Down the Tubes (Part 8)

Barbie in a Can.

Home of good taste.

Gothic architecture is pointed. Buckminster Fuller architecture is geodesic. Greecian archiecture is cubic. Catholic architecture is shaped like praying hands. The London style of architecture is...long.


What a magnificent pair of bollards.



"All politics are based on the indifference of the majority."

- James Reston


Down the Tubes (Part 7)

Following my decision to visit places I'd never heard of: Plaistow.

You know when you're in the outskirts when language itself falls apart.

Unless you're captain Kirk, is it usual to have bridges fall on you?

New special paint that doesn't climb.

8am - 9pm authorised permits only. All other times, unauthorised permits.

Warning: Diverted Traffic Ahead.

Or...diverted traffic goes this way, undiverted traffic doesn't.

Get your free punctures repaired here.

Chinese food is to take away what, exactly?

The additional only controls permit holders on eventful days.

When a change of priorities is ahead, signal it.

Even directions mean something different.
 
Even the graffitists aren't sure what they mean.

Way out man.



"The true paradises are paradises we have lost."

- Marcel Proust


Down the Tubes (Part 6)

Bow Road.

Getting outside of cental London now - less money, less grand architecture. more inter-racial harmony. Well, up to a point.

As you can see, this was the point where I attempted to clean my camera. Without great success.

Lunchtime!

Spicy chicken wings, fries (with mayo) and a can of coke - one of the great international meals, along with cornflakes, MacDonalds and, er, cheese on toast.

Compare and contast: GBP1.50 for a mouthful of bad coffee in central London, versus GBP2.60 for a gutbusting box of deliciousness.

3.14: Wednesday

The man who sold me his old Tascam 4-track, and his old R50 drum machine...was a proper musician, with proper instruments, effects and sequencing kit. He played the trombone, and keyboards, and had a nice evening job making background music for crappy corporate product launches.

And so we spent several evenings messing around with sounds, keeping whichever accidents sounded interesting, and this track was one result.




"History is littered with the wars which everybody knew would never happen."

- Enoch Powell


Down the Tubes (Part 5)

A quick rush through Tower Hill.

Home of Jack the Ripper (except that's actually Whitechappel, two more stops along) and Charlie Chaplin (except he's actually from Walworth).


What's this? Russian Weeping Angels?


Actually no, it's a memorial garden to the twenty thousand merchant sailors who died in world war one.

I had no idea this place existed, but I'm glad it does. Maybe Baudrillard was right when he said the purpose of memorials is to enable forgetting, but some memorials accidentally serve their ostensive purpose.

Oh, and there's a tourist trap too.



"Self-love seems so often unrequited."

- Anthony Powell


Down the Tubes (Part 4)

Mansion House.
 
Does not contain mansion houses as such.





But there is this building. It's the international headquarters of the Salvation Army. Because charity is all about giving.

To charities.



"An accumulation of facts is no more a science than a heap of stones is a house."

- Henri Poincare


Down the Tubes (Part 3)

Next stop: Warren Street.

Sited opposite a lot of big, futuristic, green office blocks.



A small confession: Whenever I meet Indian people, they seem to give off a vibe that's...well, camp. Bangladeshi men even more so. It's obviously just a bit of culture mismatch - the norms of one part of one culture resembling the norms of noncorresponding parts of another.

On the other hand....


Oh, and dogs are nice.

3.14: Song for the Poet

The trouble with writing something for a friend is...sometimes it turns out they're not really a friend to anyone.

But I think Jacob Bronowski suffers from definite undersampling.




"One thing society is not is a family - not even a dysfunctional one."

- Christoper Hitchens


Down the Tubes (Part 2)


First stop, Green Park. Chosen simply because I'd never heard of it before.



Opposite the station is a 'The Brasserie'. A 'the brasserie' is not a high-society bra shop, but an expensive restaurant.



Central London is full of large stone buildings constructed in a Brisish Empire pastiche of a Roman rip-off of Ancient Greek architecture.

I once spent a year getting a fun but useless qualification in something called "Classical Civilisation". Thus I have (a) read Homer in translation and (b) memorised the difference between Ionian and Doric columns. These are Ionian.

I also wrote a thesis asking whether Marx's image of a postcapitalist society was influenced by the sketch of a state ruled by philosopher-kings in Plato's Republic. My answer: No.

But it could only be in late globablised capitalism that (a) a mouthful of coffee costs GBP1.50 and (b) you stand in line for fifteen minutes to buy the coffee just so you can ask for the key to the toilet just so you can have a wee.



"Reverting to old ideas, when people become disappointed in new ideas, does not help."

- Peter Demianovich Ouspensky


Down the Tubes (Part 1)


This is a story about two pointless journeys. They both happened last Thursday (August 16th 2012).

The First Journey

I have a friend who's trying to set up a business - which will employ several people including me. But he's out of the country, and there's a load of paperwork.

So at 0140 on Thursday morning, just as I was getting ready for bed, he calls. He says he's got a family member who works at an embassy, and this relation as a special favour can push through all the paperwork in one day - rather that it taking several weeks.

There's just one problem: The relation goes on holiday tomorrow, so could I print out all the paperwork my friend's about to email, and catch a train to London in the morning. Oh, and I have to be at the embassy by midday at the latest, because...something something something.

The train fare will be reimbursed, but I need to get up at six in the morning to print the bumpf and get the earliest train possible. I'm dubious, but I'll do it.

It's nine hours later, I've finally found the embassy and I'm sitting in a waiting room decorated entirely in brown. I'd post a photo, but embassies don't let you take mobile phones inside because...something something something.

It's another ninety minutes later, and my friend's distant relative gets back from his two hour lunch break.

It's fifteen minutes after that, and I'm back on the street having learned four things.

One, the man who works at the embassy is in fact a receptionist. Two, receptionists cannot, as a rule, bypass their bosses. Three, half the paperwork was missing. Four, the other half was the wrong paperwork.

And after another half hour of text messages and phone calls, five: My friend's relative insists that yes, he really can fasttrack the paperwork, and it'll cost nothing extra to do (as opposed to GBP1000 to employ an agency to do it), so all I need to do is return to London in two weeks. And this time it'll work and everything'll be fine. Because...something something something.

Which I agree to do. Just as soon as the money for both train fares appears in my bank account.

So. Utter fiasco. But then I realise something.

The Second Journey

I'm in London with a train/bus/underground ticket that'll take me anywhere in the city until midnight.



I can be a tourist for the day. I've got a phone with a terrible camera, and I can do a series of blogposts featuring blurry pictures of whatever is within walking distance of whichever tube stations I chose to visit.



So begins my second journey - through the tubes. Starting tomorrow.



"The greater the ignorance the greater the dogmatism."

- William Osler




"One of the first duties of the physician is to educate the masses not to take medicine."

- William Osler


3.14: Palpatine

My first ever attempt at singing. It's not a song, and there's only one note, but I was actually quite pleased to find I could sing a vowel in tune.

Plus, a school choir.




"The universe does not owe you a sense of hope."

- Richard Dawkins




"They spend their time mostly looking forward to the past."

- John Osbourne




"To see what is in front of one's nose needs a constant struggle."

- George Orwell


3.14: Song for the Boy

The first of a trilogy of tracks written 'for' my closer friends at college. They never got to hear their 'songs', and in fact I told almost no one I was spending all my free time messing about with sound.

The first one of the three - everyone assumed he was in love with me. The second - everyone assumed I was in love with him. The third - I actually was in love with him. Or possibly lust - when you're 19 it's difficult to tell.

The three 'songs' were written as an interconnected trilogy. This one was also an experiment with having the drum machine play the bass line.




"The great enemy of clear language is insincerity. When there is a gap between one's real and one's declared aims, one turns as it were instinctively to long words and exhausted idioms, like a cuttlefish squirting out ink."

- George Orwell




"As with the Christian religion, the worst advertisement for Socialism is its adherents."

- George Orwell


Fire! Fire!

I started to write a blogpost last night about how I might get fired today.

Today I was fired.

My crime was asking my class to write short essays about what they liked and disliked about the school. They liked the teachers, the games, and the way we taught using pop songs and TV shows - a method greatly disapproved of by management.

The students hated, and I mean really hated, just two things. The absurdly long prescribed lesson length of 80 minutes. And the official school textbook.

This book was compiled from mismatched sections spliced from other textbooks. The section on asking questions contained no questions, the spread on second conditionals was simply incorrect, and tasks for beginners were explained in language difficult for advanced readers.

It came with a CD of pre-recorded dialogues - in the wrong order, with some missing, not matching the pages in the book which referred to them.

In short, it was completely unusable. Which is why none of us used it.

Management however, decreed that teachers must use it, and every student must learn from it, even though there weren't nearly enough copies to go round.

Oh, and any manager could walk into any class at any time to 'assess' whether a teacher was 'supporting management', and terminate their contract at any time. All completely illegal of course.

My crime then was agreeing with my students. Or knowing my job, whichever is worse.

On friday, the directive came through, complete with threats and belittling language, and three teachers walked out. One was persuaded to come back - and was fired an hour later for explaining why he walked out.

On monday morning, another was re-hired, re-fired, re-hired and re-fired.

On monday afternoon, I got an email telling me I was fired. It contained three short paragraphs, featuring four basic grammar mistakes and two punctuation errors.

At least one other was also fired - and all by the same unqualified manager parachuted in to, er, calm things down. At least another two colleagues are considering walking out, and a further two desperately want to leave but can't for financial reasons. Yet.

So, a shitty school in meltdown. A raft of complaints to the regulators - who've been known to withdraw accreditation on the basis of one complaint. So far two legal actions against the school pending, and a picket outside the premises.

Two things I love. Teaching - and learning from - students, and watching idiots crash and burn. I've got a new job starting soon, I've made some good friends at work, there's now finally some time to make music...and I get a lie in bed tomorrow.

Today has been a good day.



"The kind of people who always go on about whether a thing is in good taste invariably have very bad taste."

- Joe Orton




"Good taste and humour are a contradiction in terms"

- Malcolm Muggeridge


3.14: The Story He Told Me

I was experimenting with more abstract sounds. Sometimes that meant disconnected soundscapes that no one would want to hear, no matter how clever I'd been with them. And sometimes it meant finding new ways to abuse the equipment, like recording the tune backwards to see how it sounded forwards.

But always, it meant revisiting films I'd grown up with.




"The orgasm has replaced the Cross as the focus of longing and the image of fulfilment."

- Malcolm Muggeridge


Teaches, Shouts and Leaves

In the world of TEFL, it's not unusual to see vacancies advertised for schools which urgently need 12 teachers...in the middle of a term.

It's obvious what's happened. The entire teaching staff have walked out, and management suddenly need replacements. As for why they've walked out, the usual reason is just not being paid. Though bullying management, complete absence of resources, and insane school owners are common too.

Today at my school, we had a meeting. Higher management had sent a directive to lower management to berate teachers for not using the school's own (utterly unusable) textbook, and to say they'd be randomly dropping in on us to 'assess our adherence to guidelines'.

This bullying management, combined with the complete absence of resources, plus unpaid breaks and preparation time, low pay, bonkers timetabling and bonkerser travel arrangements...led to the meeting starting with five teachers...and finishing with two.

A lot of shouting, a lot of failed misdirection from the manager, and a walk-out.

I was one of those who stayed, barely - and for the sake of the students. That might not make much sense if you're not the kind of person attracted to teaching. But I'll put up with a fair bit of shit for the sake of my class of 16 german teenagers. Plus five redirected from the class of one who did walk out.

A fair bit, but no more that we've had for the last five weeks. I'll stay - for another week but no more, just until the end of the course of my current students.

Or...anyone drops into my class unannounced to 'assess my adherence to guidelines'. Any more shit from management, and my self-respect outweighs my professionalism.



"An orgy looks particularly alluring seen through the mists of righteous indignation."

- Malcolm Muggeridge




"The lot of critics is to be remembered by what they failed to understand."

- George Moore


3.14: Threads

Sometimes everything just comes together. The experiments with coaxing out new textures from the drum machine, the experiments with what sounds you sample and what melodies fall out of the keyboard...and the pot luck of what samplable dialogue has been on TV recently.

I've always been fond of voices and accents. At the time I didn't know who owned this Polish accent - so I didn't know it was Vladek Sheybal, the actor who for 20 years appeared in every British-made spy serial whenever they wanted a sophisticated East European bad guy, starting with 'Number 5' in From Russia with Love.




"A man's dying is more the survivor's affair than his own."

- Thomas Mann




"Sentimentality is the emotional promiscuity of those who have no sentiment."

- Norman Mailer




"There is wishful thinking in Hell as well as on Earth."

- CS Lewis


Tasty

I tried smoking once.

Someone offered me their cigarette to try, so I took a drag...and spent ten minutes lying on the floor, coughing smoke out of my lungs, getting stomach cramp from the convulsions, and waiting for my eyes to stop streaming.

When I was more or less recovered, I thought maybe I'd done it wrong, so I tried taking another drag. And spent another ten minutes on the floor.

That's my experience of smoking.

As a child, I lived through both my parents giving up cigarettes in the the late 70s - patiently waiting the months for them to stop being snarling ratbags, and turn into the healthy, happy, clean-lunged people the anti-smoking campaigns had promised.

And eventually the cravings did go away, and they did get their senses of smell and taste back, and they went on to cut out white sugar completely, then brown sugar in tea, and for the most part, deep fried takeaway food.

So I know two things about tobacco. One, it's rather less fun than bashing your shin on a car's hot steel bumper in blazing summer - and yes, I have done that. Two, once you've pushed past how unpleasant it is, it's extremely difficult to stop...even though it's still pretty unpleasant.

You see, I've lived all my life with the fact that people are addicted to smoking, but I don't understand what this kind of addiction is.

An addiction to heroin, sure. You take it, you feel amazing, you need a little more to feel the same way next time, and it feels so good you're willing to risk being killed by the impurities.

An addiction to chocolate, well why not? It's not the same, but you feel good when you eat it, and you can get the idea that eating twice as much will make you feel twice as good, and when it doesn't, you figure you somehow didn't eat it right...and need to try again.

An addiction to sex, not so different from chocolate. It used to make you feel good, so you keep doing it in the hope that it'll start making you feel that way again. And when it doesn't, well you're not doing it enough. People can go for decades caught in that kind of loop.

An addiction to facebook? Well if you're going to classify anything you do a lot because you enjoy it, you may as well classify 'being with your friends' as an addiction. Or 'breathing', because it certainly feels bad when you stop doing it.

Bullshit media scare stories aside, there's a lot of addiction, and a lot of types of addiction around. But chemical addiction, to alcohol or tobacco, I honestly don't have an experience I can relate it to.

I get that people do it, and that there's a patten to them doing it, but what's going on inside, that's opaque.

People can obviously acquire tastes, and quite quickly, just by doing something several times, probably in teen years.

At 19 I acquired a taste for sucking penises and having my nipples twisted - and I still have both, even though when I tried them at 17 both seemed repugnant. I never picked up a taste for anal play or kissing. And I think I managed to lose a taste for women sometime around age 14.

I watched others develop tastes for grungy guitar music, 16th century choral music, or rapid chanting of poetry to loops - something called 'hip hop'. And the usual reason for picking up a musical taste? Being born into the exact socio-economic subgroup which discovers it, because the previous fashion was getting old at just that moment.

So I imagine if you obey peer pressure to drink a lot of beer, you might eventually come to get pleasure from the flavour of beer, as opposed to the social licence that comes from being drunk.

Or the numbness that comes from being really drunk. It might not feel good, but at least you don't feel bad. Yes, I've know a few alcoholics - stay at home solitary drinkers, and homeless war veterans.

None of which tells me why it's difficult to quit smoking. It's not the learned pleasure of tar on your tongue, it's not peer pressure, or simple 'force of habit', and it can't be just the buzz of alertness - because if the addiction were to the stimulation as opposed to the stimulant, then smokers would be addicted to any and everything that gives them a similar buzz, instead of specific little white sticks.

I'm sure it's true that many smokers need the buzz, not to feel good, but simply to function properly. But that still doesn't explain the fixation on this buzz as opposed to that one.

So no, I don't get it. I just get that all the explanations I've so far come across...don't explain anything.



"The proper function of a critic is to save the tale from the artist who created it."

- DH Lawrence


3.14: Hear It

Eventually...I got a drum machine! A Kawai R50 rompler, second hand for GBP400 in 1990.

So the hundreds of tape loops neatly hung up and catalogued around the walls were now just bohemian decoration, and I discovered three things in quick succession:

1) Making a beat is trivially easy.
2) Making an interesting beat is pretty hard.
3) Messing around with rhythms is great fun.




"To the Puritan all things are impure."

- DH Lawrence




"It is impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do."

- Jerome K Jerome


A Good Day

Several nice things happened today.

First of all, I got paid. A thousand English pounds for a month of teaching. Which is to say, between 3 and 7 hours a day, sitting and sweating in hot, muggy, bad-smelling rooms with 16 or so German teenagers who are supposed to be on holiday. Me teaching them grammar they don't want and vocabulary they don't remember.

And you know what? With the shit pay, shit conditions, shit resources and bullshitting management with shit-for-brains organisation...it's actually worth it. Solely because of the students.

I've introduced them to Doctor Who, Fawlty Towers, Swedish synthpop, the Swedish Chef, and the fact that every single English language textbook is both crushingly dull and stuffed with elementary mistakes. Which is why I don't use them.

They've introduced me to Oktoberfest and Currywurst, One Direction and Justin Bieber, Maroon 5 and Rammstein...and the fact that teaching English in German schools consists in a teacher who doesn't know the subject, drawing on a literal blackboard with real altmodisch (old fashioned) chalk. And not letting the students speak in the language they're supposedly learning.

Second, having got paid, I got that three terabyte drive, for storing the astonishing amount of TV that I've recorded and might get around to watching in my old age. If I don't show it to my students first.

Oh, and that bit of software I've been agonising about buying...I got for half price.

I finally got through to the Saudi embassy, where I spoke to a fantastically bored lady who told me that no, I don't need to make an appointment for them to take five days to stamp my frelling visa.

In the morning I learned that the German word for 'bullshit' is...'bullshit', and that the theory of conditional grammar forms I was taught in college makes no sense at all. In the afternoon a beer-fueled musonerdfest with a colleague - Delia Derbyshire, Karlheinz Stockhausen, Luigi Russolo.

And back home there was a letter from an old friend waiting when I got home, and a text message from, er, a different kind of friend who feels like, um, meeting up.

A good day doesn't have to add up to anything to be a good day.




"Experience is not what happens to a man; it is what a man does with what happens to him."

- Aldus Huxley


3.14: Thursday

More from Alan and his rompler, from before synthesisers which played back pre-installed samples were known as romplers.




"Several excuses are always less convincing than one."

- Aldus Huxley