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Weblog | I don't like the word blog, it's ugly. Anyway, new content happens here. (Swedish dito)

About me and the site | Twenty-something male who likes text. Obsessed with things such as books, reality, communication, and one or two tv-shows.

Archives | Things written here since... well, 2001. Some of it is good, some is utter shait.

Books | Books read, not books written. So far I've struggled to maintain unpublished.

Photo | I like my camera and it likes me.

Links | Outwards, away, flee.

e-mail | J. Nicklas Andersson

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2002-01-18

I have not been able to digest it until now. You see, I’ve previously called Tuesdays for West-Wing-day because of a particular reason. It’s quite simple: on Tuesdays, they show the eminent programme — sole reason to pay tv-licence, even though the Sopranos also come close — called West Wing. This Tuesday something awful happened.

I was sitting there, laid back in the couch with a cold cola and watching Donna get upset because of falling satellites when the phone rang. The phone rang during West Wing. The first thought that entered my mind was “No, I’m not going to answer.” But in the end, I did, mainly to stop the damn thing from disturbing the peace.

“No,” I answered, but unfortunately sounds “no” in Swedish a lot like “hello.” So my point lingered in the air but fell flat to the ground.

“Hello,” the being from the pit of ultimate darkness answered in a feminine voice, totally bypassing my rather irritated tone. “I’m calling and wonder if you are interested in our low-taxed cards for a cellphone.” A telemarketer! I stared at the receiver. There is a real, live telemarketer on the other end of my phone.

“I’m not interested,” I said and threw the phone down as fast as I could. With “threw” I of course mean that I pressed the button on the phone and it said “click” and on the other side it probably also said “click” but in the ear on the telemarketer. No, the old phones were much better for these moments of anguish.

Sixty seconds of West Wing I couldn’t see. Those precious sixty seconds are gone, out through the window and never to return again, unless of course there is a rerun in the future. To disturb people during West Wing should be punished by law with severe beatings in public conducted by Basque Separatist Mice.

Point number eight is proof number one that Apple was way ahead of their time. Philip K. Dick must have owned one of those Pixar/iMac hybrids and he died 1982. This means that a prototype has been in the works for well over twenty years now. Wow. Gosh. Now I’m impressed.