Today, I saw a woman with a cigarette in one hand and an inhaler in the other.
I got a raise today. I don’t know why, but I did!
Do any of you know of a socialist, democratic, developed, English-speaking country?
Arsenic is edible. Once.
Time-shifting wealth
I’d always been under the impression that the financial system was in the business of transferring wealth between people. For instance, money could leave your pocket and go into a bank. From there, it could make its way to other places, like the stock market, eventually ending up in the pockets of scam artists. One day you’re the hard-working schmuck, the next you’re the conman, and another you’re the lender of a loan. But whatever the scenario, I thought of the entire system—money, banks, governments, pawn brokers, stock markets and all that sort of thing—as the medium over which wealth changed hands.
That’s what is really going on, isn’t it?
Earlier today, it dawned upon me that from the perspective of an individual (me perhaps, or a company, or even a country!), the financial system only serves one purpose: To time-shift our wealth.
When you have more money on hand now than you possibly need, you move it into the future with the help of the financial system. You do this through your savings accounts, investments and other things of that nature. Likewise, when you’re in need of money that you don’t currently have, you again turn to the financial system (loans, credit cards, etc.) to draw from your future wealth.
I am not sure if this insight I’ve stumbled upon is a well-established notion, but I find it pretty cool. Putting things in the perspective of the individual (me) clarifies to me why trillions of dollars are being spent salvaging financial systems around the world. We don’t just want to give the CEO of Goldman Sachs yet another gold-plated yacht, we are desperate to hold onto our ability to time-shift our wealth; ensuring our decisions aren’t determined entirely by how much money we have in our pockets at any given time.
Yes, fascism, communism, and socialism are totally interchangeable… if you don’t know what those words mean.
Serendipitous bus rides
“Hope for everyone”? “A loving home for every child”? “Home is where the…”?
I was staring at the clichéd words on the sheet of paper before me when I first sensed her. I had promised to help Crayola with the branding and publicity campaign she’d embarked on for Shelter, a small home caring for orphaned children infected with H.I.V. And on a sheet of paper colourful options for logos sketched upon it, I was doodling potentials for a suitable tag line; hoping to come up with something that was relevant, heart-warming and not hackneyed.
I think it was her sweet-smelling perfume as she approached that I picked up on first. I casually glanced upwards with a curious smile only to have her beam back at me with her wide grin and big, lively eyes. As I returned to my doodling, I unconsciously hoped that she would make her way through the crowd to the vacant seat beside me.
“What about, ‘A home for hope’?,” asked a lovely voice interrupting my thought. I had been too engrossed in my scribbling—I really thought I was getting somewhere—to notice her make her way through and sit down beside me. She’d glanced over and gathered what I was doing; and now she was trying to help.
Soon, we were giggling and going through one cheesy phrase after another. When it was obvious we were actively playing with hackneyed phrases just for gag value, we gave up. I folded the heavily-scribbled piece of paper and the lively conversation turned to other things—who we were, what we wanted out of our lives, where we were along those journeys… It was fascinating, and most unexpected. Here I was, talking to someone I’d just met and baring some of my deepest thoughts and opinions. The fact that she had an interesting point of view on just about everything made the affair heavenly.
The minutes spent in the rush-hour traffic had whizzed by, and we’d reached her stop. She grabbed that piece of paper from me and somehow found enough room on it to jot down her phone number—telling me she didn’t want this to end and would love for it to continue. By now, the bus driver was becoming impatient waiting for her to get off. When she hurriedly returned the sheet to me, I didn’t bother looking through it for space to put down my own number. I just got off the bus with her, hand-in-hand. I didn’t intend on letting her go anywhere.
I went to see “Inglorious Basterds” yesterday. I guess expecting Quentin Tarantino to make a good movie is just asking for too much.
Henceforth, I shall start referring to them as the inexpensive made-in-China mugs.
I just dropped one of those cheap made-in-China coffee mugs from a height of six feet, and it landed on my hard floor with nary a scratch.
I’m out without my glasses and I can’t help but notice how much prettier people are. Perhaps this is how I should go about my days.
After years of swearing by warm, gooey chocolate, I’ve finally come around to appreciating the deliciousness of cold, crunchy chocolate.
It took over a year, but I finally did two things for the first time since moving here: getting a doctor’s appointment and using an ATM.
Perhaps a coin flip
I barely got any sleep over the weekend, and nearly all my time awake was spent having fun. It began with a concert (where I was the only non-white person in the crowd!) on Friday evening and ended on my couch in the wee hours of Monday morn over an episode of Nip/Tuck along with my friends. The events in between are still a bit fuzzy in my mind, but I remember it being a blast.
When I was first contemplating coming to Scandinavia over a year ago now, I thought of the move as a very temporary step. Like it was some unpleasant detour I needed to take before I proceeded with the actual course of my life—where I’d have interesting and fun things to do, where I’d form bonds with like-minded people, where I’d feel peaceful and relaxed… but the more I think about it, the clearer it becomes that I already have all these things. Right here, right now. This place has been good to me. The people I get to be with are warm and friendly. Work is interesting and relaxed. I spend a lot more time doing fun things—including activities outdoors. I eat healthier. I feel healthier. I make more money, and I live a lot better.
But why am I bringing any of this up now? I think it’s because the chance I have to go to Cambridge has resurfaced again, and I am not convinced I should leave all of this behind.
Even if it is a fancy uni. Even if everyone there speaks English by default. And even if the population there is a lot more diverse.
Journal news
I’ve been spending a lot of time fixing up the journal lately. This effort has been two-pronged: refreshing the design and cleaning up archival content. The first of these wasn’t as painful as I initially anticipated, and I am pleased to report that the new implementation of the design is nearly complete. The second front, however, has proved to be far more challenging. I think I just may have bitten off more than I can chew.
The plan seemed simple enough in my head: Systematically go through, catalogue and clean up earlier content. What I didn’t factor in is how much the web has evolved over the seven or so years this journal has existed. Broken links, antiquated markup and bad writing ooze from every corner in the dark recesses of this place. The question is, is all that revolting enough to make me stop trying? I hope to answer this question with an emphatic no in a few months.