Bruncvik

Reminder that the name of the music group Counting Crows can be interpreted as "Murder by Numbers".

I only win imaginary arguments with people I never met, but even those are entirely silent.

Here's something that will probably mark me as weird: I find it strange, even creepy, when people talk, sing, hum, or make any noises to themselves. Some people tell me it helps their concentration, but I can't even envision making any kind of sound when I concentrate.

Controversial? Perhaps for US business interests, but not for European consumers.

(From what I know, the farmers in my country are unhappy about the deal, but they have been unhappy about so many things that everybody largely ignores their complaints.)

"You see, I'm a bilingual. I'm a bilingual illiterate. I can't read in two languages."

My wife just sticks her fallen hair on the wall tiles. From the moment I first saw it I knew she was a keeper.

Unhinged: You Oughta Know by Alanis Mortisette. Listen closely to the lyrics for way too much information.

Hinged: Hard to Say I'm Sorry by Chicago. Such a sweet melody that I've heard it playing on weddings, of all places...

It's 10 in the evening, and the kids are asleep. The house is organised for the chaos of the next morning. It's dark and quiet. I browse Flickr for inspiration, and when I find some, I pull out my oil pastels and spend the next hour in bliss, unaware of the passage of time. Just me and colours, their blending, smoothing, scraping what doesn't work, perhaps some texture with a palette knife, etching out details. Oil pastels are very forgiving, and they don't let you go into too much detail. They are perfect for people like me who didn't have too much art training, and who really enjoy the process of art creation. So, in short, I enjoy the process naturally, through a medium that allows me to do so.

(I've done my share of charcoal works, but there the final product is far more enjoyable than the tedious process. I prefer the process.)

Well, there goes my childhood...

Yeah. And Jesus still asked his true followers to forgive them.

Luke 23:34

I don't know about others, but as I grow older and realise I have progressively less time left, I grow less patient of other people's bullshit. Some people may consider it a symptom of diminished happiness, but it's more a degradation of my social filters.