You know what?

Nothing really new with this one, but it just hit me today:

Reminiscing about Bonzo and his ruthlessly opportunistic career (or how to slide from union leader to strike buster in less that 10 years), I realized all of a sudden that he was only the first one in a line of Mediocre Actors Turned Conservative Republican Governors of California

And for a second, I had some apocalyptic vision of him ever getting closer to the Presidency of the United-States than he was when he married Jackie’s niece…

Thanks God for that stupid born-American-citizen requirement… I can breathe now…

Update: This week’s edition of the Onion has the best headline, ever:

Reagan’s Body Dies


Contemporary social critique-cum-Surrealistic poetry, courtesy of Atsushi:

Now, it is the photograph of the place of work which I am committing. It is a YAMAHA (highest-class company in Japan) kitchen-utensils catalog. However, this photograph is art. It is because there is neither minerals nor a feeling of emotion. It does not get used to the mind which lives in such a house. Yes.

Since it seems dying automatically makes you a flawless human and a regretted politician, regardless of the fact you were actually a senile, dim-witted actor with more blood on his hands than many a current dictator… I feel obligated to add my little contribution to the endless string of tearful eulogies filling the media right now.

Or rather, I’ll let the brilliant Gil Scott-Heron do it in the words he used more than two decades ago:

Well, the first thing I want to say is…"Mandate my ass!"

Because it seems as though we’ve been convinced that 26% of the registered voters, not even 26% of the American people, but 26% of the registered voters form a mandate – or a landslide. 21% voted for Skippy and 3, 4% voted for somebody else who might have been running.

But, oh yeah, I remember. In this year that we have now declared the year from Shogun to Reagan, I remember what I said about Reagan…meant it. Acted like an actor…Hollyweird. Acted like a liberal. Acted like General Franco when he acted like governor of California, then he acted like a republican. Then he acted like somebody was going to vote for him for president. And now we act like 26% of the registered voters is actually a mandate. We’re all actors in this I suppose.

[…]

And when America found itself having a hard time facing the future, they looked for people like John Wayne. But since John Wayne was no longer available, they settled for Ronald Reagan – and it has placed us in a situation that we can only look at – like a “B” movie.

[…]

Remember, we’re looking for the closest thing we can find to John Wayne. Clichés abound like kangaroos – courtesy of some spaced out Marlin Perkins, a Reagan contemporary. Clichés like, “itchy trigger finger” and “tall in the saddle” and “riding off or on into the sunset.” Clichés like, “Get off of my planet by sundown!” More so than clichés like, “he died with his boots on.” Marine tough the man is. Bogart tough the man is. Cagney tough the man is. Hollywood tough the man is. Cheap stick tough. And Bonzo’s substantial. The ultimate in synthetic selling: A Madison Avenue masterpiece – a miracle – a cotton-candy politician…Presto! Macho!

“Macho, macho man!”

“You go give them liberals hell Ronnie.” That was the mandate. To the new “Captain Bly” on the new ship of fools. It was doubtlessly based on his chameleon performance of the past – as a liberal democrat – as the head of the Studio Actor’s Guild. When other celluloid saviors were cringing in terror from McCarthy – Ron stood tall. It goes all the way back from Hollywood to hillbilly. From liberal to libelous, from “Bonzo” to Birch idol…born again. Civil rights, women’s rights, gay rights…it’s all wrong. Call in the cavalry to disrupt this perception of freedom gone wild. God damn it…first one wants freedom, then the whole damn world wants freedom.

[…]

Why wait for 1984? You can panic now…and avoid the rush.

excerpts from the lyrics to the song B Movie (1981) by Gil Scott-Heron

And that was before he was able to carry most of his politics…

Whether him or somebody else, never would I wish in cold blood for the death of a man. But please do not expect me to mourn him:
For fuck sake: the man died peacefully in his bed, at an age most people on the planet have not even heard of. I can think of quite a few people in Latin America who were not given this chance.

Now I ask you:

Could ten consecutive hours spent in the sole company of Messrs. Lebesgue and Cauchy’s monstrous brain-children somehow be nefarious to one’s sanity and legendary sense of humor?

Not in the least of course. Actually, the American Association of Stand-Up Comic Mathematicians (AASUCM) recommends at least a 15 hours daily intake of Calculus to stay in good health.

By the way, you know the story of Whack, the Dog, and Flop-Flop, the Seagull?

Wanna hear it?

OK, so there’s this cute little dog who’s crossing the street, failing to notice the huge SUV roaring down the street in his direction and… Whack, the Dog…

Oh, Flop-Flop the seagull too?

So there’s this seagull peacefully flying somewhere off the Persian Gulf coast, failing to notice the huge UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter scurrying in its direction and…

anyway.

so yea, maybe it’s time to take a break from mathematics and sleep some…

Ah, Joys of Studying…

Giving myself the night off.

Actual partying being out of the question, we ran to Tsutaya to rent a DVD…

Probably one of my favorite of all times as it stands (and to all the ladies out there: if you think Brad Pitt can hold a candle to Marcello Mastroianni, you’ve got no taste).

Qualche volta, la notte, quest’oscurità, questo silenzio, mi pesano.
Sometimes at night the darkness and silence weighs upon me…

E’ la pace che mi fa paura. Temo la pace più di ogni altra cosa:
Peace frightens me; perhaps I fear it most of all.

mi sembra che sia soltanto un’apparenza , e nasconda l’inferno.
I feel it is only a façade hiding the face of hell.

Pensa a cosa vedranno i miei figli domani…
I think, ‘What is in store for my children tomorrow?’

Il mondo sarà meraviglioso, dicono. Ma da che punto di vista, se basta uno squillo di telefono ad annunciare la fine di tutto?
‘The world will be wonderful’, they say. But from whose viewpoint? if one phone call could announce the end of everything?

Bisogna di vivere fuore dalle passione e altri sentimenti nell’armonia che c’è nell’opera d’arte reuscita, in quell’ordino incantato.
We need to live in a state of suspended animation like a work of art, in a state of enchantment.

Vodremmo reuscire al amarci tanto, da vivere fuore del tempo, distacati…
We have to succeed in loving so greatly that we live outside of time, detached…

distacati.
detached.

Steiner to Marcello in La Dolve Vita

Bashing crappy movies, while providing a delightfully entertainming substitute at the same time, is an art that the Filthy Critic has mastered to a point rarely seen before:

That The Day After Tomorrow even has a plot is an obligatory nod to what director/writer Roland Emmerich must feel is a quaint old tradition of story-telling in movies.

[…]

The movie also wants us to despise Dick Cheney. I hate Dick Cheney; I bet his wife and his dog hate him but stick around because he’s got a fucking awesome bomb shelter. But a true and worthwhile hatred has to be rooted in facts and reality. That’s how I establish my hatred for almost everything. If you have to lie to make people hate the same things you do, you’re either an asshole or too fucking lazy to collect the facts you need. This movie’s too lazy.