-all I'd give it a 6/10.

Music I Like This Week:
Envy Corps - Wires & Wool
Yo La Tengo - You Can Have It All
Japan - Ghosts
The Chairmen of the Board - Give Me Just A Little More Time
Great Lake Swimmers - Your Rocky Spine
John Mayer - Vultures

If I Were You I'd Pay Attention To:
What This Is Really Costing US
China, a billion and a quarter people, all repressed in one way or another
It's about to get hot in here after a fifty year Cold.

2008-09-12T13:31:00.000-07:00

I'm going to Scotland to find the Loch Ness Monster, tame it, and make money off of it.

In other news, I've discovered that life is very easy to handle if you ignore everything important.

Also, I'm working on a piece of fiction that I started at Columbia, and when it's at a stage worth publishing, I'll post it up here to read. For all those interested, it's crass and funny and about pedophilia and Megan's Law.

If you need me, I'll be tuning my harpoon to capture the magical beast of the depths of Loch Ness.

2008-09-11T04:11:00.000-07:00

"Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know."

-Ernest Hemingway

Sunset over the Serpentine, Hyde Park, London, UK

Right then! I've been a busy person, and I haven't the time to post a long one, right now. But, tonight, I plan to.

I haven't been shooting many photos, and today we're asked to show ten photos, and I'm not even entirely sure I have ten photos that I've taken. I've been feeling a bit like photography is a form of expression that I'm not using any more. It's not that I won't again, it's just that I'm not. I plan on doing some pictorial work on the Tube with Graham which should be interesting. Maybe I'll do it this weekend.

Furthermore, I've found that Polish women are always beautiful, so I'm going to go to Krakow, Poland by myself in a few weeks. That should be interesting. I hear its a beautiful city.

Here are some shots from yesterday, I don't like any of them.

Westminster Station, London, UK

Water in the Serpentine, Hyde Park, London, UK

I will post music, an update, and more photos later.

2008-09-07T17:27:00.000-07:00

A note about learning: you can only reiterate what someone else has told you. Without your teacher, have you ever really learned? Eliminate everything you've ever been told and go on what you've experienced. What do you know now?

2008-09-05T18:57:00.000-07:00

"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.

and so it begins...

2008-08-31T12:59:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, 26 August

photo: Helen Mahon

Well, here it starts. I've moved to London for the semester. This cold, grey city has warmed my heart and to catch up, here's the past week:

26.8.08, 1:56 AM, journal entry from the plane was as follows:

"I just drank a glass of wine and took an ambien. The flight so far has become one blurry concstnat As far ambiren goes, whoo hoo. I’m watching a nice frnch film (to make me look sophisticated in case anyone is watching) and its in French and it’s a love story and so much more, called “Le Juteme” or something, whatever lighthouse is in French. Anyway, gonna pass out soon. Head rumbling. Want to eat. London when I wake."

The film turned out to be: L'Equipier, which is apparently a French film about a lighthouse and the effects of its new keeper. It was quite charming while I was awake.
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Wednesday, 27 August
photo: Helen Mahon

The first few days were filled with jet-lagged wandering, with my heart feeling a bit like a freshman, being courted around and dealt with in a busy fashion. We were all living in the same hotel, which was actually, to use British language, shite. The results were that as one person found out about something to do, the typical crowd followed, allowing less for an experience that was strictly London and was rather an immigration of Syracuse to London, only without the common comforts that we were previously allowed as a result of familiarity. For all it was worth, we were in a common dorm, my roommate Luke close enough that I could smell his farts. Perhaps the hardest part about the first few days was the fact that there was literally no time alone; we got thrown into this new city, with our body clocks set 5 hours behind, and we didn't even have the opportunities to really give ourselves the necessary things required to make the transition smooth. With all other respects, Syracuse did an absolutely wonderful job of preparing us for this sort of venture, complete with directions as to what to do, a message from the local police constable and a field trip that allows us to see the entire city via The London Eye (which, if you were perceptive, gave you quite a bit of a bearing as to how the city is laid out).

photo: Helen Mahon

Following the Eye, we all gathered together, like Americans, loudly drinking right outside a tourist spot. I avoided being lumped into this general "ugliness" and sat alone, drinking a pint and smoking cigarettes until my roommates (rather: roomates now), Graham and Ada, came along and asked if there was any sort of interest in some wandering. They had arrived a little beforehand and knew a little bit about the city, and we wandered into "Soho," which for all intensive purposes, was nothing like the SoHo I was familiar with. Through winding streets of cobblestones, we wandered, searching for a pub with adequate decor and the right kind of people to wet our whistles (the area is quite busy, filled with street peddlers and all sorts of attractions and clubs, itching to take what little money from us we carried). After a bit of a stint, we ended up grabbing a few drinks in a pub with a friend of mine from Syracuse and her two roommates. It was an interesting evening, our conversations ranging from drugs and homesickness to political science with a gay man who asked not only for a cigarette but a few quid. For the politeness of this city, Soho seemed to ignore the common elements of decency and rather thrived in the shadows cast through narrow streets like bottom dwellers in the ocean. I quite liked it.
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Thursday, 28 August
photo: Helen Mahon

The next few days were spent searching for a "flat." This was quite a confusing foray into the culture of London as each group was competing with the other for the same flats. We were limited due to logistics of our size (6 people) but were desperately eager to find a place to call our new home. After a bit of dicking around, the search continued, mostly in broken groups, through a two-day period. Whilst searching, Graham, Ada, and I came across what I would consider to be a nice restaurant in Kensington called Blue Lagoon, and treated ourselves to a delicious meal of Pad Thai and Tom Kar Kai (the best I've ever had). The apartment outlook was looking poor, but our spirits stayed high, and eventually we got a phone call to come and see a stunning place in Marble Arch, which is a heavily Arabic neighborhood that, from what I can tell, has plenty of room to let (aka rent) to college students looking for an "unorthodox" arrangement (unorthodox in that lets here are typically 6-12 months, and we needed 4), which was nice. This gave way to a bit of being screwed around. Unable to fully exercise my discomfort with the manner that the business was being handled, roommates were quick to jump the gun and agree to paying a full month's rent as a deposit. I plan on working to get this completely rolled over, but as for now, it seems that my roommates fell victim to typical business practices of being taken advantage of due to desperation. I have no hard feelings, it's as much my fault as anyone's, and I'm optimistic because it will all be worked out and the place is quite nice (apart from no personal space, once again).

You can view our flat, as it is furbished now, in this Quicktime VR that I am making as a tour:

note: not yet available, perhaps later this week
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Friday, 29 Augustphoto: Liz Lackey

We settled in the first few days of the flat, and got to know the area. We went up to Camden Town for a night of debauchery and Ra Ra Riot (a band from S.U.) who totally threw down. I've been to a concert or two in my time, and Ra Ra Riot are simply a magnificent show to watch. There are two things that I feel are necessary to make a band good: you need to be passionate about the music you make and you need to put on a good live show. Ra Ra Riot encompass both of those qualities and happen to throw in some cool melodies and interesting elements that make them quite a pleasure to enjoy both in person and on record. I'll admit to a mild crush on the cello player, Alexandra Lawn, so consider me biased both with my heart and due to being from Syracuse.

You can check out a sample of their music at the end of the post in my "Music I Like This Week" section.
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Saturday, 30 August
photo: Lucas McComb

Saturday, we milled around, went food shopping etc. at a local market. The lovely thing about English food shopping is that you have the opportunity, pretty much within walking distance from wherever, to open air markets. Here, you can buy just about any produce in bulk at the end of the day for about the asking price of a single unit. What a wonderful transition from how expensive everything was! Liz, a roommate of mine, managed to buy a box of bananas for 1 quid, the equivalent of about $1.80. Not bad.

photo: Lucas McComb

That night, despite intense (by intense I mean little to no) planning, we decided to stay in and drink with our neighbors and friends of theirs from university. It was actually quite a nice relaxing evening, finally allowing us peace of mind by staying "in" but going "out." We had a nice evening discussing politics, the presidential elections, the differences between the States and Great Britain, and all general manners of things. I am intrigued by our neighbors as they seem to release themselves after a few drinks and are really quite lovely people to be around. I hope, given their kindness thus far, that we can continue to maintain a friendly relationship because it's always nice to get away from the feeling that the States were brought with us into this apartment.
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Sunday, 31 August
photo: Helen Mahon

On Sunday, after a run (yes, I ran) through Hyde Park, we, as a group of Americans, decided to travel out to the Tate Modern. I wore a suit. Everyone else dressed casually. I got asked if I worked there. We wandered around until closing, enjoying the final day of the "Studio and Street" exhibition of photography that changed the world in its own ways, ranging from African artists to Richard Avedon. Highlights for me included:

1. "tokyo" by Nobuyoshi Araki, which wonderfully displayed the juxtaposition of women and businessmen in Tokyo. The pieces were presented wonderfully, with a small 4x6 of the men above 4x6's of women, portraying the "duality of mankind." The women were overtly sexual, while the men remained reserved and tight. It was fantastic.
2. Pieter Hugo's piece that I didn't catch the name of that depicted an African man with a chained up hyena. It was amazing. So crisp. So vibrant. So strong. The hyena had a chain on it and a muzzle and the man was wearing traditional garb and was chained, holding the hyena's leash. Wild beasts caught on camera. It was quite stunning.
3. Laurie Anderson's piece called "Fully Automated Nikon" which were shots with captions about how they were taken. Mostly, they were portraits of the people that Ms. Anderson came across while wandering through the city. There was a gentle intimacy to the portraits, though many were obscured. It was as if you got to see as much as they were willing to show. Really nicely displayed.

There were of course other wonderful things in the Tate Modern, as could be expected from one of the nicest art galleries in the world, so I joined up and became a member. If it's like MoMA, I'll receive all sorts of perks and will be able to get proper pissed and enjoy some art the next time I'm wandering down by the Thames.

That night, we got the Internet and it became an instant "contact-America-fest." I was sitting there, smoking a cigarette as Luke chatted away with his girlfriend (who I am envious of for their love seems so childlike and pure) and the other roommates chatted away with their friends online. I stayed offline, writing on a piece of paper. I wonder if my friends, or rather the people I would be willing to contact, would even want to hear from me. I know that they would, but still at the same time, I didn't get on the plane to stay caught up there. I see it like this:

I put all of my chips in for 20 years in the States, and I did all that I could, bluffed the hell out of a lot of sticky situations, but I never got a winning hand. I'm not looking to lose anymore. I'm ready to accept that sometimes you're flush and sometimes you're bust, you just have to continue to play as if you've never lost. I've cut my losses; I left nothing behind, maybe because I had nothing left to bring. I am here hoping to find a new place to live. A new love. A new life. I almost feel sorry that my freedom has granted me an outlook that someone who left their heart in the States could never appreciate. The emptiness I felt inside myself in the final days of the United States has been filled up with this new city, and I can't be bothered to think of what my life would be like were I still living the memories, I can't be left to figure out the "what-if's" but rather accept the "what-are's." I am ready for amazing things to happen. I am ready for my life to take on new meaning. I am ready to learn to love to live another life.
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Monday, 1 September
photo: Lucas McComb

The following day we finalized some things around the house, and took on our first day of classes. It was fairly mediocre if you look at all of the awesome things going on in life. Class is of course the main objective of being here, but we are limited from enjoying the city we now live in if we are troubled by all manners of schoolwork. However, that's total rubbish, because the classes are really going to open our eyes up to the rest of Europe and the city of London itself. There is such magic here, such unbridled emotion, but also such optimism for a new beginning.

The first day, I said to Ada and Graham that this city has such a subtle romanticism to it. Almost as if the grey skies only keep in the brightness and love of this city. There is something simply beautiful about it, something so pure and whimsical, I can't see how one would ever detest London, but then again, I've only been here a week.

Music I Like This Week:
note: if you are the artist, you can contact me to remove the links, the point is to get people to go to the live shows and promote the goodwill of the bands.

Ra Ra Riot - "Ghost Under Rocks (Andrew Maury Remix)"
Orbital -"Halcyon+ On + On"
Portishead - "Deep Water"
Massive Attack - "Future Proof"
Massive Attack - "Be Thankful For What You've Got"
Manu Chao- "Je Ne T'aime Plus"
Ray Charles- "Georgia, on my Mind"

If I Were You I'd Pay Attention To:
What's going on in New Orleans... again.
Georgia, on my mind.
The Price of Being Well