Riot Grrrls

Vladimir Putin is, to put it simply, a badass. He's a former KGB agent, an imposing physical presence, a man who cultivates an intensity and mien of intimidation. His Wikipedia entry suggests that he flies military jets, engages in martial arts, tranquilizes tigers and polar bears, rides motor bikes, drives race cars, shoots darts at whales, scuba dives, and plays ice hockey, not necessarily all at the same time. (For Dave, I note that I had Putin's visage in my head as I imagined how Sokolov looked in Neal Stephenson's REAMDE.)

And yet, with all that, like men from time immemorial, he finds himself confounded and at least a little bit scared of the indomitable passion of a group of unreasonable women. (Unreasonable used in the most approving manner, in this case.)

Pussy Riot are a punk band/performance art collective made up of ten or so women, a group whose made it their business to protest the current state of Russian political affairs, bringing them into direct conflict with Putin - a type of conflict his typically direct style seems somewhat ill-equipped to manage, at least from the perspective of public relations.

Several members of the band were arrested in March after a particularly provocative performance at Moscow's Cathedral of Christ the Savior. Their subsequent harsh treatment at the hands of the state has made them a cause celebre, with human rights activists, governments, and the obligatory posturing Madonnas and Bjorks of the world standing in solidarity.


And so on the one hand we have the the patriarchy heavy handedly enforcing its hegemony, while women once again appear to be the saner and more patient sex. As it was in the beginning, so shall it be for a while longer.

Still think I prefer the Sex Pistols, though.


In case your Russian is a bit rusty, here are the lyrics:

 St. Maria, Virgin, Drive away Putin
Drive away! Drive away Putin!
(end chorus)

Black robe, golden epaulettes
All parishioners are crawling and bowing
The ghost of freedom is in heaven
Gay pride sent to Siberia in chains

The head of the KGB is their chief saint
Leads protesters to prison under escort
In order not to offend the Holy
Women have to give birth and to love

Holy shit, shit, Lord's shit!
Holy shit, shit, Lord's shit!

(Chorus)
St. Maria, Virgin, become a feminist
Become a feminist, Become a feminist
(end chorus)

Church praises the rotten dictators
The cross-bearer procession of black limousines
In school you are going to meet with a teacher-preacher
Go to class - bring him money!

Patriarch Gundyaev believes in Putin
Bitch, you better believed in God
Belt of the Virgin is no substitute for mass-meetings
In protest of our Ever-Virgin Mary!

(Chorus)
St. Maria, Virgin, Drive away Putin
Drive away! Drive away Putin!
(end chorus)

Gheorghe-pourri Lives

It's baaaaaaaack..."Gheorghe-pourri", the excuse for me to clean up the G:TB editorial drafts. Let's jump right in:

rob:

"untitled"

Something about Pussy Riot and Vladimir Putin's fear thereof

"untitled"

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Some breaking news from TR, unless he has talked himself down off the ledge:

"Declaring for Fandom Free Agency.  Coming to Terms with My Broken (Sports) Marriage."

It is with a heavy hear that I am officially announcing my break-up from the New York Knicks.  It has been a wonderful ~30 years, but I feel that our relationship is now irrevocably broken, and I must move on.  I would like to thank the 1980's players such as Bernard King, Gerald Wilkins, Marc Jackson and Patrick Ewing who led me to the team, and the warriors who gave this team an image in the early/mid 1990's, including Charles Oakley, John Starks, Pat Rileyand even Xavier McDaniel.  I would also like to thank the players who kept the fire alive in the post-Riley era, which featured ugly (though highly competitive) basketball, notably Larry Johnson, Marcus Camby and Allan Houston.

I have very little to say about this franchise over the last twelve years.  It has been a consistent churn of mid-level talent that bore the stamp of mediocrity imprinted on it by Isiah Thomas.  The team challenged my heart over and over again, and has finally broken it.  I feel nothing for these guys.  A younger, idealistic version of me might still idolize the team and its superstars, but the adult me, with finite free time and finite discretionary income, has decided to take my talents elsewhere.

The constant in the narrative of failure this millenium has been owner Jim Dolan.  I pin the blame for the failure of this marriage squarely on his tubby shoulders.  He has run this franchise like the frenetic spoiled brat he remains in his mid 50's.
s.


I'm pretty sure Rich Danko, Levon Helm and Robbie Robertson are all rolling in their grave over this sacrilege. And Robbie Robertson ain't even dead yet. 

zman wheeling out his hype machine for notoriously humble Kanye West:

"Mighty Healthy G.O.O.D. Music"

Kanye West continues to dominate, this time by borrowing the drum line and a line or two from "Mighty Healthy," one of my favorite Ghostface songs.

There are actually quite a few more items in drafts that need to be cleaned up, but these should suffice for now. Carry on.