Tonight's bed story: Batman

Once upon a time there was a man who owned lots of stores and companies. Thanks to them, he earned loads of money every day, and with it, he bought pretty things with which he filled his home because he thought that the more pretty things he had, the happier he will be. Since it was so much money that he earned, it was impossible for him to spend it all everyday, so, at sunset, he deposited all the remaining cash in a bank.

After a year, he had sooo much money saved in the bank that he thought he really should do something with it. What shall I do with so much money? -he asked himself one day looking at the rain outside behind one of the big windows of his silent house. Since he didn't know what to do, instead of paying more money to the people in the stores that made him get so much money, he decided to rather spend a bloody lot of money in a very expensive custom so that he could go around dressed like a bat...

Eastern Breaks

I am aware that the unwritten rules of bloggers specifically forbid not writing for long periods neglecting your readership.

I'm sorry, I was abroad and, you know, it was not my intention.

Besides, except for you and myself, there is no such readership here either. It's hard to really care.

Just bear with me, OK? I have this childhood trauma that makes me afraid of not being loved anymore if I don't keep myself performing up to the expectations.

The paralyzing fear that, precisely and preciously, prevents me from performing up to the expectations.

Aaah, *inhales deeply* the wonderful aroma of everlasting childhood traumas.

Bad Habits

Quite a bunch of years ago, a friend of mine told me about how it was to attend as a young kid a school owned and ran by the Opus Dei.

She said that most teachers were OK-crazy, just as one would expect them to be in a religious school, but that there were also a few of them quite scary-crazy. One in particular would remind them now and then the beneficial effects of self-flagellation.

And I think, friendies, that that that the teacher taught, is true. (sorry for that, it just wanted to come out)

Let's talk about self-flagellation.

What's Linux about?

When our first son was born, Veronika and me, to avoid senseless and subtle struggles, agreed on building an as neutral ground as possible for our kids, and thus decided to start by not choosing for our kids names that were Spanish (me) or Austrian (Veronika).

Since we met in Finland, we agreed on having a Finnish name. We checked some names and known characters, and, in the end, Linus Torvalds, the Finnish man father of the operative system Linux, seemed like an interesting person plus the name itself, Linus, sounded nice to us.

But it was much more for his being Finnish than for being Linux-related.

As a collateral effect though, I did think that I should at least try and see what Linux is about, for it would be a shame not to ever leave Windows having my son named after Torvalds.

I know that there is a lot of sectarianism on this whole business, and that, as a rule, cool people like Macs, people who don't like computers very much like use Microsoft Windows, and people with suspenders and populated beards like Linux.

I am none of them. I like computers, the Mac's aura of coolness for money discomfort me, and people with suspenders and long beards intimidate me.

Let this be then: Linux according to Kymmenen.

A Happy Birthday

More often than not, when any special date arrives, I end being tagged as a killjoy with unresolved childhood issues. Which is true. But, mind you, today, parishioners, listen to the untold story, listen to:

Birthdays according to Kymmenen's Gospel.