Last Post of the Year:Supermodels in lingerie and Prussian Generals

About two years ago I was walking in Kifissia with a beautiful and very elegant friend of mine. At some point we stopped to admire a shop window that had Victoria's Secret lingerie on display. To be quite honest, I didn't hear her comments because I had performed a complete shut-down, picturing her in Victoria's Secret undergarments (and later, off them).

(Karolina Kurkova at the 2007 Victoria's Secret Fashion Show,©MMVII, CBS Broadcasting Inc. All Rights Reserved)

I do remember making a clumsy attempt at a compliment along the lines of "Let's go now, if I saw anyone escorting a lady as beautiful as you checking out Victoria's Secret lingerie, I would kill him out of pure jealousy".

(Marisa Miler at 2007 Victoria's Secret Fashion Show Photoshoot, ©MMVII, CBS Broadcasting Inc. All Rights Reserved)

Anyway, the fact is that as each year reaches its end there are two things that I am particularly looking forward to: Victoria's Secret Fashion Show at the beginning of December and the Neujahrskonzert of the Musikverein at the beginning of the following year.

(The Body II: Heidi Klum, at 2007 Victoria's Secret Fashion Show Photoshoot, ©MMVII, CBS Broadcasting Inc. All Rights Reserved)

The thing that makes lingerie modelling so special is that, although perfect measurements may be enough for a modelling career, they are not nearly enough for lingerie.

You see, a lingerie top model embodies perfection itself (in a very literal sense, if I may say so).

(Alessandra Ambrosio at 2007 Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, ©MMVII, CBS Broadcasting Inc. All Rights Reserved)

She has to be very pretty (forget about Gaultier's aliens on the catwalk) and she has to have a KILLER body (not a flat ironing board).
And since Victoria's Secret employs the best of the best, well...they see to it that each year has a more than magnificent sendoff.

(An angel on Earth, Adriana Lima at 2007 Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, ©MMVII, CBS Broadcasting Inc. All Rights Reserved)

Since this is the last post for this year, let me just wish that the next year brings Lots of Sex, Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men.

Until then let's just be glad that they did not use a nuclear warhead on Benazir Bhutto, right after they shot and blasted her, just to make sure...

PS: On 30 December 1812,Generalleutnant Hans David Ludwig Graf Yorck von Wartenburg, commander of the Prussian expeditionary force angainst the Russians and General Hans Karl von Diebitsh of the Imperial Russian Army signed a truce, known as the Convention of Tauroggen. It was a political gamble by Yorck, based on the strong anti-french sentiment. This effectively ended the Prussian alliance (enforced by the Treaty of Tilsit) with that bastard Napoleon, opening the way for Prussia to ally with the Brittish and kick some french butt.

(Graf Yorck von Wartenburg)

The Nightmare before Christmas: An observation and a dedication

Recurrent themes are the staple of poetics. They are usually motifs that we have come to recognise as universal truths or the natural outcome of things. Loved ones separated by the magic of villains, evil people having their vices turned against them and so on.

As it is, one of the most ironic things is to see otherwise powerful and clever people fall into such traps because arrogance or dire need or passion or a combination of all of these elements made them behave like cartoon villains.

I am saying all these things because several days ago I watched the digital 3D remaster of Tim Burton's "The Nightmare before Christmas". Among other poetic leitmotifs, it shows the time-honoured universal truth that a free-spirited woman cannot be trapped in a tower as a piece of property, like Rapunzel (as Dr. Finklestein, in the movie, tries to keep Sally the Rag Doll locked in his tower).

Indeed this notion appears in poetic creation about as frequently as the belief that no real gain can come from bartering with evil spirits.

This prompted me to write about Hedy Lamarr and how that idiot austrofascist husband of hers tried to keep her trapped in a meaningless existence as a simple showpiece. It is in times like these that one realises how blind to some simple facts people can be.

How can a wild spirit be trapped? How can lock and bars and pig-headed obstinacy match the wiles of a determined mind?

For some people, freedom is simply non negotiable.
___________________________________________________________________________

My dearest friend if you don't mind

I'd like to join you by your side

where we can gaze into the stars

and sit together, now and forever

for it is plain as anyone can see

we're simply meant to be...

(Finale (reprise) by Danny Elfman, The Nightmare before Christmas, 1993, Touchstone Pictures)

Juletid, pt. III : The Spirit of Christmas - Memories come alive

CHRISTMAS-GREETINGS

[FROM A FAIRY TO A CHILD]

LADY dear, if Fairies may

For a moment lay aside

Cunning tricks and elfish play,

'Tis at happy Christmas-tide.

We have heared the children say---

Gentle children, whom we love---

Long ago, on Christmas-Day,

Came a message from above.

Still, as Christmas-tide comes round,

They remember it again---

Echo still the joyful sound

'Peace on earth, good-will to men!'

Yet the hearts must child-like be

Where such heavenly guests abide;

Unto children, in their glee,

All the year is Christmas-tide.

Thus forgetting tricks and play

For a moment, Lady dear,

We would wish you, if we may,

Merry Christmas, glad New Year!

Lewis Carroll, Christmas, 1867.
(First published in Phantasmagoria, 1869)

The spirit of Christmas is Love. The spirit of any holiday is love. But, to quote, (of all sources...) the movie "Love, actually" : "Enough....enough now" (from the only realistic scene of the film...).

So, beyond such commonplace statements, the Spirit of Christmas is the one single transcendental feeling that goes beyond all the exaggeration, corniness, cuteness, deluded arrogance and generic kitsch that surrounds the celebrations of these days. Indeed, it not only transcends them, but even gives them purpose and meaning.

For who would dream of spartan, or even doric Christmas? Christmas is sybaritic, and was meant to be thus even from the days of the celebrations of Jul (complete with the Wild Hunt around the days of Winter Solstice), and the Death of Baldur.

What evoces this feeling is different for each one of us. For me it is nothing less than the revival of childhood memories.

The fireplace, to which I later in the night retreated to read the works of Dr. Seuss, and my absolute favourites: the Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame and the Alice books by Lewis Carroll. And later: the works of Professor Tolkien....




























The food, marching out of the kitchen in a stream of delights and the thought in the back of our head that this year we will need more cretan tsikoudia for digestion.

The all-day long music by 19th century Romantics, with Stokowski's interpretation of Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker, from the soundtrack of Fantasia holding the most prominent place.

Going to bed with the last embers dying in the fireplace...and the pregnant moments of the following morning before the opening of gifts.

As long as all these things revive, Christmas will be frosted with a glowing dust that keeps the magic alive.

Before we part, for the time of celebration is nigh...

...a couple of words and a poem by Lewis Carroll:

Dear Children,

At Christmas-time a few grave words are not quite out of place, I hope, even at the end of a book of nonsense - and I want to take this opportunity of thanking the thousands of children who have read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, for the kindly interest they have taken in my little dream-child.

The thought of the many English firesides where happy faces have smiled her a welcome, and of the many English children to whom she has brought an hour of (I trust) innocent amusement, is one of the brightest and pleasantest thoughts of my life. I have a host of young friends already, whose names and faces I know - but I cannot help feeling as if, through "Alice's Adventures" I had made friends with many other dear children, whose faces I shall never see.

To all my little friends, known and unknown, I wish with all my heart, "A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year". May God bless you, dear children, and make each Christmas-tide, as it comes round to you, more bright and beautiful than the last - bright with the presence of that unseen Friend, who once on earth blessed little children - and beautiful with memories of a loving life, which has sought and found the truest kind of happiness, the only kind that is really worth the having, the happiness of making others happy too!

Your affectionate Friend,

Lewis Carroll

Christmas, 1871

Il Gattopardo pt. I - Giuseppe Tomasi, principe di Lampedusa

Given the opportunity of his birthday, I would like to post a tribute to the man who has written the book that has influenced my view of modern Italy the most.


This man is Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa and the book is of course "Il Gattopardo" ( "The Leopard" in English, a rather inaccurate translation for the north-african serval), the only novel he ever wrote.

He was the scion of the Tomasi princes of Lampedusa, a small italian island off the coast of North Africa (hence a probable connection of the family coat of arms with the gattopardo, a feline found mostly in North Africa) granted to them already by 1558.

Giuseppe Maria Fabrizio Salvatore Stefano Vittorio Tomasi, in his full name, later principe di Lampedusa e duca di Palma e Montechiaro was born on 23 December 1896.

His father was Giulio Maria Tomasi, principe di Lampedusa e duca di Palma e Montechiaro and his mother was Beatrice Mastrogiovanni Tasca Filargeri di Cutò.

"Ero un ragazzo cui piaceva la solitudine, cui piaceva di più stare con le cose che con le persone"

(I was a boy who liked solitude, who liked more being around things than around people)

In 1915 he matriculates in Law School in Rome but he is called almost immediately to the army and he is captured by the Austrohungarian troops after the ignominous disaster of Caporetto. He escapes and returns home on foot, after many adventures.

In the following years he studies foreign literature and publishes some essays.

In 1932 he marries Alexandra Wolff - Stomersee, an extraordinary woman of her own. She was the daughter of the famous opera singer Alice Barbi (who was a close friend of Clara Schumman and Johannes Brahms) and of Boris Wolff - Stomersee, a Latvian baron of Hanseatic German descent, and she became the first woman psychoanalyst in Italy.



During the Second World War, the family Palace in Palermo was destroyed by Allied bombing raids with B-24 Liberator bombers (which local newspapers called "gangsters of the sky").

In 1954 he begins to write Il Gattopardo.

The novel reflects the many social changes that Tomasi witnessed in his life, through the mirror of the Italian Risorgimento.

However, its main appeal to me is the elegy to the lost splendour of the old nobility because of the irresponsibility, bad management and the various misfortunes that befell the nobles of a decadent, obsolete monarchy, that of The Kingdom of the Two Sicilies.

(In a future post I will speak more of my thoughts about this wonderful novel and the movie made out of it by Visconti).

Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa died of lung cancer on 23 July 1957, and was entombed five days later in the Tomasi family grave at the Capuccini cemetery of Palermo.

Having led a life of alternating suffering and decadent idleness,with few works to his credit, Giuseppe Tomasi managed to extract that one novel that vindicated himself as a man of the Letters and the Arts.

However, he was not to know this. Il Gattopardo was rejected twice, once by Mondadori ed. and once by Einaudi ed., so it was published by House Feltrinelli posthumusly in 1958.

In the end:

"Noi fummo i Gattopardi, i Leoni; quelli che ci sostituiranno saranno gli sciacalletti, le iene; e tutti quanti Gattopardi, sciacalli e pecore continueremo a crederci il sale della terra."

(We were the Leopards, the Lions; those that will come in our place will be the petty jackals, the hyenas; and the whole lot, Leopards, jackals and sheep, will continue to believe that we are the salt of the earth - trnsl. by me).

Women, pt. II : Hedy Lamarr

Any list with amazingly extraordinary women should include Hedy Lamarr.

Most people in the technology business remember her from the 1998 lawsuit against COREL because of their unauthorised use of her likeness on the cover of CorelDRAW 8.

However they have more reasons to remember her.

Née Hedwig Eva Maria Kiesler in Vienna in 1913, she quickly became famous for her astonishing beauty. Max Reinhardt (the director, not the banker) called her "the most beautiful woman of Europe". What is not widely known is that "Hedy" was not only a wild spirit, but a mathematical talent as well.

When she was 20 years old, she starred in the "Symphonie der Liebe" or Ecstasy as the film became widely known. This film became famous for two scenes: Lamarr chasing her runaway horse naked, and a closeup of her face in orgasm (an expression which was achieved by her director pricking her with a needle).

Shortly after that film, the, notorious by now, Eva Kiesler married a fascist named Mandl, an Austrian arms dealer. The idiot sought to bind her in a golden cage, to keep her locked in his tower (in a future post I will return to comment on this kind of idiotic behaviour).

Even though this was a cruel period in her life, it offered her the opportunity to come in contact with scientists and technicians in her husband's employ and thus become acquainted with the technical applications of mathematics.


Naturally, this state of thing was not to last and the wild Hedy fled away from her husband. In her autobiography it is written that while she was being chased by her husband's men, she sought refuge in a brothel. While she waited in an empty room, a customer walked in and Hedy had to have sex with him so as not to blow her cover. Even though the ghost writer of this book was later accused of taking too many liberties in its embellishment with fictitious incidents, it would not be something that the free-spirited girl would not do to secure her escape.

The rest of it is well known, since after her escape to America, via Paris and London, Hedy Kiesler (who adopted the name Lamarr in tribute to Barbara LaMarr) became a world-famous actress, starring in such blockbusters as Samson and Delilah.


Great actors and powerful figures went out of their way simply to admire her beauty, and she had several marriages, including a Texas oil magnate.

What was the twist in this fairytale life of a legendary bombshell?

Hedy Lamarr was a communications technologies genius innovator.

Indeed, in cooperation with Georg Antheil, who was conducting experiments on automated control of the frequencies of electronic musical instruments, Hedy Lamarr (as H. Markey, by the name of her second husband, Gene Markey) submitted the design and blueprints for a secure communications system ( Secret Communication System, U.S. Patent 2,292,387, 1942).



That patent proposes (very early considering the development of such technologies) the use of frequency-hopping (now an integral technique of spread-spectrum telecommunications) via a mechanism like a piano-roll. The proposed use was to make radio-guided torpedoes more reliable and impregnable to enemy interference.

Spread spectrum technology was declassified in the 80s and CDMA (Code Division Multiple Access) became available to meet the needs of more efficient bandwidth use (since signals do not "occupy" a part of the spectrum each) and of increased privacy for wireless communications.

However, no use was made of that system or of Hedy Lamarr's mathematical talents for the war effort.

Still the legacy remains. In her own words:

"Films have a certain place in a certain time period. Technology is forever"

What a woman.

Verdunkeln! - Darken the earth to see the Stars

I got surprisingly good feedback from several friends about my previous post, concerning the tasteless and rather ridiculous excesses of the christmas lights decorations in this time of year. Now I would like, if I may, to address a related but far more serious issue.

KEEP THE SKIES DARK!

(Swiss civil defense pre-war poster)

There may be no enemy bombers above our citites but the pollution from the illumination of great urban zones is unbelievable. The artificial illumination from millions of homesteads, football field floodlights, billboards, cars and so on, casts a sickly glow on the night sky...

Amateur astronomers and even major observatories become more and more frustrated (the Griffith Observatory in California is already useless) as the vulgarity of the city lights creeps a little bit further every day , obscuring perhaps the only glimpse of the infinite that we are ever going to be afforded.

Would you not prefer this...


to this?



Unfortunately, gone are those days when the Junkers, the Heinkels, the Lancasters and the B-29s would blast such pathetic arrogance back to the stone age in a blazing inferno of carpet bombing relays.

STOP THE EXCESSIVE ARTIFICIAL ILLUMINATION.

For every light that we switch on on the Earth, a star disappears from the sky.

Shame.

PS: More info: The International Dark-Sky Association

Juletid pt. II : Deck the halls!

Even though Christmas decoration has always been the most important and wonderful aspect of this season, it has always been a matter of controversy in my house.

Because of my parents' line of work, we were not particularly impressed by any kind of ornament. My father was simply bored of the whole affair, while my mother only sought out ways to be innovative.

I, on the other hand, enjoy Christmas and consider it to be the most important holiday season of the year (largely due to the fact that I get more presents than even my birthday).

I have always been keen on the traditional Christmas celebration with a huge banquet with good wine, stuffed turkey (I find turkey meat rather indifferent, but my mother's stuffing is pure poetry), game (boar or grouse are my favourites, but unfortunately, availability depends on the marksmanship of our relatives...) and assorted gourmet delicacies from around the world and all this... under a f***ing Christmas tree....!!

Yes, I know that plastic ones are outdated, cliche' and awful. I know that natural ones make a mess. And I know that it would make our small living room look cramped. But I wanted a Christmas tree!!!

Only occasionaly did we set up one, until some eight years ago I got serious. Very serious. And from then on things got better and our house started to be decorated traditionally and stopped looking like an atelier for interior design-conscious elves, with lights and huge ribbons suspended randomly about.... This year however, we decided to decorate only as a last-minute call. And there will be no Christmas tree. With the losses of our two good friends this year, it simply does not feel like decorating big time...


We got a few glittery gimmicks on the shelves and tables, we set up Santa corner and my carousel, and although the climate is far from the mourning of spring and early summer, we will spend the holiday without much extravagance, hoping that the years to come will be less painful for us and those we love.


















And you know what... it actually feels more like Christmas this way...

Glad Jul !



PS: To our "most esteemed" neighbours. STOP. We know we started it. STOP. You, however, do not have to carry on. STOP. If you want to imitate us, then STOP. It was not meant to be this way. STOP. Even the use of Christmas lights needs moderation. STOP.This is not Las Vegas. STOP. Please, please, please... STOP.

Nouvelle Vague live at Gagarin 205 14/12/2007: Too drunk to fuck...

A girl from Ipanema, swaying to bossa nova music, her eyes half closed, her body surrendered to the rhythm, singing "Love will tear us apart" by Joy Division...


More or less this was the concept behind Nouvelle Vague. Marc Collin and Olivier Libaux envisioned a band that would retain the basic harmony of new wave, punk and gothic songs, converting them to a bossa nova ( = new wave = nouvelle vague ) style, sung by performers who had never heard the original piece before.

The result was surprisingly beautiful to say the least. Sensuous female voices were caressing the words of punk & goth anthems like "Too drunk to fuck" by The Dead Kennedys, "The Guns of Brixton" by The Clash, "Bella Lugosi's Dead" by Bauhaus, "Love will tear us apart" by Joy Division etc., while the bossa nova minimality gave an entirely new perspective on each song's particular harmony and character.

Yesterday, they appeared live on stage at Gagarin 205, which is noted for its particularly interesting choices in live performances and theme festivals.



Mélanie Pain and Gerald Toto were the only vocal performers to appear (usually Mélanie Pain appears with Phoebe Killdeer), however they covered the whole range of songs exceptionally (since Gerald Toto's voice is particularly suited to the Nouvelle Vague style).


By the end the audience was ready to sing at the top of their lungs "Love will tear us apart" (as long as we were not "too drunk to fuck..." ).

All in all it was a wonderful night (still miffed about their not playing Bella Lugosi's dead" though) and what particularly remains is how sweet, vibrant and unique Mélanie is.


As long as we fall in love with the right persons, everything will be all right....

You spurn my natural emotions
You make me feel like dirt
and I'm hurt...
And if I start a commotion
I run the risk of losing you
and that's... worse...
Ever fallen in love with someone you shouldn't have fallen in love with?

(Ever fallen in Love, orig. by The Buzzcocks
cov. from Bande à Part, 2nd Nouvelle Vague album)


PS : And a note of the surreal: Sticker on a toilet water tank at the toilets of the club: "Against any kind of sexual self-management" (and the shadow of my finger..)

Women, pt. I : Lotta Svärd and the Winter War

At last, the weather is cold enough to be called wintry. And speaking of winter, it is time to bring back some memories.
Bear with me for a short course of History.

On 30 November 1939, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics opened a massive offensive against the young Finnish republic. This would be the Winter War (SWE: Vinterkriget).

2 weeks later, on 14 December, exactly 68 years ago, this illegal invasion caused the Soviet Union to be expelled from the League of Nations which once more proved "as effective as a catflap in an elephant house".

Using ponderous and outdated human-wave tactics, the Soviet generals led their men to a fearful slaughter (in the time-honoured fashion of the First World War, men were expected to "march very slowly towards the enemy machine-guns", as Captain Blackadder would put it).

The Finnish forces, holding the Karelian Isthmus Fortifications according to the Grand Plan of Field Marshall Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim, decimated whole divisions of Soviet troops using superior tactics and the excellent knowledge of terrain by their skijaeger, machine-gun and sniper troops.

The brave stance of the Finns and the many foreign volunteers (including, for a very brief period, Christofer Lee) led to a relatively mild peace treaty that ceded only 10% of Finnish ground to the Soviets (since victory would be impossible in the end, against the greatest army of the world).

Now who was Lotta Svärd ?

Förrn den ädle kungen i Finland stred,
Hon blivit en krigsmans brud;
Och då trumman rördes och Svärd drog med,
Så följde hon samma ljud.

(Ere the noble king to Finland's shore,
She'd become a warrior's bride.
When the drums beat, and Svard went off to the war,
She followed him stride for stride.)

(Poetic English translation by C.W. Stark, C.B. Shaw and C.D. Broad)

Lotta Svärd is one of the most important characters in Johan Ludvig Runeberg's epic poem Fänrik Ståls sägner (Ensign Stal's Tales, Vänrikki Stoolin tarinat in Finnish). It speaks of the bravery of the men who tried to defend the Finnish lands during Russia's war with Sweden after the Treaty of Tilsit (The Finnish War, 1808-09), even though the whole affair was poorly planned and the cause was doomed (the Fortress of Sveaborg capitulated in 1809 and Russia took possession of Finland).

During this war, Lotta Svärd followed her husband faithfully, carrying supplies for the men in the army, like a noble version of Mutter Courage...

Following her example, after the bitter civil war of 1917-18 and the Indipendence of Finland from Imperial Russia, Finnish women organised in paramilitary groups of volunteers to help the nation in that time of dire need.(Lotta Svärd logo, with heraldic roses and crux gammata. Designed in the early 20's, it has nothing to do with the nazi swastika and ideology. National Socialism had practically no followers in Finland, and with the rise of the nazis in power, Finnish-German relations deteriorated).

The organization grew and along with it grew its contribution.
By 1923 the Lottas had collected more than 500000 finnish marks to help refit the M91/24 7,62 mm rifles of the army with new barrells (hence the rifle was named "Lotta-rifle").


When the Winter War broke up the Lottas volunteered for every auxilliary post imaginable, freeing as many men as possible to join the Army for the brave defence of their country against bolshevism and Stalinist oppression.

It was, however, at field paramedical service that the Lottas excelled.



In their blue-gray uniforms, their hair drawn back tightly , they were radiant angels of light and hope for every wounded and sick man. They worked tirelessly to alleviate the pain of those unfortunate enough to have seen the real face and cruelty of that desperate war.

Their selfless contribution was the definition of the nursing ideal and of the sense of duty and faith to their men and their country.

Thus, I choose to start with these volunteers, ideal after that legenderay figure of Lotta Svärd, for my series of posts about women.

Faith and duty. Courage, compassion and love. That's who Lotta Svärd was.

MY way...

About three years ago, the Thespians of the Theatrical Group of the National Technical University of Athens decided to stage Tom Stoppard's play "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead". My involvement was incidental, since one of the directors was a fellow student in the Athens Medical School, and it grew, from my simple consultation regarding the translation, to cameo appearance in two scenes of the play.

During the long hours of idleness in dense cigarette smoke, there arose conversations of utmost surreal content.

One of them was about the song "Sympathy for the Devil" by the Rolling Stones. It is a song that outlines the Devil and his expressions and manifestations in us all in a most excellent way.
Which then would be the equivalent song for God?

We immediately ruled out classical and baroque music with a religious theme, since i) musically it would put the Stones to a great and unfair disadvantage and ii) most of those works were commissioned by the Church and the lyrics were from the Holy Scripture, so this music was self-serving (while we may all agree that neither Mick Jagger nor Keith Richards are - or claim to be the Devil...)

No answer was found that night. Much later I came accross the truth. And the answer was so obvious I could kick myself for not thinking of it at once. Of course, without the surrounding thespian decadence and idleness it became a moot point, but still... that song is the embodiment of EVERYTHING that a man's life should come to. In simple words. Without histrionics. And for reasons of grandiose style alone, the singer and the song would be what God would perform were He to show us the way as an entertainer.

Gentlemen, the one and only...:

MY WAY
(By Claude François, Jacques Revaux and Paul Anca)

And now, the end is near
And so I face the final curtain.
My friend, I'll say it clear,
I'll state my case, of which I'm certain.

I've lived a life that's full.
I travelled each and every highway
And more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Regrets, I've had a few
But then again, too few to mention.
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption.

I planned each charted course
Each careful step along the byway,
And more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew.
But through it all, when there was doubt,
I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall
And did it my way.

I've loved, I've laughed and cried.
I've had my fill, my share of losing.
And now, as tears subside,
I find it all so amusing.


To think I did all that
And may I say - not in a shy way,
"Oh no, oh no not me,
I did it my way".

For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught
To say the things he truly feels
And not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows I took the blows
And did it my way!

What is there that a man can add to this? To be able to say the words of this song in one's final moments will be the last moment of happiness that this short life of ours can give. And if there were a God, I am certain that this would be the way he made us to His likeness, and this would be the way He would appear, for Frank Sinatra was the epitome of natural grand style.


Now, apart from this song and a couple of others, I am not a huge fan of the Rat Pack. But they were all artists who made an impression being elegant and large, drawing the music industry and the media with them, and not the other way around, as is the case with today's puppet - "artists". Those were the times...Where there was Humphrey Bogart, Frank Sinatra, Ray Charles and Dean Martin, we now have Eminem, Snoop Dog, 50Cent, Justin Timberlake... With the old timers gone, popular entertainment has sunk to a woeful all-time low...Pathetic...



Why do I write this? Because yesterday it was Frank Sinatra's birthday, and were he still alive he would be 92 years old. The world misses you Frank...

Juletid pt. I : The Grand Feast of Consumerism

(Family Christmas shopping spreee 2007: First Blood - my loot)

Christmas holidays are fast approaching and faithful to the time-honoured tradition of consumerism fuelled by the traditional imagery of Yule cornucopia, my family (including me, of course) has set out to pillage the shops for the finer things in life. Why so early?

Because once the hordes of salarymen get their Christmas bonus and flood the streets in a spree of contagious oniomania for luxury they cannot really afford, shopping will become virtually impossible (exemplis gratis, the Kalogirou shoestore in Kifissia a week before Christmas and New Year's Eve).

It is this behaviour of the general public that sparks some thoughts.

Although to a great extent understandable during the festivities, conspicuous consumption is a particularly interesting modern plague of Greek society.

I have nothing against luxury. I live for luxury in a way, for Art has always been luxury - and sometimes, (even in modern times, as for example in Dolce & Gabbana ) luxury IS Art, but...

If you cannot afford it, do not buy it...

Banks, with their aggressive marketing of consumer credit products and the glittering lifestyle images promoted by the advertising media have created the illusion that everyone can (or should ) be equal in consumer status, creating thus a setting directly out of Thorstein Veblen's worst nightmares.

Huge debts massing and bankruptcies by the thousands are everyday phenomena and still, in a society where wages are way lower than the mean European Union equivalent, people are consuming like crazy.
One finds oneself reflecting with nostalgic wonder on the days of Cato the Elder and the Lex Oppia, when the Romans were forbidden excessive luxury and dining in order to support the war effort against Carthage. In the end, Roman frugality and discipline had Carthage destroyed, its ground salted and without a single stone left standing . ROMA INVICTA !

Worse still, the enemy is not tangible. It's just this simple everyday erosion of personality, humour, creativity, passion in the pursuit of paradoxical needs with paradoxical means.

Yet.... what would their lives be if they couldn't shop with the money they worked nights and weekends for?

The self-sustaining cycle of consumption and slavery keeps herding the masses onward...

Glad Jul ! (for the moment, at least...)

Why in English? - Alefantos and International Philosophy

I need not state two obvious things:

I. The answer to the above question is because English is a truly international language

II. International language or not and regardless of Tolkien, Shakespeare, Poe, Marlowe, Churchill and all the others that made me love it, I would gladly give English the finger if only I could write this blog in Riksmål, the language of Henrik Ibsen, my favourite playwright:

Having said that, I need to elaborate on a couple of points; namely, that I enjoy the a priori lost game of translation, because it offers many interesting insights on the nature of the languages involved and that, although sometimes it can be frustrating in its simplicity, English has a unique ability to integrate various linguistic elements (and not just foreign words) with such natural plasticity that allows anyone to say anything with virtually complete impunity (and no, I will not quote Finnegans Wake - it would be too predictable).

Allow me to demonstrate, at least to those who speak Greek as well.

During my wanderings in Greek blogs, I have come across this wonderful passage which originated from the Guru, who infrequently updates in greek a blog of "infinite jest, of most excellent fancy":

Αριστοτέλης, Βολταίρος, Ρουσώ...
Ελα μωρέ με τους πουθενάδες. Ο Νίτσες είναι φιλοσοφούρα. Είναι δύο Κάντιδες και 62 Ντεριντάδες είναι και ταχύς. Ρε της μιλάει της διαλεκτικής και έχει αποδόμηση διαβήτη.
Συμφωνείτε ή διαφωνείτε;

Although short of the mark concerning Derrida's inferiority to Nietzsche in deconstruction, this text is pure Monty Python, written in the idiomatic speech of Greek footbal manager and cult figure Nikos Alefantos.

My translation attempt:

Aristotle, Voltaire, Rousseau...

Give me a break with all those nobodies.The Nietzscher is a philosoficator. He is two Kants and 62 Derridas thrown together and he's spanking as well. Mate, he licks dialectics and has a sniping-longball deconstruction. Word or base?

Now, everybody gets the meaning and the intentions of the text. Football jargon has been left intact and the overall effort is very precise, which is something that would probably not be possible were it not for the plasticity of English. As a translation however it is a miserable failure, because the greek passage evokes clearly the image of Alefantos, while the English passage fails to convey that. Even if an Englishman knew Alefantos, he would not be able to see the connection.

So, I will try my best to keep uniformity for style's sake. Languages however need to be interchangeable. Do not expect to be spoon-fed everything. Expand the limits of your world.

And now for something not completely different:

"The Germans playing 4-2-4, Leibniz in goal, back four Kant, Hegel, Schopenhauer and Schelling, front-runners Schlegel, Wittgenstein, Nietzsche and Heidegger, and the mid-field duo of Beckenbauer and Jaspers. Beckenbauer obviously a bit of a surprise there...

...and here come the Greeks, led out by their veteran centre-half, Heraclitus....let's look at their team. As you'd expect, it's a much more defensive line-up. Plato's in goal, Socrates a front- runner there, and Aristotle as sweeper, Aristotle very much the man in form. One surprise is the inclusion of Archimedes...
...Archimedes out to Socrates, Socrates back to Archimedes, Archimedes out to Heraclitus, he beats Hegel, Heraclitus a little flick, here he comes on the far post, Socrates is there, Socrates heads it in! Socrates has scored! The Greeks are going mad, the Greeks are going mad! Socrates scores, got a beautiful cross from Archimedes.

The Germans are disputing it. Hegel is arguing that the reality is merely an a priori adjunct of non-naturalistic ethics, Kant via the categorical imperative is holding that ontologically it exists only in the imagination, and Marx is claiming it was offside.But Confucius has answered them with the final whistle! It's all over! Germany, having trounced England's famous midfield trio of Bentham, Locke and Hobbes in the semi-final, have been beaten by the odd goal...."

Monty Python, International Philosophy, Live at the Hollywood Bowl (originally from Monty Python's Fliegender Zirkus, 2nd episode).

Cheers...