Inlägg
There's been a lot of talk about the re-formation of the old boy band Take That on the radio lately. As I usually listen to the radio while doing the chores in the stable I can't help but hear and make some personal reflections over it.
I find this whole boy-/girl band phenomena quite fascinating. Most fascinating of all in my opinion is how people can actually tell the bands apart. To me, they all seem to be same same, without any difference, other than maybe their accents.
Firstly, they're all built up around the same sort of line-up. There's always a "cute pretty-boy"; a "sensitive, poetically inclined guy with slightly brooding eyes"; a "hip/cool guy with street attitude"; a "bad boy" and then most often a fifth member that is cast in various other roles but seldom especially noticeable.
Backstreet boys is, to me, a glaringly obvious example of these roles. They had five members when they first began. There was Nick, the "cute pretty-boy"; Brian, the "sensitive, poetically inclined guy"; A.J, the "cool guy", Kevin, the "bad boy" and Howie (whom I really never got a hang of, not being that into the band more than to note these stereotypical roles). Looking at pics today I can't help but wonder if he was cast in the role as the "open-minded, sweet friend".
Secondly, the bands usually deal with the same type of lyrics about love, pain, romance and various other, to me quite sappy, subjects. And all of them seem to have eaten chalk to get those soft, sweet voices supposed to caress the ears of the adoring audience. Personally I've always felt sleepy when hearing it, unless I'm busy cringing over the complete lack of depth and originality in their lyrics. Or, for that matter, the paradox of hearing the "bad boy" sing like that. While he may look the part, the part doesn't fit into the music they sing.
And thirdly, they always do those, yet again in my opinion, silly little choreographed dances, all the while smiling soulfully/wickedly/sweetly and so on according to their roles and what they're singing at the time. I do admit that I have sometimes felt impressed by their stamina and agility while doing those choreographies, but since the steps are so similar between bands I actually haven't paid enough attention to the actual techniques.
To return to the first part of this post, Take That was a bit before my time, but not that much before it (Boyzone and later Backstreet Boys were the big boy bands during my teenage years). Still, I've heard enough of Take That's early works to be able to discern some patterns. I think that what they had going for them was, as one of the main things, the rather distinctive voice of Robbie Williams. I'm not surprised he's managed to do so well on his own. Other than that they all had the looks "suitable" for a boy band, attracting teenage girls of most types. However, looking at their pictures today, after the re-formation, I just have to raise the question... Can they still be considered a boy band? They're far from pretty any longer, a few of them could be what is politely called "distinguished" and, granted, Robbie Williams seems to have either been graced by good genes or plastic surgery (I don't know enough to say which although I suspect a little bit of both), but overall there's no getting around it. They're middle aged men trying to sing like they did xx years ago. Once again, what they have going for them is Robbie Williams's voice. Listening to their new release "The Flood" however makes it glaringly obvious to me that whatever they once were as a band, Robbie Williams has grown too large for them. Meaning that while one almost immediately recognises Williams's voice, the others feel more like background noise, indistinguishable from each other and without any specific trait to mark one from the other. So, rather than the re-formed Take That, it feels like it's Robbie Williams and his back-up crew. I might be overly harsh and some might argue that I'm way off my rocker and out of line for saying it, but that's what it feels like. So once again I raise a question, if a once popular boy band re-form after xx amount of years doing their own stuff separate from each other, what genre would they then belong to? And why do it? Boy bands have a best before date nowadays. Just like so much of the music today.
Which brings me to my second reflection:
I once got into a discussion with my teacher about music. I said that I didn't think there had been any actually good music released in the western market since 1995. I still mostly stand by that opinion, even though I've since had to admit there are some exceptions to the general rule (the song Hero of War by Rise Against being a most obvious such exception to me, thanks to its very interesting lyrics and the simple music supporting it).
The thing is, I generally feel that with the music of (mainly) the 60's and 70's the artists had a cause. They often used music to raise the overall awareness of what went on in the world. Issues like war, injustice, bigotry and so on came alive in the songs and together, the song and the meaning behind it, made a whole. And since the artists really believed in what they sang the songs have an impact even today, even if some of the issues might not be very topical of today's society.
If I was to put a picture or metaphor to the different decades of music I'd say that the 60's and 70's were all about fire and glam. Fiery passion, beliefs and the hope to make a difference. Or glitter, glamour and sass.
The music of the 80's and 90's feels a little bit dirty, gritty like the aftermath of the heated glamour-party of their predecessors. Like a sequinned dress lying forgotten on the dance floor among deflated balloons and leftover food, with a bottle of alcohol next to it.
The music of the late 90's to the present feels, to me, like plastic, like Tupperware. Practical, useful for the moment but easily discarded and forgotten. Mass-produced music with recycled or nonsensical lyrics, lacking most of any real content or feeling, has become mainstream and a song's worth seems to be judged by how often it is played on the radio in a day, never mind the fact that the song doesn't sound much different from any other song that day. Meticulously manufactured, uniform music is practically flooding the Western world with the aroma of American Idol (and its' spin-offs). If music is supposed to reflect the people and the contemporary society... what does it say about us that the hit lists are topped by these recycled, easy-listening kind of songs?
lördag 4 december 2010
måndag 30 augusti 2010
I should've been born before technology
It's a bit of a standing joke within my family that I am pure death on technology. I barely have to touch my technological stuff (let alone actually turn it on and work on it) before it crashes, breaks, go bonkers or just plain annoys the hell out of me. And it always happens when I have the least financial abilities to correct it. Just a small list:
- I've bought 2 laptops within 2 years (the first one my mother bought and it held for a few years before the lid cracked, the second one met partial death by red wine and the third one is probably trying to find the most inopportune moment to crash any day now)
- I've reformatted them umpteen+ times,
- I've gotten close to getting on first-name basis with the support technicians at at least two different companies (I suspect I was close to being invited to their Christmas dinner too)
- I've bought in total 4 new cellphones in 6 years (one met death by eager puppy + very wet brook, one had a shitty battery in plastic casing and the clasp broke so the battery was loose, one just... went bonkers and started fucking things up + the keyboard became loose at least once a year. I'm just waiting for my new one to fuck things up)
Anyway, the reason I'm writing this right now is because I'm quite fed up. Today my external hdd (which I had lots of my favourite things on) decided not to boot up at all. I checked around, cold and clammy, worried that it was the hdd itself that had crashed. Turns out it seems to be the AC adapter, the green light on it just blinks, regardless of the type of power outlet I connect it to. Now, this might sound like a pretty easy problem to fix... if the HDD hadn't been 2+-3 years old and the AC adapter for it isn't common to find in electronics stores nowadays. The places I've found what seems to be a suitable replacement at lists the price at 250-400 SEK (apx. $34-$54). This might not sound like such a large sum in the bigger picture... unless you've got bills that takes over 75% of your total income and still want to buy food for both yourself and your (kidney sick) animals. Either way, I've got no choice in the long run. I'll have to live on noodles and oatmeal for a while. Can't skimp out on the cats food.
Anyway, as if that wasn't enough... my desk lamp, which has got these ridiculously small, strong lamps (not LED), decided to call it quits too. And of course I've used up all the spare lamps I bought when my economy was bit more decent.
So, in short... Tomorrow I need to go out and spend money I'd rather not spend because technology (I'd rather not bother with but have no choice but to bother with) fucked up again.
This joke about me and technology... it's so painfully true it's not even funny.
- I've bought 2 laptops within 2 years (the first one my mother bought and it held for a few years before the lid cracked, the second one met partial death by red wine and the third one is probably trying to find the most inopportune moment to crash any day now)
- I've reformatted them umpteen+ times,
- I've gotten close to getting on first-name basis with the support technicians at at least two different companies (I suspect I was close to being invited to their Christmas dinner too)
- I've bought in total 4 new cellphones in 6 years (one met death by eager puppy + very wet brook, one had a shitty battery in plastic casing and the clasp broke so the battery was loose, one just... went bonkers and started fucking things up + the keyboard became loose at least once a year. I'm just waiting for my new one to fuck things up)
Anyway, the reason I'm writing this right now is because I'm quite fed up. Today my external hdd (which I had lots of my favourite things on) decided not to boot up at all. I checked around, cold and clammy, worried that it was the hdd itself that had crashed. Turns out it seems to be the AC adapter, the green light on it just blinks, regardless of the type of power outlet I connect it to. Now, this might sound like a pretty easy problem to fix... if the HDD hadn't been 2+-3 years old and the AC adapter for it isn't common to find in electronics stores nowadays. The places I've found what seems to be a suitable replacement at lists the price at 250-400 SEK (apx. $34-$54). This might not sound like such a large sum in the bigger picture... unless you've got bills that takes over 75% of your total income and still want to buy food for both yourself and your (kidney sick) animals. Either way, I've got no choice in the long run. I'll have to live on noodles and oatmeal for a while. Can't skimp out on the cats food.
Anyway, as if that wasn't enough... my desk lamp, which has got these ridiculously small, strong lamps (not LED), decided to call it quits too. And of course I've used up all the spare lamps I bought when my economy was bit more decent.
So, in short... Tomorrow I need to go out and spend money I'd rather not spend because technology (I'd rather not bother with but have no choice but to bother with) fucked up again.
This joke about me and technology... it's so painfully true it's not even funny.
torsdag 26 augusti 2010
the End of the world/ Val 2010
It's depressing to listen to the news on the radio. Catastrophes, both natural and man-made, follow each other in what feels like a more and more rapid succession. If it's not tsunamis, earth quakes or floods, it's wildfires, major oil leaks or hurricanes. All of this makes me think. Is it that the amount of natural catastrophes (man-made ones were a fact ever since the beginning of man) in rapid succession are increasing? Or is it that we're just more aware of them nowadays?
To me it feels like our earth has finally had it with the abuse heaped upon it by the humans. Kind of like: "You drill me full of holes, you rob me of my oil. You cut down my forests, pollute my waters and air. You commit genocide on both yourselves and every other living organism in this world. And then you're chocked that I protest? Payback's a bitch, eh?".
The problem is that these natural disasters very seldom hit the ones most deserving of it. It seldom hits the rich company head quarters or the leading industrialized countries. The ones who, with their selfish and capitalising view of the world as their playground are the main reasons for why things are what they are today. No, instead it hits those that are already suffering from pretty much the same things as the earth itself. It hits Haiti, it hits Pakistan, it hits Chile, it hits the poor parts of China and so on. Where is this world headed when even earth itself is kicking on those that are struggling to stand up again? While the ones most deserving to be beaten down are still sitting on their high horses counting their money and thinking out how to pile up more money, more expensive houses, cars, private jets?
As Barry Mcguire sang in 1965:
Jag kan inte låta bli att undra över om det är så att folk idag har en så dystopisk känsla av undergång att de helt enkelt inte orkar bry sig.
Världen håller på att gå åt helvete ändå, så varför bry sig om vad som händer i framtiden? Varför göra ett aktivt val som gynnar inte bara en själv utan även eventuella nästkommande generationer? Varför orka läsa på? Varför orka engagera sig på något sätt?
Så länge jag har pengar i min börs och kan köpa den senaste tekniken (som ändå kommer gå sönder just efter att garantin gått ut) så är allt väl i min värld. Vad bryr jag mig om att sjukvården blir dyrare? Att fler och fler går arbetslösa och knappt har råd att äta eller betala sin hyra? Folket, vi som ska vara ansvariga för vårt samhälle, överlämnar alla beslut åt politikerna, sväljer glatt de vackra vallöftena som alla vet kommer att brytas så fort valet är över.
Jag har länge känt att det skulle behövas ett totalt generationsskifte i politiker-Sverige. De som i år ställer upp i valet, de som lovar runt och alltid håller tunt, är så världsfrånvända och ointresserade av något annat än sin egen ekonomi och bekvämlighet att jag har svårt att se hur de någonsin skulle kunna göra något för det folk som röstar på dem. De har ingen koll på vad som sker i samhället och representerar gamla, utdaterade värderingar i putsade och ytligt hoplappade former.
Folket som röstar på dem är så avtrubbade, så obrydda och så bekväma att de bara rycker på axlarna och sväljer det som syns på ytan. Förförda av fantasin om att kunna bli som det USA man ser på TV, i filmerna, orkar de inte reflektera över skillnaderna mellan lilla Sverige och USA. De vänder bort blicken för alla de brister som finns där, klart belysta av verklighetens osmickrande ljus, och stänger in sig i sin egen lilla bubbla där allt som räknas är en själv och huruvida man kommer att ha en extra hundralapp i börsen vid löning.
Den hundralappen, förresten... Den hade kunnat gå till sjukvård, bättre skola, bättre vård av de äldre... Men varför ska de ha mina pengar?
Varför ska jag få mindre pengar bara för att någon annan ska få ett åtminstone halvvägs värdigt liv, slippa frysa ihjäl i en kartong på nån bakgata eller förblöda i väntrummet till akuten bara för att det inte finns pengar för tillräckligt med personal?
Varför ska jag bry mig om Svea, 95, som spenderar dagarna i en säng på pensionärshemmet med liggsår och blöja för att personalen helt enkelt inte hinner med att hjälpa henne till toaletten eller ta med henne ut i luften för ens en halvtimme? Svea som knappt minns hur det kändes att få sitta i en stol i trädgården en vacker sommardag eller äta vällagad mat tills hon är mätt?
Jag kan verkligen inte förstå hur folk kan vara så själviska, leva kvar i gamla föreställningar och fortfarande tro att politikerna tänker på folkets bästa. Vi kan inte längre sitta i våra soffor, blippa på fjärrkontrollen och tro att våra politiker är där för att fatta våra beslut.
Det är på tiden att vi, det svenska folket, vi som ska rösta nu i september, börjar ställa krav på våra politiker och på oss själva. Så att vi kanske, förhoppningsvis inte själva en dag behöver glömma känslan av hur det kändes den där dagen när vi satt barfota i gräset med solen som sken varmt ovanför våra huvuden.
To me it feels like our earth has finally had it with the abuse heaped upon it by the humans. Kind of like: "You drill me full of holes, you rob me of my oil. You cut down my forests, pollute my waters and air. You commit genocide on both yourselves and every other living organism in this world. And then you're chocked that I protest? Payback's a bitch, eh?".
The problem is that these natural disasters very seldom hit the ones most deserving of it. It seldom hits the rich company head quarters or the leading industrialized countries. The ones who, with their selfish and capitalising view of the world as their playground are the main reasons for why things are what they are today. No, instead it hits those that are already suffering from pretty much the same things as the earth itself. It hits Haiti, it hits Pakistan, it hits Chile, it hits the poor parts of China and so on. Where is this world headed when even earth itself is kicking on those that are struggling to stand up again? While the ones most deserving to be beaten down are still sitting on their high horses counting their money and thinking out how to pile up more money, more expensive houses, cars, private jets?
As Barry Mcguire sang in 1965:
"Don't you understand what I'm tryin' to sayVal 2010
Can't you feel the fears I'm feelin' today?
If the button is pushed, there's no runnin' away
There'll be no one to save, with the world in a grave
[Take a look around ya boy, it's bound to scare ya boy]
But you tell me
Over and over and over again, my friend
Ah, you don't believe
We're on the eve
of destruction."
- (Eve of Destruction, written by P.F Sloan in 1965)
It feels like we're getting there, each day another step towards
destruction.
Svenska:
Jag kan inte låta bli att undra över om det är så att folk idag har en så dystopisk känsla av undergång att de helt enkelt inte orkar bry sig.
Världen håller på att gå åt helvete ändå, så varför bry sig om vad som händer i framtiden? Varför göra ett aktivt val som gynnar inte bara en själv utan även eventuella nästkommande generationer? Varför orka läsa på? Varför orka engagera sig på något sätt?
Så länge jag har pengar i min börs och kan köpa den senaste tekniken (som ändå kommer gå sönder just efter att garantin gått ut) så är allt väl i min värld. Vad bryr jag mig om att sjukvården blir dyrare? Att fler och fler går arbetslösa och knappt har råd att äta eller betala sin hyra? Folket, vi som ska vara ansvariga för vårt samhälle, överlämnar alla beslut åt politikerna, sväljer glatt de vackra vallöftena som alla vet kommer att brytas så fort valet är över.
Jag har länge känt att det skulle behövas ett totalt generationsskifte i politiker-Sverige. De som i år ställer upp i valet, de som lovar runt och alltid håller tunt, är så världsfrånvända och ointresserade av något annat än sin egen ekonomi och bekvämlighet att jag har svårt att se hur de någonsin skulle kunna göra något för det folk som röstar på dem. De har ingen koll på vad som sker i samhället och representerar gamla, utdaterade värderingar i putsade och ytligt hoplappade former.
Folket som röstar på dem är så avtrubbade, så obrydda och så bekväma att de bara rycker på axlarna och sväljer det som syns på ytan. Förförda av fantasin om att kunna bli som det USA man ser på TV, i filmerna, orkar de inte reflektera över skillnaderna mellan lilla Sverige och USA. De vänder bort blicken för alla de brister som finns där, klart belysta av verklighetens osmickrande ljus, och stänger in sig i sin egen lilla bubbla där allt som räknas är en själv och huruvida man kommer att ha en extra hundralapp i börsen vid löning.
Den hundralappen, förresten... Den hade kunnat gå till sjukvård, bättre skola, bättre vård av de äldre... Men varför ska de ha mina pengar?
Varför ska jag få mindre pengar bara för att någon annan ska få ett åtminstone halvvägs värdigt liv, slippa frysa ihjäl i en kartong på nån bakgata eller förblöda i väntrummet till akuten bara för att det inte finns pengar för tillräckligt med personal?
Varför ska jag bry mig om Svea, 95, som spenderar dagarna i en säng på pensionärshemmet med liggsår och blöja för att personalen helt enkelt inte hinner med att hjälpa henne till toaletten eller ta med henne ut i luften för ens en halvtimme? Svea som knappt minns hur det kändes att få sitta i en stol i trädgården en vacker sommardag eller äta vällagad mat tills hon är mätt?
Jag kan verkligen inte förstå hur folk kan vara så själviska, leva kvar i gamla föreställningar och fortfarande tro att politikerna tänker på folkets bästa. Vi kan inte längre sitta i våra soffor, blippa på fjärrkontrollen och tro att våra politiker är där för att fatta våra beslut.
Det är på tiden att vi, det svenska folket, vi som ska rösta nu i september, börjar ställa krav på våra politiker och på oss själva. Så att vi kanske, förhoppningsvis inte själva en dag behöver glömma känslan av hur det kändes den där dagen när vi satt barfota i gräset med solen som sken varmt ovanför våra huvuden.
lördag 21 augusti 2010
Happy days are here?
I had started to believe I would never get to say this but... my thesis is finally COMPLETED! Now all that's left is to get the critique for it, make any necessary adjustments and then... burn it and move on.
I took myself by the scruff and pulled a 2-day-1-night intensive session on writing the thesis. All in all I believe I slept about 3 hours in 2 full days. And as soon as the thesis was mailed out to those that were supposed to have it I crashed and then I slept like a log, blissfully unaware of the world around. Of course I just had to wake up in the middle of the night and be reminded I had barely eaten anything in two days either. But hey, them's the breaks, eh?
Of course, I have a few smaller assignments I've yet to turn in. But they're not related to the thesis and they should be fairly quickly done with as soon as I recover from post-thesis stress (which is an affliction closely related to posttraumatic stress. Only difference is the former usually only affects students of various degree and, much like the flu, strike during set seasons of the year.
Now I'm looking forward to my graphics classes this fall and then I'm hoping against hope (and dreading at the same time) that I'll get a job at the news desk I worked at this summer. We'll see... Wish me luck!
Speaking about stress, by the way. We've got election coming up in a few weeks. I don't think I've ever felt this nauseatingly nervous and worried as this time around. The previous election blind-sided, mind-raped and left me in an emotionally torn, quivering bundle of despair and terror, able to say nothing but:
"Why, dear lord, have you forsaken us?! How could they be so stupid as to vote in a way that made those guys win?!"
I took myself by the scruff and pulled a 2-day-1-night intensive session on writing the thesis. All in all I believe I slept about 3 hours in 2 full days. And as soon as the thesis was mailed out to those that were supposed to have it I crashed and then I slept like a log, blissfully unaware of the world around. Of course I just had to wake up in the middle of the night and be reminded I had barely eaten anything in two days either. But hey, them's the breaks, eh?
Of course, I have a few smaller assignments I've yet to turn in. But they're not related to the thesis and they should be fairly quickly done with as soon as I recover from post-thesis stress (which is an affliction closely related to posttraumatic stress. Only difference is the former usually only affects students of various degree and, much like the flu, strike during set seasons of the year.
Now I'm looking forward to my graphics classes this fall and then I'm hoping against hope (and dreading at the same time) that I'll get a job at the news desk I worked at this summer. We'll see... Wish me luck!
Speaking about stress, by the way. We've got election coming up in a few weeks. I don't think I've ever felt this nauseatingly nervous and worried as this time around. The previous election blind-sided, mind-raped and left me in an emotionally torn, quivering bundle of despair and terror, able to say nothing but:
"Why, dear lord, have you forsaken us?! How could they be so stupid as to vote in a way that made those guys win?!"
lördag 24 juli 2010
A sidenote from the padded room
Everything I'd rather not think about seems to start with the letter C today. Granted, I do like to think about myself so maybe not EVERYTHING I'd rather not think about... Just a side note in the story of my life.
To return to the issue of the unholy triad of C's then. Let's begin with what might be the main reason the second two C's appear so horrid to me.
Number one on the shitlist:
Colds
For weeks I've managed to stay healthy. After the possibly worst winter in memory, with close to two months of constant colds, I thought I'd worked out the kinks in my immune system and was getting along fine. I hung out with my best friend, who were coughing her lungs out and doing a very good job of imitating a crow with bronchitis, for a week straight while bathing in semi-cold waters and toughing it out in hard winds on the beach just to get a bit of a tan. It all went well, I didn't catch anything, she survived and I'm pretty sure she's still got both her lungs with her. And my legs got nice and tan.
I also hung out with my dearest aunt... who, it would turn out, was suffering from pneumonia. And at the same time I hung out with my other best friend (yeah, I've got two of those. I'm a Libra so I can't choose :D) while she was coughing more than breathing. And still I stayed healthy.
Now this is where the story takes a somewhat darker turn. These last two weeks I've been hanging around with one of my two best friends again. She's better now but her oldest kid (5 y/o) seems to have caught a slight cold. And of course, every time he sneezes he forgets to cover his mouth and almost infallibly turns his head towards me. Not that he can help it. He's still so young and he's cute as a button. Either way I guess my immune system decided to say: "Y'know what? Screw this, I'm going on a vacation". The result? A sore throat and a head that feels like it's full of wet cotton... the last day at work and only two days before I'm going back to my home (a 6 hour drive southward bound) with two cats and glaring sunlight.
This brings me to the second C on the list:
Cleaning
Since I've been borrowing an apartment for two weeks while working in my little hometown I, naturally, have to clean it up and make sure it's at least as clean as it was before I arrived. I hate cleaning under normal circumstances but now, with a cold and no idea where the laundry room is situated, I feel my motivation hitting an all-time low. And yet, this is one of the few times I actually HAVE to clean today and not procrastinate it until next week. Thankfully I haven't eaten much at home so there's not that many dishes needing to be washed. But the cats have had a time of it shedding hairs all over the curtains.
The third C on the list is something I've been procrastinating for lack of funds. Now that I got a fairly nice salary I decided to deal with it.
Cellphones
My semi-trustworthy Nokia 5500 has been acting up lately (read: the last year or two) and I realised it was time to put it to sleep alongside my quarter-trustworthy Siemens M75 (which was its predecessor). So, with that slightly queasy and yet expectant feeling one gets when planning to spend more money than one'd like to think about I finally made the difficult decision to look for a new one. I found it too... It's pretty and it's made from recycled materials. I've even had the chance to feel it up thanks to there being one of those at the news desk I've been working at. I ordered it today and hopefully I'll get it this week. I'll be spending the next few months in a strange limbo where I erratically swing from euphoric to horribly guilty to slightly relieved and then back again while inserting a series of other emotional rollercoaster ups-and-downs and swirls in between.
I can't help but wonder how long my new cellphone will hold out before it activates its built in suicide gene and flips me off. Long live technology, eh?
To return to the issue of the unholy triad of C's then. Let's begin with what might be the main reason the second two C's appear so horrid to me.
Number one on the shitlist:
Colds
For weeks I've managed to stay healthy. After the possibly worst winter in memory, with close to two months of constant colds, I thought I'd worked out the kinks in my immune system and was getting along fine. I hung out with my best friend, who were coughing her lungs out and doing a very good job of imitating a crow with bronchitis, for a week straight while bathing in semi-cold waters and toughing it out in hard winds on the beach just to get a bit of a tan. It all went well, I didn't catch anything, she survived and I'm pretty sure she's still got both her lungs with her. And my legs got nice and tan.
I also hung out with my dearest aunt... who, it would turn out, was suffering from pneumonia. And at the same time I hung out with my other best friend (yeah, I've got two of those. I'm a Libra so I can't choose :D) while she was coughing more than breathing. And still I stayed healthy.
Now this is where the story takes a somewhat darker turn. These last two weeks I've been hanging around with one of my two best friends again. She's better now but her oldest kid (5 y/o) seems to have caught a slight cold. And of course, every time he sneezes he forgets to cover his mouth and almost infallibly turns his head towards me. Not that he can help it. He's still so young and he's cute as a button. Either way I guess my immune system decided to say: "Y'know what? Screw this, I'm going on a vacation". The result? A sore throat and a head that feels like it's full of wet cotton... the last day at work and only two days before I'm going back to my home (a 6 hour drive southward bound) with two cats and glaring sunlight.
This brings me to the second C on the list:
Cleaning
Since I've been borrowing an apartment for two weeks while working in my little hometown I, naturally, have to clean it up and make sure it's at least as clean as it was before I arrived. I hate cleaning under normal circumstances but now, with a cold and no idea where the laundry room is situated, I feel my motivation hitting an all-time low. And yet, this is one of the few times I actually HAVE to clean today and not procrastinate it until next week. Thankfully I haven't eaten much at home so there's not that many dishes needing to be washed. But the cats have had a time of it shedding hairs all over the curtains.
The third C on the list is something I've been procrastinating for lack of funds. Now that I got a fairly nice salary I decided to deal with it.
Cellphones
My semi-trustworthy Nokia 5500 has been acting up lately (read: the last year or two) and I realised it was time to put it to sleep alongside my quarter-trustworthy Siemens M75 (which was its predecessor). So, with that slightly queasy and yet expectant feeling one gets when planning to spend more money than one'd like to think about I finally made the difficult decision to look for a new one. I found it too... It's pretty and it's made from recycled materials. I've even had the chance to feel it up thanks to there being one of those at the news desk I've been working at. I ordered it today and hopefully I'll get it this week. I'll be spending the next few months in a strange limbo where I erratically swing from euphoric to horribly guilty to slightly relieved and then back again while inserting a series of other emotional rollercoaster ups-and-downs and swirls in between.
I can't help but wonder how long my new cellphone will hold out before it activates its built in suicide gene and flips me off. Long live technology, eh?
tisdag 25 maj 2010
What's wrong with traffic these days?
Let's begin on a positive note. Today we finished up our graduation project and turned it in to the teacher. So now all we have to do is wait for the seminars to finish, do whatever changes that needs to be done and then... finally!
Of course, I still have my thesis to finish up but for now I'm going to bask in the fact that the largest, and possibly most important, part of my education is done. It's been interesting, horrifying, devastating and fun. And God am I glad that it's over!
Now, on to traffic (which I'm not as happy with)... I'm starting to wonder if Monday is the new Friday. I wrote in an earlier post about how people drive like maniacs, callously disregarding any and all traffic rules as well as their own and others' safety, during Fridays. Well, Friday seems to have been extended to encompass Monday as well as Tuesday too so far.
Yesterday I was calmly driving towards the stable, abiding by the traffic rules set by our country's leaders way back. I come up at a junction, having put out the sign for a left turn in advance to make sure my fellow drivers knew where I was headed. I placed my car to the left in my lane and stopped to let a car on the crossing road pass (since it's my duty to give way). Then all of a sudden I see this dark blue Citroën coming up behind me, blinking left as well. And then the bastard places himself (it's gotta be a man, women generally drive in a more safe manner) on MY left, right next to my car. Now, if I hadn't seen him coming this could've led to a rather nasty collision. Anyway, the idiot blasts past me and since I'm not very fond of having to use up all my duct tape to tape up my front bumpers (been there, done that, spit on the T-shirt) I allowed my safety thinking to overrule my sheer burst of anger and murderous rage. I saw him do the same to some other car a few minutes later. Damn idiot.
One would think it would end there. No one got hurt (even though I admit I fervently wished the bastard would drive off a cliff that would suddenly and inexplicably materialise right in front of his car and just as quickly disappear) and I managed to get my temper under control. All's well that ends well, right?
NO. Because today, when driving home, I come to another junction. I've signalled a right turn in advance, placed myself as well as I could and... up comes this beat-up, piss-ugly old pile of rust (possibly a Ford), squeezes in on my right, signalling a right turn. Repeat the scenario from Monday, omitting the part where he did it again since I didn't actually follow for that long. Pick the scenario up at the part with the mysterious cliff materialising in front of the car...
Seriously, what's wrong with people? It's like as soon as they sit down behind the wheel of a car they all turn into Evel Knievel on crystal meth. It's at times like these I wish I had a huge neon-sign of a hand flipping the middle finger to turn on and shine at all the morons out there.
Of course, I still have my thesis to finish up but for now I'm going to bask in the fact that the largest, and possibly most important, part of my education is done. It's been interesting, horrifying, devastating and fun. And God am I glad that it's over!
Now, on to traffic (which I'm not as happy with)... I'm starting to wonder if Monday is the new Friday. I wrote in an earlier post about how people drive like maniacs, callously disregarding any and all traffic rules as well as their own and others' safety, during Fridays. Well, Friday seems to have been extended to encompass Monday as well as Tuesday too so far.
Yesterday I was calmly driving towards the stable, abiding by the traffic rules set by our country's leaders way back. I come up at a junction, having put out the sign for a left turn in advance to make sure my fellow drivers knew where I was headed. I placed my car to the left in my lane and stopped to let a car on the crossing road pass (since it's my duty to give way). Then all of a sudden I see this dark blue Citroën coming up behind me, blinking left as well. And then the bastard places himself (it's gotta be a man, women generally drive in a more safe manner) on MY left, right next to my car. Now, if I hadn't seen him coming this could've led to a rather nasty collision. Anyway, the idiot blasts past me and since I'm not very fond of having to use up all my duct tape to tape up my front bumpers (been there, done that, spit on the T-shirt) I allowed my safety thinking to overrule my sheer burst of anger and murderous rage. I saw him do the same to some other car a few minutes later. Damn idiot.
One would think it would end there. No one got hurt (even though I admit I fervently wished the bastard would drive off a cliff that would suddenly and inexplicably materialise right in front of his car and just as quickly disappear) and I managed to get my temper under control. All's well that ends well, right?
NO. Because today, when driving home, I come to another junction. I've signalled a right turn in advance, placed myself as well as I could and... up comes this beat-up, piss-ugly old pile of rust (possibly a Ford), squeezes in on my right, signalling a right turn. Repeat the scenario from Monday, omitting the part where he did it again since I didn't actually follow for that long. Pick the scenario up at the part with the mysterious cliff materialising in front of the car...
Seriously, what's wrong with people? It's like as soon as they sit down behind the wheel of a car they all turn into Evel Knievel on crystal meth. It's at times like these I wish I had a huge neon-sign of a hand flipping the middle finger to turn on and shine at all the morons out there.
söndag 23 maj 2010
Procrastination at its best
...or worst, depending on how you see it.
I had planned to grab myself by the scruff and finish up my thesis this weekend, only two months too late. But, oh wonder above wonders..., I've yet to even open the damn document. I really need to get it done before the start of June since otherwise I'll have to wait a whole year before I can submit it. But writer's blocks are vicious things. Worse than Lord Voldemort, the whole Twilight-series (books also counted) and a three week hangover. I'll pull some all-nighters this week to get it done. I might not have a lightning-shaped scar and ugly glasses like Harry Potter, but I sure as hell have got painkillers, lighting fluid and a lighter. SO I'll vanquish two out of three bad things and finish up my thesis in a heroic and astounding last minute rescue while the world I saved will be cheering for me from afar (most likely afraid to come too close due to my progressive insanity, but hey, all admiration is good).
On a more positive, and less world domination-like, note: We're making good progress on our graduation project. Now all we have to do is hunt down some politicians, finish up one illustration and two headlines and we're good to go. It's been quite an interesting piece of work filled with some rather uncomfortable and shocking revelations about an environment many people believe is the epitome of peace and quiet. Even I didn't know it could get this bad... And I'm a natural-born cynic/realist who thinks this world is full of shit most of the time.
Lately, I've also come to the realisation that journalists has got to be the most ego-tripping people out there. Last week I filled in for a journalist at the news desk I'm going to work at this summer. It was such a high to see my texts, with byline and all, in the newspaper. And when my last article for that week actually made poster news... *speechless and jumping up and down* I had to go into the kiosk and ask them if they would give me that news poster. They did, those wonderful people, so now I'm gonna put that poster up on my wall. It's my very first one, after all!
I had planned to grab myself by the scruff and finish up my thesis this weekend, only two months too late. But, oh wonder above wonders..., I've yet to even open the damn document. I really need to get it done before the start of June since otherwise I'll have to wait a whole year before I can submit it. But writer's blocks are vicious things. Worse than Lord Voldemort, the whole Twilight-series (books also counted) and a three week hangover. I'll pull some all-nighters this week to get it done. I might not have a lightning-shaped scar and ugly glasses like Harry Potter, but I sure as hell have got painkillers, lighting fluid and a lighter. SO I'll vanquish two out of three bad things and finish up my thesis in a heroic and astounding last minute rescue while the world I saved will be cheering for me from afar (most likely afraid to come too close due to my progressive insanity, but hey, all admiration is good).
On a more positive, and less world domination-like, note: We're making good progress on our graduation project. Now all we have to do is hunt down some politicians, finish up one illustration and two headlines and we're good to go. It's been quite an interesting piece of work filled with some rather uncomfortable and shocking revelations about an environment many people believe is the epitome of peace and quiet. Even I didn't know it could get this bad... And I'm a natural-born cynic/realist who thinks this world is full of shit most of the time.
Lately, I've also come to the realisation that journalists has got to be the most ego-tripping people out there. Last week I filled in for a journalist at the news desk I'm going to work at this summer. It was such a high to see my texts, with byline and all, in the newspaper. And when my last article for that week actually made poster news... *speechless and jumping up and down* I had to go into the kiosk and ask them if they would give me that news poster. They did, those wonderful people, so now I'm gonna put that poster up on my wall. It's my very first one, after all!
lördag 1 maj 2010
The Filial daughter or "How to drive Cat crazy in less than 2 days"
At the moment I'm visiting my parents in the capitol of Sweden, Stockholm (also known as the Hellish pit of overly stressed and rude idiots).
After retrieving my car, which is obviously possessed by the Devil and/or operated through a Windows-based system considering the amount of times it breaks down, from the workshop I felt slightly queasy because of the chilling knowledge that my car would once again cost a fortune to repair. I then packed my bags and drove that same car, with bad brakes on the back wheels, on an 8 hour drive from Umeå to Stockholm. It was nice as long as I could still consider myself being in Norrland. But as soon as I passed a city called Hudiksvall I could feel myself leaving the premises of said region and instead be enveloped by the atmosphere of the southern parts of Sweden. It is hard to describe that atmosphere but I will try my best.
Imagine you're having the worst hangover of your life, you've just woken up next to someone you have no idea who it is, or if it's a man, woman or Chewbacca, and whom you would've been better never having to lay your eyes upon in the first place. Then imagine that while you're lying there, wondering what train drove into your head at full speed (in the process obviously smashing certain vital parts of the facial appearance of whoever it is sleeping next to you), you realise you forgot to turn the sound off your cellphone. As is demonstrated by the sudden slicing pain (similar to undergoing a bypass surgery without anesthesia) of a tone you usually quite like cutting through your pounding head ache and self-loathing.
And when you pick up... It's your mother on the other end. Nagging at you because you forgot that you promised to drive her to her very important meeting. And she nags... and nags... and nags until you start to picture your hands slowly wrapping around her neck, seeing her face turn bluer and bluer. And when she finally hangs up...
Your grandmother calls. And nags at you because you forgot to drive your mother to her very important meeting. Repeat the strangulation scene. Substitute mother for grandmother. Hang up.
And then that creature next to you wakes up, thanking you for a great night, wondering if you'll be meeting again and if you wanna cuddle for a while. And so on. You realise you are really late for work... and stinking like that alcoholic over by the town square. So now you're full of self-loathing, annoyance, anger, murderous thoughts, bad conscience and top that off with stress x 100... Imagine all this and then multiply it all with 10... and you'll come fairly close to what I felt when I came closer and closer to the Hellish Pit called the capitol of Sweden, Stockholm.
Then top all of that off with realising that your parents' computer is slower than a turtle with only one leg and eyes full of cataracts...
Yeah, great, isn't it?
But at least I get to meet up with some old friends I haven't seen for years. And hopefully I'll get something nice for my exam project. So I'm going to live in the hopes that a week isn't very long, I'll be busy most days... and in the evenings I can lock the door to my room and catch up on all those homoerotic novels I've never quite had the time to read.
After retrieving my car, which is obviously possessed by the Devil and/or operated through a Windows-based system considering the amount of times it breaks down, from the workshop I felt slightly queasy because of the chilling knowledge that my car would once again cost a fortune to repair. I then packed my bags and drove that same car, with bad brakes on the back wheels, on an 8 hour drive from Umeå to Stockholm. It was nice as long as I could still consider myself being in Norrland. But as soon as I passed a city called Hudiksvall I could feel myself leaving the premises of said region and instead be enveloped by the atmosphere of the southern parts of Sweden. It is hard to describe that atmosphere but I will try my best.
Imagine you're having the worst hangover of your life, you've just woken up next to someone you have no idea who it is, or if it's a man, woman or Chewbacca, and whom you would've been better never having to lay your eyes upon in the first place. Then imagine that while you're lying there, wondering what train drove into your head at full speed (in the process obviously smashing certain vital parts of the facial appearance of whoever it is sleeping next to you), you realise you forgot to turn the sound off your cellphone. As is demonstrated by the sudden slicing pain (similar to undergoing a bypass surgery without anesthesia) of a tone you usually quite like cutting through your pounding head ache and self-loathing.
And when you pick up... It's your mother on the other end. Nagging at you because you forgot that you promised to drive her to her very important meeting. And she nags... and nags... and nags until you start to picture your hands slowly wrapping around her neck, seeing her face turn bluer and bluer. And when she finally hangs up...
Your grandmother calls. And nags at you because you forgot to drive your mother to her very important meeting. Repeat the strangulation scene. Substitute mother for grandmother. Hang up.
And then that creature next to you wakes up, thanking you for a great night, wondering if you'll be meeting again and if you wanna cuddle for a while. And so on. You realise you are really late for work... and stinking like that alcoholic over by the town square. So now you're full of self-loathing, annoyance, anger, murderous thoughts, bad conscience and top that off with stress x 100... Imagine all this and then multiply it all with 10... and you'll come fairly close to what I felt when I came closer and closer to the Hellish Pit called the capitol of Sweden, Stockholm.
Then top all of that off with realising that your parents' computer is slower than a turtle with only one leg and eyes full of cataracts...
Yeah, great, isn't it?
But at least I get to meet up with some old friends I haven't seen for years. And hopefully I'll get something nice for my exam project. So I'm going to live in the hopes that a week isn't very long, I'll be busy most days... and in the evenings I can lock the door to my room and catch up on all those homoerotic novels I've never quite had the time to read.
måndag 26 april 2010
Traffic... again
One would almost believe it's Friday today.
I've made the observation that people are more reckless and careless when driving during Fridays. Sure, they want to get home after work and enjoy the weekend. It's expected for Fridays. But what I don't understand is why people are idiots in the traffic on a Monday.
Today I was driving home from the stables. I kept the speed limit, drove legally and did everything one should. And then, all of a sudden, an idiot in a white minivan behind me flashes his lights, blinding me through the rear view mirror, before he passes me and races off as if he'd stolen the car. Angry and annoyed I flashed my lights right back at his rear window in a pathetic and yet oddly satisfying display of childish annoyance. I hope he at least felt the lights sting his eyes the way his lights stung mine.
People! Please drive safely, take care of each other in the traffic. You won't get home any quicker if your careless driving causes an accident. Pay attention to the people in the cars in front of, behind and around you. For the sake of us all!
I've made the observation that people are more reckless and careless when driving during Fridays. Sure, they want to get home after work and enjoy the weekend. It's expected for Fridays. But what I don't understand is why people are idiots in the traffic on a Monday.
Today I was driving home from the stables. I kept the speed limit, drove legally and did everything one should. And then, all of a sudden, an idiot in a white minivan behind me flashes his lights, blinding me through the rear view mirror, before he passes me and races off as if he'd stolen the car. Angry and annoyed I flashed my lights right back at his rear window in a pathetic and yet oddly satisfying display of childish annoyance. I hope he at least felt the lights sting his eyes the way his lights stung mine.
People! Please drive safely, take care of each other in the traffic. You won't get home any quicker if your careless driving causes an accident. Pay attention to the people in the cars in front of, behind and around you. For the sake of us all!
fredag 23 april 2010
So happy and relieved!
I am so incredibly relieved right now.
I've been worrying myself sick over what to do about a job this summer. Since I'm graduating from my university at the beginning of the summer I've been chewing my nails wondering what to do now that I've become a "grown-up". The ideal scenario would be to find a nice job at some news desk so I could actually work with what I've spent these last few years learning to do.
Since January/February this year I've sent out applications for summer work to various news desks around the country. It didn't look very promising though. I got rejection after rejection with the explanation that they wanted someone with "experience" in the field. But, hell, how can anyone get experience if no one's willing to employ people who might not have worked x amount of years at a news desk previously?
It's like a bad circle: You need experience to get a job within media -> You can't get any experience until you get a job within media -> and so on ad infinitum.
But! Things suddenly seemed to brighten a bit when I called one of the news desks I'd sent an application to. The hope rose and today I got a call from them saying that I'd get a few weeks (3 weeks) at the local newspaper office I had applied to. I was so happy I was shaking! And as the cherry on top of it all there's even a chance to get more work from them after the summer! It would mean I have to move (back to my rather small hometown, even further north than where I am living now) but I don't mind. They're willing to give me a chance, I can work at a newspaper I actually quite respect and that I grew up reading. And I get to work in a place I know very well, where I still have friends and family staying. So, all in all, if they ask me to continue working there after summer it's Good-bye Umeå; Hello again Gällivare!
It feels as if a great weight has been lifted off my chest with this. Of course I'm a bit nervous, thinking "what if I'm not good enough?" but at the same time I feel like "I can do this! I live for this!". To get a call like the one today is the most amazing feeling, it makes me giddy. And since I'm up to my ears with research and planning for our exam project it makes me feel even better to know I won't have to worry as much about the summer. So all in all... I'm on top of the world and aiming even higher!
I've been worrying myself sick over what to do about a job this summer. Since I'm graduating from my university at the beginning of the summer I've been chewing my nails wondering what to do now that I've become a "grown-up". The ideal scenario would be to find a nice job at some news desk so I could actually work with what I've spent these last few years learning to do.
Since January/February this year I've sent out applications for summer work to various news desks around the country. It didn't look very promising though. I got rejection after rejection with the explanation that they wanted someone with "experience" in the field. But, hell, how can anyone get experience if no one's willing to employ people who might not have worked x amount of years at a news desk previously?
It's like a bad circle: You need experience to get a job within media -> You can't get any experience until you get a job within media -> and so on ad infinitum.
But! Things suddenly seemed to brighten a bit when I called one of the news desks I'd sent an application to. The hope rose and today I got a call from them saying that I'd get a few weeks (3 weeks) at the local newspaper office I had applied to. I was so happy I was shaking! And as the cherry on top of it all there's even a chance to get more work from them after the summer! It would mean I have to move (back to my rather small hometown, even further north than where I am living now) but I don't mind. They're willing to give me a chance, I can work at a newspaper I actually quite respect and that I grew up reading. And I get to work in a place I know very well, where I still have friends and family staying. So, all in all, if they ask me to continue working there after summer it's Good-bye Umeå; Hello again Gällivare!
It feels as if a great weight has been lifted off my chest with this. Of course I'm a bit nervous, thinking "what if I'm not good enough?" but at the same time I feel like "I can do this! I live for this!". To get a call like the one today is the most amazing feeling, it makes me giddy. And since I'm up to my ears with research and planning for our exam project it makes me feel even better to know I won't have to worry as much about the summer. So all in all... I'm on top of the world and aiming even higher!
måndag 29 mars 2010
The dangers of the PMS bitch
Females around the world suffer from it. Men around the world suffer because of it (at least if you ask them). PMS is like passive smoking. Not only does it harm the smokers, but those around them as well.
I am one of all those people suffering from it directly. I'm not going to go into much detail about it. Suffice to say I manage to check all the boxes along the long list of symptoms of PMS. It is a dangerous, dangerous thing, this PMS business.
For example:
I am usually a rather calm driver, at the most I can display certain aspects of passive aggressiveness (displayed through a few choice words involving cereal boxes and driver's licenses or the occasional angry sigh). However, the day before yesterday I transformed, from one minute to the next, into the horrifying PMS bitch. I didn't realise it at the time, of course, since I was too wrapped up in thinking about ramming my car into the back bumper of the idiot in front of me who seemed to have trouble finding the gas pedal on their car (yes, surprise surprise, all cars normally DO have a gas pedal). I would've done it if my car hadn't consisted of up to 95% of plastic junk. Knowing this, however, I managed to limit myself to staring hard into their rear view mirror while frowning and sending evil, evil thoughts their way. I do have to confess I also flashed my lights at them at one point and was *this* close to sound my horn as well. Personally I hate it when someone does that to me. But, come on!, they were driving 50 km/h on a 70 km/h road...
In order to reduce stress levels and traffic incidents I suggest putting a sign on every car driven by a woman suffering from PMS. That way the other poor souls on the roads will at least have a chance to avoid the dangers for themselves, their cars, their ancestors and descendants as well as the authority issuing their driver's license.
As for the times off the roads...
I believe that a lot of PMS-induced cases of domestic abuse, most often verbal and/or emotional but sometimes involving normally stationary objects suddenly becoming airborne or doors suffering damage through blunt force trauma, can be prevented if the passive victim (read: the other, most often male, part of a relationship) of PMS would keep a few things in mind:
And here are some pictures of the whole bag of sweetness I found yesterday:
I am one of all those people suffering from it directly. I'm not going to go into much detail about it. Suffice to say I manage to check all the boxes along the long list of symptoms of PMS. It is a dangerous, dangerous thing, this PMS business.
For example:
I am usually a rather calm driver, at the most I can display certain aspects of passive aggressiveness (displayed through a few choice words involving cereal boxes and driver's licenses or the occasional angry sigh). However, the day before yesterday I transformed, from one minute to the next, into the horrifying PMS bitch. I didn't realise it at the time, of course, since I was too wrapped up in thinking about ramming my car into the back bumper of the idiot in front of me who seemed to have trouble finding the gas pedal on their car (yes, surprise surprise, all cars normally DO have a gas pedal). I would've done it if my car hadn't consisted of up to 95% of plastic junk. Knowing this, however, I managed to limit myself to staring hard into their rear view mirror while frowning and sending evil, evil thoughts their way. I do have to confess I also flashed my lights at them at one point and was *this* close to sound my horn as well. Personally I hate it when someone does that to me. But, come on!, they were driving 50 km/h on a 70 km/h road...
In order to reduce stress levels and traffic incidents I suggest putting a sign on every car driven by a woman suffering from PMS. That way the other poor souls on the roads will at least have a chance to avoid the dangers for themselves, their cars, their ancestors and descendants as well as the authority issuing their driver's license.
As for the times off the roads...
I believe that a lot of PMS-induced cases of domestic abuse, most often verbal and/or emotional but sometimes involving normally stationary objects suddenly becoming airborne or doors suffering damage through blunt force trauma, can be prevented if the passive victim (read: the other, most often male, part of a relationship) of PMS would keep a few things in mind:
1. Do not do anything that might aggravate the PMS bitch. Avoid eye contact, try to subtly stall all attempts at serious discussions about your relationship, or other volatile subjects, until a more opportune time.
2. Do not draw parallels between that awful bout of flu you had last year and your significant other's PMS. Do not talk about your awful day at work or other problems you might have suffered. Believe me, nothing you've suffered this day will be anywhere near what the PMS bitch will feel like she's suffered.
3. Do not forget to pick up your stuff from the floor/chairs/tables or anywhere else where you might have thrown/dropped them. You do not want to know what happens if the PMS bitch comes home to a messy house and realises she'll be the one who'll have to clean it up.
4. Do not come between the PMS bitch and her choice of a substitute for Valium (e.g chocolate, candy, cookies etc.). And for GOD'S SAKE do not eat that last cookie or ice cream you found in the kitchen. You will not like the consequences.
5. Use this time to show your softer side. A surprise gift (chocolate or flowers for example) is always nice. But also more mundane displays of affection are good. This is your chance to prove that a real man really knows how to handle a vacuum cleaner or the dish washer.
If you've planned on cooking a nice, romantic dinner for your significant other to when she gets home from a tough day, this is the time.
And, yes, you have to do the dishes and the clean-up immediately, at the latest, after you've finished dinner and the PMS bitch has relocated to the comfortable couch or chair in front of the TV, swept into a warm blanket that you've put around her shoulders, with a nice cup of warm tea or chocolate in her hand (and the remote control within easy reach).
And no, a romantic dinner doesn't automatically end with hot gorilla sex... just so you know what you shouldn't expect.
And here are some pictures of the whole bag of sweetness I found yesterday:
tisdag 16 mars 2010
Where is journalism headed?
I've finally finished coding the articles for my thesis. Only x amount of weeks too late (the deadline for the thesis as a whole is on Thursday).
I had some very annoying and frustrating revelations while doing this. A part of the articles for my thesis are supposed to come from the web versions of two Swedish newspapers. So far so good.
The problem is that while one of them are good at archiving their old articles, the other seems to be happily deleting old articles and leaving only those that make them look good. Not to mention the fact that articles on the web (as opposed to those that go into print) can be edited and changed well after their newsworthiness has disappeared.
Which means that for me, who are looking for problems with language and grammar, the results of my coding of those articles are haphazard at best.
I happen to know that the latter of the two newspapers is in fact quite lousy where language and grammar is concerned... to the point that I've, on several occasions while reading articles their reporters have written, found myself with an almost desperately urgent need to track down the reporters, grab them by the hair and stuff some grammar books and books on proper writing (and spelling) into various orifices of their body. I'm sure they've had a field day going back and correcting stuff that most likely looked like shit in the original version.
Indeed, the development of web publishing has got to be their greatest joy ever, since then they can gloss over their horrid mistakes and the readers, unless they've been smart and taken screen shots of the original version, will be none the wiser. Oh joy, a way for the media to pretend they're above such menial faults such as bad spelling or lack of facts. After all, if the original text isn't there, or has been exchanged for a corrected version..., no one can call them on their mistakes and they can carry on befouling (yeah, sorry for using such a word) the language, which is already fighting for its every breath.
It makes me wonder why on earth it's so hard for us fresh journalists (and journalism students) to get a foot into the media. Are they happier keeping blasé oldies just because they seem to have "experience" (which, by the way, is quite a loose word nowadays concerning the speed of the changes in the world) instead of bringing in fresh blood?
What does it say for a newspaper's reputation that they rather keep reporters that are illiterate, or seriously won't give a shit about how the readers see their articles, than take in fresh ones with new points of views and energy?
It makes me so frustrated. And all the while this particular newspaper I'm thinking of claims to have one of the best web-editions in Sweden, of being in the forefront of web journalism. They conveniently choose to disregard the fact that their archive system is a mess, which makes it nearly impossible to actually find anything, or that the knowledge of proper spelling and grammar among their journalists could easily be breached by a grade school kid.
I could go on for hours about this, although hopefully with a bit more... detail and language variation, but my head is about to blow up due to annoyance, stress and sheer resignation.
Where is the world headed when people in the media who, at least in my opinion, should set a certain standard where writing and language is concerned, set such bad examples? It's like they're callously saying: "Well, the world's a bitch anyway, and you morons wouldn't know what was right or wrong even if we spelled it out for you, so fuck off!"
I had some very annoying and frustrating revelations while doing this. A part of the articles for my thesis are supposed to come from the web versions of two Swedish newspapers. So far so good.
The problem is that while one of them are good at archiving their old articles, the other seems to be happily deleting old articles and leaving only those that make them look good. Not to mention the fact that articles on the web (as opposed to those that go into print) can be edited and changed well after their newsworthiness has disappeared.
Which means that for me, who are looking for problems with language and grammar, the results of my coding of those articles are haphazard at best.
I happen to know that the latter of the two newspapers is in fact quite lousy where language and grammar is concerned... to the point that I've, on several occasions while reading articles their reporters have written, found myself with an almost desperately urgent need to track down the reporters, grab them by the hair and stuff some grammar books and books on proper writing (and spelling) into various orifices of their body. I'm sure they've had a field day going back and correcting stuff that most likely looked like shit in the original version.
Indeed, the development of web publishing has got to be their greatest joy ever, since then they can gloss over their horrid mistakes and the readers, unless they've been smart and taken screen shots of the original version, will be none the wiser. Oh joy, a way for the media to pretend they're above such menial faults such as bad spelling or lack of facts. After all, if the original text isn't there, or has been exchanged for a corrected version..., no one can call them on their mistakes and they can carry on befouling (yeah, sorry for using such a word) the language, which is already fighting for its every breath.
It makes me wonder why on earth it's so hard for us fresh journalists (and journalism students) to get a foot into the media. Are they happier keeping blasé oldies just because they seem to have "experience" (which, by the way, is quite a loose word nowadays concerning the speed of the changes in the world) instead of bringing in fresh blood?
What does it say for a newspaper's reputation that they rather keep reporters that are illiterate, or seriously won't give a shit about how the readers see their articles, than take in fresh ones with new points of views and energy?
It makes me so frustrated. And all the while this particular newspaper I'm thinking of claims to have one of the best web-editions in Sweden, of being in the forefront of web journalism. They conveniently choose to disregard the fact that their archive system is a mess, which makes it nearly impossible to actually find anything, or that the knowledge of proper spelling and grammar among their journalists could easily be breached by a grade school kid.
I could go on for hours about this, although hopefully with a bit more... detail and language variation, but my head is about to blow up due to annoyance, stress and sheer resignation.
Where is the world headed when people in the media who, at least in my opinion, should set a certain standard where writing and language is concerned, set such bad examples? It's like they're callously saying: "Well, the world's a bitch anyway, and you morons wouldn't know what was right or wrong even if we spelled it out for you, so fuck off!"
onsdag 10 mars 2010
My obsession
I have a confession to make... I'm a wannabe fag hag. I haven't got any gay friends (far as I know) but wouldn't mind it. To be honest, a more correct way of describing me would rather be the Japanese term fujoshi (which basically means a woman who likes to read about gay relationships and the like).
Now some people in my circle of friends already knew this from way back, some even share my interest with a vengeance.
However, I just had to say it now since I'm about to throw myself into a glowing array of praise for an author who's just managed to ramp up my obsession another fifteen notches or so.
I'm talking about an author by the name of Jet Mykles. She writes erotic novels and short stories, with both m/f and m/m pairings. I've read as many of her works as I've been able to get, from both pairing categories.
My obsession with her works began slowly with some short stories in some Boys' Love (BL) anthologies. And then came the Heaven Sent series...
It's about the members of a rock band called Heaven Sent. Each book in the series is about one of the members and their relationships.
The first book, Heaven, gives us the story of Johnnie, the sultry vocalist of the band. He seems to be a true go-getter. He sees something he wants, he makes damn sure to get it... and make sure whatever he's got will be more than happy to be his. There is a short story, Pretty Red Ribbon, attached to it as well.
However, it was the second book, Purgatory, that really caught me. I do admit I was a bit partial of course since I have a certain weakness for rock bassists and guitarists. Don't ask me why because I simply can't explain, it's an instinct I think. Anyway, Purgatory deals with the band's bassist, Lucas, and his trials and tribulations when trying to right a stupid youthful mistake. He seems to have an excessive amount of self-confidence and isn't afraid to display it. And while his intended target might not be too happy about it along the road, self-confidence is often the way to success. So dear, sexy Lucas does it his way. As with Heaven (and the following books in the series) there is a short after the story-story, Sexy Spring Surprise, attached to this one as well.
The third book, Hell, deals with the guitarist, Brent, and his conflicting emotions when a new member, the keyboardist Hell, joins the band. The image I got of Brent from the first two books are here deliciously shattered to reveal some a very intriguing and unexpected side of his personality. The after the story story is called Feisty Little Firecracker, which seems to be a perfect title to describe not only the relationship created in the main story but also the characters.
The story of the last member of the band, the surrounded by gay relationships-drummer Darien, is the subject for the fourth book (not counting the various after the story-stories), Faith. Darien is open and likeable. While he himself sticks to women, in fact even marries one, he fully supports his bandmates' choices of partners, regardless of genders. When his marriage doesn't work out exactly the way he'd thought it would, however, Darien himself suddenly has cause to wonder exactly what it is that his bandmates have found and he hasn't. Enter the romantic interest and a very amusing and refreshingly open-minded Darien decides to take the other for a wild spin. The after-story is called Sly Spectral Trick and is delightfully amusing.
There have been two other stories in this series published after the ones mentioned above.
One is called Genesis. Brent, who more or less lives for his music and never is happier than when he can stand on stage with his guitar, gets into an accident just before a big gig and a replacement has to be brought in. While the replacement is good, maybe he is too good? Brent has to watch someone else stand in his spot on the stage. At the same time Lucas is being more or less stalked by his female co-actress from a movie he'd been cast in, which doesn't much please his sassy partner. Hell has got his hands full with trying to make sure his partner doesn't break down. And Darien, still quite new to his relationship with his partner, is worrying about the re-appearance of his partner's former lover. And on top of all this they all have the gig to worry about. In the midst of all this Johnnie and his partner, now his spouse, seem wonderfully stable and loving most of the time and Johnnie seems to take most things in stride.
The last story, Revelations, is on my to-read-list so I haven't got much to say about it as of yet. But if it's in any way alike the previous ones I'll probably read it from page one to end way too late into the night.
So, yeah, Jet Mykles certainly has got something. She creates characters and stories that catches the reader's interest... and keeps it way after the story itself has been read and finished. The fact that this lovely author has also made BL fanfics about the characters of the Japanese manga/anime Weiss Kreuz, where the original story itself was full of BL vibes, of course only served to make me love this author even more.
I recommend reading her works. Aside from those mentioned above there are many other nice stories (Tech support is one of my personal favourites for example) with m/m pairings.
If you prefer to read stories with m/f pairings, or just want a soft introduction to some m/m action, I recommend the Dark Elves- or the Leashed-series. I could write a lot about those as well but I need to get back to fuelling up my own obsession. The freebies at Jet Mykles's own homepage, www.jetmykles.com, is, after all, calling to me.
Now some people in my circle of friends already knew this from way back, some even share my interest with a vengeance.
However, I just had to say it now since I'm about to throw myself into a glowing array of praise for an author who's just managed to ramp up my obsession another fifteen notches or so.
I'm talking about an author by the name of Jet Mykles. She writes erotic novels and short stories, with both m/f and m/m pairings. I've read as many of her works as I've been able to get, from both pairing categories.
My obsession with her works began slowly with some short stories in some Boys' Love (BL) anthologies. And then came the Heaven Sent series...
It's about the members of a rock band called Heaven Sent. Each book in the series is about one of the members and their relationships.
The first book, Heaven, gives us the story of Johnnie, the sultry vocalist of the band. He seems to be a true go-getter. He sees something he wants, he makes damn sure to get it... and make sure whatever he's got will be more than happy to be his. There is a short story, Pretty Red Ribbon, attached to it as well.
However, it was the second book, Purgatory, that really caught me. I do admit I was a bit partial of course since I have a certain weakness for rock bassists and guitarists. Don't ask me why because I simply can't explain, it's an instinct I think. Anyway, Purgatory deals with the band's bassist, Lucas, and his trials and tribulations when trying to right a stupid youthful mistake. He seems to have an excessive amount of self-confidence and isn't afraid to display it. And while his intended target might not be too happy about it along the road, self-confidence is often the way to success. So dear, sexy Lucas does it his way. As with Heaven (and the following books in the series) there is a short after the story-story, Sexy Spring Surprise, attached to this one as well.
The third book, Hell, deals with the guitarist, Brent, and his conflicting emotions when a new member, the keyboardist Hell, joins the band. The image I got of Brent from the first two books are here deliciously shattered to reveal some a very intriguing and unexpected side of his personality. The after the story story is called Feisty Little Firecracker, which seems to be a perfect title to describe not only the relationship created in the main story but also the characters.
The story of the last member of the band, the surrounded by gay relationships-drummer Darien, is the subject for the fourth book (not counting the various after the story-stories), Faith. Darien is open and likeable. While he himself sticks to women, in fact even marries one, he fully supports his bandmates' choices of partners, regardless of genders. When his marriage doesn't work out exactly the way he'd thought it would, however, Darien himself suddenly has cause to wonder exactly what it is that his bandmates have found and he hasn't. Enter the romantic interest and a very amusing and refreshingly open-minded Darien decides to take the other for a wild spin. The after-story is called Sly Spectral Trick and is delightfully amusing.
There have been two other stories in this series published after the ones mentioned above.
One is called Genesis. Brent, who more or less lives for his music and never is happier than when he can stand on stage with his guitar, gets into an accident just before a big gig and a replacement has to be brought in. While the replacement is good, maybe he is too good? Brent has to watch someone else stand in his spot on the stage. At the same time Lucas is being more or less stalked by his female co-actress from a movie he'd been cast in, which doesn't much please his sassy partner. Hell has got his hands full with trying to make sure his partner doesn't break down. And Darien, still quite new to his relationship with his partner, is worrying about the re-appearance of his partner's former lover. And on top of all this they all have the gig to worry about. In the midst of all this Johnnie and his partner, now his spouse, seem wonderfully stable and loving most of the time and Johnnie seems to take most things in stride.
The last story, Revelations, is on my to-read-list so I haven't got much to say about it as of yet. But if it's in any way alike the previous ones I'll probably read it from page one to end way too late into the night.
So, yeah, Jet Mykles certainly has got something. She creates characters and stories that catches the reader's interest... and keeps it way after the story itself has been read and finished. The fact that this lovely author has also made BL fanfics about the characters of the Japanese manga/anime Weiss Kreuz, where the original story itself was full of BL vibes, of course only served to make me love this author even more.
I recommend reading her works. Aside from those mentioned above there are many other nice stories (Tech support is one of my personal favourites for example) with m/m pairings.
If you prefer to read stories with m/f pairings, or just want a soft introduction to some m/m action, I recommend the Dark Elves- or the Leashed-series. I could write a lot about those as well but I need to get back to fuelling up my own obsession. The freebies at Jet Mykles's own homepage, www.jetmykles.com, is, after all, calling to me.
måndag 8 mars 2010
Alice in Wonderland 3D
So, yesterday I went to see Tim Burton's "Alice in Wonderland" in 3D.
Now, Tim Burton happens to be one of my favourite directors. And the fact that Johnny Depp was among the cast for the movie seemed like a big plus. So, naturally, my expectations were quite high.
Which is why it pains me to have to write this.
Alice in Wonderland is a story with great potential for some wicked effects. Tim Burton with his skill for creating fascinating and engaging movies should have been home free with this type of story. Sadly I must say that I was disappointed.
The story felt fragmented. They were referring to events that never really got proper explanations, leaving the audience in the dark about what they were referring to. The story lacked depth and seemed to move too quickly, glossing over a lot of details that should've been present in order to create an engaging movie.
Alice felt bland and, to be honest, quite vapid. A sullen kid running from everything and everyone, completely convinced her way was the right way. Her sudden change in attitude towards the end of the movie felt rushed and didn't quite manage to bring me along into the change. It was a total 180 between one scene and the other where Alice's attitude was concerned. I'm not sure if it was the actress who didn't manage to portray Alice correctly or if it was the script but Alice felt shallow and stiff. Even though I know I shouldn't I still have to draw some parallels to Orlando Bloom's and Keira Knightley's in my opinion rather lousy character portrayal in Pirates of the Caribbean. The acting simply failed to engage me and lacked emotional depth.
Johnny Depp then. I love his acting skills and frequently claim I can't recall a single movie in which I didn't think he was brilliant. It seems I might have to change that claim now. While he did manage to portray the madness of the Hatter it also felt shallow and fragmented. There wasn't any depth in the feelings of the Hatter and it seemed like they had focused too much on physical oddness and costume rather than the deeper and darker sides of the Hatter. Johnny Depp is usually quite good at capturing and portraying those depths in his characters which leads me to think that the script he had to work with might not have given him the chance to do so with the Hatter. It was a disappointment.
As for the rest of the cast... While the small quirks of the White Queen had their amusing aspects and while she was indeed gorgeous, the rest of the characters felt just as shallow and fragmented as Alice and Hatter.
The Red Queen and her Knight Stayne were sadly pathetic. The Red Queen's fickleness and cold nature was handled badly, making me feel sorry for the actress (Helena Bonham-Carter) who had to play the character. She's usually one of my favourite actresses but her skills, like Depp's, wasn't enough this time. As for Stayne... I have no words to describe how utterly useless he was. Truly... no words.
The one character that was somewhat engaging was the Cheshire Cat. It only bugged me that the Swedish subtitles wrote "Chessur" instead of Cheshire. I think it would've been nice if they'd managed to incorporate more of the traits found in the Cheshire cat in the other characters as well. And since the Cheshire cat was animated in such a way he truly shone in 3D.
As it was now it felt like Tim Burton and his crew hadn't been able to decide whether to try and keep a somewhat linear and chronological story or to make it as confusing (and amusing) as the original story was. In either case, I'm sad to say that in my opinion, they failed.
The 3D aspects of the movie then. I figure it's hard to make a good 3D-movie with live actors since you can't tweak and turn the effects the same way with real actors as you could with completely animated ones. While it was nice with the added feel of depth in the scenery, the 3D-effects were muted and rather meaningless most of the time. This can, of course, be attributed to the fact that the screen in the salon we watched the movie in wasn't big enough to give that feeling of being inside the world we were watching. The edges of the screen were simply too visible.
There are probably many more reasons why I couldn't really find it in myself to see the movie as anything more than a somewhat pleasant distraction for an evening. However, right now I just can't bear to analyse it beyond what I already have.
So, for those who just want to watch a movie with a fantasy theme and some nice scenery 3D effects I guess Alice in Wonderland 3D can be nice. If you're looking for a deeper story and character portrayal, however, I personally suggest you look elsewhere.
Now, Tim Burton happens to be one of my favourite directors. And the fact that Johnny Depp was among the cast for the movie seemed like a big plus. So, naturally, my expectations were quite high.
Which is why it pains me to have to write this.
Alice in Wonderland is a story with great potential for some wicked effects. Tim Burton with his skill for creating fascinating and engaging movies should have been home free with this type of story. Sadly I must say that I was disappointed.
The story felt fragmented. They were referring to events that never really got proper explanations, leaving the audience in the dark about what they were referring to. The story lacked depth and seemed to move too quickly, glossing over a lot of details that should've been present in order to create an engaging movie.
Alice felt bland and, to be honest, quite vapid. A sullen kid running from everything and everyone, completely convinced her way was the right way. Her sudden change in attitude towards the end of the movie felt rushed and didn't quite manage to bring me along into the change. It was a total 180 between one scene and the other where Alice's attitude was concerned. I'm not sure if it was the actress who didn't manage to portray Alice correctly or if it was the script but Alice felt shallow and stiff. Even though I know I shouldn't I still have to draw some parallels to Orlando Bloom's and Keira Knightley's in my opinion rather lousy character portrayal in Pirates of the Caribbean. The acting simply failed to engage me and lacked emotional depth.
Johnny Depp then. I love his acting skills and frequently claim I can't recall a single movie in which I didn't think he was brilliant. It seems I might have to change that claim now. While he did manage to portray the madness of the Hatter it also felt shallow and fragmented. There wasn't any depth in the feelings of the Hatter and it seemed like they had focused too much on physical oddness and costume rather than the deeper and darker sides of the Hatter. Johnny Depp is usually quite good at capturing and portraying those depths in his characters which leads me to think that the script he had to work with might not have given him the chance to do so with the Hatter. It was a disappointment.
As for the rest of the cast... While the small quirks of the White Queen had their amusing aspects and while she was indeed gorgeous, the rest of the characters felt just as shallow and fragmented as Alice and Hatter.
The Red Queen and her Knight Stayne were sadly pathetic. The Red Queen's fickleness and cold nature was handled badly, making me feel sorry for the actress (Helena Bonham-Carter) who had to play the character. She's usually one of my favourite actresses but her skills, like Depp's, wasn't enough this time. As for Stayne... I have no words to describe how utterly useless he was. Truly... no words.
The one character that was somewhat engaging was the Cheshire Cat. It only bugged me that the Swedish subtitles wrote "Chessur" instead of Cheshire. I think it would've been nice if they'd managed to incorporate more of the traits found in the Cheshire cat in the other characters as well. And since the Cheshire cat was animated in such a way he truly shone in 3D.
As it was now it felt like Tim Burton and his crew hadn't been able to decide whether to try and keep a somewhat linear and chronological story or to make it as confusing (and amusing) as the original story was. In either case, I'm sad to say that in my opinion, they failed.
The 3D aspects of the movie then. I figure it's hard to make a good 3D-movie with live actors since you can't tweak and turn the effects the same way with real actors as you could with completely animated ones. While it was nice with the added feel of depth in the scenery, the 3D-effects were muted and rather meaningless most of the time. This can, of course, be attributed to the fact that the screen in the salon we watched the movie in wasn't big enough to give that feeling of being inside the world we were watching. The edges of the screen were simply too visible.
There are probably many more reasons why I couldn't really find it in myself to see the movie as anything more than a somewhat pleasant distraction for an evening. However, right now I just can't bear to analyse it beyond what I already have.
So, for those who just want to watch a movie with a fantasy theme and some nice scenery 3D effects I guess Alice in Wonderland 3D can be nice. If you're looking for a deeper story and character portrayal, however, I personally suggest you look elsewhere.
lördag 6 mars 2010
Technology and Cat = a love/hate relationship since 1996
So, instead of doing what I should be doing - which is writing on my thesis and maybe hole myself up in the vaults of the university library to look through microfilms - I've now gotten around to working on making my old laptop into a laptop purely for design purposes.
Since this laptop is royally screwing my design programs over and is also giving my design tablet tics I decided to say "fuck it" and move the designs back to my old semi-trusty servant. Of course I won't trust it to be able to handle internet or the likes since last time I tried the bastard started lagging like crazy. Besides, since I accidentally gave the keyboard a nice shower of red wine it's completely destroyed and I have to use an external for it, which doesn't exactly encourage creating longer text segments. But at least the touchpad works so I won't have to deprive my new one of the wireless mouse.
Anyway, I'm gonna wipe the old fucker clean and then only install the bare necessities (of which firefox and other internet-related items will not be a part). Since it's set up just next to this one I can still surf the 'net and listen to Spotify so I won't have to choose between the two. Which is good, since I'd probably go mad if I couldn't use the internet for a longer period of time.
Of course, my faithful external HDD will have to serve as the go-between when I find something (read: brushes) on the net that I deem would be beneficial for my designs.
Today will, in other words, be spent cursing over the stupid idiot who came up with the sick idea to create a shitty OS like Windows Vista. It takes ages for the fucker to install and once it's on the hard drive... The shit really hits the fan.
I was complaining about my laptop running so slowly a few weeks back and a very insightful and intelligent friend casually reminded me that it really couldn't be helped since I have a virus on my computer called Vista. Amen to that.
Seriously, Vista has got to be the biggest and worst joke since the Windows systems were even invented (which in itself was the beginning of the end in my opinion).
I just thought I'd write it out here since there most likely will be some serious ranting in the close future. And some of it might very well end up in this blog.
Since this laptop is royally screwing my design programs over and is also giving my design tablet tics I decided to say "fuck it" and move the designs back to my old semi-trusty servant. Of course I won't trust it to be able to handle internet or the likes since last time I tried the bastard started lagging like crazy. Besides, since I accidentally gave the keyboard a nice shower of red wine it's completely destroyed and I have to use an external for it, which doesn't exactly encourage creating longer text segments. But at least the touchpad works so I won't have to deprive my new one of the wireless mouse.
Anyway, I'm gonna wipe the old fucker clean and then only install the bare necessities (of which firefox and other internet-related items will not be a part). Since it's set up just next to this one I can still surf the 'net and listen to Spotify so I won't have to choose between the two. Which is good, since I'd probably go mad if I couldn't use the internet for a longer period of time.
Of course, my faithful external HDD will have to serve as the go-between when I find something (read: brushes) on the net that I deem would be beneficial for my designs.
Today will, in other words, be spent cursing over the stupid idiot who came up with the sick idea to create a shitty OS like Windows Vista. It takes ages for the fucker to install and once it's on the hard drive... The shit really hits the fan.
I was complaining about my laptop running so slowly a few weeks back and a very insightful and intelligent friend casually reminded me that it really couldn't be helped since I have a virus on my computer called Vista. Amen to that.
Seriously, Vista has got to be the biggest and worst joke since the Windows systems were even invented (which in itself was the beginning of the end in my opinion).
I just thought I'd write it out here since there most likely will be some serious ranting in the close future. And some of it might very well end up in this blog.
söndag 28 februari 2010
Boys, boys, boys...
So last night I let my best friend talk me into going to one of the clubs on campus, completely disregarding the fact that I actually haven't got money to spend on such things.
Anyway, she had never been to that club while it used to be my favourite place back when I went out more frequently. So I assured her that it would be fun, and even if it wasn't the drinks are cheap there. Well, we got there about ten minutes after they'd opened for the evening. My first thought when we got in was: "What epidemic has wiped out all the slightly normal people on campus?". It was the first weekend after payday (here in Sweden we have this thing where we can take out special student loans and also get some student grant, enabling us to live... sorta... without having to work full-time too unless we want to) and usually the clubs are teeming with people these weekends.
However, last night we felt quite alone in the world with only a handful of others (who seemed quite eccentric), not counting the bartenders, in the place. So we sat there, nursing our beers and wondering what the hell was going on while talking about checking some of the other places on campus.
Long story short we remained at this place and about an hour after our arrival more people started appearing and suddenly the place was rather full (with a lot of people who seem to think that dancing is a synonym for either wobbling back and forth in one place or doing some hardcore groping). As is wont to happen in a club full of drunk and desperate people we were pretty soon joined by some guy and we spent the evening talking and drinking more than we should, as usual.
But, as always after a night at the club, I get to thinking about guys. For so long one's heard the guys complain about how girls are always trying to drag them into a relationship after having sex with them. Which is quite a silly and outdated statement.
It seems like the scale has weighed over to the other side, because far as I've noticed it's the other way around these days. Guys are the ones who seem to think that the girl will be so amazed at their fantastic skills in bed (or conversational skills... who knows?) that they'll fall to the guy's feet and jump at the slightest possibility of a relationship afterwards. And the girls, on the other hand, shake their heads, wonder why they didn't register that the guy's an idiot the night before, take a few painkillers and decide if he was good in bed or not. And then they move on.
Since when did the good old-fashioned one-night-stand become synonymous with "Sure, I was drunk and horny yesterday and you were fair enough in bed so let's start dating and live happily ever after"? Why can't a girl just want to try out a guy she met at the club and then be allowed to continue on with her life without him dogging her about meeting again and trying to sell his good points to her? Unless I've missed something really crucial it's been a long time since having sex with a guy means immediate attachment and "together ever after" here in Sweden.
And the worst thing is that guys don't seem to realise how pathetic they are in thinking that more or less nagging the girl about it the day after, and not getting the hint to get dressed and get the hell out, will clinch the relationship deal.
One of the most stupid things a guy can do the morning after is to start telling a (hungover and newly awoken) woman about how great he is and how she deserves the best... which, naturally, is him. If he's got any say in the matter that is, which of course he always has since he's God's gift to women. The fact that if he had been he probably wouldn't have to do such a pathetically desperate thing in the first place doesn't even seem to register in his mind.
In a way I can't help but feel sorry for such guys but at the same time that old mantra "Girls always think having sex once means a relationship" rings in my head and I sit back to shake my head and smile in patronising pity.
Guys often do amaze me... with their complete lack of self-reflection and insight. Which part of "don't call me, I'll call you" can't they understand? Just wondering. After all, they're the ones who claim to have invented the expression in the first place.
Anyway, she had never been to that club while it used to be my favourite place back when I went out more frequently. So I assured her that it would be fun, and even if it wasn't the drinks are cheap there. Well, we got there about ten minutes after they'd opened for the evening. My first thought when we got in was: "What epidemic has wiped out all the slightly normal people on campus?". It was the first weekend after payday (here in Sweden we have this thing where we can take out special student loans and also get some student grant, enabling us to live... sorta... without having to work full-time too unless we want to) and usually the clubs are teeming with people these weekends.
However, last night we felt quite alone in the world with only a handful of others (who seemed quite eccentric), not counting the bartenders, in the place. So we sat there, nursing our beers and wondering what the hell was going on while talking about checking some of the other places on campus.
Long story short we remained at this place and about an hour after our arrival more people started appearing and suddenly the place was rather full (with a lot of people who seem to think that dancing is a synonym for either wobbling back and forth in one place or doing some hardcore groping). As is wont to happen in a club full of drunk and desperate people we were pretty soon joined by some guy and we spent the evening talking and drinking more than we should, as usual.
But, as always after a night at the club, I get to thinking about guys. For so long one's heard the guys complain about how girls are always trying to drag them into a relationship after having sex with them. Which is quite a silly and outdated statement.
It seems like the scale has weighed over to the other side, because far as I've noticed it's the other way around these days. Guys are the ones who seem to think that the girl will be so amazed at their fantastic skills in bed (or conversational skills... who knows?) that they'll fall to the guy's feet and jump at the slightest possibility of a relationship afterwards. And the girls, on the other hand, shake their heads, wonder why they didn't register that the guy's an idiot the night before, take a few painkillers and decide if he was good in bed or not. And then they move on.
Since when did the good old-fashioned one-night-stand become synonymous with "Sure, I was drunk and horny yesterday and you were fair enough in bed so let's start dating and live happily ever after"? Why can't a girl just want to try out a guy she met at the club and then be allowed to continue on with her life without him dogging her about meeting again and trying to sell his good points to her? Unless I've missed something really crucial it's been a long time since having sex with a guy means immediate attachment and "together ever after" here in Sweden.
And the worst thing is that guys don't seem to realise how pathetic they are in thinking that more or less nagging the girl about it the day after, and not getting the hint to get dressed and get the hell out, will clinch the relationship deal.
One of the most stupid things a guy can do the morning after is to start telling a (hungover and newly awoken) woman about how great he is and how she deserves the best... which, naturally, is him. If he's got any say in the matter that is, which of course he always has since he's God's gift to women. The fact that if he had been he probably wouldn't have to do such a pathetically desperate thing in the first place doesn't even seem to register in his mind.
In a way I can't help but feel sorry for such guys but at the same time that old mantra "Girls always think having sex once means a relationship" rings in my head and I sit back to shake my head and smile in patronising pity.
Guys often do amaze me... with their complete lack of self-reflection and insight. Which part of "don't call me, I'll call you" can't they understand? Just wondering. After all, they're the ones who claim to have invented the expression in the first place.
söndag 21 februari 2010
Håll katten inne! (rant in Swedish)
Det finns inget jag föraktar mer än folk som inte tar hand om djur på absolut bästa sätt (sett från djurets behov). Djuren kan inte rätt ut säga åt oss vad de behöver (och ärligt talat så även om de skulle haft det finns det fortfarande skitstövlar som med vett och vilje skulle skada djuren). Djur är oskyldiga. De har aldrig bett oss att tämja dem, att ha dem i våra hem och vår vardag. Det var helt människans val att göra dem till husdjur. De kan inte säga åt oss klart och tydligt när vi inte ger dem vad de behöver, när de har ont eller mår dåligt. Det är där vårt ansvar, som de som tog djurens anfäder från det vilda och började hålla dem som husdjur i våra grottor och whatnot, ligger.
Vi måste vara tillräckligt uppmärksamma för att kunna se hur våra djur mår.
Vi måste vara tillräckligt intelligenta och empatiska för att ge våra djur de absolut bästa förutsättningarna.
Vi måste inse att djuren, hur söta och gosedjursaktiga de än kan verka, är levande varelser som kan känna smärta, rädsla, lycka och allt däremellan. De kan bli hungriga, törstiga, de kan frysa, de kan få värmeslag. Ja, egentligen är väl det enda som skiljer oss från våra husdjur det faktum att vi råkar vara den art som var girigast, som tog för sig mer än vad vi kanske egentligen borde ha gjort. Vi har våra stora städer, vi har våra språk och vår teknik... Men inget av detta gör oss bättre än djuren, det ger oss inte rätt att behandla djur som mindre värda eller få för oss att de inte kan känna saker precis som vi.
Och vi har absolut ingen rätt att tro att lilla "Misse" kan klara sig helt på egen hand i en värld dominerad av människor, bilar och allt färre naturliga bytesdjur. "Misses" anfäder må ha klarat sig i det vilda, innan människorna började lägga asfalt, hugga ner skogen, bygga hus och allt möjligt annat som tog ifrån dem deras naturliga bomarker och bytesdjur. Men "Misse" är lika mycket en produkt av dagens människostyrda verklighet som ett människobarn.
"Misse" må kunna fånga möss något smidigare än en människobebis men var ska "Misse" hitta mössen nuförtiden? Och kunna äta dem utan att behöva dö en plågsam död på grund av förgiftning?
Precis som människobarn har dagens domesticerade (tama) djur liten chans att klara sig helt på egen hand i det "vilda". Och trots det verkar vi människor tar för givet att det gör ju inget om lilla "Misse" är utekatt mitt i ett bostadsområde omgivet av bilvägar, asfalterat och bebyggt både högt, lågt och brett. "Misse" klarar sig, det är ju ett djur, trots allt *tung sarkasm*.
Jag har inget emot att man har utekatter... så länge man bor så pass bra till att katten inte riskerar att bli påkörd så fort den sticker nosen utanför dörren. Så länge den har trygga skrymslen att söka skydd i när det är dåligt väder. Och framför allt så länge man är uppmärksam på när katten vill/behöver komma in, den har fräscht vatten och bra mat (en mus som den fångat räcker inte) och en varm plats inomhus när den behöver det.
Nu undrar ni kanske varför jag helt plötsligt väljer att skriva om detta? Ja, det beror på många orsaker.
Dels beror det på en av mina egan katters historia. Min lilla kisse, 3 år i år, kom till mig för ca 2 år sedan via Djurskyddet. Hon hade hittats övergiven i ett sommarstugeområde. Mest troligt var hon en av de otaliga stackars katter som hamnat hos okunniga människor som tänkte att "en liten katt för barnen att leka med i sommar är väl gulligt". Och när sommaren var över och familjen åkte hem till "verkligheten" ryckte de säkert bara på axlarna och tänkte: "Hon klarar sig själv. Hon är ju en katt". Och lilla Frida fick finna sig i att stå utelåst från en tom och mörk sommarstuga utan en aning om var hennes familj hade tagit vägen. Och hösten tog vid och sen kom vintern. Där var den lilla katten, mest troligt knappt några månader gammal, ensam, övergiven och tvingad att försöka klara sig. Hon överlevde vintern, hur vet jag inte och jag tror mitt hjärta skulle brista om jag faktiskt fick veta allt hon fått gå igenom. Hennes familj hade uppenbarligen ingen koll på katter och hon var okastrerad så, som brukar ske i naturen, den lilla katten, knappt mer än en kattunge själv, blev dräktig. Jag vet heller inte hur Djurskyddet hittade henne eller hur hon kom till dem men jag är än idag så oerhört tacksam för att de tog in henne.
När hon kom till mig såg hon inte ut att vara ens ett år gammal, jag hade gissat på knappt 6 månader om det inte varit för att hon uppenbarligen haft en kull ungar redan, och skyggade undan för ens hand när man ville klappa henne. Hennes beteende var som en kattunges. Hon hade inte lärt sig att tvätta sig ordentligt och hon förstod in hur hårt hon kunde bitas, jag vet än idag inte hur mycket av hennes bitande som var lek och vad som var försvar.
Idag är hon världens goaste lilla misse som älskar att hänga över min axel. Idag är hon också innekatt då jag inte bor på ett ställe där jag med gott samvete skulle våga låta henne springa lös.
En annan orsak till detta utbrott är något som hände nu inatt. Jag hade just börjat somna in då jag hör ett ynkligt litet jamande utanför fönstret. Jag kikar ut och där står en stackars katt och tittar bedjande upp på mig. Det är -20 grader och djupsnö ute, klockan är 4 på morgonen och alla sover för fullt. Det enda som står öppet där katten kan söka skydd är soprummet, som är totalt utkylt. Även om den är törstig är allt fruset, är den hungrig finns inget att äta och fryser den finns ingenstans att söka skydd. Katten har ett halsband så uppenbarligen är det nån som "äger" den. Och trots det står den här utanför mitt fönster och jamar... och jamar. Och det finns inget jag kan göra. Jag kan inte bara släppa in den till mig. Jag har två egna katter som skulle bli måttligt roade av att få gäster, milt sagt. Och utan att veta var katten egentligen hör hemma kan jag heller inte gå och knacka på ägarnas dörr och be dem att skaffa lite vett eller lämna bort katten till någon som faktiskt fattar att utomhus, mitt i natten i -20 graders kyla, inte är rätta stället för en katt.
Jag undrar bara...
Varför ska djuren behöva lida för att vi människor är själviska idioter?!
Vi måste vara tillräckligt uppmärksamma för att kunna se hur våra djur mår.
Vi måste vara tillräckligt intelligenta och empatiska för att ge våra djur de absolut bästa förutsättningarna.
Vi måste inse att djuren, hur söta och gosedjursaktiga de än kan verka, är levande varelser som kan känna smärta, rädsla, lycka och allt däremellan. De kan bli hungriga, törstiga, de kan frysa, de kan få värmeslag. Ja, egentligen är väl det enda som skiljer oss från våra husdjur det faktum att vi råkar vara den art som var girigast, som tog för sig mer än vad vi kanske egentligen borde ha gjort. Vi har våra stora städer, vi har våra språk och vår teknik... Men inget av detta gör oss bättre än djuren, det ger oss inte rätt att behandla djur som mindre värda eller få för oss att de inte kan känna saker precis som vi.
Och vi har absolut ingen rätt att tro att lilla "Misse" kan klara sig helt på egen hand i en värld dominerad av människor, bilar och allt färre naturliga bytesdjur. "Misses" anfäder må ha klarat sig i det vilda, innan människorna började lägga asfalt, hugga ner skogen, bygga hus och allt möjligt annat som tog ifrån dem deras naturliga bomarker och bytesdjur. Men "Misse" är lika mycket en produkt av dagens människostyrda verklighet som ett människobarn.
"Misse" må kunna fånga möss något smidigare än en människobebis men var ska "Misse" hitta mössen nuförtiden? Och kunna äta dem utan att behöva dö en plågsam död på grund av förgiftning?
Precis som människobarn har dagens domesticerade (tama) djur liten chans att klara sig helt på egen hand i det "vilda". Och trots det verkar vi människor tar för givet att det gör ju inget om lilla "Misse" är utekatt mitt i ett bostadsområde omgivet av bilvägar, asfalterat och bebyggt både högt, lågt och brett. "Misse" klarar sig, det är ju ett djur, trots allt *tung sarkasm*.
Jag har inget emot att man har utekatter... så länge man bor så pass bra till att katten inte riskerar att bli påkörd så fort den sticker nosen utanför dörren. Så länge den har trygga skrymslen att söka skydd i när det är dåligt väder. Och framför allt så länge man är uppmärksam på när katten vill/behöver komma in, den har fräscht vatten och bra mat (en mus som den fångat räcker inte) och en varm plats inomhus när den behöver det.
Nu undrar ni kanske varför jag helt plötsligt väljer att skriva om detta? Ja, det beror på många orsaker.
Dels beror det på en av mina egan katters historia. Min lilla kisse, 3 år i år, kom till mig för ca 2 år sedan via Djurskyddet. Hon hade hittats övergiven i ett sommarstugeområde. Mest troligt var hon en av de otaliga stackars katter som hamnat hos okunniga människor som tänkte att "en liten katt för barnen att leka med i sommar är väl gulligt". Och när sommaren var över och familjen åkte hem till "verkligheten" ryckte de säkert bara på axlarna och tänkte: "Hon klarar sig själv. Hon är ju en katt". Och lilla Frida fick finna sig i att stå utelåst från en tom och mörk sommarstuga utan en aning om var hennes familj hade tagit vägen. Och hösten tog vid och sen kom vintern. Där var den lilla katten, mest troligt knappt några månader gammal, ensam, övergiven och tvingad att försöka klara sig. Hon överlevde vintern, hur vet jag inte och jag tror mitt hjärta skulle brista om jag faktiskt fick veta allt hon fått gå igenom. Hennes familj hade uppenbarligen ingen koll på katter och hon var okastrerad så, som brukar ske i naturen, den lilla katten, knappt mer än en kattunge själv, blev dräktig. Jag vet heller inte hur Djurskyddet hittade henne eller hur hon kom till dem men jag är än idag så oerhört tacksam för att de tog in henne.
När hon kom till mig såg hon inte ut att vara ens ett år gammal, jag hade gissat på knappt 6 månader om det inte varit för att hon uppenbarligen haft en kull ungar redan, och skyggade undan för ens hand när man ville klappa henne. Hennes beteende var som en kattunges. Hon hade inte lärt sig att tvätta sig ordentligt och hon förstod in hur hårt hon kunde bitas, jag vet än idag inte hur mycket av hennes bitande som var lek och vad som var försvar.
Idag är hon världens goaste lilla misse som älskar att hänga över min axel. Idag är hon också innekatt då jag inte bor på ett ställe där jag med gott samvete skulle våga låta henne springa lös.
En annan orsak till detta utbrott är något som hände nu inatt. Jag hade just börjat somna in då jag hör ett ynkligt litet jamande utanför fönstret. Jag kikar ut och där står en stackars katt och tittar bedjande upp på mig. Det är -20 grader och djupsnö ute, klockan är 4 på morgonen och alla sover för fullt. Det enda som står öppet där katten kan söka skydd är soprummet, som är totalt utkylt. Även om den är törstig är allt fruset, är den hungrig finns inget att äta och fryser den finns ingenstans att söka skydd. Katten har ett halsband så uppenbarligen är det nån som "äger" den. Och trots det står den här utanför mitt fönster och jamar... och jamar. Och det finns inget jag kan göra. Jag kan inte bara släppa in den till mig. Jag har två egna katter som skulle bli måttligt roade av att få gäster, milt sagt. Och utan att veta var katten egentligen hör hemma kan jag heller inte gå och knacka på ägarnas dörr och be dem att skaffa lite vett eller lämna bort katten till någon som faktiskt fattar att utomhus, mitt i natten i -20 graders kyla, inte är rätta stället för en katt.
Varför ska djuren behöva lida för att vi människor är själviska idioter?!
fredag 19 februari 2010
Another day of doing nothing useful
Let me just begin with commenting on the sensational fact that my neighbour doesn't seem to have had a party tonight. So I can leisurely listen to some nice Barry McGuire, T-rex and so on (the good music in my opinion... as opposed to the noise from next door that usually accompanies my Friday nights) while doing everything but what I should be doing.
I've mostly spent my day re-reading some manga (for those unfamiliar with this word it can, although not completely accurately, be described as Japanese comics). Now, the fact is that this is probably the umpteenth time I'm re-reading these particular series. However, I smoothly explain it with it being me "organising" them... in a nifty little list. All to make it easier for me to find them again for the next time I find a good reason to explain away my method of procrastinating through re-reading of course.
As most people have probably noticed (and probably a lot sooner than I did) it's the Olympics right now. I'm not much for watching sports. I used to be back in the days before the Swedish Hockey team started to disappoint me at every turn. Nowadays I'm too cynical, always waiting for them to screw up at the last minute, to actually give a damn about the individual matches. So I just check the results when they're out and shrug my shoulder. Or there's also the comfortable option of having friends who watch sports and willingly share the results...
For example, I got a nice summary of some of the highlights (and low-lights) in today's competitions, with focus on the Swedish competitors, from one of my friends and classmates. He's posted some nice comments on today's hockey game between Sweden and Belarus, among other things, on his blog for example.
Those of you who can read Swedish, I recommend you to check his blog out: http://www.marjon.st/
And now, let's leave sports for a while (it only reminds me of the fact that I should visit the gym but probably won't). This same friend brought back to memory the ordeal we had to go through last year around this time.
I'm studying journalism. And it's more or less tradition that the freshmen of journalism at our university put together a magazine of sorts, called Inkognito. It's funded by the student association of our faculty but we, the students, are more or less given free rein as to the content and layout of the magazine. However, last year (our year) the association decided they wanted a bit more say in it. So half of the magazine contained interviews and articles connected to the university and our student association. While the other half went black... As in black as a theme.
It was wicked fun to plan for it, but also incredibly stressful since we did it parallel with our regular studies. I got to write about Film Noir, an era within the movie business that's always interested me. But the best, and I guess the worst, part of making that magazine was the last few weeks before it was off to the printer's. It was me, doing layout and cursing over the proofreading, and two others, the chief editors, sitting there trying to do layout and put all the articles together into a nice-looking magazine. And the program we used froze every other minute or so throughout the layout and editing process. I'm just incredibly grateful that the ones I was working with were so great. Because otherwise I probably would've broken down into a nervous wreck. Thanks to trouble with the settings in our editing program we had to re-do the final copy two or three times to make it printable. I still vividly remember the message I got from one of the others after he had gone to the printers for the third time.
"It's done!" was all the message said (in Swedish though) and to me those few words felt like the same sort of miracle as some might view Moses parting the Red Sea in the Bible. It was like cutting a tightly wound rope that'd been pulling at my neck.
And yet, looking back at it right now (and yes, wishing we'd had more time to go over the proof-reading, grammar and text layout) it was, despite the stress and horror and frustration, probably one of the most fun things I've ever done. And the fact that I got free hands to design the front page of the magazine... Amazing! It was such fun and it really awakened my interest in graphic design and image editing.
In the end... It was a good experience and, considering how little time we had and all the problems we encountered, I think it still turned out quite well. It helped me get closer to a realisation of what I might want to do in the future.
So, bottom line(and link I guess): GO INKOGNITO! (Do respect the copyright, please)
(It's entirely in Swedish unfortunately. But for those who don't know Swedish... The frontpage I designed is nice to look at =D )
I've mostly spent my day re-reading some manga (for those unfamiliar with this word it can, although not completely accurately, be described as Japanese comics). Now, the fact is that this is probably the umpteenth time I'm re-reading these particular series. However, I smoothly explain it with it being me "organising" them... in a nifty little list. All to make it easier for me to find them again for the next time I find a good reason to explain away my method of procrastinating through re-reading of course.
As most people have probably noticed (and probably a lot sooner than I did) it's the Olympics right now. I'm not much for watching sports. I used to be back in the days before the Swedish Hockey team started to disappoint me at every turn. Nowadays I'm too cynical, always waiting for them to screw up at the last minute, to actually give a damn about the individual matches. So I just check the results when they're out and shrug my shoulder. Or there's also the comfortable option of having friends who watch sports and willingly share the results...
For example, I got a nice summary of some of the highlights (and low-lights) in today's competitions, with focus on the Swedish competitors, from one of my friends and classmates. He's posted some nice comments on today's hockey game between Sweden and Belarus, among other things, on his blog for example.
Those of you who can read Swedish, I recommend you to check his blog out: http://www.marjon.st/
And now, let's leave sports for a while (it only reminds me of the fact that I should visit the gym but probably won't). This same friend brought back to memory the ordeal we had to go through last year around this time.
I'm studying journalism. And it's more or less tradition that the freshmen of journalism at our university put together a magazine of sorts, called Inkognito. It's funded by the student association of our faculty but we, the students, are more or less given free rein as to the content and layout of the magazine. However, last year (our year) the association decided they wanted a bit more say in it. So half of the magazine contained interviews and articles connected to the university and our student association. While the other half went black... As in black as a theme.
It was wicked fun to plan for it, but also incredibly stressful since we did it parallel with our regular studies. I got to write about Film Noir, an era within the movie business that's always interested me. But the best, and I guess the worst, part of making that magazine was the last few weeks before it was off to the printer's. It was me, doing layout and cursing over the proofreading, and two others, the chief editors, sitting there trying to do layout and put all the articles together into a nice-looking magazine. And the program we used froze every other minute or so throughout the layout and editing process. I'm just incredibly grateful that the ones I was working with were so great. Because otherwise I probably would've broken down into a nervous wreck. Thanks to trouble with the settings in our editing program we had to re-do the final copy two or three times to make it printable. I still vividly remember the message I got from one of the others after he had gone to the printers for the third time.
"It's done!" was all the message said (in Swedish though) and to me those few words felt like the same sort of miracle as some might view Moses parting the Red Sea in the Bible. It was like cutting a tightly wound rope that'd been pulling at my neck.
And yet, looking back at it right now (and yes, wishing we'd had more time to go over the proof-reading, grammar and text layout) it was, despite the stress and horror and frustration, probably one of the most fun things I've ever done. And the fact that I got free hands to design the front page of the magazine... Amazing! It was such fun and it really awakened my interest in graphic design and image editing.
In the end... It was a good experience and, considering how little time we had and all the problems we encountered, I think it still turned out quite well. It helped me get closer to a realisation of what I might want to do in the future.
So, bottom line(and link I guess): GO INKOGNITO! (Do respect the copyright, please)
(It's entirely in Swedish unfortunately. But for those who don't know Swedish... The frontpage I designed is nice to look at =D )
torsdag 18 februari 2010
I'm great at studying!
Well, at least at making others study. Being me I am quite surprised that I did manage to actually do some semblance of studying at all yesterday.
However, my presence alone helped my sister study all the better. So, while I was actively procrastinating my studies, all too busy knitting my scarf that paradoxically enough brings to mind a lovely Jamaican air, she was tapping away on her computer. I must say... I do a helluva good job motivating others.
And when she felt she had studied enough I started making her search for various music on Spotify. Before long we were listening to some weird Rastafari shit, all in honour of my scarf-knitting of course.
We amicably ended the evening with some Weird Al Yankovich while my sister was scrambling to get ready for her Funk dance session at the gym. And I was procrastinating going out in the cold in order to go to the stables. For once, though, my procrastination failed me and I found myself shivering in the stable less than an hour later. Not to mention the fact that I almost froze my face off while taking the old horse for a walk. When will this winter end?
However, my presence alone helped my sister study all the better. So, while I was actively procrastinating my studies, all too busy knitting my scarf that paradoxically enough brings to mind a lovely Jamaican air, she was tapping away on her computer. I must say... I do a helluva good job motivating others.
And when she felt she had studied enough I started making her search for various music on Spotify. Before long we were listening to some weird Rastafari shit, all in honour of my scarf-knitting of course.
We amicably ended the evening with some Weird Al Yankovich while my sister was scrambling to get ready for her Funk dance session at the gym. And I was procrastinating going out in the cold in order to go to the stables. For once, though, my procrastination failed me and I found myself shivering in the stable less than an hour later. Not to mention the fact that I almost froze my face off while taking the old horse for a walk. When will this winter end?
tisdag 16 februari 2010
A slow day
Ever had one of those days when everything, and I mean everything, seems like an insurmountable chore, an endless trek through quicksand or a moon walk loop? Where every step feels like it's weighed down by buckets and more buckets of sticky mud and you wish you hadn't gotten out of bed to begin with?
I had one of those today. I woke up at 8 am, my head feeling like it was filled with those beans that are in beanie bags and my eyes seemed to feel rebellious, only opening halfway and then getting whiny and closing again... over and over. And of course my eyedrops had gone MIA during the last cleaning I did... about two weeks ago. I consider them lousy deserters in this ongoing war and as such I fully intend to place them before the Trash-can Tribunal whenever someone next catches sight of them.
It won't be me, since my eyes are glued shut, but I'm hoping the dust rats will cave in to my negotiation skills and undertake the task. Lately we've been in a stalemate, though. They haven't fully given in to my attempts at convincing them I mean them no harm. it could be because my vacuum cleaner are still standing in the middle of the kitchen area.
Anyway, as I was saying (before launching into this completely irrelevant speech about my failures as a negotiator) I had a slow day today. Did some studying, although my work with the thesis is the perfect definition of slow at the moment. I also spent most of it half-way slouched down in my bed, knitting a scarf that will most likely be ready in perfect time for the next ice age and watching Kill Bill, Moon Child and half of Pirates of the Caribbean (strategically skipping over the parts lacking either Johnny Depp or Geoffrey Rush since anything without them just sucks). Then I found myself slowly slipping further and further down in the bed and before I knew it I was in Dreamland along with a couple of vampires and hunting after some thing I have no idea what it was. I doubt the others knew either. And then I woke up, looked over at Allan bell's lovely book "The Language of News media" and promptly decided it was way past time to go to the stables.
And here I am now, back from one of the quickest stable visits I've ever been on, having no idea what to do with myself. I guess I'll look at the cover of "Language of News media" for a while longer and then crawl into bed.
I had one of those today. I woke up at 8 am, my head feeling like it was filled with those beans that are in beanie bags and my eyes seemed to feel rebellious, only opening halfway and then getting whiny and closing again... over and over. And of course my eyedrops had gone MIA during the last cleaning I did... about two weeks ago. I consider them lousy deserters in this ongoing war and as such I fully intend to place them before the Trash-can Tribunal whenever someone next catches sight of them.
It won't be me, since my eyes are glued shut, but I'm hoping the dust rats will cave in to my negotiation skills and undertake the task. Lately we've been in a stalemate, though. They haven't fully given in to my attempts at convincing them I mean them no harm. it could be because my vacuum cleaner are still standing in the middle of the kitchen area.
Anyway, as I was saying (before launching into this completely irrelevant speech about my failures as a negotiator) I had a slow day today. Did some studying, although my work with the thesis is the perfect definition of slow at the moment. I also spent most of it half-way slouched down in my bed, knitting a scarf that will most likely be ready in perfect time for the next ice age and watching Kill Bill, Moon Child and half of Pirates of the Caribbean (strategically skipping over the parts lacking either Johnny Depp or Geoffrey Rush since anything without them just sucks). Then I found myself slowly slipping further and further down in the bed and before I knew it I was in Dreamland along with a couple of vampires and hunting after some thing I have no idea what it was. I doubt the others knew either. And then I woke up, looked over at Allan bell's lovely book "The Language of News media" and promptly decided it was way past time to go to the stables.
And here I am now, back from one of the quickest stable visits I've ever been on, having no idea what to do with myself. I guess I'll look at the cover of "Language of News media" for a while longer and then crawl into bed.
måndag 15 februari 2010
It's a pain to be beautiful
Yes, today I managed to kill my feet.
I'm not a high heels person. I prefer street shoes, as flat as possible, and comfortable, loose-fitting clothes. And yet today, a completely regular Monday when I should be busy scheduling interviews, writing on my thesis or at least reading some of the literature for it... I donned my new jeans, which were tight enough to make my poor abused knee scream in utter pain, and my high heel boots. And then I bravely strode forth (well, more like planted myself behind the wheel to abuse my car since it's hell trying to shift gears with high heels) to go shopping... with money I shouldn't be using. Procrastination for the win, right?
Anyway, the "good" news is that I didn't actually end up buying anything (if you don't count a bottle of cola and a danish... and then some carrots and toilet paper). I did find some stuff I would love to buy but all of them were above my meager finances as things are right now. I also looked really good, although my shoe-induced duck-like wobble at the end of the shopping trip might or might not have lowered my level of beauty with a point or so. But still, considering I usually run around in sweat pants and formless turtle necks (all of it beautifully adorned with hay and horse hair... as well as some stylish tufts of cat's hair) I prefer to think that my beauty level was still way above average.
The thing with high heels is that, while you look damn good while wearing them, they successively break down the defence of your feet until it feels like every last bone is screaming in indescribable agony. If you think driving a car where you have to shift gears manually is hard just because you wear high heels, just wait until you've walked around in those heels until your feet are ready to go on a suicidal rampage and then try to drive a car with manual gears... It's the perfect illustration of how everything is relative, and how everything can always get worse. However, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, even though it feels like everything is crashing down around you, your feet are throbbing like the worst tooth ache you've ever had, enhanced about 10 times.
The silver lining on the dark grey cloud that is beauty in high heels is when you get home and you can finally remove those devices of torture that are too terrifying to even be measured on a medieval scale. It's almost as if you can hear your feet pull a bones deep sigh of relief as they are finally allowed to reclaim their natural shape. And then sitting down, putting those poor, abused feet up on a stool... Ah, that's heaven right there.
Although my knee is still hurting...
I'm not a high heels person. I prefer street shoes, as flat as possible, and comfortable, loose-fitting clothes. And yet today, a completely regular Monday when I should be busy scheduling interviews, writing on my thesis or at least reading some of the literature for it... I donned my new jeans, which were tight enough to make my poor abused knee scream in utter pain, and my high heel boots. And then I bravely strode forth (well, more like planted myself behind the wheel to abuse my car since it's hell trying to shift gears with high heels) to go shopping... with money I shouldn't be using. Procrastination for the win, right?
Anyway, the "good" news is that I didn't actually end up buying anything (if you don't count a bottle of cola and a danish... and then some carrots and toilet paper). I did find some stuff I would love to buy but all of them were above my meager finances as things are right now. I also looked really good, although my shoe-induced duck-like wobble at the end of the shopping trip might or might not have lowered my level of beauty with a point or so. But still, considering I usually run around in sweat pants and formless turtle necks (all of it beautifully adorned with hay and horse hair... as well as some stylish tufts of cat's hair) I prefer to think that my beauty level was still way above average.
The thing with high heels is that, while you look damn good while wearing them, they successively break down the defence of your feet until it feels like every last bone is screaming in indescribable agony. If you think driving a car where you have to shift gears manually is hard just because you wear high heels, just wait until you've walked around in those heels until your feet are ready to go on a suicidal rampage and then try to drive a car with manual gears... It's the perfect illustration of how everything is relative, and how everything can always get worse. However, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, even though it feels like everything is crashing down around you, your feet are throbbing like the worst tooth ache you've ever had, enhanced about 10 times.
The silver lining on the dark grey cloud that is beauty in high heels is when you get home and you can finally remove those devices of torture that are too terrifying to even be measured on a medieval scale. It's almost as if you can hear your feet pull a bones deep sigh of relief as they are finally allowed to reclaim their natural shape. And then sitting down, putting those poor, abused feet up on a stool... Ah, that's heaven right there.
Although my knee is still hurting...
fredag 12 februari 2010
Self-destructive but happy nonetheless
Today I gallantly managed to fuck up one of my knees. I fucked the other one up last winter (and lost my precious hot dog and mashed potato dish at the same time!) when I slipped on some ice. So I guess it must be because I'm Libra and want balance in my life. I can't go around with just one lousy knee, can I now? So, after having managed to procrastinate it, as is my habit in all things concerning life, for almost a full year, today I subconsciously decided to deal with it.
Now, don't get me wrong, it wasn't a conscious decision at all, it just sort of happened.
I was off to my stable to fetch some extra feed for my horse who is currently stabled at another place during the renovations. I managed to, surprisingly skilfully at that, avoid the saw bench, three huge planks, some extension cords and even a hay bag or two hiding in the deep shadows on my way into the stable. However, since I subconsciously always strive for balance, when I went to fetch the last bucket of feed I suddenly, in the semi-darkness, felt an evil chill of apprehension along my spine. I suspect it was my subconscious finally kicking in because next thing I know I'm practically ambushed by a sneaky wooden plank which ensnared my feet and me fall heedlessly forward. Now, as you all know, one's body tend to try and correct the situation on its own around that specific moment... and most often screws up royally, as in this case. I barely had time to think: "Oh fuck!" when I felt the bone-chilling, nauseating sensation of a knee hitting a concrete floor with full force, while the attached ankle and foot were still struggling with the sneaky plank. Needless to say I cursed a bit, came to my feet and limped out of there, trying to retain some small measure of my badly bruised pride.
Let's see if it's my pride or my knee that'll be the most colourful come morning. At least I now have two busted knees instead of just one. I guess that makes me greedy, eh?
Now I'm going to go and do what I do best... I'm going to wallow in self-pity.
Now, don't get me wrong, it wasn't a conscious decision at all, it just sort of happened.
I was off to my stable to fetch some extra feed for my horse who is currently stabled at another place during the renovations. I managed to, surprisingly skilfully at that, avoid the saw bench, three huge planks, some extension cords and even a hay bag or two hiding in the deep shadows on my way into the stable. However, since I subconsciously always strive for balance, when I went to fetch the last bucket of feed I suddenly, in the semi-darkness, felt an evil chill of apprehension along my spine. I suspect it was my subconscious finally kicking in because next thing I know I'm practically ambushed by a sneaky wooden plank which ensnared my feet and me fall heedlessly forward. Now, as you all know, one's body tend to try and correct the situation on its own around that specific moment... and most often screws up royally, as in this case. I barely had time to think: "Oh fuck!" when I felt the bone-chilling, nauseating sensation of a knee hitting a concrete floor with full force, while the attached ankle and foot were still struggling with the sneaky plank. Needless to say I cursed a bit, came to my feet and limped out of there, trying to retain some small measure of my badly bruised pride.
Let's see if it's my pride or my knee that'll be the most colourful come morning. At least I now have two busted knees instead of just one. I guess that makes me greedy, eh?
Now I'm going to go and do what I do best... I'm going to wallow in self-pity.
torsdag 11 februari 2010
Another annoying night
Maybe I should rename this blog "The rants of an annoying Neighbour's blog".
It's 2:42 am on a Thursday night... And guess who's so graciously granting me the fine favour of lusciously adorning my, up until now, peaceful night with heavy base beats, some crappy wannabe gangster singing (well more like talking with some quite unnatural wailing in between) about the same old same old... Fast money, sexy booties and shiny cars, all slapped together to the same old beat one's heard in more songs than I care to remember if I'm to retain my sanity. Seems like the lyricists are making good money with their copying machines these days.
It's always nice to know they're not breaking their backs trying to come up with innovative and original lyrics for the volley of artists with more money and good PR people than talent or originality waiting for their mass produced chain-mails. And my my, what a delightful surprise to see that my neighbour's taste in music is consistent bordering on manic. As long as he and the likes of him are around those artists won't have to worry about people with actual quality demands on the music industry threatening to throw them out of their humble XXX room houses. And most likely they won't have to worry about their over-pimped cars being reclaimed and pitifully sold off to people with more money than taste.
It's always good to know the world stays the same if I may say so, sarcastic and caustic as I may feel at this certain point in time. Quantity wins over quality and there are always inconsiderate idiots without a sliver of regard or thought for the people who might not share their taste in certain areas of life.
And I've long ago reached a point where I honestly can't find the energy, nor respect, to actually go over and ask my neighbour to shut the hell up. I've done that enough times already, tearing my hair and having to hear that little twerp mouth back at me when I reminded him that some people actually like a bit of quiet in the wee hours of weekday nights.
I've long since given up on fretting over the fact that he just cranks up the volume at weekends. That's the fine part of living in a student-infested area. Weekends are parties all over, although most of them actually have the good sense and inventiveness to relocate to more suitable locations before the clock strikes midnight. I wonder if a casual mention of the clubs around town would bring about an at least moderately favourable response. I doubt it though but, even as sanity and good nature flees more for each night I hear that shit, one cannot help but hold a slight sliver of hope for mankind. Even in the face of the chilling realisation that mankind has been going to hell in a hand basket for years.
And now I shall cease my depressing rant. I sound like a 90 y/o hag in her rocking chair scowling at the youth of today.
It's 2:42 am on a Thursday night... And guess who's so graciously granting me the fine favour of lusciously adorning my, up until now, peaceful night with heavy base beats, some crappy wannabe gangster singing (well more like talking with some quite unnatural wailing in between) about the same old same old... Fast money, sexy booties and shiny cars, all slapped together to the same old beat one's heard in more songs than I care to remember if I'm to retain my sanity. Seems like the lyricists are making good money with their copying machines these days.
It's always nice to know they're not breaking their backs trying to come up with innovative and original lyrics for the volley of artists with more money and good PR people than talent or originality waiting for their mass produced chain-mails. And my my, what a delightful surprise to see that my neighbour's taste in music is consistent bordering on manic. As long as he and the likes of him are around those artists won't have to worry about people with actual quality demands on the music industry threatening to throw them out of their humble XXX room houses. And most likely they won't have to worry about their over-pimped cars being reclaimed and pitifully sold off to people with more money than taste.
It's always good to know the world stays the same if I may say so, sarcastic and caustic as I may feel at this certain point in time. Quantity wins over quality and there are always inconsiderate idiots without a sliver of regard or thought for the people who might not share their taste in certain areas of life.
And I've long ago reached a point where I honestly can't find the energy, nor respect, to actually go over and ask my neighbour to shut the hell up. I've done that enough times already, tearing my hair and having to hear that little twerp mouth back at me when I reminded him that some people actually like a bit of quiet in the wee hours of weekday nights.
I've long since given up on fretting over the fact that he just cranks up the volume at weekends. That's the fine part of living in a student-infested area. Weekends are parties all over, although most of them actually have the good sense and inventiveness to relocate to more suitable locations before the clock strikes midnight. I wonder if a casual mention of the clubs around town would bring about an at least moderately favourable response. I doubt it though but, even as sanity and good nature flees more for each night I hear that shit, one cannot help but hold a slight sliver of hope for mankind. Even in the face of the chilling realisation that mankind has been going to hell in a hand basket for years.
And now I shall cease my depressing rant. I sound like a 90 y/o hag in her rocking chair scowling at the youth of today.
tisdag 9 februari 2010
Pets
Why do we keep pets? Even though we know there will be a time, always too soon, when we will have to say goodbye to them?
Today my mother took one of their cats to the vet since he'd been sluggish and weak. I've had my fair share of visits to the vet myself lately, what with the older cat having problems with her thyroid gland (she's going to have to eat medicine every other day for the rest of her life) and the little one have chronic renal failure, most likely caused by unfortunate genes, which means we have no idea for how long she will live. So I know all too painfully well how one's mind works in situations like those. And of course, one always holds on to that tiny sliver of hope that maybe it's not something incurable. One checks the pet all the time, flitting back and forth, worrying, thinking: "Oh, he/she drank a bit of water" or "He/she is at least eating" and hopes that that means they're not beyond help. One lays awake every night, listening tensely for any kind of sound that might be out of the ordinary.
But in the end, the problem with cats is that they're not usually ones to show when they feel ill. Not until things have become so serious it'll almost take a miracle to cure it. And... miracles are hard to come by, despite increasingly skilful vets and better methods and research.
In the case of my parents' cat... It turns out he had a huge tumour in the liver. It can be treated, much alike how one treats tumours in humans. But the treatment is often painful and hard for the cat. Sometimes one has to weigh the well-being of the pet against one's own desires. If you really love a pet you have to be prepared to do what's best for the pet, not what will make you feel best. And for an 8 years old cat, already weakened by the illness itself, the best decision for the cat might not be to put it through the pain of chemotherapy and medicines in absurdum. Sometimes the cure can be worse than the disease. My mother chose to do what she thought would be best for the cat, she let it move on. He won't have to feel any pain, won't be weak or ill any longer. He'll be better off wherever he is now.
It's us humans who are left with the pain of losing him. But at least, hopefully, we can find some comfort in thinking that we did what was best for our beloved pet. It's hard to lose them, even when we know we will someday. But still, even if losing them makes you feel like your heart is being ripped to pieces, you know that for what it's worth you were strong enough to make the best decision and not selfishly cling to the need to keep them by your side. Instead of cursing the fact that you have lost them, you have to be grateful for the time you had with them, no matter how long or short that time is.
Animals give unselfishly of themselves and love us unconditionally. The least we can do is to give back what we get, give them the same amount that they give us and always keep their happiness and well-being in mind.
And here, too far away for me to be able to hug my mother tightly and tell her these things, a candle is burning for the cat we all loved and whose life we will cry for losing. But most of all, that candle is burning for the ones of us who are left behind.
I hope you're having fun at the Rainbow Bridge, baby!
http://www.indigo.org/rainbow/
EDIT: I noticed Rufus's birth date is wrong. He was born in 2002, not 2001 as the picture above says.
Today my mother took one of their cats to the vet since he'd been sluggish and weak. I've had my fair share of visits to the vet myself lately, what with the older cat having problems with her thyroid gland (she's going to have to eat medicine every other day for the rest of her life) and the little one have chronic renal failure, most likely caused by unfortunate genes, which means we have no idea for how long she will live. So I know all too painfully well how one's mind works in situations like those. And of course, one always holds on to that tiny sliver of hope that maybe it's not something incurable. One checks the pet all the time, flitting back and forth, worrying, thinking: "Oh, he/she drank a bit of water" or "He/she is at least eating" and hopes that that means they're not beyond help. One lays awake every night, listening tensely for any kind of sound that might be out of the ordinary.
But in the end, the problem with cats is that they're not usually ones to show when they feel ill. Not until things have become so serious it'll almost take a miracle to cure it. And... miracles are hard to come by, despite increasingly skilful vets and better methods and research.
In the case of my parents' cat... It turns out he had a huge tumour in the liver. It can be treated, much alike how one treats tumours in humans. But the treatment is often painful and hard for the cat. Sometimes one has to weigh the well-being of the pet against one's own desires. If you really love a pet you have to be prepared to do what's best for the pet, not what will make you feel best. And for an 8 years old cat, already weakened by the illness itself, the best decision for the cat might not be to put it through the pain of chemotherapy and medicines in absurdum. Sometimes the cure can be worse than the disease. My mother chose to do what she thought would be best for the cat, she let it move on. He won't have to feel any pain, won't be weak or ill any longer. He'll be better off wherever he is now.
It's us humans who are left with the pain of losing him. But at least, hopefully, we can find some comfort in thinking that we did what was best for our beloved pet. It's hard to lose them, even when we know we will someday. But still, even if losing them makes you feel like your heart is being ripped to pieces, you know that for what it's worth you were strong enough to make the best decision and not selfishly cling to the need to keep them by your side. Instead of cursing the fact that you have lost them, you have to be grateful for the time you had with them, no matter how long or short that time is.
Animals give unselfishly of themselves and love us unconditionally. The least we can do is to give back what we get, give them the same amount that they give us and always keep their happiness and well-being in mind.
And here, too far away for me to be able to hug my mother tightly and tell her these things, a candle is burning for the cat we all loved and whose life we will cry for losing. But most of all, that candle is burning for the ones of us who are left behind.
Rest in peace, Rufus
I hope you're having fun at the Rainbow Bridge, baby!
http://www.indigo.org/rainbow/
EDIT: I noticed Rufus's birth date is wrong. He was born in 2002, not 2001 as the picture above says.
måndag 8 februari 2010
On the subject of service
Today I met what might possibly be one of the rudest cashiers ever. He should've been forced to attend Boot Camp for people in the service industry. Not only did he glare at me as if he'd caught me stealing when I came up to the register, he then proceeded to yawn, angrily punch in the codes for the things I was buying (hard enough so that I started to wonder if cash registers could file a complaint of physical abuse), sighing so heavily I had to wonder if he was actually having an asthma attack and never once looked me in the eye. When he handed me my things he just stared emptily into the air above my shoulder, almost throwing the things I'd bought at me. And then he immediately turned away from me and started studying the cigarettes while talking to his co-worker. not even as much as a "have a nice day" or "Thank you". If I ever act like that during my part time job as a cashier... please someone drag me out back and shoot me. That is no way to behave in front of customers.
And now on to another aspect of service. Today I visited the stable my horse will temporarily move to while our stable is undergoing the facelift from Hell (seen from the stable's point of view and in regards to what it will have to suffer through before the renovation is done). Not only is the other stable practically just across the road from our stable, but my horse will also get a huge stall that could've easily fitted two of him in it. He will spend his days in a nice enclosure surrounded by mares and won't be disturbed by the others at night since the only stall neighbouring his is only inhabited by two small rabbits. And from the human point of view... They've got feeding machines that you just load up with the concentrated feeding. And then at a set time of day those machines open, neatly disposing the correct amount of feed into the horse's food crib. As for the hay, they just load it onto a wagon and feed the horses. They've also got a really nice rest area for the humans and a WC just outside the rest area (toilets are otherwise scarce in stables). It seems to be a very nice stable and I'm sure my horse will like it there, self-proclaimed Casanova and King of the Hill as he is. Still, despite all this, it's going to be really nice to get back to our renovated stable afterwards. Because, after all, our stable is our stable, our home. And you know what they say "There's no place like home".
Additional Update:
I've always thought hating was a waste of energy... but my neighbour is doing a good job of making me reconsider. It's midnight, on a friggin' Monday... and the shithead is playing his shitty crap music high enough to make it feel like even my walls are vibrating. God, if only I had an axe right now... *slams head against wall*
And now on to another aspect of service. Today I visited the stable my horse will temporarily move to while our stable is undergoing the facelift from Hell (seen from the stable's point of view and in regards to what it will have to suffer through before the renovation is done). Not only is the other stable practically just across the road from our stable, but my horse will also get a huge stall that could've easily fitted two of him in it. He will spend his days in a nice enclosure surrounded by mares and won't be disturbed by the others at night since the only stall neighbouring his is only inhabited by two small rabbits. And from the human point of view... They've got feeding machines that you just load up with the concentrated feeding. And then at a set time of day those machines open, neatly disposing the correct amount of feed into the horse's food crib. As for the hay, they just load it onto a wagon and feed the horses. They've also got a really nice rest area for the humans and a WC just outside the rest area (toilets are otherwise scarce in stables). It seems to be a very nice stable and I'm sure my horse will like it there, self-proclaimed Casanova and King of the Hill as he is. Still, despite all this, it's going to be really nice to get back to our renovated stable afterwards. Because, after all, our stable is our stable, our home. And you know what they say "There's no place like home".
Additional Update:
I've always thought hating was a waste of energy... but my neighbour is doing a good job of making me reconsider. It's midnight, on a friggin' Monday... and the shithead is playing his shitty crap music high enough to make it feel like even my walls are vibrating. God, if only I had an axe right now... *slams head against wall*
söndag 7 februari 2010
Procrastination level going up
And so we begin a new week... A week when I hopefully will get around to doing the stuff I should've been doing last week.
I've got the introduction for my thesis to work on, I need to burrow down in the archives and read a load of articles. I also need to go through the 15+ books lying at the floor by my desk, resembling a bag of angry rattlesnakes more and more for every day. And I also need to hunt down those elusive and mystical journalists that I need for my interviews on the journalistic language.
Why is it that I can never do anything useful unless I'm under incredible stress (as in 4 hrs before deadline of a 40 page thesis-type of stress)? I guess it's human nature to want to procrastinate. Don't do today what you can do tomorrow, even if doing it tomorrow will give you a nervous breakdown because it's too late.
I really envy those people who can set up a schedule for what they have to do and when to do it... and then actually manages to follow that schedule. I'm the stereotypical messy, creative personality. I'm always flitting about doing nothing of any use until reality comes to bite my ass and I manage to pull through in the last second (kinda like how Hollywood heroes always manages to find the right wire to disarm the bomb a fraction of a second before it's going to blow up). I'll probably end up chewing Valium before I turn 30. Then again, chocolate is a much nicer way to handle stress. However, then the added stress of exercise rears its ugly head, grins madly at me and waves a medical pamphlet about clogged up veins and heart attacks in my face. It seems life wasn't designed to be easy for the lazy...
And yet humanity continues to try and find the next wonder-product that'll allow us to be even more lazy. And then they air the commercial about how you can work from home with computers, never having to leave your house if you want to, right in between commercials for various training exercises and diets. Is that irony or what?
In any case, this lazy Swede will have to get a grip soon enough. After all, my thesis allows me to legitimately play the language fascist. Which I am so pathetically good at.
I've got the introduction for my thesis to work on, I need to burrow down in the archives and read a load of articles. I also need to go through the 15+ books lying at the floor by my desk, resembling a bag of angry rattlesnakes more and more for every day. And I also need to hunt down those elusive and mystical journalists that I need for my interviews on the journalistic language.
Why is it that I can never do anything useful unless I'm under incredible stress (as in 4 hrs before deadline of a 40 page thesis-type of stress)? I guess it's human nature to want to procrastinate. Don't do today what you can do tomorrow, even if doing it tomorrow will give you a nervous breakdown because it's too late.
I really envy those people who can set up a schedule for what they have to do and when to do it... and then actually manages to follow that schedule. I'm the stereotypical messy, creative personality. I'm always flitting about doing nothing of any use until reality comes to bite my ass and I manage to pull through in the last second (kinda like how Hollywood heroes always manages to find the right wire to disarm the bomb a fraction of a second before it's going to blow up). I'll probably end up chewing Valium before I turn 30. Then again, chocolate is a much nicer way to handle stress. However, then the added stress of exercise rears its ugly head, grins madly at me and waves a medical pamphlet about clogged up veins and heart attacks in my face. It seems life wasn't designed to be easy for the lazy...
And yet humanity continues to try and find the next wonder-product that'll allow us to be even more lazy. And then they air the commercial about how you can work from home with computers, never having to leave your house if you want to, right in between commercials for various training exercises and diets. Is that irony or what?
In any case, this lazy Swede will have to get a grip soon enough. After all, my thesis allows me to legitimately play the language fascist. Which I am so pathetically good at.
lördag 6 februari 2010
Dreams
It's coming close to the time when I have to face the world head on. I'm on my last semester at the university and after that it's all a blank slate.
To me it seems that journalists are about the only working category that never retires. Rather it's more like the older you get the more interesting you become, since you have experience, you're an "old fox" of journalism. Which kind of puts us young ones in the cold. I read somewhere that here in Sweden there are way more students of journalism graduating from their studies than the various sources of media (newspapers, TV, radio and so on) can ever employ. Somehow that's a rather sobering thought.
Don't get me wrong, I don't regret even for one moment that I chose to study journalism. Writing is what I like to do and what I hope I'm good at, but it's still scary to not know where my future will take me. When I started my studies in cultural journalism our teachers made sure to point out that we had to expect to do only freelance work for at least three years after graduating. And then comes the thought: "What if I can't do it? What if I simply can't manage to claw my way in as a freelance writer? What if my writing's not good enough, my senses and instincts too weak?". But at the same time I know those are the things I cannot think about. It won't do me any good to stress out over it. Rather it's like that NIKE-commercial: "Just do it!".
Either way, all of this has made me really think about dreams. What do I really want to do with my life? What do I wish to make of myself and how should I go about it?
And I've come to a few, albeit rather frustrating, realisations.
Firstly, I'm not even sure I want to work with cultural journalism. I much prefer the variation of regular news journalism. Secondly, I feel myself leaning more and more towards more graphically challenging areas, like editor, art director or even within marketing. And lastly, I want to travel abroad. I don't want to remain here in Sweden for the rest of my life. But... if it's hard finding work for a Swedish Journalism student here in Sweden I can only imagine what it would be like to try and wrestle myself into the media of other countries.
It's a tough world out there and though it is a good thing to have dreams, sometimes it's just frustrating the hell out of me not knowing when or if I can ever realise even a part of those dreams.
To me it seems that journalists are about the only working category that never retires. Rather it's more like the older you get the more interesting you become, since you have experience, you're an "old fox" of journalism. Which kind of puts us young ones in the cold. I read somewhere that here in Sweden there are way more students of journalism graduating from their studies than the various sources of media (newspapers, TV, radio and so on) can ever employ. Somehow that's a rather sobering thought.
Don't get me wrong, I don't regret even for one moment that I chose to study journalism. Writing is what I like to do and what I hope I'm good at, but it's still scary to not know where my future will take me. When I started my studies in cultural journalism our teachers made sure to point out that we had to expect to do only freelance work for at least three years after graduating. And then comes the thought: "What if I can't do it? What if I simply can't manage to claw my way in as a freelance writer? What if my writing's not good enough, my senses and instincts too weak?". But at the same time I know those are the things I cannot think about. It won't do me any good to stress out over it. Rather it's like that NIKE-commercial: "Just do it!".
Either way, all of this has made me really think about dreams. What do I really want to do with my life? What do I wish to make of myself and how should I go about it?
And I've come to a few, albeit rather frustrating, realisations.
Firstly, I'm not even sure I want to work with cultural journalism. I much prefer the variation of regular news journalism. Secondly, I feel myself leaning more and more towards more graphically challenging areas, like editor, art director or even within marketing. And lastly, I want to travel abroad. I don't want to remain here in Sweden for the rest of my life. But... if it's hard finding work for a Swedish Journalism student here in Sweden I can only imagine what it would be like to try and wrestle myself into the media of other countries.
It's a tough world out there and though it is a good thing to have dreams, sometimes it's just frustrating the hell out of me not knowing when or if I can ever realise even a part of those dreams.
fredag 5 februari 2010
Group pressure vs Cat 1-0
Everybody seems to be blogging these days. So who am I to play the rebel? Even though I have no idea what to write, how to write, which language to write in or even if I should spread my words where unsuspecting souls might stumble upon them...
"I blog therefore I am" or something such seems to be the theme of our generation.
Today we had another one of those oh so lovely winter days here in northern Sweden. I'm talking about snow dust and so much ice the Swedish national hockey league would've been able to practise comfortably. And, of course, idiots in expensive tin cans thinking that absolutely everyone drives cars with anti-spin and ABS-breaks. It was moderately amusing to drive along the E4 highway surrounded by people whose lives are so important that they happily risk everything and everyone just to get home half a minute earlier than they would've if they'd driven sensibly. Apparently it's crucial to spare that half of a minute on Fridays.
Anyway, I managed to drive home from the stables physically, if not mentally, unharmed. I guess I can view that as a small victory in a very large war.
As most of you probably have noticed way before I did it's Friday today, at least here in Sweden. And poor student that I am I will spend yet another Friday night mooching off the alcohol fumes that, like a dark menacing cloud on the horizon of my mental peace, are leaking out from my neighbour's apartment. I've said it before and will most likely say it again...
Once upon a time I used to dislike R'n'B. Then came my neighbour. And now, whenever I hear that specific brand of music, I am overcome with a desperate urge to grab the closest axe, rush outside and swing it mindlessly at anything and anyone in my vicinity. Preferably that anyone would be my neighbour but I'm not picky. Once I'd tired myself out with this quite counter-productive activity I would then crawl into a dark corner and rock back and forth, sobbing pathetically while muttering that 50 Cent told me to do it.
It'll be quite interesting to see where tomorrow finds me.
"I blog therefore I am" or something such seems to be the theme of our generation.
Today we had another one of those oh so lovely winter days here in northern Sweden. I'm talking about snow dust and so much ice the Swedish national hockey league would've been able to practise comfortably. And, of course, idiots in expensive tin cans thinking that absolutely everyone drives cars with anti-spin and ABS-breaks. It was moderately amusing to drive along the E4 highway surrounded by people whose lives are so important that they happily risk everything and everyone just to get home half a minute earlier than they would've if they'd driven sensibly. Apparently it's crucial to spare that half of a minute on Fridays.
Anyway, I managed to drive home from the stables physically, if not mentally, unharmed. I guess I can view that as a small victory in a very large war.
As most of you probably have noticed way before I did it's Friday today, at least here in Sweden. And poor student that I am I will spend yet another Friday night mooching off the alcohol fumes that, like a dark menacing cloud on the horizon of my mental peace, are leaking out from my neighbour's apartment. I've said it before and will most likely say it again...
Once upon a time I used to dislike R'n'B. Then came my neighbour. And now, whenever I hear that specific brand of music, I am overcome with a desperate urge to grab the closest axe, rush outside and swing it mindlessly at anything and anyone in my vicinity. Preferably that anyone would be my neighbour but I'm not picky. Once I'd tired myself out with this quite counter-productive activity I would then crawl into a dark corner and rock back and forth, sobbing pathetically while muttering that 50 Cent told me to do it.
It'll be quite interesting to see where tomorrow finds me.
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