Paul Bettany -Protector Of Italian Virginity

"My Lords, my Ladies... and everybody else NOT sitting on a cushion! Today, today... you find yourselves equals... for you are all equally blessed for I have the pride, the privilege, nay... the pleasure -of introducing to you, a knight sired by knights; a knight who can trace his lineage back beyond Charlemagne. I first met him atop a mountain near Jerusalem, praying to God... asking for forgiveness for the Saracen blood spilt by his sword. Next, he amazed me still further in Italy, when he saved a fatherless beauty from the would-be ravishings of her dreadful Turkish uncle! In Greece, he spent a year in silence, just to better understand... the sound... of a whisper. And so, without further gilding the lily, and with no more ado, I give to you... the Seeker Of Serenity, The Protector of Italian Virginity, The Enforcer of Our Lord God, Sir Ulllllllllrrrrrich von Lichtenstein!!! Thank you..thank you... I'll be here all week."

PHWOAR! how can you not love the man? in the past five years or so, there have been few actors who could make me watch their every other film by virtue of just a single sterlin performance in one. my favourite actor of all time remains al pacino but even he is takin up substandard projects like The Recruit, which fuckin degrades him really. and by the way, colin farrell is a tit.

i first saw paul bettany in the rather click-flicky A Knights Tale. he was the disgraced writer-gambler who was stark naked and taken up as heath ledger's proclaimer (?) in his campaign for the knight competition thingamajig. he had a most memorable bit, where he introduced the hero with such exaggerated praise (documented above). upon seein the exquisite delivery of that scene, i forgot my heterosexuality for a moment and wanted to make love to the man. regainin sense later, i settled with knowin that this geezer had some sort of special talent.

for someone with such a sinister face, he manages to convey a degree of fierce sensitivity to the audience. he looks like dennis the menace really, especially in Gangster No.1 where he played a twisted mobster who climbed the ranks to his own destruction. wonderful movie, that one. then in Master & Commander Of The Far Side Of The World, he played the shy surgeon who couldn't harm a beetle. convincingly. a slightly more conventional role was seen in the strange Dogville opposite nicole kidman, where he played the intellectual visionary in a dead town (this movie is difficult for most people, so don't start with this if you plan to watch paul bettany). these three films are already decent but bettany's virtuoso performance in each just lifts them higher.

so what is it about this man? is it his defined english accent that lends itself so delightfully well to the roles he plays? -"do me a fave-arh!" or is it his slim frame which makes him so enduringly memorable amidst the steroid stereotype vin fuckin diesels and brad fuckin pitts of hollywood today? or maybe that playfully boyish face of his, that encapsulates the sin of youth as we saw in A Beautiful Mind? or even that solemnly apologetic countenance to him when he plays guilty men like the excommunicated priest in The Reckoning?

this man is the white denzel washington!

ciao.

p/s can anybody tell me if Wimbledon is a good film? i ain't seen it yet.

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Word Of The Wolf today is hagiography \hag-ee-OG-ruh-fee; hay-jee-\,

noun:
1. Biography of saints.
2. Idealising or idolising biography.

"For those who believe, it is easy to see in the annals of hagiography why Michael The Archangel is the patron saint for knights, mariners, boatmen, paramedics, fencing, soldiers, sailors, policemen and a whole range of others. He is who we pray to for intercession in any sort of position involving battle."

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Hagiography comes from Greek hagios, "holy" + -graphia, from graphein, "to write."

Message To Eindhoven

and this my friends, is the additional message to the PSV Eindhoven faithful which couldn't be conveyed last night by shevchenko and tomasson, courtesy of a young feyenoord supporter.

and i'll say it again, AC MILAN 2 PSV EINDHOVEN 0.

ciao.

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Word Of The Wolf today is permeate \PUR-mee-ayt\,

transitive verb:
1. To spread or diffuse through.
2. To pass through the pores or openings of.

intransitive verb:
To spread through or penetrate something.

"Like a hot knife through butter, like the first spring stream through dry riverbeds, the rossoneri permeated the sorry Dutch defence to record a comfortable two-goal cushion in the first leg of the tie."

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Permeate is from Latin permeare, "to go through, to pass through," from per-, "through" + meare, "to go, to pass."

7 Pointers For Tattoo Hopefuls

1. Thinkin about it first
like really, really think about it. this is for life, mate. you know not what lies ahead. what seems perfect now can change tomorrow. think the nazi soldier with a swastika on his chest and then findin out he was of jewish descent. the most common blooper i think is tattooin somethin regardin your current romantic relationship. johnny depp had "winona forever" when he was still tight with ms. ryder but when it was over he had it altered to a very questionable "wino forever". eminem had some "Kim R.I.P" thing on his arm for years and then i heard on the radio the sellout took the bitch back in and had it removed. my favourite senseless blonde (beatin marilyn monroe narrowly), pamela anderson, had "tommy" on her ring finger but changed it to "mommy" after he beat her like paul gascoigne on ecstacy. i could go on forever.

so unless you are an obscenely rich celebrity, you would not be able to afford it. some young upstart from KL i heard had a dragon done chan-ho-nam style, and his conservative oriental dad paid a fortune to have it removed and never spoke to the son again. the closest test i can think of for establishin your certainty is to ask yourself "how much can my life change to make me not want this tattoo?". and even so, you will can never be sure. i took three years to really think about the first tattoo i had and i'm glad i did.

2.Pickin a design
in a way, this would tie in with the first advice. if you were fairly certain of your chosen design/text/image already then you would have been fairly certain of wantin a tattoo. only fools would decide to have a tattoo and then walk into a shop and pick a design off the shelf. either that or hedonistic scallies who live from hand to mouth. angelina jolie's latin maxim "quod me nutrit me destruit" (what nourishes me also destroys me) on her abdomen seems well thought considerin her wayward ways. however i have always wondered whether people like jon bon jovi regret the silly superman logo on his arm. as green day frontman billy joe armstrong once said "the man is a walkin loser and he thinks he's superman". i have nothin nice to say about the nazi-lookin thing on beckham's back either. nor the demonic canvas of skin borne by the undertaker (wwf fame), marilyn manson, fred durst and also the various metal rock stars of today.

3. Pickin a spot
if you got past the earlier two, you should pick a spot. usually, it is when pickin a spot that you start questionin advice#1 again. the obvious concerns are your career opportunities. society has not evolved to accept an allen iverson look-alike to be your surgeon at the OR. there's a pretty damn good reason most people are not aware of regardin gangsters' tattoos -they are testament to the bearer's exclusion from mainstream society. a brother with "love" and "hate" tattooed on his knuckles is not goin to be a man who advises you on your mortgages in a bank. a grizzly giant with "anarchy" on his forehead does not work as an accountant in the day. goin further, you should also bear in mind that hidden tattoos don't mean they stay hidden all the time. imagine findin out about an overlooked "monica always" tattoo on your fiance's butt on the eve of your weddin. and your name is emily.

another pointer would be; remember your body changes. skin streches or contracts over time. havin a tattooed text on your belly (e.g. tommy lee's infamous "mayhem") may prove unreadable in the next 10 years. images and designs distort over time and you should always pick a spot which you do not foresee much change happenin to.

4.Pickin a good tattooist
unless you are the hardcore perfectionist/sadist/naturalist who would travel to the depths of the rainforest to find the aboriginal bamboo-wieldin inkmaster, commercialism dictates you will have yours done in a mall, shop et cetera. establishment helps -if a place has been there for a while, it's a fair indication that it hasn't killed anyone or done somethin horribly wrong. mike tyson's tattoos of che guevara and mao zedong look like che guevara and mao zedong instead of rasputin and patrick teoh because he had a good tattoo artist.

however be wary of young apprentices who work within established businesses. this is why the charge differs from artist to artist. while most now have certificates, many have a portfolio of their work to alleviate your anxieties. this is a mark of a made man so to speak. a good tattoo artist will always make sure you are game from the start. they will not take money knowin you are just another rash youth who would come back cryin the next week. i have known of a tattoo artist who refused to tattoo a poem on this dude's back because it was about someone who died due to his alleged own fault. the artist said he would regret it later. these are the men you should choose.

5. Don't imbibe alcohol or smoke recreational drugs prior to
the artist will tell you this and make you sign stacks of disclaimers. lowerin your blood pressure is not good for the session because you might faint. if you have a history of havin low tolerance to pain, let your tattooist know about it. in my personal experience, i was told that in the last 30minutes of my three hour odd session, i was showin signs of delusion and dementia. he was preparin the pills already but thankfully i did not get worse. also if you are a heavy drinker, let the man know. people who are known to be with the pint may bleed excessively.

6. Maintainin your tattoo
scabbin is a natural part of the healin process. do not mess with it. you will get discolouration/distortion/infection. ignore the itch. be careful when havin sex if your woman is a known tiger. also, if you're in a tropical country, do not expose the tattoo under direct sunlight for three months. if you're in scotland then you have nothin to worry. haha.

7. Think about it again
do you really want this? if you are not a sailor, tattoo artist or gangster, you really must think hard about it. the worst thing is not when people come to disapprove of it, but when you yourself wake up one mornin and take a glance in the mirror and think "fuck me that's ugly, what was i thinkin?".

remember -this is for life, mate!

ciao.
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Word Of The Wolf today is complement \KOM-pluh-muhnt\,

noun:
1. Something that fills up or completes.
2. The quantity or number required to make up a whole or to make something complete.
3. One of two parts that complete a whole or mutually complete each other; a counterpart.

transitive verb:
To supply what is lacking; to serve as a complement to; to supplement.

"Motley Crue's Tommy Lee has tattoos which more than complement his stage image and it seems that bad boys such as himself land all the pretty blondes like Ms. Anderson."

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Complement is from Latin complementum, from complere, "to fill up," from com- (intensive prefix) + plere, "to fill."
Usage note: Complement and compliment ("an expression of admiration or praise") are sometimes confused because they are pronounced the same. A good way to remember which is which is to make a connection between the spelling of complement and complete.

Dinda Yang Satu

dalam keheningan malam,
dalam kekalutan kota,
sekilas pandang celikan mata,
kutangkap wajah embun permata,
pabila sejuk berubah suam,
terungkaplah senyuman salam
dinda yang satu

dalam terangan bayang,
dalam bayangan cerah,
mulanya kita berwayang,
suka menjadi sayang,
perit bertukar parah,
tersimpulnya kelembutan pasrah
dinda yang satu

dalam gamelan emosi,
dalam gambaran sendiri,
sempurna sudut dan sisi
secocok kuku dan isi,
lemasnya kanda dalam puisi
lubuk kedalaman kasih,
dinda yang satu

dalam kelajuan masa,
dalam kelekaan manusia,
tenggelamlah kita berdua,
berlalu begitu sahaja
kisah cinta sementara,
setidak-tidaknya pernah bersama,
pernah mengenal erti gembira,
pernah kanda mendengar suara
gadis bergelar irama,
dinda yang satu.

-Saturday, 23rd April 2005

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Word Of The Wolf today is maudlin \MAWD-lin\,

adjective:
Tearfully or excessively sentimental.

"A maudlin poem is difficult to approve of, but harder still if it were written from the heart."

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Maudlin is an alteration of (Mary) Magdalene, who in paintings was often represented with eyes red and swollen from weeping.

The Creation Of A Pussy

Seven wise men with knowledge so fine,
created a pussy to their design.

First was a butcher, smart with wit,
using a knife he gave it a slit.

Second was carpenter, strong and bold,
with a hammer and chisel he gave it a hole.

Third was a tailor, tall and thin,
by using red velvet, he lined it within.

Fourth was a hunter, short and stout,
with a piece of fox fur, he lined it without.

Fifth was a fisherman, nasty as hell,
threw in a fish and gave it a smell.

Sixth was a preacher whose name was McGee,
touched it and blessed it and said it could pee.

Last came a sailor, dirty little runt,
he sucked it and fucked it and called it a cunt.

-Author unknown

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Word Of The Wolf today is eschew \es-CHOO\,

transitive verb:

To shun; to avoid (as something wrong or distasteful).

"Many would dismiss this entry as tastelessly dirty but the light-hearted would not be so quick to eschew my literature."

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Eschew comes from Old French eschiver, ultimately of Germanic origin.

The Saddest Song In The World

once i was in the beautiful city of milan, outside the giant cathedral called The Duomo, itself meanin "cathedral" in italian. it was very late, maybe 1300 even, and i had wandered for many hours already around the sleepless city. my mate was uninterested in the beats of the night, bein sound asleep in the hotel room but i was determined to find some meaningful thing to do.

then i saw a man, thirty-somethin white musician, standin near the repulsive cheese stand. he was strummin the chords as loud as he can amidst the bustle of the tourists with his guitar coffin opened wide for those who appreciated his music. next to it were some self-recorded cds of his modest work for sale. he was very good. long-haired and rugged, churnin out mostly american country. and he looked the part as well, with an alan johnson tache and decked in flannel and denim vest. all his words had more southern twang than garth brooks. you could swear he was fresh outta the nashville, the redneck.

so i caught him at the interval and slipped a european fiver into this pocket.

i said,

"My friend, i am very sad tonight. please play for me the saddest song in the world."

now it is a known fact to those who know me personally that i go about doin this at every chance i get, requestin for the saddest song in the world. the phillipino live band that played at my local sports club in malaysia usually indulged me with mariah carey's without you every week i was there. other less travelled musicians would play me some heartbreakin chinese tune which i could not understand completely. and it also sucked usually because they could not carry it well. and also they would pause to sip water and make jokes in the middle of the saddest song in the world. pathetic. some gypsy lot in an english pub had played me that age old favourite yesterday before. somehow everybody who obliged me thought that any song with more than three minor notes is a very sad song.

then i was flabbergasted at his reply. this man was different from the very start. for one, he was more italian than any one of the mario brothers. he's never put half a foot in america either. in fact, the man couldn't speak proper english!

and he said to me;

"My friend, why you so sad? no reason, no reason... but if you like, i play for you. i hope this is enough sad for you."

upon which he started strummin the first few chords of nobody knows you when you're down and out.

i surrendered.

there he was, a destitute-lookin rambler who spoke broken english and yet he belted every word to the amazin clarity of texture eric clapton himself would not have disapproved. he wailed when it was the right time to wail, and whispered when it was time to whisper. he had an incredible authenticity of countenance to him and he sang those words as if he too, hurt like me, if not more. and through the chords and cadences, he made his guitar speak in a melodious mystery, sayin more with one painful minor key than 500 sober words. this sound was shakin the air and rippled many a ear, stirrin hearts and hands into a private applause but he was unmoved by circumstance, uncheapened by attention. it was as if he wanted to get it right for me.

for a brief moment, he was the embodiment of emotion itself, complete and unabridged. man and guitar as one, a pureness of pain second to none.

as i walked back to my hotel, i was thinkin that god must have been around that day because in that huge impersonal metropolitan maze, he sent someone who showed me a connection. and though the reasons for bein sad in the tune were mostly irrelevant to me, this man in his short few minutes of song, managed to understand me more than any other ever did when i said "the saddest song in the world".

ciao.


(p/s the song nobody knows you when you're down and out was originally written by one jimmy cox and covers of it had been sung by legends such as otis redding, janis joplin, rod stewart and of course, where i first heard it bein a 23-year old pretender, eric clapton.)


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Word Of The Wolf today is magniloquent \mag-NIL-uh-kwent\,

adjective:

Lofty or grandiose in speech or expression; using a high-flown style of discourse; bombastic.

"Many who attempt to entertain boisterously end up looking dishonestly magniloquent while others who succeed simply look accomplished."

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Magniloquent is derived from Latin magniloquentia, from magus, "great" + the present participle of loqui, "to speak."
Synonyms: ornate, florid, rich, flowery, euphuistic, sonorous.

An Irish Joke

Joseph O'Flaherty and Zee Flannagan were doin some street repairs in front of a known house of ill-repute in Boston.

A Jewish Rabbi came walkin down the street, looked to the left, looked to right, and ducked into the house.

Joey paused a bit from swingin his pick and said "Zee! Will you look at that! A man of the cloth, and goin into a place like that in broad daylight!".

A bit later, a Baptist minister came down the street, looked to the left, looked to the right, and scurried into the house.

Zee layed down his shovel, turned to Joey and said "Joey! Are you seein what I'm seein? A servant of the Lord, and he's givin that place his custom!"

Just then, a Catholic Priest came down the street, looked to the left, looked to the right, and slipped into the bawdy house.

Joey and Zee straightened up, removed their hats, and Zee says "Come on, join me in a small prayer now will you... there must be somebody seriously ill in there."

ciao.

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Word Of The Wolf today is fallible \FAL-uh-bul\,

adjective:
1. Liable to make a mistake.
2. Liable to be inaccurate or erroneous.

"With the torrent of calls for reform against the fallible institution of Catholicism coming from all corners of the world, the Vatican has sent a clear message to the masses by the election of a certain Cardinal Ratzinger as the new pontiff -the Holy Mother Church is unflinching in its stand and will not bend to accomodate the licentiously self-righteous socio-political climate of our times."

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Fallible derives from Medieval Latin fallibilis, from Latin fallere, "to deceive." It is related to fail, false (from falsum, the past participle of fallere), fallacy ("a false notion"), fault (from Old French falte, from fallere), and faucet (from Old Provençal falsar, "to falsify, to create a fault in, to bore through," from fallere).

The Best Cunt From Cleethorpes

some years back when i was livin in a caravan like trailer trash (my childish eminem dream came true), i happened to chance upon a very peculiar person. he was uneducated, dyslexic, hot-tempered, hornier than a summer rabbit and cruder than a sailor stranded at sea. and he was also one of the best friends i have ever met in my life in the six short weeks that i've stayed with him in that scarborough caravan.

he hails from great grimsby but lives in cleethorpes (nothin so great about it, in his words) and speaks in a mangled geordie accent. he's got a great sense of humour and loves to dance. he told me he used to dance for gatecrasher parties for money with them glowin bangles. he's probably never met a chinese person or even a non-british person all his life but he had a certain warmth about his simple hedonistic ways. never meant me no harm and never wanted nothin from me. we almost got arrested in scarborough town once but the pigs let us go. he stood up for me each time. he even stood up for me at work, when not enough burgers were bein flipped by "that skinny oriental bloke", he would make up some excuse for me, the most bizarre bein i was fuckin a girl who didn't have money to pay for her meal. how that could be an excuse i will never know. but he was a good friend.

today, i don't know where he is, let alone if he's still alive.

i last saw him when i drove him home from scarborough. we almost died crossin the humber bridge because my j-reg mini was a statistic just waitin to happen. when we reached cleethorpes, his mother cooked me an english breakfast and even let me smoke in the livin room. then i found out it was only because she smokes as well. what a woman. she questioned me about the industrial-sized gifts i brought for her (huge tins of baked-beans, ketchup and chili con carne which i nicked from the workplace italian job style) and it was hillarious tryin to get out of that one. just one of them bean tins could feed a liberian family for a month!

in any case, i spent a couple of minutes today thinkin of this mate of mine and i wish him well wherever he may be.

i leave you with his most memorable line;

Zee: Heyya mate, d'ya reckon we could go down to the beach to catch some crabs?

The Man From Cleethorpes: What you on about? The nightclub is already packed with fanny now, you can have all the crabs you want there so just drive, you silly git.

ciao.

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Word Of The Wolf today is lubricious \loo-BRISH-us\,

adjective:

1. Lustful; lewd.
2. Stimulating or appealing to sexual desire or imagination.
3. Having a slippery or smooth quality.

"As I walked into the room I saw the two of them thick in the middle of the act but still as they tried to appear apologetic, they could not hide the lubricious faces of a couple having animal sex."

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Lubricious derives from Latin lubricus, "slippery, smooth."

Another Moment Of Weakness

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK.

ah. i feel slightly better.

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Word Of The Wolf today is imprimatur \im-prih-MAH-tur; -MAY-\,
noun:
1. Official license or approval to print or publish a book, paper, etc.; especially, such a license issued by the Roman Catholic episcopal authority.
2. Approval; sanction.
3. A mark of approval or distinction.

"Vatican officials have overruled a 1994 decision by a bishop in England, ordering him to withdraw his imprimatur from a popular religious education text that had come under attack from conservatives."

-"Vatican orders bishop to remove imprimatur,"National Catholic Reporter, February 27, 1998

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Imprimatur is from New Latin imprimatur, "let it be printed," from imprimere, "to imprint," from Latin, from in- + premere, "to press."

The Princess Of Mount Ledang

an interestin topic came upon my friend and i the other day, as we were discussin the malaysian epic film, Puteri Gunung Ledang, the most expensive local production our humble nation has ever boasted.

now bein the movie buff that i am, i was always of the opinion that a foreign film (that is, to me) must retain the flavour of dialogue upon translation to other languages. american dvds are notorious for mcdonaldlisin (this word is used in a different context here to what it usually means) subtitles and reducin conversational texture to belacan. for instance you could see an elderly french woman ask her long lost son how he was doin and the caption could read "what's up?". this is unbearable.

similarly, i feel that PGL with it's multi-million budget deserved a better job at subtitlin. how do we market it to the west if we cannot truly convey the beauty of the dialogue? malay is indeed a very charmin language for those who can see it. for example, in PGL, my favourite line was;

"walau patah sayap rajawali, bertongkat jua kanda kembali."
(bound to charm the tudung off any muslim woman)

which literally means;

"even if the kingfisher's wings were to break, i will come back to you in crutches" (haha)

and the translation read somethin along the lines of;

"wherever i may go, i will return to you."

but i was thinkin it wouldda been bangin it we had it as;

"for even if every bone were broken in me, to thee i will return still."

and if i were havin a laugh, i'd go for;

"dammit woman, you are too high maintenance!"

on a more serious note, could anyone suggest a good translation for this line?

ciao.

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Word Of The Wolf today is tattoo \ta-TOO\,

noun:
1. A rapid, rhythmic drumming or rapping.
2. A beat of a drum, or sound of a trumpet or bugle, giving notice to soldiers to go to their quarters at night.
3. A display of military exercises given as evening entertainment.

"With a steady tattoo of bad news resoundin through the straits, the onus was on the sultan to declare war against the invaders as soon as possible."

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Tattoo is an alteration of earlier taptoo, from Dutch taptoe, "a tap(house)-shut," from tap, "faucet"+ toe, "shut" --meaning, essentially, that the tavern is about to shut.
Trivia: The more familiar tattoo, "an indelible mark or figure made by puncturing the skin and introducing some pigment into the punctures," derives from entirely different roots. That tattoo comes from Tahitian tatau.

Top 11 Female Voices

there are female singers who can really amaze you with their talent when they sing. however, many artistes rely on the power of accompanyin instruments, well-choreographed dances and sometimes sheer stage appeal and showmanship to perform.

Madonna always had sex appeal and gets away with her inadequate voice by bein an excellent performer as does Janet Jackson and all the Britneys and Christinas of today's MTV youth. elaborate dances distract us from the true frailties of Jennifer Lopez' voice and we can see this in early Kylie Minogue too. some artistes like Norah Jones and Sheryl Crow can play instruments very well and we see their voice in terms of the accompanyin instruments which magnify their abilities.

but who can sing as if she herself were an instrument of God? what voice can make you sit, command your awe and force you to surrender?

this entry is a dedication to 11 women whose voices leave me doubtless as to its divinity. in parenthesis are the songs which most memorably delivered a testament of their abilities.

1. Mariah Carey
(Without You, Can't Take That Away, O Holy Night, One Sweet Day)
sure she's a sold-out, big-titted Jenny McCarthy look-alike now but can i take you back to the gospel days? the turnin point must have been the Fantasy album from which everythin turned into hip-hop hogshit. but there was a time however, her suspected five octave range carried such emotional resonance that it could represent a choir on its own. this woman made me feel as if God was speakin to me through an angel's voice.

2. Janis Joplin
(Piece Of My Heart, Little Girl Blues, Cry Baby)
i've said it many times already -the only white voice stronger than a thousand sisters.

3. Whitney Houston
(I Will Always Love You, The Greatest Love Of All)
granted she is a great performer more than anythin else but who can forget her rendition of dolly parton's country hit. i fell inside her gapin mouth when she sang that song.

4. Teresa Teng
(Tian Mi Mi, Feng Chong Na Li Lai, Yue Liang Dai Biao Wo De Xin)
remarkably resoundin clarity despite the scratchy inclinations of yesteryear recordings. you don't even need to understand mandarine to appreciate the beauty of her voice.

5. Sarah McLachlan
(Angel, Gloomy Sunday, Adia, Do What You Have To Do)
a haunting voice which clings to you. it screams of yearnin and melancholic obsession.

6. Billie Holiday
(My Man, Gloomy Sunday, Summertime)
beyond hauntin -ghostly even. a voice unlike any other. very, very outstandin.

7. Aretha Franklin
(Respect, Natural Woman, Bridge Over Troubled Water)
can't leave out the queen of soul, can we? i only wished i know more of her songs.

8. Delores O'Riordan
(Zombie, Ridiculous Thoughts, Ode To My Family)
another distinctly unique voice. highly engagin and it also helps that her voice lends itself very well to the content of the kind of songs The Cranberries do.

9. Tina Turner
(The Best, I Don't Really Wanna Fight No More, What's Love Got To Do With It)
an unrivalled tenacity in her voice. fuckin passionate and electrifyinly intense. must be because she writes her own stuff.

10. Joss Stone
(The Chokin' Kind, Dirty Man, Right To Be Wrong)
i feel slightly embarassed to include her since she has sold out to accomodate the already saturated Britney market but there is somethin very very inspirational about her voice.

11. [?]

my knowledge of music and its history and development is mostly patchy so does anyone care to comment on who you think deserves the last spot?

ciao.

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Word Of The Wolf today is mellifluous \muh-LIF-loo-us\,

adjective: Flowing as with honey; flowing sweetly or smoothly; as, a mellifluous voice.

"Somewhere in that song, she hit the note which lifted her performance from annoying mediocrity to mellifluous grandeur."
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Mellifluous comes from Latin mellifluus, from mel, "honey"+ fluus, "flowing," from fluere, "to flow." Synonyms: canorous, dulcet, melodious, sweet.

A Defence Of The Conscious Smoker

Zee: It says here mate in this NHS leaflet that you lose about 5 minutes of your life with every cigarette you smoke.

Billy: Yeah? No shit, Sherlock.

Zee: Well we've been waitin for the taxi for 15 minutes and you've done three. How does it feel to have 15 minutes of your life taken away just like that?

Billy: I'll tell ya what mate. If I died right now and was resurrected by Jesus and he gave me another 15 minutes to live, I'd use it to smoke three cigarettes.

in Lumet's 1975 cult classic Dog Day Afternoon, touted by most as Al Pacino's best performance, he starred alongside his good friend, a strange-lookin man named John Cazale. his character, Sal (Fredo in the Godfather films, remember?) was asked in the movie why he wasn't a smoker. he replied that it was because he didn't want cancer. he was then asked how he could rob a bank and not wanna smoke. he just replied that the people who did were just weak and the body is a temple of the Lord.

conversely, not too long ago Darren and i were havin a drink together when some joker asked him the question. "why do you smoke, don't you fear dyin on a bed slowly?" were the words, i think. my chigga calmly replied "mark my words, i will never live to see the grand effects of this cigarette i'm smokin now."

why do people smoke if they fully know they're at a very high risk of dyin from it?

this is not an attempt to justify smokin tobacco. there can be no such thing as Faisal once rightly said to me. smokin kills. simple as. end of. but while the persecutin world is quick to cast stones and the sinners are just as adept to put up shields, i who have been both the factions will try to explain a more comprehensive and causative reason why some people who know only too well the perils of smokin, choose to do it still.

you see, any reason given by the average smoker is not the ROOT reason. it is often only an ugly manifestation of a human inadequacy. if someone smokes because he says he want to be more mature or to look cool (amongst peers or within your occupational culture), this could be an indication of a need for acceptance and validation. if someone cites boredom, this could be traced back to a lack of self-esteem and a meanin in life. as for me, for a long period of my life, i thought that the reason i started was because i wanted a sense of autonomy over myself, a rebellious self-affirmation, as if to say "this is body and i can do whatever i damn well please with it". i guess this probably emerged from my denial of authority which itself is a sign of a lack in self-esteem/an overbearin restriction in self-expression/a domineerin mother -whatever.

for the 1001 reasons a person may have for startin to smoke, a gilt-edged force sustains the habit. is it both the psychological addiction and physical addiction that keep it up.

but now introduce an imminent and forseeable danger to the person and the person is at another tangent of choice. the fear of death or harm is put up against the strength of the addiction.

too often fools will say they don't care and that they will die anyway and that they are unafraid. as such, you see people quit after somethin life-threatenin happens like coughin up their kidney along with a gallon of blood -the fear of death wins.

but then there are those who persist. men who are bedridden in hospital with a history of six cardiac arrests and perennial lung failure and still ask "can i have a quarter-pounder cheeseburger for dinner, nurse and can you buy me a pack of marlboro reds?". how do you explain this group of people?

the answer lies in the concept of fatalistic resignation. the act of actively affirmin a self-fulfillin prophecy.

these people i would say are the people who had already died long before they actually do. it didn't matter whether they were to die in diapers painfully from a chronic disorder at 70 or if they were to die painlessly the next day from a fallin flower pot on the head. these are people who do not love and do not live anymore, long before they meet their fate. these people may be downright ignorant for losin their ideals but they are not stupid in the sense that you think they don't know how stinky shit really is until it hits the fan. i am not stupid. it is an informed choice, however silly the choice is, and time will tell if i can live it out as bravely as i say i can.

John Cazale the actor died of cancer in 1978, three years after the film was released. Darren was murdered last year and his first death anniversary is comin up soon.

ciao.


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Wisdom Of The Wolf today is a poem titled "Why"

Time to smoke a thousand whys

a cigarette burns, a cigarette dies

waking up to packs of lies

twenty sticks of false goodbyes

circa November 2002.

7 Indulgent Rants

1. the BBC correspondent in rome for the mornin news
no tact, highly unsympathetic. if there is one thing worse than feignin concern for the pontiff, it's doin a lousy job at it.

2. bandwagon jumpers
and suddenly everyone is a fuckin expert on the pope. there is no objective talk at all. it's fuckin sensationalism at its worst. this is not a dig at the pilgrims as it cannot be an easy thing to queue for days and sleep in the cold. i am directin this to the polytheists and the non-catholics who are callin him by a plethora of names from Holy Father to The Polish Saint on their MSN sign-in names without even knowin if their denomination allows them allegiance to the pope. some even think that the pope IS the head of their church. it's alright if a neutral or a detached observer read about a good man's death and said somethin nice but it would be better if you actually knew the man you were praisin.

3. fabio cannavaro's goal against liverpool
you tit. you tit. you screamin tit. the odds for him scorin was more than 80 at the bookies. it musta been more than 100 on betfair. you napolitano nincompoop. we needed a 2-0 cushion!

4. fabio cannavaro
oh alright, fine. i'll give it a rest.

5. the incompetence of yorkshire's postmen
royal mail is great, don't get me wrong. but i have personally witnessed acts of incompetence, idiocy and apathy by these blokes. two quick knocks and you get a shitty we-tried-to-deliver card through the hole before you could even get your pants on to answer the door. good thing the monopoly is gonna be over soon and we'll have other mail companies. for now i suspect that the porno cliches on milkmen and postmen are true. that 36FF woman across the street must always get her parcels on time. i bet my missin dvd is lost in a pile of knickers. once, my bank statement arrived wet and it was a clear day. the bastard had a spring in his step as he walked away.

6. bein called luv/petal/flower
i don't even care if she was a hot milf. for the uninitated, these are british equivalents of the american endearin terms like sugarplum, honeybun, cuppycake and (insert sickly petname here). i would say that these three even border on my little huggy-wuggy, snuggly-wuggly, schnikems-schnickems joy. here i am, the insecure fool tryin to look all hard and all, but the woman in the chippy goes "wot we 'avin, pe'al?". i ain't a fuckin petal. which part of my tattoo/curb chain/bandanna/mohican haircut remotely resembles a petal? i sure as hell ain't no fuckin flower either. i don't expect an indulgence to the extent of "here's your grub, soldier" but do i look like i'm wearin a floral skirt? is my name penelope? mary-fuckin-poppins? am i carryin a basket of potpourri? do i sing to the clouds and play in the lillies? oi!

7. people who trust themselves too much over others and god
in the words of st. jehanne, "you, who call yourselves my judges, you be careful for one day you too will be judged"(almost verbatim translation from the transcripts of her trial of heresy). i feel a great sorrow for you lot indeed.

p/s this entry is in for olly, who claims to read this site frequently and complains about the paucity of entries. i now advertise your ian rush nose for all of the world to see in live technicolour glory. let's see how long it'd take for you to notice this, since you say you read my site. i will remove this link soon thereafter.

ciao.

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Word Of The Wolf today is blackguard \BLAG-uhrd\,

noun:
1. A rude or unscrupulous person; a scoundrel.
2. A person who uses foul or abusive language.

adjective:
Scurrilous; abusive; low; worthless; vicious; as, "blackguard language."

transitive verb:
To revile or abuse in scurrilous language.

"Is this what I am then? A lurking blackguard on other people's weblogs?"

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Blackguard is from black + guard. The term originally referred to the lowest kitchen servants of a court or of a nobleman's household. They had charge of pots and pans and kitchen other utensils, and rode in wagons conveying these during journeys from one residence to another. Being dirtied by this task, they were jocularly called the "black guard."