Your Neck Is Worth It

The market is awash with gaming-related t- and sweatshirts (with varying quality), but when it comes to surviving the minus 40 winters that the north of Sweden can offer, then there is very, very little in the way of showing your allegiance without freezing your nuts off.

Today I was browsing one of my favourite games-blogs, Wonderland, when I saw an entry that immediately melted my heart. A company called “bits2die4” is selling a range of scarves, all with 70s and 80s style gaming motifs.

Of the five styles being sold, I should like the Space Invaders, Pong and Scramble versions. Space Invaders and Pong are well-known classics of their time, and I have very special memories of playing Scramble in Bournemouth when I had just become a teenager. I have a feeling I played most in the back section of a chip shop, where both Scramble and Space Invaders stole a fair bit of my free-time and a lot of my pocket money.

These scarves ooze style, and the only thing preventing me from fetching my credit-card right now is that they are made of wool. I may find myself wrestling with my vegan conscience over this one, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I were to let slip my ideology just to own these little chappies.

I suppose I could live easier if, say, I received them (notice the plurality) as a Christmas or birthday present. I’m not saying this would be acceptable (it would, though), and I really hope that I don’t get them some time in the near future.

Let’s just hope that no-one evil reads this who wishes me to look wicked and feel shit.

A Few Things To Say

Well, I’ve been speaking for what seems like an eternity now. I can’t even remember the first words I spoke, but I’m quite happy to speak both English and Swedish, often confusing the two languages; it doesn’t seem to matter: Mum and Dad understand me, and that’s all that counts for the moment.

Dad thinks it’s quite cute when I try to pronounce the fruit/vegetable, motato. No, wait, I mean motat…mot…piss-holes! Why he has this notion I know not, and he is far from innocent, himself. Between you and me, Dad used to say “par-cark” (hehe).

Another “big” event for the parents is that today I’ve started to say “Yes”, whereas before I’d always reply with the Swedish “Ja”. I can’t see what the fuss is all about. “Yes” is hardly pushing my neurons, and yet I said “radiator” months ago.

I’m still getting to grips with what makes my Mum and Dad happy.

Father’s Day 2006

I was awoken this morning with a card that Freya had made, and breakfast in bed. The latter was appreciated more, as I had had the misfortune of drinking one more beer than was necessary the evening before whilst Jo and I continued our quest of Champions of the World (playing Pro Evolution Soccer 5). It was not, by any means, the kind of hangover that disables all social functioning, but I was rather tender and could have stayed in bed for most of the day.

Being a responsible parent, I forced myself from my cocoon and did my best to at least be in the same room as the rest of the family. Sitting did not make the best of the situation so I jogged around the flat for a while, much to Freya’s amusement. Jogging turned into vacuum-cleaning in an effort to use what little energy I had into a useful activity, and it helped a fair bit.

The rest of the day has been Freya’s, being both ill and, we believe, showing a few signs of The Terrible Twos. She has been demanding sugary foods most of the time, and hardly eaten anything that could be construed as healthy. Our fault really: we had been giving her ice-cream when she had a really bad fever, and other confectionery to keep her spirits up during her coughing fits.

We’ve been extremely lucky with Freya when it comes to tantrums. I’d been expecting the worst, but she hasn’t really shown any signs at all of throwing a fit. She’s probably showing signs of boredom with her current situation and will, we hope, return to her usual self when she goes back to nursery school tomorrow.

I feel well enough to have a beer this evening, by the way.

Veganism Will Kill Us All!

Those who live in England will surely know of Delia Smith, who has pleased us with her cooking tips and books for thousands of years. Speaking not so recently, she wisely claimed :

If the entire planet became vegan, we’d die. It’s not practical. We wouldn’t be able to feed ourselves; you can’t grow vegetables in hilly country. My relatives come from Wales and you struggle to grow vegetables there, but the lamb is wonderful.

Our dear Delia obviously has no knowledge of land requirements, or indeed land structure outside Wales, for a vegan against a meat-eating diet. She would, presumably, prefer the “alleged” cutting down of rain forests for our ever growing need to satiate “protein” intake.

I have no problem with points of view. What annoys me is someone who professes to be knowledgeable in an area shows how stupid that person is. Another example, taken from her site :

On Junk Food : I’m one of those people who don’t believe there’s any such thing as unhealthy food. No recipes on their own can be unhealthy, if the rest of the diet is balanced.

Well, take a look in a dictionary once and a while and you’ll see junk food described as having little or no nutritional value, but with high sugar content.

Delia, you are a fool.

N.B. I do actually understand the point that Delia made about junk food, and agree with her. I just got a bit bothered by her first quote and wanted to continue a good old-fashioned defamation. Needed pedantry to do it, though.

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A Thought About “Who Am I?”

I’ve taken the time to properly read yesterday’s personality-test result, and one thing struck me. I didn’t pay too much notice to it at first, though when I read the sentence again, I realised how easy it is to read what one wants to hear, while ignoring the obvious error in the whole. At the end of the summary it says that:

Idealists are rare, making up between 20 and 25 percent of the population.

I, like many people, like to think I’m a bit special, having an individuality about me that others do not. While it is impossible to gain any sense of real individualism in a test that classifies (into 4 groups, essentially), it still gave me a warm glow to see I was “rare”. I gleaned over the rest of the sentence, but on second glance it clearly states that I shares traits that 20-25% of the population do.

Since when has it ever, ever been “rare” to to be among 25%? If British Airways came out with a statement that if I were to travel to England on one of their flights, the chances are “rare” that I’d crash (mumbling “just don’t do it three more times or you’ll more than likely die in flames”).

No, rare to me (and many dictionaries) means uncommon, and I’d be surprised if, whilst playing football, the striker and the substitute (and two players on the opposing team) turned to me and said gleefully in perfect synchrony “Well, what are the chances of that?”

Posted in Jon