Milk Foam Mysteries and Much Needed Music

I feel like I’ve been duped, and I’ve no one to blame but myself.

Milk has always had a place in my arsenal of beverages; I tend to consume at least one gallon a week, normally closer to two or three. It’s just the right bevvie to accompany a nice piece of cake, or a couple handfuls of Christmas cookies (note to self: must have tollhouse and haystacks soon!), or simply to quench the middle of the night thirst.

My mom got on a low fat kick during my adolescence, and for quite some time, was consuming skim milk. I didn’t notice at first (ok, almost a couple of years), but I became curious. I spent a fair amount of time at Jeff’s house, and we regularly had glasses of “bookie,” his family’s affectionate name for milk. (Apologies, Jeff, I don’t remember the spelling, but that we pronounced it much the same way one would pronounce “Pookie.”) At any rate, the milk at Jeff’s house was awesome: always cold and flavorful.

I pointed this out to my mother one time at the store, and she said perhaps it was the fact that Jeff’s family purchased another brand of milk. Indeed, they typically bought Borden (Elsie, how’d you do it?), and when I asked if we could purchase Borden milk and if no, why not, the answer came with a bit of a glare and a, “cos’ we use another brand,” as she put a gallon of grocery store house brand milk into the cart. End of discussion.

Ultimately, that meant, when I was buying my own milk, I could choose what I liked. So, once I was purchasing my own groceries, I jumped right on the Borden wagon, and happily purchased and consumed Borden 2% milk, and loved the hell out of it, despite the fact that it was noticeably more expensive than the store’s house brand.

Several years later, after I had been living on my own for some time, I was visiting my parents for a meal, and decided to have a glass of milk. Unfortunately, it was a horrible experience; the milk was almost tasteless. As the diet rage and health awareness continued during the 80s and 90s, my parents had moved away from skim milk to 0% fat milk, citing the need to reduce fats in their diet as much as possible.

This proved to be most irritating, because no fat milk to me tastes just like a glass of water with 2 drops of white food coloring in it, absolutely no taste of milk whatsoever. For years, particularly at holidays, I was less able to enjoy the Christmas cookie experience due to the fact that the milk at my parents’ house tasted crap.

At the end of the 90s, when I lived briefly (i.e. a few months) at home, I purchased my own groceries, including milk. On any given day, there might be 4 or more gallons of milk in the fridge: one gallon crap milk, and two or three gallons of my preferred stuff. (Note – it was not unusual for me to drink half a gallon in a single chug during this time of my life). Fortunately, my parents acquired a second refrigerator, which helped create a bit of space. The other alternative was to purchase a cow, and that just wasn’t going to fly in the suburbs of Dallas. However, I did notice that my father had taken to drinking my milk, as he preferred the milk with the higher fat content, also.

True, I tend to be brand loyal, and was still drinking Borden products, but had finally realized that the reason I had enjoyed milk everywhere but at my parents was down to the fact that everywhere else, I was drinking milk with higher fat content. This epiphany was more or less triggered by a comment my sister made once, “Bryan, you dork. This is skim milk, and that’s why it tastes horrible. You’ve been drinking whole milk everywhere else.” Oh.


Well, over the years, I’ve stuck to drinking milk with a higher fat content. Indeed, I moved away from the Borden brand, though that had more to do with location and availability than anything else. As a happy shopper at Whole Foods, I tended to buy the milk from the local supplier. I forget the brand, but the cow on the jug looked really really happy. Besides, the milk tasted awesome, almost better than the milk at Jeff’s house from all those years ago.

While in Spain, I favored the milk from central lechera Asturiana, though the Pascal lechera was also pretty tasty. However, I liked the look of the bottle of Asturiana better: lots of cows grazing in a valley, with a scenic view of snow covered mountain ranges in the background. With a label like that, how could the milk not taste great?

In Germany, it didn’t take much time before I found alpen Frisch milch. The blue carton and the mountain range just grabbed my attention. Furthermore, the 3.5% fat content was in line with my expectations. So, for the past four years, I’ve been a loyal, satisfied consumer of the brand.

I don’t eat nearly as much cereal as I once did, but I do do a fair amount of late night chugging, so my milk consumption is still relatively high. Furthermore, I prepare quite a few lattes for myself. Call it a café con leche, a latte macchiato, or whatever you want.

People here prefer a lot of milk foam in their coffees (lattes, etc). I think even the home espresso machines are built with this in mind. My milk foamer just tends to go nuts once I turn the knob and start steaming, and this has frequently resulted in some spills in my kitchen: a little milk makes a LOT of foam.

Meanwhile, in my local café, they tend to pride themselves on building a pile of foam that actually rises a few centimeters above the top of the glass, referred to as a “crown.” In fact, just about every café tends to serve lattes this way. Last weekend in Hamburg, the waiter was unable to add an extra shot of espresso into my drink, indicating that if he did, the cup would overflow. He then brought me my drink which was about 2/3 milk foam, most of which was above the rim of the glass.

Being a bit of a barista, I’ve also prided myself on my ability to prepare coffees for not only myself, but also any guests. However, more than once I’ve fallen way short on expectation. My coffees tend to be a bit more espresso and a bit less milk foam. Several times, guests have looked disappointed as I served them a latte with way too little Schaum. I started practicing, hoping to improve my technique in order to create a bit more satisfaction, and still found myself short of the mark. Every so often, though, I have been able to create the mountain of foam that one tends to find regularly in cafes around town. These brief moments of success have continued to encourage me, but I’ve still been curious as to why it’s a bit hit or miss: my technique is pretty constant.

I’ve been closely watching people make coffees over the past several weeks, trying to put my additional spare time (equate that with: increased time spent in cafes) to good use by spotting a secret technique from another barista. The study has been inconclusive: my method for foaming milk isn’t too different from anyone else’s.

Last week (or the week before), right after a trip to my local supermarket, I was making a coffee, and suddenly there was foam all around! I was amazed, and quite pleased with the results. I actually was patting my little milk bottle for a job well done when I noticed that the fat content was marked 1.5%, which is basically the equivalent to low fat milk in Europe. “Wow, that milk tastes pretty good for such a low fat content,” I thought to myself. “I thought I had been buying milk with more fat in it.” I looked in the fridge at the other bottles of milk, and noticed that two of them were marked with 3.5% fat, and the other two were 1.5%.

Now, I’ve always been semi-aware that milk with lower fat content tends to make for more “foamy” foam when using said espresso machines. The next time I was at the supermarket, I examined the milk section a bit more closely. It turns out that my brand of milk here only comes in a blue carton. However, I’ve never bothered to really read the label (after the first time I ever bought the brand of milk) to notice that the milk comes in the two varieties. Instead, I always grabbed the blue carton off the shelf. As it happens, the whole and low-fat milks are set side by side on the shelf.

In a word, Duh. In two words, mystery solved. Not only have I figured out what my problem was in the milk foaming department, I’ve also finally realized why other customers always seemed to spend so much time examining the cartons of milk. They were looking for the right fat content to be sure that they didn’t select the wrong one, whether it be for the sake of preparing super foamy milk, or simply because of their diet preferences. Hmmm, live and learn.

All in all, it’s been a pretty amusing week. I provided a bit of entertainment on Monday night when I suddenly was hit by a charley horse while sitting in a little café. I jumped up and did that little “ouch, holyshitholyshitholyshit!” thing that you have to do as you try to loosen the muscle so that the cramping stops. It’s not the funniest thing in the world to experience, but once it stops, you have to laugh with relief, along with whoever happened to observe you cramping up, as they tend to be laughing hysterically already.

I did take some time to entertain myself, too. I set up my second laptop, got the wireless working, and spent a few minutes skyping with myself, before powering down and heading off to see the Gaslight Anthem play a show Thursday evening.

Last summer at a festival, I saw this band play for the first time, and they left an impression, as I mentioned in a post shortly thereafter. I looked forward to their next release, and was quite pleased when it came out a few months back. The group did a few festivals in Europe during the summer months, but none were too close to Frankfurt, and truth be told, I really wanted a chance to see them at an individual concert, where they would have more time to play.

So, when the fall tour of Europe was announced, I marked the date in my calendar, vowing not to miss the show. Too many times this year I’d had to miss concerts due to conflicts involving work. Well, I’ve certainly managed to free up my time, but when it started raining like hell on Thursday evening, I suddenly had an urge for a quiet night in watching movies, even though I’d already purchased my online ticket. “Boop!” I skyped myself. “Log off and get yourself to the show, you mediocre barista!”

That’s all I needed, just a little push. I grabbed my jacket, was walking down the street to the U-bahn in the pouring rain, when I decided to splurge on a cab, which would get me to the show in about 1/3 of the time.

I had to show the cabbie how to work the GPS system, but within a few minutes, we arrived at the show, and after a quick feel up by the security guy who was a bit too cozy, I was inside the concert hall.

A new punk act from the UK was playing the early set. Their stuff wasn’t bad, and I’ll keep an eye on them. The concession stand was a madhouse, but I organized a couple of beers (one to drink, one for backup), then found a spot to view the stage.

The second act was a guy named Chuck Ragan, performing a solo acoustic set. I’ve been familiar with his old group Hot Water Music for several years, but wasn’t really so overwhelmed. His solo work, however, is incredible. Check him out if you can, particularly live. His stage presence is magnificent.

Shortly before 10, the lights went out, and the unmistakable beginning of the Clash’s “Straight to Hell” came on the PA. I smiled to myself, realizing how good this show was going to be.

Halfway through one of my favorite Clash songs (and apparently a favorite of the band, too), the Gaslight Anthem skull and cross bones banner was unfurled as a backdrop (hmm, a bit St Pauli), and the band made their way on stage.

When I listen to TGA, I can’t help but dance about. This has made for some interesting moments at home, and a likely source of amusement for my neighbors across the street, at least until I started remembering to close the blinds. In concert, though, the crowd of fans danced and stomped about with great pleasure. The band just enjoys the hell out of playing, and it is so obvious that you can’t help but get enthused.

For two hours, the guys just rocked things up. The three albums they’ve produced to date kind of progress in style, similar to the first three albums by the Clash. While I recognize the connection and the influence, the Clash will always be the Clash, and thank goodness, the Gaslight Anthem will always be the Gaslight Anthem. TGA’s style is their own and is to be admired. As I said above, the guys enjoy playing their show, and that says something for the power of influence great music has on people. Sing like no one is listening, and dance like no one is watching…

Towards the end of the show, right about the time for encores, I ran into a few folks I know from my neighborhood. They tend to hang out on the corner of my street at a little punk-rockabilly store. We all enthused about how great the show was, and watched the band finish their set. What a great evening.

So, it’s continued to rain here over the past couple of days, but I’ve been sitting indoors, enjoying quality milk foam and listening to Chuck Ragan and TGA, with a bit of Clash thrown in just to make things complete.

Keep the faith.

Not Quite a Weekend Review

I’m sitting here in a quiet café in Hamburg, just a few meters from Michaeliskirche. I arrived in Hamburg yesterday afternoon; it’s only about four hours away from Frankfurt by train.

As I studied the U-bahn map at the Hauptbahnhof, an employee of the HVV (Hamburger Verkehrverbund) approached me, asking if he could help in any way. Though it was actually his job, I was immediately aware of his open friendliness and willingness. We sort of discussed the best route to take; we were on the east side of the city, and I needed to get to St. Pauli in the west. I’d pretty much already figured things out, but he confirmed things for me. Indeed, I would have to transfer after a couple of stops to the next U-bahn line. Pretty easy stuff.

A few minutes later, I found myself on Reeperbahn and just sort of wandered, hoping I’d stumble upon my hotel. Earlier in the week, I had purchased a guidebook of the city, was impressed with the fact that I could read and understand most everything in German, and more or less familiarized myself with the city map. Thus, I had a decent idea of which direction to take, and within a couple of minutes, found my hotel. I checked in with the help of very friendly staff, had a quick look at the map again to orient myself, and after the obligatory welcome drink, took a little walk around the waterfront.

My primary reason for the excursion was a Jimmy Eat World show. I’d recently bought their latest release, and while I first became a fan at the end of the 90s when I moved back to Dallas from Boston, I’ve always been kind of an on again, off again listener. That is, until this past year, when a few new songs grabbed my attention, and suddenly they’ve been in heavy rotation on the ipod.

So, the club was directly across from my hotel, but with several hours to kill before show time, I checked out a bit of the waterfront, though it was already dusk and I couldn’t really see all that much. I walked a bit more, enough to build up an appetite, then found a restaurant down the street from the hotel that looked decent.

After their initial surprise that I was dining alone, the staff in the (apparently trendy) lively restaurant was once again, super friendly. Yes, I’m well aware that I’ve just commented on my self perceived friendliness of people working in the service industry in a city known for its tourism, but still, I got the impression that it’s a pretty easy going city.

From my spot in the restaurant, I watched the queue for the show, and became kind of alarmed that by 6pm, the line had already stretched down the block. The show wasn’t due to start until after 8pm, which was when I planned on arriving. I enjoyed a handful of beers and some grub to tie me over the next couple of hours, then paid up.

45 seconds later, I was walking into the club, and discovered that those folks who had queued up early were fortunate to have decent spots from which to view the stage. I, on the other hand, though pleasantly full from burger and beer, was stuck towards the rear of the venue, but within striking distance of the bar.

The bar served beer in tiny plastic cups that reminded me of those little sippy cups that say they’re dishwasher safe but really aren’t. Beer was kind of expensive, but being that I was on vacation, I didn’t wince much. Since the cups were on the small side, frequent refills were required.

I’d heard a song from the opening act on lastfm or somewhere, and had already decided to skip that experience. However, German concerts always seem to start a bit early, so I wasn’t really sure that I’d successfully missed them until the main act hit the stage, which was only about 15 minutes after I’d arrived.

Well, the band launched right in, and despite my somewhat obstructed view, they certainly impressed. The next two hours passed quickly as the band kicked on, playing a nice mix of their stuff from the past 15 years. When you go to a show alone, you can really concentrate on the music. On the other hand, you kind of notice how alone you are. Sometimes, you want to share the experience with someone, you know?

The thing that has always attracted me to Jimmy Eat World is the band’s ability to be a good blend of punk, pop, and plain rock and roll. Their earlier stuff was more punk driven, then got a bit poppy (though with seriously dark overtones), and over their tenure has really developed into very listenable rock and roll.

True, several of their songs have turned up on soundtracks of various teen angst dramas shown on television from the past 10 years, but hell, they’ve tended to turn up on a lot of my comp cd’s also; their stuff is just cool.

Yes, the sound attracts a slightly younger audience (um, when does the next Twilight trilogy DVD come out on blu-ray, again?) but I really didn’t feel that old at the show. Shoot, the band members themselves are close to my age, too. I did take note that the 5 or 6 people that had to be carried out (excessive heat, too much drink…who knows) were about the same age as I was the last time I got thrown out of a show; it felt good to have learned from that experience and stick around until after the encores.

So, I’m glad the band skipped Frankfurt as a tour stop, forcing me to do a road trip to see them. I was long overdue for a show, and this one hit the spot.

After the encores, we all spilled into the street, and I spent the next 90 minutes wandering around the Reeperbahn, Hamburg’s red light district as well as the main spot for concerts, discos, and theatre. You kind of have to watch your step in the area, but I was quite sober again, helped by the big dinner and the rain that had started to fall. Truth be told, it’s worth it to see the spectacle, but not where I want to spend every weekend.

Thanks to double-paned glass, my hotel room was pretty quiet, even though it overlooked said Reeperbahn, so I slept reasonably ok.

I slept until 9 or so, had a bit of breakfast, then have spent the day just walking around the city, and quite a cool city Hamburg is. It’s a great thing when a city sits near water, and Hamburg not only has a river running through it, but also a lake. I walked all along the docks, then through several other districts of the city, taking in the various market places and other points of interest. There are loads of bridges (I crossed most of them), really pleasant views, and it’s been quite a nice day walking around a big city for hours.

However, my feet need the rest, and Bryan needs a latte, hence the afternoon pause in this café. In a few minutes, I’ll climb to the top of the Michaeliskirche tower and get an overview of all the places I’ve seen today. The weather has been really sunny this morning, and after a little rain interlude (which is why the journal pages are wet), the sun is peeking out again.

2 hours later…

OK, I’ll touch on the three Säulen, here. First off, fitness and health. I just climbed to the top of Michaeliskirche Turm, which is 132 meters high. I elected to take the stairs, about 452 steps of them, thinking that I was tough.

By the third story, I was a bit huffy puffy. A guy about my age was just ahead of me, and I thought I’d try to keep pace with him. Turns out he was struggling, too. He even broke sweat.

On the seventh story, I almost thought I was going to have to stop for a bit. However, I pressed on, and was rewarded upon reaching the top. Wow. Totally cool. One can see for miles, and I looked out over the harbor and over the whole city, retracing my steps from earlier in the day.

I’d set out this morning with no real plan, just walking, looking, to see whatever I could see. Yes, I did have an idea of some of the “things to see” in Hamburg, but I’d previously thought that to get from one place to the next, one would need public transportation. However, I found that I had really covered a lot of ground on foot, and not surprisingly, saw a lot of stuff.

Because I didn’t refer to the map, I sort of walked in whatever direction I fancied, and simply kept encountering nifty things to see. I’ve always had a decent sense of direction (I’ve had a secret desire to be kidnapped, put in the trunk of a car and driven around, just so I can pop out and say, “we took four left turns and we’re right back where we started!”) so never really felt too lost. Since there was no game plan to speak of, it’s not really as if I was “lost” in the first place. I was just exploring.

It helps to have a river, which helped me keep my bearings, and if that wasn’t enough, I only had to look for one of the church towers. OK, it’s Hamburg and not Istanbul; I’d like to specify where I’d prefer to be kidnapped…just setting the record straight.

Anyway, after enjoying the view of the city from the observation deck, I walked back down, realizing my legs were feeling a bit rubbery. God knows how they’ll be tomorrow.

So, I’m thinking I’m not so fit. Sure, I’m in the gym a lot, which brings regular commentary from Kumpels and friends. While you might argue that I sort of look fit, this is not quite the same as “being” fit. Put me on a treadmill for 10 minutes, and I think I’ll be in need of a doctor. Skip the smoking comments for a moment, I’m referring to the fact that I’m not conditioned. Thus, I’m noting the need to do a bit of cardio more regularly. That’s now added to the “to do” list. (Isn’t it neat how one can write with such motivation about getting fit while sipping a San Miguel?)

Before we move on to the next pillar, I’ll briefly touch on the smoking. I’ve been failing miserably at quitting over the past 4 months, and it is really irritating me. I’m quite tired of smoking, and am looking forward to the day (coming soon) when the shit is behind me. Yes, the dragon has not yet puffed his last, and I know few people believe me, but it is what it is.

Now, pillar number 2. Work. Ha ha ha ha ha….roll on the floor and laugh out loud. That pillar is under reconstruction, pending the right architect, plans, and funding. So far, so good.

Pillar number 3. Wow, I could write (and actually have been) for days on the topic. I must say that after two weeks of doing the permanent lunch break, I realize just how lopsided my life has become over the years. Take away the work from a guy who only worked all the time and you’ve only got a guy. I went quickly into the realization where I don’t have much of a life. All the years spent doing only work stuff really exposes the absence of the things that make life worth living in the first place. I’m a guy who needs quite a bit of looking after (er, perhaps a bit of Paddington Bryan), and generally a fair amount of encouragement. Typically, that means, hit me in the head with a 2x4. Otherwise, I won’t always get the message.

The problem is, no one is looking after me, so if I don’t do it myself, then I might be well and truly fucked. Thus, if I don’t push myself (i.e.…keep a 2x4 nearby at the ready), nothing will happen or change.

For some reason, I thought that upon my arrival in Germany, I’d meet people and suddenly, I’d be invited off to see things and places, doing stuff. Well, I didn’t realize that the Germans aren’t like that really, and even once they got to know me, no one was ever struck by my openness and willingness (hey, I should go to work for the HVV!) to try new things.

Why? Because I was a one trick pony, and all work and no play makes Bryan a dull boy.

Now, I’m in no way slighting my friends in Germany; they simply call a spade a spade. Furthermore, I have done some really cool things, both self-initiated and through invitation. However, it struck me today as I wandered around the city just how similar the experience was to my first months in Boston: I didn’t know a soul, and I just got on with things.

Um, let’s stop for a moment and pat ourselves on the back for having had the guts to make a dramatic change in life not once (Boston), not twice (Valencia), but three times. Not many people can say that they’ve done that; not by their own choosing, at least.

But, for everyone who always listened to me yammer on about my ambition to work and live somewhere else (i.e. ”away”), particularly in Europe, the patient message was always there. “It’s only so good an experience as you make it, B.”

I think, now that I have more than 15 minutes to reflect (thanks to the extra 60 hours per week that I’ve been gifted), I can see that more clearly. I have done a less than adequate job in making sure that this pillar was firmly structured, choosing instead to flash about and excuse anything with a, “um, too much work.”

Sure, it’s easy to say when you’re unemployed, sitting in a cozy Spanish restaurant (mas chorizo, por favor!) and feeling hoppy boppy, but I’m going to hang on to the notion.

I know plenty of people who have given me grief over the years for working too much, and my response was (and will likely always be) “yeah, but I like what I do for a living.” (Don’t confuse that with: I like who I work for…company or otherwise)

It’s the passion I’ve had with my work that helped me get here, and I’m proud of that. Ironically, some of those same people who berated me have found themselves in a similar situation to mine: too much time in work, and too little time developing the third pillar. I understand the trap very clearly, and am curious as to how to better find the right balance.

It certainly isn’t easy, and I’m not interested in finding a solution here in this piece. Recognizing it as an area which needs a lot of attention is important. That’s the main theme of today.

Right about now (if not 3 pages ago), someone is saying, “Gee, why doesn’t he just write ‘hey, I went to Hamburg at the weekend and had a good time. Why does he always get all philosophical and dreamy?’” (pause, while I smile)

Funny, it’s when all three pillars take a bit of a hit that suddenly the clarity comes, and along with it, plenty of uncertainty about the future. Five years ago, I listed out a bunch of goals for myself during an exercise with a friend in trying to figure out my universe. My friend pointed out that of all the goals I wanted to fulfill, I hadn’t written anything down about a desire to find a partner and have a family, and was I going to.

I was asked that same question just the other week, and wasn’t too surprised to hear myself answering that yes, I do have those desires (though I actually said something more along the lines of having that pipe dream: my pessimism always jumps to the forefront when discussing relationships, and that, combined with my calamitous ability to simply fall in love with the wrong girl makes for a laugh out loud, roll on the floor, reread update for pillar 2 one more time experience), but it’s only got a chance of happening once I recognize where I am in my life.

And where am I right now (besides the quite literal but surreally groovy experience of sitting in a quiet restaurant specializing in paella de mariscos in Hamburg, conversing only in Spanish)?

I am simply here, and here to stay.

Yep, I’ve just slid a New Order lyric into the write up, simply to mock the absurd, albeit extremely rewarding life that I have.

So, thanks for reading, you. It took quite a bit for me to unload here, and my words just didn’t come out earlier in the week.

Keep the faith.

Soundtrack
Vox Populi – 30 Seconds to Mars
Window in the Skies – U2
Indefinitely – Old 97s
Stars Above Us – Saint Etienne
That Was Then But This Is Now – ABC
Walking To Do – Ted Leo and the Pharmacists
Scared As You – The Cure
Like a Hurricane – The Mission UK
Dizzy – Jimmy Eat World
Let Down – Radiohead
Safe – Travis
More – The Sundays
House – The Psychedelic Furs
Be Sensible – Jimmy Eat World

Pictures To Prove It

I have never really been a fan of having my picture taken, driven likely by the fact that I don’t believe I make for very good photos. That said, I don’t just run and hide every time someone pops out with a camera. Sure, I’ve been tagged a few times on facebook or wherever, and I guess it just goes with the territory.

My indifference to being photographed has extended to actually taking pictures. I can’t count the number of times that someone from the states has complained that I never seemed to have any photos from Frankfurt or somewhere else in Germany. However, I never really used a camera when I lived in the states, either. It just isn’t my thing.

Truth be told, I’m kind of on the fence. On one hand, I’m always kind of glad that someone does actually seem to have a camera around, thus saving me the hassle. My mother is pretty good about snapping lot of pix at just about every family event. Likewise, friends on both sides of the ocean seem to have the knack for documenting the right events in the right fashion.

Sometimes, though, I get the feeling that people kind of over do it. I think during the last four years of commuting to work each day by train, maybe three times in TOTAL did I not see someone taking a photo of the regionalbahn or the intercity train. Yes, the very train that runs about every half hour between Frankfurt and Darmstadt. Hardly the necessary picture to put up on the wall…

True, I live in a city which has a lot of tourism, but I’m really speaking more about those moments that happen in regular daily. I saw a guy taking a picture of somebody entering the Apotheke the other morning; is it so necessary to document the purchase of foot powder or whatever?

OK, I’m not really trying to pass judgment here. I personally prefer trying (stress the word “trying”) to relate the experience through writing. Of course, I don’t try to describe it so much as I try to help the reader visualize it, simply by connecting it to something the reader already knows. Hence the reason I’ve always tended to say that the typical grocery store in my neighborhood is pretty much exactly like the Whole Foods Market on Lower Greenville, as opposed to me trying to upload a photo of my local Rewe for everyone to see.

Enough of me being off on a tangent; I was just trying to make the point that I like relating events better without pictures, leaving the reader to imagine the scene themselves.

So, the events of last week were all centered on my final few days of work. It was a wee bit emotional, and I’m rather glad that no one popped out a camera.

As you can imagine, I spent more time smoking and joking in the office than I did actually doing “work.” After all, I was in exit mode, and more interested in making sure I’d handed things over to my team. The humorous bit is that my job has always been more about how I did things as opposed to exactly what I did. Processes are pretty easy to document, since the job itself was relatively straightforward. The challenge came from trying to explain the “art” of actually doing the job. Style comes from the individual and tends to vary from one person to the next, even though the results will pretty much be the same.

What I found to be a bit touching was that my colleagues seemed a bit distraught that I was soon to be out of the, er, picture. They were concerned that the support was going away, so I really spent my final days just reassuring everyone that they already had the knowhow, the right answers; they are more than capable of carrying on without me.

What made things emotional was when my team gathered and presented me with a card telling me just how great an influence I had had with them; an influence that they found very special, and one they would not forget.

Yep, that choked me up.

I spent four years building a team, building a program, and suddenly, I am no longer there. It meant a lot to see that everyone (er, save the firing manager) was very gracious and appreciative of my efforts.

So that was last Thursday afternoon. It was nice to go out on a high. I was glad to be leaving, but a bit sad to leave the group, the customers, and the experience. A handful of external phone calls and emails from the customer and partners expressing gratitude and well wishes just made the day better.

I’d planned to go out with my head high, with a smile on my face, to ride off into the sunset. I did just that, though the crowded bus didn’t have such a dramatic effect.

Last Friday, I officially started vacation, which officially extends until the end of November. How long I extend my vacation beyond that is up to me. So far, so good.

Relaxed and smiling are two words which have reentered my vocabulary, and it’s quite nice to have them back.

I’ll relate more on the vacation time in the coming weeks, but focus is on stress free, with a capital fuck yeah. Remind me to relate the story about chopping up a habanero pepper, then inadvertently rubbing my eye; whatever was I thinking???

Excusing that unplanned incident (which I’ve written off as a moronic glitch), the kind of stress I’m experiencing right now involves deciding if I should have a coffee, then a shower, or a shower, then a coffee each morning. Not bad.

A couple of weeks ago, I was photographed at a birthday party. Someone later commented just how anxious and worked up I looked in that pic.

I will say that one can notice a whole lot from a photo, particularly someone’s true emotions. I just saw some pictures of a recent wedding where everyone, dressed in elegance, and simply beautiful (like, knock you over beautiful), looked really really happy.

The cool thing is that if I happen to get caught in a photo right now, myself, people will be saying the exact same thing about me.

Keep the faith.
bryan

When You're Happy and You Know It...

I had the pleasure of skyping with my family this past week. While somewhat routine, the calls were nevertheless much needed, greatly appreciated, and came just at the right time. My sister and nephew gave me a group hug, which was absolutely vital. My mom gave me all the news from the neighborhood and has been sending me text messages from Annapolis, where she and my father are spending a few days holiday. (cool to see that my mom has no concept of how much it costs to send an SMS around the world, just to say, “hey, we saw a boat!” mom approval rating – always quite high!)

My grandmother and I caught up last Saturday afternoon. She related her joy of being honored as the oldest DAR member in Dallas with a little display at a museum at the State Fair, adding that she was able to serve as living proof that the DAR really exists to a girl who had only heard about the DAR from an episode of the Gilmour Girls.

As we continued to chat about my imminent extended vacation, my grandmother went on to ask me the pointed question, “what is it about living so far away in another culture that is so important to you?” She’s asked the same question multiple times over the past 20 years.

Initially, I was a little exasperated, thinking that she had either forgotten or had never understood my previous answer. However, as I answered her again, I found myself wondering, “is my answer changing?”

I was indirectly asked the same question yesterday, though it was more along the lines of how it is to be so far away from family.

The answer is pretty simple, but somewhat complicated to explain, though I’ll only touch on part of my answer here.

I would argue that most everyone, myself included, does not make it a lifelong ambition to go off and be really miserable – whenever, however, or wherever.

Happiness, in my opinion, is what more people are likely after. Again, the questions have to be asked, “how, when, and where?”

Years ago (I can say that now that it’s been 5 years since I lived in the states), I remember pointing out to a colleague that, if I had to work in the same shit job, full of nonstop stress, frustration and anger (much as it was then), I’d just as soon do it in Europe, because I would be happier. Yes, I’m fully aware that even when I made the statement, I’d not been able to actually say that I’d already lived in Europe. But I had the feeling…

Well, I got that chance, took it, and not only am I happier (as dreamt, as planned) I also got a double load of additional stress, frustrations, and loads of other unpleasantness with the job. That said, the experience has still been extremely rewarding.

However, part of my original goal was always to learn (through interaction with other cultures and environments) to find a better balance between personal and professional life. I do feel that I could have learned the balancing act a wee bit better.

Plenty of people here have mentioned they notice the more negative impact the job has taken on me over the past years. While I will always be cognizant of their statements, their feedback, I’ll still look back over the past four years thinking that there have been more good times than bad (work related), but I believe also that most everyone here would still say the opposite. Lesson learned. Furthermore, that aspect will change.

A colleague at work today pointed out today that I looked happy, enthusiastic, relaxed (albeit still nervous and wacky…typical bryan), just like I appeared when we first met 4 years ago. In short, he gave me both a compliment and a reality check in the same breath.

Again, lesson learned.

Yesterday, while walking around the city, I sat smiling in a garden by myself, just thinking about the events of the past week, as well as a bit about my uncertain future. (note – this was not one of those “ooh, what’s up with that scary man with the leering grin over there on the bench” type smiles…more of a “mmmmh, it’s a nice chilly day outside. I’m glad I’m here enjoying it” smile)

It was time well spent, proven by the fact that my colleague wouldn’t have said what he said otherwise).

So, with 2 working days left, that smile grows bigger.

It’s not exactly a do-over that I’m getting, but it was overdue all the same.

Keep the faith.
bryan

Dirty Socks in the Hamper, Please...

Well, last week was national depression awareness week, or something along those lines. At least, that's how I interpreted it when I read one of the yahoo headlines.

I sort of laughed to myself when I read the brief article on the top things that drive depression; I was 6 for 6 from the short list, and while I'd like to think I was already aware (ie..no need to celebrate a week of "hey, wake up! all this shit going on right now is bugging you" when you already know it), I did appreciate the reminders.

The past couple of weeks I've slept very little, which does not do good things for someone who tends to need quite a bit of sleep at the best of times. More than once, I had frightening moments when I glanced in the mirror as I shaved. “ooh, scary!”

True, I always wear my heart on my sleeve, and efforts to mask my emotions only work so well, even with the wit and sarcasm I have in my arsenal. People noticed my demeanor, and I found it difficult to explain just how frustrating it is to have to get up and go to work each day despite being totally uninvolved in things, now.

Fortunately, my appointment with the court to discuss my severance package was scheduled for Thursday. The early part of the week was full of ups and downs as I struggled with a bit of anxiety. I wasn’t exactly sure how the process was going to go. While I’ve accepted the fact that it’s simply the way things are done here, I am still not in total agreement.

Thursday morning came, and I wore a suit to work (first time in quite a while without ska-core footwear), which caused a bit of commotion on the bus, as the conductor (actually most of the passengers who commute with me each day, for that matter) was a bit surprised to see me in my attire. Upon arrival at work, my boss even pointed out that one normally didn’t wear a suit to this type of appointment.

I saw his point when I arrived at the courthouse after lunch to meet my lawyer, who showed up in just a sport coat. So, the proceedings were pretty straightforward: we sat with the judge and the company lawyer and discussed the fact that I had been dismissed. Their argument, there was no longer a need for someone to do my job. I did have to explain to the judge just what exactly my job was, and after that, the company put an offer of severance on the table. After a quick hallway discussion with my lawyer, we countered with a higher figure, and, after a bit of haggling, involving a rather unprofessional remark from the company lawyer about me being from America, we agreed on a settlement. The judge documented things, and we left the courtroom. Case closed.

It took me a few minutes to let things sink in. I now had closure on a matter that had been causing me a lot of anxiety over the past weeks. True, I may have left a few grand of compensation on the table, but it was important me to get this issue resolved, so that I could move on.

This closure proved very significant. For the past months, I’ve put up with listening to colleagues complain and complain about the situation at work. Indeed, things have not been good, but I had failed to see just what a negative impact this was having on me. Now, it’s settled, and I have only to work 10 more days, and then I’m through.

I felt better and better throughout the rest of the day, as I returned to work for a couple of hours, then later as I got a haircut, then visited a pizzeria, then skyped with the padres during which I had to explain all of the events again. Later that night, I nipped over to the pub and had a beer by myself outside. I took a few minutes just enjoying the moment to myself, though I did offer a few correct answers to a couple of people playing the pub quiz who popped outside to ask me who won last year’s UEFA Cup and who is Ireland’s national team goalkeeper.

A few minutes later, I was home in bed, but within the hour was up again, eating cold pizza and watching a movie. The events of the day had caught up with me, and I was enjoying some new found energy. That, or was it the double espresso I had around 10pm? (gee, is this my future? No more drinking caffeine after 8pm, otherwise I’ll never get to sleep?)

Friday morning I felt refreshed, and ready to begin my last 10 work days. Refreshed is not to be confused with “totally coherent.” Still half awake, I walked into the bathroom, hawked a spit into my dirty clothes hamper, and would have been pulling yesterday’s socks out of the toilet had the seat not been closed. Thankfully I developed the habit of leaving the seat down from a friend of mine during the year. It’s been a while since I’ve done the old subconscious switcheroo (ie..putting Tupperware in the electric oven, putting metal in the microwave, or locking your house keys along with the car key inside the rental car when you return it to the hertz office at 1.30 in the morning), and I couldn’t help but laugh.

I was still chuckling as I arrived at work, wearing the standard jeans and boots. Order restored, at least for the moment.

Last Sunday marked the 20th anniversary of the reunification of Germany. I’ve been reading about “that was then, this is now,” in my little “learn German” magazine that I get each month. Back in school, when Tim and I used to look at his poster of the fall of the Berlin wall, we used to get quite emotional about the significance of the historic event. Neither of us knew (nor imagined) that years later, I would have the chance to meet and befriend people from both the east and the west.

I certainly am not comparing my personal situation to such a meaningful event, but I do recognize that I have my own Wende, my own turning point, too. While I truly believe the coming months will be challenging for me, I’m still comforted by the fact that I’m still reminded that it’s ok to express your feeling when you feel so inclined. Take action on the things that you can control (like pursuing new employment with a positive attitude), but for those things that you can’t control, simply take it as it comes. Sobre la marcha.

Keep the faith
bryan

Two Halves Make a Whole

The plant on my balcony has been doing rather well the past three weeks. However, I was slightly alarmed to notice last week that about half of the blooms seem to have died, while the other half seem to still be perky and pretty.

I chose not to take that as a really bad omen; instead I elected to write it off as sheer inexperience on my part to look after plants. I’ve never really had a green thumb, after all.

Meanwhile, it didn’t escape me that half my week was downright crap; not altogether surprising given the emotional and stressful events of the moment. I know that the rollercoaster will continue to swerve and dip, and that will continue to impact my mood and motivation.

Fortunately, two sentences and two photos served to swing things back around for me, so that I continue to go forward with a smile on my face and my head held high, despite things.

Sure the SMS alert that sounded at 3.30am startled me awake, but moments later, when I read about a Boddies in the Old Monk, I smiled at the gesture: it came at just the right time.

A bit later in the day, I read the sentence, “I’m just too hoppy boppy,” and that struck me as an excellent way to express my sentiment, too. It’s not exactly something you can to say to everyone, but when the time suits, go for it.

On Thursday, I was totally surprised to receive two photos, which simply blew me away. Easily, they are the cutest things I’ve ever seen. While I am biased, I just wasn’t prepared to be so overwhelmed. They bring a smile to my face just at the mere thought of them: little bits of innocence, peace, and goodness…from a different era. It warms the heart.

Happy fuzzy thoughts tend to stick with me, and wow, did these ever come at just the right time. There’s always something to be said for finishing the week on a positive note.

So I continue to smile at these thoughts as I begin my last few weeks of work, all the while knowing I’m coming one step closer …

Now, I’m off to see about getting the other half of my plant to bloom.

Keep the faith
bryan

Psych it up, vol. 86

It's been a week of realizing the significance of letting go.

When I was given my notice a few weeks ago, I knew that it would be difficult, “tricky,” if you will, to maintain enough motivation to see things through to the end of the contract. However, I wasn’t quite ready for the strange feeling of being “in between.” Basically, I’m just going through the motions, as there’s not much to finish, and there is certainly nothing to start. Effectively, I’m no longer a part of this team.

What makes this a challenge is that I’m truly excited about the new challenges ahead, but, as I don’t particularly like good byes (even shitty ones), I’m feeling a bit stuck. Spending eight hours watching a clock during the work day doesn’t give one a zippy feeling in which to go home and spend another few hours hitting the bricks; chasing new opportunities.

Fortunately, I’m about four weeks away from an extended vacation, as I’ve got left over holidays that need to be taken before the end of my contract. Thus, I’m trying to keep the plans in motion for just a bit longer, knowing that I will have to really accelerate just as soon as I’ve put the current job behind me.

As I’ve said before, it’s going to be harder still, before it gets easy. Of course, that’s typically the story of my life, anyway. Thank goodness I accept that without question.

Meanwhile, I’m having to remind myself that when you let go of something or someone, like work, customers, friendships, etc., you really have to move in a new direction, regardless of the consequences. You can’t really have things both ways. That’s a pretty tough lesson that seems to take longer for me to fully understand.

Often, I need a bollocking or two (ok, about 18) before I come to terms with it, but that’s just part of the process.

So, I keep on finding things to believe in, ways to psych myself up, and ways to smile somewhat uniquely; I’m not really on my way out, I’m simply on my way.

Keep the faith.
bryan

The Impression That I Get

It’s always very frustrating for me when I catch a cold. I tend to get sick just at the wrong time, and I’ve noticed that over the years, I seem to become a complete wimp. Sure, I’ve never been a really good patient, but now, I’m a lousy patient and a bit “woe as me” oriented.

Last week started pretty well for me: I picked up some CV photos Monday after work, and that was after having submitted an online application at a firm located just north of Frankfurt.
I was feeling pretty good about my progress, and later mapped out the rest of my week while sipping a glass of wine, when I suddenly sneezed three times.

“Oh shit,” I thought. “I’m getting sick.”

I briefly thought I was going to escape unscathed on Tuesday morning, my luck ran out just after lunch. The congestion was starting, a box of Kleenex was consumed, and I knew I was headed for crap.

Later that evening, I managed to have a cup of tea, but was really starting to feel poorly.

A night’s sleep helped marginally, but as I waited on the U-bahn on Wednesday morning, I realized that I had a slight fever. I used good judgment and went back home. After a quick call to my boss, I logged on to work, and suffered from a bad cold in the comfort of my kitchen, managing to use a couple of boxes of Kleenex over the course of the day.

Thursday was a repeat of Wednesday, though I didn’t bother to try and go to the U-bahn.

Friday, I did manage to get back into the office, but was glad for 5pm to come, giving another couple of days for me to finish recuperating.

The quiet time at home during last week was interesting. Fewer emails were coming in, and the phone didn’t ring like it used to. Indeed, things are settling down for me in a hurry around the office. I even noticed that things seemed a bit different once I was back in the office on Friday.

I know that this is normal when your ride is finishing. Typically, your colleagues will have less to do with you, since you aren’t really involved in things any more. However, in the transition period, it’s always a bit awkward, since you’re sort of there, but unneeded. No one can actually say, “bugger off,” but their actions sort of imply that. It’s nothing personal, of course, but it sucks.

Because I was already feeling crap with a cold, and irritated because I didn’t feel well enough to put a lot of effort into a job search, I felt a bit distant from things last week. Things turned a bit surreal when my father skyped me; we had a good conversation, but it could have been a bit better had he decided to wear more than just a pair of underwear.

I was delighted to test my new mobile out on Friday evening, though at first I didn’t recognize the alert tone for the SMS that I received. I was momentarily confused with the contents of the text, but a quick trip to the dictionary helped. However, why do Americans call it a ladybug, and everyone else (in English) a ladybird?

The weekend was spent in further recuperation, watching a few silly movies and favorite sitcoms and resting as much as possible. It was time well spent, as today I’m feeling ever better.

Sure, I’ve got a bit of catching up to do on my, “what are you going to do with your life now, B-bry?” plan, but at the same time that I feel like saying something like, “ni puta idea,” I feel like I can also say, “Alles wird gut.”

At least, that’s the impression that I get.

Keep the faith.
bryan

Taking it on the chin

A few weeks ago as I was cooking dinner in my flat, I bent down to tie my shoe (as you do when you notice a loose shoelace). Suddenly, I found myself in a headlock, and was totally and utterly surprised. At first, I was unable to react, as I was still trying to figure out what had actually happened. Within a few seconds, I was laughing, with a bit of relief; I hadn't anticipated the strength of the whole situation.

During the next few days, I laughed about the incident more than once. True, unusual things happen to me quite regularly, like when you inadvertently spray yourself in the eye with an aerosol can, or when things get out of control with the espresso machine and the milk sort of explodes around the kitchen. I find these things pretty easy to laugh about; I like little surprises.

Later that same week, I was called into the human resources department, where I was informed that my contract would be terminated at the end of this coming November. This came as a bit of a surprise, and one that I didn't find so easy to laugh about.

Over the past couple of weeks, I've had some time to let things sink in. Truth be told, I think I actually needed this push. Otherwise, I would have been inclined to continue to allow myself to get dragged through the mud in the existing environment. Now, I've got to sort of get myself in gear, and prepare for an all new adventure.

In the last three years, I have made 13 music compilations. Sure, they were ways to express myself, and they've certainly developed over time. The first was more of a reactionary birthday gift, the most recent a way to get through the insanity of work.

I've been listening to these regularly over the last days, as they seem to have particular significance to my present situation, not to mention the music is really bloody good. Though the cd's tell a bit of a story, I've found them to be great comfort as I put them in new context.

It's serving to be a decent soundtrack to this next little period of life, and proving to be quite motivating (as they were actually initially intended) to me as I establish my action plan.

In the weeks to come, I'll hope to provide some interesting details of the antics. Indeed, I expect things to be a bit stressful, but humorous, as well. For starters, the whole idea about having a good photo for your CV: gone are the days that you can wear a 15 year old tie and steel toe oxfords. Perhaps it's time to realize that I'm not exactlly a little kid any more, though you might be hard pressed to believe that when you see me in gift shop selling loads of stuffed animals.

At any rate, stopping to smell the roses and appreciate where you are in life is something that I've not always done so well. Yesterday's little day trip to the wine country nearby Frankfurt was a perfect reminder for me that it is a life worth living, particularly with those people that are close to me.

And while I know that I've got to lead the way in this next little chapter of life, it's of great comfort that I will not be going at it alone.

stay tuned, it's about to get nutty. again.

keep the faith.
bryan

Bryan's Smart Circus

I came to the startling realization this past week how similar this summer of 2010 is to my summer of 1990. I must say that it's a bit surreal, or perhaps better expressed: unfuckingbelievable.

Seriously, in May-June 1990, things were pretty well out of control. Promptly upon completing my final exam in Macroeconomics, I walked out of the building and started chucking everything I had with me, my pens, pencils, notebook, as hard as I could, as far as I could; I was fairly certain that I'd just failed out of school. Tim's brother (who had just graduated near the top of his class) saw me outside in despair, and I heard later that I'd really freaked him out. That made two of us.

Fortunately, I only got a stern scolding from my school mentor on the importance of performing a bit better academically when my grades were handed out. Of course, my father had a few other choice words to say on the matter, and indeed I more or less got my act together and did significantly better the next terms.

I've had the feeling that my performance at work over these past couple of months has been subpar. A lot of that has had to do with the constant change in priorities; it's almost as if you can never complete one task. As a result, you've always got a lot of balls in the air, and, with one blink, everything can come crumbling down.

True, the industry is such that you've always got to be on alert, and you have to make a lot of decisions on the fly. I've always been relatively adept in this area, but do tend to struggle when the directives aren't quite clear. We've had a lot more politics enter into our company this year, and it is sometimes a bit too much, especially for a hard core middle of the roader like myself.

However, like I did 20 years back, I will have a chat with the principal (er, general manager), adjust the attitude, and get back on track, and right soon, at that.

In 1990, though I suppose you could argue just about any time, I was struck by the changes as friends entered and left my life. In school, this is particularly noticeable as upperclassmen graduate and the freshmen enter each year, and 1990 happened to be significant as a couple of friends of mine moved on, and suddenly, instead of seeing them every day (as you tend to do over 4 years of college), I saw them more and more seldom. The change was difficult for me at the time.

Last month, a friend of mine had a stroke, spent a couple of weeks here in hospital, then returned to his home country where he could receive the necessary care. As he is a pretty good Kumpel, it's been a bit emotional, not only with the sudden absence of my friend, but also the uncertainty and concern I have for his health. All the best, John...

Another friend of mine recently got transferred to another city, so in a flash, he's off to his new challenges and experiences.

Now, people coming and going is really nothing new, and while I take these changes in stride, I'm still struck by the suddenness. At least in school, you sort of knew what would happen each May and each September. Living in an urban village isn't really the same as living on a college campus, but you still become accustomed to seeing people on a regular basis.

I spent the summer of 1990 laughing at the insanity of it all, trying to deal with a lot of different changes at once, but found solace and sanctuary in my usual manner - concentrating on music and football. Italia 90 for me was all about watching a lot of spanish television and appreciating how a world unites itself on a pitch. Combine that with music (remember New Order's World in Motion?) and it made for a rather decent summer. I ended up making myself several compilations on cassette (the "it's gonna get harder still before it gets easy" mix was a particular favorite), and all of it helped me take on the future with a vengeance...

This time around, I'm doing the same thing. Sure, the broadcasts are now in German (and it's kind of funny to hear the announcers pronounce the Latino and Asian names...) but the fervor is incredible; it's a wonderful experience to be in a country where literally everyone stops life in order to watch their team play. That said, I was equally touched by the recent video showing the fans reactions from all over the country that some guy made after the US made it through the first round. Very cool.

Meanwhile, the music is coming hard and fast. I put together a "how to stop the insanity" comp this past week in about 10 minutes; no surprise to me how quickly the tunes came to mind. Like all compilations I make (whether on cassette or mp3), it's simply expressing those thoughts which I wasn't able to communicate so easily through writing or conversation.

So, two laundry loads, 10 double espressos, and a bit of vacuuming later, this piece is done.

Indeed, it will still get harder before it gets easy, but the ball is rolling, and the beat goes on.

Here's me laughing at the insanity of it all. Keep the faith.

bryan

Soundtrack -
I'll pick the bands, you can pick the songs:
Therapy?, Seal, Dead or Alive, Exploited, Carter USM, My Vitriol, Nitzer Ebb, Flesh For Lulu, Leftfield, Alaska, The Who, The Wonderstuff, and the Jesus and Mary Chain

Crap Month on All Fronts

Due to the month of May being kind of a shit month for me, I've skipped the weekly updates.

June will come soon enough, so meanwhile, just groove to the soundtrack. I'll be back soon.

cheers
bryan

Better Late than Never

Well, I am going to start off this week's update by relating a little story from when I was about 15 or 16. I was at a pool party playing frisbee with a friend of mine. He was at the shallow end of the pool, near the hottub, and I was at the deep end. As it turned out, everyone else at the party was in the hottub save for the two of us, though one shouldn't read too much into that. First off, it was a church youth party; it's not as if things were getting way out of hand, and furthermore, I was already the type of guy who would stand alone at the deep end.

Looking back, I do still smile at the humor of it all. It wasn't too funny at the time, but it wasn't so UNfunny, either, you know? I mean, how was I supposed to know that I would be able to zing the frisbee with such skill and inaccuracy that, instead of being caught in the hands of my buddy, it caught some poor girl three feet to his left right between her eyes. All things considered, it was somewhat unfortunate, since as soon as I saw what was going to happen, I yelled (something to the effect of) "fore!", and everyone else in the hottub sort of matrixed out of the way just in the nick of time, except, like I said, for the one girl who was a bit slow on the take.

Fortunately, she wasn't really hurt (kind of bonk on the head for a day or two, as I recall), though the whole thing did sort of put a damper on the rest of the evening. I felt truly horrible about it, and at the time really wanted to slip into the deep end and stay underwater until everyone went home. However, I managed to apologize somewhat feebly, and she more or less accepted that I had most certainly not intended for that to happen. Perhaps I could have been a bit more cognizant of the hazzards of summer sports (stay tuned for next week's bit, possibly entitled, "dang, we need to be more careful with the hacky sack on Bergerstrasse - I hope that little kid is ok.") but it really was just an accident.

True, this incident didn't scar me for life; I was already a fan of Joy Divison and also knew I'd always be something of an enigma. No surprise that some 25 years later, it's business as usual. I'm still fairly thoughtful, though that's not to say I don't still have my moments where I really wished I'd been a bit more, er, aware.

Take last weekend, for example. True, I was just back from an extended business trip and was having a bit of a struggle getting back into the swing of things. In all honesty, I felt a little like I had to get reaquainted with everything and everyone, and I was away for only two weeks. But, that's the feeling you get sometimes when you're an Auslaender. I can't use that as my sole excuse, since I'm not the greatest at accepting compliments, or simply saying, "thanks" when someone extends a very kind gesture to me.

Upon my return, I was sort of overwhelmed at the reception I got from folks who were glad to see me back in town. Throughout the weekend, people were giving me belated birthday greetings and otherwise simply saying hello and welcome back.

I got invited to brunch on Sunday morning via a text message that came late Saturday night, and I actually said that I'd be there. Sunday brunch in the neighborhood is sort of a regular thing here, just as going to the gym for on Sunday morning is for me. While I was a little curious about the invite at the time (normally it's just a planned event), I figured I would stop by for a coffee, which I kind of do from time to time, anway.

But, Sunday morning I woke up still feeling a bit strange, and decided that a bit more alone time would do me good. I trooped off to the gym and in short, missed the beginning of my suprise birthday brunch.

Had I carried my handy with me into the weight room, I might have reacted a bit sooner. Instead, post workout, I found 4-5 missed calls on my phone, and suddenly realized that I'd been a real jerk. A quick phone call to say, "I'm on my way," then I waited impatiently for the U-Bahn to get me back to my neighborhood.

I tried to act casual when I walked up to the table where some folks had gathered to wait for me, and, erm, have brunch. Out came a bit of Kuchen, complete with candles, and I felt like the world's biggest idiot.

Mostly everyone made sarcastic remarks about my tardiness, all of which I truly deserved. Thank goodness everyone was still rather friendly about things (in Germany, punctuality is key), but I knew well and good that I'd crossed the line; several people cared enough to organize a little gathering for me, and I basically blew it off.

I was kind of looking around for a swimming pool (particularly the deep end), but in the end made do with some Legos, a few leaves, and the extinguished birthday candles; I humbly, nervously played (ok, there was a 3 year old there, also) with the make shift toys as I tried to work through the awkwardness of being 2 hours late to my own party.

I'm rather fortunate to have a few people here who do care enough about me to sort of forgive my discourteousness. I certainly apologized, but know that I was let off lightly. (Probably a good thing that there wasn't a frisbee nearby...otherwise someone might have had a zing at me)

But, that's what happens when you allow people to get close to you. Funny how it's not always a two-way street, huh?

At any rate, the afternoon was quite nice, and I was really quite touched by the whole experience. I'm not a huge fan of my birthdays, as we all know. Thank goodness there are people out there who are above that, and that I know some of them.

Naturally, I was in a great mood as I went back to work on Monday (apart from the lingering embarrassment of the previous day's cock up), and found myself once again a bit overwhelmed when a few colleagues gave me a birthday card and a nice bottle of wine. "You're one of the best bosses that we've ever had, and we just wanted to say thanks and Happy Birthday."

As if that weren't enough, at the end of the weekly management meeting on Tuesday, my boss stood up and congratulated me on behalf of the company. My colleagues gave me an Arsenal jersey, which was totally unexpected and quite cool, too.

Thus, it has been kind of a fuzzy and very educational week. I had to sort out a problem for a customer who totally appreciated of my efforts and personal involvement, and then last night I was at, um, a birthday party (it's always easier for me to celebrate someone else) and, during a quiet moment, realized how great it is to see someone simply being gracious and appreciative, not to mention, on time.

So that's how you do it...

keep the faith
bryan

Worth the Wait?

So, about midweek, I got a text from the office manager informing me that she had booked some flights for my return to Germany Thursday afternoon. She was "reasonably" sure...

I watched a little champions league on tv, and sort of reflected on my little extended visit to Ireland. As frustrating as the experience of not being able to leave the country when I wanted to, it was actually quite nice in the end. Quiet (deliberately, as I mentioned before), but nice.

Outside on the terrace of the hotel pub, I met a few couples from the US who were also stranded. They mentioned that they were flying to Sioux City, and I happend to mention that I used to have Gateway as a customer. We laughed about some of the stories from the region, particularly involving the computer company.

At one point, one of the men, who was particularly chatty, indicated that he was in his early 70s but (he proudly stated) that he looked much younger. Indeed, he looked more late 50s than anything else. An unfortunate elderly looking Irish man was also outside, and he sort of looked crestfallen as he said that he was only 64 himself. We all knew that he looked easily late 70s. Interesting how cultures and lands will change people...

Mr "proud to be a young looking" retiree then struck up a conversation with the waitress, who had come outside for a cigarette. As we were discussing ages, he decided to try to score some points with the girl by saying that one should always reduce the age of a woman by five years when guessing her age. Before I could jump in and say, "perhaps one should just skip the whole age topic alltogether (since I'd recently had a lengthy chat about this very topic and the dangerous elements associated with it back in Bornheim)," this man looked at the waitress and came up with the number 25.

I knew good and well that she was several years younger, but allowed the girl to sort of indignantly retort that she was 23. This man had put himself right in by suggesting that she looked closer to 30.

Truth be told, she did look somewhat mature for her age, but in my experience you need simply to look in someone's eys to see their innocence. (How's that for a very ridiculous statement on a Saturday morning...sounds like a fucking song lyric). Alas, the incident passed without any bloodshed, but I did take the opportunity to retell the story when the man's wife came outside a few minutes later.

Though I had confirmed bookings for Thursday, I was still antsy about getting home. Only when I was on the flight from London to Frankfurt would I be relieved, I told myself.

I checked out of the hotel Thursday morning, initially with a bit of sadness (I don't like goodbyes too much). The folks at the hotel had really taken care of me, though most of them would argue that they'd actually only done their jobs. Fair point, and it was a bit annoying that my credit card wasn't accepted when I tried to pay the whopping bill (overnight stay, laundry, dinners, and a handful (or 20) of pints). I ended up having to use an American account, which meant I'd take an exchange rate hit. But, it was time to go.

The receptionsist at the office where I'd been over the past couple of weeks realized that I was finally going to be leaving, and arranged to get a taxi for me during the middle of the afternoon. Because the airports were all just starting to reopen, none of us knew exactly what to expect. Would the airports suddenly become crowded with thousands of people racing off trying to organize flights again?

Turns out the answer was no. Shannon airport was extremely quiet when I checked in. I got a very panicky feeling when the man told me I'd have to collect my bags in London and recheck them to Frankfurt; I was to have only 90 minutes between flights in London, and typically they like for you to have about 2 hours between transfers.

Our flight to London was half full, and I had the row to myself. I continued to read a book about a girl with a tattoo on her back and made great progress in the hour long flight.

Upon arrival at Heathrow, I was hoping for a miracle: that my luggage would be first out of the chute, that no really slow people would be walking in front of me, that the check in desk would be centrally located.

At the baggage carousel, my bag came out in the middle group, it could have been worse. I grabbed it and immediately found myself in a very narrow corridor behind a man walking with a cane and a rolling bag. Just ahead of him was a 4 year old wrestling with a junior sized roller.

I watched for my chance to slip around them, then zipped on through at a pretty good clip. I arrived into a large check in hall, and looked about for the Lufthansa desk, hoping like hell it wasn't where I saw the largest queue.

Time was ticking, I had about 30 minutes before the flight was to board, and two weeks ago it took me about 40 minutes to get through security. I finally asked a lady in zone A where I might find the Lufthansa desk, and she politely responded that Lufthansa was in zone K. Fuck me, that's a lot of letters away!

I did that little walk/run thing that you do when hurrying through an airport, not really huffing, but kind of wondering why I thought it necessary to have brought two grammar books with me on the trip (thus adding additional weight to my bag). I found zone K, and it was dead quiet, but all the signs on the screens showed some Polish airline, and my heart kind of sank.

Then suddenly, the screens all changed back to Lufthansa! I walked to the desk next to me, the guy calmly checked my bag, handed me my boarding card, and wished me a good flight.

Security turned out to be a lovely experience. There was no one in the queue. That must have been because things were just starting to get going again in this, probably the busiest airport I've ever been in.

I got to my gate, and 10 minutes later we were boarding. Again, I had the row to myself, and I relaxed as I reopened my book. My luggage was on the plane, I was on the plane, and we were going to be on time.

My bag popped out of the chute in Frankfurt about 90 minutes later, and I went outside for some nicotine, somewhat disappointed in myself for having already abandoned my plan to not smoke again on German soil. That said, I enjoyed the hell out of the butt, even as I stood next to my taxi (the cabbie was smoking, also).

Back in Bornheim 20 minutes later, I threw my gear upstairs, then headed next door for a pint or two. I was home, and had elected to take the following day off. A couple of late night beers would help me sleep.

The quiz was finishing up, and I received a hearty greeting from the normal suspects. The tea candle on top of a bag of chips (an imprompto belated birthday gift on account that I'd mentioned I hadn't eaten during the course of the day) was a nice touch. I made my wish, blew out the candle, had another pint, then went home to bed.

Friday was a quiet return to normal service. I had a couple of coffees, did some wash, ignored my emails, made it on time to my dentist appointment (finally) then spent an hour or two in the plaza having coffee. Sort of surreal coming back to a neighborhood where seemingly nothing has changed, yet everything has changed. A slightly uncomfortable feeling, but kind of ok, too.

I'd purchased half a kilo of coffee at the local shop, then received another 250 grams as a belated birthday present, and when I got home to put it all away, I realized I had another unopened 250 grams. However, at the rate I go through espressos, it should tie me over for a week or so.

The weather was quite pleasant the whole time I was in Ireland, and here in Germany, it's even better. I got to bed early on Friday night (I'm reading the next book in the series, where the girl is now playing with fire) and am almost through 200 grams of coffee so far Saturday morning as I do some more washing and apartment cleanup.

With that, I'm going to wrap this up, so I can spend the rest of the weekend enjoying the sunshine. Sobriety optional.

keep the faith
bryan

soundtrack -
The Police - Reggata de Blanc
Bruce Springsteen - Jungleland (for my Irish buddy who may just have a bit of Jersey in him)
Ministry - Revenge (it's nice to know that this is still on the 12" circuit, at least in clubs in Austin)
Thrice - Stare at the Sun
Bouncing Souls - That Song

The Waiting Game

I touched down at Shannon Airport the other Monday and immediately thought, "Gosh, it hasn't changed much in the last 20 years." It looked almost identical to how I saw it back then.

The supplier I was to visit was only minutes from the airport. I was a bit anxious about the whole visit, as I'm sort of the "available" resource that got thrown into things. True, I'm probably the right person for the task, but I did have the initial feeling I was in a bit over my head.

The cab driver delivered me to the wrong location initially, which was both comical and frustrating, but my counterpart came and collected me within a couple of minutes, and I realized we'd be OK as soon as I heard some Bruce Springsteen blaring from his car stereo.

Fifteen minutes later I'd met about 10 minutes people, all with Irish names, and I was a bit overwhelmed. But, I was finding my stride pretty quickly and was eager to get on with things. The contact center is an important element to our operation, and the last time we tried this (see the blogs from early 2007) we (my company and I) did a pretty fair job of cocking things up. Though the decision to move the call center into Ireland from Scotland wasn't mine, I was determined to make sure we didn't make the same mistake a second time.

We had some productive meetings during the course of the afternoon, and I was exhausted at the end of the day when I got to my hotel nearby the offices. At check in, I didn't pay much attention when the lady tried to draw me a map from reception to my room, and I regretted it ten minutes later while I was wandering up and down the longest corridors I've ever seen in search of room 287.

At last I found my room, and quickly unpacked my things, ready for a bit of dinner and a pint or two. I still got lost on the way back to the hotel bar, but figured that in a day or two, I'd have the layout pretty well under control.

Because the call center is multilingual, it was interesting to hear everyone speak. Besides the natives, all the expats, including the German and the Spanish, also spoke with Irish accents. I actually wasn't that surprised by this, as I'd encountered the same thing while in Edinburgh. However, it is particularly noticable when you're around a lot of people who have to talk for a living.

I found a similar thing at the hotel pub; the Indian barman, who has been in Ireland for easily five years, was sounding pretty authentic. However, I smiled more than once as I listened to him say, "Howyeah?" (typical Northside Dub) because it came out, "How are you?" about as crisp as you like.

My colleagues took me out for dinner Wednesday night, and we got to know one another a bit better. We strengthened our relationship a bit further the following evening when my counterpart and I discussed the quality of Nick Cave, Tom Waits, and the Gaslight Anthem over a beer. The guy is quite into music, though he misunderstood my earlier remark about an upcoming show I was hoping to go to in Leipzig as that I was a fan of Danzig. OK, but these things can happen.

I woke up Thursday morning to a news report about some problems involving the volcanic ash from Iceland. Now, I don't usually watch a lot of television at the best of times, but I realized very quickly that I'd likely not get back to Germany so easily; things looked to be quickly getting out of control. I monitored some websites throughout the day to learn that the airspace in the UK, Ireland, and then Germany were all closing up tight.

I sort of resigned myself to the fact that I'd have to miss the Bouncing Souls show in Leipzig the following evening, though part of me had already abandoned hope of getting to that show before I'd even boarded the airplane for Ireland. However, my intent was still to quietly endure another birthday (even a landmark one) rather quietly and with minimal fuss.

Friday morning, I knew everything was beyond control. I sort of dismissed things with a "Well, shit happens," but nevertheless felt a bit pessimistic (what!!?? really??!! Bryan, a pessimist??!!) and figured I'd be spending the weekend in Ireland.

Now, in one sense, that idea does sound kind of appealing: unplanned adventure, underwear reserve almost nil. On the other hand, I'd had a pretty exhausting week, was going to miss a show, and there were a few people I wanted to see back in Germany, nevermind the sort of alarming uncertainty that comes with the whole, "hmmm, not really sure when things are going to get sorted out" thought that was in my head.

I think it was this last bit that got to me. I'm extremely flexible with things that are beyond my control, but I'm also a bit cautious; I felt more inclined to lie low over the weekend rather than go off and spend a packet of money on a "holiday" touristy weekend, particularly since I wasn't so sure how long I'd actually be stuck.

I recently read a novel where an entire town got cut off from the rest of the world. Initially, everyone was excited at the novelty and sort of partied their way through things. Things unfortunately went downhill rather quickly to a point where only about 11 people survived the incident.

OK, kind of an extreme example, even without the crystal meth manufacturing plant and the wacko that set off a bomb, but I couldn't help but get an eerie feeling, despite the dissimilarity of the two events.

So, instead of simply throwing caution into the wind, I quietly went and bought some clean underwear, socks, and a crime novel, watched a bit of football (thanks, Arsenal for the last 10 minutes of that disastrous game), enjoyed some quiet time and really just caught up on some needed sleep.

Once, over the weekend, I overheard some travellers loudly complaining about the fact that they were stuck and couldn't get home to the states.

I kept relatively quiet through it all, thinking more about those folks who really were stranded, short of cash, perhaps with medical emergencies, or whatever. Sure, my situation isn't particularly the greatest, and I may have to get graphic when convincing my boss to sign my expense report where I paid 20 Euro to clean five pairs of socks and boxers, but things could certainly be worse, you know? After all, I'm in a decent hotel, around mostly pleasant guests and locals, the weather is nice, and I've just enjoyed the quiet experience.

The interaction I've had with the Irish (regardless of where they come from) has been quite the highlight. I had to explain sheepishly that I needed a plug converter so I could power my laptop and charge my handy, and yesterday evening, I had the pleasure of attempting to assist a couple in their late 70s with a tire that was running low on air. The woman was most appreciative and apologetic of my efforts (once she discovered that I spoke English; gosh have I been gone that long?) even though I managed to further deflate her tire as we discovered that the air compressor wasn't working. However, I scored points and was thanked as a gentleman as I gave the woman directions to the next petrol station a couple of minutes down the road.

Thanks to all for the SMS, the skypes, the emails, and the phone calls, regardless of the hour from the past few days, and thanks especially for those of you who put me in my place for lack of adventure and creativity.

Sure, I may start a bit slow, but save for open goals where I tend to send the ball shooting over the bar into row H, I do have a bit of a touch. Make no mistake, I do finish strong.

keep the faith.
bryan

Coming Attractions...the Short Update

I've been making notes of things to write about over the past couple of weeks, and just keep running out of time to sit down and put up a post.

However, for a brief glimpse of what will be coming soon (and also to remind me of what I have to write about)...

- can a midlife crisis can be abated simply by kicking a hacky sack? well, it certainly helps.

- are Belgian pillows really that much more comfortable, or is it just that I got an sms from the states in the middle of the night that startled me out of sleep? (thanks, Chris, hope the Monk was fun that night).

- Messi really is faster than everyone on the Arsenal football squad.

- do I speak Spanish with a German accent, or is that just one author's opinion?

- why do I struggle so much with German prepositions?

I'm off to Ireland for the week to do a bit of work...

see you out there.

bryan

soundtrack -
Rise - Public Image, Ltd. (thanks Pablo)

Parental Approval Rating - High!

"How was the visit to the dentist?" was the text message I received Friday afternoon from my mom.

"Cancelled. The dentist is in hospital," I sent back.

"That's too bad. We're going to a piano concert of Chopin tonight. Bye." came the response.

My folks were toodling around in Poland for the past week, and sending regular updates from their mobiles about what they were doing and seeing. I realized how good of a time they're having simply from mom's response; she's been on me to visit the dentist for almost 18 months, which basically means that everytime we've skyped, the question has come up.

I was actually looking forward to going to the dentist, myself, since it has been a bit since my last checkup, and I was slightly surprised that los padres sort of dismissed the cancelled appointment. Had they not been on holiday, they perhaps would have pressed for more details, particularly when the appointment would be rescheduled. Of course, let's see if the lady gets out of the hospital first, and then we'll sort out the termin.

Indeed, my folks are on a 6 week holiday in Europe. They arrived in Frankfurt a couple of weeks ago, and we had a great time just hanging out and catching up. I wisely took some days off during their visit, thus we had more time to just kind of relax. I was particularly glad to see them (Bryan needs a little mom and pop time every so often), and didn't even mind that my dad kept insisting on paying the bill whenever we went out to dinner, though I did feel a bit like a little kid, however one that had to do most of the communication in German.

As always, the entertainment value was super high. My parents are great people, but they never fail to crack me up. I've long been known as a primary source of comic relief in our family, anyway, but this time round was seemingly more special. Perhaps it was the new material that came my way...

Upon their arrival, the explained that they'd had a bit of a struggle at the airport during check-in. The guy at the desk made them check their "carry on" bags, because my dad had asked if the bags were light enough. Of course that meant that they were then instructed to put the luggage on the scale, and when they were found to be over the limit, they had to check them.

My father was particularly irked because most of the other passengers carried on their bags that were much larger (and likely heavier than either of my parents'). Before my father could claim that he'd been made a victim, I pointed out that the other passengers probably hadn't asked if their luggage was too heavy to be carried onto the plane.

My father was also most distressed to find that my doorbell doesn't have my name listed on it, and struggled to understand how it could be identified.

"Dad, there are 8 buzzers, and all of them have names on them save one. I think it's pretty clear, eh? And, I don't have to ring my doorbell when I come home, I use my key!"

It's not as if they're the only easy targets, of course. I had invited my folks to bring some laundry over to take advantage of my facilities, and we spent a morning running a load or two. I had hung everything up to dry, and then was standing on the landing of the stairwell just outside my apartment discussing our dinner plans for later that evening, when a little gust of wind blew through my open balcony door and slammed my front door shut.

"Oh fuck," I said, then immediately clapped my hand to my mouth, astonished that I'd just uttered that explicative. However, what was taking a few moments to sink in for my parents was already clear in my mind. My key was on the inside of the door, which locks automatically. My mobile telephone was inside the house, as was my wallet, etc.

I had an appointment across town in about 25 minutes, and had only been walking my parents to the door before leaving myself. Suddenly, I had a bit of a crisis. Nadja has my spare keys, and she was at work. I would have called her, had her telephone number not been loaded in the memory on my mobile phone which was now locked in my house.

For a few moments, I was unsure of what to do. My dad and mom were a bit helpless, though my dad was ready to take action. (it's not as if this is the first time i've locked myself out...just the first time in Germany). I ran downstairs to see if anyone was in the pub, namely the owner, and sort of yelled to my mother that under no circumstances should she leave the apartment building, otherwise we would all be totally locked out.

Fortunately, the owner of the pub was in his garage. I sort of startled him as I ran in and said, "hi, I need to borrow your extension ladder if you've got one!" Thank goodness he did, and I lugged it back over to my backyard and leaned it up against the balcony, only to find it a bit too short.

My father assessed things for a minute, and decided that I could probably climb as high as I could, then sort of "swing" myself onto the balcony, which was about 1 meter beneath the bottom of the balcony.

"Er, I don't think so."

Back across to the pub, got the extra extension, and, with quite a bit of dad help, we got the ladder long enough to safely reach my balcony. My dad held the ladder firmly, while I climbed carefully up. It was rather a windy day, and I wasn't real thrilled at the whole situation, but my mom was in the background constantly saying, "Sam hold that ladder! Bryan, be careful!"

So, I made it safely to the balcony, got back inside the flat, opened the front door and order was restored. I was even only 5 minutes late to my appointment. Crisis abated, though I knew my folks (father particularly) would have a bit of a laugh about the experience later.

I was very grateful for their help, actually, and we did enjoy several chuckles together later that night at dinner.

The time flew by, and it was suddenly the weekend. We all went to a birthday dinner at a local Spanish restaurant last Saturday night, and it was quite the perfect way to finish their visit. They enjoyed themselves greatly, chatting with various friends and acquaintances, ultimately staying out very late, despite the fact that they had to catch an early flight to Poland the following morning.

We said our goodbyes outside of the restaurant, they went off to the taxi stand, and I went back in to join the festivities, hoping that they'd actually wake up for their flight the next morning.

I got the text message the following afternoon: "We're very cozy in our hotel and watching the snow outside. Thanks for a lovely time. Love, Mom."

Rockin. I'm very fortunate to have nice parents.

keep the faith
bryan

...this warm fuzzy posting is brought to you by hubba bubba (hooba booba) gum, and the little smiley with tongue out emoticon. This weeks soundtrack is a basic mix of Flesh for Lulu, Jesus and Mary Chain, and a handful of industrial covers of songs by the Cure.

Is it time for spring break yet?

Well, I was going to take a walk this afternoon, but a storm has blown in, and the wind is actually blowing gusts of 40 mph; kind of a good decision that I've elected to stay indoors, do a little laundry, and scribble.

It's been a bit of an interesting week on all fronts. Work was a little too quiet (of course, these things will happen when you start shifting your repair volumes out of your facility), and the reminder that things aren't so well positioned came forth with yet a few more announcements of people, "electing to pursue other interests outside the company."

I half jokingly told my boss that if he was going to send out an email similar to the other announcements he'd sent out during the week, this time with my name listed, that he'd better bloody tell me first. "No chance," he said. "You're going nowhere."

Oh goody.

Being the last man standing in a repair shop without anything to repair is not nearly as gratifying as being the last guy standing at, let's say a crawfish boil. However, perhaps I can take some comfort in the security that I'm bound to keep my job for quite some time, abeit the comfort may not be much better than trying to wrap yourself in saran wrap and thinking you're now wearing a raincoat.

Ironcially, no sooner had my boss made his comments, I found myself on two separate occasions coming in contact with someone who looked upon me as if I was the absolute last person on the planet that they wanted to see. Kind of a creepy feeling at the time, and mildly irritating. I mention it cos' I was sort of caught off guard; I hadn't done anything to offend or annoy. At any rate, pub crowds can be funny, sometimes, and I wrote the experience off as sheer coincidence that the two times I was even in the pub this week it happened.

It is entirely possible that it was my own false perception. I've just started reading a new book by Nick Hornby, and like always with his stuff, I tend to get a bit pensive. Combine that with exteremely heavy listening to the new Alkaline Trio album that came out this week, and maybe I just dreamed the whole thing. Who knows?

Indeed, it was all about the trio this week; I've been waiting on their new album for some time, and I was pretty pleased with the effort. My neighbor made a comment when we saw each other in the stairway yesterday, "Ah, so the loud music I keep hearing is coming from your flat!!"

Oh yes indeedy. I'm kind of partial to "the american scream," myself.

So, I've got a bit of ironing ahead of me this evening, and I must do a bit of flat cleaning over the next several days, as my parents arrive this coming Friday.

I'll get right on it as soon as I've tweaked the stereo volume up a notch...


keep the faith
bryan

Starting Lent in Style

In a moment of madness this past week, I wore plaid pants to work. OK, I really like these pants, and despite that I first bought them when I was 17, they've held up remarkably well. At least that's my opinion, save for a bit of a rip in the right pocket that happened during a trip to Ireland once.

A few colleagues gave me some shit for the day's outfit, albeit more for the schoolboy sweater than for the pants (ooh! Bryan's gone preppy!). I thought I would be able to compensate later in the week (more normal attire for me is more jeans and boots), but had forgotten that a few of us had decided to suit up for Thursday evening, when we went off to a new location for a quiz night. (said events are relatively popular around here, and though I don't play so regularly, the fact that the quiz master said something to me like, "you'd better be there you little fucker," pretty much made it a no brainer).

So, Thursday morning, I arrived to work in suit and tie to greetings of, "ohmygosh, what has happened to you?" or "are there customers on site today?" and the like. Even the lady at the canteen spilled a little soup when she saw me cut through the kitchen on the way outside to walk around on the patio (equate that to powersmoke and chug cups of awful coffee; a typical ritual of mine, as I tend to be unable to sit still for very long, and prefer to pace about when speaking on the telephone. Thus, I'm outside frequently through the course of the day, depending on how much I allow myself to smoke, how much my office partner with the booming voice prevents me from having my own telephone conversation, or how cold it is outside).

Overall, the feedback on my attire was relatively positive ("gee, bryan, now you look like you're our chef (boss)"), and later that evening when all of us arrived at the little cafe for the quiz, we sort of brought an intimidation factor with us, which had an effect on the other quiz particpants. The day before, I had made the argument that at least by dressing up, we might feel a bit more intelligent. Typically when I have played the quiz, I have felt tremendously inadequate, especially since the folks I normally play with tend to know the answers to most of the questions. My contributions usually come from the music round or from the rare question about North American geography (you wouldn't believe how many Europeans believe there are either 49 or 52 states in the US).

Our intimidation helped, but not quite enough. We went into the last round in first place, then lost a couple of easy points because yours truly forgot who sang "I Wear My Sunglasses at Night" and wrote down a name so silly that I won't even repeat it here.

Thus, we came in 2nd place, which meant we won some gift certificates to the cafe, which we promptly used to pay our beer tab. All in all, not a bad little evening, though we may not do the suit thing again soon.

I was a bit tired yesterday morning, and hoped to call it an early day, but ended up working very late, which meant I was absolutely exhausted by the time I got home. Only time for a pizza, a movie, and a little ice cream before I simply fell into bed.

The challenges of work continue to both motivate and sadden me. Each week, we have to lay off a few more folks through contract termination or whatever, and that's not always easy to take. I don't have the history here that some of the other folks do, and, as in any unstable work environment, we'll continue to lose some of the talent as people simply find a better solution for themselves, which will make it all the more difficult in future to build (or rebuild) a team.

Meanwhile, on the positive front (choke), more stuff gets shovelled my way and if I'm not careful, I will get stretched pretty thin over the coming months. Prague is at the "let's flop about and lose control stage," which will mean I'll have to go back over there pretty quickly. And, someone decided we should relocate our call center, so I'm going to be involved in that transition, too, and that will probably mean a trip or two to Ireland. Sounds ok to me, but I've also got to race about and keep all the other balls in the air. However, my whole life is about instability, and I tend to work best in this type of situation, so there you have it.

Of course, that means the ipod is blaring all kinds of music right now, particularly as I need the constant psych up (pscyho?) element. Mission UK has been in heavy rotation this week, but there was a brief morning commute to the Mighty Mighty Bosstones (which prompted the plaid pants wearing excursion in the first place).

So the soundtrack for the week will be "God's Own Medicine," straight through from start to finish.

keep the faith
bryan

(note to Moe - the fun thing I did for the week was a bit of a combo: instead of going to the New Model Army show at midweek (I should be a fan, but am not), I elected to see if Arsenal would find a new way to let me down in their Champs League match. I wasn't disappointed. There's just nothing quite like sitting there watching your team collapse in a comedy of errors...)

yawn, just killing time

Well, it's been an interesting week of firsts.

I managed to finally tick the box and visited the Staedel Museum. There has been a Botticelli exhibit on display for the past few months, and I managed to squeeze in the trip before it ends next week. I'm not really one of those guys that is frequently walking around art galleries, but I do enjoy the experience when it comes up, and I certainly was not disappointed, despite the 45 minutes of queuing outside in the cold.

That was a rather decent way to start the week, and the culture mix continued when I went to a little poetry reading/interpretation at a library in the city on Wednesday evening. A South African author who writes very angry poetry gave a bit of a talk, and rapped from several of the books he's written over the past 17 years or so. He's a little older than I am, and I appreciated his bitter sarcasm. I'm probably not going to run out and buy his works, but it was pretty interesting seeing and hearing his take on the happenings in his country over the past 25 years.

What I found even more interesting was the way the mediator would translate his comments into German for the audience. I got the feeling most everyone there had a relatively good grasp of English (which this guy spoke and read in), but the author's candor was pretty aggressive. He spoke very graphically, and I smiled more than once at some times that Whit and I used to make some very similar references and expressions when we were much younger. Of course, I'll in know way suggest that Whit or I was on the same level as this guy. How can you compare "turning someone over and eating them like an ice cream cone," to the rage this guy expressed about the plight of the people of his country.

At any rate, the question and answer session at the end of the talk was also quite enjoyable. More than once, the dialog went astray, due in part to language barrier, but due more to the fact that this guy had a tendency to be a smart ass whenever the opportunity presented itself.

But, it was quite the way to spend an evening.

Earlier in the week, I'd decided to take the day off on Friday. I've worked half this year in Prague, and needed a day to sort of get things in order around the house. Had I remembered to turn my alarm clock off, perhaps I wouldn't have woken up so early Friday morning, as I'd been out a little late the night before. Fortunately, I did manage to turn over and go back to sleep for a couple of hours, thus having a bit of a lie in. However, I woke up and realized that I'd not turned my "out of office assistant" on, which meant that a fair amount of emails were in need of response.

I made myself a coffee, then took care of the work. (priorities first, you know)

Then, a few hours later, I was trying to convince myself to go to the gym, when an opportunity to go shopping presented itself, and about 30 minutes later, I set foot in an Ikea for the very first time. I held out as long as I could, I must say, and overall, I can understand why the place is constantly full of people stocking up on things that I'm sure they justify are really needed for their household. Since my flat is already kitted, it's not as if I need to visit Ikea on a regular basis, but I noted that there are some cool things on offer. I did buy a bit of bed linen, so you might say that at least I took away a souvineer.

So, I'd do (and will do) all three things again, when the chances arise. Personally, I'd bet I'm more likely to be in the museum or the library again before hanging out in the picture frame department of a furniture warehouse, but you've got to do it sometimes, eh?

I'll leave it at that for today; perhaps one of the most boring posts I've put up in a long time.

next week - more details on what happens when some idiot technician uses a customer's laptop to surf the internet and pull down as much gansta rap as possible while chatting online at flirt.com during the repair process - tentative title will be something along the lines of, "why diplomacy helps a fuckload in the job of a program manager."

keep the faith
bryan

It helps to be on the bleeding edge, sometimes...

I won't say that I've been blocked from writing over the past couple of months, but putting up a little post here, that's another thing. Fortunately, and great thanks to Pablo for the inspiration and a wonderful one way Sykpe conversation in the middle of the night, I'm getting myself back into gear.

The notebook I always carry (for those moments on the train or in the pub when I feel compelled to put pen to paper) is filled with an incomplete write up of my brief visit to Spain for the holidays and a story I started writing last September for a friend of mine.

I marked my 10th year on the trot doing the Spanish Christmas thing, and as I said years ago in one of the initial write ups, if my sister lived somewhere else, I'd be visiting her and her family there; it's just particularly cool for me that she doesn't live somewhere else.

Here's the very very brief version of the write up: some projectile vomiting which wasn't a particularly pleasant way to begin the trip, a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, celebration that my irish local in valencia has finally got their kitchen reopened (after a 3 year hiatus), lovely visits with my old friends and colleagues from around the city (special thanks to Steph and Jose Miguel), joy that my efforts to maintain a decent level of ability in the language haven't been in vain, several hours helping my sister work on her masters course, several more hours building and rebuilding various things with legos, a bit of cash spent on updating the wardrobe (though still focused heavily on black, white, and shades of gray), some groovy moments tickling the ivories, nice coffees, pensive walks by myself around the city, moments of reflection on the terrace, and a really lengthy layover in Barajas on the return leg.

A nice trip, and would have been absolutely brilliant had the vomiting not happened. Actually, it was more the aftermath that was unpleasant. It seems that everytime I'm physically ill, every blood vessel around my eyes explodes, thus making me appear more frightening than usual. Unfortunately, I failed to notice this until I got to the check in desk at Iberia, when the woman almost fainted when she saw me, then regained her composure and gave me my boarding card.

It took most of the flight before I started feeling better, so was more or less able to laugh off the "holy shit what happened to you?" comments that came my way over the next couple of days. (said experience typically only lasts 2 long days).

So much for pub send offs the night before beginning Christmas break...

The new year started quietly for me, just the way I prefer it, but it has taken off considerably.
I spent half of January in Prague, helping support the transition of our program. While it's a bit sad to regularly see colleagues from my own site released, I'm still motivated by the new challenges.

It's a bit of a fresh start, I must say. Taking several walks around some cool cities over the past weeks has helped bring me some much needed clarity, though I'm not urging everyone to walk the streets of Valencia, Prague or Frankfurt in sub zero temperatures in order to figure themselves out. But it worked for me, for both the personal and professional elements of my life.

A couple of Saturdays ago I sat in a cozy pub collecting my thoughts (walking around outside in the snow requires such a thing), and was suprised and touched when one of the staff came up to me, saying that she had remembered me from my previous visit to Prague two years before. It's sometimes nice to be thought of, or remembered; strange that it happened in one of the busiest pubs in the city where there aren't that many patrons that I would call regulars.

So, comforted by the warmth of the pub and the friendly greeting, I found myself finishing a story that I started last September. I'd worked on it regularly until late November, with little "interludes" mixed in periodically, depending on which way the emotions were blowing at the time. In the end, I discovered that it was more of a journal piece, and one best left in the journal. On the one side, it was good to reach an end; new realization set in, which helped me close the chapter. On the other side, there's always that bit of regret, maybe even remorse, that I find when I come to the end of a difficult chapter.

However, after a reread, I understood that the story had more to do with me, and thank goodness that it will remain only in my journal. As I put the cap back on my pen, I thought to myself how fortunate I am that no one can read my handwriting. (note - that's one of the advantages to writing while drinking a few beers)

Thus, chapter completed, on with the next one. Hey ho, let's go.

keep the faith
bryan

soundtrack:
The Alarm - Knife Edge
Bouncing Souls - A Life Less Ordinary