But What About the Night Before?

The 6th of August is a significant day for my sister, as it is her wedding anniversary.  28 years ago, back in 1994, she and Fran got married in Dallas.  Due to my brother-in -aw being a Spaniard, there was a certain element of international excitement, not to mention language barrier, involved in the whole affair.  Back then, Fran was still learning English, and his parents and brothers were even less adept in the language than he was.  

Meanwhile, my parents (and just about everyone else in our family) were equally incapable in Spanish, and at the time, I reckoned we would have a very interesting experience.  Church weddings, as this one was, require a lot of planning at the best of times.  Weddings that involve people from different nationalities (and international travel) require even more planning.  This created a lot of positive stress for my sister and parents.  Being 24 years old, I was pretty skilled at avoiding getting too involved in things.  I tended to stand around and make humorous comments about anything and everything.  And there was a lot of material to choose from.  Trying to keep names straight, for example.  Making sure everyone understood what was happening, another.  

Because the wedding was in August, in Texas, the heat played a pretty intense role.  I questioned the timing, as, in my naive world, I could not for the life of me figure out why someone would want to put on dress clothes when it was over 40 degrees C outside. 

Spanish speaking friends of the family, including Pablo,  were enlisted to assist with the transatlantic event.  My mother was particularly pleased that he would be helping out, as he was one of the few Spanish speakers who was more familiar with Spanish culture.  Of course, there were other folks helping out, and as Central and South Americans, their language knowledge more than compensated for their lack of European Spanish culture.  After all, there is only one SPAIN. 

I am reminded about all of this because a friend of mine here in Frankfurt is also getting married on the 6th of August.  She comes from Argentina, her fiance from Frankfurt, and they are pretty much going through a very similar situation to what our family went through years ago. 

My friend has been organizing local housing and flats for her family and friends to stay at while they are here in Germany.  Though I have met her brothers and father before, I only met the mother a couple of weeks back.  The whole family has been arriving during the month of July. 

As you can imagine, her side of the family speaks Spanish, with maybe a bit of English.  Meanwhile, the guy’s parents speak German, and also with a bit of English.  Fortunately, just like with my family, plenty of supportive multilingual friends are involved to help push through any language barriers.  

For parents, I can only imagine how important it is to see their child get married, and the desire to express the pride, the love, the joy to the spouse and family is enormous.  Doing that through gestures (and a ton of smiling) has to be an emotional situation.  I watched my own mother gush and gush to Fran’s mom, all in English, and the emotions coming through could not quite translate, despite the obvious.  Thus, I am really excited for Maria, Jonas, and their families. 

Back to 1994, the 5th of August.  As per tradition, we had a wedding rehearsal downtown at our church.  My grandfather was going to officiate the ceremony, and my mom was explicitly clear that I was to arrive ON TIME to the rehearsal.  Again, I questioned why someone thought trying to drive downtown in rush hour on a Friday afternoon was the best idea, but Pablo agreed to come pick me up and drive us both to the rehearsal. 

I had been told to dress nice casual, which was the way of expressing “business casual” at the time.  This sort of meant that boots and jeans was not an option.  Somewhat lacking in apparel for such occasions, I dug out some khaki pants along with a button down shirt with stripes which were kind of a teal and pink.  (Yes, thank you once again J Crew for some great times).  And for those of you who are completely bewildered by my choice of clothes that evening, I would point out that my dad was wearing a paisley print shirt, and just about every other guy there was wearing something very similar.  It was the early 90s.  What else can I say?

Pablo had the good sense to pull a beer out of the console of his car and hand it to me, and we both drank our beers as we got stuck in a traffic jam.  What should have been a 10-15 minute drive turned into more like 25-30 minutes.  This meant, we walked into the church sanctuary very late.  Had Pablo not charmed everyone with his greetings, I would have gotten my ass kicked by my mother, grandfather, and probably several other people.  

The rehearsal itself was pretty straightforward, though with the translations things took just a bit longer.  Once we were finished and clear on how things would (should) go the following day, we all jumped into our vehicles, and drove to the location of the rehearsal dinner:  Casa Rosa. 

This restaurant was a family favorite, and we had been going there for years.  It was only fitting to have a private dinner (for the families, wedding party, and close friends) there, and it was amazing as ever.  We used the upstairs room reserved for such events, and from time to time during the course of the evening, a few of us would run downstairs to have a shot or two from the bar.  

As one can imagine, it was a festive evening, and the tequila helped inspire us.  

The adults in the wedding party were conscious of the following day, so things started to wind down at a reasonable hour.  It was not so late, but it was not that early, either.  My memory eludes me now; I no longer remember how young McKee knew when to arrive at the restaurant.  Either we planned ahead of time (likely), or I called him from the payphone in the restaurant (equally likely).  Regardless, suddenly he was there in traditional attire: rugby shirt, khaki shorts, and duck shoes.  Dressed more for a casual evening out, he remained downstairs at the bar as we wrapped things up. 

Indeed, the restaurant was starting to close down, and most of the party had gone in the homeward direction.  Chris, Pablo, and myself elected it was time for a few beers at another venue.  Someone suggested the Green Room in Deep Ellum, which was a place that we frequented before and after shows at Trees or some of the other well loved venues. 

The Green Room was a pretty trendy bar, which attracted various types of people:  not only the group of people who had just discovered the scene in Deep Ellum but also a fair amount of the old timers who had been spending countless nights on the dark streets, just a few years before.  

Inside, the place was cozy, intimate, loud music playing the background, and was a great place to hang out.  But the real appeal of the Green Room was its rooftop bar and terrace.  Once you pushed your way through the crowd downstairs and walked the two flights (where you always met someone new and interesting) up to the deck, you suddenly had a nice view of downtown Dallas, and the chance of a little breeze. 

What made this night particularly memorable is that it was simply not nearly as hot as it should have been.  August in Dallas is usually a freaking nightmare.  Plus 40 Degrees always, and the nights only cool off to 30.  So, hot as shit during the day time when the sun is shining, and at night still hot as shit, only without the sun.  

On the evening of 5 August, 1994, it was just pleasant.  There was a breeze, and to use the German expression, it was sehr angenehm.  The three of us were lucky to find a vacant table right at the edge of the roof, and we enjoyed several beers together, just chatting, as we always have done.  Chris, himself, had gotten married the year before, and was a subject matter expert on all the stuff I had been involved with in recent days with the family.  

Hands down, one of the best nights that I have ever had.  The company was brilliant, the theme was exciting, and the scene and the weather were cooperating.  

I spent a lot of time in Deep Ellum back then, and one thing I never forget is that feeling of “feeling” sober, despite the amount of alcohol.  Sure, the alcohol had an effect, but just complimented the experience.  I would have gladly continued the evening (past the point of no return), but we wisely called it a night at the right time, so as to be reasonably fresh for the following day, where Pablo and I had to tux up and do the necessary. 

So yeah, I am going to be feeling a lot of warm fuzzies on Saturday the 6th, but am choosing to hold a special place in my heart for that night before.  Cheers Pablo and Chris.  Vielen Dank. 

And congratulations to my sister and my brother in law, as well as my Bornheim friends.  

See you out there

Homework as a Blog Post

Am Ende der Neunzigerjahre, nach meinen zwei Jahren in Boston, war ich wieder in Dallas.    Ich fühlte mich frustriert, enttäuscht, und ratlos.  Ich hatte gerade ein Stellenangebot in England wegen meines Fehlers verloren.  Statt ein neues Abenteuer im Ausland anzufangen, musste ich noch in Texas bleiben.  

Ich war keine 30 Jahre alt aber bereit für etwas neues.  Ich brauchte Motivation.  Ich brauchte Inspiration.  

Wie immer hat mir Musik sehr geholfen.  Ich erinnere mich an den schönen Tag als ich die Band “The Bouncing Souls” entdeckt habe.  Bei dem ersten Lied das ich hörte, war ich total begeistert.  Obwohl The Bouncing Souls schon seit 10 Jahren aktiv waren, waren sie für mich brand neu.  Ihre Musik ist genau zu mir zur rechten Zeit gekommen.  

The Bouncing Souls ist eine Band von meiner Altersgruppe.  Ich merkte sehr schnell, dass wir viel gemeinsam hatten; nicht nur einen musikalischen Geschmack sondern auch eine ähnliche Mentalität.  Einfach gesagt, wir sind Punks in der Gegenwart. 

Sie sind fast über Nacht meine Lieblingsband geworden.  Bei mir zu Hause oder in meinem Auto, hat man nur Bouncing Souls CDs gehört.  Ich hatte Bouncing Souls T-Shirts regelmäßig getragen, obwohl ich normalerweise keine Band T-Shirts mehr tragen wollte.  

In den nächsten 6 Jahren haben sie vier Schallplatten herausgebracht, jede besser als die vorherige Veröffentlichung.  How I Spent My Summer Vacation fand ich besonders gut, aber mir gefällt The Gold Record auch sehr.  

Es war und ist mir klar wie viel Spaß The Bouncing Souls mit ihrer Musik haben.  Die Jungs sind positiv, nehmen nicht viel ernst und vor allem, bleiben sich treu.  

Jahre später, bliebe Ich immer ein Bouncing Souls fan.  Trotzdem, in den letzten Jahren höre ich ein bisschen weniger Musik.  Dann, letzten Monat aus heiterem Himmel habe ich meinen alten iPod gefunden.  

Erstes Lied gespielt?  Natürlich, eins von The Bouncing Souls. 

Sie klingen genauso gut wie früher.  Ich habe mich gefragt, ob sie neuen Schallplatten veröffentlicht hatten.  Klar!  Seit 2016 haben sie 2 Studioalben und 1 EP gemacht.   Ich habe alle 3 bestellt und auf meinem PC runtergeladen.  Sie sind absolut fantastisch. 

Gestern habe ich den ganzen Tag The Bouncing Souls angehört.  Ein Lied “Up To Us” berührt mich.  Der Liedtext ist typisch Bouncing Souls:  100% von Herzen kommend.  

The Bouncing Souls sind älter geworden, genauso wie ich.  Laut Wikipedia, "die Gruppe wandelte ihren Stil im Laufe der Jahre.

Vielleicht ist das Wahr, aber ich würde sagen, es geht mehr um eine super positive Entwicklung.

The Bouncing Souls schaffen das ohne Problem.

see you out there

Bryan

The Wall of Muffle

 Well, during my little home project during Easter weekend, I literally caught the bug.  No sooner had I finished putting up the foam panels, I decided I wanted more, so placed a second order for an additional 24 panels.  I also ordered a floor mat, which effectively is really a piece of carpet that is designed to dampen some of the vibrations that come from my piano.  As I could not find a local German distributor, I elected to purchase direct from the manufacturer. 

I was a little surprised to get a text message alert the following Wednesday telling me that my package was going to be delivered that very day.  When the delivery man arrived, he handed me a package that seemed much too small for the complete contents of my order.  As I previously described, the foam panels come vacuum-packed.  Thus, they really don't take up much space, until you open the bag and let them poof up. 

The contents of the package, which had shipped from HK, were actually 36 foam panels, instead of the 24 that I had ordered.  The mat was not included, which was very obvious when I opened the box.  However, I had to unseal the foam, so did not realize I had 36 pieces until I had them all spread out. 

With the foam, you do have to have some patience while waiting for the foam to perk up to it's full size.  The manufacturer suggests soaking the panels in water to help accelerate the process.  With the initial order, that was not necessary; the panels quickly (within 24 hours) and impressively came to life.  This second batch, however, was a little more sluggish.  I was not in a huge hurry, but was not so keen to drag things out for too long.  

I sat down and wrote a quick mail to the company, asking about the whereabouts of the piano mat.  I quickly received a response that indicated that this article would come separately, and I noted the tracking information.  I decided to wait until I receive the mat before following up with the other discrepancy in the order.  I was already sure I would keep the additional foam. 

Then, the bug that I caught really kicked in, and I found myself approaching last weekend feeling like a bad cold was coming on.  By Saturday morning, I was on a sneezing frenzy, and continued to endure constant sneezing and runny nose through Sunday.  Meanwhile, I kept looking at my little panels, all pathetically trying not to poof up.  

I have been fortunate to have avoided (so far) catching Covid, and during the past two years, I really have not been sick.  Thus, I consider that I was kind of overdue.  

The workweek started, and I was feeling only marginally better, thankfully only congested as opposed to constant sneezing, etc.  I limited all activity, managed to get through a few days of work, and by Wednesday, was feeling a whole lot better.  I decided it might be prudent to get myself Covid tested, for whatever that would be worth.  

As I filled out the online check-in form to go my test, the doorbell rang.  It was the delivery guy bringing me my piano mat.  It, too, came somewhat sealed, but I quickly opened it, then spread it out so that it could flatten itself to the floor. 

I then went to the local Testzentrum down the street, let the lady shove all the stuff up my nose, then returned home to continue the workday.  I figured that if my result was negative, I would allow myself the treat of going to the pub that evening as part of my usual routine. 

Sure enough, the result was negative, I felt even better, and enjoyed a nice evening sitting outside with a few friends. 

As the week continued, some of the panels were playing nice, and perking up as expected.  Some of the more sluggish ones clearly needed a poke, so I did soak them in water.  

And that did the trick. 

I planned how I would put up the remainder of the panels, and muscled the mat into the corner where I have my gear set up.  

This morning, I put up the last of the panels, then did some audio checks, comparing them to those that I did a couple of weeks ago.  

It is still a work in progress, but for now, I think I have more than enough material to help dampen the acoustics in the living room.  

That makes for a decent start to the month. 

Happy May Day to everyone

see you out there

Bryan

Holding the Foam and Other Tricks Around the House

 I am a barista.  At least, that is how I have referred to myself from time to time over the past years, acknowledging that I am rather competent when it comes to making coffee beverages.  When I was in high school, I received my first espresso machine, and while it was kind of dinky, it was how I got started pulling shots and foaming milk.  

By the time my Abschluss der Highschool came around, I was well on my way.  

Four years later, which coincidentally happens to be 30 years ago this year, I did my Universitätsabschluss.  Go Roos. 

Most of the definitions I looked at this morning tend to emphasize that a barista is someone professionally trained in preparing espresso, but I finally found one article that includes "barista may also refer to someone with a high level of skill in making shots and espresso drinks, like cappuccinos and lattes."

It is in this latter category that I would put myself; I never worked the counter in any espresso bar.  That said, I always had a great deal of respect for those Starbucks employees in the early years who did not use automated machines.  They had to hone their skills in the finer points of espresso beverages.  

This past week during German class, one of the topics involved education, die Ausbildung.  Germans take education and training very seriously, and on more than one occasion, I have had friends question my interest in things like Voice Overs, pointing out that it is a profession that requires formal training. 

In class, my instructor made a similar comment, referring to the text we were reading together about skilled workers moving to another country for employment.  It was an interesting discussion, especially as we considered the differences between the USA and Europe. Most of the language learning textbooks for foreigners tend to repeatedly ask the learner to compare the situation to their own culture.  Thus, my instructor asked me how things are in the states, do people train for a vocation or profession and then move somewhere else?  

The relatively small minority of us who have found ourselves living abroad in a different culture and language probably have different opinions on this.  From my own perspective, I never really gave a lot of thought about someone named Destiny who trained in Anytown, USA, only to move to Anothertown, USA to be able to say, "Good evening, I am Destiny, and I will be your server."

Or Reg, the guy behind the espresso bar who places the cup on the bar and announces, "Grande double shot no foam latte ready for Dave," at the cafe in wherever.  

True, I am speaking of vocations, and ones that do not require years of training, no disrespect intended towards those who work in the profession.  It is just that I never think about someone moving to another country with the specific intent to work in that vocation. 

During class, I reconfirmed my understanding of the word abschließen.  Like with most languages, German words can have multiple meanings, so effectively, one could say, "Schließ die Haustür ab, wir müssen zur Universität.  Heute werde ich meine Ausbilding abschließen."  

Translation: Lock the door, so we can go to school.  Today I finish my degree. 

Another German word with multiple (albeit very similar) meanings is the word for foam, Schaum. 

German beer is typically served with a Schaumkrone, literally the head of the beer.  A lot of barmen will apologize if the Bierschaum is not up to scratch. (see what I mean about how seriously Germans take their training?)  I always comment that there is no need for them to apologize.  After all, I understand that the foam does not always come out perfect every single time.  I have had similar experiences when frothing milk (Milchschaum schlagen) on the espresso machine. 

This week I ordered some foam to acoustically treat my living room, particularly for audio recordings.  For a few minutes, I struggled to figure out what the German word would be, and felt a little sheepish when I discovered that akustik Schaum was exactly what I was needing. 

On Wednesday afternoon, the delivery guy showed up at the door with a packet about the size of a pizza box, and I discovered that such acoustic foam comes vacuum-packed.  24 panels, each about one foot square.  2 thin boxes, containing a total of 48 panels.  

I ordered two different styles from two different manufacturers.  This was planned to be a bit of an experiment, and I quickly found that one of the products is quite superior.  That being said, the process for letting them "inflate" is pretty straightforward.  You simply let them air out for about 24 hours.  

The better quality panels really perked up quickly.  It was kind of fun watching them come to their full thickness, about 5 cm.  

I researched the optimal ways to put the stuff up on the walls, and did consider that my landlord may not be totally thrilled.  On the other hand, I am fairly certain that when that day comes when I move out of the flat, the place will have to be completely renovated, and that is not likely to happen any time soon. 

Due to the Easter holiday, I had planned to extend the time off, so both Wednesday and Thursday were vacation days for me.  Thursday morning, I woke up ready to hang the panels on the wall, and quickly realized that it might have helped to get an Ausbildung on handling double sided adhesives.  Cutting the tape and placing it on the panels was not particularly tasking, but getting the second side of the tape prepped so that I could place the panel on the wall was very tedious.  30 minutes had passed, and I had only gotten 4 panels up.  I took a break, made myself a latte (with foamy milk), and considered the situation:  I had 44 panels still to go.  

The irony was that I had all kinds of time.  I have no real plans for the Easter break, other than to enjoy the quiet and the weather, and to get the panels situated.  There was no real deadline that meant I needed all of them up immediately. 

So, I spread the project out over the next two days, and by Friday afternoon, I had most of the panels up, keeping a few in reserve.  

The next task was to do some test audio recordings.  My intent is not to completely convert my living room into a studio, but rather just to help enhance the vocal recording, minimizing the negative impact that high ceilings and hardwood floors tend to have with such activity. 

So far, I am pleased with the results.  I will experiment further during the rest of the weekend, it is a work in progress. 

At any rate, the barista just announced that my double espresso is ready at the bar, so I will bring this post to a close. 

See you out there

Bryan 

 

"Hey Buddy, You're in my Seat!" and Other Tales of Train Travel

For obvious reasons, I have traveled a whole lot less in the past few years.  I flew only one time (after a two year pause), and last year barely used Deutsche Bahn enough to pay for my BahnCard 50.  And, last Wednesday, I traveled on the train for the first time this year, going down to Karlsruhe in the morning to spend the day at company headquarters, before returning to Frankfurt in the late afternoon. 

Likewise, during the same time, I have continued to have limited contact with large groups of people.  The biggest shopping street in my city, known as the Zeil, has not had the pleasure of my visits for many months.   True, I tend to avoid Zeil as often as I can, because I am not a big shopper (as we know) and it is just not the place I like to stroll around.  But, from time to time, I do need to walk through the shopping mall on my way to a dentist or doctor's appointment, which is what I had to do a couple of weeks ago.  

On that afternoon a couple of weeks back, the weather happened to be really nice, one of the first days of spring.  Everyone was out and about, and on top of a little tension I was feeling about the appointment, I was also a little overwhelmed to be around so many people. 

The thing I noticed most was that people continue to concentrate more on their mobiles than on looking where they are going.  The Zeil is a pedestrian area, and at the best of times can be really crowded, with people of all ages walking around, mixed with the odd cyclist or e-roller weaving through the walkers. 

You tend to need to keep aware, which I was trying to do, but also trying to play a live game of Frogger, further complicated because the traffic is coming directly at you.  

I navigated through the throngs that afternoon on the way to my appointment, but was relieved to finally be out of the area once my appointment was over.  There were just too many people concentrating on anything but their immediate surroundings.  Some friends of mine were in Disney World recently, and I can understand that the attraction creates a certain amount of distraction to the people walking around, but on the other hand, they are there for a specific purpose. 

But a main high street in the center of my city? Sure, the weather was great, which prompts folks to get outside and enjoy the sunshine, but why walk around enjoying the sunshine while looking at your mobile?  

Of course, this past Wednesday morning, I had my own mobile out, looking at my DB app, to confirm my train and seat reservation.  I elected to look at this information while standing still, rather than trying to walk and play with my phone (and chew gum) at the same time. 

I have said it before, and I will say it again.  I am a fan of train travel.  Even the shorter trips, as this jaunt was to be.  The FFM to Karlsruhe trek takes about 1 hour 10 minutes, then a quick 15 minute taxi to the office.  Easy peasy. 

One thing I remembered on Wednesday morning was how much easier things flow when you get to the station with sufficient time to get your bearings and make your way to the correct platform.  This is not always my case, but having a gathered a lot of experience with the finer points of running through train stations in Germany, it bodes well to plan ahead, as I did. 

There was a time when I would book a train ticket without reserving a seat, preferring instead to sit in the bistro and have a coffee.  More often than not, I was successful with this arrangement and could manage to find an empty seat where I could enjoy a cappuccino.  

For those times I was not successful, it was a real rodeo.  There are peak travel times, and again, years of experience as helped me realize when a seat reservation.  (note - for those readers not so familiar with German rail travel, the trains allow for flexible booking, which effectively means that despite having only a few hundred actual seats, there could be more people traveling on the train.  These people stand in the space between cars, in the aisles, or gather in the bistro.  Let us just say it can get cozy.)

The benefit of getting to your train platform ahead of time is that you can familiarize yourself with the order of the cars, and from what section of the platform you can board the train with most ease.   The platform has clear markings for section A (usually first class), all the way to section E or F, depending on the length of the train. 

Thus, if your ticket says your seat is reserved in car 7, you look on the board and find out which section car 7 will be in.  It is all pretty clear if you know where to look.  

On Wednesday morning, my car was going to be in section C, almost D, so I walked to that area of the platform.  The logic of this is that you board the train on the car that you are going to sit in, rather than boarding in another section and having to walk through the aisles of each car until you get to your seat.  

Amazingly enough, those of us who have experience flying on airplanes knows this feeling.  At the airport, they always try and board the plane from the back, and if you are the guy with a seat on one of the last rows of the airplane, you always HATE having to walk through the aisles that are crowded with all the jumpy people who are scrambling to load their oversized bags into the overhead compartment, and creating all kinds of disruption and frustration.  

With train travel, you can skip this frustration.  If you pay attention and plan ahead. 

The train I was on that morning had a final destination of Milan.  I had figured that the train would not be that crowded, but there could have been a few more travelers taking the short run between FFM, Mannheim, and Karlsruhe, which is normal for workers commuting to their place of employment.  

Save for 3 other passengers, my car was empty. 

A seat reservation is a rather small fee in comparison to the train ticket itself, and in situations like this one, I never really think that it is a waste of money to have an unnecessary seat reservation.  

The irony, of course, was that one of the three passengers was sitting in my seat.  

I adapted quickly to the situation, and took one of the other 55 available seats.  

The train departed bang on time, making all of the announcements in Italian, German, and (American) English.  I sat back and closed my eyes; we would arrive in a little over an hour to my destination. 

The conductor came through to check our tickets, and again, I was reminded by how much I like the demeanor of most of the DB conductors.  They are overworked, underpaid, have to endure the additional stress of all the pandemic travel regulations, and still they smile from behind their masks, greet the passengers with "Guten Morgen, die Fahrscheine, bitte!"

The lady scanned my QR code, gave me a personable "Danke! Gute Fahrt!" and moved on to the next passenger.  

As scheduled, we pulled into the station on time, I grabbed a taxi and made my way to the office.

Early in the afternoon, I realized that I could probably return to FFM a little earlier than planned, but in the end I elected to ride on the specific train I had booked.  As mentioned, there is a certain amount of flexibility DB offers when booking tickets; on these kinds of treks you can pay a small premium and basically travel on ANY of the trains going from Karlsruhe back to FFM.  

I had arranged for the taxi to pick me up from the office with plenty of time to get to the station.  We made even better time than expected, thanks to no traffic on the highway, so I found myself in the Karlsruhe station with 25 minutes to kill.  I peeked in the bookstore, found a Krimi that I felt like reading, and still had 20 minutes.  

After identifying the right platform, I checked the board to find the section where my car would be.  Then I had a few ciggy and did some people watching.  Some were scrutinizing the board, trying to interpret where their car was going to be, others were just ambling around (as you do when waiting for a train), and most of the others had their nose in the phones. 

The train was scheduled for around 17h, and was noticeably going to be fuller than the morning.  DB do a reasonable job of giving the traveler an idea of just how crowded a train might be, but it is relative, due to the flex-travel.  What I always look for in these situations is how many travelers are traveling with a LOT of luggage, since that does change the complexity a little bit. 

Again, the train pulled into the station on time, and I was standing in the right place to board my car. There was a little bustle as some passengers got off the train, then we were able to board.  Right off the bat, I noticed that the train (my car, at least) was already about 50% full, which was logical.  

With some annoyance, I discovered that once again, someone was sitting in my reserved seat.  I adapted quickly and sat in the next row, which was empty, keeping my fingers crossed that no one who had just boarded the train had reserved the seat.  More on that in a second. 

Some of the other travels did indeed have luggage, and I do admit that this is a bit of a drawback with train travel.  As spacious as the train cars, the aisles can be kind of narrow, and luggage space can quickly fill up.  

I grabbed the available seat so as to get myself out of the way, so as to allow the other folks time to get themselves sorted:  trying to muscle the over sized luggage onto the baggage rack, or on the shelf above the seat, or wherever. 

It is amazing what people pack, and why the mentality is "hey, if there are wheels on the suitcase, I can make it as heavy as I want to," without fully comprehending what happens when it comes time to actually have to lift the suitcase, like carrying it up the steps, or putting it on a shelf.  

Unfortunately, I was reminded that not everyone has learned the trick of checking with section your car is in.  People who were sitting in car 10 (section D) had boarded the train in section A (car 1) and visa versa.  When this happens, you have major congestion in the aisles, as people are trying to walk through the cars, finding it challenging as they are blocked by people coming in the other direction.  

And half of them are looking at their phones. 

Once the doors of the train are closed, the train can depart the station.  The passengers themselves will need a few minutes more to get settled.  

Sure enough, at some seats a couple of rows ahead of me, the freshly boarded passengers had to ask the occupant to give up their seat, since they had actually reserved the seats.  This is the rule of train travel, and most of the time, things go quite civilly.  

The unlucky traveler did experience a bit more bad luck; right after moving from where he had been sitting, he found a new seat, took his place, only to have to move 2 minutes later when another traveler showed up to claim the seat, as they had reserved it.  

On a little screen, sometimes on the outside part of the seat, other times directly over the seat, the reservation is displayed, and indicates starting point to destination.  It is amazing how people interpret this information.  I use an example from what typically happens in Frankfurt restaurants.  A table might be booked from 20h,  This suggests that at 18h, 2 hours before the reservation, the table is effectively free. 

So, if you go in for an early dinner or whatever, you can use the table until 20h.  This tends to confuse many people, and to some extent, I use this to my advantage. 

The vacant seat I took Wednesday afternoon was reserved from Mannheim, which was the next stop.  Thus, I knew I had at least 15 minutes to figure something out with my seating arrangement.  Of course, I could always go kick the guy out of my originally reserved seat, but I was not feeling fussed, and found no reason to create additional conflict just for the sake of it. 

Every once in a while, the reservation system on the train malfunctions, and the friendly DB conductor comes on the PA and casually says, "Hey, by the way, the reservation system is not working."

This kind of thing really does create pandemonium, and unfortunately tends to happen when the train is at its fullest.  I have seen such instances bring out the worst in mankind, and thankfully it does not happen all that often.  Still, it is a amazing how people just do not seem to be as flexible with such things.  Imagine what would happen at a shopping mall if all the credit card machines in every store went on the blink.  A minor (ish) inconvenience on the train is not such a big deal...at least for me, the guy who travels as lightly as possible, and tries to keep his nose out of his phone, especially while walking. 

I considered this as I made the return journey to Frankfurt that afternoon.  In Karlsruhe, I realized that DB had pulled a little switcheroo, and instead of arriving at the main station, my train would only stop at Frankfurt Süd.  This was trivial, but important to recognize, lest I fail to get off at the right stop.  It only meant that I needed to make an extra U-Bahn change.  Big whoop.  

Other than that, it has been a rather productive week.  It is hard to believe that we are already three months through the year.  The foot of snow that arrived on the 1st of April came as a bit of surprise, but then again, should anything surprise us any more?

see you out there.  I will be the guy without my nose in my phone. 

Bryan

 

Deciding When to Pump

I remember that Christmas as a teenager, when I received a book that I asked for: "Arnold's Bodybuilding for Men." 

I had just developed an interest in weight-lifting, and someone (I no longer remember their name) told me that this was the book of all books; the perfect way to get started.  Why not learn from one of the best, right?  The book detailed all the exercises, provided photos so as to understand the proper form, and was simply a well loved book in my library. 

This was a significant point for me, as it helped me start a fitness routine that I have maintained ever since. 

As I went through high school,  there was a certain intimidation factor that involved the so called "jocks," which for the most part meant the guys that played American football, though basketball came into play, too.  Those guys tended to commandeer the weight room, and tended to look down on anyone who was not part of their group.  

For me, this did not prove to me too much of an issue.  I already disliked a lot of people at school, particularly anyone in a "click," and truth be told, I had no need of the school weight room, as I was quietly investing in my own equipment at home. 

By the time of high school graduation, I was training regularly at home, using my own weights, of which I had carefully purchased at a local fitness store.  I say carefully, because weights are not inexpensive, and as I was getting stronger, I was having to invest in more iron plates.  Doing this on a fixed budget was a bit tricky, but thankfully I was working at the local supermarket, so had regular pocket money. 

Around this time, I discovered a monthly magazine called "Muscle and Fitness," and started buying this regularly.  It was heavy on glossy photos of bodybuilders who (frequently) were pretty souped up with various supplements. 

What I found, though, was that there was some science and intelligence in many of the articles.  I learned a whole lot more about nutrition and the finer points of anatomy and physiology.  I never felt inclined to jump on the steroid kick, and truth be told, already realized that there was no way I was ever going to reach the size of many of the bodybuilders shown in the magazine.  

In college, I initially felt intimated by the "jocks," but also realized that I actually had more knowledge about the weight room than many of the other guys in there.  Freshman year, I went in the gym one afternoon, and encountered some guys that I knew from the dorms.  They were all playing basketball, and thought pretty highly of themselves.  I was on my own, because I have never felt the need to have a workout buddy, and just got on with things. 

Within a few minutes, one or two of the guys acknowledged that I seemed to know what I was doing, and furthermore, was lifting a lot heavier than they were able to. 

It is somewhat sad that egos play such a big part in the lives of males, but sometimes you just have to accept it, and decide how you want to stick to your guns, and just get on with things. 

And that is what I did. 

As a member of the tennis team, I was one of the few that was actively working out with weights.  Sure, I was far from the best tennis player, but I was sure as shit stronger than they were.  But it was relative, and I did not really care one way or the other what the other guys did. 

Throughout college, I continued my workouts, and frequently friends would join me.  I recognized that some of them just needed a workout buddy, and others did it just because we were friends and we did stuff together.  Still, I stuck to my guns and continued my routines on my own schedule.  

And after college?  I kept right on working out.  I used the weight room at my apartment complex as often as I could, both in Dallas and in Massachusetts.  When I returned to Dallas at the end of the 90s, I dragged some of my old barbells over to Little Goliad, but quickly realized that I needed more equipment, so joined the 24 hour gym down the street. 

This was my first experience in a setting that was almost as much about socializing as it was about fitness.  True, the gym was coed, and combine a bunch of guys with big egos (regardless of their size or muscular shape) and a bunch of girls who were particularly interested in getting picked up, and you get a real interesting situation.  But, if you look closely, as I did, you did recognize that there were a fair share of men and women there just to get their exercises done.  They, too, were just as frustrated by the people who spent more time looking at themselves in the mirror, or posing on a machine, or simply acting like a dipshit. 

Throughout this time, I continued reading M&F magazine, and noticed that the publication was evolving.  There were more and more interesting articles with information and studies that showed, that proved how effective various techniques really were.  

I utilize a lot of these techniques, and welcomed the new bits of information.   I regularly changed up my routines, training splits, and muscle confusion tactics.  I had learned all of this from the get go back when I first read Arnold's book, and the facts continue to prove why this all works. 

For a brief time after I moved to Spain, I continued reading M&F Español, but once I got to Germany, I kind of stopped picking up a monthly copy of the magazine.   Part of this was due to the gym I was using.  

One of the things I have always done in gyms is pay attention to who is there, and how they are training.  If you are serious about training, then you tend to notice the other people who are equally serious.  And that habit tends to go in both directions.  Once or twice when I was in the gym in Dallas, someone might come up to me and ask me about an exercise I was doing.  And visa versa.  I was able to pick up on new exercises, new techniques that were coming from advances in creativity and technology. 

This happened to me in Spain, and again in Germany. 

Meanwhile, as I was getting older, my priorities were changing.  The ultimate goal remained the same, but you have to bring that into context.  Between the age of 18 and 30, I was still regularly shooting for a "max," like max bench press, squat, or whatever. 

As I reached my forties and fifties, it was more about maintaining size and strength, but also adapting to the changes that come with aging. 

Then, around 5 years ago, I experienced some issues with my back, which resulted in me visiting a physical therapist.  The guy was knowledgeable, and while I am thankful for his treatment, guidance, and advice, I took one of his points a little too seriously.  At one point, he told me that a back could take 18 months to recover, and that I should avoid lifting weights during that time. 

That was a real challenge for me, because of all of what I have just written.  I was not used to NOT working out, and unfortunately, I allowed myself to believe that I could further injure myself if I were to lift weights during this time.  

I will skip on through to a few years later, when I got myself back on to a no fear training routine, which involved starting slow and working my way back up.  

Since the beginning, I keep a journal of my exercise routines, so I can document reps, sets, weight, and all the things needed to measure progress.  And the best way to measure the results is by listening to the body in the first place.  

A few years ago, I purchased some adjustable dumbbells for home use, and since then have not been back to my fitness studio.  I finally terminated my membership there late last year, and meanwhile have made really good use of my investment of the dumbbells.  They are more than sufficient for the type of exercising I need to be doing.  Maxing out is a thing of the past. 

Pandemic or not, since I have been working from home for so many years, I take advantage of the  flexibility, and can do my daily training whenever there is a break in the action of work.  

For new information and variety, I found a few sources on the internet about workouts, training ideas, etc.  Indeed, many of the dipshits that I used to see in the gym have helped develop a constant flood of people with YT channels that are always the experts on exercise.  As entertaining as that may be, I found myself regularly frustrated by the various floods of misinformation.  And there is only so much time you really should allow yourself to watch someone who is wearing a t-shirt 2 sizes too small talk about pumping up.  

I finally found a source that I could connect with, a regular guy who spent a lot of time explaining about the science of working out, then would go on to show clearly how to perform various exercises.  This is kind of an advantage, and is better than the ways of old, when I had to learn about form by a written description.  In fairness, many of the M&F articles did a really good job of describing how to perform an exercise, but sometimes seeing the actual performance helps the brain. 

Unfortunately, there was a bit of a scandal last year when some of the other YTers who were touting their own channels tried to poke holes in my source channel, on the grounds that the guy was not actually lifting the amount of weight that he said he was. 

Funny how the egos never seem to go away, eh?

For me, I learned from the very beginning the importance of form, holding the ego in check, and understanding how the body works, particularly with regard to all the techniques associated with building muscle.   I am proud of the discipline I have held, even while being able to laugh at my own habits.  I never wanted to socialize at the gym, because that would cut into pub time, for example.  Working out with great frequency means that I can (should I decide to) eat cheese fries as often as I want.  And I tend to want to eat cheese fries often.  (sorry, I dreamed about Snuffer's last night)

One morning this past week, I woke up with a feeling that perhaps I should take a body break for the day, and simply skip the exercises.  I thought about it while I was making my first coffee of the day, and in the end, embraced the philosophy "listen to the body," and simply took the day off from training. 

It was the prudent thing to do, and my body really appreciated it.  

The next morning, I was right back on track, and continuing on my way. 

So, I will close off this ramble, and get cracking. 

Today is goblet squat and back day.  

see you out there

Bryan

Just Letting the Music Shuffle

 I was rummaging through a drawerful of old electronics the other week when I came across my old ipod.  It was not was I was immediately looking for, but I still pulled it out, thinking I might put it back into action.  The trouble was, I did not find the cable needed to connect it to my laptop. 

Each drawer in the bureau was already too full, and was a little intimidating.  Long story short, I had limited time to continue looking for the cable, so added the task to my to-do list, and went on about my business. 

Then, two weeks ago, I rallied myself and did a bit of clean up in the bureau.  Only a bit, mind you, because my heart was not really in it; I just wanted to get a little of the junk out.  Things took a little longer, but I eventually found the yellowing ipod cable, and connected the device to my laptop. 

As much as I love music, I am not listening as avidly as I used to in years past.  And, in those moments where I have wanted to sit down and listen, I have tended to go to a streaming web site, where I can immediately hear the artist, the song, or the album that I want to. 

For starters, I was pleased that my device was still working; I had heard that an ancient ipod may no longer be compatible with newer laptop operating systems.  I did have to download itunes onto my computer, and within a few minutes had my full ipod collection on display:  28.6 days of music for my listening pleasure. 

Over 30 years ago, halfway through my college career, I purchased my first 5 CD changer, and developed a really annoying habit of putting the setting on shuffle, then proceeding to use the remote to advance to the next track.  Five CDs with an average of eight tracks each gave me about forty total songs.  The problem was, I tended to be finicky, and never listened to one track all the way through.  I just could not settle on what I wanted to hear. 

A few friends made the odd comment about this, but I still found it difficult to break the habit. 

40 tracks at average 3 minutes each amounts to about 2 hours of material.  I could scan through it in 5 minutes. 

28.6 days?  With a calculator we can quickly determine the exact amount of minutes, but for the sake of this post, let us just say shitloads. 

The first Saturday morning I listened to my tunes from my ipod, I spent too much time clicking my mouse to advance to the next song instead of simply listening to what was playing.  I was skipping 20 songs, then got to the track I wanted to hear at that given moment, then repeated the exercise, for most of the day.  Old habits can certainly be difficult to break.

Last Saturday was very similar.  Sometimes you need a certain song to serve as the soundtrack for the blog post, and considering the topic from last week, some might find it unusual that it was written with songs from the 4-Skins, Minor Threat, and Thrice all playing in the background.  With a bit of Chopin thrown in for good measure.

This week, I decided to just take things as they came, and allow my ipod to just shuffle along.  It took some effort on my part not to skip to another track, but with one exception, I stayed true, and just let things play. 

I made the one exception because I did not think it very fitting to listen to a Christmas song sung by Diana Ross.  Certainly not when I was enjoying one of the first springlike days we are experiencing in Frankfurt. 

So, my Saturday and Sunday this weekend have been filled with a variety (if not eyebrow raising) of music from a wide selection:  Kate Nash, followed by Ministry, followed by Pete Townshend, followed by a bootleg track I bought at a local show 25 years ago by some artist whose name I can no longer remember. 

And it has been great.  

I am fortunate that good friends have shared great music with me through the years, and diversity is something that I appreciate all the more.  I like Bad Religion quite a bit, but I can no longer listen to their entire catalog in one sitting.  

Perhaps my neighbors might have found the playlist a little herky-jerky, but I would argue that we are going through some pretty herky-jerky times right now, so why not?

From Stiff Little Fingers to Skinny Puppy, Saint Etienne to an electronica cover of "Ain't Talkin About Love," Dubstar to tons of Movida, a bit of Skunk Anansie, and yeah, even the odd Christmas song.  

It just makes sense. 

See you out there

Bryan 

Keeping my Königin in Check, and Picking Nits

Several years ago during a conversation with my father, he commented about how much he enjoyed the film, "Bohemian Rhapsody."  

This came as a great surprise to me; neither of my parents had ever really expressed any interest in popular music that was prevalent in the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s.  Like most people in their generation, their music tastes developed earlier in their lives, and after college, never really developed further. 

Once, after going to one of their pops concerts that the local symphony performed each month, my mom asked me if I knew who Rod Stewart was, as he had spent the evening crooning to the audience, accompanied by the DSO.  "Sure, I know him," I responded to my mom's question, relating that one could not help growing up in the 70s and 80s without having heard his hits. 

I was not particularly a fan of Mr Stewart, but I am a fan of Queen. 

Hence the curiosity about how my father enjoyed the film so much.  One of the first records I bought was News of the World, an album that leads off with two of the most recognizable songs in the, erm, world. 

Timing has a lot to do with it, but 7 year olds are pretty impressionable.  The whole school was pretty much spent stomping and clapping to "We Will Rock You," and for any and all sporting events, whether it be local soccer league for the under-8s, or any collegiate or professional event, regardless of the sport, we (sometimes just one person, sometimes many) would launch into a rousing chorus of  "We Are the Champions." 

And my father hated that record.  At the time, I was carefully spending my small pocket allowance on only really important things.  Playing a record on the home stereo system meant that everyone in the household had to listen, including my father, who always had something negative to say about it. 

A few years later, "Another One Bites the Dust," was released, and my father disliked that song even more.  Meanwhile, all of us finishing up 5th and 6th grade had a new thing to shout on the playground. 

My music tastes continued developing as I got more exposure to various genres, and suddenly, David Bowie produced a single with Queen.  Mr. Bowie was another musician that had already captured my interest, but a couple of years later, his album "Let's Dance," really had everyone in junior high talking.  

Then, a few years later, came Live Aid.  I actually took my final exam in drivers education on that Saturday morning.  Everyone sat that exam with jitters about the test, and all the while were thinking about the concert being shown on live TV.  I was rolling tape the whole time, and as soon as I finished the test, raced home (on my bike) and parked myself in front of the family television to watch history.  

I got home in time to catch, among others, the performance by Queen, and by David Bowie.  

I still get goose bumps when thinking about that day.  

By this time, my music tastes were pretty diverse, and pretty well documented.  While I was no longer avidly listening to Queen, they were never too far off my radar.  They did the soundtrack for Highlander, a film I really enjoyed, particularly for the music. 

Suddenly, I was in college, and spent my share of time sitting around listening to music with my friends.  Once people started living off campus, we regularly gathered at someone's house, to listen to music, drink beer, and stare at MTV.  

In November 1991, a few of us were at a friend's house when the broadcast was interrupted.  Freddie Mercury had died.  

I felt devastated, and the emotions were flowing as I jumped out of my seat, not knowing what to do. 

Several friends were also there, one of which jumped up with me.  Apparently, as I was reminded a couple of days later by another friend who was also present (and had found the incident slightly humorous, just the way it played out) I turned to the guy and shouted, "Sit down, you ain't no Queen fan!"

That is probably the first time in my life I used improper grammar, and for the life of me still do not know why I lashed out at the guy.  

I choose to think that it was simply because I was overwhelmed with grief; a great performer had died ahead of his time.  And he had had such an influence on the music I had been listening to over the past 15 years.  

Recently, Pablo shared access to his film library, and as I scrolled through the selection, I saw "Bohemian Rhapsody" and flagged it as something I would like to watch during the next weekend. 

When the movie first came out, I did not feel inclined to rush off and see it.  Instead, I figured I would just check it out once the time was right.  I knew it had won some awards, and had received positive reviews, not least of all from my father.  

So, I watched the film, and was disappointed. 

I liked the casting, once I got over the fact that the guy from Midsomer Murders played Brian May.  The overall story was fine, as movie plots go. 

What bugged me, however, was the artistic license used in the film.  I know that this is a bit unfair on my part, especially as I generally support such use in various works. 

I think I was a little too persnickety when it came to the sequence of events in the film, and this really hindered my appreciation for the film.  The music (no surprise) was great, and I have to think that had I never heard of the band or its music before, I would have enjoyed the film a lot more. 

But, just as it is totally acceptable that I have my own opinion about the film, I respect that the movie makers simply made a movie, and a pretty good one at that. 

With that, I am going to go ride my bicycle (because I want to).  No Pressure. 

see you out there

Bryan

A Busy Week of Being Unproductive

 I was really glad when Friday afternoon came around yesterday, as it just was not a great week.  Nothing seemed to be clicking along, and it was all kind of disjointed, as sometimes happens.  True, the world events are proving to be a very sad distraction, but besides that, I just could not seem to get anything done.  

Rather than get bogged down on all the things that created frustration, I have acknowledged them and am preferring to find those bits of humor that helped me get through. 

For example, I was experimenting with a new app on my television, one that enabled me to participate in "transatlantic streaming."  I normally pride myself on being resourceful to get these things working, but I was stuck for several days, unable to access the library.  In the end, it was a rather simple thing, and once I made the adjustment on the setting, I was back on track.  Finally. 

No sooner had I got the app working, I got registered for some online classes, but due to lack of communication and failure on my part to follow up, I inadvertently missed my first class.  Nice. 

By Wednesday, I was desperate for the weekend, but had to settle for running out to do some errands right around 17h.  I had arranged an appointment to get my glasses adjusted, and that 5 minute appointment went well.  From there, I visited a little wine shop to purchase a birthday gift, and that, too, was a nice experience; I had not known that the shop was located in my neighborhood, and the guy really knew his stuff. 

As always, when running errands, I go to the furthest point, then work my way back in the homeward direction.  Thus, the eyeglasses place was a 10 minute walk from my house, the wine place 9 minutes, and my next stop, the hardware store, was 7 minutes.  All pretty much on the same street. (gotta love my neighborhood.)

The hardware store was where I wanted to purchase a replacement toilet seat.  This visit took a little longer, because, well, there is not much to a toilet seat, but the variety on display led me to think otherwise.  

I think it is funny how none of us ever really stop and think about what it is that we look for in that perfect toilet seat.  I certainly don't, at least.   When shopping for other items for the household, sure.  I always know what features and stuff I want for the television, or microwave oven, and am always willing to put in the time to research before I make the purchase.  My espresso machine purchase came after hours of comparison and contemplation. 

But to spend so much time thinking about the purchase of a Klobrille?  Never. 

I first learned the word Klobrille at the fitness studio I used in the first years I lived in Frankfurt.  I knew the term Toilettensitz, of course, and that was a logical translation.  Klo was also a word I was familiar with, as it is the colloquial word for toilet.  But Klobrille thew me, as Brille is the word for eyeglasses. 

But, there I was one day in the bathroom stall at my gym, and I noticed a sign on the door saying, "Please do not stand on the Klobrille."

I can only say that I was rather confused for days (if not weeks) as wondered why they called it a Klobrille, and perhaps more concerning was the fact that they needed to post a sign like that in the first place.  What kind of gym was I working out at, where people felt inclined to stand around on the toilet seats?

But, I digress. 

When shopping for such item, no one really gives it much thought.  Unlike espresso machines, smart tvs, or microwaves, it is an insignificant purchase which requires little thought prior to making the selection.  That being said, it is a product that we do start thinking about, especially when we have a particularly good (or bad) experience on one. 

Other times in my life, I have finished my business (seen a man about a horse, if you will) and minutes later am thinking to myself, "wow, that was a good experience.  The toilet seat was just right."

Or sometimes it is the complete opposite, and the experience was less enjoyable due to the poor quality of the seat. 

Since we cannot pull a Goldilocks and the Three Bears in the toilet seat store, we tend just to grab one and go to the checkout counter, which is precisely what I did. 

The man at the cashier looked at the bottle of champagne in my hand that was not carrying the Klobrille, and quipped, "would you like to exchange that?" and we had a little chuckle together as I paid. 

The return home was the aforementioned 7 minute walk through the market square.  I think I maintained my dignity as well as one could hope while carrying a bottle of champagne and a toilet seat through the neighborhood as many pedestrians were finishing their shopping at the outdoor market and heading home from work.  

Of course as I got closer to home, I ran into a friend of mine sitting outside a restaurant while enjoying a beer.  "Hey, nice toilet seat," he could not help remarking, then realized what I held in my other hand. "Even better."

I responded that I had been out buying a birthday gift, and he jokingly asked me which one was the gift, or were both of them to be given.  (I always like those brief moments where there is some confusion that comes from different thought patterns from questions that are not specific:  "where did you get hit?"  "on the head."  "no, i meant, where location?"  and so on....)

At any rate, we clarified the confusion, he complimented me on the choice of champagne, and I continued home. 

For sure, that was probably the highlight of the week.  Thursday was not a good day at work, though I did manage to get my classes sorted out.  

Friday did not get off to a roaring start, either, but at least the weekend was soon upon us.  After finishing my last conference call in the early afternoon, I decided to install my new toilet seat, and after a few minutes of struggle getting the old one removed, did just that. 

No, it was not that super week that I had hoped for, but later today I am going to stand on my new toilet seat and do some reflecting.  Next week will certainly be better. 

see you out there

Bryan

Late to the Show, and Almost Always Walking on Green

In 2005, I was actively not watching television, save for some early morning football matches during the weekend.  Dramas, crime shows, and sitcoms were just not interesting to me at the time.  Despite my appreciation for some British broadcasting, I was always annoyed when I heard about yet another US remake of a British film or show.  

And that is why I completely missed The Office.  

By 2006, I was no longer in the US, and had relatively little access to any US television programming, which pretty much was fine by me.  That said, I continued to keep up with films, and managed to make a decent collection of DVDs, including a mix of indie films, old standbys, Hollywood hits, and a nice amount of European films.  From time to time I would see a comedy film from the states, and as I checked the actor's bios, regularly saw that one or more had been in the cast of The Office. 

Once or twice, I wondered if I should perhaps check that show out, just to see what all the fuss had been about.  I have become a fan of Steve Carell over the years, and I consider him to be particularly funny in many of his roles. 

At the start of this year, The Office popped up on netflix, and I decided to watch an episode or two. 

And of course I got hooked. 

So, my month of February has included me watching the entire series.  To some extent, so much English language broadcasting has not done my German skills any favors, but once I got into the series, there was NO WAY I was not going to finish.  

During this same period, I continued rereading the familiar stories of Ian Rankin.  I started just before Christmas, and this past week finished the latest novel.  Thus, I have read 8 novels so far this year, and while some people might argue that it does not count if it is a repeat, I have already expressed my opinion on that.  Besides, there is just something about rereading good literature that comforts the soul. 

And it also makes me a little sad.  I get very emotional at the end of something that I find meaningful, including mentioned series of books, or a good vacation, or a good visit with friends and family, or the conclusion of a really good television series. 

This week stands out as a really shitty week, considering the sad state of the world.  My heart, thoughts, and prayers are with the citizens of a country who have just been invaded, and those thoughts and prayers are for the rest of the world, too, as it just seems unfathomable that we just do not seem to be learning from our past. 

Part of me felt a little guilty for escaping into my books and my show, but I needed it, all the same. 

As I finished the latest Rebus, I just reflected on how great that series has developed, and reminded myself of all the good discussions I have had with other fans of the series over the past years. 

Then came Friday evening, and I sat down to watch the final episodes of The Office.  The finale, itself, was absolutely incredible, and I was just overwhelmed with emotion.  I am kind of glad that I watched all of the seasons in a condensed time period; I am not sure I would have found it as entertaining I had watched it on a weekly basis over nine years.  On the other hand, I might not have been so blown over emotionally I had spread the viewings out over time. 

At any rate, despite the heavy emotions, my heart just felt fuzzy as the television series came to an end.  What a heartwarming finale, and again, a brilliant show. 

With a couple of deep breaths, I am ready to renew my efforts on German language broadcasting, in the interest of continuing my language learning and cultural education.  I mention this, because once or twice during the month, I did notice that I was suffering from the "if you don't use it, you lose it," situation.  

Fortunately, I can remedy that very quickly.  In fact, Friday afternoon was a perfect reminder that I am still deep in the German way of life. 

There is a little stoplight down the street from my flat.  The intersection is at Funffingerplätchen, which is where five little streets all intersect with one another.  

I do not want to complicate the explanation, but the streets are either super busy with traffic, or absolutely empty.  In fact, the stoplights turn off in the late evening, around 22h, as there is simply no need. 

But, there are plenty of pedestrians, cyclists, e-scooter riders, along with various autos and delivery trucks, so it behooves one to pay attention. 

Back to the stoplight, it has a crosswalk (known as der Zebrastreifen, Pablo), and while the crosswalk is barely two lanes wide, it does have the little button that you press so that the traffic light will change to green so that pedestrians can safely cross the street. 

Friday afternoon, I wanted to run a few quick errands during the lunch break, so after grabbing my shopping bags, I walked to the light and stood there along with other people, waiting for the light to change. 

It was a particularly busy afternoon car-wise, so we all waited a few minutes, then continued waiting, as the light had not yet changed. 

Everyone in the neighborhood knows about how long the light takes before changing, and once that time period passes, you starting wondering what the problem is. 

Suddenly, the car traffic was gone, and still the light had not changed.  By this time, there were quite a few pedestrians on either side of the street, all still waiting for the pedestrian light to turn green.  Patience was starting to wane, especially as 3 minutes passed without a SINGLE car driving by. 

Light still red. 

Why hadn't someone gone ahead and crossed?

Because there was a child waiting with us.  

And no one wanted to be the guy who defied the rules and did not set the example. 

I was actually standing next to the mom and her son, and overheard them talking with each other, asking the logical question, "why is it taking so long?"

Finally, as we all still stood there and the light still had not changed, an older man announced, "Look, I am declaring that this light has turned green, and I am crossing.  I have some place I need to be, and cannot wait any longer."

That was all we needed.  People started looking both ways, then crossed the street and we got on with our lives.  

The mother and her son were headed in my direction, and were walking just a few steps in front of me.  Both kept looking back to see if the light had ever changed, and they continued this for the better part of the next block, until they no longer could see the stoplight that must have been malfunctioning. 

I found the whole experience rather charming.  People want to follow the rules, even in seemingly insignificant situations.  We were all frustrated, not to mention a bit confused, but it all worked out in the end. 

Minutes later, I was finished with my errands and returned to the same intersection on my way home.  

Yep, the light was still red. 

I looked to see if any children were standing around, then checked for traffic, then crossed safely, and continued on my way home. 

Look both ways, and see you out there

Bryan

Wrong Weather in the Right Month, and Other Challenges of Keeping Time and Dates

My grandmother summed it up the best when she remarked, "It is a beautiful spring day.  It is just the wrong month."

She was referring to the weather during my recent stateside visit over Christmas, where most of the days I was there were a rather pleasant 24 degrees Celsius.  A couple of days got closer to 30 degrees, which did not sit so well with me.  I wanted the temperature to be a lot more fitting to the season, requiring jackets and sweaters to be worn.  

As they always about Texas weather, just wait a few minutes, and it will change.  

Sure enough, the day before I was to return to Germany, we started the morning close to 27 degrees C, and by evening the cold front had blown in, and we were all saying "Brrrrr," as we checked the thermometer, which was right at -2 degrees C.  

Ironically, 40 hours later, I was back in Frankfurt, sweating ever so slightly as I removed my jacket, sweater, and my thermal; German temps were rather mild at the beginning of the new year.  

I always kind of chuckle during the first month of each year.  I see countless emails from people referring to the previous year during January.  For those of us who ever had a checking account, we can ask ourselves how many times did we have to void a check in the days after new year's, simply because we wrote the wrong darn year?

We all have to kind of adjust to things each January, at least I do.  This past month was no exception for me; I struggled to kick start the year, and really kind of flopped around for a few weeks trying to get into the swing of things. 

This year, I was overjoyed to receive some wall calendars from my father as a small Christmas gift.  I missed receiving those last year when travel was impossible due to the pandemic.  Although we had agreed as a family to sort of skip the gift exchange, Dad kept the family tradition of giving me said calendars: one with scenes of Texas, and the other sharing inspirational quotes from the cast of Sesame Street.  Quite fitting, I must say. 

Hanging the calendars in my Frankfurt flat was pretty much the first thing I did after I had unpacked, and I felt like it was a great way to get prepared for the new year.  What I failed to immediately realize was that in North America, the week begins on Sunday, while European standards start the week on Monday.  

In addition to using my digital calendars on my computer and mobile, I like to note meetings and events on the wall calendar.  Multiple times during January, I found myself preparing for a meeting, only to find out that I was about to be a day early.  Fortunately I got in the habit of checking the calendar DAY, so only had to scribble out a few things.  The football schedule added to the confusion, because many games had to be postponed due to Covid illness.  Thus, planning to watch a match on Saturday afternoon was suddenly rescheduled for the following Sunday, or during the week, or tbd.  

Despite the scribbles on the calendar, I am happy to have them, and gee whiz, time is speeding by, as we are already in the next month of the year.  (San Antonio River Walk and a comment from Oscar the Grouch, in case you are wondering.)

Just like with calendars, where I use both digital and paper to keep up with the days of the week, I like to keep an analog clock on the wall in my kitchen, which also serves as my office.  It is not so much that I am watching the clock, but rather, I just like hearing the second hand go round, and I keep a decent idea of what the time is.  

Sure, my computer and mobile calendars always sound an alert a few minutes before a meeting, and they all seem to be pretty well in sync.  As helpful as these little alerts are, I sometimes just sort of tune out, since I know I can glance at the wall for the exact time.  (It also helps that the church bell in my neighborhood chimes every 15 minutes; it is a perk of where I live)

However, my wall clock has been a little off over the past months, if not years.  Normally, as soon as I recognized this, I would change out the battery, reset the clock, and continue merrily along.  

Finally, and maybe it is just a sign as to how long an inexpensive wall clock from Ikea will last, I found that my once pretty dependable Wanduhr had given up the ghost.  No less than three times during the first couple of weeks in January, I had glanced at the wall clock, only to find that it was still stuck on 30 minutes ago.  The first time I tried to correct it, I simply changed the battery.  Two days later, I had reset the time, only to find that the clock now took 75 or so seconds for each minute, which was subtle enough that I did not immediately notice.  

Once the penny finally dropped, I decided to invest in a new clock.  It actually was a pretty challenging task, because I seem to be one of the few consumers who actually WANTS a wall clock with an audible second hand.  

But, things are now back on track, my new clock is doing what it is supposed to, and I am feeling pretty punctual.  

All these events fit nicely into the conversation I had with a friend this past Friday in the pub.  He was explaining that his girlfriend was frustrated with the way her mobile phone was alerting her to upcoming meetings and such.  She, herself, had missed a few events, and was trying to blame the technology. 

I could almost relate to her complaint, and I certainly understood her frustrations.  But, I always try to hold myself accountable for my actions.  If I need to set up a lot of alerts and reminders on my mobiles and laptops, I also never fail to make sure that I have ink in my pen and a little pack of post-it notes, so that I can write the reminders down, even if it is a reminder to listen for the little chime alert on my phone. 

And that is exactly why I was on time for my appointment at the hairdresser early Friday evening, because I had written the correct date and time on my wall calendar (on the right date) and had also written a sticky note to myself.   And this all helped me determine that the reason that my mobile alert for that appointment did not sound at the expected time was not because the technology had failed, but because I had inadvertently managed to switch my mobile to "do not disturb."

Happy February

Bryan