London: The CANS Festival

LONDON, UK

Whilst my recent meanderings throughout London took me up the Northern line to Camden and it's burnt Stables Market [shame the stockings store burnt to the ground; at least I did not run into Amy Winehouse], the Picadilly line to Covent Garden, over the Hammersmith and City line to the Portobello Road [and ye olde orginal Rough Trade shoppe, which has changed it outside signage - and added a super hip gigantic store in Brick Lane, complete with in-store stage and cafe], the City line to Liverpool St and the nearby Spitalfields market, and the Jubilee line over to Southwark for my annual pilgrimage to the Tate Modern. And while I'm still easing my foot back to health from overwalking on cobblestones [do people who walk cobblestones have chiropractic problems?], I am most struck by than the shut-down Eurostar tunnel outside Waterloo station, home of The CANS Festival.

Simply put, The CANS Festival is a celebration of graffiti, stencil and street art in a defunct train tunnel, allegedly curated by Banksy.

Here is the highlight reel:

Meat Brasil: Take III

C is for CHURRASCARIA – We hit up not one, but two during the course of the week, resulting in one of my colleagues achieving the title of “Beef Goddess” [she put all the big guys to shame in meat consumption]. Mostly barbecued and grilled meats on a long metal rod, served at your plate by waiters – rodizio style- brandishing large knives, gracefully carving for you anywhere from 18-35 different cuts and types of meats. There’s a round card at each seat, one side green for “more meat,” red side for “hold off.” Everything from legs and ribs to rumps and filets, beef, hams, pork, chicken – oh did I mention the offering each time of chicken hearts? Its appearance reminded me of the chicken tongues offered during dinner in Shanghai this summer. Like this tiny, gray and shriveled cornichons – but premature cucumbers. Oh, and fear not that I was completely alienated in my dining experiences at the churrascarias. These restaurants feature rather robust buffets offering 8-10 side salads, fresh salads, fruits, cooked fish, meats – even California rolls and other maki [one had strawberries!].

D is for DUTY FREE – Those in the know are quite well aware of my fondness for Duty Free shopping. While my purchases are generally limited to candy, booze [when not connecting at other airports] and occasional Swatches, I like to wander around, take inventory of their stocks and compare prices to back home. And in Sao Paulo, they were rather on-par with US domestic prices for, say, vodka, and even higher for fashion eyewear [there is a reason why I venture to London’s Camden Market every year – for new sunglasses]. Oh, and get this – there was both a GAP and Banana Republic kiosk in the Duty Free shops. Khakis, anyone?

K is for KOI – On one side of the outside our new facility, there is a small garden with three wooden seating areas [thing in my neighbor’s backyard] and a small water fountain. The fountain is lined with royal blue tiles and filled with orange koi – representing our corporate colours. I shit you not. Someone at the facility joked that they would teach the koi to form a ball, much like the icon in our corporate logo.

L is for LOCAL – The ride back from Jundiai to the airport in Sao Paulo took us off the highways and on the by-ways for half the ride, pushing the van’s get-up-and-go up hills at 40 mph. Lush hillsides, news housing developments [with security gates], old housing developments [with dogs running about – caught one rustling about in a dumpster], roadside stands with a rainbow of fruits and veggies [I don’t know if I have had more colorful and crisper lettuces anywhere], tire shoppes at busy intersections, people standing somewhat randomly at the side of the road [not sure if they were waiting for a bus or to be hired or other], garages with open doors, people lounging about their front patios, even a local carnival or two [they’re just like us – they ride ferris wheels!]. More local culture in one hour than in the four days I had been in town.

S is for SURVEY – Unable to locate and/or too lazy to walk back to the VIP lounge, I am accosted by a student wearing a vest issued by the Ministry of Tourism that says “Surveys” in three languages performing [surprise] surveys in the airport. This one about my travel plans to/in Brasil. Sure, what the heck. I had a similar experience at Shanghai PuDong airport this summer. While repackging my bag after security, two university students asked me to take their survey – and to their delight I agreed. Apparently I was the first person all morning to agree to the survey, they had spent much of their time run over by busy/apatheic business travelers. Plus, they were psyched to practice their English. In return for answering questions about my local travel, I was rewarded with not one but four little packs of tissues, each with a different twee astololgical sign.

T is for TV – Upon waking only an hour after setting off to sleep on Thursday night [thanks so not, Rozerem!], I flip on the telly to see what’s on around midnight. We’ve got “The Late Show with David Letterman,” “Late Night with Conan O’Brien” and porn – all subtitled in Portuguese.

U is for UPGRADE – That I didn’t get from JFK to LAX. Whatev.

W is for WAIT – As in hurry up and wait. I had been warned by colleagues that I should expect to spend upwards of two hours in line for both airline check-in and security at Sao Paulo airport. One of my colleagues gleefully recounted the five hours she had spent in line due to a security workers’ strike – and had claimed to have been interviewed on the local news. There were three of us, the other two on United, me on Delta, dropped off at Terminal 1, section A. We laid out a game plan to allow each of us to visit the restroom to clean up before the long hauls, while the other two looked after the baggage [physical, not literal]. Following, we parted for our respective airlines, me sneaking into the Business Class line – I have no shame in harnesses the priority power of my Delta Gold Elite status. Checked in, answered the security questions as correctly as possible and then parted ways with my silver Delsey suitcase [godspeed, Delsey! May we meet in San Diego on time and in tact]. The time was 6.20 and my flight was scheduled to depart for JFK at 9.05p. No security strikes that we were aware of, so hopefully I wouldn’t be waiting too long. I still needed adequate time to peruse Duty Free. So, I headed towards the security line, which snaked between those retractable barriers, around the food court in the middle of the A section and proceeded back towards the center of the building, adjacent to section B. From an aerial view, the line appeared similar to the snake on the “Live Free or Die” flag from Revolutionary War days [only remembering it as I’ve been following the “John Adams” series]. Not as many people as in queue for the Obama rally at RIC in early March, though also not as cold. Somewhat mild, but balmy in the building. I take my space in line at 6.25p, and the woman in front of me says something in Portuguese that sounds like “This looks like a line in America!” to me. I reply “Pardon,” to which she apologizes in English – expected that I spoke another language. End up talking with her for a few minutes about the US – I mention that I live in an area with a large Portguese population and she asks if I live around Boston [close enough!]. 10 minutes later, and about 50 feet closer to security, the other two join me in line, perhaps to the chagrin to those behind us. Ugly Americans! [Well, he is Lebanese and would most likely try to barter with them]. An hour later – or in local terms, the amount of time it would take me to leisurely drive across the state of Rhode Island – and after many pokes, prods, ironical statements, and other storytelling, we’re finally through the x-ray machines [laptops out, shoes on!]. Even passed by a statue by security of a pregnant woman with two small children in tow. Perhaps they had been mummified in the airport while waiting in line forever.

Brasil: Take II

the latest from brasil:

C is for CAPIRINHA - Oh such a tasty, tart beverage. Best made with cachaca and a glass full of lime wedges. Must figure out how to bring back a bottle of cachaca during the return route through JFK/LAX/SDG/CVG/PVD.

F is for FLAIR - As in the “Flair Shop” at the hotel that sells various souvenirs, toys and other random crap. I will seek out their collection of actual flair and also inquire of their stock of collectible spoons for my collection. [Note to self: archive the spoon collection on flickr or some social sharing site so everyone can see my 100+ assortment].

G if for GILBERTO – During our opening event, the DJs played Joao Gilberto-eqsue versions of R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion,” Nirvana “Lithium,” U2 “With or Without You” and [if I did catch it correctly] The La’s “There She Goes.”

I is for INFRASTRUCTURE – While the highways and major roads seem to be well maintained, the roads in Brasil are not always easy to follow. For example, returning to the hotel, we exited the highway, drove beneath the overpass, took four right turns, though a small industrial district, then return to the other direction on the highway – and then exited again to reach the hotel. We could have hopped the fence on the side of the highway.

O is for OUTBACK STEAKHOUSE – As in the restaurant chain. Our hosts took us out for a traditional churrascaria for dinner the other night that was located in the local mall, just a few doors down from the Outback Steakhouse. As with the decadent sushi dinner we had in Shanghai this past summer, I could be anywhere…like Cleveland . We didn’t enter the mall, so I don’t know if there was a Gap around the corner [though the host did confirm that there was no Banana Republic at that mall].

N is for NUT - Because here, they aren’t called “filberts.” However, did you know that Bolivia produces more Brazil nuts than Brazil itself?

P is for PLATE OF SHRIMP – As a post-script to the Naomi Campbell sighting in customs at Sao Paulo airport, the following day’s news identified that she carried on to Rio de Janiero for her own “humanitarian mission” – to donate blood to those suffering from Dengue Fever. She was denied the opportunity not for her recent belligerent antics, but for her recent illness/hospitalization. However, the mayor of Rio would like her to be a goodwill ambassador. Please watch your head.

S is for SAKIARINHA – Like a caipirinha, but replace the cachaca with saki. Now that’s what I’m talking about.

S is for SEINFELD – Yet another country where I can find “Seinfeld” on telly, with local language subtitles. Also aired in the same manner: “The Nanny,” “ Beverly Hills 90210” [later years], “Law & Order” and a Meryl Streep movie.

W is for WATERPARKS – They’re just like us! Brasilians like to spend their free time sliding down massive concrete chutes filled with rushing water! Not that it is a national sport…

Bem Vindo de Brasil

For the course of the week, I am in Campinas, Brasil, a few many kilometers outside Sao Paolo, for the grand opening of my company’s new facility. Travelling since Sunday afternoon, I had rather unevenful flights from PVD to ATL, delay in ATL but caught up in the air.

Here’s the first 24-hour recap by alphabet:

B is for BIDET - Which is situated next to the toilet in my hotel bathroom. It is surrounded by three toilet paper dispensers. Bidet, anyone?

D is for DENGUE FEVER - I thought owning the band’s new album was enough. I’ve only now been advised that the country is plagued by the actual dengue fever. That was omitted from the meeting memo. And now we are not going to have drinks by the pool this evening.

E is for ETHANOL - As one is wont to ask the locals about: weather, local government and gas prices, my driver said that the price per litre is R$1.40 for ethanol [exchange rate Real$1.00 = USD$0.50]. Gasoline was just a bit more than that. Ethanol is produced nationwide, from sugar plant, reducing the nation’s reliance on oil. There’s even a switch by the steering wheel whereby the driver [or anyone who can reach, for that matter] can switch the fuel used from ethanol to gasoline! V cool.

F is for FAVELA - Otherwise known as the slum. Changing highways, we drove past a favela, to which my driver tagged as “leaches.” Imagine pigs in a sty. Now replace the pigs with people. You choose the adventure.

M is for MOTEL - As in Hotel Hawaii 5.0, as on the side of the highway. The sign said that it rents by the hour, 2-hour minimum.

S is for SWIMMING - Pool shoppes dotted the highway leading up from Jundiai to Campinas - displayed upright to show depth, stairs, shape. now, only where to put one? From the roads from Sao Paolo to Campinas, I’ve only seen neighborhoods and favelas on the sides of hills/mountains.

T is for TIMEWARP - Arrival in Sao Paolo was the usual de-plane, hike across East Jesus [here pronounced “hey-sooz“] and an early queue in passport control. Whilst waiting, two things struck me, wondering if I had entered a time warp:

1. TV screens in the passport control area were showing “YO! MTV Raps” [feat. videos by The Fresh Prince and Naughty by Nature].
2. Bypassing the queue and passport control stations, noneother than supermodel Naomi Campbell is wisked through. A few of us in line crack a double-take and nod in confirmation. She was wearing very skinny black jeans, t-shirt, some sort of jacket/vest thing and a baseball cap. An airline agent [def not British Airways] drew her tiny designer Louis Vuitton-esque rollerbag behind him. For your concern, I was *not* assaulted by her cell phone.
   

W is for WTF - It’s now 5p and as I type this email at the hotel, I hear the staccato beat of a drum and crowd noise. Either the natives are getting restless or there is a futbol stadium nearby. [postscript: OK, so I just opened the window and there are tribal drummers pounding away at a private event at the hotel, in another wing. Must crash it.]

Certainly more to come! Stay Tuned!

Lollapalooza 2007: Day Three

LOLLAPALOOZA 2007: DAY THREE

Amy Winehouse


the VIP platform. could someone please identify the guy in the center wearing a pink shirt and gray blazar? he was rather into his distracting hand jives and jubliant kicks during like every band.



seriously, what is holding up her hair? she says it's all natural in interviews. if that's true, then the last time she would have cut her hair would be when she lost it as a baby. my friend laura has hair down to her ass, can swing small children from it, choke a whole gang of latin kings, but for the life of her cannot get her hair to such epic proportions. would i better understand this if i had taken physics in high school?

no, no, no.



















vertical photo to maximize headroom for that thing on her head.















Iggy & the Stooges


from a distance, DAMN iggy looks fantastic. up close, and yeah, he's aged a few. but so tight! could bounce double nickles and a dime off him.















even watt worships at iggy's temple.












with all due respect, iggy shows some ass to perry + mrs. farrell. simple courtesy.











WATT!




















the lollapalooza dancers!













Yo La Tengo


too hot for an autumn sweater












viva hoboken!

the whole first row in the crowd just did not get it. i don't think they've ever been exposed to such beautiful drone. what a shame.











TV on the Radio



crowds may appear larger than they actually are. whatever. TV on the Radio kicked me in the ass. i'm a deer in headlights at this point.

oh, and guitar guy kyp malone is wearing what looks to be a max earplugs [left ear only].





tuning/adjusting.
oh, i have some quick video footage too large to upload here.

Lollapalooza 2007: Day Two

LOLLAPALOOZA 2007: DAY TWO


I'm From Barcelona [via Sweden]

after running from the backstage area, denied from the viewing platform [those dastard sticklers actually reading our wristbands!], laura and i hightail it to the field at the bud light(R) main stage, weaving through the crowd for an upper-closer and more personal view of the swedes from down the road [ok, malmo is technically down the road from helsingborg]. first course of action? emanuel tossing a pool float into the crowd for some surfing. perhaps this is done to protect the goods.

i have built a treehouse
i have built a treehouse
nobody can see usit's a you and me house
i've been climbing rocks and stones
been collecting broken bones
i've been swimming across the lakes
just to find this perfect place
i got lost into the woods
i've been covered up in mud
i've been going through a lot
just to find this perfect spot


if he cannot hear us, then he might have noise-induced hearing loss. at least some of his bandmates are wearing howard leight fusion earplugs!






lee berman?















move over madonna! IFB truly are the H&M proto-children. add to that some skull maracas, a banana shaker, balloons, glockenspiel...i think we're on to something.



22 are from barcelona





stage crews can have fun, too!











Patti Smith & Lenny Kaye [on the Kidz stage]

Patti + Lenny commandeer the Kidz stage for a 5-song set, including a Hank Williams cover. apparently last year, she hit the Kidz stage and railed against US presence in Iraq. this time was not a downer.




saint patti



with son Jackson, closing with "People Have the Power." and 50-yr-old former hippies/ters pumping fists in the air during the chorus.













Perry Farrell w/Satellite Party
late saturday afternoon finds perry and his band holding court in the eco-green area [30+ yrs ago it was called "ecology." 17 years ago it was called "evironmentalism." now it's called "green." what's the difference? exactly.
climbing on a table, encourgaing something positive through a merely discernable portable amp. my friend carl calls, i pull back of the crowd, answer

rsb: hey, perry farrell's holding court.
carl: where are you?
rsb: lollapalooza. chicago.
carl: well hang up!





for strutting his chin, teeth clenched. the amount of stuff perry's done over the past lifetime, he looks to be in incredibly good shape, though in need of a sandwich every fortnight.



bask in the glow. band plays acoustic along to jane's addiction's greatest hits [incl. "been caught stealing" and "mountain song"].

this type of thing rarely happens.

off to the side is the family, mrs. perry [who also dances for the satellite party, two little farrells and the mother-in-law].










Spoon


that's the way we get by.
[so the crowd all lights up - he said "by" jackasses, not "high." you're thinking of another song.

Lollapalooza 2007: Day One

LOLLAPALOOZA 2007: DAY ONE

Thanks to Suzanne Wyatt at The EAR Foundation, I found myself with a Lounge pass at Lollapalooza 2007 at Grant Park in Chicago over this past long weekend. Admittedly, it's been more than awhile since I had partaken in the rock in a meaningful way so it took me only a few minutes to get going. The Lounge pass gained me and my audiology friend Laura access to a secluded area on the side of either of the main stages, complete with catering [delish lunch + dinners], beverages, swag, shade, seating and occassional access to the platforms on one side of the stage. Aside from some musicians, I could only recognize two celebs - Laura Dern [aka Mrs. Ben Harper] and the convulsive Juliette Lewis [who performed Sunday with the Licks].

Three days later, uneven farmer's tan, worn feet and some rather rank shorts, I'm alive and kicking. And without tinnitus!

Without further ado, the highlight reel.

FRIDAY
The Polyphonic Spree















did someone say tap dancers?


















encore included a rolicking cover of "lithium" by nirvana, complete with white church robes








M.I.A.
shake it!

i'm standing on the stage left platform on the side of the stage, just walked right on up and helped myself to the view. after taking a few photos, i sung back to drop my camera in my bag, only to find noneother than mrs. amy winehouse standing behind me, voraciously typing a message into her sidekick-blackberry-thingy, holding up that mount kilamanjaro of hair. there has to be something in there to hold it up [and my bet is that it is organic, but not of her own dna].


m.i.a. sashays on stage while her backup singer/dancer directs traffic. later she was climbing on the girders on the side of the stage, terrifying the stage hands, who were beneath fortifying the speakers she then perched atop.






Sparklehorse

mark linkous has his own hair moment.










Ben Harper & The Innocent Criminals
pleasantly surprised by B Harper - had read a lot of rave reviews but never heard, til now. his band has nice rugs on stage [the floor kind, not the hair kind].























he was later joined during the finale by the dude with the hair from Pearl Jam.









ev: i really like your rugs.
bh: why thank you. they really spruce up the place.
ev: oh yeah, though they must be a pain to clean.

london calling

Now get this
London calling, yes, I was there, too
An' you know what they said?
Well, some of it was true!
London calling, at the top of the dial
And after all this, won't you give me a smile?
London Calling
I never felt so much ALIVE ALIVE ALIVE ALIVE
-- The Clash

i've been to london town now a half-dozen times, so it's a bit like home. here are some highlights from past and present trips:

BUCKINGHAM PALACE
when not at her other shacks in the wilderness, the queen lives here.

i am not a robot.














HYDE PARK
"the central park" of london. two weeks before this photo was taken, Live 8 was held here. the day after this was shot, REM played in the adjacent field. who wants to pay $150 to see three old men in a field try to rock out?

please be observant of park rules.














TRAFALGAR SQUARE
site of several anti-apartheid rallies during the 1980s. to one side the canadian embassy. to the other, south africa. around the corner, the texas embassy cantina [1 cockspur place, no less].






BIG BEN
what time is it?

LONDON EYE
fun the the whole family, complete with scenic views of the city and perhaps a barf bag for the quesy. note that the eye's base is at a slight angle, and dangles the wheel towards the thames.






PARLIAMENT
[not v funkadelic]

10 DOWNING STREET
home of tony blair and fam.















HARRODS
the first time i visited london, i literally spent half a day wandering around this behemoth, two hours no less in the food halls. located at knightsbridge and kensington high street, this flagship harrods "store" has been around for 100+ years, seven floors of luxury and excess, catering to the super wealthy. the ground floor houses men's accessories, fragrances and not one but two "Rooms of Luxury" [this is where i jam my hands in my pockets, look down and hustle through, praying not to touch anything lest they have a "you look at it, you buy it" rule]. in the back are the Food Halls, where i spent a minimum 2 hours roaming. the frommagerie alone is salivating - i once asked the frommager if cheese could be brought into the US, though the man had both an accent and a stutter, totally intelligible. awkwardness ensued, and i did not ask him to repeat. i still don't know, but the cheeses under glass would be worth the risk of finding out.

from the food halls: lobster anyone?

more tasty treats.










it's owned by mohammed al fayed, father of dodi. in the basement is a tribute to princess di and dodi. under glass are two wine galsses from their last supper.



TOWER OF LONDON
if you did something bad a long long time ago, you ended up here. with a beautiful view of the thames.



















ROUGH TRADE
legendary record shop/label just off the portobello road. everyone thinks it's giant, however my living room and dining room are way larger - though without the punk rock history covering every inch. posters inside date back to the days of yore [ok, mid-late 70s]. cd/vinyl kiosks jammed in there, subgenres galore. a quick glance at the new shelf, i felt at home - first cds on the rack are lightning bolt, noxagt, olneyville sound system and a few other load records artists. the providence rock beast knows no borders.



AIRPORT BOWL
yes, leeberman, there is bowling in london, and if you have enough time between flights, catch the heathrow hoppa #3, get off at the holiday inn ariel and walk a block up. you cannot miss this.

there goes...

late june 2005

on my annual june trek to saturn of albany, i took a side trip 45 minutes north to lake george. it has been years since i had been, on a weekend trip to lollapalooza 1992 with friends and one of their moms. back then, it was a ramshackle "quaint" town with cabins, third-rate "themed" hotels/resorts, gift stores overflowing with commemorative tchotchkes [generally shot glasses, name plates, cheap jewelry, t-shirts/sweatshirts, cheap plastic toys that break within 20 minutes and such all emblazoned with "lake george"]. the poor man's lake winnipassaukee.

i roll into town. motorcycles trail around town, bikers with fringed leathers and biker-mamas clutching for dear-life [or ecstasy] around beer bellies. as i near the central business district, disjointed families meander the sidewalks, restaurant signs squawk lobster specials and steaks for $9.99. i figure i'll park the car, peruse a tchotchke store for a spoon for my collection, then intend to head back to saratoga to visit some relatives.

however, all that changed when i saw this sign:

oh yes.

lake george has it's own annual elvis festival. fo reeeeeeel. now, i've been to graceland, did the full house-museum-car-plane tour. that trip was the genesis of my spoon collection. my mom and i were driving to my "new" [read: 10-month] home of san antonio] and had to find the cheapest, but most iconic and sorta trashiest souvenir. a spoon with young elvis emblazoned on the handle. that was it. obsession, hello. five years later, and i've got nearly 75 spoons [that's three racks to y'all] full of spoons from all over the US and world [am wondering how much my bourbon street spoon is worth now?].

i pakr my car, grab my camera and go. across the street, from what looks to be the "city" hall, the aptly appropriate Duffy's Tavern seems a rather happening joint.

the second floor deck loaded with fans of the king. a young one, no less.

nice ass. so talented, he's running his own music machine - and [p]elvising - at the same time.

the crowd goes wild, comprised of biker mamas, local wearing logo'd corp apparel tucked into their acid washed jeans, deck shoes. easy-on pants. this is not 2005, right?

i am blinded by the elvisitude. i catch enough of the song, tho bewildered by the display, i think it was "don't be cruel." i knew there was more fun to be had, and i needed to have *it*. at this point, i don't know what *it* is, and since it's 3.30p, i only have time for maybe 60 minutes of whatever *it* i can get. so i head back down the stairs and hit the main drag.

and what a drag it is. while avoiding the terrorist...i mean tourists, i navigate the crowds, teenagers gawkily holding hands or avoiding as such, children screaming at their clueless parents for an ice cream cone or super-duper-sized nacho plate, seniors walking slower than evolution, i take occasional steps into tourist traps for my elusive spoons, only to find t-shirts, blankets, shot glasses and other overpriced CPS/sundries.

i head up to the top of the CBD and work my way back to the car.

the restuarant of one hotel offers free elvii performances from noon - 5p. could be one, could be many, who knows? i poke my head into one, completely empty sans mid-year elvis rockin the mic. he's between songs, and beckons to me "c'mon in here lil' lady and have a seat." for once in my life, i am flabberghasted, caught like a deer in headlights. a homer simpson thought bubble sprouts from my head "what do i do??"

next thing i know, i snap a shot and run away. i don't mean to dis the king, but gut instinct said to bail. and we always listen to the gut.

i find a trail to an "event area," tho forgo the $5 entry fee and linger on a high-up staircase to hear the current elvis on stage. not bad, tho perhaps he might be lipsyncing. who knows? i meander back to the street, pass a few sad tchotchke store fronts hawking lake george grab. a few college kids snag a faux elvis "incognito" [i doubt the evlis t-shirt and graying chops gave him away] begging for gang shots. i would have loved for one with the faux-king, but withheld, out of respect for graceland.

so i continue on. ther's a walkway that counters the lake, a few bars dot the way, and a few of those have balconies...tunes from the king beckoning me forward...unless i see less than three people within. and most have less than three people within. i carry on [note a cruise barge that a few months later will capsize chock full o'elderly peoples, some of whom drown]. i find myself at the dock below duffy's.

that's it for lake george elvis fest? i believe so, but now i can honest-to-gawd say that lake george has one. no word of a lie.