Moments of graphic realism in a co-op on a spring cleaning day.

Cleaning bathroom floors and walls: while you happily remove dark spots, you notice there's something moving on the surface with every stroke of the sponge. An army of wet, curly, two-inch hairs.

Scrubbing sinks, toilets, tubs: at a certain moment, after an hour or so, you reach the mental threshold beyond which it no longer matters what the stuff you're trying to scrub off originally used to be. I suppose it's one way to get closer to the realm of natural bodily functions. Such as this: toilet brushes prove that there is a colour whose rightful name is bright brown. Man ist, was man ißt. 18:26

Ever since Plato, the idea has existed that perception (gathering information) and cognition (processing it) are separate and therefore their significances for human experience have been assessed on different grounds. Traditionally, thinking has been valued more because it's been seen as an activity that goes beyond, and is to some extent even independent from, the sensory stimulants it uses. In contrast, Rudolf Arnheim writes that perception is part of the creative process of cognition, which is not divisible into separate phases.

I've begun to think Arnheim is right. When I first made plans for my dissertation project, I wrote down all kinds of schedules, following the principle of "read, then analyse". In practice, it doesn't really work like that. Everything happens simultaneously, first too soon and then too late. The best insights for analysis come while I'm routinely gathering source material, and the best sources appear when I'm not looking for them. The note-taking stage (which, according to the traditional division, would still be part of the collecting of information) seems to be the most creative one, since that is when the most far-reaching choices are made. 03:17

"The Passion of the Christ on loistava ajankuva, mutta ei Jeesuksen ajasta, vaan omastamme. Elämme äärimmäisyyksien aikaa, josta Gibsonin elokuvan jättisuosio on vain yksi esimerkki.
Uskonnon nimissä lennellään matkustajakoneilla päin pilvenpiirtäjiä, ammutaan ohjuksilla pyörätuolissa istuvia vanhuksia, räjäytellään itseään kappaleiksi kahviloissa ja kaiken vaurauden keskellä vastustetaan vielä aborttiakin. Silti jokainen uskonto julistaa olevansa rauhan, rakkauden ja oikeudenmukaisuuden asialla.
Mikään näistä arvoista ei tule mieleen, kun katsoo Kristuksen kärsimystä Gibsonin ristillä. Juuri tässä on elokuvan voima. Se on armoton ihmisen kuva."

Markus Määttänen, Aamulehti

A rough translation:

"The Passion of the Christ is a brilliant rendering of an era: not that of Jesus, but our own. We live in the age of extremes, of which the phenomenal success of Gibson's film is merely one example.
In the name of religion, people fly passenger planes at skyscrapers, launch missiles at old men in wheelchairs, blow themselves into shreds in coffee shops and, in the midst of all this wealth, even rail against abortion. Still, every religion declares itself a champion of peace, love, and justice.
None of these values come to mind while one sees the Christ suffer on Gibson's cross. This is the power of the movie. It is a merciless picture of humanity." 18:38

Heipä hei, hyvää iltaa, Luppakorva seikkailee taas...

Came back from a tourist trip to Toronto yesterday. Among others things, I spent some time there eating (this, by the way, is what most humans do), most notably tasty Thai food on Friday, nuts in a dark hostel hallway on Saturday night (everyone should try that at least once - it can be surprisingly nice), and lots of little barely recognisable (to me) stuff, including bright red chicken feet, in a Chinese dim sum restaurant on Sunday.

I'm writing this on a screen that has about 20 per cent of the brightness it should have. Unfortunately I own it. This feels a lot like night orienteering - maybe I should have a torch on my forehead. 07:26

Birthday. Well, strictly speaking not anymore. If my calculations are correct, I am now approximately 10 958 days old. No wonder I'm tired.

An overtly nice housemate just cooked a whole meal for me for the occasion. By the time I finished it, it was already his birthday. And I ate at normal speed. Life is strange sometimes. Another overtly nice person brought me tea and ice cream. It really is, life I mean. The world is turning extraordinarily... tasty. 07:57

Hassua meininkiä uudella mantereella. Tänään tässä keskilännen yliopistossa kaikki tunnit peruttiin iltapäivästä lähtien lumisateen (eli "vihamielisten sääolosuhteiden") vuoksi. Koko laaja yhteisö sai asiasta tiedon sähköpostitse. Kieltämättä lumentulo on ollut reipasta, mutta mielestäni ihmisiltä sen verran tulisi löytyä luovuutta, että valkoisesta maasta huolimatta saisivat hoidettua itsensä tunnille. Todellinen ongelma taitaakin olla suolan puute; tavallisesti täällä kylvetään kiteitä teille ja jalkakäytäville niin tolkuttomasti, että vielä miinus viidessätoistakin vain asfaltti loistaa iloisen sulana, mutta nyt ilmeisesti keli pääsi yllättämään. Käväisihän lämpömittari kymmenisen päivää sitten jo lähes hellelukemissa. Ja kenelläkään ei tietenkään ole talvirenkaita (ne on kielletty), vaikka lumikausi kestääkin kuukausikaupalla. Positiivisetkin puolensa tilanteessa on: moinen sään ehdoilla eläminen tuntuu jotenkin luonnonläheiseltä - adjektiivi, joka ei kovin usein täkäläistä elämäntapaa katsellessa putkahda mieleen. 00:48

Isn't it nice to write in italics sometimes? Everything you say suddenly seems so much more emphatic. It is almost impossible to read italics really fast because these slanted letters create in readers an inner voice that is always telling them they might miss something important unless they slow down.

But if you do it too much it stops working! THEN, THE NEXT TIME YOU CRY WOLF NOBODY WILL LISTEN TO YOU ANY MORE! 05:24

On Words.

This is what a lot of linguists and writers and the rest of us are always wondering about: how to tally words at least remotely with the things they are supposed to describe. Whatever the language, this is still a pretty difficult goal. When I'm speaking or writing in a foreign language, even English, I only occasionally achieve a sense of accomplishment with the words I'm using to convey a message - and it's not a stroll in the park with my mother tongue either. Language demands a constant state of alertness, at least of someone who is using it as deliberately and (admittedly) pedantically as I usually am. I cannot help it. Those bloody syllable combinations just don't have a solid connection with reality (ask Ferdinand de Saussure), and that's why using them well requires so much competence and cultural experience. Words never leave you alone. This can be frustrating sometimes. But it's also quite a lot of fun. Let's see if I can get a bit more specific about this whole problematic in the near future. 04:21

Perhaps two years ago I saw this definitive statement on a newspaper: free lunches no longer exist. The story had a very specific topic, but the title invites a more general interpretation. It seems to suggest that everything, down to the most trivial entity, always has a price. For me, this is not true, and I dread the moment when (if it ever happens) that I feel obliged to attach a price tag to the time I use for any single purpose. I've done that a few times and it feels absurd. Maybe I should, from now on, only count things that can be stolen. Time cannot. As far as I know, this is why some African people are not too particular about their exact ages. But they do count their sheep carefully.

At least free rides still exist. I've been getting a lot of them. Unfortunately, it looks like there are lots of them available in world politics too, especially in environmental issues.

I'm going downstairs now, to make myself a free lunch. 20:23

This giraffe in the upper right hand corner reminds me of something. You know the habit they sometimes have on the sports pages (at least where I come from), in articles on horse races, to attach a picture of a horse - the main character of the story - to the article? It only gets funny when they use a close-up of the horse, with only the animal's head and neck visible in the picture. I've seen this happen. And the picture is accompanied by the horse's name.

I've always understood that the purpose of a newspaper image showing an individual is to give a sense of what that individual looks like, i.e. as opposed to other individuals. How many of us can recognise an individual race horse and distinguish it from other horses when we only see its head (no humans, no number tags, no writing on the sides of the stretch sheet)? Do we think, "Oh, now I know what that horse looks like!" or "Gee, that animal looks oddly familiar - I think I saw him last week"?
07:02

In two weeks, I'll be thirty. I will have reached a mature round number, an age at which most people would like to have either babies or an otherwise impressive list of merit or both. I will look into a mirror, see a few subtle signs of aging, and realise that, strictly speaking, the highest peak of my physical prowess is already gone.

This does not depress me, though, since I still anticipate a long time on the high plateau (and then there is the mind, a completely different question). Yet I can't help thinking: what a curious thing to happen to a little boy. 20:15

A clause, totally out of context, from a book of lit crit that I'm reading: "It is necessary to emerge from the virtual world of the monad in order to accomplish any form of self-realization". 23:43

I’m used to hearing about other people’s weird dreams and not being able to remember my own. Strange, but today I do still remember the basics even though the narrative in my head ended at least twelve hours ago. Not a very pleasant dream, which is probably why it hasn’t disappeared from my memory yet.

I am lecturing to a large crowd in a big and fancy auditorium. The whole room is packed with two kinds of people: 1. Friends, who would like me to do well and impress everyone and 2. experts of the field who, as I instinctively know, are smelling blood and ready to attack my every word fiercely. There are no students or anyone else interested in learning anything; the whole function of the lecture is to assess my performance. So it’s not a lecture really but a staged act of social porn, a “reality show” type of thing.

I am speaking English, but the language feels more foreign to me than usual. The words come clumsily out of my mouth, and even though I master my topic perfectly, I know that the awkward delivery gives the impression of incompetence. I start analysing my own pronounciation as I speak, realising that there’s a problem with my alveolar fricatives: I’m trying to be hypercorrect with my thin unvoiced Finnish sibilants (s-sounds) and end up exaggerating their thickness and mishpronounshing the wordsh. I’m more or less able to maintain my professionality until the question and answer section begins. Someone asks a question which rests completely on the meaning of a single word, and I’m shocked to find that I no longer know the meaning of this previously familiar term. There’s nothing I can do, however feverishly I think. I try to play time, to no avail. There’s a moment of mental nudity as I suddenly understand that not only do all the other people in the room know the meaning of this word but they are also aware of the exact nature of my problem. Every drop of my academic integrity is gone.

I look at my friends who, as I now notice, are all female, and every single one of them has a look in their eyes that says: “I can’t believe you don’t know that word”. Then they all sing that aloud in beautiful soprano voices. The experts, who are all over fifty and dominantly male, have extended their arms, thumbs pointing downward. Their teeth are showing. The rest of the event is a blur, but afterwards I wander alone among happy people at a reception, surrounded by some kind of smokescreen. I consider travelling to the ends of the earth. I'm convinced that my face is not the colour it's supposed to be. Fortunately, there are drinks, lots of drinks… 00:45