Mr. Styles and Dr. Joyce Brothers

On rare occasions, when I walk Olga, I don't bring my camera. I feel about the camera sort of what I feel about the computer -- it's a great device but you have to back away now and then just to maintain your sanity and your perspective. You know?

Yesterday morning, Olga and I set out sans camera and walked in a wide circle to the west. We were passing near Latimer Road, a popular graffiti area, so I decided to look and see if anything new had appeared. Voila! A beautiful new piece by Mr. Styles, whose work I really like.

Of course that meant I had to walk back to Latimer Road yesterday afternoon, with the camera, to take some pictures. (A little more than two miles round-trip.) One thing I've learned -- if you see a nice piece of street art you better photograph it immediately, because it's likely to be covered with new tags in no time.

In other news, I see that Dr. Joyce Brothers died. Here's the story of my brush with Dr. Brothers.

Almost 25 years ago, when I was working as a reporter in Central Florida, an editor asked me to write a short article about the uplifting scent of springtime orange blossoms. (Newspapers had a lot of space in those days.) I was trying to find some experts to give this story a little punch, and I thought, why not call a psychologist to talk about how and why pleasant smells can elevate our mood?

So I called Dr. Joyce Brothers. She was very pleasant and gave me some answers about how smell receptors are close to the pleasure centers of the brain, and I dutifully included all this in my article.

I was dismayed when it came out in print the next day, though. Apparently what I turned in was too long for this particular editor, who took a hacksaw to the piece and cut it mercilessly, without regard for preserving transitions or flow. What ran was a tattered mess.

Dr. Brothers had asked me to send her a copy of the article, and I did so -- but in an uncharacteristic act of professional rebellion I also sent a printout of the unedited piece, to show what it was supposed to have looked like. I also complained to the senior editors, one of whom sent me a note praising my ingenuity and gave the hacksaw-wielding editor a little talk.

Victory is mine, sayeth the reporter!

Khaaaaaan!!!!

Dave and I went with a friend to see the new "Star Trek" movie on Saturday. Dave had been eager to see it, but ultimately, I thought it was mediocre. Lots of action, and completely forgettable. Some parts were so close to parody that I couldn't tell whether we were supposed to take them seriously or not, and I heard uncertain laughter from others in the theater. And reimagining Khan from Ricardo Montalban to Benedict Cumberbatch? Overall, I predict outrage in the Trekkie world. (Apparently the movie opens later this week in the U.S.)

Afterwards the three of us came home, cracked a bottle of wine and watched a couple of episodes of the original series on DVD, just to recalibrate our Star Trek experience. No matter how many different incarnations this franchise goes through, none top the original series. I know those are fighting words for the Next Generation folks, but that's just the way it is.

Movie-wise, I much preferred the film we rented from iTunes last night: "North Sea Texas," a Belgian gay coming-of-age story. That might sound like cinematic agony to some, but it's an excellent movie.

Olga had quite a day in the park yesterday. We were out for a couple of hours, and she romped with other dogs and chased her Kong. She slept all afternoon. She's sleeping now, in fact. I think she's still recovering.

Otherwise, we had a routine weekend -- I compiled my weekly report for work and did all my usual household tasks. I also cleaned up the courtyard and parking lot, where someone allowed a trash bag to explode and the contents to be widely redistributed by the wind. We have trash bins that are located behind metal doors, and you'd be surprised (or maybe not) by how many people just can't bring themselves to open those doors and instead dump their trash on the sidewalk in front. Where foxes and other critters inevitably tear the bags open. *sigh*

(Photo: Near Mile End in East London, last week.)

Karma Kab

This car, the "Karma Kab," is often parked in our neighborhood. It must belong to someone around here. I've tried to photograph it a couple of times but until this morning I never felt satisfied with the results.

When I first walked past it with Olga, when she was brand new to us, she was terrified of these flower-covered bumpers. She put her tail between her legs, got low to the ground and stared at them. You could almost hear her frantic brain saying, "What ARE those?"

Apparently the car itself is from India. It's a vintage Hindustan Ambassador, known as a "definitive Indian car," according to Wikipedia. Hence the karmic connection.

The hood ornament, complete with its own bindi.

I'm not completely thrilled with my photos of the car's interior, but it's hard to shoot through car windows. As you can see, it is not a minimalist decor.

The upholstery is pretty amazing, too.

Apparently the Karma Kab is for hire, and according to the web site there's at least one more with a slightly different color scheme. Maybe I'll give them a call next time I need to arrive somewhere in style -- and with good karma.

Roa's Wall

I finally got a chance to see Roa's newest wall yesterday in Bethnal Green. Remember when I stopped by on Monday and the art was blocked by a moving van? Well, I went back yesterday on my way to a pub outing with some friends, and fortunately I had a clearer view. (That white van on the right is blocking the pig's snout, but oh well.)

Steph at Little London Observationist recently wrote a piece about meeting Roa, and it includes photos of him working on this wall. It's interesting to see the piece in progress. You can get a sense of how he applies the paint.

I'm counting ten animals: rat, pig, squirrel, fox, rabbit, cow (?) and four birds. Am I missing anything?

If you want to check out some other Roa works in both London and New York, I wrote about them here, here and here.

Go Olga, Go Bulls!

Yesterday I took Olga back to the park for some running around, and I used the opportunity to learn how to make a video on my camera. It's not that hard -- just a matter of pushing the right buttons. I don't know why it took me so long to figure it out.

What is difficult is throwing a Kong toy and holding a video camera at the same time.

As you can see, it was a beautiful morning, and we spent a couple of hours walking around and lounging in that grassy field. Olga made a friend named Rupert who stole her Kong toy and had to be forced to give it back. (I don't have a video of that because while it's hard enough to hold a camera and throw a Kong, it's impossible to film while prying a Kong from the jaws of someone else's dog.)

Olga had an opportunity to do some modeling when a German woman came over with her iPad and asked to take photos.

I attracted some attention, too. I was wearing a sweatshirt from my alma mater, the University of South Florida in Tampa. A couple of guys walking past shouted, "Go Bulls!" Turns out they're engineering students at USF, and they found it wildly improbable to come across someone wearing a USF sweatshirt in the middle of Hyde Park. Our globalized society! (I didn't tell them that the Bulls didn't even exist when I went to USF -- not as a football team, anyway.)

How about the Republicans and their newest crusade, to characterize the attack on the American consulate in Benghazi as the next Watergate? I mean, really. They're delusional. Their focus on this issue has perplexed me for a long time, but now it seems obvious that they're just trying to hammer Hillary Clinton with anything they can in anticipation of her 2016 run for president. Pathetic.

(Top photo: Blue bag, East London, on Monday.)

Summery Weedy Garden

This is the front garden of a house around the corner. Maybe dandelions have conquered this little patch of earth through simple neglect on the part of the owner, or maybe he or she likes them. Personally, I vote for the latter. A refreshing change from the urban and suburban tendency toward meticulous landscaping, right?

I don't know what that purple flower is. Maybe a hardy remnant from the garden's earlier incarnation.

I bought my ticket to fly back to Tampa in July. Not that cheap, let me just say. I think we actually got a better deal when we went back over Christmas, which I don't understand. In any case, I'm looking forward to spending some time with my parents, and my brother and his family -- and maybe I can get away for a day or two with my friends John and Sue in Anna Maria, too.

I also bought a guidebook for Turkey, which almost certainly means that's where Dave and I will go in August. Once I've invested in a guidebook I feel committed! It's symbolic, you know?

Yesterday I replanted our horseradish in a much bigger pot. It was so potbound just looking at it was painful and suffocating. Now I'm looking forward to a big thriving mass of horseradish leaves this summer, maybe to feed a bumper crop of caterpillars!

Our Denuded Yard

We had just the merest mist of rain last night, so when I went out this morning the streets were damp and shiny. I imagine the plants are thankful. All our recent sunshine has probably left them thirsty. More rain is due today.

Speaking of plants, some construction guys were down in the courtyard yesterday morning tearing up our apartment complex landscaping. Apparently a large brick retaining wall that shores up part of the yard has cracked, and the council felt it needed repair. (I'm skeptical, but what do I know?) The gardeners dug up six or seven large camellias and plunked them haphazardly into pots, presumably for replanting later. They chopped down a huge hedge which, as I understand it, won't be replanted at all. The yard looks nude now. I hope those camellias survive.

Pat's children have dispersed. I saw a couple of them with their own tiny webs, suspended in the nandina bushes, but most have seemingly vanished. I have no idea where so many spiders could go on our postage stamp of a balcony, but they have gone.

(Photo: Portobello Road, last week.)