British Days: The Tube

The tube station can be a pushy place and getting on the tube can be a challenge. Tubes stopping at Finsbury Park tube station--which was the nearest station to my homestay--are always crowded in the morning. A lot of people get off and a lot of people are unable to get on. Before the tube gets there there is always a long disorganized column of people along the plank waiting to get on. The unlucky are at the back of this long column, waiting to see if they can get on. They usually don't and have to wait until a tube or two passes until they have a chance. Each time a tube passes their chances of getting on the tube increase. This is because when a tube passes some people get on, making the column thinner, allowing the people waiting to move up each time a tube passes. Also, whenever people move up in the column their previous place is taken by a new arrival. People on the plank in the morning are like a mechanized machine at work, despite whatever inconveniences that exist.

But this is only one of the complications of using the tube. In the morning and evening the tube is crowded; and when somebody enters a crowded tube it's like entering a pack of sardines that has reached its maximum capacity and is on the brink of bursting. It's so crowded you can't move. You are literally in somebodies face and there is plenty of bumping up against someone or something. Everybody who has to wait on the plank to get on the tube trades his or her place for a more crowded one. The best thing you can hope for is to get through the experience in one peace. But if you're unlucky you'll be stuck in front of someone who needs takes a shower and there's nothing you can do about it. This has happened to me. During my second visit to London somebodies bare armpit was in my face; and either his deodorant had worn off or he hadn't bothered to put any on. It was not a pleasant experience. There are certain places where a lot of people tend to get off the tube, which will leave more room to move. But worse things can happen. Sometimes the tube stops because of some malfunction, and people can be stuck on the tube for hours until the problem is resolved. This tends to be big news in London. Newspaper vendors often try to sell papers whenever the latest tube disaster has happened using this sort of headline: 300 PEOPLE TRAPPED ON THE TUBE FOR THREE HOURS IN TUBE NIGHTMARE! But what would be worse is if the tube broke down and you had to use the restroom. You would truly be in trouble with few options to deal with your predicament--and I am not trying to be funny at all. There were many times in London when I had to use the restroom, and finding one when I was trekking around London was not easy.

Some people might feel overwhelmed and intimidated by all this, especially people who have mobility problems. There have been times when I have seen elderly people who have mobility problems have difficulty using the tube. This is reminiscent of the Tortoise and the Hare children's story. The hare has no problem with mobility; he's fast and the mere thought of being slow would be unthinkable to the hare. But tortoise is slow and sometimes it's a real struggle for him to get from point A to point B. The elderly who have mobility problems inch their way toward the tube in a struggle while everybody else rushes by them. Whenever I saw this it reminded me there will be time in my life when my health will be in decline, and I might not be able to do some of the things I enjoy doing now. I can see why Ray Davies wrote "imagine yourself growing old" when he was 23. Those people were a constant reminder to him the older he got the more likely he was going to have health problems. But one complication I know the elderly wouldn't tolerate in London is being pushed or shoved from behind, which is common in the tube station. One night when I got off the tube at Finsbury Park I was pushed from behind. Somebody put their hand on my backpack--either inadvertently or not--and pushed me forward. I had paused for a second because I was tired; the trek down to Tottenham Court Road and back had worn me out, and I needed a breather. But the unspoken rule of the underground is unless you have mobility problems no one is going to wait for you. If you stop moving when a lot of people are trying to get off the tube or when a lot of people are trying to get on you're liable to be bumped or pushed out of the way. I didn't turn around and quarrel with the person, that would have been pointless. He or she were probably long gone anyway, making their way through the rush and push of the crowd. I fell in with the rest and did the same with the knowledge that this was simply part of life in London.

British Days: Meeting A Girl Named Holly

After one of my adventures trying to get back to Muswell Hill on the bus one night I met a girl named Holly. After I had gotten back to my homestay I went up the street to get some chips. It was almost 2 AM in the morning, but I was hungry, and I knew a place up the street where I could get some chips at that time. The trek back to Muswell Hill on the bus took almost two hours because I went beyond Finsbury Park (the place where I can catch a bus to Muswell Hill) and I had to figure out how to get there from Edmonton, which is north of Muswell Hill.

After I had gotten my chips I made my way back to my homestay. I noticed a snail slithering across the sidewalk. I have noticed that Muswell Hill has a lot of snails, and they usually come out at night. One time when I went into the kitchen at my homestay four snails had gotten in there and I accidently stepped on one with my barefoot. It was a gross experience and I didn’t want to step on another one with my shoe. So I checked the soles to see if there was any gooey mess on there. A girl who was walking down the street behind me asked me what in the world was I doing. I told her I didn’t want to step on snails.

That must have sounded like a strange thing for someone to say. I turned around and looked at her. She looked like she was in her early 20s--22, 23 perhaps, maybe older. She stood around 5'4 and she had long brown hair and blue eyes. As we walked down the hill I munched on my chips and heared her footsteps. They went plop, plop, plop. I thought maybe she was drunk. She told me she was on her way home because she needed to get changed because she spilled wine. I introduced myself. I told her I was an international student interning at a record label and how much I liked London. She looked at me like I was crazy. I told her in London I ccould see many of my favourite bands, and that there was more stuff up the street than the entirity of my hometown of Danville, Va. Danville has hit hard times. When I left Danville the city had the highest unemployment rate in the state. This might be due to a shrinking labor force. Muswell Hill has been a nice change for me. They have all sorts of shops on Muswell Hill Broadway, which is the main street in the community there. You can buy clothes, eat all sorts of delicious foods you can't get in Danville--Thai, Indian and Greek resteraunts are all within walking distance--, buy wine from several wine shops, go to the movies or even drink coffee at Starbucks. Muswell Hill is a far cry from life in Danville.

As we made our way down the street I told her my dream was to be a rock journalist, and she listened intently to my story.

"You sound like your from America or Mexico," she said.

I replied that I was from the U. S. and I offered her some of my chips as we talked. After I told her who I was and why I was in London she told me some things were meant to be. I know many people believe fate exists in some form, but I don't know if anything is meant to be. I am of the philosophical postion that is something we can not know. But her comment does make me think because of the way things have worked out. I had a previous opportunity to study abroad in London, but I passed it up because I wanted to finish my philosophy minor. At the time if I had gone to London I wouldn't have been able to have finished the minor. I still had to take the capstone class, which was a topics class. Nothing at Middlesex University would transfer into Radford University as credit for it. I could have taken the capstone class as an independent study, but I was uncomfortable with that idea because I wouldn't have any direct supervision from a teacher. Also, the capstone class is supposed to be the hardest course in a curriculum, and the idea of me doing an independent study of a capstone class made me uncomfortable. If I wanted to finish my minor the best choice was to stay at Radford University, which I did, and I did complete it. It was through the media studies department that I was able to take advantage of a second opportunity. Dr. Waite and Dr. Worringham formed a study abroad group. They chose students through the process of elimination. I was a shoe in because I was the department's Dean's Scholar for 2005. I've been able to do many things that I wouldn't have been able to do if I had studied abroad the first time around. At Middlesex University I probably would have spent most of my time studying, and I wouldn't have ventured out in the city much. But since I was an intern--which meant I didn't have to spend my time studying--I had plenty of time to explore London. This was a great advantage because I got to see some of my favorite muscians. I saw Neko Case at Sephard's Bush. I saw and met some the members of The Church at The Boderline. I also saw Echo and the Bunnymen play an amazing gig. Underpining all of this is the fact this is the first time Dr. Waite and Dr. Worringham have put together a study abroad group. I got lucky, and things could not have worked out any better.

British Days: Echo & The Bunnymen

The thing I love the most about London is everything I like is easily accesible. There's a coffee shop and bookstore almost everywhere you go and almost every week a band I was interested in came to London to perform. Unlike my life in Danville life in London is hardly boring. So on a Sunday night I went to see Echo & The Bunnymen at the KoKo club in Camden Town since I didn't have anything to do. It was the best gig I have ever been to.

I got to the club early so I could see the two opening acts, and because I wanted to make sure I could get as close as possible to the stage. I was able to get a spot in the second row. But when I entered the club there were a lot of people on the first and second balcony. I wondered why those people weren't on the first floor trying to get as close as possible to the band. There was still plenty of space on the first floor. The first band to go on that night were already playing, and when I got as close as I possibly could to the stage I understood why those people remained on the balcony-- it was loud down there. The Koko club is a big venue with two balconies. So that means the band has to be loud enough for everybody to hear, including the people on the two balconies. At times the voice of the singer was a muffle lost in the blare of the music from where I was at and I couldn't hear the harmonies that well.The two opening acts worked hard on stage. They poured alot of passion and energy into their songs. The second act, a band called Freemaker, reminded me of The Stooges alot. They played straight ahead primitive working class hard rock that was catchy. They even dressed in black t-shirts and jeans which made them look like they were from Detroit or New York. The singer even seemed like he had learned a thing or two from Iggy Pop. He strutted up and down the stage and did various rock poses in an effort to work the crowd. But when he spoke with a Scottish accent I knew this band was from some place far away from Detroit and New York. I was impressed, but the singer was having a hard time working the crowd. They were there to see the legendary Echo & The Bunnymen and Freemaker couldn't fight against that.

"You're a hard crowd," the singer told us.

After Freemaker left the stage the floor got crowded. People were making their way to the first floor so they could get as close as possible to The Bunnymen. Like many gigs it got so crowded I couldn't move to my right or left or forward or backward without bumping into someone. It got so bad I had to take off my backpack to make more room for myself and other people. I laid my pack on the floor in front of my feet so I wouldn't get seperated from it. After awhile the legendary Echo & The Bunnymen came on stage. The first member of the band I saw was Ian Mculloch. He wore a black coat, a t-shirt, jeans and shades. He walked up to the mic, flicked his cigarette and started to sing non-chalantly. Ian looked like the Terminator up there on the stage; and the amazing lightshow made him look like he had just emerged from the time warp itself. His movements were concise for maximum effect. All he did was stand there and sing, and the section I was in went crazy because of it. When the Bunnymen played "Stormy Weather," the third song that night, the entire section broke out in a massive orgy of pogoing. Echo & The Bunnymen had unleased a fury of middle-age male aggression, and there was no letting up to it; it just grew, and I was caught in it. Now I really realized why those people on the two balconies were there. They didn't want to get pogoed on. Things were getting aggressive and I had only two options: pogo with them or be pogoed on. Since I was far away from the non-pogo section I had no other choice but to get aggressive with them, and it was rough going. I couldn't enjoy the music because I was getting pogoed on and I didn't feel like pogoing for the entire gig. That would have been too much of a workout. I had already gotten seperated from my backpack, and I couldn't go back for it. So I made my way to the non-pogo section where I could see The Bunnymen's amazing gig without somebody bumping into me. I also continued to observe the Bunnymen's middle-age male fans go berserk. These people treated the gig like they were at a celebration. While they pogoed some of them had their arms around each other, happy to be in the presence of the Bunnymen as the band played on. After the Bunnymen left the stage I was able to retrieve my backpack. It was still in the place where I left it, and the contents (which included Joy Division's first LP on vinyl) weren't damaged.

The Bunnymen gig put me in a state of awe. I didn't know live music could be like that, and the definition of music has taken on a new meaning for me. Compared to the two previous bands that night Echo and the Bunnymen made rock 'n' roll look easy. They played classic after classic, and those songs sounded better live than the studio versions. "Do It Clean" and "All That Jazz" put the recorded versions to shame, and they made the crowd go into a frenzy. Also, Will Sergeant's guitar work put me in another world. It was like he showed up from another dimension just to show us what could be done with a guitar and some effects pedals. Simply put-- The Bunnymen were spellbounding. The records just do not capture what that band is capable of doing live. They had the right mix of passion and great songs to play that night and they made the place go crazy just from showing up. And as Keith Richards would say on any given night any band that has the right mix of passion and songs is the greatest band in the world, and on June 4th, 2006 Echo and the Bunnymen were that band.

British Days: World Cup Fever

Last year England was caught in the grip of World Cup fever--and it was intense. Wherever I went in London people were displaying their patriotism. English flags hung from the windows of homes, many people wore the English soccer jersey, countless flags flew on cars and on game day many people draped the beloved English flag over their shoulders. Wherever I went in England I couldn't escape World Cup fever.

From an outsiders perspective during the World Cup in England people are expected to put aside whatever differences they have and support England. There's nothing comparable to it in the United States. The closest sporting event we have that approximates the intensity of the World Cup is the Super Bowl. The Super Bowl is a huge event in the U. S. Out of the three major professional championships played in the U. S. (the other two are the World Series and the NBA Championship) the Super Bowl is easily the most recognizable and the biggest of the three. This is because the Super Bowl has morphed into something more than just a championship--it is a cultural event. The Super Bowl is hyped up long before gameday. Fans not only eagerly debate what two teams will be playing each other on that special day in January but they also plan where they're going to watch the Super Bowl, what they'll eat when watching it and what they'll be wearing during it. Advertisers in the U. S. have latched on to the Super Bowl as a way of showing their new commercials, many of which try very hard to be clever and funny, and sometimes a big deal is made over some of these commercials. Commentators are now almost expected to critique these commercials. And any American knows how much of a big deal the Super Bowl half-time show is, one of the most important things during the Super Bowl. Usually some big name entertainer such as The Rolling Stones or Paul McCartney play their music to millions. In comparision to all this it would almost seem inevitable any other championship in the world would pale in comparision.

But the World Cup is a bigger event. The Super Bowl lacks the intense patriotism fans bring to the World Cup. The mere thought of the World Cup being unpatriotic to the English would be unthinkable. When I went to the pub to watch England's first match against Paraguay with my housemates we were lost in a sea of red and white (the colors of the English flag). We had gotten to the pub an hour early so we could find a seat and get something to eat. When we entered we realized we weren't going to find anywhere to sit for awhile; the place was packed. Everybody in there was ready for England to take on Paraguay, and they were going to support England all the way. When the English soccer team took the field the pub was filled with a loud chorus. It said one thing: England!I have never seen patriotism this intense before, and it is hard for me to think Americans would get as patriotic about something, especially a sporting event. This is for several reasons. Americans like their sports homegrown. We typically aren't very supportive of a sport that hasn't been bred on American soil. This is why we love baseball, basketball and American football so much. These three sports are played in other countries, but it has only been recently that we have considered two of these sports--baseball and basketball--as being international. This year was the first year of the World Baseball Classic, a baseball international competition. But most Americans didn't get patriotic about it, and this is a sport that is supposed to be the American past time! Most Americans were disinterested. Also, there was some controversy about it in the U. S. George Steinberner made it known he didn't want his players involved in it out of fear they would get hurt and wouldn't be able to play for the Yankees. Also, there is a deep cultural divide in the U. S. which makes it hard for Americans to support something with an one for all attitude.

The comparisions and contrasts of the attitudes that Americans and the English have toward sports is interesting because these attitudes reveal some major differences between the two countries. Soccer isn't that big in the U. S. and many Americans are disinterested in the sport. There's a deep rooted bias against it in America. Some people are so disinterested in the sport they openly express their dislike of it. I remember one time when I told my dad I wanted to play soccer he replied why the heck do you want to play that; and his attitude has always been of dislike toward the sport. But in England soccer is a big deal; it's so embedded in the culture the idea of not supporting England in the World Cup--and I suspect any other international soccer competition-- is almost unthinkable. To illustrate my point after England had defeated Paraguay one of the housemates told me he wasn't leaving the homestay if the U. S. and England played each other in the World Cup. World Cup fever in England was so intense he feared for his safety--and he had good reason to.

British Days: Public Transportation In London

One of London's many quirks is its public transportation system--it has a mentality of its own. When somebody takes the bus or tube in London he or she becomes a voyeur. Londoners have a habit of talking about their personal lives when they use public transportation. On any given day of the week you can overhear anything that is going on in the lives of the people of London. Somebody might be having problems taking care of an elder member of the family. Somebody might talk about how to resolve a situation with a potential lover. Two people might even make out in front of you on the tube, revealing the physical intimacy between them. Observing all of this was like weaving in and out of other people's personal lives, although I didn't know anything about those people.

And as can be expected from someone who constantly observes these things I overheard some hilarious things. I remember one time I overheard a conversation between a man and a woman about opera. The topic of conversation was about a male singer, and the terminology they used could've been interpreted as having sexual connotations. "Did he float your boat,"the man asked the woman. She was a little skeptical of the singer's abilities but she replied that her boat did in fact float. But this wasn't the most outragous thing I've heard while using public transportation in London. One time when I was on my way back to my homestay on the bus a young woman made her way to the back of the bus where I was sitting. She looked like she was in her late-20s or early-30s. She was dressed in a nice outfit, and looked like she was going to have a night out with some friends or go on a date. She pulled out her cell phone and started to talk to someone on it. She told the other person on the other line she didn't want to be lonely in life and mentioned the perfect relationship and the perfect somebody. Then she proceeded to beg--and I do mean literally plead--the other person to have a drink with her. She wanted to go out on a date, and it was obvious she was desperate. My housemates reported even more outragous stuff. One told me how he overheard three women talk about how much time it had been since they had had sex. Whenever I overhear these conversations on the tube or the bus it reveals something about somebody's personal life. I always wondered who were these people who were so open about their lives in public? What walk of life do they come from, and how did they get where they're at now in life? What sort of problems have these people encountered, overcome or even succumbed to?

British Days: Fat Records

In London I worked for Fat Records, a breakbeat label in London; and my time there was spent doing online marketing, clerical work and listening to a lot of breakbeat music. It was not the most exciting job and it mostly consisted of making as many friends for Fat Records on their myspace.com web-site. Since I didn't have a lot of things to do at Fat Records I got to observe what running a record label was really like.

Far from being situated in a neat, clean place the office of Fat Records was housed in a slightly dilapidated warehouse-like building in south London. Like many such buildings it had a peculiar smell, which I can best describe as being like many of the odors that would emanate from a woodshop class. Also, a visit to the restroom was enough to make you realize the building was far from music-biz glamor. The toilets in the men's room were a disgusting sight--as if they had been neglected to be cleaned or replaced. When a man walked into the restroom when I was in there one time he looked at the toilet and invoke the son of God's name in shock.

The office of Fat Records was basically a make shift room. Upon entering the room you could see various record label paraphenelia: DJ magazine covers covered the walls, a CD and turn table for playing music and four computers which were organized close together. But no matter how much personality the room had it always retained its warehouse-like origins, and a grayness and stillness seemed to mix with the personality of the room. It was as if somebody had given temporary life to an otherwise bland room, and that the blandness of the room was an inescapable part of it. No matter how much personality was given to the room it would always retain an element of blandness.

My three co-workers, Rory, Clair and Paul, were always working hard. As I sat at my computer trying to make as many friends for them for their myspace.com web-site they'd be typing away, recieving calls and making calls and the only time they seemed like they got a reprieve is when they went to lunch. Life at a record label seemed frantic; they'd always be calling someone to bug them to do something for them and somebody would always be calling them to bug them to do something for them, and this seemed like it was standard protocol for the industry as a whole. And I suspect I know why it is. If they didn't do things like that then somebody would be more likely to forget something and in the music business things need to get done as quick as possible. Also, Paul who owned the label was self-employed--the record label was his label and Rory and Clair were his employees--so there was a lot of encentive to do things like this. They didn't make a lot of money. They all made their money from club nights, and they'd usually be able to split even, which was just enough to make a living doing what they loved doing. So they couldn't afford to waste money and opportunities, which meant if they wanted to do what they loved as a living then they were going to have to keep up with the frantic pace of the business.

The way Fat Records was started is an interesting story in itself and worthy of its own blog entry. The label grew out of Paul's parties. When he was a teenager he'd throw parties when his mum wasn't around, and one day he decided to make money from it, and this practice turned into his record label. His first record label was called Certificate 16, which was another breakbeat label and still has a web-site, but that record label went out of business. Paul says it was because he didn't use common business sense, such as spending too much on art work.

The biggest thing I learned from working at Fat Records is the music business is a business; and like any business the bottom-line was to make money. Clair told me some people were in the business for precisely that reason. The only reason why they were in the music business was because they could make a livlihood from it, and that was the only reason they had any interest in it. But Rory, Paul and Clair were in the business because they loved doing what they did. Rory and Paul were DJs themselves, and they'd often have to leave for days to DJ somewhere in the world, which was a constant reminder why they were in the business in the first place.

British Days: Going Back to England, Pt. 2

It was the fall semester, and surprisingly I didn't think about my decision to not go to England that much. I was too busy with classes to think about that. Life had gone on and I had other things to worry about. But in one of my media studies classes my professor, Dr. Worringham, told us he and Dr. Waite (another media studies professor) was organizing a group of students to go to London for internships.

This was the golden opportunity I had wanted, but ironically it didn't dawn on me at first to take advantage of the opportunity. I had already completed my internship for credit, so I thought I wouldn't qualify to go. But over the course of the semester Dr. Worringham persisted in telling us about the trip to London, but few people in the class showed any enthusiasm about going to London. One day Dr. Worringham reiterated what he had been telling us all semester long: This was a golden opportunity. But this time he said it with some frustration, obviously disappointed with the lack of enthusiasm in the class. That's when I realized some people did an internship after they had walked*, and maybe it was possible I could do another one, even if I had already gotten credit for it.

I approached Dr. Worringham after class, and he told me it was possible that I could do another internship. I was estatic. Although the participants in the program had to be picked by the professors (I overheard someone say they had over 80 applications) I thought I had a good chance of being selected. I was on good terms with all the professors in the media studies department and I was the department's Dean's Scholar, which is the highest academic award a student can achieve on the university level, and I'd been in England twice before, so I knew what to expect. I was almost certain I'd be a shoe-in, and to unsurprisingly I was selected for the program.

Although Middlesex had been a sacrified opportunity this one turned out to be a better one. We stayed with homestays which was great since I had the chance to be immersed in English culture instead of just being a tourist. When you're a tourist you just see a place but you don't get to know it intimately. Also, I got to stay in Muswell Hill--the neighborhood were Ray Davies of The Kinks, one of my favorite songwriters, grew up. The family I stayed with even said they knew Ray; they'd gone to school with The Kinks. And I got to intern at a record label. Things had come full-circle. I had been motivated to go to London because of music, and when I went back for the third time I got to stay in the heart of Kinkdom and intern at a record label. It would be hard for me to wish for anything more. If I had gone to Middlesex it is likely I would have spent my time doing homework, and I would have missed out on a lot. But with this opportunity I didn't have to do any schoolwork, and that allowed me to take full advantage of what London had to offer. Also, when we got to London the first place we went to was Russell Square, a place I'd been to during my first two visits. The familiar gray English sky loomed over the day, and when I looked at London College, the British Musuem, the park in Russell Square for the third time I felt a sense of familiarity, and I thought I'm back. Things had come full circle indeed.

*This is in reference to taking part in the graduation ceremony.

British Days: Going Back to England, Pt. 1

"The opportunities you pass up in life you never get back," the man told me.

It was dinner time at the university, and I was sitting at a table in the dining hall eating my meal, which I often ate alone. But on this day my solitary meal was interrupted by one of the workers on the cafeteria staff who gave me this invaluable piece of advice. He was a middle-aged man, and obviously did not want me to make the same life-mistakes he had made. Once he told me this I knew I was in for a life lecture and wouldn't be eating my meal in peace. He went on to tell me about how a friend once offered him an opportunity to work in South America when he was around my age, but passed it up because he thought he needed to stay behind and work to make money.

"Why did I do that?" The man said, regretting his decision. "When you're that age you don't need to worry about losing money. It's always coming back."

But it was too late for him because he had a family now, and once you have a family it becomes harder to travel because of family responsibilities. I nodded my head in acquiesce, but my calm reaction was a facade. My anxiety level shot up, and I got nervous and imagined the worse. Oh, God! What if I do something like that?! What if I pass up some important opportunity for not-so-good reasons? What if I miss my opportunity to travel abroad!? Am I going to be looking back on that decision with regret forever!?

Ever since I entered college I had wanted to go to England, specifically London. As a teenager I had gotten in to rock music, and most of my favorite bands were from England, and ever since then I had wanted to visit that country. I knew college could give me the opportunity to go because many colleges have study abroad programs for their students to study in England. I had already been England twice with a study abroad group at the community college I used to attend, but those trips were short trips, and had lasted about a week each. I wanted to go to England and spend some time there, and I was hoping if I had another opportunity to go I would be able to stay for a few months. But the man's advice made me nervous because it implied I might be in a situation where I would have the opportunity to go but not take advantage of the opportunity because of perceived "extenuating circumstances." I walked out of the cafeteria hoping nothing like that would happen to me. I hoped I would never be in a situation where choosing to go or not to go England was a difficult decision because of my circumstances. I wanted that decision to be as anxiety free as possible because I had been longing to go back to London for a long time.

During my senior year I was set to study abroad in London at Middlesex University. Everything was official, and all I had to do was go over there the next semester. But there was one big problem--Middlesex offered no class that would transfer in for the capstone class in Philosophy (Minds and Machines), which I had to take to complete my minor. There were several options I had to deal with the situation, and none were appealing to me. I could take the capstone class as an independent study while I was at Middlesex, but I didn't think that was a good idea. Any capstone class is supposed to be the hardest class a department has to offer, and I thought if this is the thoughest philosophy class it would be best that I took it at the university instead of by myself. Or I could not take the capstone class and go to Middlesex anyway. But that would mean not completing my minor; all philosophy majors and minors had to take it to complete the program, and since I loved philosophy so much I didn't want that to happen. Also, the class was only offered in the fall, so I couldn't take it in the spring. I could theoretically come back in the fall of the following year to finish my minor. But I thought that would be wasting time when I could be working. Going to Middlesex during spring semester was not an option too. The university's exchange programme was only for the fall semester, and if I went in the spring I'd have to be accepted in to Middlesex as one of their students, and I'd have to pay their tuition, which was twice as much as Radofrd University's because the pound is worth twice as much as the dollar. As the deadline approached to finalize classes for fall semester I brooded about my situation. My choices came down to doing either one of two things: either go to Middlesex and forfeit the completion of my minor or stay at the university and not go to Middlesex and complete the minor. This was a dilemma and nightmare I had wanted to avoid. I recalled the cafeteria worker's advice to me: "The opportunities you pass up in life you never get back." But whatever I chose in this situation I was going to have to sacrifice an opportunity to gain one, and I might not get back the opportunity I chose to sacrifice.

After thinking about the situation for a long time, and after experiencing a lot of anxiety, I decided to stay at the university and canceled out of the exchange program. When I told the International Director I was canceling out of the program he told if I had a dream not to give up on it. But I was still devastated, and wondered whether I was doing to right thing and if I had just passed up my last opportunity to go back to England. I didn't know if I would ever get another chance. But I loved philosophy, and I wanted to complete my minor and take the Minds and Machines class. If I went to England I'd miss out on it, and I'd be missing out on something important. A couple of days later I told somebody who had studied at Middlesex University what I decided, and she told me I should have gone because she had to give up all sorts of things--such as honor club memberships--to go. But little did I know at the time that another opportunity would come my way.

Canadian Days: Playing Good-Will Ambassador For Sloan

Most people who know me know how much I love music. I'm always listening to music and I rarely go anywhere without my MP3 player. I also buy at least one new album a month and I have aspirations of being a rock journalist. I eat, breath and live music, and since I'm so passionate about music I'm always eager to expose my friends to the music I'm passionate about, especially to bands who are worthy of having a bigger audience. These artists need all the exposure they can get, and since I'm one of their dedicated fans I have no problem doing all I can for them. After all, if it wasn't for people like me--people who'll buy almost everything these bands will release--these bands would have a harder time making a living as musicians, and it would be a shame if these people quit making music for financial reasons.

The WinterCity festival in Toronto gave me a chance to spread the word about my favorite Canadian band, Sloan, who are always in need of converts so they can continue to make records.
The WinterCity festival is a huge arty event. Over two weeks the city of Toronto puts on an extravaganza of what it has to offer: a vibrant arts scene, great food, the ability to bring in Canada's most popular performers and free concerts. Since Sloan were playing in the festival it was prime time to play good-will ambassador for them. And since the concert was free the people I would be trying to convert to the band wouldn't have much to lose. If they didn't like them they couldn't gripe to me about how they lost 10 to 15 dollars. I hyped up how good Sloan were to my friends. I'd been a Sloan fan for awhile, and had all their albums. I described them as "Canada's finest," and that they were the band I wanted to see the most in Canada.

The evening got off to a promising start. My friends and I headed down to Nathan's Phillips Square where Sloan would be taking the stage, and a medium-sized crowed was out there, eagerly anticipating Canada's finest. Right before Sloan took the stage MuchMusic* introduced the band as "the east coast legends." I felt what I had told my friends about the band had been vindicated with good reason. Everything was falling into place. I had gotten my friends out there in the bitter cold just to see Sloan, and MuchMoreTV had backed up what I had said to my friends about the band. Now all Sloan had to do was rock their way to glory, and they'd have some new converts on their hands, courtesy of me.

But things did not go according to plan. The concert got off to a good start. Sloan played a stomping version of "Who Taught You to Live Like That?" But after that the concert devolved into Sloan ploughing there way through the new songs off their new album "Never Hear The End of It," which didn't go over as well as their earlier material. The songs off "Never Hear The End of It" aren't bad, and I consider the album as the ultimate Sloan record. "Never Hear The End of It" is the most ambitious Sloan record. It consists of 30 songs and represents a culmination of everything the band has ever done. It just doesn't translate well live. The album is similar to "Abbey Road." The second half of that record consist of short songs that immediately phase into each other. It's more of a theatrical performance than a collection of individual songs, and "Never Hear The End of It" is the same way throughout the entire record. There are only a handful of songs that could be singles, which are the songs that would be more suited for a live performance. Compounding the problem is most of the songs on the album are complicated; the songs tend to go through alot of changes, and songs like that are hard on the ears. It's the sort of record you'd have to listen to five or six times before you started to like, and the record you'd think twice about giving someone in effort to convert them to Sloan.

At mid-set my friend Cassie taped me on the shoulder and told me she was leaving. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was not impressed. I looked back and saw all my other friends had left. This was embarrassing. I told Cassie O. K., and then she left me out there in the bitter cold. All my efforts to convert my friends to the good cause that is Sloan had been in vain. And what made my efforts even more pointless was the fact that as Cassie left Sloan launched into their classic material, which is what everybody had been waiting for, and the concert took off. As Sloan played these songs the crowd showed more enthusiasm, and Sloan were finally on their way to rocking their way to glory. After "Money City Maniac's" Patrick Pentland, one of the guitarists in the band, shook his fist in the air, as if Sloan had finally conquered the day. But for my friends it was too late.


*MuchMusic is Canada's version of MTV.