Cogs can think.

Here is my completely unscientific, very Spartan benchmark between Safari and Firefox for the Mac. I used to complain like hell about how slow Firefox was on the Mac (boottimes of 20+ seconds)– but I did notice a huge speed increase in the Firefox 1.5 betas. The improvements are simply stunning. My crude ‘benchmark’ shows that Firefox is by far no longer the slower of the two.

Test system:

Both applications were launched from the dock, without any extra software running. The time is in seconds, and the first is boottime, and second is the time it takes to load OSNews.com from a submenu in the bookmarks toolbar:

Firefox: 3.37 / 6.93
Safari: 2.20 / 10.53

I hope someone with more time, and more Macs, can conduct some more thorough research on this issue. These few numbers are really interesting. These numbers are however statistically meaningless, seeing I only recorded the times once.

Fcuk.

I’m at home right now, doing nothing. I’ve been reading through my old blog posts, and that’s always fun. I also came accross the posts in which I explained why I stopped studying Psychology– and I just wanted to give y’all an update to that: I’m happy I stopped. Really, really happy. I fit in so much better with what I’m currently doing; not only content-wise, but also people-wise.

Best choice I’ve made in ages.

Wasn’t a particularly exciting day at university today. Me and Marco suggested the idea of going karting or something– I’d really like to see Annemarie in a kart, after seeing her in that Zafira this weekend. And besides that, I want to kick Marco’s ass in that kart (seeing my Micra was no match for that V6′d SUV).

Me, Gleuf, Marco and Martin somehow already have built quite a raputation of being noisy and talkative during class. Somehow I am always in a group like that. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

Had a nice day at school today. There were some… Minor quirks with Annemarie’s photos when transmitting them to my iBook (I’m organizing all the photo’s and then I’ll burn 19 CDs for everyone). ‘Minor quirks’ says it best, by the way, I’ll leave it at that. After school, me, Marco, Gleufie, Linda, and Martin went for a drink at the pub inside the main university building.

I bought the greatest hits album by The Prodigy yesterday. It *rocks*. I’m now listening to “Smack My Bitch Up”, you know, the song (plus its video) which got banned in the US because of the censorship they have over there.

Eugenia just sent me this…

Apparently, 102.18 cups of brewed coffee + me = death.

Charming, really. Allthough I do think that the litres and litres of alcohol I had this weekend were far more dangerous, but that’s just me.

I just put through my vote for the 2005 version of the Top2000. I blogged about this a year ago too (on my old blog). Here’s my new list:

• The Eagles - Hotel California (1977)
• The Eagles - The Last Resort (1976)
• Don McLean - American Pie (1972)
• Bruce Springsteen - The River (1981)
• Bruce Springsteen - Streets Of Philadelphia (1994)
• Johnny Cash - A Boy Named Sue (1969)
• Bryan Adams - Summer Of ‘69 (1990)
• James Blunt - You’re Beautiful (2005)
• Oasis - Wonderwall (1995)
• Oasis - Champagne Supernova (1995)

There you have it. My current ten best songs of all time. As you can see, I refreshed the list a bit with some newer songs– my previous list was rather dusty. Regular readers of my blog are probably missing Fiona Apple– she wasn’t in the list I could select songs from. I did submit a song of hers to the tip list last year.

Best. Weekend. Ever. Not in chronological order, and only a selection:

400 km. From Alkmaar, via Amsterdam, Eindhoven, Maastricht, to La Roche. 4 cars. 19 people. Near crashes. Speeding. Annemarie– a supergirl who drives more aggressively than I do (the ‘Annemarie-move’: cross four lanes from left to right in one full swoop while doing 135 on an overcrowded highway; and I swear, Annemarie is a supergirl in optima forma, muchos respectas, and thanks for looking after us). Marco– appearing all cool in his dad’s 2.7-litre V6′d SUV, but wasn’t all too comfortable while racing. Mustafa and his harem who ended up in France (or something), after Nadia left their routeplanner somewhere in the bathroom of a highway restaurant. And of course I couldn’t have done it without the help of Marloes, my own Loes Loes Navigator.

Alcohol. More alcohol. Martini, baby. Lots of Martini, baby. Drunk like fcuk. Twister. Me: “But tell me, if you Asians can’t handle alcohol, then why do you make Saké so fcuking strong?” Me and Lot (’Glot and Glhom’) getting kicked off of a graveyard at two in the morning (Lot, you’re a supergirl, you rock, I like you). Mustafa stealing my beer. Marco getting really bad news, but then 15 minutes later really good news. Mustafa having a seriously bad trip after mixing too many different kinds of alcohol (now we know why Muslims aren’t allowed to drink). Me and Lot carrying him outside for what seamed like an eternity– at one point, we really were in the middle of nowhere– then we had to go back, obviously. It was raining, I only wore a t-shirt (and jeans, obviously) and Lot had given most of her warm clothes to Mussy. It was cold. Back at the cabin. Everyone worried were we’d been. “We were puzzled, Thom, we knew Lot already had a boyfriend…” And thank you for the confidence in my and Lot’s conscience ;).

Me and Lot were really lucky not to have fallen off of that wall on the graveyard. It was… High.

Racing down the steep sloped road to La Roche. Me: “By principle, I am against pay-for-parking.” Lots of photos. Pancakes. More alcohol. Local bar. Dancing on stage with Lot. Me putting one leg a bit too far away. Me almost falling off of the stage. Puck going mental. Gleufie gettin’ some. Drinking games. Me: “I know a good drinking game: you fill your glass, drink it, fill it up again, drink it again, and so on.”

My memory is slightly blurred at some points. Couldn’t eat sunday. All I had was one side salad at McDonald’s. Passed on the wheel to Loes. Annemarie having a slight crash with another car the petrol station (it doesn’t matter honey, you’ve done so great all this weekend). Drove back to Amsterdam. Thanked Annemarie for her care and the weekend itself. Said goodbye, see you Tuesday to everyone.

Done the 60km home in a flash.

The Natalee Holloway case is still acting as a huge rating upper on Pravda. The US just keeps getting weirder and weirder… TV “psychologist” (he isn’t respected by any of the real psychologists in this world) Dr Phil has his own theory on the case: Natalee isn’t dead– no, he has reason to believe she’s a sex-slave in Brazil! But anyway, this abomination to all that is the wonderful area of psychology isn’t the most interesting.

The governor of Alabama (a place I want to visit by the way, it’s the ‘virtual’ home state of the coolest American ever) has asked for a boycott on Aruba. A lot of white suburbian Americans plant their fat asses up on this Dutch colony’s beach, but if it were up to the governor of probably the biggest redneck state of all now wants his fellow rednecks not to visit Aruba anymore.

And guess who chimed in too! If it isn’t for my big friend John Gibson, one of the Pravda editors I blogged about a few times (I|II|III) already! He now also wants to boycott the Netherlands as a whole– so, in other words, he doesn’t want American tourists to visit my country…

Where’s the big problem? I actually find that a *great* idea! No more fat Americans in my country! Bring it on, Gibson, promote this boycott! Please, I’m begging you! Oh, and his email address is still the same, so mail him and tell him you support his boycott on my country! I sure in hell wouldn’t want to run into that face in my country…

Let’s see if Aruba can do without American tourists.

I don’t care. Aruba is for about 99% independent, so it’s none of my country’s business.