Slumber

Now that the journey to London is at an end, this blog will be going into an indefinite hibernation. Keep your eyes peeled for new content at james-lucas.net. Cheers!

Getting rid of ufo.exe

My system and flash drive recently contracted a worm under the name of UFO.exe. These instructions were most helpful. Hopefully search engines will rank the page just a little higher if I link to it here.

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.

Percival (2007–2007)

It brings me much sorrow to report the passing of Percival, a hamster Claire adopted so recently that he had yet to make an appearance in this blog.

Claire had been on the lookout for a hamster, preferably a female one, and she had been giving me reports of the the cute ones and the sickly ones, and one little guy that seemed particularly feisty and less friendly than the others. While this wasn't exactly a glowing review, I had suspicions that I might be hearing more about the guy. He managed to make an impression, which is no small accomplishment when you're three inches tall and look pretty similar to everyone around you. Sure enough Claire started the next phone call with a guess what?, and I managed to guess what pretty quickly.

As he was getting settled in, Claire referred to him as her 'ham,' and I called him 'the little guy.' One evening, while navigating London by map my eyes happened upon Percival David Foundation of Chinese Art, and I realized I liked the name. The Arthurian connotations seemed to fit well since Percival must have seemed a little fierce when the knights first found him in the woods. Claire liked the name, too, and noted that it fit the connections with Perseus, since the little guy had wing-like tufts of fur on his haunches.

About a day after the name was selected, Percy began to exhibit symptoms of wet-tail, a disease that affects many young hamsters, especially those whose immune systems are weakened by the stress of the shipping process. Other hamsters at the store had been showing the symptoms, so it wasn't hard to believe that Percy had managed to contract it. Claire gave him medication and lots of tender loving care, and he was showing signs of improvement in the last day or so, taking brief spins on his wheel and eating a little more. Recovery, though, was not in the cards for Percy, and he died during the night.

Though I never met Percival, he will forever maintain a special place in my heart as the first pet I named.

News from the trenches

Having never gone paintballing before, I couldn't pass up a chance to try it out for a mere £10 on a school-subsidized trip to Paintzone, especially with a hearty Pizza Hut lunch included. The park was about an hour south of the school, at what seemed like the edge of London's suburbs. The base camp was cleverly designed, its ring of camouflaged shelters around a firepit giving it the military air demanded by the swarms of guests in green jumpsuits. The park consisted of five course of varying natures, my favorite of which was "Castle," which was dominated by a large wooden castle from which one team defended their flag. The suits were satisfactory (although many players had problems with their mask fogging. The guns we're a real mixed bag. The gun I was issued shot so wildly I never managed to hit any target with it. A number of times I left it on the ground and attempted to grab flags unburdened, so little did the thing help me. I got a very satisfactory taste of the real deal at the end of the day, however. "Castle" was the last zone we played, and halfway through the final round, when our team was holding the castle, the marshal tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a better gun. What a difference it made! I managed to eliminate three players in as many minutes, and felt much of my previous frustration drain away.

The only notable injury occurred when Ahmet, the security guard who arranged the trip, was knocked out by a blow to the head when a double shot to the head knocked him off balance and he fell into a barrel. He proved himself to be the hearty fellow we all expected, and he was his jubilant self when we checked in on him an hour later. The only downside for him was that he missed a half-day of the sport that he loves.

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.

The London way around

Tonight marked the lighting of Oxford Street, which is home to many of the largest and most lavish department stores (Harrod's being notably absent). I apparently missed the big to-do, as the street sweepers were already cleaning up what think (and hope) may have been post-consumer recycled paper confetti. Oxford, normally open only to buses and licensed taxis, was still closed however, which allowed the surplus of pedestrians to spill off of the sidewalks safely. At the intersections, however, officers were patrolling and strictly enforcing the crossing signals. This may seem reasonable to an American, but, in this city where jaywalking is not only legal but a legitimately recognized form of transportation, it's significant disruption. And indeed, although I could walk down the middle of Oxford, it took me much longer to make my way back to school, even though I, like so many others, dashed across a number of streets despite the displeased officers.

For those unfamiliar with London, I want to emphasize that I'm serious about jaywalking. Pedestrians do not have the right of way in many places Americans would expect it, and timing of crosswalk lights is not at all suitable for reasonable commute times. However, London does provide directional indicators ("LOOK RIGHT") and even small refuges in the middle of wides streets to help jaywalkers cross safely. It's a little scary on unfamiliar roads, but works great on familiar ones. And thus asking Londoners not to jaywalk is a bit like asking a bird not to fly, and hardly a way to make a holiday festival function well.

Virtual possession

This past summer I purchased V-Ray for Rhino directly from the programmers, and the software was delivered not through the mail, but through the internet. Not having any physical manifestation of the product seems a natural fit for such a small, easily downloadable program. This week, however, I took the plunge and purchased my first music download, and I remain far from convinced that music fits the model nearly so well.

Saul Williams's The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of NiggyTardust! was released online on Thursday, and unlike Radiohead's In Rainbows, no CD release has been forecasted. The lowest quality MP3s are available for free, and higher quality MP3 and FLAC versions are available for $5. Ever the archivist and wannabe audiophile, I opted for the FLAC files, and made my own (LAME-encoded) MP3s for convenient listening.

The music is great, and I like having the liner notes as a PDF, but having to keep the massive FLAC files in a safe, easy-to-find place on one of my many hard drives is a nuisance that I'm having trouble getting past. I can always back up my CDs if I want, but I can't make a nice physical manifestation that will always be easy to find. (A pile of CD-Rs with labels in Sharpie is probably even worse than a folder in Windows.) At this point, I think I'd much rather have paid five more dollars and gotten an object that I could add to my library.

Platforms and packaging aside, I'm very impressed by the music. Like Rage Against The Machine's The Battle of Los Angeles, this is a work that feeds off of rap, rock, and hip-hop and uses each wisely. Williams and producer Trent Reznor know just how much thump to put into each track and how to shift between slam and song without losing the thread that keeps it together. All of rap's familiar profanities are here, but they seem purposeful. The recently buried n-word is featured prominently in many songs, but always as a reflection of a prejudiced world and never as a mere nickname as Lil' Jon and so many others are wont to do. It's all around quite good, and it's available for free. Give it a listen.

An old hat

Back in my sophomore year of college (coincidentally the last year of my blogless existence), I worked as a resident assistant in Dolliver House on the Simon's Rock campus. The job was quite easily the best job I've ever had, and although it didn't provide much that my scholarship wasn't already covering, I gained some quality life experience and got to spend time with what I've now come to realize was amazingly wonderful group of co-workers. As an employee of the office of Student Life, I was to some degree responsible for the planning and execution of student activities. The real perk of planning such an activity is getting something you want to do subsidized. I never managed to get the green light for skydiving, but I did manage to get a van to a Dave Matthews Band concert on time.

So I've missed filling that role in the years since I had to retire from that most ideal of jobs. Fortunately this semester offered me an opportunity to come out of retirement for a little while. While talking to Christopher Cook, who was my guide to Little Venice back in September, we cooked up the idea of a dinner outing, and eventually, powered by Christopher's knowledge, we settled on a trip to Brighton's Terre à Terre. Fastforward some weeks, and we, together with SUL staff memeber Linda Harkness, managed to put together a trip for twelve students, with the school chipping in a few pounds a head.

The twelve of us met up with Linda at Victoria station and railroaded our way down to Brighton, where we met Christopher at the Royal Pavilion. He gave us an oral history of the pavilion and the scandals surrounding its owners and occupants, and we had a bit of time to wander around and snap photos before we were admitted for an audio-guided tour of the interior. I've been to palaces in St. Petersburg and I've gazed up into the domes of the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia, I was awed by the opulence of this "house by the sea." Grandeur beyond anything respectable it was, but my was it well done. Chandeliers, carpets, curtains, and wallpapers all managed to convey a sense of good taste in spite of their over abundance.

Lunch at Terre à Terre proved to be equally impressive, and everyone seemed happy with the exquisit vegetarian fare. A quiet afternoon on the beach and pier wrapped things up before we headed home, and I was left ready for another visit to Brighton.

More like a 'washer/destroyer'

One of the comforts of home I miss most is a decent washer and dryer. Washers in particular have been foul things, made dirty by careless users and destructive by improper maintenance. Our washer/dryer is no exception. Over the last couple weeks, it's stained all my pants and a number of my shirts with yellow and navy blotches and eaten away at the side of one shirt. I can't fathom how it's managed to do that, but I'm sincerely looking forward to a time in my life when I can wear my favorite clothes without fearing for demise upon washing.

The perfect pint

Our old ancient ancestors, as we read in the first chapter of Guinness's, were partial to the running stream.

—Lenehan in James Joyce's Ulysses

In a number of subtle ways my second day in Dublin made me more acutely aware that I had at last arrived in Leopold Bloom's city. Sunday is a sleepy day in the largely Catholic city, so, sadly, the James Joyce cultural center was closed along with much of the rest of Dublin, but the Guinness Storehouse, my other desired destination, was open. What a fantastic museum they have put together! The tour provided a very well illustrated look at both the history and production of the porter, filled with little factoids painted in nearly every little nook and cranny a visitor my examine. The tour did lack the intimacy of Leinenkugel's, which made visible the actual apparatuses of production, but countless video and photograph exhibits of Guinenss's century-old processes captured a pride and even a magic that no young brewery can exhibit. James Joyce makes a play between Guinness and Genesis, and the Guinness Storehouse gives that equation a glimmer of truth.

Apparently aware that Joyce dropped nearly a dozen references to Guinness in Ulysses, the brewery seemed to be returning the favor on floor seven, the Gravity Bar. The round bar and observation deck had a half dozen Joyce quotes painted onto the windows, matching up key locations and environs with corresponding references in all four of Joyce's major literary works. I had the delightful experience of sipping the Guinness I had poured myself while gazing through a quote from the Ithaca chapter of Ulysses, which is one of my favorite pieces of writing.

What act did Bloom make on their arrival at their destination?

At the housesteps of the 4th Of the equidifferent uneven numbers, number 7 Eccles street, he inserted his hand mechanically into the back pocket of his trousers to obtain his latchkey.

We left together, and had a lunch of warm pot pies and (in my case) more Guinness, while enjoying the warm air and sunshine. Just as we were leaving, the clouds rolled in, the temperatuer dropped, and the rain came pouring down. I tried to continue exploring, but the intensity of the rain drove me indoors, and I concluded my stay reading Wuthering Heights in a rather nice leather lounger in our hotel.

Iron and Wine

Our short visit to Dublin was specifically timed so that we could attend a show by Iron & Wine, a band in which Chris and Beth both had a specific interest. From what I can gather from texts about the band, their much like Nine Inch Nails in that the singer/songwriter is Iron & Wine, and the other musicians on stage are performers filling in the holes. From what I saw on stage, however, the band seemed like a much more integrated collaboration. Eight performers filled the stage, and much of the key instrumentation was in the hands of the steel guitarist. Additionally, the one woman on stage had the same last name as the lead, and both wore wedding bands, so I suspect it is a tighter-knit group. Overall I thought the music they performed was okay, but nothing obviously special. Beth told me after the show that setlist tended toward the groups mellowest songs, and their overall sound tended to have a little more energy.

I was much more interested in the opening band, a curious little group called Johnny Flynn and the Sussex Wit. Johnny rotated through a significant array of instruments, including guitars, a violin, and what I recall being a mandolin. A girl I suspect (and for Beth's sake hope) was Johnny's sister and not his wife, sang back up and played flute. The other two guys in the band shared duties on drums and guitars. I think I felt I got my money's worth out of the show from their brief performance, which was both lively and well tuned for a live setting.