This And Twitter: June 2009

Mutts

Where would we be without Time's in-depth news coverage... of the World's Ugliest Dog show? Be warned, there are some real mutts in this litter.

I just blew the dust off this Cracked classic: The 9 Manliest Names In The World. I'll never watch Australian rugby with the same eyes again.

My favourite random quote: "This one almost defies analysis, because what kind of parents call their kid "Flex?" Awesome ones, that's what kind."

Happy

I didn't want the previous link at the top of my page, bringing down my day... So I went through the Foreign Policy Photo Essay Archives to try find something a bit more cheerful.

Let's see... China’s Tragic Aftershocks... Legacy of a War... Five Years of Fighting... There's gotta be something here...

Man, Foreign Policy magazine has to be the most soul-destroying place to work at.

Aha! There! It's from a year and a half ago, but it'll do.

Africa

I consume a lot of media in any given day: magazine articles, web stuff, books, music, movie clips, blah blah blah... It's my day job, and it's what keeps me up at night. So in any given day I'll read a funny article on Cracked.com, listen to a history podcast by Dan Carlin, and work through a pile of proof-reading, copy editing and, occasionally, even some actual writing.
So I'm used to a blend of media. And my intention with this blog is to share some of the things I stumble upon with you – whether those things are funny or serious or stupid or clever or whatever.

Which explains this rather depressing link.

Foreign Policy magazine have posted a photo essay called Portraits of Instability, where they highlight the 20 most unstable countries in the world. As someone who lives in Africa, it was seriously depressing stuff. As I was flipping through the gallery, I started wondering – Zimbabwe... Sudan... DRC... – if all 20 countries were going to be African.

It took Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan and North Korea to fill the rest of the list.

Man, that's depressing. I guess I'll have to post something happy this afternoon.

100

I'm only a casual MotoGP fan (not nearly as passionate about it as my motorhead sister), but that hasn't stopped me spending the past half-hour on the official MotoGP site reading up on Valentino Rossi's recent win.

Rossi's win at Assen last weekend was his 100th in MotoGP, and to celebrate he got a group of fans to roll out a massive banner with pictures of every

single

one

of those victories. Very, very cool indeed.

Glasto

This year's Glastonbury music festival has only just finished, and The Big Picture already has a gallery up. And, in standard operating procedure for my favourite photo site, it's a brilliant, brilliant gallery. I could've used any of the pics to illustrate it... but I eventually settled on this one.

Tony!

Hollywood has the Oscars, and Broadway has the Tonys. And this year's American theatre awards ceremony was broadcast on American TV, with Doogie Howser himself doing the MC duties. The best part was the surprise closing number (hey, every Broadway show's gotta have one), where Doogie (Neil Patrick Harris) sang about the night's winners.

For a full explanation of all the jokes, check out the very funny New York Times blog post.

Oscars

Breaking news from the Academy Awards people (henceforth to be known as the Oscar Academy): according to the BBC, the Oscar for Best Song will only be awarded if there's actually a song that's good enough to deserve an Oscar.

Only question I have is: will Three 6 Mafia (2005) and have to hand their Oscar back now?

Oh, and then they're also un-shortening the shortlist of Best Picture Nominees from five to 10, in a move New York magazine seems quite happy about.

Speaking of the Oscars, here's a charming little tale from the LA Times magazine of the time a python went missing at the 1993 Oscar ceremony...

Laduuuma!

Get out your vuvuzelas, people! The Big Picture has a gallery/portfolio/whatever of photographs of soccer in South Africa. It's brilliant stuff, and – unlike so many other faux-safari international features – it really captures the essence of soccer in Mzansi.

(I would post all their pictures, but I want you to go check out their page for yourself.)

Should've Been Red

When The Love Guru came out, it was so bad – so horribly, horribly unfunny – that it made at least one reviewer stop and reassess Mike Myers' entire body of work. Suddenly, the fart gags in the Austin Powers movies seemed not funny by puerile. Suddenly his other characters (I'm talking to you, Fat Bastard) seemed funny for five minutes, but stupid for two full-length features. And suddenly Mike Myers seemed like he'd never ever been funny.

Yup, The Love Guru was that bad.

I'm feeling the same now about Schalk Burger. Since he made his Springbok debut in 2003, I've dismissed his bad tackles and perpetual sin-bin visits as over-enthusiasm at best and clumsiness at worst. Malice? No way. Not Schalkie. He's just a big, lovable doofus.

And then he tried – accidentally, they'll tell you – to gouge Lions winger Luke Fitzgerald's eyes out.

That's not clumsy, nor is it over-enthusiastic. That's mean-spirited, and it makes him less of a doofus and more of a schoolyard bully. He's been banned for eight weeks. I'll be spending those eight weeks reassessing every "clumsy" tackle he's made since 2003.

Them Too

New York magazine has a left-handed tribute to the Farrah Fawcett, wherein they name some other celebs whose deaths were overshadowed by the deaths of a brighter star.

And honestly, you've got to feel sorry for Aldous Huxley and CS Lewis...

Them's The Brakes

I've never really been much of a car guy. I know it's not something that, as Dr Evil said, one dude should say to another dude... but it's true. I (sort of) know what torque is, and I (more or less) know where to locate the engine, but drive any distance beyond that and I'm lost.

But I still know a cool car from a lemon. And - Prius-driving petrol-pumpers be damned! - I still love those gas-guzzlin' big bangers from days of yore. I wish, wish, I could've lived in the lead-paint world of the old Pontiac Bonneville, before some idiot decided that we should all drive bollocksy, cardboard-cutout, run-of-the-mill, mass-produced plastic autos like the Citi Golf or the Toyota Tazz. Give me a 5-litre engine and an impossible fuel bill over these new 1300 runabouts any day.

PJ O'Rourke - who's one of my favourite writers and should be one of yours - agrees. And with General Motors about to drive itself off a cliff, he's written a piece for the Wall Street Journal about the American love affair with cars. It's less of a newspaper article and more of a love letter:

"Thus cars usurped the place of horses in our hearts. Once we’d caught a glimpse of a well-turned Goodyear, checked out the curves of the bodywork and gaped at that swell pair of headlights, well, the old gray mare was not what she used to be. We embarked upon life in the fast lane with our new paramour. It was a great love story of man and machine. The road to the future was paved with bliss."

It's enough to make even an automotive ignoramus like me cry.

Say What You Like...

The guy could dance.

Off The Wall

There's a nice (but short, and not as funny as the stuff at Cracked) story at DesignCrave about the 10 Most Stunning Art Thefts In World History. Now I can see why someone might want, say, the original The Scream on their walls... but mental Dutch dude Hans Memling's Last Judgment is just scary.

Those polyptychs (like cupboards, just without the packing space, and with over-the-top religious stuff painted on every panel) give me the heebs.

The Pot Called It Black

While trawling through the community section at Dan Carlin's Hardcore History site (mandatory viewing – and listening! – for history geeks), I found a reference to the little-known Kettle War.

What a great story.

In the late 1700s, the Holy Roman Empire declared war on the States of Holland. The Empire used the great might of the Belgian Navy (two warships and a merchant vessel). The States of Holland would have had the help of the Admiralty of Friesland (oh land of my fathers), but my ancestors' warships got stuck in the harbour at Harlingen and had to be dismantled. (Frisians: we are a proud bu simple people.)

Reason it's called the Kettle War is this: When the Dutch caught sight of the Belgian "navy", they fired off a shot, which flew across the Scheldt delta, ricocheted off a kettle the Belgians had boiling on a stove, and plopped harmlessly into the polderwaters. The Belgians immediately surrendered.

Another X-File Closed

Breaking news from the BBC:

"Australian wallabies are eating opium poppies and creating crop circles as they hop around "as high as a kite", a government official has said."

Required Reading

I just finished reading probably the single most crappiest book ever to have insinuated its way onto my otherwise illustrious reading list. It's called "The Gaudí Key", and it's by a couple of Spaniards who tried to jump onto the "Da Vinci Code" bus back in 2006.

The plot (I think – it's all over the place) goes like this: Catalan artist Antoni Gaudí protects a great religious secret by leaving a string of clues in his artworks in Barcelona. Now I'm a huge Gaudí fan, and I love the city of Barcelona. So I had reasonably high hopes for the book – even though I knew it was a Dan Brown knockoff.

I couldn't wait to see what secret symbols were hidden (fictionally or not) in the gorgeous Sagrada Familia cathedral. As a work of architecture, it's a breath-taking combination of science, mathematics, art, religion, construction and history.

Too bad the book was such a pile of poo.

What irritates me most is not the stinking craptitude of the book. No, what makes me really mad about the book is that I cannot start reading a book and then not finish it. For some reason I've convinced myself that every book is great (by virtue of its printed pages alone), and that if I cannot read a book until the very last page, then there's something wrong with me. Crap movies I can walk out of. Crap TV shows I can switch off. Crap books? I feel compelled to sit through them, no matter how bad they are. There's something about the whole paper/ink combination that makes me think that books carry greater cultural gravitas.

The writers of "The Gaudí Key" must have known this about me.

Two Turntables And A Microphone

Now for some unfathomable reason I have "Where It's At" by Beck stuck in my head.

How funny is the VeeJay? "Dat is de groovy way of Back Han San." Love it.

Totally Saw It Coming

¡Ay, caramba! The United States just beat Spain in the Confed Cup Semifinal – a game the USA barely sneaked into after pulling off an impossible six-goal swing against Italy and Egypt.
Having donned my special Magic Hindsight Sunglasses, allow me to reveal to you shocked masses that I am not at all shocked by this shock result. I recall, in my misty, watercoloured memories of 1993, that the same US of Underdogs beat England 2-0 in what was a not-at-all-shocking result. In hindsight. (Seriously, though, I was an England fan at the time and England were completely toilet. The mid-1990s were a hard time.)

And then in 2002, the States marched into the World Cup Quarterfinal against Germant, only to be robbed - robbed, I say! - by a blind Scottish referee (named, ironically, Hugh Dallas) who ignored a German blatantly hand-balling the ball behind the goalline. Had the US been awarded that penalty (or the goal; I'd have settled for the goal), they would have scored, equalised, then won, beaten South Korea in the Semifinal (OK, no, they'd have probably lost that one), and then beaten Brazil in the World Cup Final.

See? Blatant. The laws of Karma dictate that the United States should for ever more be able to overturn six-goal deficits and beat the world's Number 1-ranked team with only 10 men in a Fifa Semifinal. It's only fair.

(I've been carrying the rage about that 2002 game with me for the past seven years. Feels good to finally get it off my chest.)

White Fever

Discovered this little gem on ESPN: it's an excerpt from SI writer L Jon Wertheim's new book, where he describes the pre-match rituals of Federer and Nadal prior to their epic Wimbledon Final last year. Makes for a great read. Wonder what the rest of the book's like...?

Pitch Or Putt?

Great photo from ESPN (actually from Getty Images, but you get the idea...) of the atrocious weather conditions at the weekend's US Open. Lucky for me, it was all sunshine at my Mashie course on Saturday.

Sneakers

I'm watching a documentary called Just For Kicks, about the sneaker phenomenon and its influence on hip-hop culture. It's seriously cool.

Total Eclipse

And now presenting... Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart" music video. The literal version.

There's a whole bunch of literal music videos on YouTube (REM, Billy Idol... no-one's safe), but this one's my favourite.

Summer Holiday

It's a pretty miz day today, so I'm goofing off work and taking a virtual vacation. The world map at Whoopy lets you check out geocached photos from anywhere on Earth – so that's my first stop.

And today's destination of choice is... the Faroe Islands. Check out this amazing photo of Kirkjubøargarður, one of the oldest still-inhabited wooden houses in the world.

Whatev

William Safire has a brilliant column – called On Language – in the New York Times. This one from late May is props one of my faves.

Bust A Move

There's a great collection at The Big Picture called "Dance Around The World". Nice to see some happy snaps for once – the news has been pretty gloomy recently.

Except, of course, for soccer fans, who've been treated to a Confed Cup that's been one of the most exciting mini-tournaments I've seen in a long time. Herewith a few points for the haters:

• Iraq were not "unlucky" to be knocked out. They didn't score a single goal, and didn't look like they particularly wanted to either.
• South Africa were not "lucky" to progress. Even if Iraq had beaten New Zealand 1-0, South Africa would still have progressed, despite losing to Spain.
• South Africa need a decent striker.
• So do Brazil. They're missing a target man like Ronaldo, Romario, Adriano, Bebeto... you get the picture.
• The vuvuzela is loud, and it makes my TV sound like there's a mosquito in the house. But it's part of watching soccer in South Africa – much like racist chants in Spanish soccer, and much like stabbing children in Italian soccer.

Very Sharp

It's offensive. It's obscene. It's profane. It's perverted. It is, of course, the latest feature on Cracked.com - Closeted Badasses: 6 Famous Wusses That Would Own You. It contains the funniest sentence I've read all week - and that's saying something, because I've just read the brilliant second page of William Shatner's autobiography (more on that later) - which is:

"Michael Flatley is the fancy-footed Irish-American step dancer behind beloved prance fests like "River Dance," "Lord of the Dance," "Feet of Flames" and "The Celtic Tiger." This is where we'd normally insert a joke about how we made one of those names up. Not this time."

Pure comic genius. Much like James Blunt's appearance on Sesame Street, which is here for you to enjoy:

Invisibles

Somebody sent me an XCel document of Invisibles from FilmWise.com. I used to go there all the time to do their quizzes (while I was still working in online publishing), but I kind of fell out of the habit.

Now I'm going back.

Who Needs GPS?

Yesterday on the train ride home I read a story in the new Smithsonian magazine about the Via Aurelia. It was a great piece, made even great by its references to the Tabula Peutingeriana, which was one huge road-map-slash-tour-guide to the ancient world. It stretched all the way from Iberia to India (not literally... but almost – it was about seven metres long), and it had Michelin-style star ratings and everything.

There's a scrollable version of it on the Wikipedia page.

Kids These Days

I've been watching the "Worst Cinematic Crap" episodes on SlateV for a couple of years now, and they – unlike the movies they slate – keep getting better and better. This one's their latest... and one of their funniest.

Honestly, having watched a lot of children's cartoon shows, I've always imagined they'd be easier to understand while under the influence of some mind-altering substance.

Sit Down, Shut Up

In honour of The World's Most Uptight Stadium Security Guard (scroll down), I present to you another photograph I illegally took at the Confed Cup opening game. Note how there are some empty seats (which the South African press - having run out of real news - can't stop talking about).

Here's my take on the empty seats scenario: the Confed Cup is, ultimately, a World Cup dress rehearsal – and by "dress rehearsal" I mean "preview where 24 teams are missing, and where teams that are too weak to qualify for the World Cup (Iraq, New Zealand, you know who you are) manage to sneak in through the back door". The 2010 World Cup will not have so many empty seats, if only for that reason.

Oh, and please ignore the idiot South African locals who talk about the Fifa World Cup in the same breath as the Cricket or Rugby World Cup. A soccer match between the 10th and 11th best-ranked teams in the world would be France vs Portugal... which would be a repeat of the last World Cup Semifinal, and which would be sell-out anywhere. The cricket equivalent would be Zimbabwe vs Ireland (remembering that only 9 countries play Test cricket), and the rugby equivalent would be Scotland vs Samoa... which nobody would go watch anywhere.

This'll Cheer Me Up

Best sports advertisement ever.

(Or, best one ever right now. Tomorrow I might be back to loving the old Nike Freestyle campaign.)

Sad

Just read a really moving story on DoubleX, which made me cry like a girl. It's very well written, and it's about a subject that I never want to have to think about.

Confed Cup

I just got back from the FIFA Confederations Cup opening game between South Africa (who desperately need a striker) and Iraq (who desperately need a strategy that doesn't involve constantly diving and trying to steal free kicks). My ears hurt. Seriously. A stadium packed with people honking on vuvuzelas is about as soothing as the N2 highway during morning rush hour.

The opening ceremony was actually pretty good - and you have to be a South African to understand why I sound so surprised. I keep having flashbacks to the irredeemable craptitude of the 2003 Cricket World Cup opening ceremony. Happily, the soccer people realised that the rest of the world might actually be watching this time.

So here's what I liked/loathed about the ceremony, the game, and the Confed Cup in general:

LIKED

The crazy vuvuzelas, which drowned out the boring speeches.

The view from my nosebleed seats at Ellis Park.

The all-singing, all-dancing soccer fans. (Seriously, rugby fans: watch and learn...)

The fact that, even when they don't play well, Bafana Bafana still manage to keep me entertained through their strikerly ineptitude.

The moment where SA striker Bernard Parker cleared the ball off the goal-line by executing an athletic backheel, preventing what would have been a match-winning goal by his team-mate Terror Fanteni. Parker's athleticism - and his unintentional defensive brilliance - should be applauded. Or laughed at. Whatever you prefer. I'm going for Option B.

DIDN'T LIKE

The world's most uptight security guard, who saw me taking a photo and demanded that I stop taking photos because I am not a FIFA accredited journalist. Purely to spite her, and for no other reason, I now post photos of her and of the game right here for your enjoyment.

I'm hoping to get one of those giguntous high-def big screens for my lounge.

I Give Up

Best – and scariest – story I've read all week. According to this fascinating BBC report, the Austrian rapist/abuser/crazyperson Josef Fritzl was not, as the world believes, a master criminal. Turns out he was a bumbling, incompetent fool who left tons of clues... but the Austrian police (fresh, one assumes, from their consultancy work on The Keystone Kops) were just too rubbish to realise anything was wrong.

I'm at place in the Venn diagram where outraged and dumbstruck overlap.