****Unforgetting
Yesterday I went for a walk along the Charles River. Cyclists, runners and rollerbladers darted by the crowds of dawdling walkers. It was a nice day, but windy enough to cause the river to lap against its trash-strewn banks.
I ran into a woman with whom I worked at my ill-fated first real job (here for my unfinished rendition of that disaster). She worked in Customer Support, and I went out once for a drink with her and company web designer (a total Dot Bomb stereotype, with his compulsive talk about stock options and IPOs). I never would have remembered her had she not mentioned the name of the company when she stopped me.
That she recognized me after nearly four years was stunning (my hair was brown and I was 20 pounds heavier when I worked there). I told her I couldn't believe it, and she said "I never forget a face!" in a kinda menacing way.
We chatted amiably for a few minutes, then I said I'd better be going. "It was good seeing you," I said, starting to walk away. "Good seeing you too. I never forget a face!" she said again as she fell into efficient strides in the opposite direction.
****Canadian Bacon
Who wants fried Canuck? Turns out Canada is a global warming hot-spot, with record temperatures and unusual wildlife sightings on the rise (here for story).
I made a sappy Easter wish to end global warming (here). I'm reiterating my plea: Save the Canadians!
****The Sixth Nonsense
Oh. My. God.
There's going to be a Rocky VI (here).
Listen, Stallone. The world knows you're all washed up. Why are you trying to maintain your celebrity by further tarnishing the best thing you've ever done? The first Rocky was a classic piece of cinema. The next three were at times cheesy, but still inspired movie-goer passion be pairing the unflagging will of the underdog with that incredibly catchy soundtrack.
Rocky V should have taught you a lesson... namely, that Rocky VI is not a good idea.
They should do a Freddy Vs. Jason Vs. Rocky movie...
****Exposing Hitler
Cinemax aired a documentary The Hidden Fuhrer: Debating the Enigma of Hitler's Sexuality (here) that argues "Hitler's most infamous crimes may have been desperate attempts to cover up his youthful sexual history and shield himself from blackmailers," and further theorizes that Hitler's hidden homosexuality fueled self-loathing that lead to, well, World War 2.
Vegetarian Activist Rynn Berry just released a book Hitler: Neither Vegetarian nor Animal Lover (here for Slate article) that "debunks the myth" that Hitler was a vegetarian because he enjoyed the occasional slab of pork and stuffed squab. According to Berry, "I've been the target of a lot of abuse and taunts from hostile non-vegetarians who bring out the alleged fact of Hitler's vegetarianism", and this book is meant to set the record straight.
The interest in Hitler as a man is natural. I guess it's our way of trying to comprehend evil. What kind of a man is crazy enough to cause WW2 and the Holocaust, but intelligent enough to convince a nation of reasonable people that was less than 1% Jewish to go along with it?
It's vexing, sure, but I can't stand Hitler profiteers who exploit and personally gain from this curiosity. I mean, does it matter if Hitler was gay or a meat-eater or had sex with his niece (here)? Maybe I should write a book and call it Hitler Was an Effing Lunatic. You'd learn all you needed to know just from the title.
****Belly Flop Competitor Feared Dead
A 52-year old man competing in a Belly Flop Contest off of a 20-foot bridge that was sponsored by Diamond Jim's Bar in Beliot, Wisconsin is presumed dead (here for story). Not only was the river extremely cold with a strong undertow, but ``he doesn't know how to swim,'' a friend said.
Let's sit back for a moment and reflect on this tragedy. And now let's marvel that this idiot made it to age 52 in the first place.
****Free Ice Cream!
Spring is the most wonderful time of the year. Except for Fall.
Spring brings us green trees, chirping birds, warm days... and, for TODAY ONLY, free Ben and Jerry's ice cream. Hurry! Get thou to a Ben and Jerry Scoop Shop (here for locations) and get thou a free cone!
What? You're reading this on Wednesday April 28 2004 and you didn't get your free cone? Well, sucks for you. Maybe you better start reading my web site a little more frequently. Guess you feel kinda sad that you missed out on free ice cream. Well, don't despair. For TODAY (Wednesday!) only, get thou to a Baskin Robbins (here for locations) and get thou a free scope!
****Fruit Makes You Fat
Today there was leftover food from an executive meeting in the kitchenette, resulting in the usual convergence of normally reserved people grabbing cookies, sandwiches and chips as if it were our humanitarian-relief rations.
A richly-hued plate of cut fruit beckoned me, and as I scooped strawberries and pineapple into a cup, I commented to a co-worker who was carefully dissecting a ham and cheese sandwich, “I love when there’s fruit. These berries look awesome.”
The co-worker, who now had a plate of mayo-covered ham and cheese, looked critically at my burgeoning cup. “I can’t eat fruit. Too much sugar.”
“Sugar?” I naively said, though I knew what was coming, being well versed from the near-weekly lunch discussions about the causes of weight gain.
“Yeah, and carbs. I stopped eating fruit last year.”
“But it’s got vitamins, antioxidants.”
“Yes, but the diet I’m on doesn’t allow fruit.”
“Trust me, fruit makes you fat,” my co-worker said while we walked back to our desks, thin me with a cup of fruit, and overweight co-worker with a plate of ham and cheese.
****Dribbling Gently into That Good Night...
Yesterday the Boston Celtics were mercifully blown out of the NBA Playoffs by the Indiana Pacers, who swept the series 3-0, as if hastily dispensing with the salad in order to get to the main course (here for the gruesome details).
It was a disastrous season for the Celtics, who made multiple mindless trades and in the process lost the 3 main reasons I loved them so: Antoine Walker (the heart), Tony Battie (the shoulders), and coach Jim O'Brien (the brain). And in their place, we just got a pile of shit.
And we can all thank Danny Ainge (the ass) for that.
I've previously talked about the Celtics moron General Manager Danny Ainge (here for January 28th's post, How to Ruin a World Class Basketball team), who claims to be carrying out a Vision that will require at least two more years of this sort of "transition".
The question is, will superstar Paul Pierce, currently one of the most talented basketball players in the NBA, spend the prime years of his career on a team of immature newbies? It would be more advantageous to his game if he didn't have to carry a sucky team assembled on the whim of an obvious idiot.
You can question the integrity of fair-weather fans like me, but let's face it: Non-obsessed, sane people don't want to watch a professional sports team that loses all the time. Pay $60 bucks to see a team of highly-paid athletes lose when none of them are actually from Boston? They lack chemistry and dynamics and are not fun to watch. I have no confidence in their ability to win, and severe doubts that they'll start winning in 2 years if Danny Ainge is still GM.
****Escape from Cambridge
The city was getting me down. I required a quick vacation. So yesterday, en and I rented a car and drove to Portsmouth NH. Isn't it funny that two non-car owners celebrated Earth Day with a road trip?
Our first stop was the outlet stores in Kittery, Maine... because every good vacation must involve traveling inordinate distances to buy products that could be easily procured within a two mile radius of one's home. We went to Crate and Barrel, J Crew, Pacific Sun Company, and Banana Republic (which should be renamed "The Banana Republic Outlet Exclusively for Women Who Wear a Size 0 or a Size 14"). I got a few bargains, including a mini-chopping block at Crate and Barrel and 2 pairs of too-young-for-me pants at Pacific Sun Company.
After we checked into the Best Western, we explored the city of Portsmouth. I had been to Portsmouth years ago, only it rained. Yesterday we were blessed with blue skies and a strong sun... and a wind that could have ripped the shell off a lobster. Damn, it was windy. We walked around the waterfront for about an hour before retreating to the hotel.
I don't feel bad about not getting to experience Portsmouth, because from what I can tell, it's like every other seaside New England town. The main streets are clogged with galleries, bookstores and clothes stores that cater to well-off white snobs. All the buildings are picturesque and quaint, but once you've seen one, you've seen them all. We did get to experience New Hampshire's purest pleasure: The Liquor Store, where booze, wine and beer is about a third of the price than in Boston.
Whenever I stay in a hotel with a pool, I MUST go for a swim, no matter how brief or how much I don't feel like swimming. So we changed into our suits and headed to the indoor pool. en refused to get in the pool, annoyed by the chilly temperature and the bubbling foam that rested on the water surface. I jumped right in and practiced my dolphin dives and doggie paddle until my eyes burned under my goggles from the intense chlorine. Then we went to the "hot" tub, where two large ladies were already bobbing. The hot tub was not hot and the jets lacked propulsion, making us feel like we were sharing a bath with two strangers. We fled the pool area.
Portsmouth boasts many fine restaurants with tasteful decorating schemes and menus featuring classic recipes like "Sauteed Bay Scallops with Pumpkin and Sun-Dried Tomato Relish and Bruised Locally-Gathered Mushrooms" and "Toasted Almond and White Asparagus Mash wrapped in Seared Tuna Garnished with Baby Argula and Pomegranate Seeds."
Well, we can get that sort of yuppie feed anytime we want. We decided to step out of our realm of everyday life, to leave our comfort zone, and go to Bickfords. I had never been to a Bickfords before, though I worked in a Dennys and the resemblances were uncanny. I got the Lobster Cobb salad (100% real lobster! screamed the menu, though I know lobster and that was not lobster). en got the Fisherman's Platter, a bountiful cornucopia of deep-fried seafood delicacies served with french fries, onion rings, and a bowl of mayonnaise with some cabbage floating in it (they call it "slaw").
As we waited for our food, I confided softly to en that Bickfords was depressing. It made me think of Dennys, and what if I had worked at Dennys without better job prospects in my future. I mean, there's no shame in being a waitress at Bickfords, and chances are the waitresses don't think their lives are crummy (indeed, for many of them, waitressing seemed to offer many challenges). But for me to look at them, it made me realize HOW EFFING GLAD I am that I went to college. Because otherwise that could've been me bustling around the Bickfords, busing my own tables and screwing up people's salad dressing orders.
On the way back to Boston this morning, invigorated from our all-too-brief escape, we stopped at an IHOP (here) on Route 1 in Saugus, MA. All I can say is... wow. My omelet was about the size of my cat, and it came with three thick, dense pancakes. Indeed, everyone in the IHOP looked as though they REALLY liked pancakes. I couldn't wait to get back to Cambridge, bastion of skinny academics who would turn their noses up at Stuffed French Toast (For a limited time only! Warm cinnamon-raisin French toast stuffed with sweetened cream cheese and crowned with whipped topping, powdered sugar and your favorite fruit.)
It was good to leave, but it's better to come home.
****Happy Birthday AB, Where Ever You Are
AB was one of my closest friends in college. We haven't spoken in three years (last I heard she was in Hawaii picking organic pineapples). But today is her birthday, so I want to pay tribute.
I've had some of the best moments of my life with AB. Despite the fact she was a hippie Phish kid from New Jersey, one of the most irrational people I’ve ever met, and we had nothing in common except for saber-sharp wits and an intolerance for stupidity, we were near-constant companions from the third week of school up until the end of my sophomore year, after which she left UMASS under disgraceful circumstances.
AB was extremely territorial; her skirmishes with roommates were fierce and entirely her fault. After she chased away her sophomore year roommate, she convinced me to sleep over nearly every weeknight. I got the bottom bunk. AB would put on her "falling asleep" music (usually a Grateful Dead or Jerry Band bootleg) and then crawl into the top bunk, and promptly fall asleep, leaving me to fitfully commune with two hours of hippie music (If they play one more effing encore I'm going to smash the stereo.) I think she was trying to turn me into a hippie.
She depended on me for sanity and maternal leadership, as she slowly drifted in with a "bad crowd" and wanted to just screw school and sew patchwork dresses all day. "I'm not going to class today," she'd say when we awoke. "Why not?" I'd ask. "Because I'm just not in the mood." "Go." "No." "Go. I'm not effing kidding." "OK."
One day, we got into her little VW bug that was parked directly in front of our building for at least 4 hours in the 15 minute loading area. AB parked wherever she wanted. 7 parking tickets were stuck under her windshield wipers, some falling apart. She kept them there in hopes the parking officials would take pity on her. We started driving to Northampton and it began to rain. “AB, pull over, I’ll grab the tickets,” I said worriedly. She looked at me and started to laugh her insanely spirited cackle, then slowly reached down and switched on the windshield wipers. As we watched the tickets disintegrate and disappear, her hilarity only increased. I was horrified, but her joy in the moment was contagious, and pretty soon we couldn’t breath (her parents got a bill for $450 in parking fines two months later).
AB was someone I knew I’d never be able to have a lifelong friendship with; she is as fluid as water, urged by her inner elf to migrate and reinvent herself.
We didn't have a falling out, we just mutually ceased contact. It's hard to describe why two extremely close friends would choose to do this. Our friendship thrived in the collegian environment, but after she left school, it made less sense. I'm not saying college friendships cannot be maintained past college. In fact, those are probably the most binding friendships people form. But we both knew instinctively that we would be attempting in vain to recreate what can never be recreated.
I have no doubt that someday AB and I will see each other again. Maybe we'll seek each other out, or, more appropriately, we'll run into each other in the most random of places. It's something I have to believe.
****It's Funny Because it's True
I think this site says what we're all thinking...
http://www.johnkerryisadouchebagbutimvotingforhimanyway.com/
And while I'm stumping for Kerry, I should point you to the most hilarious thing I've heard all week:
http://www.johnkerry.com/download/ (scroll to the bottom, "Music by Murad".) "Taxin' Loud and Sayin' Nothin" made me simultaneously want to shake my butt and vote Democratic.
****Small Beer Defined
Word of the Day actually taught me new terminology on Wednesday:
small beer, noun:
1. Weak beer. 2. Insignificant matters; something of little importance.
adjective: Unimportant; trivial.
Never heard of that word, I thought. So I did some lexicological fieldwork to find out if "Small Beer" could be safely used in the parlance of everyday life:
Case #1: Weekly Work Lunch Meeting
Usage: "I don't like this place's pizza," I say to a co-worker. "The crust in the middle is always soggy. But everyone else likes it, so I guess it's small beer."
Response: Blank stare, then "Yeah, it's not that bad."
Usage: "It's small beer, right?"
Response: Takes a big bite of pizza, chews long enough to politely change topic after swallowing.
Case #2: Email to Friend
Usage: I'm good... weather's nice, so that compensates for all the small beer that's been going on.
Response: Beer has been going on? What? Why is it small?
Case #3: To en during dinner
In response to the anticipated inquiry about my day, I had planned to say: Work was good. But all this small beer came up at the end of the day. But the customary inquiry never came, and since I was attuned to its absence, I finally exploded out of nowhere in a fit of passive aggressiveness "My day was good!" and sneaking in the small beer reference seemed as if it would just confuse things. Boy, idiom investigation can be dangerous.
****The Jersey Girl is a Tramp
Kevin Smith blames the failure of his latest film Jersey Girl on the presence of Ben and J-Lo in the movie, but I'll tell you: It just looks ridiculously stupid and boring. It's probably not but the previews set off this alarm:
Warning! Predictable but Edgy and Heart Warming Piece of Crap movie by a movie director who has made exactly one good film and who lost all credibility 10 years ago and who is ultimately just an unattractive big comic book geek!
Gawker has a bit about it here...
****Oliver Stone Takes a Holiday in Cuba
I watched Looking for Fidel on HBO, a documentary in which Hollywood phony Oliver Stone panders to murdering Cuban dictator Fidel Castro by giving him a non-critical platform to further his image as "Not the Evil Kind of Despot".
Stone interviews a panel of 8 men who were arrested for attempting to hijack a plane to immigrate to the US. He asks them how they're treated in prison, and they say Fine. He asks them why they wanted to leave, and they say Economic Reasons. He asks them what they think their punishment should be, and they say 30 years is Appropriate.
Gee, I wonder if they are being truthful, or telling sweaty lies because Fidel is sitting right there staring at them and they fear for their lives?
It was truly a depressing display of oppression that Stone seems oblivious of. "I think that those prisoners are being honest," he says in an interview with Ann Louise Bardach here.
Stone further goes on to say "I'm totally awed by [Castro's] ability to survive and maintain a strong moral presence." But this exchange in the interview was perhaps the most enraging. ALB: I've called him the movie star dictator. Did you get that sense about him? OS: Totally. I think it would be a mistake to see him as a Ceausescu. I would compare him more to Reagan and Clinton. … They were both tall and had great shoulders, and so does Fidel.
Fidel Castro has murdered thousands of political dissidents and controls nearly every aspect of his citizen's lives, and uses the media to disseminate slick propaganda and indirect threats (here for Human Right Watch). But what does Oliver Stone think? Moral presence with great shoulders?
Another example of how out of touch Hollywood is with everything.
****I wouldn't be caught dead with a necrophiliac
Today I pondered necrophilia. Not doing it, but as something some people actually do, not just joke about and perhaps fetishize (in a kinky pretend way, or in a serial killer way).
I read a news article about a drunk man sneaking into a San Francisco funeral home to have sex with an elderly woman's corpse and then passing out to be discovered the next morning (here). And I just about puked.
I mean, who does that? Blow-up dolls are prevalent, just as pleasurable, and not dead human bodies. Even if you're the horniest you've ever been in your life, do you pick A- Masterbation, B-Prostitute or C-Lifeless corpse of old woman?
According to this article (which appears here, originally in the San Francisco Bay Guardian... hm, coincidence?), necrophilia when defined as actual sexual contact with a corpse is mostly urban legend. It quotes a sexuality researcher :"We find such a small percentage. We do find it does take place, but it's very, very rare. Much rarer than people realize."
Who "realizes" necrophilia? I've never "realized" necrophilia happens. This is the first real, confirmed instance that I've heard of it happening.
Yeah, and by the way, who gets so drunk that they PASS OUT LYING NAKED ON A DEAD BODY?
****AKA Cinematic Crap
"I'm not in a Kill Bill 2 mood," I whined to en last night. "I need to be more... awake, more charged, more receptive to violence. Hey, let's go see AKA, that delightful-looking Brit flick that got a gushing review in the Globe!"
Yeah, well, after seeing AKA, I voluntarily relinquish my right to pick the movie for a while. I'm out of control. My movie-picking judgment obviously can't be trusted.
Click here for my review of AKA.
****Howard Stern
Regardless of your opinion on the content of Howard Stern's radio show, if you are a freedom-lovin' American, you should be LIVID that Stern was fined half a million dollars for indecency. But people's feelings about Stern have contained what should be an uproar... which is probably why the FCC went after Stern. No one wants to defend Howard's right not to be harassed by the government for saying want he wants to say. Well, except for awesome people like Margaret Cho (here).
Why aren't more liberals upset? If, say, NPR got fined for indecency, every one would be enraged (and understandably more than a little stunned). Free speech must not be as important when it's tasteless mind candy, right? Wrong! Government interface with media content must not be tolerated.
I've listened to Howard for about ten years. I'm not a everyday die-hard fan, I just sometimes enjoy having it on. About 70% of the time it's boring or in bad taste but otherwise the show has a wit and intelligence that is engaging and (dare I say) informative. Oh god, I can't believe I said that.
For the longest time, Howard Stern didn't have a web site. He owned the name but posted practically nothing until recently (here for story, here for site). Now he has a slick, politically-charged and informative (that word again!) site that is worth checking out (and ladies, if you've got a super hot body and an abhorrently ugly face, you may want to enter the Miss Butterface contest here).
****What's your name, Scumbag?
Yesterday I watched the first part of Full Metal Jacket on HBO On-Demand. Ah, so good for the soul. Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, pictured in action on the right ("God has a hard-on for Marines. Because we kill everything we see" ... "Your days of finger-banging ol' Mary Jane Rottencrotch through her pretty pink panties are over!"... "I'm gonna rip your balls off, so you can not contaminate the rest of the world!" ) inspires this delicious hilarity/hate (and ultimately pity) combo of emotion that is unmatched by any cinematic character that I can recall at this moment. DO YOU MAGGOTS UNDERSTAND THAT? |
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****Erectile Dysfunction: Ew
I hate those ads. My god. I know it's a "serious" condition that can affect people's quality of life, but all the sly metaphors and double-entendres ("Hey, I can throw this football just as far as I could when I was 20!") are just alarming.
Levitra and Cialis have joined Viagra on the market, and the drug companies are upping the ante: Sexy new erectile dysfunction ads are set to erupt on a TV near you (here).
****Bake Back the White House Update
Yesterday's MoveOn.org bake sale that I helped supply with food was a definite success, raising $2801! No doubt the turnout was helped by the gorgeous weather, which packed Harvard Square with spring-happy Bostonians and tourists. Click here for Moveon Bake Sale press release.
I heard Pearl Jam showed up at one of the bake sales, probably on the West Coast... Speaking of musicians who know that there is more to life than teaming up with the record industry to personally profit from bad music, the DVD/CD "Rock Against Bush" to benefit Punkvoter will be released this Tuesday. The 26-song comp features previously-unreleased Ministry, Descendants, NOFX and others... and it's only $6 off Fat Wreck Chord's site (here). Only $6! Why, it's so cheap there would be no reason to nefariously download it for free.
And since I'm talking politics, Michael Moore posted an articulate but bordering-on-ragemongering response (here) to Bush's press conference/election damage control fest.
****Pixies Reunite
The Pixies are reuniting for a tour! Yeh! They are inexplicably touring mostly bumfuck places in Canada! Booo! (here)
****5 Ways You Can Tell There's a Marathon on Monday...
- The streets and the T become flooded with trim white people wearing relaxed-fit blue jeans, expensive fleeces, comfortable walking shoes, and carrying maps and water bottles.
- Your co-worker makes coffee-break conversation about the widely-discussed phenomenon of runners urinating and sometimes defecating or changing tampons in the lawns of nice Hopkintown residents (here for story), and mentions that "this year they're going to hose down all the bushes and trees that people, you know, soil."
- People who know you run ask "So, are you running on Monday?" and you say no, and then feel like a failure though it's something you've never aspired to do.
- The papers are choke full of human interest stories about runners (here for a sampling), particularly about Kenyans, semi-famous people (here- actors from JAG!), and running families.
- Because Monday is Patriot's Day, a Massachusetts holiday when everyone in the whole darn state gets off work and school except me. And there's always a marathon on Patriot's Day (here for Boston Marathon web site).
The weather forecasts call for a high of 84 degrees on Monday... that's downright hot. I'm glad I'll be in my nice climate-controlled office all day instead of outside in the torrid Boston spring weather.
****Bake Back the White House
This Saturday at Club Passim (here) in Harvard Square, from 11:30am to 4:30pm, there is a Bake Sale to benefit Moveon.org (here to find one near you). Proceeds go to fund anti-Bush ads in battleground states.
There are 100 bakers for this sale including me. Hell, I love a good bake sale. I'm making Nutella-Dipped Almond Biscotti.
I was originally going to make cupcakes that said Lick Bush in luscious homemade vanilla icing, but those can't neatly be wrapped in saran wrap and transported via bike to Harvard Square. Besides, that beloved slogan has already gotten me in more trouble than is proper to mention.
****Not a Hoot
Walking through East Cambridge in the fog and rain, I had an inauspicious epiphany:
Perching a realistic-looking plaster owl on a porch should be illegal.
****Happy Fun Web Toys
- The Random
Personal Picture search engine (here)
This could entertain me indefinately. It's the "If you were stranded on a desert island with access to only one web site, what would it be?" site. - Mr. Picassohead
(here)
Heh. Look at that. Picassohead (here for mine). - GraffitiCreator
(here)
I explored this site during work and graffitized my company's name. - Make Piet
Mondrian Roll Over in His Grave... Not Literally (here)
It's cute if you know who Piet Mondrian is... - Write Magnetic
Poetry using the words of Shakespeare (here)
Magentic Poetry becomes challenging insanity when you have words like alderman's, tincture, manacles and wry-neck'd. My best ones:- Merry goats enthralled Agrippa without commotion
- Hidden monkey studs sweat unforced pities
- Bring these drunken discolour'd leviathans near petty Liberty
****It's Totally Moisture-Wicking
Every month of so, I receive an unsolicited catalog for women's athletic apparel from various companies such as Title 9 Sports (here) and Activa (here).
Since you know me as an athletically-inclined woman who inclines to... no, relishes in over-analyzing everything and has zero-faith in the product peddlers, and who further considers unsolicited catalogs to be environmentally wasteful and an invasion of my privacy... are you surprised that I am thoroughly enraged by a mere piece of junk mail?
Just the names of these companies piss me off. Activa just sickens me. It sounds like a new prescription drug. My Activa catalog is packed with everything from yoga clothes to boxing bras to "Hide Your Sins in Style Shorts" (which are "super-flattering.")
Title 9 invokes reference to a questionable law (here for Reason article about Title 9, a law that mandates equal athletic participation for male and female students despite actual interest levels -- and resulted in many men's sports being cut in order to achieve parity.) Isn't that so very edgy of them... like they're some Riot Grrrl band or something.
Indeed, Title 9 thrives on edginess in order to sell me clothes. They also try to forge a personal connection between me and the catalog models with profiles on each one (say hi here to Amanda, a rock-climbing journalist). So those jogging pants aren't modeled by some cracked-out 14-year old Abercrombie and Fitch model... but by Malia, a hula-dancing orthodontist (here). How highly appealing to my demographically-typical opinion that catalog models should look more like me!
Apparently marketing studies have found a veritable treasure trove of women out there, eager to spend $34.99 on a "Burst of Energy Tank" top (comes in aqua, lipstick, and lilac!) and $14.99 on a Lycra "Stay Dry Thong".
I can't decide: Is it weirder to spend this much money on clothes you sweat in... or to exercise while wearing a thong?
****My Heart is Breaking
There is nothing more disturbing than exercising moderately on a stationary bike, looking at the heart rate monitor display, and seeing 184.
Hmm, I thought, slowing my pace a tad. 184... 183...
I briefly let go of the handles to reset the monitor, then hopefully seized the sensors. 184... 185...
Even though I had barely broken a sweat, I began to fret that my heart rate really was in the 180s. Well beyond my maximum. 186... 188...
****Bathroom Attendants: A Shitty Thing?
The venerable Wall Street Journal reports on the comeback of bathroom attendants in bars, restaurants, clubs and hotels (here). Apparently, some bathroom patrons aren't excited about this, "citing feelings of pity for those working there and discomfort with being watched."
What?!? I love bathroom attendants. Here's why:
1. They can really clean up. It's a job that can be highly lucrative in tips for a low-skilled worker, and the people who doing the tipping are frequenting places where you pay $10 for a drink. It's essentially a rich-people tax.
2. They can really clean up. Is there anything worse than walking into a high-traffic bathroom that hasn't been cleaned in an hour? When you must hunt for a clean stall? When there's no tiolet paper? And when there's paper towels and/or hand dryers instead of a clean white towel? Hey, it's not like I'm some refined lady who lunches, but who doesn't like to dry their hands with a cloth?
3. They seem like nice people. I've never seen a surly bathroom attendant. This job does not attract people with an attitude. And they've seen, heard and smelled it all. They won't judge you... they'll just hand you a towel and thank you politely for the tip. What's wrong with that?
****I Hate Bureaucracy
Before the Internet facilitated access to hard-hitting news, I didn't know what the millions of government workers in this country spent their time doing. I assumed all those people were needed to compute how much in taxes to steal from more productive citizens in order to get big fast raises next year.
I've since found out that the Government also does lovely things like regulate Low Carb Beer ads (here).
Thanks, Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau. What would our country do without you?
****Some of my favorite songs are Bob Dylan Covers
Bob Dylan writes great songs. He just doesn't perform them that well.
My current favorite Bob Dylan cover song is Rage Against the Machine's "Maggie's Farm", off of the CD Renegades.
This CD is curious because it's Rage's best, yet mostly it's cover songs. Musically, they make each song their own. By covering "Maggie's Farm", they show how portable Dylan's songs are.
Rage's furious intensity perfectly suits the subversion of the lyrics, which are filled with many universal truths about the drudgery of working (here) (Well, I try my best / To be just like I am, / But everybody wants you / To be just like them. / They sing while you slave and I just get bored. / I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more.)
What I've always wondered about this song is... who is Maggie? We meet her brother, her pa, her ma, but not Maggie herself. Yet, it's always referred to as Maggie's farm. You'd think a woman whose brother, father and mother also work on the farm wouldn't be considered the boss of the farm.
The only explicit thing we hear about Maggie is "It's a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor", suggesting that Maggie isn't even on the farm proper, just in the house.
****My Sappy Easter Wish
Is there such a thing as an Easter wish? If so: Oh Easter Bunny, this year, I don't want a basket, eggs or chocolate. I just want Americans to start caring about global warming.
It amazes me how a dire warning about the environment issued to us by grave scientists evolve from a matter of genuine concern to an unchangeable circumstance we can safely forget about and even mock people for mentioning.
Like Saving the Whales. In the 80s, people cared about the whales. Deeply. Being cool relied on 1-Digging the music of Prince and 2-Giving a shit about the safe existence of those magnificent, intelligent creatures that are hunted commercially and polluted by our negligent industries. But mention Save the Whales now, or wear one of those buttons, and most people will assume you're trying to be kitschy: Oh yeah, Save the Whales. Right. I remember that.
Another big environmental craze in the 80s was Save the Rainforest. My 5th grade class in elementary school raised money to buy an acre of forested land in the Amazon, so those evil earthfucker farmers wouldn't suck the oxygen right out of our lungs by cutting down all the trees for grazing land. I thought fondly about that acre, wondering if I went to the Amazon, would I be able to live there? Anyway, we don't hear much about deforestation in the Amazon anymore (even though we are aware that it's still a problem-- here).
Why don't we care about saving the whales or the rainforest anymore? Is it our short attention span? Or are humans hard-wired to only get concerned about immediate threats?
When an environmental issue doesn't affect your day to day life, you may care about it at first, but gradually your brain goes on to be concerned about less abstract issues, like "Why did Trump fire Nick and Amy? (here)." When I hear about a polluted pond in New Hampshire, chances are my give a shit mechanism will vaguely kick in , but it is not as deep-rooted as someone who lives next to the pond.
It's not any one person's fault. But it's disturbing that many environmental crises won't get attention until it directly impacts our lives. The Dutch care about global warming very much; should the ice caps melt, their country will disappear . But Americans won't care about global warning until their kids can't go outside to play for more than five minutes without getting radiated.
Sure, no one knows the future. Global warming could mean the end to human life, or it could just be hysteria perpetuated by grant-happy scientists. I have quoted Michael Crichton before about this: Let's think back to people in 1900 in, say, New York. If they worried about people in 2000, what would they worry about? Probably: Where would people get enough horses? And what would they do about all the horseshit? Horse pollution was bad in 1900, think how much worse it would be a century later, with so many more people riding horses?
Regardless, can we take a chance on our climate? Global warning is one of those issues that we can't just forget about. I hear about it consistently in the news - Global Warming Threatens to Melt Greenland! In 1000 Years! (here)- and there's no way people are moved to preventive action. 1000 years? Why get all worked up about it now when it's 1000 years away. I hear people at work joking about how their car is a gas-guzzler, and only turning serious when reflecting on the raising price of gas, because that affects them. To express concern about Greenland melting in 1000 years would just be absurd.
So, my sappy Easter wish is for people to treat global warming as a serious problem, instead of some abstract possibility that future generations will fix before Greenland melts and the Dutch drown. (Here for EPA web site... Here for Undoit... Here for Canadian government One-Tonne Challenge... Here for Sierra Club Global Warming page).
****The wonderful thing about Tiggers...
...Is Tiggers are wonderful things.
Indeed, to the young minds that eagerly revel in the Winnie the Pooh stories, Tiggers are wonderful things. Bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy, jumpy, bumpy, clumpy, thumpy, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun... things.
But, are they really? Or are Tiggers just debauched kinky molesters and gropers who love to plant their paws on the busts and butts of human females?
24 people have complained that Michael C. Chartrand, a Disney World employee, groped them while donning the Tigger costume (here).
I'm not surprised. I always had a bad feeling about Tigger. As a child, I couldn't relate to his demonstrative fervor and unabashed fondness for bouncing. Pooh and Rabbit always won my sympathy for putting up with a nattering speedfreak whose uncontrollable zest shook me to my youthful core. Tigger reminded me of the troublemakers in my class, and I passionately believed 100 Acre Wood would be a better place if that hyperactive loose cannon was banished.
Now that I'm older, I recognize that Tigger's antics acted as fodder on which the other characters could moralize... but honestly. Stuff some Ritalin down his gullet so he'll leave Eeyore the hell alone.
****What's Your Take On...
Howard Stern's Indecency Fine (here): Are we protecting the children from Howard Stern by fining him? Kids don't listen to Howard Stern... only somewhat disturbed adult losers listen to Howard. (Oh, and me, sometimes.) The FCC is a corrupt, politicking bureaucracy looking for a scapegoat.
The Swan (here): I caught about 15 minutes of Fox's reality show, which is basically competitive plastic surgery between different woman each week, all of whom are dying to make it to the oft-referenced pageant at the end of the season. How utterly disturbing. It surpassed guilty pleasure bad. I wished I had never watched it.
Eye Jewelry (here): Am I just getting old, or is eye jewelry, which is implanted into the mucous membrane of the eyes, just really effing bizarre?
Wikipedia's 'Random Page' Link (here): I'm loving it. Good training for my eventual Jeopardy try-out.
Hell Boy
(link):
From the reviews of this movie, it sounded like it would be Hell yeah!
to Hell Boy. But it was mediocre... cute, even. One Green Thumb! 
****Tales From the T
Haven't posted my T tales in a while. I know you've all been waiting with bated breath...
2-27-04 Red Line, Friday morning.
I get on a crowded car and squeeze my way next to a pole. I'm standing in front of a petite, well-dressed older woman with short spiky auburn hair who is seated at the end of the row next to the door. Next to her, standing, is a Hispanic man, probably in his twenties, visibly coming in and out of consciousness. He is leaning forward and prompting himself up on the wall behind the petite woman's head. As the train slows down at Park Street station, the hispanic man's torso slips off the wall and he topples onto the woman, his arms falling in such a way that he's hugging her and his head buried in her neck. She yelps, and starts throwing weak punches at his shoulders. Me and everyone else around are stunned, then a nearby man grabs the scruff of the sleeping man's jacket and heaves him off the woman, who looks thoroughly freaked out. The Hispanic man appears to sleep through all of this. He is placed on the ground, where he remains when I get off at South Station.
March 8 - Red Line after work.
I'm sitting next an overweight young man who reeks of cigarettes. Dyer Maker by Led Zeppelin is blaring out of his headphones. When the train nears Kendall Square, I get up, preparing to disembark. Absently I glance at the young man's face, and spy a rivulet of snot flowing from his nose, over his lip and directly into his mouth.
Friday March 12: Red Line in the morning
The day after the rush-hour commuter train bombing in Madrid: The train is surprisingly crowded for a Friday. The commuters devour newspapers in their Friday jeans or business casual, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with students burying their fresh faces in thick textbooks.
The blond pony-tailed mother with the oversized carriage and the smiling old woman with a jaunty blue beret seem like the kiss of death.
On the eerily-silent Red line at 7:35am, you can't getting paranoid. The train stops at Downtown Crossing, people get off, get on, the doors close, but the train doesn't move. It's like a moment in a movie, the dramatic pause before the explosion. The train doesn't move. No one is moving. Something has to happen.
Any second: A deafening noise. Then, metal ripping apart, people incinerated into nothing, briefcases and body parts flying past you as you are tossed into the air. The train moves with you. People screaming as they are burned, crushed, impaled, and the lights go off and you still don't know what's happening. You could end up dead before you even realize it or you could end up limbless on the tracks, laying on a pile of glass and metal, human hands, shoes and jaunty blue berets.
But then the train moves, and you get off at South Station and wander to your office, savoring the dismal sights and smells of the Fort Point Channel with new appreciation.
3-23-04- Red line before work.
An older Asian woman is clipping her fingernails across from me. The T is packed but completely silent except for the “Clip. Clip.” People peer around each other, trying to confirm that they hear what they think they hear, that someone could be so unabashedly lacking in social necessities. Indeed, it is sickening.
4-6-04 Red Line After Work
When is a luxury trend dead? I saw three Burberry handbags and a Burberry scarf on one single T car, all bering that distinctive snobby pattern (here).
****Red Six
I have no love for the Red Sox. It's not like I wish them failure, I just can't get excited about a bunch of performance-enhanced whiners who make $15 million a year for hitting a ball with a bat really far.
So while I don't really care, I still tittered inwardly when the Red Sox lost their Opening Night 7-2 to the Baltimore Orioles. With Pedro Martinez pitching. Heh. (But they won yesterday, to the collective relief of thousands of fans... though, alas, hundreds of games remain unplayed... Click here for Boston Dirt Dogs to get a taste of the mania... Click here for Bunsen's hilarious essay on the Red Sox. Bunsen is a genius).
According to this article, the average price for a Red Sox ticket was $40.77. That's the highest price in the major leagues for the seventh straight year and more than double the average price of $19.82 to see a major league game.
That's lunacy. I know prices keep pace with the demand, but it speaks to how many grown adults spend large chunks of their life going to Fenway Park (despite the uncomfortable seats and lousy views) to congregate and commiserate with all their fellow "victims". Baseball is an healthy obsession for young males looking for a hero, not old males looking for martyrdom and an excuse to get drunk.
Actually, I'd love it if the Red Sox won the World Series, because perhaps the rabid fan base's irrational Victim Mentality would be abated. (People, it's a baseball team. You are not experiencing any real hardship because your baseball team hasn't won a World Series in 86 years. It doesn't really matter.)
On a related note... I wish the Boston news channels would stop giving us weather reports for the cities that the Red Sox play away games in. I don't care what the weather is in Baltimore. I only can muster enough interest to care about the weather that is relevant to my life.
****The Land of the Dumb and the Home of the Duh
In searching for a 2-Minute Hate link yesterday, I stumbled upon many free term paper sites.
It goes without saying that free term paper web sites contribute significantly to the dumbing of America, and will ultimately endanger our status as the world's superpower. Colleges cannot dole out degrees to people who could not muster the intellectual discipline to read a book and write a paper.
The horrifying quality of the term paper samples makes me wonder... do professors give good grades for this crap? Like this one on Mark Twain, rift with non sequitur and poor grammar: Mark Twain wrote only seven stories. Most of his stories are about kids. The one story that makes Mark Twain such a great author is the “immortal Huckleberry Finn.” Dr. engle claims that this book will always be an American classic. Mark Twain was born 1835 in a small Missouri town called Hannibal. His birth name was Sammuel Langhorne Clemens. He used the name Mark Twain during his professional carrer.
Or this one on Catcher in the Rye, which resounds boldly with (ahem) authenticity: One of the many fascinating themes in the novel, “The Catcher in the Rye,” brings us face to face with a jarring assault not unlike road rage on modern society and serves as a wake up call to each succeeding generation of its readers. J.D. Salinger, speaking through the protagonist Holden Caulfield, exposes the bogus standards and false values and the insensitive, sham relationships we face in our pretentious modern society... What is a phony? Webster’s Collegiate defines it as someone or something that is fraudulent or spurious. When Holden uses the word “corny,” he means fake or artificial, as in a false character or appearance... Holden seems obsessed with the concept since he uses it on pages 52, 77, 84, 86, 100, 142, 151, 172, and 205.
(Man, modern life is such a bogus sham with all these corny false values and phonies!)
Or this one about Richad Nixon... for the college student who is too busy to conduct inane discourse about US History with their father and write about it like a 5th grader: For the outside discussion I talked with my dad. He told me that he felt Nixon wasn’t a very good president. He said that Nixon had really messed up the United States. We talked about the Watergate scandal and how Nixon had resigned. My Dad felt that Nixon had done the right thing by resigning from office. My dad also told me about the gas crisis that had happened during Nixon’s Presidency. He told me about how the government had said that we were going to run out of gas and prices went way up. Now 20 years later we still have plenty of gas to go around.
I'm not saying colleges should try to produce a nation of English majors (though what a thrilling distopia that would be!) But our workforce cannot be sustained by people who have maybe 15 hours of class a week and feel as though writing papers is too much effort or a waste of time.
Students who cheat also claim it's just too hard or that the teacher hasn't prepared them to write the paper. One of the most popular Free Term Papers sites, Other People's Papers, plays a rap song when you first access the site: Get your high school diploma, go to college/ Get a degree and start makin dollars/ Only one thing wrong, and it's a trip/ Inner city schools don't teach us shit.I guess the site is a public service for all the ghetto children who need essays about Glomerulonephritis and Transgenic Rice Plants.
OPPapers is run entirely on "donations", meaning you can upload your papers to the site so other people can download them. The quality of the papers were actually quite good, suggesting the people who use the site are fully capable of writing a good paper. Most cheaters only do it occasionally, if they're facing a deadline that they can't meet, or if they just don't feel like reading Beowulf.
But life is hard like that. Write your own crappy papers.
****Voters Who Go To Hell!
Who doesn't enjoy a good titter at the expense of barmy religious nuts? (here for 27 tips on how to vote not vote your way to Hell... here on how aborted babies are gourmet delicacies, with horrifying photos!!!)
Heh. I could read this stuff all day. Like this essay about sex: Pretty faces and seductive body presentations elicit a sexually erotic response in normal men. This association is developed during puberty and –if allowed freedom to grow unrestricted– increases with additional association with women; particularly those who present themselves after the manner of whores.
****2 Minutes Hate
One of the nice things about leaving America is a break from the daily inundation of long-running news stories with which the American public is apparently obsessed. No Kobe Bryant trial, no gay marriage, no elections, and no Atkins diet.
Somehow I overcame the dearth of news about Martha Stewart and managed to have a good time.
The election is still 7 months away, yet I’m grossly satiated with it already. Screw the conventions, we've got our candidates. Let’s vote now. Let's save undecided voters the incessant confusion and flip-flopping, and relieve decided voters of the mental stress that election news coverage can embroil.
Just watching or reading news is exhausting. Whenver George Bush glorifies his catastrophic Presidency, or natters his empty rhetoric (here) or launches misleading attacks on John Kerry, I want to throw a hissy fit. Because even more maddening than his lies and evasions is that this dimwitted rich-boy is forcing me to throw all my hopes, dreams and passion behind John Kerry.
I consider myself quite lucky not to live in one of those battleground states, where the war is fought with television advertisements. After a few months of that, I'd probably start "physically acting out" whenever I saw a Bush campaign ad.
Some days a good old-fashioned 2 Minutes Hate would probably do me a lot of good. Let’s all just scream and rant hysterically whenever either of them appear on the telescreen.
We'd all feel much better. It could be the new Yoga.
****Time Time Time
Today is 04/04/04.
My poor wrist-watches. My poor internal clock. In the past 10 days or so, time has changed a ridiculous number of times:
- Going to Germany (+6 hours)
- Daylight Savings Time in Germany Last Weekend (+1 hour) (here for info about Daylight Savings Time in Europe)
- Returning to Boston (-7 hours)
- Daylight Savings Time Last Night (+1 hour)
****Sick of me talking about Germany?
Yeah, I'm sort of sick about it too. The past couple of weeks have inexplicably revolved around Germany, like the country is enjoying a surge of popularity confined exclusively to my life.
Let me regale you briefly with all these German-related activities and we will never talk of it again:
- I went to Germany (here for pictures!)
- Two American friends have moved to Germany.
- Last night I went to a party for a German grad student who is returning to Germany.
- Yesterday I made authentic Bavarian Apple Strudel for the party. It turned out okay, for a first try (it looked very, um, homemade).
- We saw Goodbye Lenin, a German flick about an East German mother who is devoted to socialism and is in a coma when the Berlin Wall falls. When she awakes, her son goes to great lengths to prevent her from learning of the changes so she won't suffer a relapse. Very cute.
****Who wants a free trip to Germany...
...Without all the hassle, cost and terror involved in international travel?
Click here to see my Germany photos!
****What a Country
Some thoughts about my trip to Germany, divided into major themes:
The Language
I took German lessons to prepare for the trip, with hopes that I could effectively communicate with Germans in their wonderfully strange native tongue. I occasionally mustered a stray sentence ("Zwei Kaffee bitte!" "Ich versteche nicht!"), but unfortunately my shy attempts only spurred the German to speak rapidly and elaborately, and I'd retreat to broken English.
Still, my knowledge of pronunciation allowed me to comprehend a small percentage of what was going on around me.
Numbers were quite helpful. In Heidelberg, when we played a weird dice game with the German roommates of our American host, I impressed one and all by saying double-digit numbers in German. Rike, one of the roommates, gave me a new perspective on the "American Tourist in Germany" language barrier, saying there is no need for an American to learn German unless they planned on living there. So that made me feel a little better about forcing them to speak English all night.
The crown jewel of my German repertoire:"Wo ist die toilette?"
The Toilets
Speaking of which... most German bathrooms require that you press "stop" after you flush, otherwise it either keeps running (if it's old) or runs for long time (if it's new and allows you to control the flush to conserve water).
The Transit
I adore the efficiency of European transit... all transit. Walkers get sidewalks that are free of clutter (and, in the main shopping areas, devoid of cars) and they happily and contentiously speed along on. I thought I walked fast? Women in fur coats and 5-inch heels strode past me.
Cycling is accepted by every class of citizen, and catered to with exclusive bike lanes and wide curb ramps. Motorists and pedestrians alike are aware and tolerant; I hardly saw anyone wearing a helmet because they don't think they'll end up as roadkill (which, by the way, the Germans don't even have a explicit word for).
The transit system in Munich is world class. You'd think a city with a million+ people and legions of tourists would have total gridlock around the main attractions, but I never saw a traffic jam because people just don't drive. Heidelberg, a relatively small town, boasted a comprehensive tram and bus system. And the inter city train defined punctual and clean rail riding.
Germans are nuts about cars. Dark-colored ones, apparently (several times I noted the paucity of red and white cars). And effecient, small ones. Those Smart Cars are really hot.
This mania about transit seems to be intrinsic to their culture. At Nymphenburg Palace, we toured the Marstall Museum, which houses a collection of insanely-designed royal carriages, sleighs, and saddles from hundreds of years ago.
The Food
Could there be anything better than waking up to fresh brötchen ("little bread", or rolls); an assortment of whole-berry jams, butter, cheese and nutella; yogurt with fresh fruit; and a humble hard-boiled egg?
Yeah, at first I missed my regular regime of oatmeal, but a vacation in Germany is a forced vacation from oatmeal. I dealt with it.
I didn't partake in any of the pork-based specialties (weisswurst, rouladen, sauerbraten, schnitzel), and even though it was Starkbierzeit (read about it here) I only managed to put away one strong beer ... but man oh man. I totally porked out on chocolate.
The Dark Past
As an American who has grown up with stories and images of the Holocaust, morbid curiosity about this dark time in Germany's past surged in Munich, where Dachau is a stop on the subway. We didn't go to Dachau, but I still thought about how all this harmonious society was a generation or two away from genocide.
Of course the USA has comparable horrors in our history like slavery and the slaughter of Native Americans, but current citizens have little personal connection to this. It just amazed me that this country festered with such hate and evil less than 80 years ago, and then was bombed to smithereens, and then had to face what they had done, and is now a world power.
Much of Munich was destroyed in WW2, but Heidelberg was unscathed. Our tour guide at the Heidelberg Schloss (castle) said this is because some Allied commanders went to the University there, and wanted to preserve the town because they thought it would be a good place to organize Reconstruction. Indeed, the US army is still there.
The Fashion
Now I know all you ladies are dying to know: What are the women of Munich wearing this season?
Well, when it comes to Fashion, the women of Munich are so far behind us that they may actually be ahead of us.
I saw lots of jeans, towering high-heels, and garish color combinations (what is it exactly about vivid oranges and greens that works?). Accessories are 80s-influenced: Hoop earrings, loud scarves, clunky necklaces. The most stupefying trend was the 12-holed boot sneakers.
I really don't have much to say about the fashion, except to say that, from what my oblivious eye tells me, it's not that different from Boston
The Flight
A total of 17 hours of actual plane time and another 6 hours of getting to and fro the plane means almost a full day of travel and, more painfully, several meals at the mercy of the culinary sadists who construct Lufthansa's vegetarian meals.
I won't bore you with my flight horror stories, but I will say that security coming back into the US was several degrees more intense. "Get in line... open this bag... lift your arms... spread your legs... stand here... passport please... no loitering... get in that line..."
You could even say they were being Nazis about it. But I won't say that, because they were just doing their jobs.
Thursday April 1, 2004
****Back in the Chain Gang
Returned to work after many days, which wasn't as bad as I imagined it could be. Yesterday I sorted 140 emails in my Work Inbox (an incredible amount, considering I usually get about 20/day, mainly responses to emails I send out). My vacation was still technically in effect, but I eagerly read about the office. Actually, it was the 2nd thing I did when I got back (after playing with and attempting to cuddle my emotional cat). Isn't it funny ("horrifying" funny, not "ha-ha" funny) how many Americans are guilt-stricken about or just not able to use the meager vacation time allotted to them?
After I bounced into the office at 7:30am, I compiled a list of three weeks' worth of tasks. I rabidly itched to get started. Like "Wow! I can't effing wait to take six billion new screenshots. I can't effing wait to rewrite 50 glossary entries.My life is so cool!" So this is the productive influence of a refreshing vacation! Imagine how productive I'd be with 5 weeks a year.
And then my manager came in and briefed me on some things. Major effort ahead. I seriously expected him to say "April Fools!" because it's so insane. But, these developments are actually quite timely because my battery is recharged and I'm rearing for a challenge.
Still, what I wouldn't give to be streaking through the German countryside on a train, or sitting in a Munich cafe with nothing in particular to do, or walking along the banks of the Nektar river with en, my Herr Leibling.