Kajol Sexy Pictures Hot Kajol Bollywoodsexy Indian Babe - World-of-Newave.info http://answers.world-of-newave.info/kajol-sexy-pictures-hot-kajol-bollywoodsexy-indian-babe.htm Latest news and articles about Kajol Sexy Pictures Hot Kajol Bollywoodsexy Indian Babe en-us Copyright (c)2004-2008. All rights reserved. webmaster@world-of-newave.com (Webmaster) Tue, 02 Dec 2008 11:12:17 GMT Tue, 02 Dec 2008 11:12:17 GMT Newave Lisa XML Engine v1.0 - http://www.world-of-newave.info/about.htm 60 http://www.world-of-newave.info/images/wi8831.gif World-of-Newave.info - Knowledge and Informational Database http://www.world-of-newave.info/ 88 31 {AUTOS > MAGAZINES AND E-ZINES} - James Bond Gets Hip to Alt Fuels http://articles.world-of-newave.info/recreation/autos/magazines-and-e_zines/james-bond-gets-hip-to-alt-fuels-20081146921.htm http://articles.world-of-newave.info/recreation/autos/magazines-and-e_zines/james-bond-gets-hip-to-alt-fuels-20081146921.htm Wed, 19 Nov 2008 09:14:03 GMT In addition to generally kicking ass, James Bond is famous for his refined taste, his penchant for seduction and, of course, his bad-ass cars. The tradition continues in the lastest Bond flick, but for the first time in 46 years, our hero goes -- dare we say it? -- green. Our favorite spy spends a fair amount of time in Quantum of Solace behind the wheel of a sexy Aston Martin DBS -- which, as the photo shows, takes a beating -- that produces 510 horsepower, tops out at 191 mph and gets 13 mpg. It continues a fine tradition for Astons that began with the awesome DB5 in Goldfinger and continued through some of the best Bond films, including Casino Royale. But Bond tempers his gas-guzzling ways by getting behind the wheel of a hydrogen fuel cell Ford Edge, and FoMoCo's fuel-sipping Ka makes a cameo as well. Neither one of them can turn into a submarine or sprout wings and fly, so they won't make our list of the 10 coolest Bond cars ever. But it's great to see eco-friendly cars getting screen time in a blockbuster film. Bond makes a getaway in an Edge that belongs to villain Dominic Greene, an environmentalist -- Greene. Get it? -- who leads a criminal gang called Quantum. Greene has a fleet of them, and they're all powered by hydrogen fuel cells. Hydrogen being much harder to get in the real world than the fictional one, the Fords in the flick don't actually run on the stuff, but we'll overlook that. You probably don't know what a Ka is unless you live in Europe because Ford -- for reasons that elude us -- doesn't sell it in the U.S. It's a sweet little compact that gets upwards of 38 mpg and is exactly the kind of car Ford, indeed all of the Big Three, should be cranking out in big numbers here in the states. Its cameo on the silver screen makes us more hopeful that there's some truth to reports it may soon be available in America. The Edge and the Ka aren't going to win any beauty contests, especially against the DBS, but it's definitely time for a new generation of Bond cars. We know 007 has a license to kill, but does he have a license to pollute? Besides, green tech is cool. If Q can develop a car that flies -- not to mention figure out how to squeeze surface-to-air missiles and six cup holders into a BMW Z8 -- he sure as hell can figure out how to make an electric car get decent range or create a plug-in hybrid that isn't crazy expensive. Heck - he might even be able to find an efficient enough way to generate the hydrogen needed to keep the Mazda RX-8 Hydrogen RE going. And it's not as if Britain's Secret Intelligence Service can't afford a few Mercedes S 400 hybrids or Tesla Roadsters at $100,000 apiece It's time for Bond to realize that in a world where climate change and dwindling resources are existential threats as grave as terrorism, the cars he drives are as important as the villains he fights. Use the Reddit widget below to let us know what kind of car you'd like to see Bond drive. See Also: Quantum of Solace: Bad Title, Cool Bond Gallery: The 10 Coolest James Bond Cars Ever. Gallery: Bond-Villain Lairs Revealed. Main photo by Susie Allnut for Columbia Pictures. Used with permission. Other photos by Ford Motor Co.Olga Kurylenko, who plays Bonds' ally Camille Montes in Quantum of Solace, behind the wheel of the Ford Ka specificially designed for the film: So - what kind of car would you like to see Bond drive? Show suggestions that are: hot | new | top-rated or submit your own prediction   Submit a suggestion While you can submit as many suggestions as you want, you can only submit one every 30 minutes. No HTML allowed. Back to top Blog.Wired.Com James Bond Gets Hip to Alt Fuels {new window}   Blog.Wired.Com - In addition to generally kicking ass, James Bond is famous for his refined taste, his penchant for seduction and, of course, his bad-ass cars. The tradition continues in the lastest Bond flick, but for the first time in 46 years, our hero goes -- dare we say it? -- green. Our favorite spy spends a fair amount of time in Quantum of Solace behind the wheel of a sexy Aston Martin DBS -- which, as the photo shows, takes a beating -- that produces 510 horsepower, tops out at 191 mph and gets 13 mpg. It continues a fine tradition for Astons that began with the awesome DB5 in Goldfinger and continued through some of the best Bond films, including Casino Royale. But Bond tempers his gas-guzzling ways by getting behind the wheel of a hydrogen fuel cell Ford Edge, and FoMoCo's fuel-sipping Ka makes a cameo as well. Neither one of them can turn into a submarine or sprout wings and fly, so they won't make our list of the 10 coolest Bond cars ever. But it's great to see eco-friendly cars getting screen time in a blockbuster film. Bond makes a getaway in an Edge that belongs to villain Dominic Greene, an environmentalist -- Greene. Get it? -- who leads a criminal gang called Quantum. Greene has a fleet of them, and they're all powered by hydrogen fuel cells. Hydrogen being much harder to get in the real world than the fictional one, the Fords in the flick don't actually run on the stuff, but we'll overlook that. You probably don't know what a Ka is unless you live in Europe because Ford -- for reasons that elude us -- doesn't sell it in the U.S. It's a sweet little compact that gets upwards of 38 mpg and is exactly the kind of car Ford, indeed all of the Big Three, should be cranking out in big numbers here in the states. Its cameo on the silver screen makes us more hopeful that there's some truth to reports it may soon be available in America. The Edge and the Ka aren't going to win any beauty contests, especially against the DBS, but it's definitely time for a new generation of Bond cars. We know 007 has a license to kill, but does he have a license to pollute? Besides, green tech is cool. If Q can develop a car that flies -- not to mention figure out how to squeeze surface-to-air missiles and six cup holders into a BMW Z8 -- he sure as hell can figure out how to make an electric car get decent range or create a plug-in hybrid that isn't crazy expensive. Heck - he might even be able to find an efficient enough way to generate the hydrogen needed to keep the Mazda RX-8 Hydrogen RE going. And it's not as if Britain's Secret Intelligence Service can't afford a few Mercedes S 400 hybrids or Tesla Roadsters at $100,000 apiece It's time for Bond to realize that in a world where climate change and dwindling resources are existential threats as grave as terrorism, the cars he drives are as important as the villains he fights. Use the Reddit widget below to let us know what kind of car you'd like to see Bond drive. See Also: Quantum of Solace: Bad Title, Cool Bond Gallery: The 10 Coolest James Bond Cars Ever. Gallery: Bond-Villain Lairs Revealed. Main photo by Susie Allnut for Columbia Pictures. Used with permission. Other photos by Ford Motor Co.Olga Kurylenko, who plays Bonds' ally Camille Montes in Quantum of Solace, behind the wheel of the Ford Ka specificially designed for the film: So - what kind of car would you like to see Bond drive? Show suggestions that are: hot | new | top-rated or submit your own prediction   Submit a suggestion While you can submit as many suggestions as you want, you can only submit one every 30 minutes. No HTML allowed. Back to top
James Bond Gets Hip to Alt Fuels | Autopia from Wired.com {...} In addition to generally kicking ass, James Bond is famous for his refined taste, his penchant for seduction and, of course, his bad-ass cars. The tradition continues in the lastest {...}
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Category: Recreation > Autos > Magazines and E-zines

]]> Recreation > Autos > Magazines and E-zines {EUROPE > NEWS AND MEDIA} - Rachel Cooke talks to Jamie Oliver about his Ministry of Food http://articles.world-of-newave.info/regional/europe/united-kingdom/news-and-media/rachel-cooke-talks-to-jamie-oliver-about-his-ministry-20081180720.htm http://articles.world-of-newave.info/regional/europe/united-kingdom/news-and-media/rachel-cooke-talks-to-jamie-oliver-about-his-ministry-20081180720.htm Sat, 15 Nov 2008 19:39:05 GMT When Jamie's Ministry of Food screened on Channel 4 last month, a trail of newspaper columns and blogs flapped in its wake like discarded burger wrappers in a deserted shopping precinct. It goes without saying that most were wildly over the top. Some spoke out in favour of Oliver's mission to teach Rotherham to cook, one broadsheet writer acclaiming the series as 'the most powerful political documentary in years'. Others, including some readers of the Rotherham Advertiser, slagged him off for being patronising, for stereotyping northerners, for swearing too much, and for having a posh car. 'How much money did Mockney-boy get paid for this latest self-serving drivel?' wrote one visitor to a foodie website. 'What a phoney! Sainsbury's biggest profit margins come from the kind of processed foods he rails against - and yet he is still willing to endorse the company. The guy is an UTTER HYPOCRITE.' This kind of hyperbole always gets on my nerves, but in this case it was especially vexing. Television, in its 21st-century reality show-inspired form, is manipulative, and rarely subtle. Taking it too seriously either way seems to me to be a little daffy. It's on screen, you watch it, you talk about it with your friends, and then it's over: gone, faster than you can say stir-fried beef with black-bean sauce. Putting aside Oliver's human qualities for a moment, if a series claims to be concerned with effecting long-term change, as this one did, it's what happens after the cameras have gone that matters (usually, nothing). I'm from South Yorkshire myself, and highly sensitive to southern slights (you might say overly sensitive), but I decided to save my breath until I'd been up to Rotherham - and I mean a Rotherham now bereft of TV cameras, publicists and Jamie's shiny Land Rover. I wanted to catch his project - a walk-in centre on the town's main square offering advice and free cookery lessons to anyone who cares to sign up - on the hop. Would it be full of ex-steel workers basting chickens? Or would it be silent as the grave, a stage set in need of actors and a director? All of which is a somewhat long-winded way of explaining how I come to be standing mournfully outside Jamie's Ministry of Food on the coldest day of the year so far. 'Closed' says the sign on the door. Oh no! But the lights are on, so I bang on a window. A woman in a red apron - who, it turns out, is Lisa Taylor, a non-cook who became the Ministry's manager after answering an ad in the local paper - appears. I explain who I am. Are you closed? I ask, heart sinking, fingers possibly gangrenous. Yes, she tells me, the Ministry is closed to the public this Monday afternoon, but only because a class is shortly to begin. This is how it works: during the week, it offers classes to students who have pre-booked their places, and who are moving through a 10-week course together, as a group. But on Saturdays, when people are not at work or school, the place operates as a drop-in, with demonstrations for as many as can crowd inside. Are the classes well attended? 'We could fill every one 10 times over,' she says. 'Especially the Wednesday nights, which are led by Mick the miner [Mick Trueman, one of Jamie's novice cooks in the series, is now a born-again home chef]. Anyway, come in. You're welcome to watch. Would you like a cup of tea?'Today's lesson is led by 23-year-old Matthew Borrington, a bricklayer whom Jamie recruited to his original group after meeting him at Rotherham FC (Oliver went to the football club to illustrate, on a grand scale, the 'pass-it-on' principle, by which one novice learns one new recipe which he then teaches to two friends, and so on). Matthew works from 6am until 2pm, and then comes straight here to his students: Roger, a policeman; Steve, who owns a local pet shop; and Phil, a carer. The group has been together for eight weeks, and today Matthew is teaching them how to make chilli con carne. 'It's great,' he says. 'They're all men, and not one of them had cooked a thing before. Now they're dead keen, though we always have a bit of football chat, first.' But he doesn't only teach here. Matthew is a roving ambassador, involved with trying to persuade local businesses to start running pass-it-on classes in their workforce's lunch hours, and by going into schools. So his enthusiasm hasn't waned since Jamie's departure? 'Oh, no. It's as high as ever.' His new cooking skills have even helped him to bag a girlfriend. 'To be honest, it's better now the cameras have gone,' says Lisa. 'We can crack on - make it Rotherham's project, rather than Jamie's project.' When Rotherham Council takes over the Ministry from Oliver in a few weeks' time - it has agreed to fund it to the tune of £125,000 for another year, as part of its ongoing effort to tackle obesity and chronic poor health in the area - the scheme will employ two more members of staff, one full time, one part time, thus doubling its work force. When the men arrive - Roger is stuck at work, so only Phil and Steve are present - I ask why they signed up. Phil wants to be able to cook for his partner, whom he looks after full time. Steve was becoming increasingly frustrated that, on days when it was his turn to cook for his children, all he could come up with was chicken nuggets and oven chips. 'My perception of this place,' he says, looking round at the ovens and work surfaces, 'was that it was a gimmick to go with a reality show. You didn't really see it that much on the series, did you? Then one of my customers told me what was going on, so I came in.' Steve's new skills mean increased marital harmony at home, and two children whose palates grow more sophisticated by the hour. 'The other day, I made chicken and leek stroganoff. I wasn't hopeful they'd like it, but they were full of praise.' He wipes a tear from his eye, which I sentimentally take to be one of pure happiness. But no, it's the onions he is chopping for his chilli. Still, onions or no onions, there's no getting away from the fact this group is an adult educationalist's wet dream, ticking so many boxes funding-wise that it is hardly surprising that Rotherham council is keen to back it financially. The local Tory opposition has accused the council leadership of swooning at celebrity's feet. But the only star here right now is Matthew Borrington, the inspiration for the Rotherham fans' latest chant. 'Pass it on, pass it on, pass it ON...' they sing. 'I like a sausage roll at the game,' he says. 'But these days, as soon as I put it in my mouth, I get so much stick, you wouldn't believe it.'Before all this, I meet up with Oliver. This is the second time I have interviewed him: the first was when he was much younger (he is still only 33), and I can't say that I warmed to him. He was at the height of his 'bish, bash, bosh' phase and kept saying things like: 'I love it when the kitchen is pomp-pomp-pomp-pomp-POMP-ING!' Six years on, though, he is much improved: softer round the edges, more thoughtful, less arrogant, nice manners apart from all the swearing - and also (and perhaps this is the real reason I warm to him) mildly anxious, possibly even a little depressed.When I ask where he is going next with his Ministry - surely he can't leave the story here - he sighs, and says wearily: 'Everyone wants me to leave it. Everyone in my life, except my wife. My mum, my dad, my colleagues. Everyone.' Why? 'They think it makes me unhappy. Which it doesn't. But these things I do are hard...' His voice trails off. 'Sleepless... worry. I've had shit for the last week [the attacks in the Advertiser, and elsewhere]. I'm more than big enough to take it, but I don't need journalists to pull me apart; I pull myself apart. Programme one [which introduced us to Natasha Whiteman, a single mother who, until the arrival of Oliver, fed her children exclusively on kebabs and chips] had to be like that - and, by the way, that's the truth. It was a snapshot of Britain. If you don't like the smell of shit on your own territory, tough. It's there. It's a mile from any of us.'So will he try to expand the concept, roll it out across the country, keep nagging the relevant government departments, as he did so successfully with school dinners, or is he just going to walk away? He has already started on his next series for Channel 4, a road trip across America with - or so I'm guessing - the obligatory recipes for grits and fried green tomatoes. 'OK,' he says, as if trying to muster the energy to detail the full horror of what lies ahead. 'Are we small? Yes. Is it the tip of an iceberg? Yes. But in Rotherham, 1,700 people have attended demonstrations in the last month. We can give measurable results. We can monitor age, ethnic minorities, whatever. Rotherham is going to pay for it for another year. Other councils are queuing up [to replicate the idea]. So now, we have a new fucking problem. Everyone wants a ministry of food, 'cos they're great. So we say: go on, then! And then they say, well, we're not sure we want a government ministry of food. So I think: oh, yeah. What would a government ministry of food look like? So then I realise: I've branded it as Jamie's ministry of food. Ask Bradford if they want a government ministry of food, or a Jamie's ministry of food, and they'll say: Jamie's. But I've got enough staff, and enough worries, already.' Right. So... 'So what we've done is, we've started a non-profit making business, and I am paying two or three people who know about franchising, and the reason for that is that I have started something, and I have to continue it, otherwise it will turn into complete dogshit. I will just have to do a roll-out.' This commitment makes me want to clap, but the trouble with Oliver is that, when he thinks aloud, he gets muddled. Also, though he might not know it, he is a moral relativist to his very marrow. He tells me that he has no faith in the ability of local or central government to run with his idea. 'The reason the Ministry is working in Rotherham is because we went up there and interviewed 30 local boys and girls, and we're not fucking stupid. If they [local government] did it, can you imagine what the staff would look like? You could have anyone getting a fucking job! You've got to understand food, love food, and understand people skills. So, I am going to have to charge councils for this. If I can charge them, that's fine. But it's still another business I've got to look after.' All of which is fair enough, even if it does sound a bit, well, grand. But then he says: 'I can't stop thinking about all this. I'm not an academically bright person. I think about everything like my dad's pub [Oliver's father, Trevor, is an Essex pub landlord]. Go to Pret A Manger or McDonald's and ask them: have you got an inspiring boss? They'll say: yes. I know the bosses of those companies and they're fucking inspiring. They're really shit hot. They're visionary. Look at what they've done. Fucking hell!' Eh? What McDonald's does, Jamie, is sell cheap, low-quality food to poor people and children - and that's what you're supposed to be against. He was thrilled when some journalists acclaimed his Ministry of Food series, but he does not agree with their analysis that what people eat has more to do with their social class than anything else. 'I've been to some tough places, Sicily and Soweto, and I've seen happy people eating like kings as rich as anything. One of the most memorable meals I've ever eaten was with a road sweeper in southern Italy. Did he eat like a king every day? Yes. Was he happy? Yes. Equally, I know City boys, who are as miserable as shit, and who eat like Natasha.' He uses the example of Claire Hallam, one of the Rotherham women whom he taught to cook, who previously ate at least a dozen bags of crisps a day and who did not know what boiling water looked like. 'I know Claire. She's not thick. But she is ignorant, in the nicest possible way. No one taught her when she was a kid. Not at home, and not at school. No mentoring.' Was he shocked by what he found in Rotherham? 'Well, I did have a rant about it. It was... it confirmed that there is a new type of poverty. They've got walls, they've got heating, they've got a rain-tight house; they've got a plasma screen, a Sky box, mobile phones and Nike trainers. But they'll sit on the floor and eat out of Styrofoam boxes seven days a week. There's an oven in there that's quite good, but that never gets used. There's a new type of poverty, and it's fucking knowledge poverty. If you are on the dole, you can live quite good. You don't pay council tax, you don't pay rent, you get various other bits and pieces, too. So if you are wily, you can have central heating and eat well.' This is not to judge, nor to minimise the difficulties women like Natasha face. 'There are deep social problems out there. But there were [middle-class people] in the series who complained that they couldn't pass it on because they were too busy. That has nothing at all to do with money, and it's a load of bollocks.'Oliver sounds heartfelt when he talks about all this, and it is moderately plucky to speak of about plasma screens and dole money in the same breath as the need for what he calls his 'do-gooding'. Such a conjunction is unfashionable these days; most commentators either focus on poverty and ignore the plasma screens for fear of weakening their own liberal arguments or, in the manner of Richard Littlejohn, they see only the plasma screens and so are able to walk guiltlessly away from issues such as child obesity, muttering the words 'feckless' and 'benefit culture' as they do so. Sometimes, in fact, Oliver sounds so quaint, he could be some non-conformist member of the Temperance Movement circa 1853; all he needs are a set of mutton-chop whiskers, and a good line in Bible quotations. And yet... oh, and yet. There is still the problem - and it is a big problem - of his ongoing commercial relationship with Sainsbury's, which puts him in an invidious position every time he criticises the culture of cheap, bad food (earlier this year, Sainsbury's was furious when he criticised it for failing to appear at a public debate about chicken farming; he later wrote an open letter apologising to its staff). Wouldn't it be better now to walk away from this deal? Apparently not. 'If they sacked me... you saw what happened in January. That isn't the behaviour of someone who gives a fuck if they are sacked or not.' He then adds: 'I never really got to the bottom of that, but I was told not to talk about it, so... My contract is up in June, and I'm led to believe that they might sign me up again.' So why not tell them thanks, but no thanks? 'I promise you, I'd never work for a competitor.' But all supermarkets, basically, are the same. 'Sainsbury's is in my heart. It came from humble beginnings, it came from a small shop, and an element of that still lives and breathes. Our shortfall is that we are not savage and shouting about what we are already doing. We are quite conservative and nice, you know. Really. Being able to work with a supermarket in these times is a pleasure because all of them are doing the clean up, even the bad guys.' So, he never has any dark nights of the soul thinking about it? 'No, not at all. I know that they know I am a pain in the arse, but the people at the top are really good, and they love food, and when I started that wasn't the case. If I had shares [in Sainsbury's], I'd keep 'em.' He doesn't ever feel guilty then, given all that he knows about supermarkets (like, say, the way they have collectively driven down farmers' prices)? 'No, I don't. Nine years. It's the longest celebrity endorsement ever, swiftly followed by Gary Lineker [who does ads for Walker's crisps]. The only sexy thing [about giving it up] would be getting some time back.'This speech is disorientating, especially his use of the word 'our' as though he is a store manager, or a press officer. It is so at odds with his commitment to projects like Fifteen, which trains young people, often with challenging backgrounds, to become chefs; with his campaign for school dinners, which he pushed so high up the political agenda that universal free school meals are to be piloted in two local authorities (if this improves children's health, it will be extended across England; Scotland, meanwhile, is to offer free meals in all its primary schools); with his clarion call for a new Ministry of Food. As he says himself: 'I get my hands dirty. While everyone else knocks out their 20 shows a year, I spend two years making four programmes.' Last August, he told the Edinburgh Television Festival that Jamie's School Dinners cost him personally £350,000. I know he has to earn a living, but he is supposed to be worth £25 million, and counting. His shows are screened in 106 countries. People are queuing round the block to eat at his new restaurant chain, Jamie's Italian. His books sell by the shed-load. And then there is all the other... stuffIn the days after I meet him, someone sends me - why? - a Jamie Oliver Nintendo DS game. A week after that, I read that he is to open two new restaurants at the Jumeirah Golf Estates in Dubai. So what motivates him most: making money, or changing the world? 'Do I like working around incredible people? I do. I blossom. They give me permission to be better than I am.' So we can take it that he would be an excellent Pret A Manger manager. He laughs. 'I have 100 employees now. My wage bill is £5m. I have to make money. At the same time, I could retire. Money doesn't really turn me on. Doing things properly and being successful is important to me. But I don't think an extra million quid would make a difference either way. It's not about being good. I don't think I am any nicer than any nice person I've ever met.' His final word on this? 'I am a freak of nature.'Oliver believes passionately in the idea of 'pass it on'. He tells me that he hopes the phrase will pass into the language as shorthand for 'you know, coming over and learning to make spag bol'. In his mind's eye, he sees one man teaching his neighbours to make 'parmesan chicken breasts with crispy posh ham' and then - presto! - suddenly the whole of Britain can make it. I don't think this is patronising, but it is naive. In Rotherham, talking to Lisa, and to the men, it is clear that Jamie's Ministry is now working as a domestic science room: no one is passing anything on apart from Lisa and the other teachers. They are running what used to be called home economics lessons and, in this sense, perhaps Oliver's series was just so much televisual faffing. Rather than visiting single mothers at home, and inspecting their chocolate collections, he should just have hot-footed it to Ed Balls, the fast-blinking education secretary, and demanded to know why cooking is not part of the core curriculum. Whatever else I think about Oliver, he is right that this is not about money so much as skills. Since the series was aired, some people have made the point that the working classes have always eaten bad food; they could not afford to do anything else. By way of proof, they like to quote The Road to Wigan Pier by George Orwell, with its angry descriptions of cheap, sweet and processed foods, consumed by the weary as the best way of filling up fast. I am not sure that this is entirely fair. Soon after my visit to Rotherham, I read Round About a Pound a Week by the Fabian, Maud Pember Reeves; first published as a political pamphlet in 1913, it is about the working poor of Lambeth. The poor were poorer in 1913 than they are now, in absolute and relative terms, and an account of what they had to spend on food is enough to bring furious tears to the eyes. But still, they knew how to make stew and dumplings. When people link social class and food, I always think of my grandmothers, both of whom were working class and left school at 13, and one of whom - my paternal grandmother, having been widowed too young - was always poor. They could cook because they had been taught to. Neck of lamb stew might not be the loveliest dish in the world (though my brother has a Proustian reverence for it even today), but it is cheap, filling and it doesn't give you heart disease. No, this is all about education, and if our mothers and fathers can't teach us, someone else is going to have to. It's great that Jamie's Ministry is teaching adults to cook but, in the long term, there is a problem with this. Jamie's name, as he has pointed out, lends the project a certain something. What happens when this ceases to be the case? He knows that his celebrity might not last forever. 'I've been on screens in Britain for 11 years,' he says. 'But most people get spat out in three...' TV chefs, like tinned tomatoes, have a shelf life. This is why the government has got to act. The government has got to make sure that children learn to cook. Full stop. But change, however it is ultimately accomplished, is urgent. On this, at least, surely we are all agreed. On the train to Rotherham, I looked up from my book to find that a family of four had installed itself in the seats beside me. It was lunch time. Their lunch consisted of a family-sized bag of chocolate Minstrels, and several bags of crisps - and something told me that this was not a half-term treat. The little girl - she was about six - smiled at me, to reveal a row of tiny black pegs. Oliver, whose wife is expecting their third child, grasps this urgency, for all that he is so privileged, for all that he owns - if my eyes do not deceive me - an Aston Martin (I saw it when, as preparation for our meeting, I visited the Essex farm where he lives, and where he shot his bucolic At Home series). Will he return to this subject with another film, the better to agitate the people in Westminster? He looks anxious again, as tired as old bones. 'I dunno. There's no rules with me. I'm basically a fucking lunatic. I mean, I promised the public I'd follow school dinners until it was done, and now it looks like I might be fucking 50 before it is.' He sends me home with a plastic bag. 'That's for you, babe.' Inside, is a recipe for a beef stir-fry and everything I need to make it: sesame oil, spring onions, best organic steak - the lot. It's all from Sainsbury's, but I try not to mind too much.Jamie OliverFood & drinkguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2008 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds Guardian.Co.Uk Rachel Cooke talks to Jamie Oliver about his Ministry of Food {new window}   Www.Guardian.Co.Uk - When Jamie's Ministry of Food screened on Channel 4 last month, a trail of newspaper columns and blogs flapped in its wake like discarded burger wrappers in a deserted shopping precinct. It goes without saying that most were wildly over the top. Some spoke out in favour of Oliver's mission to teach Rotherham to cook, one broadsheet writer acclaiming the series as 'the most powerful political documentary in years'. Others, including some readers of the Rotherham Advertiser, slagged him off for being patronising, for stereotyping northerners, for swearing too much, and for having a posh car. 'How much money did Mockney-boy get paid for this latest self-serving drivel?' wrote one visitor to a foodie website. 'What a phoney! Sainsbury's biggest profit margins come from the kind of processed foods he rails against - and yet he is still willing to endorse the company. The guy is an UTTER HYPOCRITE.' This kind of hyperbole always gets on my nerves, but in this case it was especially vexing. Television, in its 21st-century reality show-inspired form, is manipulative, and rarely subtle. Taking it too seriously either way seems to me to be a little daffy. It's on screen, you watch it, you talk about it with your friends, and then it's over: gone, faster than you can say stir-fried beef with black-bean sauce. Putting aside Oliver's human qualities for a moment, if a series claims to be concerned with effecting long-term change, as this one did, it's what happens after the cameras have gone that matters (usually, nothing). I'm from South Yorkshire myself, and highly sensitive to southern slights (you might say overly sensitive), but I decided to save my breath until I'd been up to Rotherham - and I mean a Rotherham now bereft of TV cameras, publicists and Jamie's shiny Land Rover. I wanted to catch his project - a walk-in centre on the town's main square offering advice and free cookery lessons to anyone who cares to sign up - on the hop. Would it be full of ex-steel workers basting chickens? Or would it be silent as the grave, a stage set in need of actors and a director? All of which is a somewhat long-winded way of explaining how I come to be standing mournfully outside Jamie's Ministry of Food on the coldest day of the year so far. 'Closed' says the sign on the door. Oh no! But the lights are on, so I bang on a window. A woman in a red apron - who, it turns out, is Lisa Taylor, a non-cook who became the Ministry's manager after answering an ad in the local paper - appears. I explain who I am. Are you closed? I ask, heart sinking, fingers possibly gangrenous. Yes, she tells me, the Ministry is closed to the public this Monday afternoon, but only because a class is shortly to begin. This is how it works: during the week, it offers classes to students who have pre-booked their places, and who are moving through a 10-week course together, as a group. But on Saturdays, when people are not at work or school, the place operates as a drop-in, with demonstrations for as many as can crowd inside. Are the classes well attended? 'We could fill every one 10 times over,' she says. 'Especially the Wednesday nights, which are led by Mick the miner [Mick Trueman, one of Jamie's novice cooks in the series, is now a born-again home chef]. Anyway, come in. You're welcome to watch. Would you like a cup of tea?'Today's lesson is led by 23-year-old Matthew Borrington, a bricklayer whom Jamie recruited to his original group after meeting him at Rotherham FC (Oliver went to the football club to illustrate, on a grand scale, the 'pass-it-on' principle, by which one novice learns one new recipe which he then teaches to two friends, and so on). Matthew works from 6am until 2pm, and then comes straight here to his students: Roger, a policeman; Steve, who owns a local pet shop; and Phil, a carer. The group has been together for eight weeks, and today Matthew is teaching them how to make chilli con carne. 'It's great,' he says. 'They're all men, and not one of them had cooked a thing before. Now they're dead keen, though we always have a bit of football chat, first.' But he doesn't only teach here. Matthew is a roving ambassador, involved with trying to persuade local businesses to start running pass-it-on classes in their workforce's lunch hours, and by going into schools. So his enthusiasm hasn't waned since Jamie's departure? 'Oh, no. It's as high as ever.' His new cooking skills have even helped him to bag a girlfriend. 'To be honest, it's better now the cameras have gone,' says Lisa. 'We can crack on - make it Rotherham's project, rather than Jamie's project.' When Rotherham Council takes over the Ministry from Oliver in a few weeks' time - it has agreed to fund it to the tune of £125,000 for another year, as part of its ongoing effort to tackle obesity and chronic poor health in the area - the scheme will employ two more members of staff, one full time, one part time, thus doubling its work force. When the men arrive - Roger is stuck at work, so only Phil and Steve are present - I ask why they signed up. Phil wants to be able to cook for his partner, whom he looks after full time. Steve was becoming increasingly frustrated that, on days when it was his turn to cook for his children, all he could come up with was chicken nuggets and oven chips. 'My perception of this place,' he says, looking round at the ovens and work surfaces, 'was that it was a gimmick to go with a reality show. You didn't really see it that much on the series, did you? Then one of my customers told me what was going on, so I came in.' Steve's new skills mean increased marital harmony at home, and two children whose palates grow more sophisticated by the hour. 'The other day, I made chicken and leek stroganoff. I wasn't hopeful they'd like it, but they were full of praise.' He wipes a tear from his eye, which I sentimentally take to be one of pure happiness. But no, it's the onions he is chopping for his chilli. Still, onions or no onions, there's no getting away from the fact this group is an adult educationalist's wet dream, ticking so many boxes funding-wise that it is hardly surprising that Rotherham council is keen to back it financially. The local Tory opposition has accused the council leadership of swooning at celebrity's feet. But the only star here right now is Matthew Borrington, the inspiration for the Rotherham fans' latest chant. 'Pass it on, pass it on, pass it ON...' they sing. 'I like a sausage roll at the game,' he says. 'But these days, as soon as I put it in my mouth, I get so much stick, you wouldn't believe it.'Before all this, I meet up with Oliver. This is the second time I have interviewed him: the first was when he was much younger (he is still only 33), and I can't say that I warmed to him. He was at the height of his 'bish, bash, bosh' phase and kept saying things like: 'I love it when the kitchen is pomp-pomp-pomp-pomp-POMP-ING!' Six years on, though, he is much improved: softer round the edges, more thoughtful, less arrogant, nice manners apart from all the swearing - and also (and perhaps this is the real reason I warm to him) mildly anxious, possibly even a little depressed.When I ask where he is going next with his Ministry - surely he can't leave the story here - he sighs, and says wearily: 'Everyone wants me to leave it. Everyone in my life, except my wife. My mum, my dad, my colleagues. Everyone.' Why? 'They think it makes me unhappy. Which it doesn't. But these things I do are hard...' His voice trails off. 'Sleepless... worry. I've had shit for the last week [the attacks in the Advertiser, and elsewhere]. I'm more than big enough to take it, but I don't need journalists to pull me apart; I pull myself apart. Programme one [which introduced us to Natasha Whiteman, a single mother who, until the arrival of Oliver, fed her children exclusively on kebabs and chips] had to be like that - and, by the way, that's the truth. It was a snapshot of Britain. If you don't like the smell of shit on your own territory, tough. It's there. It's a mile from any of us.'So will he try to expand the concept, roll it out across the country, keep nagging the relevant government departments, as he did so successfully with school dinners, or is he just going to walk away? He has already started on his next series for Channel 4, a road trip across America with - or so I'm guessing - the obligatory recipes for grits and fried green tomatoes. 'OK,' he says, as if trying to muster the energy to detail the full horror of what lies ahead. 'Are we small? Yes. Is it the tip of an iceberg? Yes. But in Rotherham, 1,700 people have attended demonstrations in the last month. We can give measurable results. We can monitor age, ethnic minorities, whatever. Rotherham is going to pay for it for another year. Other councils are queuing up [to replicate the idea]. So now, we have a new fucking problem. Everyone wants a ministry of food, 'cos they're great. So we say: go on, then! And then they say, well, we're not sure we want a government ministry of food. So I think: oh, yeah. What would a government ministry of food look like? So then I realise: I've branded it as Jamie's ministry of food. Ask Bradford if they want a government ministry of food, or a Jamie's ministry of food, and they'll say: Jamie's. But I've got enough staff, and enough worries, already.' Right. So... 'So what we've done is, we've started a non-profit making business, and I am paying two or three people who know about franchising, and the reason for that is that I have started something, and I have to continue it, otherwise it will turn into complete dogshit. I will just have to do a roll-out.' This commitment makes me want to clap, but the trouble with Oliver is that, when he thinks aloud, he gets muddled. Also, though he might not know it, he is a moral relativist to his very marrow. He tells me that he has no faith in the ability of local or central government to run with his idea. 'The reason the Ministry is working in Rotherham is because we went up there and interviewed 30 local boys and girls, and we're not fucking stupid. If they [local government] did it, can you imagine what the staff would look like? You could have anyone getting a fucking job! You've got to understand food, love food, and understand people skills. So, I am going to have to charge councils for this. If I can charge them, that's fine. But it's still another business I've got to look after.' All of which is fair enough, even if it does sound a bit, well, grand. But then he says: 'I can't stop thinking about all this. I'm not an academically bright person. I think about everything like my dad's pub [Oliver's father, Trevor, is an Essex pub landlord]. Go to Pret A Manger or McDonald's and ask them: have you got an inspiring boss? They'll say: yes. I know the bosses of those companies and they're fucking inspiring. They're really shit hot. They're visionary. Look at what they've done. Fucking hell!' Eh? What McDonald's does, Jamie, is sell cheap, low-quality food to poor people and children - and that's what you're supposed to be against. He was thrilled when some journalists acclaimed his Ministry of Food series, but he does not agree with their analysis that what people eat has more to do with their social class than anything else. 'I've been to some tough places, Sicily and Soweto, and I've seen happy people eating like kings as rich as anything. One of the most memorable meals I've ever eaten was with a road sweeper in southern Italy. Did he eat like a king every day? Yes. Was he happy? Yes. Equally, I know City boys, who are as miserable as shit, and who eat like Natasha.' He uses the example of Claire Hallam, one of the Rotherham women whom he taught to cook, who previously ate at least a dozen bags of crisps a day and who did not know what boiling water looked like. 'I know Claire. She's not thick. But she is ignorant, in the nicest possible way. No one taught her when she was a kid. Not at home, and not at school. No mentoring.' Was he shocked by what he found in Rotherham? 'Well, I did have a rant about it. It was... it confirmed that there is a new type of poverty. They've got walls, they've got heating, they've got a rain-tight house; they've got a plasma screen, a Sky box, mobile phones and Nike trainers. But they'll sit on the floor and eat out of Styrofoam boxes seven days a week. There's an oven in there that's quite good, but that never gets used. There's a new type of poverty, and it's fucking knowledge poverty. If you are on the dole, you can live quite good. You don't pay council tax, you don't pay rent, you get various other bits and pieces, too. So if you are wily, you can have central heating and eat well.' This is not to judge, nor to minimise the difficulties women like Natasha face. 'There are deep social problems out there. But there were [middle-class people] in the series who complained that they couldn't pass it on because they were too busy. That has nothing at all to do with money, and it's a load of bollocks.'Oliver sounds heartfelt when he talks about all this, and it is moderately plucky to speak of about plasma screens and dole money in the same breath as the need for what he calls his 'do-gooding'. Such a conjunction is unfashionable these days; most commentators either focus on poverty and ignore the plasma screens for fear of weakening their own liberal arguments or, in the manner of Richard Littlejohn, they see only the plasma screens and so are able to walk guiltlessly away from issues such as child obesity, muttering the words 'feckless' and 'benefit culture' as they do so. Sometimes, in fact, Oliver sounds so quaint, he could be some non-conformist member of the Temperance Movement circa 1853; all he needs are a set of mutton-chop whiskers, and a good line in Bible quotations. And yet... oh, and yet. There is still the problem - and it is a big problem - of his ongoing commercial relationship with Sainsbury's, which puts him in an invidious position every time he criticises the culture of cheap, bad food (earlier this year, Sainsbury's was furious when he criticised it for failing to appear at a public debate about chicken farming; he later wrote an open letter apologising to its staff). Wouldn't it be better now to walk away from this deal? Apparently not. 'If they sacked me... you saw what happened in January. That isn't the behaviour of someone who gives a fuck if they are sacked or not.' He then adds: 'I never really got to the bottom of that, but I was told not to talk about it, so... My contract is up in June, and I'm led to believe that they might sign me up again.' So why not tell them thanks, but no thanks? 'I promise you, I'd never work for a competitor.' But all supermarkets, basically, are the same. 'Sainsbury's is in my heart. It came from humble beginnings, it came from a small shop, and an element of that still lives and breathes. Our shortfall is that we are not savage and shouting about what we are already doing. We are quite conservative and nice, you know. Really. Being able to work with a supermarket in these times is a pleasure because all of them are doing the clean up, even the bad guys.' So, he never has any dark nights of the soul thinking about it? 'No, not at all. I know that they know I am a pain in the arse, but the people at the top are really good, and they love food, and when I started that wasn't the case. If I had shares [in Sainsbury's], I'd keep 'em.' He doesn't ever feel guilty then, given all that he knows about supermarkets (like, say, the way they have collectively driven down farmers' prices)? 'No, I don't. Nine years. It's the longest celebrity endorsement ever, swiftly followed by Gary Lineker [who does ads for Walker's crisps]. The only sexy thing [about giving it up] would be getting some time back.'This speech is disorientating, especially his use of the word 'our' as though he is a store manager, or a press officer. It is so at odds with his commitment to projects like Fifteen, which trains young people, often with challenging backgrounds, to become chefs; with his campaign for school dinners, which he pushed so high up the political agenda that universal free school meals are to be piloted in two local authorities (if this improves children's health, it will be extended across England; Scotland, meanwhile, is to offer free meals in all its primary schools); with his clarion call for a new Ministry of Food. As he says himself: 'I get my hands dirty. While everyone else knocks out their 20 shows a year, I spend two years making four programmes.' Last August, he told the Edinburgh Television Festival that Jamie's School Dinners cost him personally £350,000. I know he has to earn a living, but he is supposed to be worth £25 million, and counting. His shows are screened in 106 countries. People are queuing round the block to eat at his new restaurant chain, Jamie's Italian. His books sell by the shed-load. And then there is all the other... stuffIn the days after I meet him, someone sends me - why? - a Jamie Oliver Nintendo DS game. A week after that, I read that he is to open two new restaurants at the Jumeirah Golf Estates in Dubai. So what motivates him most: making money, or changing the world? 'Do I like working around incredible people? I do. I blossom. They give me permission to be better than I am.' So we can take it that he would be an excellent Pret A Manger manager. He laughs. 'I have 100 employees now. My wage bill is £5m. I have to make money. At the same time, I could retire. Money doesn't really turn me on. Doing things properly and being successful is important to me. But I don't think an extra million quid would make a difference either way. It's not about being good. I don't think I am any nicer than any nice person I've ever met.' His final word on this? 'I am a freak of nature.'Oliver believes passionately in the idea of 'pass it on'. He tells me that he hopes the phrase will pass into the language as shorthand for 'you know, coming over and learning to make spag bol'. In his mind's eye, he sees one man teaching his neighbours to make 'parmesan chicken breasts with crispy posh ham' and then - presto! - suddenly the whole of Britain can make it. I don't think this is patronising, but it is naive. In Rotherham, talking to Lisa, and to the men, it is clear that Jamie's Ministry is now working as a domestic science room: no one is passing anything on apart from Lisa and the other teachers. They are running what used to be called home economics lessons and, in this sense, perhaps Oliver's series was just so much televisual faffing. Rather than visiting single mothers at home, and inspecting their chocolate collections, he should just have hot-footed it to Ed Balls, the fast-blinking education secretary, and demanded to know why cooking is not part of the core curriculum. Whatever else I think about Oliver, he is right that this is not about money so much as skills. Since the series was aired, some people have made the point that the working classes have always eaten bad food; they could not afford to do anything else. By way of proof, they like to quote The Road to Wigan Pier by George Orwell, with its angry descriptions of cheap, sweet and processed foods, consumed by the weary as the best way of filling up fast. I am not sure that this is entirely fair. Soon after my visit to Rotherham, I read Round About a Pound a Week by the Fabian, Maud Pember Reeves; first published as a political pamphlet in 1913, it is about the working poor of Lambeth. The poor were poorer in 1913 than they are now, in absolute and relative terms, and an account of what they had to spend on food is enough to bring furious tears to the eyes. But still, they knew how to make stew and dumplings. When people link social class and food, I always think of my grandmothers, both of whom were working class and left school at 13, and one of whom - my paternal grandmother, having been widowed too young - was always poor. They could cook because they had been taught to. Neck of lamb stew might not be the loveliest dish in the world (though my brother has a Proustian reverence for it even today), but it is cheap, filling and it doesn't give you heart disease. No, this is all about education, and if our mothers and fathers can't teach us, someone else is going to have to. It's great that Jamie's Ministry is teaching adults to cook but, in the long term, there is a problem with this. Jamie's name, as he has pointed out, lends the project a certain something. What happens when this ceases to be the case? He knows that his celebrity might not last forever. 'I've been on screens in Britain for 11 years,' he says. 'But most people get spat out in three...' TV chefs, like tinned tomatoes, have a shelf life. This is why the government has got to act. The government has got to make sure that children learn to cook. Full stop. But change, however it is ultimately accomplished, is urgent. On this, at least, surely we are all agreed. On the train to Rotherham, I looked up from my book to find that a family of four had installed itself in the seats beside me. It was lunch time. Their lunch consisted of a family-sized bag of chocolate Minstrels, and several bags of crisps - and something told me that this was not a half-term treat. The little girl - she was about six - smiled at me, to reveal a row of tiny black pegs. Oliver, whose wife is expecting their third child, grasps this urgency, for all that he is so privileged, for all that he owns - if my eyes do not deceive me - an Aston Martin (I saw it when, as preparation for our meeting, I visited the Essex farm where he lives, and where he shot his bucolic At Home series). Will he return to this subject with another film, the better to agitate the people in Westminster? He looks anxious again, as tired as old bones. 'I dunno. There's no rules with me. I'm basically a fucking lunatic. I mean, I promised the public I'd follow school dinners until it was done, and now it looks like I might be fucking 50 before it is.' He sends me home with a plastic bag. 'That's for you, babe.' Inside, is a recipe for a beef stir-fry and everything I need to make it: sesame oil, spring onions, best organic steak - the lot. It's all from Sainsbury's, but I try not to mind too much.Jamie OliverFood & drinkguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2008 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds
Rachel Cooke talks to Jamie Oliver about his Ministry of Food | Life and style | The Observer {...} Is Jamie Oliver hooked on sainthood or just an old-fashioned philanthropist? Rachel Cooke finds out {...}
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Category: Regional > Europe > United Kingdom > News and Media

]]> Regional > Europe > United Kingdom > News and Media {EUROPE > NEWS AND MEDIA} - Viv Groskop meets Olga Rodionova, the Russian wife who aims to please http://articles.world-of-newave.info/regional/europe/united-kingdom/news-and-media/viv-groskop-meets-olga-rodionova-the-russian-wife-20081139039.htm http://articles.world-of-newave.info/regional/europe/united-kingdom/news-and-media/viv-groskop-meets-olga-rodionova-the-russian-wife-20081139039.htm Sun, 30 Nov 2008 00:26:53 GMT The moment Olga Rodionova enters Moscow's Vogue Café there is a change in the atmosphere. All the men shift in their seats, their heads raised appreciatively, almost inhaling her. Several make as if to stand up as this six-foot Amazonian redhead sweeps through the room.Olga Rodionova, 34, is a TV presenter, model, actress, businesswoman and the third wife of Sergey Rodionov, a banker and publisher in his late forties who describes himself modestly as one of the poorest oligarchs. They have a 13-year-old daughter. They are best-known, however, in Moscow circles for their unusual hobby. Sergey likes to pay famous photographers to take pictures of his wife in the nude.We meet to talk about her latest incarnation as the star of The Book of Olga. This is a collection of erotic portraits by the acclaimed French photographer Bettina Rheims, published here by Taschen next week. Olga is coy about the details but it is evident that the project was, as ever, funded by husband Sergey. After commissioning cover shoots for the Russian editions of Playboy and FHM, he thought it was time for his wife to appear in a book. One thousand limited-edition copies will be available, each costing £300.Despite her pneumatic figure, Olga does not come across as an exhibitionist: she is coy, softly spoken, girlish. She wears discreet, nude make-up. Only a set of perfectly arched eyebrows betray the level of grooming that must go into her look. Her nude career started as a one-off experiment 10 years ago. She was doing a fashion shoot for a magazine and the photographer suggested she strip. 'I thought, "Why not?" I was afraid, though, and very uncomfortable. But once you've done it, it becomes normal and you don't think anything of it.' After that, she says, the photographers started coming and how do you say no when your husband offers Helmut Newton to photograph you? Over the past 10 years Sergey has commissioned portraits - some of them very explicit - by Newton, David Lachapelle, Peter Lindbergh and Guido Argentini.'By the time I did the first cover for Russian Playboy in 2000, I was comfortable with it,' says Olga. She reels off the photographers she has worked with most recently: Jean-Daniel Lorieux ('he's a friend of Carla Bruni - I love her, don't you?') and Gilles Bensimon (once married to Elle Macpherson). Either they come to Moscow or she travels to wherever they are. She won't be drawn on cost, but it must be hundreds of thousands of pounds.This is not uncommon in wealthy Russian circles: Bettina Rheims says in the past three years she has photographed seven or eight rich Russians who all want the equivalent of a personal Pirelli calendar. 'They want to look sexy and over-the-top,' says Rheims, speaking from her home in Paris. 'And they want to put themselves in danger a little bit.'At first Rheims saw this as just another private commission: 'Olga's husband sent me some pictures of her and they were horrible. I could see that she was pretty but she did look a bit vulgar and common. When I showed them to the hairdresser and stylist I work with they said, "We are going to have to spend quite a few days with her".' But when Olga turned up at Rheims's country home in Normandy, they were all shocked: 'This huge black limo arrived and an amazing pair of long, never-ending legs stepped out. She was really pretty and not cheap at all. And she turned out to be very funny and intelligent. Suddenly an obligation turned into something much more interesting.' Over the next year they did another two more shoots in France and The Book of Olga was born.The book is extraordinarily explicit and shockingly pornographic, some of it borderline offensive.Some photos seem intentionally kitsch. Here is Olga stepping out of an open-topped sports car wearing a leopardskin thong and fetish sandals. There she is lying flat on her back naked in a field of long grass, being ravaged by a lobster. Others are strangely ambiguous. There are black and white poses of her in leather hotpants, zip open at the front, with collar and whip, but looking like a mother smiling at her newborn baby. As Marie Antoinette, complete with beauty spot, Olga looks demure, almost virginal, until you see that she is holding a black dildo. She is naked in most of the photographs, apart from the odd wisp of lace or bondage tie, and an elaborate labial piercing is clearly on show throughout. Olga describes the pictures as representing 'broken glamour - they are fractured images. A friend of mine said, "I didn't think anyone could improve on Madonna's Sex book but you have".'There is something a little disturbing about the project. Olga says: 'Sometimes I had to say to Bettina, "Is this really necessary?" She would say yes. And so with only one or two exceptions we did it. We decided to do something that will go down in history. I love the Marie Antoinette series. It was a completely new image for me, an idea you can play around with. We used the costumes from the Sofia Coppola film and it was all historically correct. 'If someone says to me, "Take your clothes off", I can't do it. I need my motivation. Bettina used to say to me, "Olga, I have a surprise waiting for you". Then if there was a pose I didn't like, we would discuss it. I had to feel comfortable taking my clothes off in front of 20 people. One of the male models had an energy I didn't like so he was removed.'What does her husband think of The Book of Olga? 'He loves it. Although he is a businessman, he is a creative person. I always tell him that he should have gone into the arts. He is a very open person - The Book of Olga is proof of our trust in each other.' She thinks her creative projects have helped their relationship, which she admits is unorthodox. She and Sergey moved in together in 1994 and had a daughter two years later, but didn't marry until 2002. 'People get divorced here a lot, but we've been together 15 years. We are not ordinary people, though. We are separate a lot of the time too, which keeps us interested in each other.' Her daughter knows about her nude pictures but has not seen them. 'She's too young. I will explain it to her in the appropriate language when the time comes.'Like many wealthy Russian men, Olga's husband Sergey shuns the spotlight. He is not keen to be interviewed: we communicate by email. He apologises for his English (which is excellent, if slightly eccentric). He sees these images as liberating for women: 'This is the first book by a great artist [Bettina Rheims] dedicated to an ordinary woman [Olga]. To my mind, it's Bettina's best work because nobody tried to influence her imagination. It provides an assurance for all ladies that beauty does not necessarily coincide with youth only. It is an eternal category.' He is eager to point out, however, that he is not a billionaire 'and I hate throwing money around and showing off'.Olga, however, loves to show off, and wanted to be an actress as a child. Her family was privileged during the Soviet era. Her father was in the Moscow military police and mother was a doctor. Olga studied at the Institute of Management and Law and briefly went into banking, where she met Sergey. Soon after, a friend of hers who owned a clothes shop left for America and she borrowed the money to buy it from him. She later bought the Vivienne Westwood boutique on Moscow's most exclusive shopping street, but closed it in July because it was getting too stressful in the economic climate.She travels constantly, especially in the Middle East, where she buys all her perfumes. She and Sergey have a large apartment in Moscow but she spends a lot of time at their house near Zagreb, Croatia. She prefers Milan and Paris for shopping. When we meet she is dressed demurely in Chanel jeans and a scooped-neck Etro jumper, carrying a Celine bag. Her necklace reads 'Olga': her husband had it specially commissioned. She owes her figure, she says, to the gym and bellydancing. She is careful with her diet: she does not mix food groups, never eating protein and carbohydrates at the same meal. She says she maintains a very small circle of friends. 'I don't like parties. They're just for drinking and talking about nothing.'Her disdain for socialising is understandable: in certain Moscow circles, the Rodionovs are ridiculed as pornographers. 'I do not really care about what people say,' says Sergey. 'In many cases of disapproval, people mostly have their own unresolved problems in their relationships.'For him, these photographs represent Olga's power as a woman and their strength as a married couple. 'This is about the freedom of a woman who dares to appear the way the artist sees her and who is aware of her beauty and strength. She is confident in herself, in her relationship and she is not afraid of what other people will think of her. It is also about the freedom of a man who is so sure in his feelings, in his family and in his relationship with his woman that he fully approves of her self-expression. I would be proud if this book occupies a place in the history of art.'This may sound absurd, but The Book of Olga has already been hailed in the French press as a great work of art. Le Monde placed it in the tradition of the Marquis de Sade and Titian. The French art critic Catherine Millet, best-known for her bestselling memoir The Sexual Life of Catherine M, agreed to write a foreword for the book. Millet compared one of the images to Gustave Courbet's The Origin of the World and describes Olga and Sergey as champions of 'the rights of individual freedom'. Millet describes Olga as being 'almost absent' in the pictures. Rheims agrees that this is what makes the images powerful: 'It was as if she is outside the frame. She is looking at herself being this character - but she is not there. It's her detachment which makes it art.' This is what prevents the book from being 'just another dirty book', says Rheims: 'The strange thing is that Olga never seems to really care about anything: she neither agrees nor disagrees with it and she does not seem to take pleasure from it. That was the strangest thing that I had to deal with: her absence.'She was doing what I told her to do and she was not reluctant at all - but somehow she was not involved. If she hadn't wanted to do it, she would have said no. She is a strong woman. It's not that the husband is saying, "Do this or I'm going to beat you up". I would ask her, "Olga, do you want to do these pictures, because if you don't, I'm not going to take them. Do you want to take your clothes off and open your legs?" And she said, "Yes, of course, otherwise I wouldn't be here". But she takes it as a job. She is like somebody who goes to the factory and they don't dislike it, but they don't have fun either.'This is, of course, what makes this enterprise fascinating: the balance of power between a man who has purchased this role for a wife who is not exactly unwilling but not entirely compliant either. Olga says she is a muse, a model - a vessel for the artist's fantasy. 'I am not in that book. It's not me.' Does it affect her sex life with her husband? 'No. It doesn't affect my personal life,' she answers coldly. 'It's work. You are a muse and you are playing a role.'Not everyone understands this, though, she adds, and that is why the book will not go on sale in Russia. 'These pictures will never be seen here. Our society is not ready for such things. Some people here don't even see photography as an art form. People don't understand here, they can be primitive: they confuse the image with the person. The thing about Russia is that as soon as you pop your head above the parapet, people will slap you down. Someone has already written that a husband should not allow his wife to do this. 'Russia is a patriarchy and men prefer their wives to stay at home under lock and key. No one wants feminism here. My husband knows I could not sit at home doing nothing. Besides, I would not be interesting to him if I did that.'Olga is enigmatic (which is perhaps how her husband likes it). While we talk about her life, she does appear curiously detached, as if she is talking about someone else. Bettina Rheims adds that she never quite got to understand her: 'Olga is very different from the other Russians I have photographed and we have become great friends - but they were all pretty crazy. It's a crazy moment for Russia and they are all going bankrupt now so it's probably even more bizarre. Russians are always so over the top and extravagant. They are fun, generous and exuberant. I can't complain about any of the private jobs I've done there - because they're into anything. In Russia you can go much further in your fantasies and I found a kind of generosity in that.'Sergey and Olga both hope she can continue doing these kinds of shoots for years to come. 'I did this because it was Bettina Rheims,' says Olga. 'I have no shame or embarrassment about it. Lots of beautiful women have been photographed naked: Madonna, Monica Bellucci, Claudia Schiffer. That naked photo of Carla Bruni has been round the world and no one thinks any less of her for it. But I do understand that it's not for everybody and that a lot of people have complexes about their body.' I am still not convinced she is doing this entirely for herself. She admits that her favourite set is by the fashion photographer Sante D'Orazio: 'I'm fully dressed in all of them. I look at my most glamorous when I'm wearing clothes.' However, her husband Sergey adds: 'I would love Olga to continue doing nude photography because it perfectly confirms my privileges. She would always be trying to look her best and take care of her body - to my benefit.' ? The Book of Olga is published by Taschen at £300RelationshipsPhotographyguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2008 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds Guardian.Co.Uk Viv Groskop meets Olga Rodionova, the Russian wife who aims to please {new window}   Www.Guardian.Co.Uk - The moment Olga Rodionova enters Moscow's Vogue Café there is a change in the atmosphere. All the men shift in their seats, their heads raised appreciatively, almost inhaling her. Several make as if to stand up as this six-foot Amazonian redhead sweeps through the room.Olga Rodionova, 34, is a TV presenter, model, actress, businesswoman and the third wife of Sergey Rodionov, a banker and publisher in his late forties who describes himself modestly as one of the poorest oligarchs. They have a 13-year-old daughter. They are best-known, however, in Moscow circles for their unusual hobby. Sergey likes to pay famous photographers to take pictures of his wife in the nude.We meet to talk about her latest incarnation as the star of The Book of Olga. This is a collection of erotic portraits by the acclaimed French photographer Bettina Rheims, published here by Taschen next week. Olga is coy about the details but it is evident that the project was, as ever, funded by husband Sergey. After commissioning cover shoots for the Russian editions of Playboy and FHM, he thought it was time for his wife to appear in a book. One thousand limited-edition copies will be available, each costing £300.Despite her pneumatic figure, Olga does not come across as an exhibitionist: she is coy, softly spoken, girlish. She wears discreet, nude make-up. Only a set of perfectly arched eyebrows betray the level of grooming that must go into her look. Her nude career started as a one-off experiment 10 years ago. She was doing a fashion shoot for a magazine and the photographer suggested she strip. 'I thought, "Why not?" I was afraid, though, and very uncomfortable. But once you've done it, it becomes normal and you don't think anything of it.' After that, she says, the photographers started coming and how do you say no when your husband offers Helmut Newton to photograph you? Over the past 10 years Sergey has commissioned portraits - some of them very explicit - by Newton, David Lachapelle, Peter Lindbergh and Guido Argentini.'By the time I did the first cover for Russian Playboy in 2000, I was comfortable with it,' says Olga. She reels off the photographers she has worked with most recently: Jean-Daniel Lorieux ('he's a friend of Carla Bruni - I love her, don't you?') and Gilles Bensimon (once married to Elle Macpherson). Either they come to Moscow or she travels to wherever they are. She won't be drawn on cost, but it must be hundreds of thousands of pounds.This is not uncommon in wealthy Russian circles: Bettina Rheims says in the past three years she has photographed seven or eight rich Russians who all want the equivalent of a personal Pirelli calendar. 'They want to look sexy and over-the-top,' says Rheims, speaking from her home in Paris. 'And they want to put themselves in danger a little bit.'At first Rheims saw this as just another private commission: 'Olga's husband sent me some pictures of her and they were horrible. I could see that she was pretty but she did look a bit vulgar and common. When I showed them to the hairdresser and stylist I work with they said, "We are going to have to spend quite a few days with her".' But when Olga turned up at Rheims's country home in Normandy, they were all shocked: 'This huge black limo arrived and an amazing pair of long, never-ending legs stepped out. She was really pretty and not cheap at all. And she turned out to be very funny and intelligent. Suddenly an obligation turned into something much more interesting.' Over the next year they did another two more shoots in France and The Book of Olga was born.The book is extraordinarily explicit and shockingly pornographic, some of it borderline offensive.Some photos seem intentionally kitsch. Here is Olga stepping out of an open-topped sports car wearing a leopardskin thong and fetish sandals. There she is lying flat on her back naked in a field of long grass, being ravaged by a lobster. Others are strangely ambiguous. There are black and white poses of her in leather hotpants, zip open at the front, with collar and whip, but looking like a mother smiling at her newborn baby. As Marie Antoinette, complete with beauty spot, Olga looks demure, almost virginal, until you see that she is holding a black dildo. She is naked in most of the photographs, apart from the odd wisp of lace or bondage tie, and an elaborate labial piercing is clearly on show throughout. Olga describes the pictures as representing 'broken glamour - they are fractured images. A friend of mine said, "I didn't think anyone could improve on Madonna's Sex book but you have".'There is something a little disturbing about the project. Olga says: 'Sometimes I had to say to Bettina, "Is this really necessary?" She would say yes. And so with only one or two exceptions we did it. We decided to do something that will go down in history. I love the Marie Antoinette series. It was a completely new image for me, an idea you can play around with. We used the costumes from the Sofia Coppola film and it was all historically correct. 'If someone says to me, "Take your clothes off", I can't do it. I need my motivation. Bettina used to say to me, "Olga, I have a surprise waiting for you". Then if there was a pose I didn't like, we would discuss it. I had to feel comfortable taking my clothes off in front of 20 people. One of the male models had an energy I didn't like so he was removed.'What does her husband think of The Book of Olga? 'He loves it. Although he is a businessman, he is a creative person. I always tell him that he should have gone into the arts. He is a very open person - The Book of Olga is proof of our trust in each other.' She thinks her creative projects have helped their relationship, which she admits is unorthodox. She and Sergey moved in together in 1994 and had a daughter two years later, but didn't marry until 2002. 'People get divorced here a lot, but we've been together 15 years. We are not ordinary people, though. We are separate a lot of the time too, which keeps us interested in each other.' Her daughter knows about her nude pictures but has not seen them. 'She's too young. I will explain it to her in the appropriate language when the time comes.'Like many wealthy Russian men, Olga's husband Sergey shuns the spotlight. He is not keen to be interviewed: we communicate by email. He apologises for his English (which is excellent, if slightly eccentric). He sees these images as liberating for women: 'This is the first book by a great artist [Bettina Rheims] dedicated to an ordinary woman [Olga]. To my mind, it's Bettina's best work because nobody tried to influence her imagination. It provides an assurance for all ladies that beauty does not necessarily coincide with youth only. It is an eternal category.' He is eager to point out, however, that he is not a billionaire 'and I hate throwing money around and showing off'.Olga, however, loves to show off, and wanted to be an actress as a child. Her family was privileged during the Soviet era. Her father was in the Moscow military police and mother was a doctor. Olga studied at the Institute of Management and Law and briefly went into banking, where she met Sergey. Soon after, a friend of hers who owned a clothes shop left for America and she borrowed the money to buy it from him. She later bought the Vivienne Westwood boutique on Moscow's most exclusive shopping street, but closed it in July because it was getting too stressful in the economic climate.She travels constantly, especially in the Middle East, where she buys all her perfumes. She and Sergey have a large apartment in Moscow but she spends a lot of time at their house near Zagreb, Croatia. She prefers Milan and Paris for shopping. When we meet she is dressed demurely in Chanel jeans and a scooped-neck Etro jumper, carrying a Celine bag. Her necklace reads 'Olga': her husband had it specially commissioned. She owes her figure, she says, to the gym and bellydancing. She is careful with her diet: she does not mix food groups, never eating protein and carbohydrates at the same meal. She says she maintains a very small circle of friends. 'I don't like parties. They're just for drinking and talking about nothing.'Her disdain for socialising is understandable: in certain Moscow circles, the Rodionovs are ridiculed as pornographers. 'I do not really care about what people say,' says Sergey. 'In many cases of disapproval, people mostly have their own unresolved problems in their relationships.'For him, these photographs represent Olga's power as a woman and their strength as a married couple. 'This is about the freedom of a woman who dares to appear the way the artist sees her and who is aware of her beauty and strength. She is confident in herself, in her relationship and she is not afraid of what other people will think of her. It is also about the freedom of a man who is so sure in his feelings, in his family and in his relationship with his woman that he fully approves of her self-expression. I would be proud if this book occupies a place in the history of art.'This may sound absurd, but The Book of Olga has already been hailed in the French press as a great work of art. Le Monde placed it in the tradition of the Marquis de Sade and Titian. The French art critic Catherine Millet, best-known for her bestselling memoir The Sexual Life of Catherine M, agreed to write a foreword for the book. Millet compared one of the images to Gustave Courbet's The Origin of the World and describes Olga and Sergey as champions of 'the rights of individual freedom'. Millet describes Olga as being 'almost absent' in the pictures. Rheims agrees that this is what makes the images powerful: 'It was as if she is outside the frame. She is looking at herself being this character - but she is not there. It's her detachment which makes it art.' This is what prevents the book from being 'just another dirty book', says Rheims: 'The strange thing is that Olga never seems to really care about anything: she neither agrees nor disagrees with it and she does not seem to take pleasure from it. That was the strangest thing that I had to deal with: her absence.'She was doing what I told her to do and she was not reluctant at all - but somehow she was not involved. If she hadn't wanted to do it, she would have said no. She is a strong woman. It's not that the husband is saying, "Do this or I'm going to beat you up". I would ask her, "Olga, do you want to do these pictures, because if you don't, I'm not going to take them. Do you want to take your clothes off and open your legs?" And she said, "Yes, of course, otherwise I wouldn't be here". But she takes it as a job. She is like somebody who goes to the factory and they don't dislike it, but they don't have fun either.'This is, of course, what makes this enterprise fascinating: the balance of power between a man who has purchased this role for a wife who is not exactly unwilling but not entirely compliant either. Olga says she is a muse, a model - a vessel for the artist's fantasy. 'I am not in that book. It's not me.' Does it affect her sex life with her husband? 'No. It doesn't affect my personal life,' she answers coldly. 'It's work. You are a muse and you are playing a role.'Not everyone understands this, though, she adds, and that is why the book will not go on sale in Russia. 'These pictures will never be seen here. Our society is not ready for such things. Some people here don't even see photography as an art form. People don't understand here, they can be primitive: they confuse the image with the person. The thing about Russia is that as soon as you pop your head above the parapet, people will slap you down. Someone has already written that a husband should not allow his wife to do this. 'Russia is a patriarchy and men prefer their wives to stay at home under lock and key. No one wants feminism here. My husband knows I could not sit at home doing nothing. Besides, I would not be interesting to him if I did that.'Olga is enigmatic (which is perhaps how her husband likes it). While we talk about her life, she does appear curiously detached, as if she is talking about someone else. Bettina Rheims adds that she never quite got to understand her: 'Olga is very different from the other Russians I have photographed and we have become great friends - but they were all pretty crazy. It's a crazy moment for Russia and they are all going bankrupt now so it's probably even more bizarre. Russians are always so over the top and extravagant. They are fun, generous and exuberant. I can't complain about any of the private jobs I've done there - because they're into anything. In Russia you can go much further in your fantasies and I found a kind of generosity in that.'Sergey and Olga both hope she can continue doing these kinds of shoots for years to come. 'I did this because it was Bettina Rheims,' says Olga. 'I have no shame or embarrassment about it. Lots of beautiful women have been photographed naked: Madonna, Monica Bellucci, Claudia Schiffer. That naked photo of Carla Bruni has been round the world and no one thinks any less of her for it. But I do understand that it's not for everybody and that a lot of people have complexes about their body.' I am still not convinced she is doing this entirely for herself. She admits that her favourite set is by the fashion photographer Sante D'Orazio: 'I'm fully dressed in all of them. I look at my most glamorous when I'm wearing clothes.' However, her husband Sergey adds: 'I would love Olga to continue doing nude photography because it perfectly confirms my privileges. She would always be trying to look her best and take care of her body - to my benefit.' ? The Book of Olga is published by Taschen at £300RelationshipsPhotographyguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2008 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds
Viv Groskop meets Olga Rodionova, the Russian wife who aims to please | Life and style | The Observer {...} It started with Playboy and FHM. Now Moscow millionaire Sergey Rodionov has paid a top art photographer to put his wife Olga between hard covers. Viv Groskop meets her {...}
Published: November 30, 2008, 12:26 am - Indexed: November 30, 2008, 11:32 am - Page Size: 91KB
Category: Regional > Europe > United Kingdom > News and Media

]]> Regional > Europe > United Kingdom > News and Media {PEOPLE > DUFF, HILARY} - Hilary Duff Video Podcast #81 http://articles.world-of-newave.info/arts/people/d/duff,-hilary/hilary-duff-video-podcast-81-20081187817.htm http://articles.world-of-newave.info/arts/people/d/duff,-hilary/hilary-duff-video-podcast-81-20081187817.htm Thu, 13 Nov 2008 02:04:50 GMT Hilary Duff’s latest video podcast takes us into part 3 in the behind-the-scenes look at the making of the “Reach Out” music video. In this video, it’s about 2am when Hilary continues filming the last shots of the evening. At least she can stay nice and warm in the hot tub for those sexy scenes! [...] Hilarynews.Com Hilary Duff Video Podcast #81 {new window}   Www.Hilarynews.Com - Hilary Duff’s latest video podcast takes us into part 3 in the behind-the-scenes look at the making of the “Reach Out” music video. In this video, it’s about 2am when Hilary continues filming the last shots of the evening. At least she can stay nice and warm in the hot tub for those sexy scenes! [...]
Published: November 13, 2008, 2:04 am - Indexed: November 14, 2008, 12:01 pm - Page Size: 78KB
Category: Arts > People > D > Duff, Hilary

]]> Arts > People > D > Duff, Hilary {AUTOS > MAGAZINES AND E-ZINES} - $4.1 Million for the supercar of supercars http://articles.world-of-newave.info/recreation/autos/magazines-and-e_zines/4-1-million-for-the-supercar-of-supercars-2008111361.htm http://articles.world-of-newave.info/recreation/autos/magazines-and-e_zines/4-1-million-for-the-supercar-of-supercars-2008111361.htm Sat, 01 Nov 2008 10:23:49 GMT Credit markets might be suffering, but ultra rich guys are still spending cold hard cash on high end classics. For evidence, look no further than the Automobiles of London auction put on by RM in association with Sotheby's. The top 10 sale prices alone pulled in more than $17 million at the October 29th event. And among those top finishers were several significant Ferraris from the 1950s-1960s, a 1938 Bugatti and a teardrop-tastic 1950 Talbot-Lago. But the top bread winner, a 1997 McLaren F1, wasn't very classic at all. That didn't stop one deep pocketed individual from shelling out $4.1 million for the supercar icon though. "That's the power of the marketplace right now for a car in such high demand", says Tom duPont, publisher and co-founder of the well known duPont Registry classifieds. "It's an extraordinary price for an extraordinary car. Keep in mind that however impressive the $4.1 million sale price was, there was twice that much was chasing the car before the gavel came down. If you've got the product, there are buyers out there." That $4.1 sum represents a 323% increase from the roughly $970,000 asking price back in 1997. Not a bad return on investment for the anonymous Asian gentleman who purchased the car directly from the Park Lane showroom that has since been closed. The final sales price more than doubled the pre-sale estimate. So why did this particular Magnesium Silver F1 fetch so much coin? Well, for starters, it is immaculate and only has 300 flippin miles on the odometer. It is also the last roadgoing F1 ever produced and was the factory?s flagship car for many years. Regardless of condition though, F1s are super rare - just 69 examples (including the 5 prototypes) were built for road use by the time production ended. In case you have been hiding under a rock for the last 15 years, the F1 is held by many to be the most significant supercar of all time. Aside from its sexy looks, courtesy of Gordan Murray, the car held the top speed record [243 MPH] for nearly a decade before being dethroned by Koenigsegg's CCR in 2005. It remains the fastest naturally aspirated (no turbos, no superchargers) car on the planet. The F1 designation was deemed appropriate because of all the racing technology harnessed under the shapely silhouette. The driver even sits in the middle, ahead of two small passenger seats. The F1 was the first vehicle to feature a monocoque composed of ultra light-weight carbon fibre. And while we are on the subject of high tech build components, magnesium, titanium and Kevlar were used throughout the car for strength and weight savings. At the end of the day, we are talking about a car with near perfect weight distribution (42% front - 528% rear), and power to weight ratio that would make Colin Chapman wet himself (621 HP and roughly 2,500 pounds). Fast forward to the present where Gordon Murray is at it again, this time working on a successor to the F1 code named P11. Only this time it will be smaller, less expensive and produced in higher volume than its F1 sibling. McLaren is aiming directly at the "entry level" exotic market for P11, which means they are going head to head with Ferrari's F430 and Lambo's Gallardo LP560-4. Some enthusiasts scoff at the P11, say that McLaren is lowering themselves by entering this "lower" end of the market. Further, that P11 will in some way tarnish the F1 legacy by trying to appeal to more of a mainstream audience. duPont, an exotic car expert in his own right, says that kind of talk is malarkey. "The pyramid is not upside down. If you sell a very expensive car first, there will be more buyers next time around as you head downstream. Take some of the attributes from the higher end model and drop them in. It's a strategy that had worked quite well for other automakers. Ferrari is a master at this." Our friends at AutoExpress recently spied a P11 mule in development and crafted some renderings they claim to be dead on accurate. We definitely like what we see. Judging by the short overhangs, greenhouse shape and high tail, it's clear that stylists used the F1 as a source for inspiration. Also similar between the two cars is the front air damns and headlamp positioning. Regardless of design DNA between the two cars, there is certainly enough differentiation to allow P11 to stand on its own. The side profile and rear, for instance, are a drastic departure from the F1. A win on Sunday, sell on Monday approach will be taken with P11 in terms of F1 technology contained within. And the brand will likely look to their F1 engine supplier Mercedes for a powerplant, speculated to be a turbocharged eight from their AMG line.  What about the Mercedes SLR McLaren that you ask? Well, P11 ain't no joint venture and it will be developed completely in house at the McLaren Formula One team's factory in Woking. Look for it in 2010. Pictures from RM Blog.Wired.Com $4.1 Million for the supercar of supercars {new window}   Blog.Wired.Com - Credit markets might be suffering, but ultra rich guys are still spending cold hard cash on high end classics. For evidence, look no further than the Automobiles of London auction put on by RM in association with Sotheby's. The top 10 sale prices alone pulled in more than $17 million at the October 29th event. And among those top finishers were several significant Ferraris from the 1950s-1960s, a 1938 Bugatti and a teardrop-tastic 1950 Talbot-Lago. But the top bread winner, a 1997 McLaren F1, wasn't very classic at all. That didn't stop one deep pocketed individual from shelling out $4.1 million for the supercar icon though. "That's the power of the marketplace right now for a car in such high demand", says Tom duPont, publisher and co-founder of the well known duPont Registry classifieds. "It's an extraordinary price for an extraordinary car. Keep in mind that however impressive the $4.1 million sale price was, there was twice that much was chasing the car before the gavel came down. If you've got the product, there are buyers out there." That $4.1 sum represents a 323% increase from the roughly $970,000 asking price back in 1997. Not a bad return on investment for the anonymous Asian gentleman who purchased the car directly from the Park Lane showroom that has since been closed. The final sales price more than doubled the pre-sale estimate. So why did this particular Magnesium Silver F1 fetch so much coin? Well, for starters, it is immaculate and only has 300 flippin miles on the odometer. It is also the last roadgoing F1 ever produced and was the factory?s flagship car for many years. Regardless of condition though, F1s are super rare - just 69 examples (including the 5 prototypes) were built for road use by the time production ended. In case you have been hiding under a rock for the last 15 years, the F1 is held by many to be the most significant supercar of all time. Aside from its sexy looks, courtesy of Gordan Murray, the car held the top speed record [243 MPH] for nearly a decade before being dethroned by Koenigsegg's CCR in 2005. It remains the fastest naturally aspirated (no turbos, no superchargers) car on the planet. The F1 designation was deemed appropriate because of all the racing technology harnessed under the shapely silhouette. The driver even sits in the middle, ahead of two small passenger seats. The F1 was the first vehicle to feature a monocoque composed of ultra light-weight carbon fibre. And while we are on the subject of high tech build components, magnesium, titanium and Kevlar were used throughout the car for strength and weight savings. At the end of the day, we are talking about a car with near perfect weight distribution (42% front - 528% rear), and power to weight ratio that would make Colin Chapman wet himself (621 HP and roughly 2,500 pounds). Fast forward to the present where Gordon Murray is at it again, this time working on a successor to the F1 code named P11. Only this time it will be smaller, less expensive and produced in higher volume than its F1 sibling. McLaren is aiming directly at the "entry level" exotic market for P11, which means they are going head to head with Ferrari's F430 and Lambo's Gallardo LP560-4. Some enthusiasts scoff at the P11, say that McLaren is lowering themselves by entering this "lower" end of the market. Further, that P11 will in some way tarnish the F1 legacy by trying to appeal to more of a mainstream audience. duPont, an exotic car expert in his own right, says that kind of talk is malarkey. "The pyramid is not upside down. If you sell a very expensive car first, there will be more buyers next time around as you head downstream. Take some of the attributes from the higher end model and drop them in. It's a strategy that had worked quite well for other automakers. Ferrari is a master at this." Our friends at AutoExpress recently spied a P11 mule in development and crafted some renderings they claim to be dead on accurate. We definitely like what we see. Judging by the short overhangs, greenhouse shape and high tail, it's clear that stylists used the F1 as a source for inspiration. Also similar between the two cars is the front air damns and headlamp positioning. Regardless of design DNA between the two cars, there is certainly enough differentiation to allow P11 to stand on its own. The side profile and rear, for instance, are a drastic departure from the F1. A win on Sunday, sell on Monday approach will be taken with P11 in terms of F1 technology contained within. And the brand will likely look to their F1 engine supplier Mercedes for a powerplant, speculated to be a turbocharged eight from their AMG line.  What about the Mercedes SLR McLaren that you ask? Well, P11 ain't no joint venture and it will be developed completely in house at the McLaren Formula One team's factory in Woking. Look for it in 2010. Pictures from RM
$4.1 Million for the supercar of supercars | Autopia from Wired.com {...} Credit markets might be suffering, but ultra rich guys are still spending cold hard cash on high end classics. For evidence, look no further than the Automobiles of London auction {...}
Indexed: November 1, 2008, 10:23 am - Page Size: 72KB
Category: Recreation > Autos > Magazines and E-zines

]]> Recreation > Autos > Magazines and E-zines {LITERATURE > RSS FEEDS} - 7 Sexy Sci-Fi Girl Costumes! http://articles.world-of-newave.info/arts/literature/genres/science-fiction/rss-feeds/7-sexy-sci-fi-girl-costumes-20081035732.htm http://articles.world-of-newave.info/arts/literature/genres/science-fiction/rss-feeds/7-sexy-sci-fi-girl-costumes-20081035732.htm Fri, 31 Oct 2008 05:00:00 GMT Girls, looking for a costume that will make you look hot while cementing your SF geek cred? Forget Iron Man's sidekick, Pepper Potts, or the latest version of Rachel Dawes in The Dark Knight or The Mummy's Evelyn O'Connell. All boring. Try these seven cool costumes--some classic, some new. Scifi.Com 7 Sexy Sci-Fi Girl Costumes! {new window}   Www.Scifi.Com - Girls, looking for a costume that will make you look hot while cementing your SF geek cred? Forget Iron Man's sidekick, Pepper Potts, or the latest version of Rachel Dawes in The Dark Knight or The Mummy's Evelyn O'Connell. All boring. Try these seven cool costumes--some classic, some new.
Published: October 31, 2008, 5:00 am - Indexed: October 31, 2008, 9:25 am - Page Size: 38KB
Category: Arts > Literature > Genres > Science Fiction > RSS Feeds

]]> Arts > Literature > Genres > Science Fiction > RSS Feeds {LITERATURE > CYBERPUNK} - Jeannie C. Riley: Mini-skirted minx country singer http://articles.world-of-newave.info/arts/literature/genres/cyberpunk/jeannie-c-riley-mini-skirted-minx-country-singer-2008107339.htm http://articles.world-of-newave.info/arts/literature/genres/cyberpunk/jeannie-c-riley-mini-skirted-minx-country-singer-2008107339.htm Wed, 08 Oct 2008 03:59:34 GMT As I continually slimmed down my record collection over the years, the works of certain artists who I knew would never, ever come out on CD tended to be the ones that I kept. Translation: I have a weirdly lopsided record collection that veers sharply -- there is no "in between" to speak of, to be clear here -- from several dozen live PiL bootlegs to the collected works of one Jeannie C. Riley. Doesn't ring a bell? Remember "Harper Valley PTA"? Of course you do. Jeannie C. Riley was HOT, a late 60s/early 70s mini-skirted corn pone minx of the Nancy Sinatra variety, but Nashville style. Jeannie C. Riley was a staple on shows like Hee Haw and The Porter Wagoner Show and things like that when I was a kid. I thought she was mega-sexy and over the years I collected each and every one of her long playing efforts, each record like the ones that came before it, and the ones to come after, each trying desperately hard to come up with another hit song, a second "Harper Valley PTA," if you will. Over and over and over and over and over again. Even if she never really had another hit song, some of the results are pretty great as you can see for yourself. Make sure to download the MP3 of her extremely nutty paen to modern womanhood, The Rib. The Girl Most Likely Okie From Muskogee Good Enough To Be Your Wife The Cotton Patch Country Girl... Boingboing.Net Jeannie C. Riley: Mini-skirted minx country singer {new window}   Www.Boingboing.Net - As I continually slimmed down my record collection over the years, the works of certain artists who I knew would never, ever come out on CD tended to be the ones that I kept. Translation: I have a weirdly lopsided record collection that veers sharply -- there is no "in between" to speak of, to be clear here -- from several dozen live PiL bootlegs to the collected works of one Jeannie C. Riley. Doesn't ring a bell? Remember "Harper Valley PTA"? Of course you do. Jeannie C. Riley was HOT, a late 60s/early 70s mini-skirted corn pone minx of the Nancy Sinatra variety, but Nashville style. Jeannie C. Riley was a staple on shows like Hee Haw and The Porter Wagoner Show and things like that when I was a kid. I thought she was mega-sexy and over the years I collected each and every one of her long playing efforts, each record like the ones that came before it, and the ones to come after, each trying desperately hard to come up with another hit song, a second "Harper Valley PTA," if you will. Over and over and over and over and over again. Even if she never really had another hit song, some of the results are pretty great as you can see for yourself. Make sure to download the MP3 of her extremely nutty paen to modern womanhood, The Rib. The Girl Most Likely Okie From Muskogee Good Enough To Be Your Wife The Cotton Patch Country Girl...
Jeannie C. Riley: Mini-skirted minx country singer - Boing Boing {...}
Published: October 8, 2008, 3:59 am - Indexed: October 9, 2008, 11:09 am - Page Size: 73KB
Category: Arts > Literature > Genres > Cyberpunk

]]> Arts > Literature > Genres > Cyberpunk {EUROPE > NEWS AND MEDIA} - Troupe therapy: How Kneehigh make such exciting theatre http://articles.world-of-newave.info/regional/europe/united-kingdom/news-and-media/troupe-therapy-how-kneehigh-make-such-exciting-2008126101.htm http://articles.world-of-newave.info/regional/europe/united-kingdom/news-and-media/troupe-therapy-how-kneehigh-make-such-exciting-2008126101.htm Mon, 01 Dec 2008 00:06:44 GMT At the top of a cliff on the south coast of Cornwall, a group of men and women whose ages range from early 20s to late 50s are taking advantage of their isolation to play some peculiar, wordless games. Standing in a circle, they vigorously rub the limbs of the person in front of them. Then a round of what looks like tag commences, only no one touches anyone until a signal is given, at which point people randomly leap into the nearest pair of arms, or drop their weight against an unsuspecting torso. Finally, they pair up to massage each other, their grunts and sighs witnessed only by a herd of organic cows grazing in the adjacent field.It sounds like the ritual of some hippy cult; in fact, this is theatre rehearsing, Kneehigh-style. Over the past few years, Kneehigh has come to be ranked among Britain's most enterprising, idiosyncratic companies. It has presented work at the National Theatre and created a bold rewrite of Cymbeline for the RSC. This year, it became a dominant force in the West End with its mischievous adaptation of Noel Coward's Brief Encounter, which recently closed after a nine-month run. Next week, it returns to the RSC with Don John, which transposes Mozart's Don Giovanni to the era of punk and disco. Artistic director Emma Rice has long been fascinated by the lothario Don Juan. In her romantic version, however, it is the women he seduces who will be the stars of the show.The company has been through several incarnations since it was founded, as a children's theatre troupe, by Mike Shepherd and a gaggle of friends in 1980. It has performed work everywhere from village halls to castles, disused quarries to conventional stages. Yet this present phase, under Rice, is proving to be its most successful. Critics don't always enjoy the roguishness and rough edges of the shows - scathing reviews of A Matter of Life and Death led the National's director, Nicholas Hytner, to dub several critics "dead white men" - but audiences do. And while Kneehigh's rise in status isn't something Shepherd planned, it doesn't surprise him. "People like to think of us as a parochial company, just working within our community in Cornwall," he says. "But we're too ambitious for that. We want to travel the world."At the same time, everyone involved in the company believes its Cornish identity is crucial. "Cornwall is a place where you can make things happen," says Shepherd. "It's to do with freedom." It's the freedom, thinks Rice, felt by people "on the outskirts", to create an alternative universe, off and on the stage.Although its administrative office is in Truro, the heart of Kneehigh is in the tiny village of Gorran Haven, where Shepherd grew up and returned after a fruitless attempt to act in London; Nottingham-raised Rice has lived there since 2000. Here, at the end of a winding lane, the company rents a huddle of barns from the National Trust. Shepherd calls the Lamledra barns "a secret, special place where we can seed ideas". The company doesn't work here full time, but almost all its shows start life here, with the cast and creative team assembling for an intense fortnight of devising. Recently renovated, they house a rehearsal room, a music studio packed with ancient brass instruments, and workshops for prop-making and set-building. But the central space is a big, homely kitchen, decorated with fairy lights and bunting, and, at one end, a blood-red wall with key words stencilled on it: generosity, wonder, irreverence, anarchy, naughtiness. These words are the Kneehigh manifesto in a nutshell.Every day during rehearsals, the company gathers in the kitchen to eat lunch and dinner together. It's like a cheerful family party, with 41-year-old Rice playing not the matriarch but the elder sister aware that someone needs to exercise a modicum of responsibility. Rice first came to Kneehigh as an actor in 1994, and experienced "love at first sight, love at first sense". The barns and the rural surroundings reminded her of the inspirational period she had spent in Poland in her early 20s, training with the influential Gardzienice theatre association. But whereas there she had experienced "a very harsh environment that was a lot about struggle and discovering beauty through pain", at Kneehigh the emphasis was on "joy". "They were like Gypsies: this wild group of people who had rich lives and lit fires and played instruments and made each other laugh. Everything was really sexy."Rice had no plans to direct, but that didn't stop her telling Shepherd and his co-artistic director, Bill Mitchell, what they should be doing. "She was so bossy," chuckles Shepherd. "It became really apparent that she should be directing. She was full of ideas, wanting to create the world on stage." Her first production, 2001's The Red Shoes, was so successful that she was given further opportunities; in 2004, she took over the company.Since then, Rice has maintained Kneehigh's impish ethos while raising its game. Dave Mynne, another founder member and who is appearing in Don John, recalls: "We used to joke about the 'Kneehigh school of pointing, shouting and running': if in doubt, fill the space and make a noise. Emma has added a lot of the elements that we always wanted to have there: the darkness, the stillness." Shepherd thinks that he, Mitchell and their associate playwright, Nick Darke, were content to think that something was "a good idea". "Whereas there's something about the way Emma has to tell a story that is personal to her, and invests a show with more meaning." Rice admits that there is "a huge amount" of herself in each show. The Red Shoes, for instance, "was about my broken marriage, and my own independence". And she recently realised that she is setting Don John in 1978 because "it's about loss of innocence, and that's when I had my first major bereavement in life: my best friend, who died of leukaemia".One thing that hasn't changed under Rice is Kneehigh's ensemble spirit. It's partly instilled by the morning ritual of jogging and playing games in the fields overlooking a shimmering sea that surround the barns. It's further fostered by the responsibility everyone shares for the upkeep of the barns: tidying up after meals, keeping the fire burning in the rehearsal room stove. But it also relies on the right actors being brought into the company in the first place. "We don't do very well with proper actors," says Rice. "The people that suit us are a little bit what I call left-handed." Whenever they've tried to work with "conventional actors", says Shepherd, "it's much more neurotic".The Don John cast is typical: aside from Mynne, who trained and works as a graphic designer, it features another Cornish actor, Mary Woodvine, who is returning to the company after a break bringing up her 11-year-old son, and Carl Grose, a playwright who performs only with Kneehigh. Along with these old hands are two Icelandic actors and a Polish violinist-dancer. None of them finds working with Kneehigh easy: the script is devised during rehearsals, there are complicated dance routines, and you're on stage almost constantly, contributing to the songs. "I cannot dance and I cannot sing," says Grose. "I asked Emma recently, 'Why do you keep bringing me back?' She said because she's interested in seeing untrained people do extraordinary things."Woodvine believes that this attitude, combined with the homeliness of the barns, gives actors "a really strong sense of ownership" in the company. It's because Rice wants to maintain this that she is constantly thinking of ways to keep Kneehigh's past alive in its future. She is currently raising money to create "the Asylum", so-called because it will be "a place of madness, but also of sanctuary: an environment like our barns, ancient and modern and really creative". This purpose-built tent venue will tour Britain, returning Kneehigh's productions to "urban car parks, wastelands, cliff-tops and fields". In the meantime, the company have Don John to rehearse. You would think, what with the rigours of devising and the morning exercises to get through, they would all want a decent night's sleep. But at midnight, Shepherd leads them to the nearby mansion they rent as a dormitory for a long session of silliness, improvising blues songs at the piano and playing frantic games of table tennis with increasingly absurd rules. If Don John turns out to be irreverent, naughty and anarchic, it will be because of the fortnight that the company has spent at Gorran Haven, lost in a world of their own.Don John is in rep at the Courtyard Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, from December 12 to January 10. Box office: 0844 800 1110.Theatreguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2008 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds Guardian.Co.Uk Troupe therapy: How Kneehigh make such exciting theatre {new window}   Www.Guardian.Co.Uk - At the top of a cliff on the south coast of Cornwall, a group of men and women whose ages range from early 20s to late 50s are taking advantage of their isolation to play some peculiar, wordless games. Standing in a circle, they vigorously rub the limbs of the person in front of them. Then a round of what looks like tag commences, only no one touches anyone until a signal is given, at which point people randomly leap into the nearest pair of arms, or drop their weight against an unsuspecting torso. Finally, they pair up to massage each other, their grunts and sighs witnessed only by a herd of organic cows grazing in the adjacent field.It sounds like the ritual of some hippy cult; in fact, this is theatre rehearsing, Kneehigh-style. Over the past few years, Kneehigh has come to be ranked among Britain's most enterprising, idiosyncratic companies. It has presented work at the National Theatre and created a bold rewrite of Cymbeline for the RSC. This year, it became a dominant force in the West End with its mischievous adaptation of Noel Coward's Brief Encounter, which recently closed after a nine-month run. Next week, it returns to the RSC with Don John, which transposes Mozart's Don Giovanni to the era of punk and disco. Artistic director Emma Rice has long been fascinated by the lothario Don Juan. In her romantic version, however, it is the women he seduces who will be the stars of the show.The company has been through several incarnations since it was founded, as a children's theatre troupe, by Mike Shepherd and a gaggle of friends in 1980. It has performed work everywhere from village halls to castles, disused quarries to conventional stages. Yet this present phase, under Rice, is proving to be its most successful. Critics don't always enjoy the roguishness and rough edges of the shows - scathing reviews of A Matter of Life and Death led the National's director, Nicholas Hytner, to dub several critics "dead white men" - but audiences do. And while Kneehigh's rise in status isn't something Shepherd planned, it doesn't surprise him. "People like to think of us as a parochial company, just working within our community in Cornwall," he says. "But we're too ambitious for that. We want to travel the world."At the same time, everyone involved in the company believes its Cornish identity is crucial. "Cornwall is a place where you can make things happen," says Shepherd. "It's to do with freedom." It's the freedom, thinks Rice, felt by people "on the outskirts", to create an alternative universe, off and on the stage.Although its administrative office is in Truro, the heart of Kneehigh is in the tiny village of Gorran Haven, where Shepherd grew up and returned after a fruitless attempt to act in London; Nottingham-raised Rice has lived there since 2000. Here, at the end of a winding lane, the company rents a huddle of barns from the National Trust. Shepherd calls the Lamledra barns "a secret, special place where we can seed ideas". The company doesn't work here full time, but almost all its shows start life here, with the cast and creative team assembling for an intense fortnight of devising. Recently renovated, they house a rehearsal room, a music studio packed with ancient brass instruments, and workshops for prop-making and set-building. But the central space is a big, homely kitchen, decorated with fairy lights and bunting, and, at one end, a blood-red wall with key words stencilled on it: generosity, wonder, irreverence, anarchy, naughtiness. These words are the Kneehigh manifesto in a nutshell.Every day during rehearsals, the company gathers in the kitchen to eat lunch and dinner together. It's like a cheerful family party, with 41-year-old Rice playing not the matriarch but the elder sister aware that someone needs to exercise a modicum of responsibility. Rice first came to Kneehigh as an actor in 1994, and experienced "love at first sight, love at first sense". The barns and the rural surroundings reminded her of the inspirational period she had spent in Poland in her early 20s, training with the influential Gardzienice theatre association. But whereas there she had experienced "a very harsh environment that was a lot about struggle and discovering beauty through pain", at Kneehigh the emphasis was on "joy". "They were like Gypsies: this wild group of people who had rich lives and lit fires and played instruments and made each other laugh. Everything was really sexy."Rice had no plans to direct, but that didn't stop her telling Shepherd and his co-artistic director, Bill Mitchell, what they should be doing. "She was so bossy," chuckles Shepherd. "It became really apparent that she should be directing. She was full of ideas, wanting to create the world on stage." Her first production, 2001's The Red Shoes, was so successful that she was given further opportunities; in 2004, she took over the company.Since then, Rice has maintained Kneehigh's impish ethos while raising its game. Dave Mynne, another founder member and who is appearing in Don John, recalls: "We used to joke about the 'Kneehigh school of pointing, shouting and running': if in doubt, fill the space and make a noise. Emma has added a lot of the elements that we always wanted to have there: the darkness, the stillness." Shepherd thinks that he, Mitchell and their associate playwright, Nick Darke, were content to think that something was "a good idea". "Whereas there's something about the way Emma has to tell a story that is personal to her, and invests a show with more meaning." Rice admits that there is "a huge amount" of herself in each show. The Red Shoes, for instance, "was about my broken marriage, and my own independence". And she recently realised that she is setting Don John in 1978 because "it's about loss of innocence, and that's when I had my first major bereavement in life: my best friend, who died of leukaemia".One thing that hasn't changed under Rice is Kneehigh's ensemble spirit. It's partly instilled by the morning ritual of jogging and playing games in the fields overlooking a shimmering sea that surround the barns. It's further fostered by the responsibility everyone shares for the upkeep of the barns: tidying up after meals, keeping the fire burning in the rehearsal room stove. But it also relies on the right actors being brought into the company in the first place. "We don't do very well with proper actors," says Rice. "The people that suit us are a little bit what I call left-handed." Whenever they've tried to work with "conventional actors", says Shepherd, "it's much more neurotic".The Don John cast is typical: aside from Mynne, who trained and works as a graphic designer, it features another Cornish actor, Mary Woodvine, who is returning to the company after a break bringing up her 11-year-old son, and Carl Grose, a playwright who performs only with Kneehigh. Along with these old hands are two Icelandic actors and a Polish violinist-dancer. None of them finds working with Kneehigh easy: the script is devised during rehearsals, there are complicated dance routines, and you're on stage almost constantly, contributing to the songs. "I cannot dance and I cannot sing," says Grose. "I asked Emma recently, 'Why do you keep bringing me back?' She said because she's interested in seeing untrained people do extraordinary things."Woodvine believes that this attitude, combined with the homeliness of the barns, gives actors "a really strong sense of ownership" in the company. It's because Rice wants to maintain this that she is constantly thinking of ways to keep Kneehigh's past alive in its future. She is currently raising money to create "the Asylum", so-called because it will be "a p