And, on a completely un-related subject…
... I just saw "Kill Bill" and "Dawn of the Dead".
The first one is a fantastic anime-nerd fest, and Uma Thurman has never looked better. Also, it validates my theory that "The Passion of the Christ" should've been titled "The Gospel according to Tarantino".
"Dawn.." is cool, in a "I haven't watched a zombie flick since I was 16" kind of way.
The editing is very good, too.
So our Governor got judged yesterday…
Hey, everybody - James here, filling in for Jon.
I live in BrasÌlia, capital of Brazil. Our city is a Federal Distric, which means basically it's a city with the attributions of a State. Which is to explain why we have a Governor and not, say, a Mayor.
Said Governor, named Joaquim Roriz, stood trial yesterday evening, under charges of electoral crimes - Turns out he appears to have, among other things, used huge ammounts of public money to fund his last campaign, which led to his second consecutive term as Governor here.
The jury, formed by five judges of our TSE (Superior Electoral Court), decided that there was only evidence, not proof, that he had commited the crimes he was being accused of. So he was absolved.
Which means he basically got out of this one scott-free, after bullying, robbing, cheating, blackmailing and lying his way through the last elections.
I'd post a detailed report of the way this man's been destroying BrasÌlia for the past 15 years, including how the rates in poverty, violence and crime have been on a steady rise, or how he instituted an education policy that practically forces the teachers on the public system to pass all their students so BrasÌlia will look good on the National Education Reviews, but I'm too pissed off with this right now.
Of course, none of this would have happened, had the people not *voted* for the bastard in the first place.
Outta Here
Okay, I'm finally leaving the office.
Occasional stand-in blogger James may stop by, and I may post a couple of times while I'm away myself.
Have fun y'all.
Cat On The Prowl
As mentioned, Alison is looking after Dillon at the moment, and was rudely awoken yesterday by all of her not-inconsiderable cat weight landing unexpectedly on the bed at some ungodly hour.
Today's update email under the subject line: "She shows no mercy towards the hand that feeds her":
At 4.10 this morning we were playing "I know lets' sneak into Aunty
Alison's bedroom, fling open one of her wardrobe doors and scare the
shit out of her that way!!!!"
Still Crazy After….
Once again apologies for the lack of news round here, but the only thing I really have to talk about much is work, because that's almost all I've got going on at the moment.
Couple of quick interludes: Went to see one of Underhand's pre-Edinburgh nights on Saturday, and was suitably amused.
Took Dillon for a couple of weeks at Alison's on Sunday afternoon - as I'm away from tomorrow she's looking after her. She (Dillon) did her usual trick of getting out of her box, having a quick wander round, and settling immediately in the most comfortable position, once again demonstrating that all the stuff about cats not settling applies to other cats. She did this hysterical thing of walking down the length of the garden with her left paws up on the edging of the border and her right paws on the lawn, even diverting around obtrusive plants and then reverting to the two-legs-higher-then-the-others route for reasons that surpass understanding.
Anyway - I'm off away tomorrow until next Monday - I may blog while I'm in the US, but if not, at least it'll be a planned silence, rather than otherwise.
Showing Off (II)
And on the subject of the widest possible audience, when I (eventually) got home last night, a package was waiting for me: a radically late Christmas present that I can wholeheartedly endorse for anyone with an interest in the male physique (so Darian again).
You know all of those terrible charity calendars that rugby clubs do, with all their players coyly hiding their tackle behind rugby balls (or occasionally a trophy if they're a slightly successful club)? Well the model before which they all need to bow is the annual calendar produced for the last few year by Stade De France. Dieux Du Stade is absolutely stunning. Black and white photos of all Stade's key players, plus several other sportsmen, stunningly photographed and beautifully produced. And because they're rugby players, there's none of that god-awful waify, Attitude-model look.
And the present....? The present is the book that goes with this year's calendar. Hardback, large format, one hundred-plus pages, dozens of photos from the calendar and plenty more besides.
I know there's a case to be made that it's just smut, but if it is, it's smut of the artiest type.
Showing Off (I)
I've been meaning to offer congratulations to Darian on the release of his video (yes, *that* video), and note that even though Clone Zone on Old Compton Street no longer has a huge poster of him in their window, it's good to see that he's not afraid to make sure it's seen by the widest possible audience.
The Impossible Takes A Little Longer
So in the mail today I received an invitation to "join a group of senior business people for one of a series of innovative and practical seminars". The title of these seminars, I kid you not, is "Delivering Impossible Performance".
I'm not going - I already deliver that every day....
Full Of Sound
Been meaning to mention this:
My stereo has started playing up recently. Specifically, whenever it's first turned on, the volume resets to maximum. This has caused a couple of nasty shocks when I've forgotten that it's started doing this and I've been momentarily deafened.
However, the new twist is that it's begun to jack up the volume to maximum in mid-play.
And so I present the scene on Sunday night, when I'd spent the day hunched over the laptop and my back was killing me. As I lay soaking in a hot bath in an effort to ease the ache, with something mellow and jazzy drifting through from the living room, suddenly, mellow and jazzy got incredibly loud. Mindful that it was after 11pm and I do have neighbours, I leapt out of the bath and ran through, passing a freaking out Dillon, who was running the other way, and showering both her and half the flat with water en route as I dived headlong for the off button.
I suspect the whole event made for quite a picture.
The End Of Angel
I haven't seen *any* of Angel Season Five, as I don't have access to Sky this year, though I've vaguely been following what's going on from various sources. In that spirit, Ain't It Cool is offering some allegedly solid spoilage for the last ever episode.