Common Room Classical Music

Sunday night, in our hall common room: The Italians have decided to make pizza from scratch, for everyone. They’re messing around with huge quantities of dough on one of the tables. Michael’s at the piano, playing Gershwin. Everyone sings the bits they know with gusto and extreme raucousness.

Later on, as people start dispersing, James returns from busking in Covent Garden. He stashes his violin behind the bar, gets himself a pint, and puts Shostakovich string quartets on the stereo. I am still in the room, having an intense conversation with Susie about Heinz Big Soups and their campaign of misinformation (“It never tastes as good as you think when you buy it”). We drift over, me particularly keen due to Saturday’s epiphany (see below). James is going through a stack of CDs. After a while I bring my property law seminar work down from my room. The next few hours are a trip. Verdi’s Requiem. Tchaikovsky’s 6th symphony. Sibelius’s Finlandia. James makes everyone stop what they’re doing and close their eyes during Barber’s Adagio for Strings. It fills the room.

It fills the room.

Stop Arguing That We’re Arguing

I’ve mentioned here before how much I hate mooting. Yesterday I realized there was a reason for it all. Because mooting is incredibly boring and annoying, but moot judging is immensely enjoyable, and I just played judge for the first time.

Four people, all bound by courtroom etiquette to subservience and extreme politeness. You, as judge, the recipient of this. The joy of catching someone out on a poorly thought out argument, and seeing that “Oh shit, she’s right” look appear on their face as they realize they’re in a fix. Equally, the satisfaction from challenging someone on something just because it’s a challengeable argument, and having them come back strongly in support of their stand with a well-reasoned defence of it.

At the end of the day, I look at what I like about the various relevant activities I enjoy (mooting, debating, drunken conversations…), and realize that what I find fulfilling and enjoyable in every case is the interplay of differing ideas.

The only time I ever enjoy a moot is when the judge questions me, and I then have to respond to his challenges. Otherwise, it’s a one-way speech, and it’s incredibly tedious. I love debating because (in the British Parliamentary format that I do) participation doesn’t begin and end with your speech. You can interject at almost any other time in the course of someone else’s speech, and they can interject during yours.

I love not being agreed with. I love not agreeing with others. I don’t understand why so many people, and so many Singaporeans in particular, seem to think that a discussion of differing opinions is something bad. One of the most annoying things someone could ever say to me is “Look, whatever. You’re right. You win. Can we stop arguing now?”

First of all, the simple fact of differing views doesn’t automatically make something an argument. It’s a discussion. Secondly, I’m not disagreeing with you to “win”, or trump you. I’m arguing because I want to understand how you see the issue. And I want you to understand how I see the issue. Why is that wrong? And if you have a view that can’t stand up to scrutiny, then don’t you want to know that your view isn’t necessarily valid? I’d appreciate being told if I was believing in something for no good reason, and it shouldn’t be my problem if other people are too insecure to handle a similar realization.

This turned into a bit of a rant. Well, all I really intended to say was that I enjoyed my moot judging yesterday. But I guess you probably already figured that out. :)

My Mind Has A Mind Of Its Own

So I’m walking back to my hall from Tesco’s, and when I pass the computer room I decide to pop in and send Russ a free SMS to update him on my efforts to find us accommodation in Paris. Where we’re going on Friday, by the way. I think I haven’t mentioned it here yet.

So I sit down, sign into a terminal, and am just about to open Netscape (UCL computers only run Netscape. This pleases me greatly) when he calls me. This is just another one in a long list of Freaky Telepathic Russ Moments. Maybe I should actually start keeping a list of those, just for interest.

It’s actually rather stupid of me to be writing this here, because when he reads it he’ll nag me about having been on the computer instead of doing the ten million other things that I should be doing instead. And he’ll be right. Dammit.

Oh, before I go, a conversation fragment. I was in my hall common room looking for some of my French hallmates to ask them something about calling Paris:

Me: Johanna, have you seen anyone French around today at all? As in, people from France, not people French kissing.
Johanna, giving me a strange look: No. As in, to either question.

Why does my mind work like this? Stop embarrassing me, mind…

Content Too Random For Title

I’m not quite sure why, but between yesterday and today, this computer lab has suddenly started smelling of unwashed hair. Yes, I’m familiar with the smell, because it is exactly what my brother’s room smells like. Mind you, it’s a different smell from general unwashedness. I am familiar with that smell because it’s what my brother’s room used to smell like before he, er, improved. Hands up all those who want to swop brothers. Don’t all rush at once.

I just found out about the results of the Bloggies. Well done to Wockerjabby for winning Best Kept Secret weblog, although I’m not quite sure how it’s a secret given that I’ve been reading it since about April last year, and I’m not particularly in the loop blogging-wise. Or in general, actually. I’d also have nominated her for Best Named and Best Titled Navigational Thingy if such categories existed, but I admit that’s just because one of my favourite poems ever is involved.

I went to bed at 1 am last night because I had a splitting headache. I woke up at the first of the three alarm clocks that I have (and which regularly fail me, or I them, depending on my state of self-delusion on a given day) with the proverbial bright eyes and bushy tail. Perhaps I should look into this sleeping-and-waking-up-at-regular-hours-like-the-rest-of-the-human-race thing.

Instead Of Sleeping

Things I did instead of sleeping last night, which resulted in my getting to bed at 6 am:

  • Made a 404 page which I then decided I wasn’t going to use.
  • HTMLized some of my prose excerpts collection.
  • Tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with my falling Dali poster (see previous post).
  • Thumbed through the latest issue of the Economist.
  • Listened to 100% Fun (Matthew Sweet), Siamese Dream (Smashing Pumpkins), my lovely Ella Fitzgerald compilation, and In The Aeroplane Over The Sea (Neutral Milk Hotel).
  • Read a bit of The Neandertal Enigma (James Shreeve). Would have read more, but it was 5.45 am by then.
  • Put Yo La Tengo’s And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out on, switched the lights off, and got into bed.

I Am The Scourge Of Sadomasochists!

This pretending to be a lawyer thing seems to be working out. Today was the quarter-finals of the senior mooting competition. I had to argue that this guy who carved his initials on his girlfriend’s butt couldn’t try to get out of his conviction by arguing that she’d consented to it.

The leading case about this in English law is about a group of sadomasochists who got convicted for assault despite the fact that all their “victims” had consented to their acts. One of the arguments I made during the moot was that legalization of sadomasochism should be done by Parliament and not the courts. I’d been planning to refer the judge to this quote from one of the Law Lords:

“If it is to be decided that such activities as the nailing by A of B’s foreskin or scrotum to a board or the insertion of hot wax into C’s urethra followed by the burning of his penis with a candle or the incising of D’s scrotum with a scalpel to the effusion of blood are injurious neither to B, C and D nor to the public interest then it is for Parliament with its accumulated wisdom and sources of information to declare them to be lawful.” (Lord Jauncey, R v Brown)

But he said he got the point early on, without me needing to refer him to judgments, so unfortunately I didn’t get to read that quote out.

Anyway, I got through to the semi-finals of the competition. I’m glad because I think I deserved it, but annoyed that I have to keep at this activity which I don’t particularly enjoy.

Thanks go out to Russ for subjecting himself to one and a half hours of the tedium that is a moot – I appreciated the support.

Thanks do not go out to my alarm clocks, which failed to work this morning resulting in my awakening in absolute panic at 2 pm, with only one third of the moot prepared.

UCL President’s Cup 2001

it’s over! It’s Over! IT’S OVER! IT’S OVER!!!!!

The UCL inter-varsity debating tournament 2001 was on Friday and Saturday, convened and organized by Nick and me. And I’m relieved and overjoyed to report that it seems to have been a success. This time, we were working under far more difficult circumstances than we had been when organizing our first debating tournament in October last year. Dire financial crisis in our debating society meant we had the grand total of 95 pounds to run the tournament on, plus whatever we got from entry fees. We told the debating community about this, said we wouldn’t be able to offer the lavish prize money and free drinks that other tournaments offer, and asked if they’d still be willing to come. Support was significant enough for us to decide to go ahead with it anyway, and now I’m so glad we did.

After running The President’s Cup exactly to schedule last year (quite an achievement in the British university debating circuit), we were determined that this one would be no less well organized. We did, however, end up running late in this one, much to our general dissatisfaction, but many delays were due to forces beyond our control like teams turning up late, and college staff booked and instructed well in advance failing to do what had been arranged. All the same, so many people made a point of telling us they had really enjoyed the tournament, and these are debaters who’d definitely have bitched loud and long if they weren’t satisfied with it.

Another thing I’m proud of was the quality of debating. We had a well contested and interesting final. I’d come up with the motion This House Would Make Amends For Africa. The first proposition team made a courageous and well-argued case in support of reversing the current situation of withholding aid from African countries which allow the practice of female genital mutilation, and eventually won the tournament. We’d tried to achieve a wide variety of motions in the earlier rounds of the tournament, so we had motions ranging from This House Would Tackle The Mad Cow to This House Would Give Saddam A Stroke, as well as the UCL innovation of generally themed debates where anything goes as long as it sticks to the topic given (the environment, this time), and another innovation of our own, where we told the debaters we knew how much everyone liked bitching about motions, and so we’d give them the opportunity to submit their own motions for the third round, one of which would be chosen.

We wanted our tournament to be well-run, well-debated and well-enjoyed. It looks like we succeeded on all three counts. :)

I should, however, add one of my characteristic disclaimers here: despite all this, I still think it was far from perfect, and that there were areas where my organization could have been better. The fact that we had to work with a number of well-intentioned but generally useless morons who are unfortunately members of our committee made things difficult as well, and sometimes I probably let my frustration show a little. So, there’s still lots of room for improvement.

Following in our President’s Cup tradition, we went clubbing after the tournament, and revelled in being completely different people from how we’d had to be during the tournament. JP, Nick’s flatmate, had free passes to the Glasshouse, so that’s where we went. The stresses of the past few days had taken their toll on Nick and me, such that we didn’t really feel up to dancing much, but we were, nevertheless, amused at watching JP’s effervescent antics as we chilled on a couch. After a shivering post-club excursion to Farringdon for coffee at 6 am, we went back to their flat. It’s a pretty surreal experience when you’re lounging in a road-scrounged easy chair, with a huge Bruce Lee poster staring you in the face, Gomez on the speakers, Wall Street on the television, and the all-permeating smell of weed. I next woke up around 8 am in JP’s bed, with Nick scrunched up next to me, JP fast asleep in the easy chair, grey snow on the TV and silence on the speakers.

I notice the littlest, and strangest things when the radical break from routine means I’m not functioning on autopilot. The mingled odours of tobacco and weed on my clothes and hair, defiantly residual even as I walked through icily fresh morning air on my way home. Soggy fur on a dog after it had romped its way through dewy grass. The clack of my boots, too loud among the shuttered shops and empty cafe furniture of Woburn Walk in the morning. The incongruity of sitting in my hall having breakfast in a gold halter-necked top among pajamaed hallmates who would later change for mass, while I’d be changing for bed.

And now it’s 3 in the morning, and as I write this, a blank sheet of paper on the table masquerades as tutorial work for tomorrow.

The tournament’s over. The weekend’s over. Back to normal life.

Burns Night Bloat

I heard Stephen Malkmus’s new single on the radio today! He’s playing at the Garage on February 12, and I’d really like to be there given that I missed Pavement’s last gig at the Brixton Academy in November ’99, which I now kick myself energetically and mercilessly for. Hey, friends of Michelle who like Pavement/Malkmus and are in London? Anyone? Please? Sigh.

(originally written at 12.23 AM, Friday morning)
Note to self: dancing the ceilidh for half an hour after a huge Belgo’s dinner is not a good idea. Tonight is Burns Night, which pyromaniacs and sadomasochists possibly twist to suit their special needs, but which the Scots have adopted to celebrate the life and work of Robert Burns. So I came home to my hall after braised beef in beer with apples and plums, a couple of mussels, and lots of fries, got pulled into a ceilidh circle, and didn’t get out again till half an hour later. Although I suppose it could have been worse. I could have been dancing the ceilidh for half an hour after a huge haggis dinner, for example.

Stealy Determination

Today I stole. I snuck into the lower refrectory, looked around me nervously, and surreptitiously eased styrofoam cups off the drinks counter into the bag I’d brought for that purpose.

I did this three separate times during the day.

Why, you may wonder? Blame it all on trying to organize an inter-varsity debating tournament which has been suddenly and unexpectedly thrown into financial crisis. It’s tomorrow. I’m a little stressed. I sure hope they accept that explanation of things when I’m in the dock at the Old Bailey.

The styrofoam cups, by the way, are for the debaters to put their hot drinks in at the tournament. I wasn’t just being randomly kleptomaniacal.

This afternoon I also got my first glimpse of Trigger Happy TV thanks to Matt, who was watching his Best of Season One tape in the TV room, parts of which were possibly spattered with little flecks of Chicken Tonight Spanish Chicken sauce each time a particular skit amused me. I suppose most British viewers might be jaded and cynical about the show by now, the way they’ve become about Ali G, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. At least it’s better than America’s Funniest Home Videos.

Side thought: I wonder if that show began the whole Some Place’s Somethingest Somethings trend. Jeez. From America’s Funniest Home Videos to World’s Most Gruesome Multiple Vehicle Pileups or something to that effect. Talk about the slippery slope.

Worst Chink Ever

Wow. Two days into the week, and I’ve managed to make it to all seven hours of lessons so far. Well done me. :) I do acknowledge, though, that this astounding accomplishment in my eyes is standard operating procedure for most of the other people in the law faculty, and I did spend the less thrilling parts of my property law seminar today (of which there were quite a number) surreptitiously reading the latest issue of Time Out. But hey, it’s a start. I just have to make it the rest of the week as well. And all the rest of the weeks. And actually be mentally engaged. Hmm. Perhaps I should rethink this university thing…

Last night the TV viewing preferences of the people in my hall and mine finally coincided, which was a welcome change given that they usually watch Father Ted while the X-Files is on, and wanted to watch Contact instead of Trainspotting last Sunday night. But last night, we united in support of Fargo, which I have to admit was my first ever Coen brothers movie, although it definitely won’t be my last. I loved its dark and often shocking course of events, its hilarious sendup of regional quirks, and generally, its sheer watchability right from the beginning. Great acting as well, especially from William H Macy and Frances McDonald.

Side note: it just occurred to me just how many excellent actors Con-Air managed to get. John Malkovich, Steve Buscemi, John Cusack, Ving Rhames and Nicholas Cage. For Con-Air?

Okay. Movie interlude over. I’m glad I’ve managed to chip away a little of the tip of the iceberg of my movie ignorance, or rather movie knowledge-without-watching, which would be slightly more of an accurate description. Next stop: hopefully The Conversation, which the UCL Film Society will be screening some time soon.

I hope Matt managed to get tickets for us to watch Mansun and King Adora at the Astoria on Feb 1. Time Out indicated that they’re sold out.

Tonight is the Chinese New Year dinner for international Chinese students at UCL. It’s free, at an excellent restaurant and is something like 10 courses. For some reason, though, I’d been under the impression that the dinner was Feb 23, the same day as the Inner Temple intervarsity debating tournament. The dilemma then, or so I thought, was whether to go to the excellent free dinner, or go to what would be one of my last tournaments ever with Nick (debating partner, co-organizer, good friend).

Initial resolution of the dilemma (as I believed it to be):
Me: Well, you know, it’s really good, and it’s free…
Nick: (puppy dog expression)
Me: (hurriedly)…but of course I’d rather go to the tournament!!

But then I was talking to a couple of fellow Singaporeans yesterday, and the topic of Chinese New Year came up. I asked if anyone wanted an extra ticket, since I wouldn’t be using mine. My friend was keen on taking up the offer.
Victoria: So can you bring the ticket to the lecture tomorrow?
Me: Yeah, but if I don’t wake up in time I’ll just give it to you one of these days.
Victoria: But the dinner’s tomorrow.
Me: Tomorrow is Chinese New Year’s Eve??!! I thought it was on February 23!!
Everyone looks at me in stunned, Chinese, silence.

Whoops.

I suppose I could blame the influence of Western! Imperialist! Dogs! for this rather embarassing incident, but that would be so 1960’s. I assume modern day Chinese jingoism is slightly more subtle. Dang it.