Friday, March 17, 2006

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

HATE MODERN


As a mid-week update and basically for the lack of anything else good to write about (and laziness), I'm posting one of my earlier articles which was going to be the first in a series headlined "HATE MODERN" but got stuck on my forgotten geocities website. The joys of self-gratification! (This posting will also uncannily resemble those cooking programs where the chef says something in the lines of "You go on toiling on that souffle for another 3 hours but, here, I have one I made earlier".) Enjoy... I order you!! -------------------------------------------------------
I was reading the Times' daily supplement T2 the other day and the feature article in it was about people (well mainly Americans) who got together for a Lord of the Rings convention. I have to make something clear first; I love the books. I find them highly entertaining, intellectual and original. But I'd never consider dressing up as Gandalf or Aragorn or any other character from the books and pretend that I'm an elf or a hobbit. It could have been understandable if the people who does dress up in this ridiculous clothes do so in order to have a laugh. But no; instead they put on curly wigs, hobbit feet and fake beards for far higher purposes than we, ordinary folk, can ever imagine. They do so because they love the environment, the animals and all the fellow human beings. One of them blurts out the reason for her looking like an extra from the movies as this: "The elves are so pure and they care about the environment, which humans have forgotten because they are so busy with themselves". Helloooooo! Wake up and smell the coffee little confused dimwit! What use to the environment a stupid 3-day convention where people practically only eat, shit, sit on their asses and talk incessantly, can somebody answer me? Do they collect some money to save a part of a forest? Do they decide to put up a protest against a company, which poisons a river? No, they just admire each others elf ears all day and try to get laid with a hobbit for the night! So elves are not so different than us humans then, are they?

Actually, as a weird twist of fate, I kinda liked the guys who dressed up as ring wraiths more. They never talk and you can't see their faces so in my opinion, they are braver than all those pre-pubescent teenagers who think they are all elven queens. Another one of them explains why they are extremely different from the Star Trek fans: "Unlike Trekkies, we help each other out. This is our own fellowship" Yeah right! I'm sure the only thing they help each other with is with your outfits and make-ups! Actually being a Trekkie is a much much better obsession; at least you get to learn about positive sciences such as physics or astronomy instead of just 'how to make the perfect elf ears out of Playdoh'! The real pathetic thing about all these type of people who become obsessed with all the wrong things about an intellectual work lies with their own psychological problems. Another elf queen explains this: "In Middle-Earth people do things for other people. They are not doing it for fame or to impress some chick or get the money". D'oh! So when you put your wigs, beards, and hoods on, you do so to help other people? Are you sure you're not doing it to impress other people? Of course, a very simple psychological weakness lies under all these behavior. When people cannot manage to, or don't want to, be content only with being themselves, they choose to hide behind masks, costumes and ideals; the easiest way out. However, the saddest thing about this kind of behavior is that the real message and the feeling that the creator of the original work wanted to convey gets lost in the process. Is there a single character in Tolkien's books who tries to be something else other than itself? For example, is there a human who decides to be an elf at some point of the story or a dwarf who wants to live as a hobbit? NO! On the contrary, the whole story is about believing in yourself, knowing what you can do and what you can't! It's not a story about a brave boy who sets out on a wonderful adventure to become the greatest hero of all time; it's about a normal boy who finds himself in a perilous journey and in the end, after terrible ordeals, deserves to be known as a great hero. Tolkien'd be more pleased with people think and act as their characters do, not look and behave like them. I don't think for one minute that on weekends he idled his hours away by putting on a pointy hat and a fake beard instead of doing something creative.

So, I hate all the pointless, commercialized Tolkien conventions, elven queens with Mr.Spock ears and people who think they are helping the Greenpeace by attending to a stupid convention or reading a book 15 times. But I hate most the people who mock a brilliant piece of work by a lack of understanding.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Sunday Bloody Sunday


I think I have a love and hate relationship with Sundays. I love them because it's weekend, it's holiday, no work, I can do anything I want to (until 00:00). However, things usually don't turn out like that for me. Sounds impossible but I manage to get this existential rage and indifference at the same time on Sundays. Sundays are the days I mostly,

- hate globalisation,
- hate that there are no dogs or cats on the streets of London,
- hate cars,
- hate restaurants which have misty eyed couples staring or talking in whispers to each other over little candles on the tables,
- hate Coldplay,
- hate all electronic and electrical appliances, most of all computers,
- can't decide what to do for dinner - eat in or out, if out where, what, when etc - and end up eating rubbish at 22:00,
- want to listen to Linkin Park at full volume while singing along at the top of my lungs,
- want to go for a run in the park and fail miserably afterwards,
- want to go to the city centre and then change my mind,
- want to wake up early but never manage to get out of the bed before 11:00,
- want to go to bed early but end up staying up till 01:00 (well it's BBC's fault to put Family Guy on 00:00) ,
- want to be living in a small country town or Paris while knowing at the back of my head that I'd feel the same,
- want to escape to the Bahamas,
- think about going back.

Saturday, March 11, 2006

A Day in Cymru

Living upto the disclaimer on the top of the page I have failed to update the blog for some time now. But I had a legitimate reason (at least in my opinion); I have been waiting for a genuine experience to write about. And it came along today in the form of a Rugby Match.

With a couple of colleagues from the office we bought tickets for the Wales v. Italy match. Our group was composed me, a Norwegian, an American and a British. We met on 8:30 at Paddington station to get onto the 8:45 train. However, there was a problem; the American was late. Although we waited till the last minute, he failed to show up and we departed without him. With a little bit of disappointment because of the mishap, we set out on our 2.5 hour long journey in our comfy table seats. At the halfway stop, a group of gentlemen that just got on co
me to our table and without any entrances "subtly" blamed us of sitting in their seats. Now let me explain what was written on our tickets: E 01-2-3-4 FN. We were in Coach E and we were sitting in seats 1-2-3-4. But their tickets were E-01-2-3 as well but they got B on their tickets. Now nobody knew what the letters meant. I ceertainly didn't expect a train ticket to puzzle this many people. After a bit elaboration though we realised that FN meant forward facing seats and B meant backwards. And yes, actually we were sitting in their seats, sort of. By this time, the American called and we told him to get onto the 9:45 train.


At 11:15, we arrived at Cardiff. We got out of the train station to a sea of red t-shirts, scarfs, socks etc. Everybody was there for the match and most of them was Welsh. I say most of them because there were a couple of Italians as well; some of them wearing blue wigs (blue is their team colour). We decided to explore the city for an hour and then come back to the station to pick up the American. Now as a Londoner two things especially caught my eye in Cardiff at first; the signs in
Welsh and the non-existence of any kind of minorities. It was as if there was not a single black or Chinese or some other minority family living in Cardiff. On the streets, everybody w
as white and British (or Welsh). This didn't disturb me as such but I felt a little more alienated, maybe. Walking through the city, we realised something else; the city was almost shutdown for the match.
The roads were closed the traffic and everybody was crowded into the pubs or were drinking beers outside. Actually all of the city was like an open-air pub. I've never seen that many men (and quite a number of women) with beer bellies in my life. One other quirky thing was the shop names; I got the impression that Welsh doesn't like to elaborate too much on things. For example, the name of one chip shop wa "Chippy" or one stationery store was called "The Pen and the Paper" or the sandwich and fruit juice store called "Fresh". Very refreshing after new-age, made up nonsense shop names you suffer in London, like wagamama, pret a manger or Le Cafe du Maison (a local one).

After a short stroll, we arrived at Cardiff castle but we just looked from the outside and went onto
have our first pint of the day. Now, to further demonstrate that Wales is a strange territory I will tell you the name of the local brew: BRAINS. It's a creamy Guiness-like beer and you order it like this: "3 Brains please." I made up this joke after learning the name; drink 5 pints of Brains to lose your mind. Surreal. And, no, it's not the result of a 200 year old typo.

Anyway at 11:20, we met up with the American. By this time, the doo
rs to the stadium was open so we decided to go and get our seats. The Stadium of Light is a beatiful stadium. It's new and very modern. It's also an engineering achievement as it's possible to close the roof of the stadium against adverse weather. As we get into the stadium, I didn't expect much from out seating. But as we got closer to the place on the tickets, I got curious. And when we at last found our seats, I was gobsmacked. We were practically 10m away from the pitch. Everything was going to unfold in front of eyes when the match started. I was delighted. And hungry. So we downed another pint with hotdogs and waited for the kickoff at 13:30. However, first we had to watch the procession of the National Guard with a very spurned up and important looking GOAT on tow. WE guessed it was like a mascot. The NG was followed by a choir which sang hymns or something like that. Not much people was paying attention to them, at least we weren't, because behind them a group of cheerleaders was following. They did a short dance routine in front of all 4 sides but I though we got the worst routine; not much hair throwing and booty shaking. By this time, beer had went through my digestion system and arrived at the waste disposal unit so I rushed to the toilets. And suffered a small shock the moment I entered it. THE PEOPLE WERE PEEING INTO THE SINKS. How gross is that! My mind simply rejected to accpet the scene for a split second. But, unfortunately, reality always win. Anyways, putting that image behind my head I entered a cubicle, got rid of the beer in me and ran out looking at the floor. When I got back my seat, I dutifully advised my companions not to wash their hands at the toilet and explained why. For some reason, they weren't too fazed.

So, at last, the teams got on to the pitch, anthems sang and the ball got kicked. Now let me remind you that this was my first Rugby match and I don't know much about rugy, either. Which, leads to British guy getting questioned constantly; "why did the referee stop the match just now?", "was that a penalty?" (him:"yes") "Why?". I also asked the American's opinion, whether it was similar to American football or not. He didn't seem to be too much impressed with it but was enjoying himself nonetheless. His understanding was definitely better than mine.

What is on my opinion on Rugby after watching a full match
? Well it's, of course, a rough sport. Some of the 'tackles' endured by the players was awful. You think no sane person would willingly take that kind of treatment. But when one of the sides starts a charge for the opposite side's goal area, it gets very intense. Also, the excitement of 74,000 people surrounds you and affects you. These were the goods.

Alongside the occasional excitement, most of the match was a bit slow. There were a lot of stops to form 'scrums', to treat players' sprained ankle or hurt toe or something. Play just stopped every now and then; which makes the game a bit pedestrian. Another thing was the spectators. At a football match, the spectators are usually alive with chanting. The stadiums tremble with songs and cheers. Enormous flags ripple above the crowds. Plus mexican waves. What was it like during the Rugby match? It was quiet. The majority of the crowd just sit in their se
ats and watched the game like they're watching a beauty paegant or something. I didn't feel a sort camarederie or overflow of emotions. There was the occasional mass cheers of "WA-LES" but otherwise it was very sterile. One last thing is the end of the match was a disappointment; and not because it was a draw. There is no extra time in Rugby when the time is up, the game ends. And it just ends. The second the clock ticked the players dropped the ball and quickly left the pitch. That's it. No saluting the crowd, no victory runs, nothing. I got the feeling they were just glad that it has ended and they can go to the pub and have a pint of Brains.

After drinking a couple of pints of our own, we got on the train for London, which was packed and we didn't have reserved seats so we helped ourselves to some empty First Class seats, which luckily nobody claimed afterwards.