JessicaRulestheUniverse.com

Contrary to the popular assumption, the Pope does not wear Prada. (The public must have him confused with that other one.)

“L’Osservatore Romano, the Vatican newspaper, categorically denied reports today that (the Pope’s) shoes were a Prada product, saying this was “of course false”. According to Vatican sources the Pope’s shoes are made by a cobbler from Novara called Adriano Stefanelli, who makes them from calf or kid for the winter and nappa leather for the summer. Papal shoe repairs are carried out by Antonio Arellano, a Peruvian shoemaker in the Borgo, the medieval quarter next to St Peter’s. The article, on “Ratzinger’s Liturgical Vestments”, was written by Juan Manuel de Prada, the noted Spanish writer and author of The Tempest, who is not related to the fashion company. De Prada said that the image of the German-born Pope as concerned with “frivolity” was at odds with the truth, which was that he was a “simple and sober” man. Suggestions to the contrary were “stupid and banal”.”

Ferragamo retrospective, Shanghai 2008, originally uploaded by 160507.

It never really gets dark in Shanghai. The night sky is awash in the glow of a million electric lights—11pm looks like early dawn or dusk, depending on how much you’ve indulged in the city’s famous party scene. With an annual growth rate in double-digits since 1992, Shanghai can afford to leave the lights on. In the daytime there’s another indicator of progress: Dust. The construction boom of the last decade—bridges, tunnels, flyovers, expressways, subways, international airport, deep water port, office buildings—has covered the city in a fine layer of concrete dust. Brand-new Bentleys and Aston-Martins drive by with dusty roofs. Five thousand families and a bridge were relocated to make a site for Expo 2010, now under construction.

Shanghai in Emotional Weather Report, today in the Star.

Oz Open 05 from maratsafin.com, originally uploaded by saffysafina.

And Marat is in the semifinals! Still unburdened by expectations as no one expects him to win anyway. I can’t stop cackling. So this is his career plan: Appear like comet. Casually dismantle champ at US Open. Impress everyone with pure talent and volatility. Casually lose Australian Open. Come back, win Aus Open. Vanish down the rankings, wait till you’ve been written off. Sneak back into the game while everyone looking elsewhere. Make no promises whatsoever. Clever.

Asked to account for his resurgence at Wimbledon, Marat said, “Shit happens.”

I take taxis everyday, and I’ve been wondering: What is the net effect on the drivers’ and passengers’ mental health of constant unabated exposure to radio content, including

a. News of the day, 95% of it bad, the other 4% horrific
b. Angry commentators fulminating about the news of the day, with the inevitable conclusion that nothing ever changes in this country
c. Callers relating their sad encounters with official corruption, venality and ineptitude, leading to the inevitable conclusion that everyone is “gago”
d. Bad pop and worse bossa nova
e. Unfunny jokes and tag lines delivered by announcers who seem to think that screaming makes everything funnier
f. Maudlin, hysterical drama serials about desperate, unhappy, desperately unhappy people with no hope
g. The needy making appeals for help to the general public because they have no one else to turn to
h. Do they still have that AM show where the relatives of OFWs can call their provider in a foreign country and ask why their remittance hasn’t arrived or is late or is not enough to cover their needs especially since someone in the family is pregnant again?

I don’t believe in the true-good-beautiful best-foot-forward approach and pretending everything is peachy when it’s not, but shouldn’t there be a limit to the amount of horror and torment that we passively absorb from the airwaves? What about some perspective? Programmers will argue that the public deserves to hear the truth, but I’m beginning to suspect a campaign to make us run amuck.

In The Honourable Schoolboy, the spy Westerby goes to the races in Hong Kong to observe his quarry, Drake Ko. He spots one of Ko’s associates in the owners’ box.

“Shading his eyes and wishing he had brought binoculars, he made out one fat, hard-looking man in a suit and dark glasses, accompanied by a young and very pretty girl. He looked half Chinese, and half Latin, and Jerry put him down as Filipino. The girl was the best that money could buy. . .

“”That’s Arpego,” said Grant, in Jerry’s ear and indicating the fat Filipino. “He owns Manila and most of the out-islands.”

“Arpego’s paunch sat forward over his belt like a rock stuffed inside his shirt.”

Biblical text-writing may have poisoned monks
By Jennifer Viegas, Discovery News. Medieval bones from six different Danish cemeteries reveal that monks who wrote Biblical texts and other religious materials may have been exposed to toxic mercury, which was used to formulate just one of their ink colors: red. The study, which will be published in the August issue of the Journal of Archaeological Science, also describes a previously undocumented disease, called FOS, which was like leprosy and caused skull lesions…scientists believe the monks were either contaminated while preparing and administering medicines, or while writing the artistic letters of incunabula, or pre-1500 A.D. books…