Music to My Ears... and This Whole Time, It's Been British!

I listen to my iPod a lot. I can do without it, especially in such a vibrant city as London (and Bloomington, if you walk through the right parts), but nothing else can make a walk, train ride, or bus trip so effortlessly interesting. ("Effortlessly" rules out reading, which unless you're good at walking blindly makes things difficult. And dangerous, depending on the amount of lightposts and potholes. But I digress.) Given the monotony in such travelling, the music I listen to can bring me to a different place, make me even more aware of my present surroundings (like if passing cars follow the beat of a drum), or turn me off to all external stimuli.

Including the music, if you're listened to it enough. This has happened to me. My music library has undergone major expansion in the two years I've been at IU, but I still don't venture very far outside of my musical comfort zone. Sure, I listen to things now that I wouldn't have paid attention to five years ago (like The Roots), but that doesn't keep me from returning to the old standbys over and over again. And since I do a lot of solo moving (to class, to work, to a photo assignment, etc.), I listen to those personal classics, not just over and over again, but over and over and over and OVER again.

I had no idea how many of my favorite songs and artists were British.

Because the traveling situations over here have been different than usual (they drive on the other side of the road, for Christ's sake!), I've paid more attention to what I'm listening to. What I've found is that I was infected with some British music bug a long time ago, and it's always stayed under the radar. I tell people that I'm more of a song person than an artist or album person, so the sheer amount of British-ness in my music hasn't dawned on me until now.

Hell, I heard The Beatles' "Come Together," Supertramp's "Ain't Nobody But Me," and David Bowie's "Suffragette City" while I wrote this entry! I kept looking through my catalog, and I found Elton John, The Clash, Deep Purple, Emerson Lake & Palmer, Eric Clapton, Gilbert & Sullivan (!), Joe Cocker, The Police, and Queen. There are probably a few others that I missed, as well as artists that are on my laptop but not in my iPod.

I described earlier (on more than one occasion) how Beatles music sounds different here. Now that I've found so much more British music in my iPod, about half of my songs will sound different. I need to pay more attention! I wouldn't want to miss any more of these revelations.

P.S.: At this time tomorrow, I'll be at the Gatwick airport, getting ready for a weekend in Dublin. Sweet!

From One Religious Experience to Another

The Fifth Church of the London Tour

and
Abbey Road!

I carefully planned my route early in the morning. I would get onto the Central Line Tube train at Chancery Lane, change to the Bakerloo Line at Oxford Circus, change to the Overground Line at Queen's Park, and get off at Kilburn High Road. I would make it in time for the 11:00 Mass at Sacred Heart Catholic Church on Quex Road, and then go from there. To where? You know.

So far, I had been to two Anglican churches (Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's) and two Catholic churches (St. Peter and Westminster Cathedral). I could describe St. Peter and the cathedral pretty easily if you asked me to (and indeed, I already have described one of them), but Sacred Heart is a little more of a chore. Let me try it.

...

It was familiar, yet foreign.

Yeah, that should do it.

The familiar lay in part of the Mass that I hadn't heard consistently since I was a kid (the short sentence after the Lamb of God invocation, the one that Msgr. Schaedel always says) and that I've gotten used to over only five weeks here (chaos instead of orderly lines for Communion; apparently, it's not just a Colombian thing!). There was also a guest homilist, a missionary from India asking for money to support a seminary program over there (I gave a pound.). That part reminded me of summers at St. Malachy, where every weekend or two we had a guest who shared stories and asked for our time, talent, treasure, or prayers. It unexpectedly brought me home.

The foreign part? No one said anything at the same time. If a visitor were just listening and not participating, he/she would hear jumbled voices instead of, "And also with you," or the Lord's Prayer. (But everyone was together on the after-petitions Hail Mary!) This may have been caused by another characteristic of this service that... well, it's not foreign per se, but really a reminder of the Church's universality.

Everyone was there, it seemed. Europeans, Africans, Indians, Orientals; young and old; suits and t-shirts; nearly every possible type of person was there. The eucharistic ministers were black and white and Asian, the altar servers were black, the visiting homilist was Indian, and the celebrant was Indian. I love St. Malachy, but we're a pretty white parish. I'm glad this was Corpus Christi weekend, because all the parts of the Body of Christ were on full display here. (Or nearly all. Getting every part would be impossible. Just enough to provide a good representation.)

***

From one religious experience to another.

Once Mass was over, I took out my iPod and set it to play... you know... the entire album.

I planned for this specifically. Sacred Heart is on the north end, and the famous zebra crossing is on the south end. So, I had about 30 minutes, to myself, to listen to Abbey Road while I walked down Abbey Road.

Beatles music has never sounded so good. As the address numbers went down from 146 to 103 to 51 to 32 and finally to 3 (the studios), I felt as if I were back in 1969, when the songs were new and fresh. (They're still fresh, but humor me!) Even more strongly, I felt like Iain Macmillan, the guy who took the album cover photo. I felt a part of music history, and every zebra crossing that was not at 3 Abbey Road drew me even more into the magic.

Then I remembered that I was a tourist, going to a tourist destination, with other tourists. I only realized that, fortunately, once I got to the actual crossing, so I at least had the whole walk to indulge my dreams.

I also remembered that it was 2009, and that business is still booming in the area. As is the traffic. Given that I was alone (I planned for that!) I could be a Beatlemaniac on my own schedule, as long as it coincided with the cars and buses going through the three-street intersection.

Let me tell you a little bit about zebra crossings. Pedestrians have the right of way. When someone is walking through such a crossing, cars have to stop for him/her until the pedestrian reaches the other side. People can walk through a zebra crossing whenever they choose, and cars are ready to stop if they need to. Britons (and people who have stayed here for five weeks) know how they work, and both sides of the transaction get along just fine.

Chaos enters the equation when foreigners try to cross the zebra. They don't know how zebra crossings work, so they think they have to wait for the traffic to clear. They don't have to wait; as I said earlier, drivers are prepared to stop. This difficulty was in my head when I saw people trying to recreate the scene; they felt like they had to communicate with the traffic and watch for the exact moment when they could cross.

I forgave them, though, when I remembered that the photographer has to be outside the zebra stripes and in the street. So, yes, Abbey Road crossers have to deal fully with traffic, even given the nature of such crossings.

Anywho, since I was alone, I did some things that a group might not have had the patience for: get perspective photos from each Beatle's spot on the crosswalk, take photos for other people, and write a note & mug for the camera outside the studios. What I couldn't get, of course, was the album-cover shot for myself, so I had someone take a photo of just me crossing.

Given the traffic at that particular time, it didn't turn out too well. I didn't direct the photographer very well, either; I should have told her to get closer to the middle of the street. (I did for her picture with three of her friends.)

Still, this proves that I was there. !!!!!! (I had gotten to "Carry That Weight" at this point, by the way.) Even though the main point of this jaunt was to get something like The Photo, I at least know now how the traffic works so that the next time I go (with at least four other people!) I'll have everything figured out.

And I had the Abbey Road Album Walk! That was worth everything. If anything bad happens in the last three weeks here, I'll say to myself, "At least I heard Abbey Road on Abbey Road."

Synopsis of Friday and Saturday

(Photos here.)

I have some epicness to describe in the next post, so this will just be a summary of the first two days of the weekend. Otherwise, I'll miss these very important parts just because of today's awesomeness.

Friday
Went to Clapton Pond... just for the name of the pond. I sat in the park surrounding it, reading Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried, and I stayed there for longer than I expected. (Good read!) I took photos of the pigeons in the park but missed the one time that the whole lot of them flew off at one time. Then I got pizza on Lower Clapton Road before making my way back to London for the evening.

Saturday
1) Visited Oxford University on graduation day. We couldn't see everything because of the ceremonies, but we saw the campus and the surrounding town come to life because of them, so it was a fair trade-off.

2) C.J., Caitlin, and I went to The Eagle and Child, the pub where C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkein, and the rest of the Inklings met to discuss issues and stories. I could feel the 20th-century literature envelop me! It was the first highlight of the weekend.

3) Zach, the Sams, Katie, and I went to a Roots concert. They (Zach and Sam Leffers) say you can't call a concert "the best ever" until the day after. (Unless it was genuinely bad, it will feel like the best concert ever when you're leaving. No fail.) It's the day after now, and it was the best concert I've ever been to! Sure, I have limited experience with concerts, but still! It's hard to beat a drum routine like the one I heard last night.

Okay, now for Sunday. Next entry to come soon.

H1N1 Virus Has Reached WHO Level Six (Pandemic)

As I write this, I'm listening to Dr Margaret Chan, Director-General of the World Health Organization, announce WHO's elevation of the prevalence of influenza A H1N1 (swine flu) to level six, or pandemic level. The key sentence in the presentation (the one saying that the level is raised to 6) was said at 5:08 p.m. British Summer Time.

Do not panic. Please.

This announcement only recognizes that H1N1 has spread to a global enough level that WHO can call it a pandemic. It does NOT mean that the virus has gotten worse. Indeed, most cases are still mild and not fatal. Basically, it serves as a call to countries to examine their own health systems and make sure that they have the right guidelines and restrictions (and vaccines, if able) in place. It's also, according to Dr Chan and in answer to a journalist's question, "a signal to the international community", and especially developed countries, to help developing countries by donating vaccines and other services.

The press conference in Geneva continues as of right now. It's moved on to journalists' questions. There will probably be more material (and maybe the full text of Dr Chan's statement) here or around there as the day goes on.

...

Sorry, I just felt like putting that out there. Reading through sensational stories in the papers and online over here has gotten to my head.

[8:58 p.m.: Here's the critical part I mentioned earlier:

On the basis of available evidence, and these expert assessments of the evidence, the scientific criteria for an influenza pandemic have been met.

I have therefore decided to raise the level of influenza pandemic alert from phase 5 to phase 6.

The world is now at the start of the 2009 influenza pandemic.

We are in the earliest days of the pandemic. The virus is spreading under a close and careful watch.

The full text appears here. The video (with journalists' questions) appears here in .wmv format.

There are a lot of photos of Britain in here.

Eighteen Facebook albums worth, in fact. Check them out right here. Also Dublin, and Paris, too. Oh, man!

(Watch out for "Check". There's nothing offensive in it, unless you don't like Stella Artois.) (Don't worry, I wasn't involved in its creation.)

I can't see what you did there! How do I do it??

American culture (or whatever part of it you choose to take in) ingrains into its participants choice phrases that help them identify with the group. Some such phrases, like questions of age identification (“How old are you?”), simply separate languages or language groups (e.g. Spanish, literally “How many years do you have?”) and include a lot of people in the group it creates.

Others, however, are more selective and tag the speaker as member of a smaller set. Within these groups, everyone knows the phrase, but the group can be quite small based on the relevant phrase. Examples:

Americans of a certain age and awareness- “It depends upon what the meaning of the word ‘is’ is.”

Sufferers of the late 90s-early 2000s- “Who let the dogs out?”

Central Indiana radio listeners- “Hi, Mr. Obvious. Uh, long-time listener, first-time caller.”

YouTube watchers- “We’re on a bridge, Charlie!”

IU fans- “I want them to bury me upside down so my critics can kiss my ass!”

People hopped up on caffeine and writing papers in a dorm room while someone plays Ocarina of Time- “PREPOSTEROUS AMOUNTS OF WASTED TIME! PROCRASTITONE!!!1!” (There might only be three people in this group.)

Depending on your level of involvement in these groups, you might be able to either 1) have these come to mind in almost any conversation (e.g. the popular “That’s what she said!” comment) or 2) change them to apply to random situations. I often twist the above phrases to my will, replacing the “is” with, “It depends on what your definition of the word ‘lunatic’ is,” or describing lots of bold type and CAPS lock as "PREPOSTEROUS AMOUNTS OF WRITTEN STRESS!"

I can’t do that in Britain. I don’t know the well-known British phrases that identify you as part of the group. I’m sure that with time I can make off-the-cuff jokes based on loo-ney bins and Tube vision and other uniquely-England terms, but I haven’t gotten there yet.

I definitely can’t use the phrases I’ve learned in my previous social groups. Every time I want to say, “Hokay, so, here’s de Earth,” I have to remind myself that this might not be a group of people that would understand that reference. I’ve got free reign in my flat and among the other IU students, of course, but if I say out loud that “Charlie bit me!” I won’t get a response. (Or worse, people WILL have seen it and I’ll get a negative response. Like eggs in my face.)

As most of you know, though, I can make a joke, innuendo, or play on words in any situation. (Or at least I try.) My ability to do so in Britain will come in time, and I’ll let you guys know when it happens, because I'll be excited.

A Day in Sudbury

You can find all the photos (or at least all the good photos!) here.

9:35, Saturday 6 June
Okay, so I made up my schedule last night, and I planned to leave from the Liverpool Street station at 10:38. However, the train leaves every hour, so I’ve gotten onto the 9:38 train. It goes to Ipswich, with stops at, among other places. Markes Tey, where I will change to get on the train to Sudbury.

Because I got to the station at 9 a.m. (I thought it would take longer to get here & pick up tickets!), I walked around for a bit. This station is certainly not as big as King’s Cross or Paddington, but as I’m not used to train stations, it still seems big to me. What threw me off a little bit (but only a little bit) were the pigeons inside the station. I tried to snap a photo of one in flight over people’s heads, but it didn’t work too well. I might try again later, but I might not.



9:38
We’re leaving!

9:43
It looks like it’s gonna rain. Not good.

10:01
We’ve stopped in Shenfield. Seven new people have boarded my car.

10:10
We’ve stopped in Chelmsford. Four people got off, and three people got on. I’ve still got five seats to myself, and I don’t feel guilty about it. There’s plenty of room in the car.

10:16
A train passes by going the other way. With the speed at which each of us are going, the windows shake for two seconds as if they’ve been hit by the waves of a sonic boom.

10:21
We’ve stopped at Witham. Four people got off, and two got on.

10:29
We’ve stopped at Marks Tey. (Pronounced “Tay,” of course.) I thought I would have to run to get to the next train within four minutes, but fortunately for my sense of orientation, it was right next to the arriving train I was on. It wasn’t a big station at all, only four platforms for two tracks.

This train isn’t big, either; it has just one car.

10:33
We’ve left Marks Tey. I now have two seats to myself, with two more across the aisle.

10:39
We’ve stopped at Lner. (?) Four people got off, and nobody got on.

10:41
People are much more talkative on National Rail trains than they are on the Tube. My last train had two people talking about evaluations of the higher education system, while this train features a family (with a girl of about three standing on her seat and looking out the window) two older women talking, and three teenagers in the back chatting about their weekend plans. Whereas on the Tube, people glare at you if you say, “Hi!”

10:46
We’ve stopped at Bures. No one got off, and three people got on.

10:55
Welcome to Sudbury! It seems like a bustling town, but that may be because it’s near lunchtime on a weekend. Everyone in town will be out right now.

I see a lot of older people. I wonder if this is an old-person town without a lot of kids.

11:01
I’ve walked into Roys, a grocery store with a coffee shop attached to it. I’ve bought a hot chocolate and have sat down to collect my things. (I had nearly zoned out when we arrived at the station, so I had hurriedly packed everything in my backpack and gotten off the train.)

Because I still have enough food at home for dinner, I only plan to on spending money to buy lunch here. Unless, of course, something comes up, like they have some special WWII stuff to buy here. It has to be a big deal, though, because I paid 20 quid to get out here!

11:15 (still in coffee shop)
In four weeks in Britain, I’ve learned at least this: If you don’t know what to do or how to act or what to say in a certain situation, watch someone first. I’ve applied this to the pronunciation of Lurpak, how to use my Oyster card at each Tube stop, and (just now) where to put my empty hot chocolate mug when I leave. (On the trolley.)

11:20 – 11:35
I’ve walked around town for a bit, looking for someone who might know where the old airfields are. …Wait, I didn’t explain my trip for you guys!

My grandfather, James R. Farris (far left, first row; thanks go to Uncle John), served in the U.S. Army Air Force during World War II. He was a navigator under pilot Ralph Clinard in a B-17 called Pursuit of Happiness, and his missions flew off from an airbase north of Sudbury. My goal for this trip is to see that old airbase, no matter what state it’s in now, so I can report back to my family that I’ve been there.

There. Now you’re caught up.

11:56
I’ve just spent 20 minutes in Best Wishes greeting cards shop looking for a good British Father’s Day card. (Found one!) Once I bought the card, I asked the cashier if she knew where the Sudbury airfields were. She asked an older man (the store manager?) to come over and see if he knew. He said that I should go back down the street I was on, pass the market, keep the church and post office on my right, go through a set of traffic lights and two roundabouts, and walk another half-mile to get there. He also said that there isn’t much there, which I had gathered from Internet photos, but he and I agreed (after I mentioned that my grandfather flew there) that it’d be a treasure just to say I was there.

And so begins the 20-minute walk to the Sudbury USAAF fields (at 12:10).

(By the way, I was wrong about the rain. The weather is beautiful here! I need to wear my sunglasses.)

12:13
A guy in… interesting garb crosses the street to tell me about a medieval fair with jousting and the whole bit. It goes from 12 to 5, so I tell him that I might make it. I tuck the flyer he gives me into my pocket to remind me.

12:38
I stopped after the second roundabout to review the directions given me and make sure I was going the right way. (I have a bad history of that.)

I am. I’m fine. Time to keep walking.

Songs I’ve listened to on my iPod up to this point

Fantomen, Frigg
R.O.C.K. in the U.S.A., John Mellencamp
Bulbous Bouffant, The Vestibules
The Best is Yet to Come, Frank Sinatra
Dedicated to You, John Coltrane

Random Observation
I walked by a house with two dogs, and one of them barked at me as I walked by. He didn’t have an accent.

12:57
In the middle of The Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” I made it.

Honestly, it blends into the surrounding countryside a lot. The only hints I had of coming up to it were signs saying it was Private Property of the Suffolk County Council. Once I walked up to the entrance, though, I found a rock with a plaque commemorating the U.S.A.F. 486th heavy bombardment group, with flowers (though fake) posted next to it on the fence.












I’m here.






















13:34
Time to head out.

Pretty desolate out there. Whereas B-17s and B-24s flew out of here for bombing missions, now a company grows parsnip & grains, and people walk dogs & ride mopeds because they’re too young to drive cars.

That’s okay with me. Though it would have been cool for some of the buildings to be maintained, some of its “airfield qualities” have stuck, thanks to asphalt’s ability to hamper the growth of plants. Like I told the kid I met while walking around, I could imagine an airfield here. And I did.

14:21
With a little detour at the McDonald’s toilet, I’ve made it back to the centre of town. That was much longer than the 20 minutes the store guy said it would take, but he still got me there, and I appreciate him for that.

Now for the jousting fair!

14:32
I just bought three apples for 57p. That’s a pretty good deal, considering my hot chocolate was £1.10.

14:50
Warning: Contains raunchy language from underage kids. Unruly Brits. Tsk.
So, I’m walking to the Delphi Club on Newton Road when I meet this group of kids. There’s a girl and three guys, and they all look about 15 years old. (Except for one kid. He looks about 13.) They say, “Hello!” and I say, “Hello,” back to them. They cross the street to meet me.

“Is that a good apple?” says what seems to be the leader of the group. (You remember how groups of friends worked at that age.)

“Very good,” I reply back. “I’ve had better, but I’ve had much worse.”

“Are you from America?” asks the youngest-looking one.

“How could you tell?” I reply facetiously, knowing that my accent gave me away.

“This country sucks! America is like Skate Heaven, but here…”

“So, what are you here for?” asks the leader before the other three laugh their asses off behind me.

The youngest kid says through his laughter, “Did you know you have a balloon coming out of your ass?”

I raise an eyebrow, and he continues. “No, you literally have a balloon stuck to your ass. I swear we didn’t put it there.”

I feel back there, and sure enough, I pull off an orange balloon from my ass, stuck there with some gooey white substance.

“It’s like you have cum on your ass.”

I sit next to a brick wall, trying to get as much “cum” off my ass as possible, while the four kids walk toward the jousting festival.

“See, that’s why this country sucks!” the youngest one says quite honestly.

…I believe them when they say, “I swear we didn’t put it there.” I didn’t feel them sticking the balloon on my ass. I probably sat on it somewhere.

…Wait, WHERE????? How long have I had a balloon stuck to my ass?!

15:23
I’m at the jousting festival, with most of the white sticky stuff off of my pants. Mary, you would have loved this fair! Although yours were more hands-on and had better attendance. Or maybe it just seemed that way because I was younger.

Either way, I couldn’t stay for long since my train was leaving at 16:00. I did have time to observe some things:

A lot of kids “fought” each other with wooden swords that their parents bought for them.

One kid asked a re-enactor if he knew about video games. Ha ha.

They served beer. …In an indoor bar that was part of the regular Delphi Club. But I still bought a cold pint of Foster’s. (I didn’t buy a sword, because I couldn’t hope to bring it back to the States.)

They weren’t jousting yet. That would only start at 16:00. Dang.

They roasted a HUGE hog. I didn’t buy any of it, since I had already bought a beer, three apples, a hot chocolate, and a train ticket today.

16:01
I missed the train.

You know that direction problem I mentioned earlier? [“(I have a bad history of that.)”] Yep, ‘cept this time is was because of a roundabout. I can’t say this in many places in the U.S., but I took the wrong left. I turned too early.

…Come to think of it, you CAN say that in the U.S. Just not within the same intersection. Basically:













I would have made it if I had turned down the correct road. I ran down here, too!)

16:09
I’ve thought about it, and I’ve decided that I won’t go back to the jousting fest. (See “yours… had better attendance” and “I ran down here, too!”)

16:38
I’m back at Roys grocery store/coffee shop for one last time. I’ve been reading the Guardian G2 section from last Thursday, and it has reminded me why I brought it home from work. There’s a great column from Sam Leith about whether sauropods were straight-necked or upright-necked, a long-form story about Ahnold’s political rise and fall, and an assumption-shattering Private Lives piece written by a woman who can’t smile. The stories have taken up my new-found time quite nicely.

16:58
My bladder threatened to derail me (see what I did there?), but I made it back to the station to see the train pull in. As we’re pulling away, I see a kid of about one year walking down the aisle. He stops and looks at a nudie mag open on someone’s seat. (The “someone” is an older guy who bought it as a joke.) The father comes up behind the kid and pushes him along. The funniest part is that the kid hesitates before he starts walking again!

17:00
I’m finally on my way to Marks Tey & Liverpool Street. It’s been a long day of walking and imagining and picking white stuff off the back of my pants, so I’ll take a nap. Or at least listen to music and just sit here.

17:20
I’m at Marks Tey, and the connecting train to London is “delayed by a broken down train.” Ay!

17:49
I’m still in Marks Tey. What gives???

17:56
National Express just issued an apology for a 48-minute delay. Oy.

I ask the info guy what’s up, and he says that a train broke down five hours ago in a place where no other trains could get around it, so everything’s backed up almost an hour.

18:09
It’s here! Now I can truly rest.

18:56
I’ve arrived at Liverpool Street, 40 minutes late. They didn’t even get the delay right!

Final observations

I’ve noticed this before, but the British countryside is beautiful.

I was wrong about the number of older people in Sudbury. There were a lot of kids and middle-agers walking around, and their numbers increased as the day went on. It’s a very vibrant small town, and I wouldn’t mind living there if it weren’t for London.