As I sit here on the train home from Paddington station, I see all the graffiti lining the buildings, call boxes, and fences surrounding the rails. It looks awful. Then, when I actually do take time to watch the whole trip and ignore my laptop for a while, I can see the urban landscape turn into a rural one. Graffiti turns into farmland. The green that has been admired for hundreds of years replaces the urban landscape which we haven’t yet acquired a taste for.

In the neighbourhood I grew up in, in South San Diego, graffiti was very common. We had a lot near our street at Palm avenue, but going a half-mile south to Del Sol Boulevard was the worst. It’s cleaned up now, but in the eighties gang activity was really bad and gang names sprawled every brick wall, green electricity box, telephone pole–you name it. When I go back now, it’s all cleaned up very well. Either the gangsters have grown up and become responsible or the city is investing a lot of money on cleaning up.

Have you ever judged graffiti? I rarely see beautiful images like in the movie “Beat Street”. Instead, it is a scribbled name (or more likely, a gang name). The one I see most when leaving London is the name Relik. I’m not sure what that means but this guy must have writers cramp by now.

I don’t particularly care for people who write on walls. It’s juvenile and defaces things people try to make beautiful. But sometimes, you just have to marvel at how kids (or twenty-somethings) can reach some of these hard-to-reach places. You see their names on train overpasses, signals, between the tracks–everywhere.

I admire those who go where the tamer vandals wouldn’t dare. I can imagine it is late at night so the trains don’t run so often. A groups of guys (I imagine them to be young men) go out and look for something to do. They decide (most likely spontaneously) to write on walls. They giggle because of the fear of getting caught. While most will stay at the edges, a few brave vandals will risk their lives running out between the tracks, or climbing over the fence on an overpass and hanging over the wall to write-their name.

There is nothing deep about what is written. Nothing profound. It serves no purpose. It doesn’t beautify the neighbourhoods (it does the opposite). All it is is a form of adventurous self expression.

There is a big difference between someone spray-painting a larger-than life signature on a wall and some misguided comedian writing a few rude words on a bathroom stall with a cheap pen.

The names will be painted over, but the adventure will be remembered.

Just a thought. I know I would feel differently if it was done on my house, or fence, or whatever. But when it doesn’t affect you, can you bring yourself to admire the expression?

It’s October 14, 2004. I missed my train by seconds (it would kill them to open the doors for one second) and have been standing on a platform in the pouring rain.

Last night, the third Presidential debate took place between George W. Bush and John Kerry. This is what I’ve been thinking about on the platform. I didn’t get to watch the event live since it took place at 2am here in England. I’ve taped it and will watch it when I get home from work.

I did see the highlights, however. More than any issues, I’m struck by John Kerry’s one liner, “George Bush lecturing me about fiscal responsibility is like Tony Soprano lecturing me about law and order.” Wow, is this guy in touch or what? He really has his finger on the pulse of what’s cool, doesn’t he? How pathetic.

Prior to that little remark, I hadn’t really discounted Kerry as a contender. But now . . .

Why does his bother me so much? Because it is so damned staged. It is obvious he had that lurking around in his head and was waiting for the right time to use it. This is his idea of humour. Sickening.

Now I have to ask myself what I am more opposed to-an unjust war in Iraq or an idiot in the White House. As an American, I can still head to the embassy and vote.

This isn’t the first time in the debates that candidates have lowered their rhetoric to one-liners that insults the intelligence of the American people. I remember in ’88, Dukakis saying “George Bush is becoming the Joe Isuzu of American Politics”. In ’84, Mondale used “Where’s the beef in your economic policy”. Bob Dole, although I can’t remember exactly what he’s said (who can?), would make you cringe every time he tried to grasp onto any kind of pop culture. It’s an obvious political ploy. It makes me sick.

Kerry doesn’t deserve to be president. My opinion is made up.
Rant over.

What’s so great about history?

My degree is in History with a minor of Psychology. I have a passion for history. I read a lot of history books. I sit in front of a lot of history books. Yet, I can’t say that I love everything associated with history.

First of all, I talk of history like it’s a single subject. Like you could take a single course and know it all. The best scholars will focus on one tiny bit of years of history and learn everything there is to know about it. They devour texts, documents, microfiche, you name it. They may know everything there is to know about, say, the Spanish-American War-but they can’t tell you the exact date of the Rough Riders taking San Juan Hill. These scholars are more concerned with learning than they are with spouting trivial facts and being winners at Jeopardy.

I’m not interested in all of history. Who has the time? Also, I’m not interested in trivial aspects like how butter was made in the agrarian age. I’m sure it was difficult.

History is about decisions. To me, the best history books are about people who made remarkable decisions or remarkable sacrifices to better humanity. People often scoff at history being all about wars. But, why do we focus so much on war? Because war is full of people making tough decisions-abandoning the status quo.

Maybe I prefer a good biography than an essay on the cotton-gin.
An incomplete thought-maybe. Just what is on my mind.