Ég hef undanfarið velt fyrir mér réttmæti fullyrðingarinnar um að fegurð sé ekki hæfileiki. Mögulega kemur þessi fullyrðing til af því að fegurð byggir að mestu leyti á sýnilegri (feitletrað) erfða"heppni". Auðvitað má rækta fegurð, eins og annað. Ef henni er illa viðhaldið þá getur hún auðveldlega dvínað og ef henni er vel viðhaldið þá getur hún dafnað (a.m.k. er oft auðveldara að taka eftir viðhaldinni fegurð). Þrátt fyrir þetta er mjög erfitt að verða virkilega (staðlað) fallegur ef ekki kemur til ákveðin erfðasamsetning. Þetta veit fólk. Þ.e. að útlit byggir að mestu leyti á erfðum.
Ástæðan fyrir því að ég geri við þetta athugasemd er einmitt að margt sem telst til hæfileika er ekki endilega eitthvað sem allir (skáletrað) geta orðið framúrskarandi í. Til að mynda íþróttafólk, tónlistarfólk og akademískt fólk. Innan hvers þessara sviða finnast tveir einstaklingar sem hafa lagt svipað mikið á sig - en annar þeirra er einfaldlega betri. Sennilega hefur þetta eitthvað að gera með erfðir (umhverfi líka, auðvitað - en a.m.k. erfðir að einhverju leyti). Þrátt fyrir þetta dregur fólk síður í efa hæfileika einstaklinga á þessum sviðum en hæfileika einstaklinga í fegurð.
Ég held þess vegna að nýtilkomin afstaða mín sé að hægt sé að vera hæfileikaríkur í fegurð. Fólki finnist bara eðlilegra að vera hæfileikaríkur í einhverju þar sem erfðir hafa ekki jafn sýnilegt hlutverk.
laugardagur, apríl 09, 2011
laugardagur, júlí 17, 2010
Indian traffic - outsiders perspective.
Fact 1 a: There is approximately one car accident per minute in Indian traffic.
Fact 1 b: On average, one person dies every 4.4 minutes in Indian traffic.
Fact 1c: In 2008 120,000 people lost their lives in 485,000 road accidents. This doesn't include the non-immediate deaths of the 520,000 injured people.
Fact 2: Indian traffic has more traffic fatalities than China. In India numbers of traffic fatalities are still increasing, while in most countries they have stood still for several years or even begun to decrease.
Fact 3: In India 0.01% lives are lost in traffic each year, while in China the percentage is 0.0077%, in Sweden it's 0.006% and in Iceland and Norway 0.005%.
Fact 4: Drivers cause 74.5% of traffic fatalities. Other causes are cyclists, pedestrians, motor vehicles and bad road and weather conditions.
Amount of time - the according number of traffic casualties
One hour - 13.7
Twenty four hours - 328.8
One week - 2301.4
One month - 10000
One year - 120000
Location in time: Fifteen thousand three hundred twenty two traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Airport.
Physical condition: Jet lagged. Tired. Excited.
Approximately thirteen traffic casualties after I landed in India, a man came up to me and said: “Taxi, madam?” I ignored him, but he followed me, and soon more drivers joined him. “Taxi, madam?” “Where you go, madam?” I'd heard stories of Indian taxi drivers trying to rip tourists off – which is okay, I can deal with paying an unreasonable amount of money – but I'd also heard extreme stories involving cab drivers having deals with certain hotels or other touristic places which they'll take the tourists to instead of the requested places. I guess you can get anything in India for the right amount of money. And what do the tourists know? Indian streets and buildings certainly aren't well marked. But I had to take my chance.
There began my first acquaintance of Indian traffic. When I got into the cab it was already dark outside. It was pouring rain and the sky was filled with what I choose to call strobe-lightning d(a reference to a certain type of rave flash lights); heat lightning without thunder. I tried to put on a seat belt but the seat-belt attachment seemed to be missing; first sign of recklessness. The driver left the parking space despite not being able to see through the windows from the steam of our wet clothes; second sign of recklessness. He then cut off another driver causing the other driver to blare his horn at him. It didn't seem to matter, he just honked back; third sign of recklessness. When entering the street from the parking lot I saw a bunch of car lights approaching from the right, their noisy car horns intimidated me. What do they mean? Why are they so rude? Stop honking! The driver waited for a while until his patience ran out and he began working that horn, trying to squeeze into the street. The other drivers immediately went crazy on their horns but still slowed down and let us into the traffic. I then made my second attempt to find the seat belt attachment, without any effort, so I grabbed the 'oh-shit' handle (the thing in the ceiling for your hands to hold on to) and held on tight for the rest of the ride. It seemed like they had no traffic rules, patience or politeness. If the car in front was going too slow they honked and passed it, without hesitation, even if it meant driving on the wrong side of the road for a while. All right, to be fair I won't say without hesitation, but certainly with less hesitation than felt safe.
Location in time: Fifteen thousand two hundred ninety four traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Bus station I.
Physical condition: Unharmed. Nervous.
It was a comfort to step inside the bus, knowing that with the reckless Indian driving, the chance of me being harmed was slimmer in a large vehicle. The big one did not make any less sound though; it had to be even more aggressive in the traffic since it didn't fit in the small gaps the motor pads, the so called Rickshaws (more on them later) and other smaller cars did. He almost constantly worked his horn to get through and keep his schedule. I couldn't wait to get out of the city and the traffic so the constant sound of the loud bus horn would stop whining in my ears. Circa nine traffic casualties later I was finally out of the city – no more bus horn! Oh! But, no! Because the country road seemed to consist only of small turns and was surrounded by lush trees, the driver had to make his presence notable to others by honking before each turn. I realized then that my plan for sleeping on the bus would not go through. What have I gotten myself into? I really should have taken the train.
Location in time: Fifteen thousand one hundred thirty six traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Bus station II.
Physical condition: Exhausted. Annoyed. Home sick.
The family that invited me to India had given me directions to get to their home via one of those Rickshaws, or autos, as the Indians call them. Walking out of the bus station I spotted a group of Rickshaws. When I approached them they surrounded me in an even more aggressive way than the taxi drivers at the airport. “Dree 'undred, madam!” I knew they were overcharging me. I tried to walk away and find other Rickshaws, but the first driver I spoke to followed me and yelled at the other drivers in Telugu (the local language) before I could say anything. I later found out that they have an Indian system (read: chaotic system which is somehow organized but doesn't make much sense and is almost impossible to figure out, at least for an outsider) for deciding which one takes the next customer and they work together on maximizing each other's prices by not lowering them more than the first driver in line allows them to. I tried to play their bargaining game – laughing at their prices and ignoring them – till I proudly got the price down to half of what they first suggested; victory was mine! I later found out that the fair price is seventy rupees, so victory really wasn't mine.
When riding the Rickshaw I felt quite terrified, even less protected against the crazy Indian traffic than in the small taxi I rode from the airport to the bus station. The Rickshaw drivers don't drive that fast because the Rickshaws just don't have that much power (even though they are extremely polluting; the black smoke coming from the engine is very visible to the human eye), but they certainly aren't more careful than other drivers in India. I might even say that they take more risks than drivers of other vehicles I had traveled in at this point; the reason might be that they feel that they are entitled to the small amount of space they need (because it's small) and so expect other drivers to give it to them. I repeatedly found myself frustrated at the driver for taking ridiculous risks; passing cars when the opportunity wasn't there, cutting off other cars, not stopping for pedestrians, making turns without stopping first, et cetera. I seriously found myself thinking: “There's no point in worrying; if something happens I probably won't survive it – I'll just have to go with the flow and hope for the best.”
Location in time: Fifteen thousand one hundred twenty three casualties ago.
Location in space: Host family's home.
Physical condition: Renewed. Excited. Surprisingly still unharmed.
When I thought of the traffic adventure I had experienced I realized that I enjoyed it. I started going through the journey and the more I thought about it the more the traffic intrigued me. How in the world did I survive this chaos? Why didn't I see at least one car accident? The next planned ride was a Rickshaw ride with the whole family to a market in the city; I felt excited about the ride. The tiny Rickshaw is originally designed for two to three persons and a driver but the eight of us plus the driver 'easily' squeezed into it. No biggie! The ride wasn't as thrilling as I expected, I guess I had already begun to get used to the traffic chaos by that point. The driver of course drove like others in his profession, but I had gained a certain trust for Indian drivers.
Location in time: Eleven thousand four hundred ninety two traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: City bus.
Physical condition: Used to no personal space. Used to amount of insects. Still surprised by society.
I have now for one week used the city bus and it is quite different from city buses I'm familiar with. The seats in front are reserved for women, handicapped people and the elderly. What? Women are in the same category as handicapped and old people? The women's rights movements in India have a long way to go. As a western woman I sometimes go out of my way to do things that are considered untraditional of women to do here in India – because in order for things to become approved by society they have to be seen and done. The first few times they will shock people but increased unusual happenings are bound to make people get used to them. I know that one woman doesn't really do much difference in such a populated country, but if all women think like that nothing will ever happen in the women's movements. I therefore always sit in the back of the bus, where men are supposed to sit.
Location in time: Nine thousand two hundred fifty eight traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Host family's home.
Physical condition: Frustrated by the public transportation. Enjoying Indian traffic.
I've bought a motor pad! And I'm giving up using the city bus, they are just too inefficient. There are no special lanes for public buses so they get caught in the same traffic jams as other vehicles. Besides that, you often have to take a Rickshaw the last part of your way because the bus routes don't cover the city, just the main areas. It definitely is not encouraging to use the city bus system, which leads to less passengers, which again leads to less money to improve the system. The results is a system that stays inefficient and the citizens keep avoiding it! What needs to be done to improve the system is to see the investment as an environmental one; the pollution in the city is almost unbearable, when traveling around I find myself forced to cover my face with a cloth to prevent too much carbon-dioxide getting in my lungs. The decision to buy a motor pad obviously doesn't support the environmental battle, but like they say: When in Rome...
Being a passenger in Indian traffic for the duration of six thousand sixty four traffic casualties made me realize that their horn abuse isn't rude. It doesn't mean “get out of my way” or “what the hell are you doing”, it means “hello, look out, I'm coming”, “please, let me by you”, “please, I'm in a hurry, slow down and let me into the traffic lane” or “please, I'm in a hurry, wait with entering the traffic lane right now”. The 'please' in the interpretations of the horn is to emphasize that they really aren't being impolite, as it seems at first, they are just expressing their needs. If you are in a hurry, you make your horn sound to let people know and go your way – without being nervous that someone will hit you. Everyone is on their toes, at all times. No one suddenly passes you without the courtesy of letting you know with their horn. You can rely on the other drivers – they won't let you get away with anything stupid, and you won't do anything stupid. Of course, to be able to survive in the jungle that is the Indian traffic you have to be aggressive. All right, you will survive without aggression, but you won't gain from the efficiency of this great system without being aggressive.
Location in time: Seven thousand twenty four traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: University campus.
Physical condition: Relaxed. Used to no personal space. Amused by Indian law.
I began the process of getting a driver's license. In my country the rules of traffic regulations is a book. In India the rules of traffic regulations is a pamphlet which looks more like an instruction guide. My favorite rule is:
No driver shall take a 'U' turn where 'U' turn is especially prohibited […].
No need to explain the controversy in that rule.
The driver of a motor vehicle moving behind another vehicle shall keep at a sufficient distance from that other vehicle to avoid collision if the vehicle in front should suddenly slow down or stop.
A driver of a vehicle shall not :
(i) sound the horn needlessly or continuously or more than necessary to to ensure safety.
You only have to experience the traffic for one minute to realize that no one follows these rules. Of course people follow some of the rules, but I still get the feeling that the rules are more like a guideline.
Anyway, I've mastered these rules but I can't get a driver's license immediately – everything takes time in India. The bureaucracy here sometimes feels extremely random and unnecessary. The answers you get are merely: “It's the rules.”
-Why can't women enter the mosques?
-It's the rules.
…
-Why can't we bring our bags to this convocation?
-It's the rules.
…
-Why does he have to register his Visa and I don't?
-Because he got the stamp.
-But why did he get the stamp and I didn't? What does the stamp mean?
-He has to register.
-But why did he get the stamp?
-He got the stamp.
-Why?
-It's the rules.
Right, I understand?
Regarding the driver's license, I have spoken to several people about it and everyone agrees that I don't really need it. If I get pulled over by the police I just tell them that I forgot it at home and pay them a hundred rupees – and if they aren't okay with that I try to argue a bit until they can't be bothered anymore and let me go. Basic.
Location in time: Two thousand five hundred fifty five traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Unusual taxi ride.
Physical condition: Tanned. Used to amount of insects.
My motor pad wouldn't start so I took a taxi to school. This taxi ride was different from all others; the driver was a woman. The only female professional driver I have been acquainted with. I immediately noticed that she wasn't the traditional Indian woman; she had short hair and dressed like a man. With her customers' first acquaintance of her often being from the back seat, they would think she was a man until they heard her voice and saw her face in the rear view mirror. She was, like her colleagues, aggressive in the traffic. The other taxi drivers didn't give her much credit and predicted that she wouldn't last longer than one or two years. But she proved them wrong and now she even owns her own cab, unlike most other cab drivers who work for someone else. When I asked her if it was difficult to maintain her identity as a woman in this men's world she said that when she got into the cab she no longer thought of herself as a woman. I hoped that her point was that she didn't think of jobs as gender related; the employee's gender should not matter. But what she meant was that she had to become one of the men to be able to work as a driver. So her opinion was that though she thought women could work where they wanted, they would have to adjust their behavior so it would be more like a man's behavior if they wanted to do a 'man's job'. This opinion is an advanced one (though it is flawed in my opinion) considered that it's an Indian one, but despite that she still had the controversial opinion that the woman's first job was to look after her home – which she did.
Location in time: One traffic casualty ago.
Location in space: Motor pad.
Physical condition: Having fun.
Two girls went out for a drink at a nice hotel near their home. They met really nice guys who offered them to go for a ride in a fancy Jeep. The guys were the definition of spoiled upper class guys who take servants for granted and have never had to wash their own laundry. The girls thought it might be fun to spend some time with them, so with their judgment a little impaired from a couple of cocktails they decided to join the guys for a ride. They opened the sun roof and reached out their heads to get the wind in their faces. They blasted music, sung along and took photos. The guys even offered the girls a choice of marijuana and cocaine – but the girls turned it down, to the guys' disappointment. The girls weren't sure if the driver had also had a few drinks or if he was just careless by nature – he didn't even stay on the left side of the road. Whatever – it was an amazing ride!
Location in time: Zero traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Undetermined.
Physical condition: Statistic.
With the camera flash in his eyes, the driver of the Jeep didn't see me coming on my motor pad.
Fact 1 b: On average, one person dies every 4.4 minutes in Indian traffic.
Fact 1c: In 2008 120,000 people lost their lives in 485,000 road accidents. This doesn't include the non-immediate deaths of the 520,000 injured people.
Fact 2: Indian traffic has more traffic fatalities than China. In India numbers of traffic fatalities are still increasing, while in most countries they have stood still for several years or even begun to decrease.
Fact 3: In India 0.01% lives are lost in traffic each year, while in China the percentage is 0.0077%, in Sweden it's 0.006% and in Iceland and Norway 0.005%.
Fact 4: Drivers cause 74.5% of traffic fatalities. Other causes are cyclists, pedestrians, motor vehicles and bad road and weather conditions.
Amount of time - the according number of traffic casualties
One hour - 13.7
Twenty four hours - 328.8
One week - 2301.4
One month - 10000
One year - 120000
Location in time: Fifteen thousand three hundred twenty two traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Airport.
Physical condition: Jet lagged. Tired. Excited.
Approximately thirteen traffic casualties after I landed in India, a man came up to me and said: “Taxi, madam?” I ignored him, but he followed me, and soon more drivers joined him. “Taxi, madam?” “Where you go, madam?” I'd heard stories of Indian taxi drivers trying to rip tourists off – which is okay, I can deal with paying an unreasonable amount of money – but I'd also heard extreme stories involving cab drivers having deals with certain hotels or other touristic places which they'll take the tourists to instead of the requested places. I guess you can get anything in India for the right amount of money. And what do the tourists know? Indian streets and buildings certainly aren't well marked. But I had to take my chance.
There began my first acquaintance of Indian traffic. When I got into the cab it was already dark outside. It was pouring rain and the sky was filled with what I choose to call strobe-lightning d(a reference to a certain type of rave flash lights); heat lightning without thunder. I tried to put on a seat belt but the seat-belt attachment seemed to be missing; first sign of recklessness. The driver left the parking space despite not being able to see through the windows from the steam of our wet clothes; second sign of recklessness. He then cut off another driver causing the other driver to blare his horn at him. It didn't seem to matter, he just honked back; third sign of recklessness. When entering the street from the parking lot I saw a bunch of car lights approaching from the right, their noisy car horns intimidated me. What do they mean? Why are they so rude? Stop honking! The driver waited for a while until his patience ran out and he began working that horn, trying to squeeze into the street. The other drivers immediately went crazy on their horns but still slowed down and let us into the traffic. I then made my second attempt to find the seat belt attachment, without any effort, so I grabbed the 'oh-shit' handle (the thing in the ceiling for your hands to hold on to) and held on tight for the rest of the ride. It seemed like they had no traffic rules, patience or politeness. If the car in front was going too slow they honked and passed it, without hesitation, even if it meant driving on the wrong side of the road for a while. All right, to be fair I won't say without hesitation, but certainly with less hesitation than felt safe.
Location in time: Fifteen thousand two hundred ninety four traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Bus station I.
Physical condition: Unharmed. Nervous.
It was a comfort to step inside the bus, knowing that with the reckless Indian driving, the chance of me being harmed was slimmer in a large vehicle. The big one did not make any less sound though; it had to be even more aggressive in the traffic since it didn't fit in the small gaps the motor pads, the so called Rickshaws (more on them later) and other smaller cars did. He almost constantly worked his horn to get through and keep his schedule. I couldn't wait to get out of the city and the traffic so the constant sound of the loud bus horn would stop whining in my ears. Circa nine traffic casualties later I was finally out of the city – no more bus horn! Oh! But, no! Because the country road seemed to consist only of small turns and was surrounded by lush trees, the driver had to make his presence notable to others by honking before each turn. I realized then that my plan for sleeping on the bus would not go through. What have I gotten myself into? I really should have taken the train.
Location in time: Fifteen thousand one hundred thirty six traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Bus station II.
Physical condition: Exhausted. Annoyed. Home sick.
The family that invited me to India had given me directions to get to their home via one of those Rickshaws, or autos, as the Indians call them. Walking out of the bus station I spotted a group of Rickshaws. When I approached them they surrounded me in an even more aggressive way than the taxi drivers at the airport. “Dree 'undred, madam!” I knew they were overcharging me. I tried to walk away and find other Rickshaws, but the first driver I spoke to followed me and yelled at the other drivers in Telugu (the local language) before I could say anything. I later found out that they have an Indian system (read: chaotic system which is somehow organized but doesn't make much sense and is almost impossible to figure out, at least for an outsider) for deciding which one takes the next customer and they work together on maximizing each other's prices by not lowering them more than the first driver in line allows them to. I tried to play their bargaining game – laughing at their prices and ignoring them – till I proudly got the price down to half of what they first suggested; victory was mine! I later found out that the fair price is seventy rupees, so victory really wasn't mine.
When riding the Rickshaw I felt quite terrified, even less protected against the crazy Indian traffic than in the small taxi I rode from the airport to the bus station. The Rickshaw drivers don't drive that fast because the Rickshaws just don't have that much power (even though they are extremely polluting; the black smoke coming from the engine is very visible to the human eye), but they certainly aren't more careful than other drivers in India. I might even say that they take more risks than drivers of other vehicles I had traveled in at this point; the reason might be that they feel that they are entitled to the small amount of space they need (because it's small) and so expect other drivers to give it to them. I repeatedly found myself frustrated at the driver for taking ridiculous risks; passing cars when the opportunity wasn't there, cutting off other cars, not stopping for pedestrians, making turns without stopping first, et cetera. I seriously found myself thinking: “There's no point in worrying; if something happens I probably won't survive it – I'll just have to go with the flow and hope for the best.”
Location in time: Fifteen thousand one hundred twenty three casualties ago.
Location in space: Host family's home.
Physical condition: Renewed. Excited. Surprisingly still unharmed.
When I thought of the traffic adventure I had experienced I realized that I enjoyed it. I started going through the journey and the more I thought about it the more the traffic intrigued me. How in the world did I survive this chaos? Why didn't I see at least one car accident? The next planned ride was a Rickshaw ride with the whole family to a market in the city; I felt excited about the ride. The tiny Rickshaw is originally designed for two to three persons and a driver but the eight of us plus the driver 'easily' squeezed into it. No biggie! The ride wasn't as thrilling as I expected, I guess I had already begun to get used to the traffic chaos by that point. The driver of course drove like others in his profession, but I had gained a certain trust for Indian drivers.
Location in time: Eleven thousand four hundred ninety two traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: City bus.
Physical condition: Used to no personal space. Used to amount of insects. Still surprised by society.
I have now for one week used the city bus and it is quite different from city buses I'm familiar with. The seats in front are reserved for women, handicapped people and the elderly. What? Women are in the same category as handicapped and old people? The women's rights movements in India have a long way to go. As a western woman I sometimes go out of my way to do things that are considered untraditional of women to do here in India – because in order for things to become approved by society they have to be seen and done. The first few times they will shock people but increased unusual happenings are bound to make people get used to them. I know that one woman doesn't really do much difference in such a populated country, but if all women think like that nothing will ever happen in the women's movements. I therefore always sit in the back of the bus, where men are supposed to sit.
Location in time: Nine thousand two hundred fifty eight traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Host family's home.
Physical condition: Frustrated by the public transportation. Enjoying Indian traffic.
I've bought a motor pad! And I'm giving up using the city bus, they are just too inefficient. There are no special lanes for public buses so they get caught in the same traffic jams as other vehicles. Besides that, you often have to take a Rickshaw the last part of your way because the bus routes don't cover the city, just the main areas. It definitely is not encouraging to use the city bus system, which leads to less passengers, which again leads to less money to improve the system. The results is a system that stays inefficient and the citizens keep avoiding it! What needs to be done to improve the system is to see the investment as an environmental one; the pollution in the city is almost unbearable, when traveling around I find myself forced to cover my face with a cloth to prevent too much carbon-dioxide getting in my lungs. The decision to buy a motor pad obviously doesn't support the environmental battle, but like they say: When in Rome...
Being a passenger in Indian traffic for the duration of six thousand sixty four traffic casualties made me realize that their horn abuse isn't rude. It doesn't mean “get out of my way” or “what the hell are you doing”, it means “hello, look out, I'm coming”, “please, let me by you”, “please, I'm in a hurry, slow down and let me into the traffic lane” or “please, I'm in a hurry, wait with entering the traffic lane right now”. The 'please' in the interpretations of the horn is to emphasize that they really aren't being impolite, as it seems at first, they are just expressing their needs. If you are in a hurry, you make your horn sound to let people know and go your way – without being nervous that someone will hit you. Everyone is on their toes, at all times. No one suddenly passes you without the courtesy of letting you know with their horn. You can rely on the other drivers – they won't let you get away with anything stupid, and you won't do anything stupid. Of course, to be able to survive in the jungle that is the Indian traffic you have to be aggressive. All right, you will survive without aggression, but you won't gain from the efficiency of this great system without being aggressive.
Location in time: Seven thousand twenty four traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: University campus.
Physical condition: Relaxed. Used to no personal space. Amused by Indian law.
I began the process of getting a driver's license. In my country the rules of traffic regulations is a book. In India the rules of traffic regulations is a pamphlet which looks more like an instruction guide. My favorite rule is:
No driver shall take a 'U' turn where 'U' turn is especially prohibited […].
No need to explain the controversy in that rule.
The driver of a motor vehicle moving behind another vehicle shall keep at a sufficient distance from that other vehicle to avoid collision if the vehicle in front should suddenly slow down or stop.
A driver of a vehicle shall not :
(i) sound the horn needlessly or continuously or more than necessary to to ensure safety.
You only have to experience the traffic for one minute to realize that no one follows these rules. Of course people follow some of the rules, but I still get the feeling that the rules are more like a guideline.
Anyway, I've mastered these rules but I can't get a driver's license immediately – everything takes time in India. The bureaucracy here sometimes feels extremely random and unnecessary. The answers you get are merely: “It's the rules.”
-Why can't women enter the mosques?
-It's the rules.
…
-Why can't we bring our bags to this convocation?
-It's the rules.
…
-Why does he have to register his Visa and I don't?
-Because he got the stamp.
-But why did he get the stamp and I didn't? What does the stamp mean?
-He has to register.
-But why did he get the stamp?
-He got the stamp.
-Why?
-It's the rules.
Right, I understand?
Regarding the driver's license, I have spoken to several people about it and everyone agrees that I don't really need it. If I get pulled over by the police I just tell them that I forgot it at home and pay them a hundred rupees – and if they aren't okay with that I try to argue a bit until they can't be bothered anymore and let me go. Basic.
Location in time: Two thousand five hundred fifty five traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Unusual taxi ride.
Physical condition: Tanned. Used to amount of insects.
My motor pad wouldn't start so I took a taxi to school. This taxi ride was different from all others; the driver was a woman. The only female professional driver I have been acquainted with. I immediately noticed that she wasn't the traditional Indian woman; she had short hair and dressed like a man. With her customers' first acquaintance of her often being from the back seat, they would think she was a man until they heard her voice and saw her face in the rear view mirror. She was, like her colleagues, aggressive in the traffic. The other taxi drivers didn't give her much credit and predicted that she wouldn't last longer than one or two years. But she proved them wrong and now she even owns her own cab, unlike most other cab drivers who work for someone else. When I asked her if it was difficult to maintain her identity as a woman in this men's world she said that when she got into the cab she no longer thought of herself as a woman. I hoped that her point was that she didn't think of jobs as gender related; the employee's gender should not matter. But what she meant was that she had to become one of the men to be able to work as a driver. So her opinion was that though she thought women could work where they wanted, they would have to adjust their behavior so it would be more like a man's behavior if they wanted to do a 'man's job'. This opinion is an advanced one (though it is flawed in my opinion) considered that it's an Indian one, but despite that she still had the controversial opinion that the woman's first job was to look after her home – which she did.
Location in time: One traffic casualty ago.
Location in space: Motor pad.
Physical condition: Having fun.
Two girls went out for a drink at a nice hotel near their home. They met really nice guys who offered them to go for a ride in a fancy Jeep. The guys were the definition of spoiled upper class guys who take servants for granted and have never had to wash their own laundry. The girls thought it might be fun to spend some time with them, so with their judgment a little impaired from a couple of cocktails they decided to join the guys for a ride. They opened the sun roof and reached out their heads to get the wind in their faces. They blasted music, sung along and took photos. The guys even offered the girls a choice of marijuana and cocaine – but the girls turned it down, to the guys' disappointment. The girls weren't sure if the driver had also had a few drinks or if he was just careless by nature – he didn't even stay on the left side of the road. Whatever – it was an amazing ride!
Location in time: Zero traffic casualties ago.
Location in space: Undetermined.
Physical condition: Statistic.
With the camera flash in his eyes, the driver of the Jeep didn't see me coming on my motor pad.
sunnudagur, maí 02, 2010
Sá sem er helst ekki nefndur.
Mér finnst ótrúlegt að einn maður geti haft eins mikið hreðjatak á heilli þjóð og síðustu ár hafa sýnt að hann gerir. Hvernig gengur það upp að maðurinn hafi byrjað á því að eignast menntskælinga Reykjavíkur, útvíkkað eignina í Reykvíkinga og að lokum Íslendinga, stjórnað hegðun ráðamanna og víkinga, tekið yfir stjórn hagkerfis þjóðarinnar, hvolft óvinum sínum og komið svo í veg fyrir útbreiðslu sannleikans með því að taka yfir fjölmiðla þjóðarinnar?
True story.
True story.
miðvikudagur, janúar 06, 2010
Birtir til?
Skyndilega líst mér vel á komandi önn. Hún verður erfið en ég er bara tilbúin í að taka þátt í önninni. Í fyrsta skipti síðan ég byrjaði í Háskólanum ætla ég ekki að taka þátt í kosningabaráttu Röskvu; þar liggja margar ástæður að baki. Meðal ástæðna er að sjálfsögðu að árangur minn á vorönn hefur aldrei verið uppá marga fiska og jafnvel mætti segja fáa fiska, vegna þess að þær annir hef ég alltaf byrjað á kosningabaráttu fyrsta eina og hálfa mánuðinn. Það tekur sinn toll frá námi. Að þessu sinni er ég ekki í neinu öðru en skóla. Ég hræðist allt auka, enda forðast brennt barn eldinn.
Önnur ástæða fyrir stúdentapólitíkur-grænu-bólunum mínum er einfaldlega að ég hef misst trú á því að mannkynið geti tekið saman höndum og unnið saman að einhverju frábæru. Við erum svo hrokafull og gráðug að það hálfa væri meira en nóg fyrir fimmtíufalt mannkyn. Mig langar að taka þátt í samfélagi þar sem fólk tekur tillit til hvers annars og umhverfisins í kringum sig. Mig dreymir um að vera Neytiri í Avatar og ég hef engan áhuga á að taka þátt í samfélagi vestrænna þjóða þar sem gengið er út frá því að gróði verðmæta skipti gríðarlegu máli fyrir afkomu okkar.
Þrátt fyrir þessa skoðun og löngun get ég ekki barist fyrir breyttu viðhorfi í pólitík því ég hef enga trú á því að þvinga fólk til að gera það sem það hefur ekki trú á. Það er það sem vestrænar þjóðir gera við þá sem eru aðeins tengdari fólkinu og náttúrunni í kringum sig; reyna að þvinga þá til að fórna því sem þeir hafa trú á, fyrir verðmæti í jörðinni. Ég hef ekki trú á því að þvinga megi fólk til eins eða neins og vestrænar þjóðir munu alltaf innihalda fólk sem hugsar einvörðungu um sjálft sig.
Ef ég fæ einhvern tímann að lifa í litlu samfélagi manna sem eru vinir, þar sem goggunarröðin er virt (því hún verður sennilega að vera til staðar ef samfélagið á að þrífast (á samt eftir að velta því aðeins betur fyrir mér)), græðgi kemur ekki í veg fyrir samstarf og tengsl okkar við náttúruna eru nýtt - þá vil ég að það sé þannig að allir sem tilheyra samfélaginu séu tilbúnir að taka þátt í því, það gengur aldrei sé einhver tilneyddur.
En kannski verður alltaf einn Skari bróðir í hverju samfélagi.
Önnur ástæða fyrir stúdentapólitíkur-grænu-bólunum mínum er einfaldlega að ég hef misst trú á því að mannkynið geti tekið saman höndum og unnið saman að einhverju frábæru. Við erum svo hrokafull og gráðug að það hálfa væri meira en nóg fyrir fimmtíufalt mannkyn. Mig langar að taka þátt í samfélagi þar sem fólk tekur tillit til hvers annars og umhverfisins í kringum sig. Mig dreymir um að vera Neytiri í Avatar og ég hef engan áhuga á að taka þátt í samfélagi vestrænna þjóða þar sem gengið er út frá því að gróði verðmæta skipti gríðarlegu máli fyrir afkomu okkar.
Þrátt fyrir þessa skoðun og löngun get ég ekki barist fyrir breyttu viðhorfi í pólitík því ég hef enga trú á því að þvinga fólk til að gera það sem það hefur ekki trú á. Það er það sem vestrænar þjóðir gera við þá sem eru aðeins tengdari fólkinu og náttúrunni í kringum sig; reyna að þvinga þá til að fórna því sem þeir hafa trú á, fyrir verðmæti í jörðinni. Ég hef ekki trú á því að þvinga megi fólk til eins eða neins og vestrænar þjóðir munu alltaf innihalda fólk sem hugsar einvörðungu um sjálft sig.
Ef ég fæ einhvern tímann að lifa í litlu samfélagi manna sem eru vinir, þar sem goggunarröðin er virt (því hún verður sennilega að vera til staðar ef samfélagið á að þrífast (á samt eftir að velta því aðeins betur fyrir mér)), græðgi kemur ekki í veg fyrir samstarf og tengsl okkar við náttúruna eru nýtt - þá vil ég að það sé þannig að allir sem tilheyra samfélaginu séu tilbúnir að taka þátt í því, það gengur aldrei sé einhver tilneyddur.
En kannski verður alltaf einn Skari bróðir í hverju samfélagi.
þriðjudagur, janúar 05, 2010
Út vil ek.
Jólin eru að klárast. Prófin kláruðust og ég þurfti að sætta mig við einkunnir sem ég hefði viljað hafa hærri. Nú má segja að alltaf vilji maður meira en maður fær. Þá vil ég svara að mjög oft maður fái minna en maður á að fá (og á að sætta sig við). Almennt í lífinu. Auk þess held ég að það sé ekkert gott að sætta sig við að maður fái ekki alltaf það sem maður vill. Frekar að reyna að gera raunhæfar væntingar. Væntingarnar mínar um aðeins betri einkunnir voru ekki óraunhæfar. Sjö, áttafimm, níu og níu. Þetta hljómar betur en það er fyrir manneskju í minni aðstöðu. Kannski hljómar það ekki einu sinni vel.
Um áramótin tíðkast það hjá systrunum Ösp og Björk á Tjörn í Svarfaðardal að rétt fyrir miðnætti öskra þær burt allan pirring og allt hið slæma í lífinu sínu og skilja það eftir á árinu sem er að líða það sinnið, svo taka þær pirringslausar á móti nýja árinu.
Áramótunum sem voru að líða, áramótunum níu-tíu, eyddi ég hjá Ösp á Tjörn og Björk í Jarðbrú (sem er ekki sama Björkin og Björk á Tjörn, systir Aspar) og rétt fyrir miðnætti öskraði ég burt pirringinn með systrunum á Tjörn. Hann (pirringurinn) fól í sér hitt kynið og einkunnir. Ég var hins vegar nokkuð óundirbúin þegar að stundinni kom og held ég hafi ekki náð að fjarlægja allan pirringinn.
Ég reyni því að klára þetta hér með því að gera tilraun til að færa pirringinn frá mér yfir á veraldarvefinn:
Megi mér takast að losna við allt angur sökum einkunna/skólagengis og hins kynsins.
Þrátt fyrir fullyrðingar fyrstu greinaskila þessa fannáls ætla ég að láta Mick og félaga eiga síðasta orðs hans (fannálsins).
Um áramótin tíðkast það hjá systrunum Ösp og Björk á Tjörn í Svarfaðardal að rétt fyrir miðnætti öskra þær burt allan pirring og allt hið slæma í lífinu sínu og skilja það eftir á árinu sem er að líða það sinnið, svo taka þær pirringslausar á móti nýja árinu.
Áramótunum sem voru að líða, áramótunum níu-tíu, eyddi ég hjá Ösp á Tjörn og Björk í Jarðbrú (sem er ekki sama Björkin og Björk á Tjörn, systir Aspar) og rétt fyrir miðnætti öskraði ég burt pirringinn með systrunum á Tjörn. Hann (pirringurinn) fól í sér hitt kynið og einkunnir. Ég var hins vegar nokkuð óundirbúin þegar að stundinni kom og held ég hafi ekki náð að fjarlægja allan pirringinn.
Ég reyni því að klára þetta hér með því að gera tilraun til að færa pirringinn frá mér yfir á veraldarvefinn:
Megi mér takast að losna við allt angur sökum einkunna/skólagengis og hins kynsins.
Þrátt fyrir fullyrðingar fyrstu greinaskila þessa fannáls ætla ég að láta Mick og félaga eiga síðasta orðs hans (fannálsins).
fimmtudagur, desember 03, 2009
Prófatíð og dramatík
Ég lokaði feisbúkk. Að sjálfsögðu, það er prófatíð. Þetta er fyrsta önnin mín í Háskóla Íslands sem ég er í svona þægilegum áföngum. Ókey ég veit ekki alveg. Ég myndi svosem ekki segja að þetta væru þægilegir áfangar allt - þeir hafa alveg sumir reynt á, en það er virkilega skemmtileg tilfinning að það sé engin óvissa til staðar um hvort áfanga verði náð eður ei. Ég er ekki með bókaða tíu í sérhverjum kúrs, en staðið er bókað. Það er kósí.
Það hefur nóg verið að gera á önninni - fyllilega nóg! Og sopinn var lagður á hilluna á önninni að því tilefni (enda fengum við ágætis útrás fyrir partýstuðdjamm í Noregi í sumar). En allt öðruvísi álag en aðrar annir sem ég hef upplifað í Háskólanum. Allar aðrar annir hef ég verið í kúrsum sem eru þannig að ég veit aldrei neitt hvað er að gerast og reyni endalaust að fá hluti á hreint en það gengur bara aldrei neitt.
Núna finn ég allavega smá árangur. Og ég fæ verkefnin mín til baka og er ánægð með árangurinn. Það er fáránlega awesome.
Ég er líka að kenna þessa önn. Stærðfræðigreiningu IC fyrir tölvunarfræðinema. Það er pínu pró.
Segstánda desember er ég búin í prófum. Ég hlakka til. Ég ætla að prjóna og baka. En gaman.
Stundum finnst mér ég óttalega dramatísk. Ég skil ekki alveg hvernig það getur verið. Ég veit alveg hvað það er kjánalegt að vera dramatískur, samt er ég það. Ég ræð bara ekkert við það. Svo segi ég pabba frá vandamálinu mínu, þá segir hann það sem ég vissi að hann myndi segja og veit að er rétt hjá honum: "Hættu að velta þér uppúr þessu." En samt hætti ég því ekki.
Að því tilefni skulum við hlusta á krúttlegu Fleet Foxes:
Það hefur nóg verið að gera á önninni - fyllilega nóg! Og sopinn var lagður á hilluna á önninni að því tilefni (enda fengum við ágætis útrás fyrir partýstuðdjamm í Noregi í sumar). En allt öðruvísi álag en aðrar annir sem ég hef upplifað í Háskólanum. Allar aðrar annir hef ég verið í kúrsum sem eru þannig að ég veit aldrei neitt hvað er að gerast og reyni endalaust að fá hluti á hreint en það gengur bara aldrei neitt.
Núna finn ég allavega smá árangur. Og ég fæ verkefnin mín til baka og er ánægð með árangurinn. Það er fáránlega awesome.
Ég er líka að kenna þessa önn. Stærðfræðigreiningu IC fyrir tölvunarfræðinema. Það er pínu pró.
Segstánda desember er ég búin í prófum. Ég hlakka til. Ég ætla að prjóna og baka. En gaman.
Stundum finnst mér ég óttalega dramatísk. Ég skil ekki alveg hvernig það getur verið. Ég veit alveg hvað það er kjánalegt að vera dramatískur, samt er ég það. Ég ræð bara ekkert við það. Svo segi ég pabba frá vandamálinu mínu, þá segir hann það sem ég vissi að hann myndi segja og veit að er rétt hjá honum: "Hættu að velta þér uppúr þessu." En samt hætti ég því ekki.
Að því tilefni skulum við hlusta á krúttlegu Fleet Foxes:
mánudagur, nóvember 02, 2009
Yann Tiersen
Þessi tími árs hefur svo undarleg áhrif á mig.
Undanfarnar vikur hafa verið tiltölulega dramatískar á fjölda vegu. Það er langt síðan svona margt hefur dunið á. Held ég. Þá er ég svosem ekki að vísa í neitt alvarlegt, bara nokkur atvik sem hefðu mátt fara öðruvísi. Þegar ofan á það bætist skammdegið og endalausa álagið í skólanum verð ég hálf þróttlaus.
Í mér býr útþrá og tilbreyting.
Mér finnst Yann Tiersen fanga þessar tilfinningar. Tilhugsun um eitthvað frábært, angurværð minninga en jafnframt eitthvað þungt á sveimi. Undarlegt.
Undanfarnar vikur hafa verið tiltölulega dramatískar á fjölda vegu. Það er langt síðan svona margt hefur dunið á. Held ég. Þá er ég svosem ekki að vísa í neitt alvarlegt, bara nokkur atvik sem hefðu mátt fara öðruvísi. Þegar ofan á það bætist skammdegið og endalausa álagið í skólanum verð ég hálf þróttlaus.
Í mér býr útþrá og tilbreyting.
Mér finnst Yann Tiersen fanga þessar tilfinningar. Tilhugsun um eitthvað frábært, angurværð minninga en jafnframt eitthvað þungt á sveimi. Undarlegt.
fimmtudagur, apríl 30, 2009
þriðjudagur, apríl 28, 2009
Feisbúkkfíkn.
Vááá hvað mig langar núna að fara á Feisbúkk að njósna um fólk. Vanabindandi djöfull sem feisbúkk er.
Nennir svo einhver að tjá sig við mig um þátt tuttuguogtvö í þáttaröð tvö af Gossip Girl? Tryllta, tryllta lag sem þátturinn endaði með.
Nennir svo einhver að tjá sig við mig um þátt tuttuguogtvö í þáttaröð tvö af Gossip Girl? Tryllta, tryllta lag sem þátturinn endaði með.
mánudagur, apríl 27, 2009
Mat á fólki.
Ég hef nú, eins og í síðustu prófatíð, lokað fyrir Feisbúkk aðganginn minn. Að sjálfsögðu er það fyrsta sem ég gríp til gamli skræpótti. Skræbótti, afsakið.
Nýlega komst ég að því - nei stopp, ég komst að þessu fyrir löngu. Byrjuppánýtt:
Nýlega fór ég að velta fyrir mér að margir eru þannig gerðir að þeir meta sambönd fólks meira en gæði þess. Í því ljósi eru þeir einkar ræktarsamir við þá sem hafa mikil sambönd, en ekki jafn ræktarsamir við þá sem lítil sambönd hafa. Þetta finnst mér undarleg afstaða. Ég hef ekki sérstaklega mikil sambönd og mætti jafnvel svo að orði komast að ég hafi tiltölulega lítil sambönd. Mér er þó nokk sama um það og uni sátt við mitt þar sem ég hef gæði fólks í hávegum, fremur en sambönd þess.
Mögulega er þetta ástæða þess að ég er umkringd góðu fólki. Af þeim sem ég umgengst að einhverju ráði eru allflestir gott fólk sem hefur eiginleika eins og heiðarleika, góðmennsku, heilindi, traustverðugleika (en ljótt orð - mögulega væri fremur við hæfi að nota "að vera traustverðug/ur"), áreiðanleika og svo framvegis.
Fátt finnst mér óþægilegra en félagsskapur fólks sem ég treysti ekki (þótt ég hafi ekki upplifað það að viðkomandi svíki mig - það nægir mér að geta mér til um eða vita af því að viðkomandi eigi það til að svíkja), talar mikið/illa um aðra, setur sig á háan stall gagnvart öðrum, kemur illa fram, útskúfar leiðinlegum og svo framvegis.
Mér finnst sárt þegar fólk byggir dóm sinn á manneskju á skemmtanagildi hennar. Það er mikill munur á að vera vondur og vera leiðinlegur. Leiðinlegt fólk getur verið mjög gott fólk en lendir oft í dómhörku annarra og jafnvel útskúfun, fyrir það eitt að vera ekki þeim hæfileika gætt að geta sagt góðar sögur eða gott grín.
Ég veit ekki af hverju ég hóf þessar vangaveltur en ég segi þetta gott í bili. Nú held ég áfram að huga að Mál- og tegurfræði.
Stef
Nýlega komst ég að því - nei stopp, ég komst að þessu fyrir löngu. Byrjuppánýtt:
Nýlega fór ég að velta fyrir mér að margir eru þannig gerðir að þeir meta sambönd fólks meira en gæði þess. Í því ljósi eru þeir einkar ræktarsamir við þá sem hafa mikil sambönd, en ekki jafn ræktarsamir við þá sem lítil sambönd hafa. Þetta finnst mér undarleg afstaða. Ég hef ekki sérstaklega mikil sambönd og mætti jafnvel svo að orði komast að ég hafi tiltölulega lítil sambönd. Mér er þó nokk sama um það og uni sátt við mitt þar sem ég hef gæði fólks í hávegum, fremur en sambönd þess.
Mögulega er þetta ástæða þess að ég er umkringd góðu fólki. Af þeim sem ég umgengst að einhverju ráði eru allflestir gott fólk sem hefur eiginleika eins og heiðarleika, góðmennsku, heilindi, traustverðugleika (en ljótt orð - mögulega væri fremur við hæfi að nota "að vera traustverðug/ur"), áreiðanleika og svo framvegis.
Fátt finnst mér óþægilegra en félagsskapur fólks sem ég treysti ekki (þótt ég hafi ekki upplifað það að viðkomandi svíki mig - það nægir mér að geta mér til um eða vita af því að viðkomandi eigi það til að svíkja), talar mikið/illa um aðra, setur sig á háan stall gagnvart öðrum, kemur illa fram, útskúfar leiðinlegum og svo framvegis.
Mér finnst sárt þegar fólk byggir dóm sinn á manneskju á skemmtanagildi hennar. Það er mikill munur á að vera vondur og vera leiðinlegur. Leiðinlegt fólk getur verið mjög gott fólk en lendir oft í dómhörku annarra og jafnvel útskúfun, fyrir það eitt að vera ekki þeim hæfileika gætt að geta sagt góðar sögur eða gott grín.
Ég veit ekki af hverju ég hóf þessar vangaveltur en ég segi þetta gott í bili. Nú held ég áfram að huga að Mál- og tegurfræði.
Stef
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