For example.

There’s a hole In the internet. In case you’re worried, it is a rather small hole in a specific location, and you are unlikely to be affected; specifically, it is located on the 10th floor of our building and most likely limited to my apartment, reappearing in fluctuations of about 10 minute intervals. I am trying to distract myself from studying, you see, and the internet’s capriciousness causes me to direct my attention elsewhere.

People ask why I don’t write much. Here, or in email. Since I don’t actually do much of anything interesting these few days (I have spent much of the last two weekends and all of the intervening days in the university, “studying” for exams or at least trying hard to pretend). But good stories come from anywhere and everywhere, so I will do my best to sift out the good bits from the last few weeks.

For example. Being at the university a lot can have unfortunate side effects. Besides making you all pale and pasty looking from lack of sunlight, it can lead to a sense of disjointedness and, in fact, utter confusion as to whether one is actually at home or at school. Hence it is not uncommon to make your way into the study room early on a bright and sunny morn to see a pair of socks sticking out from under a table. Either someone is dead or sleeping, and you almost hope for the former because at least that way you can turn on the lights and create a ruckus. Alas, the misfortunate individual blinks up at you groggily, pushing aside the beach towel and the extra shirts. I almost expect to see “will work for food” scrawled on a sign next to them; no luck, it’s a packet of readings. I’d almost think it was a homeless shelter except for the fact that you need a key card to get in. Some people spend several nights in a row there. In most cases, the point isn’t to sleep at the university, the point is to not sleep at the university because you’ve got something to get done and 12 hours to do it in. Start research at 8 pm, start writing by 4 AM, turn in by noon. It is, in fact, possible. Some of the repeat offenders claim they “do not have time to go home”; yet it is often these individuals one finds sleeping at every opportunity. It’s like a narcoleptic convention: every room is filled with open mouths or heads down on the desks, or there’s someone under the tables just waiting to be stepped on.

For example. I saw a lady the other night at the bus station walking her cat. There she was, heading to the bus, clucking at the gray kitty with the crooked tail (why do they all have crooked tails?). And then I realized she wasn’t walking the cat, she was being pursued by it, and the lady was showing obvious signs of discomfort at the fact that the tabby was relentlessly pursuing it. I tried to shoo the cat away for the poor woman’s sake but the cat was not to be dissuaded, nor was it to be persuaded to play with my headphones instead of following the poor woman. Alas. She tried to climb up on to the metal fence to escape the kitty. The cat eventually wandered off to go bug some other people, to her visible relief.

For example. Three things I think should be shared with the world at large, and in particular the miniscule portion of who might stumble across this:

Verve photo - These are some amazing pictures by some amazing photojournalists. This is the epitome, the epitome, I tell you, of the phrase “a picture is worth a thousand words.”

Beyond Boba Fett - This is another example of “a picture is worth a thousand words,” except it’s a lot more hilarious to imagine whaat the “thousand words” for each of these guys would be. Relatedly, the Daily Mail (ever admired for its journalistic integrity, but in this case spot on) describes the site in its article “A Stormtrooper’s Day Off”

I saw the movie Once last night (I know, about three years behind everyone else). But it is FaNtAsTiC. It’s a story of two musicians in Dublin, one a vacuum repairman and the other a young mother from the Czech Republic, who find each other and their music. It’s not (really) a sappy love story, but I’m not sure what it is. But, but, but, but, the music is haunting, menoncholy, and stunningly beautiful. I would post a link but it likely won’t work in your country. Search for “When Your Mind’s Made Up” and “ONCE” on Youtube, you’ll find it. And you won’t regret it.

For example. I went to a Swiss Barbecue last night, brought along by a friend. So many white people! Swiss people, doing Swiss things, speaking Swiss to kids who also only speak Swiss, acting all Swissy and having all kinds of a good time. My search for a Gabel almost failed miserably because I had happened upon the (seemingly) sole non-German (or non-Swiss, to be fair)-speaker at the whole thing. You would think, to be safe, that I would have been more successful in English, but she wasn’t familiar with ‘fork’ either so we eventually settled on ‘fourchette’. Just give me my plastic silverware goddamit I want to eat my salad of imported Feta and olives. Actually, the point I was trying to make, besides the fact that I felt mildly affronted at the appropriation of an American tradition (hamburger grilling) at a “swiss” BBQ (as if we had invented BBQs to start with, and as if we as Americans weren’t busy anyways happily appropriating others’ cuisine and re-naming it to suit our factually incorrect and altogether inappropriate bigoted nationalism, à la Freedom Fries) (and I was also just kidding at being affronted), was that I found (a) the multitude of white people, (b) the age/life gap (most were families with kids living in family houses and doing family things, altogether too bourgeoisie for my shoestring, transient student self) startling. Nevertheless, I think it’s funny that this aspect of Swiss life (here I only assume it’s Swiss life; but it closely resembles various aspects of German life and Western life in General, reminiscent as it was of American 4th of July celebrations) has replicated itself here, in “such” a different place. It was familiar and strange all at once. But the veggie burgers were good, and I dug into the salad as a starving person would.

For example. I’m moving out (again) next weekend. Since I don’t own much, moving must be easy, you think. You would think, wouldn’t you? Alas, a plethora of small and almost unidentifiable objects have crept into my possession, such that I suddenly seem to own 50% more than when I came here, without having bought much in the way of “useless crap”. Seeing how I move to another country or continent every few months, I just don’t BUY that kind of stuff – so where does it come from?? I have a penchant for adopting lost books and buying small souveniers (particularly earrings). But that still won’t explain all this stuff – I am eternally convinced I have nothing to wear, having worn the same stuff day in, day out for the last four months, but at the same time I have all kinds of things that will take up all kinds of space. I personally think my belongings procreate in the dark.