good food, bad art

We did a lot of eating and art viewing this weekend. Friday night we met our friends Kate and John for Indian food on Brick Lane in East London. The host at the restaurant told us that he told the chef to make our meals extra-tasty; we were a little worried what "extra-tasty" meant for a table of Americans, but he stayed true to his word, it was quite delicious. Saturday morning Ross and I went to Jamie Oliver's restaurant "fifteen" for breakfast. I spent Thanksgiving at Fifteen with my family but had never been there for breakfast, and Ross hadn't been at all. It was a truly lovely way to start the day, and we couldn't help but notice that it was the same price as going out to Luciles. I'd pick Jamie Oliver's any day. With our stomachs full we had to take advantage of the clear blue sky (a rarity in London in February), and headed over to St. Paul's Cathedral. We climbed the 529 steps up to the top of the dome where we found amazing views of London, and incredible wind!

We heard from someone about an exhibition at the Tate Modern at 10 pm Saturday night. We had no idea what it was, but figured we would check it out nonetheless. The exhibition was actually a performance by a guy called Jonathan Meese. He was standing in a boxing ring, with several odd props (mannequins, plastic skeletons, random helmets and costumes) thrown around the ring, strange cartoon/child-like drawings hanging all around, and loud trumpety music playing, similar to what you would hear on a filmstrip in history class about world war 2. There was a projection screen behind the ring that was displaying a closed circuit film of the performance in the ring. Obviously an outcry of some sort against politics, authority, and namely Nazi Germany, he was yelling into a microphone in half english-half german. He was clearly strung-out on something, or possibly many things...he kept falling over and swaying in and out holding on to the ropes on the ring. The whole time he was yelling profanities into the mic, the only part I really picked up on was when he was holding a book up and yelling "this book is shisa, this book is shisa!" A lot of things were shisa to him. I felt really creeped out by him and the whole vibe in the room, so we didn't stay for very long.
Now, going to art school we've seen some strange things that people call art. I know that it is a personal expression, and art is completely different to each person, but there are times when I feel like we have to draw the line. The first time I came to London I remember the Tate Modern being this amazing gallery of world-class modern art; but now when I've gone back I've been incredibly disappointed and often confused. I find myself wondering why he can do a lot of drugs and yell profanities and get a private show at the Tate Modern, when I saw a woman last week in the tube doing the exact same thing. Everyone just gave her bad looks and took a few steps away. Why is she any different? I'm sure it's an age-old question of why one thing is considered art and another thing isn't, but I find myself wondering about it a lot.

Tomorrow is Pancake Day. It's been on our office diary for weeks now, and I keep wondering about it. Today someone brought it up in conversation and I asked why it's called Pancake Day. "Because you eat pancakes that day" was the only reply. Finally they remembered that it's what you do the day before Lent starts.