Thirty Days Left...

Thirty days. 

As of today—6 May 2012—that’s all I have left of my time in London. As usual, I’m behind with this thing, but didn’t want this milestone to pass by without saying a little something about it.

All in all, this timeframe marks the beginning of a period of transition—things here draw to a close, as I begin the trek back to my own weird version of ‘normality.’ And it’s not just the big things that are concluding, like my semester as a University of East London student. It’s also the little things, like the huge canister of coffee I’ve used throughout most of my stay finally drying up (the day after classes ended, ironically). Let’s ignore the coffee for a second, though, and look at my time as a student instead. 

UEL Docklands Campus

 Because the US Olympic team will be staying in UEL’s dorms, the entire semester calendar was out of whack. Basically, we turned in midterms, had two weeks of Easter Break, one week of classes, and then our finals were due. 

It was a whirlwind, crazy experience—and if you’ve been following me on Facebook, you know the experience was both taxing and moody-making. Nonetheless, I persevered, and in the end I think I handed in three strong final works.

Most likely, I won’t know how I did on those final projects until I’m back home, but I can talk about how I did on my midterms, as well as offer some final feedback on my experiences in the corresponding modules:

‘Cultural Politics: Power & Contemporary Social Change’ (CC1202; you can find the module description here): Though it served as mostly a refresher course for me, I did enjoy this course quite a bit. The instructors, SM and DS, were my favorites, and really knew what they were talking about. Also, I walked away feeling like I had a much better understanding of Marx—though I still prefer Foucault for his focus on questions of identity.

My CW1 (midterm) assignment was, literally, just the first draft of my final piece. A reflexive work, it explored gay men’s participation in the act of marthoning/triathloning as a form of body-modification and self-surveillance (in the Foucauldian sense) rooted in the discourse of HIV/AIDS and the idealized (gay) male form. On CW1 I scored First-Class marks (the equivalent of an ‘A’), and the assessor’s feedback listed my work as 'a very substantial and scholarly case study that uses excellent examples.’ Based on the early feedback I received on CW2, I’m fairly confident that I’ll receive First-Class marks on the completed work as well.

‘Realism, Fantasy & Utopia’ (CC2202; you can find the module description here): Whereas DS was the co-instructor in the aforementioned class, this module was solely hers. And it was amazing—by far, it was the most brilliant of the courses I took at UEL. My love of this class was not solely based on our phenomenal guide, however—equal credit goes to the amazing friends I’ve made therein, amongst them TvH, RAS, SV, and AR! 

As far as my midterm goes, I also received First-Class marks on this one. It was a rather easy assignment, wherein we merely had to explain the concepts of realism, fantasy, and utopia. As a funny aside, one of the critiques DS offered of my work was that she felt I was too quick to privilege the perspective of the artist/author—she and I have subsequently agreed to discuss this further, as this is an argument I tend to get into with everyone. I strongly feel that too much credit is already given to the reader, and that rather than privileging either the author or the reader, one needs to pay equal lip-service to both perspectives. After all, to overlook the author’s intent de-historicizes and depoliticizes the work. 

Based on the early feedback I received on my final essay—a critique of American Horror Story as a heteronorm-affirming Gothic text—I think DS and I are much more in-sync this time around. This second piece was approached from a Feminist and Queer theory perspective, and DS seemed really excited when she read the draft version. I’m hoping for First-Class marks on this essay and, with her help, I’m hoping to submit it to the Watercool Journal for publication—if accepted, that would be the second piece I’ve had electronically published in a peer-reviewed journal!

‘Culture, Power & Resistance in the 21st Century’ (CC3202; you can find the module description here): By far—by leaps and bounds, and fathoms and light-years—this was my least favorite of the three classes. The instructor was highly disorganized, often came across as condescending toward me, and lacked time-management skills. I highly recommend that Columbia students do not take this class. 

As a result of myriad problems I had in this class—which, to be completely fair, included the resistance I developed after one too many failures to meet what I consider good teaching practices—my CW1 assignment from this class only garnered a 68 (i.e., ‘B’ / 2.I classification). I don’t hold out hopes for a higher score from my CW2 assignment, as the instructor replied with his feedback right before the deadline—5 full days after the date he agreed to. Fortunately, I suspected something like that might happen, and so I asked DS for feedback as well. With her help, I was able to turn my work into something that should at least enable me to pass the class.

Overall, my experience with UEL was a good one. I definitely miss my home-uni, despite it’s countless problems—and I definitely miss CCC’s technology infrastructure, ‘cause UEL’s is atrocious—but the University of East London has been a nice classroom-away-from-home, and I will be eternally grateful for this amazing opportunity! 

So, what now?

Well, as I noted earlier, it’s a time of transition. The biggest thing on the horizon once I return to Chicago is my participation in the Chicago Marathon (26 miles). Given that I’ve never run that distance before—in addition to triathlons, I’ve only ever done a half-marathon—I’ve had to start training here. Yesterday I went for my first 3 mile run of the season. It wasn’t bad, but it was a bit chilly—9˚C/48˚F, with a cold drizzle—and a bit slower than I wanted. Ah, well. By the time I return to Chicago on 5 June, I’m supposed to be running 7 miles.

Speaking of the marathon, I should probably take a brief second to tell/remind folks why I’m doing it. You see, for the third year in a row, I am part of the amazing Team to End AIDS (T2) but, this year I’m putting my bike and wetsuit aside, and solely workin’ the running shoes! (Get it? ‘solely’ and ‘running shoes’? It’s a shoe-joke.)

Take a moment to watch this short video, as it tells you a little more about the journey I'm about to embark upon:

However, in order to train with T2 I have to raise (a minimum) of $1200 by July 1st for the AIDS Foundation of Chicago (AFC). HIV/AIDS continues to be a very real problem today, even though it’s not always talked about in the US. In fact, every 9 1/2 minutes someone in the United States is infected with HIV, and each year people grieve for loved ones whose lives have been claimed by the disease. Fortunately, AFC—which was founded in 1985 by community activists and physicians—is leading the fight against HIV/AIDS, and striving to improve the lives of people in the Chicago area who are affected by this pandemic. By funding prevention programs and vital services such as medical care, food and housing, AFC works to stop new infections while helping to keep people with HIV/AIDS alive until the day there’s a cure.

So here’s the skinny:

On top of wanting to overcome a new physical challenge (and achieve a fit-in-the-British-sense body), I desperately need help in raising $1200 for the AIDS Foundation of Chicago this year. As of right now, I only have $540 to go! Not only will sponsors be joining me in the fight against HIV/AIDS, but they will also be supporting me in the pursual of a personal goal that—even a year ago—I never considered possible.

All one has to do is visit my fundraising page and click on the ‘Sponsor Me’ button in the upper left-hand corner (or, if interested in making alternative payment arrangements—which includes sponsorship by volunteerism—just let me know). Any and all donations are appreciated, including those from people living outside of the U.S., and they’re tax deductible to boot!

AC, JD, AT, Nic, and Me after completing the 2011 Chicago Triathlon with T2.

Other than that, the plan is simply to make the most of my remaining 30 days abroad. 

I’ve certainly already started in regards to celebrating my time here—a certain less than stellar photo of me drinking a Mojito out of a suitcase attests to that (thanks, TvH and LD). But I’ve got some other things planned too. For instance, on Wednesday I’m going to go watch as The Queen and Duke of Edinburgh make their way to Westminster for the State Opening of Parliament. Also, I’m meeting my friend BC—she and I met during my trip to Morocco—for coffee tomorrow morning. And, finally, I’ve officially scheduled my final international sojourn during this trip: I’ll be going to the Netherlands (Amsterdam) from 13-16 May, and since I’m going by bus(!) I’ll have a chance to see the northern part of France and Belgium as well!

Amsterdam's Red Light District. [NB: This photo is not mine!]

Oh, yes, the next few weeks will be very exciting!

What's Curry Got To Do With It?

I’m back with another entry. Truth be told, everything I’m about to say deserves a lot more ‘oomph’ than what I’m about to give it—but, I’ve spent most of the last two weeks (including most of yesterday and today) writing about discursive representations of the intersection between gayness and AIDS as part of two separate final projects. 

In other words: my brain is so far beyond mush that words do not even exist to describe it.

Nonetheless, there’s a lot that I haven’t blogged about this month, and I’m feeling a lot of pressure from ‘Future Brett’ to document it all in one form or another while it’s relatively fresh in my mind. Thus, I offer the explosion of information presented here. 

Let’s get started, shall we…

On Sunday, 15 April, I accompanied EN to a theatre performance she’s been interning with throughout the semester. The show is called Soul Sister, and is the story of Tina Turner’s relationship with Ike, as told by the former while backstage during her ‘Private Dancer’ tour. 

Most people already know the troubled tale of Ike and Tina Turner, so I won’t go into that here (though I will say that the first act in particular was far more forgiving of Ike than I expected). Instead, I want to focus on two particular aspects of the show: the actress playing Tina, and the ending:

The role of Tina was given to Emi Wokoma (who, ironically, played the sister of Tameka Empson’s ‘Kim’ on EastEnders). The Guardian reviewed Wokoma’s turn as Turner thusly: 

[Wokoma’s] impersonation of Anna Mae Bullock, renamed Tina Turner when she started singing with Ike Turner, is startling. She's got that strange, stiff-legged dance – the one that looks like a man who's left the urinal too soon – and the flutters of the hands. And she's got a voice that can strip paint or sing a lullaby within the same bar. (Soul Sister Review)

I admit that I was a bit concerned with Wokoma at the start. The opening number is ‘Private Dancer,’ one of my favorites. Wokoma’s rendition wasn’t bad by any stretch of the imagination, but it also wasn’t great—I felt as if she wasn’t warmed up yet. Fortunately, after that number, the songs performed are basically in chronological order, and follow Anna Mae’s rise to prominence. This gave Wokoma the chance to warm-up her Turner impression, as her character also developed her unique style. By the time ‘River Deep, Mountain High’ was performed, audiences could be easily excused for forgetting that the real Tina wasn’t on stage.

[NB: This is not my photo.]

This brings us to the other point I wanted to bring up about the show: the ending. As previously noted, the story is told from the point-of-view of Turner, who is relating events to a friend backstage between sets. Upon concluding her tale, Turner returns to her (fictionalized) concert—whereupon the theatre audience becomes a concert audience!

The last 15-20 minutes of the show is just like a traditional concert. There is no narrative: just Wokoma—accompanied by a band, backup singers, and flashing laser-lights—recreating Turner’s early-80s comeback tour. Traditional Tina favorites—such as ‘Simply the Best’, ‘I Can't Stand the Rain’, ‘Help’, and, of course, ‘Proud Mary’—drove audiences to their feet. No lie. There were even encore songs, in true concert style: ‘Steamy Windows’ and ‘What’s Love Got to Do With It?’

‘Awesome’ doesn’t even begin to describe the experience. All I can say is that if you’re in London, and are even remotely a Tina Turner fan, you must see this show!

After Soul Sister, EN and I were ridin’ high, as concert goers typically are right after a show lets out. So, we headed over to Soho and a bar there called 79CXR. This particular bar was billed in one of the local rags as offering gay karaoke, and we thought it might be fun to check that out. 

I’d say we had a decent time: drinks were cheap even if the singing was painful. Also, it wasn’t crowded—almost always a perk. When the karaoke wrapped-up at around 9:00 PM, Bette Rinse (the drag queen emcee) organized a group of fellow queens and locals for a queer version of ‘Match Game.’ Sadly, it was all a bit lost on EN and I, as neither of us were familiar enough with the local drag scene to get the references to specific community members. Ah, well. It was still interesting.

Okay, I’m going to totally change topics now. (Like I said, there’s a lot to catch-up on!)

On Thursday, 19 April, two of my friends from Chicago—TS and his partner, BH—flew in to London for the latter’s birthday weekend. I was fortunate enough to see them on three of the four days they were here.

That first day (Thursday) was a bit rough for me. I didn’t sleep well the night before, and had zero desire to go to school that morning. Nonetheless, I made the long slog there…only to learn that one of my two classes that day had been cancelled. Now, this isn’t a problem in-and-of-itself. The class in question is my least favorite (‘Cultural Power & Resistance in the 21st Century’—not nearly as interesting as it sounds). Nonetheless, the scheduled lecture for that day would likely have been beneficial for my final essay. Ah, well. Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, I got caught in a downpour on my way home. I. Was. Drenched…and unhappy. 

Unhappy and Soaking Wet.

Fortunately, seeing two familiar faces was just the boon that my spirits needed. We headed into Soho to grab a couple of cocktails at Village, and from there we went to Maison Touareg for dinner. I was uber-excited for this, because I had wanted to check out Maison Touareg since coming back from Morocco, and was merely waiting for the right ‘excuse’ to do so. It was sooooo delicious! Wonderful company was made even better by amazing food and wine. My only complaint is that we were seated beneath the speakers, and the music grew a bit loud when the belly-dancer (whose skills were mostly lost on us) came out. Other than that, it was perfect!

Friday, 20 April, marked the last official day of classes at UEL! My exams aren’t due until this week, but classes have concluded. As my Friday class (‘Realism, Fantasy & Utopia’) was my favorite, this was a bit of a bittersweet moment. I’ll talk more about all that in a later entry, though. After class, I returned to my flat, where my housemates were already in weekend-party-mode. Ugh, it was so loud! For the second day in a row, I found myself highly agitated.

Fortunately, TS and BH invited me to join them once again! This time we went to Cinnamon, an Indian restaurant near Oxford Circus. Once again, I had an amazing time! The food was good (albeit a bit spicy): we shared a plate of ‘BALLS!’ (as listed)—potato, beef, vegetable, and Bangla-Scotch egg—and for the main course I ordered a plate of ‘Old Delhi-style tandoori fenugreek chicken’ (whatever all that means). 

Even better than the food, though, were the drinks. I stuck to water (I had to be up early the next day), but I did have a sip of both TS’ and BH’s drinks—if anyone’s interested, Cinnamon offers the best mojito in the history of forever. After dinner we headed over to the Duke of Wellington (another gay pub) for a last round of drinks going our separate ways.

I’m going to skip saying anything about Saturday, 21 April, as that will get its own entry owing to a trip to Windsor Castle. As for Sunday, I had one last opportunity to see TS and BH before they headed back to Chicago. We met for bagels and coffee at Beigel Bake in Shoreditch. Apparently, this is the oldest bagel place in London. It’s also one of the cheapest places I’ve been in London—but so worth it! I got an éclair (how could I resist?), and it was one of the most scrumptious sweets I’ve eaten since being here! Yummy-yummy! From there, we walked over to Old Spitalfields’ Market, where we walked around for a few minutes before bidding on another adieu! All in all, it was a wonderful visit, and so nice to see friends from home! 

And, on that happy note, I will also say farewell to this entry. I’ve finally gotten ‘Future Brett’ off my back for a bit, and can realx…for now—there’s still a lot to tell about, including my trip to Windsor, the results of my midterms, and my hurried escape from my flat!

But that’ll have to wait a bit longer…

A Big Ol' Gay Blow-Up Man

Time for another exciting(?) entry in ye olde blog—namely because I’m in need of another break from academics. This time the focus will be the evening of Monday, 16 April 2012 (through the early morning hours of 17 April).

But I need to back up for a second. You see, two of my modules over here—‘Realism, Fantasy & Utopia’ and ‘Cultural Politics’—have enabled me to meet some really cool people. In fact, the majority of new friendships established since coming to London have been borne of the former.

One of said-friendships is with a lovely young woman named RAS. I was fortunate enough to snag a seat next to her on the first day of class, and during a group exercise that same day we got to chatting after I complimented her on the fabulous silver scorpion ring she was wearing. The rest, as they say, is history. Over time—and through RAS—I have come to form friendships with most of the others who sit in the front row. (And yes, we do represent the stereotypical front row kids—to the point where DS preempts us from answering her questions by automatically saying that she’ll ‘come back to the front row’ after giving others a chance to answer.)

Anyway, I’ve gone off track…

Relatively early in the semester, I was shocked to learn that RAS has never been to a club before. Ever. Not a straight club; not a gay club. She’s over 21 years of age—how the bloody hell does that happen?

So of course, I set about trying to rectify this grave oversight. It took time, to be sure: a constant mixture of guilt over my impending departure, and reassurance that I would protect her like a drag queen protects her tips. 

Eventually—on 16 April—I succeeded!

That night, we met at Village (which is tied with Heaven for my favorite queer London haunt), where drinks were half-priced all night. The only downside was that the level with the dancefloor was closed off, and the DJ I like so much there (Ray Isaac) wasn’t playing. 

At any rate, we were joined by two others from the ‘RF&U’ module—AR and (later) SV—as well as another of RAS’ friends, SB. Thus, the good times (and drinks) began to roll…

Me, AR, RAS, and SB

 The fact that my London drink of choice was only £2 that night, coupled with the other fact that the bartender seemingly thought I was cute and was therefore being generous with the vodka-to-juice ratio, led to a quickly tipsy Brettsy. Fortunately, I was still fairly in control at this point, and so the pix RAS snapped throughout the night aren’t quite as…problematic as they became later in the evening.

Sober Brett

Drunker Brett

 Eventually, both SV and AR had to leave (they had classes the next morning), and soon thereafter Village started closing down for the night. So, the question became: shall we go elsewhere, or head home? Fortunately, her first venue successfully visited sans-drama, RAS agreed to go elsewhere.

We wound up at G-A-Y, which we didn’t stay at for too long—only long enough for one drink apiece, as I recall. But, at least we could dance for a bit…

After G-A-Y, we still weren’t ready to go, and so the decision was made to walk toward Heaven, where I figured we could dance the night right away... Unfortunately, the lesbian doorguard had other plans. Said-doorguard let RAS and me in with no problem, but for some reason she decided that SB was under the influence and therefore could not come in. (For the record, SB was probably the most sober of us all—I think the doorguard was just jealous of her Troll Doll hairband.) At any rate, we were advised to go to the nearby McDonalds, get food, and come back in 20 minutes, at which point we would be allowed in.

So, we headed to McD’s—something I have avoided them like the plague since coming here—and got a quick meal. We sat there for the required 20 minutes, eating and chatting, and (in my case) being repeated punched in the arm by a drunken Frenchman whose friends kept trying to distract him from beating me and apologizing on his behalf.

Upon finishing, we headed back to Heaven…but, again, the doorguard refused SB entrance (and added insult to injury by pretending that she had told SB specifically not to come back). Well, their loss was G-A-Y Late’s gain, ‘cause that’s where we headed next.

This, our last stop of the evening, turned out to be a nice mix of the earlier chilled atmosphere from Village and the dancing opportunity offered by G-A-Y. We wound up staying until they closed, dancing badly—mostly on the elevated platform—to equally bad songs seemingly chosen by a straight man. 

There’s video of all this, but fortunately (and thanks to a few death threats) it will never be seen. (Apparently, when intoxicated to the point I was that night, I lose all arm and wrist bones, and turn into one of those blow-up figures used to sell used cars…a big ol’ queer, purple one! It’s a problem!)

One of the less-problematic photos to come from this night...

Sadly, the time came eventually to depart. I had zero desire to take the bus all the way back to Newham, and so I took SB up on her kind offer to crash at her place along with RAS. For anyone interested in a fun mental picture: just imagine me—fully dressed, because I wasn’t planning on staying out all night—sandwiched between a straight woman and a lesbian in a full-sized bed. It was quite the sight to behold, I’m sure!

And on that interesting note, another entry comes to a close. I suppose now’s as good a time as any to get back to the academic writing that I should be doing right now… 

Ciao!

Casual Over-Drinks Topics...

There’s not too much to talk about at the moment, but I figured I should do a quick entry just to highlight a couple of things that I’ve done over the last week.

Tuesday night (20 March) I traveled to Leytonstone—birthplace of Sirs Alfred Hitchcock and Derek Jacobi—in order to meet-up with two UEL students, JA and GC, for drinks. The peers in question are both thesis-level Cultural Studies students who occasionally pop into my horrid ‘Culture, Power and Resistance in the Twenty-First Century’ class. One of them (JA) also happens to be the UEL student that came to Columbia last year. We met up at the Red Lion (which I think might be affiliated with the pub I went to with K&M on my second night here), and spent a lovely couple of hours catching up over beer and cider. We chatted about everything from white privilege and racism in Europe, to the failings of abstinence-only education in the U.S., to the attempted privitization of England’s healthcare system. You know, casual over-drinks topics…for Cultural Studies students at least.

Tuesday night wasn’t my only stab at being social this week. Last night (23 March) I happened to catch a Facebook update from another friend, AH, that he was stuck at Victoria Station, waiting for a train to take him back home (which is about an hour away). Now, I’ve ‘known’ AH online for around 13 years—we’ve been part of the same He-Man/She-Ra community since the mid- to late-1990s—but we’ve never actually met before. (Namely because of the ocean which separates us.) So, upon spotting this update, a hurried flurry of messages were exchanged, and plans were made to finally meet up in person while he waited for his rescheduled train. A short while later, and we were finally greeting one another face-to-face.

Me and AH at Victoria Station

Since AH had a couple of hours before his train was scheduled to depart, we nipped over to the Duke of York, a pub not far from the station. This was actually my first experience meeting another He-Fan/She-Raver in person—everyone’s so spread out in the States that it’s hard to do so—and I loved every second of it. It was so surreal: two grown, 30(ish) year-old men—in a dark, noisy bar surrounded by stumbling heterosexuals trying to dance to ‘Hot in Here’ (and the men suggestively removing their suitcoats)—talking about everything from the father/daughter relationship between Hordak and She-Ra, to what kinds of material the Four Horsemen will use to design Scorpia’s tail, to the role of the Filmation series in producing a generation of really swell, inclusivity-minded people. You know, casual over-drinks topics…for He-Fans/She-Ravers at least.

Beyond those two bits of excitement, there’s really not too much else to tell. This week’s kind of flown by (and, honestly, I wish it would slow down)! I’m housesitting for K&M at the moment, and keeping their delightful dog Bowmar company. I’m loving every second of the peace and quiet here. I hadn't realize how stressed out I’d become living in the other house until I came here, but I suddenly find myself very relaxed.

Of course, part of the stress I’m feeling might have more to do with midterms than the constant thumpa-thumpa at my flat. Basically, our entire grade comes down to two grades: our final (60%) and our midterm (40%). Oh, and they do not award 100% over here, the rationale being that if your work warrants 100% then you should already be a teacher. Realistically, the highest score most students earn is about 75%. So, basically, my midterms have to be spot-on if I want to try to maintain my 4.0!

Fortunately, midterm madness is almost over. One of them (‘Realism, Fantasy & Utopia’) was due last week, and the other two are due this week—followed by two glorious weeks of Easter Break (yes, it's called Easter Break here), during which time I hope to visit Scotland!!!! 

And then we go straight into working on our finals, because there's only like 5 weeks left of the actual semester following Easter Break.

Two final things I want to mention, but which don’t really fit anywhere else:

First, yesterday was a gorgeous day! Mind you, this is still London, so of course there was a curtain of smog blanketing the skyline—I have yet to see a day that is both sunny and clear—but I’ll take what I can get! It was simply too nice restrict myself to the indoors all day, so after class I ran to K&M’s house, spent some time with Bowmar, grabbed the laptop, and headed to a coffee shop in Soho. The place was called LJ’s CoffeeHouse, and my choice to go there was pretty random: I simply wanted somewhere that was open-air and had free wifi, and this is where Google directed me. After visiting their website, however, I also became smitten with LJ’s through the following ‘prayer’ posted on their site (and which I can totes relate to):

Caffeine is my shepherd; I shall not doze.
It maketh me to wake in green pastures:
It leadeth me beyond the sleeping masses.
It restoreth my buzz:
It leadeth me in the path of conciousness for its name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of addiction,
I will fear no equal.
For thou art with me, thy sweetness and thy crema they comfort me.
Thou preparest a carafe before me in the presence of my barista:
Thou anointest my day with pep; my mug runneth over.
Surely richness and taste shall follow me all the days of my life:
And I will dwell in the house of LJ's forever.

The service was only decent (though very friendly), but the coffee and the atmosphere as a whole were excellent. The gay Sohoians seemed to come alive, renewed by the sun’s warmth. People were so happy and pleasant, and it all jived perfectly with the mood I was in. (It was not, however, conducive to working—I spent 90% of my time there just chatting with Nic over the interwebs.)

Secondly—and containing spoilers (consider yourself warned)—I was saddened to learn on Thursday night that ‘Eastenders’ had killed off one of my favorite characters, George-Michael-obsessive Heather Trott (Cheryl Fergison). Alongside the Dot, Kim, and Shirley characters, Heather was one of my favorites. And the way in which she died—and the status of her relationships with best-friend Shirley and her murderer at the time—is just too sad. And sadly, it seems as if the U.K. soaps don’t bring back characters from the dead in the way the U.S. soaps do. Ah, well—I’ll miss you, Heather, but at least I can find some of your shenanigans on YouTube still: 

  

Until next time…

Paris: The Louvre

The last entry devoted to my time in Paris ended with my stroll through the statue-filled Jardin des Tuileries. As I pointed out, at the eastern end of the garden stands there stands another arch—the Arc de Triomphedu Carrousel—which marks the entrance to the world-famous Musée du Louvre. That was my next stop on 19 February.

NB: This is still part of the terrible, awful, no-good, very-bad hair day!

Now, my friend RC recommended that I skip the Louvre in favor of the Musée d’Orsay. In the end, I wound up not doing this for two reasons:

First, as I noted in the other post, the line for the Musée d’Orsay was ridiculous, and while there are certainly some paintings there that I would have loved to see—e.g., ‘Whistler’s Mother’—I just wasn’t willing to spend such a considerable chunk of my vacation time standing in line. 

Second, I cannot fully escape the cultural inculcation I’ve received over my lifetime, meaning that I wasn’t going to pass-up the opportunity to see one of the world’s most renowned museums and the art it holds. 

Sorry RC—this was just one of those times where I had to pass on your much-appreciated and highly-regarded advice!

Whereas the line at the Musée d’Orsay was enormous and unmoving, the one at the Louvre was, shockingly, almost nonexistent. It only took about five minutes for me to move from the back of the line, through the security checkpoint (under I.M. Pei’s spectacular glass Pyramide du Louvre), and down to the ticket-lobby. 

After about another five minutes (of waiting for a ticket machine), I had my entry pass.

Now, before I go too much further, I have to say one thing: those websites that list the Louvre as one of the biggest museums in the world…Are. Not. Lying! We’re talking four huge, sprawling levels arranged in the shape of something like the letter ‘A’ laying on its side.

Map--notice the 'No Photography' and other icons in the lower-right.

 I cannot even begin to tell you how many times I got lost—and not just ‘Oh, I’m in room 2.61 instead of 2.62’ lost. No, I’m talking about lost as in ‘I’m on a completely different floor and on the opposite side of the building than I thought.’ 

But I wouldn’t trade a moment of that being lost—everywhere I turned was something else incredible. And there was so much that I didn’t see, simply because I was beyond overwhelmed and because I could never find it (e.g., Michelangelo's Captive).

But let’s talk about what I did see…

Standing on 0 (the ground floor), beneath the sparkling pyramid, I had the choice of three directions to start from: Richelieu, Sully, or Denon. I opted for Sully, simply because it was the direction I was facing at the moment, but from there I wound up moving over to Denon because I started seeing signage that the Mona Lisa was in that direction. (After all, if for some reason I wound up not seeing anything else the Louvre had to offer, I had to ensure that I at least saw that famous work!)

As I made my way toward Leonardo’s enigmatic painting, I came upon a massive marble staircase (the Daru staircase)…and there, at the top of said-staircase, was the Winged Victory of Samothrace! 

NB: This is not my photo, but perfectly shows the perspective I was describing above!

This sculpture, which Julian Bell cites as having been sculpted circa 190 BC, is one of those artistic works that I’ve wanted to see since I was a child—no doubt owing to some Carmen Sandiego-related incarnation I'm sure. 

And then, to come across it so unexpectedly, towering over me in such an epic manner… My goodness, it was a breathtaking experience! 

Equally amazing was the fact that one can just reach out and touch it! (I’m sure the Louvre—and future generations—would prefer that you didn’t, of course).

Now, as a quick aside, you may think to yourself after seeing my photos, ‘Why didn’t he take more pictures? He was at the friggin’ Louvre!’ 

Well, the answer is that there were many areas where the taking of photos was prohibited. This did not, of course, stop anyone (including moi)—but I really did want to try to respect the rules, and so I at least limited my picture taking.

Moving on…

From Victory, I moved into the wing devoted to paintings. I knew I was getting closer to the Mona Lisa, and so I walked a little faster…

And then, suddenly, there she was, in the center of a partial wall, erected in the middle of rooms 1.6 and 1.7!

The 'real' Mona Lisa--behind bullet-proof Plexiglass!

I kind of felt sorry for all of the other artwork in the room, because it might as well have been invisible. 

At any rate, DaVinci’s masterpiece is safely secured behind a thick sheet of bullet-proof, light-disrupting Plexiglas-looking material (meaning that you can finally take photos of it!) and, as other observers have noted, is much smaller than you would think.

After snapping a couple of pictures, I just stood there for about 10 minutes…just looking at it, and trying to absorb every moment. 

Of course, I found the experience slightly problematic thanks to a reading I’d just done for my ‘Realism, Fantasy & Utopia’ class en route to Paris. The essay, John Berger’s ‘Ways of Seeing’—which was based on the work of Walter Benjamin—said two things that really FUBAR’ed my ability to just embrace what I was seeing: 

1.) ‘When the camera reproduces a painting, it destroys the uniqueness of its image. As a result its meaning changes. Or, more exactly, its meaning multiplies and fragments into many meanings’ (12). In essence, what Berger means by this is that—through the process of reproduction—in today’s culture when one observes the ‘original,’ rather than focusing on the meanings that they could decode in that moment, they are instead reminded of the moment—and its attendant implications and meanings—when they first saw a reproduction of the image (which likely happened before seeing the ‘original,’ just as I saw countless reproductions of the Mona Lisa before finally seeing the ‘real’ thing last week).

2.) Furthermore, rather than simply seeing the art for whatever it is, the act of reproducing artwork (sub)consciously forces you into thinking of it in terms of a binary (i.e., this is the original, not the reproduction). As a result, the concept of rarity is affixed to the original, which in turn drives up the market value of the piece. ‘But because it is nevertheless “a work of art”—and art is thought to be greater than commerce—its market price is said to be a reflection of its spiritual value. Yet the spiritual value of an object…can only be explained in terms of magic or religion. And since in modern society neither of these is a living force, the art object…is enveloped in an atmosphere of entirely bogus religiosity’ (14).

MEANING IT’S ALL BULLOCKS AND WHY DID I PAY €10 TO GET IN HERE TO SEE SOMETHING WHOSE MEANING IS FALSELY AUTHENTIC AND WHOSE MEANING I CANNOT TRULY COMPREHEND BECAUSE SOMEWHERE ALONG THE LINE I SAW A REPRODUCTION FIRST?!

Yes, this messed me up.

But, at least I can say I saw the ‘real’ thing—and here’s another reproduction of it that I made to prove as much:

Why, oh why, didn't I hop into the bathroom and fix my hair? For goodness' sake! BAD QUEER!

I had to do a bit of color-enhancement owing to the Plexiglass, but I did take this image.

From the Mona Lisa we move to another object d’art that I’d wanted to see for as long as I can remember: the Venus de Milo!

Perhaps it was just the remnants of my earlier pontification on art that was influencing me—or maybe, by the point I reached this icon of the Roman Love Goddess, I had just reached the point where I had been exposed to too much beauty in one sitting—but, despite loving my time in front of the sculpture, I wasn’t as moved as I’d expected to be.

And now I've got a face like a moon... *SMDH*

Still, it really was amazing to finally see the Venus de Milo!

Now, I’ve touched on the ‘big three’ that I—like so many other tourists—wanted to see while I was at the Louvre. But, by no means does that mean that this was all I looked at, or all that I enjoyed. In particular, I was moved by the Renaissance-era paintings in the room flanking the Mona Lisa—like, really moved. As in: I got a little misty-eyed. 

I think the two paintings which I was most moved by in this area were Reni’s ‘David vainqueur de Goliath’ (c.1604) and Campi’s ‘Les Mysteres de la Passion du Christ’ (c.1569). And with both of these amazing paintings, it’s the usage of colors that really got to me.

Regarding the former, David’s skin-tone was this amazing, almost translucent bluish-white. (And, yes, I acknowledge that as a person from Jerusalem he should not have been white, but it’s not like I can go back in time and ‘fix’ Reni’s color palette or racist tendencies—work with me here!) The severed head is a bit unnecessary—though Biblically accurate—but that's counteracted to an extent by the amazingly textured fur sash that David is wearing! Ugh, I wish I had a photo that did more justice to this beautiful piece!

Concerning Campi’s painting, for me it’s all about the ‘window’ into Heaven seen in the upper-right. Again, the photo does this masterpiece zero justice—the vivid, almost dazzling gold used therein is beyond description. Likewise the various shades of pink interspersed throughout are jaw-dropping!

There’s so much more to say about my experience at the Louvre—almost too much, and so I won’t risk cheapening the adventure by failing to eloquently express it all. 

What I will say by way of conclusion, however, is that the time I spent there was one of two side-trips (the other being Montmartre) that absolutely made the entire Paris trip into the amazing experience that it was—I will never forget my time spent within this grand ol’ palace!

I'm On the (Knife's) Edge of Glory!

I’ve been delaying writing this one, ’cause I wasn’t sure how much detail I wanted to go into. But, Nic has effectively blackmailed me into telling all, so here goes…

Well, not quite yet…

First, let me just say that nothing’s wrong, so there’s no need to worry. However, I have a certain…saintly image of myself that I want my wonderful parents to maintain. So, before I delve into the details of Monday night’s tale of drunken debauchery, I will ask that—if either of them are reading this—they just move their mouse over to the little colored ‘X’ in the upper-corner and click on it.

I’ll wait…

Still waiting…

This means you, Dad—bye!

Okay, I think the coast is clear now. 

Now, the rest of you have to swear to secrecy that you won't going runnin’ at the mouth with what you read here—there's no reason for them to become worried unnecessarily!

Let’s begin, shall we?

So, last week I was chatting with TvH—one of my peers in the Realism, Fantasy, and Utopia module—about my experience so far as an international student at UEL. You see, TvH is also an international student, although he’s actually studying at UEL for the full three years, and is half-way through his second year. 

Anyway, the topic of the conversation eventually turned to gay things, as it tends to do when two gay men are chatting. I was saying that I had been disappointed by UEL’s GLBT(-but no Q) group—like I said in an earlier post, I had hoped to find a ready-made circle of friends but, alas, such was not the case—and then I mentioned that I was too chicken to check out London’s gaybourhood by myself. Flash-forward a few days, and TvH was kind enough to invite me to go out with him, his partner, and a friend or two on Monday night.

So, off I went for my first adventure within that mysterious realm that is London’s chiseled, apple-tinied gay underworld…

As I learned upon arriving—by bus, of all nonfabulous things—at Tottenham Court Road, the rather nasty weather, coupled with the fact that it was a Monday night, had caused the rest of the group to bail at the last minute. 

Nonetheless undeterred, TvH and I set off for the first bar:

The Friendly Society is a tucked-away bar near the corner of Wardour Street and Old Compton Street. To enter, you have to descend a somewhat dark, quiet stairwell—seriously, you can’t see any of the lights from the club, nor can you really hear the music (contrary to what the older photo below shows). 

But once you’re within the bar proper, it’s like you’ve stepped into a strange, undersea kingdom…

The Entrance [NB: This photo is not mine!]

The Bar [NB: This photo is not mine!]

You can't tell from most of the photos above, but, most of the lighting is a pale blue, like the kind seen in the Faerie Tale Theatre version of ‘The LittleMermaid’—seriously, I kept waiting for Brian Dennehy or Helen Mirren to pop-out…or at the very least, Shelley Duvall! Adding to the ambiance are round, old-fashioned goldfish bowls (complete with fish), a room filled with tiny disco-balls hanging from the ceiling, and dozens of Barbie and Troll Dolls that give the appearance of ‘swimming’ across the ceiling courtesy of screws through their guts.

Notice the dolls on the ceiling [NB: This photo is not mine!]

More Swimmers [NB: This photo is not mine!]

Oh, and have I mentioned the projector? Into one of the alcoves behind the bench-lined white walls, a projector beamed the (in)famous shark-attack scene from the 1966 ‘Batman’ movie—the one with Adam West and the entire rogue’s gallery (minus either of the legitimate Catwomen)—over and onto patrons’ heads. 

The Movie Screen [NB: This photo is not mine!]

As for the music, a solitary speaker was pumping out the sounds of the Eurythmics in one of the siderooms.

It was in this delightfully kitschy environment that I had the first of many, many drinks over the course of the night... And the second. (Red wines, both.)

Wanting to pace myself, I suggested we check out one of the other nearby locations.

Moments later, we were at Village, which is somewhat reminiscent of Spin.

Now, regrettably, this is where the memory starts to get a bit hazy…

You see, no one in London seems to have heard of my usual, safe drink of choice (Fuzzy Navels), and I didn’t want more anymore wine because it would have had me asleep within moments. So, somewhat reluctantly I switched to my other standby: cranberry-vodka. 

Five of 'em…

That I can recall.

And then I remember TvH and I chatting for (what felt like) 20 minutes with this woman who kept going on-and-on about her hair, and how she hadn’t cut it (‘except the fringe’) in about 15 years… But, I kept giggling because I thought she looked like the late Wendy Richard.

I swear, the woman looked just like this!

Eventually, TvH said he needed a smoke, so we were finally able to escape the chatty Miss Brahms look-alike—and her drunken GBF, who kept asking me to hold his drink and then disappearing, only to re-appear later with a brand new drink…

Then it was back to the bar (or possibly a third one—I have a ‘mystery wristband’ from another bar called Shadow Lounge that may or may not be owned by the same folks who own Village, and that I don't remember getting) for a shot or two of tequila.

Okay, so let me clarify something here and now: none of this talk of drunkenness is meant to sound like bragging. I mean, I had a fun time (until the next day)—but that’s not the main reason I’m telling you all this. 

All of this is just set-up for this part of the story:

After the shots, we both decided we’d had enough and that it was time to go (our separate ways—I want to make that explicitly clear now, ’cause that’s not where this story is going!). 

We started walking toward Oxford Street, from where we could each catch our respective buses. All of the sudden, this guy appears out of nowhere and drapes his arm around TvH’s shoulder, and asks, ‘Are you guys looking for such-and-such-bar?’

Now, at first I thought that TvH knew this strange guy because, while he didn’t stop walking, he also didn’t jerk away suddenly. I realized I was wrong when TvH answered ‘No,’ and I noted the change in the tone of his voice—I think he was just in shock that this guy was touching him.

 The guy persisted for a few more seconds, and by that point we were both telling him ‘No’ and other dismissary comments. But he continued following…

That’s when TvH came to a sudden halt and said with surprise, ‘He just grabbed my wallet!’

Obviously, this comment brought me to a stop, too. 

We just stood there, staring at the guy…

Oh, and he was now holding a Swiss Army-type knife in his hand.

No lie.

No exaggeration.

We were being mugged!

TvH and I backed away, holding our hands up in a non-confrontational way, and when the mugger’s attention was back on TvH, I started mouthing at some nearby bystanders to ‘Call the cops!’

As far as I could tell at the time, they were too absorbed in the spectacle to actually, you know, help us—but, I think the guy started realizing how many witnesses were around and watching us, and so he took off, taking TvH’s wallet and passport with him.

TvH called the police immediately, and—to the credit of London’s finest—they were there within five minutes, if that long. 

Then came the embarrassing ordeal of having to give a police report and description while being both shaken-up and heavily intoxicated. I mean, seriously: imagine having to give a police report and description under such circumstances. Ridiculous!

Flash-forward to today, when I saw TvH at school and got an update: first and foremost, he ‘lucked out’ in that the mugging happened in an area where there are a few CCTV cameras around (now we just have to hope they’re working!). Also, apparently the thief was stupid enough to try and use one of his credit cards somewhere in East London, so there’s a chance that got caught on film there too.

All-in-all, that last bit was quite the experience—and not one that I ever care to repeat again. 

Now, as for the London club scene: I think next time I’ll just bring the bartender a copy of the Fuzzy Navel recipe and play it safe!