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