Record oil prices bring organized crime!!!!!

Oil Barrels, now sadly empty. Don't cry for me, Barcelona! 

From the Times of London, via their special correspondent in Barcelona. Seems that record oil prices have brought out the worst in some Russian gangsters, who are raiding, robbing, and reaping profits of up to $25 a barrel!

…at least 300,000 litres of one of Spain’s most valuable products were stolen. In the latest, thieves used saws at the weekend to cut pipes and siphon off 100,000 litres into lorries at El Olivo plant in Vilches, near Jaén, Andalusia.

Similar raids have been carried out in Málaga and Oil Can, don't cry for me, Barcelona!Córdoba. Police believe that the oil is diluted, bottled and sold elsewhere in Spain or sent to Japan or Russia…

Julián Logroño, the president of the co-operative, said: “It is incredible. It had to be the work of a well-organised gang…”

The Russian mafia sure loves its olive oil, eh?

done like dinner

Prison Food and GourmetsWell-done. There is no pleasure on Earth as satisfying as a well-made, much-needed meal, none! and here I speak from experience. How much? Nunyabidness, but more than enough.

I'm very fortunate to live in Vancouver, home of the greatest pleasure/dining dollar ratio on the planet (with the exception of the dining room of the Weltefaren Homestay…on Pulau Ai…in the Bandas…part of the Moluccas…in the eastern part of Indonesia…not far from Irian Jaya…they've stopped killing the Christians now…ran out…you see why I leave it off the list?). So when I have some cash jingling in my pocket – and God knows the amounts of cash I usually possess jingle rather than rustle, alas – I like to take myself out for a nice meal.

Certainly, I've had some crappy meals in my time, but most of them have been my own fault, rather than a restaurant's. Sure, there was the "Chicken Teri Yucky" in Honolulu, and I've gnawed my way through countless plates of rubbery, tasteless pasta at chain restaurants preferred by the sort of men I used to date. They always said they chose those restaurants because they liked to know what they were getting; as a comedienne once said, the difference between men and women is that when you take us out and you wonder what you're going to get later, we already know. And believe me, TGIFriday's isn't gonna help your cause. I'm not in the realms of the dinner whores, but it had better be at least as good as something I could have made myself, otherwise why would I put up with the ridiculous spaceship-themed drink menu and the oversize, overloud sports tv? Word to the wise: Eighties soft rock does not put us "in the mood." There's only so much Steve Perry can do for ya.

Where was I before I started ranting? Oh yeah, in utero.

Anyway…

I've had my share of craptastic meals on my own. They were largely, I am proud to say, not the result of cuilinary incompetence but rather the result of shall we say catastrophically limited menu options. Like, limited to what the Food Bank put in the bag that day. Just try and whip up something wonderful out of four frozen sweet potatos the size of your calves, a tin of anchovies, and a jar of garlic dills.

Actually the worst on paper wasn't too bad in action: I had heated and quickly snarfed a really quite decent can of beef stew, chock-full of meaty chunks. SCORE! Processed meat, of course, but then any protein that comes in a can is far from its original state; that's a given. I think it all comes from the same animal as acrylic fur; doesn't it live in Russia and Mongolia? But anyway, when you're Food Bank-dependent, any non-bean protein is like manna from heaven. And, curious, I picked up the can to read the calories per serving, for lo even the poor watch their weight. Couldn't find it. No nutritional info except ingredients. Odd. Then I noticed something down near the bottom of the can, a little banner trumpeting some benefits of the nutritional powerhouse that was said Beef Stew.

"Helps maintain a healthy coat."

Oh. Joy.

But I have to admit, it still tasted better than some of the things I've had in restaurants.

And on that note, it's time to throw in a link to the Top 50 Restaurants in the World.

Bon Appetit!

Hollywood: A Primer

High Concept, Low Life ExpectancyNow this book is a fun read, particularly if you’re the least bit vicarious, and some of us have been known to vicariate, although perhaps only late at night, after a few drinks.

Because god knows, you’d never live through it.

High Concept, a biography of Don Simpson and an examination of the fatal cost of Hollywood self-indulgence, escapes beach-read status because it’s both non-fiction and wickedly well-written.

But enough reviewspeak, to the snippets!

“The entertainment industry does not require any thing of its inside people other than an ability to produce hit movies. It doesn’t ask its employees to be intelligent, educated, decent, honorable, fair, good-looking or ethical or ethnical: It only asks that they produce income-generating product.

And, as it does not require intelligence, education, decency, honor or fairness, neither does it reward those qualities. Hollywood is the place where one can overhear dialogue such as this, one morning at the Four Seasons Hotel:

Man #1: “You’re lying! You’re lying to me!”

Man #2: “Yes, I know. But hear me out.”

I love that quote. He’ll go far, that lad.

And now, for our more pharmacalogically-aware readers (more numerous than you think! Pharmacists are everywhere!) we present this toxicology roundup, a freakin’ fiesta of pharmaceuticals, from after Simpson’s death:

Simpson…was on a regimen that includeed multiple daily injections of Toradol, for pain; Librium, to control his mood swings; Ativan, every six hours, for agitation; Valium, every sic hours, for anxiety; Depakote, every six hours, to counter “acute mania”; Thorazine, every four hours, for anxiety; and lorazepam, every six hours, also for anxiety. He was also taking, in pill and tablet form, additional doses of Valium, plus the pain relievers Vicodin, diphenoxylate, diphenhydramine and Colonadine, plus the medications lithium carbonate, nystatin, Narcan, haloperidol, Promethazine, Benztropine, Unisom, Atarax, Compazine, Xanax, Desyrel, Tigan and phenobarbitol…

One ten-day period in August 1995 shows Simpson’s pharmacy expenses at $38,600…

Police and coroner documents also show that Simpson was experimenting with prescription doese of morphine, Seconal, and gamma hydroxybutyrate, or GHB. These medications were being ingested, autopsy reports would show, in addition to large quantities of alcohol and cocaine…

More ominously, Simpson was using heroin.

“More ominously” indeed. Cuz the rest of that stuff you can pop like Pez, eh? Given that they use carbs like cornstarch to bulk up pills, I think I can figure out why Simpson weighed three hundred pounds.

Job Vacancy: MI6

Bond. James Bond.Spy services the world over are becoming desperate. The CIA has advertised, insisting, with steel-spined obstinacy, that you not have a history of hard drug use within the last five years.

Now the UK joins the “c’mon peeps, help us out here” stakes with their advertisement for spies. It really has been too long between Bond movies. James Bond wants me? A dream come true…

A Career in SIS

On this Page:

the most dangerous hairstylist known to mankind

Now this is a hairdresser with attitude! Bruno interviews the Ramboriffic Jonathan Antin.

"I'm just a troubled, crazy fuckin' maniac…You motherfuckers in the Middle East, God help you if I ever come over there, cuz I'll take all you cocksuckers out!"