Monthly Archives: May 2005


Not mine though, the kids, and lots of them, exams that is, not kids. There are quite a lot kids as well by the way…
I have been out as a censor at a physics exam today, the grades was between 6 and 11 so it has been a rather good day πŸ™‚


Today is the day, I’m trowing a party for 300 people with strippers in cakes and livemusic and drugs and alcohol and food and…and… That’s not entirely true…There’s no cake.
I’d better get ready, my place still looks like Beirut the summer of ’81.

Spice it up!

This is it, today I’m turning 30. Some of my former “friends” have aparently been up all night messing with my bike.
So this was the view when I got down from my flat to drive to work this morning:


I’m Dying here!
I’m sitting here, listening to Douglas Adams and it is killing me! My muscles in my stomach are aching from laughing and I can’t sit up straight any more. Do any of you know how he came up with the name Slartibartfast? I do, but I wont tell you, but it is funny, trust me on that…
I think I’ll go to bed now, still giggling and smiling, if I end the first 30 years of my life like that, perhaps the next 30 will be just as fun πŸ™‚

just want to get this in todays blog as well:
[epia@pedersen-epia epia]$ date
Thu May 12 21:57:02 CEST 2005
[epia@pedersen-epia epia]$ uptime
21:57:31 up 100 days, 2:47, 1 user, load average: 0.05, 0.16, 0.10

Still hurting, in more ways than one…

When I woke up this morning it was with a weird feeling, actually, it was with a couple of weird feelings
The first one was my legs, still hurting from mondays ordeal, but i got them out of bed nevertheless.
The other weird feeling began with the sneaking sensation that there, perhaps, was something I had forgotten. I remembered what it was in the shower. It has been four years, today the 11th of may 2005, since Douglas Adams died. How odd it is to know that there will be no more books that will make us laugh until we wet ourselves…

Since today is a bit (!) weird allready I found something you might enjoy. Ehm, well, you wont, it’s Vogon poetry, but here it is anyway:
Vogon poetry #1
Vogon poetry #2
Vogon poetry #3
Vogon poetry #4


Damn, just been out for a run, the first one since I quit smoking and I have to say that I’m in a surprisingly BAD shape!
It’s amazing, allmost thirty and I’m getting ready for my first heartattack! Well, thats is not acceptable, something will be done about that. This was my first trip since, well, for a very long time, but I promise myself and anyone who reads this that I will run every monday, wednesday and saturday until I run 5 km in less than 22 minutes.

Feeling weird…

I’ve become sick… Headaches, nausea, like that. It feels like a giant hangover, just without all the fun bits the day before. I don’t think I’ll write more today.

On the subject of biscuits

…I don’t know, just wanted to share this bit with the world:

Excerpt from chapter 20 of “So Long and Thanks for all the Fish” by Douglas Adams:

“I was about twenty minutes early. I’d got the time of the train wrong. I suppose it is at least equally possible,” he added after a moment’s reflection, “that British Rail had got the time of the train wrong. Hadn’t occurred to me before.”
“Get on with it.” Fenchurch laughed.
“So I bought a newspaper, to do the crossword, and went to the buffet to get a cup of coffee.”
“You do the crossword?”
“Which one?”
“The Guardian usually.”
“I think it tries to be too cute. I prefer The Times. Did you solve it?”
“The crossword in The Guardian.”
“I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet,” said Arthur. “I’m still trying to buy the coffee.”
“All right then. Buy the coffee.”
“I’m buying it. I am also,” said Arthur, “buying some biscuits.”
“What sort?”
“Rich Tea.”
“Good choice.”
“I like them. Laden with all these new possessions, I go and sit at a table. And don’t ask me what the table was like because this was some time ago and I can’t remember. It was probably round.”
“All right.”
“So let me give you the layout. Me sitting at the table. On my left, the newspaper. On my right, the cup of coffee. In the middle of the table, the packet of biscuits.”
“I see it perfectly.”
“What you don’t see,” said Arthur, “because I haven’t mentioned him yet, is the guy sitting at the table already. He is sitting there opposite me.”
“What’s he like?”
“Perfectly ordinary. Briefcase. Business suit. He didn’t look,” said Arthur, “as if he was about to do anything weird.”
“Ah. I know the type. What did he do?”
“He did this. He leaned across the table, picked up the packet of biscuits, tore it open, took one out, and…”
“Ate it.”
“He ate it.”
Fenchurch looked at him in astonishment. “What on earth did you do ?”
“Well, in the circumstances I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do. I was compelled,” said Arthur, “to ignore it.”
“What? Why?”
“Well, it’s not the sort of thing your’re trained for, is it? I searched my soul, and discovered that there was nothing anywhere in my upbringing, experience, or even primal instincts to tell me how to react to someone who has quite simply, calmly, sitting right there in front of me, stolen one of my biscuits.”
“Well, you could…” Fenchurch thought about it. “I must say I’m not sure what I would have done either. So what happened?”
“I stared furiously at the crossword,” said Arthur, “couldn’t do a single clue, took a sip of coffee, it was too hot to drink, so there was nothing for it. I braced myself. I took a biscuit, thrying very hard not to notice,” he added, “that the packet was already mysteriously open….”
“But you’re fighting back, taking a tough line.”
“After my fashion, yes. I ate the biscuit. I ate it very deliberately and visibly, so that he would have no doubt as to what it was I was doing. When I eat a biscuit,” said Arthur, “it stays eaten.”
“So what did he do?”
“Took another one. Honestly,” insisted Arthur, “this is exactly what happened. He took another biscuit, he ate it. Clear as daylight. Certain as we are sitting on the ground.”
Fenchurch stirred uncomfortably.
“And the problem was,” said Arthur, “that having not said anything the first time, it was somehow even more difficult to broach the subject the second time around. What do you say? ‘Excuse me…I couldn’t help noticing, er…’ Dosen’t work. No, I ignored it with, if anything, even more vigor that previously.”
“My man…”
“Stared at the crossword again, still couldn’t budge a bit of it, so showing some of the spirit that Henry V did on St. Crispin’s Day…”
“I went into the breach again. I took,” said Arthur, “another biscuit. And for an instant our eyes met.”
“Like this?”
“Yes, well, no, not quite like that. But they met. Just for an instant. And we both looked away. But I am here to tell you,” said Arthur, “that there was a little electricity in the air. There was a little tension building up over the table. At about this time.”
“I can imagine.”
“We went through the whole packet like this. Him, me, him, me…”
“The whole packet?”
“Well, it was only eight biscuits, but it seemed like a lifetime of biscuits we were getting through at this point. Gladiators could hardly have had a tougher time.”
“Gladiators,” said Fenchurch, “would have had to do it in the sun. More physically grueling.”
“There is that. So. When the empty packet was lying dead between us the man at last got up, having done his worst, and left. I heaved a sigh of relief, of course.”
“As it happened, my train was announced a moment or two later, so I finished my coffee, stood up, picked up the newspaper, and underneath the newspaper…”
“Were my biscuits.”
“What?” said Fenchurch. “What?”
“No!” She gasped and tossed herself back on the grass laughing. She sat up again. “You complete nitwit,” she hooted, “you almost completely and utterly foolish person.”

Some thing and Tea (perhaps a biscuit?)

Well, that was 24 hours and I still haven’t ripped this page offline, made it pink or deleted all the images. That counts, allmost, as a succes in my book. I’ve decided that I like the colors, they please my eyes and thats good. And I read a book about a guy somewhere who saw stuff and thought it was good πŸ˜‰
I’ve just been down at the post office and picked up three books that I ordered from Three books by Douglas Adams: Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul and Last Chance to See. I’ve read all of them before, but never owned them, now I do πŸ™‚

A small update (actually, this is the second time I do that today… BTW, I wonder, is that alowed in a blog? hm I don’t care, it’s my blog I’ll do as I please!) But, the update! Sweet stuff, just got of the phone with a friend and he told me I/we got tickets for the new Star Wars movie on opening night πŸ˜€