Since time immemorial when man first cosied up by the fire with a canine, we’ve loved them for their loyalty and unconditional devotion. Dogs have guarded our homes, helped us find food and slobbered their way into our hearts. We forgive them more than we would human companions: almost any amount of noise, smelliness and razai-hogging is invariably dismissed as a charming quirk of character. We need to get back to celebrating real dogs – those of any breed and none – that can put in time at actually being a dog, whether that’s rooting out a family of rats, chasing sticks, shredding the mail or teaching us all just what uncomplicated, unalloyed joy looks like.
Donald Trump, the blond Berlusconi, who turned the Republican primary into an actual dick-measuring contest. A man who specialises in inflicting death by insult and known to change his sales pitch as easily as his socks. A master at preying on people’s prejudices and fears, he’s essentially a 24/7 fire hose of unequivocal bigotry.
But I like him.
I like Donald Trump because he’s more liberal than most. In fact he’s actually a Democrat with a dash of Republican swag. He’s also an amazing businessman, a showman who understands what people want, a hard worker, and someone with strong opinions who’s ready to challenge the status quo. The fact that he’s a rabble rouser is just part of the theatrics that go with politics. Every Pakistani Prime Minister standing for elections makes it a point to tell people that they will go to war with India and make their country great. Once elected nothing happens, obviously.
“Quit talking nonsense, Donald!” the woman shouted. “Tell us your actual plan! What are you gonna do?”.
Trump has just one plan – to get to the White House. Till then he’ll go on obfuscating, dithering and abusing. Trump says exactly what he thinks, his fans gush — about immigrants, about Muslims, about women — a bygone pleasure now denied most Americans. He’s winning because white America is dying. And he knows this, which is why he also feigns ignorance of white supremacists.
“Get him outta here”.
Then there’s all that fuss about his rallies. Here again he’s been quite shrewd and gives us a glimpse into his sharp business acumen. Trump turfs out non believers from his rallies because he can. Technically all Trump rallies are private events. Tickets are free so no refunds need be given to people sent out. There’s no potential for lawsuits based on someone losing their money to a ticket they weren’t allowed to use. Trump basically has a party and he can invite whoever he wants.
The bottom line, most Americans are going through the classic anger, denial, acceptance stages of grief over the Trump phenomena. There’s a lot of anger over his hostile takeover of the Republican Party that’s in progress. The more he wins the easier it will become to accept. While I don’t think Trump will win at the end, but if he does, it will be Hillary Clinton “the smartest person in the room against the class clown”.
And the riveting soap with all its histrionics will continue.
Must Read : The Playboy Interview with Donald Trump (1990). http://www.playboy.com/articles/playboy-interview-donald-trump-1990?utm_source=Facebook&utm_medium=Social&utm_campaign=Native&utm_content=magazine
03/05/2016 Trump wins GOP presidential mandate. Aren’t all the naysayers red in the face. http://www.nytimes.com/2016/05/06/us/politics/trump-naysayers-how-wrong-they-were.html?smprod=nytcore-ipad&smid=nytcore-ipad-share
Prince was really a rare phenomenon. He could sing, dance, write music, play instruments, produce albums and look great doing it: I don’t think we’ll see his like again.
But what an awful name.
Prince Rogers Nelson, named after his father Prince Rogers, changed his name to “Artist Formerly Known As Prince” and reverted back to Prince in 2000 when his contract with Warner Bros expired. His only sister Tyka Nelson has two sons called, wait for this, Sir and President.
What on earth is going on here?
African-Americans are obviously so detached from their native land to have to name their children Condom, Lebron, Shakishia or Loquishiar. While I understand ‘black American parents’ aren’t a monolith – there’s no excuse for a D’brickishaw, Barkevious or D’quell. Hang on, there’s even a “Vagina” (pronounced Vageena) or “Sexalean” and a “Fuhqueena” (pronounced ****eena).
Is this a cultural thing, a simple lack of education or low intelligence?
We all know using non-conventional naming to express uniqueness does a child no favours and garners them no acceptance in a difficult and competitive world. Only (the now disgraced) Bill Cosby appears to have believed in assimilation and once asked, “What is wrong with a civilised name that people can say or spell?” He went further by posing the question – (in a classroom) “who do you think a teacher is going to call on, a name that they can say or some other name that is pronounced differently than it is spelled?” What he is saying, in essence is, don’t separate yourself from others, be a part of the solution, not the problem.
Take Barack Obama, it’s a beautiful Kenyan name, while Michelle is a perfectly normal, socially acceptable, adopted Anglo-American name. Makes sense. What doesn’t make sense however, is Gwyneth Paltrow naming her daughter “Apple”. But that’s another story.
It gets worse. Research has proven, that job applicants with ‘black-sounding’ names are more likely to be rejected, regardless of qualifications. It’s the modern version of an old dynamic, best captured by Malcolm X’s joke. “You know what they call a black person who earns a Ph.D.? A nigger.”
I understand the oppressive ‘white’ social dynamic, but Blacks are doing themselves no favours with their ridiculous naming protocol. It just ensures they remain at the bottom of America’s racial caste system for longer.
Incidentally, Prince’s childhood name was Skipper.
How many times have we had the shock of suddenly facing motorcycles or cars coming head-on at high speed on the wrong side of the road – sometimes with head lights flashing (like those bastards are doing us a favour). In this country someone dies on our roads every 4 minutes and India leads the world in road accident fatality rates.
It’s about time this kind of reckless driving which endangers the lives of others be treated as homicide. Not culpable homicide or manslaughter. But murder. And the vehicles they drive need to be considered murder weapons. These dumb fucks should be charged with a full range of penalties up to the maximum (at least five years in prison), and an unlimited fine, depending on the seriousness of the offence. Left to me, hanging and castration would be the solution (though not necessarily in that order). Right now these inconsiderate shits get away with a quick 100 rupee fine. If at all. Why wait for someone to die before getting all offended and making a big issue?
Let Salman Khan the actor be, let’s get the real Salman Khans. The everyday common variety of moron.
“The Enfield Bullet is a bucket of bolts with all the personality of a wheelbarrow.”
What I find most amusing (as a one time Bullet owner in the 90’s) is there are people who will actually pay top rupees for a bucket of bolts like the “Royal” Enfield. Considering it’s built by a company that has no clue how to build a motorcycle, only a genuine fanatic would part with his money for this rubbish. Its actually more of a farmers crop sprayer on two wheels.
OK, on a more forgiving note, it’s just a lovable antique that transports you to more happier, simpler times – but don’t forget to bring tools. Here’s a bike that can switch off the grin as fast as it switches it on.
As you must have figured by now, I’m not a hardcore loyalist, but a realist – aware that the word primitive comes from the Latin word ‘primivitus’ – meaning first of its kind. Quite frankly, to me the Bullet is old and has all the personality of a wheelbarrow. It’s really not meant for a real-world trips and is just a weekend warrior’s idea (i.e. a run to the shops and back) of dealing with his mid-life crisis.
Why Enfield Bullet?
1. You’re a cop.
2. You’re a milkman.
3. You want to be a cop or a milkman.
4. None of the above? OK, then you’re a middle aged chap with the time and discretionary income to recreate the bike you had—or wished you had—in your younger years.
What’s wrong with the bike.
It’s not reliable. It’s extremely thirsty, lacks range, unjustifiably heavy, bad electrics, bad rear drum brakes, chrome-sprayed, lacks detailing (bolts don’t have washers to prevent paint from scratching), bad weld finishing, lots of vibration, very noisy, mechanically suspect and usually ridden by nostalgic gits.
Riding at a sedate 65 has you in the meat of the clip-on bars’ vibration zone, which feels like a nice vibra-massage at first but can grow annoying over a distance as you feel the piston’s oscillations up the spine and into your brain.
Also beware of the plenty of false neutrals between gears. And then there’s the decompressor in some older models.
Another very unique Bullet feature is the signature puddle of oil it leaves behind on the ground. A sort of slow bleed to death.
Some background.
It was first produced in 1933. That makes the Bullet the oldest motorcycle in the world in continuous production. Something along the lines of the ‘classic’ Ambassador car. And we know what became of that.
In 1967, the original British Royal Enfield company closed its plant for good in Redditch, England. But by then, its subsidiary in India had already been stamping out Bullets for years, for use not only by the Indian police and military, but for civilians (mainly farmers and thugs) as well.
Since the 50’s, there have been 3 styles of Enfields.
1. The Royal Enfield Cast Iron (CI) Engine – 4 speed gear box with left side brake peddle, a very simple design that had a bad reputation for crap quality control, inconsistant metalurgy and questionable castings. However, it’s only these pre-1985 engines that can provide the classic Bullet Thump and famous low-end torque. Also, its CB (contact breaker) points knocked less at low speeds than the new TCI (transistor controlled ignition) ones.
2. An interim all-aluminium engine called the AVL (lean burn) from Austria. Despite looking similar to the CI engine, the AVL had a 5-speed transmission, electronic ignition, electric start and an efficient geared oil pump.
3. The new Unit Construction Engine (UCE) is the modern single unit found today. It’s more powerful, more fuel efficient, with better oil circulation (rotary pump), hydraulic tappets, auto decompression, better big-end bearings, fuel injection, hydraulic valve lifters and so on. Even the company warranty reflects this. They offer a 40,000 kilometer/two year warranty on UCE bullets while they used to offer only 10,000 km/1 year warranty on the Cast iron and AVL engines. But the cost you have to pay for all this so-called technology is the lack of the famous Bullet “Thump”. A sound which must never be confused with the dull, lacklustre sound of an Enfield owners brains thumping around in his empty head.
Even Harley Davidson agrees its owners are wierd.
Harley Davidson, one of the most sacred brands imagined admit their bikes are wierd. The company CMO Mark-Hans Richer noted that a Harley “might have an engine, it might have wheels, and it might run on roads” but “we’re really not about transportation; it’s not about getting from Point A to Point B. It’s about living life in the way you choose.”
But there’s still some hope.
The Enfield Continental.
The new RE Continental GT racer – proof that Enfield is desperately trying to change its’bucket-of-bolts’ image.
Taking its inspiration from the café racing scene of the Sixties, Enfield has launched its vintage-look 535cc Continental GT model. This new Royal Enfield carries forward no parts from the original Bullet. Okay, almost no parts: Bolted solidly in four places in the Continental GT’s engine bay is the same old unit-construction EFI Bullet Single, punched out to 535cc (87.0 x 90.0mm) and now powering a lovely little Continental GT with a steel frame designed by Harris Performance, beautiful new bodywork courtesy of Xenophya Design (both U.K. companies), brakes from Brembo, alloy Excel rims with fat spokes, Paioli gas charged shock absorbers and Pirelli Sport Demon tyres, 41mm fork tubes and all the right “café racer” design elements. The red paint, thanks to the new paint shop in the new factory, looks very nice, though the silver metalflake applied to the triple-clamps and fork sliders isn’t exactly period correct.
Keihin carbs, Desno alternator, Austrian gears and Brembo brakes as mementioned earlier. Even here, the injection mapping isn’t great; but once rolling, they say there’s good torque down around 2000 to 3000 rpm.
And then there’s the URAL from Russia.
Looking for a real retro bike, check out the Ural ST motorcycle from Russia.
http://www.bikeexif.com/ural-motorcycles
To sum up, Enfields are expensive, inefficient and unreliable compared to the new powerful bikes available on the roads these days. But if you’re longing for some nostalgia and some “thump” between the legs – then this bike could be all you ever need.
Go the Fuck to Sleep, is a bedtime story written by an exasperated New York dad whose toddler was driving him nuts at night. Exhausted and frustrated, the author Adam Mansbach posted a Facebook comment stating the new title of his new children’s book, “Go the Fuck to Sleep”. Mansbach’s friends appreciated his humor and following an enthusiastic response, he decided to actually start writing the book and enlisted the help of his friend, Ricardo Cortes to create the illustrations. It’s a picture book for grown-ups, full of swearing and darkly comic thoughts about children and the difficulty in getting your child to sleep. It’s interesting to see how a concept on Facebook became an Amazon best seller almost over night with the power of viral marketing and social media online.
GautamDev
Creative Partner
After nine years with Ogilvy as Creative Director and over 18 years in the business I have found that I am neither especially clever nor especially gifted. I am only very, very curious. I am a writer, photographer and wordaholic. I enjoy all things technological and am curious about all things inconsequential.
I like advertising. I like it because it forces you to get to the fucking point. The rule of a web banner is that you get seven words or less. A TV ad gives you twenty seconds to get your story across. A radio ad gives you sixty, if you’re lucky. Advertising also gives you variety. You can work on a serious tampon ad for half your day and then a rocking chair ad for the other half. You work in radio, which is strictly aural. You work in print, which is strictly visual. You work in digital, which is both.
I have also learnt that there is actually a purpose to life. We are born to die – so let’s not take things too seriously please.
(Special thanks for the headline and curious quote to Albert Einstein)