Kilt

Why when you spill something is it spilt, but when you kill something it isn't kilt? (Kill! Kill!)

Anyway, in case you've been visiting periodically to see if I've posted any new fabulous insights, meanderings or insults, you've probably noticed that I haven't. This post is the official death-knell for RationAlley.

For the truly curious (and actually also the somewhat curious, since you only have to keep on reading from this point on), my reasons are

1. Too easily becomes a temptation / distraction while at work

2. Doesn't feel sufficiently compelling to post all my thoughts and feelings for the purported benefit of random strangers in addition to my friends and family, as opposed to communicating the relevant ones directly to the F&F most likely to care / understand / respond

3. Continuing vague dis-ease with the semi-anonymity of the thing: why not just make a website/blog in which I actually identify myself and post thoughts that I am not ashamed to be identified with (as for example the ones that would actually enhance my career) (or ones including photos of myself and my friends enjoying holidays or other fun events together)?

4. Plus, I think I may just be too old for this whole blogging thing (please see 2. and 3.)

So thanks for your visit, and if you know me stay posted: I may launch another personal online space (POS?) at some point in the future. I'll be sure to let you know.

Rain, rain, go away

Oh, wait, rain is supposed to be good for the farmers.

I guess I'll go away instead: T-minus 48.5 hours until our scheduled arrival in Greece!

Football

Yup it's World Cup time. So far I have watched

• one entire match (U.S. / Czech Republic), where I managed to view all three winning goals,
• 80% of one match (NL / S&M), where I managed to miss the winning goal, and
• 5% or so of one match (Germany / Poland) where I managed to catch the winning goal in minute 91 (Mr. Cat on the other hand managed to attend such match).

For the record, I haven't seen the Super Bowl or any full American Football game in five years. Also for the record, S&M = Serbia & Montenegro. Also for the record, to my knowledge, no actual effort has been made to implement this suggestion. But have a look. It's amusing.

New tooth

Well, not quite, a new filling really. It's made of porcelain and replaces a metal one I had put in oh, say, 20 years ago or so. Could I really be old enough for that to be true? I think so. Who knew fillings had a limited life? But apparently they do. My new dentist was really quite critical of the whole concept. Fortunately he has this amazing high-tech system that scans your tooth (after extensive drill work and (fortunately) numbing), then custom-mills a bit of porcelain to the exact shape of the available space. Anyway it feels like a new tooth because it doesn't have exactly quite the same shape as it used to have. But it is nice and shiny, and approximately the same color as the rest of my tooth.

Two down, three to go. Great revenue stream for my dentist.

Loving work

I have a few friends at the moment who seem to love their work. I am really happy for them. Really.

I also have jealous tendencies. I like my work. It has its positive aspects. It has its shortcomings.

For now, for this season, for me, work is work. I am grateful that I work 5-minutes-biking distance from my house. I am glad my work uses several of my acquired and intrinsic skills. I am glad I get paid to do my work. I am glad I get on well with several of my co-workers.

I am not sure this job is the be-all and end-all of my working life. But for now, I choose to be content with what I have been given. I choose to be grateful.

Internal debate

Which additional persons should I invite to view my blog? Mom, friends, cousin?

Just maybe...

Maybe every story is a love story.

I am reading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close at the moment by a guy named Jonathan Safran Foer. It has been recommended to me by a friend, and during this past weekend (during which we went away with two sets of friends, which included the recommending friend and his wife, who had also read this book), another of the friends was also reading it. Meaning two identical copies of this book, same English edition (Penguin!), were being transported to Stockholm from Amsterdam and back at the very same time. Spooky.

Anyway the book is about 9/11 and the WWII bombing of Dresden and a family. In short: about love, betrayal, desertion and searching. I don't know yet how it ends. Don't worry, I won't post it on my blog when I do.

But I am curious about this love story hypothesis. I will search for counterexamples, in keeping with the Scientific Method.

Stockholm

...meaning something like "stick island" in Swedish, which I managed to work out for myself before the tour guide on the boat explained it. She also explained that nobody is quite sure why Stockholm is called that (except for the island part, obviously). Well, obviously if you've ever looked at a map of Stockholm, that is. It's built on a whole bunch of islands. Which are located on the boundary between a lake starting with M and the Baltic Sea, and which are also part of the 300,000-island archipelago of which we were taking a boat tour at the moment referred to above.

We had a very nice weekend visiting the lovely capital of Sweden with two sets of friends, ate well, visited a classy nightclub, did a little shopping, see the loveli lakes, viewed wolverines and wolves and European bison (which I did not previously know existed) and baby wild pigs and brown bears (björn) in person along with various Old Swedish Farmsteads from all over the country and some art. Also we visited the Royal Palace and more or less ignored the changing of the guard. All in all a great success. If you have the means, I highly recommend it.

Stoned

Yes, I live in Amsterdam, but no, I am not stoned.

The girl who feeds our kitties while we were away told me this story about her dog:

We were in the Vondelpark and she (the dog) ate some vagrantpoop. There were drugs in it. Afterwards, she was walking around looking like this: (stoned looking face).

I thought it was quite funny.

Translator's note: I apologize for my use of the homemade compound word in the story above. In Dutch you have 1) a word for homeless person (zwerver) which I translated to vagrant because it was slightly more wieldy than saying homelesspersonpoop and 2) the ability to spontaneously create compound words in this way, which I realize seems somewhat irresponsible to the purist English-speaking reader. Please try to appreciate my creativity in this matter. Or at least, don't let it distract you from the deeper meaning of the anecdote.