Saturday, January 30, 2010


Every now and then a girl needs a new toy. Something shiny and, above all, pretty. So last month I decided to buy myself the Amazon Kindle2. It only took me about 2 ½ minutes to justify why I clearly needed one. I'd become more well-read, for one. And then there's the benefit of not having to haul a massive weight of books around everytime I move. Not to mention all the trees I'd be saving. Saving trees is very politically correct, you know. I figure I'm racking up good karma to make up for all the other not-so-politically-correct stunts I may or may not have pulled already.

Not that anyone can prove anything.

I impatiently watched as the shipment bounced from America to Germany to Sweden to Coastal Bible Belt, where I am currently living. And then it arrived. But owning an ereader isn't enough in and by itself. You need to fill it with books, of course. I mean, what would you do with it otherwise? Use it as a coaster? Don't be silly!

So I started downloading a selection of my favorite books into it. Some of these books might be considered unusual reading. Like Plato's Republic. But I find it interesting. The old dude was completely off his rocker politically. I also quite like 'On crime and punishment' by Cesare Beccaria. He lived in the 1700s and had all sorts of thoughts about how punisments should fit the crime they're meant to punish, which were highly unusual in those days. They still are in some places. Like, say, Texas.

I also got myself the collected works of Edgar Allan Poe and Khalil Gibran, just for the hell of it. In addition to that, I purchased more conventional things like Stephen King, Neil Gaiman ect, ect.

Well, at any rate, Amazon chose to completely ignore my more conventional choices when it created my recommendation. It insists that I would have great joy reading the works of various long-dead greeks with names that sound like terminal illnesses. At least I should pick up a copy of The Bible, they think.

Then again, if I take them up on that and carry The Bible around in my kindle, maybe that'll make up for all the not-so-politically-correct stunts that I may or may not pull in the future.

Not that anyone'll be able to prove anything, of course.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Napoleon or whatever

Added: And then, once I woke up properly, I realized that I've written Haiti half of the time and then Tahiti the other half. See, this is why I don't get up early. Sometimes I kinda feel like I should. It's a bit like having breakfast - I don't want to, really, but I feel obligated to from time to time because that's what society seems to expect. But I don't like it and it makes me do strange things. But hey, if Tahiti ever has an earthquake or makes a deal with the devil (whatever happens first), I'll just change it back to Tahiti and re-post. And I promise to never again wake up at 5am, think to myself: "Oh my, I can't sleep. What shall I do? I know! I'll blog some!" Anyways, do read. It should be perfectly safe now.

I was determined NOT to write anything about Haiti, because that’s what everyone’s been doing lately, and I want to be unique, dammit.

But I can’t seem to restrain myself any longer. By now we all know how reverend Pat Robertson has been buzzing around in the media, talking about how Haiti brought this earthquake upon themselves because back in the day they had all gotten together and made a deal with the devil. See, they wanted to get out from under the heel of the French (“Napoleon the third, or whatever.”) They all all got together and asked Satan to get the French off their backs and Satan said “Yeah, okay.” Then the Haitians revolted and kicked the French out, all because Satan believed in them.

I’m curious, though… How did they all “get together,” exactly? I mean, it’s hard enough to set up a lunch appointment with the girls. Our boss has been trying to arrange a staff meeting for weeks, with no luck what so ever. And we’re only five people working there. There’s around 200000 people in Haiti. Not sure how many they were under French occupation, but I’m pretty sure there were more then five. Did they have unusually large football stadiums back then? How did they plan this extraordinary meeting? It’s not like they could fire off a txt message to everyone saying: “Meeting with that Satan dude at the freakishly big football stadium at 8:00pm, Tuesday. Be there or be a Frenchman's pony!”

I believe in keeping an open mind when it comes to philosophy and religion and mathematics and stuff, but not to the point where your brain falls out of your head and goes rolling down the street. Just sayin’

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Tuna & Thesis

.I have never been a breakfast person. My stomach wakes up around noon, completely independent of when the rest of me wrangles itself out of bed. Every once in a while I do make an exception. This is mostly because I feel like I should. I've had my head piped full of “breakfast is the most important meal of the day” and stuff like that, ever since I was a kid.

The other day was a forced exception. My step-sister came over for breakfast. Technically, I suppose it was more of an early lunch, but my stomach wasn’t awake yet at any rate. I sat down at the kitchen table and started making a tuna sandwich.

“mayo…adding tuna…one, two, three slices of pickle…” I said, carefully documenting everything, not because I didn’t know how to build a tuna sandwich, but because I’m not all that accustomed to preparing breakfast and so it took a bit of concentration. I realized that I didn't have to narrate the entire birth of my sandwich, but I was on a funny sort of an auto pilot.

At some point The Step-Sister asked about The Thesis (of doom) and I gave out my standard reply, all the while intensely focused on the collection of bread, salads and whatnots on my plate. Then she and The Step-Mum chattered on for a bit, before she turned back to me and asked “are you nearing the end of it soon?”

I carefully examined my sandwich and responded: “yeah, just about done now. It just needs a bit more lettuce.”

Lesson learned: drink more coffee before breakfast.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Get out of the car!

This is supposedly a true account recorded in the Police Logs of Sarasota, Florida.

A Florida lady did her shopping and, upon returning to her car, found four men in the act of leaving with her vehicle.

She dropped her shopping bags and drew her handgun, proceeding to shout at the top of her lungs: “I have a gun and I know how to use it. Get out of the car!”

The four men didn’t wait for a second threat. They got out and ran like mad.

The lady, somewhat shaken, then proceeded to load her shopping bags into the back of the car and got into the driver’s seat. She was so shaken that she could not get the key into the ignition.

She tried and tried, and then she realized why. It was for the same reason she had wondered why there was a football, a Frisbee and two 12-packs of beer in the front seat.

A few minutes later, she found her own car parked four or five spaces further down.

She loaded her bags into the car and drove to the police station to report her mistake. The sergeant to whom she told the story could not stop laughing. He pointed to the other end of the counter, where four pale men were reporting a car jacking by a mad, elderly woman described as white, less than five feet tall, glasses, curly white hair and carrying a large handgun.

No charges were filed.

Moral of the story? If you’re gonna have a senior moment, make it memorable!

Sunday, January 03, 2010

Toothbrush thoughts

I was sitting here in the sofa, wondering what I would do for my very first blogpost this year. Lots of people are writing about their New Year’s resolutions, I thought. Maybe I could do that? But then I’d have to come up with at least one New Year’s resolution and my brain is far too sluggish after three weeks of eating 24/7 to do that.

So I’m going to tell you about my new toothbrush.

It was a Christmas present. It came in a large box. Alright, it was a medium sized box. But it was nice and square. I like presents that are nice and square. They’re more interesting than the oddly shaped ones.

My toothbrush is a magical toothbrush.

Well…no, it’s not –really- magical, but it’s very fancy smancy. It has a control panel and a space ship. Okay, perhaps it’s not an actual spaceship, but the travel case that came with it looks slightly spaceship-ish.

Said control panel went up on the bathroom wall, where it carefully monitors my toothbrushing progress. If I do exactly as I’m told – brushing-wise – for two minutes, it will display a smiley face and all will be well with the world. The thing is, when I unwrapped it, the little face WINKED at me. It hasn’t winked since and I’m very curious as to what I have to do in order for it to do it again. I’ve done some experimenting, and I’ve arrived at the conclusion that I may have to get all dressed up, like I was when I opened the present.

Besides, it seems like an awful lot of work to get all dolled up before I brush my teeth at night in order to get a toothbrush to wink at me. I’m not that starved for attention, thank you very much. I mean, I haven’t quite given up on men yet and I haven’t even –considered- becoming a lesbian yet.

Or maybe it’s mad at me. The first night I had it, I ate cookies at night after I’d brushed my teeth. Maybe it knew. Maybe it looked inside my mouth the next morning and thought “This crumb wasn’t here last night!” Maybe I should be more careful, unless I want my head electrocuted.

I’m going to have to give this some more thought.