Read the Twilight books recently (haven't seen any of the movies). Can't really understand the hype, neither the positive nor the negative one.
The books have some interesting premises (such as the vampire character having a fairly normal and supportive family), but are fairly badly written. The author appears to have learned something by book 3, and books 3 and 4 are considerably better than 1 and 2.
She has for example learned that in a romance story there should probably be some sex, or at least some thoughts about sex, at least if the romance story is written in the first person, and by the middle of the third book Bella actually starts thinking about having sex with Edward. That's about a year and a half into their relationship. Considering how attractive she finds him at the first glance, it would have taken me about what, 300 milliseconds or so to start having impure thoughts?
They don't get to have sex until book 4.
As fantasy the books are readable, as romance they suck. OK, I am not a very experienced romance reader, but I should get at least some idea why the protagonist likes the guy she likes.
That said, I don't quite understand all the critique based on the fact that Bella is not a fighter unlike Buffy's characters. How could she be a fighter in that world? Vampires in the Twilight series are a lot harder to destroy than in Buffy, and Bella does not have any supernatural skills.
And one thing that surprises me in all the vampire fiction: how come none of them ever work for the Red Cross?
Sunday, January 01, 2012
Happy New Year!
Happy New Year, everyone!
Will I ever get all the glitter out of my... well, everything?
Will I ever get all the glitter out of my... well, everything?
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
The evil electricians, part X
Thursday: A guy from the construction company calls me and tells me that they are gonna come next week and Fix Everything - am I gonna be home? I ask him when. He says that they are gonna be at Tero's place Monday at 8 and gonna call me Monday morning and come sometime on Monday.
Monday:
9:30: An electricity inspector comes and inspects electricity. He thinks that all the wiring of all three ceiling lamps should be replaced and some wiring added in the kitchen.
10:00: Where are the electricians?
10:30: Where the fuck are the electricians?
11:00: Where the fuck are the electricians?
11:30: Where the fuck are the fucking electricians? Gonna rape them with a Cristmas tree if they show up.
12:00: The plan to rape them with a Christmas tree fails for two logistical reasons: 1) no electricians, and 2) no Christmas tree.
12:30: The plan to find them by phone also fails, for one logistical reason: no electricians.
13:00: The plan to find somebody by phone succeeds. Somebody (the same somebody who called me on Thursday) says they have been in the building. I say this doesn't help much. He says they are gonna be here the first thing Tuesday morning at 8.
13:07: I bugger off to work.
19:30: I am back from work with a vague feeling that I should move my stuff out of their way. The problem is that their way is pretty much everywhere.
Tuesday:
0:00: Bugger all. Gotta bugger off to bed. Didn't get any sleep last night.
1:00: Woke up to a nightmare about the electricians.
2:00: Woke up to another nightmare about the electricians.
7:30: Woke up to the alarm clock. Considered beating the electricians over the head with it.
8:00: Shower, pants and tea all located. Waiting for the electricians.
8:30: Where the hell are the electricians?
8:55: The doorbell! Hurrah!
A colorful character walks in and stares at my ceiling in a "what the fuck way".
Me: Are you an electrician?
Him: No, I am a painter.
Me: Huh? Öööö...
Him: Supposed to paint over their work...
Me: Can't paint the holes...
Him: That would take special skills... but where are they?
Me: Wondered about it myself...
Him: I'll call them.
With that the Picasso disappeared and was never heard from again.
9:20: Called the somebody again.
Me: They were supposed to be there at 8 and didn't show up!
Somebody: A painter was there.
Me: I know.
Somebody: Did he get the keys?
Me: No. Don't you have the keys?
Somebody: We sorta do...
Me: Gonna leave the security lock open.
Somebody: They are gonna be there eventually.
10:15: Finally at work.
10:17: The phone rings.
The electrician: We are here and we can't get in!
Me: Don't you have the keys?
The electrician: None of them work, the housing company doesn't have your keys.
Me (making a mental note to disembowel whoever lost my keys and make them pay for the lock replacement - not necessarily in this order): I can be there in half an hour.
The electrician: That's too late! I can't just wait for you! Can't we set up a time later in the afternoon?
Me: Sure, whatever, just tell me when.
The electrician: Sometime after 16?
Another electrician in the background: Are you talking to Vera?
The first electrician: Yes.
The other electrician in the background: Wrong apartment, she lives downstairs.
The first electrician (to me): Oops, forget it.
Monday:
9:30: An electricity inspector comes and inspects electricity. He thinks that all the wiring of all three ceiling lamps should be replaced and some wiring added in the kitchen.
10:00: Where are the electricians?
10:30: Where the fuck are the electricians?
11:00: Where the fuck are the electricians?
11:30: Where the fuck are the fucking electricians? Gonna rape them with a Cristmas tree if they show up.
12:00: The plan to rape them with a Christmas tree fails for two logistical reasons: 1) no electricians, and 2) no Christmas tree.
12:30: The plan to find them by phone also fails, for one logistical reason: no electricians.
13:00: The plan to find somebody by phone succeeds. Somebody (the same somebody who called me on Thursday) says they have been in the building. I say this doesn't help much. He says they are gonna be here the first thing Tuesday morning at 8.
13:07: I bugger off to work.
19:30: I am back from work with a vague feeling that I should move my stuff out of their way. The problem is that their way is pretty much everywhere.
Tuesday:
0:00: Bugger all. Gotta bugger off to bed. Didn't get any sleep last night.
1:00: Woke up to a nightmare about the electricians.
2:00: Woke up to another nightmare about the electricians.
7:30: Woke up to the alarm clock. Considered beating the electricians over the head with it.
8:00: Shower, pants and tea all located. Waiting for the electricians.
8:30: Where the hell are the electricians?
8:55: The doorbell! Hurrah!
A colorful character walks in and stares at my ceiling in a "what the fuck way".
Me: Are you an electrician?
Him: No, I am a painter.
Me: Huh? Öööö...
Him: Supposed to paint over their work...
Me: Can't paint the holes...
Him: That would take special skills... but where are they?
Me: Wondered about it myself...
Him: I'll call them.
With that the Picasso disappeared and was never heard from again.
9:20: Called the somebody again.
Me: They were supposed to be there at 8 and didn't show up!
Somebody: A painter was there.
Me: I know.
Somebody: Did he get the keys?
Me: No. Don't you have the keys?
Somebody: We sorta do...
Me: Gonna leave the security lock open.
Somebody: They are gonna be there eventually.
10:15: Finally at work.
10:17: The phone rings.
The electrician: We are here and we can't get in!
Me: Don't you have the keys?
The electrician: None of them work, the housing company doesn't have your keys.
Me (making a mental note to disembowel whoever lost my keys and make them pay for the lock replacement - not necessarily in this order): I can be there in half an hour.
The electrician: That's too late! I can't just wait for you! Can't we set up a time later in the afternoon?
Me: Sure, whatever, just tell me when.
The electrician: Sometime after 16?
Another electrician in the background: Are you talking to Vera?
The first electrician: Yes.
The other electrician in the background: Wrong apartment, she lives downstairs.
The first electrician (to me): Oops, forget it.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
A girl who was interested in politics
Somebody just implied to me that there must have been something wrong with me if at 16 I was more interested in free elections than in a prince on a white horse. She did not know that this was also the case at 10. I was gonna tell her off, along the lines of "takes all kinds to make a world", and then started wondering whether the above was in fact a sign that something was wrong with the country.
(Yes, I know that something was wrong with the country. OK, make it "almost everything". I am just wondering whether my interest in politics was a symptom of that.)
I sort of know where the woman who thinks something was wrong with me is coming from. She is also from the Soviet Union, a few years older than me. During our childhood everything was full of politics. Newspapers were full of politics (much more so than in the West at any point that I remember), and so was the TV. We had all kinds of politics (just a figure of speech - it was just one kind of politics) shoved down our throats from morning till night, politics before class, politics during class, politics after class, etc. Everything we did was interpreted as political statement. Personal was very much political, whether one wanted it or not.
Under those circumstances quite a lot of people became very strongly apolitical, in a "just leave me in peace to live my sex life and wear whatever I want, I am not interested in politics". At the time I wondered whether the leaders realized that their attempt to make everyone interested in their politics had the result opposite of the intended; nowadays, older and even more cynical, I wonder whether this was in fact the intended effect.
Anyway, this reaction is barely comprehensible to me now, and was even less comprehensible at the time. My personal is usually not very political, but it is quite clear to me that if the powers that be have chosen to lecture me on the style of my shirt, the personal has become the political whether I want it or not.
The funny thing was that pretty much everyone I knew understood that if a bully comes up to you in the street and expresses desire to punch you in the nose because he is offended by your makeup the thing to do was not to explain that the makeup was not intended as a personal offense to him - he knows it as well as you do - but to hit hard and/or run fast. But I felt fairly alone with the idea that the same is the case for the governments. Although, obviously, this was not the kind of thing I could easily discuss with my classmates, so I was pretty much limited to listening.
Yes, I also wished to be left in peace, I just realized that it was not gonna happen, or in any case not by leaving *them* in peace.
I remember the day that Brezhnev died. I was 11, and sat in class wondering whether the next guy was gonna be some new version of Stalin, and the possible implications of it. Nobody, including myself, ever mentioned this possibility out loud, but the general feeling that our lives depend on who the new guy will be was there. How can one not be interested in politics under those circumstances?
(Yes, I know that something was wrong with the country. OK, make it "almost everything". I am just wondering whether my interest in politics was a symptom of that.)
I sort of know where the woman who thinks something was wrong with me is coming from. She is also from the Soviet Union, a few years older than me. During our childhood everything was full of politics. Newspapers were full of politics (much more so than in the West at any point that I remember), and so was the TV. We had all kinds of politics (just a figure of speech - it was just one kind of politics) shoved down our throats from morning till night, politics before class, politics during class, politics after class, etc. Everything we did was interpreted as political statement. Personal was very much political, whether one wanted it or not.
Under those circumstances quite a lot of people became very strongly apolitical, in a "just leave me in peace to live my sex life and wear whatever I want, I am not interested in politics". At the time I wondered whether the leaders realized that their attempt to make everyone interested in their politics had the result opposite of the intended; nowadays, older and even more cynical, I wonder whether this was in fact the intended effect.
Anyway, this reaction is barely comprehensible to me now, and was even less comprehensible at the time. My personal is usually not very political, but it is quite clear to me that if the powers that be have chosen to lecture me on the style of my shirt, the personal has become the political whether I want it or not.
The funny thing was that pretty much everyone I knew understood that if a bully comes up to you in the street and expresses desire to punch you in the nose because he is offended by your makeup the thing to do was not to explain that the makeup was not intended as a personal offense to him - he knows it as well as you do - but to hit hard and/or run fast. But I felt fairly alone with the idea that the same is the case for the governments. Although, obviously, this was not the kind of thing I could easily discuss with my classmates, so I was pretty much limited to listening.
Yes, I also wished to be left in peace, I just realized that it was not gonna happen, or in any case not by leaving *them* in peace.
I remember the day that Brezhnev died. I was 11, and sat in class wondering whether the next guy was gonna be some new version of Stalin, and the possible implications of it. Nobody, including myself, ever mentioned this possibility out loud, but the general feeling that our lives depend on who the new guy will be was there. How can one not be interested in politics under those circumstances?
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
The great flood saga continues...
Friday, 18:00: Three wise men and a disgruntled Virgin Mary. OK, I would be even more disgruntled if I were a Middle Eastern girl with a newborn baby wondering how to explain to her family and friends that she is still a virgin in the face of rather overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
The three wise men totally look like movie characters. The builder (aka "wall-breaker") looks like a smaller and more comical version of Victor Le Nettoyeur, the plumber looks like a British gentleman, and the electrician looks so ancient that I keep wanting to ask him what he'd done for a living before the electricity was invented. He is incredibly grumpy, too.
18:30: The ill-tempered electrician informs me that the morning plumber is still in the hospital, that all such accidents are reported to the electric safety officials and that they would surely like to see me and my apartment.
The builder wonders what the fuck, and does that wire in front of his nose still have electricity in it? It sure does. They try to find out experimentally what each of the fuses and switches do in spite of the fact that I know pretty well what they do, and am trying to tell them. What the fuck?
18:45: After 15 minutes of trying they figure out what I kept telling them from the very beginning, namely that all the lights in the apartment are on one single fuse. What the fuck, wonders the builder. The electrician explains that the system is ancient, and look who is talking!
18:50: the electrician decided to rip the lamp switch out of the wall, and now it's his turn to ask what the fuck. Apparently I have illegal wiring in my wall. The good thing is that I have an alibi: it was put in before I was born, in the sixties, and was illegal back then, too. The electrician swears profusely about the fucking Estonians, and occasionally apologizes to the ladies present (which are, apparently, me, a least if you use the word "lady" loosely enough). I find it weird, because there wasn't a lot of Estonians here in the sixties, and besides the electrician should probably be apologizing to the builder, who appears to be an Estonian (fucking or otherwise).
19:00: The three wise men decided to break the ceiling.
19:30: Now there is a huge hole in what's left from the ceiling, and still no source of leakage uncovered. The three wise men want to get into Tero's apartment but don't have a key.
Negotiations ensue. I tell Tero that they want to get in. Tero tells me that he is out for the evening, and what the fuck, the superintendent and the humidity measuring guy told him that the leak is definitely not in his apartment. I tell the same to the three wise men. The three wise men are convinced that the leak is in Tero's apartment, and have a unanimous opinion as to where the humidity measuring guy can insert his humidity measuring device.
20:00: The three wise men decide to continue at 10 in the morning. They go home, and leave me some scary-looking tools. I run to the store for cleaning supplies. The apartment is a concrete-covered ruin.
21:00: One can actually walk in the apartment with a fear of a major foot injury. And I sort of have a toilet. Which doesn't flush.
21:10: Ville and Leena come over and take me outside to eat, which is nice.
Saturday, 03:00: Fuck, it's raining again!
03:30: Shit, I can't breathe! Gotta open the window.
07:00: Brr!
08:00: BRRRRR!!!!!!
09:00: Antihistamines, pseudoephedrine, salbutamol and a glass of calvados - the breakfast of a true lady. Hyvin menee...
10:00: No three wise men yet.
10:30: Where the fuck are the three wise men?
11:00: Judging from the horrible sounds, apparently they are upstairs.
11:30: The builder came to get his tools.
12:00: The horrible sounds continue, I keep expecting the builder to fall through my ceiling.
13:30: Hurrah! The hole in the pipe has been located, and it is in Tero's apartment.
14:00: The wise men leave until Monday. I have a working toilet again, which is nice. Tero doesn't. My apartment is cold and the air is unpleasant.
Monday: The plumber(s) came and fixed the pipe. Now Tero can use his bathroom too and it's not raining in my place. Happy happy joy joy!
I still have huge holes in the wall and the ceiling, and no light in the hall. Tero has an even bigger hole in the floor. But hey, the new pipe!
Tuesday: Situation unchanged, gonna be fixed real soon now.
The three wise men totally look like movie characters. The builder (aka "wall-breaker") looks like a smaller and more comical version of Victor Le Nettoyeur, the plumber looks like a British gentleman, and the electrician looks so ancient that I keep wanting to ask him what he'd done for a living before the electricity was invented. He is incredibly grumpy, too.
18:30: The ill-tempered electrician informs me that the morning plumber is still in the hospital, that all such accidents are reported to the electric safety officials and that they would surely like to see me and my apartment.
The builder wonders what the fuck, and does that wire in front of his nose still have electricity in it? It sure does. They try to find out experimentally what each of the fuses and switches do in spite of the fact that I know pretty well what they do, and am trying to tell them. What the fuck?
18:45: After 15 minutes of trying they figure out what I kept telling them from the very beginning, namely that all the lights in the apartment are on one single fuse. What the fuck, wonders the builder. The electrician explains that the system is ancient, and look who is talking!
18:50: the electrician decided to rip the lamp switch out of the wall, and now it's his turn to ask what the fuck. Apparently I have illegal wiring in my wall. The good thing is that I have an alibi: it was put in before I was born, in the sixties, and was illegal back then, too. The electrician swears profusely about the fucking Estonians, and occasionally apologizes to the ladies present (which are, apparently, me, a least if you use the word "lady" loosely enough). I find it weird, because there wasn't a lot of Estonians here in the sixties, and besides the electrician should probably be apologizing to the builder, who appears to be an Estonian (fucking or otherwise).
19:00: The three wise men decided to break the ceiling.
19:30: Now there is a huge hole in what's left from the ceiling, and still no source of leakage uncovered. The three wise men want to get into Tero's apartment but don't have a key.
Negotiations ensue. I tell Tero that they want to get in. Tero tells me that he is out for the evening, and what the fuck, the superintendent and the humidity measuring guy told him that the leak is definitely not in his apartment. I tell the same to the three wise men. The three wise men are convinced that the leak is in Tero's apartment, and have a unanimous opinion as to where the humidity measuring guy can insert his humidity measuring device.
20:00: The three wise men decide to continue at 10 in the morning. They go home, and leave me some scary-looking tools. I run to the store for cleaning supplies. The apartment is a concrete-covered ruin.
21:00: One can actually walk in the apartment with a fear of a major foot injury. And I sort of have a toilet. Which doesn't flush.
21:10: Ville and Leena come over and take me outside to eat, which is nice.
Saturday, 03:00: Fuck, it's raining again!
03:30: Shit, I can't breathe! Gotta open the window.
07:00: Brr!
08:00: BRRRRR!!!!!!
09:00: Antihistamines, pseudoephedrine, salbutamol and a glass of calvados - the breakfast of a true lady. Hyvin menee...
10:00: No three wise men yet.
10:30: Where the fuck are the three wise men?
11:00: Judging from the horrible sounds, apparently they are upstairs.
11:30: The builder came to get his tools.
12:00: The horrible sounds continue, I keep expecting the builder to fall through my ceiling.
13:30: Hurrah! The hole in the pipe has been located, and it is in Tero's apartment.
14:00: The wise men leave until Monday. I have a working toilet again, which is nice. Tero doesn't. My apartment is cold and the air is unpleasant.
Monday: The plumber(s) came and fixed the pipe. Now Tero can use his bathroom too and it's not raining in my place. Happy happy joy joy!
I still have huge holes in the wall and the ceiling, and no light in the hall. Tero has an even bigger hole in the floor. But hey, the new pipe!
Tuesday: Situation unchanged, gonna be fixed real soon now.
Friday, December 09, 2011
Disaster
22:40: Back home from nice beers with coworkers! Whee!
00:20: What the hell is that sound?
00:21: Shit, it's raining!
00:22: Shit, it's raining inside!
00:23: Shit, the rain is brown! Shit?
00:24: Gotta wake up Tero, the neighbor upstairs. Tero! TEEEROO! Open the door!
00:26: Shit, do I have a bucket? Do they sell buckets in 24-hour Alepa?
00:28: Bucket located and installed under the rain.
00:30: Calling Tero. Still no response. Left a message. Tero, Tero, why hast thou forsaken me and possibly a fair amount of water as well?
00:33: Calling the maintenance guy. He sounds as drunk as, well, me, and I can't really blame him. They are gonna be here in half an hour. Maybe.
00:37: Hurrah, Tero woke up and called me! No water anywhere in his apartment though.
00:40: Tero is here and looking pessimistic. We are wondering what the fuck.
00:45: Tero goes back home to sleep, asks to be awakened when the maintenance guy comes.
01:05: The maintenance guy (not the one who answered the phone but another, sober one) naturally comes right when I am in the toilet. Pulling the pants up and running to open the door. He stands for a while looking at the ceiling and wondering what the fuck.
01:10: The maintenance guys goes and gets Tero. They stand for a while looking at the ceiling and wondering what the fuck.
01:11: More water coming out of the ceiling lamp. We are wondering what the fuck.
01:12: The water comes out from the same hole as the lamp's cables. What the fuck?
01:13: I figure it might be a good idea to turn off the lamp.
01:14: The maintenance guy figures it might be a good idea to summon a real plumber.
01:15: Tero figures it might be a good idea to go to bed while he still can.
01:16: Shit! Now I have water coming out of two places, and only one bucket.
01:20: An Ikea bag does work as a bucket, and pretty well in fact.
01:40: The plumber arrives, looks at the ceiling and says "what the fuck?"
01:41: The plumber puts his hand in the lamp cable hole and says "ouch".
01:42: The plumber turns off all the electricity.
01:43: Being alone at night in total darkness with two plumbers is not nearly as much fun as porn movies say.
01:50: The plumbers wake up Tero again.
01:55: Much turning off and on the water and flushing ensues.
02:00: They dismantle parts of the ceiling, and keep wondering what the fuck.
02:10: The electricity is back on.
02:45: They are gone. They promise to come back in the morning and tell me that the rain will stop for the night. The whole staircase is out of water and toilets don't work. Nice surprise for everyone in the morning.
07-something: Someone is in the apartment. I wake up jump out of my room naked. A plumber screams "eek" and disappears.
08-something: There is a whole bunch of them, and they are all saying "what the fuck". I alternate between trying to sleep and trying to look decent, failing at both.
10:15: The superintendent calls and asks me to stay home, he'll be here in two hours.
11:00: Most plumbers ran away, one remains.
11:30: The plumber sticks his hand into the wel lamp cable hole, gets a shock and falls off the ladder, screaming. I say "what the fuck".
12:00: The plumber needs to go to a hospital, tells me he'll be back and not to piss in the toilet.
13:00: parts of the ceiling fall off.
14:00: The superintendent shows up and starts running around, waving his hands, screaming "what the fuck" and flushing everyone's toilets. He keeps at it for an hour. He finds that the right toilet belongs to the 4th floor neighbor, and now it really starts to rain. The plumber is still in the hospital.
16:00: The superintendent come back with a humidity measuring guy. The guy says that the whole wall between the hall and the toilet is fucked, what the fuck. They invite a wall-breaker. I have to empty a bookcase.
17:00: The wall-breaker arrives and starts breaking the wall. He totally looks like he'd escaped from some gangster movie.
To be continued...
00:20: What the hell is that sound?
00:21: Shit, it's raining!
00:22: Shit, it's raining inside!
00:23: Shit, the rain is brown! Shit?
00:24: Gotta wake up Tero, the neighbor upstairs. Tero! TEEEROO! Open the door!
00:26: Shit, do I have a bucket? Do they sell buckets in 24-hour Alepa?
00:28: Bucket located and installed under the rain.
00:30: Calling Tero. Still no response. Left a message. Tero, Tero, why hast thou forsaken me and possibly a fair amount of water as well?
00:33: Calling the maintenance guy. He sounds as drunk as, well, me, and I can't really blame him. They are gonna be here in half an hour. Maybe.
00:37: Hurrah, Tero woke up and called me! No water anywhere in his apartment though.
00:40: Tero is here and looking pessimistic. We are wondering what the fuck.
00:45: Tero goes back home to sleep, asks to be awakened when the maintenance guy comes.
01:05: The maintenance guy (not the one who answered the phone but another, sober one) naturally comes right when I am in the toilet. Pulling the pants up and running to open the door. He stands for a while looking at the ceiling and wondering what the fuck.
01:10: The maintenance guys goes and gets Tero. They stand for a while looking at the ceiling and wondering what the fuck.
01:11: More water coming out of the ceiling lamp. We are wondering what the fuck.
01:12: The water comes out from the same hole as the lamp's cables. What the fuck?
01:13: I figure it might be a good idea to turn off the lamp.
01:14: The maintenance guy figures it might be a good idea to summon a real plumber.
01:15: Tero figures it might be a good idea to go to bed while he still can.
01:16: Shit! Now I have water coming out of two places, and only one bucket.
01:20: An Ikea bag does work as a bucket, and pretty well in fact.
01:40: The plumber arrives, looks at the ceiling and says "what the fuck?"
01:41: The plumber puts his hand in the lamp cable hole and says "ouch".
01:42: The plumber turns off all the electricity.
01:43: Being alone at night in total darkness with two plumbers is not nearly as much fun as porn movies say.
01:50: The plumbers wake up Tero again.
01:55: Much turning off and on the water and flushing ensues.
02:00: They dismantle parts of the ceiling, and keep wondering what the fuck.
02:10: The electricity is back on.
02:45: They are gone. They promise to come back in the morning and tell me that the rain will stop for the night. The whole staircase is out of water and toilets don't work. Nice surprise for everyone in the morning.
07-something: Someone is in the apartment. I wake up jump out of my room naked. A plumber screams "eek" and disappears.
08-something: There is a whole bunch of them, and they are all saying "what the fuck". I alternate between trying to sleep and trying to look decent, failing at both.
10:15: The superintendent calls and asks me to stay home, he'll be here in two hours.
11:00: Most plumbers ran away, one remains.
11:30: The plumber sticks his hand into the wel lamp cable hole, gets a shock and falls off the ladder, screaming. I say "what the fuck".
12:00: The plumber needs to go to a hospital, tells me he'll be back and not to piss in the toilet.
13:00: parts of the ceiling fall off.
14:00: The superintendent shows up and starts running around, waving his hands, screaming "what the fuck" and flushing everyone's toilets. He keeps at it for an hour. He finds that the right toilet belongs to the 4th floor neighbor, and now it really starts to rain. The plumber is still in the hospital.
16:00: The superintendent come back with a humidity measuring guy. The guy says that the whole wall between the hall and the toilet is fucked, what the fuck. They invite a wall-breaker. I have to empty a bookcase.
17:00: The wall-breaker arrives and starts breaking the wall. He totally looks like he'd escaped from some gangster movie.
To be continued...
Tuesday, December 06, 2011
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Movies (spoilers for The Three Musketeers, The Skin I Inhabit and Midnight in Paris)
I've been having a movie week, also known as my-ticket-booklet-is-about-to-expire week.
The Three Musketeers was in fact quite enjoyable, in spite of raping the plot, the history and the laws of physics in spectacular and unspeakable ways. For one thing, it's the first movie I'd ever seen that has a teenage d'Artagnan, like in the book, played by an actual teenage actor.
I've wondered about this before. The book's d'Artagnan is a teenager, and does a lot of stupid things that teenagers do, especially while being out of school, away from adult supervision, and hanging around with deadly weapons. In the movies he tends to be played by men in their thirties, and not in a Luke Skywalker-like boyish-looking-man-playing-a-teenager way, but in a way that implies that the character is an adult, which makes the viewer really wonder about his IQ.
Another delightful thing about the movie was that the royal couple were not in their 50s, as they often are in the movies, but fairly close to their historical age of 24. Explains a lot about their behavior, I guess, although most people have more sense at that age.
Speaking about the book: the plot made me wonder quite a lot about the queen. When I first read it at the age of 8 or 9 it was not clear to me a) why the queen would get into that much trouble for giving some stupid piece of jewelry to that Buckingham guy, and b) considering that she knew that disappearance of said piece of jewelry would cause trouble when discovered, why didn't she give him something less unique, like roses and chocolate. Actually I still haven't figured those out, maybe I ought to reread the book.
In any case - the movie was fun, although in a way that made me wonder about the recreational drugs used by cast and crew.
About The Skin I Inhabit: I always wonder why I like watching Almodovar's movies. I mean, the characters tend to be insane and their motivations incomprehensible. This time, however, Almodovar surprised me by having a character who appeared to be absolutely sane apart from the heavy use of hard drugs.
Midnight in Paris was very enjoyable in "whee, I love Paris" way, because, well, I do. Apart from that, I find it really annoying when the Deep Understanding to which the protagonist comes at the end of the movie is obvious to the viewer from the very beginning. I mean, for fuck's sake, if you were walking around Paris and suddenly found yourself in the year 1920, how long would it take you to figure out that those guys don't have antibiotics and modern dentistry? Not to mention that there is a fairly big war coming up in 19 years? And that the Internet is nice to have?
The Three Musketeers was in fact quite enjoyable, in spite of raping the plot, the history and the laws of physics in spectacular and unspeakable ways. For one thing, it's the first movie I'd ever seen that has a teenage d'Artagnan, like in the book, played by an actual teenage actor.
I've wondered about this before. The book's d'Artagnan is a teenager, and does a lot of stupid things that teenagers do, especially while being out of school, away from adult supervision, and hanging around with deadly weapons. In the movies he tends to be played by men in their thirties, and not in a Luke Skywalker-like boyish-looking-man-playing-a-teenager way, but in a way that implies that the character is an adult, which makes the viewer really wonder about his IQ.
Another delightful thing about the movie was that the royal couple were not in their 50s, as they often are in the movies, but fairly close to their historical age of 24. Explains a lot about their behavior, I guess, although most people have more sense at that age.
Speaking about the book: the plot made me wonder quite a lot about the queen. When I first read it at the age of 8 or 9 it was not clear to me a) why the queen would get into that much trouble for giving some stupid piece of jewelry to that Buckingham guy, and b) considering that she knew that disappearance of said piece of jewelry would cause trouble when discovered, why didn't she give him something less unique, like roses and chocolate. Actually I still haven't figured those out, maybe I ought to reread the book.
In any case - the movie was fun, although in a way that made me wonder about the recreational drugs used by cast and crew.
About The Skin I Inhabit: I always wonder why I like watching Almodovar's movies. I mean, the characters tend to be insane and their motivations incomprehensible. This time, however, Almodovar surprised me by having a character who appeared to be absolutely sane apart from the heavy use of hard drugs.
Midnight in Paris was very enjoyable in "whee, I love Paris" way, because, well, I do. Apart from that, I find it really annoying when the Deep Understanding to which the protagonist comes at the end of the movie is obvious to the viewer from the very beginning. I mean, for fuck's sake, if you were walking around Paris and suddenly found yourself in the year 1920, how long would it take you to figure out that those guys don't have antibiotics and modern dentistry? Not to mention that there is a fairly big war coming up in 19 years? And that the Internet is nice to have?
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Naked guy demonstration in San Francisco
I've seen a number of naked guys in my life, but this is the first time I'd seen one in a hat. I think hats look pretty stylish in the absence of other clothes.
When I went there to take pictures I was embarrassingly aware of having the smallest camera in the crowd.
When I went there to take pictures I was embarrassingly aware of having the smallest camera in the crowd.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
I still ain't dead
It's been a while, I know. All kind of life has been happening to me, including Android, Pacific ocean, bear country, canyons, fucking huge trees ("fucking" is an adverb here, not a verb, in case you are wondering), San Francisco, mysterious mists, Hearst Castle, Boston, seals, relatives, whiskey, Numb3rs, the latest Pratchett and the newest Ubuntu.
I didn't even have time and evergy to say something snarky about the natural death of Anwar al-Awlaki and the trial of his disciple, Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab. I am all out of snark at the moment. Seriously, when the guy sets his balls on fire in pursuit of 72 virgins, what can you possibly say to top that? I guess al-Awlaki neglected to inform him that the 72 virgins in question are in fact the bearded men currently in detention in Colorado Supermax.
Anyway, here is my "what I did on vacation":
- Spent 21 days in the US.
- Saw 16 relatives. This was overwhelming but nice, because somehow we forgot to inform the one really obnoxious relative of our arrival. I sincerely hope she doesn't read this.
- Saw an apple dog in an Chicago airport. I shit you not: they had a dog sniffing out apples and a customs officer with a huge bag confiscating them from evildoers. Hope the customs officers baked themselves a huge apple pie.
- Took a lot of pictures. All of them here.
- Realized that the altitude of 2 kilometers and a sinus infection do not combine well.
- Drove all over the bear country and didn't see a single bear. Which is good, because I'd have to wash my pants afterwards. Saw quite a lot of deer, blue birds, seals, and a couple of zebras.
- Saw a demonstration of naked men in San Francisco.
Some observations:
- The Pacific ocean is big, cold and wet. I am totally sticking with Atlantic for any beach vacations. Or at least the Asian side of the Pacific.
- There are seals everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Check out my pictures from the Santa Cruz wharf. They also had a critter that looked a bit like a pterodactyl, but hopefully wasn't.
- Californians keep their clouds on the sea and on the ground, instead of letting them float in the sky like normal people.
- Daly City is a mysterous cold place where visibility is always zero and the sun never shines and there is thick fog everywhere. I think Cthulhu lives there right near the Hellmouth or something...
- Pluot is a good, good fruit, and I want them here.
- Sequoias are pretty big. In fact all the other trees in sequoia forests are huge too.
- San Joaquin valley is poor, desolate, dried-out and full of posters saying whom they are gonna vote out of office during the next election. Pelosi, Boxer and Costa are the "favorites". Except that Pelosi isn't in their district.
- Tioga road in Yosemite turned out to be a most interesting place, even though at first it didn't look that way.
I didn't even have time and evergy to say something snarky about the natural death of Anwar al-Awlaki and the trial of his disciple, Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab. I am all out of snark at the moment. Seriously, when the guy sets his balls on fire in pursuit of 72 virgins, what can you possibly say to top that? I guess al-Awlaki neglected to inform him that the 72 virgins in question are in fact the bearded men currently in detention in Colorado Supermax.
Anyway, here is my "what I did on vacation":
- Spent 21 days in the US.
- Saw 16 relatives. This was overwhelming but nice, because somehow we forgot to inform the one really obnoxious relative of our arrival. I sincerely hope she doesn't read this.
- Saw an apple dog in an Chicago airport. I shit you not: they had a dog sniffing out apples and a customs officer with a huge bag confiscating them from evildoers. Hope the customs officers baked themselves a huge apple pie.
- Took a lot of pictures. All of them here.
- Realized that the altitude of 2 kilometers and a sinus infection do not combine well.
- Drove all over the bear country and didn't see a single bear. Which is good, because I'd have to wash my pants afterwards. Saw quite a lot of deer, blue birds, seals, and a couple of zebras.
- Saw a demonstration of naked men in San Francisco.
Some observations:
- The Pacific ocean is big, cold and wet. I am totally sticking with Atlantic for any beach vacations. Or at least the Asian side of the Pacific.
- There are seals everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Check out my pictures from the Santa Cruz wharf. They also had a critter that looked a bit like a pterodactyl, but hopefully wasn't.
- Californians keep their clouds on the sea and on the ground, instead of letting them float in the sky like normal people.
- Daly City is a mysterous cold place where visibility is always zero and the sun never shines and there is thick fog everywhere. I think Cthulhu lives there right near the Hellmouth or something...
- Pluot is a good, good fruit, and I want them here.
- Sequoias are pretty big. In fact all the other trees in sequoia forests are huge too.
- San Joaquin valley is poor, desolate, dried-out and full of posters saying whom they are gonna vote out of office during the next election. Pelosi, Boxer and Costa are the "favorites". Except that Pelosi isn't in their district.
- Tioga road in Yosemite turned out to be a most interesting place, even though at first it didn't look that way.
Friday, July 29, 2011
On terrorism and responsibility
There was a lot of talk lately on the anti-islam and anti-multiculturalism movement and the responsibility for the anti-multiculturalism terrorist Anders Breivik and his acts.
Some people demanded that we condemn him, some accused us of trying to avoid responsibility every time some of us did condemn him, some took the condemnations as an admission of guilt, some took absense of condemnation as silent support, etc. Some of us did condemn him publicly, some considered condemnation as an admission of guilt and said we had nothing to do with it, etc.
I guess this is all just different ways of different people for dealing with it. Personally, I don't connect condemnation to guilt, and of course I do condemn him (one could have figured that out from my rhino rape comments). And no, I don't consider myself guilty in any way just because a terrorist happened to have some of the same political goals as myself.
Some people, however, tried to score points on the terrorist attack (I don't want to single out anyone, there was unfortunately too many) saying things like that Breivik's actions were a result of a misguided immigration policy, etc. Basically saying that if the society had agreed to whatever Breivik wanted in advance he wouldn't have killed all those people.
Yeah, I understand that a lot of people are upset that Breivik's act has hurt the anti-multiculturalism and anti-islamism movements. But terrorist acts are supposed to hurt the causes in the name of which they are committed. Even when those causes happen to be ours. Otherwise terrorism works, and you get more terrorists.
We (well, apart from the people who actually encouraged him to take up terrorism, if any) are not responsible for Breivik and what he has done. But if we start trying to score political points off his murders, or, God forbid, succeed in scoring those points, we sure as hell are gonna be responsible for the next ones. Terrorism shouldn't be rewarded.
Some people demanded that we condemn him, some accused us of trying to avoid responsibility every time some of us did condemn him, some took the condemnations as an admission of guilt, some took absense of condemnation as silent support, etc. Some of us did condemn him publicly, some considered condemnation as an admission of guilt and said we had nothing to do with it, etc.
I guess this is all just different ways of different people for dealing with it. Personally, I don't connect condemnation to guilt, and of course I do condemn him (one could have figured that out from my rhino rape comments). And no, I don't consider myself guilty in any way just because a terrorist happened to have some of the same political goals as myself.
Some people, however, tried to score points on the terrorist attack (I don't want to single out anyone, there was unfortunately too many) saying things like that Breivik's actions were a result of a misguided immigration policy, etc. Basically saying that if the society had agreed to whatever Breivik wanted in advance he wouldn't have killed all those people.
Yeah, I understand that a lot of people are upset that Breivik's act has hurt the anti-multiculturalism and anti-islamism movements. But terrorist acts are supposed to hurt the causes in the name of which they are committed. Even when those causes happen to be ours. Otherwise terrorism works, and you get more terrorists.
We (well, apart from the people who actually encouraged him to take up terrorism, if any) are not responsible for Breivik and what he has done. But if we start trying to score political points off his murders, or, God forbid, succeed in scoring those points, we sure as hell are gonna be responsible for the next ones. Terrorism shouldn't be rewarded.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
On hate speech and incitement
A lot of people are asking those who discuss Islam as a threat whether or not they feel responsible for the massacre.
First of all, the question is flawed in that considering oneself (partially) responsible is not the same thing as feeling bad about it and thinking "would this have happened if I hadn't said those things?", and it's usually not quite clear which one of those things people are asking about.
But that's not the point. What just happened was, in effect, a hate crime against the Norwegian Labour Party. I have a question to the people who connect the public debate against that party (or similar parties in other countries) with this crime: how careful do you think people should be in their speech? Should one avoid expressing any dislike against a particular party? Should one only avoid incitement to violence? Something in between?
First of all, the question is flawed in that considering oneself (partially) responsible is not the same thing as feeling bad about it and thinking "would this have happened if I hadn't said those things?", and it's usually not quite clear which one of those things people are asking about.
But that's not the point. What just happened was, in effect, a hate crime against the Norwegian Labour Party. I have a question to the people who connect the public debate against that party (or similar parties in other countries) with this crime: how careful do you think people should be in their speech? Should one avoid expressing any dislike against a particular party? Should one only avoid incitement to violence? Something in between?
A few thoughts on the terrorist attacks in Norway
I haven't written anything on the Norway murders until now, partly out of respect for the victims, but mostly because all I wanted to do at first was to share my feelings, and my feelings mostly involved rather violent fantasies about the perpetrator being orally/anally raped to death by a herd of enraged rhinos on steroids.
At first I thought it was the islamists. I didn't say so - I wish I could say I didn't jump to the conclusions, but really I just didn't feel like being too graphic about the aforementioned rhinos.
(As an aside to everone who is wondering why we always think of the islamists first: just take a wild fucking guess.)
As soon as it turned out that it wasn't one of them, it was one of us (sorry, my fellow Islam critics, but he did do it in the name of many things most of us believe in, I don't like it any more than you do but it's a fact), I looked through his writings on http://www.document.no/, an Islam- and immigration-critical forum, so see if there were any warning signs that I should maybe pay attention to in the future, and damn, there wasn't. The fucker did a very good job of pretending to be normal and moderate. He even gives advice on how to pretend to be normal in his manifesto.
One of the many cynical things that came to my mind was "that's a hell of a lot of effort just to make people read your book!", and that I should not read it, just to spite him, but still I couldn't resist and read most of it.
Upon reading the book and watching the Knight Templar recruitment video I was immediately overcome with righteous anger (his incitement does work!) and wanted to punish people who betray Western values, facilitate the murder of indigenous people of Europe, and cause horrible things, such as bullying of indigenous teenagers and that blond girl with a bloody face in the video. I was so angry that I grabbed my knife, my pineapple (you don't wanna know), a bottle of some chili sauce, and started looking around for some evildoer ass. I heard that there was some guy in Norway who betrayed quite a lot of Western values, murdered quite a lot of teenagers, most of them indigenous, and probably caused quite a lot of blond girls to have bloody faces, or possibly no faces at all. But then I remembered that he was the author of the book, and arrested, and that proper Western values don't generally include sodomizing people with pineapples dipped in chili sauce. Bummer. No enraged rhinos, either.
OK, sorry, I should be more serious. Still, a few random thoughts:
- there are a lot of cultural (and otherwise) conservatives in the anti-islamization movements, but for the most part they wish to go back to some undeterminate point in time when the TV was already invented, and WWW still wasn't (don't ask me why). I'd never seen one before who'd genuinely wanted to go back to the time when Knights Templar roamed the earth, soap was unpopular and peasants could be killed more or less freely. Live and learn, I guess.
- one fairly striking thing was how much the man himself fit his own definition of people who should be eliminated from the face of the earth.
- not only did he perpetrate his terrorist acts like Al-Qaeda, he sure sounded like it, too. Sacrifice blah-blah, martyrdom yadda-yadda. Killing a bunch of Norwegians also somehow reminds me of all the terrorist attacks done by islamists in and against the Muslim countries.
- WTF are cultural Marxists? The Marxists whom I've known in person wouldn't know culture of any kind if it bit them on the ass.
At first I thought it was the islamists. I didn't say so - I wish I could say I didn't jump to the conclusions, but really I just didn't feel like being too graphic about the aforementioned rhinos.
(As an aside to everone who is wondering why we always think of the islamists first: just take a wild fucking guess.)
As soon as it turned out that it wasn't one of them, it was one of us (sorry, my fellow Islam critics, but he did do it in the name of many things most of us believe in, I don't like it any more than you do but it's a fact), I looked through his writings on http://www.document.no/, an Islam- and immigration-critical forum, so see if there were any warning signs that I should maybe pay attention to in the future, and damn, there wasn't. The fucker did a very good job of pretending to be normal and moderate. He even gives advice on how to pretend to be normal in his manifesto.
One of the many cynical things that came to my mind was "that's a hell of a lot of effort just to make people read your book!", and that I should not read it, just to spite him, but still I couldn't resist and read most of it.
Upon reading the book and watching the Knight Templar recruitment video I was immediately overcome with righteous anger (his incitement does work!) and wanted to punish people who betray Western values, facilitate the murder of indigenous people of Europe, and cause horrible things, such as bullying of indigenous teenagers and that blond girl with a bloody face in the video. I was so angry that I grabbed my knife, my pineapple (you don't wanna know), a bottle of some chili sauce, and started looking around for some evildoer ass. I heard that there was some guy in Norway who betrayed quite a lot of Western values, murdered quite a lot of teenagers, most of them indigenous, and probably caused quite a lot of blond girls to have bloody faces, or possibly no faces at all. But then I remembered that he was the author of the book, and arrested, and that proper Western values don't generally include sodomizing people with pineapples dipped in chili sauce. Bummer. No enraged rhinos, either.
OK, sorry, I should be more serious. Still, a few random thoughts:
- there are a lot of cultural (and otherwise) conservatives in the anti-islamization movements, but for the most part they wish to go back to some undeterminate point in time when the TV was already invented, and WWW still wasn't (don't ask me why). I'd never seen one before who'd genuinely wanted to go back to the time when Knights Templar roamed the earth, soap was unpopular and peasants could be killed more or less freely. Live and learn, I guess.
- one fairly striking thing was how much the man himself fit his own definition of people who should be eliminated from the face of the earth.
- not only did he perpetrate his terrorist acts like Al-Qaeda, he sure sounded like it, too. Sacrifice blah-blah, martyrdom yadda-yadda. Killing a bunch of Norwegians also somehow reminds me of all the terrorist attacks done by islamists in and against the Muslim countries.
- WTF are cultural Marxists? The Marxists whom I've known in person wouldn't know culture of any kind if it bit them on the ass.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Giants live in the north beyond the Wall in Westeros, and in Kappahl, too
Went shopping yesterday (all my summer shirts in one day, yay!) and saw a skirt in Kappahl. Quite a lovely skirt, actually, even though I don't wear them. Except that it was about 30 cm. too long for me.
Now, I am not sure whether there exist any women over two meters tall, but I am quite sure I'd never seen any in Kappahl.
Dear giantess who comes there to buy skirts! If you decide to purchase the enormously long black one, can you please send me a picture of yourself in it. I just wanna see it.
Now, I am not sure whether there exist any women over two meters tall, but I am quite sure I'd never seen any in Kappahl.
Dear giantess who comes there to buy skirts! If you decide to purchase the enormously long black one, can you please send me a picture of yourself in it. I just wanna see it.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Shopping
Sorry for repeating the last sentence of the previous post: people who say that shopping doesn't make you happy just don't shop in the right kind of places. It's easy to make it fun.
For example: buying extra memory just to cheer yourself up: good shopping. Dragging your ass to H&M to replace your favorite jeans, just to find out that they are sold out: bad shopping.
Anyway, bought some stuff lately:
- 8G of memory. Hurrah! Hurrah! Finally! Resulted in much hand-waving and replacing a 32-bit kernel with a 64-bit one.
- HTC Desire. Cannot be classified as fun shopping, because I had to replace the phone that was dying of old age, but a nice new (I bought it used but it's fairly new) toy nevertheless.
- Samsung Galaxy Tab, also used. Even more fun than I expected, and very convenient.
- A LED water tap. Took me 5 years to realize that a leaking tap can be replaced with a new one. Go me!
- A big collection of Cthulhu stories, Kindle edition (the Galaxy Tab caused me to start using Kindle),
- An air purifier (my current one is more ancient than Cthulhu).
Next one planned: an actual Kindle device.
And most of all: The Dance with Dragons, the fifth book in the Song of Ice and Fire. Only 4 weeks left!
For example: buying extra memory just to cheer yourself up: good shopping. Dragging your ass to H&M to replace your favorite jeans, just to find out that they are sold out: bad shopping.
Anyway, bought some stuff lately:
- 8G of memory. Hurrah! Hurrah! Finally! Resulted in much hand-waving and replacing a 32-bit kernel with a 64-bit one.
- HTC Desire. Cannot be classified as fun shopping, because I had to replace the phone that was dying of old age, but a nice new (I bought it used but it's fairly new) toy nevertheless.
- Samsung Galaxy Tab, also used. Even more fun than I expected, and very convenient.
- A LED water tap. Took me 5 years to realize that a leaking tap can be replaced with a new one. Go me!
- A big collection of Cthulhu stories, Kindle edition (the Galaxy Tab caused me to start using Kindle),
- An air purifier (my current one is more ancient than Cthulhu).
Next one planned: an actual Kindle device.
And most of all: The Dance with Dragons, the fifth book in the Song of Ice and Fire. Only 4 weeks left!
Life
I have noticed that when I have plans to write something I don't usually write anything else until I do. Probably should fix that and try to write things in the order in which they come to mind, not in the order planned.
Not so much new in life, at least not the stuff that I can talk about without endangering other people privacy, or our NDA. (For the curious: if I were to talk about the stuff that I am leaving out, you would probably find it boring anyway.)
The summer has started, and it's short and not very snowy, as befits a Finnish summer. Had a weekend full of parties, beers, picnics, and the best bachelor party ever (Kikka's). The mood is sunny even though the weather is somewhat rainy.
Been shopping for fun, too. People who say that shopping doesn't make you happy just don't shop in the right kind of places.
Not so much new in life, at least not the stuff that I can talk about without endangering other people privacy, or our NDA. (For the curious: if I were to talk about the stuff that I am leaving out, you would probably find it boring anyway.)
The summer has started, and it's short and not very snowy, as befits a Finnish summer. Had a weekend full of parties, beers, picnics, and the best bachelor party ever (Kikka's). The mood is sunny even though the weather is somewhat rainy.
Been shopping for fun, too. People who say that shopping doesn't make you happy just don't shop in the right kind of places.
Shooting women and children
Every time some news source writes something like "the soldiers were shooting women and children" it makes me suspicious. All kinds of questions arise:
- Are they talking about civilian women and children, or combatant women and children? Or both?
- If they are talking about civilian women and children, what has happened to the civilian men?
Yes, I do realize that sometimes the journalists just see soldiers (or whoever) shoot some women and children and simply don't know anything else about the situation, but in general the use of "women and children" in this context smells either of "well, some of the combatants of the other side were female and/or underage, why don't we call them women and children to create the impression that the soldiers were killing unarmed civilians" or "the soldiers had already killed the civilian men the day before, but who cares".
- Are they talking about civilian women and children, or combatant women and children? Or both?
- If they are talking about civilian women and children, what has happened to the civilian men?
Yes, I do realize that sometimes the journalists just see soldiers (or whoever) shoot some women and children and simply don't know anything else about the situation, but in general the use of "women and children" in this context smells either of "well, some of the combatants of the other side were female and/or underage, why don't we call them women and children to create the impression that the soldiers were killing unarmed civilians" or "the soldiers had already killed the civilian men the day before, but who cares".
Monday, May 16, 2011
Iranian justice
In Iran, Majid Movahedi is waiting to have his eyes burned out with acid. The punishment was scheduled for last Saturday, then postponed over the public outcry. Maybe it will happen, maybe it won't, maybe it already has.
Don't tell me that this is a barbaric punishment. I know this, and if anyone ever asks me whether Finland or the US should start using it, my answer would be a very strong and definite "no!". My problem is, I guess, that I don't seem to be bothered if the Iranians use it on Movahedi. As Finns would say, the cup of my compassion is oveflowing but shallow. I have coffee spoons deeper that that cup. In fact I don't seem to find any liquid in it at all.
(In case anyone is interested as to why Mr. Movahedi is being punished in this way, well, he threw a cup of acid into the face of a woman who rejected his marriage offer, blinding and disfiguring her in the process. The facts of the matter are not in dispute.)
Even as I ask why any public is bothering to cry out on his behalf, I realize that the compassion in general, the concept of cruel and unusual punishment in itself, and the extent of attention one gives to various imperfections in one's world are deeply emotional issues, and my questions are also just expressions of the emotions of my own, but I still wonder: why?
I can understand what makes people protest against cruel and unusual punishment in their own country, or in the cases where their own citizens are convicted abroad, or in the cases when any obviously innocent people are convicted anywhere. In this case I am just wondering: why are Western people demanding a civilized kind of punishment? This is Iran we are talking about, not a civilized country. You know, Iran? That's the country where a couple of weeks ago several people, including the president's chief of staff, were accused of witchcraft, sorcery and invoking djinns. What kind of a civilized punishment can one expect from a nation like that?
It's quite possible that Ahmadinejad's chief of staff is not a very nice person, but I am also quite sure beyond any reasonable doubt that he has not invoked any djinns. At least not successfully.
Usually I an quite annoyed when people tell other people that they should switch their attention from one public issue to another, but seriously, even if one's favorite public concern is the state of justice in Iran, I wonder why anyone would start with Majid Movahedi.
Don't tell me that this is a barbaric punishment. I know this, and if anyone ever asks me whether Finland or the US should start using it, my answer would be a very strong and definite "no!". My problem is, I guess, that I don't seem to be bothered if the Iranians use it on Movahedi. As Finns would say, the cup of my compassion is oveflowing but shallow. I have coffee spoons deeper that that cup. In fact I don't seem to find any liquid in it at all.
(In case anyone is interested as to why Mr. Movahedi is being punished in this way, well, he threw a cup of acid into the face of a woman who rejected his marriage offer, blinding and disfiguring her in the process. The facts of the matter are not in dispute.)
Even as I ask why any public is bothering to cry out on his behalf, I realize that the compassion in general, the concept of cruel and unusual punishment in itself, and the extent of attention one gives to various imperfections in one's world are deeply emotional issues, and my questions are also just expressions of the emotions of my own, but I still wonder: why?
I can understand what makes people protest against cruel and unusual punishment in their own country, or in the cases where their own citizens are convicted abroad, or in the cases when any obviously innocent people are convicted anywhere. In this case I am just wondering: why are Western people demanding a civilized kind of punishment? This is Iran we are talking about, not a civilized country. You know, Iran? That's the country where a couple of weeks ago several people, including the president's chief of staff, were accused of witchcraft, sorcery and invoking djinns. What kind of a civilized punishment can one expect from a nation like that?
It's quite possible that Ahmadinejad's chief of staff is not a very nice person, but I am also quite sure beyond any reasonable doubt that he has not invoked any djinns. At least not successfully.
Usually I an quite annoyed when people tell other people that they should switch their attention from one public issue to another, but seriously, even if one's favorite public concern is the state of justice in Iran, I wonder why anyone would start with Majid Movahedi.
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