Once berated, Chavez listened as Zapatero continued emphasizing the importance of respecting each other, even if your political beliefs are so different. Chavez’s need to accuse and abuse exacerbates the edgy situation and does not represent his country in the greatest light. Chavez continued disrespect does nothing to improve his standing in the sphere of world diplomacy, except encourage his allies and supporters, like dear old Fidel. For all the good he purports he has done for Venezuela, there are still far too many acts which raise questions about the validity of his government and the state of civil liberties and human rights. With no obvious loss of love for Chavez, I say bravo to King Juan Carlos for doing what needed to be done.

Let's put things in perspective. If any of us mundane citizens in need of brightening were arrested for drunk driving and given probation, and then caught for breaking said probation, would the world rally around us, starting an online petition to stop us from being thrown into jail. Of course not!

Hilton's celebutante status should not influence any sort of leniency. The fact people think she should be pardoned is an insult to our justice system. Perhaps I wouldn't feel so indignant if she didn't have a record of run-ins with law enforcement and routinely has gotten away with nothing more than fines (chump change for an heiress) and probation.

I applaud the judge and prosecution for finally giving Paris a dose of the real world, a wake up call so to speak. Hilton needs to realize that looking fashionable and striking poses for the paparazzi does not entitle her to special treatment before the law.

And, of course, the bonus track....
Eydie Gorme & Steve Lawrence - Baby, It's Cold Outside

This is a crucial vote, and I want to make sure my voice is heard. As citizens of this country, we have a duty to make our opinions known and take advantage of this great gift that often times is taken for granted. As I walked in to work today, one of the local papers headline was that voter registrations are at an all time high. Hopefully these high numbers will also convert to high numbers at polling stations across the state and across the nation. Regardless of what our political opinions are, we must become more involved with what is going on in our country.

So while I enjoy the warm sunshine and sand of the Carribean, I will also rest assured that my minute voice has been heard.

Granted this was nothing more than little kid clicking some buttons while he played on the computer, and he is too young to really have been impacted if he has stumbled upon some unsavory materials, but it makes you wonder how fast our next generations are going to be growing up and developing. Are we still giving them the chance to be kids, or is the rapid evolution of society making the young people of the world grow up too fast? Are we raising mini-adults or kids?

This past weekend I caught the poignant and refreshing coming of age comedy called Saint Ralph. Written and directed by Michael McGowan, Saint Ralph chronicles Ralph Walker's journey toward penintance and ultimately achieving the miracle of bringing his mother out of a deep coma. Set in the Canada of the mid 50s in the confines of Catholic schools of yesteryear, this picture allows you to become overcome with Ralph's all guts determination towards sainthood (by means of running and winning the 1954 Boston Marathon) and the relationships and hardships he encounters on his quest. You can pick this up at your local rental shop/online service and selected premium movie channels.

And another picture from the land that gave us vodka and caviar, is the surprise hit, Night Watch, Nochnoy Dozor, which many may have caught when it was released stateside earlier this year. It has finally hit the shelves of video shops across town, offering the expanded ending that the US theatrical release did not have. An excellent fantasy thriller pitting the forces of good and evil against the backdrop of modern day Russia, the grittiness of the cinematography enhances the ambience of the picture. The sequel is in the pipeline though release dates for the US are unknown and always subject to change.

Nem heroi, nem vilao. Apenas un homen que acertava as vezes e se confundia outras, como todos, um homen de grandes sentimentos, grandes gestos e grandes equivocacoes, como tantos outros. Un homen, afinal. Um amigo.
- Maria Luiza de Alba

In my daily grind I am fortunate to stumble upon beautiful gems of writing that often remain undiscovered by the masses, hindered by a language barrier or just lost in an esoteric sea of academia, unfriendly and uninviting. Humbly, I put forth my translation, and apologize as it does not quite have the same verve and poignancy of the original language:

"Neither hero, nor villain. Just a man who was dead on sometimes and was off others, like all, a man of strong sentiments, grand gestures and considerable doubts, like so many others. A man, ultimately. A friend."

In particular, an acquaintance started massaging my shoulders, on the sly, and not wanting to be completely rude, I let him, as my back has been tied up in knots. After a couple minutes, I was fine, but he wasn't stopping. Not wanting to feel like a complete ingrate, I let him continue, all the while trying to extricate myself from the situation. There I was, cornered in a bar booth by an overzealous masseur, with no way out. Finally a friend needed to go to the ladies room and everyone slide out of the booth and we all headed to the bar for another round of drinks. Thinking that the massage session was over as I leaned against the bar, to my chagrin he continued, and my annoyance grew, my brow furrowing slightly, a warning sign that only those in my inner circle know, that when followed by a cocked left eyebrow, means you're in trouble. Somehow, we were coerced into a cha cha, ending the touchy feely session for the evening and making me wish I'd gone home.

I know he meant nothing inappropriate, as I see him like a much older cousin or brother, and normally I feel completely safe around him, but it does make one wonder, how do you let someone you know that you are uncomfortable with what is happening, and not hurt their feelings? This situation makes me feel like an ungrateful @itch, but in truth, I felt that my personal space was invaded, even though I really didn't really say anything to make him stop.

Nothing really has changed in how I perceive him, but it does make it a bit awkward to say the least. As I walked to my car in the downpour around midnight, raindrops running down my head and soaking me through and through, all I could fantasize about was my warm inviting bed, ready to embrace and lull me into much-needed sleep, the only contact I needed last night.

The rumba is the vertical expression of a horizontal wish. You have to hold her, like the skin on her thigh is your reason for living. Let her go, like your heart's being ripped from your chest. Throw her back, like you're going to have your way with her right here on the dance floor. And then finish, like she's ruined you for life.

Visceral in nature, rumba taps into emotions often hidden in the deepest wells of the human soul. Once these feelings are unleashed, the dance takes a life of its own. It resonates within me. There is no frustration or anxiety; unadulterated pleasure spreads throughout my body, from my battered toes to fingertips.

As I look into the studio mirrors, I no longer see a humdrum bespectacled wallflower, but a woman in touch with herself, confident and poised, long legged and graceful, ready to take on the world. With each lithe step, she is closer to claiming what she wants, to be free of the inhibitions which weigh her down off the dance floor.

I headed out to the beach this past Monday, book, SPF 30 sunscreen and shades in tow. Upon finding the best spot for soaking up some sun, I cracked open my current read, Sailing the Wine-Dark Sea: Why the Greeks Matter, written by Thomas Cahill, and stumbled upon the following extract from Constantine Cavafy's Ithaca:

Ithaca gave you the beautiful journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She has nothing more to give you.

We often forget to enjoy the mysterious road of life, which unwinds itself everyday. We never know who or what we will encounter on any given day; some days the way is smooth, other times, riddled with potholes and traffic jams. We forget about the present, never realizing that the true destination is the journey itself, not so much that far off place in our mind's eye.

Going into the match, I had been worried about Portugal's ability to beat the Dutch, as they had a strong showing in the group stage. However, both the Clockwork Orange and Portugal disappointed me. Portugal were no saints and I don't entirely blame them, as I think their frustration got the best of them, but Figo, come on! What was with the head butt with van Bommel! You should thank your lucky stars Ivanov was such a horrendous referee and didn't give you the red you deserved for unsportsmanlike-like conduct. Not to mention the other incidents of churlish behavior from both sides. That game was an embarrassment for both the Netherlands and Portugal and will be remembered more for the their respective histrionics than for the moments of brilliant play.

Ivanov where were you? Were you on that pitch with the rest of the officials? The game was never really in your control and instead of preserving the sense of fairplay, allowing the game to be played in its purest form, you created an environment of escalating tensions and violence.

***** ADDENDUM*****

See the following AP article for a report on the Refereeing in the World Cup.

This cerebral manipulation can produce moments of brilliance, yet there is always room for improvement. A sentence can be tweaked, an adjective lost, a semi-colon added; in essence, it exists in a constant state of flux, dependant on a writer’s impulsive whim, nipping one idea in the bud, and nurturing another, through extensive weeding and pruning, until this idea blooms into a glorious blossom that lives for a while, and then slowly fades, as other flowers come to take its place.

So maybe I can’t hold words in my hands and stretch them out into wild and crazy shapes, but they provide my brain a new means of creative expression, where anything can happen, where a crazy idea, with the right amount of guidance and diligence, can become something unique and memorable.