Long Live Maggie!

I have always loved Maggie Thatcher. As a kid, even before I knew what privatisation, economic conservatism or trade unions meant, I loved her. She wore royal blue most of the time, had magnificent blond hair and looked as if she could kick a 200 pound guy’s arse.

Just realised it’s been over 30 years since Maggie assumed the role of Britain’s saviour. Here’s an article that gives a precis of  the  Baroness’ achievements.

A Tribute to Margaret Thatcher – 30 Years On

Wonder what she would have to say about the 50% tax rate. Hmm.

Sweet, Sour, Salt, Bitter and…..Breast Milk.

Always ahead of the curve, these Japanese.

On the fifth taste or Umami.

Erase and Rewind?

“Suppose scientists could erase certain memories by tinkering with a single substance in the brain. Could make you forget a chronic fear, a traumatic loss, even a bad habit….”

It’s pretty damn cool to see science imitating art. For those still in the dark, I’m referring to ‘Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind‘. One of my all time favourites in which Carey and Winslet give one of their career best performances. And it has a delightful screenplay. Check these out :

Clementine: Let me show you something… come on…
Joel: I think I heard a crack.
Clementine: It’s not gonna crack, or break, or… it’s so thick!… Show me which constellations you know.
Joel: Um… oh… I don’t… know any.
Clementine: Show me which ones you know!
Joel: Okay… okay… oh! There’s Osidius.
Clementine: Where?
Joel: Right there… see? Sort of a swoop and a cross, Osidius the Emphatic.
Clementine: You’re full of shit, right?
Joel: Nope. Osidius, right there, swoop and cross.
Clementine: Shut the fuck up!

Who hasn’t had a conversation like that in real life?

Brilliant!

Pure Reason is a Disease.

Why it’s important to think about thinking.

Yay!

One of my favourite columnists, Tim Harford, would be at St Andrews tomorrow. I really wish that I had gotten around to reading his new book, The Logic Of Life, so I could get more out of the talk (I presume that he’s on a book promo tour).

Oh well, it should still be pretty damn good. Can’t wait…

The Betrayal

It was their song.

Loser by Beck.

Long before he mustered up the courage to ask her out on a date, long before she even acknowledged his existence in class, he had always thought of the song in conjunction with her. On their second date, he had told her about the song. She laughed her exalted, child-like laugh, leaned over the table and kissed him. Their first kiss. His first ever kiss. She said that she found it almost painfully endearing and that she always had a thing for the wounded, loner types. That was nearly six years ago.

The song had stayed with them through their long, often tempestuous relationship. They listened to it together countless times, and despite her differing taste in music (she was partial to Rachmaninoff and Satie) she always seemed to light up when the song came on. They made love while it was playing in the back ground, it was always on their car stereo and even friends had come to associate the song with them. In short, the song embodied their love, their relationship.

Now, amid the maddening cacophony in their living room (they had a few friends over), Karma Police has just made way for Loser. He stops rolling his cigarette and looks at her direction, expectantly. She’s engaged in an animated conversation about the etymological origins of the word Soma in Huxley’s masterpiece with her friend. He wants her to look up, he wants them to lock eyes and consummate their love in just one glance. As they always have done when they had company. She, however, seems completely oblivious to the song and to his imploring eyes. Incensed, he turns the volume up. Where the man failed, the machine wins.

Startled, she turns around and asks, “What is this song?”.

A feeble, waning “What are you saying?” was all he could manage to say.