Herr Hasselhoff hilarity

Recently I posted about the embittered David Hasselhoff. Now I implore everyone to click here to see Hasselhoff and K.I.T.T. in action, both of them apparently looking for freedom. Apparently he found it, as you can click here and see for yourself. I say "he", because apparently him and K.I.T.T. split up the band, since he is nowhere to be seen in this video. I look forward to the reunion tour.

Bat, man!

Since I don't have a TV or a computer in my room, I find that I am left with a surplus of free time at night to go around town and take part in the various activities offered here in London. Last week I decided to go on "bat walk" at Holland Park, and despite the weather being miserable, I made the trip to the lecture that was supposed to precede the actual walk. I should have known the night would be a bit of wash when, about five minutes after getting off the bus I got hit with a massive case of the gutbug and had to spend about ten minutes in the public toilet, making me a little late for the lecture.

I'm a bit sorry to say that we had a lot of talking, but no walking. The weather was so bad that the bats wouldn't be out that night. On the upside, I got a lot of great bat information from the talk, and even got to look at a bat detector, something I was quite keen to see. Before signing up for the bat walk, I read about these devices, and couldn't wait to see one in action. I sort of had them built up as some Ghostbusters-esque contraptions, something along this lines:

Alas, the bat detectors were a bit more like this:

A bit of a letdown, yeah? Well I did manage to venture out on my own to enjoy some of the cold and rainy Holland Park, and actually saw lots of bunny rabbits hanging out, nibbling grass. Anyway, there are a few more batwalks coming up in the next weeks, and hopefully the weather will take a turn for the better before then. As it stands, we have had exactly two warm, sunny days this entire year. Yeah London!! Actually, maybe it is better that I missed the walk, given the danger excited children pose during these events.

On a closing note, on the walk back to the bus stop I saw a recall notice in the window of a grocery store I got to occasionally, and they were putting out a notice about some sub-par toilet paper. Golly, I hope I didn't use any of that recalled toilet tissue at the bathroom I was in.

Steer clear of beer

Note to self: do not post after drinking. Last night I put up a vaguely self-pitying post, to the regret of my sober half. I think I'm going to try avoid doing that in the future.

It was Ricky Martin in the study

I love board games. In particular, I had an affinity for the specialized versions of games they put out to cater to every niche market available. Take, for instance, Star Wars Monopoly. But I didn't realize that they change the name of games in other countries around the world until the other day when I passed Cluedo sitting in shop window. Say what? I guess it is the Brit iteration of Clue. And yes, they do have specialized versions of Cluedo as well. Which gives me hope that somewhere in South America is a version of Menudo Cluedo.

The Beeb part two

I posted before about getting interviewed on the street by the BBC, but my story pales in comparison to Guy Goma. He went to the BBC for a job interview in their computer and tech department, and when the receptionist asked for "Guy Kewney", he was mistakenly taken onstage and put on the air live. Guy Kewney, it transpires, was due to be interviewed about an Apple legal case, but Guy Goma kept his cool and did his best to make it through the interview, all the while wondering why none of the job interview questions related to his degree in economics and business studies. The briefest look of sheer panic on his face when he realizes they got the wrong guy and put him on live is hysterical. (By the way, ignore the fact that they claim he was a cabbie, that was a wrong report put out initially.)

Setting the record straight

When I posted my Hasselhoff anecdote earlier, I did so from memory, and slightly changed a few key facts. I've updated my earlier post so it now reads correctly.

Sergeant Hans Hasselhoff

Does anyone remember Hogan's Heroes? I love that series. Sergeant Hans Schultz had two catchphrases, "I see nothing! Nothing!" and the nearly identical "I know nothing! Nothing!" I read a great turn of these phrases this weekend, in an article about David Hasselhoff's German popularity, which peaked when he had a number 1 song in Germany and Austria. He also performed "Looking for Freedom" at the Berlin Wall on New Year's Eve 1989, a month after it fell. Apparently Hasselhoff felt he never quite was appreciated as highly he should have been in Germany for this gesture, and publicly complained about being overlooked at least once: "I find it a bit sad that there is no photo of me hanging on the walls in the Berlin Museukm at Checkpoint Charlie."

So it was with great pleasure that I read that someone later taunted the dissatsified Hasslehoff at a Brian Wilson concert he was attending in 2004. The person zinged the former Knight Rider star by shouting, "You are nothing without your robot car! Nothing!"

Footie Fever

I'm often terrible about responding to emails in a timely fashion. Just this morning I was finally getting around to catching up on writing some emails, and I ashamed to find that I let some languish for a month before replying. Yeesh. On the plus side, sending some emails reminded me of some things I wanted to post about. The fact that the World Cup is coming up leapt to mind when I was writing to someone who I had let slide for a while; I don't want to say who because I don't want them to think that I don't care enough about them to get around to writing emails, so I'll just call him Richard H. Wait, no no, that might give it away. Let's call him R. Hernandez instead. Yes, that's much better.

With footie fever soon to be hitting Bundesrepublik Deutschland, I wanted to give my friends in the states a quick rundown of the what to expect with the World Cup. Here first is what to watch for:

Togo: No offense to either England or the US, Togo is who I'm rooting for the most. How can you not root for a country that only has 9 airports, and only two of them are paved? Which gives you a 7 in 9 chance of landing on a dirt runway when flying into Togo. I like those odds. Oh, and check out the awesomeness that are stamps in Togo:

Gotta love a country that uses stamps to show the abject fear in the face of dinosaurs who seem to know they are facing the last few minutes of their lives. What this has to do with football, I don't know, but it really makes me want them to win.

Football chants: Particularly the offensive and tasteless variety. While many chants during games are clever, some are fairly crass. Here is an example:

A somewhat sinister riposte to Manchester United supporters' song, "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" which they customarily used to sing when leading to taunt their opposition is to be found in a song sung to the same tune "Always Look on the Runway for Ice", a reference to the tragic Munich air disaster of February 6, 1958, in which 23 of the 43 people on board died, 8 of them Man United players. This has been countered in recent years, such as against Leeds United, when the song "Always Watch Out For A Turk With A Knife" which is a reference to the two Leeds supporters who were fatally stabbed whilst in Turkey for a UEFA Cup match.

And here is what to avoid:

Lager louts: The name given to the notorious British soccer hooligans, who were so out of control that English footie fans were banned from European matches during the 1980's. Wow, how would you like to have fans from an entire country banned from an entire continent? That's extreme hooliganism.

Brazilian team: Despite being slight favorites in the tournament, I would suggest giving their games a pass if you aren't familiar with soccer. Otherwise you could have the maddening task of trying to keep up with a team that features the following players on their 2006 roster: Rogerio, Ricardinho, Ronaldinho, Robinho, and Ronaldo. Or how about Lucio and Luisao. Or Edmilson and Emerson. If you do decide to watch, your best bet is to just try to follow Fred or Cris. That's his name, just Fred and Cris. Talk about getting jobbed in the name department on your team.

Unduly hasty

Okay, I've incurred the wrath of some internet wags based on extending my thanks to Michelle and Mandy. Seems some people were feeling left out, so consider this a "huzzah" to my readers in Idaho, Oregon and Utah.

Happy now, gents?

Days of future past

I finally went to something I've been looking forward to for quite some time: going to Dennis Sever's House. The experience was captivating. Severs was an artist who lived during the second half of the 20th century, and took the time, money, and effort to restore the home he occupied into something that transcended the standard definition of "museum".

Allow me to explain. Severs' home is a traditional narrow British townhouse, located in the heart of the city, that extends up for five floors, each of which contains two rooms open to visitors. The decor is intended to be true to the period during which a wealthy French family would have occupied it; while there is some historical progression in the time frame it represents, the overlap of eras is intended to represent the continuum during which the generations of a family would have lived there, covering roughly the early 18th century up to the early 19th century.

But Severs didn't want a sterile atmosphere; he wasn't interested in exhibiting a time by trapping it in amber. Instead he looked to vivify the past, to give it vitality and potency. But how to create an immsersive experience that goes beyond simulacra, one that envelops visitors by virtue of its totality? What methods can one use to make a home seem less a relic of the past and more of a breathing, fully inhabited household? Severs himself notes that he wants to make people feel as if they have stepped through the frame of a painting and into the scene from which the artist drew inspiration.

The solution comes in the form of a silent tour the operates on Monday evenings, held only when it starts to become dark outside. People book a time (staggered to prevent the house from becoming crowded) and are then given free hand to wander the residence without speaking. The entire home is lit only with candles and fireplaces. But this is only the starting point for the experience. A main reason it is only open for this type of event one day a week is the amount of preparation required. You see, the idea behind the house is that you are a visitor who has actually walked in on a family from the 18th century during their evening business, and they actually remain in the house while you are there, and all your senses are telling you that they are still around you.

But they prove to be elusive quarry. Walking in to first room, the main dining hall, you find that dinner is on the table, half-eaten. The various smells are warm and inviting: potpourri, food, candles, firewood. Actual food is on the table, giving off a rich scent. But where did they run off to? And then you realize that you hear footsteps above you, or perhaps voices coming from the next room. You also hear the clip-clop of horses outside on the brick lane. And this is the genius of the house. The house is, to your senses, fully inhabited. Everything is active, and details are everywhere. The sinks are wet as if they are in use, because of course they are. Peeled lemons and oranges are arrayed around glasses of wine, roasts, and pastries. A cup of tea is half-spilt from the commotion, while hidden speakers let you be privy to snippets of conversation from the family. A living cat is snuggled up by the fireplace in the basement.

Each of the rooms is done up in a similar fashion, with food, light, warmth, sound, and fragances surrounding you at every step. The inhabitants are always vaguely heard, but never seen. They are a ethereal, ghostly presence, and you have to piece together their family history from clues in the room. A portrait there. A scrap of paper here. Perhaps a birth certificate framed next to some family paintings. A set of shoes, or a dress slung over a chair, maybe a wig even. You are a participant, not just a visitor, and you have to be willing to suspend a certain amount of disbelief to really become engaged with the magic of the place. As the motto of the house says, "You either see it or you don't".

And I feel I was lucky enough to go there on a fairly cool night, because even though I went by myself, coming in to this warm home with everything it contains proved to be one of the most romantic things I have ever seen. Simply wonderful.

I spent almost two hours in the house, and I was the last person to leave, I think. The people who worked there took notice of my keen interest, I suspect, because they came up to me and talked to me a bit, and even offered me the chance to sit in some of the antique chairs to relax around the home for a bit. That was one of the most fantastic parts, actually, the chance to sprawl out and pet the cat near the fireplace, as if I was truly living there with this family.

As a closing note, I like to think that not only was I afforded a glimpse into the past, I also got a look into the future as well. Based on the way things are currently going for me, I am fairly certain I'll end up one of those old guys who lives by himself, surrounded by nothing more than a group of cats, so this trip was a bit of a training for my future days of sitting by a fireplace with feline friends. And despite the fact that the room was quite warm due to the fireplace, I have to admit that this particular vision was, for a brief moment, chilling.

Eminem

I just want to draw attention to the fact that Mandy and Michelle are my two best readers and comment-producers. Kudos to you both!!

News-o-rama

Reading through the Sunday newspaper is an endless source of amusement for me, and I hereby take a few minutes to share some of the better stories with everyone:

-A wealthy white man in Kenya has been charged with murdering a poor black man for the second time in the last year. This time it appears that a handful of people may or may not have been poaching on his land, so Thomas Cholmondeley responded by shooting one of them in the back with a rifle. The sad reality of the world is that looks count, and I hate to say this, but this guy looks guilty as all hell, and if I was prosecutor in this case I could absolutely guarantee a conviction. Why is that, you ask? Simple. My plan would be to just stack the jury with readers of the Captain America comic book, because it is plainly obvious who this Mr. Cholmondeley really is. Here, take a look at his picture first:

Now, compare that with this guy:

Sweet pants!! The Red Skull is alive and living in Kenya, busy shooting people in the back! Tut-tut, Red Skull, not very sporting at all, is it? At least shoot them in the front, yeah?

-And speaking of bids for racial purity, the first case of a naturally-occurring grizzly bear/polar bear hybrid cropped up in Alaska not too long ago, and was discovered by an Idaho man. And in true Idaho fashion, the man from Glenns Ferry immediately shot the holy living shit out of the bear, thus keeping it from reproducing. The man apparently plans on displaying the carcass as a trophy in his home, to show how he managed to overcome nature's largest carnivore. With a rifle. From 100 yards away. While in camouflage.

-In a bid to define himself as an environmentally aware candidate the new leader of the Tories, David Cameron, like to advertise the fact that he rode a bicycle to Parliament everyday. This backfired shortly after when it was revealed he had a chauffeur driven car follow behind him to ferry all his belongings for him. Way to be green, amigo.

-In more political news, I have stumbled across the greatest name ever not just for a politician, but also for a person bent on world domination. In the past I've ripped off a throwaway joke from the Simpson's by adopting the moniker Dr. Colossus. Now, I'm conflicted. Apparently there is a politician here in England, one who actually is part of the borough I'm in, Camden, who is named Lord Adonis!! Alternately, he is also called Baron Adonis. That is, unquestionably, the greatest name I have ever heard, and I hereby pledge myself as a minion of Lord Adonis, during which time I hope to overthrow the Baron and assume his title. Who knows? Maybe someday I'll find myself competing with the Red Skull for world domination. Dare to dream...

-Finally, in cartoon/comic book related news, check out "I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!" video. Hilarity ensues. I can't wait to hit somebody with their own pimp.

Batman and the Joker sword-fight!!

As anyone who has spent any time around me knows, I am a huge comic book fan. And if anyone saw Batman Begins, you know who just might be showing up in the next film. If so, I really, really, really hope they use this story as the template for the structure of the conflict, as well as its ultimate resolution.

Here's keeping my fingers crossed!!

You can see the rest of the glorious Golden Age of comics at the main site, here.

Oliphants

So, back to what I was talking about the other day when I mentioned one of the more amazing things I've ever seen. In London over the last four days, from Thursday to Sunday, a giant piece of street theatre took place called The Sultan's Elephant, and it tells the tale of a little girl and a Sultan on a time-travelling elephant. I'm sure you are all saying "wow, neat", right about now, but let me assure you that if you are, you are only making yourself look like insufferable jackasses. And if you are Gregg, you are talking about the Illuminati and the United Nations being part of all this, but that is beside the point. The point is that the entire story is told using puppets and animatronics, all to fantastic effect, and it sprawls across central London. Everything- and I mean everything- that this girl does, like taking off her shoes and changing into her bedclothes at night, or taking a morning shower before going for a walk in the park, is performed by the puppet herself. She even rides a scooter around town.

I first heard about this last week in the Sunday paper, but sort of forgot about it during the crush of finals weeks, but went with a few people on a rainy and cold Saturday afternoon to Trafalgar Square to see what it was all about. Upon arrival, we saw thousands of people gathered around a puppet of a girl and an elephant. The girl was laying down, apparently sleeping, and then woke her up and she walked about for a bit. I was a tad surprised at how big she was. How big? Well, her hobby is sewing, and she is sufficiently large to wreck cars by stitching them into the pavement (click for the full-size pictures):

Just to give you an idea of how big this puppet is, here she is next to some of her operators:

Recall that I said she does everything a normal person would. This girl is entirely life-like, despite the fact she is obviously a giant puppet. She moves like a person, taking careful steps while she walks. She looks around at what is happening around her and reactes accordingly. It is actually kind of heart-warming to see this puppet, because you really feel like you are looking at a little girl. Here are some pictures of her sightseeing on a double-decker bus, taking a shower, having a snack, and sleeping.



But back to my first afternoon seeing her. After she walked around the square for a few minutes, the elephant started to stir a bit. Because of the crowd, I was about 50 yards away from it, and it was facing directly towards me. Given how big the girl was, the elephant look quite big, by comparison.

Then it stood up.

It turns out this elephant had been lying down sleeping, and, holy god, was only now reaching its full height. Looking at how big that girl is, try to imagine a mechanical elephant big enough for her to get a ride on its trunk. And I do mean ride. The girl and the elephant walk all over downtown London, taking in the sights. Having a bit of difficulty picturing it? Here...



Yes, those specks on its back are people. And yes, it really is as big as a building. For scale, look at the people not in the foreground, but at its feet. It reminded me of nothing short of the Oliphants from Lord of the Rings. It was colossal in stature, and my attention was utterly transfixed on it. I stood in one spot for over two hours on both Saturday and Sunday to make sure I had a clear view of the parts of the show I wanted. It weighs over 40 tons, and every part of this is articulated. Its trunk, lips, tongue, tail, ears, all of it. It all moves an in an amazing mimcry of life. It blows water out of its trunk for when the girl showers, or even when it simply wants to douse the crowd. It just isn't wheeled around (although, of course, it is), but its feet actually touch the ground to complete the illusion. When it sleeps it continues to breath all night long, as does the girl, who opens and closes her mouth in time with her breaths. And at the end of Sunday, the last day, the little girl climbed back into her pod and left us, all of us, breathless. It was beyond good, beyond amazing. It was beyond my imagination.

If Royal de Luxe, the company that ever puts these shows on, comes anywhere near you, I urge you to see it. Fantastic.

If you want any more information, the BBC has a page for it here, and you should also be able to click on the pictures here to see them in larger size.

Astonishing

This weekend I saw one of the most stunning things I have been witness to, and I don't say that lightly. This isn't a farce, nor is it the lead-in to a joke. I just wish I had enough time tonight to properly write up the whole post, but I'll have to get to that tomorrow. Until then...wow...

I worry about Gregg

Anyone who knows Gregg knows he can be a tad...eccentric...when he gets off on a tangent. Some of rants are high in entertainment value, but lose a bit of narrative cohesion when he gets impassioned. This propensity is heightened when he has been drinking, and I regularly see glimpses of what I like to call "Future Gregg". This involves him sitting on a bar stool in the year 2040 yelling a bunch of nonsense to embarased looking patrons at the local pub. Bear in mind, this hasn't happened yet. But I do fret over him sometimes.

All that preamble was mainly an excuse to link to this site, which is how Gregg often sounds to people in the bar. Glance through it and despair.

Bunch of savages in this town...

Countless times in the past nine months have I imprecated my fellow students at our residence hall. Scarcely a day passes that I am not witness to some new act that reeks of lack of consideration for others. And almost every day, almost without fail, one thought has run through my head, lifted directly from Clerks: Bunch of savages in this town. It's almost as if neanderthals never really died out, and instead chose to hole up in our building, secreted away and safe from the threat of civilization.

The latest caveman-ish act took place while I was making some tuna for lunch. A guy next to me in the kitchen couldn't figure out how to operate the can-opener, so instead of going through the strenuous effort of formulating a sentence and asking me if I knew how to use the can-opener, he simply gave up on the can-opener. In its stead, he grabbed a nearby steak knife and started to jab away at the can, alternately punching holes in the top and sawing away at the metal left between the gaps.

My mouth was agape at this entire display. It really was like some sort of caveman display had come to life, and had just been confronted with modern technology for the first time. Actually, the moment played out quite similarly to the arrival of the monolith near the apes at the beginning of 2001: A Space Odyssey.

The caveman finally finished, and he skulked off taking his sloping forehead with him. I can only imagine he went to heat up his soup over two sticks he had rubbed together on the back patio.

The final countdown!!

Finals week is here!! Wish me luck, and say a silent prayer for me, amigos.