cabin fever

Was cooped up inside all day, off work sick (productively, though, I did manage to watch about two thirds of the Dollhouse boxset). By about 8pm cabin fever got too much so went out for a walk. I so love living in central London.

summer snapshots

have i mentioned how jammy i am living in bloomsbury? i heart my new hood (and ten minute walk to work)

russell square. during that one week of summer we had.

the walk back from work on a rainy august afternoon

Here Is New York

"There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter--the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these trembling cities the greatest is the last--the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements. Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion. And whether it is a farmer arriving from a small town in Mississippi to escape the indignity of being observed by her neighbors, or a boy arriving from the Corn Belt with a manuscript in his suitcase and a pain in his heart, it makes no difference: each embraces New York with the intense excitement of first love, each absorbs New York with the fresh yes of an adventurer, each generates heat and light to dwarf the Consolidated Edison Company..."
E.B. White - "Here Is New York" (1948)

I was sitting on the subway, the G train, heading down to Carroll Gardens to go to Rocketship then hang out with Dan, staring into space when my eyes focused in on the ad panel opposite me. It was a passage from an E.B. White essay, the one I've copied above. I read it a couple of times, taking it in, then had to look away because it felt like someone had caught my heart. That's it, I thought. That's exactly what the city means to me, one of that Third category. That's how it is.

Or was. This time in NY has been strange. It's a trip I'd been postponing for a while, something was holding me back from booking tickets, but then I had no work lined up and everyone I wanted to see would be there before heading off on tour or to weddings or vacations. And it was great to be back and to see everyone, and go for brunch at Florent, and get ice cream at 1am on Houston, and sit in Union Square eating apples and watching the streetfighters do their thing, and go to Coney for the day, and sit in Sugar Sweet Sunshine drinking iced coffee... But I missed that buzz. That excitement that used to keep me going. That incredible awe of "Oh my god, I'm living in New York."

Maybe it was the heatwave. That awful 40 degree heat where you didn't want to move, the heat lightning flickering all night, the a/c units and huge fans barely making a dent on the still, hot air. It saps your energy - half the things and people I'd wanted to do and see I didn't get round to, it was just too hot to do much.

But I've come back feeling strangely glad to be home - which is a first - and with a renewed sense of wanting to make a go of it now, here. I'll still miss my friends, but there's email and AIM/iChat and UK tours and London Fashion week and other things that'll bring them over. I'll miss the chutzpah of the city and the food (would someone please open a Taco Bell over here?), and the great tradition of brunch which still hasn't caught on as much as I'd like over here. But I'm looking at London with new eyes, and I suddenly see that most of what I loved about New York is available here. It's just a case of making an effort and looking.

all the world's a stage

After a day hanging out with the Binnie and bebe Margot, enjoying the brilliant turn up in the weather - sunshine! all day! temperatures over 20 degrees! - I hop on the train up to the South Bank for an evening of culture - King Lear at the Globe.

I studied King Lear for A Level and it's always been one of my favourite Shakespeare plays; the only stage version I've seen was a school trip to see it right before we read the book, and it was, by all accounts, a pretty crappy version.

The Globe itself is one hell of a place. I love that people took the time, patience and energy to rebuild this historical building. In fact I remember that my high school took part in a 'Sponsored Shakespeare' event (literally, readings of his plays for 24 hours straight, with people donating money for every hour or play that was got through) when Wanamaker and co. were raising funds.


I meet up with my friend in the coffee shop and hire cushions for £1 - well worth every penny. Musicians in 16th Century garb come out on stage and play on ancient instruments, before two of the actors come out and ask the audience to kindly not let any anachronisms such as phone rings or flash photography interrupt the play.

The performance itself is interesting; there's slightly less focus on the tragic aspects of the play, and the comedic side is turned up, but I enjoy it all and the individual performances are great. Though I did want to punch every member of the audience when there was a group "Awwww" when an insane Lear hugs Edgar in disguise as Mad Tom. IT'S NOT AN 'AWWW' MOMENT. Cretins.

Waiting for the bus back to Waterloo, a man starts chatting to me - a real local, South East London bloke - who tells me he was part of an activist group who opposed the building of the Globe, wanting instead for funding to go towards housing for local working class people in that area. I note that it's the first time I've ever gone to the Globe, but I'm sure it comes off as privileged whining. I shrug and sit away from him on the bus, my theatre buzz effectively snuffed by the guy. I guess I can understand his miffedness.

And now, a shameful secret I impart... There's a Dr Who episode in series 3 called the Shakespeare Code (wow, I've literally only just got that that's probably a play on the Da Vinci Code. I'm a dumbass) where the Dr and Martha encounter Shakespeare; the end scene occurs at the Globe, where they all fight off the bad guys for that episode. It's a brilliant scene, with a genuine laugh out loud Harry Potter reference. And as I sat in the theatre waiting for the play to begin, that was all I could think of. Not about how this was theatre as it used to be. Not about the historical importance of the place. Dr Who. Quel dommage.

i love the smell of spring sunshine in the morning

My love/hate relationship with the Smoke is well documented, but on early Spring mornings when the sun is wide awake and the sky blue and the air fresh, foregoing the bus and walking over Waterloo Bridge up to Bloomsbury, London looks it finest - and, with just the right music on the old ipod, sets you up better for the day than the strongest cup of coffee could.

a sunny weekend with my camera glued in my hand

A very sunny yet numbingly cold February weekend in the Smoke, which was spent mostly outside and, for some reason, mostly by the river - at different ends of London. A trip along the Thames Path east from Tower Bridge with J-Dig on the Saturday, where I walked through parts of London I've never before ventured to and froze my ears, nose and fingers off in the process; Sunday, walking back from Richmond along the river, where everything was bathed in the golden tint of the late afternoon sun. I love winter when it's like this (if perhaps preferring it marginally warmer, as before...)

Panda - Dungen

Art School Confidential part two

rough sketch of image for back page of our final project, a 4-page comic, which had to be 'about the sea'. ack. as it was our interpretation of 'the sea', i went off on a tangent and did something about revisiting the normandy beaches.

CB: tell me about skool
H: it was FUN. it made me feel happy
H: and kind of unblocked
H: and more creative
H: all of which are good
CB: wow. that's the best ever!
H: i forget how stifling office environments are
H: we went to the comics museum one day too, that was cool. it's only tiny but interesting


couple of panels from first page of final project, about normandy beaches

CB: is the class done? will you keep drawing?
CB: what were the other students like?
H: yeah it was only a week long
H: yes i think i will... although i'm still not much of a drawrer (that's so not a word)
H: other students were a real mix - almost as many girls as boys, ages from.. 18 to 40-ish... some had previous illustration experience, some had none
H: a couple of people dropped out by about the second or third day, which is kind of lame
CB: yeah! in a week class! losers
H: exactly
H: one guy was talking about getting us all to keep in touch and starting a quarterly comic where each have four or five pages to fill
H: which could be cool


panel from third page of normandy beach mini-comic.

H: looking at all the different kinds of comic book and graphic novel, there are so many that are like.., my style - ie, relatively basic - of drawing - like quite a few of the autobiographical graphic novels and stuff
H: you know what i mean?
CB: yeah! that's what I was saying
CB: I mean look at Scott Pilgrim
H: yeah - i did a few sketches and stuff from those american manga style books, they're pretty easy to copy
H: and i can copy quite well. guess it's just another way of learning.
CB: it totally is! that's what I did from when I was 9
H: lolCB: I mostly copied the Dungeons and Dragons manuals. LOL*
H: hahahah brilliant

So in summary:
I had a good week, it was good to be in a creative environment again and have the opportunity to just sit and draw and sketch all day.

In terms of what I learned, I think the Eisner and McCloud books actually do a better job of teaching the theory and work behind it all, of which I thought there'd be more in this course. However, for me personally, I can't underestimate the powers of the practical side of the class; I have sketch books coming out of my ears but I can never quite bring myself to sit down and properly do some work - so the act of actually *having* to was a good breakthrough, and I'm kind of hoping I can keep that momentum going. I have those three books I've just referenced on my shelf, which I totally intend to re-read once I've waded through the three stacks of books I have to read (most of which are on loan from schminnie or the library, so I really should get cracking).

I mean, it's not like I'm going to go off and become an illustrator. We all know this isn't a new career path for me. It was mainly about branching out and opening up - and escaping the office - all of which it did.

The one downfall of the week: the proximity of Central St Martins to Gosh Comics... It's been recommended to me before, but this was the first time I'd actually visited. And needless to say I went most days and spent too much money.

*CB, don't disown me for publishing that...

The finished back page image

OMG

I bunked off class this afternoon because I was feeling really out of it, and swung by Kings Cross station on my way home (except it's completely the wrong way from home, so I just swung by it) to check this out...

Harry Potter rules. Word.

Art School Confidential part one

I know from experience that I can't handle long stretches in an office without some kind of creative outlet. When I first left uni, I would do short temp. contracts with the broadcasting company then go play on film sets or do some writing in the month or so between the jobs. The year in New York, when I HAD to stay a whole year in the same office job really ground me down at times - probably what pushed me to really get the freelance thing going. The writing, along with planning and doing small zines and projects with CC (with more emphasis on the planning; this 'planning' often took place at Union Pool or the Pink Pony or somewhere similar, which may explain why it was more talk, less action...) helped make the continuous office existence more or less bearable.

Back to the present, and what with this "two week temp job" now stretching into its eighth month, and fed up of office life, I took a week off work to go do summer school - 'Illustration for Comics and Graphic Novels' at Central St Martins.

Having booked the course in a flurry of excitement with the intention of re-reading Will Eisner and Scott McCloud and getting back into drawing practice, it then happened that I was given a last-minute freelance assignment (Siouxsie Sioux!) with a super-short turnaround, which basically squashed my ideas of turning up well-read and well-prepared. The Sunday night before the course I started having kittens (What if I'm not good enough? What if everyone can see I'm a fraud? I won't be the only girl, will I? What if everyone is younger than me?); I had somewhat panic-stricken conversation with Dan, who, as my chief source of all things art-related, I had hoped would calm my nerves, but when he left to go for brunch (the five hour time difference, folks), I succumbed to the fear - and gave up and watched the musical episode of Buffy. Good prep work.

As it turns out it was all fine. I got up to Holborn with about half an hour in hand so I downed some coffee then went up to CSM HQ on Southampton Row. I was directed to room 214, where I sat and waited until the lecturer turned up near to 10. We chatted a little about my background (writing) and comics and stuff, while waiting for the rest of the class to appear. They never did. The lecturer eventually went to see what had happened - and turns out we'd both been directed to the wrong classroom. We went up to the third floor where everyone was waiting. Once in the new classroom we were made to do those horrendously awkward intros that people leading groups are so fond of making you do. I was relieved to discover I wasn't the only one that wasn't an arts major (nor was I the only girl, or the oldest).

These first couple days we've had to keep pairing up and drawing each other in different poses and so on - first of all focusing on facial expressions, then moving on to full body poses - and of course both times I got the guy who's doing an MA in illustration and the guy who's in the middle of an arts degree and whose drawings reminded me quite a lot of those in the 'Fables' series, making my amateur attempts look... well, even more amateur. It was, however, quite heartening to hear a lecturer (from Central St Martins, no less) tell me "I don't know what you're talking about, you CAN draw".

A selection days one and two; the central figure is a copy of Ramona Flowers, heroine of the Scott Pilgrim series, created by Bryan Lee O'Malley





Better bigger

girls who play guitars

mp3s:
Okay - KaiserCartel
Dead On The Lawn - KaiserCartel

A Friday night foray into Farringdon, to a small (one might even say tiny) gig at the Betsey Trotwood, to see Brooklyn band Kaiser Cartel. I arrive before James does and order a glass of Pimms (as advertised on the pub’s chalkboard) from the girl behind the bar. English isn’t her first language. My Pimms arrives as a neat shot over ice, in a small tumbler. Interesting. I ask for some lemonade, but in a glass that small, boy is that drink strong.

We eventually head downstairs to the basement where the gig will be. It really is tiny. We spy an antechamber off the left, with padded bench, and, randomly, a tv that’s linked to a camera right near the band setup. We kick back and watch the opening band on the television (lazy much?) then find ourselves joined by the two boys from Kaiser Cartel, Benjamin and Drew. Nice guys. They go to set up, we leave our comfortable lair to actually watch them play. They’re just… wonderful. Great music for the small venue. The lovely lady of the band, Courtney, has a great voice and by the last song – in which they unplug guitars and play acoustically, walking among the crowd and singing directly to you – I’m in full girl crush mode.

We chat briefly to Courtney after the show as well (they’re heading up to Manchester that night, by coach, but Benjamin seems to have lost his passport) and she invites us to stay any time we’re in Brooklyn (!)

We make our escape before the last band comes on as there are things to do, people to see, places to be – and we’d only gone for KaiserCartel anyhow. We stand on Farringdon Road – it’s only just dusk-ish, at 10pm, the air is still warm and St Pauls is in the distance, lit up like a cardboard cut-out against the hazy watery blue of the twilight.

As I walk back to the tube station I stumble across this flyer stuck the pavement, and although my knee-jerk reaction is a typical “Pah, no of course not,” as I sit on the tube home I think about and realise it’s about time I give my home town the credit that it’s due, and upgrade my answer to a serious “Maybe.”

Pop - Punk Is Sooooo '05, part 1

I've been up since 5am as we're doing a car boot sale. Deciding that getting up that early has to be worth something, I have a 99 Flake for breakfast (highly nutritious). I get home about 1:45pm, fall into bed, don't quite even manage to doze off before my mobile rings. A familiar American accent at the other end:

"Auntie Hannah!"

Ahh, I'd forgotten that nickname. So Cobra Starship (two fifths of whom are good friends from my time in NY) have landed. On tour with Fall Out Boy (no link necessary; unless you've been living under a rock you must know who they are) and in the UK to play some shows with them. Which I may have mentioned before in previous posts...

I force myself straight out of bed and into the shower so I have no chance of falling asleep, and head over to Brixton Academy where they're finishing up sound check. I arrive about twenty past five. The line to get in starts at the main Academy doors and stretches down most of one side of the building, which surprises me that early (doors don't open till 7). I hang outside reading until sound check is over and Alex Suarez comes out and gives me a huge hug. We go to find a phonebox so he can call home, and I'm more shocked to see the line has actually started stretching round the second side of the Academy. Phone booth No.1 doesn't seem to work. We go for a walk, I point out the highlights of Brixton on a Sunday evening ("That's the tube station... off licence... Sainsburys....") We get back to the Academy and the line has now gone round all four sides of the block and has started on past the entrance. We consider going for a drink, find another phonebox first that actually works this time. While I'm waiting for him to finish his phone call, the line slowly snakes past us.... it's spiralling outwards from the Academy entrance round the block then round another block. I can't quite get my mind around this, it's INSANE. I've never seen anything like it. I've also never seen so many teenagers in hoodies and too much eyeliner...

We head back and go in to the Academy - Suarez wants his dinner. I go to the VIP bar, get a drink, halfheartedly watch Shiny Toy Guns. Head down into the fray to watch Cobra. Suddenly feel horrendously old as realise that I am totally surrounded by aforementioned teenagers that were in line. Hoodies, eyeliner (girls and boys) and braces (metal ones on teeth) abound. And they all seem to be making out with each other. GROSS.

Cobra play a good set - there seem to be a few technical issues, strings breaking and so on, and Gabe stumbles on stage fucking up his ankle at one point - but he's a good front man, and Ryland is great at the banter and they keep the show going and everyone around me seems to be getting into it, which makes me happy.

There's a Cobra Starship tradition of getting a kid up on stage during 'Bring It (Snakes On A Plane)' to do the rap that Travis from Gym Class Heroes usually does, so after much combing the crowd, he pulls some girl up on stage.... who turns out to not even remotely know the rap at all. Laaaaame.

I snake (haha) my way through the crowd back up to the vip bar where I run into the lovely Em. She introduces me to a couple of other people and we play 6 Degrees of Gurj, who we all have in common. Suarez comes out, I send him back to fetch Ryland who I haven't yet seen (and bring me back a vodka tonic from the bottle they have in their room...)

The evening starts to blur as the bar fills up... I talk to some guy who was interviewing Cobra pre-show and who is a little starstruck by Pete Wentz's mom. Later on he and his girlfriend start having little domestics in front of me and it gets a tad uncomfortable. I totally miss the FOB set - and the sound in the bar is terrible so I barely even notice they're playing. Much discussion occurs later about where to go... I end up jumping in the van with them (but it's so much more than a van!) and catching a ride back to West London. Half the band jump out in Knightsbridge to go to a restaurant that's open late where some friends are - my eyes are barely staying open so I pass on it and head home for some immediate and serious shut eye...

neon bible

Last night. Arcade Fire at Brixton Academy. Patrick Wolf supporting.

My mind has just officially been blown.

Although I do have to take a quick moment to mention the complete twats behind us at Brixton who had been doing many drugs beforehand, and were then smoking a joint throughout the show and chatting absolute shit. My favourite was the conversation between two of the girls:

Girl 1: "Yeah it's like Andy Warhol, you know-"
Girl 2: "Yeah, Andy Warhol-"
Girl 1: "Everyone's famous now-"
Girl 2: "Yeah, so famous"
Girl 1: "And it's just like Warhol, you know? And like The Velvet Underground, I mean it's like them, you know? They were underground and then they were famous-"
Girl 2: "Yes, yes, I know."

Whateverrrrrr dudes. Just shut the fuck up and stop elbowing me. Stupid people at gigs make me cranky. And big venues like Brixton mean a lot more stupid people.

Keep The Car Running - Arcade Fire
Bluebells - Patrick Wolf

I did also have a brief moment, watching the Fire up there, where it suddenly struck me that in a couple weeks' time my friends are gonna be playing that stage, which was weird but made me grin.

little miss crappy technology

I'm interviewing Toni Collette for the international DVD release of Little Miss Sunshine (although it was actually released in the UK a couple of weeks ago). The interview time has already been pushed back two hours, and now we're waiting in the hotel lounge for a few more minutes. There's been a room mix up, something to do with a television crew - and to top it all off, Mzz Collette is a bit ill.

Eventually we're called and six of us, covering different territories, file in to the conference room, introducing ourselves. This room is in the basement of the hotel and has the weirdest goddamn wallpaper. I've never done a "round table" interview in this style before; it feels a little like a seminar at university or something.

Dictaphones are turned on and slid down the table and before I even realise it, a Japanese interviewer has jumped in and is already asking questions. I'm still sitting there, notebook open, pencil in one hand, frantically trying to depress the 'Record' button on my dictaphone. It's not working. I'm scribbling down what's being said in the short hand that only I can understand that I perfected at university (just adds to that back-at-college feeling) and fiddling with the stupid brick of recorder. Finally a click, and the record button is on. Breathing an internal sigh of relief, I add my dictaphone to the small pile in the middle of the table, the journo opposite me kindly pushing it nearer to Toni.

Things are looking up.

And then a high-pitched whistling noise interrupts the room, quickly turning into a shrill scream. The sounds of a dictaphone being murdered. Everyone stops talking.

"What is that??"

"I think it might be one of the dictaphones."

Groan. "Umm, it might be mine. It wasn't working just now-" I volunteer.

The writer nearest the dictaphones is picking them up and holding them near his ear to check.

Sigh. "No, it's that one at the back."

He picks it up. He quickly puts it back down and pushes it towards me with a half-smirk. "Yes, that's the one."

Oh CRAP. "Umm, sorry, sorry guys-"

I fumble quickly for the 'Stop' button. Blessed silence.

Only now I have the rest of the interview and nothing to record it on.

Groan, sigh and double crap.

The Brazilian writer opposite grins at me. "Don't worry, I'll email you the mp3 when it's done."

I smile at him, and try to keep my head down for the rest of the interview, wishing I could throw the dictaphone (stupid Argos) at the weird wallpaper. Oy. Techmology.

The day is only redeemed later (after much wandering in the rain looking for new sneakers and/or an outfit the the fashion week party on Tuesday evening) by a hasty dinner at the Stockpot and two potent cocktails before 8pm.

Oh, and PS. Toni Collette is just as wonderful as you'd expect her to be, even jetlagged and ill.

yay!

Saturday night, two of my favourite New Yorkers, Dan and Christy Claire arrived in town. I went to meet them at Heathrow, then escorted them over to Islington, where Dan's cousins have a palace of a duplex apartment. After some apartment exploration, I eventually managed to drag them out and down to the pub where Leith, James and Tommah were secretly waiting for them. But man, talk about taking her time getting ready... CC is almost as bad as my sister.

Sunday was our usual East London Sunday Brunch - this time at Hackney City Farm, where lots of small children were running around in Halloween costumes. After full english breakfasts, for those that eat meat, and other variations for those that don't, we headed over to Columbia Road market, then down to Brick Lane and Cheshire St as a visit to Beyond Retro was requested. My energy levels were starting to flag so we escaped the market masses and went to the Redchurch for refreshment. Wine, Pimms, beer, americanos, Orangina...

Later I accompanied the troupe over to Curtain Road and left them in another pub [for the record, Dan and CC got a little too overexcited at the American Apparel store they discovered on Curtain Rd] to trek back over to home sweet west London...

sunday stroll

Random wanderings around the southbank today with Tommah, in from LA, and JD, in from, er, Hackney. A beautiful London October day, helped along by the two half pints of cider had at irregular intervals, and Tom trying to convince me to go visit LA. "We'll take you to Disneyworld!" Man, I wish I could afford it.

holy heatwave, batman

supposedly the hottest day of the year so far, the hottest day in july on record. it's about 99F out there. my offices have no AC. this is the thermostat in the hallway. i need a block of ice, stat.

summer nights

That letter I wrote to British summertime a few entries back clearly worked. We've been smacked with a heatwave. And of course there's no a/c on public transport. Or in my office.

It does mean we turn all continental and eat out in the backyard, with our mix-and-match chairs and bbqs that take hours to fire up [and then become unuseable after my sister leaves marshmallows on the grill then forgets about them].

thursday night

Come one, come all, to The Fly on Thursday night. Come and see aforementioned Dior models and rockstars and hipsters who seem so young that looking at them wrong could land you in jail. But what's a night out without a little risk, eh??

ribbit

Frog. Sneaking in on guest lists. Strongbow. Polaroids. Random people. Hot boys. Boys in bands. DJs. Photographers. Sounds like old times…

Ended up missing both bands that played [one of whom was Good Shoes that I’d actually wanted to see] ‘cause we were sat on the floor talking to the Blaggin’ Scenesters. Using This Scene Is Dead as a fabulous excuse to approach anyone and everyone. Some kids getting the whole LNP/Cobrasnake thing, but most not – but still happy to pose. Talking to one guy about how LNP had become an excuse for people to take off their tops – and within seconds: