EM 2021 - Just Another Turnier?

There have been so many distractions over the past year and half: so many delays, new rules and regulations created and changed from week to week, and constant schedule juggling.  And I am really only talking about the sport of football...

As tournaments go, I have always looked forward to the World Cup and the European Championships.  That is, until a few years ago when suddenly it seemed that matches were being played almost daily during the week, and almost non-stop through the whole year.  Club schedules were crammed into International fixtures, and it all started becoming a bit too much. 

For a time, I thought it was just me becoming less enthused by the sport.  But, as I talked with friends and other fans, I realized that many people felt the same way:  the business side of things was starting to take a bit out of the passionate side of the game.  Today is not the day for me to share my opinions on broadcasting rights, money hungry club owners, or the creative governing body who never stops looking for ways to monetize the events.  Today I am simply looking at the personal side of things, specifically the EM 2021.  (note - because this tournament was scheduled for the year of 2020 but was postponed until this summer for obvious reasons, I find it kind of confusing and fascinating how we refer to the event.  Germany tends to call it Euro 2021, which accurately reflects the year that the event takes place, but English press still tends to refer to Euro 2020, which has already had me looking at the calendar dates and forgetting what year we are in more than once.)

Truthfully, I was fairly nonplussed last year when it was decided to postpone the event.  Club football had already been delayed for months and it was tricky enough to get all the fixtures completed before taking a 4 week break before starting the new season.  At the time, I was pretty focused on the team I support, and was just glad that they were able to finish the season.  (There was a brief uncertainty last spring when no one knew just what the was hell was going to happen.)

Because last year was such an uncertain time, I fully supported decisions to cancel or postpone events where large crowds would be getting together.  This was particularly significant for me with regard to an event like the Euros; a lot of the thrill comes from the supporting fans cheering from the streets and from the stands in whichever country is hosting the event.  Since that was not possible last year, it made sense to wait until such time that it would be possible. 

The first six months of this year have been very challenging for many reasons, but those of us who are avid fans got very used to sitting at home alone watching a game played in an empty stadium.  It was kind of a surreal experience, especially since social contact was so limited.  There was no standing around outside the pub during the half time to discuss with fellow fans why your team was playing really well, or really poorly, as in the case of Arsenal.  

Part of me was greatly relieved to have the club seasons completed, and I had actually forgotten for a moment that this would be a summer of football with the Euros.  This year has its own distractions, some of which are not quite the same as last year.  On the other hand, there are a couple of similarities, including the opportunity to finally, finally venture back outside and interact with others. 

It is hard to believe that here in Frankfurt, cafes, pubs, and restaurants have only been reopened for about 4 weeks.   Thanks to some decent (if not a little too warm) weather, people have been heading back outdoors simply for that necessary change of scenery after a six month hiatus.  

Not everyone has the same comfort level yet, myself included.  Sure, I am glad to stand around outside chatting with a few friends while we enjoy a few beers.  Sitting in a crowded patio with hundreds of people watching a soccer match, however,  is not necessarily something I was quite sure I was ready to do.  

As a result, I have tended to stay at home (perhaps better said, avoid the pub) during the first matches, particularly the matches involving Germany.  Because of my proximity to the pub, I could certainly hear the people sitting outside watching the games.  Germany played France in their first game, which happened to be on a Tuesday evening.  I had just finished my language class, and figured I would tune in and watch from the comfort of my living room. 

The tournament was already 4 days old, and we had already experienced the dramatic events of the Danish match.  For reasons that I have already stated, I was not quite yet in the spirit of the event, but I was following the match highlights each day.  I am rather thankful that I was not watching the Denmark-Finland match live, but I am very touched at how the players, the clubs, the fans, and the world have responded.  

From my living room that Tuesday evening, I found myself muting my TV in order to hear the fans sitting outside next door.  The particularly vocal fans sounded a bit different, they whooped in ways that I had not heard before, and it took me a few minutes longer before I realized that a large group of French fans were sitting at the pub, and quite a bit more lively, especially as they defeated Germany 1-0. 

One of the interesting things that comes with living on a street where there are plenty of cafes and pubs during football matches is that the feeds tend to go at different rates.  Thus, you might be sitting at home watching the exact same match as everyone else, but everyone else's feed is 30 seconds faster than yours. 

As you can imagine, this means that you hear the goal (or the near miss) before you actually see it.  This can be both irritating and humorous.  It is like a badly dubbed movie, but after awhile, you kind of get used to it.  

What is taking some getting used to is seeing fans in the stadiums again after such a long period.  I must say that it is probably the highlight of the tournament for me so far, finally seeing fans getting to enjoy and support their teams.  I certainly have missed this. 

The French were not quite as vocal a few days later when they drew with Hungary, while Germany got a good result against Portugal.  I am somewhat neutral in this tournament, so am simply following along, and seeing what happens.   

This past Wednesday, despite knowing that Germany had their final group phase match, I ventured to the pub to visit with a couple of friends.  As I arrived, they asked me if my plan was similar to theirs:  come for a few early beers, then return home for the 9pm kick off.  

That was my intention.  

Perhaps it was the simply the nice weather, or the fact that we had a place which was a little further away from the other crowded tables, allowing for us to keep within our comfort zones, but I stayed for the entire match.  I even had one beer too many, though that was perfectly allowed since I had Thursday and Friday off. 

I guess it was my first experience being around a considerably larger group of people since this whole thing has gone on.  While I did notice that most people were following the game on the screen, I could sense that most everyone was just happy to be out and about again.  Finally. 

I was curious how I was going to react to those first times when we are able to move around with fewer restrictions.  I enjoyed being outside, seeing people, more importantly, seeing people enjoy themselves, and hopefully this can all continue.  

From a tournament perspective, I kind of prefer when the event takes place just in one country, but accept that this was a special year, where the matches are played in venues all over Europe.  Perhaps the timing was right:  we have all gone through this shit together, and we still have a ways to go as a society. 

But, a little footy helps bring things back together, and reminds us of the things to be thankful for in life, however small.  

I am still not fanatical about this EM, but will certainly be looking forward to the next matches that start again this afternoon.  

Whether you watch from the comfort of your living room, or out in the thick of things, stay safe and enjoy it. 

See you out there

bryan

Staying in the Kitchen

It is hot.  Within a few days, the temperature has gone from "delightfully pleasant," (he said in his weather broadcaster voice) to "down right humid and uncomfortable." (again, in the same broadcast voice, with a flood of perspiration coming from my brow)

I tend to keep my weather complaints to a minimum for a few reasons.  First, we are fortunate to have four seasons in Germany; I did not have that experience as a child and I appreciate each season as it comes.  Second, it is rare that a weather extreme lasts more than a handful of days.  Again, my experience, particularly with summer, was all about 100 consecutive days of pure hell, whereas here we might have a week (or two) of consecutive heat wave.  And even then, it is never really that bad. 

Hopefully I have not spoken too soon, being that we are still in the month of June. 

And, I do need to confirm (again) that there are aspects of a short heat wave in Europe that can be somewhat worse than heat waves from Texas, even though the duration is shorter. 

There are always a couple of nights during summer when it never cools off.  And that is precisely what helped trigger this week's post.  Thursday night was the first night of being unable to sleep, and I got another repeat last night as I tossed and turned trying to fall asleep.  

That is the thing that bugs me the most about summer:  as long as the temperature drops back down at night, I can deal with however warm it might get during the day.  This is something that annoys most everyone (I remember my barber talking about this 40 years ago), and because most Europeans do not have any air conditioning, this tends to become a real, albeit brief, issue. 

Take my friend, for example.  He lives in a Dachboden down the street.  A Dachboden is basically the top floor of an apartment building.  He is on the 4th floor (which equates to the 5th floor in US terms), and has repeatedly complained about the summer temperatures inside his flat.  If the weather report shows 35 degrees (Celsius), then inside the city it will actually be 2 or 3 degrees warmer, and INSIDE the flat, still another 2-3 degrees.  That basically means that on a day like today, it is going to be close to 40 degrees inside his house.  By doing a quick conversion from C to F, you will see that to be close to 100 degrees.

I am sure you will agree that this is a far cry from delightfully pleasant. 

My situation, in comparison, is not so brutal.  I can open the front windows in the front living room, and also the bathroom window and my kitchen balcony door, on the backside of my flat.  If there is a wind, I will at least get some air flow.  If there is no wind, then things get still in a hurry. 

One small drawback is that leaving my bathroom window open does allow for some peeping, while I am peeing, if you will excuse the expression.  The window is inconveniently located, I must say.  Truth be told, it never has resulted in many awkward moments, but sometimes I might be in a hurry, forget that the window is wide open, sit down to take care of things, and it is only then when I hear the workmen doing some construction on the flat across the way talking to themselves.  

While the odds of someone really being able to see me are somewhat small, they exist all the same. 

As one might do when they are a successful bachelor set in their ways, I eat most of my meals in the living room, using the coffee table as my dining table.  My kitchen table is used as my office desk. 

Because of the home office experience, I tend to spend the majority of my time in the kitchen.  I quite like the set up, and am very used to it.  Recently, however, I am juggling laptops:  my business laptop is obviously used for work purposes, standard Monday through Friday, and sometimes a couple of minutes during the weekend. 

The private laptop normally remains in the living room on a chest of drawers during the work week.  I can stand and use it as needed when taking care of private things (like banking, etc.)  Because I also have my studio microphone set up in the living room (as you do as a bachelor), this is where I skype with my family. 

Now, on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, I have a German class, and need to use my private laptop to log in and participate.  So, after work on those days, I take the work laptop into the living room, and bring the private laptop into the kitchen.  I have gotten so used to various video platforms over the years, and never really cared what people saw in my background until I started the job in January.  My boss quickly suggested that a busy kitchen did not look so professional, so I found a background photo which looks just like an office which I tend to use.  It is not optimal, but it suits the purpose.  

What I forgot is that one platform background does not carry on to the next, and while I tend not to care much when speaking with family or friends, I might have liked the opportunity to modify my background before joining class.  Unfortunately, this is not possible, and gave me cause to wish that I had done some tidying up when my teacher asked me about the bottles lined up on the counter behind me.  We had just been discussing beverages of choice, and she was wondering if the bottles she saw were wine bottles.  I tried to clarify that no, no they were not wine bottles but instead empty olive oil bottles and that I had simply not yet taken everything down to the recycling thing in front of my house.  Because there quite a few, and the fact that it is a rather good quality of oil, I could understand why everyone in the class suddenly thought I had a real passion for wine.  

This is not really something I wanted to share. and I made darn sure to take those things downstairs before the next class.  Likewise I elected to remove the roll of paper towels, the sponges, and any other things that indicate I actually live in the room.  It is not that my kitchen is terribly untidy, but it might be a little cluttered.  Again, it is my clutter and I am not up for a photo shoot in BH and Gs or any other magazine.  Furthermore, I am not really interested in sharing scenes from my living room, which resembles a college dorm room, complete with vintage posters from music groups that probably existed before most of my classmates were actually born.  

The good thing, of course, is that I may not like it but I can take the heat.  

So, I am staying in the kitchen and recycling more frequently. 

See you out there

bryan

Paying Attention in Class, Doing Homework, and Other Ways to Learn a Language

My German online class meets twice a week for 90 minute sessions, and I am enjoying them.  My last experience in a class setting was in Spain, where I met with 8 other students in a very warm classroom overlooking one of the plazas in Valencia.  After a 2 month intense course, I elected to proceed further with private instruction, which turned out to be a very wise move on my part. 

It was not that I did not enjoy the other class participants, but I kept finding myself a little inhibited to speak up in class.  A lot of it had more to do with some of the other students rambling on and not giving others a chance to speak.  True, they had achieved that level of fluency which allowed them the comfort to just habla habla habla, which is a really key point in learning. 

My first years in Germany, I studied with a private instructor, and again, believe it was the right decision. I was in an tailored environment where I could quickly accelerate with the guidance of my teacher, who was also a personal friend.  

With her help, along with my own initiative, I rather quickly achieved a level of fluency, noticeably with my speaking  ability; I became more than capable of having pretty complex discussions about a variety of topics. 

Over the years as I met more people, had more conversations and experienced different things, I reached a pretty high level of German, but at the same time, noticed that I kind of plateaued.  Besides that, I had picked up a couple of bad habits along the way, which from time to time have hindered me from progressing further.  

In comparison to my first few years in Germany, where I quickly found the other newbies as we all struggled to speak the language, more recent years have me in a nice comfort zone where I switch happily back and forth between whichever language.  Mostly that is German and English, but the Spanish still peeks in from time to time. 

The point is, I can think of really only two friends of mine who are (semi) actively trying to learn German.  Both friends speak native English, and for the most part, the only thing I can help them with is sharing my own learning experience:  the importance of self study, speaking as much as much as possible, and basically putting forth the effort. 

Putting forth the effort is a bit of a trick.  My Spanish really took off after I moved to Spain, and my arrival in Germany was filled with all kinds of distractions that come with a move abroad.  But, I was fortunate that I was really motivated to do what was needed in order to learn the language.  I have commented numerous times in the past 15 years about the number of people who have lived here in Germany that never really attempted to learn the language.  This was never my problem, and obviously helped me get over some of the initial hurdles. 

One of the things that I think helped me the most with learning both Spanish and German is that I have made a bit of a game of it.  As a child, I spent tons of time in the library, and most people know me as a voracious (to quote Pablo) reader.  In language learning, I turned to children's books, as it was a relaxed way to get familiar with the language, and on a level that I could sort of connect with.  I discovered a little series of books about a Spanish boy Teo, and spent lots of time reading about his First Visit to the Zoo, or his First Visit to the Doctor.  The books were engaging enough, Teo had a nice family, and my Spanish vocabulary quickly grew to a point where I was actively able to speak with my sister's 5 year old niece in Spanish without any problem at all.  

About the time I was considering looking for Spanish equivalents to Judy Blume type books, I moved to Germany, so basically started over at the really young reader level.  This made for some interesting visits to the big bookstore in Frankfurt, where I was nestled into the children's section reading about German kids kind of like Teo in Spain. 

Because my German experience was more immersion, I actually moved in the direction of creating my own children's book, which to some extent are detailed in some of my blog posts.  I, too, had to go to the dentist for the first time in Germany, and I also went to the zoo.  Suddenly, just about every new activity I was doing had an accompanying book with it.  Bryan's visit to the Unemployment Office, Bryan Learns How to Ride the Trains, and many others are all listed by ISBN.  

In my imagination. 

Experiences can be relative and influenced by interests, so is is no surprise that my level of German might have limits when it comes to topics like: the Solar System, Dinosaurs, and other areas that many of us as children might have read about.  I probably could name all the dinosaurs when I was 10, but that was never really my thing, so was no where on the Prio list when I started learning German vocabulary. 

Because of my interest in detective series, like Midsomer Murders, Agatha Christie stuff, and Henning Mankell, I have learned a ton of Germany vocabulary with regards to rather violent crime, ways murders are committed, and police procedure.  Yes, I know that these are not necessarily words that I will be using in every day conversation, but still, who am I to turn down opportunities to learn new vocabulary.  It is a game after all.  

In my German class, I quickly noticed that I do kind of speak more fluently than some of my classmates.  But, I was there once, myself.  So, I tend to try and stay silent, just to allow the other students the opportunity to speak up.  Sometimes people get intimidated, just like I did back in Spain.  I do not want to be a roadblock for them.  That said, I do speak when I feel so inclined.  Because all of us are from various nationalities, I am noticing that everyone learns German a little differently.  I imagine that this can be a challenge for the instructor.  For example, most Americans trip up on the same few things in German, and in fact, many Germans acknowledge that with regularity.  

So, during my class, I kind of pay attention to what the other students are saying, or how they are comprehending things.  Just last Thursday evening, I was a little surprised when the teacher asked a simple question, "Can anyone give me an example of an adjective?"  

You might think this to be a very basic question, which indeed it is.  However, the subject was comparatives, and even though our level is fairly advanced, this was kind of a review session. 

What was most surprising is when one of the students, probably the one who is also most advanced in the class, proceed to respond to a different question entirely.  For a moment, I thought maybe the online connection was bad and he had misheard, but later I realized that he just simply did not understand. 

It happens.  

And that is precisely why I am taking the class, because it is high time for me to crack on with the refresher course, which will eventually help me get to the next level and off of my plateau. 

As the guy answered the random question with a random answer, I thought of one of my experiences about 5 years ago when I sat in a job interview, my very first ever interview in German.  (That book was entitled, "Well That Did Not Go Well At All."  I was so concentrated on what I wanted to say, I forgot to actually pay attention to what my speaking counterpart was saying.  

Learning the language is as easy as you want to make it.  Vocabulary and grammar rules are really just a matter of taking the time to study, and learn them on your own.  The teacher is there to help guide, and hopefully boost us over the hurdles, and while it always helps when the teacher is engaged, it is equally important that the students are equally engaged in motivated. 

I cannot stress enough how much respect I have for people like my sister who are dedicated teachers in the field of education.  I am fortunate to know many other teachers, at various levels of the school system.  And, I will take pride in the fact that I have done a fair share of teaching myself.  

And out of this respect, I make sure to do my homework, attend class, and show the teacher that I am interested in learning. 

After so many years of living here, the "new" experiences are not quite as frequent as before.  But, throw in job change, a world wide pandemic, and shitloads of other stuff, and I think there will more opportunities to expand the children's library of my life. 

For example, yesterday evening I was picking up a pizza down the street, but had moment of confusion when the guy asked me if I was wanting to take-out or eat-in.  He had to repeat himself three times before I finally understood.  No, it was not so much my German level as simply it has been 8 months since anyone has been able to actually sit in a cafe (outdoor or indoor, for that matter).  Still, I took it as a bit of a sign that I need to remember that everywhere is a classroom environment, and I still need some work on my language. 

Part of me however, was distracted because I was thinking about another book (probably a 2 parter), the first part being "Bryan's visit to the nice doctor who gave him a covid jab" which happened yesterday afternoon.  Part 2 is still unwritten, but will have something to do with whether or not I get knocked on my keister.  As luck would have it, I just finished my reverse lunge 21 day challenge, and my legs are talking to me in their special little way.  I am trying to decide if it is just muscle soreness or truly effects of the vaccination. 

At any rate, it will give me something to think about over the course of the rest of the weekend, along with how to incorporate keister into a few more conversations.  

See you out there, but don't forget to do your homework. 

bryan

Taking Notice of Creativity

A couple of weeks ago, my post talked about the job I had working at the supermarket at the end of high school.  As usual with my posts, the topics tend to stay in my thoughts during the following days as I go about my routine life.  Often, the thoughts start branching out in various directions, and I just let those thoughts flow.  

The very next day after that post, I was scrolling through my TV app searching for the evening's entertainment when I happened across a film called, "Blinded by the Light."  

Fortuitous?

I would say so.  

I won't comment any further about luck, but this was the perfect film for me to see after having spent the previous few days thinking about being 17 and 18 years old. 

"Blinded by the Light," is a film that tells the story of a Pakistani teenager growing up in England.  The film is set in 1987-1988, and is all about the youth discovering Bruce Springsteen during his senior year in high school, and how it changed his life. 

When the movie first came out a couple of years ago, I initially dismissed the film without really taking the time to consider how much I might relate to the movie.  For starters, the movie title did little to peak my curiosity.  I was familiar with the song (same title), as it was quite popular at the end of the 1970s around the time that I was starting to listen to the radio.  Back then, I was just listening while I played in my room, but was not really actively listening.  The radio was tuned to some rock/pop station, and this why I had such an early exposure to the likes of Billy Joel, Kansas, The Who, Cheap Trick, and Manfred Mann, who I knew as the band that played "Blinded by the Light."  

In fact, until a couple of weeks ago, I did not realize that Bruce Springsteen actually wrote the song. I was already familiar with the Boss, having listened to him on the radio in the background as R2D2 and C3PO trekked across the desert wasteland, otherwise known as my bedroom floor.  At the time, I was vaguely familiar with "Born to Run," but the real attraction to that album would not come for another few years.  The Boss track that I connected with as a 7 year old came around Christmas time, when the radio was regularly playing all the seasonal songs from popular artists.  Bruce's version of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town," was (and is) a real favorite. 

Despite the differences in culture and heritage, I connected with the film on so many levels.  I, too, was actively writing during my senior year, and most importantly, I experienced the same moments where discovering a new artist or song or album immediately changed my life.  Unlike the character in the movie, I did not experience just one such moment, but rather a handful (if not close to 10).  In fact, such moments continued regularly during the next 10 years (and continue to this day), but the stand outs certainly come from that era.  Most people clue into that fact the moment they walk into my living room, as those significant influences are literally displayed everywhere.  

What was particularly inspirational from the film was how the character discovered his writing voice.  I, too, was fortunate (erm, lucky) to discover my voice around the same time, and it took several conversations with college professors before I truly grasped how important this was.  Not the writing ability so much, but more the ability to write with a voice, to express. 

Over the years, I continue to seek out new inspirational signs from others; I am always interested in what influences people and drives them.  I realized early enough that it is of no importance what I feel about what drives the individual, so long as they have something.  Sure, it makes for a more interesting conversation or experience when there is a mutual connection or interest, particularly when it comes to music or art.  A perfect example of this comes from the film itself:  the guy puts a specific track on to the school's PA system, locks the door of the room (so no one can get in), then proceeds to run out into the streets dancing and singing.  That is precisely what I feel like doing every time I hear that Springsteen song, and several of my close friends feel very similar.  Sure, I had other bands instead of Bruce that spark that feeling, but the feeling is the same.  (To be clear, I am a fan of the Boss, but without meaning any disrespect, other bands steered my life in the direction it has taken).  

One of the things that I sometimes get a little troubled by is the lack of such similar experiences and influences in the younger people of today.  To be fair, I am ever more out of touch with that generation, but still, I keep looking for the signs.  And, perhaps they are more existent than I realize.  I certainly hope so.  

This past week I listened to a couple of podcasts from public radio.  One report was about the band Kraftwerk, the pioneering electronic band that changed the music world, and I happened to be around for it.  The other podcast was about how people will struggle to find their way, find their voice, as things start to quietly open up again in the world after such a long hiatus.  

The report was specifically about a high school senior who basically never saw any of her classmates face to face until the last few weeks of school, and how awkward it was to kind of start over.  

Whether it be a student, a 20-something, a senior citizen, or a 50-something like me, we are all going to go through a period of adjustment as we re-enter society.  Everyone has a different experience and story to tell.  Clearly many people have dealt with this (perhaps) better than others, but I think it is relative. 

For me, I am planning to think about those life changing moments I had with that first listen to THAT band, or THAT song, and remember how I felt as I start to get back out there.  Hopefully, others will be doing something similar. 

As the movie concluded that Sunday evening, I sat there in my living room cheering, crying, laughing, pretty much hitting emotional euphoria.  

I have a feeling that as we all get reacquainted with each other in the coming weeks, we will all be feeling similar emotions.  

It is going to be interesting, exciting, and for me, it is definitely going to be an experience with a super soundtrack. 

See you out there

bryan

Laughter and Luck

I am one of those guys who always says, "I am not superstitious," but you will never find me walking under a ladder.  In fact, I am not all that keen with walking underneath the scaffolding that is put up on the building fronts in my neighborhood, but sometimes I have to. 

Likewise, I do not often consider myself lucky, but nor do I consider myself unlucky.  

That being said, I do recognize events or happenings can have an element of luck.  It is chance, after all. 

The goalkeeper who has to take a penalty kick in the 11th round of a shootout, is he unlucky for failing to convert, or did the opposing keeper just make a lucky save?

Was it unlucky that I had a bad dream that caused me to jump out of bed precisely when that shootout started on Thursday night? 

I am choosing to consider it lucky.  

As I was walking around my apartment and trying to calm myself down (it was a pretty scary dream, though I no longer can recall the specific details), I thought to myself, "hey, let me just check the result of the final," and as soon as I got to the website, I realized that the shootout n was just starting.  So, I followed the online commentary, deciding that I was not awake enough to turn on the TV and locate the channel to watch it live.  It provided the needed distraction from my bewildered, frightened state from a few moments before, and had the extra little bonus that comes when you are a neutral observer of a nerve-racking penalty shootout, especially if the result goes in your not so neutral favor.  (Funny how we claim to be neutral even though we have a preference.)

Staying on the football, is it unlucky that the defensive player tries to pass the ball out of the box directly in front of his goal, but somehow kicks the ball directly into the opposing forward, resulting in a rather comical and unusual own goal?

With that example, I would probably say that luck had nothing to do with it; it was the sheer fact that the guy was being a dipshit. 

And no, I do not consider it superstitious that immediately after that match a few months ago I stopped using my lucky Arsenal mug on game days.  

I was not thinking about any of this at Thursday lunchtime when I decided to run to the Coffee Haus to buy beans.  I was glad that it was not raining, since we have lately experienced rather unusual weather, where it rains for a little bit, then the sun comes out, then it rains again, sometimes multiple times in a row. 

I was just glad to be out on the street, and was walking past a supermarket when I heard (and felt) a splat-splat.  

Realization hit as I glanced down at my chest and saw a medium sized plop of bird poop right on my shirt.  For the second time since I have lived in Germany, I have had the unpleasant (but very funny) experience of getting shit on by a bird. 

"Damn," I thought to myself as I felt for a bandanna that should have been in my back pocket of my jeans.  Of all the times to have just taken a shower and put on fresh jeans (I usually wear my jeans more than once before washing) and forgotten to put a new bandanna in my pocket before heading out...

I looked for a tissue in my jacket pocket, and found one single one left in the packet, which I used to try and wipe the crud off my shirt.  This was a fruitless effort and just made it look like I had been finger painting on myself.  It was a breast shot, so pretty much my entire left pectoral area was a mess of yuck. 

Thinking, "Well this sucks," I debated whether to go on to the bean store, as I was about half way there. As I stood there wondering what to do, I noticed the second splat that had hit my upper thigh, not quite the size of the first splat, but enough to convince me that returning home to attend to things might be the best decision. 

I did feel somewhat fortunate that I had not been looking up at that precise moment or that it wasn't a facial hit (I was using a brand new face mask) but was still not ready to talk about luck.  I went back to my flat, walked in the bathroom and found a cloth to try and wipe of the new art on my shirt, quickly making it worse than the tissue had.  

As angry as I was, I was starting to laugh as I took my t-shirt off and rinsed it in the basin.  It was not Big Bird or an ostrich, but it certainly was not a hummingbird that had (in fairness, probably not deliberately) let loose on me, and I let the water run a little longer to wash the muck down the drain.  Turning my attention to the spot on my jeans, I figured I could do a quick wipe and that would be the end of it.  Again, after another finger painting exercise that just made everything worse, I figured it would be best to remove the jeans.  

This was confirmed when I finally noticed the mother load of shit that had landed on the bottom of my jeans, somehow not managing to get on my boots. Maybe it was lucky that I roll my jeans, as that seemed to have contained the disgusting glop from getting all over my boots and the laces. I left the water running even longer to wash that down the drain, and complimented myself on my ability to carefully remove boots and pants without getting shit everywhere.  

The crisis was over pretty quickly, and I put on new fresh jeans (yep...of course the ones with the button-fly that no longer stays buttoned) and a fresh t-shirt before heading back out to finish my errand. 

The thing about this kind of experience is that I cannot wait to tell someone about it.  I almost told the lady at the coffee place, and later on I was on a conference call where one of the participants started the meeting (in the "hi, everyone, how is your day going?" phase) by telling us that his upstairs neighbors had left their water running in the bathroom, which caused significant damage to his own bathroom.  I elected not to respond with own mishap, perhaps wisely.  After all, how important is a little poo in comparison to a flood inside your flat?

Later on, I did finally get to tell someone, and was reminded that such incidents are said to bring good luck. 

I remain skeptical that it is lucky to be pooped on, but again, at least find thanks that it was not a flock of bully birds looking for targets.  Yes, I have a vivid imagination and have read just every Far Side comic out there, so I know just how gritty such events could be. 

With that, I am going to refill my Arsenal coffee mug (it is not a game day, the season is over), and go outside and look up at the sky and laugh. 

And I might even do it with my mouth open. 

I feel lucky. 

See you out there

bryan

It Was More Than Just a Job

Well, once again, it has been an action packed week full of interesting thoughts, challenges, and fun. 

Last Saturday, right after finishing the weekly post, I learned that my nephew's recently started first job was already coming to an end; waiting tables for the first time in a busy cafe did not work out.  Fortunately, it was kind of a mutual agreement for them to part ways, and that is part of the experience.  

I reminisced about the first job experience with my sister and a few friends during the course of the weekend, and continued my reflection as the week started. 

Briefly, for those readers eager to get an update on how my Goblet Squat Challenge is going, I am pleased to report that I finished this past Monday.  I rewarded myself by taking a few days off from leg workouts, then decided to start a Reverse Lunge Challenge yesterday, thinking myself suitably fitter than ever. 

Despite using dinky weights, I felt like my left butt cheek was about to fall off for most of last evening. That feeling quickly went away when I was awakened at 2am from a horrific bad dream in which I had my right calf muscle cramp up so much that I almost passed out, which was not a good idea considering I was trying to stand up and loosen the muscle. (visit the link: screamingcheek.de/day 2 was so much better/ for further updates on this new initiative.)

Back to the start of the week.  I was standing proudly on my balcony thinking about how strong my legs were feeling and wondering if Jimmy Stewart ever did leg workouts when I noticed a little movement in the adjacent garden.  At first, I thought it was a small animal, but then realized that it was a robotic lawn mower, moving very quietly and slowly across the grass. 

As fascinated as I was, I also felt a pang of sadness.  Perhaps in another decade or so, there will be less opportunities for young guys or girls to mow lawns.  This is how I started earning money, first taking care of our family's lawn, and gradually took on the lawns of several other neighbors.  This was pretty standard for every 13 year old boy in my neighborhood.  Meanwhile, all the girls were busy with babysitting jobs.  I never really questioned this, nor did I think it was particularly sexist.  I think the folks of my parents and grandparents generation tended to deem certain tasks more appropriate for specific genders.  In my case, my sister had the market cornered on babysitting jobs; in several cases I was taking care of the yard where she looked after the kids. 

I did have a fair amount of lawns to mow at the peak of my landscaping career.  It was not always fun to mow in the heat of the day, and it was pretty grubby work.  But the money was decent, and frequently led to additional, albeit tough, jobs like removing shrubs, digging up tree stumps, raking leaves, and all the other outside jobs that home owners start getting tired of doing at some point.  Why not use a dipshit kid to do those things instead of going outside to get all dirty yourself?

Turning 16, as we know, is a pretty big event in life.  I was finishing my first year of high school, had just gotten my drivers license, and was starting to think about ways I could make even more money, in addition to the lawn mowing.  As the school year was coming to a close, summer jobs was a hot conversation topic.  There was always a classmate who was going to work in their dad's office in some cushy job (counting staples or whatever) at the rate of 10 dollars an hour, almost 3 times the average hourly minimum rate.  A certain amount of envy existed here, this was a "dream" job after all, making a lot of money without having to get dirty, without having to do diddly squat, really. It is funny how people react to these kinds of things.  We were all kind of jealous, since we knew that such jobs were few and far between.  More realistic would be some job paying minimum wage.  We dealt with the situation by ensuring that the lucky guy (high earner, thanks to dad) was always first out during dodge ball games in PE Class.  (Many times, it was his own teammates who threw him out, taking particular effort to make sure it was a face hit) 

Trying to find a "cool" summer job was a high priority, and the key word was "cool."  Somehow, everyone wanted the more glamorous of jobs.  I made a beeline to the shopping mall and applied at the record stores, sporting goods shops, and cinemas.  

So did everyone else in my age group.  

That meant that there was incredible competition for any jobs going, and I can only imagine how it was for those employers, all considering a bunch of applicants without any experience. 

To complicate things, I was limited on transportation.  I had a drivers license, but no auto.  Thus, work location needed to be kind of local. 

A guy from my math class, who was kind of a friend, mentioned one day that he worked at a local grocery store, and they were hiring.  Since none of the places I had applied to had contacted me, I decided to go up to the store and apply for a job as a "sacker," the not so glamorous job of putting groceries into the shopping bags at the check out counter of the supermarket. 

I had already resigned myself to minimum wage, but really went for the opportunity because of the guy.  I did not know him well, but figured I might get to know him better at work.  My real goal was to make money, but a friendly face at work would certainly be welcome. 

Somehow I landed a part time job at the store, and once summer vacation started, I started a few shifts per week.  The key word here was "few."  I may have worked a total of 30 hours in the job over about three weeks.  Ironically, I worked only once with my buddy from school.  Then, due to circumstances beyond my control, I had to abruptly quit the job, have surgery on my hip, and went on to spend the next half year on crutches. 

That is a story (although it has been told many times before) that will be told (or re-told) another day, but I really struggled during that time, particularly from a financial perspective.  

Up to that point, my parents had always put the kibosh on working during the school year.  As I was beginning my senior year of high school, hopped up on Who albums (think Baba O'Riley), no money, and a whole lot of pent up anger, not to mention a real need to start building up my leg muscles, I convinced my folks to allow me to seek employment during the fall semester.  I needed to make up for the lost opportunities of the previous year. 

Still limited with location, but no longer interested in anything other than earning money, I headed up to the flagship grocery store that had opened up during the previous summer and applied for a job as a bag boy.  Again. 

I got the job, and was soon working several hours a week.  Initially, they had put me on the work schedule as a full time employee, which required a quiet discussion to get sorted out, as I was still a student with a mother who still had some rules with regard to working Sundays (church and youth activities) as well as getting homework done, etc.  

This job was what I really consider to be my first job; the previous experience was too short (barely a memory) to count.  I kind of knew one of the guys that worked there from school, but soon met other coworkers, several of which were also attending my high school.  True, my school was pretty big, but this was my first experience meeting schoolmates who I had NEVER seen before in the previous two years at the same school.  As the school year went on, I hardly ever saw them at school, but only at work. 

My parents raised me to be diligent and helped me establish a good work ethic, so even though the work was not necessarily tasking, I quickly showed my employers that I was taking the job seriously.  Along the way, I discovered that I was having fun and enjoying sacking groceries, meeting the other employers, and dealing with various customers and shoppers.  

The job came at the right time for me, and I really embraced it.  The money was not great, but I discovered that the more I worked, the less time I had to spend the money, so I had more and more money in my pocket.  The whole grocery store culture was a real eye opener for me, as I working with people from different back grounds and age groups.  Those of us that were still in high school made sure to have as much fun as we could on the job.  Some of the workers were studying in college themselves, thus working only part time.  Others, as I came to realize, were doing this as their full time profession.  

For years, I always considered the job to be simply a means to get me through high school and through the summer before starting college, where I would earn my degree, then go on to bigger and better things.  I never considered myself above any of those employees who were "lifers" at the grocery store, working the lower paying jobs.  True, I had no aspirations to wear a gold blazer and be the store manager, nor did I want to be trapped behind the cash register or behind the counter in the deli. 

It was easier to enjoy the good times and mucking around that comes with being a bag boy.  We had the freedom to help customers (usually women, frequently very attractive) take their shopping to their cars, but we also got to do a bunch of other odd jobs as required.  I took on most all of the tasks with a positive approach.  Okay, cleaning out the dumpster was not so much fun (in fact it was fucking gross), but as I got more tenure, I got to avoid some of the grunt work.  But, even when I was called into action for some of the more yucky work, I still embraced it. 

Making money was cool, but I did not initially realize how many people were paying attention as I went out performing my job.  I simply got on with it.  Thus, I was kind of surprised one day when my supervisor mentioned that management was seeing as me as an exemplary employee.  I enjoyed working with the customers and coworkers, and people noticed.  Obviously supermarkets handle a lot of repeat customers, and being a neighborhood store, I regularly encountered the same wives and mothers (in most cases, as it was during that era) each week as they did the family shopping.  

That senior year of school, I was also involved in the rah rah squad that ran the school mascot (a horse on wheels) up and down the track after a score was made in the football games.  One of the perks of this was getting to be in closer proximity to the cheerleaders and players on the team, the more popular people in the school.  I was not chasing popularity so much, but it was nice to be acknowledged in the hallways at school.  And, these classmates also had parents who shopped at the grocery store, so frequently during the autumn (football season), some random mother (or father) would be at the check out stand as I was sacking their groceries, and they would mention they had seen me the night before at the school game. 

Let me be clear, I was not obtaining celebrity status, but I was a long way from invisible.  And, as I mentioned, I liked dealing with various customers as they did their shopping.  

At the holidays, things got really busy at the store, and I got really speedy at sacking groceries, learning to add a little flair in my technique (think Tom Cruise in Cocktail), and also learning that overfilling a grocery sack just because all of the goods fit does not mean that the customer can actually carry the heavy bag by themselves. 

I learned to laugh when there was a wet clean up needed on a particular aisle, and also learned to be a very competent shopping cart surfer.  

If I thought fall of 1987 was good, spring of 1988 was even better, and I did not yet know how good a summer it would turn out to be.  

The pay raise I received at the beginning of 88 was certainly very welcome, but I kept thinking, I am really enjoying this job.  The supervisors and managers had already been pleading with me to start checking groceries, but I was still reluctant to do so.  Part of this was my fear of handling money, learning produce codes, and the other elements of being a checker, but what I really was liking about being a sacker is that I never had to sit still.  There was always another customer to tend to or a task to be handled. 

A few times, I did get called into emergency action to act as a checker, and I actually felt thrilled when I was doing it, even though I was really anxious about a so many things, like accepting checks, operating the register, etc.  I did so well during those urgent moments that the supervisors almost demanded that I become a checker, but I convinced them that I could be more useful in my role as head sacker. By now, I was training the new sackers, which sounds kind of pointless, but the role had a high turnover, and as I had discovered, a lot of people really do not understand the science (however basic it is) of properly sacking groceries. 

My confidence (and maturity) continued to grow, and I worked more and more hours during the final semester at school.  This allowed me to be in prime position for the best summer shifts, maximizing my work hours around my personal schedule. 

I remember a lot of the faces and some (not all) of the names of my coworkers.  There were some particularly entertaining experiences both at work and also outside of work; getting to hang out with colleagues after our shifts became routine. 

I grew to respect some of the coworkers, especially some of the ones who I never would have met had I not been in the job.  Sure, they came from different backgrounds, and quite a few them had never (and would never) have a collegiate experience.  But as I got to know some of them, I learned of their own perspectives, ambitions, and while, not quite the same as mine, were still equally important.  

Over the years as I do my own shopping, I always look at the various employees at whichever store I happen to be in and think about them.  I tend to have my favorite check out people at my local store here, and wonder if they are having as much fun as I did.  My father is on a first name basis with a lot of people at his local store, and while I do not have quite that same level of relationship (German shoppers are not quite so chatty, nor, as it seems, are the workers), I will keep trying. 

The summer of 88 was a brilliant time for me, and not least of all because I met a couple of life long friends at the job. The experience itself was so priceless, but above all, I never stopped having fun.  

It was this specific thought that came to mind this past week as I thought about my nephew, the first job experiences, and my current boss, who almost always ends each meeting with "have fun at work."

This was a particularly fun week at work for me, and I am discovering that I am starting to have that same mindset again, just like I had in 87-88, where it was all about making it "your store," running up and down the aisles, helping people get the box of cereal off the top shelf, chatting with exceptionally attractive women who came dressed in their sundresses to pick up the deli-trays for their summer afternoon parties, tipping over overloaded carts in the middle of a rainstorm, being in a good mood and enjoying being in a good mood with customers, colleagues, and friends. 

Make it fun. 

So forgive the countless run-on sentences and 80s references from today's post, and think about how much fun it was. If your right calf cramps up, you'll know you read it right. 

see you out there

bryan

 

Random Saturday Thoughts

More and more often I find myself in situations where no one is recognizing or relating to my reference to something from another generation.  I was speaking in a conference call the other week and mentioned a movie from the 1950s, likely my favorite film from that era.  I was attempting to describe my back garden, so hinted at the film "Rear Window," only to see the (thanks to a video call) blank look on my counterpart's face. 

"Uh, that film is sort of on my list of movies I need to see," he stated. 

At that moment, I realized I was making a lot of incorrect assumptions about people: everyone loves Grace Kelly, everyone knows who Grace Kelly was, everyone likes movies, and everyone knows about the 1950s.  Perhaps most important, I recognized that in future I would need to do better at sensing people's age groups; from here on, most of my colleagues and customers will likely be quite a bit younger. 

A few days later, I was watching a program on television which involved some students who were planning a school dance with a theme from the 1950s.  I started thinking about some of the "themed days" we had in high school, where the student council would announce a "team day" or "50s day" or "Army day," where all the students were invited to come dressed accordingly. 

I was never really in to that kind of stuff, but from time to time would participate, if the desire stuck me.  In fairness, I was already wearing college team apparel every so often, and once or twice wore my father's army jacket to school, but that was more of a nod to "Combat Rock," the final Clash album. 

My sister was a few years ahead of me in school, and was more inclined to participate in such events.  She might have actually been on the student council, now that I think about it.  However, she tended to take the more masculine approach to the 50s days, rolled up jeans and white button down oxfords.  This was pretty close to what the guys would wear, also, expect there were more white t-shirts than oxfords.  Of course, one cannot forget that one of the more popular films from that time was Grease, and to this day I think just about every woman born between 1965 and 1975 can not only recite the entire dialog of that film, but can also sing each and every song, along with the choreography.  

What was interesting to me at the time is that on those 50s days at school, only one or two girls actually wore poodle skirts.  In fact, I did not really know what that was until a particularly attractive girl at school (sorry for the cliche, but yes, she was captain of the cheerleaders) wore one on the given day.  

Most of the time on such days, students would raid their parents' closets for suitable stuff to wear.  As we all know, not everyone keeps their clothes for ever and ever; either they grow out of them because of size, or they grow out of them because their fashion tastes change.  Or perhaps the garments were simply worn out, as they were worn so much at the time. 

I suspect that very few girls who actively wore poodle skirts in the 1950s saved them with the idea that one day, when they became mothers, their daughters might need to borrow the outfit for a school function some 25 or 30 years later. 

I totally understand that.  It never even occurred to me to save all my Star Wars action figures and their packaging so that one day I could sell the vintage toys and make a lot of money.  Instead, I played with the stuff, and that is why no one wants my Han Solo that is missing a hand or my C3PO that no longer has a head.  

But I digress. 

Back in the 1980s in high school, I never asked my mother if she had ever had a poodle skirt, though that likely was more of a relevant topic for my sister to follow up on.  But, as I said, my sister tended to wear the mid calf jeans and over-sized oxford, borrowed from my father's closet. 

As I was developing my own style later on in high school, I actually was regularly wearing chucks and rolled up jeans, along with shirts with the sleeves rolled up.  One evening I was a friend's house eating dinner with their family, when the father commented that he used to wear the same thing when he was in high school, back in the 50s. 

I did not take that as a compliment, nor did I did take it as an insult.  I just continued developing my own style, which certainly takes some influence from previous generations, though more from music, as those who know me from my boots, jeans, t-shirts, and leather jackets can attest to. 

Almost immediately after I watched the tv program about the school dance, I got a message from a friend who mentioned that some kids of some friends of theirs had recently done an 80s themed event, a video or something. 

That got me to thinking about what the recent generations have been doing in high school.  If those of us born in the late 60s/early 70s had "50s day," did the kids born in the 80s and 90s have "70s day?"

My own nephew was born in 2002 and graduated from an American high school last year.  During his time there, I never heard any mention of him having any "themed days" at school, let along an "80s day" or "90s day."

Come to think of it, I never heard my parents talking about having a "30s day" or something when they were in school, either.  (That probably would have been a pretty bleak day at school, had they done so, considering the events of that era.)

Although my style really has not changed in the past 30 years, I am not sure how I would react if some teenager came up to me and asked if they could borrow what I am wearing so that they could participate in a theme day at school.  The closest I even came to this was one day last summer, when a girl I know walked by wearing a jacket with a Joy Division logo on the back.  I was wearing a Joy Division t-shirt at the time, and we got to talking a little bit about the music.  The girl is in her early 20s, and since she already had the apparel, there was no chance of her asking me for a loan of my clothes.  What was rather positive is that the girl liked the music, and I will one day write a post about how people from all ages who like different genres of music.  

Whether we choose to dress as influenced by our music tastes is always a personal decision.  Most of the time.  I knew a guy in college who dressed as a typical skater for the first 3 semesters of school.  Then, spring semester of my sophomore year, just after Christmas break, he returned to campus wearing khaki pants and starched button down shirts of various colors.  It raised a few eyebrows, and eventually the guy allowed that his parents had requested (demanded) that he change his attire.  Thankfully, he never stopped hanging with his skater friends, nor did he stop listening to the music. 

My point here? Nothing really, other than I will continue to wear whatever I want, listen to whatever I want, and above all, continue to watch films with Grace Kelly.  If you want to do the same and wear parachute pants to boot, feel free to do so.  But no, you cannot borrow my houndstooth pants.

see you out there

bryan

Picking My Pouty Self Up

If someone were to ask me how my week went, I would probably make a bit of a joke about it and say that it was "not the best" or "it could have been better," or some other expression that kind of down plays the past few days.  We always are a little careful with comparisons, right?  A student who performed poorly on a test in school might make the statement "I had a shit week," or a wannabe on-line influencer that breaks a freshly lacquered fingernail just before her show might wail, "oh my gosh the world is ending."

To be clear, none of that happened to me.  

And, in comparison to other countries, cultures, or individuals, my week would probably rank very low on the significant scale.  But it is relative, and we must not forget that.  

I do not want to think that I jinxed myself in any way, but I started Monday morning by exclaiming, "it is a new month, and it is the start of a good new week."  Actually, Monday did start off okay.  I finished my first week of the Goblet Squat 21 day challenge (find out more about the workout at this link here: saturdaymorningsarcasm.com) and was feeling stronger than ever.  

The work day was semi-productive (more on that in a moment), and as I started making dinner for myself, I decided to call my grandmother.  We had a delightful conversation about various things, and I just felt pretty fuzzy after we spoke for 15 minutes.  I cherish these brief moments when I can speak with her; I am very fortunate that she is still mentally fit and finally herself able to move about with a bit less restriction.  "Bryan, I sure hope that Germany get their act together with the vaccinations soon.  Now, I have to go play bridge.  Bye."  Awesome words from an awesome lady. 

Tuesday should have been a good day, since my fuzzy Grandmother feelings regularly buoy me through.  Unfortunately, I found myself really angry and distracted for no real reason in particular, other than the elephant walking around in my apartment.  Productivity was really low, motivation was lacking, and looking back, it was probably poor judgement on my side to immediately take the language assessment test that I was notified of late in the work day.  My company offers language courses, and, having a pretty noticeable non-German name, I was on the distribution list from the personnel development department. 

Funny, I am fairly certain about my language level, and recognize both my desire and my need to improve.  Last year during my idle time I had researched various online courses to take, but kind of procrastinated, and then suddenly was starting back to work.  

I look forward to this opportunity to engage with an instructor again, but like I said, I first had to take the assessment test:  45 minutes of online/multiple choice stuff.  The results were immediate, and I scored almost EXACTLY where I expected to, and was still disappointed.  I even can remember the questions where I made my errors.  

Strange how my expectations were met, but it did not feel that great.  

I could sense trouble brewing.  Obviously several things are bugging me right now, and it was quickly becoming a little too much.  I sat listlessly watching some film on Tuesday evening, then came across the animated version of Curious George, the film from 15 years ago with Will F playing the man in the yellow hat.  

A handful of people know that Curious George happens to be my all time favorite.  I loved the books as a child, and as stuffed animals go, my 2 foot tall George was incredibly loved.  Amazingly enough, he survives to this day; he became my nephew's buddy back in 2002 when Daniel was born.  

There is a lot of sentiment and emotion associated with Curious George, and back when the movie came out, I elected not to see it.  Until Tuesday night.  

Watching the movie simply warmed my heart.  I found the film pretty good, but the memories were even better.  Back when I was reading the books, I knew that it was a husband and wife team who authored and illustrated, but I did not realize that they were German.  During my discovery of this information the following morning, I also realized why no one in Germany knew who the hell I was referencing when I mention Curious George.  As a tough guy who can squat goblets with the best of them, it takes a real man to stand up and admit that stuffed animals and the names of Sesame Street characters are discussion topics with various friends in Frankfurt.  

Had I been introduced to Curious George as Coco (as he is known to German children, young and old), I am not sure I would have been as enthralled.  I will never really know the answer to that question, but that is just fine. 

Despite the fuzzies I was feeling, Wednesday proved to be another tough day.  During a rather positive discussion with a potential customer, I found myself looking at the negative.  Why were they flopping around so much?  Had they not reviewed our proposal thoroughly?  Why were they not asking more questions?  

If this customer chooses to go forward with us, it will effectively the first "win" that I have been involved with in my new role.  All of that is a good thing, but I was still stuck on less positive aspects, due to my lousy mood.  

My mood impacted my piano playing, too.  I had to force myself to sit down and play, and nothing came naturally.  My thoughts were all over the place, with an extra helping of the blahs.  I wisely lowered the volume of the instrument (an advantage of the digital age), as there was no sense in pissing off the neighbors.  

Thursday was the real low point of the week.  Work was a complete write off; I found myself totally unable to concentrate, and my thoughts just seemed to be getting darker and darker.  I had a chat with my father, our first time to skype since the previous weekend.  That conversation did little to improve my mood, as I got irritated listening to him complain about how one of the first "finally able to worship again in person" services had a few hiccups.  Why nit pick about something like that instead of simply being grateful to get back together after 14 months?

I made myself some tortilla soup on Thursday evening, as we are still quite chilly in Frankfurt.  I put in extra jalapeño, and managed to consume the whole pot while I watched a coming of age film, my way of passing the time before the Arsenal match.  

The match did not go well, but I half way expected it.  Erik had written in a previous text message exchange, "I hope I do not go to bed in a bad mood," which was very much a feeling I could relate to.  Although I no longer get so wound up when my team loses, it is not always so easy to simply laugh it off.  

To be fair, the loss did not worsen my mood as I went to bed that night.  

On Friday morning, I woke up asking myself, "had Arsenal won their game, would have I still dreamt about Bo and Uncle Jesse?"

Yep, that is right.  I dreamed that I was driving around with one Duke and his uncle.  Tom Wopat was nowhere to be found, and what I did find particularly interesting is that the car showed no signs of a confederate flag.  In fact, it was neutral in color, kind of like it had just been primed for a paint job.  The fact there was some containers of blue paint in the garage (when we all got in to drive around and do donuts) suggest that we were not even in the deep south.  

For the better part of Friday, I could not feel my lips, thanks to my spicy soup from the previous evening, but I was rather thankful that my work day was more productive.  I was feeling relief towards the end of the day, not only due to the sensation returning, but also because the week was finishing.  

All things considered, it was not that bad of a week, but I just could not kick the lousy mood.  I remembered that it is okay to have a bad day or a bad week, or even a bad year.  Sometimes those things will happen.  Accept it, and move on.  

Take it as it comes, in other words. 

I must say, that my coffee tasted better this morning.  Whether that is due to me changing out the water filter in the tank, or the fact that I am a super barista is unclear, but I am taking it as a step in the right direction. 

I am one of those guys who tend to get irritated by overly perky people who say things like, "turn that frown upside down."  Part of me wants to throw a piping hot cup of coffee in their face.  

But that would be a waste of a good coffee.  More importantly, I know better.  

That being said, thinking about it did turn my frown into a smile. 

So it is Saturday, I am smiling, and I am taking it as it comes.  

see you out there

bryan

Measuring Leagues, Super Calculating, and a Cool Sountrack

So, to start off, today´s post has a soundtrack.  For the best experience, do not use headphones and turn the volume up.  Youtube has the links to these albums, or otherwise pull them out of your own collection. 

First off, Cheap Trick  - Dream Police

Second up, The Old 97s - Fight Songs

Third, Funland  - Funland Band

And then, back to Cheap Trick for a final song on the set list - Surrender

When "Dream Police" came out, I was starting to actively listen to music, but buying records was kind of out of my budget.  My allowance was on the very low side, and I was still playing with matchbox and hot wheels cars; all my money went for them.  This was a time when 5 dollars was a really big deal for me, a 9 year old.  An album cost around 9 or 10 dollars back then.  In my world, a double big deal.  

The reason Cheap Trick is involved in the post today is because a friend of mine who I regularly trade music tips with sent me a link to their latest single, which came out this past January.  I had no idea that the band were still active; I had not listened to them in probably 35 years, though I do enjoy the odd cover from time to time.  

When T sent me the link to the latest single, I immediately thought about the Dream Police album, and remembered the price tag staring at me from the record sleeve.  Way out of my price range at that time.  

As I listened to the old album, I thought about how I calculate things and my ways of measuring, then and now.  It all related to value, and to some extent, my values. 

During those brief years when I was buying records, between the ages of 10 and 12 or 13, I was always reluctant to hand over 10 bucks for an album where I only liked one or two songs.  I could not justify spending so much money.  The average LP had 4, maybe 5 songs per side.  If I only liked 2 songs and paid 10 bucks, the record cost me 5 bucks per song.  In my world, that did not add up. 

Let us not forget my age at the time.  I was still measuring the days before Christmas, a birthday, or an upcoming vacation (from vacation) by counting the number of "sleeps" remaining.  (On the 23rd of December, for example, there were 2 more sleeps before Christmas).  Also at this time, I attended a silent auction at our church and managed to get a basketball, which I had been wanting.  My father quietly came up to me and, with only a hint of disappointment in his voice, showed me that my winning bid was 3 dollars more than the retail value of the basketball itself.  That was a valuable lesson. 

Later on in the driveway as I shot baskets with my new ball, I realized that I still really wanted the ball, but struggled to compute the additional money I had given for it.  That money might have gone for another matchbox car or something.  I would just have to pay more attention in the future. 

For the next years, money burned a hole in my pocket, and my parents regularly reminded me of this.  Most of my money went for music, cassettes, then CDs, then, after I was out of college, for shows, more CDs, and beer.  

It is no surprise that was I heavily in debt by my early 20s, and that took the rest of the decade before I got that under control.  That being said, it was a time when I absolutely did what I wanted to do.  A couple of things worked in my favor in those days.  First, I was employed.  I was not earning a lot, but I was earning, and my living expenses were not huge.  Second, everyone else at the time was in the same boat.  We were all struggling financially, but because everyone was trying to keep the costs down, the average show cost 5 or 6 bucks at the door, and bottles of beer at the show were maybe 2 or 3 bucks. I was drinking premium beers, already running 4 or 5 bucks, but well worth it.  

If you did it right, a night at the rock club might cost 20-25 bucks.  My issue was that I was at the rock club a few times a week, and on those days when I was not at the club, I was at the pub.  Thus, my cash outflow was several hundred dollars per month.  

And it was worth it. 

Among others, I became a huge follower of Funland, which was the current band of a guy who I had first seen play when I started going to concerts back in high school.  The music scene was pretty great, and the musicians were just as broke as we were.  I regularly went out with friends and colleagues from work, and one coworker took me to see the Old 97s, her favorite.  The Old 97s were just as active on the scene as Funland, sometimes sharing a double bill.  They always played the local festivals, and just about every weekend, and sometimes even during the week.  I tried to see all of the shows.  If no else wanted to go (because of finances or some other obligation), I went on my own.  The music was too important.  Why let being in the red stand in my way?

Back then, I approached it as a cash flow issue.  I did not bother to count the number of beers so much as counted how much money I would probably spend during the evening.  Of course, I forgot about things like paying for parking (when we could not find a deserted alley or lot) or the late night runs to some breakfast place for a bit more hoopla after the show.   

Time was all about waiting for the next show. (Only 3 more sleeps until they play again!)  Or visiting the pub, which was not lost time, but time well spent.  

1996 marked the first season of major league soccer, and Dallas had a team.  Those of us who were playing, or were fans, or at least fans of going out to the ball game quickly decided to go to all the home games.  We calculated the distance from the pub to the stadium, which amounted to about 15 minutes if you took the back streets.  Because we knew the area so well, we had tricks for parking and speedy coming and going.  In short, it was not out of the question for us to be sitting in the pub at 7.05 on an evening, then speed over and be in our seats for the 7.30 kickoff.  In 25 minutes we got to the stadium, bought tickets (which were ridiculously inexpensive in comparison to professional basketball or American football), got beers at the concession stand, and got to our seats.  

By now, you should have finished with DP, and are possibly half way through Fight Songs.  Try and keep up. 

As the MLS season was coming to an end, I moved to the Boston area, kind of abruptly.  One of the shocks I had (besides simply up and leaving Dallas) was the cost of an apartment in Massachusetts.  I have told this story countless times, but basically, what I paid  for in rent from 1996-1998 for a studio apartment is almost identical to what I am paying today in Frankfurt.  I will come back to that significant point in a minute. 

I applied a similar approach to measuring my costs, but suddenly everything was more expensive, and further away.  For the next two years, I needed 17 minutes from my apartment to get to Central Square (only breaking one or two speed limits), find parking, and get to the pub, only to have to pay a couple of extra bucks per pint.  

Actually, the x factor was finding parking.  I had no real issue driving further to get to club or a pub.  Hell, going to the MLS game was a trip to Foxboro, which was about 45 minutes away from Boston (with traffic...days).  But I loved it all.  Regarding parking, having to actually pay for it in Boston was a bit irritating, but not as irritating as trying to find a vacant spot in the first place. 

I learned to prepare and plan ahead, sometimes leaving 3 hours early before the start of a show, just so I could make sure I had a parking spot.  This had a knock on effect, as I frequently found myself having beers at the bar while the staff were still arriving for the evening shift; the soundchecks had not even started yet.  

This all took a little hit on my finances.  The costs of a night out increased, as did the beer intake. 

But the shows continued to be relatively inexpensive (thanks to Boston having a lot of students living on the edge), especially if it was a local show. 

I can claim a small piece of trivia, as I was the one Texan (as far as I remember) in the club the night the Old 97s came to play.  That was a wonderful night, and I got to share a beer or two with the band, who were grateful for an appreciative fan.  They were not quite yet the stars that they would soon become. 

This is where I explain that, in response to the Cheap Trick single my buddy shared with me, I responded with the Funland album, making a comparison that Funland played pretty lively shows.  As he was checking them out, he came across the Old 97s (which happens when you do a search on YT...all the suggestions pop up) and asked me about them.  Of course, I got to retell all the stories of driving to Denton late at night to see them play a headline show, or just think about "Big Brown Eyes."

Sadly, while I was in Boston, Funland came to the end of their run.  I was so sorry to miss their final show in Dallas.  That was an era for me that is defined by the name of the band.  It was all fun, and totally worth the price of admission to the funpark, despite the amount of debt I was in. 

That was not the perfect time to have to replace the brakes and the air conditioning on my Volkswagen.  No one ever remembers how much repairs might cost when they purchase an automobile, or a computer, or a mobile, come to that.  But I did what I had to do, and made note of what not to forget in the future. 

Ultimately, after replacing the air conditioning on my car twice more in the next 7 years (Texas summers, eh?) I resolved the issue by moving out of the country.  For computer and phone repair, I indirectly avoided those costs by going to work in the industry, but it does not escape me that for the last 25 years as I have been working in repair logistics, I have never experienced a computer or mobile failure, self induced or not.  Though for the 25th time, I almost spilled a cappuccino on my laptop as I write this.  

Here in the present, I do still count sleeps before some significant upcoming event, but perhaps not so much as before.  Last week, I spent 20 euro watching one Arsenal match (only one match this month) and felt like I overpaid.  I think I am still spending 20 euro a month on a gym membership that I have not used in probably two years.  I remind myself that this is perfectly fine as I do my exercises in my living room; I know too many people that hold a membership but never work out, which is not my case. 

In a minute, I am going to pay some bills.  My living costs are not too terribly different from 25 years ago (give or take an internet connection), but thanks to a salary that is considerably higher, I never really think too much about it.  I got myself out of debt 20 years ago, and do a fair job of keeping my expenses realistic.  My annual Bahn card has just been renewed, but I only need four trips for it to pay for itself.  Last year was a little "knapp," but my trips to Sömmerda at the start of the year more than covered those costs.  It is certainly better than having to plan for gasoline and a brake job. 

Besides the Bahn card, I need to pay the dentist, and the AMEX bill, which was a little higher this month due to some online purchases that I needed (but cannot exactly remember).  And, in a few days, I will receive the cleaning products that I ordered after the party last week.  I probably will have enough stuff to last me a year, so the outlay will be covered during the upcoming months.  

My inventory and consumption management tends to be calculated in similar fashion, using hours, days and months.  I am drinking a lot of water these days, with a targeted amount of maybe 4 liters consumed each day.  I try not to count the trips down the hall, but sometimes use it as a gauge.  In fact, I will just step away for a minute while you check progress on where you are with the Funland album; should be on the second half by now, unless you have rewound to listen to a couple of songs a second time. (I know, right? Really good stuff)

I am back, and will start wrapping things up.  The water consumption is the right thing to do, and I am proud of the accomplishment.  In contrast, my beer consumption amounts to about half a beer per month for the past 6 months.  That is a far cry from 25 years ago, when I probably had 3 beers before the first set was completed at a show.  

Times change, and sometimes our values change, too.   My decisions and my economics are mine.  I think of all the times I paid a small cover charge to see a show, and came away thinking, that was fantastic.  Years later I paid 150 or so to see the Who play, and that was also an incredible experience, albeit a hell of a lot more expensive.  

I once paid a premium to see an Arsenal match at Highbury, and while I was fortunate to be financially able to do it, I would probably have paid even more, had it been necessary.  It was so worth it. 

But in the same breath, I am always quick to stand up against selling out, which is precisely what happened with the poor decision makers who thought a super league would be such a good idea.  Why establish an elite league only for financial gain?  Without giving a thought or consideration to the people who actually value the sport. 

The issue has already been resolved, though the fall out will linger.  I won't comment any further on the matter; I am just glad that the fans were heard.  

But it was certainly on my mind as I thought about the value of things, and how I calculate life.  

If memory serves me correctly, Funland played a cover of the Cheap Trick song from time to time.  Sadly, I cannot confirm this, and I do not even think I have a recording of it.  But I can see it, and I can hear it.  

"Surrender, but don't give yourself away...we're all all right."

We're all all right.

see you out there

bryan

Being B with Bees on Vacation

This past week I was off of work, utilizing 5 of the 30 days of paid time off I receive each year.  The company policy states pretty clearly that each employee must use all of the days granted each year, or otherwise will forgo them.  In previous positions I have held, there were opportunities to carry over x amount of days into the following year. 

One of the most significant lessons I learned by coming to Europe was how to better under the whole concept of time off from work.  Coming from a country where the average employee only receives 10 days off per year (excluding public holidays), it was a little exciting to suddenly receive three times that amount.  But, I soon found that it was a lot more challenging to try and actually schedule that many days off per year. 

I was discussing this with a repair partner colleague 8 or 9 years ago, and although I suspected he did not truly comprehend my issue of having so many days off of work each year, he did acknowledge that it was best to put a plan together at the beginning of each year, so as to schedule all the days strategically and efficiently over the coming 12 months.  

My ultimate challenge seemed to come from the ability to plan.  How the hell should I know in January when I want to take time off of work in June or July? This is where interpretation of the meaning of vacation comes into play.  Additionally, one has the opportunity to learn a little about time management. 

When I was working in the states during the 90s and early 2000s, I tended to work myself hard, and hardly took time off.  Due to some tenure rules within the company I worked for, I did accrue additional vacation days as I approached 5, then 10 years of employment.  That actually created more difficulties for me at the time, since the work structure was such that there was enough work to do that one could theoretically never take time off.  However, there was a loophole that enabled an employee to receive cash in lieu of time off, and we also had a little creative plan in place that allowed for us to carry over vacation days into the next years.  Yes, I wrote that as plural. 

I actually had about 15 weeks of vacation accumulated at one point in 2003 or 2004.  

What I failed to realize at that time was how my not using my vacation days was impacting me physically and mentally. 

Part of me thought I would resolve that problem simply by moving to Europe.  In the world of Bryan, living in Europe is one of the best vacations of all time.  

On the other side, though, I still have the challenge of always having too much work to do, and too many vacation days that interrupt that work flow. 

When I changed jobs in 2010, I told myself I would improve on my vacation planning.  I would probably give myself a grade of B- for that effort. 

When I started this new job in January, I made a note to improve my effort on vacation planning, and strive for an A+.  

I am effectively in my probation period with the company.  By law, both the company and myself have an opportunity to decide after 6 months if the relationship is going okay and that we would continue the employment contract.  This is a pretty big deal in Europe, and I know a lot of people who suffer a lot of stress during their probation period, as they are so focused on the "prize" of receiving a permanent contract (which does allow for a lot of employee protection).  Sadly, I have seen too many examples where someone really exerts themselves during the probation, only to slack off once the contract was permanent.  

This idea is also difficult for me to understand, since I always seek to find a job that I actually WANT to do, and want to do WELL at.  

True, one can't help but have that "Probezeit" thought in the back of their minds when they begin a new position.  I have been fortunate that my employers were looking for a long term employee, so even in our initial discussions we were talking about my second and third year in the role.  Even with that reassurance, however, there is still a little creepy thought that at the end of the six months, someone from the HR department jumps out of a jack-in-the-box and shouts, "you are done!" as they send you on your way. 

It is funny how one forgets that the whole purpose of the probation is to make sure both parties are on the same page.  At my career level, this is a little more significant, mainly because of the salary involved, which includes the associated costs of training and development.  I intend no disrespect to positions like an admin clerk or a warehouse materials handler, but those are different types of jobs. 

At the end of my first month in the new role, we were asked to submit our vacation plan for the year, as they needed to be loaded into the personnel system in the HR department. 

Thanks to my conversation with the guy about planning, I recognized the importance of planning out my days off for the year well in advance.  What I found a little silly, though, was making this plan after working for only 4 weeks. 

I had a little chat with my boss, and he offered some decent advice on how to go about the exercise, and by early February, I had all 30 days of my annual leave loaded in the calendar.  During my planning, I reminded myself of all the times in my career where I "left it too late," meaning that I suddenly found myself overwhelmed, overworked, and desperate for time off, but still 2 months away from my scheduled break.  Had I simply taken a few days off more frequently throughout the year, I would not have found myself in such a state. 

Thus, I scheduled about 25% of my days off during the first six months of employment.  The other days I will take in the second half of the year.  Next year, I expect to allocate the time off even more equally, but I will worry about that next January. 

Most Germans that I know define Urlaub (vacation) using the first entry in the MW dictionary: a period of time spent away from home or business in travel or recreation.  I have a friend who works as a physical therapist, and because of the overtime he works (from the nature of the profession), he has a kazillion days off each year.  When we would gather at the Kiosk, we actually had to have a special calendar for him, since he ALWAYS seemed to be on vacation.  (This is something that always irritated workers and people doing business with Europeans; my father regularly complained that they were struggling to get anything done at one of the European plants because someone was always on vacation.)

What I have noticed while living here, is that no European seems to be too hung up on the idea of "someone is ALWAYS on vacation," mainly because they know that they will get their turn, too. So, it is those that do not have as much time off that tend to get a little worked up about it.  (To borrow the phrase, "when in Rome..." this is exactly why no one in Europe has a problem with all the shops being shut on a Sunday. It is just the way it is, so plan accordingly.)

My PT friend really does plan his vacation days, and he and his wife use those days to travel.  They are very enthusiastic about it, and really enjoy their time.  A photo of them hiking in the mountains could easily be shown next to the dictionary entry (entry 1, that is) to illustrate the example. 

He is not alone.  I have other friends who would suggest that I am not truly taking vacation when I take time of work, because I did not GO anywhere.  Even family visits, which in my case involves international travel, do not really qualify as vacation. 

I have a completely different opinion.  As a child, like everyone else, I looked forward to summer vacation from school, when we had almost three months to be out of the classroom, with no homework or academic obligations looming over our heads.  Ironically, in high school and university, I used my summer vacations to WORK.  But, before those years, I did look forward to our family going on vacation, erm, during summer vacation.  It was all about seeing somewhere different, experiencing something new, and for sure, all of those trips helped fuel my enthusiasm for travel, both domestic and international.  Those vacations that we took as a family are certainly in the entry 1 category of the dictionary definition.  Put an old photo of our family standing on the coast of California next to the photo of my friend and his wife hiking, if you like. 

As a (gulp) grown-up, I concede that I do not go away too often during my vacations.  But, I am quite fortunate, like I said, to appreciate the concept that by living abroad, I am constantly seeing somewhere different and experiencing something new.  I am thankful for that every single day.  

The trick, of course, is how to spend the time off from work.  Just about everyone in Europe right now is livid because of the current restrictions.  I totally understand that, but because of my view on vacations, I am not suffering like so many people who are unable to "go away" for their holidays.  I really feel for the families with children (since my own experiences on vacation during summer vacation were so great), and likewise, I feel for those individuals who do feel compelled to go off and spend a week on a beach, or doing whatever they normally like to do during their vacation. 

I know a fair amount of Germans who go to the same place each year on vacation, and that is simply not interesting to me.  But I am glad that they are enjoying what they do.  Likewise, visiting my sister in Spain year after year during my vacations 15 years on the trot is something I wanted to do, and I like to be afforded the same consideration. 

In short, it comes down to HOW you spend your vacation.  The key is doing something that you WANT to do.  Where you do it, how much you spend doing it, and who you do it with are all factors that you have to figure out yourself.  

I am no defeatist (though sometimes I play one on TV), but I think about all the people who exhausted themselves planning and paying for an event (a wedding, or a "dream" vacation, perhaps), only to find that the reality did not meet their expectations.  

While I tend to keep my expectations a bit lower, it is a personal decision.  A college friend used to joke that "if you assumed everything was going to suck, any little thing that was cool was a bonus."  That was a bit defeatist, in my opinion, but I understood his point.  I consider myself (and my personal decision making) somewhat higher on the scale, but it is still relative.  Relative to me. 

So, all of what I have just written brings me to my first week of vacation.  I scheduled the week for April simply to use 5 days of the 30.  And actually kind of forgot about it, until the 15th or 16th of April, when I realized, "crap, I am off next week."

Although I felt a little awkward taking a few days off so early in my new job, I realized that I have to start somewhere, and now was as good a time as any.  My goal for the week was to really switch off, and do things that I wanted to do.  If what I wanted to do involved thinking about work, so be it.  It would be my decision. 

Because of the restrictions, I would not really have the opportunity to try a new restaurant, or truth be told, do a whole lot socializing, but I did not let that stand in my way. 

I made a little list of things that I did want to do.  This provided a little structure, as some of the items were "to-dos" that I have been needing (and wanting) to do for some time, but just did not have the spare time to facilitate the task. 

Cleaning out the cupboard in my kitchen was one of the things on my list.  A friend of mine, upon visiting my flat for the first time about two years ago, was a little taken aback when he saw the clutter.  He made a comment as such, but I also pointed out that as a bachelor, one can take certain liberties.  He was looking at my flat thinking, "boy, my girlfriend would never allow this," and to that I respond, "by the way, I use paper towels as napkins,"  We all have our different tastes, values, and habits, and that is fine. 

I did recognize that the area did need some attention, and I was glad to take all the phone books from 2006 down to the paper recycling bins.  By Monday afternoon, I felt that I had improved the cupboard quite a bit, and sufficient to meet my standards.  I spent a couple of hours later on in the day working some puzzles.  As a birthday gift, my father sent me a virtual product offered by an online greeting card company.  Last year, he sent me a virtual garden, which enabled me to plant and cultivate little flowers and plants as I saw fit.  This year, he sent me something called a curio collection, which has a little setting of an international traveler's living room/study.  There are little activities like puzzles, games, and other activities that provide a unique and fun way to amuse yourself.  

This curio collection includes sudoku, which I really enjoy playing.  I received a little book of sudoku puzzles one year in my Christmas stocking, and I have been hooked ever since.  That does not mean that I have regularly played the game, though.  In fact, I probably have not done a sudoku in 10 years.  So, I made up for it this week, getting a puzzle or two done each morning while I enjoyed my first coffee. 

On Tuesday, I made the spontaneous decision to clean the crud off of my steaming wand on my espresso machine.  I probably left that a little longer than I should have, but we won't dwell on that.  The little tabs I have do a great job of cleaning things up.  And it was nice to tick another thing of the list. 

After an enlightening conversation last weekend with Pablo, I started practicing my swiping technique.  This came about as we traded experiences with typing text messages on mobile phones in multiple languages.  I must say, it is kind of a fun experience.  I am basically just squiggling my finger around on the keypad on my phone's display, and the word I want just pops up, whether it be in German or English, or Spanish.  Cool. 

As the week continued, I just enjoyed my time doing whatever the hell I felt like doing.  If I felt like swiping, I swiped.  If I wanted to tickle the ivories, I sat down at the piano.  I took time to reflect and think, sometimes about work.  Not about work, work, per se, but more along the lines of assessing my experience so far in the almost four months on the job.  What do I want to improve? How do I want to approach my customers?   

I found this very satisfying, similar to the way one gets bright ideas at random times.  The composer who suddenly finds a new melody in their head when purchasing produce at the market, for example.  Or, like in my case, where some of my best ideas come right about the time I am getting in the shower. 

The weather is finally starting to get a little warmer, a little more spring like.  The evenings and nights are pretty cool, but the days when the sun shines get kind of pleasant.  Plants are coming to life, including a little bushy tree that has popped up outside of my balcony.  This tree has some blossoms that seem to attract a fair amount of bees, which I discovered as two buzzed into my kitchen, taking advantage of the open balcony door.  We had a nice little chat and then I swatted them back outside, allowing them to come back inside as and when they felt inclined. 

I was feeling like I was making good use of my vacation days.  Other than allow my thoughts to wander, I did not think too much about work, choosing instead to focus on doing what I felt like doing, which is closer to my definition of vacation. 

There is no requirement that a vacation include "trying something new," but in the spirit of being able to experience something different, I got that chance on Thursday evening.  

I have never been one who gets psyched up about tupperware parties, or group events where people come together.  Throw bridal showers and book clubs into this.  That is not to say that I have not participated in those things; I am just saying I do not actively seek them out as "gee, gotta do this" activities.  

Enter a whatsapp party, involving cleaning products, kind of keeping in line with spring cleaning.  Nadja's sister presented various things via the text messaging group.  Videos were shared to show how products worked, and all of the participants could message their questions into the group.  

It was fascinating.  

For the better part of three hours, I learned about all kinds of stuff to better clean (sandblast) my apartment.  We were asked to provide pictures of our "problem zones," but I declined that offer on the grounds that I am not about to show my crud and clutter to too many people.  I knew a few of the other guests at the virtual party, and tried to keep my humorous and witty remarks to a minimum.  

It was a good time, and I really enjoyed it.  And I said as such when I placed my order for a few items that I needed.  It was funny to see how the guests were all interacting as if we were all sitting in someone's living room doing everything in person.  Obviously, the whole thing was done in German, which was fine by me.  Again, I held my tongue and thumbs when the odd word popped up like "fluffy" (referring to one of the cleaning cloths) or "Mr. Flexible" referring to one of the mops.  

I finished my week with a visit to the dentist, which was also a pleasant experience.  I happen to like going to the dentist, despite how that might sound.  My teeth are pretty good, so that explains a lot; no crud or fluffis to be had there.  And now, after yesterday's cleaning, no tartar build up, either.  

Now, it is the weekend, and I feel like I made good use of my time off.  I look forward to returning to work on Monday, but first am going to enjoy the rest of weekend, being B.  

see you out there

bryan