Spirit of the Gym

There is a computer game of some sort called Pangya Golf with Style or something. I have never played it, nor have I ever been interested in doing so. However, my sleep tonight was a bit weird (too much beer, I guess) and I apparently played the game in the world of dreams. It was awesome, and was like a cross between minigolf/putting practice and a Harry Potter movie or Pan's Labyrinth! All of the holes had gargoyle eggs or magickal stones, and a griffin circled in the sky. I was a bit nervous, because the whole situation was sort of eerie. Then all was well again except for the fact that my lizard (a lizard I actually had many years ago) was biting a big yellow frog, and I had to bend her jaws open to separate them. Ah, dreams.

After another apartment-selling failure, I went to the gym today to work off a bit of frustration. Training harder than usual, I was dizzy, sweaty and exhausted when I finished my workout. Then I saw her. A woman I believe I saw five years ago or something when I was training at another gym. She looked exactly as beautiful and radiant now as then, she went through the same motions, still totally oblivious of her surroundings, wearing headphones. So self-occupied was she, that I realized that she is probably just the Spirit of the Gym, appearing to those who need encouragement. I notice these things, and I was encouraged.

The Horror

The horror. The most intrusive law ever devised has passed a vote in the Swedish parliament. All traffic on the Internet (except that which does not cross the Swedish borders, which is of course bullshit) will be monitored and collected by FRA (previously the National Defence Radio Establishment, though I guess they will change their name to the Ministerium für Staatssicherheit). This of course interferes with freedom of speech, press freedom and a host of other things people in a developed democracy would take for granted. Not in Sweden, not anymore. We will be an Airstrip Two, or Three, or Four, I am losing count, for Oceania. The law is nominally to stop "terror" and stuff like that, despite the fact that Sweden has basically never seen any terror at all. The money could be spent elsewhere, such as the armed forces, which have recently been downsized so much that Sweden would hardly be able to defend itself against any realistic threat.

This abomination of a law was approved by almost all members of the centre-right ruling coalition, save for Birgitta Olsson (who voted a courageous "dunno") and Camilla Lindberg, the only person courages enough to stand up for her beliefs. In all honesty, I would like to see the yes-voters tried for treason. However, I am not entirely sure whether it is illegal to subvert and destroy democracy.

Also, I found a cat on the street and we liked each other. I took it to the vet for a check-up and to see whether it had an owner. Since it was completely unmarked, it now lives with me. Pics later.

Aliens Solve Equations

Reading the latest Greg Egan book, I am both surprised and disappointed. While well-written and intelligent as is par for the course with Egan, Incandescense is really quite boring. Sure, describing how an alien race goes about measuring velocities and orbits could set the background for a story, but when half the story is about how said aliens solve equations with two unknowns and work with derivatives... nah. (The other half, without ruining the story, is about two people trying to find stuff in the universe, and it is not that hot either.) Simply not my type of book, especially since it contains very little of the philosophical issues that Egan usually raises. I guess I will follow the story to the end, though, but this is more because of my general love for Egan than an actual compulsion to finish the book. Incandescense will be on hold a while, though, while I read Neal Stephenson's Cobweb which seems more promising.

Also, I will present my master's thesis tomorrow, which would be a thing worthy of great celebrations (Rotari rosé at least) under different circumstances. However, what with my apartment crisis, I have a very hard time finding the enthusiasm. Also, the resulting payment of €2,600 a month in rent plus mortgages sort of puts a stop to doing anything fun involving money and forces me to take no vacation at all this year and work instead. Balls.

Down at the Porn Store

I live pretty close to one of the larger porn stores in Stockholm and sometimes when I feel bored or just want to spend some time away from computers, I go spy on its clients. I know, I am closer to 30 than 20 and should not take such obvious pleasure in spying on people for no good reason at all. But still, everybody needs hobbies. At times, I have even brought my camera, shooting with a 200 tele the customers entering and exiting the establishement. Why? Because they all look so fucking guilty! A sluggish gait, their backs slightly bent, they look like they have received a harsh sentence indeed. Maybe they just want to look inconspicuous, who knows. Anyway, the tele lens in question sucks in low light conditions, so the pictures are mostly blurry. I still save them in my archive of completely pointless electronically stored things.

Another funny thing with these men is that they all look to be between, say, 30 and 40. They also all wear really mundane clothes and look perfectly boring. I would have guessed, ex ante, that people renting Fuckenfest Achtung Total 14 or whatever clicks their dicks, would be old geezers not aware of the endless supply of free porn on the Internet for those so inclined.

Me? I greatly prefer the endless supply of great comics on the Internet.

Entropy: Increased

What is the deal with those fiftyfive-ish men with rather big beards and often, but not always a tiny bit of a beer belly? They tend to sport dark brown or green hats, felt or leather, with wide brims and sometimes a leather vest (of the "practical" kind, not the "gay man" or "biker" kinds) which looks like it has been used for many years but has been well taken care of. These men almost always wear a shirt of some kind. Not a dress shirt, but a practical one made out of thicker cotton with at least one pocket. The colour of the shirt is often olive green, greyish or brown.

The fact that some men look like this does not bother me at all, what bothers me is that they are almost always alone, and they almost always look happy! I want to know what they know that I do not know. I believe they might hold the keys to heaven, but they are apparently not sharing them. They are like Mona Lisas with beards! Also, I wonder if the communicate - and how do they procreate? My theory is that they do it like amoebas. They duck into a dark alley and just split, one smug, enigmatic man then coming out each end, only the shade of their hat telling them apart. I did admittedly see two of them together, though. Once. I guess that was just because they had accidentally divided in a one-way alley or something. Oh well.

I am having a bit of a personal hell with my apartment business. In hindsight, it was apparently pretty fucking stupid to buy a new apartment before selling the old one. But, since I talked to I think ten different estate agents who all promised that it would be a piece of cake to sell mine, I was lulled into a false sense of security and now I have two apartments and not enough money to even pay interest on the loans. Damn you, estate agents.

My plan consisting of "healthy food and exercise" to lose a few kilos has apparently backfired. I have gained three or four kilos in as many months. I hope, at least, that it can be attributed to building muscles. However, it so happens that every time I go to the gym, I feel a bit guilty for increasing the entropy in the universe more than usual, speeding up the process of heat death. I wonder if this means I am deranged or just nerdy.