Jay Bothroyd puts good times with playboy Saadi Gaddafi, son of dead Libya tyrant Colonel Gaddafi, behind him – Telegraph: “People who don’t know him might say he’s like this or like that or like his dad, but I’ve never seen that. I looked at him like a friend.”
In what may be the best unintentionally funny sportswriting of the year, The Telegraph has a long interview with striker Jay Bothroyd — who scored his first goal of the year in Sunday’s loss — in which Bothroyd innocently brushes aside the drinking and carousing he did with Saadi al-Qaddafi, the profligate and mostly estranged (for his bad behavior) son of the deposed and now-dead Libyan dictator Muammar el-Qaddafi.Bothroyd said Saadi invited him to Grand Prix races, flew him to Italy for parties and, in a standout gesture no doubt funded by the still-aggrieved Libyan people, paid for Bothroyd’s honeymoon in Los Angeles and Hawaii. “His dad is obviously a tyrant and he dictated over his countrymen through fear but Saadi was never like that,” Bothroyd said, apparently without irony. “He was always friendly and polite.” Saadi al-Qaddafi is the second-oldest Qaddafi son and stood out from some of his siblings because of his vanity soccer career — he appeared in two Serie A games in four seasons — and because of his flamboyant, ambiguously sexual, seems-like-Trey-Parker-and-Matt-Stone-made-it-up lifestyle. His behavior was not as bad as his brother Hannibal, whose violent attack on two servants in Switzerland led to his arrest and his father’s cartoonish suggestion that the Swiss be abolished, but it still deserves censure and perhaps a healthy dose of forensic accounting. Saadi was in Libya for most of the recent civil war, was in direct command of military units and is widely believed to have been behind the strategy of engaging rebel forces on a small-unit scale to avoid NATO airstrikes, though it is unlikely the Libyan military possessed any other capability. He has since decamped to Niger, where he awaits an uncertain future and the potential execution of an Interpol warrant for his arrest — if not a real execution by baseball-cap-wearing, disgruntled Libyans. Bothroyd is forgiving, however. “It’s all politics and I don’t really know about it,” Bothroyd said. “I just know that innocent people should never get hurt.”
Last week’s boisterous victory against Chelsea may have been a sign, but it is most likely one of an early season stagnation for the Blues and not an arrival by Rangers. Tottenham, behind two goals by Gareth Bale, muted any lingering good feelings in a 3-1 victory at White Hart Lane.The A.P. was gracious, though, saying that Q.P.R. “pressed hard for an equalizer” after Jay Bothroyd scored in the second half, and that “Rangers could easily have forced at least a draw.” Tottenham is on something of a hot streak, without a loss in 11 games, so the result was not exactly a surprise. Disappointing, maybe. But Rangers have 12 points from 10 games, which is ahead of schedule by anyone’s reckoning. WHAT OTHERS SAID
‘Anonymous,’ by Roland Emmerich – Review – NYTimes.com: “The film’s premise is that the plays and poems commonly attributed to William Shakespeare are actually the work of Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford. This notion, sometimes granted the unwarranted dignity of being called a theory, is hardly new. It represents a hoary form of literary birtherism that has persisted for a century or so, in happy defiance of reason and evidence. The arrival of ‘Anonymous’ has roused Shakespeareans more learned than I to the weary task of re-debunking…”
There is a movie poster for “Anonymous,” right, that is especially galling. (Really?)To be fair, there is a class of faux-historical pop culture that seems harmless. The fulsome fatuity laid down by writers like Dan Brown, for instance, can be given credit because its roots are wound around such esoteric earth that even if the premise (i.e., that there is a cult of self-flagellating, puzzle-obsessed freaks protecting the direct descendants of Jesus of Nazareth) was accepted as fact, few ordinary people would be equipped to even understand it. But with “Anonymous,” the observer needs know nothing about literature or theater to be persuaded that serious people believe Shakespeare was a fraud. (They don’t.) It is a little like being in a group of indecisive people who are discussing where to go for dinner and one of their number, distracted at first by their cellphone or a shiny penny, chimes in with a cheery and inevitable, “Let’s have noodles,” when everyone has already dismissed noodles as too much of a pain in the ass.
[10:29 PM] Me: You’re awesome.
[10:30 PM] Bob : You should try my salsa…bigget munchur
[10:30 PM] Me: Bigget munchur?
[10:31 PM] Me: I say again, You’re awesome.
[10:32 PM] Bob : Yes bigget mubnchur…of or being of minor munchurs …as bigget
[10:33 PM] Me: You should trade that phone in for a tablet. Your fingers are too fat.
[10:35 PM] Bob : Keys to small…
[10:35 PM] Bob : Well its not so much the awesome part but the shear number of categories for which it applies to me and my awesomeness
[10:36 PM] Me: Too true, but I felt that went without saying. As all timeless truths do.
[10:38 PM] Bob : If they are known…otherwise there has to be a saying so the truth be known…as my awesomeness is known…to be
[1:43 PM] Me: You’re an enigma.
[5:46 PM] Me: A rather portly enigma.
[6:00 PM] Bob : Portly….really
[6:12 PM] Me: Stout?
[6:20 PM] Me: Full-bodied? Well-armored? A scoche past plump?
[6:53 PM] Me: Jolly?
[7:25 PM] Me: For sure, my money would be on you to survive a sinking in the North Atlantic.
[7:26 PM] Bob : Blubber is bouncy
[7:27 PM] Me: After a certain height, though, it’s more splattery.
[7:29 PM] Bob : Blubber…splattery…only from a great height….with a sudden stop
[7:35 PM] Me: Right, concrete poisoning, as they say.
[7:37 PM] Bob : Concrete? poison?
[7:40 PM] Me: Yeah. Can be deadly if applied too quickly.
An excellent and historic, if ordinary at times, memoir/travelogue tracing a wandering journey through organic and passionate 1930s Spain. Lee was a poet, of course, and so the chapters have a pleasing, verselike structure. It reaches for insight into the civil war that erupted as Lee lingered on the coast, but it is most memorable for the simple, seductive rhythms of his journey. An unexpected arrival in a hot, sleepy village, the warm embrace of peasants, long nights of music and wine and cheese and bread.
To me, maybe the most interesting part of the book are the frequent asides, tucked in loosely composed paragraphs of fragmented memories. Two- or three-sentence bursts of a surreal quality, as if added by a mischievous, Bunuel-esque editor.For instance, trooping up a staircase late at night in a seedy inn in Valladolid, Lee spots a child carving a doll out of a potato; as he passes, the child bites off the doll’s head. It goes on. A tearful, white-faced matador being carried to a car, a well-dressed man in the back drawing pins through his throat, a clock striking 14. Each one a gem. As these queer scenes paraded past, I began to notice Lee’s tendency of describing approaching towns as piles of things: London (“like a huge, fat crust”), Zamora (“neatly stacked”), Segovia (“a compact, half-forgotten heap”), Madrid (“lined with buildings like broken teeth”), Castillo (“tumbling… on an outcrop of rock”). View all my reviews
You could be forgiven for thinking that City’s undressing of United was the most shocking result of the Premier League’s Sunday schedule. (It was.) But Rangers’ 1-0 victory at home against still-tied-for-third-place Chelsea — their first against the Blues in 16 years — had to jangle the senses of any observer. As Manager Neil Warnock told The Associated Press, “To get 3 points against Chelsea is like a dream.”A closer inspection shines a bright light into weary eyes, and the game is revealed as nothing like a straightforward, if fantastical, upset. Amazingly (preposterously), Chelsea had two players ejected before halftime, which transformed a stirring result into something more theatrical. After the game, as if on cue, Chelsea’s John Terry was forced to deny accusations that he made a racist remark to Q.P.R. defender Anton Ferdinand. “We had a plan and it worked a treat,” Warnock said. The game’s only goal was soon and sudden. Heidar Helguson scored in the eighth minute after a penalty, leaving more than 80 minutes to be consumed in a pale melodrama between Chelsea and the referee Chris Foy. Jose Bosingwa was dubiously red-carded in the 33rd minute, for pulling back an on-the-loose Shaun Wright-Phillips, and Didier Drogba was tossed in the 41st for a rough challenge of Adel Taarabt. The A.P. said Chelsea lost its composure, and Reuters cited poor concentration and a lack of discipline. Chelsea Manager Andre Villas-Boas focused on the referee, too. Chelsea had seven players carded; the Rangers had two. Villas-Boas told reporters he aggressively confronted the referee after the game: “I don’t care if he’s O.K. or not.” WHAT OTHERS SAID
[10:50 PM] Bob: Ides of March…greek tragedy…little help please
[10:59 PM] Me: Ides of March is a new movie, of course, but to everyone else it is what a soothsayer tells Julius Caesar to beware of in Shakespeare’s play of the same name. Ides means “middle” in this context. And JC is stabbed on March 15 in 44 BC.
The film “Ides of March” is dull, lifeless. It recounts a simple, dry political scandal in banal, predictable fashion, and when it is not doing that it veers into the preposterous. It becomes, after many tedious scenes, an unspooling of the sort of current-events, talk-show nonsense that many go to the movies to forget. The stubble-shaded ruggedness of George Clooney and Ryan Gosling only partly ameliorate matters. I found myself wondering when I had seen a more boring movie; I’m still wondering.
[11:02 PM] Bob: So…not a greek tragedy…did you have to google this or was it from the top of your emensness…
[11:03 PM] Bob: …emenceness…
[11:03 PM] Me: Not Greek. But a tragedy, genrewise. I did not Google. It is one of the most famous plays in the Western Canon.
[11:05 PM] Me: Emenceness? Et tu, Brute?
[11:06 PM] Bob: Shakspeare…Mark Anthony…
[11:07 PM] Me: Look at you! Well done.
[11:09 PM] Me: Any more questions?
[10:06 AM] Bob: not really…movie wasn’t that good and I haven’t read Julius Ceasar….yet…I can make fart noises by cupping a damp hand behind any of my knees and then articulating the corresponding leg in such a manner as to to put pressure on the cupped damp hand…
[11:34 AM] Me: I am guessing you have damp hands a lot
Why the Current Crop of Twentysomethings Are Going to Be Okay — New York Magazine: “Nearly 14 percent of college graduates from the classes of 2006 through 2010 can’t find full-time work, and overall just 55.3 percent of people ages 16 to 29 have jobs. That’s the lowest percentage since World War II, as you might have heard an Occupy Wall Street protester point out.”
date Wed, Oct 19, 2011 at 10:33 AM
subject Re: Me and Your Ire