Those darn avian jobbies, thrice blasted!!!

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

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

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!,

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!

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

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

Li'l Bro

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

Extravagance Hanovrenne avec Niki de Saint Phalle

Im Spiegel: Bruder, Bruderfreundin, Iche, Ingeborg

It runs aber sowhat von in the family

ROCK ON, TANTE CHRISTEL!!

Frank Sinatra Times

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

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?

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!

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

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

Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh,

endlich Frühling! Darauf einen Dujardin!

It's the simple things in life

that really matter.

The simple things in life are those, that really, truely, madly, deeply render you blissfully happy. Theoretically, we all know about this eternal truth, but from time to time, it takes destiny's buttkick to make us understand the whole weight of it again.

It so happened to me last weekend, when we FINALLY inaugurated the barbecue-season in Görlitzer Park and after an hour I found myself happily stuffed with bits of grilled animals (sorry, Oma) and several luke chilled beers. And the latter ones were unconveniently trying to make their exit again in the designated way.

Now it has only just turned April and though spring may be on it's way, it has not yet arrived, so the bushes still stand naked, shaking their fists in the air. Plus it was onlly seven p.m. and still light out, so the obvious choice of disappearing behind some piece of shrubbery was no option.

What could I do?? I decided to just go home and hope that I would be quick enough to avoid any kind of embarassment. Tieing my shoelaces was a challenge already and I hadn't yet left the park when I realised there was no way, NO WAY, that I was ever ... gonna ... make it. I needed a pee, I needed it badly and I needed it NOW! Prontissimo! I was desperate, as I am too much of a chickening weirdo to just step into a bar, use the loo and be off again. This is what you may call a sac-de-cul dilemma, when there is just no way out and you are too stupid to turn around.

But suddenly, and without further warning, I was saved! I was turning the last corner on my way out of the park and BEHOLD:




GOD BLESS HANS WALL and his children. And his children's children. And his children's children's children!
I had never used one of those before, unwilling to pay half a quid for a pee as I am. But 50 cent seemed no sacrifice at all and after inserting the coin, OPEN SESAME!, the sliding doors glid aside for me, a gentle music starting to play after they closed again behind me.

Oooohhh, it's bliss!

Minutes later, I left my little refuge happy as a badger, thinking to myself:
It really is the simple things in life that really count.

So, children, always remember this wee lesson! The simple things!!

Und dann war da noch...

...der Tröter. Verzeihung, der Alphornbläser, welcher Aysegül und mich, an unseren Cookies knabbernd und unseren Heißgetränken schlürfend, mit seiner Version von "Freude schöner Götterfunken" erfreute. Dieser akustische Hochgenuss wurde umso besser, da im Hintergrund die kleine Osteuropäische Akkordeonspielerin verzweifelt und doch ganz relaxt versuchte, gegen das Geblase anzuquieken. Quasi Rumänien meets Ösiland in your middle-ear. Ach, so Multikulti und doch so schmerzhaft.

A day out in March

Spam-Poesie

Activating ten times whatever reason! Uneconomic, drivers, anyhowthat acceptable, slate wiped additional? Dude curtaining storage encryption hey whatr byte fdisk. Social nor individual wipes? Token kindred dead quickly freequot earnest plea him glad. Stuck loopwhile visiting download. Simple right race dying bondman. Hard death been an afric. Untrue genius, spirit bringing into own political ranks. Steals opens huddle colorjack sphere palette.

Tcha. Das is eben Kunst, Herrschaften. Einfach mal sacken lassen. Ich mag besonders die Stelle mit whatr byte fdisk. I, too, sometimes feel stuck loopwhile, don't you?

Naja. Nich Rilke. Aber ... dafür kurz.

There's hope, isn't there?

Looking out of the window, I find it utterly comforting that, if I wanted to, if fancy took me to act on an impulse, I could change this ghastly, dreary, tiring, frustrating pile of poo of a weather against sunbathed beaches anytime!

This is due to the fact that I have been receiving several wedding proposals of late. Wedding proposals from guys I don't even know, who sent me messages on the internet in barely intelligible englisch, most of who come from places like Ghana or, in 90% of the cases, Turkey, some of which look like this:



or,OK, I admit, sometimes like this:



Hmmm...
Some more weeks of spring time pish Berlino Specialwedder and I'll seriously consider.
OK, maybe not.

Aye, that's how it must've 'appened!

Saddest thing I've ever seen

As some of you may already know, at some point last year, a ladybird mum laid her eggs some place in my room. Consequently, my room is filled with the perpetual flutter and spatter of ladybird babies and adolescents flying around and bumping into things, preferably my paper lamp and preferably at night.

Their lives are short and, as I may say, eventless, as not even MY roam boasts enough organic bric-a-brac to keep them entertained a long time, let alone fed.

Most of the time they die quietly and unnoticed, only when they've been sitting in the same spot for all too long and their wings start dropping of you realise that they're actually deceased.

Most of the time.

As it happens, I have just finished springcleaning my room. Hoover in one hand, my shisha in the other, I came across a small group of ladybirds. They were all dead, sitting next to the heater and huddled together as if trying to put off the inevitable. Their heads were tucked together as if seeking comfort in each other's company in the last minutes of their tiny lives. It looked to me like one of those elephant graveyards, only much smaller and heart warmingly polka dotted.


This wee death scenario gave me the same feeling that these good old german "children's songs" have always given me, you know, the ones where Heitschi Bumbeitschi's mother has died and is waiting for him in heaven or the other one with the beetle that is to fly to Pomerania but he can't because it has fuckin' burnt down and everybody has been raped and killed by the Russians, so tough luck! (Well, the song doesn't actually say that thing about the Russians, but that's what's written between the lines.)

I was shaken to the core and couldn't go on cleaning but went for some ricecrackers.
After that I came back and sucked the ex-ladybirds into the hoover.

End of story.

Ah, jetzt hab ich's!

Frau Zwilling, Herr Leinemann: In der Rubrik

"Wissensmüll des Tages"

präsentiere ich den Celebrity Big Brother Gesichtsunfall

Pete Burns (so heißt der nämlich):

Eigentlich Peter Gezzepe (some sources say Jozzeppi) Burns,
war in den Achzigern Front-damals-noch-mann der Gruppe Dead Or Alive, die '85 ihren Knallerhit hatten: "You spin me right round, baby, right round, like a record, baby, right round, round, round..." oder so.
Damals sah der allerdings noch ungefähr SO aus:



Now that you know I'm humbly asking you to immediately forget.

Ist der Ruf erst ruiniert...

David F, seineszeichens Rotschopfträger aus dem illustren Örtchen Polmont, West Lothian, unterstrich sein Bestehen darauf, ich möge doch anlässlich meines anstehenden Edinburgh-Aufenthaltes bei ihm nächtigen, mit den Worten, er habe auch das Badezimmer geputzt.

Und das mir, die ich mir meinen Ruf als Freizeimessi in jahrelanger Arbeit herangezüchtet habe. Der Dank geht an: Pav(el Nikolajewitsch Marceux aber das ist wahrscheinlich falsch geschrieben), der mir beigebracht hat, das nich sauber machen noch ekliger ist, wenn man es immer macht.

Ich werde mir nun also eine Glatze rasieren, meine Augenbrauen weiß färben, meine Bizepses ordentlich ausdefinieren und nur noch weiße Unterhemden auftragen.


Fat is fat and fate is fate.

For Lady Rach

If you behave, maybe you'll get the DVD for your birthday... Maybe. ;)
(Can YOU see a weddin' ring??)

The road goes ever on and on ...

Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say.





.

Zwei Knirpse (ca. 10 Jahre alt) im Bus richtung Grunewald

"Man kann mit 16 mit der Schule aufhören, aber dann hast du halt nicht dein Bac. Und ohne Bac wird man dann Holzsäger oder Müllmann. Oder eben Sportler. "

Tcha, ihr Lieben. So einfach ist das Leben. Entweder Großverdiener mit deutsch-französischem Abitur ...
...oder eben Holzsäger.

The Future's Bright!

Ich muss mir keine Sorgen mehr machen.
Ich habe vollkommen ausgesorgt.
Und das Beste: Ich musste noch nich mal was dafür tun. Außer anscheinend den Eindruck von wilder Verzweiflung und Torschlusspanik bei meiner lieben Großmutter zu erwecken.

Diese hatte am Wochenende Geburtstag, also fuhr ich hin. Begrüßt wurden My und ich von Damianka, der 73jährige Freundin meiner Oma (leidet seit ca. 12 Jahren an Lungenkrebs, mit dem sie noch höchstens ein halbes Jahr leben kann; konsequenterweise ist sie Kettenraucherin) mit den Worten:

"Ach, schade, dass ihr nicht früher gekommen seid, dann hättet ihr noch den David kennen gelernt. Der sucht eine Frau und da haben wir überlegt, wer von Annemaries Enkelinnen frei ist und sind sofort auf DICH gekommen."

...swell!

Meine Oma fuhr fort: "Er ist 36, Zahnarzt und hat vor kurzem die Esslinger Praxis seines Vaters übernommen. Er hat gesagt, er sucht eine warmherzige, lustige Frau" ... und jetzt, Ladies and Gentleman kommt der Knaller: ...

"Sie muss auch keine Schönheit sein, ich bin schließlich auch keine."

Wer bin ich, der Buckelfips??

Meine Oma sieht mich also schon an der Seite eines verzweifelten, hässlichen Mitdreißigers, der bis vor kurzem noch bei Mami und Papi wohnte. Was mach ich mir eigentlich noch irgendwelche Gedanken?

Die gute Nachricht: mein Zukünftiger fährt Porsche, der nach der Scheidung natürlich MEIN sein wird. Ich als Zahnarztfrau habe schließlich Ansprüche.

Also, wenn ihr mich in Zukunft im Fernsehen Werbung für Zahnkosmetika machen seht, wundert euch nicht.

Schön, wenn die Familie Anteil nimmt.
Es geht mir gut.

Morgens, halb neun in Berlin: Medizinstudium in der U9

Die Kindergartengruppe, die den Wagon in Beschlag genommen hat, macht lauten Radau.
Das Mädchen mir gegenüber, sie hat eine rosa Wollmütze auf und Sommersprossen im Gesicht, unterhält sich mit ihren Freundinnen übers Kinderkriegen.

"Meine Oma hat sechs Kinder." (kleine Denkpause) " ... Sie müsste eigentlich tot sein!"

Wieder was gelernt.

Und hier die Kuh dazu

Aus aktuellem Anlass und aufgrund der großen Nachfrage hier nochmal:

Der Ochs vor'm Berg.

ON DA AIR AGAIN!!!!

Hi, dears, I'm back on the air, sitting in the heart warming comfiness of my own humble abode and internetting away on my OWN recently pimped PC.
Also I can finally post pictures again. Like this one for example, which I took last weekend while enjoying the sun and reading about beliefs of fairy origin and the origins of fairy beliefs. I belief this is a fallen fairy angel:



Forget Florida, this is Treptow Spring Burn:




Gee, it's good to be back!

Tagged is when:

a) you take a post-it note and attach it to your forehaead by means of driving a nail through your skull.
(At least that's what it sounds like.)

b) you die and the morgue people hang a wee note with your personal details from your left big toe.
(At least that's what I thought.)

As it turns out, both is wrong.
Tagged is when you absent mindedly press one button and an internet forum sends invites to everybody in your adress book. And I mean EVERYBODY, including professors, parents, long forgotten people and myself.

So, to all who read this:
Sorry for the harassment, but nice to hear from you.
Cheerie and OH!

Things are moving

and so am I.

Well, these last months have been quite a bumpy ride, I can tell yees. But change is good! Embrace the pain, I tell myself. Bruises from riding over the cobblestones of life are nothing to be scared of...they build character, as Calvins dad would point out.

First of all, I am now, dear readers, going the right way to become a computer nerd, yes, siree! I'm demystifying that bugger of a PC with courage and a set of screwdrivers, pressing buttons, opening coverings, connecting and disconnecting things and generally step by step losing all my respect for a thing I can reduce to a pile of wire and green metal if only I choose to do so. Also, I, me personally changed my stoopid old cd rom drive for a new and sparkling dvd one. Slot In, baby! A generous donation by Mr Fanolke Renkor, I bow my head! And you might not believe it, after I had won my bloody battle against the screws (arrrrrgh!), it even ...didn't work. But I found out what was wrong and then I (prepare for unbelieving gazes) ... fixed it! Yes! Me! Ha! and HA! Take thou that, devislish machine!

Moreover, I will soon be onlliiine again, as Alice has just sent me a splitter and modem which will take up work at some point next month. Nae more going to the library, listening to students groan violenty over their papers and dissertations. I can have that at my place. Homemade and without having to endure the daily freakshow in the train first.
Yes, soon I will be back on da aeir, ladies and gents.
And there's more.

If things work out the way I sincerely hope, I might be leaving the Land Of Dogdroppings for good very soon. God knows four years of Neukölln is more that anyone can bear. Exept for Suse, it seems, but we all know she's a toughie!

I'll keep you posted on the progress, and soon I will be burying you in pictures and pointless anecdotes of my rollercoaster ride of a life again! Be prepared and: rest assured...