Football

I went to my first ever football match, which is probably also one of less than a dozen sporting events I've attended. The teams were Queens Park Rangers and Sheffield Wednesday. The Rangers (or Rs, as the fans called them) were the home team, and most of those in attendance were supporting them. Wednesday was hailing from over a hundred miles north, but a significant and very vocal following made the three-hour trip for the game. I supported Wednesday, in part because they had the one American player in the match, and in part because I wanted to wear my orange hoodie.

The game ended with the score that American-football fans so hate: 0–0, but it was an exciting game anyway. I felt like Sheffield was dominating the field, but I would have put more trust in the QPR goalie. The Rs did manage to get a ball into the net once, but the goal was discounted due to a player being off-sides (whatever that means). I couldn't really keep up with all the reasons behind the numerous kicks and throw-ins, but it didn't matter. My chosen favorite, no. 20, Frank Simek of Missouri, made a couple of impressive tackles, and the Wednesday fans sang almost continuously. Oddly enough, the QPR fans who comprised the majority of spectators seemed very passive, staying seated and quiet. I think I would find it hard to play home games and have my opponents fans cheering loudly, but I don't think QPR has any stellar record, so maybe their players are no different.

Age before beauty

I completed my cycle of monthly Shakespearean plays with King Lear, produced by the Royal Shakespeare Company for the Courtyard Theatre and a subsequent world tour, which included my hometown's Guthrie Theater, and, fortunately for me, the New London Theatre, here in the West End. Tickets for the New York City and Los Angeles shows were reportedly selling for over a thousand dollars, but I had no trouble scooping up decent seats in the center of the dress circle for a very reasonable price.

Fortunately for me (and even more fortunate for those who bought their tickets at such exorbitant prices), the production delivered quite admirably. McKellen was excellent as the king, capturing both his foolishness and his sweetness, allowing us to both empathize with and pity the old man. He was strongly supported all around. Jonathan Hyde's performance as the Earl of Kent was particularly admirable, and Frances Barber and Monica Dolan made excellent villains of Goneril and Regan. In my mind there were no obvious weaknesses in the cast, and I noted that every scene was made clearer than I have ever witnessed in a Shakespearean tragedy. Scenes in both Othello and MacBeth managed to escape my understanding, but I was able to follow King Lear entirely, and I think credit goes to the talented supporting cast. My only great frustration with the production was the wretched soundtrack, which included both beautiful and clever organ pieces, and some cookie-cutter "dramatic music." The latter included clichéd horn and string pieces little better than the now facetious dun-dun-DAAA!. These often intruded on scenes so excellently constructed that no soundtrack would have been necessary at all (the sword fight between brothers Edmund and Edgar was easily the best fight I've seen staged). Thankfully, the excellent lighting, staging, acting, and (of course) script more than made up for the surprisingly amateurish score, and the evening was good.

Twenty-two guns and a side of tartar

Returning to London, we were hungry and not particularly inclined to be running over each other in the kitchen, so Beth, Chris, and I paid a visit to The Golden Hind, a well-recommended fish and chips restaurant just at the east end of Blandford. Named after Sir Francis Drake's galleon that circumnavigated the globe in the late 1570s, the restaurant offers an elegantly simple menu of seven types of fish (steamed or fried) and about as many sides (including chips and mushy peas). Keeping the menu even simpler, the restaurant recommends that customers bring their own beverages. (I ran over to Tesco for a Newcastle brown ale for myself and a bottle of Petit Chenin for the ladies.)

Never the enthusastic fish-eater, I greatly enjoyed my piece of fried haddock, which was breaded to perfection and truly delicious with a splash of malt vinegar and a dollop of tartar sauce. The chips tasted fresh, and even the garden peas surpassed my expectations. The fat in the breading and fries, I'm sure, should keep me from returning too often, but I doubt I'll be able to resist the temptation for much more than a month.

0972 ≥ 012

Giving in to some hunger pangs and doughnut cravings, I popped down to Krispy Kreme during the break in our film class. I had to wait to get a dozen original glazed because the three young gentlemen ahead of me were picking up their company's order for eighty-one dozen doughnuts. They were clearly not prepared for the massive number, and ended up borrowing the rolling shelving carts to move seventy-two dozen. They were laughing merrily as they prepared for their two block commute, and the two Russian shopgirls were giggling constantly at the absurdity of the situation. I felt like I was in the happiest little shop in the whole city.

And God cast the tripod from the garden...

The security personnel were apparently ignorant of Kew Gardens's policy on photography, and they wouldn't let me bring my tripod into the park. This put an initial damper on my visit, but I found the place to lend itself satisfactorily to leisurely walks and viewing of both flora and fauna. Highlights included the world's largest water lily, the world's oldest potted plant, and a number of rather docile peacocks. Chris and I wandered together for the morning, and had a surprisingly good lunch at the Orangery. I wasn't outright impressed with any of the architecture, but the placement of buildings within the landscape was worthy of study, and the historical context of the Palm House increases its worth tenfold.

Labours lost

Chris and I attended Love's Labours Lost at Shakespeare's Globe Theater on the south bank of the Thames. We both came away with mixed feelings about the play and a strong appreciation for the building.

Labours has a reputation for being a less accessible comedy. It's not as morally dated as Two Gentlemen from Verona (or even The Taming of the Shrew), but it's jokes are more focused on wordplay, and the language-base in which it works has evolved greatly. As Americans, I'm sure we were further disadvantaged, as the foreign accent still poses some challenge (although less as time passes). In spite of the limitations that have developed with time, I'm convinced that the play was never as impressive as Shakespeare's later comedies. Too little time and attention is given to the lovers, whom we'd much rather see than the clowns (of which there were two instead of one.) If anything the play seems like a test kitchen for later comedies from which the bard plucked the best elements. The production itself was lackluster, well acted but perhaps not well cast. The actor playing the King would have been more at home in a tragedy, never managing capture the humorous, indecisive side of the character. The highlight of the play was an accidental one; Longaville appeared on crutches, apparently due to a mishap during a previous performance, and the actor's ability and willingness to make it a source of humor saved the night.

The Globe, however—what a space it is! The wood created a feel of warmth, tempered by the cool night sky. As deep as it is wide, I can't but help feel the Globe to be the British answer to both the Colosseum and the Pantheon. That it lacks the comforts of a modern theatre is a small price to pay for it's intimacy, bring the audience members close to the stage and each other. From where Chris and I were sitting on the middle level, I had as much fun watching the groundlings as I did the actors on stage. Watching a clearly American man leap back from the stage in fright when the Spanish Don Armando brandished his javelin and pair of college girls wince in distress after being mooned by an aged fool during the play-within-a-play. I am wholly pleased that the once-burned Globe has been rebuilt. Many buildings would be less alive the second time, but Shakespeare's old haunt is lively and lovable.

High art / high tea

The video notebook class (four of the five of us anyway) and our professor Carol Morley took a mini-field trip to sketch, a collection of restaurants, bars, lounges, and gallery space. Officially we were there for the video installation, 100 people and 3 people, a new work by artist Tim Etchells. I had a very mixed reaction to the work, being very engaged by the '100 people' component and rather bored by the '3 people' components. I had no such division of opinion in regards to 'the parlour,' where we took our tea. Really, only Carol drank tea; I had hot chocolate since I was rushing to get back to studio and not in the mood to drink a pot of anything; my classmates had cappuccinos since, well, they're Americans, not tea drinkers.

Hot cocoa, it seems to me, is frequently neglected. Back in 2004 Starbucks made a valiant attempt to bring their chocolate up to par with their coffees with the satisfactory but short-lived Chocofino (Chantico in some regions), but generally good hot chocolates are harder to find than good teas and coffees. To my great surprise and delight, the cocoa at the sketch lounge was astoundingly good. The chocolate flavor was strong and clean, accented lightly by hints of fruit and nut extracts. The thickness was satisfyingly creamy without being thick enough to necessitate a glass of water on the side.

Also worthy of praise were the cakes. I had a profiterole, at the heart of which was a nugget of mango jam. I could detect the presence of almond as well, but the subtle balance of flavors was difficult to pick apart in the short amount of time I had. I guess I'll have to go back and try again...

Morning of the magicians

About a year ago, in an effort to find something to do with my then-new apartment mate Nate, I did a little investigating into the game Magic: the Gathering. I had distant recollections of Steve Jones and Sam Stranmo playing Magic on the baseball field during recess, but the game had never interested me enough to watch them play. When, years later, I finally gave Magic a second look, I was pleasantly surprised to find that it has little (other than player demographics) in common with Dungeons and Dragons. To the point: Magic doesn't require the player to pretend anything. It has a fantasy theme, but one need not imagine oneself to be a wizard (walking through yon dungeon, in which obvious exits are North, East, and blah-blah-blah). The game is essentially a math game, with systems of fantasy-themed mnemonics. I'm sure even that may not sound like fun to everyone, but certainly caters to one of my many ideas of fun.

It's confession time: I gave it a try. Years after giving up Star Trek and daily use of a graphing calculator, I started playing a pretty nerdy game. The complicated interactions between relatively simple parts plays on my interest in complex systems, and I've come to view the moments where the fantasy cloak conforms beautifully with the mathematical mechanics as architectural. I might even conjecture that I like to analyze Magic more than I like to play it; I've kept my playing pretty low key, and I go for weeks without playing. I've rarely had the opportunity to play with someone more experienced than myself.

Today, however, I did something that—for me—was a little radical: I attended a pre-release event. Long story short, Wizards of the Coast releases a new Magic deck four times a year, and about two weeks before each release they hold a pre-release event, which occurs simutaneously at comic-book shops, game stores, and even convention centers across the world. Here in London the event was hosted by The Games Club at the Royal National Hotel, which was my temporary home during the SU orientation week. I showed up, and upon payment of my enterence fee became player #102. Without much further ado, I was given a tournament pack and two "boosters" of the new Lorwyn cards. From that pool of cards I constructed my deck, which I used to compete in my "flight." I was one of 32 people in Flight 2, which ran concurrently with with six other flights (meaning over 200 people were playing at any one time). In the first of four rounds, #76 (Fletcher, Geoff L) put me away rather handily, but he was kind enough to help me tweak my deck afterwards. I managed to beat #106 (Marks, Joshua), who was experimenting with two different "Planeswalker" cards and still developing his strategy. In round three #85 (Simmons, Brian) and I each won one game and were pushing the time limit on the third. I thought I might manage a draw, but a during a surprise time extension I lost. With that my hopes of a prize were extinguished, but I played my final round anyway, being shut-out by #94 (Mayall, Alex).

Honestly, managing to win a third of my games was a pleasant surprise, since I was prepared to loose each time. After all, I went for the cultural experience as much as the playtime. Granted, the "culture" (or perhaps 'sub culture' is more apt) isn't too exotic, and the demographic of awkward, slightly unwashed white males isn't a glamorous one, but there's a sincerity that permeates an environment in which enthusiasm and and competitiveness is allowed to show. Evenings at the local comic book shop are probably not part of my future, but I hope I'll be able to attend more Magic events. I may have more in common with the design crowd nowadays, but I have roots in the culture of math whizzes and the 12-sided dice owners, and I think losing that connection would be forgetting a little part of myself.

Not an American capitol

Two hundred twenty years to the day after the United States Congress voted to send the newly drafted constitution to the states for ratification,* I set foot in the Palace of Westminster, home to Congress's British analogue. Although the Parliament traces its roots to the thirteenth century, the building itself is for the most part much newer than the U.S. Capitol, having been designed in the nineteenth century, and partially reconstructed after World War II. The building's relatively young age was frequently hard to remember. The Gothic ornamentation, the relative implied significance of the monarchical presence, and general lack of space for the Members spoke strongly of days gone by.

I don't feel sufficiently knowledgeable to speak much about the specifics of the Gothic ornamentation other than to say that it is quite evident, and no significant architectural knowledge is necessary to recognize it. I can, however, easily explain the "monarchical presence" since the enormous golden throne and canopy at the head of the House of Lords. Apparently Queen Elizabeth joins them one day a year, but her seat certainly conveys her importance in her absence. As for the lack of space, there isn't enough space for all of the Members, much less space for a notebook computer or any of the other things I would imagine U.S. Senators use constantly.

I'm not exactly sure how any real work gets done in the place, but after eight centuries, I guess this organization knows what it's doing.

*also twenty years to the day after Star Trek: The Next Generation debuted

The Scottish play

My foray into British theater commenced this evening in excellent style. The production of Macbeth, which was developed at the Chichester Festival Theatre, recently arrived in London at the Gielgud Theatre in the West End, and has been well advertised with posters in the Underground featuring the play's star, Partrick Stewart. Like many people, I know Mr. Stewart best as Star Trek's beloved Captain Picard, so I was delighted to find his stage presence to be equal to his screen presence. The cast was strong all around, but his performance was stellar. Macbeth's motives are complicated—murky even—but Mr. Stewart conveyed the conflicted character convincingly, and hit just the right notes as his character descends into madness.

Other aspects of the production are equally worthy of mention. The setting of the play was transformed into the Soviet Union of the late 1940s. Using the costly victory in World War II and Stalin's cruel reign as a softly-referenced historical background made the play significantly more accessible, and allowed clever use of film footage taken from that era. The set itself was brutally utilitarian, with dingy tile walls, a boxy fiberglass sink upstage, and a old TV and an accordion-gated elevator downstage. This room easily became the hospital in the opening scene, the "hall" of Act II (re-imagined as a kitchen), and at times, with the use of digital projectors, a forest and the frightening otherworld of the Weird Sisters. Perhaps most impressive of all was the perfect use of the intermission, wedged into the middle of a slightly modified act III, scene iv, which burns the image of Banquo's apparition into the minds of the audience and delays the resolution of the moment.

If the other plays on my list for the semester are half so good, I'll be in for a very good time.

A way with words

Peaking over the shoulder of another Underground rider, I saw this quintessentially British headline in this morning's Metro.

Cold and wet

Today was our first rainy day in London, although it didn't rain much. The tube was a little more crowded, and the feel of autumn was in the air. This would have been more welcome had I been able to take a warm shower this morning, but, alas, the boiler was on the fritz, and I had to make do with straight cold water. I'm hoping the plumber did a good job this afternoon.

Gems above the Thames

Tonight I witnessed the best fireworks display I have ever seen. It wasn't as big as the Independence Day display I saw in Manhattan, but it was far more beautiful than anything I've seen stateside. Gone were the smiley faces; the hearts; and the red, white, and bluish-purple pom-poms. It their places were showers of crisp whites, golds, greens, and fuchsias; blinding white flashes; and enchanting champaign streams twinkling with pure white specks. The pyrotechnicians working tonight had taste.

Spin city

Day two of the Syracuse stay-at-home weekend wasn't quite up to the previous day's standards, but was an enjoyable experience nonetheless. We started at London Bicycle on Gabriel's Wharf, peddled west to Buckingham palace and Hyde Park, where we rested briefly before making our way back via Trafalgar Square. The journey was frustratingly slow because of the size and general inexperience of the group. Fortunately the day was nice, and being outside on a bike, even at a standstill, was a welcome diversion.

On still water

When I went through the orientation process on the Friday before class started, I was accosted by some orange-shirted workers who were distraught that no one in A-F (and so far no one in G-K) had signed up for the Picnic in Little Venice. They were so adamant that the trip would be great, I forked over my £5 deposit without asking any questions. I got an email confirming my reservation and giving me instructions to come to Warwick Avenue station with a camera and a beverage, but beyond that I was pretty much riding into the unknown when I boarded the northbound Bakerloo line train this morning.

Boy was I in for a treat. My £5 note was returned to me upon arrival (meaning my participation cost nothing above the fixed program fee), and I had a chance to meet a number of students and SU employees including Brian Nocella, the special projects coordinator and Christopher Cook, a communications professor leading the excursion. We started out with a walking tour of Little Venice, the area of London surrounding the junction of the Grand Union and Regent's Canals. The canals (like most canals, I think) were nothing beautiful on their own, but the eclectic mix of houseboats mored on both sides, the large white quasi-neoclassical houses surrounding them, and the quaint bridges spaced every quarter-mile or so made the whole place rather charming. Christopher's charm was even greater, and he gave us a general history that was both informative and light enough to be enjoyed as we took in the sunshine and fresh breeze.

After an hour's wandering, we settled in at a park for a homemade picnic lunch, prepared by Christopher himself. I was apparently the only one who heeded the email and brought my own drink, a bottle of Biddenden sweet strong Kentish cider I bought Friday at Borough Market, so I had the chance to sit and talk with Christopher and Linda, the trip organizer, while Brian shuttled everyone away to buy a drink from someplace in the vicinity. Lunch, it turned out, was poached salmon, steamed asparagus, and a herbed mayonnaise that added a welcome saltiness to both dishes. We followed up with a raspberry jam tart with a shortbread crust, also by the good professor. All was delicious.

Full, we piled into a boat run by the London Waterbus Co. and headed up the canal (up being relative since there is no current) toward Camden. We were dropped off right in Camden market, which, although daunting at first, turned out to be easily navigable, and a rather cool place despite the general kitschiness of the merchandise. I was partly pleasantly reminded of the Minnesota Renaissance Festival, and partly longing for the craftsmanship of the Minneapois Uptown Art Fair. An hour of wandering ended with icecream at Marine Ices, where I tried the Knickerbocker Glory I've wanted since reading of Dudley Dursley's in the first Harry Potter volume nine years ago. Truthfully, I didn't trust it completely, and I had chocolate icecream swapped for vanilla, but I think I got the general idea of it anyway.

The tour done, I hopped on the Northern line headed south and to home.

Oh, it's all very British…

I've got to say, Londoners just aren't as brash as I was hoping. I know the Sex Pistols are decades gone, but I still see Beefeater ads showing Londoners as a stylishly edgy lot, and the Spice Girls in Union Jack platform shoes were not that long ago.

Truthfully, this was not something I had consciously noticed until today, when I sat across from a lady who did live up to my expectations. Note if you can in this oh-so-small photo:

1. four inches of height gained through hair gel alone
2. green eye shadow
3. think plastic glasses
4. hoodie printed with the words BROWN BLONDE NEON in their respective colours
5. ring with numerous sharp points
6. watch the size of a Sony MiniDisc
7. jeans with horizontal seams at the knees.

I noticed that she wasn't all that young either, so I wonder if this generation is just quieter. I certainly get that impression back stateside. But I'm not worried. Once it cools off, I'll break out my blaze orange Puscifer hoodie, and I'll have all the brashness I need.

Eastern exploration

Both studio leaders are sending their students eastward. Alan has his class going almost an hour a way, but Nick was easier on us, and our site is only four tube stops down the central line. Today my partner Jenna and I set out after class to do some photographing and attempt to locate a specific urban "room" that might be suitable for our project. We were both hungry, so, after ascertaining that Jenna was for the most part herbivorous, I struck a path for a well reviewed vegetarian restaurant in the vicinity of our destination.

Personally, I think naming a vegetarian restaurant carnivale is delightfully ironic (bitingly funny even), but I couldn't tell if the name was intentionally witty. The place bills itself as a "Mediterranean vegetarian restaurant and deli," and our friendly waiter seemed to be from a lower latitude, but then again, his English was perfect as he joked that usually only Japanese tourists take photos of the food.

The food was quite good. We both opted for the evening's fixed menu, which included this excellent leek soup, a tomato and zucchini pasta entrée, and slices of a chocolate log accented with fresh, ripe raspberries. I had a Vintage Roots organic lager, which was easily one of the better beers I've had on this trip.

Our surveying work was reasonably productive, and we found a few areas worth pursuing as we continue through the project. On our way home we were rewarded with a lovely view of the often-visible but usually-obscured 30 St. Mary's Axe.

Wayfinding

With the tube down I'm walking everywhere and becoming better acquainted with the streets surrounding my main route to school. My mental map expands, as does my appreciation of the intuitiveness of London's rather organic road layout. The grid of New York is rational and understandable, but the web that is London seems to guide to the undirected to identifiable points of interest.

I'm also becoming better acquainted with the local grocery store. On the previous trips a number of foods managed to elude me. The most frustrating of these was sesame seeds, which I could not find even after I searched among the spices and the Asian food products. Today, however, I had an epiphany as I walked past a towering display of crusty baguettes, and, sure enough, sesame seeds were between walnuts and poppy seeds in the baking aisle. As if to crown my modest but satisfying achievement, I had the opportunity to help another shopper—a young Moslem mother—find "powder you put on baby after bath." Fortunately for me, Johnson & Johnson is over here too, and the bottle wasn't too hard to spot.

Last train west

For reasons which are beyond my current understanding, the London Underground is mostly closed due to a strike by workers of Metronet. What matters most to me is that the fastest route between home and school has suddenly been severed, as service on the Central line has been entirely suspended. The walk is manageable, and there are buses, but the tube has been my first choice, and, to add insult to injury, the strike eats the last three days of my seven day travel pass, so I almost certainly failed to get my money's worth out of it.

The strike had been announced for 18:00 today, but less publicized was the fact that service reductions were to begin at 16:00. By the time our field trip returned to Liverpool Street to board the central line, the trains were few and far between. Minutes before our train arrived, we were told that it was to be the very last westbound train on the line, and was already quite full. Some of the group opted to walk, but I, anxious to meet up with Elizabeth, crammed into the already packed cars. This picture probably doesn't show anything too extraordinary, but the atmosphere of uncertainty and frustration, compounded by the unusual slowness of the train made the experience a pretty exciting one.

A party spanning two circuses

Today was the annual Regent Street Festival, the theme being 'An Indian Summer.' Syracuse has festivals of a similar ilk around this time of year, but I think this one saw more people than Syracuse contains. As we walked from Oxford Circus to Piccadilly Circus I counted four simultaneous music performance, including one that taught the audience to dance along and one that had mimes on stage beside the performers.

The other attraction was, of course, the food, which was supplied by marsala zone. Chris, Beth, and I all went for wonderful vegetarian samosas. Only I was there to eat a full meal, so the ladies had another appetizer while I dug into a serving of curried chicken and rice. The mango lassies had, alas, sold out for the day, so I kept the heat at bay with a Cobra, which was at least sufficient, if not anything spectacular.

I feel like I'm conveying too little of the experience, but to be satisfactorily successful I'm sure I would have to share the wonderful tabla piece that was pounding through the air as we ate. It was the necessary touch of the exotic that made the experience remarkable.