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Hjordis (review)

Hjordis is another stunningly lovely show on Netflix. I doubt it’s visible in the USA, though I could be wrong about this.
I wrote about Rita earlier, and Hjordis looks like a spinoff of that. A few of the same actors (Lise Baastrup, Ellen Hillingso) and also within the same school.
But either the series is no longer complete, or this spinoff was solely made to bring up the theme of bullying.
You see, the school Hjordis works at, is having a ‘anti-bullying week’ at school. Helle, the headmistress, asks Hjordis to come up with ideas to do something with this theme. It is decided that Hjordis will gather some of the students in school to perform a play. Given that the possibility exists that they get to play for the royal family -who will be visiting the school- everyone is really excited.
Then it appears that Helle, the headmistress, has gotten cold feet. She decides the students of her own school are not nearly good enough to perform for such important people as the royal family. So Helle phones a schooll for gifted children, who can sing, dance and generall perform really well.
The children that Hjordis had gathered are being put aside by these priviliged kids, who are a bit too aware they are awesome and so on.
Hjordis reports the problems of both groups to Helle, but gets no real answer. Helle wants the children to cooperate and mostly, the priviliged kids to do the performances.

When the royal family finally cancels their plans to come and visit, the plans change. This is where it becomes even more interesting. Don’t forget this serie is Danish, where the acceptance of different individuals is, apparently, far more accepted. There’s the girl who is deaf and gets romantically involved, there’s the boy who really wants to dress up as a princess. This brings more problems than you could imagine. Not just for Hjordis, who has to adjust to the idea in about 5 seconds, but also to other teachers, parents and so on.

Meanwhile, the show is brought light and airy. No heavy debates.

It’s a joy to watch. And an eyeopener for those who are so used to classic soaps 🙂

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Posted by on January 22, 2016 in Daily life, Opinion, Uncategorized

 

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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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De verkeerde/ The wrong one

Ik woonde op kamers met twee anderen.
Een ervan was een vriendin die al tijden iemand van haar werk ‘wel leuk’ vond. Toen was er dat bedrijfsfeestje. Eindeloos stond ze voor de spiegel te kijken welk T-shirt er het minst uitzag alsof ze een hapklare brok was; hij moest wel een béétje moeite doen, vond ze.
Hoe dan ook, terwijl zij weg was, ging ik naar bed met een goed boek (ik werkte daar niet). Ik hoorde een stevige herfststorm onder mijn vensterbank fluiten en was blij dat ik niet degene was die door dit ellendige weer hele afstanden per fiets hoefde af te leggen.
Het zal een uur of vijf in de ochtend/nacht zijn geweest, toen ik geroezemoes voor de deur gewaar werd, gemorrel aan de deur, gevolgd door gestommel op de trap. Mijn deur was recht boven de trap die daarna betreden moest worden, en had bovendien een nogal ruime kier. Eentje die de mogelijkheid gaf naar de binnengesleepte vangst te koekeloeren. Zonder ontdekking.
Donkere krulletjes met een sneeuwbleke huid, slanke tred, ongelooflijk oversizede winterjas er overheen. Haar kamer werd betreden, geroezemoes volgde.
Enige tijd later verdween ze naar de keuken beneden, al had ik dat niet door, samen met hem. Ik dacht dat ze hem de deur uit trapte en wachtte al hoopvol op het moment waarop ze alles zou vertellen. Maar nee, ze kwamen weer boven, met vers gemaakte warme chocomel.
Tegen de tijd dat ze waren uitgeleuterd en uitgedronken, was het al een uurtje of 6, 7 in de ochtend.
Ik kon niet meer slapen, besloot een douche te nemen. Heerlijk, een warme douchestraal over je hoofd laten kletteren.
Toen ik er onder vandaan kwam, werd ik me van een vreemd geluid gewaar. Ik keek nog om me heen of ik soms muizen zag, totdat ik me realiseerde dat het gepiep van muizen niet zo ritmisch gaat.
Het was een bed.
Het bed van mijn huisgenote. Niet wetende wat ik moest doen om het geluid NIET te horen (en vooral het beeld wat zich ogenblikkelijk op m’n netvlies vormde, kwijt te raken), vluchtte ik na verloop van tijd (toen het echt gênant werd) naar beneden, naar de keuken.
Ik klooide wat af met het gasfornuis, want had zojuist besloten dat dit het ideale tijdstip was om schuimpjes te gaan bakken.
De oven had een gebruiksaanwijzing. Je moest er niet te dichtbij gaan staan om te voorkomen dat je je wenkbrauwen meteen aanstak, maar de lucifer moest wel dicht genoeg bij de gasstroom komen. In m’n geklooi was het me niet opgevallen dat Vriendin inmiddels van de trap was gekomen. Toen ze bij de keukendeur stond met knalrode konen viel ze me pas op.
‘Zo, is het leuk met hoeheetieookalweer?’ vroeg ik met een grijns.
‘Oh mijn god, kon je dat horen?’ vroeg ze beschaamd.
‘Ik kwam net onder de douche vandaan. Je bed piept als een bende relmuizen’, sprak ik, waarna ik vroeg:
‘hoe moet de oven ook alweer aan?’ ik gaf haar de doos lucifers, om haar een mogelijke uitvlucht aan te reiken. Ik kreeg het kreng zelf toch niet aan. De oven, niet Vriendin.
‘Ja, het was zo’n gedoe’, verzuchtte ze, ‘hij kwam ook maar niet klaar’.
‘Is-ie net zo leuk als je hoopte?’ vroeg ik om romantische aanvulling op de conversatie toe te voegen.
‘Nou, eerlijk gezegd….’, begon ze, terwijl ze in 1 vloeiende beweging de oven aankreeg -zij wel!- en weer opstond, ‘…..is het de verkeerde! Dit is niet Kees, dit is Jan. Kees heeft me de hele avond niet aangekeken. Jan wel, en die wilde me naar huis brengen. Nu moet ik nog gaan zien hoe ik ‘m het huis weer uit krijg’, sprak ze simpel. Ik was even te perplex om te antwoorden. Vanwege die oven die braaf aan was gefloept (bij háár wel?!) én omdat het niet de Prins op de roestige fiets bleek.
‘Ga je schuimpjes maken?’ vroeg ze toen, kijkend naar de kom met stijfgeklopte eiwitten, die op het aanrecht stond..
‘Ja,’ zei ik, nog steeds verbaasd.
‘Lekker, ik wil straks ook!’ zei ze, waarna ze de trap opliep en Jan maar eens de deur uit ging werken.
Een goed begin van de zondag…

I was living with two others. One of them being a friend of mine, who ‘liked’ a bloke from her job. There was a party from that work one night. She was standing in front of her mirror to check out which T-shirt was best to wear, that didn’t she ‘take me!’ too loud. He had to make some effort, was her opinion.
Anyway, she left, I went to bed with a nice book (I didn’t work there). Outside I heard an autumn storm going around the house, making my windows sing. I was happy to be inside without having to cycle through this awful wind.
It must have been around 5, when I woke up because I heard some vague talking at the front door, followed by stumbling on the stairs. My door was right in front of the stairs followed by those stairs and had quite a gap, too. One that gave me the oppertunity to nicely check out the loot that was taken in, without being caught.
Dark, curly hairs, white neck, slim figure, incredibly oversized wintercoat. They disappeared behind her door.
After a while they both went to the kitchen, although I didn’t notice that. I thought she was kicking him out and was anticipating on hearing the whole story after that. But instead they came back up with some freshly made hot coco.
By the time they had finished talking and drinking their cocoa, it must have been 6 or 7 o’clock. I couldn’t sleep anymore, so I decided to take a shower. Lovely, warm water splashing on my head.
When I got out, I was aware of a strange noise. I was looking around for mice, when I realized mice don’t make such a rhytmic sound.
It was a bed.
My roommates bed.
Not knowing what I should do NOT to hear the sound (and especially to get rid of the mind image that I had immediatly) I fled into the kitchen when it became really embarrassing.
I was stumbling around the gas oven, as I just thought this was the ideal moment to make some meringues.
The oven was one with instructions. If you stood too close, you’d burn your eyebrows. If you didn’t go near enough, the fire wouldn’t lit. In my attempts to get it on, I hadn’t noticed my Friend had come downstairs. She was standing in the doorway with scarletred cheeks when I noticed her presence.
‘So, having a good time with Whatshisname?’ I asked with a grin.
‘Oh my god, you heard it??’ she asked shamefully.
‘I just got out of the shower, your bed is squeeking like a bunch of mice gone evil’, I said, after which I asked:
‘How do I get the oven to work?’ and handed her the box of matches, to give her an easy escape. I couldn’t make the bloody thing to work anyway.

‘It was a bit complicated’, she sighed, ‘it took him ages to have an orgasm at all’.
‘Is he every bit as nice as you thought?’ I asked, in an attempt to add some romance to the story.
‘Well, to be honest’, she started, while she mastered handling the oven in 1 fluent move- yes, she could do it!- and stood up straight again, ‘…..this is the wrong one! This isn’t Pete, this is Jim. Pete didn’t look at me all night. Jim did and he wanted to escort me home. Now I have to figure out how to get rid of him’, she said plainly. I was too surprised to even answer. She was talking about Jim as if she’d brought home a wrong carton of milk. And that bloody oven hadn’t given her any trouble at all?!
‘Are you making meringues?’ she asked me, looking at the bowl of stirred egg whites, waiting on the sink.
‘Yes’, I said, still stunned. 
‘Good, I want some, later!’ she said, followed by her climbing the stairs to tell Jim off.
A good beginning of a Sunday morning….

 
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Posted by on May 19, 2014 in Daily life, Humour

 

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