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Swamp

Confessions of an Academic Pseudo-Giraffe
30.9.04  
I saw Super Size Me by Morgan Spurlock a couple of days ago. The film provoked two simultaneous but very different responses in me.

Response 1. It is an intelligent film that reveals a lot about the logic behind U.S. commercialism and its side effects. The huge societal apparatus of corporations and the operational systems of law and sick care (this very apt term was used by a P.E. teacher in the film) are all fundamentally a part of the same all-pervasive money making machinery. The film convincingly shows how this self-generating monster grows and breaths, and where it gets its food. If the rules of the market are accepted as givens (compare: laws of nature, words of God), people end up stupid and inflated. They turn into fat balloons, lose their self-control, and drift in whatever direction the monster blows. The iron grip the fast food business has on the humans waddling on the street is merely one illuminating example.

Response 2. On the question of responsibility: yes, society should kill the monster. But the film also proves that the average person has an immeasurable supply of mental sloth. Why don't these people simply replace a few drives to McDonald's with one to the nearest vegetable market or grocery store? Why on earth don't they walk? How stupid do you have to be to think that you can eat deep-fried or sugar-saturated fast food every day, not exercise, and still be healthy? No education can be that bad. It makes me sick to think that people resort to gastric bypasses and lawsuits when all they really need is to go out and use their bodies for what they have them for. The film does nothing but state the obvious.

P.S. In my opinion, Spurlock's vegan girlfriend stole the show in her sidekick role. I wish the typical Hollywood actress had a face as expressive as hers.
29.9.04  
Whenever one has nothing of significance to say (no new babies, pies, problems, or desires) or has a lot but instead of saying it prefers, like Bartleby, not to, one can always resort to a quote. That is, if for some reason communication still has to be produced, as for example when one tries to create the false impression that one does feel the need to say something (because that is generally considered a positive thing). With a well selected - and if you're desperate enough, edited - quote, anyone can say whatever they want or nothing at all. Very convenient for us all pseudo-intellectuals of the world. Quote-dropping is name-dropping raised to the second power. Fortunately, it can also fail miserably - more miserably than name-dropping because the deliberation required for quote-dropping is inevitably more obvious to others than the possible premeditation behind name-dropping. Thus to drop a quote is to take a risk.

A description of a thing entails the inscription of the self into the thing described.

Would I perhaps appear brighter than I appear now if I put the above sentence in quotation marks and added the name of some famous philosopher below it? Whether or not people agree with the idea, a quote tends to have more authority when it is supported by the right kind of famous name. Evaluating the quality of one-liners when the names of the originators are visible is like working as a figure skating judge.
24.9.04  
This is a diary, which potentially means that I'm supposed to be writing down my thoughts instead of posting pictures of heart-shaped blueberry pies. I'm abusing the medium. Perhaps in ten years blogs will have a similar elaborate set of strange codes and conventions that movies now consistently reproduce in their narration and visual language. Today's paper had some examples of these film absurdities:
I'm sure there are plenty of more absurd ones. Suggestions?
21.9.04  
I just became the proud uncle of a baby boy. He screamed his way into this world last night with all the energy 3,785 grams can produce. I'll have to wait until tomorrow to meet the little fella, but rumour has it that he is almost one and a half metres shorter than me. That's a lot to catch up. I hope he eats well.
16.9.04  

Blueberry pie. I would like to point out, in a deep masculine voice, that I chose the dish in the picture because of its size, not shape.
15.9.04  
Now that I see better and better every day, I'm thinking of a record attempt in article printing tomorrow. I have about 30 pdf files waiting in storage for the right moment... this requires advanced logistics, since I have about 50 metres of distance to the printer, and I don't want my stuff blocking other people's access to their stuff... the plan is taking shape... I want to have everything I need on paper before we move to Uganda.
13.9.04  
The eye diary continues. The first 24 hours made me think this whole recovery is a walk in a park, but the last 3 days have been very hard. Everyday routine turns demanding when you juggle with three different eyedrops, deal with the continuous flow of water from your eye, avoid all lights, cannot see well enough to watch TV or read comfortably (not to mention work), take the pain meds, and wonder whether this will ever stop. I also attended a fun wedding on Saturday, and social pressure demanded that my ocular well-being be not the only priority. It was kind of amusing to see people quietly stare and wonder about my watery bright-red eye, too polite to say anything aloud.
9.9.04  
Just came back from eye surgery. I turned out to be the significant exception again: for "anatomical reasons" (see previous post), the lasik flap and zap operation could not be performed after all. While lying on the operation table, I had to decide whether I wanted the more old-fashioned prk surgery done now as a substitute, or not. I said go ahead - the only downside from my point of view is slower and more painful recovery - and here I am, wondering how the world will look in a few days or weeks. Right now it's a bit hazy.
8.9.04  
I'm going to have an eye operation tomorrow: a vision correction procedure performed by complicated laser machinery. I feel funny about the whole thing, especially as I have now officially joined the group that makes expensive choices to improve their "quality of life". Our KELA administration regards vision correction as cosmetic surgery (vanity! liposuction! facelift!) and doesn't therefore reimburse any expenses. My doctor, a very funny man, explained that in one of our neighbouring countries, Norway, the expenses qualify for reimbursement if the patient's eyesight is poor enough, -6 or worse. "But then," he deadpanned, "they have a bit more oil. It's in our lack of oil that we define this surgery as cosmetic".

I am also anxious because - seriously - the eyes are the most private part of my body. They are highly sensitive and very well protected by my brows. Few people have seen the real colour of my eyes, since direct light almost never reaches the back of the deep hollows in which they are located. They are in almost permanent shade. This was proven once again today, when the optical computer system was not able to produce a scan of my eye (the one to be lasered tomorrow) even after a dozen attempts. I was told this is an extremely rare occurrence; the nurse had never experienced it before. She consulted the doctor, and we finally got a decent scan after I tilted my head a bit backward and kept it in an awkward angle.

Because my eyes are so sensitive, I was never comfortable wearing a contact lens (only one - the left eye sees well). After the first scan session the nurse put in some liquid that expanded the pupil, and every drop felt like a punch in the face. That enormous flow of tears... I'd have to engage in a huge onion chopping extravaganza to produce anything remotely similar.
6.9.04  
Yesterday I cycled past a statement. It was written on a small vertical sign, an upright piece of wood, near Lake Pyhäjärvi in the Tahmela neighbourhood. Although I was going pretty fast, I think I know what it said. There were only two or three letters per row, and the arrangement made it a bit difficult to read, which is why I had already passed the sign when my mind comprehended the following (let's say it was three letters per row):

KYS
YMY
SON
MON
ISE
LIT
TEI
NEN

Which means:

THE
QUE
STI
ONI
SAM
BIG
UO
US

It was strange to have such a brief encounter with such an apt personal life slogan. For a long time, every question has appeared to have at least two valid answers, every statement several interpretations, every important word several distinctive meanings. I don't mean just academic issues; it goes deeper. Most problems have seemed equivocal to me and, as a result, most direct answers unfairly reductionist. Postmodernism and relativism aside, I am having trouble living with unambiguity. Or rather, where other people see it, I don't. Whether or not I say it aloud, I regularly refuse to accept solutions people present to me for everyday dilemmas, even if they think their approach is the only correct or sensible one. Most of the time, I feel there's a practical, moral, or at least theoretical "but" that deserves to be expressed. Thus I hate directives like "Go to A to get B, so C will give you D, and you can finish with E". I'm usually the exception that gets X and Y instead of B and D, and therefore E won't let me finish. I hate the slogan "There's always a way around it" even more, since this statement (obviously launched by someone with a gold spoon in their mouth) simply and infuriatingly denies the existence of all exceptions, implying that the world works identically for everybody. Often there is a way around it, sometimes there isn't, but this is not the point. The point, in a rephrase of the initial statement, is that there's always a but.

I haven't found much understanding for this practice of mine. Most people would refer to it as "making things difficult" for myself.
2.9.04  
Crap... I just realised that the comments I had on my old posts (older than three months or so) have self-destructed without telling me first. Now it dawns on me... what you see on the screen is the truth! No bloody living soul has ever been interested on what I have to say! It was all one carefully contrived conspiracy to deceive me! Shame on you! You're ALL A BUNCH OF EVIL HYPOCRITES!
Ehkä pahassa flunssassa onkin jotain positiivista. Usko omaan äänenkäyttöön kasvaa kummasti, kun pienellä vaivalla syntyy maailman vakuuttavin bassoefekti. Ehkä tämä pitäisi äänittää. Mutta jatkuva aivastelu jotenkin vähentää soundin uskottavuutta.
1.9.04  
Some reasons why Finns may be good workers for international NGO's or the UN, inferred from subjective mulling and a few days of seminars at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs:
 Some reasons why Finns may be bad workers for such organisations:
 One more list: top three health-related reasons for repatriation of Finns from developing countries.
 A word closely associated with the last two items on the list: disillusionment.

Second episode of our popular series "I Don't Suppose There Are Any Questions about This Picture".

Old Ones
helmikuuta 2004
maaliskuuta 2004
huhtikuuta 2004
toukokuuta 2004
kesäkuuta 2004
heinäkuuta 2004
elokuuta 2004
syyskuuta 2004
lokakuuta 2004
marraskuuta 2004
joulukuuta 2004
tammikuuta 2005
helmikuuta 2005
maaliskuuta 2005
huhtikuuta 2005
toukokuuta 2005
kesäkuuta 2005
heinäkuuta 2005
elokuuta 2005
syyskuuta 2005
lokakuuta 2005
marraskuuta 2005
joulukuuta 2005
tammikuuta 2006
helmikuuta 2006
maaliskuuta 2006
huhtikuuta 2006
toukokuuta 2006
kesäkuuta 2006
elokuuta 2006
syyskuuta 2006
lokakuuta 2006
joulukuuta 2006
tammikuuta 2007
helmikuuta 2007
huhtikuuta 2007
elokuuta 2007

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