Rainy Day Mix #1 - Complacency

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.

"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...

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