Best Wishes for 2008

What did I learn this year?

A Calgary Bar Chick will gladly forsake the chance to become a prince's consort for a bit of cash... and if it means there is a chance that Pamela Anderson will play her in a TV movie.

Pam Anderson is now 40.

How about 46-year-old red-head Eric Stolz as Prince Harry?

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Bob Shaye's insanity was reversible after all. And all it took was a few flopperooneys for New Line. So rejoice, rejoice, o legions of the nerdly! Here comes The Hobbit.

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God and Science do not have to be at odds. Actually, I already knew that, but it is nice to read something intelligent that reinforces that notion!

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There is someone in Canada who writes about military affairs and actually seems to know what he is talking about --unlike 99% of the columnists out there.

And his name is not Scott Taylor, it is David Pugliese.

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Good news from Iraq may mean good news for us in Afghanistan ... and wouldn't it just piss some people right off to have the U.S. pick up the slack where NATO appears to have dropped it?

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Dana Perino is not that bright. Not that bright at all.

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And finally, life is tough for Osgood Hall crybabies. Why, oh why, won't anyone let them respond?
Damn those meanies at Macleans! Boo! They are so, like, oppresive, man!

Seriously, this face-off between Macleans magazine and the 4 law students is tiresome, and my wish for 2008 is that it be resolved quickly and utterly in favour of the magazine. The idea that the fundamental principle of free-speech could be challenged before a human rights commission is a startling enough notion, but the idea that these lawyers-in training only resorted to this measure because they were thwarted in their efforts to engage in a debate on the issue is ludicrous. Ali Eteraz, a lawyer whose progressive bonafides are beyond doubt, dismisses this notion completely:

“Thanks for your input, now what is left for you to do is to please show me the opening to this elusive gateway to public debate. Myself and thousands of Muslims would love to get a chance at engaging in this debate. This is the essence of the claim.

Please let us debate, please let us be heard, I urge and will even go as far to beg of you to help me express myself on an equal footing with these Islamophobes. You provide me a vehicle for debate I will gladly take that anytime of the year over a human rights complaint. What don’t you understand, we encourage debate, where is it? Please guide me to the forum!”

With all due respect, this is the saddest and most pathetic thing I have ever heard.

“Please let us be heard?”

“Provide me a vehicle for debate?”

Is something wrong with you?

1 -Did you call Mark Steyn’s agent and try and set up a public debate? I bet he’d love a go; the right wing pundits do.

2 - Did you contact opposition publications to Macleans and publish stuff there? I bet they’d love a go to make Macleans look bad.

3 - Did you try and raise funds to start a new liberal magazine so you can respond to people like Mark Steyn?

4 - Did you contact the writer of Little Mosque on the Prairie, who is quite sympathetic to the CIC, and ask her to make a snide reference to the demographics issue that Steyn raises?

5 - Did you call Tarek Fateh, who and his associates seemingly have NO PROBLEM WHATSOEVER getting published works critical of Steyn?

6 - Did you even think about taking me up on my offer to get you guys published in the Guardian?

7 - Did you try and contact Anar Ali, the short story writer, to use her influence to write a rebuttal?

8 - Did you try to contact Irshad Manji — who last year wrote a piece damning all those who seek to stifle immigration — to help use her influence in challenging Steyn?

9 - Did you try to contact an agent for yourself or your other equally inept legal friends so that you might write an anti-Steyn?

I’m sorry if this sounds too much like a generalization, but I’ve dealt with individuals propounding the same kind of rhetoric you are — willful victimization, complete ignorance of how the world works, wallowing in self pity — and they often love to attach themselves to Western Muslim communities after 9/11 and drag them down. I’m sure you’ve got a few Muslim enablers as well. The individuals I am describing often tended to be highly educated, driven by some kind of parochial original sin which motivates them to teach utter and total despair to the community they attach themselves to, so that they may then save said community, and feel good about themselves.

I bet you and the other law students who have done nothing but toe the line the entire life (and have now turned into “humanitarians!” in what I figure is the last year of law school) had grandiose visions of having your name appear in Macleans as “defenders of the weak.” To be followed by a parade led by beautiful Muslim muhajjibas (oh, but how dare I suggest that YOU might be an orientalist).

Again, like I said, the statement of yours that I just quoted, is one of the saddest things I’ve read; quite helpless in fact. I never respond at this length in the comments, and felt compelled to do so, because you are just so far gone its tragic.

Read the whole thread to get the picture!

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That's all I got for this year. Hope to blog alot more in 2008. If not for you, whoever you are, then for me, because it's fun to put my nonsense out there.

R.I.P. Borat Sagdiev

The well-known Kazakh reporter passed away suddenly yesterday



Mr Sagdiev is survived by his wife Lunelle, several girlfriends, a dozen prostitutes, a multitude of children (legitimate and illegitimate), as well as his mother and numerous brothers and sisters, half-brothers and half-sisters, brothercousins, sistercousins, ladyboys, he-shes and other indefinitely gendered relatives from the nuclear reactor zone near Kucik.

Funeral details and an obituary have yet to be published

¿¡Viva la Revolución!? ... ¡Viva Louis Vuitton!

The Spanish speaking world has been providing us with some good stuff lately! First King Juan Carlos telling off Chavez, and now this:



Basically, this Venezuelan politician is in the middle of a tirade:

"The only path to justice is socialism. It is not capitalism, it is not cannibalism..."

He is interrupted by the reporter:

"You want to talk about capitalism, and here you are in your Louis Vuitton tie and your shoes from..."

"Uh, that is, uh, I mean, uh...

(rough translation, but basically politician begins to stammer and do the speed-wobble)

...I would love it if all of this was produced in Venzuela, In which case, I would purchase everything that is produced here and we would not have to import 95% of the goods we consume."

Funny. The reporter has since been "disappeared" for double-plus-ungood thoughtcrime.

OK, maybe not...I made that last bit up.

The Chocolate Side of the Force



"**I move my frontal breathing vent away from the mic to respirate."

That's just awesome.

If you haven't yet, check out the original. Over 12 million views. Unbelievable.


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Jon Kay looks at military funding in this country over the last 40 years or so. The data may surprise you at first, but there is a reason something looks cockeyed. (hint: check the comments for the answer) The real kicker for me is that not only did I join the CF just as defence spending went into a nosedive, but I left just as it started to get better!

I can well imagine that nowadays the average no-hook buck private reservist with 18 months of service has already had access to more state-of-the-art military equipment and advanced training than I ever did as an NCM and Officer from 1993 to 1999. And that is as it should be.

Becoming a soldier today, even a reservist, is no longer the vague open-ended commitment it was when I got in fifteen years ago. The prospect of combat looms large, and the preparation for this eventuality must, I think, give the task of training and moulding the soldier a focus and urgency that the process may have lacked in the nineties.

For instance, I have no doubt that nowadays, the average recruit gets familiarized with every weapon in the infantry's arsenal, including mortars and anti-armour weapons, sometime in their first couple of years of service.

Yet even though something like the .50 machine gun is considered one of the basic arms of the mounted infanteer, and I perhaps flatter myself to believe that I was trained as an infantryman – I never got to fire a single round from one.

The fifty cals were always in “war stores” (reserved for use on UN missions overseas and workup training for UN missions) whenever it came time to break them out and learn how to operate them on any given course during any given summer of my unremarkable militia career. As time and time again my training on the weapon was deferred, the "Fifty" began to take on an almost mythical status.

After a while, I came to suspect that the 50 cal did not in fact yet exist -- that it was a theoretical weapon that military theoreticians had developed to help formulate future doctrine in the war colleges of NATO. It wasn't theoretical. It was in fact an antique - it had existed for close to a century; basically a precursor of the weapon was used during the Great War. Imagine my surprise the first time I saw one being fired on exercise, 4 years after joining the military!

Such was life in the militia in the nineties!

A Silly Story

Sir Archibald Barclay and his wife Lady Edith occupy the penthouse of a lovely downtown apartment block. The two bluebloods are from old money, and though reputed to be indolent and selfish, have actually worked hard for philanthropic causes and contributed alot of money towards cancer research. That being said, they are both chain smokers, so maybe they are hoping that all of the money they raise will enable a cure to be found before their nasty habit catches up with them.

One day, a couple of Sloan Ranger types; Piers Piggot and his girlfriend Alexandra Jones move into the apartment just below the Barclays. The young couple are nouveau-riche, not old money like their upstairs neighbours, and they are nowhere near as well-off.They enjoy smoking as much as Sir Archibald and Lady Edith do. With the success of Piers' business their net-worth is increasing, and as it does, they are starting to develop a taste for luxuries.

One day soon after the new couple arrives, the landlord of the building, Mr. Kimoto, decides that henceforth, the building will be smoke-free. There have been several fires in the building caused by cigarette butts in wastebins and the general negligence of some tenants. This is causing insurance rates to skyrocket. Besides, Mr. Kimoto informs his tenants, science has conclusively proven that everyone is affected by second-hand smoke, and therefore he cannot allow some to pollute the air of their building to the detriment of everyone else.

To be sure, there is much grumbling among the tenants, but most agree that its for the better. Better still, although Sir Archibald and Lady Edith immediately quit smoking, they decide they will continue their charitable work for cancer research. One day however, as they are arriving home from a luncheon, they detect the smell of cigarette smoke wafting through the vents in their condo. A bit irritated, they head downstairs to check if their new neighbours can also smell the smoke.

To their surprise, they are greeted at the front door by Piers, puffing away on a pipe. Behind him they can see Alexandra and another young couple sitting in the living room enjoying some brandy and expensive Cuban cigars.

"Terribly sorry, old chap" says a flustered Sir Archibald, "but you do realize we are no longer permitted to pollute the air of our building with tobacco smoke, don't you? It is terrible for your health and bad for the rest of us too!" Piers grins at the old gent and his wife. "Oh, be fair Sir Archie!... you have had years to smoke in this building, whereas Lexi and I just got here!" Sir Archibald raises an eyebrow and Lady Edith snorts haughtily. "Well," Piers continues "I mean, it is hardly fair that just as we get here, all of a sudden everyone is saying we are no longer allowed to smoke, something that the rest of you have been doing all along! In fact, we have decided that we are no longer going to smoke plain old cigarettes, but now that we can afford them, we'll have fancy cigars too!"

"My good man!" Says, a flustered Sir Archibald "I don't follow your logic whatsoever! Do you mean to tell me that we must make an exception to the rules governing the use of something we have all agreed is detrimental, just for you?... are you saying that you should be allowed to smoke--even more than you were doing it before, I might add, just because you didn't get a chance to smoke in this building when the rest of did?"

Piers shrugs "Well, you see, Lexi and I could not afford to live here for the longest time... and we certainly couldn't afford to smoke cigars every day. But now we can, so you and the rest of the old boys club can sod off, yeah?"

And with that, Piers blows a cloud of smoke in Sir Archibald's face, and slams the door.

"What a peculiar point of view" says Lady Edith.

"What a load of nonsense!" Says Sir Archibald

Laughter is Contagious



Sure, the act itself is lame, but the lead-up is just priceless

More Funny Stuff:

As far as pure comic talents go, it doesn't get any better than Jonathan Winters. Winters could adlib like nobody else. Here he is with Dino



Since 24 is postpond, here is the original 24 Pilot from 1994


Iowahawk: Hollywood seeks to expose the harsh truth about Christmas

"It's sad, but hopefully these wonderful films will do much better in the overseas market," said Ebert. "No matter how much down inside they know how Christmas is wrong, and Santa is wrong, it's hard for Americans to see their elves portrayed in a balanced, realistic way, as tragically haunted sadistic pederasts. By contrast European filmgoers are much more sophisticated and educated, so they eat that shit right up."

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For history nerds like me this is cool: Archeologists have found the heart of Rome. And on the topic of "old":

The Seikilos Epitaph is the oldest surviving example of a complete musical composition. It dates back to around the time of Christ. And to listen to it is to seriously freak oneself out.



It is exotic ...and yet oddly familiar. I can seriously imagine myself 2000 years ago throwing on a toga, kicking back on my couch in my villa's courtyard and digging the groovy tunes, man.

ADAMSKI

Killer

Live in Liverpool 1989



Damn! That really holds up... Even 18 years later

Grab-bag

Various items and tidbits that have caught my attention lately:



Redacted box office take as of November 25, 2007 - 10 days in release:

$44,651

Cuz I just can't let it go...

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Why do the Yanks have two land forces?

The Populist explains. A useful primer for anyone who has ever wondered what the difference is between the Army and the Marines.

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I have a bet with someone that Rosie will still be off the air one year to the day she left The View:
Right about now, my chances of collecting are looking pretty good! Keep it up, Rosie... I know I can count on your particular brand of crazy to sabotage any potential comeback.

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Who are hockey's real "most valuable" players?
Who would you rank first?

Hands up if you picked Milan Michálek of the San Jose Sharks.

Didn't think so!

This page gives you the straight numbers and a purely quantitative analysis, comparing salary, dollars-per-goal scored, dollars-per-game-played, and various other figures and ranks each skater accordingly. The others results may surprise you as well.

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And I thought eating Raw Kibbe was daring:

The Six most terrifying foods in the world

I simply must remember to pick up some Sardinian maggot-cheese for my next soiree.

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Prince Harry's brother Prince Baldy:

Wills needs some Rogaine pills



I thought I detected some straggliness on William's royal melon a year or two ago; those tell-tale whispy bits that don't quite end up as locks of hair. I know whereof I speak. I myself started to track the retreat of my legion of follicles a few years back. Thankfully in my case, it was a tactical withdrawal,and not a full-blown rout. I still have a reasonable head of hair.

The hair-challenged heir to the throne did pretty well for himself otherwise in the genetic lottery. Even if he ends up as bald as gramps,I'm quite certain he'll still cut a dashing figure.

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Last of all, Jon Kay heaps scorn upon the anti-racism racket:

For all their claim to progressive politics, there is something slightly old-fashioned and fusty about the people who run these conferences. Many of them have been fighting the evil of prejudice since the early days. And they have chalked up some spectacular successes during that time: the Charter of Rights, human rights tribunals in every province, hate speech laws, gay marriage, etc. Even more importantly, they have managed to make race-hatred the ultimate taboo -- a subject that can get you fired from any job or ostracized at any social gathering. But instead of taking a bow and declaring victory, the anti-racism industry is still chugging, seeking desperately to justify its existence by trumpeting ever more implausible and exotic theories of discrimination.

Read the whole thing, it really is worth it!

Iraq and Afghanistan

We may be witnessing something truly remarkable in Iraq:

OK, the New York Times is writing about it on the front page ... do we dare talk about it now? The possibility of non-defeat?

The Iraq War is a curious thing. It may very well end up being the first war where opponents of it get to paint it as a defeat, and the proponents get to declare victory, with no one being able to conclusively prove the other wrong.
















Nevertheless, as the NYT shows, even some longtime opponents of the war are just about ready to admit that things might be ever-so-slightly improving for Iraqis...

Is this permanent? Who knows. Is it reassuring? Definitely.

Does it jibe with what the Michaels (Totten and Yon) have been saying for weeks? Yes it does:


Here is some absolutely riveting writing from Michael J. Totten on the Anbar Awakening:

One night,” Lieutenant Markham said, “after several young people were beheaded
by Al Qaeda, the mosques in the city went crazy. The imams screamed jihad
from the loudspeakers. We went to the roof of the outpost and braced for a
major assault. Our interpreter joined us. Hold on, he said. They aren’t screaming
jihad against us. They are screaming jihad against the insurgents."

“A massive anti-Al Qaeda convulsion ripped through the city,” said Captain McGee.
“The locals rose up and began killing the terrorists on their own. They reached the tipping point where they just could not take any more. They told us where the weapon caches were. They pointed out IEDs under the road.”

Another missive from Iraq, one that dares give us hope that Iraqis can overcome their deep sectarian rifts: Muslims go to church

Then, on the other hand, there is Afghanistan:

The Senlis Council just released a sobering report, entitled Stumbling Into Chaos: Afghanistan On the Brink, which reminded me of something shocking Michael Yon posted on his site a few weeks ago.

I am far from a defeatist, but I must say that I am profoundly troubled. In the last year, the situation has deteriorated to the point that NATO is heading for a failure in its first major test as an organization. The implications of this are staggering, and we should not fool ourselves: A defeat in Afghanistan would be a fatal blow to the organization's credibility, and the dissolution of NATO thereafter would be likely. If NATO goes, what happens to Afghanistan? What happens to Canadian defence policy, for that matter?

So, given all of these developments, what will U.S. foreign policy be like in a post-Bush world?

Does the end of the Bush administration mean the end of empire? Not yet, says Macleans.

From the lips of Hilary Clinton:

"There is a refrain that we should intervene with force only when we face splendid little wars that we surely can win, preferably by overwhelming force in
a relatively short period of time. To those who believe we should become
involved only if it is easy to do, I think we have to say that America has never
and should not shy away from the hard task if it is the right one."

Looks like the next few years offer little in the way of certainty or reassuring platitudes from the heir-presumptive to the presidency.



Bonus heart-rending content:

A poignant remembrance of those who have fought and fallen there:

Last Letters from Kandahar

All my life I bugged my parents about when I could have a brother, and here I have all the brothers I could want.

Plus: Christopher Hitchens deals with a death

Instead of wasting your time going to see that Robert Redford flick, just read this. Trust me.

Invested in Defeat

Box office defeat, that is! Brian DePalma's Redacted is another failed campaign in the Hollywood War On Terrific Filmaking (HWOT):

As usual, Mark Steyn has some very interesting insights into a subject that has exercised me a great deal lately:

What the preview crowd were telling Berg is, hey, we'd love to see one film where our guys kick serious terrorist butt — and there isn't one, and there hasn't been one for six long years. If you buy the argument that Hollywood's anti Americanism derives necessarily from its role as purveyor of entertainment to the entire planet, well, so what? Terrorists killed a bunch of people in Bali, Madrid, London. Alongside the kick-ass Americans, sign Hugh Grant as an MI6 agent and Penelope Cruz as his Spanish dolly bird and Cate Blanchett as the head of the Australian SAS and Russell Crowe as her Kiwi bit of rough. As long as the enemy's the enemy, and not a Dick Cheney subsidiary. It's fine to show the American war machine warts and all, but Hollywood is showing only the warts — and, even if you stick perky little Reese Witherspoon in the middle of it, it's still just another pustulating carbuncle.

What is it with some of these filmakers? Do they really feel morally obligated to pontificate the way they do? Do they really see their role as educating the masses on what is really going down? Just where do they derive their expertise, or their moral authority, for that matter?

I could go on at great length about some of the new "secular religions" that have arisen lately, and the self-appointed popes who would be the guardians of orthodoxy... but also I'm starting to think that the problem lies with hybridization and the breaking down of barriers between education and entertainment.

More and more, when it comes to movies, the lines are blurring between the two. How many times do you hear that it is important that people watch a certain film to "learn something", and open their eyes to this or that particular issue?

That's absolutely fine by me, as long as people remember they also have to do some reading to supplement whatever that nicely-packaged, easily-digestible, inevitably slanted movie just taught them. The movie is context --an adjunct-- not the Gospel itself. Consider the danger of watching a piece of AgitProp like Loose Change free of any context or additional information.

I think back to all those days in Grade 12 English, watching movie adaptations of famous works of litterature. What if I had just watched the films and not read the books? Would Romeo and Juliet look like Baz Luhrman's South Beach, or Zefirelli's Verona? Having read the play, my Romeo and Juliet doesn't have to look like either... I can make up my own mind! I have additional information that gives me more context.

Do you go to the monkey cage at the zoo expecting a dissertation on Schopenhauer? Do you go to university, for that matter, expecting the professor to gibber, grimace and fling feces? So why should those who entertain us also have the role of educating us?

I say to Hollywood: Never mind the message movies... dance, monkey, dance!


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Bonus: In addition to making reprehensible movies, DePalma is now torpedoing the careers of hungry young actors by allowing them to make fools of themselves and get eviscerated by critics.

Novice thespian challenged by role of improbably-obese, grotesque and ridiculous Marine caricature in Redacted

Bond-age

I've been watching some of the old Bond flicks that MPIX is showing ahead of their premiere of Casino Royale, the shockingly good "reboot" of the 007 franchise starring Daniel Craig.

After watching two of them back-to-back, I noticed that the famous "gunbarrel" opening was subtly different for each one.

I later found this video, which shows each opening montage in sequence, from Dr. No, all the way to Casino Royale.



Personally, I get a kick out of tracing the evolution of men's fashion as exemplified by the ever-stylish 007: The hat, which was de rigueur for a secret agent in the early sixties, has disappeared by the end of the decade. The seventies brings a bell-bottom sporting Bond, and the eighties puffier Bond hair. by the nineties, we have gotten a bit gimicky... a dapper tuxedoed Bond fires a bullet right down the barrel in one opening sequence!

It's also amazing how many variations people have come up with for Monty Norman's iconic theme. Each opening features a different take on the tune: Most of the big and brassy versions from the earlier Bonds I love. Some, like the late seventies disco version, I find hilarious. I also find a couple of the later ones horridly sythesized and overdone. Sure, they get points for trying to be original, but as far as I'm concerned, if it doesn't have that famous dum-da-da-dum-dum, dum dum dum, dum-da-da-dum-dum... it ain't the Bond song!

I also discovered that Monty Norman and legendary James Bond film scorer John Barry have each claimed credit for the creation of the theme, going as far as taking the whole thing to court. The issue was certainly worth a fight, given the royalties Norman must have been collecting.

More on those Hollywood wizards and their knack for reading their audience:

Hollywood misreads response to War On Terror

Critics say the films' failure shows just how badly Hollywood has misread Americans' response to the war on terror, confusing "the public's war-weariness with their own carefully cultivated rage", as Jonah Goldberg, in the Houston Chronicle, put it.

"Hollywood and the left generally have misread this political discontent thinking there's a mandate for their trite Vietnam-era nostalgia for mass protest and Joan Baez specifying," he wrote.

"But few Americans are eager to spend their money to listen to the Jane Fonda set say, 'I told you so!' for two hours."

My personal fave:
Directors say war films make up for poor reporting

Brilliant! I know that if you are like me, you want to get your news by paying ten bucks to sit in a movie theatre and munch your popcorn while you get "real reporting" from people who are supposed to be paid to entertain you. No wonder these flicks are doing boffo biz.

"There is a very big difference between the Vietnam war, where we saw the pictures, and the Iraq war, where we don't," De Palma told Reuters at the Venice Film Festival, where "Redacted" premiered and where he won the best director award.

No pictures? What fucking rock have you been hiding under, Mr. DePalma?

Iraq Combat

or if you prefer (and I am sure many will):

Abu Ghraib

Haditha

Hollywood Asks

Why don't these stupid, disgusting, evil, criminal moviegoers want to go see movies about the evil, disgusting deeds of their criminal government and stupid troops?

Grosses

Rendition $9,664,316
Lions for Lambs $7,913,999
In the Valley of Elah $6,727,968
Redacted TBD

Here's a hint:

Movigoers speak out


Roger Simon provides the straight goods:

These people represent a fair percentage of the (absent) audience. For years Hollywood insiders would joke about the cluelessness of the “flyover people” between the two coasts. But reading these comments, the flyover people, whether foreign or domestic, seem so much more intelligent than the Hollywood wags quoted in the article, it borders on the pathetic.

In fact, the box office debacle should be no surprise to anyone who had been paying the slightest attention, so the question is: Why was and is Hollywood so clueless?

Simon, a screewriter himself, tells us about the Hollywood establishment:

These are not curious people because they are highly self-protective. They live a hugely privileged lifestyle, often based to a great degree on luck (and they know it), and this existence could only be threatened by contradictory information. Who wants that – particularly when it would alienate your colleagues, hurt your reputation and cause work problems?

Better to produce movies that validate the orthodoxy, even if they are economic disasters. Your colleagues will be impressed and you might win a prize (De Palma did – at Venice). Most of them are low budget anyway – a piffle. And the distribution system is rigged anyway. The antiwar swill won’t lose that much money because, boring as the films may be, they will be force-fed into the global entertainment machine, grouped in packages with other movies and sold to foreign television distributors to re-emerge as late-night reruns in Albania or wherever on into 2027 and beyond. A minor loss, if any.

Viva El Rey!

I just saw Hugo Chavez get told off by the King of Spain, and it was awesome:



It's really just fantastic to behold. Here we have a paranoid buffoon unaccustomed to being challenged finally getting a dressing-down in a public forum --and by a President and a King, no less! This is what happens when some two-bit leftist thug starts to believe his own press and steps out of line in an international forum.

First Prime Minister Zapatero --and I am no big fan, incidentally --rounded on the Venezuelan leader and objected to Chavez speaking ill of Aznar, his predecessor.

"Not that I am close to Aznar ideologically, but ex-President Aznar was elected by the Spanish people... and I expect you to show respect..."

And then, as he continues to interrupt, even with his mike cut off (class act, that Chavez), the King angrily chastises him...

"Why don't you just shut up!"

...well, needless to say, I'm sure he was startled by the tongue-lashing. Would anyone dare speak to the great Hugo Chavez in such a manner back home?

Zapatero went on to plead for a respectful dialogue, befitting the "elected representatives" (ha) of their various peoples, but the very idea of a reasonable debate is anathema to Chavez. He has no opponents with whom he can respectfully disagree, only enemies whose character he must assassinate through calumnies and wild accusations. The King, who is himself intimately familiar with the ways of the autocrat, treated this contemptible little tyrant with the scorn he deserves.

I'm a big fan of Juan Carlos de Borbon y Borbon-Dos Sicilias. He was Franco's longtime protege and designated successor, and could have tried to keep the authoritarian regime alive after el Caudillo de España kicked the bucket. Instead, he surprised everyone by working with reformers to bring democracy to my mother's homeland --a system I fear will remain foreign to the people of Venezuela for many years to come.

King Juan Carlos has proven to be an excellent monarch who remains popular in Spain today. He evidently has little time for phony-tough little Napoleons.

Don't worry though, Chavez was undeterred by the King's intervention, and went right back to spouting more of his drivel a few hours later.

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Why Is This Man Smiling?



Someone from the Daily Mail just did a puff-piece on him

"Rage Boy" indeed!Funny enough, he seems to me to be more amateur grievance-monger than frightening religious zelot... heck, if he managed to get over here, he'd feel right at home among the professionals like Jaggi Singh, Maude Barlow and their ilk!

Bill Maher vs Truthers

"Ass-kicking is what's called for"

YES



OH, HELL YES.

I Love This Guy!



Some background on this CBS debacle here.

This ain't just any politician you are dealing with, Leslie.... this is SARKO!

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Administer verbal beatdowns just like the DPRK propaganda machine!

North Korean Insult Generator

or... for those who prefer the sanctimonious approach to confronting political foes:

The Outrage Generator

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A Glimpse into the profoundly undemocratic tendencies of some ideologues of the peace movement at SDA

...and the satisfying resolution,



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Days of Future Past: What did people think now would be like back then? Check out this Blog to see

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I'm thinking about seeing Sean Penn's hagiography of Chris McCandless. I was looking into the background on this story, and this dissenting opinion stopped me in my tracks. Evidently, not everyone romanticizes the young American's trek into the wilderness.

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Sometimes, Wikipedia vandalism can be quite funny!

Although, of course, it isn't something I would advocate. From the wikipedia entry for Yann Martel, (vandalized in response to this publicity stunt ):

As an adult, Martel has travelled the globe, spending time in Iran, Turkey and India. After studying philosophy at Trent University in Peterborough, Ontario, Martel spent six months in India visiting mosques, temples, churches and zoos, and then an entire year reading religious texts and castaway stories. Winner of the 2007 Dofus award for attempting to embarrass Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper. Martel claimed to have sent Harper the Orwell book 'Animal Farm' suggesting Harper should read it hoping that Harper, a conservative would then funnel taxpayer's into an expanded state controlled arts world. What the flamboyantly leftist Martel failed to comprehend was that Orwell's book was a sharp criticism of state control/ funding, a rebuke of everything that the Stalinist Martel stands for.

John Ivison comments on this Harper/Martel business

*****

And to conclude today's festivities, two delights from different sides of the political spectrum:

Kinsellery

October 20, 2007 - The Mop and Pail asked Peter C. Newman to review Jean Chrétien's new book. As Calgary Grit Dan once memorably observed, that's like asking Jerry Falwell to prosecute Spongebob Squarepants.

Newman hates Jean Chrétien because Chrétien wisely resisted all of his sweet blandishments over the years. He refused to give Newman an interview.

Brian Mulroney, whose ego has its own weather system, succumbed. He is still attempting to remove Newman's cutlery from his back.

On the subject of Jean Chrétien, Peter "C" Newman isn't to be believed. He's past his due date. He's petty. He's Jan Wong in a silly hat.

You're welcome.

AND

Steynage

(...) Enjoyable as they are, pop-culture metaphors aren't really of much use, especially when you're up against cultures where life is still defined by how you live as opposed to what you experience via media. It seems to me, for example, that when anti-war types bemoan Iraq as this generation's Vietnam "quagmire," older folks are thinking of the real Vietnam — the Gulf of Tonkin resolution and whatnot — but most anybody under 50 is thinking of Vietnam movies: some vague video-store mélange of The Full Metal Deer Apocalypse. Take the Scott Thomas Beauchamp debacle at The New Republic, in which the magazine ran an atrocity-a-go-go Baghdad diary piece by a serving soldier about dehumanized troops desecrating graves, abusing disfigured women, etc. It smelled phony from the get-go — except to the professional media class from whose ranks The New Republic's editors are drawn: To them, it smelled great, because it aligned reality with the movie looping endlessly through the windmills of their mind, a non-stop Coppola-Stone retrospective in which ill-educated conscripts are the dupes of a nutso officer class. It's the same with all those guys driving around with "9/11 Was An Inside Job" bumper stickers. That aligns reality with every conspiracy movie from the last three decades: It's always the government who did it — sometimes it's some super-secret agency working deep within the bureaucracy from behind an unassuming nameplate on a Washington street; and sometimes it's the President himself — but when poor Joe Schmoe on the lam from the Feds eventually unravels it, the cunning conspiracy is always the work of a ruthlessly efficient all-powerful state. So Iraq is Vietnam. And 9/11 is the Kennedy assassination, with ever higher percentages of the American people gathering on the melted steely knoll.

There's a kind of decadence about all this: if 9/11 was really an inside job, you wouldn't be driving around with a bumper sticker bragging that you were on to it. Fantasy is a by-product of security: it's the difference between hanging upside down in your dominatrix's bondage parlor for half-an-hour after work on Friday and enduring the real thing for years on end in Saddam's prisons.

Beclownery:

Beclown: Verb. To make a complete idiot of oneself in public. To behave or speak in such a way, or to make a comment or express an opinion that is so profoundly witless, senseless and obtuse, that you have forever after defined yourself as a person of comical value only. Never to be taken seriously again. Of worth only as an object of ridicule and derision.

Exhibit A:



Funny: Robert Smigel

Not Funny: Some charisma-free wannabe comedian with a rabbit puppet

Exhibit B:

Bobby Caina Calvan thoroughly beclowns himself Uniting the blogosphere in scorn and disgust

Check out some of the comments at the bottom of the post!

Update: To his credit, Bobby is now facing the music

Calvina could learn a thing or two by looking up the Wartime Columns of Ernie Pyle

Definitely worth a read!

Pyle was killed by a machine-gun bullet while covering American operations on IE Shima, on April 18, 1945.

*****

From Guantanamo:

Khalid Sheikh Muhammad Hearing Transcript

A peek into the diseased mind of an islamist killer. The confession, which is all there, in stark black and white, starts on p. 17.

Truthers should have a jolly old time wrapping their heads around those few paragraphs!

*****

Ted Rall is Scum:

Meanwhile:

The high school graduation rate among recruits is higher than it is among the national youth population, and once they get in, most soldiers get even more educated:

" While the active-duty enlisted ranks have fewer college grad­uates than the comparable civilian population, DOD annual updates on population representation indicate that many who join the military are taking advantage of educational opportunities while serv­ing and that many others continue their education after completing their enlistment period."

And what's more, research would seem to indicate an overall rise in the quality of recruits, not a decline.

Also, current Iraq Honcho General David H. Petraeus, with his PhD from Princeton University, debates whether combat officers actually need PhDs, or can they make do with a "basic" Masters degree . Petraeus, being the egghead that he is, actually favours doctorates for field-grade officers!

I call Bullshit, Ted


*****
Hardest working drunk in showbiz:

48 for 24 star

I saw this a while back, but it occurs to me now that the bigger story here is that Sutherland is not only an unapologetic high-functioning alkie, but also a real team player.

How many other stars would fast-track their own case, forfeiting the right to plead down, so that they could get back to work with as little disruption as possible for the sake of their production team?

Keifer had to swallow this kind of time because this isn’t the first time the notorious partier has been tagged for DUI… and because he absolutely wanted to work his sentence into 24’s production schedule.

Bonus betcha-didn't-know 24 content:

Did you know that the actor who played Season One Baddie Ira Gaines is the guy who had the misfortune of firing the gun that killed Brandon Lee on the set of The Crow in 1993? Tragic.

Long Time Gone



But I'm back now, and here to stay!

Here's me and my habibi at the wedding of hermano Joe and Michelle

And, here's some stuff that got me thinking lately:


The Inevitable Facebook Backlash

I enjoy Facebook... in moderation... but I must admit that there are some really good points raised in this article

"The whole thing is just a narcissistic exercise in self-branding and image management"

well, that suits me just fine, because I tend to associate with narcissistic, image-managing self-branders! --Heck me and some friends are going down to the ranch next weekend to brand ourselves. Hope Zeke doesn't forget the rubbing alcohol and cold compresses.

Seriously, though... some of the applications are pretty ridiculous. I'm pretty sure I don't want to get involved in any Hobo Wars, nor am I addicted to Grey's Anatomy or interested in vibrating hamsters of any kind! ... But to each his own.

And that's the great thing about Facebook: Customization! Your page can be as streamlined or as cluttered as you want it to be.

*****

The gun is the great equalizer

Think about it. It is the use of a gun that "allegedly" allowed this grotesque troll, an obese career criminal who was barely five feet tall, to get the better of an alpha-male like Constable Chris Worden, who had been a standout college athlete at Laurier. Woorden would have likely snapped the little prick in half, had the alleged killer been unarmed, or had he been given a fair chance. We don't have all the details yet, but I would not be surprised to hear that the Mountie never even saw it coming.

*****

Sopranos Finale

David Chase Responds! His message? Get over it, freaks.

*****


Because it is worth reading

Orson Scott Card's essay on
the end of Empire. A real treat if you are a fan of history, and you actually believe that we can learn something from the past, like I do.

*****

We may not know who we are

But we recoil instinctively, I think, from what we know we are not, and never want to be.

Reading this article, I thought aboutsomeone telling me a story about being obliged to talk to a woman's husband to find out "where it hurts", because she was forbidden from speaking to a man outside her family.

There is something repugnant about that, is there not? Doesn't something inside you tense up? Some little voice tell you "That just ain't right"? But this is Canada! Live and let live! We embrace what makes us different, don't we? And so we are conflicted... and in some places, xenophobia is rearing its ugly head.

Contrary to what some say, it is NOT racist to discuss reasonable accomodation, but it is reprehensible to pander to some bigots and give them a forum for airing their hysteria over “outsiders" in order to score political points.

In Quebec, we discover that the Province’s infrastructure is crumbling and that the transport department is characterized by "widespread negligence" and "generalized irresponsibility", but I guess the politicos are too busy with other issues to do anything about it!

We only have ourselves to blame for any current difficulties, because it turns out that Canadians do stand for something after all... we have just forgotten to advertize it clearly. We need to talk more about the responsibilities and not just the rights inherent in Citizenship. Because being a Canadian should mean certain things, notwithstanding how we have been bumbling along. That honest and blunt conversation, rather than more soapboxes for fearmongers and bigots, is what is needed.

*****

The Egghead War

Vic Hanson went to Iraq. He was struck by the number of PhDs and Masters among the soldiery currently serving there.

I sometimes laugh at how some people paint soldiers as "children" who were probably bamboozled into joining up.

If Hanson is to be believed, the condescending depictions modern soldiers as simpleminded, illiterate gung-ho yokels, seem to be well removed from the truth of the matter.

The high level of education among the military contrasts quite nicely, I think, with the meagre academic achievements of the Hollywood-based punditry; self-proclaimed experts on everything. I'm thinking of borderline retards like Janeane Garofalo, who dropped out of college, or Sean Penn, who didn’t even go.

Visitors from Spain

A couple of weeks ago, Joe and Michelle got hitched. It was a fantastic time for all of us, particularly because so many of our Spanish relations made the trip over for the wedding. Nesrine and I agree: you enjoy a wedding so much more when it isn't your own.



After the wedding, everyone piled into a couple of cars and headed off on a road-trip. The first stop was Ottawa. Here are the primos in front of Parliament.

Rome

Our three-week trek is ending tomorrow, but at least we managed to finish on a high-note. Rome was just as enjoyable this time around as it was three years ago, and what's more, I got to check out some sights I had not gotten to last time around (San Giovanni Laterano, Domus Aurea) as well as revisit some of my faves, this time with Nesrine (the Forum and the Palatine, and the Vatican and Saint Pete's, naturally!). Nesrine is currently finishing her last minute shopping-spree, then it's off to see La Traviatta, and early to bed. We have to catch two flights tomorrow, but with any luck we should back to the old grind by tomorrow, Tuesday latest, sob. It seems that the more travelling I do, the more I want to do in the future. I guess the many fantastic memories I have of this three-week adventure will just have to tie me over until the next trip!

Florence

What does one say about Florence? Well, for starters, it is as amazing as I remember it being the first time I was here. I bet Nesrine that she would like it even more than Venice, and I was right. Venice was great, don't get me wrong... but you can only take so many vaporetto rides before the novelty starts to wear off. I did get to see the palazzo, which I had also missed the first time around --what the hell did I actually do the first time I was in Venice, come to think of it? I was impressed by the Doge's appartments and the state offices, which was kind of the idea behind their whole design, I guess: to overawe any visitor with the military and economic power of the Venetian republic. I actually got a bit creeped out going over the "bridge of sighs", imagining how many poor bastards got a last look out towards the lagoon before they were locked up in those horrible dungeons!

We arrived in Florence last night by train, and had to do a bit of running around to secure lodgings. I had the absurd idea of staying in the same place I had rented last time I was in this city, but of course, the Bellavista was all booked up. Nesrine, who did not appreciate the stench of urine in the vestibule did not mind that the hotel turned out to be unavailable. Nevertheless, we did manage to find a place to stay just a stone's throw from the Palazzo Vecchio.

Our first evening in Florence turned out to be quite an exciting one: Nesrine was in the middle of a heated bargaining session with one of the many African street vendors who sell knock-off purses around this city when suddenly, a half-dozen cops appeared out of nowhere. We slithered away as they took the hapless entrepreneur into custody. Nesrine felt sick about the whole thing, since she blamed herself for distracting the fellow and thereby preventing his escape. I felt less sympathy. Getting pinched by the carabinieri is just one of the risks inherent in his chosen line of work. It comes with the territory.

This morning, after securing tickets to the Uffizi for tomorrow, we wandered across the Ponte Vecchio and did a bit of shopping. I also paid a return visit to the Brancacci chapel to see the Massacio frescoes depicting the life of Saint Peter. That was also worth a return visit, since I had had a chance to read more about the importance of these works (studied by renaissance masters for decades after they were done in the early 15th century) and they were every bit as impressive as the first time I had seen them.

Tomorrow, we hit the Uffizi, and then, on to Rome, for the big finish!

A Fleeting Glimpse of Athens and on to Venice

That's about all we got... but it was enough. We left Santorini on a high-speed ship bound for Pireaus after 9 PM, knowing that we would not be getting to Athens until very late, but we were not 100% ready for the ordeal that followed.

The ship was great--unlike the last high-speed jet boat we had taken from Mykonos to Paros-- those Greeks know how to sail in style. The only downside was the heavy cloud of cigarette smoke wafting throughout the cabin and choking the young'uns. Smoking and non-smoking sections aboard these vessels are adjacent to the point of being almost interchangeable. Anyway, our trip and arrival at the port of Piaraeus was without incident. I wish I could say the same about the next couple of hours.

I have read that in the fourth century BC, the Athenians built walls around the road betweeen their city and its port of Piraeus during the Peloponesian war to keep marauding Spartans out and allow the passage of goods up to the city. If only they were still intact! Piraeus is the kind of ugly you see in post-apocalyptic movies starring Kurt Russell or Mel Gibson. Worse yet, the taxi drivers are relentless in their efforts to lure unsuspecting tourists into their cabs as they come off the vessels in the port, unaware that they will likely get fleeced. Nesrine and I ran the gauntlet for about 500 M, fending off the unwelcome attention of these shady characters, until we arrived at the bus stop. After a quick confab with some French Backpackers --I don't speak the Breton version of French, but I could almost understand 50% of what they were saying-- we hopped aboard a bus bound for central Athens.

The driver waved us away dismissively when we told him we didn't have tickets and offered to pay cash-money. Free trip downtown! Nice. Even though it was 1:30 in the a.m. by now, I could still see clearly enough outside the bus to be dismayed by what I saw. Whither the polis of Pericles? This place was a dump. After about 30 morose minutes trundling through a nightmare of urban decay, with the French girls, an assortment of weirdoes, trannies and hookers as our travelling companions, we jumped of as near to our hotel as we could, and headed out on foot after bidding the Bretonnes bonne chance. Downtown Athens at night is not for the faint-of-heart, and after several accidental detours into dark alleys among the labyrinthine streets, we soon lost our nerve. A cab was hailed, and we piled in, agreeing on the reasonable-sounding price of 5 Euros... mostly because I could not see a meter, and the cabbie looked reasonably unfriendly --but not outwardly hostile.

Ha. Barely 5 minutes later, we were in front of the King Jason hotel. What I had thought was the car radio turned out to be the meter. It read 2.60. Somewhat disgusted with myself, I handed the surly cabbie his fare, which included a 100% mark-up thanks to our earlier agreement, and we staggered into the hotel. It was 2:30. We had not been in our clean-but-unremarkable room more than 5 minutes before the wailing started from next door. There is a corner in hell where the tormented damned make such sounds, I'm quite certain, but these noises were coming from right next door. Evidently, some fellow was having a very bad night. I guessed it was a bad-breakup and a late-night drunk-dial gone wrong. Nesrine, the kinder soul, thought that the fellow was sick. We were starting to get a bit alarmed by the cries of anguish coming from the next room, when they suddenly stopped. This was our window of opportunity to get some shut-eye. It was 3 am, and we were getting up at 8 am to see the Acropolis. We took it. I resorted to ear-plugs.

The next morning, we were relieved to hear our neighbour was alive and well... no one could still be wailing so vigourously and have anything physically wrong with them. Mentally? Maybe... At any rate, we did not stick around to find out. We had just a couple of hours to see the Acropolis, the Parthenon, and the Erectheion... all the old stuff that people go to Athens to see. The ruins of the Acropolis are spectacular, but everthing around it in a 10 km radius... I compared it to a pearl in the middle of a pile of manure. A crude analogy, but waddaya gonna do? I was on 4 hours sleep.

The trip to the airport that afternoon confirmed the prejudices I had developed the night before: Athens is huge. It is dirty. And it is afflicted with urban blight. I'll entertain contrary opinions when people show me any holiday snaps that do not feature the Parthenon or anything within a 1000-meter radius of it. Any takers?

After a bit of a white-knuckler on a flight with Alpi-Air --which I suspect is recycling the 19780s-era fleets of former soviet republics ( I swear I saw bulgarian instruction stickers in some areas of the plane) --we arrived in Venice. We took a vaporetto down the Grand Canal to our hotel, the Campiollo, which just a hop, skip and a jump away from the Piazza San Marco. We were promptly upgraded to a ridiculously fantastic apartment and spent a wonderful evening enjoying it -- it was closing on 8 pm by now and we were too exhausted to do any sight-seeing that evening.

Due to some poor planning, I never got a chance to visit Sain Mark's church last time I was here (ridiculous, I know), but I took care of that omission this morning, and it was worth a three-year wait. We saw amazing mosaics and those 4 big horses, cast 1800 years ago, that the crusaders stole from the hippodrome in Constantinople in the 1200s. I think San Marco is everything the Hagia Sofia was and might have been to this day, if history had played out a bit differently before the walls of Constantinople back in the 15th century. The rest of the time, we just kinda wandered around, gaping at everything. Venice kinda has that effect on people.

Some say that La Serenisima ain't the lady she used to be, but after Athens, she was looking pretty spectacular, let me tell ya!

Waiting for the next catastrophe

No, not a personal catastrophe... things have gone pretty well on this trip so far, all things considered. I'm talking about a natural disaster. Santorini (Thira) has seen plenty of them in its day, including several volcanic erruptions --one of which basically ended the Minonan civilization in ancient times-- and a real doozy of an earthquake that levelled alot of the Island almost 50 years ago. And yet, every time, people came back to rebuild. Why?

Well for us, the answer was clear as we arrived on the ferry. It was a bit of an ordeal getting here, though. We left Mykonos on Wednesday, but had to take a Fast-boat and stay overnight in Paros due to a mix-up. The trip to Paros was a horrible experience involving turbulent seas and people getting sick all over the ship-- we managed to avoid that misfortune, but not the smell, though! We vowed to avoid fastboats in the future.

Paros is a lovely island, and the port, in particular, has a fantastic waterfront, but it seemed a bit somnolent to us after the excitement of Mykonos, and we didn't mind leaving after only a day. On Thursday afternoon, as we approached Santorini, we were treated to the awe-inspiring site of the cliff-top bleach-white houses of Oia, which perch precariously above the northern point of the half-moon shaped Island. We cruised down the island's west coast, seeing more such houses with their colourful roofs and windows, as well as little paths here and there down to the small ports at the base of the cliffs. It was only later that we realized we were sailing through the caldera, which was the result of the collapse of the centre of the once-island after a cataclysmic erruption.

The volcanic rocks and fantastic landscapes of this island attest to the turbulent relationship Santorini has had with the forces of nature, but both of these things make travelling around the island a sheer joy. As in Mykonos, we rented an ATV and have made excellent use of it over the past two days, visiting beaches and lovely towns and villages all over the island. We also had the good fortune to stay in Oia, which was postcard-beautiful. This enchanting island will surely remain a highlight of our trip in our memories.

On the critical matter of selection of beaches:

We have been in Mykonos now for just a couple of days. It was Nesrine's idea to come here, but I'm afraid I'm getting used to the vibe of this place and the enviable lifestyle of the Mykonos holidayer: Up at noonish after a late night of carousing, coffee on the closest beach at Ornos, hop on the four-wheeler with my "old lady" and zoom off to some cove to stew in the sun and swim in the Aegean -- the ATVs are de rigeur here, nobody walks. Driving them around is a dangerous business, with all the rough and winding roads criss-crossing this picturesque island. Signs and traffic signals are few and far between. And those that exist (e.g. the speed limit postings) are taken more as suggestions by some of the people here, who seem hellbent on killing themselves in their pursuit of a good time.

Nevertheless, once you survive the traffic and manage to get to the beach, you are bound to have a good time....unless maybe if you arrive at a gay/lesbian nudie beach that you had not intended to visit. There is a big gay scene on Mykonos. Nesrine and I chuckled about that scenario as we observed a sign pointing in two different directions. One beach, Paradise is populated mostly by younger people, with a sprinkling of old hipsters. The other beach Super Paradise is the Gay/Lesbian beach. How many unsuspecting people, while exploring the many beaches of the island, have heard about Paradise and decided to go, only to showed up Super Paradise and not realize where they were until confronted by the sausage party.

Anyway, we like it here, and we don't think we shall come home!

Groan. OK, even the locals know that you can't live this lifestyle 365 days a year.

More Istanbul, and then south

Day three ın Istanbul was dedıcated to seeıng the Hagıa Sofıa and the nearby Cıstern --that's rıght, even the cısterns ın Istanbul are tourıst attractıons. But thıs one ıs truly unıque. The Basıllıca Cıstern was apparently used by the byzantınes to store water they brought ınto the cıty wıth theır aqueducts. At some poınt, ıt fell ınto dısrepaır and was only redıscovered after tales of local Istanbul resıdents "mıraculously" drawıng water through holes ın theır floors spread. It has been fully restored now and ıs an eery place to spend a few mınutes, wıth ıts creepy underground mood lıghtıng and shadowy fısh flıghtıng about the shallow water around the dozens of columns that support the massıve cavern --ıt ıs longer than a football fıeld.

Before goıng there, however, we vısıted the Aya Sofıa (spellıng varıes) --the former "Church of the Holy Wısdom" whıch, for a tıme, was the largest church ın Chrıstendom. Buılt by Justınıan ın the sıxth century, ıt was transformed ınto a mosque after Constantınople fell to the Turks ın 1453, and then natıonalızed and made a museum ın the early part of the 20th century. Whıle certaınly grand and awe-ınspırıng, ıt seems to have had a peculıar effect on Nesrıne and I. We realızed that our vague sense of dısappoıntment came from our vıew that ın restorıng portıons of the church-cum-mosque they trıed to show ıt both ways, and ıt ended up showıng neıther. The orıgınal paınt and mosaıcs had been plastered over by the muslıms, due to theır prohıbıtıon on the dısplay of ımages of human or anımal ın theır relıgıous art. In some sectıons therefore-lıke the nave-lıttle remaıns of the orıgınal church. If you choose to approach your vısıt ın sectıons, however, there are some defınıte hıghlıghts: The restored mosaıcs of Chrıst Pantocrator in the second floor gallery and the donatıon depıctıon wıth emperors Constantıne and Justınıan ın the south entrance are worth the prıce of admıssıon alone. It ıs ıncredıble to thınk that thıs ıs a 1600-year old church. That alone makes ıt awe ınspırıng.

On day 4, our last one ın the cıty, we tackled the Grand Bazaar a second tıme, and dıd alot better thıs tıme, makıng headway agaınst the ımplacable merchants who assaulted us from every dırectıon. We managed to walk away wıth a few ıtems and our dıgnıty ıntact. Whıle Nesrıne caught up on some bookıng, I vısıted the Istanbul Archaeologıcal Museum, whıch was a real treat for anyone who ıs ınterested ın layıng eyes on the stuff you read about ın ancıent hıstory books. It aın't every day you can see a 6000-year old ınscrıptıon of some God-Kıng braggıng about butcherıng hıs enemıes and rulıng the unıverse. Fınally, perhaps fıttıngly, our vısıt ended at the Blue Mosque, perhaps Istanbul's most famous sıte. We both agreed that ıt was a bıt antı-clımactıc after the splendour of the Suleymaıye Camıı, but the far more tourısty Sultanhamet Mosque ("blue mosque" ıs just a nıckname) was ımpressıve nonetheless, wıth ıts splendıd tılework and amazıng proportıons. I was a bıt put off by the number of people who sauntered ın wıth theır legs uncovered or, ın the case of women, wıthout wearıng the requısıte head coverıng, provıded on sıte by the mosque staff. I thought ıt showed a great deal of dısrespect. After dınıng ın Sultanhamet ınstead of Beyoglu for the fırst tıme durıng our trıp--all of our dınıng experıences havıng been great so far-- we turned ın early.

The reason for that was that the next day, we had to catch a ferry to Bandırma on the Asıan sıde, ın order to catch a traın to Izmır ın the south. It was a welcome respıte from our hectıc days of walkıng all over Istanbul, and we met a nıce retıred couple from Australıa who chatted about theır trıp to Canada. After a quıck bus rıde to Selçuk, we got settled ınto our Pensıon, and slept lıke the dead.

Early thıs mornıng, we got up and vısıted the ruıns of Ephesus. They are massıve, puttıng anythıng else I have seen from the classıcal perıod of Rome or Greece so far to shame. I was partıcularly ımpressed by the lıbrary of Celsus and the Odeon, not to mentıon the 24 thousand seat theatre. The only trouble ıs the oppresıve heat, whıch ıs takıng ıts toll on both Nesrıne and I. We took a bıt of a nap thıs afternoon to recover, and I thınk we are about ready to transıtıon to a bıt of a slower pace-- that means we'll probably be headed for Samos ın Greece, and the Islands beyond, tomorrow. In other words: "enough hıstory... brıng on the beaches!"

The fırst two days

We arrıved ın Istanbul on Sunday evenıng and after gettıng through the ımmıgratıon formalıtıes, hopped ın a cab for our hotel. It took all of 5 seconds for me to reach for my seatbelt as the cabbıe deftly zıg zagged ınto the chaotıc stream of traffıc headıng ınto Istanbul. The cıty sprawls over a numberof hılls around the golden horn, so the roads are seldom straıght or level. In fact, we quıckly dıscovered that our hotel was at the top of one of those hılls --and on a street that dıd not allow car traffıc. Luckıly, ıt was a short 2 mınute walk and wıth packs on our backs, we trudged wearıly ınto the lobby. A few mınutes later we were grabbıng showers ın our lovely lıttle room, delıghted to see that the ınternet and travel gods had favoured us ın bookıng thıs place, the Rıchmond, sıte unseen.

We walked up the aforementıoned street, called Istıkal Cadesı, whıch seems to be swarmıng wıth pedestrıans 24 hours a day, and grabbed a beer at a sıdewalk bar. We had made ıt!

Monday mornıng saw us rıse at a decent hour, notwıthstandıng a brutal case of jet-lag, to go check out Topkapı palace. One day I'll try to put the experıence ınto words, but at the moment, ıt seems too overwhelmıng. The seat of the Ottoman sultan for centurıes, ıt sıts on a promontory overlookıng the Bosphorus and domınatıng the Sultanhamet area of the cıty (the hıstorıc centre). It was expanded several tımes ın ıts hıstory and now houses 4 courts as well as the harem and ımperıal resıdence. It ıs completely unıque, featurıng amazıng ottoman archıtecture and rıch, ıntrıcately detaıled rooms covered ın thousands of ıznık tıles, gold, and lapıs lazulı. It was unlıke any european palace I've ever seen --and ıt was a fantastıc place to spend the better part of a day.

After a quıck nap, we headed for dınner at a rooftop restaurant, where we got our fırst taste of Turkısh cuısıne --love ıt-- and our fırst real remınder that we are ın a muslım country. At some poınt ın the meal, we began to hear lıttle pops ın the dıstance --fıreworks, we thınk, but we stıll aren't sure. Thıs was followed by a strange dronıng sound that started far away, and was gradually pıcked up ın other parts of the cıty. I soon realızed that these were human voıces raısıng plaıntıve crıes through dozens of loudspeakers, and that the resultıng cacophony was ın fact the competıng calls of many muezzın. It was one of those moments that stops you dead. We're not ın Kansas anymore, Toto.

The next day, as ıf makıng good on a promıse to ınvestıgate the source of those calls to prayer, we headed across the Galata brıdge to Yenı Camıı (the new mosque--whıch ıs only new ın the sense that at 400 years old, ıt ıs a relatıvely recent addıtıon to the ancıent cıty's collectıon of mosques). It was my fırst tıme ın a mosque --and what a mosque for a fırst-tımer! It ıs a fully functıonıng mosque, not a hıstorıc sıte, so we followed the shoe-removal/female head coverıng/modesty protocol and spent a few mınutes ınsıde the massıve buıldıng. The raın had started fallıng, so we found our way ınto the spıce bazaar, where we were accosted from every sıde by frıendly turks tryıng to separate us from our money. We were careful not to get to cozy ın any store we entered because the tea and pleasantrıes would be a prelude to spendıng more than we should on somethıng we dıdn't need. In spıte of the hard-sell, I found the Turks to be frıendly and charmıng, ıf a bıt to smooth.

Eventually, we made our way to the Suleymaıye Camıı, whıch ıs the mosque that was buılt by Suleıman the Lawgıver (or the Magnıfıcent, dependıng on whom you talk to). The greatest of the Sultans, hıs 16th century mosque ıs a manıfestatıon of the power and majesty of hıs reıgn. It was more magnıfıcent than the mosque we had just vısıted, and what's more, for some reason the guard at the front let us stay for noon-hour prayers, whıch meant that we got a front row seat to the local muslım men (and women--behınd a screen at the back of the mosque)performıng the rıtual requıred of theır faıth-- somethıng that ıs normally not really part of the package tour, I'm sure. I was very moved by the whole thıng --Nesrıne even more so. We left ın stunned sılence.

A vısıt to the Grand Bazaar followed, and was somewhat dısappoıntıng, ın the sense that ıt seemed lıke more of the same --remember we had just been to the spıce bazaar a couple of hours before. I guess we just weren't ın buyıng mood. We wandered around Sultanhamet for the next couple of hours, stoppıng by the Hıppodrome to check out the obelısks, before headıng to a hamam, or Turkısh bath. It ıs a bıt early to talk about hıghlıghts of the trıp, but I have a feelıng thıs wıll remaın one of them. The place we went to advertısed ıtself as a 300 year-old ınstıtutıon, and ın spıte of ıts locatıon ın the tourısty part of town, turned out to be the real deal. Nesrıne and I parted company --women have a separate sectıon from men--and reunıted an hour later to compare experıences. You haven't really been clean untıl you have been steamed, gıven a vıgorous massage, scrubbed raw and drenched ın one of these places --take my word for ıt!

That nıght, our thırd ın Istanbul, I slept lıke a baby. All the aches and paıns brought on by the rıgours of trekkıng around a bıg cıty had magıcally dısappeared!

Bloggıng from Istanbul, Turkey

dısclaımer --any bızarre symbols ın thıs post are courtesy of these weırd keyboards

The trıp over was a paın, but after almost a full day of travel, now that we are here all grumbles and jet lag seem to have vanıshed. The cıty founded by Constantıne ıs just as awe-ınspırıng as you would expect from ıts hıstory. What has turned out to be a real pleasant surprıse, however, ıs how thoroughly modern ıt seems --an I mean ın a good way! I wasn't expectıng a place that seems so thoroughly at ease wıth the dıchotomy of ıts ancıent roots and ıts current status as a 21st century metropolıs. Everythıng seems to blend ın seemlessly, and I actually have found nothıng ıncongruous about completely modern buıldıngs sıttıng sıde by sıde wıth centurıes--or even mıllenıa-old structures. The Golden horn ıs just spectacular, and we have a great vıew of ıt from our hotel ın trendy Beyoglu... a very comfortable dıstance away from the carpet-hawkers ın the tourısty dıstrıct and a mere 20 mınutes on foot from just about everythıng. Day 1 we vısıted Topkapı Palace... ıt took almost the whole day and was absolutely worth the tıme spent. Tonıght, we dıne ın Beyoglu, and then ıt ıs back over to Sultanhamet for more tourıst stuff --Aya Sofıa or the Blue Mosque fırst? That's the kınd of dılemma we can deal wıth!

Stay tuned for more updates

We Don't Live In A Fascist Nation

THIS



IS WRONG.

Now, this video is about to go viral, if it hasn't already, so I will not bother giving you much background. You will probably hear all about it soon enough anyway. Essentially, it claims to show three undercover policemen confronted by some lefty union boss and denounced as "provocateurs". These so-called agents-provocateurs are hauled through the police cordon and arrested as protestors taunt them. Dave Coles has been getting alot of airtime on the news networks, allowing him to repeat his claims.

Well....


I believe him


Yup, your eyes do not deceive you. I, Mr. right-wing jackbooted reactionary am in complete accord with Comrade Coles.

It only takes one viewing to see that the whole thing stinks to high-heaven. Of course it is standard practice for the cops to plant "protestors" at these types of demonstrations, as a way of gathering intel and conducting surveilance. That's just common police procedure, and anyone who is outraged should give their head a shake. Prior to the Summit of the Americas in 2000, I was working for Canada Customs and an intelligence guy told us as much in a presentation we were given. I'll never forget it, because it was the first time I heard about black blocs, which I would later see in action at the aforementioned summit. You see, I have seen, up-close-and-personal, the interaction between protestors, both of the violent and non-violent varieties, and police on riot duty, and what you see in this video is definitely not the norm.

Normally, at least as I understand it and based on what I have heard from cops, the plants are supposed to be invisible. They look --and act-- the part of an "activist" or "radical", without actually getting sucked into any of the crazy "direct action" crap that some of the more "motivated" demonstrators (e.g. anarchists)can get up to involving acid, projectiles, and other patently illegal activities. They are like spotters, keeping a lookout for trouble spots at the leading edge of a demonstration, and surreptitiously informing their uniformed colleagues so that they can neutralize threatening behaviour. before it develops into somthing more dangerous. They are grey men --and women-- who are supposed to melt into the crowd and just observe.

This video? It is surreal, really. I'd love to hear from the genius who picked these three of Quebec's finest for this duty. Here we have three muscular douchebags in their late thirties or early forties milling around trying to blend in with a bunch of scrawny adolescent wannabe anarchists. They are so out of place it is almost laughable. But what really gets my underwear in a twist is that one of these clowns is clearly holding a rock --you can hear Coles admonish him and tell him to drop it at one point.

Now, this, ladies and gentlemen, is where we go beyond standard operating procedure and into the realm of incitement. What the hell was this joker doing with a rock in his paw? We have no way of knowing, but I'm quite certain this is inappropriate behaviour for someone undercover and I also imagine it crosses some police procedure line. What's worse is that if he is in fact an undercover cop (and I am convinced that he and his buddies are) video evidence of that rock is very damaging to the police. The demonstrators are claiming he was trying to stir up some violence so that the cops could retaliate, and they are pointing to the rock as evidence of this intent. It is compelling evidence.

The denouement of this little drama is laughable to say the least. A frenzy of sotto-voce negotiations between the three cornered "protestors" and the riot police followed by a pantomime arrest. Conveniently, the takedown takes place in the opposite direction of the demonstrators, allowing dozens of photographers to get a very nice view of the matching Vibram soles on everyone's boots. those Vibrams -- so popular with Tactical teams and soldiers, to say nothing of young anarchists!

We'll see how this all plays out in the days to come.

What is behind the "Peace Movement"?

One can begin to form a picture of the typical peace studies student by reading the testimonials by students and graduates that many of these programs have posted online. Essentially the same story occurs over and over in these accounts: the privileged upbringing; the curiosity about other cultures; the visit to the Third World, where the poverty shocks, even transforms, the student (“I . . . would never be the same after experiencing what I did in Honduras”); and, finally, the readiness to swallow the peace professors’ explanation for it all—namely, that it’s America’s fault—and to work for revolutionary change. Many students make it clear that they’re ashamed to be American; one of them, listing her aspirations, writes, “I envision myself American, not needing to be embarrassed of it.” They view themselves instead as “global citizens"

Read it all here.

*****

Bonus stupid content:
Unqualified Candidates. Following this guy's line of reasoning, I nominate Matthew Coon-Come for Indian Affairs Minister, Eddie Greenspan for Justice Minister, Peter Gzowski's Ghost as Minister of Canadian Heritage and Wolverine from the X-Men for Minister of Defence.

Two recent articles have prompted me to change the title of my blog.

One was this one in Slate:

What not to name your blog.
After reading it, I realized that Vis Comica might be a bit obscure --and pretentious.

Then I read this article on web litter and dead blogs.
Web litter... and inspiration struck.

I give you the new title for

Litter-blog

Q & A with myself:

Q. What the hell is with you lately? You sure don't blog much!

A. Instead of writing in my blog, I've been listening to music and skanking around the house. acting all crazy because the Harbster and I are going on a trip for three weeks to Turkey and Greece (and a bit of Italy, if there is any time left over).

Q. Skanking... Is that the dance that punks do?

A. Are you thinking of pogoing?

Q. No that other one.

A. skanking. People do it to ska songs.



Q. When I was in high school, skanking meant something very different.

A. That's not a question. But yeah, I guess it was a vulgar way of refering to people making out, as in "people are always skanking on soap operas".

Q. Do you watch soaps?

A. Not since the early nineties, when, I am ashamed to admit, I did occasionally catch Days of our Lives when I was at home writing an essay in front of the TV. I prefer comedy. I particularly like good sketch comedy

Q. Remember SCTV? The Italian guy who was on at the end is in trouble with the law, right?

A. Yup. Tony Rosato. It's a sad story

Q. Speaking of sad, how badly did
this blogger get owned when she ran afoul of Kate from Small Dead Animals?

A. Very badly. Check out the comments from Kate's minions. She got her own ass handed to her.

Q. Thanks for your time.

A. My pleasure, back to skanking.