It's such a nice day! Jenny and I decided to pack a picnic and go to Hyde Park to enjoy the sunshine and warmth.
If this is what Londoners call a "heatwave," I like it. (It's more like typical LA weather...)
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
Hey, Nineteen
Jenny is in London now!
I know I have not written much lately, but life has been terribly busy. I will get to it soon. I promise.
Jenny is in London now!
I know I have not written much lately, but life has been terribly busy. I will get to it soon. I promise.
Jenny is in London now!
Monday, April 14, 2008
Hustler
Time is flying. It's like a hang glider, soaring above my head at speeds well beyond my walking capabilities. Or it could be a flying squirrel, because I can sometimes catch up with it. I hate squirrels.
I'm not sure I ever mentioned the fact that I got a job in Finland for the summer. I also recently finalized a studio apartment, which I will have all to myself. Instead of heading back to the states on May 17 (or whatever day this horrid Nido bureaucracy kicks me out), I will fly to Helsinki. Jaba is also coming, in part to help me move and in part to have a little Finnish holiday. Then I start working with Ramblas Digital on Tuesday, May 20. (I asked to skip Monday the 19th because that's my birthday, and who wants to work on their birthday? Exactly.)
I am so excited for that.
In other news, I'm thrilled about the final project that I'm doing for my Reporting the Arts class. Though I hate the teacher, I came up with a project that I actually want to write. Our final essay was supposed to be something rather cliché: an interview, a feature or a really, really long review of something. I don't like doing any of those in 2,000 words because I tend to say everything in short and then run out of things to say. It's not a lot of words for a standard academic essay, but it's a lot for a newspaper writer who is used to writing stories that are usually from 600-1,000 words!
Last week, he casually mentioned that some of his previous students turned in "creative pieces" responding to themes in the class or a show that the class had seen. He said one had written a scene after seeing one play, and another rewrote an existing scene from another play. I decided that this type of thing would be far more fun for me than an interview or feature, stuff I do regularly. I suggested this:
I am going to see Pinter's The Lover & The Collection again and I will try to catalog all of the movement in the play. It's essentially a study of the physicality of a play. This is not dance or a musical, so exaggerated movement does not come into play. I want to see if, especially with this double-bill performance, the movement, posture, facial expressions and bodily communications of the actors effectively reveal what is going on in the play. I have already seen it, and I think their movements say it all. Now I have to see the play at least one more time so I can sit there in the dark theatre, furiously scribbling every little physical detail that I notice.
In the end, it would not have a thesis. It would not have an opinion. It would be merely a run through of every significant movement (or every significant non-movement) from pauses to stick-straight postures to a seductress crawling on the floor. This is certainly a challenge because I have to somehow make an eloquent and coherent presentation of 2,000 words out of a list of, essentially, verbs.
I also had the idea to talk to the director and some of the actors. If I ask them about their motives and ideas concerning their own movements, maybe it would give me some help. I was thinking of splicing their quotes almost inexplicably into my own description, especially if the quote centers on one particular scene or movement.
My teacher said he has the director's phone number, but remember how I said that he isn't very helpful? Well, he's not impressing me thus far. I might have to go stalk the actors after the show...
I know that important people like Gina McKee and Charlie Cox and the director probably have better things to do than talk to a student about their final project in a university class. I understand this. I went to talk to my boss for London Kicks about my project to see if he'd publish it on his website.
He loves the idea. Wants it. Lusts for it.
And now that I have the chance to get the piece published, this might be more incentive for the director and actors to give me serious consideration when I ask for an interview. Plus, it's not a review of their performance, so they know I won't say anything bad -- as long as they don't trip on stage.
I also mentioned my idea to my art teacher. My final project for my art class has to be a review of an art gallery or something, but she said she liked this idea so much that I could use this project and create a spin-off for my final project in her class as well. This is because I'm looking at the performance as an abstract art, as a physical being rather than a play. We'll see what I do there.
I am excited to write it! Now I just need to make sure I get on my teacher's ass about helping me with contacts!
What do you know? It's class time. I get to go see him right now.
I'm not sure I ever mentioned the fact that I got a job in Finland for the summer. I also recently finalized a studio apartment, which I will have all to myself. Instead of heading back to the states on May 17 (or whatever day this horrid Nido bureaucracy kicks me out), I will fly to Helsinki. Jaba is also coming, in part to help me move and in part to have a little Finnish holiday. Then I start working with Ramblas Digital on Tuesday, May 20. (I asked to skip Monday the 19th because that's my birthday, and who wants to work on their birthday? Exactly.)
I am so excited for that.
In other news, I'm thrilled about the final project that I'm doing for my Reporting the Arts class. Though I hate the teacher, I came up with a project that I actually want to write. Our final essay was supposed to be something rather cliché: an interview, a feature or a really, really long review of something. I don't like doing any of those in 2,000 words because I tend to say everything in short and then run out of things to say. It's not a lot of words for a standard academic essay, but it's a lot for a newspaper writer who is used to writing stories that are usually from 600-1,000 words!
Last week, he casually mentioned that some of his previous students turned in "creative pieces" responding to themes in the class or a show that the class had seen. He said one had written a scene after seeing one play, and another rewrote an existing scene from another play. I decided that this type of thing would be far more fun for me than an interview or feature, stuff I do regularly. I suggested this:
I am going to see Pinter's The Lover & The Collection again and I will try to catalog all of the movement in the play. It's essentially a study of the physicality of a play. This is not dance or a musical, so exaggerated movement does not come into play. I want to see if, especially with this double-bill performance, the movement, posture, facial expressions and bodily communications of the actors effectively reveal what is going on in the play. I have already seen it, and I think their movements say it all. Now I have to see the play at least one more time so I can sit there in the dark theatre, furiously scribbling every little physical detail that I notice.
In the end, it would not have a thesis. It would not have an opinion. It would be merely a run through of every significant movement (or every significant non-movement) from pauses to stick-straight postures to a seductress crawling on the floor. This is certainly a challenge because I have to somehow make an eloquent and coherent presentation of 2,000 words out of a list of, essentially, verbs.
I also had the idea to talk to the director and some of the actors. If I ask them about their motives and ideas concerning their own movements, maybe it would give me some help. I was thinking of splicing their quotes almost inexplicably into my own description, especially if the quote centers on one particular scene or movement.
My teacher said he has the director's phone number, but remember how I said that he isn't very helpful? Well, he's not impressing me thus far. I might have to go stalk the actors after the show...
I know that important people like Gina McKee and Charlie Cox and the director probably have better things to do than talk to a student about their final project in a university class. I understand this. I went to talk to my boss for London Kicks about my project to see if he'd publish it on his website.
He loves the idea. Wants it. Lusts for it.
And now that I have the chance to get the piece published, this might be more incentive for the director and actors to give me serious consideration when I ask for an interview. Plus, it's not a review of their performance, so they know I won't say anything bad -- as long as they don't trip on stage.
I also mentioned my idea to my art teacher. My final project for my art class has to be a review of an art gallery or something, but she said she liked this idea so much that I could use this project and create a spin-off for my final project in her class as well. This is because I'm looking at the performance as an abstract art, as a physical being rather than a play. We'll see what I do there.
I am excited to write it! Now I just need to make sure I get on my teacher's ass about helping me with contacts!
What do you know? It's class time. I get to go see him right now.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Dynomite
Kristen and I decided to make dinner together and it was such a good idea. We made superbly mouthwatering quesadillas and, as you can see, they went quickly.
I will post about my trip to France later. As well as a few important details about my life that happened before my vacation.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Andmoreagain
It's snowing in London! And when I woke up, I couldn't breathe out of my nose! I'm sick again!
I think I'm sick because I went from moderate weather in London to decently warm weather in Nice to freezing "I can see my breath"-weather in Paris to the same freezing weather in London. It's cold! I don't think my body can keep up with my traveling.
Today, I'm just going to sleep and try to get better. If I have to step out in the cold, it will be because I have to go grocery shopping. Hooray for no school!
I think I'm sick because I went from moderate weather in London to decently warm weather in Nice to freezing "I can see my breath"-weather in Paris to the same freezing weather in London. It's cold! I don't think my body can keep up with my traveling.
Today, I'm just going to sleep and try to get better. If I have to step out in the cold, it will be because I have to go grocery shopping. Hooray for no school!
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
I believe.
I'm in Paris now! The flight this morning was no problem. I got a window seat when I checked in with Air France. I later found out that I had the entire row to myself. I slept the entire way, except for a few minutes during which I devoured a croissant. Getting from the airport into the center of Paris is expensive, by the way!
My friend Alex (also an NYU student) brought me to his apartment, which is AMAZING. His living room is more than twice the size of my room in London, and he has this entire apartment to himself. He has a balcony that has a view of the Eiffel Tower! This morning when I got here, he bought me a sandwich, brought me to his place, poured me a glass of wine and took me to see his view. There I sat, enjoying the then shitty, now nice Paris weather while having a meal on a 5th story (6th floor in the American sense) balcony, staring at a world famous symbol. I'm going to have a good time in Paris, I think.
On a note completely unrelated to Paris: I feel so lucky.
My friend Alex (also an NYU student) brought me to his apartment, which is AMAZING. His living room is more than twice the size of my room in London, and he has this entire apartment to himself. He has a balcony that has a view of the Eiffel Tower! This morning when I got here, he bought me a sandwich, brought me to his place, poured me a glass of wine and took me to see his view. There I sat, enjoying the then shitty, now nice Paris weather while having a meal on a 5th story (6th floor in the American sense) balcony, staring at a world famous symbol. I'm going to have a good time in Paris, I think.
On a note completely unrelated to Paris: I feel so lucky.
Monday, March 17, 2008
California Love
Before I came to Nice, Vincent told me that, in his opinion, it must be like the "California of France." I can see it.
Today, I spent two hours at the beach listening to music and reading and dozing off. Then I walked to the Matisse Museum, which was further than I had anticipated -- and the walk there was mostly uphill. The museum was in a lovely park and, since I had walked so far uphill, the view was breathtaking. Old French men played their retirement lawn games and shouted compliments to me (or at me, I'm still not entirely sure). "Vous êtes très belle!" they said between puffs of their cigarettes, which they held between wrinkly and oranged fingers. It was funny.
What I wrote in the museum:
"These brights and brilliants scream Henri, as does my mind. This is the work of no dog, but of a man, a Matisse. To know that Vincent's grandfather was Matisse's hair dresser brings life to these colorful cut-outs and portraits. The photos I see are speaking so romantically to me. I can see Henri dip his straw hat to me as he walks by, no doubt thinking in blue but speaking in yellow. It's a maze of Matisse! This building winds in and out, singing, eating, breathing, bleeding Matisse! Living Matisse.
Bonjour Monsieur Matisse! Bonjour."
Saturday, Vincent and I went to Monaco, which was pretty and extravagant. We walked to the Monte Carlo Casino and two nice American boys gave us their tickets. Apparently, there's a ten euro charge to get in, and they just gave us their tickets so we didn't have to pay. According to my ticket, my name was Christopher Pangburn.
The casino itself was was so baller! Gaudiness to the extreme. The color scheme revolved around gold (duh), teal and mahogany. Everything was adorned, from the carpets to the "Toilettes Dames" sign. And since Monaco is a principality, there is no law against smoking inside so all of the gamblers had cigars and cigarettes, which left an odor of tobacco in the air.
This is what I wrote in the casino:
"Vincent and I sit as high rollers with wrinkled scowls bet their minimum of five euro (but probably more) and goofy tourists with tennis shoes and wide eyes wander the floors trying to look the part. What am I saying? I am one of those tourists here. I'm just sitting on the couch so as to not appear as in awe as I actually am. Smoke billows out of the mouths of men who show no concern for passers. Their eyes are glued to the chips that make that romantic clicking noise. The murmur of the room never rises above the clack-clack of those plastic (or maybe not) chips that are probably worth more than I have in my wallet. WTF MONTE CARLO CASINO!"
My face is hot so I think I might have gotten a little sunburnt today, even though I put sunscreen on so I wouldn't get burnt. Oh well. Dinner time.
Today, I spent two hours at the beach listening to music and reading and dozing off. Then I walked to the Matisse Museum, which was further than I had anticipated -- and the walk there was mostly uphill. The museum was in a lovely park and, since I had walked so far uphill, the view was breathtaking. Old French men played their retirement lawn games and shouted compliments to me (or at me, I'm still not entirely sure). "Vous êtes très belle!" they said between puffs of their cigarettes, which they held between wrinkly and oranged fingers. It was funny.
What I wrote in the museum:
"These brights and brilliants scream Henri, as does my mind. This is the work of no dog, but of a man, a Matisse. To know that Vincent's grandfather was Matisse's hair dresser brings life to these colorful cut-outs and portraits. The photos I see are speaking so romantically to me. I can see Henri dip his straw hat to me as he walks by, no doubt thinking in blue but speaking in yellow. It's a maze of Matisse! This building winds in and out, singing, eating, breathing, bleeding Matisse! Living Matisse.
Bonjour Monsieur Matisse! Bonjour."
Saturday, Vincent and I went to Monaco, which was pretty and extravagant. We walked to the Monte Carlo Casino and two nice American boys gave us their tickets. Apparently, there's a ten euro charge to get in, and they just gave us their tickets so we didn't have to pay. According to my ticket, my name was Christopher Pangburn.
The casino itself was was so baller! Gaudiness to the extreme. The color scheme revolved around gold (duh), teal and mahogany. Everything was adorned, from the carpets to the "Toilettes Dames" sign. And since Monaco is a principality, there is no law against smoking inside so all of the gamblers had cigars and cigarettes, which left an odor of tobacco in the air.
This is what I wrote in the casino:
"Vincent and I sit as high rollers with wrinkled scowls bet their minimum of five euro (but probably more) and goofy tourists with tennis shoes and wide eyes wander the floors trying to look the part. What am I saying? I am one of those tourists here. I'm just sitting on the couch so as to not appear as in awe as I actually am. Smoke billows out of the mouths of men who show no concern for passers. Their eyes are glued to the chips that make that romantic clicking noise. The murmur of the room never rises above the clack-clack of those plastic (or maybe not) chips that are probably worth more than I have in my wallet. WTF MONTE CARLO CASINO!"
My face is hot so I think I might have gotten a little sunburnt today, even though I put sunscreen on so I wouldn't get burnt. Oh well. Dinner time.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Who Loves The Sun
I'm in Nice! The weather is lovely and this keyboard is weird. I guess this isn't exactly warm weather for the locals because they're walking around wearing sweaters and scarves. I'm in shorts and a tank top. It's not raining!
I'm visiting my friend Vincent, whom I met in Finland almost two years ago. He works during the days, so I have a lot of alone time. It's so refreshing. Today, I got up and went to read Virginia Woolf on the rocky, pebbled beach. Then I went for a long walk along the coast line. With the Promenade des Anglais to my left, the crystally teal Mediterranean to my right, and my favorite French musicians singing to me in my ears, I felt superbly happy. I bought myself lunch, walked around the old town and bought some postcards.
I would write more but this is taking way too much concentration to write simple things.
In conclusion, ùùùàààçççéééèè裣£¤¤¤µµµ!!!
I'm visiting my friend Vincent, whom I met in Finland almost two years ago. He works during the days, so I have a lot of alone time. It's so refreshing. Today, I got up and went to read Virginia Woolf on the rocky, pebbled beach. Then I went for a long walk along the coast line. With the Promenade des Anglais to my left, the crystally teal Mediterranean to my right, and my favorite French musicians singing to me in my ears, I felt superbly happy. I bought myself lunch, walked around the old town and bought some postcards.
I would write more but this is taking way too much concentration to write simple things.
In conclusion, ùùùàààçççéééèè裣£¤¤¤µµµ!!!
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