Crapola.
I bounced into work this morning, happy as a hyena on nitrous oxide only to find myself condemned to endure a stupid meeting for hours.
It's over now, but it will probably take all afternoon for the numbness to wear off my brain; it's like someone scooped out my skull and filled it with putty … You remember the way Jack Nicholson looked after Nurse Ratched wheeled him back from the lobotomy room?
Something like that.
God, I hate meetings.
Normal service will be resumed after I ingest vast quantities of caffeine.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Nuthin' Much
I'm off to the kitchen to commit vegicide and to try out some new dishes for the "What's Cooking With Dive?" series.
While I'm in there, here's The Carter Family singing "Wildwood Flower" at the Grand Ole Opry.
Enjoy your Sunday.
On a totally unrelated subject, hidden behind the Olympics and the South Ossetia crisis, the BBC reports that the Philippines military are having a little spat down in the Southern Islands with the Moro Islamic Liberation Front.
While this is a very serious subject for those on both sides one can only wonder at the acuity of whoever gave the Islamic separatists the acronym MILF.
While I'm in there, here's The Carter Family singing "Wildwood Flower" at the Grand Ole Opry.
Enjoy your Sunday.
On a totally unrelated subject, hidden behind the Olympics and the South Ossetia crisis, the BBC reports that the Philippines military are having a little spat down in the Southern Islands with the Moro Islamic Liberation Front.
While this is a very serious subject for those on both sides one can only wonder at the acuity of whoever gave the Islamic separatists the acronym MILF.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Katie's Kanji
Just a quickie for Katie.
As Chinese/Japanese characters don't work very well in comments boxes, here are the characters you need for:
Swimming:
泳
Add the hiragana ぎ to this Chinese character (EI - to swim) for the Japanese to make it "swimming" rather than "swim". Technically, to make the correct Chinese meaning "swimmING", you need to add the character for water 水 (already the right hand part of the character above) before EI, to give you
水泳
Travel:
旅行
(travel on a journey; lit. to go travelling),
or more likely
進
(to move, such as "move through water". Add む for the Japanese).
So your pretty swimmer's tat should read:水泳進, though this in itself may have additional meanings/interpretations and taken literally simply means "swimming in water to move".
On the nape of her neck a tat such as this would look better written vertically (though the nape of the neck is such an erotic part of a woman that having stuff scribbled there is always a bad idea, however cool it looks on Katie's swimmer).
A cautionary note for everybody:
Kanji/Hanzi are usually pretty ambiguous in their meanings (and are especially a nightmare to Westerners), so make sure and speak to native Chinese/Japanese speakers (preferably teachers) before you have a tattoo or any permanent signage done or you could end up here!
Also ask your teacher for the "stroke order" and "radical" meanings of each character to get a feel for the correct way it is written and its underlying meaning.
The West is full to the brim with meaningless gibberish Chinese/Japanese tattoos.
Never simply take the word of a tattoo artist (unless they're Chinese or Japanese, of course), and if you see one with the seemingly ubiquitous "Chinese Alphabet" chart in their shop (which assigns a totally meaningless character to each letter of the Roman alphabet for those pathetic cretins who want to "spell" their kids' names out on their arms), only encourage your worst enemy to get a tat done there.
For anyone confused as to what I am talking about, have a look at what Katie has made!
I WAAAAAAAAAANT ONE!!!!!!!!!!
As Chinese/Japanese characters don't work very well in comments boxes, here are the characters you need for:
Swimming:
泳
Add the hiragana ぎ to this Chinese character (EI - to swim) for the Japanese to make it "swimming" rather than "swim". Technically, to make the correct Chinese meaning "swimmING", you need to add the character for water 水 (already the right hand part of the character above) before EI, to give you
水泳
Travel:
旅行
(travel on a journey; lit. to go travelling),
or more likely
進
(to move, such as "move through water". Add む for the Japanese).
So your pretty swimmer's tat should read:水泳進, though this in itself may have additional meanings/interpretations and taken literally simply means "swimming in water to move".
On the nape of her neck a tat such as this would look better written vertically (though the nape of the neck is such an erotic part of a woman that having stuff scribbled there is always a bad idea, however cool it looks on Katie's swimmer).
A cautionary note for everybody:
Kanji/Hanzi are usually pretty ambiguous in their meanings (and are especially a nightmare to Westerners), so make sure and speak to native Chinese/Japanese speakers (preferably teachers) before you have a tattoo or any permanent signage done or you could end up here!
Also ask your teacher for the "stroke order" and "radical" meanings of each character to get a feel for the correct way it is written and its underlying meaning.
The West is full to the brim with meaningless gibberish Chinese/Japanese tattoos.
Never simply take the word of a tattoo artist (unless they're Chinese or Japanese, of course), and if you see one with the seemingly ubiquitous "Chinese Alphabet" chart in their shop (which assigns a totally meaningless character to each letter of the Roman alphabet for those pathetic cretins who want to "spell" their kids' names out on their arms), only encourage your worst enemy to get a tat done there.
For anyone confused as to what I am talking about, have a look at what Katie has made!
I WAAAAAAAAAANT ONE!!!!!!!!!!
Friday, August 08, 2008
What's Cooking With Dive? Adobo
Hokay … Time to put on a pinny and head for the kitchen.
This will be the first of yet another series of posts: "What's Cooking With Dive?"
Both Phil and I have been fanatical cooks and snobby foodies for decades, so I don't know why I've not thought of doing this before.
The catalyst that's kick-started this series is - many thanks to Joy and Jong - that I have been introduced to a range of dishes I'd not come across before (and I thought I knew everything … go figure): Pinoy Cuisine.
So we'll start the series with me discovering and trying out various dishes from The Philippines.
Feel free to join in.
Dish number one is wonderfully simple, quick to prepare, requires no "specialist" ingredients, will keep for up to a week and is great eaten hot, warm, tepid or cold (how many dishes do you know that come with the advice "serve tepid"?) …
Today we'll be cooking ADOBO; more specifically adobong pork.
This dish can be cooked using any meat or fowl, fish or veggie (Joy is veggie/pescy so she uses quorn or salmon but for a veggie version I'd probably use chunked sweet potato, parsnips or anything with an innate sweetness of that kind).
The word "versatile" doesn't come close.
If you leave out the onion it will keep for ages and is great to take on a picnic or for a snack with either cold rice or nice fresh bakery bread (pitta would be good … Joy loves to accompany it with pan de sal or to make adobo rolls).
Simple is always good and this dish is as simple as they come.
It is the first Pinoy dish Jong showed me how to make and the whole thing can be prepped, cooked and dished up in the time it takes the rice to steam.
First up: Ingredients:
Fatty pork (apologies to any Muslim or Jewish readers), goat, salmon, prawns, poultry, spare ribs are all great for this dish but I chose a nice organic pork tenderloin from Harvey's (Norwich's gloriously militant, anti-factory/chemical"food", real meat butchers), which I cut into biggish chunks.
Use as much as you fancy; I won't often resort to ounces or grams here.
It's just my own taste but if I am eating meat I will always buy organic and local.
Harvey's daily menu board will tell you the herds and farms that day's meat is from.
This little piggy is from a rare-breed farm only a couple of miles from my house and spent its happy life running wild in oak woodland, munching on acorns and wild herbs. Believe me when I say the taste and texture is sublime!
Jong suggests - wisely - that if you're cooking lean pork like this or especially lean beef, to start the pan off with a couple of chunks of fatty pork or a spare rib to ensure the meat stays tender and succulent. As I didn't have any to hand I used a splash of organic sunflower oil to provide the fat.
Don't use non-organic meat or the added water will make it stew instead of fry.
When Jong showed me how to make adobo he used six cloves of garlic for three of us and no onion; the way he would make adobo if it was to keep for later.
As there is only me here I am using two cloves of garlic and a smallish onion (again, all organic), rough chopped.
All of my dishes will be "cooking for one" unless I specifically say otherwise, so adjust your quantities accordingly.
Oh, the odd-looking knife is a Japanese ceramic knife. I've really become addicted to these of late.
I keep my big old Sabatiers for more violent and bloody forms of vegicide, but for subtle, ninja work I'll always use ceramic.
These babies are SHARP like you wouldn't believe! They make my Sabatiers feel like I'm cutting stuff with the edge of my hand.
Pricey, but good!
I stock up with purple garlic when the French Market swings by each month; it is great for everyday cooking - nicely balanced - but I personally prefer Portuguese or Turkish garlic … the hotter and drier the climate, the more intense the flavour.
And I do mean "intense", not "harsh". Good fresh garlic of this quality won't overpower a dish or leave you stinking; it will provide the deep, rich bass note that this dish is built upon.
Anybody thinking of using that ready-chopped garlic in a jar, puréed garlic or (God forbid) "garlic salt", kindly stand in the corner and slap yourself hard and repeatedly to save me the trouble.
To accompany adobo, traditionally sticky rice (not sushi rice though) and a soup or other moist dish is served to balance the wet and the dry.
Jong says that all Filipino cooking is based upon balance - balance of spices/flavours; balance of textures, etc. - something I wholeheartedly approve of.
Today I'll be using steamed jasmine rice and - as sinigang (the FANTASTIC, tamarind-based sour soup sometimes served with adobo) will be covered in a future recipe - I'll be using my favourite comfort food instead: a bowl of miso soup.
With rice, I always use way more than one cup per person because I am a pig and like to have lots of yummy rice left over to eat later.
To digress for a moment: one of my great joys and relaxations in life is washing rice. I'll stand there smiling for ages, happily swooshing the rice and replacing the water. It just feels so nice and is very therapeutic.
Of course, I don't have to do it for a living. That would suck.
I'm afraid I stopped using American rice years ago, when they could no longer guarantee it was free from GM contamination. I used to love California sushi rice but now I have to pay way over the odds for Japanese organic (which is utterly delicious).
Hokay … Here we go:
Jong used a normal saucepan for this; I used a wok. Anything concave that gets hot will do.
Heat it up.
First up: brown off the meat (high flame). I'll be assuming for these recipes that if I say something like "brown off the meat", or "reduce the stock", you'll know what I mean.
Next up I softened the onion and garlic (low flame) then tossed the pork back in with them (adjust the flame to however you feel … you don't want the dish to burn but you do want it to cook quickly. Keep an eye on it and adjust to suit … again, I am assuming you're not idiots).
Joy - with her Pinoy sweet tooth - and sometimes Jong would add sugar to adobo, but I have an innate loathing of processed foods like granulated sugar so to add a more natural sweetness I let the onion caramelise.
At this point I added a few big splooshes of good organic soy - I would guess at least a couple of shot-glasses worth - and let it reduce, stirring from time to time while I made the miso.
When it looks like the picture, it's done.
It was just about perfect when the rice was ready.
And here it is …
Adobong pork with jasmine rice and soup.
Have a go. It's simple, quick and way yummier than it looks (just like me).
This will be the first of yet another series of posts: "What's Cooking With Dive?"
Both Phil and I have been fanatical cooks and snobby foodies for decades, so I don't know why I've not thought of doing this before.
The catalyst that's kick-started this series is - many thanks to Joy and Jong - that I have been introduced to a range of dishes I'd not come across before (and I thought I knew everything … go figure): Pinoy Cuisine.
So we'll start the series with me discovering and trying out various dishes from The Philippines.
Feel free to join in.
Dish number one is wonderfully simple, quick to prepare, requires no "specialist" ingredients, will keep for up to a week and is great eaten hot, warm, tepid or cold (how many dishes do you know that come with the advice "serve tepid"?) …
Today we'll be cooking ADOBO; more specifically adobong pork.
This dish can be cooked using any meat or fowl, fish or veggie (Joy is veggie/pescy so she uses quorn or salmon but for a veggie version I'd probably use chunked sweet potato, parsnips or anything with an innate sweetness of that kind).
The word "versatile" doesn't come close.
If you leave out the onion it will keep for ages and is great to take on a picnic or for a snack with either cold rice or nice fresh bakery bread (pitta would be good … Joy loves to accompany it with pan de sal or to make adobo rolls).
Simple is always good and this dish is as simple as they come.
It is the first Pinoy dish Jong showed me how to make and the whole thing can be prepped, cooked and dished up in the time it takes the rice to steam.
First up: Ingredients:
Fatty pork (apologies to any Muslim or Jewish readers), goat, salmon, prawns, poultry, spare ribs are all great for this dish but I chose a nice organic pork tenderloin from Harvey's (Norwich's gloriously militant, anti-factory/chemical"food", real meat butchers), which I cut into biggish chunks.Use as much as you fancy; I won't often resort to ounces or grams here.
It's just my own taste but if I am eating meat I will always buy organic and local.
Harvey's daily menu board will tell you the herds and farms that day's meat is from.
This little piggy is from a rare-breed farm only a couple of miles from my house and spent its happy life running wild in oak woodland, munching on acorns and wild herbs. Believe me when I say the taste and texture is sublime!
Jong suggests - wisely - that if you're cooking lean pork like this or especially lean beef, to start the pan off with a couple of chunks of fatty pork or a spare rib to ensure the meat stays tender and succulent. As I didn't have any to hand I used a splash of organic sunflower oil to provide the fat.
Don't use non-organic meat or the added water will make it stew instead of fry.
When Jong showed me how to make adobo he used six cloves of garlic for three of us and no onion; the way he would make adobo if it was to keep for later.As there is only me here I am using two cloves of garlic and a smallish onion (again, all organic), rough chopped.
All of my dishes will be "cooking for one" unless I specifically say otherwise, so adjust your quantities accordingly.
Oh, the odd-looking knife is a Japanese ceramic knife. I've really become addicted to these of late.
I keep my big old Sabatiers for more violent and bloody forms of vegicide, but for subtle, ninja work I'll always use ceramic.
These babies are SHARP like you wouldn't believe! They make my Sabatiers feel like I'm cutting stuff with the edge of my hand.
Pricey, but good!
I stock up with purple garlic when the French Market swings by each month; it is great for everyday cooking - nicely balanced - but I personally prefer Portuguese or Turkish garlic … the hotter and drier the climate, the more intense the flavour.
And I do mean "intense", not "harsh". Good fresh garlic of this quality won't overpower a dish or leave you stinking; it will provide the deep, rich bass note that this dish is built upon.
Anybody thinking of using that ready-chopped garlic in a jar, puréed garlic or (God forbid) "garlic salt", kindly stand in the corner and slap yourself hard and repeatedly to save me the trouble.
To accompany adobo, traditionally sticky rice (not sushi rice though) and a soup or other moist dish is served to balance the wet and the dry.Jong says that all Filipino cooking is based upon balance - balance of spices/flavours; balance of textures, etc. - something I wholeheartedly approve of.
Today I'll be using steamed jasmine rice and - as sinigang (the FANTASTIC, tamarind-based sour soup sometimes served with adobo) will be covered in a future recipe - I'll be using my favourite comfort food instead: a bowl of miso soup.
With rice, I always use way more than one cup per person because I am a pig and like to have lots of yummy rice left over to eat later.
To digress for a moment: one of my great joys and relaxations in life is washing rice. I'll stand there smiling for ages, happily swooshing the rice and replacing the water. It just feels so nice and is very therapeutic.
Of course, I don't have to do it for a living. That would suck.
I'm afraid I stopped using American rice years ago, when they could no longer guarantee it was free from GM contamination. I used to love California sushi rice but now I have to pay way over the odds for Japanese organic (which is utterly delicious).
Hokay … Here we go:
Jong used a normal saucepan for this; I used a wok. Anything concave that gets hot will do.
Heat it up.
First up: brown off the meat (high flame). I'll be assuming for these recipes that if I say something like "brown off the meat", or "reduce the stock", you'll know what I mean.
Next up I softened the onion and garlic (low flame) then tossed the pork back in with them (adjust the flame to however you feel … you don't want the dish to burn but you do want it to cook quickly. Keep an eye on it and adjust to suit … again, I am assuming you're not idiots).
Joy - with her Pinoy sweet tooth - and sometimes Jong would add sugar to adobo, but I have an innate loathing of processed foods like granulated sugar so to add a more natural sweetness I let the onion caramelise.
At this point I added a few big splooshes of good organic soy - I would guess at least a couple of shot-glasses worth - and let it reduce, stirring from time to time while I made the miso.
When it looks like the picture, it's done.
It was just about perfect when the rice was ready.
And here it is …Adobong pork with jasmine rice and soup.
Have a go. It's simple, quick and way yummier than it looks (just like me).
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Let's Make A Racket - IXX
It's Thursday, so once again it's time to make a racket.
Say "Yay" for another complete fucking mess!
We're down at the blues club again, this time with Steve on vocals and bass, Dave S. on drums and Dave Thomas and myself sharing guitar duties.
I take the first solo, Dave takes the second and then we totally fuck up the third one together.
Dave's on the left channel, I'm on the right; he's playing a Strat through a Twin Reverb, I'm playing my PRS through my Mesa Heartbreaker.
My baby … Sigh
Grab a beer, pull up a chair and try not to cringe at the sheer amateurishness of it all. The song - before we beat the living crap out of it - was supposed to be "I Done Got Wise".
Say "Yay" for another complete fucking mess!
We're down at the blues club again, this time with Steve on vocals and bass, Dave S. on drums and Dave Thomas and myself sharing guitar duties.
I take the first solo, Dave takes the second and then we totally fuck up the third one together.
Dave's on the left channel, I'm on the right; he's playing a Strat through a Twin Reverb, I'm playing my PRS through my Mesa Heartbreaker.
My baby … SighGrab a beer, pull up a chair and try not to cringe at the sheer amateurishness of it all. The song - before we beat the living crap out of it - was supposed to be "I Done Got Wise".
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
No-Brainer
Katie complained yesterday that my post forced her to think after a hard day at the office, for which I can only apologise wholeheartedly and follow the previous two days' "thinky" posts with one so un-"thinky" that you can watch it with your brain removed enitirely.
I'm not a fan of football but this guy seems to have found a diverting use for his skills.
This one comes courtesy of Phil, in whose general direction I genefluct in effusive gratitude.
Cheers, bro.
I'm not a fan of football but this guy seems to have found a diverting use for his skills.
This one comes courtesy of Phil, in whose general direction I genefluct in effusive gratitude.
Cheers, bro.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Machiavelli In A Dress
Meanwhile, back in the real world (outside Blogville city limits) I've been having an ongoing argument with a friend about the necessity or otherwise of leaders.
Feel free to join in.
It all stemmed from my admittedly facetious assertion (based on long experience of such creatures) that sacking every person in the country who has "manager" in their job title or has attended (or taught) a management training course would be hugely beneficial both to the economy and to the sanity of the nation.
Of course, my friend just happens to be in a management position and - much to my delight - took the bait and we have been arguing about it ever since.
I do love a good rhubarb!
She posits (and despite possessing one of the most formidable intellects I know of, she appears to have learned this from The Niccolò Machiavelli Management Handbook) that human beings are essentially sheep and need herding (yes, she would include herself as a shepherd); whereas I contend that humans are individuals and are created - or at least squirted out of the womb - equal and that no one person has the right to power over another.
Sure, there are submissive and dominant personalities and as long as both parties agree the limits of domination they are quite within their rights to enjoy their own little consensual hierarchy inside a relationship/family; but leadership should never be imposed upon one person/people by another.
My friend contends that people need leadership "for their own good".
Juvenal's phrase "Quid custodiet ipsos custodes?" springs to mind, becoming in this case - in Old Dive's admittedly appalling schoolboy Latin - "Quid ducavi ipsos ducendi?" (Sorry, my textbooks are at home so that's off the top of my head) …
"Who leads the leaders themselves?"
Who guides/constrains them?
Who determines what is for "the common good"?
The leader's conscience?
His or her life experience?
We all have a conscience; we all have life experience.
If somebody aspires to lead others or declares themselves a leader, what - other than their own ego and opinion - makes their conscience superior to the next person's?
Surely the ultimate authority must be God, but …
(a) A leader who states that God has personally guided them has no proof but their own word and if history is to judge is invariably delusional; just look at George W. Bush; and besides,
(b) God is only an authority for those that profess belief in Him. The religious have no right whatsoever to judge or lead those who know there is no God (and vice versa).
So that leaves us with the self-proclaimed leader's own conscience …
This way lies dictatorship.
History (a wonderful teacher from whom we never seem to learn) shows that, however benevolent the motives of a dictator (or even a democracy) might be to start with, those in power - once they achieve "leadership" - will be reluctant to relinquish their position (they are, after all, only human, with all the venality, corruption, paranoia and lust for power that the term "human" infers) and will cling to power using increasingly oppressive measures against the very people they purport to lead.
Power corrupts … Absolute power corrupts absolutely …
However, no leader can lead for long without the consent of the led.
Even discounting legitimate revolution by the people, the human apparatus a leader has to put in place to maintain a position of power will inevitably attempt to topple them and to take that power for itself.
Supporting any leader, from Stalin down to the manager of the local McD is a seething pool of corrupt wannabes and greedy back-stabbers (humanity in all its glory), just waiting for the opportunity to kick off a feeding frenzy and assume power themselves.
Human beings are essentially selfish and power-hungry.
Put any two people in a room together and sooner or later one will attempt in some way - either physically or intellectually - to dominate the other.
Ergo: one person becomes better off and one worse off; the led technically "oppressed" by the leader, who - when let out of the room - will of course attempt to dominate yet more people rather than be led him/herself.
As for democracy, that attempts to prevent one person/faction from assuming dictatorship by applying the division of executive power between divers entities, each of whom strives to prevent ultimate power falling into the hands of the others whilst retaining its own share.
Better than a dictatorship, admittedly, but still - as we see today - ultimately self-serving rather than at the service of the people it rules; each part of it rife with paranoia and the lust to retain power, democracy falls prey to commercial interests and becomes stained by corporate lobbyists and self-interested groups exerting undue and corrupt influence on what are supposedly impartial elected bodies; all to the detriment of the led.
My friend states that Jesus, Gandhi and the Buddha (excellent choices) are her rôle models as leaders to which I can only counter that none of them were leaders in the dominant/submissive sense; none of them sought to dominate and "herd" us; they were all three servants and teachers who only "led" by example.
If people follow their teachings it is because those people freely CHOOSE to do so as individuals.
If somebody chooses NOT to do so they are perfectly within their rights and should not be coerced into accepting the views of others over their own (evangelists take note).
We are not simply arguing semantics as to whether the word "leader" means to lead by example/teaching (which I wholeheartedly approve of) or to lead by domination/subjugation (which I do not - however much it is claimed to be "for our own good").
My friend asserts that people (that's you and me) need to be actively led, to be "herded" in her words; to be directed from above by others who consider themselves our betters.
In the office environment, this means people so ignorant that they would consciously use the words "impact" and "leverage" as verbs (she would not use those herself, but admits to the criminal misuse of "strategic").
She is wrong (OW! … DAMN, you hit hard).
None of us needs to lead or be led by any other person.
It is a self evident truth that any person aspiring to lead others is by definition not suited to do so.
The only morally acceptable form of leadership is that of not seeking to lead but of teaching by example - like Jesus, Gandhi and the Buddha, serving the people; allowing us free choice … not herding us.
Boy, am I going to get slapped down when Ms. Machiavelli reads this! Hee hee.
Sorry for being so boring. My mind wanders like this when I spend too much time sitting on trains.
Feel free to join in.
It all stemmed from my admittedly facetious assertion (based on long experience of such creatures) that sacking every person in the country who has "manager" in their job title or has attended (or taught) a management training course would be hugely beneficial both to the economy and to the sanity of the nation.
Of course, my friend just happens to be in a management position and - much to my delight - took the bait and we have been arguing about it ever since.
I do love a good rhubarb!
She posits (and despite possessing one of the most formidable intellects I know of, she appears to have learned this from The Niccolò Machiavelli Management Handbook) that human beings are essentially sheep and need herding (yes, she would include herself as a shepherd); whereas I contend that humans are individuals and are created - or at least squirted out of the womb - equal and that no one person has the right to power over another.
Sure, there are submissive and dominant personalities and as long as both parties agree the limits of domination they are quite within their rights to enjoy their own little consensual hierarchy inside a relationship/family; but leadership should never be imposed upon one person/people by another.
My friend contends that people need leadership "for their own good".
Juvenal's phrase "Quid custodiet ipsos custodes?" springs to mind, becoming in this case - in Old Dive's admittedly appalling schoolboy Latin - "Quid ducavi ipsos ducendi?" (Sorry, my textbooks are at home so that's off the top of my head) …
"Who leads the leaders themselves?"
Who guides/constrains them?
Who determines what is for "the common good"?
The leader's conscience?
His or her life experience?
We all have a conscience; we all have life experience.
If somebody aspires to lead others or declares themselves a leader, what - other than their own ego and opinion - makes their conscience superior to the next person's?
Surely the ultimate authority must be God, but …
(a) A leader who states that God has personally guided them has no proof but their own word and if history is to judge is invariably delusional; just look at George W. Bush; and besides,
(b) God is only an authority for those that profess belief in Him. The religious have no right whatsoever to judge or lead those who know there is no God (and vice versa).
So that leaves us with the self-proclaimed leader's own conscience …
This way lies dictatorship.
History (a wonderful teacher from whom we never seem to learn) shows that, however benevolent the motives of a dictator (or even a democracy) might be to start with, those in power - once they achieve "leadership" - will be reluctant to relinquish their position (they are, after all, only human, with all the venality, corruption, paranoia and lust for power that the term "human" infers) and will cling to power using increasingly oppressive measures against the very people they purport to lead.
Power corrupts … Absolute power corrupts absolutely …
However, no leader can lead for long without the consent of the led.
Even discounting legitimate revolution by the people, the human apparatus a leader has to put in place to maintain a position of power will inevitably attempt to topple them and to take that power for itself.
Supporting any leader, from Stalin down to the manager of the local McD is a seething pool of corrupt wannabes and greedy back-stabbers (humanity in all its glory), just waiting for the opportunity to kick off a feeding frenzy and assume power themselves.
Human beings are essentially selfish and power-hungry.
Put any two people in a room together and sooner or later one will attempt in some way - either physically or intellectually - to dominate the other.
Ergo: one person becomes better off and one worse off; the led technically "oppressed" by the leader, who - when let out of the room - will of course attempt to dominate yet more people rather than be led him/herself.
As for democracy, that attempts to prevent one person/faction from assuming dictatorship by applying the division of executive power between divers entities, each of whom strives to prevent ultimate power falling into the hands of the others whilst retaining its own share.
Better than a dictatorship, admittedly, but still - as we see today - ultimately self-serving rather than at the service of the people it rules; each part of it rife with paranoia and the lust to retain power, democracy falls prey to commercial interests and becomes stained by corporate lobbyists and self-interested groups exerting undue and corrupt influence on what are supposedly impartial elected bodies; all to the detriment of the led.
My friend states that Jesus, Gandhi and the Buddha (excellent choices) are her rôle models as leaders to which I can only counter that none of them were leaders in the dominant/submissive sense; none of them sought to dominate and "herd" us; they were all three servants and teachers who only "led" by example.
If people follow their teachings it is because those people freely CHOOSE to do so as individuals.
If somebody chooses NOT to do so they are perfectly within their rights and should not be coerced into accepting the views of others over their own (evangelists take note).
We are not simply arguing semantics as to whether the word "leader" means to lead by example/teaching (which I wholeheartedly approve of) or to lead by domination/subjugation (which I do not - however much it is claimed to be "for our own good").
My friend asserts that people (that's you and me) need to be actively led, to be "herded" in her words; to be directed from above by others who consider themselves our betters.
In the office environment, this means people so ignorant that they would consciously use the words "impact" and "leverage" as verbs (she would not use those herself, but admits to the criminal misuse of "strategic").
She is wrong (OW! … DAMN, you hit hard).
None of us needs to lead or be led by any other person.
It is a self evident truth that any person aspiring to lead others is by definition not suited to do so.
The only morally acceptable form of leadership is that of not seeking to lead but of teaching by example - like Jesus, Gandhi and the Buddha, serving the people; allowing us free choice … not herding us.
Boy, am I going to get slapped down when Ms. Machiavelli reads this! Hee hee.
Sorry for being so boring. My mind wanders like this when I spend too much time sitting on trains.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Culinary Colonialism - A Prelude
Ah, colonialism …
We European types have always liked nothing better than invading other peoples' countries and indulging in an invigorating spot of mass murder, rape, pillage and enforced Christianity (with the added delights of torture and burning at the stake that we followers of Jesus have revelled in for centuries, abandoning His message of compassionate love in favour of one of brutal, murderous hatred in His name), followed swiftly by the ruthless exploitation of the population as a slave/subsistence workforce and the theft of any natural resources available whilst of course ensuring that those whom we exploit and oppress can buy only OUR manufactured stuff at prices they cannot possibly afford and therefore become unsustainably indebted to us (a commercial policy the US still excels at); sucking nations dry before throwing away the husk and moving on.
One small side-effect of this exceedingly profitable recreational pastime was that as kids here in England we only learned about those nations who had been forced into The Glorious British Empire (upon which the sun never sets).
At school we were taught everything a pedant needs to know about India and "Rhodesia" and in fact all of that quarter of the land area of the planet that was coloured pink on the map and was therefore OURS to exploit; we were taught that Australian aborigines and African and Asian peoples are subhuman and should be grateful to be exploited by superior pink beings (though the Maoris are "people" because they kicked our ass and gave as good as they got).
We were given schoolbooks full of photos of naked "native maidens", whose bodies we could safely ogle without corruption as they were clearly not "people" (yeah, right … my entire generation has the hots for non-white girls thanks to that policy).
I love the caption to this one:
"Three Shy Maids Of Borneo."
We were taught to look down our noses at Yanks and Aussies because most of their populations were descended from our own convicts and the other poor, diseased and unwanted trash we kicked out.
We even learned about boring places like Canada … though I can't remember any of that.
But lording it over a quarter of the planet (even more when we "owned" our American colonies) meant that if another European country had done the invading and exploiting of a nation we were taught bugger all about the place.
Which is why - until I met Joy - I knew next to nothing about The Philippines.
Sure, I knew about the War and the Japanese occupation and the belated American attempt at colonialism and Marcos and his Missus and Islamic separatism and The Beatles' ill-fated visit, but before all of that the islands had been part of Spain's empire and - as Spain and France are our traditional enemies - the place didn't exist on our mental map.
I tried looking for a book on Filipino history and culture … with no luck (plenty of tourist guides but nothing about the people themselves).
If I dial up the Amazonians or pop into Borders there are shelves of histories on every single one of our Empire's furthest flung and tiniest outposts, but histories of the Philippines? Zilch.
The only one available is a contemporary account of the Spanish invasion, written by a Catholic priest and … er … rather biased and uninformative to say the least. Not to mention distinctly unsavoury … He writes gleefully of the brutal sacking and occupation of an archipelago of small, happy and un-warlike nations by a bunch of sex-starved Spanish sailors bringing death by God, gunfire and syphilis in exchange for gold, girls and cheap labour.
Looking at today's tourists, not a lot has changed.
Mercifully, the Filipino people have a happy knack of coming up smiling no matter what we force them to endure.
But more to the point - to a gluttonous gourmand such as I - their cuisine is totally unheard of in this country!
England has one Filipino restaurant (in West London and Joy says it's crap).
One!
So … Let's redress the balance in our own small way.
Some of you may remember the wonderful Jong launching his Filipino catering business a little while back.
Well, Jong has been generous enough to start teaching Old Dive about just what I've been missing.
Hoorah!
Discovering an entirely new cuisine is as exciting to a foodie greedo like me as waking up to discover I've grown an extra cock (and at my age, far more satisfying).
So … If you would care to step up the gangplank of our Spanish galleon, come and join Joy and myself as we invade and exploit Jong's kitchen and embark on this wonderful voyage of colonial culinary discovery.
Recipes will be posted at irregular intervals as and when I have managed to master them.
End of prelude.
We European types have always liked nothing better than invading other peoples' countries and indulging in an invigorating spot of mass murder, rape, pillage and enforced Christianity (with the added delights of torture and burning at the stake that we followers of Jesus have revelled in for centuries, abandoning His message of compassionate love in favour of one of brutal, murderous hatred in His name), followed swiftly by the ruthless exploitation of the population as a slave/subsistence workforce and the theft of any natural resources available whilst of course ensuring that those whom we exploit and oppress can buy only OUR manufactured stuff at prices they cannot possibly afford and therefore become unsustainably indebted to us (a commercial policy the US still excels at); sucking nations dry before throwing away the husk and moving on.
One small side-effect of this exceedingly profitable recreational pastime was that as kids here in England we only learned about those nations who had been forced into The Glorious British Empire (upon which the sun never sets).
At school we were taught everything a pedant needs to know about India and "Rhodesia" and in fact all of that quarter of the land area of the planet that was coloured pink on the map and was therefore OURS to exploit; we were taught that Australian aborigines and African and Asian peoples are subhuman and should be grateful to be exploited by superior pink beings (though the Maoris are "people" because they kicked our ass and gave as good as they got).We were given schoolbooks full of photos of naked "native maidens", whose bodies we could safely ogle without corruption as they were clearly not "people" (yeah, right … my entire generation has the hots for non-white girls thanks to that policy).
I love the caption to this one:"Three Shy Maids Of Borneo."
We even learned about boring places like Canada … though I can't remember any of that.
But lording it over a quarter of the planet (even more when we "owned" our American colonies) meant that if another European country had done the invading and exploiting of a nation we were taught bugger all about the place.
Which is why - until I met Joy - I knew next to nothing about The Philippines.
Sure, I knew about the War and the Japanese occupation and the belated American attempt at colonialism and Marcos and his Missus and Islamic separatism and The Beatles' ill-fated visit, but before all of that the islands had been part of Spain's empire and - as Spain and France are our traditional enemies - the place didn't exist on our mental map.
I tried looking for a book on Filipino history and culture … with no luck (plenty of tourist guides but nothing about the people themselves).
If I dial up the Amazonians or pop into Borders there are shelves of histories on every single one of our Empire's furthest flung and tiniest outposts, but histories of the Philippines? Zilch.
The only one available is a contemporary account of the Spanish invasion, written by a Catholic priest and … er … rather biased and uninformative to say the least. Not to mention distinctly unsavoury … He writes gleefully of the brutal sacking and occupation of an archipelago of small, happy and un-warlike nations by a bunch of sex-starved Spanish sailors bringing death by God, gunfire and syphilis in exchange for gold, girls and cheap labour.
Looking at today's tourists, not a lot has changed.
Mercifully, the Filipino people have a happy knack of coming up smiling no matter what we force them to endure.
But more to the point - to a gluttonous gourmand such as I - their cuisine is totally unheard of in this country!
England has one Filipino restaurant (in West London and Joy says it's crap).
One!
So … Let's redress the balance in our own small way.
Some of you may remember the wonderful Jong launching his Filipino catering business a little while back.
Well, Jong has been generous enough to start teaching Old Dive about just what I've been missing.
Hoorah!
Discovering an entirely new cuisine is as exciting to a foodie greedo like me as waking up to discover I've grown an extra cock (and at my age, far more satisfying).
So … If you would care to step up the gangplank of our Spanish galleon, come and join Joy and myself as we invade and exploit Jong's kitchen and embark on this wonderful voyage of colonial culinary discovery.
Recipes will be posted at irregular intervals as and when I have managed to master them.
End of prelude.
Fucking Ow!
Apologies for being AWOL; I've had a migraine.
Fuck.
I'll be back when I am up to it.
Until then, here is some happy music.
Fuck.
I'll be back when I am up to it.
Until then, here is some happy music.
Friday, August 01, 2008
The Hit Parade Of Shame
Yay! A deeply embarrassing meme!
Shazza didn't exactly tag me, but politely hinted which is much nicer.
So let's have a look at the rules before we rip 'em up and bin 'em:
1. Post the link to the person who tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
Okey dokey.
2. Share 5 songs you are embarrassed to admit to others that you like and tell why.
Yikes! This is gonna hurt.
3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post.
Fuck that.
Actually, I thought I'd already done this one but a brief and furtive delve into the archives reminded me that what I had done was in fact this similarly themed meme: Maria's Ten Records In Your Collection That Nobody Should Ever Confess To Owning.
I confess to owning a lot of very peculiar crap.
Shazza's meme, however, has that extra cruel twist of nastiness that I love; the admission that I actually LIKE these songs.
Man, that's harsh!
Right … Time to fess up to the awful truth.
Warning … This is gonna get nasty!
(1) George Michael: Careless Whisper.
I saw you flinch!
And I must confess I winced myself whilst typing it.
Hokay … Georgie boy: love him or hate him you gotta admit that's a fucking gorgeous sax riff.
And the lyrics just wrench a part of me that shouldn't be wrenched.
There's no particular personal reason why I like this; no association or memory attached to it (least of all one set in a public lavatory with a policeman); I simply think it's a fine piece of songwriting.
I love this song and I am deeply ashamed.
(2) Wings: My Love.
People love to hate Wings.
I grew up a hardcore Beatles fan in the sixties but in the early seventies faced understandable social ostracism for liking Wings (I was also uncool enough to like Yoko and Linda).
Again, there are no personal associations with this song but the solo by Henry Mc.Cullogh is one of my all time favourites (now there's an idea for a Dive post: my all time favourite guitar solos).
It is a gorgeous piece of guitar playing and it tears me apart. Like George Harrison's solo in "Something" it is simple and heartfelt and perfect for the song.
The lyrics don't suck much, either.
(3) Heart: Dreamboat Annie.
Okay, Okay … Snigger all you want. This one does have associations.
I was young, I was (scary, this) cool, I was enjoying copious sexual congress with the hottest girl in school and the two of us played this album for most of 1977.
I cringe at the associations the track "Magic Man" has, but I also giggle and grin smugly.
Sigh …
(4) Art Garfunkel's version of "I Only Have Eyes For You".
Brr … My hardcore friends are gonna read this and rip me to shreds.
The Peggy Lee version, fine; The Flamingos, wonderful; but Art Garfunkel? Holy crap! This one's going to come back and haunt me at gigs for the rest of my life.
But hey … Ming The Menstrual and I were young and in love way back in the Jurassic and this was one of our songs (the other - somewhat bizarrely - was Dexy's Midnight Runners' "Come On Eileen" … Strange but true).
(5) Mike Oldfield: Ommadawn.
I can hear Michael's snorts of derision but I have a huge soft spot for this most difficult of second albums.
I mean, how the hell do you follow Tubular Bells?
Certainly not with this critically derided and twee confection of faux-folkie twaddle.
But I still love it.
The uilleann pipes on side two tug at my soul, awakening a deep yearning that - oddly enough - only uilleann and Northumbrian pipes can reach (I can't abide Scottish bagpipes but most other pipe music calls to something feral and atavistic somewhere icky inside my abdomen).
Yes, you have to hit STOP before the embarrassingly awful song at the end, but the instrumental sections are quite lovely.
Hey ho …
Any shred of reputation and credibility that I once had are now ripped away and I face a life of torment and ridicule, but at least this shame is at last out in the open and I can breathe a sigh of something approximating relief.
I wouldn't dream of inflicting this mental torture on anybody else so I'll tag nobody, but should you be waxing masochistic, feel free to give it a go.
Lay bare your pain.
Fess up to the Donny Osmonds, the David Cassidys, the Bay City Rollers, the Streisand, the Cher, the (shudder) Andrew Lloyd Webber monstrosities that lurk in your mental closet so the rest of us can wince and giggle at your expense.
You know you want to.
Shazza didn't exactly tag me, but politely hinted which is much nicer.
So let's have a look at the rules before we rip 'em up and bin 'em:
1. Post the link to the person who tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
Okey dokey.
2. Share 5 songs you are embarrassed to admit to others that you like and tell why.
Yikes! This is gonna hurt.
3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post.
Fuck that.
Actually, I thought I'd already done this one but a brief and furtive delve into the archives reminded me that what I had done was in fact this similarly themed meme: Maria's Ten Records In Your Collection That Nobody Should Ever Confess To Owning.
I confess to owning a lot of very peculiar crap.
Shazza's meme, however, has that extra cruel twist of nastiness that I love; the admission that I actually LIKE these songs.
Man, that's harsh!
Right … Time to fess up to the awful truth.
Warning … This is gonna get nasty!
(1) George Michael: Careless Whisper.
I saw you flinch!
And I must confess I winced myself whilst typing it.
Hokay … Georgie boy: love him or hate him you gotta admit that's a fucking gorgeous sax riff.
And the lyrics just wrench a part of me that shouldn't be wrenched.
There's no particular personal reason why I like this; no association or memory attached to it (least of all one set in a public lavatory with a policeman); I simply think it's a fine piece of songwriting.
I love this song and I am deeply ashamed.
(2) Wings: My Love.
People love to hate Wings.
I grew up a hardcore Beatles fan in the sixties but in the early seventies faced understandable social ostracism for liking Wings (I was also uncool enough to like Yoko and Linda).
Again, there are no personal associations with this song but the solo by Henry Mc.Cullogh is one of my all time favourites (now there's an idea for a Dive post: my all time favourite guitar solos).
It is a gorgeous piece of guitar playing and it tears me apart. Like George Harrison's solo in "Something" it is simple and heartfelt and perfect for the song.
The lyrics don't suck much, either.
(3) Heart: Dreamboat Annie.
Okay, Okay … Snigger all you want. This one does have associations.
I was young, I was (scary, this) cool, I was enjoying copious sexual congress with the hottest girl in school and the two of us played this album for most of 1977.
I cringe at the associations the track "Magic Man" has, but I also giggle and grin smugly.
Sigh …
(4) Art Garfunkel's version of "I Only Have Eyes For You".
Brr … My hardcore friends are gonna read this and rip me to shreds.
The Peggy Lee version, fine; The Flamingos, wonderful; but Art Garfunkel? Holy crap! This one's going to come back and haunt me at gigs for the rest of my life.
But hey … Ming The Menstrual and I were young and in love way back in the Jurassic and this was one of our songs (the other - somewhat bizarrely - was Dexy's Midnight Runners' "Come On Eileen" … Strange but true).
(5) Mike Oldfield: Ommadawn.
I can hear Michael's snorts of derision but I have a huge soft spot for this most difficult of second albums.
I mean, how the hell do you follow Tubular Bells?
Certainly not with this critically derided and twee confection of faux-folkie twaddle.
But I still love it.
The uilleann pipes on side two tug at my soul, awakening a deep yearning that - oddly enough - only uilleann and Northumbrian pipes can reach (I can't abide Scottish bagpipes but most other pipe music calls to something feral and atavistic somewhere icky inside my abdomen).
Yes, you have to hit STOP before the embarrassingly awful song at the end, but the instrumental sections are quite lovely.
Hey ho …
Any shred of reputation and credibility that I once had are now ripped away and I face a life of torment and ridicule, but at least this shame is at last out in the open and I can breathe a sigh of something approximating relief.
I wouldn't dream of inflicting this mental torture on anybody else so I'll tag nobody, but should you be waxing masochistic, feel free to give it a go.
Lay bare your pain.
Fess up to the Donny Osmonds, the David Cassidys, the Bay City Rollers, the Streisand, the Cher, the (shudder) Andrew Lloyd Webber monstrosities that lurk in your mental closet so the rest of us can wince and giggle at your expense.
You know you want to.
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