"Put on Your Red Shoes and Dance the Blues"

I had never really thought about just how influential British music was to American music. I was brought up listening to '70s prog rock--Pink Floyd, Yes, Moody Blues, Cream, all the good ones--and both of my sisters have always been really into Bowie, but I never really thought much about the importance of any of it. I just always thought it was cool music to listen to.

Of course I knew about the British Invasion, but that always just meant The Beatles to me. The '60s, to me, always seemed to belong to America. Apparently, though, the British music scene was where it all really came from in the '60s and '70s.

The British Music Experience was a really interesting way to put my life-long history of listening to British music into perspective. Having everything compiled in one place like that was astounding, just because there was so much influence there in that one compact space. With everything in chronological order it was easy to see how each band, each sound, influenced the next, and the next, and so on, into the future.

It was kind of surprising to see which bands were shown more than others. I was very surprised how little Pink Floyd there was, because I had always thought that they were one of the more influential bands of the time and even of today. I don't remember seeing any Pink Floyd artifacts at all; they were only shown on videos or on the big wall at the ends of the rooms. There was also very little about Elton John, which surprised me, because of his popularity, for one thing, and because of how important he was to piano rock/pop, which wasn't really a thing until Elton John came along. Despite that, though, it was absolutely amazing to see so much influence all contained in that space.

I went to the Bowie exhibit at the Victoria & Albert, too. Again, Bowie was always music that I had listened to growing up and it wasn't ever that significant to me. From what I understand, though, Bowie is much bigger here in the UK than in the US. I don't know how influential he was to American pop through the '70s, but, especially highlighted by the V&A exhibit, it's obvious that there are few individuals in British music history as important as David Bowie. He did things that no one had ever seen before, and he made it okay for other people to do the same.

In Every Blog, There is a Post That Goes Like This

^This makes sense if you've seen Spamalot. Which you should do.
I grew up watching Monty Python. I loved the hilarious ridiculousness of it. But it wasn’t until I took a class called “The Films of Terry Gilliam” last semester (I know. Be jealous) that I really understood the significance of Python and what they set out to do.

Python is always kind of what I think of when people talk about “English humor.” I guess even here it’s a little more of a niche thing than entirely popular culture, but I think the irreverence of it is quintessentially English. A lot of new movements came from the anti-establishment sentiments of Python, and, especially in a place that is so astoundingly old, it made it okay to make fun of…well, everything. Gilliam’s animations—taking classics like the Mona Lisa and the Statue of David and cutting them apart and making them do stupid things—made sure that nothing was sacred anymore, not even God. I think Americans are a lot of times too afraid to offend anyone to really catch onto humor like that in Monty Python, and I think that’s the one of the biggest differences between us and the UK and also why Monty Python is popular with a smaller, cult crowd in the States. I think the fact that there is so much history here is why the English are okay with making fun of it. It’s nothing to them that a building is 800 years old. I guess Americans still feel that they have to prove themselves, because we’re relatively new on the block, while the English are long established and can just sit back and revel in that.

Okay. To the point. Finally. I had always wanted to see Spamalot, and it seemed perfect that we were going to see it, having grown up believing in its English-ness.

I certainly wasn’t disappointed. I loved it. What made it so wonderful was the fact that turning it into a musical gave Eric Idle a whole new layer of societal norms to make fun of. There are new cultural things that couldn’t have been taken on in the movie because of the format and the time period. Musicals just can’t be left alone—there are so many things to latch onto with them. I was a little hesitant just because it’s so hard to beat the original cast members, but once Eric Idle appeared as God it was made for me. I mean, Eric Idle is like Monty Python God, and he wrote the play, so it was just too perfect. The play was so current, too; I imagine that the song with all the pop culture references is constantly rewritten to keep up, which is very smart.

I loved when the actors broke character and the fourth wall, because it really continued the tradition of tearing things apart. In any other circumstance it would be very unprofessional, but when Python does it it makes a fantastic statement about the structure of musicals and how we so willingly suspend our disbelief over these silly, formulaic shows. The songs, the dancing, the sets, the lights, are always the same, and it takes something like Monty Python to so publicly point it out. The movie poked fun at musicals a little bit with the scene with the Prince who just wanted to sing, but Spamalot did it to the point that it was overdone, which was on purpose, of course, and was perfect.

It was interesting watching the show with other Americans, especially Americans who may not have seen or liked Monty Python. A few people I talked to before the show didn’t really want to go and weren’t particularly excited about it, but the impression I got afterward was that everyone seemed to really like it. Even if people don’t get the deeper anti-establishment meaning they can still enjoy the silliness.

"Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul."

^Samuel Ullman
Guys, I'm Twenty. Venti. Zwanzig. Vignt. And all the other languages that have a word for twenty.

I'M SO OLD.

Please don't give me that But-I'm-X-years-older-than-you-you-are-so-not-old thing. I know that 20 isn't old at all. But it feels old. It's weird to be 20. There's no more "teen" in my age, which implies real adulthood.

Which is absolutely terrifying.

I found that as I got closer to turning 20 I was (and still am) caught in this weird contradictory place between nostalgia and anticipation. On one hand, I want time to stop, go backwards, even, so I can keep being a kid. But on the other hand, I am so terribly excited for what is to come in my future.

As a whole, I'm proud of where I've come as a person in my twenty years. And I think the last couple of years have made a huge difference. The year between graduating from high school and starting sophomore year in college is evidently the most important year for these kinds of things, because when I started sophomore year and watched the new freshmen coming in, it made me wonder, "Was I like that a year ago??" I find I'm more compassionate, more understanding, more well-rounded, generally more mature than I was just two years ago. I've still got loads of work to do, but, hey, so does everyone.

I guess that's all I have to say about it. Just that it's weird. I don't know if this is a thing that happens every decade, but for now I think I can safely say that 20 is the strangest birthday to date.

I have two decades of amazing things behind me. I can't wait to see what kinds of things are ahead.

~Snooty Crumb

I went to Belgium for my birthday. This was my first taste, and it just kept getting cooler.

"First impressions are often the truest"

^William Hazlitt
First impressions are weird things. Some people say there's nothing more important, some people say they should never be trusted. As for me, I usually find that my first impressions are reasonably accurate, but I'm not sure I've made up my mind. Surprising, I know.

My first impressions of the United Kingdom came on the airplane, I suppose, where my brain made up its mind about what I would find on the ground the other side of the Atlantic. I should have been sleeping, of course, but you know how plane sleep is. I hunched myself into a semi-comfortable position with my head on the tray table while the lady in front of me repeatedly sat roughly back into her seat, smashing the tray lock into my skull. Comfy. I let my thoughts of tea and rain join with the turbulence in lulling (maybe "lulling" isn't the right word. More like "I-didn't-have-much-choice-but-to-go-with-it-ing") me into awkward plane sleep.

How right was I? I guess I could be considered something of an Anglophile. I suppose I know a fair bit more about England than the average American. So I guess this is the time I get to find out, once and for all, whether all those things I've seen on TV my entire life are actually what Americans (or TV Brits) say they are.

Here's a list of interesting things I've run into since the plane hit the ground a week and a half ago. Oh, a list. I'm just full of surprises today.

• I am SO excited to find out that people actually do say "Cheers" and that Scottish people actually say "wee." I was entirely convinced that we had just made that up in the US.
• What on earth is the deal with having 800 doors to everything? It's a good thing I'm not claustrophobic is all I have to say.
• The Tube is pretty awesome. And they do actually say "Mind the Gap."
• British coins are confusing. I hate to be that person who's like, "I don't understand the money!" But really. Why are 10p coins so enormous?
• Apparently the UK has yet to figure out plumbing.
• Another astoundingly American observation: IT'S SO OLD. Seriously. I already made this discovery in other continental countries, but I'm living in the middle of a city that was started 1000 years ago. I mean, really, I have a hard time even imagining that much time passing consecutively. It's insane. 17th century is new here, instead of being the absolute oldest thing possible like in the US.
• Scooters are totally a thing here. Especially little plastic ones for little kids.
• Wine Gums. They are candies labelled with different kinds of wine. They're candies. Of wine.
• TV is definitely not a central thing here. There's pretty much nothing on most of the time except news, particularly during the afternoon. A lot of channels (even BBC4!) don't have anything on them until certain times of the day.
• The drinking schedule makes a lot more sense here. Start drinking early, after work, and then everything's closed by 11. Normal nights' sleep, right? I'm not much of a drinker, but the pub life is wonderful. Bumming with friends (or friendly strangers, maybe) over a pint at 8pm is way better to my mind than doing shots and getting sloshed at 1 in the morning.

Maybe this list turned into something more of a "things I noticed" than first impressions. But you know what? It's not that important, is it?

Cheers!

~Snooty Crumb

P.S. I have to write blogs (or make vlogs) for class, so if I end up writing some of them, they'll be here. Feel free to read them if you'd like.

“Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm.”

^Emerson is still my favorite.

Confession: I compulsively make lists. Maybe I've said this before, but I have lists of everything, especially of things that are not really all that useful. Two of those lists have become more important to me, at least in an abstract way, than I ever thought they would or really intended them to: Things I Hate (e.g., pet peeves) and Things I Love.

I came to the realization one day that my list of pet peeves is significantly longer than the list of things I love. And that made me a little bit sad. I sat for a moment at my computer trying to think of more things to put on my list, and I just couldn't. Maybe I'm overthinking it (in fact, I probably am), but there's something kind of upsetting about that.

Something I've always liked about myself is that I'm very easily excited. I love the little things, the things that most people tend to pass over. I find pretty much everything interesting. But high school drained me of a good deal of my motivation, and then I moved to Philadelphia, which is basically hipster central. So lately I've gotten caught up in my generation's obsession with irony.

What that means is that it's not okay to like things anymore. People look at me funny when I get excited about some really great sign I saw, or hearing the ice cream truck drive by, or finding out some little unimportant tidbit of information. I even get looks when I get excited about bigger things, like a great movie or an interesting place I've found. I guess I let that get to me, because I started slipping more and more into the easy life of complaining.

It's so easy to be angry. To be unhappy. To be irritated by all those weird little things that are specific to our own individual tastes. It's easy to complain. That's why we have Twitter accounts like "Female Pains" and "Student Pains," dedicated entirely to pointing out all of the things that suck about being a femalestudentmaleTVshowlovercatdogpersoncaralien. We can all relate, because we all love to complain. I got some good laughs out of them for a while, but it got really old. Just stop whining already.

I find the overwhelming irony to be just a little bit lazy, because you don't ever have to look for anything to really like; you can just sit back and make fun of anything that moves. And anything that doesn't. Really just anything.

Don't get me wrong: I love sarcasm. It's great. It's smart. But it's also limited. I don't think you can live your entire life under a veil of sarcasm. It's not healthy. If we can't actually be happy or excited about anything, where will we go? How will we be able to achieve anything if nobody likes anything they're doing?

My question is why? Why must I be considered a weird person for loving things? Why have we given up on being happy? Why have we lost interest in trying to make a genuine mark on the world?

I don't want to be like that. I want to take a step back and remember what being excited is like. Remember what truly loving something is like. I'm getting there, but sometimes I need reminders. Who's with me?

Sip a honeysuckle. Step on some crunchy leaves. Listen to your favorite song (your real favorite song). Eat some ice cream. Listen to a summer night. Learn something new about something you thought you knew inside and out. Hug the sheets just after they've come out of the dryer. Be nostalgic for a moment. Think about the things that old trees have lived through. Write something important to you on physical paper with a physical pen.

Most importantly, enjoy those things.

Make what the amazing Ze Frank calls Your HappyList. Just be real. Hipsters can't last forever. Just like things, for Pete's sake. (No. Not on Facebook. Geez.)

There's a fantastic op-ed piece from the New York Times called "How to Live Without Irony", in which the author, Christy Wampole, talks about why living in such a culture of irony is so dangerous, and offers her take on why my (our?) generation is so intent on living solely ironically. There are too many amazing points to mention here, so go take a look at it. It's definitely worth your time.

Bye!
~Snooty Crumb
P.S. This writing is suuuuuper awkward. Sorry. :(

“Great heroes need great sorrows and burdens, or half their greatness goes unnoticed."

^Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn (I've not read that book, but I just looked it up and I think I want to...)

I think some people like to think that their heroes are perfect, that that's why they're heroes. But I think that the people who are able to open themselves up as real, feeling, flawed human beings are more worthy of being heroes than the people who seem like they're perfect. To know that the person you look up to more than anyone struggles with the same problems you do, to know that yes, he is a human being, too, that yes, she is flawed, too, is more refreshing and wonderful than any thoughts of perfection might have been before. Putting someone on a pedestal may be one kind of admiration, but to truly understand them as human beings is to understand that you are closer to reaching their great heights than you thought. And who doesn't want that?

------
I found that on my phone the other day. I wrote it months ago with the intent of making it a longer post, but when I found it I thought it worked just the way I left it.
A real post is kind of swirling around in my head right now and has been for about a month, so it might eventually become something. I hope.

"Railway termini are our gates to the glorious and the unknown."

^E.M. Forster
     For class this week (guess which one?), our assignment was to go to a place we'd never been before, leave all of our electronic devices behind, and just take notes. We then had to take our notes and condense them into a 1-2 page Gonzo-journalism-style article (we just watched Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas).
     I went to the 30th Street Amtrak station, which was built in the 1930s in this fantastic Art-Deco style. It was awesome. I loved being there without my phone. It was just me and a place. No infinite connections to the mass of information of the Internet, no quick way to contact other people. Just me and the train station.
     There was a part of me that was disappointed that I couldn't check my Facebook or look things up on Wikipedia. When I sat down that was what my brain expected me to do. But it was wonderful to disconnect for a little while and find myself simply present in the real world.
     I took a huge amount of notes. I would have shared them all with you, but they're far too long for anyone to be interested in (including me, probably). So here instead is my gonzo-style article. Enjoy!

I step off the SEPTA train at 30^th Street and hurry to get to the stairs to escape that horrible squealing that, for whatever reason, every Market-Frankford train makes. 7 steps, then 12. Why not 8 and 12—make it an even 20? More stairs to (thank the Lord) get out of the station. 17 and 17. Seems like a strange number. But that doesn’t matter at all. What does matter is that I’ve made it to the 30^th Street Amtrak station. 

As I step inside, I’m bombarded by the smell of too much food. Dunkin Donuts. Taco Bell. Pizza Hut. Saxby’s. Nathan’s. Ben & Jerry’s. Wendy’s. Auntie Anne’s. Subway. Aw, geez, Subway? One gross Subway smell into another. I wade through this barrage of fast food chains into the main concourse and am overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the place. The columns, the high ceilings, the long lamps, the statue that kind of reminds me of the one in the Central Services building in Brazil and consequently freaks me out just a little bit. It’s just… awesome. 

I pick an empty bench and sit down. I reach for my bag to pull out my pen and notebook, but there  is this part of my brain that expects to be checking my phone, and that’s childishly disappointed that I don’t have it. God, am I that absorbed by my phone? I like to think I’m not, that I’m more connected to the world around me than those other people buried in their technology. It turns out I’m more like them than I thought, and I don’t know whether to feel relieved or indignant about it. 

The sound in this place is fascinating. The size of the room means that you can hear absolutely everything and absolutely nothing at exactly the same time. It turns into this indistinguishable mass of noise, with this weird ambience that sounds like a constant, quietly-mumbling crowd. It always sounds like voices, but you can never make out words. The schedule above the information desk changes occasionally. It’s not digital, which is surprising but also welcome. It makes a nice “flipflipflipflipflip” noise when it changes, and there’s something kind of soothing about it. 

It’s interesting to me that a building whose sole purpose is for funneling people in and out of trains is so extravagantly beautiful. There’s no event here, and that’s precisely why I came. People don’t come here just to come here (except me, I guess). People come here just to leave it again. This is the place people go on the way to their events. The Art-Deco lamps and columns go unnoticed, because the people there didn't go there to see them. 

(Admission: while sitting on my bench writing I came to wonder what the style of the building was. I thought it was Art-Deco, but I wasn’t sure. That techno-hungry part of my brain threw a tantrum when it realized I couldn’t look it up right then and there. It is Art-Deco, it turns out, but I was surprised by my reaction to not having Wikipedia at my fingertips.) 

Anyway. What happened to that interest in making even the places of passing through worth looking at? Grand Central Station, Ellis Island, Musee D’Orsay, none of those were built for anyone to take any particular joy in being in them. They were for people-moving. For transferring people from one place to another. Was the extravagance to make a good first impression or just because the builders felt like it? If we spent so much time on those places, why don’t we also spend the same amount of time on the buildings people have to spend all day working in? 

Maybe I should have found an event to go to. This is supposed to be journalism, after all. But there’s something more interesting to me about the non-events, the things that happen in between actual events. Those non-events get overlooked by people too interested in what’s considered important. But I’m of the opinion that it’s the so-called “boring” things that make us human, and it’s high time that we start reveling in those things, too.

Have a lovely day!
~Snooty Crumb