Poli-Tics

Gib zu, dass du es dir bei dem Titel gedacht hast. Und ja, die Chancen sind gut, dass das jemand in Japan gerade als Vorlage benutzt, und wenn unsere Kanzlerin damals gefordert hat "Wir müssen werden wie die Japaner!", dann hat sie vielleicht genau das gemeint und nicht die Arbeit. Denk dran bei der Bundestagswahl: Keine CDU/CSU - die führen Kriege und verlangen von dir, dass du dir Eidechsenpornographie anschaust.
This is porn. 

Gib zu, dass du es dir bei dem Bild gedacht hast. Und ja, die Chancen sind gut, dass das jemand in Japan gerade als Vorlage benutzt, und wenn unsere Kanzlerin damals gefordert hat „Wir müssen werden wie die Japaner!“, dann hat sie vielleicht genau das gemeint und nicht die Arbeit. Denk dran bei der Bundestagswahl: Keine CDU/CSU – die führen Kriege und verlangen von dir, dass du dir Eidechsenpornographie anschaust.

Asher/Ysidro

Once in a blue moon I need some horror / vampire / monster-novels. Far from sorting that as „guilty pleasure“, which is a bullshit-term if I ever heard one.
„Guilty“ should be reserved for things that you can actually be guilty about, 
like rape, pillage, becoming a politician and placing shopping-trolleys just around the corner of the shelves. Nevetheless, vampire-novels have recently gotten some sort of bad reputation – mainly because the „most prominent books“ are on the level of third-class-housewife-fanfiction. But there are good monster books out there, and here are a few quotes from the exellent Asher/Ysidro-Series by Barbara Hambly.

She kept her eyes on his, positive she resembled nothing so much as a myopic rabbit attempting to stare down a dragon.

(This pretty much describes any glasses-wearing person.)

Over the years, Asher had picked up a fine selection of curses in twelve living and four dead languages, including Basque and Finno-Ugric. He repeated them all as he slid the ulster from his shoulders, left it draped like a corpse over the hay, and slipped through the close, dark warmth of the stable and into Blaydon’s back garden.

Beneath the barred window was only an ornamental ledge, and he exercised a number of plain Anglo-Saxon monosyllables as he disengaged his broken hand from its sling and hooked the tips of his swollen fingers over the grimy brickwork to edge himself along. At least, he thought wryly, this was one place where he knew the vampire couldn’t sneak up on him from behind. It was small comfort.

The greatest monologue of them all….

One of the greatest speaches i one of the best films ever: Ladies and Gentleman, I present: The Box-Monologue from „Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead„.

Rosencrantz: Do you ever think of yourself as actually dead lying in a box with a lid on it?

Guildenstern: No.

Rosencrantz: Nor do I really. It’s silly to be depressed by it. I mean, one thinks of it like being alive in a box, and one keeps forgetting to take into account the fact that one is dead… which should make all the difference… shouldn’t it?

I mean, you’d never know you were in a box, would you? It would be just like you were asleep in a box. Not that I’d like to sleep in a box, mind you, not without any air, you’d wake up dead for a start, and then where would you be?

In a box.

That’s the bit I don’t like frankly. That’s why don’t think of it. Because you’d be helpless? Stuffed in a box like that, I mean, you’d be in there for ever. Even taking into account the fact that you’re dead, it isn’t a pleasant thought. Especially if you’re dead, really…

Ask yourself, if I asked you straight off… I’m going to stuff you in this box now, would you rather be alive or dead. Naturally, you prefer to be alive. Life in a box is better than no life at all. I expect. You’d have a chance at least. You could lie there thinking well, at least I’m not dead! In a minute somebody is going to bang on the lid and tell me to come out.

*knocks on the table*

Hey, you! What’s yer name! Come out of there!

Guildenstern: I think I’m going to kill you.

Da isses

Listen while reading

So, hier sind Sie endlich – die Belegexemplare fürs Buch. Müssen natürlich genau dann ankommen, wenn ich gerade auf dem Animago rumkaspere (was auch dieses Jahr wieder spaßig war, aber eben ein Stück weit weg vom Briefkasten). Ein paar Leute werden also demnächst Post bekommen – Ob ihr richtig steht, seht ihr wenn das Paket aufgeht.

Und jetzt?

Evtl endlich mal wieder Zocken.
Papierkram.
Gitarre spielen (Gelenke sind so eingerostet, dass ich keine Schaufel mehr im Sandkasten brauche).
In den Kneipen hängen.
Wohnung grundreinigen.
Fotografieren.
Lohnsteuer 2010-2012.

Shit, ich glaub ich schreib ein Zweites.

Jemand Interesse an einer soziologischen Beobachtung des Zusammenhangs zwischen Möbel-Design und zerschrundenen Schienbeinen? Verbrennungs-Muster und Tassenformen? Kopfschmerzen und Saisonale Getränke?

Oh, fuck, were his precise thoughts.

Listen while reading

Since it has been to long, I got around to Douglas Adams again – and at this paragraph I nearly swallowd the chair I was sitting on, at the time:
‘Earl Grey or Lapsang Souchong?’ called out Reg.  ‘It’s all tea bags anyway, I’m afraid. And none of them very fresh.’
‘Darjeeling will do fine,’ replied Richard.
‘Milk?’ called Reg.
‘Er, please.’
‘One lump or two?’
‘One, please.’
‘Sugar?’
‘Er, what?

Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency (Douglas Adams)

For some reason I also started to read the columns of Jeremy Clarkson – whom I up until now largely regarded as „that guy from that show bout cars“. Surprisingly, he has a rather balanced worldview and is a exceptionally witty writwer of columns. These are from his collection „And Another Thing: The World According to Clarkson. Volume Two“

I should also explain to those who have no allergies that the four most terrifying words in the English language, if you suffer from hay fever, are ‘shall’, ‘we’, ‘eat’ and ‘outside’.

Of course, there is no doubt that the world is warming up, but let’s just stop and think for a moment what the consequences might be. Switzerland loses its skiing resorts? The beach in Miami is washed away? North Carolina gets knocked over by a hurricane? Anything bothering you yet?

My eye was caught recently by a photograph in a magazine called The Spectator. It showed an old man in a nineteenth-century setting, and underneath it read ‘Samuel Hahnemann, the founder of homosexuality’. This seemed odd, partly because the old man in the photograph, with his mutton chops and his frock coat, looked about as gay as Sean Connery, and partly because I thought homosexuality had been invented long before the 1800s. I therefore plunged into the lengthy story that accompanied the photograph and pretty soon my curiosity turned to bewilderment. Because it just went on and on about alternative medicine. Only when I reached the end and turned back for a better look at the old man did I realise my mistake. Samuel Hahnemann was not the founder of homosexuality. He was the founder of homoeopathy.

 

The Title is from „The Algebraist“ by Iain M. Banks.