Flobits

A few days ago there was a picture going around on internet, chiefly on Facebook. I'd like to share it with you, here on the blog, for it is touching in many senses. A few things caught my eyes immediately: the little girl going dancing, the food on the table, and the student in college. I think they all deserve to fulfil their dreams (except maybe for the food on the table), and if we could help them achieve that, I'm sure we'll all get a good mark on St Peter's slate, which will help us getting in. On the other hand, screw the rapacious CEO whose only concern is to get yet another holiday house, a younger and more demanding mistress, or a faster car to drive it in the weekends only. What? What do you mean by "If  you buy from a bigger business you help several families put food on the table?". This is not the point here, come on. We should show solidarity with the small ones, as they show it to us as well. Only too well sometimes.

There are a few things that certainly happen when you go to work after a long weekend. As my religion does not allow me, I do not work on Mondays, so I always have a long weekend. This one was even longer, since I had the Friday off as well. What I did, I've told you already. But, as all good things come to an end, this morning, at the crack of dawn, I entered the office. Well, maybe it was not quite the very crack, not even a regular crack, and surely not dawn, but certainly it was more than an hour before lunch. The first thing that struck me was the coffee. At home we bought one of the devices that take coffee to a different level. Either the one endorsed by George Clooney or the similar one, from the competition. That's some coffee, no kidding. The big disadvantage is that, when you go back after a break, the coffee from the machine tastes like... how shall I put it to respect the truth but still being grateful that the coffee is for free...the coffee we had at the ho...

The first part of the title is, without doubt, very familiar to all of us. It's the new way of getting to die healthy, as if that wouldn't be a pity, but that's not the topic today. We've come on the road to the organic food gradually. In the beginning it was the taste. After we arrived in Holland, we were very clear about at least one thing: tomatoes have no taste. Full stop, no debate, they cannot be compared to the ones in our (grand)parents' garden and any attempt in doing such a comparison was blasphemous. I tend to agree with this to quite an extent. However, I've been in the shoes of that hubby who goes to the supermarket and comes back without tomatoes. I've told you already that I'm a careful shopper . At  home, the debriefing: "Got tomatoes?" "Shit, sorry, no, must have forgotten" "How could I make the salad now, without tomatoes?"

We went to the Keukenhof exhibition yesterday, one day after the official opening. What an inspired choice! The weather was excellent (sunny and around 20 degrees), not crowded at all, and Colin had the adventure of his life. I will not get into details about what Keukenhof means, you can find it all here . I just hope that God doesn't plan to redecorate the Garden of Eden too often, for he'll surely call for the Keukenhof's artists. In short, it's a must for everyone, at least once in a lifetime we ought to see the beauty in its entire splendour.

I am Colinus Maximus Smilyus, commander of whomever comes within my reach. Gorgeous son to a mother, fantastic son to a father, fabulous brother to a sister, and I will have my word on this blog or another.  And as I said, hear my words, for I have some news for you. Good news and extremely good news. Followed by actions. The good news is that I see a clear tendency in having the retirement age set to 70 and beyond. This is fantastic, I wish I could vote and express my gratitude to this government. What could be better for the people of my generation than to be released from the pressure of supporting the elders? Excellent move, chapeau.

I like jokes that involve cultural differences. Of course, I like those that make me laugh. Whether or not they cross the boundary of the politically correctness I don't quite care. Jokes are meant to make people laugh and they exacerbate some cliches to achieve that goal. What really is funny is that the same ethnic jokes are encountered among different peoples, depending on who's telling the joke: Romanians vs Hungarians, Dutch vs Belgians, Germans vs well, pretty much everyone, French vs French, English against Scots, Irish, Welsh, Aussies, well, pretty much everyone, and so forth.

Some years ago, I realised that life was getting harder and harder and it didn't seem that a career in engineering would make it considerably softer. I had plans to get some cash boost by winning the lottery, but there was  some uncertainty in that, to say the very least. Then a thought crossed my mind, struck like a match and lit up my entire inner cupola. What if I became a professional sportsman? That ought to do it. Let's look at football, for example. Allow me a little digression here, for my friends over the pond. Football, like US themselves, was invented in England. So I prefer to use the original word for the simple game played 11 by 11 and in which the Germans always win. Soccer will be left out for the moment. Digression closed. So, if we look at football, most players have a far richer life than an engineer. I am not talking here about people who wins golden boots and European cups. I am talking about footballers who play on the 3rd division, or even 4th, on the v...

To sweeten up the bitter taste of another Monday, I've thought of writing a few more words about my mother in law. You've already been acquainted to what kind of person she is.  In short, she was always the type to refuse anything that didn't belong to her, no matter what. And she conducted such an immaculate behaviour throughout her life. Throughout her life, indeed, except for that damned day, when she robbed a bank. Now, if you imagine her storming into a bank, pointing a gun at the security guy (who gets bored to death for eight full hours), screaming something like "I'm a bad ass mother, fucker, don't make any stupid mistakes and take me to the bitch!" you're only half right. But here's how story goes.

"Colin, no! Stop, don't do that". " Hm, dad again, he'll calm down, let me pretend I didn't hear him." "Colin David, I told you to stop, right?" "Oops, he's using my biblical name, I'd better not go any further" .