2:40 pm (been travellling/airporting for four hours already)
I now embark on an arduous day of travel, connections and transports invented by my airline as a penance for people who don't book flights in time. I'll be visiting three different cities with travel times precisely calibrated to wear down my resolve, all after the initial gauntlet of boarding a flight to America, also known as "Being Arrested on grounds of being Foreign". But I shall prevail! For I learned wisdom at the under a stern tutor; like the greatest Kung Fu masters, he was thousands of years old. Many thought of him as rocky and unyielding, but I learned the value of life and never to waste a single day - not even a day spent imprisoned in an inescapable aerial prison.
I have free time, I have unlimited imagination, and even better - I have electronic devices.
3:36 pm
Flicking through the in-flight movie selection, I find that the 'movie classics' selection is the 2002 version of The Time Machine. For your reference, the feeling of losing your last remaining hope for humanity is a cold weakness draining strength from your cheeks as your face falls in despair.
3:51 pm
Rewrote an article I'm doing for TRENZ magazine, since it was so dull I am wondering if I accidentally swallowed a copy of Readers Digest before writing it. Wanted to en-brilliant-ify the Parkour article as well but it seems it didn't save properly, and at 40,000 feet I can't really connect to Google Documents.
Speaking of Parkour, I have almost completely recovered the use of my legs.
5:03 pm
Played a game of Go against the computer. Go is a famous strategy game that computers just aren't built to learn well; it's used as a common test of AI efforts. I lose the first game by 10 points, the second by 20. Conclusion: I'm learning even slower than something that by design can't learn it.
6:18 pm
We've arrived Dallas and I haven't seen any guns or big hats yet. This may be because we're stuck in the airplane for 20 minutes while the previous flight at the gate prepares; other passengers have voiced frustration, but I cunningly thought ahead by only booking my flights at the last minute and therefore having a three two hour wait ahead of me anyway!
7:26 pm (6:26 pm local)
Dallas!
I heard my very first authentic non-mocking "Y'all" just now. Disappointingly it was by a woman, and she seemed to wear neither gun nor ten-gallon hat, but by her sheer scale I can say she represents the spirit of Texas. There was also the biggest escalator I've ever seen; where any other nation might have given up and built elevators, or at least a short landing halfway, the Lone Star state bravely saves the effort of walking even an extra meter with an escalator that may well be visible from space (and only falls slightly short of reaching it). You may think I'm exaggerating, but I saw an local employee turn, sit on the stairs and start writing once he got on. Clearly once you get used to the majestic automated scale of the whole thing you need something to occupy your mind during the wait.
I also rode the Skylink, an inter-terminal tram that puts most public transit systems I've ridden to shame. Each loading bay outstrips many subway stops, and the ride gave a great view over the whole airfield. (Nerd +1: Looking at many of the planes, I couldn't help but think those wings would make very awkward and flimsy arms once they transformed.)
Despite not being known for their grasp of technology that doesn't fire projectiles, this state has shown a couple of unexpected contrivances:
1. The ATM machine has a headphone jack. This jack does not feature instructions for the blind, as you might expect, but simply plays the beeps louder and directly into your ear canal, in case you feel you may have missed something. Perhaps for capitalist minimalist techno music market.
2. An iPod vending machine. This is the cruelest thing I've ever seen, a torture akin to the water always receding before the eternally thirsty Tantalus, and the fruit always beyond his reach. And that was inflicted by Greek Gods, the Masters of All Pointless Bastardry. Think about it; a distraction starved prisoner of the terminal finally cracks and buys an iPod, anything to relieve the tedium, then stands there holding his lovely new sound device with absolutely no way to load it with music.
The terminal is flanked on both sides by Starbucks, keeping watch against their eternal enemy, variety.
8:20 pm (7:20 pm local)
Everyone reading this, please cut out the following and keep it on your person at all times. If you ever gain access to time travel technology, send it to my younger self standing outside the 'Chili Too' eatery in Dallas Airport:
"Luke, your intuition that the 'Oldtimer chilli burger' will satisfy you is correct, but your hopes that the spicy buffalo wings will be nice, or even remotely edible, are false. Abandon them."
10:20 pm
Jubilation! I'm back in the air and already the whole torturous trip has been made worthwhile, for I have acquired a Skymall catalogue - the holy grail for all who enjoy mocking stupid products, and encyclopedia of pretty much everything that is wrong with capitalism. It feels like the metal duck shoot at a fairground - it's way too easy, but it's so much fun you won't stop until they stop coming.
10:25 pm
Alas, in Dallas I was forced to choose between feeding myself or my laptop battery, and may soon be forced offline.
11:04 pm
Third game of Go against computer. I resign from a hopeless situation before even finishing; at this rate the computer will be checking me on as luggage in the next flight.
11:30 pm
The laptop is out, so I record these notes on paper as I play gameboy instead (luckily I carry multiple electronics with me at all times, or I may be forced to become aware of my surroundings).
I hoped to enjoy Sonic the Hedgehog on my DS but found that the game was translated by rabid fanboys - and not in a good way. I mean either bitter sega fans, despairing that they lost the hardware war and determined to sabotage nintendo where they can; or howling nintendo zealots who have sworn to die rather than let the enemy sully their lands. Either way only a vicious conspiracy could allow a game so utterly broken to be released.
Because Sonic suffers from slowdown.
Yes, on a console I've seen run games four times as complex Sonic staggers and stutters like a broken-legged geriatric, and no amount of pulling out and blowing on the cartridge will save him. Understand that a slow Sonic is like a pacifist R-type, or choosing Ryu and finding yourself in "Street Resolving-conflicts-through-reasoned-discussion II"
Yoshi's Island on the other hand is pure platforming love and threatens to reignite my love of utterly pointlessly collecting coins.
12:30 am
I've been betrayed! The coffee I relied on to keep me awake no matter what has now viciously backstabbed me, keeping me awake no matter what I do to doze. Who saw that coming?
2:30 am (11:30 pm local)
Taxi through downtown San Diego. It's amazing how much downtown San Diego looks like the inside of my eyelids. The fact that the trip only took thirty seconds, apparently, is also mysterious.
3:30 am (12:30 am local)
Sleep.
I've got your iBrand RIGHT HERE
Make your own DIY iPod Shuffle!
Welcome to Max Laboratories, where today we'll show you how to build your very own iPod shuffle - and save a few dollars into the bargain! For this project you will need:
1 x Nomad MP3 player ($40)
2 x Pitchers of Heineken ($36)
The total cost comes in at less than the Shuffle recommended retail price of $80 (we don't mess around with $79.99s here at Max Labs). A lower price may be obtained by replacing Heineken with an american beer like Bud Light or Labatt, but the extra preparations required (being an uneducated tasteless fool who can't distinguish tapwater from beer) aren't worth the savings.
Construction procedure:
1. Purchase and wear your cheap and extremely nice Nomad MP3 player. You will notice that this product, which does not have a major advertising campaign, is cheaper but has more features than the Shuffle you wish to build. Don't worry, we'll soon fix that!
2. Any electronics work area should be non-conductive and staffed by professionals. For this reason we recommend your local bar.
3. Order two pitchers of Heineken. Apply as needed.
4. Your route home should pass several trees. Tree climbing can be as a result of a challenge to your manliness, a surfeit of energy, or a simple reversion to primitive primate programming. It matters not.
5. The mixture and trees, alcohol and gravity should automatically produce a Nomad-breaking impact, without (or even
despite) the efforts of the person currently in the tree.
Your MP3 player now replicates the functions of a Shuffle costing twice the price - Congratulations! You may find that this shuffle-alike emulates the battery life of early-generation portable music technology rather too well, as a cracked LCD screen is the gutshot wound of battery powered electronics - ugly, with a tendency to rapidly bleed out and die. To rectify this lever off the LCD screen and just tear it out with whatever comes to hand. Keys and knives are useful, and convenient should you suddenly be attacked mid-procedure, but you really can't beat the dedicated "nails and teeth" approach that gives such a personal flavor to your possessions. Quite literally, for true practitioners.
Feel the sexy shiny blue!
With the blue LED backlights are exposed your player is now the single sexiest and most desirable piece of kit in existence - as we all know, blue LEDs are modern technological civilization incarnate. It is important to verify that the newly exposed lights remain blue; should they turn red, your foolish tinkering has flipped the 'Evil' switch included in all technology since 1980. Any attempt to use the device after this point may cause irritation, personal injury, and cause you to join the vanguard of fleshling slaves of the inevitable robot uprising. Should you retain any free will despite the inhuman intelligence bending your mind, at this point you should call technical support.
Welcome to Max Laboratories, where today we'll show you how to build your very own iPod shuffle - and save a few dollars into the bargain! For this project you will need:
1 x Nomad MP3 player ($40)
2 x Pitchers of Heineken ($36)
The total cost comes in at less than the Shuffle recommended retail price of $80 (we don't mess around with $79.99s here at Max Labs). A lower price may be obtained by replacing Heineken with an american beer like Bud Light or Labatt, but the extra preparations required (being an uneducated tasteless fool who can't distinguish tapwater from beer) aren't worth the savings.
Construction procedure:
1. Purchase and wear your cheap and extremely nice Nomad MP3 player. You will notice that this product, which does not have a major advertising campaign, is cheaper but has more features than the Shuffle you wish to build. Don't worry, we'll soon fix that!
2. Any electronics work area should be non-conductive and staffed by professionals. For this reason we recommend your local bar.
3. Order two pitchers of Heineken. Apply as needed.
4. Your route home should pass several trees. Tree climbing can be as a result of a challenge to your manliness, a surfeit of energy, or a simple reversion to primitive primate programming. It matters not.
5. The mixture and trees, alcohol and gravity should automatically produce a Nomad-breaking impact, without (or even
despite) the efforts of the person currently in the tree.
Your MP3 player now replicates the functions of a Shuffle costing twice the price - Congratulations! You may find that this shuffle-alike emulates the battery life of early-generation portable music technology rather too well, as a cracked LCD screen is the gutshot wound of battery powered electronics - ugly, with a tendency to rapidly bleed out and die. To rectify this lever off the LCD screen and just tear it out with whatever comes to hand. Keys and knives are useful, and convenient should you suddenly be attacked mid-procedure, but you really can't beat the dedicated "nails and teeth" approach that gives such a personal flavor to your possessions. Quite literally, for true practitioners.
Feel the sexy shiny blue!
With the blue LED backlights are exposed your player is now the single sexiest and most desirable piece of kit in existence - as we all know, blue LEDs are modern technological civilization incarnate. It is important to verify that the newly exposed lights remain blue; should they turn red, your foolish tinkering has flipped the 'Evil' switch included in all technology since 1980. Any attempt to use the device after this point may cause irritation, personal injury, and cause you to join the vanguard of fleshling slaves of the inevitable robot uprising. Should you retain any free will despite the inhuman intelligence bending your mind, at this point you should call technical support.
Canada Day
Canada - the country younger than my country's national drink.
I'm kicking back for Canada Day and it is so cute watching this place acting like they have a history and culture. Canada was confederated in 1867 - the Guinness Brewery has a longer history than that, one with more excitement and tragedy: the legendary 9,000 year lease; the 'Breo' disaster; the heart-rending closure of St James Gate and the daring innovations of 'North Star' and 'Toucan'. Canada's entire notable history is:
1867 - Confederated by Queen Victoria, who was tired of dealing with the whole frozen mess.
1814 - Burning of the White House by Canadian forces. You will notice this was before the current 'Canada' technically existed. The fact it was achieved by British forces also eludes those Canadians who bring it up.
2007 - Taking smug pride in being "better than Americans", despite the fact that having your entire national identity defined in terms of another country is a tragedy.
For history and culture you need a set up like Europe: too many tribes, too little land, and they all get gunpowder at the same time so nobody ever gets any peace. This results in masterpieces like London, Paris, Vienna, and maybe just a few of the bloodiest and most nightmarish conflicts in recorded history. A band of gunmen expanding into deserted tundra, stopping occasionally to slaughter tribes whose military capacity is entirely based on combating fish, does not lead to excitement or culture. It leads to Edmonton and Kitchener- the Tenth and Eleventh Circle of North American Hell. Ask an Edmontonian what there is to do and they'll say "The Mall", then sigh, and possibly promise to bear your children if you will but help them escape. The downtown is what the Gobi desert would look like if you could build parking garages out of sand, and at least the searing desolation of the savannah doesn’t close at 5 pm sharp.
Perhaps realizing the terror of this vanilla suburbia the Canucks have set up a great simulation of the pride, arrogance, stupidity and selfishness generated by intracontinental tension with the Quebec situation; but it’s like training to be a boxer by giving yourself brain damage and breaking your knuckles. You're meant to have a half-reasonable goal as well as the stupidity and pain and the concept of a Quebecer nation just doesn't cut it. Not even "Because it would be really funny, then a bit sad". It's like that one episode of every lazy sitcom where a roommate decides to divide the house into two, but without the deeply thought-out financial planning of the average comedy character.
Smaller countries don't work anymore. Even Germany, who you might remember as "the country whose economy could kick the shit out of three other countries combined" and "that tiny nation that took on the entire world and nearly won that time”, is pushing the European Union. When they start gathering countries like Ireland and Estonia to bring up the numbers, shouting "I don't want to play any more" and heading off on your own is statesmanship right up there with the Alderaan governors famous telegram, "Fuck you Darth Vader, what the hell could you do to a planet anyway."
Some people encourage the screaming-child politics of Quebec by acting like it’s an actual issue, but until they find a way to weaponize arrogance we can just ignore them – this is a problem that will go away. Because the best thing I can say about French is: it isn't English and it isn't Mandarin, so it isn't something your grandchildren are going to have to worry about.
I'm kicking back for Canada Day and it is so cute watching this place acting like they have a history and culture. Canada was confederated in 1867 - the Guinness Brewery has a longer history than that, one with more excitement and tragedy: the legendary 9,000 year lease; the 'Breo' disaster; the heart-rending closure of St James Gate and the daring innovations of 'North Star' and 'Toucan'. Canada's entire notable history is:
1867 - Confederated by Queen Victoria, who was tired of dealing with the whole frozen mess.
1814 - Burning of the White House by Canadian forces. You will notice this was before the current 'Canada' technically existed. The fact it was achieved by British forces also eludes those Canadians who bring it up.
2007 - Taking smug pride in being "better than Americans", despite the fact that having your entire national identity defined in terms of another country is a tragedy.
For history and culture you need a set up like Europe: too many tribes, too little land, and they all get gunpowder at the same time so nobody ever gets any peace. This results in masterpieces like London, Paris, Vienna, and maybe just a few of the bloodiest and most nightmarish conflicts in recorded history. A band of gunmen expanding into deserted tundra, stopping occasionally to slaughter tribes whose military capacity is entirely based on combating fish, does not lead to excitement or culture. It leads to Edmonton and Kitchener- the Tenth and Eleventh Circle of North American Hell. Ask an Edmontonian what there is to do and they'll say "The Mall", then sigh, and possibly promise to bear your children if you will but help them escape. The downtown is what the Gobi desert would look like if you could build parking garages out of sand, and at least the searing desolation of the savannah doesn’t close at 5 pm sharp.
Perhaps realizing the terror of this vanilla suburbia the Canucks have set up a great simulation of the pride, arrogance, stupidity and selfishness generated by intracontinental tension with the Quebec situation; but it’s like training to be a boxer by giving yourself brain damage and breaking your knuckles. You're meant to have a half-reasonable goal as well as the stupidity and pain and the concept of a Quebecer nation just doesn't cut it. Not even "Because it would be really funny, then a bit sad". It's like that one episode of every lazy sitcom where a roommate decides to divide the house into two, but without the deeply thought-out financial planning of the average comedy character.
Smaller countries don't work anymore. Even Germany, who you might remember as "the country whose economy could kick the shit out of three other countries combined" and "that tiny nation that took on the entire world and nearly won that time”, is pushing the European Union. When they start gathering countries like Ireland and Estonia to bring up the numbers, shouting "I don't want to play any more" and heading off on your own is statesmanship right up there with the Alderaan governors famous telegram, "Fuck you Darth Vader, what the hell could you do to a planet anyway."
Some people encourage the screaming-child politics of Quebec by acting like it’s an actual issue, but until they find a way to weaponize arrogance we can just ignore them – this is a problem that will go away. Because the best thing I can say about French is: it isn't English and it isn't Mandarin, so it isn't something your grandchildren are going to have to worry about.
How to fix politics
We stick politicians in metal coffins. No, it's not what you think.
Democracy is the least worst system of government that's been tried, but just because a kick in the testicles is better than a knife in the eye doesn't mean you shouldn't twist and avoid the blow. A horrible combination of apathy and inevitability (like being hungover in front of daytime TV) means that while all politicians are now assumed to be lying sacks of hate, people aren't rioting in the streets demanding revolution but instead try to pick the 'best' of a bad bunch (and these days it's like finding the best meal in the skip behind a McDonalds). But I've found the solution: we stick the politicians in metal coffins.
The future face of politics.
Think 'Captain Pike' if you know Star Trek, or 'immobilising metal box in which they can only communicate by flashing a light' if you're good at contact sports. Political hopefuls will be held silent and immobile during all election periods, fed and relieved by tubes until all the ballots are tallied. This prevents any and all lying, baby-kissing, muck-raking or posturing. Tax cuts cannot be promised from inside three inches of solid steel; nay, not even the loudest pledge to magically create jobs shall escape. How will we find out what they say about the important issues of the election? We already know: whatever we want them to say. No matter their fine ideals when entering politics any one of them would surf to power on a promise of free blowjobs if they thought it had a chance of working (a tactic some protesters have highlighted).
Words are cheap. Words are free. If you compare election promises of the past to what actually happened, these words end up costing you money so we're safer saving our time. Instead of judging their ability to treat people like sheep we judge them on their past work, because unless you have a boatload of money or used to chase Sarah Connor (or both) you can't just walk in off the street and say "I'd like to be in charge of the country please, oh thank you very much". Not even if you wear a short skirt. There exists a vast web of assistantships, departments, administrations and committees for these political larva to burrow through and the higher up you go the more roots these metaphor-mixing politicians have. So shut them up, stick 'em in a tin, and whoever did the best job in their old position wins. Anybody who didn't do anything in a post but come out richer is disqualified. And left in the tin.
You'll notice this system doesn't allow for charisma or stage presence. If I want stage presence I'll go to a comedy show. It cares not whether the ministers screw around in their spare time, because unless the screwing is spectacularly forceful it doesn't affect their ability to combat inflation. Most importantly it isn't affected by how much money the hopefuls have, because there's an inverse relationship between how much cash someone gets from private firms and how much they're likely to care about the public sector.
Trust me, this system will work. In the words of Captain Pike himself:
"Beep."
Democracy is the least worst system of government that's been tried, but just because a kick in the testicles is better than a knife in the eye doesn't mean you shouldn't twist and avoid the blow. A horrible combination of apathy and inevitability (like being hungover in front of daytime TV) means that while all politicians are now assumed to be lying sacks of hate, people aren't rioting in the streets demanding revolution but instead try to pick the 'best' of a bad bunch (and these days it's like finding the best meal in the skip behind a McDonalds). But I've found the solution: we stick the politicians in metal coffins.
The future face of politics.
Think 'Captain Pike' if you know Star Trek, or 'immobilising metal box in which they can only communicate by flashing a light' if you're good at contact sports. Political hopefuls will be held silent and immobile during all election periods, fed and relieved by tubes until all the ballots are tallied. This prevents any and all lying, baby-kissing, muck-raking or posturing. Tax cuts cannot be promised from inside three inches of solid steel; nay, not even the loudest pledge to magically create jobs shall escape. How will we find out what they say about the important issues of the election? We already know: whatever we want them to say. No matter their fine ideals when entering politics any one of them would surf to power on a promise of free blowjobs if they thought it had a chance of working (a tactic some protesters have highlighted).
Words are cheap. Words are free. If you compare election promises of the past to what actually happened, these words end up costing you money so we're safer saving our time. Instead of judging their ability to treat people like sheep we judge them on their past work, because unless you have a boatload of money or used to chase Sarah Connor (or both) you can't just walk in off the street and say "I'd like to be in charge of the country please, oh thank you very much". Not even if you wear a short skirt. There exists a vast web of assistantships, departments, administrations and committees for these political larva to burrow through and the higher up you go the more roots these metaphor-mixing politicians have. So shut them up, stick 'em in a tin, and whoever did the best job in their old position wins. Anybody who didn't do anything in a post but come out richer is disqualified. And left in the tin.
You'll notice this system doesn't allow for charisma or stage presence. If I want stage presence I'll go to a comedy show. It cares not whether the ministers screw around in their spare time, because unless the screwing is spectacularly forceful it doesn't affect their ability to combat inflation. Most importantly it isn't affected by how much money the hopefuls have, because there's an inverse relationship between how much cash someone gets from private firms and how much they're likely to care about the public sector.
Trust me, this system will work. In the words of Captain Pike himself:
"Beep."
NXNE Music Festival
I talk about rocking out over at CampusX. Direct links to reviews for Thursday, Friday and Saturday.
Conclusion: Fun Factor Five.
Conclusion: Fun Factor Five.
5 Recent Scientific Advances (And How They'll Destroy Us All)
I have braved the fields of SCIENCE to warn you of hilarious perils - read all about it over at CRACKED
Review - Thai Bangkok restaurant
412 Spadina Avenue
Should you find yourself here, your best bet is to try eating those plants in the window.
The Thai Bangkok is a lot more decorated than the usual chinatown quick-lunch joints, as it actually has decorations. Wall paneling, paintings and enough (carved) elephants to keep Tony Jaa happy for a month. Then you notice the dirty spots and peeling paint around the edges but for a moment you had the impression you were somewhere nice for your six dollar lunch: enjoy that impression because it's all your money is buying you.
Despite the themed trimmings this eatery does exceptionally poorly on the nationality test (fraction of customers from the same culture as the food), with a total of absolutely zero Thai present (counting the fact that even the visible staff weren't Thai, the place earns negative points). It was pretty easy to check the home country of the eaters too - for most of the meal I was the only one there and I'm Irish. At lunchtime in a spadina/college restaurant that's just tragic.
Hungry and hurried I ordered lunch special #1 (hard to get any faster than that) and it's a damn good thing I did because lunch special #1, at lunchtime, took twenty minutes to arrive. If I'd ordered anything else I might still be there. The upside was that the extra time allowed me to fully appreciate the highly excitable menu:
That's three exclamation marks! This is the most excited menu of all time!
Whoever wrote this urgently needs to be sedated. Anyone who finds the concept of rice coming with Thai food exciting might explode if they see something truly astonishing, like a window or a barking dog.
I honestly cannot review the spring roll because I inhaled it, having become so hungry my body was trying to photosynthesize or absorb the tablecloth through osmosis. This lessened my crippling need for food enough to appreciate the hot and sour soup, much to my regret. When the most basic starter possible for any chinatown restaurant takes twenty minutes to prepare you expect something special. Hand polished tofu with beansprouts plucked by specially trained experts, carefully ladled into a platinum bowl and mixed precisely by multimillion dollar perfectionist robots. You do not expect a bag of starch dumped in hot water by the chef during a break in Judge Judy. The spicy beef was an an exemplar in lazy food, a paragon of a spicy meal made wrongly: tough lumps of meat with chunks of flavourless plastic masquerading as peppers glued together by a thick and utterly effortless sauce. I don't mean effortless as in "the masterful chef effortlessly created a wonderful taste", I mean "the person who happens to work in the kitchen expended absolutely no effort in making this". Turning the plate over I expected to find "Screw you, stupid foreigner, you don't know real food anyway" written on the bottom. Of course I didn't - they had no need to waste ink when they'd clearly expressed that message in the food.
Every time I see this place it's deserted. Keep it that way.
Should you find yourself here, your best bet is to try eating those plants in the window.
The Thai Bangkok is a lot more decorated than the usual chinatown quick-lunch joints, as it actually has decorations. Wall paneling, paintings and enough (carved) elephants to keep Tony Jaa happy for a month. Then you notice the dirty spots and peeling paint around the edges but for a moment you had the impression you were somewhere nice for your six dollar lunch: enjoy that impression because it's all your money is buying you.
Despite the themed trimmings this eatery does exceptionally poorly on the nationality test (fraction of customers from the same culture as the food), with a total of absolutely zero Thai present (counting the fact that even the visible staff weren't Thai, the place earns negative points). It was pretty easy to check the home country of the eaters too - for most of the meal I was the only one there and I'm Irish. At lunchtime in a spadina/college restaurant that's just tragic.
Hungry and hurried I ordered lunch special #1 (hard to get any faster than that) and it's a damn good thing I did because lunch special #1, at lunchtime, took twenty minutes to arrive. If I'd ordered anything else I might still be there. The upside was that the extra time allowed me to fully appreciate the highly excitable menu:
That's three exclamation marks! This is the most excited menu of all time!
Whoever wrote this urgently needs to be sedated. Anyone who finds the concept of rice coming with Thai food exciting might explode if they see something truly astonishing, like a window or a barking dog.
I honestly cannot review the spring roll because I inhaled it, having become so hungry my body was trying to photosynthesize or absorb the tablecloth through osmosis. This lessened my crippling need for food enough to appreciate the hot and sour soup, much to my regret. When the most basic starter possible for any chinatown restaurant takes twenty minutes to prepare you expect something special. Hand polished tofu with beansprouts plucked by specially trained experts, carefully ladled into a platinum bowl and mixed precisely by multimillion dollar perfectionist robots. You do not expect a bag of starch dumped in hot water by the chef during a break in Judge Judy. The spicy beef was an an exemplar in lazy food, a paragon of a spicy meal made wrongly: tough lumps of meat with chunks of flavourless plastic masquerading as peppers glued together by a thick and utterly effortless sauce. I don't mean effortless as in "the masterful chef effortlessly created a wonderful taste", I mean "the person who happens to work in the kitchen expended absolutely no effort in making this". Turning the plate over I expected to find "Screw you, stupid foreigner, you don't know real food anyway" written on the bottom. Of course I didn't - they had no need to waste ink when they'd clearly expressed that message in the food.
Every time I see this place it's deserted. Keep it that way.
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