"I wish it would get hot."
I keep thinking of my father's quip this week as we endure ridiculous warm temperatures in Frankfurt. Sure, it is still awfully hot in Texas, hotter than in Germany, but still, it is simply unpleasant.
Another banner statement Dad likes to use is "It's all in your head."
The way I try to use that quote is by trying to convince myself that a situation does not suck nearly as much as I think it does. Sometimes this can be more successful than other times.
The week itself did not get off to a particularly good start. The weather forecast was pretty grim, but I took a short break during the workday to get out of the stifling flat (even with the balcony door open) and walk to the grocery store. At the check out counter, I carefully counted out exactly 52,46 euro, precisely 10 euros more than the actual bill. The check out lady took my money, put it in the drawer, then handed me my receipt without giving the 10 euro note back as change.
"Um, could I get the 10 euro back, please?" I asked politely.
"I did already," she responded, pointing to my left hand.
Showing her the shopping list (on the post it note) in my left hand, I said, "No, you didn't."
She then responded, "Really?"
Really.
She reluctantly went on to give me the 10 euro, then had me sign the store copy of the receipt, putting my telephone number on there as well. When they would count the drawers out later at shift end, they would check for any mismatch.
On the way home from the store, I realized that I probably could have put ANY telephone number down, but that never would have occurred to me. Probably people do this regularly, but I have never deliberately done something like that. Furthermore, I did check my cash once I got back home. I was already going to have to make a trip to the cash point as part of my weekly routine, but I was absolutely sure that I had not "duped" the woman.
It's all in your head....and sometimes your head can play tricks, right?
All things considered, the incident was not really a big deal, and I dismissed it quickly from my mind. The following morning I had plenty of other things to deal with.
Fruit Flies.
Over the past months I have really gotten on a banana kick, and am always keeping a bunch on the counter for me to snack on. This has been working really well until Tuesday morning, when I discovered that a couple of the bananas in the bunch had gotten a bit too ripe and actually split open. This attracted a rather large swarm of fruit flies who merrily invaded my kitchen before I really could grasp what was happening.
This was not "in my head."
I quickly discarded the bananas, then did a bit of research on how best to clear the flies from my kitchen fastest way possible. The whole process took the majority of the day, and I was only slightly satisfied that evening when I escaped to the pub for a few outdoor beers, getting away from the annoying flies and the stillness of the flat.
Actually, being outside this week is not much better than being inside. There is hardly any wind, so it is just still and hot.
Suck.
Before going to bed Tuesday evening, I laid another little fruit fly trap on my kitchen counter.
Wednesday morning, I got kind of grossed out when I entered my kitchen to find a bunch of dead flies in the trap. I cleaned things up before I started coffee preparations. That went OK, but then the heat really started getting to me, and I found myself really struggling to concentrate on work. I was waiting on a package to be delivered from something I had ordered online, and was glad when the doorbell rang around noon. Sure enough, I got my package, and then went on to sign for three other packages. This is not unusual, but I failed to realize that the three packages were actually supposed to be delivered to other people who live on my street, but not in my house.
This suggests that the delivery guy was a lazy jerk who didn't want to take time trying to deliver the packages. Instead, he put that monkey on me.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang; it was one of the package recipients, so I was glad to get one less thing off my list of things to have to deal with. I proceeded to open the package I had received, then proceeded to assemble it. I had ordered some dumbbells last month, which I am really pleased with. However, I needed a little stand for them, and there was a bit of assembly required.
Once that task was completed, I decided to take a little time to lie down on the floor to rest my back, which was acting up a bit due to the heat. I then took a look at what was new on netflix, and discovered that a few of the Diary of a Wimpy Kid movies were suddenly available.
In an effort to encourage my nephew to get excited about reading, my mother got him started on the series of books that came out about ten years ago. It turns out that my nephew really liked them, and once he was current, he started receiving any new book (there are about 10 in the series, now) that came out as a birthday or Christmas gift.
Once when I was visiting Daniel, I was looking for something to read, and I ended up getting started on the series, then proceeded to catch up with him on the later releases. I really enjoyed them, too, so started looking forward to each new book in the series.
Well, I never really picked up on the fact that they had put out a few films, but I spent the rest of Wednesday watching the light comedies, and just tried to relax and stay cool. It made for a rather pleasant evening, although it never really got much cooler.
That night, I kind of dreamed about being a wimp; the week had been sort of tough so far, although the issues were all sort of insignificant. Still, I was not in the greatest of moods (I never am, when it is hot as shit), so dreamy restful sleep was appreciated.
Of course, when the baby that lives next door started crying in the middle of the night, I was not too thrilled. Most of me was relatively OK with it. After all, a crying child is a very natural thing. I might argue that the timing was not so great, but as Chris always says, "With kids, all plans are subject to change."
Yes, indeedy.
Thursday, I woke up in slightly better humor, and told myself to get excited about making it a good day. My back was feeling better, and I thought things were gonna be pretty good. Then, as I was getting out of the shower, the telephone rang. The executive director of my partner in Slovenia was calling. And he was not calling to just say hello I hope you are having a good day.
I will not bore you with the details about our call, but it was a decent enough call. Sure, the guy's message was very clear. I assured him I was doing everything (and would be finding a way to do even more) to help get his burning issues resolved quickest way possible.
The conversation took a bit out of me, particularly as his valid points were also my own irritations, and ones that I had already been struggling through with with my internal colleagues, unfortunately with very little support or success. That did not put me the best "hippty hoorah" moods, but I told myself, "Hey, it's all in your head."
Recently I have spent a lot more time working on my mental approach to how I deal with things that piss me off. I am grateful that I am no longer as angry as I might have been (in my 20s, 30s, and early 40s). A lot of that is me just maturing, but I really have helped teach myself how to not get so worked up about things that are absolutely not worth worrying about. But, rather than dismiss something with a sarcastic remark, I try to put a more positive twist on things. It is helping.
With that, I finished up my workday, ran and got a needed haircut (for those hairs that still remain), then headed to the pub to enjoy a few beers outside in the heat.
Chatting with friends was fun, the liquid refreshment was tasty, and things were going along just fine until a wasp came up and stung me on the leg.
Dang, that hurt.
Hey, it's all in your head.
Rather than complain, I just sort of said, "well, that could have been worse," and about five seconds later, it did get worse. For my friend, who also got stung by another wasp. He is allergic, so had to take immediate action and take the medication. Fortunately, everything sorted itself out quickly, and we continued taking our refreshments, until I figured it was time for a little takeout pizza and home to the couch.
That was a good decision. The pizza was tasty, and I enjoyed half a film before falling asleep on the couch, starting to dream about being a penguin. A blue one, which is what I am on my netflix login.
Sure, I felt cooler during the night as I slept, and when the baby started crying, this time for quite a bit longer than the nights before, I did wake up.
But hey, it's all in my head, and I am a penguin!
Today is not too bad, even though the heat continues with a real purpose. So, I will go see if a couple of beers will help take the edge off. Time for the weekend.
see you out there
bryan
Friday, July 27, 2018
Thursday, July 19, 2018
Great Moves
Like many other people, I have taken part in my share of moves over the years: moving in and out of the college dorms while in university, moving into my first apartment after college, moving on to Boston, then moving back to Texas. Of course, we cannot forget the relocation to Spain, then Germany and eventually into the flat where I have resided the last 12 years.
Additionally, I helped quite a few people over the years with their own moves. It's just what you do.
Upon arriving in Germany, I have continued to lend a helping hand (and back) whenever possible. A German girl I met while living in Spain called on me soon after I arrived in Frankfurt to seek my assistance for her move. At the time, she was living a few blocks away from me, but was going to move out of the WG (Wohngemeinschaft) and in with her fiance.
Though quite some years ago, I do remember showing up at her flat, only to find that she had not really started packing yet. On top of that, no one else had apparently shown up to help with the move. Fortunately, her father and brother did show up a little while later. However, that really just meant that more people were sitting around waiting for her to get her act together and get things sorted. This was a little awkward due to the fact that no one in her family spoke any English and my German was in the really early stages; basic "moving" vocabulary was still several months away from me.
In the end, we got Svenja moved, and I did actually feel helpful and productive.
A couple of years later, a group of rallied to help Nadja move from her WG to Bornheim. We had a better turn out of helpers, but Nadja had a lot of boxes of books. Heavy. But, again, we got it done.
Things went rather quiet on the relocation front for several years, until about 3 years ago, when my buddy Mono asked for some assistance in moving his office. I certainly said yes I will be glad to help, and on that particular Sunday morning, a group of about 6 of us all turned up to help move his gear. Mono is a graphic artist, so most of his office equipment was heavy and bulky. Fortunately, Mono planned things out really really well, so we actually got the van loaded quickly and efficiently.
Unloading was about the same; heavy but manageable. All of us helping out seemed to click and work really well together.
It really is all about the preparation. During that move a few years ago, we all commented on how well things went. Likewise, we all traded stories from previous experiences where the move did not go so well. Once we got Mono into his new office, we all sat around and celebrated with a few bottles of beer. As you do.
Alas, the shop owner where Mono had his office went out of business last year, so in August 2017, he
once again asked for assistance. This time, we would move from the shop to a studio in an office building in a town about 15 minutes drive from our neighborhood. 6 of us showed up that Sunday morning (Sundays are the best days for these kinds of operations, due to less traffic, etc) and were again pleased (but not surprised) that everything was prepared to be put in the moving van.
We efficiently and quickly got the van loaded, drove to the next town, and unloaded things without too much difficulty. True, we were all quite gratified to be able to use the loading elevator to get all of the bulky stuff up to the office. Again, things went really really smoothly.
Afterwards, we headed off to the kiosk for the post move beers; Mono shelled out for drinks as his way of saying thanks. As you do. (In fact, every time I have helped someone move in Germany, or the states, for that matter, the person was always grateful for the help and gladly bought us several rounds of drinks)
Unfortunately, not long after that move from August 2017, we found that the days Mono would be able to have his office in the next town were sort of numbered. We were not really sure when we would have to move him again, but we new the day would come.
And that day came four days ago.
Since I had done this twice already, there was certainly no doubt that Mono had made all the necessary preparations, making sure that everything was organized.
At 10am last Sunday, I met Mono and then was pleased when his brother-in-law showed up. The three of us drove to the office and met a fourth guy. We would be the primary guys doing the move, and we did not dilly dally. We jumped right on it and started shoving stuff in the freight elevator so as to get the truck loaded. Most of the things were pretty bulky, but we had two guys down on the dock, Mono shuttling in the elevator, and I was upstairs clearing the office.
We made some pretty decent time and by about close to noon we were closing the truck doors and headed back for Bornheim, making one small stop to re-shut the rear door.
True, it was really warm outside, and it was about to get warmer. From time to time, usually in the middle of situations exactly like this one, my father tends to quip, "Gee, I wish it would get hot..." which tended to bring a couple of grim smiles.
I refrained from making such a remark as we started unloading the truck in front of Mono's building. The task now was to get everything upstairs to his apartment.
On the fourth floor.
No. This time, there was no elevator.
And, for those readers not so familiar with how Europeans count the stories in a building, I will quickly explain that the ground floor is just that, on the ground level. Thus, the first story is really the second story. Thus, we had quite a few flights of steps between Mono's flat and the street level.
We actually all got a little frazzled for a few minutes as we tried to coordinate and plan the best attack. The facts were: all the stuff was heavy as shit, most of it was awkward to carry, and the two heaviest items were the LAST things that we would be bringing up stairs.
For a few minutes, we experimented on how best to bring things inside. Should we bring everything up to the first or second floor, then have a couple of the other guys bring it the rest of the way upstairs? Should we go from point A to B with every little item?
It was at the moment I considered making my father's quip that I had avoided a few minutes before. Luckily I saw the look on someone's face and decided to keep my mouth closed. We all knew we simply had to get things done.
Well, the sweat was pouring, and I quickly felt like I was running out of gas. The more stuff I carried, the more stuff there seemed to be, and things were just really starting to suck.
Still, we pushed on.
I decided to start hauling things all the way up to the top, and hoped I would not faint along the way. Everyone else was in the same boat as me, and none of us are particularly young anymore. As I left the flat to go back down for another load, I heard a few new voices in the stairwell. Connie and Tobi had arrived to help!
A little weeping for joy happened, and then the six of us continued to trudge up and down the flights of stairs to get Mono's gear inside his flat.
Jokes were few and far between, and despite the fact that Connie and Tobi were younger and fresher, they, too were quickly sweaty as all get out. Finally, we realized that we getting closer and closer to getting everything upstairs, so we took a couple of minutes to stand on the street for a break.
Smoke em if you got em.
I did.
Kind of wish I hadn't, since I was feeling like I had just been trapped on a runaway stair-master with an extra 50 kgs strapped to my back.
All of us were really dreading the final task; inside the truck were the two table tops, perfect for workstations for a graphic artist who needs to spread a lot of things out on the table. They are super sturdy and exceptionally heavy. We looked at them in the truck, then roused ourselves to make it happen.
These tops are about 1 meter x almost 2 meter. I already said they are heavy (maybe 50 kilos or so), but usually between two of us we could move them in and out of the moving van. Taking them up to the fourth floor of the building was going to be a different trick. For the first one, we actually did it with about 2 and 1/2 people, and almost regretted it. No one was looking forward to the second top.
This time round, we used three people, and almost did not make it, mostly because we were all just wrecked. In the end, we took it very very slowly (erm, there really was no other way) and paused on every half-landing. And finally we got it inside the flat.
With great relief, we all smiled wearily, looking and feeling very grubby and sweaty.
"Kiosk?" asked Mono, though it was really more of a directive than a question.
Mono, Connie, Tobi, and I all headed down the street to the kiosk and much needed refreshment. The other 2 guys headed off to get on with the rest of their day.
So, I stood around Sunday afternoon drinking a few beers, enjoying the sunshine and not least of all that the move was now complete. At least our part of it. Mono would have to get his set up organized and unpack his various boxes, but that was for another day.
Of course, Sunday afternoon was also the World Cup Final. France vs Croatia.
I was certainly going to watch the match, but was leaning towards home viewing, especially since I was really feeling the heat and physical exertion from the past 4 and half hours. (Wish it would get hot.) And that is exactly what I did. Feeling a bit loopy after 4 beers and no brekkie, I picked up some take-away Thai and headed home to my couch.
The food was delicious, and I elected to take a nap on my living room floor until the kick-off.
Here is where I will give my feedback on the overall tournament. It was so much better than I expected it to be. Sure, Germany and Spain crashed out way earlier than anyone expected, but some of the "smaller" teams did themselves proud, and there were plenty of enjoyable matches. Sure, I caught quite a few of them at the pub, but equally enjoyed watching a few of the games quietly from my own living room. Again, home office helps, as I was able to follow all the group stage matches which were going on during my afternoons.
What I particularly enjoyed this time round was trading messages with Pablo. He was watching a much as he could from the states, and we could catch up in the hangouts on various bits and pieces, never mind the exciting moments of the WC, including the use of VAR, surprise comebacks by the likes of Belgium, and certainly the endurance and drive of team Croatia. Cheers Pablo.
The following day, we once again met at the kiosk, and Mono and I discussed how it went. Both of us agreed that it did suck. (One of the other guys took the time to post on Facebook how much he hated friends that moved....only half intended as a joke, I imagine). Due to the multiple flights of stairs, I was really feeling my legs. Here, days later, I am not feeling like I need to do any squats or other training.
Those two table tops are still fresh memories, but hopefully, this will have been the last time that I need to actively participate in a move. Of course, if someone were to ask me for assistance with taking a large box of cotton balls downstairs, or if someone needed a couple of crates of stuffed animals relocated, I would consider it. However, I am really kind of inclined to say, "Nie wieder."
I am not saying it wasn't fun in it's sadistic sort of way, I am just saying, time for me to use my time doing other activities. Enjoying the summer, for example. Or visiting the new Thai restaurant that just opened up down the street.
see you out there
bryan
Additionally, I helped quite a few people over the years with their own moves. It's just what you do.
Upon arriving in Germany, I have continued to lend a helping hand (and back) whenever possible. A German girl I met while living in Spain called on me soon after I arrived in Frankfurt to seek my assistance for her move. At the time, she was living a few blocks away from me, but was going to move out of the WG (Wohngemeinschaft) and in with her fiance.
Though quite some years ago, I do remember showing up at her flat, only to find that she had not really started packing yet. On top of that, no one else had apparently shown up to help with the move. Fortunately, her father and brother did show up a little while later. However, that really just meant that more people were sitting around waiting for her to get her act together and get things sorted. This was a little awkward due to the fact that no one in her family spoke any English and my German was in the really early stages; basic "moving" vocabulary was still several months away from me.
In the end, we got Svenja moved, and I did actually feel helpful and productive.
A couple of years later, a group of rallied to help Nadja move from her WG to Bornheim. We had a better turn out of helpers, but Nadja had a lot of boxes of books. Heavy. But, again, we got it done.
Things went rather quiet on the relocation front for several years, until about 3 years ago, when my buddy Mono asked for some assistance in moving his office. I certainly said yes I will be glad to help, and on that particular Sunday morning, a group of about 6 of us all turned up to help move his gear. Mono is a graphic artist, so most of his office equipment was heavy and bulky. Fortunately, Mono planned things out really really well, so we actually got the van loaded quickly and efficiently.
Unloading was about the same; heavy but manageable. All of us helping out seemed to click and work really well together.
It really is all about the preparation. During that move a few years ago, we all commented on how well things went. Likewise, we all traded stories from previous experiences where the move did not go so well. Once we got Mono into his new office, we all sat around and celebrated with a few bottles of beer. As you do.
Alas, the shop owner where Mono had his office went out of business last year, so in August 2017, he
once again asked for assistance. This time, we would move from the shop to a studio in an office building in a town about 15 minutes drive from our neighborhood. 6 of us showed up that Sunday morning (Sundays are the best days for these kinds of operations, due to less traffic, etc) and were again pleased (but not surprised) that everything was prepared to be put in the moving van.
We efficiently and quickly got the van loaded, drove to the next town, and unloaded things without too much difficulty. True, we were all quite gratified to be able to use the loading elevator to get all of the bulky stuff up to the office. Again, things went really really smoothly.
Afterwards, we headed off to the kiosk for the post move beers; Mono shelled out for drinks as his way of saying thanks. As you do. (In fact, every time I have helped someone move in Germany, or the states, for that matter, the person was always grateful for the help and gladly bought us several rounds of drinks)
Unfortunately, not long after that move from August 2017, we found that the days Mono would be able to have his office in the next town were sort of numbered. We were not really sure when we would have to move him again, but we new the day would come.
And that day came four days ago.
Since I had done this twice already, there was certainly no doubt that Mono had made all the necessary preparations, making sure that everything was organized.
At 10am last Sunday, I met Mono and then was pleased when his brother-in-law showed up. The three of us drove to the office and met a fourth guy. We would be the primary guys doing the move, and we did not dilly dally. We jumped right on it and started shoving stuff in the freight elevator so as to get the truck loaded. Most of the things were pretty bulky, but we had two guys down on the dock, Mono shuttling in the elevator, and I was upstairs clearing the office.
We made some pretty decent time and by about close to noon we were closing the truck doors and headed back for Bornheim, making one small stop to re-shut the rear door.
True, it was really warm outside, and it was about to get warmer. From time to time, usually in the middle of situations exactly like this one, my father tends to quip, "Gee, I wish it would get hot..." which tended to bring a couple of grim smiles.
I refrained from making such a remark as we started unloading the truck in front of Mono's building. The task now was to get everything upstairs to his apartment.
On the fourth floor.
No. This time, there was no elevator.
And, for those readers not so familiar with how Europeans count the stories in a building, I will quickly explain that the ground floor is just that, on the ground level. Thus, the first story is really the second story. Thus, we had quite a few flights of steps between Mono's flat and the street level.
We actually all got a little frazzled for a few minutes as we tried to coordinate and plan the best attack. The facts were: all the stuff was heavy as shit, most of it was awkward to carry, and the two heaviest items were the LAST things that we would be bringing up stairs.
For a few minutes, we experimented on how best to bring things inside. Should we bring everything up to the first or second floor, then have a couple of the other guys bring it the rest of the way upstairs? Should we go from point A to B with every little item?
It was at the moment I considered making my father's quip that I had avoided a few minutes before. Luckily I saw the look on someone's face and decided to keep my mouth closed. We all knew we simply had to get things done.
Well, the sweat was pouring, and I quickly felt like I was running out of gas. The more stuff I carried, the more stuff there seemed to be, and things were just really starting to suck.
Still, we pushed on.
I decided to start hauling things all the way up to the top, and hoped I would not faint along the way. Everyone else was in the same boat as me, and none of us are particularly young anymore. As I left the flat to go back down for another load, I heard a few new voices in the stairwell. Connie and Tobi had arrived to help!
A little weeping for joy happened, and then the six of us continued to trudge up and down the flights of stairs to get Mono's gear inside his flat.
Jokes were few and far between, and despite the fact that Connie and Tobi were younger and fresher, they, too were quickly sweaty as all get out. Finally, we realized that we getting closer and closer to getting everything upstairs, so we took a couple of minutes to stand on the street for a break.
Smoke em if you got em.
I did.
Kind of wish I hadn't, since I was feeling like I had just been trapped on a runaway stair-master with an extra 50 kgs strapped to my back.
All of us were really dreading the final task; inside the truck were the two table tops, perfect for workstations for a graphic artist who needs to spread a lot of things out on the table. They are super sturdy and exceptionally heavy. We looked at them in the truck, then roused ourselves to make it happen.
These tops are about 1 meter x almost 2 meter. I already said they are heavy (maybe 50 kilos or so), but usually between two of us we could move them in and out of the moving van. Taking them up to the fourth floor of the building was going to be a different trick. For the first one, we actually did it with about 2 and 1/2 people, and almost regretted it. No one was looking forward to the second top.
This time round, we used three people, and almost did not make it, mostly because we were all just wrecked. In the end, we took it very very slowly (erm, there really was no other way) and paused on every half-landing. And finally we got it inside the flat.
With great relief, we all smiled wearily, looking and feeling very grubby and sweaty.
"Kiosk?" asked Mono, though it was really more of a directive than a question.
Mono, Connie, Tobi, and I all headed down the street to the kiosk and much needed refreshment. The other 2 guys headed off to get on with the rest of their day.
So, I stood around Sunday afternoon drinking a few beers, enjoying the sunshine and not least of all that the move was now complete. At least our part of it. Mono would have to get his set up organized and unpack his various boxes, but that was for another day.
Of course, Sunday afternoon was also the World Cup Final. France vs Croatia.
I was certainly going to watch the match, but was leaning towards home viewing, especially since I was really feeling the heat and physical exertion from the past 4 and half hours. (Wish it would get hot.) And that is exactly what I did. Feeling a bit loopy after 4 beers and no brekkie, I picked up some take-away Thai and headed home to my couch.
The food was delicious, and I elected to take a nap on my living room floor until the kick-off.
Here is where I will give my feedback on the overall tournament. It was so much better than I expected it to be. Sure, Germany and Spain crashed out way earlier than anyone expected, but some of the "smaller" teams did themselves proud, and there were plenty of enjoyable matches. Sure, I caught quite a few of them at the pub, but equally enjoyed watching a few of the games quietly from my own living room. Again, home office helps, as I was able to follow all the group stage matches which were going on during my afternoons.
What I particularly enjoyed this time round was trading messages with Pablo. He was watching a much as he could from the states, and we could catch up in the hangouts on various bits and pieces, never mind the exciting moments of the WC, including the use of VAR, surprise comebacks by the likes of Belgium, and certainly the endurance and drive of team Croatia. Cheers Pablo.
The following day, we once again met at the kiosk, and Mono and I discussed how it went. Both of us agreed that it did suck. (One of the other guys took the time to post on Facebook how much he hated friends that moved....only half intended as a joke, I imagine). Due to the multiple flights of stairs, I was really feeling my legs. Here, days later, I am not feeling like I need to do any squats or other training.
Those two table tops are still fresh memories, but hopefully, this will have been the last time that I need to actively participate in a move. Of course, if someone were to ask me for assistance with taking a large box of cotton balls downstairs, or if someone needed a couple of crates of stuffed animals relocated, I would consider it. However, I am really kind of inclined to say, "Nie wieder."
I am not saying it wasn't fun in it's sadistic sort of way, I am just saying, time for me to use my time doing other activities. Enjoying the summer, for example. Or visiting the new Thai restaurant that just opened up down the street.
see you out there
bryan
Thursday, July 05, 2018
Catching a Breath
In fairness, I fully intended to get a post written a few weeks ago. The topic had been chosen, and the ideas were floating around in my head. Then, the World Cup started...
This marks the fourth WC that I have been able to view from Europe, and each time I have always appreciated how fantastic the atmosphere is. The whole community just has a buzz about it as people follow the tournament. Sure, I have fond memories of watching WCs when I lived in the US, but despite the growing number of fans who sort of follow the sport in that country, it is simply not the same.
As an example, last week the local newspaper in Dallas posted an article about the ONE place that a fan could best watch the tournament. It just happens to be an English Pub not far from Chris's office, and a pub that I used to visit from time to time when I lived in Dallas. True, it is a good place to go to watch matches (both domestic and international), and both Pablo and my father mentioned the article to me during the course of the week.
Meanwhile, there are about 35 restaurants and bars between my house and the five minute walk to the U-Bahn station. All 35 of those establishments have screens up and are showing ALL of the matches. And, in most cases, particularly for the "bigger" games, those places are full.
Of course, the weather tends to help out; during summer most cafes are pretty full during the afternoons and evenings as everyone enjoys some time outside. This alone makes for a rather pleasant atmosphere. Add the buzz of a footy tournament and the excitement level goes up a couple of notches.
A friend of mine who left Germany last summer to return to the states arrived last week with the intent to experience the WC viewing. He, too, is well aware of how much fun it can be.
Unfortunately, the day he arrived was the day of the last group stage game that Germany were to play. Germany HAD to win in order to advance to the next round.
Those readers who have been following the tournament are already aware of what happened next: a complete and utter crash out. Germany exited the WC in the first round for the first time since many many years, and the fact that they were the Cup holders was just all the more of a kick in the teeth.
That being said, most of the Germans I know all said pretty much the same thing, "We played like crap, never got our act together, and we deserved to crash out."
I was kind of rooting for Germany as well, but I tend to stay a little more neutral in recent years. I know this might come as a slight surprise to guys like Brandon and maybe even Tim, but now days, I simply prefer to watch an exciting event.
The day after Dave arrived, my sister and nephew arrived to spend a long weekend with me in Frankfurt. I had been eagerly anticipating their visit, and was particularly excited that they, too, would be able to share in the neighborhood atmosphere of a World Cup summer. I had already checked the match schedules, and knew that we would have an important Spanish match during the Sunday afternoon.
My sister and I had really no special plans other than to hang out and enjoy the time together. As visits go, I was really pleased that they were here. Part of me suspects that my teen-age nephew was not totally thrilled, but unfortunately I am not all together up to date on what would make a typical teen enjoy visiting another European city. I mean, we were able to hang out in various cafes, went to a cookout at a friend's house, and were able to catch several matches on the various screens. We did hang out in the local market in my neighborhood, and also took a quick walk around the city.
Most people (ie...my father, other friends, aunts and uncles, as well as my sister,on her previous visits) tend to really enjoy the first hand experience of meeting a lot of people in my neighborhood. I have a fair amount of friends and acquaintances, and I am always touched that my local Kumpels look forward to meeting any guests that come to visit me. They actually go out of their way to introduce themselves, engage with my visitors, and ask after my relatives after they have left.
This was totally the case this past weekend. My sister and I had a wonderful time just sitting on the balcony and chatting. My nephew could spend his time on his phone (using my Wifi) and could do his own thing. We were all out and about regularly just meeting and greeting in a relaxed environment. Some other friends came in from out of town, so the whole weekend was pretty active, but in a low-key way. Several people mentioned how much it seemed like "old times."
Old times. New Times. I would probably say simply, "Good times."
And through it all, football matches every day.
Monday afternoon I was going through my let-down period after my sister and nephew headed to the airport, but that evening I was back at the kiosk for the normal Monday evening activities. The particular match that evening was Belgium vs Japan, which turned out to be one of the more exciting matches of the tournament so far.
Tuesday evening, England had to play Colombia, and again, the match became rather dramatic. Unlike the match on Sunday when Spain crashed out on penalties (to the great disappointment of not only my nephew, but yours truly), England actually got through on penalties, which is extremely unusual.
Yesterday was the first day without football pretty much since the tournament started almost 3 weeks ago. After work, I ventured over to the pub for a quiet (extremely quiet) beer outside.
A few other folks were also at the pub, and all of them asked if my sister and nephew had enjoyed their visit and gotten home OK. Then, they also remarked on how absolutely still it was outside. Hardly anyone was walking around or sitting outside; it was a tremendous contrast to the previous weeks when it almost seemed like a nonstop festival going on in the neighborhood.
I absolutely loved it. I greatly enjoy moments of quiet and peace. The summer holidays have started in Frankfurt, so a lot of people are off on vacation anyway. Take away football and it was almost eerily quiet. Almost similar to a really cold winter's day, when hardly anyone (except for myself) ventures outside.
As much as I like football, I really enjoyed a moment where nothing was going on. Tomorrow the matches resume and the streets and cafes will be full. Besides, the weekend is coming.
Glad I could take the time last evening to simply catch my breath.
see you out there
bryan
This marks the fourth WC that I have been able to view from Europe, and each time I have always appreciated how fantastic the atmosphere is. The whole community just has a buzz about it as people follow the tournament. Sure, I have fond memories of watching WCs when I lived in the US, but despite the growing number of fans who sort of follow the sport in that country, it is simply not the same.
As an example, last week the local newspaper in Dallas posted an article about the ONE place that a fan could best watch the tournament. It just happens to be an English Pub not far from Chris's office, and a pub that I used to visit from time to time when I lived in Dallas. True, it is a good place to go to watch matches (both domestic and international), and both Pablo and my father mentioned the article to me during the course of the week.
Meanwhile, there are about 35 restaurants and bars between my house and the five minute walk to the U-Bahn station. All 35 of those establishments have screens up and are showing ALL of the matches. And, in most cases, particularly for the "bigger" games, those places are full.
Of course, the weather tends to help out; during summer most cafes are pretty full during the afternoons and evenings as everyone enjoys some time outside. This alone makes for a rather pleasant atmosphere. Add the buzz of a footy tournament and the excitement level goes up a couple of notches.
A friend of mine who left Germany last summer to return to the states arrived last week with the intent to experience the WC viewing. He, too, is well aware of how much fun it can be.
Unfortunately, the day he arrived was the day of the last group stage game that Germany were to play. Germany HAD to win in order to advance to the next round.
Those readers who have been following the tournament are already aware of what happened next: a complete and utter crash out. Germany exited the WC in the first round for the first time since many many years, and the fact that they were the Cup holders was just all the more of a kick in the teeth.
That being said, most of the Germans I know all said pretty much the same thing, "We played like crap, never got our act together, and we deserved to crash out."
I was kind of rooting for Germany as well, but I tend to stay a little more neutral in recent years. I know this might come as a slight surprise to guys like Brandon and maybe even Tim, but now days, I simply prefer to watch an exciting event.
The day after Dave arrived, my sister and nephew arrived to spend a long weekend with me in Frankfurt. I had been eagerly anticipating their visit, and was particularly excited that they, too, would be able to share in the neighborhood atmosphere of a World Cup summer. I had already checked the match schedules, and knew that we would have an important Spanish match during the Sunday afternoon.
My sister and I had really no special plans other than to hang out and enjoy the time together. As visits go, I was really pleased that they were here. Part of me suspects that my teen-age nephew was not totally thrilled, but unfortunately I am not all together up to date on what would make a typical teen enjoy visiting another European city. I mean, we were able to hang out in various cafes, went to a cookout at a friend's house, and were able to catch several matches on the various screens. We did hang out in the local market in my neighborhood, and also took a quick walk around the city.
Most people (ie...my father, other friends, aunts and uncles, as well as my sister,on her previous visits) tend to really enjoy the first hand experience of meeting a lot of people in my neighborhood. I have a fair amount of friends and acquaintances, and I am always touched that my local Kumpels look forward to meeting any guests that come to visit me. They actually go out of their way to introduce themselves, engage with my visitors, and ask after my relatives after they have left.
This was totally the case this past weekend. My sister and I had a wonderful time just sitting on the balcony and chatting. My nephew could spend his time on his phone (using my Wifi) and could do his own thing. We were all out and about regularly just meeting and greeting in a relaxed environment. Some other friends came in from out of town, so the whole weekend was pretty active, but in a low-key way. Several people mentioned how much it seemed like "old times."
Old times. New Times. I would probably say simply, "Good times."
And through it all, football matches every day.
Monday afternoon I was going through my let-down period after my sister and nephew headed to the airport, but that evening I was back at the kiosk for the normal Monday evening activities. The particular match that evening was Belgium vs Japan, which turned out to be one of the more exciting matches of the tournament so far.
Tuesday evening, England had to play Colombia, and again, the match became rather dramatic. Unlike the match on Sunday when Spain crashed out on penalties (to the great disappointment of not only my nephew, but yours truly), England actually got through on penalties, which is extremely unusual.
Yesterday was the first day without football pretty much since the tournament started almost 3 weeks ago. After work, I ventured over to the pub for a quiet (extremely quiet) beer outside.
A few other folks were also at the pub, and all of them asked if my sister and nephew had enjoyed their visit and gotten home OK. Then, they also remarked on how absolutely still it was outside. Hardly anyone was walking around or sitting outside; it was a tremendous contrast to the previous weeks when it almost seemed like a nonstop festival going on in the neighborhood.
I absolutely loved it. I greatly enjoy moments of quiet and peace. The summer holidays have started in Frankfurt, so a lot of people are off on vacation anyway. Take away football and it was almost eerily quiet. Almost similar to a really cold winter's day, when hardly anyone (except for myself) ventures outside.
As much as I like football, I really enjoyed a moment where nothing was going on. Tomorrow the matches resume and the streets and cafes will be full. Besides, the weekend is coming.
Glad I could take the time last evening to simply catch my breath.
see you out there
bryan
Saturday, June 09, 2018
Barista Problems, Brilliant Minds, and Body Flushing - Just Another Week's Report
It's been a good week. Maybe not the best week ever, but that would be a pretty big ask, and I personally don't like to inflate the expectations. It's kind of like those folks who head out for the night on the town with plans to make it the "best night ever," only to find themselves severely disappointed at the end of the evening.
Sure, I was pretty disappointed in myself right after I watched the dumbest movie on Netflix at the start of the week. It was not so much that I was disappointed in the quality of the film, but rather the irritation with myself for simply not turning off the TV and not throwing away 2 hours of my life.
This week I continued my goal of drinking about 4 to 5 liters of water each day. It is a whole lot easier to do when the temperatures are as warm as they have been. Overall, I am quite sure that my body appreciates what I am doing. Yes, going to the Klo every 15 minutes can be a bit annoying, but the benefits certainly outweigh the negatives.
At the Kiosk on Monday evening, I was telling a friend about my recent water chugging initiative, and the word "chug" became one of the words of the evening. There is really not a German equivalent, though I suppose saufen could work.
(Quick pause while I step away from the computer to visit the bathroom; it's 10am and I have already drunk a liter of water).
So, as we continued our Kiosk Abend, Teddy told us about his concern that his season ticket to the Eintracht had not yet arrived. Normally, the pass arrives to the ticket holder a few weeks after the season ends. I pointed out that this was a World Cup year, and sometimes that changes up the summer schedule a little bit. He conceded this point, but was still curious as to why it had not arrived. Furthermore, he wanted to make sure that he was home when it arrived in the post, so he hoped that it would arrive before he started his holidays.
At the kiosk, there is a little counter where one can rest their beer (or whatever), but the space is not huge. Our group is usually 4 to 5 guys, so we take up a little bit of room. This regularly means that other patrons will ask if we are part of the queue. Sometimes it can get pretty busy for Papri (the nice woman who runs the kiosk) and people do try an make sure that there is some sort of order.
At any rate, this particular evening, a blind guy with his guide dog approached the kiosk, and I moved out of the way so as to give him sufficient room to get to the counter. He has come by the kiosk before, and I had noticed that with all of us standing there, it might appear that we were all waiting in line. Meanwhile, Teddy was continuing his complaint about the delay in getting his season pass, and wondered aloud if he should call the ticket office. As the guy waited for Papri to give him his change, he turned to us and said, "Did you not read the notice that they sent out, saying that the season tickets would not be sent out until the end of June, so don't bother calling?"
We were all a little surprised, not least of all, Teddy, who sheepishly clarified that he had not read the "fine print" from the notice. The guy continued chatting with us for a few minutes, and explained that he had always been a season ticket holder to Eintracht, also. When he was younger (he is around my age, I think) he still had his sight, and apparently once he started losing his sight and knew he would eventually be blind, he made the decision to continue going to the stadium for the matches. It turns out that there is a little section in the stadium where a fan can sit and have access to a sort of "play by play" podcast. So, he attends all the home matches, too.
I think this is a really cool thing. I never have considered this before, and it gave me something to think about. Teddy immediately asked if the guide dog got to go in the stadium, too, which is a question I wanted to ask, myself. The guy answered that his dog had to remain at home, but the access to the stadium was sufficient. With that, he wished us a pleasant evening, and headed on his way.
It is experiences like this that make the Kiosk evenings so absolutely brilliant.
I remained in a good mood during the next several days, even though the heat and humidity was starting to annoy me. Of course, the oceans of water I was consuming kept my body pretty fluid. I had a chance to skype with just about everyone in my family and it was good to catch up, even with the frequent interruptions ("I'll be right back, just need to step down the hall a moment")
Thursday morning, I started having some problems with my espresso machine. The normal pressure for proper espresso should be between 9 and 12 bars. I was suddenly only getting 4-5 bars. This usually meant that the coffee was too coarse, so I had to adjust the settings on my grinder. Unfortunately, this proved more difficult than I thought, and I ended up wasting about 250 grams of coffee as I mucked around with my machine. I exhausted my supply without resolving the issue, so, after a quick trip to the bathroom, headed to my local Rösterei and purchased another kilo or two of coffee. It was extremely hot and humid, and I was feeling really frustrated.
Once I got back home, sweating heavily, I picked up my phone to send a text to Nadja, saying, "it's hot." Out of nowhere, suddenly the skies turned grey, the bottom fell out, and for the next 30 minutes, I experienced one of the finest storms I can recall in the past 5 years. The temperature dropped about 8 degrees.
It was awesome.
I changed the content of my text message to "hooray for rain" and pressed send. Nadja and I had been caught in a rain storm a few weeks ago, which required me to dash home and get her a rain jacket so that she could walk home. This storm from a couple of days ago was much more lively. Rain was blowing into my kitchen, but I didn't care. I felt like that guy from the 80s 7up commercial. We traded a few more messages, and then finally the rain subsided, leaving things quite a bit more pleasant than they had been earlier in the day.
My coffee machine seemed to react, also. After a couple of adjustments to the grinder, my coffee was back on track, and I was back to 11 bars of pressure. In fact, I seem to have gone from one extreme to the other, but personally I like a bit more oomph in my espresso.
So, as the work week came to an end, I traded a couple of mails with Chris, wishing Lori and him a happy anniversary. He gave me the quick update that his oldest daughter was off to a little college experience for the next few weeks. We had discussed this last year, and, not only was I quite impressed and proud, I was very thrilled that she would likely be going to my alma mater (re: bacon roo post from a few weeks ago). As it turns out, she will be going to another strong school for this academic experience. Still, it is a great opportunity for her. I am really pleased.
Let me be clear, this is not really a Doogie Houser thing, but it is quite remarkable. She is a 7th grader, after all. For me, I like the contrast of a girl who is quietly brilliant, but very apt to misplace her sunglasses and/or manage to get her tennis shoes wet by slipping into a fountain, sometimes simultaneously. Of course, that does not sound too different from the average college freshman, all things considered.
For me, I think it just cool. We need to encourage our young folks to pursue education, and let them find their way. Another friend of mine has just started taking her 8 year old daughter to the library more frequently, and is amazed at how she is really getting into reading.
I have always been an avid reader, and have very fond memories of spending time in the library myself as a child. I firmly believe that the experience helped me to be a pretty good student, and here years later, I can proudly say that I am a guy with an ever so slightly above average intelligence that has to urgently go down the hall to the gent's. Again. 3 liters (now) of water doesn't like to sit around for too long. Should make for an interesting afternoon sitting outside the pub, which is where I am headed as soon as I finish this piece.
see you out there
bryan
Sure, I was pretty disappointed in myself right after I watched the dumbest movie on Netflix at the start of the week. It was not so much that I was disappointed in the quality of the film, but rather the irritation with myself for simply not turning off the TV and not throwing away 2 hours of my life.
This week I continued my goal of drinking about 4 to 5 liters of water each day. It is a whole lot easier to do when the temperatures are as warm as they have been. Overall, I am quite sure that my body appreciates what I am doing. Yes, going to the Klo every 15 minutes can be a bit annoying, but the benefits certainly outweigh the negatives.
At the Kiosk on Monday evening, I was telling a friend about my recent water chugging initiative, and the word "chug" became one of the words of the evening. There is really not a German equivalent, though I suppose saufen could work.
(Quick pause while I step away from the computer to visit the bathroom; it's 10am and I have already drunk a liter of water).
So, as we continued our Kiosk Abend, Teddy told us about his concern that his season ticket to the Eintracht had not yet arrived. Normally, the pass arrives to the ticket holder a few weeks after the season ends. I pointed out that this was a World Cup year, and sometimes that changes up the summer schedule a little bit. He conceded this point, but was still curious as to why it had not arrived. Furthermore, he wanted to make sure that he was home when it arrived in the post, so he hoped that it would arrive before he started his holidays.
At the kiosk, there is a little counter where one can rest their beer (or whatever), but the space is not huge. Our group is usually 4 to 5 guys, so we take up a little bit of room. This regularly means that other patrons will ask if we are part of the queue. Sometimes it can get pretty busy for Papri (the nice woman who runs the kiosk) and people do try an make sure that there is some sort of order.
At any rate, this particular evening, a blind guy with his guide dog approached the kiosk, and I moved out of the way so as to give him sufficient room to get to the counter. He has come by the kiosk before, and I had noticed that with all of us standing there, it might appear that we were all waiting in line. Meanwhile, Teddy was continuing his complaint about the delay in getting his season pass, and wondered aloud if he should call the ticket office. As the guy waited for Papri to give him his change, he turned to us and said, "Did you not read the notice that they sent out, saying that the season tickets would not be sent out until the end of June, so don't bother calling?"
We were all a little surprised, not least of all, Teddy, who sheepishly clarified that he had not read the "fine print" from the notice. The guy continued chatting with us for a few minutes, and explained that he had always been a season ticket holder to Eintracht, also. When he was younger (he is around my age, I think) he still had his sight, and apparently once he started losing his sight and knew he would eventually be blind, he made the decision to continue going to the stadium for the matches. It turns out that there is a little section in the stadium where a fan can sit and have access to a sort of "play by play" podcast. So, he attends all the home matches, too.
I think this is a really cool thing. I never have considered this before, and it gave me something to think about. Teddy immediately asked if the guide dog got to go in the stadium, too, which is a question I wanted to ask, myself. The guy answered that his dog had to remain at home, but the access to the stadium was sufficient. With that, he wished us a pleasant evening, and headed on his way.
It is experiences like this that make the Kiosk evenings so absolutely brilliant.
I remained in a good mood during the next several days, even though the heat and humidity was starting to annoy me. Of course, the oceans of water I was consuming kept my body pretty fluid. I had a chance to skype with just about everyone in my family and it was good to catch up, even with the frequent interruptions ("I'll be right back, just need to step down the hall a moment")
Thursday morning, I started having some problems with my espresso machine. The normal pressure for proper espresso should be between 9 and 12 bars. I was suddenly only getting 4-5 bars. This usually meant that the coffee was too coarse, so I had to adjust the settings on my grinder. Unfortunately, this proved more difficult than I thought, and I ended up wasting about 250 grams of coffee as I mucked around with my machine. I exhausted my supply without resolving the issue, so, after a quick trip to the bathroom, headed to my local Rösterei and purchased another kilo or two of coffee. It was extremely hot and humid, and I was feeling really frustrated.
Once I got back home, sweating heavily, I picked up my phone to send a text to Nadja, saying, "it's hot." Out of nowhere, suddenly the skies turned grey, the bottom fell out, and for the next 30 minutes, I experienced one of the finest storms I can recall in the past 5 years. The temperature dropped about 8 degrees.
It was awesome.
I changed the content of my text message to "hooray for rain" and pressed send. Nadja and I had been caught in a rain storm a few weeks ago, which required me to dash home and get her a rain jacket so that she could walk home. This storm from a couple of days ago was much more lively. Rain was blowing into my kitchen, but I didn't care. I felt like that guy from the 80s 7up commercial. We traded a few more messages, and then finally the rain subsided, leaving things quite a bit more pleasant than they had been earlier in the day.
My coffee machine seemed to react, also. After a couple of adjustments to the grinder, my coffee was back on track, and I was back to 11 bars of pressure. In fact, I seem to have gone from one extreme to the other, but personally I like a bit more oomph in my espresso.
So, as the work week came to an end, I traded a couple of mails with Chris, wishing Lori and him a happy anniversary. He gave me the quick update that his oldest daughter was off to a little college experience for the next few weeks. We had discussed this last year, and, not only was I quite impressed and proud, I was very thrilled that she would likely be going to my alma mater (re: bacon roo post from a few weeks ago). As it turns out, she will be going to another strong school for this academic experience. Still, it is a great opportunity for her. I am really pleased.
Let me be clear, this is not really a Doogie Houser thing, but it is quite remarkable. She is a 7th grader, after all. For me, I like the contrast of a girl who is quietly brilliant, but very apt to misplace her sunglasses and/or manage to get her tennis shoes wet by slipping into a fountain, sometimes simultaneously. Of course, that does not sound too different from the average college freshman, all things considered.
For me, I think it just cool. We need to encourage our young folks to pursue education, and let them find their way. Another friend of mine has just started taking her 8 year old daughter to the library more frequently, and is amazed at how she is really getting into reading.
I have always been an avid reader, and have very fond memories of spending time in the library myself as a child. I firmly believe that the experience helped me to be a pretty good student, and here years later, I can proudly say that I am a guy with an ever so slightly above average intelligence that has to urgently go down the hall to the gent's. Again. 3 liters (now) of water doesn't like to sit around for too long. Should make for an interesting afternoon sitting outside the pub, which is where I am headed as soon as I finish this piece.
see you out there
bryan
Friday, June 01, 2018
Random Things from a Really Quick Month
It is just crazy how quickly time seems to be flying by.
Just one month ago, my father had just returned to the states after his visit to Frankfurt. It seems like last week that he was here. Meanwhile, lots of things have happened during May, but nothing too dramatic.
About a week after my dad got home, I got a letter in the mail from the Finanzamt, basically demanding that I submit my tax return from the year 2016. This came as a bit of a surprise, and I got a little anxious for a week or so as I tried to figure out what to do. It wasn't so much that I did not know what to do, but rather why I was being asked to do it now. Furthermore, it was a little strange that they would ask for a return from a previous year as opposed to the current year.
I asked a few friends for their advice, and eventually went to a local tax guy around the corner from my house. Fortunately, he was able to take a few minutes to discuss my situation with me, and helped me to understand a few of the finer points of the German tax laws. In the end, we agreed that he would file my 2016 return for me.
It all went pretty smoothly, and I must admit I was very relieved when I got the confirmation (and bill) that the return had been successfully filed. That same day, I happened to get another letter from the Finanzamt asking for the return from the year 2015, which sort of irritated me. Why wouldn't they have just sent out the request for all the years at once?
Anyway, I went back over to the tax guy, showed him my new letter, and gave him not only my documents for the requested year, but being that I was due a small refund for 2016, I figured it might be sensible to file year 2017, also.
Of course, now all the returns have been completed, and I have paid the guy for his services. Now I just have to sit back and wait for the government to cooperate and provide my refunds.
May in Germany has four public holidays, which, depending on how you look at it, can be either completely awesome or completely unproductive. I used to get really worked up about having so many days off during the course of the month, but over the years while I have lived here, I have come to think it is absolutely brilliant to have so many holidays. Of course, yesterday was our final holiday of the month, and the last public holiday until October. I actually had to do some work myself, since many of my partners are not in Germany and did not have the day off. Monthend is always a bit of a production, so the timing was not the greatest. Still, I managed to enjoy a bit of quiet and did not have to work too much.
The weather finally got warm and a few friends and I have had a few moments where we have had to complain about the heat. On the positive side, there are many more opportunities to be outside enjoying the various activities that come with the start of summer. The football leagues ended in early May, and the following weekend, the cup finals were played. Eintracht pulled off a major upset by beating Bayern Munich, and it was really great to be able to celebrate with all the fans. Eintracht had not one the cup in 30 years, so this was a really big deal.
With the weather so pleasant, it was not surprising to attend a few cookouts. Last weekend, I got invited to one that was hosted by a few groups from the neighborhood. They tend to throw this party twice per year, and for some reason, I never attended previously, despite being invited once or twice.
I had some friends in town visiting, so I managed to get them invited, also. This made for a fun outing, and I greatly enjoyed their company. My friend's daughter is soon to be 8, so I was reminded of last summer when Chris and co. were here; we also did a bit of cookout stuff. This time round, I wisely cut back on the beer consumption, although some of that had to do with the fact that I was trying to compensate. The previous weekend during the Pokal finals, I had managed to hit the other end of that spectrum, which required several days of recovery.
At the cookout, my buddy Mono said "Look what I got," and pulled a liter of French mustard out of his satchel; it was a gift from one of the guys doing the cookout. He told me that the mustard was super super spicy (scharf). A couple of days later at the Kiosk, he gave me a small container to sample. Indeed, the mustard is quite hot, but delicious. And, I no longer seem to have any allergy issues that I endured over the past few weeks as the pollen count has shot through the roof.
While my friends and I enjoyed hanging out last weekend, we laughed regularly as we repeated a few of our catchphrases, notably "the chicken just falls off the bone," (which referred to our dinner from Friday evening as well as the Saturday afternoon barbecue) and "It's all Dad's fault," which is what the daughter said a couple of times throughout the weekend. This second phrase was circumstantial, and within the context, it was hilarious. (thanks K, T and H...that was a great weekend).
My friends also introduced me to a really really funny tongue twister (German - Zungenbrecher) about a woman named Barbara who was really well known for her Rhubarb Pie. If you have the desire, do a search on Rhabarberbarbara and you can better understand why I am so amazed. I found a video where a girl actually films herself telling the story, and it is impressive. So, I have been saying "rhabarberbarbara" regularly throughout the past week.
So, here today on the first of June, we start yet another month. My nephew finishes school today, and I just worked out arrangement where he and his mother will visit me in Frankfurt at the end of the month, which, if anything like the month of May, will just zing right by.
Taxes, barbecue, a little heat, and a bit of Rhabarberbarbara....that's what May was all about.
A good month? Absolutely. I would say it cut the mustard.
see you out there
bryan
Just one month ago, my father had just returned to the states after his visit to Frankfurt. It seems like last week that he was here. Meanwhile, lots of things have happened during May, but nothing too dramatic.
About a week after my dad got home, I got a letter in the mail from the Finanzamt, basically demanding that I submit my tax return from the year 2016. This came as a bit of a surprise, and I got a little anxious for a week or so as I tried to figure out what to do. It wasn't so much that I did not know what to do, but rather why I was being asked to do it now. Furthermore, it was a little strange that they would ask for a return from a previous year as opposed to the current year.
I asked a few friends for their advice, and eventually went to a local tax guy around the corner from my house. Fortunately, he was able to take a few minutes to discuss my situation with me, and helped me to understand a few of the finer points of the German tax laws. In the end, we agreed that he would file my 2016 return for me.
It all went pretty smoothly, and I must admit I was very relieved when I got the confirmation (and bill) that the return had been successfully filed. That same day, I happened to get another letter from the Finanzamt asking for the return from the year 2015, which sort of irritated me. Why wouldn't they have just sent out the request for all the years at once?
Anyway, I went back over to the tax guy, showed him my new letter, and gave him not only my documents for the requested year, but being that I was due a small refund for 2016, I figured it might be sensible to file year 2017, also.
Of course, now all the returns have been completed, and I have paid the guy for his services. Now I just have to sit back and wait for the government to cooperate and provide my refunds.
May in Germany has four public holidays, which, depending on how you look at it, can be either completely awesome or completely unproductive. I used to get really worked up about having so many days off during the course of the month, but over the years while I have lived here, I have come to think it is absolutely brilliant to have so many holidays. Of course, yesterday was our final holiday of the month, and the last public holiday until October. I actually had to do some work myself, since many of my partners are not in Germany and did not have the day off. Monthend is always a bit of a production, so the timing was not the greatest. Still, I managed to enjoy a bit of quiet and did not have to work too much.
The weather finally got warm and a few friends and I have had a few moments where we have had to complain about the heat. On the positive side, there are many more opportunities to be outside enjoying the various activities that come with the start of summer. The football leagues ended in early May, and the following weekend, the cup finals were played. Eintracht pulled off a major upset by beating Bayern Munich, and it was really great to be able to celebrate with all the fans. Eintracht had not one the cup in 30 years, so this was a really big deal.
With the weather so pleasant, it was not surprising to attend a few cookouts. Last weekend, I got invited to one that was hosted by a few groups from the neighborhood. They tend to throw this party twice per year, and for some reason, I never attended previously, despite being invited once or twice.
I had some friends in town visiting, so I managed to get them invited, also. This made for a fun outing, and I greatly enjoyed their company. My friend's daughter is soon to be 8, so I was reminded of last summer when Chris and co. were here; we also did a bit of cookout stuff. This time round, I wisely cut back on the beer consumption, although some of that had to do with the fact that I was trying to compensate. The previous weekend during the Pokal finals, I had managed to hit the other end of that spectrum, which required several days of recovery.
At the cookout, my buddy Mono said "Look what I got," and pulled a liter of French mustard out of his satchel; it was a gift from one of the guys doing the cookout. He told me that the mustard was super super spicy (scharf). A couple of days later at the Kiosk, he gave me a small container to sample. Indeed, the mustard is quite hot, but delicious. And, I no longer seem to have any allergy issues that I endured over the past few weeks as the pollen count has shot through the roof.
While my friends and I enjoyed hanging out last weekend, we laughed regularly as we repeated a few of our catchphrases, notably "the chicken just falls off the bone," (which referred to our dinner from Friday evening as well as the Saturday afternoon barbecue) and "It's all Dad's fault," which is what the daughter said a couple of times throughout the weekend. This second phrase was circumstantial, and within the context, it was hilarious. (thanks K, T and H...that was a great weekend).
My friends also introduced me to a really really funny tongue twister (German - Zungenbrecher) about a woman named Barbara who was really well known for her Rhubarb Pie. If you have the desire, do a search on Rhabarberbarbara and you can better understand why I am so amazed. I found a video where a girl actually films herself telling the story, and it is impressive. So, I have been saying "rhabarberbarbara" regularly throughout the past week.
So, here today on the first of June, we start yet another month. My nephew finishes school today, and I just worked out arrangement where he and his mother will visit me in Frankfurt at the end of the month, which, if anything like the month of May, will just zing right by.
Taxes, barbecue, a little heat, and a bit of Rhabarberbarbara....that's what May was all about.
A good month? Absolutely. I would say it cut the mustard.
see you out there
bryan
Monday, May 07, 2018
Flashback - Not Just Another Weekend Report
During my father's recent visit, he told me a few stories about when he was much younger, in his 20s, acting up in college, having fun out and about, and so on. I had heard some of the stories before, but really enjoyed hearing my dad tell them again. As always, it is nice to have memories of good times.
Yesterday afternoon, after a visit to the gym, I stopped by the pub to see who was around, and was delighted to encounter one of the old bar tenders and his girlfriend. Both had just arrived from Australia, where they have lived the last couple of years. The weather was brilliant, so it made for an easy decision to sit around for a few afternoon beers. Paul is Scottish and grew up in Frankfurt with his 3 brothers, all of whom I know. Paul's brother started working in the pub just as Paul left for Australia, and actually moved to Australia himself just at the end of 2017. They both started a trend, as one more brother will move down under next week, leaving the fourth brother to stick it out in Frankfurt.
All four of the brothers are pretty good guys, but can be rowdy when it suits them. The few times that I have met their mother, I imagined that more often than not, she had her hands full with the gang. True, most times that I have been around all of them together, we have been at the pub, so to some extent I can understand why at least one brother invariably got a beer poured on them. Despite the moments of strife, I always got the feeling that all four brothers are pretty close, and I am always reminded of my own experiences with my close friends from childhood and university; my "brothers."
Paul and his girlfriend were in Frankfurt just as a stopover. They are headed to Estonia to attend a wedding of another former barman from the pub. As we sat around enjoying the sunshine yesterday afternoon, they were discussing the upcoming antics that would be taking place later this week at the wedding. As I sat their laughing and listening, I got to thinking about brother Tim's wedding, which took place 18 years ago during pretty much the same weekend.
So, I reach back into the archives to share a little story of Tim and Shan's special event back in 2000, obviously from my perspective. I have elected to edit this from the original just slightly. The original story was only shared with about 8 people, most all of which are very familiar with the local references and certainly the circumstances of May 2000.
****
So here it is, Wednesday afternoon, May 3rd. It's been a hellish day. At 7h15 I was checking emails, thinking I would have all day to do stuff. I had a couple of lattes, then decided to go off to buy a money order and drop off the dry cleaning.
I took my stuff downstairs, then realized that my left front tire was totally flat. I was like, crap crap,crap, then panic: I had to have the money order before my 9h15 appointment. I changed the tire, got to the cleaners, then ran by Krogers for the money order, then headed for downtown, debating whether or not there was time for another coffee.
Three cars were pulling into Starbucks when I drove by, so I skipped the coffee run and kept driving downtown to get to my appointment with the parole officer. It started raining like hell and traffic was a slow go. It turns out that there was a blinking stop light at Oak Lawn and Harry Hines. I was in no mood to be late, and at 9h12 I thought I was not going to make it.
Somehow, I got parked and inside the facility for my appointment, which took all of six minutes. Of course, I had to go next door through the metal detectors to pay my fee. Of course, the overweight security guard didn't want to have to stand up and wand me, so she made me walk through and set the detector off three times, then finally let me through. I paid up and thought about how unpleasant Dallas can be with its treatment of criminals.
I headed back to the Starbucks at Knox St and grabbed a couple of lattes using some bev coupons (courtesy of my Grandmommy, who absolutely rocks). Some lady was sitting next to the espresso bar and said, "ooh, that beverage looks soooooo good" each time the barista made a drink.
I bugged out, got home, read a couple of emails, and send a couple more. Then, I put on some Bosstones (Mighty Mighty) and tried to get shit straight. It was time to fix the tire. I phoned up NTB and spoke with Carlos, who said, "Come on up." I drove straight to the tire place, and Carlos told me to come back at 13h. I still had a lot to do, but thought it's OK. I could still get it done.
I left NTB on foot, dressed for a soccer match, briefcase strapped to my back, phone in hand. I was cracking myself up walking a couple of blocks to the nearest Starbucks. (Yes, for anyone who is counting, I was on course for a million shots of espresso...) It was raining hard, I was wet, but I got there, ordered drinks, and made a few calls for work stuff.
For the next couple of hours I sat outside, reading Ayn Rand and writing bad poetry (the showers fall on may flowers/i'm not smoking i'm not choking/those that made me quit are full of shit) and hoped that my car would be ready soon.
At a little past 12, the rain stopped, so I walked back to the tire place and watched a little television in the waiting area. Finally, the guy stuck his head into the room and told me my car was ready. As he gave me my change, he was like, "Hey, thanks a lot for stopping by today!"
I was like, "Hey, thanks so much for charging me 110 dollars!"
After the tire store stop, I went to the gym, had a great workout, followed by a tasty smoothie. I went home, made a quick call to a colleague, then took a shower.
By this time, it was almost 14h, and I realized that I needed to provide the finance team with the monthend billings. I quickly generated the reports, sent them to my colleague, and at 14h25 was on my way to the laundromat.
10 minutes later, the clothes were in the wash, and I spent a few minutes talking on the phone with my customer about our business review which would be held the next week. I was a little worried about how that meeting would go; I was pretty sure that I would be getting my ass kicked, but fuck it. That would be next week's problem.
Once that conversation ended, I put the clothes in the dryer, then called my boss to report in, giving him an update on my chat with our customer. Once that call ended, I took a moment to empty my car of the coffee cups I had accumulated during the course of the day. Outside the laundromat, I walked over to the dumpster, and along with the cups, inadvertently threw my mobile phone inside.
Total fucking gross out.
I had to put most of my body inside the dumpster and managed to grab the phone, which had some "stuff" on it. I scraped it on the sidewalk to clean it as best as I could. I had not felt so stupid since 7h50 that morning, when a friend pointed out the misspelling I had made in a global email I had sent out announcing that I would be out of the office for the remainder of the week.
I went back inside to take the clothes out of the dryer, then called Tim. He is the reason for all the rushing about. After all, in three days, I was to be the best man at his wedding. We chatted briefly, and I confirmed that I would be down in Austin the following morning. "Wow, I hear kids," he said.
"Yep, it is romper room here at the laundromat," I responded, electing to skip the story of the gunky mobile in the dumpster.
I took the clothes back home, then sped over to Anita's for a trim, then at 16h15 found myself sitting down at the Old Monk for a beer, some quiet time, and some dinner. I figured I would stay there until I was comfortable with my groom's toast (liquor? I never even knew her...)
Thursday, May 4. 6am. I was totally awakened by a rainstorm. I thought that was pretty cool, until I remembered that I was going to have to drive down to Austin in the rain. I made a couple of coffees and started packing for the weekend. I felt remarkably great considering the number of beers I had had the night before. I had another coffee, listened to more music, and kept getting ready.
By 8h15, I was just about set, and went up to the big house to pay Chris rent. We chatted for a few minutes, and I begged him not to destroy the apartment during the 15 keg party that there were going to have over the weekend. After a quick stop to pick up the dry cleaning, I picked up a couple more lattes at Starbucks, then headed south. The rain wasn't too bad, but still pretty heavy. Maybe the visibility could have been better, but I was on vacation and doing a road trip. I was not going to let anything stand in my way.
Two hours later, I was getting drowsy, but rolled down the car window, put in another crazy goth-rock tape, and finished my latte. I perked up, and realized I only had another 30 minutes of driving before I got to Tim's house.
I powered on, and finally exited the highway. A few minutes later I was rolling up to the house. Back in the day, I would have jumped out of the car, smoked a cigarette, then walked to the front door. This time, I just got out of the car, stood there a moment smoke free, then Tim's mom and nephews came outside.
We exchanged greetings, then went inside. Most of Tim's family had already arrived in Austin: his sister, his brother and family, and an aunt and uncle. His sister offered me a beer (priorities, you know), then showed me around the house. Tim and his fiance Shannon arrived home (after a half day of work) to start the official wedding festivities. They would be off of work until after their honeymoon.
We continued having a few beers as more family arrived, then took a trip to Wal-Mart to pick up some patio furniture. Wal-Mart is fun as hell to go to, especially with a couple who are going to get married in 48 hours. I had a great time messing with their heads.
Tim's brother and kids arrived at the store, and all of us rolled buggies up and down the aisles picking up all kinds of stuff. At one point, an employee asked if we were having a scavenger hunt (we were hunting toy harmonicas). I said, yes, of course. Buying things to entertain a 2 year old, a 4 year old, and a large group of drunk 30 somethings can be called whatever you want. We found the toys we wanted, then headed to the beer section to replenish our stock. (No one had completely anticipated Bryan's beer consumption rate, which had increased slightly since the great American smoke out.)
We finally paid out and headed outside to load the patio furniture into the truck. It was humid as hell and I was sweating heavily.
Back at home, we put together the furniture as we continued sipping a few beers.
That evening, we had a cook out at Shannon's uncle's house in a rather nice part of Austin. Most of the wedding party had finally arrived so it was all about the pre-wedding festivities. I did my best to taunt the nervous bride to be into getting hopelessly drunk, but she wisely abstained. The barbecue was superb, everyone had a good time, and like any good party, there was an incident where someone fell into the fountain outside in the garden. Of course, he was 2 years old, but hey, someone has to do it.
The next morning, the day before the wedding, we got up early. I was ready to continue celebrations, but was also feeling the beers from the day before. Shannon and the maid of honor headed to the manicurist, and Tim and I stopped by the bank, before heading to the airport to pick up more folks.
At the airport, I got a much needed coffee, then the flight from Love Field arrived and young Pauly stepped out to greet us. We had another coffee while we waited for Matthew, taking time to chuckle at some of the other travelers, including one unfortunate businessman who had just rushed across the airport to his gate, only to have the attendant wait right up until the guy arrived breathlessly, then simply say, "Sorry, you are too LATE!" and shut the door in his face. It is one of those things that is quite funny to see, but only when it is not happening to you. I have been through similar situations, so enjoyed being the spectator on this particular day.
At 11h30, Matthew's flight from Connecticut arrived, and he was the last guy to depart the aircraft. As usual, he was in rare form, complete in loafers, khakis, winnie the pooh tie and navy blazer. We jumped in the car and headed back to town, stopping by a store to pick up a video camera. It was still way hot and we searched unsuccessfully for a shop that sold bandanas, then finally gave up and headed off to the tuxedo shop for our fitting.
May - known for its flowers, weddings, and Proms....
At 13h, we walked up to the tuxedo shop to find about 15 people standing in line.
"Holy shit," someone said.
Right about this time, the father of the bride came out with his tux, complaining that he had been at the shop for 2 hours.
"Holy shit," someone said again.
We were all hungry, but we needed to get this tuxedo thing taken care of. Tim and I stood in line and sent Matthew and Pablo off for snacks. Sure enough, a few minutes later we were next at the counter, and Tim had to run off to grab the others. In the tuxedo renting process, you have to pay up front, so we settled our bills, then waited for our turn to be called for the fitting.
While we waited, Tim and I had a couple of beers and something from the food court. The mall security kept telling us that we had to stay in the food area with our beers, but we kept saying that we needed to be close to the tux shop so we could hear when our names were called.
Finally, we were called into the fitting rooms. Tim and Matthew had perfect fits. Pablo and I had a few troubles. While he stood in his boxers waiting for his pants to be hemmed, I made a few calls to colleagues about the travel for the upcoming business review the following week. The whole process took a lot longer than we had planned, so we just kept drinking beers. We realized that we were going to be late for the dress rehearsal, but basically said fuck it. It's not as if they could do the rehearsal without the groom, the best man, and the groomsmen.
Tuxedos finally rented, we raced back to Tim's, I got my car, then Pablo and I drove into Austin listening to the Beatles, Supergrass, and Belle and Sebastian. The traffic was horrible, but we had beers, so it was OK.
We arrived to the rehearsal. It was really hot, and tensions were high, due to our tardiness. The final groomsman was already there, so finally we had the complete entourage (of drunk bastards, if you will....though a couple of guys may try and say, "hey, I was not that drunk.")
True, wedding rehearsals are important, but they usually are uneventful. It was hot as crap, but we paid attention and knew what to do. By the end of it, everyone was at least a little more calm, and we all planned to head directly to the rehearsal dinner. I was feeling about as fresh as that woman who sat with the windows rolled up in her car for two days in the movie "Cujo," but did not have time for a shower. I settled for changing t-shirts in the parking lot of the church and thought about the margarita I would be enjoying at the restaurant.
Pablo and I drove through the Austin strip (amazingly enough, our first time to be in Austin at the same time...all other trips were without the pleasure of one another's company. many thanks, Pablo, for honking at EVERY female jogger that we passed) and arrived at the restaurant to find that they only had one waiter to serve our party of 40. This prompted several of our group to have a word with management, and eventually they got a few more servers to help.
As the dinner came to an end, Tim's brother and sister stood up to say a few words and share a few gifts. Then, Shannon's father got up and said a few more words. He got choked up (as any father would when their daughter is about to get married) and the significance of the event hit me (again). A best friend was about to get married.
The large portion of the wedding party departed the restaurant fairly early, allowing for those of us on the groom's side to check in at our hotel. We all noticed that there was some sort of cocktail lounge across the way from our hotel, so after a quick checkin, we grabbed the groom and headed over for a little more festivity. We all found ourselves quickly consuming a couple of "bahamritas" each. These were some sort of fruity drinks with a ridiculous (and unnecessary) amount of alcohol in them. Looking back, it might not have been the best decision, especially after the margaritas we had just consumed a couple of hours before, and who could forget about the beers we had consumed during the course of the day.
However, in fairness, the drinks were in goofy glasses, so we ended up spilling a lot of the contents onto our boots, shoes, and feet (depending on the person). So, we switched back to beer, and tried to behave like guys at a bachelor party. Since all of us came from different parts of the country, this was our first real opportunity to have some semblance of a stag night, however tame. And tame it was.
From our group of 6 guys, I think Tim talked to one attractive girl, while the rest of us stood around sheepishly and shyly, which was pretty much how we went through college together. From there, we went over to a D&Bs to play a few games, then we called it a night. We needed the sleep, and the next day was going to be a BIG day.
Saturday, 6th May. 8am. Tim is already up and ready for the day. (It was his day, so why not?)
I was not feeling particularly hearty, but am trying to rally as quickly as can, trying not to think about the damage I had been doing to my liver over the past couple of days. Tim broke into our hotel room and roused us out of bed. We had a quick breakfast, then headed to his house to do a few last minute things.
The maid of honor had already called me to announce, "The bride is out of the house," which had initially baffled Paul and me. (We found out later that this is tradition.)
Tim and I got to his house, picked up the dog, then stopped by his in-laws house to drop off a Wishing Well, then took the dog to the vets for the weekend. We listened to the Farm during the mornings excursion, and I thought it very fitting that we sang "All Together Now," our anthem from senior year, at the top of our lungs like only we could do.
We then went to another hotel where the bride and groom would be staying that night, checked them in, then we headed off to a place for lunch. Tim had overcome some wedding jitters and had his appetite back, and somehow I had lost mine. Kudos to Pablo for recognizing some local movie star in the restaurant (as well as seeing another celebrity on his trip down the day before). After lunch, we picked up more beer and headed back to our hotel. We experimented with the video camera throughout the day, as Paul was really getting his act together as a production king.
My parents were checking into the hotel when we arrived, so we had a brief chat. My dad showed us his new golf clubs and mom just kept smiling, so proud that one of her "sons" was about to get married. Time was catching up with us, so we headed to our rooms to start getting ready for the wedding. For motivation, we put on a tape of Braveheart.
Tim and I shaved our torsos, and I would like to thank everyone in the group for thinking it would be so fucking funny to bring out the video camera. Why was that door not locked?
By mid afternoon, we were all suited, and feeling really warm. We trooped over to the church, got the video camera out again, and then proceeded to have a quick game of wiffle ball calm our nerves. Loads of fun, but way too hot. After scrambling to get our boutonnieres and handkerchiefs sorted, it was time for the big event.
We did a big group hug, then paraded into the church.
The wedding ceremony itself went off without too many crazy events. Tim's nephews came down the aisle as ring bearers, but immediately had to leave as they were inclined to start chucking those little heart shaped pillows around. I sweat enough to wash a few church pews away, and Tim seemed to be a bit sweaty himself. Shannon, meanwhile, looked great, but she would not look at me, because she knew I would try and make her laugh.
I never locked my knees (thus avoiding a 4th time in my life that I have fainted in a church) and before you knew it, Tim and Shannon were married, and walking up and arm up the aisle.
After the photos, we headed to the reception at the Austin Club, which was a great scene. I started right in on the beers and kept a good clip going. I had a few words with the DJ, as she was exceptionally cute, even if she did not know what SKA music was.
I got razzled when it came time for the groom's toast, which goes to show why I deserve to be safely behind camera with script, or better yet, always with pen and paper. Fortunately, no one held anything against me, and in fact, the bar tender said he thought I had given a decent and funny speech. He was proud to serve me the last of the beer that they had in stock at the bar.
Tim and Shannon danced, as did lots of folks, including myself. I think just about everyone got out and cut a rug or two, except for Pablo, who needed one more notch in the belt to keep the pants secured ("You're all right, kid.") One of Tim's nephews got sideswiped by Shannon's wedding train, which I found particularly entertaining. By that time, I had had so many beers that it happened in slow slow slow motion.
After the toasts, the greetings, and the hugs, the happy couple rode off in a carriage, a very fitting way for them to exit the reception.
I said my goodbyes to the families, then several of us hit 6th Street, most of us still in our tuxes and gowns. We did some bar hopping and socialized with wedding guests, probably a few wedding crashers, and the rest of the people of Austin who were out enjoying the scene on a Saturday night. We had beers on the streets, as well as couple of slices of pizza from a vendor. In the end, like this is some big surprise, I got ripped out of my fucking mind. Matthew left at some point, as he had an early flight back to Hartford the next morning, and another groomsman Derrick left to get a few hours of sleep before starting his shift at the hospital the next morning. I fell asleep at a table on the patio of the Iron Cactus, and finally Pablo drove us back to the hotel. I slept shotgun and don't remember another thing.
Sunday morning 8am. The phone rang. Any other time, this would have been okay, but I was feeling like crap. My liver was not working all that well. The same could have been said about the rest of my body.
It was Tim calling. His keys, wallet, and everything were all in Derrick's truck, and Derrick was already at work at the hospital. My assignment? Find Derrick, get the keys, and get them to Tim.
Well, I got up, went to the bathroom, and threw up. (Sorry, Pauly, that wasn't too pretty). I came out, put on the rest of Braveheart, hoping a graphically violent film about Scotland's history would settle my stomach. Then I fell right back to sleep.
An hour later, Tim called back to ask what I had found. I found that I still felt like hell, and had not been able to get Derrick on the phone.
Meanwhile, Pablo, who felt great, ("Vodka tonics, Bryan, vodka tonics,") was able to rally me and help me get my shit together. Alas, I recalled a vodka shot (vodka shot? who the hell thought that was good idea?) from the previous evening and made another trip to completely puke up the entire lining of my stomach. (Again, Pablo, really sorry about that...that was disgusting.) Finally I made it into the shower.
I got out of the shower still feeling like hell (worst hangover since New Years, when I competed with my brother-in-law to see who felt worse) but made it downstairs for a coffee, where I managed to scare everyone in the lobby, as my eyes were swollen shut and I looked like a baby pig.
I eventually got Derrick on the phone, and Pablo and I checked out of the hotel, then drove to the hospital to get Tim's gear. After a bit of hunting, we finally located Derrick, got the stuff, then drove to Tim and Shannon's hotel, who were not able to check out until they had Tim's things. We said our farewells to the newlyweds, dropped our tuxes off, then called my folks to arrange to meet for brunch.
We elected to eat at Fado's, an Irish pub on 4th Street. Pablo and I parked, picked up real coffees at Starbucks, then walked through a street festival on the way to the pub. It was toasty warm and we were both sweating profusely by the time we got to the pub. My folks were great and we spent the next few hours chatting and catching up on things. I am still pretty amazed that having a full breakfast was a good idea, but I was able to hold it down and actually felt quite a bit better afterwards, despite finding a bug in my coffee.
Eventually, it was time to go. I needed to get Pablo to the airport, then drive myself the 3 hours back to Dallas. After dropping Pablo at the curb, I stopped at a gas station and bought four liters of water, and hit the road. Some sadistic side of me was like, "Bryan, drink a gallon of water and don't stop until you get to Dallas."
This probably would have been fine, until I came upon a traffic jam just outside of Dallas, which brought us to a standstill, and created an additional 45 minute delay. This delay brought me close to tears, as I was overwhelmed with exhaustion, liver failure, and not least of all, a dire need to hit the gents'.
Somehow, I was able to hold on, and made it back to Goliad. I took a much needed pee, picked up a few staples at Whole Foods, then caught up with Chris, Lori, and Bennett for a few minutes. Their party was a true success. The band Speed Trucker played, and were a tremendous hit, and although I was sorry to miss a 15 keg crawfish boil in my backyard, I knew I had just been at a party of a lifetime in Austin.
To Tim and Shannon....thanks for putting up with my antics. Thanks for including me in your celebration. I owe you a white picket fence. I am rather impressed by your love for each other; it kind of puts the whole marriage thing for me in perspective. Sure, there's no fucking way I am about to doing anything like that, but all the same, you know?
********
So, as I did most every Monday evening when I lived at Goliad, I returned to the Old Monk the next evening to write up the weekend report.
Back then, I wrote exclusively with pen and notebook. There was always a comfort when the piece was finished. I would put the cap back on my pen, close the notebook, and sit for a moment, just letting it all set in.
Happy Anniversary, Tim and Shannon
see you out there
bryan
Yesterday afternoon, after a visit to the gym, I stopped by the pub to see who was around, and was delighted to encounter one of the old bar tenders and his girlfriend. Both had just arrived from Australia, where they have lived the last couple of years. The weather was brilliant, so it made for an easy decision to sit around for a few afternoon beers. Paul is Scottish and grew up in Frankfurt with his 3 brothers, all of whom I know. Paul's brother started working in the pub just as Paul left for Australia, and actually moved to Australia himself just at the end of 2017. They both started a trend, as one more brother will move down under next week, leaving the fourth brother to stick it out in Frankfurt.
All four of the brothers are pretty good guys, but can be rowdy when it suits them. The few times that I have met their mother, I imagined that more often than not, she had her hands full with the gang. True, most times that I have been around all of them together, we have been at the pub, so to some extent I can understand why at least one brother invariably got a beer poured on them. Despite the moments of strife, I always got the feeling that all four brothers are pretty close, and I am always reminded of my own experiences with my close friends from childhood and university; my "brothers."
Paul and his girlfriend were in Frankfurt just as a stopover. They are headed to Estonia to attend a wedding of another former barman from the pub. As we sat around enjoying the sunshine yesterday afternoon, they were discussing the upcoming antics that would be taking place later this week at the wedding. As I sat their laughing and listening, I got to thinking about brother Tim's wedding, which took place 18 years ago during pretty much the same weekend.
So, I reach back into the archives to share a little story of Tim and Shan's special event back in 2000, obviously from my perspective. I have elected to edit this from the original just slightly. The original story was only shared with about 8 people, most all of which are very familiar with the local references and certainly the circumstances of May 2000.
****
So here it is, Wednesday afternoon, May 3rd. It's been a hellish day. At 7h15 I was checking emails, thinking I would have all day to do stuff. I had a couple of lattes, then decided to go off to buy a money order and drop off the dry cleaning.
I took my stuff downstairs, then realized that my left front tire was totally flat. I was like, crap crap,crap, then panic: I had to have the money order before my 9h15 appointment. I changed the tire, got to the cleaners, then ran by Krogers for the money order, then headed for downtown, debating whether or not there was time for another coffee.
Three cars were pulling into Starbucks when I drove by, so I skipped the coffee run and kept driving downtown to get to my appointment with the parole officer. It started raining like hell and traffic was a slow go. It turns out that there was a blinking stop light at Oak Lawn and Harry Hines. I was in no mood to be late, and at 9h12 I thought I was not going to make it.
Somehow, I got parked and inside the facility for my appointment, which took all of six minutes. Of course, I had to go next door through the metal detectors to pay my fee. Of course, the overweight security guard didn't want to have to stand up and wand me, so she made me walk through and set the detector off three times, then finally let me through. I paid up and thought about how unpleasant Dallas can be with its treatment of criminals.
I headed back to the Starbucks at Knox St and grabbed a couple of lattes using some bev coupons (courtesy of my Grandmommy, who absolutely rocks). Some lady was sitting next to the espresso bar and said, "ooh, that beverage looks soooooo good" each time the barista made a drink.
I bugged out, got home, read a couple of emails, and send a couple more. Then, I put on some Bosstones (Mighty Mighty) and tried to get shit straight. It was time to fix the tire. I phoned up NTB and spoke with Carlos, who said, "Come on up." I drove straight to the tire place, and Carlos told me to come back at 13h. I still had a lot to do, but thought it's OK. I could still get it done.
I left NTB on foot, dressed for a soccer match, briefcase strapped to my back, phone in hand. I was cracking myself up walking a couple of blocks to the nearest Starbucks. (Yes, for anyone who is counting, I was on course for a million shots of espresso...) It was raining hard, I was wet, but I got there, ordered drinks, and made a few calls for work stuff.
For the next couple of hours I sat outside, reading Ayn Rand and writing bad poetry (the showers fall on may flowers/i'm not smoking i'm not choking/those that made me quit are full of shit) and hoped that my car would be ready soon.
At a little past 12, the rain stopped, so I walked back to the tire place and watched a little television in the waiting area. Finally, the guy stuck his head into the room and told me my car was ready. As he gave me my change, he was like, "Hey, thanks a lot for stopping by today!"
I was like, "Hey, thanks so much for charging me 110 dollars!"
After the tire store stop, I went to the gym, had a great workout, followed by a tasty smoothie. I went home, made a quick call to a colleague, then took a shower.
By this time, it was almost 14h, and I realized that I needed to provide the finance team with the monthend billings. I quickly generated the reports, sent them to my colleague, and at 14h25 was on my way to the laundromat.
10 minutes later, the clothes were in the wash, and I spent a few minutes talking on the phone with my customer about our business review which would be held the next week. I was a little worried about how that meeting would go; I was pretty sure that I would be getting my ass kicked, but fuck it. That would be next week's problem.
Once that conversation ended, I put the clothes in the dryer, then called my boss to report in, giving him an update on my chat with our customer. Once that call ended, I took a moment to empty my car of the coffee cups I had accumulated during the course of the day. Outside the laundromat, I walked over to the dumpster, and along with the cups, inadvertently threw my mobile phone inside.
Total fucking gross out.
I had to put most of my body inside the dumpster and managed to grab the phone, which had some "stuff" on it. I scraped it on the sidewalk to clean it as best as I could. I had not felt so stupid since 7h50 that morning, when a friend pointed out the misspelling I had made in a global email I had sent out announcing that I would be out of the office for the remainder of the week.
I went back inside to take the clothes out of the dryer, then called Tim. He is the reason for all the rushing about. After all, in three days, I was to be the best man at his wedding. We chatted briefly, and I confirmed that I would be down in Austin the following morning. "Wow, I hear kids," he said.
"Yep, it is romper room here at the laundromat," I responded, electing to skip the story of the gunky mobile in the dumpster.
I took the clothes back home, then sped over to Anita's for a trim, then at 16h15 found myself sitting down at the Old Monk for a beer, some quiet time, and some dinner. I figured I would stay there until I was comfortable with my groom's toast (liquor? I never even knew her...)
Thursday, May 4. 6am. I was totally awakened by a rainstorm. I thought that was pretty cool, until I remembered that I was going to have to drive down to Austin in the rain. I made a couple of coffees and started packing for the weekend. I felt remarkably great considering the number of beers I had had the night before. I had another coffee, listened to more music, and kept getting ready.
By 8h15, I was just about set, and went up to the big house to pay Chris rent. We chatted for a few minutes, and I begged him not to destroy the apartment during the 15 keg party that there were going to have over the weekend. After a quick stop to pick up the dry cleaning, I picked up a couple more lattes at Starbucks, then headed south. The rain wasn't too bad, but still pretty heavy. Maybe the visibility could have been better, but I was on vacation and doing a road trip. I was not going to let anything stand in my way.
Two hours later, I was getting drowsy, but rolled down the car window, put in another crazy goth-rock tape, and finished my latte. I perked up, and realized I only had another 30 minutes of driving before I got to Tim's house.
I powered on, and finally exited the highway. A few minutes later I was rolling up to the house. Back in the day, I would have jumped out of the car, smoked a cigarette, then walked to the front door. This time, I just got out of the car, stood there a moment smoke free, then Tim's mom and nephews came outside.
We exchanged greetings, then went inside. Most of Tim's family had already arrived in Austin: his sister, his brother and family, and an aunt and uncle. His sister offered me a beer (priorities, you know), then showed me around the house. Tim and his fiance Shannon arrived home (after a half day of work) to start the official wedding festivities. They would be off of work until after their honeymoon.
We continued having a few beers as more family arrived, then took a trip to Wal-Mart to pick up some patio furniture. Wal-Mart is fun as hell to go to, especially with a couple who are going to get married in 48 hours. I had a great time messing with their heads.
Tim's brother and kids arrived at the store, and all of us rolled buggies up and down the aisles picking up all kinds of stuff. At one point, an employee asked if we were having a scavenger hunt (we were hunting toy harmonicas). I said, yes, of course. Buying things to entertain a 2 year old, a 4 year old, and a large group of drunk 30 somethings can be called whatever you want. We found the toys we wanted, then headed to the beer section to replenish our stock. (No one had completely anticipated Bryan's beer consumption rate, which had increased slightly since the great American smoke out.)
We finally paid out and headed outside to load the patio furniture into the truck. It was humid as hell and I was sweating heavily.
Back at home, we put together the furniture as we continued sipping a few beers.
That evening, we had a cook out at Shannon's uncle's house in a rather nice part of Austin. Most of the wedding party had finally arrived so it was all about the pre-wedding festivities. I did my best to taunt the nervous bride to be into getting hopelessly drunk, but she wisely abstained. The barbecue was superb, everyone had a good time, and like any good party, there was an incident where someone fell into the fountain outside in the garden. Of course, he was 2 years old, but hey, someone has to do it.
The next morning, the day before the wedding, we got up early. I was ready to continue celebrations, but was also feeling the beers from the day before. Shannon and the maid of honor headed to the manicurist, and Tim and I stopped by the bank, before heading to the airport to pick up more folks.
At the airport, I got a much needed coffee, then the flight from Love Field arrived and young Pauly stepped out to greet us. We had another coffee while we waited for Matthew, taking time to chuckle at some of the other travelers, including one unfortunate businessman who had just rushed across the airport to his gate, only to have the attendant wait right up until the guy arrived breathlessly, then simply say, "Sorry, you are too LATE!" and shut the door in his face. It is one of those things that is quite funny to see, but only when it is not happening to you. I have been through similar situations, so enjoyed being the spectator on this particular day.
At 11h30, Matthew's flight from Connecticut arrived, and he was the last guy to depart the aircraft. As usual, he was in rare form, complete in loafers, khakis, winnie the pooh tie and navy blazer. We jumped in the car and headed back to town, stopping by a store to pick up a video camera. It was still way hot and we searched unsuccessfully for a shop that sold bandanas, then finally gave up and headed off to the tuxedo shop for our fitting.
May - known for its flowers, weddings, and Proms....
At 13h, we walked up to the tuxedo shop to find about 15 people standing in line.
"Holy shit," someone said.
Right about this time, the father of the bride came out with his tux, complaining that he had been at the shop for 2 hours.
"Holy shit," someone said again.
We were all hungry, but we needed to get this tuxedo thing taken care of. Tim and I stood in line and sent Matthew and Pablo off for snacks. Sure enough, a few minutes later we were next at the counter, and Tim had to run off to grab the others. In the tuxedo renting process, you have to pay up front, so we settled our bills, then waited for our turn to be called for the fitting.
While we waited, Tim and I had a couple of beers and something from the food court. The mall security kept telling us that we had to stay in the food area with our beers, but we kept saying that we needed to be close to the tux shop so we could hear when our names were called.
Finally, we were called into the fitting rooms. Tim and Matthew had perfect fits. Pablo and I had a few troubles. While he stood in his boxers waiting for his pants to be hemmed, I made a few calls to colleagues about the travel for the upcoming business review the following week. The whole process took a lot longer than we had planned, so we just kept drinking beers. We realized that we were going to be late for the dress rehearsal, but basically said fuck it. It's not as if they could do the rehearsal without the groom, the best man, and the groomsmen.
Tuxedos finally rented, we raced back to Tim's, I got my car, then Pablo and I drove into Austin listening to the Beatles, Supergrass, and Belle and Sebastian. The traffic was horrible, but we had beers, so it was OK.
We arrived to the rehearsal. It was really hot, and tensions were high, due to our tardiness. The final groomsman was already there, so finally we had the complete entourage (of drunk bastards, if you will....though a couple of guys may try and say, "hey, I was not that drunk.")
True, wedding rehearsals are important, but they usually are uneventful. It was hot as crap, but we paid attention and knew what to do. By the end of it, everyone was at least a little more calm, and we all planned to head directly to the rehearsal dinner. I was feeling about as fresh as that woman who sat with the windows rolled up in her car for two days in the movie "Cujo," but did not have time for a shower. I settled for changing t-shirts in the parking lot of the church and thought about the margarita I would be enjoying at the restaurant.
Pablo and I drove through the Austin strip (amazingly enough, our first time to be in Austin at the same time...all other trips were without the pleasure of one another's company. many thanks, Pablo, for honking at EVERY female jogger that we passed) and arrived at the restaurant to find that they only had one waiter to serve our party of 40. This prompted several of our group to have a word with management, and eventually they got a few more servers to help.
As the dinner came to an end, Tim's brother and sister stood up to say a few words and share a few gifts. Then, Shannon's father got up and said a few more words. He got choked up (as any father would when their daughter is about to get married) and the significance of the event hit me (again). A best friend was about to get married.
The large portion of the wedding party departed the restaurant fairly early, allowing for those of us on the groom's side to check in at our hotel. We all noticed that there was some sort of cocktail lounge across the way from our hotel, so after a quick checkin, we grabbed the groom and headed over for a little more festivity. We all found ourselves quickly consuming a couple of "bahamritas" each. These were some sort of fruity drinks with a ridiculous (and unnecessary) amount of alcohol in them. Looking back, it might not have been the best decision, especially after the margaritas we had just consumed a couple of hours before, and who could forget about the beers we had consumed during the course of the day.
However, in fairness, the drinks were in goofy glasses, so we ended up spilling a lot of the contents onto our boots, shoes, and feet (depending on the person). So, we switched back to beer, and tried to behave like guys at a bachelor party. Since all of us came from different parts of the country, this was our first real opportunity to have some semblance of a stag night, however tame. And tame it was.
From our group of 6 guys, I think Tim talked to one attractive girl, while the rest of us stood around sheepishly and shyly, which was pretty much how we went through college together. From there, we went over to a D&Bs to play a few games, then we called it a night. We needed the sleep, and the next day was going to be a BIG day.
Saturday, 6th May. 8am. Tim is already up and ready for the day. (It was his day, so why not?)
I was not feeling particularly hearty, but am trying to rally as quickly as can, trying not to think about the damage I had been doing to my liver over the past couple of days. Tim broke into our hotel room and roused us out of bed. We had a quick breakfast, then headed to his house to do a few last minute things.
The maid of honor had already called me to announce, "The bride is out of the house," which had initially baffled Paul and me. (We found out later that this is tradition.)
Tim and I got to his house, picked up the dog, then stopped by his in-laws house to drop off a Wishing Well, then took the dog to the vets for the weekend. We listened to the Farm during the mornings excursion, and I thought it very fitting that we sang "All Together Now," our anthem from senior year, at the top of our lungs like only we could do.
We then went to another hotel where the bride and groom would be staying that night, checked them in, then we headed off to a place for lunch. Tim had overcome some wedding jitters and had his appetite back, and somehow I had lost mine. Kudos to Pablo for recognizing some local movie star in the restaurant (as well as seeing another celebrity on his trip down the day before). After lunch, we picked up more beer and headed back to our hotel. We experimented with the video camera throughout the day, as Paul was really getting his act together as a production king.
My parents were checking into the hotel when we arrived, so we had a brief chat. My dad showed us his new golf clubs and mom just kept smiling, so proud that one of her "sons" was about to get married. Time was catching up with us, so we headed to our rooms to start getting ready for the wedding. For motivation, we put on a tape of Braveheart.
Tim and I shaved our torsos, and I would like to thank everyone in the group for thinking it would be so fucking funny to bring out the video camera. Why was that door not locked?
By mid afternoon, we were all suited, and feeling really warm. We trooped over to the church, got the video camera out again, and then proceeded to have a quick game of wiffle ball calm our nerves. Loads of fun, but way too hot. After scrambling to get our boutonnieres and handkerchiefs sorted, it was time for the big event.
We did a big group hug, then paraded into the church.
The wedding ceremony itself went off without too many crazy events. Tim's nephews came down the aisle as ring bearers, but immediately had to leave as they were inclined to start chucking those little heart shaped pillows around. I sweat enough to wash a few church pews away, and Tim seemed to be a bit sweaty himself. Shannon, meanwhile, looked great, but she would not look at me, because she knew I would try and make her laugh.
I never locked my knees (thus avoiding a 4th time in my life that I have fainted in a church) and before you knew it, Tim and Shannon were married, and walking up and arm up the aisle.
After the photos, we headed to the reception at the Austin Club, which was a great scene. I started right in on the beers and kept a good clip going. I had a few words with the DJ, as she was exceptionally cute, even if she did not know what SKA music was.
I got razzled when it came time for the groom's toast, which goes to show why I deserve to be safely behind camera with script, or better yet, always with pen and paper. Fortunately, no one held anything against me, and in fact, the bar tender said he thought I had given a decent and funny speech. He was proud to serve me the last of the beer that they had in stock at the bar.
Tim and Shannon danced, as did lots of folks, including myself. I think just about everyone got out and cut a rug or two, except for Pablo, who needed one more notch in the belt to keep the pants secured ("You're all right, kid.") One of Tim's nephews got sideswiped by Shannon's wedding train, which I found particularly entertaining. By that time, I had had so many beers that it happened in slow slow slow motion.
After the toasts, the greetings, and the hugs, the happy couple rode off in a carriage, a very fitting way for them to exit the reception.
I said my goodbyes to the families, then several of us hit 6th Street, most of us still in our tuxes and gowns. We did some bar hopping and socialized with wedding guests, probably a few wedding crashers, and the rest of the people of Austin who were out enjoying the scene on a Saturday night. We had beers on the streets, as well as couple of slices of pizza from a vendor. In the end, like this is some big surprise, I got ripped out of my fucking mind. Matthew left at some point, as he had an early flight back to Hartford the next morning, and another groomsman Derrick left to get a few hours of sleep before starting his shift at the hospital the next morning. I fell asleep at a table on the patio of the Iron Cactus, and finally Pablo drove us back to the hotel. I slept shotgun and don't remember another thing.
Sunday morning 8am. The phone rang. Any other time, this would have been okay, but I was feeling like crap. My liver was not working all that well. The same could have been said about the rest of my body.
It was Tim calling. His keys, wallet, and everything were all in Derrick's truck, and Derrick was already at work at the hospital. My assignment? Find Derrick, get the keys, and get them to Tim.
Well, I got up, went to the bathroom, and threw up. (Sorry, Pauly, that wasn't too pretty). I came out, put on the rest of Braveheart, hoping a graphically violent film about Scotland's history would settle my stomach. Then I fell right back to sleep.
An hour later, Tim called back to ask what I had found. I found that I still felt like hell, and had not been able to get Derrick on the phone.
Meanwhile, Pablo, who felt great, ("Vodka tonics, Bryan, vodka tonics,") was able to rally me and help me get my shit together. Alas, I recalled a vodka shot (vodka shot? who the hell thought that was good idea?) from the previous evening and made another trip to completely puke up the entire lining of my stomach. (Again, Pablo, really sorry about that...that was disgusting.) Finally I made it into the shower.
I got out of the shower still feeling like hell (worst hangover since New Years, when I competed with my brother-in-law to see who felt worse) but made it downstairs for a coffee, where I managed to scare everyone in the lobby, as my eyes were swollen shut and I looked like a baby pig.
I eventually got Derrick on the phone, and Pablo and I checked out of the hotel, then drove to the hospital to get Tim's gear. After a bit of hunting, we finally located Derrick, got the stuff, then drove to Tim and Shannon's hotel, who were not able to check out until they had Tim's things. We said our farewells to the newlyweds, dropped our tuxes off, then called my folks to arrange to meet for brunch.
We elected to eat at Fado's, an Irish pub on 4th Street. Pablo and I parked, picked up real coffees at Starbucks, then walked through a street festival on the way to the pub. It was toasty warm and we were both sweating profusely by the time we got to the pub. My folks were great and we spent the next few hours chatting and catching up on things. I am still pretty amazed that having a full breakfast was a good idea, but I was able to hold it down and actually felt quite a bit better afterwards, despite finding a bug in my coffee.
Eventually, it was time to go. I needed to get Pablo to the airport, then drive myself the 3 hours back to Dallas. After dropping Pablo at the curb, I stopped at a gas station and bought four liters of water, and hit the road. Some sadistic side of me was like, "Bryan, drink a gallon of water and don't stop until you get to Dallas."
This probably would have been fine, until I came upon a traffic jam just outside of Dallas, which brought us to a standstill, and created an additional 45 minute delay. This delay brought me close to tears, as I was overwhelmed with exhaustion, liver failure, and not least of all, a dire need to hit the gents'.
Somehow, I was able to hold on, and made it back to Goliad. I took a much needed pee, picked up a few staples at Whole Foods, then caught up with Chris, Lori, and Bennett for a few minutes. Their party was a true success. The band Speed Trucker played, and were a tremendous hit, and although I was sorry to miss a 15 keg crawfish boil in my backyard, I knew I had just been at a party of a lifetime in Austin.
To Tim and Shannon....thanks for putting up with my antics. Thanks for including me in your celebration. I owe you a white picket fence. I am rather impressed by your love for each other; it kind of puts the whole marriage thing for me in perspective. Sure, there's no fucking way I am about to doing anything like that, but all the same, you know?
********
So, as I did most every Monday evening when I lived at Goliad, I returned to the Old Monk the next evening to write up the weekend report.
Back then, I wrote exclusively with pen and notebook. There was always a comfort when the piece was finished. I would put the cap back on my pen, close the notebook, and sit for a moment, just letting it all set in.
Happy Anniversary, Tim and Shannon
see you out there
bryan
Monday, April 30, 2018
My Father Is Just About the Greatest Guy I Know
Even though I always look forward to visits from friends and family, there is always just a little bit of apprehension. I try to make sure that the flat is cleaned and up to scratch, but sometimes wonder if the inspection will pass muster. Making sure that my folks (or any visitor, for that matter) gets settled without too many language barriers is also a little bit of a concern. Above all, I certainly want everyone to enjoy themselves in my neighborhood.
The longer that I have lived here, this anxiety has diminished a lot, but still kinds of persists, typically when it comes to organizing dinners and particularly with translating menus to make sure that everyone finds something that they want (and can) eat.
This year, my father arrived with a couple of close family friends, and almost immediately was very apparent that this was going to be a very relaxed visit. After checking into their hotel close to my flat, Dad, Dan and Nan came over to my place. We got the hugs and greetings out the way, as well as the handover of the dark chocolate peanut butter cups; I had made a small request for several packages to be brought over.
The weather was brilliant, if not just a tad warm (for late April), but it meant that the next several days we would be able to spend a lot of time outside doing whatever we wanted. Everyone got quickly settled into the neighborhood. Dad and Dan spent most mornings having a coffee and roll at the bakery close by their hotel. They would later do a bit of walking around the city once Nan was up and about. Drinks at the pub (or wherever) were the norm by late afternoon/early evening, during which time my guests all got to meet most of my friends and Kumpels in the neighborhood.
As always, my friends were glad to greet friends/family of mine, and although my father is quite well known already, everyone really took to my friends who were visiting for the first time. Likewise, Dan and Nan responded graciously; our Tonne group got quite large for several days as we all gathered outside the pub at the barrel.
We celebrated my birthday at a local tapas bar with Nadja, and it was quite the enjoyable evening to enjoy some laughs, wine, and good food and company. Even though I am not really a big birthday guy, I have always really appreciated it when my folks would make a real effort to be in town on my day, and this year, being a little bit special, was all the more meaningful.
So the week went by quickly:beers and cocktails out and about, brats on the marketplace, gelato at the Eis Cafe, and quite a bit of German cuisine, as Dan and Nan did not really come to Frankfurt to eat Italian or Asian food. This is rather understandable for someone who has never travelled to Germany before.
In a flash, the week came to an end, and Dan and Nan prepared for their return to the states. Dad was gong to stay on another week. We had a last quick beer at the pub last Sunday evening, and during our goodbyes, I was really touched by Dan and Nan's kind words: they had a wonderful time hanging out with me and my father, in my neighborhood, meeting my friends.
Last Monday, the start of my father's second week of his visit, he came over to my house mid morning, and we spent pretty much the whole day just drinking coffee and chatting. Chatting about how fun the previous week had been, as well as catching up on all events happening either side of the ocean in our lives. It was so relaxing, neither one of us had any set agenda, and we actually talked so long that we almost forgot about lunch. In the end, we settled on a late late lunch/early supper at a little place down the street, before meeting up with the guys at the Kiosk as part of our Monday evening routine. It seemed so perfectly natural, and I was appreciative of my friends who have to make an effort to speak in English, but they take it in stride and I am glad that they accept those extensions of my side of the world without question. (True, it does help when my guests are nice people...all the more easy to get along with someone).
Most of the week was spent similar to our Monday. We simply just visited with each other, talking about so many different topics. One on one father time is something I have always cherished, and usually I get my chances with him when I am visiting the states over Christmas; early mornings with a cup of coffee. Obviously, last Christmas was a complete blur and we did not really have that opportunity.
It's funny, we both have similar ways of communicating, between both ourselves and with others. Several times during the week while we were out and about, I overheard him relating a story to someone and I realized that I was telling almost the identical story to someone else in a separate conversation. We seem to be on a very similar wave length most of the time, and even though this is really nothing new, it made it all the more special for me during this visit. We both regularly commented on how relaxed we felt.
I really enjoyed seeing my father interact with my friends. Dad is a pretty good conversationalist and has his really funny moments of wit. One guy who I don't know all that well made a passing comment to my father about how he had tried to get his own parents to fly over to visit him, even offering them first class tickets. My father quipped, "Well, I am happy to let you fly me over here in first class."
That cracked me up.
I still find that I am not only still learning about my father, but I am still learning FROM my father, and that is just a really great feeling. I know how proud my father is of me, even though he does not always need to say the words. Likewise, I am equally proud of him, as a father, a man, and a friend.
A few of us gathered at the pub last evening for a last little time together. The weather was pleasant, the company was good, and all of it helped bring a wonderful visit to a close.
I never like good-byes, and this one was particularly emotional. Dad and I had a big hug together, shed a few tears, then he walked on up the hill back to his hotel.
His flight took off about half an hour ago, and I stood on my balcony and looked up at the sky to see if I could see his airplane. It's been kind of a melancholic start to the day, but I was glad to stand there with my coffee and smile.
What a great couple of weeks.
Thanks, Dad. See you soon.
bryan
The longer that I have lived here, this anxiety has diminished a lot, but still kinds of persists, typically when it comes to organizing dinners and particularly with translating menus to make sure that everyone finds something that they want (and can) eat.
This year, my father arrived with a couple of close family friends, and almost immediately was very apparent that this was going to be a very relaxed visit. After checking into their hotel close to my flat, Dad, Dan and Nan came over to my place. We got the hugs and greetings out the way, as well as the handover of the dark chocolate peanut butter cups; I had made a small request for several packages to be brought over.
The weather was brilliant, if not just a tad warm (for late April), but it meant that the next several days we would be able to spend a lot of time outside doing whatever we wanted. Everyone got quickly settled into the neighborhood. Dad and Dan spent most mornings having a coffee and roll at the bakery close by their hotel. They would later do a bit of walking around the city once Nan was up and about. Drinks at the pub (or wherever) were the norm by late afternoon/early evening, during which time my guests all got to meet most of my friends and Kumpels in the neighborhood.
As always, my friends were glad to greet friends/family of mine, and although my father is quite well known already, everyone really took to my friends who were visiting for the first time. Likewise, Dan and Nan responded graciously; our Tonne group got quite large for several days as we all gathered outside the pub at the barrel.
We celebrated my birthday at a local tapas bar with Nadja, and it was quite the enjoyable evening to enjoy some laughs, wine, and good food and company. Even though I am not really a big birthday guy, I have always really appreciated it when my folks would make a real effort to be in town on my day, and this year, being a little bit special, was all the more meaningful.
So the week went by quickly:beers and cocktails out and about, brats on the marketplace, gelato at the Eis Cafe, and quite a bit of German cuisine, as Dan and Nan did not really come to Frankfurt to eat Italian or Asian food. This is rather understandable for someone who has never travelled to Germany before.
In a flash, the week came to an end, and Dan and Nan prepared for their return to the states. Dad was gong to stay on another week. We had a last quick beer at the pub last Sunday evening, and during our goodbyes, I was really touched by Dan and Nan's kind words: they had a wonderful time hanging out with me and my father, in my neighborhood, meeting my friends.
Last Monday, the start of my father's second week of his visit, he came over to my house mid morning, and we spent pretty much the whole day just drinking coffee and chatting. Chatting about how fun the previous week had been, as well as catching up on all events happening either side of the ocean in our lives. It was so relaxing, neither one of us had any set agenda, and we actually talked so long that we almost forgot about lunch. In the end, we settled on a late late lunch/early supper at a little place down the street, before meeting up with the guys at the Kiosk as part of our Monday evening routine. It seemed so perfectly natural, and I was appreciative of my friends who have to make an effort to speak in English, but they take it in stride and I am glad that they accept those extensions of my side of the world without question. (True, it does help when my guests are nice people...all the more easy to get along with someone).
Most of the week was spent similar to our Monday. We simply just visited with each other, talking about so many different topics. One on one father time is something I have always cherished, and usually I get my chances with him when I am visiting the states over Christmas; early mornings with a cup of coffee. Obviously, last Christmas was a complete blur and we did not really have that opportunity.
It's funny, we both have similar ways of communicating, between both ourselves and with others. Several times during the week while we were out and about, I overheard him relating a story to someone and I realized that I was telling almost the identical story to someone else in a separate conversation. We seem to be on a very similar wave length most of the time, and even though this is really nothing new, it made it all the more special for me during this visit. We both regularly commented on how relaxed we felt.
I really enjoyed seeing my father interact with my friends. Dad is a pretty good conversationalist and has his really funny moments of wit. One guy who I don't know all that well made a passing comment to my father about how he had tried to get his own parents to fly over to visit him, even offering them first class tickets. My father quipped, "Well, I am happy to let you fly me over here in first class."
That cracked me up.
I still find that I am not only still learning about my father, but I am still learning FROM my father, and that is just a really great feeling. I know how proud my father is of me, even though he does not always need to say the words. Likewise, I am equally proud of him, as a father, a man, and a friend.
A few of us gathered at the pub last evening for a last little time together. The weather was pleasant, the company was good, and all of it helped bring a wonderful visit to a close.
I never like good-byes, and this one was particularly emotional. Dad and I had a big hug together, shed a few tears, then he walked on up the hill back to his hotel.
His flight took off about half an hour ago, and I stood on my balcony and looked up at the sky to see if I could see his airplane. It's been kind of a melancholic start to the day, but I was glad to stand there with my coffee and smile.
What a great couple of weeks.
Thanks, Dad. See you soon.
bryan
Friday, April 13, 2018
Venting on the Playground with a Bacon Roo
The other week I was on a conference call with about 20 people, including the country managers, the delivery manager, and a couple of guys who represent our external customer. Things got a little tense, and before you knew it, our delivery manager was in a heated argument with the customer. I am new to the specific project, but already had a pretty good understanding of why emotions could get a little tense.
As I sat at my desk listening to the two guys in their fiery exchange, I was reminded of being on a playground as a 10 year old watching two kids have an argument. In both situations, there was not an immediate solution present. In the case of the children, one person said something pretty much to the effect of, "I am going to tell my parents on you!" to which the other child responded, "Yeah? Well, nanny nanny boo boo!"
You know, all these years later, I cannot actually remember what the two ten year olds said to each other....
The incident really irritated me and put me in a bad mood for the rest of the work day. The sour mood returned a couple of days later when another colleague sent out an email requesting urgent feedback. The request was for information that most people understand realistically takes three to four hours to obtain. Unfortunately, said colleague did not understand this, so he sent a follow up message about 30 minutes later telling everyone to hurry up, and included a statement "the customer is escalating."
In other words, the customer was going to tell my parents on me? What might happen? My allowance might get cut off? Would I be grounded and not allowed to go out and play?
Throughout my career I have always been fascinated at the way people behave themselves in the workplace. All too often, I have experienced where people really get bent out of shape in moments of conflict, then proceed to exacerbate things because of the way they choose to handle the situation. Either they go into full blown panic mode and start making very rash decisions, or they simply throw all their toys out of the pram.
It is not coincidence that I keep referring to children in my analogies. What is rather distressing to me is that people (including myself, to be fair) tend to overlook their maturity. This is particularly exasperating for me at my job, since I work for a company that has continued to grow over the past six years, but we continue to really fall short when it comes to development, especially development of our resources.
Many of my posts here mention anecdotes from my work experience; a lot of them provide a sarcastic glimpse into the various challenges that occur when things are not going so well. As I said before, the company is actually reasonably successful, but I personally believe it comes at the expense of the people. As an example, a couple of years ago, we started a massive project which required a lot of system development and additional staff. Unfortunately, we somehow underestimated the requirements, and ultimately reacted way too late. We knew good and well that we would almost increase our basic accounting functions by 6000%, and we did not add any staff.
What?
It really came as no surprise to me last year as one by one, most of the financial team left the company. As much as I felt for them, I was equally frustrated by their reluctance to accept my offer to help support. It was clear to me that they were not clear on the tasks at hand, and I thought (rightfully, in my opinion) that I could help them understand what we were trying/needing to do.
Later on, I realized that my helpful gesture wasn't ignored because the recipients did not want the help, it was that they did not know HOW to understand that they needed the help. I ultimately decided that it was an issue of having the wrong people doing the task. Wrong, not because because they were incapable, but wrong because they never had the opportunity or the training. This comes down to personal development.
Recently, my teen-aged nephew was hired by a neighbor to do some yard work. My nephew grossly underestimated the task and quickly got himself overwhelmed. Instead of trying assess the situation and change his approach, he panicked, called in reinforcements (the parents), and together they more or less completed the project, albeit somewhat below expectation from all parties involved.
It was not as if my nephew had been asked to mow the lawn with a pair of fingernail clippers, but it was rather clear that he lacked the knowledge of how to approach the challenge, including which tools to use and how to use them. Of course, this was his opportunity to learn, and my disappointment comes more from the way in which the problem got resolved.
I know this sounds arrogant, but when I was that age, and when I worked for that same neighbor some 30 years ago, I had similar challenges. Likewise, I also got myself overwhelmed. But, when I reached out for help on how to solve the problem, from the likes of my neighbor and my father, I received both constructive criticism and support (as well as bit of humorous commentary) and most always was able to complete the job. And I LEARNED from the experience.
Building on those experiences leads to development and maturity, both of which have helped me greatly in my personal and professional life. True, a lot of this came from upbringing, but much of it also came from my education.
I consider myself to be rather logical, but certainly I have my moments of naivety, and I am still pretty good at being an absolute dipshit (Yes, I did almost lock myself out of the house again this week, and yes, I did narrowly escape the old aerosol spray in the eye trick). But, I always try to learn from the experience and build on it.
Earlier this week, I received a rather serious letter in the mail from the Frankfurt Finanzamt, stating that I owed them 200 Euro for failure to comply with a obligatory action that I was supposed to take part in last November. The letter went on to say that they were disappointed that I had ignored their follow up letters, along with their phone calls.
Exemplified? Naive - I failed to realize that the certified letter I received last November requesting my participation was important. Dipshit - I simultaneously failed to realize that there were financial penalties should I fail to comply. Dipshit point 2 - Simply ignoring the follow up letters.
Logic - I paid the penalty via bank transfer two days ago when I received the "final notice."
I do wish I had been a bit more aware last year when the whole thing started, but oh well.
Live and learn.
And don't continue to make the same mistakes over and over. That is what gripes me so much at work. How come we can't seem to collectively learn and move forward?
I had a rather enjoyable conversation just last Friday evening that helped remind me of how important this concept really is. As usual, I was standing outside the pub with a beer, enjoying the pleasant weather. I happen to overhear a young woman at the next table speak in English to one of the staff, and referred to time in Texas.
Normally, I don't go out of my way to broadcast where I come from, but I jumped out of character for a moment, and asked her where she came from. It turns out she comes from a city rather close to Fort Worth, where I have some roots. As we continued our conversation, we talked a little bit about the experience of living abroad, and then she remarked that she had attended college about an hour north of Dallas.
The moment she said that, and the way that she said it ("it's a really small college") I realized that there was about a 99% chance that I knew which one it was. I started laughing as she named the school.
It is my alma mater, too.
We went through the obligatory "No way, what a small world!" remarks, and just then, her husband returned to the table, found out what we were laughing about, and said, "So you are a 'Roo, too?"
The woman's husband is German, and the two of them met at an international event several years ago. He was quite familiar with our college and the three of us spent the next hour discussing how great the experience was, and what our time at the school had meant to us.
Both the woman and I agree that the school's curriculum was outstanding, but as much as we learned, perhaps one of the most rewarding things was that we learned HOW to learn. Although I have discussed this topic countless times with my classmates from my own years at college, this was one of the first times that I had ever had a chance to talk about it with someone who graduated 20 years after I did.
It was rather refreshing and comforting to encounter someone who appreciates the importance of living and learning, particularly someone so much younger. As I get older, I get the feeling that I don't see this enough, but this helps keep things in perspective for me.
People are still living and learning on the playground.
See you out there.
bryan
As I sat at my desk listening to the two guys in their fiery exchange, I was reminded of being on a playground as a 10 year old watching two kids have an argument. In both situations, there was not an immediate solution present. In the case of the children, one person said something pretty much to the effect of, "I am going to tell my parents on you!" to which the other child responded, "Yeah? Well, nanny nanny boo boo!"
You know, all these years later, I cannot actually remember what the two ten year olds said to each other....
The incident really irritated me and put me in a bad mood for the rest of the work day. The sour mood returned a couple of days later when another colleague sent out an email requesting urgent feedback. The request was for information that most people understand realistically takes three to four hours to obtain. Unfortunately, said colleague did not understand this, so he sent a follow up message about 30 minutes later telling everyone to hurry up, and included a statement "the customer is escalating."
In other words, the customer was going to tell my parents on me? What might happen? My allowance might get cut off? Would I be grounded and not allowed to go out and play?
Throughout my career I have always been fascinated at the way people behave themselves in the workplace. All too often, I have experienced where people really get bent out of shape in moments of conflict, then proceed to exacerbate things because of the way they choose to handle the situation. Either they go into full blown panic mode and start making very rash decisions, or they simply throw all their toys out of the pram.
It is not coincidence that I keep referring to children in my analogies. What is rather distressing to me is that people (including myself, to be fair) tend to overlook their maturity. This is particularly exasperating for me at my job, since I work for a company that has continued to grow over the past six years, but we continue to really fall short when it comes to development, especially development of our resources.
Many of my posts here mention anecdotes from my work experience; a lot of them provide a sarcastic glimpse into the various challenges that occur when things are not going so well. As I said before, the company is actually reasonably successful, but I personally believe it comes at the expense of the people. As an example, a couple of years ago, we started a massive project which required a lot of system development and additional staff. Unfortunately, we somehow underestimated the requirements, and ultimately reacted way too late. We knew good and well that we would almost increase our basic accounting functions by 6000%, and we did not add any staff.
What?
It really came as no surprise to me last year as one by one, most of the financial team left the company. As much as I felt for them, I was equally frustrated by their reluctance to accept my offer to help support. It was clear to me that they were not clear on the tasks at hand, and I thought (rightfully, in my opinion) that I could help them understand what we were trying/needing to do.
Later on, I realized that my helpful gesture wasn't ignored because the recipients did not want the help, it was that they did not know HOW to understand that they needed the help. I ultimately decided that it was an issue of having the wrong people doing the task. Wrong, not because because they were incapable, but wrong because they never had the opportunity or the training. This comes down to personal development.
Recently, my teen-aged nephew was hired by a neighbor to do some yard work. My nephew grossly underestimated the task and quickly got himself overwhelmed. Instead of trying assess the situation and change his approach, he panicked, called in reinforcements (the parents), and together they more or less completed the project, albeit somewhat below expectation from all parties involved.
It was not as if my nephew had been asked to mow the lawn with a pair of fingernail clippers, but it was rather clear that he lacked the knowledge of how to approach the challenge, including which tools to use and how to use them. Of course, this was his opportunity to learn, and my disappointment comes more from the way in which the problem got resolved.
I know this sounds arrogant, but when I was that age, and when I worked for that same neighbor some 30 years ago, I had similar challenges. Likewise, I also got myself overwhelmed. But, when I reached out for help on how to solve the problem, from the likes of my neighbor and my father, I received both constructive criticism and support (as well as bit of humorous commentary) and most always was able to complete the job. And I LEARNED from the experience.
Building on those experiences leads to development and maturity, both of which have helped me greatly in my personal and professional life. True, a lot of this came from upbringing, but much of it also came from my education.
I consider myself to be rather logical, but certainly I have my moments of naivety, and I am still pretty good at being an absolute dipshit (Yes, I did almost lock myself out of the house again this week, and yes, I did narrowly escape the old aerosol spray in the eye trick). But, I always try to learn from the experience and build on it.
Earlier this week, I received a rather serious letter in the mail from the Frankfurt Finanzamt, stating that I owed them 200 Euro for failure to comply with a obligatory action that I was supposed to take part in last November. The letter went on to say that they were disappointed that I had ignored their follow up letters, along with their phone calls.
Exemplified? Naive - I failed to realize that the certified letter I received last November requesting my participation was important. Dipshit - I simultaneously failed to realize that there were financial penalties should I fail to comply. Dipshit point 2 - Simply ignoring the follow up letters.
Logic - I paid the penalty via bank transfer two days ago when I received the "final notice."
I do wish I had been a bit more aware last year when the whole thing started, but oh well.
Live and learn.
And don't continue to make the same mistakes over and over. That is what gripes me so much at work. How come we can't seem to collectively learn and move forward?
I had a rather enjoyable conversation just last Friday evening that helped remind me of how important this concept really is. As usual, I was standing outside the pub with a beer, enjoying the pleasant weather. I happen to overhear a young woman at the next table speak in English to one of the staff, and referred to time in Texas.
Normally, I don't go out of my way to broadcast where I come from, but I jumped out of character for a moment, and asked her where she came from. It turns out she comes from a city rather close to Fort Worth, where I have some roots. As we continued our conversation, we talked a little bit about the experience of living abroad, and then she remarked that she had attended college about an hour north of Dallas.
The moment she said that, and the way that she said it ("it's a really small college") I realized that there was about a 99% chance that I knew which one it was. I started laughing as she named the school.
It is my alma mater, too.
We went through the obligatory "No way, what a small world!" remarks, and just then, her husband returned to the table, found out what we were laughing about, and said, "So you are a 'Roo, too?"
The woman's husband is German, and the two of them met at an international event several years ago. He was quite familiar with our college and the three of us spent the next hour discussing how great the experience was, and what our time at the school had meant to us.
Both the woman and I agree that the school's curriculum was outstanding, but as much as we learned, perhaps one of the most rewarding things was that we learned HOW to learn. Although I have discussed this topic countless times with my classmates from my own years at college, this was one of the first times that I had ever had a chance to talk about it with someone who graduated 20 years after I did.
It was rather refreshing and comforting to encounter someone who appreciates the importance of living and learning, particularly someone so much younger. As I get older, I get the feeling that I don't see this enough, but this helps keep things in perspective for me.
People are still living and learning on the playground.
See you out there.
bryan
Thursday, April 05, 2018
Captain Idiot is Back and Stronger than Ever
So, the past few days I have been wondering what topic I would consider for my next post. Even this morning as I was rallying to get out of bed, I did not seem to have many ideas.
Fortunately, my own actions have come to my rescue...
As I prepare for the visit from my father here in a couple of weeks, I have been doing some tidying up around the flat. You might recall I had a little list of tasks that I wanted to get done at the beginning of Spring, and a thorough hoovering and mopping was certainly on the to-do list. During my breaks from work during this morning, I attacked the dust bunnies hiding in the various corners of the house (as well as under the bed and sofa). I did not stop with the vacuuming, but continued on by changing out the mop head and took care of the bathroom floor, quite impressively, I might add.
I was really feeling productive by midday, managing not only the household chores but also the routine duties of my job. It finally stopped raining just around 13h, and I rushed off to the bank and then on to pick up the dry cleaning, keeping one eye on the darkening skies above. At the cleaners, I smiled sheepishly as the girl brought all 10 items to me: 3 coats and 7 bulky sweaters. She struggled to carry everything over to me at the counter, and I made a note to myself that in future I would try not to schlep so many things to the cleaners at once.
5 minutes later, I was revising my mental note (along with swearing and sweating profusely) as I awkwardly walked across most of Bornheim with everything. Indeed, it was all really heavy. Why the hell did I think it such a good idea to take so many articles at once? Furthermore, I wondered if any of the five dry cleaners that are a LOT closer to my house do a better job, just so I don't have to show the entire neighborhood my entire winter apparel.
Once I got home, I hung everything back up in the closet and checked that task off the list.
A couple of short conference calls later, I finished my last coffee of the day, then decided I would put my doormat back outside my front door. During winter, I usually keep it just inside the front door for any shoes and boots that have picked icy gunk. That way, I wouldn't track it all the way through the flat.
Earlier in the morning I had opened up all the windows in the apartment, and with the balcony door open, the cross breeze was absolutely brilliant. I could almost smell the smoky fugg from my kitchen just whisking away into thin air.
So, when I laid the mat down in front of my door, I was feeling quite accomplished, right up until that moment (which was really in about 3 seconds) when my front door slammed in my face.
This now marks the second time that this exact same thing has happened to me.
(check out the post from March 2010 entitled "Parental Approval Rating - High!")
Not surprisingly, I said what normally comes to mind when something like this happens.
"Oh, fuck."
Of course my keys and my phone were sitting safely inside: just a locked door keeping us apart.
Once again, I trooped over to the pub, hoping to catch my friend (the owner) and see about borrowing his ladder. As I approached the door, it opened and one of the other tenants was just coming outside.
"Hi, do you know if Ray is around?"
"Nope. He is in the Dominican Republic and won't be back until next week."
Yikes.
After brief consideration, I rang the doorbell to see if one of the other guys was around, and I was relieved when Marc answered. Marc is also a friend who works at the pub and lives in one of the small apartments upstairs.
Marc came downstairs and after a quick greeting, I asked him if he was busy and would he mind not only helping to bring the extension ladder over, but could he also help hold the ladder so that I wouldn't fall and break my legs as I climbed up to my balcony.
Just like I did with my father 8 years ago, Marc and I assembled the extensions and struggled to steady the ladder against my balcony railing.
Marc is quite a bit shorter than I am (and lighter), and when he suggested that perhaps it would be better if he climbed up, I almost hugged him. It is not that I am afraid of heights, but I am just saying...
A minute later, Marc clambered over the railing and walked through the flat to my front door.
I was greatly relieved, only to realize that he was just about to exit my flat without removing the key from the door, which would have put us back where we started.
"Wait, don't let the door shut!" I exclaimed, and we both chuckled as I removed the keys from the door and stuck them in my pocket.
Back downstairs to make the ladder short again, and then I thanked Marc profusely as he carried the ladder back across the street.
It's funny. Only yesterday I had sort of reminded myself to be very careful when opening the front door so as to avoid this exact thing from happening.
Sigh. And giggle. What more can I do?
This probably means that sometime in the coming days I will inadvertently and inexplicably spray myself in the eye with an aerosol cleaner.
Thank goodness I can amuse myself by being such a goofball.
See you out there.
bryan
Fortunately, my own actions have come to my rescue...
As I prepare for the visit from my father here in a couple of weeks, I have been doing some tidying up around the flat. You might recall I had a little list of tasks that I wanted to get done at the beginning of Spring, and a thorough hoovering and mopping was certainly on the to-do list. During my breaks from work during this morning, I attacked the dust bunnies hiding in the various corners of the house (as well as under the bed and sofa). I did not stop with the vacuuming, but continued on by changing out the mop head and took care of the bathroom floor, quite impressively, I might add.
I was really feeling productive by midday, managing not only the household chores but also the routine duties of my job. It finally stopped raining just around 13h, and I rushed off to the bank and then on to pick up the dry cleaning, keeping one eye on the darkening skies above. At the cleaners, I smiled sheepishly as the girl brought all 10 items to me: 3 coats and 7 bulky sweaters. She struggled to carry everything over to me at the counter, and I made a note to myself that in future I would try not to schlep so many things to the cleaners at once.
5 minutes later, I was revising my mental note (along with swearing and sweating profusely) as I awkwardly walked across most of Bornheim with everything. Indeed, it was all really heavy. Why the hell did I think it such a good idea to take so many articles at once? Furthermore, I wondered if any of the five dry cleaners that are a LOT closer to my house do a better job, just so I don't have to show the entire neighborhood my entire winter apparel.
Once I got home, I hung everything back up in the closet and checked that task off the list.
A couple of short conference calls later, I finished my last coffee of the day, then decided I would put my doormat back outside my front door. During winter, I usually keep it just inside the front door for any shoes and boots that have picked icy gunk. That way, I wouldn't track it all the way through the flat.
Earlier in the morning I had opened up all the windows in the apartment, and with the balcony door open, the cross breeze was absolutely brilliant. I could almost smell the smoky fugg from my kitchen just whisking away into thin air.
So, when I laid the mat down in front of my door, I was feeling quite accomplished, right up until that moment (which was really in about 3 seconds) when my front door slammed in my face.
This now marks the second time that this exact same thing has happened to me.
(check out the post from March 2010 entitled "Parental Approval Rating - High!")
Not surprisingly, I said what normally comes to mind when something like this happens.
"Oh, fuck."
Of course my keys and my phone were sitting safely inside: just a locked door keeping us apart.
Once again, I trooped over to the pub, hoping to catch my friend (the owner) and see about borrowing his ladder. As I approached the door, it opened and one of the other tenants was just coming outside.
"Hi, do you know if Ray is around?"
"Nope. He is in the Dominican Republic and won't be back until next week."
Yikes.
After brief consideration, I rang the doorbell to see if one of the other guys was around, and I was relieved when Marc answered. Marc is also a friend who works at the pub and lives in one of the small apartments upstairs.
Marc came downstairs and after a quick greeting, I asked him if he was busy and would he mind not only helping to bring the extension ladder over, but could he also help hold the ladder so that I wouldn't fall and break my legs as I climbed up to my balcony.
Just like I did with my father 8 years ago, Marc and I assembled the extensions and struggled to steady the ladder against my balcony railing.
Marc is quite a bit shorter than I am (and lighter), and when he suggested that perhaps it would be better if he climbed up, I almost hugged him. It is not that I am afraid of heights, but I am just saying...
A minute later, Marc clambered over the railing and walked through the flat to my front door.
I was greatly relieved, only to realize that he was just about to exit my flat without removing the key from the door, which would have put us back where we started.
"Wait, don't let the door shut!" I exclaimed, and we both chuckled as I removed the keys from the door and stuck them in my pocket.
Back downstairs to make the ladder short again, and then I thanked Marc profusely as he carried the ladder back across the street.
It's funny. Only yesterday I had sort of reminded myself to be very careful when opening the front door so as to avoid this exact thing from happening.
Sigh. And giggle. What more can I do?
This probably means that sometime in the coming days I will inadvertently and inexplicably spray myself in the eye with an aerosol cleaner.
Thank goodness I can amuse myself by being such a goofball.
See you out there.
bryan
Friday, March 16, 2018
Resturlaub and To-do Lists
Today I am taking a personal day. One of my challenges the whole time I have been in Germany is finding a way to consume all of my vacation (Urlaub) days during the calendar year. The law pretty much states that one has to use ALL their days within a certain time period; otherwise the days will be "lost."
During my first few years in Germany, I was so caught up in getting my ass kicked by the customer, who never stopped pressuring us on the project that I was managing. As a result, I never could take all my holidays, as (in my opinion) there was no time. Every year I got a real telling off from my employer, who seemed to forget that he was the one that had overloaded me in the first place. I always got frustrated during these conversations, since I recognized that a part of self-discipline is to manage one's time, including holidays. Part of me was irritated with myself for never able to do this so well.
I am secretly jealous of the mentality that most of my German friends have. They simply take their holidays and separate themselves from the job. I still remember a story I heard years ago, where some high level manager said, "Hey, I know that the factory burned down, and all the goods in the warehouse were destroyed. Na ja, I was on vacation."
I think it is the idea that people simply walk away from the responsibility that troubles me. I know, that this is mostly perception on my part, and over the years as I worked to improve my work-personal life balance, I do recognize that one simply must distance themselves from things from time to time. This includes really switching off from work.
Over the years where I have had anxious moments as the stress has reached a super high level, I better understand statements like, "Just let it go," or "Joel, sometimes you have to say what the fuck."
Easier said than done, of course.
Anyway, this brings me to 2018, where I found myself ending the month of February with four remaining vacation days to take before the end of March.
My solution? Take every Friday off.
Actually, I kind of like doing the four day work week. I made no plans for any long weekends away, not because I don't like traveling, but rather I enjoy kind of having a little quiet time around the house where I can do something I want to do. In short, focus on making it a "personal" day.
For me, this tends to include rather mundane activities, but I also try and do a few things that are not so routine. When I was submitting my time off requests the other week, I decided to make a little list of all the things that I have been wanting to do, but never seemed to find the time for.
Although several items are related to the end of winter/coming of spring, a few items from my list include:
-clean out the older paperwork I have accumulated over the past decade
-thoroughly clean my balcony
-file my US tax return
-clean the oven (uggh)
-take all the sweaters and coats into the dry cleaners for end of season (this task I will likely need to postpone another few weeks, as freezing temperatures and snow are in this morning's weather forecast)
I can appreciate that some people might consider this list rather boring.
"Why aren't you going to go do something fun and exciting?" I can imagine a few friends might ask.
The fact is, I like doing some of these things, and like having the feeling of having sufficient time to complete the task at my own pace. OK, maybe the oven cleaning will not be that fun, but I do expect to feel quite gratified once it's been done.
We won't change our clocks for another couple of weeks, but as always, I am starting to wake up a little earlier as it gets light outside. This morning was no exception. I was awake at 6h45, and was only slightly irritated that I was getting up so early on a vacation day. However, I quite enjoyed sitting on the balcony with my first coffee of the day, listening to the birds singing.
You see, I am trying to use the personal day to do stuff that I want to do. If that happens to be diddly squat, then so be it. Today's agenda is not overly full, so I can leisurely do a few things that I feel like doing, at my own pace.
As always, I am sort of "on-call" with regard to work. That being said, I am very comforted by the fact that my work email notifies everyone that I am not in the office, so it will be a quiet day.
And a day that I plan to enjoy.
see you out there
bryan
During my first few years in Germany, I was so caught up in getting my ass kicked by the customer, who never stopped pressuring us on the project that I was managing. As a result, I never could take all my holidays, as (in my opinion) there was no time. Every year I got a real telling off from my employer, who seemed to forget that he was the one that had overloaded me in the first place. I always got frustrated during these conversations, since I recognized that a part of self-discipline is to manage one's time, including holidays. Part of me was irritated with myself for never able to do this so well.
I am secretly jealous of the mentality that most of my German friends have. They simply take their holidays and separate themselves from the job. I still remember a story I heard years ago, where some high level manager said, "Hey, I know that the factory burned down, and all the goods in the warehouse were destroyed. Na ja, I was on vacation."
I think it is the idea that people simply walk away from the responsibility that troubles me. I know, that this is mostly perception on my part, and over the years as I worked to improve my work-personal life balance, I do recognize that one simply must distance themselves from things from time to time. This includes really switching off from work.
Over the years where I have had anxious moments as the stress has reached a super high level, I better understand statements like, "Just let it go," or "Joel, sometimes you have to say what the fuck."
Easier said than done, of course.
Anyway, this brings me to 2018, where I found myself ending the month of February with four remaining vacation days to take before the end of March.
My solution? Take every Friday off.
Actually, I kind of like doing the four day work week. I made no plans for any long weekends away, not because I don't like traveling, but rather I enjoy kind of having a little quiet time around the house where I can do something I want to do. In short, focus on making it a "personal" day.
For me, this tends to include rather mundane activities, but I also try and do a few things that are not so routine. When I was submitting my time off requests the other week, I decided to make a little list of all the things that I have been wanting to do, but never seemed to find the time for.
Although several items are related to the end of winter/coming of spring, a few items from my list include:
-clean out the older paperwork I have accumulated over the past decade
-thoroughly clean my balcony
-file my US tax return
-clean the oven (uggh)
-take all the sweaters and coats into the dry cleaners for end of season (this task I will likely need to postpone another few weeks, as freezing temperatures and snow are in this morning's weather forecast)
I can appreciate that some people might consider this list rather boring.
"Why aren't you going to go do something fun and exciting?" I can imagine a few friends might ask.
The fact is, I like doing some of these things, and like having the feeling of having sufficient time to complete the task at my own pace. OK, maybe the oven cleaning will not be that fun, but I do expect to feel quite gratified once it's been done.
We won't change our clocks for another couple of weeks, but as always, I am starting to wake up a little earlier as it gets light outside. This morning was no exception. I was awake at 6h45, and was only slightly irritated that I was getting up so early on a vacation day. However, I quite enjoyed sitting on the balcony with my first coffee of the day, listening to the birds singing.
You see, I am trying to use the personal day to do stuff that I want to do. If that happens to be diddly squat, then so be it. Today's agenda is not overly full, so I can leisurely do a few things that I feel like doing, at my own pace.
As always, I am sort of "on-call" with regard to work. That being said, I am very comforted by the fact that my work email notifies everyone that I am not in the office, so it will be a quiet day.
And a day that I plan to enjoy.
see you out there
bryan
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)