Physics

Man, this intention is hard. I'm helping some twins through their physics course next monday (a little extra income, you know), but this means I have finally got to face some of my only non-understandings in my maths studies. What is with the energy?

I have a vague feeling for potential energy and kinetic energy, but now I have to REALLY figure it all out by monday. Why do physics books never present their theories in a simple, mathematical way, like:

Potential Energy is generally defined as ... (some integral formula, probably) and then in a sidebar: "by this definition, the potential energy is a value applicable to a {particle?, system?, can of worms?, ...}".

In most cases considered in this course, we only look at this simplified definition: ..., which is applicable in these cases: ... etc etc...

And then I'm using the course these twins are following, which is basically "physics for dummies": only half the steps in any "proof" are given, nobody ever mentions that a proof given for a particle cannot simply be repeated for a body, let alone that there is a proof for a body as well, but this is considered proven for the rest of the course.
I REALLY HATE dummy-courses in any exact science, and I am convinced that they only make matters worse. there is just no way that people are going to do anything remotely interesting with science that is "thrown upon them" without reasonable explanation. They will not even learn how to think because of it (obviously). I learned chemistry this way, and though I am interested in the subject (there HAS to be a REASONABLE explanation for all these funky rules that you get battered with, no?), I am disgusted as well: fat chance I will never understand chemistry at all.

I'm going to stop ranting now, and switch to the positive news: The Go For Music newsletter once again proved its relevance to me: it taught me that Badly Drawn Boy ([captain's voice]Ladies and gentlemen, when you look to the left, you will see a cloud that looks exactly like BDB. [passenger's voice]My god, this guy is everywhere!) has a new CD out, but even better so: NIN is coming to Belgium again, for two concerts, on 18 and 19 march. If anybody buys me a ticket to one of them for my birthday, they'll probably be too late.

Ilse is now into jazz and blues on her violin (well, she's taking that kind of course). Tonight, I got to accompany her on guitar: that was beyond cool! Demonstating to her that she just learned all about twelve bar blues, finding out that major and minor pentatonic scales are not just some fooling around (her teacher, Sioen's violin player, is showing her some of the theory behind it all), and finally finding something in music that I have a tiny edge over her (Uh, that will last for... maybe a few lessons more =) ). It's incredible fun to just make music together, whether she's playing piano and I am putting on my best Louis Armstrong (you might be amazed - I do a terrific Yoda too), whether she's singing along to my guitar-abuse or whether we just play something together: there is more than one meaning of harmony.

Great way to end my post: harmony is after all just about physics in one of the two meanings. Would the other one be too?

Flirt

There! Finally did it. I can now officially say that I have flirted, and even with some success. Of course I did not have the actual guts to talk to the girls, but I did what I do best at parties: I danced. In the course of the evening (enter alcohol) I developed a way of letting a girl know that I am dancing 'in her direction', and though a massive round of hugs stayed out, she was obviously flattered (note the difference with "obviously, she was flattered"). Ego vs ostrich-style: 1 - 0.

It was a funny weekend altogether: friday evening I was rather unwell (my ear had been playing tricks on me all day long and I HATE AS/400 for being the most uncommunicative platform this side of Alpha Centauri. It would seem IBM is all about stability, but speed and flexibility are at the bottom of the stack of things to do: oh yeah, we thought about performance at first, but then we got worried over some important stability issues, like will the server still work after being eaten by a junior Pluto-inhabitant (hey, I'm in a spacey mood tonight!) or will the green on black terminal not loose color when repeatedly flushed through the vice president's secretary's brother's water closet, so anybody can see why we didn't really get to it. Oh, and we made our own controls for the futile pieces of user-friendly software we tried to make, because we thought MS wrote some really bad ones, and we wanted to prove we could do even worse.
Just letting of some air there (well I have been flatulence-laden recently): writing software can be a frustrating job. fortunately, at times, things work really well (I believe this happened somewhere in june 1932).
I managed to help Ilse create part of her Myro-wanderings (this couple who had a great idea for creating a software for schools. Bummer that they have no naming standards on the database and that figuring that labyrinth out in Access is still a lot easier than their home-brewn reporting tool - still: a nice effort. Interesting to see how hard databases can be if you don't have experience with them. I'm still convinced though, that it's not very hard when you start to see the big picture. You're doing great, Ilse, don't give up, and sorry for the very unstructured lessons: when we both have some more time - one of your many holidays, I presume - we'll start again from scratch, and I'll try to avoid giving you jobs that you don't have the technical background or experience for just yet. I did not mean to confuse you, but my head was at first full of snot, and then full of afterthirst.
By the end of the weekend, Ilse managed to create a report using crosstab queries, multiple joins, nice formatting and the right content: you would NOT have made it this far in the Myro-editor.

Then came saturday: first, I got to sleep till noon, which was great: my ear didn't hurt anymore (mostly) and I woke up a lot less grumpy. I wasn't all well though, because by five o'clock, I fell asleep again on the couch, while the kids were singing along to K3! (I'm proud to say that my kids got to hear Beethoven, K3 and Morphine on the same day, and they enjoyed all three) When I woke up we ate and then the kids went to bed, and their gorgeous mommy went up the stairs to do some work for school (a teacher's job may be very nice on some accounts, but when you're a motivated teacher, you do put more evening time into it than is generally expected). At about 22:20 (I was actually planning to get to bed after finishing a chapter in my book - American Psycho: anything you never wanted to know about fashion awareness and psychopaths), I got a messenger call from Ilse: could I come up for just a minute. Lots of ideas went through my mind at the time, like: does she want to show me the finished version of the report she'd been working on, will I be treated with a 3 hour love massage, is our roof leaking or is her sexual urge beyond control? None of the above: my favourite artist had just sent her a message asking whether I already had plans for the night!!! Six sentences, a bang in my own head and a kiss for the best wife I had so far (just kidding), later, I was on my way to his 'kot' and just minutes later we were in l'Heure bleue, a nice pub with messy settings and groovy music, exchanging solid money for liquid Westfleteren (unfortunately no Chimay, and because of a misunderstanding with the barman I even drank a Tripel, which tasted OK because it was my third Westfleteren =) ).

We chatted about his options on making money: he has some plans for the 'next big thing' on the internet, but of course I cannot tell you what that idea is, because maybe you could steal it and grow a bankaccount on his creativity. Well, maybe if you pay me a lot first =)

After the pub, we went to a birthday party (in 't Magazijn - not sure that I could find this place again), where we switched to regular beer and dancing, and where I tried my 'moves' on some really cute looking girls: it was really hard not to feel cheap, but I realised I was just doing what so many others have done before me: using your natural (this is true: my son is genetically developing the same dance moves as I am - says Ilse. Cool huh?) assets to make an impression on the other sex with no other intention than to feel good about giving and receiving attention. Oh, this is probably where Ilse will say: why do you always have to make things so complicated.
Anyway: it worked and I feel good about it (I think I needed that). A bit sorry for Stefaan though, because he is a lot more shy than me even. When I get a little drunk, I loosen up enough to talk to nice women and be nice to less nice women and have a conversation that seems to be interesting to both parties (regardless of sex) and lasts longer than "Hi" - "Oh hi". When he gets drunk (hardly ever a little drunk I may say), he loosens up enough to look just a little longer in the direction of women and then to drink some more. Actually, his presence motivated me to go for it, because I wanted to prove (zhengming in Chinese, as I know now) that it is possible to overcome your fears and shortcomings (he knows I'm also somewhat a sociopath). This is my firm belief - most of the time =) I guess it didn't work out for him just yet...

So I look at the clock in my cell phone for the first time since leaving home, and I see it's 4 in the morning (maybe that explains why the dancefloor was losing its attraction to people). OK, so I have some three more hours before my kids are going to wake me up and expect me to play with them: time for a quick snack (fries just across the street) and then homeward bound (great song by Simon and Garfunkle). A little before that, Ilse had woken up to find me still out, but a quick phonecall reassured her enough to fall back asleep by the time I got home: good on you, dear! I nearly crashed the bed when I tried to undo my pants, and I will not deny that old uncle Alcohol had some influence on that, though I wasn't all that drunk at the time. As always when everybody's favourite harddrug is in my brain, however, I completely forgot what I talked about with Ilse in the half an hour before we decided to take a nap (to my surprise and my good fortune, it seems I haven't yet changed my cell phone clock to daylight saving time, so it must have been 4:30 at that time). As she was not mad at me when she woke up, I must have managed to miss telling her about the orgie I attended - just kidding (Hello Ilse).

I have the greatest kids: Ruben stayed in bed until 7:30, after which he didn't mind me snoring for one more hour (he did have the computer to himself, but somehow I got the impression he was just very understanding towards my impending hangover - I must check on him snooping in the liquor closet =) ) and Anne slept till about 8:30 (the time I had agreed on with Ruben). From there on we had a gentle morning (I was impressed with Anne's great bike riding on our way to the bakery), and by the time Ilse got up (11:00?) I didn't have the slightest hangover and I was even in a good mood (dancing to the everpresent K3). I did enjoy the quietness of the bath (when you have kids, you will understand how listening to Millionnaire can be called quietness) I took, and after we had dinner (macaroni and cheese with pieces of ham and spinach), I got picked up by a co-organiser of the Autumn Walk by the parent's association of Mariavreugde: it was time for me to help host the 'Just Past Halfway'-café. I did not really have a good time (this is not the kind of socializing I'm good at, and certainly not with the remainders of last night and a lack of sleep), but the Walk was a great success. I'm glad, because I like the man who was behind it, and I wish him all the best. In the mean while, Ilse and our kids actually DID the walk (Anne was by far the youngest to actually finnish the 5 km walk - I wonder if we are slave drivers to our kids, or our kids are just fit, or all the other parents are just not interested in that kind of health - next thing you know there'll be an HDTV in their room and some pills for the depression).

Sunday evening I had to help Ilse some more, and I got a little nervous over not having any time left for studying Chinese, but she was nice about it and let me escape with a decent though not perfect result at about 22:00, which gave me an hour or so before my eyes dropped. I felt it was enough, but I will have to study some more tonight.

Actually, that's what I'll do next! Hanyu here I come.

In short: I have the best family there is. Thank you all.

OK Go

I just had to post this.
Any person should watch this video dayly: it's a better recipe for feeling good than most chemical drugs.

Ok, go ahead:
OK Go
- "Here It Goes Again"

About time

I've been a bad boy. I intend to keep this blog as some sort of diary, but exactly at the time some of the greater movements happen, I manage to not post for weeks.
Ah well. It's not clear to me now anymore - I guess I don't even know what the fuss was all about (and isn't it always so in retrospect?)
But I do remember the good things: I'm communicating with Ilse (we got some important messages to cross the different way of thinking border), and I have immense respect for her mostly not reacting to my previous post (even if it is out of lack of understanding). I have re-met an old acqaintance (he doesn't like to read complicated stuff, so I'm still doubting to let him read my blog - or would that just be because I wrote a piece on him?) that I now duely call a friend (and who made me realize that everyboy's got their problems, and most of mine got a luxury ouch to them. For the record: upon rereading, I noticed the typo in the previous sentence: I found it so nice (and somewhat meaningful) that I just left it in).
I gave and got compliments galore. I've danced my lower legs into severe pain, but the comments I got were beyond me: more than 1 beautiful woman actually liked me from just watching me dance (the human mind is a rotten place, really, but when it works for you: who cares!). I've lost my pocket knife; I know this sounds negative, but in some weird way I've taken it as a symbolical growing out of the heritage of my father (it was his, originally). It's not that concrete, but I want it to mean that I've broken with some of my childhood and puberty negatives: I will not hide my personality wrinkles anymore (though I will keep the tombs of my heart for the ones I love and deeply trust), and I will try to be kind to everyone, even if they are overwhelming, or -who knows - ridiculous. I'm still screaming 'Please, love me!' only I'm actually moving my lips now, and I give a good listener the chance to actually hear it. It is very hard to put you heart, your life, your personality up for grabs, but I've had such great results in the last few days (Catheline (very recent, very touching), Ilse, Ruben, Anne (technically there ,those three; no recent strong impressions, just lighting up my life as ever, and for allowing me to be so glad when I'm not harsh on any of them), Yumi et al. (I have hardly ever felt sexier in my life, even in spite of the doubts at the time), Joris (there is no way to describe my feelings towards this man), Maarten (unlikely that you ever read this, but you saying thanks made me feel like Mr Myagi), and I'm forgetting (to mention, not to realise and feel) some.

As a potential writer, I'm still somewhat worried about me writing about myself all the time, but I guess I need to learn, and of course: I chose this blog to be about me. Go to hell, oh ye oubts!

I've finally found items that were missing from my lists(See my post Listitis): Sin City is a movie everyone (able to abstract violence away) should see, as is The Shawshank Redemption. If you look at my profile, you'll notice 'From Dusk Till Dawn' there: this does not belong in a favourite movies list, but it's the only movie that will make anyone press the pause button and grab for alcohol somewhere halfway. If you ever do, please look at this movie with as little information about it as you can.
Not in the list, but still something I'd advise to anyone: that movie about the Doors (if you want to have any idea where some of the lyrics might have come from), and Natural Born Killers (probably the first movie that ever impressed me). I seem to be on the move: I remember 'Moulin Rouge' now, but like so many movies, you have to see it ignoring the hype, and just being willing to be swarmed with visuals and impressive reincarnations of songs.

I realize there's also some categories missing, so here it comes:

Favourite 'musicians'

• Radiohead (& Thom Yorke) (If you don't like it, you haven't heard it or you should be shot)
• Pearl Jam (Albums have mostly degraded since Ten (barring exceptions and the last album), but live shows are still exciting. Besides that, I have committed to liking Pearl Jam)
• Tom Waits (Thousands of reasons, but 'This broom 'll have to be my baby' is enough)
• Soul Wax (Don't know if I'm just hit by the hype, but they excite me on disk and on stage)
• Arno (Elle adore le noir and some more proof of the most brilliant musical illusionist Belgium has ever brought forth)
• Smashing Pumpkins (until Ava Adore)
• Red Hot Chili Peppers (anything from One Hot Minute or before - listen to Apache Rose Peacock or Sir Psycho Sexy or Magic Johnson to make you forever discard anything they've ever produced since)
• Jeff Buckley (I hardly know anything besides Grace, but because of this CD, he is the only man I would voluntarily kiss on the mouth)
• dEUS (there is nothing quite like freaking out on an old dEUS song - can you guess which one? Apart from that: respect for 0110 and the continuously amazing music)
• Primus (I don't like everything they made, but I just wish I was Les Claypool for his bass playing and his lyrics)

Favourite live shows
• Rock Torhout 1995 (go to Rock Werchter and pick History to see the line-up. I was too much in love to notice Jeff Buckley at the time. I hardly remember any artists being there =))
• Pixies at Werchter 2004: rotten attitude, great fun
• Nine Inch Nails at Werchter 2005: it doesn't get more intense. Musically the greatest show I ever saw.
• Pearl Jam Live in Belgium: not as good as it could have been (maybe 10 years before), but still: 'they say good things come to those who wait'. I wonder how different my life would have been if I had seen them 10 years ago...
• The Streets at Werchter 2006: I was one of ten attendees. Mike Skinner (wasn't that also the name of the guy from Family Ties) and that sexy black man are crazy.
• Scissor Sisters at Werchter 2006: unlikely, but this one is definitely my favourite. A lot went wrong, the crowd was louder than the band, I was there all alone, but it was simply stunning.
• TW 1994 (my loss of virginity on account of festivals)
• Faith No More at Axion Beach Rock I think 1995 (this is what seems logical considering the Rock Torhout, but I can find no proof of it)
• Radiohead: anything I watched, even though I missed half of a concert by misjudging a joint =)
• Werchter 2005: Ilse surprised me there for 'our 10th anniversary'. I'm not even mad for missing Elvis Costello.

I will have to stop now: I have a lot of clocks to change (I promised Anne and Ruben the 'Kabouters' would hold back the hands of all clocks tonight), and I should get some sleep to avoid being grumpy.
I originally had the idea to write a lot about time and time management (hence the now wasted title) but my mind brought me (and you elsewhere). I still enjoy these words from Primus (sorry, Mike, I know you've read them before):

Hello all you boys and girls,
I'd like to take you to the inside world.
It's quite an irregular place to be,
But never fear, you're safe with me...
Well, maybe.

Rollercoaster

Dear diary :-)
I cannot grasp what is going on with me. I am very much having a bumpy ride. One minute my life feels like a Cure song, the next is an "Oh Cap'tain, my Cap'tain"-moment, and sometimes I'm perfectly numb, doing my job very well at work.
Re-reading the sentence above, I realise that all three states described above could be both positive and negative, so I fear I'm not as good an image-imaginer as I'd wish, but if anybody is still with me by now, I'm content at that.

I have to write some of my recent experiences down. Well, good, that's what this thing is for, stupid!

Being a reluctant rules-maniac, I was very proud that we chose to not to do the smartest thing a few times, recently. I'm having a very hard time not being Hitler for my kids (if I had his abilities as a demagogue (Urban Dance Squad rules), a silly pack of hair on my upper lip and some even more deranged ideologies (mine are generally leftfield), I'd kick some allied forces' ass), so loosening the grip helps them AND me.

Ruben's teacher is a doll. The way she treats him, looks at him, loves him: it makes me tingle.
Ilse talked to her about me being less of a communicator (context= Ruben having some help on this by his sis' and his teach'), and she replying 'yeah, I noticed that', hurt. I noticed I got very defensive on that. I'm quite busy inspiring myself to 'just talk to people', to be friendly more than polite (I know that I am polite beyond most peoples' capabilities - I'm good at nodding good morning, and it's sad to say: most lads and lasses don't even get there), and I'm even more ashamed of everytime I fail to complete a simple task like "when you meet someone you know in the local supermarket, don't look the other way", so you can see my trouble with this: nobody likes his own ragged truth. It takes me a blog to say that she doens't look bad either.

I'm sorry, I have to write this, and I know its technically public.
I sometimes have a BIG problem with Ilse flirting (with other men, of course). If I ever, ever forbid her to do this, I am sure that it's mentally downhill from there for me (so close to the black swamp already). But at times, it kills me. Please, my love, be patient with a man that never knew physical love in his childhood (the HUG) and that is trying so hard to be the ideal man. It's one of the many flaws of the perfect man that he's trying to be better still, I guess. (Can you guess which of the states I mentioned in the beginning I'm in right now?)

I think I have some kind of drinking problem. I'm going to hate myself in the morning for writing this (and for Ilse reading it), but I actually find some consolation in the bottle. In fact, it's not just the bottle: I long for anything that will make the thinking stop: adrenaline, focus on work, alcohol, forbidden sexuality (well, forbidden by "the community"), and if I would make the step at this time in life: drugs.
I'm too scared to go farther on any other account, but I've taken on the habit of drinking in the evening, and liking the soft numbness of impending drunkness. It helps me to be nice to women at parties (instead of blocking myself), it makes my brain slower (not that I'm Einstein or anything, but the mix of emotions and thoughts is confusing enough for the slightly above mediocre grey mass), and... well, I guess there is nothing more to it.
I'm not drinking liver-threatening quantities, and I'm not hiding any bottles just yet, but I feel that I am very capable of both. I don't want to become an alcoholic, but I like the softened me so much.
Is there an answer besides stopping? I've changed myself in many a good way, but I fear I cannot do this without losing my mind. I need some insanity to be able to be civilised. If you read "the Secret History", you will know all about Dyonisos' madness. This sounded SO appealing to me. I try so hard to be the best man (not just the best husband) I can (and so often feel I fail), and I think this is my big sin I'm willing to carry. I must be out of my mind.

Where is my lack of mind?
I've hardly ever tried this, but violence is also a wonderful way of escaping me. Fight Club is not about Brad Pitt. It's about a potential me.

I'm going to sleep now. Ruined enough already. Maybe I'm not so OK. Maybe something happened this evening that just triggered (expanded?) unhappy thoughts.

I broke my rule of not correcting myself afterwards in posts or mails. I didn't wipe out any incriminating facts though, just added parentheses.

Nobody's supposed to be this honest.

Artist's impression

There is a man. He's unemployed, intelligent and creative, I'd say the protoype of the boy that was too smart too soon. He told me has a focus problem.
I cannot imagine being unable to read heavenly books (currently The Secret History by Donna Tartt) because you fail to read the end of each sentence, but that's the artist's impression of how his disability is troubling him. At least there's plain old science fiction books that move ahead and don't take too much concentration - the literate blood creeps(this is a verb!)...

I've known the man for give or take fifteen years, but only since a year or three have we found out that however different we are, we share some interests, feelings and we both like Ilse (sorry 'bout meeting her first =) ), but all in all, this was still very superficial.
Just last weekend, I took a chance and called him up to have a drink together (apart from the man only few still know as Mike, this was a stange primer - come to think of it, I've probably ever only invited 3 people to go somewhere just with me: the woman I love on several occasions, Mike just once, and now the brilliant bum (I do say this with love - ever seen 'The Fisher King'?)) You have no idea what a lot of Double Westmalles and Blue Chimays can do to a couple of guys with the self-esteem of a Passer domesticus: before you know it, we were talking about ourselves.

It's quite a shock to hear that the man I secretly admired for his rich social life, declares himself as a sociopath lacking real friends (well, having few at the least)! If I had not been in hand-me-down-armchair in 'Het Volkshuis' (great place to be, BTW), the floor would have had a close encounter of the first kind with me. The man of whom I'm certain makes the heart of several nice ladies that want to be naughty, race, doubts he's ever going to meet 'her' and actually greet 'her'.

I do love my favourite biologist. I enjoy making a little fun of him for some practical (or rather impractical) conducts, but Respect is always written with a capital when I have it, and I have lots of it for one of the few people I saw capable of naming me a The Employees song before Bel80 was on the air. If anything, and if you ever read this (and manage to wrestle through my latinist's impression of writing in English), I hope you want to spend more saturday evenings with me.

How are we doing on the bet, by the way?

Many a man's monogamy

Being faithful is all about expectations.

If anything is bothering me, it is the clock. Tick tock tick tock it's two o'clock stop reading you old sock. Cookoo, cookoo, so much to do, so little time before the chime. Handle these servicerequest, don't forget the meeting (try and read this if you can) got to pick up the kids from school, write a post, make love, fix a bike, cook meal, study, fly,...
Apart from that: all is going well. I suspect I'm entering my small scale manic phase again =) Oh yes, and then there is sex. This is piercing my thought at the regularity that some researchers appoint to all men, but with a twist: I'm not so much considering the act (well, I am, but that's besides the point), as I am appreciating the paradoxes sex (the freudian version, basically meaning any human interaction - if you ignore Freud's own freudian denial) brings.

Am I monogamous? Well, considering the woman I'm married to, I have to plead guilty: I do not fulfill the expectations of Ilse (or many a woman's) on that account.
OK, here's for an honest-as-I-can roundup first (this may lead to an argument, or even hurt feelings, but I have to try and be objective in my subjectivity): being a lazy, non-toothbrushing, only washing twice a week in the shower, shaving if my eyebrows are getting envious type of guy (I am not certain if I am ashamed about all this - might pick up on this some other time), I have a thing with bad smells and tastes. Anything remotely gooey sends shivers (the electric seat kind) down my spine. I am extremely sorry about that, and I know it's just not fair, but this is a major turnoff for me. I know it kills spontaneity, but we NEED to wash up before we start the dance of joy (barring the occasional 'I need it right now').
Other remark: I know I'm ungrateful, but I have a problem with the tummy. I despise the excuses for not doing anything about it. If I had only just met you, I would maybe be less demanding, but I've had the (fortunate for me, maybe less for you) position of being able to watch you a thousand times (which dampens the original awe), and even besides that: I am an incorrigable critic.
Besides these two remarks: there is no complaint thinkable: you have the looks that will make you a 45-year old woman that men will still turn their heads at (and I will be one of them). I know from very personal experience that whatever these men may think of your 'zones of interest' (chest, brains, yoni,...), is unconditionnally below reality: they think they see marihuana and they fail to see the heroin. Your openness to anything but other women has been breathtaking already (I know I'm not always apertly appreciative about it) and your acceptance of the difference between phantasy and real life is a gift from the gods.

Whew, this is hard. How do you say some tough things that you feel need to be said, without hurting. I admit my ego may be the problem here; I'm not able to keep my bloody mouth shut when I have a problem, and I have a lot of problems. I hope I am being somewhat reasonable...

So, ok, she has a few minor flaws, but you obviously wouldn't trade her for the world. What's the fuss with monogamy then? Simply put: I'm a very hormonal man, with a strong lack of self-confidence. I'm simply not capable of stepping towards a nice girl and having a healthy flirt, you know: consenting adults stroking each other's ehrm... ego. But on the other hand, my puberty has created (or is this too easy) a craving for physical love, and apart from taste (and gender!), I am a very tolerant guy: any somewhat sexy girl is at the least welcome in my dreams, and if I were any more sociable (and not constrained by LOVE for Ilse), I would easily live a life of one night stands. There are all sorts of weird layers surrounding these emotions (or are they thoughts?): sometimes I yearn for roman era free-for-alls, sometimes I wonder what all my fuss is about. At times I believe it is just my inability to be a wantable man that is stopping me from having a go, sometimes I'm certain that my boundless love for Ilse is breaking the waves. The importance of this whole matter (one of the few things I see able to escape my self-containment) and my fear of crossing a line is even reenforcing my woman-phobia (failing to pass more than a VIRTUAL hug to V is not only a matter of respect for a way of life).
There's so much more to be said about this, and I will, most surely. The channel is there, and I WILL canalize my thoughts, even the ones I'm not certain or happy about. I may tell some parts of this story differently tomorrow, but I must not allow myself to ignore what I have thought at any day.

Am I monogamous: definitely not. I have not had sex, kissed, chatted about sex or even gone out with any other woman than Ilse since we've been together, yet still I fail to meet her popular expectations: should I not only crave her?

I know I'm ashamed of that.

But I AM thankful for all te investments, trials, errors and successes in making our love life maybe not 'vivid' (as in frequent) but interesting (in nothing but positive ways). Most of this is Ilse's work.

There are no other words: Prutske, you are intensely sexy. Thank you!(And sorry for being a grumpy sexual misfit)

Random thoughts: end of the line, all passengers exit.

Today, I have even less want than usually to restrain my thoughts, so never mind the bollocks (pop-quiz: who was the producer behind the band with this line as half an album-title?).

I went through a bit of a rough time these last days. My honorable colleague Danny has passed 'The Dark Tower'-virus to me (will never work with Anderlecht though). This (well, my lack of good sense to stop reading somewhere before 2 at night) caused me to be meta-tired by friday, and as it works out, to be a terrible nag in the course of the week. This led to the inevitable: the love of my life verbally hit me in the head, and we spent an evening arguing about details instead of romancing or at least having a good time.
This is for all to know: Ilse was right, and I will definitely try top stop being a pain in the rectal area about, generally, everything. She is doing great and I will stop criticizing her every move - please give me chance number 1999.
I also duly apologize for not organising anything for her 30th birthday. I was an idiot to think that buying a Kenwood would clear that deal. Anyway, I will once again pickup the habit of writing her name in the sky or other somewhat deranged but pleasing surprises, as the web is my witness.

Mike called to... I don't know, really. I felt as if the pressure was already somewhat off already, so my feeble attempts at cheering him up hardly hit the spot (I thought I sounded like a wannabe sensei - and I shall tolerate no witty remarks about that). I would be so lonely out alone in Prague. I don't know if that's really his problem (besides being too intelligent to do things on auto-pilot, or to not ask questions) but when I hear or read him, the feeling that comes over me is an intense sadness. I just want to be cuddled. I just want to be cuddled. I wonder if it's projection on my part when I'm not sure if he's only interested to be cuddled by his personal Juliet, or whether he simply craves the physical hug.

Hope I'm not crossing a border by posting this - after all this is no longer just my diary-notes. Hate myself for talking about you (M&I) in third person as well.

I'm trying to teach my kids just a little bit of the power of positive thinking. This is somewhat hard for a man neighing towards emotions expressed in early Cure Songs, but fortunately, I am also quite good at exagerating and making a fool out of myself. This always gives me credit with my kids (wonder how true that will be when they're 14) or any kids their age, and once in a while even gets the message through.
It even works in other places: last year at Werchter, the weather basically sucked most of the time, but I insisted: "The sun is shining - it's all in the mind", and what do you know: if not the weather, then at least the moods managed to be sunnier.
Mentionning Werchter: how would things be with... Simon Tahamata? (If you are wondering what I'm talking about: you're normal).

I played some guitar, bought two cows and eight non-simultaneous motorcycles, failed to shoot a plastic rose fo my love, was kind to my kin (except for dragging them through the rain on positive thoughts), worried about RPM having a bad influence on my back, talked to a sexy redhead and her fifty-year-old man (still reminding me painfully about my late father: he's just the succesful version of him) about her new job and appartment, was sorry about not attending 0110 (though I did sponsor), forgot Lightning McQueen, was too tired to get aroused (do need to write a bit about that soon - may sort things out), had a wonderful laugh at a game supposed to arousing, told Ilse about The Perfect Game, could not find 'The Eraser', discussed people being sexy or not, tried hard not to criticize,...

What's yellow and you can stand on it? A chick.
I know it's sick. Couldn't help but laugh about it (Eddie Dean would appreciate it; Blain the Mono would not).

Oh yes: to save you the trouble, Mike:
Schizm Lyrics.

Gotta go study hanzi now!

If I knew I would die next year, would I change anything in my life (apart from preparations on saying farewell - see also tearjerking movie that Ilse put me through recently =) )? I might travel to China now instead of in two years. I really wonder if I could stop trying to please everybody and just enjoy the warmth of my vital others. Gosh, I'm in a strange mood. I feel very much like getting drunk. maybe I'm an alcoholic afterall.

Have you figured out what 0ab means by now? Like I said: it's all me!

Oh yeah: we are now skype-enabled. Should try that sometime soon.
Oh more yeah: I promise myself I will go and help Vanessa this week with her email-trouble, and I will go by Dani's place. If we get a planning up for october, I'll phone or mail Ward to get a 'date' with him. I'm sure this all will prevent the black Pete from putting me in his backpack.

Somebody get me a restraining order. Please, make some sense out of me.

Listitis

Work was alright today, followed by a less than excellent Chinese class. I know I've been up to it as well, but today, literally everybody was chatting away about no matter what, regardless of the good intentions of Wan Lao Shi and the difficulty level of the class. I've always had problems listening through noise (as a man, I'm supposed to have a one track mind, but on the subject of hearing, that track is often mist-clad), this was not fun. If it continues this way, I think I'm going to speak up next lesson or so. Maybe I'll prepare a speech in Chinese. I wonder if I would be able to have enough humor in Chinese to get my message through without sounding like a man with a 500€ bill stuck between the buttocks.

Ah well: fortunately Han Se and I had a nice little chat about AS400s and other machinery - seems he's quite into this stuff, so besides being a very funny man that I would always enjoy having over, he's now also a source of knowledge.
In fact: I had nice chats with some more of my colleagues (during the xiu xi -that means break- of course), and I even met some new people (having their second lesson in Russian!!!) that I managed to already forget the names of =)

But enough of that: I decided that my blog is missing some lists, so I'll add some this time around:

Favorite Songs (no way that I rate these)

• Lilac Wine - Jeff Buckley (Grace is everything)
  
• Go - Pearl Jam (Just passing it on: suppose I abused you? Flippen)
  
• No Shuffle - Front 242 (Emptiness endlessness senselessness)
  
• I'm Deranged - David Bowie (Lost Highway-ender with the best tansition ever)
  
• Schism - Tool (If Stephen Hawkings were to write a love song)
  
• Fake Plastic Trees - Radiohead (The spine, everytime)
  
• Small Change - Tom Waits (Well-Spoken Word)
  
• Piano Concerto in A Minor - Grieg (The most poppy classic composer around)
  
• Orly - Jacques Brel (La tristesse de l'aéroport)
  
• Goin' Home - Dinosaur Jr. (That little riff brings me home)
  

Favorite Albums (not counting best offs)

• Grace - Jeff Buckley
  
• Kid A - Radiohead (well, any album ,really)
  
• Whatever and Ever, Amen - Ben Folds Five
  
• The Juliet Letters - Elvis Costello & Brodsky Quartet
  
• Ten - Pearl Jam
  
• Here, There and Everywhere - Göran Sölscher
  
• La Double Vie de Véronique - ???
  
• Blood Sugar Sex Magic - RHCP
  
• Blue Lines - Massive Attack
  
• Small Change - Tom Waits
  

Favorite Books

• Koning van Katoren - Jan Terlouw
  
• Foucault's Pendulum - Umberto Eco
  
• The Satanic Verses - Salman Rushdie
  
• Carter Beats the Devil - Glen David Gold
  
• The Saga of Pliocene Exile - Julian May
  
• The Galactic Milieu Series - Julian May
  
• De 13 1/2 Levens van Kap'tein Blauwbeer - Walter Moers
  
• Steppenwolf - Hermann Hesse
  
• Imprimatur/Secretum/... - Monaldi & Sorti
  
• The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
  

Favorite Movies

• The Game
  
• Crash
  
• Lost Highway
  
• Batman Begins
  
• Star Wars (original trilogy)
  
• l' Histoire d'O
  
• La Double Vie de Véronique
  
• Se7en
  
• Memento
  
• Dead Poets' Society
  
• Fight Club
  

Is this making any sense? I tried to be as honest as I could on short notice. Maybe next time I'll take the time to evaluate my choices. Maybe I'll correct them as well. to my surprise, I find it much harder to name favorite songs and albums than movies ! Guess I'm more harsh on musicians?

Balki

I must be getting old: today I got another round of same shit different day by Microsoft. Once again they claim to have bypassed the universal law of constant misery (for the Dutch Speaking Community: De Wet van Behoud van Miserie). This is just a scientists' way of saying: no pain no gain, or better and logically equivalent: gain implies pain. Past a certain critical point, when you find a 'better' solution for a problem, this only means you've failed to notice the downsides of your new plan. Now this may sound pessimistic, but it really is not: to paraphrase Morrissey, some burdens are bigger than others! If you have a very broad solution for a wide set of problems, you may be able to please some burden-bearers by focussing temporarily on their subdomain, and if you time your focus right, this may give you commercial momentum at the least.
However, undoubtedly, focussing on, say, half your 'customers' will without a single doubt just cause negative effects on the rest. Damned: I believe I am in the wrong half of MS' customers right now =)

But let's look on the bright side: the drive to and from Brussels enabled to enjoy both Arctic Monkeys (you know the bloke on the CD-booklet? Well, he's not in the band at all - haha) and (I'm in a Nina Simone-reincarnation-period) of course, Jeff Buckley. My voice was even good enough to leave the impression on me that I wasn't far off on most of it, though trying to sing along with Him makes only your awe bigger - as does trying to play his guitar parts.

Then shortly after getting home I got in to a 'funny little fight' with my wife: I had no idea that a slight misunderstanding regarding potatoes (there was also some spinach involved) could cause so many waves. But we got hold of it before we started throwing plates (ridden of potatoes), because I managed to see how silly al of it was. Medal of honor for me, then eh?

What else happened? I was a bit worried to hear that Anne has some problems with 'the love of her life' (bear with me): of course he's just a boy who wants to play with the boys, and as she is VERY persistant (pigheaded like both her parents is more the term), she ends up getting hit in the head. Sigh. Disturbing to hear how complicated life already is at nearly 4. Well at least they haven't got any kids yet...

Then I got to clean up the house, but afterwards I got rewarded with episode 2 of season 2 of Lost (I got the DVD from my mother in law for helping them out with some wallpaper. These people are starkraving mad: if I'd given them a DVD for every time they'd helped us, I'd be giving them Rambo III now out of lack of inspiration). I'm starting to fear that my prediction will be all too true: everything is going the Twin Peaks direction. Weirdness is great, but it would be nice if they found a way to explain some things instead of just adding surrealism. Still entertaining though.

And now my evening can end in beauty: sipping some Sangria (leftover from the recent barbecue), I got some comments on my blog. Somebody has nicked my trick of complimenting freely. For a cynic like me, it's quite unbelievable what an intense power-up something like that can give you. I feel somewhat like Super Mario after he has eaten a mushroom (though I will have to keep my head clear from brick walls above it). Thanks to my favorite Christian Democratic Spy, I'm now in the top 10 of my own favorite people.

At least 1 man will know that I'm not very original when I wish the whole world a bluebear-hug with all my heart.

Cousin Larry, let's do the dance of joy!!!

Grace

Last evening, I had a bit of a rough time. My well-hidden fear of people reared its ugly head again. I realise more and more that I avoid talking to people, I don't have the guts to ask anyone to go out with me, and even those that I do ask, I cannot trust anough. When it comes to people liking me, I'm an olympic paranoiac.

Of course, this does not stop me from being jealous at my other half for being brilliantly sociable =)

Fortunately, she is also so much of a miracle that she responded immediately to my fatalistic SMS ('are you ever coming home?') by simply coming home, and not being mad at me for my stupidity. When the dust of the new schoolyear settles, and we get a little bit of insight on how busy our evenings are organised, I plan on looking for help on this - I manage alright, but I fear I may end up very lonely at 50 or so.

Well, then I managed to pick up my good mood again (the intense stress of a handle-5-servicerequests-at-a-time-day didn't even kill that), which is victory: normally, when I get down, there is only a way down, but this time I grabbed the rope and climbed out. Thank you Thom Yorke.

Or maybe: thank you Jeff Buckley. I put on 'Grace' and once again I got moved nearly to tears. The voice, the chords, the intensity, the warmth, the emotion. I think the only thing that is more beautiful than this music must be my family. Am I a freak now? If so, I shall yell at you: Grace is Everything! And you'll hear the capitals.

Sculpt

When you start the day with a bit of jolly waste of time, you get a busy day! Nevertheless: once more, the only cats that crossed my path were bright orange, and not the misfortune-appealing breed.
Waiting beyond my patience before Access would finally show me the report I requested, provoked me to rewrite a lot of the logic involved. It was harder than it should have been, and a typo got me running in circles at the end, but the satisfaction is great when you can reduce 'forever' to 'less than a minute'. The guy who wrote all these cancerous deformations should be shot at sight. Oh well, the pharmacy industry is now enriched with a blazingly fast report! Even a failing VPN-connection didn't spoil my mood.

At lunch time, two business-intelligents spewed some interesting opinions on the market for software for SMB's. I enjoyed their views (easy when you get presented with a physics comparison), and managed to not shoot my foot off when I opened my mouth. Hey, I enjoy being appreciated as much as the next guy.

Anne and Ruben were once again in a good mood: it's nice when they have something to say about what they did all day. And that, of course, is also a specialty of Ilse, my treasure. I am deeply impressed with the way she handles being a math teacher. I would probably be able to explain things in just as understandable terms, but I could never ever control the classroom as good as she does. It's easy for me to say that she simply has to demand respect, and always react harshly on lack thereof, but 'Mrs Lanszweert' brings this to practice! Respect, woman!

And then the day was finished in beauty: my fitness center has a tremendous group course called 'body sculpt', which basically says it all: every bloody muscle in my body got a good whipping, and slowly but surely, this has positive effects on regions that used to be skin and bones. I seem to have been in great shape today, because I nearly never had to interrupt an exercise for lack of stamina. Only the ones on the belly muscles got to me, but Sofie (the teacher) is a real bully on those. I'm proud to have hung in there.

To paraphrase the Eels: 'Life is great, and so am I'.
God damn' right it was a beautiful day.

Quickie

Just before I start working, I want to send me and the rest of the globe some positive vibes. Yesterday was nice. I played knight with my kids, and it was so much fun that I almost burnt the spaghetti sauce. I got some time to read in 'The Wolves of Calla' by Stephen King. We counted the people who will be at our birthday-barbeque next saturday, and it seems we have more friends than we have chairs and tables - Fortunately, there's always the inlaws to provide us with... well, anything.

I'm madly in love with my beautiful wife, and I am currently enjoying my job (although I am in search of some extra challenge; suggestions for a second job may be welcome).

I also sent a long email to Mike, who seems to be just a tad lonely in Prague. I would be if I wouldn't have a phone or an internet connection in my appartment a long long way from home (and lover). I tried to cheer him up a little, but I know he will be alright, because he is one of the strongest personalities I ever met.

There you go - wham bam, thank you ma'am!

Cooler

Whilst rummaging through the net, looking for the truth about Thom's girlfriend, I learned that I was way off on my vision of the man.

In fact, I found a quote of Mr Yorke that may well be busy saving my life. I know, I know, getting your life saved by second-hand phrase is a bit pathetic, but in earnest: I don't mind about that. The quote?

It's easy being depressed. It's much harder to be happy - and cooler!

I don't know, but this really gets to me! Maybe it only works somewhere in the middle of a hundred other one-liners (I have actually been LOL quite a few times), but in any case it hit the spot for me. So here I go again with a fresh view on life and Thom Yorke in particular: the man was not happy. Oh, he probably was not the most miserable person in the world, but he was perfectly capable of feeling that anyway, and then hating himself for it (though this last one is just a projection, I guess). And then he somehow managed to turn the tables: he found a way of surpassing the void of self-complaint: good old-fashioned hard labour on self-containment, thriving on the idea that the other way is just not getting you anywhere, and, when you look at it: being happy may not be very hip (there is a not remotely fine line between having a good time and being happy), but in truth we all admire those that find the inner rest to just... accept the good life.

Today, I smiled more than the day before. Who knows, maybe next week I won't hide from people I know in the supermarket to avoid talking to them.
I saw my son climbing to the top of the pyramid on the playground. Anne sang the song about the fingers for me. And my baby washed my hair although she was tired.
Life is nice, whether I like it or not.

Thom

I've read something shocking (maybe choking) the other day: the title song on Thom Yorke's album The Eraser, talks about Thom and some other character, trying to wipe each other out, but this fails miserably: the more you try to erase me, the more that I appear.

Some bloke posted the lyrics to all nine songs and added comments about what he thought was the meaning of the song. This man's opinion was that The Eraser is about the break up between Thom and his former girlfriend.
Now I'm a fan of all things Radiohead (Fake Plastic Trees as much as Everything in its Right Place - allthough the first one is a lot easier to play on a guitar). I like the "what rules?" mentality, a drummer that defines a sound and still is open for drum computers, guitarists with miny-fresh arpeggios and singers that thrive in self-centeredness.

Of course we'll never really know: which part of the Marvel Heroes of Upper-Underground Music is a badly hidden honesty from the early days, a moquery at journalists and fans galore, acidic or friendly poison from fellow-bands and other music-industry critters, or even our own wrongfully induced addition to the image.
But then if I add up what I have read, there is just no way around it: Thom Yorke is not generally a likable person. You know that quote from some melodramatic movie or possibly the good book: you have to love yourself before others can be able to love you?
Any artist, any creator, hell anyone who produces whatever he thinks is worth a penny wants to run to his mommy to show, and most of all: to be patted on the head (whew, that's a really nice drawing of a little black man), ridiculized (so now ambels around aimlessly) or shouted at (your website doesn't work in My Browser) - anyway: to get attention. This is as close to love as a lot of us get. we all settle for attention.
So I guess there is no way Mr. Yorke can escape that he is aiming for attention, as much as he is screaming to stop bothering him, making the music people were supposed to not want to hear.
That would all be the phase up to the Kid A sessions: angry young man fighting with himself, his band, undoubtedly his girlfriend, his imagery of a hostile pleasure-deprived community of little black men trying to destroy the capital of the world: poor old Thom.
Slowly but surely, the ego fades. Suddenly there is a happy father singing hopeful songs for his kid, done screaming about the inner anger and pointing more fingers outward: sings that are so politically correct that they are politically incorrect, voices raised on world issues.
And yet: complaining about how nice your voice sounds, never relistening to literally yesterday's composition, still imagining the little black man destroying a capital and wondering if it is Blair or Yorke that commands the oceans: the angry young attention-needing man is still there.

Through all this, I have understood, his girlfriend has stood by him. I imagine her kind of like my wife: the joy in her eyes is an unstable counterbalance for wild mood swings. I imagine them having a very tough but very meaningful relationship, every day fighting to still be in the relationship and never giving in. At a time, I believe now, this even gave me the courage to keep fighting (after all, my feeble attempts at writing are nothing more than luring attention).

If they did break up, my faith definitely got a shake.

Although there is probably no music more penetrating to me than Radiohead (or Thom Yorke solo, for that matter) on headphones and with closed eyes, I will listen to The Eraser without the faint smell of tears no more.



I just checked with wikipedia, and am proud to say that the guy was all wrong.
Phew, so now I can safely say that whether I'm wrong or right about Thom Yorke, I truely love the music he and his mates have given us.

"It's easy to be miserable. Being happy is tougher - and cooler." - Thom Yorke

Use y'r interface

Well today was fine. Up until the point when age-old technology failed me again.

I've got to hand it to those guys at IBM: simple green letters on a black background still produce some of the simplest, most dummy-user-friendly user-interfaces I've seen. All you do is move your cursor to the right spot, enter only valid data (the system manages to prevent just about any mistake a user might make, short of spillng coffee on his keyboard), press 'Enter', and you've just made a computer do what you wanted it to.
Try that on for size, Microsoft, Apple and Linux. AS/400 rocks when it comes to making stupid people work with a computer.

Well... that is of course until they see flashy wysiwyg word processors or dazzling graphics in the next game on a more popular (and desktop-oriented) platform.

What is it with user-interfaces that nobody ever gets them quite right? Just look at the known examples: they're all just demonstrations of a lack of ability to make a consequent choice.

Windows has all the thrills: graphically hot, context sensitivity all over the place, multi-language, all the software you can dream, compatibility assured and developers' tools that make any knowledgeable man get a mental erection. But all that is just it: there is just too much of Windows! Just try to open up Word, and find out different ways to do the same thing, like pasting some text: there is of course the customizable menu, a gazillion of toolbarbuttons, and he ever-present Ctrl-V. But rest assured: there's more! Now they've invented the 'ribbon', there is a multi-dimensional clipboard, you get a smarttag allowing you to alter the formatting after pasting,... Have you ever tried to tell a computer-dummy to always use the same way of doing it, just because they lack the flexibility to guess that they all do the same, but sometimes slightly different? Come on, Redmond: allowing the user to customize his experience is just not the same thing as creating an easy platform for anybody to use. My grandpa is just not capable of customizing. Well not his computer, anyway.

Mac? Beautiful at first: anybody can use a Mac. The one-button mouse was wonderful, really, as was the single-menu idea. But at a certain point, you have to come to more decisions: when you want all sorts of information at your fingertips (I know that used to be more of the competitor's slogan, but isn't that what they all want to do - but fail miserably?) you are going to need some buttons and keys, close to your fingers, that make it all run. Boing!
And closed source? Well, fortunately, noone cares ;-)

Linux, recently presented as an alternative for the dummy user, now with an automatic install, control panel stuff, all the zing and dang of any modern operating system, only with a better designed engine, supported by a world of geeks. Of course, if it were really that magnificent, we wouldn't need the geeks. How many people you know have recompiled their kernel? Written scripts to automate the toaster in beautiful languages like python? Decided which packages to install, and configured their unwilling hardware? Be for real: Linux is a wonderful system, usable by a lot of people, until something goes wrong (and believe me: it will).
Open source is wonderful, but who has ever really profited from it, apart from the initial cost for the OS?

And then there's the fairy godmother of OS-es: OS/400. No kidding: this thing is stable as hell, and in most views, pretty simple. Behind the scenes, there really are only three (3!) levels of directories, everything gets compiled the same way, some brilliant tricks, and very straightforward user-interface.
But what trouble it takes to make that user-interface! Computerlanguages from hell (RPG), indecipherable layouts of files, overkill on options and switches. Copying a file will do just fine on the command line, but there is just no way of debugging withot a fine-tuned development environment. Not with the complexity of today's software. Sometimes you just NEED a comlex UI. And AS/400 has it NOT.

So why the rant? I don't know. In the old days, when the server would have been next to me, I would probably have kicked it. Since it is now literaly miles away from me, I'll just have to spit my poison at it verbally. Take that, you swine!

Oil Pump

- Whoa! What the...
- Go right, go right!
- I can't do that here - just a second.
- Gosh, what is that noise?

And thus ended our romantic trip towards the now-mythical city of Metz. I have now learned that when the oil-pump of the servo-system ("Direction Assistée") on your steering wheel meets the oil-pump-graveyard, this renders your car virtually useless: as it seems, this causes your carburator to stop charging the battery (I know, it doesn't sound reasonable, but I'm explained that this is a fact of life in our type of vehicle).
So, not only will you have to use every muscle in your arms to steer, but you will also use up all that hard-earned electricity in you battery, says the technician.

Now, when I'm stranded with a broken car, 10 miles outside of my own country (and not a member of any Europ Assisstance or the likes), seeing three days of romantic fun (what kids?) being flushed through the oil-pump, I get depressed enough to believe this stuff, but honestly: isn't a car supposed to drive around on diesel?
I mean: OK, so the diesel needs a little electricity to explode inside the engine (although there are some braincells that seem to remember that this is only necessary for classical gasoline - those braincells were probably actually physically present in the physics class), but have you seen the size of the batteries that go into the hood? If I compare this to the batteries that make a flashlight or ghettoblaster last for a week, these should basically render fuel useless for making a motor hum. I'm certain this habit of filling your tank with some liquid that supposedly makes the heart of a machine beat, is just a hilarious scam. I bet somebody is rolling on the floor of their UFO!
I'll tell you more: you have been at a gas station, you have seen the meter run (Euro's currently faster than liters), you have smelled the promise of explosion, read the non-smoking sign and inserted your bank card, but have you ever actually seen any fuel there, apart from the over-obvious rainbow glow in the puddles? The tubes are suspiciously black, and when pinching the handle, you get a sensation of flowing liquid, but are you sure that it is not just some recorded oil-pump-sounds that shape the illusion?
Cars exploding in movies: brilliant marketing.
If you look really well into the tank, you can actually see something that could be a small amount of water with detergent. I'm sure you could blow bubbles with it!

No, take it from the man who came back by train: there is no need for oil.

P.S.: fortunately, my beautiful friends helped me and my wife forget some of this tragedy by making us laugh at the Gentse Fieste. Thx Ward, Els and Stefaan!

Why ReDo

Whatever else they may be, computers are stupid.
I don't mean they are good for nothing - hell, they're good for keeping me employed for one - just that they're nothing but very well trained (and obviously somewhat more elaborate) ants. You tell the PC to go left, and regardles of brick walls, innocent bystanders or axe-carrying stepmothers being there, it will go left (assuming you somehow taught your computer how to go left).
You tell that machine to kill you and by all means it will try to shorten your life (sorry Asimov).

Now, I can live with that. It took me a while, but I've accepted the fact that computers are dumber than most people I know.

The real problem is in the communication: if only the stupid thing were able to understand what I mean when I'm trying to get it to do something. No really: how often haven't you been behind the wheel of one of these overgrown calculators, and yelled at it: that's not what I wanted you to do!
You know that you have typed a long document, with some pictures in it, right? Spent hours positioning the figures so they fit in the right pages, then you see spelling error somewhere, you correct it, and the son-of-a-chip does some unholiness to your layout? NOOOOOO! Or the one where you tried to set a picture as a background on your desktop, as big as possible without deformation? Have you tried googling when you are trying to remember this title of a book that you know you read last summer and was about sheep?
I don't know: I am into computers, and they sure don't always understand me. Something must have gone wrong in the Darwinian evolution of software: they're mostly just getting faster at not getting the point. Worse: nobody seems to have a proper solution. I've seen attempts alright: endless dialog boxes asking whether I'm really absolutely sure I wanted to change the startpage of my browser, features that are so well hidden that you could not accidentally (or on purpose) use them, and finally: the Elvis of dreadful protectors, the Pele of foolproof-foolishness: the undo-button.
Every modern day application has it, and, fair is fair: what an invention! The guy who thought of it (let's call him Uncle Do) is brilliant: OK, fellows, we're not smart enough to create a program that is smart enough to understand what the user will want it to do, so... we build in an option to undo the last step, for all those cases when our program 'did it again'. Nobelprize for this man!
But then came in the software-engineers, and in no time, they managed to screw up a pefectly good idea: first, we make sure the user can undo more than one step. Well, in some programs we do this, in others not (so the user can be properly frustrated, because this will obviously be the time when she will need to undo two steps), or maybe we allow the user to undo up to five steps? Or make it depend upon the memory of the computer (so that when we are working with a big, important file, this functionality unexpectedly fails to work).
But wait: there's more! We can leave the definition of a 'step' to undo to the randomness of a monkey on a typewriter, or make undo work at such blazing lack of speed that the user will press undo six times only to find a lot more work undone than he had accounted for.
After all, don't forget: 'undo' is just another piece of software, so how could we expect it to understand what the user wants?
In steps Uncle Do, fairly wealthy by now, and suggests the inevitable: we need to be able to undo the undo.
Welcome to the wonderful world of software development.