“He who doesn’t hope to win has already lost.”

“A quitter never wins-a winner never quits.”

“Worry is like a rocking chair – it gives you something to do, but it doesn’t get you anywhere.”
- Dorothy Galyean

“You’ve got to get up every morning with determination if you’re going to go to bed with satisfaction.” — George Lorimer

“We will either find a way, or make one.” – Hannibal

In the article Objecting to Objectification: Re-Viewing the Feminine in The Silence of the Lambs (first printed in Journal of Popular Culture, 37.1, August 2003, pp. 1-12), Greg Garrett outlines ‘a theme that runs throughout the film’; the objectification of women. He argues that ‘by accenting Starling’s harassment, by removing male helpers present in the novel, and by stressing Starling’s resistance to the attempts of men to objectify her, the film creates… [a statement] about the various forms of female victimisation in our society.’

In his introduction Garrett refers to what he believes are the two core moments ‘consistent with [this] theme which runs throughout the film.’ The first is a scene where ‘Starling (Jodie Foster) holds up a punching target and braces herself as brawny male trainees light into her. She is no longer a woman; to her fellow trainees, she is only a punching bag.’ He believes that the fact she is surrounded by men and that they are shown to be pummeling her in this way, makes her seem less human, which makes way for the other times throughout the film in which men in her place of work objectify her because she is a woman.

This ‘verbal’ example clearly ‘reinforce[s] the idea that women must be seen as people rather than objects.’ This is what Garrett sees as something of a ‘strong… statement’.

Many examples Garrett makes in reference to this concept come in his references to things people say during dialogue with Starling. He recalls that ‘Starling is sexually harassed by Dr. Frederick Chilton’ when he is insultingly asks her for a personal ‘follow up’. Later he points out that ‘two young deputies make objectifying remarks about her.’ So through these examples Garrett shows the reader that in the scripted dialogue, the objectification of women is obvious in her male colleagues attitude and conversation with her.

Garrett argues that the ‘chief objectifier of women in the film’ is Buffalo Bill.  The main manifestation of Buffalo Bill’s objectification comes in the way he treats his victims; killing them so that he can ‘construct a costume of their skins.’  Garrett recalls Lector’s murdering method as similar in it’s objectification; (though it is not unique to women) he ‘turns people into gourmet meals’. However there is a difference with his attitude towards Starling when he ‘begins to regard her as a person, and thus is no longer capable of objectifying her,’ in the same way that Buffalo Bill was encouraged to.

Garrett describes his second reference from his description of the following scene:

…in response to a televised appeal broadcast to killer “Buffalo Bill” (Ted Levine) to release his most recent hostage alive, Starling lauds the strategy of repeating the victim’s name, Catherine, over and over. She knows that if Bill “sees Catherine as a person and not just an object” it will be harder to destroy her.

By analysing this theme in The Silence of the Lambs, we see that Garrett’s main aim is to highlight the moral importance of treating people as they should be; as humans, not as objects.

inscribed on the tomb of scipio africanus:

‘ingrata patria, ne ossa quidem habebis’

UNGRATEFUL FATHERLAND,
YOU WILL NOT EVEN HAVE MY BONES

General Scipio III of Rome, responsible for the final sac and devastation of Carthage at the end of the third and final Punic war, was the adopted son of General Scipio (II) Africanus. Scipio (II) Africanus, given the name because of his incredible exploits on behalf of the Roman republic– is the general and force behind the defeat of one of Rome’s greatest enemies and threats to ever exist– Hannibal, son of Hamilcar, of Carthage. Yes, that Hannibal– the Carthaginian military mastermind that almost brought the Roman republic to its knees before the Roman empire really started to spread. That Hannibal–who crossed the alps and has inspired and obsessed military tacticians and historians ever since– whose ilk ranges from the French Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte himself to German tacticians during the first World War and so on.

Of course, history is full of great orphans and adoptees. When you read about them, their stories and their exploits– they stay with you; they become your great historical spectral-guardians who urge you on— beyond pain, beyond the  feelings of blinding loss, beyond the loneliness. Fight, young one. Who needs ‘em? You have us. Then you wonder sometimes, about their ambition— their motivations—  their shame— their hunger— their loss— their anger. You wonder if that sickening burning crises twisting your guts connects you to your great historical guardians—whether sleepless torment before dawn links you to them and all the others across time and space. You walk in the footsteps of the greatest of Roman emperors and generals, archbishops, prophets of earth-shattering proportions, mythic gods and kings, authors, conquerors, politicians, scholars, artists, and heroes of human civilization.  It is we who are remembered, young one. It is our stories that are chronicled in ancient, dusty tomes, retold around fires, studied in crowded classrooms, forever mythologized and anthologized. We are the human condition. We are loss, we are ambition, we are fire. We are remembered. You fight for your rightful place amongst us.

Now—who has a Superman complex?

And I’m back, for another installment of: What a G. This week features Colonel Muammar al-Gaddafi, the “Brotherly Leader and Guide of the Revolution” of Libya, aka the guy with the longest set of titles (TITLES!) ever.

For more information about our friend the Colonel, see minute 3:16 of the below clip, five of the greatest minutes of television ever made.

However, I have to disagree with Leo (our dear, dear friend), because Gaddafi is definitely a seven letter word for one thing: crazy, plus he really likes silly hats.

What brought this on, you might ask? Thanks for asking. It was the Gawker that reminded me of our friend Muammar’s lunacy, namely, that he named his son Hannibal. That’s right, Hannibal. As in, the Carthaginian general who tried to overthrow the Roman empire, or, if you’re so inclined, a serial killer who likes DBIH favorite Nell too much to eat her.

Would you let your child share a name with this guy? Idk. After the jump, more ways that Muammar Gaddafi is almost as cool as Silvio. Then again, the Gawker is telling me that Hannibal is a probable rapist, so really, nbd what his name is.

1. This one time, he tried to pitch a tent in Central Park. If I tried to do this, I’d be arrested, and not in that really cool I’m just trying to get on Page Six way, but in the you’re probably a child rapist way. Not good.

Why did he think he could get away with this? Well, it worked in Rome, thanks to our dear friend Silvio, who, it turns out, lets crazy African dictators do whatever the fuck they want in his non-country’s capital.

2. His bodyguards are called “Amazons.” Yes, they still have both boobs (thank god), but they are heavily armed and pretty freaking hot if you ask me (a non-lesbian). The Italians (obviously) fell in love with the idea of these women, though I would assume that in practice Italian men would not like women to have guns when they go to grope them on the train.

3. Once the Arabs realized he was a lunatic (the kind of lunatic that names his child Hannibal), he decided to try to fuck with my people, the Africans. Somehow, he got a bunch of traditional chiefs to make him King of Kings. I can only imagine it was one of those situations like when Andrew Jackson’s troops would make the Native Americans sign papers they couldn’t read handing over all of their land forever.

4. According to Wikipedia, he likes to spell his name Muammar Al Gathafi, which is really just retarded if you ask me.

So yes, Silvio is still my love of loves (King of Kings, if you will), but Muammar has a special place in my heart. He likes tents, Roman history, and hats, so I’m really not complaining. He can teach me and my scantily-clad friends about the Koran any time if you ask me.

That’s me preparing for my dump, by the way.  What a place to put a portaloo!

So here are 20 of the decades worst flicks. I’ve chosen to do a list of 20 because I’m also doing a Top 20 list.For the sake of consistency, and all that bollocks.

I’ve set some rules for myself as the shortlist was triple this size. Importantly, I’ve avoided repeating anyone else’s list. So if it’s not on the list, it will most likely mean I chose to target something else. This only occurred about three or four times so it didn’t affect my list too greatly. And everything that needs to be said about Alien vs Predator: Requiem has already been said.

Also, I’ve chosen to only include movies I had a overwhelming hatred for. Not just a ‘that was shit’, but these movies make me want to kill puppies. Not that I have of course, but even thinking about these movies while doing the list has annoyed the shit out of me. That’s how evil these shitfests are.

So with further ado, away we go!

20. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003)

I call this flick the ‘relationship killer’. Well, maybe not relationship, but I went on a second date with a chick and we saw this piece of shit. Needless to say I never heard from her again. I blame the movie, not my good looks or winning personality. In theory, this is a cool idea. Bring together all the literary icons of the past couple of hundred years and have them join forces to defeat the ultimate evil adversary. Needless to say that theory proved incorrect. Jekyll and Hyde looked like a condom stuffed with potatoes, Sean Connerys stunt double should’ve received top billing and Richard Roxburgh hammed it up so much I had a craving for pork chops. I’ve not read Alan Moores funnybook, but if this is the result then count me out. One day someone will learn not to fucking adapt Alan Moore. The only barely watchable adaptation is ‘From Hell’.

19. Elizabethtown (2005)

I’d usually blame that effeminate prick Orlando Bloom for ruining a film, but in this case his Hugh Grant-channelling performance pales in comparison to the saccharine, cloying screenplay. Laurence Olivier couldn’t have played that character. A complete shitfest from start to finish. Something about a failed sneaker, an annoying stewardess, a dead father and a fucking musical journey through the heartland. Fuck me, I either like or love all of Cameron Crowe’s flicks, particularly ‘Say Anything’, but this could very well be a career killer.

18. Blood Diamond (2006)

You can see the screenplay being written by committee as you witness this travelogue of political points masquerading as an action flick. Leo “I wear a little beard when I want to look tough” DiCaprio’s worst performance this side of ‘The Man in the Iron Mask’. His shitty Saffa accent fades in and out, then somewhere along the way he learns that Saffa’s call each other ‘Bru’. So every subsequent line of dialogue is littered with it. It’s “Bru this” and “Bru that”. Eh Bru, don’t ya know that’s fucking annoying?. And the romance with the skeleton formerly known as Jennifer Connelly is forced garbage. Poor old Djimon Hounsou. He has made a career of giving great support in aid of dreck.

17. The Sweetest Thing (2002)

A wannabe ‘American Pie’ meets ‘There’s Something About Mary’ with the bad taste ramped up to 11, but the laughs on mute. This is where Cameron Diaz lost me. I thought she was okay before this. Like the dreadful ‘Charlies Angels’ flicks, the forced girl power camaraderie is embarrassing. Getting a dick piercing stuck on your tonsils? Taking a semen stained dress to the dry cleaner and your priest walks in? Chicks fondling one characters plastic tits in the bathroom of a nightclub? Pathetic.

16. The Holiday (2006)

Diaz again! And another effeminate prick from the UK. And tubby bastard Jack Black (who I do usually like). And the completely unlikeable Kate Winslett. Something about her just irritates me. I particularly hated Jude Law, who blubbers his way through the entire running time of this steaming load. What an absolute twat that bloke is.

15. Shrek the Third (2007)

I didn’t like Shrek very much. It was saved by Donkey. Shrek 2 stank even worse. Puss in Boots got me through it. But this piece of shit doesn’t even pretend to have a storyline that means anything. Shrek goes to get some dorky kid. Shrek brings him back. This is just such a lazy goddamn cashgrab. Completely devoid of any entertainment value. It’s a sickening experience.

14. Righteous Kill (2008)

Here you have two of the greatest actors in living memory, giving horrendous performances in a pathetically obvious and boring cop thriller. Honestly, what the were they thinking? Jon Avnet can go fuck himself. Not only did he direct this turkey, but he also directed ‘88 Minutes’ which is not on this list because I didn’t really want to double up on two shithouse thrillers starring the blow waved Pacino. I chose this one because it not only wastes De Niro and Pacino, it also wastes the gorgeous Carla Gugino.

13. The Spirit (2008)

Holy shit, if you haven’t seen this, I’m jealous. It’s just as bad as you’ve heard. It proves beyond a doubt that Frank Miller is a complete bag of cocks. It wants desperately to be ‘Sin City’ cool, but fails in every aspect. The scene where Samuel L. Jackson is dressed up as a Nazi has to be seen to be believed. And Miller must’ve thought it was brilliant because the fucking scene goes on forever! And why the fuck do these two keep fighting each other? Neither The Spirit nor Jacksons character can even get injured, yet they keep pounding on each other. It’s just tedious and idiotic. Fuck off Miller, you prick.

12. The Break-Up (2006)

Honestly, if I want to experience two hours of two people arguing, I’ll get back with my ex-girlfriend. What is this supposed to be? A comedy? Cause it sure ain’t funny. A drama? Cause who gives a shit about two selfish idiots without any redeeming factors? Motormouth Vaughn’s schtick is getting so old it’s beyond a joke. On an related note, if they ever do a bio of Quentin “I suffer from gigantism” Tarantino, I nominate Vaughn and his mellon head for the job.

11. My Super Ex-Girlfriend (2006)

Completely, utterly unfunny. Terrible performances. Unwatchable dreck. I barely remember it, thank christ. I just remember I hated it with the fire of a thousand suns.

10. Eagle Eye (2008)

Or as I like to call it, ‘Enemy of the I, Robot’. When will people learn? Shia La Fucking Beef is not an action hero! DJ Caruso, who has the most annoying name this side of McG, just apes other, more talented directors in every flick he does. This is absolute shit. I can immediately think of a way to vastly improve it. Switch around the roles. Move Rosario Dawson to the La Beef character, swap Billy Bob Thornton and Michelle Monaghan, and move Michael Chiklis to Dawson. And fuck La Beef right off. It would still be a shit, intelligence insulting exercise in mass marketing, but at the very least we’d get decent actors in the roles. And don’t have that fucking tacked on scene at the end when two people that we’ve just watched fot two hours and have zero chemistry and obviously dislike each other get bloody cosy. You didn’t earn that goddamn scene. Fuck off DJ.

9. The Love Guru (2008)

God Mike Myers is a mugging prick. Unless he makes Waynes World 3, he can fuck off back to Canada. No, scratch that. He can fuck off anyway. There is so much desperation in this flick it’s painful to watch. He stops every minute and a half to stare straight into camera and try to mug a chuckle out of you. There is a character in this, played by Sir Ben Kingsley, named Guru Tugginmypuda. Jesus christ. Even Alba looks embarrassed to be in this bowl movement.

8. The Village (2004)

This is the first M. Night I hated. I like Sixth Sense and Signs, and I love Unbreakable. I absolutely loathe this shitheap. The twist sucks. It’s boring. Brody as the tard is mind-bogglingly annoying, nutbar hairlip looks like he doesn’t want to be there at all (I don’t blame him) and the reason for living the way they do never really made any sense. I seriously think this would’ve been better if it was a straight up horror flick. The woods had real monsters and it really was the 1800’s or whenever it was supposed to be. As it stands, it’s not. And it set the trend for M. Night’s career trajectory.

7. Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen (2009)

I like Michael Bay movies. There, I said it. I have a unexplainable love of The Island. Maybe it’s Johannson’s lips. I don’t know. But it features the Bayhem speciality of shit rolling off the back of a truck into oncoming traffic. No one does it better. I kind of enjoyed the first Transformers flick. It was about as good as I could expect from a movie about giant, shape-shifting alien robots punching each other over the ownership of a rubix cube. But in their desperation to capitalise on the first flicks unlikely box office, they rushed this piece of shit into production without a script that makes a lick of sense. So much is crammed in to it, and nothing means anything. Nothing makes sense. Why are the robots organic? How does a robot simulate human flesh? Why build up a two and a half hour movie to have the ultimate showdown with the king of the Decepticons then have him get his ass kicked in about two minutes? Robots humping legs? A robot with a cane? Robots that vacuum sand like Megan Fox vacuumed cock to get the role in the first one? This is such a headache inducing experience. Hate is not a strong enough word

6. The Heartbreak Kid (2008)

The Farrelly Brothers have made three awesome comedies, Dumb and Dumber, Kingpin (my fav) and There’s Something About Mary. This pile of excrement has just one likeable character. Michelle Monaghan is too good for this shit. There’s a point early in the movie where Stillers at the wedding of his ex and in his speech her father says that Stiller’s character is an asshole. Too fucking right. His character is such a selfish dick that you actually feel sorry for his new wife! And she’s supposed to be the nightmare! Poor Malin Akerman and Monaghan. This is what up and coming actresses have to deal with in Hollywood. Either humiliated in loathsome “comedies” or running around dodging fireballs in shithouse action movies. Both deserve better.

5. John Q (2002)

Denzel is a great actor. He can elevate bad material to a watchable level. ‘The Bone Collector’ for example. But he stars in bad flicks ALL THE FUCKING TIME. I’m sick of it. This one-sided, manipulative liberal mouthpiece of a movie could’ve been written my Michael Moore. The “good guys” are made to be so sympathetic and the bad guys so emotionless and evil it’s a stomach churning watch. I remember taking a sickie off work and wondering what to do with my day. I decided I’d go down to the local cinema and check out a movie. And this is what I saw. It’s was so maddening that I wished a painful death on everyone involved.

4. Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo (2005)

I hated the first Deuce Bigelow. I hate Rob Schneider. Why did I bother watching this shit? He goes to Amsterdam and becomes a man-whore for a bunch of fucking freaks. But in the first one, the freaks were tall, fat or legless. Most of the freaks in this one have no basis in reality. One has a dick on her nose for fucks sake! Schneider is an unfunny little prick and can die a horrible death for all I care.

3. Hannibal (2001)

Fuck Ridley Scott. Fuck Thomas Harris. Fuck Anthony Hopkins. Good on Jodie Foster. She’s the only one that had any sense beyond drooling over a mound of cash as they shit all over one of the greatest cinematic icons of the past 20 years. Fuck Harris doubly because he did it AGAIN with that prequel (which I never bothered watching). I almost walked out of this flick after 15 minutes. I could see the writing on the wall. But I’d paid my 10 bucks and rationalised that if I didn’t walk out on GI Jane (another horrendous Scott flick) I couldn’t justify walking out on anything. This has a brilliant cast, a director who can occasionally knock it out of the park and all the money in the world. It’s a complete and utter failure on every level. It’s not intelligent or involving like The Silence of The Lambs. It’s not atmospheric or exciting like Manhunter. It’s a cynical goddamn cashgrab and it’s a dirty great skidmark on the careers of everyone involved.

2. xXx (2002)

I honestly don’t think Vin Diesels made a flick I really like. His best effort by far is Pitch Black which was made infinitely better by having the balls to kill the chick right at the end. Rob Cohen is an awful, awful director. I liked Dragonheart at the time, but now if I’m afraid to watch it again. This braindead hunk of shit begins with a ‘move over James Bond’ scene that’s embarrassing, obvious and moronic. And it’s all downhill from there. It’s so desperate to be hip and cool. But in reality it’s sad, stupid and ugly. When will Hollywood learn that although the Czech Republic is a cheap place to shoot, unless you’re doing a flick about the dawn of time, import actors from elsewhere in Europe. Looking at these neanderthals for two hours is quite simply off-putting. And once you’ve seen the biggest neanderthal of them all ’shaking with rage’ while looking through x-ray goggles’, I dare say Prague won’t be high on your ‘must visit’ list.

1. Ocean’s Twelve (2004)

Here we have it. The worst movie of the decade. This piece of shit is so smug and condescending it’s infuriating. But I only merely hated it up until the point of the “have Julia Roberts pretend to be Julia Roberts” scene. That scene is THE biggest kick in the nuts while you’re down I’ve ever witnessed. IT’S NOT FUCKING CLEVER. It’s a pathetic act of desperation. There’s more mugging in this flick than the entire Mike Myers and Schneider back catalogue combined! Why is Brad Pitt eating in every fucking scene? It’s embarrassing how much back-slapping and “Wow, aren’t we funny and clever.” there is in this trash. And worst of all it wastes a fucking awesome cast. Finney, Cassel, Willis, Garcia, Izzard and Coltrane. Soderbergh is a pretentious little prick. He’s so far up himself his films reek of shit. The only one I think is brilliant is ‘Out of Sight’. I hated, loathed, despised this movie.

To: hannibal@yahoo.com

From: tracy@enterprise.com

Subject:

Mr. Hannibal,

I just today received your rental request.  I understand you are looking to rent 500 horses for a planned march over the Pyrenees.  I further understand that your dates are non-negotiable.  Unfortunately, due to the second Punic War, we are currently completely out of horses.  I know it’s an unconventional mode of transportation, but all we have left are elephants.

Please let me know if you are still interested,

Tracy

Rental Agent, Enterprise Rent-A-Animal

Back to this book again?

Yes.

I have never taken so long to read a history book. This thing is just so – awful.

Here is a portion concerning the Third Punic War:

In 149 BC Rome declared war on Carthage for the third time. Scipio was a young Roman officer who had distinguished himself in the earlier siege of Carthage…Because of his record, he was made supreme commander despite his young age and undertook a year of fierce fighting, which ended with the defeat of Carthage. At the requirement of the Senate, in 146 BC Scipio Africanus razed Carthage and sowed it with salt.

So, here are my issues with this:

• 149-146 BC does not constitute “a year of fierce fighting.” Did the editors not take basic math?
• The author makes no distinction between Scipio Aemilianus and his adopted  grandfather Scipio Africanus. This Scipio was elected consul in 147 BC so he could be named commander, which is probably what the “year of fierce fighting” implied. Would it have hurt them so much to have included that little clarification?
• While it is true that the Roman Senate ordered the razing of Carthage, Scipio did not in fact sow it with salt, despite the popular urban legend, invented in the 19th century. This is SO WELL KNOWN that even the Wikipedia article points it out.

Why, why, why do book publishers continue to publish poorly researched, badly edited pieces of junk like this? Would it really have killed them to give the manuscript to – oh, I don’t know – a HISTORY PROFESSOR to verify the statements made in this book?!?

It bothers me; really bothers me. And here’s why.

Because most people do not have my background or interest in ancient history. They read these books and nod their heads, assuming that the authors did their due diligence. And then people who are trying to TEACH these people must then UNTEACH all the garbage.

And now you know why watching the History Channel is virtually a contact sport for me.

“I am the Dragon. And you call me insane. You are privy to a great becoming, but you recognize nothing. To me, you are a slug in the sun. You are an ant in the afterbirth. It is your nature to do one thing correctly. Before me, you rightly tremble. But, fear is not what you owe me. You owe me awe.”

Red Dragon, the third and final film in the Hannibal series that is worth rewatching. Again, the writing, characters, acting and sets are magnificent. The direction could use a little work, but if you told me, “the guy who did Rush Hour and Xmen 3 is making the film of Red Dragon I would have slaughtered families. But no, he did a lot better than could be expected based on his other films. Rush Hour is fine, amusing, but it really doesn’t cut the mustard.

Anyway, despite the fact that I had previously felt it was my favourite, I’d say it is maybe the weakest of the trilogy (I’m not meaning to be insulting to Hannibal Rising, but it’s not worth including. Also, I’m not meaning to say that I don’t insult it, I’m just not doing so now.) The character of Francis is amazing, very well done by Ralph Fiennes, as usual. Same with Graham, I think he is a great character and Edward Norton does a really good job. Anthony Hopkins doesn’t need to be mentioned since he and Hannibal are really in another league, though in this film I can see the direction on him.

So, in hindsight, I’d say that Silence of the Lambs is definitely the best made, with probably the best Hopkins performance of the three. I still really adore a great deal of Hannibal, with only a few moments that aren’t dealt with well, plus some of my dislikes for the story which I don’t think can be avoided. I’d put it in a close second after Silence, only put back by some weak filmic techniques. Red Dragon comes in at a very memorable third, it is still a great film, but the book is not completely translated to the film. The feel is not there and while Ratner didn’t do a bad job, I would put some blame on the direction.

Anyway, all are great films, very worth a watch, very worth a read. Read and watch Hannibal Rising just because you should, but do not let it ruin the others for you.

Schweinerei. Hannibal hat die Schweinegrippe. Am vergangenen Wochenende verunsicherte er die Besucher eines Gospel-Konzertes dadurch, dass er während des Gigs anfing, kräftig mit den Knien zu schlottern. Zunächst schaffte er es, es so aussehen zu lassen, als würde er heftig mitgrooven. Schließlich wurden die Schüttelfrostattacken aber zu stark. Die Band (nicht TTG!) hörte schließlich auf zu spielen, als Hannibal vornüber auf sein Gesicht fiel. Einige der Chormitglieder dachten erst, es sei der Heilige Geist. Aber ein herbeigerufener Arzt stellte hohes Fieber fest. Hannibal hielt ihn für seine Mutter und dann für einen Stammesgegner. Jedenfalls kommt auf unseren wackeren Bassisten noch eine Schmerzensgeldforderung zu. Hannibal geht es mittlerweile deutlich besser, er hat nur noch 40 Grad Fieber und trinkt bereits wieder sein tägliches Pils um 13 Uhr. Gute Besserung!

Out of fear for your growing stupidity and my own, today will be an educational post. Generally speaking, I have been having trouble thinking of another topic to write about in terms of anything that would be taught in a current school setting. Sure I hope and pray like you all that things like yesterday’s “butt genies” will be standard curriculum for aspiring intellectuals of future generations. I had been tossing and turning with the idea of another post about a philosopher or venturing into sociology. The idea of another historical character was appealing, but who?

Alexander the Great seems like a perfectly suitable person, but I have two problems with him: 1. too popular and 2. Catherine the Great. I think most people know at least something about Alexander the Great. Whether it is about his glorious conquests in Asia Minor or the terrible movie Oliver Stone made, people know him. I want to tread on waters that have been untreaded like the use of “monkey meat and milk”. As for Catherine the Great, I wrote about her precisely because I wasn’t going to write about Alexander. He was one of the first historical dudes I thought about in terms of “wanting it”, but at the time I felt this blog needed more positive female characters instead of the usual skanks I talk about (speaking of, did anyone see those pictures of Blake Lively!?! She’s not a skank because I heart her, but if she doesn’t heart me back then she’s a skank). So Alex got nixed.

I decided on a truly amazing character from history who not only “wanted it”, but he also had a lot to do with another reoccurring theme of this blog: elephants. It is time to get in the way back machine and talk about the one, the only:

HANNIBAL

This is a very controversial decision for me to write about Hannibal. As you are all well aware, there is a rash of post about this Carthaginian General on Kristen Stewart related blogs. A RASH, I tell you, A RASH! Just a rash of them. A bumpy red stretch of itchy posts. I am sure you are almost neck deep in strategic military discussion over at Letters, Tarded, BitchFace, 411 and other websites that may or may not exist about Kristen Stewart that may or may not have names that sound like the words in italics that I just typed. I can only imagine how sick you must be of discussing the battle of Zama on Twitter. Just #hannibal and #zama and #secondpunicwar and #scipio. I know I am late hitching my wagon to this already prolific train of discourse concerning Hannibal’s life long war with Rome, but I feel it just had to be done. KSWI needs he/she’s say. And by he/she I’m referring to the fact that the internet and its websites are all transgender.

Where should I begin?

Should I start with where Hannibal is from? North Africa. Should I start with Hannibal vowing when he was child that he would fight Rome his entire life? I swear so soon as age will permit…I will use fire and steel to arrest the destiny of Rome. Should I start with Hannibal losing an eye when he was 37? Yes, he fought the Roman Empire with one eye! Should I start with Hannibal’s mythical caravan of army and elephants over the Pyrenees and Alps mountains to Northern Italy? Well…. we all know you are here for the money shot.

Did Hannibal want it?

YES! Are you fucking kidding me!?! Of course this motherfucker wanted it. Did you read that last sentence? The dude with an army including ELEPHANTS and took them through two mountain ranges and came out the other side into Italy. That guy wants it. He wants it like a crazy person. Could you even imagine what balls and determination it takes to sit around one day in Iberia (or modern day Spain) and come to the decision that you are crossing mountains to go and fight the greatest empire that had graced Earth? And to do it with elephants!?! You want it, my friend. Hannibal most assuredly wanted it.

The crossing of the Pyrenees and the Alps into Italy with the elephants is usually the only thing I hear about Hannibal. That is his big hit. I feel like people are pegging Hannibal as a one hit wonder. Hannibal WAS the Second Punic War. It is crazy as all can be the elephants over the mountains so I get why people remember it. But it would be like people summing up the band A-Ha as simply “Take On Me” meanwhile they wrote a surprising 9 studio albums that are not just different versions of “Take On Me” as most would expect. But the reason why people focus on this is the sheer ridiculous imagery and people love animals.

People really love animals. We have an amazing fear and admiration for animals. We both want to equally want to be friend an animal and see it attack. Of course, we want to see it attack, but not attack us. Like when you are in a bar and you see some wild drunkard tip toeing around. You really want to strike up a conversation with him to hear about his drunken hobo adventures, but at the same time you really want to see him stumble into someone and watch him take a swing at a guy. You just don’t want to be that guy. Nevertheless, if you want to spice up any story, and I mean any story, you add an animal into it. If you want to get someone’s attention start talking about animals.

I don’t know if I have mentioned this, but that is how you get a person interested. What did you do this weekend? I went to see a movie. What did you do? I went to a petting zoo. Really!?! What animals did you pet? Was there a tiger? Of course there wasn’t a tiger, but you see my point. That first hypothetical person couldn’t have cared any less about the second hypothetical person’s story about seeing a movie. The second person was completely enthralled by the idea of the first person being able to pet an animal.

You can even lie to people about being with animals. What did you do this weekend? I rode a horse. Really!?! Where did you ride a horse? I know that fake person I made up and they didn’t ride a horse. But that other person is now interested in the idea that that person was on a horse only a scant few hours prior. Even better, the person who wasn’t with the animal can get involved in that conversation and they want to. If someone has been on a horse then they can now tell the tale of being on a horse. If someone hasn’t been on a horse then they can now tell the tale of not being on a horse at any point in their life and the subsequent times they came close to being on a horse.

The animal doesn’t even need to be all that crazy. What did you do this weekend? I played with a dog. Really!?! What kind of dog? I’m scared of dogs. Was it a big dog? Whose dog was it? Did you steal a dog? Are you lying to me like that other time when you said you rode a horse? Was the dog brown or should I say was the fake dog brown? See this is what happens when you talk about animals. People want to get involved. Secretly, I believe we all want to talk about animals at all times. We’ve either watched way too many shows about animals or we wish we had watched more and we want to talk about it.

So we are enamored by Hannibal and his ability to gather 40 elephants, tame them, and then use them in war. He didn’t just do it with those 40 crossing the Alps neither. Hannibal used 80 war elephants in his most public demise at the battle of Zama. But I think I’m getting a little ahead of myself. I started talking about how we want to talk about animals and I got wrapped up into talking about animals. What irony!?! So back to Hannibal. The man was from Africa!

Hannibal was born in 248 BC and hailed from Northern Africa, which explains more of why he was involved with all these elephants. If he was a military genius from Brooklyn then him having a penchant for using elephants in war would make a lot less sense. It would also make a ton less sense that a man from Brooklyn which didn’t really “exist” (it was around, but not with rappers and basketball players and hipsters like nowadays) back then would have anything to with the wars going on in the Mediterranean Sea. Also for full disclosure, I spelled Mediterranean correctly on my first try which I found a little baffling and at the same time I originally upgraded it to an “ocean” and not just a stinking “sea”.

Hannibal, as mentioned, wanted it a very early age and declared to his father and family that he would spend his life trying to destroy the Romans. It did not take him long to get involved in this pursuit as he accompanied his brother-in-law Hasdrubal as an officer under him after his father died in battle. Carthage’s interests at the time were with the Iberian peninsula which is now Portugal and Spain. Hasdrubal struck a treaty with Rome that cut that land in two and Carthage had one side (south of the Ebro river) and Rome had the other (north of the Ebro river, duh). Hasdrubal also got his young brosef-in-law laid legally by arranging marriage with a princess. Talk about a kick ass brother-in-law. Sure I’ll get you a job in my badass army, sure I’ll get you a lady friend, sure I’ll get you a….a…a…argh… I’ve been assassinated.

Yep. In 221 BC, at the ripe age of 27, Hannibal was made commander-in-chief because Hasdrubal he got got (The Wire anyone?). Hannibal’s want to kill and burn everything Roman rivaled his dear old dad’s and because of this the army loved him. Hannibal took that love and blood lust and conquered everything that was deemed ok to conquer in the treaty with Rome. Nevertheless, Rome wasn’t too psyched that some youngin’ was laying to waste everything south of Ebro river. Rome made a pre-emptive strike by allying with the city of Saguntum which was just south of the Ebro. Hannibal seeing this as spitting in his face promptly sacked the shit out of Saguntum. And Rome seeing this as a loogie in their eye promptly declared war and thus the Second Punic War.

Hannibal, mi hermano para una madre otra, wanted it so bad he started the Second Punic War. This is where the elephants crossing those damn mountains comes into play. It actually wasn’t even Hannibal’s plan. How fucking crazy is that? There was more than one person who though elephants and mountains made sense together. That is brilliant. It was his brother-in-law Hasdrubal (back from the dead, right?) who originally came up with the idea. But he be dead and so be Hannibal’s pop, so now it is Hannibal’s turn to cross through Spain, Southern France and then other those mountains with 38,000 infantry, 8,000 cavalry and 37 war elephants. Hannibal had easily defeated everyone up until the mountains, but the mountains ain’t no one’s bitch. When Hannibal touched down in Italy he had lost basically half of his army and, sadly, most of the elephants. 20,000 men dead? I’m not that sad. 30 elephants dead? I’m crying tears of historical anguish. Those poor elephants!

HANNIBAL: LIVE IN ITALY! Hannibal spent the next 15 years (!) in Italy as Rome’s greatest enemy and lingering tormenter. He won major battle after major battle defeating Rome nearly at every chance they fought him in open battle. In these meetings, Hannibal proved to be the superior military strategist as he usually was outnumbered in these battles. His first major victory was the Battle of Trebia where Hannibal ambushed those idiot Romans. He set-up a force across the river from the Romans and waited for them to attack. The Romans didn’t see a secondary force laying in wait South of the river that rushed up when the Romans attacked and took them from behind*.

All the while Hannibal was engaging in war all over Italy, Rome was still operating as their regular governmental structure. So different people assumed consul roles and had different thought processes on how to deal with Hannibal. It wasn’t one big military dictatorship that sought out the defeat of Hannibal, but it was a democracy where everyone got a chance to fail at apprehending this mad man. Hey, Flaminius, how are you going to get your ass handed to you by Hannibal? Well, I’m glad you asked. I, Flaminius, was planning on not engaging in battle with Hannibal and instead allow him to march around my army and cut off my support lines from the rest of Italy and then proceed to get demolished by Hannibal. Anything else? Yes, I am going to get myself murdered real good too in this battle. Right!

Hannibal’s greatest military victory was the Battle of Cannae or as you all know it #BoC. Here Hannibal defeated a much larger Roman army in a brilliant tactical way. What does a Cadbury Easter Egg, KSWI Jordan and Hannibal’s army at Cannae have in common? Soft center and a hard shell. Hannibal took his weakest troops and put them in the middle where typical the strength of a military force would be. He then put his best cavalry at the ends. The Romans attacked in full force at the middle of Hannibal’s army looking to break them right down the middle. Instead Hannibal’s army expanded and circled around the Romans. They enveloped the Roman army like a big hug. A big and violent and uncompromisingly bloody hug full of death. A big hug where 50,000-70,000 Romans were killed including consuls, former consuls, military tribunes and a whole bunch of senators. Hugs!

This was Hannibal’s climax and it was immediately proceeded by the anti-climax. Nothing happened afterwards really. Hannibal was more or less abandoned by his country. He had been running on piss and vinegar this whole time. Carthage and the Macedonians weren’t going to help Hannibal nor had they been helping Hannibal. They had been spending all their resources to hold onto the Iberian peninsula and their land in Northern Africa instead of sending reinforcements to Hannibal. He was all the way out there in Italy, defeating the Romans left and right, but no one would give him that helping hand to give the final deathblow and sack Rome.

So Hannibal roamed Italy with his army and his want. His dwindling army went on to defeat Romans all over Southern Italy, but this force was not strong enough to take on the capital. After years of wondering around getting nipped at by small Roman guerilla forces and slowly dying off from lack of supplies, in 203 BC Hannibal was eventually called home. Hannibal was called back to Carthage with his men to prepare defenses for Rome’s attack. At 40 some odd years old, Hannibal was about to be defeated.

The Battle of Zama was Scipio Africanus’ shining moment where he defeated the great Hannibal using his own tactics against him. Hannibal always had a great cavalry, but due to circumstances outside of him when the Numidian’s changed sides. Hannibal now playing on his home turf did have the superior infantry, but he had showed plenty of times over that the cavalry was what won the wars. Hannibal did make an amazing stand with 80 war elephants, but Scipio had an answer for that too. Apparently, those big bad elephants get spooked by loud horns, which is good to know for the whole elephant apocalypse I prophesize. The elephants scared by the horns actually turn against the Carthaginians and destroy their army instead of the invaders. Stupid elephants!

Hannibal did survive the battle. He made the leap from battles with swords to battles with words and became a politician. He reestablished Carthage as a wealthy nation, removed corruption from its government and instituted elections and term limits. Of course, having a healthy Carthage is bad stuff for Rome, so when they threatened Hannibal took exile. Hannibal moved around like a genius vagrant for awhile and, eventually, settled on helping out Prusias I in Asia Minor. Although older and with no country of his own anymore, Hannibal kept on fighting and help win several naval victories for Prusias. He once reportedly filled large pots with poisonous snakes and threw them into enemy boats. Talk about a guy who wanted it!

This story ends sadly because Hannibal wasn’t one of the lucky few of us who are immortal. He was betrayed yet again by the country he was fighting for and Prusias was prepared to give Hannibal to Rome. Instead, Hannibal killed himself with poison and left a love letter for Rome, “Let us, relieve the Romans from the anxiety they have so long experienced, since they think it tries their patience too much to wait for an old man’s death.”

Awwww… all he ever wanted was love….. and Rome’s death. But he did want love.

Anyway I hope this was interesting to the rest of you and fills my quota of educational posts. Also I think Kristen Stewart would have liked it because it had absolutely nothing to do with “that” movie.

So, I did watch Hannibal tonight. I am very fond of the film, but it certainly isn’t as well made as Silence of the Lambs. The story is subtler, slower, more classy and while the acting and set design, etc. are all fantastic, the problem was that they included all of these flashy filmic techniques: badly done, unnecessary slow mo, etc. The film doesn’t need it, you don’t need to keep us interested with these little tricks; the acting, story and script are all enough to keep us thoroughly enthralled. Less is more in this case. Not always, but for this movie it certainly is, there is so much quiet menace that Silence of the Lambs tapped into. This one still had that, but it shouldn’t have nearly as much action style filming.

Still, amazing film in most ways. Tomorrow night is apparently going to be a movie night with friends, so unless I watch Red Dragon then, it will actually have to wait until almost sunday since I have, shock horror, a social life for the rest of the week. As for the movie night, I hope we actually watch something good; we quite often choose something entertaining over something good, which is fair enough, I suppose. We’ll see.

So, on to the quote of the day: “The man who has no imagination has no wings.”

Now, on the subject of quotes, should I start saying who said each of them? I’ve been tending to leave them without context as I believe the best quotes don’t need context. Some great quotes do, but anyway. So, again I’m speaking as if people read this, but give me some feedback on this and reasons why, etc. Part of me wants to respect the person who said the words, part of me wants people to look at the words, not the mouth.

On the subject of imagination, vaguely, I had a brief discussion with a friend of mine, whose blog can be found here: http://cerasi.wordpress.com/

We were talking about war. She stated in her blog that we should celebrate the soldiers, not the war, which I mostly agree with, but I replied, “depends on the soldier, depends on the war” then she asked for an example of a war to celebrate, which isn’t something that I could do, either because of my weak knowledge of history or because it is impossible. Regardless, it moved me onto the idea of fiction vs reality, something I’m quite fond of as an escapist, a faker and a hider. I maintain that war is a beautiful thing when viewing it as a story, as art. All the brutality and horror in the world can be beautiful in this context. If it makes me weep, shake and retch then it is valuable to me. To feel is the best thing I can do.

I am a strong believer in catharsis through art, through the viewing of some kind of trauma, though not necessarily at all. Example: a film you might know about, Irreversible. Now, I don’t suggest you watch this film, unless you 1) know that you can handle some fairly strong stuff, 2) can appreciate what a film is trying to do when it makes you hurt and 3) are willing to submit yourself to something horrible and really wallow in the emotion, you should be prepared to feel horrible for the rest of the day, to just sit and think that you can never feel good again. A lot of people won’t like that, for obvious reasons, but I really appreciate it, possibly because I’m emotionally masochistic and enjoy being unhappy, but mostly because if someone can choose an emotion, try to get the audience to feel it and succeed, then that is amazing. Making an audience happy is easy, making an audience amused is easy. Making an audience upset is harder, but still not the hardest thing in the world. Making an audience frightened, fairly easy. Making an audience angry is hard, and there’s only one movie I can think of that isn’t a documentary that has done it: The Assassination of Richard Nixon. Very good movie, I recommend it. Anyway…

What Irreversible does is it aims to make the audience physically uncomfortable, the film is designed perfectly to induce nausea, to upset, to frighten, to anger, to disturb. Now, it doesn’t do these things cheaply, it doesn’t just throw in a surprise horror scene to frighten, the panic and distress builds up over time, from the very first scene.

I’m rambling and probably ruining the movie, so I’ll stop, but the point that I’m trying to make is that it is important to know that you can feel, it is important to put yourself out there, to be vulnerable for a film or any kind of art. If something distresses you, then go with it, let the emotion grow and billow because that is what is supposed to happen, you are supposed to react, to feel. So, war as fiction can be celebrated; it may be horrible, it may be wrong, but I am drawn to it, the possibilities darkness and violence open up to me. War as reality, I don’t think can be celebrated. I’ll have to think more on the idea.

Anyway, moving on from all that serious stuff.

I approve of seeing photos of my friends as kids. 21st invitations are amusing, I highly recommend putting pictures of yourself as a kid on yours when you have one, if you haven’t already.

I had something to say but now I’ve forgotten. Maybe a good sign to say goodnight to the blog.

Goodnight,

Your winged cannibal,

TDE

QotD: “I’m a street-walkin cheetah with a heart full of napalm”

I didn’t end up watching Hannibal tonight and I doubt I will tomorrow night, but it’ll happen soon enough.

Anyway, I mentioned by friend in America in yesterday’s blog and it got me thinking about a place to call my own. He has such a cool place: a decent amount of land, a nice, comfortable house, he has all the things he likes there: music, movies, books, so many books! Anyway, it’s great, I love it, but it’s not mine, if you know what I mean.

I’d love a place like that, for me and a few friends, a hangout place with a nice hangout spot, about three spare bedrooms, a good outside spot, all my books, all my movies, all my music, set up properly. You can’t really have a place like that in the city, there’s always neighbours, no matter how quiet. There’s always other people, there’s always laws, there’s always certain things you can’t do. I want a place out away from a city, preferably not in Australia since the weather disagrees with me. A spot in Europe or America in the wilderness somewhere, set up in a spot that isn’t tooooo far away from a city life, but also far enough off the beaten track not to be bothered. Put the music up, drink, smoke, read, write, create. Create a community.

It’s important to choose your company wisely, something that cannot be done as easily in a place like a city. No, let me clarify. In a city there are a greater number of choices for company, in a small town it is less likely that you will find someone who you connect with. BUT, in the city you can’t take just that group of people you like and that’s it, there are always others around, intruders into the group, grabbers-on, leeches. So, I guess what I want is to take my city group and take them out to somewhere without the vermin, skim the best off the top and seperate them.

There are obviously problems with this plan, like money, for one. But, that’s why it’s wishful thinking. Ideally we wouldn’t need anything else, but I would probably be content with writing for money, which is a difficult thing.

I’m listening to The Boxer, which is always great. I grew up on these guys but I don’t listen to them nearly enough these days. We used to have a big double CD album of the best of Paul Simon back in the day, I should track it down.

Anyway, that is one thing that I would have in my perfect world, a home somewhere and a group to put in it.

Your pocketful of mumbles,

TDE

Quote of the Day:

“The screaming of the lambs.”

You might be able to work out from the title/quote that I watched The Silence of the Lambs today. This is one of my favourite movies and one of my favourite books. I’d say I prefer the books, but the acting in the movies is so brilliant. I also noticed for the first time how good the filming is in “Lambs,” it’s very intense and overwhelming, a lot of extreme close-ups and the actors look directly at the camera a lot. It’s intimidating, which fits in perfectly in a world so filled with highly intelligent, dangerous characters who are always watching, not missing a thing.

Meanwhile, I’m listening to Virgin Black, an amazing Australian band, from Adelaide I think. Don’t mind the wank, they really are amazing, they just like to dress up and give themselves silly names, etc. I saw them live last time Opeth came down, they sounded very good but I didn’t like their performance, if that makes sense. Regardless, I recommend them, they’re very powerful, crushing, they use the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra and choirs to back up the amazing operatic lead vocalist who also growls very well. So, take a listen some time.

I haven’t watched any more Californication yet tonight, I doubt I will. What day is it? Saturday. Sunday morning, to be more specific, but whatever. I’ll likely watch Hannibal tomorrow, then Red Dragon the day after. I won’t watch Hannibal Rising since it’s a shit of a film and I don’t care for the book at all either. I’m of the opinion that Hannibal and Hannibal Rising delved way way way too deeply into Hannibal’s character and history and removed all of the strength and mystery from the character. (spoilers) Maybe I’m being immature or something, but I don’t want to see  Hannibal dropping to his knees and being breastfed by Clarice; not that the image is something I reject for itself, it just seems like a complete simplification of the character. He has always been set up as something that cannot be defined, a mind that cannot be cracked, he was called a monster because no other name would fit. But no, turns out his mummy didn’t breastfeed him as a child or something. All the stuff with his sister is interesting, the warcrimes and everything intrigue me greatly, but I don’t want to know why Hannibal is how he is, he is supposed to be uncrackable, this unnattainable mind, but we are told everything and all mystery is gone. (end of spoilers)

Anyway, it is still an amazingly written, complex, clever, powerful series that has influenced me a great deal.

Speaking of influences, I picked up a copy of Hell’s Angels and Kingdom of Fear, both by Hunter S Thompson. I won’t read them until after Christmas, as I’m still getting through Fear and Loathing in America and I’d also like something to read when I go away to the USA for a few months after Boxing Day some time. I’ll be staying with a friend of mine over there, which should be good. He lives in Colorado somewhere, I’m not great with geography, but he has a nice little place out in the woods for a hangout. It’s generally a relaxing time, I went there last time and there was a lot of sitting, talking, bike riding, shooting, smoking, drinking, reading, sleeping, the good things in life.

Second quote of the day: “I felt like a fatter, uglier and less talented Mariah Carey.”

Anyway, goodnight,

Your screaming lamb

TDE

Ele disse. Exatamente isso. Não sei o que quer dizer. Ah sei lá se ele é gay! Não, não. Por isso que estou assim. É, ele nunca tentou nada. Nada. Só critica todos os caras com quem saio.

Acha que nenhum serve pra mim. Mas, isso é coisa que se diga? “Estou apaixonado cerebralmente por você”, que quer dizer isso? Nada, né? Ainda mais por telefone. É, tá. Sei, sei, sei. Não, eu não me jogo. Não fico me atirando, veja só, quem ligou pela última vez foi ele. Fazer algo? Eu mandei Ternura, de Vinícius de Moraes por e-mail, ué. Não, ele não respondeu. Ah, sei lá. Vai ver que do meu corpo tem gente que só  quer comer minha cabeça. Deve ter gente que do caranguejo só come a cabeça.

Quem? Minha vó! Hannibal frita os miolos do cara na frigideira. Tá. Tá. Vamo mudar de assunto.

Largely unnoted by the mainstream media, musician Norton Buffalo crossed over on Oct. 30. Norton was a Grammy-winning harmonica player known for his performances with the Steve Miller Band, Doobie Brothers, Bonnie Raitt, and Commander Cody and the Lost Planet Airmen.

He played on two tracks of the Doobie Brothers’ Grammy-winning “Minute by Minute” and in 1992 won his own Grammy for “Song for Jessica” with guitarist Roy Rogers.

I met Norton in the early 1980s when I was getting started in pack-burro racing. Norton was a friend of Curtis Imrie and on occasion visited Buena Vista when I was there training burros.

This was a period in my life when the world seemed wide open. That’s what pack-burro racing represented to me then when I was training a jack named Moose on the roads and trails around Curtis’ place.

In addition to Norton’s actual presence, Curtis always had cassette tapes of his music in his car and home stereo. Once Curtis arranged a concert in the local bar, The Lariat, in Buenie and I got to see Norton play the harmonica in front of a rowdy crowd. His trademark harmonica riffs will always remind me of that time in my life.

There was a wild burro named Hannibal that Curtis adopted from the Bureau of Land Management. He ended up at Norton’s place out in California and was uncatchable for a long while. It was Norton who got Hannibal gentle enough to be captured and loaded, and this beast ended up here. I trained Hannibal to some in-the-money finishes in the pack-burro races. (Hannibal now lives in Cañon City.)

Youtube is loaded with video of Norton’s music. I suggest you check it out.

Sometimes you have the good fortune to meet someone, but it isn’t until after that person is gone that you wish you had taken the opportunity to learn more. For me, Norton Buffalo was one of those people. It appears he lived a short life dying of cancer at just 58, but how many people are able to do what they love to do for so many years?

            One of the benefits of writing this column is the mail I receive from readers.  I’ve been surprised, however, by a recent spate of missives from folks seeking my counsel in their personal affairs.  After all, I’m not an advice columnist.
            Or am I?  
            As I see it, there are really just three requirements for an advice column:  (1) Space in a newspaper.  Check!  (2) Questions from people seeking guidance.  Check!  (3) A self-righteous, didactic crackpot to answer those questions.  Check and double check!  Let’s light this candle!
 
            Dear Jimmy,
            I’m a 38-year-old man.  While I was at the SciFi Expo last year, I met the Padmé to my Anakin.  But recently, she made the jump to hyperspace and is hinting hard about marriage.  The thought of moving out of the Jedi Temple (Mom’s basement) gives me tummy bubbles.  The walls of this relationship are closing in like the garbage compactor in a Death Star detention block.  Help!  –Jittery Jedi
 
            Dear Jittery,
            Help you I can, yes.  A sewing room in her basement your mother desires, but in her way your bed with Ewok sheets is.  Always in motion is the future.  Of doing your laundry, tired is she.  Adulthood and marriage, fear them not, and a momma’s boy, be no longer.  Choice of you by girl I will understand never, but die alone you will, with action figures as only companions, if this one chance you miss.
                    
Dear Jimmy,
            Please settle an ongoing dispute my wife and I are having over the upbringing of our only child.   We both love our son “Roger” very much, but we have vastly differing ideas about how he should be raised.  I want him to try out for football and engage in other manly pursuits like mixed martial arts cage matches, ding-dong-ditch, the Sun Dance ritual, and belching the alphabet.  My wife, however, is adamant that Roger must spend all his free time doing nothing but scherenschnitte, collecting Hummel figurines, and perfecting his Trout Almondine recipe for the state fair.  He recently refused to watch “True Grit” with me because the Bravo Network was airing a “Project Runway” marathon.  His classmates have started calling him “Baron Dainty Von Prancengiggle.”  Now, I don’t know what that means, but I’m certain it’s not a compliment.  I’m scared.  Am I too late to raise him into swarthy, high-fiving, NASCAR manhood?  Is there anything I can do?   –Desperate Dad
 
Dear Desperate,
            You’re too late.  There’s nothing you can do.  Sorry.
 
Dear Jimmy,
            After a whirlwind courtship, I recently became engaged to the man of my dreams.  The problem is that my parents despise him.  Whenever I try to emphasize my fiancé’s good qualities, they only point out his flaws.  For example, when I describe him as a courageous man of action, Dad mocks him for his fear of flying.  When I praise him for serving our country as a member of a crack commando unit, my mother condemns him for being sent to prison by a military court.  “But it was for a crime he didn’t commit!” I’ll say, only to have Daddy immediately remind me, for the millionth time, how my future husband and his three friends promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground, how they’re still wanted by the government, how they survive as soldiers of fortune, blah, blah, blah… 
            All the conflict is stressing me out, and my fiancé is growing tired of all this jibba-jabba.  How can I persuade my folks to give this marriage their blessing? –Wanna-Be Mrs. T
 
Dear Wanna-Be,
            Simply arrange to have your parents abducted by a band of ruthless Bolivian drug smugglers (check Craigslist.com) or a bizarre mind-control cult (check Scientology.org) and instruct the kidnappers to hold Mom and Dad hostage in a heavily-guarded desert bunker.  Then have your fiancé and his friends infiltrate the compound by posing as renegade arms dealers with military-grade weaponry for sale.  After the enigmatic, sinister leader of the cult/cartel sees through the ruse, his army of henchmen will chase your Mr. Right and his three confederates to an abandoned mine nearby.  Once barricaded inside, they can use a rusted mining cart, some pipes, and a crate full of discarded dynamite to construct a crude tank.  Blasting their way back into the villains’ lair, they free your parents and bring them home.  Having won your parents’ blessing, you and their now-beloved son-in-law-to-be jump in the van and go get on the bridal registry at Pier 1 Imports.  Your mother prepares a baked custard with a layer of caramelized sugar on the bottom to give to her rescuers as a thank you gift.  This is sure to delight their cigar-chomping leader; he loves it when a flan comes together.
            Next week’s column:  Jim’s Graceland diary!

Sort of an odd fact, but: did you know that after being seriously pummeled by Hannibal, the Romans not only refused to negotiate, they outlawed the use of the word peace?

So firm were these measures that the word “peace” was prohibited, mourning was limited to only thirty days, and public tears were prohibited even to women. – wikipedia

I’m looking at you, Iraq War Protesters* (and Private Ryan’s Mom).

*This isn’t to imply I think people should be silent, it’s to point out that, despite modern worship, the Romans were basically barbarians.

Mercredi 2 juillet 2008: Hannibal Kadhafi, quatrième fils du dictateur libyen Mouammar Kadhafi et voyou notoire, débarque à Genève. Il est accompagné de son épouse, l’ex-mannequin libanais Aline El-Skaf, enceinte de huit mois, qui vient accoucher dans une clinique de la place. Les deux époux et leur entourage ont réservé sept chambres et une suite (la numéro 345) au troisième étage de l’Hôtel Président-Wilson.

Vendredi 11 juillet 2008: Police-Secours enregistre des appels d’employés de l’établissement témoins de violences infligées par Aline Kadhafi à sa “dame de compagnie”, une Tunisienne aperçue notamment sortant d’une pièce la poitrine ou la pommette en sang. Des gendarmes se rendent à deux reprises à la réception de l’hôtel mais sont chaque fois dissuadés d’aller plus loin par des représentants de l’ambassade de Libye.  

Samedi 12 juillet 2008: Profitant de l’absence du couple et de ses gardes, la “dame de compagnie” appelle au secours. Une patrouille de la gendarmerie vient la prendre en charge. Un employé marocain au service d’Hannibal Kadhafi, suit le mouvement. Au poste des Pâquis, les deux domestiques déclarent avoir été régulièrement maltraités, menacés et séquestrés. Plainte est déposée. Un médecin de l’hôpital cantonal constate des lésions compatibles avec des violences. 

Dimanche 13 juillet 2008: L’enquête a passé en mains de la police judiciaire (PJ). Deux inspecteurs se rendent à l’Hôtel Président-Wilson pour obtenir des renseignements sur le couple Kadhafi. 

Lundi 14 juillet 2008: Les deux domestiques, désormais pris en charge par le centre genevois d’aide aux victimes, sont entendus dans les locaux de la PJ, boulevard Carl-Vogt. 

La police s’interroge sur la meilleure manière de procéder. D’autant qu’Hannibal Kadhafi a des antécédents. Il a déjà eu maille à partir avec les forces de l’ordre à Paris et à Rome pour conduite en état d’ébriété et à contresens, tapage nocturne et voies de fait. Ses gorilles se sont interposés lors de chacune de ces interventions, n’hésitant pas même à échanger des coups avec des policiers après un excès de vitesse sur les Champs-Elysées. 

Une convocation au poste? Il y a un gros risque de fuite. Une opération choc du groupe d’intervention? Pas assez discret en la circonstance. Une solution intermédiaire est adoptée: le mandat d’amener, qui allie fermeté et discrétion. 

Avant d’intervenir, la police judiciaire prend la précaution de demander son avis au Parquet, représenté en l’absence du procureur Daniel Zappelli par le substitut Yves Bertossa. Ce dernier avertit qu’il existe peut-être un problème d’immunité. Interpellé sur la question, le chef de division à la mission permanente de Suisse auprès de l’ONU, l’ambassadeur Amadeo Perez, répond par mail qu’Hannibal Kadhafi représente un “cas sensible” mais qu”il n’est pas couvert par une immunité diplomatique.

Mardi 15 juillet 2008: Le procureur Daniel Zappelli, revenu de congé, s’entretient au téléphone avec un inspecteur. 

Vers 9 heures, le commissaire Jean-Luc Flubacher signe deux mandats d’amener, un pour chacun des époux. Cette décision, il l’expliquera plus tard par la gravité de l’affaire (des lésions répétées), le danger de collusion (les témoins restaient à entendre) et le risque de fuite des suspects.

Le chef de section Jacques Pahud, qui doit régler les détails de l’opération, choisit la discrétion. Il ne veut ni d’une action à l’extérieur de l’hôtel, ni de la participation de policiers en uniforme. Il décide par conséquent d’intervenir à l’intérieur de l’établissement avec des inspecteurs en civil arborant de simples brassards. 

Le danger est grand cependant que la garde rapprochée d’Hannibal Kadhafi ne reçoive les agents suisses comme elle a accueilli par le passé leurs collègues français et italiens. Pour éviter toute bagarre, la PJ prend la parti de procéder en nombre. Comme elle estime que les deux époux peuvent avoir à leur côté jusqu’à huit gorilles et comme il faut deux agents pour maîtriser une personne, décision est prise d’envoyer une vingtaine d’hommes. 

L’opération débute en douceur. Seuls trois policiers en civil accompagnés du chef de section Dominique Peillex, entrent dans le hall de l’hôtel, alors que leurs collègues attendent dans le quartier. Le quatuor s’adresse à la direction de l’établissement, qui prévient la mission libyenne, qui envoie ses représentants. Des pourparlers interminables s’engagent au rez-de-chaussée, dans le but de faire descendre le couple. En vain.

Après une heure et demie de tentatives infructueuses, les policiers rameutent leurs collègues demeurés jusqu’alors à l’extérieur et montent au troisième étage. Là, ils tombent nez à nez avec deux gorilles libyens qui tentent de les empêcher d’entrer dans la suite et, une fois plaqués au sol, se débattent violemment (l’un d’eux mord un agent au bras). Puis, la sécurité de l’établissement leur ayant ouvert la porte, ils pénètrent dans la suite, mettent la main sur les deux époux et font sortir ces derniers par l’arrière du palace. 

Hannibal Kadhafi, menotté dans le dos, est conduit à l’hôtel de police dans une voiture blindée. Il demande que le chargé de mission libyen soit averti de la situation, requiert la visite d’un médecin (qui diagnostiquera de l’anxiété) et réclame des cigarettes et de la bière. Tout lui est accordé… mais la bière sera sans alcool. 

Aline, qui n’a pas été menottée, est conduite en ambulance à la maternité, où elle est  interrogée à son tour et placée sous surveillance policière.

Mercredi 16 juillet 2008: Après avoir entendu le couple, le juge d’instruction Michel Graber l’inculpe pour lésions corporelles simples, menaces et contrainte. Il décerne des mandats d’arrêt, le temps d’entendre les témoins et d’organiser une confrontation avec les plaignants (qui seront placés derrière un rideau). Dans le même temps, il épargne à Hannibal Kadhafi et à sa femme un relevé d’empreintes.

Jeudi 17 juillet 2008: Après une nuit passée dans une cellule du palais de Justice, Hannibal Kadhafi peut s’entretenir avec le consul de Libye et reçoit l’autorisation de lancer un coup de téléphone. Il appelle sa soeur Aïcha, avocate de son état. Dans l’après-midi, le juge d’instruction accède à la demande de libération provisoire formulée par la défense. La caution est fixée à 300 000 francs pour Aline et 200 000 francs pour Hannibal Kadhafi. Sitôt libéré, le couple s’envole pour Tripoli en compagnie d’Aïcha venue le chercher. Avant de quitter le sol suisse, l’avocate déclare “illégale” l’interpellation de son frère et de sa belle soeur et menace ceux qui ont osé leur nuire en brandissant la loi du Talion: “Oeil pour oeil, dent pour dent¨”

Lundi 4 août 2008: Le commissaire à la déontologie Louis Gaillard, qui doit se prononcer sur toutes les arrestations ayant nécessité l’usage de la contrainte, affirme que l’interpellation d’Hannibal et Aline Kadhafi a été proportionnée. Il juge notamment parfaitement légitimes les effectifs mobilisés et l’usage de menottes pour Hannibal.

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Sources: 

“L’homme qui veut détruire la Suisse”, L’Hebdo du 23 juillet 2009.

“Comment l’affaire Kadhafi est devenue une bombe”, L’Hebdo du 21 août 2009. 

“Acte I – L’arrestation qui fâche”, Le Temps du 1er septembre 2009.

Szeptemberben megemlítettem, hogy a Nyíregyházi Főiskola B épületének 3 liftje közül a bejárathoz közeli kettő egy ideig betegeskedett. Aztán az egyiket megjavították, de a jobb oldali azóta sem végzi munkáját.

Korábbi rövid mobilfotós twittjeim erről:

A két hete veszteglő lift, a 3. emeleten. (2009. szeptember 07.) >>

A jobb oldali lift már 4. hete nem működik, az NyF. B épületében. (2009. szeptember 22.) >>

A rajz szakos hallgatók (régen egyszerűen így hívták őket), egészen pontosan a mesterképzésben részt vevő Vizuális és környezetkultúra tanár szakos hallgatók kihasználták az adódott lehetőséget, s egy projekt keretében próbálják felhívni a figyelmet a jelenségre.

Tegnap mind a hat szinten egy-egy érdekes installációt helyeztek ki. Szerintem érdekes ötlet, s az alábbiakban fotókkal is szolgálhatok.

• Vajon meddig lesznek kint ezek a művek?
• Mikor fog újra elindulni ez a lift?

Lássuk az egyes műveket.

Földszint - Papírkutya etetővel

I. emelet - Ez jobban tetszene Biohazard vagy Rendőrség feliratú szalagokkal.

I. emelet - Ma reggelre egy villogóval is ellátott figyelmeztető táblával egészítették ki ezt az installációt. Így már oké!

II. emelet - Hannibál a kapuk előtt

III. emelet - Rövid projektismertető

III. emelet - Bejárat az oroszlán barlangjába

IV. emelet - Szelektív hulladékgyűjtő

Az egyes szinteken az adott tanszékekre utaltak volna az installációk, ami a III. és IV. emeleten felcserélődött, mivel a harmadikon van a Környezettudományi Intézet, a negyediken pedig a Biológia Intézet. De ennyi belefér.

Az ötödik emeletet nem fotóztam le. Ha kíváncsi vagy rá, akkor nézd meg személyesen.