Trust. But verify

Ya gotta love the intelligence establishment. As the Syrians rolled out of Lebanon with the promise to nosepoke no longer, and to take their apparatus of espionage with them, Lebanese officials were were being advised to believe that they would do just that. with the caveat - just check and make sure they don't double back or leave exploding cellphones.

Is a man's word no longer his bond? Guess not.

Frankly the whole things seems to have bee a little easy to me.

Lebs: "I say, please leave."
Syrs: "okeleedokellee. Just give us a chance to have a last wee before we get into our tanks."
Lebs: "There's some cake left over. Wanna take a doggy bag?"

And then they stand chatting for half an hour at the border post before finally realising they're going to miss American Idol on TV. And then they bugger off.

I predict mischief, mayhem and soap in the next couple of months.

Now all we need is Bill Gates' email address and we're sorted

benedictxvi@vatican.va

xin zhong

Look at this window; it is nothing but a hole in the wall,

but because of it the whole room is full of light.

So when the faculties are empty, the heart is full of light.

Being full of light it becomes an influence

by which others are secretly transformed...

The Tao gathers in emptiness alone.

Emptiness is the fasting of the heart

Prophet Muhammad's Birthday

Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Muhammad, happy birthday to you.

Heh, heh. That should put the wind up George W and his buddies.

Eggs Benedict XVI

No surprises this time round. Our man in V-Town (the good cardinal Rat Josephsfinger) had even been given odds of 7-2 by the bookies. Is there a papal tote?

What it means of course, is that the Catholic Church remains firmly mired in its own backward bullshit. And by this I mean that the interpretation of the "Word of God" is unlikely to change in the near future. Our only saving grace (pun intended) is that he's old, and thus will no doubt be on his merry way before too long.

Digressing slightly...I'm conversing with a friend via IMS as I write this piece, and she raises an interesting thought: How do the jews feel about the fact that the new pope is a German?

Now there's wafer for thought.

An African Pope?

Ha! Lets get real. The Catholic establishment doesn't even pretend to be liberal, let alone pay the kind of lip service that many other institutions do, while remaining ultimately conservative.

Nosireebob. This is a church that has so far refused to acknowledge the fact that we are living in the 3rd millennium; even the initiation of female priests causes the Cardinals to shake at their gartered and frocked knees.

More on this as I become more opinionated.

Someone agrees

This is just weird

I was reading Krisjan Lemmer in the online version of The mail & Guardian when I came across this article:

Lemmer is the first to admit that he’s a sucker for urban legends about subliminal images hidden in logos. So Oom can understand why the Zimbabwean secret police would be taking a look at the new logo of the Zimbabwean Cricket Union, as was reported this week. The manne were divided as to whether or not it spells “MDC”: the C is back to front and the chicken head confuses the issue, but when you’re sniffing out subliminal propaganda, you can’t be too careful.

And the choir played on

Well, the old bugger finally popped his clogs. It's been mighty interesting to get the usual slew of "useful" information via the media re the death of the pope.

As revolutionary as he was, and as beloved to all as he was, I feel that he fell short in several important areas; his stance on things like AIDS, contraception, same sex marriages and women in the clergy were old fashioned at best. Some have even said that he was stuck somewhere between the 13th and the 15th centuries. I agree.

I wonder if the next guy will manage to drag the Catholic Church kicking and screaming into the 16th Century.

Corrupt News Network (CNN)

It's been a great years for the media. First we waved (pun intended) goodbye to half of Sumatra. Even the war in Iraq had to be put on the bck burner for a while, while this happened. The the Schiavo case leapt into the public eye. Now the pope seems to be heading towards the light.

No wonder we have things like the Olympic Games and World Cups and tennis matches. If it weren't for these rallying points, it would all be murder and mayhem.

But back to the pope. He's been shot at and wounded. Had pipes stuck in him. You name it. And yet he's till with us. This reminds me of something I once heard about the so-called holy men - god obviously doesn't want them either.

The raspberry is dead. Long live the raspberry

So Terry Shiavo finally died, 13 days after the machines that go ping had pung their last.

When I first heard that big W had flown from his ranch for the express purpose of enacting a bill that would allow Terry's parents to fight yet another round in the battle for her life, I certainly didn't expect the story to get so big.

As the thing unfolded I found it hard to know which side to take.

In the blue corner; the husband - probably doing the right thing. Terry had been a veggie for 15 years, over which time her brain had literally dissolved away to almost nothing.

In the red corner; the parents, egegd on by the usual ill-informed, screaming pressure groups that seem to make up "polite" society these days. They couldn't even get a decent banner together.

But enough of that.

The thing I really wanted to talk about: Once she had kicked off her mortal coil, we saw Terry in various videos that had been shot at various times during the last year or so. IN these videos, one almost got the impression that she did have moments of understanding. Quite sad really.

So maybe the god-botherers had a point. But what these idiots always fail to do, is see anyone else's point of view. What if she was concious at times? And what if she hated being a veggie? I certainly wouldn't want to live like that.

What if her apparent attempts to communicate had been to say "end it now?"

The trouble with people who think they have all the answers is that they never leave room for questions.

Perhaps they should read more John Donne.

And finally, it's ironic that in death she's probably made more of a mark then she ever would have in life.

Of mice and removal men

It's D-Day -1 for the big office move. The soon to be ex-office is a shambles. A zillion boxes clutter what used to be a relatively comfortable and neat working area. The kitchen has been completely dismantled; hence no coffee. And I am informed that my desk has been sold and must move my computer temporarily to another one. I duly take my computer apart and pick my way through the maze. A empty table appears as I crest the rise of a stable pile of boxes. Quickly I make my way forward, fearing that other displaced workers are also beating a path for this same table. As I begin to set up shop I'm informed that this table has also been sold (I knew a clean table was too good to be true). So "how?" as we say here.

The office manager helps me by moving a cutting mat, scanner and 17 rolls of masking tape and thereby clearing enough space or my computer, screen, waterbottle, layout pad and stickers which will later be used to label my compter and single box of worldy goods.

Bonus, the computer that used to occupy this desk has an optical mouse. Seeing as the person who used to work at this particlular workstation has long since resigned, the mouse is now mine. Groovy. Score one for Stuart.

Malaysian F1 GP

Damn, the sound is something else. I had forgotten just how ferociously loud these fire breathing super-souped, V10, 3,5 litre, 1100bhp engines actually were. Luckily I never go racing without earplugs.

As I walked into the circuit from the car park, I could hear, but not see, the cars. Gordon bennet, it was groovy. HAd goose pimples for 5 minutes.

Then, to my delight I found that I had a seat opposite the pits, so at least I got to see some action, instead of the usual thing of very fast one-way tennis.

The acceleration as the cars come out of the pits is unbelievable (for the uninitiated, there is a speed limit in the pits - to make sure that the drivers' grandmothers don't get knocked over while crossing the road).

From my point of view the interesting thing about the 2005 season is the fact that Ralf Shumacher is now with Toyota. I predicted last year that a Schumie Brother would be behind the wheel of a Toyota within the next 4 or 5 season; I just expected it to be Michael.

Of course, the fact that Toyota is picking up points in only its 3rd season out is also interesting, but not unexpected.

Renault's dominance early on is a welcome change from recent seasons- but again, not completely strange. One will recall in the good old days that Renault was a force to be reckoned with during the 80s, being driven by Alain "The Professor" Prost.

Speaking of Renaults, I have to throw in a piece of useless info:

Jody Scheckter, 1979 world champ (in a Ferrari) worked as an apprentice mechanic at his father's Renault delaership in East London (SA) before becoming a racer.
Anyway. A fun day was had by all.

Sometimes the comments are better than the posts

Read the comment on the fire post.

Fire

Yesterday evening, as I was attempting to get a taxi, a car caught fire. Amazing. White smoke began to pour from the car, followed by the driver and his passenger. Very soon, the white smoke had become black smoke, and flames could be seen. Next thing there was a wooshing sound and fire emitted from under the car in long streaks.

It was at this juncture that I decided to move away from the car lest it explode. It didn't, of course (bummer).

The plastic mouldings on the side of the car started to drip onto the road, and of course, a little river of petrol (or something) had begun to run downhill under the car.

One feels a horrible fascination with these things; I didn't want to get blown up, and yet I couldn't move away either. And then a taxi pulled up. Oh well. Pity I didn't have my camera.

More on Million Dollar Baby

What's it really about?

Critics slated the film, saying that it misrepresented itself (being not about boxing, but rather about the right to life). In the build up to the Oscars, the puritanical establishment that passes for public opinion in the US whinged on and on about whether the film's content was suitable for public consumption.

Watching Million Dollar Baby, one is struck by how skillful Clint Eastwood is at giving a healthy dose of pathos without descending into sentimentality. Perhaps that's why there was such an outcry from pressure groups (read: idiots)within America regarding the film's treatment of the euthanasia issue.

The film does contain food for thought, and if you want to make a meal of the assisted suicide thing then that's up to you. What the whigers miss is a whole host of other stuff that makes Million Dollar Baby great. Sucj as cinematographic techniques, filmatic timing, great editing, realistic interaction between the characters...I could go on and on.

I think that my point is this: The aforementioned whingers are not used to having to make up their own minds about issues (they are used to the media making it up for them). So when a picture like this comes along and simply presents a storyline without suggesting how you feel about it they (the whingers) get confused.

Pity we cannot pull the plug on them and put them out of OUR misery.

Go ahead Oscar, make my day

I began to think about what I would say about Clint Eastwood a few days before the Oscars. This was primarily due to the amount of airtime the Awards were getting. Programmes, documentaries, interviews, predictions, trailers, looks behind the scenes, publicity stunts and philosophical debates rages on into the night. One was spoilt for choice.

Anyway, as the whole world knew and has probably already forgotten - as they move on to more important TV viewing - the race for this year's ultimate prize was between Leo's (and Scorsese's) The Aviator and Clint's Million Dollar Baby.

The pundits, ever politically correct, predicted pacification of the billion dollar egos involved in the form of an equitable doling out of Oscar; Best Director to Clint and Best Film to Scorsese (or the other way around).

Whatever.

Clint's movie won 4 Oscars (Best Supporting for Morgan Freeman - about time actually, Best Actress - for Hillary swank, Best Film and Best Director). Now I've always been a fan of Clint's measured style of direction. His pacing and timing are superb in my opinion. He's not as much and auteur as, say Wim Wenders, but he has a sense of style that probably comes from 60 years of exposure to the industry. His move A Perfect World, starring himself and Kevin Costner is on of the best pieces ever, in my opinion.

And so, it was about time that he got the recognition he was due. In fact I seem to recall somewhere in the archived sections of my brain that he was given a lifetime achievement award at some stage.

Viva Clint.

Man eating shark

Haflway between Barstow and the desert

Hunter S Thompson apparently killed himself some time today or yesterday. You can read the official report by clicking on: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/4282865.stm

I always wanted to write like HST. The idea that the journalist, or writer of the news could be more important than the very news he was reporting on struck me as a groovy thing. Of course, the case of Hunter S Thompson's case he invariably WAS the news. His antics usually eclipsed the event he was writing about, and the articles became sort of surreal autobiographical review of what was going on at the time. One almost got the impression that the events wouldn't actually even have been newsworthy were it not for his participation in them.

This is the essence of the so-called Gonzo Journalism - a term I think Tom Wolfe coined; alhtough I satnd to be corrected.

My favourite was always, and I suppoose will always be, Fear and Loathing in Las vegas (although I have read others). Who can restis a book that starts, "We were halway between Barstow and the desert when the drugs took hold."

So long Hunter. See you there...

Finally, here's one from ralph Steadman.

I eat sharks

Had shark fin soup again for lunch today. I know, I know. But the fuckers eat us at the slightest opportunity, don't they. Greenpeace, if you're reading this, it was like that when I got there - promise.

Anyway, I thought I'd do some research in the mysteries of this culinary delight - you never know what shit you'll dig on the web (this blog for example).

So here's a recipe taken from a website called Utopian Online: http://www.yutopian.com/cooking/soup/CSF.html for those curious souls who would like to view the pictures.


Stuff:

300g Shark’s fin (lucky number 888, heh heh)
50 g mushroom - soaked in hot water
20 g dried scallop (Ithink this is becasue shark fins are very expensive and one fills it out with otehr stuff - I've even heard of crab meat being used)
300 g chicken breast
20 diced ham
1500g chicken broth (don't know what that is in ml)

30g ginger
30g green onions (failing which, throw in your old Booker T and the MGs records)
salt
MSG [AAAAAAAAARGH!]
cooking wine (personally I recommend an expensive bottle, but that's just me)
ginger wine (mince ginger and soak in wine)
white pepper
oil

Now light a fire under it:

1. Put dried scallop, ham, one slice of ginger, one green onion in a container with 250 grams of water. Steam contents for one hour. Drain fluid in a bowl.

2. Cook shark’s fin in water until soft and drain. Cook shark’s fin in 1000 grams of broth and ginger wine. Drain broth.

3. Cut chicken breast into pieces and broil in boiling water. Drain water and wash chicken breast under cold water.

4. Heat up wok and add about three tablespoonful of oil. Add chicken breast, ginger, green onion, ginger wine and stir-fry. Add broth from 2) and cook until chicken breast is done. Drain.

5. Arrange chicken, ham, scallop, mushroom and shark’s fin in a container. Add fluid from 1), cooking wine, ginger, green onion, and pepper powder. Cover container with a lid and steam for 2 hours and serve.