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Today I passed by a couple of old friends hanging outside a bar. One of them remarked that "Life begins at forty," and there was general consensus among the peers.
They were both, I assume, well above forty. And well into their 8th beer.
But what kind of implications does such a world-view bring about?

For one, I'm dead.
I've been dead for the past 20 years and I'll continue to be dead until I'm forty.

To some people, being dead is an obvious disadvantage. I'm not that sure, though. Dead people don't have to pay taxes, don't really need a job, have no urges to settle and they don't worry too often about getting laid. Their laid-getting is over and done with.
Relatives and love ones come by every once in a while, mostly lamenting tho, but at least they have the decency to decorate the roof properly.
For a dead person, all pride lies in the fundaments of having a nice roof. If someone lying next to you on the graveyard has a nicer roof than you, I'd expect you'd get pretty annoyed. Lying there at nights with your eyes closed, just knowing that he's got a helluva lot more flowahs than I do.
Flower Power, people!
And for some, the petunias stolen from Mrs. Anderson's backyard isn't good enough. You've got to have roses. Dozens of 'em. Preferrably arranged in some neat little arrangment there, just above your rotting body. And please, remove the plastic cover!

But I'm pretty much sure I ain't dead.
Because I pay taxes, have a job, have many urges and worry too often about getting laid. And I don't give a good damn about my roof, as long as its there, doesn't complain or suddenly decides to fall down.

Some people spend their entire life waiting for God.
Not that strange, then, that I spend mine waiting for the paycheck.

Money...
I don't like them, nor do I hate them. They can certainly have some ill effects on people, but that would require it being quite a lot of it at stake. I've never seen much cash, and today I'd to take another bite from my debt-building funds just to be able to live indoors.
At the time, living indoors is a cutting edge advantage, with the snow and the cold and all. And I want to keep that cutting edge. I don't live very nice, nor very cheap, but I'm content.

This weekend I overdrew my account by 60NOK. There's a strange way percentages work in a bank. When you're on the plus side, you get nickels, but a week on the minus side spawns bills in the hundreds. If I had had enough cash, I would start my own bank, so that I never had to worry about being on the minus side. But then, I'd be my only customer too, so it would be kind of hard to deal with missing funds.
I could trial myself for financial fidelity.
But then I'd probably free myself on insufficient grounds, shake my hands and take myself to a dinner somewhere nice, further ruining my economical situation.

It's not much of a situation per se. I'm dead broke.
I bought an apple today, that's about it.
'twas a really good apple. Fresh and juicy. Worth my last crowners.

Sitting here, with my African Rooibos tea, I've got three bags left, one of 'em is lemon. I'm saving that to the day I know for sure I'll die from starvation. Kinda sucks not having the books I'm supposed to be studying too. After twelve years of public school (including High School) you learn how to guess on the material. You develop a cognitive gut-feel, so you can more or less accurately meet the benchmarks the teachers and professors are looking for. Not so in philosophy.
Philosophy is more of a study of opposing, contradictory beliefs and perspectives. How these can be combined, how to avoid misunderstanding, and how to eloquently snatch that blonde in front of the big guys who's majoring in gymnastics. And how to make the latter not perform martial art on your ass. It's a trade, knowing how to not end up with a face falling under the 'abstract' category.

Aristotle admitted that there was an obvious advantage being born with some cash. I must agree. I'm born into one of the richest societies in the world - that's just statistics but still - it gives you a cutting edge advantage. And being alive, despite the age-40 principle, is another advantage.

I can still get a good night's sleep and dream restlessly - yet passionately - about Milla Jovovich into the brink of dawn; despite my financial situation. So.. in so many many ways, I'm rich. Sounds like a cliché, but it's true.

I still want a new effin laptop and wireless connection, though. You can't eat the internet, but it gives you something to do while you wait for the paycheck. Hello World.

#605739
mixtapelove6: if a four year old kissed you on the lips twice, what would you do?
Fosforix: hit it with the newspaper and say "no"

#604428
italy4me: i hate fucking people.
italy4me: wait.
italy4me: reverse that
italy4me: i fucking hate people.

#604095
<CreQ> a lot of millitary interragaters are psychologists
<thecatisold> and a lot of priests are massage therapists

#603525
<erl1> my gf is getting 8mbit
<erl1> im glad i didn't dump her
<erl1> im gonna go over to her place with my box and leech

#602224
Lunatic: All those opposed to the patriot act raise your right hand
Lunatic: Raise your hand high
Lunatic: Now raise the other one
Lunatic: Hands behind your back
Lunatic: you're under arrest for treason

#36
<McMoo> wouldn't it be great if someone made a program where we could connect to a server and chat with each other in channels we create?

#758
[PhantomDeath(kvirc@vw-25884.iprimus.net.au)] hey tim, im realy good at Windows NT. Do you think I could be apart of the 2600 network?

#1116
<var> hrmm
<var> how the fuck did a shortcut to e13ay end up on my desktop
<var> what kinda nefarious shit is windows update pulling
<Guilty> It's your computers way of saying it wants a new owner
<Guilty> Like a dog scratching on the door to get out

#1599
<Prae> omg
<Prae> why the fuck do people put copyright notices ont heir shit
<Prae> it takes me long time to remove it :(

#2596
<jstepka> there is nothing about you a complete personality change couldn’t fix.

I've been way too lazy as to maintaning the entertainment section of this page. All I do is ramble. Ramble, ramble, ramble. That's a lot of rambling. Here to make up for my self-centered egoism, a re-opening of the Sigg3.net weekly poll! And it's all for you!

Poll #21: «Does underwear get you off?»

Does it? Be it:
and/or

You know the drill. Spoof your IP, put on your dark glasses and vote anonymously. Thanks!

EDIT: Despite numerous requests, I will not put up pictures of myself in underwear.

A most daft question, I might add.. Sorry about that:)

Yes: 91%
No: 5%
No, but I will now: 2%
I just hate nerds: 0%

Number of votes: 37

Sigge swimming for his life (Norwegian)
Twice a week the Persian cat Sigge must swim 80 metres to make up for its damaged legs. As a kitten, its legs started to give in, and Sigge was due for being put to sleep. But then a dog-fysiotherapist came up with his water gymnastics and saved Sigge's life. We're all very grateful.


Beaver boom worries Oslo (English)
"The City of Oslo is carefully monitoring its newly swelling population of beavers as the rodents move nearer the capital's sources of drinking water." I've never thought of beavers as rodents before. But they sure can bite! Check out the picture of caretaker Henning Kristiansen. Looks like a beaver hunter, all right.


Nasa to test SuitSat technology February 3rd
This breathtaking new technology is nothing but an astronaut's suit. "SuitSat is a Russian brainstorm," explains Frank Bauer of NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center. "Some of our Russian partners in the ISS program, mainly a group led by Sergey Samburov, had an idea: Maybe we can turn old spacesuits into useful satellites." SuitSat is a first test of that idea.
I can foresee 2001-like consequences here. They just send up shuttles with people innit, "ready to do some maintenance", and all of a sudden the pod bay doors won't open..
- Open the pod bay door, HAL....
  Open the pod bay door, HAL.
- I'm afraid I can't do that, Dave.
- Open the pod bay door, HAL.
- I cannot compromise the mission, Dave.
- (mumbles something under his breath)
- Do you want me to sing you a song while you freeze to death, Dave?

.. which brings me to my latest hack tutorial: How to make a satellite
1. Find some stuff
2. Find a suit
3. Toss stuff into suit
4. Toss suit into space
5. Sue NASA for copyright infringement
6. ????
7. Profit!

Sigg3 receives /. MOD points!!
Yees! After all this time!
The journey has been long, and dangerous.
I have seen many things along the path. Small, furry things, with teeth.
I have learned to acchieve puddles of peace in the chaos of the Universe,
and alas! the Buddha gives me Slashdot MOD points.

No, we're not talking Bill Gates' kids or anything. Garden gnomes!

Actually, they claim to have the finest collection of garden gnomes in the world. What does that mean, really? I think all of them look suspiciously like old, perverse drunks. But no. According to this site, they're "high quality garden art". You learn something new every day:)

Link of the day: garden-gnomes-need-homes.com

You should especially check out the fascinating photo shoot called The Senior Garden Gnomes put Jezebel on trial. Jezebel was an unsuspecting bitch, e.g. golden retriever, put on trial for digging in the flowerbed..
(The picture attached does not reflect the Link of the Day's business profile or secret agenda... at least not as far as I know...
But I mean, you do start to wonder when people do this for a living, right? I wonder what they do in the spare time.. Do they walk around nude? With a storage room of voyeurist gnomes? Now that's a fetish if you ask me!)

1. Since the pornosladd (black square over male organs in moving pictures) was deemed unnecessary by the Norwegian supreme court last year, whom earlier established stripping as an artform*, there hasn't been much controversy around the matter.
   Yesterday I noticed an ad in the newspaper for one of these 1-800 sex phone services, you know the story-telling kind for $100 a minute, that ensured enhanced pleasure since the pornosladd has been removed!
   
   (* I back the supreme court all the way on this one. The first time I entered a Norwegian strip joint I was stunned by the proffesionalism in running it. It's so clean. You should check it out for yourself! Bring the kids!)
    
2. It's not really nice meeting someone you know, but haven't seen for a period of time, when you really have to take a piss.
    
3. I accidentally found out where some of Oslo's cheating couples get themselves laid. No, I didn't find out the fun way.
   Down by the old Aftenposten building there are rows of huts, and I happened to notice the exchange of kisses and vows (man, some girls are easy) by cheating couples . I gather none of the parties involved were prostitutes, since everyone seemed to have come in their own car.
   The enthusiasm was screaming! ..literally.
    
4. A band playing punk-music and old rock'n roll is looking for a drummer. I listened to them playing outside the building for a while, but decided to think more about it. If there's one thing I don't have enough of at the moment, it's time to spare.
   The lead singer is a girl named Pirri....
   In my mind, Pirri is the kind of girl who'd fancy a short, blond guy with glasses, and try to lure him into conducting horrifying acts of sexual perversion. But I don't believe in mixing business with pleasure, at least not on a grand scale.
   Consider the possibility of Spice girls all having se-... wait, that's not a good example.. the members of U2 all getting it on.
   You wouldn't want to know more about that at all. And Bono strikes me as selling music by dark mysterious winking to longing housewives. It can't be the lyrics (at least not anymore. I did like Joshua Tree, though).
   I put the idea on hold.
    
5. I'm not sure whether I will have the good fortune to sleep inside a building for so much longer. The reason is the gaping void between my costs of living and my humble income. My income is as humble as a self-chosen hermit locked away in a six-by-six foot box somewhere in the desolate areas of Himalaya. That's not an income that hangs around bragging about itself.
   Then there's the books.
   I recently discovered that in the University, you're supposed to read alot of books. I actually don't mind reading them, but I mind paying 250NOK for each and every one of them. Especially when you have three to five books for every course, three courses every semester, two semesters a year and no scholarship thanks to the "quality reform" courtesy of Norwegian anti-intellectual politicians.
   At the moment I'm taking a Bachelor degree in Philosophy, and I've figured out that the only way I can pay for that is to become a hit man. I want to write my thesis on Ethics - - soaked in blood of innocent victims.
    
6. Not all waitresses know the difference between a friendly guest and a guest who's your friend. I'm the first kind. Rub me the wrong way, and I'll be the opposite of the first kind. But I'm not your friend.
   This was not the case in the mind of 23 year old blond chick at the café I usually go to. Last Saturday I came there looking for tranquility, coffee and opportunity to write.
   Eventually I got down to writing, but that was after a bunch of Danish tourists had saved me from the worries of the waitress. She was going to have an interview with some artist college in Liverpool, and wanted my philosophical input. Sure, baby. Close the store, get those clothes off and we'll talk about it.
   Only not right now. I come here for a reason, and frankly - it's not you.
   I fear that she didn't get in, and that the coming Saturday I will have to hear all about it.
    
7. Getting keys to Microsoft products is easier than I thought. You pick up the phone, give them a call, act retarded and there you go.
    
8. I can be most cynical at times. A heartless prick.
   But that's hardly news, now is it?
    
9. Running out of things to say, here..
    
10. I really think Western civilization is overrated. Get over it. 

That's more or less it. I'm planning to get a haircut by Friday, if I can produce sufficient funds. That was post 777 in all it's glory. All open and accessible, just the way we like it. Stay tuned.

Revenge of Frankenstein (1958)
Starring the good, ol' Peter Cusher as the good doctor himself, I found the plot and effects more intruiging than I first had imagined. Yes, the special effects are simple, but they are also tuned down unlike modern cinema where the fx make most of the plot.
This is the sequel to the original movie about a doctor who created an artificial human gone wrong. Doctor Frankenstein was sentenced to death, but in the beginning of this film we see how he escapes the guillotine at the last moment. Then we follow him to his new practice in another town three years later.
This time he knows that an artificial brain won't do. You must settle for the real thing. At this revelation I pondered: Then how is this going to be interesting? He's just creating another human being...? I was surprised on the turn the plot took to make it sufficiently creepy.
Good old classic, nothing to be afraid of, see it with a girl.

A Clockwork Orange (1971)
This is not the first time I've seen this movie, it was probably around the fifth. First of all, let me commemorate Kubrick as among the greatest artists in film. When you chase ancient history of movie-making for just the right kind of lense that will portray light the right way for the atmosphere, you are an artist. (That was for Barry Lyndon.)
If you look at the acting in this film, you'll see that most of the cast are type-cast, except for young Alex who is found to be deeper than society judges him.
And this movie is more about society than of violent sub-cultures. Thought provocing indeed.

A virgin among the living dead (1973)
Jesus Franco is well-known for his semi-pornographic horrorfilms, and you get the idea by reading through some of his famous titles: The Spirit of Vampyros Lesbos, Two Female Spies with Flowered Panties, Swedish Nympho Slaves etc (full filmography). He has made and written a long series of sadistic films of art, experimenting with Freudian symbolism and light/shade filming. And he does have a sense for nocturnal beauty, the goth thing:)
I loved this film.
Christina von Blanc, the 'virgin' in the title, is nude or half-nude in all scenes. She's not a brilliant actor, I'd say, even though she's convincingly naive and has a really great - - behind. Ahem. Franco probably casted her for that, since he's constantly zooming in on it when the dreaded Christina is asleep and having her nightmares. Why don't you see for yourself? Here's free movie clips from the film:D
I especially enjoyed the scene where she woke up and found a big, black clay penis standing on the floor. Gotta love Jesus Franco. Not many living dead innit, tho, and I had been looking forward to some slasher gore. But you can't have it all. Good thing it had some nudity at least.

Secret Policeman's Ball 1 & 2 (1981/1982)
A charity thing the Monty Python did for Amnesty International in the early eighties. If you know what Monty Python is all about, you know that this is not stand-up comedy in any sense, but nevertheless a jaw-breaking performance (in terms of laughter).
A must-see for any MP fan, and recommended to those who'd like a dip into the world of Monty Python's most famous sketches.
The first time I saw this one, I re-wound it and saw it again!

Chronicles of Junior M.A.F.I.A. DVD (2004?)
First ever rap "documentary" I've seen, and as an amateur to the old hip-hop wars of America, it really helped me understand some of the basics in this not-forgotten history. As most of us know, B.I.G was shot and killed in 1997, the MC of Junior M.A.F.I.A (Junior Masters At Finding Intelligent Attitudes) and historically one of the best known MCs.
Following his death there were alot of controversies and conspiracy theories. This DVD tries to clear things up a little, at least from the group's point of view.
You can clearly trust JM of being real, as most of them are either broke, in jail or onto drugs - and it was interesting to follow some of the amateur footage and interviews to hear their side of the story.

Michael sent me an e-mail telling me the new b2 support forum is up and running. Since licklinux.com's site went down, it was a bit of a stir as to who should host the new page. As a host for b2 Cafélog Resource Center I would have been happy to do it, but at the same time I'm running out of webspace:p

Luckily for us, Michael decided to host it:
http://board.michaelpark.net

Tell your friends to register! Since the official b2 message board was hacked back in March 2005, the support forum has been running on a voluntary basis. If it hadn't been for the dedication of volunteering individuals, the support would have died out. But you can always reach b2 support forum through my b2 resources page, but I hope it has found a permanent home at our friend Michael's. Thanks!

This entire week has been like one very long Monday. It has been like Dante's inferno in slow motion, except I wasn't Dante and didn't win the girl or the grace of God. I was all those unfortunates he walked past, gave a tourist wave to, shrugged and left alone, while demons burned the soles of my feet. Thanks alot, Dante!

I turned on Silverchair's Frogstomp this morning instead of listening to the radio. I felt immensely good and self-justified as the first line of Israel's son boomed across the room, probably stirring the drunk on the 4th floor; I HATE YOU.
I don't hate anyone. It's just good to say it sometimes. I hate you.

I've eaten spaghetti with sausages the entire week. It still doesn't taste good.

It could definitely be the glue.
Since they started re-decorating, or rather turning my universe upside down, there has been a faint smell of glue around this open office. Headaches have become more frequent, some weak individuals refrain from coming to work, others have moved - and here I'm stuck. It's like being lost on an island where you know that only brainpower can save you, but the only thing you've got to eat is hashish cookies and coke. That's not coke as in coca cola coke.
Working with IT and sniffing glue doesn't go that well together, apparently.

Incidently, this particular office is called Plata (the Plateau). If you've ever been to Oslo and stumbled into this small, squareish park just outside the city trainstation, you've been to Plata. Before the police began their blitzkrieg on drugs - which didn't lead to anything good - it was filled with the most hardcore heroinists, used needles and drugdealers. For some reason, my office was called Plata. We are only young, underpaid people working here, and we don't say no to a good party - any day at all.

But this glue is getting to me. I don't sleep well, and I get the itches when I'm not at work. And I have been doing more overtime than usual lately. Am I physically addicted to work? I dunno. Can't focus. Need a cigarette. Have a nice weekend.

This is how I think when I work. This is also my only room:)

Please go to Alarmprisen 2006 (below):
http://www.alarmprisen.no/06/?page_id=14

and vote for Cloroform. Their album, Cracked Wide Open, kicked ass upon release and even today. Cloroform is one of the few very interesting punk/jazz bands in Norway today. Thanks for helping out!

Last night I was going to finish Accidental Empires by Robert Cringely, expect my book report any minute, so I sat there with my orange juice and my cigarettes plowing through computer hardware and software history since the 70's. All of a sudden a fire truck passed by my window.

As some of you know, I live on the 1st floor, with a window facing the street. Apart from having strangers invade my privacy every three minutes, this make me the most updated man on current events in the street. A fire truck is nothing new, though. And thanks to the bar across the road that only opens for busses and emergency vehicles, I'm quite used to having blue blitzkrieg in my home, when a police car is waiting for allowance to pass.

This time the blitzkrieg lasted a little longer than usual.
I looked out. Was the bar broken? Or, more realistically, the mission aborted?
I noticed there were several big fire trucks there, waiting in line... Unloading shit... Raising the ladder...

HOLY SHIT! It's in my building!
I opened my window and through a light storm equal to paparazzis around Paris Hilton saw that they'd blocked off the street, ambulances, firetrucks and police cars. People across the street, just eight meters from me, were making worrying pointing movements towards my roof.

Reality sometimes comes as a shock.
And I was determined to read my book. I mean, that was what I was hanging around for. I had to finish it. I'd borrowed it from the wife of my boss. But the blinking, blue lights and the growing crowd outside my window was kind of worrying at the same time. I'm a 22 year old 9 year old boy without insurance. I keep my most important stuff on a memory stick, and I have my backpack at the end of the bed. Not because I'm paranoid, but because the only things not replacable in my appartment, except from myself, is my written shit. And I am a little paranoid too.

I knocked on the door of one of the girls I share appartment with. She was watching TV, totally ignorant of the developing warzone outside her window. "Errr. Have you seen the stuff outside the window?" She shrugged, she hadn't. "Maybe you should have a look." She did and panicked.
She's a west-side kind of girl, not actually from the west-side, but from West Norway. In West Norway, people live in small, pretty houses, have decent jobs and goes to church every sunday. There are no alcoholics, no crime and no social inequalities on the West coast - at least not in the minds of the people there. And they think terrorists are waiting in every bush here in Oslo, thanks to Bush, ready to slice their throat or something. I should have known better than to tell her. Women are so emotional. While she was clutching her hand together, ready to pray, I obliged to her wish and decided to go out and find out what the hell was happening.

And all I really wanted was to read my book.

I rolled my cigarette, checked that my memory stick was in the backpack in case I would have to run back in and save my stuff. And the girl. Then I put on my jacket, did not tie my shoelaces and got on out into the chaos of emergency.
The thing about bystanders in any accident, is that they seem high on the knowledge that they were there first, that they know what's happening. There's a silent glee hovering across their karma, and if you meet the bastard who actually called 911 to begin with, you're apt to hear his full story of how he walked along, going to see his new girlfriend and naturally thinking about her, when all of a sudden BOOM! etc.
As if you cared.

I crossed the street, lit up a cigarette - to the annoyance of a fireman standing next to me - and watched the show. The entire block was blocked, in addition to the people on the street all of my building were gazing out the window, trying to establish some coherent grip on the situation, and all that was really lacking was a fire. They were controlling the ladder towards the roof of my nextdoor building, lighting it up with big floodlights, but they couldn't find a fart.

By the time my cigarette was finished, some of the trucks had turned off their sirens and lights, they were lowering the ladder and the police cars were on their way for coffee. I told this to the nervous breakdown inside, who were still afraid that yes, it had been a terrorist bombing, and I added to her fears by saying that smoke had been seen and I myself had smelled something strange. Which was true, but who knows what it was. I wished her goodnight, as the hero I am, and finally I could sit down and finish my book.

The things I must go through simply by being me. But I don't think other people would manage being me. I'm probably the only one that can cope.

Had to run over to the shop for one of my clients today. She was in the process of transferring her documents from her previous workplace to her new one. I was inclined to use CD-R discs, but she insisted on getting a nice 1GB memory stick instead, and if you've ever met scientists - you know not to argue with them.
When you put the story forward, that a disc costs less than $1 and that we've got plenty of'em, she'll nod, pat you on the head and say: "Yes, Sigg3, that's nice, but what about my memory stick?"

I ran over to Clas Ohlson. Now, Clas Ohlson is the kind of store that has everything from rotating x-mas tree feet and penis enlargers to geeky tools like bluetooth headsets and toothbrush mp3 players. And USB memory sticks. I had a look around though, since another one of my scientists had requested a special kind of mousepad, the kind with a hill of gel on one side of it that's always in the way and feels like a woman's front (which is quite comfortable, actually, but rather annoying when you're writing macros in Excel). Anyway, they didn't have it.

They are worried about geek shoplifters at Clas Ohlson's, so they keep all the tiny bits behind a counter for which there is a queue. I got in line there, standing behind some moron who complained about having downloaded a picture to his cellphone and its going nuts afterwards, to which the geek behind the counter countered: There is a manual, you know.
Great. One of those. My turn.

I stepped forward past an angry cellular phone owner leaving the premises, and coughed politely.
- Have you got 1 gigabyte memory sticks?
- Yes, we have some in the back.
I nodded.
- They're 798 NOK each. (approximately $120 USD!!)
- WHAT?
He nodded.
- That's expensive.

Sometimes, you try to say more with less words, like the parental "NO!" for instance.
But the clerk just shrugged.

- I mean, that IS expensive. Come on. What are the 512mb sticks at?
- 230 NOK each.
- So I could buy two of them and save 340NOK. In fact, I could buy three of them and still save money.

He giggled geekily. The kind of giggle that makes you want to see how well a fist would look planted firmly in that grin.

- So it IS fucking expensive.
He refused to concur.
Knowing that my scientist would settle for no less than her wildest dreams, I had to oblige. There'll be a sufficient amount of time, say half a year, before I go tête-à-tête with another victim of Clas Ohlson capitalism again. It's too bad that I actually like the shop. But I've never and will never buy memory sticks there, not from my personal wallet anyway, and not when some spotty brat stands there smiling at me because he knows I'm running out of time and need exactly that memory stick.

He's playing a dangerous game, that kid. I could be a serial killer circling aimlessly around town to find my next victim. With that kind of west-side behaviour I'd be forced to crack open his ribs and eat his guts while he was still alive and watching. That'd been the only natural thing to do. So make that a lesson for you, kids. Never sell over-priced merchandice to someone who knows you're screwing him.

..and if you're allergic to chocolate, you choke and you die.
This past week has been hell in preview. It still is, but I thought you guys deserved to know just how hellish it is, getting up and going to work when other people are having time off. Destroyed, as it were, by New Year's Eve hangovers.
That's a hangover in plural.

You think you had a tough Monday? Why? Because you'd to ignore your bodily needs and eat fourteen days old bread for breakfast, and concentrate leaves of tea to imitate the coffee you don't have? Getting there and being yelled at by your boss who really hates your guts and employed you for the sole purpose of sleeping with your wife? You think that's hard?

When I woke up this Monday, I died.

It's true. Then I had to build a time machine, go back to birth, re-live my entire boring life - almost 22 years - second by second up until the Monday morning when I died, make sure not to die again AND THEN I had drag myself out of bed and get to work, no coffee whatsoever. The entire experience was like having a live cat surgically implanted in my guts by Mexican drugdealers, who never passed medical school, and feeling it claw its way out of my system, inch by inch. A bystander said to me it was like watching a cow being slain in slow motion backwards.

Apart from that I'm making money and doing just fine.
I haven't received the results from my last two exams yet, but I'm sure they'll suck (even when I get an A, it sucks). I did release my satire on Statistics the day before New Year's though. It's called Defining Statistics and Social Research: A pretty objective introduction to Science. It was well-applauded by the few bothering to read it. It's a 60 page investigation into the perilous realm of mockering Social Research from a Grimberg-like-point-of-view. Here's an excerpt from my assessment of the Statistician as an agent:

\\ quote

The statistician can simply be described as a 'being whose main concerns are numbers and the crunching thereof'.

I've tested randomly chosen statisticians by surprising them in the hallway and throwing a good equation or some unknown factors at them instead of the usual
'hello'. All of them stopped, looked at me, then for a split-second their eyes flickered and they hurled their consciousness into the world of equations. Their eyes rolled back into the skull, hands clutched, some of them panting, chasing themselves like a naked, wild animal in the forests of ones and zeros. They dipped their toe into the matrix before returning with the answer and an excuse for having a cigarette.

\\ end quote

As you can understand, not everyone felt good about having a little kid like me bothering to have opinions about what they are doing (or not doing). But those who really think that are missing the point the only good way you can do it, and that's by taking it literally. Listen to the images, the concepts and the humor. I might decide to put it on the web, but I'd have to remove some stuff from it. No, not the images I stole from the web, but Fafo's name and such.

I think 2006 is going to be a terrible year.
In my point of view, we should just skip 2006 altogether and get onto 2007. 2007 is the year the cool stuff happens, whatever they are, while 2006 is only the Year of Waiting. It's like being a Palestine in Year -1. And everybody knows 2001 was alot cooler than 2000. 2007 - the year cool stuff happens, 2010 - the year we make contact, 2065 - the year somebody died etc. While 2006 = Year of Crap.
Just check it with Wikipedia!
Year 1006: Holmgang (deadly duel) declared illegal in Iceland.
Year 1007: Songjiang County, the later city of Shanghai, is founded.

Shanghai rocks, denial of holmgang doesn't.
In addition, year 1007 was the year Aethelred buys two years of peace with the Danes for 36,000 pounds of silver when everybody else knew he could've gotten it for at least half the price!

Anyway, so far no one has supported my campaign End 2006 Now! Most people think I'm a doomsday prophet. I'm not. I might advance it by one year, but what the heck, it'll be long after we wiped ourselves out after some crazy anonymous terrorist removed all safety instructions from the face of the Earth. In addition, I suggest we stop calling Earth Earth and acknowledge its true masters. Let's call it Google Earth from now on. I've already sent my proposal to NASA.

But that's just me.