But ideologies aside, I am a realist, and a cynic, and he is an unproven ‘entity’ and is definitely not the Messiah (and probably not the anti-Christ, as some have speculated). However, these MTVs that William James Adam Jr from the Black Eyed Peas bring back that inspired, empowered feeling that was so oft felt in the Obama campaign. The second one is a bit eery in the treatment of Obama as a type of hero/god/messiah. But i like the first one, purely on its rhetoric/vocals/backing track, and the immortalisation of that age old creed…YES WE CAN! I love the way it’s mixed.

YES WE CAN! WE WILL CHANGE!

The iPhone looked and me and looked all pretty. “Touch my screen,” she whispered. And it was so damn good to see those icons scrolling across that screen. Her shiny chrome Apple icon on the back, glittering. She was proud to be an iPhone. For sure. She smiled as she showed off her app downloads and her album art. She was proud to have a touch screen, proud to be the star. Proud to be coveted, to be the symbol of Apple. To be the one true profit churner in a financially unstable world.

But as an iPhone, she wasn’t so good at doing practical, irrelevant things, you know, like making phone calls, forwarding smses, or adding multiple recipients with one deft touch, like Nokia phones do. But she denied it all, of course. She had her strengths, yes it was true, and she flaunted them, endlessly. She was an iPhone, after all.

I said one day, “I wish Nokia phones were svelt and smooth. Had great user interfaces. But I guess they’re forever consigned to be the ‘business phone’”

“WHAT?” she screamed. “How dare you! Those poor Nokias, they are just subject to the poor Swedish design! You are a terrible phone person, consigning Nokias to their stereotypical impression. You must dissimilate your impressions!”

I touched her screen and watched the windows minimize and maximize with such ease and beauty. Then the phone rang and an sms came in at the same time and she crashed.

“Do you know what dissimilate means?” I asked.

“…” she paused. “No,” she mumbled. Sheepishly.

“What about truism?”

“Through isn’t?” she blubbered. “Speak properly!” she demanded.

Sad, really.

If I could, I would ride the tube all day and just take photos of it.

It’s weird how something so inefficient, hot, dirty, and old, can be so quintessentially charming and wonderful all at the same time.

For some reason I’ve been much more engaged in this year’s US election, maybe because I think it actually matters to me more, I have no idea. Anyway.

I really respect John McCain, and all he has done for the country, fighting for the country, being a POW, standing up for all those Republican values, divorcing his first wife only to remarry one month later…

Except now he just comes across as an old blumbering idiot.

I’m no political analyst, but debates are meant for the public to watch, so why bring up issues that your opponent has no problem clearing up. Case in point last night, being one of the more outlandish statements McCain made about Obama being:

“Senator Obama, as a member of the Illinois State Senate, voted in the Judiciary Committee against a law that would provide immediate medical attention to a child born as a failed abortion. He voted against that…”

Obama simply responds:

“If it sounds incredible that I would vote to withhold lifesaving treatment from an infant, that’s because it’s not true. The — here are the facts. There was a bill that was put forward before the Illinois Senate that said you have to provide life-saving treatment and — that would have helped to undermine Roe v. Wade. The fact is that there was already a law on the books in Illinois that required providing life-saving treatment, which is why not only myself, but pro-choice Republicans and Democrats voted against it. And the Illinois Medical Society, the organization of doctors in Illinois, voted against it. Their Hippocratic Oath would’ve required them to provide care, and there was already a law in the books.”

It’s honestly, really, quite simple.

This went on throughout the entire debate, not just with McCain declaring the wrongs of Barack Obama, but peppering Obama’s responses with snide, sarcastic remarks. What was even more telling was watching the two candidates, with Obama being unflappable, collected, calm, and McCain, evidently flustered, impatient, angry. It was rather extraordinary how Obama had answers for pretty much everything (except maybe education) and I believe he got it spot on when, after a discussion regarding Bill Ayers, replied:

“And I think the fact that this has become such a(n) important part of your campaign, Senator McCain, says more about your campaign than it says about me.”

Regarding Ayers, I am uncertain. The allegations McCain threw at Obama seemed pretty serious, but highly unlikely. It seemed more like a smear campaign when it came to this association, and with people shouting “terrorist” and “kill him” at Palin’s rallies because of this, it sounded less Republican than fascist.

And what’s up with Joe the plumber? McCain brought this guy up in an attack on Obama’s policy on taxes. Statistics show a 24 time mention in the 90 minutes. The hilarious thing is that it turns out this guy isn’t even a registered plumber, hasn’t actually paid his taxes (apparently over US$1,000 worth), and that in Obama’s plans, he would probably even receive a tax cut. Seriously, if I was to refer to someone on national TV and use him as a ‘Republican Hero’ and as a means of undermining my opponent’s policies, I would get the facts correct.

Lastly, I think McCain’s choice of Sarah Palin was a big mistake. His statement on Letterman regarding his choosing of her out of reputation and admitting that he didn’t know her at all is really an insane comment to make. His follow up saying that she was his first choice, and that she is capable of leading the country through a 9/11 type crisis is a joke.

At the end of the day, I actually don’t think one man can change the world. There’s more to an administration than just one person. Politics usually doesn’t concern me, but in the case of the US, it just seems strange how all the educated states seem to vote Democrat, but all the religious fundamentalists and rednecks seem to vote Republican. It’s really sad because I agree with pro-life, I agree with Christian values and yet, the people who represent it just seem to be way off the mark. And I don’t think I could ever vote for someone who says ‘doggone it’ and ‘darn right’ during a political debate.

I don’t meant to poke fun at McCain, but his general ‘greeting of the public’ also seems very odd. He does this gesture where it looks like he’s holding an imaginary baby in his two hands and shaking it up and down vigorously (see above picture). Why can’t he just smile and wave? He does that jock-like point and ‘hey!’ thing too, which really gets on my nerves. What’s more, throughout the past Town Hall debate, he constantly refers to the public as ‘friends’. Feel the sincerity? I almost felt sorry for him when, at the end of this last debate, both candidates’ wives came on stage and he went to greet Michelle Obama only for her to embrace her husband. McCain tentatively took a step back, then embraced his own wife. That was really just seemed to sum everything up, trying to upstage Obama, only for Obama to somehow one up him without even trying.

(quotations taken from New York Times)

The ‘noisiest’ and fastest thing I’ve ever seen (close up) in my entire life. Above: Massa in pole position…

People had always told me two things about the F1:

1) The noise of the engines is incredible
2) You won’t be able to get photos of the cars due to their insane speed

They were right on both accounts, though at least I managed to do something about point 2…sort of.

I bought earplugs only because I thought maybe it would just be ‘noisy’ after a while and a bit irritating, but nothing prepared me for the noise of those engines…I was standing at the back of the Padang Grandstand as the cars did their first practice lap. The moment the first car went down the strip it was as if someone had placed a snare drum inside my head. Unbelievable. I dove into my bag to find those blasted earplugs as quickly as possible. I’ve honestly never had pain in my ears before that moment.

Anyway, below the photos that I actually managed to take where the cars were not a) out of focus b) blocked by too much grill c) blocked by the fat head in front of me d) blocked by the million other cameras. Just FYI, I underexposed the shots a lot, so that I could get the shutter speed up, on hindsight I think it may have been a mistake. A lot of shots I’ve seen look a lot better when there is more panning and hence creates more of a motion effect. Anyway. Maybe next year!

There’s a street in the south west of London that oft is used as a bypass for the journeys of travellers from the South. ‘Tis a road that burns with memory and yet continuously creates its own new…

…Ah whatever. I was fascinated by the doors so here are some doors along King’s Road.

Ta dah.

Wow.

Of all the photos I took in London, I probably have to rate the above as one of my favourites. I guess it’s partly because you hardly see Covent Garden packed like this at night, and second, I just really like what’s going on in the photo. For starters, a half naked man trying to get the attention of the crowd on a cool summer’s evening, and then those five men holding up his very tall unicycle. It’s just really, quite amusing. However, the third, and most important reason are those blown out highlights that are brought out by the spotlights. Just, beautiful.

To me, London is always a different beast by night. The greyest of days can be transformed when dusk falls, when sodium streetlamps cast ominous shadows over the simplest and unattractive of buildings, and the highlights and contrasts of dark alleys are for anyone’s imagination. It truly is a wonderful thing.

I had a really hard time with the below photos, in terms of whether to leave them in colour, or just convert them to monochrome. The muted mixed with harsh colours are really a joy to behold (see the second, Seven Dials photo) especially just as dusk falls, but ultimately the intense contrasts that the monochrome process brings out were too… for want of a better word, delightful, and to an extent, more real of the true London emotion. Maybe one day, when these photos are forgotten, they will be given the colour treatment.

[update: tidied up this post, i couldn't take it. It was too messy]

I was hesitant. Cynical. It must’ve been the air. Food is just food. I’ve had plenty of good food in my life. Why this, why here? “It’s two stars!” she argued. Two stars. Wow. Big deal. There are fifty billion million stars in the universe, it’s just two. “Michelin stars!” she adds.

Wasn’t Michelin the tyre company? Big fat Michelin man, white, of course, from eating too much food and giving stars away. Good way of making money, I bet.

Apparently, Mr Michelin man gives out three stars, two, and one. So this one was two. So that makes it, what? Average? Average food. Sky high prices. “Thirty five pounds, for lunch! We have to go!”

Thirty five quid? That’s a hundred and five Sing. I could buy twenty McDonald meals for that for crying out loud. Bloody hell.

In the end, of course, I relented. Two stars. Fiddle sticks.

Deep down, of course I like good food. I can’t say that now though, can I? Okay, so there’s crap food, and there’s good food. But seriously, how good can food get? And is it really worth spending that much more money for? I can count on one hand the number of times I thought paying fifty dollars for food was actually worth it, let alone a hundred and five. Most of the time, I am never satisfied. All these hullaballoo restaurants claiming to be wonderful. It’s all a big joke, really. Two stars? Pish tosh.

We walk down New Bond Street, the shops too distracting, and find this restaurant. The Square, it’s called. I don’t know why. The staff are friendly enough, actually, very friendly, but then they’re paid. I’m not convinced. So we sit down, and yes, I’m getting into the mood. Looking around there’re only a few people sitting there. The place sits about twenty tables, so it’s not huge, and it’s less than half empty.

There are some other fat people sitting at the other tables, wearing power suits and turning red from too much cholestoral I’m guessing. Why isn’t the Michelin man red? Anyone with that many rolls of fat wouldn’t be pasty. Or smiling. But that man there was, so maybe you can be very happy and very very fat. Was the food that good?

The waiter ‘yoor menoo, sir’, plops the menu, la carte, in my hands. Merci. Let’s see.

‘Tasting menu, 95 pounds’ okay, next page, ‘a la carte’ the dishes read 40 pounds, 30, thereabouts. Hmm. Next page. Ah, the back, for those who can’t afford anything. ‘Set Menu, two dishes 30 pounds, three dishes 35 pounds’. Okay so the choice is obvious, two dishes.

“Three!” she objects*. Okay okay, three. I choose the salad, chicken, and chocolate cake. Wow, sounds exotic.

First impressions are not too bad. There are actually two butters sitting in front of us. Salted, and unsalted. We discuss the merits of both. “This one is salty,” she says. And this one isn’t, I add, pointing at the other one, of course. We nod our heads in sophisticated acknowledgement.

And then the aperitif arrives.

I take a crappy photo because I’m too nervous in this high class environment. I laugh while I do it. We’re such tourists, I whisper. Apparently, this is celery gelatin, some jelly and bacon mousse on the top.

Now, I know some people vomit when they eat celery, so what’s up with the gelatin? And isn’t that a ‘Frazzle’ on top? Like, as in some pork rind snack. Well, okay. At least this is free.

I dip my spoon to taste the top later, the bacon mousse and gently place the spoon on my tongue.

What happens next I’m not entirely sure, but I remember looking up and we both struggle to contain the superlatives.

It’s mousse, but it’s bacon, it’s salty, and it melts, it’s absolutely, undoubtedly, wonderful. I dip my spoon to the bottom of the glass and take out the celery gelatin. Celery and bacon. The combinations are odd, but in your mouth, none of this really makes a difference. The celery jelly isn’t really as strong as you expect, it’s subtle, and cool, and it combines with the salty bacon so well. Unbelievable.

I actually say, at that point, that the 35 pounds is worth it. I must be mad. For a glass of mousse and jelly?

What follows are an array of dishes that honestly, have too many flavours for me to find adjectives for. The salad has duck eggs, some bacon, spinach, the main has chicken, some kind of puree and a lone cauliflower. And the dessert, chocolate cake at its best. Delicious, I keep saying. Superb. Wonderful. Mmm. It gets a bit repetitive.

Two stars? I wonder. Maybe the Michelin man isn’t so fat for no reason. He must know what two stars truly means. I wonder what three stars tastes like. I would pay for that.

It’s the end of the meal. And I’m full. I’m actually full. Fine dining leaves you full? Reality somewhat dwells lightly on my head as the waiter comes back. “Cafe, sir?”

What? At a two star restaurant? How good can coffee be? And despite my meal, I decline. I’ll grab something at Starbucks on the way out.

Old habits.

* In reality, I desired three dishes as well. However, for the purposes of this blog, slight indiscrepancies are present. Apologies for any inconvenience and misunderstanding caused.