Saturday morning, I trekked from Boston to Syracuse to see S.U . vs. Buffalo. With a great sigh of relief, I can say that Syracuse won.
And I will say this. In a world that is constantly changing and nothing is familiar from one day to the next, it's nice to know that Sal's Birdland of Syracuse has not changed their menu, their location, or even any aspect of their interior decor since 1986 (although I think they used to have a pinball machine). (The wings/chicken dinner/Sal's Sassy Sauce are all still as good, too.) We could call, order what we have always ordered for the past 21 years, and get exactly what we have always gotten. The height of comfort food!
Monday, October 22, 2007
Touch the Puppet Head—Live!
Back in 1986, when I first heard the very first They Might be Giants album, I had no idea that a) they would still be around 20 years hence, and b) I would still like them. And yet, here it is, 2007, and They are still going strong, are getting even better, and I still like them as much, if not more, than I did two decades earlier.
So last Friday, I ventured out to Boston to see They Might Be Giants live at the Roxy with Robert and Kristin. (That is, I went to the show with Robert and Kristin, and it was not the case that Robert and Kristin were playing with the band.) I had first seen They back in 1990 at the Beacon Theater in New York, when They had first started playing with a backing band (rather than a rhythm machine). I saw them about three or four times more over the years, as They would often play concerts in Central Park or Prospect Park in Brooklyn. I had last seen They in 1998 at the House of Blues in L.A.
As always, They put on a great show. With the giant cardboard head of longtime TMBG “mascot” William Allen White (a renowned newspaper editor chosen simply because he looked like the quintessential “old guy”), they played most of the new album The Else, a fair number of songs from their previous album (2004’s The Spine) and a smattering of songs from throughout their prolific career (my iTunes lists 349 songs, which includes just about everything they have released).
Almost every album was represented (even the “kids’ album” Here Come the ABCs), except John Henry (my least favorite album of theirs) and No! (their first kids’ album, although “Four of Two” and “Where Do They Make Balloons?” are quintessential TMBG songs and would have fit perfectly in their live set).
The Johns (Linnell and Flansburgh, the core of TMBG) are personable and funny and have always been ones for various onstage antics and weird props. For years, they would have a segment where they solicited requests from the audience, which usually comprised non-TMBG songs (at the 1990 Beacon show, someone yelled out “Le Marseillaise” which yielded a lot of accordion playing and gibbering in something that sounded like French).
This time, they took the audience request segment to a new dimension (literally) and featured “Phone Calls from the Dead” where they channeled the ghost of Ernie Boch, (who was apparently the P.T. Barnum of the automotive world and something of a local celebrity in the Boston area) who requested Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way.” Ernie Boch returned later in the show during a segment called “Ernie Boch vs. Skeleton Arm" that somehow segued into “Particle Man.”
The intro to the song “Drink!” also asked the audience of “interventioneers” to respond to the word “drink” when sung by yelling “No, stop!”. Since we were staked out at the bar, we were a fine bunch to advocate temperance.
Anyway, the complete set list was as follows:
and half of "Dr. Worm":
So last Friday, I ventured out to Boston to see They Might Be Giants live at the Roxy with Robert and Kristin. (That is, I went to the show with Robert and Kristin, and it was not the case that Robert and Kristin were playing with the band.) I had first seen They back in 1990 at the Beacon Theater in New York, when They had first started playing with a backing band (rather than a rhythm machine). I saw them about three or four times more over the years, as They would often play concerts in Central Park or Prospect Park in Brooklyn. I had last seen They in 1998 at the House of Blues in L.A.
As always, They put on a great show. With the giant cardboard head of longtime TMBG “mascot” William Allen White (a renowned newspaper editor chosen simply because he looked like the quintessential “old guy”), they played most of the new album The Else, a fair number of songs from their previous album (2004’s The Spine) and a smattering of songs from throughout their prolific career (my iTunes lists 349 songs, which includes just about everything they have released).
Almost every album was represented (even the “kids’ album” Here Come the ABCs), except John Henry (my least favorite album of theirs) and No! (their first kids’ album, although “Four of Two” and “Where Do They Make Balloons?” are quintessential TMBG songs and would have fit perfectly in their live set).
The Johns (Linnell and Flansburgh, the core of TMBG) are personable and funny and have always been ones for various onstage antics and weird props. For years, they would have a segment where they solicited requests from the audience, which usually comprised non-TMBG songs (at the 1990 Beacon show, someone yelled out “Le Marseillaise” which yielded a lot of accordion playing and gibbering in something that sounded like French).
This time, they took the audience request segment to a new dimension (literally) and featured “Phone Calls from the Dead” where they channeled the ghost of Ernie Boch, (who was apparently the P.T. Barnum of the automotive world and something of a local celebrity in the Boston area) who requested Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way.” Ernie Boch returned later in the show during a segment called “Ernie Boch vs. Skeleton Arm" that somehow segued into “Particle Man.”
The intro to the song “Drink!” also asked the audience of “interventioneers” to respond to the word “drink” when sung by yelling “No, stop!”. Since we were staked out at the bar, we were a fine bunch to advocate temperance.
Anyway, the complete set list was as follows:
- "The Cap’m" (“People seem to think you can’t be called the cap’m unless you drive a boat”) —from The Else (2007)
- "Damn Good Times" (“I got a friend who’s got a record machine/She acts like David Lee Roth before he turned 21”) —from The Spine (2004)
- "The Mesopotamians" (“Sargon, Hammurabi, Asurbanipal, and Gilgameth”) —from The Else (2007)
- "Take Out the Trash" (“And once you get him out tell him not to come back again”) —from The Else (2007)
- "Don’t Let’s Start" (“No one in the world ever gets what they want and that is beautiful”) —from They Might Be Giants (1986)
- "XTC vs. Adam Ant" (“Even the singer from Bow Wow Wow can’t make up her mind”) —from the horribly underrated Factory Showroom (1996)
- "It’s Not My Birthday" (“It’s not my birthday so why do you lunge out at me?”) —from the B side of the “They’ll Need a Crane” single (1988)
- "Drink!" (“I’ll take back my pinata, it’s wasted on you”) —from Mink Car (2001)
- "Alphabet of Nations" ("Algeria, Bulgaria, Cambodia, Dominica, Egypt, France, The Gambia, Hungary, Iran, Japan, Kazakhstan, Libya and Mongolia, Norway, Oman, Pakistan, Qatar, Russia, Suriname, Turkey, Uruguay, Vietnam, West Xylophone, Yemen, Zimbabwe”) —from Here Come the ABCs (2004)
- "E Eats Everything" (“A hardly has an appetite and pokes at food too long/and B can barely bother because all the food is wrong”) —from Here Come the ABCs (2004)
- "Upside Down Frown" (“Black is white and the rainbow has a beard”) —from The Else (2007)
- "Memo to Human Resources" (“I’m searching for some disbelief that I can still suspend”) —from The Spine (2004)
- "I’m Impressed" (“I’m impressed, I’m impressed when that gorilla pounds his desk”) —from The Else (2007)
- "Mammal" (“So the warm blood flows/with the red blood cells lacking nuclei/through the large four-chambered heart/Maintaining the very high metabolism rate they have”) —from my favorite TMBG album Apollo 18 (1992)
- "Mr. Me" (“So take the hand of Mister Me and mister, make him glad/To swim the Mister Misty Sea and cease the Mister Mystery/That mister, made him sad”) —from Lincoln (1988)
- "Ant" (“One day that ant, he will grow up to be president”) —from the “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)" EP (1990) and remade with a full band and new arrangement on the “Indestructible Object” EP (2004)
- "Museum of Idiots" (“If you and I had any brains we wouldn’t be in this place”) —from The Spine (2004)
- "With the Dark" (“My mind naturally turns to taxidermy”) —from The Else (2007)
- "Withered Hope" (“Today withered hope saw the very sad sack and she tried not to catch his eye”) —from The Else (2007)
- "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)" (“If you’ve a date in Constantinople she’ll be waiting in Istanbul”) —from Flood (1990)
- "Bee of the Bird of the Moth" (“It’s just a hummingbird moth that’s acting like a bird that thinks it’s a bee”) —from The Else (2007)
- "Dr. Worm" (“I’m not a real doctor but I am a real worm”) —from Severe Tire Damage (1998)
- "Particle Man" (“When he’s underwater does he get wet/Or does the water get him instead?”) —from Flood (1990)
- Maybe I Know (unreleased)
and half of "Dr. Worm":
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
iRob
I have some questions about this:
I would also ask if there were similar increases in crime rates when, say, the Sony Walkman was introduced in the late 1970s. Or the mobile phone, for that matter. (In the early 90s, whenever Steven's parents visited him and Amy in Brooklyn and left their carphone--they were early adopters--in full view on the seat, the car was broken into and the phone stolen.)
I'm willing to concede there may be some causation in the proliferation of the iPod and an increase in crime, but I think there needs to be more rigorous investigation. Plus, I'm not sure that finding any significant connection really tells us anything we don't already know. Hmm...hot, hip, electronic consumer items are likely to be stolen. Huh. Who would have guessed?
The Urban Institute, a research organization based in Washington, has released an interesting report that suggests that the proliferation of iPods helps account for the nationwide rise in violent crime in 2005 and 2006.I admit, I have yet to read the report, but two questions immediately spring to mind. The first is, is there perhaps a demographic reason for the increase in crime? For example, declines in the crime rate in the 1990s were largely attributable to a decline in the overall number of people who were of prime crime-committing age (teens and 20s) at that time.
The report notes that nationally, violent crime fell every year from 1993 to 2004, before rising in 2005 and 2006, just as “America’s streets filled with millions of people visibly wearing, and being distracted by, expensive electronic gear.”
Of course, as any social scientist will tell you, correlation and causation are not the same thing.
The report’s authors, John Roman and Aaron Chalfin, acknowledge in the report that “rigorous empirical tests” of any theory for the two-year-old rise in violent crime “are not possible.” But they offer three tantalizing observations.
First, the recent increase in robbery has been disproportionately greater than increases in other economically motivated crimes, such as theft and burglary.
Second, the recent increase in robbery has been greatest among juvenile offenders, among whom iPods “are highly valued as a status symbol.”
Third, robberies increased in particular from 2004 to 2006, the very period when iPods entered the mass market and became ubiquitous among consumers.
I would also ask if there were similar increases in crime rates when, say, the Sony Walkman was introduced in the late 1970s. Or the mobile phone, for that matter. (In the early 90s, whenever Steven's parents visited him and Amy in Brooklyn and left their carphone--they were early adopters--in full view on the seat, the car was broken into and the phone stolen.)
I'm willing to concede there may be some causation in the proliferation of the iPod and an increase in crime, but I think there needs to be more rigorous investigation. Plus, I'm not sure that finding any significant connection really tells us anything we don't already know. Hmm...hot, hip, electronic consumer items are likely to be stolen. Huh. Who would have guessed?
Ad Nauseam
How, you may ask, could cellphone be even more annoying? How about if you had to watch a commercial before you could make a call? Here is the very definition of hell:
It's funny: Google is taking over the world by making everything free but ad-supported. What happens if everyone expects everything to be free and ad-supported? Who will then want to buy the things the ads are promoting? And then why will any advertiser want to support ad-supported technologies? Norman, coordinate!
Google Inc. has developed a prototype cell phone that could reach markets within a year, and plans to offer consumers free subscriptions by bundling advertisements with its search engine, e-mail and Web browser software applications, according to a story published Thursday in The Wall Street Journal.Look, I admit that I'm a cheap bastard, but I will gladly pay for things I like and use--and be happier for it than having to deal with annoying ads every time I want to do something.
Google is showing the prototype to cell phone manufacturers and network operators as it continues to hone the technical specifications that will allow the phone to offer a better mobile Web browsing experience than current products, the Journal said.
...
The move would echo another recent product launched by a phone industry outsider, Apple Inc.'s iPhone. But Google's product would draw its revenue from a sharply different source, relying on commercial advertising dollars instead of the sticker price of at least $499 for an iPhone and $60 per month for the AT&T Inc. service plan.
Negotiating the fairest way to split those advertising revenues with service providers could be a big hurdle for Google, one analyst said. Another problem is the potential that consumers could be scared off by the prospect of listening to advertisements before being able to make phone calls, said Jeff Kagan, a wireless and telecommunications industry analyst in Atlanta.
It's funny: Google is taking over the world by making everything free but ad-supported. What happens if everyone expects everything to be free and ad-supported? Who will then want to buy the things the ads are promoting? And then why will any advertiser want to support ad-supported technologies? Norman, coordinate!
Computer Bugs
Uh oh--another reason to fear our computers! Says PC World:
A computer keyboard can be a dirty thing, often filled with crumbs that help make it a reservoir for disease-causing germs. Ironically, keyboards have been identified as vehicles for spreading diseases inside hospitals, in particular.I'm sure this is true, but, you know, before I turn into Howard Hughes 2000, I think I'd like to see a single study that provides evidence of someone getting even remotely ill from a keyboard. After all, I commuted to work on the NYC subway for more than seven years, and I find it hard to believe that any given keyboard could be filthier and more disease-ridden than any surface in the subway. And let's not even get into the whole "doorknob" issue.
But now, there seems to be increasing interest among IT vendors in doing something about the plague of dirty keyboards.
For instance, Aten Technology Inc. in Irvine, Calif., this month said it has begun applying antimicrobial nanocoating to its KVM switch devices, which are commonly used by multiple IT workers in data centers. The KVM switches --- the acronym stands for keyboard, video and mouse --- lets users control various systems from a single unit.
Walkies!
Thanks to everyone who sponsored me in last Sunday's AIDS Walk in Albany. Because I raised
more than a certain amount, I got a free T shirt and sweatshirt. Sweet! More importantly, though, local organizations that provide help and counsel to those living with HIV and AIDS
got that much more to continue their important work.
I am told this was the 13th annual Albany AIDS Walk and boasted the highest participation yet. And the weather could hardly have been better.
Odd though: I was having severe beverage problems that day. They were selling water at the event, but when I tried to buy a bottle (I was thirsty!) I was chastised and told that it was for after the walk. So then I walked over to the Dunkin Donuts at Lark and Madison to perhaps get some coffee. I stood at the counter for a few minutes whilst the clerk tidied up the crullers; another clerk ambled over, asked if I was being helped, I said "No, not yet," she said "OK," and then both clerks disappeared into the back, never to be seen again. Well. Water water everywhere, nor any drop to drink!
more than a certain amount, I got a free T shirt and sweatshirt. Sweet! More importantly, though, local organizations that provide help and counsel to those living with HIV and AIDS
got that much more to continue their important work.
I am told this was the 13th annual Albany AIDS Walk and boasted the highest participation yet. And the weather could hardly have been better.
Odd though: I was having severe beverage problems that day. They were selling water at the event, but when I tried to buy a bottle (I was thirsty!) I was chastised and told that it was for after the walk. So then I walked over to the Dunkin Donuts at Lark and Madison to perhaps get some coffee. I stood at the counter for a few minutes whilst the clerk tidied up the crullers; another clerk ambled over, asked if I was being helped, I said "No, not yet," she said "OK," and then both clerks disappeared into the back, never to be seen again. Well. Water water everywhere, nor any drop to drink!
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
PowerPoint of No Return
As a public service, I present this handy guide to navigating Microsoft PowerPoint's UCU (Utter Contempt for the User) interface. Here are some common commands and what they do:
Paste--When used with copied or cut text, changes all fonts, point sizes, and text colors to those that the user has never used anywhere ever. When used on copied or cut graphics, randomly changes the size and position to only the most undesirable.
Paste Special--The PowerPoint equivalent of a slot machine. Randomly changes text characteristics to ones that have never been specified by anyone anywhere ever. Las Vegas oddsmakers have put the odds that the pasted text style will in some way resemble that which the user specified to be 5 quadrillion to 1 against.
View Master--Lets you format all the slide title and bullet styles, background images, etc., that will be ignored when creating slides.
Save As--Lets you save your presentation in any of a variety of file formats that will be unreadable by any other program.
Format > Font--Lets you spend a great deal of time selecting all the type specifications that will then be ignored.
Format > Bullets and Numbering--Applies bullets or numbers to slide text in a manner that in no way reflects user intention.
Tools > AutoCorrect Options--Turns ordinal numbers to superscripts, URLs to hot links, and other thoroughly undesirable text "corrections." Turning this feature off requires the sacrificing of a goat at the exact moment of the vernal equinox.
Insert > Text Box--Creates a frame in which text can be typed, and then placed only at random, unwanted locations on a slide.
View Show--An easy way of seeing all the things in your presentation that you will need to fix.
Help--Contains an online link to the American Psychiatric Association Web site.
Paste--When used with copied or cut text, changes all fonts, point sizes, and text colors to those that the user has never used anywhere ever. When used on copied or cut graphics, randomly changes the size and position to only the most undesirable.
Paste Special--The PowerPoint equivalent of a slot machine. Randomly changes text characteristics to ones that have never been specified by anyone anywhere ever. Las Vegas oddsmakers have put the odds that the pasted text style will in some way resemble that which the user specified to be 5 quadrillion to 1 against.
View Master--Lets you format all the slide title and bullet styles, background images, etc., that will be ignored when creating slides.
Save As--Lets you save your presentation in any of a variety of file formats that will be unreadable by any other program.
Format > Font--Lets you spend a great deal of time selecting all the type specifications that will then be ignored.
Format > Bullets and Numbering--Applies bullets or numbers to slide text in a manner that in no way reflects user intention.
Tools > AutoCorrect Options--Turns ordinal numbers to superscripts, URLs to hot links, and other thoroughly undesirable text "corrections." Turning this feature off requires the sacrificing of a goat at the exact moment of the vernal equinox.
Insert > Text Box--Creates a frame in which text can be typed, and then placed only at random, unwanted locations on a slide.
View Show--An easy way of seeing all the things in your presentation that you will need to fix.
Help--Contains an online link to the American Psychiatric Association Web site.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Mime Type Not Found
Marcel Marceau has quietly passed away.
Trivia buffs and fans of ironic humor take note: in Mel Brooks' Silent Movie, the only actor that speaks is...Marcel Marceau.
Marcel Marceau, who revived the art of mime and brought poetry to silence, has died, his former assistant said Sunday. He was 84.I could make a very tasteless joke about an invisible box, but I don't think I will.
Trivia buffs and fans of ironic humor take note: in Mel Brooks' Silent Movie, the only actor that speaks is...Marcel Marceau.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Ugh?
Well, check that last post. Today's news brought word of quite the upset indeed:
I should also add that since this is only Andrew Robinson's fourth game ever, phrases like "career-high" are a bit meaningless.
SU Beats No. 18 LouisvilleI guess I was a bit too quick to write them off!
Andrew Robinson threw for a career-high 423 yards and four touchdowns as Syracuse stunned No. 18 Louisville 38-35 on Saturday.
Taj Smith caught four passes for 173 yards and two touchdowns for the Orange as Syracuse ended Louisville's 20-game home winning streak by dominating the listless Cardinals.
I should also add that since this is only Andrew Robinson's fourth game ever, phrases like "career-high" are a bit meaningless.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Ugh
Now I really need to go to grad school, just to find a new college football team to support. We went out to Syracuse last weekend for a game. Never again:
Despite the "official" attendance (32,000+) there was no way even half that number in the Dome. Local hotels and businesses that depend on sports fans coming out to games are starting to hurt; we went to Chuck's (the near-campus bar that was a hangout back in the day--their cheddar fries are just as good as they ever were) and it was pretty dead. Usually the place is packed on game day.
I heard also that the scalpers are having a bad season, too, although I am decidedly less sympathetic.
Oh, well...college basketball season is coming...
The University of Illinois cranked up more heat on embattled Syracuse coach Greg Robinson, his staff and his team by rushing for 378 yards in a 41-20 rout of the Orange before 34,188 at the Carrier Dome on Saturday.SU is now 0-3. It is entirely possible that they could not have a win all season; Illinois is probably the "worst" team they'll play all season. We were going to go to the Rutgers game...I doubt we could bear the humilation of that.
Despite the "official" attendance (32,000+) there was no way even half that number in the Dome. Local hotels and businesses that depend on sports fans coming out to games are starting to hurt; we went to Chuck's (the near-campus bar that was a hangout back in the day--their cheddar fries are just as good as they ever were) and it was pretty dead. Usually the place is packed on game day.
I heard also that the scalpers are having a bad season, too, although I am decidedly less sympathetic.
Oh, well...college basketball season is coming...
Water, Water Everywhere
A couple weekends ago, I drove down to Corning, as Ken and I were planning to head south and tour a Civil War battlefield. Alas, I had to go to Chicago the following Monday for Graph Expo (curse this vile "working" nonsense!) so we only had time to do something closer to home. So what did we decide? Niagara Falls, which I have vague recollections of having visited when I was a kid.
The drawback to this being a spur-of-the-moment trip is that we made hotel reservations on the Canadian side the day we left--but I had neglected to bring my passport with me. How strict would they be? We stopped at the visitor's center on the American side and "Dotty" was, true to her name, fairly clueless (odd that that question had never come up before). We checked with the hotel, and they said that a passport wasn't necessary, and, in fact, we picked up one of those guidebooks which explicitly stated that a passport was not necessary--my question, of course, was, "Is this a legally-binding instrument?"
As it turned out, the guy at Customs gave me grief and an attempted guilt trip, but it was essentially no problem. Odd thing about the Canadian side--Ken christened it "Nutsville" as it was more reminiscent of the Vegas strip, with casinos, Ripley's Believe It Or Not, The Guinness Book of World records Museum, lots of flashing lights and loud noises and generally psychotic behavior. The American side was a beacon of quiet dignity in comparison.
After a weekend there, we pretty much had enough of falling water. We did the Maid of the Mist (hmm...that sounds odd), the Cave of the Winds, and the Journey Behind the Falls. We stood on the American side, we stood on the Canadian side, and we pretty much saw the Falls from every conceiveable angle. I think it's safe to say, I don't need to see Niagara Falls again for a very long time.
Getting back into the U.S. was a lot easier than getting into Canada (oddly), and I suppose it's fortunate that I decided against trying to use the souvenir Maid of the Mist photo as a photo ID (I would probably end up in Gitmo).
The drawback to this being a spur-of-the-moment trip is that we made hotel reservations on the Canadian side the day we left--but I had neglected to bring my passport with me. How strict would they be? We stopped at the visitor's center on the American side and "Dotty" was, true to her name, fairly clueless (odd that that question had never come up before). We checked with the hotel, and they said that a passport wasn't necessary, and, in fact, we picked up one of those guidebooks which explicitly stated that a passport was not necessary--my question, of course, was, "Is this a legally-binding instrument?"
As it turned out, the guy at Customs gave me grief and an attempted guilt trip, but it was essentially no problem. Odd thing about the Canadian side--Ken christened it "Nutsville" as it was more reminiscent of the Vegas strip, with casinos, Ripley's Believe It Or Not, The Guinness Book of World records Museum, lots of flashing lights and loud noises and generally psychotic behavior. The American side was a beacon of quiet dignity in comparison.
After a weekend there, we pretty much had enough of falling water. We did the Maid of the Mist (hmm...that sounds odd), the Cave of the Winds, and the Journey Behind the Falls. We stood on the American side, we stood on the Canadian side, and we pretty much saw the Falls from every conceiveable angle. I think it's safe to say, I don't need to see Niagara Falls again for a very long time.
Getting back into the U.S. was a lot easier than getting into Canada (oddly), and I suppose it's fortunate that I decided against trying to use the souvenir Maid of the Mist photo as a photo ID (I would probably end up in Gitmo).
Here Comes the Humvee
The latest video from They Might Be Giants (in Boston on October 19th!)--"The Shadow Government." Enjoy!
Monday, September 03, 2007
Anarchy in the UK: Part 8: Homeward Bound
Alas, Saturday morning I had to prepare to head back home. I can always tell the extent to which I enjoy a vacation by how much I am not looking forward to returning. And here’s the killer part: Saturday was the first beautiful, sunny day in London since I got there. Doh!
Steven drove me to Heathrow (taking another scenic route through London since there is no easy way to get from the East End to Heathrow), well in time for me to catch a 2:30 plane. Check in and security were actually much brisker than I was expecting and I thus had two hours to kill. I wandered through a few W.H. Smith’s (I had this urge to buy a Dickens novel, but they had none, strangely). I ambled over to a Harrod’s and bought some souvenirs, and still had a few pounds left. I found a pub (it was after noon), and had a couple pints of liquid courage.
The flight back was just as uneventful as the one over, although I fortunately had an aisle seat this time (although the guy in the middle seat was a member of a species that evolved into just elbows, as he was writing something in a notebook for the entire seven hours and kept jabbing me in the chest with his elbow. I did some reading, actually slept a bit, and then watched the movie Hot Fuzz (by the makers of Shaun of the Dead), which I liked a lot. I also became obsessed with the little readout that tracks where the plane is.
After circling Newark for 15 minutes (traffic was backed up, apparently), I began humming an appropriate Fountains of Wayne song:
I ultimately got to Albany about 1:30 a.m. (6:30 a.m. to me) and drove back home. I collapsed almost immediately and slept in much the next day, although I did hunker down and spend an hour or so going through the 1200 e-mail messages I had (99% spam). Despite this article from the WSJ, I have to say, I enjoyed very much the fact that I was incommunicado for a week. (My mobile didn’t work overseas—heck, it barely works here. And I didn’t feel like trying to hook up my computer to Steven’s network.)
Were there things I wish I had done in England? Of course; I didn’t make it to The Village (a five-hour train ride—one way—requiring a pricey overnight stay, really, and more advance planning than I am into these days). I did want to get down to Stonehenge (I was told it was overrated) and/or the White Cliffs of Dover. And I would loved to have walked the zebra crossing on Abbey Road (but I forgot where it was).
At any rate, a great trip, many thanks to my gracious hosts (and to Audrey for popping by to make sure my house was still standing while I was away), and I hope to get back over there sometime next year.
Steven drove me to Heathrow (taking another scenic route through London since there is no easy way to get from the East End to Heathrow), well in time for me to catch a 2:30 plane. Check in and security were actually much brisker than I was expecting and I thus had two hours to kill. I wandered through a few W.H. Smith’s (I had this urge to buy a Dickens novel, but they had none, strangely). I ambled over to a Harrod’s and bought some souvenirs, and still had a few pounds left. I found a pub (it was after noon), and had a couple pints of liquid courage.
The flight back was just as uneventful as the one over, although I fortunately had an aisle seat this time (although the guy in the middle seat was a member of a species that evolved into just elbows, as he was writing something in a notebook for the entire seven hours and kept jabbing me in the chest with his elbow. I did some reading, actually slept a bit, and then watched the movie Hot Fuzz (by the makers of Shaun of the Dead), which I liked a lot. I also became obsessed with the little readout that tracks where the plane is.
After circling Newark for 15 minutes (traffic was backed up, apparently), I began humming an appropriate Fountains of Wayne song:
Seatbacks and traytables upWe landed at about 6:00 p.m., and immigration and customs were actually quite brisk. It was the baggage claim that took rather a long time. Another Fountains of Wayne song came to mind:
Stow your newspapers and cups
We’re about to touch down
Midwestern town through the haze
Customs a massive expanse
And I’m digging into my pants
Is this Oklahoma
I remember this place
Trade one town for another
Delayed, now why did we bother
An X on the calendar square
New city, same stuff
Seatbacks and traytables up
Seatbacks and traytables up
Michael and Heather at the baggage claimI caught the ironically named AirTrain, a monorail that goes from the terminal to the New Jersey Transit station. I had just missed a Penn Station-bound train, and, it being Saturday night, it was quite a long wait until the next one. And, man, was it hot and humid—I was used to cool British weather. I had tickets for a 9:45 train back to Albany, but had hoped to make the 7:45 one. Nothing doing, alas. Arriving at Penn Station, I decided to have dinner at Houlihan’s (I had time) and finally the train was ready for boarding. And was I tired (still on British time, it was basically 2 a.m. as far as I was concerned). I really just wanted to go home but, Amtrak being Amtrak, we sat in the station for 45 minutes while, as the announcement put it, the conductor was upstairs “filling out some paperwork.” Oy. I had been pretty mellow throughout my travels, but I was getting decidedly cranky at this stage.
Tired of playing the waiting game
Every bag has got a different name
Michael and Heather may never get home again
Michael and Heather at the lost and found
Looking for luggage that's soft and brown
“Sir, I’m so sorry, it's just not around”
Michael and Heather are glad to be on the ground
...
I ultimately got to Albany about 1:30 a.m. (6:30 a.m. to me) and drove back home. I collapsed almost immediately and slept in much the next day, although I did hunker down and spend an hour or so going through the 1200 e-mail messages I had (99% spam). Despite this article from the WSJ, I have to say, I enjoyed very much the fact that I was incommunicado for a week. (My mobile didn’t work overseas—heck, it barely works here. And I didn’t feel like trying to hook up my computer to Steven’s network.)
Were there things I wish I had done in England? Of course; I didn’t make it to The Village (a five-hour train ride—one way—requiring a pricey overnight stay, really, and more advance planning than I am into these days). I did want to get down to Stonehenge (I was told it was overrated) and/or the White Cliffs of Dover. And I would loved to have walked the zebra crossing on Abbey Road (but I forgot where it was).
At any rate, a great trip, many thanks to my gracious hosts (and to Audrey for popping by to make sure my house was still standing while I was away), and I hope to get back over there sometime next year.
Anarchy in the UK: Part 7: Tower of Power
Towers of LondonAmy had Friday off, so this was her turn to take me around. First off, a trip to a caf for a fry-up, or a traditional English breakfast. We walked the mile or so to Bethnal Green (happily it was not raining), only to find that the caf that Amy had in mind was closed. Doh! So we found one that was probably just as good. And what a meal—bacon, eggs, sausage, chips, and beans (no Spam, thankfully). Over the course of the week, I was used to the very small-ish portions they serve in Britain, compared to the supersized portions they serve in American restaurants (which could explain why the British are a comparatively svelte people, from what I have noticed). But this fry-up was immense; I’m glad we had walked there.
When they had built you
Did you watch over the men who fell?
Towers of London
when they had built you
Victoria's gem found in somebody’s hell
After breakfast, our next stop was the Tower of London, one of the things I had been looking forward to all week.
Amy loves the Tower and was a font of information—she admitted that the official guided tours tended to propagate myths and untruths (so says she).Oh, but first, she had to send a text message to her cleaning woman.
While we’re waiting, some more of XTC’s “Towers of London”:Pavements of gold leading to the undergroundOK, so we bought tickets (£15—yikes; talk about torture...) and entered. We walked past Traitor’s Gate—the water entrance to the Tower, so-called because a number of prisoners accused of treason (such as Queen Anne Boleyn and Sir Thomas More) passed through it.
Grenadier Guardsmen walking pretty ladies around
Fog is the sweat of the never never navvies who pound
Spikes in the rails to their very own heaven
The oldest parts of the Tower date back to 1066, not long after William the Conqueror’s victory at Hastings. Even then. London was the heart of the country he had just conquered, so he immediately went there and had himself crowned at Westminster Abbey on Christmas Day 1066. He then set about building a fortress to control, as it was put at the time, “the numerous and hostile inhabitants” of the city (one of the drawbacks to being a Conqueror, I should think).The White Tower is one of the original structures. It has been worked on over the years; the turreted roofs were added in the 16th century, the window and door surrounds were added at various times in the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries. The wooden staircase was built in 1973.
The original purpose of the White Tower (the original “Tower of London”) was defensive, residential, and ceremonial. A beautifully preserved chapel (the Chapel of St. John the Evangelist) shows off the original and intact Romanesque architecture of the Normans.
The White Tower wasn’t completed until about 1090 or so, under William Rufus, son of William I and his successor as King of England. The first major expansions of the Tower were undertaken in the 12th century by Henry I (younger brother of and successor to William Rufus) and Henry II.
In the 12th century, King Richard the Lionheart enclosed the White Tower with a wall and had a moat dug around it. Odd as it may seem, the moat was not successful (though it doesn’t seem like a tough concept to grasp) until Henry III used a Dutch moat-building technique in the 13th century. (In the 19th century, the moat was filled in, for the very sensible reason that for centuries it had been, um, where the Tower’s loos--called “garderobes”--emptied.The Tower complex was more or less completed (and is the layout that survives) by Edward I in the early 14th century. Needless to say, the Tower has been noodled with endlessly ever since, particularly by the Tudors and the Victorians.
There had at one time been a royal menagerie at the Tower, but all that remain are the ravens, which have lived at the Tower for centuries (not the same ravens, of course). John Flamsteed, the Royal Astronomer (remember him?) apparently complained to Charles II about the ravens and their getting in the way of his observatory. Charles instead had the observatory moved the Greenwich. No one messes with the ravens. As story goes, Charles was apprised of an old legend that has it that if the ravens ever leave the Tower of London, the Monarchy and the entire Kingdom would fall. So the ravens stay to this day; there are eight of them, and their wings are clipped to prevent them from flying away, no one taking any chances with the legend, apparently.
We repeated variations on this legend over the course of thwe day--"when the pigeons leave the courtyard, the Monarchy will fall"; "when the tourists get out of the lavatory, the Monarchy will fall..." etc.Anyway, the Tower remained a royal residence until the time of Oliver Cromwell, who demolished the old palatial buildings. Bloody Puritans.
The most popular story about the Tower concerns the Two Princes. That is, toward the end of the Wars of the Roses (the battle between the houses of York and Lancaster for the throne of England), Edward IV (of York) recaptured the crown. Henry VI (Lancaster) briefly overthrew Edward, but in 1471, Edward was back and Henry was dispatched. The spot where Henry VI died is commemorated in the Wakefield Tower. It was said, probably incorrectly, that Henry got a dagger up the strap by the Duke of Gloucester, the future Richard III. Yeah, this is all really confusing, so let’s all thank Henry Tudor for putting an end to the whole business.Anyway, when Edward IV died in 1483, he was succeeded by 12-year-old Edward V. The Duke of Gloucester, who was Edward IV’s brother, stepped in and decided to become “Protector” and had Edward V confined in the Tower with his younger brother Richard (part of the problem is they’ve all got the same bloody names). Gloucester then declared himself King Richard III and for the details of that I recommend reading the play. As we all know, in 1485, Richard III, after pledging his kingdom for a horse, was killed at the Battle of Bosworth by Henry Tudor (not Edmund Blackadder), descendent of Edward III. Henry took the throne as Henry VII and established the Tudor dynasty.
As for the Two Princes (Edward V and Richard), no one is entirely certain what happened to them. They were last seen alive in 1483 and were murdered at some point after that. The bodies were hidden away and not found until 1674, when a 12th-century forebuilding on the White Tower was demolished and the “bones of two striplings” were uncovered. The central question is, who ordered them murdered? Richard III (Edward V laid claim to the throne)? Or Henry VII after he took power (Edward V laid claim to the throne).
In one of the exhibits, you can vote as to whether it was Richard or Henry that did them in; my vote was for Richard (even though I accidentally pushed the wrong button).
Many other people were imprisoned in the Tower over the years, and many were executed, including Anne Boleyn, who was tried for treason and went to the chopping block. One particular execution was Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury, and the daughter of George Plantagenet. As the story goes, she was tried and convicted of treason, and on the morning of May 27, 1541, she was scheduled for the block. She refused to confess to treason, but nonetheless was taken from her cell to the chopping block. There were about 150 witnesses, and by some accounts, Margaret, who was 67 years old, frail, and ill, was dragged to the block, but refused to put her head on it. The executioner’s first blow hit her shoulder rather than her neck and she was able to leap from the block and run away, pursued by the executioner. She had to be struck eleven times before she died. So much for death with dignity...
Other prisoners were kept in various rooms, and with little else to occupy them, carved graffiti on the walls, which is quite striking.
Sir Walter Raleigh was also a prisoner in the Tower, convicted of being involved in a lot against the life of King James I. Despite being held in the “Bloody Tower,” he actually had a rather nice room and it was here that he wrote his History of the World (later made into a movie by Mel Brooks).
Thomas More was also a prisoner there until his own execution.During World War II, Rudolf Hess was help prisoner in the Tower for four days, and the last prisoners of the Tower were the Kray brothers, held for a couple of days in 1952 for failing to report for national service. (That would be the least of their indisrcetions...).
But...what about torture?
Despite the Tower’s reputation, there really wasn’t much actual torturing done there, although there was a major exhibit on the topic. (Oddly, on one of the walkways is a large, person-sized plushie bear in a Beefeater outfit, whom I thus dubbed “Bloody, the Torture Bear.”) Anyway, we walked up a stairway and saw, off in the distance, lurid crimson lighting, a sure bet that something cool was there.
There were really only three basic devices used for torture at the Tower: the rack (no, not the one used in the Monty Python Spanish Inquisition sketch), the scavenger’s daughter (sort of the reverse of the rack, a compression device), and the manacles (sorry, no comfy chair). All told, less than 100 people were ever tortured at the Tower, and for the majority of them, I suspect the gift shop was more to blame (the Tower has four gift shops, all of which have different items in them, which makes it difficult to buy cheesy souvenirs you’ve seen at one shop and then can’t find at another). Oh, and the lemonade we bought, which tasted of onions—onionade?Anyway, while we wait in line at the gift shop, the but the crypt, here is the last verse of “Towers of London”:
Bridges of muscles spanning so long and high Merchants from Stepney walking pretty ladies by Rain is the tears of the never never navvies who cry For the bridge that doesn’t go In the direction of DublinSpeaking of bridges, the Tower also gives you a good view of the Tower Bridge (often mistakenly called London Bridge, which is another wholly unremarkable bridgerfurther down the Thames), which I think is very cool looking.
We spent a good four or five hours at the Tower and about 3:00 headed go the Tube to head to a pub that Amy had always wanted to go to: Blackfriars Pub, which was a very good pub indeed. Only very slightly peckish (despite all the walking, the immense breakfast was still with us), we had a couple pints and split an order of nachos, which were quite respectable.By the time we were done it was getting on to about 5:30, so we headed back to Hackney to pick up the chillun. Rather than take the bus (Bella screams when she’s on the bus), we walked back about two miles from the nursery to the house. The kiddies went almost straight to bed, and I think we all pretty much passed on in our various chairs not long after.
And, sadly, I had to fly back home the next day....
Friday, August 31, 2007
Anarchy in the UK: Part 6: Grate Expectations
Thursday did not begin well. I had felt a cold coming on all week, but waking up Thursday, my sinuses were definitely a congestion zone*. Feeling a bit ropey, I got a bit of late start, leaving the house at about 10:30. I was on my own again, and again had a vague list of items—the Aquarium, the National Gallery, the Tate, etc. It wasn’t raining when I left, which was good, as my umbrella was in several pieces. I should have bought a new one but decided, as the Irish say, to risk it for a biscuit.
Walking to the Tube, I felt a bit better, leading me to wonder if the congestion was more the result of an allergy to S&A’s cat than anything viral. I emerged from the Tube on Whitehall and sought coffee in a caf next door to the Red Lion pub. (If it’s not one liquid it’s another, innit?) As I walked out and headed over into St. James Park, the skies opened, and it began raining. Great. I knew I should have bought a brolly.
There was a caf in the park, so I sought shelter and more coffee. For the next hour, the rain kept stopping and starting. By the time I got to Buckingham Palace (for reasons that elude me), it was bucketing down. By this time, I was cold, wet, and the thick throng of tourists was making me cranky, so I turned around and headed back toward Piccadilly to look for a place to buy an umbrella, and perhaps find a place to grab something to eat and dry off.
I ended up on Charing Cross Road and ducked into a pub called the Princess of Wales. The barmaid explained in an impenetrable Scottish brogue that most of the beer was off, so I had a hard cider and ordered lunch. I had fortunately brought a guidebook (Rough Guide) Steven loaned me, which was better than mine (Lonely Planet). I spent an hour reading it and drying off, and decided that I would do better avoiding the hardcore touristy things and seeking out instead more offbeat (and potentially less crowded) sights. As I was reading about all the various London neighborhoods, I couldn’t help but have Robyn Hitchcock’s “Trams of Old London” running through my head.
This house is where Charles Dickens lived from 1837 to 1839—not a long stay, but it is the only surviving one of the several places Dickens had lived.
It houses the largest and most important collection of Dickensiana. I decided to spend the two quid for the audio tour. It was in this house that Dickens finished Pickwick Papers, his first major work and the one that launched his career as a writer. He also wrote Oliver Twist there, his first “real” novel, followed by Nicholas Nickleby. He had moved there shortly after his marriage to Catherine, and by 1839, their third child was born (jeepers, it was a busy period, wannit?) and the Dickenses began searching for larger quarters, moving to Regents Park in 1839.
Naturally, I was curious if they had anything on Edmund Wells:
I spent about an hour and a half at the Dickens House and was feeling increasingly guilty about the fact that I have actually read precious little Dickens, a fact which I vowed to do something about once I got home (and so far I have kept my vow...). After a visit to the crypt, I was off.
It was threatening rain again, so as I walked down Southampton Row, I found a cheesy souvenir store and ducked inside to pick up some cheesy souvenirs—and an umbrella! This was fortunate, since as soon as I stepped outside, the skies opened. While searching for my next item, I got a bit lost in Holborn and ended up on Chancery Lane, in the neighbourhood where all the solicitors (i.e., lawyers) are. The architecture there is all rather beautiful, and I was happy to be lost there.
Finally, I came upon what I had been looking for: an odd little place called Sir John Soane’s Museum. Soane was an architect, born in 1753, and was, um...a bit of a nut. He was a noted architect and had caught the eye of King George III (also a bit of a nut). Soane traveled the world and acquired and thus filled his house with a phenomenal amount of stuff: Greek and Roman antiquities, clocks, sculptures, an impressive collection of Hogarth paintings—everywhere you turn in the house, there is a massive amount of stuff. Impressively, he had a crypt in the basement of his house. And I don’t mean that euphemistically; it was an actual crypt, and contained the sarcophagus of Egyptian Pharaoh Seti I. I have always wanted to have a crypt in my basement, and it’s good to know I am not alone in this desire. The Soan Museum rivals the British Museum (well, not really) for the sheer breadth of the collection, even if it is all rather daft. Still, it's pretty cool. I have always been fascinated by insanity.
By the time I was done, it was about 5:00, and I was feeling rather done in, so popped into a nearby pub. Killing time to avoid the Tube at the height of rush hour, I then took a stroll through Soho. Some things you should know:
I did check out a few bookstores, then decided to head back to Hackney. While waiting at the bus stop, Steven, Amy, and the chillun showed up, so we headed home en masse. That night, we got Pakistani takeaway which was phenomenally good.
One more day...
*In London, in an attempt to control traffic, they impose a “congestion fee” if you drive into the so-called “Congestion Zone.” You pay this fee online the day you plan to travel. How does anyone know if you’ve paid it? Closed-circuit TV cameras photograph your licence tag, and optical character readers scan the tags and compare them to a database of who has paid. If you have not paid, you are invoiced. (Other traffic violations are also handled in this way.) I am led to understand that scofflaws will be caught. It is all rather Orwellian....
Walking to the Tube, I felt a bit better, leading me to wonder if the congestion was more the result of an allergy to S&A’s cat than anything viral. I emerged from the Tube on Whitehall and sought coffee in a caf next door to the Red Lion pub. (If it’s not one liquid it’s another, innit?) As I walked out and headed over into St. James Park, the skies opened, and it began raining. Great. I knew I should have bought a brolly.
There was a caf in the park, so I sought shelter and more coffee. For the next hour, the rain kept stopping and starting. By the time I got to Buckingham Palace (for reasons that elude me), it was bucketing down. By this time, I was cold, wet, and the thick throng of tourists was making me cranky, so I turned around and headed back toward Piccadilly to look for a place to buy an umbrella, and perhaps find a place to grab something to eat and dry off.
I ended up on Charing Cross Road and ducked into a pub called the Princess of Wales. The barmaid explained in an impenetrable Scottish brogue that most of the beer was off, so I had a hard cider and ordered lunch. I had fortunately brought a guidebook (Rough Guide) Steven loaned me, which was better than mine (Lonely Planet). I spent an hour reading it and drying off, and decided that I would do better avoiding the hardcore touristy things and seeking out instead more offbeat (and potentially less crowded) sights. As I was reading about all the various London neighborhoods, I couldn’t help but have Robyn Hitchcock’s “Trams of Old London” running through my head.
Trams of old LondonFed and reasonably dry, I had a plan, headed over to the Tube and went up to Russell Square. By the time I got out of the Tube, the rain had stopped. So I made my way over to 48 Doughty Street and the Charles Dickens Museum.
Taking my baby into the past, and it’s
Trams of old London blow my mind
Ludgate, Fenchurch, Highgate Hill
Rolling slowly up there still
Waterloo and Clerkenwell
Out to Aldgate East as well.
On a clear night you can see
Where the rails used to be
Oh, it seems like ancient myth
They once ran to Hammersmith
Through Electric Avenue
Brixton down in southwest too, uh-huh
Teddington and Kennington
Twickenham and Paddington
In the blitz they never closed
Though they blew up half the roads
Oh it hurts me just to see 'em
Going dead in a museum
This house is where Charles Dickens lived from 1837 to 1839—not a long stay, but it is the only surviving one of the several places Dickens had lived.
It houses the largest and most important collection of Dickensiana. I decided to spend the two quid for the audio tour. It was in this house that Dickens finished Pickwick Papers, his first major work and the one that launched his career as a writer. He also wrote Oliver Twist there, his first “real” novel, followed by Nicholas Nickleby. He had moved there shortly after his marriage to Catherine, and by 1839, their third child was born (jeepers, it was a busy period, wannit?) and the Dickenses began searching for larger quarters, moving to Regents Park in 1839.Naturally, I was curious if they had anything on Edmund Wells:
Bookshop Customer: Can you help me with "David Coperfield"?Just about all of Dickens’ novels were published in serial form; that is, in installments. His original contract was to produce a certain number of pages, and he kept overwriting—I know the feeling! Since this was before typewriters, Dickens wrote everything by hand—his original manuscripts show some crossouts and changes, but he was remarkable at generating a good first draft. And if you’ve seen the length of his books, his printers must have felt good about their job security—this was the day before automated typesetting, when all type was set letter by letter. I get the sense that someone was right about to smash Dickens over the head with a typecase.
Bookshop Proprietor: Ah, yes, Dickens.
C: No....
P: (pause) I beg your pardon?
C: No, Edmund Wells.
P: I... *think* you'll find Charles Dickens wrote "David Copperfield", sir....
C: No, no, Dickens wrote "David Copperfield" with *two* Ps. This is "David Coperfield" with *one* P by Edmund Wells.
P: "David Coperfield" with one P?
C: Yes, I should have said.
P: Yes, well in that case we don't have it.
C: (peering over counter) Funny, you've got a lot of books here....
P: (slightly perturbed) Yes, we do, but we don't have "David Coperfield" with one P by Edmund Wells.
...
C: Oh...how 'bout "Grate Expectations"?
P: Yes, well we have that....
C: That's "G-R-A-T-E Expectations," also by Edmund Wells.
P: (pause) Yes, well in that case we don't have it. We don't have anything by Edmund Wells, actually: he's not very popular.
C: Not "Knickerless Knickleby"? That's K-N-I-C-K-E-R-L-E-S-S.
P: (taciturn) No.
C: "Khristmas Karol" with a K?
P: (really quite perturbed) No....
C: Er, how about "A Sale of Two Titties"?
P: DEFINITELY NOT.
C: (moving towards door) Sorry to trouble you....
P: Not at all....
...
C: I wonder if you might have a copy of "Rarnaby Budge"?
P: No, as I say, we're right out of Edmund Wells!
C: No, not Edmund Wells - Charles Dikkens.
P: (pause - eagerly) Charles Dickens??
C: Yes.
P: (excitedly) You mean "Barnaby Rudge"!
C: No, "Rarnaby Budge" by Charles Dikkens. That's Dikkens with two Ks, the well-known Dutch author.
P: (slight pause) No, well we don't have "Rarnaby Budge" by Charles Dikkens with two Ks, the well-known Dutch author, and perhaps to save time I should add that we don't have "Karnaby Fudge" by Darles Chickens, or "Farmer of Sludge" by Marles Pickens, or even "Stickwick Stapers" by Farles Wickens with four M's and a silent Q!!!!! Why don't you try W. H. Smith's?
C: I did. They sent me here.
P: DID they.
I spent about an hour and a half at the Dickens House and was feeling increasingly guilty about the fact that I have actually read precious little Dickens, a fact which I vowed to do something about once I got home (and so far I have kept my vow...). After a visit to the crypt, I was off.
It was threatening rain again, so as I walked down Southampton Row, I found a cheesy souvenir store and ducked inside to pick up some cheesy souvenirs—and an umbrella! This was fortunate, since as soon as I stepped outside, the skies opened. While searching for my next item, I got a bit lost in Holborn and ended up on Chancery Lane, in the neighbourhood where all the solicitors (i.e., lawyers) are. The architecture there is all rather beautiful, and I was happy to be lost there.
Finally, I came upon what I had been looking for: an odd little place called Sir John Soane’s Museum. Soane was an architect, born in 1753, and was, um...a bit of a nut. He was a noted architect and had caught the eye of King George III (also a bit of a nut). Soane traveled the world and acquired and thus filled his house with a phenomenal amount of stuff: Greek and Roman antiquities, clocks, sculptures, an impressive collection of Hogarth paintings—everywhere you turn in the house, there is a massive amount of stuff. Impressively, he had a crypt in the basement of his house. And I don’t mean that euphemistically; it was an actual crypt, and contained the sarcophagus of Egyptian Pharaoh Seti I. I have always wanted to have a crypt in my basement, and it’s good to know I am not alone in this desire. The Soan Museum rivals the British Museum (well, not really) for the sheer breadth of the collection, even if it is all rather daft. Still, it's pretty cool. I have always been fascinated by insanity.
By the time I was done, it was about 5:00, and I was feeling rather done in, so popped into a nearby pub. Killing time to avoid the Tube at the height of rush hour, I then took a stroll through Soho. Some things you should know:
- I did not see a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand walking through the streets of Soho in the rain;
- I did not meet Lola in a club down in old Soho, where they drink champagne and it tastes just like Coca-Cola (c-o-l-a, cola);
- and I did not wake up in a Soho doorway, a policeman did not know my name, nor did he say “You can go sleep at home tonight if you can get up and walk away.”
I did check out a few bookstores, then decided to head back to Hackney. While waiting at the bus stop, Steven, Amy, and the chillun showed up, so we headed home en masse. That night, we got Pakistani takeaway which was phenomenally good.
One more day...
*In London, in an attempt to control traffic, they impose a “congestion fee” if you drive into the so-called “Congestion Zone.” You pay this fee online the day you plan to travel. How does anyone know if you’ve paid it? Closed-circuit TV cameras photograph your licence tag, and optical character readers scan the tags and compare them to a database of who has paid. If you have not paid, you are invoiced. (Other traffic violations are also handled in this way.) I am led to understand that scofflaws will be caught. It is all rather Orwellian....
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Anarchy in the UK: Part 5: Pigs on the Wing
Steven had to go back to work on Wednesday; for the record, he works for Lehman Brothers—first in New York, then had transferred to the London office—where he has been since getting his MBA from the University of Rhode Island some 16 years ago. Amy was also at work and the kiddies were in nursery, so I had the day to myself. I drew up a vague list of things to do, but knew that I would likely not adhere to it. So I left the house about 9:30 a.m. and happily remembered how to get the bus to the Tube. My first stop: the Natural History Museum.
I took the Tube to South Kensington and alit to street level. Now, I have to admit (and both Amy and Steven, even after eight years, will back me up on this) London is a very difficult city in which to get one’s navigational bearings. At least in New York, you can emerge from the subway, find the Empire State Building, and pretty much figure out which way is south and/or west. In London, it’s difficult to do that, even with the maps that are posted on many streetcorners. So it took some aimless wandering around Kensington before I stumbled upon Natural History Museum.
It was 10:30 a.m., a scant half-hour after the museum opened, so my hope was that the crowds would be yet to throng. How wrong I was. There was a 15-minute queue to get in, but it was worth it. Initially, I was Jonesing for some coffee, so found a cafe and snarfed some down, then went once more unto the breach. The Natural History Museum is a beautiful building inside and out.
In the center of the main lobby is a dinosaur skeleton, but the crowds kept me from getting close enough to figure out what it was (plus, I have to say, dinosaurs kind of bore me).
Like most natural history museums, this one tends to favor mammals and dinosaurs while giving marine invertebrates short shrift. Still, there was a giant squid hanging from trhe ceiling, so how bad could it be?
There were some cool mammals and, of course, a Komodo dragon:
After spending about an hour or so there (and being horribly disappointed by the gift shop), I went back out and wanted to go to the Science Museum next door, but the queue was two blocks long. Uh, no. I had neglected to bring a map, but remembered that Hyde Park was due north, so I headed towards it. The weather was starting to turn evil, and very quickly turned into a November day, which was unfortunate as it was only August. Still, I wandered through Kensington Gardens to the Albert Memorial, which overlooks the Royal Albert Hall.
How many holes does it take to fill the Albert Hall?
I then wandered through Hyde Park toward Speaker’s Corner (“I go to Speaker’s Corner, I’m thunderstruck/They got free speech, tourists, police in trucks/Two men say they’re Jesus, one of them must be wrong...”—Dire Straits). Speaker’s Corner is a “free speech zone” in the northeast corner of Hyde Park where people are allowed to speak publicly, so long as the speeches do not break the law or use bad language (in New York, all speeches would be required to use bad language). It being an increasingly hideous day weatherwise, Speaker’s Corner was fairly abandoned when I went through.
I emerged from Hyde Park at Marble Arch, and was trying to head southeast. It was about noon or noon-thirty, and I was eager to hunt down lunch and/or a pub, preferably both. I entered the subway at Marble Arch; “subways” in London do not refer to trains, but rather underground public walkways that provide the easiest ways of getting across roundabouts and circuses. Maps tell you what “exit” will get you to what corner. I was trying to get to Oxford Street and head east and thought I had the right exit, but I had an incredibly difficult time figuring out which way was east. I went a few blocks in one direction, it seemed wrong, then turned around and tried another direction, which then also seemed wrong. It was really quite frustrating!
So I changed plans and decided to follow Hyde Park south and ended up lost in Knightsbridge (“The pretty things of Knightsbridge/Lying for a Minister of Site/are a far cry from the nod and wink/Here at Traitor’s Gate...” —Elvis Costello). Knightsbridge was way too posh for me, and I was trying to find Soho which was more my speed, but, lacking a map, I only had the vaguest idea of where I was going.
I ended up in Green Park and stumbled by complete accident on Buckingham Palace. I noted it, snapped the obligatory picture, and moved on (quite frankly, the Royal Family bores me).
I saw a sign that pointed in the direction of Trafalgar Square and I knew once I got there I could find Piccadilly/Leicester Square/Soho, etc. There was a very very long walk from Buckingham Palace to anything resembling civilization (i.e., shops, restaurants, etc.). By this time, it was getting nippy, my umbrella was starting to fall apart, and my feet were starting to hurt.
I found Trafalgar Square and then ended up in Piccadilly Circus (“The Piccadilly palare was just silly slang/Between me and the boys in my gang...” —Morrissey). I kept my eyes open for someplace to eat, ended up in Leicester Square (“Bright city woman walking down Leicester Square everyday” —Jethro Tull), and found a small pub on a side street. There weren’t any tables open at first, so I stood at the bar and had a couple of pints, and finally a table opened up and I ordered a fish and chips (with mushy peas, which I quite like) and another pint. A lovely pub, and I was proud that I had finally memorized which coins were which, as squinting to make out the denominations was making me look too much like a tourist.
After lunch, I ambled back toward Trafalgar and decided to visit the National Portrait Gallery, which was interesting to trace British History back through portraits of famous personages, most of whom I had never heard of.
I spent an hour or so there, had to visit the crypt, then went back out to Trafalgar Square, where the crowds were increasing. I toyed with the idea of hitting the National Gallery, but it was about 4:00 by this point. There were a couple of things I yet wanted to see, so I headed out...and for about a half hour, no matter which road I took, I always seemed to end up back at Trafalgar Square. I have no idea how that kept happening!
I headed down Whitehall and, to keep my aching feet from getting too bad, decided to stop in at a pub every so often. For medicinal purposes, of course. I stopped at one across from the houses of Parliament called the Red Lion, had a pint and read the paper, then set out again. I walked past Big Ben just as it chimed 5:00. I will say that I find the Houses of Parliament to be a really cool building.
I knew I should probably be heading back to Hackney for dinner before too long, but there was one place I did want to go..., though I knew how to get there but didn’t know how far it was. I walked past the Houses of Parliament to the Thames Walk and walked along the river. Near Pimlico Gardens, I found a pub called the William IV and stopped in for a pint and a visit to the crypt, then set out again.
And then, about 5:45, found what I was looking for. After all, what self-respecting Pink Floyd fan could visit London without checking out the Battersea Power Station, located just south of the Thames.
I wasn’t really expecting to see a pig flying above it, but a few more pints and I just may....
Aside from being featured on a classic album cover, the Battersea station was actually the first in a series of large coal-fired electrical generating facilities set up in Britain as part of the power distribution system that was being introduced in the 1920s and 1930s. At the time, there were howls of protest about the proposed construction of the station, given the lack of aesthetic palatability of power stations. In a word, it promised to be an eyesore.
However, the London Power Company addressed this complaint by having the station designed by architect and industrial designer Sir Giles Gilbert Scott, who by the by, is also famous for having designed the iconic red telephone box, Liverpool Cathedral, and another power station, Bankside, which is now the Tate Modern art gallery. Construction began in 1929 and was finished a decade later. The original power station had a single long hall with a chimney at either end, but between 1953 and 1955, an identical second station was built alongside the original, which resulted in the current four-chimney layout. And, actually, the Battersea Power Station has since become one of London’s most famous landmarks and is generally loved—especially by fanatical Pink Floyd fans.
The station is no longer functioning—the first part of the facility was shut down in 1975, and the second part in 1983. In 1980 the station was declared a heritage site, and there have even been plans to turn it into a theme park, but that never quite happened. The property has changed ownership several times, and from what I have been able to glean, the fate of the station remains unclear—especially as the chimneys have been declared structurally unsound.
Anyway, I was actually not the only one interested in the station; as I was walking along the Thames snapping pictures of it, a couple some yards in front of me were doing the same. Perhaps we all could have joined in a chorus of “Pigs on the Wing.”
By this time, it was getting on 6:00, and I thought I remembered from an Underground map that there was a Tube station in Battersea Park, so I walked across the Chelsea Bridge to attempt to find it. No such luck, so I walked back over the river and ended up in Chelsea (“They call her Natasha when she looks like Elsie/I don’t want to go to Chelsea...” —Elvis Costello). Somehow, I ended up in Sloane Square (“Hairdresser on fire/All around Sloane Square/And you’re far too busy to see me” —Morrissey). I popped in to one last pub for a pint/foot rest/visit to the crypt, the grabbed the Tube and headed back to Hackney. As I was waiting for the bus at Bow Road, my umbrella literally fell apart (an Indian kid standing next to me was amused, as was I). Naturally, right after I alighted the bus, the skies opened, and by the time I had walked the block to Amy and Steven’s house, I was quite moist.
But it had been a good day. To be continued...
I took the Tube to South Kensington and alit to street level. Now, I have to admit (and both Amy and Steven, even after eight years, will back me up on this) London is a very difficult city in which to get one’s navigational bearings. At least in New York, you can emerge from the subway, find the Empire State Building, and pretty much figure out which way is south and/or west. In London, it’s difficult to do that, even with the maps that are posted on many streetcorners. So it took some aimless wandering around Kensington before I stumbled upon Natural History Museum.
It was 10:30 a.m., a scant half-hour after the museum opened, so my hope was that the crowds would be yet to throng. How wrong I was. There was a 15-minute queue to get in, but it was worth it. Initially, I was Jonesing for some coffee, so found a cafe and snarfed some down, then went once more unto the breach. The Natural History Museum is a beautiful building inside and out.
In the center of the main lobby is a dinosaur skeleton, but the crowds kept me from getting close enough to figure out what it was (plus, I have to say, dinosaurs kind of bore me).
Like most natural history museums, this one tends to favor mammals and dinosaurs while giving marine invertebrates short shrift. Still, there was a giant squid hanging from trhe ceiling, so how bad could it be?
There were some cool mammals and, of course, a Komodo dragon:
After spending about an hour or so there (and being horribly disappointed by the gift shop), I went back out and wanted to go to the Science Museum next door, but the queue was two blocks long. Uh, no. I had neglected to bring a map, but remembered that Hyde Park was due north, so I headed towards it. The weather was starting to turn evil, and very quickly turned into a November day, which was unfortunate as it was only August. Still, I wandered through Kensington Gardens to the Albert Memorial, which overlooks the Royal Albert Hall.How many holes does it take to fill the Albert Hall?
I then wandered through Hyde Park toward Speaker’s Corner (“I go to Speaker’s Corner, I’m thunderstruck/They got free speech, tourists, police in trucks/Two men say they’re Jesus, one of them must be wrong...”—Dire Straits). Speaker’s Corner is a “free speech zone” in the northeast corner of Hyde Park where people are allowed to speak publicly, so long as the speeches do not break the law or use bad language (in New York, all speeches would be required to use bad language). It being an increasingly hideous day weatherwise, Speaker’s Corner was fairly abandoned when I went through.I emerged from Hyde Park at Marble Arch, and was trying to head southeast. It was about noon or noon-thirty, and I was eager to hunt down lunch and/or a pub, preferably both. I entered the subway at Marble Arch; “subways” in London do not refer to trains, but rather underground public walkways that provide the easiest ways of getting across roundabouts and circuses. Maps tell you what “exit” will get you to what corner. I was trying to get to Oxford Street and head east and thought I had the right exit, but I had an incredibly difficult time figuring out which way was east. I went a few blocks in one direction, it seemed wrong, then turned around and tried another direction, which then also seemed wrong. It was really quite frustrating!
So I changed plans and decided to follow Hyde Park south and ended up lost in Knightsbridge (“The pretty things of Knightsbridge/Lying for a Minister of Site/are a far cry from the nod and wink/Here at Traitor’s Gate...” —Elvis Costello). Knightsbridge was way too posh for me, and I was trying to find Soho which was more my speed, but, lacking a map, I only had the vaguest idea of where I was going.
I ended up in Green Park and stumbled by complete accident on Buckingham Palace. I noted it, snapped the obligatory picture, and moved on (quite frankly, the Royal Family bores me).
I saw a sign that pointed in the direction of Trafalgar Square and I knew once I got there I could find Piccadilly/Leicester Square/Soho, etc. There was a very very long walk from Buckingham Palace to anything resembling civilization (i.e., shops, restaurants, etc.). By this time, it was getting nippy, my umbrella was starting to fall apart, and my feet were starting to hurt.I found Trafalgar Square and then ended up in Piccadilly Circus (“The Piccadilly palare was just silly slang/Between me and the boys in my gang...” —Morrissey). I kept my eyes open for someplace to eat, ended up in Leicester Square (“Bright city woman walking down Leicester Square everyday” —Jethro Tull), and found a small pub on a side street. There weren’t any tables open at first, so I stood at the bar and had a couple of pints, and finally a table opened up and I ordered a fish and chips (with mushy peas, which I quite like) and another pint. A lovely pub, and I was proud that I had finally memorized which coins were which, as squinting to make out the denominations was making me look too much like a tourist.
After lunch, I ambled back toward Trafalgar and decided to visit the National Portrait Gallery, which was interesting to trace British History back through portraits of famous personages, most of whom I had never heard of.
I spent an hour or so there, had to visit the crypt, then went back out to Trafalgar Square, where the crowds were increasing. I toyed with the idea of hitting the National Gallery, but it was about 4:00 by this point. There were a couple of things I yet wanted to see, so I headed out...and for about a half hour, no matter which road I took, I always seemed to end up back at Trafalgar Square. I have no idea how that kept happening!
I headed down Whitehall and, to keep my aching feet from getting too bad, decided to stop in at a pub every so often. For medicinal purposes, of course. I stopped at one across from the houses of Parliament called the Red Lion, had a pint and read the paper, then set out again. I walked past Big Ben just as it chimed 5:00. I will say that I find the Houses of Parliament to be a really cool building.
I knew I should probably be heading back to Hackney for dinner before too long, but there was one place I did want to go..., though I knew how to get there but didn’t know how far it was. I walked past the Houses of Parliament to the Thames Walk and walked along the river. Near Pimlico Gardens, I found a pub called the William IV and stopped in for a pint and a visit to the crypt, then set out again.And then, about 5:45, found what I was looking for. After all, what self-respecting Pink Floyd fan could visit London without checking out the Battersea Power Station, located just south of the Thames.
I wasn’t really expecting to see a pig flying above it, but a few more pints and I just may....Aside from being featured on a classic album cover, the Battersea station was actually the first in a series of large coal-fired electrical generating facilities set up in Britain as part of the power distribution system that was being introduced in the 1920s and 1930s. At the time, there were howls of protest about the proposed construction of the station, given the lack of aesthetic palatability of power stations. In a word, it promised to be an eyesore.
However, the London Power Company addressed this complaint by having the station designed by architect and industrial designer Sir Giles Gilbert Scott, who by the by, is also famous for having designed the iconic red telephone box, Liverpool Cathedral, and another power station, Bankside, which is now the Tate Modern art gallery. Construction began in 1929 and was finished a decade later. The original power station had a single long hall with a chimney at either end, but between 1953 and 1955, an identical second station was built alongside the original, which resulted in the current four-chimney layout. And, actually, the Battersea Power Station has since become one of London’s most famous landmarks and is generally loved—especially by fanatical Pink Floyd fans.
The station is no longer functioning—the first part of the facility was shut down in 1975, and the second part in 1983. In 1980 the station was declared a heritage site, and there have even been plans to turn it into a theme park, but that never quite happened. The property has changed ownership several times, and from what I have been able to glean, the fate of the station remains unclear—especially as the chimneys have been declared structurally unsound.
Anyway, I was actually not the only one interested in the station; as I was walking along the Thames snapping pictures of it, a couple some yards in front of me were doing the same. Perhaps we all could have joined in a chorus of “Pigs on the Wing.”
By this time, it was getting on 6:00, and I thought I remembered from an Underground map that there was a Tube station in Battersea Park, so I walked across the Chelsea Bridge to attempt to find it. No such luck, so I walked back over the river and ended up in Chelsea (“They call her Natasha when she looks like Elsie/I don’t want to go to Chelsea...” —Elvis Costello). Somehow, I ended up in Sloane Square (“Hairdresser on fire/All around Sloane Square/And you’re far too busy to see me” —Morrissey). I popped in to one last pub for a pint/foot rest/visit to the crypt, the grabbed the Tube and headed back to Hackney. As I was waiting for the bus at Bow Road, my umbrella literally fell apart (an Indian kid standing next to me was amused, as was I). Naturally, right after I alighted the bus, the skies opened, and by the time I had walked the block to Amy and Steven’s house, I was quite moist.
But it had been a good day. To be continued...
Highway to Hill*
Steven and Amy's son Godwin is rather fixated on the song "Happy Birthday." He will fashion his Stickle Bricks into an ersatz cake and then sing "Happy Birthday" to everyone in the room in turn. In my case, last week, he was a tad early...
*That is, Patty and Mildred Hill, who wrote the song "Happy Birthday." Which begs the question: it took two people to write that?
*That is, Patty and Mildred Hill, who wrote the song "Happy Birthday." Which begs the question: it took two people to write that?
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Playground in a Petri Dish
Sorry, folks, I have not had time today to write Part 5 of "Anarchy in the UK." In the mean time (as it were), enjoy the brand new (and very cool) video from Andrew Bird--"Imitosis," actually my favorite track from Armchair Apocrypha.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Anarchy in the UK: Part 4: Forever Afternoon (Tuesday?)
After walking under the Thames, we ended up in Trafalgar Square, pretty much the gathering place in London, watched over by Nelson’s Column, a monument built between 1840 and 1843 to commemorate Admiral Horatio Nelson's victory over Napoleon at the 1805 Battle of Trafalgar. It's good that the site of the victory shared its name with a square in London. Quite fortuitous, that. Anyway, the 18-foot statue of Nelson is perched atop a 151-foot granite column. Unlike Eros in Piccadilly Circus, Nelson is not nude, for which I think we can all be grateful.
Trafalgar Square is also the home to the National Gallery and, around the corner, the National Portrait Gallery. Whenever there are rallies, celebrations, or other events in London, Trafalgar Square is usually where they take place. The architecture is all rather grand, although the marble statue of pregnant English artist Alison Lapper (who actually was born without arms and with truncated legs--a congenital disorder called phocomelia) sculpted by Marc Quin is a bit out of place, at least in my opinion.
We passed quickly through Trafalgar and walked down Whitehall, past the Horse Guards Palace. This is one of the places where the immobile Palace Guards stand and are taunted and photographed by tourists. The guards are not supposed to move or react, but I can only imagine what they are fantasizing about doing to the tourists, and how best to dispose of the bodies.
We also passed the Banqueting House, perhaps most noted for the fact that it was there in 1649 that King Charles I was beheaded (I’ve been to banquets like that).
We drifted past the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. (By the way, “Big Ben” is the name of the bell housed within the clock tower, not the tower or the clock itself.) In fact, Big Ben is officially called the “Great Bell.” The 16-ton bell was cast on April 10, 1856, in Stockton-on-Tees by Warner's of Cripplegate. Why “Big Ben”? Two theories; one is that the commissioner of works, Sir Benjamin Hall, was responsible for ordering the bell. the other is that it may have been named after heavyweight boxer Benjamin Caunt.
One of Steven’s favorite “museums” is the Cabinet War Rooms. This is basically an underground warren (under what is now the HM Treasury) where Churchill and his ministers set up military headquarters during World War II. The rooms were constructed in 1938, and featured a steel-reinforced roof. The winding network of rooms are well-preserved and give an excellent idea of how claustrophobic it would have been down there. (However, the portion that is preserved and open to the public is only s small fraction of what was a much larger—three-acre—facility that housed a staff of up to 528 people. Facilities included a canteen, hospital, shooting range, and dormitories.) In fact, the signage informs us, it was not an ideal place to spend large amounts of time and the dark, dank, and insects drove many of the people to emerge at night and sleep above ground—even during the London Blitz. Churchill himself only spent three nights down there. Still, the war rooms remained operational throughout the war and the day after VJ Day, the lights were switched off and everyone left everything just as it had been. I expect the mannequins of military personnel were added some time later.
There is also a Churchill Museum, which was just about to close when we got to it.
By this time it was after 5:00, and we had to head back to Hackney to pick up the kiddies. We made it home just in time for dinner.
And thus ended Tuesday.
Trafalgar Square is also the home to the National Gallery and, around the corner, the National Portrait Gallery. Whenever there are rallies, celebrations, or other events in London, Trafalgar Square is usually where they take place. The architecture is all rather grand, although the marble statue of pregnant English artist Alison Lapper (who actually was born without arms and with truncated legs--a congenital disorder called phocomelia) sculpted by Marc Quin is a bit out of place, at least in my opinion.
We passed quickly through Trafalgar and walked down Whitehall, past the Horse Guards Palace. This is one of the places where the immobile Palace Guards stand and are taunted and photographed by tourists. The guards are not supposed to move or react, but I can only imagine what they are fantasizing about doing to the tourists, and how best to dispose of the bodies.
We also passed the Banqueting House, perhaps most noted for the fact that it was there in 1649 that King Charles I was beheaded (I’ve been to banquets like that).We drifted past the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. (By the way, “Big Ben” is the name of the bell housed within the clock tower, not the tower or the clock itself.) In fact, Big Ben is officially called the “Great Bell.” The 16-ton bell was cast on April 10, 1856, in Stockton-on-Tees by Warner's of Cripplegate. Why “Big Ben”? Two theories; one is that the commissioner of works, Sir Benjamin Hall, was responsible for ordering the bell. the other is that it may have been named after heavyweight boxer Benjamin Caunt.
One of Steven’s favorite “museums” is the Cabinet War Rooms. This is basically an underground warren (under what is now the HM Treasury) where Churchill and his ministers set up military headquarters during World War II. The rooms were constructed in 1938, and featured a steel-reinforced roof. The winding network of rooms are well-preserved and give an excellent idea of how claustrophobic it would have been down there. (However, the portion that is preserved and open to the public is only s small fraction of what was a much larger—three-acre—facility that housed a staff of up to 528 people. Facilities included a canteen, hospital, shooting range, and dormitories.) In fact, the signage informs us, it was not an ideal place to spend large amounts of time and the dark, dank, and insects drove many of the people to emerge at night and sleep above ground—even during the London Blitz. Churchill himself only spent three nights down there. Still, the war rooms remained operational throughout the war and the day after VJ Day, the lights were switched off and everyone left everything just as it had been. I expect the mannequins of military personnel were added some time later.There is also a Churchill Museum, which was just about to close when we got to it.
By this time it was after 5:00, and we had to head back to Hackney to pick up the kiddies. We made it home just in time for dinner.
And thus ended Tuesday.
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