OMG will you please post this immediately?

Oh, sure, what the hell.

Serious stuff

Sit tight. Bill Gates is no longer the richest man alive.

Sentido Común - a "respected Mexican financial website" according to the BBC - broke the story last Friday that he had been overtaken by a low-key Mexican gentleman called Carlos Slim. If their estimations are correct (and I don't see why they wouldn't be, it's a simple calculation), with a 26.5% increase in the share price of his company America Móvil in the second quarter of this year, the gap between Gates and Slim's fortunes is now of $9 billion, to Slim's advantage.

Forbes had reported in March that Slim had become the world's second richest man before Warren Buffett.

So now, it goes like this:
1/ Carlos Slim, with $67.8 billion
2/ Bill Gates, with $59.2 billion
3/ Warren Buffett, with $52.4 billion

As Sentido Común explains, Slim's fortune is controversial in México. On the one hand, some admire his pragmatism and the fact that he took great risks to get where he is now. He bought his companies for nothing during the external debt crisis of the 1980's when most investors were selling off all their Mexican assets. Now that Mexico is doing well, they consider it all a fair reward.

On the other hand, he is criticized for abusing a system that allows monopoles. He owns Telmex, which manages 90% of landlines in México and he controls 33% of América Móvil, which has a 70% market share in the country. This allows both companies to do pretty much whatever they want, namely charge their users an arm and a leg for each phonecall. In Mexico, where over half of the population lives in poverty (i.e. with under $5 a day), it can be hard to justify the fact that a man and his family own 8% of the gross domestic product.

Then again, if he is acting within the law...

Anyway, the story was picked up by pretty much everyone. The Guardian, Business Week, Reuters, CNN, A Folha de São Paulo, Le Figaro, BBC News. Looks like we're all loving the idea of a 'Thirld-Worlder' - no offence - doing better than Gates of all people...

Feathers, Cadillac and Tom Cruise

I know, It's kind of against my rules to post two entries in the same day (I wear my stick up my ass proudly, as those who know me will tell you), but right now I'm under the influence of Cute Overload. I will not take responsibility for anything i do, say or write. So I like, totally stole this video from them.



Can I just say, I never thought I'd use the labels "animals," "gay" and "video" in the same entrée.

Overloading on cute

OD'ing, in fact. Thank GOD this blog was in the Washington Post's list of the 100 best blogs, cos otherwise I'd still be questioning my sanity, even after the whole beach thing. Speaking of which, I'm sure you've seen, but I had to include it... Thanks to a mungbean muser:


(Apologies for the annoying Beatles song - i prefer it to the the original version, where there's the even more annoying voice: "oh my gaaaaahd they are adoooorabuuuuhl").

Tempo giusto

Feel yourself become brainless. Not one functioning cell of gray matter in that big bone cavity above your neck.

Choose your bikini carefully. Put on a sundress and your Havainas. Reach for them glam shades.







Take a stroll on a dirt road on your way to the beach. Realize that your hips are moving in a wider, lazier sway. Feel how the heat slows you down. Feel your feet scratching the ground. Feel like a biiiig mama.

Take 10 minutes to dig a hole in the sand. Plant your parasol. Give yourself a sunscreen bath. Stay away from the sun. Then get up, make your way through the Italian families to the water. Dip a toe in it, work up the courage for the rest of you to follow. Don't regret it. It's turquoise and it's fresh and it's salty. Close your eyes, turn your face up. Enjoy the fact that no one's bothering you. Swim yourself to exhaustion. Sink your head til your ears are full of fluid and you know you'll have to jump on one leg like an idiot as soon as you're on dry land.


Sit on your towel. Lose yourself in the observation of the kids playing and screaming and laughing and throwing tantrums. See the parents spank their children. Think to yourself: "won't do them no harm." Feel unbearably nostalgic. Contemplate kidnapping one of the kids so he can take you back to childhood. Consider starting a therapy as soon as you get home.


Concentrate on your tan. It's the proof of what you've been doing in these few days away and your only means to frustrate the hell out of your co-workers. Measure the progress.

Worry about skin cancer. Grab your book, be fast asleep.

Open your eyes an hour later to a gorgeous sunset. Watch it for a little bit and head back. Take a shower, moisturize like a pro, go have dinner. Notice that the night is particularly bright. Raise your head, see a full, orange moon and its reflection in the quiet sea. Let your jaw drop. Fantasize about monsters and horrible things. Sense the fascination take over. You can't take your eyes off it.

Go home, lull yourself to sleep with Gustavsen, Gonzales, Libedinsky. Feel immensely grateful to Steve Jobs, Seb and Alex for the iPod and the wonderful music.

At breakfast, chit-chat with the owner of the B&B in your non-existent Italian. Get lectured on the history of the region and actually learn something. Marvel at his niceness and his love for the land. Swear to check it out on wikipedia as soon as you get hold of a working, connected computer.

Watch that blond stewardess tell you off for checking in too late. Give her a look that says: "hey, lady, have you seen the color of the water on those beaches? Do you really expect me to act responsibly?" She doesn't. She's used to it. She shouts at people everyday. Still, just for kicks, she turns to her colleague and exclaims: "And she's not even in business class!!" Smile. It's all an act. We both know that neither I nor she would give up dirt roads, seafood risotti and salty locks of hair for all the business class seats in the world.

Sit in the plane, eat a disgusting tuna sandwich. Wonder why the hell anyone would put butter on bread already drenched in mayo. Notice that new brown spot on your right thumb. Fear that it's skin cancer. Panic. Vow to call a dermatologist as soon as you land. Grab your book, be fast asleep.

Wake up to the voice of the pilot: "it's 16 degrees Celsius in Brussels, with frequent rains." 25 minutes later, note that he was speaking the truth. Curse him and his entire family.

Feel that pain on your back come back as soon as you set foot in your home. Update your blog, don't let it end.