scotspotting

Wann ist ein Mann ein Mann?

2011-09-01T13:09:00.007Z

Manchmal ist es ganz schön schwer, ein richtiger Mann zu sein. Glaubt mir, ich habe es hinreichend probiert; ich besitze zwei Fußballschals (in Kombination mit einem fußballunbegeisterungsfähigen Ehemann fristen sie jedoch ein trübes Dasein), eine Postkarte, die verlautbaren lässt "hate people-love cars" und einen furchtbar maskulinen Hormonhaushalt. (Also nicht grade jetzt im Moment, aber immer wenn ich in meinem Körper alleine bin). Und trotzdem, gerade eben erwähnter Untermieter ist der beste Beweis: das mit dem keuleschwingenden Männerdasein muss ich wohl auf eines der nächsten Leben verschieben. Und dennoch: neueste Berichte aus dem Kreise meiner Lieben geben Zeugnis ab, dass es auch für jene schwierig ist, Mann zu sein, welche von der Natur mit dem nötigen Equipment ausgestattet worden sind.

Es war also einmal ein Mann, naja, nennen wir ihn mal "Typ", der wohnte mit seiner Freundin, nennen wir sie der Einfachheit halber einmal "Freundin" in einem kleinen Mietshäuschen in idyllischer Umgebung. Da besagtes Mietshäuschen über einen nicht weiter in Benutzung befindlichen Kellerraum verfügte, schmiedete Typ den Plan, sich ein richtiges Männerzimmer einzurichten. (Hantelbank und Pornos, mag der eine oder andere denken, Typ gelüstete es jedoch mehr nach einer schmucken Spielekonsole, nennen wir sie einmal "Playsi", und bequemen Mobiliar, wo er sich nach einem *hüstel* anstrengenden Arbeitstag (er war in letzter Zeit zwei Mal von seinem Chef schlafend am Arbeitsplatz vorgefunden worden) in aller Gemütlichkeit einfinden und ausruhen konnte. Chuck Norris wäre so stolz auf ihn.)

Um eben erwähntes Mobiliar nebst männlichem Teppich zu erstehen, zog es Typ in den Möbelmarkt. Er steckte sich also 100 Euro in die Tasche (das würde schon reichen), setzte sich in sein Auto und fuhr los. Was er jedoch dabei nicht bemerkt hatte, war, dass sich Freundin hinterrücks mit ins Auto geschlichen hatte.

Man errichte den Möbelmarkt nach kurzer Zeit und schon bald hatte Typ den perfekten Teppich erspäht, in maskulinem dunkelblau gehalten und schön kuschelig!
Aber nein, das Schicksal und Freundin hatten andere Pläne, denn gerade war ein Teppich in ästhetischem ... beige im Angebot. Typ ließ sich breitschlagen und zog sodann zu den Sesseln weiter und entschied sich auch schnell für zwei Exemplare, welche ihm wie geschaffen für sein Männerzimmer schienen.
Aber nein, das Schicksal und Freundin hatten andere Pläne... Um es kurz zu machen verließ Typ also kurz darauf den Möbelmarkt mit Möbeln, die dem Geschmack von Freundin entsprachen, die aber selbstverständlich er bezahlen durfte. Wie ein richtiger Mann.

Zu Hause angekommen fand Freundin nun auch Gefallen an Playsi und machte es sich in ihrem neu gestalteten Männerzimmer bequem.

Zur etwa gleichen Zeit hatte Freundin Typ vorgeschlagen, eine Katze anzuschaffen. Typ reagierte abwehrend aber verständnisvoll: "Nur über meine Leiche!" "Lass es dir nicht einfallen, eine Katze hier anzubringen!" "Ich will so ein Vieh nicht im Haus haben!" und dergleichen mehr.
Tags darauf kam Typ nach Hause und fand dort neben Freundin auch ein graues Katzenbaby vor. Wie schön! (Das Tier hört übrigens, und dass ist keine künstlerische Freiheit, auf den Namen "Katze".)

Dass Katzen eigensinnige Leute sind, ist ja hinreichend bekannt. Katze scherte sich also nicht im Geringsten darum, wer hier wen im Hause haben wollte, entwickelte eine saftige Abneigung gegen Freundin und verfiel, sobald Typ das Zimmer betrat, in hingebungsvolle Zuneigungsbekundungen, wie nur Katzenbabys sie zu ersinnen in der Lage sind.

Typ wusste diese Sympathie zu nutzen. Es begab sich also eines Abends, dass Typ und Freundin am Abendbrottisch saßen, wobei Freundin ihre Hand mit einem Zettel darinne leger von der Stuhllehne herunter hängen ließ. Von seiner Position ihr gegenüber konnte Typ sehen, wie Katze die Hand und den darin befindlichen Zettel auf Katzenart fokussierte und sich zum Sprung bereit machte. In dem Moment, da sie losspurtete, schrie Typ laut
"FASS!!!"
und nur Millisekunden später bohrten sich sämtliche im Zimmer befindlichen Vorderkrallen in Freundins Hand, was Typ mit einem "brave Katze" quittierte.

Nun ja. Fakt ist: trotz aller hormoneller Gegebenheiten und vorhandener oder nicht vorhandener Geschlechtsmerkmale ist es Freundin, die im Männerzimmer sitzt und Playsi spielt, während Typ im Wohnzimmer mit Katze spielt. Sicher arbeitet er jedoch hart daran, Katze neue Tricks beizubringen um Freundin zu "überraschen".

Es kommt halt nur drauf an, was man draus macht...

Conjuring up hot summer nights and west Highlands drives

2011-04-15T08:45:00.003Z

Kernseife und Idioten

2011-03-29T09:02:00.001Z

Es ist kein schönes Gefühl, aber es passiert immer wieder. Man guckt auf seinem Lebensweg in den Rückspiegel (Seitenspiegel - Schulterblick) und stellt fest, dass einige Menschen, die einem in der Vergangenheit viel bedeutet haben, sehr große Idioten sind. Man sieht ihre Gesichter noch im Rückspiegel immer kleiner werden und fragt sich dann unwillkürlich, wie man es jemals ausgehalten hat, auch nur eine Minute in deren Gesellschaft zu verbringen, und schlimmer noch, wie man diese Gesellschaft auch noch genießen konnte. Oft überkommt einen dann der ununterdrückbare Drang nach jetz aber ab unter die Dusche und abschrubben mit der Nagelbürste und richtig viel Kernseife. Also zumindest bildlich gesprochen, manchmal aber auch ganz konkret und physisch.
Wo UM HIMMELS WILLEN hat man diese Leute überhaupt aufgegabelt? Die traurige Wahrheit ist, dass die ja irgendwann mal gut gewesen sein müssen und dann gab es irgendeinen kosmischen Persönlichkeitsunfall und aus brauchbarem Menschenmaterial wurde ... naja, das was die jetz eben sind. Das ist die einzig mögliche Erklärung, warum man jemals Zeit mit denen verbracht hat. Oder ist jemand schon mal aufgewacht und hat sich gesagt "Oh weh, es gibt viel zu wenig launische Misanthropen in meinem Leben. Das muss sich ändern!" Ich glaube nicht. Selbst wenn, wäre das ein schwieriges Unterfangen, da sich dieser Menschenschlag vorzugsweise innerhalb der eigenen vier Wände aufhält und stundenlang mit hadern oder auch sich geil finden, je nachdem. Vielleicht auch beides gleichzeitig, diese Leute können das.

Da gibts nur eins: ich schwing mich in meinen mentalen Ford Mustang, drehe Eurythmics' Thorn in my Side auf volle Pulle und trete aufs Gas als wenns kein Morgen gibt! Macht's gut ihr Idioten, Menschenfeinde, ewig meckernde, selbstverliebte Egomanen, Dummschwätzer, Miesepeter, Lackaffen, Vollpfosten! Auf nimmer Wiedersehen! Ich tue mir das nicht mehr an und ich weigere mich darüber hinaus, mich auch nur über euch zu ärgern.

Aber: Groll beiseite.

Eine sehr weise Freundin hat letztlich erst zu mir gesagt, dass man mehr auf sich aufpassen muss und zum Schutze seiner selbst auch mal andern auf die Füße treten muss. Auch wenn sie dazu drastischere Worte gewählt hat. Und genau das werde auch ich in Zukunft tun: drastische Worte wählen. Und zwar nicht nur hinter der schützenden Windschutzscheibe, sondern den Empfängern direkt in ihr Gesicht rein; die alte Fettel, die mich gestern fast über den Haufen gefahren hat, und das absichtlich, nur weil ich die Frechheit besessen hatte, mit meinem Fahrrad auf der Straße unterwegs zu sein; oder der Motzverkäufer, der mich angepöbelt hat, weil ich keine kleine Spende für ihn hatte; Hausverwalterinnen, die direkt aus der Hölle zu kommen scheinen; LANDESPRÜFUNGSAMTANGESTELLTE!!!!!!!!!!

Ich nehme mir vor, in Zukunft öfter mal meine gute Kinderstube zu vergessen und es an jeglicher Höflichkeit mangeln zu lassen.

Ich wette, das ist Balsam für die Seele.

Found my favourite pastime

2010-06-17T14:29:00.003Z

Makes me look real sexy, too!

Der Osterhase kommt auch ans Meer

2010-04-05T20:28:00.003Z

Wer findet die meisten Eier??

Sören sucht sogar im Bauchtiefen Wasser.

...umsonst, hähähä!

TSCHAKKKKKKAAA!!!!

2010-03-12T15:18:00.002Z

Ladies and Gentlethings, dear readers,
it is done!
At the beginning I thought "How am I ever, like EVER! going to make this?!" and then, whooooosh, here I am, four weeks later, looking back on the last preordained internship in my universitarian life and marvelling on how quickly it went past.
I had put this internship off again and again for years on end because the thought of it just scared me shitless.

Imagine! Four weeks of

being the responsible person and
supposedly the most intelligent one in the room (aye, I know!)
having a ready answer for everything these ankle high freckle-faces can possibly come up with
AAAANNNND: doing all that in frickin' FRENCH!!!

Also I had been terrified of finding out, throught this time at a highschool, that (and I've come to dread these words) "It's not for me". So I had put it off for about ... fuckin' decades, hiding my sorry ass behind my ever present attitude of "it'll not harm you as long as you don't annoy it!" Which of course, couldn't be further from the truth. So I got up and did annoy it; I got my rear in gear and signed up for this internship, feeling sort of fatalistic about it. If I suck at it, I suck, so be it, at least I'll know.

So I spent the last four weeks at a High School in an area where people have driveways and various cars to put on them.
Some of the classes there skip eighth grade, before skipping eleventh grade due to the school reform and end up taking their superbrains to university at the age of, what?, seventeen? And the weird thing is, these are just normal kids (with names like Cordelia and Leandros, but there is also a bunch of plain old Julias, Annas and Christians) who don't do their homework all the time and screw up vocab tests. During my time there, one of the boys had to leave the school because he had tried to scratch a classmate's eyes out!

I spent the mornings at school where the sixth graders say things like "You don't say number and gender, it's better to say numerus and genus!", went on to work in the afternoon where I was forced to explain ninth graders what a verb is.

And I taught several lessons myself. I taught the seventh grade kids how to give and ask for directions in French and the eighth graders will probably never forget the French word for helmet in their lives.

And of course, I was being observed and my work evaluated. My sort of professor from Uni came yesterday sat in the back and watched while I gave a lesson about road safety (hence the helmet thing) . It was the last period of my last day at the school and the moment of highest anxiety.
GOD I was nervous.
What if they ask me something I can't answer?
What if they say something I don't understand?
What if I have trouble finding the right words?

All these things ... (dramatic pause) ... happend!

But you know what? It mattered not one wit!
The wisdom I take from my own lessons and all the lessons I watched during my internship is: even the most senior teachers make mistakes and don't know each and every word and expression - how could they? Why should they? That's what dictionaries are for!
My French may have suffered, yes, it certainly has, but it's all coming back. I'm much more confident in it now than I was even four weeks ago. It's going to be a cerebral landslide once I'm in my probationer time and if I'm really lost: I just won't let it show; how are THEY supposed to notice?

The cherry on the proverbial cake was discussing my lessons with the teachers and with my professor lady yesterday.
They told me that they liked my style of teaching and that the kids liked it too, that they could see I had fun doing this and that (although I could have done certain things differently, planned things more careful in advance and the like) I would be a great teacher one day. And it's true, I really enjoyed it, I had a great time and my occasional attempts to make a fool out of me and the lesson less boring for the kids apparently had them have a good time, too. (They were so cute, trying to help me out all the time and even giving me a round of applause at the end of the class!)

And language wise, the thing I had been so worried about, my prof told me she saw me in the upper segment of all the people who had been in the preparation class.

So today I was able to sit back and relax, allowing myself a day of doing fuck all and enjoying this feeling of being reassured in my choice of profession. Today, I am more certain that this is what I want to do more than I have been in a long time.

Daddy'll be happy to hear, a decade of studies haven't been in vain.

Everyday observations

2010-03-05T15:05:00.003Z

There's the wonderful south-west German tradition these days to call the less bright of society "too daft to wait for the bus". Up until recently I thought this was just a figure of speech. Latest field research on my part, however, shows that reality is even worse!

Due to my new work place being located in the posh an bling-bling district of Wilmersdorf, I am obliged to take a looooooooooooong busride throughout the whole of bleedin' town, for, needless to say, I live in a completely different and slightly less posh and bling-bling part of town.

Being in overcrowded buses sometimes gives you incredible insights into modern society and I have noticed that whilst most people do an alright job waiting for the bus, for a significant number of them the problem starts upon entering the bus or should I say: stampeding for empty seats, shoving elbows and shopping bags into other people's tender parts because who knows when the next time to take the weight off the feet will arrive and life's no fun without causing the occasional cuts and bruises anyway.

And it goes on: once they've entered the bus, more people than none entirely lack the capacity to ride it and, of course, there is always a pack of them grouping up in the bus that I am on. Logen.

On my first day of work, I was quite nervous, because when it comes to French (which is essential for my job as a French teacher) I am wont to struggle with ... let's call it failure issues. So, to compensate for that, I wanted to be extra early to find my inner peace, learn the dictionary by heart and do a bit of mouth gymnastics, that sort of thing. That's why I had checked the bus schedule in advance and taken one that would give me half an hour upon arrival before class started. Thank God! It didn't take me long to realize that the bus was going horribly slowly! At each and every stop, the driver had to ask the people not to stand in the doorway because that prevents the door from closing which, in turn, prevents the bus from proceeding on its way. Each stop had the bus driver pick up his microphone and remind the people to GET OUT OF THE FRICKING DOOR!!!!!

He stayed admiringly calm doing this, but I could feel that he was just one step from taking the machete out of the glove department and put an end to this misery.

The ordeal took about half an hour, the time it took to go down Oranienstraße. (It's not unusual for that to take half an hour. If you're on foot. With a crutch.)
And then, at one stop, the whole cross eyed and mooing lot got off the bus and waddled towards a big and colourful building on the corner of Oranienstraße and Lindenstraße: Axel Springer publishing house, the place responsibe for the existence of BILD, the German version of, let's say, the SUN.

Hm.

Guess I'll just leave that without any further comment.

Now that's a brilliant idea if ever I heard one!

2010-02-20T07:23:00.002Z

...Billy giving his finest impression of the Queen on a horse. ... With Roger Taylor in the audience!!!!!!!!

Ehermm...

2010-02-01T10:33:00.008Z

Vocational Guidance Counsellor,Vocational Guidance Councelloor, Vocational Guidance Councellooooor !!!!!!!!!

School, teachers, parents, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung. All those whose task it supposedly is to help you find your preordained profession: forget about them! Once more in my life I feel that the only authority up for the job is good old television. And it has been teaching me ugly lessons lately. Not only about the state of the world in general in one of those countless Ned-TV shows such as "Frauentausch" aka "Ahsis Home Alone", but more technically about the deficiancies of the German Media Industry. One question arises more vehemently and more frequently than any other:

If we cannot abolish dubbing, why can't at least the people doing it be any bloody good at it?

Classic example:
Dialogue between Han Solo and Princess Leia in Episode IV:
Leia: "They're tracking us!"
Han. "Tracking us? Not THIS ship, sister!"
or in the German version:
Leia: blah di blah "oder haben Sie eine andere Erklärung, warum wir so leicht entkommen sind?" Han: "Leicht? Das nennes Sie leicht? Nicht mit diesem Schiff, Schwester!"

Close enough, but basically means something entirely different. And so the poor Millenium Falcon is degraded from a dashing Star Racer Deluxe to a heap of junk unable to shake off some stupid old Tie-Fighters.

More recent example:
Homer sells Apu some rubber foam gloves to cover the arms and fingers of his eight-armed goddess statue so the kids don't accidentally poke their eyes out with it. In the German version he says something along the lines of "Problem: gepunktete Gottheit" ("dotted goddess").
Whuat?? Gepunktete Gottheit?? Somewhat like this maybe?
Then it dawned on me ('cause, after all, a century of English Studies can't have been in vain): What Homer had really said was "pointy Goddess". Aaahhh! Alright, eight arms, hands, fingers! Pointy! Kids can poke their eyes out with it!
Again: close, but not close enough.

The List would go on if only somebody could be bothered writing down that crap!
I know I know I know I'm being a horrible clever Dick but
a) I cannae fuckin' help it and
b) sometimes smartassing is a good thing because it leads us to two conclusions:
1) These dubbers must be on drugs or just plain rubbish at their job and
2) Somebody must please do something about it.

Now if that's not a quest for the future I don't know what is! Glory time in the olden days when dubbing was an art form rendering the German versions of The Holy Grail just as funny as the original exactly by not sticking to close to the English but by preserving the sense rather than the actual words. And who says it cannot be like that again? I somehow feel I have the duty to go there and swing the idiomatic hammer. If not for my country then just for me. I can still be a teacher afterwards, for now my vocation lies elsewhere: Kicking some dotted goddess' ass or hitting some guys with a two volume dictionary. Or maybe both, just to be on the safe side.

Also that way I could make a living by working from home and watching TV all day. 'S gonna be epic. Brain numbingly epic.

Well known facts of the Scottish clothing industry

2010-01-28T10:34:00.003Z

2010-01-26T08:51:00.008Z

What a shock in the afternoon: looking for my aulde Scotland pictures in Flickr (which I hadn't done in a loooong while) I recently had to find out that they were gone! Account expired, pictures nowhere to be found. Every single picture I took during my year in Edinbrgh. Highland trip '05: gone! FLA nights at The Standing Order: gone! Exploring the surroundings with Lady Rach: gone! Visit to Stirling ... Arthur's Seat in the sun ... Halloween in Belfast ... Weekend on Iona ... hanging out at the Lady's place ... Bonfire Night Extravaganza ... gone! gone! gone! What a nightmare.

These people cannot seriously expect me to rely on my memory exclusively to bring back the glory days once in a while. I took these myriads of pictures so that I don't HAVE to remember every tiny detail all by myself. Or rather I took them in order to relish my occasional fits and retire with those pictures, a nice steaming cuppa and a fistful of siiiiighs. I need this! I want my frickin' pictures, they're MINE, I wan'em, I wan'em, I wan'em!!!!!!!

Good thing is: I got them back eventually. All of them, in all their glory. All I had to do was pay those fathermucking somebitch Flickr SCUNNERS! 25 US bucks. Basssterrrrrrds!

But what are 18 Eurodollars compared to these specimen of canned picturesqueness??:

(In no particular order whatsoever...)

The sea surrounding Lewis and Harris:

Snow on the Salisbury Crags:

The early morning Skye:

Winterly Castlehill:

Royal Terrace at its gloomyiest:

Quatsch mit Soße und Steffen:

First encounter with Loch Ness:

Kyle of Durness:

Castle awaiting the Edinburgh Tattoo:

Fiery Sky over the Auld Reeky:

*Siiiiiiiiiiiiiigh!!!!!*

Where's me cuppa?

Now off to work with a fresh boost of visual motivation.

Elvis has left the building.

Twilight Zone mit den Gebrüdern Grimm

2009-12-12T22:03:00.002Z

In den letzten Tagen habe ich mich aus aktuellem Anlass sehr viel in den diversen Unibibliotheken aufgehalten (ich verfüge mittlerweile über einen Lieblingsplatz, eine Unlieblingstoilette und ein Teepausenritual; das Examen kann kommen!) und habe neben meinem heißgeliebten FU Brain auch mal einen mutigen Fuß in die neue Zentralbibliothek der HU gesetzt. Goes by the fancy name of Jacob-und-Wilhelm-Grimm-Zentrum. Das ist eine hamsterkäfiggleiche Angelegenheit, in der es zu heiß ist, wo es viel zu wenig Arbeitsplätze, zu viele Treppen, zu lange Wege und zu enge Schließfachräume gibt. Needless to say ist sie immer überfüllt und das Brain wirkt dagegen so entspannend wie eine Runde Walgesänge kombiniert mit einem doppelten Scotch. Egal! Die Literatur, die ich brauche, ist in beiden zu haben und ich möchte meine verehrte Leserschaft an dieser Stelle gerne an einigen linguistischen Köstlichkeiten teilhaben lassen, die ich mir in den letzten Wochen einverleiben durfte.

...eherm...

"Die exhaustive Untersuchung der sprachgeographischen Verhältnisse, auch mit Hilfe dialektometrischer Verfahren, ist ein Desiderat."

So reden diese Leute.
Erschreckend verständlich mittlerweile folgenes:

"Bei den Adjektiven wird die Kategorie der Steigerung entsprechend der relationellen Funktion des Komparativs und Superlativs periphrastisch ausgedrückt."

Logen.
Wichtig auch zu erwähnen:

"Bei den Possessiva kommt die zumindest im Galloromanischen wirksame Regel der strikten Voranstellung der Determinanten zur Geltung."

Das ist gut zu wissen, meine Schüler fragen mich ständig nach der Stellung der Determinanten. Auch wollen sie alles über die Einfluss des germanischen Superstrats auf die diphthongierung von vulgärlateinischem [e] und [o] in freier Stellung wissen.
Keine Angst, Kinder, die Grimms und ich erklären euch die Welt!

Potty time on the construction site

2009-11-29T18:40:00.003Z

Life seems to be full of construction work. A fact that is being illustrated to me every morning from seven o'clock onwards, when the digger in front of my house starts its noisy work and when, upon quitting the field and seeking refuge in the living room of my new beloved palace, I find myself face to face with the mini (but not less noisy) specimen of the same breed doing some earth moving works in the back yard. Argh! and ... ARGH!
But its not really the noisy construction work outside that is most annoying (although, admittedly, annoying it IS!), but the never ending ones inside my fucked up little brain.
Well, the good thing about construction work is that there will be a day, far off as it may appear at seven in the mornning after two months of free wake up calls, when the work will be done and there will be most blissfull slumber and tranquility. That goes for outside as well as for inside roadworks;

A few weeks ago, when Germany was celebrating its reunification, I was having my personal 9th November that same weekend. I met a friend whom I had fallen out with and subsequently not spoken a word to (at least not a civil one) in almost two years. A situation that, despite my attempts to convince my mind to just let go, kept nagging me all that time, as my mind don't let anyone tell it what to do. So every other day, my inner diggers and jackhammers would start their work and just not leave me the fuck alone.
And then I met that same friend for tea and we ... well ... got a grip, so to speak. It seemed so easy and obvious and now the jackhammers in the backyard of my mind have fallen silent.

And then last weekend I met an ex-boyfriend of mine. I hadn't seen or talked to him in well over a year and the last time we spoke was somehow unpleasant. Still I was kind of disappointed to just to just cut him out. And then I met him incidentally. Weird. He said hello and shook my hand. Weird! And after five minutes of being in the same room with him, realisation KISSED me that there wasn't anything in my life that I felt inclined to tell him and that of all the things he talked about, none really interested me. Don't get me wrong, there were no hard feelings whatsoever, I just found him a bit boring and dull company and all my feelings of being unhappy with not having him on my mailing list any more just dissolved into pure air. I felt relaxed. It was like, pardon my french, having suffered from constipation for one and a half years and then finally placing a really nice big Kackwurst into the loo. Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhh, freedoooooooom! Relaxation! Peace of mind and bowels! Now for the figurative pipe of Longbottom Leaf and a nice fire in the fireplace! And to quote the Guru of my teenage years and saviour of all mankind Freddie Mercury: Ooooooooooooooooohhhh, its Bliss!

Now the only thing that's left is the monster digger outside my bedroom window. But you know what; last time I checked, they were repaving the sidewalk and getting ready to pack up.

Getting fishyer and fishyer

2009-11-27T17:13:00.006Z

The evolution of the Fischkopp .... some recent snapshots from my palace. Chronologically.

We're gonna need a bigger ... fishtank.

There is a gnome in all of us

2009-09-16T15:56:00.003Z

A man with the voice of Bela B. once told me one of those solid truths: Life ain't always fair.
I every sense of the word. Sometimes it's dark, it's ugly, it's a hairy little wart-ridden gnome throwing stones at you for no good reason. Just because it can.
Today my landlady came round as I will be moving to a new place shortly (YEAY!!!) and she wanted to have a look at the place. (Actually she wanted to show it to peolple interested in renting it, but apparently nobody WAS interested...).
It didn't take long for her to start throwing insults at me, being respectless and generally treating me like a five year old retard. She's only about four feet tall, but she must be the single most evil and poisonous woman in the world. (For reasons of not wanting to be sued out of my wits, lets call her Mrs P.T. O'Knee)
She didn't even look at me when she told me how dirty the place was (There is some dust on the doors but hello! I'm still living here and I WILL clean the place before I leave....) She ordered me to paint the walls before I leave (which was the plan all along) and generally was just a real pain in the bum for no good reason.
And I got to thinking of just how easy life could be if this woman was anywhere near able to behave in a normal, friendly way. But the fact is: she isn't. And she will make my life a lot more difficult before my stay in this house comes to an end and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
The little ugly gnome is throwing its little ugly stones and maybe it is trying to teach me something I just haven't quite figured out yet. Something about perseverence and growing with obsacles. Or maybe someone is keeping a score and the more stones I can take the more points I get and maybe, who knows, at the end I will win a washing machine or a set of professional kitchen knives. (A use for which comes to mind immediately when I think of Mrs O'Knee...)
Pondering this theory and going down Kurfürstenstrasse on my shiny new bike I passed some of the most ugly ass hookers I have seen in my life. Ever. (And in plain afternoon light! Do the hookers lined along the street get more beautiful as darkness approaches? That does not make any sense at all! It should be the other way round!)
And I realized that we all have stone throwing gnomes ... but some of them use bigger and more jagged stones than others.
And that's also a good thing about life: Sometimes, when she's in a good mood, she gives you sunshine after the rain. In only a few weeks from now I will be living in a new place with a nicer landlord (because there cannot possibly be a worse one) with the most adorable creature of a man in the world and not have to waste a single thought on Mrs O'Knee ever again in my life. Seems my gnome is ready to exchange stones for flowers...

Things you find in Brandenburg

2009-06-23T11:12:00.002Z

Jehowa's Witnesses Light!

I've just learned

2009-06-11T12:03:00.002Z

that Robert-"addicted to love"-Palmer is dead.
And not only is he dead, he has been in a constant state of deadness for the past six years. I wasn't previously aware of the fact that I care much for Robert Palmer, but on hearing this bit of news (or rather olds), I have to say I felt quite upset.
What a shit world, eh?!

Tales from the Crypt

2009-05-06T12:36:00.002Z

and not the good and entertaining sort muss ich mir ja öfters auf der Arbeit anhören. Gestern aber katapultierte mich die Erzählung einer türkischen Schülerin, nennen wir sie des lieben Klischees zuliebe einmal Ayse, ungefragt und keineswegs sanft auf direktem Wege ... ja, wohin? In's Mittelalter? In die türkische Provinz? Ich glaube, ein Bisschen von beidem.

Ayse ist eine 14jährige, tut mit Leid, Nachwuchsvollpfostin, die letzte Woche sehr durcheinander beim Unterricht erschien. (Also ANDERS durcheinander als sonst...) Sie hatte ganz offensichtlich geweint und war auch immer wieder nahe daran, in Tränen auszubrechen. Natürlich fragte ich, was sie habe und natürlich sagte sie nichts, da jedes Wort sofort und unaufgefordert in einem Meer von Tränen und Schluchzen ertrunken wäre. (Ich kenne diesen Zustand, er wurde glaube ich im letzten Jahr nach mir benannt). Also ließ ich sie in Ruhe und wir beendeten die Stunde früher als sonst.
Diese Woche nun erzählte sie mir, der prädestinierten Vertrauenslehrerin der Mittlestufe, was passiert war. Ihr Freund hatte sich von ihr getrennt. Autsch, dachte ich, das erklärt die rotren Augen. Was sich dann aber entsponn war eine Geschichte, die selbt mir, ja MIR, die Worte im Halse stecken bleiben ließ.

Ayse erzählte mir also, dass sie seit zwei Jahren mit ihrem Freund zusammen gewesen war. Ayse ist 14. Hm-hm.
Ihr Freund ist soeben 20 geworden, will jetzt eine Famile gründen und auch gerne mal sein kleines Schwänzchen, es möge ihm abfallen, in Ayse reinstecken.
Hab ich schon erwähnt, Ayse ist 14.
Wow...okay...
Außerdem hat er ihr den Umgang mit anderen männlichen Wesen streng untersagt.
Aha.
Selbst ihrem Cousin, der für sie wie ein Bruder ist.
Aha.
Ich sagte, wenn mein Freund mir was verbieten wollte, ich würde ihm den Vogel zeigen.
Ayse riss ungläubig die Augen auf.
Und wenn Ayse sich doch mal über die Anweisungen ihrers Freundes hinweggesetzt hat, etwas, wie sie es formulierte, "falsch gemacht hat", dann flogen schon mal die Fäuste.
Ayse findet das normal.
Aha?!?!
Zur erinnerung: 14.

Ich war geschockt. All die Standards, die man in einem solchen Fall abspult wie
niemand darf dich schlagen
du bist zu jung zum Heiraten
der darf dich nicht schlagen , das ist strafbar und du könntest ihn anzeigen
er darf dir auch nichts verbieten
das nächste Mal gehst du bitte zur Polizei
das ist unrecht

all das schien auf einmal keinerlei Hebelwirkung zu haben, es war völlig leer. Wie kommt man gegen sowas an? Was kann man da überhaupt noch sagen?

Ich weiß nicht, wie oft ich Variationen von "Das ist nicht normal, das ist nicht in Ordnung" von mir geblasen habe.

Nach 30 Minuten Gespräch entließ ich Ayse mit der Bitte, sich doch in Zukunft bitteschön von niemandem mehr schlagen zu lassen.
Und irgendwie, ich weiß auch nicht, hab ich seitdem ein verändertes Bild von Ayse. Vielleicht ist es Mitleid. Vielleicht ist es auch der Tatsache geschuldet, dass ich zum ersten Mal mit ihr über was fundamentaleres als fucking Verbkonjugation gesprochen habe.

Ich ging jedenfalls ziemlich verdaddelt nach Hause, wo mein Freund mir auch gerne was verbieten wollte. Ich schlug Rauchen vor, was er mir dann auch gleich verboten hat.
Ich hab ihm den Vogel gezeigt.

Life, the Universe and everything

2009-05-01T12:32:00.004Z

Looking back, the last two years have been like a psychadelic limbo for me, bumping here and there, being completely disorientaded and not getting anywhere, nor knowing where I wanted to get to in the first place. And all this time I was trusting in the Universe to somehow set it right and show me the way.
And then all of a sudden, it went and did just that. Look what I've found:

And I'm not letting go anytime soon.
For the first time in YEARS, the future's not only bright, more importantly I can actually see it. It took me by surprise, but it seems like things are falling into place eventually. I will quit my job in summer in order to have more time for Uni and finally get the hell over with it and out of there. The days of my little crowded and claustrophobic flat will soon be over as well and maybe, who knows, by next year I will finally be something like a grown up person. With a steady job, a boyfriend with a company car and a flat that boasts enough rooms for one of them to be converted into a nursery one fine and distant day.

It all seems odd and I haven't really grasped the whole extend of it.
But I love it.
So thank you, Universe!

What a merry merry season!

2008-12-09T20:31:00.003Z

Klitzer klitzer auf den Straßen,
Weihnachten,
neue Torte erfunden,
GEHALTSERHÖHUUUUUUUUUUUUNG!!!!!
Finanzkrise my ass.

come out to play ...

2008-11-07T09:51:00.005Z

...OKAY!

Old traditions never die, they just become slightly annoying. But for Old Times' sake:

KLATSCHKI!!!!!!!!!!!!

ERWISCHT!!!!!!!!

... Klatschki Frieden....!

Just in case you wondered and also to shut up my obnoxious aunts

2008-10-09T13:39:00.001Z

He said he wanted to pop down to the bookshop and that's the last I saw of him...

My friend Destiny and I

2008-09-13T13:08:00.004Z

...have not been on speaking terms lately. I felt neglected. I know she has a lot of people to take care of, but I really felt left aside. She hadn't swung her sledgehammer for me in such a long time.
It must have dawned on her that she wasn't behaving all that considerate, so she exchanged her hammer for a bouquet of flowers and slapped me right across the face with it when I was least expecting it (because that is always when these things happen).
And all of a sudden I find myself dancing throught the city streets, my silky hair shining like a prize winning show cow's and smelling of wild berries. The sun is shining, I'm singing old Jennifer Rush songs (don't ask), checking my mail every ten seconds and spend a whole morning combing the city for Ocean Spray and Miss Europa Disco Dancer. My place is neat and tidy for the first time in weeks and I can't remember when last I had so much spare energy!
Sometimes it only takes a little to get you back on track. Like a bouquet of flowers across your face.

No brain, no pain...

2008-09-12T11:35:00.002Z

In Maischberger's talkshow, Princess Gloria von Thurn und Taxis (dammit, 300 years ago in France, she would have been decapitated for that name alone), who for some reason that is absolutely unknown to me seems to be of some kind of interest for German TV, recently proclaimed that she saw the conteraceptive pill as a form of abortion.

She also believes that condoms are not even the appropriate means against AIDS, in her opinion, "to prevent AIDS is to shag less". She advises her daughter not to take the pill and prefers those mothers with kids from ten different fathers to women who are childless due to abortion.

Wow. And I thought it was 2008. Unbelievable that a couple of hundred years ago, these people would have had the power to actually inforce their screwed ideas on normal people like us, people who might not have been born with Princess as their first name.

Dear Princess,
please do me a favour and take a stroll around, let's say, Marzahn, where girls are triple and quadruple mothers by the age of 20 and where of the four fathers, NONE is anywhere in sight. Where girls don't have any other kind of education than being teenage moms, living with their 30 year old mother and are highly likely to not produce anything but more teenage moms without jobs.
Oh, and, please, have that AIDS reference translated into Kiswahili, will you?!

Would it also count as abortion if somebody pushed her off a roof?
I wish her parents had used contraception 49 years ago. Well, they must have taken something at the time, as their daughter was obviously born without brains.

Oh, and by the way, my friend Sarah has been working on a project for World Contraception Day and they have produced a couple of funny clips you should check out:

The Party
The Lift
The Messenger

Of age, fabric softener and of LIFE itself

2008-08-20T15:49:00.002Z

I'm a victim. A vicitm of this culture's ruthless advertising habits.
Today and for quite a while already I had the notion in my head that what I really needed was fabric softener. I have never bought or even thought of buying fabric softener in my life (quite possibly due to some late eighties ad suggesting it was bad to use it).
But lately I find myself wanting my laundry to smell nice when it comes out of the washing machine and also stay that way while it impatiently awaits being worn.

Anyway; I wanted fabulous smelling stuff that would turn my clothes into a pile of...fluff the kind you would throw Teddies in. Not that my laundry smells in any way bad when it comes out of the machine, I just wanted it to smell of ... rosegardens? Summer breeze? I really don't know, I only know that all of a sudden, after twenty eight years of immunity, I thought of fabric softener as a necessary utensil to have.

I reckon this is another one of those phases you go through when you get older. Other people might turn to bleeching their teeth or buying organic food or turning to classical music for no apparent reason. It's what my little sister calls "doing adult stuff". (In the particular situation she coined that expression, the act of doing adult stuff was me buying a toaster...)
The point is, suddenly I acknowledge the existance of things I must have come across a thousand times, but now they get my brain to think about them. And I guess we all come to that point in our lives. In other words: we all have our fabric softener, even if it is bleeched teeth.

Whatever, back to my victimhood.
There I was in front of the supermarket shelf displaying a small but carefully selected range of fabric softeners. I had already put Kuschelweich in my trolly, when I watched my hand putting it back and going for the slightly more expensive version by a rival company, who promised my undies would smell of the sweet and mysterious scent of the Sahara desert. Because "When the desert turns red in the evening sun and the air seems to glow, you get the feeling that almost everything is possible and that everything can happen..." (It REALLY says that on the back of the label!) I want that feeling! Also they put their product in a flash red bottle, instead of a dull baby blue one. HOW COULD I RESIST?????

I admit! I am a consumption slut! I want the smell of Sahara in my clothes! I buy washing up liquid as long as there's plastic fish swimming in it or at least flower stickers on the back. I will prefer products showing Arne Friedrich's face on them to those who don't anytime! While all the time I know that I'm acting horribly stupid and could probably also save some money if I only chose the dull baby blue version of life. This whole consumption thing sometimes works so well on me I feel like I'm floating above my body, watching myself doing everything the advertising industry wants me to.
Maybe I just know too many people who work in advertising. "Hahaaa, I know you're trying to manipulate me, I know the way you people work! ... Give me that really expensive tooth paste with the glittery bits in it, willya...".

The irony is: Sahara scents don't even seem to smell that sweet, as I discovered when, upon coming home, I dipped my nose into the bottle in joyful expectation. It smells like ... fabric softener really. Hm.
I guess life wanted to tell me something. Something about my consumption habits, I just don't see the message cleary.
Well...
Next time I'll go for Summer Breeze.

Highland Serenade

2008-08-16T12:14:00.008Z

The remnants of once monstrous evil smells still linger in the rooms.
The washing machine has been doing double shifts.
Flocks of Tesco bags cluster in the kitchen drawers.
...and my bank account moans a silent lament.
In short:
I'm back.

Truth is, I have been back for a couple of days, but it was only today on my way back from Aldi that my brain caught up with my body and reunited we look upon the neatly stowed away camping utensils and piles of accurately folded clothing.

The water heating system doesn't work, my pay has not been paid, two papers await being written and I need to teach some private lessons in order to afford the toilet paper.
Yes, the vacation is definitely over.
But still memory lingers. (I know, this is the second time I use this word but I just like it so much, so there, whatcha gonna do about it?!) My nose still seems to smell the heather, the vast mountain panorama is still almost in front of me and my feet will certainly never ever talk to me again.

For a detailed account of my trip, come over for a cuppa or just utter the magic words (anything containing the words "Scotland", "Highlands" or "camping" will certainly do) and I will keep you entertained (or at least keep talking) until the tea turns solid, but in this here entry, I will but shortly intruduce you to some of the best people, places and moments of my first encounter with

The West Highland Way:

Three singing dutchwomen I met on the train to Fort Bill:

Colin, a guy from Dundee whom I met above Blackwater reservoir and who insisted on carrying my backpack down to Glencoe:

Lovely Laura, his girlfriend:

Taking rest on a patch of grass next to wooden bridge crossing a gargling creek. Probably my favourite place in the world.

"Erbsenkopp" they used to call me:

15 minutes from Kinlochleven I asked two gentlemen to take a picture of me so I could prove
a) I was really there
b) I did look like a gay donkey

Ben Nevis, eight o'clock in the morning:

Ben Nevis, half eight in the morning:

Ben Nevis, ten in the morning:

Most days I was alone with THAT for miles on end:

View from out of my tent in Kingshouse, Glen Coe:

The Devil's Staircase and my more than slightly swollen hand:

My favourite place in the world: Glen Coe; I spent about an hour there, just looking around. Recommendable: the water from the creek.

Morning mist in Glen Coe, about eight in the morning:

And here endeth the trip: I took a train that took my back to Glasgow and next year, I'll do the rest of the way.

Hähä, what I've just found:

2008-07-29T08:17:00.002Z

Rabid pedestrians - the evil of our parks and city centres.

We cherish thee, your Chiliness!

2008-07-17T17:41:00.006Z

No, not talking about the weather, this is much more profound.

D'you know who's taking over the world? Anthony "Scar Tissue" Kiedis. He's present everywhere these days. Not physically, alas, yet omnipresent in junk TV.
Through meticulous empiric research I found out that there's a Chili Peppers song used as musical background in German crap TV AT LEAST once every ... oh, all the time. Coincidence? I think not!

There must be some kind of plan behind this. Some elaborately set up conspiracy to take over the world which I haven't managed to figure out the details of yet. Cause that's the thing really, isn't it, with elaborate conspiracies aiming at world power: you only see through them when it's too late, when the child has fallen into the well, a saying which sounds even more stupider in English than it does in German.

So, you innocently ignorant people out there: prepare yourself for a rule of chaos and mayhem. I'm reading this guy's biography at the moment and I've got a sneaky feeling this is going to be epic!
(Taking every available and unavailable drug there is, jumping off rooftops into swimming pools - and missing!, wearing socks in unusual places and consuming large quantities of unpaid-for alcoholic beverages only being some of the notions that come to mind for our future world-constitution!)
And also prepare for the counterfeit on coins around the world to look somewhat like this:

All in all, I think the world could be far worse off than having this guy as a king. So,
HAIL TO THE KING, BABY!

In the mood for

2008-07-10T13:49:00.003Z

TRAVELING!!!!!!!!
19 days to go and my mind is filled with megabus easyjet standard fare national express outbound date of travel blue hostel guide central station NORTHBOUND single or return once more. I spend much more time then I should looking up train connections, bus schedules and all kinds of fares, because planning well is almost being there already! Climax of the day is buying SOCKS (hiking socks, obviously).
So if you catch me muttering something like "15 and a half days to go, hihihihi", at least you now what the heck I'm on about.
I'm loving this!

2008-07-02T16:46:00.002Z

Explanatory note for all those interested: (yeah, that's you, Keith!)

the P/Q formula

learn something new every day - reloaded

2008-07-01T22:01:00.002Z

... aka: learn something old every now and then.

Today I did both, learning new things AND old things.
The new thing I learned today is that the Vietnamese-French pidgin, the Tay B'oi, doesn't use articles. A piece of linguistic wisdom which is expected to have, let's say, minor impact on my future life.

The old thing I learned today was to solve equations with two unknowns. I should have learned how to do that in tenth grade, and I tried, I really did. But the much hoped-for enlightenment just wouldn't come. Until today.

While my frech students were busy with a complicated task I gave them, I was reading the script of the MSA maths exam that was lying around on the table. (Apparently, somebody uses my favourite classroom to teach maths!) I was able to solve the first two tasks (yahoo, just as in my maths abitur!), but I got stuck with the third one, an equation with two unknowns. I got halfway through, but for dear life just couldn't remeber how to get rid of the scond "x". Needless to say, that circumstance drove me nuts. So I asked my collegue (one of those who apparently teach maths in my favourite classroom) and he told me "Piece of cake! You only have to use the p/q formula!"
Right! The p/q formula! Silly old me, why hadn't I thought of that myself??
He then noted down the p/q formula for me and I was succeeded easily to solve the task.

I think I could understand maths now. A circumstance which could have had a MAJOR impact on my future life had it occured 15 years ago.
So, about this maths Abitur thing ... could I do it again maybe?
Had I had a better understanding of maths back then, I would have had much better marks. Which means I would have been much more confident in my mathematical abilities. Which means I wouldn't have let my disbelieve in myself stand in the way of me applying for pilote training. Which means I might have become a pilote. Which means I would earn lots of money now, see a lot of the world (especially from above), have a fancy apartment and never even worry about such things as Tay B'oi.

But then again, I probably wouldn't know all of you guys, so screw that!

Endlich sagt's mal einer!

2008-05-31T09:05:00.000Z

An encounter of the Cave kind

2008-05-24T07:32:00.003Z

...before:

and after:

I'd really like to tell you every detail of this concert, but, honestly, I used up my
quota of x-rated words on the concert and also you really mustn't use this kind of language here where minors could read it. Let me just put it like that:
the words "WAS?!" and "STRASSE!!" will forever be sending hot and cold shivers down my spine.

Es passieren so viele Dinge in meinem Leben

2008-05-21T14:42:00.003Z

Heute nämlich, dass an dieser Stelle (aka ganz oben) in diesem Blog ab heute eine neue Rubrik in Erscheinung tritt. Es handelt sich um etwas, was mich nicht nur aber auch in letzter Zeit viel beschäftigt.
Ich präsentiere also zum ersten Mal:

Das Suspekte Wort des Tages,

wobei sich "suspekt" natürlich nicht nur auf das Wort an sich, sondern selbstverständlich auch auf dessen gedankenlose Benutzer bezieht.

Heute also:

Römisch 1: "Fernseh" anstatt von "fernsehen"/"Fernsehen" oder auch "TV". Aaaarhg!

In die gleiche Rubrik gehört natürlich auch das von mir seit langem empört angeprangerte "Sose" anstelle von "Sauce".

Ey, Leude ... NULL!!!!
Ich möchte alle an der Rettung der (deutschen) Sprache Interessierten bitten, zukünftig einen zehnbändigen Duden mit sich zu führen um diesen im Zweifelsfall als Projektilwaffe einsetzen zu können. Denn wer dumm sein will, muss fühlen. Oder so.

Die coolste Sau von Halle/S

2008-05-14T07:10:00.002Z

hat momentan noch ein kleines Sabberproblem aber das schad nix.

On the ambuguity of loss and the supremacy of R.a.R.

2008-05-01T07:00:00.005Z

Time to get philosophical for a change.

Fact: I hate loss. It makes me feel like a toddler all over again, like the time my mum threw away my favourite record because it was covered in scratches from playing it too often. I can't have been older than four, but I still see myself running after my mum, crying my eyes out as she walked down the driveway to the garbage bins with my record in her hands. I remember her resolute face, determined not to let my crying impress her (something she alway was paricularly good at - and actually in most of my memories, my mother is wearing this resolute expression). I remember the sound as she broke the shining black disc in two and shoved it into the bin.

A quarter of a century has passed, but the memory of this helpless feeling is still engraved in my mind.

Or the time a couple of years later, when I lost my favourite teddy bear in the train. That must have been the single most traumatic experience of my childhood.

I'm grown up now and should be able to handle these things in a more adult way. But the truth is: I'm not really. Loss still makes me feel just as helpless and paralysed as it did when I was six.

These last two years saw me losing big time; I lost love. I lost my best friend. I lost my car before I even had it (which may sound trivial, but those who know me well understand that it is anything but trivial). I "lost" my bike!!

A precious friend told me not so long ago that I was getting cynical and although I don't feel that, I couldn't help thinking "Well, who wouldn't?!".

I am determined not to let these things get on top of me, but sometimes I feel that working my way out of these rainclouds is like trying to swim in quicksand; I'm moving full speed - but to what avail?

Lying on the couch of my own inner psychoanalyst while at the same time sitting next to myself, analysing the shit out of me, I have come to focus on the assets, on the things that are still there. And it eases my mind a great deal to realise that everything is not so bad - not so bad at all! In fact, I'm doing great. I have learned to be content on my own every once in a while and, really, I'm getting a lot of things done. And whenever I don't have work to do, I spend a lot of quality time with my real friends.
Still: I have changed. I wouldn't say I have become cynical; but harder in a way I guess.

In a couple of weeks' time, I'm going to a Nick Cave concert. When I saw it being advertised, I thought there was no way I could go there without him (he who shall not be named). Then I mentally slapped myself across the face, telling myself that him being gone doesn't mean that the things we shared and that were important to us are gone as well. And again, the same precious friend made me realise that sometimes you just have to let people go in order for them to make room for new great people. That's not losing - it's just taking care of yourself.

So even if he's gone and although it took me a long time to come to see: Nick Cave (representative for many other people and things) is still there and I feel like I have finally opened my eyes to see clearly.

Because into my human heart life filled me
With love up to the brim and killed me
And rebuilt me back anew with
Something to look forward to...

...and anyways: Rock and Roll always wins...!

Berlin welcomes back in town:

2008-04-30T16:51:00.003Z

Spring

The sunglasses are back out and we wear the season's first sunburn with pride and dignity. Having said which I shall proceed to fall silent and let the pictures speak for themselves:

Die Schweine

2008-04-16T22:43:00.002Z

ham mein Fahrrad geklaut.
Mehr kann dazu grade gar nich gesagt werden.
Ich bin jetz traurig und geh ins Bett.

Much beloved traditions never die

2008-04-09T19:04:00.004Z

Part one: sagging socks
It starts in early childhood in the form of rough woolen blue or red (there seems no other way) knee high socks, meanders on to the first proudly worn lycra tights and it just never ends: these limpy bastards just won't stay up, exposing the shin to the harsh early spring blizzards or a boot's rubbing leather. (The latter not feeling half as good as it may sound to some.)
There just is no escape. It must be written in some book of eternal nuisance rules: socks will sag.
For some time, though, they will have us believe that this time, it's going to be different. They will clutch our thighs like a greedy lover, never letting go and staying up all the way all day long.
But then, because life wouldn't be life if these things didn't happen, after too short a time, they will lose all their staying power and slowly but inevitably they will slump down to reveal themselves as the pathetic little piles of poo that they really are. And I find myself crouching and fumbling inside my boots and tearing them up again, the same way I used to do it when I was five.
Because some things never change.

Part two (on a lighter note): DUI - Dialling Under the Influence
We've all done it or at least thought about doing it before and Lady Rach can tell a story or two about it: calling random (or maybe not so random) people after enjoying a "yeah, maybe I had a drink or two"- drink in the company of our partners in crime ... it seems SUCH a good idea at the time! But we also know that these calls tend to backfire on you. Like when you realize you called your ex the night before, but you just can't seem to remember what you told him - and being thankful for the amnesia. Or, even better, calling the guy you've been DYING to get to know all the way better and realising that one drunk call probably had him pack his cases and leave town for a while. ... dammit.
But then, there is also this other kind of call, where somebody in a good mood just calls someone in his phonebook just because he or she is such a splendid person and, oh my, we haven't talked in SUCH a long time and, oh, no, were you asleep (at two at night on a weekday...)?!
Happened to me last night. I must have been fast asleep because I suddenly found myself on the phone, having missed the first half of the conversation with Louis, my beloved cousin's flatmate, whom I have never met. (I wonder what I told him while I was asleep...). After this conversation, I sent a text to my cousin, telling him I knew EXACTLY what was going on (I think the message said: Ihr trinkt doch Alkohol, ihr Lümmel!) and went back to sleep.
Just to be called back by my cousin who told me that he just meant to call me in order to tell me that I am indeed his favourite cousin (yes, you've heard. And my I add that he has at least 14 of them bloody cousins!) and that he was terribly sorry to wake me up and that he would really be ashamed and send me an apologetic text message in the morning (why not now, boy?) but that being the one cousin of so many that he chose to call I should actually be flattered.
Which I was.
What I also was was awake. For the next two hours or so.
And I had to remind him to send me that apologetic text. Tse.
Still.
It's good to see the kids keep up the old ways and traditions!

Officer, Officer, that is the guy!

...meine kleine Schwester freut sich bestimmt 'n zweites Loch in ihren Popo...und ich erst...

2008-04-06T00:32:00.004Z

...hierüber nämlich.
Ich würde gerne wissen, ob die Jungs auch annehmbare Mugge machen, wofür die ich ohne Bedenken meinen Namen hergeben kann, aber meine Stereoanlage ist im Begriff, mich nach 14 Jahren trauter Eintracht krächzend in Richtung Ewige Jagdgründe zu verlassen. Traurich.
Auf dem Weg dorthin nimmt sie allem Anschein (und -klang) nach den keuchenden Kühlschrank gleich mit, so dass mein beschränktes Budget und ich uns wohl in allernächster Zukunft mit der Entscheidung zwischen unverdorbenem Essen und lauter Musik konfrontiert sehen.
Nun ja.
Wie schon Konfusius lehrt:

Rock and Roll gewinnt immer!

PS: Kühlschrank und Anlage: ich hoffe, ihr werdet auf der anderen Seite miteinander glücklich ... ihr Ärsche!

Of big city tourette and post-strike tranquility (with lesbians)

2008-03-19T13:46:00.004Z

The public transport strike had a deeper impact on people than most of the red plastic bag wearing train and bus drivers could possibly imagine. The S-Bahn trains were about to burst, people waitet hours fo one of the about five buses that were actually in service and once they arrived, no one seemed to notice that there simply is NO WAY to squeeze 40 more people in a bus constructed for 60 which is nonetheless already filled with 80.
The streets were crowded by cyclists who were very obviously not used to riding their bike to work in inner city rush hour traffic.

Everybody was so tense you could literally feel the agression, filter it out of the air and putl it in transparent plastic bags for further inspection. It was the first time I ever saw a man being attacked in a train because he made someone's bike fall over.
Not a very relaxing way of travelling (but then, when is public transport ever?)

And in the middle of all this, there I was. It was ten in the morning, I hadn't had time to have breakfast yet and had just peeled myself out of an S-Bahn train in order to meet my sister at her work place, pick up her car and drive a friend to his doctor's appointment in the charming neighbourhood of Berlin Wedding.

I was coming from Jannowitzbrücke, zig-zagging my way through the masses on the sidewalk. In situations like this, people get on my nerves. Full stop. Generally. No matter what they do. But in this case, my anger was concentrated on a lady walking in front of me (without any hope of me passing her because there was no space and anyway, she was walking just as fast as I did and you know me, I'm always running), having her pre-work smoke and blowing her smoke, unintentionally, but I don't fucking care about that, right - in - my - face.

Arrgh!!! I thought and couldn't help muttering some heavy insults under my breath. The wave of anger that took me was so severe it shook my whole body. I felt better for it, but immediately after I had finished swearing, I realized that my little fit had been caught on the cameras of the Chinese embassy, which I just happened to have walked past.

Realization struck me like lightning: the people watching the cameras ( and I know my luck, there MUST have been someone watching; after all, this is the Chinese we're talking about, they watch over what their people do in bed, I'm sure they watch everything) couldn't see the reason for my little outrage as the smoking lady was about five paces in front of me. They only saw me talking (to myself apparently) and shaking my head. And I saw how easily the pages turn: you let yourself go for just half a second, you lose your grip for just a split moment and before you can say "fool's asylum" YOU are the freak!

But then again, the wheels on the bus go round and round and a mere week later, buses and underground are back on track and stepping outside you could feel the city relaxing. Traffic was back to normal, so was the amount of jerk cyclists (about 100 a mile) and nobody seemed to be beating each other up more than normally.
I took the general euphoria ("hooray, I can go to work again... sigh") as a reason to go out and celebrate my new "spring is coming soon - or so I hope" haircut!

So I joined a couple of the most lovable creatures (Cons and her gang) and we went out. The evening brought roast chicken first and then, for the first time in bloody ages, we went out dancing! And what a dance it was! We made the dancefloor ours, we swept, we rocked, we floated, we whirled - I hadn't enjoyed myself that way in years (or so it felt); at the end of the night I was high on adrenaline and Euphoria and cose to a heart attack due to exhaustion.

And when the DJ finally bade us leave, I was askd out by a very cute, blonde, charming young ... girl.
Maybe it took my new haircut a mere day to get me chatted up by a girl, but maybe, and that is obviously much more likely, I was just pure irresistible that night.

I told her maybe next time and you now what: I'm looking forward to next time.
I love life.

Gee, if it weren't for facebook, I wouldn't have a clue about myself!

2008-02-21T10:56:00.003Z

Based on your birthday ...
You are curious and a true follower. You can please someone so much that it seem like you are trying to charm that person. You hide your disagreement under your smiling face. This is a charming quality of yours. Your Love, You are quite unlucky in love. You are loved by someone you don't like while your dream person is so far away. Your love life is occasionally under turbulence. Sometimes you don't have the clear view of the guy/gal in your heart.

Ok, you ugly bastards, which one of you is hitting on me?
And as for "turbulence" ... let's not go there...

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life ... and also: CHACKKAAAAA!

2008-02-18T08:59:00.006Z

Having spent the morning in businesswoman mode, visualizing by means of nice clean merciless printouts all I still have to do, studywise, and do in the shortest possible time, I noticed the following things:

1) It's not even 10 a.m. and I've already been quite productive. Important mails have been written, the adressees including various secretaries, professors and the like, information has been obtained, knowledge gained and now I have a fully grown PLAN.

2) The enemy is in my grasp! Yes, I will be terribly busy for the next big fistful of months, but:

3) I can roundhouse kick that somebitch of a romanistic department inna face!

and, most pressingly on my mind:

4) I definitely need a new mouse for my PC, cause this one is driving me NUTS!!!

After all this work (both future and at hand), I am rewarding my racing mind with a picture of pure and blissful tranquility; maybe this one:

hübsch, nich wahr?

So, life ordered, important lessons learned, breathed deep and found utter determination.
And all that before breakfast. If that isn't a Chuck Norris start of the day, I don't know what is!

Na bidde

2008-02-03T10:13:00.000Z

Found my destination!
You know how it is: you keep looking for something (a new shirt, say, or the night's brew of choice) and after spending ages browsing through everything, you end up with the very first thing that caught your attention.
When I was a wee lass of six years, I wanted to be Colt Sievers when I grow up.

I am grown up now and having found out last night that I am in fact Burt Reynold's and Sally Field's (who even gets mentioned in the title song. Coincidence? I dinnae think so!) secret lovechild, the Colt Sievers walk of life somehow seems to have moved into grasp. It is pre-ordained!
And I even already have the glasses!

So from now on, call me Colt and also why don't you just drop by and help me carry the bathtub into the yard...

Was man so alles in der Post kricht

2008-01-30T15:42:00.000Z

The following has just been sent to me by a fellow
 "I want all the boxes ticked"- Lady:

Top Eight Reasons to Date an Engineer

8. Fatigue is never an issue
7. No "couple" enjoy a better "moment".
6. We know how to handle stress and strain in a relationship.
5. We have significant figures.
4. We understand the motion of rigid bodies.
3. Engineers do it to specification.
2. We know it's not the length of the vector that counts,
  but how youapply the force.
1. WE KNOW THE RIGHT HAND RULE!


Obviously, this only applies to the non-Karohemd wearing branch
of said special kind of human beings...

OUR HERO!!

2008-01-27T08:42:00.000Z

Was ist eigentlich los grade?

Meine Mudder verklagt mein Vadder auf 112 000 Euro (warum? Fuck knows!),

Leute, die ich für engste Freunde hielt, finden mich auf einmal nich mehr spannend genug (vereinfachte Darstellung, die Details würden den Rahmen sprengen),

Angela Merkel trinkt Tee im Garten mit Osama seine Mudder,

und nun DAS:
aus gut unterrichteten Quellen wird verlautbart, dass Tom Cruise, seineszeichens komplett indiskutabel, sich zur extrem-Stimulation der Prostata lebende, in Plasticktüten gesteckte Hamster in den Popo schieben lässt.

All das lässt nur einen Schluss zu: die welt ist komplett übergeschnappt und wir brauchen dringend einen Superhelden. Einen neuen Superhelden, weil Superman degeneriert und Batman vom Aussterben bedroht ist:

Es ist Zeit für

BACKPFEIFEN-MAN!!,

den Superhelden unserer Zeit. Backpfeifen-Man kommt dahin, wo der Hirnschwund am größten ist (klingt komisch, is aber so) und erschüttert mithilfe seiner behandschuhten rechten Kelle die Gehirne der Befallenen, auf dass sie wieder zu klarem Verstand kommen. Er will keinen Dank (kricht er meistens auch sowieso nich), verschwindet in der nächsten überfüllten U-Bahn und verdingt sich nebenher als Werbefigur für eine Baumarktkette (Hand drauf!).

Also, wenn auch SIE sich die Haare ob der schwindenden Anzahl Hirnzellen ihrer Umwelt raufen:
rufen sie 0800 555-FRATZENGEBALLER und Backpfeifen-Man wird Ihnen helfen... Hand drauf!

Marx, Engels, Quilliam...

2008-01-20T16:04:00.000Z

nocturnal roamer

2008-01-12T16:58:00.001Z

Walking through Berlin streets tonight, I had a strange sensation of being akin to this place. Very much like myself, the city is waiting for spring to finally come when we both know that winter has really only just started, inside and out...
Spring is not due for quite a while yet, so we're lying in wait, not holding our breaths...

Soooo small...!

2008-01-09T09:12:00.000Z

Here she is: brand new, a wee crooked worm clad in soft attire and smelling of baby roses:

Born on Boxing day 2007, 53 cm of height, sleeping most of the time and when she's not, she's busy digesting. I've only seen her once and already I lover her to bits: my as-good-as-niece, Melinda Emilie Jazz.

Clap your hands and join the cheer!!!

Lemme just say this:

2008-01-09T09:09:00.000Z

Gotta love those guys...

Neues von der Fleckschen Proletenfront:

2008-01-07T09:49:00.000Z

'sch'ab Dreier Bäemwä!

The Dynasty continues...

2007-12-24T10:14:00.000Z

Darf ich vorstellen:

2007-12-19T09:10:00.000Z

Meine zwei neuen Mitbewohner:

Einmal die Nummer 86: aphatisce fishc sueß sauer ohne Reis in große Schüssel.

Ich wusste nich, dass Fische schlafen können, oder besser ich meinte zu wissen, dass Fische im Allgemeinen nicht schlafen können. Aber Max und Moritz (!) haben mich da eines Besseren belehrt.

Und überhaupt, was geflechtes Abhängen angeht kann man nur den Hut ziehen vor diesen beiden Schergen. Wenn man nich mal mehr sein eigenes Körpergewicht tragen muss, sondern nur in der nicht vorhandenen Strömung rumliegt und wartet, bis das Essen einem in den Mund fällt, ohne dabei unansehnlich fett zu werden, dann hat man doch wohl irgendwas richtig gemacht.
Also: Chapeau!

Homicidal Psycho Hängeschrank

2007-12-06T11:13:00.000Z

Welcome to my little action kitchen in my little action world!

Last week, I had one of those wonderful fits, where you kind of lose concience and when you wake up, everything in your flat is neet and tidy. Unfortunately, this fit didn't last until the kitchen. So I took, sobermindedly once again, to redecorating my kitchen, the one place in my flat left messy.
To be precise, I took to FINALLY putting up my vintage wall cabinet with the help of Devon Hunt and my wonderful power-drill (I lovingly call her "die Bohr").
After twenty minutes of Chuck Norris action-drilling, the cabinet was up and I contently stored my cups, tea, noodles, baking utensils and other nicknack in it.
The next day, I was sitting in my kitchen, still relishing the newly won spaciousness of my kitchen and adoring my ugly old Hängeschrank. While lost in thought, I was drinking a cup of tea and absent mindedly staring at a teapot, which my predecessor in this here flat left in the kitchen when he moved out.
It was in the shape of an old stove, with a frying pan and a tin of baked beans on top and everything. Ever since I moved here, this relic has been sitting on my kitchen table. I have never used it and probably never will.
I wondered should I throw it away? No, I thought, cannae do that, poor little thing, it's not its fault it looks weird.
I then proceeded to store all my dutiful housewife appliances on top of the cabinet. I left the room to light some candles in the bedroom.

WHRROOOOOOOSH!!!

I rushed into the kitchen and found myself in a landscape scarred by war.
The cupboard had come down, missing my radio cassette cd player by a mere half inch, spilling its guts onto the kitchen floor and digging its hard sides into the wooden table.

The oven teapot had taken a direct hit. It was a goner! Its remains lay in a milion pieces amidst a pack of rice and what was left of my favourite mug and its companions.

Was it suicide? Or was it rather a vicious plot carried out by suicidal terrorist mugs? Or did the cupboard itself lose its will to live and tried to take its own life (after twenty years of being an ugly cupboard, who could blame it?)? Or was it am attempt to kill ME???? I cannot tell, the truth lies buried with the victims; there were no survivors.

I took a deep breath and told myself that, after being run over by a car the night before, this was nothing more than a nuisance. I could handle it. My cups were broken, but I could handle it. The kitchen was a mess, but I could handle it. The floor was covered in rice and tiny pieces of earthenware, but I could the fuck handle it.
For a minute or so, I was completely calm.

The the Chuck Norris in me took over again.
I ripped everything that remained in it out of the cupboard. I took the still twitching mass of my cupboard down from the table where it had landed, roundhouse kicked out its back and finished the bugger.
I punched and kicked and jumped on it, until it was nothing but a heap of laminated pressboard. This I dumped in the staircase, spat on it and slammed the door.

On monday I went to IKEA, bought a new cabinet, went back on wednedsay because the hinges didn't work and am going back today because the new ones don't either.
While I'm away, enjoy this!

universeller up-cheerer

2007-11-26T11:46:00.000Z

...alter, ich hab Heimweh...

Und Angela Merkel trinkt Tee im Garten mit Osama seine Mudder...

2007-11-21T22:01:00.000Z

Heute in der Bahn habe ich wieder viel gelernt. Der Jüngling in der Bankreihe neben mir bemerkte zu einer der ihn begleitenden Hoppelschnitten:

"Die Kirche hat im Namen des Glaubens abermillionen von Menschen umgebracht. Auf den Kreuzzügen und so weiter..."

Ich fand das schon eine relativ eloquent und souverän vorgetragene Äußerung, die die junge Dame ihm gegenüber schlagfertig kommentierte:

"Das is doch alles gar nich erwiesen...!"

Auch ich bin seit diesem frühnachmittäglichen AUGENÖFFNER völlig sicher, dass das alles mit den Kreuzzügen, mit der von niemand erwarteten spanischen/italieneischen/portugiesischen Inquisition und mit der Verbrennung von Andersdenkern, dem in Käfige sperren von Frauen die Salbe machen können oder eine Warze auf der Nase haben, dem lustigen Ausweiden, kastrieren, in mehrere Teile teilen, dem auf Räder spannen und jeden lustigen Knochen einzeln mit dem Knüppel kaputt hauen, das unmotivierte Abfackeln von Lebendmaterial...

das haben sich doch nur Kim Jong-Il und Osama Bin Laden ausgedacht, um Jesus schlecht zu machen!

Außerdem hab ich heute gelernt, dass meine Pfannkuchen ganz anders aussehen als die von meiner Mutter,
dass die Bequemlichkeit meiner Schuhe in hohem Maße von der zu tragenden Last meiner Schultern abhängt,
dass es möglich ist, bei IKEA einkaufen zu gehen, ohne Teelichter zu kaufen (ja-haaa!),
dass es außer meinen beiden ex Mitbewohnern Pav und Amit nur noch M.G. aus D. gibt als Männer, die Desperate Housewives gucken
und dass mein Putzmittel mir zwar endloses Niesvergnügen bereitet, aber entgegen meiner Befürchtungen keine Placken auf der Haut.

Was für ein kluger Tag das!

Ein typischer Dialog im Leben der Frau F.

2007-11-16T08:27:00.000Z

Steffen: "Ey, Scheise, ich bin in Hamburg hab mein Fahrrad hier, die Bahn streikt und ich muss unbedingt nach Berlin zurück. Kannst du ein Auto mieten, hier her fahren, mich und das Fahrrad einpacken und nach Berlin bringen? Jetzt gleich?"

Iche: "... ... ja sicher."

Die Achterbahn Leben fährt auch nich langsamer, wenn man Öl auf die Schienen gießt.
Aber langsam is eh blöd.

Of Life, justice and a fox on the way home

2007-11-13T20:57:00.000Z

Tonight I was working late, as one of my collegues gave everybody interested a coaching about dislexia. I had thought about taking the train this morning, but then I thought better
(or worse) of it and took my little racer bike. After the coaching it turned out that said collegue lives close by and that he would gladly give me a lift home in his car, an offer I had to refuse because I was there by bike, a much less alluring option for the way home. (Darrrn!)

Anyway, it was about half past nine and I was on my way home, when I almost ran over a fox. It had been sitting on the path and only saved itself by a daughty jump into the grass next to the S-Bahn track.
It was chewing.
It the dawned on me that I had disturbed this red coated fellow while it was having a mouse over for dinner. "It would have been mere justice if I had run you over", I thought "and that's what you get in life."

But then my mind stated racing. "That's not true, you know. Life is not just." And I started pondering ... because it IS true.

Life is not just.

Mouse dies, fox lives. Sabrina rides her bike through the cold, Töns (yes, that's really his name) cruises home warm and comfortably in his Astra. Life is not something where things are shared equally, because that's just the way life is. There is no justice.
I then got to think about owing people or being owed and it's the same thing there. Justice does not come into it, because it's all a matter of perspective. I was glad I hadn't run over the fox (and so was it I bet), because foxes are cute and cuddly. Feeling that people owe you does not necessarily mean they feel the same way, because the innate truth about perspective is that not everyone has the same as otherwise it wouldn't be perspective, it would just be ... I don't know ... spective probably.

So my mind raced away in a hurlyburly of thoughts as mixed up even as I write them down here and I raced along with it on my bike. I got home at a quarter to ten; cold, exhausted and awfully tired. My limbs are shaking because I didn't have time to eat anything proper today and now I am too tired, letting alone the fact that there is NOTHING to eat in the house whatsoever. I work one limb or another off during the week, don't heed my studies as much as I should in order to be able to pay my rent and have the occasional slice of Pizza and then I get home knackeder in the evening with no prospective of even a slice of Käsebrot.
Because life is not just.

And what do I do with that? Try to change the way of the world? I don't think so.
Become a cynic? Heavens, sometimes I think I already am.

But I'm still glad I didn't run over that fox. Whatever way the world is going; sometimes cute and cuddly is just the more convincing argument. Tells you a lot about life, I think.

Good fight, good night.

Montag, 9:15h: Feindkontakt

2007-11-07T17:33:00.000Z

Ich war also in aller Frühe (jaja, OK, esgehtso früh) mit meinem schicken Mietwagen auf dem Weg nach Tegel, um das schniiiieke Dingen dort wieder irgendeinem fremden Mann auszuhändigen. Ich war einigermaßen spät dran, denn ich hatte nicht früher Lust zum Aufstehen gehabt und hatte auch außerdem nicht damit gerechnet, ne halbe Stunde von mir zu Hause bis zum Tiergartentunnel zu brauchen. Ich wollte also nur mel eben schnell noch tanken, schwenke auf die Tankstelle ein und es ergibt sich folgender Anblick:

Alle Zapfsäulen voll, komplett mit alle, nur an einer steht eine verlorene A-Klasse, komplett mit Pelzträgerin daneben. Dem Fachmann fiel sofort die alte Autofahrerweisheit ein: das Wichtigste beim Tanken ist, das Auto mithilfe des an der Zapfsäule befestigten Rüssels mit den unterirdischen Kraftstofftänken der Anlage zu verbinden.

Dies war hier nicht gegeben. Die Frau sah mit ihrem Pelzjäckchen und dem Gutschitäschchen auch nich aus, als hätte sie irgendeine Ahnung, wo sie hier is oder was sie machen soll. Ich dachte also, die wartet auf ihren MANN, der drinne am Bezahlen is und so alsbald den Weg frei machen würde, so dass auch ich etwas blauen Gogojuice zapfen könnte.

HA!
HASTE GEDACHT!

Das Pelztierchen näherte sich mir und als ich das Fenster runterließ, steckte sie ihr Hohlköppchen zu mir hinunter und sprach:

"Es kann sein, dass es ein Bisschen länger dauert, ich muss erst rausfinden, wie ich den Tankdeckel aufkriege."

WHU-AT?????
"Ja, die Angestellten hier sind grade alle beschäftigt..."
Die ham auch weiß Gott verdammt besserers zu tun als sich um hirnlose Hoppelschnitten zu kümmern, die den ganzen Verkehr aufhalten.
Ich wusste ECHT nich, was ich sagen sollte. Außer vielleicht "beiseite, Weib!", aber das sagt man ja nich zu fremden Leuten.
Ich sagte also stattdessen: "Ich guck ma."
Die nächsten 20 Sekunden verbrachte ich damit, im Cockpit nach dem Knöpfchen zu suchen, was den Tankdeckel aufschnappern lässt. Es gab aber keins.
Also ging ich mal zum Tankdeckel und drückte druff. Und siehe da : Plopp! War gar nich so schwer.

Wer jetzt glaubt, das Problem sei aus der Welt geschafft, der hat die Rechnung ohne Gloria (so hieß die BESTIMMT) gemacht!
"Oh, wie geht das Ding da drinnen denn auf?"
"Das Ding is ein Schraubverschluss. Das geht auf wenn man schraubt." Ahhh, dumme Gans. "Oh, der geht aber schwer auf. Naja, wir Frauen halt..." sprich für dich oder es gibt ne dicke Lippe!
Das nächste Problem auf der Agenda war die Wahl des richtigen Treibstoffs.
Ich so: "Is das ein Diesel?"
Gloria so: "Weiß nich."
Ich so: "Na von außen kann ich das jetz auch nich erkennen, aber das hört man am Geräu...", ach, vergisses.

Ich verhalf jedenfalls der Lady, die während der ganzen Zeit verkrampft ihr Achselschweißfängerhandtäschchen festklemmte, zu einer Ladung Normalbenzin (denn verbleit, das gibt es schon seit Jahren nich mehr in diesem Land).
Und während ich so da stand und endlich auch tanken konnte, dachte ich an die weisen Worte von Herrn Johnston:
"Glauben Sie nicht, dass lehren nur etwas ist, was Sie in der Uni oder der Schule machen. Der Lehrauftrag ist ein universeller! Gehen Sie raus und lehren Sie überall!!"

Aber mal im Ernst, Herr Johnston: von Rechts wegen hätte ich ihr die Luft aus den Reifen lassen und sie zur U-Bahn schicken sollen!

Good Things In Life des Tages, Kapitel IV

2007-10-27T14:01:00.000Z

Finding awareness

about who to play with and who not, about big people taking care of little people, about what's important, who to hang on to and who to let go and about the irreplacableness of a good cry in the cosy warmth of a friend's kitchen combined with orange flavoured tea...

..now come on, life, you bitch! Do your worst!!!

Most giantest sneeze in the whole fucking universe

2007-10-13T18:47:00.000Z

Thing with life is that it always gets you unawares.
Last weekend I was paying a visit to my pregnant friend Jenny and her boyfr... I'm sorry ... husband (oh my GOD!!!) Christian in Halleannersaale. We were all sitting in the kitchen and they were deep in conversation about ... magic potions? griffin rides? buying a new sword I cannae remember. I wasn't really listening for a moment, enclosed in my own little world and thinking lightly about ... what the flying FUCK I wanna do in my life, when all of a sudden, the answer presented itself. It wasn't just a bright idea or a, what we call in German, Geistesblitz, I was having a copper bottom, 24 carat

EPIPHANY!!!!

I've been thinking about where to go and what to do in life for at least the eight years of my very quite rather unsuccessful studying around, never getting anywhere much, apart from, OK, so I'm gonna be a teacher, yeah, I can do that. But the one thing that would be my call in life, the ONE thing I really really wanted to do just wouldn't come to mind, as much and as hard as I ever thought about it. It was just like waiting for a sneeze that won't come out properly, you can feel it scavaging around in yer nose, you want it, you need it but naught will happen, leaving you empty and stupid-faced and then, all of a sudden and without previous anouncement: BAM!!! ... HATCHOOOOOO!!!!!!!! there goes half your brain and oh, doesn't it just feel amazing, a precious little nose-orgasm!

The best thing is: it doesn't even matter what this epiphany WAS, the only thing of any import is that it was THERE, because that's what matters when it comes to epiphanies: they just have to be there. The rest will sort itself out.

So just like after one of those wonderfully liberating sneezes, I will indulge the warm and satisfied feeling of its aftermath and when the contendedness subsides, think about the epiphany and how to form and shape it and ... maybe wait in case there's another one where that came from...

(wer drei mal niest, is doof)

Good Things In Life des Tages, Kapitel III

2007-10-03T16:41:00.000Z

One Night of Epic Rock

Komplett mit zu viel Wein trinken, Volume auf "viel zu laut" und dann von Meat Loaf über Metallica bis hin zu Elvis (bidde!) ordentlich inbrünstig in die Fernbedienung gesungen bis nachts um drei! Rockenrohl, Aller!!

So muses g'wä sein

2007-09-29T06:13:00.001Z

Für alle moine Werbe-Fuzzi und sonschdigen Froind un alle Schwoben im Geischtee. Film ab!

Arschbacken zusammenkneifen un durch...

2007-09-26T17:23:00.000Z

Heute morgen war's soweit.
Es gab keine Ausreden mehr, kein Entrinnen, nowhere to hide.

Ich packte also mein gesammeltes Unileben in Form von Studienbuchseiten und Leistungsscheinen und machte mich auf den Weg zum Anglistiksekretariat. Ich war viel zu früh und verbrachte noch circa eine dreiviertel Stunde im Cafe, wo niemand war außer dem stinkenden Kühlschrank und dem Plakat mit Ewan McGregor drauf. Es gibt schlimmere Gesellschaft.

In der folgenden Stunde arbeiteten Frau Brabant und ich hart daran, dass auch ich endlich eine Bescheinigung darüber bekommen, nich sieben einhalb Jahre ausschließlich auf der faulen Haut gelegen zu haben und mich fortan Hauptstudiumsstudierende nennen zu dürfen.

Mit der Tatkräftigen Mithilfe von Herrn Riemer von der Geschäftsleitung und Frau Schröder von Tier.tv war es dann auch irgendwann geschafft und ich durfte mit dem hervorragend ausgefüllten Zettel ein Stockwerk nach oben zu Herrn Leitner.

Der guckte mich fragend an und erkundigte sich, was er denn jetz mit dem ganzen Zettelkram machen sollte. Und da frag noch einer, warum das Studieren in dem Laden so lange dauert, wenn ich mal die Professoren irgendnen Schimmer von der Studienorganisation haben.

Er frug dann weiter, warum ich denn so lange gebraucht habe.
"Gee, no one's ever asked me that before, Professor... Vielleicht weil unter anderem SIE so unglaublich langweilige und haarsträubende Lehrveranstaltungen machen..."

Nach einer Minute, einer geleisteten Unterschrift und einem professorlichen "Tja, diese Fragen, die Sie da haben, kann ich Ihnen leider beim besten Willen nicht beantworten." - Danke, Mann! - war ich dann wieder unten bei Frau Brabant und Sekunden später raus aus dem Laden und auf zum Dekanat, wo ich auch noch mal beweisen musste, dass ich nach sechs Jahren tatsächlich eine Proseminarsarbeit über Segen und Gefahr von Fairies geschrieben habe.
Ich musste nich warten,
es ging alles glatt,
die Frau war einigermaßen freundlich.
Seltsam, da stimmt was nich.

Nächster Halt: Immabüro.
Es war offen! Die Frau hinter dem Infotresen gab mir eine Schere, um eine der mitgebrachten HU Imma-bescheinigungen aus dem Bogen zu lösen.
Sie sagte "Alles klar, das geht in Ordnung" (!).
Was is den bidde LOS heute???

Fertig.

Am Freitag darf ich mein Zwischenprüfungszeugnis abholen und mich drüber freuen.
Wenn ich Lolle aus "Berlin, Berlin" wäre, würde jetzt eine Zeichnung erscheinen von jemandem, der ganz viel Mist auf eine Schubkarre läd und ihn unter viel Fluchen schließlich wegschafft...

Aber ich bin ja nich Lolle.

Ich bin Studentin im Hauptstudium. (Sad, innit?!)

Good Things In Life des Tages, Kapitel II

2007-09-19T20:52:00.000Z

Schritt für Schritt Versöhnung

Wie zum Beispiel nach vier fast endlosen Jahren des eisigen Schweigens eine SMS vom kleinen Bruder bekommen, der einem erzählt, dass er ein Wettrennen gegen einen Porsche verloren hat.

Dagegen kann auch die ganze emotionale Unbill der letzten zwei Tage nicht anstinken.

Guter Tag!

Good Things In Life des Tages, Kapitel I

2007-09-13T15:48:00.001Z

Fahrtwind

Fahrtwind kommt, wenn Dinge sich bewegen. Und zwar schnell.
(Dafür two thumbs up von meiner Seite.)

Die Geschichte vom müden kleinen Bleirohr

2007-09-12T10:46:00.000Z

Das kleine Bleirohr gähnte kräftig. Schließlich tat es jetzt schon seit Jahren seinen Dienst ohne je auch nur ein Wochenende in die Ferien gefahren zu sein. Es fühlte sich alt und abgenutzt und es hatte schon lange keine Lust mehr auf seinen Job. Es wollte die Welt sehen, Paris, London, New York! Es wollte mit dem Schneesturm um die Wette laufen, am Strand von Coco Beach Schrimchendrinks trinken, die sieben Weltmeere befahren und vielleicht ein gleichgesinntes Rohr zum Verlegen finden.
Doch es steckte fest in seiner Wand und alle Gedanken von Abenteuer und Romantik wurden von dem es umgebenden Mörtel erstickt. Bei dem Gedanken an all die Jahre der pausenlosen Arbeit in seinem kleinen dunklen Verließ dachte das kleine Bleirohr resignierend:"Ich muss brechen."
Und das tat es auch.
Es brach.

Eine riesige Gischtfontäne nahm dem kleinen Bleirohr die Sicht, als es schließlich seinem Arbeitsdasein ein Ende bereiten wollte. Unermüdlich hatte es sich gewunden und verbogen, bis endlich endlich kaltes klares Wasser aus seinen Eingeweiden schoss und den engen Raum in der Wand füllte, den das kleine Bleirohr sein Zuhause und seine Arbeitsstelle nannte.
Jetzt musste es nur noch warten. Warten, bis jemand seine Verzweiflungstat entdeckte.
Wasser füllte jeden Millimeter des Raumes aus, es sickerte durch die Decke in das Badezimmer darunter. Auf dem Boden bildete sich eine Pfütze, die schnell anschwoll und sich schließlich ihren Weg bahnte in die Wohnung darunter, wo das Wasser auf seinem Weg Mörtel, Tapeten und alles was nicht laminiert war mitnahm.

Das kleine Bleirohr wartete auf den Handwerker, der es befreien sollte, so dass es hinaus in die Weite Welt gehen konnte, doch lange lange Zeit geschah nichts.
Schließlich hörte es, wie jemand versuchte, die Wohnungstür zu öffnen, jedoch blieb der Versuch erfolglos. Aber das Bleirohr war frohen Mutes, denn immer mehr Stimmen waren jetzt im Hausflur zu hören, Männer mit Werkzeug und Funkgeräten machten sich an der Tür zu schaffen und schließlich, nach Stunden, ging die Tür auf!
Kurz darauf wurde das Wasser abgestellt. Es war totenstill. Das Rohr lag in seiner Rohrhöhle und wartet. Es wartete die ganze Nacht und den Großteil des nächsten Tages.

Dann schließlich wurde sich an seiner Umgebung zu schaffen gemacht. Es war furchtbar laut und heftige Erschütterungen schüttelten das Rohr durch und durch.
Schließlich brach der Handwerker zu dem Rohr durch. Es blinzelte in dem plötzlichen grellen Licht und hielt den Atem an.

"Da haben wir ja den Übeltäter", sagte eine Männerstimme und machte sich daran, das Rohr aus seiner Höhle zu befreien.
Kurz darauf war es geschafft! Das Rohr wurde aus seiner Wand gelöst, der Handwerker nahm es mit nach draußen und schmiss es auf den Schrott.
Kurz darauf wurde es eingestampft!

Rest In Peace, du blöde Kuh!

Let there be Fratzengeballer

2007-09-04T18:57:00.000Z

This afternoon, was ... one of those afternoons, you know. It was pissing down outside, the lights were turned on inside, the overall prospects of the day getting anywhere were rather below average, and a deep and gnawing tristesse (I guess this word was invented for exactly this kind of situation) was digging its way mercilessly to the very spot inside the chest where you know it won't come out of again for a considerable time.

In those camomile-moments, it is wisest to just surrender, get back into bed, hide under the cover, drink camomile tea (hence the name) and wait till it is all over and the world seems a better place.

Instead of doing so, I went to work.
Bad mistake.

My first student today was my favourite one, Daftass*. Now Daftass and I have somewhat of a history. I have been teaching him for quite a while, or would have been, if he had made the effort of turning up every now and then. Instead, I spent about eight hours of my life over the course of two months, rushing to work and then waiting for the wee scunner to show up, which most of the time he chose not to do. To cut a long (and painful) story short, it all ended up with his mother starting to cry in my classroom (once), Daftass hiding in the car and not coming out (twice) and his mother finally taking him out of the school (at last).

And now ... he's back. Highly motivated by his mother's account (...yeah, right) and all of a sudden eager to learn.
Or so I was told.

Today was going to be our first lesson after all this comedia of the last weeks.
And what can I tell you ... as the clock struck 2 p.m. ... nothing happened. Nothing happened for about a quarter of an hour, and I was just on my way out to get a mug of really strong coffee, a vodka shot and some karate-lessons, muttering "I cannae believe it, I bloody cannae believe it...!" when nonchalantly there comes the kid strolling round the corner and into the doorway.

I ... was ... boiling.

I gave him a good verbal bashing that lasted about ten minutes, during which he did not once look at me or seem to understand what I was angry about.

He then proceeded to tell me that his teacher had told him these lessons were all a big rip-off.

If a fairy had appeard that moment, I had wished for some aspirin, a really really big hammer and forget about that third wish, thanks, that would be all.
No fairy did appear.

But, some comfort at least, at home, I have a pretty well stacked toolbox as well!

*Name has beenn changed for obvious reasons

Yep, that's a definite keeper!

2007-09-04T18:50:00.000Z

When I took myself out to the cinema last weekend, there was an extremely annoying Austrian girl in the row in front of me, unknowingly referring to the well known US American anti-Bush country girl band as

the Chixie Dicks

... yeah, right ...

Ladies and Gentlemen, je présente:

2007-08-28T18:01:00.001Z

Mein Patenkind und ich:

Remote controlled torschlusspanik

2007-08-27T10:51:00.000Z

I went to two weddings last weekend. The first one was my friend Jenny's and the second one my cousin Sandra's.
Of course, at the second occasion, I met quite a few members of my beloved and extensive family. (By the way, welcome to the clan again, Tom. Don't pretend you didn't know what you got yourself into!)

Anyways, Sandra being my age, three months older to be exact, and her and me being the two most probable candidates for great-grand children, nieces and nephews, and after my most favourite topic of conversation was done and over with ("So, how long till you finish your studies??"), it didn't take the aunties long to get to my second most favourite subject for conversation:

"And when will YOU get married? Your biological clock is tickin', dontcherknow, and the longer you wait the more difficult it will be for you to find a husband."
I shouldn't take it all too seriously, I know, because all Aunty Marion ever does is wind me up about fuck all and my Granny, well, I love her a lot, but she's getting weird and startet to treat me like some unsellable item ONE MONTH after Jo and I had split up, so I took it lightly and fired back along the lines of
"Well, for MY wedding, all you shrapnels can start brushing up their English again, because I will marry in Scotland and there you go that's settled then!"
But after the fourteenth reference to my biological clock ("Haha, I can't even HEAR it tickin anymore!"), I started to get pissed off and lay a curse on all of them obnoxious aunts and uncles.

And last night I dreamt that I was out shopping to get some babies' clothes and a kilt.
My psycho-analyst friend Kristina told me I don't need a psycho-analist to analyse THAT!
I hope the curse works well...

Was Nachdenkliches

2007-08-23T12:57:00.000Z

My sumer holidays

2007-08-12T11:59:00.000Z

During my sumer holidays I went to Springfield. It was very nice. There is a harbour, a big shopping mall, an interesting museum and a big newcler powerplant there. The weather was good and one day we went to Krusty Burger. It was very yummy.
This is me in front of Springfield Elementery Scool:

Well, here's hope!

2007-08-07T18:06:00.001Z

Presseschau:

1. Schottland ist Fußballweltmeister!!! (Obdachlosen-)

2. und hier zitiere ich mal lustig die Votsenpost:

"Queen"-Gitarrist Brian May wird Doktor
Brian May hat seine Doktorarbeit in Astronomie am Imperial College in London eingereicht. Der Gitarrist der britischen Rockband "Queen" hatte die Arbeit 1974 angefangen und sie dann für seine Musikkarriere auf Eis gelegt. Erst im vergangenen Jahr nahm der 60-Jährige seine Forschungen wieder auf. Am Freitag konnte er dann die 48 000 Wörter lange Doktorarbeit abgeben, in der er erklärt, dass sich Staubwolken im Sonnensystem in die gleiche Richtung bewegen wie die Planeten. Bevor sich May mit dem Doktortitel schmücken kann, muss er am 23. August noch eine mündliche Prüfung ablegen.

So. Wie geil is das denn bidde?MY HERO! Princes of the Universe indeed, Time Waits for Nobody (oder anscheinend doch) und Gimme The Prize!
...und ich dachte ICH brauche lange für die Uni! (Who Wants to Live Forever ohne jemals seinen Abschluss zu schaffen?)

Odiiiiiiiiiiin!!!

2007-08-05T12:20:00.001Z

While we're already here, we thought, we might as well visit some other Scaninavian places. So we took to the road once more, westbound and DOWN! As soon as we had left the swedish lakes and woods, we came to the mountains seperating Sweden from Norway, land of the Vikings!

(That's our wee car down there...!)

We proceeded westwards, crossed the arctic circle and finally arrived at the sea! We were about 20 miles north of the arctic circle, the weather was beaful and the engine hummin' away. We thought about crossing over to the Lofotes for a while, but then decided to direct our steps to Europe's biggest malström atSaltstraumen. I have to admit it was a pretty tame thing when we were there, but it was beautiful all the same.

I hate to say that in the battle of the most amazing sceneries, Sweden didn't stand too much of a chance. It is beautiful there, lakes and woods and everything, but when you cross the border and drive west to the sea, you will find that north-west Norway looks just like north-west Scotland! Sorry, Sweden, you lose...

We were in a brilliant mood
but soon enough or tummies were rumbling and it was getting late (not dark, mind you). We drove up the coast, looking for a place to camp and eat and after some search we found just the spot. Next to a microscopically wee settlement right on the shores of some fjord, someone had installed wooden tables and places to have an open fire. We had salmon, in north west Norway, at eleven o'clock at night, which looked like this:

That night, this was our bedroom and we slept under an open sky that just would not get dark. (Ok, one of us slept in the nursery on weels, look ye here:)

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwww!

We watched the sun disappear just behind the horizon

while some history teacher climbed the hill in order to look sickeningly romantic

(aka Fool on the Hill)

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

Midnight

Next morning, we got woken by these guys:

Soon after that, we got up, had breakfast on more salmon, set the table on fire, burnt a swiss army knife by accident, washed the dishes in the freeeezing seawater, watched Eike bathing therein and generally had a good camping time.
Then we packed up and got the hell out of there, thinkin "Geezus, Norway, if only you'd give up eating whales, we could be best buddies, BY ODIN!!!!"

Hamerkluk it is!

2007-08-03T12:31:00.000Z

Existenzfragen geklärt:
Habe soeben meine Tour der geschlossenen Sekretariate beendet und dabei auch meine Zensur für die Altfranzösisch-Klausur erspäht und ich hab ja wohl mal bidde ne saftige 1,7 geschrieben, meine Herren! Angesichts der Tatsache, dass ich ne halbe Stunde schneller war als alle anderen, zählt das in MEINER Welt natürlich als MINDESTENS 1,0!
Bin isch wohl doch konkret krasseste Checkerbunny wo rumläuft an den ganzen Romanistick! Odee was...

...dort wo am Strand die Palmen steh'n...

2007-08-01T16:36:00.000Z

So.
13 Stunden Schlaf später.
Das Erste, was man von Schweden sieht, schon vom Flugzeug aus, ist Wald. Wald und Seen. Seen im Wald und Wald mit Seen drinne. Sieht schön aus. Dazwischen stehen kleine rote oder gelbe Häuschen mit weißen Fenstern und Kanten und ich musste mich schon beim zweiten Mal "Ohhhhh, wie schööööööön" nachdrücklich darum bitten lassen, dies doch wohl bitte nicht bei jedem dieser Häuser zu tun. Na gut, denn eben nicht.

Der Flughafen Stockholm Skavsta ist ungefähr so nahe an Stockholm wie Berlin an der Ostsee und der Bus braucht anderthalb Stunden. Wenn man das Taxi nimmt, ist das zwar schneller, kostet dafür aber ungefähr eine ganze Reisekasse. Fragt mich nicht, woher ich das weiß; nennt es einen sophisticated guess.
Mit folgendem Automobil
(in Schweden fahren ALLLE Leute Volvo, wir waren also bestens der Kultur des landes angepasst)
sind es von Stockholm aus 1000 Blitzerkamera-gesprenkelte Kilometer bis an das Ziel der Reise: Arvidsjaur in Lappland. Dort ist es sehr schön. es gibt Seen und Wälder und bewaldete Seen und kleine rote und gelbe Häuschen mit weißen Fenstern. Schöööön!
Wenn man die drei Stunden Flugzeugverspätung und die damit einhergehende Notwenigkeit zum Stockholmer Hauptflughafen zu fahren um dort das Auto abzuholen miteinberechnet, kommt an genau fünf Minuten vor Öffnung des Supermarktes (Schweden fest in der Hand von Konsum und ICA) im vertäumten Arvidsjaur an. Zeit, die meine beiden reizenden Begleiter für eine ihrer Lieblingsbeschäftigungen nutzten: Pinkeln gehen.

In Lappland gibt es unglaublich viele Rentiere. Ihre Lieblingsbeschäftigung ist es, mit ihren seltsamen (sicherlich ideal für das Laufen auf Schnee geeigneten) Füßchen auf der Landstraße rumzulaufen.
Wenn man sich dann mit Essen und "öl" (das gibs nur mit 2,5%, sehr zum Verdruss von der Eike) eingedeckt hat, kann man endlich richtung Endziel fahren. Und das isses:

Voilà le Honeymoonsuite. Komplett mit Kinderzimmer für den kleinen Eike und enormem Bett samt Prinzessinnenbetthimmelmoskitonetz für den Wu und die Sa.
Und es gab ein sagenhaft riesiges Badezimmer. Mit Schlammbad und begrünt:
Da hieß es jeden Morgen: Arschbacken zusammenkneifen und RINN da! Es war manchmal hart, aber wir waren meistens härter. Das Wasser riecht nur ein Bisschen nach Fisch und in dem Ding schwimmen auch Fische, die man mit ner Angel rausholen und dann essen kann. Ein Job für schädelspalter-Meik!

Ansonsten gibt es in der Gegend noch herrliche Seen und Wälder und Seen, die von Wäldern umgeben sind und Seen mitten im Wald. In diesen Seen kann man sich nich nur prima waschen (die riechen auch nich ALLE nach Fisch, ehrlich), sondern man kann auch mit nem Bootchen draufrumheizen. Ein Job für put-the-pedal-to-the-metal-Flecko! Das ist das Gefährt:

Mit dem Verdeck drauf kann man zwar nich mehr vorne rausgucken, aber es gibt ja eh keinen Gegenverkehr und die Sonne kam immer gleich wieder raus.

Und nächstes Mal erzähl ich euch, wie wir über die Berge gefahren sind, um Fjorde zu füttern.

Jag elskar Sverige...oder so

2007-07-31T20:55:00.000Z

Bin wieder da. Hier, guckt mal, so sieht Schweden aus;
Wat die wenigsten Menschen wissen: in Schweden gibt es ja wesentlich größere Mengen Himmel als hierzulande:

und der macht dann gegen Abend auch gerne mal solche Sachen:

Und es wird nich dunkel. Ich hab seit einer Woche keinen Nachthimmel mehr gesehen. (Und nicht geduscht, aber davon und von den anderen spektakulären Schwedigkeiten, wie z.B. Norwegen, mehr wannannas...)

Existentialismus pur

2007-07-17T15:38:00.000Z

Heute schrieb ich eine Klausur. Sie war über tote Franzosen und ihre Sprache un ich fand sie war nett piece-of-cakeig. Nach 45 Minuten war ich fertig mit Sachen aufschreiben und fing an, mich gehörig zu langweilen. Vor mir saß die Dozentin (sie ist so alt wie mein kleiner Bruder, echt!) und langweilte sich auch ganz doll. Alle um mich herum waren noch hektisch mit Schreiben beschäftigt und fingen alsbald an, um Minuten zu betteln, um sie hintendrannezuhängen an die 60 die wir sowieso schon gekricht hatten. Alle bekamen ihre 10 extra-Minuten und ich las mir meine Klausur zum fünften Mal noch mal durch. Danach langweilte ich mich wieder ein Bisschen, bis ich beschloss, den verfluchten Scheiß einfach abzugeben und die Kurve zu kratzen (oder den Fisch zu ziehen, wie man im schönen Baden so sagt).

Diese ganze Situation lässt zwei Interpratationen zu:

1) Ich bin hammerkluk und überhaupt ist altfranzösisch genau mein Ding.
2) Ich bin hammerdum und hab alles falsch gemacht (dafür aber sehr flott).

Die Aushänge der Klausurnoten werden es zeigen.

DIY time travel, Chapter Two: sound fuelled

2007-07-17T12:07:00.000Z

Last Monday, I spent the entire day in Steglitz at my beloved work place with my beloved dafties, pulling off three blocks of three hours in a row and feeling fantastic at the same time (...not).

As I am a bit of a lazy bum and as three hours are a hell of a lot of time considering they were all "single" lessons (meaning I had to enterain only one kid at a time), I brought a radio play for the kids to enjoy and for me to have nothing to do for the time of 57:23 mins. As I was trying to do the same programme with all three of the kids (as some of them will take a second and third lesson during the holidays in some other constellation and I just HAVE to be a bit economical with my material), I spent three hours of the day listening to Disney's Aladdin. Three times. In a row. Over and over again.

This procedure would probably melt everybody's brain and that might explain why I was fourteen again all of a sudden. I was sitting there, listening to my politics teacher (Herr Burgert, wha' a jerk), respectively NOT listening to my politics teacher (he never told us anything worth knowing anyway, I'm still convinced after all those years. What a waste of time this guy was...!!), but slowly but surely sinking into my own little world, having my own little thoughts, being MILES away from this annoying self-absorbed dickhead in front of the class, dreaming away while covering little scraps of paper with hearts, flowers and suns...you know the sort.

"Was heißt denn 'drown'?", Tanja catapulted me back nto the now and here.
"'ertrinken'", I said and when I looked around, I discovered this little yellow scrap of paper lying on the desk in front of me, covered in wee hearts and flowers and suns.

It was a pathetic thing to behold! "Gee", I thought, "I haven't done this in years...!"
But actually, I can very mucho recommend this sort of time travel; it is so very pleasantly relaxing. Also I don't need to be worried about missing something the teacher says. I am the teacher now and I hardly ever say anything I don't already know in the first place.

Wer ist die coolste Sau an der FU? ... genau!

2007-07-10T14:45:00.000Z

Liebe Frau Fleck,

ich habe eben mit großem Vergnügen Ihre Arbeit zu Sir Orfeo gelesen. Besonders gefallen hat mir der bis auf ein paar ganz kleine Holprigkeiten der luzide und unauffällig elegante Stil, in dem sie geschrieben ist.

Da Sie ein bisschen zu viel Zeit und Raum für eine unnötige Inhaltsangabe aufwenden, sich nicht allzu viel mit dem Geschäft der Interpretation aufhalten - Was bedeuten die Spezifika der Fairy-Welt für Sir Orfeo? - und eine etwas zu knappe Arbeit geschrieben haben, kann ich Ihnen nichts Besseres als 2,3 (noch gut) geben.

Das ist ein bisschen schade, denn Ihr eleganter Stil und Ihr Blick für das Wesentliche hätten Ihnen sicher noch eine bessere Note bescheren können.

Aber "noch gut" ist ja noch gut, und wir können uns beide freuen, dass die Angelegenheit nach so langer Zeit zum Abschluss gekommen ist.

(Anm.: Mein Lieblingssatz diese Woche!)

Ich werde den Schein am Montag in die Bearbeitung geben, so dass er ab Ende der Woche spätestens bei Frau Thurk verfügbar sein müsste.

Mit herzlichen Grüßen

Ihr

Andrew James Johnston

Alter, hab ich mich vielleicht

2007-07-03T12:11:00.000Z

bepisst vor lachen. Scheggd ma die Doppelnamen aus!

My latest invention: DIY gas fuelled time travel

2007-06-28T08:39:00.000Z

Do you know this feeling of suddenly being catapulted back to times and places almost forgotten just because of a song, a phrase or a smell maybe?

Happend to me last weekend when I was coming into my lovely little kitchen which was filled with the unique smell of coffee being prepared on a gas stove.

Whooooooosh, there I went right back to when I was five and we used to spend our holidays at my grandmother's place in Spain. I remembered me coming into the kitchen from the outside dining area and being welcomed by this exact smell every "morning" (at one in the afternoon, say). I didn't know anybody else with a gas stove then and also at home my parents didn't celebrate the ritual of making coffe the way they did in Spain, so this smell belonged to this place.
I remembered the blue and white tiles in the kitchen and the dining area (which later was converted from outside to inside) and how the place smelled of the wooden furniture and something that was probably my granddad's aftershave or something.

I saw my grandmother standing by the little oval kitchen windows which were covered, as most windows are down there, with a decorative iron barring to keep away burglars but which let enough room for the roaming cats to come to my grandmother's kitchen window and get their share of whatever was left over.

I saw us having mussels for dinner and then us kids placing the shells in the garden for the ants to clean them until the next morning.

I saw us fooling around in the pool until our skin would shrivel and our lips turn blue. I remebered the feeling of these orange water wings rubbing against the skin of my face. My grandfather tending the garden. The strange little cellar that wasn't really a cellar because it wasn't underground. My mother's old fashioned bathing suit. The white railing of the veranda. The Mediterranean in the distance. My father teaching me to swim and as a reward: my first very own pair of diving fins.

(This by the way comes pretty close to the real view from the veranda. My granny probably even knows the owner of this one; it must be one of her neighbours.)

The whole of this slide show of emotions and memories happened in the course of maybe the tenth of a second.

When I came to, I saw Mr Meik making a hell of a mess with the coffee which was covering half my kitchen table and the better part of the beer bottles patiently awaiting their being taken to the recycling station.

I looked at the mess and the grinning Meik standing in the middle of it and I thought: "You really should do that more often, baby."

Ever given birth after four years of pregnancy?

2007-06-20T13:18:00.001Z

Well, well...

Those darn avian jobbies, thrice blasted!!!

2007-06-16T14:18:00.000Z

You know, one of the many fine things about living in this lovely wee gemstone of a new place of mine is that I'm no longer exposed to those BMW 3 guys racing up and down the street at five in the morning (or any time of the day for that matter) playing horsepowered symphonies on the cobblestones louder than the bloody planes going the same way at not much more altitude.

No, those days are past now and in the past they must remain! All I listen to nowadays is the sweet chirping of the birds. They sing for me in the morning, at night and all during the day. They bathe in the puddles on my balcony (gotta have this drain fixed some time) and try to build their nests in Erik Schmitt's flower pots. And they sing, sing, sing.... Especially that one that is always sitting on the aerial on the rooftop next to me. I called this one Pilote Instructor.

But, I don't know what it is, but some folk just dinnae ken how tae fucking behave! I just realized that during my absence, one of those little fellows just dipped in for a wee visit, flew into my room and on finding I was not there... seizing the opportunity? expressing his utter protest? I dont know... he went and

SHAT ON MY FUCKING RECORD!!!!*

Right next to Carla Bruni's nice arse. I never thought sparrows could be that rude...!

*PS: Isn't it great that "to shit" is an irregular verb? At some point, someone must have really thought about this issue long and hard: "To shit-shitted-shitted... That just doesn't sound right, we have to come up with something better here...!"
I'd love to know who that guy was and give him a medal or something.

Und ich dachte schon

2007-06-15T11:18:00.000Z

die Zeiten, da mein Nachname Grund zur allgmeinen Erheiterung war, seien seit der Mittelstufe und dem Tag, da ich mich bei Jörg Truttenbach mit der Bitte um die Texte des neuen Metallica-Albums erfolgreich einschleimte, vorüber, vergessen und vorbei.

Aber, wie so oft: falsch gedacht. Denn ICH mag zwar der Mittelstufe entwachsen sein, jedoch umgebe ich mich berufsbedingt mit Individuen, die sie noch nicht einmal erreicht haben.

Die Aufgabe war also folgende: schreibe eine Geschichte (mit Spannungsbogen, Höhepunkt und Auflösung) und schreibe dabei die Einleitung, den Hauptteil und das Ende in die dafür vorgesehenen Kästchen.
Soweit die Theorie. Aber Kevin (KJ) tut grundsätzlich Butter bei die metaphorischen Fische. Hier sein Beitrag:

Der Fleck

Der Fleck wandert immer und immer weiter er suchte eine Fleckfrau. Der Fleck lebt in Berlin.

Es war einmal ein Fleck, der wollte ein Neue Frau kennelernen er wollte nämlich ihr T-shirt erobern. Er suchte in Berlin und auf einmal war er bei der Nachhilfe die hieß Lernfreund. Er schlich sich hienein und Aufeinmal war er in einen zimmer. Da laß er auf einem Schild In Raum 1 ist die Lehrerin Frau Fleck. Er ging in das Zimmer und sprang auf frau Flecks T-shirt. Frau Fleck schrie:"Oh Hilfe Oh Hilfe ein Fleck ein Fleck!" Frau Fleck schrie weil sie nakher noch ein Date hatte mit Ümit. Sie hat den Flack nicht abbekommen und danach ging sie zu Ümit mit ihrem Fleck. Der Fleck war glücklich und das er einen neuen Platz gefunden hatte.

Frau Fleck war bei Ümit und der sagte: "das packen wir Schnell in die Waschmaschine. Der Fleck wurde weggespült und machte sich auf die Suche nach einer neuen Hose.

Wenn der Fleck noh nicht gestorben ist dan sucht er heute noch sachen.

-End of story-

Da fällt einem nix mehr zu ein. Ich glaube, der Junge is in mich verliebt. Oder er verkackeiert mich. Und dass er nicht "nachher" schreiben kann, das Wort "Date" aber anstandslos richtig auf dem Papier landet, macht mich nur noch beunruhigter...

What I really work for

2007-06-04T19:20:00.000Z

is wee turkish girls, praising their amazing cognitive abilities with an enthusiastic

"Wenn man so schlau is wie mich, kann man alles merken!"

C'est geil!
And also for, on my way to work, passing women on the street who go "Feodor, nimm ma die Cecilie (pronounce Cecilje) an die Hand."
Pffrz...what the world is coming to...

Move it!,

2007-05-24T08:29:00.000Z

I thought and so I did.

Esteemed friends and loyal readers,
for the few of you who might not already know, I've changed abode.
My mother calls me a gipsy for moving after only four years of living in the same place, so
my trailer is now located in:

Hochkirchstraße 1
vierter Stock, links

10829 Berlin.

Einigen mag die Adresse bekannt vorkommen, aber bevor das Gerüchtegulasch wieder überkocht:
den Schmitt ha'ick vorher rausjeschmissn.

Telefon sach ich wenn allet unta Dach un Fach is, wa?!
Kommt doch mal rum und nehmt mein Puppenstübchen in Augenschein...

That just about does it!

2007-05-18T17:55:00.000Z

Today, on my way to work, I was walking past a white van, on the side of which it said in deep black letters, ten feet high:

WWW.OBJEKTPRONOMEN.DE

"Hüähhhh?", I thought and I hadn't finished thinking that when I realized that it actually said www.objekform.de (a company that sells office furniture). And I though, OK, that's officially IT! Have I been working too much or am I just generally losing my mind? Whatever the answer might be, I seriously want one of those Granny-holidays at the shores of the Baltic Sea where you do nothing but breathe the salty air, drink overpriced spring water and...and...BATHE IN IT! And I want it RIGHT! NOW!

mental post-it note to myself

2007-05-16T08:31:00.000Z

Nie den Himmel aus den Augen verlieren.
...auch wenn er manchmal grau ist...

Li'l Bro

2007-05-08T06:46:00.000Z

and Girlfriend Manuela. Just that in real life they don't have red eyes...

Extravagance Hanovrenne avec Niki de Saint Phalle

2007-05-03T11:55:00.000Z

Im Spiegel: Bruder, Bruderfreundin, Iche, Ingeborg

It runs aber sowhat von in the family

2007-05-03T11:47:00.000Z

ROCK ON, TANTE CHRISTEL!!

Frank Sinatra Times

2007-04-26T11:10:00.000Z

Is it that late in my life already? Is ist, if not mine, the autumn of my dad's year yet? You know, sometimes, I feel really young. Then I realize that I am indeed not as young as my occasional lack in manners would have me think, and then I feel really old. But is it time yet for my parents to start getting funny? Like, in the head? Or rather, for my dad, because talking about my mother would probably require a whole blog for itself. (www.ineedashrinklikeseriously.blogspot.com)

So, ok, my dad. Wunderful person, tought me to accept whatever sort of of people, I inherited his eyes, his obsession with harmony and his tendency to tell the same pointless stories over and over again. (A quality which will feature prominently in the following account.) But sometimes I think he IS going funny.

On Sunday, I discovered that he had called me on my mobile and left a message on the mailbox. Having told him I would be in Edinburgh until this wednesday, I though it must be pretty important, so I ground my teeth and spent about five quid checking the message, which went as follows: "Hello, daughter. Where are you? I never reach you! I just wnated to tell you that I finished the little text I wrote for Ingeborg's birthday and that I sent it to you. The red parts will be yours to read out." And so on and so on. Aaaargh. Not only was it a mesage of let's say limited importance, I also knew everything it said already as I had talked to my dad about that matter not so long ago.

Ok, what the heck. So I sent him a text saying "I am in Edinburgh, calling is rediculuosly expensinve, coming back on Wednesday and calling you then."

Then, on descending from Arthur's Seat on Monday evening, my mobile rang again, betraying the caller's identity by displaying the words "Papa Festnetz". So I thought, "Now this must be really important, after all I just sent him a text last night to say that I'm abroad." So I answered the phone and here is the ensuing dialogue:

"Where are you? I never reach you! I just wanted to tell you about this littel text..."
"IknowIknowIknowIknow all about it...!"
"Gee, child, where are you, the reception is something dreadful!"
"I am in E-DIN-BURGH! and it is reallyreallyreally expensive to talk on the mobile!"
"You're in Scotland? Since when? When you coming back?"
"Dad, I told you I would be in Scotland until wednesday. You just HAVE to start actually reading the text messages you get!"
"I didn't get any!"
"You must have, check your phone again!"
"Child, I can hardly understand you, I will call you at home when you return."
"Yes dad, that is a really really good Idea!"

It is like you have to write him little notes for important things so he doesn't forget. You shouldn't do that to people younger than 80, and he's not even 55.
And the story goes on.

Due to not having slept enough during the past week AND the fact that I had to get my head round the pseudo-problems of the Froggies this morning at eight, I went to bed at half nine. At eleven, the telephone rang and tore me out of a rather pleasant dream. It was my dad. I was still half asleep and couldn't even pronouncce my name, so I answered the phone with a simple "Yes?".
"Hello, daughter! Did I wake you up?"
"Yep."
"Since when are you in bed that early?" (What's wrong with those people? Bad enough that my mother thinks all I ever do in my life is party hard, but now my dad starts the same shit!)
"There's this funny place I go to... 'S called Uni or something and I have to be there at eight tomorrow, so I have to get up at six, so that's why I went to bed early and why I was asleep and why I am really really tired."
"Alright. So, you were in Scotland, were you?"
"Yes, so I was and I know for a fact I told you about it."
"Aha. Well, maybe you did. Ok. (leisurely) I just wanted to tell you about the text I wrote..."
GEEZUZ! "Yea, I know all about it, Dad, the red passages will be mine to read out. Why didn't you email it?"
"Oh, you know, I had to print it out anyway"(?)"so I thought I might as well send it per mail."
Surrendering, and also very tired: "......Hmmm............Fair enough."
"Did you talk to your sister yet about when you are planning to come to Hannover on Saturday?"
"No, didn't, but I gather that will take about fifteen seconds to organze - Heya, we're leaving Berlin at noon. - Fine, suits me well. - Good. - Good. - Seeya the morrow. - See ya."
"Ok, it's just that you have two options. One is going to Ingeborg's place first..."
"And the other is going to the hotel directly. I know. It's all in the invitation."
"No, it isn't."
"Then how come I know about it?"
"Hhm. Might have told you already."
"...Yep... That might be an option."

He the proceeded to tell me something I absolutely cannot remember, as I was constantly on the brink of falling asleep again.

On the other hand, I am sure he will tell me again when I see him on Saturday.
So, here's to you, Dad. For your next birthday, I will give you a bunch of post-it notes.

Touchdown

2007-04-25T12:03:00.000Z

I've literally just landed back in Berlino, after spending a really short week in the land of the deep fried Mars bar, so let me tell you how this went.
I spent the better part of the week in this lovely room (now occupied by an Australian cricketeer called Luke who is MASSIVE, musclewise)

with THIS Gentleman, who, for some reason or other, KEPT ON MENTIONING THE WAR!!!
We undertook a trip to the Highlands with this here young fella (Ian is the name), who was very pleased about having lit the self-lighting barbecue.
We went to Findhorn to watch a very good play in the theatre of the local and well known Hippy-Commune and after that had a barbecue on the beach at night.

We then proceeded to a remote carpark near Aviemore, that boasted not only beautiful landscapes, but also a sign saying "No overnight parking or camping".
We parked overnight and camped there. This is the view from my luxurious room to that of the boys (yesyes, yaaw, I slept in the spacious comfiness of a Vauxhall Vectra Estate, but how that came to be is a different story):
And in the morning, I had breakfast on the shores of the rivulet:
Apart from that, Edinburgh is pretty much still the same: the Crags are where they used to be,
Scotts Monument; still there,

Portobello; the same, apart from the toxic sewage that got into the sea and contaminated the Estuary,

The Mound and castlehill: yep, still there,

The Meadows and Arthur's Seat: check (although they look a bit jepanese right now),

Roslyn and the Pentlands: lovely as ever.

And now, I am going to indulge in the packs of Tunnocks Caramel Wafers and McVitie's chocolate digestives I brought, and apart from that, probably sleep until June...
10-4 for now,
FF

Can life be any better?

2007-04-20T12:35:00.000Z

I've had a coronation chicken sandwich and a cup of tetley tea for breakfast.
I went to Craigmount High.
I breathed the Edinburgh air.
I had a baked potatoe at the Baked Potatoe Shop on Cockburn Street.
I walked down Princess Street.
I bought some crisps and chocolate brownie cheesecake.
I walked down Leith Walk.
I've been to Tesco on Nicholson Street.
I rode a Megabus.
I will go to Silverknowes today.
And tomorrow Dave and I are driving up to the Highlands, staying in a hostel and watching a play in Findhorn.

Now CAN it? Hardly.

Phillip saves the day ... again!

2007-04-16T17:53:00.000Z

Damit ihr wisst, wie ich es schaffe, mich an einem Montag, 42 Stunden vor Abflug in ein Land voll Purple Heather dazu zu motivieren, zur Arbeit zu gehen:

Iche: Und wenn es Hebung-Senkung-Hebung-Senkung ist, dann nennt man das Versmaß...
Phillip: Warum gibt Bluetooth eigentlich Hodenkrebs?
Iche, meinGesicht in meine Hände versenkend: Ich weiß es nich ich hab mich damit noch nich näher auseinandergesetzt das betrifft mich nicht direkt.
Phillip, einlenkend: Na, dann eben Muschikrebs. Oder wie heißt das bei Frauen?

Zur Auflösung der Versmaßfrage kam es glaub ich nich mehr.

Home sweet home, Ala-frickin'-...nglistik

2007-04-16T10:41:00.000Z

Da war ich wieder, eingekesselt in einem hoffnungslos überfüllten Raum voller Saskias, Lehrerkinder und Leuten mit Mundgeruch, die Altgriechen zitieren können und dies auch unaufgefordert tun, dafür aber arge Probleme mit der Beherrschung des Langhaarschneiders haben, mit dem sie sich anscheinend selbern den Haarschopf am Hinterkopf stutzen.
Das Thema war Gothic Novels aus dem 18. und 19. Jahrhundert und der Dozent, ein mir vorher unbekannter, weißhaariger Kugelbauchbesitzer, kannte sich mit Marilyn Manson und Nightwish aus.
Verrückt. Und das alles noch vor dem Frühstück.
Hello, Angelistik, nice to be back!

Sieben Klammeraffen und ein Arschgeweih

2007-04-09T17:48:00.000Z

Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh,

2007-04-04T10:55:00.000Z

endlich Frühling! Darauf einen Dujardin!