Why you will never find me queuing to get into a club

It's degrading.

If the club is that full that you have to stand outside in a line-up like a sheep on its way to the slaughter, what's the point?
Why should I allow myself to be bullied by some surly security guard and stand there and hope that he'll let me in. If they don't want my business, I'll just go somewhere else, and if they don't want my business, I'll just go home. There is no way in hell I'd ever cater to security guards and bouncers. Play up to some steroid case on a power trip in order to pay a cover charge to get into a no doubt over-crowded establishment where the staff is surly and snooty and the customers wasted and stupid? No thank you!
The line-ups for some clubs look pathetic. People standing there like morons freezing their asses off in their skimpy clothes just so they can get into the current hotspot just so they can be there. Just because someone hip and trendy decided that this is where you should go on a Saturday or a Friday night. There's something sad about it, when you think about it. All that pushing and shoving like cattle trying to get to the water trough during a drought, total disregard for your fellow human beings. Girls with lost expressions in their eyes.

Now there are exceptions to this of course. Clubs aren't all like this, naturally. I would gladly go to a place where people actually go to dance, such a latin club for example. I like dancing. I'm not referring to actual dance clubs, but to clubs where you go just to get drunk, or worse, places you go when you are already hammered. If I want to sit around and booze it up and talk at the top of my lungs where the majority of the conversation goes something like: "HUH??", I can do this at home.

I'd rather have a root canal done than stand in one of these silly line-ups.

The reason for this rant is that I just read a story in a newspaper written by a girl who really did get seriously injured in this type of freakshow.

A smelly army base is heaven

I grew up being what you might call an army brat. We never moved around like a lot of military families but my father's army regiment still played a large part in my life.
They closed it down sometime in the late 90's and now it holds several companies and businesses. I had occasion to visit one such business the other day when we had to take Kelly to the vet. The vet office is situated in what used to be the medical building.
As soon as I walked through the door I could feel that special smell. You can't put your finger on it. It's like a mix between coffee and shoe leather and something else. Impossible to define. All I know is that I love it. The mess hall also smelled like that, but with a hint of food thrown into the mix. It's funny how some of the buildings still smell the same. It's as though the smell is firmly permeated in the walls.
The barrack buildings were these huge, yellow concrete buildings that always smelled of musky, old socks. They were sparsely furnished with metal bunk beds and simple chairs. There were attics and nooks and crannies, and I loved being there. Everything from the smell to the stale cookies that were always available in bulk boxes in the coffee room. I'd tag along with my father while he taught telecommunications to young guys doing their military service. I would sit there with my nose in a book or pretend that I was working there too, by stapling papers together or something like that.
All the military men were dry but friendly. When they joked with you, you were never quite sure whether they were kidding or not.
I miss that army regiment, just because it was such a safe, happy place. It smelled weird and it was stiff and dreary but it was a place of excitement. Even today that smell brings back fond memories and makes me feel oddly safe.

High class problem in the city of Östersund

Crisis in Libya, crisis in Egypt not too long ago. People fighting for their political rights, dying for the cause.

Meanwhile in the town of Östersund, the inhabitants are faced with their own crisis - the local dairy company changed the design of the milk cartoons, making it more difficult to open. Local newspaper features a page with angry protests made by readers.

Yes, there is a hint of sarcasm there. Reading the local newspaper of Östersund always evokes mixed feelings. On the one hand I'm appalled at the things that people here find to get enraged about, on the other hand I'm relieved that a place like this will never have to grapple with the type of things that people in Libya, Egypt, Congo, and many other places, have to deal with on a daily basis. I have never lived in any of these places. My biggest concerns have been the size of my hydro bill, my student loans and the buses going on strike in Vancouver. My perspective is very different from that of a woman living in Congo for example. It's easy to overract to minor problems when you're used to high standards. Still, I consider it a high class problem to complain about milk cartoons and not being served a fresh salad buffet at local elementary schools because of the parasite in the water. The kids didn't get their usual salad buffet because it wasn't possible to rinse the vegetables in the tap water. They still got vegetables, just not fresh lettuce.
It's necessary to add here that kids in Sweden don't need to pay for their food in school. It's already been paid for in taxes.

Confessions of the uncool

There are a number of reasons why I will never be referred to as cool or highly cultured.

1. I still get shivers when Daniel san beats Johnny at the end of Karate Kid.

2. I still cry when I watch Bobby Ewing dies after being hit by a car.

3. I like Dolly Parton and especially "Working 9 to 5".

4. I talk to my wall calendar of dogs.

5. I get the inclination to skip when I'm outside, although I mostly refrain from it.

6. I still love the Golden Girls.

7. I think fashion is for drones.

8. I can find daytime drama dialogue moving and sometimes even profound.

9. I still get a kick out of the old Nintendo video games like "Paperboy" and "Popeye".

10. I like dramatic songs and gestures and romance, ala Celine Dion and her performance of "My Heart Will Go On" at the Oscars. It should be added that I tired of that particular song a long time ago but that doesn't mean I find Celine's stage manneurisms corny. As long as a person is being sincere, and I do believe that she mentioned in an interview that this comes natural to her when she performs, you should respect that. This goes not only for Celine but for everyone and everything in all areas of life. We shouldn't be so jaded and cynical.

Do I care whether or not I'm cool? No, not really.

My philopsophy when it comes to commercials

If a commercial is on too much and if it contains a very annoying and repetitive tune then I will deliberately not buy the product. I know it's silly but it feels somewhat like a form small of punishment for having a terrible commercial. I don't appreciate their blatant attempt at trying to nestle their way into my subconscious by ramming their crappy signature tune down my throat, or into my ear, to be more exact.
Then there's that little delightful thing on my remote control called a mute button. I use it frequently.
I was at the grocery store a while ago and on the T.V screens that they now have above the cash registers, a particularly annoying whistling tune blared out for about the 500th time, and I vowed that if I ever heard it again I would be berserk in the store. My father, who I was with at the time, agreed with me. He hates it too. We're a very testy family. We were the only family on the block who'd call the cops or complain when the neighbours had loud parties at late hours.

Those paparazzis!

I was flipping the channels while sipping my tea just now and on a channel called Star! I came across a show about paparazzis and stars who live their lives on the edge.
I know it's all about the money for them, selling their pictures to the magazines, and I suppose money takes the place of dignity and self-respect. If I was 45 years old, I think I'd find it more than a little embarrassing to make my living driving after 20 year olds all day and hanging out outside their house in the hopes of taking a picture of them whiping their ass or blowing their nose. I wonder if the prospect of making a lot of money would make me forget all about pride. I can't imagine it. I know it's easy for me to sit here on my high horse and judge since I'm not in that situation, but I can't imagine that I'd be able to live with myself. Not because of the moral issue of harassing people and shove a camera in their face, although that's ridiculous as well, but because I'd find it incredibly pathetic if I spent my life doing this.
Can you imagine, day after day, taking candid pictures of total strangers doing mundane things such as eating salad leaves or carrying a cup of Starbucks coffee. I think I'd want to shoot myself if I had to do that. What's even worse is that verocity that these guys go after their prey. Driving around wildly in some jeep with a manic facial expression all day. Is it dollar signs in their eyes or just sheer obsession?
Moreover, this whole thing begs the question of why people are so interested in these nonsense snapshots of celebrities doing ordinary things. There wouldn't be paparazzis if there wasn't a market for this crap right. For some reason, people are fascinated with celebrities and that extends to seeing them perform even the most trivial tasks. I don't get it. When I was 16 I might have gotten it but not as an adult. I like Kiefer Sutherland but that doesn't mean I want to see him coming out of a gym all sweaty or wearing sunglasses while having lunch in some restaurant. Nor would I be interested in seeing a blurry picture of Lindsay Lohan, or anyone else, driving by in a car.
Oooh...she's driving car! Look, there she goes driving down the street! OOOH...she's getting out to get a slurpee!!! Oh and look, there's Beyoncee coming out of her gym!!! She's all sweaty...oh...my...god...how sensational!

Bizarre!

It's later this evening and my mood just took a nose dive again

I just came back from teaching a course. When we were leaving, one of my students came up to me and looked at my belly and sort of touched it, and asked me quietly if there was a blessed events in the works. In other other words, she asked me if I was pregnant!

I have put on some weight lately, but it never ocurred to me that it was that visible. We're not talking that much weight gain. Although my stomach has felt bloated lately, why I don't know, but it could have something to do with all the chocolate I've been eating lately.

This was the cherry on the top of the cake of my day.