Posts by giovanni tiso
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Boy, you could one entire side of a postal stamp with the tales of my sordid past. But for what it's worth, Danielle made me think of this with the bathroom stall story… Doolin, Ireland, August 1990, the customary drinking session at the local pub. An outgoing (and significantly hunkier) friend successfully fraternises with a local lass out partying with other eligible friends, so when the closing time of 11pm rolls by he says let's go with these gals to another town where there's a club which stays open far longer. We hop into a car which meanders its way amongst the hills to a nearby village, I forget which one. I think to myself how good it is to have a sober driver.
I think my friend has spoken out of turn along the way because the moment we get out, our company vanishes. My friend freaks out, wants to find a ride back. I figure we're there, we might as well have a drink, so I head for the club while my friend starts asking people in the street if they have a car and they'd take us back to Doolin. Inside, I encounter another lass from the group and what do you know, it must have been fraternise-with-an-Italian night. Also, I had fantastic hair that summer*, and she must have been powerfully inhebriated. Anyhow, we do hit it off in and certain events are set in motion until a devastating moment when my friend finds me (but how? I still don't know) and starts yelling that he's found a ride and drags me away, which is too bad because he totally spoils the moment and I really wanted to finish that, er, conversation.
So we hop into this car, which as it happens is driven by the Drunkest Youth in Ireland. And it was the summer of 1990, remember, when Italy had beaten Ireland in the quarterfinals of the soccer World Cup, thanks to a goal by Salvatore Schillllaaaaacciiiiii. That's how he says the name, in a thirty second burst of lung power, and as he does so he puts the pedal to the gas and drives at fantastic speed around another bend in the hills of County Clare in total fucking darkness. Luckily he has a friend that brings him back down and gets him to slow a bit while he catches his breath, but then after a few seconds here goes Schillllaaaaacciiiiii again and we hit ninety. All this time I'm thinking it's too bad I'm going to die here and I didn't even get to finish. The conversation.
*People who have met me in New Zealand might be under the misapprehension that I lost said hair. Not true. I keep it in a special box.
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People with hair destroy the environment. I've been saying that for YEARS.
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Not a wise move when you've got Goff's senior policy advisor, John Pagani, pretty much jizzing himself over Labour's very own Tea Bagger-in-Chief.
That's the thing that gets me. I can see how Trotter would have no trouble securing a column "from the left" in our right wing press - he's sectarian, he's divisive, and most importantly he's not very good. But why a top party strategist would want to publicly endorse him is completely beyond me. It's either stupid, or spiteful, or both. Unless of course Pagani knows his days and Goff's are numbered, and has started firing parting shots.
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Now I'm looking forward to a cold, damp Aro Valley winter.
So is that where the Library of Babel is located now? Cool. One hopes to bump into you, one does.
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If Roland Emmerich tells us so, it must be right, right?
The neutrinos are causing... a physical reaction!
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I wish you could all (some of you might) also appreciate how embarrassingly wrong he was about the period in Italian history he was trying to school me about. And conflating the wimmin and gayz with the Brigate Rosse? Christ, they were "his" people if anything, economic radicals until the last one of them.
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To be fair, the negative responses in the blog are pretty mild, unless Gio deleted a bunch that I missed. But he did speak of receiving personally targeted hate mail, which sounded quite nasty.
I didn't have to delete anything from the blog, all the gutter stuff was sent via email whereas the Truthers who chose to make their views known on the blog were perfectly civil. Which is interesting if you think about it.
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This should win the 'most perfect sordid story in one sentence' award, I think.
True that, I wish we could make it word of the year somehow.
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No surprises. They managed to completely trivialise 9/11 by letting Mike Hosking run a warm bath for Richard Gage a couple of weeks back. I'd be interested to see a poll of Close Up viewers on that issue.
That was a shocker. Did they brief Hosking for more than five seconds for that one?
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I vote for "Look at that man's trousers!" as the title of your next book.
Or indeed Emma's.