This is language-related and not really translatable. So it's in Dutch. Sorry!

Er wordt nchtvorst voorspeld.
Ik heb als kind heel lang gedacht dat 'nachtvorst' een ander woord was voor Sinterklaas.

Het verschil tussen een bisschop en een koning is voor een kind niet zo heel eenvoudig te doorgronden. Hun kleding, zoals je die op plaatjes ziet, lijkt nogal op elkaar. Zo heb ik ook eens aan mijn moeder gevraagd wie er hoger was, een keizer of de Paus.

En Sinterklaas opereert natuurlijk vooral 's nachts.

Verder wordt er vaak gesproken over nachtvorst rond de tijd dat de eerste speelgoedfolders met Sint Nicolaas erop in de brievenbus vallen. Dus.

[Error: unknown template 'qotd'] I am.

Look, here they are. My keys.



I've not known where they were for weeks and weeks. Not that I'd lost them; I was pretty sure they were in the house somewhere. But we have so much 'somewhere' here. So I used my spare key instead.

Today, I got tired of not knowing where my keys were; so, first of all, I decided to do a washload of several pairs of jeans. They might turn up while checking the pockets, right? But they didn't.
I put the jeans in the washing machine anyway, and decided to move on.
Next up: motorbike jackets. I have several, at least four of which are usable, and may well have been worn in the past three months.
The first jacket rewarded me with a small LED torch, a Euro coin and a piece of (wrapped) chocolate, so I knew I was onto a good thing. I kept going.
Alas, no keys in any of the bike jackets, either.
So I moved on to the jackets and coats on the coat rack, and behold, there they were in the pocket of a rain jacket! Only the second one I searched, too.

So now I'm eating the chocolate that I've earned, feeling rather pleased with myself, and taking a picture of my keys to show them to you, now that I've found them again. Finding stuff is great.

If you're reading this (and I know you are!) then please post a picture of your keys! Keys are so personal, we have them with us everyday. I'd like to see yours. Please?
I promise to comment and say what they tell me about you.

Copied from gummihuhn , because a surprisingly large number of his answers are the same as mine. Lazyness is its own reward.
( Under a cut because it's long. )

From rockdg9  , who got it from miketroll  (not -stigen).

100 foods you should eat. Bold what you've eaten, italicize what you've eaten and hated, strikethrough those you're not willing to ever try. Underline ones you have no idea what they are.

Of course, this is heavily influenced by the fact that I don't eat meat. If you see meat dishes marked as 'eaten', I've had them before I quit meat.

Just so you know.
I haven't posted here in over a week; however, I have been posting in a community that I started.
There are no major changes in my life that I need to tell you about; rest assured that both me and stoneshop are alive and well, be it a bit sweaty (it's been an exceptionally hot and humid day).

If I forget to post about my new motorcycle jacket, please remind me. It's cost me enough to warrant a posting.

[Error: unknown template 'qotd']Wherever I lay my @.

Sorry, someone had to say it. Besides, it's sort of true. I mainly live inside my Thinkpad.
I can live inside an X-series model because I'm rather 'fun sized' myself.

I've been meaning to tell you about this dream I had.
It was a bit like an outline for a book or a story; this story was about a book.

The book was a very special book: what was inside, depended entirely on who was reading the book. It was different for every person who'd read it.
There was a man in the story; he found the book. It looked very old, but at the same time it looked like it had just been printed. He took the book with him, read it, and after a while he discovered the book's secret.


As soon as he found out about the book being different for everyone who'd read it, he realised that the book was very special, and that it was important that people knew about it. He felt it was his duty to show it to the world.
The only trouble was, the world didn't believe him. No one believed what he told them about the book; they thought it was a trick. He tried to seek publicity, but ended up losing his job, his money and finally his friends in the process.

Eventually he ended up on a street corner, homeless, with nothing left but the book and the clothes he had on.
Still, he tried to show people the book and convince them that they should read it and see how special it was. He said things like: "Read this book, it's not like other books... this is the book everybody is looking for. This book is all you'll ever need to read. There's no second book like this one anywhere in the world."
And people would glance at the book, then at his face; he looked dirty, thin and unshaven. And then they'd look away and walk on. Those who'd bother to reply would simply say 'No thanks, I'm not interested in religion' or 'I've already got a bible'.

That's the story I dreamed up. When I told my mother about it, she said that ithe book in the story must be the Book of Life. I don't know, because the contents of the book wasn't in my dream. What do you think?

[Error: unknown template 'qotd']I actually don't think of myself as neurotic in any way. I regard myself as pretty much healthy.

[Error: unknown template 'qotd']Stand-up comedy. I actually auditioned somewhere.
I can tell a story, and my timing isn't all that bad, but I can't write a decent text... one that's actually funny.
Oh well... live and learn.

I wrote this in a comment on miketroll's blog and thought it warranted a posting of its own.

Sometimes I feel that age is something that gets wrapped around us, layer after layer, like wrapping paper; and that previous versions of ourselves are still contained within our present selves.
We just can't always see them.

[Error: unknown template 'qotd'] I suppose I should write something about my lack of self discipline, and my tendency to procrastinate...

But I really can't be bothered.

[Error: unknown template 'qotd'] If you know me at all, you should know by now... and if you don't, why would you care?  ;-)

[Error: unknown template 'qotd']English speakers usually pronounce Moem to rhyme with poem, while it should rhyme with room. The 'oe'-sound in Dutch is similar to the English 'oo'-sound, just a bit shorter.

The name (which is my BookCrossing nickname) comes from a series of books by Finnish writer Tove Jansson about creatures named the Moomins, or Moomintrolls. Moem is Dutch for Moomin. I loved those books as a kid, and still do.

(Originally posted on MySpace)
This is where I live:
click!

It's the building in the very centre of the picture. Yes, it's an old office building. And see that group of cars parked behind it? The white one parked closest to the building is mine. Shiny, isn't it? I think I just washed it when the picture was taken, a few months ago. My cat is probably sitting underneath the car, but you can't see him.

So where do you live?