As you know, I never miss a Brazilian carnival nor do I miss the Oscars. Unfortunately, this Sunday I will have to miss largely one or the other. It's first day of the famous Samba Schools Grupo A in the Sambodromo float parade, as well as Oscar Night!
I am actually interested in this year's Oscars, too, as I believe 2008 was especially a good year in film. But who can resist the pull of the heady sensual Rio carnival?
Share your opinions about which one I should watch live. As I have a DVD-R (not a DVR), it's very much an either/or situation, I'm afraid.
What, didn't you flip out when you didn't board your flight containing your Pekingnese dog?
...since I don't speak Cantonese, I am not sure if the dialogue is NSFW, but I would certainly be hurling epithets in various languages. Might wear a different hairdo, though.
ADDED: Since I have a "two-fer" thing going on on Sundries today, let me add another one. Below is an Indian gentleman wigging out in a Canadian flight, with air marshalls trying to restrain him.
"I am going to die! Shoot me! Hit me! You guys are cheating!"
(There is another of an Italian doing something similar, culled from the first three hits on Youtube using my string search "airport passenger flipping out". What, there's no one from Peoria or Blackpool getting angry on planes? It's just Hong Kong grande dames and Italian baritones?)
Tell me, where is the National Organisation For Women today as a woman in Buffalo, New York lies dead, BEHEADED, by her husband?
Silence, utter silence.
Not a word to condemn this most brutal act of violence against a woman's person -- perhaps the most unforgiveable moment of cowardice I have ever seen by feminist groups and leaders in my entire life in the West.
Look closely at this woman, standing next to her husband in "better times", who eventually killed her (I wonder just good the times were under the surface). Her name was Aasiya Hassan.
This is the face of your friend next door: an intelligent, well-dressed, modern woman like any other. Her death should be covered and spoken about with as much alacrity as Nicole Brown Simpson, another victim of a senseless slaughter with overtones of domestic violence.
I suppose NOW's front page at the time of writing says it all:
Singer Rihanna's assault consisted of a despicable battering by her boyfriend, leaving her with a swollen face, and she gets first mention. Aasiya Hassan's HEAD was severed off her ENTIRE body by her husband for daring to request a divorce, and is this worthy of comment by NOW? No.
My God, what is wrong with these people?
I'm sick and tired of these organisations and groups who adhere to a purely liberal ideological line, using women as their fulcrum, championing and ignoring women according to their whims.
All because they are scared witless that if they wade into anything Islamic, the violence meted out to the late Mrs. Hassan will somehow be visited on their person.
This is America. You have freedom of speech, and your political credo commands you to defend the most vulnerable amongst us, which most certainly includes women who are victims of oppressive husbands.
Speak up. Speak loudly. Make sure it doesn't happen to another woman again in America!
New lads! Our wars are done. The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks That their designment halts... - Othello
Oh no! George Obama, the youngest half-brother of our current President, has been rung up on drug charges -- namely, being in possession of cannabis. It's apparently known in Kenya as "Bhang".
This rings a bell. There is a drink known as "Bhang-Lassi", the latter of which (Lassi) is a great favourite Indian drink of mine. It's like milky yoghurt, and a must-drink when having spicey curry. It's the one thing I miss about Indian take-aways.
But back to poor George. I had written about him earlier, chastising then Senator Obama about not even offering a helping hand to his brother, despite his political credo of being his brother's keeper.
"This handsome, dignified young man who is the spitting image of him, is Senator Obama's half-brother George.
He lives in utter poverty in a Nairobi slum. His yearly earnings are a whole U$12. I remember seeing his life story on CNN, and being aghast at just how much he admires his brother, reads his book for inspiration, and yet feels no bitterness towards him for not reaching out to help him. George looks like the type who might be too proud to accept the help, but can't Obama at least TRY?
I mean, my God, even I sponsored a South American kid from one those Sally Struthers-like programmes a few years ago. Why can't Senator Obama help his little brother out?"
Apparently, he was one of the few Kenyan relatives President Obama didn't invite to his inauguration.
(In fact, did anyone hear about them being there? I didn't. There is such a media silence on that -- Muslim -- side of his background, that it shouldn't astonish us anymore, even if it does anyway)
On looking at the photograph above, which appeared in today's CNN article on the arrest, I see now that his eyes are clearly in need of a little post-weed Visine.
I'm not being facetious.
I was actually rather affected by George when I saw that reportage on cable. His manner is like his half-brother, Barack, even to the slight standoffishness, and touchiness when questioned about his life.
"I was brought up well. I live well even now," he said. "The magazines, they have exaggerated everything."
I think I kind of like it here. There are some challenges, but maybe it is just like where you come from, there are the same challenges," Obama said.
In that one quote of his, you can see that he is at pains to convey he comes from a good background, that people have got it all wrong about him, and that oh by the way, he needs no one's pity since where he lives currently is a choice, not borne out of dire poverty.
Any person can see that he is in a world of hurt; his response is full of face-saving bluster -- but said with such quiet dignity, all conveyed via his proud eyes, that you just want to reach out and hug the guy.
It's telling. I have never had the slightest desire to hug Barack Obama, as he inspires in me not the least tenderness. No, not even when he had streaming tears down his cheeks at a campaign stop the day after his grandmother passed on. But George? My heart plays motherly tricks on me, whenever I think about him.
It's a funny ol' life, innit?
But for merest chance, two men who share the same father would've shared similar fates.
Yet, one was blessed beyond imagination in having been born to an American mother, whereas the other was left an orphan at the age of 6 months by a father who wrapped himself around a tree with his car -- yet another ex-colonial government official drunkard, whose lives were spent populating the bars of Nairobi, nursing Johnnie Walker and grudges.
Today, one man is the world's most powerful man, and the other one more Kenyan lad smoking his worries away with Bhang he can ill-afford. The worst part of it, he seems lost and utterly alone in his predicament.
Hey, Mr. President. We know you want to spend almost a trillion dollars in America. But can you spare a dime in Kenya?
In case you wondered, 2009 is the Year of the Ox. Being a complete Westerner, I have no idea if this is good or bad, so I Googled for my Sundries readers.
According to the Chinese Zodiac, the Year of 2009 is the Year of the Ox. The Ox, or the Buffalo sign symbolizes prosperity through fortitude and hard work. Those born under the influence of the Ox or Buffalo are fortunate to be stable and persevering. The typical Ox is a tolerant person with strong character. Not many people could equal the resolution and fearlessness that the Ox exhibits when deciding to accomplish a task. Ox people work hard without complaints at work or at home. They know that they will succeed through hard work and sustained efforts, and do not believe in get-rich-quick schemes.
Something tells me we're going to need strong, hard-working people in the coming years, so this is perfect.
Chinese New Year officially starts on January 26th, but this Beijing denizen already is getting his (or her?) shopping in. That's a whole carcass of lamb being carved, and they're patiently waiting for a cut from the guy with the Fez.
I may be a Westerner, but I do know that China STOPS wholesale for a week, even to the point of no Fedex delivery or anything.
It's worse than Brazilian carnival, but they have better oxen.
Sometimes the continent of Africa seems such a lost hope, with famine, corruption and disease its companion in every corner, that one is tempted to shrug and walk away. We dare not, no matter how lost it seems.
Zimbabwe has been in the throes of a cholera epidemic since August of 2008. The disease has killed 2,500 people and affected an unbelievable 48,600 others, according to the World Health Organisation's stats published Thursday.
One of the great unanswered questions for me in this life, which I do not know if I will ever have a satisfactory answer to, is why certain people tolerate certain things, which other people do not.
What ingredient "X" is there in some people, in some cultures, to live alongside this and accept it for their own people? Not just momentarily, in crisis, but as a daily reality with absolutely no desire to stamp it out without guilt trips and handouts.
If someone can provide me an answer, I would be much obliged.
- She looks really fab in those pastels, not an easy colour to pull off...I'm also in love with her earrings...Great bag too, makes the look a bit more fierce ...
- Parisian flawless dressing. Love it, so elegant and thoughtful.
- does it bother anyone else when people don't remove the labels from their scarves??
- The pinky ring... J'adore!
- It's a very pretty look, but this woman doesn't project a sweet, feminine image and I'd have liked to see her add an element that reflects her seeming ballsy confidence. Perhaps the sunglasses were meant to do that, but right now round glasses are too trendy to be meaningful. Or could be she thought that the classic cut of her clothes--and the structured bag (Choo?)--were enough to offset the girlishness of the pink. To my eye, at least, the pink's in charge here. She needs a signal of "good bitch playing girly girl" to really make this work for her. Great shot, though. And despite the seeming negativity of my comments (frankly, I'm seeing myself in her) I give her props for capturing my attention.
I especially like the last commentary, and don't you agree that this woman is anything but a soft feminine type? In fact, I disagree with that commenter who implied she was Parisian (well, they said Parisian dressing, which could mean a foreigner too).
She looks American, of Italian extraction or from Italy itself, rather than a proper Parisienne.
She's too purposeful, yes, too "fierce": a businesswoman closing on a million dollar deal or making sure her caterer has gotten those special truffles. Her pose says "don't mess with me" rather than the suggested blues and pinks of her outfit which seeks to baby her -- and therefore her viewers -- into helplessness.
Incidentally, though physically they have nothing in common, this is how my mother looks, down to the Chloës shielding her eyes. It's uncanny.
The part of the photograph that really intrigues me is the olive tan oversized shoulder bag just behind her. I would kill to know what that is.
Bakhtawar Bhutto Zardari, slain ex-Prime Minister of Pakistan, Benazir Bhutto's daughter, has come out with a very unusual tribute to her mother.
...a rap song called, "I would take the pain away".
You know, a lot of people might be taken aback (can you imagine a teenage Caroline Kennedy having done the same about her father, à la Jefferson Airplane?), but the times, they are a-changin'.
If the University of Edinburgh student finds this an outlet that resonates with her and her generation, then good luck and God bless.
The Christmas-centric "Juniors" hockey Championship held in Canada every year, features the host nation versus the ever-elegant Swedes in the gold medal match. It's one of my favourite tournaments, and one I dearly miss as my cable providers no longer have the Centre-Ice NHL package, which always had it as a bonus.
A Bangkok elephant dressed up as Santa Claus, twirling hula-hoops on his trunk.
(Actually, this photo saddens me. I'm not sure why, since I'm hardly a PETA type. But there is such a thing as being overly-exploitative...no "Craps-n-Giggles" tag for this one)
Words fail.
...you know what? Actually, they don't.
When I first saw this photo of a college-aged Barack Obama, I was struck by the cool hepcattiness of the thing. His gesture of smoking a 'rette, so evocative of Bogie and war-era machomen cupping theirs, seemed almost to eclipse the intent -- that of a still youngish lad pretending he's smoking him a blunt.
The second instantaneous reaction I had was: whoa, but doesn't Obama resemble Bill Clinton! Right?
It's not just the arrogant mofo squint either.
Let's face it, most of us look alike when we narrow our eyes and stare sidelong in a semi-challenging gesture. No-no. The resemblence is in the peasanty potato nose and flat Kalmuk cheeks.
But I had yet another flashback, this one slightly more amusing.
For it was once upon a time that, with a dwindling amount of museums to choose from in Amsterdam, I ended up in the very famous Sex Museum. Now, for all I know, today this museum could have been spruced up beyond recognition, but back then, it was a dump. DUMP!
I know, I know, what do you expect from an historical emporium called 'Sex Museum', but still. I was in my gap year, in fact, not much older than Obama above, and willing to explore anything even remotely whackadoodle.
So then you entered the Sex Museum and were shown a few mouldy rooms of excavated Roman penii and faded vintage porn, including some purporting to be of a gay gangbang circa 1913 of Rudolph Valentino (please, it looked nothing like him). Another room showed off its sinister 'marital aid' collection, including one particularly fascinating device which looked like a combination numbchuck/chastity belt/Hagar the Horrible battleaxe.
Tried as I might, I just couldn't see myself using that, even in 1887.
It was as you left, in a room which would be the death of any asthmatic porn viewer (the dust was an inch thick, I swear), that Obama above comes to mind.
The last room contained glass vignettes of faceless statues showing sex throughout the ages. Just like the old Miami Wax Museum, which breathed its last in the early 1980s and whose last updated wax tableaux was Richard Nixon greeting the three Apollo 11 astronauts in their capsule -- remember? -- , these kinds of museums are rarely du jour, and the last "scene" if you will, was that of a pimp and his pro in the Red Light District around 1971.
The pimp was dressed in a "sky" (as I have been reliably informed was the slang word for hat, back then), a white cape, and flare-bottomed Fat Elvis red trousers, apparently collecting his dough from the hooker.
I didn't notice what she was wearing, except that she was slim and looked like Heidi the milkmaid -- which, if you've ever been to the Red Light district in smelly old Amsterdam, you'll know is a total joke.
Amsterdam hos are about 250 lbs., invariably from Suriname or some godforsaken ex-Dutch outpost, and are the ugliest creatures I've ever seen enlisted into the world's oldest profession. Incidentally, at the Centraal Station, the ladies' loo near the platform had an ink-written suggestion which said, "If you want a really good tongue job, ask for Dewi at Madame Suzi's". I passed.
ANYWAY, whew, I have really digressed here. Where wuz I? Oh yes, Obama.
The point is the waxy pimp had a mien incredibly like that of Obama above. You know, "Where my money at, ho!", and so on.
Also, he looks like Huggy Bear, whose son I once owned in Yahoo's Fantasy NFL. Small world.
In closing, I would just like to mention that we none of us are without our extremely embarrassing snaps taken in off-guard moments.
So what if Obama is seen above mimicking being in an Amsterdam brownstone café, having just purchased some Afghan Red? Why, somewhere out there, there's a photo of your humble blogger seated on 15-foot plaster "penis", conveniently available just as you exit the Sex Museum.
We all have pasts, my friends.
P.S.: Oh My God! They have a website now! NSFW, or anywhere else.
The Australian GLBT chapter have found a Telstra television advert to be highly "homophobic". When they sought to file an official complaint in a government website, they found that the site was not equipped for such a complaint. This in turn was judged to be "discriminatory".
I read the article before I saw the video, so I was expecting something really insulting. Perhaps a 'light in your loafers' comment by an actor, or perhaps the gratuitous throwing of fudge (humour me).
But this is the spot they took grave offense to.
You know what really struck me about this ad?
That two grown Australian men would be excited to watch a sport shamefully known as "w*g ball" in Australia (soccer being the chosen sport of non-British emigrés). That's because "real Australians" play Aussie rules football.
Progress isn't always progressive, guys. Sometimes the progress is about something else.
Anyway, have you seen Aussie rules footballers in action?
Just a few years ago, Americans didn't know from Chayenne, or Luis Miguel, or Shakira, or Thalia. Fortunately, most still don't know about Paty Navidad, but I digress.
My point is that Latin American artists are much more well-known today, than a mere decade ago. Before that time, we had Julio Iglesias, a Spaniard who crooned bad love songs into a mic as if he wanted to make love to it, and that's about it.
Today, the field is much more inviting.
Mateo Lynch is a 19-year old son of one of Peru's most well-heeled families.
The Lynches are of Anglo-Irish origin, as his surname suggests. Like the Lindleys, the family which owned the famous Inca Kola brand which Coke bought out (making them another fortune), they are part of Lima's High Society. Their kids attend Franklin Delano Roosevelt School, hang around the various country clubs at the weekends like the famed Lima Cricket Club, and jet with their parents not to Disney, but to Paris, London or NYC, speaking two or three languages, as a matter-of-course. In short, they resemble every other child around the world, from such a background.
I've always wondered, then, why these kinds of kids didn't become more commercially viable in America since their English is absolutely fluent (and of course, being white helps. Have you ever seen a Mexican novela? Not an indigenous person to be seen).
Well, there are many reasons for that, and one of them is a distaste about being involved in lucre. There is a strong antipathy to actually having to EARN money in South America, a relic of their European colonisers, who thought real gentlemen and ladies didn't have anything to do with trade or commerce. It's much too grubby. Those in the plastic arts, politicians, intellectuals, of course. But not singers. That's too barrio.
I'm glad to see a person like Mateo Lynch break out of these stultifying confines, and in this video, you see him actually mocking his background. The song is called "Alta Sociedad" (appositely enough, "High Society") and the lyrics include this cry out.
Estoy cansado de que me digan que ser Estoy cansado de tener que verme bien yo solo quiero ser, no pretenden ser alguien que no soy...
A rough translation reads "I am tired of people telling me what I should be. I am tired of always having to be elegant. I only want to be me, not to pretend to be what I am not."
Ladies and gentlemen, we have before us the world's first Peruvian emo.
And you know what? It's about time.
Though he only just graduated from his high school (an alternative school, Los Reyes Rojos, not the ever-present FDR school, revealing that his parents also must've broken out of their own mold), and he is already in Mexico.
Mexico is the traditional by-way to stardom in the Americas, especially for Hispanics like him (Brazilians hit the road to find fame in France).
So when you hear of him here in the US, which I guarantee you will happen, you'll be ahead of the curve. This guy can sing just fine in English. Hear him post-punk himself out of this song called, "Stay this way".
I'm telling you, the kid's got potential. Doesn't hurt that he's a total hottie either.
...you may be wondering how I heard of him? Well, I have a Chilean friend whose surname is also Lynch (his mother's maiden name is O'Reilly, heh), who loves South American pop music.
No. They're not related, but they're cut from identical High Society cloths. They even have the same hair. I think they learn how to brush it in their country clubs.
P.S.: Lynch's song about High Society is from a Peruvian novela currently a big hit over there, precisely about this crowd. It's called "This Society" (Esta Sociedad). The only reason I mention this, is that upon checking the website now, I was struck by how one of the characters, Mirkala, resembles Carrie Bradshaw.
Never mind Peruvian emos. Check out the Peruvian Sarah Jessica Parker!
