I came across this at Apache. Too bad the blog was suspended.
Warning: Consult your doctor before using medication. 
I have always been against nuclear energy and construction of reactors in Turkey, but my objection is based on cultural grounds rather than scientific reasons. We seem to be somewhat relaxed and can not be bothered with procedures, specifications, rules, policies, so and so forth. This attitude is a sort of survival skill in a troubled part of the world and help us overcome a lot of problems. However, combine this with nuclear energy, frankly speaking, the first thing I would do is run away, fast, very fast. I simply can not imagine Turks running and operating a nuclear site.
On the other hand, I have always assumed Finnish (had a few first-hand acquaintances) to be cool-minded but warm-blooded people. Compared to French who can be temperamental but still logical (maybe because of Descartes and Lagrange), I thought the Finnish-French combination would produce good results. If there were any people who could build a nuclear reactor, if that was the only choice, this would be the ideal partnership.
I can not tell how disappointed I am after reading the safety procedures are in disarray at Finland’s Olkiluoto 3 nuclear construction site at Greenpeace blog. The contractor, French company Areva, is not only 2-3 years behind schedule, 70% over the budget and experiencing 1,500 construction defects along with a damaging fire, but also failing to implement vital safety procedures in the construction of its prototype European Pressurized Water Reactor (EPR) in Olkiluoto, Finland. What is worse, the Finnish nuclear safety authority STUK, and the country’s electricity generator TVO have all been aware of these problems and yet the necessary vital safeguards have not been implemented.
If this does not prove what a dangerous proposition nuclear energy is, what does?
However, that is interesting and now, thinking I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard this song, I will have to go and have a listen (so I’ll be able to spot a Communist
There is an easier way of course: anyone with an appetite for steak is a good candidate.
I have found a reasonably good version of The Internationale in Youtube (in Hungarian with English sub-titles) and posting it for all fans of McCarthy. 
I also would like to thank to the anonymous person running the proxy server in Colombia (as you know Youtube is blocked by our beautiful government).
I made a typo in the previous post (actually it was the spell checker, not me, but I did push the “change all” button), Internationale ends with “e”.
I lived in Romania as an expat for nearly three years. Although I can eat virtually anything (especially if I’m hungry), we used to go to a Turkish restaurant where we can find fish, I mean the ones we like, otherwise local fish (from lakes and rivers, occasionally from Black Sea) were plenty. After a visit or two, the Romanian staff quickly learned our favorites and all we had to was to choose the fish of the day.
One day, or rather night, we learned that the truck bringing the fish had a problem at the Customs. Not very much surprised as ordering anything and everything from the truckers in order avoid the unnecessary customs formalities (futile barriers against free trade, how pathetic) was a long standing Turkish tradition, we simply cursed our luck for that day’s truck was not coming from Greece, the other fish supplying country. The Greek, being law abiding visitors would have brought the fish (You did not believe that, did you? Good!).
Well, this unfortunate incident unfortunately disrupted our usual routine with the staff. While my friend ordered chicken, I took a pause to decide and I heard the waitress say:
They were the real travelers, the free spirits nature had kindly offered us. They crossed deserts, flew over mountains which few humans dared climb, passed through valleys, over forests sunlight could not penetrate.
They were expert sailors, could find their way without the aid of a compass or electronic equipment.
They knew how to ride the wind. The strong and the experienced positioned themselves at the tough spots so that the weak and the young could have an easy ride.
They fought with adverse winds, they challenged the unforgiving heat of the sun. Flying at an altitude only eagles could, they slowly approached their final destination, all the way from African deserts to Lake Aksehir, Turkey. They began their descent, the part they liked most: the show off. Like a woman aware of her beauty, they, too knew we would watch them with eyes of appreciation; queens of the migratory birds, the flamingos. The young were happy, they made it. And for that reason, it took a while to understand something was wrong, terribly wrong. The adults were silent, only the wind. Panicked, they looked at the adults flying next to them. But they did not find the usual “you’re doing fine” look. Adults were too busy staring down, staring at a place the young ones’ eyes could not see, yet.
