Olds

As in, not news.

That was a pretty long and busy month, in a long and busy half-year or so since changing my working arrangements with G and U.

During that month, a friend was murdered, shot down in the street by his disappointed lover. We weren't particularly close, he was the owner of a pair of my favourite restaurants, but we'd known each other in that way for nearly twenty years. It was something of a shock.

But who the hell carries a gun around with them anyway? Quick poll: do you know anyone who regularly carries a gun (other than those who have a professional reason to do so, like on-duty soldiers and cops)? I don't, at least I believe and hope-to-god that I don't. I think I would stop associating with someone whom I discovered to be a gun-carrier.

While I was writing, a plumber arrived to fix my 28-year-old misbehaving heating/waterheater, which has been broken for several days (I wasn't the only person to have a four-day long weekend). It's fixed for now, but is officially moribund and will need to be replaced in the proximate future. I shall write to the landlady outlining the situation and asking for advice.

Spring arrived while I wasn't looking. I remember walking home at night and seeing bats for the first time, several months ago now, and thinking that I should blog about that, then getting home and doing other stuff* instead. The swallows arrived a few weeks back, probably while we were finishing up the competition, but I missed their arrival.

That's interesting: I am certain that I saw the first bats of the season, and yet I am equally certain that I didn't see the first swallows of the season. In both cases the externals are the same: look up, no X; look up again, X. What makes me think that the swallows had been there unseen, or conversely what makes me sure that the bats weren't? Perhaps this: that bats are nocturnal, had they been out earlier I would have seen them; swallows are diurnal, so my seeing them is conditional upon my being about in daylight. No, that doesn't explain why I was certain that they had been here before I saw them. Perhaps I'd heard them unconsciously and registered their presence.

* If you thought "he means Second Life," pat yourself on the head.

About the new office

So, we've been in the new place for two weeks, and I have to admit that I am settling in better than I expect. Telephones, fax and internet are working (took me three days to sort out all the complications), and we have been able to find nearly everything that we looked for. I won't mention the things that have gone missing since we moved in, that's just normal every-day incompetence.

Let me slip in a quick Public Service Announcement for those who might be planning an office in the near future. You might consider patterns of usage and how certain expensively-rented rooms stand empty for most of the day, and conclude that you can combine the meeting/conference space with the kitchen. Wrong. Doing so will mean either that you are unable to get a drink for hours on end, or that the conferees are continually disturbed by people sneaking in to put apple cores etc in the garbage bin. You may combine whatever else you wish, and good luck to you, but the office kitchen must be an enclosed room of its own.

It still annoys me that there are no stores in the immediate vicinity, and that the butcher and baker down the hill are closed at midday when one might wish them to be open, but even this is less of an irritation than I expected it to be. The farmers' market is in upheaval: a new market building is being erected closer to the street, and neighbouring apartment blocks torn down. Many traders have closed down or moved away, and it is hard to see that those who remain will be able to attract enough customers to stay in business.

I'm even coming to see advantages to the new place. FIrst of these, somewhat tongue-in-cheek: the uphill walk, in particular the last steeply-inclined five minutes, are going to get me fit (at least much fitter) doubleplusquickly. I'm a bit apprehensive about that stretch in winter though, since it's a "path" not a "street" and so will not be swept clear of snow or ice; have to wait and see how that plays out. It would be silly to have to take the bus to work (avoiding that stretch of hill), but it would be far sillier to slip and knock my teeth out.

Secondly, it is very nice (at least now, in summer) to have a garden with a large table and benches for holding outdoor meetings. There are at least two cats in the neighbourhood, both of them have discovered that our doors are usually open.

Dull, summer edition

The rain stopped, mostly. During the last fortnight we have had sometimes as many as three days in a row without precipitation. On the bright side, the rain and cloud keeps the temperatures low. We haven't had any days above 30°C yet, which is fine by me.

My summer holiday plans are gelling nicely. I booked flights to and from the US (almost exactly half the price of flying to Canada, bah) for mid to late July, and am now trying to get committed dates from the friends I want to meet. (Note: if I haven't contacted you, that does not mean that I don't want to meet you! Time and money are short, and I already have firm dates a total of 4850 km apart, so a fair amount of my time and budget will be spent travelling. Trips to the southwest, northwest and southeast will have to wait for another occasion. Sorry.)

Work is going well at the moment, I'm getting an amazing amount of stuff accomplished. This is in part due to G being often out of the office, so there are fewer interruptions and much less stress. It's odd (but pleasant) that the phone doesn't ring when he isn't there.

Oh yes, my nose. I knew there was something else to say. I had a series of spontaneous nosebleeds over the weekend, sometimes quite intense, so I went to the doctor first thing Monday morning. He looked and prodded, said that it was probably just a minor thing, and sent me to an ENT specialist. He looked and prodded, said that a minor vein had burst, and cauterized it.

Life etc.

Yes, I'm still here despite the silence. Time is flashing past at a frightening rate, even faster than usual. I will be on my way to Canada in ten days, for two weeks of family and food and properly cold weather.

Speaking of which, it continues to snow lightly (as I twittered a few days back), but the ambient temperature down here in the valley is still too high for the snow to settle. I am trying an experiment this year: I am only heating the living room (because I sit here for hours on end) and the bathroom (because I'm a wimp), letting the other rooms do as they wish. (This is Germany, there is no danger of anything in the apartment freezing). Getting undressed for bed is pretty grim, coming as it does after a few hours in the warm living room, but I find that I wake up toasty warm and very comfortable despite the temperature. This was prompted by reading a claim that central heating and suchlike actually make us more susceptible to colds and the flu by de-training our natural bodily resistance. We'll see.

That last tweet should not worry anyone, nothing happened, everybody is safe. But there were a few long and quite harrowing late-night conversations until X arrived at that safe point. I'll tell you this for free, dear friends: whatever therapists earn, it is nowhere near enough. [Updated: Dervala writes movingly about loneliness and unhappiness: "I’ve come to believe that Starbucks may be the largest private mental health organization in the country, a place where anyone with two bucks for a drip coffee can get smiled at and can sit safely next to other human beings for a while." Go read.]

Just finished reading a kind of autobiography, "Istanbul" by Orhan Pamuk, he of last year's the 2006 Nobel Prize for Literature. It's a strange book, no more a true autobiog than say "Tristram Shandy" was. It is actually about Istanbul and anger and melancholy, in nearly equal measures, with young Orhan popping up now and then to point to things. Very well written, at least in the English translation, recommended for readers who aren't after cheerfulness or action.

For those who do want some cheerfulness: put on your headphones, close your office door, and watch this video. Very funny, pix are harmless but the words are definitely not safe for work. Enjoy.

Disorganized

Sneaking under the wire again. I have to organize things a bit better around here. Woke far too early, tossed and turned for nearly two hours, then slept again far too late, and the day never really got back on course.

That is all.

Eight down, twenty-two to go.

Duration

It occurred to me the other day that I have lived longer in this apartment in Stuttgart than I did in the house where I grew up in Toronto. I found this quite shocking, because my childhood years in that house feel much longer than the time I have spent here, and also to compare the way I live with the comfortable, welcoming, sheltering home my parents managed to create in the same amount of time. Ah well.

Warming up slightly, sunny and 18°C today.

That is all.

Trivia, Tuesday edition

The second competition, for the rejuvenation and prettifying of a town centre, was handed in yesterday, and we are now entering the final stages of the first (a park-and-ride centre in a large Bavarian city (no, not Munich)).

Weather is clear but significantly cooler, a mere 18°C at present, and the first leaves are beginning to turn, so it looks like summer is over for 2008. Ah well.

Other than that, life goes on. Nothing new to report. I hope your lives are more interesting.

Hot

Well, the rain that I have been praying for since a fortnight arrived today in a quite impressive hour-long downpour. Unfortunately, it appears that my prayers were insufficiently precise. What I wanted was a break in the constant heat and humidity, what the universe delivered was a sky full of falling water. Ah well. Let that be a lesson: prayers do get answered, but God has a sly and pedantic sense of humour.

I've been rising earlyish this week, trying to get some hours in while the air is still relatively cool (already 22°C as I woke, though, the nights hardly cool off at all.) I woke just before dawn as a gentle rain began to rattle against my window, smiled in my half-sleep and rolled over. I dreamed of South Kensington and my sister's family, and their dog which could talk and which was a red-haired green-eyed girl (though also a dog at the same time); a cheerful and happy dream, I woke laughing.

Survived another week at work, architecture and Münsterism both going well. Started on the competition, and received notice that we were drawn from the hat to partake in yet another, the fourth of 2008. Both are due in the same week.

Did I mention that it's very hot and humid? Quite unpleasant. My forearms are sticking to the desk, and my back and thighs to the chair.

Since Monday's music quiz has gone unanswered (barring Pacian's intriguing but sadly incorrect suggestion), I shall reveal the answer: "Slither down the greasy pipe" is the second line of the half-spoken intermezzo to David Bowie's song "Joe the Lion" (released in 1977, my gods, "Heroes" is already thirty-one years old). Insofar as Bowie's songs of the period can be said to be "about" anything in particular, "Joe the Lion" is about a performance artist named Chris Burdon, best known for being nailed to the roof of a Volkswagen and shot in the left arm during performances. A more recent piece is his Flying Steamroller, a 12 ton road-building machine connected to a pivot arm and counterweight, which becomes airborne above a certain speed (YouTube video, 3:57). Quite poetic, in an elephantine way.

Shabbat shalom, my dears. Enjoy the weekend.

London: day three

My birthday (yesterday) was a mixed bag: a very good breakfast at Fortnum and Mason, followed by a moderately poor lunch at the National Gallery café, then to the theatre for a truly excellent play, "The god of carnage" by Yasmin Reza, finishing up with a piss-poor pizza.

Today was a good day: met my English cousins, BJ's children, who I haven't seen in about eighteen years. We drifted apart during my last years here through mutual lack of interest (I would call it).

That is all.

Report: Progress, lack of

Preparing madly (as in "insanely" not "with great haste and effort") for another week in London, to celebrate my fiftieth birthday this weekend. I have been avoiding thinking about this for weeks if not months now, because I find it just too depressing for words. How can I be a half-century old already with so little to show for it? Blah.

Flights booked, again through Zurich: trading money for time in well-established late-capitalist manner. Readers in or near London who might wish to meet for a drink (or a bookshop or whatever) are encouraged to send me a tickle by e-mail (top left).

I hesitate about the job in Münster still. Part of me says — with a certain amount of impatience — that the universe has given me the nudge that I wished for at Easter, and that I should bloody well grasp the chance to make some long-desired and overdue changes. I should therefore embrace this earnestly and with both hands, and move to Münster as soon as possible. Another part reminds me that it means leaving all my contacts, friends and customers, leaving the shops and cafés and restaurants where I am known; in short, leaving behind most of what makes my life comfortable. This part suggests that I should rather delay moving as long as possible, to wait and see whether the Münstermeister will really insist on my presence there.

To tell you the truth, I am getting somewhat tired of that second voice. It sounds like the backdrop to every decision I ever made (or fudged for so long that Life let me off the hook by making it for me). I think I should fire that voice and get some new advisors.

Fragments of a recent conversation in Second Life.

Me: I have noticed in myself that I often aim to miss, because success brings responsibility and the risk of making changes to accomodate it.
Me: I have been quite thoroughly irresponsible all my life, really.
She nods understanding.
Me: Here I am at age 50 without pension or health insurance, living alone and from month to month, no savings at all -- and the second-largest chunk of my time and energy goes on Second Life.
She strokes [my] forehead.
Me: He needs it.
She: Yes.
She: You have been sounding lonely lately.
Me nods.
Me: Yes, I have been lonely. I am coming to terms with leaving Stuttgart and all my friends and business partners and the stores where I am known.
She sighs.
Me: And frankly I don't want to do it.
She nods.
Me: But I sure as hell need the money. And the health insurance and pension that it would bring. The hourly rate isn't great, but there are enough hours that it would increase my income by over a third.
Me: There is no reason I could not save that third right off the top.
Me: I don't know whether to mourn this or welcome it.
Me: And I cannot talk about it with anyone in RL because they are all involved. G and U are furious and heartbroken at my leaving, they feel abandoned.
She nods.
Me: And I have realized that they are about 70% of my social life here.
Me: I will have an *enormous* amount of time to fill in Münster; either tango or SL or the gin bottle. and god help me if it's the latter.
She: I hope it's SL.
Me: Well, no, I don't fear that. I have no inclination to drink or drugs, none at all. Unless you count this as a drug
Me: or Internettery generally.
She: Misread that as "internuttery"
Me: ha!
She laughs.

More of the same

Another week, another ... well, what exactly? Read some, worked some, ate and drank and lounged about some. Blah. Today is a holiday (Fronleichnam, the happy corpse) so I walked to the Kunstmuseum for brunch on the terrace (ham and cheese ciabatta, cafe au lait, very international; wrapped up warm against the chilly weather) then came to the office to work on the latest competition. Wanted to do a few hours of Münstery, but the VPN server is dead again. Now blogging while I wait for Princess to come by, to advise her on a translation for an exhibition of her work in A Very Major Museum Indeed in London sometime next year decade (VMM's plan well ahead). G and U were here with Ralph for a while, it's astonishing how quickly he is growing. The lad is clearly going to be a John Goodman lookalike.

It's odd, I feel that I am constantly busy and surrounded by people and events pressing on my consciousness and time, but when it comes to write down what I've actually been doing, I draw a blank. We may safely assume that I breakfasted seven times in these seven days, and that I slept equally often, but do I remember doing so?

I've written before about my alternating states of perpetual hunger and lack of appetite; after a week of not wanting to eat, I am now again in a phase of perpetual hunger.

Ah well, perhaps the weekend will bring some change. Sorry to be so dull, my dearies.

The daily dull

I'm going through a phase of dullness. Working, drinking cappuccino (not (yet) Yogi tea), eating and sleeping some too, hanging around in Rose Street and Second Life. Business as usual, you might say. I hope your lives are more interesting.

That is all.

Well, perhaps a tiny bit more, equally dull but in a different way. I wrote about the smell of Frankincense, and how it was not quite what I was after. I happened to walk past the friendly neighbourhood hippie-goods emporium again on the weekend (which I have done twenty times or more since writing that piece), and on an impulse went in and described to the owner what I was looking for. We talked about the alternatives and possibilities, and then she pulled out a packet of quite different stuff, handmade in Bangalore and specially imported by herself, and handed it to me: a present. "You are a regular customer, you're always coming in and buying things here." I found that very odd, because in my eyes I am hardly a customer at all. In the nine years that the shop has been open, I've twice bought silk scarves there, one CD and a book (all as presents, I now realize), and each time she has given me some little takeaway including once making a present of a little Ganesh figurine that I wanted to pay for. I feel vaguely guilty about taking these things, and wonder how she can make a living by giving away her merchandise.

The new incense is warm, vaguely sweet and fruity, and is burning in Rose Street as I write. Hopefully it will drive away the bad vibes and stink of architectural modelmaking. It's called "Satya Sai Baba Nag Champa", made in Bangalore by Shrinivas Sugandhalaya; no website, photos of the packaging will be forthcoming.

Sick, part four

Getting better slowly. Today was sunny and warm (over 20°C) so I went for a walk around the Feuersee, and had to lie down afterwards. Cough is better, but lungs are still full and I have very little energy. It seems that I will be spending next week basically indoors, too.

Sick, part two

Slept nearly eleven hours last night, not counting a half-hour or so awake at about 5 a.m. Had breakfast, read, had lunch (comfort food: scrambled eggs with Maultaschen, zucchini and mushrooms), read, napped for an hour, and now blogging.

My lungs are starting to clear, coughing is much less painful than yesterday. Trouble is that they are clearing through my nostrils, which is of limited aesthetic appeal and entertainment value. Vague low-grade headache all day.

That is all.

Whiffle, Tuesday edition

I don't know where I got the idea that I could translate a page of the Münsters' Wiki in 90 minutes. Today's took over five hours. Admittedly it was the longest and most complicated yet, far longer than any previously. I may have to upwardly revise my estimate of the work remaining.

I've been going through a strange phase of appetite fluctuations for the last few weeks, from no appetite at all to Tasmanian Devil and back every five or six days. At present, I'm in ravenously hungry mode again: I could start in the kitchen at bottom left and work around to the top right polishing off everything softer than my teeth, and still want dessert.

Weather is improving, some blue-skied and sunny days lately. Walked to the river on Sunday, and downtown for coffee this morning.

And that's about it, my dears. I'm also going through a strange phase of leading a very dull life. I hope yours are more interesting.

Tuesday trivia

No word from the competition organizers yesterday, that means either than we were among the losers or that we got another third prize.

Translating, listening to Arvo Pärt's "Arbos," cooking lunch. Grey day, outside and in.

I've been meaning for some time to write about my coffee habit and the new espresso maker in the office. It's a Saeco Incanto Deluxe (extremely lousy website so no link, I've written and told them off for bad style and worse customer-contact practices), a very cute and efficient machine of the do-it-all-for-you kind. And quite thoughtfully designed too, so as to encourage maintenance and cleaning: the water tank and the coffee-bean holder and the drip catcher and the internal garbage can into which the used grounds are dumped all need filling or emptying at roughly the same time. The user learns to do all four tasks in one operation, thus keeping the machine clean and happy. Recommended.

The espresso and cappuccino that it makes are surprisingly tasty (for an automatic), nearly as good as proper hand-pumped. I noticed that having it in the office reduced my coffee intake by about 80%, and this has carried over to my home office: I find the stuff from my drip-filter machine quite unappealing. Probably much healthier this way.

Now if I could only get G and U to stop screwing up its pump by filling it with bottled mineral water...

Another eleven minutes of Saturday

Sneaking under the wire again. Tomorrow will be even tighter.

The competition progresses well. We have fitted nearly all rooms into the available volume, and the sections and elevations are taking shape well. I hope to be finished with it on Monday evening.

That is all. Good night, my dears.

Twenty-four down, six to go.

In which I heroically resist the temptation to do a one-word post.

Tired, headache, sore throat. Walked around town, shopped, drank cappuccino; met Sunday Painter and talked about age and the fading of hopes over a glass of wine. Then to the office for five hours' indecisive work on the competition. Bah.

Treated myself to a smoked-salmon and cream cheese sandwich for dinner. (What? as if you don't have smoked salmon in your fridge.) I shall now read blogs for a half-hour or so before bed, with a cup of hot chocolate.

But before I go, let me bring to your notice a recent Savage Chicken.

Three down, twenty-seven to go.