The lyf so short

Quick, let's have a stoopid meme, stolen from the f-list. I'm sure I've done this before, but that was years ago, so I can do it again.

( Two Things Meme )

WELL WASN'T THAT EXCITING! Now I go back to my sewing. Or possibly to writing? Decisions, decisions...

You know what feature of the English language keeps tripping me up the most, even after all these years?

"this"/"that" and "these"/"those".

Yes, something as elementary as that.

I (feel I) can handle pretty much anything, but I regularly keep rewriting sentences because I'm just not sure whether I should be using "this" or "that" or what.

Come to think of it, koko and soko (not to mention asoko) were a challenge when I was still trying to learn Japanese. But Japanese is so full of challenges that one more or less didn't actually make a difference...

It's not that I don't understand the theory; it's just that I can't put it into practice without stopping and thinking about it.

(On the plus side, I can handle "whose" and "whom" better than most native speakers of English. (Or Japanese!) Hurrah. :P)

I was... *drumrolls* at WORK today!

Yes, that's right - me, student of the glorious city of Cologne, usually friend of all things related to dressing up - did not only not celebrate carnival, but even WORK!

My opinions of dressing up and those of the general carnival-goer differ greatly anyway. I mean, I saw enough of those people in the past weeks. Either they're just wearing a funny hat or scarf, or they're wearing those cheap flimsy polyester costumes. And those are the people who celebrate carnival religiously! Each and every year!
Considering that I occasionally move in circles where people put a hell of a lot of effort (and sometimes, but not always, money) into their costumes so they look really really good and authentic, this is so disappointing. Especially as the people with the GOOD costumes are often poor students, apprentices, trainees and entrants, whereas the people in the cheap polyester garb are generally well into their jobs if not downright rich and could afford so much better.
Granted, when your only purpose in your costume is getting drunk anyway, there's probably little point in making it good, as nobody will notice the effor after the first twenty minutes, but... still.
Ah well.

At any rate, I was at work. Working on a pseudo-holiday is wonderful; hardly anyone there, certainly not my idiot colleague or the new student (who, while nice, has for no reason discernible to me, been made MY responsibility rather than that of our boss - I would feel flattered if I intended to stay in the company for more than two years (if that)), enough room to actually get some work done - AND a chance to do some reading or writing of my own (or both, as it was).
I've actually begun the third chapter of the plotbunny from Angband fanfic. That's not impressive in itself, but generally second chapters are what stops me; they slow me down, steal my motivation, and then the bunny bounces away anyway. So making it beyond the second and into the third chapter is... yay. Even if I end up giving up later on - I have no idea, I've never made it that far yet, so...

Anyway. Happy Chinese New Year to those to whom it applies, a fun carnival to those who happen to celebrate it (in style, I hope), and a nice week to all and one!

Chili and anticipation make me hyper.

Chili, you ask? Yes, chili. I made chili con carne for supper.
Aside from the usual stuff everybody throws into their chili con carne - meat, beans, onions, corn, pepper, hopefully chili - mine contains drugs.
Said drugs are: Chocolate, nutmeg, cinnamon, a laurel leaf, asafoetida powder, peppermint and basil.
But that's not what makes me hyper. It doesn't usually.

Must be the anticipation after all.

I'm so pathetic. :)))

Because here be kittenspam.

Not now. I have a headache.
Ooooh, something's moving in there!
Does this position make me look fat?
*slurp*
Forced perspective is fun!
Not listening.
I don't have a short attention spa--- oooh, shiny!
Yes, this is comfortable, actually.
*streeeetch*
Yes, this is comfortable, too.
My secret hide-out.
Brotherly love.
Unless we fight.
What do you mean, your bed?
You're comfy, you may stay.
Phantom?
You're not travelling anywhere without me.

Nos 3,4,5 and 6 by ladyelleth, who came to visit for the weekend to go to the game fair in Essen with me. It was fun; she got a drawing of Ner and Fëa meeting and a Fëa-chibi by Jenny Dolfen (which I'll totally post when I get her permission [EDIT: There we go!]), and I got a signed comic book by various inunfamous German artists and a t-shirt that says "Make LARP, not war", plus the obligatory new dice. AND there'll be a Drachenfest in 2007! ^_____^
Elleth's on her way back home now, which is why you got the kittenspam above.

In other news, what do Lyras do when they have to finish an art project and a writing project for Ring*Con, two assignments for university and the autumn clean-up?

She makes faily jewellery, that's what.
(Actually, I just wanted whether it was possible without any professional tools. The answer is Yes, if you don't mind it looking kinda crooked.)

I bet I'll start with the mêmery too, soon enough...

Aaanyway.

Last week, Jörg and I were watching Arsène Lupin. The newest version, that is. For those who never heard of it, it's a bit like National Treasure, only French, fin-de-siècle and - I can't think of a third word with f, so "darker" will have to do.

There was one little scene which didn't stand out when I watched the movie, but it randomly popped up in my head today, and because I watched the movie in German but thought about it in English now, it suddenly got a funny twist.

So there's this scene at a masked ball, where Arsène (pretending to be a painting Prince) chats with the father of his love interest, and the villain (I shan't say more in case someone still wants to see the movie) passes by. However, the villain has been hypnotized before to obey a certain catchword, which Arsène knows about.
The following conversation ensues.

Arsène: M. le Duc, can I ask that your daughter be my model for some painting that I wish to finish before my next exhibition?
Villain: Oh, an exhibition? Which gallery will it be in?
Arsène: ..... Firefly. [that is the trigger word, of course.]
Villain: *goes all commando*
Duc de Dreux-Soubise (Love Interest's Father): Firefly? What does that mean?
Arsène: ... it's a houseboat.

*snickersnicker*

Yeah, it only works if they actually use "firefly" (rather than "glowworm") for the translation, but, you know. I found it funny. Houseboat indeed.

*shuts up now*

I think I love my job. It’s so wonderfully surreal to update the 42 folders of operating manuals while mad alarm bells go off because the instructors are busy practicing the handling of nuclear catastrophes around me. ♥

On warm days, when the sun is shining, going out on the street is almost like going to another country. “My” part of Solingen is mostly inhabited by Turkish families, with a few Italians and Portuguese and very few Germans thrown in for variety, so when the sun is shining and the streets are hot, it’s not hard to feel like you’re actually on vacations in Turkey.
It’s nice, I suppose, if Turkey is your vacation country of choice.

Currently, that illusion is ruined by the Last Acceptable Reason For Misguided Patriotism (a.k.a. the FIFA World Championships 2006). Due to this event, everybody and their dog’s brother has put our country’s fire-coloured tricolour out of the windows (yes, especially the Turks, and yes, that’s probably only because there’s no Turkish team taking part in this year’s WC).

After all, it’s that time again. At work, people have already placed their bets. The charming lady I bought my lunch from today was wearing a German jersey with a Dutch cap and was South Korean, which goes to show that you can use occasions this for peaceful eclecticism, too.
(Yes, there are Dutch and South Korean teams in this year’s WC.)

I don’t generally care about soccer. Certainly not in the way many Germans do. For those who don’t know, in Germany soccer isn’t so much a sport as a religion. Now I tend to be mistrustful of organized religion in general and hyped organized religion in particular, especially when the standard cultist appears about as appealing and as intelligent as George W. Bush, only more drunk and more colourfully dressed. (I should, I suppose, insert an apology to all soccer fans who are not like that right away; unfortunately, all soccer fans I encounter on the train occasionally are alcoholised, sweaty Prolls* who enjoy picking fights with people.)

But then, of course, World Championships are special. Firstly, I’m generally fond of international events.
Secondly, they occur every four years, and when they last occurred, I was just graduating.

Now you must remember that Germans are usually older than Americans when they graduate – if we’re talking about the “highest” form of graduation, the Abitur (Matura if you’re Austrian, and may I just throw in that I like that name so much better than Abitur?), anyway. I turned 19 the day after the first exam. The Abitur is also known as the “test of maturity” (hence the Austrian name, of course), so of course we all used the time around our exams for as mature things as barbecuing in the courtyard, climbing the school roof armed with super-soakers to drench unsuspecting teachers and freshmen, and dressing up for the Star Wars preview. (Episode II premiered at midnight on the day of my oral Philosophy exam. Tried both; no compare.²) Oh- and watching soccer.

I still don’t understand the finer rules of the game (beyond “the ball is round, the game lasts 90 minutes” or “the round thing goes into the angular thing”, that is), nor did I then, but I spent a lot of time with Isa, my then-best friend. It was already clear at the time that Isa would be going to study in Toronto, so we stuck together a lot before she had to leave. And whether we were dying our hair (yes, I did girly things like that in those days) or pickling cheese, making lightsabres (replicas, not real ones. duh.) or loading her belongings into boxes, there was always some soccer game we could watch. It didn’t matter much who was playing. Germany got unexpectedly far, though, which naturally made it a bit more exciting.

On the day that saw our official graduation celebration and our prom – close to Midsummer - the German team was playing against the US team. Quarter finals. We got to watch the first half while we were getting into our finery and fussing with our hairdo and such, and then we had to leave for graduation service. (We’re old-fashioned; our graduations come accompanied by an oicumenical service for all pupils and all members of their families that couldn’t find an alibi quickly enough when they were invited to the celebrations.) After about half the service, in the middle of the Protestant reverend’s (what is the female form of reverend?) sermon, we heard three loud honks outside, soon followed by a cacophony of honks and chants.³ “The horn of Gondor”, my friend Inga snarked, and “We won!” the reverendrix shouted from the lectern before remembering where she was and what she was supposed to do and continued her sermon.

On the day of our first post-Abitur meeting, when hadn’t actually been long enough apart to begin missing seeing those of our classmates who were not close friends anyway but when our head students thought it would be good to see each other again, the German team unexpectedly made it to the finals.
Those who care about soccer will know that in the end, Brazil beat Germany, but seeing how nobody had expected “us” to even get beyond the preliminary rounds, people were triumphant anyway (and celebrated with the few Brazilian pockets around the country).

The point of this story, really, is that I associate soccer World Championships with my graduation and early post-graduation time, the beginning of the “best days of my life” (which, at the current count, would begin in May 2002 and last until December 2003, leaving out all weekends of June 2002, which were horrible and have left me with an unjust but strong dislike of nursing homes). So they're good.

Today, the first WCs since then have begun. Of course I was aware that four years had passed since then, but nothing showed me how fast these four years went by so brutally as this. Life happens really fast, and I still sometimes need a “pause” button. (At other times, I’d be grateful for “rewind” or “fast forward”, but that’s beside the point.)

- - -
*A simple-minded person, usually of a big city, whose topics of conversation tend to circulate around soccer, beer, motorcycles, breasts, bad music and the latest Aldi (likeWalmart, only smaller and less constant in its stocks) bargains and who usually deem themselves quite intelligent
actually, thank you very much

²The origin of this is an old German joke:
In the students’ dormitory of the medical faculty, the professors found it necessary to put up a note: “It is forbidden to dissect corpses or see young ladies in the dormitories.” Soon after, another note was pinned underneath it, written in the scrawly hand of a student: “Tried both; no compare.”
- This one was for free!

³One of the most important ceremonies of the soccer religion is the so-called “Autokorso”, which basically means that, after your team won, you get into your car with as many friends as it will carry, drive to the largest interception of the city with all the other soccerists in the city, where you will block all traffic in some sort of cavalcading barricade along to honking and chanting and waving of flags until even the daftest idiot in the city hears the people sing understands that it is indeed a great day of triumph.

My parents (and Ricardo) just visited to see the kittens.

The last time they visited our flat was on - *checks LJ history* - May 23rd, 2004. For those who can do their math, yes, that means that they haven't been here for almost two years. Well, my mother dropped in briefly to pick Ricardo up when we were making that armour one and a half years ago, but that doesn't count.

They're visiting. Because we have kittens. Because Ricardo is there, who surely would like to see kittens.
Of course he did. He was, however, somewhat hyper after spending a few hours in the Neandertal museum (I think they do spell it like this, because it's in the Neander valley, even though it's about Neanderthals, of course - ah, the joys of language change). But he did adore them.

- well.

Two random Good Friday stories, because I can.

1.
My grandmother used to get really annoyed with people wishing others "Happy Easter!" on Maundy Thursday or earlier. "Happy holidays" would have been ok (and appropriate - you have to wish people something if you don't see them again before or for Easter) - but not "Happy Easter". You do not wish people "Happy Easter" before Good Friday.
I used to find that slightly amusing as a kid, and slightly ridiculous as a teenager.
I'm not very religious, certainly not in the "good Christian" sense of the word.
And yet, nowadays, when people wish others "Happy Easter" before the Saturday, it makes me cringe somehow. Weird, the things you pick up.

2.
Yesterday, overheard on the train:
"So anyway, we should finally go to the disco together."
"Right... so, how about tomorrow?"
"Nah, no dancing tomorrow."
"Huh? Why?"
"Because dancing's forbidden on Good Friday."
"... who cares?"
"By the law, stupid. The discos aren't allowed to open on Good Friday."
"... why?"
"... well, because they say Jesus was crucified then."
"... 2000 years ago! What does it matter?"
"I think the official explanation is that the neighbours may want to meditate on that, so it's not allowed to play loud music."
"... by the law?!"
"Yup."
"What about the separation of church and state?!"
"... well that's the difference between a secular state and a laïcistic state."
- at which point the conversation drifted into an explanation of those terms.

Yes, that was random. Can't always be coherent.

Quote of the Day:
(The cat looks all hungry and cute while we're eating waffles)
Me: ... well, of course she wants something now.
My dad: Cats don't like waffles or cherries or sugar.
Jörg: Oh, cats are practically omnivores.
My mom (to Ricardo): And do you remember who else is an omnivore?
Ricardo: ... Lorenzo!*

*Ricardo's younger brother. Yes, the one whom I accidentally called Carnistir. Obsession is a lie.

My parents are going to Finland in June. Not only do they not take me along, they didn't even tell me. I just found out today, coincidentally. Grrr.
... I may actually have to look into the Fennistic Institute's language course offers, now, just so I can annoy my mom with my superior language skills. I wanted to learn Finnish anyway.

The new semester starts tomorrow. I'm a bit scared of it. I'm not sure whether I even dare to go to this semester's Japanese Hauptseminar, after last semester's screwup, even though the topic is one of those that I actually care for (Religion in Japan). But I somehow fear I pissed Prof. Ehmcke off, and thus I don't want to face her so soon after doing that... I did find lots of fairly cool (at least by their descriptions) classes for English, though, and actually got places in most of them (except for the seminar on Shakespeare's sources, which is a pity, because I bet half the people who registered for it don't even want a seminar on the sources and just chose it because they thought Shakespeare was nice and easy). I hope this'll go better than the last semester. All in all, I mean.

I'd really appreciate if the webpage of the Japanese institute actually provided some useful links. Or at least the page of the student body. I can't believe I had to browse the damn page of the Japanese ministry of education in order to get links to Japanese university websites.

I finally managed to get that stupid spyware bug off Firefox. I must be the only person on earth who catches spyware via Firefox, I swear (which practically resulted in my Firefox's suicide, because it's apparently good in protecting my computer from itself). In the end, the good ol' un- and reinstall routine was the only thing that helped. Grrr.

- - -
( Zusammenhangloses, XXVII )
- - -

My brother declared Cillian Murphy to be an "evil bishônen". I am muchly amused.

He claims he learned the turn of phrase from me, but I never speak of bishônen actually (besides explaining the term when it came up in some parody, and he never remembers that sort of stuff anyway). So: How does my brother know what an evil bishônen is?

... oh. He also said Cillian Murphy would have to play either Eöl or young Sauron if they ever made a Silmarillion movie. I am officially ded of glee now.



We finally registered for the DrachenUrukfest '06. My first real LARP. Eeeeeeeeee!