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Monthly Archives: March 2015

Dan Brown, Inferno

Dan Brown’s boek over Dante Alighieri.

Het was niet dezelfde soort page turner die zijn voorgaande boeken (Bernini Mysterie, De Da Vinci Code, Het Juvinalis Dilemma) wel waren. Sterker nog: de overpeinzingen die professor Robert Langdon in de eerdere verhalen had die het daar interessant maakten, houden de boel hier ineens op, merk ik. Alsof je het schuim uit een goede bak afwaswater slaat. Het tempo verdwijnt omdat Langdon om de haverklap een flashback naar een eerder gegeven college heeft.

Daarnaast is het al vrij snel duidelijk dat de schrijver je op het verkeerde been wil zetten. Daardoor blijven bepaalde verhaallijnen hangen op een al vroeg aanwezig wantrouwen. Het suffe is dat dit ook wordt versterkt door vragen die Langdon zichzelf stelt, maar juist ook door de vragen die hij zich niet stelt.

De reis door de beelden, geheime tunnels en ruimtes is overweldigend, zoals gewenst. Tegelijkertijd worden er hier en daar ook talen door elkaar gebruikt, wat niet voor iedereen toegankelijk is. Het lijkt wel of de schrijver er vanuit is gegaan dat iedereen wat basis Italiaans kent. De meeste stukjes tekst zijn weliswaar braaf vertaald, maar niet alle. Nu begreep ik het wel, maar ik ben benieuwd of dat echt voor iedereen opgaat.

Het verhaal gaat niet zo snel als zijn voorgangers. Weliswaar is er een deadline -zoals ook in z’n voorgangers- maar het einde is eigenlijk….tja. Beste omschrijving die ik er toch voor kon vinden: ‘slappe piemel in een wasmand’.

Op zichzelf een leuke weglezer, maar hij is wel anders dan z’n voorgangers. Een prima reis door Dantes werken wel gegarandeerd.

 

Dan Brown’s book about Dante Alighieri.

It wasn’t the same page turners his former books (The Da Vince Code, The Bernini Mystery, etc) were. Quite the contrary: before, the thinkings of professor Robert Langdon were an asset to the story, made it a very interesting addition to the story. Now it keeps the story up. He keeps having flashbacks of a college he’s given. Like slapping the soapfoam by adding too much grease. It makes the story stop, not add to the tension that’s build up as a result of the thrilling story.

Beside that, it’s very clear from quite early on, the author has the intention of turning the story around. Which makes one distrustful from almost the very beginning. A result of the many questions Langdon asks himself. Mostly, by the questions he doesn’t ask himself.

Travelling by the sculptures, the secret tunnels, famous buildings, places and rooms is the way you’d wish it. At the same time, more languages are being used and not all of them are translated. The author apparently finds that everyone should know at least a bit Italian, while this is simply not the case for everyone. I could understand, but I’m really not that sure if this is the case for all who read the book.

The story doesn’t have the same speed its siblings had. Okay, there’s a deadline, just like was the fact before, but stil, the end is….best description I can find, is really: ‘like a weak willy in a laundry basket’. 

In itself a good book, but different. Who loves the works of Dante Alighieri will be pleased by his works.

 
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Posted by on March 20, 2015 in Books, Opinion

 

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Dolce & Gabbana

Honestly, sometimes the world baffles me. Reading the news and discovering what idiot felt the need to waste his/her breath to banter some lovely hatefull message into the world now (aside from the completely useless comments the Kardashians, Wests, Biebers and other tweet kebabs spread).
Yesterday gave another ‘lovely’ example.

http://www.firstthings.com/blogs/firstthoughts/2015/03/dolce-gabbana-the-only-family-is-the-traditional-one

First of all: I hate fashion. Not completely true. I simply couldn’t give a crap.
I know the world has a desperate need-to-be-bloody-sure what season it is and has, therefor, introduced fashion as a way of displaying this. So that we, should we find the time machine of Dr Emmett Brown and suddenly end up in a different time era, we at least know on what time of the planet we are. Or if we, groped by a piece of time sentiment, be drowned in a shoebox in the attic, shuffling and sifting pictures of what once was ourselves, may have no clue at what part of time we were looking at, at least you’d know by looking at the type of clothes.
To me clothes should fit, be comfortable. It’s nice if it makes me look better, but since I have an incredibly big stage fright I really rather go for the look of ‘socially undetectable’. I’m no Wally/Waldo to look for in a big crowd. Well, I am, but mostly due to my height.
I don’t spend money on fashion because it’s ‘design’. Design fits like a circle on a square: it doesn’t and it does so on purpose. Not my thing.

I know: this is ME.

I know there’s lots of people who do care about fashion. Who do like to wear the latest item of Vivienne Wood, Karl Lagerfeld or Miu Miu. Who become elated when wearing just the ‘right’ dress by design of god-knows-who and the shoes of bla-bla-bla. Most of these people look, indeed, lovely for paying so much attention to the style they’re wearing. They can carry the look and be fashionable because it’s their intention to do so and therefor they look stunning. Mostly weird, but in a good way. Excentric, as it’s called when you actually have the money to provide that look for yourself. Because it’s not cheap.
And then there’s those who kill animals to make sure their fashionable item gets sold properly, who love to starve very young girls so  that they exactly fit the kind of clothes that should’ve been worn by transgenders to be able to fit those items anyway (seriously, that kind of small hips on a girl is just not healthy).
The type of people who find that fashion industry is the only world there is. Some of them choose not to have a family. Those who find that the work alone is their baby and as such, give their eniter being to this style of living. It’s driven. It’s finding your muse. I get that and I admire that.

I resent the ones such as Dolce & Gabbana who are rich, famous and powerful. Who decided to speak out as a brand. A brand meddling in a choice that’s so personal, so very very personal, is just wrong. It’s never wrong to have an opinion, but to speak out as a brand that’s so big, so powerful, in a time where everybody on the planet just screams for acceptance, yes, lets have some shortsighted idiots who decide to tell ‘no, we don’t think it’s OK’.
I think that people such as them, who choose their business instead of having a family, don’t think much of families to begin with. Some of them buy a dog and another dog, maybe another dog and buy those pets insanely expensive outfits etc. This is a way and each to their own.
Lots of people have animals in different shapes and forms, with or without a family. Many people do so not in orderd not to feel lonely and because the need to care for someone is present. An animal is faithfull to the owner (OK, maybe cats can be a bit fuzzy, but still, cats really love you too!) and will be of comfort in times of need. This is socially accepted and no problem at all. Again, each to their own, right?

Namecalling babies from families both Dolce & Gabbana don’t know and have never met, is NOT OK.
It’s not even a little ‘unokay’, it’s completely uncalled for. It’s getting people and children involved that have never even picked a fight with Dolce & Gabbana. And you certain as hell don’t make a statement about it in such a blunt way that it’s possible for these children to read it.
Why be so nasty? It’s not just gay couples, it’s also straight couples Dolce & Gabbana choose to insult to the very core. The very being of the existence of millions of children worldwide are just set aside by their statement that IVF-children, or those born from a surrogate, are ‘synthetic’. There’s lots of women who ‘choose’ to have this particular path into parenthood. Mostly after discovering ones uterus doesn’t fullfill its function. A massive drama for women globally to begin with, when deciding to have a family. Only to be slammed down by some arrogant, fashion designing couple such as Dolce & Gabbana who now tell the world: you should let nature have its way.
In what universe are ANY of Dolce & Gabbana’s productions a natural way of becoming? None of those fabrics grow on trees. Not in the way it’s being used as fashion. The only natural thing about them? The brain the ideas come from.
Dolce & Gabbana are just plain hypocrites. Not even just a little. A lot. By making items they have to convince people of that they need, by that same catalog you accuse people of picking a baby from.

Who the f*** are Dolce & Gabbana to decide for others what makes a family real? Have Dolce & Gabbana ever visited a gay family where children were adopted, born through artificial insemination or IVF and considered these children so unreal they thought ‘oh dear, we need to protest this?’
Why protest a group they are part of themselves and do it so publicly that they know it won’t help their popularity?

I hate Dolce & Gabbana even more because now I actually have to pay attention to what clothes I’m buying when I do that. Second hand. Adopted, as you might say.

 
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Posted by on March 15, 2015 in Opinion

 

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International Women’s Day

Soms word ik weleens moe van ze.
Feministen.
Terwijl ze toch ook voor mijn rechten vechten, wereldwijd. Ik ben alleen niet iemand die van de daken schreeuwt dat ze rechten nodig heeft.
Tegelijkertijd denk ik: dat is omdat ik zelf ben opgegroeid in een milieu en cultuur waar ik het verschil aanzienlijk minder heb opgemerkt. Mijn moeder werkte, mijn beide oma’s (tandarts en verpleegster)  eveneens.
De verdeling van het huishouden was weliswaar tamelijk klassiek, maar toch zag ik mijn vader ook gewoon stofzuigen, afwassen, koken en zijn eigen goed strijken.
Standaard? Nee, niet standaard.
Gewoon, als mijn moeder niet voorhanden was of net iets anders deed. Koken doet hij met genoegen.
Mijn moeder ging op zeker moment aan het werk. Heb ik mijn vader nooit over horen drammen. Eerder het tegendeel.
Maar dat is mijn achtergrond. Later heb ik me afgevraagd hoe ik zou zijn geweest als ik niet was grootgebracht ver na 1900.
Bij ons thuis was het normaal, werd er niet schreeuwerig over gedaan. Er werd niet continu geroepen: vrouwen zijn net zo goed. Het was een feit wat ik zag en dus normaal vond en nog vind.
In 1900 zou ik ongetwijfeld zo’n 75% van de zaken waar menig vrouw nog mee te maken heeft, accepteren. Omdat het me zo gewoon voor zou komen.

Denk ik.

Zeker weten doe ik het niet. Ik heb nogal de neiging tegen de haren in te strijken, hoor ik vaak.
Ik kan niet verklaren waarom het me vrijwel ziedend uit m’n vel doet springen als ik lees dat een vrouw in een van de streken die aanzienlijk minder vrouwenlievend zijn, zweepslagen krijgt omdat ze verkracht is.
Een vrouw die hier in het ziekenhuis verzorgd zou worden, slachtofferhulp zou krijgen en waar de man door de maatschappij met walging zou worden bekeken, in plaats van de vrouw.

Is dat omdat ik zelf in de -kennelijke luxe-positie verkeer dat ik ben opgegroeid daar waar men leert om van andermans spullen, en dus ook lijven, af te blijven?

Ik vrees het.
Ik vrees het vooral omdat ik merk dat dat inderdaad zo is. Vrouwen worden in vrijwel elke cultuur als minderwaardig gezien.

Dichterbij dan je denkt.
Kort geleden is er een Hollywood -door een hack- ontdekt dat vrouwelijke actrices minder betaald krijgen dan mannen.
Als je kijkt op tv, films, soaps, op rijk aangeklede feestjes, kantoor, zie je meer: dresscode.
Er wordt vrouwen maar weinig status gegeven als ze zich niet vrouwelijk gedragen (mantelpakje met rok aan, handtas, haar netjes gekapt en gekamd, etc). Terwijl dat ook meteen hun makke is. Als een hond aan de riem. Ze mag lopen, maar ze moet wel haar poot netjes optrekken als ze piest.
Willen ze kinderen als ze in een hoog segment van een bedrijf werkzaam zijn, dan heeft dat voor vrouwen altijd consequenties.
Voor mannen niet.
Niet op het scherm en ook niet in het echt.
Enige tijd terug las ik over een nieuwslezer in Amerika die zijn pak een jaar lang elke dag had aangetrokken. Geen probleem. Mannenpakken zien er toch allemaal hetzelfde uit, geen haan die ernaar gekraaid had.
Ja, de mensen in de studio hadden wasknijpers nodig  en de paddestoelensoep stond al te pruttelen, maar verder?

Vrouwen kunnen dat niet maken.
Hebben ze iets aan gehad, dan moet het de volgende keer iets anders zijn. Zeker als ze voor de tv werken. Dat was het punt van deze nieuwslezer ook. Schei uit met dat gezeik! 
Het mag niet te opvallend, het moet in de stijl van de omgeving passen (anders is dat dure behang zo zonde), haren en schoenen moeten zijn aangepast aan wat er zich in het midden bevindt. Bijpassende tas, anders is het nog niet goed.
Zelf heb ik de strijd opgegeven toen ik m’n arcadeboog niet kon vinden waar kennelijk een passief/agressief kleurtje op moest.
Dat is een leugen, ik breek m’n bek simpelweg over hakken. Rokken en jurken staan me geweldig, maar ik ervaar geen vrijheid in die kleding. Ik ben er zo eentje die altijd rommeltjes en spulletjes bij zich heeft. In broekzakken.
Ik lust geen handtassen.
Ook al past er nog zoveel saus in.

Tegelijkertijd denk ik ook: het is een kwestie van mensen podium geven die dat niet verdienen. In feite zou je mensen die er middeleeuwse ideeën op na houden, zo min mogelijk lucht moeten geven. Zo’n pastoor, priester, dominee of hoe die jongens ook allemaal heten. Hoe minder lucht, hoe sneller het idee vanzelf doodgaat.
Eentje die vindt dat vrouwen minder waard zijn. Die vinden dat vrouwen er van langs moeten krijgen. En waarom? Omdat ze zo opgewonden worden van die vrouwen.

Die verdomde lust mag niet winnen.

Mannen moeten en zullen boven de functies van hun eigen lijf staan.
Die verdomde natuur wint nog steeds.
Maakt vrouwen onweerstaanbare, bloedmooie en intelligente wezens. Rondingen, houdingen, bewegingen, doen en laten.
En die mannen hun lusten maar proberen te bedwingen. En woest op vrouwen. Ze leren van thuis uit tenslotte dat ALLES op dat gebied de schuld is van vrouwen. Dus mochten ze zich toch geroepen voelen om iets met de vrouw uit te voeren, dan moet dat wel de schuld zijn van die vrouw. Dat is wat wordt aangeleerd. Ook aan de vrouwen zelf. Enige tijd geleden las ik nog dat vrouwen nog geen wortel of komkommer mochten eten in zo’n vrouwenhatend land, want daar zou een man weleens opgewonden van kunnen worden. Dan denk ik: zou de man die die regel bedacht heeft ZELF zo dirty minded zijn? Dat hij gaat bepalen wat voor niemand mag, omdat HIJ er last van heeft?

Zo raar vind ik dat.

Nog steeds zijn er ook vrouwen die worden besneden. Het is uiteraard niet de bedoeling is dat zij plezier aan sex beleven. Onder het mom van ‘zo gaan ze tenminste niet vreemd’.
Terwijl zo vreselijk veel mannen nog steeds een tomtom nodig hebben naar de clith.

Maar ik dwaal af, sorry.
Het is Internationale Vrouwen Dag vandaag. Er is veel gevochten, veel gewonnen, en er zal nog heel veel meer komen. Wees voorbereid! Feministen vechten voor ons, de Vrouw. Ze hebben meer om voor te strijden dan je denkt. Ja, jij ook.

 

Sometimes I get tired with them.
Feminists.
Even though they also fight for my rights, worldwide. I’m just not one of those women screaming on top of the rooftops I need rights.
At the same time I think: that’s because I grew up in a milieu and culture where I hardly noticed the difference to begin with. My mother worked, both my Nans did aswell (one as a dentist, one as a nurse).
The way things went at home were pretty standard, but at the same time I did see my father hoovering, cooking, do the dirty dishes and ironing his own shirts.
Always? No, not always.
When my mother wasn’t there or occupied with something. He cooks with pleasure.
My mother went back to work when we were 4. I never heard my father complain about it. As far as I could tell he was quite happy with it, if anything at all.
But that’s MY background. After, I did question myself if I would have thought about things in the same way had I been born in 1900?
In our house this was normal, there was no ‘pointing’ and screaming. No ‘women are just as good’ every few seconds or anything like that. I considered it to be normal since it was simply presented as such.
Would it be 1900 I would, no doubt, accept at least a good 75% of the things happening to women. Because I would think that was so normal.

I think.

I’m not completely sure. I do have a tendency to do things the way they’re not supposed to. Or so I’ve heard.
I can’t explain how angry it makes me when I read about a woman in a country that’s quite a bit less impressed by women, gettting beatings with a leash as she was raped by several men.
A woman that, would she have lived on my part of the globe, would’ve received proper health care, talks with a therapist to get over this horrible treatment. The man would get punishment that’s not even nearly as bad as the woman is receiving herself now, but at least he would be marked the perpetrator, not the ‘victim’.

Is this because I live in the – apparant LUXURY- position that I grew up where it’s normal to not touch things or persons that you were not permitted to?

I’m afraid it is.
And I’m afraid it is because I see daily proof of this being true. Women are the lesser good of the species in pretty much every culture.

It’s closer than you might think.
Not too long ago it was made clear -by a hack- that actresses are earning less than actors.
If you watch tv, films, soaps, go to the theatre or a good party, you see more: dresscode.
Women are not given much status if they don’t dress the way they’re ‘supposed’ to (skirt and jacket, handbag, high heels, pantyhose, proper make up and hairs etc) while this is their biggest weakness at the same time. It’s like a dog on a leash. She can run wild, but she should know her place. Lift her paw when she wees.
If women want children when working in a high maintenance working spot, they’re bound to consequenses.
Not for men.
Not on screen nor in real life.
A while ago I read about a newsreader who had worn his suit for a year every day. No problem. Every men’s suit looks the same anyway. Nobody complained. Yes, his coworkers needed clothes pegs and the mushroom soup was about to be served, but that was it.

Women can’t do that.
If they’ve worn something one day, they can’t do that some other time again. This was the point of this particular newsreader by the way. STOP THAT WHINING!
It shouldn’t be too ‘screamy’, it should fit the surroundings (otherwise it’s a waste of the wallpaper, such a pity) hairs and shoes should be adjusted to what’s in the middle. Matching clutch or you’re still the twat of the party.
I gave up hope when I couldn’t find my ‘arcade arches’ where, apparently, I needed to apply some ‘passive/agressive’ color onto.
That’s a lie, I break bones wearing heels. I look excellent in dresses and skirts, but as they have no pockets, I really hate wearing those. I don’t experience any freedom.
I don’t like handbags.
Even though they’re perfect for kidnapping sweets and sauces.

At the same time I think: stop giving attention and especially stage to twats. The pastors, priests, vicars and god knows who else. We should actually stop giving this people ‘air’ to continue their battles. Out of air and their ideas will die soon enough.
The ones that think women are less worthy. That can’t control their erection and firmly believe this is all women’s fault. Because they’re so damn attractive they can’t stand it. No pun intended.

That damn lust shouldn’t win.

Men want to be above the functions of their own bodies.
Nature keeps barching in on them.
Makes women utterly gorgeous, intelligent and irresistable. Shapes, rounds, movements, ways of doings and behaving.
They do try to control their lusts, these men. They become furious with women. As they’ve learned from their upbringing that ANYTHING related to that, is women’s fault until eternity. So if they do feel as if they should act on those feelings, it’s still the woman’s fault. That’s what’s taught. To the women too.
Some time ago I read that women were no longer allowed to eat carrots or cucumbers in one of those ‘we don’t like women’countries. To me it said more about the dirty mind of this particular man who came up with that rule than it seemed, at all, fair and logic.

It’s just so odd.

Women aren’t supposed to have enjoy sex in many cultures. Women are being circumsized in several countries. Supposedly to prevent them from having affairs. While the average man that lives by those rules couldn’t find a clithoris if it pointed directions like a satnav.

But I’m drifting off, sorry.

There have been faught a lot on the behalf of women and won a lot. But there’s still a lot to be done. And since it’s International Women’s Day, I’d say: be prepared. The feminists are fighting for us. They have more to fight for than you might think. So do you.

 

 
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Posted by on March 8, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

Begrafenissen /Funerals

Begrafenissen zijn in het algemeen onprettig.
Je verliest iemand in je leven die je er, vaak, graag in had.
Het gebeurd ook wel dat je er minder bezwaar tegen hebt. Als degene die overleden is het enorm zwaar had vanwege ziekte bijvoorbeeld. Of jou het leven zuur maakte. In zulke gevallen ben je blij dat de rust voor diegene daar is. Of voor jezelf.
Ik had ooit een familielid dat aan de laatste categorie voldeed.
Blij zijn is dan weer een deur te ver, maar toch. Niet helemaal zoals je dat op zo’n moment van een nette familie verwacht. Nou ja, ík niet, in elk geval.
Bij een eerdere begrafenis, aan diezelfde kant van de familie, was men ongeveer van heinde en verre gekomen om zijn/haar laatste eer te bewijzen. Er werden mooie verhalen verteld in de kapel van de kerk, een lid van de plaatselijke rotary club had een aardig praatje, verschillende familieleden hadden nog wat mooie en emotionele verhalen te vertellen en tenslotte werd de kist vanuit de kapel door kleinkinderen naar het graf gedragen. Eenmaal daar kon de een na de ander het niet meer laten om in tranen uit te barsten. Het werd een warme bijeenkomst met eten, drinken en mooie herinneringen ondanks de dikke tranen van verdriet om het overlijden.

In dit andere geval werd er iemand nagenoeg berispt voor het in tranen uitbarsten. In de kapel werd er een verhaal gehouden door de dominee. Die had een familielid ingefluisterd:
‘Ik doe dit alleen voor jullie’, want voor de overledene zou ze het al niet meer gedaan hebben. De verhalen die er werden verteld waren stiekem niet eens over de overledene. Die was meer een figuurtje op de achtergrond in verhalen die eigenlijk een ander betroffen.
De tocht naar het graf zelf was per karretje op wielen, de naasten hadden geen zin in om de kist naar de plek van bestemming te dragen.
Het was wel gevraagd.
Reden voor weigering: het lengteverschil tussen de te dragen personen was zodanig dat het niet zou kunnen.
Een beleefd, maar absoluut ‘nee’.
Dezelfde mensen die eerder waren gekomen om de laatste eer te bewijzen aan het andere familielid, hadden dat hier alleen gedaan om de nabestaanden, niet om de laatste eer aan de overledene te tonen.
Het gaf niet zoveel. De overledene zou het toch niet gewaardeerd hebben.

Funerals are, in general, unpleasant.
You loose someone in your life whom you, usually, liked to be IN it.
It does happen you’re less objective against the dying. If the one who died was suffering some nasty disease, for instance. Or if the person made your life hell. On such occasions you’re usually happy that the person is resting in peace, Or that you will have a nice life now.
I used to have a relative that was kind of going for that last category.
To say there was happiness was a step beyond, but still. Not really the kind of thing you expect from a neat family. Well, not me anyways. Another funeral on that side of the family had resulted in a big reunion of sorts, people had come from far and beyond to say something nice, or just be there for the family and friends. There were lovely stories told in the chapel of the church, a member of the local rotary club had a nice speech and different relatives had some good and honest stories to tell from their adventures with the diseased one, after which the coffin was carried to the grave by the grandchildren. Where nearly no-one could stop him/herself from welling up and crying their eyes out. It was a warm, nice gathering with foods, drinks and cherished memories despite the moments of crying for the loss.

In this other ‘case’, someone was basically told to shut it when tears were about to come out. In the chapel the minister told a story. The minister did tell a familymember:
I’m only doing this for you guys’, since it wasn’t a courtesy to the diseased one. The stories that were told were secretly not actually concerning the one who died. It was merely a background figure in stories that were about someone else.
The walk to the grave was on a small wagon, the relatives themselves didn’t feel like carrying the coffin this time. It had been asked. Reason to say no was that the difference in heights of the requested persons was too big. A polite, but absolute ‘no’. The same people that had come before to show their sympathies, had now solely done so for the survivers, not the diseased one.
To be honest it didn’t matter that much. The diseased wouldn’t have liked it anyway. 

 
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Posted by on March 4, 2015 in Daily life, Humour

 

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Robotisation

I’m one of those people who likes the internet. Who loves that most, if not all  information in the world, is mostly just one mouseclick away.
If your battery is not dead, ofcourse.
In general, I’m a big lover of the digital world. Given that I have my issues, being unemployed is one of ‘m, the net just has a lot to offer.
However, I do have my boundaries. I still prefer my books to be in paper shape, because I like to be able to turn pages back or forward, in search of that one paragraph I like so much, to read parts over and over again, while I still have my finger on the page where I was actually reading from. Besides that, call me crazy, I just love the smell of paper in my hands. I’ll grand you that reading a John Irving novel, a Dan Brown quickie or a Jung Chang biography isn’t all that practical in shape when going on a holiday, but there you have it.

I like big books and I cannot lie!

But that’s not all I’m talking about.
This is really to draw the picture. As this blog is called ‘Robotisation in a crise’, I can’t just stick with books, of course. What concerns me is the ease in which it happens.

Subtly.

Step by step.

Some time ago drones were introduced to deliver packages. Nice and all, but robots are robots, not people. The numerous counts of people I’ve seen either tweeting or ‘facebooking’ pictures of these drones delivering packages on a roof, a shed, in a fountain or god knows where, are numerous.
Yes, I’m aware that post offices don’t have half as much employees to do this human work as it was supposed to be. Robots have proven not to be capable of deviding ‘wrong’ from ‘right’. It is this why I fear these bloody mechanical bastards. Codes they can decypher, yes, but honest ‘wrong’ from ‘right’? No. That’s why so many mistakes are made. And why it fears me so much to see, again, the ease to which humans praise the ‘goodness’ of the robots. Who not only, apparently, do the jobs of humans (hello, there’s a crise, these humans they’re replacing have families to support, you know?!) , but also do it better and at a lower cost. A human being will at least show emotions or try to fix a mistake. Robots just blame humans. The other way around also happens regularly, but I’m not about to point fingers.
I recently saw a devestating record of at least 20 articles about robots replacing all kinds of human works. A camper of sorts that can make things inside to be delivered to the person who came up with that idea (whatever it is) at his/her house.
I hope there’s rules attached to this, as it’s been proven before it’s rather easy to print a full automatic weapon with such a printer and just simply put it together. You think a robot would refuse a minor? I don’t. I hear you think ‘you can put a special lock on devices to make sure that never happens’. As I said, it’s a robot you’re giving that order. A robot only does codes, no matter how ‘human’ you make it. It doesn’t feel. It knows. And as it could be fed false info (children or any individual have been known to do that: give false info) it could be giving, responding, to this.

A while ago I read about a robot who had, apparently, been able to mix two different kinds of medication into one that could be helpful to cure something. Or at least be a profitable addition to it. This robot had been given the assignment to see if there was, within the database of this pharmaceutical company, a way to make things easier. They succeeded. Although in a way this is good news, it’s also scary. There were studies in the article about how truly magnificent this robot was at its job. Though I have, in a way, no doubt about this, it shouldn’t be the robot coming to this conclusion, but a doctor, who included the robot in his/her study material. This is what bothers me. What scares me too.
If a robot is, in a way, given carte blanche (it already has) then what are we to expect next? To hear we might aswell be dead because ‘Mr Robot here can fix everything’.
So many jobs are being taken at the moment already, because of the crise, because businesses were simply never that good to begin with, but also as robots are being trusted with jobs that should be for humans, really.
In ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ we’ve seen Charlies’ father becoming unemployed as his father looses his job to a machine. You feel for him. Now feel for yourself how many robots are doing the exact same thing. Making more mistakes and getting away with it!
Your mail (the paper stuff, yes) is being sorted by a machine. I’ve been living where I currently live for over 7 years. The post gets lost regularly. To be never seen again, as it wasn’t posted ‘with insurance’. This is the only legitimate way to be able to complain about post getting lost, by the way. About a week ago a delivery got pushed in our mailbox that wasn’t meant for this address. It was send with ‘track and trace’. All the postman had to do, was click his computer thingy to say he had delivered the package. Had I not taken the package and delivered it myself to the correct address and the person it was meant for, had filed a complaint, all the computer would’ve said ‘mission succeeded’.
We have a tricky parking system. You have to put in your license registration number to avoid getting a ticket. You can’t park your car anonymously. Type the wrong input and you have to buy a whole new one, as the one you’re holding in your hands is not for your car. WTF?! Yes, two different judges have told the parking company this is a load of bullshit, thankfully, but again: this was computers people had to deal with. They couldn’t just explain to someone who was present that hello, they paid?! No, they had to go all the way to court.

Robots are used in every day traffic. As they remember everything, this is helpful in certain matters, but it’s also quickly used against you in case something that’s yours gets stolen or is lost and found by someone who lacks it just aswell. Around here we have the blasted, good-for-nothing OV-chipknip. It’s a card that you’re obliged to use in Public Transport. You have to check in with it on an electric pole and check out after you’re done with your travelling. Thanks to that fucking card this country has lost more jobs than it has created money for anything else than the one who came up with the idea. It so happens that only tourists and people who travel sporadically, can travel anonymously. Other than that, travelcompanies will want to know who you are. God knows why. And he doesn’t want to be disturbed with these matters, so why bother?

OK, I do know ONE purpose where I’d actually want robots to be used. Even if it is just a statement. To let both industry and people know that those items really AREN’T for any normal human being.
Models. I’d love to see Karl Lagerfield and all his fellow design idiots simply use androids for their clothes. Maybe then they’ll learn that only a very low percentage of the world looks fantastically dressed as an anorectic broomstick with hayfever.
I doubt that will ever happen, however. It’s just not real

 
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Posted by on March 4, 2015 in Opinion

 

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Elves

There where the elves sing is a good place

they sing half at shore, up to the moon

their singing makes your heart race

but in a good way, for never were you so merry

as listening to the sound of their approaching ferry

coming from all the way up there down to earth in the water

where it mixes with the elves and their pet otter

unfortunately this little bastard makes the ferry sink

then again it brings me up to think

elves are not so real in life for all that matters

it’s important that you keep your dream and not the shatters

of dreams being dreamed earlier before

the ones that were so lovely and never reached any shore

as

because

 
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Posted by on March 2, 2015 in Childrens story, Poems, Projects

 

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