Yesterday my friend Stellan showed me that it's possible to go on a day trip abroad for all of 60 SEK. To be more precise, we went to Åland with M/S Eckerö. The ridiculously low price, including bus travel Stockholm ↔ Grisslehamn, is clearly intended to be compensated by you buying lots of taxfree booze. They made a loss on us.
On Eckerö you end up basically in the middle of nowhere, which was just what we needed—we walked down the coast, found a nice rock cleft and then sat there the rest of the day watching the waves and a flock of eiders catching fish. (Well, I took the opportunity to send off a few messages around the world, but mostly I did nothing too.)
Still, a bit strange to travel several hundred kilometres just for the pleasure to do nothing.
2008-08-03
2008-08-02
Cover me, I'm going in!
I have been on holidays before, but it's been for family trips or other travel. Now I have two mostly unscheduled weeks before me and feel a bit trepidated.
If I start blogging about my navel lint or sound otherwise delirious, come and pull me out!
If I start blogging about my navel lint or sound otherwise delirious, come and pull me out!
2008-08-01
Word of the Week: streptease
Someone who just gives you a quick kiss that still causes a sore throat is obviously a streptease.
2008-07-26
A cultural thing
Not being an alcohol drinker is one of those things that set you apart, others requiring you to explain yourself. (Eh, you purposely ingest an organic solvent that cripples mental and physical performance and you want me to explain myself?)
In many situations you don't even get to explain yourself, your alcohol consumption is just taken for granted. Air transport is one of those situations. In spite of it being common knowledge that alcohol consumption under low air pressure and high mental pressure increases its effects, not to mention makes Molotov cocktails easily accessible, alcohol is considered the solution to all problems:
“In honour of the National Day, we serve champagne to all passengers today.”
“We regret the six-hour delay at departure and in compensation offer free brandy to all passengers.”
“I'm terribly sorry about all the hassle with your seating, here, have a jynnantonix on the house.”
And when I decline the booze, am I then instead offered banana juice, Swiss chocolate or a tour of the cockpit? No, the offer is free alcohol and that alone and if I don't want that then I could just as well not exist. Suzanne Reuter's stewardess in Yrrol is taken directly from reality.
One would imagine that flight crews, who have to contend with air rage, which I dare to predict hardly ever is perpetrated by sober passengers, would want to do something about the serving of alcohol both on the ground and in the planes, but presumably they are just as culturally blind to even see its presence, people just magically get drunk and abusive.
In many situations you don't even get to explain yourself, your alcohol consumption is just taken for granted. Air transport is one of those situations. In spite of it being common knowledge that alcohol consumption under low air pressure and high mental pressure increases its effects, not to mention makes Molotov cocktails easily accessible, alcohol is considered the solution to all problems:
“In honour of the National Day, we serve champagne to all passengers today.”
“We regret the six-hour delay at departure and in compensation offer free brandy to all passengers.”
“I'm terribly sorry about all the hassle with your seating, here, have a jynnantonix on the house.”
And when I decline the booze, am I then instead offered banana juice, Swiss chocolate or a tour of the cockpit? No, the offer is free alcohol and that alone and if I don't want that then I could just as well not exist. Suzanne Reuter's stewardess in Yrrol is taken directly from reality.
One would imagine that flight crews, who have to contend with air rage, which I dare to predict hardly ever is perpetrated by sober passengers, would want to do something about the serving of alcohol both on the ground and in the planes, but presumably they are just as culturally blind to even see its presence, people just magically get drunk and abusive.
2008-07-25
A loss
Randy Pausch died today.
I had the great privilege of meeting him in person as he was giving a series of seminars at the HITLab in 1991. My notes from that meeting will have to serve as my tribute (note that this was written before the creation of the World Wide Web):
We never got around to inviting him, and now it's too late, but over the years I've frequently had reason to read papers and reports by him. Indeed, less than three years ago I had reason to suggest the use of SUIT for a project at work. Eventually we decided on a different solution, but I wrote to Pausch and asked if I could have the source code to SUIT and he sent it to me a few hours later and I demoed it to my colleagues shortly thereafter.
I had the great privilege of meeting him in person as he was giving a series of seminars at the HITLab in 1991. My notes from that meeting will have to serve as my tribute (note that this was written before the creation of the World Wide Web):
Today Randy Pausch from the University of Virginia is here and has spoken on his SIGCHI presentation “Virtual Reality on Five Dollars A Day”. He brought his equipment with two Private Eyes and a baseball cap for mounting, but unfortunately the equipment wouldn't sync so that we could get stereo images. […] Randy's claim is that rapid feedback is much more important than cool graphics and that one today doesn't have particularly good graphics in the Eyephones anyway—the cool pictures one sees are usually taken from the external video screen rather than the LCD screens that the user sees. […]
Since the Private Eye is monochrome so they only can draw wireframes, they have seen to that all objects are animated so that one can keep track of what lines go together. As a side effect the worlds become more interesting that way, there's always something going on. […]
After this he spoke about another, related, project—SUIT (Simple User Interface Technology). They have made a platform-independent interface builder—they have versions running under X, Mac and PC. NeXT was however not an option—“they are so consciously incompatible with everything else that it isn't worth it, in addition the NeXT InterfaceBuilder is superior there”. This interface builder they used in undergraduate education with completely incredible results—it took first-year students less than two hours to learn to use the system!
[— — —]
Since my last report Randy Pausch gave another seminar, this on Tailor, bespoke user interfaces. It turns out that Randy doesn't really work with virtual worlds, but with computer-supported speech generation for children with CP and he has had very encouraging results so far. (Though his opinion was that the money put into it would be put to better use in prenatal care instead of prosthesis research and I realised that maternal and child health centres are not a matter of course for everybody in this country.)
We also had a longer discussion about the utility of and possible spread of VR technology. Randy has a liberating distance to the subject and dares to express his doubts. Conversely he was very interested in MUDs as examples of already existing virtual worlds and Johan [Andersson], who is an expert on them had a lot to say. I realised that the problems with virtual worlds, and hypertexts, which in some sense are abstract virtual worlds, are that they have to be large to be really meaningful, but a lone programmer/author can never add enough to them to make them interesting. MUDs have that in common with Usenet that there are lots of people involved who, more or less independently of each other, extend the system, add all kinds of things that make it meaningful, useful and interesting in other ways. That's why the Net is so important, visualisation and holograms and such may be good, but it's really a lot of people that should be moving over it. […]
Randy is an excellent and entertaining lecturer with sound ideas about pedagogics, so I asked him to come to KTH and lecture at some suitable point. “I can be bought”, he said and gave me his business card.
We never got around to inviting him, and now it's too late, but over the years I've frequently had reason to read papers and reports by him. Indeed, less than three years ago I had reason to suggest the use of SUIT for a project at work. Eventually we decided on a different solution, but I wrote to Pausch and asked if I could have the source code to SUIT and he sent it to me a few hours later and I demoed it to my colleagues shortly thereafter.
2008-07-23
Song Meme II
The earlier song meme has gone around the circle and returned to me. The rules are:
This time I am to do songs starting with L. There are indeed a great many good songs beginning with L, especially in French and Spanish, but I fear I will succumb to some amount of Anglosaxon cultural imperialism in my choices.
Lost in Her Lips
Grimwood/Idlet
Lost in her lips, I'm getting lost in her lips,
And losing track of conversation.
If Lewis and Clark had just discovered these lips,
The expedition would have ended up in Mexico, no!
Lost in her lips, downtown New York in her lips,
I try to lift my eyes with no success.
I got on with a transfer, and now I missed my stop;
The bus driver is waving, pointing me out to a cop.
What am I saying? It doesn't matter;
What is she saying? Why should I care?
What could be more interesting than staring at these lips,
Failing to communicate?
Lost in her lips, I'm taking breakfast with her lips,
Scrambling my sentences and all.
Sitting at my table, there's coffee in my drink,
It's difficult to concentrate, impossible to think.
I ask them questions, to watch them answer;
Could you repeat that, so I might watch again?
What could be more interesting than staring at these lips,
Failing to communicate, failing to communicate?
Lost in her lips, I'm getting lost in her lips,
And losing track of conversation.
If Lewis and Clark had just discovered these lips,
The expedition would have ended up in Mexico, no!
Lost in her lips, taking a bath with her lips,
In a porcelain tub, reading a book,
It's two o'clock in the afternoon, and
there's music in the living room,
I've got nothing left to do but stare at these lips.
I ask them questions, to watch them answer;
Could you repeat that, so I might watch again?
What could be more interesting than staring at these lips,
What could be more wonderful than staring at these lips,
Failing to communicate, failing to communicate, hey!
Love Is All Around
Presley
I feel it in my fingers
I feel it in my toes
Love is all around me
And so the feeling grows.
It's written on the wind
It's everywhere I go, oh yes it is.
So if you really love me
Come on and let it show.
You know I love you, I always will
My mind's made up by the
Way that I feel
There's no beginning,
There'll be no end
cause on my love you can depend.
I see your face before me
As I lay on my bed
I kinda get to thinking
Of all the things you said, oh yes I did
You gave your promise to me and I
Gave mine to you
I need someone beside me
In everything I do, oh yes I do
You know I love you, I always will,
My mind's made up by the
Way that I feel
There's no beginning,
There'll be no end
cause on my love you can depend.
Got to keep it moving
Oh it's written in the wind
Oh everywhere I go, yeah, oh well
So if you really love me, love me, love me
Come on and let it show
Come on and let it show
Come on and let it
Come on and let it (come and let it show, baby)
Come on, come on, come on let it show baby
Come on and let it show
Come on and let it show, baby
Come on and let it show
OK, so the lyrics aren't exactly Shakespeare, but with a good boy band they do the trick anyway. And, yeah, I prefer the version by Wet Wet Wet to The Troggs' original, but I couldn't quite say why.
Long, Long Day
Simon
It's been a long, long day
I got some run-down shoes
Ain't got no place to stay
But any old place will be okay
Its been a long, long day
I sure been on this road
Done nearly fourteen years
Can't say my name's well known
You don't see my face in Rolling Stone
But I sure been on this road
Slow motion
Half a dollar bill
Jukebox in the corner
Shooting to kill
And its been a…
It's been a long, long day
I sure could use a friend
Don't know what else to say
I hate to abuse an old cliché
But it's been a long, long day
It's been a long, long day
I first thought I shouldn't add a Paul Simon song, as I had one last time, but seriously, there can't be a list of my favourite songs without a Paul Simon song.
Les feuilles mortes
Prévert/Kosma
Oh ! je voudrais tant que tu te souviennes
Des jours heureux où nous étions amis
En ce temps-là la vie était plus belle,
Et le soleil plus brûlant qu'aujourd'hui
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle
Tu vois, je n'ai pas oublié...
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,
Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi
Et le vent du nord les emporte
Dans la nuit froide de l'oubli.
Tu vois, je n'ai pas oublié
La chanson que tu me chantais.
REFRAIN:
C'est une chanson qui nous ressemble
Toi, tu m'aimais et je t'aimais
Et nous vivions tous deux ensemble
Toi qui m'aimais, moi qui t'aimais
Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s'aiment
Tout doucement, sans faire de bruit
Et la mer efface sur le sable
Les pas des amants désunis.
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,
Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi
Mais mon amour silencieux et fidèle
Sourit toujours et remercie la vie
Je t'aimais tant, tu étais si jolie,
Comment veux-tu que je t'oublie?
En ce temps-là, la vie était plus belle
Et le soleil plus brûlant qu'aujourd'hui
Tu étais ma plus douce amie
Mais je n'ai que faire des regrets
Et la chanson que tu chantais
Toujours, toujours je l'entendrai !
REFRAIN
In English this song is known as “Autumn Leaves” and I have a recording with Cannonball Adderley and others where the theme is considerably expanded. Impressively, Eino Leino's poem ”Lapin Kesä” can be sung to the same melody and has been performed by Vesa-Matti Loiri.
Les bicyclettes de Belsize
Reed/Mason
Tourne retourne dans mes pensées le regret d'un amour
C'était à Londres un matin de mai à Belsize un beau jour un beau jour
Les bicyclettes de Belsize nous ont porté tous deux et nous roulions amoureux main dans la main
Seul le ciel tendre et bleu se mirait dans nos yeux nos yeux d'enfants heureux
Souvent je rêve encore aux bicyclettes de Belsize
Tourne retourne dans mon cœur trop lourd le bonheur de ma vie
Mais l'amour joue souvent de ces tours un jour tout es fini bien fini
Les bicyclettes de Belsize nous ont porté tous deux et nous roulions amoureux main dans la main
Seul le ciel tendre et bleu se mirait dans nos yeux nos yeux d'enfants heureux
Souvent je rêve encore aux bicyclettes de Belsize.
In the film Engelbert Humperdinck sang the theme, but for me the song is for ever associated with Mireille Mathieu, so therefore the lyrics in French.
- Reply to this post and I'll assign you a letter.
- List 5 songs you like that start with that letter.
- Post them to your journal with these instructions.
This time I am to do songs starting with L. There are indeed a great many good songs beginning with L, especially in French and Spanish, but I fear I will succumb to some amount of Anglosaxon cultural imperialism in my choices.
Lost in Her Lips
Grimwood/Idlet
Lost in her lips, I'm getting lost in her lips,
And losing track of conversation.
If Lewis and Clark had just discovered these lips,
The expedition would have ended up in Mexico, no!
Lost in her lips, downtown New York in her lips,
I try to lift my eyes with no success.
I got on with a transfer, and now I missed my stop;
The bus driver is waving, pointing me out to a cop.
What am I saying? It doesn't matter;
What is she saying? Why should I care?
What could be more interesting than staring at these lips,
Failing to communicate?
Lost in her lips, I'm taking breakfast with her lips,
Scrambling my sentences and all.
Sitting at my table, there's coffee in my drink,
It's difficult to concentrate, impossible to think.
I ask them questions, to watch them answer;
Could you repeat that, so I might watch again?
What could be more interesting than staring at these lips,
Failing to communicate, failing to communicate?
Lost in her lips, I'm getting lost in her lips,
And losing track of conversation.
If Lewis and Clark had just discovered these lips,
The expedition would have ended up in Mexico, no!
Lost in her lips, taking a bath with her lips,
In a porcelain tub, reading a book,
It's two o'clock in the afternoon, and
there's music in the living room,
I've got nothing left to do but stare at these lips.
I ask them questions, to watch them answer;
Could you repeat that, so I might watch again?
What could be more interesting than staring at these lips,
What could be more wonderful than staring at these lips,
Failing to communicate, failing to communicate, hey!
Love Is All Around
Presley
I feel it in my fingers
I feel it in my toes
Love is all around me
And so the feeling grows.
It's written on the wind
It's everywhere I go, oh yes it is.
So if you really love me
Come on and let it show.
You know I love you, I always will
My mind's made up by the
Way that I feel
There's no beginning,
There'll be no end
cause on my love you can depend.
I see your face before me
As I lay on my bed
I kinda get to thinking
Of all the things you said, oh yes I did
You gave your promise to me and I
Gave mine to you
I need someone beside me
In everything I do, oh yes I do
You know I love you, I always will,
My mind's made up by the
Way that I feel
There's no beginning,
There'll be no end
cause on my love you can depend.
Got to keep it moving
Oh it's written in the wind
Oh everywhere I go, yeah, oh well
So if you really love me, love me, love me
Come on and let it show
Come on and let it show
Come on and let it
Come on and let it (come and let it show, baby)
Come on, come on, come on let it show baby
Come on and let it show
Come on and let it show, baby
Come on and let it show
OK, so the lyrics aren't exactly Shakespeare, but with a good boy band they do the trick anyway. And, yeah, I prefer the version by Wet Wet Wet to The Troggs' original, but I couldn't quite say why.
Long, Long Day
Simon
It's been a long, long day
I got some run-down shoes
Ain't got no place to stay
But any old place will be okay
Its been a long, long day
I sure been on this road
Done nearly fourteen years
Can't say my name's well known
You don't see my face in Rolling Stone
But I sure been on this road
Slow motion
Half a dollar bill
Jukebox in the corner
Shooting to kill
And its been a…
It's been a long, long day
I sure could use a friend
Don't know what else to say
I hate to abuse an old cliché
But it's been a long, long day
It's been a long, long day
I first thought I shouldn't add a Paul Simon song, as I had one last time, but seriously, there can't be a list of my favourite songs without a Paul Simon song.
Les feuilles mortes
Prévert/Kosma
Oh ! je voudrais tant que tu te souviennes
Des jours heureux où nous étions amis
En ce temps-là la vie était plus belle,
Et le soleil plus brûlant qu'aujourd'hui
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle
Tu vois, je n'ai pas oublié...
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,
Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi
Et le vent du nord les emporte
Dans la nuit froide de l'oubli.
Tu vois, je n'ai pas oublié
La chanson que tu me chantais.
REFRAIN:
C'est une chanson qui nous ressemble
Toi, tu m'aimais et je t'aimais
Et nous vivions tous deux ensemble
Toi qui m'aimais, moi qui t'aimais
Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s'aiment
Tout doucement, sans faire de bruit
Et la mer efface sur le sable
Les pas des amants désunis.
Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,
Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi
Mais mon amour silencieux et fidèle
Sourit toujours et remercie la vie
Je t'aimais tant, tu étais si jolie,
Comment veux-tu que je t'oublie?
En ce temps-là, la vie était plus belle
Et le soleil plus brûlant qu'aujourd'hui
Tu étais ma plus douce amie
Mais je n'ai que faire des regrets
Et la chanson que tu chantais
Toujours, toujours je l'entendrai !
REFRAIN
In English this song is known as “Autumn Leaves” and I have a recording with Cannonball Adderley and others where the theme is considerably expanded. Impressively, Eino Leino's poem ”Lapin Kesä” can be sung to the same melody and has been performed by Vesa-Matti Loiri.
Les bicyclettes de Belsize
Reed/Mason
Tourne retourne dans mes pensées le regret d'un amour
C'était à Londres un matin de mai à Belsize un beau jour un beau jour
Les bicyclettes de Belsize nous ont porté tous deux et nous roulions amoureux main dans la main
Seul le ciel tendre et bleu se mirait dans nos yeux nos yeux d'enfants heureux
Souvent je rêve encore aux bicyclettes de Belsize
Tourne retourne dans mon cœur trop lourd le bonheur de ma vie
Mais l'amour joue souvent de ces tours un jour tout es fini bien fini
Les bicyclettes de Belsize nous ont porté tous deux et nous roulions amoureux main dans la main
Seul le ciel tendre et bleu se mirait dans nos yeux nos yeux d'enfants heureux
Souvent je rêve encore aux bicyclettes de Belsize.
In the film Engelbert Humperdinck sang the theme, but for me the song is for ever associated with Mireille Mathieu, so therefore the lyrics in French.
2008-07-20
Busy doing nothing
I have spent a relaxing weekend at a friend's summer house in the archipelago with no network connectivity and barely functioning electricity. For some reason there were almost no mosquitos about, those that I've had to fight with all earlier summers. On the other hand I saw some fascinating reptiles. On the path up from the cove I heard a rustle and turned in time to see an all-black snake, probably an adder, glide through the bilberry sprigs.
Today, going to the boat jetty we found a beautiful slow-worm lying very still across the path. Not even my camera flash perturbed it, it patiently waited for us to leave. I was very excited as I hadn't seen a slow-worm in nature since I was a small child. Imagine then my surprise when I got home and found another slow-worm crawling across the path just across from my house. This one had apparently been harassed by someone (maybe Ivar) as its tail had been lost.
Today, going to the boat jetty we found a beautiful slow-worm lying very still across the path. Not even my camera flash perturbed it, it patiently waited for us to leave. I was very excited as I hadn't seen a slow-worm in nature since I was a small child. Imagine then my surprise when I got home and found another slow-worm crawling across the path just across from my house. This one had apparently been harassed by someone (maybe Ivar) as its tail had been lost.
2008-07-18
2008-07-17
2008-07-16
Whiplashed
Signspotting is having an exhibition in Kungsträdgården right now, showing whacky street signs from around the world. I thought I'd make copies of this and hang around the necks of my bosses.
2008-07-15
Finns det grönt te på kräftskivan?
As I am partaking of the lunch buffet at Asia City, in comes an entire busload of Chinese tourists and I try to decide if I'm snobbish to think it's silly to travel half around the world to eat the same kind of food as at home, but on the other hand: I like Chinese food, so why shouldn't they get to eat it too?
2008-07-14
I love the sound of my own voice
How many?
Humany
too many
humans
no man is
island
No money
my land
Mailand
Milan
milling men
willing then
silly men
silent men
island men
Iceland men
nice land
why is land?
Wry this man
Diss this man
hiss at this man
piss at this man
Found in my Palm, no memory of when and where I wrote it.
2008-07-13
Necklace in the sky
Many years ago:
I'm lying on the carpeted floor of a hotel room in Los Angeles. It is night and I have just realised that I am in middle of the flight path to LAX. Navigational lights stretch in three parallel streaks. The lights curve in from the right, at equal distances, one minute apart, and pass on both sides of my vantage point, all through the night, like an infinite necklace of blinking pearls.
I'm lying on the carpeted floor of a hotel room in Los Angeles. It is night and I have just realised that I am in middle of the flight path to LAX. Navigational lights stretch in three parallel streaks. The lights curve in from the right, at equal distances, one minute apart, and pass on both sides of my vantage point, all through the night, like an infinite necklace of blinking pearls.
2008-07-12
Incredible
My ignorant music teacher, Jim Fiore's likewise weird teachers and Martin R's analysis of secret messages in rock music reminded me of the anti-drugs lecture we got in 9th grade. It was delivered by a very angry policeman, and as this was in the early 1980s in Sweden, an important part of the message was rock music = drugs. Apparently the message to take home was that we should a) not do drugs, b) not listen to rock music, and not necessarily in that order. Let us say that this compromised the credibility of the message from the start.
In order to underscore the perfidity of rock stars, the policeman explained the secret drug messages in a number of popular songs, from “Yellow Submarine” onwards. That made even less sense to me: if there were secret messages that encouraged drug use, didn't explaining them undermine the idea of having us not do drugs?
And the final blow to credibility came when he finished by apologising for his excitability, explaining that he due to illness was on prescription painkillers at the time. Well then!
In order to underscore the perfidity of rock stars, the policeman explained the secret drug messages in a number of popular songs, from “Yellow Submarine” onwards. That made even less sense to me: if there were secret messages that encouraged drug use, didn't explaining them undermine the idea of having us not do drugs?
And the final blow to credibility came when he finished by apologising for his excitability, explaining that he due to illness was on prescription painkillers at the time. Well then!
2008-07-11
2008-07-08
I wasn't even seventeen then
An utterly lovable video of one of my favourite synth pop songs with images from Stockholm in 1979.
2008-07-07
Igno-rant
The recent trip to Drottningholm reminded me of my 9th grade music teacher, who, in a completely misguided attempt to be pedagogical, explained to us that the strange word ”silleri” in Fredmans Epistel 48 that we ignorant youngsters might take to mean celery in fact referred to herring (”sill”). That herring, being a salt-water fish, would most likely not have been on a vegetable transport from Lovön in Lake Mälaren towards the Baltic, apparently passed her completely by.
As soon as I got hold of a etymological dictionary I double-checked and of course ”silleri” was just an 18th Century alternate spelling of ”selleri”. And what exactly would a ”sill-eri” really have been anyway—a herring preparation establishment?
Every so often I wish I could go back and yell “Bloody idiot!” at some of my teachers.
As soon as I got hold of a etymological dictionary I double-checked and of course ”silleri” was just an 18th Century alternate spelling of ”selleri”. And what exactly would a ”sill-eri” really have been anyway—a herring preparation establishment?
Every so often I wish I could go back and yell “Bloody idiot!” at some of my teachers.
2008-07-06
On notice!
I got seriously disappointed in the usually excellent establishment Bamboo Palace today. With as few patrons as they had, it should not have required 35 minutes to prepare stir-fried vegetables, especially not when I'd ordered Salmon Szechuan.
Approved by the Stockholm Visitors Board
Today I am lobster red, the usual result of taking me outdooors. Yesterday my sister and I arranged a belated birthday celebration for our mother and took her on a day trip to Drottningholm Palace. Of course we went by steam boat: S/S Drottningholm.
The much-praised Stockholm Archipelago is really the continuation of the islands, isles and islets in Lake Mälaren and I've always been very fond of travelling lakeside where the shores creep near the boat. It is also fascinating to know that what looks as dense pine forests in fact are just thin barriers in front of the most densely populated areas of Sweden. Shore protection laws are cool.
Denephew wasn't quite as appreciative of the beauty of water travel.
Soon however we arrived at Drottningholm and found ourselves a spot on a lawn where we picknicked. The sister had bought a Kubb set and soon we had a closely fought game going. Denephew insisted on being on my team, which much flattered me, and he didn't do at all badly, but eventually we (or at least I, he wouldn't hear of it) had to concede defeat.
Then Denephew and I went to explore the Labyrinths. I found to my surprise that the hedges all had little passages just the size for five-year-olds to run through and leave any adults behind. I don't know if they have been created on purpose by the gardeners or if millions of visiting children over the years have excavated them. I tried to explain the principle “If you get lost, stay where you are!” to Denephew, but it didn't stick as the imperative to joyously run as fast as his little legs would carry him overruled all concerns about ever getting home again. Fortunately his high-contrast clothes allowed me to glimpse him every now and then through the hedges and thus retrieve him. When I tired of the run-and-seek I scooped up the little lad and carried him back to his parents who by then had collected our belongings in preparation for a tour of the palace itself.
As has been noted by others, children strongly prefer ice cream to ancient art so while I was very fascinated by the huge battle paintings with careful legends, I did not get much of a chance to study them. I was very bemused by the room full of Klöcker Ehrenstrahl portraits of Charles XI's generals, all looking exactly the same, followed by the room full of von Kraft portraits of Charles XII's generals, all looking exactly the same. (Sorry, no photography allowed indoors.) I will have to return at some point to study all these closer.
Denephew then got his Nazi ice cream and we boarded the boat for the trip home. On the way, Denephew and his father played guessing games:
“What's round and brown, you roll it and you can fry it?”
“An egg!”
I think the boy should have gotten full points for that, one must be precise.
The much-praised Stockholm Archipelago is really the continuation of the islands, isles and islets in Lake Mälaren and I've always been very fond of travelling lakeside where the shores creep near the boat. It is also fascinating to know that what looks as dense pine forests in fact are just thin barriers in front of the most densely populated areas of Sweden. Shore protection laws are cool.
Denephew wasn't quite as appreciative of the beauty of water travel.
Soon however we arrived at Drottningholm and found ourselves a spot on a lawn where we picknicked. The sister had bought a Kubb set and soon we had a closely fought game going. Denephew insisted on being on my team, which much flattered me, and he didn't do at all badly, but eventually we (or at least I, he wouldn't hear of it) had to concede defeat.
Then Denephew and I went to explore the Labyrinths. I found to my surprise that the hedges all had little passages just the size for five-year-olds to run through and leave any adults behind. I don't know if they have been created on purpose by the gardeners or if millions of visiting children over the years have excavated them. I tried to explain the principle “If you get lost, stay where you are!” to Denephew, but it didn't stick as the imperative to joyously run as fast as his little legs would carry him overruled all concerns about ever getting home again. Fortunately his high-contrast clothes allowed me to glimpse him every now and then through the hedges and thus retrieve him. When I tired of the run-and-seek I scooped up the little lad and carried him back to his parents who by then had collected our belongings in preparation for a tour of the palace itself.
As has been noted by others, children strongly prefer ice cream to ancient art so while I was very fascinated by the huge battle paintings with careful legends, I did not get much of a chance to study them. I was very bemused by the room full of Klöcker Ehrenstrahl portraits of Charles XI's generals, all looking exactly the same, followed by the room full of von Kraft portraits of Charles XII's generals, all looking exactly the same. (Sorry, no photography allowed indoors.) I will have to return at some point to study all these closer.
Denephew then got his Nazi ice cream and we boarded the boat for the trip home. On the way, Denephew and his father played guessing games:
“What's round and brown, you roll it and you can fry it?”
“An egg!”
I think the boy should have gotten full points for that, one must be precise.
2008-07-04
Veckans ord: urringning
På mitt nattygsbord har jag ett väckarur. Varje morgon väcker det mig med sin urringning.
2008-07-02
Fire and ice
I am trying out Lejonet & Björnen's chilli-and-chocolate ice cream. Zounds! They are not kidding around with the chilli dose! It is an interesting combination, but on the whole I prefer my chocolate ice cream without hot spices.
2008-07-01
Internationella igelkotten Ivar
There's a hedgehog that lives under the balcony outside the laundry room and yesterday evening I caught it on its way home from a walkie. It curled up so I wouldn't eat it and waited there until I had left.
2008-06-30
Jag vill vara din Margareta
Vännen Martin R bidrar igen:
En del av nöjet med att lyssna på pop är att luska ut texternas dolda innebörder. Vi behöver bara titta snabbt på Beatles för att hitta exempel: “Please Please Me” tjatar om fellatio, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” prisar LSD och “Sexy Sadie” klandrar Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.
Min fru påpekade nyligen att en av svenskarnas mest älskade dansbandslåtar är en oförblommerad skildring av transvestitism och homosexuell åtrå: Sten & Stanleys ”Margareta” från 1976, med text av J.E. Karlzon. Se bara: vartenda ord har en annan syftning än den man först tror.
En del av nöjet med att lyssna på pop är att luska ut texternas dolda innebörder. Vi behöver bara titta snabbt på Beatles för att hitta exempel: “Please Please Me” tjatar om fellatio, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” prisar LSD och “Sexy Sadie” klandrar Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.
Min fru påpekade nyligen att en av svenskarnas mest älskade dansbandslåtar är en oförblommerad skildring av transvestitism och homosexuell åtrå: Sten & Stanleys ”Margareta” från 1976, med text av J.E. Karlzon. Se bara: vartenda ord har en annan syftning än den man först tror.
Ingen vet det jag vet, en hemlighet.Queertolkningar av dansbandstexter är utan tvivel en litteraturanalytisk guldgruva.
Någon som jag tycker om har gjort mig het.
Kan inte hjälpa att jag känner det så här.
Åh, den blick som jag fick sa mig att,
Om jag vill kan jag få tusenfalt.
Och nu börjar jag förstå att jag är kär…
Jag vill vara din ska du veta,
Bara vara din Margareta
Står här vid din dörr, kär som aldrig förr,
men vågar inte ringa.
Pulsarna dom bränner så heta.
Känner du som jag, Margareta? [Jfr ”Jag, Claudius”]
Blickarna du gav, var dom till ett svar
eller ej?
Och jag går hem igen med min bukett [och handväska].
Det jag vill säga dig är inte lätt.
Kan inte hjälpa att jag känner det så här…
Ingen annan vet om min hemlighet mer än jag.
2008-06-29
Passing on
My setting up a home of my own unexpectedly brought me back in contact with my childhood best friend J, whom I hadn't seen in a long time. (There seems to be a strong instinct in single men to look after each other.)
J's father passed away some time ago, so he had inherited the family manor—big, decrepit and filled with the accretions of generations of packrats. As a child I had spent almost as much time there as in my own home.
With sorrow J had accepted he had to get rid of the house and its contents and now finally he had found buyers well-heeled enough to afford to (hopefully tastefully) renovate the building and the grounds (now just small strips around the building itself rather than the large and unkempt orchard my child-I used to run through to reach the house—the orchard in turn just a corner of the lands that the family had commanded in their heyday at the turn of the previous century).
This weekend was the last that J would have with the house and he invited me to share it with him. I biked over, pedalling on roads so familiar, yet in many places lined with houses that had been crammed in between the ones I remembered. The gravel path up to the house seemed not to have been filled in since I helped shovel gravel into the deepest potholes ages ago. Externally the manor looked just as I remembered it, the same horseshoe doorknocker on the door. I didn't need to use it, J had been expecting me and opened the door as soon as I had locked the bike. (It was imperative to lock the bike when I was 10 too, but I have to have a much sturdier lock these days.)
We went through the house room by room. There was enough of the original furniture still unremoved that it was easy to fill in the missing pieces—very little had been changed in the last 25 years. I peeked into the closet in J's old boys room and was immediately transported back to my tweens: the stacks of Svenska MAD, Märklin catalogues, audio cassettes, and Matchbox armoured cars were still there, overlaid with a slightly later sprinkling of 3.5" flopppies.
Stepping out of the serving passage I felt the smell of sun-warmed wood and remembered how we played ”Den försvunna diamanten” in summers so long ago.
In the end I had to leave, carrying some mementoes J kindly gave me, for a few hours having been back to other days; perhaps happier such.
J's father passed away some time ago, so he had inherited the family manor—big, decrepit and filled with the accretions of generations of packrats. As a child I had spent almost as much time there as in my own home.
With sorrow J had accepted he had to get rid of the house and its contents and now finally he had found buyers well-heeled enough to afford to (hopefully tastefully) renovate the building and the grounds (now just small strips around the building itself rather than the large and unkempt orchard my child-I used to run through to reach the house—the orchard in turn just a corner of the lands that the family had commanded in their heyday at the turn of the previous century).
This weekend was the last that J would have with the house and he invited me to share it with him. I biked over, pedalling on roads so familiar, yet in many places lined with houses that had been crammed in between the ones I remembered. The gravel path up to the house seemed not to have been filled in since I helped shovel gravel into the deepest potholes ages ago. Externally the manor looked just as I remembered it, the same horseshoe doorknocker on the door. I didn't need to use it, J had been expecting me and opened the door as soon as I had locked the bike. (It was imperative to lock the bike when I was 10 too, but I have to have a much sturdier lock these days.)
We went through the house room by room. There was enough of the original furniture still unremoved that it was easy to fill in the missing pieces—very little had been changed in the last 25 years. I peeked into the closet in J's old boys room and was immediately transported back to my tweens: the stacks of Svenska MAD, Märklin catalogues, audio cassettes, and Matchbox armoured cars were still there, overlaid with a slightly later sprinkling of 3.5" flopppies.
Stepping out of the serving passage I felt the smell of sun-warmed wood and remembered how we played ”Den försvunna diamanten” in summers so long ago.
In the end I had to leave, carrying some mementoes J kindly gave me, for a few hours having been back to other days; perhaps happier such.
2008-06-27
Word of the Week: Christmas
Last week I lamented the very few words that could be created from the letters in “Funny Boy”. Well, some years ago I chanced upon a little booklet with fun games and puzzles for the tots to play so as to let their parents sleep in on Christmas Day. One of these was to make as many words as possible from the letters in “Christmas”. Of course I couldn't resist trying it and my goodness what fertile wordland that was:
a, aim, aims, air, airs, am, arm, arms, art, arts, as, ass, at, cam, cams, car, cars, cart, carts, cash, cast, casts, cat, cats, chair, chairs, char, charm, charms, chars, chart, charts, chasm, chasms, chat, chats, chit, chits, christ, cram, crams, crash, hair, hairs, ham, hams, harm, harms, hart, harts, hat, hats, him, his, hiss, hit, hits, I, is, it, mac, macs, mar, march, mars, marsh, mart, marts, mash, mass, mast, mat, match, math, maths, mats, mirth, miss, mist, mists, racist, racists, ram, rams, rash, rat, rats, rich, rim, rims, sari, saris, scam, scams, scar, scars, scat, scram, scrams, sham, shams, shat, shim, shims, shirt, shirts, shit, shits, sir, sirs, sit, sits, smart, smarts, smash, smirch, smith, smiths, stair, stairs, star, starch, stars, stash, stir, stirs, tar, tars, this, tic, tics, tram, trams, trash, trim, trims.
(And we can add some proper names: Amir, Chris, Christa, Cris, Irma, Ma, Mach, Marc, Mia, Rita, Sam, Tim.)
I think the next step would be to write a story about Christmas using all those words.
a, aim, aims, air, airs, am, arm, arms, art, arts, as, ass, at, cam, cams, car, cars, cart, carts, cash, cast, casts, cat, cats, chair, chairs, char, charm, charms, chars, chart, charts, chasm, chasms, chat, chats, chit, chits, christ, cram, crams, crash, hair, hairs, ham, hams, harm, harms, hart, harts, hat, hats, him, his, hiss, hit, hits, I, is, it, mac, macs, mar, march, mars, marsh, mart, marts, mash, mass, mast, mat, match, math, maths, mats, mirth, miss, mist, mists, racist, racists, ram, rams, rash, rat, rats, rich, rim, rims, sari, saris, scam, scams, scar, scars, scat, scram, scrams, sham, shams, shat, shim, shims, shirt, shirts, shit, shits, sir, sirs, sit, sits, smart, smarts, smash, smirch, smith, smiths, stair, stairs, star, starch, stars, stash, stir, stirs, tar, tars, this, tic, tics, tram, trams, trash, trim, trims.
(And we can add some proper names: Amir, Chris, Christa, Cris, Irma, Ma, Mach, Marc, Mia, Rita, Sam, Tim.)
I think the next step would be to write a story about Christmas using all those words.
2008-06-22
Why indeed?
For some reason the comp.text.tex news group gets regular attacks from people of precarious mental health who wish to tell the world of the secret monitors the lizard people have installed in their TV sets. Occasionally perverse curiosity makes me read a screed—it is painful in several senses so I gingerly let my eye skim over the sentences as if trying not to inhale the fumes. However, in a recent word salad, the following shone out:
It might be a simple typo, but taken with the rest of the rant it might just as well be intended as written. It does make you wonder, doesn't it?
why is their hair growing out of my ears?
It might be a simple typo, but taken with the rest of the rant it might just as well be intended as written. It does make you wonder, doesn't it?
2008-06-21
Veckans ord: Funny Boy
I slutscenen i Funny Boy har publiken till The Funny Boy Show tävlat i att skicka in så många ord som möjligt användande bokstäverna i ”Funny Boy”. Martin Ljung, i fantastisk faster-förklädnad, har vunnit genom att dels ”låna” bokstäver, dels framställa ord som är helt okända för Svenska Akademin.
Nyfiken tänkte jag ta reda på vilka ord som egentligen går att få fram ur ”Funny Boy”. Besvärande få, visar det sig: bo, bon, by, byn, fy, nu, ny.
Nu är det ju förstås kanske inte så lätt att få till svenska ord ur två engelska, men det blir inte så rackarns många på engelska heller: bonny, boy, bun, bunny, buoy, buy, by, fob, fun, funny, no, nob, noun, nub, nun, on, yo, yob, yon, you.
En klart knepig tävling. Nån av läsarna som kan komplettera med fler ord?
Nyfiken tänkte jag ta reda på vilka ord som egentligen går att få fram ur ”Funny Boy”. Besvärande få, visar det sig: bo, bon, by, byn, fy, nu, ny.
Nu är det ju förstås kanske inte så lätt att få till svenska ord ur två engelska, men det blir inte så rackarns många på engelska heller: bonny, boy, bun, bunny, buoy, buy, by, fob, fun, funny, no, nob, noun, nub, nun, on, yo, yob, yon, you.
En klart knepig tävling. Nån av läsarna som kan komplettera med fler ord?
2008-06-20
Get snipped
Even Dagens Nyheter has realised that the developed (i e resource-consuming) countries are where population limitation is most important to enforce. Thomas Anderberg has written an article.
2008-06-18
I was there
Why was I there?
The intrusion into my privacy, which privacy is dear to me, is one thing, though I suspect that I personally for the most part am insignificant, blond and paleskinned enough not to arouse the curiosity of data analysts, but at some point it is even more important to me that the proposed communications interception law is yet another step in a culture of fear. One can make—and certainly they are made—elaborate conspiracy theories about how this fear is nourished by shady characters in order to further their nefarious goals, but I do not think such conspiracies are necessary, Hanlon's razor applies here as elsewhere. Peter Englund has written about the internal logics of the situation, where the ability and possibility to eavesdrop on all communication necessitates that one does so. The reasons for this can then be made up afterwards. The reason currently in fashion is terrorism. In the previous century it would have been Bolshevism.
Lately I have been reading up on the origins of the Western European dictatorships of the 20th Century. It has struck me how the threat of Communism was used to get the influential people: the industrial magnates, the clergy, the army, to go along with the numerically very small movements of Phalangism, Fascism, Nazism, … One could perhaps argue that this external anti-Communism even abetted the totalitarian dictatorship of the Soviet Union by justifying the oppression as defence against infiltration by external enemies—but yet again, by the logic of the situation, an enemy would have been found if none had naturally presented itself. And thus these attempts to stem the awful plans of the enemy have caused the violent (or indirect) deaths of tens of millions of people throughout the 20th Century. The fending off of fear seems to be worse than the actual object of fear.
This is already happening again—or perhaps still, but now with a different label for the phenomenon to be feared. Certainly international terrorism has not yet managed to kill as many as the at least hundred thousand that are now dead in the War on Terror, and almost the same number of people have been imprisoned without trial, in many cases subject to torture even according to the rather lax standards of the US President.
This is why I oppose the eavesdropping law, as I see it as yet another attempt to play on fear, in such a way that the costs in all likelihood will greatly exceed the costs of any attack that may be perpetrated.
And finally, the law does of course nothing in the way of actually protecting Sweden against electronic threats. Should we be subject to a concerted cyber-attack, such as the one recently waged against Estonia, we will be caught with our trousers at just as inconvenient a height as before the enactment of the disputed law. So just whose security are we concerned with?
(Apparently I am very angry—my readability index is lower than ever.)
2008-06-14
Veckans ord: Starköl
Båtars undersidor är uppenbart viktiga för deras fart, men man ser dem sällan eftersom de ju ligger under vatten. Som tur är står segelbåtar minst halva året på en trailer uppe på land, så därför kan vi studera denna fina bild av en Starköl:
2008-06-12
More growing-up
So, the Only-begotten and Infinitely-beloved Daughter graduated from 9th grade. As a first step all 9th-graders in the school and their teachers had a dinner and a ball earlier this week. Parents were requested to help as bouncers and of course I responded, as always when Duty calls.
But, as I was leaving the office, the phone rang and I got stuck for an hour, helping a computer illiterate (but at least properly contrite) user somewhere several time zones away troubleshoot an installation of the company's software. So, as I arrived at the site, the dance had already begun. First, though, I had to make my way through the Breathalyzer-equipped squad of parents at the door. I was recognised and let into the building.
In the temporary headquarters I was given the plans for the evening and then I went out to reconnaitre the site. I noted with some consternation that the songs the DJ was playing were much the same as were popular when I was their age. A mother confirmed that there is an 80s revival underway—her son had expressed surprise that she was so into modern music that she knew the words to his favourite songs…
All the boys were very conservatively dressed in suits and ties (except for the one rebellious one dressed like Alexander De Large). The girls wore equally conservative dresses, but had by then given up on their high-heeled shoes and almost to a woman moved around barefoot.
The Daughter, dressed in a charming self-made combination of black tulle and latex, and her posse graciously came to greet me but then flitted away for other entertainment and I went on perimeter patrol. All was well and the returning long-distance reconnaisance platoon had nothing to report.
Groups of party-goers were starting to leave around 22:00, some in taxis, but at least one group of girls in brightly-coloured dresses, their shoes in their hands, sat at the tram stop like a lineup of exotic birds.
Eventually the Daughter and her friends also left for homes or other more interesting places. I stayed on a while longer, but as the number of parents soon outnumbered the dwindling number of still-dancing children, I was eventually dismissed.
And today was the graduation ceremony proper.
It started with the school choir leading the assembly in ”Den blomstertid nu kommer ”, which surely must be blasphemy, obviously it should be sung last.
Prizes were handed out.
As deservedly as could be wished for the Daughter received the prize for best results in Swedish and I whooped loudly from my balcony perch. The headmistress fumbled a bit with the words and awarded prizes for “fine results in spite of their hard work” to a couple of pupils. There was much rejoicing among the comrades of those who received prizes.
The choir came on stage again and a girl sung “Fields of Gold”, rather choked with emotion, and several girls, both in the audience and the choir itself, made weird flapping motions with their hands that I eventually deduced were attempts to dry their eyes without mussing up their makeup. I at my first row seating just had to lean forward and no-one could see the state of my eyes.
More songs, but eventually the classes withdrew to their home rooms for the handing out of grades (the Daughter points out she got even better grades than her brother, I am insanely proud), saying of goodbyes etc. The farewells grew increasingly protracted and eventually the Daughter sent the family off while she remained with her friends for yet a while.
But, as I was leaving the office, the phone rang and I got stuck for an hour, helping a computer illiterate (but at least properly contrite) user somewhere several time zones away troubleshoot an installation of the company's software. So, as I arrived at the site, the dance had already begun. First, though, I had to make my way through the Breathalyzer-equipped squad of parents at the door. I was recognised and let into the building.
In the temporary headquarters I was given the plans for the evening and then I went out to reconnaitre the site. I noted with some consternation that the songs the DJ was playing were much the same as were popular when I was their age. A mother confirmed that there is an 80s revival underway—her son had expressed surprise that she was so into modern music that she knew the words to his favourite songs…
All the boys were very conservatively dressed in suits and ties (except for the one rebellious one dressed like Alexander De Large). The girls wore equally conservative dresses, but had by then given up on their high-heeled shoes and almost to a woman moved around barefoot.
The Daughter, dressed in a charming self-made combination of black tulle and latex, and her posse graciously came to greet me but then flitted away for other entertainment and I went on perimeter patrol. All was well and the returning long-distance reconnaisance platoon had nothing to report.
Groups of party-goers were starting to leave around 22:00, some in taxis, but at least one group of girls in brightly-coloured dresses, their shoes in their hands, sat at the tram stop like a lineup of exotic birds.
Eventually the Daughter and her friends also left for homes or other more interesting places. I stayed on a while longer, but as the number of parents soon outnumbered the dwindling number of still-dancing children, I was eventually dismissed.
And today was the graduation ceremony proper.
It started with the school choir leading the assembly in ”Den blomstertid nu kommer ”, which surely must be blasphemy, obviously it should be sung last.
Prizes were handed out.
As deservedly as could be wished for the Daughter received the prize for best results in Swedish and I whooped loudly from my balcony perch. The headmistress fumbled a bit with the words and awarded prizes for “fine results in spite of their hard work” to a couple of pupils. There was much rejoicing among the comrades of those who received prizes.
The choir came on stage again and a girl sung “Fields of Gold”, rather choked with emotion, and several girls, both in the audience and the choir itself, made weird flapping motions with their hands that I eventually deduced were attempts to dry their eyes without mussing up their makeup. I at my first row seating just had to lean forward and no-one could see the state of my eyes.
More songs, but eventually the classes withdrew to their home rooms for the handing out of grades (the Daughter points out she got even better grades than her brother, I am insanely proud), saying of goodbyes etc. The farewells grew increasingly protracted and eventually the Daughter sent the family off while she remained with her friends for yet a while.
2008-06-09
Jag har en stol som tillhört Brigitte Bardot
Den gode Martin R levererar följande historia:
En god vän till min far berättade en historia om sin nu tonåriga dotter och vådan av att lära sig fel från början.
Tidigt, redan när flickan var knappt två år, hade hon lärt sig hela alfabetet med hjälp av ett bokstavspussel. Några år senare visade det sig dock vara ovanligt svårt för henne att forma ord av bokstäverna hon kunnat så länge. Hur hon än försökte kunde hon inte begripa hur man läste.
Skälet var namnen på bokstäverna som pusslet hade lärt henne. Detta stod klart för mor & far en dag när dottern påpekade att de hade stavat fel på en pojkes namn.
”Nej nej, Ville stavar med väderkvarn, inte med toalettdörr!”
2008-06-08
Publicly-funded art
I'm not too sure about Get Out Clause's claim that they couldn't afford a video crew for this video—for the quality presented they could easily have used a cheap video camera operated by one of their mates—but the social commentary in performing in front of surveillance cameras and then asking for the footage under the Data Protection Act is absolutely brill.
H/t Ars Geek.
H/t Ars Geek.
2008-06-07
I foresee ergonomics issues
My first idea when I got the opportunity to work with the VPL DataGlove was to create a virtual keyboard. My plan was that it should be able to edit all aspects of the keyboard layout—the precise keys, where they were located in space and to have nifty functions to edit the layout so that one didn't necessarily have to lay out each key individually. To my disappointment the position sensors on the glove had neither the resolution nor speed necessary for typing, nor did the software handle collision detection well for so many objects, so when I realised that even a numerical keypad would require keys several centimetres across that could be pressed only once every few seconds or so, I gave up the idea.Now I'm sorely tempted by the Virtual Laser Keyboard. Just the thing—a perfectly “soft” keyboard with optical tracking and wireless connection to your computer/PDA/mobile phone. Unfortunately the specs only say state that it has a QWERTY layout, so the risk is that the keyboard layout is locked in ROM, rather than being configurable, which would be a pity.
Then of course, there is the issue of typing on an unyielding surface, which brings down speed and accuracy, but I still could imagine trying it out.
2008-06-06
Veckans ord: skinklåda
Jag har ibland funderat på att skaffa mig en ödla som husdjur, som t ex en blåtungad skink. Något överraskande visar det sig att man kan skicka dem som paket via budfirmor. Att göra en skinklåda för transport är inte så svårt: En stadig kartong med gott om stötdämpande material, kylklampar eller värmepåsar beroende på förväntad temperatur under transporten och själva skinken i en kraftig tygpåse. Fast jag är lite mjäkig, så jag tror jag skulle föredra en lite mindre klaustrofobisk transport från en djuraffär i närheten i stället.
2008-06-05
The Order of Events
Once when I was talking with my mother the subject of “Where were you when you heard that Kennedy had been killed?” came up.
“Oh, I remember it so well, we were at Grandma's with you and your brother when they said it on the wireless.”
[headexplode] “What!? I wasn't even born when Kennedy was killed!”
[confused] “Sure you were.”
“John F Kennedy was killed in 1963!”
“John? I'm talking about Robert.”
Lesson: precision.
“Oh, I remember it so well, we were at Grandma's with you and your brother when they said it on the wireless.”
[headexplode] “What!? I wasn't even born when Kennedy was killed!”
[confused] “Sure you were.”
“John F Kennedy was killed in 1963!”
“John? I'm talking about Robert.”
Lesson: precision.
2008-06-02
Civilization spreading
Even Turkey has started to accept the concept of clean air, by forbidding smoking in enclosed public spaces. Now, if they'd manage to rein in their military too, they could well join the EU as far as I'm concerned.
2008-06-01
2008-05-31
2008-05-30
Secular trends
At my god-mother's funeral, there were some two hundred neighbours, relatives, and friends present. I noticed that I, my cousins, second cousins, etc, were, almost all of us, a head taller than our parents' generation, born in the war years with scarcity of food and everything else.
The Only-begotten Son passed me in length quite a while ago and I now have to reach up to tousle his hair.
But when he got on the stage today to receive his graduation prize he was the shortest of the young men up there. Where will this end?
No… Try as I might, I just can't manage to coolly drop that in passing…
MY SON GRADUATED FROM HIGH SCHOOL AT THE TOP OF HIS CLASS TODAY AND I'M PROUD TO THE POINT OF BURSTING!
The Only-begotten Son passed me in length quite a while ago and I now have to reach up to tousle his hair.
But when he got on the stage today to receive his graduation prize he was the shortest of the young men up there. Where will this end?
No… Try as I might, I just can't manage to coolly drop that in passing…
MY SON GRADUATED FROM HIGH SCHOOL AT THE TOP OF HIS CLASS TODAY AND I'M PROUD TO THE POINT OF BURSTING!
2008-05-28
Used up
John Feeney has an article in the Guardian arguing that it is not sufficient to cut down on our resource consumption per capita, but that the total human population has to be brought down for us to survive as a species. Or, in other words, the population will be brought down, but we have to decide whether to do it by starvation or contraception.
Worryingly enough the majority of comments seem to just deny the stated facts without reasoning or arguments, just screaming "NO!" like so many Star Wars characters.
Worryingly enough the majority of comments seem to just deny the stated facts without reasoning or arguments, just screaming "NO!" like so many Star Wars characters.
Betrayed trust
Clothes and computers I believe in thoroughly using up. While my grandmother and oldest aunt were still alive, worn-out clothes would be recycled into rag-rugs, but these days I have to dump my Swiss cheese underwear in the trash—one only needs so many polishing cloths. Computers with crashed hard disks, burned-out screens and blind mice I have dutifully taken to the recycling centre under the assumption that they will be properly dealt with, metals separated from plastics and as much as possible turned into new electronics.
This is apparently not necessarily the case. Millions of tonnes of worn-out computers end up in the third world, compounding their environmental problems. This video from Consumers International briefly introduces the problem and the few seconds around 1:52 told me that this is my responsibility as well.
For some bizarre reason it is the Traffic office that handles recycling issues in Stockholm. I have written to them and asked how to make sure that my broken electronics don't become (more of) a health issue for Africans.
This is apparently not necessarily the case. Millions of tonnes of worn-out computers end up in the third world, compounding their environmental problems. This video from Consumers International briefly introduces the problem and the few seconds around 1:52 told me that this is my responsibility as well.
For some bizarre reason it is the Traffic office that handles recycling issues in Stockholm. I have written to them and asked how to make sure that my broken electronics don't become (more of) a health issue for Africans.
2008-05-25
An outing
The gang were going down to the Air Force Museum in Linköping and I brought along the Nephew, so as to properly indoctrinate him. Well, clearly the Lego pit was much more interesting than old aircraft, but climbing in and out and in and out and in and out of the old Draken cockpit was fun too.The rest of us were treated to a very detailed description of how to actually fly a mission in the Draken by a museum guard who turned out to be a former control and elint officer. In response to a tricky question he said: “I'll hand that over to a weapons technician.” and turned to another museum employee hovering nearby who then went into a deeper explanation of the properties of first-generation Sidewinder missiles. Museums seldom keep with knowledgeable staff, but this seems to be the rule at the Air Force Museum. Kudos!
The museum shop is also to be commended in that they are not afraid of procuring rare model kits in order to be able to have as many Swedish Air Force Aircraft as possible available for purchase.
(However, I was a bit annoyed that in spite of promises, the museum had not updated the sign that claimed the 57 mm cannon on the SAAB T-18B was the largest-calibre gun ever carried on an aircraft. In Sweden, to be sure, but not in the world, where at the time several 75 mm monsters were lugged around and in later days even 105 mm howitzers have been used onboard aircraft.)
2008-05-23
2008-05-21
Double feature
The Vasa museum and the Maritime museum had joint inaugurations of model exhibitions today:
The 1:10 Vasa model placed next to the original has gotten all its sculptures painted according to what has been found about the original colouring. It is quite surprising to see the ship that traditionally has been rendered in blue and gold as in fact having had a red background with sculptures coloured like candy with illegal additives.
At the Maritime museum Göran Forss's 1:50 model of the destroyer Halland has finally been finished after almost 40 years in making. Listening to people talking, I gathered a sizable part of the audience had done their military service on board at some time or other and were very pleased to see the detailed model.
The 1:10 Vasa model placed next to the original has gotten all its sculptures painted according to what has been found about the original colouring. It is quite surprising to see the ship that traditionally has been rendered in blue and gold as in fact having had a red background with sculptures coloured like candy with illegal additives.
At the Maritime museum Göran Forss's 1:50 model of the destroyer Halland has finally been finished after almost 40 years in making. Listening to people talking, I gathered a sizable part of the audience had done their military service on board at some time or other and were very pleased to see the detailed model.
2008-05-20
Counting my blessings
The setting sun is shining in through the French windows of my sitting room, the pair of tits that live in the crack in the wall by the window take breaks on the railing outside it, beaks full of…whatever, before they squeeze themselves through the crack. My dinner noodles were particularly tasty (mental note: stick to that brand) and I'm feeling quite pleased with life.
I got a glowing performance review at work (Improvement goal: to always remember to say “Best regards” in email to customers), successfully chased up a persistent bug and when I got home I found present packets in the mail from friends: exotic teas and Clas Svahn's brand new book Stora boken om naturfenomen featuring photography by me (and some hundreds of other people :-). And the latest Scientific American.
Every now and then, life is good.
I got a glowing performance review at work (Improvement goal: to always remember to say “Best regards” in email to customers), successfully chased up a persistent bug and when I got home I found present packets in the mail from friends: exotic teas and Clas Svahn's brand new book Stora boken om naturfenomen featuring photography by me (and some hundreds of other people :-). And the latest Scientific American.
Every now and then, life is good.
2008-05-19
Shameless speculation
There's a new “lifestyle” magazine out. It's about travel to faraway countries, expensive cars, fancy clothes and whatever other luxury items you can imagine (or not). But, since they tack on the wordlet eco every few sentences it means they are “environmentally conscious without boring pointers”. I think I should bring my own boring pointer and give the editor a good hiding! How can encouraging luxury consumption ever be environmentally responsible!? But of course, it's all about appealing to a customer base that feels vaguely uneasy about this climate thing and thinks they should probably do something, as long as it does not mean sacrificing anything.
I'm not faultless, but at least I feel guilty about it…
I'm not faultless, but at least I feel guilty about it…
2008-05-18
With this in our past, where is our future?
The Only-Begotten Daughter's theatre class gave a play again: Animal Farm.
They might have benefitted from a few more rehearsals, but overall they acquitted themselves well, with sterling performances by “Boxer” and “Benjamin”.
Watching the animals starve and rebuild their windmill again and again I wondered what lies ahead for these bright kids, if they can look forward to a reasonably privileged life or if they will have to struggle for their lives through upheaval and famine—certainly even Sweden was a much harsher place to live just a hundred years ago. Hasse Alfredsson has expressed it so much better than I.
2008-05-17
This is what flying was meant to be like!
“Fusion Man” Yves Rossy straps on his jetpowered wings, steps out of an aircraft and flies off.
A very good video is made available by The Guardian.
I want this so bad!
2008-05-16
Veckans ord: orkidé
Jag har känt mig lite trött och orkeslös. Det beror säkert på att jag motionerar för lite. Jag ska ta fram cykeln ur källaren och trampa runt, det verkar som en utmärkt orkidé.
2008-05-10
Quarneval
I proclaim today to be the first day of summer: almost 300 K, few scattered cumulus clouds and Quarneval! As usual I sat on the wall outside Stockholm City Library and dangled my feet above Sveavägen. There will be better quality images on the Quarneval website, but here are some of my own snaps:
The Quarneval princess, with bodyguards.
The Pipes and Drums of the First Royal Engineers.
Not quite as disciplined: Osquar Mutter.
From the School of Computer Science and Engineering: Mother Fokker with Baby Fokker. (Uncle Fokker is tailing behind, out of view.) Note the guy carrying the tailplane that apparently fell off at an early stage.
Sushi con Quarne with Japanese whale hunters.
Love Hero.
Gislaved Drum & Drill Corps. A quite unique sound with lots of cow bell.
Sometimes you just have to split up.
Last in the parade as always: Mosquito, followed by dancing, swaying, walking Stockholmers.
A most unusual perspective: walking in the middle of Sveavägen. It's really very beautiful this way.
The Quarneval princess, with bodyguards.
The Pipes and Drums of the First Royal Engineers.
Not quite as disciplined: Osquar Mutter.
From the School of Computer Science and Engineering: Mother Fokker with Baby Fokker. (Uncle Fokker is tailing behind, out of view.) Note the guy carrying the tailplane that apparently fell off at an early stage. |  |  |
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Last in the parade as always: Mosquito, followed by dancing, swaying, walking Stockholmers.
A most unusual perspective: walking in the middle of Sveavägen. It's really very beautiful this way.
2008-05-09
Veckans ord: markanden
Blott de tama fåglarna har en längtan, de vilda flyger.
Och på backen sitter markanden och styr.
2008-05-08
Go shop!
This afternoon I was invited to a sneak preview of the new Fair Trade Shop on Tegnérgatan 8 that will open on Saturday. Now, those of you who are familiar with this part of town will recognise this as the house of the Mission Covenant Church of Sweden and indeed the shop turns out to share premises with Gummessons bookstore and all of the staff seemed to have ties to the church. To my disbelief(!) there was even a speech made by a mission pastor who then prayed over us and surprisingly many in the audience bowed their heads. I didn't quite expect such things to happen in Sweden, but then again, I live a sheltered life.
Still, the shop has nice stuff, in particular Fair Trade clothes, which have been difficult to get hold of in Stockholm, so I'll just sigh deeply and shop there anyway.
Still, the shop has nice stuff, in particular Fair Trade clothes, which have been difficult to get hold of in Stockholm, so I'll just sigh deeply and shop there anyway.
2008-05-06
2008-05-05
Squarely in the uncanny zone
While a technological masterpiece, I find the Boston Dynamics Big Dog rather creepy.
It seems thedevelopers Pantless Knights also have noted the weird feeling the opposing legs give and made an alternate version of the video.
It seems the
2008-05-04
2008-05-02
Veckans ord: farhinder
Gatukontoret lägger gupp i vägen. Cyklar man för fort över dem kan man råka mosa kronjuvelerna, då har guppen blivit farhinder.
2008-04-30
2008-04-27
Maligned mathematics
Statistics is for me the archetype of science, to work with incomplete data and decide what conclusions we are justified to draw from them. Doing statistics properly is non-trivial, requiring both knowledge and skill, but misused statistics are all too common. Accordingly many tend to treat statistics as if they were just an issue of making up arguments for pre-determined conclusions.
Red Top once quipped:
Now this is an example of misusing statistics. Consider: If the example refers to temperature, a freezer would have a temperature of approx 250 K, a hob plate up to approx 600 K. Averaging the two temperatures would give 425 K, tissue-damagingly hot, so the conclusion is false.
(We do not know the heat content of the freezer and hob, respectively, but we can assume that if they are plugged in, the heat-conduction of the feet can be ignored.)
So, is the example to be taken as averaging “too cold” and “too hot”? Since these are (fuzzy) categories, they can't be averaged, so the conclusion is meaningless.
More meaningful for our wide-legged test person would perhaps be measurements of comfort level. The validity and repeatability of these measures can be questioned, but in principle we can get numeric values to work with, so-and-so much for one foot and such-and-such for the other. However, as both are on the “discomfort” side of the scale (per the problem statement), thus averaging out to discomfort, the conclusion is false again.
Remember kids: Always do your stats carefully and do not assume that you can use tests for normal distributed data on any data.
Red Top once quipped:
Statistics is the science that says that if a person has one foot in the freezer and the other on a hob, he will on average be fairly comfortable.
Now this is an example of misusing statistics. Consider: If the example refers to temperature, a freezer would have a temperature of approx 250 K, a hob plate up to approx 600 K. Averaging the two temperatures would give 425 K, tissue-damagingly hot, so the conclusion is false.
(We do not know the heat content of the freezer and hob, respectively, but we can assume that if they are plugged in, the heat-conduction of the feet can be ignored.)
So, is the example to be taken as averaging “too cold” and “too hot”? Since these are (fuzzy) categories, they can't be averaged, so the conclusion is meaningless.
More meaningful for our wide-legged test person would perhaps be measurements of comfort level. The validity and repeatability of these measures can be questioned, but in principle we can get numeric values to work with, so-and-so much for one foot and such-and-such for the other. However, as both are on the “discomfort” side of the scale (per the problem statement), thus averaging out to discomfort, the conclusion is false again.
Remember kids: Always do your stats carefully and do not assume that you can use tests for normal distributed data on any data.
2008-04-25
2008-04-24
Getting high on the West Coast
Late in the evening this past Monday I arrived in Gothenburg, just as jubilant and not-so-jubilant fans were moving towards the station from Ullevi football stadium. AIK had lost. Darn! I also saw the tram I should have been on pull away from the tram stop, fifteen minutes to the next. I spent those studying a, presumably, inebriated harmonica player courting a girl, who took this in good humour. I also found that Gothenburg too has introduced SMS tickets for public transport. Very convenient. I will have to run a test soon and see if I can get through a month without any cash at all. The tram trundled noisily through the slightly chilly night city and we soon ended up at my target traffic nexus. 
Hotel Gothia Towers was not difficult to locate, the twin towers rising high above me. Check-in was smooth in spite of a new and inventive misspelling of my name and soon I found myself on the 19th floor, looking out over famous Gothenburg landmarks. After having admired the skyline for a while I went to sleep.
Breakfast was served in a restaurant with a little bit too much of canteen feeling for my tastes, but nothing wrong with the buffet. Sponge cake for breakfast, yum! Then I set off for the conference I had been invited to. It turned out to be be very well-organised with lots of demos, presentations in parallel sessions and I chatted with people I hadn't seen for too long. I realised I have missed going to scientific conferences. I enjoyed myself greatly.
The social event in the evening took place at Peacock Dinner Club. I walked there with some colleagues and reflected that Stockholm is much more cramped than Gothenburg where the avenues are wide and bordered by wide pavements with proper bicycle paths and often even little lawns in front of the houses. It makes for a very pedestrian-friendly city. The dinner club turned out to be a very classy joint—when I asked for guanabana juice the bartender didn't bat an eye, just reached out for a bottle and poured me a glass, just like that. They didn't have banana juice, but they offered lychee instead, which was OK by me. However, I couldn't stay too long, as I had a presentation to prepare, so eventually I went back to my room and worked till late with the view to inspire me.
My presentation went over quite well, with a Q&A session lasting almost half an hour. Some of the questions I thought were rather tenuously connected to what I had spoken about, but that just let me take a “wider perspective” in my response, i e blab on. During the coffee break, a man came up and asked: “So what was your presentation about? This technical English is really hard to follow.” Ungh! I squirmed inwards but politely gave a condensed version in Swedish. For a moment I was confused by the statement that technical English was difficult to follow—I can make do in several languages as long as the discourse is constrained to technical matters, but then I realised that that is true as long as you remain within a familiar area of technology, where the terminology is shared and known. Nevertheless, I was still a bit disappointed that I hadn't managed to get my point across, I certainly don't consciously attempt to be abstruse and I'm always upset when I've failed to explain the work which is so dear to me.
In the afternoon I decided to skip the last workshop session and instead went walking in springy Gothenburg—the sun was shining, the Emilias were pretty, and the pollen count was high. My eyes and nose ran like fountains and I sought shelter in the railway station.
On the train back I found I had no WLAN in my car. The conductor did not quite understand what the problem was, but was eager to help and let me change seat to another car where I soon was connected again. It has happened to me before that car 6 (the end car) has bad (non-existent) WLAN coverage, maybe I should take that up with the SJ network people.
Hotel Gothia Towers was not difficult to locate, the twin towers rising high above me. Check-in was smooth in spite of a new and inventive misspelling of my name and soon I found myself on the 19th floor, looking out over famous Gothenburg landmarks. After having admired the skyline for a while I went to sleep.Breakfast was served in a restaurant with a little bit too much of canteen feeling for my tastes, but nothing wrong with the buffet. Sponge cake for breakfast, yum! Then I set off for the conference I had been invited to. It turned out to be be very well-organised with lots of demos, presentations in parallel sessions and I chatted with people I hadn't seen for too long. I realised I have missed going to scientific conferences. I enjoyed myself greatly.
The social event in the evening took place at Peacock Dinner Club. I walked there with some colleagues and reflected that Stockholm is much more cramped than Gothenburg where the avenues are wide and bordered by wide pavements with proper bicycle paths and often even little lawns in front of the houses. It makes for a very pedestrian-friendly city. The dinner club turned out to be a very classy joint—when I asked for guanabana juice the bartender didn't bat an eye, just reached out for a bottle and poured me a glass, just like that. They didn't have banana juice, but they offered lychee instead, which was OK by me. However, I couldn't stay too long, as I had a presentation to prepare, so eventually I went back to my room and worked till late with the view to inspire me.
My presentation went over quite well, with a Q&A session lasting almost half an hour. Some of the questions I thought were rather tenuously connected to what I had spoken about, but that just let me take a “wider perspective” in my response, i e blab on. During the coffee break, a man came up and asked: “So what was your presentation about? This technical English is really hard to follow.” Ungh! I squirmed inwards but politely gave a condensed version in Swedish. For a moment I was confused by the statement that technical English was difficult to follow—I can make do in several languages as long as the discourse is constrained to technical matters, but then I realised that that is true as long as you remain within a familiar area of technology, where the terminology is shared and known. Nevertheless, I was still a bit disappointed that I hadn't managed to get my point across, I certainly don't consciously attempt to be abstruse and I'm always upset when I've failed to explain the work which is so dear to me.
In the afternoon I decided to skip the last workshop session and instead went walking in springy Gothenburg—the sun was shining, the Emilias were pretty, and the pollen count was high. My eyes and nose ran like fountains and I sought shelter in the railway station.
On the train back I found I had no WLAN in my car. The conductor did not quite understand what the problem was, but was eager to help and let me change seat to another car where I soon was connected again. It has happened to me before that car 6 (the end car) has bad (non-existent) WLAN coverage, maybe I should take that up with the SJ network people.
2008-04-21
Instant psychedelia
Among the OS X widgets is a language translator from Systran. The quality of translation varies quite a bit among the available languages and for some reason Italian seems to have a subpar translation engine. To amuse myself I fed in the lyrics for Irene Grandi's Bruci la città and translated into English. The result was not quite “A whiter shade of pale”, but still fairly surrealistic. Note also the out-and-out bug that occasionally inserts full stops between words:
Caterpillars the city
and landslides the skyscraper
you alone remain
knot on my bed.
Caterpillars the city
or lives in the terror
nel.giro.di two hours
vanishes all how much
svanica all the rest.
And all those boys as you
they do not have nothing as you
I cannot that to admire
I cannot not scream
that I tighten to you on my heart
for protegerti from the evil
that I would want to be able to rock
your pain your pain.
It dies more under a tram
or less all the world explodes
stars explodes all this.
It dies what
it is other from we
at least two for little
at least for error.
And all those boys
as you they do not have nothing
as you I would want
give to make to me
to perhaps be better
make shield you
with my heart from catastrophes and fears
I do not have
nothing to make
this I am
what I know to make
I cannot that to adore
I cannot that to leccare
this your deep love
this your deep one
I cannot that to adore
this your deep one.
Caterpillars the city
and landslides the skyscraper
you alone remain
knot on my bed.
Caterpillars the city
or lives in the terror
nel.giro.di two hours
vanishes all how much
svanica all the rest.
And all those boys as you
they do not have nothing as you
I cannot that to admire
I cannot not scream
that I tighten to you on my heart
for protegerti from the evil
that I would want to be able to rock
your pain your pain.
It dies more under a tram
or less all the world explodes
stars explodes all this.
It dies what
it is other from we
at least two for little
at least for error.
And all those boys
as you they do not have nothing
as you I would want
give to make to me
to perhaps be better
make shield you
with my heart from catastrophes and fears
I do not have
nothing to make
this I am
what I know to make
I cannot that to adore
I cannot that to leccare
this your deep love
this your deep one
I cannot that to adore
this your deep one.
2008-04-19
Falling asleep
Earlier this week as I went to bed, it broke beneath me. In the morning I examined the bed a bit closer and was surprised at the common-sense-defying design. The mattress, a Sultan Sturefors has a series of boards underneath, supporting the springs. These boards are simply attached with two large staples at each end. The staples have nothing in the way of barbs, grooves, or anything, they are just smooth strips of metal, parallel with the forces when someone lies in the bed. Clearly it is just a question of time before they work themselves out of the wood, and the time was now. 
I requisitioned transport and brought the mattress back to IKEA, where a person in the complaints department stared at it incredulously and really didn't seem to take to heart my proposition that this was an accident just waiting to happen. There was however no question that I wouldn't get credited the price, so I went back in to retrieve instead a Sultan Storfors, which has a more sensible construction with the boards resting on a frame and thus unlikely to just drop out the bottom.I will now proceed to test the new mattress.
2008-04-18
Veckans ord: tentakel
Tentavakterna på KTH tenderade att vara pensionärer som, med få undantag, övervakade salarna med örnblick. Men även om de för ett ögonblick hade tittat bort så inte hade man haft tid med nåt tentakel med Osqulda där man skrev med svetten lackande.
2008-04-11
Veckans ord: slumpartikel
När jag bodde i USA en period reflekterade jag över att amerikanska hus syntes finnas i två varianter: sprillans nybyggda och väldigt nedgångna. Min hypotes är att berggrunden där strålar ut slumpartiklar som nöter ned husen.
2008-04-09
Shake the box, rattle and roll
We laughed a bit when the favourite hobby store got model kits of pop bands and instruments, but appparently they're more clever than you'd expect:
H/t Sten Sundelin.
H/t Sten Sundelin.
2008-04-06
Veckans ord: obligatorisk
Ett obligato är ett avsnitt i ett musikstycke som kompositören markerat inte får utelämnas vid omarrangemang eller improvisationer. Man misstänker att ju högre kompositörens tankar om sin egen förträfflighet, desto större obligatorisk.
2008-04-03
Communicado again
It seems I can send and receive email again, touch wood, inshallah and all that. I've felt like Joe Bonham the last few days.
2008-04-01
A bunch of mindless jerks who will be the first up against the wall when the revolution comes
Yesterday morning I found my email didn't work. I wasn't terribly surprised, it was fairly obvious that Comhem had screwed up the transfers of accounts due to my recent move, and I even had a fairly good guess about what the precise problem was.
So I call customer support. “Right now many are calling us, call back later.” Lather, rinse, repeat.
Eventually I get “You are placed in queue. You are now … number 43. For speeding up processing, please enter your customer number and press #.” I enter my customer number and press #. Then I fiddle with stuff for fifteen minutes while the queue is processed.
Finally a human voice responds. I explain my problem and what I want done about it. “Uhm, err, OK. What's your customer number?” The one I just entered for you, so processing could be speeded up by you not having to ask for it? I give my customer number. Possibly I do this through gritted teeth, because I have to repeat it a couple of times before it gets across properly.
Of course the person I speak to is unable to solve my problem but has to escalate it to someone who actually knows how to operate a computer, but they'll call back! “Do you have a number we can reach you at?” Yes, and it's in my customer records that would be in front of you if you hadn't been abandoned by your management and forced to use quill and papyrus as working tools. I give my number, with the mandatory repetitions.
Of course I do not receive a tracking number for my case, so now when I still have not been called back and still don't have working email, I'll have to explain it all from the beginning for the next customer support droid who will have no idea of any previous call from me…
So I call customer support. “Right now many are calling us, call back later.” Lather, rinse, repeat.
Eventually I get “You are placed in queue. You are now … number 43. For speeding up processing, please enter your customer number and press #.” I enter my customer number and press #. Then I fiddle with stuff for fifteen minutes while the queue is processed.
Finally a human voice responds. I explain my problem and what I want done about it. “Uhm, err, OK. What's your customer number?” The one I just entered for you, so processing could be speeded up by you not having to ask for it? I give my customer number. Possibly I do this through gritted teeth, because I have to repeat it a couple of times before it gets across properly.
Of course the person I speak to is unable to solve my problem but has to escalate it to someone who actually knows how to operate a computer, but they'll call back! “Do you have a number we can reach you at?” Yes, and it's in my customer records that would be in front of you if you hadn't been abandoned by your management and forced to use quill and papyrus as working tools. I give my number, with the mandatory repetitions.
Of course I do not receive a tracking number for my case, so now when I still have not been called back and still don't have working email, I'll have to explain it all from the beginning for the next customer support droid who will have no idea of any previous call from me…
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