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Cat Power on cover of Plan B

Cat Power on cover of Plan B

A few nice celebrity magazines images I found:

Cat Power on cover of Plan B celebrity magazines
Image by Scorpions and Centaurs

Daniel Ash in Zillo celebrity magazines
Image by Scorpions and Centaurs

flashback at the newsstand celebrity magazines
Image by {Guerrilla Futures | Jason Tester} Courtney, Drew, Jennifer, Gwyneth

Nice Celebrity Gossip photos

Nice Celebrity Gossip photos

Some cool celebrity gossip images:

224750_307700179358757_1993278125_n celebrity gossip
Image by movietvtechgeeksnews Funniest Memes from Movie TV Tech Geeks movietvtechgeeks.com

65363_486840971346568_1841686783_n celebrity gossip
Image by movietvtechgeeksnews Funniest Memes from Movie TV Tech Geeks movietvtechgeeks.com

68437_275668052561970_387230479_n celebrity gossip
Image by movietvtechgeeksnews Funniest Memes from Movie TV Tech Geeks movietvtechgeeks.com

Nice Celebrity Lines photos

Nice Celebrity Lines photos

Check out these celebrity lines images:

Celebrity Mercury celebrity lines
Image by ecstaticist www.twitter.com/ecstaticist/ <-- I tweet when I post on flickr. View larger | original | My top 100 Celebrity Cruise Lines Mercury ship at a slip in Victoria. The lower part of the image is a reproduction of the original scene. Have a great Sunday, everyone. 2x3 exposure HDR panorama flooded.

The Line-Ups celebrity lines
Image by jamieca The Line-Ups for Rashard Lewis' Celebrity Softball game

Cool Canadian Celebrities images

Cool Canadian Celebrities images

A few nice canadian celebrities images I found:

CFC In LA 2012 11 canadian celebrities
Image by Canadian Film Centre At a Canadian Film Centre & Variety-hosted reception for the Telefilm Canada Features Comedy Lab. To learn more about the Canadian Film Centre, please visit: cfccreates.com Photo by Jesse Grant.

CFC In LA 2012 8 canadian celebrities
Image by Canadian Film Centre David Sutcliffe at a Canadian Film Centre & Variety-hosted reception for the Telefilm Canada Features Comedy Lab. To learn more about the Canadian Film Centre, please visit: cfccreates.com Photo by Jesse Grant.

CFC In LA 2012 14 canadian celebrities
Image by Canadian Film Centre Harland Williams and Russell Peters at a Canadian Film Centre & Variety-hosted reception for the Telefilm Canada Features Comedy Lab. To learn more about the Canadian Film Centre, please visit: cfccreates.com Photo by Jesse Grant.

Celebrity Look-Alike

Celebrity Look-Alike

Check out these celebrity look alike images:

Celebrity Look-Alike celebrity look alike
Image by leesean

Who do they think I look like?!?! With Flickr notes! celebrity look alike
Image by Earl - What I Saw 2.0 1. Moses. 2. A beautiful woman. 3. A great musician. 4. An engine inventor. 5. One I'm sure they threw in to make me feel better about the first four!

Not quite celebrities... celebrity look alike
Image by Frank Swift Unless that really is Supergirl...

Nice Ugly Celebrities photos

Nice Ugly Celebrities photos

A few nice ugly celebrities images I found:

Celebrating new mates #fish #music #mysen @teamkraft ugly celebrities
Image by Mobilephotos@heidenstrom My happy mate Ingar @teamkraft, ands over head after Fish had his concert on Ingar's barn and farm. From the Fish own website: Musical/acting experience: First gig (as a punter): Yes, supported by Gryphon, at Usher Hall, Edinburgh, 1974. First audition (vocalist): March 1980 - Not Quite Red Fox, failed due to lack of experience. NQRF's bassist/vocalist had been approached by Marillion to replace Doug Irving. They met at a Battle of the Bands competition in Luton, but never followed it up and lost contact! First gig (as a vocalist): 1980 Golden Lion, Galashiels, vocalist with Blewitt (lead guitar, Frank Usher) Audition with Stranger (Kettering-based), failed due to "voice too quiet" Audition with Stone Dome Band (Retford-based), successful (bass player, Diz Minnit) November 1980 - rented a cottage in Dalkeith with Diz November 1980: Return to gigging with Blewitt December 1980: First contact with Steve Rothery and Marillion (Aylesbury), audition successful (including Diz) 15th March 1981: First gig with Marillion, Red Lion pub, Bicester 8th September 1982: Marillion signed to EMI Oct 1982: First single "Market Square Heroes" released March 1983: First album "Script For A Jester's Tear" released March 1984: "Fugazi" album released. April 1985: "Kayleigh" single released reaching number two in UK charts 1985: Appears on "The Old Grey Whistle Test" Episode #15.10 (date uncertain) June 1985: "Misplaced Childhood" album released, number one chart position in UK 12 September 1985: Appears on "Top of the Pops" 21 May 1987: Appears on "Top of the Pops" June 1987: "Clutching At Straws" album released 30 July 1987: Appears on "Top of the Pops" February 1988: Appears in "The Comic Strip Presents..." episode titled 'More Bad News' 11 June 1988: Appears at the Nelson Mandela 70th Birthday Tribute at Wembley Stadium November 1988: Left Marillion. Moved to Spittalrig Farm, Haddington 11th October 1989: First solo gig (Mickey Simmonds - keyboards, Frank Usher - guitar, Robin Boult - guitar, Mark Brzezicki - drums, Steve Brzezicki - bass) 11 January 1990: Appears on "Top of the Pops" Jan 1990: First solo album "Vigil In A Wilderness Of Mirrors" released First acting role as a guest star in an episode of "Zorro" called "The Newcomers" Begins legal action against EMI to be freed from his contract, finally culminating in an acrimonious split April 1991 Signs to Polydor Records April 1991: Films "Jute City" for TV Oct 1991: "Internal Exile" album released Jan 1993: "Songs From The Mirror" album released March 1993: Dropped by Polydor and establishes Dick Bros Records to promote future releases and a small roster of bands 1994: Films widescreen acting debut as Angus Cameron in "Chasing The Deer" released 1994 March 1994: "Sushi", a live album (recorded, coincidentally, on the day he is dropped by Polydor) is the first Dick Bros release May 1994: "Suits" album released Tours continually during this time to fund the recording and promotion of the new album. This leads to greater international exposure in previously unexplored territories, culminating in the Yin & Yang albums, a retrospective collection of 26 songs (13 of which were re-recorded) released September 1995 13 June 1985: Appears on "Top of the Pops" May 1997: "Sunsets On Empire" album released March 1998: Appears in an episode of "The Bill" titled "Manhunt" November 1998: Appears as Derek Trout in Channel 4's 'The Young Person's Guide To Becoming A Rock Star' Summer 1998: Signs to Roadrunner, heralding the end of Dick Bros Records November 1998: "Kettle Of Fish" greatest hits package released April 1999: "Raingods With Zippos" album released September 2000: More acting on TV, this time in "Taggart" episode "Skin Deep" April 2000: More TV, in "Rebus" episode "Black & Blue" April 2001: Appears on "Never Mind The Buzzcocks" TV show May 2001: "Fellini Days" album released (by mail order only) August 2001: "Fellini Days" released to retail outlets 29 August 2001: Appears on "Top of the Pops 2" November 2001: Sells the Spittalrig Farmhouse and moves into the Studio November 2001: Auditions for James Bond movie December 2001: Appears on the Christmas special "Never Mind the Buzzcocks" TV show January 2002: Appears in 2 episodes of "Snoddy" TV series (starring Gregor Fisher) April 2002: Appears on the BBC programme "Closure" to apologise to Kayleigh for putting her in song May 2002: Appears in 2 episodes of "Caledonian McBrains" quiz show for BBC Scotland May 2002: Records vocal parts for "Caledonia" on Frankie Miller's tribute album May 2002: "Nine Dead Gay Guys" is premiered at the Cannes Film Festival May 2002: BBC6 Music broadcast a live Fish gig January 2003: Offered the part of "the hippy" in Queen's musical "We Will Rock You" (being played at that time by Nigel Planer). Refused due to contract duration and location January 2003: Writing begins on "Field of Crows" November 2003: Appears on BBC's "Children in Need" programme from Aberdeen December 2003: "Field of Crows" released January 2004: Accepts a role in John Maybury's film "The Jacket" February 2004: Appears on "Never Mind the Buzzcocks" TV show May 2004: Appears in "Quite Ugly One Morning", a comedy film made for TV January 2005: Voted at number 18 in The List's "Best Scottish Band Of All Time" April 2005: Tours to celebrate the 20th anniversary of "Misplaced Childhood" December 2005: Hosts the Classic Rock Society awards and is presented with a special award for 25 years in the music industry December 2005: Appears in a celebrity version of "Weakest Link" winning £18,350 which he shared with the runner-up - Eggsy of Goldie Lookin' Chain December 2005: Successfully sues former employee Kim Waring at Haddington Sheriff Court for £68,000 in missing cash and £100,000 in damages April 2006: Interview with Radio 4 for a programme on the history of Progressive Rock September 2006: Appears on the BBC Radio 2 comedy show "Jammin'" November 2006: LX Jovem webcast a Fish gig from Lisbon watched by over 25,000 people January 2007: Writing begins for "13th Star" album September 6th 2007: "13th Star" limited edition released (web site only) February 12th 2008: "13th Star" released to retail May 2008: Fish's Planet Rock show 'Fish on Fridays' wins the Silver award in the 'Music Broadcaster of the Year' category of the UK Sony Radio Academy Awards 2008.

New Yorkers love scooters ugly celebrities
Image by Ed Yourdon This was taken at the northwest corner of Broadway and 87th Street. I'm well acquainted with this area, because I lived directly across the street for about 8 years. Note that the woman is zooming past a Brooks Brothers outlet. When I first came to New York City, back in the Dark Ages, there was only one Brooks Brothers store, and it was located at Madison and 44th Street. You'll be delighted to know that that store was opened in 1818 (on the corner of Catharine and Cherry Street in lower Manhattan), and that Brooks Brothers outfitted Abraham Lincoln, and 39 of the 44 American Presidents (including John Kennedy, Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford, George H.W. Bush, Bill Clinton, and Barack Obama). Ralph Lauren started off as a salesman at Brooks Brothers, former French President Jacques Chirac still buys his shirts there, and Andy Warhol bought all of this clothes at Brooks Brothers. When I first got married in 1968, I even got my wedding suit here; little did I know I was in the company of Presidents and famous celebrities… But now the stores are all over the damn place. As of 2012, there were 210 Brooks Brothers outlets in the U.S. and 70 other countries … including this location on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Interestingly, the space now occupied by the men's clothing store had been vacvvant for several years; and back when I lived across the street, it was a Southeast Asian restaurant where I had lunch almost every day. But none of this is likely to be of any interest to the young woman seen here, zooming past the store on her Razor Scooter. Some people just have no appreciation for history... *************** This set of photos is based on a very simple concept: walk every block of Manhattan with a camera, and see what happens. To avoid missing anything, walk both sides of the street. That's all there is to it … Of course, if you wanted to be more ambitious, you could also walk the streets of Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island, and the Bronx. But that's more than I'm willing to commit to at this point, and I'll leave the remaining boroughs of New York City to other, more adventurous photographers. Oh, actually, there's one more small detail: leave the photos alone for a month -- unedited, untouched, and unviewed. By the time I actually focus on the first of these "every-block" photos, I will have taken more than 8,000 images on the nearby streets of the Upper West Side -- plus another several thousand in Rome, Coney Island, and the various spots in NYC where I traditionally take photos. So I don't expect to be emotionally attached to any of the "every-block" photos, and hope that I'll be able to make an objective selection of the ones worth looking at. As for the criteria that I've used to select the small subset of every-block photos that get uploaded to Flickr: there are three. First, I'll upload any photo that I think is "great," and where I hope the reaction of my Flickr-friends will be, "I have no idea when or where that photo was taken, but it's really a terrific picture!" A second criterion has to do with place, and the third involves time. I'm hoping that I'll take some photos that clearly say, "This is New York!" to anyone who looks at it. Obviously, certain landscape icons like the Empire State Building or the Statue of Liberty would satisfy that criterion; but I'm hoping that I'll find other, more unexpected examples. I hope that I'll be able to take some shots that will make a "local" viewer say, "Well, even if that's not recognizable to someone from another part of the country, or another part of the world, I know that that's New York!" And there might be some photos where a "non-local" viewer might say, "I had no idea that there was anyplace in New York City that was so interesting/beautiful/ugly/spectacular." As for the sense of time: I remember wandering around my neighborhood in 2005, photographing various shops, stores, restaurants, and business establishments -- and then casually looking at the photos about five years later, and being stunned by how much had changed. Little by little, store by store, day by day, things change … and when you've been around as long as I have, it's even more amazing to go back and look at the photos you took thirty or forty years ago, and ask yourself, "Was it really like that back then? Seriously, did people really wear bell-bottom jeans?" So, with the expectation that I'll be looking at these every-block photos five or ten years from now (and maybe you will be, too), I'm going to be doing my best to capture scenes that convey the sense that they were taken in the year 2013 … or at least sometime in the decade of the 2010's (I have no idea what we're calling this decade yet). Or maybe they'll just say to us, "This is what it was like a dozen years after 9-11". Movie posters are a trivial example of such a time-specific image; I've already taken a bunch, and I don't know if I'll ultimately decide that they're worth uploading. Women's fashion/styles are another obvious example of a time-specific phenomenon; and even though I'm definitely not a fashion expert, I suspected that I'll be able to look at some images ten years from now and mutter to myself, "Did we really wear shirts like that? Did women really wear those weird skirts that are short in the front, and long in the back? Did everyone in New York have a tattoo?" Another example: I'm fascinated by the interactions that people have with their cellphones out on the street. It seems that everyone has one, which certainly wasn't true a decade ago; and it seems that everyone walks down the street with their eyes and their entire conscious attention riveted on this little box-like gadget, utterly oblivious about anything else that might be going on (among other things, that makes it very easy for me to photograph them without their even noticing, particularly if they've also got earphones so they can listen to music or carry on a phone conversation). But I can't help wondering whether this kind of social behavior will seem bizarre a decade from now … especially if our cellphones have become so miniaturized that they're incorporated into the glasses we wear, or implanted directly into our eyeballs. Oh, one last thing: I've created a customized Google Map to show the precise details of each day's photo-walk. I'll be updating it each day, and the most recent part of my every-block journey will be marked in red, to differentiate it from all of the older segments of the journey, which will be shown in blue. You can see the map, and peek at it each day to see where I've been, by clicking on this link URL link to Ed's every-block progress through Manhattan If you have any suggestions about places that I should definitely visit to get some good photos, or if you'd like me to photograph you in your little corner of New York City, please let me know. You can send me a Flickr-mail message, or you can email me directly at ed-at-yourdon-dot-com Stay tuned as the photo-walk continues, block by block ...

Nice Celebrity List photos

Nice Celebrity List photos

Some cool celebrity list images:

Celebrity Restaurant - Broad Street - night shot celebrity list
Image by ell brown A quick test at ISO 800 of the Celebrity Restaurant sign on Broad Street. Also a zoom in. Hope to try out night shots in London next month (not sure if ISO 400 or 800 is best). Taken from the junction of Gas Street and Broad Street.

Braith Field, Jodi Gordon celebrity list
Image by Eva Rinaldi Celebrity and Live Music Photographer Celebrities Revel for a Cause: Black Tie For Breast Cancer Gala Ball, Sydney Tonight in Sydney, Australia, the Black Tie for Breast Cancer (BT4BC) gala event for the Prince of Wales Hospital Foundation took place at the beautiful Westin Hotel. A community aware group of nice folks including both A-listers, everyday mums and dads and a range of people from all walks of life, gathered together to help raise much needed funds for the development of a new Cancer Centre at the Prince of Wales Hospital. The celebrity contingent included Jodi Gordon, Braith Anasta, the newly engaged Rachel Gilbert and Tom Williams, two time Logie nominee Anna McGahan, Melissa Hoyer, Peter Morrissey, Laura Csortan and a swag of others whipped up a storm in an effort to help raise money for a new cancer centre at the Prince of Wales Hospital Randwick campus. The guest list included: Jodi Gordon, Rachel Gilbert, Tom Williams, Anna McGahn, Ant & Becks, Peter Morrissey, Laura Csortan, Chris Joannou, Sarah Cumming, Geoff Field, Melissa Hoyer, Bianca Dye, Braith Anasta and Roy Billing. Finally, all power to cancer survivors, their family and friends, and those doing what they can to help fight cancer. Celebrity for good - always good to hear, and public big congrats to all of those who helped put tonight together. About the Prince of Wales Hospital Cancer Centre... The Prince of Wales Hospital Foundation promotes the work of the Prince of Wales Hospital (POWH) to build healthier communities. Partnering with our community, we raise vital funds to ensure the continued development of research, education and special projects, which will provide integrated health care for the patients. Over the next few years we will be embarking on a campaign to build a new, gold standard Cancer and Blood Disorders Centre on site and the BT4BC event is the signature event for this centre. The centre will work closely with the University of NSW’s Lowy Cancer Research Centre, to provide the latest researched treatments. When completed, it will be the only fully comprehensive, public cancer treatment centre in Sydney, which also treats many of our country patients. Websites Prince of Wales Hospital Foundation www.powhf.org.au The Westin Sydney www.starwoodhotels.com/westin/property/overview/index.htm... open haus www.openhaus.net.au Eva Rinaldi Photography Flickr www.flickr.com/evarinaldiphotography Eva Rinaldi Photography www.evarinaldi.com

1966 DIY Fashion Ad, Simplicity Dress Patterns, with Actress Debbie Paine celebrity list
Image by classic_film Tagline: "You don't have to be a pro to sew. Actress Debbie Paine isn't." Brief list of film credits for Debbie Paine here at IMDb. Published in Ingenue magazine, April 1966 - Vol. 8, No. 4 Fair use/no known copyright. If you use this photo, please provide attribution credit; not for commercial use (see Creative Commons license).

Nice Celebrity Gallery photos

Nice Celebrity Gallery photos

Check out these celebrity gallery images:

The Celebrity Persona celebrity gallery
Image by vasta Anyone in whose daily commute takes them through the BCE Place Galleria in the Financial District has undoubtedly had the opportunity to see the wonderful photo exhibition, The Celebrity Persona, presented by Ryerson University as part of Contact 2007. Presenting digital reproductions of photos in Ryerson's Black Star Historical Black & White Photography Collection, The Celebrity Persona showcases images of famous icons throughout history that are unmediated and natural. In a society where celebrity is 'constructed' through premeditated photo-ops and unquestioned airbrushing, the exhibit is refreshing in the way it captures celebrities in an unprocessed and genuine manner. There were two things that resonated with me while experiencing the exhibit: the first, obviously, was the raw nature of the photographs. While all the photos were well-taken and professionally crafted, there was a sense of genuineness and unpretentiousness that permeated from the exhibit. Instead of standard biographical excerpts about each celebrity, the blurbs that accompanied the photos reflected the content of the photo itself and told me a bit about the personality of each of the pictured icons. The second thing that piqued my interest was how the exhibit dealt with the concept of celebrity itself. Instead of simply putting forward photos of the Lindsay Lohans and Paris Hiltons of the time, the exhibit meshed together scientists, politicians, actors, singers, royalty, inventors, dancers, painters, and authors from various time periods over the past century. Names like Janis Joplin and Erno Rubik sat next to Ernest Hemingway and Jacques Cousteau, making the conception of celebrity one that is fluid and diverse; The Celebrity Persona not only recognizes the difficulty in identifying what exactly makes a famous person, but forces the viewer to consider the question as well. Next time you're heading for a quick dinner at Richtree Market Restaurant or just passing through the district to visit your bank, be sure to check out the exhibit. The Celebrity Persona Allen Lambert Galleria at BCE Place 181 Bay Street, Toronto April 30 - May 25, 2007 Daily 8AM - 10PM

Annie Leibovitz Exhibit Wall celebrity gallery
Image by Carl_C This exhibit of Annie Leibovitz' latter works is an exceptional show. It includes her personal family and friends' photos as well as her images from professional work with celebrities. Of course, you will see her famous images of a pregnant Demi Moore and other significant shots. Most people remember her work with Rolling Stone. Some people are surprised to see that she has done some landscape work, too. Near the end of the exhibit in the last room, one can see these grand landscape works of the Southwest in which are easily reminiscent to Ansel Adams' work, also displayed on special exhibit at the Corcoran Gallery of Art. What I really enjoyed are her personal collection of family photos. You get a glimpse about her life and how she sees her family members and dear friends, like Susan Sontag. Very cool stuff! Location: Washington, DC, US

Nice Celebrity Eclipse Photos photos

Nice Celebrity Eclipse Photos photos

Some cool celebrity eclipse photos images:

Celebrity Eclipse Tour (64) celebrity eclipse photos
Image by garybembridge

Celebrity Eclipse Tour (8) celebrity eclipse photos
Image by garybembridge

Celebrity Pic

Celebrity Pic

Check out these celebrity pics images:

Celebrity Pic celebrity pics
Image by Leo Reynolds Created with www.dumpr.net - fun with your photos

Family Matters Publicity Photo celebrity pics
Image by Shavar Ross Circa 1993. Here's a Warner Bros. publicity photo of a show I was on called "Family Matters" for ABC. I was only supposed to be on the show once as a guest star but the producers liked the character I created so much they offered me a 13 out of 22 show contract. I think I made like 15 shows but was written out of the show a year or so later because my character "Weasel" was getting too much "attention" (if you know what I mean). It was a fun character to play though. Weasel was the wise crackin', gum chewin' troublemaker. Family Matters was actually a spin-off of the show "Perfect Strangers" and the show's star (my friend) Jaleel White portrayed the nerdy character Steve Urkel. See Family Matters TV Clip

Robert Pattinson sent me back an autograph! 2008 (PLEASE READ THE DECRIPTION) celebrity pics
Image by punxie89 *UPDATE* I GET A LOT OF COMMENTS ASKING ME FOR THE MAILING ADDRESS, AND HOW TO GET AUTOGRAPHS. KEEP IN MIND THAT THIS HAPPENED IN 2008, AND BEFORE ANY OF THE TWILIGHT FILMS WERE OUT. HE WASN'T FAMOUS THEN. NOW HE IS A HUGE CELEBRITY. I have no idea if he still does stuff like this. I don't even know if he's with the same agency, agent, etc. And I don't know how to find out, now that he's so huge. I can imagine it would be very hard. *OLD DESCRIPTION FROM 2008 BELOW* - I mailed this photo with a letter in July 2008. At the end of my letter, I asked him if he could sign the photo and send it back if he ever had the time, and he did! I didn't expect him to actually reply. I got it back 2 and a half weeks later. - For those of you wondering, Robert personally reads bunches of his own fan mail. He said so in an interview with the L.A. Times back in November 2008. If you want to read the interview, Google it. - Someone saw my post on MySpace and told me that they talked to a girl who gets his fan mail at the US agency, and she told him that they send batches of stuff to Rob's mother in the UK. Dunno if that's true, but it makes some sense...So it's best to send your letters/photos to the UK address, even though there is also a USA one. I originally sent this to the USA one, and it came back to me from the UK. So the second time I sent a letter/photo, I sent it straight to the UK agency. FAN MAIL ADDRESS: Robert Pattinson Curtis Brown Group Ltd. Haymarket House 5th Floor 28-29 Haymarket London SW1Y 4SP U.K. - I received a 2nd autograph from Robert in the mail in March 2009. I had decided in December 2008 to try to get his autograph again, this time as an awesome surprise for my best friend. I wrote him another letter (don't remember what I said in that one) and asked at the end if he could sign it for her. It took a few months to get back to me since he's been very busy since "Twilight" came out last month, but it happened! I had no expectations, never thought I'd get another one back. So we were both shocked. She's quite happy with it lol. I made sure to have her favourite photo of him printed out for it.

Steve McNair

Steve McNair

Some cool celebrity deaths 2009 images:

Steve McNair celebrity deaths 2009
Image by Keith Allison Image used at: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steve_McNair en.wikinews.org/wiki/Former_NFL_quarterback_Steve_McNair_... www.sportsfan4.com/football/steve-air-mcnair-killed/ www.myfoxny.com/dpp/sports/nfl/090704_Ex_NFL_QB_Steve_McN... www.kntu.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&a... www.examiner.com/x-9259-Miami-Celebrity-Headlines-Examine... www.nflpicksandpredictions.com/steve-mcnair-a-murder-suic... www.yourtango.com/200927207/steve-mcnair-killed-murder-su... www.writersreviews.com/2009/07/steve-mcnair-death-former-...

Juggling Knives in London celebrity deaths 2009
Image by Wootang01 9.4.09 The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again. Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong. Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway. 11.4.09 Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time. Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much! Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion. My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure. I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography. For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete. Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End. The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended. 12.4.09 At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time! We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city. I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you? Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow. I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America. My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny. 13.4.09 There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks. People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden. I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly. Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange. Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await. I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off. Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house. 14.4.09 I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters. Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain. I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me. I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former. Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment! Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware! 15.4.09 I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip. On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying. John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion. I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last. There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself! I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now. I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah! Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies. At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless. That's all for England!

8 17 09 Bearman Cartoon DeathPanel5 copy celebrity deaths 2009
Image by Bearman2007 This editorial cartoon by Bearman of beartoons.com is the 5th in a 6th series story arc on Healthcare Reform and the concept of Death Panels. The arc deals with a fictional gameshow called Celebrity Death Panel.

York reception 2013

York reception 2013

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York reception 2013 celebrity video
Image by Leukaemia & Lymphoma Research Funded by Leukaemia & Lymphoma Research, the Yorkshire and Humberside Haematology Network (YHHN) is a world-class blood cancer registry that is revealing, for the first time, a complete picture of blood cancer treatment from diagnosis onwards. At the York Reception attendees had a chance to hear Leukaemia & Lymphoma Research's ambitious plans to improve the lives of those affected by blood cancer and learn about the YHHN, which is leading the way in inisghts that will help to improve treatments and quality of life for patients with blood cancer and related conditions.

Dolph Lundgren signs some autographs celebrity video
Image by Fonzie's cousin

Angry Anserson and Matt Sorum

Angry Anserson and Matt Sorum

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Angry Anserson and Matt Sorum top celeb news
Image by Eva Rinaldi Celebrity and Live Music Photographer Hard Rock Cafe Darling Harbour Media And Celebs Event; Sydney, Australia by Eva Rinaldi The world famous Hard Rock Cafe has returned to 'Sin City' Sydney with a vengeance, based on tonight's launch event at the brand new Darling Harbour venue. Hard Rock put on quite a show and rolled out the celebrities and live music including: Hamish Dodds, Matt Sorum, Dave Rich, DJ Lethal, Stan Walker, Angry Anderson, L Huntly, Sarah McLoed, Hamish Rosser, Altiyan Childs, Kris Peterson and Stim McLean. Most of them had turns smashing guitars, which is a trademark of opening new Hard Rock Cafes. We all know that the cost of living and setting up a business in Sydney is considerable, but Hard Rock is certain their latest Australian venture will be a smashing (as in guitar) success. Sydney is one of the busiest markets anywhere globally for the Hard Rock Cafe, says the global chief of the music-themed burgers and ribs franchise. Hamish Dodds, prez and chief exec of Hard Rock International, advised staffing costs down under in Australia make Hard Rock's Sydney operations expensive compared with other global locations, and they are comparing to its other 172 venues which include cafes, hotels and even land based casinos. Yes, casinos, but Australia's The Star and Crown Casino need not worry, as they have no plans for gaming in Australia - at least not any they are talking about. Hard Rock International is owned by the well known and respected Seminole American Indian tribe, which purchased the global Hard Rock brand in 2007 after successfully running two Hard Rock hotel and casino operations in Florida in the U.S. "For us this is an English-speaking country and people understand the history of rock," Mr Dodds said in Sydney on Tuesday ahead of the grand opening of the 500-seat venue in the Darling Harbour entertainment hotbed. "Part of the downside of this market is it's a mature economy - staffing costs in this market are very different to what we would experience in India. "I would say the price mark-up here is about 50 per cent higher than the US - this is probably one of the most expensive markets we have in our portfolio." Mr Dodds advised the Sydney Hard Rock Cafe was priced at a similar level to comparable restaurants in the area and he expected business to be brisk, averaging between 300 to 700 main meals a day. Sydney would be among the top ten performers in the global network, he said, and among the top five of franchised outlets. Tonight signified a return to Sydney for the Hard Rock franchise, which closed its previous venue in East Sydney in 2007. Mr Dodds said Hard Rock had returned to Sydney with a revised and smarter strategy. He said the former business was in a great location for the 1980s when the brand was fresh and people would go to the Hard Rock Cafe. "Copycats harmed Hard Rock's own business and the market changed to the point where we found ourselves in a B minus location and to a degree we lost a bit of relevance", Mr Dodds said. The firm bought back its Sydney franchise in 2007 and has been revived by director and franchise holder Lennie Huntly, former GM of the Sydney business during the 90s. Mr Huntly, who also holds the franchise for the Hard Rock Cafe in Surfers Paradise, said he had been thinking about re-opening a Sydney Hard Rock Cafe since the last one closed. The waterfront location and views over Darling Harbour are a huge plus and soon a live music stage and 600-person music area will be rocking and rolling. "We are focused on not only being about lunch and dinner," he said. Mr Huntly also has the rights to open venues in Melbourne, Cairns and Perth. Melbourne's former venue closed in 2007, but that doesn't mean it will return with a hit. Well done to the good folks at Hard Rock Cafe and we look forward to meeting up with the great guys and girls there again soon. Rock on. Websites Hard Rock Cafe International www.hardrock.com Darling Harbour official website www.darlingharbour.com Guns and Roses www.gunsnroses.com Eva Rinaldi Photography Flickr www.flickr.com/evarinaldiphotography Eva Rinaldi Photography www.evarinaldi.com Media Man News www.mediamannews.com Music News Australia www.musicnewsaustralia.com

Angry Anderson signing autograph top celeb news
Image by Eva Rinaldi Celebrity and Live Music Photographer Hard Rock Cafe Darling Harbour Media And Celebs Event; Sydney, Australia by Eva Rinaldi The world famous Hard Rock Cafe has returned to 'Sin City' Sydney with a vengeance, based on tonight's launch event at the brand new Darling Harbour venue. Hard Rock put on quite a show and rolled out the celebrities and live music including: Hamish Dodds, Matt Sorum, Dave Rich, DJ Lethal, Stan Walker, Angry Anderson, L Huntly, Sarah McLoed, Hamish Rosser, Altiyan Childs, Kris Peterson and Stim McLean. Most of them had turns smashing guitars, which is a trademark of opening new Hard Rock Cafes. We all know that the cost of living and setting up a business in Sydney is considerable, but Hard Rock is certain their latest Australian venture will be a smashing (as in guitar) success. Sydney is one of the busiest markets anywhere globally for the Hard Rock Cafe, says the global chief of the music-themed burgers and ribs franchise. Hamish Dodds, prez and chief exec of Hard Rock International, advised staffing costs down under in Australia make Hard Rock's Sydney operations expensive compared with other global locations, and they are comparing to its other 172 venues which include cafes, hotels and even land based casinos. Yes, casinos, but Australia's The Star and Crown Casino need not worry, as they have no plans for gaming in Australia - at least not any they are talking about. Hard Rock International is owned by the well known and respected Seminole American Indian tribe, which purchased the global Hard Rock brand in 2007 after successfully running two Hard Rock hotel and casino operations in Florida in the U.S. "For us this is an English-speaking country and people understand the history of rock," Mr Dodds said in Sydney on Tuesday ahead of the grand opening of the 500-seat venue in the Darling Harbour entertainment hotbed. "Part of the downside of this market is it's a mature economy - staffing costs in this market are very different to what we would experience in India. "I would say the price mark-up here is about 50 per cent higher than the US - this is probably one of the most expensive markets we have in our portfolio." Mr Dodds advised the Sydney Hard Rock Cafe was priced at a similar level to comparable restaurants in the area and he expected business to be brisk, averaging between 300 to 700 main meals a day. Sydney would be among the top ten performers in the global network, he said, and among the top five of franchised outlets. Tonight signified a return to Sydney for the Hard Rock franchise, which closed its previous venue in East Sydney in 2007. Mr Dodds said Hard Rock had returned to Sydney with a revised and smarter strategy. He said the former business was in a great location for the 1980s when the brand was fresh and people would go to the Hard Rock Cafe. "Copycats harmed Hard Rock's own business and the market changed to the point where we found ourselves in a B minus location and to a degree we lost a bit of relevance", Mr Dodds said. The firm bought back its Sydney franchise in 2007 and has been revived by director and franchise holder Lennie Huntly, former GM of the Sydney business during the 90s. Mr Huntly, who also holds the franchise for the Hard Rock Cafe in Surfers Paradise, said he had been thinking about re-opening a Sydney Hard Rock Cafe since the last one closed. The waterfront location and views over Darling Harbour are a huge plus and soon a live music stage and 600-person music area will be rocking and rolling. "We are focused on not only being about lunch and dinner," he said. Mr Huntly also has the rights to open venues in Melbourne, Cairns and Perth. Melbourne's former venue closed in 2007, but that doesn't mean it will return with a hit. Well done to the good folks at Hard Rock Cafe and we look forward to meeting up with the great guys and girls there again soon. Rock on. Websites Hard Rock Cafe International www.hardrock.com Darling Harbour official website www.darlingharbour.com Guns and Roses www.gunsnroses.com Eva Rinaldi Photography Flickr www.flickr.com/evarinaldiphotography Eva Rinaldi Photography www.evarinaldi.com Media Man News www.mediamannews.com Music News Australia www.musicnewsaustralia.com

Manor House Neighborhood

Manor House Neighborhood

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Manor House Neighborhood celebrity fashion games
Image by Wootang01 9.4.09 The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again. Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong. Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway. 11.4.09 Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time. Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much! Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion. My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure. I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography. For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete. Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End. The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended. 12.4.09 At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time! We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city. I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you? Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow. I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America. My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny. 13.4.09 There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks. People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden. I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly. Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange. Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await. I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off. Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house. 14.4.09 I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters. Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain. I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me. I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former. Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment! Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware! 15.4.09 I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip. On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying. John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion. I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last. There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself! I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now. I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah! Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies. At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless. That's all for England!

Chicken, Ham and Leek Pie, with Mash celebrity fashion games
Image by Wootang01 9.4.09 The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again. Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong. Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway. 11.4.09 Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time. Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much! Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion. My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure. I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography. For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete. Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End. The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended. 12.4.09 At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time! We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city. I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you? Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow. I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America. My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny. 13.4.09 There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks. People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden. I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly. Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange. Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await. I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off. Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house. 14.4.09 I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters. Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain. I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me. I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former. Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment! Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware! 15.4.09 I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip. On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying. John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion. I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last. There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself! I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now. I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah! Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies. At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless. That's all for England!

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