I can't help wonder whether this will be one of the defining images of my youth.

Anna L lähetti minulle eilen tekstiviestin, jossa onnitteli minua uudesta “julkkisstatuksestani”. Uusimmassa Cult-lehdessä on kuulemma kuva minusta (Koneisto-festareilta?). Annasta ja useasta muusta Street Party -seurueestamme oli kuvat viime Cultissa.

En ole nähnyt kuvaa vielä, mutta oletan, että olen onnistunut ikuistamaan itseni mahdollisimman hölmönnäköinen ilme kasvoillani. Miksi Cult vainoaa minua ja ystäviäni? Ja miksi valitan ilmaisesta julkisuudesta? Koska Cult on niin surkea lehti.

Annan ilmiantajaystävällä on huono kasvomuisti. Minusta ei ole kuvaa Cultissa.

Ben löytää jotain yhteistä lempisaittiensa tekijöiden kanssa. Pidän erityisesti Textismin tulevasta sisällönhallintajärjestelmästä.

I, for one, prefer it over the top. And I do switch it at home when it's not.

There's something comforting about highways in the middle of the night. The bright lights artificial stars on earth, illuminating celestial pathways to the unknown. I listen to the smooth static crescendo and diminuendo of the passing cars, within the immediate reach of my perception one moment and, for all significant purposes, gone forever the next. The asphalt and concrete construct, conceptually overwhelming, rules supreme over both the three dimensions by overcoming every obstacle in its path and the fourth as it flows into a man-made eternity. The highway stands a silent testament to the violent and insane grip that post-modern humanity holds over the earth.

Highways remind me that the world keeps on going around even when I sleep. And when I, alone, am awake in the middle of the night, the highway alleviates my anxiety of... something unknown. Even as people come and go, the highway will always be there. A human being pushing and pulling and turning levers and pedals and wheels, always going onward. Can anything stop the highway?

I think: ‘No one can stop on the highway.’

The emotions highways evoke in me are...well, they simply are. I haven't wanted to examine or analyze them, for fear that the enchantment that they fill me with, break. I can see how easily they can be explained, how clearly they reveal glimpses of my inner world, my hopes, thoughts and fears. I know I must sound like a early 20th century futurist exalting in the sheer power and speed of machines and technology.

But there's more. The highway symbolizes the desperation I hold in my heart that there is really nowhere to go. That all journeys end where they left off. That it doesn't matter whether you stay in one place or travel to another, because the perceived journey is of the wrong kind. We're going so fast that we can't see the scenery as it flies past. All meaning is lost—if there even is any.

We sat on the lawn next to the parking lot and watched two girls sitting on top of their car, an old white SUV. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon but the sun was still going strong and the air was hot and humid. The two girls were drunk and one was piercing the other's tragus.

The blond girl, the one doing the piercing, had milky latex gloves on and a plastic rubbing alcohol bottle next to her foot. The other girl had dark, matted hair and about seven other piercings on her face. I wondered if she had been drunk at other summer festivals when she got her other piercings done.

Man, was it hard to pack this morning, still groggy and tired after playing the snooze button game for about twenty minutes, knowing that I wouldn't be coming home before I leave to Turku (yes, of course to Koneisto). I didn't know what I'll need but I figured that since I usually overpack anyway, I'll probably be fine. What I did pack: swimming trunks, my toothbrush, deoderant, a change of clothes, a sweater, a book (The Difference Engine by Bruce Sterling and William Gibson), sandals, and three packs of Estonian cigarrettes. I could have made do with just the sweater and the cigarrettes but hey—the other stuff can't hurt.

I thought of taking some beer (also tax-free from the boat) but then decided against it, considering that it'll be really heavy and just get warm sitting in my bag all day. I can always buy cold beer from Turku, right?

It's weird how people outside of Turku make fun of it. I, myself, noticed that Turku seems like a really nice city. Then again, I haven't met any local people yet, which is what people complain about anyway. Last time I was in Turku we met two really cute Icelandic girls and hung out with them. Make, who's place we'll be staying at (again), is from Kerava and only moved to Turku last year to study folklore.

I don't think I'll end up meeting any Turkuers this weekend either, 'cause Koneisto will be full of people from, well, all over Finland and Europe. Maybe better luck next time then. Heh.

Mmm, funny how things work. Today I just found Ben Brown's Happynetbox, a web app to store links, notes and other such stuff. Ben was part of the Deepleap all-star team, if you didn't remember. And he's doing some interesting stuff, as usual.

Siitä onkin aikaa kun viimeksi sai lukea tästä lapsiamme turmelevasta vitsauksesta. Minun lempikohta:

“En suosittele alkoholin käyttää kenellekään, mutta pakkotilanteessa sallisin omalle lapselleni sata kertaa mieluummin kylmän kadun ja juopottelun kuin roolipelien pelaamisen.”

“Oluen juomisesta voi toki alkoholisoitua, mutta kaikessa karmeudessaan se on kuitenkin pienempi paha. Alkoholisti tuhoaa oman ja lähimmäistensä elämän, mutta murhia, kauhua, okkultismia ja hirviöitä pullollaan olevat roolipelit muovaavat ajan myötä lapsistamme täysin sairailla käyttäytymismalleilla varustettuja tunneinvalideja; pahimmissa tapauksissa saatananpalvojia ja tappajia, joille ihmishenki ei merkitse yhtään mitään.”

Jutun lopussa Pajatie-Härkönen toivoo vanhempien mieluummin olevan “pilkkakirveistä välittämättä” konservatiivisia kuin antaisivat lastensa pelata. Roolipelien vastustajia en leimaisi konservatiiviseksi (vaikka joskus taannoin olenkin/olisinkin niin tehnyt). Mielestäni roolipelien vastustajilla on yhteistä niin uhanalainen maailmankuva, että sitä täytyy suojella “turmelevilta” (perheen) ulkoisilta vaikutteilta. Yleensä kyse on siis joko tosiuskonnoliset tai sitten niiden propagandan pelottamia oikeata maailmaa ymmärtämättömät vanhemmat.

Roolipelit ovat superuskonnollisille perheenvarjelijoille (eivät kaikki uskovaiset luule, että “pää hiekassa, niin kyllä lapsesta hyvä tulee”) vaarallisia ei pelkästään sen takia, että niissä on magiaa ja muuta “Saatanaan” liittyvää, vaan ennemminkin pelien rakentavanlaatuisen vapaamuotoisuuden takia.

Roolipeli perustuu sopimuksenvaraisiin sääntöihin, joita voidaan muuttaa peliporukan sisällä. Tämä koskee myös roolipelin miljöötä, jonka vääräuskoinen/pakanallinen/saatanallinen jumalpanteoni on todellisuudessa täydellisen toissijaista itse pelin kululle.

Roolipelien sisällöllisiin seikkoihin puuttuminen on pinnallista (ja on niitä kirkkojenkin tekemiä oikeaoppista uskontoa sisältäviä pelejä). Voihan sitä pelata vaikka itseään, puhdasoppista vanhollislestadiolaista nykypäivän Perähikiällä (jos itse sellainen on), mutta mitäs ideaa siinä olisi? Siinä vaiheessa kun pelissä voi tehdä jotain, mitä ei pysty itse tekemään (kuten esimerkiksi katsoa telkkaria), alkaa se käydä mielenkiintoiseksi.

Roolipelit poikkeavat lautapeleistä siinä, että roolipelien säännöt pyrkivät vapauttamaan toimintaa eikä rajoittamaan sitä äärimmäisiin oikealle vai vasemmalle -tilanteisiin. Roolipelien säännöt kuvaavat (peliteknisesti) miten teet jotakin, lautapelien säännöt taas mitä voit tehdä.

Pointti, mitä ajan takaa, on siis kai se, että dogmaattiseen ajatusmaailmaan lapsiaan/jäseniään kasvattavalle yhteisölle idea, että “voi tehdä ihan mitä vaan” (miettimättä edes mitään yksittäisiä opinkappaleiden mukaisia elämänohjeita) on uhkaava.

Tunnevammaisuus, mistä Pajatie-Härkönen puhuu on aidosti pelottava. Mutta ei sitä tule roolipeleistä tai elokuvista tai tietokonepeleistä yksistään. Yleinen seikka, joka liittyy kaikkiin (kotona-asuvienkin) lasten/nuorten tekemiin raakoihin murhiin ja muihin hirmutekoihin, on se, että vanhemmat ovat olleet täydellisen tietämättömiä tai neuvottomia. Tämä kielii siitä, että vanhemmat eivät ole *tunteneet* lapsiaan.

Vanhemmat eivät aina ole syypäitä, eikä yhteiskunta todellakaan auta vanhempia olemaan proaktiivisia positiivisia vaikuttajia lapsen elämässä, joten tässä ollaan pahemmin kusessa kuin kuvitellaankaan. Silti “pää hiekkaan” -kasvatusperiaatetta ei pidä enää niellä.

Raiskataampas tässä vielä eräs sanonta: Vapaudettomuuden mukana tulee vastuuttomuus.

How to make a photo gallery, on Webmonkey. Note, this link is mainly for my own further reference. I still have to come up with a decent system to manage links and other notes. I want them to be easy to use, accessable fast and on the web so that I can reach it from many computers. Why, oh why, did Deepleap have to go under?

Seuraa koodinpätkä, älä kiinnitä huomiota siihen.

$c=($i%2)?"#DDDDDD":"EEEEEE"; $i++;

Yesterday my boss asked me what the URL of my weblog is (not this blog, the other one). I'd be happy for him to read Suodatin, but it does make me a little uncomfortable that he can see from the posting times that I'm doing something else than work. Oh well, it's not like he doesn't already know that.

It's been a long time since I've written here. I still am wrestling with exactly why I am writing a public journal. And that definitely hampers my enthusiasm to write here. I'm conflicted: on the one hand I want to try my hand at exposing myself to the web (as so many people that I really respect have done before), but on the other, I block myself from freely saying what I want—which defeats the purpose of keeping a journal.

I used to think I was going to change the world. Not in an activist sense that I would make the world a better place. I just felt sure that in some grander scale of things, there would be some mark left of my existence. And that that was a good thing in itself.

Now, I'm not sure anymore. I don't know if anything I will ever do will make a difference. Life seems so relative, so unforgivingly, inconsolably subjective. What I do affects everything around me, sure, but I feel like whatever I do, good or bad, doesn't really matter. There's no yardstick to measure up against, no scale to weigh good or bad, no inherent value in any deed, action or thought.

It's like it doesn't matter if my life amounts to anything. Doesn't matter if I make a splash or not. Doesn't matter if I do good—or bad.

Why even try?

Kaikkien lemppari nettiksenpitäjä on palannut hiukan hämmentävältä matkaltaan Jenkkilästä.

Here’s a tip: ask your new prospective girfriend if it would bother her a lot if you had a tattoo on your penis that said ‘Property of [your ex-girlfriend]’. Keep a straight face, but half-smile like you're a little embarrassed. Much hilarity will ensue.

I made up with Misu yesterday. We were on shaky ground because of the emotional meltdown I experienced on Tuesday night. Paranoia—terribly nasty stuff.

Anyway gotta gotta gotta get some work done today.

I was at Ruisrock last weekend. The most entertaining show was Hanoi Revisited by far. I don't care for their music—I don't even know it all that well—but watching all the old long-haired but balding drunken men almost weeping was certainly an experince.

Michael Monroe was really charismatic (in an admittedly Tina Turner-esque way), and Andy McCoy seemed to be wasted out of his mind (like always). These factors, combined with the rumors/common knowledge that there's bad blood between the two rock stars really gave an interesting backdrop to the concert.

Some weekends are better than others. I had the most fun I’ve had in, like, a month, selling beer at Puistoblues on Saturday. Meanwhile Taneli, in what is always a seriously risky endeavour, visited the notorious Hightlight Café, beat all the odds and hit the jackpot—or motherload, if you will—in an episode of such fundamental bliss that you know can only come from the soft, warm pressure of Linda Lampenius’s breasts. Taneli swears those were the longest two minutes of his life.

What I'm wondering is why customers who have bought Douglas Kellner's Media Culture haven't bought Douglas Rushkoff's Media Virus!. Even allowing for that the authors come from different worlds and (thus?) address different audiences, I'm still surprised that the two books aren't connected in any way at Amazon.

Both books cover media culture. Both were published in 1995. Both discuss among other common subjects, what Madonna, rap music and the Gulf War actually symbolize. Weird that there's no connection.