Quests and Holidays

Hearken all, and hearken well, to the tales of brave Lyra and the Three Quests that she went on this past day, that ye may wonder and learn how many marvels befell.
Yea, for though no one thought it would ever come to pass, on that day of wonders, the 23rd of July, our brave band of geeks [i.e. kaneda, elfy, seefuchs and me] finally convinced eliathanis to hear and behold the fabled tale of Luke Skywalker and the First Death Star, and lo! although it provided to her rather merriment than the horror and wonder that it holds in store for those who learn it at an earlier age, she seemed to like it better than had been feared. Even for us others, whose first experience of that tale lies far back in the mists of time, it was rather amusing this time; and oh! how little people value the inestimable worth of the Digital Versatile Disk until we happen to behold old video cassettes that, as befits their content, have already been perused many a time - - - the quality of sound and spoken word and even of the images, that carry us so powerfully to that galaxy far, far away, was most grievous and makes me long impatiently for the DVD release.
Now that this noble task was fulfilled, the second already was at hand: For the group of daring students practicing the high art of Japanese swordfighting was to celebrate the end of this semester by bonfire and merriments in the grounds around the Aachener Weiher, and it had been requested that kaneda, though having missed their practice ever since the second moon, was to be brought along. Yet neither promises nor begging nor threats could bring that worthy woman to leave her solitary chamber and join the young peoples' enjoyments; and so, that quest failed, I finally had to go there, with a heavy heart, on my own, a bowl of salad my sole companion.
This faithful companion in hand, I embarked on the third and final quest, which was the Finding of the Fête; for little does he know who believes that searching for a certain group of people around that delightful pond is an easy thing. Nay, all sorts of folk populate that park on Friday night; and wherever brave Lyra and the Salad turned, nowhere were those whom they sought to be found, until finally, upon the highest hill beneath the highest tree, they beheld the familar forms of their friends. How delighted they were that their fellow, though late by almost two hours and without her whom she had been asked to bring, had found them out! There was no lack of meat and salad, bread and drink, and the beer flowed like the rain that so often falls on these fair lands. That night, however, was dry and warm, albeit on the windy side; and with many a fair or jolly tale [which, incidentally, also contained some Star Wars], time sped past, until by the stroke of midnight, I asked leave to retire and left the celebrations.

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No, I didn't drink. Do I sound drunk? I'm not drunk. I had to drive home, after all. Don't drink and drive. Nay, I'm not drunk. I'm high on mere living, mayhaps.
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The park in Cologne seems to have conspirated with downtown Solingen to prove that one doesn't need to travel far away to actually feel like visiting foreign places. With the market stands, the inner city feels a lot like a bazaar; a notion that is supported by the fact that most of the inhabitants of this particular part of Solingen seem to be Turkish. And Cologne is a city of many cultures anyway. Come to the park to hear the drums and the singing and see the dance-like battles of capoeirista; come to the park to watch someone practice TaiChi, and another Iaidô; come to the park for the fires at midnight in the concrete circles designed for the disposal of garbage, coal and whatever else is left from the barbecues and parties (the smell is probably that of a slum somewhere in Bombay or so, and I'm pretty sure flames weren't meant to be green, just as people weren't meant to throw plastic mugs and plates into the fire); come to the park for a tango orchestra playing, and people dancing. To do truth justice, also come to the park for quarrels, for drunkards and the homeless, for trampled grass and litter; but although the overall feel of this year is, so far, a pessimistic one, I prefer to look on the bright side, because I'm that naive and self-centered and. Or so.

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( Abenteuer und Ferien )

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Oh, one last thing:

Dear Guy on the Train Wearing that Kanji Tattoo,

I know that having Chinese symbols printed onto some part of your body is supposed to be cool. However, when you get a tattoo, it is always good to know what you get written on your arms. Upside-down Kanji are already bad; most people actually guess correctly when asked which way it should point, even without any knowledge about the language; it's a question of aesthetics, apparently. Another problem is: What do you want your tattoo to mean? It's all very well to tell the person doing the tattooing that you want to have "Strength and Honour" when that person instead puts "Pestilence and Diarrhoea" there. CHECK. THE MEANING. YOURSELF. Really. Because 定食 may look impressive; but what it means is "menu". That's right, like that list of meals in a restaurant. Unless you wanted "menu" on your arm, a tattoo like that isn't cool but rather ridiculous, although I'm willing to admit that most people probably wouldn't notice.

Condescendingly, the linguistic smart ass.

~~~

To the Young Woman with the Tengwar Tattoo,

I am the last person in the world to deny the aesthetic value of Tengwar. If you want to carry your name in Tengwar on your arm, so be it. However, it is helpful to learn to actually write in them, because, unless your name is "ss h f ss" (which would guarantee my sincerest pity for you), something went very wrong. You know, just downloading a Tengwar font and typing your name in ordinary Word doesn't do the trick; you don't just get the tengwa for, say, "t" by pushing the "t" button on your keyboard. Oh no, sad as it is, you will need a special word processor program for that. Maybe this might be a time to insert links for TengScribe or OTT. Never fear, they're free; and if you don't trust the evil internet, why don't you read the appendices to The Lord of the Rings. Yes, that implies work; but if you can either have "ss h f ss" written on your arm forever or invest some research work into the way of writing whatever name it is you want, I think it's worth the effort.
Woops, too late.

Sincerely, your friendly neighborhood geek.


Honestly.

The Procrastinator's Song

I did the dishes.
I researched, copied and printed 17 pages of TaiChi stuff for Jörg's mother.
I scanned several pics that had waited for that fateful event for more than half a year.
I updated livingshapes.
I copied another two pages.
I read more Harry Potter à l'école des sorciers in a pathetic attempt to brush up my French. Level-wise, that's about as demanding as I can go; even at the best of times, my French reading skills weren't fit for more than Un sac des billes, Je ne t'aime pas, Paulus or Bilbo le hobbit.
I made new icons.
I combed our cat Clint, who is finally shedding his winter pelt. He lost enough fur already to dress another cat.

What I did not do is write on the term paper, which is So Bad. Not that I won't get it done - I'll start worrying about that when I still haven't written on it by tomorrow evening - but it's, well, the same procedure as every year. Well, I also scanned the two illustrations I need for it, but that's not exactly enough.

Of course, instead of complaining about having done too little, I should do more, right? Right. If only motivation weren't so elusive.

Off I go.

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( Das Lied des Zauderers )

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