This weekend was the annual Notting Hill Carnival, which celebrates something important to someone. As best I could tell, it was celebrating garbage and hippies, because that's 98% of what I saw in the 5 hours I was there. There were honestly 4 foot piles of trash at every corner. Imagine a cross between Mardi Gras, Woodstock, and Burning Man and you'll have a good idea. At some point I'm told there was a parade, but the closest thing I saw was a couple flatbed trucks with ridiculously large speakers blasting ridiculously crappy music. All in all, I'd say it was a horrible waste of my time and I would like to never mention it again.
Editor's Note: The festival did re-unite me with the best cupcake in London, the Hummingbird, easily the high (and cleanest) point of the afternoon.
On to a brighter note. This coming weekend we'll be traveling to Paris to celebrate Labor day the way it was meant to be celebrated, by doing no labor whatsoever (I've had enough of that since I got to England; in fact this will be the first US or UK holiday I haven't actually worked). So look forward to some picture goodness next week, and enjoy the remainder of your bank holiday (don't worry, it's a UK thing, you wouldn't understand).
What I'm Reading...
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
Sweet Home Alabama
I don't actually live in Alabama, but I was home this weekend. My brother turned 30 earlier this month, so Lori and I flew home to surprise him. We arrived Wednesday evening after the direct 9 hour flight from Heathrow. Normally that amount of flying would leave me grumpy and salty, but luckily the ridiculous amounts of money I have given United airlines the past year has paid off and they bumped me up to business. And not wanting to leave Lori behind with the bourgeois and criminals in economy class, I brought her along as well.
Now, it's intuitively obvious to even the casual observer that the difference between coach and business is night and day. If you've never been upgraded then you can't fully appreciate how nice it is, especially on the longer routes. It begins way before boarding in the baller's lounge, where you get free drinks and non-disgusting airport bathrooms. Once on board, you're greeted with champagne while the dude in row 47 walks by, staring up at the numbers hoping that they used some sort of Fibonacci sequence to number the rows and that he, too, is in business class. They also provide you a little goody bag with a sleeping mask and special socks (though I must admit the socks would likely disintegrate into a ball of goo if you ever tried to wash them). During the flight we enjoyed fillet in our nearly 180 degree recline chairs with massager functionality. And they mark your bag as priority so it gets put on the belt sooner. It really is the way to fly.
Don't get me wrong, business class was nice. But it's like prison compared to first class.. They don't have seats, they have cocoons. This is where fancy people like Sean Connery sit and eat caviar. I'm pretty sure during the safety announcements they said, "There are not seat belts for our first class passengers. In case of emergency, the first class cabin will be jettisoned from the rest of the aircraft and land safely in Tahiti." One day I hope to know the joy of international first class.
For the 4 days we were home, we gorged ourselves on Chipotle and and stocked up on clothes and other sundries at ridiculous American prices. And the aforementioned party was catered by Qdoba, which really enhanced my enjoyment of being home. All in all it was a good trip home, but we're back in London now. On the way to the airport, I had an epiphany. I was thinking most people are thrilled to fly here, kind of like when I was a tourist here a few years back. You save up and look forward to it, and it's a big deal. But now it's kind of annoying, and every time I fly here (which has been 4 time in 5 months now), it's a feeling of dread. It could be the 60 hour work weeks that wait or the bland food or just the fact that I'm returning "home", but I don't get that giddy feeling of going to some place new and exciting. Luckily we're headed to Paris in a couple weeks, the change of scenery will be nice.
Now, it's intuitively obvious to even the casual observer that the difference between coach and business is night and day. If you've never been upgraded then you can't fully appreciate how nice it is, especially on the longer routes. It begins way before boarding in the baller's lounge, where you get free drinks and non-disgusting airport bathrooms. Once on board, you're greeted with champagne while the dude in row 47 walks by, staring up at the numbers hoping that they used some sort of Fibonacci sequence to number the rows and that he, too, is in business class. They also provide you a little goody bag with a sleeping mask and special socks (though I must admit the socks would likely disintegrate into a ball of goo if you ever tried to wash them). During the flight we enjoyed fillet in our nearly 180 degree recline chairs with massager functionality. And they mark your bag as priority so it gets put on the belt sooner. It really is the way to fly.
Don't get me wrong, business class was nice. But it's like prison compared to first class.. They don't have seats, they have cocoons. This is where fancy people like Sean Connery sit and eat caviar. I'm pretty sure during the safety announcements they said, "There are not seat belts for our first class passengers. In case of emergency, the first class cabin will be jettisoned from the rest of the aircraft and land safely in Tahiti." One day I hope to know the joy of international first class.
For the 4 days we were home, we gorged ourselves on Chipotle and and stocked up on clothes and other sundries at ridiculous American prices. And the aforementioned party was catered by Qdoba, which really enhanced my enjoyment of being home. All in all it was a good trip home, but we're back in London now. On the way to the airport, I had an epiphany. I was thinking most people are thrilled to fly here, kind of like when I was a tourist here a few years back. You save up and look forward to it, and it's a big deal. But now it's kind of annoying, and every time I fly here (which has been 4 time in 5 months now), it's a feeling of dread. It could be the 60 hour work weeks that wait or the bland food or just the fact that I'm returning "home", but I don't get that giddy feeling of going to some place new and exciting. Luckily we're headed to Paris in a couple weeks, the change of scenery will be nice.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Disturbing Trend
Ok, I can't keep quiet any longer. For the past few months I have held my tongue while a disturbing new trend has been sweeping the nation, nay, the world. More annoying than Uggz, tight pants, and giant sun glasses combined. Over the past few months as I have traveled, something very shocking has caught my eye. Women are growing their toe nails out to extreme lengths in the name of art.
I get it, sometimes you're lazy, you don't wanna take care of business. It's fine, it really is. But what I have been witness too is not the result of laziness or indifference. Women are doing this to put murals on their freaken toe nails. The other day on the tube I swear a saw big toe with flowers on it that looked like it belonged on the rear end of a backhoe. Across the Caribbean this summer it was commonplace to see intricate forest or beach designs. Every where I look, women are growing their toe nails out like some giant, disgusting Frito chip. Fri-toe, as it were.
My point is, stop it. Just stop. It's gross. It's not attractive. And quite frankly it's dangerous -- those things could do some serious damage. Imagine rolling over in the night and catching one of those down your shin, like a Gillette Mach3 razor, only it's a toe, and it took off 3 too many layers of skin and now you have a staph infection. Caused by a miniature panorama of the last supper. Nobody wants that, so please, women of the world, just stop.
I get it, sometimes you're lazy, you don't wanna take care of business. It's fine, it really is. But what I have been witness too is not the result of laziness or indifference. Women are doing this to put murals on their freaken toe nails. The other day on the tube I swear a saw big toe with flowers on it that looked like it belonged on the rear end of a backhoe. Across the Caribbean this summer it was commonplace to see intricate forest or beach designs. Every where I look, women are growing their toe nails out like some giant, disgusting Frito chip. Fri-toe, as it were.
My point is, stop it. Just stop. It's gross. It's not attractive. And quite frankly it's dangerous -- those things could do some serious damage. Imagine rolling over in the night and catching one of those down your shin, like a Gillette Mach3 razor, only it's a toe, and it took off 3 too many layers of skin and now you have a staph infection. Caused by a miniature panorama of the last supper. Nobody wants that, so please, women of the world, just stop.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Get Your Motor Running
Today was the final day of the British Auto Show, so Lori and I headed down to the financial district and the ExCeL events centre to check out all the hoopla. With dozens of car makers and something like 30 million pounds (that's currency, not weight) of cars, it did not disappoint. Some of the standouts were Lotus (obviously), Lexus, and Honda. Kia also had a strong showing, but I have to hate on them because, well, they're Kia. They also had a nice section on eco-friendly cars, including the Tesla roadster (from the man who brought you PayPal and plans to send you to space and put solar panels on your roof).
All in all, the show was great. I had never been an auto show, but I would definitely head back. You can catch all the high octane photos here.
All in all, the show was great. I had never been an auto show, but I would definitely head back. You can catch all the high octane photos here.
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