Cartoons & Superheros

LSE Students Against War take to the Streets... all 7 of them!

Mini-Break in Norway, Chez Irene

Fabulous weekend in Norway witht the Travel Club (Stéph, Margaret, Will, Irene..well actually visiting Irene there..) A great day in Oslo! Visited the Munch museum, who happens to be my favourite artist, ever. Saw ONE of the versions of The Scream, since there are several and one of which was stolen in broad day light. Visiting a viking ship museum with authentic artefacts that had been found in burial grounds which were all beautifully crafted and carved to minute detail. Had a bagel in a trendy lunchy place in the city centre. Walked up and saw the royal palace, the parliament and the citycentre. Went out that night to a very cool cocktail bar called Chaos, then on to one of the most excellent clubs i ever been to, ever: a club in a converted warehouse, called Blo (Blue) with fabulous electro avant guard nordic beats and very cool visuals (i mean that in the media sense, but also i don't think i saw ONE ugly person in the whole venue.. the scandinavian thing is NOT a myth.. i can confirm that right away!) After a rather heavy night and a few hours sleep on the bouncy castle, we arose on Saturday for our trip to 'the country'. Arrived on time for dinner at the Loeken's (Irene's Mum and Dad) on their beautiful farm. I had trout, that Mr Loeken had fished in the lake that day and barbecued! How many people can say that! A beautiful nights sleep in one of the most restful parts of the world, i think. Wakeywakey, time for a fab norwegian breakfast with lots of types of bread and cheese and smoked salmon. yum! Off we went on our day trip to the West coast where we saw some of the most spectacular scenary ever.. Dramaticly sharp mountains, cutting in to lakes, a million tunnels through the mountains (one lasted 15minutes) fabulous greenery everywhere contrasting the deep grey cliffs. We went from Al, to Aurland, to Flam, to Underal (where there was the oldest and smallet church in Europe/the world,i think, pictured at the bottom) On we went to Voss (where the designer mineral water is from the sells in New York for $25 a bottel..) on our quest to buy a bottle of Voss, in Voss. After several unsuccessful inquiries, we found the one of 3 places in Norway where you can buy it. So off we trotted, happy as larry with our designer bottles of water, that to be fair, look totally cool and almost like vases. From Voss to Eidfjord, then to Geilo, and finally back to the farm in Al for a splendid dinner of fresh salmon and vegetables, cooked to perfection by Mrs Loeken. The evening took a rather amusing turn, when we unintentionally entered an aquavit drinking competition with Mr Loeken. After 9 shots, he declared forfeit and admitted that he had never been beaten by women and was highly impressed with me and Margaret. (Must be the genes, Irish and WASP, he didnt stand a chance!) After some polka dancing around the sitting room, to Mr Loeken's accordian playing, and only semi-conscious from the spinning around and aquavit, we called it a night. We set off the next day for the airport and i can tell you.. It wasn't pretty.. All in all, a most FABULOUS weekend, that was perfectly planned out by Irene so that we saw a TON of things in short amount of time!!! Lovely!

End Israeli Attacks on Lebanon and Palestine

I went to the demonstration against the Israeli bombing campaign in Lebanon yesterday and it was great that there was such a big turn out. There’s been a suprising lack of mobilisation up until this point, and my friend Chris and I have had to resort to instituting and manning our own LSE anti-war group in LSE because there has been NOTHING going on at all! So we just printed out some leaflets and stuck some posters up around college. The place is now swarming with annoying American summer school people, who pay like 30 000 dollars (so my American sources tell me) just to come here for a few weeks. It’s like one giant nightmarish Spring Break and on Friday night we even had to take refuge from them and sit in front of the library with our drinks because they had taken over the uni pub and the whole road infront of it! Imagine! It’s actually depressing what an apolitical bunch they are in this school, considering what this institution used to represent in the 60s and 70s. Now the LSE is synonymous with yuppyness and investment banking and annoying gelled hair. The place might as well be subsidised by The City. (Actually, come to think of it, it probably is..) Anyway, I’m not saying I’m morally superior to anyone (well maybe people who read the Daily Mail), and I did have a wavering moment where I whimpered slightly at the thought of sacrificing my Saturday morning lie in. Then I watched the news and felt pathetic and ashamed and realised there was no excuse not to get out of bed a few hours earlier than I would normally , if by doing so in my own teeny tiny microscopic way I might help to draw the eyes of the world onto what is going on in the Middle East. It was great to see the centre of London closed off and taken over by the march, which started at Embankment, went up to Trafalgar Sq, then up to Piccadilly Circus and by the US embassy. To be fair, there were some slightly dubious propos heard at times and a few too many Hezbollah flags than I would care to admit to. But its always like that and there’s always a degree of reactionary aggressivity, usually from Muslim teenage boys who some of them you get the feeling are just in it for the craic. Or are just generally angry and will direct their anger at anything. But there was also a fairly noticable Jewish contingency, with people from the Jews for Justice group and a handful of Orthodox Jews where also protesting, as well as lof families and people with prams and a whole lot of Lebanese families. To annoying lazy cop-outs who say that demonstrations don’t change anything or that they have to wash their hair or go and check out the sales, I would say that demonstrations might not have the capacity to directly influence state action or Texan bible-bashing megalomaniacs with sub-intellectual capacities, for that matter; but to sit back and not say anything is pathetically apathetic and sends the message that the rest of the world doesn't feel concerned and just doesn’t really care if their governments are failing to react. If anything, I would like to distinguish myself from this mythical monolith that is “The West” and for people in Lebannon, in the West Bank and Gaza, in the Occupied territories, in Iraq, and everywhere else America and Europe has reeked havoc (either directly or through its inaction), that there are actually people out there in 'The West' who give it shit and who feel indignant about what is going on. Right, that's the end of my pseudo-politcal rant. I'll be quiet now!

Barcelona

Right, well ive gone through just about every possible procrastitative activity imaginable (bebo, facebook, horoscopes, online dating, the guardian, the irish times, le monde, le figaro, cups of tea, people-watching in the library, and so on and so forh) so blogging is my final attempt to exorcise the displacement activity and banish messing from my bones, so that I might finally begin to do some work. It has to be said, I have only just been plucked from my meditarannean retreat and cast back back into the unforgiving ant-farm that is London. Its sort of like being ripped out of an Almodovar film and dumped onto the set of Eastenders. (Minus the nun’s impregnated by transvestites named Lola and other sordid bits…) But you know what I mean. The exoticism, the sultry heat, the beautiful men with dubious haircuts (the mullet is alive and well, be warned..), the bubbling possibility of excitement at ever turn. Now its back to the Tube, English accents (although I might as well be sitting in the lobby of Kappa Zeta Pie Sorority/Fraternity since LSE is overrun by yankiedoodle summerschoolers), overpriced EVERYTHING, and fairly mediocre weather. Ah well.. I do actually love London, just suffering from temporary culture shock, despite having gone through process of acclimatisation by passing through neutrality of Belgium. Anyway… Ive temporarily run out of things to moan about so I shall leave some pictures of the beautiful barca to soften my bitterness!

Yah Boo

Yesterday evening was a rather special one, since I spent it in the birthplace of this great democracy (or so they say), The Houses of Parliament. One of the great perks of attending LSE is that we have the opportunity of attending various talks/debates/conferences. Our Irish Politics class was invited by our Unionist lecturer (know simply as ‘The Unionist’) to attend a book launch by the Irish Academic Press for a book about the IRA bombing campaigns in the UK from the 70s to the 90s. So off I trotted in my nice ‘smart outfit’ and proper shoes (I didn’t think the Lords would share my appreciation of fine trainers) and got off at Westminster tube, feeling very chuffed with myself. We walked to the front of the queue of tourist eagerly waiting to get in to visit (always an ego-booster) and showed our invites. After a near cavity-search and extensive groping, we where showed through the grand entrance. I must say, it really is such an impressive building. It has such a feeling of austere grandure, and the first thing you see when you walk in on the left is the original assembly dating back to the 13th century, with its beautifully carved gothic wooden arches. We arrived early (keaners that we were) so we had a look in at the house of commons. It was funny seeing it in real like, with its green leather benches, and it actually feels quite small. They were discussing some sort of health bill and there were only about 5 people dotted around the assembly. The whole thing was really weird and informal, one guy was asleep, another was reading a paper, and this prat actually had his feet up on the desk where the speaker was sitting! I asked one of the ushers about him and he said they all used to do it before the Commons was televised and that now this particular MP was one of the few who persisted with this bad behaviour. Seriously, Brits are weird! And they wonder why the NHS is a shambles? We also had a look into the House of Lords, who were discussing an equally un-sexy and NOT A PRIORITY topic, climate change. The chamber is really impressive and full of gold adornment and plush red seats. I spotted the uncomfortable looking chair-person sitting on the wool sack(!) So the launch was a bit of a disappointment as we came expecting rivers of champagne and stacks of canapés. Unfortunately it was an ACTUAL talk, no finger-food involved in the operation at all.. But seriously, it was all very interesting (the author, Garry McGladdery had given a talk the previous night so I had already met him. He’s quite an outstanding person as he’s partially blind, and still managed to do a PHD and 5 or 6 years research for this book.) I was seated just behind and right of Lord King, who talked about his stay in room 201 in Brighton when the hotel went kamboom as well as the time the entire Conservative cabinet was nearly wiped out when a mortar bomb went off at No. 10. It was fascinating hearing his first-hand accounts. But seriously, what is it about posh-Tory old men and their disregard for articulation? Of the Northern Irish author and Lord King, the one speaking the Queen’s English was the most difficult to understand. (ra ra ra) We went for drinks after and I met one of David Trimble’s advisors from the UUP. (Apparently gay and unionist is not an oxymoron as I had previously been led to believe.) All in all, it was quite a fascinating experience and a real treat to be able to catch a glimpse at the making of British politics from so close. Ps… When you walk into the foyer bit, there are four corridors that stem from the central hall, and the cealing has four mosaics over each corridor representing England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales. The Irish panel with a mosaic is of St. Patrick and St. Brigid and is handily situated over the exist corridor, for as The Unionist said “Ireland’s on its way out!”

Last Bite

Last weekend was spent in upstate New York, in the charming town of Walton close to the Catskill mountains. The purpose was mainly for Marge to go and say hi to her horse so I just hung around the barn and generally chilled out. Yesterday and today were my last days in New York City so we decided to do some of the sights. We took the ferry to Ellis Island, and passed by the Statue of Liberty on the way, and I must say it was very cool to see it in the (iron?) flesh, as its such a familiar and well known icon. We visited the Immigration museum on Ellis Island and it was so interesting to see all sorts of records and incredible photos of the people who passed through the island which was effectively the gateway to the New World. It was sad to think of all those families and many children who were separated from their parents, who had to leave their homes and go to a far away and strange country. Its sadder to see that things haven’t got much better for so many immigrants today, and especially depressing how they are treated in Ireland when were a bloody nation of diaspora ourselves! Selective memory…! Anyway, after that, we headed into Manhattan and fulfilled what every tourist must do: queue for 2hours to get up to the top of the Empire State Building to experience THE best (360 degree) view of the city. It was definitely worth the wait! We finished off the day with a Cosmopolitan (which I toasted to Delphine, as promised!) in the coolest little place called Beauty Bar, which is basically done up like a 50s hair salon and has all sorts of authentic salon stuff like those hairdrying helmets, and barbers chairs etc. It was really very charming and with the aid of a desk lamp to help her through the warm fuzzy golden glow of the bar, there was even a manicurist on duty! $10 for a mani and a drink… What a steal! (PS, the ‘glow’ has been totally obliterated by the flash in the pic, im not lying, honest!) Today I came into town on my own for my final adieux to the Big Apple. I began in the Upper East Side, taking a bus from Penn station that went all the way up Madison Avenue and had the, um, pleasure of listening to an entire conversation between these two 50 something Jewish women, thick New York accents and all, who were seriously straight out of a Woody Allen film. The conversation ranged from: their husbands’ prostates; bitching about daughters in law; thinning hair; estranged brothers; moaning about modern technology, ‘whata I need a cell phone for? Whatam I gonna do with onea those? Tell me!’; and so on and so forth. This was the soundtrack to my 40 block bus journey… I finally got off and headed to the Guggenheim museum, which a meandered through for about an hour. Then I wandered down a fair portion of Madison avenue (a whole 25 mins walk..quite impressive for anyone who knows me and my relationship with walking). After lunch in the Pain Quotidien (Big Up Stockel!) I headed for the subway, in which I crossed over the Brooklyn bridge all the way to.. dun dun dun…….(scary music)….Brooklyn!! Yes, I dared to leave the island! It was actually great, I walked all down 5th Avenue (not to be mistaken with 5th Avenue on the Upper East side, thank you very much) which has a nice authentic NY feel to it. Its full of different shops and ‘ethnic’ (I really hate that term used in that sense, but you get what I mean) food shops, trendy vintage stores (Brooklyn is the new black, by the way..), and Korean beauty salons every second door. All in all, twas a great day and a nice way to say ‘see you again soon’ to the City!

New England (as if having one wasn't bad enough)

Well here we are at the Bates motel, on Church Street in EVERETT, NOT Boston, as we were led to believe when we made the reservation.. ...Tapping of foot.. ... So it turns out our lil' hostel is outside Boston and bares a frightening resemblance to the lodgings of one Norman Bates. Having said that, the inside has a certain element of shabby chic and our room is comfy. We were put in a room that was clearly already inhabited by two people who had nabbed the top punks. After careful investigation of the scene i deduced that our room mates where German. (Evidence included one brown single-strap Birkenstock, some clinical lookinh pharmacy cosmetics, and a music stand, possibly for a small flute or oboe.) Anyway, the room kinda smelled like someone had died there around the same time the Pioneers landed in New England and there was about 10cm between the bottom and top bed, so Marge pretended to be claustrophobic and we got a new room. Were in a room on our own and its nice and comfy (bearing in mind the context in which we are in: youth hostels in general) So were on a two day stint in Boston and then heading to Up State NY on Friday. We drove up to Salem today in search of a quaint little puritan village, shrouded in mystery and witchcraft intrigue. We found a fairly nasty spread-out industrial town with 4 (no joke) 'witch museums' but that where all complete cack because theyre basically 'attractions' not 'museum'. The nuance makes quite a difference, i assure you. So we payed 6 dollars for a 15minute tour 'about withcraft, NOT the Hysteria of 1681 in which 20 people where burned', walking through the papier mache model-filled dark corridors (all 3 of them), whilst being patronised by a nerdy guy with red hair (who obviously got beaten up in highschool and so embraced the alternative-wicca-weirdo-goth path as a way of coping), as he told us patently obvious general knowledge facts about witchcraft whilst putting on an annoying voice and sipping on his water. The Crucible, this was not. Anyway, the historic part of the town is pretty much gone but we did find a small cluster of houses dating back to the 1600s which was quite cool, and a spooky-looking graveyard that was very Sleepy Hollow-esque. So tomorow we hit Baw-stun for some hardcore historical touring, including the Patriots Trail. Its so amusing what a distorted perspective of history people have over here because the country is so young. I forget that but then i hear people describing something as really old and historic, referring to something from the 1800s, which is basically pretty bloody modern by European standards. Anyway, i mock not. I just hope they all look like Mel Gibson and Heath Ledger!

Steph and the other City: The Big Apple

We arrived in Penn Station and hopped on the subway, primed and ready for my American Dream to come true, based entirely on ‘the Movies’, TV and books ive read… Quite a lot to live up to, id say. As I walked up the stairs from the subway, climbing towards my first impressions of Manhattan, I was hit by the sounds and sights of Times Square: people hustling past, taxis honking their horns (a nervous habit I think, by the way), buildings stretching up towards the sky, and layer upon layer of flashing lights and tv screens, assaulting the senses. (Piccadilly Circus has the power of a desk lamp bulb in comparison..) Vous ajoutez a ceci, les odeurs, le bruit… and you get a pretty overwhelming first impression of Manhattan. We made our way across town to drop our bags and settle in our lodgings for the night, which is a sort of hotel for the convenience of various clubs and alumni groups. Our stay in the suite was very generously provided by Mr. Bolter, member of Squadron A and therefore a club-member eligible to use the facilities. The thing is, the hotel happens to be run by none other than the Women’s Republican National Club (or something to that effect) which means that the entire building is adorned with pictures of all the ‘important’ ladies within the club and various other ‘ladies who lunch’. We accidentally stopped on the fourth floor on the way down and came face to face with a portrait of Reagan… Frightening stuff. Apart from the macabre right-wing undertones of the place, we had a lovely suite and it was such a treat to get to spend a night in the city and to be so central too. (just beside 5th Avenue and Rockefeller Centre.) We spent the day exploring the West Village and all the little boutiques and interesting shops there. It was Saturday so we had a lovely atmosphere with everyone on their weekend strolls. That evening we headed out for dinner, by which time it was 11 o clock - but don’t forget, it’s the city that never sleeps! After our Vietnamese food, we took a cab to the East Village (how cool did that sound?) in search of Mister Ming’s, a lounge-bar type thing that was recommended in one of the guide books as being a hip electro-music venue. After standing in the queue for about 5 minutes I noticed something odd. I could hear something that struck me as slightly strane. Yes.. there it was… Definitely! Bon Jovi’s, Living on a Prayer, rising from the depths of the club. I gasped in horror! I walked over and asked the leather-clad bouncer, was this not Mister Mings, cool electro bar? He looked at me, puzzled and answered in a thick New York accent, “You mean that Euro stuff???” … Emm, yes… I suppose…? “Nah, we don’t got that stuff here..!” …Sigh… “TAXI!” So onto the next place we went, passing away the wee hours of the night in KGB; a pseudo-intellectual haunt of NYU students discussing Kafka and the like over dodgy tasting Vodka that you’d get for 2 euros on the Continent, in Communist-memorabilia dressed surroundings. What I want to know is how the American public would react to someone opening a bar called “SS”, mais bon… passont. Sunday mornings in Manhattan, only one thing to do: go for eggs! So we did just that. We chose a nice place called Isabella’s with an outside terrace. The thing is that about 20 impatient looking New Yorkers also chose Isabella’s so we had to wait with the plebs outside to get our table. The scrambled eggs with Nova Scotia salmon and cream cheese, with home fries and English muffin made it all worth it. We then crossed the Park, but Fifth Avenue was closed because of some sort of Greek Parade. Why is it in cop-films when ever there's a chase, they always run into a parade and end up losing the fugitive in the crowd?? Anyway, I got to see the Parthenon on my trip to New York so I shouldn’t complain (even though it was made of Papier Mache and being dragged along by a pick-up truck). We walked down Madison Avenue, went into FAO Swartz and saw the cool giant floor piano thing that the people dance on in the film Big (we even arrived in time for the show!); went into Tiffany’s and Co and into Barney’s. We even walked down Park Avenue on our Bourj tour of the city. All in all we had a marvelous weekend. So much so that today I decided to go back for more. I left Marge and her weary feet and set off to explore the city on my tobler. I got the train from Long Island and the subway, comme une grande, and im quite proud of myself that I managed to figure the subway out myself cause its certainly different to what im used to - all numbers and straight lines! I started off at MoMa (the Museum of Modern Art) and walked through the galleries of beautiful paintings and sculptures. I saw some incredible surrealist paintings by Magritte and Dali that I never even knew where in the US. I even saw the gargantuan ‘reflections of clouds on the water’ (or something to that effect) by Monet which is truly beautiful. As for the Pollack section… bleeuughh… (C'est un Koundelich, definately springs to mind) After a morning filled with art, time for some of my art… Bloomingdales! I wandered through the cosmetic section and was inevitably solicited by every sexually-confused mascara wearing bronzed male makeup assistant, and smarmy high-lighted lip-linered sales lady; wanting to know if would like to be freshened up. Give the girl a complex! You actually need blinkers to walk into one of those department stores – one flash of eye contact and theyre all over you, descending onto their commission-providing prey like a cloud of vultures. After my ‘little brown bag’ experience, I hopped onto the 6 (like J-Lo, who’s ‘so real’ that she’s really from Brooklyn but just happens to live in LA) and wandered through the West Village. I decided to try my luck with Magnolia’s bakery (of Sex and the City fame) since last time the queue was wrapped around the block. Since it was Monday, I ‘got in’ and purchased a box of the most delightful, colourfully, hand frosted cup cakes ever created, including one for myself for the road. They don’t just look like they belong in the world of Barbie, they actually taste like a sweet summers day, sitting on a swing in a playground, birds humming and the smell of freshly cut grass in the air. Yes, in America they make an artificial flavour for that, I tell you! A perfect end to a perfect day of exploring the city, Steph style.