Keine Lieder ueber Liebe

I tried to find an article I read a month or so ago, about some suggestion from the German Minister of Family Affairs, Urusla van der Leyen. She suggested, or the article did, marriages of seven years, to be mutually and repeatedly renewed, or else they would default to some kind of divorce that was supposed to be simpler and (materially) cleaner than your typical divorce. It seemed odd to me to read that, but in consideration I don't find it a half bad idea: so many marriages end in divorce, the concept should change from "forever and ever till death do us part" to something more realistic.

In looking for the article I found a couple of others dealing with love and relationships, including one from the Welt newspaper (in German) called Plädoyer für eine vernünftige Liebe, which discusses whether love is necessary or helpful in marriage. Several surveys comparing "marriage for love" couples with arranged marriages, finding the former happier in the first five years, and afterwards demonstrating that couples in arranged marriages were actually happier. Statistically, anyways; I can't speak to their reliability or methodology.



Anyways, the point of all this is the time-honored lament that I just don't get love and relationships. I won't say I don't understand why people bother--I know why people bother, and I have no regrets despite the fact that the end of my last relationship left me with sadness and heartache, and cost me a good friend--but it require some queer kind of optimism that I fail to comprehend. Relationships seem to me to be like trying to make an omelette by standing on the other side of the room and throwing eggs at a frying pan: the activity can be entertaining, and eventually you'll hit the pan, but most likely you'll make a huge, giant mess, break a lot of eggs uselessly, and even if you do hit, your omelette still has bits of shell in it.



The beginning of a relationship is a roller coaster, exciting but frustrating. The relationship itself, even when up and running is full of small or large frustrations that you either swallow and deal or constantly fight about. Even the seemingly "perfect" relationships have their issues, and due to the kind of closeness people in a relationship have, the issues seem way more important or get blown out of proportion. Even when everything seems to run smoothly there are obstacles and issues. And then all of the sudden, or maybe not all that suddenly but seemingly inevitably, it ends, and it's messy. Sometimes, it ends because of issues, sometimes you just get bored. Distance can kill even an otherwise great relationship; no matter how much you care, it's hard to overcome several thousand miles (speaking from personal experience). Or maybe it doesn't end and you get married instead, and even then, even once you've made it that far you have an over 50% chance of getting divorced again. Somehow, you pull yourself together, pick up the pieces, clean up the mess, and move on to repeat the experience.

Der Winter

Schon ins Land der Pyramiden
Flohn die Störche übers Meer;
Schwalbenflug ist längst geschieden,
Und die Sonne scheint nicht mehr.

Seufzend in geheimer Klage
Streift der Wind das letzte Grün;
Und die süßen Sommertage,
Ach, sie sind dahin, dahin!

Nebel hat den Wald verschlungen,
der dein stilles Glück gesehn;
ganz in Duft und Dämmerungen
will die schöne Welt vergehn.

Nur noch einmal bricht die Sonne
unaufhaltsam durch den Duft,
und ein Strahl der alten Wonne
rieselt über Tal und Kluft.

Und es leuchten Wald und Heide,
dass man sicher glauben mag:
hinter allem Winterleide
liegt ein ferner Frühlingstag.

Theodor Storm

Nun ist der Winter hier. Er ist aus den Bergen hierher geschlichen, sehr leise, ohne dass ich ihn gesehen hätte. Es war plötzlich in der Nacht, zwischen den Minuten, die eine Kette zwischen Mitternacht und Mitten in der Nacht bilden, wo ich nicht so ganz aufpasse. Geschlafen habe ich nicht, ich lag in meinem Bett, unter der Federdecke alleine in dem großen, weichen Bett--doch der Schlaf ist nicht gekommen, das Sandmännchen auch nicht, nur Jack Frost und der Wind--und der Winter. Die Wolken kommen vom Osten, von der Prärie, und werden vom durstigen Wend über die Maisfelder und Höfe zu uns getragen. Sie stoßen gegen die Berge, die plötzlich von der Erde wie eine Mauer von Kanada bis fast Mexiko ragen.

Der Winter, er versteckt sich in den Bergen, er wurde nicht vom Wind getragen. Er hält sich dort auf, wo man ihn nicht finden kann, in den Höhlen und Tälern, in den großen stolzen Kiefern und unter den Tannenbäumen. Zu dieser Jahreszeit kommt er hervor, immer tiefer, bis er uns erreicht, wir, die viel tiefer sind. Er winkt dem Bär zu, der sich auf den großen Schlaf vorbereitet, im Vorbeigehen. Der Winter wird jetzt nicht bleiben, er besucht nur, und wird der Prärie bald den Rücken kehren, bis es wirklich seine Zeit ist. Noch ein paar Wochen bleiben uns, die feuerroten und golden Blätter zu bewundern, bevor auch sie verschwinden, dem Sommer hinterher.

Jetzt liegen wir unter einer Decke Schnee, jetzt dass der Wind nicht mehr Waagerecht bläst, dass es zu kalt ist für Regen, dass es Zeit ist, uns daran zu erinnern, dass der Winter doch auf uns wartet.


Bild vom Winter 2006

PS: ich hab in der Stadt gewohnt, wo Theodor Storm geboren wurde. Cool, was? :)

Tuesday thoughts

I think my favorite place in Boulder (the flat part--the mountains is another story) is along the Creek, on the several miles of paths and trails linking the mountains with the plains. This time of year, autumn is stepping in, in all her radiant glory. Compared to where I grew up, the sheer variety astounds me, though the vibrancy of the colors is hard to compare. In any case, what is ordinarily a beautifully rolling path along a babbling brook is now bathed in gold and red.
(Photo/Casey A. Cass)

I always look forward to running down there, as an alternative to running from home. Not only is it supremely beautiful and very peaceful, the creek path is always lively. Towards the hills, along Broadway and the Boulder City Park, the place is usually full of families with kids playing in the creek, or couples sunbathing on the grass, dogwalkers and commuters, strollers (both the people and the objects). There's always a lot going on. Heading from Broadway down to Arapahoe, you head along the university campus. This is where I join, careening down the "Ho Chi Minh trail", just waiting for the day I trip on the uneven stone stairs or, more likely, barrel into some oblivious freshman jamming to his ipod and ignoring my pleas for him to get out of my way. I pass tennis bubbles and outdoor courts with all manner of kids and adults, past the park and the access of the football team--leaving me dodging burly, padded guys. Sooner or later I leave the campus behind, passing an outdoor running track, under several bridges. There's one painted like those relatively ubiquitous--but beautiful--Japanese prints, whose artist I have been unable to discern. .

This is the Autobahn of recreational sports in Boulder, with cruiser-type bikers almost run down by toned, spandex-clad athletic guys on track or road bikes. Joggers, of course, are everywhere. Dodging the slower ones is almost a sport of itself. I passed the CU track team, or they passed me (in opposite directions), spikes in hand. I took a brief moment to appreciate that the weather was warm enough for some of the guys to run shirtless (an apparently american phenomenon, so I hear). A few seconds later, the ladies team comes around the bend, with a few stragglers but still jogging strongly. I've been jogging for three or four years now, and every day when I can swing it, but I am quite a long way from being able to compete on any kind of team. I suppose if I put in the miles for the training I could do okay, or at least keep up. I don't know if that's the only reason why I don't. I know I'm a competitive person, and if I do something I want to do it well. This has and does preclude me from starting new things, as I dislike being a beginner. Also, it is hard to start a sport when everyone else has been doing it for years, and the years where I should have been starting sports, I was an anti-athletic couch potato. I've not competed at anything athletic since I was about twelve, which is approximately when I quit playing peewee soccer. I suppose I could, if I wanted to, but I realized today that this is an area where I've never pushed myself. I have also had no inclination to compete in foot races, mostly because I do recognize what it takes to do well, and my running is my release. I don't want it to become an obligation.

On my return, I took a left up a different path, along the back of the stadium. The hill is steep but doesn't bother me, though given peoples' looks, I guess that's not a way most people go up. I tear around the corner, glorying in the opportunity to sprint out and stop before the rec center doors. I've got to go down to the sweaty bowels to stretch and such, as unappetizing as that is. I stake out a mat and do my stretches, amid a mess of co-eds wearing makeup and gym clothes, doing ab workouts and generally irritating me. They seem to exude superficiality, which is probably an unfair characterization, but given the critical look most every girl gives herself in the floorlength mirror, and the number of chicks using the scale, I can imagine that the goal of the exercise isn't to be healthy, but to work off the freshman fifteen or whatnot. I don't know why it bothers me, but it does, so I do my thing and take off. On my way out the door, I pass a smallish kid (not a college kid, for sure) lugging a hocky stick and bag at least his size and probably twice his weight. Assuming he manages to a) make it in the door and b) move while wearing all this junk, he looks like he's going to be having fun. No pilates and sit-ups for him.

Because homework isn't all that interesting...

This may take awhile to load. These are random pictures from the last few years, deliberately without people in them, and hopefully aesthetically pleasing. They are all my own photography, so: copyright to me :)

The Eiffel Tower from Trocadero, at about 8 AM.


Monaco


Le Cap d'Antibes, Antibes, France


Güntherstal in Autumn, near Freiburg im Breisgau, Germany


Schlosscafe, Freiburg i. Br., Germany


One of the lil Rhine towns, Germany


Un pont de Paris - a bridge in Paris, France


A courtyard in Bergamo, Italy


I think this was Arles, France
UPDATE> turns out it's somewhere in Germany, in a small town whose name I've forgotten. But the street sign is in German: ,,Parken in gekenntzeichneten Flaechen erlaubt". And the license plate says Gö, which is Göttingen. I forgot I went there.....


Near Braunschweig (Brunswick) Germany


Off the coast of Oban, Scotland


Cliffs of Moher, Ireland


Innisheer, Ireland


St. Goar, on the Rhine, Germany


(on a train between Madrid and Sevilla, Spain)


And me!

Soundtrack

I forced myself into my running gear in a resounding triumph of discipline over laziness, with the consolation that I would feel better afterwards matched against my fatigue and the darkening clouds. Summer had been replaced with autumn while I was busy, and a bite of cold was in the air. The temperature had dropped to the forties, and it would probably snow later.

People walk around pushing back their debts
Wearing pay checks like necklaces and bracelets
Talking 'bout nothing, not thinking 'bout death
Every little heartbeat, every little breath
People walk a tight rope on a razor’s edge
Carrying their hurt and hatred and weapons
It could be a bomb, or a bullet, or a pen
Or a thought, or a word, or a sentence

There ain't no reason things are this way
It's how they always been and they intend to stay
I don’t know why I say the things that I say,
But I say them anyway
(Ain't No Reason from Brett Dennen)

I set off, dragging my weariness of a mis-slept week and a persistent calf strain up the first hill. My savior, my music lent me the enthusiasm my body was lacking, and I settled into the kind of pace that would get me there but necessarily any time soon. At the first corner and the first hill, the first drops of rain began to fall, and I gradually became aware of the darkening horizon, and even above my music I could hear the thunder. The mountains can be treacherous, the weather capricious and vengeful, but I decided to take my chances. I needed this.

j'ai pas le style
portant pas en style
mais c'est pas pour moi le costard uniforme

j'ai pas l'intégrale
du genre idéal
j'aurais toujours l'impression qu'on m'espionne
pourtant pas contre l'amour
je s'rais même plutôt pour

mais c'est pas pour autant qu'il faut
qu'on s'attache et qu'on s'empoisonne
avec une flèche qui nous illutionnes
faut pas qu'on s'attache et qu'on s'emprisonnes
mais rien n'empêche que l'on s'abandonnes
non...
(On s'attache from Christopher Mae)

Footfall fades into footfall, the dirt beneath my feet becomes little more than a ruddy blur, quickly turning into a muddy blur as the precipitation increases. There is no such thing as bad weather, just improper clothing, and so I soldier on. The rain turns to sleet after the first two hundred feet of elevation gain, lashing my tired and shadowed eyes like angry tears, and there is no escape, nowhere to duck into. I run into the growing storm, feeling the rush of wind and the first tingle of exhilaration.

Ich sehe, dass du denkst
ich denke, dass du fühlst
ich fühle, dass du willst
aber ich hör dich nicht

Du baust aus Schweigen dir ein Zelt
stellst es mitten in die Welt
spannst die Schnüre und staunst stumm
wenn nachts ein Mädchen drüberfällt

(Nur Ein Wort, from Wir Sind Helden)

Thoughts chase through my head like hailstones, sometimes ricocheting, sometimes finding purchase. I almost always prefer to run alone, as the exertion frees my mind to think undirected and unrestricted. It's been a hellish week of long nights, little sleep, some self doubt, a mess of personal problems intermixed with rays of sunshine, the premature flush of success, and now at least, of passe. The three and a half hours of sleep the night before were not enough to compensate, and I am feeling the effects. In the end, as is the inevitable conclusion, I appreciate the relativity of my situation: my deadlines and responsibilities will come and go, will bear fruit, and I will reap the benefits of my efforts. Delayed gratification is no problem to me. My personal frustrations are also not eternal, and are bearable, if undesired.

"Welcome to the real world", she said to me
Condescendingly
Take a seat
Take your life
Plot it out in black and white
Well I never lived the dreams of the prom kings
And the drama queens
I'd like to think the best of me
Is still hiding
Up my sleeve

They love to tell you
Stay inside the lines
But something's better
On the other side
(No Such Thing, from John Mayer)

It's probably the slowest I've ever run this stretch, though I wear no watch. I feel the non-participation of my muscles, the faint complaints of my calves, and I lack the reserves that allow me the exhilarating stretch where I feel like I am flying. Today, that is denied me. I take solace in the weather, enjoying the cold trickle down my back and in my scalp, at the clinging wetness of my sodden jacket. I am wet, I am nature, I am free.

Time will let the story told grow and grow ‘til it unfolds
In a way that even you cannot ignore
You can say the seasons change but never if you just remain
In a place where the freeze is at your door

What you don’t know is the signs are right for the turning tide

Step out into the day, all the clouds and all the rain are gone
It’s over now
Step out into the sun, for you have only begun to know
What it’s all about
As the hungering dark gives way to the dawn, my love
It’s over now
(Into the Day [It's Over Now] from Bebo Norman)

Let Your Voice Be Heard

I went to go see a guy named John Prendergast this week. He's an activist, currently with ENOUGH Project, whose mission is to "prevent genocide and mass atrocities by promoting Peace, providing Protection, and Punishing the perpetrators". He's currently part of the Darfur activism movement, considered one of the leading experts in the field, and just co-authored a book with Don Cheadle (Hotel Rwanda) on the subject. In the mid 1990s he was an adviser to the White House and the State Department, later serving as a Senior Adviser at the International Crisis Group and was an electoral observer recently in Liberia, Sierra Leone, and Uganda.

It was a good presentation, introduced by the speaker of Colorado's legislature (himself a fabulous public speaker, sponsored CO's divestment bill). He discussed the crisis, why nothing or very little has been done, how important the activist community is and what we have left to do.

But despite his experience and his high profile, it was a speech I'd heard three or four or more times over now. It seems to always be the same, occasionally accompanied by graphic images (Brian Steidle's presentation a few years back being what got me into Darfur activism to start with) or harrowing personal accounts (such as the stories of the Southern Sudanese "Lost boys" who often speak at such events, or Paul Rusesabagina's presentation also a few years back).


www.americaabroadmedia.org/programs.html
I found I wanted a more critical look. It's not enough to tell me about the crisis, of mothers who must watch their children die or of orphans and refugees, and IDPs. It is also no longer a secret that China constitutes or is responsible for many of the obstructions that have prevented peacekeeping forces from intervening or SC resolutions from being passed. I am interested in comparing the genocide in Darfur with the genocides in Rwanda, or Kosovo, or Armenia--what the international community has done (or not) to hinder or resolve further violence. I want seemingly cold-hearted Realpolitik issue addressed as well, as to how and why we should be involved--even though I would consider the violence taking place to constitute a moral imperative.

What I found interesting were his three Ps, his suggestions for dealing with this crisis: Peacemaking, protection, and punishment. The middle one is obvious, and fits well with most UN peackeeping mission mandates, insofar as those peacekeepers are allowed to defend with force (though arguably their presence alone in Rwanda was enough to mitigate the violence in many siuations). The former suggestion is far too complex to even begin to be adequately addressed within the context of an hour-long presentation and is in fact the subject of many books, several of which are (as yet unread) on my bookshelf. But it's complicated, and depending on where you think the conflict started and why (is this an ethnic conflict? Is there even such a thing--as some scholars discount? Is this economic, or religious, or political, or or or?). This area also includes, in the words of our fear(clue)less leader, "winning hearts and minds", somehow negotiating and implementing a peace process, and rebuilding institutions. Not just easy as pie, and though it sounds nice as a soundbyte, it may or may not be possible.

It was his last P, punishment, which particularly interested me. The theory behind the Truth and Reconciliation Tribunals in South Africa was not retributive justice, but rather restorative justice, exchanging amnesty for the truth. While the aggregious and gruesome violence found in other parts of africa (you do not even want to imagine the violence of the LRA in Uganda or the Revolutionary United Front (RUF) of Sierra Leone, but there are plenty of pictures of people learning to live without hands, ears, or other body parts if you are interested) is such that, in my opinion, there should be no amnesty. But that aside, threatening punishment can deter rebels from peace talks, leading to a prolonged conflict and more death.

I don't know what the "right answer" is, or where to draw the boundaries of justice, nor whose conception of it we should respect. Ending the conflict should be the first goal, preventing resumption of violence the second, and punishing the perpetrators (or at the very least, preventing them from committing these crimes again) should be the third priorit. Given how infrequently and under which difficulties peace agreements are signed, combined with the high occurance of "relapses"--all of which is only too well known to Mr. Prendergast--I should think his third P should be 'prevention', so that Sudan doesn't turn into the DRC.

Things you may or may not know about me.... (part 2)

26. There are three things in life which keep me sane: running, writing, and breakfast. I can even go without the first two for a day or so, but if I don't have breakfast, I'm not a nice person.

27. Having to plonger my clogged toilet regularly is one of the more disgusting things I can think of.

28. There are lots of things that I don't tell anyone, ever, sometimes not even to my closest friends.

29. I used to prefer my cake without frosting, my spaghetti without sauce, and didn't like pizza.

30. I have eaten both rabbit, squirrel, shark, squid, and buffalo, though I am now a vegetarian.

31. I didn't go to either junior or senior prom, and I haven't yet been sorry. I also can't imagine why I should regret that.

32. I've apparently forgotten slang, and talk like a textbook. 'Cool' went out of style long ago, as did 'sick' and 'nice'. And I say things like spiffing, knackered, and cheers.

33. I like being clean but dislike showering, particularly more than once a day. More than twice is just excessive.

34. Wasting time on the internet (such as writing my blog!) is one of my favorite passtimes.

35. The number of people who read or have read this blog always surprises me--I go to tell a story, and someone says, "oh, yeah, I read about that in your blog". I've unfortunately captured the most amusing or interesting elements of my life, which leaves me talking about political theory, weird animal facts, or knock-knock jokes at parites.

36. I only read the comics in the sunday paper.

37. I wish I could go everywhere barefoot, and my dream house is Bag End.

38. I still really want to go to Neuschwanstein, even if it *is* just for tourists.

39. Living in Germany has made my speech more direct, and that sometimes makes me rude by american standards. I have no compunctions asking how much people earn or pay for their apartment, negatively commenting on things I don't like, etc.


40. My friends know me to be indecisive. I would clarify to say that I am deliberately non-decisive, which means I have no particular preference in most cases (or only a very slight preference) and would rather leave the decision-taking up to those who care more. This is not a game or a trick, I really do not have a preference in about 90% of situations. However, when I do have a preference, I say it--and, as my dear R. commented, I tend to insist if I do have a preference.

41. 90% of the time I don't like my hair. 50% of the time I wish it were straight, 30% of the time I wish it were curly, 5% of the time I wish it were a different color, 80% of the time I wish it were longer, 3% of the time I wish I looked good bald, and the fact that these percentages don't add up to 100 reflects both my math skills and my indecision.

42. Leftovers are my favorite :) Seriously, having something super-yummy already made? Priceless.

43. What other people think of my cooking remains a mystery to me, but I almost never (actually, nur twice that I can recall) have made a meal which I, at least, didn't like.

44. I find the conversations written on the walls of the ladies' loos on campzus to be really interesting and often quite insightful. I've heard the men's toilets aren't nearly so philosophical, but somehow I'm not surprised.

45. I really just want only a taste of things, not a portion of my own. Buffets, for this reason, are the best things ever. One sauteed mushroom, one spring roll, one bite ravioli.... I'm big on the smorgesbord approach. And by the way, smorgesbord is Swedish for bread (bord) and butter (smor).

46. As much as I love my car, I prefer not to drive.

47. I couldn't imagine dating anyone unathletic or shorter than me. Strangely enough, I keep dating guys with short, blonde hair, though I find long, dark hair to be quite attractive.

48. I wish I had a cat or a dog, even though that is really impractical now.

49. I try to pick friends who are smarter than I am. A lot of people seemed overwhelmed by my personality, and I have occasional asocial tendencies. Mostly, though, I can get along with most everyone.

50. Sunrise is my favorite time of day.


More later.

Things you may or may not know about me....

...and random comments on life, in no particular order,

1. I'm a morning person and rarely sleep past 6 AM.

2. I judge people who use poor grammar.

3. I don't watch TV; actually, I can't stand it. Not only do I think it's stupid (even I need mindlessness sometimes) it just doesn't hold my attention. I sit there flipping channels like a hamster with ADD.

4. I tend to hold grudges, and it takes a lot to get me to forgive what I probably can't forget. Which is related to:

5. Once I get angry, I tend to get really angry and stay angry for days. I would say that 95% of my friends and acquaintences haven't seen me angry, as I try to not let it happen much.

6. I believe that life without music is a waste of time. Thus, my ipod comes with me everywhere, the radio or itunes is always on. Even bad music is preferable to new music, just ask my former roommates.

7. One of my main goals in life is to become fluent in several languages. Two down, several hundred to go.

8. When I was in middle school, I was not a nice person. I used to maliciously tease and torment other kids, for reasons which are now completely unknown to me. And I'm glad I've reformed.

9. At any given time I am likely to be addicted to a) chewing gum, b) coffee, or c) both.

10. I eat food in phases; there was a time when I ate half an avocado a day, every day, for about a month and a half. Recently I have been on a cottage cheese kick, before that was pumpkin. Odd.

11. I love food, and have become quite the snob about it. I refuse to eat fast food, and not just for health reasons.

12. People have compared me to both a kitten and a rabbit. Though I think the former reference referred to my sharp nails I'll prefer to consider it an endearment; the latter refers to my habit of carrying carrots with me wherever I go. PS: carrots are loud and should not be eaten in work or study environments, or else suffer the consequences.

13. Americans seem incapable of making a good cappuccino.

14. I was overweight in high school. It sucked. Being normal makes my life much easier.

15. I think girls who only work out on the elliptical while flipping through Vogue are wimps. Also, girls who spend an hour toning each individual muscle in their bodies in order to have the perfect figure need to get a life and find a real sport, like rowing or competitive knitting or something.

16. I like the fall leaves and the bite in the air, though I pretend I don't as I hate winter.

17. I miss Europe (most of you know this).

18. I keep organic unsulphured apricots and granola in my desk drawer for snacking. Hey, I live in Boulder. More or less.

19. I sometimes feel like people who don't speak German are missing out on half my personality. And for people who don't speak a second language, I wonder where the other half of their personality is. Does this make me a snob?

20. I hate few things more than indifference. Why is it so important to me to feel I exist? Cogito, ergo sum.

21. I like to pretend I'm a wine snob, and talk like I know anything about wine at all.

22. I'm pretty happy about the fact that I don't really fit in with about 80% of my classmates. Luckily, I just hang out with the other 20%.

23. I think all Americans and residents should be required to learn both English and Spanish. Yes, I know, I'll get to it myself one of these days. But to my credit, at least I *am* learning foreign languages, even utterly useless ones like German.

24. I wish I rode my bike everywhere, like I used to.

25. I don't do boredom, sleeping in, video games, television, meat, milkshakes, fried food, math, or much swimming.

Enough for today, more tomorrow!

Well now, no excuses

This is the part of the evening (similar to parts of the morning and afternoon not taken up by class, work, or bus) where I should be doing homework, except I am working ahead so it's not too crucial. Instead of working I am reading blogs, mostly completely irrelevant stories of total strangers.

And speaking of total irrelevancy, it's cold out but I have all the windows open and the fans going because my roomate decided that reruns of Leave It To Beaver or whatever the hell he's watching is more fascinating than whatever he's cooking, and burned a giant pot of beans and rice such that he set off the smoke alarm. Now everything smells of burnt beans, with his exceptionally witty--and not ironically intended--question, apparently dumbfounded by the piercing shriek of electronics in pain, of "is the stove on?" WTF?

I've tried to be productive today and study, but it didn't work out all that well. I spent the morning being mildly productive, went and spent too much money on crap I didn't need before heading up to a friend's to study for our MiDtErM tomorrow with my German friend. We drank tea, checked out his rediculously awesome house (hardwood floors, bay windows, north Boulder, within walking distance of Mt Sanitas, huge yard, huge kitchen), cooked pasta, and tried to figure out what the hell happened in Germany starting in 1848, who Frida von Bülow was and why she was such a crazy fucker (I am not cut out for feminism). German left and we went for a hike which turned into a jog, as he was late for work.

So, I have no idea how I'll do on the midterm. I know I'll pass, but the teacher is such a wild card, gives us completely illogically structured handouts and generally manages to completely confuse me. I have no idea what he wants from me.

Other than that, I am supposed to be learning just what, exactly, an olecranon fossa is, and how you distinguish it from a coronoid fossa (in case you care, we are talking about the recessions in the bones of your humerous--upper arm--on the back and front, respectively). This, and about five million other, otherwise completely irrelevant terms are the subject of my Thursday test. I'm not doing too much studying on that one, but I did manage to remember that the acromion is part of the scapula, and how to tell the right ulna from the left. This will become crucial for my later career, I'm sure.

There is a species of primate whose name I've forgotten, that is just plain freaky looking and has an exceptionally skinny middle finger (as in, half to one third the diameter of the other fingers) which it uses to tap on tree trunks, find hollow bits with worms living in 'em, and fish them out. Strrrrrange. I also learned that gibbons live in monogomous pairs and mate for life, that they sing to each other and, when searching for a mate, travel through the forest singing, till they find another little critter to sing back. Orangutans, however, are practically asocial, excepting the occasional rendez-vous. Male baboons are twice the size of females, have relationships based on kinship, and have body parts that turn bright blue or red when they are ready to mate. And Koko the gorilla--you remember her? the one with the kitten?--can actually be verbally abusive to her handlers, lies, exercises deception, and tries to blame college students when she freaks out and rips a sink out of the wall. Whoops.

Of the half of the semester remaining, I have at least one if not two anthropology exams and two astronomy exams, four more lab practicals, two minor and one longer paper for poli sci on civil war as well as a presentation on Zimbabwe, a short reaction and a research paper for german history, two or three more midterms for history, a presentation and five reaction papers--and a 20p research excerpt--for international affairs, a conference paper, five final exams and four applications due. I like to complain about my workload, because it makes me feel important. Or masochistic. Perhaps that's the same thing?

It's too dark now to go running in the morning, so I now go in town on the Boulder Creek path with everyone else and their hamster. Seriously, the place is full but the people-watching is great, though I get depressed by the romantic couples. The football team practices down there, and it is funny to watch guys carrying around their bodyweight in padding, looking like little marshmallows with helmets. It makes them look manly, and...padded. I miss the appeal. Sometimes there are packs of sorority sisters wandering around, looking like a matching set of decorative objects. To be fair, all of those that I have gotten to know have been way more interesting than anticipated.

Someone gave me a free cow bell yesterday at the fall festival. And a yoghurt. And a cookie. I still have the cow bell.

Ziellose Gedanken

Hier bin ich wieder! Habt ihr mich vermisst? Ich verschwende schon wieder meine Zeit im Internet. Passiert leider allzu oft, auch wenn ich allzu viele andere Sachen am Hals habe. So erstrebenswert--und so erfreulich--wie die Produktivität ist, schaffe ich es einfach nicht, mich dem Berg von Aufgaben zu wenden. Außerdem ist das hier viel interessanter, als sämtliche Knochen auswendig zu lernen, was ich eigentlich sonst hätte machen müssen.

Ich hab leider nicht viel zu sagen, oder nichts Interessantes. Hauptsächlich verbringe ich meine Zeit damit, Einträge von meinem ,,To-do List" zu streichen. Das macht mich unheimlich glücklich. Wie ihr mich kennt, macht mich nichts glücklicher als etwas Geschafft Zu Haben. Oder geschafft- geschaffen- verschaffen- verschlafen- vergessen- gegessen- gegeben- ge-----ähm, ich hör schon auf.

Genauer gesagt, verbringe ich meine Zeit damit, denselben Leuten dieselben Sachen zu erklären; denjenigen, die auf mich zukommen und mich mit dem wunderbaren Satz ,,ich brauch' n Buch" in den Wahnsinn treiben. Sie glauben--also die Leute, die Studenten glauben, dass es für uns nichts Himmlicheres auf Erde gibt, als ihr Buch auszusuchen. Versteht mich nicht falsch, ich mag es gerne, den Leuten zu helfen. Aber besonders kompliziert ist es nicht, die Bücher gefälligst mal selbst nachzuschlagen, wo sie sind. Es ist genauso kompliziert wie etwas zu googeln (wie ich das Word hasse, sowohl auf Englisch als auf Denglisch), und genauso anspruchsvoll. Goldfische, meine Oma--wäre sie nicht gestorben--und ein begabter Säugling hätten es machen können, so einfach ist es. Besonders lustig sind die Studierenden, die kurz vorm Abschluss sind und zu uns kommen, weil sie nicht die geringste Ahnung haben, wie sie ein Buch finden, weil sie noch nie--noch nie!--in der Bibliothek waren. Um diese Leute mache ich mir Sorge. Sie werden in 10 Jahren wahrscheinlich Präsident.

Na gut, über die Arbeit kann man ja immer meckern, vor allem, wenn es um Kunden geht. Leute sind lustig, leider leiden die meisten an mehrfachen Mehr- und Minderwertigkeitskomplexen, die es uns schwierig machen, Sachen zu suchen, selbst wenn wir es wollten. War das ein Satz? Bin ja nur Ausländerin.

Eigentlich bin ich nicht mehr Ausländerin. Ich war es so gewöhnt, irgendwann im Laufe des Gesprächs sehr selbstgefällig, beiläufig erwähnen zu können, dass ich ja Amerikanerin bin. Und meine Gesprächspartner freuen sich und loben mich unheimlich, weil ich kein Akzent habe und so unglaublich wunderbar super toll Deutsch kann. Eigentlich irritiert mich das, und mein Ziel war es, dass die Leute nicht erfahren, dass ich nicht Deutsche bin. Es funktioniert nur wenn a) wir beide betrunken sind, b) der Andere betrunken ist, oder c) wir auf einer Party sind. Am Besten alle drei auf einmal--der Andere darf auch doppelt so betrunken sein, wenn's euch recht ist. Und jetzt habe ich den Faden verloren--wahrscheinlich weil meine Mutter angerufen hat, und wir unterhielten uns ne Stunde lang auf Französisch. Merkwürdig, aber wahr. Unser Gespräch lief ganz gut, war nur darauf beschränkt, was man eben mit einem Wortschatz von 200 Wörtern hätte erzählen können. Sich mit mir auf Französisch zu unterhalten ist wahrscheinlich gleich wie sich mit einem fünfjährigen Kind zu unterhalten; nur, dass ich kein Gekritzel mitgebracht hab, um zu behaupten, es sei ein Pferd oder ein Flugzeug (oder noch besser, ein Pferd in einem Flugzeug).

Ach so, jetzt weiß ich noch, wo ich war. Jetzt bin ich nicht mehr Ausländerin, jetzt bin ich Amerikanerin wie alle andere, nur, dass ich nicht so ganz reinpasse. Zum Ersten verwende ich das Word ,like' so gut wie überhaupt nicht, und ich kriege Gänsehaut, wenn meine Mitstudenten (oder besser gesagt, meine Mitstudentinnen) das Word so oft benutzen, als ob es ihnen gleich weggenommen wird. Man soll es ihnen wegnehmen. Zum Zweiten kann ich kein Englisch mehr. Ich rede wie aus einem Buch aus dem 18. Jahrhundert, mit kompletten Sätzen und den Wörtern, die genau dem treffen, was ich sagen will. Und außerdem ziehe ich mich merkwürdig an, ich laufe nicht mit Trainingsanzügen durch die Gegend, ich besitze keine Crocs, ich betrachte Laufsachen nicht als Mode, ich trage eine Pilotenbrille und keine übergroße Insektenaugen, und ich bin zu faul, um mich zu schminken. Und, die größte Sünde: mein Handy ist mir völlig egal. Eigentlich vergesse ich es zu Hause öfter als ich es mitnehme, ich bin permanent nicht zu erreichen, es hat keine Spiele und kein Kamera drauf und ich mag nicht mit ihm SMS schicken. Da bin ich wirklich ein Einzelfall. Es ist nicht schlimm, nicht angepasst zu haben. Es ist mir eigentlich egal, und wenn man mich nicht mit einer Sorority-Sister verwechselt, umso besser.

Ich bin auch älter als die Meisten hier. Das kommt mir unheimlich komisch vor, denn ich war in meiner Schulklasse die dritt-Jüngste. Von 250. Und in Deutschland--ihr seid alle 22, 23, 24, oder noch älter. Okay, nicht alle, aber viele, und es ist gewöhnlich mit 24 noch am Studium zu sein. Hier hat man schon längst einen Job, oder wird eben keinen bekommen, aber studiert zumindest nicht mehr. Oder, man ist schon 26, 27 oder so, und hat's irgendwie nicht geschafft, das erste Mal zu Ende zu studieren. Ich bin jetzt im letzten Studienjahr, und meine Kommilitonen sind 19 oder 20 Jahre alt. Das ist auch das Geheimnis meiner Beliebtheit--ich bin 21, und darf endlich Alkohol kaufen. Lustig, was? Aber es ist ein Felony (höchst strafbar), Alkohol für Minderjährige zu kaufen.

Colorado ist unheimlich traumhaft schön, besonders jetzt, wo die Bäume gold und rot und braun werden. Sie schmucken sich vorm Winter, der übrigens vielleicht schon dieses Wochenende Besuch erstatten wird. Die Berge ragen hinter der Uni und der Stadt wie große Wächter. Die Leute sind sozial sehr engagiert, sie sind sehr aktiv (Hobbyjogger ohne Ende, auch die Profs). Wenn es drei Uhr morgens, die Straße völlig verlassen und die Ampel rot ist, gucken die Franzosen und gehen trotzdem. Die Amerikaner gehen, ohne zu gucken---und die Deutschen stehen da, bis es grün wird. Wir nehmen es mit der Ordnung ja net so ernst. Aber wehe, wenn du rauchen willst--es ist fast überall Rauchverbot. Man darf ja innerhalb von 15 Fuss (5m) vorm Eingang nicht rauchen---also verkriechen sich die sozial ausgeschlossenen Raucher im Regen und im Schnee. Aber kiffen tut fast jeder. Trinken + fahren tut man auch.

Gestern saß ich im Bus und der Typ hinter mir hat mich angequatscht. Er hat sich vertan, glaubte, mich im Sportzentrum gesehen zu haben. Wir waren zur gleichen Zeit da, ich trug aber kein oranges T-Shirt. Egal, wir haben uns für die Fahrt unterhalten. Er ist VWLer, schwimmt, hat noch anderthalb Jahre zu studieren. War sehr nett, wir haben uns gut unterhalten, ich habe ihm meine Emailadresse gegeben. Das passiert in Deutschland ja nicht so oft. Die Leute im Supermarkt fragen dich, wie es dir geht, ob sie dir helfen können. Ich muss mich immer hinter dem Regal verstecken, ich schleiche durch den Markt in der Hoffnung, nicht von einem übereifrigen Mitarbeiter überrascht und attakiert zu werden.

Also, ich mach mich ja dran--ich hab ja zu tun, ich kann nicht den ganzen Tag nur Quatsch erzählen, als ob es mir irgendwie langweilig wäre.

You know, to be honest....

...I dislike that phrase. "To be honest," is something my roommate says, but he isn't emphasizing the truthfulness of his next statement--it's just something he says. An appropriate usage of the phrase does not distinguish itself from an inappropriate usage thorugh grammar--both could be grammatically correct, and could refer to a subject whose veracity is in question--but rather its use or overuse.

Honesty itself seems to be overrated and underused. Or at least misused. Blunt and utter honesty is socially unacceptable (A: "Good morning!" B: "You look like shit. Rough night?"), unless among very close friends. (Stereo)typical female behavior and baited questions such as "does this dress make me look fat?" are not requesting an honest answer, at least not from a man. A question such as "do you still love me?" or "am I your best friend?" are phrased so as to suborn honesty to what the questioner wants to hear. Still, most people consider trust to be the basis of any relationship, platonic or romantic, and breaches of that trust are, in some people, unforgivable.

But how can we demand honesty from others when we are often dishonest with ourselves? Sometimes it is a deliberate deception ("just one cookie won't make a difference" or "I'm only going to do XXX this once") as a justification for improper behavior; this self-rationalizing is necessary to remain some semblance of self-respect following the myriad of inevitable small flaws in our resolve. Sometimes, though, this self-deception is deeper and can run to outright denial, usually in proportion to the issue at hand. Accepting that you have a problem, an addiction, or that someone doesn't love you any more is more difficult than a simple rationalization, and is for some people impossible. I'd like to think it's a matter of perspective, but I also believe a strong measure of introspection can determine our likelihood of self-denial.


(Honesty in the Workplace)

So to be honest, I sometimes have problems being honest with myself--my real motives, my real ambitions and thoughts, hopes and dreams, problems and flaws--are harder to accept than a superficial explanation, and I won't pretend I don't take refuge in self-delusion to balm emotional wounds. But in the end, just as is true in any relationship, I have to live with myself--no closer relationship exists--and must therefore be honest with myself. And to be honest, sometimes I'm not sure what that means.

And now for something completely different

I stood on the hill and surveyed the battlefield, preparing for my sortie. The stakes were high, and it was unlikely I could do any harm to my enemy though he would certainly do harm to me if I were to become careless. I assessed the enemy troops, tried to discern their deployment and their likely movement. I had fought this battle before, I was prepared. No muscle twitched, no thought but the count, the pounding in my ears matching the inexorable stride of the sentry. I count eleven until the sentinal about-faces and return my way. Eleven, he turns and departs again. Eleven, he returns. Eleven, he departs. I make my move, leaping into motion as if I were unburdened by books and bags, dashing past as the sprinkler sweeps by me and returns for the chase, but I beat him and take refuge in the dry concrete before my gate. I have made it alive, I have won.

Such is life if I come home late at night: the sprinklers are on, and only at certain places but without fail to be the ones lining the verge across from my porch. It's a bit of a trick getting in dry, and I've mistimed the sprinklers before.

The reason I came home late wasn't, unfortunately, some late-night rendez-vous with some gorgeous and besotten paramour (I can dream, can't I?) but it was a dinner date. His name is Terry Jones, and he is the director of Monty Python. His irreverency and particular humor in combination created the genius we know as the Life of Brian, the Holy Grail, Flying Circus, and others. By some stroke of luck or fate, he sat at our table at dinner, so we (my table-mates and I) had the delightful challenge of coming up with enough questions to pepper him with for the course of the meal. We inquired as to filming locations and plot details, he to our names and majors, spurring an involved discussion as to the merits of applied mathematics.


Following dinner he gave a short presentation, in the digressive and rambling manner I have come to associate with British people (starting one thought and going through three others, interrupting oneself to begin a new topic, and eventually arriving at a conclusion that is grammatically completely unrelated to the original sentence) while showing us clips no one else has ever seen, including a montage from the 60s of a deck-chair romance, some of the shorts and skits he did while at the BBC, and deleted scenes from the Life of Brian. Also included were clips from the Meaning of Life and the Wind in the Willows (below), Erik the Viking, and the Complete and Utter History of Britain, of the latter of which I had never heard.



His aforementioned irreverency caused considerable consternation at the release of the Life of Brian, which tells the story of the life of Brian Cohen, mistaken to be the messiah. The film, as well as two others of Jones's films, was banned in several countries, including Norway and Ireland. The Swedes, who criticize the Norwegians for having no sense of humor, marketed it as "A film so funny they had to ban it in Norway!". At that time, says Jones, they were just starting to ban films in Ireland, and of the four that were at that time forbidden, three of them were from him.

Reg: All right, but apart from the sanitation, medicine, education, wine, public order, irrigation, roads, the fresh water system and public health, what have the Romans ever done for us?
Attendee: Brought peace?
Reg: Oh, peace - shut up!
Reg: There is not one of us who would not gladly suffer death to rid this country of the Romans once and for all.
Dissenter: Uh, well, one.
Reg: Oh, yeah, yeah, there's one. But otherwise, we're solid.



[a line of prisoners files past a jailer]
Coordinator: Crucifixion?
Prisoner: Yes.
Coordinator: Good. Out of the door, line on the left, one cross each.
[Next prisoner]
Coordinator: Crucifixion?
Mr. Cheeky: Er, no, freedom actually.
Coordinator: What?
Mr. Cheeky: Yeah, they said I hadn't done anything and I could go and live on an island somewhere.
Coordinator: Oh I say, that's very nice. Well, off you go then.
Mr. Cheeky: No, I'm just pulling your leg, it's crucifixion really.
Coordinator: [laughing] Oh yes, very good. Well...
Mr. Cheeky: Yes I know, out of the door, one cross each, line on the left.

Perhaps inspiration for Eddie Izzard:

(Remind anyone of Cake or Death?)

Desiderata

Desiderata

Max Ehrmann


Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952

The Life Fantastic

As much as it freaks me out when friends or classmates get engaged (most likely), married (fair amount of them, too), or have kids (less likely but still has happened), I have to admit that part of me is jealous. I'm jealous of their conviction, their seeming certainty, and the fact that some part of their life will be set. This seems incongorious, particularly in light of my personal tendancy to up and move overseas at the slightest provocation.

Though I am in no position to make anyone any kind of permanent promises, I am envious of their conviction that this person is the person with whom they want to spend the rest of their lives, and vice versa. Statistically speaking they only have a 50% chance of success, and perhaps less if the statistics reflect the particularly short-lived marriages many my age have. Perhaps the expectation of forever only exacerbates the (perhaps inevitable) tragedy when it all falls apart, and a viable relationship is not, in my opinion, contingent on marriage, nor is marriage a cure for a failing relationship. Still, I am envious they are so certain--though I realize I am myself too young to want to settle down and start a family, as seems to be the logical next step for these marrying friends and classmates. Part of me wishes someone were so certain about me, though I know who I am now is not who I will be when I am in a position to decide more than the next year or so of my life, and this other person, this later model of me, is the one who can make and keep promises. I wish my friends well, and hope they beat the odds.

While part of me is looking forward to continuing studies, and of the interesting places I will go and things I will learn, part of me wants to just be done, to get it over with and go on to join the working world, earn an actual income, pay off debts, and not be committed to multiyear programs. Whenever I am working I wish I were studying to learn more, experience more; studying encourages me to read things I otherwise wouldn't have read, to consider them, and to analyse them. When I am studying I wish I were just working, where the product of my labor would be something useful and not just some term paper that one person will read and will mould in my closet bearing its arbitrary mark.

I admire the freedom of some college dropouts who can just up and move somewhere for the sake of a relationship, a wild desire, or an urge to travel. I admire the dedication of those who decide to come back, and I realize that my commitment to the system and to myself means I will never be either of these people--I will not drop out, and thus not have to return--but I realize I have, in many respects, taken the easier road whose parameters were defined for me. I have done fewer things truly remarkable though as few have been out of the ordinary. My enthusiasm and work ethic have brought me as far as they have, but I haven't faced real challenges, I haven't done anything exceptional or overcome particular hardships. Building character, I guess.

I suppose I just wish I had more figured out. I sort of know what I want to work at, and how to get there, though I imagine I will have to work my way up and may have to move a bit a the beginning. Some day, I think I want to have a family and kids, but that comes at some later, indeterminate point. I want to travel, but don't know where or when or how. My vantage point allows me only a year or two at best, and beyond that, who knows who I'll end up as, where I'll be, with whom, and what I'll be doing. But you can visit me anytime :)

Mondtanz

Heute habe ich das Fahrrad genommen und bin gefahren. Das Fahrrad habe ich von einem Mann Namens Frank, für den ich arbeitete. Als ich 16 und hemmungslos war, habe ich als Pferdedressurin gejobbt. Frank hatte fünf Pferde, um die er sich nicht sonderlich kümmerte, die ich zureiten sollte und die je sonderbare und gefährliche Macken hatten. Irgendwann habe ich aufgegeben. Er hat mich bezahlt und mir ein Fahrrad geschenkt, das ich meinem Bruder geschenkt hatte, als er aufs College ging.

Also nahm ich das Fahrrad das ich, wie viele andere Sachen in meinem Leben, von meinem Bruder geerbt habe, dessen Gänge erst neulich wieder funktionieren (dank meinem Vater) und dessen Sitz erst neulich nicht mehr nach vorne klappt, sobald man drauf sitzt (auch dank meine, Vater). Ich musste raus, raus aus meinem Zimmer und meinem Haus, wo das Fernseher immer läuft und keiner guckt zu, weg von meinem Schreibtisch, von den Hausaufgaben und den von mir selbst beauftragten Aufgaben. Der Mond schien mir ins Fenster hinein und hat mich raus auf die Terrasse gelockt. Ich war auf seltsamer Weise vom Mond gefangen, im großen, weißen Auge segelte ich wie auf dem Meer aus dem Haus, in den Sonnenuntergang hinein.

Die Häuser hier sind wie in jedem deutschen Dorf, nur aus Holz, ordentlich in Straßen gereiht, die nach ehemaligen Präsidenten genannt sind. Polk, Madison, Tyler. Es ist gepflegt alles, und nagelneu--oder erscheint zumindest so. Die Wege sind allesamt gepflastert, die Rasen sind gemäht und sehen wie Golfplätze aus, stilvoll mit Blumen am Rande geschmückt. Mitten in der Siedlung, die Stadt heißt, befindet sich eine große Grünfläche, die eigentlich jetzt endlich braun ist, auf der kleine Pfaden und Wege wie Narben laufen. Ich fuhr auf den Mond zu, mit der sehr kleinen, kindlichen Hoffnung, da hoch fliegen zu können. Auf beiden Seiten rastete das braune Grass, Weizen oder was ähnliches, an mir vorbei, oder ich an ihm. Meine kleine Freiheit, mein Flug auf den Mond endete in einem Wohngebiet, wo die Leute ihre schöne Autos vorm Haus parken, und wo mich die Rasensprenger regelmäßig erwischen. Heute aber nicht. Man hört sie, bevor sie anfangen. Manchmal kann man einfach nicht schnell genug rennen, oder es ist abends und man eh' nichts sehen kann und dadurch erwischt wird.

Die ganze Gegend ist von einer merkwürdigen Stille gefangen, es bewegt sich nichts außer einer leichten Brise, die mich wie ein Liebhaber streichelt. Der Wind ist warm und duftet nach Erde, Laub und dem verbliebenen Sommer. Hier fehlen die Kinder, die im Sommer noch auf den Straßen gespielt hätten, oder der morgendliche Betrieb von Hobbyjoggern und Schulkindern, die sonst immer auf dieser Strecke sind. Wo auch immer sie alle sind, sie haben mir die leise Stadt und meine Gedanken überlassen....