two ways to fight

I'm fighting a depression.
One of the ways that help me stave of the grey gloom is computer games (those that leaves some free to my own imagination).
Another way is tasty food.

I've left an order for three portions of Tandori Chicken.
It'll be food for days.

dangerous dancers, and beneficial hooligans

Okey. Let's examine a thing the police in Norrköping did recently, and the effects if the police-authorities are consistent.They estimated they would need 77 police officers to keep eyes on a dance festival for ten hours, and thus charged 708400 Swedish kronor (aproximately 100k USD) to give their permission to host the thing.
That's 920 kronor per police and hour.

To hold a football game (that is, soccer for you in the USA) with the more troublesome supporter clubs there might need to be as many cops to try to keep people in line, for about the same amount of time (it's not as much during the game as before and after) so they should charge the clubs for as much money to be allowed to host and participate in the games. Right?

Guess what.
Football clubs get about 75% discount, and they only have to pay for the police presence -during the actual game-. The hooligans usually don't go out to wreck shopping mall windows during the matches, but after.

Oh well.
Never mind my ramblings.

seriously bad

Ok, so I've very recently (that is, about 10 minutes before starting to write this) got confirmation that my situation is seriously bad.

Anybody who knows enough about feline biology knows that procreation for house-cats isn't a thoroughly pleasant activity for for the female. The one female feline fatale who have experience of such things that I share living quarters with -willingly and of her own accord- offered herself.

It made me run through a quick list of individual of compatible physiognomy that I could turn to.
First of in the list of people came my exes. None of them was found suitable to turn to, for various reasons.
Secondly came non-exes that I had shared a bed with ... and it was the same result there.
As for new experiences ... Right. There's a tale about the Little Red Riding-hood, heard it?
I don't want to try to change who I am, what I am, just to satisfy a pesky human need.
I've gone without seven years once, and I can do it again.

If I, despite all odds, would get any kind of offer from a visitor, the answer is "No. I mean it. Seriously. You'd end up with broken bones and torn flesh for starters, IF you survive." It's THAT bad.

Till Alfons Karabuda

Hej Alfons Karabuda

Får jag fråga:
Hur mycket vill du ha betalt för att din granne skall kunna ha dubbla kopior av sina semesterbilder?

Det är nämligen den lyxen som tillfaller dig som etablerad kompositör under CopySwedes beskydd.
Jag hade inte haft något som helst problem med de avgifter som CopySwede kan ta ut på tomma CD, DVD, flashminnen och hårddiskar om pengarna hade gått till att lyfta fram mindre kända artister som t.ex. Imaginatron med sin demoskiva DedicaTion <http://imaginatron.bandcamp.com/> (registrerad hos STIM och Kungligabiblioteket), eller aktivt verkande för grundläggande yttrandefriheter som att driva TOR-servrar.
Istället lägger CopySwede och stora immaterialrättsinnehavare sina pengar på att öka sina intäkter och förlänga copyright.

Fråga nummer två:
Hur stort värde tycker du att det finns i Disneys "Steamboat Willie" i dagens läge, och att ingen "rör den" annat än med Disneys godkännande?

Saken är den att trots att alla inblandade i skapandet av den filmen är sedan länge döda (snart 50 år), så är den filmen upphovsrättsskyddad. Om det inte finns något som helst kulturellt värde i att skaparna får betalt för den undrar jag varför du, som talesperson för Kulturskaparna, kan argumentera för att "Steamboat Willie" skall vara upphovsrätts skyddad, men inte större verk så som det producerat av till exempel Beethoven eller Händel.

sick

I don't know if I can honestly say I hate being sick, or merely dislike it a bunch.
It's no fun any way.

Reading interesting logs is a comfort in the isolation, though a small comfort.

Letters

What follows are a couple of letters that may or may not be read by their respective "recipient".

The reason I write them here and not in an e-mail or snail-mail is that ... I can't.

My mind and feelings for these people are much more complicated than the letters may indicate. I mostly write these to unburden my chest so to speak.

Anyway.

-----*-----

Hi.

How and where to begin this letter to you?

Perhaps with a bit of background? Seems fair. The first couple of times I met you, you and your companions intimidated me, though not intentionally from your side. At the same time I may have come across as a bit aloof and/or evasive. That's how I used to avoid potential harm, both physical and mental.

I know now that it was part an act from your side, and part my own insecurities that caused those first meetings to be no more than amicable.

I have matured since then, and my curiosity for you have grown.

Do I think we would work as a couple? Actually ... no. I do however want you to play a greater role in my life, and a chance for me to play a greater role in yours. Because I do think we both have a lot we could learn from one another, if we both dared lower our defences. I am willing to take the first step.

-----*-----

Ello.

You know what? I miss you. I miss the person I learned to love deeply and passionately.

When I look at what you've become, all I can see is an empty shell of what you used to be.
Sometimes I wish I could cry for what you, from my perspective, do to try to fill that void. Because from over here it doesn't look pretty.
I'm not going to stop being a friend, stop talking with you, but unless I see some positive change I don't know how much of a friend I can continue to be to you.
I know it's not easy for you all the time, and I've tried my darnedest to give you support ... but friendship is a two way street, and I can't honestly say you've done much for me lately. I don't think I have asked for much either, but even the little that I have asked for ... well, it was on your conditions, or not at all. Which kind of spoiled the whole caboodle for me.

-----*-----

I love you, and I despise you.
You have a close to perfect body to fall for, in my eyes. You're smart. You've got interests and hobbies that I share. You're selfish or at least egocentric.
I know and respect that you don't have any kind of feelings for me at all. That however makes it no less painful for me when you publicly jest about my feelings for you. I respect your relationships, and your monogamy. Can you respect my feelings for you, even if they're not mutual?
I'm not the strongest of persons in any way, but at times it seems you have even less spine than me. Perhaps that is why you want to be the centre of attention as much as possible? Why it's your ideas and plans that should get all the help and assistance right now, while everybody else should feel bad about not leaping quickly enough to your aid.

-----*-----

who else to write a letter to?
well, none today at least.

to whom it may concern

Ok.

So, you chewed me out because of what I've written on facebook.
Fine.
I deserved that.
However, did you even for a second stop to think about WHY I wrote those things on facebook, and didn't tell you directly. Is it because you only read them because you're a friend of a friend?
Considering that we meet at least once a week, and it's been months since I sent a friends-request on facebook to you ... mmh, yea.
Let's just start with that one.

Secondly, want to hear face to face what I think about anything, you've got to do three things.
STOP (with what else you're doing).
LISTEN (to what I have to say and not just hear it)
and lastly
THINK (before you reply or act on what I said).
Three hard things for people on the go to do, I know, but if you can't do those three things, I don't see any point in even trying to tell you what I think.

Do you think that I've made things difficult for you?
Sure, I may have caused some inconvenience for you.
However, either you're underestimating the importance of my good will,
or you're overestimating the effect of my ire.
I'm not sure which would be the most flattering of the two.

I am certain you'll contest both those standpoints.
If the effect of my ire isn't as great as you've made it seem when you berated me, then why bring it up? Also, in such a case, then my good will isn't important either.
If my good will is important to you, then why on earth would I have typed those things I published?

It would be nice if you could sit down and write a reply,
read it through twice,
then start with a blank page and write it again before posting.

In mourning

Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as: - Knowing when to come in out of the rain; - Why the early bird gets the worm; ... - Life isn't always fair; - And maybe it was my fault. Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies, don't spend more than you can earn and adults, not children, are in charge. His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition. Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion. Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault. Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement. Common Sense was preceded in death, by his parents, Truth and Trust, by his wife Discretion, his daughter Responsibility, and his son, Reason. He is survived by his 4 stepbrothers - I Know My Rights, I Want It Now, Someone Else Is To Blame and I'm A Victim. Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, do nothing

no letter

I had planned to write a letter to various explaining how I feel about ... well lots of things. But I can't since I now have a co-worker sitting next to me working with his own stuff, but still talking to me. Which is slightly annoying.

Oh well. I'll just work with what I can (ie, pure data-entry and no image manipulation).

net access!

I have net access today!

It means, I can work. I can't to all I'm supposed to, since I refuse to use Microsoft Paint to edit images.
Could I do the editing with that cra-- that software? Yes, but I'd so much rather have access to a computer less than 5 years old, updated, and work with GIMP.

Yesterday I spent the whole day pretending to work, while doing all manner of other stuff that wasn't work.
I don't think anybody of them noticed.
It's a bit of gamble to write about it here on the web-log, since the boss, theoretically anyway, find and read it. If he does, he deserves that and some other not so fancy truths.
One of the other truths is that I am here not because I need to, only because I want to. I've actually got other possible jobs lined up and waiting. The day I tire of being here I'm gone.