Six degrees of separation

Most of us are probably not more than 3-5 handshakes away from the President of the United States. According to the latest popularity polls, it seems that most of us prefer to keep him at least that many handshakes away in the future also. Well, that´s not the point here.

Given the fact that we are all linked together via just a few contacts and aquaintances, all inhabitants of the global village are practically just around the corner. Maybe.

Is it possible to locate a man, given only his photograph and first name? A UK games company is testing the power of the Internet by asking that very question; they have recruited one of Earth's 6 billion residents - a man named Satoshi - to participate in this experiment. We are each only five to seven people away from any target in the world. Someone, somewhere, knows Satoshi - so we must track these people, and thus Satoshi, down using word-of-mouth communication. People from over 80 countries are already participating in the hunt, with more joining every day.

Click here for more info.

By the way, I wonder if CIA has tried this method to find Osama...

Heroes from the past - Koinonia

Abraham Laboriel on bass, Alex Acuna on drums/percussion, Bill Maxwell on drums, Hadley Hockensmith on guitar, Justo Almario on woodwinds and Harlan Rogers on keyboards.

Each one of these fabulous guys are world class artists and studio musicians for some of the the biggest names in the music world.

Together they were the super-group Koinonia. What a band!

Turn up the volume and just dive in to this funky landscape of jazzrock, performed from the heart!

I´ve watched them live several times, and believe me, these guys really knew how to share the joy of music!

Spiders are lousy swimmers

Rushing home from a busy day at work. A lump of stress in my chest.

Simultanious-capasity-challenge: Eating dinner while remote controlling nine year old sailing princess packing drysuit, lifejacket, gloves, towel, extra clothes and other gear. Off to dinghy training.

Rigging the Optimist, checking sail, airbags, block, boom lift and kicker. Helping sailing princess force her head through the tiny hole in the neck seal (makes a child birth look easy and painless).

Daddy is lucky-guy today: Following the sailors with go-cartish RIB. Adrenalin. Lots of wind and salty seawater in my face, racing, surfing and jumping the waves (and looking after the sailing kids, of course...).

Suddenly, an unexpected jibe forces sailing princess in to a total capsize. Dad speeding over to give comfort and advice for the turning-drill. Daughter swimming around, obviously looking for something in the water. Comfort not needed.

With fascination, she had been following the movements of a misplaced spider wandering around on one of the airbags. This had led to a moment´s lack of concentration, resulting in the jibe and capsize. In the water, she had noticed the continuous presence of the sailing spider, now on top of the turned hull. In a glimpse of scientific curiosity she had, with her fingers, ejected the spider off the boat and into the sea, gathering empirical data regarding a spider´s ability to swim.

Conclusion: Spiders are lousy swimmers.

She rights the boat and continues sailing.

Afterwards: Waffles, coffee, chatting and laughing while the sun sets.

Working day-feeling of stress completely vanished.

On top

Some days are "Yuppie-days".

What is a "Yuppie-day"?

A "Yuppie-day" would be just like another working-day, with working-tasks, had it not been for the additional elements of formality, i.e. dark suit, white shirt, tie, black socks without holes, tidy manicure, water-combed hair, briefcase, polished shoes, polished smile and maybe a plane ticket.

In other words: Executive look. Sharp dressed. Cool. Important. Man of the world.

The morning turns out to be a bit more busy than normal.

Daddy needs to shave (no rough "dirty-look" today), button the shirt (carefully ironed the previous night) and windsor the tie in front of the mirror. Un-windsor it and unbutton the shirt after an enthusiastic bear-hug from a raspberryjam-sticky, affectionate five-year old. Turbo-iron a clean shirt, button it and windsor the tie while rushing past the mirror.

Five-year old clean, dressed and ready with lunch-box and bobby-pin, giving daddy an indulgent look. Rushing out the door. Rushing back in to check the iron. It's off. Hit the road to kindergarten.

Five-year old safe in kindergarten. Hug. Wave. - Check.

Run.

Well seated in the Airport Express Train. Double cortado, Stan Getz on the iPod, a last glance at the papers.

A sense of acknowledgement and even some discreet smiles from other travellers.

Executive look. Sharp dressed. Cool. Important. Man of the world.

Security check at the airport. As I carefully fold my jacket into a plastic box, I notice.

Just under the collar, hanging down the back like a merry streamer. A pair of panties, evidently used, butterside out, size five years, white and red with motif "Bamse, the strongest bear in the world".

Displayed on my suit the whole morning to the obvious amusement for the public.

A useful reminder of the things that count.

(Translated by request. Here is the original post)

Open letter to all Brits

Rambukk is blessed with the pleasure of having several friends and aquaintances living in, or descended from the British Isles.

Blessed because many Brits have a great sense of humour, i.e. compatible with mine (though more often than not served with a dash of malicious pleasure). Brits are culturally related to Norwegians, they are good at small-talk, patient enough for big-talk, they love music (from brass to jazz), beer and football, and they sing (not like the Norwegian murmur). Despite a common prejudice towards the British (fried-) cuisine, there are Brits who know how to cook (-and I happen to know them both!).

Brits are amazing skiers (not amazingly good, just amazing!), provided that there is a Norwegian around on the top to turn their skis in the skiing-direction, then push. Down, at the bottom of the hill, their sportsmanship urge themselves to argue with the paramedics, insisting that they feel "just marvelous!", while collecting gear and bodyparts, limping bravely and determined towards the lift for a new ride.

The Brits are proud traditionalists and consider themselves to be quite unique (which they are!). Not neccessarily a true anecdote, but nevertheless a good one: On the 22nd October 1957, The Times had a headline on the front page, saying "Heavy fog in Channel - Continent cut off!".

The Brits also have quite a strategic mind, illustrated in this joke:

One dark night an Englishman and an Irishman are driving head on, on a twisty road. Both are driving too fast and collide on a sharp bend in the road. To the amazement of both, they are unscathed, though their cars are both destroyed. In celebration of their luck, both agree to put aside their dislike for the other from that moment on. The Englishman goes to the boot and fetches a bottle of 12 year old whisky. He hands the bottle to the Irishman, whom exclaims, "may the Irish and the English live together forever, in peace, and harmony!" The Irishman then tips the bottle and gulps half of the whisky down. Still flabbergasted over the whole thing, he hands the bottle to the Englishman, whom replies: '' no thanks, I'll just wait till the Police get here!"

Are the Brits spotless then? -you might ask.

No, absolutely not. There is one big issue. One question that almost keeps me awake at night. One, existential question that none of my British friends has been able to answer comprehensibly yet.

Some even assert that I must be wrong, and that my imagination is just playing with me.

If you listen carefully to spoken English, whether it be in a conversation, on BBC or in a movie, you will probably hear a sound in-between certain words. A sound that apparently doesn't belong to the words pronounced.

As a linguistic mosquito, the sound of the letter "r" frequently pops up between words ending with an "a"- (or "a"-like) sound and words beginning with one. Also sometimes after words ending with an "e"-sound.

Examples: "law-r-abiding", "al quaida-r-attack" and "gaza-r-area".

My question is simply: Why? Is it some sort of a phonetic crutch, present for the sole purpose of helping with the pronunciation? Is it a genetic defect only audible to people from outside the Queen's Empire?

Or is it just me?

Please educate me!

Lord of the flies

He is president of a relatively big European country. He just won the election for his third term, with a vast majority of the votes, i.e. more than 80 percent(!). In theory, the election was fair and open. In theory, the country has political pluralism. In theory, he is strong. In theory, his political power is complete. In theory, he has secured his country through the transformation from a warm space in a Cold War to freezing isolation in an unipolar world. In theory, his people is impressed of his achivements and reforms. In theory, the economic growth of his country is sustainable. In theory.

Still: The allmighty president is hiding. He is not celebrating the victory with his people. He is not even speaking to his people. Is he seriously ill? Is he depressed? Is he on holiday? Is he dead?

Fact: Political parties are not banned, but the heavy media is controlled by the President.
Fact: According to independent, international observers, the electional-campaign, nor the election was fair or open.
Fact: The economic growth, decreasing unemployment-rates and increasing individual wealth are based on under-priced gas from big-brother Russia and "ad-hocish" and non-sustainable industrial reforms.
Fact: Russia is starting to demand something in return for the cheap gas and political legitimation.
Fact: There is no such thing as a free lunch.
Fact: The political pressure on the regime from other countries is hardening.
Fact: The support from countries like Iran and Cuba won´t help much.
Fact: Nobody knows whether he will attend a meeting with Russian President Vladimir Putin to mark the 10th anniversary of the loose union between Russia and Belarus. The Kremlin doesn´t know. The Russian Foreign Ministry doesn´t know. The Belarusian Foreign Ministry, the Presidential Administration and the Belarusian embassies probably know, but won´t tell.
Fact: A diplomat said "I think he's unable to console himself and so he's not being allowed out. His advisers don't know what to do".
Fact: Western governments have refused visas for Mr Lukashenko and are supporting the opposition leaders.
Fact: The main opposition leader, Milinkevich is in Vienna for discussions with the Austrian government, which holds the rotating European Union presidency. He then goes to Strasbourg to visit the European Parliament, before meeting EU foreign ministers for talks in Luxembourg.
Fact: Lukashenko said "The political battles are over. The country has peace and order like it had before, despite some disturbances the police settled quickly and efficiently."

Fact: Wrong, Luka.

The snowball of democracy, freedom and civil rights has been pushed into motion, and will not stop rolling.

Life imitates Bart

Art imitates life.....-or was it the other way round?