Daily updates – Page 158 – a sibilant intake of breath

In which Milan’s dislike of team sports is discussed

For what I think was the first time in my life, I watched a portion of a televised soccer (football) match tonight: Poland versus Germany, as seen in the Saint Antony’s Bar. As a North American, I associate soccer with dreary mornings where children from ages of about ten to maybe seventeen or eighteen play while parents look on. My own soccer experiences were absolutely miserable – even worse than baseball, which I really despised. My experiences with coaches were all mutually hostile, while the ones with fellow players ranged from hostile to genuinely abusive. Soccer was as bad as the Cub Scouts. This has contributed to my general underlying conviction that team athletes are goons. It’s a conviction well reinforced by my spate of unfortunate incidents involving hockey playing roommates.

My natural response to being an obvious outsider in the team sports environment was to defy the lot of them, rather than try to conform. Of course, that is exactly the strategy that will maximize mutual hatred and cement a lifetime of resentment and barely suppressed anger about the whole experience. While I am absolutely certain most people playing team sports are decent people, I have the same kind of fear of them as I have of dogs, after being bitten several times as a paperboy.

Watching the match was interesting far more on sociological than athletic grounds. There was a small but noisome cadre of Poland fans, surrounded by many more people cheering (very softly) for Germany. By the time of the German victory at the end, they had become overt enough to make me pretty nervous. Since I find the whole concept of sport to be vaguely distasteful and unsettling, I suppose that’s not surprising. Even so, I suspect I will see bits of at least a few more matches before the World Cup has ended. I did manage to learn to enjoy Olympic hockey – at least when Canada was playing – so perhaps I am not entirely hopeless.

PS. With two days left in the semi-final of the video contest, please keep voting for Mica. Of course, once he gets to the final, I will be kicking up the publicity a bit.

Not quite the Guggenheim

Yesterday, before the Strategic Studies dinner, I made my second ever purchase of original art of the ‘hang on the wall variety.’ It’s a moderately good imitation Rothko oil on canvas painting, which I bought for less than ten quid from someone leaving the country. Friends from Vancouver might remember the pastel on paper head that was my first such purchase. I bought him from Kate’s friend Neal Rockwell in Victoria for $10 about seven years ago. It accompanied me through living in Totem Park and Fairview Crescent: always glaring outwards with these shocking eyes that I nonetheless found fascinating enough to never regret buying the thing or having it around. I felt a real affinity with that haunted figure.

By comparison, this 50x60cm rectangle of differing reds with a white rectangle near the top is much less interesting. While it definitely beats the blank – and somewhat battered – wall that it is now covering, Antonia and I both noticed upon hanging it that it somewhat resembles a video iPod in proportions: with the upper white rectangle corresponding to the screen. Probably, it will take me a while to reach a comprehensive and final judgment. Like music, I can tell immediately if there is the possibility that I will really like it, but it takes me at least a week to determine if I actually do.

From academic discourse to fistcuffsmanship

Tonight’s supervision went really well. Dr. Hurrell seemed unusually positive about my essay, and the conversation was engaging and useful. Afterwards, I spent a few hours with a group of Wadham students. At first, we were in Wadham’s Ho Chi Hinh Quad, before moving to the King’s Arms. There, some disagreement seemed to nearly lead to a brawl, so I cycled home. With a seminar at 11:00am tomorrow, it seemed wise.

I still owe Dr. Hurrell three papers, but I can console myself with the knowledge of seeing Antonia at OUSSG tomorrow, then having dinner with Claire on Wednesday, meeting lunch with Bilyana on Thursday, and possibly meeting Roz on Thursday night. It’s great to be seeing so many friends before they leave for the summer: Claire to New York, Roz to Rome, etc. The Wadham Library also got a book that is fairly essential to my thesis today; it is already secured in my backpack.

That clothe The Weald and reach the sky

Like so much else, the walking trip in The Weald was primarily a good mechanism for meeting new people. All told, fourteen people were part of the expedition. Something about rambling seems to attract people of a scientific or technical bent. I had long conversations during the five hour walk about mettalurgy, the GPS system, the manufacture of large organic molecules for pharmaceuticals, computer programming, fisheries, and the HIV fighting potential of a certain molecule that comes from sea fans. It was definitely a group of people I’d like to spend more time with. One even lent me the new Milan Kundera novel: Immortality.

The walk took place in and around the inspiration for A.A. Milne’s 100 Acre Wood, of Winnie the Pooh fame – though the terrain dates back to the establishment of a hunting park following the Norman Conquest. Marked features were low verdant hills, and idyllic stands of deciduous trees around small creeks. Throughout the hike (and the 2.5 hour minibus trips both ways), the sun was intense enough to make me fear that I will rosy tomorrow, despite the use of sunscreen and my wide-brimmed canoeing hat. I have an obvious watch tan.

Particularly appealing is the prospect of doing a trip to the Lake District with this group. I’ve been told that it’s an essential place to see, and to do so with such an obviously qualified and interesting sect is a welcome thing to contemplate. There is much about fit young scientists that appeals to me. Likewise, places of natural beauty that includes mountains.

After three days of devoted walking in the hot sun, followed by little sleep, my muscles are all clenched up and aching. I may allow myself to sleep in a bit tomorrow, before scrambling to come up with an excuse for Dr. Hurrell, explaining why I don’t have a paper for him. Given that we still have an undiscussed one to cover, he shouldn’t be too harsh on me.

PS. While walking to and from the rendezvous for the hike, I gave my first listen-through to Fox Confessor Brings the Flood. Some of the songs I can already tell are superb.

PPS. Being way too busy to read emails or blog posts is a novel and not entirely unwelcome experience. I feel like I’ve had a miniature vacation, right in the middle of an Oxford term.

London Gallery Tour

The primary focus of my trip to London with Antonia was art galleries. We saw sculpture in Canada House, off Trafalgar Square. We saw paintings in the National Gallery, National Portrait Gallery, and Tate Modern; also, photography in the National Theatre and additional sculpture in other places. Seeing art with a clever and interested fellow observer is wonderful for offsetting the overwhelming character of a place like any of the museums listed above. When that other person is also well versed in historical and mythological iconography, it is even more welcome. When you have dozens of original Dalis, Kandinskys, and Picassos strewn about, it can be hard to maintain focus.

Developing focus in the first place is hard when you need to wake up at 5:45am. As a reward, we were at the British Museum just in time for its opening. Right now, there is a fascinating temporary exhibit on Arabic calligraphy and artwork. Some of the material included is really superb; I especially enjoyed some of the examples where Asiatic kinds of calligraphy and Arabic lettering had been forged into elegant hybrids. Before leaving the British Museum, we also took a guided tour of the Islamic World section, as well as wandering on our own through the North American, Central American (where many of the sculptures have superb facial expression), and ancient British Isles areas. As always, the central atrium – installed sometime before my first visit in 2001 – is a striking piece of artwork in its own right, much like the turbine room in the Tate Modern. I love the elation and sense of safety I feel when enclosed in huge open-air geometric spaces.

After walking through Soho and Chinatown, Antonia and I arrived in Trafalgar Square. After a perfunctory security check, we were allowed into Canada House, though sadly not invited to the wine reception that was being prepared. Instead, I got around to finally registering as a Canadian national living in the UK and we had a look at some of the Canadian stone sculpture that was on display.

I really should dig through all the collected brochures to attach names to these descriptions, but I have neither the time nor the energy just now. Perhaps in future sittings.

Also at Trafalgar Square (aside from a version of Nelson’s column covered with scaffolding for repair, with the scaffolding decorated with sea life as a warning about global warming) are the National Gallery and National Portrait Gallery. At the first, we saw a terrifically frightening dragon that I am hoping Antonia will identify in a comment. All efforts at photography there were quite effectively thwarted. As has generally been the case, the National Portrait Gallery was an illustration of how few British authors, politicians, and public figures I have heard of. They lack a portrait of Douglas Adams: an oversight that really must be rectified.

Between that and the next art viewing (at the National Theatre), we met with two sets of Antonia’s friends – the first a friend from ancient schooldays and the second the kind gentleman who put a roof over my head for the unplanned overnight stay. At the National Theatre, we saw an exhibition of the top photojournalistic images of the year. Some were extremely good – particularly a portrait of Kofi Annan that makes superb use of contrast, composition, and dynamic range. Many were exceptionally gruesome, as I suspect is not unusual for such compositions.

After pizza-walking-sleep-wake-shower, the next day proceeded to the Tate Modern via a picnic. From National Theatre to Antonia’s friend Jong’s house was one long arc with the Gherkin as the central point. The return trip to the Tate Modern was essentially the converse. Since the recent major re-hang, I don’t entirely have my bearings in that fascinating place. As such, every return visit has the feel of rediscovery to it, much as I lament the fact that Hepworth’s Pelagos has been relocated to Cornwall. There, we met another friend of Antonia’s who is on the Tate staff related to planning and executing activities for children and families. A great way to be initiated into such a wonderful collection of art, no doubt.

My thanks to Antonia for the company that was the highlight of the trip, and to Jong who was kind enough to accompany us for a long while, and house us as well.

I would write more, but I need to get to sleep. It’s another 6:00am reveille tomorrow.

Quick London summary

Having just returned from London after one more day than I was planning to spend, I am living in hecticposttriptime. There is much that needs to be done before I leave for The Weald with the Walking Club at 8:00am tomorrow, outside Trinity. The trip with Antonia proved to be very good: we saw quite a collection of galleries and museums, met some of her friends, and generally accessed the city in a very satisfying way. I came back with about five kilos of tofu (bought at an eighth of the Oxford price, in Soho’s Chinatown), two kinds of black bean sauce, and wasabi peas.

Two big and welcome surprises accompanied my return: the discovery that Meghan Mathieson has extremely generously sent me a copy of the new Neko Case CD Fox Confessor Brings the Blues, along with a letter, and the reception of a message from Rosalind that indicates that there has been a miscommunication working against us. While she is only going to be in the country for a few more weeks, tops, there seems to have been a considerable and unexpected reconciliation.

I will post a more thorough write-up, with photos, sometime later tonight.

Northward along canals

By the fading light this evening, I took an unusually interesting ten mile ride. Initially cutting due north, I veered west until I found a canal I’d never seen before: lined with narrowboats and punctuated with weirs and numbered red brick bridges. After about four miles, I found myself at the intersection with the Oxford Canal. I tried an offshoot path labeled ‘River Thames’ but was rapidly foiled when the path narrowed almost immediately, became composed of unstable dirt clods, and proved to be flanked with shoulder-high stinging nettles.

Once you get more than a couple of miles up along the canal, it seems like a completely different world from the residential and commercial parts of Oxford, as well as the kind of roadway-intersected countryside around Kidlington or Cassington. The houses, which vary in frequency along different stretches, have yards opening right out onto the waterway. Cats and children fishing seem to be common, and the general sense of direction that it is easy to maintain on roads falls victim rapidly to the gentle curves of the branching canals.

The light – between about 8:10 and 9:30pm – was that really lovely warm and directed sunset light, though still bright enough to support ISO100 handheld shots at 50mm or so, in the open spaces at least. The only trouble is that the sky is completely blown out in every shot. Perhaps a polarizer would have helped.

Riding on gravel or dirt track takes dramatically more effort than doing so on blacktop: basically constant peddling in my second-lowest gear in order to maintain speed. The feeling is rather more substantial at the end, however.

Since I need to be at Gloucester Green for the bus to London at seven, I should try to get to sleep early. This is unlikely. Being ill the other day (and sleeping fourteen hours) has completely thrown off my sleeping schedule. I find myself waking up ravenous at random times between three and seven in the morning, always a sure sign that it will take a concerted effort to get things on track. That will only be possible once these two upcoming trips have passed.

PS. To anyone considering replicating the ride above, I suggest wearing glasses. The canalside bugs seem particularly drawn to the eyes of cyclists, and a few uncontrolled moments could easily land you among the floating ducks.

PPS. With two days left in this round, please keep voting for Mica’s video.

Recuperated today, productive tomorrow?

Obviously, today’s photo is not from Oxford. I didn’t take anything good enough to warrant public display, partly because I slept until 1:00pm to purge yesterday’s acute and short-lived illness. The above is a photo of the Capilano Reservoir in North Vancouver: one of the important sources of water for Vancouver, and located about ten minutes’ walk from my high school. Taken during the last week or so of August, you can see how seriously the water level has been depleted by a thirsty summer. The closest mountain, on the right hand side, is Grouse Mountain (with the famous ‘Grind’ hike). The two distinctive peaks close together and farther off at The Lions. How I miss the mountains, the conifers, and the sea…

Today wasn’t really productive, in any standard sense of the word. Even so, it was a day fairly well spent. I recuperated, did laundry, washed linen, got a haircut, and sorted something important out. This evening was that really wonderful combination of the right levels of light, warmth, and humidity to make being outside really wonderful. As such, I just had to take a quick ride out to Kidlington. Now, when I do so, I make sure to at least bring tire irons, a backup tube, and my new pump.

Continuing my experimentation with British cheeses, I went through a block of Sainsbury’s Wensleydale today. It has a consistency similar to Cheshire and a common fondness for breaking into bits. Antonia apty described the taste as somewhere between mozzarella and feta, though quite pleasantly so. I recommend trying it on toasted dark bread, along with either tomato and some black pepper or zucchini slices fried in olive oil.

Brain feeling vaguely crunchy

Since I am going to London from Thursday night to Friday night, and finally doing my first hike with the walking club on Sunday, I suppose I really need to get to work on my third-to-last paper for Dr. Hurrell today. It is a shame that I have been feeling rather ill since yesterday afternoon. Perhaps I can spend today immersed in the reading of books, the doing of laundry, and the sipping of ginger ale.

At least the presentation on unipolarity and great powers managed to go fairly well, ably expanded upon by Alex.

[Update: 7 June 2006, 1:33pm] After sleeping about fourteen hours straight, I feel much better. Now to do laundry and have my hair snipped back to a helmet-friendly length.

Life on an upswing

I am really glad to have my bike in working order again. Using it for a mail-run to Wadham and finding a card from Sarah was doubly gratifying. Oxford is a really fun place to cycle at night, lights blinking. The familiar streets feel liberating without traffic. I am equally glad to have dropped another paper into the inter-college post for Dr. Hurrell. It’s the one I am presenting on tomorrow, so I hope it is acceptably good. Now, I just need to write another three for him in the next couple of weeks and the academic year will be over.

Having a trio of parties seems the natural response: one next week to mark the end of term, one on the 22nd to celebrate the summer solstice, and another on July 1st to celebrate Canada Day. It will be a grand affair and I encourage all the Canucks in Oxford who I know to come out for it. Those wanting to observe Canadians in groups may also be considered for admission, though you will be required to learn any one sentence in French, as well as the chorus to ‘The Log Driver’s Waltz.’ Anyone who can provide actual Canadian beer is automatically extremely welcome.

PS. Mica’s video contest quarter file is ongoing. Please take a moment to vote for him. His film is really dramatically better than the version of ‘Song 2’ it is up against. Incidentally, yes – I will continue advertising this contest until i