Today I saw several buses bearing the simple reminder that "Creme Egg season is here." Cadbury Creme Eggs, only sold from New Year's Day to Easter Day annually, had completely slipped my mind until now. These delicious little buddies are my favorite thing about Easter, along with butter lambs, a bizarre metaphor for Jesus' rise from the dead.
As a seasonal item, Creme Eggs are unique in that they leave our sights and our stomachs long enough for us to forget their exact dimensions. But don't be fooled -- we've definitely been put on a restrictive diet by Cadbury in recent years.
But Cadbury is also making headlines lately because it's been bought out by Kraft, a move that puts thousands of jobs at stake. The loss of Cadbury, a "successful, iconic, independent UK brand", to big, bad, debt-ridden Kraft is stirring up a lot of negative emotions in the British collective consciousness.
I can't help but feel bittersweet now, sitting here with my two-for-80-pence, chocolatey, fondant-filled, maybe-smaller-than-last-year-but-still-big-enough-to-warm-my-heart eggs. What's a girl to do?
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Prague, or The Prettiest City You Ever Did See
Prague was golden, beautiful, picturesque. It was also unbearably cold, which certainly put a damper on my sight-seeing abilities. But it's small; it's manageable; its subway system is so easy to use that it's almost child-like.
The thing about Prague that you realize soon after arriving is that it's One of Those Cities Where You Can't Find the Things You Want.
Let me explain. Since eliminating words from my vocabulary like "developed/developing" and "Third world country", I've had to find a new way to explain things. And it's all come down to questions like "Can I find the biscuits I want in your grocery stores?", "Is there a chance I might get sick if I eat in your restaurants?" and "Do you have authentic Indian food?" (Note: In India, the answer to the last question is a resounding yes, but don't be fooled -- it's still One of Those Places).
In Prague, the answers to these questions were "No", "Yes", and "Well, there's one place."
One thing you can find in abundance is coin-slot-faced babies. That's right. They're everywhere. Crawling up the TV tower, lounging in Kampa Park -- these sculptures by Czech artist David Černý were my favorite part of Prague.
Berlin, or The Search for the Perfect Christmas Market
Five Christmas markets. Four days. Three sausages. Two indefatigable travelers. And one creepy, creepy tower.
Our adventures began at Potsdamer Platz, where the Christmas market was laid out in one long row, 2.5 magical kilometers, making it easy to navigate and appreciate. This was the perfect introduction. Highlights included seeing pretzels in their natural habitat, some tasty little donuts, and a lone little boy riding a carousel to the strains of "It Must Have Been Love."
The next afternoon, Rachel and I trekked through the Heart of Darkness into the depths of West Berlin to visit the market at Schloss Charlottenburg. I bought some delicious organic nougat, Rachel bought some lebkuchen, and we took the U-bahn back to Alexanderplatz due to sub-zero temperatures.
But we hadn't had enough Christmas market for one day. The advantage of the Alexanderplatz market is the feeling of being constantly watched by the TV Tower, arguably my favorite public monument of all time. I can't really explain why I love it so much, except for the fact that it's always there. Watching. Waiting.
Gendarmenmarkt was probably the best. Even though they charged 1 Euro admission, they more than made up for the cost with all of the free samples. Foods and crafts were fancier here, but they were missing traditional Christmas market staples like wurst and gluhwein.
On our way home, we swung by the Opernpalais Christmas market for a last hurrah. I ate a Langos, the ordering of which allowed me to speak my longest German sentence to date: "Ein langos mit zucker und zimt, bitte." I was so proud.
The thing about German Christmas markets that makes them infinitely more bearable than American craft shows isn't just the Christmas spirit, the fairy lights, or the novelty I experience as a foreigner -- it's the lack of repetition. Sure, each Christmas market has the same stalls. But there's only one of each stall at each market. You see the wood crafts, the lace doilies, and the scented candles -- and then it's over. Kitsch is kept to a strict minimum in order to concentrate on what's really important: Food.
Our adventures began at Potsdamer Platz, where the Christmas market was laid out in one long row, 2.5 magical kilometers, making it easy to navigate and appreciate. This was the perfect introduction. Highlights included seeing pretzels in their natural habitat, some tasty little donuts, and a lone little boy riding a carousel to the strains of "It Must Have Been Love."
The next afternoon, Rachel and I trekked through the Heart of Darkness into the depths of West Berlin to visit the market at Schloss Charlottenburg. I bought some delicious organic nougat, Rachel bought some lebkuchen, and we took the U-bahn back to Alexanderplatz due to sub-zero temperatures.
But we hadn't had enough Christmas market for one day. The advantage of the Alexanderplatz market is the feeling of being constantly watched by the TV Tower, arguably my favorite public monument of all time. I can't really explain why I love it so much, except for the fact that it's always there. Watching. Waiting.
Gendarmenmarkt was probably the best. Even though they charged 1 Euro admission, they more than made up for the cost with all of the free samples. Foods and crafts were fancier here, but they were missing traditional Christmas market staples like wurst and gluhwein.
On our way home, we swung by the Opernpalais Christmas market for a last hurrah. I ate a Langos, the ordering of which allowed me to speak my longest German sentence to date: "Ein langos mit zucker und zimt, bitte." I was so proud.
The thing about German Christmas markets that makes them infinitely more bearable than American craft shows isn't just the Christmas spirit, the fairy lights, or the novelty I experience as a foreigner -- it's the lack of repetition. Sure, each Christmas market has the same stalls. But there's only one of each stall at each market. You see the wood crafts, the lace doilies, and the scented candles -- and then it's over. Kitsch is kept to a strict minimum in order to concentrate on what's really important: Food.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
That inPhamous post
Amidst the recent flurry of emotion and controversy at Wellesley, I intercepted the following e-mail from the Honor Code Council and the Wellesley administration, sent to a certain special somone.* (For those of you who don't go to Wellesley, or would just like to read a nice summary of the whole situation, see here -- it's funny, concise, and contains direct quotes.)
"Dear Jeremy Pham:
It has come to our attention that you have written an expletive-laden commentary displaying sincere disrespect for the members of our community and women at large. We are disappointed that you hold such opinions and at the way in which you chose to express them. Wellesley College has a long and proud history of feminism and women’s solidarity. As such, we cannot simply ignore your actions. Obviously, recourse is necessary, and we have debated long and hard about an appropriate punishment for you.
Hence, please put a dick in your mouth straightaway. If you cannot find such an appendage (we know it's hard on this campus), we can provide one or link you up with someone who can. You have until Tuesday, December 1, 2009 to complete your punishment. Please fill out the attached form and have the possessor of your mouth-dick sign it.
Sincerely,
The Powers That Be"
*This is a lie.
"Dear Jeremy Pham:
It has come to our attention that you have written an expletive-laden commentary displaying sincere disrespect for the members of our community and women at large. We are disappointed that you hold such opinions and at the way in which you chose to express them. Wellesley College has a long and proud history of feminism and women’s solidarity. As such, we cannot simply ignore your actions. Obviously, recourse is necessary, and we have debated long and hard about an appropriate punishment for you.
Hence, please put a dick in your mouth straightaway. If you cannot find such an appendage (we know it's hard on this campus), we can provide one or link you up with someone who can. You have until Tuesday, December 1, 2009 to complete your punishment. Please fill out the attached form and have the possessor of your mouth-dick sign it.
Sincerely,
The Powers That Be"
*This is a lie.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Amelia's Guide to Living Cheaply in London
- Attend every meal served in your hall, even if this means getting up at 8:30 every morning. You might lose out on sleep, but you’ll get a free breakfast (even better – a breakfast you’ve already paid for!).
- Don’t eat lunch. Lunch is not a meal served in your hall. Save some fruit from breakfast and eat that. If you feel hungry in the middle of the day, just sleep it off. I promise it works.
- Go to Borough Market at 5 pm on the weekend, just as it’s closing. Collect the jars of jam that have been sitting out all day as samples. There will only be a small amount in each jar, but that’s okay. If you have really low standards, you can mix them all together.
- Drinking is expensive. Sobriety is cheap. Do you really need a drink?
- Start going to lots of museums just because they’re free. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never even liked art before. It doesn’t.
- If you sit in the Tuns for a couple of hours beforehand, you can get into any party in the LSE Quad without paying the cover. (Note: This will only be useful until you realize that you never want to go to any party in the LSE Quad.)
- Accept that printing your readings for classes is no longer an option, even if it helps you retain information better to highlight things. Develop the skill of squinting at a screen in the library and scribbling the main ideas in your notebook.
- Stop using public transportation. You can walk anywhere in central London. If your destination is outside Zone 1, walk to Zone 2 and take the tube from there. It’s cheaper. If it’s late at night, walk confidently. The foxes will run from you, and they’re probably not rabid.
- Consider becoming a freegan. Think about dumpster diving. Think about what happens to all of those sandwiches every night when the cafés close.
- If you top up 10 pounds a month on your mobile phone, you get unlimited text messaging. Never call anyone again. Ever. If you miss a call from someone, just wait until they call you back.
- Attend any event that advertises free drinks, free food, or free anything. When you see the LSE Christian Society’s stall on Houghton Street, go up to it and pretend to be interested in their message so that they will give you a free cup of tea.
- Lend people small amounts of money. When they pay you back, it will feel like you just got a gift.
- If you live in intercollegiate halls, it costs money to have an overnight guest. Limit yourself to having sex between the hours of 6 am and 12 midnight. Or, just limit yourself to having sex with people who live in your hall.
- Finally, and most importantly, remember that it’s all about how you feel, not about numbers or a weekly budget. If you don’t feel deprived, hungry, or unhappy, you’re probably spending too much money.
Monday, October 19, 2009
T8, ur gr8.
On Saturday, I went to the Tate Modern with some friends. I didn't go into any of the special exhibits because I didn't want to pay for them, and I've never really even liked modern art, but this was wonderful. I promise, Melissa, it will totally live up to all of your expectations.
We found some great little chairs for viewing the artworks and carried them around with us. I know it's what they're meant for, but you look like such an asshole when you unfold a small seat in front of a painting and just plop yourself down for a few minutes, effectively blocking the access of everyone around you. It does make for great photos, though.
For me, the best part of the Museum was Jill Magid's exhibit, Authority to Remove, in which the artist documents and interprets her experiences after being commissioned by the Dutch Secret Service to create art for them. After spending months researching them and becoming vetted herself, Magid shows them the document/novel that she has written, Becoming Tarden, and it is returned to her with many of her thoughts, memories and feelings censored out. The Organization (as Magid refers to them) then suggested that she put the book on display under glass in a one-time-only art exhibit, effectively turning it into a sculpture piece, after which she would return it to them along with all of her rights to the document. This is that art exhibit.
Magid ripped the spine out of the book before displaying it, an act that demonstrates her compliance with their wishes and their disregard for the dignity and autonomy of her artwork. Only the Prologue and the Epilogue are available to read now, but you can read them online via the link above.
I found the entire exhibit poignant and thought-provoking, especially the way that it explored censorship and the way that the act of censoring something often serves to imbue it with more power and meaning than it would have had otherwise. If she hadn't been censored, Magid's artwork would have been far less interesting, and her awareness of this fact gives her works even more depth. As the subtitle of the exhibit says, "The secret itself is much more beautiful than its revelation."
Here's another nice piece from the exhibit that refers to the ability of one agent to reveal the identity of another:
We found some great little chairs for viewing the artworks and carried them around with us. I know it's what they're meant for, but you look like such an asshole when you unfold a small seat in front of a painting and just plop yourself down for a few minutes, effectively blocking the access of everyone around you. It does make for great photos, though.
For me, the best part of the Museum was Jill Magid's exhibit, Authority to Remove, in which the artist documents and interprets her experiences after being commissioned by the Dutch Secret Service to create art for them. After spending months researching them and becoming vetted herself, Magid shows them the document/novel that she has written, Becoming Tarden, and it is returned to her with many of her thoughts, memories and feelings censored out. The Organization (as Magid refers to them) then suggested that she put the book on display under glass in a one-time-only art exhibit, effectively turning it into a sculpture piece, after which she would return it to them along with all of her rights to the document. This is that art exhibit.
Magid ripped the spine out of the book before displaying it, an act that demonstrates her compliance with their wishes and their disregard for the dignity and autonomy of her artwork. Only the Prologue and the Epilogue are available to read now, but you can read them online via the link above.
I found the entire exhibit poignant and thought-provoking, especially the way that it explored censorship and the way that the act of censoring something often serves to imbue it with more power and meaning than it would have had otherwise. If she hadn't been censored, Magid's artwork would have been far less interesting, and her awareness of this fact gives her works even more depth. As the subtitle of the exhibit says, "The secret itself is much more beautiful than its revelation."
Here's another nice piece from the exhibit that refers to the ability of one agent to reveal the identity of another:
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Outrageous Policies & Ridiculous Rules
Today marks the one-week anniversary of my arrival in London. I'm living in an intercollegiate residence hall, with students from various colleges in the University of London, not just LSE. We have breakfast and dinner available downstairs (but only from 8 am to 9 am and 6 pm to 7 pm). There are limits on the amount we can eat, and we don't have the luxury of eating both vegetables and salad -- we have to choose one. This morning I got into an argument with the cafeteria lady about whether or not I could have cereal.
We are encouraged to have guests over, at the low price of a pound and a half per night -- but they've got to be signed in before 11 pm. If you have a guest who isn't staying the night and you forget to sign them out before midnight, you get fined 10 pounds.
Every morning around 10 am, a jolly, non-English-speaking cleaning lady unlocks the door to my bedroom without knocking and empties my garbage can. We are forbidden from putting our garbage cans outside our doors, and the handbook informs us that "do not disturb signs will be ignored".
There appear to be no committees or forums for complaint or discussion. Remember 'taxation without representation'? Well, I don't think my hall does.
Today I went to the British Museum, which is free and holds all of the spoils of the centuries of British empire. I saw the Rosetta Stone, pieces of the Pantheon, and all sorts of mummies. English people don't seem to have any qualms about touching art and artifacts in museums -- I saw a child climbing a stone sarcophagus and a number of people leaning on statues as they posed for pictures or listened to a museum tour. It was horrifying.
In brighter news, I have a mailing address! Here it is:
Hughes-Parry Hall, Unit 1014
19-26 Cartwright Gardens
London, UK, WC1H 9EF
We are encouraged to have guests over, at the low price of a pound and a half per night -- but they've got to be signed in before 11 pm. If you have a guest who isn't staying the night and you forget to sign them out before midnight, you get fined 10 pounds.
Every morning around 10 am, a jolly, non-English-speaking cleaning lady unlocks the door to my bedroom without knocking and empties my garbage can. We are forbidden from putting our garbage cans outside our doors, and the handbook informs us that "do not disturb signs will be ignored".
There appear to be no committees or forums for complaint or discussion. Remember 'taxation without representation'? Well, I don't think my hall does.
Today I went to the British Museum, which is free and holds all of the spoils of the centuries of British empire. I saw the Rosetta Stone, pieces of the Pantheon, and all sorts of mummies. English people don't seem to have any qualms about touching art and artifacts in museums -- I saw a child climbing a stone sarcophagus and a number of people leaning on statues as they posed for pictures or listened to a museum tour. It was horrifying.
In brighter news, I have a mailing address! Here it is:
Hughes-Parry Hall, Unit 1014
19-26 Cartwright Gardens
London, UK, WC1H 9EF
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