Friends J., B. and M. were staying with us in England the past week, (hence the lack of blog entries), and one night we were showing each other the funniest videos on YouTube.
This one in particular had me in stitches:
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
Friday, 19 December 2008
Thoughts on motoring
Tailgating:
A sign of latent homosexuality.
(Can you think of another reason why one grown man would be riding up the bum of another?)
A sign of latent homosexuality.
(Can you think of another reason why one grown man would be riding up the bum of another?)
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
Dance off!
This is a bit of a long story, so bear with me. I will get to my observation and my point, I promise!
Long-term followers of this blog will remember that one of my rants a few months back was on Strictly Come Dancing, which is probably my most favourite TV show on at the moment. If you haven't read it, have a look at the archive: it's the entry for 16 November.
Well, shortly after I wrote that blog, John Sergeant decided he was no longer having fun marching around on the dancefloor, and he resigned. As a result, the entire United Kingdom was in an uproar. After all, a lot of people had spent money (or maybe a few people had spent a lot of money) on telephone votes to keep him in, and they had now paid for nothing, causing some people to demand their money back.
Luckily, John's early demise did not upset the show too much: originally, three contestants would have gotten to the final, and now only two would get that far. Until last weekend, that is. Saturday saw the semi-final, and only three couples were left: Rachel and Vincent, Lisa and Brandon, and Tom and Camilla. Rachel and Lisa each had fantastic dances, while Tom had an off-night, and this showed in the judges' scores: Tom was last on the leader board. But here's the hang-up: Lisa and Rachel received equal points. And this is what the current Strictly controversy is all about.
You see, the ranking on the leaderboard after the judges have given their scores, is converted into points. The viewers then vote for their favourites, and these are converted into points as well. The viewers and the judges therefore have an equal input into the outcome of the show. The two couples with the lowest combined score then have a dance-off, and the judges get to save the pair who performed best in this dance-off only.
The problem is that someone at the BBC found out that, because there were only three couples left and (or so they say) both Lisa and Rachel have equal judge-points, the public would not be able to save him from the dance-off.
Let's assume (partly because she's my favourite, but it really does not matter) that Rachel is a bigger favourite with the viewers than Lisa is, but that Tom gets the largest number of phone votes.
Lisa, who has received 3 points from the jury, will then get only 1 point from the viewers, totalling 4 points.
Tom, who has received 1 point from the jury, will get 3 points from the viewers, totalling 4 points.
Rachel, who has received 3 points from the jury, will get 2 points from the viewers, totalling 5 points.
In other words, Lisa would be dancing off against Tom, even though he has received the most telephone votes. And because someone at the BBC has decided that that was not fair, they froze the votes and let all three couples go through to the final. The votes that had already been casted would roll over to next week, but it has still resulted in a big row, people asking for their money back, a complete review of the voting system, inquiries and inquests, and what have you.
Now I have a few observations about this. First of all, why should Tom not go to the dance-off? He had an awful night, and his dances were way worse than those of either of the girls. He deserved to be at risk.
Besides, both Lisa and Rachel (but not Tom!) have been in dance-offs before and survived. That is what they are for, so that the judges can save a couple. The BBC is now immunising him from elimination. And that seems blatantly unfair to me.
Also, Tom could never have been saved from the dance-off, even if the judges hadn't inadvertently given both Lisa and Rachel the same score. Let's assume again that Rachel had the higher score, but from the jury this time, and that Tom was still the phone-in favourite. That would have resulted in two possible scenario's:
Scenario A
Rachel has 3 points from the judges and gets 2 from the viewers, totalling 5 points.
Lisa has 2 points from the judges and gets 1 from the viewers, totalling 3 points.
Tom has 1 point from the judges and gets 3 from the viewers, totalling 4 points.
Result: Tom and Lisa have a dance-off.
Scenario B
Rachel has 3 points from the judges and gets 1 from the viewers, totalling 4 points
Lisa has 2 points from the judges and gets 2 from the viewers, totalling 4 points
Tom has 1 point from the judges and gets 3 from the viewers, totalling 4 points.
Result: we have a 3-way tie.
The question is what would happen if scenario B took place. Either the BBC would weigh the judges input heavier, which means Tom is still in the dance-off and which disrespects the viewers vote, or the person with the highest number of votes goes through, which would mean they might as well dispense with the judges. And this is only if Tom is indeed the favourite of the viewers, which is by no means certain.
It seems to me that it is scenario B that the BBC need to revise their voting system for. But as this script is completely hypothetical, Lisa and Rachel having received the same number of points, the BBC has frozen the votes for no good reason at all. Somehow, Tom is being protected from elimination. And if there's going to be any research into the scoring of Strictly Come Dancing, that should be the topic.
Long-term followers of this blog will remember that one of my rants a few months back was on Strictly Come Dancing, which is probably my most favourite TV show on at the moment. If you haven't read it, have a look at the archive: it's the entry for 16 November.
Well, shortly after I wrote that blog, John Sergeant decided he was no longer having fun marching around on the dancefloor, and he resigned. As a result, the entire United Kingdom was in an uproar. After all, a lot of people had spent money (or maybe a few people had spent a lot of money) on telephone votes to keep him in, and they had now paid for nothing, causing some people to demand their money back.
Luckily, John's early demise did not upset the show too much: originally, three contestants would have gotten to the final, and now only two would get that far. Until last weekend, that is. Saturday saw the semi-final, and only three couples were left: Rachel and Vincent, Lisa and Brandon, and Tom and Camilla. Rachel and Lisa each had fantastic dances, while Tom had an off-night, and this showed in the judges' scores: Tom was last on the leader board. But here's the hang-up: Lisa and Rachel received equal points. And this is what the current Strictly controversy is all about.
You see, the ranking on the leaderboard after the judges have given their scores, is converted into points. The viewers then vote for their favourites, and these are converted into points as well. The viewers and the judges therefore have an equal input into the outcome of the show. The two couples with the lowest combined score then have a dance-off, and the judges get to save the pair who performed best in this dance-off only.
The problem is that someone at the BBC found out that, because there were only three couples left and (or so they say) both Lisa and Rachel have equal judge-points, the public would not be able to save him from the dance-off.
Let's assume (partly because she's my favourite, but it really does not matter) that Rachel is a bigger favourite with the viewers than Lisa is, but that Tom gets the largest number of phone votes.
Lisa, who has received 3 points from the jury, will then get only 1 point from the viewers, totalling 4 points.
Tom, who has received 1 point from the jury, will get 3 points from the viewers, totalling 4 points.
Rachel, who has received 3 points from the jury, will get 2 points from the viewers, totalling 5 points.
In other words, Lisa would be dancing off against Tom, even though he has received the most telephone votes. And because someone at the BBC has decided that that was not fair, they froze the votes and let all three couples go through to the final. The votes that had already been casted would roll over to next week, but it has still resulted in a big row, people asking for their money back, a complete review of the voting system, inquiries and inquests, and what have you.
Now I have a few observations about this. First of all, why should Tom not go to the dance-off? He had an awful night, and his dances were way worse than those of either of the girls. He deserved to be at risk.
Besides, both Lisa and Rachel (but not Tom!) have been in dance-offs before and survived. That is what they are for, so that the judges can save a couple. The BBC is now immunising him from elimination. And that seems blatantly unfair to me.
Also, Tom could never have been saved from the dance-off, even if the judges hadn't inadvertently given both Lisa and Rachel the same score. Let's assume again that Rachel had the higher score, but from the jury this time, and that Tom was still the phone-in favourite. That would have resulted in two possible scenario's:
Scenario A
Rachel has 3 points from the judges and gets 2 from the viewers, totalling 5 points.
Lisa has 2 points from the judges and gets 1 from the viewers, totalling 3 points.
Tom has 1 point from the judges and gets 3 from the viewers, totalling 4 points.
Result: Tom and Lisa have a dance-off.
Scenario B
Rachel has 3 points from the judges and gets 1 from the viewers, totalling 4 points
Lisa has 2 points from the judges and gets 2 from the viewers, totalling 4 points
Tom has 1 point from the judges and gets 3 from the viewers, totalling 4 points.
Result: we have a 3-way tie.
The question is what would happen if scenario B took place. Either the BBC would weigh the judges input heavier, which means Tom is still in the dance-off and which disrespects the viewers vote, or the person with the highest number of votes goes through, which would mean they might as well dispense with the judges. And this is only if Tom is indeed the favourite of the viewers, which is by no means certain.
It seems to me that it is scenario B that the BBC need to revise their voting system for. But as this script is completely hypothetical, Lisa and Rachel having received the same number of points, the BBC has frozen the votes for no good reason at all. Somehow, Tom is being protected from elimination. And if there's going to be any research into the scoring of Strictly Come Dancing, that should be the topic.
Monday, 15 December 2008
Notice!
I think I've remarked before on the amazing amount of signs and notifications found in Britain. Honestly, there isn't a public building where they cannot be found.
Here's a few photo's that I took on Saturday. In the motorway services nearest to the train. And I had not been in England more than 30 minutes by this time:
Oops... My bad!
And there I thought they were for drying my hair!
Now forgive me, but it seems to me that if you need to be told which way a door will open, you are not capable of reading the notice in the first place...
Saturday, 13 December 2008
Chunneling
My husband and I travelled to England today. It was supposed to be my big move, but due to circumstances I've had to delay that for two months. Let's just say that after stockbrokers, bankers and fasion designers, vets are next on my hitlist. Anyway, we both took our individual cars, so for the first time in my life, I drove myself across.
Now I've taken every imaginable mode of transport on my way to the British Isles, from busses to slow boats, to hovercrafts, to airplanes to catamaran. But never before had I taken the Channel tunnel train. Until today, that is. And it was not at all what I had imagined.
In my mind's eye, I was expecting a steam-powered flatbed freight train, (the kind you see in Indiana Jones-movies), that would actually whistle as it disappeared into a damp, dark cavern of a tunnel, all the while billowing thick clouds of black soot.
I envisioned myself locked in my car, keeping my doors and windows tightly closed and wishing for a roll of duct-tape to seal the seams, coughing and shivering from the cold that such a cave must undoubtedly exude. And then of course suddenly breaking out in sweat half-way, as we neared the bottom of this man-made hell-hole.
So if I tell you I was mildly surprised when I finally got to Calais, I'm sure you'll appreciate the understatement. How was I to know that I would be told to keep my windows half open? Or that I could actually get out of the car during the journey, and walk around? Or that I found and entire See-Buy-Train tax-free shopping mall?
In fact, I'm truly happy to have found an alternative route to my alternative home, one that allows me to keep my shoes on while going through customs, and that ensures that I am not housebound while in England because there's only one bus a day through the village and no other way to get around, and that shaves a considerable amount of time of my journey as well.
Oh, and - height of sophistication - the train even has toilets. Wow.
Now I've taken every imaginable mode of transport on my way to the British Isles, from busses to slow boats, to hovercrafts, to airplanes to catamaran. But never before had I taken the Channel tunnel train. Until today, that is. And it was not at all what I had imagined.
In my mind's eye, I was expecting a steam-powered flatbed freight train, (the kind you see in Indiana Jones-movies), that would actually whistle as it disappeared into a damp, dark cavern of a tunnel, all the while billowing thick clouds of black soot.
I envisioned myself locked in my car, keeping my doors and windows tightly closed and wishing for a roll of duct-tape to seal the seams, coughing and shivering from the cold that such a cave must undoubtedly exude. And then of course suddenly breaking out in sweat half-way, as we neared the bottom of this man-made hell-hole.
So if I tell you I was mildly surprised when I finally got to Calais, I'm sure you'll appreciate the understatement. How was I to know that I would be told to keep my windows half open? Or that I could actually get out of the car during the journey, and walk around? Or that I found and entire See-Buy-Train tax-free shopping mall?
In fact, I'm truly happy to have found an alternative route to my alternative home, one that allows me to keep my shoes on while going through customs, and that ensures that I am not housebound while in England because there's only one bus a day through the village and no other way to get around, and that shaves a considerable amount of time of my journey as well.
Oh, and - height of sophistication - the train even has toilets. Wow.
Thursday, 11 December 2008
Greetings from London
If you look at my last blog entry, you'll know I've been thinking about terrorism today. In light of this, here's a short story I wrote on the day after the attacks on London, on 7 July 2005. Some of you may have already read it, as it was published in Link, the magazine of the Faculty of Humanities at the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam.
Greetings from London
From: Mark [Mark.Rhodes@yahoo.com]
Sent: Monday 10 September 2001 19:17 EST
To: Lindsay [LJRhodes@btinternet.co.uk]
Subject: News from New York!!!
Hey Sis!!!
Well, here we are, finally!!! I’m gonna wake up, in the city that never sleeps… And it’s great! I can’t wait to explore! It took us quite a while to get here, though. We had a four hour delay at Heathrow. And then the flight took longer than expected, we seemed to be turning circles over NYC forever! And finally the taxi we were in got stuck in the rush hour traffic as well.
But never mind, we’re here now! And we’ve already seen some of the sights (as if you could miss the World Trade Center towers! Boy, are those buggers big!) We kept seeing them from the plane, at one point we got so close I thought we’d crash into them! I can hear you think: yeah, right, as if that would ever happen!!!
Anyway, apparently tourists can go right to the top of the WTC, and Ben and I decided that that’s the first thing we’re going to do tomorrow morning! Is there a better way to see the Big Apple than to see all of it in one go?
But I’ll tell you all about that in my next mail. For now, we’re going out for a bite to eat (a fine sample of the famous New York style pizza will go down nicely, I think) and then to find a bar and get pleasantly inebriated!
Later!
Mark
P.S.: Ben tells me to send his love to the most beautiful girl in the world. Honestly, he may be my best friend, but you’re not making him family, are you?
*****
From: Mark [Mark.Rhodes@yahoo.com]
Sent: Saturday 12 October 2002 21:32 BORT
To: Lindsay [LJRhodes@btinternet.co.uk]
Subject: What a glorious day!!
Hiya Lindsay!!!
How’s life in dreary old London? Well, let me tell you, on Bali it is absolutely glorious. The weather is great, the sun is shining like there’s no tomorrow, the sea is wonderful, the people are friendly, you name it. It’s paradise.
Today we arrived in a little seaside town called Kuta Beach, where we checked into a nice little backpackers hotel. And then we spent all day on the beach, playing in the surf and sipping cool Pina Colada’s. Absolutely wonderful, just what I needed.
I’m still having the occasional hard time, though. I mean, traveling with Jennifer is great, don’t get me wrong, but this is something Ben and I used to talk about. Traveling the world, seeing great cities, hitting on beautiful girls in exotic places… (don’t tell Jen I wrote that, will you?) I suppose I should be grateful that the elevator was full, and that I was not on top of the WTC, but sometimes I feel guilty… I still see him sticking out his tongue at me, flaunting the fact that he’d get the view sooner than I would… How were we supposed to know?
Anyway, enough of that! I’m supposed to have a good time here, and to enjoy myself! After all, it’s my first trip since 9/11. And Jennifer is certainly making sure that I have a good time. She’s spoiling me rotten. I must have gained a stone during this holiday, at least! But she told me that tonight I’ll have a chance to dance it off, though. She’s determined to go to this club she’s heard so much about.
Oh, here she comes, I’ll mail you soon!
Love
Mark
*****
From: Mark [Mark.Rhodes@yahoo.com]
Sent: Saturday 15 November 2003 8:06 EEST
To: Lindsay [LJRhodes@btinternet.co.uk]
Subject: Kisses from Constantinopel
Hello, Lin!
Sorry I didn’t mail you last night, I got to my hotel too late to send you any lines. So how is my baby sister doing?
I can’t tell you too much about (supposedly) beautiful Istanbul, since I haven’t seen any of it myself yet, but I’ll be able to tell you all about it later. Serina (that’s Abbou’s wife, I don’t think you’ve met her) is making me breakfast and once I’ve finished that, she’s taking me into town to show me the sights. We’re planning to pick Abbou up from his synagogue as well. I can’t believe that he’s already gone there! He must have left at 6!!
Anyway, it smells as though Serina has her culinary delights ready, so I’ll write later!
Love
Mark
*****
From: Mark [Mark.Rhodes@yahoo.com]
Sent: Thursday 20 November 2003 9:55 EEST
To: Lindsay [LJRhodes@btinternet.co.uk]
Subject: NOT AGAIN
Im sorry I haven’t been able to mail much, but things have been so hectic around here. I havent slept in days, every time I close my eyes I see blood and debris flying around, and I feel like I’m choking. when is it ever going to stop?
I can’t believe its happened again! What is happening to me? First New York, then Bali, and now here! It seems that every time I leave England something bad happens, and somebody I know and care about dies!
Luckily, Serina was able to leave the hospital yesterday. Shes off this afternoon to go to her parents in Ankara this afternoon. I hope that they can comfort her a bit; she hasn’t stopped crying since she found out that Abbou was killed in the attack. She’s coming with me too the station. She’ll catdh a train to Ankara, and I’ll take one to the airport. Ill hopefully be home tonight. Can you pick me up from the airport? I don’t know when or where I’ll land yet, but I’ll call as soon as I can. Oh, and coul you book me an appointment with my psychiatrist? I’m going ot need it!
Thanks
Mark
*****
From: Mark [Mark.Rhodes@yahoo.com]
Sent: Wednesday 10 March 2004 16:34 CET
To: Lindsay [LJRhodes@btinternet.co.uk
Subject: I can’t believe I’m doing this
Hey Lin
I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. I know that nothing has ever happened in Western Europe and that I’m safe here, but I keep looking over my shoulder. I’d much rather be at home. It may not be your favourite city, but at least I feel at home in Coventry.
I know, I know, it’s a business trip, and as you said, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t travel again. And you’re right, surely lightning doesn’t strike the same place five times… And of course you’re right that I won’t be able to further my carreer if I don’t follow at least a few seminars abroad. But it is still impossible for me to enjoy this.
Alejandra is pleasant enough company. I had sort of forgotten her, I hadn’t seen her since the two of you graduated. I’m just wondering if you’re not trying to play cupid? I know you and mom think I’ve been single way too long, but you have to understand that it’s really hard for me to learn to care for anybody but my immediate family.
Anyway, Alejandra has been really sympathetic about it all, I could tell that you’ve kept in touch with her regularly. She’s shown me some of Madrid, but she didn’t push whenever I felt I couldn’t handle it anymore. Too bad she can’t come down to Toledo with me tomorrow for the seminar, but she has to work as well.
It’s going to be an early start tomorrow. Apparently Alejandra is always at her desk by 7:00 am. And she doesn’t come home at night until at least 9 in the evening. I must say I was suitably impressed until I remembered the famed Spanish siesta… But anyway, it’s still early in the morning for your average English bloke. Since she insisted of accompanying me as far as possible, she’s taking me to the station, and then she’ll catch a metro to the center. That means we have to be at Atocha train station at 6:40!!! I get tired just thinking about that time. Normally I’m not even out of bed by then!
I must confess, I do feel a lot better now. You couldn’t have fixed me up with a better friend… and she looks great too! I hope she’ll be able to join me in Toledo over the weekend!
Bye for now
Mark
*****
From: Mark [Mark.Rhodes@yahoo.com]
Sent: Wednesday 6 July 2005 18:34 GT
To: Lindsay [LJRhodes@btinternet.co.uk]
Subject: Meet me
Hello Lindsay
I’m sorry, I know I haven’t been in touch much since last year, and I know you think I’ve been blaming you for what happened in Madrid. And if you think I might have had something to do with any of the bombings, I couldn’t even hold it against you. God knows I’ve been wondering myself.
And yes, I did blame you, for a bit. After all, you’re the one who insisted that I go to Spain, even if I didn’t want to. But lately I’ve come to realize that you’ve lost friends in each of these attacks too. The only luck you’ve had in all of this is that you haven’t had to see any of them happen, while I seem to have a knack of getting myself into these situations. Or maybe they find me, I don’t know…
Anyway, I’d really appreciate it if you’d meet me. I would love to see you face to face, and besides, I’d like to congratulate you on the Olympic victory. I know you (and so many others) have worked very hard for that… What if we went to the British museum tomorrow like we used to when we were kids? Then I can show you some of the things I’ve been up to last year as well. Why don’t we meet at King’s Cross station at around 9 am? I’m staying in a little hotel near there, and I don’t think that’s too many changeovers from Hounslow, is it? We can walk to the museum from there…
I hope you’ll be there, you’ve always been my best mate, and we’ve each suffered alone long enough.
Love forever
Your brother Mark
Copyright 2008 by PJ Mulroy. All rights reserved.
Greetings from London
From: Mark [Mark.Rhodes@yahoo.com]
Sent: Monday 10 September 2001 19:17 EST
To: Lindsay [LJRhodes@btinternet.co.uk]
Subject: News from New York!!!
Hey Sis!!!
Well, here we are, finally!!! I’m gonna wake up, in the city that never sleeps… And it’s great! I can’t wait to explore! It took us quite a while to get here, though. We had a four hour delay at Heathrow. And then the flight took longer than expected, we seemed to be turning circles over NYC forever! And finally the taxi we were in got stuck in the rush hour traffic as well.
But never mind, we’re here now! And we’ve already seen some of the sights (as if you could miss the World Trade Center towers! Boy, are those buggers big!) We kept seeing them from the plane, at one point we got so close I thought we’d crash into them! I can hear you think: yeah, right, as if that would ever happen!!!
Anyway, apparently tourists can go right to the top of the WTC, and Ben and I decided that that’s the first thing we’re going to do tomorrow morning! Is there a better way to see the Big Apple than to see all of it in one go?
But I’ll tell you all about that in my next mail. For now, we’re going out for a bite to eat (a fine sample of the famous New York style pizza will go down nicely, I think) and then to find a bar and get pleasantly inebriated!
Later!
Mark
P.S.: Ben tells me to send his love to the most beautiful girl in the world. Honestly, he may be my best friend, but you’re not making him family, are you?
*****
From: Mark [Mark.Rhodes@yahoo.com]
Sent: Saturday 12 October 2002 21:32 BORT
To: Lindsay [LJRhodes@btinternet.co.uk]
Subject: What a glorious day!!
Hiya Lindsay!!!
How’s life in dreary old London? Well, let me tell you, on Bali it is absolutely glorious. The weather is great, the sun is shining like there’s no tomorrow, the sea is wonderful, the people are friendly, you name it. It’s paradise.
Today we arrived in a little seaside town called Kuta Beach, where we checked into a nice little backpackers hotel. And then we spent all day on the beach, playing in the surf and sipping cool Pina Colada’s. Absolutely wonderful, just what I needed.
I’m still having the occasional hard time, though. I mean, traveling with Jennifer is great, don’t get me wrong, but this is something Ben and I used to talk about. Traveling the world, seeing great cities, hitting on beautiful girls in exotic places… (don’t tell Jen I wrote that, will you?) I suppose I should be grateful that the elevator was full, and that I was not on top of the WTC, but sometimes I feel guilty… I still see him sticking out his tongue at me, flaunting the fact that he’d get the view sooner than I would… How were we supposed to know?
Anyway, enough of that! I’m supposed to have a good time here, and to enjoy myself! After all, it’s my first trip since 9/11. And Jennifer is certainly making sure that I have a good time. She’s spoiling me rotten. I must have gained a stone during this holiday, at least! But she told me that tonight I’ll have a chance to dance it off, though. She’s determined to go to this club she’s heard so much about.
Oh, here she comes, I’ll mail you soon!
Love
Mark
*****
From: Mark [Mark.Rhodes@yahoo.com]
Sent: Saturday 15 November 2003 8:06 EEST
To: Lindsay [LJRhodes@btinternet.co.uk]
Subject: Kisses from Constantinopel
Hello, Lin!
Sorry I didn’t mail you last night, I got to my hotel too late to send you any lines. So how is my baby sister doing?
I can’t tell you too much about (supposedly) beautiful Istanbul, since I haven’t seen any of it myself yet, but I’ll be able to tell you all about it later. Serina (that’s Abbou’s wife, I don’t think you’ve met her) is making me breakfast and once I’ve finished that, she’s taking me into town to show me the sights. We’re planning to pick Abbou up from his synagogue as well. I can’t believe that he’s already gone there! He must have left at 6!!
Anyway, it smells as though Serina has her culinary delights ready, so I’ll write later!
Love
Mark
*****
From: Mark [Mark.Rhodes@yahoo.com]
Sent: Thursday 20 November 2003 9:55 EEST
To: Lindsay [LJRhodes@btinternet.co.uk]
Subject: NOT AGAIN
Im sorry I haven’t been able to mail much, but things have been so hectic around here. I havent slept in days, every time I close my eyes I see blood and debris flying around, and I feel like I’m choking. when is it ever going to stop?
I can’t believe its happened again! What is happening to me? First New York, then Bali, and now here! It seems that every time I leave England something bad happens, and somebody I know and care about dies!
Luckily, Serina was able to leave the hospital yesterday. Shes off this afternoon to go to her parents in Ankara this afternoon. I hope that they can comfort her a bit; she hasn’t stopped crying since she found out that Abbou was killed in the attack. She’s coming with me too the station. She’ll catdh a train to Ankara, and I’ll take one to the airport. Ill hopefully be home tonight. Can you pick me up from the airport? I don’t know when or where I’ll land yet, but I’ll call as soon as I can. Oh, and coul you book me an appointment with my psychiatrist? I’m going ot need it!
Thanks
Mark
*****
From: Mark [Mark.Rhodes@yahoo.com]
Sent: Wednesday 10 March 2004 16:34 CET
To: Lindsay [LJRhodes@btinternet.co.uk
Subject: I can’t believe I’m doing this
Hey Lin
I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. I know that nothing has ever happened in Western Europe and that I’m safe here, but I keep looking over my shoulder. I’d much rather be at home. It may not be your favourite city, but at least I feel at home in Coventry.
I know, I know, it’s a business trip, and as you said, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t travel again. And you’re right, surely lightning doesn’t strike the same place five times… And of course you’re right that I won’t be able to further my carreer if I don’t follow at least a few seminars abroad. But it is still impossible for me to enjoy this.
Alejandra is pleasant enough company. I had sort of forgotten her, I hadn’t seen her since the two of you graduated. I’m just wondering if you’re not trying to play cupid? I know you and mom think I’ve been single way too long, but you have to understand that it’s really hard for me to learn to care for anybody but my immediate family.
Anyway, Alejandra has been really sympathetic about it all, I could tell that you’ve kept in touch with her regularly. She’s shown me some of Madrid, but she didn’t push whenever I felt I couldn’t handle it anymore. Too bad she can’t come down to Toledo with me tomorrow for the seminar, but she has to work as well.
It’s going to be an early start tomorrow. Apparently Alejandra is always at her desk by 7:00 am. And she doesn’t come home at night until at least 9 in the evening. I must say I was suitably impressed until I remembered the famed Spanish siesta… But anyway, it’s still early in the morning for your average English bloke. Since she insisted of accompanying me as far as possible, she’s taking me to the station, and then she’ll catch a metro to the center. That means we have to be at Atocha train station at 6:40!!! I get tired just thinking about that time. Normally I’m not even out of bed by then!
I must confess, I do feel a lot better now. You couldn’t have fixed me up with a better friend… and she looks great too! I hope she’ll be able to join me in Toledo over the weekend!
Bye for now
Mark
*****
From: Mark [Mark.Rhodes@yahoo.com]
Sent: Wednesday 6 July 2005 18:34 GT
To: Lindsay [LJRhodes@btinternet.co.uk]
Subject: Meet me
Hello Lindsay
I’m sorry, I know I haven’t been in touch much since last year, and I know you think I’ve been blaming you for what happened in Madrid. And if you think I might have had something to do with any of the bombings, I couldn’t even hold it against you. God knows I’ve been wondering myself.
And yes, I did blame you, for a bit. After all, you’re the one who insisted that I go to Spain, even if I didn’t want to. But lately I’ve come to realize that you’ve lost friends in each of these attacks too. The only luck you’ve had in all of this is that you haven’t had to see any of them happen, while I seem to have a knack of getting myself into these situations. Or maybe they find me, I don’t know…
Anyway, I’d really appreciate it if you’d meet me. I would love to see you face to face, and besides, I’d like to congratulate you on the Olympic victory. I know you (and so many others) have worked very hard for that… What if we went to the British museum tomorrow like we used to when we were kids? Then I can show you some of the things I’ve been up to last year as well. Why don’t we meet at King’s Cross station at around 9 am? I’m staying in a little hotel near there, and I don’t think that’s too many changeovers from Hounslow, is it? We can walk to the museum from there…
I hope you’ll be there, you’ve always been my best mate, and we’ve each suffered alone long enough.
Love forever
Your brother Mark
Copyright 2008 by PJ Mulroy. All rights reserved.
Why?
According to the Encyclopedia Britannica, terrorism is:
'the systematic use of violence to create a general climate of fear in a population and thereby to bring about a particular political objective'.
It seems to me that they are mostly right. For instance, the original objective of terrorist movements such as the IRA or the ETA was to gain the right to rule their country. In case of ecoterrorism, the objective is to stop activities that may harm nature, such as the hindering of nuclear transports.
However, the above definition appears to be woefully inadequate when it comes to the terrorist activities that we have seen in the 20th century. At no point in time have I ever read any that gave me an idea as to what the leaders see as the objective of their acts.
Take today: 14 people have been arrested in Belgium on the suspicion of terrorism. They are supposed to have connections to Al-Qaeda. Apparently, their target may have been the Euro-top which is taking place today. The question then is why? Is this on religious grounds? Monetary? Repression? Politics? And what do they hope to achieve?
I really don't know, and I really don't understand. If you have any clues and can fill me in, please leave a comment.
'the systematic use of violence to create a general climate of fear in a population and thereby to bring about a particular political objective'.
It seems to me that they are mostly right. For instance, the original objective of terrorist movements such as the IRA or the ETA was to gain the right to rule their country. In case of ecoterrorism, the objective is to stop activities that may harm nature, such as the hindering of nuclear transports.
However, the above definition appears to be woefully inadequate when it comes to the terrorist activities that we have seen in the 20th century. At no point in time have I ever read any that gave me an idea as to what the leaders see as the objective of their acts.
Take today: 14 people have been arrested in Belgium on the suspicion of terrorism. They are supposed to have connections to Al-Qaeda. Apparently, their target may have been the Euro-top which is taking place today. The question then is why? Is this on religious grounds? Monetary? Repression? Politics? And what do they hope to achieve?
I really don't know, and I really don't understand. If you have any clues and can fill me in, please leave a comment.
Wednesday, 10 December 2008
Rain or Shine... or both...or neither!
Have you ever noticed how often weathermen get it wrong? Isn't it amazing? I have often wondered, especially while trying to undo the damage caused by a rainstorm that I had not been expecting (and that had, of course not been predicted), why that is.
You see, I have long suspected weathermen of lying on purpose. Not to deceive us, but to hedge their bets (a bit like stockbrokers and bankers, if you remember my earlier rant). And yesterday, I finally got the proof I needed to confirm my suspicions.
I was watching the news on one of the Dutch channels, and the weatherman gave the most interesting report. He said (well, he said this in Dutch, of course... I took the liberty of translating it) the following:
'The forecast for tomorrow's weather is good, but I do have two marginal notes. It is going to get wet, and it will be very cold. Also, there is a chance of fog. And motorists should beware that it is possible that wet patches may freeze over, so the roads could be quite slippery.'
You have to wonder, of course, what this particular meteorologist defines as 'good weather'. It seems to me he is trying to give us a positive message (and is therefore hedging his bets) by not only calling severe wintery frost 'good', but also by giving us four downsides instead of the two he promised. A clear case of hate the message, not the messenger. In any case, the only thing I knew for sure after this report: it's going to be variable.
And now I'll go search for my umbrella and my sunglasses. I need to go kill a weatherman, you see.
You see, I have long suspected weathermen of lying on purpose. Not to deceive us, but to hedge their bets (a bit like stockbrokers and bankers, if you remember my earlier rant). And yesterday, I finally got the proof I needed to confirm my suspicions.
I was watching the news on one of the Dutch channels, and the weatherman gave the most interesting report. He said (well, he said this in Dutch, of course... I took the liberty of translating it) the following:
'The forecast for tomorrow's weather is good, but I do have two marginal notes. It is going to get wet, and it will be very cold. Also, there is a chance of fog. And motorists should beware that it is possible that wet patches may freeze over, so the roads could be quite slippery.'
You have to wonder, of course, what this particular meteorologist defines as 'good weather'. It seems to me he is trying to give us a positive message (and is therefore hedging his bets) by not only calling severe wintery frost 'good', but also by giving us four downsides instead of the two he promised. A clear case of hate the message, not the messenger. In any case, the only thing I knew for sure after this report: it's going to be variable.
And now I'll go search for my umbrella and my sunglasses. I need to go kill a weatherman, you see.
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
No fun!!
I've labelled this post as News Clippings, but it's actually not. Startingly not, even.
You see, normally, if I'm short on inspiration for what to write on this page, I'll trawl through my RSS newsreader to check the headlines. There's usually always something funny that gives me something to report. But would you believe it: there's nothing. Anywhere. At all.
Of course there's news, in fact there's almost 2000 headlines (in the 15 feeds that I subscribe to), but not one of them is interesting, funny or exciting enough to write about! It's just amazing! Nothing even remotely humorous or remarkable!
Anyway... the day isn't over yet. Perhaps I'll find something later. I'll keep you posted!
You see, normally, if I'm short on inspiration for what to write on this page, I'll trawl through my RSS newsreader to check the headlines. There's usually always something funny that gives me something to report. But would you believe it: there's nothing. Anywhere. At all.
Of course there's news, in fact there's almost 2000 headlines (in the 15 feeds that I subscribe to), but not one of them is interesting, funny or exciting enough to write about! It's just amazing! Nothing even remotely humorous or remarkable!
Anyway... the day isn't over yet. Perhaps I'll find something later. I'll keep you posted!
Monday, 8 December 2008
Euh... I forgot?!?!?!
I was just reading last Saturday's Times (yes, I know it's Monday), and I came across an article which stated that the common Coldsore virus may be linked to Alzheimer's disease. If so, it read, the most effective treatment for this debilitating affliction may be simple, over-the-counter drugs such as Zovirax.
It is, of course, wonderful that such a simple and cost-effective cure may be found for such an awful disease, but I couldn't help wondering: as far as I know, Zovirax is a cream. So if you're prescribed this for Alzheimer's, where would you have to rub it?
It is, of course, wonderful that such a simple and cost-effective cure may be found for such an awful disease, but I couldn't help wondering: as far as I know, Zovirax is a cream. So if you're prescribed this for Alzheimer's, where would you have to rub it?
The Eye of the Beholder
Me, husband and friend J. went to Amsterdam yesterday to have lunch with friends A. and T. While we were waiting for the tram, we were looking at a billboard, which was an advert for L'Oreal Mascara and it featured a larger-than-life photo of Eva Longoria. The thing is that her eyelashes were obviously not just enhanced with L'Oreal Mascara. They were fake. Very fake.
Now don't get me wrong, I think Eva Longoria is quite a beautiful woman, in a more-packaging-than-content sort of way. But I cannot for the life of me come up with reasons why she, or anyone else for that matter, would want to walk around with a couple of dead caterpillars on her eyelids.
But while J. and I were discussing the morbidity of it all, husband made my day with his observation:
'Huh. She looks like a peacock!'
Now don't get me wrong, I think Eva Longoria is quite a beautiful woman, in a more-packaging-than-content sort of way. But I cannot for the life of me come up with reasons why she, or anyone else for that matter, would want to walk around with a couple of dead caterpillars on her eyelids.
But while J. and I were discussing the morbidity of it all, husband made my day with his observation:
'Huh. She looks like a peacock!'
Friday, 5 December 2008
Easter Bunny watch out
First the Thanksgiving turkey, and now Rudolf the Red-Nosed Raindeer... What will she do for Easter, I wonder?
http://abcnews.go.com/video/playerIndex?id=6381815
http://abcnews.go.com/video/playerIndex?id=6381815
Thursday, 4 December 2008
Wednesday, 3 December 2008
Appreciating Rain
I'm not really having a great day. I had to get up very early this morning to bring S. to the airport (yes, he's left me for England...again!) It was cold and dark, sleety and wet. I'm pretty sensitive to the weather in the best of times, but standing at Schiphol airport watching my heart going to passport control at 5:30 in the morning is certain to ensure a certain melancholy for the rest of the day.
Yet later on in the morning, while walking home from the shops, the heavens decided to give me the prettiest anti-depressant in nature, and I can't help sharing it with you:
I haven't stopped smiling since.
Remember: If you want the rainbow, you've got to put up with the rain.
Tuesday, 2 December 2008
The Bush Legacy
George W. Bush gave an interview last week, in which he said he'd like to be remembered as the president who freed 50 million people and who helped bring lasting peace to the world.
Now if only wishes came true...
Now if only wishes came true...
Monday, 1 December 2008
Insights into the Stock Market
Once upon a time, a man walked into a casino and started playing roulette. Little by little, he kept putting bets on numbers that were not called. The more money he lost, the more desperate he became until he could no longer contain himself.
Irate, he started to complain profusely: first at the dealer and then to the management of the casino, claiming that their system was wrong and that they were to blame for him losing his life savings. He demanded to be repaid his losses. The bouncers calmly and quietly escorted him to the door, never to let him in again.
This seems only right to me.
But imagine my surprise and indignation when I learned today that stockholders are taking Fortis to court (one of them claiming to the amount of 2 billion euros), demanding reimbursement for the money they lost due to the credit crisis.
Pure madness.
Irate, he started to complain profusely: first at the dealer and then to the management of the casino, claiming that their system was wrong and that they were to blame for him losing his life savings. He demanded to be repaid his losses. The bouncers calmly and quietly escorted him to the door, never to let him in again.
This seems only right to me.
But imagine my surprise and indignation when I learned today that stockholders are taking Fortis to court (one of them claiming to the amount of 2 billion euros), demanding reimbursement for the money they lost due to the credit crisis.
Pure madness.
Sunday, 30 November 2008
Cookery Controversy
I came across a cookery show on BBC today, called 'Something for the Weekend', in which some TV-chef that I didn't know was cooking for Jason Donovan.
At one point this chef said something about ansjovis and the dialogue had me in bits:
Chef:
'Yeah, either you like them or you hate them. What do you think?'
Jason Donovan:
'I'm actually kind of indifferent about them...'
At one point this chef said something about ansjovis and the dialogue had me in bits:
Chef:
'Yeah, either you like them or you hate them. What do you think?'
Jason Donovan:
'I'm actually kind of indifferent about them...'
Saturday, 29 November 2008
Cribs
Earlier this year, one of the big hits in the music charts was 'Rockstar' by Nickelback. It is a song that takes the mickey out of becoming a celebrity musician, listing a series of things that signal success, such as having a drug dealer on speed dial (right) and joining the 'mile-high-club' at 37000 feet. There was one in particular that got my attention:
'I want a brand-new house on an episode of Cribs'.
Cribs, for those who don't know, is a tv-show aired by MTV, in which the rock-, movie- and sportsstars spoofed by Nickelback show the world at large what their houses look like. I've come across this show a number of times, and I came to the conclusion that most of these houses look the same: too big to keep clean without a contingent of maids, garish in a nouveau-riche sort of way, and all literally identical. They have bathrooms with golden taps and lots of marble, at least half a dozen enormeous flatscreen TV's that give you headaches when you stand too close to them (which you invariably do) and that are blaring out MTV 24/7, a swimmingpool and hottub in the backyard, and a fleet of cars in the driveway, consisting of at least one SUV (generally of the Hummer, BMW or Porsche Cayenne varieties) and a Mercedes or Lexus Convertible. Oh, and either a cinema- or gameroom. Or both. I admit that I tend not to stay glued to the screen when I see the show, but I have flicked through enough episodes to suspect that there isn't much diversity in the houses shown there.
Last night, I was making my way through the channels when I came across Cribs again and, just for your entertainment, decided to watch it properly for a bit. I fell into it half-way through the show, so I didn't see it all, but still something hit me: I didn't know these so-called celebrities at all! The first one was a guy whose name I did not catch (remember, I fell into it half-way), but who apparently is a member of a band named Fall-Out Boy. If anybody has a clue as to what I should know them from, please leave a comment?!?! (I must admit though, his house was less bog-standard than most I'd seen... he'd actually left his laundry out.)
The second one was an actress named (I've deliberately written it down so I wouldn't forget) Sara Paxton. Again, no clue as to what I should know her from. I thought I'd recognised her from a movie, then realised that it was Alicia Silverstone I'd been thinking of. Or maybe it was Cameron Diaz...
The tour was reassuringly familiar, there was literally nothing in the crib that was unique or eye-catching, and if there was a little clutter lying around it might even be reasonalbly inhabitable. But here's the thing: Sara Paxton still lives with her parents. In other words, the crib she was so obligingly showing us around in, IS NOT HERS! She did not buy the house, she did not pay for the black-tiled swimmingpool and she did not hunt for just the right sofa or decide that the decor should be generic C-list celebrity.
Success just isn't what it used to be.
'I want a brand-new house on an episode of Cribs'.
Cribs, for those who don't know, is a tv-show aired by MTV, in which the rock-, movie- and sportsstars spoofed by Nickelback show the world at large what their houses look like. I've come across this show a number of times, and I came to the conclusion that most of these houses look the same: too big to keep clean without a contingent of maids, garish in a nouveau-riche sort of way, and all literally identical. They have bathrooms with golden taps and lots of marble, at least half a dozen enormeous flatscreen TV's that give you headaches when you stand too close to them (which you invariably do) and that are blaring out MTV 24/7, a swimmingpool and hottub in the backyard, and a fleet of cars in the driveway, consisting of at least one SUV (generally of the Hummer, BMW or Porsche Cayenne varieties) and a Mercedes or Lexus Convertible. Oh, and either a cinema- or gameroom. Or both. I admit that I tend not to stay glued to the screen when I see the show, but I have flicked through enough episodes to suspect that there isn't much diversity in the houses shown there.
Last night, I was making my way through the channels when I came across Cribs again and, just for your entertainment, decided to watch it properly for a bit. I fell into it half-way through the show, so I didn't see it all, but still something hit me: I didn't know these so-called celebrities at all! The first one was a guy whose name I did not catch (remember, I fell into it half-way), but who apparently is a member of a band named Fall-Out Boy. If anybody has a clue as to what I should know them from, please leave a comment?!?! (I must admit though, his house was less bog-standard than most I'd seen... he'd actually left his laundry out.)
The second one was an actress named (I've deliberately written it down so I wouldn't forget) Sara Paxton. Again, no clue as to what I should know her from. I thought I'd recognised her from a movie, then realised that it was Alicia Silverstone I'd been thinking of. Or maybe it was Cameron Diaz...
The tour was reassuringly familiar, there was literally nothing in the crib that was unique or eye-catching, and if there was a little clutter lying around it might even be reasonalbly inhabitable. But here's the thing: Sara Paxton still lives with her parents. In other words, the crib she was so obligingly showing us around in, IS NOT HERS! She did not buy the house, she did not pay for the black-tiled swimmingpool and she did not hunt for just the right sofa or decide that the decor should be generic C-list celebrity.
Success just isn't what it used to be.
Friday, 28 November 2008
Spacebag update
You remember my blog of last week, about the female astronaut who dropped her toolbag in space? Well, there's an update: the bag has been found! Sort of...
http://www.space.com/news/081125-iss-tool-bag.html
And this Dutch newssite actually sports a picture of it:
http://www.rtl.nl/(/actueel/rtlnieuws/opmerkelijk/articleview/)/components/actueel/rtlnieuws/2008/11_november/25/opmerkelijk/1125_1800_tas_in_de_ruimte.xml
Just remember to bring your binoculars when you go looking for it...
http://www.space.com/news/081125-iss-tool-bag.html
And this Dutch newssite actually sports a picture of it:
http://www.rtl.nl/(/actueel/rtlnieuws/opmerkelijk/articleview/)/components/actueel/rtlnieuws/2008/11_november/25/opmerkelijk/1125_1800_tas_in_de_ruimte.xml
Just remember to bring your binoculars when you go looking for it...
Thursday, 27 November 2008
How Rude!!!
It surprises me that I'm surprised, but people are so rude sometimes! Where did courtesy go? Let me illustrate.
I went out to dinner tonight with friend M. (This is a different M. from Tuesday's lunch) at a little restaurant in Haarlem, where M. goes regularly. The food was good, the price was very reasonable, and it was very busy.
We'd finished our dinner, had our coffee, and we were just enjoying our company and conversation, when a man (the manager, I suppose) came to our table and demanded, not asked, whether we needed anything else. We looked at each other and said that we were fine for now. Five minutes later, a waitress brought us the bill. Which we had not yet asked for. Obviously we were holding a table that they wanted for someone else, and they wanted us out. How rude is that? Needless to say, we won't be eating there again.
Now I don't like to state full names of people or venues on this blog - it is a public site, after all, but in this case I have no qualms about letting you all know which restaurant to avoid. So here's the website:
www.hetpakhuis.org/haarlem/
I went out to dinner tonight with friend M. (This is a different M. from Tuesday's lunch) at a little restaurant in Haarlem, where M. goes regularly. The food was good, the price was very reasonable, and it was very busy.
We'd finished our dinner, had our coffee, and we were just enjoying our company and conversation, when a man (the manager, I suppose) came to our table and demanded, not asked, whether we needed anything else. We looked at each other and said that we were fine for now. Five minutes later, a waitress brought us the bill. Which we had not yet asked for. Obviously we were holding a table that they wanted for someone else, and they wanted us out. How rude is that? Needless to say, we won't be eating there again.
Now I don't like to state full names of people or venues on this blog - it is a public site, after all, but in this case I have no qualms about letting you all know which restaurant to avoid. So here's the website:
www.hetpakhuis.org/haarlem/
Greedy!
My brother sent me this link the other day. It gave me some valuable insight into the causes of our current credit crisis...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5_Msrdg3Hk
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5_Msrdg3Hk
Tuesday, 25 November 2008
Oops...
I had lunch in Amsterdam with friend M. today (whose homocidal tendencies towards bankers seem to have abated), and in the tram on my way back home I overheard a girl on the phone. The one-sided argument had me in stitches:
'...no, napkins.'
'...napkins!'
'...no. No, napkins!'
'NAPKINS!'
'yeah, that's what I said, napkins!'
'What do you mean, don't shout? You didn't hear me right!'
'I didn't yell at you!'
'Okay, okay, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to yell... what?'
'Yeah, I'll be there in a few minutes, I need to get off at the... Bugger!'
'No, I'll be a few minutes late, I was supposed to get off four stops ago...'
'...no, napkins.'
'...napkins!'
'...no. No, napkins!'
'NAPKINS!'
'yeah, that's what I said, napkins!'
'What do you mean, don't shout? You didn't hear me right!'
'I didn't yell at you!'
'Okay, okay, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to yell... what?'
'Yeah, I'll be there in a few minutes, I need to get off at the... Bugger!'
'No, I'll be a few minutes late, I was supposed to get off four stops ago...'
Monday, 24 November 2008
What were they thinking???
I'm sure that I will never stop to be amazed by people. Or rather, by the boundlessness of human stupidity. Just to illustrate, here's a selection of newsclippings that I came across this weekend alone:
First, there's the Dutch couple who paid 10000 rupees for four samosa's... worth 10 rupees.
http://tvnz.co.nz/view/page/2322449
Although, I must say, I was rather dissapointed by the Dutchness of the people. To ask for their money back...tsssk.
Then there's the dutch guys who had their van so stacked full of cannabis, that they left a scent trail for the police...
http://www.nieuws.nl/536029
And they didn't even run for it.
Now, I'm sure we've all stepped into busses or trains, where you stood next to a person who literally took your breath away... through the cloud of perfume or aftershave they were exhuming. But I'd never actually heard of anyone who took his own breath away by overdosing on smellie. Until this week, that is:
http://www.nieuws.nl/536029
I think this kid should be considered for a Darwin Award. Talking about which: this guy needs to keep practicing a bit longer:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/7743748.stm
Can't you just imagine the thought process: 'awwww... how cute... I could just cuddle that wild and therefore extremely dangerous big panda bear... I think I'll just climb over this very high fence and hug it...' I'm looking forward to the man's next trick.
But this one takes the cherry:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7744345.stm
In my opinion, the stupidity started by making the nude photos in the first place...
First, there's the Dutch couple who paid 10000 rupees for four samosa's... worth 10 rupees.
http://tvnz.co.nz/view/page/2322449
Although, I must say, I was rather dissapointed by the Dutchness of the people. To ask for their money back...tsssk.
Then there's the dutch guys who had their van so stacked full of cannabis, that they left a scent trail for the police...
http://www.nieuws.nl/536029
And they didn't even run for it.
Now, I'm sure we've all stepped into busses or trains, where you stood next to a person who literally took your breath away... through the cloud of perfume or aftershave they were exhuming. But I'd never actually heard of anyone who took his own breath away by overdosing on smellie. Until this week, that is:
http://www.nieuws.nl/536029
I think this kid should be considered for a Darwin Award. Talking about which: this guy needs to keep practicing a bit longer:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/7743748.stm
Can't you just imagine the thought process: 'awwww... how cute... I could just cuddle that wild and therefore extremely dangerous big panda bear... I think I'll just climb over this very high fence and hug it...' I'm looking forward to the man's next trick.
But this one takes the cherry:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7744345.stm
In my opinion, the stupidity started by making the nude photos in the first place...
Sunday, 23 November 2008
Thanks!
Coming Thursday is Thanksgiving Day in the US. And one of the big parts of Thanksgiving is the Turkey Dinner. (I don't pretend to be an expert on any of this, I've just looked it up on Wikipedia).
The reason I'm telling you this is because of two things that have caught my eye. The first one is an episode of my favorite series, that I just happened to be watching. It is called Shibboleth and it is the 8th installment of the second season of the West Wing. Amongst others, it is about the president pardoning a turkey.
Obviously, if the Turkey Dinner is the centrepiece of Thanksgiving, there is an awful lot of Turkeys killed for the celebration. In fact, Wikipedia estimates that 16 to 20% of Turkey consumption in the US happens at Thanksgiving alone. It seems irrelevant that turkey is nutritionally the poorest of all the meats, or that it is one of the hardest to cook well. Or that, once you cook a turkey, you´re eating turkey left-over sandwiches until Christmas at least.
Anyway, in this West Wing episode, the president pardoned a turkey, and the press secretary was given two turkeys from which to choose the one that was going to spend its days in a petting zoo. The other was to be slaughtered. Not a nice choice, and in the end CJ Cregg (above mentioned press secretary) actually asked the president to pardon both turkeys since she hated the idea she'd sent one bird to the butchers.
Of course, the West Wing is a TV show. It is fictional entertainment and one should not confuse it with reality. But imagine my surprise when I came across this article:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7742689.stm
Do I need to say more?
The reason I'm telling you this is because of two things that have caught my eye. The first one is an episode of my favorite series, that I just happened to be watching. It is called Shibboleth and it is the 8th installment of the second season of the West Wing. Amongst others, it is about the president pardoning a turkey.
Obviously, if the Turkey Dinner is the centrepiece of Thanksgiving, there is an awful lot of Turkeys killed for the celebration. In fact, Wikipedia estimates that 16 to 20% of Turkey consumption in the US happens at Thanksgiving alone. It seems irrelevant that turkey is nutritionally the poorest of all the meats, or that it is one of the hardest to cook well. Or that, once you cook a turkey, you´re eating turkey left-over sandwiches until Christmas at least.
Anyway, in this West Wing episode, the president pardoned a turkey, and the press secretary was given two turkeys from which to choose the one that was going to spend its days in a petting zoo. The other was to be slaughtered. Not a nice choice, and in the end CJ Cregg (above mentioned press secretary) actually asked the president to pardon both turkeys since she hated the idea she'd sent one bird to the butchers.
Of course, the West Wing is a TV show. It is fictional entertainment and one should not confuse it with reality. But imagine my surprise when I came across this article:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7742689.stm
Do I need to say more?
Friday, 21 November 2008
I think, therefore...
I just read an article that told me: 'Today is World Philosophy Day'.
The first philosophical question I have about this is: if I read this article today, does that mean that today is World Philosophy Day? Even though the article was published yesterday?
The second: who cares?
Don't get me wrong, I love philosophy. I spend hours thinking about all sorts of philosophical questions, and I usually come up with new and interesting answers to them as well. In fact, based on an intelligence test I took, I was once described as a 'Visionary Philosopher'. Whatever that may mean.
I'm just wondering about the timing of this article. You see, I have checked the online newsfeeds several times yesterday. In the morning, in the afternoon, and even in the evening. Yet this article was not there, I only found it this morning. This means that some dimwit of a BBC-reporter thought it was only interesting news at 9:30 pm (GMT).
In a totally unrelated newsarticle, by the way, doctors have claimed that an American teenage girl has survived for 118 days without a heart. I'm not sure, but it seems to me that the current US President has now succeeded that feat for nearly 8 years...
I suppose the true philosophical nature of this blog entry is: what is news, anyway? The first article, although it was news to me, clearly wasn't for the journalist who wrote the piece. Yet the second, which I didn't find at all groundbreaking, was apparently of huge interest to someone (besides the girl, that is). Who decides these things?
My conclusion: news is fickle and subjective... so perhaps it's time to pay less attention to it, and start concentrating on more interesting things. Such as the question whether I truly exist, or whether I just think that I do...
And now it's time to crawl back into my cave, if you forgive me my Platonic allegory...
The first philosophical question I have about this is: if I read this article today, does that mean that today is World Philosophy Day? Even though the article was published yesterday?
The second: who cares?
Don't get me wrong, I love philosophy. I spend hours thinking about all sorts of philosophical questions, and I usually come up with new and interesting answers to them as well. In fact, based on an intelligence test I took, I was once described as a 'Visionary Philosopher'. Whatever that may mean.
I'm just wondering about the timing of this article. You see, I have checked the online newsfeeds several times yesterday. In the morning, in the afternoon, and even in the evening. Yet this article was not there, I only found it this morning. This means that some dimwit of a BBC-reporter thought it was only interesting news at 9:30 pm (GMT).
In a totally unrelated newsarticle, by the way, doctors have claimed that an American teenage girl has survived for 118 days without a heart. I'm not sure, but it seems to me that the current US President has now succeeded that feat for nearly 8 years...
I suppose the true philosophical nature of this blog entry is: what is news, anyway? The first article, although it was news to me, clearly wasn't for the journalist who wrote the piece. Yet the second, which I didn't find at all groundbreaking, was apparently of huge interest to someone (besides the girl, that is). Who decides these things?
My conclusion: news is fickle and subjective... so perhaps it's time to pay less attention to it, and start concentrating on more interesting things. Such as the question whether I truly exist, or whether I just think that I do...
And now it's time to crawl back into my cave, if you forgive me my Platonic allegory...
Thursday, 20 November 2008
h@l! $h!t!!
I'm impressed.
No, really impressed.
With a woman who bears the name Heidemarie Stefanyshyn-Piper, who is an astronaut. The name alone is interesting enough. And wow, she's an astronaut, which equals Wonderwoman in my world, but that's not actually what I'm so impressed with.
You see, she's made a boo-boo. During her spacewalk yesterday, she forgot to secure her toolbag and had to watch it float away into space. The footage of it made all the news headlines in the world.
I can live with that. How often have I not dropped a tool while standing on a ladder? Everybody drops their tools. But, of course, no one has those mishaps shown on prime time tv. And certainly no one will later make a wish on the falling star created by their own stupidity as this unfortunate toolbag gets pulled into the earth's orbit and gets incinerated in the atmosphere. But everone will voice some sort of vulgar expletive that is entirely unsuitable for children. And that's what I'm so impressed with.
Heidemarie Stefanyshyn-Piper (her name makes me greatful for the cut-and-paste-function on my computer, let me tell you) had only one reaction to her unfortunate accident:
A very irate 'Oh, great!'
Now that's character...
No, really impressed.
With a woman who bears the name Heidemarie Stefanyshyn-Piper, who is an astronaut. The name alone is interesting enough. And wow, she's an astronaut, which equals Wonderwoman in my world, but that's not actually what I'm so impressed with.
You see, she's made a boo-boo. During her spacewalk yesterday, she forgot to secure her toolbag and had to watch it float away into space. The footage of it made all the news headlines in the world.
I can live with that. How often have I not dropped a tool while standing on a ladder? Everybody drops their tools. But, of course, no one has those mishaps shown on prime time tv. And certainly no one will later make a wish on the falling star created by their own stupidity as this unfortunate toolbag gets pulled into the earth's orbit and gets incinerated in the atmosphere. But everone will voice some sort of vulgar expletive that is entirely unsuitable for children. And that's what I'm so impressed with.
Heidemarie Stefanyshyn-Piper (her name makes me greatful for the cut-and-paste-function on my computer, let me tell you) had only one reaction to her unfortunate accident:
A very irate 'Oh, great!'
Now that's character...
Wednesday, 19 November 2008
Midnight in Washington
According to next week's New Yorker magazine (isn't internet a wonderful medium... this magazine isn't even out...), the George W. Bush administration is 'changing the rules'.
The article explains that every administration since Jimmy Carter has been issuing so-called 'Midnight Regulations': rules that are pushed through in the final weeks before the government has to make way for the new president.
Now it seems to me that Bush has changed the rules throughout his entire two terms, starting from his first election. After all, Al Gore was the winner, strictly speaking. Or think of the Scooter Libby affair (just google Scooter Libby and enjoy), or Guantanamo Bay. This time, I think we can just be happy that these last-minute decisions are likely to be overturned on 21 January, in just about the same way Dubya reversed all of Bill Clinton's midnight regulations.
But at least it's likely to be too late for one thing to be overturned: the indictment of sitting Vice President Dick Cheney by a Texan Grand Jury.
You see, Dick Cheney holds A LOT of shares in prisons. Yes, in prisons. In other words, jails in the US are apparently supposed to make profits, which are then put into Dick Cheney's pockets as dividents. This seems rather ludicrous to me anyway, but apparently that's not why Cheney is charged. It turns out that being sent to one of these prisons is not good for your health, because inmates have been systematically abused. The Grand Jury has now decided that that qualifies these penitentiaries as criminal organisations, and has therefore indicted their owners, one of which is Dick Cheney. And suddenly this news doesn't seem nearly as surprising as I had assumed...
Talking about criminal activities, the republicans are having a bad month. Their longest sitting senator, Ted Stevens from Alaska, who had been on the senate since 1968 and was convicted of corruption only a few weeks ago, has lost the election and will be replaced by a democrat.
I just hope he'll be enjoying his well-earned pension. Maybe he should be spending it behind the bars of one of Dick Cheney's establishments...
The article explains that every administration since Jimmy Carter has been issuing so-called 'Midnight Regulations': rules that are pushed through in the final weeks before the government has to make way for the new president.
Now it seems to me that Bush has changed the rules throughout his entire two terms, starting from his first election. After all, Al Gore was the winner, strictly speaking. Or think of the Scooter Libby affair (just google Scooter Libby and enjoy), or Guantanamo Bay. This time, I think we can just be happy that these last-minute decisions are likely to be overturned on 21 January, in just about the same way Dubya reversed all of Bill Clinton's midnight regulations.
But at least it's likely to be too late for one thing to be overturned: the indictment of sitting Vice President Dick Cheney by a Texan Grand Jury.
You see, Dick Cheney holds A LOT of shares in prisons. Yes, in prisons. In other words, jails in the US are apparently supposed to make profits, which are then put into Dick Cheney's pockets as dividents. This seems rather ludicrous to me anyway, but apparently that's not why Cheney is charged. It turns out that being sent to one of these prisons is not good for your health, because inmates have been systematically abused. The Grand Jury has now decided that that qualifies these penitentiaries as criminal organisations, and has therefore indicted their owners, one of which is Dick Cheney. And suddenly this news doesn't seem nearly as surprising as I had assumed...
Talking about criminal activities, the republicans are having a bad month. Their longest sitting senator, Ted Stevens from Alaska, who had been on the senate since 1968 and was convicted of corruption only a few weeks ago, has lost the election and will be replaced by a democrat.
I just hope he'll be enjoying his well-earned pension. Maybe he should be spending it behind the bars of one of Dick Cheney's establishments...
Tuesday, 18 November 2008
More Thieving
There is actually one other news item that made me laugh, and again it's about criminal activities. You see, thieves in Russia have made off with a church. Not just the paraphernalia of the church, but the entire building.
I won't even ask how this was done, because my imagination is doing overtime, and none of the solution my brain comes up with seem to answer that question satisfactorily. I would just like to know one thing:
WHY?
I won't even ask how this was done, because my imagination is doing overtime, and none of the solution my brain comes up with seem to answer that question satisfactorily. I would just like to know one thing:
WHY?
Part and Parcel
In Germany, there is currently a manhunt happening, because an inmate of one of their prisons managed to escape... by mail.
Apparently this prisoner, convicted of drugs trafficking, hid in a large cartboard box that was then taken away by courier. The courier contacted the police when he noticed the tarpaulin on his truck was flapping in the wind, found that a large hole had been cut into it, and there was an empty box on the floor.
Now let this sink in for a minute because I have some trouble imagining this. It seems like the easiest way to escape (10 points for inventiveness), but how in the world do you manage that? This must have been a pretty sizable box to begin with, unless this man was a contortionist by trade. I get the adressing and stamping beforehand and everything, but how do you close the box after you've stepped into it? My mind's eye keeps seeing this cardboard box with two holes in the sides with two arms sticking out...
But my real concern is for the courier. Imagine having to carry such a box to your van... Ouch!
Apparently this prisoner, convicted of drugs trafficking, hid in a large cartboard box that was then taken away by courier. The courier contacted the police when he noticed the tarpaulin on his truck was flapping in the wind, found that a large hole had been cut into it, and there was an empty box on the floor.
Now let this sink in for a minute because I have some trouble imagining this. It seems like the easiest way to escape (10 points for inventiveness), but how in the world do you manage that? This must have been a pretty sizable box to begin with, unless this man was a contortionist by trade. I get the adressing and stamping beforehand and everything, but how do you close the box after you've stepped into it? My mind's eye keeps seeing this cardboard box with two holes in the sides with two arms sticking out...
But my real concern is for the courier. Imagine having to carry such a box to your van... Ouch!
Sunday, 16 November 2008
Strictly not funny
My favorite TV show at the moment is Strictly Come Dancing (known as Dancing with the Stars in Holland), or at least it was until tonight.
I’m sure you know the format: a number of innocent celebrities are paired up with professional dancers. Each week, each couple dances and they are given grades by professional judges. The public is also allowed to vote for their favorite couples and together, these scores determine which two couples have to do their routine again in a dance-off. Based on these performances, the judges then vote which couple has to stay. There were 16 celebrities this year, more than ever, and after this week, there are only 7 left.
There is, however, one couple that have the entire country in an uproar. The celebrity, John Sergeant, is a BBC political correspondent, he’s well into his sixties, and he’s rather, shall we say, portly. He also has two left feet and he’s obviously the ‘politically correct’ contestant this year. I don’t think anybody expected him to last beyond week two, but somehow he’s managed to get the popular vote, and he has managed to avoid the dance-off so far.
I must say, I am really impressed with his professional dance-partner Kristina. Somehow, every week, she choreographs a routine that John can barely manage, every week she looks fantastic on the floor, and every week she keeps him there. It is commendable. No matter which dance it is, or how incredibly clever the choreography, he manages to make it look the same. His tango resembled his walz, resembled his paso doble, resembled his samba and so on. It’s actually quite a feat, thinking about it.
Some of the British public seem to love him, causing an interesting split in the Strictly-audience. Because what is the purpose of this show? Is it a dance competition, in which the best dancer is supposed to win? Or is it entertainment, where any joke is allowed? So far, the people who support the entertainment-stance seem to be winning, because John is still there. I don’t much see the entertainment value of an old man stomping across the floor with a beautiful girl who is young enough to be his granddaughter. In fact, I think it’s rather pathetic and it would be great if the doddering stumbler could finally be put out of his misery, but there you have it.
But here’s the thing. The other remaining couples were really great, all the relatively ‘bad’ dancers have been voted out, John being the only dead wood (literally) remaining. But instead of voting him off, this weekend he avoided the dance off again, causing a great couple to be forced to leave. And so, yet again, a cheap laugh has won over great dancing. And in my opinion, the joke has gone just too far.
So if anyone knows of a good movie on TV next week, please let me know. I don’t think I’ll be watching the dancing: it’s just too painful.
I’m sure you know the format: a number of innocent celebrities are paired up with professional dancers. Each week, each couple dances and they are given grades by professional judges. The public is also allowed to vote for their favorite couples and together, these scores determine which two couples have to do their routine again in a dance-off. Based on these performances, the judges then vote which couple has to stay. There were 16 celebrities this year, more than ever, and after this week, there are only 7 left.
There is, however, one couple that have the entire country in an uproar. The celebrity, John Sergeant, is a BBC political correspondent, he’s well into his sixties, and he’s rather, shall we say, portly. He also has two left feet and he’s obviously the ‘politically correct’ contestant this year. I don’t think anybody expected him to last beyond week two, but somehow he’s managed to get the popular vote, and he has managed to avoid the dance-off so far.
I must say, I am really impressed with his professional dance-partner Kristina. Somehow, every week, she choreographs a routine that John can barely manage, every week she looks fantastic on the floor, and every week she keeps him there. It is commendable. No matter which dance it is, or how incredibly clever the choreography, he manages to make it look the same. His tango resembled his walz, resembled his paso doble, resembled his samba and so on. It’s actually quite a feat, thinking about it.
Some of the British public seem to love him, causing an interesting split in the Strictly-audience. Because what is the purpose of this show? Is it a dance competition, in which the best dancer is supposed to win? Or is it entertainment, where any joke is allowed? So far, the people who support the entertainment-stance seem to be winning, because John is still there. I don’t much see the entertainment value of an old man stomping across the floor with a beautiful girl who is young enough to be his granddaughter. In fact, I think it’s rather pathetic and it would be great if the doddering stumbler could finally be put out of his misery, but there you have it.
But here’s the thing. The other remaining couples were really great, all the relatively ‘bad’ dancers have been voted out, John being the only dead wood (literally) remaining. But instead of voting him off, this weekend he avoided the dance off again, causing a great couple to be forced to leave. And so, yet again, a cheap laugh has won over great dancing. And in my opinion, the joke has gone just too far.
So if anyone knows of a good movie on TV next week, please let me know. I don’t think I’ll be watching the dancing: it’s just too painful.
Saturday, 15 November 2008
Friday, 14 November 2008
Bold or bald?
Sometimes I come across company names that really make me wonder. Here's one:
Now imagine that you're a guy with a hairline that's receding at a somewhat alarming rate.
Would you really go have your hair cut a company that sounds as if they will do anything to hunt down your remaining locks to eradicate them?
Or is it maybe that this salon will scrutinize your scalp with magnifying glasses and microscopes in order to find the last strand?
Thursday, 13 November 2008
Special
Sometimes I come across news articles that are so obviously written from a specific angle that it really makes me cringe. How about this piece:
Jeugd vindt zichzelf veel te verwend
For those who don't read Dutch, it's about a research done in the Netherlands, which concludes that young people are worried about today's youths. They are too confident, they are too spoilt, the balance between rights and obligations is wrong, and they demand too much.
It seems to me that the remarkable thing about this article is that the youths say so themselves, but that is besides my point.
The same research shows that nearly half of all the people aged 16 to 24 feel that they are 'very special', as opposed to 'only' 25% of the age group over 55.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for this kind of research, but this article makes it seem as if the perceived uniqueness of people is part of a generation gap. I'm just wondering if this difference cannot simply be explained by experience. Shouldn't each young person feel special and unique, since they still have every opportunity to make something of their lives, to make a difference in society, and to make the world a better place? This is much harder for the older generations, as so many chances have already gone by.
It appears that the conclusions from this research are designed to make today's youngsters look like lazy, spoilt brats, which seems to me a typical older generation's point of view and not really indicative of society at all. In other words: a great piece of researching has just been lost to the narrow-minded thinking patterns of the researcher. What a shame...
And now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go wallow in my own special uniqueness.
Jeugd vindt zichzelf veel te verwend
For those who don't read Dutch, it's about a research done in the Netherlands, which concludes that young people are worried about today's youths. They are too confident, they are too spoilt, the balance between rights and obligations is wrong, and they demand too much.
It seems to me that the remarkable thing about this article is that the youths say so themselves, but that is besides my point.
The same research shows that nearly half of all the people aged 16 to 24 feel that they are 'very special', as opposed to 'only' 25% of the age group over 55.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for this kind of research, but this article makes it seem as if the perceived uniqueness of people is part of a generation gap. I'm just wondering if this difference cannot simply be explained by experience. Shouldn't each young person feel special and unique, since they still have every opportunity to make something of their lives, to make a difference in society, and to make the world a better place? This is much harder for the older generations, as so many chances have already gone by.
It appears that the conclusions from this research are designed to make today's youngsters look like lazy, spoilt brats, which seems to me a typical older generation's point of view and not really indicative of society at all. In other words: a great piece of researching has just been lost to the narrow-minded thinking patterns of the researcher. What a shame...
And now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go wallow in my own special uniqueness.
Wednesday, 12 November 2008
Palin' by comparison
Apparently, Sarah Palin blames the current administration for the Republican defeat in last week's US presidential elections. She seems to thinks that George W. Bush and his cronies are doing such a bad job, that it reflects badly on the entire Republican party, and that is why she and John McCain lost. She apparently thinks that it is unbelievable that they still got as many votes as they did.
Now, I agree that the Bush administration was a total disaster. But gosh, do you really think that's all of it? Might the democratic victory not be even a little bit due to the fact that the republican ticket had a psycho ignorant trigger-happy maniac racist hockey mom below the line? For heaven's sake, the woman shoots Bambis for fun!
But I can see why there's no love lost between Sarah Palin and George W. Bush. According to CNN, Bush has said that Barack Obama's win is 'good for the world'. Praise indeed, coming from him. Yet somehow, I'm suddenly feeling a teensy bit of doubt about how much good Obama could really do...
Now, I agree that the Bush administration was a total disaster. But gosh, do you really think that's all of it? Might the democratic victory not be even a little bit due to the fact that the republican ticket had a psycho ignorant trigger-happy maniac racist hockey mom below the line? For heaven's sake, the woman shoots Bambis for fun!
But I can see why there's no love lost between Sarah Palin and George W. Bush. According to CNN, Bush has said that Barack Obama's win is 'good for the world'. Praise indeed, coming from him. Yet somehow, I'm suddenly feeling a teensy bit of doubt about how much good Obama could really do...
Tuesday, 11 November 2008
Smokin'!!!
Ever since hubby and myself went to New Zealand in 2004, I've had the feeling that a change was coming in our smoking culture. Perhaps not as radically as in Kiwi-land, but still. I remember our first evening in Kiwi-land. Jet-lagged, tired, irritated and ultimately shocked (it was December 26, the day of the tsunami), and longing for an after-dinner cigarette. We were sitting on the terrace of a restaurant on the banks of the Avon river, and I made the mistake of asking for an ashtray. The reaction of the waiter was telling: first he glared, then he glowered, then he stomped off to fetch the tiniest possible ashtray, which he almost threw on our table. Needless to say that smoking is not done, down under.
For some reason, however, this non-smoking mindset just does not want to take hold in The Netherlands. After the smoking ban for bars and restaurants was came into action on 1 July, there has been nothing but grumbling. To the point even, that this week owners of small cafés have put forward a petition to have the decision overturned, because apparently the smoking ban has caused them a severe loss of income.
Really? I have a different theory. Imagine for me, if you will, the truth about the Dutch smoking ban. There you are, asthmatic, allergic to smoke, and looking forward to a nice night out with your friends. You decide to visit a particular club. And then the problem starts. Because in order to go out, you have to get in. Yet all the smokers who kept you out of the bar when there was no ban, are now standing IN THE DOORWAY, steaming away all the cigarettes they would otherwise have smoked inside. So you have to take a breath deep enough to shame a whale, feel your way through the cloud of toxic vapours towards the door, only to be barred by an army of bad-tempered addicts, who are freezing cold, irate from having to go outside in the first place and irritable because they don't get nearly as much nicotine as they would like. In other words, NO WAY are they likely to step aside to let you through unhindered. And as you finally squeeze yourself through the two inches of space you managed to find, you are so out of breath that you have to take a deep gulp, allowing the fumes that have drifted in from outside to cause you to cough uncontrollably, resulting in panic, 112-calls, hospitalisation and so on... No wonder that bar attendance is down.
Yet still, a change is coming. I just think we need to look at the younger generation to make it happen. I drew hope from a news item I found yesterday: a couple in Germany, who had gone out onto their balcony to have a last cigarette before bedtime, had to be rescued by the local fire service. They had been locked out by their three-year old son, who'd had enough of their nicotine habit, and who adamantly refused to let his parents back in. Atta boy. It's that kind of attitude that will have bar visits soaring again. That, and a 15-foot smoking ban around the front doors of pubs, clubs and restaurants.
For some reason, however, this non-smoking mindset just does not want to take hold in The Netherlands. After the smoking ban for bars and restaurants was came into action on 1 July, there has been nothing but grumbling. To the point even, that this week owners of small cafés have put forward a petition to have the decision overturned, because apparently the smoking ban has caused them a severe loss of income.
Really? I have a different theory. Imagine for me, if you will, the truth about the Dutch smoking ban. There you are, asthmatic, allergic to smoke, and looking forward to a nice night out with your friends. You decide to visit a particular club. And then the problem starts. Because in order to go out, you have to get in. Yet all the smokers who kept you out of the bar when there was no ban, are now standing IN THE DOORWAY, steaming away all the cigarettes they would otherwise have smoked inside. So you have to take a breath deep enough to shame a whale, feel your way through the cloud of toxic vapours towards the door, only to be barred by an army of bad-tempered addicts, who are freezing cold, irate from having to go outside in the first place and irritable because they don't get nearly as much nicotine as they would like. In other words, NO WAY are they likely to step aside to let you through unhindered. And as you finally squeeze yourself through the two inches of space you managed to find, you are so out of breath that you have to take a deep gulp, allowing the fumes that have drifted in from outside to cause you to cough uncontrollably, resulting in panic, 112-calls, hospitalisation and so on... No wonder that bar attendance is down.
Yet still, a change is coming. I just think we need to look at the younger generation to make it happen. I drew hope from a news item I found yesterday: a couple in Germany, who had gone out onto their balcony to have a last cigarette before bedtime, had to be rescued by the local fire service. They had been locked out by their three-year old son, who'd had enough of their nicotine habit, and who adamantly refused to let his parents back in. Atta boy. It's that kind of attitude that will have bar visits soaring again. That, and a 15-foot smoking ban around the front doors of pubs, clubs and restaurants.
Monday, 10 November 2008
In Memoriam
Miriam Makeba has passed away, aged 76. Apparently she suffered a heart attack after a concert last night.
It's very sad occasion, I'm sure, and I wish her family, friends and admirers all the strength in the world. But it's not what I'm sad about.
She was, I have been reliably informed by countless newsbroadcasts today, a South African jazz singer who opposed the apartheid regime and was exiled for a number of years because of this. I'll take their words for it, because I had never heard of her before. She is, apparently, known for her world-wide monster hit 'Pata Pata'. Again, no bells ringing. I'm sure this is partially because Jazz is entirely lost on me, but I'm generally reasonably knowledgeable in music, even from genres I'm not fond of, and even when a song was a hit years before I was born. I'm racking my brain endlessly, but I really cannot recall ever having heard of her. Ever!
Don't get me wrong: I don't have anything against Miriam Makeba or her music. I think it's wonderful that the media are paying her attention in death as they didn't while she was alive. But here's the contrast:
Last week, American Author Michael Crighton, aged 66, lost his fight against cancer. He happens to be one of my favourite writers and has written well-known works such as Jurrassic Park, Disclosure, The Thirteenth Warrior, Congo, Timeline, Airframe, Rising Sun and Sphere. He was the executive producer and script writer of ER, one of the most celebrated and succesful hospital dramaseries ever, which has won numerable Emmy awards. Many of his novels were translated into major Hollywood blockbuster movies. Additionally, he is an inspiration to me. I will always strive for, but probably never achieve his standard of researching or of building arguments.
I'm sad that the only reason I know of his death is because I happened to be flicking through the Text pages on my TV last week, looking for news on the US Elections. Somewhere in the 'short-news' items of the Netherlands 1 Teletext service, they found exactly 4 lines to dedicate to him. When I tried to find that same piece half an hour later, it was gone.
I don't know who decides the value of a human life.
I don't know why one person is dragged out of obscurity after death.
I don't know why another is almost completely ignored.
But it sure stinks.
It's very sad occasion, I'm sure, and I wish her family, friends and admirers all the strength in the world. But it's not what I'm sad about.
She was, I have been reliably informed by countless newsbroadcasts today, a South African jazz singer who opposed the apartheid regime and was exiled for a number of years because of this. I'll take their words for it, because I had never heard of her before. She is, apparently, known for her world-wide monster hit 'Pata Pata'. Again, no bells ringing. I'm sure this is partially because Jazz is entirely lost on me, but I'm generally reasonably knowledgeable in music, even from genres I'm not fond of, and even when a song was a hit years before I was born. I'm racking my brain endlessly, but I really cannot recall ever having heard of her. Ever!
Don't get me wrong: I don't have anything against Miriam Makeba or her music. I think it's wonderful that the media are paying her attention in death as they didn't while she was alive. But here's the contrast:
Last week, American Author Michael Crighton, aged 66, lost his fight against cancer. He happens to be one of my favourite writers and has written well-known works such as Jurrassic Park, Disclosure, The Thirteenth Warrior, Congo, Timeline, Airframe, Rising Sun and Sphere. He was the executive producer and script writer of ER, one of the most celebrated and succesful hospital dramaseries ever, which has won numerable Emmy awards. Many of his novels were translated into major Hollywood blockbuster movies. Additionally, he is an inspiration to me. I will always strive for, but probably never achieve his standard of researching or of building arguments.
I'm sad that the only reason I know of his death is because I happened to be flicking through the Text pages on my TV last week, looking for news on the US Elections. Somewhere in the 'short-news' items of the Netherlands 1 Teletext service, they found exactly 4 lines to dedicate to him. When I tried to find that same piece half an hour later, it was gone.
I don't know who decides the value of a human life.
I don't know why one person is dragged out of obscurity after death.
I don't know why another is almost completely ignored.
But it sure stinks.
Sunday, 9 November 2008
Thought for today
Sometimes you need to check whether your ladder to success is leaning against the right wall...
Saturday, 8 November 2008
Dubya
I'm sure that everyone is aware of last Tuesday's US elections. I'm relatively confident that most of you are also aware that America did not just choose a president, but that most places had a whole series of ballots to fill out. Nothing new there.
However, what I didn't know was exactly what the other elections were about. It turns out that some were for political leaders (senators, district attorneys, sherrifs and such) and that some were referenda, to find out what citizens thought of particular ideas.
I came across one referendum that I really couldn't keep from you: the people of San Francisco were asked whether a sewage treatment facility should be named in honour of President George W. Bush. Apparently, pro-voters thought this a fitting tribute to their 43th president. Opposers were not amused, as you may understand.
Now here's the thing: this proposal was rejected by the good people of San Francisco. Not, mind you, because it would reflect poorly on George W. Bush, but because it would reflect badly on their sewage disposal facility...
However, what I didn't know was exactly what the other elections were about. It turns out that some were for political leaders (senators, district attorneys, sherrifs and such) and that some were referenda, to find out what citizens thought of particular ideas.
I came across one referendum that I really couldn't keep from you: the people of San Francisco were asked whether a sewage treatment facility should be named in honour of President George W. Bush. Apparently, pro-voters thought this a fitting tribute to their 43th president. Opposers were not amused, as you may understand.
Now here's the thing: this proposal was rejected by the good people of San Francisco. Not, mind you, because it would reflect poorly on George W. Bush, but because it would reflect badly on their sewage disposal facility...
Friday, 7 November 2008
Thursday, 6 November 2008
My Bloggy Wog
When I was last in England, the Russel Brand / Jonathan Ross-saga was just breaking. If you have no idea what I'm on about, have a look at this:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/7694989.stm
Anyway, yesterday I was having lunch with friend J. in Amsterdam and afterwards we stopped at Waterstone's, where I picked up the Christmas Gift Guide. When, later that evening, I was leafing through it, I came across two titles that had me in bits.
The first one was Jonathan Ross' astoundingly aptly named autobiography, 'Why do I say these things?' Well Jonathan, I'm sure that you'll have plenty of time to contemplate that during your three month's suspension...
I suppose I can say a lot about the irony of it, but it was Russel Brand's epic that really had me rolling on the floor with laughter.
It is called (brace yourselves)
Right...
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/7694989.stm
Anyway, yesterday I was having lunch with friend J. in Amsterdam and afterwards we stopped at Waterstone's, where I picked up the Christmas Gift Guide. When, later that evening, I was leafing through it, I came across two titles that had me in bits.
The first one was Jonathan Ross' astoundingly aptly named autobiography, 'Why do I say these things?' Well Jonathan, I'm sure that you'll have plenty of time to contemplate that during your three month's suspension...
I suppose I can say a lot about the irony of it, but it was Russel Brand's epic that really had me rolling on the floor with laughter.
It is called (brace yourselves)
'My Booky Wook'
Right...
Wednesday, 5 November 2008
A bright new dawn
I don't really remember where I read this, or where it's from, but I had to think of these lines after hearing today's news:
You can't change the world, but you can change a mind.
If you can change a mind, you can change a vote.
If you can change a vote, you can change a government.
If you can change a government, you can change the world.
So can we change the world?
YES, WE CAN!!!
(Now let's just hope that bureaucracy and conservatism don't bog US down...)
You can't change the world, but you can change a mind.
If you can change a mind, you can change a vote.
If you can change a vote, you can change a government.
If you can change a government, you can change the world.
So can we change the world?
YES, WE CAN!!!
(Now let's just hope that bureaucracy and conservatism don't bog US down...)
Monday, 3 November 2008
Cheated!
I feel cheated!
How much hype has there been in the news about how badly things are going economically? Credit Crunch, Recession, lay-offs, house prices and difficult mortgages have made headlines for weeks!
But guess what? We're not in an economic crisis AT ALL!!! The economy in The Netherlands is expected TO GROW! Okay, not by much, but still...
So basically, I'm now trying to sell my house in a climate where everybody is panicked because of the imminent economic downturn for no reason at all.
I feel cheated!
How much hype has there been in the news about how badly things are going economically? Credit Crunch, Recession, lay-offs, house prices and difficult mortgages have made headlines for weeks!
But guess what? We're not in an economic crisis AT ALL!!! The economy in The Netherlands is expected TO GROW! Okay, not by much, but still...
So basically, I'm now trying to sell my house in a climate where everybody is panicked because of the imminent economic downturn for no reason at all.
I feel cheated!
Friday, 31 October 2008
A man goes to the doctor
My brother-in-law D. gave me an interesting insight into the British medical establishment the other day... You see, in Holland, you have your GP. And if there's anything wrong with you, that's who you make an appointment with. In my case, that means that you drop by yourself, because if you call the assistants will not be available. If they even pick up the phone, they will berate you for not calling at the time that they have set for making appointments. The conversation will go something like this:
'Hello, I would like to make an appointment to see my GP, please.'
'We don't take appointments at this time.'
'Ah. Why not?'
'Because we don't. If you want an appointment, then you have to call at another time.'
'And what time is that?'
'I'm not telling you. You'll have to call back at another time to find out.'
'Ah. So at what time can I call you to find out the time at which I can call you to make an appointment?'
'You'd have to call on Thursday morning between 3 am and 3.08 am.'
'Right... You realise that at that time, the world is normally asleep?'
'You needn't talk to me in such a fashion!!!
This is generally followed by the sound of the phone being smashed down. Of course, at 3.06 am on the following Thursday morning, you then find out that the appropriated time to call for actually making an appointment will be on Wednesday between 11.43 and 11.52 PM, by which time you'll either have recovered, or you'll have dropped dead. In either case, the assistants are virtually never bothered on the Wednesday night, which is probably the point.
Needless to say, I've always been extremely glad that I've never had to make an appointment with my doctor for a ruptured appendix or something similarly life-threatening, because I'm sure the assistants at my local surgery are doing their utmost to bring down the world's overpopulation.
However, in England they have, besides the GP surgery, a wonderful invention called a walk-in clinic. This is meant for people who do not have a GP, or who do not have the time, energy or ability to deal with the kind of palaver described above (I suppose that explains why so many doctors are excellent golf-players...) At least, I thought it was a wonderful invention. You see, D. had to see a doctor for tonsillitis (painful, annoying, but hardly deadly). Being sick, he did not have the energy to deal with the dreaded assistant and decided to go to his local walk-in clinic instead. And here's the thing.
The assistant asked him if he had an appointment.
All the doctors, you see, were on a training session. When he answered that he did not have an appointment (hardly surprising, it was, after all, a WALK-IN CLINIC!) he was told he had to make one. And then the nurse actually gave him a phone number AND a telephone to call a company on the other side of the country to make an appointment for the clinic he was in, on the day he was there!
I'm currently considering asking my Dutch GP if he'd be interested to pack up his surgery in Holland and setting up shop in England instead, nurses and all...
'Hello, I would like to make an appointment to see my GP, please.'
'We don't take appointments at this time.'
'Ah. Why not?'
'Because we don't. If you want an appointment, then you have to call at another time.'
'And what time is that?'
'I'm not telling you. You'll have to call back at another time to find out.'
'Ah. So at what time can I call you to find out the time at which I can call you to make an appointment?'
'You'd have to call on Thursday morning between 3 am and 3.08 am.'
'Right... You realise that at that time, the world is normally asleep?'
'You needn't talk to me in such a fashion!!!
This is generally followed by the sound of the phone being smashed down. Of course, at 3.06 am on the following Thursday morning, you then find out that the appropriated time to call for actually making an appointment will be on Wednesday between 11.43 and 11.52 PM, by which time you'll either have recovered, or you'll have dropped dead. In either case, the assistants are virtually never bothered on the Wednesday night, which is probably the point.
Needless to say, I've always been extremely glad that I've never had to make an appointment with my doctor for a ruptured appendix or something similarly life-threatening, because I'm sure the assistants at my local surgery are doing their utmost to bring down the world's overpopulation.
However, in England they have, besides the GP surgery, a wonderful invention called a walk-in clinic. This is meant for people who do not have a GP, or who do not have the time, energy or ability to deal with the kind of palaver described above (I suppose that explains why so many doctors are excellent golf-players...) At least, I thought it was a wonderful invention. You see, D. had to see a doctor for tonsillitis (painful, annoying, but hardly deadly). Being sick, he did not have the energy to deal with the dreaded assistant and decided to go to his local walk-in clinic instead. And here's the thing.
The assistant asked him if he had an appointment.
All the doctors, you see, were on a training session. When he answered that he did not have an appointment (hardly surprising, it was, after all, a WALK-IN CLINIC!) he was told he had to make one. And then the nurse actually gave him a phone number AND a telephone to call a company on the other side of the country to make an appointment for the clinic he was in, on the day he was there!
I'm currently considering asking my Dutch GP if he'd be interested to pack up his surgery in Holland and setting up shop in England instead, nurses and all...
Sunday, 26 October 2008
Pet peeve
People who know me well, and especially those who were with me during my first trip to Stratford in years come by, know my pet peeve about England. It's the toilets.
It's not the toilets themselves, mind, but in particular the doors on public lavatories in this country. I'm at a complete loss to know why, but in England, somehow, the doors of public toilets always open inward. This would not be a problem, of course, except for the fact that they take the phrase 'smallest room' just a tad too seriously as well.
Imagine: you are bursting for a pee, and rushing into the ladies room (after having waited in an immense cue for ages... but that's another blog entry, I think), you finally bang open the door. That's literally banging it open, because it smashes straight into the loo. You then have to proceed to squeeze yourself into the tiny area between the toilet and the wall in order to close the door again. Sadly, that also seems to be the exact spot where they put the bin, making your chances of closing the door even smaller.
Honestly, I've been in cubicles where I've had to stand on the toiletseat in order to close the door. Can you imagine what that's like while your bladder is about to burst? Not to mention that you've got to do the same thing in reverse in order to get out. I've had people ask me whether I'd been attacked after coming out of the toilet.
Strangely, I've been in lots of toilet cubicles that were tinier in Amsterdam, but as the doors open outward, it's never been a problem there.
Isn't it interesting how cultures differ...
It's not the toilets themselves, mind, but in particular the doors on public lavatories in this country. I'm at a complete loss to know why, but in England, somehow, the doors of public toilets always open inward. This would not be a problem, of course, except for the fact that they take the phrase 'smallest room' just a tad too seriously as well.
Imagine: you are bursting for a pee, and rushing into the ladies room (after having waited in an immense cue for ages... but that's another blog entry, I think), you finally bang open the door. That's literally banging it open, because it smashes straight into the loo. You then have to proceed to squeeze yourself into the tiny area between the toilet and the wall in order to close the door again. Sadly, that also seems to be the exact spot where they put the bin, making your chances of closing the door even smaller.
Honestly, I've been in cubicles where I've had to stand on the toiletseat in order to close the door. Can you imagine what that's like while your bladder is about to burst? Not to mention that you've got to do the same thing in reverse in order to get out. I've had people ask me whether I'd been attacked after coming out of the toilet.
Strangely, I've been in lots of toilet cubicles that were tinier in Amsterdam, but as the doors open outward, it's never been a problem there.
Isn't it interesting how cultures differ...
Wednesday, 22 October 2008
It's a gay life
This morning, I had a bit of a misunderstanding with one of my colleagues, who was, somehow,under the impression that I'm gay. I have no idea why he came to that conclusion, as I'm sure we'd discussed my husband in previous conversations, but there you go.
The most interesting thing, though, is that when we finally cleared up the miscommunication, was that he apologised for assuming that I was a lesbian.
Why? Why does sexual preference confuse us so? Why should I feel at all offended at this?
It brings to mind something that happened about 12 years ago. Schoolmate E. was completely adamant that she didn't know any gay people because she reckoned she'd know. How she would know is beyond me, perhaps she expected every homosexual to have the word 'Gay' tattoo'd on their foreheads, but I vividly remember the shock on her face when I pointed out that our mutual friend S. was (and still is) a lesbian.
You see, S. looks completely normal. She does not have extra toes or fingers, nor any webbing between them. She does not (as far as I know) have any tattoos in any strange places, she does not look particularly butch and does not normally dress up in men's suits with slicked-back hair and a make-up moustache. She simply looks like S. And because of that, E. could not believe that S. is gay.
Something else that always grabs my attention is the annual Gay Pride parade. Why? Why would you choose to go around parading your homosexuality? Not that you should keep it hidden, but why is it so important that for a whole day you should dress in pink feather boa's and dance on a barge in the Amsterdam canals, shouting and singing that you prefer same-sex-sex?
You see, it seems to me that defining your, or anyone's character by sexual orientation alone is rather shallow. Why would anyone go around, introducing themselves as 'hi, my name is and I am straight/gay/bisexual/celibate/attracted to horses'? Who cares? I refuse to believe that any person is as simple to understand as that.
Myself, I think I'm mostly straight, but I can appreciate the female form as much as any man (or woman) around. And I can honestly say that I'm not with hubby because he's a man, but because he's S. (part of which is that he happens to be a man). It's because he's his own person, and his own unique individuality that I love him. And it's also friend S.'s unique personality that makes her my friend. Their sexual preferences have nothing to do with that.
Anyway, in retrospect I'm wondering which was a bigger dissapointment for my colleague: the idea that I might be gay, or the fact that I'm married...
The most interesting thing, though, is that when we finally cleared up the miscommunication, was that he apologised for assuming that I was a lesbian.
Why? Why does sexual preference confuse us so? Why should I feel at all offended at this?
It brings to mind something that happened about 12 years ago. Schoolmate E. was completely adamant that she didn't know any gay people because she reckoned she'd know. How she would know is beyond me, perhaps she expected every homosexual to have the word 'Gay' tattoo'd on their foreheads, but I vividly remember the shock on her face when I pointed out that our mutual friend S. was (and still is) a lesbian.
You see, S. looks completely normal. She does not have extra toes or fingers, nor any webbing between them. She does not (as far as I know) have any tattoos in any strange places, she does not look particularly butch and does not normally dress up in men's suits with slicked-back hair and a make-up moustache. She simply looks like S. And because of that, E. could not believe that S. is gay.
Something else that always grabs my attention is the annual Gay Pride parade. Why? Why would you choose to go around parading your homosexuality? Not that you should keep it hidden, but why is it so important that for a whole day you should dress in pink feather boa's and dance on a barge in the Amsterdam canals, shouting and singing that you prefer same-sex-sex?
You see, it seems to me that defining your, or anyone's character by sexual orientation alone is rather shallow. Why would anyone go around, introducing themselves as 'hi, my name is
Myself, I think I'm mostly straight, but I can appreciate the female form as much as any man (or woman) around. And I can honestly say that I'm not with hubby because he's a man, but because he's S. (part of which is that he happens to be a man). It's because he's his own person, and his own unique individuality that I love him. And it's also friend S.'s unique personality that makes her my friend. Their sexual preferences have nothing to do with that.
Anyway, in retrospect I'm wondering which was a bigger dissapointment for my colleague: the idea that I might be gay, or the fact that I'm married...
Tuesday, 14 October 2008
Interesting photo's
These make me laugh:
I came across this chewing gum tree in Bobbejaanland, when I visited it with friend R. It is a wooden board for visitors to put their used chewing gum on, so it doesn't mess up the floor...
And then here's the floor below that board. Effective, isn't it?
The sign reads: 'beware, boobytrap'. Now somebody explain why?
Interesting: are they trying to say that you've seen it, now get real, because you'll never own one?
Hmmm... I wonder what they'll be transporting? I suppose they hope that if you advertise you're transporting controlled substances you won't be stopped for them?!?!
I came across this chewing gum tree in Bobbejaanland, when I visited it with friend R. It is a wooden board for visitors to put their used chewing gum on, so it doesn't mess up the floor...
And then here's the floor below that board. Effective, isn't it?
The sign reads: 'beware, boobytrap'. Now somebody explain why?
Interesting: are they trying to say that you've seen it, now get real, because you'll never own one?
Hmmm... I wonder what they'll be transporting? I suppose they hope that if you advertise you're transporting controlled substances you won't be stopped for them?!?!
Sunday, 12 October 2008
Recession Fashion
In continuation to my banker's rant, I have come to the conclusion that there is another group of idiots who deserve the same treatment: Fashion designers.
You see, husband S. has been over in Holland for the weekend (weehee!) and in order to celebrate for this, we went shopping. And after a truly obscene amount of money had been spent on his clothes, we had a little look at clothes for me. So there I was, standing in the middle of a shop that I normally enjoy, doing a 360 degree turn.
My conlusion: I hate, no, loath this year's fashion. With a vengeance. It is absolutely awful! I don't mind the cut and style so much, but the colour! How can you like something that isn't there?
Every piece of clothing, as far as the eyes could see, was devoid of colour. And I don't mean bleached, but everything was drab: olive greens, plum purples, grey, dark brown. I remember that, when I was a child, we would paint sometimes, and one day I mixed all my colours to see what would come out. I tell you, it was more vibrant than the colours I saw in the shops yesterday. They made me think of tarmac in the rain: good for traffic accidents, not for wearing.
Anyway, it seems to me, that it's no wonder we are plunging into a recession at breakneck speed: you are what you wear, after all. So if you dress in depressing clothes, how can you be cheery?
I say, we kill the fashion designers for what they're putting us through. Oh, and the bankers, of course.
You see, husband S. has been over in Holland for the weekend (weehee!) and in order to celebrate for this, we went shopping. And after a truly obscene amount of money had been spent on his clothes, we had a little look at clothes for me. So there I was, standing in the middle of a shop that I normally enjoy, doing a 360 degree turn.
My conlusion: I hate, no, loath this year's fashion. With a vengeance. It is absolutely awful! I don't mind the cut and style so much, but the colour! How can you like something that isn't there?
Every piece of clothing, as far as the eyes could see, was devoid of colour. And I don't mean bleached, but everything was drab: olive greens, plum purples, grey, dark brown. I remember that, when I was a child, we would paint sometimes, and one day I mixed all my colours to see what would come out. I tell you, it was more vibrant than the colours I saw in the shops yesterday. They made me think of tarmac in the rain: good for traffic accidents, not for wearing.
Anyway, it seems to me, that it's no wonder we are plunging into a recession at breakneck speed: you are what you wear, after all. So if you dress in depressing clothes, how can you be cheery?
I say, we kill the fashion designers for what they're putting us through. Oh, and the bankers, of course.
Thursday, 9 October 2008
Kill all the Bankers!!!!
Friend M. just called with a burning question:
'P... Can we kill all bankers?'
Shock!
Horror!
And then an emphatic: 'Sure!'
It turns out that she's having some trouble transferring a sizeable amount of money from one bank to another. You can undoubtedly imagine what that's like (well, I'm having trouble with that sizeable amount of money, but I know the routine): you need a signature for this, and a special statement for that, a form 146826xydn in order to receive form 73654769fkjhy, which you need to get permission for filling out form 78874djhgnsl, but only if you have not filled out form 146826xydn, etc. The sheer complexity of the ordeal rattles me, and I just listened to M.'s story! M.: I feel soooo sorry for you.
Which leads me to my burning question: why do finances have to be so incredibly complicated? I break out in hives every year when its time to do my taxes. I shiver at the mere thought of having to open a bank account in England soon. I dread having to deal with the bank regarding the mortgage on the house in Holland, to the point where I'm wondering if I'll ever want to buy a house again. And it's not that I'm completely stupid. I think I'm better informed about financial services than most people. It's completely down to the financial market itself.
Case in point: Fortis and ABN Amro. Wouter Bos stated last week that one reason that the ABN Amro takeover went wrong is because there were things happening on the Fortis balance sheet that no one could have foreseen, and not even experts could have predicted. Even stronger, the Fortis was, apparently, selling financial products that no one understood, not even the smartest bankers. And now the financial world is toppling, the stockmarket is in a free-fall and every financial journalist is completely spooked. Duh! It's as if they've been playing with matches and didn't realise that they could start a forest fire! I've had periods where I've felt as if I was out of my league, but it now appears as if everybody in the finance industry feels that way all the time. They've just been play acting all along!
You know what, I think M. may have a point: let's kill all the bankers. And then start on the stock traders and financial journalists. Serves them right for not choosing a serious profession. Like acting.
'P... Can we kill all bankers?'
Shock!
Horror!
Shock!
Horror!
Shock!
Horror!
And then an emphatic: 'Sure!'
It turns out that she's having some trouble transferring a sizeable amount of money from one bank to another. You can undoubtedly imagine what that's like (well, I'm having trouble with that sizeable amount of money, but I know the routine): you need a signature for this, and a special statement for that, a form 146826xydn in order to receive form 73654769fkjhy, which you need to get permission for filling out form 78874djhgnsl, but only if you have not filled out form 146826xydn, etc. The sheer complexity of the ordeal rattles me, and I just listened to M.'s story! M.: I feel soooo sorry for you.
Which leads me to my burning question: why do finances have to be so incredibly complicated? I break out in hives every year when its time to do my taxes. I shiver at the mere thought of having to open a bank account in England soon. I dread having to deal with the bank regarding the mortgage on the house in Holland, to the point where I'm wondering if I'll ever want to buy a house again. And it's not that I'm completely stupid. I think I'm better informed about financial services than most people. It's completely down to the financial market itself.
Case in point: Fortis and ABN Amro. Wouter Bos stated last week that one reason that the ABN Amro takeover went wrong is because there were things happening on the Fortis balance sheet that no one could have foreseen, and not even experts could have predicted. Even stronger, the Fortis was, apparently, selling financial products that no one understood, not even the smartest bankers. And now the financial world is toppling, the stockmarket is in a free-fall and every financial journalist is completely spooked. Duh! It's as if they've been playing with matches and didn't realise that they could start a forest fire! I've had periods where I've felt as if I was out of my league, but it now appears as if everybody in the finance industry feels that way all the time. They've just been play acting all along!
You know what, I think M. may have a point: let's kill all the bankers. And then start on the stock traders and financial journalists. Serves them right for not choosing a serious profession. Like acting.
Tuesday, 7 October 2008
Stuff
I've been trying to sort out my life recently. Any housemove leads to a lot of arranging and sorting, and none more so than a move to another country. Also, as my friends and family are undoubtedly aware of, it is not in my nature to throw things away. And that's an understatement...
So while I was sorting through ancient magazines (last looked at four years ago), deciding which to keep and which to throw, I wondered. How do you sort through all the stuff that accumulates during your life? There are interesting things all around, how do you decide what's important, and what not?
One member of my family has no such problems. E. has the uncanny ability to simply throw stuff when she doesn't need it. She goes to fleamarkets and e-bay, not to buy stuff like the rest of us, but to sell it... L., a friend of a friend, has that same unsettling, but entirely admirable habit. How do they do it?
Anyway, while pondering this, my eye fell on an interesting article that I just had to read. It didn't help me clear up my house, but it did help me furnish my mind, and I spent a nice quiet afternoon reading...
So while I was sorting through ancient magazines (last looked at four years ago), deciding which to keep and which to throw, I wondered. How do you sort through all the stuff that accumulates during your life? There are interesting things all around, how do you decide what's important, and what not?
One member of my family has no such problems. E. has the uncanny ability to simply throw stuff when she doesn't need it. She goes to fleamarkets and e-bay, not to buy stuff like the rest of us, but to sell it... L., a friend of a friend, has that same unsettling, but entirely admirable habit. How do they do it?
Anyway, while pondering this, my eye fell on an interesting article that I just had to read. It didn't help me clear up my house, but it did help me furnish my mind, and I spent a nice quiet afternoon reading...
Thursday, 2 October 2008
Typical
Hubby just asked me how I am today, given yesterday's traumatic experiences, and it made me realise something about myself.
When I was a little girl, maybe 6 years old, I had to go into hospital for surgery. And one of the things I remember most about it, is that at one point I woke up, still in the operating room, and I saw all these doctors around me, wearing face masks, gloves and surgical caps and other items of OR-clothes.
Today, with adult hindsight and experience, I know that anesthetists wake patients up immediately after surgery, before even taking them to the recovery room. But back then it was one of my most traumatic experiences ever: I thought I'd woken up in the middle of surgery! I remember that I closed my eyes immediately and willed myself to sleep. My mom still tells the story of how the nurse came to her afterwards, all nerves, to say that she had trouble waking me up.
But strangely, that event made such an impression on me that it still holds true for me now: if something bad happens to me, my first reaction is to go to bed, curl up, close my eyes tightly and sleep until the bad things have passed by.
And that explains why I'm currently at work, trying to keep my eyes open, and stifling a yawn every two minutes.
How typical is that?
When I was a little girl, maybe 6 years old, I had to go into hospital for surgery. And one of the things I remember most about it, is that at one point I woke up, still in the operating room, and I saw all these doctors around me, wearing face masks, gloves and surgical caps and other items of OR-clothes.
Today, with adult hindsight and experience, I know that anesthetists wake patients up immediately after surgery, before even taking them to the recovery room. But back then it was one of my most traumatic experiences ever: I thought I'd woken up in the middle of surgery! I remember that I closed my eyes immediately and willed myself to sleep. My mom still tells the story of how the nurse came to her afterwards, all nerves, to say that she had trouble waking me up.
But strangely, that event made such an impression on me that it still holds true for me now: if something bad happens to me, my first reaction is to go to bed, curl up, close my eyes tightly and sleep until the bad things have passed by.
And that explains why I'm currently at work, trying to keep my eyes open, and stifling a yawn every two minutes.
How typical is that?
Paranoid
I was in an accident yesterday.
Not a serious one by any standards: I was stationary in a traffic jam on the motorway (this was in Holland and it was raining: what else is new...), and this guy in a big mercedes was not paying attention and rolled right into Hedwig's towing hook.
There was no visible damage, except that (besides the marbles he never had) the man is now one license plate short. That, however, is not the point of this story...
The point came to light this morning. I haven't slept well: I kept having bad dreams and the cat kept meowing at me. No wonder then, that I'm not feeling up to scratch at the moment. I always get headaches when I'm tired, but now, with every twitch and twang I scare myself senseless: 'Aaargh, I've got whiplash!'. There's nothing wrong with me! I get shaken around more every time I ride a rollercoaster!
But the worse was when I stepped into the car to go to work this morning. I spent more time looking in the rearview mirror than I did watching the road in front of me. I jumped every time someone got too close behind me (imagine, I was sitting in yet another traffic jam. Every car was too close behind me). And most of all, with every bump in the road I thought that poor Hedwig was falling to pieces...
Completely paranoid. I think I'll call the garage to have them check her out, just in case.
Not a serious one by any standards: I was stationary in a traffic jam on the motorway (this was in Holland and it was raining: what else is new...), and this guy in a big mercedes was not paying attention and rolled right into Hedwig's towing hook.
There was no visible damage, except that (besides the marbles he never had) the man is now one license plate short. That, however, is not the point of this story...
The point came to light this morning. I haven't slept well: I kept having bad dreams and the cat kept meowing at me. No wonder then, that I'm not feeling up to scratch at the moment. I always get headaches when I'm tired, but now, with every twitch and twang I scare myself senseless: 'Aaargh, I've got whiplash!'. There's nothing wrong with me! I get shaken around more every time I ride a rollercoaster!
But the worse was when I stepped into the car to go to work this morning. I spent more time looking in the rearview mirror than I did watching the road in front of me. I jumped every time someone got too close behind me (imagine, I was sitting in yet another traffic jam. Every car was too close behind me). And most of all, with every bump in the road I thought that poor Hedwig was falling to pieces...
Completely paranoid. I think I'll call the garage to have them check her out, just in case.
Monday, 29 September 2008
First Impressions
I visited our new house in England this weekend. Husband S. has been living here already, starting our new lives, while I'm still in Holland, winding down our old ones. This is from my diary, the first day I was there.
Oh boy... everything is new, and yet so old and different! Our new village is so quiet! There's hardly any cars.
Our cottage is very tiny and cute, but I feel a little displaced. It's as if I'm on a holiday for one, dropped in some outback without a map or a destination. I'm sure all will be better when S. is here... or if I have a car. Right now it feels as if I'm only waiting for things to come.
I can't really relax: there's not enough books, daytime TV is weird and I don't really feel like trying the radio. Internetting is difficult without a) internet and b) a computer. That leaves only a few options: Nintendo DS (which is fun until the batteries run out), take a walk around the village (but as I don't have a map or any clue where I'm going, I'm a bit apprehensive about going to far. And it's not like I can Google it either... see above)
Which leaves only one thing to do: have lunch at the local pub and write. Very bizarre. It looks like a very nice place, but how do you start belonging to a tight community? How do you gain friends? I don't want to be pushy. I know that alone is not lonely, and lonely is not alone, but the two are very close together sometimes. At least one inhabitant of the pub seems to like me. One of the cats has stopped by repeatedly to be strokes. Or perhaps he has an eye on my ham-ciabatta of course.
England certainly tries to please me: the weather is absolutely gorgeous today. It's incredibly warm and sunny and summery for late September. I could spend hours more in the sun, watching the cat play with butterflies. Just a shame that I don't have much choice in the matter. I'll have to entertain myself until S. gets home from work.
The village of W. looks very cute, but I wonder how much that is due to the weather. Will it still be as nice when it rains and storms and everything is gray and wet?
England does make me laugh. Within a hundred yards from the aircraft you know exactly what country you're in. The floor is either covered in gray linoleum or in carpet (British racing green with some unfathomably ugly pattern in mustard yellow and wine red). And within ten paces you have encountered at least a dozen signs: fire door this, prohibited that, information such... The most amazingly inane things are slapped onto a sign to inform the public. And the English insistance is almost comical! I have not encountered a single door without the "fire door, please keep closed" sign.
Without fail, every public space, including the luggage collection hall in Luton Airport, looks like the reception room of your grandmother's retirement home. The aforementioned linoleum not just laid on the floor, with plinths, but it also covers the bottom four inches of the wall as well, creating the illusion of the inside of a tent. Very peculiar.
It seems to me that the people are both very friendly and very reserved. I think they're not sure what to make of me. I can relate to that: it's always weird, meeting someone new, especially if they come from abroad. I do feel that England will prove to be an important experience for me, even if it may not always be pleasant. I know that I can be a bit brusque and abrupt sometimes, and I need to be careful with that. In the long run brutal honesty may be appreciated more than false flattery, but that does not mean that it will be appreciated immediately, and it's probably a good idea to keep that in mind. Diplomacy is an art that I have yet to master...
Something else that amazes me: this country is so regulated, everything is nannied and locked down, but when I sit outside the pub, looking at it, I notice the way the electrical wiring for the exterior lights is fixed. The wires are obviously too flimsy for outdoor use, and it is fixed to the wall by small nails that go THROUGH the wire! Interesting building regulations! I wonder how many fuses they use in winter...
I hope S. will be home from work on time. He'll be tired, but he's got to take me out. To the pub, or at least to the (24 hours) Tesco. The sooner this feels like home, the better.
Oh boy... everything is new, and yet so old and different! Our new village is so quiet! There's hardly any cars.
Our cottage is very tiny and cute, but I feel a little displaced. It's as if I'm on a holiday for one, dropped in some outback without a map or a destination. I'm sure all will be better when S. is here... or if I have a car. Right now it feels as if I'm only waiting for things to come.
I can't really relax: there's not enough books, daytime TV is weird and I don't really feel like trying the radio. Internetting is difficult without a) internet and b) a computer. That leaves only a few options: Nintendo DS (which is fun until the batteries run out), take a walk around the village (but as I don't have a map or any clue where I'm going, I'm a bit apprehensive about going to far. And it's not like I can Google it either... see above)
Which leaves only one thing to do: have lunch at the local pub and write. Very bizarre. It looks like a very nice place, but how do you start belonging to a tight community? How do you gain friends? I don't want to be pushy. I know that alone is not lonely, and lonely is not alone, but the two are very close together sometimes. At least one inhabitant of the pub seems to like me. One of the cats has stopped by repeatedly to be strokes. Or perhaps he has an eye on my ham-ciabatta of course.
England certainly tries to please me: the weather is absolutely gorgeous today. It's incredibly warm and sunny and summery for late September. I could spend hours more in the sun, watching the cat play with butterflies. Just a shame that I don't have much choice in the matter. I'll have to entertain myself until S. gets home from work.
The village of W. looks very cute, but I wonder how much that is due to the weather. Will it still be as nice when it rains and storms and everything is gray and wet?
England does make me laugh. Within a hundred yards from the aircraft you know exactly what country you're in. The floor is either covered in gray linoleum or in carpet (British racing green with some unfathomably ugly pattern in mustard yellow and wine red). And within ten paces you have encountered at least a dozen signs: fire door this, prohibited that, information such... The most amazingly inane things are slapped onto a sign to inform the public. And the English insistance is almost comical! I have not encountered a single door without the "fire door, please keep closed" sign.
Without fail, every public space, including the luggage collection hall in Luton Airport, looks like the reception room of your grandmother's retirement home. The aforementioned linoleum not just laid on the floor, with plinths, but it also covers the bottom four inches of the wall as well, creating the illusion of the inside of a tent. Very peculiar.
It seems to me that the people are both very friendly and very reserved. I think they're not sure what to make of me. I can relate to that: it's always weird, meeting someone new, especially if they come from abroad. I do feel that England will prove to be an important experience for me, even if it may not always be pleasant. I know that I can be a bit brusque and abrupt sometimes, and I need to be careful with that. In the long run brutal honesty may be appreciated more than false flattery, but that does not mean that it will be appreciated immediately, and it's probably a good idea to keep that in mind. Diplomacy is an art that I have yet to master...
Something else that amazes me: this country is so regulated, everything is nannied and locked down, but when I sit outside the pub, looking at it, I notice the way the electrical wiring for the exterior lights is fixed. The wires are obviously too flimsy for outdoor use, and it is fixed to the wall by small nails that go THROUGH the wire! Interesting building regulations! I wonder how many fuses they use in winter...
I hope S. will be home from work on time. He'll be tired, but he's got to take me out. To the pub, or at least to the (24 hours) Tesco. The sooner this feels like home, the better.
Prayer for the Hungry
Dear God,
I hear there's now a Chinese in space.
I would like a
159 Kung Pao Chicken
64 Stir Fried Rice
Oh, and one portion of Spring Rolls
Thank you,
Amen
I hear there's now a Chinese in space.
I would like a
159 Kung Pao Chicken
64 Stir Fried Rice
Oh, and one portion of Spring Rolls
Thank you,
Amen
Thursday, 25 September 2008
Just a thought...
It occured to me that using several baskets is pretty useless if you only have one egg...
Wednesday, 24 September 2008
Wow!
I don't think there's another word for it:
Wow.
Friend D., who received her Master's degree yesterday, actually graduated Cum Laude.
And I think that it's the only word for it:
Wow.
Way to Go D!
Wow.
Friend D., who received her Master's degree yesterday, actually graduated Cum Laude.
And I think that it's the only word for it:
Wow.
Way to Go D!
Empty...
So many things that happen
So many things that change
So many things to juggle
So many things to arrange
Head
So many things that change
So many things to juggle
So many things to arrange
Head
Overflowing
Shoulders
Uptight
Easy task
A fight
Emotions
Gripping
Tears
All around
And then
The release
A sigh
Nothingness
(HEMA napkin which I found in the car. 24 September 2008)
Sunday, 21 September 2008
Tarzan
Me and friend M. went to see the musical Tarzan on Thursday. Great night out, I cannot say anything else, but there is one thing that always bewilders me when it comes to the Dutch theatre public: the standing ovation.
Don't get me wrong, I appreciate a good play as much as anybody else, but isn't a standing ovation meant to show that it was an outstanding performance? Yet this audience stood up for the chorus line, which seems to me a little (I am understating here) premature. What in the world is there left to show that you really enjoyed it, if you stand up for every background dancer who just happened to be on stand-by? Are we supposed to do cartwheels for Tarzan and Jane?
I sometimes wonder whether this is a Dutch thing. Sort of a 'let's just give them what we want, then they'll bugger off and we can all go home'- type thought.
I don't know... it just took away some of the sparkle of an -otherwise outstanding- show.
Don't get me wrong, I appreciate a good play as much as anybody else, but isn't a standing ovation meant to show that it was an outstanding performance? Yet this audience stood up for the chorus line, which seems to me a little (I am understating here) premature. What in the world is there left to show that you really enjoyed it, if you stand up for every background dancer who just happened to be on stand-by? Are we supposed to do cartwheels for Tarzan and Jane?
I sometimes wonder whether this is a Dutch thing. Sort of a 'let's just give them what we want, then they'll bugger off and we can all go home'- type thought.
I don't know... it just took away some of the sparkle of an -otherwise outstanding- show.
Wednesday, 17 September 2008
GRADUATION!!!
Finally, finally, finally, after five years of hard work and hard play (and a whole lot of fooling around), another chapter in my life will be closed, and another step towards England will have been taken.
And, with great thanks to the Faculty of Arts of the Vrije Universiteit for their incredible tardiness, I also finally, finally, finally know when exactly that chapter comes to an end.
So, for those who are interested:
Tuesday 23 September at 13:30 I will receive the papers that allow me to officially call myself a Bachelor again. (Interesting thought for a newly wed...)
Oh, not to forget, friend N. and friend D. will be receiving their Master's degrees on the same day. I believe they will be graduating at 14:30... Congrats!
And, with great thanks to the Faculty of Arts of the Vrije Universiteit for their incredible tardiness, I also finally, finally, finally know when exactly that chapter comes to an end.
So, for those who are interested:
Tuesday 23 September at 13:30 I will receive the papers that allow me to officially call myself a Bachelor again. (Interesting thought for a newly wed...)
Oh, not to forget, friend N. and friend D. will be receiving their Master's degrees on the same day. I believe they will be graduating at 14:30... Congrats!
Monday, 15 September 2008
The summer's falling down
Very depressing...
First friend C. divorces from her husband P.
Then friend R. breaks up with his girlfriend J.
Then friend B. breaks up with fiancee O.
And then yesterday the news arrived that friend N. has broken up with boyfriend B.
And all the while me and husband S. do a weekly dance of breaking apart and coming back together again... all in the name of England.
And the lights go down...
And the lights go down...
Veel te vroeg dit jaar.
(Wennen aan September - Blof & Counting Crows)
First friend C. divorces from her husband P.
Then friend R. breaks up with his girlfriend J.
Then friend B. breaks up with fiancee O.
And then yesterday the news arrived that friend N. has broken up with boyfriend B.
And all the while me and husband S. do a weekly dance of breaking apart and coming back together again... all in the name of England.
And the lights go down...
And the lights go down...
Veel te vroeg dit jaar.
(Wennen aan September - Blof & Counting Crows)
Friday, 12 September 2008
Zandvoort, last saturday
Friend R. has sent an email with a perfect, beautiful, tropical picture... who would ever have thought that that was Zandvoort in September, when the rain had been pooring down all week?
New Blog
Sure, I'd been planning something like a blog to help keep in touch with friends and relatives. I wasn't going to leave everything behind me to start a new life in a new country without some way of communicating. And here goes...
It's weird, starting up a new blog. What do you write? I haven't left, there is no need to put all my adventures on the net just yet. And it's not like anyone has heard about this space, since it was born only 10 minutes ago. It feels strangely like talking to yourself in the vague hope that someone might hear and respond.
I suppose I'll just see where this takes me...
It's weird, starting up a new blog. What do you write? I haven't left, there is no need to put all my adventures on the net just yet. And it's not like anyone has heard about this space, since it was born only 10 minutes ago. It feels strangely like talking to yourself in the vague hope that someone might hear and respond.
I suppose I'll just see where this takes me...
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