The little known

Gatorade conspiracy is examined in detail here.

Sunburnt

(slightly) from Saturday. I now resemble this:












That's what I get for frowning whilst being in the sun - alternating red and white stripes on my forehead. The same happened to me in Budapest during a trip on the Danube (although the sun was shining directly into my eyes, and I am far too much of a Luddite to invest in a pair of sunglasses). And last year I got burnt and my skin peeled like a snake on the first sunny day we had in Kew. Will I ever learn? Hopefully the red will turn to brown, although I'm pretty sure that my Celtic genes preclude me from tanning.

Some links passed on to me

via GoogleEarth and too much time spent on the interweb. Explore:

elenafilatova.com - despite looking like a Russian bride site, this is an incredible site about Chernobyl and its aftermath.

postsecret.blogspot.com - do you have a secret?

From spam to porn and art

mr_hopkinson's computer sings

My love of cover versions has led me to mr_hopkinson's computer sings.

The end of the beautiful game

RIP Tele Santana. My first real memories of football are from the World Cup in 1986, and especially of the Brazilian team:



Their match against the French team of Platini, Giresse and Tigana is still etched in my mind as the greatest game I have ever watched. A true triumph of skill and technique by the two best teams on the planet at the time (we will ignore the fact that Diego singlehandedly (haha!) dragged the less impressive Argentinian team through to victory). Tele Santana, as touched upon in the BBC report was a strong believer in the fair and beautiful game, and for that, and compelling his immensely talented team to play in that manner, I will be eternally grateful.

Aesthetic appreciation

of individuals on the Internet can be indulged in at hotornot.com. An old link, I know, but well worth a visit. So get over there and start rating...

I think

I need to get out more. Is it healthy to have an obsession with Russian culture?

Another vague thing

to think about.



The (over-)romanticisation of the absent father in Soviet and post-Soviet Russian cinema, especially those set in the Stalinist period, in comparison to the socialist-realist depiction of 'elders', and especially Stalin in film and literature.

MIA

taken to a new extreme.

Jack Nicklaus

has been an inspiration recently. I don't mean we have been trying to sell Spanish timeshares to unsuspecting tourists, but rather that we have been playing pitch and putt frequently (too frequently, some might say), and I have improved my round from the upper sixties down to below fifty in a couple of weeks. Today I went round the nine holes in 55, which was a slight aberration. More practice is required. Fortunately, there are two Bank Holidays in May.

Premature

end to the Bank Holiday. Working Saturday didn't help, but the three days I had off have flown by. Fortunately I get to take another day (or two half days off this week as well). When to take them is the question. Do I take two morning and get a a lie-in? Do I save it all for Friday and get another three day weekend? Do I leave early two days and make it home in time for Countdown? Too many choices... Oh, the existential angst...

Poland, Easter and Bedfordshire in one post

I am now home. And relaxing. Happy Easter again, one and all. I shall break now from blogging, being rather exhausted as I am and drink of the holiday spirit. And remember our dear crucified lord. Anyways, here are a list of unusual Polish Easter beliefs and practices for you to be getting on with in my absence:

One week before Palm Sunday, housewives stopped baking bread through the fear that the bread they baked throughout the rest of the year would spoil. Not until the Holy Week did they start baking. In some parts they began to do so on Good Friday, in others- it was not permitted to bake anything at all that day. If any housewife violated this ban, the entire village would be in danger of a long drought, which could be repelled only by throwing the pots and guilty housewife into a pond.

It is believed that swallowing a willow catkin from a branch consecrated by a priest would bring health, and palm branch placed behind a holy image until the following year would bring the inhabitants luck.

On Good Friday no animals could be slaughtered or bread baked, and mirrors covered over. The use of combs was not allowed.

The master of the house was not permitted to take part of preparing the traditional Easter Bread, otherwise his moustache would go grey and the dough would fail.

Easter bread spread with horseradish, was believed to give protection against throat diseases and against illnesses and complaints.

Thanks to The Polish Parish Luton/Dunstable.

Now, I have just been accused

of being a Pole:

















A customer has just accosted me and insisted that I should speak Polish to her on the basis that I am a Pole or of Polish descent. I will admit that I currently possess the following stereotypical attributes of a Pole:

1. wearing white & red tracksuit top
2. am less than shaven
3. have gloom
4. look somewhat surly
5. probably have Catholic guilt
6. live in Ealing
7. am bonkers
8. go to Polish food shops

However, I do not:
1. drink (anymore)
2. speak Polish
3. work as a builder, painter or decorator
4. think of John Paul II as a national hero

So on the balance of probability, I could be a Pole. Maybe I have found my spiritual home in Ealing.

Starting to write

about the psychology of deception in Russia/the USSR. I began thinking about this when writing my dissertation on the collective farm in Soviet and Russian cinema and was presented with the hyper-real depictions of country life in Pyr'ev's musicals. I then saw an exhibition about the peasant in Russian and Soviet art when I was in Moscow last year, and the gap between reality and its depiction was equally wide. Elements of this hyperreality pervade most areas of Soviet life, particularly under Stalin - one need only think of the architectural delights of the Moscow Metro, or the parades on Red Square (both of which, of course, have antecedents in imperial Russian history). I have been reading a great deal about Soviet popular culture and history recently - Epic Revisionism is a fascinating collection of essays and original source material and National Bolshevism is proving to be an excellent read. I need to read more Baudrillard to get my head round some of these postmodern concepts, but what interests me the most is the apparent complicity of the Soviet (and now Russian) populace in this deception. Most Russians (and for that fact, most nationals from former Eastern Bloc states) I have met have tended to be young, intellectual and Western-looking, vehemently opposed to the regimes they grew up under. Yet, as we see from the celebrations around Stalin to the Putin youth group with a .su domain, there must be a sizeable number of Russians who do not share this world view. Andrew Wilson's Virtual Politics, which I started to read on the Tube this morning examines the political dimension of this deception (or should that be hyper-spin) in terms of the Ukrainian and Russian elections, and traces many of the methods employed today back to the KGB, NKVD, Cheka and even earlier incarnations of the secret police. Utterly fascinating.

Watched

Beat That My Heart Skipped last night. It has received glowing reviews around the world, but I have to say it left me somewhat cold. It is a remake of Fingers, but, unusually for a French 'intellectual' film, lacked for me any real psychological or emotional depth. The delineation of the protagonist's life into the two spheres of 'work' (his father, his colleagues, his job, violence and sex) and 'art' (his mother, his piano tutor, his emotions) was too clear. He seemed to exist only at one of two extremes, and although the tension and conflict between these two spheres was intriguing, the lack of subtlety or the examination of the varying shades of grey between the two left me somewhat disappointed.

At work again

I hate working Saturdays. It means getting up at an ungodly hour (for me at least), rushing to the Tube, knowing already that I will have just missed a train and will have to wait 14-18 minutes for the next. Today has been worse than usual, not least because I was in a holiday mood having slept till 11 yesterday. The streets of central London are remarkably empty, save the Spanish and Italian backpackers wandering around with slightly bemused looks on their faces. We, however, do have customers, in fact more than I can remember on recent Saturdays. I guess that in the same way the whole of London has gone to Brighton, or Ibiza, or Mogadishu or wherever, those provincial types, especially from the North will travel to the Smoke for a day out. I, however, intend on travelling nowhere Sunday or Monday - Ealing is seemingly the greenest of London boroughs, and is quite delightful in the spring. The trees on my way to the Tube are blossoming, and as in the past, there is, of course one that induces a particularly heavy sneezing fit in me. Although this may just be an allergy to mornings. I am not sure, and my GP seems unconvinced by my theory.

Working late

sorting out new server. Taking a break for five minutes. Be finished by 11pm, I hope. Happy Easter, everyone!

Pinched from www.ukrainian-n-things.com

This week's CD purchases

have included Jackie McLean - Capuchin Swing. RIP Jackie. A Tom Moulton Mix, the latest double CD from Soul Jazz is extended disco bliss - Love is the Message by MFSB has been a big track since the mid-1970's, played by Nicky Siano and David Mancuso amongst others, and can be seen as the anthem of the original disco scene. Strangely enough, Mr Moulton seemingly also has a huge number of incredibly rare Studio One tracks, some of which he may have remixed. Now, if a record company can get their hands one these mixes, reggae collectors (including myself, of course)will be queueing up around the block to get their sweaty hands on them. This crossover between the seemingly disparate world of disco/early dance music and classic reggae intrigues me. I know that punks/soul boys/lover's rock fans in the UK enjoyed a great deal of crossover in the late 70's/early 80's, and I know that David Mancuso was not averse to the odd dub track, and that disco, as with most Afro-American music exterted both a direct (in the form of cover versions) and indirect (Sly Dunbar's 'flying cymbals' sounds was influenced by the drumming on Philadelphia International Records tracks), but quite how Mr Dodd met up with Tom Moulton at Coxsone's Music City and entrusted him with these tapes is a mystery to me.

Working hard

editing Access data and Word documents, so blogging is the last thing I want to do when I get home. Bear with me, dear reader(s) - the CDs will be on their way soon, and a tracklist will appear as soon as I manage to find the files on my machine.

Lonely Hearts

want to meet that special someone, visit PersonalDumpster

CDs

The CDs for the winners of the 80's music competition are now done. They are kind of jazzybrazilianlatinhiphopsoulfulafricancoverversionnon80's stuff. Can those of you im Ausland mail me liukchik'at'yahoo.com with your addresses.