to links pages 
phone texts to 00 36 30 610 1271 & 00 44 794 792 6614
Saturday. This crypto-coin turns out to be a lottery - unless you're a moderately sleek girl with a social-justice vanity job. Mind you, Steemit test might be good fodder for piece in a medium which pays more social-justly. Meanwhile, BitCoin in the Caribbean is filling real banking needs.
Friday. 1) Bonobo monkey in captivity now makes fires with matches and cooks own food; 2) Seemingly another case of censorship in Britain; 3) Sharper-than-usual radio show #388 from Madame Waks in Sankt Peterburg; 4) Surprisingly simple statistical solution to an old deep puzzle about the beasts of the land and the fowls of the air.
Thursday. Meet John M. for a leisurely late lunch. We discuss the haunting, compelling visions of the insane.
Wednesday. Apparently after Erdogan's crackdown in Turkey (leading to speculation that he let last Friday's putsch happen, or even encouraged it) thousands of insufficiently Islamist teachers, lawyers, soldiers are being arrested or suspended from jobs and then prevented from leaving the country. Austrian political journalist Gregor was already telling me at Saturday's early-evening party on the boat that the most significant fact, just hours after the Turkish coup failed, was that Erdogan had dismissed over 2,700 magistrates. As others have spelled out, his speed of response shows he had lists of people he disliked ready for use. Turks are, reports say, now spray-painting in public places the DNS numbers needed to get round Erdogan's censorship of Twitter.
Tuesday. Finish writing up "synopsis". Perhaps just over two weeks since the silly modernist knob came off the cold-water tap in the bath. This means each time I run a cold bath or shower I use a pair of pliers to twist the spindle on and off. Off course the pseudo-"functional" rounded triangular shape of the knob is hard to grip when wet, and considerably less functional than the old Victorian rounded-cross knobs you could easily get your fingers round. This happened one time before a few years ago. Trying to remember what I did that time. Something pretty simple like superglue the knob back onto the spindle. There don't seem to be anything as sensible as screws to hold it in place. Here's a claim about growth in new jobs under different prime ministers which could do with some qualifying footnotes. Might be nice to see on that graph where each new PM was in the business cycle when coming into office.
Monday. Whole day chatting with Martin.
Sunday. Some counterintuitive psychology results.
Saturday. Pours with rain all day. Meet Martin who is briefly back in Budapest from South America (1st time in his flat in 5 years?) to accompany him round town. We visit a series of underpass tunnels and metro stations where homeless people camp out, to hand out the hundred or so food parcels he generously decided to make and distribute. After that we repair for a coffee in a bar then walk to the jetty in more rain where Marion's boat party will be, discussing Titmuss and polyamory on the way. On the boat there is Marion's wonderful party. I meet lots of delightful people while we chug up and down the Danube several times as the evening turns into night.
Friday. Attempted late-night coup against Erdogan, Turkey's president. Who or why remains unclear. Putsch fails.
Thursday. More sad tales of Deutsche Bank's woes.
Wednesday. Interesting 2013 article arguing that bombing Nagasaki in 1945 wasn't what got Japan to surrender days later.
Tuesday. Seems that Theresa May is now British prime minister. She appoints some unusual ministers, including Boris Johnson as Foreign Secretary and David Davis to oversee leaving the EU.
Monday. Daniel Hannan sums up how words have been twisted.
Sunday. In Dr Moreau news, here's a cyborg stingray.
Saturday. Last week's radio show from Petrograd: #385.
Friday. Today or yesterday finish Robin's rather wonderful, lushly illustrated copy of a 260-odd-page exhibition catalogue about 'The Tale of Genji': 'In Search of Prince Genji'. Courtesan Lady Murasaki's thousand-year-old Japanese novel about the handsome courtier and seducer of women Genji was treated in the Budapest 2015 museum show as the focus of centuries of illustrations, games, trinkets, and decorative objects. Added on is how the novel served as a slightly more obscure inspiration to two living Hungarians, a novelist and a photographer. The novelist Laszlo Krasznahorkai wrote a book playing with ideas from 'The Tale of Genji' which was a great success when translated into Japanese. The English text of the catalogue is clear and informative, with only a few small errors (like "rights of passage"). Some of the material is extraordinary, including a popular game played over a couple of centuries with scented pieces of wood, where players used the mixtures of scent to recall and compare episodes in the famous novel. What the catalogue, the book it describes, and the milieu of art & court culture enabling the book most drive home is what certain lifestyles and eras in history achieve. A few, like scattered islands of free discussion liberated rather than restricted by elaborate manners, allow the cultivation of discernment and delicacy of sensitivity. These (usually court-based) cultures often it seems turn to contemplating the transitory bitter-sweet qualities of life in refined detail. One section explains how a certain Oriental view, that culture has a duty to approach the qualities of nature, is part of this. It clearly takes a special conjunction of factors like leisure, peace, wealth, social stability to allow a critical culture this sophisticated to emerge and persist for any period of time. The notion of 'refinement' seems especially unfashionable these days.
Thursday. A self-driving car has killed someone? Surprise, surprise.
Wednesday. Three interesting Aeon articles:
Frans de Waal says that philosophers overrate the link between thinking and language - very much what I thought was wrong with linguistic philosophy while studying it / a poignant effort to smear free-trade economics by pointing out that early-18th-century
French economists used the slave trade as an example of a trade which grew with deregulation / a discussion of
Christian views on pagans as a lesson in tolerant concern for people outside one's favoured ideology.
Tuesday. 2 thoughtful articles about the British EU exit vote:
Monday. Some wonderful pre-Great-War illustrations (scroll down) to one of those confusing fairy tales which seem to mean something, but really hard at this distance to say what. The Nielsen images somehow part-Beardsley, part-Rackham.
Sunday. An article about the authoritarian Theresa May which got pulled from the Telegraph after pressure from her campaign to lead the Conservatives. An American psychiatrist who also sees some cases of demonic possession: an unfairly neglected diagnosis in our secular times.
Saturday. I passed that doorway 4 more times, listening carefully each time. 3 times it was tweeting, once not. So perhaps it's an intercom fault after all? Jeans ripped at the knee are very fashionable again. Is the spiral of trend repetition getting quicker and tauter? Microbes which eat electricity - haven't seen updates on that slime they found inside the Chernobyl reactor that seems to feed on gamma rays.
Friday. Clear-minded presentation about Fermat's general-purpose peer-to-peer network by its founder (who also did this). Beer! Pizza!
Recent weblog entries
Who can translate the next 300 words into
us and there will be revelry.
Languages dying out each week
- who cares?
We do - otherlanguages.org is gradually building a reference resource for over five thousand linguistic minorities and stateless languages worldwide.
Thousands of unique language communities are becoming extinct. Out of the world's five to six thousand languages, we hardly know what we're losing, what literatures, philosophies, ways of thinking, are disappearing right now.
We may soon regret the extinction of thousands of entire linguistic cultures even more than we regret the needless extinction of many animals and plants.
The planet is increasingly dominated by a handful of major-language monocultures like Mandarin
Chinese, Hindi, Arabic, Indonesian, Urdu, Spanish, Portuguese,
English, Swahili, Russian, Cantonese Chinese, Japanese, Bengali - all
beautiful and fascinating languages.
But so are the 5,000 others.
These are groups of people?
Linguistic minorities are communities of ordinary people whose native tongue is not their country's main official language. Swedish speakers in Finland, French speakers in Canada, Hungarian speakers in Slovakia - and hundreds more - are linguistic minorities.
And totally stateless languages are the native languages of some of the world's most intriguing, little-known, cultures. Like the Lapps inside the Arctic Circle, the Sards in Sardinia, Ainus in Japan. Cherokee in the US, Scots
Gaelic in Britain, Friesian in the Netherlands, Zulu in South Africa.
There are only a couple of hundred recognised sovereign states and territories, so 5,000 languages - more depending on how you count - are the native tongues of linguistically stateless people.
How could I help?
You don't need to learn an endangered
language - any more than go to live in the rainforest to help slow its destruction.
A good start is to just tell friends
about websites like this.
Broader public interest makes it easier
for linguists to raise funds and organise people to learn these languages while there's time.
That's right. There are people who love languages and are happy to learn them on behalf of the rest of us, but they need support, just like zoologists, botanists, or historians.
Fewer languages still sounds good to me
Depends what you think languages are for. They're not just a tool for business. We never said you should learn three or four thousand rare languages - or even one. And which ones we make children learn in school, or whether we should force children to learn languages at all, is another question.
Typical scene in a European city;
Chances are, folk here speak some sort of foreign
A century ago - before we understood
ecology, and when we cared less about wilderness, most educated
people would have laughed at the idea of worrying about plants or
animals going extinct. Now we understand how important species diversity
is for our own futures, we are more humble, and more worried.
In the same way, linguistic triumphalism by English-speakers who hated studying foreign grammar at school is dangerously ignorant as well as arrogant. Few of us know what we are losing, week by week.
How many people realise these languages have scientific value?
You can think of these languages across the planet as beautiful cathedrals or
precious archeological sites we are watching being destroyed. That
should be motive enough.
But these five thousand languages may
also hold clues to the structure of the human mind. Subtle
differences and similarities
between languages are helping
archeologists and anthropologists to
understand what happened in the hundreds
of centuries of human
history before written history. And
that is one of our best chances of understanding how human brains developed over the thousands of centuries leading up to that.
Wireless radio can be a great comfort to those unable
to leave the
textbooks in which they live *6
Study of the mind and study of language go hand in hand these days. The world's most marginal languages are actually precious jigsaw pieces from an overall picture of who we are and how our species thinks and evolves. Every tiny language adds another brightly-coloured clue to this academic detective story.
Yet researchers have hardly started sifting through this
tantalising evidence, and language extinction is washing it away right in
front of us.
And worst of all, most people have no idea that there is this
fantastic profusion of cultures across our world, let alone that
they are in danger of extinction. Even just more people learning that
there are still five thousand living languages in the world today (most
of us would answer five hundred or fifty) is already a huge help.
We English-speakers hardly notice English - it's like air for us.
But every other language is also an atmosphere for an entire cultural world,
and each of these worlds has people whose home it is. Each language encapsulates a unique way of talking and thinking about life. Just try some time in a foreign prison, being forced to cope in another language, and you'll realise how much your own language is your identity. That's true for everyone.
Minority languages are a
One of the most basic.
Dozens of millions of people worldwide suffer persecution from national governments for speaking their mother tongue - in their own motherland.
Many 'ethnic' feuds puzzling to
outsiders had as their basis an attempt to destroy a linguistic community.
Would the Northern Ireland dispute be quite so bitter if we
English had not so nearly stamped out the Irish Gaelic language, for
example? Almost nowhere in the world does a language community as
small as the few thousand Rheto-Romanic speakers - the fourth
official language of Switzerland - get the protection of a national
government. Next time you see some Swiss Francs, check both sides of the
But outside exceptional countries like
Switzerland or the Netherlands, speakers of non-official
languages have a much less protected experience.
Speakers of minority languages are often seen as a threat by both the governments and the other residents of the countries where they were born, grew up, and try to live ordinary lives.
They experience discrimination in the job and education markets of their homelands, often having no choice but to pursue education in the major language of the host state: a deliberate government policy usually aimed at gradually absorbing them into the majority culture of that country.
Mighty oaks from tiny acorns grow, of course *7
Most governments are privately gleeful each time another small
separate culture within their borders is snuffed out by a dwindling
population or a deliberately centralising education system.
The United Nations is no help. It is an association of a couple of hundred sovereign states based on exclusive control of territory, almost all of them anxious to smother any distinct group or tradition that in any way might blur or smudge the hard-won borders around those pieces of territory.
The usual approach by sovereign states is to deny their linguistic minorities even exist.
Mark Griffith, site administrator /
*1 image from , with thanks
back up to top of page
*2 "Al-Araby" in written
*3 "What?" in American Sign
Language; image from , with thanks
*4 "Big" in written
(read more); image from , with
*5 image from , with
*6 image from , with
*7 image from
'B?ume', with thanks to
Bruno P. Kramer,
and Franckh-Kosmos Verlag
Thursday. Austrian constitutional court overturns tight & intriguingly rigged-looking election.
Wednesday. Even choice of academic subject is genetically influenced?
Tuesday. 10-year-old girl wants to build a robot to make the sad streets of Paris happy again.
Monday. Slightly cruel article from Julie Burchill about heartbroken #Remaindered voters.
Sunday. At the far side of the shopping centre facing the cinema is a doorway which is tweeting quietly whenever I pass it. At first it sounds like a caged bird until you realise it's too regular and mechanical. It doesn't sound like an intercom noise and my only theory is that it's an old burglar alarm that has been going so long it has worn out the noisy bit. I can't swear it's there every time as I don't always pay attention, but whenever I do, it's making this feeble bird-machine tweeting noise. For several years, I think. The tiny cuts inside my hands I got without noticing while washing my five loose sheets of glass in the wrong way about six days ago seem to have healed. About a week now, the empty space inside the supermarket has become a grey-walled block up to the ceiling, shelving along the outside of all four sides, like it's some kind of inner keep. Can't stop wondering if someone is being help captive inside the chamber within the supermarket within the mall.
Saturday. Financial markets reacted sharply yesterday to having read the wrong polls. You'd think that after last year's election and Scots independence referendum they'd have learned their lesson: lots of people lie to opinion researchers nowadays. Asking round among friends, I seem (just as in last year's two votes) to be the only person who was sure the winning side would win. Should I take up political betting? One of our contributors writes an amusing piece about how other European bourses dropped further than poor little London. +Recent radio show from St. Petersburg DJ:
Friday. Reactions of rage & despair from metropolitan pro-EU folk who just had their secular religion taken away from them, some quite extreme. One friend approvingly quotes a friend of his online: "Should never have been a vote for the people of this country to decide. Living down here in London you sometimes forget that the vast majority of the U.K. is made up of very thick, uneducated, stupid, racist arseholes." A (paid) writer in The Guardian explains how artists will be needed to cope with the terrible loss of EU membership: "We need the plays and the poems, the songs and the stories to make us stare into the dark heart of what has happened, and what is to come. There is much work to do." Comedy gold. Meanwhile, our man in Bucharest reminds me of this eerie and now once-again-topical poem by Chesterton. 'The Secret People', which opens:
- Smile at us, pay us, pass us; but do not quite forget;
For we are the people of England, that never have spoken yet. ---
While Rahul quotes 10 lines of this remarkable passage from Milton's passionate pamphlet against censorship, of which 2 are:
- Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant Nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks:
Methinks I see her as an Eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full midday beam. ---
Rahul seems to take my word for it that a character in 1970s British action-cop serial 'The Professionals' recited several lines of this Milton exhortation, even though the wah-pedal funk theme clearly marks it for export to the US.
Thursday. Heavy turnout in Britain for the referendum on leaving the European Union. Out to dinner with Robin to his neighbour Daniel the Film-maker's flat where there is much rollicking & roistering among the chums. During the small hours becomes clear that leavers have won the vote on Britain's membership of the junk-legislation tariff cartel. Against all "expert" advice, England's despised working classes save us again.
Wednesday. A new piece of research confirming that female-dominated juries convict less often in rape cases. Who was that female lawyer trying to tell me she'd never heard US attorneys defending men charged with rape always try to get more women on the jury? Meanwhile male jurors convict men more: patriarchy!
Tuesday. Good old Christo still chugging along. Now he's doing saffron walkways on an Italian lake (set off by tasteful old architecture of course) so people can "walk on water".
Monday. New naughty hardware hack. To go with the capacitor-on-a-chip backdoor invisible to normal inspection, now less-than-transparent standards in the Intel 'management engine' that controls their chip. Seems it can get round anything really. Time to revive handwritten ledgers.
Early evening, go with Alex to a roughly one-hour presentation on Ethereum at a quite warm, sticky Budapest BitCoin gathering. Rather stretches my very rusty Hungarian, but not too impossible. At one moment, discussing the DAO heist exploit, someone asks for a show of hands on 'hard fork', 'soft fork', 'no fork'. Practically the whole room votes for 'no fork', revealing majority support for the hard-core automated-morality viewpoint mocked in the Bloomberg piece. Afterwards, drink with folk on the slightly cooler pavement outside, including French palace-of-memory researcher & crypto-coin fiend Timothee, event organiser & software security specialist Barnabas, + director from a rival do-everything crypto-currency Daniel. Hear how Gabor & Dalma see Philip Sidney. I go on a bit about why I think Hobbes & Rousseau took the wrong turn in political thought. Both feign interest charmingly.
Sunday. Make crucial switch from buying spaghetti to a kind of flat straight ribbon-shaped pasta. The eating experience is totally different. Top left on this diagram, I think. Might mark a major change in my daily life, citizens.
Saturday. Back in the world of crypto coins, news breaks that lots of money (80 million USD+ by yesterday) is being stolen in real time from a fund rather mystically called The DAO (Distributed Autonomous Organisation) that is coded to run on the blockchain in the Ethereum currency/language. Such poetry. This arouses fierce debate among the techno-purists about whether anything wrong has been done, since (some say) all the miscreant did was use a legitimate loophole in badly-written code. Short QZ summary / Cool collected response from the Russian programmer who built Ethereum / Slightly sharp, amused piece on Bloomberg getting down to the ethical core of it / Latest update on how it's escalating.
Friday. Almost like magic, my complaint/prayer of two days ago has been answered. Suddenly the sickly recorded voices of ickle childerun announcing stops on the 4 & 6 tram have been banished. Eerie powers of this weblog, doubtless.
Thursday. Cheerful-looking woman MP gets murdered in Yorkshire and pro-EU groups start to claim that people who vote for Britain to leave the European Union are thuggish yobs disrespecting her martyred memory. Looks like the killing might have happened just in time from their point of view.
Wednesday. For 2, perhaps 3, weeks now the pre-recorded tramstop announcements on the 4 & 6 trams have been voices of small children, one Hungarian, and a range of foreign 6, 7, 8-year-olds (I suppose) for the ones also given in English. I saw one huge squeeee reaction ("Jaj!! De cuki!!") from a teenage girl passenger clearly bursting to have babies, but the effect was pretty cloying already after 2 days of novelty. The Hungarian child overstrains to get the Magyar long-O sound so ends up saying the junction 'Oktogon' as 'Awktawgawn' which probably sounds adorable to adorers of tots. I assumed it was in honour of some non-holiday like European Week of The Spoilt Brat, but am now having the sinking feeling this might be inflicted on us all summer. The cellar supermarket in the nearby shopping mall has had several aisles of shelving taken out in recent days, making a luxuriant empty space in the middle and reminding us it's just a big shed.
Tuesday. Some links for The Nigel of Light and Ze Zexy Catheline. Accounts of a couple of studies claiming backwards-causation / retrocausality / precognition (insert preferred term here) seen in psychology & physics experiments on the scale of a few seconds or microseconds:
psy & phy
+ 3 failed replications of part of the Bem study by sceptical researchers
Plus also for Nigel, sports humour:
England as seen by the Dutch.
Monday. If EU mandarins are trying to hold the lid on disastrous news until after the British referendum vote on the 23rd on whether to leave The Tariff Cartel, there should be clues. One might be the way shares in the very unwell Deutsche Bank seem to have consistent massive support around 15 dollars, despite clearly wanting to slump much lower. (Click on the one-year '1Y' button to see that graph.) I wonder how much that 15-dollar 6-month floor has been costing the ECB?
Sunday. The North of England looks likely to vote heavily for Britain to leave the EU. Article claims that the EEC/EU was originally a secretive project Britain was groomed for without being told. A strange song asking us to stay in the EU from the daughter of a former MI6 chief.
Saturday. Oh dear oh dear, research into the sexes just gets more shocking every week. A study suggests that men given extra testosterone become more honest. Surely not! Meanwhile, some wonderfully simple research shows entrepreneurs don't have special personalities, they're born into wealthy families. A fabulously dim AI article plots three axes on a truncated pyramid, or frustum, so that "the singularity" (the coming night when computers will angrily thrust pillows down onto our faces as we slumber helpless in our beds) can occur where two axes have used half their lengths? More proof marketing smothers human intelligence.
Friday. Mongolia is changing all its postal addresses to seemingly random bunches of three words - some of them not so flattering. Amazingly, a firm in Britain has found a way to sell this idea.
Thursday. The Nigel of Light and I go up to the Castle District and in very hot sun gaze out from under a cafe umbrella at the top of the hill, looking across the vista of the whole city on both sides of the curving Danube. We hurt the feelings of the violinist while trying to be tactful when he asks us what piece he should play and I say (emphasising how well he was playing) if it's all right a few moments of quiet? Say farewell to Nigel as he leaves for the airport. The building across the road is once again a uniform golden-shortbread / vanilla colour, and I was wrong about the Hungarian builders. Mea culpa. Have never quite understood the narrow horizontal zinc strip that goes across old building fronts here, usually just at window-sill level, but as ugliness goes it's nothing compared to the prospect of the white & yellow combo that appeared to be happening last week.
Wednesday. Yesterday evening and today for lunch the Nigel of Light kindly takes me out to restaurants. Last night I burbled on over dinner about clan violence, aristocracy, Rousseau, and how historically parochial liberalism is. Today we more enjoy the sunshine and the lovely food. Two very pretty leggy secretaries seemingly have reason to walk past the outdoor tables of this famously swish new restaurant three times in two hours, doubtless the shortest route to somewhere, and back again, and then again. As the long afternoon becomes evening, the sky again fills with chunks of pink and yellow ice cream drifting across indigo sky, long shadows slicing across the crinkly 19th-century street frontages. The scent of (I think) linden-tree or lime-tree blossom has been wafting intense waves of nostalgia and romance across some back streets after dark for about two weeks. A perfume that works like some annual scent clock of the seasons, announcing the time to fall in love and marry. Perhaps why the girls are suddenly out in force again, looking their best, as if they spend every winter lying low in some vast underground hive. Someone else in The Salisbury Review, not me, explains very well the Swiss view on losing sovereignty to the EU. Confoederatio Helvetica voters also resoundingly reject free money ('Basic Income'), their minds it appears still thinking clearly in that brisk clean mountain air.
Tuesday. Keith & Dora kindly take me for lunch and tell me some Norwegian jokes about Swedes. On the tram back from my lesson at the Supreme Court later, three quite bouncy girls on the tram ask if I'm a lawyer. The tie might be to blame, but the fact my briefcase has an ID-tag ribbon as a makeshift handle probably should have tipped them off to the lack of a lawyer's salary. Weather is now warm & sunny. Rather lovely journal looks at 19th-century interest in the 4th dimension.
Monday. Oddly, I see the workmen painting cream (halfway between white and golden shortbread) over the white ground-floor render. I ask if the whole building will be yellow again and they say yes. Perhaps I was unfair. Later in afternoon, pop out to airport to pick up Nigel of Light who has flown in from London. He is as ever wonderfully tactful about my intensely scruffy flat. We chat & catch up almost continuously, going out later to a retro-70s restaurant to carry on over supper.
Sunday. Someone has finally noticed that software and internet start-up founders talk gibberish. If only the broader tendency of almost all software description to be unhelpful bollocks had been criticised 3 to 4 decades earlier, things might be rather easier now.
Saturday. Unintentionally entertaining article about a Swiss tunnel alleges Illuminati-style public symbolism instead of blaming an out-of-control artistic director taking himself too seriously.
Friday. Just when the newly-rendered pre-1900 building was looking nice, I see them today painting white over the yellow (but leaving sill stones under windows yellow) on the ground floor. Of course it's now vile, and will be worse once the ground floor render quickly gets dirty. Should have guessed Hungarian restorers wouldn't stop at the one stage the building accidentally looked tasteful. 1 white-painted storey, 2 yellow. Yuck.
Thursday. Sun still cooling, says 2015 model.
Wednesday. The building opposite had its cladding and scaffolding off after a couple of hours of clankety-plink noises perhaps yesterday, and today I notice the whole front has been painted a rather mellow biscuity shortbread yellow.
diary entries by month
June 2016 /
May 2016 /
April 2016 /
March 2016 /
February 2016 /
January 2016 /
December 2015 /
November 2015 /
October 2015 /
September 2015 /
August 2015 /
July 2015 /
June 2015 /
May 2015 /
April 2015 /
March 2015 /
February 2015 /
January 2015 /
December 2014 /
November 2014 /
October 2014 /
September 2014 /
August 2014 /
July 2014 /
June 2014 /
May 2014 /
April 2014 /
March 2014 /
February 2014 /
January 2014 /
December 2013 /
November 2013 /
October 2013 /
September 2013 /
August 2013 /
July 2013 /
June 2013 /
May 2013 /
April 2013 /
March 2013 /
February 2013 /
January 2013 /
December 2012 /
November 2012 /
October 2012 /
September 2012 /
August 2012 /
July 2012 /
June 2012 /
May 2012 /
April 2012 /
March 2012 /
February 2012 /
January 2012 /
December 2011 /
November 2011 /
October 2011 /
September 2011 /
August 2011 /
July 2011 /
June 2011 /
May 2011 /
April 2011 /
March 2011 /
February 2011 /
January 2011 /
December 2010 /
November 2010 /
October 2010 /
September 2010 /
August 2010 /
July 2010 /
June 2010 /
May 2010 /
April 2010 /
March 2010 /
February 2010 /
January 2010 /
December 2009 /
November 2009 /
October 2009 /
September 2009 /
August 2009 /
July 2009 /
June 2009 /
May 2009 /
April 2009 /
March 2009 /
February 2009 /
January 2009 /
December 2008 /
November 2008 /
October 2008 /
September 2008 /
August 2008 /
July 2008 /
June 2008 /
May 2008 /
April 2008 /
March 2008 /
February 2008 /
January 2008 /
December 2007 /
November 2007 /
October 2007 /
September 2007 /
August 2007 /
July 2007 /
June 2007 /
May 2007 /
April 2007 /
March 2007 /
February 2007 /
January 2007 /
December 2006 /
November 2006 /
October 2006 /
September 2006 /
August 2006 /
July 2006 /
June 2006 /
May 2006 /
April 2006 /
March 2006 /
February 2006 /
January 2006 /
December 2005 /
November 2005 /
October 2005 /
September 2005 /
August 2005 /
July 2005 /
June 2005 /
May 2005 /
April 2005 /
March 2005 /
February 2005 /
January 2005 /
December 2004 /
November 2004 /
October 2004 /
September 2004 /
August 2004 /
July 2004 /
June 2004 /
May 2004 /
April 2004 /
March 2004 /
February 2004 /
January 2004 /
December 2003 /
November 2003 /
October 2003 /
September 2003 /
August 2003 /
July 2003 /
June 2003 /
May 2003 /
April 2003 /
March 2003 /
February 2003 /
January 2003 /
December 2002 /
November 2002 /
October 2002 /
September 2002 /
August 2002 /
July 2002 /