Pic of the day: Winter sky over Norway.
I worry that I am becoming Gabified. Embarassing
dreams, political and religious rants, rampant cynicism.
GabGab.com does it all, and
does it better.
Plus, she gets the good e-mail. "I saw a nipple while you was sleeping." Sorry, it is late at night here, but I find this approach to friends-making devastatingly hilarious. Someone sponsor me with a free phone line, or at least let an allied country breach our telecoms oligopoly, and I'll be happy to show you all of my nipples while I is sleeping.
I usually don't miss having a TV. Let's say, not every year. But this year the Norwegian band Infinity is going to play at tomorrows Spelemannspris, a Norwegian music festival. Vaguely akin to the Oscar for films, only with music and a national scope. Infinity released their CD in January this year, so they're not in the competition, but they are to perform. If Egil is OK again (he was sick today) this should be spectacular for the Norwegian public. Their CD www.happy-people.net sold 25000 in the first two and a half week, which is pretty good for a country with four and a half million citizens, and the group's first album. They are expected to start selling the album in Finland and Japan (!) next. They're young, they're cute, and their music is far better than what I grew up with, Beatles and that stuff.
Read in Scientific American about the new influenza medicines. In passing, the scientists mentioned the outbreak of chicken influenza in Hong Kong, where the government brutally killed off the town's entire population of poultry - and presumably hindered 30% of the earth's population from dying within the next six months. Y'know people, things like this puts the Y2K scare in some perspective.
Not to mention the problems I've had at the job lately.
I've started to keep a running log of what I do, since it seems hard
for the old pre-Flynns to imagine that I have anything to do at
all. I have more than enough to do, I just prioritize the fun
things with ruthless dedication. Anyway, chances are that in
a hundred years it will all be forgotten. I should write poetry,
it seems to be practically the only thing that outlasts stone.
Girl of Steel in Rosa's Wardrobe?
Visit the Diary Farm for the diaries I've put out to pasture until they
buy the farm: