Search

gautams blog dot com

a little bit of this. a little bit of fact

Portrait of a Street Dog.


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.

Advertisements

Trump may be a racist idiot. But at least he’s a refreshing racist idiot. 


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. Why do Blacks have such God-awful names?


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.

Meet the Everyday Salman Khan

traffic2

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.

traffic traffic4

Pissing My Days Away

toilet

Water Fasting

An amazing 10 day hunger game that helped me lose 5 kilos 

Q: Is there a cure-all treatment for high blood pressure, migraines, pains, arthritis, and, oh ya, fatness

A: A strict diet of absolutely nothing but H2O helped me lose 5 kilos in just 7 days.

Water1The Gandhi (Mahatma that is) reminded us to always “chew our water”. I’d  always put him down as a bit of a loony till I packed my bags and hopped into my friend Jessy’s car at the crack of dawn for an extraordinary journey that would put me to a diet of…guess what…nothing but pure H2O. 

Day zero of a 10 day personal discovery of the power of water.

indian-mapIt was 10am, the effects of early morning were only just wearing off, when I woke up and realised I was in a car with a driver next to me and PK at the back with ol Jess. Everyone slightly tentative behind a false bonhomie – understandable, as we were all leaving our comfort zones and heading into the bleak world of foodlessness. We stoically whizzed down Mysore Road, took a left at Srirangapatnam, blurred past the flapping avian life of Ranganthithu Bird Sanctuary, without even a glance at the neat hedges skirting the coffee estates of Coorg, we entered the Brahmagiri Wildlife sanctuary into Gods Own Country of potholes and sullen locals. It was early evening when we eventually reached our destination in the foothills of the Western ghats – Prathyasha, the detox nature cure centre (prathyasha.co.in). Our home for the next 10 days.

Mahatma Gandhi would have sobbed into his dhoti.

Anyone, however spiritually evolved, would baulk at the thought of 7 or 10 days of life without as much as a morsel passing their lips. A life dedicated to a daily morning insertion of a sharp nozzle into ones behind from an enema kit. And the rest of the day filled with the loud clang of a jug of water being placed on the bedside table. For company you have the deafening sound of a large quartz clock ticking away on a wall in front of your bed. Very daunting at best.

Prathyasha, a wellness centre without the whorehouse comforts of a spa. 

This nature cure centre in Alakode is run by a tall avuncular retired State Bank employee Dr Sukumaran, who made a career shift late in life after figuring bankers are essentially wankers. The dusty ledgers he had to pointlessly lift and fill up every day was doing nothing for his asthma. So off he went and got himself a degree in Naturopathy from Dharmastala in Karnataka. For a man who doesn’t know a word of any other language but Malayalam this must have been quite an achievement.

Prathyasha,  ‘doctor’ Sukumaran is in.

On entering his office one quickly realises there were going to be no expensive scans or blood tests here. Sukumaran quietly tells you (in Malayalam) to throw away all your medicines, ideas and medical reports;  and instead prods you with a pocket sized metal nail and asks you to yell when it pains. Based on which point of prodding your screams start he figures which area of your body needs help. Thankfully my aches and pains were relatively minor, so all Sukumaran got from me was a light ‘ouch’. After filling in a very basic form and hopping on to the weighing scale, I was led off to the rooms upstairs. Mine was a single with attached loo, a fan, a bed, basic mattress, pillow and the all-important nail crudely driven into the wall to hang the all-important enema gizmo on.

Food, a recreational drug for the mouth. 

Oil, butter, ghee, booze, samosas, aloo tikki, masala vada, prawn pepper fry, burgers and French fries. We eat this for years. And years. We eat, and eat, and fucking eat, what isn’t good for us. Food, salt, sugar, and fat, combined with chemicals in processed foods, trick the brain in the same way as cocaine, and the brain flushes our bodies with dopamine, perhaps the most blissful, and addictive, homemade chemical we have. Over time too much of this toxic stuff overloads our livers and kidneys, whose job it is to get rid of waste. As this material accumulates in our system, it can lead to inflammation and all sorts of sicknesses. 

Day 1 : The withdrawals.

As the body begins to realise its favourite fix is not forthcoming, it begins retaliating by going into a sulk. Life without food is headaches and restlessness. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t read. Music—even soft, ridiculously washy music—seemed jarring. These withdrawal symptoms (headache, dizziness, pain in back, abdomen) of fasting is a result of the absence of regular poisons into the body like tea, coffee, alcohol, cigarettes, spices, mustard and other stimulating processed foods we use to suppress or ‘smother’ all uncomfortable feeling. The only way of dealing with this is to go ‘horizontal’ by curling up in bed with a cover and trying to sleep it off.

Fasting is the best appetiser available.

Water fasting allows the body to rest, detoxify, and to heal. During fasting the body moves into the same kind of detoxification cycle that it normally enters during sleep. It uses its vital energy during a fast, not for digesting food, but for cleansing the body of accumulated toxins and healing any parts of it that are ill. As a fast progresses the body consumes everything that it can that is not essential to bodily functioning. This includes bacteria, viruses, fibroid tumors, waste products in the blood, any build up around the joints, and stored fat. 

Day 2 : The enema.

“What’s the difference between an enema and a rose? The rose goes in your button hole.”

Any form of travel normally blocks me up and disrupts my morning dump. And the sight of the enema kit all nicely packed in plastic just helped exacerbate that feeling by making my backside clench shut with a vice like grip. After hours of agonising whether to insert or not-to-insert, my throbbing headache made the decision for me. P5Surprisingly the unsightly act of bending a bit and thrusting the coconut oil smeared nozzle into oneself wasn’t as traumatic as I thought, and no, it didn’t hurt one bit. It clenses the lower intestine and creates peristalsis which leads to rumblings and a 100 metre dash for the loo. Enemas help in avoiding the re-absorption of waste matter thrown into the colon and removes the waste instead.

Day 3 : Massages and mud packs.

By now it gets better. Actually it noticeably gets pretty serene. The thought of food is far away and one leaps out of bed bright, energetic, unreasonably cheerful. The mind is clearer and ones mouth actually begins to taste sweet. After the ritual enema, days are filled with the ‘slap-slap’ sound of someone beating a beached whale with a hockey stick. This is the massage therapy that literally bangs all the fat out of you. It’s followed by tit-freezing mud packs and a localised pounding with two cloth pouches called ‘kiri’. By the end of the day ones quite bushed and hits the sack and out like a light by 10.

Fasting is a biological process and belongs to the world of life. Animals do it all the time. A sick or wounded animal uses fasting to repair and rejuvenate. He rests and fasts while licking his wound. You notice, animals also fast while hibernating. To humans it is mind-body care that’s a means of restoring health. Fasting is a preventive program that can slow down ageing by removing the accumulation of damage. 

Day 4 : “Doing nothing, intelligently.” 

By now the mind is much clearer and I even experience vivid dreams in the night. Something I could never do earlier. Fasters have a heightened sense of smell, and I could easily smell rain long before it arrived. The torrential downpours that show up like clockwork every evening drench the greenery and suffuse the whole landscape with a glow that transmits happiness all around. That’s why for best results of a fast, one needs, calm, comfort and cheerful surroundings. Prathyasha lets one relax and take life easy, get a lot of fresh air, sunshine and yoga – it’s as far removed from our modern, high-caloric civilisation as possible.

The body shifts from one fuel source to another during fasting. Normally the primary form of energy the body uses for energy is glucose, a type of sugar. Most of this is extracted or converted from the food we eat. Throughout the day, the liver stores excess sugar in a special form called glycogen that it can call on as energy levels fall between meals. Once the liver’s stores of glycogen are gone, the body begins to shift over to what is called ketosis or ketone production – the use of fatty acids as fuel instead of glucose. Or fat attack.

Days 5-7 : Bed, boredom, bathroom. 

In between the many trips to the loo for yet another pee, one gets this feeling that something profoundly necessary is happening inside you. Old Philippus Paracelsus, M.D. (1493-1541), a Swiss physician and alchemist, considered a father of Western medicine put it well when he said, “Fasting is the greatest remedy, the physician within”. And he’s right, I’ve already lost four kilos, and the knees are surprisingly pain-free. But still, the day’s stretch on interminably. Fasting can be a lonely experience, and I was really fortunate to have plenty of company to play cards, chat and go on short walks with.

The abundance of food, greater wealth, shorter working hours, easy mobility and labour-saving devices have led to obesity. In reality, all these man-made things should mean we need LESS food. Freedom from food enables one to discover undreamt depths of the meaning to life.

Days 7-10 : After fasting one will look at food as medicine. 

Post fast one feels light, energetic, cheerful with clear skin where the whites of the eyes look Photoshopped. I felt reborn. On my first morning among the eaters, down five kilos, it took me an hour to drink my juice. In the afternoon it was oranges and watermelon. The next day just salads. This weaning back process took three days. Now food is suddenly meant to be well chewed and enjoyed. Another thing to note, is after breaking a fast (safely and carefully), you’ll find that your bowel movements behave as if they’re on steroids.

Bottom line : I’m a user. I do food.

Once back in the big bad world controlling food intake is the biggest challenge, especially for a person like me who can get addicted to anything nice. That’s why a diet required to sustain the tremendous effects of a fast is rigorously difficult and, for many, probably unrealistic. Fasting is not the main event but just a tool to get you to radically change the way you eat. For now, I’m going to see if that old, sad approach called moderation has any sway here. It’s never worked for me before. I tend to want my tandoori chicken and your whole family’s tandoori too. Wish me luck.

PS: This 10 day trip, my holiday to health was probably the most sensible thing I’ve ever done. Tomorrow if I see the fat and sloth building up or feel the pain coming back, seizing my knee joints, I know now that I won’t be reaching for pills. Particularly when a slug of water and doing nothing at all seems to work so much better.

Things to remember when going to Prathyasha in Allakod, Kannur District : 

  • Don’t expect anything fancy. These guys have no concept of ‘Hospitality’, but they are kind, helpful and polite. A place for the spiritually aware.
  • Ask for Single Room No. 10 or Family Room No. 15.
  • Pack 4 pairs of shorts, 1 pair of jeans, 2 white shirts, 6 t-shirts, 2 good towels, 4 thin towels (called ‘thorts’ in Malayalam), 2 sleeping shorts, a water bottle, mug, Surf (half kg pack), 2 medium soap, toothpaste, Gillette foam (small), small coconut oil with small dish, decent rubber chappals, watch, playing cards, Uno (or some card games), a home pillow is a good idea, a yoga mat if possible, 2 books, iPad, phone (BSNL works best), the all-important enema kit and shikakai powder are provided.
  • The main man’s name is Mr Sukumaran; the son is Vimal, Tulisi is the major domo, the male masseurs name is Jeetu.
  • Treatment in Prathyasha is based on a branch of science called Natural Hygiene which is the practice of self-healing without drugs; but by fasting, diet control, massage, exercise, fresh air, sunshine and yoga.
  • October-February is a good time. Average cost works out to about 1K (US$ 20) a day.
  • Distance from Bangalore: 360 kms.
  • Nearest airport – Calicut
  • Nearest railhead – Kannur

P24 P23 P21 P8P7 P11

WhatsApp proves why advertising sucks and the mobile phone rocks

WhatsApp1
WhatsApp’s founders Brian Acton, left, and Jan Koum at their office in California.
WhatsApp, the messaging app, which lets people send text messages and share photos and other stuff without incurring charges from telecom firms has vowed never to sell advertising on their site. It collects no information about users beyond their phone numbers. So you’re right to wonder why it was just acquired by the world’s second-largest mobile advertising company.

On Wednesday, Feb 19, Facebook announced its largest acquisition ever, saying it would pay at least $16 billion for WhatsApp’s text messaging application with 450 million users around the world who pay little or no money for it. The one lakh crore price tag is the most ever paid for a venture-capital-backed company. It also means Facebook believes WhatsApp is worth over $42 per user, making the company more valuable than household names like Southwest Airlines, Sony, American Airlines, Ralph Lauren, Marriot International and Campbell Soup.

Most of all, the deal emphasises that these are early days in the transition from personal computers to mobile phones. The lack of real estate on a mobile phone means less advertising, more relevant content and the viral nature of its appeal is how WhatsApp has reached 450 million users (72% active) without spending a penny on marketing.

The obscene price tag is also the price Facebook is paying for neglecting the mobile phone market and sees this acquisition as the easy way to hop onto the bandwagon and lead the way for the world once more.

The mobile phone is the future, but happens to advertising?

Jan Koum the ex-Ukrainian boss of WhatsApp, has a well-known aversion to collecting people’s data and plastering advertising over his app, Here’s what he had to say in his blog a few years ago –

“When we sat down to start our own thing together three years ago we wanted to make something that wasn’t just another ad clearinghouse. We wanted to spend our time building a service people wanted to use because it worked and saved them money and made their lives better in a small way. We knew that we could charge people directly if we could do all those things. We knew we could do what most people aim to do every day: avoid ads.

WhatsApp3

No games. No ads. No gimmicks. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don’t need.

No one wakes up excited to see more advertising, no one goes to sleep thinking about the ads they’ll see tomorrow. We know people go to sleep excited about who they chatted with that day (and disappointed about who they didn’t). We want WhatsApp to be the product that keeps you awake… and that you reach for in the morning. No one jumps up from a nap and runs to see an advertisement.

Advertising isn’t just the disruption of aesthetics, it insults to your intelligence and the interrupts your train of thought. At every company that sells ads, a significant portion of their engineering team spends their day tuning data mining, writing better code to collect all your personal data, upgrading the servers that hold all the data and making sure it’s all being logged and collated and sliced and packaged and shipped out… And at the end of the day the result of it all is a slightly different advertising banner in your browser or on your mobile screen.

Remember, when advertising is involved you the user are the product.”

WhatsApp4

It’s estimated that Koum holds a 45% stake in the company, while Acton holds over 20%.

At WhatsApp, engineers spend all their time fixing bugs, adding new features and ironing out all the little intricacies in our task of bringing rich, affordable, reliable messaging to every phone in the world. That’s their product and that’s their passion. Data isn’t even in the picture. They are simply not interested in any of it. WhatsApp has just 32 software engineers, which means that each one supports some 14m users. And the volume of messages it is handling is said to be the equivalent of all the SMS messages transmitted by the world’s telecoms companies. WhatsApp transmits 18 billion messages a day, but doesn’t send any itself.

The future certainly belongs to the mobile phone and because they are so personal and private to the user that putting an advertisement there is not a good idea.

When people ask why WhatsApp charges for its service, the company says “Have you considered the alternative?”.

PostScript: Before founding WhatsApp, both Brian Acton and Jan Koum were actually turned down for jobs at Facebook.

Enfield Bullet, a bugger-all motorbike.

“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.

image

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.

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.

image

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

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. image 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.

“Creativity is intelligence having fun.”

GautamDev
Creative Partner

GDN

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)

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑