Nee.

Ik kan geen vrienden met je zijn want

Ik moet je eerst missen.

Eerst huilen en je haten

Tegen je schreeuwen en willen praten

Verkeerde beslissingen maken.

Waarom houd je niet van mij?
Maar dat doe je wel,

Alleen niet zoals ik dat wil.

Laat me gaan.

Ylvis.

I love Ylvis, especially this song (although Jan Egeland is also genius). Enjoy this video for your daily dose of happy times (or procrastination, like I am).

Best Carrot Cake Ever.

Carrot cake is my favourite cake ever. I was a bit hesistant to try it, because whoever thinks of putting carrots in a cake anyway? Seriously though, mad as it may sound,  it is actually a brilliant idea! Genius and madness are remarkably close, I suppose. I've been trying out a few different recipes and combining some stuff and I've now come up with what I think is the best carrot cake ever. Although I can also do a brilliant vegan version, I think this version wins out in the end.

Ingredients:

Cake:
250g carrots
150g unsalted butter
150g light brown sugar
200g selfraising flour
3 eggs
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp nutmeg
1 cm cube fresh ginger
100g raisins
75g walnuts
zest of half a lemon

Icing:
200g cream cheese
100g icing sugar
juice of half a lemon
zest of half a lemon
100g unsalted butter

Preparation:
Preheat oven to 160/180 degrees celcius (depends on oven).

In bowl 1: Mix the flour with salt, dry spices and bicarb.
In bowl 2: Grate the carrots and mix with the ginger, raisins, walnuts and lemon zest.
In bowl 3: Melt butter, add eggs and sugar and mix until twice the volume (approximately 5 minutes).
Gently fold in flour mixture, then carrot mixture.
Pour into a greased cake tin, bake for 30 to 45 minutes.

Leave to cool. For the icing, add all ingredients to a bowl and mix well (add more sugar or lemon to taste).
Put icing on cake only when cake has cooled (or it will be horrible, the wait is worth it!).

Library time.

I originally posted this to facebook while I was studying in the library and trying to finish my essay. Needless to say, progress was a little bit slow sometimes.

"Why do they leave perfectly square papers lying around in the library? I'm now faced with the very difficult choice between origami birds and essay writing."

"I call this one Henry. Origami activities won."

"There's a Llama now, but it's a bit wonky due to procrastionation-guilt induced haste." [Sabine named it Freek-Willem]

"The girl in front of me is frowning at my origami activities. She's actually using them to take notes... Ooooh, so that's what they're for!"

"I made a penguin. I think the girl opposite me strongly dislikes me. May have to build a penguin army for self-defense." [Penguin is called Koos Naamloos]

"The girl in front of me fled the scene... I think my impressive origami army must have scared her off... Also, I think it might be time for coffee."

"Henry and Freek-Willem made a hybrid. Yup. Llamabird... Llaird? Llird? Bama?"

"They've managed to escape! My origami army is now invading the library... World domination in 5... 4... 3..."

Hope Leaves

Autumn leaves pour forth
Like blood from an open wound
Lie down on the road and
Let the wind take you

Cock Flavoured Seasoning, literally.

I was spending some time wallowing in my post-gig depression (because Muse were, as usual, amazing). Yes, Berlin was the thing I was looking forward to all summer and now there is a gaping black hole until uni starts again. Hence, the post-Muse depression because I won't see them again until forever. I'll miss the people and the band and the songs and the atmosphere and the queueing and the fighting for barrier - and I still need a plan regarding my summer, but I'm okay now.

Why, you ask me? Because a friend of mine linked me this. Yes, that's right. It is 'cock flavoured seasoning' with a product review written by George Takei. In his words, other cock flavoured products still didn't quite "rise to the occasion," but the availability of this product meant that Takei's "search for great cock was finally over!" Other reviewers also shoot a load of reasons as to why this product is amazing. You should read them, really.

I am okay with my life, with this world. Everything is fine and nothing hurts if only I can live in a world in which we can buy "Cock Flavoured Seasoning" online, on amazon. All I need in my life now are glittery all-stars, but sadly, they're out of stock.

And that is how I came to kill a man.

22/03/2013, 21:34
Dear diary,
For a few days now, I've been hearing noises. I know. I know, it seems like insanity has finally set in, although the status of my sanity has always been dubious at best. I realised thus that hearing noises wasn't a good sign. Especially considering the fact that I could not locate the source. I have been looking.

Beep. BeepBeep. Beeeep. Beep. BeepBeep. Beeeep.

24/03/2013, 19:27
Dear diary,
The noises start around six each evening, they stop when I am asleep and are not there when I awake in the morning. I have thought of setting an alarm or to stay up all night, to check when they end, but I fear this will not do anything for my sanity. I am still not convinced that only I can hear them, even though preliminary reasearch suggests this. My housemates could not and have not heard the noises. When I asked, they proceded to back away slowly. I wonder why.

Beep. BeepBeep. Beeeep. Beep. BeepBeep. Beeeep. Beep. BeepBeep. Beeeep.

25/03/2013, 18:33
Dear diary,
There is hope for my (remaining) sanity yet. I closed my window and the noises stopped. It seems the noises are not located in my head, but rather outside. The source remains a mystery though and the noise is slowly driving me insane anyway. If I do not hear it, I wonder whether it is still there and open the window. When I hear it, I become angry. WHY DO I HEAR THIS NOISE. BEEPBEEP

25/03/2013, 22:56
Dear diary,
What if the noises are in my head, but I think they are outside because my brain wishes to protect me from itself? I closed the window, silence. I open it: BEEP. BEEPBEEP. BEEEEEP, it goes on and on. Can I be aware of my own insanity or is the closed window a way of my brain, trying to keep me relatively sane? Is talking to a diary insane? Other people do it. I literally  have no one else. Well, my pet rat, but I think he loathes me and is plotting to kill me. I should not have said those things about his mother.

25/03/2013, 03:44
Dear diary,
My housemates still cannot hear the noises. I think. They did not literally say this, but "it's bloody three in the morning, fuck the fuck off" certainly implies they cannot. Or at least suggests it. I shall investigate.

03/06/2013, 15:12
Dear diary,
My apologies for the delay in writing you. I am writing this letter from prison, though it has been suggested that I ought to be relocated. I am looking out for men in white coats. I know they think I am insane, but I am not. In fact, I am writing to you to tell you where the noise came from. My housemates promised they would insert the letter into you, that is, the diary. I hope that works. Maybe I can ask them to copy this letter to your pages.
Anyway, dear diary, the noises came from a man watching sheep. He was sitting outside and I strangled him with the cords of his equipment. It turns out, the sheep are not bothered much by the beeps - which is what he set out to investigate - but I was. Beep. BeepBeep. Beeeep. I can still hear it in my head sometimes. If I was sane before, I may have lost it now. They played the noises at the trial.

Beep. BeepBeep. Beeep. Beep. BeepBeep. Beeeeep.

They did not do it twice. I'm not sure if diaries can read papers, actually, I'm sure they can't. The building burned down. I did not know I had such strong arms.

I have to leave this cell now, dear diary. I hope you get this letter, because the men in white coats came to take me away. For tests, they say. Beep. BeepBeep. Beeeeeeep.

Internship: Research on the Arab Uprisings

Apologies for the prolonged radio silence, I am not dead - this blog post should at least provide enough proof to make it relatively plausible that this the case - while I was typing it, in any case. Unless there's been a zombie apocalypse, in which case I might be a zombie (but I'm not sure if that counts as dead, probably, I'd not be dead, but undead instead) - in any case, and in absence of a zombie apocalypse, I'm doing an internship. Although really, it feels more like a a crazy hobby sometimes.

The internship entails research on Gender, New Media and the Arab Spring, although all of those words are problematic, so really, it does not entail that at all. However, I do not wish to bore you to death with all the technicalities (yet), so let's just keep it at Gender, New Media and the Arab Spring, also known as "the thing I tell my parents and friends because otherwise I could never have a short conversation about my internship ever again."

Attentive readers might notice the mentioning of a crazy hobby in the first paragraph (well done you!) and it is to this aspect of my internship I wish to turn today. One of my weird hobbies, among many others, is the reading of scientific studies. The topic does not matter much, because if you can think about it, someone has probably done research on it. An example of this is research about the perception of a computer's gender, or the research of a friend of mine who recorded the growing of plants with a very impressive computer and made nice graphs of that data, so she could predict things about plants that might grow in the future. 

The most awesome aspect of my internship at the moment, is all the weird papers I get to read in the name of 'research' - for example, the one I'm reading now is attempting to map out who 'the revolutionaries' in the Arab Spring were, by charting out variables such as 'are male, are single, are more xenophobic, feel secure, have higher perceived control' and so forth. Personally, I'm waiting for 'Always eat chicken on tuesdays,' because I think that there is a correlation between being or becoming a revolutionary and consuming chicken on a specific day of the week.

There's also a mathematical formula that charts the dynamics of a revolution and helps predict the chance of an outbreak of revolutions based on things they observed in the Arab Spring. I'm now imagining some scientists that go "well, the BBC reported on Egypt today, also, it is raining AND there's a female who crossed the street earlier today near the Tahir Square. On the other hand, she did wear a headscarf so I'd say... 40% chance of revolution happening in the Arab World...? Maybe a bit more or less depending on things Morsi does today." ... "What's that you say? Oh, wet snow... Fine, 45% chance of revolution, then." 

And that's why I love my internship. And also because of the view. Because look at it, it is amazing:

"That's not wet snow! You can't even tell different kinds of snow apart? Why did I hire you? It's not important you say?! ARE YOU MAD!? We'd better start preparing for World War three, statistics say it's imminent!"

Fiction Friday: Parliament.

He’d done everything he could to execute his job to the best of his capabilities. After all, he was more than just a man now, he represented the people. Okay, he might not represent them the way he wanted to, but he still thought he took the loss quite admirably and adapted to this unexpected change of his future with great enthusiasm.

The restraining order was completely unexpected.

He’d only had a few days after the results of the election came in. He’d not know beforehand which position he’d get and it wasn’t easy to prepare on such short notice. The most difficult thing was definitely getting rid of his beard. It was probably worth it, he mused, because in the grand scheme of things, beards were trivial matters. Still, his had been a good one. It’d taken him years to grow and he’d almost gotten to the point that he could finally braid it. Because really, it’s only stubble until you can properly braid it. It’d been so weird to have a cleanly shaven face again after all these years.

Why were they keeping him from doing his job?

He’d taken great pains and gone to great lengths to fulfill the role assigned to him by the people. Well, really, it was decided within the party who’d get what spot, so it wasn’t directly the people. But, you know, people voted. The people. So it was really unfair they were making it so difficult for him to do his job. He’d found out which suit to buy, two shades darker than the original, of course. He’d shaven a bald spot in to his hair and dyed his hair two shades darker. He’d bought the coat, looked up the address. For crying out loud, he’d even managed to find the exact same bicycle and painted it two shades darker. Okay, so that might have been a rush job and it could have been executed better, but they couldn’t seriously be holding that against him? It was nothing short of a miracle for him to find the exact same bicycle on that short a notice anyway.

He’d been fired.

He'd become the exact replica of the Secretary of State for Defence, only two shades darker. He could see his failure now, of course. He'd missed the eyecolour and the car, and his wife looked nothing like the Defence Secretary's wife. He'd failed to obtain two children on such short notice, but really, where would you get those anyway? No, those would have been long term issues, no one would notice their absence for the first few weeks. He'd been a great member of the shadow cabinet, or so he thought, but the party thought differently. So where did it go wrong? It must have been the fact that he'd only gone two shades darker, he should have gone for at least four shades, but he was worried they wouldn't be able to distinguish between his clothes then, because everything would look black. It might also have been the fact that he hadn't been exactly on time, outside the Defence Secretary's door, to shadow him on his way to Parliament. He'd never forget those humiliating five minutes on the corner of that street. When the Defence Secretary finally showed, he'd issued a little wave. A wave. A WAVE. What an idiot he was. He should stop with the self-pitying, because he clearly lacked in all the necessary qualifications required of politicians. He'd had his chance but he blew it. He wasn't committed enough and they were right to question his sanity. He wasn't cut out to be in politics. 

He considered his forced admission to the mental hospital to be a bit excessive.

Die, You Piece of Shit Technology, Die.

I like books. In fact, I love books. I love to read and my bookcase is my pride and joy. The one possession in my room I would be sad to lose in a fire – and not even the case, but all the books. It’s what I spend my spare cash on and it’s what I spend my free time doing: books, reading. However, you’d think the tree-murdering consequences of this love for books would weigh down on my conscience and consequently I would be hailing e-books as the lord and saviour, the divine miracle of humanity, the best thing since sliced bread, etc. I hate them. In fact, I hate them so much that in dealing with them, I almost end up destroying the second best thing in my life, my computer. (Nerd, remember.)

So why this hatred for e-books? Well, firstly, let me say that although I don’t own an e-reader, (I still heave a book around in my bag just in case I get bored or have a few minutes to spare) I can understand that an e-reader might be awesome. I’m poor, I don’t have money to buy one, I buy my books second hand and I like my bookcase. Now, if I were to go on a holiday for half a year, I might invest in one because given the amount of reading I do, it’d be impossible to actually carry that amount of books with me in any other form. In any case, I’m fine with this version of the e-book, e-reader and all these tree-saving, weight-saving fancy inventions. What I’m not okay with, is the e-books I have to deal with at university right now.

At this exact moment, I’m sitting in the library and I should be working on an essay. Instead, I’m writing this angry tirade on e-books because the anger is too much for me to carry on writing the essay. You might also call this procrastination, but usually, I’m not this angry when attempting to avoid my essay-duties. So why am I angry? I’ll tell you why I’m angry, it’s because of e-books. Here I am, researching terrorism in the Chechnyan wars and I need a short introduction to everything that has happened, before I can really delve into the subject. So, I think to myself, I’ll just look through the library catalogue, I’m sure someone a lot smarter than me has written something useful on this. And I am right: seven entries that are all pretty  much exactly what I need. And, they’re e-books.

What happens next is the reason I’m so frustrated. Firstly, I can only look at them for five minutes before the website kicks me out. No worries I think, I’ll just save the pages and read them afterwards. DENIED! You can only save the pages through excessive use of the print-screen button and paint. Well fuck that, I’ll just copy paste that shit then. DENIED! It’s not actually any text you can copy paste, it’s an image but you can’t right-click save it either. So I’m left to frantically browse for five minutes, find exactly what I need through speed reading, grabbing my pen to write it down, look up at the page to see what it is exactly that I’m writing down on a dead tree that I wasn’t supposed to kill because of the magic that is e-books and… DENIED! Five minutes are over.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

Okay, calm down. They wouldn’t be in the data-base if they weren’t somehow accessible to students, right? Right. I can request to loan the books. I CAN REQUEST TO LOAN E-BOOKS. There goes the advantage of instant availability... grrrreat. Fill in five million forms, wait for a hundred hours until the librarian has time to approve your request and pay the website so that I can access the file for a day, exactly twenty four hours, and then… I’m still fucked. Because I still can’t copy-paste shit, so I have to alt-tab to type out every single thing that I find useful, within this stupid twenty four hour deadline, so that I have to somehow fit all my other activities around the reading of a stupid book. Sure, there are no dead trees, but I’ll gladly take an axe and brutally  murder a tree right now, if that means I can have this book, printed in front of me, so I won’t be stuck in the fucking library for a day and end up murdering my laptop. Type two words, alt-tab back to see what you were typing, two words, alt-tab back, shit, wrong tab, find the proper tab, accidentally close word-document that you were typing in, click no on save, start over, alt-tab to the wrong page again, only 18 hours remaining and you still have to go to dinner with your dad so really it’s only 12 hours remaining, better read faster, alt-tab, two words… DIE, YOU FUCKING SHIT PIECE OF USELESS TECHNOLOGY.

Somehow, somewhere, someone managed to take the concept of e-book and eradicate all the advantages of that concept. Yeah, e-books, a great idea. Let’s just limit the access, and take away instant availability. Let's make sure that people can’t copy paste so it won’t save them any time, in fact, let’s make sure they have to alt-tab between documents constantly so it’ll actually take them even more time. They’ll be so frustrated that they’ll end up taking pen and paper and writing what they read on that paper, then typing it into word later on. Make sure there’s no option for bookmarking either, so they’ll have to get a separate piece of paper (that’ll get lost in the middle of things, so that they’ll have to re-fucking-do their entire bibliography and footnotes at the end of the essay in any case, and request access to a limited time-document yet again because of page numbers) –to write down the fucking page numbers of the fucking information. This is a great idea. Let’s see how long it takes until the peaceful and quiet library becomes an arena of frustrated students that end up slaughtering everyone around them because of these fucking e-books. And film it. It’ll be great.

WELL FUCK YOU.