Un total de 257 personas murieron violentamente entre enero y marzo anteriores, de acuerdo con registros de la Cruz Roja.

La mayoría de los fallecimientos ocurrieron durante accidentes de tránsito, especialmente choques (el 34 por ciento).

Este cuerpo de socorro también atendió durante este primer trimestre del presente año 24 asesinatos, casi todos con armas de fuego (el 26 por ciento de los casos).

So we have 257 violent deaths, of which 34% belong to traffic accidents. Then they say we had 24 murders, which accounts to 26% – but 24 is only 9% of 257. They could mean that 26% of people were murdered with firearms, but they said that almost all cases were firearms. Or maybe they actually mean that 34% was the number of collisions resulting in deaths. Then there’s 8 people who drowned, for 3%, leaving 37% of violent deaths unaccounted under miscellany.

Way to give out useless information.

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We want to cancel our account, so Vero called them and asked for the form we’re supposed to fill. What they sent us was a Word document with an embedded image, which was actually a scan of someone else’s cancellation letter. This included their customer’s ID number, his address in La Uruca and his scanned signature.

I think we’re doing the cancellation in person. Maybe that way they won’t have it scanned, ready to send to someone else.

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The short version is that Microsoft Certified Partners buy software contracts from Microsoft, and then resell them to their clients. With the capital of Iceland now being 5 cents, a lot of companies who bought these contracts have gone bankrupt, and of course aren’t making their yearly payments to Microsoft anymore (kind of difficult when you’re dead). The MCPs who sold them the contracts are then on the hook for the money.

“Aha!” says the suit from Redmond. “You made a contract with us, and another with them. Their inability to uphold their end of the contract does not invalidate your commitment to us.”

This is what I’ve heard from pals in the industry. Pals who’re being screwed over right now. In short, the MCP’s have to pay the licensing fees for the bankrupted companies.

The sheer shock of having to do so is starting to hit the Icelandic economy, hard. Already battered by the collapse of almost all privately held financial institutions and the subsequent bust of nearly fifteen hundred companies, Iceland’s MCP’s are next.

And then,

But the backlash effect has been astounding. Several of Iceland’s largest MCP’s are now fighting for survival in a sea already at significant turmoil due to the economic depression. Shit had already hit the fan, but now they’re being skull-fucked by Microsoft to boot.

And what would you do? Well. My sources tell me a lot is afoot. Several MCP’s are bailing out, switching over to Free Software and restructuring their business model. Keep the revenue inside Iceland, sell better technical services for less money and yet double their revenue. “Why didn’t we do this earlier?”

Why indeed.

That’s just beautiful. I bet this is making all sorts of people eager to sign up as an MCP.

The original article is occasionally returning a 500, but Google has it cached. It’s very colorful.

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Below are the graves of the Brothers Grimm, which I saw on a detour to Schöneberg. There seemed to be papers at the ground, children’s notes held down by stones. Not sure if that was a particular school trip or some sort of tradition I’m unaware of.

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I brought back some rooibos that I found at an organic supermarket, but given its lack of caffeine, I’ll wait until I’ve re-balanced my caffeine intake to try it.

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Berlin is very much alive.

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I love this town and will be sad to leave it.

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At Dada Falafel you can get the best falafel im brot (pide bread) ever for 3 euros. Add 2.5 euros more and you get eastern tea with cinnamon and cardamomo and dessert.

At Maximilian’s in Rosenthaler Platz you can get some very good dönner for 2 euros, and a dürum dönner – which he prepares by wrapping it in Turkish pizza instead of taboon bread – for 2.5 euros. They have falafel, but it’s warmed over and can’t hold a candle to either Dada Falafel’s – stick to their dönner.

Not too far is 5 Flavor, an excellent chinese restaurant. At lunch time you can get one of their many dishes accompanied by either hot-sour soup or a spring roll for 5 euros. I got some very spicy Kung Fu Beef with rice and the hot-sour soup – both were excellent.

Really close too is St. Oberholz, a very chic café with free wireless where 5.5 euros will buy you a cappuccino and one of their very large bowls of soup. If you’re still hungry, a few more euros will get you one of their fine prosciutto sandwiches.

Near the Heinrich-Heine Strasse subway station there’s another middle eastern place. They have a good dönner for 2.5 euros, and some decent falafel which they’ll prepare on the spot.

The café at the Bode Museum has some excellent pastries, even if their coffees are a bit on the expensive side. Still, you can easily get away with a cappuccino and some delicious Mozart Cake for about 7 euros.

There are also many oriental food stalls for eating on the go, for instance a vietnamese place right outside Friedrichstrasse Station, where you can get a box of noodles with vegetables for about 2 euros. This will only be a snack, but it’ll hold you until you find a nice dönner place.

On sundays you can gorge yourself at one of the many brunches around town, which will range from 10 to 15 euros for all you can eat of exquisite food. And of course on any random day you’ll find sausage stands, hot dog vendors and pretzels all over the place, ranging from about 75 cents to 1.5 euros.

This probably paints a better picture of what I mean when I say eating out here is cheap. It’s really, really cheap.

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I asked the waitress to recommend something to me, and she brought this monstrosity.

There’s sour cabbage on the other side of it, and mashed sweet potatoes as well. It was such a hun thing to serve that they probably expected me to clean my teeth with the bone.

Dessert was very good, some sort of sweet flan with sour grapes and apple slices.

I had two beers (including a rice beer that had a vanilla twang to it), a cappuccino that was a pretty much an espresso with foam on it, the dessert and the huge pork leg. Ended up paying 25 Euros, including their outrageous VAT.

Don’t let anyone tell you that eating out in Berlin is expensive.

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Right before stepping on his neck and breaking two teeth.

So it seems that we now have the cops to worry about as well. We’re one more step closer to becoming the United States, but getting to pay twice as much for a hard disk in the bargain.

Awesome.

It got me thinking more about how safe Berlin is. When I was coming here, Gabriele gave me directions that included a bus and a subway. I asked, as delicately as possible, if it was safe for an obvious tourist to use those in the middle of the night, while carrying cash for the rent, a laptop and a large suitcase. She replied that the main danger in Berlin was catching a cold.

She wasn’t kidding. I feel like a mirror version of Charles Dance stepping out of the movie in Last Action Hero and discovers the impunity of New York.

I’ve been here for over three weeks. When I arrived I decided on the general rule that when something’s less than 2km away, I’ll walk. As a result I’ve seen a lot of the city – on my first full day here I must have walked a total of at least 14km, and I’ve done an average 3km a day. I’ve been consistently straying from the touristy areas, to explore and find little corner imbiss that aren’t mentioned anywhere. On occasion I’ve gotten lost half on purpose, to make sure I visit areas I otherwise wouldn’t. Hell, I’ve walked home for 3km at two in the morning, and haven’t felt threatened once. Sometimes I’ve been on relatively dark alleys, having followed some Google-provided directions, and I run into women alone walking in the opposite direction without a care in the world. I haven’t seen a single person I could finger as a crackhead. On occasion you do see some odd-looking groups, but they’re only part of the city’s cosmopolitan quality – goths or punk kids or soccer fans minding their own business.

Allow me to show you a thousand words.

When was the last time you saw a BMW Z3 parked outside overnight in Costa Rica? Almost nobody here has garages, so most cars sleep outside – from Toyotas to Lexus and Masserati. Not a window broken, not a radio stolen. I wonder how long they would last in Escazú or San José.

Of course, this could all be tourist naiveté, so I’ve asked around. Nadine from C-Base, who has lived here for about a decade, told me that even as a woman alone she never feels threatened, nor has anything happened to her or anyone she knows. No guns pointed at her head, no knives pulled, nobody even grabbing her purse and making a run for it. Others report the same.

This is not all because of the heavily-armed Gestapo teams prowling the Berlin streets – half the cops I’ve seen look like someone handed a green polizei jacket and a walkie-talkie to my mom.

And about that kid who got shot at by cops who hadn’t identified themselves, the most that the OIJ chief can say is that it would have been odd for thieves to use a siren. Right. Because when I’m being chased by car thieves, I really want to take my eyes off the road to figure out what that wailing noise is (and pause to consider if the people shooting at me for no good reason may be paid to protect me).

But it’s OK, the government will make San José safer by opening fire when you don’t stop your car for unidentified strangers in a dark vehicle.

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Perhaps I should back up a bit.

C-Base is a space station which once moved accidentally through time and ended up crashing in Berlin. The station laid buried for aeons until it was discovered by germans. It has since begun rebuilding itself, a lot of which takes place by rewriting and adapting people’s memories. A good example might be the Fernsehturm Berlin, which is actually the space station’s antenna, and the station then rewrote the memories of GDR officials to make them believe it was a tower they had constructed.

The antenna may also have been discovered by GDR officials who then claimed it was their intention to build a tower there all along – the accounts are uncertain.

The Space Meal is an annual even where space travelers gather to share either the food of their homeworlds, or interesting items they have found in their travels. They’re asked to come in the traditional garb of their home planet. The food is then judged in three criteria:

• Look
• Taste
• Background
• Suitability for a zero-G environment

There. Hopefully that cleared things up.

It was a lot of fun. I knew I was in the right place when I was greeted by this:

Not to mention…

Unfortunately that’s only a hollow shell and has been filled with a PC running Linux.

I was greeted by Hein-C and Nadine, who kindly gave me a tour of this part of the station, which includes public areas, member-only areas, electronic workshops, and more hardware that you could shake a fistful of smartdust at, as well as some peculiar decor.

It seems the Space Meal is usually held in September, but they moved it to February by reasons I could not discern. I had originally planned to come in September to Berlin, but decided to move it to coincide with the Berlinale. It was quickly determined this was another instance of the station rewriting reality – clearly it was September, or both my trip and the space meal wouldn’t be taking place.

Nadine also translated one of the stories for me.

This fellow’s story is that his culture uses those flat bread tablets as books, to transfer knowledge. This leads to knowledge being unreliably transmitted, since scribes will sometimes eat the writing device as they’re working. There are many types of cookies used for writing, which lead to a discussion on taste (both literally and literary).

Fortunately, there was someone on hand to check out that the food was safe for consumption by carbon-based life forms.

Don’t ask me what these were – some type of mint drink mixed with a sweet milky substance and something like pepper. And small shiny edible beads.

There were two other dishes, but I understand that the winners were the blue rolls on the right:

They were a sort of blue sushi filled with blueberry jam from some galaxy far, far away. Interesting choice, and it won on most of the categories. I would have asked more questions, but after 2 liters of various beers I’m not sure I would have remembered the answers. Contestants were then decked out in commemoratory aprons.

That’s Hein-C in the kilt. I ended up staying there until about 2:20am, at which time I decided I’d better start finding a subway before I crashed (the Club Mate was starting to wear off), but this has got to be the single most unique experience of the trip so far.

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Miao Miao was the first movie, and a very good start. It’s Hsiao-tse Cheng first film, and it can easily be described as younger eyes looking through Kar Wai Wong’s glasses (you’d probably like it, Annie). Both lead actresses are perfect for their parts, and while the actor playing Chen Fei mopes around a bit too much, his is a secondary role – it’s the two girls who define and carry the movie.

Baraka I’ve already spoken about, as I have about The Dust of Time.

Meotjin Haru, which was translated as My Dear Enemy, was charming. This time we move from Taiwan to Korea, for a bittersweet movie that has just a couple of dashes of Woody-Allen-when-he-doesn’t-suck for flavor. The two hours went by in a flash.

Adam Resurrected should probably be called Goldblum Resurrected, since it gives him his first brilliant part since The Fly in a movie that is so odd that its closest spiritual cousin is Naked Lunch – only that in this case the oddness comes only from behavior and character, not environment and sphincter-bugs. Willem Dafoe is also great in a very subtle mix of cruelty and weakness, and for a specific scene, an inversion of his role in another movie involving a desert. Goldblum is in general not a great actor, but I do wish he would get these perfectly tailored parts more often.

The Casuarina Cove was a well-done short from Singapore about police entrapment of gay men. Recommended for its focus – director Boo Junfeng (when they said his name I thought he was named like the central character from Ashes of Time) stated before the screening that his intention was to bring to light the entrapment and homophobia issues in Singapore and that’s exactly what the short does, without taking two hours retreading the same ground until nothing will grow on it. Contrast that with End of Love, a 95-minute movie that felt like I was watching Ben-Hur in slow motion – and dubbed to Dutch. When you have little to say, you should be brief about it.

The Turkish production Mommo was very refreshing. It’s a straightforward look at the lives of two very young brothers in a village in Turkey going through a difficult period, and doesn’t make any attempt at shoehorning this into a current plot structure. The movie comes in, shows you the characters, makes you care for them, kicks you in the stomach, and then it’s over – no major turning points every 30 minutes, no grand resolutions, no initially dislikable foils turned allies, no initially likable characters with ulterior motives. It was very refreshing to see a movie that doesn’t attempt to push the same worn-out buttons.

The director and two of the main adult actors were on hand to answer questions, of which I didn’t understand a single word since it was held on Turkish and German.

The Korean Members of the Funeral is well acted and competently photographed, but otherwise pedestrian. Nothing to see here, carry on.

It was amusing to see a reissue of Basil Dearden’s Khartoum, a 1966 movie about manipulative figures using religious zealotry and faced against myopic colonialists convinced of their own righteousness, which if anything tells us that the world never changes (except for the official I will not take it upon this country to police the world bit). Heston is great, but Olivier as The Mahdi felt stilted and fake – funny that I didn’t remember perceiving it like that when I first saw it.

Finally came a presentation of Blindsight, a 2006 documentary about a group of blind Tibetan kids climbing the Himalayas. These are not former athletes who lost their sight, but six random children out of a small support center. Not only are they completely, absolutely blind, but you have to see the way blind people are treated in Tibet, even by their own family. I can only imagine the effect on your self-esteem of having been told throughout your life that you’d better have died, or that you are supposed to take whatever abuse is thrown at you – you deserve it, or you wouldn’t be blind in this life. I should get a copy, stick it in a plank of wood and use it to beat over the head anyone who says something like I can’t stop smoking, it’s too difficult or exercising is hard.

Oh, but they have time, it’s not like they have a job and family… SMACK!

The festival was a great experience, and one that I’m looking forward to repeating. Maybe the next time I won’t take a detour to Hamburg in the middle of it and get to see more films.

I just wish they didn’t hold it in winter.

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You’d probably need to plan ahead if you’re going to take your car anywhere.

All in all, it’s definitely warmer (or at least sunnier) than Hamburg . This is what Hamburg looked like at 8am:

I kid you not.

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New Zealand’s Copyright Amendment Act assumes that you’re guilty the moment you’re accused because, well, that’s easier.

I kid you not, that’s a quote from a former MP. The burden of proof would of course be switched to the accused, since they’re the ones with an active interest in it.

Boy, I should look into moving into New Zealand. Sounds like it’s becoming a swell place. Can’t wait for this principle to be applied to other aspects of the law.

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