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Russell Brand: what I made of Morning Joe and Question TimeJune 28th, 2013
More from acute awareness of Instant Karma's immediate sting than morality, I have learned to treat people apparently lacking power with cordiality. This means that when I arrived at the New York studios of Morning Joe, the gleaming, informal mid-morning MSNBC news analysis show, I was polite to everyone there.
I was surprised by the soundman's impatient intrusiveness and yet more surprised as I stood just off set, beside the faux-newsroom near the pseudo-researchers who appear on camera as pulsating set dressing, when the soundman yapped me to heel with the curt entitlement of Idi Amin's PA. In response I wandered calmly from the studio and into the corridor, where a passing group of holidaymakers were enjoying the NBC tour. Often when you encounter rudeness from the crew, it is an indication that the show is not running smoothly, perhaps that day, or maybe in general. When I landed in my chair, on camera, and was introduced to the show's hosts – a typical trident of blonde, brunette and affable chump – it became clear that, in spite of the show's stated left-leaning inclination, the frequency they were actually broadcasting was the shrill, white noise of dumb current affairs.
MESSIAH COMPLEX World Tour 2013June 6th, 2013
Buy Tickets – http://bit.ly/RussellBrandMessiah
Me and several of my outsider (by which I mean they live outside) chums here endorse my World Tour, Messiah Complex.
Doug is a gentle, thoughtful man who loves hair metal.
JC is a dreamer. I think he likes to drink.
Chris, in a more ordered society would be a Shaman on the periphery of the village fed by the rest of is in exchange for his vision quest data. He sees the world differently. He seems keen to sell a stress free chess set. I don't know what that means.
WoolwichMay 25th, 2013
The news cycle moves so quickly now that often we learn of an event through other people's reaction to it. So it was when I arrived in Los Angeles to find my twitter feed contorted with posts of fear and confusion.
I caught up with the sad malice in Woolwich and felt compelled to tweet in casual defense of the Muslim community who were being haphazardly condemned by a few people on my time line. Perhaps a bit glibly (but what isn't glib in 140 characters) I put "That bloke is a nut. A nut who happens to be Muslim. Blaming Muslims for this is like blaming Hitler's moustache for the Holocaust".
As an analogy it is imperfect but I was frightened by how negative and incendiary the mood felt and I rushed. I'm not proposing we sit around trying to summons up cute analogies when Lee Rigby has lost his life in horrific circumstances I simply feel that it is important that our reaction is measured. Something about the arbitrary brutality, the humdrum high-street setting, the cool rhetoric of the blood stained murderer evoke a powerful and inherently irrational response. When I first heard the word "beheading" I felt the atavistic grumble that we all feel. This is inhumane, taboo, not a result of passion but of malice, ritualistic. "If this is happening to guiltless men on our streets it could happen to me" I thought.
Then I watched the mobile phone clip. In spite of his dispassionate intoning the subject is not rational, of course he's not rational, he's just murdered a stranger in the street, he says, because of a book.
In my view that man is severely mentally ill and has found a convenient conduit for his insanity, in this case the Quran. In the case of another mentally ill and desperate man, Mark Chapman, it was A Catcher In The Rye. This was the nominated text for his rationalisation of the murder of John Lennon. I've read that book and I've read some of the Quran and nothing in either of them has compelled me to do violence. Perhaps this is because I lack the other necessary ingredients for extreme anti social behaviour; mental illness and isolation; either economic, social or both.
After my Hitler tweet I got involved in a bit of back and forth with a few people who said stuff like "the murderer said himself he did it for Islam". Although I wouldn't dismiss what he's saying entirely I think he forfeited the right to have his views received unthinkingly when he murdered a stranger in the street. Someone else regarding my tweet said "Hitler's moustache didn't invent an ideology that sanctions murder". That is thankfully true but Islam when practiced by normal people is not an advocacy for violence. "People all over the world are killing in the name of Islam" someone added. This is the most tricky bit to understand. What I think is that all over our country, all over our planet there are huge numbers of people who feel alienated and sometimes victimised by the privileged and the powerful, whether that's rich people, powerful corporations or occupying nations. They feel that their interests are not being represented and, in many cases, know that their friends and families are being murdered by foreign soldiers. I suppose people like that may look to their indigenous theology for validation and to sanctify their, to some degree understandable, feelings of rage.
Comparable, I suppose to the way that homophobes feel a prejudicial pang in their tummies then look to the bible to see if there's anything in there to justify it. There is, a piddling little bit in Leviticus. The main narrative thrust of The Bible though, like most spiritual texts, including the Quran is; be nice to each other because we're all the same.
When some football fans smash up shops and beat each other up that isn't because of football or football clubs. It's because loads of white, working class men have been culturally neglected and their powerful tribal instincts end up getting sloshed about in riotous lager carnivals. I love football, I love West Ham, I've never been involved in football violence because I don't feel that it's my only access to social power. Also I'm not that hard and I'm worried I'd get my head kicked in down the New Den.
What the English Defence League and other angry, confused people are doing and advocating now, violence against mosques, Muslims, proliferation of hateful rhetoric is exactly what that poor, sick, murderous man, blood soaked on a peaceful street, was hoping for in his desperate, muddled mind.
The extremists on both sides have a shared agenda; cause division, distrust, anger and violence. Both sides have the same intention. We cannot allow them to distort our perception.
The establishment too is relatively happy when different groups of desperate people point the finger at each other because it prevents blame being correctly directed at them. Whenever we are looking for the solution to a problem we must identify who has power. By power I mean influence and money. The answer is not for us to move further from one another, crouched in opposing fortresses constructed from vindictive words. We need now to move closer to one another, to understand one another. If we can take anything heartening from this dreadful attack it is of course the actions of the three women, it's always women, that boldly guarded Lee Rigby's body as he lay needlessly murdered. These women looked beyond the fear and chaos and desperation and attuned instead to a higher code. One of virtue, integrity and strength.
To truly demonstrate defiance in the face of this sad violence, we must be loving and compassionate to one another. Let's look beyond our superficial and fleeting differences. The murderers want angry patriots to desecrate mosques and perpetuate violence. How futile their actions seem if we instead leave flowers at each other's places of worship. Let's reach out in the spirit of love and humanity and connect to one another, perhaps we will then see what is really behind this conflict, this division, this hatred and make that our focus.
The whole joint is a deeply encoded temple of hegemonic power'May 23rd, 2013
What does the slung about, bounced around adage that "Politics is show-business for ugly people" actually mean? I suppose that the narcissism and self-interest that motivates many entertainers is what lurks behind the ashen, jowly facades of most politicians. That politics is bereft of altruists, philanthropists and idealists but instead throbs and bristles with stunted show offs, who granted flatter abs and cuter noses would be jiving and caterwauling on Britain's Got Talent or staring with glum vacuity down the barrel of a camera in a mock corridor in Holby City.
This pith squirt stings because we want our politicians to be motivated by high ideals and compassion and not to secretly seethe every time Harry Styles impeccably saunters through the public mind with hair that gently binds his scalp to the heavens and mankind to the angels.
When I met Caroline Lucas MP, the member for Brighton Pavilion, in an electromagnetic instant I was assured that I was in the company of a high caliber individual. For a start, and I suppose this shouldn't matter, she's attractive and could probably, if she so chose feature in Downton Abbey as a highly prized and conscientious scullery maid. Or she could've been in Pan's People in the 80′s.
However when Pan's People were sashaying around on Top of The Pops, no doubt with one nervous eye on the curiously gurning host, Caroline was at Greenham Common campaigning for nuclear disarmament. Caroline has a legitimate background in activism and on meeting her it is clear, the way it's always clear, that she is a good person. We know, don't we, instantly when under the tutelage of a good teacher, we feel it in the timbre of their voice, we can feel the subtle, invisible flow of their good intention. Similarly when held in some schoolroom Beirut, the captive of a gin blossomed pedagogue who barrages his hostages with a spit-flecked, halitosis tempest we recognise a system gone awry. Sat in a plastic chair, chained to the radiator knowing, beyond intelligence, beneath experience that the howling goon at the front of the room spluttering chalk dust and dogma did not care what we learned, only yearned, as we yearned for the bell and The Bells.
With all authority figures we can intuit intent. You can always tell when pulled over by the old bill if you're in the vindictive grip of an impotent tit, working through his own playground trauma by waving his truncheon in your direction. What a joy it is when you come across a copper who's just a person like you muddling through life, doing their job trying to do what's right. You take a nicking on the chin when dispensed by a decent fella.
The greater the power the greater the obligation to be decent. Or as Stan Lee put it – in the mouth of Spider-Man's uncle "with great power comes great responsibility" a maxim so irrefutably neat that I'd prefer it were Socrates. But there it is, I'm quoting Spider-Man's uncle. Spider-Man's uncle's equation though is frequently subverted; often with great power comes a right arsehole and on entering the Houses Of Parliament one begins to understand why.
The whole joint is a deeply encoded temple of hegemonic power. John Lydon, erstwhile of The Sex Pistols once said of his state education that it seemed to primarily be the installation of a belief system that placed his generation and class at the bottom of an immovable hierarchal structure "look at all these amazing people" his teacher said of Shakespeare, Churchill, Brunel and Keats "they're great and you're not." Luckily it turned out he was, but this format of designating power beyond the reach of ordinary people is shockingly visible in the Houses Of Parliament, a place which nominally represents our power actually demonstrates it's absence.
I was being shown around first by Melissa Gurumurthy who works for Caroline Lucas, then by a bloke called Derek who does security there. His knowledge of the building, its numerous incredible artworks and history, far outweighed the dilettantish witterings I endured from Melissa (who obviously I fancy). My favourite bits of Derek's Parliamentary wander were; a clock that's literally priceless "that means no insurance company will take on the burden of insuring it" said Derek, my mate Gee, on the tour with me retorts "could say the same thing about my old Capri." In the House Of Lords there are two thrones one for the monarch and another for their plus one. The Queen's is (an all important) quarter of an inch taller. Philip must sit there fuming; in the context of marriage a quarter of an inch is a big deal. Also in The Lords amongst the phalanx of red leather benches is a solitary seat curbed by an armrest provided for a perpetually drunken Lord (hence the saying?) who required it to prevent him tumbling soused onto the hallowed ground.
There too on the table where orators stand, including Churchill who made his near mythical speeches here, not in the Commons which was being repaired after bombing (apparently there was a war on). There are fist shaped divets ground into the wood. Legend has it that it was the signet ring that Winston wore that carved the table in urgent pumps as he pounded out great gob-fulls of history. All this elegant data was gleaned from Derek who is present in Parliament solely to prevent argy-bargy. This next was my favourite morsel.
Around the modest gallery where the ladies would sit there is a knee-high velvet curtain to shield the eyes of the Lords from the inadvertently revealed ankles of the watching women. In this we see the way institution must bow to nature, how chauvinism is manifest. A curtain has to be installed to prevent men at work from ogling women's foot bones. Were all the pomp and grandeur indicative of any actual substance it would be enough to say to these divine, governing beings "don't stare at the bird's legs, you're meant to be running the country" presumably they tried that and it didn't work – the Lords just continued to salivate and stare, the running of blighty relegated to a distraction form their blue-blooded erections, till one day the maintenance people, the Dereks of the day thought "fuck it, we'll put a curtain up". This demonstrates what we actually all know; the people that run our country are no different from us, flawed and flailing they flummox and flounder their way through the day. Melissa momentarily interrupted her deference to Derek with one astute observation as we sat in the gallery of The House Of Commons. Behind the thick, glass paneling installed in response to "The Father's For Justice" purple paint ejaculation into the power paddock below some years ago, we sat and watched the harrumphing. I literally heard one bloke, a Tory stood at the front near that mace, where Betty Boothroyd used to be, it's a bloke now, this Tory went "They should be sent home to prisons in their own countries" I thought "yep, that's the sort of stuff I expect to hear". Validating in its adherence to stereotyping; like hearing an Aussie holler "throw another shrimp on the barbie mate". Cliché saves us from thinking. Melissa now observed that our beautiful surroundings, you've all seen them on the telly, (you could go and have a look, a security man downstairs said anyone can come "it's surprising people don't bother") the green, leather benches, the relentless oak paneling, the Hogwarts fugue all look the same as the halls and chambers of Oxford University. Or Cambridge. Or Eton. These great monuments to privilege and power all deploy a consistent design and symbology. A symbology which is alien to the majority but comfortably familiar to the privileged few. When most of us are in these rooms we feel daunted and belittled, remember, "they're great and you're not" but the bloke up the front near the mace has spent his whole life in rooms like that, schools like that. The fact is though that it is an illusion. The power has to be so articulately asserted because it isn't there. The power is within us, the people. We can at any time elect to ignore that power, or overthrow it. The reason I was in Parliament to meet Caroline Lucas, a person who is there, oddly, for the stated function of the place – to represent us, is because she is proposing that the government investigate the efficacy of their current drug policy. The prohibition of narcotics, the criminalisation of addicts, the prescription of methadone and the demonisation of people in the grips of an illness. Of this I can speak first hand. In all my years as a junkie I never encountered an addict who was persuaded to stop using by their drug's legal status. "What?! This is illegal? Oh no! I've been taking it EVERYDAY!!!" Drug addicts don't care that drugs are illegal, it's irrelevant. If you're addicted to drugs, you are going to get drugs at any cost. This is not a moral quandary but a physical necessity. My belief is that the only way to help drug addicts is to get them off drugs and to help them stay clean one day at a time. It is a lot harder to do this if they are regarded as degenerate from the get go. It skews our perspective. But what do I know? Perhaps what the government is doing is working, a thorough study will reveal how effective current drug policy is. That is what Caroline Lucas is proposing, I'm advocating and I am asking you to support. Let's look at the evidence and then see what we should do. If we get 100,000 signatures on this online survey http://epetitions.direct.gov.uk/petitions/45969 then Caroline can push it in the House Of Commons. I've signed it, it is a bit boring, it took about 90 seconds but I'm a bit of a techno-div. also it's against my nature to fill in a survey like a little square, I'd prefer to smash a window or throw some paint but I don't think it's the answer. In Caroline Lucas, on this issue and I suspect many others, we have someone in a position of some power who actually cares about things that affect us. She's not there so that she can get hold of a Cheeky Girl or meet Louis Theroux or get her toes sucked by an equine brass, she is endevouring to enact the needs of the people. So please sign this http://epetitions.direct.gov.uk/petitions/45969 it's hardly a fait accompli, perhaps the survey will reveal that all is well, that nothing could be improved, in which case we can all relax, watch Britain's Got Talent, or Parliament on telly and await further instruction from our representatives.
Fergie timeMay 21st, 2013
It was not without significant tribal turbulence that I attended Manchester United's 2nd leg quarterfinal Champion's League match against Real Madrid. Like a twerp I'd requested the tickets from former Hammer Rio Ferdinand (@rioferdy5) via twitter, a lamentable exploitation of fame that elicited a red tide of justifiable online indignation. I suppose to the digital witnesses I was a bellowing, southern cyber-Stanley Kowalski binarily screeching for further privilege in a public square inhabited by millions. In this analogy, Rio Ferdinand is Stella, at a window, in a nightie. That's the only reason I'm using it. Nevertheless I went to Old Trafford, in some way heartened by the purity of the truculence, football now having been largely rinsed of it's scintillating aggression. My mate Nik, who was the reason for my attendance at the crimson Mecca, is a United fan. He's from Manchester and everything. That's the only reason I was going.
I've only been to a few matches that didn't involve West Ham so I thought I might enjoy the spectacle of football without the accompaniment of tear inducing burst bubbles. But neutrality is not in my nature so before too long I was sort of pretending to be a United fan. Don't get me wrong, I didn't cheer or gesticulate; I, Russell, did not and would not support Manchester United under any circumstances, I just pretended to be someone else who did. Like in a sexual role-play where you might (for example) indulge some incestuous fantasy and invite your partner to call you "Daddy". During that fantasy responsibility is temporarily absolved, as you become a fictional third party, free from consequence. You don't actually want to be their Daddy, that would be weird. And a lot of responsibility. So hopefully that makes it clear, I would never support Manchester United but I would pretend to be a pervert Dad having sex with an imaginary adult daughter. Imaginary. In the imagination all is permitted. Except the betrayal of club allegiance, that's disgusting.
I was enjoying my macabre version of fantasy football, United, behind from the first leg and with some surprising first team omissions, most notably Wayne Rooney, were containing Real nicely. Xabi Alonso was occupied by Rooney's replacement, Danny Wellbeck and unable to feed Cristiano Ronaldo. Imaginary United supporting me silently approved Sir Alex's ingenuity.
Football fans always query and second-guess the decisions of managers but I always return to the baseline certainty that they must know more than us. They must. The alternative is too terrifying; that mad, flawed, myopic boors are running our clubs. So if Theo Walcott isn't being played through the middle at Arsenal that can't be because it's never occurred to Arsene Wenger. Or if Matt Jarvis seems too deep to make an impact that can't be because Sam Allardyce has never considered the alternatives at West Ham.
Impotent punditry though remains irresistible. Except perhaps at Old Trafford under the benevolent regime of Sir Alex. Now that his reign is over we are granted an almost posthumous perspective. I can just about remember his appointment in the 80's; I would likely have enacted it through my voodoo Subbuteo rituals, which always had more peripheral theatricality than other boys. Managers were not provided by the manufacturers so I'd outsource the role to Star Wars figures. They were as disposable and interchangeable as their human counter parts and often more discerning in the transfer market. I can easily recall Ferguson's early purchases; Gary Pallister from Middlesborough, Steve Bruce from Norwich and of course Paul Ince from West Ham. Me and video man, the man who rented videos out of his van (and sold weed I discovered a few years down the line when videos were no longer enough) discussed this last. He too was West Ham and he profanely schooled me in the breached etiquettes of Ince's departure –"You don't say you'll sign a new contract then show up on the back pages in a Man U shirt".
Ince remains irredeemable at The Boleyn Ground, this antipathy outlasting even Ferguson. John Lyall was manager of West Ham when the era of Sir Alex commenced, he'd been in charge for seventeen years when he was eventually fired, the league's longest serving boss. Ferguson had only been in charge for three years and hadn't won a thing, it was inconceivable then that we were observing a legend in genesis. Bill Shankley, perhaps the only comparable figure in the firmament's famous refrain, that "football is not a matter of life and death, it is more serious than that" is true, football is a metaphor. It is a metaphor for war, adversity, unity and triumph. It is an amorphous, transcendent template through which we can understand our diffuse, convoluted reality. West Ham United represent consistency, inconsistency power, powerlessness, joy and disappointment in my own silly little life. My erratic ever-shifting perspective, my continually altering circumstance can be managed and understood through my relationship with the club. Alex Ferguson is a unique figure in the football faith because he has defied many accepted regulations. For a start he's been manager for ages in a profession in which men are mercilessly culled. He is a powerful, working class man who has remained true to his roots whilst adapting to the economic circumstances of his own life and that of his culture. Labour supporting son of a shipbuilder becomes New Labour donor and racehorse owner. Importantly I believe that Ferguson resonates at frequency that we rarely encounter in our anodyne culture of the perpetual present; he is a recognisable and identifiable tribal chief at a time when our political leaders look like equine prefects (Milliband) or painted eggs (Cameron). These are not men that we are biologically predisposed to follow; they are men that we will tolerate. Malcolm X first became a concern to the CIA when at a volatile Harlem protest, as the energy of the horde threatened to ignite, he from his makeshift pulpit, with a single gesture bid them to disperse. The observing officer said it was the efficiency of Malcolm X's motion that evoked such terror. "If he just raises a hand and they all head home what if he tells them to fight?"
When, against Real Madrid, Nani was sent off, Ferguson, jaws agape, interrupting his incessant mastication, roared from the bench, uprooting his assistant and marched to the touchline. Then, with none of Brother Malcolm's efficiency, he pumped his hands like Prospero summonsing the tempest, and at once the stadium stirred from somnolence and obeyed their leader and thundered with one, terrifying voice. Imaginary Manchester United supporting me was inspired. He recognised that this was no ordinary manager but a Chieftain Priest. This is why the emphasis at Old Trafford is on continuity rather than revolution, with Moyes as Bob Paisley and Scotand as some giant, rugged Anfield boot-room. Ferguson's potency must be bestowed, a hereditary successor appointed. If there could be a son selected from those available it would not be Darren Ferguson schooled at The Posh but David Moyes, stern and stoic, hewn if not from the same DNA, then the same rock, the same nation, the same mythic paradigm. Sir Alex has urged his followers not to call him Boss, to reserve that moniker for Moyes. He has appointed and anointed, given unto them his son, if not his flesh, his likeness. Fergie has subverted much in his two and a half decades of omnipotence, desecrating the face of Adonis with a projectile boot, alchemically balancing the Lords of capitalism that took over the club from his friend Martin Edwards. He even made time itself his servant stretching games to a duration that meant his tribe could prevail. But Fergie time, unlike cosmic time is ultimately finite which is perhaps why we need icons, figureheads, Gods. They are our coordinates in the limitless morass. Our map back home, to a place where we have peace, free from injustice, a place where we are all United.
Russell on Margaret Thatcher: "I always felt sorry for her children"April 9th, 2013
One Sunday recently while staying in London I took a stroll in the gardens of Temple, the insular clod of quads and offices between The Strand and The Embankment. It's kind of a luxury, rent controlled ghetto for lawyers and barristers, there is a beautiful tailor's, a fine chapel, established by The Knight's Templar (from which the compound takes it's name) a twee cottage designed by Sir Christopher Wren and a Rose Garden; which I never promised you.
My mate John and I were wandering there together, him expertly proselyting on the architecture and the history of the place, me pretending to be Rumpole Of The Bailey (quietly in my mind), when we spied in the distant garden a hunched and frail figure, in a raincoat, scarf about her head watering the roses under the breezy supervision of a masticating copper. "What's going on there mate?" John asked a nearby chippy loading his white van. "Maggie Thatcher" he said. "Comes here every week to water them flowers." The three of us watched as the gentle horticultural ritual was feebly enacted, then regarded the Iron Lady being helped into the back of a car and trundling off. In this moment she inspired only curiosity, a pale phantom dumbly filling her day. None present eyed her meanly or spoke with vitriol and it wasn't till an hour later that I dreamt up an Ealing Comedy style caper in which two inept crooks kidnap Thatcher from the garden but are unable to cope with the demands of dealing with her and give her back. This reverie only occurred when the car was out of view. In her diminished presence I stared like an amateur astronomer unable to describe my awe at this distant phenomena.
When I was a kid Margaret Thatcher was the headmistress of our country. Her voice, a bellicose yawn, somehow both boring and boring – I could ignore the content but the intent drilled it's way in. She became leader of the Conservatives the year I was born and Prime Minister when I was four, she remained in power till I was fifteen, I am, it's safe to say, one of Thatcher's children. How then do I feel on the day of this matriarchal mourning?
I grew up in Essex with a single Mum and a go-getter Dagenham Dad. I don't know if they ever voted for her, I don't know if they liked her, my Dad I suspect did, he had enough Del Boy about him to admire her coiffured virility but in a way Thatcher was so omnipotent, so omnipresent, so omni-everything that all opinion was redundant.
As I scan the statements of my memory bank for early deposits (it'd be a kid's memory bank account at a neurological Nat West where you're encouraged to become a greedy little capitalist with an escalating family of porcelain pigs) I see her in her hairy helmet, condescending on Nationwide, eviscerating eunuch MPs and baffled BBC fuddy duddies with her General Zodd stare and coldly condemning The IRA. And the miners. And the single Mums. The Dockers. The poll-tax rioters. The Brixton rioters, the Argentinians, teachers; everyone actually.
Thinking about it now, when I was a child she was just a strict woman telling everyone off and selling everything off. I didn't know what to think of this fearsome woman.
Perhaps my early apathy and indifference are a result of what Thatcher deliberately engendered, the idea that "there is no such thing as society" that we are alone on our journey through life, solitary atoms of consciousness. Or perhaps it was just because I was a little kid and more interested in them Weetabix skinheads, Roland Rat and Knight-rider. Either way I'm an adult now and none of those things are on telly anymore so there's no excuse for apathy.
When John Lennon was told of Elvis Presley's death he famously responded "Elvis died when he joined the army" meaning of course, that his combat clothing and clipped hair signaled the demise of the thrusting, Dionysian revolution of which he was the immaculate emblem.
When I awoke today on LA time my phone was full of impertinent digital eulogies. It'd be disingenuous to omit that there were a fair number of ding-dong style celebratory messages amidst the pensive reflections on the end of an era. Interestingly one mate of mine, a proper leftie, in his heyday all Red Wedge and right-on punch-ups was melancholy. "I thought I'd be overjoyed, but really it's just… another one bites the dust…" this demonstrates I suppose that if you opposed Thatcher's ideas it is likely because of their lack of compassion, which is really just a word for love. If love is something you cherish it is hard to glean much joy from death, even in one's enemies.
Perhaps though Thatcher, "the monster" didn't die today from a stroke perhaps that Thatcher died as she sobbed self-pitying tears as she was driven defeated from Downing Street, ousted by her own party. By then, 1990, I was fifteen, adolescent and instinctively antiestablishment enough to regard her disdainfully. I'd unthinkingly imbibed enough doctrine to know that, troubled as I was, there was little point looking elsewhere for support, I was on my own. We are all on our own. Norman Tebbit one of Thatcher's acolytes and fellow "Munsters evacuee" said when the National Union Of Miners eventually succumbed to the military onslaught and starvation over which she presided "We didn't just break the strike, we broke the spell". The spell he's referring to is the unseen bond that connects us all and prevents us from being subjugated by tyranny. The spell of community.
Those strikes were confusing to me as a child. All of The Tory edicts that bludgeoned our nation, as my generation squirmed through ghoulish puberty, were confusing. When all the public amenities were flogged the adverts made it seem to my childish eyes fun and positive, jaunty slogans and affable British stereotypes jostling about in villages, selling people companies that they'd already paid for through tax. I just now watched the British Gas one again, it's like a whimsical live action episode of Postman Pat where his cat is craftily carved up and sold back to him.
"The News" was the pompous conduit through which we suckled at the barren Baroness, through newscaster wet-nurses, naturally, not direct from the steel teat. Jan Leeming, Sue Lawly Moira Stewart – delivering doctrine with sterile sexiness, like a butterscotch scented beige vapour. To use a less bizarre analogy; If Thatcher was the Headmistress they were junior school teachers, authoritative but warm enough that you could call them Mum by accident. You could never call Margaret mother by mistake, for a national matriarch she is oddly unmaternal. I always felt a bit sorry for her biological children Mark and Carol, wondering from whom they would get their cuddles. "Thatcher as mother" seemed, to my tiddly mind, anathema, how could anyone who was so resolutely Margaret Thatcher be anything else? In the Meryl Streep film it's the scenes of domesticity that appear most absurd. Knocking up a flan for Dennis or helping Carol with her algebra or Mark with his gunrunning are jarring distractions from the main narrative; woman as warrior queen.
It always struck me as peculiar too when the Spice Girls briefly championed Thatcher as an early example of Girl Power, I don't see that. She is an anomaly, a product of the freak-conomy of her time. Barack Obama interestingly said in his statement that she had "broken the glass ceiling for other women". Only in the sense that all the women beneath her were blinded by falling shards. She is an icon of individualism, not of feminism.
I have few recollections of Thatcher after the slowly chauffeured, weepy Downing Street cortege. I'd become a delinquent by now living on heroin and benefit fraud.
There were sporadic resurrections; to drape a hankie over a model BA plane tailfin because she disliked the unpatriotic logo with which they'd replaced the Union Jack (maybe don't privatise BA then) or to shuffle about some country pile arm in arm with a dithery Pinochet and tell us all what a fine fellow he was. It always irks when right wing folk demonstrate in a familial or exclusive setting the values that they deny in a broader social context. They're happy to share big windfall bonuses with their cronies, they'll stick up for deposed dictator chums when they're down on their luck, they'll find opportunities in business for people they care about. I hope I'm not being reductive but it seems Thatcher's time in power was solely spent diminishing the resources of those who had least for the advancement of those who had most. I know from my own indulgence in selfish behavior that it's much easier to get what you want if you remove from consideration the effect your actions will have on others.
Is that what made her so formidable, her ability to ignore the suffering of others? Given the nature of her legacy "survival of the fittest" – a phrase that Darwin himself only used twice in Origin Of Species, compared to hundreds of references to altruism, love and cooperation, it isn't surprising that there are parties tonight in Liverpool, Glasgow and Brixton – from where are they to have learned compassion and forgiveness?
The blunt, pathetic reality today is that a little old lady has died, who in the winter of her life had to water roses alone under police supervision, if you behave like there's no such thing as society, in the end there isn't. Her death must be sad for the handful of people she was nice to and the rich people who got richer under her stewardship. It isn't sad for anyone else. There are pangs of nostalgia, yes, because for me she's all tied up with Hi-De-Hi and Speak and Spell and Blockbusters and "follow the bear". What is more troubling is my inability to ascertain where my own selfishness ends and her neoliberal inculcation begins. All of us that grew up under Thatcher were taught that it is good to be selfish, that other people's pain is not your problem, that pain is in fact a weakness and suffering is deserved and shameful. Perhaps there is resentment because the clemency and respect that are being mawkishly displayed now by some and haughtily demanded of the rest of us at the impending, solemn state funeral are values that her government and policies sought to annihilate.
I can't articulate with the skill of either of "the Marks", Steel or Thomas, why Thatcher and Thatcherism were so bad for Britain but I do recall that even to a child her demeanour and every discernible action seemed to be to the detriment of our national spirit and identity. Her refusal to stand against apartheid, her civil war against the unions, her aggression towards our neighbours in Ireland and a taxation system that was devised in the dark ages, the bombing of a retreating ship – it's just not British.
I do not yet know what affect Margaret Thatcher has had on me as an individual or on the character of our country as we continue to evolve. As a child she unnerved me but we are not children now and we are free to choose our own ethical codes and leaders that reflect them.


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30-year deal keeps Nike's favorable taxes in place
Dec 19, 2012 | 1 Comment
By The Associated Press
PORTLAND — Gov. John Kitzhaber and athletic-wear giant Nike Inc. agreed Wednesday to a 30-year deal that promises Nike will only be taxed on its in-state sales.
Nike requested the deal while it plans a $150 million expansion and 500 or more jobs.
Nike told the state it would only pledge to expand if the so-called "single sales factor" tax benefit remains in place, a calculation favorable to the global apparel giant. The guarantee means Nike won't later be taxed on its payroll expenses if it hires hundreds more workers.
"We appreciate Gov. Kitzhaber's leadership and the Oregon Legislature's support," said Nike CEO Mark Parker. "Our roots are here in Oregon, and over the last 40 years we've grown from a small company to a global one connecting with consumers in markets all around the world."
State lawmakers approved legislation authorizing the deal during a special session Friday.
Oregon calculates taxes for multistate corporations based only on the company's in-state sales, something Nike wanted to ensure would continue.
It was unclear whether Nike would have actually moved to expand outside of Oregon — a company spokeswoman refused to say — but the mere threat was enough to prompt action.
Nike has deep roots in Oregon, where it was created in the 1960s by a former middle-distance runner and his college track coach. Together, Phil Knight and Bill Bowerman built the company into one of the globe's most influential brands.
Knight also is the largest contributor to University of Oregon athletics, and his money is considered a key factor in vaulting the school's football program into national prominence.
Nike said in its agreement with the state that it began work on the expansion Jan. 1.
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Nike will speak of donating money to schools etc.etc.. But.. we really should observe where that money came from. Why we build a new gym for it, people working for nike can't even get enough money to fund adequete amounts of food for their family.
We really need to work on values in this country, we don't seem to have a lot unless it affects us personally or cause for concern on our economic system.
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subset: commoncrawl


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Motivational and inspiring music track in corporate genre that can be perfect for business presentations, inspirational videos, firm slideshows, financial commercials and advertisement, other elegant projects. Perfect combitation of piano, strings, bass, upbeat drums.
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By now, we've all seen the evidence of Mitt Romney's sorry post-election life. In the past month, he's been caught pumping his own gas — without hair gel! — and taking in rides at Disneyland. He went to the White House for an hour and ate turkey chili. According to the Washington Post, he ordered Boston Market for Thanksgiving.
That's what happens when you lose the big one, and you don't have a Senate seat to fall back on; deprived of his lifelong goal, holed up in his beach house in La Jolla, he's a wannabe titan, sorely in need of a purpose.


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|HAL : in2p3-00750395, version 1
|Fiche concise
|Récupérer au format
|Evolution of the shell structure in medium-mass nuclei : search for the 2d5/2 neutron orbital in 69Ni
Moukaddam M., Duchene G., Hammache F., N. Harakeh M., Beaumel D. et al
Shell Model as a Unified View of Nuclear Structure, Strasbourg : France (2012) - http://hal.in2p3.fr/in2p3-00750395
|Thème(s) :
|Physique/Physique Nucléaire Expérimentale
|Titre :
|Evolution of the shell structure in medium-mass nuclei : search for the 2d5/2 neutron orbital in 69Ni
|Auteur :
|M. Moukaddam1G. Duchene1F. Hammache2M. N. HarakehD. Beaumel2K. KemperV. Lapoux3I. Matea2A. MattaL. Nalpas3F. Nowacki1A. Obertelli3F. Flavigny3J. Pancin4L. Perrot2J. Piot1G. Burgunder4E. Pllumbi2R. Raabe4J.A. Scarpaci2N. De Serevile2K. Sieja1, 4O. Sorlin4S. Franchoo2I. Stefan2C. Stodel4L. Caceres4E. Clement4D. Curien1F. Didierjean1B. Fernandez-Dominguez4C. FinckJ. Gibelin5S. Giron2A. Gillibert3S. Grévy4J. Guillot2F. Haas1
|Laboratoire :
|équipe(s) de recherche :
|Structure nucléaire
|Résumé :
|It has been shown that the neutron 2d5/2 orbital has to be included in shell-model calculations to explain the appearance of large quadrupole collectivity observed in the neutron rich Fe and Cr of the N ≈ 40 region. This work initiated by Caurier et al. has been recently revisited. Calculations in a large valence space involving the fp proton shell and the fpgd neutron shells including a strongly reduced 1g9/2 - 2d5/2 neutron gap down to ≈ 1.5 MeV affect the whole N = 40 region and point out a new island of inversion similar to those known for light nuclei around N = 8 and N = 20. A global mecanism could be deduced, in the frame of the shell-model approach, of the emergence of islands of inversion at Harmonic-Oscillator shell gaps driven by two particle-two hole neutron excitations into quadrupole-partner orbitals across these gaps. Since now, no 5/2+ state has been assigned in previous studies of 69Ni, an ideal laboratory to search for the neutron 2d5/2 orbital. A (d,p) reaction onto a 68Ni beam produced at GANIL has been used to probe the single-particle energy of the 2d5/2 neutron orbital in 69Ni. Two 5/2+ states with important spectroscopic Shell Model as a Unified View of Nuclear Structure / Livre des résumés 10 factors lying around 2.5 MeV excitation energy have been observed, for the first time, in 69Ni. The doublet is understood as the mixing of two main configurations of spherical nature. These results are in good agreement with large-scale shell-model calculations in which 2.5 MeV 1g9/2 - 2d5/2 gap for neutrons is included, and confirm experimentally Caurier's assumption of a reduced 1g9/2 - 2d5/2 neutron gap at N = 40.
|Type de publication :
|Communications sans actes
|Date de la présentation :
|Nom du colloque :
|Shell Model as a Unified View of Nuclear Structure
|Ville du colloque :
|Pays du colloque :
|Date du colloque (début) :
|Date du colloque (fin) :
|Speaker :
|Moukaddam M.
|in2p3-00750395, version 1
|Contributeur : Michel Lion
|Soumis le : Vendredi 9 Novembre 2012, 17:09:44
|Dernière modification le : Lundi 12 Novembre 2012, 11:46:39


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(Delores Thompson, far left/Gwendolyn Fulce, left)
In the afternoon of September 8, 1973, Roy Lee Jernigan went to the address of 527 N. Ivy Street to pick up his 2-and-a-half-year-old son. Upon his arrival, he approached the front door and entered. He immediately saw the body of a female who appeared to have been beaten. Mr. Jernigan began to search the house and in the bedroom, he discovered another body of a female who also appeared to have been beaten. This female was the mother of his child.
Continuing his search, he found his son, alive and uninjured. Police officers responded, took control of the scene and determined that both females were deceased.
These women were later identified as 21-year-old Gwendolyn Fulce, who had no criminal record and was an acquaintance of 24-year-old Delores Thompson (the mother of the child). Ms. Thompson was the renter of the residence at 527 N Ivy. Investigators interviewed numerous people, but were unable to identify any suspects at the time. A motive for this double homicide has yet to be determined.
Delores Thompson's son, who was spared by the killer or killers of his mother, is now 41 an adult. He would like to know why his mother and her friend were so brutally murdered.
If you have any information regarding this case you are encouraged to contact CrimeStoppers at 503-823-HELP


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The North Face of the Grandes Jorasses has seen perhaps its busiest autumn season ever, with hundreds of climbers tracking... [ full story ]
Fred Nicole has repeated Nalle Hukkataival's The Escapist, ~8B/+, in the Fortress area of Rocklands, South Africa. The problem... [ full story ]
Jordan Buys has recently put up a new link-up route in the Hollywood Bowl sector of , coming in at 8c+. King of Thieves is... [ full story ]
Photo: Sabine on 'The green traverse', Stanage, from Freakclimbing


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Chair Aerobics for Everyone DVD Videos
Have been looking for some chair aerobics to add to my classes, this is a good variety of exercises and it is fun.1/9/2013 7:28 AMWas this review helpful? Yes / No (0/0)
great video if you are just starting to get back into exercising and cant stand for a long time! easy on the knees!1/9/2013 7:28 AMWas this review helpful? Yes / No (0/0)
I'm in a wheelchair and wanted to exercise for weight loss. It was perfect.Was this review helpful? Yes / No (0/0)
She looks to be a healthy lady in an over large wheelchair. I do not have 3 inches between me and the arms on my machine, so I cannot do the exercises she does. Also, I have MS so my right arm is atrophied and worthless, and she makes no comment on how to do these exercises with a bad arm. I felt there was no instruction for me, as a person in a wheelchair fulltime. I have to say I was disappointed, also, to see a healthy and fit young lady showing chair aerobics. It would have made more sense to have several real people who had to use wheelchairs for different reasons showing the exercises, rather than what looked to be a healthy young lady. These are not chair Aerobics for everyone. They do not work for me.1/9/2013 7:28 AMWas this review helpful? Yes / No (0/0)
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Product Recycling Fund
The price of this item includes a contribution to a Product recycling fund to ensure that waste electrical and electronic equipment is collected and recycled in a responsible manner.
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LED Lighting up the Future at IKEA
[National] By 2016, IKEA will be making all of their lighting products LED based, and will phase out their halogen and SPARSAM low-energy bulbs. LEDs are much loved for their energy-saving, money-saving and design-expanding properties – not to mention their sustainability.
IKEA Adelaide's Lighting Shopkeeper – Belinda McLavin says, "At IKEA we have put so much of our development and design efforts behind LEDs and this change at IKEA because we want to be able to provide customers with more sustainable lighting options that will change the way they live."
LEDs are extremely small in their size allowing them to be used and designed into innovative lighting creations in ways that weren't possible with regular light bulbs. Consuming up to 85% less energy than traditional incandescent lighting, LEDs provide an even white light without getting warm, and can be recycled as electrical waste.
The IKEA Group Chief Sustainability Officer, Steve Howard says, "Sustainability and respect for the environment are all core values at IKEA, and with LED based solutions being introduced by 2016 we are taking a major step in giving our customers the opportunity to live a more sustainable life at home."
With countless options for any individual, to suit any home furnishing, IKEA have become specialists in providing customers with sustainable and environmentally friendly options at an affordable price.
"With household electricity bills continuing to rise rapidly and global energy consumption increasing, a small LED bulb will have a very big impact. Building on our belief that everyone should be able to afford to live more sustainably at home, we will make sure our LED prices are the lowest on the market," says Belinda.
DIODER battery operated lamps are an example of how LEDs can be used efficiently. These lights can be placed in drawers, wardrobes and shelves. With a sensor in place they light up for 15 seconds when the drawer is opened and will turn off after 5 seconds of being closed. There is no need to worry about the light over-heating, or turning off any switches, simplifying things and making it so much easier when getting dressed in the dark.
"With a lifetime of 20,000 hours or about 20 years, customers don't need to worry about changing a light bulb every 6 months. By using the time up until 2016 to educate the community in all the sustainable benefits to LED lighting we really want to emphasise the reduction in electrical household costs associated with the use of LED lighting," says Belinda.
For more about sustainability projects at IKEA, please visit IKEA.com.au/aa/peopleandplanet


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Buffalo Campus
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1880 S. Winton Rd.
Rochester, NY 14618
(585) 272-0030
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With campuses in Buffalo, Rochester and Amherst, and plans to expand into online programs and international programs in China, Medaille College is a rapidly-growing institution and the third-largest private college in Western New York. Your support of the College helps continue this growth, and your support of Medaille's students helps to ensure their success.
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The instructors were knowledgeable and welcomed class discussions, with
respect for each student's contribution. I've learned how to be a more
effective leader. My capstone class gave insight on how to combine all
the education learned to operate a business. That's when I realized how
much I had sharpened my knowledge.


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By IndiaTimes | January 11, 2013, 5:01 pm IST Fashion & Beauty
Designer Manish Malhotra launched the 2nd edition of F In Focus is association with Grazia. The event focused on how Manish Malhotra has influenced fashion throughout India and other parts of the world. over the last 23 years.
Courtesy: F In Focus with Manish Malhotra/F Lounge.Diner.Bar.


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From the new custom-inspired headlight to the scalloped tank and flush-mounted taillight, the Victory Vegas reels you in with its smooth, flowing lines and long, low, stretched style. Then it slingshots you into an unforgettable riding experience with Victory's own 100 cubic-inch Freedom V-Twin and true six-speed overdrive transmission.
Never in the history of the American motorcycle has a bike achieved such a perfect balance of style, engineering and performance. Put it all together and you've got a bike whose ability to turn heads is matched only by its ability to perform. It is no wonder we consider the Vegas the heart of the lineup, or that it has been honored with almost every major industry award.
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I´m one of those who has dreamed a long time to rent a car and drive through the mountains of Utah, Arizona canyons and deserts of Nevada. Now it was time to realize this dream – as a part of my new film work. I was accompanied with cinematographer Joona, who red the map. I started the drive from Las Vegas. It was a decade ago I drove automatic – therefore the most difficult thing was simply to start the car… merde! After I understood to start by pressing the brake I pressed the gas the following 12 hours. That was not very wise – just after 20 hours flight and jet lag. But it was so exiting to drive...at least in the daytime. During the night we observed 20 deers but luckily they kept off the road. During the next day we counted dead deers on the side of the road.
Photo: Joona Pettersson
We had several destinations to visit: Navajo city called Page in Arizona and especially Antelope Canyon there. Then towards great views of Utah: Bryce Canyon and Pink Sand Dunes near Hurricane. On top we wanted to drift around in the most postmodern place on earth: Las Vegas. There we saw also excellent KA by Cirque de Soleil. I noticed they seem to rule the show biz of Las Vegas by running six massive spectacles simultaneously. Those include KA, Mystere, O, Zumanity, and surprise, surprise: Viva Elvis, The Beatles: Love and soon Michael Jackson. Hmm…
Perry Lodge sign in Kanab "The Hollywood of Utah"
The cowboy poets were over 80 but in great trim!
The good old Wild West seems to be pretty tame these days. Both Indians and cowboys are kind and round. I have never seen so overweight folks than in Nevada. But the nature is wild and surprising. Driving through the land is exiting since the scenery chance rapidly and one never knows what ´s behind the next curve. Also vegetation and temperature has rapid changes.
Utah mountains
Navajo Marita in Page (photo: Joona Pettersson)
Our days are rather tough and programmed. After waking up early we work outside all day carrying heavy cameras and tripods in rough terrain. After a drive to the next place and a quick dinner we have to download and check the filmed and photographed materials. Equipment must be cleaned from dust and sand and next day ´s program must be arranged. It ´s no wonder I sleep like a bear but don ´t dream. The days are the dreams.
Antelope Canyon, Arizona, photos: Marita
(Photoshopping is not needed…it´s all made by natural light!)
Henry starts the work by painting walls with burgundy red at Kuntsi Museum of Modern Art. Photo: Hemmo Hytönen
I got the idea for a tour especially in Finland when I was in St. Petersburg with Tero Saarinen Company in 2006 for St. Petersburg 300th anniversary party. Our Minister of Cultural Affairs arrived to give a speech before our performance. The minister was a tall, charming young blonde (former Miss Finland - and constantly in the teeth of press). She arrived to the stage of Alexander Theatre followed by Russian interpreter who happened to be a very old and very tiny nun. What an unforgettable duetto.
After the performance the minister arrived to the back stage. She seemed to be very touched by the performance. She spoke Finnish with Tero but when I arrived she hesitated a moment and switched into English. I answered in Finnish, actually Ostrobothnian dialect - with a big smile. I had a good reason for that since previous day she has signed a five-years state artist grant to me and Tero. She was very sorry because she did not know if I speak Finnish or...well, I don´t look like a Finnish person, I know. Then I decided to have a proper tour in my dear home country (and get back my Finnish identity). That night we had a great party with he minister and later on she kindly opened the Tarot exhibition in Amos Anderson Art Museum in Helsinki...
But let´s go back from Russian memoirs to Kuntsi opening in 2010!
After the opening even the staff has time to read the holy books.
Photo: Harry Wester
In March 2010 the tour is over. During one year I exhibited in five Finnish museums and now everybody seem to speak Finnish to me. The last stop was not least but the most sophisticated and charming: city of Vaasa and Kuntsi Museum of Modern Art. I have never exhibited or performed this close to Perho (Butterfly) the place I was born 50 years ago. Suddenly in the opening I saw lots of people who seem to have similar genes with me! That was touching and peculiar.
Tuomari Nurmio, Anne-Maj Salin and Marita in opening night at Kuntsi.
Photo: Hemmo Hytönen
The spirit of Kuntsi Museum is unusual in Finland. The 3-years old museum is impeccably stylish, everything is high quality from the art collection to the restaurant. There is also certain playfulness and joy of work and being together in the air. Behind the welcoming spirit we found the director herself: Anne-Maj Salin. She is truly the queen of the house. The opening night was packed and Tuomari Nurmio played for the house full of different kind of folks from mayor of the city to young arty students.
Tuomari gives Marita "One more lesson" (This masterpiece of Finnish rock lyric was written on the wall in the CMR exhibition)
The Kunsti exhibition combined Choosing My Religion downstairs and Tarot upstairs. The former customs house shared the human scale of my works. Installation was perfect. After the opening we decided to start collaboration in order to distribute the exhibition. First step will be in Norway and other Nordic countries in 2011.
A couple reading their personal card text in Tarot exhibition. "Are you really a Lover!!" Yaa, watch out dear: you seem to be the Devil herself!"]]>
After a hectic week we started the weekend in Finnish way, from airport we went to sauna. Friday habit!
In Swedish sauna is BAD which was not very tempting as a sign but once we were inside Centralbadet next to Hötorget, we felt GOD (good in Swedish). The food was excellent, interior (1920´s) was charming and the last surprise, mysterious big pool with dim lighting was like a strange dream. David Lynch could film there…
The next day we met dancer-choreographer Virpi Pahkinen at the opening at Art Academy. The people and building itself were more interesting than the art. Outside we enjoyed the sun
and cold (-17) and chatted about our forthcoming work plans. In the evening we had a nice supper in celebrity packed Sturehovet.
Marita and Virpi, photo by Pia Pho, (other photos by Marita).
Every time I meet Virpi, she says something, which stays in my mind for days. In Sturehovet she dropped a sentence: "one has to have confidence in subconscious", with glint in her eyes, followed with a grin. Those who are able to read Finnish, check her fresh book Käärmeensyöjä, The Snake Eater. Virpi is truly talented storyteller, contemporary for our common favorite, adventurer-author Isabelle Eberhardt. Virpi´s site: www.pahkinen.com
Next day we got happily stuck in Dansmuseet because the exhibition was really well made and there were lots of original dance pieces on video - next to the original costumes. Fabulous Nijinsky choreography for Stravinsky´s The Rite of Spring…I saw the costumes first time. Male dancers seemed to be around my size in 1920´s, which is 160 cm! From the small but full packed bookshop I found some rare ballet videos I have been looking for. The stylish café offers one of the best views to Stockholm.What a treat for all senses!
Last time I visited Venice 2007 I saw an exceptional installation in Palazzo Fortuny, former home of a versatile artist and designer Marino Fortuny. The exhibition was titled ARTEMPO – Where Time Becomes Art. The old rustic palace offered an extraordinary back round to a superb collection of art and objects from ancient to contemporary time. The collector behind the project is Axel Vervoordt from Belgium.
The motto of the exhibition was from Albert Einstein:
"The most beautiful experience we can have is the Mysterious.
It is the fundamental emotion which stands at the cradle of true art and science. "
In 2009 I went back to the mysterious Palazzo and spent several meditative hours in the IN-FINITY exhibition. This year more floors were opened but the magic of time was still there.
In Giardini I found the national pavilions of Netherlands and Poland excellent and somehow related to Fortuny´s human time perspective. Fiona Tan´s stunning video installation Disoriented is based on stories of Marco Polo. The voice of the story teller reaches us from year 1295 but the rough and dreamy videos are from the silk roads of today. How little human life has changed during 700 years!
After days of walking and seeing more art than one can digest I decided to take a boat and spend one slow day with Italian friend in the island of San Giorgio Maggiore. Just to calibrate the senses. In a huge Benedictine abbey Peter Greenaway brings Paolo Veronese´s painting "The Wedding of Cana" back to life. With a little help of digital technology the painting turned theater.
How strange was to step out from the chapel and see San Marco on front. Doge´s palace is under renovation and now half covered with Sisley´s enormous advertisement. Three modern beauties approach the skies of Venice through golden frames. The merchants of Venice are working hard.]]>
Very young but electrifying Baris dancer in Peliatan village, Bali.
Legong dancers in Ubud
Serius little dancer in Betty Boop t-shirt on front of a temple.
Photographer enjoying her work in tropical heat.]]>
Our super star arrived modestly with a motorbike, half naked in a short sarong with his son in the back. He had long black hair, robust, passionate face and kind eyes. I introduced myself and tried not to pay attention to his masculine and muscular body. He looked at me from tip to toe and asked: "are you a dancer" twice during the conversation. I was a bit flattered, have to confess. I got the permission and we made an appointment after the performance to talk more.
Somebody climbed up to the tower of the temple and lit fires. At a sudden there were 50 men and boys on front of the temple and the familiar cak cak started in chorus. An elderly priest in white clothes gave blessings to the men. After some time the ritual turned pretty wild when burning coconuts were thrown towards the crowd. Rina started to play football with the burning coconuts and the audience jumped up to see what´s going on and how this will end.
Soon the fire was everywhere and half naked and barefoot men were too many to escape it. All the men were singing, shouting and whispering. Rina himself was dancing around like the monkey army general Hanuman himself. He kept the control and nobody was hurt. Performance ended up to a healing ceremony where he was carried away. At the end the priest closed the ritual by spraying water on men.
After the audience was gone Rina arrived to look for me. His hair was a mess and running sweat, coal and dirt made him look like a devil himself. But his eyes were calm and kind. I recognized a familiar after performance emptyness in his eyes, which is a very fine moment. He surely needed a beer and a shower. The Dutch lady was still behind me. I could hear her sigh, oh Rina himself, he comes to talk to you. You can talk with Rina...ooh.
Next day we came back to have a closer look to the Agung Rai Art Museum (ARMA). I was photographing gilded gamelan instruments in the garden when a smiling man in sarong approached me. He turned out to be Agung Rai himself, the founder and owner of the Arma. He took us to the gardens and temples of this extraordinary museum which is a good example how a contemporary museum should function with living artists and local people.
Agung Rai playing hide and seek with Marita in Arma
After Choosing My Religion premiere in Kiasma we happily booked ourselves into a flight to Singapore and continued right on to Bali. Idea of one way ticket has always been the most attractive to me. Am I still such a foolish travel romantic after all these years, 53 countries and countless kilometers? Yes is the answer, I tell myself in a plane full of sleeping people. I like nights in planes and hospitals. I feel I´m in safe hands.
What brings me back to Bali here and then? I never counted how many times I have been on this tiny tropical island but it must be more than ten. I´m curious to see how the balinese keep their rich and original combination of culture and religion alive from generation to another. TV seem to attract them less than other nations and the reason seem to be in the social structure. Sharing and togetherness are the main keys to the culture.
Road to Uluwatu in twilight
After holidays on the beach we hired a car, had a lunch in Sanur and started to drive slowly towards Candi Dasa. First kilometers were sheer horror because we were not accustomed to left side traffic and motorbikes who appear from all sides and directions. Not to mention the dogs who wander in the traffic just like cows in India. The last kilometers were another horror – I was struck by infamous Bali belly. The soto ayam (chicken soup) I had for lunch was obviously a wrong choice.
With my last strength I picked up a hotel from Routard, my favorite French travel guide. We ended up to Aquarium, a magnificent piece of architecture on front of the sea. Routard was again really up to date since the hotel has been open only 18 months. I spend the first night in this zen luxury mansion admiring hand made tiles of the toilet floor...]]>
In October I went back to New York in order to complete the texts for the CMR book. I know exactly when a multimedia piece, a painting or a photograph is completed but writing...I seem to need a strict dead line. I want to correct and rewrite my texts endlessly. This time consuming process seem to be easier far from my daily routines – if I have any routines.
I settled down to an old flat next to cozy Union Square area, took a walk around the quarter and opened my laptop. After eight hours I had to stretch and get something to eat. Only then I noticed the atmosphere around me. It could be called obamania. Wherever I went and with whoever I talked, every subject turned into Mr. Obama.
I guess the last time there was such an aura around an American politician was at the time of Kennedy clan. I can still remember a hot and dusty summer day in June 1968. I cried in the back of our van when I heard radio news about the murder of Robert Kennedy. That was my first political murder. I could not remember JFK`s murder since I was only 5 in 1963.
On November 4, 2008 I cried of joy and some kind of relief when Obama won the election. Leaving New York I took last glimpse to the Big Apple through JFK airport glass walls. I saw a blood red graffiti "nobama" in a bus stop. I gulped and send immediately a message to angels or anyone who could keep murderers away from Barack Obama and all other great professionals who try to make this world a bit more open, fair and tolerant.
That´s my greatest wish for the New Year 2009 as well.]]>
My first visit to fabulous Istanbul was rainy and chilly. Never mind, I fell in love with the fabulous city right away and Blue Mosque turned pink...
Year 2008 started in Bangkok and soon after the night train took me through mysterious Laos.
My aim to photograph in Wat Saket in Vientiane succeeded well. I also visited a sauna in Vientiane, just in the middle of jungle!
The year 2007 started with great moods and new challenging projects.
I am spending January and February as an artist-in residence in Brooklyn.
New York is ideal for making back ground research for my new
multi-platform artwork about major religions of the world.
They are all here!
The very first large photographs from the series titled "Choosing My
Religion" will be on display at the Stockholm Art Fair in February. The
first exhibition about this theme will take place in October in
Helsinki. I guess it will take me several years to complete the entire
idea, but why not. My themes tend to be larger than life, but
nevertheless I work them out.
During my "hermitage" in Brooklyn I am writing a book about my work and
ideas. It will be published also in October during the Helsinki Book
Fair, exactly on my 50th birthday. Quite a present!
In the first days in Brooklyn I went to the Botanical Garden, and shot
cherry blossoms (in January!) for my Shinto series. This is the third
time I photograph the very same tree. After hours of working outside I
went to warm up next doors – to the Annie Leibovitz exhibition titled
"Photographer´s Life" at the massive Brooklyn Museum of Art. It surely
warmed me up and gave food for thought for many days… such as
reflecting on how thin a line there is between life and death. As long
I´m on this side of the invisible line, I should appreciate every
moment. After all, I have.
Tired but happy TSC again at the JFK airport. We definetely did it! The press called us "the Finnish dream team" but it was really like that, also behind the stage! We are nine very different characters from various backrounds touring abroad one month together - without a single argument. Thank you Tero, Iiris, Nina, Sini, Henrikki, Heikki, Calle, Ville and Eero. Such a pleasure to work with you.
When we left the Joyce Theatre after seven performances, the good mooded staff of the theatre just waved and yelled "you guys will be soon back"! This was the main message from the press too: the Finnish dream team should be soon back in US and Canada. Below are some reviews of Hunt. Read complete articles at www.terosaarinen.com/blog]]>
John Rockwell, The New York Times, March 30, 2006
Tero Saarinen Company From Finland Dances in New York
The Tero Saarinen Company from Finland made its New York debut in 1998. It was welcomed warmly, but for whatever reason, it took eight years to return. Its opening at the Joyce Theater on Tuesday night was an occasion for some terrific dancing, building happily from strength to strength over the three pieces on the program.....
...None of this would have mattered much without Mr. Saarinen's choreography, which looked constantly alive and original. It was at its very best in the final piece, "Hunt," a 2002 solo for himself. Audaciously set to Stravinsky's "Sacre du Printemps" (in Esa-Pekka Salonen's fleet, intense recording), its overt intentions — something about confronting the depredations of age — mattered less than the eerie atmosphere Mr. Saarinen created. His figure, initially dressed in a white sarong, looked more hunted than hunting. He often moved in spasmodic increments, like a strobe effect without the strobe lighting. That came later, in the equally powerful lighting and projections of Marita Liulia. The second half of the dance found Mr. Saarinen in an alien world of Ms. Liulia's design, with ghostly clouds and faint gray projections on the back wall. The cloud became a skirt or a tutu — Mr. Saarinen as male swan? — onto which were projected vivid, bizarre, swirling, flashing, broken fragments of bodies, above all a recurrent eye. At the very end, he leapt and leapt, each leap caught in midair with a flash of white light.
The whole thing was quite extraordinary, a powerful match for the music. It made one anticipate Mr. Saarinen's date at Jacob's Pillow this summer and fervently hope he makes it back to New York sooner than another eight years.
Lisa Rinehart Dance View Times
A Reluctant Star, Sort Of. . .
Tero Saarinen has kivekset (that's Finnish for hutzpah—in a manner of speaking.) Fortunately, he also has talent and the smarts to choose gifted collaborators. Already recognized internationally as a powerful performer (although I'm afraid he's allowed himself to be described in the program as "one of the most brilliant dancers of his generation"), Saarinen brings to New York a tasting platter of his own choreography....
The star of the evening, however, (and this is where the hutzpah comes in) is unquestionably Saarinen himself in his solo "Hunt," a multimedia tour de force set to nothing less than Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring." Dance history is littered with attempts to realize this magnificent score, but Saarinen is startlingly successful by teaming up with multimedia artist, Marita Liula, as well as costume designer, Erika Turunen, and again, Kunttu. The dance unfolds with the fitful reluctance of early spring and is infused with references to the Diaghilev era. There are bits of Anna Pavovla in "The Dying Swan," as well as archaic positions reminiscent of Nijinsky in his "Afternoon of a Faun." Saarinen has the delicate rawness of a butterfly fresh out of the chrysalis. About midway into the dance, a structure resembling an exploded sheaf of papers fashioned into a tutu descends from the rafters and Saarinen wriggles into it. Mirroring the wild dynamics of Stravinsky's score, Liula's projections begin to flash across skin and dress alike. The images range from hypnotic circular tracings to pulsating collages of barely discernible, but somehow disturbing, objects. Rapid fire editing catches the breath and pulls us into Stravinsky's primal cacophany. If you happen to be a film buff, the net effect is similar to that of the 1929 surrealistic film "Un Chien Andalou," by Salvadore Dali and Luis Bunuel. It's heady stuff and Saarinen summons his considerable strength and feline grace to the task of compressing the miracle of birth, transformation and death into this 40 minute spectacle. The dance culminates with strobe lights repeatedly freezing Saarinen in space (in perfect unity with the score) and ends with the inevitable final collapse. What could be a mess of theatrics is instead an original and stirring visual realization of Stravinsky's emotional intent. Bravo!
Deborah Jowitt, The Village Voice, April 4th, 2006
Siege of Light
Finnish troupe returns after an eight-year absence
Tero Saarinen, the remarkable Finnish choreographer-dancer, isn't the first to choreograph Stravinsky's Rite of Spring as a solo. But he may be the first to internalize the composer's driving rhythms rather than stepping them out, as did Molissa Fenley in her 1988 State of Darkness and Nijinsky's hordes in his 1913 sacrificial ritual. In Hunt, Saarinen's torso and arms map aspirations and assaults. He's not the hunter but the hunted—by the specter of age and death or by the onslaught of contemporary civilization or both. He doesn't attempt to ride Stravinsky's tempest; he endures its pummeling.
His vision owes much to lighting designer Mikki Kunttu; Marita Liulia, who created slides and other multimedia effects; Jacke Kastelli, programmer; and costume designer Erika Turunen. When we first glimpse Saarinen, he is backlit, his outline glowing as he advances unsteadily, dragging around first one foot, then the other. He's bare chested and wears a white skirt. His only onstage audience is a semicircle of lamps set on the floor.
Watching Saarinen in Hunt, you might not guess he was once a soloist in the Finnish National Ballet (although that company's repertory is eclectic and contemporary). You might, however, deduce that he studied butoh in Japan with Kazuo Ohno. He performs the first part of Hunt as if listening for a call, his body arching, his arms outspread. There are echoes of Fokine's Dying Swan in his attempts to rise from the floor, but his "wings" are often distorted and pulled painfully far behind him.]]>


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If you have short dick syndrome or merely have a small boner extenze won't do anything for you. If you're a teen keep waiting to see how your dick genes play out. If you're an adult you better have a high paying career or find the woman who don't believe in fornicating.
An infomercial airing between midnight and 6 a.m. Apparently, the ad people at Extenze think that anyone who stays up late thinks they have a small penis. The infomercial itself is riddled with scripted dialogue with people who can barely speak English. If you happen to be bored while watching the infomercial, there's definitely a Girls Gone Wild commercial on a neighboring channel.
Hey broseph, I have really low self-esteem so I jerk off to Girls Gone Wild commercials after ordering Extenze to increase the size of my microscopic penis!
by bobbydole February 04, 2008
Extenze is a product of which turns you black from the inside out, thus resulting in extreme wiener enlargement. if taken for over 7 months one's lips will begin to enlarge greatly and vocabulary will be shortened to 6 or 7 words, depending on whether you will be ordering Original Recipe or Crispy. Obesity is common, due to mass amount of sugary drinks required to be consumed. Your bank account will dwindle down to nothing in a matter of days due to the many unpayed rent payments and/or druglord debts you end up in. Another common side effect is dry mouth and irritabilty due to high levels of marijuana intake. It is advised not to take this product if you live in inner-cities where taxi-cabs are present, as this may tempt you to steal one or sixteen a night. Please be aware of these side affects before taking Extenze.
I got started on Extenze four months ago and I've already gained mild thyroid glade swelling!
by Alec Zugcic December 13, 2008


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Punishment for throwing octupus on the road
Posted 01 February 2012 - 10:17 PM
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Posted 01 February 2012 - 10:22 PM
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Posted 01 February 2012 - 10:31 PM
Posted 02 February 2012 - 12:21 AM
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Posted 02 February 2012 - 12:40 AM
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Posted 02 February 2012 - 02:03 AM
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Posted 02 February 2012 - 04:06 AM
everyones hands went in the air, i threw it up from behind me and continued the upward motion with "high fives" to everyone around me.
the problem that occured was the buddy next to me went closer to get pictures and the security swarmed him and held all of us for "questioning"
during this time they never once looked my way with any questions.
one security guard had a serious bug up his ass, assumed that since my friend was so interested in getting a photo,(which he didnt get to) that he must be guilty.
my friend, of course egged the guard on with, so columbo, you saw me,huh?, and where did i keep the creature on my person? would my hands have some strange smell to them? you do realize that the guilty one is getting away, dont you? etc....then mid questioning, they changed it to, dead animal. so the cops would be more inclined to stick around.
4 security guards, 3 cops, and 20 minutes of video review couldn't figure out who threw it.
the police apologized, and then chewed out the security guard for wasting his time with this dribble.
so, there you have my adventure....be a ninja, or dont do it at all.
big brother is watching.
- 55fan, Hockeymom1960, WizardOfOz30 and 1 other like this
Posted 02 February 2012 - 11:10 AM
Just be smart.
Posted 02 February 2012 - 11:47 AM
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heh on the last line.
The new logo is better but I wonder how much they paid for it. Very clever how they turned the wave of colours into squares.
Turns out it doesn't take much to blow my mind. A simple logo change from one of the world's biggest companies and my brain has ended up as a red/pink splodge spread messily across the wall of my 'office'.
Despite the risk of mass head explosions, Microsoft has decided to change its logo and include the unmistakable Windows squares. The previous logo had stood for 25 years.
To make it obvious: the top logo is new, the bottom logo is old. It's already present on the Microsoft website. Previous logos have been:
Coinciding with the release of Windows 8 later this year, the new logo is sharper and… more involved with 90 degree angles. Makes sense, I suppose, given the style of the company's Metro OS that'll be appearing on Windows 8 tablets, phones and PCs.
Anyway, big question: do I like it? Yes, it's better than the old one. That was shit.
heh on the last line.
The new logo is better but I wonder how much they paid for it. Very clever how they turned the wave of colours into squares.
what you mean how much they paid for it? surely the cost of a new logo would be insignificant for a company as large as microsoft? or do you mean something other than money?
I was talking about the monetary cost. Some of these logo redesigns cost a fortune. The London 2012 Olympic logo cost £400,000. I don't think I have ever seen one that was money well spent.
Bring back the 70's logo!
As a graphic designer, I have to say that I hate it. The typeface is boring and the symbol is just as bad. I suspect they were trying to match the "tile" feeling of Win8's upcoming Metro system, meh… just meh. They could've varied the sizes of the boxes or something.
I've had more Blue screen of deaths on my Windows 7 PC than all previous PC's we have owned put together…. nuf said


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It's not about the bike : my journey back to life
Lance Armstrong
Adult Nonfiction GV1051.A76 A3 2000
Lance Armstrong
Adult Nonfiction GV1051.A76 A3 2000
Summary: The #1 New York Times bestseller from the cancer survivor who became a four-time Tour de France champ. In 1996, young cycling phenom Armstrong discovered he had testicular cancer. In 1999, he won the Tour de France. Now he's a new father and a memoirist: with pluck, humility and verve, this volume covers his early life, his rise through the endurance sport world and his medical difficulties.
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Hey guys! I am Beta, but you guys can call me Austin if you want to. I'm 15, and am born on the 14th of April. I am from Singapore, which is an Asian country if you don't know where it is or haven't heard of it before. I welcome any type of people, including people who hates. This is because it makes me feel like I am indeed more sensible than them. Thus, it is a bad news that haters that are looking for entertainment won't find any fun here. I love any kind of shows other than the Twilight Saga, as long as it attracts my attention, and I enjoy watching them. Movies? They are my favorite past-time too, as I rot at home, without anything to do.
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Thanksgiving's over and done, but on Thursday's episode of Glee , the holiday has just arrived. That's good news for the kids in New Directions, because all McKinley High alumni who graduated last year -- Quinn, Santana and Puck -- are back for Thanksgiving break, and they're ready to offer advice to the newbies as they prep for sectionals.
The two who aren't making the trek back to Lima for Thanksgiving are Rachel and Kurt, who decide to host a non-traditional holiday dinner in their apartment. Kurt's mentor Isabelle, played by Sarah Jessica Parker , joins them for the meal.
The most interesting musical moment of the night promises to be one of Glee's patented mash-ups: this one will combine Phillip Phillips ' "Home" with Simon & Garfunkel 's classic "Homeward Bound."
As for Sectionals, it seems as though New Directions is going to break out "Gangnam Style" for their big number, while their rivals the Warblers will counter with
One Direction
's "Live While We're Young," among other songs.
Here's the full list of songs from the episode, along with who sings them:
"Homeward Bound"/"Home" (Simon & Garfunkel/Phillip Phillips) Medley sung by Quinn, Puck, Mercedes, Mike, Santana & Finn
"Come See About Me" (The Supremes) sung by Quinn, Brittany, Santana & Mercedes
"Whistle" (Flo Rida) sung by the Warblers
"Live While We're Young" (One Direction) sung by the Warblers
"Let's Have A Kiki"/"Turkey Lurkey Time" (Scissor Sisters/from Promises, Promises ) Medley sung by Isabelle, Rachel, Kurt & Brody
"Gangnam Style" (PSY) sung by New Directions
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Stuttgart, Germany (SportsNetwork.com) - Rain was the big winner Tuesday at the Mercedes Cup tennis event.
Nine opening-round matches were postponed until Wednesday because of wet weather at Tennis Club Weissenhof.
Fifth-seeded German Philipp Kohlschreiber, sixth-seeded Spaniard Guillermo Garcia-Lopez and seventh-seeded Colombian Santiago Giraldo are now on the Day 3 schedule at this clay court event.
The top seeds in Stuttgart are reigning champion Fabio Fognini and Russian 2002 Stuttgart titlist Mikhail Youzhny, both of whom received byes into the second round.
Fognini defeated Kohlschreiber in last year's finale.
The 2014 Stuttgart champion will earn $105,000.