March 31, 2005
We Are the Music Makers and We Are the Dreamers of Dreams
And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. ~ Roald Dahl
So where the hell was I in December of 2000 that I wasn't aware of the lovely trinket known as Sophie Dahl posing nekkid for Opium on billboards all over Europe? Oh...that's right, I was in a five-alarm depression about the stolen election that took place a month before.
Another hideous sin I can blame on Bush, Inc.
Sophie is the granddaughter of Roald Dahl (childrens' book author who delighted my childhood reading time with Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, James and the Giant Peach, The Witches, and a slew of other gems). Somehow that makes her being a fashion / pin-up model all the more nummy. She's also a voluptuous vixen that needs to be in her birthday suit way more often.
Of course, the UK banned the ad all over the place, which at least goes to show puritan idiots aren't unique to North America. More pictures below.
Props to Molehill even if he can't keep his server stable.
Burnt Out Ends of Smoky Days
"I have done that," says my memory. "I cannot have done that," says my pride, and remains adamant. At last, memory yields. ~ Nietzsche
Memory is a funny frickin thing.
In my first year of college I took a music appreciation class wherein I was exposed to a piece of contemporary instrumental music that made a lasting impression. I remembered that the piece had to do with Hiroshima, but not the title or the composition period. It wasn’t really important to me at the time, but a few years later I started wanting to lay ears on it again. So I began looking from time to time, or asking friends who I thought might have an idea. Each time, every piece I was exposed to in the quest never seemed familiar. Until recently when I was provided with “Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima” by Krzysztof Penderecki. The sequences about 5 minutes into the piece is exactly what my memory recalls. But the first 5 minutes is nothing at all of what I remember. In my mind the start of the piece was a lush, exotic mix of reeds and winds and bamboo all leading to an abrupt siren scream of strings.
Where on earth did that impression come from? Did I somehow mix Platoon’s “Adagio for Strings” and Haydn’s “Surprise Symphony” and this piece all together in my head? Where did this false memory come from and how can I remember my high school locker combination clearly while this musical piece is like overwritten hard disk space with ghosts of other data jumbling the stored files?
Bad medicine. Bart no like.
I have some comfort that the phenomenon is not isolated to either a single medium or singularly to myself.
While having a conversation not to long ago, I was discussing how sexual sequences in otherwise mainstream films are often played up in our memories. I had, for example, played up an attempted rape sequence in Clint Eastwood’s Pale Rider in my memory as something yummy. Upon seeing it again, it was so brief and non-erotic that I could hardly believe I’d even made room for it in my pre-teen hormonal storage banks.
A friend had a similar experience with Death Wish (the original). In his mind the rape sequence in the beginning (which is still deliciously filthy despite featuring Jeff Goldblum in a Jughead cap) had the hooligans spray-painting a bull’s-eye onto the behind of the daughter character during her rape. However, the spray-painting in question is all willy-nilly and not at all as organized as a bull’s-eye. Yet this had been a very specific memory replayed for erotic purposes in his mind’s eye many times.
Aside: I was shocked at the sequence when I saw it recently. For a film made in 1974 the language and violence were graphic (not “bloody graphic” in a Tarintino or Peckinpah style, but graphic none-the-less) and the content was surprisingly complex. Quite a contrast against the heritage it would eventually lend to.
But, anyway, back to memory. Where do these Frankenstein “I’m sure I’m right, I remember it clearly” false memories come from? How can something so vivid be nothing but phantoms playing tag with reality?
The human body is seriously flawed. I want root access. We need medical sci-fi geeks to pick up the fucking pace already.
March 25, 2005
Spare Time and Dirty Water
You would be referring to the flute fetish band geek, who made me her bitch, and ditched me after prom. ~ American Pie II
Geeks with spare time are fun. They do things like this:
The problem is that apparently, they also drink stuff like:
March 24, 2005
Secret's in the Sauce
The first man gets the oyster, the second man gets the shell. ~ Andrew Carnegie
I need a good brand of Oyster Sauce. The only brand carried by my local market tastes like ass (and I mean that in a bad way). I need a recommend. Hello? Cooking people? Ray? Moriarty? Anyone?
Pop-Ups and Firefox
He is free that knows how to keep in his own hands the power to decide. ~ Salvador De Madriaga
I've noticed that some sites have figured out a way around Firefox's pop-up blocking. If you're having a similar problem, here is a possible fix that doesn't require FlashBlock.
Adblock also solves the pop-up problem for me, but certain websites (like ESPN) lock up and crash Firefox when I go there with Adblock installed.
Why Is It Always Florida?
Religion the opium of the masses. ~ Karl Marx
From the LA Times:
"While the senators were debating, Gov. Bush announced that the state was attempting to gain custody of Schiavo in order to investigate allegations that she had been neglected and exploited. He said that Dr. William P. Cheshire, a Florida neurologist, had filed a supporting affidavit arguing that Schiavo might be more correctly diagnosed as "minimally conscious" and thereby legally entitled to life support."
And just in case you had any doubts about the personal views held by Dr. Cheshire, may I present a poem from Dr. William P. Cheshire entitled Exit Ramp.
This is not for the weak or the politically correct, but sometimes you have to be able to laugh at the freakshow that is life.
Can anyone tell me if a single reporter has asked what possible motivation the doctors who are actually accountable for their diagnoses might have for trying to kill this woman? These people are basically being accused of gross negligence and/or murder. Has any person with a press badge considered asking what their motivation for such behavior could be?
March 22, 2005
And Now It's Time To Say Good-bye....
Mickey Mouse is, to me, a symbol of independence. He was a means to an end. ~ Walt Disney
Every so often, The Mouse Goes Mad With Power.
I have Disney security stories. Mostly the deal is this: if confronted act cute and helpless and girl-like. The Disney fuzz will fold like cheap taco stands.
Unfortunately, I don't think Jim had that option.
This is why phone sluts come in handy on all Disney-related vactions. Be sure to pack one the next time you go.
Cat On A Hot Tin Feeding Tube
A man's dying is more the survivors affair than his own. ~ Thomas Mann
Well, thank goodness Bush’s medical malpractice tort reform agenda hadn’t passed back in 1993 when Michael Schaivo won his malpractice lawsuit (later settled, on appeal) against Terri’s doctors. And thank God she wasn’t ever moved to a Texas facility.
Otherwise the money to keep Terri “alive” would have run out years ago and under chapter 166 of the Texas Health and Safety Code, that means the hospital would have had the right to end life support the moment she ran out of money even over the objections of her family members or legal guardian.
I wonder if Florida being a political "battleground" state makes it more important to placate Neo-Con fundamentalist Christians in this state more than in, say, Texas.
The stench of this week’s bout of Congressional mendacity would have driven Big Daddy off his nut.
And don't forget to FIND OUT HOW YOUR CONGRESSPERSON VOTED.
From a certain standpoint, you have to admire the Neo-Con operation here. This is a victory for them no matter how it turns out. If Terri lives they can rejoice in their triumph over whatever it is they claim to triumph over. If she dies then it's just one more horrible way to prove logic-obsessed heathens have taken over our court systems.
And the other side has no victory. There is no way to rejoice because a woman has been allowed to die after existing 15 years as a breathing corpse.
What is the victory of a woman on a hot tin feeding tube? There isn't one. I know -- I shouldn't employ Tennessee in this when we all know it's Clint Eastwood that will eventually take the fall for Terri Schaivo. Radical Hollywood liberal that he is.
I don't advise reading on below unless you want to hear a very un-sexy true story regarding why this case annoys the living fuck out of me.
When I was a teenager my uncle was hit by a drunk driver. He was an on-duty cop and that meant the city was obligated to foot the hospital bill.
When we first arrived at the emergency room, he was unrecognizable and broken into so many pieces it took his doctor a good long spell to detail all the things that were perforated, smashed, and traumatized. His body looked like meat held together with chicken wire and duct tape. He was conscious for the first day and even made a brief joke about the loss of his hair (which had been ripped from his scalp after he'd lost his helmet and skidded head-first down the street for who knows how many feet -- his scalp had actually peeled itself away in places so think about that the next time you ride without a helmet YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE). That night, tho he suffered a stroke and passed into a coma. They had to cut out part of his skull because his brain was swelling. After a few days the doctors feared he was lasping into a persistent vegetative state, and a couple weeks later tests proved that was exactly the case. His body healed to a point. His brain never did.
His wife was unprepared and unwilling to accept the words "unable to recover." And even though my parents made it expressly clear to me that this was hopeless, they never once let on to his wife that they felt this way. It was left to the doctors to try their best to convince her that he was never going to improve or have any quality of life.
And let's make one thing perfectly clear.
We are not talking about a handicapped or disabled life; his was a life that had passed on in every way other than a few cogs that continued to tick in place. Trying to morph individuals in this state into a debate on disabled rights is a sick exercise in misdirection.
But in my uncle's case, as I said, the city was footing the bill, so his wife ignored the doctors for a few months. Meanwhile, my uncle melted -- that is the only way to explain what happened to his body. His muscles atrophied despite attempts to keep them limber. He became sallow. There was nothing in this breathing ghost that reminded me of my uncle. But still no one in my family would confront what needed to be done. Because like so many parents who can't talk to their kids truthfully about sex, sometimes people hide best when life faces them most square.
Amid this atmosphere of confusing denial very odd things happened with my uncle's body (including a funny-later-but-not-at-the-time incident where I accidentally knocked the switch to deflate the air bed he was kept on -- slapstick and anything but hilarity ensued). But the kicker for me happened one night when I was on watch duty alone (it fell to habit that the members of my family and fellow police officers took turns "sitting" with my uncle on a strange vigil rotation). I will never forget it as long as I live. My uncle's eyes opened and he appeared to look straight at me.
Now I have never been a religious person, but I have to tell you that the word "miracle" was the first thing to enter my mind at that minute. I screamed for nurses -- I began talking at him a million miles a minute and I was in the truest sense of any teenage girl that ever lived having a full-on tizzy.
The nurse tried to explain to me that it wasn't a sign of consciousness, but I was hysterical and so much hope had run in at once that I didn't hear her -- I couldn't hear her. He had LOOKED me me, you see. He hadn't just opened his eyes, but he had opened his eyes and they had fixed on me. I can still remember everything from those few moments as clear as anything I've ever experienced.
So when some poor doctor got rousted from his shift to come and calm me down and bring me back to Earth, I had no intention of trying to understand or accept any word that came out of his mouth. Bless his heart, he tried anyway. He brought me coffee and gave me a very gentle lecture about things like reactivity and perceptivity. But it just wouldn't digest in my mind. So, I did what any know-it-all geek girl might have done. I studied on my own. I called other doctors. And if anyone -- ANYONE had given me so much as an inkling of false hope to hold onto over those next few days I might have never surrendered to the reality of the situation.
I don't think my bout of hope caused anyone to keep him on life support longer, but it certainly didn't help resolve anything sooner. There was too much grief to get your head around and it's such a dismal thing to cope with. It took time. Sometimes his eyes would open. It was never a response to a stimuli. It was never a sign of life. Had it been anything remotely resembling a sign, my family would have latched onto it like their own lifeline and kept his body going forever. He wasn't the kind of uncle you hope drowns in the tub so you never have to see him again. He was the beloved one that made everyone laugh. He was a joyful being. But he was over and the thing that replaced him wasn't living in any sense of the way he did.
It took three more months for the family to agree to end life support; I cannot imagine what the final hospital bill was to the city, but it had to be a mint. Surprisingly when the machines were turned off, his body continued to breathe; if you had looked at what was left of him, you wouldn't have believed the lumps of flesh and bone that were left were capable of sustaining a single breath. It took eight days for him to completely expire and after months of denial those eight days were a god-awful long time to wait for the first step toward closure. And for those of you who have never attended a policeman's funeral, I'm here to tell you, it's an emotional roller coaster unto itself.
Because of this experience, at some point months and months ago, the Schaivo case became bitterly painful for me (my friends have had to listen to far too many ongoing rants on how much this case upsets me) -- the meddling and the false information being circulated about the type of condition she is in -- and propping up a human being in this state as an icon of pro-life or disabled rights has made me pysically ill. But, like all cases of outrage, there is a point where you reach the height of your capacity and since then I've been able to disengage emotionally as the news cycle intensifies. It's hard to be that outraged about the same thing over and over and over again. At some point you just get numb so that you can cope.
Unfortunately, I don't believe in hell, but if there is anything akin to one, I hope there is a special room set aside within it for every person attempting to gain political points off this situation. And, of course, as with any speical room in hell, may Bill Frist, MD be forced to lick the sweat off the brow of HIV+ beings for all eternity within it.
March 20, 2005
The God of Cream Cheese
You can say any foolish thing to a dog, and the dog will give you a look that says, "My God, you're right! I never would've thought of that!" ~ Dave Barry
My puppy dog (and, constant companion) was not well. Sure, his vet appointment to update his shots, et al,l was only two weeks away, but after a sleepless night of listening to him barely breathing, I opted for the next-day emergency appointment. (Under the best of circumstances I am a nag to friends and family about being better safe than sorry -- for a creature relying entirely on my care, I'm a basket case).
When I spoke with vet reps on the phone I got that lukewarm response you always get when you try to explain symptoms over the phone to medical personnel. He had a bad cough, fits of reverse sneezing, and had to gasp for breath every time he moved or attempted to eat or drink. It turns out these were symptoms for everything from kennel cough to heart worms.
Being a little dog, my nibblet doesn't ask for much. I mean, sure, he is spoiled beyond comprehension, but that's his due. By and large, so long as he can snack with me and get his belly rubbed 15 hours a day, he's happy. Sure there is the occasional tendency to hump squeak toys when I'm on with clients, or bark at those silly passersby who don't understand the sidewalk is still considered his territory. But he's not a demanding, fidgety hard-to-please sort.
Infectious Tracheobronchitis in dogs is commonly referred to as "kennel cough" and it is a highly contagious disease of the upper respiratory tract that affects mostly the trachea and bronchi. It's viral and is either caught by contact with another dog who has it, or via some kind of bacteria. In my pup's case, I'm pretty sure patient zero was my housekeeper's dog. Since this was such a serious case of it, my pup couldn't even leave the vet's office via the waiting room, but instead was ushered out the back door. It was one of the worst cases the vet had ever seen, and while it is a somewhat common thing, it's dangerous to leave untreated.
Now, I was relieved that it was just a case of kennel cough (however bad) and so when I was given Clavamox (amoxicillin trihydrate / clavulanate potassium)and some other cough meds to administer, I didn't think anything of it. But, it turns out that spoiled dogs don't so much like the taste of medication. Go figure.
Enter cream cheese.
After wrestling for 20 minutes trying to force-feed a pill the size of a ladybug into my dog's mouth, I gave up and pressed the damn thing into a finger full of cream cheese. He sucked it down like it was the best thing in the world.
Now all I need is a doggie treadmill to help him work off those extra calories.
March 18, 2005
So Look For The Package With The Ship That Sails The Ocean
Remember, little boy, if I can leave you with one birthday message, it is -- to greet each day with a mighty roar! And always know what time it is. And wear Old Spice. Walk briskly to and from your job, and remember: neatness counts. Fill your head with candy; you are how you look. Me? I'm a gum ball machine! I embrace that and my colleagues respect me for it. Heed this advice and maybe, just maybe, you'll grow up to be like me, Tom Servo. ~ MST3K
Old Spice has a new commercial you might have seen on TV entitled: "When She's Hot."
In the on-going tally of my fetishes (and they are legion) this ad is as good a time as any to mention sweat. Yummy!
Oh. And make sure you click on the director's cut in the lower left.
March 15, 2005
All I Wanna Do Is Have Some Fun
I have a face I cannot show / I make the rules up as I go ~ Sheryl Crow
Sheryl Crow has cute, perky boobies. Thank the stars for wardrobe changes and malfunctions ;-)
March 14, 2005
A Good Day
"It appears that no rational purpose exists for limiting marriage in this state to opposite-sex partners..."
"The state's protracted denial of equal protection cannot be justified simply because such constitutional violation has become traditional..."
~ San Francisco County Superior Court Judge Richard Kramer
One small step for the Constitution in Bushworld.
March 12, 2005
Movies I Shouldn't Like and Soundtracks I Shouldn't Love
No fishing like fishing in the sea. ~ French Proverb
I have a soft spot for certain bad films. Those who know me understand and forgive that while I expose myself to a healthy portion of foreign and world cinema, I also indulge in the occasional inexcusable Hollywood drek. I have no excuse or explanation. Film is art, but movies are entertainment and sometimes I just want the escapism factor. And I think Hudson Hawk is really fucking funny, okay?
So enough pre-apology.
French Kiss is one of those movies that I can't hate the way I should. It's pretentious. It's vile. But it's got Kevin Kline speaking French. Christ, I'm only human.
However, while I have guiltily enjoyed this movie (much the same way I guiltily enjoyed Milli Vanilli in my youth) I never gave any notice to the soundtrack which is lovely (you can actually hear Ray's ears bleed if you listen close).
There are a few known treats such as:
Van Morrison's Somone Like You
Louis Armstrong's La Vie en Rose
Ella Fitzgerald's I Love Paris
Plus a few unknowns and instrumentals. It's an amazingly wonderful in-the-background while blogging or cooking collection of ditties.
There is also a track that has Kevin Kline singing La Mer (the original French version of Bobby Darin's Beyond the Sea). I'm only human.
Have You Seen Dan Rydell?
I've been through alcohol, marriage, and network television. If you want to kill me, you're gonna need kryptonite. ~ William H. Macy as Sam Donovan (via Aaron Sorkin)
Has ANYONE seen Josh Charles lately?
Those of you who might have missed one of the best television shows ever -- Sports Night -- aren't alone. I missed it on first run. But, luckily TV on DVD now exists because this show was BRILLIANT.
The majority of the cast (including main players and many regular guest stars) have popped up in new projects this season or bigger and brighter things before this season. But Josh remains the one major exception. What's going on? Aliens? Abu Ghraib? I'm putting out a phone slut APB -- we've got a Dead Poet MIA! Suit up, people.
Sports Night Roll Call:
Peter Krause = Six Feet Under;
Felicity Huffman, Brenda Strong = Desperate Housewives;
Joshua Malina = The West Wing;
Sabrina Lloyd = Num3ers;
Robert Guillaume = semi-retired (understandable, he had a stroke during Sports Night's run) but still all over the place compared to Josh Charles;
Teri Polo = Many things including West Wing and naughty photos;
Ted McGinley = continuing to make shows jump the shark;
William H. Macy = bigger and better things (read: film);
Lisa Edelstein = House;
Jayne Brook = working steady, various projects;
Megan Ward = Ibid;
Clark Gregg = Ibid.
March 11, 2005
Life Is Like a Buddha of Chocolates
It's not that chocolates are a substitute for love. Love is a substitute for chocolate. Chocolate is, let's face it, far more reliable than a man. ~ Miranda Ingram
Chocolate Deities ROCKS! The chocolate is above average (I'd call it mid to lower Tier 2 -- more on this below) but sometimes food CAN be all about the concept!
My Personal Hierarchy of Chocolate:
#1. There are some European chocolates that are just sublime. I call these my Tier One chocolates. Of these, my favorite is Reber. Of Reber, my favorites are the Mozart line. There are other European chocolates, but they get very expensive.
#2. Tier Two is American/Americanized chocolates that are far above par. This tier is the majority of my chocolate eating palate. Godiva gets a lot of press, but they're not my best. My vote always goes to Ghirardelli. They're based out of San Fran and their caramel-filled squares and dark chocolate is heaven. Also included here is DeBrand, and Scharffen Berger and I don't think they make anything that isn't yummy. The bottom of Tier 2 would be like Ferrero Rocher and Fannie May.
#3. Tier three is reserved for stuff which is nummy and not very expensive but still really good to keep in the freezer for emergencies. I would include Dove and Symphony here (and Cadbury caramel eggs). I find that this stuff is largely unacceptable unless it has stuff like toffee chips and almonds put into the mix ;-)
#4. The very bottom tier is for candy-bar type chocolate. Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, Almond Joy, Kit Kat, Twix, Whatchamacallit. Those things. Edible in an emergency.
What's It All About, Alfie?
People listen to the music and sense what it is about. Sometimes they know exactly what the songs are about, sometimes they interpret their own meaning to the music... ~ Enya
THIS might be an interesting way around copyright law for song lyrics. Fair use does give a great deal of leniency for academic endeavors.
Come On, Baby, Light My Fire
Fire that's closest kept burns most of all. ~ Willy Shakes
I want a kitchen torch. Primarily because I want to learn to make crème brulée, but also because I am always looking for creative ways to set things on fire.
Problem is there are about 10,000 kitchen torches on the market, so someone hit me with the one they recommend, please.
March 10, 2005
Don't Fear The Reavers
They'll rape us to death, eat our flesh and sew our skin to their clothes. And if we're very, very lucky, they'll do it in that order. ~ Gina Torres as Zoe (via Joss Whedon)
An interesting article on buffy.nu about a band of Scottish pirate-like bogeymen called "Reivers" that some people thought might have been the inspiration behind Whedon's Reavers in Firefly (the best show you couldn't watch because the fucking network aired it OUT OF ORDER).
What's most enlightening about the article is the somewhat depressing / somewhat comforting realization that there are throwback thinking freaks everywhere. I wonder how long until the religious right starts finding cursed stones in our backyards.
Why does man kill? He kills for food. And not only food: frequently there must be a beverage. ~ Woody Allen
Every so often, there are culinary delights that are labeled to be "better than sex." This is what I and those like-minded individuals in my circle refer to as "food porn." There are certain chocolate and spice and chocolate and coffee and chocolate merchants that qualify. They know who they are.
My current orgasm-getter is Cuban Food Market.
I am not that far from Miami, relatively speaking, but I have a fucknut of a time getting my hands on Cuban crackers and guava paste to name only a few items.
Oh baby. Oh baby. Oh baby. YEAH that's the spot.
March 09, 2005
But We're Not Prepared For Company
I kind of like it the way it is -- submarine shape. ~ Richard Starkey
Brings a whole new meaning to the elephant in the living room.
Sins, like chickens, come home to roost. ~ Charles W. Chesnutt
I'm feeling juvenile today. So GO HERE or face my wrath.
March 06, 2005
It's Not TV...It's HBO (For Now)
Censorship reflects a society's lack of confidence in itself. ~ Potter Stewart
"Exactly: Freedom is fluid. It's a bone-chillingly cold new morning in red- state dominated America. Indecency crackdowns are big-play politics. The FCC is raising fines. The Parents Television Council -- among others -- has proven influence. And now Stevens has -- in public, without smirking -- declared that he believes Congress has the power to control more than just the over-the-air broadcasters it currently has jurisdiction over. He wants to control content on pay cable and satellite. According to the Hollywood Reporter, Stevens said, "The problem is most viewers don't differentiate between over-the-air and cable.
Clearly, this is a man who doesn't pay for HBO."
I'm not going to get into a rant on how hideously corrupt the FCC is. What I will say is that Congress, even this one, has GOT to fix the unconstitutional powers the FCC now holds. Either go back and amend the document via proper channels, or stop with this skirt-the-rules bullshit.
Granted, I come from a long line of Southern Democrats, but I don't call myself one. I accept that I am considered a "liberal" but, in truth, I feel I am a moderate. The things I believe in are not off the wall and I think they are more "in touch" with the mainstream than some would have us believe. I hold that once this tide of Christian Right has ebbed back from its current place of power, some sense will be re-instituted.
Hey, I'm an optimist.
But the mistake of letting the FCC dictate morality has got to be fixed. It's even worse for free speech than 1973's dismal Miller v. California Supreme Court fiasco. It's been 80 fucking years since this FCC morality blank check was issued. SOMEONE needs to try and take FCC v. Pacifica back to the big room. Especially since they're following this current trend of letting political carpet bombing tactics by organizations like the Parents Television Council define their rule of thumb. Just because you've got 100 members that have nothing better to do than send 40 emails a day shouldn't give you a bigger voice than the MILLIONS of Americans who demonstrate their voice by PAYING ACTUAL MONEY FOR THE SERVICE THEY WANT.
We are facing a government that doesn't want to abide by what the people demonstrate they want, but what a vocal minority THINKS the country should want.
Does the Republican Party even vaguely remember what it is supposed to stand for?
Lloyd Axworthy vs Condi
There is nothing to fear except the persistent refusal to find out the truth, the persistent refusal to analyze the causes of happenings. ~ Dorothy Thompson
"I invite you to expand the narrow perspective that seems to inform your opinions of Canada by ranging far wider in your reach of contacts and discussions. You would find that what is rising in Canada is not so much anti-Americanism, as claimed by your and our right-wing commentators, but fundamental disagreements with certain policies of your government. You would see that rather than just reacting to events by drawing on old conventional wisdoms, many Canadians are trying to think our way through to some ideas that can be helpful in building a more secure world."
Dr. Lloyd Axworthy:
* Nobel Peace Prize Nominee
* Past-Director of the Liu Centre for the Study of Global Issues
* Appointed President of the University of Winnipeg
* First elected to Parliament in 1979
* Served as Minister of Employment and Immigration, Minster of Transport, Minister of Human Resources Development and Minister of Western Economic Diversification.
* Instrumental in Canada's successful candidacy for membership on the United Nations Security Council
* Appointed an Officer of the Order of Canada (2003)
Have you seen her? Tell me, have you seen her? ~ The Chi-lites
Oh my minions, bring unto me this woman:
I *need* to know who this model is, and, if possible, where to get many, many more pictures of her and her delightful breasts.
I'm to understand the photograph has been attributed to "Paris Photography."
Fly, fly my pretties and come forth to me with news of her.
March 05, 2005
He Was a King and a God in the World He Knew
It was beauty killed the beast. ~ Carl Denham aka Robert Armstrong aka whichever of the four script writers came up with the line
There is a new fan-made trailer for Peter Jackson's King Kong. I'm looking forward to the film (though not nearly so anxious of many others I've become aware of) because like most MySTies King Kong was one of those first tastes of the genre. For amateur effort, it's a nifty trailer, even if it includes mostly footage of the original film.