The title doesn't intend to be Utopian. Not at all. I wouldn't want to be without the internet for too long, but I can actually manage without it. Unlike some people I know...
A year ago we had a power outage in this zipcode area. Suddenly we could see from our window that most neighbours left their houses, got in their cars and drove off. Where to, I wonder, but I never found out. They'll probably spend a few hours with a mate who had power. And television. And computers that worked.
Me? We just took out a few candles, placed the laptop in a bag, and started reading a book and a magazine. Me the book, him the magazine. I may have been working on my laptop and riding the battery for what it was worth, but not because I can't entertain myself. I was working on something and happy enough that I hadn't lost it.
Either way, it's happened several times now that my father lost his entire internet connection. Bad cable or bad wiring on his part (I mean the house, of course) but also bad mainenance by his service provider. Who can't be reached during weekends. And who doesn't know you can put service notices up on the website so that someone with a connection can check to see if anything is up.
Well, either way, the rants and ravings began fairly quickly for my dad. How am I going to update my website? (Well, you can't.) How can I check my mails? (You can't.) What if the mailbox overflows again. (Just let it happen, nothing you can do about it anyway.) What if I unplug and replug the modem? (You could do that. Not much use, but if it makes you feel better, go ahead.) Should I call the provider? Do you think they already know? At least if they know they can start fixing it. I'll feel better at least knowing they're working on it.
The underlying question, of course, was: what on earth am I going to do while I can't work on my computer? He doesn't read. No books, no magazines, no newspapers. He doesn't have any hobbies that take him out of that computer room. I don't count smoking as a hobby, although I'm sure the internet blackout upped the cigarette intake by a percentage. He only watches telly at night, with a strong preference for reruns of incredibly silly movies he's seen hundreds of times.
It was even worse for him when one day his computer itself decided not to budge anymore. You could prod it, ask it please, promise it the moon, but it just died. He had to bring it in to us, see if my boyfriend could fix it. (He could, but it took time.) I think he was computerless for three or four days and he just didn't know what to do with himself.
What I'm trying to say is: it's not just young people who don't know which way is up when the power is down or the computer freezes up. It's almost as if people forget that technology depends on the smallest components that need to work. If the cable's broken, there won't be much dsl-ing going on.
It's like the computer keyboard. Pour coffee over it and the computer won't respond. It's not the computer that's broken, though, is it? (Although I saw a tv-show last week that seemed to suggest exactly that!) And why do guys always ram their fists into the keyboard when the computer doesn't do "what it was told"?
The problem, usually, is that the computer did exactly what it was told, but you just told him to do the wrong thing. Pressed a button next to the one you intended. Didn't give it proper time to load. Didn't inhale, exhale before trying again.
But I'm digressing.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Is It Mexican?
In America it's called Swine Flu. In Holland we gave it the name "Mexican Flu", although I can't for the life of me remember why. Because the first person who had it came home from a vacation in Mexico? Either way, once the WHO decided to raise the alarm and apply the name Pandemic to it, we were all hopelessly lost. It's like the credit crunch. If you yell loud enough, you'll scare just enough people to hype it beyond all bounds. Whether it deserves that or not. And it doesn't.
Well, yes, soon there were reports of people dying from this New Flu. The thing they usually either didn't say until after the break or that was only added in the tiniest letters - like a legal disclaimer - is that first of all, people die of the regular flu every year. They just don't call up the papers and tv stations for each one of those. Second of all, most of the patients that did die from that New Flu were already sick with something else. And not just a scraped knee, either.
For a while, nobody could so much as sneeze or cough without sidelong looks from people around them. Hah. Those must be the people that drive from home in their pristine cars every morning, park three steps from their office building and get inside. Not us commuters. If we who take bus, train and tram every day would worry about every sneeze, half the world population would be paranoid and afraid to leave their houses.
So I did get sick this weekend. It was terrible. Shivers, hot flashes, back to shivers. Back ache, muscle ache, sore throat. OMG, those are all flu symptoms! Yes, indeed. I've had it before, I do recognise them by now. But then comes the inevitable question from colleagues or family: Is It Mexican?
All I can reply to that is there's no funny Spanish accent coming out while I speak and I haven't seen my complimentary sombrero anywhere either. Truth? I have no idea whether it's Mexican or not. How would I tell the difference?
Ah, but they have something for that, too. Several websites with "free health checks" and bulleted lists and facts. Those say that if it's Mexican, I should have diarrhoea or be more tired than usual. Shows how well they know me: I have irritable bowel syndrome, so diarrhoea isn't something I would even notice as being "different" and I'm always tired!
Even the next-door neighbour looked at me half-panicked when I said I had the flu. Like she was on the verge of hurrying back into her house, bolting the door and staying inside for three weeks just to be sure. Or until her pantry runs empty, I don't know.
For pity's sake, people. This is mob behaviour and this isn't the nineteenth century! Yes, there is a new kind of flu. It shares most of its traits with the regular kind. The solution, for example. Any which way, if you're not a risk category, you crawl in bed and wait till it's over. Just like you always would have done. Same chicken soup, same licorice, same teas and herbs and packets of tissues. Buckle up, sweat it out, wash the sheets and be done with it. Santé.
Well, yes, soon there were reports of people dying from this New Flu. The thing they usually either didn't say until after the break or that was only added in the tiniest letters - like a legal disclaimer - is that first of all, people die of the regular flu every year. They just don't call up the papers and tv stations for each one of those. Second of all, most of the patients that did die from that New Flu were already sick with something else. And not just a scraped knee, either.
For a while, nobody could so much as sneeze or cough without sidelong looks from people around them. Hah. Those must be the people that drive from home in their pristine cars every morning, park three steps from their office building and get inside. Not us commuters. If we who take bus, train and tram every day would worry about every sneeze, half the world population would be paranoid and afraid to leave their houses.
So I did get sick this weekend. It was terrible. Shivers, hot flashes, back to shivers. Back ache, muscle ache, sore throat. OMG, those are all flu symptoms! Yes, indeed. I've had it before, I do recognise them by now. But then comes the inevitable question from colleagues or family: Is It Mexican?
All I can reply to that is there's no funny Spanish accent coming out while I speak and I haven't seen my complimentary sombrero anywhere either. Truth? I have no idea whether it's Mexican or not. How would I tell the difference?
Ah, but they have something for that, too. Several websites with "free health checks" and bulleted lists and facts. Those say that if it's Mexican, I should have diarrhoea or be more tired than usual. Shows how well they know me: I have irritable bowel syndrome, so diarrhoea isn't something I would even notice as being "different" and I'm always tired!
Even the next-door neighbour looked at me half-panicked when I said I had the flu. Like she was on the verge of hurrying back into her house, bolting the door and staying inside for three weeks just to be sure. Or until her pantry runs empty, I don't know.
For pity's sake, people. This is mob behaviour and this isn't the nineteenth century! Yes, there is a new kind of flu. It shares most of its traits with the regular kind. The solution, for example. Any which way, if you're not a risk category, you crawl in bed and wait till it's over. Just like you always would have done. Same chicken soup, same licorice, same teas and herbs and packets of tissues. Buckle up, sweat it out, wash the sheets and be done with it. Santé.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Airports are overrated
We must all have seen the commercials on the telly. The ones that say: come to Schiphol airport and have a ginormously wonderful day! Like anyone in their right mind would leave superduper extra early in the morning to actually go to a spa first, before boarding a long flight.
Worst of all is that right now I am at the airport and it's not nearly as much fun as I had come to expect. Yes, I visited a book store. No, the books weren't cheaper than elsewhere. And yes, it only took me about fifteen minutes at best - and that includes reading the back cover of every book that seemed remotely interesting from its title and front cover.
They have plenty of bags and suitcases for sale here, I'll give 'em that. But eh... it might just be me, but I've got my stuff bagged, tagged and checked in already. What am I going to do with an empty new bag or suitcase now? Stuff the old one into it?
And who is going to buy Swarovski before they fly? Did you screw up so humongously at home that an expensive gift is the only thing to cure it once you get back? My advice would be to just cancel the trip altogether and fix whatever you've broken in person. Or maybe there are lots of people who've always wanted to buy their engagement ring at the airport?
And it's not like it's cheap here, either. Not really. Yes, I see all the See-Buy-Fly logos perched above insanely expensive suits. So is this really the best place to go clothes shopping? And then what, ask the stewardess if she would mind clearing out one of the overheads so you can stuff it with your new wrinklefree threepiece? And if it turns out - at your holiday destination, of course - that the suit doesn't fit, you'll only need to buy an extra ticket to even get access to the shops again.
I made the mistake of not eating a whole lot before I left at nine this morning. Still, I'm not this grumpy because I'm hungry. Nope. As I write this on my notepad, I'm chomping away on an specially bewildering treat called a panini, for which I've had to pay more than half of what my new book just cost me. It's supposed to be a warm, crispy bread with chicken filling. Chicken was the least offensive and appalling choice of what they offered. Or so I thought.
Every once in a bite, a small cube of what is presumably chicken appears in the panini. It's drenched in some kind of sticky, gummy, plasticky goo that could very well be cheese, but might as well be a new kind of chewing gum. Who knows? The generous helping of tandoori spices make sure I can't identify the rubbery gunk by taste anyway.
The nice, warm crunch you expect was also just a ruse. The heating lamps above the carefully stacked breadsticks have managed to make all the crunch go away. The bread is soggy, just like its contents. And that's why I'm grumpy.
Gosh, am I glad I left home so early this morning.
- Written on September 29th -
Worst of all is that right now I am at the airport and it's not nearly as much fun as I had come to expect. Yes, I visited a book store. No, the books weren't cheaper than elsewhere. And yes, it only took me about fifteen minutes at best - and that includes reading the back cover of every book that seemed remotely interesting from its title and front cover.
They have plenty of bags and suitcases for sale here, I'll give 'em that. But eh... it might just be me, but I've got my stuff bagged, tagged and checked in already. What am I going to do with an empty new bag or suitcase now? Stuff the old one into it?
And who is going to buy Swarovski before they fly? Did you screw up so humongously at home that an expensive gift is the only thing to cure it once you get back? My advice would be to just cancel the trip altogether and fix whatever you've broken in person. Or maybe there are lots of people who've always wanted to buy their engagement ring at the airport?
And it's not like it's cheap here, either. Not really. Yes, I see all the See-Buy-Fly logos perched above insanely expensive suits. So is this really the best place to go clothes shopping? And then what, ask the stewardess if she would mind clearing out one of the overheads so you can stuff it with your new wrinklefree threepiece? And if it turns out - at your holiday destination, of course - that the suit doesn't fit, you'll only need to buy an extra ticket to even get access to the shops again.
I made the mistake of not eating a whole lot before I left at nine this morning. Still, I'm not this grumpy because I'm hungry. Nope. As I write this on my notepad, I'm chomping away on an specially bewildering treat called a panini, for which I've had to pay more than half of what my new book just cost me. It's supposed to be a warm, crispy bread with chicken filling. Chicken was the least offensive and appalling choice of what they offered. Or so I thought.
Every once in a bite, a small cube of what is presumably chicken appears in the panini. It's drenched in some kind of sticky, gummy, plasticky goo that could very well be cheese, but might as well be a new kind of chewing gum. Who knows? The generous helping of tandoori spices make sure I can't identify the rubbery gunk by taste anyway.
The nice, warm crunch you expect was also just a ruse. The heating lamps above the carefully stacked breadsticks have managed to make all the crunch go away. The bread is soggy, just like its contents. And that's why I'm grumpy.
Gosh, am I glad I left home so early this morning.
- Written on September 29th -
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