Archive for In English

Don’t mind the grammar

Re-reading some of my writings on this blog I find that my grammar is more lacking when I write on the fly than when I take my time. I guess that’s common for a lot of people whose first language is not English. I know that it all comes down to how much I practise my writing skills and keep minding my grammar, so I really should get on with my writing again.

Meanwhile I don’t care all that much for correcting my writings—it’s the stories that are important. Grammar will have to wait, but if you are in the neighbourhood, please correct me if you want. I really need to be reminded so that I learn. Grammar, after all, is very important for all of us, whether you know it or not, or like or not.

 

Where is the logic and the compassion?

The expression “privileged white middle-class men” is a generalization and a disparaging expression that I have often seen and heard used by “privileged white middle-class women” to call attention to these men’s lack of compassion and concern for the weaker members of society. This borders on a form of gender-hatred and some sort of class-hatred. As long as it continues to be this way I do not want to participate in society. I will stay here on my couch and will do absolutely nothing. The struggle for humanistic values is a useless one if its own participators have not reached higher levels of understanding and communicating than this over these last few 100 years.

I won’t, of course, do nothing, but it’s how I feel today. Tomorrow I’ll start over. Some day, but perhaps not on this day, we will reach high enough.

I do not care much for Easter, so I’ll end this with,

Peace & Love, everyone!

The dilemma of waking up early on a Saturday morning

I have a Saturday morning dilemma. I woke up earlier than I wanted, but as expected. My internal clock won’t let me sleep past 7. Should I go to the gym or read a book, I wonder? It’s between need and desire, I guess. Or (extremely) boring and fun.

I wish I found going to the gym a lot more exciting. They should serve breakfast there, or something; then, perhaps, it would be a lot more enticing. They could have the female staff walk up to whatever machine I was working and tell me how fit I have become since I started (that morning), and I how good I’m looking working out, and that if I was just 15 years younger they’d go out with me. I’d know they were lying, of course, but it’d be so much more fun going there.

Instead they have a bored looking 30 year old guy at the reception nodding at me when I come in through the door. Inside the gym there are men and women well into their 60s, pressing at least 3 times the weights that I manage. I’m not joking: on some machines I have to opt to lift only the handle, no weights attached, and I can barely manage. On my way back to the locker room I have to pass a room with guys who are pressing the weight of iron equivalent to what it takes to build a small car. The walk home is really the best thing about going to the gym.

And now I’m hungry. I cannot think of working out when I’m hungry. What was I thinking?! I’ll have breakfast. A nice cup of tea and a sandwich. And then I’m going to the gym. Maybe. Or have a nice warm bath where I’ll read about people going to the gym. Close enough.

 

My first car

I married Kristina when I was 24 and we bought a green Opel of some sort for about £300. The guy who sold it only promised that it would last the year, but we were poor and needed to go places. The gear shift constantly rattled and the engine stopped every time I turned right. It was extremely annoying, but we actually loved that it was so quaint – it meant that we always had some funny story to tell others about our car. I love the memories of the trips we took back then, when one of us had to constantly keep a hand on the gear to keep the noise down and I had to carefully plan my right turns. Turning right to go uphill was never really an option. But sometimes we had to. Great fun and lots of stories.

Friendly fire

I do not fear to fight
even a thousand devils
on a battlefield.
It’s my aim
that worries me.
Stand close!