sanctimonious

You know how in some movies they have those really cool instrument cases, like a guitar case that looks like it has an acoustic guitar, but then the top of the guitar pops off and there's a gun under it? Well, I want to construct the opposite. Something that looks like a gun case and when you open it, it looks like it has a sniper rifle, but then the top pops off and inside there's a violin.

Wonder if they'd get the joke at the airport.

Remember the time when searching something from the Internet actually produced usable results instead of pages full of Google ads?

Nowadays the search engines try to optimize their results by displaying sites like Wikipedia on the top search results, but I’ve noticed that many times these ‘preferred’ results – while perhaps meaningful on average – are not the ones I care about.

For example, I don’t want to see results from Alexa.com because I rarely – if ever – am looking for statistics about websites. I don’t want anything from the Finnish Wikipedia either (living in Finland, that’s what Google does to me), for the articles in the English Wikipedia are far more comprehensive.

Wouldn’t it be great if you could tell your search engine how you wanted your search results sorted? I would pay fairly, if Google would always show a matching English Wikipedia article as the search result number one, then a match from the Internet Movie Database, and after that what it can find from answers.yahoo.com or experts-exchange.com.

Everyone and their aunt are now doing search engine optimization. I say that for a searcher that merely means that search results are even more intangible. Since all the major search engines allow personalization already, how about let us do some meaningful personalization instead of just giving us the power to decide whether we want the weather displayed on iGoogle.

We know best what we’re looking for!

"Sapphire is the IKEA of the strip club world."

That is all.

Another story hushed by the liberal media: Tax dollars at work – Russian opposition leader attacked by remote-controlled government spy vehicle.

My question: Where can I get one of those? :P

The town council of Tunbridge Wells has forbidden city employees from using the term 'brainstorm' because – wait for it – they deem that the term may be hurtful for those suffering from epilepsy.

I won't even comment this one :D

Reading -- what a novel idea.

One of life's little joys is discovering a software bug (!) in your microwave oven, and then playing with it... Not only until it blows the fuse in your apartment's fuse box, but until some central building fuse box goes off as well, and you get to try to make sense of your life to the building manager.

Also, Nathan Fillon, the rambunctious captain Malcom Reynolds of Firefly visits Lost season 3. Oh, how have the mighty fallen...

And Nathan.

Speaking of space opera, Battlestar Galactica is ending after the upcoming fourth season. I say 'boo' to your decision, producers Ronald Moore and David Eick! Do you not understand that after running out of ideas, a scifi show is supposed to linger on another three or four years!

"To find out that there are more Iraqi chemical weapons stocked on the U.S. soil than were in Iraq before the war."

"Uh... How to define irony, Mr. Trebek?"

Lesson from Rome: If you accidentally leave your laptop next to a sugar ant colony, they will organize quickly to clean out all the dirt and crumbs under your keyboard.

Of course, getting them all out before the flight is going to be an interesting feat...

Some might wonder why this guide has not addressed the actual software products, and even the clients have been mentioned only in passing. The reason is these aspects do not matter in becoming successful in the software industry. The only thing that matters is getting enough money from your financers to run your business so long that you can set up a highly publicized public offering of shares, which will inevitably make you embarrassingly rich. Good old customer-based businesses simply are not suited for the new millennium. Today, your goal is to sell your company, not your products. And once you have, you can enjoy your private jet and let your new owners worry about the minor issues, such as finding clients.

One day, the Devil came to meet God. “Now that you have created man and he has left the Garden of Eden, he will need a book to learn about you.”

“Oh, and I suppose you want to be the author?” said God.

“On the contrary. All I ask is that you let him write it.”

And it was so.

It's a sad thought that the death of George Clooney's pet pig gets more media attention than my death ever would.

Aphorism of the day:

If one idiot can ask more questions than ten wise men can answer, just think about how many questions one wise man can ask.

Do you think, when standing in front of their make-up mirror in the morning, any of these guys went: "I look like a wreck... Oh, gosh, why do I even try? It's not like anyone notices..."

Back in the good year of 2000, when the world was more innocent than it is today, the world’s biggest and virtually unchallenged military power, the United States, spent about 288 billion dollars, or circa 1024 dollars per citizen, as its military budget.

I remember that time as pretty bad days for the army. Having no great enemy from whom it could protect the United States, and a Democrat tree hugger running for president, they were forced to downsize. But still, without any hesitation, we all could say that the mightiest military power in the world belonged (and belongs) to the good people of the United States of America, who fortunately agreed – for the most part – with us Europeans.

Then Bin Laden came along, and the military budget jumped to 420 billion dollars per annum. At the same time the ideological differences between the European governments and the U.S. government surfaced, and the number of Arabs who fully approved the conduct of the Coalition of the Willing, started its never-ending decline.

Let us consider – for the sake of argument – that instead of attacking Iraq, the leaders of the United States had decided to not increase the military budget for anything over 330 billion dollars – which coincidentally was the military budget during the war in Afghanistan. After all, that’s still a nice 15% raise... More than I ever got.

With the remaining 90 billion dollars per year, the United States would end the world hunger. And I don’t mean “end” like buying soup for all the bums in the streets of New York, but end it… period.

According to the United Nations World Food Programme (WFP), there are about 850 million people in the world, who need food aid. At the moment WFP can feed a person for a day with a cost of 29 cents. Therefore, with the 90 billion dollars removed from the current military budget, United States could quite exactly cover the cost of all the food required per year.

Of course, someone would still have to deliver and spread the food all around the world, but somehow I think that would be a Coalition of the Willing which even France would join. It might also make it somewhat challenging for the terrorists to explain to their recruits why the United States continues to be the Great Satan.

Now, I did write “for the sake of argument”. This is my argument: With this approach, would the War on Terror be any less successful than what it is now?

Welcome to the 2006 edition of getting to know your friends. What you
are supposed to do is answer all the questions, pop it in your LJ, and
hope that other people will copy them and answer them in their LJs too.
Pestering them to do so is verboten!

1. What time did you get up this morning?
5:30 am. No, it wasn't a fluke!

( Read more... )

I must confess that I’m one of the few people who still think that USA should’ve invaded Iraq. I was also for military intervention in Afghanistan – two opinions which I assure you were not very popular in Finland, in my family, or even with the liberal friends and co-workers I associate with.  

 

My reasoning, however, did not follow the arguments given by the “leader of the free world”, President George W. Bush, and to be fair, I also had formed my personal opinion well before September 11th, 2001. They are as follows:

 

1)      Humanitarian crisis, barbaric oppression of people and other violations of human rights give the international community a moral imperative and mandate to demand an immediate change of governing policies in countries which practice them.

 

2)      The governments which demonstrate their inability and unwillingness to respect the basic human rights and the will of the international community have lost their right to govern.

 

3)      If such government refuses to step down, the international community has the duty to use necessary force in order to guarantee human rights for the people.

 

4)      Can't someone else do it?

 

Of course, the international community didn’t bother to do much, considering that China, Russia, France and USA all had to agree, and so the United States of the Free World, inspired by the old saying “if you want something done…”, decided to invade Iraq on its own. I thought that was a mistake, though I hoped that the United Nations would’ve given their support, but then again nobody in the States seemed to bother to present the case from the humanitarian point of view, which was rather odd; nobody was denying the vast number of human rights violations in Iraq. Was that not enough for an intervention? I guess the diplomats from France, Russia and China followed my four step logic for the invasion a little too closely.

 

So, with sound and self-righteous fury America went to war, and for no-one’s surprise the military victory from the Iraqi army, mostly equipped with sticks and stones, was overwhelming. The war was soon over, and then all the sudden people started to die.

 

Iraq became one of those far away places you’d read from the paper every day, a bombing that killed so many U.S. and Iraqi soldiers and apparently also some civilians, though so far no one had bothered to count exactly how many, and we’d think “oh, that’s so sad” while drinking orange juice in the morning, or watching the news from the TV in our gym, and then we’d move on until the next day would bring us the same news again. We'd feel good, because paying attention meant we cared.

 

Well, not really. I didn’t care about the dead soldiers that much, because dying is part of their job description. I didn’t care about the dead civilians, because I figure that’s part of war, and only within the last decades the civilian lives have started to matter in military actions. It didn’t really move me when some idiot killed two Finns in Iraq (Finland had opposed the invasion), mostly because they were doing business in a country which was still in de facto state of war. “Oh, that’s too bad” was what I thought about the kidnappings and beheadings. It was, after all, happening in a land far, far away.

 

Jill Carroll changed that. I don’t know why, but she has become the one thing that will forever decide what I think about the Iraqi insurgents. I can respect that some men can’t accept the presence of foreign military in their country, and I can vaguely understand that out of frustration of being unable to fight them in a fair battle, some of these men will turn into cowardly terrorists, striking and killing whomever they can, instead of seeking political strength, but for the life of me, it remains a mystery how they could ever justify killing a female journalist.

 

What really astonishes me is that these geniuses seem to think that the international military presence is going to end because they kidnap, torture, and kill people who are unarmed journalists or relief workers. I think it should be clear to everyone, that if the international aid organizations and the news media leave the country, there will be no-one monitoring the actions of the U.S. military, and to be fair, they can get pretty damn mean even while everyone’s watching.

 

If you clowns go ahead with your plans to kill Jill Carroll for whatever sad excuse of a reason you might have, then I’m sorry, but you’ve lost your right to exist in this world, and I won’t care if the United States breaks every section of the international law to hunt you down.

 

Actually, I'll hope they do.

In the plane I’m seated next to a professionally tanned girl armed with a delightful valley accent and a mobile phone which never closes. I learn from her calls that she is a masseuse with B-film star clients on first name basis, which seems to be important. It’s a cruel city. In Finland someone with her connections, enthusiasm and looks would be a film producer by now.

Once the plane lands and it becomes painfully clear that the masseuse is not going to offer me a massage or her phone number, I walk out to the shine of LA, and suddenly understand why everyone wears sunglasses. I look so European that a limousine stops by my side, wanting to know if I was supposed to be picked up to the Universal Studios, and for a passing moment, I’m someone important. Then I give up, and let a cab driver pack me into his Ford Escort from the late nineties. He’s an Italian-American, who fits the stereotype like a glove. He also, like everyone else in this city, is speaking to a mobile phone, which he soon apologizes; He and his wife have an anniversary today. I grin and note that he is obviously celebrating it the traditional way.

How long have you been married, I ask. Nine years, he says, and wonders if some lucky girl has managed to collar my finger yet. I reveal that several ladies have been lucky enough to avoid marriage with me, some even the entire relationship, which makes the driver pry whether I'm lonely or just secretly enjoying driving in the heat of Los Angeles alone. It appears to me that I’m enjoying the company of a cab driver at the moment. He continues without missing a beat that there are such things as escorts in this country, which surely is news for anyone from whatever funny little European province I come from. I agree that only here it is so common that car manufacturers can have an entire model named after them and, by the way, is this your wife's car.

I'm told that in the city of dreams I can also date the famous adult film stars for a reasonable price, which someone with my character undoubtedly can afford (and has to, considering how heavy that character currently is). I inquire if I look like a man who has any interest in porn. He suspects that it is likely that I look like a man, and now my boasted ego has no choice but to over-tip him.

Surely everyone has needs, he knows, and I, with my refined taste, which he already has concluded from my smart black suit and ponytail, must have a taste for finer women. I wonder if that can be true, who would take such a long break from something he truly enjoys. The driver believes that it must be because I've spent so long in that ridiculously small European country, which women cannot possibly be compared to the women of LA. I find it surprisingly true.

We turn to the Herbalife highway, and I fall silent in awe. The essence of America is here like I’ve never experienced it before. Compared to Los Angeles, Austin and New York feel almost socialistic cities. This is the true heart of capitalistic America, this is where a diet product can buy its own highway.

I’m home.

This is what we in the blog biz call a two parter.

 

Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner write in their ever so interesting book Freakonomics about how the economists can see a relation (or "correlation", to be more exact) between the names of the children and the years of their mother's education: For example, on average a mother of a girl called Chastity has had 10.66 years of education, whereas the mother of a girl called Shira is likely to have no less than 15.60 years of education. What the economist Levitt and reporter Dubner fail to realize, however, is the groundbreaking, undeniable fact that this data also correlates with the names of porn stars in the very same manner:

 

The mothers with the least education are most likely to name their little girls with names popular in the porn industry: Chastity (10.66), Cherokee (11.86), Precious (11.30), Destiny (11.65), Diamond (11.70), December (12.00), Desiree (12.62), Brittany (12.87)

 

On the other hand mothers of these little miracles can feel safe that at least the girls will be most likely to perform under a pseudonym: Matisse (15.35), Yael (15.55), Shira (15.60), Campbell (15.69), Veronique (15.80 -- not to be confused with "Veronica", which has a considerably lower rating!)

 

I’d like to thank Internet Adult Film Database for confirming these results. As a person who doesn’t even know what sex is (as all of my ex girlfriends would wholeheartedly agree), I assure you that this realization was purely based on empiric study, instead of, say, vast knowledge and immense familiarity with the products of American porn industry.

 

Speaking of all things American, the rest of this post is probably hard to understand, unless you are either living in Finland or a Finn.

 

Matti Nykänen is so close to a real life Homer Simpson than you can possibly get.

 

So far, the pride of Finland, the winner of five Olympic medallions, four of which  golden, and four world championships in ski jumping, has since worked at least as a bartender, an author, a sports consultant, a fashion model, an advertiser, a stripper, an adult model and a signer, the latter with (arguably) some success. After the peak of his career, his whole life has been a slowly steepening slope during which he has sold his Olympic medallions for booze money, married and divorced from his current wife for about twenty times with the details documented in the newspapers, and finally a couple years ago he stabbed a man and spent a year in prison for that. Once done with his time, the eagle has already managed (in less than a week!) to be arrested twice, once for beating up his wife, and once for trying to hit one of his old friends with a knife.

 

Oh, and of course all this after the newspapers reported how the jail had made our Matti a new, better man. You know, it makes me feel good to see see “Matti Nykänen” on the front page of these papers, because it guarantees that it’s a very slow news day. No bombings, no crimes, no scandals, nothing.

 

And lately, there have been a lot of slow news days.

 

He’s an alcoholic, violent and unsophisticated man who cracks these insightful pearls of wisdom – just like Homer Simpson -- which undoubtedly live beyond the short years he has left on this planet (especially considering how he runs his life at the moment), such as “[regarding ski jumping] every time I’m about to jump, I get this ‘bon voyage’ –feeling, you know, the one that this all has happened to me before”.  I have to add, that I, also, get a ‘bon voyage’ –feeling when I hear about the escapades of our noble sports hero, whose most memorable thoughts have been immortalized in Latin, by the way. Vita est optimum tempus pro homine!

 

(Life is the best time for man.)

Yesterday, the little biology scientist in me somersaulted in joy, because my two days old dream of having a modest antaquarium of my own finally became reality in the form of a packet delivered to my door. And what a neat little treat it is. It’s filled with the same stuff astronauts eat, which is kinda fortunate, because who would’ve thought that people can eat ant food. Antaquarium, by the way, is a pun or a play on words, which happens when you combine the word 'ant' with 'aquarium' and it means that while there's some definitely blue stuff inside the aquarium, you can put ants there and they won't drown. This pun alone kept me giggling like a schoolgirl for about three or four hours.

 

One thing I had not considered prior to purchasing my brand new semi-transparent design antaquarium was that I would also have to find some ants. This turned out to be harder than you might expect for two reasons. First, it is already fall in Helsinki, and most of the ants are already hibernating deep inside their hills and it’s very hard to locate an anthill, if you can’t see any ants. The second problem was, that it is actually very hard to catch any ants, if you are strongly insectophobic.

 

So, after a three and half hours of search and destroy without the destroying part, I was finally the proud owner of the total of eight ants. If you ever want to find any ants in Helsinki, I really recommend those playing fields for kids they have all around the city (I was very glad to find out that my tax money is being used for something I get ants from). They’re often built on sand, and I suppose the kids keep most of the bigger ant eating insects away, so the little buggers can multiply any way they want. The ants, I mean, not the kids. If you can ignore the slightly worried glances of mothers while you collect the ants and those unexpected cries of panic, which one might emit when an ant is about to climb up your finger, I guarantee, you’ll find some serious ants there. Also, once I explained my situation, the mothers became a lot less alarmed, after all what 25-years-old overweight insectophobic nerd wearing a shirt which says “Your Retarded” wouldn’t get an antaquarium of their own? Hey, these things are for 3+ and up! The kids at least shared my keen interest, which tells you something about your average mother.

 

Unfortunately, one of the ants I caught must’ve been from another anthill, because the other captives without mercy or delay put him to death. And let me tell you, when ants are about to kill another ant, they don’t screw around. The biggest piece left of that poor little fellow must’ve been one of his antennae, because once the commotion was over and the deed was done, I couldn’t even find his head!

 

This, of course, posed a moral dilemma, which cost me half the night’s sleep as an uncomfortable realization nagging in the back of my head that I had caused the death of an ant, and there was no two ways about it.  I might be entomophobic, but a killer I am not. An insect accidentally wandering in my apartment is kindly escorted out in a wine glass and set free. Save for mosquitoes, which are an Exception, I don’t believe I have killed a single insect for years.

 

Grappling with this load of guilt led me to a realization that my way of life should actually be socially more acceptable than vegetarianism is. I am, after all, actively refusing to kill any kind of animals, not just the cute ones. Don’t get me wrong, I’d eat some unborn lamb (which is very tender, and I assure you, dear reader, given the chance, so would you) any day of the week, but I, personally, am not ready to kill anything. If someone has already killed, say, my steak, well, letting it go bad would be just the kind of arrogant and profuse action which makes Western Civilization (that is “The First World” for all you uncivilized Americans, who, ironically, are part of it too) look so bad in the eyes of the rest of the planet.

 

I’m sure you find this logic flawed, but I assure you, I don’t.

 

As I write this entry, I keep watching inside the antaquarium, because I fear that one of my specimens, George Windsfree JF-1703, is slowly fading and will soon be set to a lonely journey to the Great Anthill, which slopes every ant must one day climb to meet and serve the Queen Ant, the Great Mother of All Ants, for all eternity. I think that Geordi, as he liked to be called, was mortally hurt during the combat with the other ant. He spent a great part of last night cleansing himself with his feelers, until this morning another ant, a young female known only as Rachel Silverback JF-1705, took her place next to him, caring and mending his wounds in a position which can only be described as hugging. She staid in that position for the whole day, and when the time of passing drew closer, the remaining five ants gathered into a circle around the dying to pay their respects*. Once he finally had moved on from this world, the ants scattered again, leaving Rachel alone with the body.

 

Which she then ate.

 

Well, not really. Maybe it was more of a ceremonial nibble.

 

Way or another, our young female seems to have a morbid fascination on the dead, which is a little concerning. The other ants have withdrawn into a tight group in a corner of the antaquarium. They aren’t moving, but they are very aware of what is happening around them. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they are afraid.

 

She is, after all, a man-eater.

 

Anywho.

 

Don’t think that my visit to that totally useless science crap website only cost me the worth of one antaquarium. These sites are really, really dangerous for a mind working like mine does. The less useful the item is, the more likely it is I will get it. Or what would you say about a magnetic spinning top, which you can make hover in air for over two minutes, if you know what you’re doing? Or some really strong magnets? Or, or…

 

Or how about a plantarium?

 

No, I didn’t spell that wrong.

 

Plants. Growing from the ant food, so you can see their roots.

 

And let me tell you, specimens for that were so much easier to find than ants.

 

 

 

 

 

* This all really happened.