I won't take much of your time, ye honored reader, mostly because I haven't got much of it myself, or better said, such time as I have is better spent waging war with my computer and my paper (not the same thing--the first is inhibited by the pile of keys sitting on the table next to the keyboard, and the second is inhibited by the fact that I have been sitting in this chair about 80% of the last twelve hours).
This may come out as a bit of typographical expressionism, a linguistical Wassily Kadinsky, with much enthusiasm, little forethought, and a deep and profound happiness not to be writing about Justice With A Capital J. It's harder to do Eddie Izzard-style tranitions in writing, but I suppose I can non-sequit with the best of them, so I will try.
So, Language. Learning language is fun. I do it every day. If I had been smart I would've written down all the funny and stupid and hilarious and inappropriate things I've inadvertently said in the course of learning German, but because I wasn't, I'll have to suffice with some of the more recent examples.
"Bubble Orchester?" (b.l.a.s.e.n.o.r.c.h.e.s.t.e.r: he looks confused. bemused. more bemused than confused. I'm explaining with enthusiasm why I couldn't pay attention in class because a marching band was wandering around under the window--true story) "You mean a wind ensemble?" (b.l.a.s.o.r.c.h.e.s.t.e.r is what I wanted to say. certain friends pointed out the other possible mis-interpretations of the first spelling; I will leave that one up to the German speakers.)
My bike has no light on it, speaking of changing lanes without signaling. Every week something else is wrong with it, and I have jiggled all wires, turned all the screws and bent and pulled and tried and still no luck. So I am now practicing the quick-jump-off-and-pretend-I-was-pushing-all-along manoeuvre, in case the police come.
Running a red light at 3 AM at an empty intersection? 90€
Taking the tram without a pass? €40
Riding without a light? €10
...
Knowing you're rebelling in a country where that Just Isn't Done? Priceless. There are some things money can't by, and for everything else there's an Überweisung.
You know what I dislike? Potatoes. I don't hate them, I just have a certain lack of respect for them--potatoes are not elegant or glamorous, they are knobby and brown and not even a proper sphere and you have to scrub them or peel them or somehow turn them into something edible, which is anyways a lot of work and boring and gives you blisters in strange places or verschrümpfelt your hands. Pommes de terre, c'est tout. Yet in comparison to their shiny red and green friends, to those spherical objects of biblical and mythological reference, they are lowly, and not just geographic. And they taste, more or less, like the seasonings in which they were cooked, kind of like Tofu except without the health benefits. I wonder what the total historical death toll of the potato is? The potatoes of mass destruction (vgl. 1849 Ireland).... I like the sound of that...send in the troops...
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3 comments:
I am about 95% certain you are high, drunk, some combination thereof, or you when you were writing this...
But hey, this presents a wonderful opportunity to introduce you to my latest of my bizarre verbal fetishes: Babble Monkeys. I found all sorts of new and exciting ways to introduce babble monkeys into conversation in the past few weeks, often to consternation and verbal head patting. If that application is unclear, I have other useful monkeys on hand for explanation and/or Shakespeare, in whatever language you give them typewriters to bang on.
Have you been watching Eddie Izzard again? You could get tickets for your lane changing. Hope you feel better after blowing off all that steam. Potatoes? m
Stone cold nüchtern, I'll have you know. This is the essential me, and by essential, I don't mean the typical misuse of the word, rather essential as in of the essence... like 90 proof personality, dangerous for the uninitiated...
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