Springing Forward

So one thing many people depend on is a good haircut. I was once voted most consistent hair in the office. If there’s one thing that I HAVE to do everyday it’s do my hair. If you have ever seen me with hair undone, it was probably because I was sick or something or you just saw me before I got a chance to do so. I’m not going to lie, I’m pretty vain. I’m judgmental. When I see someone dressed like a slob, I feel like they’re doing society an injustice. So, as a respect to society I feel like I should dress to the status quo, say please and thank you, and especially do my hair. Today, I had a bad haircut, which brings us to the cultural topic of the week:

DAYLIGHT SAVINGS

Last week I went to Greenwich, where latitude 0 and 360 meet. I, like everyone, stood on the meridian and had my photo taken and thought I was the coolest person alive as I straddled what may or may not actually be the real meridian…the place where time zero actually exist – give or take zero seconds with a margin of error of zero. But even here, in Greenwich Standard time, they have to change the clocks twice a year…

Daylight savings gives the luxury of an extra hour of daylight in the summer so that everyone can take advantage of longer days. The English, because of their undying need to be different, call daylight savings “Summer Time” (not to be confused, with the classic by Ella Fitzgerald), which actually makes sense, but since it’s not a universally recognized name, we won’t get into it. Daylight Savings was originally created so that farmers and other labourers could have longer workdays in the summer months, when the heaviest workload takes place. Since days are longer on both ends, both evening and night, having the sun rise an hour later easily adds on an extra hour to the afternoon. Come mid-July, the days start to become shorter again until the dead of winter.


This year, because of some weird circumstance, North America set their clocks ahead three weeks before Europe, giving the smallest time difference possible. From home, I was only 6 hours ahead (normally 7) and normalcy wasn’t restored until this last weekend. Because of opposing seasons, Eastern Australians are now 11 hours from home, whereas 3 days ago they were a mere 9, but at least they switched over on the same day.

Personally, I think they should one year switch to daylight savings time and just stay there, leaving the sunlight where it belongs – in the afternoon. But that would mean kids would have to go to school in the dark. And I guess when it comes down to it, everyone’s a little bit afraid of the dark.

My flat mates didn’t actually find out about daylight savings time until today (Monday) when they looked at their updated mobile phones at what they believed to be 730, which, of course, was actually one full hour later. Having to work on the weekend, they make it very clear that “yes, this IS the weekend we set the clocks ahead” and because of this, I’ve been in tune with the changes for many years past. Problem with daylight savings switch is that it is mostly done by word of mouth. I realise now that had I not had to work on the weekend, I, like my flat mates would have been completely oblivious to the change. It must be one of the worst publicized events in world.

When I went in for the haircut today I followed normal procedure. I went to the same hairdresser that I usually go to get my £6 haircut. Afterwards, I also walked around in Camden and then made my way home. The hairdresser I had today was from South Africa and thought London was “shit” so I asked him why he didn’t just move. He said he was planning on moving to Bristol and asked if I had ever been there. I said no. Then he cut my bangs shorter than they have ever been, and basically butchered the entire operation.

An average human head has 100 000 hair follicles. Average hair loss is approximately 100 hair per day. Average hair growth is 15 millimeters per month which by my calculations is an average hair growth of 0.0000289mm per hour. What this means is that having a bad haircut on the day after daylight savings means that that’s one hour of hair growth I won’t get back until fall.

CHEERS!

“Always remember that I have taken more out of alcohol than alcohol has taken out of me” – Sir Winston Churchill

This topic is one that needs no introduction. To be honest, I have wanted to write about this subject since the first weekend I landed in this country, but never really had what I thought was the right ammunition to be able to properly equip the forces that are needed to go up against this huge topic. But with St Patrick’s Day, the international celebration Irish culture, this past weekend, I thought it fitting to finally bring out the big guns. (I don’t know if you heard, but I did over a thousand). If you know anything about English-Irish relations, you’ll know that they have their differences; but if there’s one thing that can bring them together – a thing that the Irish are known for and something the English are pretty good at it too – it would be this week’s cultural topic of the week:

DRINKING

In one of my first weekends in London, my cousin and I ventured over to a little jazz bar in Primrose hill. Seated next to us was an old man nearly passed out from having drank too much on a Sunday afternoon. Next to him was another group of elderly people going hard with a couple of already empty bottles of white wine laughing and cheering as the musicians played. It was at this moment that I realized why, in my travels, I had always been slaughtered when I went up against brits playing drinking games. Kids drink beer with their parents as young as 8 or 10 and already appreciate a good bitter by the time they reach 12.


In North America, most kids are exposed to drinking in high school and college, and really don’t understand the concept of moderation. Governments claim it’s an epidemic and that kids should be stopped. I think there’s probably some truth to that, but I also think the best way to stop someone from liking something is to make them overindulge. This, after all, is why I no longer (happily) drink Molson Canadian. Binge drinking is why people don’t like certain drinks. Binge drinking also allows people to (sometimes too often) experiment with their limits. But that’s the bad side of drinking.


Medical studies prove that drinking can help fight heart disease. Psychological studies prove that drinking can relax your nerves. Students and non-students alike can vouch that drinking can be the centre of a social event. Drinking helps people express they way they really feel. I often drink a beer while I’m writing; it’s not that drinking makes me a better writer, but I suppose it may make me a more creative one. Ironically, the one post I actually talk about it, I don’t have a beer on my desk. One thing I’m bad for, and if you have ever been drunk around a computer I know you can relate, is trying to write an email to a girl you like (and I know this happens to some of us more than others). And you will also know, there’s that threshold where you go from all-out confession to complete incomprehensible nonsense, wehren othoing you try ot write mkeas ayn ensse at all…and then what could have been a sweet note just makes you look like a ottal omorn.

In Canada, (excl. Quebec), you can pretty much only buy liquor at liquor stores and in many provinces all stores are government run, highly taxed, and highly regulated. There are different drinking laws from province to province, including age variances, which means that depending on where you are determines whether you can drink at age 18 or 19 and if you are unlucky enough to live in the USA, you can’t legally touch it until three years after you can legally vote, make porn, and fight in the army.

In England there are many options for the acquisition and consumption of liquor. First, off license shops, aka convenience stores, can sell liquor until 11pm and are easily the greatest source for canned beer and bottled spirits. Within a five minute walk of my apartment, there are no fewer than ten off license shops to choose from with varying prices from shop to shop. Grocery supermarkets also sell liquor and often give even better prices than the “offies”. The standard off license price for a tall can of beer (500ml) is around 1GBP.


Second, and probably the most popular choice for liquor consumption are pubs. Pubs are usually set up with seating for most everyone, usually offer a reasonably priced, full range of drinks, and will usually offer traditional English pub food, free of cover charge. Pub patrons usually flock in after work and are gone after last call, also at 11pm. Busier pubs may have extended liquor licenses which allow them to stay open later, until 12 or 1am. Standard price for pint of beer 2.50-3.20GBP.

Third, bars are more or less contemporary pubs. The furniture may be more modern, food may not be so English traditional, and the drinks may be slightly higher end. Drinks will cost more, things will look more expensive and the general setting will look slightly more sterile. Most men’s rooms will also have an attendant…which always pisses me off. On Friday, Saturday, and special events, they may also have dance floors. Varying closing times. Standard pint: 3-4GBP.

Last, but not least, clubs are hands down the most expensive way to drink. Invariably, there is a cover charge. Clubs, like they are anywhere, are focused around the DJ or music genre, varying from salsa or swing to trance, house or drum & bass. The music will be the central attraction and it is usually hard to visit. London is renowned as one of the frontrunners in international club culture. Standard drink price: 330ml bottle of beer: 4-5GBP, single cocktail: 5-7GBP.

There are, obviously variations:
- Gastro pubs, similar to pubs, offer a similar setting, but will generally be pricier, will serve a greater selection and will focus on higher end foods.
- Student pubs will offer even cheaper beer and drinks and are ideal for students or budget travelers.
- Superclubs charge mega-pounds to get in, a crapload for coat check, and highly inflated drink prices. Super clubs are mainly designed for those not looking to drink and are more focused on doing drugs and dancing to otherwise undanceable music.

We always learned in economics that alcohol is an inelastic good. What this means is that no matter the price, the general population will continue to consume it, and as the English culture has shown, this is probably true. The English have always had a pretty solid reputation, but for a drinking culture seem to be pretty easy going about the whole subject. The American icon Homer Simpson probably said it best: “To alcohol…the cause of, and solution to, all of life’s problems.”

Before moving, I always shared the title of “drunk cousin” with my cousin, Janis, who also lives here. I earned my title by demonstrating “the shotgun” as my notable skill during a presentation at a family reunion; I’m not sure how long she’s held hers. Anyway, I told you that story to tell you this one: since as long as I can remember, my grandmother has always given me little gifts of money with a nice little note saying “go buy some candy” or “go buy a pop” or something. When I came London she sent us some money, again, but this time the note read: “To Kai and Janis, Go have a drink at a pub!” So though it’s a strange topic to do so with, I’d like to dedicate this post to Grammy.

Cheers.

Misty Mountain Hop

I’m sure I’ve touched on this one before, but I constantly get asked why it was that I would move to England. At first, I really didn’t know why either. I am a proud Canadian and an avid snowboarder so when it really comes down to it, moving halfway around the world to a country with virtually no mountains and absolutely no snow makes absolutely no sense. For the first few months my answer to the question would always be: “Meh, why not?” Well, for starters, the cost of living in England is among the world’s highest, the food really isn’t all that great, and the English people generally aren’t overly friendly. At first I, too, was confused. At my first job, I was barely even making enough money to cover food costs, let alone put any into travel and savings. But now, after a couple months of proper income, I now truly why I came to London: The weekend getaway.

The weekend getaway is a new concept and though this is technically the second weekend getaway I have taken, I proudly present this blog’s first ever official Weekend Getaway topic:

The French Alps

Working in the mountain sports industry, it has been hard up until now seeing people all buying equipment for one of my greatest passions, but this past weekend, I got my first real life taste of ski culture in Europe. I am, of course, generalizing and therefore assuming that ski culture in Austria, Italy and Switzerland (the other Alps countries) is similar to that in France. In some resorts in Switzerland, it is actually technically possible to go into another country and them come back into Switzerland all in the same run. Cool, eh?
Though there is sometimes snow and there do exist ski resorts in the western Scottish mountains, most English people are forced into Europe if they want to hit the slopes. Alpine skiing (downhill – not to be confused with Nordic skiing, ie. cross-country) can be done in many countries in Europe, and though the largest mountains and highest peaks are in the Alps, many vacationers head to Sweden, Bulgaria, Slovakia and even Northern Spain in search of snow. From London it is possible to drive yourself to virtually anywhere in Europe, but for the most part weekend or even week-long package deals are the easiest and cheapest ways to go.
In one of the best recent snow years in the Rockies and, ironically, one of the worst ever years in Alps, I was still determined to use my snowboard (yep, the old K2) that I foolishly brought to England. And, as always, determination paid off. My flat mate (roommate – for those in North America) and I booked a neat little package getaway through skiweekends.com which began on a Thursday afternoon at 5pm at London Victoria Coach station, would make a couple stops further along the way and carry-on through the night to arrive at our quaint little mountain village, Brides-les-Bains, in the lower Méribel valley. We would have three full days on the slopes of including legendary ski hills of Méribel, Courchevel, and Val Thorens, which make the greater Les 3 Vallées, the world’s largest ski resort. The package included 2 nights in a hotel, two overnights/door-to-door transportation on a licensed coach and 5 full meals (including desert!)…the only thing it was really missing was the lift pass and unlimited booze!

Being back at work on Monday is always like getting hit with reality. Sleeping on a coach and going without a shower makes it even harder, but even with major traffic delays on the M25 headed back into London, knowing that you just had three full spectacular days in the mountains really softens the blow.

Of the countless (more like 250) pictures of the French mountain valleys I photographed over the weekend, I can’t actually decide which ones I like the best from my first trip to the Alps. I was, of course, working with equipment I was not overly familiar with, since, as stated in an emergency entry, I lost my own little camera. The weather was pretty much unbelievable allowing for clear skies, great light and, just our luck, a dusting of snow each night. Basically, we couldn’t have asked for much better conditions. I even came out of the whole deal with a killer goggle tan – all thanks to the weekend getaway!

So now whenever anyone asks me why I came to London, my has changed and often goes a little something like this: “What did you do last weekend? Oh, I went snowboarding in France.” That’s why.

Bowling out of turn - Emergency Post

So this comes at an odd time, following an odd occation, because of an unusual event and will come online as an unadulterated piece without edits. This post will include no photos and will not be about a cultural event (unless you enjoy doing what I have experienced tonight). This is a straight up rant. In fact, I'll tell you the message of this whole story even before you read it:

Don't get all bogged down in all the bullshit.

This morning when I woke up, I was in one of those moods you just sometimes get in. Overall, I am a very positive person and the kind of "moods I get in" are good ones. I get into the kind of mood where nothing will hurt me; where nothing with bring me down and where no matter what, that day, I will have a good day. Today, I worked all day, as per usual in a positive attitude and because of going to work early one day on the weekend, was able to get off early. I work in a high people-traffic aka touristy area of London, Covent Garden and as I met two friends of mine for dinner and bowling, there was some Avon event taking up the bulk of the main piazza in the market. There were bright flashing lights, there was music and there was a lineup for people to get free avon makeovers. I did NOT participate. But I DID take a picture. I was wearing my black gap jacket, a new cowboy-style shirt I bought this week at H&M and jeans.

I then walked through another touristy area, Leicester (pronounced Lester) Square, stopped in a McDonalds, waited in line, ate a large size Big Mac Meal at a table that was kind of dirty, left, walked kitty corner across the street to the Trocadero, where my two friends and I went up an escalator and went to the bowling alleys. As I was putting on my (still warm/very recently worn) bowling shoes, this is when I realized what was wrong. Somewhere between taking the picture at Covent Garden and replacing the camera in my jacket's breast pocket and the Trocadero, I lost my camera.

Yes, I swore. I swore a great number of times. In fact, I even swore at myself as I ran back to McDonalds, thinking that where the camera must have been. I have come to a conclusion: either there are no honest people left in the world, or I simply didn't leave it there. Sad part is, I'll never actually know which one it is.

Now when I'm traveling, to me, my camera often might even take precedent over my passport. It may be the Japanese in me, but I just LOVE taking pictures of things I see. Stupid things, cool things, strange things, normal things, whatever. Thing is, you can replace a passport; you cannot replace pictures. Pictures are memories; passports are simply tools used to achieve them. (though I understand losing your passport is a HUGE pain in the ass)

Losing your camera is also, let me a assure you, also a HUGE pain in the ass. This is also, might I add, the second time I have either lost my camera or had it stolen in the last two and a half years. As I realised what had just happened, I was pissed; I can't lie about that. But the most important thought that came to mind was that I had, in reality only lost 2 pictures that I had taken. So really, it could have been worse. And just in case it was unclear, losing your camera REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY sucks.

But here's the lesson for all you people who always get bogged down in all the bullshit. Don't worry about things you can't control; it will only bring you down.

Now, I'm suggesting that everyone should go into central London and lose their cameras and that because I only lost two pictures everything is all good. Afterall, through all of my trips in the past year and a half, that camera has been (the replacement to) my best friend. Tomorrow, I am going snowboarding in the French Alps for the weekend (where I've never been before) and I REALLY wanted my camera to be there with me. But I'll live.

When push comes to shove, all I'm saying is that most people would get really depressed about something like losing the second most important (non-living) object in their life (my camera), but no word of a lie, what I said once I stopped pretty much five minutes of straight swearing was: "Well, that sucks, but fuck it. Let's go Bowling." After all, if you can't shrug off the bad, that's all you'll ever end up seeing and you'll never actually experience all the great things life has to offer.

So for fear of sounding like some stupid religion-based uplifting mass email, wake up tomorrow in a good mood and stay that way - even if you lose your camera - and don't get bogged down in all the shit that WILL (not might) happen. After it's done there are two things you can do: get negged or stay postive. If you stay positive life will just be better for everyone.

Thanks for your time.


ps. it actually feels alot better to get that down rather than having it all cramped up, so a sincere thanks for reading.
pps. in case you were wondering, I won both games.

Right is Right after all

I hate to brag about this, but I’ve been having a problem as of late. (I’m not bragging about having one, but rather that one exists – and I’m not actually bragging about something that has created this problem for me.) As most people know, the Brits drive on the left (wrong) side of the road. According to a UK driving website, there are 68 countries in the world that also drive on the left. (However, this list is inaccurate, since the list includes Northern Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and the Channel Islands, which, according the UN recognized nations, are not independent countries, but are actually part of the greater United Kingdom of Great Britain.) But, for all intents and purposes, approximately one quarter of the world’s countries drive on the left, and all, with the exception of Japan, are British Colonies. In the game of colonization, landed country-folk instituted their own country’s driving laws. In the Americas, for example, the Spanish and Portuguese settled South America, France took Quebec and Louisiana, and the Dutch settled New York (formerly New Amsterdam). Thus, two right-driving continents were born. So, though the British had a major presence in the area, they simply came out on the wrong side (pun intended) of the debate. As settlers moved east to west throughout North America, they took with them the tradition of driving on the right. This is why growing up with a driving slogan like “right is right” always felt, well, right (correct). Moral of this brief history lesson is the basis for my problem and is also this week’s cultural topic:

TRAFFIC

Though, I suppose, more accurately, my problem is: looking the wrong way while crossing the street.
This problem stems, of course from two things:
a) It seems that every country I go to alternates which side they drive on.
b) I’m apparently retarded.

The London public transport system is based on a zoning system beginning with Zone 1 (central) through zone 6 (moving outward). I have previously talked about the London Underground for which this zoning system especially applies. Luckily, I live in Zone 1 and commute to work on foot (though some days I also use an elevator), so road traffic doesn’t usually get in my way.

In Canada and the US, kids can’t wait to turn 16. Why? Because the vast majority of kids are legal to drive in their province or state at this age. Rich kids get cars from their parents for their 16th birthdays even though they won’t be (il)legally able to drink (and drive) for another 2/3/5 years. Nobody I know has just recently turned 16, so it’s not a very topical subject, but yesterday it rained in sunny England. In a car, the difference between cold day and rainy day is simply the flick of a wiper switch to on. Sometimes drivers act stupid in the rain, but for the most part, nothing really changes. Without the luxury of a car, though, you begin to see rain for what it really is…not snow.

In London (can’t speak for all the UK), public transport is second to none. What this means is that most people don’t actually NEED to have a car, and to make matters worse, many full grown people don’t (and don’t really need to) have a drivers permit. People who own cars aren’t often in the mood to drive too often because traffic is often horrible; and those who drive often are often in horrible moods because of horrible traffic. To alleviate traffic in central London, they have set up what they call a “congestion charge” (driving tax) for all cars going in and out of the “congestion zone” in peak times. Charges can be paid in person, on the telephone, or on the internet. This tax, in addition to generating revenue, attempts to both cut down on traffic and pollution as well as encourages people to take advantage of the public transportation. If the incentives prove effective, fewer people will pollute, everyone will be healthier, and global warming and accelerated climate change will finally be over. Then what will the hippie eco-nuts have to complain about?

Really, it all just comes down to not having enough space. I guess really everything is smaller in England: apartments, cars, food portioning…even people. I’m not sure how native Londoners rate on the world wide size scale, but I bet it’s not too high. Moreover, because so few own cars, they’ll never know how to fix them. The other day I was tired and made a joke about needing “a boost – because my alternator wasn’t charging my battery properly” and no one understood. Now, I realize it’s not a good joke, but I should have at least gotten some snickers (though I prefer Mars)…The point is, they didn’t know what an alternator was.

Gasoline, or “Petrol” as they call it, is ridiculously expensive. To demonstrate, take the price of a liter of gasoline in Canada, add 20cents and then turn that number into Pounds. GBP = 2.30CAD. At the pump, English taxes are as high as 78% on gasoline. At first, I thought “hey, gas is cheap here” but then realized I was retarded and that even though they still count in miles, they have enough sense to count gasoline in liters, not gallons (a UK gallon is more than a US gallon!)… Ironically, milk is measured in imperial pints.

Roads? Don’t make sense. In 1666, the city of London caught on fire and burned to the ground. Around this same time, many cities in Europe were conceptualizing what is now known as the grid system, whereby streets and avenues are arranged in parallel sequences in order to make city development and planning easier and more adaptable. After what is aptly named the Great Fire of London, city planners decided against a grid system and instead, opted for the previously established, often one-way roads to be reinstated in their original fashion. What this means now is that any walking/biking/driving commuter/tourist/bum can get lost/found/re-lost at any time of the day and not have the slightest idea of which direction they might be moving. In fact, whoever (re)designed London should be brought back to life, forced to fix his stupid error, and then shot.

The fact is London has many beautiful things to see. Just make sure you can find your way; don’t get stuck in the traffic; and remember, don’t look the wrong way when you cross the street!

FYI: The reason Japan drives on the left is because after being left in shambles after WWII, the Japanese modeled their development as an accelerated English industrialization. Both being island nations with import-based economies, Japan has adopted and further perfected many technologies in which the English had previously been leaders as they were during the industrial revolution. Luckily for the Japanese, they did not also adopt British cuisine… not that they’re bragging.