Snow!

Online, people have had snow fever for a few days, but today’s the first time it’s really struck me. Getting absolutely covered in snow simply crossing the road from Baker Street to the best chemist in the world, where the pharmacist just gets your medicine, prints off his sticker and takes your payment, rather than spending six hours luxuriating in self-importance before they get a box from a shelf as they do in most places. The crazy little old Chinese lady who took it upon herself to stand sentinel outside the Post Office, where I had to go to pick up my reis for my Brazil trip, accosting everyone coming in and dusting the snow off them, despite being shooed away by staff, telling them that the snow would make it smelly and old men could slip and fall. Bless her!

It’s not as pleasant, I will grant you, walking through the city snow as it is waking up in the countryside, as I did as a child, to see that strange inverted shadow settling on all the countless branches of the trees and deciduous bushes, and being able to go out and play on the lawn, wrapped up in warm coat and gloves, scarf falling off within ten seconds to lie unnoticed until you go a back inside. While there’s a certain romance to snow falling between tall buildings, charged and all aglow with the light pollution, but how can it compare to being able to run anywhere in a village and being the first to leave footprints? The streets here in the city stay busy, the snow compacted to treacherous ice or insipid slush, and people’s faces are all frowns and sneers – this will delay me getting home, and I can’t drive in this, and this expensive overcoat I bought to impress clients doesn’t keep me warm at all, and did you read about those poor people on the Eurostar?

It warms my heart when I see someone just looking up and grinning, or catching snowflakes on their gloved palms, and perhaps it’s unfair to form judgements about a whole city based on business districts at the close of normal trading hours. But I hope that even the most sullen stop to realise that if this keeps up for just a few days, we will most likely have that most coveted and rare of days, which we haven’t in so many years – enough that I wonder how many of my younger friends have even seen one. I’m talking, of course, about a White Christmas.

I am, however, hoping that the way our transport infrastructure does like to throw its annual hissyfit and refuse to function at the slightest bit of snow won’t affect the journey down to Mum and Dad’s house tomorrow, and that by January everything will have cleared up enough that there are no problems at all flying out to Brazil for the sun and the beautiful beaches! Definitely looking forward to the trip more and more each day, and having picked up my cash makes it seem closer than ever! I’m pretty sure £400 isn’t going to last the whole month, but we’ll see what I can pay for with a card, and whether any of the hostels take plastic – I can take a few debit cards with not much on them… maybe that student Natwest card that I never used since 2002 will finally be useful!

Failed entirely to sleep early last night. Went to bed early, but then…well, watched about 8 episodes of Shugo Chara. Well, they kept upping the drama! Amu’s mum saw something very suspicious, then Tadase came over and got all upset, and then there was the tension of each meeting between them after that, and then the outfit I’m going to cosplay finally appeared properly (looking forward to making a nice big scythe), so I was thoroughly enjoying myself until past 5am…which isn’t early bed-bed. Ah well! I’m sure my patterns will be fixed somewhat at Mum & Dad’s.

So yeah, lots to look forward to. I’d better keep on writing when I’m at home in Crowhurst, though, and keep up my momentum. I’d like to be 100% finished when I head to Brazil, so that I can move on to thesis work and then something fresh. For now, though, manga, writing and the last bit of exercise until the new year, most likely.

Ah, I stand corrected! It seems that the big push for Rage Against the Machine’s Christmas #1 has succeeded. Not only is there an incendiary rap-metal record in a truly historic position, but the band’s cut is going to Shelter.

I’m pleased. I could only have been more pleased had the Muppets got the top spot (I bought their not-quite-as-funny-as-I’d-hoped-it-would-be Bohemian Rhapsody cover, too), but that campaign was too late, and would have lacked the rebellious fire of ‘Killing in the Name’, even if that fire really isn’t appropriate when lyrics are examined.

I was glad to see that Zack de la Rocha understood. He realised this wasn’t a great surge of love for his band or the song, but that the song was, to use his word, the ‘vehicle’ of the protest. And now the public has spoken. We are sick of predictability and the ‘sterile pop monopoly’. But the gesture, of course, is empty if it is not but the first step.

Anyway, today has been a lot of fun. Was glad to have gone to Trocadero for another go on DJ Max Technika, because I can now definitely pass the three songs of the hardest customizer set, although TP ‘Sun of Son’ is too tough! On the other hand, I got the machine’s high score for the song on Pop mode, so that balances things a little!

Home for a bit of gaming, and happily discovered that there are plentiful more hunts for me to do in FFXII after all. Hopefully there will be a few that I’m not horribly over-levelled for. Did a lot of chatting online and failed to go to bed very early at all. I suppose 1:15am is still pretty early for me, these days. But I have sleep to catch up on.

So it’s time for Shugo Chara and bed! Tomorrow, need to pick up a prescription before going to capoeira. Then the day after, meeting my cousin to head down for the family Christmas. I’m quite glad he’s not coming to stay before. Not because he isn’t pleasant company; I just do like my time on my own.

A little something from my Facebook: ‘Would've preferred another Rage track, but is certainly tickled by the idea of it being Christmas number 1.’

Yes, in an effort to displace the inevitable X-Factor Christmas number one, there is a Facebook movement to buy ‘Killing in the Name’ by Rage Against the Machine. I understand why the track was chosen, purely for the ‘Fuck you, I wont do what you tell me’ part at the end. I also understand how that’s one of the prime reasons for people to rail against the idea, mass-protesting conformity being, after all, (with careful hyphenation) rather an oxymoron. Other things detractors have said rather miss the point. It doesn’t matter that the money eventually goes to Sony, because the protest isn’t about profits but about predictability; the people behind the plot don’t care about the cash but about cultural dominance. As for it being an old song about racism in the States rather cheapened by being used as an all-purpose protest song, well, yes, as I said, I’d have preferred a better-chosen track, but the fact is that this is one of Rage’s most well-known, high-impact and chantable numbers.

Do I think it will actually make number one? No, I think it’s near-impossible. The X-Factor track will still outsell Rage by 100-200 thousand units. The reason, then, that I paid my 50p for a download (for a live version I didn’t already have, which apparently counts) was not that I think that the most important #1 on a pop chart will be won by an alternative track not even being officially released, but that I think it will make #2. It will make the #2 spot just like Jeff Buckley did last time, but no-one will be able to pass it off as complimentary to the X-Factor version, so curious people will check out this strange band, playing rap-metal when it was still meaningful (perhaps the only time it was), and sure, maybe a lot more people would have been accepting of them if the track were not so obviously picked to upset middle-class values, but just a few minds might be piqued, a few people might actually stop to think about musical integrity, the hegemony of moguls and the state of pop music today, and that can only be positive.

Today’s been a busy and cultural sort of a Sunday! Saw some fascinating things and feel rewarded and amused. Time spent with the family is never time wasted, and those of us who get on well with their parents ought to be extremely thankful, and hope that in their place, we can do at least almost as good a job!

Mum woke me at 9:45 to ask if I wanted a doughnut thing given to us by the posh restaurant last night, but I just wanted more sleep after failing to nod off before 5:30. Dragged myself up at twenty past ten and got dressed. Hopped on the replacement bus (bah, engineering works) and made our way to The National Gallery to see ‘The Sacred Made Real’, an exhibition of Spanish devotional art, focusing on rather grisly paintings and painted sculptures, the argument being that the latter are an underappreciated form of art that heavily influenced the former. Utilising some of the National’s premiere masterpieces by Velasquez, very clear lines of influence were made apparent, but the exhibition itself was very uneven. It’s interesting, and probably related to the Uncanny Valley, how on a classical statue, sculpted from marble or stone and unpainted, eyes without pupils or eyelashes and large clumsy curls for hair pass as parts of an elevated and beautiful form of art, but when painted, even with huge pains taken to simulate realism, it is harder to make concessions. Varnished or matte surfaces to skin give the impression of waxworks or mannequins, and I had the strange experience of looking at sculpted faces and musing how odd they looked without eyelashes, only to then come to one that had real hair inserted for just that reason, and lo and behold, eyelashes only look weirder still.

Undeniably, there is great artistry here. At its best, the effect of painted wooden sculpture is astonishing – Montañés’ Cristo de los Desamparados, a full-sized crucified Jesus, is stunning and remarkably lifelike and shows the artist’s phenomenal ability to make wood look like cloth, and on several other sculptures, the way that the artist has worked on the inside of the mouth showcases consummate skill, but other images are distorted or amateurish, and I especially disliked Pedro de Mena’s output. Also wasn’t happy that the booklet was as opinionated as any audio guide, spewing several opinions as fact, such as calling paintings with decidedly broad, loose brushwork incredibly realistic (nothing wrong with looseness, of course), or interpreting lips parted as most certainly emitting a cry.

Next, we went to the portrait gallery to see photographs of music of the 60s. I share a love of the period with Dad, who was lucky enough to live through it, so we enjoyed ourselves immensely, quizzing each other about who was who in the Brian Auger Trinity, which Davies brother was which and just why Germaine Greer was draped over Vivian Stanshall with her breast out (not sure anyone has an answer to that beyond, ‘Hey, it was the 60s’. I was surprised by a few things, though, mostly tucked away in little magazine clippings that you had to look closely to see – how popular Helen Shapiro was, that Bowie managed to be famous years before ‘Space Oddity’ came out (there was a very sweet interview with him upon turning 20) and most oddly of all, that Slade started out as a skinhead band!

And thanks to a very twee magazine called ‘Boyfriend’, I will always think of the band as ‘Gerry and the P.M.S’!

Wanted to see Nowhere Boy, but it wasn’t out yet, so instead we saw Bright Star, a fictional account of the last years of Keats' life, but it was somewhat fanciful and yet also rather dull. Choosing many of the absolute worst of Keats’ lines (I still shudder at ‘elfin grot’, it rather predictably made Keats a good-looking, confident, witty charmer, perhaps quite scrawny but definitely attractive, whereas it would have been more interesting to have the average-looking, somewhat diffident person primary sources reveal. Poor Brown gets made into a villain, his endless nursing of Keats omitted, and horribly mawkish and juvenile courtly love letters are exchanged between Keats and Brawne, and the desire to keep an idea of pure romance makes for a confusing muddle towards the end, where you wonder why Fanny does not go with her fiancé to Rome, whereas the real Keats broke off his engagement. We see only glimpses of Hunt and the critics that so plagued Keats and his circle that they were moved to so utterly ruin his epitaph (the programme did not mention the parts added to what he wished for), and overall, I wished for the pace and irreverence of Desperate Romantics over this sentimentalised, dirge-like, laborious attempt to make a rather ordinary man who happened to write some of the greatest poetry of all time and died young into a brooding, tragic hero.

Connecting the film with Nowhere Boy, though, was that young actor, Hugh Grant’s cousin Thomas Sangster, looking gobsmackingly young for his 18 or 19 years. Watching him, I realised I was rather jealous. For so long, I wanted to act, until university, and stage kisses, and the realisation that doing love scenes horrified me and was incompatible with my ideas of what was acceptable to do while in a relationship. Today I realised that I never wanted to be an actor; what I wanted to be was a child actor. Just to have done what he has until now: that would be fine.

Anyway, that weird thought out of the way, it’s time for bed. I have lots to do tomorrow: try to organise a yellow fever jab for Brazil, pay for the capoeira event by bank transfer, change money and maybe get prepaid cards.

Ultimately, very pleased that I went to the Cosplay Ball. It wasn’t a particularly inspired event and it caused problems here and there, but the experience overall was very satisfying, and very worthwhile for a Sunday evening.

The beginnings of it were somewhat disastrous. Managed to leave to meet the others without my ticket, having left it somewhere I’d remember to take it and then being so certain it was somewhere memorable that I was too complacent to actually, y’know, take it with me. This is why things end up living in my wallet for months.

Arrived at Troc without being able to get in touch with anyone. I tried four or five numbers, and all went to answerphone, so I worried that the others had already got on the underground. Well, since I was there, I thought I may as well play some DJ Max Technika. There was a nice guy there who I’ve chatted to once or twice, and I told him I really wanted the Melody card design, but never seemed to arrive when it was in stock, and, having got a whole bundle, he was kind enough to sell me his at no mark-up. Yay!

Anyway, while I played, the others appeared. I told them what an idiot I was, and they all agreed that yes, I was an idiot, but I gave them my bank card, hoping they’d be able to check in with that, while I hurried back to the flat.

Happily, I managed to get back to the flat and down to Clapham without my Oyster timing out. Unhappily, I thought Aimee had told me to go to North Clapham, when actually the hotel was close to South Clapham. Whether she was wrong or I misheard we’ll never know, but since we have established I’m an idiot, I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. I asked her to head to South Clapham to meet me, and that I’d walk there. Further proof of my idiocy, as it was pouring with rain and I didn’t really know the way, but did realise that the hotel was closer than the station I’d sent them to. Tried to phone to tell them not to bother, but they didn’t answer…and my phone wheezed itself out of battery. Gah! Got lost and ended up in some hostel place, asking directions, and when I finally got to the hotel, not only was I soaked and grumpy, but Aimee and Kitty had got soaked and grumpy walking to the station to meet me, and Floyd had got soaked too (but may or may not be incapable of grumpiness) because he had no credit, meaning the only way to actually get the girls was to go and tell them I’d made it to the hotel.

Even worse, they couldn’t check in with my card because they were asked security details! Luckily, Ant was staying in the hotel too, so they could stay with him at least awhile.
Got into the room and flopped onto the beds to dry off and de-grumpify. Luckily it wasn’t a disaster in terms of timing because people wanted to see annoying Lloyd (the one I moaned about on the day of his audition because the only reason he was given a second chance was because he was good-looking) get booted off X-Factor.

Headed to the Clapham Grand for the event. My immediate impressions were good! Nice large venue, big dance floor, genuine attempts at waltzing going on (would be good to have some basic lessons given, though – at least to encourage people to move around the dancefloor, not rock back and forth), and some real effort made with costumes. Was also one of the most sociable nights out I’ve been on since I was a fresher; what’s great about a night out in cosplay is that I can go from being surrounded by the faces of familiar people – Rikk, Connie, Nessie (with bf Dwayne), Kieran, Harriett, Sean, Matt, Tony and loads more were there ahead of us, seemingly having a great time – to chats with lovely people I don’t know but who have seen me on the forums or dA, to conversations with strangers who just want to talk about your costume. It’s just such a friendly environment and I loved it.

My wallet, on the other hand, wasn’t too keen on paying £8 for my double whiskey (should’ve asked how much it’d cost ahead of time), and the inevitable happened – while teasing Rikk, he pushed me away, with his hand going right over my clay necklace thing, snapping a little piece off. That’s why I brought superglue! My only other complaint about the night was the live ‘steampunk’ band, who had obviously donned a couple of vintage flying jackets, not bothered to change a note of their sub-morrisey Indie twaddle about being bicurious and having a film made of their lives and by appropriating it, made a young but increasingly un-hip fashion movement that much more cringeworthy. They reminded me a lot of my old band, and ought to stick to playing to the Hoxton crowd in tight trousers. They love fops with little musical talent trying to emulate the Scissor Sisters there.

Otherwise, had a brilliant night and loved being able to dance to Lady Gaga one minute, Abingdon Boys’ School the next, not to mention such randomness as ‘Sora Mimi Cake’ and of course, the rather awkward experience of trying to remember how to dance a foxtrot while dressed as a character from a computer game. The live Disney medley in various languages was good fun, and it’s nice having a rest area upstairs.

Felt very early when we had too leave, though…I guess I’m still used to clubbing until at least 3. Back to the hotel to change, and then out on a food quest before watching some daft pretend kung-fu movie in Ant’s room that we must watch properly next Expo. Bed, where me and Kitty stayed up late chatting about rubbish and listening to Floyd sleep-talk and Aimee sleep-whine. Didn’t drift off until late, but luckily didn’t end up laying awake a long time, as I often do in unfamiliar beds.

All is not quite perfect in the social world of the anime fandom. There are still arguments and drama and lots of people who don’t get along, and there seem to be a few people who like to talk a lot about how they dislike me, wish to use a very happy and loving relationship as a stick to beat me with, or even worse, criticise me purely to get brownie points from others, but ha ha, cosplay is a hobby. It’s fun. It’s silly. Sure, it has a lot of very insecure personalities in it, and not everyone is gonna love everyone, but I feel like relaxing and being upfront instead of being cowardly and underhanded would help everyone have a nice Buddha-like sense of peace and harmony! Then again, what do I know? I speak my mind directly and tell people what I think of them honestly, I like people to do the same, and sure, if I disagree, I’ll argue back, but I’m well aware that I’m no great cosplayer, and this attitude is what gets me in trouble. It seems it’s much better to just keep things behind people’s back and anonymous, even though you can be sure in this goldfish bowl that what you say always goes back to the person in question. Also, I’d like to say that if you hear I’ve slagged you off, chances are that I’ve actively defended you on several occasions and probably like you much more than you imagine. There are a few people I dislike, but, without exception, I have only one thing against any of them: they all turned on me without me understanding why, or agreeing with their reasons.

Wow, this is a long entry, even by my standards. Better stop the rant. So yeah, this morning we returned to the Troc for more Technika (yay ‘Trainee’ rank!), had a rushed Misato (they’re normally so quick but today decided to be sloooow) and I touched base at home before coming to capoeira. I forgot to bring my USB stick, so went to Starbucks for the first time in ages to use their free internet to download some manga, but the connection is terrible. Anyway, I’ve gone on for far too long, so time to write!