Wimbledon

Monday morning. Mood: Incredibly tired. And hungry. I've only had one cup of tea, no breakfast, and I'm a little less than eager to get started on work--so I'll blog.

Weekend was amazing--memorable actually. On Friday I went to Wimbledon with some coworkers. Ok instead of boring you guys with the minute and insignificant details like the 3 hr queue or the long wait for Simon, my boss, it'll get to the goods. Wimbledon is an incredibly quaint village with a somewhat developed main street filled with mostly food vendors. It reminded me of Park City Utah, a town that gets a huge burst in tourism once a year for the Sundance film festival, a town that might not be so grateful for the tournament but can't do anything about it because while it may bring swarms of annoying tourists, it brings £££. I was the 6477th person in the queue, and hardly at the end getting there at 8:30 in the morning. Every day probably over 20,000 tennis fans and congest the streets, pack the stores, and muddy the village ambience.

We watched some small matches after paying the hefty £20 price for admission--you know some doubles matches with unknowns. They were the easiest to get in since all the good ones were packed and/or ridiculously expensive to get in (center court was £57 on top of the £20). But Federer was playing that day and we had to see the champ in action. We snuck into the top of center court and watched most of his domination against some guy.

I afterwards was 6 inches away from the greatest tennis player of all time--he's fairly tall. I was frozen in teenage boy fanaticism.

We watched some other matches but they paled in comparison to Federer and thus not really worth mentioning. It wasn't until around 7 that we were exhausted from all the tennis matches and made our way back home, worn out but fulfilled on the tubes.

Wow I'm so tired right now, I'll try updating a little bit more enthusiastically later when I have energy.

Cheers

What's in a name but everything in its world?

It's surprising to realize how influential a name can be. While Shakespeare may have said, "What's in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet" underlining the arbitrary nature of names, our nature is to give meanings and definitions to labels. Why else would we name things but to describe, categorize, and ultimately stereotype? It means something because society gives it meaning, and while we may personally choose to discard and disregard it, the meaning still exists within others and thus has power.

Yale. Ivy League. This name carries so much weight and authority because of its history, its alumni, hell its bank account. It's (in)famous in America with its hallowed halls and prestige. As a member, an association to Yale, I bear some of its heavy weight. I get pigeonholed as an intellectual, a future leader, an elitist. I chose those associations from outsiders the moment I sent in my checked card senior year in high school. But I didn't know how far it would go.

I came here to London partly to leave the Yale name. I know, pretty stupid since I got the internship through a Yale program and would be living with Yalies . But I thought at the very least my London world would be somewhat detached from my Yale one. My boss took me around the office to introduce me to my coworkers. "This is Leang , our YALE intern," flouting me around as if I were the newest, hottest, most expensive toy on the market. I was their iPhone--limited supplies with a 2 year waiting list and a hefty price tag; but I can do it all: research, debate, slice and dice in one simple motion! It irked me that they were boasting my degree, something that I have hesitations to do myself. Whenever someone asks me where I go to school, I say Yale with reservations. Why hide an $180,000 education? That's all someone truly sees, a name, countless other names that come with it in a nice package deal--apple polisher, uppercrust, entitled-- and my coworkers, before even hearing my hello, heard Yale.

Well these were professionals. I guess as an instantaneous boost of credibility doesn't hurt right? At the very least they knew I was somewhat capable. But when Joe (my flatmate) and I told this girl at a pub (she had a tiara on and we had to go talk to her, best idea ever) the name of our university, she was in complete shock and awe. Granted she was gone, blitzed, blasted but she could not stop saying in her British slur, "God you guys must be geniuses!" "Yale, wow!" Flattering yes, but it took quite some time for her to get over it before we could actually converse about something intelligible (like clubbing).

How can an undergraduate class of 5,300 be so homogeneous as to be lumped so easily into a small set of adjectives and nouns? William Deresiewicz, an English professor at Yale, calls us all Ivy retarded, incapable of speaking to any layman due to our bubbled maturation in shells of marble and awards (http://www.theamericanscholar.org/su08/elite-deresiewicz.html).
While the majority's experience with the lower classes may be limited to interactions with the housekeeper, not all of us went to charter schools and drove BMWs as our starter cars. For some, the housekeeper may be a family member or friend. For some, financial aid is not simply an ease but a necessity.

I never saw intelligence as a bragging tool. While I worked hard to develop it, it is never truly mine to take credit. Upbringing, parents, genetics, and resources coupled with my "hard work" acquired the Yale name. Plus there are plenty of incredibly smart people outside of the Ivy League so what gives me or anyone the right to boast such entitlement? What makes us so different?

I heard some of the guys here are using Yale as a pickup line, an ego boosting, pants stuffing attempt to impress and bed girls. It works apparently. I believe if you've got it, flaunt it. No need for false modesty. To paraphrase Kenji Yoshino, Yale Law professor at my class's keynote speech, "Achilles was never modest. He was like, 'I'm Achilles. And I'm the shit.'"

But know what you're bragging. The name doesn't make you any more special--what you do with it does. Just because you're a member of an elite institution doesn't mean you yourself are elite or the world will bestow upon you anything you wish by summoning the name. It's just a name--make something out of it.

I work hard for the ££

When they say London is the most expensive city in the world, they're not kidding. In a good week I spend less than $250--that's with penny pinching, lots of ramen (my discovery of a Vietnamese supermarket was a Godsend, as if angels descended from heaven to build a dingy alter for cheap msg-laden food. Hallelujah), and carefully inputing my every expense into an excel spreadsheet, even that 19p swiss roll from Sainsbury. Last week, however, was ridiculously expensive--ridiculous because I didn't really do that much.

Well, I went shopping on Picadilly and Oxford Circus. It's like the Fifth Avenue of London, well times two since that darn old exchange rate (actually good news, well not so much for Englanders but for us Americans its fantastic, the British ecomony's tanked more than the American one so the pound's depreciated more than the dollar, sweet exchange of $1.91!). The streets and stores are packed on the weekends, filled with tourists getting their shop on. As one of them, I couldn't disappoint. After being introduced to Topshop, apparently existing only in London, I had to buy something. Now you're probably thinking, Leang, why in the bloody hell would you spend money on clothes that 1) you most likely don't need 2) don't have the luggage space to carry back since you've packed two huge suitcases filled with all the clothes you already have (and bought right before coming to London) and 3) can't afford? Well one of the essentials for a gentleman is a proper suit: for cocktails, meetings, formal occasions. And you can't do better than an European suit, or at least an European cut suit. Their slim fit turns the suit for formalware to casualware with the right outfit. I saw it simply as an investment for day and night. Plus it wasn't too expensive. How much? I won't say, but the mass-produced tailoring of Topshop made it a steal.

So after dropping a few quid on the nonessential essentials Joyce (my Europe partner in crime) and I went shop to shop looking for a dress for her Brother and Sister's joint wedding (they're marrying other people, no incest here). Four hours later we found it. I had never seen so many dresses before, nor do I want to for the rest of my life. But she will look gorgeous for the wedding and I have a brand new suit!

I still haven't been to Harrod's, but it's on my to-do list. No not shop; I'm not insane and all of you know I'm not rich by any standards, well maybe Zimbaweian but with 100,000% hyperinflation (if it's that astronomical they need a new word, like supercaliflation) the term wealthy means a nonsubsistance income. I just want to oggle at the absurd prices people would be willing to spend on material items since while I do like to indulge once and a while, I would never spend someone's income per annum on a blouse.

Ok enough materialism. Time for me to work. Tallyhoo!

Edit: http://edition.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/africa/06/22/zimbabwe.main/?imw=Y&iref=mpstoryemail
Horrible, Zimbabwe's chance of getting out of an economic crisis caused by corrupt government officials crushed. I read an article a couple of days ago how the current government kidnapped and tortured thousands of Tsvangirai supporters. I guess Mugabe's intimidation tactics worked. Congrats, you've maintained your throne at the expense of millions.

"Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely"

Fabric critique

It's the premier club in London. It's feature in every guidebook as a must visit--it is the "scene" every weekend. Is it worth all the hype?
Cover charge: 16 pounds on Saturday, 12 on Friday, discounts of you're a student (unfortunately UK students only, they discriminate)
Music- Fridays drum and house while Saturdays (the big night) is nonstop electronica and techno.

So first of all, the price is absolutely ridiculous for a club. $32 after the 30 minute wait in queue?? It doesn't include drinks, glow sticks, or a happy ending (that you have to work for). But hey, it's Fabric right? It's nonstop until morning 6 or 8 AM and it is packed until they literally kick people out. There are three rooms, but you really only need to stay in room 1 unless you absolutely hate having barely any space to dance. With a speaker system only found in Europe, sick ass lights, and the best DJ in the country, it's a scene out of Matrix with crowds rhythmically swaying to the cadence in a savage yet carefree way as they're bathed in green lasers and fog. What more can you want? The other 2 rooms are smaller, 2 having an impressive light show as well but 3 more sedated and empty (by which I mean there's walking room).

The people there are incredibly nice--everyone is out for a good time. Beware ladies (and some gentlemen) they get a little bit "too nice" and have wandering hands. By wandering I mean completely off the beaten path heading to greener pastures. Biggest complaint from female friends was how aggressive guys are. To be expected as the club was somewhat a sausage fest--guys outnumbered girls not an uncomfortable amount, but noticable. Also when you're high on ecstasy you tend to like feeling things--and most people there are high either by their own supply or from one of the many easy to find vendors in the club. 5 pounds for a pill? Fuck that shit.

No amount of ecstasy can make some people look hot. And let me tell you, there were quite a few fellas and chicas there that needed those pills to get laid. Total attractiveness of the place was like a 6--few sprinklings of hotties with bodies but for the most part ouch--the models must be shacking up in the VIP lounge.

Music was amazing though. A little bit lacking in the words category and the DJ liked some beats a little too much cause he sure was playing them over and over but it's incredibly easy to dance to--really all you have to do is sway and lift up your hands.

My recommendations: Go to Fabric prepared to dance the night--that means load up on caffeine. Alcohol isn't advised because effects last only several hours and then you crash. Buy membership--it's only 6 pounds a month and you get to jump the queue, a cd every month, and 8 pound flat rate (if you're doing the math kiddies it pays for itself your very first visit). Wear comfortable shoes--when it's that dark and people are that intoxicated no one is going to notice or care about your Jimmy Choos. It's very well ventilated but its still a good idea to wear layers when you get sweaty from all that dancing and shrugging off random guys. Plan out your escape route before you go--leave early and tubes are still closed, which means either black cab or night buss (recommended only .90p). But if you leave late (or early depending how you see it) trains start running again at 5.

My rating- A-. Definitely something to check out. If you're not into "eurotrash" music go Friday night. It deserves the hype, which must be why everyone and their grandmother are trying to get in.

And yes, I did just come back from Fabric--and I left early (5AM).

Native tourists

I tend to shy away from the whole touristy thing. It's my belief that while fun and entertaining, landmarks, museums, and monuments don't truly define a place's culture. Culture is fluid, dynamic, constantly changing and evolving along the people that live it, shape it, invigorate it. Tourist attractions are more often than not a tribute to the past and while glorious centuries old gold leaf and the first "bill of rights" may be, I'm more interested in the current definition of a place. I don't mean ignore everything past and focus on the present--sometimes its necessary to reflect upon the changes and admire traditions and see where we came from. I'm just saying give me a fair or a fountain, and I'll choose the fair.

So I've been here in London for about 2 weeks and I still haven't seen the bridge, any palaces (well a 12th century castle last week) Fergie (both the Duchess and The Duchess), or any royalty (a shame really!). I did however, go to the Burroughs Market today, despite feeling completely dreary and ghastly. Joyce and Abigail were there and I couldn't help it. Hundreds of food vendors-charcutteries, juices, ales, cheeses-- lined the walls selling their ingredients while people filled in the paths made from their booths. It was so native-- local business people come here weekly for their Friday lunches, chefs come for produce, wives for dinner supplies. We walked through stalls of dried meats, from racks to roasts, with hanging sausages plump and freshly prepared or cured, smoked, and aged for that tart preserved flavor. Farmers had out buckets of olives of every color for tapas--black, green, purple, cured in olive oil and ready to eat right there. The smell of freshly made mozzarella wafted through the Italian section as I sampled oils and vinegars. I dipped a cut piece of bread into white balsamic vinegar and tasted the most delicious single thing in my life--a complex harmony of sweetness and tartness that played off of one another to leave my tongue in a scintillating euphoria. Oh my god it was so good.

We went around the entire place sampling--sweet crumbling fudge, sun dried tomatoes, smoked herring. It was a treat for both the eyes and the palate--one not found in your typical guidebook.

Goodday sunshine

Every morning the sun wakes me up, my room facing directly east, unable to shield me from the daily flaming ball of annoyance. I look at my clock--it's bloody 5:30! Why the hell is the sun up at 5:30--it should be asleep like the rest of us but like a pestering neighbor, it inconsiderately wakes the rest of us at the most inconvenient of times. But his appearance is a good thing--good weather (read: no rain) might be a possibility.

Yesterday Kevin, Tony, Brede and I went to Rochester, home of Charles Dickens part Medieval museum part shrine for their famous townsman but still a quaint village relatively untouched by tourists. We walked through a Cathedral originally built in the 600s that was burnt down and rebuilt, burnt down and rebuilt and a castle that was invaded in the 1200s and burnt down. Man this town should really take out some fire insurance! London is just bustling with so much activity that it gets difficult, almost impossible to leave (sound familiar Yalies?). I only have 2 months here and I want to see as and experience much of both London and England as much as possible.

I've been here for a week now and honestly I've been horrible with my updates. England is (surprise surprise) not that much different from the states. It's tiny things- British milk tastes less proteiny, tramp means homeless rather than hussy (finally Lady and the Tramp makes sense!) and everything is twice as expensive, literally. The lower drinking age makes things easy for me (out of the past week I've had at least a beer 6 out of 7 days and been drunk...4?). their take on alcohol is much more relaxed than in the states where pubs are centers of activity and alcohol is a conduit for bonding, not an escape from the world. Crown and Anchor, a pub across the street from my flat was bustling with activity all day Friday. Uni students were literally pouring out of the building and filling the streets in the afternoon and only a couple hours later an older crowd dressed in business suits, fresh from a weeks work, were putting the college students numbers to shame.

But the system is not without it's problems. Their laissez-faire attitude makes alcohol readily accessible to teenagers who don't always practice responsible judgment, especially when shitfaced smashed. You can't bring liquor on the tubes anymore since last Sunday--Saturday night was interesting...--and bars are carding everyone. Is their drinking culture healthier? We Americans have been drinking so much, true partly because we're celebrating our summer in England, but also because it's just so... easy. Wednesday we were all drunk from a meet and greet organized by our contact here, Thursday I brought back some bottles from my Job (they market a lot of liquors and were giving them away! I cleaned up) and we went out of a pub after a couple of drinks back in my flat, Friday I had some cocktails at my job with coworkers, a weekly tradition there, only to have a Pibbs happy hour and clubbing that followed. Saturday? Beers while watching the Port/Turkey game, Kings with the Yalies and...you get the point.

It's not just tourists who completely abuse and ignore the consequences. To mourn the new prohibition of cocktails in the tube every person under 30 had a blood alcohol content of at least .08. While walking back from the market with some friends, we ran into a crowd funneling beer right in front of the Euston Station entrance and two cop cars and an ambulance. What were the police doing? Well... not a whole lot...When even the supermarkets Sainsbury's and Tescos have house wines, scotches, etc alcohol is cheap, plentiful, and oh-so-easy to abuse.

Oh well it's 11:40 right now and I should grab brunch. I'll keep you guys updated!

Cheers!