“Our system allowed too much freedom for predation, abuse and excess risk”, said Geithner, whose career began at Kissinger Associates in Washington, where he worked for three years before joining the International Affairs division of the U.S. Treasury Department in 1988. In 2002 he left the Treasury to join the Council on Foreign Relations as a Senior Fellow in the International Economics department, and became director of the Policy Development and Review Department (2001–2003) at the IMF. Then in October 2003 he was named president of the Federal Reserve Bank of New York.

    Kissinger Associates.
    Council on Foreign Relations
    IMF
    President of the Federal Reserve.
    Treasury Secretary.

This, from the New York Times, February 2009:

Mr. Geithner, who will announce the broad outlines of the plan on Tuesday, successfully fought against more severe limits on executive pay for companies receiving government aid. He resisted those who wanted to dictate how banks would spend their rescue money.

If that’s not funny, I don’t know what is.

What was it Geithner said once? “Most consequential choices involve shades of gray, and some fog is often useful in getting things done.” You know what else likes fog? Monsters, rapists and war. And landscape painters, of course.

Jul 302010

I’m bored and annoyed by this cartoon.

Jul 192010

According to Yahoo!, “Trending now” are:

* 1. Cheryl Cole
* 2. Louis Oosthuizen
* 3. Paris Hilton
* 4. India train crash
* 5. Inception
* 6. Zsa Zsa Gabor
* 7. Big Society agenda
* 8. Job centre
* 9. Justin Bieber
* 10. Weather forecast

Jul 092010

The good news today is that Sakineh Mohammadi Ashtiani isn’t going to be buried up to her shoulders and stoned to death by Iranian men nursing erections: Iran woman escapes stoning death for adultery

Good news for the condemned and her family, not such good news for the people who had been looking forward to a good braining. And bad news for the Iranian justice system, which is showing that it can’t even stick to its own medieval principles. Simply cancelling the stoning is no good. Where’s the dignity in that? In other words, it’s not just Sakineh Mohammadi Ashtiani who needs a way out of this…

The punishment of stoning needs to be updated to fit with the times. Having a frothing mob hurl rocks at a woman half-buried and yelling until her eyes fall out is a process of law which means well, obviously, but it needs to be given a modern gloss. There should still be a place for cockstraining mob violence, for the S&M style semi-burial, for the hurling of rocks or “semen substitutes” as some people like to call them, and for the ancient and noble act of stoning to stay on the statute books where it belongs.

Let’s work with what we’ve got. The current stoning law states that: The stones used must be large enough to cause the condemned pain, but not sufficient to kill immediately. So, if we honour the desire not to cause immediate death, and extend the concept of pain to include annoyance & irritation, we can see a way forward…

Stoning” can become “gritting“.

The condemned adulterer or ankle-flasher should be buried up to the shoulders, as before, wailing and yelling to retain the authentic sense of impending mob horror, but the excited pack of justice dispensers should be given fistfuls of grit:

Or better – rock dust:

Still technically “stones”, still irritating for the condemned to have bits of rock dust in their hair, it might even sting a little on their cheeks, still unlikely to cause immediate death, still a public shaming ritual, still charmingly medieval in its format, and yet thoroughly modern in its mode of execution. And the aching fury of a repressed cock posse can be vented without uproar in the international community. Death by eye injury can be avoided by allowing the condemned eye protection — as modelled here by the Iranian president himself:

And death by sunstroke can be avoided by having one of the baying mob hold a parasol over the condemned until the punishment of “gritting” was done and dusted — something like what we see here, in a behind-the-scenes photo from the movie Caligula:

So there we have it. Mob justice with a modern twist. Everyone’s a winner!

The G-word has been at it again. Mel Gibson has been letting off a bit of racist steam near a tape recorder. This is from Huff Post (quoting an article on radaronline):

His abusive and disgusting rant was caught on audio tape and includes a wish that the mother of his infant daughter be “raped by a pack of [N-words]”

– now is it just me or does that seem an impossible muddle of language. Do “N-words” travel in packs? Can an N-word rape? Raped by a word. Mel Gibson didn’t say “N-word”. (Imagine if he did: it would be a kind of PC-racism). What I find strange (from my sofa in the UK) is that they can’t simply star the offending word, like they do c*nt (sorry, c**t) in the very next sentence:

Mel also calls Oksana a whore and a c**t while their baby screams in the background…

What about “n*****”? Which is at least closer, typographically, to what Mel yelled. Or “N*****” if you want to serious-up the insult with a capital. (Did Mel yell it with a capital? He seems to have, judging from “N-words”. But is the capitalization paying too much respect to the insult? Does it make it more insulting…?)

Also, “whore” is neither given an asterisk or the ultimate honour of a W-word contraction. Same with “rape”. Is rape not offensive? Why not R-worded by a pack of N-words? Or raped by an N-bomb. Mel didn’t said “N-bomb” as much as he said “N-word”. And being raped by a bomb seems somehow nastier, and truer to the nastiness of the original yelling.

I used to want to shout and die, to stamp on sharpened pencils out of shame for the human race whenever I saw Justin Bieber throw his way-cool V sign:

*SHUDDER*

But then I realised, the only reason he was V-ing the world the whole time was because his fingers were all crampled up from playing with his Sooty puppet. Poor little lad.

Or I could think about Allen Kruse, charter boat captain being ‘trained’ by BP to skim for oil.

His business had come to a screeching halt after the April 20 oil spill.

About 7 a.m., after a BP training meeting, he climbed into the wheelhouse of his 46-foot charter boat and ended his worry, his frustration and his anger with a single bullet to the head.

“Nothing was easy working with BP. Everything was hard, and it consumed him. He wasn’t crazy,” said his wife, Tracy, 41, sitting outside the couple’s home in Foley on Thursday.

“You know, I don’t think he was even thinking about his family,” Tracy said. “I think he wanted out of the chaos and what he called ‘madness’ of the whole thing.”

Tonight, if the sky is clear, look up into the orange, and there amongst the stars you’ll see it sparkle, placed there anew by the trembling hand of Lucifer, bright as a hooker’s eye, more beautiful than all the other stars in heaven (it thinks), shimmering like a hooker’s shoestrap, a silver drop of infected semen to shine down upon us forever, for alas – the thinkable has happened – Ô blasphème de l’art! ô surprise fatale! – Sebastian Horsley is dead.

L’éclat de ce soleil d’un crêpe se voila! as Baudelaire put it, thinking, no doubt, of Horsley as he wrote.

So that’s it. Game over. Horsley, the fool, has gone to shoot up with Jesus in the big whorehouse in the sky. And the world just got a little more boring. Although, on the plus side, there’s one fewer enormous arse living in it.

Damn, I’m actually sad. I can’t believe I’m sad.

I can’t quite figure out why. But perhaps it has to do with Horsley only just now turning his life around. Laying aside the crackpipe, putting down the hookers, and earning an honest living. The ink upon his contract with ExxonMobil barely dry. And only one tie-in product out on the garage shelves: a litre bottle of Horsley Ultra -

I will buy it tomorrow in his honour.

And drink it.

May 202010

The new Olympic logos!
They’re the ones on the left and right of this image:

They are playful fellows, fashioned from “the last two drops of steel” from the construction of the Olympic village. But this being Britain, they don’t just have big boggly eyes. Their big boggly eyes are cameras.

In essence, they are playful little CCTV cameras. So why not go the whole hog and celebrate the London Olympics with a mascot that unabashedly celebrates Britain today?

Meet: Cammy!

Hello Cammy! How are you today?

“CLICK WHIRRR WHIRRR ZZZZZZZK WHIRRRRRR CLICK”

May 022010

From the Times:

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