Khalil Ali's New Multimedia and Design Blog

So in case anyone happens to wander over to this blog...I would like to point your attention to my more recent, updated, and relevant blog that focuses on my creative process in various endeavors in writing, video production, audio production, graphic design, and everything else.

Check it out here! http://khaliljali.blogspot.com

St. Paul's Cathedral

I stumbled into St. Paul’s cathedral, panting one word over and over.

“Sanctuary.”

I attempted to stand in the glory of the cathedral, but my legs gave out. I fell over backwards and found myself marveling in the construction of the church. I was particularly fond of the ceiling, since that was all I could see. I noticed the intricacies of the beams and etchings and colors involved, and gazed up at the famous dome of St. Paul’s.

A bishop, monk, or whatever he was knelt by my side and asked if I was alright. I was clearly in some kind of peril, but chose not to point out the obvious answer to the kind holy man. I explained my dire situation to Brother Benjamin. A thirty-something with a kind face and heavy brow, he listened to my every word. I explained how all the king’s horses and all the king’s men were searching for the man who stole her highness’ favorite socks.

“Her what?”

I told Brother Benjamin it was true; apparently some mastermind was able to penetrate the queen’s defenses and got access to her room and sock drawer. Not meaning any harm, he left with only a pair of socks and tried slipping out. The guards spotted him departing and started chasing him.

“So why are they after you?”

I told Brother Benjamin that the thief ran past me, and I happened to catch a glimpse of him, and realized he could have been my double. We both had the same curly brown hair and two-week old beard. Though we were wearing different clothes, I didn’t rely on the guards’ good sides, and ran in a different direction. I was spotted myself, and they chased me here.

“Why don’t you just try explaining to them what happened?”

I told Brother Benjamin that if I attempted to explain it to them, they would ask for proof that I wasn’t wearing the queen’s socks.

“So?”

I told Brother Benjamin that I was too embarrassed to show off my feet, since my left foot is significantly smaller than the right one. It is a practical hoof, and I never show anyone – not even my girlfriend.

“I’m sure it’s fine, let me take a look at it, son,” The kind monk took off my shoe before I could react and then gasped. The diamond-studded gold sock gleamed in the candlelight’s of the cathedral. It was on a perfectly good foot.
“What the Hell is this?”

I told Brother Benjamin that sometimes I’m a compulsive liar.

Jesse, Khalil, And The Detective

“I can’t believe we made it,” winced Jesse as we got off the plane and took our first step on American soil in over two weeks. I agreed with Jesse, and thanked my lucky stars our injuries weren’t fatal. Jesse was still holding on to his left arm in an attempt to dull the pain. I scratched at my own head bandages, and checked my gut, which stopped bleeding only a few hours ago on the plane. It still hurt, but the drugs from Doc Samson were not only keeping me from constantly gasping in pain, but also giving me a goofy grin. That grin was perfect for the press, which greeted the two of us before we could really even savor the fact that we were back from London.

“Come on guys, give us a break – we just got here!” I tried pleading with the mass of reporters, cameras and flashes. Multiple microphones rushed towards our general direction and I think one even hit Jesse in the chin. Jesse was pissed – he didn’t have the same painkillers I did and wasn’t as calm. Several not so friendly policemen eventually escorted the two of us as if we were not so visibly injured. We were lead into some kind of dark holding room with a very obvious two-way mirror. Jesse and I looked at each other, mentally preparing for whatever was gonna happen next. Just one more challenge, I thought, and then we’d be home. A man introducing himself as Detective Chad Paige walked up to us casually and lit his cigarette. The smoke hung in the room, visible from the single floodlight.

“Look Paige, I can’t tell you everything that happened to us - what we did in London and why we look this way. So you can stop wastin’ our time and let us go home.” I resented the time we were wasting with this cop, and just wanted a warm bed. Jesse didn’t say anything, but spit on the ground at Paige’s feet.

“Look guys, I’m not here to bust your balls too much. I just need a few answers, then you guys can go home to your fish, dogs, and pretty little girlfriends. I know how you guys had a great time in London – but that was a given, wasn’t it guys? But how well did you actually carry out your plan to see and do things while you were abroad? Oh, and boys – be as specific as possible.” This guy was really startin’ to get on my nerves. What kind of question was that?

“What kind of question is that? Are you asking if I got to see Big Ben, eat fish n’ chips, and walked around an outdoor market? Well of course I did those things. And it was a piece of cake; not only did we go to an outdoor market, but I went to three, and got a new coat at one of em. How did I do it? Well I got off my ass – oh, excuse me, I mean “bum” – and actually went out and did that. We basically got to do what we wanted. Every expectation I ever had was met.” Jesse gave me a nod of approval for the canned answer, and I let Paige sit with that for a moment. Detective Paige took out his cigarette for emphasis. It was like this guy thought he was in a movie, and his act was getting old. His tough guy act did not impress me, and of course I was growing impatient.

“Alright, so you got to see the sights you wanted… but you boys would actually have to go out of your way to not see these things right? Ya don’t seem like the types that would stay in your rooms and watch BBC all day. So I’m unimpressed. How about your classes? What did you think of those?”

“What do you wanna hear, man? I went to class every day like I was supposed to – that’s what I was there for. Sure there was plenty to write, but I was gonna do that anyway so my folks could know what I was doing. Not a big deal, right? It felt like a real class, and we were graded like such. I can’t speak for Jesse, cause he was in a different class, but I had a great time in English.” Jesse stared off into space, recalling the strange journey he had in an art class. For that time in his life, he vowed never to speak of again. Paige realized he shouldn’t push that particular question on Jesse and stopped for a moment.

“Anything…interesting, or unexpected happen to you boys in London?” Paige said, eyeing our visible wounds. This was a tricky part – we couldn’t exactly tell him what happened to us, but we looked far too battered to say a dumb excuse like “we fell”. Our London-based adventure, challenge, and sacrifice was forever a secret. We were not about to reveal anything to this chump.

“Yeah, the most interesting thing we did was probably visit the Tower of London – it had a whole bunch of history behind it, and we saw the crown jewels. I was actually surprised how much I appreciated the crown jewels. You should really go sometime Paige, ol’ chap!” Jesse finished with a wink. Paige was furious. He knew how powerless he was in getting anything out of us, and lawfully had to let us go soon. There was really nothing for him to do.

“Fine, guys. Fine. Just get out of my site – and don’t ever go to London again.” He flicked his cigarette and it arced right behind Jesse’s ear. I stood up first and opened the door for Jesse. Paige stayed in the room, and we never saw him again.

“That nosey sonofabitch was a real pain in the ass, man.” Jesse was particularly peeved with the flicked cigarette. I was just glad to be out of there.

“Hey Jesse, don’t worry. It’s over. Let’s go home, I know you have a goldfish that needs feeding.”

“All I wanna do is go to sleep. And I think you should probably go to the hospital… stab wounds are kinda serious. I don’t know what Doc Samson gave you, but you know he’s not a real doctor right?”

“Yeah, I know.” I didn’t really care. I just wanted to go home and rest for days on end. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll feel good enough for the next journey. I think it will be about time to visit London and those damned gypsies in a few months…but this time, we will be ready.

Cyber Dog

Camden Street Market is quite a place. There are hundreds of stalls and vendors selling clothes and food. It has a distinct feel to it, a mix of classic and vintage style mixed with counter-culture and punk-culture with multiple tattoo shops, leather places, and all kinds of clothing with metal spikes in them.

The most interesting part of the Market is probably Cyber Dog – a special kind of store in the middle of the marketplace. Mix a bit of anime, robot-fetish, cyborg culture, cybergoth/cyberpunk, and you have yourself Cyber Dog. I stumbled upon it almost by accident, and it popped up out of nowhere: a large twenty-foot archway with illuminated letters of the store was centered between two larger-than life cyborgs. Walking through the open storefront, a dark ultra-violet glow greets visitors, as does a dancing highlighter-yellow-blonde man in a plastic outfit twirling some glow sticks on a string. Two professional girls were dancing on little balconies in the back of the store, where you walk through rows of expensive techno-style watches and electronics. Everything was overpriced, so I stopped looking at the tags, and made my way down the escalators where I heard the real music thumping.

The escalator is small, but serves to gradually let in the awe of the lower level. There still wasn’t any sign of florescent or tungsten lighting: all black light reacted with just about every product there. Shirts, pants, hats, glowy things, posters, and strange accessories illuminated in hot pink, lime green, and electric yellow colors. Along one wall was thirty shirts or so with electronic screens – some had scrolling words, others were graphic equalizers that thumped along to the loud bass in the store. While taking a video of a hat with pink spikes on it and panning around the room, a small girl with green hair told me to keep my camera away.

After that, we went on to yet another lower level, one that was 18+ with even stranger outfits and strange...things...in glass bubbles. This one is a little short – cause I really just needed one more thing to write about.

HEY IM HOME!

Well I'm back in the states (currently writing this from the comforts of my own bed). I cannot tell you how much nicer these pillows are than hotel pillows/plane pillows! I'm exhausted though, I've been up since 5:30AM my time so that makes it like 2:30am or so for me right now.

I'm goin to sleep... but there are still more blogs to be published from things that happened that I either forgot to post or forgot to write about.

Good Night!

War Horse: What is It Good For?

I don’t consider myself a theater person at all. I am a student of film, and find the over-acting both annoying and distracting. I understand why it is done of course, but I find that it creates a poor substitute for a movie. I love the subtleties captured on film and prefer cinematic techniques to stagehand techniques.

War Horse is probably the first professional play I have attended. The preview looked hilarious to me – you gotta see how serious the actors are taking this giant horse puppet. There were three possible scenarios for this play.

A. I would love it and appreciate the critically-acclaimed play

B. I would hate the play for being so ridiculous, but enjoy the humor in breaking it down

C. It would be in the middle, and I could not make fun of it or actually like the play

It was C. for me. It is impossible not to be impressed with the puppetry involved. The horses have a slight steam-punk motif that I can certainly get behind. Movements seemed as realizitic as you can get for being a giant puppet impressively controlled by three puppeteers.

The first 20 minutes or so were filled with boring, drawn-out scenes to establish characters and show off puppet-play. The rest of the play teertered on being a child’s tale of a boy loving his animal a little too much (cliché) and then there were adult elements like the relationship between the drunk father and his son (cliché). I also felt there was an inadequate display of why “Joey” was a special horse. The boy in the play, Albert, seemed crazy for him…almost obsessed for no good reason other than his status as a horse. The story was unoriginal and poorly developed. It also suffered from simply being a play – an animated cartoon would have sufficed just fine.

I did find humor in drawing comparisons to Forrest Gump – Albert seemed just as mentally-slow as Forrest, and whined about “Joey” just as much as “Jenny” was mentioned in the movie. In a war scene, Albert’s best friend turned out to be a black guy (Bubba?) and he died as well. (That happens in war…)

But anyway, the theater teacher said it was one of the best plays he had ever seen. If that is the case, then most plays must really suck.

The Tube

You have no idea how amazing the Tube system is. The Tube (The London Underground Subway) simply works. Growing up in suburbs of Chicago and going to school in Peoria really didnt require me to use public transportation often. Once in a while I hop on the Metra to Chicago, and take the “El” when I’m in the loop, but it’s not really a fantastic experience more so than a necessity.

The Tube is remarkably accessible in London – the heart of London has a stop in almost every major location. Attractions, monuments, and museums are never more than a few minutes walk from a particular station. It is impossible to feel lost in this major city, since there are signs everywhere. A sign tells you where the nearest Tube station is. A sign tells you what train you need to take and how to transfer there. A sign reminds you where attractions are when you get out of the Tube. It’s so easy getting around London – which is great, since there is so much to do. I would rather my time be well spent at a museum rather than figure out how to get there.

Hopping on the Tube is a breeze – our Oyster cards allow us to merely press it on a scanner to let us into the station. We do not even have to take it out of the protective Ikea vinyl casing. The Oyster cards are good for a week at a time, and cover stops in the Underground Zones 1 and 2 - the most major parts of London.

Right before you get on and off the train, an electronic woman’s voice reminds you to “Mind the Gap” – a national catchphrase often appearing on souvenirs from boxers to shot glasses. (That just means to watch your step). Trains are clean and comfortable, and different lines have various styled cars. All of them have nice seats and railings for standing passengers to hold on to. Maps of the line and its stops along with an overview of the entire Tube layout are posted several times throughout the cars. A scrolling LED alerts passengers what stop is next along with a vocal announcement. The Russel Square station (the one closest to our hotel) looks suspiciously like the tunnel from one of the Matrix movies…