Ok, here is something you won’t see me write very often: Last Friday, I was listening to the Ticket…
Sr. Pascal sent a quick email out on Friday morning (my afternoon) indicating that one of guys was going to give his update on his feelings about soccer. After the World Cup, he made the decision to select a team in the English league and follow them through the entire season. As luck would have it, he chose to follow Arsenal. While somewhat indifferent to his selection (the fact that I am a fan of the club, too, is irrelevant), I did recognize that he would likely learn to appreciate the finer points of the game by watching that particular team.
Well, after sitting through 10 minutes of advertisements, I finally got to listen to his broadcast. He pointed out that he was really looking forward to this past weekend, not because of other sports being played, but because of two things: Arsenal vs. Tottenham (local derby), and the MLS final, which was to be between FC Dallas and the Colorado Rapids. He was pretty excited about both events, and relayed his appreciation to his fellow colleagues on air. The style of the EPL was exciting, and totally enjoyable, particular the passing. Additionally, he commented on the fact that finally, after all these years, Dallas would be in the final for the first time.
I was glad to tune in to the broadcast, though I don’t particularly feel the need to tune in again anytime soon, no offense to the station or the guy in particular. However, I did admire his enthusiasm for the whole bit, particularly having to get up at 6.30am on Saturday morning to catch the Arsenal match. I had to do that myself for a really long time, and as fun as it was sometimes, it is kind of nice being able to watch them in local time, at a reasonable hour.
Later that afternoon, I told a fellow Arsenal fan about the radio show from my home town, and also excitedly pointed out that finally the Burn was going to the final, though likely to an attendance of maybe 15000 people. That is a bit sad, particularly since the second professional team here in Frankfurt plays about 500 meters from my apartment, and their average attendance is close to that week in week out, and they play in the second division.
At any rate, I too, was pretty enthused about the weekend of football, but 12 hours later I was outside the pub feeling pissed off that Arsenal had just lost the match to their biggest rivals. It certainly wasn’t the first time I have watched my team lose, and it certainly wasn’t the end of the world, but it still sucks.
I woke up this morning, and was a bit disappointed to check the results of the MLS final (played last night, but too late for me, being as it was played in Toronto), seeing that Dallas had lost in extra time. An own goal, no less. I do hope that the guy from the radio station recognizes that at the end of the day, you just have to say, „Well, that is football, for you. “ Hopefully it did not ruin his weekend.
As for me, my weekend was pretty crap on all fronts, even without the dismal football results. I found myself experiencing a ton of self doubt towards the end of the week, and that continued right through the weekend. It was a bit scary, I must say. Throw in a bit of anxiety, a loss of appetite, and a few shitty thoughts, and come Saturday evening, I was a bit of a disaster.
In efforts to stop the madness, I turned to reading philosophy, and did manage to bang out a few hundred pages, which helped immensely. I certainly needed the reminder, the points to reflect on, to help myself realize (not for the first time and not for the last) that this is all part of it. Every day is not going to be so spectacularly zippy; sometimes it is just going to downright suck.
I took a break from reading on Saturday evening to watch an action comedy movie on television. That somewhat helped my mood, but it was short-lived: the movie that came on immediately after was the Excorcist…
Sure, I did not sleep much over the weekend, and struggled greatly to get to the gym, hoping to keep one of the pillars in check. Sunday afternoon, I took a stroll around the streets, and found myself back in a little Chinese garden in the middle of a park. I have visited this little sanctuary more and more often in the past couple of months. It is a nice place to sit and collect one’s thoughts, and I had a lot of thoughts that needed collecting.
Later, I finished another CD compilation, and that helped me feel less out of sorts, though one will likely recognize that songs sort of illustrated my melancholy. That said, I listened several times through, and the songs were not only fitting, but helped to bring me back round. That is always how it seems to be for me. I have to sink pretty low before I come back up.
Hey ho, that is what life’s roller coaster is all about.
Fortunately, my spirits are reasonably back in form today. In a couple of days, I will shoot over to Spain for a bit of holiday, and in a few short weeks, I will be back stateside. I cannot tell you how much I am looking forward to seeing friends and family.
So, like Arsenal, I fully expect to bounce back this week, and no matter what their result happens to be, I will be chalking up another one for the W column. Nada que perder.
Keep the faith.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Milk Foam Mysteries and Much Needed Music
I feel like I’ve been duped, and I’ve no one to blame but myself.
Milk has always had a place in my arsenal of beverages; I tend to consume at least one gallon a week, normally closer to two or three. It’s just the right bevvie to accompany a nice piece of cake, or a couple handfuls of Christmas cookies (note to self: must have tollhouse and haystacks soon!), or simply to quench the middle of the night thirst.
My mom got on a low fat kick during my adolescence, and for quite some time, was consuming skim milk. I didn’t notice at first (ok, almost a couple of years), but I became curious. I spent a fair amount of time at Jeff’s house, and we regularly had glasses of “bookie,” his family’s affectionate name for milk. (Apologies, Jeff, I don’t remember the spelling, but that we pronounced it much the same way one would pronounce “Pookie.”) At any rate, the milk at Jeff’s house was awesome: always cold and flavorful.
I pointed this out to my mother one time at the store, and she said perhaps it was the fact that Jeff’s family purchased another brand of milk. Indeed, they typically bought Borden (Elsie, how’d you do it?), and when I asked if we could purchase Borden milk and if no, why not, the answer came with a bit of a glare and a, “cos’ we use another brand,” as she put a gallon of grocery store house brand milk into the cart. End of discussion.
Ultimately, that meant, when I was buying my own milk, I could choose what I liked. So, once I was purchasing my own groceries, I jumped right on the Borden wagon, and happily purchased and consumed Borden 2% milk, and loved the hell out of it, despite the fact that it was noticeably more expensive than the store’s house brand.
Several years later, after I had been living on my own for some time, I was visiting my parents for a meal, and decided to have a glass of milk. Unfortunately, it was a horrible experience; the milk was almost tasteless. As the diet rage and health awareness continued during the 80s and 90s, my parents had moved away from skim milk to 0% fat milk, citing the need to reduce fats in their diet as much as possible.
This proved to be most irritating, because no fat milk to me tastes just like a glass of water with 2 drops of white food coloring in it, absolutely no taste of milk whatsoever. For years, particularly at holidays, I was less able to enjoy the Christmas cookie experience due to the fact that the milk at my parents’ house tasted crap.
At the end of the 90s, when I lived briefly (i.e. a few months) at home, I purchased my own groceries, including milk. On any given day, there might be 4 or more gallons of milk in the fridge: one gallon crap milk, and two or three gallons of my preferred stuff. (Note – it was not unusual for me to drink half a gallon in a single chug during this time of my life). Fortunately, my parents acquired a second refrigerator, which helped create a bit of space. The other alternative was to purchase a cow, and that just wasn’t going to fly in the suburbs of Dallas. However, I did notice that my father had taken to drinking my milk, as he preferred the milk with the higher fat content, also.
True, I tend to be brand loyal, and was still drinking Borden products, but had finally realized that the reason I had enjoyed milk everywhere but at my parents was down to the fact that everywhere else, I was drinking milk with higher fat content. This epiphany was more or less triggered by a comment my sister made once, “Bryan, you dork. This is skim milk, and that’s why it tastes horrible. You’ve been drinking whole milk everywhere else.” Oh.
Well, over the years, I’ve stuck to drinking milk with a higher fat content. Indeed, I moved away from the Borden brand, though that had more to do with location and availability than anything else. As a happy shopper at Whole Foods, I tended to buy the milk from the local supplier. I forget the brand, but the cow on the jug looked really really happy. Besides, the milk tasted awesome, almost better than the milk at Jeff’s house from all those years ago.
While in Spain, I favored the milk from central lechera Asturiana, though the Pascal lechera was also pretty tasty. However, I liked the look of the bottle of Asturiana better: lots of cows grazing in a valley, with a scenic view of snow covered mountain ranges in the background. With a label like that, how could the milk not taste great?
In Germany, it didn’t take much time before I found alpen Frisch milch. The blue carton and the mountain range just grabbed my attention. Furthermore, the 3.5% fat content was in line with my expectations. So, for the past four years, I’ve been a loyal, satisfied consumer of the brand.
I don’t eat nearly as much cereal as I once did, but I do do a fair amount of late night chugging, so my milk consumption is still relatively high. Furthermore, I prepare quite a few lattes for myself. Call it a café con leche, a latte macchiato, or whatever you want.
People here prefer a lot of milk foam in their coffees (lattes, etc). I think even the home espresso machines are built with this in mind. My milk foamer just tends to go nuts once I turn the knob and start steaming, and this has frequently resulted in some spills in my kitchen: a little milk makes a LOT of foam.
Meanwhile, in my local café, they tend to pride themselves on building a pile of foam that actually rises a few centimeters above the top of the glass, referred to as a “crown.” In fact, just about every café tends to serve lattes this way. Last weekend in Hamburg, the waiter was unable to add an extra shot of espresso into my drink, indicating that if he did, the cup would overflow. He then brought me my drink which was about 2/3 milk foam, most of which was above the rim of the glass.
Being a bit of a barista, I’ve also prided myself on my ability to prepare coffees for not only myself, but also any guests. However, more than once I’ve fallen way short on expectation. My coffees tend to be a bit more espresso and a bit less milk foam. Several times, guests have looked disappointed as I served them a latte with way too little Schaum. I started practicing, hoping to improve my technique in order to create a bit more satisfaction, and still found myself short of the mark. Every so often, though, I have been able to create the mountain of foam that one tends to find regularly in cafes around town. These brief moments of success have continued to encourage me, but I’ve still been curious as to why it’s a bit hit or miss: my technique is pretty constant.
I’ve been closely watching people make coffees over the past several weeks, trying to put my additional spare time (equate that with: increased time spent in cafes) to good use by spotting a secret technique from another barista. The study has been inconclusive: my method for foaming milk isn’t too different from anyone else’s.
Last week (or the week before), right after a trip to my local supermarket, I was making a coffee, and suddenly there was foam all around! I was amazed, and quite pleased with the results. I actually was patting my little milk bottle for a job well done when I noticed that the fat content was marked 1.5%, which is basically the equivalent to low fat milk in Europe. “Wow, that milk tastes pretty good for such a low fat content,” I thought to myself. “I thought I had been buying milk with more fat in it.” I looked in the fridge at the other bottles of milk, and noticed that two of them were marked with 3.5% fat, and the other two were 1.5%.
Now, I’ve always been semi-aware that milk with lower fat content tends to make for more “foamy” foam when using said espresso machines. The next time I was at the supermarket, I examined the milk section a bit more closely. It turns out that my brand of milk here only comes in a blue carton. However, I’ve never bothered to really read the label (after the first time I ever bought the brand of milk) to notice that the milk comes in the two varieties. Instead, I always grabbed the blue carton off the shelf. As it happens, the whole and low-fat milks are set side by side on the shelf.
In a word, Duh. In two words, mystery solved. Not only have I figured out what my problem was in the milk foaming department, I’ve also finally realized why other customers always seemed to spend so much time examining the cartons of milk. They were looking for the right fat content to be sure that they didn’t select the wrong one, whether it be for the sake of preparing super foamy milk, or simply because of their diet preferences. Hmmm, live and learn.
All in all, it’s been a pretty amusing week. I provided a bit of entertainment on Monday night when I suddenly was hit by a charley horse while sitting in a little café. I jumped up and did that little “ouch, holyshitholyshitholyshit!” thing that you have to do as you try to loosen the muscle so that the cramping stops. It’s not the funniest thing in the world to experience, but once it stops, you have to laugh with relief, along with whoever happened to observe you cramping up, as they tend to be laughing hysterically already.
I did take some time to entertain myself, too. I set up my second laptop, got the wireless working, and spent a few minutes skyping with myself, before powering down and heading off to see the Gaslight Anthem play a show Thursday evening.
Last summer at a festival, I saw this band play for the first time, and they left an impression, as I mentioned in a post shortly thereafter. I looked forward to their next release, and was quite pleased when it came out a few months back. The group did a few festivals in Europe during the summer months, but none were too close to Frankfurt, and truth be told, I really wanted a chance to see them at an individual concert, where they would have more time to play.
So, when the fall tour of Europe was announced, I marked the date in my calendar, vowing not to miss the show. Too many times this year I’d had to miss concerts due to conflicts involving work. Well, I’ve certainly managed to free up my time, but when it started raining like hell on Thursday evening, I suddenly had an urge for a quiet night in watching movies, even though I’d already purchased my online ticket. “Boop!” I skyped myself. “Log off and get yourself to the show, you mediocre barista!”
That’s all I needed, just a little push. I grabbed my jacket, was walking down the street to the U-bahn in the pouring rain, when I decided to splurge on a cab, which would get me to the show in about 1/3 of the time.
I had to show the cabbie how to work the GPS system, but within a few minutes, we arrived at the show, and after a quick feel up by the security guy who was a bit too cozy, I was inside the concert hall.
A new punk act from the UK was playing the early set. Their stuff wasn’t bad, and I’ll keep an eye on them. The concession stand was a madhouse, but I organized a couple of beers (one to drink, one for backup), then found a spot to view the stage.
The second act was a guy named Chuck Ragan, performing a solo acoustic set. I’ve been familiar with his old group Hot Water Music for several years, but wasn’t really so overwhelmed. His solo work, however, is incredible. Check him out if you can, particularly live. His stage presence is magnificent.
Shortly before 10, the lights went out, and the unmistakable beginning of the Clash’s “Straight to Hell” came on the PA. I smiled to myself, realizing how good this show was going to be.
Halfway through one of my favorite Clash songs (and apparently a favorite of the band, too), the Gaslight Anthem skull and cross bones banner was unfurled as a backdrop (hmm, a bit St Pauli), and the band made their way on stage.
When I listen to TGA, I can’t help but dance about. This has made for some interesting moments at home, and a likely source of amusement for my neighbors across the street, at least until I started remembering to close the blinds. In concert, though, the crowd of fans danced and stomped about with great pleasure. The band just enjoys the hell out of playing, and it is so obvious that you can’t help but get enthused.
For two hours, the guys just rocked things up. The three albums they’ve produced to date kind of progress in style, similar to the first three albums by the Clash. While I recognize the connection and the influence, the Clash will always be the Clash, and thank goodness, the Gaslight Anthem will always be the Gaslight Anthem. TGA’s style is their own and is to be admired. As I said above, the guys enjoy playing their show, and that says something for the power of influence great music has on people. Sing like no one is listening, and dance like no one is watching…
Towards the end of the show, right about the time for encores, I ran into a few folks I know from my neighborhood. They tend to hang out on the corner of my street at a little punk-rockabilly store. We all enthused about how great the show was, and watched the band finish their set. What a great evening.
So, it’s continued to rain here over the past couple of days, but I’ve been sitting indoors, enjoying quality milk foam and listening to Chuck Ragan and TGA, with a bit of Clash thrown in just to make things complete.
Keep the faith.
Milk has always had a place in my arsenal of beverages; I tend to consume at least one gallon a week, normally closer to two or three. It’s just the right bevvie to accompany a nice piece of cake, or a couple handfuls of Christmas cookies (note to self: must have tollhouse and haystacks soon!), or simply to quench the middle of the night thirst.
My mom got on a low fat kick during my adolescence, and for quite some time, was consuming skim milk. I didn’t notice at first (ok, almost a couple of years), but I became curious. I spent a fair amount of time at Jeff’s house, and we regularly had glasses of “bookie,” his family’s affectionate name for milk. (Apologies, Jeff, I don’t remember the spelling, but that we pronounced it much the same way one would pronounce “Pookie.”) At any rate, the milk at Jeff’s house was awesome: always cold and flavorful.
I pointed this out to my mother one time at the store, and she said perhaps it was the fact that Jeff’s family purchased another brand of milk. Indeed, they typically bought Borden (Elsie, how’d you do it?), and when I asked if we could purchase Borden milk and if no, why not, the answer came with a bit of a glare and a, “cos’ we use another brand,” as she put a gallon of grocery store house brand milk into the cart. End of discussion.
Ultimately, that meant, when I was buying my own milk, I could choose what I liked. So, once I was purchasing my own groceries, I jumped right on the Borden wagon, and happily purchased and consumed Borden 2% milk, and loved the hell out of it, despite the fact that it was noticeably more expensive than the store’s house brand.
Several years later, after I had been living on my own for some time, I was visiting my parents for a meal, and decided to have a glass of milk. Unfortunately, it was a horrible experience; the milk was almost tasteless. As the diet rage and health awareness continued during the 80s and 90s, my parents had moved away from skim milk to 0% fat milk, citing the need to reduce fats in their diet as much as possible.
This proved to be most irritating, because no fat milk to me tastes just like a glass of water with 2 drops of white food coloring in it, absolutely no taste of milk whatsoever. For years, particularly at holidays, I was less able to enjoy the Christmas cookie experience due to the fact that the milk at my parents’ house tasted crap.
At the end of the 90s, when I lived briefly (i.e. a few months) at home, I purchased my own groceries, including milk. On any given day, there might be 4 or more gallons of milk in the fridge: one gallon crap milk, and two or three gallons of my preferred stuff. (Note – it was not unusual for me to drink half a gallon in a single chug during this time of my life). Fortunately, my parents acquired a second refrigerator, which helped create a bit of space. The other alternative was to purchase a cow, and that just wasn’t going to fly in the suburbs of Dallas. However, I did notice that my father had taken to drinking my milk, as he preferred the milk with the higher fat content, also.
True, I tend to be brand loyal, and was still drinking Borden products, but had finally realized that the reason I had enjoyed milk everywhere but at my parents was down to the fact that everywhere else, I was drinking milk with higher fat content. This epiphany was more or less triggered by a comment my sister made once, “Bryan, you dork. This is skim milk, and that’s why it tastes horrible. You’ve been drinking whole milk everywhere else.” Oh.
Well, over the years, I’ve stuck to drinking milk with a higher fat content. Indeed, I moved away from the Borden brand, though that had more to do with location and availability than anything else. As a happy shopper at Whole Foods, I tended to buy the milk from the local supplier. I forget the brand, but the cow on the jug looked really really happy. Besides, the milk tasted awesome, almost better than the milk at Jeff’s house from all those years ago.
While in Spain, I favored the milk from central lechera Asturiana, though the Pascal lechera was also pretty tasty. However, I liked the look of the bottle of Asturiana better: lots of cows grazing in a valley, with a scenic view of snow covered mountain ranges in the background. With a label like that, how could the milk not taste great?
In Germany, it didn’t take much time before I found alpen Frisch milch. The blue carton and the mountain range just grabbed my attention. Furthermore, the 3.5% fat content was in line with my expectations. So, for the past four years, I’ve been a loyal, satisfied consumer of the brand.
I don’t eat nearly as much cereal as I once did, but I do do a fair amount of late night chugging, so my milk consumption is still relatively high. Furthermore, I prepare quite a few lattes for myself. Call it a café con leche, a latte macchiato, or whatever you want.
People here prefer a lot of milk foam in their coffees (lattes, etc). I think even the home espresso machines are built with this in mind. My milk foamer just tends to go nuts once I turn the knob and start steaming, and this has frequently resulted in some spills in my kitchen: a little milk makes a LOT of foam.
Meanwhile, in my local café, they tend to pride themselves on building a pile of foam that actually rises a few centimeters above the top of the glass, referred to as a “crown.” In fact, just about every café tends to serve lattes this way. Last weekend in Hamburg, the waiter was unable to add an extra shot of espresso into my drink, indicating that if he did, the cup would overflow. He then brought me my drink which was about 2/3 milk foam, most of which was above the rim of the glass.
Being a bit of a barista, I’ve also prided myself on my ability to prepare coffees for not only myself, but also any guests. However, more than once I’ve fallen way short on expectation. My coffees tend to be a bit more espresso and a bit less milk foam. Several times, guests have looked disappointed as I served them a latte with way too little Schaum. I started practicing, hoping to improve my technique in order to create a bit more satisfaction, and still found myself short of the mark. Every so often, though, I have been able to create the mountain of foam that one tends to find regularly in cafes around town. These brief moments of success have continued to encourage me, but I’ve still been curious as to why it’s a bit hit or miss: my technique is pretty constant.
I’ve been closely watching people make coffees over the past several weeks, trying to put my additional spare time (equate that with: increased time spent in cafes) to good use by spotting a secret technique from another barista. The study has been inconclusive: my method for foaming milk isn’t too different from anyone else’s.
Last week (or the week before), right after a trip to my local supermarket, I was making a coffee, and suddenly there was foam all around! I was amazed, and quite pleased with the results. I actually was patting my little milk bottle for a job well done when I noticed that the fat content was marked 1.5%, which is basically the equivalent to low fat milk in Europe. “Wow, that milk tastes pretty good for such a low fat content,” I thought to myself. “I thought I had been buying milk with more fat in it.” I looked in the fridge at the other bottles of milk, and noticed that two of them were marked with 3.5% fat, and the other two were 1.5%.
Now, I’ve always been semi-aware that milk with lower fat content tends to make for more “foamy” foam when using said espresso machines. The next time I was at the supermarket, I examined the milk section a bit more closely. It turns out that my brand of milk here only comes in a blue carton. However, I’ve never bothered to really read the label (after the first time I ever bought the brand of milk) to notice that the milk comes in the two varieties. Instead, I always grabbed the blue carton off the shelf. As it happens, the whole and low-fat milks are set side by side on the shelf.
In a word, Duh. In two words, mystery solved. Not only have I figured out what my problem was in the milk foaming department, I’ve also finally realized why other customers always seemed to spend so much time examining the cartons of milk. They were looking for the right fat content to be sure that they didn’t select the wrong one, whether it be for the sake of preparing super foamy milk, or simply because of their diet preferences. Hmmm, live and learn.
All in all, it’s been a pretty amusing week. I provided a bit of entertainment on Monday night when I suddenly was hit by a charley horse while sitting in a little café. I jumped up and did that little “ouch, holyshitholyshitholyshit!” thing that you have to do as you try to loosen the muscle so that the cramping stops. It’s not the funniest thing in the world to experience, but once it stops, you have to laugh with relief, along with whoever happened to observe you cramping up, as they tend to be laughing hysterically already.
I did take some time to entertain myself, too. I set up my second laptop, got the wireless working, and spent a few minutes skyping with myself, before powering down and heading off to see the Gaslight Anthem play a show Thursday evening.
Last summer at a festival, I saw this band play for the first time, and they left an impression, as I mentioned in a post shortly thereafter. I looked forward to their next release, and was quite pleased when it came out a few months back. The group did a few festivals in Europe during the summer months, but none were too close to Frankfurt, and truth be told, I really wanted a chance to see them at an individual concert, where they would have more time to play.
So, when the fall tour of Europe was announced, I marked the date in my calendar, vowing not to miss the show. Too many times this year I’d had to miss concerts due to conflicts involving work. Well, I’ve certainly managed to free up my time, but when it started raining like hell on Thursday evening, I suddenly had an urge for a quiet night in watching movies, even though I’d already purchased my online ticket. “Boop!” I skyped myself. “Log off and get yourself to the show, you mediocre barista!”
That’s all I needed, just a little push. I grabbed my jacket, was walking down the street to the U-bahn in the pouring rain, when I decided to splurge on a cab, which would get me to the show in about 1/3 of the time.
I had to show the cabbie how to work the GPS system, but within a few minutes, we arrived at the show, and after a quick feel up by the security guy who was a bit too cozy, I was inside the concert hall.
A new punk act from the UK was playing the early set. Their stuff wasn’t bad, and I’ll keep an eye on them. The concession stand was a madhouse, but I organized a couple of beers (one to drink, one for backup), then found a spot to view the stage.
The second act was a guy named Chuck Ragan, performing a solo acoustic set. I’ve been familiar with his old group Hot Water Music for several years, but wasn’t really so overwhelmed. His solo work, however, is incredible. Check him out if you can, particularly live. His stage presence is magnificent.
Shortly before 10, the lights went out, and the unmistakable beginning of the Clash’s “Straight to Hell” came on the PA. I smiled to myself, realizing how good this show was going to be.
Halfway through one of my favorite Clash songs (and apparently a favorite of the band, too), the Gaslight Anthem skull and cross bones banner was unfurled as a backdrop (hmm, a bit St Pauli), and the band made their way on stage.
When I listen to TGA, I can’t help but dance about. This has made for some interesting moments at home, and a likely source of amusement for my neighbors across the street, at least until I started remembering to close the blinds. In concert, though, the crowd of fans danced and stomped about with great pleasure. The band just enjoys the hell out of playing, and it is so obvious that you can’t help but get enthused.
For two hours, the guys just rocked things up. The three albums they’ve produced to date kind of progress in style, similar to the first three albums by the Clash. While I recognize the connection and the influence, the Clash will always be the Clash, and thank goodness, the Gaslight Anthem will always be the Gaslight Anthem. TGA’s style is their own and is to be admired. As I said above, the guys enjoy playing their show, and that says something for the power of influence great music has on people. Sing like no one is listening, and dance like no one is watching…
Towards the end of the show, right about the time for encores, I ran into a few folks I know from my neighborhood. They tend to hang out on the corner of my street at a little punk-rockabilly store. We all enthused about how great the show was, and watched the band finish their set. What a great evening.
So, it’s continued to rain here over the past couple of days, but I’ve been sitting indoors, enjoying quality milk foam and listening to Chuck Ragan and TGA, with a bit of Clash thrown in just to make things complete.
Keep the faith.
Sunday, November 07, 2010
Not Quite a Weekend Review
I’m sitting here in a quiet café in Hamburg, just a few meters from Michaeliskirche. I arrived in Hamburg yesterday afternoon; it’s only about four hours away from Frankfurt by train.
As I studied the U-bahn map at the Hauptbahnhof, an employee of the HVV (Hamburger Verkehrverbund) approached me, asking if he could help in any way. Though it was actually his job, I was immediately aware of his open friendliness and willingness. We sort of discussed the best route to take; we were on the east side of the city, and I needed to get to St. Pauli in the west. I’d pretty much already figured things out, but he confirmed things for me. Indeed, I would have to transfer after a couple of stops to the next U-bahn line. Pretty easy stuff.
A few minutes later, I found myself on Reeperbahn and just sort of wandered, hoping I’d stumble upon my hotel. Earlier in the week, I had purchased a guidebook of the city, was impressed with the fact that I could read and understand most everything in German, and more or less familiarized myself with the city map. Thus, I had a decent idea of which direction to take, and within a couple of minutes, found my hotel. I checked in with the help of very friendly staff, had a quick look at the map again to orient myself, and after the obligatory welcome drink, took a little walk around the waterfront.
My primary reason for the excursion was a Jimmy Eat World show. I’d recently bought their latest release, and while I first became a fan at the end of the 90s when I moved back to Dallas from Boston, I’ve always been kind of an on again, off again listener. That is, until this past year, when a few new songs grabbed my attention, and suddenly they’ve been in heavy rotation on the ipod.
So, the club was directly across from my hotel, but with several hours to kill before show time, I checked out a bit of the waterfront, though it was already dusk and I couldn’t really see all that much. I walked a bit more, enough to build up an appetite, then found a restaurant down the street from the hotel that looked decent.
After their initial surprise that I was dining alone, the staff in the (apparently trendy) lively restaurant was once again, super friendly. Yes, I’m well aware that I’ve just commented on my self perceived friendliness of people working in the service industry in a city known for its tourism, but still, I got the impression that it’s a pretty easy going city.
From my spot in the restaurant, I watched the queue for the show, and became kind of alarmed that by 6pm, the line had already stretched down the block. The show wasn’t due to start until after 8pm, which was when I planned on arriving. I enjoyed a handful of beers and some grub to tie me over the next couple of hours, then paid up.
45 seconds later, I was walking into the club, and discovered that those folks who had queued up early were fortunate to have decent spots from which to view the stage. I, on the other hand, though pleasantly full from burger and beer, was stuck towards the rear of the venue, but within striking distance of the bar.
The bar served beer in tiny plastic cups that reminded me of those little sippy cups that say they’re dishwasher safe but really aren’t. Beer was kind of expensive, but being that I was on vacation, I didn’t wince much. Since the cups were on the small side, frequent refills were required.
I’d heard a song from the opening act on lastfm or somewhere, and had already decided to skip that experience. However, German concerts always seem to start a bit early, so I wasn’t really sure that I’d successfully missed them until the main act hit the stage, which was only about 15 minutes after I’d arrived.
Well, the band launched right in, and despite my somewhat obstructed view, they certainly impressed. The next two hours passed quickly as the band kicked on, playing a nice mix of their stuff from the past 15 years. When you go to a show alone, you can really concentrate on the music. On the other hand, you kind of notice how alone you are. Sometimes, you want to share the experience with someone, you know?
The thing that has always attracted me to Jimmy Eat World is the band’s ability to be a good blend of punk, pop, and plain rock and roll. Their earlier stuff was more punk driven, then got a bit poppy (though with seriously dark overtones), and over their tenure has really developed into very listenable rock and roll.
True, several of their songs have turned up on soundtracks of various teen angst dramas shown on television from the past 10 years, but hell, they’ve tended to turn up on a lot of my comp cd’s also; their stuff is just cool.
Yes, the sound attracts a slightly younger audience (um, when does the next Twilight trilogy DVD come out on blu-ray, again?) but I really didn’t feel that old at the show. Shoot, the band members themselves are close to my age, too. I did take note that the 5 or 6 people that had to be carried out (excessive heat, too much drink…who knows) were about the same age as I was the last time I got thrown out of a show; it felt good to have learned from that experience and stick around until after the encores.
So, I’m glad the band skipped Frankfurt as a tour stop, forcing me to do a road trip to see them. I was long overdue for a show, and this one hit the spot.
After the encores, we all spilled into the street, and I spent the next 90 minutes wandering around the Reeperbahn, Hamburg’s red light district as well as the main spot for concerts, discos, and theatre. You kind of have to watch your step in the area, but I was quite sober again, helped by the big dinner and the rain that had started to fall. Truth be told, it’s worth it to see the spectacle, but not where I want to spend every weekend.
Thanks to double-paned glass, my hotel room was pretty quiet, even though it overlooked said Reeperbahn, so I slept reasonably ok.
I slept until 9 or so, had a bit of breakfast, then have spent the day just walking around the city, and quite a cool city Hamburg is. It’s a great thing when a city sits near water, and Hamburg not only has a river running through it, but also a lake. I walked all along the docks, then through several other districts of the city, taking in the various market places and other points of interest. There are loads of bridges (I crossed most of them), really pleasant views, and it’s been quite a nice day walking around a big city for hours.
However, my feet need the rest, and Bryan needs a latte, hence the afternoon pause in this café. In a few minutes, I’ll climb to the top of the Michaeliskirche tower and get an overview of all the places I’ve seen today. The weather has been really sunny this morning, and after a little rain interlude (which is why the journal pages are wet), the sun is peeking out again.
2 hours later…
OK, I’ll touch on the three Säulen, here. First off, fitness and health. I just climbed to the top of Michaeliskirche Turm, which is 132 meters high. I elected to take the stairs, about 452 steps of them, thinking that I was tough.
By the third story, I was a bit huffy puffy. A guy about my age was just ahead of me, and I thought I’d try to keep pace with him. Turns out he was struggling, too. He even broke sweat.
On the seventh story, I almost thought I was going to have to stop for a bit. However, I pressed on, and was rewarded upon reaching the top. Wow. Totally cool. One can see for miles, and I looked out over the harbor and over the whole city, retracing my steps from earlier in the day.
I’d set out this morning with no real plan, just walking, looking, to see whatever I could see. Yes, I did have an idea of some of the “things to see” in Hamburg, but I’d previously thought that to get from one place to the next, one would need public transportation. However, I found that I had really covered a lot of ground on foot, and not surprisingly, saw a lot of stuff.
Because I didn’t refer to the map, I sort of walked in whatever direction I fancied, and simply kept encountering nifty things to see. I’ve always had a decent sense of direction (I’ve had a secret desire to be kidnapped, put in the trunk of a car and driven around, just so I can pop out and say, “we took four left turns and we’re right back where we started!”) so never really felt too lost. Since there was no game plan to speak of, it’s not really as if I was “lost” in the first place. I was just exploring.
It helps to have a river, which helped me keep my bearings, and if that wasn’t enough, I only had to look for one of the church towers. OK, it’s Hamburg and not Istanbul; I’d like to specify where I’d prefer to be kidnapped…just setting the record straight.
Anyway, after enjoying the view of the city from the observation deck, I walked back down, realizing my legs were feeling a bit rubbery. God knows how they’ll be tomorrow.
So, I’m thinking I’m not so fit. Sure, I’m in the gym a lot, which brings regular commentary from Kumpels and friends. While you might argue that I sort of look fit, this is not quite the same as “being” fit. Put me on a treadmill for 10 minutes, and I think I’ll be in need of a doctor. Skip the smoking comments for a moment, I’m referring to the fact that I’m not conditioned. Thus, I’m noting the need to do a bit of cardio more regularly. That’s now added to the “to do” list. (Isn’t it neat how one can write with such motivation about getting fit while sipping a San Miguel?)
Before we move on to the next pillar, I’ll briefly touch on the smoking. I’ve been failing miserably at quitting over the past 4 months, and it is really irritating me. I’m quite tired of smoking, and am looking forward to the day (coming soon) when the shit is behind me. Yes, the dragon has not yet puffed his last, and I know few people believe me, but it is what it is.
Now, pillar number 2. Work. Ha ha ha ha ha….roll on the floor and laugh out loud. That pillar is under reconstruction, pending the right architect, plans, and funding. So far, so good.
Pillar number 3. Wow, I could write (and actually have been) for days on the topic. I must say that after two weeks of doing the permanent lunch break, I realize just how lopsided my life has become over the years. Take away the work from a guy who only worked all the time and you’ve only got a guy. I went quickly into the realization where I don’t have much of a life. All the years spent doing only work stuff really exposes the absence of the things that make life worth living in the first place. I’m a guy who needs quite a bit of looking after (er, perhaps a bit of Paddington Bryan), and generally a fair amount of encouragement. Typically, that means, hit me in the head with a 2x4. Otherwise, I won’t always get the message.
The problem is, no one is looking after me, so if I don’t do it myself, then I might be well and truly fucked. Thus, if I don’t push myself (i.e.…keep a 2x4 nearby at the ready), nothing will happen or change.
For some reason, I thought that upon my arrival in Germany, I’d meet people and suddenly, I’d be invited off to see things and places, doing stuff. Well, I didn’t realize that the Germans aren’t like that really, and even once they got to know me, no one was ever struck by my openness and willingness (hey, I should go to work for the HVV!) to try new things.
Why? Because I was a one trick pony, and all work and no play makes Bryan a dull boy.
Now, I’m in no way slighting my friends in Germany; they simply call a spade a spade. Furthermore, I have done some really cool things, both self-initiated and through invitation. However, it struck me today as I wandered around the city just how similar the experience was to my first months in Boston: I didn’t know a soul, and I just got on with things.
Um, let’s stop for a moment and pat ourselves on the back for having had the guts to make a dramatic change in life not once (Boston), not twice (Valencia), but three times. Not many people can say that they’ve done that; not by their own choosing, at least.
But, for everyone who always listened to me yammer on about my ambition to work and live somewhere else (i.e. ”away”), particularly in Europe, the patient message was always there. “It’s only so good an experience as you make it, B.”
I think, now that I have more than 15 minutes to reflect (thanks to the extra 60 hours per week that I’ve been gifted), I can see that more clearly. I have done a less than adequate job in making sure that this pillar was firmly structured, choosing instead to flash about and excuse anything with a, “um, too much work.”
Sure, it’s easy to say when you’re unemployed, sitting in a cozy Spanish restaurant (mas chorizo, por favor!) and feeling hoppy boppy, but I’m going to hang on to the notion.
I know plenty of people who have given me grief over the years for working too much, and my response was (and will likely always be) “yeah, but I like what I do for a living.” (Don’t confuse that with: I like who I work for…company or otherwise)
It’s the passion I’ve had with my work that helped me get here, and I’m proud of that. Ironically, some of those same people who berated me have found themselves in a similar situation to mine: too much time in work, and too little time developing the third pillar. I understand the trap very clearly, and am curious as to how to better find the right balance.
It certainly isn’t easy, and I’m not interested in finding a solution here in this piece. Recognizing it as an area which needs a lot of attention is important. That’s the main theme of today.
Right about now (if not 3 pages ago), someone is saying, “Gee, why doesn’t he just write ‘hey, I went to Hamburg at the weekend and had a good time. Why does he always get all philosophical and dreamy?’” (pause, while I smile)
Funny, it’s when all three pillars take a bit of a hit that suddenly the clarity comes, and along with it, plenty of uncertainty about the future. Five years ago, I listed out a bunch of goals for myself during an exercise with a friend in trying to figure out my universe. My friend pointed out that of all the goals I wanted to fulfill, I hadn’t written anything down about a desire to find a partner and have a family, and was I going to.
I was asked that same question just the other week, and wasn’t too surprised to hear myself answering that yes, I do have those desires (though I actually said something more along the lines of having that pipe dream: my pessimism always jumps to the forefront when discussing relationships, and that, combined with my calamitous ability to simply fall in love with the wrong girl makes for a laugh out loud, roll on the floor, reread update for pillar 2 one more time experience), but it’s only got a chance of happening once I recognize where I am in my life.
And where am I right now (besides the quite literal but surreally groovy experience of sitting in a quiet restaurant specializing in paella de mariscos in Hamburg, conversing only in Spanish)?
I am simply here, and here to stay.
Yep, I’ve just slid a New Order lyric into the write up, simply to mock the absurd, albeit extremely rewarding life that I have.
So, thanks for reading, you. It took quite a bit for me to unload here, and my words just didn’t come out earlier in the week.
Keep the faith.
Soundtrack
Vox Populi – 30 Seconds to Mars
Window in the Skies – U2
Indefinitely – Old 97s
Stars Above Us – Saint Etienne
That Was Then But This Is Now – ABC
Walking To Do – Ted Leo and the Pharmacists
Scared As You – The Cure
Like a Hurricane – The Mission UK
Dizzy – Jimmy Eat World
Let Down – Radiohead
Safe – Travis
More – The Sundays
House – The Psychedelic Furs
Be Sensible – Jimmy Eat World
As I studied the U-bahn map at the Hauptbahnhof, an employee of the HVV (Hamburger Verkehrverbund) approached me, asking if he could help in any way. Though it was actually his job, I was immediately aware of his open friendliness and willingness. We sort of discussed the best route to take; we were on the east side of the city, and I needed to get to St. Pauli in the west. I’d pretty much already figured things out, but he confirmed things for me. Indeed, I would have to transfer after a couple of stops to the next U-bahn line. Pretty easy stuff.
A few minutes later, I found myself on Reeperbahn and just sort of wandered, hoping I’d stumble upon my hotel. Earlier in the week, I had purchased a guidebook of the city, was impressed with the fact that I could read and understand most everything in German, and more or less familiarized myself with the city map. Thus, I had a decent idea of which direction to take, and within a couple of minutes, found my hotel. I checked in with the help of very friendly staff, had a quick look at the map again to orient myself, and after the obligatory welcome drink, took a little walk around the waterfront.
My primary reason for the excursion was a Jimmy Eat World show. I’d recently bought their latest release, and while I first became a fan at the end of the 90s when I moved back to Dallas from Boston, I’ve always been kind of an on again, off again listener. That is, until this past year, when a few new songs grabbed my attention, and suddenly they’ve been in heavy rotation on the ipod.
So, the club was directly across from my hotel, but with several hours to kill before show time, I checked out a bit of the waterfront, though it was already dusk and I couldn’t really see all that much. I walked a bit more, enough to build up an appetite, then found a restaurant down the street from the hotel that looked decent.
After their initial surprise that I was dining alone, the staff in the (apparently trendy) lively restaurant was once again, super friendly. Yes, I’m well aware that I’ve just commented on my self perceived friendliness of people working in the service industry in a city known for its tourism, but still, I got the impression that it’s a pretty easy going city.
From my spot in the restaurant, I watched the queue for the show, and became kind of alarmed that by 6pm, the line had already stretched down the block. The show wasn’t due to start until after 8pm, which was when I planned on arriving. I enjoyed a handful of beers and some grub to tie me over the next couple of hours, then paid up.
45 seconds later, I was walking into the club, and discovered that those folks who had queued up early were fortunate to have decent spots from which to view the stage. I, on the other hand, though pleasantly full from burger and beer, was stuck towards the rear of the venue, but within striking distance of the bar.
The bar served beer in tiny plastic cups that reminded me of those little sippy cups that say they’re dishwasher safe but really aren’t. Beer was kind of expensive, but being that I was on vacation, I didn’t wince much. Since the cups were on the small side, frequent refills were required.
I’d heard a song from the opening act on lastfm or somewhere, and had already decided to skip that experience. However, German concerts always seem to start a bit early, so I wasn’t really sure that I’d successfully missed them until the main act hit the stage, which was only about 15 minutes after I’d arrived.
Well, the band launched right in, and despite my somewhat obstructed view, they certainly impressed. The next two hours passed quickly as the band kicked on, playing a nice mix of their stuff from the past 15 years. When you go to a show alone, you can really concentrate on the music. On the other hand, you kind of notice how alone you are. Sometimes, you want to share the experience with someone, you know?
The thing that has always attracted me to Jimmy Eat World is the band’s ability to be a good blend of punk, pop, and plain rock and roll. Their earlier stuff was more punk driven, then got a bit poppy (though with seriously dark overtones), and over their tenure has really developed into very listenable rock and roll.
True, several of their songs have turned up on soundtracks of various teen angst dramas shown on television from the past 10 years, but hell, they’ve tended to turn up on a lot of my comp cd’s also; their stuff is just cool.
Yes, the sound attracts a slightly younger audience (um, when does the next Twilight trilogy DVD come out on blu-ray, again?) but I really didn’t feel that old at the show. Shoot, the band members themselves are close to my age, too. I did take note that the 5 or 6 people that had to be carried out (excessive heat, too much drink…who knows) were about the same age as I was the last time I got thrown out of a show; it felt good to have learned from that experience and stick around until after the encores.
So, I’m glad the band skipped Frankfurt as a tour stop, forcing me to do a road trip to see them. I was long overdue for a show, and this one hit the spot.
After the encores, we all spilled into the street, and I spent the next 90 minutes wandering around the Reeperbahn, Hamburg’s red light district as well as the main spot for concerts, discos, and theatre. You kind of have to watch your step in the area, but I was quite sober again, helped by the big dinner and the rain that had started to fall. Truth be told, it’s worth it to see the spectacle, but not where I want to spend every weekend.
Thanks to double-paned glass, my hotel room was pretty quiet, even though it overlooked said Reeperbahn, so I slept reasonably ok.
I slept until 9 or so, had a bit of breakfast, then have spent the day just walking around the city, and quite a cool city Hamburg is. It’s a great thing when a city sits near water, and Hamburg not only has a river running through it, but also a lake. I walked all along the docks, then through several other districts of the city, taking in the various market places and other points of interest. There are loads of bridges (I crossed most of them), really pleasant views, and it’s been quite a nice day walking around a big city for hours.
However, my feet need the rest, and Bryan needs a latte, hence the afternoon pause in this café. In a few minutes, I’ll climb to the top of the Michaeliskirche tower and get an overview of all the places I’ve seen today. The weather has been really sunny this morning, and after a little rain interlude (which is why the journal pages are wet), the sun is peeking out again.
2 hours later…
OK, I’ll touch on the three Säulen, here. First off, fitness and health. I just climbed to the top of Michaeliskirche Turm, which is 132 meters high. I elected to take the stairs, about 452 steps of them, thinking that I was tough.
By the third story, I was a bit huffy puffy. A guy about my age was just ahead of me, and I thought I’d try to keep pace with him. Turns out he was struggling, too. He even broke sweat.
On the seventh story, I almost thought I was going to have to stop for a bit. However, I pressed on, and was rewarded upon reaching the top. Wow. Totally cool. One can see for miles, and I looked out over the harbor and over the whole city, retracing my steps from earlier in the day.
I’d set out this morning with no real plan, just walking, looking, to see whatever I could see. Yes, I did have an idea of some of the “things to see” in Hamburg, but I’d previously thought that to get from one place to the next, one would need public transportation. However, I found that I had really covered a lot of ground on foot, and not surprisingly, saw a lot of stuff.
Because I didn’t refer to the map, I sort of walked in whatever direction I fancied, and simply kept encountering nifty things to see. I’ve always had a decent sense of direction (I’ve had a secret desire to be kidnapped, put in the trunk of a car and driven around, just so I can pop out and say, “we took four left turns and we’re right back where we started!”) so never really felt too lost. Since there was no game plan to speak of, it’s not really as if I was “lost” in the first place. I was just exploring.
It helps to have a river, which helped me keep my bearings, and if that wasn’t enough, I only had to look for one of the church towers. OK, it’s Hamburg and not Istanbul; I’d like to specify where I’d prefer to be kidnapped…just setting the record straight.
Anyway, after enjoying the view of the city from the observation deck, I walked back down, realizing my legs were feeling a bit rubbery. God knows how they’ll be tomorrow.
So, I’m thinking I’m not so fit. Sure, I’m in the gym a lot, which brings regular commentary from Kumpels and friends. While you might argue that I sort of look fit, this is not quite the same as “being” fit. Put me on a treadmill for 10 minutes, and I think I’ll be in need of a doctor. Skip the smoking comments for a moment, I’m referring to the fact that I’m not conditioned. Thus, I’m noting the need to do a bit of cardio more regularly. That’s now added to the “to do” list. (Isn’t it neat how one can write with such motivation about getting fit while sipping a San Miguel?)
Before we move on to the next pillar, I’ll briefly touch on the smoking. I’ve been failing miserably at quitting over the past 4 months, and it is really irritating me. I’m quite tired of smoking, and am looking forward to the day (coming soon) when the shit is behind me. Yes, the dragon has not yet puffed his last, and I know few people believe me, but it is what it is.
Now, pillar number 2. Work. Ha ha ha ha ha….roll on the floor and laugh out loud. That pillar is under reconstruction, pending the right architect, plans, and funding. So far, so good.
Pillar number 3. Wow, I could write (and actually have been) for days on the topic. I must say that after two weeks of doing the permanent lunch break, I realize just how lopsided my life has become over the years. Take away the work from a guy who only worked all the time and you’ve only got a guy. I went quickly into the realization where I don’t have much of a life. All the years spent doing only work stuff really exposes the absence of the things that make life worth living in the first place. I’m a guy who needs quite a bit of looking after (er, perhaps a bit of Paddington Bryan), and generally a fair amount of encouragement. Typically, that means, hit me in the head with a 2x4. Otherwise, I won’t always get the message.
The problem is, no one is looking after me, so if I don’t do it myself, then I might be well and truly fucked. Thus, if I don’t push myself (i.e.…keep a 2x4 nearby at the ready), nothing will happen or change.
For some reason, I thought that upon my arrival in Germany, I’d meet people and suddenly, I’d be invited off to see things and places, doing stuff. Well, I didn’t realize that the Germans aren’t like that really, and even once they got to know me, no one was ever struck by my openness and willingness (hey, I should go to work for the HVV!) to try new things.
Why? Because I was a one trick pony, and all work and no play makes Bryan a dull boy.
Now, I’m in no way slighting my friends in Germany; they simply call a spade a spade. Furthermore, I have done some really cool things, both self-initiated and through invitation. However, it struck me today as I wandered around the city just how similar the experience was to my first months in Boston: I didn’t know a soul, and I just got on with things.
Um, let’s stop for a moment and pat ourselves on the back for having had the guts to make a dramatic change in life not once (Boston), not twice (Valencia), but three times. Not many people can say that they’ve done that; not by their own choosing, at least.
But, for everyone who always listened to me yammer on about my ambition to work and live somewhere else (i.e. ”away”), particularly in Europe, the patient message was always there. “It’s only so good an experience as you make it, B.”
I think, now that I have more than 15 minutes to reflect (thanks to the extra 60 hours per week that I’ve been gifted), I can see that more clearly. I have done a less than adequate job in making sure that this pillar was firmly structured, choosing instead to flash about and excuse anything with a, “um, too much work.”
Sure, it’s easy to say when you’re unemployed, sitting in a cozy Spanish restaurant (mas chorizo, por favor!) and feeling hoppy boppy, but I’m going to hang on to the notion.
I know plenty of people who have given me grief over the years for working too much, and my response was (and will likely always be) “yeah, but I like what I do for a living.” (Don’t confuse that with: I like who I work for…company or otherwise)
It’s the passion I’ve had with my work that helped me get here, and I’m proud of that. Ironically, some of those same people who berated me have found themselves in a similar situation to mine: too much time in work, and too little time developing the third pillar. I understand the trap very clearly, and am curious as to how to better find the right balance.
It certainly isn’t easy, and I’m not interested in finding a solution here in this piece. Recognizing it as an area which needs a lot of attention is important. That’s the main theme of today.
Right about now (if not 3 pages ago), someone is saying, “Gee, why doesn’t he just write ‘hey, I went to Hamburg at the weekend and had a good time. Why does he always get all philosophical and dreamy?’” (pause, while I smile)
Funny, it’s when all three pillars take a bit of a hit that suddenly the clarity comes, and along with it, plenty of uncertainty about the future. Five years ago, I listed out a bunch of goals for myself during an exercise with a friend in trying to figure out my universe. My friend pointed out that of all the goals I wanted to fulfill, I hadn’t written anything down about a desire to find a partner and have a family, and was I going to.
I was asked that same question just the other week, and wasn’t too surprised to hear myself answering that yes, I do have those desires (though I actually said something more along the lines of having that pipe dream: my pessimism always jumps to the forefront when discussing relationships, and that, combined with my calamitous ability to simply fall in love with the wrong girl makes for a laugh out loud, roll on the floor, reread update for pillar 2 one more time experience), but it’s only got a chance of happening once I recognize where I am in my life.
And where am I right now (besides the quite literal but surreally groovy experience of sitting in a quiet restaurant specializing in paella de mariscos in Hamburg, conversing only in Spanish)?
I am simply here, and here to stay.
Yep, I’ve just slid a New Order lyric into the write up, simply to mock the absurd, albeit extremely rewarding life that I have.
So, thanks for reading, you. It took quite a bit for me to unload here, and my words just didn’t come out earlier in the week.
Keep the faith.
Soundtrack
Vox Populi – 30 Seconds to Mars
Window in the Skies – U2
Indefinitely – Old 97s
Stars Above Us – Saint Etienne
That Was Then But This Is Now – ABC
Walking To Do – Ted Leo and the Pharmacists
Scared As You – The Cure
Like a Hurricane – The Mission UK
Dizzy – Jimmy Eat World
Let Down – Radiohead
Safe – Travis
More – The Sundays
House – The Psychedelic Furs
Be Sensible – Jimmy Eat World
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