Weihnachten bei Freunden

Meist kommt die SMS am 23. Dezember, wenn ich schon im Zug zu meinen Eltern sitze. The same procedure as every year? Meine Freundin hat am 24.Dezember Geburtstag. An ihrem 16. Geburtstag haben wir zuerst reingefeiert. Wir haben eine Flirthotline angerufen und einen armen Kerl auf eine einstündige Reise geschickt ins Nirgendwo. Wir haben ein Kondom aufgeblasen und dann quer durch das Zimmer fliegen lassen. Sie fand das Kondom erst wieder genau ein Jahr später, als sie für die Party unter dem Bett aufräumte. Und wir trunken pappsüßen Asti und Batida de Coco mit Kirschsaft. Ich war zum ersten Mal richtig angetrunken auf einer dieser Partys.

Wir waren meist ein harter Kern von fünf Leuten. Ich, K., B., A. und T. . Mal kamen andere hinzu, aber wir waren die ersten Jahre immer da. Und jeden 23ten kamen wir und machten die Nacht durch. Wir gingen alle auf die selbe Schule. Nur A. war in einer anderen Klasse, aber man sah sich ja in den Pausen. Dann verließ B. die Schule. Ihre Noten waren einfach zu schlecht. Irgendwann kam sie nicht mehr. Der Rest machte Abi zusammen. Dann ging T. zuerst nach Heidelberg, dann nach Frankfurt. Ich ging nach Freiburg. Nur A. und K. blieben in der Nähe. Und leider sahen wir uns dann immer weniger, aber immer am 23ten.

Wir tranken dann kein Asti mehr. Das Zeug ist eigentlich widerlich süß. Und Flirthotlines riefen wir auch nicht mehr an. Mit unseren Freunden, die wir immer öfter mitbrachten, wurde das auch merkwürdig. Statt Kondomen und Flirthotlines spielten wir Tabu und blamierten uns ungeniert beim Karaoke. Dann lud K. ihre Freunde vom Chemie-Studium ein. Leider fanden die neuen Freunde weder Tabu toll, noch Karaoke, noch sonst irgendetwas was vielleicht Spaß machen könnte. T. und ich hatten immer die Theorie, dass sie das Chemie Institut nur zum Essen und eben an diesem 23ten verließen, um sich dann über Chemie zu unterhalten. Bis ich diese Leute kennenlernte, dachte ich immer, ich wäre langweilig. Die Party zu ihrem 26ten endete damit, dass K. sich in der Küche einschloss und mit ihrem Freund über die Chemie-Zombies stritt, die bei ihnen im Wohnzimmer saßen. Seitdem hat sie die nicht nochmal eingeladen.

Auch die Ansammlung von alten Schulfreunden lud sie nicht mehr ein. Je größer die Partys waren, desto öder wurden sie meist. Aber wir vier kamen immer noch zusammen. Vor zwei Jahren hat A. dann geheiratet. Die Party davor kam sie nur kurz mit ihrem Zukünftigen vorbei. Es waren nur wir drei noch. K. hatte sich von ihrem Freund und damit von einigen Chemie-Zombies getrennt. S. eine Nachbarin, die auch oft vorbeikam, besuchte K. in ihrer neuen Single-Wohnung und wir hatten mal wieder so richtig Spaß. Leider fanden das die Nachbarn nicht genauso toll und das darauffolgende Jahr lud sie wieder uns zwei und ein paar andere Schulfreunde ein. Es war sehr lustig, aber hatte nicht viel von unseren früheren Blödelabenden. Es war eine sehr intime Ausgabe von "Was macht eigentlich...?", nur eben nicht auf der letzten Seite des Sterns, sondern im alten Kinderzimmer von K. im Haus ihrer Eltern. Einige arbeiteten jetzt. Manche studierten noch. Viele reagierten mit aufgerissenen Augen auf die Nachricht, das Alex nun verheiratet war. "Wir werden alt", klagte eine von uns. Mein Freund meinte nachher, es wäre ein fürchterliche Weiberrunde gewesen und obwohl ich ihm still zustimme, hatte ich viel Spaß.

Ich bin kein melancholischer Mensch. Ich wünsche mich nicht in das 16-Jährige Ich zurück. Nein, ich will genauso viel Spaß haben am 23. wie ich es eben als 16-Jährige hatte. Ich will mich nicht treffen, um den guten, alten Zeiten nachzutrauern. Was ich will, ist neue gute Zeiten schaffen, so dass ich meinen Kindern nicht irgendwann erzählen muss, dass ich mit 28 selbst zu einem Zombie mutiert bin, der nur noch ein Thema hat.

Ich war neulich mit meinem Freund in einem Club. Das wollte ich schon lange machen, aber irgendwie kam es nie dazu. Und an diesem Wochenende bin ich dann spontan um halbdrei nachts von einer anderen Feier dahin gelatscht, leicht angetrunken, um ihn da zu treffen und wir hatten unseren Spaß. Es ist nie zu spät, neue Erfahrungen zu machen und alte Gewohnheiten über den Haufen zu werfen. Ich will nicht, dass der 23. zu einer Ausgabe von "Die ultimative Schulzeit-Show" verkommt. Ich sehe vor meinen Augen schon Gülcan, wie sie laut kreischend eine Rückblende auf Mathe bei Herrn Beck kommentiert. "Ach, das waren Zeiten, Kinders!"

Stattdessen habe ich mir vorgenommen am 23. mal wieder etwas aktuelles aus meinem Leben zu berichten. Klar, ich hatte ein scheiß Jahr, aber das hake ich unter "wertvollen Erfahrungen" ab. Und sicher, Praktika sind nicht gleich fester Job, aber, hey, ich habe Spaß, probiere mich aus. Warum sollte ich so tun, als würde mit 28 alles geregelt sein? Der Gedanke ist doch eigentlich grauenhaft. Stattdessen habe ich die letzten zwei Monate viel dazu gelernt, Selbstvertrauen getankt und neue Ideen gekriegt. Und genau das werde ich mit meinen alten Freundinnen am 23. teilen. Bei denen ist doch sicher auch nicht die Zeit stehen geblieben.

Be afraid, be very afraid!

I'm afraid of spiders. First, I don't start screaming and standing on the nearest chair I find when I see an eight legged thing near by. Normally I watch it for a few seconds while I back down slowly. Sometimes I even get interested and watch it for a while. And in some very lucid moments I admit that spiders could be very interesting wouldn't they move on eight damn legs. Oh and once my brother threw one at me through the open window of the car and I screamed at the top of my lungs. I think it's my fault that my Dad has trouble hearing that well.

But still, spiders and insects can be poisonous. You can't always make out what that something is that just hangs around at the edge of your sight. Therefore, first backing away isn't stupid at all. And yes, I know that most spiders over here are completely harmless, but the stoneage woman in me still gains control often enough and I back off. You can't escape your heritage. You can run all the kilometers you want, it won't help, because you can't outrun yourself. You have been born to a certain kind of culture, country, family, body. No matter how much you alter it, it is still influencing you.

I once met a punk from my neighbour village. He didn't shower and dyed his hair in every colour and wore very, very, very dirty clothing. I'm sure he managed to scare and shock the hell out of his grandma, Mom and Dad and surely most neighbours. I managed to get all eyes on me once myself when I walked all dressed up and high heels into well...you could say downtown if you think one bakery, two restaurants and a near by chapel is a fun place to hang around. Point being, it isn't very hard to shock people from where I come from. And this "punk" - he was a teenager that's about it and grew out of it very quickly - very likely just behaved this way because where he came from. I have my doubts he would have dressed in rags - no offense punks, I really don't care about your fashion style, but they are rags - if not of his very clean cut one house, two cars and very likely PlayStation background. So even though he propably was convinced that he was so not like his parents and propably wondered if he had been adopted, he very likely failed to acknowledge that it was his environment after all that made him.

To stop speculating about someone else and get to the whole point of my nice little story here, I have those strange flashes lately where I turn into my Mom. My Mom is a very organised person and when I was a kid she always threatened me with whatever came to her mind to get me to be more tidy. Once she got angry I started to clean up, because you don't mess with my Mom being angry. Eventually she gave up. And now I got into the habit of making my bed everyday and clean my room at least once a week. Naturally, I'm horrified. I'm not my Mom. I love my Mom, but I always understood myself as my own person and now that I get older I begin to realize that my parents, my environment, my DNA, my experiences, my whole background made me into who I am today.

Well, to be honest I was horrified about that thought only at first. It's not like I never knew it, but for some reason I never considered it as much as I do lately. And through that I start to understand who I am. And I started to understand that it's not nescarrily a death sentence. Now that I begin to understand why I am who I am, I begin to so many little things I've never seen before. And even though it was frightening at first, I'm now trying to use it to my advantage. When I said you can't outrun yourself, I forgot to add "but you can use it to your advantage". If you didn't like the school you went to, it could become your motivation to be a better teacher. And on the personal level you also could use your background knowledge once you gained it. If you realize why you afraid of something it doesn't make the fear vanish into thin air, but it somehow puts it into perspective and often helps coping. Once you understand that you scared of dogs, because of the crazy neighbour dog that's more teeths then anything else and not every dog is like that it can help. You can spot difficulties instead of running into them. You can work on your strengths and weaknesses. And even if you don't develop into some kind of superhero, you could develop into a rather decent person. So rather then denying your heritage, acknowledge it, learn to deal with, cope with it if needed and make the best out of it. You may not be able to outrun it, but you surely can change routes.

So, long speech and a short P.S. . Saying that you are what your background made you into, is not an excuse for being an idiot, sloppy or whatever bad behaviour you want to be excused. for If you are an idiot because someone had been mean towards as a kid that still makes you an idiot.

Fröhliche Weihnachten!

Es ist Weihnachten. Zumindest, wenn es nach meiner Stammkneipe geht, dort war schon am Montag Weihnachten. Dann gab es jede Menge Weihnachtslieder und der Quizmaster im allwöchentlichen Quiz hat schon mal freizügig Punkte vergeben, weil ja "heute Weihnachten ist". Und obwohl ich dann daheim fast vergessen habe, dass es Weihnachten ist, wurde ich dankenswerterweise von jedem Supermarkt darauf hingewiesen, dass tatsächlich immer noch Weihnachten ist und ich mich daher schon mit viel viel Lebkuchen, Plätzchen und Christstollen und Dominosteinen eindecken sollte. Zum Glück scheint zwischendurch Helloween zu sein, deswegen ist die Decko eher zum Gruseln, als weihnachtlich festlich. Aber was nicht ist, kann ja noch werden.

Nicht nur in Deutschland ist schon Weihnachten, ich bin davon überzeugt, dass in der ganzen restlichen, westlicehn Welt und vielleicht sogar in anderen Ländern außerhalb unseres Kulturkreises frohe Heiterkeit und viel "Ho, Ho, Ho" ausgebrochen ist. In Kolumbien haben sie auch schon im Oktober die Weihnachtsdeko draußen. Das heißt dann aber in Medellin Plastikbaum bei schlappen 25 Grad und sehr sehr bunt. Lieber als der Regen im Moment ist mir das zwar allemal, aber bei 25 Grad stellen sich selbst bei mir, der bei Kerzenduft sofort unter den Christbaum hocken will und darauf wartet, dass die Katze glücklich miauend reinspringt.

Ich muss offen zugeben in den letzten Jahren habe ich es mir abgewöhnt zu meckern, dass die bösen bösen, seelenlosen Geschäftsbetreiber schon zu September mit dem Verkauf anfangen und ignoriere es einfach. Da ich inzwischen beobachtet habe, dass genügend Leute freudestrahlend bei den Weihnachtssüßsigkeiten zupacken und sich eindecken, als wäre Weihnachten so oft wie die Olympischen Spiele, denke ich mir, wenn es jemand kauft, dann verkauft es auch jemand. So simpel ist es. Und für alle, die das nicht wollen, die kaufen es am Besten nicht. Es ist ziemlich blödsinnig anderen vorzuschreiben, was sie tun und machen sollten, nur weil man das selbst nicht machen würde. Stattdessen kann man sich ja an seine eigenen Vorsätze halten und beim "blöden Kommerz" nicht mitmachen. Ich mache es wie jedes Jahr. Ich warte bis Dezember und dann flippe ich völlig aus und erwarte, dass es gefälligst schneit und kalt ist, renne auf den Weihnachtsmarkt und betrinke mich am Glühwein, überfressen mich an gebrannten Mandeln und kaufe kurz vor Heiligabend panisch die letzten Geschenke ein. Ich bin sicher, es wird wieder super. Bis dahin, noch eine frohe Weihnachtszeit.

Recently on the Bus...

Cable cars are unnatural. Yes, ladies and gentlemen. You heard it first from me, unnatural. In fact what were people thinking when they first starting to built very high pillars and then put wheels on them and very thick rope on top of it and then cabins that went either in one direction only, or even worse, round that whole thing. Isn't that the clear sign of the devil?

To be fair, that groundbraking thought never struck me until recently, when I rode home on the bus and heard a woman claiming exactly that. She apparently had come home from a hiking trip where they hiked up a mountain. And she explained that instead of cheating with the devil's tool, she always goes up on feet. Which is nice. It is a very good excersize for you, you will feel awesome once you reached the top all on your own. I did that with my parents myself. And it does feel good once you reached the top of something. All in all, hiking is good and I really have nothing against it.

Yes, you felt the but coming miles away, because most of you propably wondered why I bothered to start talking about it the first place. First of all, natural is one of those words that tend to get stretched to the extreme. Just because something exists in nature "naturally", it doesn't automatically equal good. How come whenever people use natural to label something good they tend to forgot nature's ugly face? Yes, some plants have amazing abilities and we use them to our advantage. Like the Lotus flower. Its surface structure ensures that it cleans itself just by rain. Pretty impressive to me, who needs to add a whole bunch of shower gel to clean herself. Cranberries contain a high level of antioxidants, which prevent certain bactarias to flourish and can help preventing bladder infections. Very cool, indeed. There would be many many more great examples for great "natural" things.

Earthquakes are natural as well. I have never heard anyone praise them. Well, besides some religious nutters who are convinced that there are a punishment for whatever. Some might moan now, that's not what they mean when the say "natural". There are not talking of natural phenomenons, but a natural life style, eating natural food, stuff like that. Okay. Let's talk about that then. Let's talk about the death-cap. Yes, the clue is in the name. This little, harmless looking fellow will kill you slowly and once you are showing symptoms it is already too late. Welll, it used to be, until they invented those unnatural medicins that could prevent you from dying. Spoilsports. However, this mushroom is completely natural. Nothing artificial to it. Or lillies of the valley. Don't they look harmless and nice? Well as long as you don't mistake them with bear's garlic, you are save. Unfortunatly the leaves look very much alike. The difference. The latter can be very tasty, the first will kill you.

Coming back to the unnatural cable cars. Life in the mountains used to be very tough and certainly still is in many areas. And quite frankly, only tourists that hike up the mountain because they want to do sports during their holidays could be that ignorant to not understand what an achievement those things are. You can get up a mountain in ten minutes. Before it took you so much longer or was even impossible. Of course they don't grow on trees, but how on earth does that equal bad? I love cable cars. It is not just a cheat that somehow robs you of the experience. Quite to the contrary, it is an amazing experience. You are floating over the world and are still having a very good view all around. Me and my family used to go skiing in the Swiss Alps every April and we often looked down to the ground hoping to spot the first Groundhogs that came out after their long sleep. Because we were up in the cabin they were not disturbed by us, but we were still able to watch them.

And then I was in the cable-car in Medellin, Colombia, that was built in one of the most run-down areas in the city. That area was in the mountains and the houses were built rather chaotically. The streets are much too small and steep even for tiny busses to get up there. But as good infrastructure and a fast lane to the city is crucial to a better living environment, they built a cable-car. How cool is that?

I wonder if the lady from the bus would still stand up to her opinion when facing a women from over there, carrying her weekly shoppings and dragging her two kids along. That's the main thing about those those luxury eco-lovers that bugs me and makes me write long rants on my almost unnoticed blog, they possess zero empathy for those that would really need to those devil's works. Oh, and by the way, strange lady on the bus, busses really don't grow on trees.

Allez les bläh!

1998 beschlossen zwei Mädchen eines Nachmittags in einem beschaulichen, schwäbischen Städtchen, in dem sie auf das Gymnasium gingen, Frankreich, Schottland und Jamaika während der kommenden Weltmeisterschaft zu unterstützen. Jamaika, da eine der beiden Mädchen selbst einen sportlichen Erfolg mit der Insel verband. Schottland, da dort einer ihrer Lieblingsschauspieler herkam. Frankreich...eigentlich habe ich keine Ahnung was uns geritten hatte, Frankreich zu unterstützen, aber es sollte sich dann herausstellen, dass wir auf das richtige Pferd gesetzt hatten.

Da sowohl Schottland als auch Jamaika die Vorrunde nicht überstanden, konzentrierten wir uns dann ganz auf "les bleus". Schnell konnten wir französische Schlachtgesänge grölen und damit jeden in der Klasse niederschreien, wenn notwendig.

Heute, über zehn Jahre später, bin ich aus der "Deutschland-ist-doof-ich-feuere-andere-an" Phase erstens draußen. Außerdem kann man unsere Mannschaft auch ruhigeren Gewissens anfeuern, ohne sich dafür ständig entschuldigen zu müssen, da die Jungs doch meist ganz anständig spielen. Naja, bis auf heute. Dabei war das bei weitem nicht so schlimm, wie in ihren schlimmsten Tagen, wo man sie am Liebsten vom Platz schieben wollte und nur mit den Händen vor dem Gesicht ein Spiel ertragen konnte. Dennoch, es hätte besser laufen können. Aber vielleicht dachten sich die Jungs, dass es Ehrensache ist so durchs Turnier zu stolpern, wie der Rest der Favoriten.

Die Brasilianer hatte wohl in ihrem ersten Spiel eine Wette laufen, dass sie gewinnen könnten, auch wenn alle Spieler insgesamt nicht mehr als zehn Schritte gingen. Vielleicht waren sie auch am Boden festgefroren. So genau war das nicht zu erkennen. England machte mal wieder, was sie so am Besten machen. Jemanden ins Tor stellen gegen dessen Philosophie es zu verstoßen scheint, nicht zumindest einen eklatanten Fehler zu begehen. Die Argentinier gewannen zwar, aber wenn man bedenkt, dass die sich und vor allem ihr Trainer Diego "die Hand Gottes" Maradona sie in die nächste Galaxie gelobt hatten, war ihre Chancenauswertung äußerst unbeeindruckend. Spanien verlor dann ihr erstes Spiel gegen die Schweiz. Die Schweiz! Obwohl ich ja sagen muss, ich habe mich riesig für unsere Nachbarn gefreut, da sie sich auf gut deutsch den Arsch dafür aufgerissen hatten. Und naja, die Italiener waren nicht so eine große Überraschung. Die haben das, "ich-stolpere-mich-ins-Finale" noch mehr verinnerlicht, als wir Deutschen zu unseren besten Zeiten.

Nur die Deutschen legten mal einen beeindruckenden Start hin. Und bekamen dann wohl Angst vor ihrer eigenen Leistung und beschlossen mal flugs gegen Serbien zu verlieren. Okay, Serbien war auch nicht so übel, aber das habt ihr jetzt nicht von mir. Immerhin können wir uns trösten, dass noch alles offen ist und das nächste Spiel bestimmt wieder besser laufen wird.

Bei den Franzosen hilft wohl selbst das nicht mehr. Denen gegen Mexiko zu zusehen zu müssen, grenzte an Körperverletzung. Dass die nicht anfingen sich auf dem Rasen eine Zigarette an zu zünden und den vorbeikommenden Mexikanern schulterzuckend den Weg zu ihrem Tor zu zeigen, war wohl alles. Es war vor allem so unterirdisch, schrecklich, grauenhaft und geradezu unverschämt, wenn man an die Leistungen dachte zu denen die eigentlich starke Fußballnation Frankreich noch vor vier Jahren fähig gewesen war. Jetzt scheint es so, als hätte sie jemand auf den Platz getragen und dort stehen gelassen. Man könnte fast sagen Frankreich sind die Vuvuzellas dieser WM. Wie diese bienenscharmartige monotone Geräuschkulisse, genauso nervt es den Blauen beim Rumstehen auf dem Platz zusehen zu müssen. Jemand möge sich erbarmen und sie aus dem Turnier schmeißen. Am Besten mit diesen Tröten, auf denen man den gesamten Rückflug spielen sollte, um den Spielern, samt Trainerstab akustisch vorzuführen, was sie uns und vor allem den armen Fans daheim visuell angetan haben. Damit wäre dann der Gerechtigkeit genüge getan.

Und wir könnten uns in Zukunft über hoffentlich bessere Spiele freuen und wieder nationale Stereotypen, Gewaltandrohungen oder minder kreative Reime auf Spieler gegrölt genießen. Eigentlich war dies sogar etwas Positives am Spiel Frankreich - Mexiko. Nicht nur haben sich die Mexikaner wie kleine Kinder an Weihnachten über ihren Sieg gefreut und dass hat sogar einen alten Frankreich-Fan wie mir ein Lächeln ins Gesicht gefreut, ihren Fans war es doch tatsächlich gelungen das merkwürdige Brummen einfach niederzugrölen.

Also, Devise für die nächsten Spiele ist erstens, strengt euch an Jungs, und damit meine ich alle Teams und nicht nur Außenseiter oder nur für ein Spiel, sonst dürft ihr mit Vuvuzella-Gesang nachhause und darüber nachdenken was ihr den armen Zuschauern angetan habt. Und zweitens an die Fans vor Ort: Schreit euch den Frust über die meisten Spiele einfach von der Seele, dann klappts auch mit der Geräuschkulisse.

Was geht, Bro? oder "Einer großangelegten Verschwörung auf der Spur"

Ich hasse es ja so zu klingen, als hätte ich das Wirtschaftswunder selbst mit aufgebaut und würde jetzt mit meinem Dackel Waldi und meinem Hass auf die neue, moderne Welt mich jeder neuen Entwicklungen verweigern. Und ich verwehre mich dagegen, dass früher alles besser war und dass die Kultur, die Menschen und prinzipiell die Menschheit sich im Untergang befinden.

Besonders, wenn ich die vielen Klagen über das so genannte Neu-Deutsch höre, rollen sich meine Zehennägel auf. Erstens, weil viele sich anscheinend nie die Mühe gemacht haben sich eine sprachgeschichtliches Buch zu Gemüte zu führen, bevor sie anfingen über die Verhunzung der schönen deutschen Sprache zu jammern. Und Zweitens, weil die Klagen meistens so übergeneralisiert werden, als würde plötzlich jeder plötzlich so sprechen, wie der Typ den man neulich in der Straßenbahn am Handy zuhören musste. Was zugegebenermaßen an akustischer Belästigung grenzte.

Aber wenn mir eine Freundin von einem Mann erzählt, der ihre Beziehung als "homies" definiert, da kann ich nicht anders, setze meine ultradicke Nostalgie-Brille auf und schwinge meinen Gehstock wütend.

Homies? Wenn ich homies höre, dann denkt das Landmädchen in mir erstmal an die Bronx in New York und ich stelle mir meine Freundin dann dabei vor wie sie mit ihrem "homie" mit einer gezückten Knarre arme Passanten überfällt, um danach einen Zigarettenautomaten einzutreten, um dann die gestohlenen Zigaretten auf dem Schwarzmarkt zu verticken (verkaufen ist nur etwas für loser ;) ) Dennoch glaube ich - und hoffe inständig - dass das nicht unter homies zu verstehen ist.

Homies ist wohl ein neues Code-wort für "Lass uns Freunde sein". Vielleicht meint derjenige ja, es klingt besser, als das gute alte "Freundschaft", aber was zur Hölle stimmt nicht an Freundschaft? Ist doch eigentlich ein tolles Wort und umschreibt in seinem Fall genau was er empfindet. Zwei Menschen, die eine Beziehung zueinander haben, ohne dass dabei romantische Gefühle im Spiel sind. Oder meint er einfach, "Lass mich in Ruhe" und er meint, wenn er das mit einem neuen Wort umschreibt, dass das diejenige nicht sofort merkt? Was gelinde gesagt, extrem schwachsinnig wäre. Und da heißt es Frauen sagen nie genau was sie wollen.

Zurück zu den Homies. Das erste "Warum? Warum??"-Erlebnis hatte ich in der Schule. Damals faselten die Referendare plötzlich vom "Overhead". Und zeigten dabei auf den guten alten Tageslichtprojektor. Ich habe mir sagen lassen, dass Overhead diese Maschine viel genauer beschreibt, aber wer hat jemals bei Tageslichtprojektoren versucht herauszufinden, wie das Tageslicht in diesem Ding gebündelt werden?

Ich bin nicht grundsätzlich gegen neue Wörter, aber wie wäre es mit Wörtern, die ein Konzept genauer umschreiben können, als unsere eigene Sprache. "Join" ist ein wunderbares Wort. Meine Freunde und ich haben uns immer in der Mensa gejoint. Damit wusste jeder, dass jemand nachkam und der Rest schon reingehen konnte. Join ist da doch viel kürzer. Dagegen bei "facility manager" muss man meistens "Hausmeister" dransetzen, weil sonst kaum einer eine Ahnung hat was darunter zu verstehen ist. Wer jetzt denkt, dass das böse Englisch daran Schuld ist, dass unsere Sprache den Bach heruntergeht, der sollte sich mal ein paar politisch motivierte Neologismen zu Gemüte führen, die einem die Haare zu Berge stehen lassen.

Am Meisten gefällt mir immer noch die "fahrende Minderheit". Nein, damit sind nicht Holländer gemeint, sondern Sinti und Roma. Ich verstehe durchaus, dass Zigeuner ein problematischer Begriff ist. Als wir das zum ersten Mal gelesen habe, dachten meine Freunde und ich, dass man diese Bevölkerungsgruppe doch eigentlich besser "ex-mobile Minderheit" nennen sollte. Oder vielleicht "ehemalige fahrende Minderheit". Das kommt davon, wenn man Linguistik studiert.

Eigentlich...vielleicht sind das alle Linguisten, die in einem geheimen Labor an diesen merkwürdigen Sprachauswürfen basteln. Dann bringen sie diese Wörter in einem großangelegten Plan unter die Bevölkerung, um zu beobachten was passiert, um dann endlich ihre große, bahnbrechende Studie über Sprachwandel schreiben zu können. Ich glaube ich bin hier etwas auf der Spur.

Und da Linguisten eigentlich "evil geniuses" sind, ist das ein großangelegter Plan unsere Gesellschaft in ein gigantisches Sprachlabor zu verwandeln, um ihre bösartigen Studien in der Öffentlichkeit durchführen zu können. Be afraid, be very afraid!

Kriechen am Rhein

Letztes Wochenende war ich bei Waldshut-Tiengen. Mit dem Zug. Die Hinfahrt war ereignislos. Die Rückfahrt eigentlich auch. Nur um einiges, einiges, einiges lang-sam-er. Zuerst stand ich mit einem Freund ewig am Bahnhof. Wir haben sogar den langsameren Zug durchfahren lassen. Immerhin war der nächste Zug ein RegionalExpress. Was wir nicht wussten, ist dass Regionalzüge auf dieser Linie und an diesem Sonntag RegionalKriecher wurden. Es fing mit einer dieser Durchsagen an. Es gibt ja nur drei Arten von Durchsagen auf kleinen Bahnhöfen. Die Warnung vor einem Zug, die Ankündigung eines Zuges und die Verspätung eines Zuges. Die Verteilung ist ungefähr 10/40/50.

Und wir hatten die letzte Durchsage. Ich hatte Zeit, also war es für mich nicht ganz so schlimm. Dafür fand ich die Durchsage an sich etwas seltsam. Es ging ungefähr so: "Der Zug XY nach Basel wird sich wegen Personen auf den Gleisen um ungefähr 20 Minuten verspäten ."

Klang erstmal nicht so ungewöhnlich, aber je mehr ich drüber nachdachte, desto mehr begann ich mich zu fragen was genau los war. Erstmal hieß es Personen. Also waren da Mehrere auf den Gleisen. Und anscheinend war es nicht so einfach diese Leute davon herunterzukriegen. Ich stellte mir also einen Zugführer vor, der früh genug ein paar Leute, oder sogar eine große Gruppe, auf den Gleisen sieht, erst fürchterlich erleichtert ist, dass er rechtzeitig bremsen konnte, aber dann erfolglos versucht die Leute vom Gleis zu scheuchen. Was mich wiederum fragen ließ, wer wenn er einen Zug anfahren sieht, nicht sofort kreischend aus seinem Weg springt? Wer bleibt denn bitte stehen? Eine fanatische Sekte, die beschlossen hatte bei einem Grouphappening alle zusammen sich vor den Regionalzug zu werfen und dessen schnellen Anhalten sie nicht daran hinderte ihre Vorhaben weiterhin in die Tat umzusetzen und womöglich den armen Zugführer aufforderte bitte endlich weiterzufahren, damit sie in ihr versprochenes Paradies kommen konnten, dass anscheinend nur mit Hilfe des Regionalexpres zwischen Rheinfelden und Grenzach erreichbar ist für die Gläubigen. Oder vielleicht eine liegengebliebene Junggesellinnen-Abschiedsparty, die von entnervten Reisenden samt Zugpersonal nach dem x-ten Verkauf von Schnäpsle, Rosen und einem herzzerreißenden Schlachtruf, der ein bisschen nach armer Sau auf dem Schlachthof klingt, zwischen den Verkäufen, mitten auf der Strecke ausgesetzt wurde. Da die armen Damen leider so betrunken waren, dass sie sich kaum auf den Füßen halten konnten, stolperten sie einfach den Gleisen hinterher, in der Hoffnung auf ein neues Opfer. Und starrten erst etwas entgeistert auf den anderen Zug, aber wollten dann rein, um die arme Braut in Tutu und lilablassblauer Perücke dazu zu zwingen, noch mehr Alkoholika zu verkaufen. Die Mitreisenden hatten die Gefahr erkannt und sich verschanzt. Und nun standen sie da zwischen Rheinfelden und Grenzach und hoffen von der Polizei gerettet zu werden, während wir auf unseren Zug warteten.

Ich hatte also eine Beschäftigung bis der Zug tatsächlich zwanzig Minuten später eintraf, und diese Beschäftigung sollte mir und meinen Begleiter helfen, die weitere Wartezeit zu überbrücken. Kaum waren wir nämlich im Zug, kam kurz darauf später eine ähnliche Durchsage. Diesmal war der gesamte Streckenabschnitt auf unbestimmte Zeit gesperrt, wieder wegen diesen Personen auf der Strecke. Vielleicht hatten die Sektenanhänger begonnen gegen den Zug zu springen und waren nur mit Mühe und Not aufzuhalten von den verdutzten Polizisten? Oder die Jungegesellinnen waren zum Angriff übergegangen und bombardierten den Zug mit schlechten Akronymen und Wortspielen, die sie mit noch mehr Alkohol würzten? Vielleicht führte eine verwirrte Akrobatentruppe ihre alljährliche Rheinfelden-Grenzach-Programm für beeindruckte, wenn auch leicht genervte Zugreisende auf?

Nach einiger Zeit fuhren wir dann auch weiter. Nun, fahren ist etwas übertrieben. Fahren impliziert ja irgendwie, dass wir uns schneller als eine Weinbergschnecke fortbewegten, aber das kann man von unsere Geschwindigkeit wirklich nicht sagen. Also, krochen wir Zentimeter um Zentimeter zwischen Grenzach und Rheinfelden und erfreuten uns an der pitoresken Landschaft. Der Rhein war zur unseren Linken. Und obwohl ich sonst Flüße mag, sie vom Zug aus im Schritttempo zu beobachten ist keine sehr ausfüllende Beschäftigung. Außer braun, fließend und gelegentlich angetauten Booten gab es da nicht sehr viel zu sehen. Zur linken sah ich viele Strommasten, Büsche, Bäume und gelegentlich Polizisten, die wohl selbst nicht genau wussten nach wem sie genau suchen mussten.

Bevor jetzt der Vorsitzende des Rheinfelder Touristenverbands e.V. aus irgendeinem seltsamen Zufall das hier lesen sollte und erbost auf die schöne Lage hinweisen sollte, möchte ich ihm versichern, dass ich selbst davon überzeugt bin, dass Rheinfelden sicher sehr sehr schön, malerisch und überhaupt toll ist. Leider sieht man das vom Zug aus nicht. Schon gar nicht im Regen, im Halbdunklen und hinter Büschen. Andererseits weiß ich nun, dass - sollte ich mal in Rheinfelden urlauben - es dort garantiert Strom gibt und einen Fluss, in dem man vielleicht sogar baden oder immerhin befahren kann. Außerdem hat mich das wieder erinnert, dass man nie einen Zug ohne MP3-Player, Buch oder ähnlichem bewaffnet, besteigen sollte. Sonst muss man sich am Ende mit skurrilen Ideen über den Grund der Verspätung durchschlagen.

Und vor Allem weiß ich, sollte ich mich mal auf die Gleise dort verirren, dass die Chance besteht, dass die Zugführer sehr schnell zum Stehen kommen und ich das unbeschadet überstehen könnte. Und für jemanden wie mich, die sich mal in einem kleinen Nebenort meines Heimatortes verfahren hat, ist das auf jeden Fall ein Argument.
Auf die Dauer gehen irgendwann sogar mir die blöden Ideen aus. Und ich habe eine Menge blöde Ideen.

out cold

I think about a week ago the weather started to be really warm and springy and happy and well something we all enjoyed over here. And then, the first free day last week, it started to pouring down rain. And the temperature dropped. And then my boyfriend got sick. And then I got sick. And now I'm sitting on my bed, my voice is some strange eerie sound that might would work for some dirty bar song, if I just could raise my voice loud enough.

Good thing is that my nose isn't closed off that much anymore. But besides that my whole head had an emergency shut down some days ago and at the moment I feel a bit like floating above my bed.

And maybe if I should remain like that I even could fly. Which would mean flying through the rain, because it keeps and keeps and keeps on raining since a few hours. And even though the rational part of me that tells me in a rather sarcastic voice "first of all, you can't fly, no matter how floaty that cold makes you feel and if you could fly, flying through rain while already quite sick is bordering on mental", another part of me, that loves fairies and Ghost Whisperer and everything impossible and highly improbable suggests that this would be great, because you could feel fresh again.

I know, I know this entry is missing any deeper message and it doesn't really have a good structure, but bear with me, my non-or-probably few readers, I'm really just trying to be a bit productive here even though my head doesn't allow for much. Besides a strange discourse between my rationality and the lala-lady with shiny purple wings.

So, even though this doesn't seem to bear any deeper message, theme, topic or anything like that, I'd like to think of it as the following: My attempt to do show that no matter how handicapped you are, it shouldn't stop you from trying. Cheers!

Preaching to yourself

I just caught myself doing something. Well, more precisely not doing something. Something you normally don't want to catch yourself not doing. I didn't follow my own advice. I wrote that hopefully uplifting piece about weekends and how you should start living your life right now. And then on Saturday...I didn't really live it. Well, to come to my own defense I had to work. And before we had to go grocery shopping. Still, I could have done more. And instead I was not using the time that I still had left, but basically wasted it.

In the evening I wasn't really happy with myself. I went to lunch with my boyfriend, which was nice as usual, but a part of me screamed: "you have a huge to-do-list at home. HUGE! And you are taking working as an excuse to do nothing at all." And then the voice in me went on in her very sarcastic voice, that somehow resembled my Mom's voice: "So, are you happy with yourself? Happy with your weekend so far?" And I started to argue with myself that I did actually earn money that day. "Still, you know you could have accomplished more. You could have gotten up earlier. Writing that letter you wanted to. Scan those documents you wanted to. Call someone you wanted to call...."

So, because my sarcastic, Mom-like voice did not really shut up, today I did use my Sunday. I went to vote - Yeah me, for being a good citizen ;) - and then on an hour long bike-tour with my boyfriend and then I cleaned my Grandma's patio and then wrote an important e-mail and then searched for job-opportunities and now I am writing my blog. Yes, me! :D

Now, I need to continue to be that productive and check some more things off of my to-do-list and then I can look back on that "use your weekend"-entry without feeling slightly embarrassed.

Only thing is, I think my legs are going to hurt very very badly the next week.

Schönes Wochenende allen

Fröhliches Wochenende. Ich hoffe, alle hatten eine schöne Woche. Falls nicht, hoffen wir auf eine bessere nächste Woche. Genießt das Wochenende. Falls ihre arbeiten müsst, macht das Beste daraus und freut euch auf das verdiente Geld.

Falls ihr frei habt, tut etwas was ihr schon lange nicht mehr gemacht habt. Geht in den Zoo, besucht eure Oma, lest das Buch, das schon so lange angestaubt auf eurem Nachttisch liegt. Backt diesen leckeren Kuchen, den ihr vor zwei Jahren mal gegessen habt und desen Rezept so langsam vergilbt. Legt eure Beine hoch und schaut den ganzen Tag fern. Räumt eure Zimmer, eure Wohnung oder euer Haus auf. Kauft euch diese Jeans, die ihr schon so lange wollt. Und schmeißt dieses halbzerfallene Ding aus grauer Vorzeit endlich weg.

Wenn die Sonne scheint und ihr einen Garten habt, dann genießt dort die Sonne. Sonst geht auf euren Balkon. Oder geht in einen Park, an den Fluss, See. Macht endlich die Radtour, die ihr immer machen wolltet. Schmeiß diese Party, von der du seit drei Jahren fasselst. Ruf den Freund an, dem du mal einen Anruf versprochen hast. Organisiere dieses unübersichtliche Chaos auf deinem Schreibtisch. Kaufe ein. Schmeiße weg. Verkaufe. Nimm ein heißes Bad mit vielen Kerzen und ganz viel Schaum. Nimm ein nicht ganz so heißes Bad, ohne Schaum und Kerzen, aber dafür sehr netter Begleitung. ;) Geh mit deinen Kleinen in das Museum, das du ihnen schon immer zeigen wolltest. Stell dich deinen Nachbarn vor. Mach einen Kurztrip nach Paris. Nütze deine Möglichkeiten.

Am Ende deines freien Wochenendes, denk daran, dass du endlich etwas von deiner langen, langen to-do-Liste gestrichen hast. Und freue dich daran. Denn das Leben ist kurz und falls du etwas erleben möchtest, dann fange jetzt an.

Es ist eigentlich egal, was du macht. Aber, verdammt noch mal, mach was.

This pwns, n00bs

Ever went to a foreign country without being able to speak the language over there and no translator within reach? You are stumbling through the streets, often guessing what something means. If the letters are not known, this attempt gets even worse. However, even if you know the letters and the words seem to be like the word you know, you still should be careful to assume you really guessed it right. Just because the German "bekommen" sounds like "become" that doesn't mean it means the same in English as well. In fact, if you want to erm...become the laughing stock of the whole shop, try to use "become" in the exact same context like you would use "bekommen". Enjoy!

When I went online it wasn't completley like in a foreign country at first. Things were new and it took me a bit to find my way around, but I understand what most people said. English is not that hard to get. Although, when I got deeper into the whole Internet, I noticed something odd.

I saw letters, Latin letters to be more exact, but I wasn't able to put a meaning to it. And then there were numbers in between. Like 0nw3d. I seemed to have stumbled over a code of a secret society. This secret society, with approximately 1 billion members, bestowed on each member their very own enigma machine that enabled them to communicate in random letters that would only make sense to them.

After some frustration, I figured out that this code was by no means as good as the code used in the Second World War and it certainly didn't need an incredible mind like Alan Turing to figure it out. Mostly it is just a testimony of extreme laziness, bad grammar, even worse spelling and often contained the kind of insider-jokes that were only funny because you know only your friend understood what you said and not because the actual joke was so hilarious.

To be fair, I grew up in an area of Germany were people are also extremely lazy when it comes to language. We tend to incorporate our dialect into the written language which explains a lot of the supposedly bad grammar and spelling. Therefore, I can relate to the Internet spelling and grammar. I'm not one of those people that go crazy and starts calling someone names when I discover a mistake of any kind. It happens with all of us. However, even though I am pretty much addicted to the Internet, and I use some of those strange letter combinations myself, I refuse to use it as often as many do out there.

Yes, I know I'm lame. I'm old-fashioned, don't know any better and of course I'm intolerant. I just can't use some expressions without feeling utterly stupid. Why should I reply to everything that seems to shows a poor kid falling of a skateboard with "FAIL!" or "EPICFAIL!!"? I understand it is just a slang. When I was 14 years old I considered myself to be very cool and above everyone, because I could use some not so secret sign language. And when you are 14, I can forgive you for the need to feel different to the lame grown ups around you. Most wanted to do that around that age. But, to be honest, looking back at it, not everything I did back then made a lot of sense or makes me so proud that I want to repeat it again and again. Running away with one slice of bread come to my mind...Being, 20 and talking like you just hit puberty, makes you look a bit like some social awkward person that hasn't got over the fact yet that their body changed several years back.

That being said, I love the creativity of language use on the web. People are much more daring on the web. They play with language, have fun with it, use it to their advantage and are not bound by it. And that is definitely something to applaud. Nevertheless, just repeating some strange acronyms like FTW or STFU, using the same strange grammar in most posts like "Izhez bad" or reject vocals completely as if they all of the sudden switched into Hebrew, gets on my nerves. By all means, please stay creative, but stop being so repetitive. Create new terms, keep developing your vocabulary and don't just repeat something without even checking if it makes any sense in that context just because you want to belong.

Whenever I use those terms I try to remember that no matter how excitingly new, cutting-edge and different the Internet language sounds to me, in the end it still has to follow the same rule as the language in the real world. People have to understand me. And just because I happen to know some words, it doesn't mean I will belong.

And to follow my own amendment, here are some short explanations of the strange words I used here. noob seemed to have come from online games and originally refers to a new unexpierenced player that is not willing to learn something from older players. Nowadays you can see it used to label any newcomer. Pwn means to own somebody in the sense of humilating someone. It again derived from the gamers community and most likely was a typo. 0wn3d means again owned and therefore means the same as pwn. The "d" in the end indicates the past tense.

Kopf, Decke, Klonk aka Head, ceiling, clonk

I believe. I believe that everyone on the pale blue dot called Earth in English knows one person where they cannot help but wonder "Why?"

Why is he always late? Why is she wearing Black all the time? Why does she run into everything that is and how come she still managed to survive childhood.

Well, okay the last is actually me. I run into things. Today, I saw something outside and wanted to look outside the window. Things is I live under the roof, so the ceiling is narrow in certain corners of the room. I know that. Everybody knows that when they come into the room. Because it is hard not to see. Still, I - clonk - hit my head. I also managed to hit my legs against our bed. Because for some reason my eyes told my brain which told my legs that they just have to lift themselves that much.

Normally, I come out of that pretty unharmed. Sure, some bruises here and there. But normally I rub whatever I managed to hit wherever for some seconds and then go on with my life. You could even go so far to say that my pain-tolerance is very high because I somehow..well, I got used to it. What I didn't get used to is hitting my hard heavily on the ceiling, so at the moment I'm nursing my headache and that's why I stop this post in a few sentences.

Closing off with a minor request. Whenever you should see people run into objects as if they are drunk, blind or, well, slightly mentally challanged, don't pity them. Laugh. Even I have to admit it is funny. Unless, I drop unconscious, then I would kindly ask you to call an ambulance. Just to be sure.

Drama, baby

Anyone who has stopped lurking on forums and got involved will most likely have experienced that. It doesn't have to be a board specified on politics or religion. It could be a forum about gardening and I'm 99% sure you will discover it there, too. What I'm taking about?

DR Not just a bit drama. I'm talking about big, soap-opera-like tear-jerking, yelling at each other in capital letters, posting rude emoticons, nervous breakdown drama. For an outsider, it might be completely out of proportion to argue if a certain fictional character is really with another fictional character. For the people, yelling at each in text, it is deadly serious. And no matter how funny it may appear to the outsider, I assure the humour in posting rude little smiley faces to each other and yelling in capital letters is completely lost to the vast majority.

I once got in the middle of a drama that even now don't fully understand. I was "hanging" out with the usual people in our special thread and suddenly that thread got closed down and some of us got banned. The mods claimed we had not allowed everyone to play with us. Well, they didn't use that words, but that pretty much summed it up. I was just astonished by it. We were talking, that's it. No bad-mouthing, no trolling, not ganging up against anyone or not allowing anyone in.

Another time someone left a forum all of the sudden saying that "the situation" became unbearable for him. I still have no idea what he was talking about. And when I tried to clear it up with him, he just didn't respond. People behave like in some really bad plotted soap-opera people on the Internet. Even though they originally came to a certain forum to hang out with some people that have the same interests. And then BOOM - they go crazy. Well, my explanation is that they are stressed out in real life and carry out their frustrations in virtual life. I guess I sometimes forget that behind those cute user-names like KittenDream9823 or BlueJumper are very real people with very real issues. And they bring those issues to the boards if they intend to or not.

And the law of the Internet dictates that many people act out what they would never dare to in real life. Maybe because they don't have to face the other person they are insulting? Maybe because it is easier to just hit the ban-bottom in virtual life then telling someone in real life why they never want to hear from them again? Maybe they feel stronger in their online personality to shout someone down? I guess the Internet's anonymity - even though that is a bit of a myth - let's people act out what they don't dare in real life. And then we have all the drama that makes soap operas so successful.

Some might think right now, why even bother to go online if those things always seem to happen? I would say, because of the same reason you don't lock yourself up in your own room. Of course you could and will get hurt if you leave that room. However, the exciting things, the fun, the uncountable joys are outside of this room. On the Internet you will have the chance to meet people you were convinced before don't exist. You will find people that have the same obscure hobby like you. And even better they won't judge you for it. You can have conversations with someone on the other side of globe. You will learn new things and get to know so many new interesting people. The joy of being online will outweigh the drama. Just dive into it and don't be afraid. It is going to be fun. Promised.

Ignorance is anything but blissful

I am ignorant. I don't know nearly enough about Africa. My capacity to understand MIT-physics introduction lectures is very low. There are some politicians I haven't heard of before even though there are the head of a state. There are countries I haven't heard of before.

Sometimes in a history-lecture, there were students that raised their hands to a specific topic and then they started talking about a theory that I haven't heard of before. And then they engaged into a lively discussion with the lecturer. Or they referred to a certain book that seemed to be ground-breaking, but I haven't read it. Very often I tried to banish the blank look from my face that screamed "What the hell you are talking about" all over. Actually, I had been told that I looked very interested and thoughtful in lectures. But inwardly, I panicked. Or felt extremely stupid for not knowing something that others clearly had a very deep understanding of.



Now, for some reason I heard the saying "ignorance is a bliss" in various contexts lately. Or the slightly milder version that goes along the lines of "It does no harm, not to know everything". And of course, it is ridiculous to think one person could ever comply every knowledge there is in the world in their brain. But, to think being ignorant doesn't harm, or even helps is in my opinion an extremely condescending, over-generalizing and even harmful attitude.

Condescending in the sense that people just assume that it is best not to tell someone something because they decided that is best for them. You don't know if that is really best not to tell your partner that you cheated on her or him. You just happened to make that - often very selfish - decision on your own. You just decided that someone can't handle something. That, in my opinion not how you treat someone you believe to be equal. That is how you treat someone that you don't trust in handling something themselves. And that is just plain arrogant.

Over-generalizing, because just most people would most likely react badly to the news of being sick, doesn't mean that it will apply to that certain person. Sure, it can be devastating to someone to hear that you are seriously ill. But that doesn't mean it will for everybody. Not everybody will be happy to find out much later that they have been ignorant about something. Some might be, but many will feel the complete opposite.

Which leads me to harmful. One might think and often means well if they don't tell their partner that they cheated. Most people don't want to hurt their partners. But the fact remains that you cheated. Now, I would never advocate here how anyone has to handle their relationships, but consider this. Cheating often means something deeper. Something mostly is not quite right. Whatever it is, it made you to mess up. And to not come clean about it, doesn't magically make the problem disappear. In worst case it will continue getting worse and worse and worse until it blows up in your face with no chance of fixing it anymore. And that is just an example about a relationship.

Just imagine it concerns your health. It is not a bliss to not know that you have diabetes. Not knowing does not mean, you are not a diabetic. You are a ticking time bomb. You could be driving and suddenly your lights go off and you kill yourself and even others. Even if patients claim that they have been happier when they didn't know about, I think there are being angry. Suddenly doctors tell them to stop eating chips every night or have that beer in the evening. And that what pisses them off. And of course that is no fun. But claiming that it would have been better to not know and just being able to carry on like you did before, is just idiotic. That bowl of chips you have eaten every night, the beer you drank a little bit too much was the problem. Not that someone told you that you developed diabetic. Now, you have at least the chance to react.

Coming back to my own ignorance. For a long time I kept telling myself I can't know everything. But in truth, I just tried to avoid to face consequences that I caused myself. Ignorance is not a bliss. It is a recipe for ensuring that you will get stuck in the same state you are in and in worst case it will drag you down.

However, there is only one thing that is worse then ignorance. Not admitting it. Like I said, no one will ever know everything. But to pretend that you know something, while inside you go "How do you spell that word, can you eat that?", then you neither helping yourself, nor the person you are talking to. So, even though it is embarrassing sometimes, I try to admit it right away, when I just don't happen to know. And then I might not be "blissed" with ignorance, but something much better. I gain knowledge. And of that one can never have enough.

Moving along, but still a lot to see

Yesterday I met two of my dearest friends. Not so long ago we lived together for several years. It is strange to meet them now, realizing slowly we are not living together anymore.

To know we won't meet in the kitchen in the middle of night, sipping on Glühwein to heat us up, because the kitchen didn't have a heater. And to come up with extremely funny solutions no one ever asked for. Or cooking our weekly dose of Spaghetti and Tomato-sauce, topped with a lot of cheese and then gathering around the small screen in the living room under one blanket to watch and comment on Tatort. Not being able to run into the living room and start dancing around and someone will join you or at least turn up the appropriate music.

We were there for each other. We disagreed. We discussed. We laughed. Sometimes we cried. I guess, we just had great time.

Now, I'm not the most melancholic person ever. When I left school and then moved away, I didn't feel like crying about. It's not that I dreaded school, but I found the idea of something new, of developing, exciting. I still do. I'm still looking forward how my life will develop. How much more I will learn. What people I will meet. But what makes me sad about my transition from studying to working, is that I won't have my friends around that much anymore. I know we will keep in touch, thanks to the internet that has got so much easier, but I also know that it won't be quite the same anymore as we will have only limited time together.

However, in the end, what counts is that I found a couple of great individuals that I now can call friends and will be happy to have around even if our lives develop in slightly different paths. I'm confident that we will have many great moments, laughs, emotions, disagreements and life together.

So, rather then weeping for something lost, I will look forward to many great years to come.

Cat world domination

The late and great Douglas Adams revealed in his book "the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" that mice are the true lords of our planet. Second came the dolfins and and with that the great muscial opening number of the movie. Even though I would have to surrender if I compared my creativity, wit and wisdom to Mr.Adams, I still would have to disagree on one crucial point. We can agree on dolfins. They even have names in dolfinish - or however you want to call their language - and manage to be considered cute even though they are predators.

But mice are surely not the most clever animals on the planet - nor are we for that matter - I'm convinced cats rule supremely over us.

Most pets we do have serve a purpose. A dog can be trained to fetch your newspaper in the morning. And if you should happen to be too lazy to train it, at least its very existence guarantees that you will get for a walk twice a day. Horses, chickens, cows, all of them improve our lives in some way. And the animals that don't serve such a useful purpose are mostly in cages, so you can go and look at them being cute, study their behaviour and even take them out to cuddle them. They have their fixed space and won't do any harm to the rest of the house.

Cats on the other hand refuse to serve any apparent purpose and certainly won't get locked up into a cage. Well, in the beginning they did hold a very valueable place, hunting animals that would eat our food. But that was just the first step in their evil plan to take over the world. Soon after we let them hunt for us, they managed to sneak into our houses. And then they convinced us that we should feed them and give them toys to play with, let them lie on the cozy heater on soft blankets especially bought for them and in return they will do nothing at all. No, they even crash and shred our house to pieces.

Just imagine you would be the head of a company and someone would apply for a job there. And the guy coming to an interview would demand free access to your office, that you pay for specific food and that you get up in the middle of the night to serve dinner if that person feels like it. During that interview he - or maybe she? - will loose interest several times, throw down your prizy porcelan figure you got from your grandma minutes before she died and in the end end up sleeping on your laptop. And then you would hire that guy. This is what we do with cats.

Cats propably possess the ability of brainwashing us into thinking that we really would like to have a monster in our house that destroys things just for the fun of it. And I think I know how they are doing it. The purring stimualtes a certain area in our brain that switches off the ability for a rational deciscion and let cats do the decisions for us. It is genius. If you now think that it is not as bad as I think, I assure you that this state is just the next step to openly impose cat-domination on us. I just saw this video:



You know what that means. They are evolving. Soon they will drive our cars, take over the government and force us to do everything for them. Now, we at least can get mad at them throw them from the dinner table or just out of the house. But this time we won't be able to refuse anything. We will have to obey. Soon they will grow opposable thumbs and then we are all screwed.

(Here is the link to the original video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MVV_HXtEbLo&feature=player_embedded, although I have seen my cat standing up, too ;) )

How NOT to hit on women

I seem to be a very attractive girl. That, or the men in my city have an apparent death wish. Whenever I am down and extremely grrrrr, there will be a guy who thinks THAT is my sign to be hit on.

Like that one guy that tried to invite me to a coffee, while I was desperatly rushing to the doctor to get some painkillers and antibiotics to treat my bladder infection. I highly doubt that the hugh thunder storm expression on my face could have been interpreted as "Ask-me-out-NOW!". Still, this brave man just did that.

Another real bad way to try to get my interest and the interest of my most girls is, chat her up while your breath smells like you nurture on beer alone and look like showering is not really your cup of tea. And then to decrease your already quite low chances, make your move on a total stranger during the week - so that your drunken state really makes you look like an alcoholic - on a tram, while your target looks like she just murdered someone or is considering it and looks straight of the window, so she doesn't have to put that plan in action. And then persist on talking to her, even if you only get tiny polite smiles and one-worders as a response. On top of that try extremely bad approaches like "Oh, i had mistaken you for someone else. Are you sure you are not Kristin?", while you sit a meter away from her. If that's not going to get her attention get up, say good bye, but then come back again and claim you almost got out at the wrong stop. Because portraying yourself to her as someone who is so filled up that you lost sense of time and place will surely make her reconsider her first impression that you are an alcoholic looney.

Still, keep on going that path and be sympathic to her bad mood. Because, after the forth "hmmm!", even you have to acknowledge that. Tell her that your life sucks, too - something she would have never figured out herself being drunk and all -and that you would like to break out of that life and surely she will break out in an excited "Yes, please, let's elope and marry in Vegas!" If even several hints in the "I understand your feeling"-direction didn't provoke that reaction yet, point out to her that she wouldn't have that many options anyway. Say something charming like "You know, the fairytale of the frog that will turn into a prince doesn't exist" and she will suddenly see that you are the best and only option to ever be happy.

If she still just gets off the tram and nearly runs away, she propably was just not worth your attention anyway. Just keep persuing that way.

And if you now think no one would ever act that weirdly, you never took my tram at nine o'clock and met harmless, - but- extremely- drunk- and- socially- inapt guy that did exactly everything of the above. I really don't think I'm that extremely pretty, especially in the mood I was in. If you still met a girl that you think was the most pretty thing on the whole planet, you should hope you are not drunk, unwashed and just be nice, ask her politely if she would like to have a cup of coffee with her.

When it happend to me at my way to the doctor, I was extremely taken aback, because I was just extremely annoyed by my condition, but I thought it was a very sweet gesture and I didn't decline because of my mood, but because I had a boyfriend. So, even though I shoot him down, I was nice, thanking for that offer and explaining I had a boyfriend. I know when I was younger I made a sport out of scaring the shit out of guys, whenever someone was brave enough to chat me up, but that just might explain why I was single.

All in all, just be nice, shower, don't be drunk and be polite. Don't try to kill a lion in front of me. (Which would be very odd, considering I live in a city) Don't come up with cheesy one-liners ("Your Dad is a thief....") If the girl still shoots you down and is unnecessarily cruel while doing it, she might not be a very good company anyway and certainly not worthy of your attention. Just a thought.

Hair, Hair, Hair

We all would like to think of ourselves to as people who base our actions on sound reason and arguments. We would like to think that all our descisions make sense and are not just based on some assumptions. But, if we are really honest, we have to acknowledge that we do things every day that not really could stand any serious investigation. We want to believe that what we do is not just some believe, but in the end we are just delusional. Even I have to admit that some things I do are not based on sound evidence, but a fuzzy believe.

I love my hair. I know superficial. Completely random. But I can't help myself. It is not even that my hair is something spectacular special. It has a quite normal brownish hair. It does get some nice blond highlights in the summer, but that is about it. It is completely flat. Not a single curl. Only about three spins at the roots. And that's about it.

Still, I tend to my hair very carefully. I wash it not too often. When I do, I do wash it twice though. I believe it helps it being more shiny. I don't use conditioner while washing it, but only afterwards to spray it on my damp hair. I always try to avoid to blow dry it or even comb it when it is wet to not break it. Because I read somewhere that it is bad to comb it when it wet. I don't really have prove that this in any way true. I don't know if washing it two times does help or just a waste of shampoo.

Nevertheless, I do it, because I would like to think that my long hair is only that nice because I take care of it the way I do.

Now, you might say, so what? Well, I pride myself to be a skeptic and I should not just apply it to some things, but to every Most importantly my everyday life. I should not just take the word of some beauty magazine that claims that washing my hair twice is better. I should check the facts behind it and then try it. Or maybe even conduct a small experiment and see if there is any difference.

If I have such high standards of questioning before accepting, why do I stop when it comes to my hair? I don't see any reason behind it and there is no reason behind it. Just some vage believe that my behaviour helps. And that is, quite frankly, a very week excuse that I never bothered to check if those claims have any truth to it.

I should not just claim to be sceptic and then dismiss it out of laziness in some areas in my life and being a pain in the ass in others. I guess that just means one thing. Check whatever strange believe I have when it comes to my hair and clarify it. And if it turns out to be right? Wouldn't it have been a gigantic waste of time then? No, anything but. Because then I can say I do what I do, because it is backed up by evidence and don't have to keep on pretenting I know what I'm doing even though it is nothing more then a personal opinion.

And as good as personal opinion might sound to some, to me, knowledge always sounds better.

Creative dangers

So, we have a decent internet connection again. After two weeks of only very small doses of the net, I'm back in the game. And very happy to be so. :) Most things I do at home involve the internet. And that is not because I was raised by the internet.

I actually grew up without internet. I think we got internet when I was 14 -somewhere around that age. The wonders of flatrate haven't reached humanity yet and we all - that was me and my two brothers - were only allowed a certain time on the net. And my parents got regularly pissed at us for spending to much time on the net. That was two hours a day - at max, when we reallly got crazy.

My Mom used to throw us out of the house, making us play outside. Today, I have the slight suspicion she did that not only because she wanted us to get some fresh air and do some kind of sports. It also prevented us three to run amok inside. We were extremely creative when it came to keeping ourselves busy in our home. Which usually involved hijacking all rooms for our purposes. ( Except maybe the bathroom, toilet and my parent's bedroom. I guess, even kids have some boundaries after all.) Which often led to distraught parents stumbling over parts of Playmobile-Santa Fe, nearly chocking themselves on one of our ski-lifts or having a picture broken by a fiercly battled football tournament in the hallway. It really was dangerous to have us in the flat for too long.

I remember once we piled up all matraces on one bed to built a slide. The slide didn't work that well, but my bed-lamp was completely broken afterwards. I think the really terrible thing for my parents was that they most of the time recognized our deep creativity and imagination and didn't want to kill that by forbidding any crazy idea of us, but didn't want to get killed in a freak accident stepping on a LEGO-pirate ship in the kitchen, smashing into the nearest wall and breaking their spine when crashing down on the floor again. So, throwing us in the garden maybe was the best solution for everyone. Although, come to think of it, when we got older and stopped our flat-hijackings- they must have got bored quickly. Otherwise, bringing cats into your home doesn't make any sense at all. ;)

Can I cut your hair and then pretend its mine?

I have hair envy. My hair is flat. As flat is it gets. No curls. Only I think three at the hairline, which only annoy me whenever I try to make more out of my hair once every century. But besides they just lie there. So, yes I want to have curls, natural curls, because I'm a lazy bastard. So, yeah I would like to have curls, but I don't want to do anything for it. I want to walk around feel through my curly curls that will swing on my head like little ballerinas dancing. Most of the time I see someone with curls I wonder how it feel to have them on my head, naturally of course. Curling them on my own takes just too long, because they will only stay curly when done with compeletly wet hair that then most dry off completely.

Altough, to be fair to myself, honest might be the better word here, I'm not really that lazy when it comes to my hair. Some might say I'm obsessed. I wash it every second day and then I wash it two times in a row. Why? Because I first wash out the dirt, then I want the whole good stuff to be able to its magic. I'm not sure if it does, meaning I never conducted a study upon it, but I think it helps the hair to stay cleaner for a longer period and shinier and softer. After my washing I wrap it in to a towel for a bit and then let it airdry. No rubbing, not blow drying, maybe gentle removal of the most water with the towel on my hair. I don't brush it until its cdry and I often use some spray conditioner. I never wash my hair with conditioner, it just softens the hair and then it gets greasy much quicker.

Every now and then I frantically search my hair for splitted ends and then cut them out. And every few months a hairdresser gets to cut of some amount.

Whenever I have the feeling my hair could look greasy I get obsessed about it and ask everbody around if that's the case or wear something to hide it. Once I was that unhappy about it that I didn't stop nagging until my friends told me wash my hair at her place and I did. At a party in a very small flat. No, I'm not that difficult most of the time.

So, yeah, all in all I might be a bit envious, or a bit more than a bit, of curly hair, but in end the right description for my hair relationship might be compulsary behaviour.

Runter vom GEHweg!

Meine lieben Radfahrer, Ich gebe es zu. Ich bin neidisch. Während ich zwanzig Minuten brauche, seid ihr in zehn Minuten da. Ich muss mehr Zeit einplanen für Strecken, die ihr unbeschwert in wenigen Minuten hinter euch bringt. Ich bin ja selbst Schuld. Seit langem will ich mein mintgrünes Rad von meinen Eltern hierherbringen, aber ich schaffe es einfach nicht.

Gelegentlich empfinde aber auch ich etwas tiefgehenderes als Neid. Ein naggender Schmerz, der mich nicht loslässt und böse Ideen provoziert. Dann möchte ich euch, meine lieben Radfahrer, auf die Straße stoßen oder gegen eine Hauswand schubsen. Das ist nicht nett, ich weiß. Ich sollte mich wohl erklären.

Heute Morgen musste ich mal relativ früh los. Es hat über Nacht viel geschneit. Ich konnte die Strecke zu Fuß zurücklegen. Matschiger Schnee ist eigentlich schon so schon Strafe genug, wenn die Schuhe undicht sind, aber wenn ich dann auch noch von wildgewordenen Menschen auf zweirädrigen Vehikeln hinterrücks von dem einzig freigeräumten Streifen in den nächsten Schnee abdrängt werde, ohne dass der Fahrer des Geräts sich irgendeiner Schuld bewusst ist, dann kommen schon mal fiese Gedanken in meinen Kopf.

Ich weiß, ich weiß, der Radweg war nicht richtig geräumt und daher musstet ihr ja zwangsläufig auf den Gehweg ausweichen, aber ist euch schon mal der Gedanke gekommen, dass wir Fußgänger genausowenig Lust haben Hüfttief im Schlamm zu versinken, damit ihr ungestört zur Arbeit eiern könnt?

Eigentlich seht ihr ja erbarmungswürdig auf euren sonst so stolzen Rädern aus. Wie ihr euch wacklig in den Lenker krallt, den Blick starr auf den gefährlichen Weg vor euch gerichtet. Dennoch fahrt ihr Schlangenlinien, als hättet ihr gerade gelernt ohne Stützräder zu fahren. All das erregt bei uns Fußgängern meist genug Mitleid um in den nächsten Schneehaufen auszuweichen. Wenn wir dennoch kein Mitleid haben und dem Egoismus anfallen weiter auf geräumtem Gehweg gehen zu wollen oder wir das Rad einfach viel zu spät wahrnehmen, da nicht nur ihr gebannt auf den Boden starrt, und daher eben nicht ausweichen, dann haltet ihr aber so erbarmungslos Kurs, dass man gewzungermaßen in die nächste Schneewehe hechtet und sich danach wünscht, dem nächsten Rad etwas in die Speichen zu stecken.

Also, liebe Radfahrer, im Interesse weiterer friedlicher Coexistenz: Auch wenn ihr eurer Rad noch so liebt, bei Schnee laufen oder zumindest keine arglosen Fußgänger abdrängen. Sonst werde ich wohl doch mal in einem Anfall von niederträchtigen Rachgelüsten einen von euch einen Stock in die Speichen stecken. Und das wollen wir doch wirklich nicht.

Eure

Friederike

Facebook eats Souls

Since a few weeks I have my own farm, about seven fish tanks and I'm member of a Mafia-Gang. Every morning I get up and attend to my tomatos, potatoes, cranberries, cows, chickens, pinguins, multiple fish and then steal, fight, rob and murder my way through New York.

Yes, I got hooked on those terrible social games on facebook. Yes, I do know that they are anything but original or even extremely well animated and that they rely on your emotional attachment to the teary eyed cow asking you to adopt them before a virtual butcher comes and slaughters them mercilessly. Or in the case of MafiaWars, they rely on your deep resentment against the whole world and know that deep inside of us we all would like to go out and shoot people to death.

At least, that's how I explain myself my attachment to something that so obviously tries to steal money out of your pockets and is not even that well made to pretend it is all because of the great gaming atmosphere or graphics. It is just to easy to be successfull in those games. You can easily plant pineapples next to some potatoes on the same soil covered in snow and still gain money and experience and not just a smack over the head for completely ignoring the laws of nature. Your fish smile on you happily and not just die no matter how well you treat them (as I was told by some owners fish tend to do rather frequently). When you go and kill someone, you are actually rewarded for that and don't just end up being institulized for being a psychopathic mass murderer.

And that is the good side. In really bad times I sit on front of my laptop waiting for the plants to grow, the tank to go dirty and the Energy to crawl up again for hours. I want to reach certain goals, a next level, enough money for that fancy pink seaweed. And one week ago I was talking to a friend, admitting that I don't even like to plant tomatoes in the real world. I knew I had a problem by then, but I had to adopt last teary eyed penguin being molsted by polar bears so he had to flee his ice floe. And this tuna that was about to being slaughtered to become salad.

A friend suggeted to sue the gaming developers for emotional harrasement, but I'm afraid I'm already to far gone. I survived chatting to friends on facebook. I was able to stop taking quizzes telling me what famous horse film star I was most alike. And I did get over joining groups that united Haters of the yellow shirt wearers. But this time facebook has done it. It has eaten what some might call my soul. Before, I was ashamed of wanting to know what Disney princess I was alike and why I wanted to join a group that did make no sense at all. Now I don't even bother to hide it anymore.

Facebook is evil and it wants to suck the life out of you and then take over the world, while we are glued to our fish tanks. Or maybe, they just like to earn money...maybe.

Eure


Friederike

Test, Test...Zwei, drei...

Hallo Welt,


Ich bin hier. Nicht, dass jemand auf mich hier gewartet hätte, aber dennoch, hier bin ich. Es hat lange gedauert im Hier zu landen und nun habe ich es geschafft. Was das Hier genau ist, weiß ich nicht genau und ich habe so den leisen Verdacht, dass ich es letztendlich nie herausfinden werde. Das soll mich aber nicht daran hindern mein Hier immer wieder aufs Neue zu betrachten und hier wem auch immer oder vielleicht auch nur mir selbst mitzuteilen.

Klingt alles etwas konfus und unausgegoren? Nun, das bin dann wohl ich. Wir werden sehen wie weit ich das ändern kann, werde und möchte. Aber letztendlich ist das alles eine Frage des Tun, Machen und Solln.

Eure


Friederike