Russian Elections

One of my new favourite websites is the always magnificent English Russia. The motto of the good people behind the website is "just because something cool happens daily on one sixth of the Earth surface".

The other day, no doubt inspired by election fever in Russia, they posted some posters from Russian elections held in the 1990s, but mainly from Presidential Elections. One picture appealed to me in particular:

I am told that the banner reads:

Youth choose Zyuganov

Now, for those of you wondering, the honey in the poster is Gennady Zyuganov, who has occupied the somewhat incongruous position as leader of the new Communist Party of the Russian Federation in post-communist Russia. You can see why the kids would all be rushing out to support Zyuganov; because he really is one cool looking cat!

FYI, in the first round of the 1996 Presidential election –an election that I best associate with 'Mad Vlad' Zhirinovsky – Zyuganov finished second with 32%, trailing only Yeltsin, with 35%. The runoff election two months later saw Yeltsin beat Zyuganov 54% to 40%, a far more interesting contest than last week.

Comments

Rima Staines said…

Hello Kris and thanks for visiting my blog :) Pleased to meet you ... what a great place you have here! I have family in Launceston actually :)
Best wishes to you from Scotland... Rima

6 March 2008 at 21:48

Kris McCracken said…

It is indeed a small world. Thanks for popping in. I like your blog very much, there is always something new for me to see there.

7 March 2008 at 09:00

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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