Understated.

The Digital Afterlife

2011-01-05T15:05:00.000-08:00

Earlier this evening, a friend and I were chatting about how bizarre it is to think of those who die, but still manage to stay immortalized digitally. You know, like when someone accidentally chokes on a peanut, dies, and the last thing they've done is tweeted they'd just bought a bag of peanuts. Ignoring the irony, there is something quite bizarre about this.

Human beings, particularly us urbanites, are familiar with transience, but it seems even more intensified online. People come and go on Facebook, Foursquare, Gmail, etc and though there is the notion of always being connected, are we any more connected than we are in real time? I suppose that's beside the point, but what I'm trying to get at here, in a seemingly inarticulate and roundabout way is: can we finally live forever on the web, in software and on hard drives? Or will we still evaporate into distant memories despite our idle Twitter accounts and stalled check-ins?

We were discussing this on our way home and straight after I arrived to, of course, check my email and read the NY Times, I came across an article on exactly the same topic. I hope this is not morbid coincidence seeing as a) we were talking about online death b) I stumble across this article straight after and c) this is my first entry in nearly a year (and potentially could be my last).

Then I've been thinking about the afterlife, as we know it in religious terms. If the digital landscape is superimposed to real life, eventually we'll have mainstream religions spawned from this significant period in human history. Whatever impetus caused Judaism, Christianity, and Islam to come into prominence, could potentially be met with a new digital messiah. What would his or her afterlife message be? Would this new technological religion probably going by the name Techsophosy believe that the real world is just a test for the technological and that creating the perfect Second Life character or Avatar is really the 'true' self? Who knows, I'll bet some one's already called themselves the new prophet and goes by Techocrates.

Anyway, I felt it was best to lift the filter of the last year and start afresh with a new rant. I aim, more like intend, to write more frequently this year in efforts to maintain my six followers and you know, try to immortalize myself for at least two hours on the web.

Follow the Jamz.

2010-02-23T06:56:00.000-08:00

Foster the People. Never heard of them, but this song is pretty good.

As is this one: Man of the early part of 2010--> Jose James

I'll end it here with this jam: Wild Beasts.

Love Apocalypse

2010-02-23T04:21:00.000-08:00

This was another correspondence I found between A & B:

I am shockingly insecure and frightened of not being loved so no matter what anyone does, let's say you, it is still not enough because you could leave me at anytime but who cares if that happens because I still have my brain and my eyelashes and my clothes and my friends and my cooking skills and everything else. This will make more sense at the bottom.

Wait, did I actually think you were going to write me an email to my WORK email and not my GMAIL telling me that you'd reconsidered wanting to be with me because I freaked out Saturday night and got belligerant and said quote since when did being a whore become lucrative end quote? Yes, I did think that because I play Russian Roullette with how far I can push you away from me and no matter how much time goes by as long as I keep someone as an idea aka arm's length then I am safe to maneuver in my charming way but the moment I am vulnerable to getting hurt I RUN AWAY like you said on the phone and when you say things like, quote we are not together so we can't break up end quote then I think to myself, really? did i sign-up for this? i mean i totally get the whole let's not put a label on anything and as much as i'm avant garde and from san francisco and liberal and believe in freedom i don't practise these idealogies because i'd like to be able to called your girlfriend and call you my boyfriend if it ever came up and because 'friend' is so vague and almost disrespectful because i don't tell my friends 'elephant soup' instead of just saying 'i love you so much it makes me insane and sometimes i think that our relationship is effed up but it really makes me feel alive and i think i've just jumped ship from ever being in a healthy compatible relationship with someone of my own demographic because it'd be boring and predictable and i'd be openly adored and instead i'd rather be with you whom i expect any day in the future to turn off completely from me and turn the other cheek and not speak to me even though that is not something you would ever do to anyone'.

and when you say you are 40 and you're never going to change and go to dinner with anyone you want to i don't actually care b/c deep down i know the logical explanation is that duh you love me and show it and everything is effing fine and i'm just still in the dark to myself and it's nobody's problem but my own but i make it someone else's problem depending on who i am dating. want to know something absolutely insane? i'll tell you just now: when matt and i got back together and everything was fine and he did everything in his power to actually be normal and not drink too much and even host dinner parties with me and not do drugs, he did everything i wanted him to do, but he'd always spend the night at MY HOUSE and he would never want to go to his studio and never wanted me over and this lasted for a few months and finally i asked him why and he said 'because it's messy and i'm actually just embarrassed, i just need time to fix it up' and i ACTUALLY speculated and drove myself nuts THAT HE HAD A GIRL LIVING IN HIS APARTMENT and he didn't want me to meet her. HOW PSYCHO IS THAT. I'm glad i'm telling someone this, you're probably not the right person to tell this to, but if you want to love me 'entirely' and you already know that i have a fury in my belly and brain that sometimes has to exonerate itself well then here you effing go: I can be nuts.

You know I don't truly, genuinely believe that you'd cheat on me and that no woman is actually a threat? i think i just have to create a story to protect myself and to occupy that space in my head that is filled with doubt that I may like someone more than myself. I think THAT'S it. Liking someone MORE than ME is super scary.

Phew, I feel better now. No, I didn't think you were off with your French teacher, I just got unsettled b/c we talk all the time and then we didn't talk for the day and you didn't call me back nor text me which is unusual from the last few weeks so I thought maybe the love apocalypse was upon me and that I was going to get an email or the silent treatment so I was plotting my next few weeks of cigarette smoking and weightloss. You may not think we're back together and i don't really care because we are totally together and i'll just pretend that i'm cool like that cucumber I mentioned that one time but really I am a scaredy-cat who can also be a vixen lion who wants to be in control of my emotions and just chill the eff out and be normally in love instead of brinking on anxious just b/c her man didn't call her back ONCE. Even i am getting sick of my double standards because I am having dinner with all of my male friends whenever I want and just b/c I know my intentions are clear doesn't mean yours aren't so what the eff am I in a huff about at night?! also, i probably shouldn't tell you any of these things b/c you don't even need to know it but I think you kind of need to know that i'm really neurotic in the matters of the mind and heart while you are neurotic about arranging things and keeping laboriously busy i am neurotic in the ways of Woody Allen.

Winter: Cold as Ice

2010-02-23T03:17:00.000-08:00

Reader,

I've always imagined an abyss as black. That is attributed to hearing and reading it as 'the cold dark abyss' and 'dark' immediately connotes as black. To me, at least. But I really think the abyss is a grey sky. It occurred to me just now as I looked outside from my cubicle-less desk inside this publishing office in London. No one speaks to one another. That is a lie, actually. I don't speak to anyone except for my assistant who happens to be a friend from San Francisco. I tend to keep my head down and remain anonymous, not because I have low self-esteem or am a unibomber, but because I don't need to make chit-chat with people I don't plan on being close with. Being close with them would mean being invited to baby showers, engagement parties, going-away parties, consolations in the women's toilet about a break-up, and a variety of other 'close' events that would make my role at this job more permanent than I want it to be. Does that make sense?

On another note, I got what I wanted. I was pining after this man for ages. A man that is instinctively antithetical to my entire being, but we can't necessarily control who we love, right? Or maybe we can. There are a variety of studies and common knowledge that attribute 'love' to smells, childhood notions of love, good or poor parenting, drugs, Oxycontin, etc (See here). I attribute it to the weather. On a grey day like today, I don't want to be in love. It makes me feel crazy. It may not even be love, it may just be instability. Jealousy. Insecurity. Absence of warmth. This is war on my own stagnation. It's good in a way because it erodes every strength I masquerade behind and forces me after three days, that's right, just three days, to reconstruct myself to recreate that strength. Sometimes change comes from it, sometimes it doesn't. As you may notice, I am speaking of a pattern that cyclically breaks me down only to propel me to build myself up.

I also realised I'd like to invite Angela Merkel to dinner at my house in East London. I'd like to understand her better and find out where she vacations, what perfume she wears, where she likes to eat, and inevitably, see if she has a sense of humour. She kind of reminds me of a Hillary Clinton but Germanic. Although Hillary has a sense of humour and is cunning. I think Merkel might lack both, but she'll have to prove me wrong.

Reader, you should check out two radio stations I listen to online. Unless you live in Paris, then you can easily listen to them b/c that is where they are based out of. The first one is: FIP. The second one is: TSF JAZZ. FIP streams some incredibly eclectic music that takes you country to country in an hour. TSF Jazz consistently plays jazzerific jams. No Michael Bolton. No elevator music. No thanks.

Reader, should I write a book? I've been thinking about it quite seriously except I haven't won the lottery yet to have a passive income. I'll have to stick to this blog that 4 people read, if that.

Reader, why don't you leave me more comments? Even if it's irrelevant to what I've written, particularly since I oscillate between stream of consciousness and political commentary, I don't expect you to comment directly to what I've said. But it makes me feel like I'm not just pontificating in vain because we all know blogs aren't just for the writer, we have diaries for that, instead I air my stained laundry on the world wide effing web.

Write me back.

Exposed

2010-02-02T13:46:00.000-08:00

This is an email I found from person A to B...in an exchange that started with one email and ended in the same. Person B apparently never wrote back.

***

Okay...so you typically call me back and write me back...and then poof, gone. That tends to mean you're starting up something else, and instead of just telling me, you ignore me. But we're all adults here so why not just make everything easier and be honest? Are you waiting for me to come back from vacation so I don't fret? Like last time I was in Mexico? Spare me. I'd rather just know that you're ignoring me with a purpose instead of filling in the blanks. Maybe you're just busy at work? Maybe I'm just chemically unbalanced and bumming out as I usually do after having solid days of partying? Maybe that's it.

I'm really looking forward to coming back. I think 4 days would have been enough here. I don't know what I was looking for...some kind of career inspiration, something. I haven't found it. Instead I've been just as detached and out of it like I was before I got here. In fact, I've been out of sorts for a few weeks now...did I tell you that? I think I'm depressed b/c of that S.A.D. nonsense. I'm also frustrated with my future. I know I have lots of time, blah blah, but I want it all now. NOW. Financial stability, peace, contentment, love, etc.

I thought I'd have heart-to-hearts while I was here, but instead I've ended up asking questions mostly. That's okay though, I'm just not sure when I'll really crack open.

Do you know that I have a hard time being close to people? Sometimes I wonder if I've attached myself to this idea of 'love' when it comes to you b/c you literally provide me with little to no closeness...it's familiar and it's a reflection into myself. I'm constantly off in my own world and you just help me mirror that quality versus just embracing it.

NYC is so big. There are so many people in such small spaces. It kind of freaks me out. I feel raw and unable to comprehend the different neighborhoods and demographic from area to area. It feels bigger than London. Probably b/c I don't live here.

I haven't touched anyone. I haven't flirted with anyone while I've been here. Even if I wanted to, out of principal to demonstrate my autonomy over myself and lack of commitment to you, I couldn't b/c it'd be lies. I like you. It did occur to me that absolutely nothing was stopping me from rendezvousing except for loving you and looking forward to the 1.4 day I have with you. Isn't that super retarded? Probably.

Anyway, maybe you haven't even made it down this far to the email. Maybe you are off on a date and totally humping someone as I write this. Haha, with my luck, that is probably happening. In some kind of masochistic way, I don't care really. I think with every day that goes by my delusion that you're real and I'm real and what we could/did/maybe have is real is starting to fade and what remains is that aloneness I started with in the first place.

Or maybe it's just grey outside and there is no sunshine here either and after boozing bourgeoisie-style for the last few days, if not months, it's systematically creeping up on me and I am just overreacting b/c I did just speak to you and I'M the one on vacation and probably shouldn't even think of you for one second b/c you probably wouldn't be thinking of me on vacation and WHY DO I SO DESPERATELY WANT YOU TO LOVE ME AND TELL ME AND OVERTLY ACT ON IT because I don't even know what 'love' is and though I think I'm ready to have an actual relationship with someone I'm not. There is a film called 'Before Sunset' which is a follow-up to 'Before Sunrise' where Julie Delpy is telling Ethan Hawke, weeping and wailing actually, that she is the woman men have loved, but never wanted to marry. I sometimes think I am that girl/woman. I'm temperamental. Removed. Intense. Impatient. Amazing. Super smart. A lot of convoluted things that don't make me easy and all people really want is easy. Even I want easy. I used to think I wanted complicated, but I don't. I want easy and kind and sweet and passionate and not ugly and destructive b/c though there is beauty in that too it is extremely painful and traumatizing.

Now I'm crying b/c this is the confessional I've been waiting to have for ages now and it doesn't quite matter who the audience is, may as well be you. Man, I feel so lonely in my soul. I have so many people around me who love me and want to love me more and I can't seem to let anyone in. I am reading Joan Didion's White Album and it's really good. I just finished her Year of Magical Thinking which is about her husband just dropping dead in 2004 and how she's dealt with the grief. In it she mentions Beth Israel Hospital here in NYC and it was the first detail I noticed in the cab from the airport. It's always nice when private details like something you've read in a book meets reality. Makes the universe seem connected in some way or another.

Do you think anyone will want to tap into THIS *fingers pointing at me* ? And want to keep it close? I know lots of people have tapped into *this* but I'm not sure anyone has meant to keep me close. There are a few people that wanted to keep me close but I just ran away as per usual.

I finally got what I was looking for. The crack open and tears and anguish of being 24 years-old, in that patient yet urgent frenzy to find meaning and figure life out and reconcile the woman/human/citizen/worker/lover/every possible identity one experiences in their lifespan/ so I can be one step closer to finding comfort in myself.

Now I've bored myself. I hope you're doing well and if I see you in London, I do, but if I don't, I have already accepted the possibility I won't.

Au revoir,

Moi

The Dying Animal

2010-01-18T06:07:00.001-08:00

Okay, I get it. The only way to save our beloved newspapers are to convert to pay-for-content models.

The Wall Street Journal and The Financial Times have been doing it for ages, but I never thought the NY Times would concede. Once again, I understand, we all have to get paid, but it's such an end of an era. According to New York Magazine owner Arthur Sulzberger Jr will make the announcement the same day Apple's Tablet comes out, January 27th, in some kind of exclusive news content provider deal. That's cool, I get it, but as Thomas Friedman pointed out, subscription services tend to limit readership. Not even tend to, have proven to do so for Maureen Dowd and Mr Friedman. A third of their readership was coming from Asia, but most Indians can't afford to pay 50 bucks for a year's subscription.

I suppose we put a price on information a long time ago, but it feels different to put a price on..knowledge. And yes, I know, we've been doing that for eternity, there is a price for everything; it's how we understand the world best--> quantifying intangibles. I just thought the NY Times would somehow be exempt.

Another one bites the dust.

Religiosity

2010-01-12T06:29:00.000-08:00

God bless The New York Times. If they didn't exist, I'd be way less interesting.

Ross Douthat, op-ed columnist and previously editor of The Atlantic, wrote a very thoughtful piece that mirrors somethings I've been thinking about. In "Let's Talk About Faith", Douthat explores the American religious dichotomy of providing freedom to believe whatever you please, but refrain from criticizing your neighbor's practices. I suppose that's the plight of living in a pluralistic society where freedom is feigned and cautiousness reigns (unless you're part of the Fox News operation).

Apparently Brit Hume, a commentator on Fox News, was discussing Tiger Wood's fall from grace with a panel. When asked what advice he'd give Woods, he said Woods should convert to Christianity (implying that Christianity could offer forgiveness and redemption, contrary to Woods' Buddhist faith). Of course, a media frenzy ensued with Jon Stewart leading the bandwagon in finding another example of how Evangelical Christianity bastardizes any rational gravitas the average American may have.

I'm not clear what Douthat really thinks of Hume's comment, but he questions our discomfort with Christianity and open arms policy for say, Buddhism. My response to that is that Buddhism doesn't proselytize conversion for God's army of salvation. When I think of Christianity, I think of a religious ethos disjointed from the way people implement its practices. That can be said of any school of thought, as people are people, but Christianity is a prevailing movement in human history.

Most people who know me know how I feel about missionaries. I appreciate the good works missionaries do in providing infrastructure for those in less advantageous circumstances, but I don't appreciate the price people have to pay for it. Accepting Christ. Accepting Christ and leaving their beliefs at the door. I know, I know, the argument is that people have a choice, but in exchange for clean water and medical assistance for your child, would you really decline a simple Baptism? Probably not. And yes, I know, it's not that simple, but from a socio-political perspective, it's not the fairest of exchanges.

I recently did the Alpha Course here in London. I'm still not clear what compelled me to do it, but I'm glad I did. For those of you who aren't clear what it is: Alpha is a 10-week course where you learn about Christianity...and inevitably Christians. They feed you first, then you listen to a lecture, then you split up in little discussion groups and ask questions of your 'leaders' (experienced Christians, to say the least). I had a massive resistance pretty much the entire time. I resisted the organisation, the operation that is the Church and it's dedication to recruit and maintain subscribers. I resisted the idea that God, incarnated himself as man, and died for every body's sins, knowing full well that man is inherently attracted to destruction. Why would God do that? Obviously there are layers and layers of theological and philosophical reasoning for this, but alas, it's faith that determines the Christian faith. And for us non-believers, or even those of us on the cusp of believing in something, faith satiates the urgency to know the truth. The faith that we're going to be okay, that there is or isn't a God, faith we'll get to where we want to be in 10 years, faith we'll make it from point A to point B in one piece, etc.

Alpha Course didn't answer any of my questions, but I did learn more about Christians and how they practice their faith. Much of it is about redemption and the precursor that we are inherently loved by God and out of that love, we should serve 'Him'. On some level I can understand that and am even impressed with the usage of 'love' as the main adjective to describe their principals.

However, returning to Douthat's article, the paragraph that struck me the most was this:

"When liberal democracy was forged, in the wake of Western Europe’s religious wars, this sort of peaceful theological debate is exactly what it promised to deliver. And the differences between religions are worth debating. Theology has consequences: It shapes lives, families, nations, cultures, wars; it can change people, save them from themselves, and sometimes warp or even destroy them."

I couldn't have said it any better.

Gastronomy for the soul

2010-01-11T04:43:00.001-08:00

If you've had the pleasure of dining with me, you've heard my diatribe about London's lack of quality food...unless you're willing to pay half your rent for it. And there's nothing more annoying than an expat, say, an American, say me, ranting and raving about how something is better in their native land compared to their current choice of residence. It demonstrates hubris and doesn't attract a whole lot of friends.

But there is a method to the madness. I say this because there is an inane price for quality produce and an extortionate price for an above-average culinary meal in London. This cannot be said in Paris, New York City, San Francisco, Lisbon, etc and I will mention that many native Londoners contend the same.

However, there are three stars on my radar that range in price, but are worth every penny. They have the ambience, quality food and beverages, and overall experience where you walk out satisfied on that primitive 'full' level and aesthetically contented.

POLPO (41 Beak Street London, W1F 9SB, 020 7734 4479)

Polpo boasts Italian tapas, which may be a deterrent for some as 'tapas' is notoriously Spanish. But who cares. This place is beautifully lit, simple in its decor of aged oak, option to eat at the bar, a no-reservation policy, and a guaranteed delicious meal. It is no Michelin, but their chicheti & crositini of chicken livers (£1.3), prosciutto/mozzarella di bufala (£2.1), or mortadella/gorgonzola/walnut (£1.9) hit the spot while you're waiting for your main of slow roast duck/green peppercorns/black olives/tomatoes (£6.1) or (my favorite) grilled sliced flank steak & flat mushrooms (£6.9). Affordable, atmospheric, AND delicious? Indeed, that is a treat in London.

And again, for those who have had the pleasure to drink with me, you know that I love my Fernet Branca. However, these guys feature a variety of Italian digestifs as well as a well-stocked bar of other beverages so you can imagine the well-roundedness of this place. As you can tell, je suis un fan.

BISTROTEQUE (23 Wadeson Street, London, E2 9DR, 020 8983 7900)

Situated in East London, home to the arts and gentrification, Bistrotque is by no means new, but I have been meaning to go here for ages. This eatery is so much more than an East End dive (which it is not). It's a brasserie merged with a sophisticated canteen. I speculate it's a factory convert. There's a cabaret downstairs as well as an expected well-stocked bar, outdoor seating, and an upstairs restaurant that is divine. Patrons walk past the kitchen to be seated and are accosted by aromas of mussels with saffron and creme (£11.5), poached fois gras in red wine (£8.5), or roast whole quail (£8.5). The food is immaculately presented and the service is congruent with the product.

Cocktails are just as classic, yet finely tuned. A Sloe Collins serves as a great pre-dinner cocktail as does their perfectly executed Old Fashioned.

As per usual, dinner in itself is quite affordable, but it's the drinks that will tally up the bill. However, if you're happy to be wined and dined at a fabulous establishment, you won't mind the dent in your wallet as you gleefully stumble down the stairs.

PIZZA EAST (56 Shoreditch High Street, London, E1 6JJ, 020 7729 1888)

This is my local, and it is an expensive local to have. It is my portal back into NYC restaurant and bar featuring beautiful people (this includes the strategically hired staff), interior, cocktails, and food. Pizza East, as some of you have read in its reviews or experienced yourselves, is far more than a pizza spot. It is another successful Soho Group endeavour that incentivizes seating at the bar so you can lean into each other and the great lighting...or wink at the handsome staffers serving you. Cocktails are quite standard in their adventurousness, but not quite up to Bistroteque par. That's okay because Pizza East makes up for it with their chicken livers on soft polenta and salsa rossa calabrese starter and wood roasted bone marrow on rustic bread. And despite their deliciousness, these plates aren't the stars. The stars are probably their desserts of gin pannacotta and pistachio gelato. In terms of their actual pizzas, they vary from moderately good to outstanding with San Daniele ham/buffalo ricotta/hazelnut pesto/baby chard pizza taking the cake. Thing is, I'm from San Francisco and am no stranger to innovative, seasonal pizzas which seem to be a new phenomenon in London.

Pizza East, Polpo and Bistroteque all have one common denominator: they are all sexy. The food, ambience, and overall experience provokes that big city feel, and that's why they fit here. We want dates. We want to feel special and look good under well lit lamps. We want to pick at our plates and groan in pleasure with every bite. We want to wash it down with splendid wine. We want to be stared into our eyes by the bartenders and servers who have our best interests at heart. I suppose that's what customer service is all about. Something London has a thing or two to learn about.

Roman Pull-anski

2009-09-30T03:45:00.001-07:00

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Perhaps I'm a bit late on the train when it comes to the "Should Roman Polanski be extradited to the U.S. to face charges of rape/sodomy of a 13-yr-old 33 years ago?" Huh. Thing is, it's not as simple as it may seem.

I'm always an artist-sympathizer. I find Hemingway's alcoholism and battery romantic. I find Philip Roth's adultery...sad, but still romantic. I find that the creators of magnificent work could really only do so because they were tortured. Happy people are probably off frolicking in the fields because the hills are alive with the sound of music. Desperate people, desperate people to get out of their abysses, create films, canvases, songs, etc. Point is, Polanski was probably drunk, doing drugs, living the fast life b/c that's what people do when they're part of the machine called FAME, and got a little ahead of himself.

But then he got caught. Then he pleaded guilty. Then he realized the courts weren't going to do what he agreed upon. So he jumped ship and moved to France where France welcomed him with open arms. He's lived in Paris merrily, minus the horrific memory of his wife's slaughter by the Mansons, without facing the penalities a non-celebrity typically would.

At the end of the day, he violated the law and should be held accountable like the rest of us. The law makes no exception, and that's why justice is blind. He needs to go back to the US, deal with it, and come back. El fin.

Broken Embraces

2009-09-06T10:49:00.000-07:00

Broken Embraces hasn't been released in the US yet which is a rarity for me since all the films I want to watch typically get released there first. I watched it the other night at the Screen on Baker Street, one of my favorite independent cinemas, and it was everything I needed it to be. Almodovar delivered; again. Unlike Volver, All About My Mother, and Talk to Her, Broken Embraces follows a tad bit more conventional themes without deviating too far from the Hitchockian undertones. Penelope Cruz did not need to steal the show like she may have had to in Vicky Cristina Barcelona because every role sat comfortably amongst the overall ethos of the film.

Broken Embraces is a torrid love affair stuck in a love triangle gone horribly wrong. A film within a film, Cruz is an aspiring actress who is an elderly industrialist's mistress. She gets a chance to be in a feature film, falls in love with the director (and vice versa), but is stifled by the industrialist's obsession and proprietorship. Inevitably, the film ends in a tragedy, but is so beautifully done, I walked away satisfied with this year's masterpiece. Perhaps I'm being generous with my critique, but there is no better way to mend a broken heart than spending a few hours with Pedro's take on this life. In all its colors, in all its bizarre relationships, and all its strength, Almodovar's 17th film continues to demonstrate his grasp on the passions of life and death.

The School of Life

2009-08-14T03:47:00.000-07:00

The School of Life sometimes justifies my stint in London. Its mere existence comforts me. I would not do them justice if I attempted to describe what they do so here's a synopsis from their site:

About The School of Life

The School of Life is a new social enterprise offering good ideas for everyday living.

We are based in a small shop in Central London where we offer a variety of programmes and services concerned with how to live wisely and well.

Have you had one of those mornings lately in which you got up and wondered why you were doing a job that exhausted you or that you didn’t really enjoy? Or found yourself spending the day running against the clock, too stressed to eat properly but not actually creatively challenged? Do you waste time brooding over unresolved arguments or feeling guilty for not being kinder to those in need? Do you notice your mind flitting unsatisfactorily from what the government should be doing about the world’s financial situation to what you are going to do with your weekend?

The School of Life is a place to step back and think intelligently about these and other common concerns. You will not be cornered by any dogma, but directed towards a variety of ideas - from philosophy to literature, psychology to the visual arts – that tickle, exercise and expand your mind. You’ll meet other curious, sociable and open-minded people in an atmosphere of exploration and enjoyment.

How To Find Us

Our address is:
70 Marchmont Street
London WC1N 1AB
Telephone: 020 7833 1010

***
My favourite feature of theirs: Bibliotherapy. You roll up with 'symptoms' i.e. curiosities to be satisfied, and they prescribe you books you need to read to enlighten yourself. Um, it's like the perfect library service (if they loaned books out to you at The School of Life).

R.I.P. ANDY

2009-08-14T03:26:00.000-07:00

Greek born, NYC raised, skateboarding legend Andy Kessler (right) died at the prime age of 48. He was bit by a bug in Montauk, NY and died of an allergic reaction. Huh, the irony of it all. Kessler defied death several times as his scrapes and busted kneecaps which couldn't keep him from doing what he did best: skate Zoo York.

R.I.P.

Kangaroo Burgers

2009-08-11T02:45:00.001-07:00

Look at what I found at the Borough Market (LDN).

Theophilus London

2009-08-10T08:47:00.000-07:00

My new obsession. Fella from Brooklyn. New wave hip-hop. Amazing. Download his mixtape at http://ettastrange.wordpress.com/2008/05/04/free-mixtape-download-theophilus-london/.

Do it for the sake of your future self who will be so pleased you did this for your present self.

Hackney City Farm

2009-08-10T06:46:00.000-07:00

So there's a farm in London. In East London. It is pretty much down the street from where I live. You have to turn a few corners and then wham! You start smelling the manure and hear the roosters hollering. There is a restaurant called Frizzante that sources their greens from the farm itself. It's a great model for community building. The farm accommodates families, foodies, eco-tourists, and local East Enders like myself. And apparently HCF has been around for a whopping 20 years. Pretty cool.

Don't Be Jealous

2009-08-06T06:45:00.001-07:00

Sometimes when you don't feel bothered to eat real people food for lunch, you eat fat kid with glasses and braces food and then wonder why nobody loves you. So what? It's my party and I'll eat the party if I want to.

Faux-bama

2009-08-05T03:42:00.001-07:00

From 'Hope' to 'Socialism'? Really?

My theory is that the artist behind 'Socialism' isn't even a Repub. He or she or they are too talented and clever for that. Like the joker, such a move is meant to provoke the masses and bait the true anti-Obamas. You know, the lo-fi supporters who ran with the crowds when he was the hot shit, and now will oscillate to the right--at the first opportunity.

Initially I was a hater on the new look only because I feel protective of Obama. He's brown, I'm brown. He's awesome, I'm awesome. He's got a slight belly, sometimes I have a slight belly. So we have a lot in common. Now I think it's not really about Obama at all, it's just another product of clever socio-political commentary via an artistic pop-culture reference.

To the artist: stay anonymous. It's better that way.

In Tandem

2009-08-05T02:41:00.001-07:00

So I was on a stroll Sunday afternoon when I saw two Bengali teenagers squealing and giggling away on a most likely stolen tandem bicycle. It's funny because these boys are drug dealing hoodlums who have dog fights at 1 am on a Tuesday, holler at me as I am walking into my building, ask me and my friends if we want drugs, scream and shout and play Akon on their phones to each other at all hours of the night, and everything your annoying, too-cool-for-school little brothers get up to when they're not doing what they should be doing. Like going to school.

I wanted to take a picture on my iPhone, but they were too fast and if I'd ask them to stop, they'd probably steal my phone and I'd be really sad. So I opted to draw one for my 4 readers instead. You're welcome.

Dover Street Market/Rose Bakery

2009-08-04T08:46:00.000-07:00

Dover Street Market is an indoor retail market. 'Tis the brainchild of Commes des Garcon's Rei Kawakubo. Features other names like New York's Supreme, Alexander McQueen, Azzedine Alaïa and Hussein Chalayan, to name a few. Best feature: Amongst the designer crème de la crème is Rose Bakery. The original Rose Bakery is in Paris (rue des Martyrs) and the London version is located in DSM. Rose Carrarini's delicious endeavour includes homemade granola, locally-sourced produce, and an *ish load of other goodies unrivalled by neighbouring cafes/restaurants.
17-18 Dover St
London, W1S 4LT
+44 207 518 0680
www.doverstreetmarket.com

Prickly Pair Chair

2009-08-04T07:47:00.000-07:00

One of my friend Valentina's magical creations. Quite possibly 2009's best designer. And she's got a whole lot more coming.
http://www.valentinagw.com/home.html

Neverland

2009-08-03T03:00:00.000-07:00

Slawek Mackula.

Photos: Piotr Malecki

This weekend the International Herald Tribune covered a story on a group of homeless Polish men who are building a ship to sail around the world. The expedition was inspired and architected by the priest who ran the homeless shelter St. Lazarus Social Pension. Father Boguslaw Paleczny died in June from a heart attack.

The 25 men have been working on this ship since 2006 when Father Paleczny enlisted a shipbuilding author to donate plans to his cause. Father Paleczny had his gestalt about the plan three years ago when he was diagnosed with TB and was lying next to a fellow patient who happened to be a sailor. “When you walk into the mission premises, well, they have good conditions there, but the men, they walk around, they seem lost,” said Bogdan Malolepszy, 74, the author Father Paleczny contacted. “So I drew this design, and they started building it.”

I'm going to stop there because I could continue with Father Paleczny not only being a Parisher, but also a musician to earn money. I could also mention he financed St Lazarus as well as the ship project with his own funds. The man seems like he was not only a saint, but quite possibly a prophet. But this story is not intended as a biography on Father Paleczny.

Nicholas Kulish's article 'Homeless Men in Poland, Preparing an Odyssey at Sea' is written like a short story rather than a news piece. A tasteful balance is struck between taking a snapshot of Father Paleczny's life and his role as a catalyst for men past their conventional shelf life (most of the men are in their 50s and beyond) to take on a Peter Pan's Lost Boys-meets-Robinson Crusoe tale of adventure. Such a tale serves as inspiration that there are people still dreaming, not thinking, of intangible, mythical journeys that 'city folk', myself included, stop daring to dream before we even hit our 20s.

I stopped reading the news for the day after that article. I couldn't hold onto my inspired goosebumps, but I did file away this story to remind myself that maybe one day I will build that bicycle with wings or that every now and again, catching a fleeting idea can turn into something greater than...just an idea.

For more on this story, go to: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/02/world/europe/02poland.html

Proper Reading Materials

2009-07-30T06:43:00.001-07:00

For days when I am feeling out of sorts, like today, typically reflecting upon some stupid, redundant mistake I've made, I require cheering up like the rest of us. Sometimes your friends don't want to cheer you up because they're bored of your same old *ish and just call you a 'glutton for punishment' and 'I told you so' to your sad face. So you resort to scouring your friend, the internet, for some comic relief, or at least a reminder that there are a *ish load of people sadder and funnier than you.

http://www.textsfromlastnight.com
ex. (352): I give out O-faces like they're halloween candy OR
(801): The only way im leaving this casino is in a golden chariot or an
ambulance

http://www.overheardinnewyork.com
ex. Asian girl: He's the kind of guy who sits at home drinking beer, plotting ways
to date his cousins.
Friend: Well, maybe that's acceptable where he comes from. Isn't he from another
country?
Asian girl: Jersey.

--22nd & 23rd

Overheard by: jack

http://www.emailsfromcrazypeople.com

Feel free to send me more.

HERMES + BIKES = AWESOME

2009-07-30T06:21:00.000-07:00

I was standing outside the Royal Exchange near Bank Station the other day and fell upon this window display:
I now have this photograph as the wallpaper on my phone. The shells and bicycle are summer on wheels. Also, I want to marry the Hermes display artist. Or take them out for a drink, or whatever. Point is, pretty effin' cool.

Crack Kills

2009-07-29T06:07:00.000-07:00

You know, I naively thought I left crackheads behind in San Francisco. Particularly the ones that lived in front of where I briefly lived in the Tenderloin. But no. I never escaped them as I now work in Camden (London) and they frequent the streets at all times of the day. I have to make sure I'm in a sound, not irate mood every lunch time just so I don't shove them into the street in front of oncoming traffic. Also that would require touching them. Which would give me scabies.

I know this all sounds harsh, but I now live in a country that offers universal healthcare and though its overburdened with a sh**load of people, crackheads have no reason to be faffing about in Central London. They don't need to be homeless either as there are plenty of shelters around. The thing about SF's crackheads were that they were harmless. You didn't have to be afraid of them. They usually were slower than a toddler who can't walk so they could never mug you. They were also so doped up, they didn't even realize you had enough money on you to feed them for the week. But here, they're ruthless. They eye you up like the zombies in 28 Days Later. They sit on park benches with their Strongbow beer cans conniving how they can freak you out. I don't really know this for sure, but I can see it in their eyes.

I suppose this is an ode to SF's crackheads. I miss you guys. There was a constancy about your lot, kind of like it being weird if there weren't roaches in the restaurants in Chinatown. I felt safe. Here, it's a different story.

P.S. I couldn't find any pictures of male crackheads, so I don't want any of my 3 readers to feel I'm being sexist. I'm also a girl, so it's my perogative to put up female crackheads. You're welcome.

The Boundary

2009-07-28T15:51:00.000-07:00

This is the wallpaper inside Terence Conran's Boundary Hotel elevator. I would have taken a panoramic from the rooftop bar/ restaurant, but the iPhone can't do everything dammit. However, I appreciated that the wallpaper encompassed the aesthetic of Conran's concept hotel, bar, restaurant, and neighboring Albion restaurant: sleek, creative, and distinctive. My friend and I had a decent Grenache on the rooftop that was an acceptable £18. We ordered a mediterranean bread basket (£2.5) and tapenade (£3--way too salty), which if ordered a few hours earlier would have been delicious, but it was a tad stale. However, I didn't mind because I wasn't there for the bread, I was there for the 'view'. The view is really of Canary Wharf and East London. Either way, I'm contented that East London has a venue that would typically find a home in Mayfair or Knightsbridge. Thank you Mr. Conran for giving us East End hipsters the opportunity to be a bit more bourgeoise.

After our little stint at the rooftop, we found ourselves downstairs at The Albion. The Albion is part of The Boundary Hotel project, but is far more affordable with most of its mains coming under £10. The food is River Cottage style, featuring rabbit stews, fish pies, in-house baked goods, Maldon salts, etc. It is clean, casual, chic, and friendly. Just the kind of place Shoreditch needs. My friend and I shared an apple and blackberry crumble accompanied by a delicious vanilla custard (£6.5) which went down quite easily. I was full after a few bites, but we both concurred it was just right. Good work guys.

The Boundary's best feature: the service. This includes The Albion as well. From the doormen to the bar/restaurant staff, they are not just professional, but genuinely seem concerned about their clients needs being met. Coming from San Francisco's generally positive service industry, it is a direly needed change from London's apathetic and typically disappointing service. Good work TC.

2-4 Boundary Street,
Shoreditch,
London E2 7DD
020 7729 1051
www.theboundary.co.uk

Karl has lost his marbles

2009-07-28T09:21:00.000-07:00

I'm not trying to be a Perez H here, but seeing the new short by Karl Lagerfeld for Chanel was quite disappointing, and even a bit annoying. It's Karl shooting a model in a fitting room. What's the short called? 'Fitting Room Follies'. Not only does it sound ridiculous and poorly kitsch, it is. The little princess is twirling around with some unknown male model who shows up and slightly feels her up before she starts trying on some pretty Chanel shoes. Awesome. I'd rather watch a Terry Richardson montage than watch a circa 1991 visual take on a Serge Gainsbourg croon to his 11 yr old daughter (which seems like the inspiration for this passe film). Point is, I couldn't even finish it so maybe it gets better.

See for yourself: http://www.chanel.com/fashion/7-fashion-trends-fitting-room-follies-a-short-film-by-karl-lagerfeld-6,80#7-fashion-trends-fitting-room-follies-a-short-film-by-karl-lagerfeld-6,80

Kid Cudi

2009-07-28T08:33:00.001-07:00

Kid Cudi is another avant-garde hip-hop multi-talented star who hasn't even peaked in his career, but already released an acclaimed mix-tape and will be in an HBO series (playing himself nonetheless). Another find of Kanye West's, Kid Cudi is a bit younger than Wale, but collaborated with Mr Hudson, Kanye (of course), Common, Sharam, and Wale himself.

Jam: "Make Her Say" Kid Cudi ft Kanye West & Common
http://www.yousendit.com/transfer.php?action=batch_download&batch_id=Y1RyS3drdVVGOFNGa1E9PQ

Zaha Hadid and Lacoste

2009-07-28T03:42:00.000-07:00

Are you serious? Look, after last year's spring/summer 2008 Vivienne Westwood's jelly shoes, enough is enough. I'm all about amalgamating innovation and style, but ugly is...just ugly. Like these shoes. Apparently they are made from Italian calf leather and molded using heated leather plates. Yeah, it sounds cooler than it looks. Earth life hasn't been exported to Mars just yet so why not hold off on the space-wear. And shame on Colette for considering this the new hip *ish because as far as I can tell, the Lacoste Bros and Zaha aren't doing what they do best: designing beautiful things.

If you do feel compelled to purchase one of the 850 exclusive to Colette shoes, check them out here: http://www.colette.fr/#/page/4611/lacoste-x-zaha-hadid/

Contador vs Lancey-Pants

2009-07-28T03:09:00.000-07:00

I KNEW IT. And so did most everyone else that Tour winner Alberto Contador and Lance Armstrong's silent and tense interactions would only lead to one of them caving and sniping at the other. And when I say one of them, I really mean Contador. Contador returned to Spain and was quoted saying, "My relationship with Lance is zero. He is a great rider and has completed a great race, but it is another thing on a personal level, where I have never had great admiration for him and I never will." His cavalier attitude was apparent throughout the tour where he left teammate Kloden out to dry, barely spoke to Lance, and a series of other indicators demonstrating his aloofness. Now, this isn't tennis. It's a team sport. There is no 'I' in 'team', now is there Conti? No.

Good news is, Lance kept it real and didn't take the bait as severely to denegrate his teammate. Yeah, he Tweeted a couple of responses, but you know what, that little twirp needs to know his nonsense isn't falling on deaf ears. Lance is a veteran across the board and he's learned that being an a**hole doesn't generate positive reactions--he's still having to live down his reputation from his early days. Point is, Contador is still young and has much to learn. Maybe one day he will learn English and quit his pistol pointing for a fresher, more dignified approach to his rivals and teammates. Until then, put that pistol back in its holster homeslice.

For more on the story, check out--http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/28/sports/cycling/28cycling.html?scp=1&sq=contador&st=cse

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Interview: Bike Snob NYC

2009-07-28T01:58:00.001-07:00

So I've been toying with the idea of rocking a Bike Snob identity here in London. I'd have to stop wearing high heels and riding a fixie to be a bit more inconspicuous, but I should do it. Here's an interview with Bike Snob NYC from last year via Fader. Apparently there was a piece on him in the NYTimes last week. This one is shorter.

Interview: Bike Snob NYC

Posted using ShareThis

Paris' New Concept Boutique (It's Not That New Actually)

2009-07-27T06:40:00.000-07:00

I had the pleasure of spending another brief stint in Paris this weekend. My friend Daniel introduced me to the most amazing concept store, Merci. Merci is the brainchild of Marie-France and husband Bernard Cohen, founders of chic children's label Bonpoint. Imagine a place that encompasses every aesthetic unique to you, a potpourri of second-hand books, A.P.C. and Stella McCartney nouveau collections, artisan kitchenware, and everything in between. I am in love.

Located between Le Marais and Republique, this gem has found a place amongst the locals as well as visiting admirers (a.k.a. me).

Their best feature: all proceeds (sans overhead costs) go to children's charities in India and Madagascar. Wait, altruism with style? YES.

Merci, 111 Boulevard Beaumarchais, 75003 Paris, (+33) 1 42 77 00 33

Hip-Hop Revival

2009-07-27T06:29:00.000-07:00

I can't get enough of Wale. I'm a bit late on the train when it comes to hip-hop, but I've become addicted to Wale's style. He's deviated from the norm of sticking within one's own genre, though Kanye has been pretty good about collaborating with a variety of artists as well, but Wale has consistently pumped out jams featuring Lady Ga-Ga, Mark Ronson, Daniel Merriweather, even Peter, Bjorn & John. I know, right?

Cycle-somatic: Le Tour de France 2009

2009-07-27T02:11:00.000-07:00

This year's Tour was far more interesting than previous years, probably because it is the first Tour de France I ever watched. Watching hundreds of lean, fitter than fit cyclists climb Mont Ventoux at a 7.5 % incline and make it look mildly easy, is only to be admired.

I learned a few things: Lance Armstrong is amazing as is his Damien Hirst designed bicycle. I'm not sure if I like Alberto Contador, particularly his pistol shooting manerism for EVERY TIME he wins a stage or race. Andy Schleck, the youngest is going to win the Tour in the next couple of years.

I even got to see Andy Schleck live in the flesh on my way to Gare du Nord. It was pretty cool to see some of the Tour cyclists lazily riding around the streets of Paris unaccompanied by their team cars. I wish I could have seen Lance and his Damien Hirst bicycle. Maybe next time.

Tilling the block

2009-07-08T06:34:00.000-07:00

Money doesn’t grow on trees. But perhaps it can in the concrete jungle. Say ‘hello’ to Urban Agriculture. Agro-business has lost the limelight to less traditional means of growing food and cities like Toronto, Detroit and London are pioneering urban agriculture (or urban farming) where groups work with public and private sponsors to transform allotments into unconventional food production systems. With some TLC and clever collaboration between non-profits, government and private sponsors, major cities have integrated food systems into day-to-day living, with room for further expansion. Profiting opportunities for the private sector are aching to be seized whether it means buying spaces to transform them into gardens that fuel communities or giving money for other people to do it for you.

Toronto is the poster-child for collaboration between the public and private sector, revolutionising community gardens into a profitable industry which provide jobs, a higher tax base, locally sourced food and a successful food production model. Toronto developed the Toronto Food Policy Council in 1991 as part of the UN’s Healthy Cities Initiative to bridge different industry representatives under an umbrella organisation. This unique coalition of partners includes representatives from consumer, business, and farming development organisations and has successfully produced privately and publically funded projects. The TFPC has redesigned Toronto's urban infrastructure so it mimics the "close-looped" energy pathways and cycles of nature and concurrently founded the Rooftop Garden Resource Group to launch green roof research and promote a green roof industry in Canada.

South of Canada’s border, Detroit will soon host the largest urban farm in the world. Hantz Group, an established US financial services firm based in Michigan, will develop 70 acres of underutilised land into produce and alternative energy sources, by-products of recycling compost. But how does a financial holding company get involved in growing food in washed-out lower Detroit? John Hantz, CEO of Hantz Group and a Detroit resident thinks, “Detroit could be the nation's leading example of urban farming and become a destination for fresh, local and natural foods and become a major part of the green movement. Hantz Farms will transform this area into a viable, beautiful and sustainable area that will serve the community, increase the tax base, create jobs and greatly improve the quality of life in an area that has experienced a severe decline in population.” Joining forces with Hantz are Michigan State University and The W.K. Kellogg Foundation, both experts in soil sciences and food policy. Hantz has bagged a win-win situation. The project will not only produce locally-sourced food and hopefully breathe some life into an economic no-fly zone, but will create excellent brand association and PR for a relatively unknown financial services company.

London is no stranger to urban farming either. Britain’s response to WWII was to ‘Dig for Victory’ where private gardens were transformed into allotments, feeding thousands. There are several UF projects demonstrating innovation. One is Capital Growth, a network of organisations developing 2,012 food growing spaces by 2012. The network comprises public and private donors like The London Development Agency and Channel 4’s Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s brainchild Landshare which provides practical and financial support to ensure Capitol Growth can deliver on its promise.

London is also home to Metabolcity, a project run by design research studio Loop.pH exploring how designers interact in an urban food growing culture. It is funded by the Audi Design Foundation, and seeks to provide solutions for urban living integrating traditional and hi-tech industrialised agricultural techniques. This year, Loop.pH supplied participants like Jamie Oliver’s Fifteen Restaurant, St Luke’s Community Centre, research consultancy nfpSynergy, and Brussels design firm FoAM with grow-kits to develop their own system. The results will be showcased at the London Design Festival in September.

Volunteers and local government can’t pull off a food revolution on their own. The private sector is direly needed. Advertisers have a prime opportunity to help change the landscape of urban agriculture. Advertisers can sponsor urban farming events where volunteers end up being the built-in PR and marketing for a company’s commitment to green causes. Agencies can purchase a vacant factory lot, partner with the local municipality, and transform spaces into arable, profitable land benefiting the consumer as well as fulfilling corporate responsibility requirements. Brand association is a powerful device when used wisely. Audi’s sponsorship of Loop.pH and Hantz are maximising their brand power and leaving a green thumb print unrivalled by other groups. And they will soon reap what they have sowed. If more of the private sector participates in urban agricultural schemes, the benefits are endless. Community cooperation, locally-sourced farmer’s markets, changing not only how people think about food, but how people think of your brand is worth the investment.

Management

2009-06-03T14:53:00.000-07:00

This particular entry is dedicated to catharsis. I do this a lot. I moved to London approximately two years ago with the vague hope and blanket assumption that I was going to get the ultimate job, someone was going to discover my innate talent(s) and propel me to super-stardom. Kind of like how Britney Spears was propelled to her fame, minus the short skirt and pigtails. Since then, I have discovered the wonders of depression and anxiety, overcome them, developed a multi-faceted vernacular in describing how much disdain I have for London, discovered my paralytic fear of failure and therefore understood my historic habit to settle, and inevitably realized that all this is merely a painful process that strengthens the term "The 20's Angst".

I got hit by a car last week. Not just any car, but a BLACK Cab. Yes, the notorious Black Cabs of London. I capitalized 'Black Cab' because they are important enough to be capitalized. They are the monstrosities that produce a trail of black dust called pollution, are driven by sociopaths bent on destruction, and are the Antichrist to bicyclists. I am a cyclist so I can say that.

I was riding along St. Pancras station when I was sideswiped and made good friends with the pavement. Of course, since I am a moron dedicated to fashion over function, I wasn't wearing a helmet. However, I managed to fall in such a way that though my thick skull made contact with the curb, I survived to tell the tale. I was shaking all over. Bruised. But not broken. The altruism of the people around me is another story. The Austrian man and his daughter who held me while I convulsed in shock, here is a shout out to you guys. The lady who called my colleague at work to tell her what happened, you are an angel. The Eurostar attendant who called the ambulance and made sure the cabbie didn't leave, you are my hero. As much as I complain that living in London breeds apathy, I was touched by the concern of strangers.

It was quite a minor scrape, but instances like that still make an impact. I have been in a bit of a funk for awhile, sometimes I rise above it, other times I get sucked in. Currently, I'm sucked in. Shake it off.

Cole Porter

2009-04-08T15:23:00.001-07:00

The 72 year old woman in me who no longer cajoles her whiskey and instead soaks her dentures in the same glass, is listening to Cole Porter.

I spent the last week in Barcelona. There is so much to say. I met with two close friends, and we nursed each other back to individual health while commiserating over our broken ideas...that only come from broken hearts. We ate, drank wine, got lost quite often, abused each other out of kindness, slept in the same beds, stared in awe at the same Gaudi magnificence, outdid one another in our horror stories of humiliating and gut-wrenching outcomes that life has hurled at us. It was quite good.

I still feel a ghost. Perhaps it is merely the universal 'post-vacation' blues. I cannot believe there is even a familiar phrase for that. Even in Barcelona, in my beloved Espana, walking the stunning and preserved Gothic stone-paved paths, I still felt...distant. Amongst my two comrades, I still felt the bizarre feeling of observance. I will inevitably outgrow this.

I attempted to make contact with my father, my beguiling and distant father, by sending him an email. I know, I know, it's not quite a phone call nor a visit..nor even with the integrity of a papered letter. But it will have to do for now. I wrote it after a 4-month silence that has anticlimactically developed. I suppose I left it open-ended...signed with a "here is who I am, please take it. And try not to leave it. And if you think you may leave it eventually, then don't take it." I have not heard from him yet. It's been two weeks. I have something resembling a doomsday clock in my mind, so for everyday I don't hear from him, I am one movement closer to getting over it.

I met some interesting characters in BCN. Some massively narcisstic cats, but some other humble and humbling people. It was nice to rediscover people. It's funny how hard it is to recreate that kind of magic at home. Maybe this just means I need to go traveling every month to a new destination to rediscover myself. It will be an expensive habit, but worth it. Anyone want to join?

This is my first posting in awhile. I will be better at keeping in touch with those of you who think spying on my soul is mildly worth your time. I'll feed you more consistently.

Ghost Letters of Love

2009-03-12T04:41:00.000-07:00

I find myself thinking of you daily. It is worst in the mornings and dissipates throughout the day. By the evening, you are a default place I go to in my mind. It has served a solace especially when seeing you in the flesh made me for more alone.

You is a loose idea compiled like scraps of newspaper clippings collected since I've known you. The tumultuousness of our relationship held our friendship hostage and now all that remains is a hole, not a gaping one, but like a piercing that slowly closes over time. Perhaps it is not even the loss of you, but it is the loss of solace. But the irony lies in, as it always does, that this solace only existed for a brief period sandwiched between friendship and the destructive aftermath.

Sometimes I am angry at you. I wish you had seen me, known me, understood me, stood outside of your life and who you are, if only for a moment, a brief moment, and accepted me. I wish you had the words to tell me that you did not assess me by my beauty or aloofness, but my vulnerability and solemnity. I wish you did not make me feel like a burden. I wish you made love to me more with the passion and zeal only to be found in love and wanting it back after having obstructed its growth. That silly word that means nothing and everything. How many have said they've loved me. How many times I've said it back. Few moments I have meant it and respected it for its grandiosity. All the other times were learned like dance steps mimicking your partners.

I want to be free of you so I can never yearn to have you. You will never want ME. You will want my body, my presence, my constancy in words and sharing ideas. But you will never hear me. You will listen, but you will not hear. You rarely have. You will continue to swim in your narcissitic sorrows, as I will, and we will find others in hopes of success. Perhaps I had always hoped that our doom to be insufficient lovers would keep us together. Our insufficience that manifests in selfishness. Then I remind myself that I am not you. I am not close to you. I have time to change. You will never change.

I want to outrun time and run past it as I turn to wave and smile in my glory of victory. I will not live in purgatory forever, I must remember. I will feel again.

Downsizing

2009-03-02T06:26:00.000-08:00

I'm more of a reader than a writer. I've always thought writing was more confronting and therefore I've got an affliction for reading. However, I'm starting to think that reading, another form of observation, is just as confronting. Our capacities to absorb and retain information are probably far greater than what we expel in the form of writing or painting or any media of expression. The more I read, the more disheartened and aware of our shortcomings I am. From the news to novels, human voices are powerful and can capture suffering and redemption with the pressing of a key or a scribble from a pen.

A friend of a friend's husband told her he's going to leave her. The markets are getting slammed. Living outside of our means has caught up with us all, in form or another. What are we supposed to think? What are we supposed to believe in? What is certain? It seems overwhelmingly that systems all over are collapsing because the foundation was unsound and ill-informed. Marriages based on compromise. Infidelity. Selfishness. Entitlement. Deceit. Malice. Trust. Ambivalence. The Bernard Madoffs and Stanfords, excessive pay outs at the cost of your taxes, illegitimate wars...what the shit has happened to us? Who have we become? Or were we always this way and the external accessories like banks, bars, affairs, consumerist desires and everything in between are mere tools that accentuate our innate ugliness? I'm currently reading Nabokov's Laughter in the Dark which is just another testament to the bodily and monitary greed we harbour and will go to any lengths to satisfy. Timeless. Philip Roth does it best with The Dying Animal, beautifully inviting us to understand the plight of the aging man, his attempts at immortality, to taste the finest and best flesh before he confronts his death. Women are no better. Who do men have affairs with? Women. Loyalty is a dying breed in the values category. We're amoral, unethical, but it's normalized so everything is okay. I come first. I live once. Me, me, me.

Many agree that the world is bound to collapse. A photographer friend of mine once said, "If 2/3rds of the world is suffering and has been for the longest time, it is only hubris that kept us, the First World, from thinking we won't reap the consequences as well." How true. Stanley Fish, a renowned professor at several universities including UC Berkeley and Duke in the U.S. states, " This economy, in which funds depleted are endlessly replenished, is underwritten by a power so great and beneficent that it turns failures into treasures. Some economists identify that power as the market and ask us to have faith in it. God might be a better candidate" in his article "Faith and Deficits", featured in this week's New York Times.

I'm not necessarily advocating that we all turn to God and relinquish hope for human resilience, but we've all been complicit in creating a function called 'the market' and relying on it as some rely on God. 'Oh the market will sort itself out'. That's kind of the GOP's current disposition, especially Governor Jindal's disgraceful stance that business comes first, then the individual. Didn't we figure out that Reagan's 'trickle down' theory was a farce a long time ago? Perhaps old habits die hard.

Almost everything is relative. Dysfunctional relationships are the microcosm of the current economic climate. No, this crisis did not start will sub-prime loans. It is not purely the lack of oversight for corporate consumption and trading that is to blame. It is everyone. It is the universal assumption that one can rightfully take, take, take without consequence and that somehow we are smart enough to cheat the fundamental law: cause and effect. Action, reaction. Nope, we've been outsmarted again, by the forces that were here before us. Long before there was a market, long before marriage and divorce, long before we thought we were at the top of the food chain and that this domain was meant to be conquered.

Naturality

2009-02-27T08:02:00.000-08:00

I've begun understanding my own limitations. Philosophical limitations, physical limitations, emotional limitations, and a collective limitation.

I've begun waning on continuing arguments and debates re: anything under the sun because typically the source of argument is about solving a problem and the conflict is the different ways of doing so-->my energy ceases when I realize that I constantly have to take a step back. And another step back. And another. In efforts to see the issue on a macrocosmic level, the systemic flaw that will make itself aware and obvious so we both can see it nice and clear. And I win.

Here is a recent case study: A good friend of mine is South African. She expatriated a few years ago to London in search of a better life. Consider her a modern-day Irishman coming into the Statue of Liberty looking for wealth and prosper. Her wealth is access to metal bands and her prosper is the safety in civility, unavailable to her on the dangerous roads of Johannesburg. Her family lineage traces back to Europe and has lived through Apartheid. She does not have the kindest words to share about South Africa. Her experience has left her with the sickly, almost numbing feeling that it is not only a failed state, but a failed continent. The sociopathic crime culture is not only fatal, but a force that can not be dealt with. The government is rampant with incompetence and nepotism. The education system runs rife with sub-par standards and policies that have shaped a significant brain drain leaving a debilitated and burnt out beacon...that only years ago was vibrant with Nelson Mandela's words.

We've had many discussions regarding the hopelessness and hopefulness of the African continent. I have frequently questioned the altruistic missionary background in which her family and many other found a home in South Africa for. The native peoples that were bequeathed their land and rights from being held hostage by impervious and ridiculous notions they were inferior, have been struggling to maintain order and governance since they obtained freedom. This not only includes South Africa, but as we all know, Zimbabwe, Kenya, Algeria, the list goes on. My impression is that land was carved out and natives were left to abide by designated rules by their rulers. Just because Rhodesia was renamed Zimbabwe, it does not mean the identity of the landscaped changed. Government and democracy are Western. Western taught leaders implemented systems that perhaps weren't congruent with native cultures. Once again, the list goes on. Foreign languages, foreign practices, foreign governance have had time to succeed, but have failed to a point of no return. The 'why?' can be answered in multiple ways. My point is that our standards of success and order prehaps are not indigenous to the indigenous and therefore will always fail because they have never had the chance, the clean opportunity to organise themselves. The First World upset a system that was in place long before they even knew it existed.

And look at where we are now.

Pollution

2009-02-26T03:15:00.001-08:00

As I've rediscovered blogging, I've also rediscovered riding my bicycle as an alternative to paying exorbenant amounts on trains and busses, only to arrive later than I would on bike. The only impedement is my towards acceleration cancer: the exhaust that comes from the busses and black cabs while I'm trailing behind them in desperation to escape them feels like 12 cigarettes in 6 minutes. Solution: buy one of those Mortal Kombat face masks that filter the pollution and require a long term investment of £10 for new filters..they're also a visual throwback to the SARS epidemic. You know, they wore those masks.

Now, as of next week the ICC (International Criminal Court) will be issuing a warrant for Sudan's president, Omar Hassan al-Bashir, which is absolutely fantastic and though it's a shame it's taken so long to assert some kind of action, at least it's being done. However, the continuation of Robert Mugabe's reign of power is baffling to me. What constitutes a crisis? 81,000 suffering from cholera? 4,000 dead? An economy in freefall for almost ten years? A dictator who will go to no ends to maintain and extend his power? Why hasn't he had a warrant on his arrest? The man has been glorified with honorary degrees, for baby Jesus' sake. In fact, I'm shocked he's not been assassinated. Probably because Zimbabwe offers no tangible good, no arrable land, so no reason to intervene. Cool, I get it.

The Suffering

2009-02-25T02:39:00.001-08:00

I had a chat last night with someone very close to me about the perils of 'everyone' seeming depressed in this testing time. That the prospect of many others suffering with that dark, hopeless emptiness only ferments the personal feeling and prolongs the effect. I tried to counter that the knowledge others suffer as I suffer gives me consolation, not in the sense I relish in others suffering, but that hopelessness is not hopeless...that others understand despite the seeming triviality of my plight.

As usual, I was warmly contented hearing President Obama's broad, but encouraging words in his pre-State of the Union speech. I am keeping a count of how many wrinkles he's accummulated since arriving in office. They're like scars on a warrior. Sometimes I like to think that I'll have a love like Michelle and Obama. How she must know and understand his sleek figure in the dark. How he marvels at how she can smile and wink simultaneously with grace. How they both must look at their children and confirm that they are sheer products of their love and fire. That their exceptional intellect and humanity rarely clash yet graze past each other in their own significance and ingenuity.

Detouring from the sentimentality, watching the speech and catching the camera's casual glimpse of Senator McCain and other nameable Republicans, it was hard not to notice the grimaces and irriation in many of their demeanors. Obama's liberal optimism, or perhaps cautious optimism, is the antithesis to the current GOP's ethos. Gov. Bobby Jindal's response to the President's speech was disturbing. It's a stimulus, stupid. The President WANTS to give you MONEY. Many republican governors are threatening to not accept percentages of stimulus money geared towards unemployment benefits with the argument that it will increase taxation for business for the future and it is incongruent with the conservative philosophy. Are you serious? This bizarre protectionism for the collective of business is eroding the individual well-being of families, which is kind of the fundament of Republican philosophy. Protect the big guy at the cost of multiple little ones. I hope Obama is taking his Omegas and Seratone 5htps to enrich his seratonin levels because he's going to need it with the resistance the GOP is adement on giving him. It's Lord of the Flies, thank Golding for the foresight.

I will conclude this with an anecdote on beauracracy and its perils. I currently reside in London which growingly scathes my entire being with its consistently disappointing transportation system, inanely high costs of basic necessities such as cigarettes and toilet paper, rabid and rampant drunkeness courtesy teenagers and their divorced parents, the over exhausted NHS, and the basic incompetence of different agencies and British tradition of bureaucratic banalities that hold this country and its capital hostage at the slightest gust of wind.

The anecdote is this: if there was a city-state global war where San Franciscans, New Yorkers, Londoners, Parisiens, Bankok-ians, Beijing-ers, Buenos Aireans, Cape Towners, you get the idea, had to pick up arms for their designated cities...I wouldn't defend London.