The 100th post...

As a special feature, we offer you this special presentation:

post number 100.

Unfortunately, I can't claim to have anything deep, meaningful, particularly witty or even necessarily particular in any form whatsoever. It's like watching the preview for a cool movie, then going to the theaters to discover...they took every single funny part out and put it in the preview, leaving nothing undiscovered (ex. Schultze gets the blues or Saving Sara). The disappointment is almost as shattering as discovering the easter bunny and santa claus are part of a cruel adult conspiracy to give you stuff. Except without the chocolate.

Right now, right this very second, there are probably about eight or ten things I should be doing instead of typing this. But seeing as I am not at my house and am unable to clean my room (pity; it is desperately in need) which is my usual method of avoiding responsibility, I am evoking my long-dormant creative impulses and hoping to come up with something sounding like English.

Incidentally, the word "Englisch" is one of those words I can never pronounce quite correctly in German; or rather, it is one of those words quite similar in both languages that I forget which one is pronounced which way. "Post" is another example. And English words stolen by the perfidious Germans "party" "muffin" "to go" and the infamous and incongruent word for Cellphone "Handy", which doesn't exist in English but should. These words are ones I, strangely enough, insist on pronouncing in a highly inappropriate German fashion (imagine what German must sound like to result in the clichéed accent in English... vas do yoo zink?), which results in "moffin", the unholy cross between baked goods and a Jim Henson character. The Germans, for some incomprehensible reason, continue to pronounce the word more or less in the American fashion. Blast.

And a summary of my evening last night:
Kinds of berries:
- Raspberry = Himbeer
- Strawberry = Erdbeer
- Currant = Johannisbeer
- Blueberry = Heidelbeer
- Blackberry = Brombeer
- Wineberry = Keine Ahnung
- = Josterbeer
- = Stachelbeer

I work lots. I like to complain about how much I work; it helps me feel justified for the fact that I am completely and thoroughly at fault for my current situation, and my obsession to take on too much stuff should not be rewarded with pity. Please, I take cash or money order. And ice cream.

But I won't be working for too much longer, which is good because I am increasingly find that the time periods in which I am supposed to be working and the time periods in which I absolutely have to be somewhere else are tending to coincide with unfortunate and increasing regularity. Sleeping is an activity for which I have little time and less patience, and increasing necessity.

In case I have given you an improper picture of my life, let me qualify by saying that I spend most evenings either out with friends or with Boyfriend, or both; my refusal to give up on my social life may eventually affect my grades (except for the part where I take everything pass/fail). My work is fun and varied, and I spent yesterday morning translating a presentation on Urban planning from German to English for a cadre of 19 Northern Irish, which was a lot of fun and makes me wonder how I can incorporate experiences like that into whatever my future career may be. If only I could speak French.... I am otherwise translating documents, working on project descriptions, going on tours, chaperoning foreign guests (the week before I spent two days with a group of Koreans, which was a lot of fun even though only one of them spoke English). There's always lots to do, and the documents that make it my way constantly impress me as to the variety and depth of the projects perused by the organization.

I feel like I am towing a metaphorical ticking clock around with me on a string (which has, strangely enough, had an inverse effect on my punctuality), like the Fall of the House of Usher except not. And except for the part where my ever-well-meaning professors compensate for the multitude of public holidays--or are living out some form of scholarly sadism--by planning numerous block seminars at inconvenient times, scheduling recitations for 8 am on Friday mornings and generally inhibiting me taking a weekend that stretches from Friday to Tuesday. Or they forget to inform me until two days prior that their class is now three hours earlier than planned, of course at exactly the same time that I am supposed to parler en francais.

My sister is coming this weekend and I am happy. I haven't seen her since last summer, I think, and it will be at least a year before I see her again. Bloody atlantic, making travel so difficult....

"Procrastination is like masturbation... at first it feels good, but then you realize you're just screwing yourself." While this would have been a much more attention-grabbing intro to the Oral Interp speech I competed with in high school (I tried to be all motivationally and such, comparing procrastion to the more socially acceptable acoholism) it does remind me that I have about 50 pages to read before tomorrow, and class in a few minutes...

January thoughts

Today's webcam bild. Am Schwabentor.

It's an odd thing, sitting here in January, listening to the birds chirping and discovering the tiny little flowers blooming guiltily amongst stems of grass. The sun is shining and the world seems brighter, more vibrant somehow. Goes to show I'm solar powered. Or perhaps it's just a lack of sleep.

I haven't decided if I like the weather. The part of me that needs to be outside all the time, the part of me that likes running and hiking, the part of me that is solar dependant, loves the 50-degree weather, the sunshine, and the budding trees. The part of me that is somewhat attuned to natural rhythms, for example, thinks this is just pretty damn weird. Or is it wierd? (I never know). Some small part of me hopes for snow, (yes, me...snow...and no, I haven't suffered a recent head injury) at least to try out cross country skiing, which is apparently quite fun. I'd just be happy with more daylight; I don't like the fact that the 'day' doesn't start till about 8 AM.

A conversation with a friend recently gave me the solution to my time-wasting problem. I tend to spend far too much free time screwing around, surfing the 'net, not researching, not writing, not doing much of anything productive. So I unplugged my internet, told myself I could have it back in an hour, which turned into an hour and a half, and got more done in that time than I had completed in five hours the day before. Amazing. But now that my time is somewhat constrained by my internship I actually have to plan ahead again and actually get to work during the time allotted.

But enough about me. Let's talk about you. What do you think of me?

No, seriously, subject change. Forgive me if I become somewhat philosophical, or at least reflective. My aspirations tend more towards the latter; even your grandma knows I'm no philosopher.

Why are we here?

No, too philosophical.

The pressing question (here I imagine the question as a giant airbag, laden with implications, seeking to physically push me into the ground. Perhaps other people have hard questions, but I like mine squishy) is, what makes people the way they are? It is my favorite question to ask people, ask them where they came from, how they came to be doing what they are doing, why they picked this or that subject to study or none at all, how they came to be florists, dentists, why they dreamed of being an electrician and why they now design paperweights, how they met their significant other. I try to imagine what the perspective would have looked like--how much of the decision was intentional, how much accidental? Some people, I am pretty sure--after being unable to discern any intention or direction whatsoever--just "end up" somewhere, doing something. Sometimes they are happy, sometimes they are not happy.

Stories. Personal histories. Choices. Lack of choices (the worst curse). Alternatives. Hope and enthusiasm. What happens when you have a dream? How does that change you? Are you afraid?

Let's change the subject. Hypothetically, if you were sitting on a public bus, if you were the only passanger seated next to the window, and someone got on.... and instead of sitting in one of the myriad odd free seats--using the normal calculation: distance from person seated to door, divide by half if you don't want to sit in the front; or, more simply, seating yourself at approximately one-half-bus-length from said person, wherever that puts you--instead of doing that, this person sits down *right next to you*.

What would you do? What do you think about that? Would it bother you?

Tell me. I want to know.