Writer's Blog - Schreib-Bloggade

Birds of Two Feathers

2008-12-28T11:11:00.000+01:00

Here we are, at the edge of our nest, both.

You: The free spirit. Flapping your wings with eager impatience.
Curious, expectant, full of anticipation towards the unknown ahead.
You'd rather fly today than tomorrow. In fact, you'd rather have stretched out your wings yesterday.
Not that you don't have your share of fear and doubts.
But you see more chance in venturing into the unknown than in circling old familiar paths.

Me: The altricial bird. Anxiously clawing to the nest, attempting to hold on to the familiar.
Craven, doubtful, worried about the unknown ahead.
I'd rather fly tomorrow than today. In fact, why leave this comfy nest at all?
Not that I don't see the limits of holding on, and the chance within change.
But that which is familiar comes with a - however treacherous - sense of security, something to hold on to.
And ...

You kick me off the nest's edge. I shriek and tumble.
Then, much to my own astonishment, I discover my wings and start to fly.
Wobbly at first, but still.
Then your time has come at last. You take off, soaring into the sky.
A leap in the dark. No more limits, no more boundaries.

Photography by magekin

Winter Sun

2008-12-27T12:48:00.000+01:00

Milky light under a blue sky, partially covered by a smear of muddy clouds. The sun's light hits in a shallow angle, dazzling the eye which seems no longer adapted to this sort of brightness. Long shadows cast an erie premonition of long hours of darkness. You can almost see the cold. Short hours of sunshine before the clouds take over again, seamlessly merging into dusk and a night which seems to fall far too early. Coming in comes a lot easier than going out.

And yet ... Inhaling the cool, fresh air, heavy with a whiff of foreshadowed snowfall. Crisp, icy snow crunching under feet. Children laughing and clamouring as they happily skid down even the smallest slopes on sledges in carefree happiness. The warm light of a candle. The sound of Mozart's symphony no. 25. Cookies and a steaming pot of tea. Somehow, I am beginning to realize, there is light and warmth in every moment.

Coffeehouse

2008-12-26T10:42:00.000+01:00

Just thinking of a coffeehouse immediately conjures up a whole array of senses: The smell of freshly ground coffee-beans. The sound of coffee being ground. The sound of milk being steamed. The sense of anticipation, intensified by the combination of alluring smells and sounds. The very antagonisms which create the coffeehouse's uniqueness: The sound of music, discreet, yet stimulating. The hustle-bustle behind the bar contrasting with the laid-back atmosphere at the tables, mirroring the black-white polarity of coffee and milk. An atmosphere of busy, almost hectic activity, which curiously and miraculously complements the effect of virtually meditative calm.

The unique combination awakens and stimulates all senses. Everyone becomes an artist of sorts. Students doing their homework, people talking, laughing, thinking, perhaps even writing or drawing.Guests, as barkeepers, are, in equal parts, spectators and actors, each thriving on and contributing to the coffeehouse's unique feel. Perhaps many of the best ideas were conceived, answers and solutions found, in a coffeehouse.

Here, No Matter Where

2008-06-09T18:56:00.000+02:00

When I awoke
you had left
but you were still here.

I saw
your smiling face
and heard
your talk and laughter reverberating.

I felt
the warmth of your skin
and the tenderness
of your touch.

The taste of you
lingered vividly
as did the breeze
of your fragrance.

But most of all
there was the marvellous feeling
of your love
all around me.

I feel you!

Speechless

2008-03-30T15:04:00.000+02:00

My head is spinning and it seems like there is too much going on to digest, let alone formulate something at least akin to a clear thought.

A couple of personal issues have been keeping my mind in check. Nothing bad, just a lot of petty things piling up seemingly at the same time, so I just was not in the right frame of mind to sit down and sort out my thoughts, not to mention writing anything down which was not completely senseless gobbledygook. Come to think of it, I probably wasn't even in the right mindset for senseless gobbledygook.

But what is going on in my own small world is nothing compared to what is unfolding on a larger scale.

The unfolding and development of events have also left me speechless.

As British and US forces are now drawn into the battle for Basra, the rising daily death count in Iraq is still being sold to the public as ample prove of how successful "the surge" is going. (If the amount of civilian deaths is the measure of success, well, yeah, you can probably subscribe to the Bush administration's claim.)

Never mind the fact that many Americans (although the numbers are steadily declining; yes, there is hope) still seem to believe the fairytale that this shameful war, which was based on bullshitting and lies to begin with and has been going on for five years now, is fought in the name of democracy and freedom, and is part of the global fight agains terrorism.

Hint: There were no WMDs, aka weapons of mass destruction (only the weapons of mass deception used by the honorable administrations in the US of A, and in the UK), and, no, Saddam Hussein had no connections to Al Quaida, and hence had nothing to do with 9/11 - even the Pentagon has recently been forced to acknowledge this.

Pssst! In his "The Age of Turbulence: Adventures in a New World", published in September 2007, Alan Greenspan, the former Fed-head, claimed that the Iraq war wasn't about freedom and democracy for the USA, or for Iraq for that matter, but it was really about ... oil! Not that Greenspan had any problem with this; he was mainly "saddened" about the fact that it is politically inconvenient to publicly acknowledge this fact.

Needless to say that the disclaimers are never touted with quite as much fanfare as the false claims. But then the latter are part and parcel of the marketing package to sell this entire mess to the public as a justified war, whereas the former would, perhaps, raise questions rather left unasked.

Closer to home, the subprime mess, aka credit crunch, aka credit crisis, seems to be reaching a new climax - or should I say nadir? - every week.

And it has lead to a - perhaps not entirely new, but nevertheless weird - kind of socialism, where profits are privatized, whereas losses are socialized. As in the Bailout of the Month, aka Operation Enduring Moneypress, or "Save the Bear" (Stearns, that is):

"The Fed spent the weekend [of March 15-16] putting together a plan to be announced Sunday evening, regardless of the outcome of Bear's negotiations, that would enable all Wall Street banks to borrow from the central bank. Mr. Bernanke called the Fed's five governors together for a vote Sunday afternoon. All five voted in favor, using for the second time since Friday the Fed's authority to lend to nonbanks.

The steps were announced at the same time the Fed agreed to lend $30 billion to J.P. Morgan to complete its acquisition of Bear Stearns. The loans will be secured solely by difficult-to-value assets inherited from Bear Stearns. If the assets decline in value, the Fed -- and therefore the U.S. taxpayer -- will bear the cost." (Wall Street Journal).

The initial JPMorgan Chase offer of 0.054-and-then-some shares in exchange for a share of Bear Stearns, which at that time amounted to about 2$ per Bear Stearns share (the closing price on March 14 had been 30$; one week earlier, Bear Stearns had traded for around 70$), was raised some days later, to amount to around 10$ a share. This was, perhaps, JPM's easter egg.

N.B.: On Tuesday, March 25, former Bear Stearns CEO Cayne "cashed out", selling his entire stake (5.6 million shares) for 10.84 apiece. This became known to the public on Thursday -- after market close. At which BSC shares took another plunge; but, as a small consolace for the possibly-soon-to-be-ex-Bear-Stearns employees who had their entire retirement money cut to around a tenth to what it was worth at the end of last year, BSC are still trading above 10$. For now. As of market close on March 28, 2008.

Meanwhile, on this side of the Atlantic, federal banks are also rushing to the rescue of beleaguered financial institutions. Take, for instance, last year's attempt by the Bank of England to rescue Northern Rock.

It turns out that the rescue attempt failed due to the sheer scale of Northern Rock's troubles -- it had to borrow 25 billion pounds from the bank of England --, and the bank now has had to be nationalized. Which, in essence, amounts to the taxpayer picking up the bill.

By 2011, Northern Rock will throw out about 2000 employees -- excuse me: It will cut about a third of its jobs, "as part of a restructuring program aimed at eventually returning the bank to the private sector." Read: After the taxpayer has payed the bill (=socializing the costs), the bank will then, after returning to profitability with the aid of "We, the people", happily privatize the profits.

The German version of "Save Our Souls", er, banks, runs along a similar vein. Different stage, part of the same drama, similar outcome (i.e., "We, the people" are left to pay the bill). And it is not only the IKB, but all of Germany's Landesbanken, who find themselves deep in the sh--er, swamps. Heaven forbid that anyone discusses the political implications of state-owned banks running into trouble, whose bill has to be picked up by the -- you guessed it! -- taxpayer.

And in a new twist in the story of Compassionate Capitalism (no state intervention, please! Unless, of course, things are starting to go awry -- for corporations), Deutsche Bank chief Josef Ackermann had the incredible chuzpe -- again something to leave me speechless -- to go screaming "State! Please! Help!", when he suddenly realized that "the natural market behavior wouldn't be enough to correct the unfolding global crisis."

A week and a half after this touching cry for help, Deutsche Bank revealed that it might not meet its profit goal, due to challenging market conditions which might/could/will "adversely affect our ability to chieve our pretax profitability objective."

Looks like Ackermann's earlier statement was a kind of pre-warning to the profitwarning. (Darn! Had I only interpreted the signs correctly and bought put-options on Deutsche Bank! Then again, on March 17th, DB had just hit a new multi-year low, and has since been rising steadily, so perhaps going short at that point was not such a great idea, after all.)

But lo and behold, before you are shedding too many tears for Mr. Ackermann: Despite the challenging conditions, he was able to collect 13.98 million Euros in compensation for 2007. Unless he spent it all at once (or invested all of it in one of those troubled SIVs, which I am pretty sure he didn't), he should be able to make ends meet for a while. After all, this amount represented a rise of 5.8 percent from his 2006 compensation of 13.2 million Euros.

"Why," my sweetheart asked after summing up our discussion, "isn't everyone up on the barricades, storming the bastilles?"

His question, of course, was of merely rhetorical character.

Top graphic: speechless, by maximatic

Moody Blues

2008-02-10T11:57:00.000+01:00

Picture (adapted) from DeviantArt Laetyboy

SHE:

DON´T touch me, I´m feeling touchy!

HE:

Ok ...

(A little later)

SHE:

Hey! Why Don´t you touch me? Don´t You love me anymore???

Uhm ... yes, this, more or less, sums up these very female emotional swings.

These fits of moodiness that women have the questionable pleasure to experience are a total bitch, honestly!

Not that they happen that often, but once in a while is enough to be a real mood-killer for my most precious surroundings. And myself.

Out of the blue, my mind is darkened by horrible clouds of I´m-not-even-sure-what, and I start to be irritable, to say the very least. As I am watching myself bitching at my sweetheart (of course, it´s gotta be the beloved one who is invariably the victim of these fits), I know exactly that I am being unfair at that particular point, and I know that it´s not a discussion which promises a fruitful outcome.

So why on earth can´t I just stop? Or, more to the point, why do I have to start quibbling to begin with?

This weekend was a perfect example. It started so promising: The weather and feeling were almost spring-like: sunshine, twittering birds, a good cuddle (a VERY good one!) with my sweetheart to begin the day, an extended breakfast, and no tidbit stuff to do. In short, it started in a great, almost euphoric mood, and everything could have worked out perfect.

Could. If it hadn´t been for one of those ... fits.

So all of this changed as we set out for our long-expected walk. For no apparent reason, I started snapping and bitching at my love and managed to ruin the mood in no time.

OK, I was slightly hung-over from the night before (I had been out drinking with a friend who just passed his test to obtain his driver´s license), but the worst symptoms (i.e., a major headache) had long since receded. My head was not entirely clear (but when is it ever?), but there was really no particular reason to be moody, let alone leash out at someone who I care for.

I may also have been experiencing a slight hint of PMS. Not that that should be any excuse, because I think that as civilized beings with a couple of years of evolution behind us (not to mention the age of enlightenment and psychoanalysis), we cannot blame everything on animalic instincts. For a reasonable being (yes, I consider myself as such, despite being a woman), these primal traits should be controllable.

They are not. Come to think of it, I am not quite sure that these sudden mood swings are something limited to women. However, from what my male friends are telling me, I certainly do get that impression. And what they are telling me reassures me that I am not alone with these inexplicable emotional roller-coaster rides, and that, therefore, I am not a total psycho. (Phew! At least there´s some relief in that!)

Most of the men I know (and that includes my swetheart - never mind that we have been together for almost two decades) are just baffled and left wondering at these abrupt mood changes. I mean, all can be fluffy-flurry sunshine one moment, only to turn into tears the next, and back again to smiles and laughter, as if nothing had happened.

It might not be much of a consolace, but be assured, my male friends, we are just as confused as you are when we´re back to normal.

Which leaves me to conclude that as long as we XX-s don´t get a grip on what´s going on inside of us, how can we ever expect a man to understand us?

Perhaps testosterone would be a solution. But then we´d have to shave our faces, too.

Disorders

2008-02-03T13:04:00.000+01:00

There is a certain beauty to chaos, and very likely a system behind it that fails to meet the eye at first glance. The construction of the trabucci , found around the Italian Gargano, are a case in point: They look like a mixture of planks, nets and ropes, which seem to have been assembled totally at random.

Which, perhaps, they are.

In any case, they are very well working devices for catching fish. (Unlike my own random system of non-order, which does not always work when it comes to deliver the catch of the day.)

For as long as I can think, I have been suffering from various types of disorder. Not disorders in the sense of some bodily or emotional or mental function which might be described as disorder.

I do, however, experience serious attacks of stupidity intolerance, authority intolerance, bigotry intolerance, not to mention very regular attacks of racism intolerance. Most of them might, in fact, be called chronic conditions.

But then these intolerances are nothing I would call "disorders". In fact, I think they are totally healthy, necessary, and in order. Which, in turn, is probably an expression of my state of mind, and a propensity to refuse certain types of order.

In any case, "suffering" is probably the wrong word, so I shall reformulate: I am a very disorderly person. Not only when it comes to authorities, but also in a more basic sense.

The other day, I had to sort some stuff for our tax advisor. Needless to say, due to my cardbox-filing (un)systematic, I had hours of fun getting all the documents into some kind of decent order. It was as if some evil ghost had taken them prior to my going through them and shuffled them like a deck of cards, so there were practically no two documents that were filed (or thrown into the box) in a (chrono)logical order. But of course, there was no ghost I could blame other than my own disorder spirit.

On second thought, "suffering" might be the right word after all, because this lack of order sometimes is a source of stress. Or at least one of inconvenience.

But I am getting better. Today, my sweetheart was looking for some tool. Now, we don´t have a toolbox in the classical sense, since none of us is very much of a homeworker/handicraft type of person. But we do have a cardbord box (yes!) where we collect most of our tools. So I dug through it and - tata! - much to my own surprise, I found the tool in question.

"There seems to be," I said, "some systematic developing in our system of disorderliness. We might throw everything into cardbord boxes, but increasingly, there seems to be some sort of logic behind it. We actually start finding things we are looking for, without having to plow everything under."

"Should I start getting worried now?" my sweetheart asked.

"About what - our imminent gentrification?" I asked back.

"Yes, exactly," he replied.

Personally, I think it is to early to start worrying, as long as questions beginning with "Do you have any idea where I might find ....?", followed by shoulder-shrugging, swearing, and, ultimately, giggling, are part of our daily experience.

And the day when above intolerances recede or stop ... that would be the day to start worrying.

The Knight Will Lift You From Darkness

2008-01-19T10:55:00.000+01:00

Some day, he will come along, take you by the hand and lift you up on his horse to take you with him, to a better place, to a better world. He will take you with him, to lands unknown, where milk and honey flow. Or where you won´t have to deal with the drags of ordinary everyday life, anyway. And you´ll live sorrow-free and happily ever after.

Don´t believe it! Reality is not a fairy-tale, and, yes, sometimes, it just flat-out sucks.

Perhaps you are still fairly young, or perhaps you are anything above 40. You have been working most of your life, and very likely, you don´t particularly enjoy what you are doing. But, after all, one has to make a living. Your relationship may have lost is magic, and you may be living side by side with one another, rather than with one another.

Perhaps you have stopped exchanging tendernesses, and you don´t really remember when you last had sex. But you probably don´t even miss it. In fact, you may even have seperate bed rooms and be content with this. In short, your life may not particularly exciting, but on the other hand, it is not particularly nasty, and it seems to be pretty much the same with everyone around you. And, somehow, you have grown used to this routine.

Chances are, you don´t think too much about these things anyway, because in your daily routine of getting up early, downing your coffee, rushing to work, working, getting home in the evening, having dinner, taking care of the kids, before dropping off to bed, only to get ready for the next day, you don´t have too much time to reflect upon anything beyond the daily routine. In case any questioning of this status quo should ever creep up, there are always ways to numb your mind by little escapes, such as TV shows or legal drugs.

Until one day ...

It may be a movie you have been watching. Or something you have been reading. Or an encounter you have recently had, perhaps a total stranger who looked at you with a certain glance, or perhaps someone you have stumbled across in a virtual environment.

This encounter suddenly threatens to disturb the world you have grown accustomed to live in. Suddenly you wonder whose life it is you have been living for the past you-don´t-remember-how-many years; it is, in any case, not the life you have actively chosen to live, but somehow you ended up in it. You did not so much define it than were defined by ... what? Circumstance? Necessity? Things you got used to?

Suddenly you realize that there is something inside you that you have long since forgotten, having been tucked away so safely by you. You may start wondering what happened to your passion, your dreams, your love. Worst of all, you realize that all of this which has been buried inside you has been there all along, all these years.

And you wonder if this is actually it. Is your life over before it has actually begun? You have 30, maybe 40 or 50 more years ahead of you, and you doubt that you´ll want to carry on like this.

Then you start contemplating your options: Should you follow the newly discovered path and leave your somewhat bleak routine? This would mean, on the other hand, to swap the relative comfort and security of the "known" against the big unknown. What would happen if you tried to shake up your partner and re-awaken that which brought you together in the first place, a (perhaps not so) long time ago? Would s/he even react, understand what you´re trying to say? Would s/he care? Or would s/he just look at you and wonder what has gotten into you now, hoping for the storm to pass? And ... what would you do then? Draw the line? Leave her/him?

Perhaps it would be safer to try and numb the nagging of your recently awoken mind, so you can at least stick to what you have become used to, and don´t risk to lose the comfy routine of it all, including your partner.

But that nagging just won´t go away, now that this string of thoughts has finally made its way from your sub- to your consciousness. And you feel like a character from "Desperate Housewives" as you meander between madness and depression.

You look for an escape. More to the point, you look for someone to take you by the hand and rescue you: The knight (or knightess) on the white horse (or black, depending on your orientation, state of mind, and preference). A strong, independent soul who will make everything allright. Undemanding, ever respectful, and yet protective.

OK, now let me tell you something: Forget it! Stop waiting for a miracle, and stop waiting for a saviour. There is no knight, neither a white one, nor a black one. YOU and you alone have to drag yourself out of this swamp-hole that you have gotten (yourself) into. Stop wallowing in self-pity and stop indulging in the blame-game, or projecting your hopes upon some vague fantasy of an even vaguer saviour. And don´t believe in that crap of someone coming along with the sole purpose and intention of rescuing you.

Get your act together and do whatever it takes to make this life your life.

To put it with the (admittedly: somewhat dated and no longer en vogue) lyrics of "The International":

No saviour from on high delivers
No faith have we in prince or peer
Our own right hand the chains must shiver
Chains of hatred, greed and fear

The decision to act is yours. This is not decided for you, and it is not done for you.You have to take it in your own hands.

It is your life!

PropagandArt

2008-01-11T10:13:00.000+01:00

We´ve all heard the story about the Iranian speedboat recently threatening American vessels in the Gulf´s strait of Hormuz.

We´ve also all heard the ominous threat muttered - supposedly - by someone of the Iranian speedboat´s crew, muttering (in, I might add, a Schwarzeneggerian tone of voice reminiscent of "Terminator I") "I am coming at you. You will explode after a few minutes."

The supposed incident was, of course, immediately taken up by the US administration which found itself in a hurry to reaffirm what a big threat Iran is for stability in the reagion, world peace, and probably chocolate chipped cookies; and how this is another proof of their aggressive intentions, and reason enough why Iran should never ever be allowed to enter the nuclear game (not that I am a friend of this nuclear game - as far as I´m concerned, none of us, including the US of A, should be playing around with this kind of fire).

Well, turns out that the ominous threat was added to the video, posthumously, so to speak (wouldn´t be surprising if it turned out to actually have been text spoken by Arnie, would it?). It was, according to the BBC, in fact "a radio recording made seperately".

Monday´s (January 07, 2008) incident bears an erie similarity with a similar scenario which lead to the shooting down of an Iranian airliner in 1988 by a US vessel, killing all 290 people aboard the Airbus:

It has worrying similarities with the incident in 1988 when, in the same Strait of Hormuz, the USS Vincennes shot down an Iranian civilian airliner, having failed to monitor the radio traffic properly.

The crew of the Vincennes became wrongly convinced that the airliner, an Airbus with 290 people on board, all of whom died, was an Iranian fighter jet.

[...]

What is clear is that there are grave doubts about who uttered the warning picked up by the US ships. A deep voice was heard to say: "I am coming at you. You will explode after a few minutes."

The video released by the US implied that the warning was part of a series of transmissions to the ships from the Iranian craft.

It turns out that the warning was added onto the video. It was a radio recording made separately.

Experts say it could have come from another ship in the area or from a radio transmitter on shore. The channel used by the Iranian vessels to make their inquiries is an open one.

Iranian version

The Iranians later issued their own video, in which one of their sailors, in a much higher and quite different voice from the one which issued the "warning", asks the US ships who they are and what course they are on.

He gets a dusty reply that the US vessels are in international waters.

Thank goodness that the BBC leaves no doubt about who are the true masters of propaganda:

This goes beyond the back and forth of a propaganda battle, in which once again the Iranians show themselves to be masters.

Uh-huh. The Iranians. Of course. Oh, not that their government are not artists at that.

BUT, I´d say this latest incident can be fully booked under the label "propaganda to serve our means". Not that we shouldn´t have gotten used to that meanwhile.

Who can seriously believe anything anymore this administration in particular, and our governments, and our media in general, are proclaming?

Read the full article at the BBC´s website.

To Each and Everyone

2007-12-31T10:39:00.000+01:00

A happy, healthy, peaceful, love-filled, sane, exciting, crazy, thoughtful, educated, prejudice-free, painless ... New Year!

Stay in motion!

Love, PP

Image by IgorLaptev

Post-Holiday Worries, Here and There

2007-12-26T10:41:00.000+01:00

While we might be worrying about how to lose those extra pounds we gained during the holidays from indulging in too much yummie food.

Or if auntie Clara will be forever cross with us if we exchange that horrendous statue she somehow thought would fit in nicely with our living-room decor (or, more likely, she gave us because she didn´t really know what else to get us - but some Christmas present had to be bought, right?).

Or how to redeem that tie rack gift card ("Good grief, not another tie!").

In other words, while we are dealing with the basic problems of a typical consumption society, there are plenty of people around the world who would desperately wish to have that kind of post-holiday worries.

Not that they have to worry much about holidays in the first place, since day-to-day survival is their primary concern.

The following is an excerpt from the press release of the upcoming UNICEF report on the situation children in Iraq are faced with.

If there is no future for the children, how is there supposed to be a future for the country?

Little respite for Iraq’s children in 2007

But window to reach more vulnerable families opening for 2008

ERBIL/AMMAN/GENEVA, 21 December 2007: An estimated two million children in Iraq continue to face threats including poor nutrition, disease and interrupted education.

Iraqi children were frequently caught in the crossfire of conflict throughout 2007. Insecurity and displacement continues to cause hardship for many in the most insecure parts of the country and further eroded access to quality essential services country-wide. Iraq remains volatile; however conditions begin to allow for more a concerted effort to deliver assistance.

“Iraqi children are paying far too high a price,” said Roger Wright, UNICEF’s Special Representative for Iraq. “While we have been providing as much assistance as possible, a new window of opportunity is opening, which should enable us to reach the most vulnerable with expanded, consistent support. We must act now.”

Available information from different sources shows that:

Only 28 per cent of Iraq’s 17 year olds sat their final exams in summer, and only 40 per cent of those sitting exams achieved a passing grade (in south and central Iraq).
Many of 220,000 displaced children of primary school age had their education interrupted, adding to the estimated 760,000 children (17 per cent) already out of primary school in 2006.
Children in remote and hard-to-reach areas were frequently cut off from health outreach services.
Only 20 per cent outside Baghdad had working sewerage in their community, and access to safe water remains a serious issue.
An average 25,000 children per month were displaced by violence or intimidation, their families seeking shelter in other parts of Iraq.
By the end of the year, approximately 75,000 children had resorted to living in camps or temporary shelters (25 per cent of those newly-displaced since the Samarra shrine bombing in February 2006).
Hundreds of children lost their lives or were injured by violence and many more had their main family wage-earner kidnapped or killed.
Approximately 1,350 children were detained by military and police authorities, many for alleged security violations.

Out of Reach ;)

2007-12-24T17:32:00.000+01:00

Image by DavedeHaan

Feel the storm of desire
rattling your soul

Feed the burning fire
to break away from it all.

Escape these boundaries
limiting your mind.

Smell the adventure
you´re certain to find.

Taste the promise
of freedom to roam

Freed from all chains
escape on your own!

Jump! You sense you´re finally unleashed!
How good it feels
to be out of reach!

The wind in your hair
the sun on your skin.

The peace of your mind
the freedom within.

The sweet sensation
makes you feel high

To be free like an eagle
commanding the sky

Discover and explore
limitless lands

Imprinting your footsteps
into ever new sands

Escape! You are breaking free from the leash!
How good it feels
to be out of reach!

Boundless, unbridled,
you venture, you dare

To uncover new sides
of which you´d been unaware.

Your mind, at peace,
and totally free

You open your eyes
and you finally see

The magic, the wonder,
the beauty around

And for the first time in a long while
you feel no longer bound.

No holding back! There never has been a leash!
How good it feels
to be out of reach!

Dreamcatcher

2007-12-24T16:42:00.000+01:00

Dreamcatcher by Ashalind

He roams the arcane lands of secret shadows
knowing no fears

With fierce power he seeks those ghoulish ghosts
who are out to haunt you

Unflinchingly he hunts them down and breaks their shady spell
before they can cast it on you

With fervour he protects you against the petrifying pall
which they seek to wrap around your mind

Unbeknownst to you he accepts the crucial challenge,
time and again, never tiring

Mindful of the perils, he devotes his preternatural powers
to battle the cataclysmic mares of night

Strong-willed, he searches for the hounds of horror,
catching them with his web

With resolve he fends off the ghastly gnomes
so you may walk the path of your dreams.

May the Dreamcatcher protect you against all nightmares, so you may pursue your dreams!

Whatever You Do, Have a Good One!

2007-12-20T09:23:00.000+01:00

No matter whether you love or loathe the holiday season, whether you celebrate Christmas, Chanukka, Eid, Kwanza or simply life:

All the best to you and your families! May your holidays and the coming year be filled with joy and laughter, peace, bliss, health, success. And love. Lots of it.

Hopefully, you´ll find a couple of quiet days ahead where you can just sit back, relax and ponder. Remember to cherish those that you love and who are dear to you. Make them feel they´re special. Not only this time of the year, but all year round. Because they are.

And don´t give your sweetheart hell because his socks are laying around, or because (s)he always seems to take ages to get ready, and you´ll be late for your holiday lunch/dinner with your family. Or because you´re stressed out. Or for any other seeming reason which, when looked upon with some distance and through the eyes of reason, turns out to have been naught but fiddlesticks.

Take it easy, ok?

Cuddly cougar hugs!

P.S.: The graphic, as so often, is from Deviantart, by platinum420.

Nonsense Narrations

2007-12-07T17:35:00.000+01:00

Image by justaloser

Safely shell shocked,
searching shadowy spoofs
she supplies them soft subtleties

Laying low
lest luddites lurk
lamenting their lacrimonious lullabies.

Creatures of chaos
carry conventional carnations,
chasing controversies

While withered weather witches
wickedly wail,
wallowing in wild willows.

Dapper dames drinking daiquiries
dance dreamily,
dressed in diaphanous dungarees.

Aspiring adequate alacrity,
alabaster aardvarks
argue adversities from above.

Linguistic licorice
lingers lasciviously
over longing lovers.

But quintessential quagmires
quickly query
quaint questions in quadrophenia.

Tormented through trite trivia
thriving torrents of talk
tacidly tackle her.

She smells sedation
searching shadowy shelters
of sweet silence.

Feel ...

2007-11-26T22:41:00.000+01:00

the touch
of my thoughts

the caress
of my mind

the embrace
of my love

the tickle
of my laughter

the hug
of my eyes

the warmth
of my smile

holding you
as close as you want

giving you
what you want and need

no matter
where you are

whenever you want me to
I am here, with and for you.

Not only to tickle and pinch
;)

Hey sweetness,
I love you!

Fear of Flying ... Literally

2007-11-26T05:55:00.000+01:00

It is my deep and profound belief that we humans are ground animals. To quote Emil Zatopek (once again, I know I have quoted him before ...): "Bird flies, fish swims, man runs." Therefore, whenever I have the disputable pleasure of boarding an airplane, I develop a strange feeling within my guts, and this has nothing to do with love-butterflies.

My sweetheart dreads it when the plane hits turbulences. Not because he worries much about turbulences and air-pockets, but because he knows that I worry, which usually leads to me digging my paws, er, claws into his thighs, leaving wet spots on his knee from my sweating hands.

Usually, there really is no reason to worry. However, we were on one flight where, judging from the reaction of the flight attendant, everything clearly was not ok. But one after the other.

We had spent a decadent 10 days in Barbados and were on our flight back to NYC. We flew American. You could tell AA was in financial dire straits, simply because they didn´t seem to be hiring a lot of new (read: young) flight attendants, which meant that the attendants were all about 40 and upward. (Without wanting to be ageist, it´s just that on most other airlines I have ever flown the cabin crew tends to be somewhat younger.)

Anyway, we were in mid-air, when one of the flight attendants made an announcement that did not fail to significantly raise my heart rate, at least for a moment: "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a prob- ... we´re experiencing difficulties with our ..." - here, my heart first nearly stopped before it picked up excess speed; my brain raced "Why is she correcting herself? Geez, just like in the "Airport"-movies: Your plane´s engine is on fire, and the cabin crew does their best to not cause panic among the passengers by telling them that all that happened is the cook burned the food ... AND WTF IS IT THAT ´WE´ ARE HAVING PROBLEMS WITH?" - "... inflight entertainment system!"

At this point, an entire mountain range fell off my heart. My goodness - all that it was was some minor difficulties with the frigging inflight entertainment system, not the engines, or the cabin pressure, or the fuelage, or anything else really worth worrying about!

As the flight went on, the weather went from bad to worse, and our plane was jumping like a kangoroo, from air pocket to air pocket (or so it seemed), and my sweetheart patiently put up with his left leg being poked by my fingernails (not that they are ever very long, fortunately) digging into his flesh.

(Near the end of the flight, the captain apologized for the bumpy ride, saying he´d been trying, evidently without too much success, to evade the turbulences by attempting different flight levels.)

When we finally started our approach to JFK, my sweetheart suddenly discovered that something was dripping on his shoulder. Whatever it was seemed to be coming from the cabin luggage compartment right above. The liquid went from clear to brown. When a flight attendant passed us by (on her way to make sure all the passengers were neatly strapped in and buckled up for the landing bounces), my sweetheart pointed out to her that he was being dripped on by - something.

"Could it be rum?" The flight attendant suggested helpfully (Barbados being one of those Caribbean rum paradises, and most passengers, excluding us, had bags stuffed with duty free Bajan rum in their hand luggage). We sniffed and smelled at it, but it didn´t smell like rum. In fact, it didn´t smell of anything, really. Nevertheless, the flight attendant opened the luggage compartment to check, but of course, to no avail: No puddles of rum overhead, and of course no broken bottles.

It was pitch dark outside, it was pissing down with rain, the plane jumped and bounced, and the cabin crew had actually had their call to take their landing positions several minutes ago. The dripping intensified, and the flight attendant was not really sure what to do about this. I didn´t like the more than slightly worried expression on her face one bit, when she asked me (I was seated next to the window) if we were already close to the airport and in the process of landing. I couldn´t see a thing, and I told her as much. She rushed off to get a Kleenex (which was, as she remarked apologetically, all she could offer my sweetheart at that point), and then hurried to her seat, maintaining this slightly worried look.

As you can tell by the fact that I survived to write about this, we landed safely, the airplane did not fall apart in the process, and hopefully they patched up the part of the airplane that had lost its leakproofness with some high-quality tape.

On my recent flight to NYC and back, I again had the pleasure of flying American. (No, I´m not starting to make this a habit!)

The plane on the flight back had been boarded and was ready to start early, when ... The flight attendant made the announcement that - "Ladies and Gentlemen" - someone from the cockpit had briefly stepped outside to make sure that "something" (which apparently needed checking) was as it should be. Yeah, right, the co-pilot wandering around the airplane and rattling at the engines to make sure they wouldn´t come off in mid-air? Well, not quite, as the announcement by the captain - after about an half-hour wait informed us: They were just "double-checking" that the tires were fully ok.

Mhmm. So, after the check had apparently resulted in the co-pilot´s satisfaction, which I did find somehow encouraging (I mean, hey, these guys want to live as much as I do, or don´t they?), we were ready for take-off. I still half expected one of the tires to blow (or come off) at take-off.

Well, that did not happen. The flight itself went smooth-ish-ly; yes, there were a lot of turbulences, and we were forced to stay strapped in our seats for most of the flight because of that, and one of the four economy-class toilets serving some 160 economy-class passengers was nevertheless occupied for most of the flight because one passenger seemed to be unable to stop driving the white bowl; but since I slept like a baby for pretty much of that late-night flight (the bouncing actually rocked me to sleep), I couldn´t have cared less.

Until we approached London Heathrow. For the landing process, of course, it was essential that the tires were, indeed, fully functional, or so I reckoned, and that they hadn´t worn too much during take off. Again, as you can see, I live to tell you about this. And although it was quite a kangoroo-landing, and the plane, upon hitting, er, touching ground, wobbled like a drunk after her third mega-strong Caipiroshka, yes, the tires seemed to have been sufficiently in order to get us safely off and back on the ground.

Of course, we had to wait for about 45 minutes until the plane could finally anchor in its landing slot, but I sort of expected that (it happened on the way in, too). And, since we were on the ground, that really did not touch me too much (apart from the urgent need to stretch and shake out my legs after spending a good 7 hours in the confinements of said economy class).

Did I mention that I nevertheless prefer to stick to the ground?

Apart From And On Top Of ...

2007-11-17T03:20:00.000+01:00

... everything else, you´re just absolute ... ABSOLUT!
You make these butterflies ... WILD!

Thanks to Kayne Stock for the Blue Ulisses!

Oh ... and I absolutely love you, ;)

(Sorry, this corny song just fit in nicely!)

You

2007-11-12T23:30:00.000+01:00

You
asked me what
you mean to me.

You
asked for it!
Are you ready?

You are
my buddy
my best friend
my love and lover.

You make
an entire swarm
of butterflies wake up
and flutter wildly.

You are
my inspiration.
You bring out sides
I never even knew I had.

You make
me grow beyond myself
and challenge me
to rise against all odds.

You are
the wind
that's sweeping through my life.
Because of you I dare.

You make
the stars move
and the earth rock for me
and make me join their dance.

You are
the powerful volcano
that erupts
to turn me inside out.

You make
me realize that everything's ok.
And if it's not,
we can and we will make it so.

And I love you
('scuse the corny sound of it!)
for all you are,
for all your strength,
for all your weakness.

I love you
for challenging each and everyone
and everything,
for not accepting boundaries
unless you define them.

I love you
for your curiosity
that constantly explores
never content with that
which is.

I love you
for your cheeky smile and wicked li'l grin
that make the sun rise
even on the darkest, bleakest day.
(Forget about November rains!)

I love you
for your touch
comforting and teasing
that sends a stream of tingles down my spine
and every other part of me.

I love you
for your kiss
tasty and passionate
that makes me long
for the infinity of every moment.

I love you
for your scent,
the sweet, warm fragrance of you,
that makes me want
to never stop inhaling.

I love you
for your sleepy morning look,
your growly grudginess,
until that first sip of coffee,
and your smile awakens.

You are
incredibly incredible!

Sei
tutte le pazzie chi posso
o non posso imaginare.

Sei
l'amore
della vita.

Sei
semplicemente
tu.

So,
are you
finally blushing? ;)

My buddy
my best friend
my love and lover.

Why do we run?

2007-11-12T07:18:00.000+01:00

It´s fun. It´s healthy. It´s ... Hogwash!

I´ll start again.

Why do we run?

There are several theories.

One. We run because we are "running toward ourselves", i.e., to reflect upon and ponder life while we are on our own with our thoughts (and our pumping heart and rattling lungs). Former German Foreign Minister, Green politician and irregular hobby marathoner Joschka Fischer several years ago wrote a book titled "The Long Run To Myself", where he stated that at around the 10k mark, he usually reached the point of getting a clear head. (Too bad he didn´t maintain the habit of running when he was part of the German government!)

And indeed, sometimes I have the best ideas when running. Sometimes things that I just wouldn´t get straight are sorted out while I´m out on a run. But at other times, admittedly, I am just too preoccupied with split-times, bad shape, or distracted by everything around me (or just plain too lazy to use my gray cells in addition to my hamstrings and calves) to do a lot of thinking. And on some days I just enjoy to float.

Two. We run because we are running away from something. Not in a literal sense, but in the sense of resorting to sports as an escape, as an excuse for not having to deal with all sorts of nasty things in life (stress on the job, taxes, unpaid bills, relationship troubles ...). While there is certainly a piece of truth in this, perhaps it is closer to the heart of the matter that running (or sports in general) is a great way to reduce stress. While it doesn´t solve money or tax problems (unfortunately), it might still help indirectly because - as I said above - it may help to get things back into perspective.

Three. We run because we have to. Running is part of our evolutionary history, according to a recent study by Dennis Bramble and Daniel Lieberman. We are, so to speak, born to run. Hard to believe, eh? ;) They make the point that certain body traits that we humans possess which our closest non-human mammal relatives, the chimpanzees, are missing (no, this time I am not referring to the thumb, make us perfect long-distance runners who - in the very long run - can even outpace just about every other animal on this planet:

From our abundant sweat glands to our Achilles tendons, from our big knee joints to our muscular glutei maximi, human bodies are beautifully tuned running machines. "We're loaded top to bottom with all these features, many of which don't have any role in walking," Lieberman says. Our anatomy suggests that running down prey was once a way of life that ensured hominid survival millions of years ago on the African savanna. (You find the article here).

While when it comes to speed, we humans stand no chance of winning against most quadrupeds, we are perfectly equipped for endurance running. And, apparently, this was a useful trait when hunting for food (or trying to be near a carcass that some bigger beast had killed and left behind) way back when.

As Czechoslovakian running icone and marathon gold-medalist of the 1952 Helsinki Olympic Games, Emil Zatopek, put it: "Bird flies, fish swims, man runs." Not that he himself always looked as if he was really enjoying it. (Neither does Paula Radcliffe, but she runs and wins.) In fact, he wore an expression of torture on his face, his tongue sticking out, while running, and both his unelegant gait and his way of breathing earned him the nickname "Locomotive".

All of which, of course, does not explain entirely why some of us derive not only pain, but also pleasure from the act of running, whilst others can only look upon runners with a mixture of amazement and pity, shake their heads and take another deep puff. ("Crazy buggers! Ah! That´s better!")

But probably even among our forefathers, there were those who´d join in the hunt, whilst others would rather stay at home and do other useful things, such as protecting women and children against potential evil forces. Or just hang out by the fire.

Those of us who nowadays engage in the pleasurable, on occasion nevertheless painful actvity of running might at some earlier point in history have even made a profession of this passion (linguistic note: the origin of the word "passion" is - not entirely coincidental - the Latin verb "patere", which also means "to suffer"; similarly, the German equivalent "Leidenschaft" contains the verb "leiden", which also means "to suffer"), to become a messenger in areas where horses were not an option.

Like the famous ancient Greek messenger-runner Pheidippides, who is often credited with having run "the father of all marathons" between the ancient site of Marathon and Athens. However, some sources say that it is highly unlikely that Pheidippides was the runner in question (if the Marathon-Athens race took place at all, which is a matter of debate). Pheidippides had some days earlier been sent to cover the 240 km (150 mile) -distance to Sparta (which took him 2 days - pretty good, eh?) to get help from the Spartanians in an imminent battle against the Persians. As logic has it, for him as a professional runner, the 40-odd-km (26 miles) distance between Marathon and Athens would have been a cakewalk, not a challenge, so it is unlikely that he would have died after that race.

But I am getting ahead of myself. The original marathon from Marathon to Athens probably was run - if it was run at all (there are no contemporary sources) - by a soldier who had fought in the battle of Marathon agains the Persians prior to the race.

The Athenians had just against all odds successfully battled the Persians, despite the fact that the latter ones had the larger army. The Spartans, because they were in the midst of some religious ceremony, never showed up, so it was up to a comparatively small army of Athenians to look after themselves.

Immediately after the battle, a messenger, still in his battle gear, was sent to Athens to break the good news. Why he had to run on foot rather than taking a horse remains somehow of a mystery, but some theories have it that the area was too rocky and generally impassable for a horse in a decent time. So the poor guy, who had just been involved in an exhausting several hour fight, raced the distance, arrived in Athens exclaiming "Nike! Nike!" (no, not a request for a pair of more suitable running-shoes by the brand that carries this noble name, but the Greek word for "Victory!"), collapsed and died.

Nowadays, runners have it a lot easier. For starters, we don´t have to fight a battle before the race (not a literal one, anyway); more often than not - unless you are part of the Olympic team running the original distance in Greek mid-summer temperatures around mid-day, or you are running the Dead Sea Ultra-Marathon - marathons are run in temperatures that are more becoming for exhaustive endurance sports activities; we do not run in some entirely inadequate battle-gear (unless we chose to dress up in that way, but we don´t do so by force), but we do have extra-cushioned sneakers and functional sports-apparel; there´s ample supply with Gatorade and/or water along the way, not to mention PowerBars and bananas.

Plus, there are all these cheering spectators, and all sorts of bands - in New York, the range goes from heavy metal, to jazz, to bagpipers on the way into the Bronx - playing along the way, and they provide modern day runners with enough of an adrenaline and euphoria rush to keep going. (Aside: On my training runs, I try to go for one just over 30k several weeks before the actual marathon date; these runs in the middle of nowhere are invariably disheartening experiences, at which point I usually question if I can actually make it through a marathon, if the entire thing is such a great idea after all, and if it wouldn´t be indefinitely more snug to just roll up on the sofa with a cup of coffee and a cigarette ...).

So, in the vast majority of cases, modern day marathoners reach the finish line, without exclaiming "Nike! Nike!" (though we might stil carry that feeling inside us for having just successfully battled the 42.195 km (that is 26.something miles).

It is a great experience. It is painful, yet addictive (the pain, I imagine similarly to that of giving birth, is erased from memory after a while). The atmosphere is filled with adrenaline. And starting out on the Verrazano Narrows Bridge on a beautiful, crisp, sunny morning with almost 40,000 fellow runners, with a great view of the Manhattan skyline, has got to be the ultimate runner´s high.

Before the start: Runners waiting at Fort Wodsworth. It´s a bit like Woodstock, only without the smoke and the music ;) In the background the Verrazano Narrows Bridge.

The New York crowd is unlike any other I´ve ever come across (ok, aside from New York I´ve only run Munich and Berlin, so my experience is somewhat limited), and the cruise through large parts of Brooklyn and Queens lets you travel through an entire macrocosm of different neighbourhoods and cultures.

And when you finally arrive in Central Park ("Oh sh ... Two more miles! How am I ever going to survive them?"), you have no choice really but to keep running. The last half mile ("Hey! That´s only 800 m!") ... And then - after a last small ascent - the finish line is finally in sight. Try and smile into the cameras (I didn´t; honestly, I couldn´t be bothered, because I simply didn´t have the power to force my grimaced face into anything at least resembling a smile). And - phew!!!!

After having then walked the approximate equivalent of 20 blocks (from the entrance to the final stretch in Central Park at Columbus Circle/ 59th street, to where the truck with your clothes is parked, which is probably around 82nd street), you´ll finally be able to breathe.

And it´s bound to feel a little unreal, partly because your body is still readjusting, partly because you´ve probably spent the last 7km in some sort of exhausted dizziness, and partly because you are bound to feel exhilarated and still high on adrenaline. Unless, of course, you happen to be Paula Radcliffe, and you have just won the New York Marathon - again! - in one of those amazing races where a co-runner is glued to your heels, up until the final stretch, which is like your home run and you shake her off, though not without visible effort.

And every other runner around you, this entire army of exhausted, but happy looking bipeds who, wrapped in their tin-foil finisher blankets, have somewhat of an alien look around them, feels the same. Well, come to think of it, although it might be more of a routine for her, Paula probably feels that way, too. Although there´ll be a far smaller group of tin-foiled co-runners around her.

Special thanks to my sweetheart for making me go for it and for supporting me, and ultimately propelled me across the finish line (even if I took one hour and 10 minutes longer than Paula ... we´re still discussing what went wrong, and how to improve this), and for being simply incredibly ... incredible.

And to my lovely friends Steven and Michael who gave me shelter in their "house filled with love and laughter" ;), and who fed and generally pampered me before and after the race.

And to all of you who were there, one way or the other.

Nightmare

2007-10-24T21:31:00.000+02:00

It only worked
as long as it was a lie.
I used to think
that we were different.

How flattering
and how naive!

Now the dream is over.
Welcome to the real world!

Wish someone would release me from this nightmare.
But then I realise
that´s not possible.

Because the nightmare
is what´s real.

The Four Seasons: Autumn

2007-10-13T21:06:00.000+02:00

Autumn Leaves, Jean Michel Folon (1975)

Here´s to the season in between: Harvest is over (well, at least for local farmers, planters and growers of all kind), and the time to savour the fruits of the fields (and pots) has arrived.

Colourful leaves in yellow, red and orange, seem to reflect memories of summer sun, while longer shadows are casting a first premonition of cold, somber winter days to come. But initially, autumn lets us savour the last sensations of warmth.

Clear, crisp air and intensive sunlight to refuel, so indulge in it, while it lasts!

Slowly, everything seems to be winding down, in preparation for hibernation.

In theory, anyway.

In practice, the most horrendously hectical time of the year is about to start: Christmas shopping season! That time of the year used to be a time for reflection and calm, way back when and once upon a time, before it all spun out of hand into a that forceful, mindless craze x-mas has become.

But I am getting carried away and ahead of myself.

Autumn. Yes, I guess what I was going to say before getting cheesy, was: I like it. I like the crisp days, filled with more clear air than my smoke-accustomed lungs are able to take in, the light, the incredible depth of the sky.

Even the foggy days have their charm. Initially, at least. After four weeks of not catching a single idea of a glimpse of the sun (remember what it looked like?) the continuous state of near-darkness tends to evoke a state of near-depression, coupled with a lack of motivation that no amount of chocolate (or gingerbread, which has been on the shelves since early September) can defeat.

But so far, autumn here has been showing itself (himself? herself?) from its pleasant side.

Enjoy!

Animation by Ferenc Cakó, music by Antonio Vivaldi.

Don´t Panic!

2007-10-04T21:02:00.000+02:00

Panic. It is one of these archaic instincts which used to be useful survival tools, but which have - to modern man - become entirely useless, not to say counterproductive, or even outright life-threatening.

Take the adrenaline rush (a close relative to panic), for example. It raises the heart rate and enables us to grow beyond our normal capacities, for instance enabling us to run faster. That feature, without doubt, used to be an essential survival tool for ancient man when running for from a stronger adversary (mammoths, tigers, other men).

Nowadays, aside from competitive sports (or actual run-for-your-life situations), stress-induced adrenaline rushes only serve to raise our blood pressure (a life-shortening feature), without us being able to actually take advantage from the strength or speed-enhancing effect, because, although that might be our primal instinct and ultimative urge at that point, usually we don´t simply run in adrenaline raising situations (job interviews, exams, stress with customers/spouses/bosses, turbulences in aircrafts, etc.).

And now, panic. It switches off our rational thinking capacities and causes us to freeze. Which, again, might have been useful when being confronted with said stronger adversaries in a situation where running was not an option ... and with a bit of luck, the stronger adversary would not notice, or ignore the frozen victim. (Even if chances for the latter were probably rather slim, but the brain-numbing effects of panicking perhaps made whatever was to follow a little easier to suffer.)

All in all, however, panic causes an inability to go about with the required ratio and disables us from seeing clearly, so chances are we behave in an way (if we behave at all) which, in all likelihood, makes things even worse.

Here´s an example. Many years ago, we were hiking in a cirque full of boulders, when all of a sudden, we heard a thundering noise. It didn´t take us long to discover that the noise was caused by boulders falling. Because we were surrounded by mountain walls, due to the echoe effects we couldn´t quite locate where the rocks were coming down. In any case, it sounded like they were coming down all around us. And it sounded as if they were coming down increasingly closer to us.

So my instincts told me to do the unsensible thing, and my body followed suite. My brain totally blacked out, and I started running. Not a very good idea in the middle of a field of boulders in the first place. My sweetheart was behind me, and in the middle of my panic-stricken race across the rocks, I turned round to check if he was still there and alive (and to see if the falling rocks were catching up with us). Without stopping. Not a good idea either.

Of course, I stumbled and fell full length on the rocky underground, scratching the wrist of my left hand. The scratch was not deep, but it bled like hell, causing my sweetheart to panic in turn, because to him it looked like I´t slit my wrists. It looked a lot more dramatic than it was, and the actual problem was that - which I didn´t know at the time - I had broken the metacarpal bone of the little finger on my right hand.

Suddenly, panic had been replaced by pain. I forgot about the thundering mountain, completely distracted by the throbbing pain in my hand. Amazingly (and luckily), my legs had suffered minor scratches at the most, so we were able to make it down to the valley safely.

Oh, the falling boulders? I´m not sure when the rock slide actually stopped. But it did before we left the cirque, and it never got really close to where we were.

The moral of this story is, of course, to try and remain cool-blooded, particularly when a situation seems awry. Because chances are that panic will make everything more precarious.

No wonder authorities happily exploit this primal instinct, an emotionalized, panic-stricken citizen being a willing believer in and blind follower of whatever governments are telling them.

So, by all means, don´t panic.

Unless, of course, authorities are trying to tell you that everything´s fine, and there is no problem whatsoever, for instance after an accident in a chemical installation. Or an accident in a nuclear powerplant (Harrisburg, Sellafield, Chernobyl).

Or (nuclear) warheads are accidentally being flown across the USA; or warheads have mysteriously going missing in the process (hmmm ... was it five or six warheads? C´mon guys, can´t be that hard to count up to six ... or is it?).

Or the mortgage crisis (aka credit crunch), and how it might ultimatively affect consumer spending, the health of the economy, the Fed deciding to keep lowering rates in the face of rising inflation and sky-rocketing oil prices, and a stock market that has just hit a new all time high. (Oh, and do we need another war to fend off the adverse economic effects of another bubble bursting?)

When that kind of shit hits the fan, perhaps it is time to hit that panic button, after all.

The Über-Ghost

2007-09-17T20:59:00.000+02:00

Alan Greenspan is back, looming over the markets, and, even more, over the current chairman of the Federal Reserve! Not that A.G. ever left the scene completely; his comments on an increased likelihood of a recession haunted the markets more than once this year.

But now he´s back for more. His memoirs "The Age of Turbulence: Adventures in a New World", due to hit the bookshelves on September 17, 2007 - which happens to be, incidentally, one day ahead of the Federal Reserve´s next, both eagerly and nervously awaited rate-decision - are bound to haunt the markets, the Bush administration, and his successor as Federal Reserve chairman, Ben Bernanke.

Poor Ben, it should be added, is not in an enviable position right now, stuck as he is between a rock and a hard place: On one side (the rock), the subprime crisis, recent market turmoil and market expectations have put an almost unbearable pressure on him and his Fed to lower interest rates for the first time in more than four years.

On the other hand (the hard place), the Greenback has been on a plunge, not only against the European currency, but against all major currencies, with the notable exception of the Japanese Yen.

Now, while a falling Dollar may be good for exporters, it leads to increased imported inflation, and to a flight of foreign capital from US assets (e.g., stocks: if you, coming from a Euro country, buy shares of an American company, e.g. Microsoft, as the dollar´s value dwindles, so does your Microsoft stocks´, even if the company´s shares remain unchanged).

And now, here is the honorable Mr. Alan Greenspan, former head of the Federal Reserve, with the luxury of no longer having to give a damn, and in a position of pissing against the legs of the government, while at the same time taking an obviously sadistic pleasure to expose to his successor the dilemmas and problems Ben Bernanke and the Fed are facing - dilemmas and problems, that are no longer his to deal with (so-called SEPs - Somebody Else´s Problems).

First, Greenspan paints a dark scenario on what to expect in terms of inflation:

To keep inflation under 2 percent, ``the Fed, given my scenario, would have to constrain monetary expansion so drastically that it could temporarily drive up interest rates into the double-digit range not seen since the days of Paul Volcker,'' Greenspan wrote.

[...]

Consumer prices, which increased at an average annual rate of 3.1 percent during Greenspan's tenure, will likely climb by 4.5 percent or more a year in the future, he wrote.

[...]

Greenspan also forecast an end to the anti-inflation pressures from the inclusion of China and other emerging economies into the global trading system.

[...]

The third source of pressure on inflation will come from U.S. government budget deficits, according to Greenspan. Federal spending absorbs private savings and uses them for less productive purposes, imparting ``a bias toward inflation'' Greenspan wrote.

The federal deficit is something particularly loath to Alan Greenspan: "Deficits don't matter,' to my chagrin, became part of the Republicans' rhetoric,'' he complains about the current administrations budget discipline (or , more precisely, lack thereof).

Next, he outlines what to expect in terms of economic growth, which is no good news, either:

The economy will probably slow to a pace of under 2.5 percent on average from now until 2030, Greenspan forecast in the book.

[...]

Productivity gains averaged a 1.7 percent annual rate in the first six months of this year, down from a 3.6 percent rate during the high-technology boom of 1999. Greenspan forecast a long-term average of 2 percent for increases in output per hour.

He expects increased pressure on the Fed from politics, endangering the agency´s - ahem - independence (the outcome of the September 18 Fed meeting will be a first indicator on how independent the Fed actually is):

"Federal Reserve independence is not set in stone,'' wrote Greenspan, 81, who led the Fed for 18 years until January 2006. ``The dysfunctional state of American politics does not give me great confidence in the short run'' and there may be ``a return of populist, anti-Fed rhetoric,'' he wrote.

(All above quotations are from this Bloomberg article).

Finally, he has the chuzpe to reveal the real motives behind the war against Iraq. No, not the fight against terrorism, or against a rogue regime in the possession of WMDs (the latest rhethorical spin of the government has it that Saddam Hussein had to be removed to prevent him from producing weapons of mass destruction in the future), or to bring freedom, democracy and popcorn to the region.

The war against Iraq was guided by motives related to (surprise, surprise!) oil. Greenspan himself was a proponent of war against Iraq, fearing that control over the Strait of Hormuz - an important passage for oil transports - would enable Saddam Hussein to threaten the USA and its allies.

In essence, Greenspan admits that the whole WMD rhethoric used to justify the war against Iraq was and is nothing but a load of hogwash:

"Whatever their publicized angst over Saddam Hussein's `weapons of mass destruction,' American and British authorities were also concerned about violence in an area that harbors a resource indispensable for the functioning of the world economy."

(Quoted here.)

And as if the turmoil his book is already creating wasn´t enough, Greenspan keeps talking to the press - THE PRESS, for crying out loud! - making sure his irreverent opinions aren´t overheard.

Just in case his earlier recession-warnings will not be forgotten or go unheeded, in his latest interview with the Financial Times, he glumly forecasts that the fall in US house prices triggered by the latest subprime crisis will likely be bigger than expected.

And, heresy of heresies, in another interview (to be published in the September 20 issue of German magazine "Der Stern"), he openly talks about the possibility of the Euro replacing the US Dollar as reserve currency of choice (quoted in the International Herald Tribune).

That will most likely not earn him a long friends list within the administration. But, quite likely, he won´t give a shit.

Beware Of The Pirates!

2007-09-16T20:53:00.000+02:00

They steal. They lie. They blunder. And, ultimately, they kill.

I remember that day very vividly. The minute stock futures tanked - it was around three o´clock in the afternoon in Germany -, we figured something had happened. We turned on the TV and were glued to CNN Europe.

At first there was total confusion. Reports initially talked about a "small plane" that had crashed into one of the World Trade Center Twin Towers.

But why? It didn´t look like a weather related accident, since it was a clear and wonderful September morning in New York.

Then, gradually, as events evolved, we watched in shock and horror as the second plane smashed into the second tower, broadcast live by CNN, like a well-orchestrated, marcabre Hollywook movie. Only this was real.

When the headline "Pentagon on fire" scrolled across the screen, initially I didn´t grasp that it was a literal fire, not one figuratively spoken of.

What was going on?

Where was the government? Where was Dubya?

Complete chaos.

The horror kept unfolding.

I remember images of people desperately waving from the top floors - above where the planes had struck -, thinking to myself, "Someone will, someone must be able to save them", somehow believing that it was impossible to witness those men and women die.

I was naively thinking that because the world was able to watch all of this happening, somehow "someone" must be able to help, perhaps taking them aboard a helicopter. Yeah, right, like it was a Hollywood movie!

Then there were accounts on the Internet, equally contradictory and confusing as that what was being broadcast on TV. I remember talk about an intercom message in the towers, telling people to remain calm and at their desks, because everything was under control (NEVER ever believe officials and authorities telling you that one, NEVER!).

I will never forget the images of the people jumping, out of desperation, because the heat and air were becoming unbearable.

I will never forget Howard Lutnick, CEO of broker firm Cantor Fitzgerald, bursting out in tears. Cantor Fitzgerald lost 658 of a total of 1000 employees. (Lutnick himself survived, because he had taken his son to his first day of kindergarten that day. His brother, Gary, was among those who died.)

I will also never forget Bush (after he finally materialized), and his blabber about "I saw the plane hit the first tower, and I was thinking to myself, what a terrible pilot."

I was thinking to myself, "What a weird reaction. I mean, a plane crashes into one of the WTC towers, and all this guy has to say is `What a terrible pilot?´ And - you saw the plane hit the first tower? How could you? At that point, there was no film material of that ...".

I also remember how surprised I was that amongst all this total confusion and chaos, all of a sudden authorities were able to declare who was behind these atrocities: Osama Bin Laden´s Al-Quaeda.

I remember witnessing in horror as the towers collapsed.

Many questions remain unanswered.

And then ...

It was the hour of the Pirates of the Constitution.

Remember the recount of the Florida votes? Nobody, in these times of national crisis, could have possibly doubted the government, much less the President. This would have been terribly unpatriotic. Or would it?

9/11 serves as an excuse to brainwash and blindfold citizens by telling us that wars in Afghanistan and Iraq and Iran have been, are and will be waged in the name of defending our freedom, and the freedom of those living there.

(Digression: Not that I ever cared for the oppressive Taliban regime and its system contemptous of human rights. But ousting a regime because it trampled the rights of its citizens, particularly of women, was not the reason for attacking Afghanistan. At least human rights in Afghanistan had not been an issue from 1997 to as late as July 2001, when larger issues were at stake, namely oil:

"When George W. Bush took office in 2001, his administration made new overtures to the Taliban, and the pipeline deal gained renewed support, as an incentive to get the Taliban to make political concessions and form a broader government.

[...]

In March 2001, several Taliban officials, including Sayed Rahmattulah Hashimi, Mullah Omar's personal advisor, were invited to Washington by their U.S. lobbyist, Leila Helms, the niece of former CIA Director Richard Helms. The agenda included discussions of extraditing bin Laden as well as facilitating American companies' access to oil reserves in central Asia." Quoted here.

And not that I cared much for Saddam Hussein either. But, contrary to what one of three Americans to this day have successfully been brought to believe, he had nothing to do with 9/11. Or Al-Queda for that matter.)

The horrible events of 9/11 served and continue to serve as a perfect excuse to wreak havoc on our constitutions. Not only in the US of A, but also in Germany, in the UK, in France, in Spain, in Australia ...

They serve as an excuse to happily chop away on civil rights and liberties.

Prisoners kept at will without trial. Prisoners subjected to torture. Citizens (who turned out to be have done nothing wrong, apart from being Muslims, like Khaled Masri) abducted to CIA prison camps, with the knowledge of our government, all covered up in a web of lies.

The very freedom that our governments are purportedly intent on defending, they seem to have very little problem sacrificing by silently doing away with constitutional rights.

Shame on you, Pirates of the Constitution!

We shall and we will never forget.

Ship of Fools

2007-09-02T20:49:00.000+02:00

Side acknowlegements: This wonderful parody of "Ship of Fools" is from pottervilleblog.com. As usual, I found it by picture googling .

Crazy times in a crazy world. Not that it´s ever been much different, but currently it feels to me as if the speed is accelerating.

The bursting bubble of borrowed material wealth has, or so it turns out, been but an illusion that everyone pretended was a reality, until the foundation started to crumble in a manner that could no longer be ignored. And I am not only referring to collapsing bridges, nor, this time, to the fact the we, the wealthy nations, have been living at the expense of other, less fortunate ones.

No, this time it´s damage we have been inflicting onto ourselves and to one another, by repackaging, hiding, and shifting parcels of worthless paper, neatly wrapped into fancy looking packages that are now popping up seemingly everywhere, and much to everyone´s surprise.

Negative savings rate, anyone? "Credit crunch", by the way, is not the latest ceral. If anything, it could turn out to be serial, as in "serial killer".

The dripping exodus not only in corporations, but also within administrations (Rummy, Rove, Gonzales, Snow - who´s next? Condi, perhaps?) gives me an unhealthy feeling in my guts. Especially when taking this into account (don´t believe SFGate? Then check out the ultimative authoritative source itself). Or that.

Are the more knowledgeable fools jumping ship? Do they know something that we don´t? (I most certainly assume they do, I´d just like to know what the hell it is!)

Blimey, I sound like the apocalyptic rider. Or like one of these "The end is near!" prophets.

I´ve been spending too much time on various message boards, no doubt. There should be a surgeon general´s warning before letting anyone enter. Not that that would stop anyone, at least no more than the blunt warnings printed on cigarette and tobacco packages stop anyone from smoking.

The human race was dying out

No one left to scream and shout.

People walking on the moon

Smog will get you pretty soon.

Everyone was hanging out

Hanging up and hanging down

Hanging in and holding fast

Hope our little world will last.

Along came Mr. Goodtrips

Looking for a new ship.

Come on people better climb on board

Come on babe we're going home.

Ship of fools, Ship of fools.

The human race was dying out

No one left to scream and shout.

People walking on the moon

Smog gonna get you pretty soon.

Ship of fools, ship of fools

Climb on board

Ship's gonna leave you all, far behind.

(The original "Ship of Fools" painting, by Hieronymous Bosch, drawsn c. 1490-1500)

Quotes, Lies, and Wars

2007-08-09T20:42:00.000+02:00

August 9 2007, marks the 62nd anniversary of the bombing of Nagasaki, following last Monday´s (August 6) anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima. As before and afterwards during the course of history, we, the people, were made to believe that there was a "noble" motive behind this killing.

However, contrary to common myth and belief, neither bombing, was of any military value. Truman and his team simply wanted to punish the Japanese, impress the Soviets, and see if the thing worked.

About 40,000 Japanese people, almost all civilians, died immediately, and many more died from radiation poisoning in the ensuing years. The bomb was a plutonium "implosion" bomb. Hiroshima had been made with highly enriched uranium, a simple design now available to nearly everyone.

The tragic anniversary has prompted me to take a look at a variety of quotations by our political leaders, some more recent, some from decades back, but all of them telling, outrageous and/ or tasteless.

The following collection is, I have to admit, slightly lopsided. I meant to include far more equally infamous quotations by politicians from my fellow countrymen. But for the most part, they don´t seem to be having to say anything worth noting (one way or the other).

Which may have to do with the fact that the role of German politics on a global scale has shrunk to near insignificance since we last attempted to spread our alleged virtues all over this world (thankfully, we didn´t get very far, although it was enough to bring death and misery to millions of innocent lives).

Which of course doesn´t mean we´re not involved in the various pieces of military mess, ranging from the war on Yugoslavia to our involvement in Afghanistan. Only Germany´s role now is that of a willing accomplice, rather than that of leader of the pack. Which isn´t much better, it´s just a little less exposed (and hence tends to go a little more unnoticed).

Talking about the war on Yugoslavia, the claims for "Operation Horseshoe", which played a major role to justify the bombings of Serbia in 1999, were ... ummmm ..., yes, I think we can call it "made up" by the German government, in cooperation by former German minister of foreign affairs, Joschka Fischer (a member of what had once been the pacifist Green party), and former German minister of defence, Rudolf Scharping (a member of the Social Democratic Party).

I well remember Scharping speaking to the German public, resembling a rabied dog, froth forming on his mouth as he was spreading (what later turned out to be entirely made up) that the Yugoslav government was about to carry out ethnic cleansing on a massive scale in Kosovo. (You can read up the details here.)

Unfortunately, I have not been able to find any transcript of this. In essence, it amounts to about the same as Colin Powell´s presentation before the UN in February 2003: It was a lie to justify the bombing of a country.

Needless to say, the media never made as big a deal of bringing the fact, that these claims were simply not true, to the attention of the public, as they had been before when it came to spreading the war-propaganda. Which is why many Germans probably still believe that "Operation Horseshoe" had in fact existed. And many US citizens still believe that there were, indeed, weapons of mass destruction.

So, just because there are very few quotations of German politicians included here, that doesn´t mean that my fellow countrymen and -women are not capable of the same verbal and actual atrocities. Only their words have been less well documented in the recent past.

**********************************

The world will note that the first atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, a military base. That was because we wished in this first attack to avoid, insofar as possible, the killing of civilians.

Harry S. Truman, excerpts from a radio address to the American public on August 9, 1945

(The target is always military, never civilian. So how come most deaths in any war are civilians?)

The youth of Germany has no problem with Jewry. Sometimes my two sons and I go to the Jewish cementary in Oggersheim.

Former German chancellor Helmut Kohl in Tel Aviv speaking to 900 Israeli politicians (January 1983)

(May you choke on your sauerkraut and saumagen!)

I just want you to know that, when we talk about war, we're really talking about peace.

G. W. Bush, Department of Housing and Urban Development, Washington, D.C., June 18, 2002

(Sounds a bit like: War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength. -George Orwell, 1984)

"Freedom's untidy, and free people are free to make mistakes and commit crimes and do bad things," Rumsfeld said. "They're also free to live their lives and do wonderful things. And that's what's going to happen here."

Looting, he added, was not uncommon for countries that experience significant social upheaval. "Stuff happens," Rumsfeld said. (Quoted here).

(An interesting notion of freedom. Luckily, in real life in a real free country, it doesn´t extend to doing such obnoxious things like having a bottle of beer in the middle of Central Park. Looting and committing crimes, as long as that happens in far away places, may be fine. But drinking in public - tututut!)

We found the weapons of mass destruction. We found biological laboratories. You remember when Colin Powell stood up in front of the world, and he said, Iraq has got laboratories, mobile labs to build biological weapons. They're illegal. They're against the United Nations resolutions, and we've so far discovered two. And we'll find more weapons as time goes on. But for those who say we haven't found the banned manufacturing devices or banned weapons, they're wrong, we found them.

George W. Bush, May 29, 2003

So what's the difference?

G.W. Bush, Dec 16, 2003, to Diane Sawyer, as she presses about the administration's verbiage about Iraqi WMD vs. the fact none were used or found

(Yes, what difference does it make what kind of justification has been brought up to destroy and uproot an entire country, to plunge it into a complete mess, have an - as of this day, August 9, 2007 - estimated one million of its citizens killed, not to forget some 3,681 US casualties? Truth, lies, phhhhht! Who can tell the difference, anyway?)

See, free nations are peaceful nations. Free nations don't attack each other. Free nations don't develop weapons of mass destruction.

Midwest Airlines Center, Milwaukee, Wisconsin, October 3, 2003

(Hmmm ... let me see ... we have just been attacking a country. We own weapons of mass destruction which we have developed. So, what does that make us?)

This notion that the United States is getting ready to attack Iran is simply ridiculous. (Short pause) And having said that, all options are on the table. (Laughter)

G. W. Bush, February 25, 2005

(Yes, the notion to bomb a country, to kill thousands of civilians, to destroy their existence, their infrastruture, is very funny, indeed. Cheers to the press corps!)

Keeping America competitive requires affordable energy. Here we have a serious problem: America is addicted to oil, which is often imported from unstable parts of the world.

G. W. Bush, State of the Union, January 31, 2006

(Oh no, it´s never been about oil!)

CHENEY: The treatment they're getting -- they got a brand new facility down at Guantanamo. We spent a lot of money to build it. They're very well treated down there. They're living in the tropics. They're well fed. They've got everything they could possible want. There isn't any other nation in the world that would treat people who were determined to kill Americans the way we're treating these people.

Former US Vice President Dick Cheney in an interview with CNN´s Wolf Blitzer on conditions in Guantanamo, quoted on CNN.com on February 24, 2005 (Quoted here).

(So who´s complaining? I mean, other people have to pay a lot of money for vacationing in the tropics! Hmm, does the "Vice" in "Vice President" have anything to do with the noun "vice" - as opposed to "virtue"?)

The above quotation nicely matches a similar one by former Bavarian head of government, Franz Josef Strauss, when giving his two pence about Chile´s infamous stadium, when he was there to visit his buddy, dictator Augusto Pinochet in 1977:

"When the weather is nice, life in the stadium is reasonably pleasant."

There is nothing to add.

Natural Aphrodisiac

2007-07-26T20:20:00.000+02:00

Now for the main (inter)course - this particular recipe serves two ;)

Two extra large teaspoons

of tenderness

several servings

of your honey dewed lips

add

the sweet scent of hot skin

intoxicating

a tasting

of your sweet breath

addictive

a bite

of your neck

goosebumps

twenty fingers

intertwined playfully

countless ounces

of touching skin

oh so delicate

two hands gliding

down your back to touch

two firm peaches

knead gently

fingers teasing

gliding, leaving no part untouched

two bodies

hunger

for one another

four legs

entangle

two bodies

simmer

our crotches

push towards each other

feel

hot and spicey

mix thoroughly

keep stirring

and bring slowly to the boil.

Serve wet and hot ;)

Kicking The Habit

2007-07-05T17:37:00.000+02:00

When I go running, some days just seem to be perfect running days. I can tell from the start that it´s going to be an enjoyable run. Every movement is easy, my heart is pounding along at a rate which is halfway befitting my age (ahem!), I breathe easily and zoom along feeling great.

Today was not one of those days. My legs felt like I was wearing leaden shoes (I wasn´t). After a couple of minutes, I felt like I needed an oxygen mask (I didn´t have one with me). And my pulse sped along at a breathtaking rate (hence the need for oxygen), while I didn´t as much race, but rather toil onward.

My tortured look probably resembled that of Emil Zatopek, though he still managed to display some sort of elegance (which I didn´t), and he was a lot faster than I´ll ever be.

(Digression: Czech runner Emil Zatopek won gold in the 5 km and 10 km runs at the 1952 Olympic Games in Helsinki, but his final medal came when he decided at the last minute to compete in the marathon for the first time in his life, and won. He never looked as if he was particularly enjoying it, and because of the elegance he completely lacked to display when running, he was nicknamed "The Locomotive". End of digression.)

In short, it was a pretty horrid run.

While I was dragging myself along wishing it was over, the thought of kicking my smoking habit crossed my mind. In fact, it didn´t only cross my mind. It crept right into it and sat and lingered there, and it kept nagging me.

Ok, I thought, I´ll give it a try. For starters, I´ll skip the morning cigarette with my coffee. In fact, I´m going to have a nice cup of tea. Lady Grey, hmmm! (I was also feeling very thirsty after having lost about a gallon of liquid because I was sweating so hard, despite the near freezing temperature.)

When I got back, I made a large pot of coffee for my sweetheart and poured a large mug of tea for myself. Hmmm ... the coffee smelled tempting. So I ended up having a little cup of coffee before drinking my large mug of tea.

After the coffee, I felt much better. Needless to say, I then lit my morning cigarette, too. And it went very well with the tea!

The Summit, Or: Crisis? What Crisis?

2007-06-12T18:02:00.000+02:00

So. The mighty of the world have convened, and most representatives of the media landscape seem to be equally content as the German government (yes, Angie presented herself well on the stage of world politics!).

The problem of climate change has been tackled. Well, sort of, anyway. The major novelty: Bush this time didn´t refuse any hint of a suggestion, that measures might have to be taken to cut down on emissions. This, I guess, can be called progress, even if the leaders of the world couldn´t agree upon more than the vague and distant goal of seriously considering to cut global emissions in half by the year 2050.

Luckily, by the year 2050, none of those then former heads of state will be around anymore, so they won´t have to worry about however vague statements. Plus, by that time, we probably needn´t bother with reducing emissions.

Oh, and you can always cover glaciers with blankets to prevent them from melting. Don´t laugh, this is being done in the Swiss Alps, as well as on the Zugspitze:

But who needs glaciers, or snow for that matter, apart, perhaps, from the odd native Inuit, and perhaps a couple of insignificant ski-resorts in the Alpes. By 2050, we have probably invented a substance which is far better and longer lasting than snow, possibly with a permanent powder consistence ... hmmm! (As an enthusiastic skier, I´m actually looking forward to this perpetually perfect powder). That won´t help the Inuit, but - geez! - don´t you think they´d much prefer, too, it when the weather is a tad warmer?

The snow we´re having nowadays is carbon stained, anyway, due to the effects of several centuries of industrialization, or so scientists have claimed recently (in addition to looking ugly and possibly slowing us skiers and snowboarders down, this carbon layer which makes the snow darker and hence more susceptible to collecting warmth, hence contributing to global warming - voilà!).

The deforestation of the rainforests? Bah! Minor issue! They are only a breeding ground for all sorts of nasty insects or snakes. Or political rebels.

Before:

So - good riddance, no?

After:

As for droughts and lack of drinking water becoming a problem in some parts of the world,

(nope, this is not somewhere in Africa, this is Australia)

that´s going to be made up for by flooding in others.

(this used to be New Orleans)

You see, all we have to do is build pipelines (or use the by then defunct ones, where oil used to run through) to draw the water from the flooded parts of the word and divert it to those parts where there is too little water (or none at all). I´m confident that by 2050 we´ll have worked this one out as well .

In terms of international relations, before the summit, Bush declared the cold war over, while Putin had threatend just the opposite: a revival of those bad old days. But in the end, at least the US and Russian chiefs of government didn´t go at each other´s throats, and Putin dropped his cold war rhetoric, even though he is likely still a little pissed at having an anti-missile system planted more or less in his foregarden. But having Mr. Bush acknowledge Mr. Putin´s suggestion of a joint anti-missile system in Azerbaijan "interesting" probably reconciled the Russian leader some.

But that´s not all the good news we got! Plenty of aid is going to be poured over Africa: G8 states want to cough up "at least" 60 billion dollars in order to fight AIDS and, more broadly, guarantee widespread access to basic medical needs. (60 billion dollars is, incidentally, the same amount as the annual budget of US secret services, according to a presentation published accidentally by the Defense Intelligence Agency; here´s the link. )

Unfortunately, however, the G8 missed out on some minor details, such as when exactly that aid is due, who exactly will pay what amount, and what exactly that money is supposed to be for. And, as Oxfam recently criticized in its latest report "The World Is Still Waiting" published on June 9, G8 nations have failed to meet the promises given at the 2005 summit to stock up annual aid to 50 billion dollars by 2010: If the current trend continues, the rich nations will miss their self-defined goal by 30 billion dollars.

The fact that stricter patent laws (something else agreed upon on the G8 summit) mean, among other things, that newly developed medicine will remain expensive in Africa can be generously overlooked under these circumstances.

So, all in all, the G8 summit was success as usual. More shoulder patting, more hot air. And, last but not least, not to mention a brand new 12km-fence in Heiligendamm, where the summit was held. Now, if that isn´t something!

As Prez Bush said in his speech in Prague prior to the G8 summit: "Young people who can disagree openly with their leaders are less likely to adopt violent ideologies. And nations that commit to freedom for their people will not support extremists -- they will join in defeating them."

Upon which my sweetheart asked: "Then why do these leaders have to hide behind a fence?"

Very good question, indeed!

Does The Internet Turn Us Into Apolitical Morons?

2007-06-06T18:39:00.000+02:00

I owe most of the following to a very stimulating discussion I had with my partner the other night (thanks, dear!). We were reflecting on the effects of the Internet in terms of globally streamlining culture and perception.

Even if the "US Americanization" of culture around the globe started way before the Internet became a medium for the masses (with US movies, TV shows, music, etc., being exported more or less globally), the Internet with its global reach uncompared to prior mass-media (which by nature used to be limited in their geographical scope) has an entirely new potential. We had two main points that came up.

First point/hypothesis: The Internet acts as a globalizing force which increasingly molds culture, politics, lifestyle, the kind of topics that are discussed and covered by the media, etc., around the world. It is thus contributing to a lack of variety by mainstreaming everything to the predominant paradigms, perceptions and values, which are essentially US American.

Case in point my partner came up with: Have a look around web sites, such as Yahoo 360, or MySpace, from people with different cultural and geographical backgrounds (Native American, Central American, South American, Middle Eastern, African, Asian, Eastern European, Western European). You will find that most of them (at least that applies to the below-30 crowd) listen to the same music, read the same books (books? You mean those things made from paper with something printed on?), like the same movies, wear the same fashion labels as do their North American counterparts.

This will of course not apply to the underprivileged, but they can be neglected because they don´t have a say anyway. Besides, they are not interesting to global corporations marketing their products, increasingly over the Internet. (The keyword here is "Digital Divide" - thanks sweetheart for bringing this up!)

There may be a few select outlets with unique or grassroots content, and content that is not generally found on the mass media (such as informationclearinghouse.info), but since they only reach a select audience, their influence is limited at best. So we are increasingly drifting towards a Max-Headroomian dystopia (thanks to my partner again for the "M.H." analogy!), the only difference being that the mass medium behind it is not TV but the Internet.

Second point/hypothesis: The Internet has created a substitute environment for both real life social contacts and political action.

The time we spend online is time we no longer spend going out and meeting people. As a consequence, political groups, trade unions, and many other associations and clubs, are experiencing dwindling member numbers.

And the Net is also increasingly replacing political awareness and action. I feel the desire to do something? Fine, I write a blog entry, post a message in a discussion group, send a message of how concerned I am about this-and-that to my mailing list, and I can pat myself on the shoulder, lean back and let it be done with it. No need to get an indepth theoretical foundation, or to discuss political developments, or to develop a strategy/ a plan of action, or to go out and try to convince the masses (YUK!).

Again, grassroots organizations may find the Internet a useful tool for exchanging information and organizing political events, but the effects of their actions are also going to be limited.

We might have a major rally now and then, but since most of those participating don´t stay connected to politics beyond the punctual action of attending a rally, nothing will really come out of this. No sit-ins, no strikes, no major disruptions that might actually force governments, corporations or any other part of the establishment to actually change their course and react, since political implications and "how it all connects" are no longer understood because of the lack of a sound theoretical foundation (by that I don´t necessarily mean you have to read Marx/Engels ... ;) ).

As an aside, I really admire "the French" for being able to kick the Contrat Première Embauche ("Law of first time hiring" - this is probably a terrible translation, my apologies!) which aimed, among other things, to extend the period of probationary employment for all employees under the age of 26 to two years. During that time, an employer would have had the possibility of firing those young employees without providing a reason and without further notice.That law had already been ratified on February 10, 2006 by the National Assembly, put had to be withdrawn on April 7, 2006 due to countrywide protests (mass rallies, strikes, sit-ins at various universities), mainly - but not exclusively - carried by students.

That kind of political action has become rare these days. Now, was that possible because the French are trying to withstand anglization and have so far been less subject to Americanization as a whole?

What´s your take: Do you have become less politically involved (in terms of actually going out like canvassing for a cause, or going on rallies) since the Internet age? Does the Internet serve as some sort of political outlet for you which you use instead of taking action?

For me, if I am totally honest, this may very well be the case: I can let off steam and pretend to be sharing my thoughts by blogging or leaving comments, thus I am sort of out of the woods in terms of being forced to act on an IRL level.

On the other hand, by leaving my comments and blog entries, I am perhaps able to reach people as well as I would by going out canvassing. I am really not sure.

Red Pill Or Blue Pill?

2007-06-06T18:12:00.000+02:00

Don´t care, as long as they´re sugarcoated ;)

No, only kidding, of course. I don´t take any pills, not very often, anyway. Not even Aspirine. Bad stuff which can really screw up (or rather: screw through) your stomach. Believe me, I know what I´m blogging about!

I guess life would sometimes be easier if I could bring myself to be a good girl and just swallow the blue pill, but somehow my mind revolts against complete surrender at this point.

Taking the red pill is less comfortable and more of a challenge. We have no idea how deep that rabbit hole is, how deep we are going to fall. And what we are about to discover.

What if we discovered that there really is no spoon? (For ragazzo: Which would, of course, mean, that there also is no dark side of the spoon. Sorry, couldn´t resist it ...!)

Back to earnest. Worse than the spoon-thing, what if we found out that this subtle but persistent feeling, which is constantly nagging us, this sensation that there is something profoundly and absurdly wrong, only we can´t pinpoint it precisely - what if we found out what it actually was?

Morpheus:

Do you want to know what it is? The Matrix is everywhere. It is all around us, even now in this very room. You can see it when you look out your window or when you turn on your television. You can feel it when you go to work, when you go to church, when you pay your taxes. It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth.

Neo:

What truth?

Morpheus:

That you are a slave, Neo. Like everyone else you were born into bondage, born into a prison that you cannot smell or taste or touch. A prison for your mind. Unfortunately, no one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for your self. This is your last chance. After this there is no turning back. You take the blue pill, the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill, you stay in Wonder land, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes. Remember, all I´m offering is the truth, nothing more.

Sounds familiar, but doesn´t sound enticing. Slaves. Born into bondage. A prison we cannot smell or taste or touch. And, just to make sure we are kept from pulling that blindfold off our eyes which would finally enable us to see, and perhaps feel and touch the boundaries of our cells, our medicine is handed to us with a spoonful of sugar, so we are more willing to swallow it. Ah, the blue pill ...Maybe we should stick with it after all. No side effects, just a comfortable easing of the mind´s pain. Numbing, constantly and comfortably.

The red pill, on the other hand, is way cooler. In a way. But it´s also more work. One of it´s uncomfy side effects is that it requires an almost constant work out of the brain. It comes with permanent distrust and questioning of what we are being served: by the media, by politicians, by authorities in general.

It makes us question whether the spoon we believe to see is actually what we´re taking it for. Or if it´s just a big hoax which is part of a bigger scheme (do I sound like a paranoid conspiration theorist here?).

It may even lead us to put entire systems of beliefs and values into question, so we are no longer easily fooled and will no longer accept without questioning our governments´ or authorities´ definitions of what is good and what is evil.

Ready to go for the red pill?

Be warned! Apart from permanently challenging your grey cells, and apart from not letting you believe in such nice things as Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, or Government´s Benevolence, the red pill might get you into serious trouble. And I mean serious. When speaking up publicly in the wrong places, you might end up on a no fly list. It might even get you busted, when you´re associated with the wrong email-lists and happen to have been Googling for the wrong terms. Mind you, this is not only about child protection, as authorities and the media would have us believe (protecting children against abuse is, of course, something I´d fully and unconditionally support). The same thing might happen, of course, when you are blogging about the "wrong" topics.

Yes, you can track down someone who has been looking for, say, a specific company or event. It happened recently in Germany, during the run up to the G8 summit, when the member of a group named "Fels " ("rock") got busted, apparently because his Internet activities (inquiries with search engines among them) had been under surveillance. He was later released without charges, but it is spooky enough that a search for something like a company name or a political event, or a country (done any searches for "Iran" and "uranium" recently?) would make you a "suspect" of sorts.

So what´s your choice?

Er, forgive me for double-posting ...

2007-06-06T18:07:00.000+02:00

I have decided to back up my Y360 blog here. Just in case. For no apparent reason (other than perhaps containing a naked butt picture, even if that is completely non-erotic and in an asexual context), Yahoo seems to follow an at times not quite logical policy of deleting user´s pics, blogs or perhaps complete profiles.

Because a lot of work has gone into some of those posts, I don´t want them to simply disappear for some reason unknown to me.

Also, perhaps some new readers on blogger will come across this stuff and, you know, perhaps brighten my day with insightful comments (hint, hint ...).

Alora, andiamo!

UPDATE: Looks like I was too slow. One of my entries (of which, of course, I had no backup whatsoever) has already been deleted ... even though it had been marked "mature" ....

And Now For Something Completely Different ...

2007-06-04T18:24:00.000+02:00

Thought I´d leave something less depressing than politics for the weekend, and cheer you up for a change. ;)

Yes, I know we Germans tend to take everything and everyone, above all ourselves, too bloody seriously. Well, I don´t know about all of us, but I certainly do. Sometimes at least ;)

Ok, so now I´ll try to be funny, or just plain nonsensical. Don´t be too hard on me, I´m doing my best!

Like a Virgin, I am a little worried if it´s going to hurt. But then I suppose Everybody Hurts sometime. But now ... let´s get it over with!

I wake up with my head throbbing like some Samba drummer is giving his best to get into the rhythm. Only he is using my head instead of a drum. Slowly, vague memories of the night before are taking shape in my head.

Seems like that irresponsibly self-inflicted Braindamage, which is nothing but the consquence of last night´s major abuse of totally legal liquid drugs, is slowly receding. Now that the Mists of Avalon are slowly lifting, it begins to feel like The Day After.

Not Another Tequila Sunrise! I´ll be staying off them, I swear to myself. In fact, I won´t touch alcohol ever again. Never! (I know, you should Never say Never, but this second, I really mean it!)

Now I remember. I had dinner at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe, before taking a Roadtrip to the City of Angels. And - OMG! - I am actually at the Hotel California. Well, I guess I can call myself lucky for not having ended up in the House of the Rising Sun!

Actually, I had been looking for the Catcher in the Rye who was going to take me down to the Paradise City (not for the girls, but for the other stuff ;) ). From there, we were going to travel a bit further on our Magical Mystery Tour, to catch a glimpse of the Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

But when I checked out the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, I read that It never rains in Southern California, so I changed my mind. That´s how I ended up here, drinking, smoking and talking from Dusk till Dawn. I remember we were having this discussion.

The Neuromancer was asking me, "Would you listen to The Handmaid´s Tale? Or to what the Godfather has to say?"

"The Godfather?" I replied with a laugh, "Never! The Liar once promised he would Buy me a Pony. But he never did. Since that day", I continued, taking another sip from yet another Tequila Sunrise, "My Heart is a Lonely Hunter, which feels like it´s been touched by The Left Hand of Darkness."

My companion looked at me with sympathy. "Poor thing," he said softly, almost as if talking to himself, "so you´ve seen the Dark Side of the Moon. If you feel like it, you can Lean on Me. Perhaps I can help you overcome that crisis."

"Crisis? What Crisis?" I almost snapped at him. "You´re just Another Brick in the Wall! And anyway, I Wanna Go My Own Way!"

With that, I got up and left the poor guy sitting there.

So, instead of making Love in an Elevator at least Once in a Lifetime, I screwed up. Oh bother! I Fought the Law and the Law Won!

No wonder I´m feeling like I´m Right Next Door to Hell. If that´s what it´s like to Sleep Now in the Fire, I´m feeling true Sympathy for the Devil. The poor geezer probably keeps Knocking on Heaven´s Door, but they won´t let him in. He´ll probably have to buy a Stairway do Heaven first.

I am delirious. Must be the first signs of withdrawal symptoms. Cold Turkey, so to speak. Speaking of which, I´m feeling Belly Full hungry!

Time for my first Breakfast in America. Hmmm ... as I´m reviving myself with the ample use of cold water, I am imagining what I´m going to treat my mistreated stomach to. Lickin´ Cream sounds like an enticing idea. Or should I be going for Charlie Big Potato? Then again, maybe I should stick with Coffee and Cigarettes.

No, not good, my stomach revolts at the mere thought of nicotine. I´ll have to come up with a better idea. Use Your Illusion! Or was it "your imagination"? Imagine ... How about some toast and eggs, and maybe some fruit to compensate for some of the Damage Done last night? Bananas, fresh from the Banana Boat. "Here, is that Good Enough For You?" Yes, that seems to appeal to my stomach.

After a last look in the mirror to make sure I don´t quite look like Beetlejuice anymore, I take a deep breath and step outside my room. I am greeted by music - some Guerilla Radio playing a song that´s almost a tad Too Funky for me. But You Can´t Always Get What You Want, and getting a bite now is really my main priority right now. Above the entrance to the dining-room, there´s a sign which reads "Welcome to the Jungle".

The breakfast buffet looks delicious. There are not only skippers for breakfast, but Peaches, bananas, and what looks like almost entire Strawberry Fields. And, best of all, Banana Pancakes.

But even better, I see the man of my dreams sitting there, smiling at me, Behind Blue Eyes. I am experiencing a Total Eclipse of the Heart as he kisses me. He just smiles, and says "You Could be Mine!"

"Only if you Take me to the River," I reply with a grin.

"Anything you want, I Promise," he says solemnly, "because I Don´t Wanna Miss a Thing!"

Bliss! And I say to myself, "What a Wonderful World!"

The Strange Meanderings Of The Mind While Doing Housework

2007-05-28T19:18:00.000+02:00

It´s another one of those catholic holidays here, and the first blissfully rainy day. Time to do all this tidbit stuff I´ve been happily and successfully trying to avoid.

One of those tidbit tasks was to flat iron a bunch of t-shirts. I don´t normally do this. In fact, a flat iron was one the household appliances it has been our utmost pleasure not to possess for the past couple of years. But, since we have started to sort out our lives, which among other things means getting all the stuff we have been dragging along with us, without actually needing it, on eBay, and since crumpled t-shirts make for lousy photo motives, which in turn makes it harder to get them sold, we got ourselves a travel flat iron. And today finally was the day to try it out.

Prior to ironing, I had to dust the table on which I was going to get those t-shirts unwrinkled. The table was undusted in about 20 seconds. After that, I decided that while I was at it, I might as well wipe over the window frames with the cloth. Hadn´t done that for a while, so after I´d started, I noticed that the window frame needed some more in-depth treatment. So I decided to go for it and got the proper agent for cleaning windows and window frames. The window, as I´d noticed in the process, was also in desperate need for some cleaning, as it looked as if it was about to go blind. I don´t even remember when I´d cleaned it for the last time (that is, not how many months ago, but how many years ago - call me a slob, if you want!).

Anyway, after the first window was done, I decided I´d do the second one in the main room as well. Our windows are wonderfully large, which makes for light-flooded rooms. On the other hand, it takes a while to clean them, especially when a lot of dust and rain has been going down on them from the outside, not to mention the amounts of nicotine on the inside (I´ll spare you the gory details here!).

The first window I´d treated faces the balcony, so no need for high anxiety there. I´d be falling down half a meter (or about two feet) at the max. However, that second window is always a bit of a challenge, since we live in the fourth floor, and that one goes out to the street, leaving only a thin line, or, in this case, a mosquito net between life and death, should I lose my balance and decide to lose it to the wrong side, which I never do, but, you know, it could just happen.

When your number´s up, it´s up, as it says in Final Destination (the wrong movie to watch prior to engaging in a dangerous task like taking a shower, or cleaning a window facing an abyss, or using a flat iron). As you can see from the fact that I survived to compose this blog entry, I managed to not trip and fall, and actually, the window cleaning turned out to be a pretty satisfying task. Much as I loathe this cleaning and clearing up work, when I finally force myself to get the essentials done, I find that they make for quick rewards - you actually see what you´ve been doing instantly.

After which, of course, I was left with this heap of t-shirts and a travel flat iron with which I had to familiarize myself with first by reading through the instructions, just to make sure I knew which button was which, and I´d fill the water into the correct spot, and would not electrocute myself, or set the house on fire. Or any of those precious t-shirts.

That turned out to be a minor challenge as well, and after a while, I found myself happily ironing away, letting my thoughts wander. Housework, as rarely as I do it, is great for this kind of getting lost in thought. My thoughts tend to take entirely different turns from when I am running. Running is great for getting entire books written (in my head, anyway), and for getting ready for the challenges of the day. Steam ...

But this dream of steam had my thoughts wander off, first towards Gianna Nannini, and how much I love Italy. This set off an entirely different set of thoughts, taking me back some 20 years to when I was travelling to Vancouver. I was staying at the youth hostel for a couple of days and had just bumped into a Canadian again whom I´d met some weeks earlier on at another youth hostel in Calgary, and with whom I´d spent some time hiking in the Canadian Rockies.

We´d had a couple of one night stands (nothing more, and that was entirely fine), but I was sort of second choice to an Australian girl (who was far mor "girlish" than I´ve ever been), and I didn´t particularly like that. Anyway, so one evening in Vancouver, after bumping into me, he´d found that Australian girl as well, and he explained to me why and how he had to absolutely go and see her now, because she was leaving, and I was going to be around for a couple of more days, and so on.

Of course, there was absolutely no reason why I should have been jealous. After all, all we´d had was some fun together, and it was clear that, after I´d be leaving Vancouver at the latest, we would never ever see each other again. But I just hated to feel like a substitute, like an Ersatz woman. So I got really, really cross. And after getting really, really cross, I got really, really drunk. All by myself (ain´t that sad? Oh, c´mon, I´m throwing a round of hankies - or kleenexes - here for all of you! SNIFF!)

When I´d stumbled back to the youth hostel, there were a bunch of French Canadians from Québec, sitting and smoking on the doorsteps. I joined them and we started talking, and I finally ended up hugging each and every one of them, drunkenly declaring, "Oh, j´aime les Québécois!" Which was very true. I´d been travelling Eastern Canada some weeks before I made it out west, and before that, I´d spent two terms at Ottawa University studying, and I´d met quite a few Québécois; my school French, of course, failed me miserably at first (eh, the accent is something you have to get used to, and anyway, my French is lousy, at best).

So. When I´d sobered up the next day, I discovered that life was going on, and it was great! Apart from the fact that I´d done something really embarrassing and stupid the night before. In my completely drunken state, I´d been calling the parents of a friend from Ottawa U who was living not far from Vancouver, and whom I was going to meet and go hiking with later.

I had been audibly drunk, and it had been in the middle of the night. His parents were Mennonites, and strict teetotalers, and I´d probably rang them out of bed. My friend wasn´t there at that point. He was on a hiking trip but, his mother assured me, he´d be calling me as soon as he´d get back, which was going to be a day or two later.

I really cursed myself (what had I been thinking? Nottin´!) and vowed, once more, to never touch alcohol ever again. Nevertheless, the day was great. There was a folk festival right outside the lawn of the youth hostel. There was no admission fee, the music was great, and so was the atmosphere. It was kind of a Canadian version of Woodstock (not that I´ve actually been to the latter - I´m not quite that old!): Orderly and well-behaved, but still fun.

This was the first time I actually saw North American women with hairy legs! Wow! The really hippie-kind, granny glasses, long, flowing dresses, barefeet! (And, of course, lots of non-tobacco smoke stuff filling the air.) I was amazed, having started to shave myself as part of my Canadian socialization. Actually, at one point I´d simply been sick and tired of being spotted as a German miles off just because of that fur on my legs, which was the real reason why I´d started shaving.

By the way, so as to avoid any possible misunderstandings, and to clear up with a still widely held prejudice: Nowadays, there aren´t too many women in Germany who don´t shave (not only legs, but also armpits), and if you do come across them, they´re likely to be elderly and/or country women.

My friend actually called me back the next day at the youth hostel. He told me he wasn´t going to go into any depths about my nightly phonecall to his parents. Neither did his parents. They offered me a warm welcome and a stay at their place full of hospitality, even though they probably found me a bit spooky. We had a couple of really great days hiking in Manley Park, and in the hills around Vancouver, before I headed back to Eastern Canada.

Isn´t it amazing what strange meanderings of thought a little bit of housework can evoke?

But now it´s time I got back to work and ready myself for this coming week.

Meravigliosa Creatura ...

2007-05-28T18:55:00.000+02:00

Whoa, I haven´t been here in ages. That´s all the fault of Yahoo! 360.

Sorry, Google/Blogger - Yahoo 360 is just so much easier in terms of creating traffic...

But I am not quite determined to leave Blogger yet ;)

I wanna try something new here and now.

How´s that?

And here are the lyrics:

Molti mari e fiumi
attraversero
dentro la tua terra
mi ritroverai
turbini e tempeste
io cavalchero
volero tra il fulmini
per averti

Meravigliosa creatura sei sola al mondo
meravigliosa creatura paura di averti accanto
occhi di sole mi bruciano in mezzo al cuore
amore e vita meravigliosa

Luce dei miei occhi
brilla su di me
voglio mille lune
per accarezzarti
pendo dai tuoi sogni
veglio su di te
non svegliarti
non svegliarti
non svegliarti....ancora

Meravigliosa creatura
sei sola al mondo
meravigliosa paura d'averti accanto
occhi di sole mi tremano le parole
amore e vita meravigliosa

Meravigliosa creatura un bacio lento
meravigliosa paura d'averti accanto
all'improvviso tu scendi nel paradiso
muoio d'amore meraviglioso

Meravigliosa creatura
Meravigliosa
occhi di sole mi bruciano in mezzo al cuore
amore e vita meravigliosa

Zero Masculinity?

2007-05-10T15:08:00.000+02:00

Another psycho-test, and a different result. I do recognize myself, but this time my brain shows an absolutely zilch-zero-nil masculine disposition. I suppose I only got the "slightly male brain" test result on the BBC psycho test for entirely screwing up on the "moved objects" part of the test. And for my ability to recognize shapes placed in varying angles.

This test had, of course, a different angle. No tests on spatial vision or remembering shapes, but a bias on personality traces. As I said, I can relate to the results. Then again, these results are always presented in a slighltly flattering, "think positive" kind of way.

Anyway, here´s who and how I am(present state of mind):

My Personal Dna Report

Generous Experiencer

And the same displayed slightly differently:

Generous Experiencer

If you want to take the test, click here.

A Simple Prop To Occupy My Time

2007-05-03T13:48:00.000+02:00

For no particular reason, other than reflecting upon some German to English translation with my sweetheart the other day, BANG!, there it was, that good old R.E.M. song. Not a love song.

Not that I actually need a prop - simple or not - to occupy my time ... In fact, time´s a sparse commodity (well, you probably know that yourself) - and at present, I tend to use it for all kinds of things, apart from the ones I really should be devoting more of it.

I am (ab)using it currently to entertain my three blogs. Yes, despite my good intentions not to get myself involved too much and not to engage in blogging on Yahoo 360, I have turned into a regular there. And not only am I blogging, but I am posting my - ahem! - valuable comments on my friends´ blogs, having found a couple of really thoughtful, creative, passionate, witty, funny and intelligent folks there. It´s addictive, it really is! And I am spending a lot of time fishing the net for pictures to accompany my postings with, having realized that if I want to reach not only a small audience, I better keep the text dose low.

And then there´s my erotic blog, which - after finally attracting a little more traffic - keeps my mind and time occupied.

So, what I should be doing instead, or predominantly - trading (to actually earn some dough); getting my and our life in order and sorted out to prepare for our take-off; continue to write my first screenplay (this time I am determined to actually finish it - and I have a deadline: my sweetheart´s B-day, it´s a surprise for him); and, of course, having sex, sex and more sex - not that we´re not having any, but I could always do with more of that.

But I keep up my running three times a week. Then again, that´s not a big deal.

Ok, so even though this here is not a love song, and I don´t need a (simple) prop to occupy my time - this one still goes out to the one I love.

Is This The Real Life?

2007-04-29T16:42:00.000+02:00

No, I have never faked it. Orgasm, that is. If I don´t have one, then I don´t have one. Period, and no big drama. Faking it, in this case, just seems silly to me. Anyway, that´s not what I was actually going to ramble about, but hopefully, this caught your attention. Ok, I´ll start anew ...

Hey, I am a 26-year-old, naughty, curious blonde with long hair, I´m a 35C, 6 feet tall, I weigh 80 pounds, and I am bi(-curious).

Nah ... of course you know I´m a 40-something female with none of those ideal features (biiiig boobs, long, blonde hair, a body like this weeks´ playmates´, who can wear mini skirts without looking like a runner whose shorts have burst in the middle ...). Would it be different if I had a pic of that perfect blonde going with my profile? Accompanied, of course, by a different birthday date? Probably yes - the power of images is just overwhelming (that´s another story, in fact).

When I come across a profile with a pic which is just a tad too perfect, it usually flashes "FAKE!" all over. But apart from the pic, which might look too good to be true and hence inspire some distrust, the rest might be coming across as pretty much believable. And then I start to wonder how much of that cyber person is actually real, which in itself makes the encounter - well, interesting.

In cyber reality, we can be pretty much whatever and whoever we want. But somehow our personality is bound to creep in, one way or the other. Perhaps I lack the fantasy or the mental endurance for entering the online stage as a complete new and other self, constructing an entirely new reality around myself.

I am therefore amazed at (and in fact: admire) those who take the time and effort to do just that and submerse (or immerse) themselves completely within another world, like the Dungeons-and-Dragons players used to do, or perhaps nowadays the Second-Life inhabitants. Or some of the folks I have come across in the couple of weeks now that I have participated in Yahoo 360. In some profiles, fantasy takes on a very literal form, in that mythic elements, elfs, fairies, witches or simply the "dark side" are a prominent feature, both in terms of the design of their pages, and in terms of what and how topics are covered in the respective blogs. What a fantastic way to live out ones secret desires. Or to simply escape from (a perhaps bland) reality.

On a slightly different vein, when reading erotic blogs (aka sex stories), I sometimes wonder if what is described is actually an account of the author´s experience, pure fantasy, or a mixture of both. Now, some blogs declare that what you encounter is purely fictitious, others may leave it up to the reader to decide, and still others give themselves a decidedly realistic touch.

On one occasion my sweetheart declared, not without a certain amount of frustration (and sounding at least a little jealous), "Hey, when reading some of those stories, I think to myself, Gosh! What a great sex life some people have! The things they are doing, and the places they are doing it!" (Hey! Do you mean to tell me that our sex life is sooo terribly dull, just because we don´t have sex on the bus or in the elevator - well we very nearly did, we actually started that the other night, so ...!) That´s in fact the only occasion where I got a little annoyed at this "fantasy-or-reality?" teasing spiel, because it made our (not-so-bad!!! *frown*) sex life look like a boring bag of old wine.

Are my own erotic stories real? I deliberately declare them as fantasies. However, some of them actually happened, some of them have happened in part, with some details added (that is, made up), and some of them will probably never ever happen. But somehow, they are all part of myself, even if its just some bogus story bred by some darker (or lighter) streak of my mind.

On this day ...

2007-04-25T13:40:00.000+02:00

... seventy years ago - April 26, 1937 -, German soldiers of the "Legion Condor" bombed the small Spanish town of Guernica. It was the Nazi Reichsluftwaffe´s first military strike abroad, and the first air raid on an extensive civil area in military history, completely destroying the center of Guernica, plastering the town with a deadly carpet of incendiary bombs, grenades, and shots fired from aircraft weapons upon the fleeing men, women and children.

To this day, it remains unclear how many casualties this air raid caused. At the time of the attack, many refugees from the Spanish Civil War had fled to Guernica. The highest estimate is around 2000 casualties, while according to other sources around 300 people were killed - burnt, torn to pieces, or shot.

The account of an eye witness, whose estimate of casualties ranges closer to 2000, captures the horror which statistics just won´t adequately describe:

I had arrived in Bilbao on April 24 and on the next day had gone to Mass with the Foreign Secretary and his family, spending the rest of the day in his office. The morning of the 26th I spent quietly at the office of Asistencia Social, discussing in outline the plans for evacuation. In the afternoon I made my way down to La Prensa where a group of journalists had invited me for a drink, among them Philip Jordan and George Steer, who during the next few weeks were to prove towers of strength and encouragement to me. A day begun so quietly was to end in indescribable horror and dismay.
"A raid's coming up," said Jordan. "Do you want to go down to the shelter?" I shook my head, so we went outside. Phil's ear had caught the sound of bombers in the air, although there had been no warning. Across the hills to the east the air was alive with Heinkels as wave after wave drove in from the sea. They were followed by Junkers. Horror-striken, the Basques amongst us shouted, "Guernica! they're bombing Guernica!" It seemed incredible that such a monstrous thing could happen to this quiet little market town, renowned from time immemorial as the home of Basque liberation where, before the famous oak tree, rulers of Spain had traditionally sworn to observe Basque local rights. Helpless to do anything we watched from the hills. Until nearly eight in the evening, incendiary bombs and high explosives rained down every twenty minutes. The town was open and defenceless; it was crowded with market day visitors and as people fled from the destruction they were dive-bombed and machine-gunned from the air. The roads out of the town were jammed with dead and injured: 1,654 killed; 889 injured.
(From the autobiography of Leah Manning, A Life For Education)

Here you can find more on the bombing of Guernica. And, of course, on Wikipedia.

Carnations ... And A Song

2007-04-24T13:18:00.000+02:00

Carnations and a song are the watermarks of the Portuguese "Carnations Revolution", which on April 25, 1974, ended Europe´s longest standing dictatorship.

On May 28, 1926, a military junta had taken over through a military coup and implemented an authoritarian regime of fascist inspiration. In 1933, Oliveira Salazar came to control the country (he was to stay in power for over half a century, until 1968), and the regime renamed itself Estado Novo ("New State") - a name which remained until the "Carnations Revolution".

The regime of Marcello Caetano, who succeeded Oliveira Salazar in 1968, successfully annihilated all attempts of political reform. Torture, repression and censorship of the press were trademarks of the Estado Novo, and independent trade unions were prohibited. The military secret police persecuted opponents of the regime, and although there were formal elections, both the opposition and foreigh observers accused the government of electoral fraud and Caetano of not being impartial.

In addition, the regime was determined to keeep Portugal´s colonies beyond the 1960s despite growing independence movements, and against the pressure from the United Nations, because the maintenance of a colonial empire was part and parcel of the Estado Novo´s ideologues historical vision.

The necessity to spend huge amounts of money for war in Africa in order to maintain the colonial status against increasing resistance (which cost the Portuguese state almost 40% of its annual budget), as well as the Estado Novo´s economic policy of Corporatism contributed significantly to the impoverishment of the Portuguese economy.

On April 25, 1974, parts of the military uprose against the regime. On April 24, 1974 at 10:50 p.m. local time, the Portuguese radio played the love song "E depois do adeus" ("After the farewell") by Paulo de Carvalho, which was the secret sign for the insurgent troops.

However, the song which really came to be associated with the revolution was "Grândola, Vila Morena" ("Grândola, tanned city"), which had been banned by the regime. On April 25, 1974 at about 0:30 a.m. local time, the radio host of the catholic radio read the first verse of "Grândola". This was followed by the song sung by antifascist songwriter Zeca Afonso. This was a clear sign for the Portugues population - although at that point they had no idea what for.

For the insurgent military units the verses were the sign for the begin of the armed uprising. 18 hours later, the Movimento das Forças Armadas (Movement of the Armed Forces) had overthrown Europe´s oldest dictatorship. The revolution had been almost without bloodshed, save for 13 casualties, caused by troops who remained loyal to the regime and shot upon unarmed demonstrators.

Overjoyed Portugese population adorned the guns of the insurgent troops with carnations, and one of the most famous images from the "Carnation Revolution" was that of a waitress sticking a carnation into a soldier´s gun barrel. That´s how carnations became the symbol and eponym for the Portuguese Revolution.

Happy birthday, Portugal!

An extensive documentation in English is provided by the Universidade de Coimbra´s Centro de Documentação 25 de Abril.

April 19, 1943 - Or: Why It´s Important Not To Forget

2007-04-19T10:59:00.000+02:00

(Jewish resistance fighters captured by SS troops during the Warsaw ghetto uprising. Warsaw, Poland)

Today marks the 67th anniversary of the beginning of the final stages of the Uprising of the Warsaw Ghetto, which eventually ended with the liquidation of the ghetto on May 16, 1943, at which point the remaining 56,000 Jews where sent to extermination camps (the remainder, some 300,000+ Jewish inhabitants of the Ghetto, had been sent to extermination camps - which in most cases meant certain death - by the end of 1942). You find a very good, dense summary, plus a link to a more in-depth account, at this blog.

Many, especially young, Germans question the necessity of being constantly reminded of the Nazi past of our history. While I reject the notion that younger generations carry some sort of "guilt" for what our forefathers did (or, in not resisting, did not), I do believe - no: I know that it is important that we are aware of our history and do not act as if it had nothing to do with us, lest we forget.

Case in point: The recent case of historical-political amnesia by conservative Governor of Baden-Wurttemberg, Guenther Oettinger. On April 11, he held a eulogy for the late Hans Filbinger, deceased on April 1, 2007. Filbinger had served as a naval judge from the spring of 1943 to the end of the war. During that time, he was involved in about 230 naval criminal proceedings, in six of which the death sentence was part of the proceedings.

At least in one case, the death sentence proclaimed with Filbinger´s involvement (in that case, he was acting as witness of the prosecution, assembling the death squad, and gave the order to fire) was executed on March 16, 1945 - three weeks before the capitulation - or liberation - of Germany. In this case - as in several others - Filbinger would have had several options open to avoid imposing the death sentence and the execution of 21 year old naval soldier Walter Groeger, who was accused of desertion.

Filbinger had been governor of Baden Wurttemberg from 1966 until he was caught up by his Nazi past and was forced to resign from office in 1978. In his eulogy, Oettinger - perhaps in a false understanding of the concept of "De mortui nil nisi bene" - twisted the historical facts, algidly alleging that Filbinger had been an opponent of the Nazi regime. (Yes, and so was the entire German populace at that time, with the possible exception of Hitler and a few other leading heads themselves ...).

When coming under pressure from various associations (from the most prominent one, the German Central Consistory of Jews, to the association of victims of the Nazi judicial system), Oettinger at first flat out refused to withdraw the claim that Filbinger had been an opponent of the Nazi regime. And he had several supporters amongst the lines of conservatives, among them the head of the JU (the Young Conservatives), Steffen Bilger, who applauded Oettinger for his "liberating" remarks and for "straightening several things out" (I wonder what that was supposed to mean ...).

Oettinger eventually did have to give in and had to withdraw his remarks on Monday, April 16, 2007, after the German chancellor, Angela Merkel, practically forced him to do so, although he probably will not have to resign as a governor. Thankfully, there are some mechanisms and organizations in this country that help to prevent a sugarcoated picture of our history from becoming mainstream, at least for the time being. Which is why it is important for all of us not to forget.

A short account in English on the fallouts of Oettinger´s eulogy by the Washington Post from Saturday, April 14 (i.e., before Oettinger had to distance himself from his remarks) can be found here. A more detailed account and a chronology in German is published there.

Relationships Without Sex

2007-04-18T11:32:00.000+02:00

Sexless relationships are a phenomenon to me! I know quite a few of them myself (though our own, thankfully, is not one of them), and I cannot help wondering how these relationships work at all, and - why one of the partners simply does not want sex.

It seems to be mainly women who at some point decide that they don´t want it anymore, at least not with their partners (though occasionally you´ll find a woman who "wants" and whose partner doesn´t want to - at least not with her).

And I wonder, and I hope you guys and girls out there can help me: Why is it that so many women do not want sex?

Of course, there may be a variety of reasons for this. Traumatic experiences (like having been abused in childhood, or having been raped) may be one cause, and perhaps one the partner does not even know about.

Stress may be another factor - I remember going through a no-sex-please-phase at a time when my job was particularly stressful. At least I think that was the reason I wasn´t to keen on sex - it simply was not on my agenda. I´d come home and be just tired, wanting to go to sleep (probably after having a couple of beers or a few glasses of wine), cuddle up next to my sweetheart, feeling him close to me - but, please, no sex!

Perhaps many women are just not enjoying the sex they are having and are finding themselves unable to articulate this. (Maybe they would like to be touched differently, maybe there is not enough foreplay, maybe there is too much pressure to "fulfill" and have an orgasm, maybe they´ve never had an orgasm ...)

And, of course, there may always be physical reasons that cause sex to be outright painful. Not to forget that the pill may act as a veritable lust killer (yes, it even says so in the package insert!).

Does the same happen in same sex relationships?

If you are in a sexless relationship, how do you deal with it if you are the one who still loves to have sex?

If you are the partner who doesn´t want sex: Why don´t you want it (anymore)? Do you not have sex at all, or are you just not feeling like having sex with your partner?

Have you guys ever tried to talk about this and find out why your women are not interested anymore? Are you as a couple able to talk about sex in your relationship, your fantasies and wishes, or is it a taboo ?

If you have any ideas, suggestions, assumptions or experiences concerning the above, please post them here. Cheers!

Let´s Get Visual (DNA)

2007-04-17T08:44:00.000+02:00

Pretty cool ... My sweetheart (who´s the creative mind of the both of us) came across this last night. I love the Internet! And him even more ;)

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Keyword (And Other Network) Advertising

2007-04-12T11:33:00.000+02:00

Keyword advertising is a pretty cool invention. In theory, the underlying idea is very good and seems to make sense: you have a website covering a variety of topics, e.g. Yahoo! Finance or Google News. Whenever a user accesses a broader topic or a specific article of interest - say, you´re reading an article dealing with the delay of Leopard, the new version of Apple Inc.´s operating system -, an advertisement corresponding to that topic - e.g. an ad for Apple´s brand new iPhone (and incidentally one of the reasons why Leopard doesn´t make it into the stores now until fall) - is displayed. Or, you´re researching news on why European car sales a slowing, and you´re receiving an ad for the brand new Audi. The logical assumption is, of course, that you´re likely receptive for ads corresponding to news/articles on topics you´ve actively been looking for, promising greater success for the advertiser, who, in turn, will spend more money advertising on promising looking sites.

So the advertiser is happy, and the site being advertised on is, too (not to mention you, the happy user, because you receive ads tailored to your interests). The same holds true wether the website is Google, Yahoo!, or the site of a stray blogger trying to make a few extra bucks (or pennies) by allowing an advertising network to run their ads on their site. So much for the theory, which, as always, looks plausible enough.

Unfortunately, however, life is neither simple nor perfect, so in practice, things frequently tend to not work out quite as intended, and when it comes to keyword advertising, the results may be funny, annoying or outright bad taste.

Funny: Today, I visited this blog which the other day had an entry on atheism in which the author makes it very clear that she choses not to believe in religion or any higher beings, and that being belittled, not being taken serious or being otherwise hassled for this is - to put it politely - slightly annoying. Also, any attempts to try and convert her are not particularly appreciated. This morning (Central European Summer Time), I found an advertisement pointing to this site. How cool! There´s a post on atheism, and in response, the advertising network is trying to redirect and save you and your readers. Probably that´s a sign!
(N.B.: When I came back to the blog later, the above advertisement was no longer there; instead, there were two more appropriate ads, both by atheist forums or networks.)

Annoying: A couple of years ago, my boyfriend and a friend of his ran a website with a fair amount of traffic. They were members of an advertising network which rotated banners between different sites. One day during the bombings of former Yugoslavia in 1999, they had changed the homepage to include a peace message, calling upon all warring parties (i.e., the Serbians, the UCK, and the NATO states) involved in Kosovo and the former Yugoslavian republic to immediately refrain from all acts of aggression. Sure enough, on the very same homepage, next to the peace-banner, the advertising network in its infinite wisdom had placed an advertising banner promoting the German Army, which at that point was among those parties "involved" in former Yugoslavia. (After my boyfriend and his partner exchanged a couple of unfriendly comments with their contact person at the advertising network, it was agreed upon that both sides would be happier if their website would no longer be included in the ad network. Well, my boyfriend and his partner certainly did better without the network.)

Bad Taste: But the worst example of failed keyword advertising, or - worse - perhaps just plain thoughtless network advertising, I have come across so far was on a newssite covering the tsunami which hit the coastal shores of Indonesia, Sri Lanka, India and Thailand (among others, though the four countries named were the worst hit), on December 26, 2004, killing well over 200,000 people and leaving countless others homeless, probably for years to come. The article dealt with the death toll (then at well over 100,000), and with the fact that survivors in the region did not have access to the basics they needed to stay alive, such as shelter, food and clean drinking water. The ad next to the article, which promoted a hotel rewards program, displayed a palm-lined beach scene, very likely resembling what you´d have encountered in the region before the tsunami struck.

It´s fine to automate processes such as banner placement in a network. And yes, it would be too much effort to screen everything manually. But is it asking too much to perhaps refrain from advertising under certain circumstances? (In the immediate wake of September 11, we were watching CNN. And if I remember correctly, reporting on the tragic events was not interrupted by cheerful ads, especially not ones promoting air travel. At least for a couple of days.) Because, no matter what ad would have been placed next to that article, it would have been somehow inappropriate. Except for ads promoting donations, and/or aid for the regions affected.

Why Do Men Never Go And See A Doctor?

2007-04-11T12:39:00.000+02:00

Men just don´t go to see a doctor. Not, that is, unless they are forced to by either a partner dragging them off by force (needless to say, that only happens when they are in bad enough shape so that they are not able to put up any resistance at that time), or by an ambulance carting them off with sirens and flashing blue lights (at which point they´re not very likely to be in a position to argue, either). But why? Why this irresistable drive do defy reason, why this tendency to try fate? This will always remain one of life´s bigger mysteries to me!

Actually, perhaps it´s not just men, but in my experience, surroundings and (very likely biased) view it´s mostly men. Perhaps it´s something ingrained in their brain stem telling them to never make themselves dependent on anybody else, nor to ever admit on weakness (you know that old cliché of "boys don´t cry" ...), nor to ever throw themselves at the mercy of others (especially not other men ... or, come to think of it, women), and hence not to go see a doc under any circumstances, at least not as long as they can help it.

Unless, of course, they belong to that other extreme, the hypochondriac type, who will immediately diagnose an upset stomach (very likely caused by too much booze and/or greasy food the night before) as terminal cancer. But that´s another story and one I will not elaborate on. For now.

My boyfriend, his dad, and my dad belong to the first group, the I-don´t-need-a-doc because
a) there´s nothing wrong with me, really; and/or
b) I know what´s wrong, and there´s absolutely nothing a doc can do about it; and/or
c) LEAVE ME ALONE!

My father tried to cure a heart-attack with a bottle of cold beer (ok, he´s Bavarian; but still ...). It happened while he and my mom where vacationing in the Mediterranean. My mom had gone for the morning to play tennis, my father was in the tent reading (and presumably smoking a cigarillo), when he suddenly felt like he was suffocating. At which point he decided to go - no, not to get help, but to get a bottle of beer instead. A camp ground neighbour, who knew my parents fairly well, dropped by by sheer coincidence. Seeing my father almost blue in the face, he asked if he could get any help. My father, apparently, reacted very unfriendly, in the end shouting at his neighbour, basically telling him to piss off. "Leave me alone, I don´t need a doctor!"

Of course, once my mom returned from the tennis ground and saw the state my dad was in, she immediately called an ambulance, they took him to hospital, and there he stayed for almost a week or so, until he could be transferred to a hospital back home. Apparently, my dad still didn´t realize that what had struck him was not something harmless like a cold or a flu. When back home he was asked upon admission to the local hospital wether he wanted treatment by a chief physician (which would have been covered by his health insurance), he flat out refused, explaining to me later "It´s just so expensive." Expensive? Hello? Dad? You just suffered a heart-attack. Plus, your insurance is going to pay for the treatment anyway. Ahem, surely you would be interested to get the best possible treatment, especially considering that you´re - excuse me - in your late 60s, and - excuse me again - not in the best possible shape. Well, in the end, he didn´t get the best possible treatment, was released too early and without anyone telling him what further to do about this whole thing (at least that was his story), and ended up in a mess that was a lot bigger and worse, and which he could - perhaps - have avoided by taking the whole thing a little more seriously.

Anyway, one and a half years later, he´s fine, complete with a new heart valve, a pace maker and a device which is something like an internal defibrillator.

My boyfriend´s father is a similar sweetheart. He ended up in hospital with everyone thinking it was a heart attack, because he suffered all the symptoms: Tightness in the chest, problems breathing, and an extremely high blood pressure. Much to everyone´s - including the doctors´- surprise, he has the heart of a healthily raging bull. All the tests he underwent were more than ok for a man his age (he´s also in his late 60s). The only possible culprit: His thyroid, which is way too large, causing it to not only at times raise his blood pressure, but also at times to push on his heart muscle, which in turn causes some of the symptoms strikingly resembling a heart attack.

There would be a fairly easy cure to it, he wouldn´t even have to undergo surgery. All he´d have to do is go to a hospital offering nuclear medicine (there happens to be one in the city where we live). He´d have to swallow a pill which in turn sets free raidiation (because of that, he´d have to be quarantined for 10 days, if I remember correctly), which causes the thyroid to shrink to a normal dimension. A friend´s father, who at that time was 80 year old, underwent that same treatement and was fitter than ever afterwards. (He´d been suffering the same symptoms as my boyfriend´s father.)

Unfortunately for everyone involved, the docs in my boyfriend´s father´s (ooof, what a chain of genitives!) hospital never suggested that he might have his enlarged thyroid treated, so he thinks it´s basically superfluous. Plus, he is convinced that there really isn´t anything he can do about it (we´ve tried to tell him until we were almost black and blue in the face, but he just doesn´t seem to hear what we´re saying.) And so, as long as he´s fine, he simply won´t do anything about it. Period.

And now my sweetheart. A couple of years ago, he had a herniated disc, which at first he self-diagnosed as lumbago after consulting the internet. His conclusion at that time: There´s nothing a doc can do about it, therefore there´s no need to go and see one. For three days he couldn´t move, he was hardly able to leave the bed, and he was in agony with back pain. Whenever I´d mention the "D"-word, he´d yell at me and become really irritable, eventually pissing me off, just a tiny little bit. When during the night from day three to day four he experienced the first signs of paralysis in his right lower leg, I asked again, "Listen, don´t you want to go see a doc now?" Between clenched teeth, he snapped back at me "That´s a little difficult for me to do right now - go and see a doc - since I can´t really walk at this point!" "Well, I´d be driving you, of course," I replied, but, as always, I left it at that.

The next day, he did call a specialist for treating all kinds of back ailments. First, they told him that he´d have to wait for about two weeks, because their schedule was so full. I told him to tell them that he didn´t feel his right lower leg and foot anymore, which he did, and - tata! - in an instant, he had a date with the doc. Driving there must have been pure torture for my poor sweetheart, since our car was parked in the middle of a cobblestone road.

So, it turned out it wasn´t a lumbago, but the more dramatic case of a herniated disc. Though in the end, the doctors really didn´t do that much, at least it was clear that my sweetheart didn´t have to undergo surgery. They offered him at least some pain killer (with an anti inflammatory component). He went to physiotherapy, learnt what to do to strengthen his back, and has been more or less fine ever since.

Like my dad and like his own dad, my boyfriend could have spared himself - and, as an aside, myself - some suffering, so you´d think next time around, even if it came with a different setting of suffering (i.e., severe pain in other parts of the body), they´d more readily accept some professional help. But, lo and behold - something seems to be stronger than reason. It defies logic, but as said, I suspect it must have something to do with some primary instinct.

Good thing we women are different! Or at least governed by less potentially fatal primary instincts.

Shoes, Boobs and Bras

2007-04-08T19:35:00.000+02:00

Having recently reanimated this blog, I waded through my old posts from one and a half years ago (they were in German at that time). And not without a certain amount of amusement, I re-read the comments of two stray (and entirely unexpected) readers, who were musing about if I was a guy or a girl. This, as an aside, happens to me in real life as well - especially when I am running; yes, I do look like a boy, having short hair, being fairly small and slender (hey, I´m a runner!), and perhaps because I am a little devoid of some of the more prominent primary sexual characteristics (i.e., I don´t have the largest of all boobs). It happened to me one and a half years ago at the Berlin marathon, when one spectator upon seeing my BIB with the clearly visible F (for "Female") printed in front of the number, exclaimed in amazement "Hey, that´s a woman?!" And it happened to me last week at a local race, when - as I was making my way towards the finish line - a spectator exclaimed, "Hey, that´s the ninth woman - or is that a woman?"

On the other hand, I do have fairly beefy legs, so I don´t feel really comfortable wearing mini skirts. At least I always feel weird and very self conscious, so I usually prefer wearing shorts. (By now you could have told I´m a woman, right?)

However, the reason those two stray readers were pondering the thrilling questions of what sex I really belong to was not because of what they´d seen of me (at that time, there was no photo of myself included in my blog´s profile), but they were wondering because of my style of writing and because of my choice of topics. I probably didn´t really sound like a man, but on the other hand, writing about trading puts and calls, about situps, pushups (no, not bras - that´ll follow later), running and sex (although the latter, to my experience now, is a topic covered frequently, if not mainly, by women, judging by the frequency of erotic blogs run by fellow members of my sex), and the way I mused about life in general apparently did not sound particularly feminine either. One of my stray readers thought it was most likely that I was a homosexual man, although not one to display a very feminine behaviour, either.

So, when I´d finally outed myself, I was asking what topics were more typical for women, according to their opinion.
The answer, surprise surprise, was "shoes", "bras" and "children".

Ok, so for once, I´ll try to write about the things considered more appropriate for females. Having already touched upon the sensitive subject of my primary sexual features (boobs!), or rather, the lack thereof, I´ll resume at that point. Because, come to think of it, boobs/tits/breasts are probably at least as much of a topic for women as bras. The longer I think about it, in fact, the more important, not to mention sensitive this issue actually is.

Tits for women are either too small or too huge, but they are never right. As an exchange student in Canada, I had a roommate whose breasts had gone from an A cup size to a C cup size after she went on the pill. In my view, her breasts were wonderful (though I never told her; too bad! I was far too shy for that back then), and I´m sure here boyfriend greatly appreciated them, too. She, however, was suffering, seemingly at least. But then, come to think of it, she had probably been suffering as much when her breasts were several cup sizes smaller, because then, she surely found them way too small, in comparison with other girls her age. Oh, why can´t they be just right, ever? *Sigh*

My own tits, as I have mentioned, are decidedly on the small side. Which doesn´t bother me too much, in general, because
a) it´s practical not having to wear a bra all the time;
b) when running, I don´t have to carry that additional weight and burden around with me (I remember once before the Berlin Marathon, I was watching a group of fellow runners, and among them was one woman with incredibly huge breasts. I thought to myself "Geez! Imagine having to carry that around on your 42km race - no way!");
c) now that I am getting older, they aren´t hanging down to my belly button, simply because they are too small to be hanging down very far;
d) they don´t get in the way when hugging or having sex - I can get really close to my sweetheart, without something supersized standing (or rather: hanging) between us.

So, all in all, I´m fairly happy with my AA-cup breasts. At least I´m trying to convince myself of this, although my boyfriend would surely tell you otherwise - hey, just because I like to occasionally kid about my oh-so-tiny-far-too-small ... no, only kidding again; I´m happy with them, ok?!?

No, seriously, the only thing I really regret from time to time is that they are too small for certain sexual ventures (no, I won´t elaborate on them here - use your imagination; or go visit my other blog, but only if you´re comfortable with adult content!!!).

Now, as I said, I really don´t have to bother with bras. Normally. However, a couple of years back, my sweetheart and I spent Christmas in Beirut (a wonderful city, just as an aside!). For some reason, whatever T-shirt I was wearing, my nipples kept perking through. Although Beirut is a very laid back and open minded place, we were still very aware that we were in a Middle Eastern country, and especially my partner didn´t feel to comfy walking around with a woman with her nipples provocatingly visible. That´s how I got to buy my first real bra (apart from tube bras, which I´d on occasion worn before, but they couldn´t prevent my nipples from being clearly visible, either) - at the tender age of 38. It was stuffed, and it was a push up. And it made me look as if I suddenly had tits. Quite an experience! When my sweetheart first saw me in it, he was quite impressed. But it also led to some sort of disillusionment on his behalf. "Wow! Well, I guess from now on, I won´t quite believe whatever I see, chances are it´s all fake, anyway," or somehow along these lines his comment went.

Back to the bra. Because of its lining, it didn´t feel too uncomfortable at all. Which, not too long ago, brought me to consider buying some more. No, not necessarily push-up bras, just the lacey sort, you know, for a little teasing, and perhaps for shooting some erotic photographs. That kind of thing. So - one rainy Sunday afternoon, I looked for lacey bras on eBay, because I had no intention of spending a lot of money - hey, they are not that important to me!). I found a couple of them that looked like they were just what I´d been looking for, and I placed bids on three of them, thinking I´d be lucky to even get one for the price I deemed acceptable (which was not more than 10 EUR, including postage).

Now, here´s another advantage when you´re fairly small, or, in that case, when your tits are fairly small: There just aren´t too many bidders on eBay (which, of course, can be a disadvantage when you´re trying to sell stuff your size ...). Needless to say, I was the highest bidder on all three of them, so I ended up with three more or less lacey bras, in red, blue, and black. And they are all underwire bras. And, of course, two of them are push-up bras, and one of them is padded - HAHAHA!

So - I only wear them for a few select moments. Because, as I have come to discover, the underwire can be really painful. I don´t know who designs these things, but I am almost certain that it´s either a man, or someone never ever wearing these things him/herself, or both. Because I find that when I am wearing an underwire bra for more than a couple of hours, the underwire starts to pinch into the bony part of my sternum in a very uncomfortable fashion. Let alone when I am lying on my belly on the futon, the notebook in front of me, as I like to do frequently.

And, of course, the fit is less than perfect. Although all three of them are supposedly the same size, the red one has quite a bit of spare room, which looks a little silly with the lace standing there on its own, the breast not quite filling it, while the blue bra is almost too small. The black (and padded) one, however, is the "Goldilocks-bra": Not too big, not too small, but just right. In other words: Unlike a woman´s breasts can ever be to a woman.

I´ll leave it to someone else to write about shoes. At least for now.

Hurray - It´s Dult Time!

2007-04-07T12:20:00.000+02:00

It´s Easter weekend. Which invariably and inevitably means: The centuries old tradition of the Oster Dult is starting today. The Dult is a kind of outdoor shopping mall where you can buy all sort of mostly useless, overpriced bric-a-brac, not to mention stuff your face all day long with bratwurst, candyfloss, cake, waffles, Magenbrot (a special variation of gingerbread), and other high-caloric food. The tradition of this fair, which takes place twice a year (in fall and in springtime), dates back to the year of 967, although the Easter Dult is first mentioned in 1276.

Frictions with the residents happening to live nearby (or right in the middle of it, as we do) is inevitable, you can safely place bets on it. Nowadays, for the residents it mostly means trouble to find a place to park your car (if you´re not fortunate enough to have a garage nearby, which most people don´t). If you are fortunate enough to have a garage, it still means a lot of hassle to manoever your car through the crowds of (country) folks herding through the stands, blocking the way, moving slowly (if at all), and reacting even slower. It means halfway blocked entrances to your home. Oh, and if you were unfortunate enough to have your car parked on the Tuesday or Wednesday before the Dult started, you may have woken up and found out that your car has been towed. Though there have been "No parking" signs placed indicating early (a week in advance) that parking would not be allowed from Tuesday, no hint had been given that your car would be towed (in fact, the "No parking" sign was not a "Do not halt under any circumstance!"-sign - yes, there are two different signs for this in this country). This most likely did not happen to you as a resident with years of Dult-experience, but it might have happened to you if you just moved in and have so far been unaware of the Dult-tradition. Or if you were one of those unlucky out-of-towners, pleased to have so easily (unusual for a place that close to the city center, and right opposite to the shopping mall in our city) found a place to temporarily park your car. I almost felt sorry for those unlucky geezers from LL or GZ ; but only almost, as they would have blocked the residents parking area under normal circumstances ... (Plus chances are that the latter were probably going to be among the very country people that are going to drive me nuts by their sheer presence for the coming two weeks - perhaps they won´t now *hehehe*).

So what!, you might be thinking, as long as it mostly bothers the car owners and drivers, and some stupid out-of-towners, what´s so bad about having a fair at your doorsteps (literally!). Lo and behold, the bothersome experience does not stop there. For you as a resident it means having to endure a smell mixture of bratwurst, likorice, fried almonds and fried onions, occasionally topped by the fragrance of some orange-spice detergent (which is one of those articles which are apparently only available at the Dult - see below), so if you are among the lucky ones owning a balcony, or if you happen to feel the urge to open a window for some fresh air, you are invariably confronted with the above exhausts. Oh, and if you feel the urge to leave your house for a quick dash wherever, your way is blocked by the above herds, moving v-e-r-y sss-lll-ooo-www-lll-yyy (in fact, maddeningly so, making your blood pressure jump up in an instant), until you´ve finally managed to sidle your way across the street, over the bridge, where you will finally be able to at least make some headway and start walking at a halfway normal speed. And perhaps you don´t care for those masses of (to a major degree obese) country folk, who at 10 a.m. on a Sunday morning - presumably having had breakfast not too long ago - stuff their faces with giant, fat dripping bosna sausages just below your window. No, this is not a sight for the faint hearted!

Oompah-oompah-oompahpah! The sound is bound to wake you up, if not make you fall you out of bed. If you happen to be at your home on the Saturday before Easter, when the Dult is officially inaugurated by the mayor of A., you will have the dubious pleasure of being unvoluntarily treated to seemingly never ending round of traditional German Blasmusik (translation: music for brass instruments) by a traditional Spielmannszug (translation: brass band) intonating traditional German Marschmusik (... I don´t have to translate this, do I?), jawoll! This, of course, is worst when you are really hung over from the Friday night before, and you awake with your head pounding in unison with the stomping noise of the drums (however, since the Friday before Easter invariably is Good Friday, which means no loud music and dancing in any bar, making it an especially dull and boring evening, chances are you won´t be affected by really bad hangover symptoms for the start of the Easter Dult ).

The stand keepers, on the other hand, are invariably pissed off at residents who apply some sort of guerilla tactic against their foes, such as dropping burning cigarettes on the canvas covers of their stands from the balconies above. And they have developed a particular hatred for one lawyer residing somewhere down the street, who with every Dult makes sure the fire department checks - "With their biggest fire truck, I swear!" - that not a single stand exceeds the allocated space by one inch, possibly hindering an emergency deployment, should a major fire storm break out (perhaps due to a burning cigarette hitting the canvas of a Dult stand?). And, of course, they are constantly mad at the city for charging such exuberant fees to set up their stands. Or at the residents daring to use their cars, venturing through the crowds, spoiling the atmosphere and hindering business in the process. Or at the residents who never spend money at their stands ("Hey! Some of them have been walking past my stand for the past five years, without ever buying a single thing!" Hmmm ... wonder why ...!). Have I mentioned that the relationship between stand keepers and residents is a particularly hearty one ...?

During the past years, for me the Dult has, hence, increasingly meant to resort to the use of the back door, foregoing the convenience of using the shopping mall just across the street, and taking the way to the more distant supermarkets (which, admittedly, does have its advantages - such as escaping the very country crowds which also happen to make up the majority of visitors of the shopping mall; on Saturdays, anyway). But it´s not only the throngs of visitors I am seeking to avoid by this escape-and-run (or at least: escape-and-walk-at-my-usual-fast- stride) strategy; increasingly, it´s also the stand keepers right around our entrance, who happen to be the same, year after year. It´s not that the´re unfriendly - just the opposite: Whenever I arrive from my shopping ventures, fully packed, the friendly guys selling vacuum cleaner accessories always helpfully offer to open the door for me. Because we - being open-minded, friendly people - have not been among those residents treating them with disgust, but ususally greeting them with a friendly smile, every now and then engaging in some sort of conversation, we have developed some sort of companionship, and frequently they love to start a heavy round of small-talk whenever they are idle (i.e. devoid of customers), which, unfortunately, happens as sure as hell when we are time-pressed and/or not in the mood for a lengthier conversation about how bad the residents are, how much they are paying to set up their stands, how little they are earning in return, how bad the weather is (it is always too cold at Easter, and always too warm in fall) - in short, how miserable life is.

So, you wonder, isn´t there anyone happy about this tradition? Well, I guess, there must be. Some people we have spoken to, wondering where the appeal of Dult lies, are swearing that there are things that you can only buy at the Dult. Such as 5 pairs of tube socks at a real bargain price (5 EUR). Or that orange-spice wonder detergent that gets rid even of the most persistent stains. Or the magic device which in only an instant solves the problem of a congested drain - without chemicals, just some sort of magic contraction of pressure! Or the wonder, unscratchable, never-burn-food frying pan. Or the nylon apron, which seems to be a favourite garment for the typical country housewife when going about her daily chores. Or the set of ever sharp kitchen-knives. Not to mention the Belgian pralinés just around the corner. Or the mountain cheese, sold at under 10 EUR per kg (okok, the price really isn´t bad, and the cheese is actually pretty good!). And - you can go and spend money on a Sunday, relax in the sun, enjoy the typical German (and Swabian) fare, making the entire family happy: Mom by buying the wonder kitchen utensils, dad by treating him to a round of early morning beer and bratwurst, and little Jo and Ann by giving in to their desire for plastic toys and a round of candy treats.

I´m glad there actually are some people who do derive some sort of satisfaction, so the suffering of residents and stand keepers and all the others (yes, you, whose car has been towed!) is not entirely in vain. Suffering for some deeper purpose - how suitable for the season! Well, then: Happy Easter! :)

Shame!

2007-03-15T18:10:00.000+01:00

I admit it - all of my personal little problems and pains are dwarfed in comparison to what folks in less fortunate parts of the world are suffering.

Give Us Some Real Political Leaders
Inter Press ServiceAli al-Fadhily*
Read story on website
BAGHDAD, Mar 15 (IPS) - Many Iraqis are now looking to local political leadership to fill wide gaps in a fractured government that is failing to provide security and basic needs.
"Iraqis feel lost amongst too many political currents that blew their country away with their narrow sectarian and personal interests," Mohammad Jaafar, a Baghdad-based politician formerly involved in the interim government told IPS.

"I am ashamed to say that I am or even was an Iraqi politician after all the damage to our country that we caused. It is entirely our fault and there is no question about that."
Many politicians feel similarly.

"The only solution for the Iraqi dilemma is to change the whole crew of politicians including myself," Thafir al-Ani, Iraqi MP for the Sunni al-Tawafuq List told IPS earlier. "We must admit that we have failed our people, and so we should make way for newcomers who may improve the situation."

Iraqis have been confused by the turbulent political machinations since Saddam Hussein was overthrown in March 2003 following a U.S.-led invasion. Saddam had been placed in political power by a CIA-backed coup in 1968.

The Coalition Provisional Authority led by L. Paul Bremer took over the administration of Iraq after the invasion, followed by a U.S.-appointed Iraqi Governing Council. This body was then followed by an interim government led by Iyad Allawi, a former CIA asset.

Iraqis then voted Jan. 30, 2005 to bring in a government they expected would call for a U.S. withdrawal and bring stability and security to the war-torn country.

Instead, the country burns in violence, with very little reconstruction. Much of the population lives in survival mode. This has made people angry with the current government led by Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki.

"Iraqis dream of a new face who will lead them to security and prosperity -- even if he were a new dictator," Aziz Nazzal, an Iraqi analyst based in Baghdad told IPS.

"Iraqis have tried kings, communists, Arab nationalists, dictators and now Islamists, but have never found a system that could tap the huge potential of Iraq in a way that fulfills people's hopes for a developed and safe country."

Many are also frustrated with their religious leaders, most of who find a place in the current government.

"We followed our religious leaders and trusted them for four years thinking they would lead us ashore after our long sufferings," Foad Hussein, a teacher now working as a taxi driver in Baghdad told IPS. "But all we got is death and terror. They seem interested only in protecting their personal interests and their close family members."

What may emerge now as a grassroots movement is beginning to call for a shift towards local politics.

"Let's go home and do something" -- that is a call often heard now at refugee centres. Some believe the answer may lie in tribal arrangements; others want political leaders "who did not get their hands dirtied" in the current mess.

"Tribes in Iraq are not sectarian and our chiefs of tribes are the best interim solution," Mukhlis al-Bahadly from the Sadr City area of Baghdad told IPS. "They are the ones who can lead us until this country finds its way out of this mess."

There is little hope that this can happen while Iraq is occupied by the United States.
"We know who the good people are and we will choose them if we ever have the chance, but they refuse to participate in any solution under occupation," said Sheikh Jassim al- Badri, a cleric from Baghdad. "Clean hands could not eat out of the same plate with the occupation, but they will definitely take their positions as soon as the occupation leaves or some acceptable arrangement is agreed."

Rumours run of "shadow governments" being formed abroad, but Iraqis have little faith in people who fled and left them to face the situation.

General Nizar al-Khazraji, former chief of staff in the previous army, former minister for foreign affairs Naji al-Hadithi and some others are said to have formed such 'governments' abroad to replace the current government when the time comes.

No one is sure yet what, and who, will work.

"We need a leader who really cares for us," a 55-year-old teacher >from Baghdad who asked to be referred to as Fatima told IPS. "They all say they love us, but where is that love? All they did was drag us into poverty and a war between our brothers."

And some have just left it to God.

"Only God can save us by giving us a man who really cares for us," said 35-year-old Jamal Hakki from the Ghazaliya district of Baghdad. "All humans in other countries are either against us or with themselves while we face our destiny on our own."

*(Ali al-Fadhily files in close collaboration with Dahr Jamail, our specialist writer on Iraq and the Middle East who is based in the U.S.)

Kids

2007-02-16T19:43:00.000+01:00

Our nights continue to be a little odd. After a nap earlier in the evening, usually my sweetheart is awake. WIDE awake. I, on the other hand, do not have any serious problems sleeping. Until around two or three in the morning.

That´s when we usually start cuddling, most of the time ending up having wild and passionate sex. So it keeps being around 4 in the morning until we both go (back) to sleep. Of course, when the alarm is ringing, none of us feels really fit and awake.

So yesterday we decided to have a quiet evening, catching up with some of that wrinkle-removing beauty sleep. At around 10 p.m., I get a text message on my mobile. It´s our cute F., asking us out later for a party with M. and H., in one of the wilder places in our sleepy town. "Hey, it´s not even Friday yet", I am thinking. My boyfriend also shakes his head. "No way. Not tonight." Still, I can´t resist to at least send F. a message, asking him which of our children is celebrating his or her birthday (remembering Friday last week, where we didn´t mean to go out at all, until getting invited to a birthday-party, which "forced us" to the same spot we´re asked to tonight, and which ended at around 5 in the morning, sabotizing all plans we might have had for the weekend).

It´s not a birthday, just a party. But I have already excused us - I desperately need some wrinkle-soothing beauty sleep. And there´s still the option of turning up as surprise guests. But no, we really resist. Actually, I am half dead, napping away the entire evening, more or less. At around 2 a.m., my mobile is humming. Text message, again it´s F., asking us to please join them, wrinkles or not. But we resist. And have some passionate late night sex instead, which keeps us awake until around 4 a.m. HAHA!

Gush Shalom - Peace Block

2006-07-26T11:26:00.000+02:00

Ad in Ha'aretz, July 26, 2006 - Anzeige in Ha'aretz, 26. Juli 2006

BACK TO 1982

THEN: The war was prepared well in advance.
THIS TIME: The same.

THEN: We went to war only to protect "the Peace of Galilee".
THIS TIME: We go to war to protect Haifa and Afula, too.

THEN: We waited for a provocation (the attempt on the life of Ambassador Argov).
THIS TIME: We waited for a provocation (the capture of two soldiers).

THEN: "We shall advance only 40 KM in order to eliminate the Katyushas."
THIS TIME: "We shall advance only a few kilometers in order to eliminate the rockets."

THEN: Sharon acted behind the back of the cabinet.
THIS TIME: Olmert-Peretz-Halutz act behind the back of the ministers.

THEN: We destroyed Lebanon.
THIS TIME: We are destroying Lebanon.

THEN: Only the PLO profited from the war. A few years later they returned to Palestine.
THIS TIME: Only Hezbollah will profit from the war. Their prestige in the Arab world increases every day.

THEN: We were stuck in the quagmire for 18 years.
FOR HOW LONG SHALL WE BE STUCK THIS TIME?

Large ad published in Haaretz, 26.7.06

Lebanon burning - Dahr Jamail

2006-07-26T10:34:00.000+02:00

** Dahr Jamail's Iraq Dispatches
**** Visit the Dahr Jamail Iraq website http://dahrjamailiraq.com
**** Website by http://jeffpflueger.com **

Refugees Have Only Their Anger
*Inter Press Service*
Dahr Jamail*BEIRUT, Jul 25 (IPS) -
Among hundreds of thousands of refugees scattered across city parks, schools and abandoned buildings in Beirut, new and chilling words have been doing the rounds.

*A senior Israeli Air Force official announced on Israeli Army Radio that"Army chief of staff Dan Halutz has given the order to the air force todestroy 10 multi-storey buildings in the Dahaya district (of Beirut) inresponse to every rocket fired on Haifa.

"Hezbollah rockets continue to be fired into northern Israel. The rocketfire has led to 17 deaths in Israel so far.

But the Israeli officer's announcement came like warning of more collective punishment of civilians for the Hezbollah attacks. The Geneva Conventions seem forgotten.

And the attacks seem set to continue. Brigadier General Alon Friedman of the Israeli Army announced on Israeli Army Radio that "the scope continues to grow in recent days...we are advancing." Friedman saidIsraeli military operations will continue at least another 10 days.

The announcements sounded new alarms of more death and destruction to come - and more refugees. Reports of new fighting were coming in Tuesday, and more violence was bound to add to the swell of refugees.

The Israeli military pushed deeper into Lebanon towards the town of Bint Jbail. Hezbollah has been hitting back. Two Israeli soldiers were killed and at least 17 were injured in fighting there, according to local reports.

Hezbollah claims it shot down a U.S.-built Israeli Apache helicopter inside Israel. Thus far, at least 20 Israeli soldiers have been killed in the worsening conflict. Hezbollah claims it also destroyed five Israeli tanks in the area.

Fierce fighting was reported again in southern Lebanon, with nearly constant gunfire and explosions. And as the Israeli advance continued, Beirut was preparing for yet more refugees.

It is estimated that at least 900,000 Lebanese [(!) total population Lebanon: 4,000,000; ragamuffin] have been displaced already from their homes by the Israeli onslaught. "The Israelis bombed all around our house, so we left 12 days ago," 50-year-old Supinesh Attar from the southern city Nabatiye told IPS at a refugee camp inside a city park in downtown Beirut.

"We had no water or electricity since the beginning of the attack, so we fled for our lives."Attar, sitting on a bench holding a piece of bread he had just been handed by a volunteer, said he was always hungry and did not know wherehe would go from here. "My family of 12 is scattered all around Beirut. I am the only one in this park."

Sarjoun Namdi, a relief worker at the camp, told IPS that the camp in the park had dealt with between 3,000 and 4,000 refugees. "Each day we have between 600-700 coming, and we try to move them to a safer place," he said as Israeli jets roared above. "This place has bad hygiene, and not enough food and diapers." Nearby, a relief worker pleaded with a large family to relocate to a school in the area so they could have shelter. The family refused to leave the park for fear they would have no food and water at the new location.

Relief agencies continue to struggle to operate effectively in war-tornLebanon. International relief groups continue their appeal for safe access to southern Lebanon, as tens of thousands of refugees remain stranded there, and countless wounded, with little assistance.

International relief agencies are warning of a humanitarian disaster unless their supplies are allowed through. Aside from being impeded by the violence, they are being held back by the ongoing Israeli air and sea blockage.

The widespread destruction of infrastructure by Israeli air strikes is also limiting access. The Lebanese Red Crescent is still continuing to work round the clock to reach the wounded, and to distribute food, water, blankets and mattresses.

The International Committee for the Red Cross has provided some assistance, but remains mostly limited by lack of safe passage to the south. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees office is primarily distributing potable water, and other supplies when possible.

Given the limitations of the refugee agencies, the bulk of relief to the displaced and wounded is being provided on a grassroots level. The various refugee camps in schools and city parks that IPS visited were being managed by Hezbollah, local non-government organisation groups, mosques, churches, and just ordinary people.

_______________________________________________(c)2006 Dahr Jamail.

All images, photos, photography and text are protected by United States and international copyright law. If you would like to reprint Dahr's Dispatches on the web, you need to include this copyright notice and a prominent link to the http://DahrJamailIraq.com website. Website by photographer Jeff Pflueger's Photography Media http://jeffpflueger.com . Any other use of images, photography, photos and text including, but not limited to, reproduction, use on another website, copying and printing requires the permission of Dahr Jamail. Of course, feel free to forward Dahr's dispatches via email

Iraq - Dahr Jamail

2006-07-26T10:10:00.000+02:00

And now for something completely different ...
Iraq? Iraq? Where and what the hell is Iraq? Well, my friend, it is hell.

http://DahrJamailIraq.com

Lebanon Bleeds, Iraq Burns, People Flee
By Dahr Jamail
t r u t h o u t Perspective
Tuesday 25 July 2006

"Habibi, to live in Baghdad now is to live in a big prison," he told me recently, "You stay in your home, and that's it. You only go out when you must. So many are being killed daily, and you only hope that your day to die is not today."

While reporting from Damascus for nearly two weeks, I've worked with my interpreter from Baghdad who came out to meet me, Abu Talat.
Thus, while he anxiously maintains contact with his family members in Baghdad, I'm granted a first-hand experience of their life in "liberated" Iraq via our discussions and his calls into Iraq.

As catastrophic as the bloodletting between Lebanon and Israel is, and let us not discount the scope of this war of aggression that has now left over 400 dead and well over 1,250 wounded in total, it still pales by comparison to Iraq - which now is getting even less coverage than usual.

On the 18th of this month, a suicide bomber drove his van packed with explosives near the golden-domed mosque in Kufa, south of Baghdad. Kufa,the city where Shia cleric Muqtada al-Sadr prays, was then rocked as the bomber detonated himself and his van outside the mosque, killing atleast 59 and wounding over 130.

Less than two weeks before this, members of the Muqtada al-Sadr's militia, the Mehdi Army, donned their typical all-black uniforms and entered the Sunni al-Jihad district of the capital. They went on the rampage, killing at least 40 Sunnis after checking their identificationcards.

An average of a dozen bodies per day wash up on the shores of the Tigris in Baghdad as sectarian killings have spun completely out of control. Revenge killings are occurring not by the day but by the hour in Iraq.

In February, Les Roberts, one of the co-authors of the Lancet report, said that we shouldn't be discussing Iraqi deaths by the tens of thousands, but rather whether it is 100,000 or 200,000 or 300,000. That was five months ago. That was before this June, when the Baghdad morgue alone received 1,595 bodies that month. That was before a recent UN report, released last week after gathering data from the Iraqi Ministry of Health (which tracks deaths recorded in hospitals around Iraq) and the Baghdad morgue, reported that in March, 2,378 Iraqis werekilled, 2,284 in April, 2,669 in May and 3,149 in June.

As each agency issues death warrants, the Iraqi government states there is no possibility of overlap in the counting. The UN report found that an average of over 100 civilians every single day are being killed in Iraq. More than since the invasion of Baghdad, blowing away ridiculously low numbers previously claimed by some so-called anti-war web sites.

Despite the fact that for those who live in Baghdad, and journalists who've seen the level of carnage first hand, this is no surprise - the report findings are frightful. During the first six months of this year, the death toll skyrocketed 77%, with a total of 14,338 violent civilian deaths [emphasis added].

In response to the carnage, US Ambassador to Iraq Zalmay Khalilzad, who assisted in facilitating the war as one of the authors of the Project for the New American Century document, one of whose goals was to secureMiddle Eastern oil, bravely called on the "leaders" in Iraq's puppet government to "take responsibility and pursue reconciliation not just in words, but through deeds as well."

At the same time, the deputy Prime Minister of Iraq, Salam al-Zubaie, blamed US for much of the violence, saying that coalition troops were responsible for about half the deaths. He punctuated his remarks by saying, "All the problems we have today are because of them."

Meanwhile, any Iraqis who can are leaving. Fleeing for their lives. Abu Talat, who is working feverishly to find a way to get his son out of Baghdad, is but one example of hundreds of thousands, if not millions.

His son is not allowed into Jordan because he is of "military age," a new decree issued by Jordanian authorities which pens a huge section of the population of Iraqi males inside their dying country. He tried anyway, and was promptly turned back at the border. Now he sits in an apartment in downtown Baghdad and dares not leave, lest he be killed for being a member of the wrong sect of Islam, in the wrong place, at the wrong time; which means ... in Iraq.

Despite that, millions have already fled to Jordan and Syria. Damascus today is flooded with refugees from Iraq, and now Lebanon. On my way to an internet café recently I strolled past a Middle East Airlines office, where crowds were lined up waiting to find a way out of Syria on the national airline of Lebanon.

I spoke with some of them, as so many Lebanese speak excellent English. One man, standing with his wife as she held their wailing baby told me, "We don't care where we go, we just want to go where there is no war. We are too tired of the death, suffering and destruction, and now are afraid to stay in Syria because who knows when Syria may become involved in this madness." "We just want to go where there is no war." In the Middle East, that place is getting harder and harder to find.

_______________________________________________
(c)2006 Dahr Jamail.All images, photos, photography and text are protected by United States and international copyright law. If you would like to reprint Dahr's Dispatches on the web, you need to include this copyright notice and a prominent link to the http://service.gmx.net/de/cgi/derefer?DEST=http%3A%2F%2FDahrJamailIraq.com website. Website by photographer Jeff Pflueger's Photography Media http://service.gmx.net/de/cgi/derefer?DEST=http%3A%2F%2Fjeffpflueger.com . Any other use of images, photography, photos and text including, but not limited to, reproduction, use on another website, copying and printing requires the permission of Dahr Jamail. Of course, feel free to forward Dahr's dispatches via email.More writing, commentary, photography, pictures and images at http://service.gmx.net/de/cgi/derefer?DEST=http%3A%2F%2Fdahrjamailiraq.com

Zickenalarm!

2006-01-27T09:11:00.000+01:00

An erster Stelle: Entwarnung!

Sie ist - schon dem Namen nach - eine typisch weibliche Eigenschaft, die Zickigkeit. Sollte man meinen. Ich gebe zu, bei meinen Geschlechtsgenossinnen - meine Wenigkeit schliesse ich dabei nicht aus - ist dieses Phänomen auf den ersten Blick häufiger zu beobachten, als bei männlichen Mitmenschen: Das Beleidigtsein, dieses "Du-warst-böse-und-bist-jetzt-nicht-mehr-meine-beste-Freundin!", oder - beliebte weibliche Kampftaktik - dem Mann die eisige Schulter zeigen. Sinnbildlich gesprochen natürlich nur, denn ein mehr an unbekleideten Körperteilen - und sei es "nur" die durchaus nicht unerotische Schulter - bekommt Mann in dieser Situation garantiert nicht zu sehen.

Aber es gibt auch Zickigkeit bei Männern. Die äußert sich auf eigentlich gar nicht sooo verschiedene Weise: Vom traurig-moralisch erdrückenden Hundeblick (jaja, mach mir nur ein schlechtes Gewissen!) bis zur entweder sich in äußerst einsilbig ausdrückender , bzw. totalen Kommunikationsverweigerung. So ähnlich, wie bei uns Mädels auch eben. Bis auf den Dackelblick, aber dafür gibts bei uns halt Tränchen.

Der langen Rede kurzer Sinn: Für meinen Teil kann ich im Moment Entwarnung geben. Senken wir also die Zickewarnstufe von "Orange" gleich auf "Green". Denn meine Schreiblosigkeit der letzten Tage hat nichts mit o.g. Zickigkeit (Schmollen, Beleidigtsein ... in welches Gewand auch immer sie sich wickeln mag) zu tun. Mein Zeitbudget ist momentan einfach zu knapp (Trading, Einarbeiten in und erste Gehversuche mit der zugehörigen Candlestick-Analyse; und zwischendurch - wenn auch momentan viel zu selten! - unser Sexleben nicht komplett einschlafen lassen). Zumindest unter der Woche.

Sämtlichen zufälligen und absichtlichen Lesern und Leserinnen dieses zeitweiligen Schreiblos-Blogs wünsche ich schon mal ein ganz wunderbares Wochenende!

Unbeschreiblich ... weiblich?

2006-01-23T09:36:00.000+01:00

OK, damit das nicht weitere schlaflose Nächte bei den zahllosen männlichen Besuchern dieses Blogs gibt: Ich bin eine (und in Klammern gleich dazu: Hetero) Frau. Mit allem "Drumunddran", zumindest, was weibliche Verhaltensmuster betrifft, als da wären: Der Hang zu Tränen in bestimmten Situationen, gelegentliche Anfälle von Zickigkeit, ein bisweilen stark unterentwickeltes Selbstbewusstsein, das Helferleinsyndrom ... und mit Sicherheit noch die eine oder andere typisch weibliche Stärke oder Schwäche mehr. Fällt mir nur spontan grad nicht ein, aber ich kann gern meinen Süssen fragen.

Was mich so ein wenig mit Verwunderung erfüllt, ist zum einen, dass der Blog öffentlich ist (jaja, bin halt doch'n Mädchen ;-) ), eigentlich dachte ich, dem sei nicht so. Nichtsdestotrotz ein Wunder, dass sich ueberhaupt jemand hierher verirrt.
Nun gut.

Aber was mich wirklich mit kopfschüttelnder Verwunderung erfüllt ist, dass meine Gedankengänge typisch männlich seien (so ein Kommentar), und die Themenwahl gänzlich unfeminin (so ein zweiter).

Gegenfrage: Was wären denn "feminine" Gedankengänge und weibliche Themen? Diesmal bin ich es, die sehr gespannt ist und auf zahllose erhellende Beiträge hofft!

Auf die Gefahr hin, dass ich mich jetzt auch noch in den (völlig abwegigen!) Verdacht gerate, eine olle Schrulle zu sein: "Zu meiner Zeit" (also in den wilden 80er Jahren des vergangenen Jahrtausends) haben sich Frauen auch mal mit anderen Themen als Kinder, Küche, Kirche, Frisuren - und Robbie Williams (*Schauder!*) befasst.

Jaja, ich habe schon mitbekommen, dass es mittlerweile wieder einen starken Trend zu so etwas wie der unschmeichelhaft so genannten "Neuen Spiessigkeit" gibt. Und dass die Tendenz zu Häuslichkeit, Rückbesinning auf Religion, und "Wir streben schon mit 20 nach einem Reihenhaus und wollen die Provinz nie verlassen" geht.

Frage an die Jüngeren: Ist das so?

N.B.: Es gibt wirklich nicht all zu viele Menschen in unserer direkten Umgebung, die mit dem Wort "Optionsschein" inhaltlich viel anfangen können. Das betrifft aber nicht nur die Mädels, sondern auch die Jungs.

November Rain

2005-11-06T11:04:00.000+01:00

Der gestrige Samstag war ein klassischer November Tag: Leichter Regen am morgen (jawoll, trotz Katers war ich auf der Jogging-Piste unterwegs), und den ganzen Tag über neblig-trüb. So zogen wir es vor, den Tag zu einem guten Teil auf dem Futon zu verbringen, ehe wir uns spät nachmittags zu unserer, diesmal verkürzten, Samstag-Kaffeehaus-Runde aufmachten.

Oh - und wir unverbesserlichen Put-Käufer! Nachdem nun auch unser neues Depot bestückt ist mit Dax-Puts, sitzen wir erst mal fest. Im physischen Sinne: Unsere Urlaubsfahrt werden wir erst dann antreten, wenn die Puts (hoffentlich) glücklich verkauft sind. Wenn mal bloss nicht alle diejenigen Recht behalten, die im Moment schon wieder der Jahres-End-Rally das Wort reden. Aber an der Börse kommt es ja bekanntlich immer anders, als man denkt. Oder meistens. Denn sich darauf zu verlassen, dass es wieder mal anders kommt, als gedacht, und seine Strategie darauf aufzubauen, kann natürlich genauso ins Auge gehen.

Aber vielleicht sind die im Sande verlaufenen Gespräche über das Gesamtamerikanische FTA ja ein Negativkatalysator. Die Hoffnung stirbt - auch für Put-Besitzer - bekanntlich immer zuletzt.

Bezüglich der kommenden Skisaison haben wir nun den Entschluss gefasst, uns zur Abwechslung auf andere - grössere - Gefilde zu konzentrieren. Nachdem wir vergangene Saison fast ausschliesslich iin einem kleinen Skigebiet, verbracht haben, zieht es uns nicht mehr so recht auf die kleinen, überschaubaren Pisten (zumal wir sie schon seit Jahrzehnten fahren). Und die Tatsache, dass es halt sehr dörflich ist, wir es in der letzten Saison einfach übertrieben haben, und uns jede/r dort kennt, so dass - Js Horrorvorstellung - der Weg vom Parkplatz bis zum obersten Lift von "Wie ist das Wetter? Was machen die Pisten? Seidsr aa mal wieder da?"-Smalltalk geprägt ist (was ja streckenweise durchaus Spass machen kann - nur halt nicht immer wieder in Wiederholungsschleife).

Und es wird einfach mal wieder Zeit, etwas Neues auszuprobieren. Veränderung und Abwechslung machen nun mal den Reiz aus. Höchste Zeit! Der Vorteil an der letzten Saison war, im Nachhinein betrachtet, genau dieser Fusstritt des Überdrusses, der uns nun nach langen Jahren dazu bringt, die übrige Welt (wieder) zu entdecken.

Jawoll!

Keine besonderen Vorkommnisse

2005-10-18T22:00:00.000+02:00

Ein ganz normaler Tag, eher auf der ruhigen Seite: Der morgendliche Kampf mit der Bettdecke, die mich morgens um halb Sieben nicht aus dem Bett lassen mag. Dazu der verlockende, süsse nackte Hintern meines Süssen ... Hmmm ... nochmal kurz dagegen geschmiegt, ihn sanft auf die Schulter geküsst (wohliges "Hmmm!") - dann raus aus den Federn, auch wenn es weh tut und noch stockzappenduster ist. Aber der Himmel sieht klar aus - wird ein kalter, aber schöner Tag!

Die morgendliche Joggingrunde (mit Thermounterwäsche, Faserpelz und Handschuhen - nur die Mütze fehlt noch fürs richtige Winteroutfit) läuft halbwegs gut.

Ein grosses Frühstück im Anschluss. Irgendwie sind wir beide ziemlich katermässig hungrig - anscheinend fielen die beiden Flaschen Retsina abends zuvor wohl nur auf eine ungenügende Unterlage.

Trading: Walmart - gäbe es darauf einen vernünftigen Call, mit einer halbwegs akzeptablen Basis ($55 ist halt arg weit aus dem Geld)! - läuft seit einer Woche , genauer: seit einem extrem wohlwollenden Barrons-Artikel ziemlich gut, von etwa $44,40 auf bis heute in der Spitze $45,50, gibt die Gewinne am späteren Abend im Zuge eines allgemein fallenden Marktes jedoch wieder ab, um bei $45,13 zu schliessen.

Adidas stehen heute kurzzeitig über €150 - wow! Habe ich die letzten Tage etwas aus den Augen verloren. Ach ja, und Drägerwerke, deren Tochter die im Zuge der Vogelgrippe vermutlich wohl verstärkt nachgefragt werdenden Atemschutzmasken (virensicher!) produziert, haben wir auch auf dem Radar. Nur sind die Umsätze dort vernachlässigbar: Durchschnittlich 13.000 Aktien wechseln am Tag den Besitzer - ein bisschen wenig. Noch.

Abends verkaufen wir einen Teil der Dax-Puts - endlich! Oder auch wieder nicht: Im Unterschied zu den letzten beiden Malen, als sie uns nach einem kurzen Dip davonliefenn (und wir wie so oft zu lange mit der Entscheidung gewartet hatten, sie zu verkaufen), drehen die USA nicht nach oben ab, sondern täuschen nur an, wir verkaufen, und sie fallen. Noch tiefer.

Zum in den Hintern beissen - aber so läuft das nun mal. Oft.
Trader Regel No. 1: Nie über entgangenen Gewinne ärgern - lieber über nicht gemachte Verluste freuen!

Red Tape Rocks!

2005-10-17T23:03:00.000+02:00

Neuer Versuch auf der Stadt unser neues altes Auto anzumelden.
Die übliche Prozedur erfordert zunächst das Einreihen in der Schlange an der Information. Der einzige Sinn und Zweck meines heutigen Anstellens dort ist, eine Nummer gezogen zu bekommen, um offiziell in die Riege der Wartenden aufgenommen zu werden. Die eigentliche Information - wohin? Prozedere? - bzw. das Aushändigen der Einzugsermächtigung für das Finanzamt zwecks Einzug der KFZ-Steuer, brauche ich nicht mehr, da ich vergangene Woche den Weg durch das Bürgerbüro schon zwei mal absolviert habe (am Dienstag um das alte alte Auto abzumelden, am Freitag um das neue alte Auto anzumelden - letzteres erfolglos, da ich das entscheidende Papier der Versicherung nicht dabei hatte).

Wie dem auch sei, hier warte ich also die ersten zehn Minuten. Sinnigerweise ist auch nur ein Schalter besetzt. Ich nehme mal an, die zweite Kraft hat Kaffee- oder Weisswurstpause. Sie kommt später zwar mal vorbei, lässt sich aber durch die wartenden Feinde (also uns Bitt- äh, Bürger) nicht beindrucken, sondern unterhält sich mit einer im Wartebereich sitzend wartenden Mutter, deren brüllendes Kleinkind den ganzen Raum unterhält. Der Schreihals ist geschätzte drei Jahre alt - Trotzalter! Da müssen wir alle durch, wenn wir klein sind. Und später nochmal, wenn in unserer Ungebung sich so wie heute ein Trotzkopf die Seele aus dem Leib schreit. In geradezu beunruhigenden Anfällen. Die anwesenden Männer schauen vor allem genervt, die Frauen in der Schlange grinsen und nicken verständnisvoll. Jaja, haben wir alle schon erlebt, so oder so ...

Endlich darf ich die Halt!-Linie übertreten und an den Schalter. Anscheinend habe ich heute alle Unterlagen dabei. Der Nummernzettel, den mir der Mitarbeiter am Schalter aushändigt, verrät mir, dass elf Personen vor mir warten. Meiner Erfahrung nach bedeutet dies rund 33 Minuten Wartezeit (zum Glück habe ich wohlweislich Lektüre eingesteckt - einen Italienischreiseführersprachkursroman).

Gut eine halbe Stunde - und einige Italienischvokabeln - später wird meine Nummer also aufgerufen. Das Prozedere des Fahrzeuganmeldens geht problemlos, die Mitarbeiterin ist - wie die meisten, seit die Stadt ihre Ämter zum Bürgeramt zusammen gelegt hat - freundlich und hilfsbereit.

Als meine Formulare (neuer EU Fahrzeugbrief und -Schein) am ausgedruckt werden sind, tritt eine weitere Mitarbeiterin (diejenige, die zuvor im Wartebereich die Schlange an der Information Schlange sein liess - weil sie wohl Pause hatte ...) zu "meiner" Sachbearbeiterin.

Folgender Dialog entspinnt sich in etwa:
Frau I (Info): "Kann i kurz störa?"
Frau G ("meine" Sachbearbeiterin): "Freili."
Frau I: "Du, könntscht Du mir an G'falla dua? I hätt da an Bekannta ... I hab oba scho Bescheid g'sagt, die saga, des geht in Ordnung. Könntscht Du dem sei Ahmeldung macha?"
Frau G: "Klar, kann i scho macha."
Frau I: "Dass der für sei Wunschkennzeicha nix extra zahla muass. Kannsch Du des so macha? Oder wia is des mit dem Programm? Isch des automatisch im Computer?"
Frau G: "Naa, naa, wenn i des woiss ... Da isch nix automatisch ei'traga."
Frau I: " Bloss dass Du des machsch, dass der nix zahla muass ... ned dass oba hoisst, I verschaff meine ganza Bekannta die Wunschkennzeicha umsonscht."
Frau G (mit den Augen auf mich zeigend): "Dann solltscht des bloss ned so laud saga."

Jaja, so ist das halt hier. Ob Polizei, Einwohnermeldeamt, oder sonstige Behörden. G'schäftlemacher, Vetterleswirtschaft - wir wissen ja eigentlich alle, dass es überall so läuft. Was mich nur plättet, ist die an Unverschämtheit grenzende Unbefangenheit (oder wahrscheinlich einfach Dummheit?) mit der diese Art von Business-Praktiken vor Dritten ausgebreitet wird.

Szenenwechsel. Für den Parkausweis muss ich zur nächsten Behörde, die räumlich getrennt vom neuen Bürgerbüro ist. Den alten Anwohnerparkausweis haben wir wohl leider versehentlich mit entsorgt, aber ich habe ja den entwerteten Fahrzeugschein unseres alten Autos dabei. Hier glücklicherweise keine Wartezeiten.
Ich schildere Frau Z unseren "Fall" (altes Auto entsorgt, Parkausweis ebenso, brauche jetzt einen neuen für das eben zugelassene Fahrzeug).

Zuerst muss ich eine eidesstattliche Erklärung unterschreiben, dass ich den alten Parkausweis wirklich verloren habe und ihn im Falle des Wiederauffindens unverzüglich der Stadt zukommen lassen muss, widrigenfalls ich mich ansonsten strafbar mache.

Dann sieht Frau Z "im Computer" nach - und findet in der neuen Software (die Mitarbeiter/innen im Bürgerbüro werden seit Anfang Oktober darin geschult - die Mitarbeiter/innen in der Parkausweisstelle offensichtlich nicht) keinen Vermerk über die Stilllegung unseres alten Golfs.

Frau Z: "Der is net abg'meldet."
Ich (erstaunt): "Doch, schon seit fast einer Woche." (Da ich ein unordentlicher Mensch bin, kann ich nur hoffen, dass ich den Beleg noch nicht aus dem Rucksack raus habe. Ah, da ist er.)
Frau Z (an ihrem Schreibtisch angestrengt in den Computer starrend, etwa zwei Meter entfernt von mir sitzend, zwischen uns ein ein Meter breites, mir bis zur Brust reichendes Pult als Barriere): "I find hier nix. Tut mir leid, da kann i nix machen. I kann Ihnen koin zwoita Ahn'wohnerausweis ausstella."
Ich (ungläubig, mit wachsender Verzweiflung mit dem entsprechenden Zettel wedelnd): "Hier, ich hab den Beleg hier. Da steht sogar die Mitarbeiterin drauf, Frau T. Und eine Telefonnummer."
Frau Z (mich und meinen Zettel immer noch ignorierend, den Blick starr auf den Computer geheftet): "Da is nix." Dann, erhellend: "Des mit der neia Software, wissens ..." Hilflos: "Wen soll i denn da anruafa?"
Ich (immer noch mit meinem Zettel wedelnd, wachsende Verzweiflung mischt sich langsam mit empor kochender Wut ob der bürokratisch beharrenden Sturheit und der Weigerung dieser Vertreterin städtischer Behörden, mich und meine hilfreichen Hinweise auch nur zur Kenntnis zu nehmen): "Da stehts ... Frau T. Da steht sogar eine Telefonnummer drauf ..."
Frau Z (unbeirrt den Computer anstarrend, mit sich selbst redend): "Hmm ... wen kann i denn da aruafa?" Zu mir: "Wissens, da erreich i niemanda. Wenn da viel los is, da geht niemand ans Telefon. Aber ... doch ... da fallt mir was ei'."
Sie greift (ENDLICH!!!) zum Hörer und erhält von einer Kollegin Aufklärung ("Des is die einzige, wissens, die i anruafa kann, die au ans Telefon geht."): Die neue Software zeigt den An- bzw. Abmeldestatus der Fahrzeuge nicht mehr an. Also gilt der Aufdruck auf Fahrzeugschein bzw. -brief.

Halleluja! Mein Blutdruck beginnt sich zu normalisieren.

Nach insgesamt 10 Minuten (harmlos, oder?) halte ich also den Anwohnerparkausweis in den Händen. Geschafft! Alles Startklar für unseren Neuen!

Und seit Nachmittag haben wir es nun, unser neues altes Auto!

Da sich das den ganzen Tag zog, ich das Auto erst um 14 Uhr abholen konnte (bis die Rückbank dann ausgebaut war, bzw. der Händler die hinteren Sicherheitsgurte für seinen Onkel, der seinen Zweisitzer Pickup-Polo zum viersitzigen Familienfahrzeug ausbaut - also genau das umgekehrte von dem, was wir mit unserem viersitzigen Golf gemacht haben ...) - war es abend, also kein Trading, und keine Situps (doch, die Pushups hatte ich schon morgens gemacht ...).