Flashing Back to a Song (or two) I CAN Like

Wednesday evening during a quick trip inside the pub for a moment to see about a horse, I heard a song playing in the background, a fairly popular hit from around 35 years ago.  As the weather is still quite pleasant, hardly anyone is sitting inside, preferring instead to take advantage of the open air without having to have any concerns about social distancing indoors.  Thus, the pub was empty, save for the young staff, who were not even born until about 15 years after the song came out.   I was mildly curious as to why they were listening to the playlist, but was more glad to actually hear the song, as it was a particular favorite when I was in school. 

The particular song was from an Australian band, and it prompted me to think about another Australian band from the time.  INXS was never my favorite band, but I quite liked them during the 80s, and saw them at least twice in concert.  I started listening to them circa 1983 or 1984, and part of that had to do with a guy, my lab partner in chemistry class, who was a huge fan.  A huge fan. 

As funny as he was, the guy was kind of a jerk.  But, I do not hold that against him.  I had a passion for music and specific groups and despite the common ground, that certainly doesn't mean we all have to be friends.  The thing that was cool about this guy is that he was quick to point out how good the early INXS stuff was.  And he was right.  

INXS did not really hit the US until 1986, so I was a little ahead of the game.  The particular album was quite successful stateside, as was their follow up in 1987.  However, I was already kind of moving on from the group, as my tastes were constantly broadening and diversifying.  

The album that did it for me was Shabooh Shoobah, from 1982.  For an album experience, it was just pretty darn good from start to finish.  And the final track, "Don't Change," is simply incredible. 

Hand's down, "Don't Change" is my favorite INXS song, and is the song I thought of when I was exiting the gent's in the pub Wednesday night.  

Whereas the song I listened to a couple of weeks ago (and mentioned in my last post) did nothing for me, "Don't Change" knocked me over right from the get go.  It had all the elements that make me love a song, and this particular one remains a specific favorite.  

Of course I looked at the "official" video of the song, which I never had bothered to do so many years ago.  The video, albeit dated, was certainly fitting for the time. 

Readers familiar with the band will recall that the band had all the elements fitting for being rock stars.  They look like rock stars, especially the lead singer.  (My chemistry partner had made a conscious effort to dress just like him, and actually did a fair job.)  

As cool as that might have been, it was the music, rather than their appearance, that appealed to me. 

When the band scheduled their tour dates for 1987, I was all over it, actually spending a premium to get slightly better seats in the venue.  I had waited several years for the opportunity, and was keen to go see them, even if they were already dropping down my list of faves.

I was not quite prepared for the throngs of female fans that were there specifically to see said lead singer perform.  Furthermore, I was not prepared that that the audience seemed to be familiar with only the latest release of the band, seemingly unaware that the band had already released several albums. 

As you do when attending a concert of a band, you always have a little list of the songs you hope and expect to hear.  I was looking forward to the show, but really only wanted to hear the one song. 

Because I had pretty good seats, people, girls for the most part, seemed to want to share my vantage point, and as the band continued to play, my little section grew in size.  On our row, there were probably 10 seats, but as the concert was coming to an end, there were at least 30 folks in the same area.  I thought to myself, "this is probably the one time in your high school experience that you will be standing among 20 really attractive girls, so enjoy it,"

And I did. 

It came time for the encore, and as we all waited in anticipation, I was the one person in the section that felt the electric charge as I heard the opening chords to the ONE song I wanted to hear. 

No one danced more lively or sang along with more enthusiasm than yours truly, and it was a brilliant moment. 

Only after the concert ended and the band left the stage did I realize that none of the people around me had ever heard that song.   Clearly the song did not touch them like it did me.  I sensed their disappointment, their confusion, but left it at that.   

Shabooh on them for missing out.  Shoobah for me for enjoying that moment. 

see you out there

Bryan

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A Box of Tinder, a Song I Cannot Seem to Like, and a Favorite Film

I credit two girls from high school with my introduction to Siouxsie.  One girl shared the same last name as me, which meant that we tended to sit right next to one another in those classes where the teacher sat us alphabetically, which was often.  Additionally, she and I were both in a similar curriculum, so for the better part of 3 years, we had about 75% of our classes together.  One of her closest friends, who I did not know as well, ended up being taking the exact same electives as I was taking, which more or less filled up the other 25% of my high school time. 

These girls were not super close friends, but they were friends, all the same.  As one did in a big high school, you tended to get to know the people that share similar interests, and in this case, it was all about the music.  One day, Amanda and I were talking albums, and she pointed out that I did need to get better acquainted with Siouxsie.  I certainly was familiar with the band, if not really familiar, but was not quite as enthusiastically overwhelmed as these girls were.  

I gave the band another listen, and the impact was huge;  I remain quite the fan, and my appreciation for her music has never waned. 

Hence the soundtrack for today, which you can also listen to as soon as you decipher the hint from the title. 

This past week started with the receipt of a message from an old friend of mine.  She and I knew each other many years ago, and music is one of the things that brought us together.  She was more into hard rock, even metal, and I was absorbed in my own tastes, but there is always that bit of cross over.  She also has a bit of a thing for some of the electro-pop, synth stuff (think late 1980s).  

Her message from Monday was actually a follow up:  "Have you listened to the song, yet?"

The previous Friday, she sent me a link to a song that she had recently discovered.  The band is an American synth-pop band, probably about 15 years old.  Apparently they have put out several albums, and have some level of notoriety, but I obviously had never heard a thing about them.  Neither had she, come to that. 

Well, she was so overwhelmed by the one song she shared with me, she sent the message indicating that it might be something I would like. 

I had not given the music a listen, but her reminder prompted me to take a few minutes and check them out.  

My initial reaction was not very positive.  The song had plenty of elements where I should have been able to connect:  the bass hooks, the electronica, the unique singing voice. 

But I just could not get into it.  

Two or three more listens, as well as a few attempts with some of the other songs, did not change my impression. 

I wrote back to her, giving my honest opinion, but felt a little guilty.  She was familiar with my tastes 25 years ago, and even though those tastes remain rather similar, they are unsurprisingly no longer exactly the same.  I did not outright hate the song or the band, but just felt no connection at all.  I said as such in my message, being careful not to rip someone for liking something that I did not.  

During the course of the week, I related the story to a friend of mine, who is also a huge fan of music.  He summed things up with once sentence, "If I am not emotionally touched by the music, then that is it.  I won't really like it."

It made sense, and reminded me that this was exactly how I felt about the arts, particularly music.  But that feeling naturally extends to the likes of cinema, literature, architecture, painting, and so on. 

If it does not grab you emotionally, then you are less likely to make the connection. 

Of course, we all like to passionately discuss such topics with our contemporaries, and I have noticed that my experiences have changed through the years.  Numerous times I have posted that I have migrated from a position of "if you don't like what I like, screw you," to something much more accommodating, like, "hey, that is an interesting view, and thanks for sharing that music with me."

25 years ago, I was still learning how to become more accepting.  There were still times when I would enthusiastically share (or push) my current favorite band on someone, and feel a bit insulted if they did not share my passion.  It was a naive view, but I am aware that people still have this natural tendency. 

Take films, as another example.  People tend to scrutinize the reviews and the user ratings.  My sister usually avoids watching films where she reads the review-aggregation with a low score.  She always checks the review prior to watching the film. 

Her influence on this has caused me to check some reviews more than I care to admit, but normally I just launch myself into the film, and decide for myself how I feel about the work.  Sometimes, I to have to turn the film off 15 minutes in, as it is complete trash.  Other times, like with a 10 hour series I watched this past week, I found myself 3 episodes in, still intrigued, but also thinking, "gee, this show is not very good." 

I finished the last 4 episodes yesterday.  

And indeed.  The show was not very good.  

But that is fine.  I recognize that my opinion is different, but others might flock to it, saying it is the best martial-arts, science fiction, part Outlander, part Highlander, show put out in the past 5 years.  

In short, I simply found no emotional connection to the show. 

Late in the week, somewhat timely, I received a link to an article commemorating the 20 year anniversary of one of my favorite all time films.  

The author of the article talks about the impact of the film, which received worldwide acclaim, adding in her own personal view; she seems to like the film almost as much as me.  She also shared a few reviews from critics that were not very positive.  

The article was a good read, but gave me a couple of things to think about.  

For starters, I go back to my comment above, that this is one of my all time favorite films.  In fact, my blog profile lists the film as one of my faves; I remember listing it when I first set this blog up. The film simply ticked all the boxes of my criteria for "what makes me like this film so much."  The setting is brilliant, the soundtrack was world class, the story line is incredible, and of course, the actress playing the lead role was superb.  And cute. 

Packaged all together, I was simply emotionally overwhelmed.  

I remember gushing about the film with others, but I do not recall (keep me honest, Pablo and Chris) if I was ever pushing this film on others.   My recollection is that I just loved the film for me, because it touched me.  And that was more than enough. 

Sure, when I was in conversation with people who also mentioned that they had seen the film, it was easy to discuss the positive feelings the film tends to bring.  But I never ran up and down the streets proclaiming how great the film was.  I certainly never ran around forcing people to drop whatever they were doing and go see the film. 

The significant thing, which only came to my attention after reading the article, is that some people did not like the film.  

This never crossed my mind, not then, and not now, that someone might dislike the film.  It never occurred to me.  And again, that is quite okay.  

The film, of course, is Amélie.  I have watched the movie hundreds of times over the years, not only in the OV (French), but also in Spanish and German.  In fact, it is probably the one film that I have watched in all three languages, with equal enjoyment from all.  Sure, my preference is still the OV, partly for my appreciation for original version, and partly for my fondness for French people and culture.  

I think of the film rather often, primarily due to the connection I have always felt with the character, not so much  because she is young, French and cute, but because of her imagination, perspective, and character. 

With that, I am going to enjoy the rest of my Sunday, borrowing a quote from the article. 

"It is a fantasy that invites viewers to pause amid our everyday lives to find moments of quiet magic."

see you out there

Bryan

Selfishly Schlechtgelaunt

I had a very busy week last week, full of all kinds of hustle and bustle.  All of that is a good thing, but by Friday, I was feeling the effects, and was more than ready for the weekend. 

My Friday routine tends to involve picking up a pizza for dinner, catching up with my father on skype, and having a few beers at the pub.  As it was nearing 18h, I was still trying to wrap a few things workwise, but finally reached a stopping point.  I then called my pizza guy, who is now pretty familiar with my routine, himself.  "Zehn Minuten," he said as I finished telling him my order.  

I did a bit of work space tidy up in the next few minutes, then walked up the street to pick up my pies. I figured I would check in on my father when I got home, then head across to the local.  

As I left my apartment, I noticed a bit more activity going on at the pub, including what sounded like a DJ playing happy hour music.  I found that curious, but in possibly 15 minutes I would be able to check it out up close.  I just focused on the task at hand, making sure I had a mask with me (to go inside the restaurant), etc. 

Minutes later, the pizzas were safely in the kitchen, and I quickly tried to reach my father, but unsuccessfully.  No need to panic; I would catch him later in the evening or on Saturday. 

I recognize the slight risk involved when the beer to food ratio is not so balanced, and this has created one or two, um, let's call then incidents, when my Friday evening starts out on an empty stomach, then careens out of control when the "on the fence," part of the decision making process goes missing.  My plan always starts out well enough:  enjoy 3, maybe 4 beers during the "happy hour" time slot early Friday, then return home to dinner on the couch while enjoying a film. 

The other week was an excellent example.  Just as I was finishing the third beer, a couple of friends showed up, and of course I had to stick around. Two beers after that, another few people showed up, and on it went, until around 3am.  

This particular Friday evening, however, I had planned just for me.  I was interested in sticking to just a few beers, collect my thoughts as I recapped the busy and productive week, and possibly play an album or two in my head as a soundtrack.  I had been discussing PIL, The The, and The Cult with some folks in the previous days, so I had all kinds of playlists queued up in the brain. 

I quickly realized that my soundtrack was getting drowned out by the DJ, who was playing music that I simply did not feel like listening to.  In fact, as I found out that the pub was doing a joint promotion with a beer distributor; they had a bit of a festive atmosphere organized, with the music, decorations, and little stands for take away beers.  

I found my usual place, which was fortunately vacant, and knew that the evening would be somewhat shorter than originally planned.  Another friend showed up, saw the scene, and immediately expressed what I was already thinking, "This is not the way I want my Friday evening to go.  I wanted a bit of quiet time with a few friends and beers.  Not this party scene."

Then he left. 

Despite my disappointment at being in a festive atmosphere without wanting to be festive, I made the most of things, and did enjoy my alone time collecting my thoughts, and particularly liked it when it suddenly started pouring down rain.  Under the protection of the umbrella over my table, my beer and myself remained comfortable. 

Like I mentioned the other week, sometimes I prefer my pub visits to be solitary, with as little conversation as possible.  Because of the rain, I was pretty much guaranteed to have this, as the rainstorm certainly was not enticing to those patrons wanting to spend an evening sitting in a beer garden. 

One of the pub owners did come over for a few minutes, just to catch up and say hello. I wished him a happy belated birthday (he was on the list from last week), and I cheered him on as kept having to go clear the rainwater collecting on the awnings over the DJ station.  This involves a broom handle and you basically poke the top of the awning so that the water pours off onto the ground below.  

Sporadic rainstorms have been the norm as of late, and more than once, an unfortunate server has been walking by with a plate of food or a tray of beers, only to get water dumped on them.  I do appreciate these moments of free entertainment, I must say. 

That kept me occupied for another beer, and I started thinking about winding things down for the evening.  I was not letting the festive atmosphere put me in a bad mood, but it was so different from what I wanted, that I could not help but let it bother me a bit. 

It was one of those evenings where my list of people I felt like talking to was very, very short.  Maybe 3 or 4 people, but preferably not all at once.  

With a stroke of luck, one of those persons showed up; she had just finished working, herself, and was coming to join her boyfriend, who clearly had been at the pub from the onset of the festivities, joining his friends who were running the promotion. 

Maria is a good friend, and we actually had a nice conversation for half an hour, just talking about lots of different things. It was a really nice chat and made up for my evening that was not actually going to my original plan. 

The timing worked out fine.  She needed to go rescue her boyfriend, who was already starting to wobble, and I had reached my "on the fence" time.  I called the waitress over to cash out, said my goodbye to Maria, then headed home for a bit of quiet. 

Before sitting down for dinner, I decided to check in on my dad one more time, and found him online. We chatted for another hour, and I was glad to have gotten the weekly visit with him done before Saturday, when he himself had a full schedule planned. 

All things considered, it was not a bad night, but still, I was not in the best of moods, even while eating my pizza and watching an Agatha Christie film. 

I ended up falling asleep on the couch, but finally switched off the TV and went to bed. 

As for myself, I did not have a full schedule planned for Saturday.  I had a few to-dos, knew I would speak with my sister, and, because of some cooking preparation I had done Friday afternoon, I already had Saturday's meal mostly taken care of; I would need only to heat a few things up in the oven. 

I was looking forward to finally seeing a match that Arsenal could possibly win, but as I texted with a friend during the morning, we both discovered that not only was the match not going to be shown at the pub, it was not going to be televised at all.  

This irked me, as I had been looking forward to a catch up with my buddy, even with the continuance of the beer promo going on at the pub.  Meanwhile, I asked myself again why I have a subscription to skysports when I can't get to see the match I want. 

Even though I got my to-dos completed, I felt a bit pissed off about things Saturday afternoon, for no reason whatsoever.  

As football was not an option, I found a film to watch as I ate my Saturday afternoon meal.  I tend to eat heavier during the early-mid afternoon, sort of Spanish style, and that was all fine and good, but I ended up eating too much, and found myself feeling a bit bloated and uncomfortable.  

After a very brief rainstorm, the sun came out again, and the promo at the pub kicked back into gear.  This time, unfortunately, instead of a DJ, they had a live band playing.  

Once again, I was not in the mood.  Sure, I was not right in the middle of everything, but because of the proximity of my living room to the pub terrace, I might as well have been.  

Part of me felt a little guilty for being so irritated by something that was very likely creating joy for others, but it was just not the right day or time for me.  I wanted to sulk. 

Probably any other time, I would have been fully supportive of a group of guys getting together to play covers of what they believe to be the favorite party songs, but I just was not up for it. 

So, I shut my windows to try and keep the majority of the noise out, which just made my flat a bit more humid, due to the sporadic rain showers.  And, as good as my Doppelfenster are, I could not help but follow the music through the band's set.  They played all the "hits" that I tend to shy away from.  It was a bit unfair, because they played competently enough, but it just was irritating.  Why were all the songs in English instead of German?  Why do cover bands always have to cover Oasis, the Rolling Stones, and the Killers?

Well, the Saturday evening continued on, and I was rather glad when 22h hit and the band had to unplug.   The terrace remained open, so I could still hear people enjoying the evening, but at least without crap music. 

All of this created some pretty interesting dreams for me last night, and I woke up this morning feeling somewhat refreshed and in better spirits. 

Of course, this has not stopped me from listening to the first five albums of PIL during the course of the morning, with a repeat of the classic line from the classic song.  

"Anger is an energy."

That being said, I am psyching myself back up for a good week.  It was okay to have a couple of days where I was not so bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and bubbly with fuzzy, but I can bring that to an end. 

That is the cool thing about listening to Public Image, Ltd. here on a Sunday morning.  Especially as I start on album number 6. 

Happy?

see you out there

Bryan

A Week of Warm Bornheim Birthday Fuzzies

Despite my own tendency to keep my own birthday celebrations rather low-key, I do enjoy wishing people a hearty happy birthday on their day.  I like to keep a note of these dates in my calendar, and over the years have noticed that my list has grown significantly.  Sure, sometimes I inadvertently overlook someone's birthday, and there are plenty of people close to me whose birth date is not on my radar.  Rather than get worked up about it, I just take note when (and if) I do happen to become aware of their special day. 

This past week was a big one for birthdays.  Last Sunday, a young friend of mine celebrated her 16th birthday, which we all know is a significant milestone.  I made sure to get the greeting sent, did my own distant celebration (which consists simply of extra happy thoughts), then prepared myself for the upcoming week. 

Sunday evening as I was finishing my brief celebration in the pub, I bumped into another friend who, as it were, would be celebrating her own birthday the following morning.  As we briefly caught up on events since the last time we had seen one another, she mentioned that she was aware that my own grandmother would be celebrating a birthday in the coming days.  I was touched, since I had not expected her to keep up with the birthdays of other people in my family.  When I asked her about this, she answered rather logically that she, too, kind of grouped birthdays, and if a string of them happen to all come at once, then one tends to keep up with them.

I asked if she would have time Wednesday evening to help me wish my grandmother a hearty happy birthday, and she confirmed that she would definitely be there. 

On Monday as I arrived at the Kiosk, Mono greeted me with the statement, "What is this about gathering on Wednesday to wish your grandmother a happy birthday?"  

That was the first thing I had planned to discuss with him at the Kiosk Monday night, but he beat me to the topic.  Turns out he had run into our friend with the Monday birthday, and already gotten the scoop.  

On the way back to Frankfurt the previous Friday afternoon, I had decided that I would try to rally a group of friends to gather the upcoming Wednesday evening in order to get on a quick video call and sing a little song to my grandmother. 

Although I do regularly head to the pub for a bit of evening socializing and refreshment, I hardly ever make any real plans to do so.  Because of the neighborhood, the variety of friends and acquaintances I have, you basically have a reasonable chance to see a lot of people you know each and every time you walk onto the pub terrace.  That being said, I never really know who might be at the Kneipe.  Sometimes, I have gone to the pub in search of a quiet beer and a few moments of collecting my thoughts, only to run into 20 people I have not seen in months.  Other times, I head over to the pub looking for conversation, and spend the next 2 hours staring at the stars on my own. 

I like this randomness, but when it comes to my grandmother, I was interested in being a bit more specific; I did not want to leave anything to chance. 

That is why I was glad to have seen the folks the previous Sunday and Monday, and was able to make some loose plans for the upcoming Grandmommy Day. 

Wednesday evenings, I do meet with a group of friends that have kind of a standing Wednesday gathering, but because I had not been in town the previous week, I had not informed them of our special activity.  

During the course of Tuesday, my sister texted me to confirm the plan for the following day.  She and I had already placed an order for flowers and balloons to be delivered to my grandmother, and had also coordinated with our father to get a birthday cookie cake decorated and available for when he would be taking her to lunch on her day. 

My father plays a big role in the communication with my grandmother, particularly when it comes to video calls, on account that she no longer has a mobile or tablet. 

As much as I wanted things to be spontaneous, I was forced in to some planning, as my father indicated he would make sure that they were available promptly at 11am their time, right when he would arrive to take my grandmother to lunch. 

That made for 18h my time, which was not suitable, partially because I had a business meeting at that time, but more importantly, because I had told everyone that we would singing around 19h or 19h30, over an hour later.  

I clarified everything with my father ("Dad, I will call YOU."), then got on with my work week, including the preparation for the big business meeting I had scheduled for Wednesday. 

Soon enough, the big day arrived, and my meeting went rather well.  During the discussions I let it slip that immediately after our meeting concluded, I would be organizing a bit of birthday greeting for my grandmother, who was turning 105. 

It is funny to be on a video call with customers and colleagues when everyone's jaw drops at once. 

I found it kind of special that everyone responded so positively and enthusiastically.  I think everyone like to live vicariously when it comes to knowing someone who has a grandparent that is doing better than simply being alive and kicking at the age of 105.  To some extent, I do understand the reactions of my friends in my neighborhood, as they know me and all about my family.  But people I do not know so well?  

Like I said, people tend to like a birthday, and if it is for someone who is at an age that most of us cannot fathom, you just can't help but get a little fired up. 

Shortly before 19h, I headed across the pub, noting that the special invitees were already gathered, albeit at a table across the terrace from the friends who have their standing Wednesday evening there. 

I kept a steady eye on the clock as I finished my first beer and ordered a second from the invitee table.  It was almost showtime. 

Right as we decided to stand up and cross the terrace to put all the groups together, a street musician walked up, pulled out his guitar, and started to play. 

I finished my second beer as I waited for him to finish.  I was not interested in any background disturbances (other than the normal buzz of a pub patio and the passing street noise).  Video calls with my grandmother and father are always tricky; connection problems, audio problems, anything could happen. 

Finally, the busker was done, and I quickly got everyone gathered, explained the situation, and then called my father. 

Once the connection was established, I made sure my grandmother could hear me (and possibly see me), then made sure that everyone in the chorus knew we would be singing in English, then kicked things off. 

My father and grandmother had just finished eating lunch in a burger restaurant and were just getting settled in the car.  This worked out PERFECTLY as we all sang into my mobile.  My father has the hands free set up in his car, which meant that the 20 or so of us were heard through his car stereo system, which ultimately meant that my grandmother got a full effect. 

The whole event took, as you can imagine, a matter of seconds, just long enough to sing Happy Birthday, but it was a successful effort. 

I gave a hearty thanks to my friends, then stepped away briefly to continue talking with my grandmother another few minutes.  

As always, my grandmother was incredibly gracious and thankful, exclaiming how nice and thoughtful it was to be serenaded from Germany.  That had been my intention all along, and was glad that my friends had participated and that it was so greatly appreciated. 

My grandmother was already having a pretty big birthday week, having lunches or brunches almost daily, not to mention all the flowers, cards, and greetings.  And, she had further events planned for later in the week. 

We said our goodbyes, and I sat back down at the table, taking a big sip of beer.  I could relax a bit, since the task of the day was completed.  The rest of the evening, we kind of celebrated my grandmother as well as enjoyed the normal Wednesday conversations. 

Thursday was relatively quiet, and I was glad.  Celebrating a grandmother's birthday can be tiring, especially when a couple of schnapps are involved.

Friday afternoon, I caught up with my father on skype, and he recapped the birthday week of my grandmother.   The important thing was that she enjoyed ALL of the celebrations, and was still talking about the call from Germany, as well as the call and serenade from my sister and her family in Spain.  

The whole week, I had been having extra special thoughts about my grandmother, and continued the fuzzies that evening when I ventured to the pub for a few beers, bumping into a couple of friends who had helped sing two evenings before. 

True, my grandmother's birthday was the highlight of the week, but here on Sunday morning, I have two more friends having birthdays, and one more tomorrow.  

I just glanced at my calendar, and there are a handful of birthdays still to come during September, but the flurry of the week is just finishing.  

It is already time to start thinking about what to do for my grandmother's next birthday, but until then, there are plenty of others out there that will be congratulated in the upcoming weeks and months. 

See you out there

Bryan

Challenging the Fashion Challenged

Right about this time last Sunday, I was preparing for the upcoming week, when I would be visiting one of our facilities.  I was already a wee bit antsy, as DB had strikes planned for Monday, which could potentially make it a real difficulty for me to get to Sömmerda.  Besides that, I was going to be meeting some colleagues for the first time, and naturally wanted to make a decent impression.  The real issue, though, was the fact that my last business trip was in January, and my wardrobe is much better suited for the colder months.  I just do not have that much "business casual" stuff  that is suited for summer, and as always, I tend to feel a step or two behind the fashion times. 

On the Sunday morning as I was packing my suitcase, I started with the easy stuff:  enough socks and boxers for a five day trip.  My rule is always "days away plus two," which is really easy to do with undergarments.  Because I would only be away from Monday to Friday, I figured on 2 pairs of jeans:  one to wear and one in the suitcase.  Shirts, however, was looking like a problem.  The weather forecast indicated coolish temperatures with a bit of rain.  I looked at the polo shirts I had available, all three of them (that are still presentable), selected undershirts (which, in my world, are t-shirts with the sleeves cut off), and realized I still had two days to plan for.  I figured that a long sleeve button down was not needed, and part of this decision was already made for me, as ironing would be involved, and I just did not feel like putting that much effort into things.  

I was quickly losing interest in the exercise, but knew I had to get it done.  Finally I decided on a henley and a long sleeve heavy t-shirt.  Not optimal, but doable, on the grounds that I was not going to be meeting with customers, but rather colleagues within the repair facility.  

Packing completed, I quickly went through the rest of my to-do list.  I needed ciggy and cash (not necessarily in that order), and had plans to meet up at the pub for the late afternoon football match. As I walked down the street towards my bank, I ran into some friends, a couple who were soon to be headed away on their summer holiday.  We chatted briefly, and the man complained about trying to pack for their trip, noting that some of his clothes no longer fit, heavily due to the events of the past 18 months, where people were doing less clothes shopping and to some extent being less active than other times, based on lock-down restrictions and whatnot.  

I kind of chuckled, then told the man that I was going through a similar problem.  Some of my clothes probably do not fit as well as they once did, and certainly some new articles of clothing are probably needed.  However, because I have not done a lot of travel this year, I am not altogether clear what I should be wearing.  

This may sound like a very ridiculous question, but let me explain.  

In service logistics facilities, including our repair sites, most of the employees that work on the repair lines, either as technicians or material handles, tend to wear jeans and some sort of ESD protective clothing.  One of the big trends these days is for the ESD apparel to be more trendy.  There are polos and both long and short sleeve t-shirts offered to the employees, all with company logo and ESD protection.  Effectively the employees all look like they are wearing a uniform.  

The program and operations managers tend to wear the business casual stuff, just like I have done for most of my career.  Now, in this slightly different role, I am not sure if I can continue to get away with wearing ops type clothing, or if I need to spruce up a bit to wear more something more suitable to business development. 

The question is, what exactly should a business development guy be wearing?  Generally, a suit is almost too formal for this kind of business, and one of the rules of thumb is to sort of mirror what your customers might wear.  So, I have been thinking about these things and decided to do additional research during the week in Sömmerda as I met with some other colleagues in my department.  I was glad that I had not invested too much time or money in buying new work clothes at the beginning of the year, but knew that now is probably the right time. 

There were some tricky bits during the train ride on Monday, but I got to my destination without too much delay.  I greeted some of the colleagues I had first met in January, then met some new colleagues, all the while kind of making mental notes as to what people were wearing. 

One of the guys that I was meeting personally for the first time is at my same level of management, which basically means we were dressing similarly.  When we arrived at the hotel, he pulled out a hanging bag, and I immediately thought, "oh now, this guy is going to wear suit tomorrow."

It turned out that it was just a shirt, and his routine was to simply bring the stuff on hangers if he were travelling by car.  No need to pack and fold if you do not need to. 

One of the German colleagues wore a waistcoat over a white shirt.  He looked smart, but a little too trendy for my tastes, especially since he completed the outfit with jeans and white tennis shoes.  I have seen a few other people dressing similarly (though mostly without the sneakers), but rather than a vest, I would prefer wearing a blazer, if required.  In fact, the typical business casual German fashion is a blazer with a jeans and a shirt.  I can do that without any problem, but in summer, it tends to be way too warm for that, despite the fact that German summer temperatures are nowhere near like they might be in southern Europe.  

My buddy with the hanging bag tended to wear print shirts for the week, and this something I am also not a huge fan of.  I prefer solid colors, and as we know, these solid colors tend to be extremely dark: black or gray.  

All things considered, my polos did just fine for the week, and as Thursday and Friday approached, I quietly wore my henley without too much fuss.  I realized that I had not made too much progress on deciding on what I needed to extend my wardrobe, but told myself to pay attention on the train ride home to see what other businessmen were wearing.  

I got additional opportunities to see how others are dressing because the train that I was booked on had a technical failure.  The replacement train was simply another train that had to route through our station and pick up the additional passengers.  Thus, the train was quite full for the two hour return trip to Frankfurt. 

That was already a bit stressful, because as much as I like train travel, I do not always enjoy the cattle car experience, and Friday afternoon was leaning in that direction. 

The week was busy and very productive, so I sat in my seat, closed my eyes (I had already peeped at the other businessmen and their attire), and thought about clothes.  

I remembered my years in high school and college, when I wore Stan Smiths a whole lot.   I loved that shoe, not only for tennis, but simply because it was a nice basic all rounder.  I should point out that because of it's simplicity, it was an exceptional shoe to use when kicking a hacky sack.   I continued to wear Stans until the mid 90s, when I finally made the change to Sambas, which has been my casual shoe of choice for over 25 years.  

A few years ago, I was slightly surprised to see Stans (and equivalents) showing up more and more often on peoples feet.  I understand that fashion goes in cycles, but the difference this time was that the shoes were being used more formally.  A prime example comes from the morning television show that I watched this past week while getting ready for work.  The moderator wore a slim fitting suit, certainly trendy, but wore Stan Smiths on his feet.  The look works, but is so trendy, that it puts me off.  I do not think I could ever dress like that, but I could easily see my nephew sporting that look.  This is not a negative comment towards my nephew, but just the acknowledgement that people have their styles and looks. 

When I was coming to the end of my time wearing Stans, I still wore khakis semi-regularly, and actually still wore some shirts that maybe didn't have prints, but they might have had more color, and possibly some stripes.  Some of this was because I was still wearing clothes from high school, and there was a time when you had to wear khaki pants because your mom made you.  

One of the very last times that I wore a more colorful shirt was one warm summer evening in 1994. It was a Friday afternoon, and Pablo came by to pick me up so that we could go to my sister's wedding rehearsal.  Both of us were involved in the wedding, Pablo called into action due to the need for Spanish translators as well as being a personal friend not only to me, but also my sister and the rest of my family. 

My mother specifically stated that I was NOT to attend the wedding rehearsal wearing jeans or overly dark clothing, which was my tendency, so I pulled out a shirt, one that I briefly quite liked, that had vertical stripes in a very soft blue and pastel red.  If someone were to see me wearing that today, they would certainly raise an eyebrow, since they are not used to seeing me in something like that.  But, that Friday evening it was the best option.  That and my khaki pants.   Pablo picked me up at my place, handed me a beer from the console in his car, and we enjoyed a happy hour beer as we headed downtown.  Yes, consumption in an automobile was kind of frowned upon, if not illegal, but sometimes you just did it anyway.   

We should have expected traffic, but left it late (casual as we tended to be), and found ourselves arriving to the rehearsal a good 20 minutes after it had started.  No mobiles back then, so no way to tell everyone (particularly mom, who was none too pleased) that we would be delayed. 

The beer tasted good, we had a few laughs, parked, and strolled into the church sanctuary, and thank goodness Pablo turned on the charm and had everyone chuckling within seconds, even though my grandfather (who performed the ceremony) was a bit irritated by the interruption. 

Stateside culture calls for wedding rehearsals to be followed by a rehearsal dinner, an opportunity hosted by (usually) the groom's family with special guests and family members the night before the wedding.  Pablo played a key role in this because the groom's parents did not speak any English, and the bride's parents could not speak any Spanish.  Hence the need for bilingual folks to be strategically placed in the restaurant to help keep the festivities flowing, and to help make everyone feel more comfortable.  You have to appreciate that besides Pablo and a couple of others, the only person who was bilingual was my sister, the bride.  She, of course, was preoccupied with the wedding stuff, and needed less pressure on having to do ALL the translating.  

I no longer remember how many people were at the rehearsal dinner, but we had reserved one of the banquet rooms at one of our favorite Mexican restaurants.  Once all the guests had arrived, my father stood up to make some introductions, welcome everyone, and give a toast or two.  He, himself, was wearing a print shirt, some navy blue thing with kind of a paisley print.  This was kind of style in the early 90s, especially for men of his age when they attempted to do the semi-casual look.  

Truth be told, I had a couple of other shirts very similar to that (thanks J-Crew, those were good times), but was no longer really wearing them; clearly my fashion tastes were already well on their way to jeans, boots, and solid black, grey, or white shirts.  

The beers and margaritas were flowing well that evening, and it was a nice event.  As I was interested in enjoying myself as much as possible while still honoring all my wedding duties that are required of the little brother of the bride, I had whispered to Chris that perhaps he should come by the restaurant for a couple of late beers.  He sauntered in at the appropriate moment when the gathering was starting to break up, and after a beer and a tequila shot or two, Pablo, Chris, and I decided the night indeed was still young, and it was time to venture downtown. 

In those days we were frequently on Elm Street, seeing shows with great frequency.  Two doors down from Trees, one of our favorite venues, there was a nice little bar called the Green Room, which had a roof top terrace that was brilliant.   So, that Friday evening, the three of us headed upstairs, found a table, and relaxed during the lively evening.  August in Texas is known for being hot as shit, and that is not good.  But, every once in awhile, the evenings are not so humid, and not so damn hot.  This particularly evening offered a pleasant breeze, good company, nice beers, and all of it made me forget that I was wearing a goofy colored shirt.  

What I do remember about attire from that evening, is that both my friends were wearing their usual styles.  We have all been friends for over 30 years, and with the exception of my migration along the color spectrum to darker colors, none of us have really changed styles.  Like anyone, we have discussed it maybe once or twice through the years, but always more in passing.  We are simply WYSIWYG kind of people.  We know are styles, are comfortable in those styles, and simply get on with it.  

It was a nice memory to reflect on as I got back to Frankfurt Friday afternoon.  I returned home, threw all my dirty laundry into the washing machine, noticing that when all you wear is darks, there is no hassle with sorting.   

As the workweek came to a satisfying close, I figured that in the coming weeks I may indeed need to venture out to a store or two to update my wardrobe, Bryan style.  There is still a bit of uncertainty on whether my style will mesh well with the workplace, but I will focus on staying as what you see is what you get.  After all, one of my target customers is a start up, and they all recently changed their profile photos on business networking sites from pictures of them in suits to pictures of them in hoodies.  True, it is a start up, and maybe that is the hip thing.  So dealing with an account guy who wear steelies and jeans should not be a real big deal for them.  

I celebrated the start of the weekend with a nice trip to the pub, where I caught up with a few friends, and even met some new people, including a woman wearing a summer dress and Stan Smiths (which I found to be a nice look).  Conversation topics in the pub are always spontaneous and enjoyable, but on the particular evening, taking things as they come and individual styles were discussed.  This served as an excellent reminder that I just need to keep on dressing like I want to dress.  The rest of it will sort itself out all in good time. 

Yep, Friday turned out to be a very late night indeed, and perhaps two or three beers too many.  This is why Saturday I spent a lot of time on the couch, not worrying about my team getting ripped apart by their opponents, and just kept trying to get through the hangover.  

But it was worth it. 

As the last little point for today's post, it once again involves Pablo and Chris.  One of our haunts from the neighborhood, an Irish Pub (gee, really?) apparently closed it's doors with a hint of abruptness.  It arrived 20 years ago just when we needed a new place to go to in Dallas, and we all have fond memories from there.  Both guys informed me via text of the news almost at the exact same moment.    

It just serves as another reminder that as friends, we are never been concerned with what we are wearing on our bodies, but instead where we can hang out and enjoy pints and good chats. 

see you out there

Bryan 

An Action-Packed Week of Grübeln and Eingreifen

Three random events from this past week managed to occupy a fair amount of my time and thoughts.  I feel a little fortunate that they spaced themselves out so I never felt totally overwhelmed. 

It started on Monday evening at the Kiosk.  Although we rarely struggle for conversation topics, there was a brief lull as the three of us stood there. 

"Hey, there is no longer a No Drama Lama ice cream available," Denny said.  

We looked at the poster advertising ice cream bars hanging tantalizingly at kid's eye level and saw that he was right.  

Over the years as we gather each Monday evening at the local Kiosk, we get to watch many people come and go, picking up cigarettes, take away beers, chewing gum, snacks, and of course, ice cream bars.  Often this generates some very interesting experiences, or peculiarities, if you will.  Once, a guy came up to the window and ordered 3 Heinies, an affectionate term for Heineken. 

All of us found this rather amusing, and probably me most of all, since I knew the term from the playground at my elementary school.  "Ha ha ha, he fell on his heinie," some kid would shout gleefully, partly because the incident was funny, but mostly because the word is just funny to say. 

My German friends appreciate this concept of saying funny words, which is why last summer we got kind of curious about the No Drama Lama ice cream bars.  None of us really wanted to purchase the item, but every time a kid walked up to the kiosk, we hoped that they might order one and tell us what it tasted like. At the very least, we were able to say No Drama Lama pretty regularly. 

Monday evening is beer night, so no one is ever looking for a tasty treat.  But, we all comment regularly on our childhood when we did look forward to any time that we got to eat ice cream.  The Kiosk ice cream bar sign gives us a regular reminder of those days. 

And right after we confirmed that there was no more drama or lama, we did look more closely at the Magnum ice cream bars on offer.  I remarked that I was always disappointed that the picture of the ice cream bar was about 10 times bigger than what you actually got to eat.  

So, I went home that night with ice cream bars on the brain.  A friend of mine sometimes experiences that urgent need for ice cream, and from time to time, I go through a brief phase where I want ice cream, too.  

I made a mental note to look in the freezer section of my supermarket during my next shopping run, which was planned for later in the week.  It turned out to be Thursday, and so as to bring this first random incident to a close, I can report that I ate 3 Magnums on Thursday evening, and another 3 last night . 

That is me done with ice cream for the next little while.  The urge hit me, I addressed it, and while 3 ice cream bars in one sitting seems excessive, they were rather small.  

The second incident of the week involved my mobile phone charger.  My mobile has a monster battery in it; I usually have to charge once every 6 or 7 days.  Sure, I am not surfing or doing much of anything that would drain the battery so quickly, but I kind of like seeing how long I can go between charges.  

Last Saturday, however, I encountered a small hiccup. Suddenly, my phone was not performing like I expected it to.  I ended up having to let the device charge overnight, and even then, it was not quite at a full charge.  I decided to wait and see what would happen over the course of the week.  I figured I would monitor the drain on the battery and determine further action.  

Due to a trip to my company headquarters on Wednesday, my phone was a bit more active, as my train app sends me regular alerts during my ride.  ("Hi, your train leaves in one hour!" or "Hi, you have reached your destination!")  While helpful, I do not necessarily need these messages, but also am too lazy to switch off the alert. 

That, combined with a brief video call with my father and grandmother on Thursday night, pretty much had my battery at 4-5% by Friday morning.  I plugged my phone back into the charger, and was somewhat dismayed to see that again, the phone was not taking a charge. 

I have a business trip next week, and rather than find myself with a phone that I truly cannot charge, I made a quick decision to replace the charger, since they can fail from time to time.  I went online, found a suitable charger for my mobile, and placed the order with expedited shipping, so that I would receive my package this morning. 

Sure enough, the DHL guy rang my doorbell at 9am this morning.  I immediately plugged my phone into the new charger, and presto, 2 minutes ago (at around 11h30 in the morning), my device is fully charged. 

Problem solved.  It was the charger and not the phone.  As I sat eating my final Magnum last evening, I wondered when the package would come, and was rather pleased that it came so early in the day.  

The truly thought-provoking event of the week started Wednesday evening.  I was talking to a friend of mine whose son recently developed an interest in playing guitar.  A lot of teens discover music around this age, and I was immediately intrigued.  I have not yet spoken with the son directly, so was asking my buddy a barrage of questions.  What kind of guitar?  How is he learning?  Is he progressing? What kind of music is he playing?

My friend is a fellow music fan; we share very similar tastes.  Over the years we have traded stories about concerts, album listening experiences (which turn into marathons), and can enthusiastically discuss music for hours on end. 

When I received the answer to my question what songs is he learning, I immediately responded, "I do not like that band."

"Me neither," said my friend. 

And that is where the pondering has started.  

What do you do when you don't like the music that your kid is learning to play?

This sounds like a very naive question, and certainly clarifies that I am not a parent.  But, I think back to my own childhood, and all the music lessons I took.  Likewise, I think of all the music I have loved and listened to over the years. 

My parents had their own musical tastes, and while I certainly was exposed to their favorites, I never really became a fan.  Too much happened between their generation and mine, so we never really had overlapping tastes.  In short, I did not like their music too much, and they sure as hell did not like my stuff, whether it be progressive rock like The Who or Yes, or the industrial electronica, the new wave, the ska, and the punk.  My parents took a bit of an issue with the punk, which I guess I can understand to some degree. 

The difference now is that my friend's kid is liking music and bands that my friend is very familiar with. In fact, he probably already has some of the albums, has seen the band in concert, or whatever, simply because the generations are a little more closely aligned.  

My dilemma, despite the fact that it really is none of my business, is that because my own passion for music is the same as my friend, we have a tendency to express our opinions, usually in a friendly way. Back in high school I might have been a bit more aggressive when making statements like, "that band is crap," or "I hate that album."  Over the years, I toned that down a bit, so as not to kick someone's legs out from underneath them. 

After all, if you want to listen to a shitty album, go right ahead.  

That seems like a snobbish remark, but I mean it very politely and respectfully.  My tastes are my tastes, and someone else's tastes are their own.  I do not expect someone to love all the things that I listen to, and everyone is free to express their opinion. 

That being said, when I started playing more and more rock piano, my parents were not familiar with any of the stuff that I was learning or playing.  The closest thing my parents could relate to was Jerry Lee Lewis, but I was not playing that kind of rock piano.  

Sure, my parents encouraged me to pursue my musical interest, my passion for piano, expression, etc.  And likewise, my friend is also encouraging his son to take the interest as far he wants.  To be clear, it is very early days, but we shall see. 

Right, so I think I am doing a lousy job of expressing my point.  For me, my musical tastes were so distant from my folks, that we simply had a mutual respect that we each had favorites.  If I think of my mother, I think immediately of Nat King Cole or Frank Sinatra.  My dad was a pretty big Elvis fan, and also quite likes country western music.  

In my friend's case, it is a different situation.  He and his son are listening to remarkably similar stuff, from pretty much the same era. Like my friend, I never listened to bands just to irritate my folks (well, ok, maybe a few times), but I did really find myself enjoying the alternative stuff, which has that connotation with rebellion. 

Now, my friend and his son are listening to these same bands, and it is simply a musical taste issue.  I think part of me would want my kid liking my music, but the other part of me wants to keep my music for myself.  And selfishly, I would prefer my child not to develop a liking for the bands I did not like from my own adolescence, however unfair that sounds. 

I am certainly not going to solve this question here, and probably will never quite get my head around it, but as I play a Joy Division album later today, I am quite sure that some 15 year old, somewhere, is also listening to it, and perhaps even liking it.  Despite the 30 year gap, I would be curious as to what made them choose the record, since I cannot see how a youth of today could really connect with JD, other than the music is brilliant. 

And who knows? Maybe my dad will show up in Germany next visit wearing a Siouxsie shirt and wanting to talk with me about the JAMC.  

see you out there

bryan

 

Eine Roller-coaster Woche oder Zwei

This time last Saturday, I was sitting at home thinking of how to start the week's post.  Not just start it, but also finish it.  And put in the middle part, too. 

The previous week had been good, if not pretty darn good, but somehow I was at a loss as to how to formulate some thoughts on to paper.  Rather than waste away the Saturday sitting in front of the laptop, I got on with things and expected the thoughts to flow, eventually on to paper.  No luck. 

Sunday was not much better from a "sit down and bang out a post" perspective, but I made up for it by catching up on the domestic chores; the sheets got changed, the floors got hoovered and mopped, and orange oil cleaner had my bathroom smelling like a little orange grove.  

This past week started well, and once or twice I announced to myself "I am all clean," in that way that a child says upon coming out of the bathtub.  (Hey, it works for me).  Monday evening was our first return to the Kiosk for the traditional Monday gathering.  It was great to be back in front of Papri's Kiosk, but it was also a little awkward for us. For the past three months we had been gathering on a quiet plaza, where we hardly came into contact with anyone.  The sudden contrast to suddenly having lots of people walking by on the street, as well as making purchases at the Kiosk was something that all of us commented on.  

A big advantage of being back on the main street is the opportunity to see folks that (in many cases) we had not seen in some time.  Sure enough, a couple that I know very well stopped to chat with us for a few minutes as they were making their way home.  It was great to see them and exchange news, find out about the family, recent happenings, etc.  This past week was technically the Kerb, which is a 414 year old festival that starts on a Saturday (last Saturday) and ends on a Wednesday.  The Monday in between is usually a semi-quiet evening, but during Kerb, our Kiosk evenings always had a little extra something, especially since semi-quiet is a relative term.  Mondays during Kerb have an extra little buzz. 

Indeed, there were a fair amount of folks out and about on Monday evening. Pleasant weather during the summer months just allows an opportunity that people do not want to pass up.  They want to be outside. Again, because we had gone so many months without seeing so many people all at one time, it required a little adjustment period. This also gave us more things to observe and comment on. 

Take e-scooters, for example.  These have been increasingly more popular in Germany over the past year, despite the pandemic.  This summer particularly has shown an increased number of vehicles on the streets.  There are several companies who offer the rental services, which effectively enables one to rent the scooter on demand, take it to wherever they want to go, then park.  

I do not have a tremendous problem with this new "craze."  It makes sense, is eco-friendly, and gives us something more to talk about.  The issue I really have is with the rider's behavior.  Last summer I was a little apprehensive about the number of accidents that would be caused, since my previous job had involved a manufacturer of such vehicles; Italy and Spain went first to market, and a couple of years ago they went through very similar challenges.  But, I am still not talking about guys double or triple riding (which is illegal) or riding while intoxicated (which is also illegal).  I am actually over those things. 

What bugs me, is the simple disregard that the riders have upon arrival at their destination.  They simply stop, and get off the vehicle.  

That could be in front of someone's house door, or simply on the sidewalk. 

This is my issue.  

From our Kiosk vantage point that evening, we watched multiple people just abandon the scooter wherever the hell they felt like.  This obviously creates a bit of a nuisance to those pedestrians who have to circumnavigate the bulky thing, which is equally annoying and dangerous.  

As we were standing there that night, I was reminded of my childhood when we finished riding our bikes.  From time to time, we might have arrived home needing to take an urgent trip to the bathroom, and because of that, we might have left our bike in the middle of the driveway or perhaps not in it's correct parking spot in the garage. 

The obvious problem, of course, is when someone arrived home from work in a car (let's call him Dad) to find that he could not park his car in the driveway or garage, because someone left their bike in the way. 

In my household, we had a few chats about things like this, and as a result, I did learn to think about my actions, and not least of all, on how to make sure my bike was properly parked. 

I see the same opportunity on the streets of Germany.  What is dismaying is that the (predominate) age group or e-scooter riders should KNOW better than to simply leave something lying dangerously as an obstacle in the pedestrian path of someone older, younger, or simply not paying attention. 

Biking rules are pretty strict, and it is rather amazing how cyclists, of which there are many, take particular care to park (and lock) their bikes in appropriate places.  What is hard for me to understand is that a cyclist is just as likely to park an e-scooter without this same level of attention and care.  That makes no sense to me. 

As you might have noticed, this topic bugs me.  As we stood there Monday evening, we discussed our frustrations about the whole thing, and also recognized that cities and regions are also finding it difficult to combat the problem.  One of the ideas being kicked around is to keep charging the rider if the scooter is not parked in a proper place.  How to facilitate that is a pretty good question. 

I finished the Monday evening not by solving the problem, but by talking enthusiastically with Ali about the start of the football season. 

While I don't want to say that the e-scooter problem is ruining my life, I will admit that I was feeling a little down on Tuesday morning, but told myself to make it a good day.  The work day did go well enough, and at 18h, I logged in to my online German course, which was restarting after a week's hiatus. 

At the end of the previous week, I had received a message from the language learning company informing me that a new teacher was set to continue our courses.  I confirmed with them that I still had six remaining sessions (at 90 minutes each), and while I am still a little irritated about how the previous teacher was treated, I was open for the next stage of this saga. 

Well, it turns out that I was the only student present on Tuesday.  I had no explanation as to where the other students were, but figured I would simply take advantage of the one on one session.  The teacher was competent enough, but was located in another country.  I had no problem with that, but was a little irritated that the instructor was not a native speaker.  Despite the competence of the guy, I found it difficult to get engaged in the class.  I prefer a very informal, personable learning experience, and this guy is the exact opposite.  

Because we were just the two, I had sufficient time (all in German, of course) to explain how the previous class had been structured (rather unstructured, truth be told), and then proceeded to explain my background, my previous learning experiences, etc.  Despite the fact that my German was almost flawless, it immediately became clear that he was simply going through the motions, and not listening to me. 

I had just gotten through explaining that the class was almost through (we started in May), when he finally realized that we only had a handful of sessions remaining.  The whole 90 minute session was kind of a stressful situation, since he wanted to do things his way without considering the current situation. In short, he did not have the ability to react and be flexible. 

I was really hacked at the end of Tuesday evening, which did nothing but sour my mood.  I tried to look at things from his side, and did concede that he had been called into action kind of spontaneously, and in fairness, I think he is the type of online language instructor that can be very effective. 

Let us just say that we did not immediately hit it off. 

As usually happens when things are bugging me, my body responds.  I woke up Wednesday feeling like I had been kicked in the gut, and these tummy troubles found a way to stay with me over the next couple of days. 

I met up with some friends Wednesday evening at the pub, and as enjoyable as it was, I could not help looking at things from the negative perspective.  This would have been Bernemer Mittwoch, the highlight night of the Kerb.  Instead of thousands of people getting absolutely blotto in the plaza in front of my house, it was just another summer evening.  Ironically, I am no longer quite the fan of the huge gatherings, but I missed it all the same. 

Thursday was a pretty rough day, and not just because of the one too many beers the previous evening. My stomach continued to act up, there were a couple of work challenges that intimidated me, and to top it off, I was set to have another session with a teacher who did not seem to listen. 

I pulled it together, and logged on at the appropriate time, and was delighted that one of my classmates showed up.  She is the other student in our group that has been in Germany the longest, and while she is a bit quiet, I did realize that she is rather clever, not only as a German student but also in her profession.  

Of course, she had not yet had an experience with our teacher, so we went through another little rodeo, but as we finished our 90 minutes, I did feel better about the course structure.  I had opened up to the idea that not every teacher is going to be the same, and my priority was to learn and get something out of the experience, which I did.  

I celebrated with some beef taquitos and an episode of Inspector Barnaby (in German) before going to bed at the unusually early hour of 22h. 

Friday morning, I woke up with that anticipation of "opening day."  Football was starting up again, and because of the interest in television rights and money, most leagues now have one of the matches played on a Friday evening.  Arsenal were scheduled in the season opener, against a small team that just got promoted to the top league after 74 (yes, that number is correct) years.  

I started the day early, got my leg exercises out of the way, started working early so that I could nip out mid-morning to get a haircut.  The work week was wrapping up rather nicely: meetings have been going well, and preparations for next week were also looking good.  The weather was nice, although perhaps a tiny bit too warm, and I was looking forward to the weekend and the start of football. 

My last meeting was at 14h with a couple of guys in the US.  I decided that I would finish up a little early, so after our call, I made a quick shopping run, and then put myself in weekend mode. 

As part of my Friday routine, I normally pick up some pizza, then decide whether to have a quiet evening on the couch with hot pizza and a movie, or spend a couple of hours in the pub, eating cold pizza a bit later. 

This routine actually requires a bit of planning, as I tend to check in with my father on Friday afternoon or evening. Once or twice in recent weeks, no sooner have I phoned my pizzeria and placed a takeout order when suddenly my father is on skype.  When this happens, I have to cut our call short so that I can pop down the street and pick up the pies. 

Last evening started a bit more smoothly.  Around 17h, Dad called, and I figured I could arrange for my pizzas after we finished.  He and I caught up on the week's events, and we discussed the sad state of politics in the home state, where it seems they are determined to beat out Florida to see who can fuck things up the most with regard to health and safety of the people.  

This is another topic that is really bugging me as of late, particularly since it stands to affect my family and friends.  Although my father and I do not have identical views, they are very similar, and I am comforted to know that he remains in the more logical and pragmatic group of a seemingly increasingly divided state.  I will take another deep breath as I write this:  I respect people's opinions, but I do start to take issue with people making decisions that will put the health of my family and friends in jeopardy, for no reason other than sheer selfishness. 

I am tired of having to explain to German friends why things are so out of whack in the country where I grew up, and the exhaustion comes not only from having to repeat myself, but the fact that I simply do not understand why it is so out of whack.  I am very capable player when it comes to gray areas, but when something is so black and white, come on. 

But, Dad and I found more positive things to discuss, and at the end of our call, I made my phone call to my favorite pizzeria. 

No answer. 

After two more attempts, I suspected that they were closed, likely on holiday, which is kind of normal for Italian places in Germany during the month of August. 

To be absolutely sure, and with plan B already prepared, I walked the few minutes up the hill around the corner to the place.  Sure enough, closed for a week of holiday. 

Plan B was immediately put into action, so I walked back down the street, stepping over no less than 4 e-scooters randomly lying on their sides on the sidewalk as I headed for my alternative pizzeria, who were just back from vacation, themselves. 

I placed my order at the window, then stood at a table just enjoying the Friday early evening.  No sooner had I lit a cigarette in the sunny start to the evening, out of nowhere a wind blew in, and suddenly it was raining buckets.  It started literally out of thin air, and caught EVERYONE by surprise.  

It was just going six o'clock, and about every patio table on the Berger was filled with folks out starting their weekends.  Those people still on their way home from work normally jealously look at people sipping their beers at all the establishments, knowing full well that they will be right back outside after they change out of their work clothes.  Last evening, most of them were sprinting by, as you do when you fruitlessly try to outrun a downpour.  

I have been there myself, and was grateful that I was already in my casual gear, which was getting fairly soaked even as I stood under one of the umbrellas covering a table.  Water was collecting quickly, I noticed my shoes getting soaked, and I managed to see some guy in a suit do a reasonable reenactment of an Olympic hurdler as he navigated the various e-scooters parked (loosely) haphazardly on the sidewalk.  

This little pizzeria does a fair amount of business, and they are pretty quick.  I expected about a 15 minute wait, and indeed, that was all it took.  The rainstorm lasted 20 minutes, which meant that I, too, had to paddle home with my pizzas in tow.  

No sooner had I walked inside my flat did the rain cease, the sun came back out, and I checked to make sure no water had seeped through the pizza box.  

Klimawandel?  

Absolutely. 

Since I have been in Germany I have never experienced a situation where the weather forecast was 100% different than reality.  I understand that most meteorologists around the world are never going to get it right all the time, but this was crazy.  

Slightly soggy, I decided to go ahead and have a few slices of pizza.  Arsenal were not due to play for another three hours.  I was in that quandary where if I went directly to the pub, I would consume way too many beers BEFORE the match, which was something I wanted to avoid.  On the other hand, I knew that a bit of pizza and some couch time might just lure my body into a "ooh, we are not going anywhere tonight." situation, which I also wanted to avoid. 

In the end, I let my Arsenal buddy down, and switched on the match from the comfort of my living room.  The excitement of opening day quickly wore off as the team never really got going.  Their freshly promoted opponents clearly came prepared to the game, and put on a very good display.  They thoroughly deserved their victory.  I did watch until the end, trading messages with Erik and Chris, where the words "Oofta," and "It is going to be a long season," were thrown about with conviction. 

So, I must say, it was not the way I wanted my evening to go, nor for my team to start their season, but hey, we know that we have to take it as it comes. 

Part of me is glad to have the match out of the way, so that I can now enjoy the rest of the weekend, keeping alert for e-scooter obstacles on the sidewalk and sudden rainstorms out of nowhere. And I won't even have to worry about those when I do my German homework. 

see you out there

bryan

Under My Thumb

Earlier this week I jotted down some notes about a possible topic I wanted to cover in this week's post.  It had to do with a family trip to the Astrodome to see SMU play a football game.  I will likely come back to the topic, but today it is being preempted in order to talk about the real excitement that I had this week.

It all started in the kitchen, harmlessly enough, and by that I mean, I am not sure exactly when it happened.  In truth, I was not sure what happened.  Sunday afternoon I cooked some chicken, and seem to remember slightly burning myself when I touched the skillet.  Monday, I was putting something in the oven and apparently might have done the same thing.  Neither incident was more than a "Dang, that was hot," before I quickly moved on to other more comfortable tasks.  

Monday evening, however, I was chatting with some friends in the park, and started noticing that my left thumb was a little sore.  I was aware of the thumb, but did not really think much more about it. 

Tuesday afternoon came, and I was distracted by a little drama involving my German class.  My teacher has been very upfront and open about her recent move to Berlin and all the hectic things that come with getting settled in a new city.  In the class whatsapp group, a couple of students had already indicated that they would not be present, and about an hour before class, two other students had to cancel.  The teacher quickly polled the rest of us, then elected to simply postpone the class due to not enough participants.  In short, she has tried to adapt her schedule and our schedules.  Most of us in the class are working full time, and despite the home office environment, it can be busy.  

I actually did not see all the whatsapp messages until about 20 minutes before class, after having finished a rather busy work day myself.  I quickly discovered that our classes for the week had been pushed out until next week.  I had no issue with this.  In fact, most of the students have never expressed any problem with this whatsoever.  

Unfortunately, on this particular evening, one of the students did take issue, and started writing aggressive texts in the group requesting that the teacher take immediate action and get us a substitute.  The teacher responded civilly and clearly, indicating that we would not lose our class time, and it was good to be a little flexible.  Again, I should point out that no one in this virtual class is having to drive across town to get to their class.  They simply login from their living room (where they likely have spent much of their working day already) and presto. 

I took advantage of the evening by having an earlier dinner (as opposed to waiting until class was over) and sat down to watch a couple of hours of television.  My thumb was starting to bother me, and I wondered if I had inadvertently sprained it during some of my exercising over the previous few days. I did not really think so, but I could come up with no other explanation. 

Wednesday morning, I woke up early and made an effort to complete by workout before starting the work day.  One of the advantages to home workout and home office is that I have a bit more flexibility with certain activities.  Though I rarely do so, I could effectively finish a set before a conference call, then do the second after the conference call, and so on.  Just knowing I have that option is cool for me. 

This week is deadlift week, and I must say that jumping out of bed in the morning and going straight to the dumbbell rack to bang out the reps is not a thrilling idea.  Thus, I try to give myself an hour or so before I launch into the activity.  But, here is the dilemma.  It is not as if I am getting up 2 or 3 hours before the work day.  Typically, I might be up at 7.30, and will be online within 30 minutes.  That is a little tight to get the workout in, get a shower, and get the day going. 

So, this particular Wednesday was fortuitous, as not only did I get up earlier, I felt ready to get the deadlifts and other exercises (it was back day) completed quickly.  I realized as I grabbed the dumbbells that I did not have the grip strength in my left hand, largely because my left thumb was suddenly almost twice the size of my right thumb. 

About the time I realized how swollen it was, I started noticing the pain.  Determined not to let it prevent me from getting the workout in, I persevered, got everything done, took a shower, then made my first coffee, and almost dropped the portafilter.  For those of you who are not baristas, this part is where you put the coffee grounds, then put it into the machine so that the coffee comes through the filter.  For those of you who have an interest in the German word for a portafilter, it is der Siebträger.  

Wednesday was already a bit of an emotional day.  It happened to be the date of my mother's birthday, and while I think of my mother at least daily, I choose to have extra special thoughts of her each year on the 28th of July.  Furthermore, I tend to think about the fact that so many people who happened to know my mother are also remembering her birthday on that date.  So all of us are thinking about her at the same time, and I really like that thought.  I am feeling fuzzy right now as I write about it. 

That being said, it made for a sentimental day, and there I was with a huge left thumb that was hurting like hell.  I did manage to get the coffee made, and had just about convinced myself that I had not sprained my thumb, but instead somehow burned it, but still was not sure. 

Around midmorning, my phone chirped with a message from my German teacher.  Somehow, one of the students had complained to the language school, the school then contacted the teacher with the escalation, and the teacher abruptly quit.  Her message, perhaps slightly more eloquently written, indicated that she was stepping away and she wished all of us good luck. 

I immediately reached out to her privately, wincing as I typed with both thumbs.  (No, Pablo, swiping would not have been any better...it was like playing golf with basketball instead of a golfball)  My teacher responded with an audio message (gee..why did I not think of that), basically indicating that she felt hurt and insulted that the student had reacted in that way, and because of her current situation with the move, being away from family, and stuff, she elected not to put up with the additional headache. 

I responded with words of support, and told her how sorry I was that this had happened.  She acknowledged the kind words, and we agreed to stay in contact.  

The whole incident was blown out of proportion and it is really irritating.  I am not even sure if we will still have our four remaining classes, scheduled for next week and the week after.  The fact that one, only one, student raised a stink, for really no reason other than pure selfishness, really bugs me.  Not only that, every one of us in the class has already done a similar move to Germany, and all of us had a tough tricky experience.  We all know how stressful moves can be.  Besides all of this, the teacher was trying to accommodate all of the students, and that is sort of special.  It is vacation period right now, so the odds are, somebody is not going to be in attendance.  

The incident continued to bug me throughout the day.  I am not even sure that all the students have completely understood that the teacher has quit.  You might recall in recent posts that not every student has quite achieved the same level of comprehension, let alone writing or speaking ability.  So, on all fronts, a minor incident has blown out of proportion, and as a result, I am without a German teacher. 

Mom thoughts, negative class thoughts, and a thumb continuing to hurt like hell did absolutely nothing to improve the course of the day.  In fact, the thumb found a way to take control of my thoughts, and I was rather unproductive during the afternoon, as I got very absorbed in the pain and my concern for what the fuck had really happened.  

In short, I was feeling like I was under my thumb.  

True, my imagination kind of took off as I sought to explain what had happened.  I really just wanted to know what event had triggered the pain.  This is normally not my standard approach to this kind of problem solving (at least, in recent years).  Instead, I try to focus on what might be bugging me (consciously or subconsciously), as this tends to be a source of the physical pain. 

Indeed, I did have a few things on my mind, and that was certainly contributing to the pain in my thumb, but what was really bothering me is that it was feeling like I had burned it, but there was no blister. Yes, indeed, readers, I have encountered a fair amount of burns that I have suffered while cooking in the kitchen.  Several years ago, I spilled some hot grease on my right thumb, and as you can  imagine, it hurt like fucking hell.  

Since I did not have a blister as such, I was really confused as to why my thumb was so swollen, and why it felt like a burn, but the wound was not behaving like a burn.  Rather than just accept it and plan  to observe it over the next day or two, I lost control of my thoughts.  I think this is what irritates me most of all.  I dislocated my knee while playing hacky sack back in college, and that pain was excruciating, but I did not let it get the best of me.  Why am I now struggling with this concept? Where is the fearless Bryan from college?

I spent a little time meditating Wednesday afternoon, then decided to distract myself further by playing a little piano, which took some effort, considering one of the digits has to be involved.  As the work day finished, I checked in with my father to see how he was doing on this special day.  It was a good, albeit brief, chat, but it put me in a better mood, which ultimately helped me to decide to go on to the pub that evening to meet up with a few friends who have a regular meet up each Wednesday night. 

As we sat outside at one of the tables, I was conscious about the size of my thumb, which felt bigger that it really looked.  Actually, it was not like I could really feel the thumb, anyway.  I carefully held my beer glass with my right hand, and when it came time to use the zippo, I had to switch hands, as my left thumb normally turns the wheel that lights the flint. That was completely impossible, considering my thumb size, pain, etc. 

The evening served as a nice distraction, and I enjoyed the company of the group, and even bumped into another friend I had not seen since the lockdowns started.  We had a chance to catch up, which resulted in one beer too many. 

The beer probably helped, as I slept fairly soundly Wednesday evening, and did not notice my thumb whatsoever.  That kind of confirmed that it was certainly not a muscle strain or sprain, since those injuries tend to flare up with any (however slight) movement. 

Thursday morning came, and I noticed immediately that my thumb was less swollen.  I got on with the day, and enjoyed it.  

Friday morning came, and it looks like my thumb is on its way to healing.  I continued to be fascinated by how the mind approaches such situations, and why there continues to be this tendency to always think so negatively and fearfully.  And, how the sense of relief that floods you as soon as your brain comes to terms with the situation. 

The working day finished on a pretty positive note Friday afternoon, and I brought the work week to a close.  I arranged to pick up a couple of pizzas at my local pizzeria and  bring them home so that they would be waiting for me later in the evening.  I then spent the next couple of hours outside the pub, collecting my thoughts, greeting some friends, thinking about the week, feeling happy that my thumb could work my zippo again, and just appreciating things for what they are. 

see you out there

bryan

News from Lake Wo...erm, FFM

On top of all the other cool things that my parents introduced me to in my childhood, they got me in the habit of listening to a Prairie Home Companion, a long running radio show.  Probably my favorite feature in the program was the "News from Lake Wobegon," where Garrison Keillor starts the monologue with "Well, it's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon, my hometown," then proceeds to tell a witty story involving the little town and its inhabitants.  I enjoy these stories tremendously, as did my parents. 

Over the years it has been common for someone in our family to reference Lake Wobegon in our conversations, particularly when we are skyping with each other. I lost count of the times that my mother might wrap up a lengthy chat with me by saying, "And that is the news from LW."  Or, my father might make a comment about "the women being being strong, the men good-looking, and the children being above average." 

Yesterday it was my turn.  

Around 4.15pm, after having just finished kind of the last conference call of the day, I was just collecting my thoughts while I checked my private laptop, which sits in a different room from my work station (ie..my company laptop setup).   For obvious reasons, I only have skype (which I use for private purposes only) installed on my private laptop.  Suddenly I received a skype call, my father calling to check in. 

"How's your week going? Where have you been?" he asked, right off the bat. 

I kind of reminded him of the time difference and the fact that I was just finishing up the work day, and the work week, as it were. 

And then I said, "Well, it's been a quiet week in Frankfurt, my home town," making a slight reference to the well known quote. (artistic license is allowed here.  Feel free to use whichever city or town you want to use should you feel the need to say the line). 

With my return to work this year, the one slight drawback is that I no longer am able to have such frequent lengthy chats with my father.  While I do miss the daily chats we had, I am currently enjoying having a little more substance to talk about.  Work, reduced restrictions with regard to the pandemic, and perhaps most important of all, having the opportunity to get out and see people again are all providing much more engaging conversation topics.  Just six or seven months ago, a typical daily question was something like, "Hey, have the colors of your walls changed since I talked to you yesterday?" and that might have been the highlight of the week. 

So, yesterday afternoon I gave my father the weekly update, basically catching up on all the news since he and I spoke the previous Saturday. 

It turns out that it was not that quiet of week after all. 

On Monday, I contacted my nephew to wish him a happy 19th birthday.  I was glad to speak with him on the telephone.  Like many teenagers, he is not particularly chatty or communicative, but our conversation, while only lasting 15 minutes or so, was enjoyable; I really liked speaking with him.  I asked him about his drivers education course and he mentioned that he was progressing along, hoping to sit his exam at the end of the summer.  Meanwhile, I told him my own tale about going to the DL office in Frankfurt a few weeks ago, and went on to state that I was feeling a little ignored, as my follow up email to them almost three weeks before (where I provided the needed documentation) had not yet been answered.  We finished our little chat, I told him Happy Birthday one more time, and then went downstairs to check the mail. 

Sitting in my letter box was a formal looking envelope, and upon opening it, I found my newly issued German DL.  

And that, friends, is called a tick in the box. 

After finishing my work day, I headed down the street to pick up a few beers before walking to the local park to meet up with some friends for our normal Monday evening gathering.  En route, I passed a friend of mine sitting by himself in a cafe.  He and I had just discussed music a few days prior, so seeing him reminded me to send him a track or two of my own stuff.  

At the park, I proudly showed off the new addition to my wallet, and one of the guys wanted to compare my license with that of an actual German license holder.  Truth be told, the licenses are pretty identical, though mine does clearly point out that my original license was issued in another country. 

One of the noticeable differences between a US license and that from Germany is that the German license is simply the valid authorization to drive.  It is not used for identification, like the US licenses tend to be.  Germans (and myself) have a different ID card for that purpose. 

On the back of my new license, rather than simply stating which driving class I belong to, there is a complete list showing both the class and also a little picture illustrating what the class really is.  There are about 20 driving classes, ranging from motor scooter to a commercial truck.  There is a little section where each class where I am authorized is clearly marked.  It turns out that in addition to a standard automobile, I am also allowed to drive a moped (so long as it does not exceed a speed of 30 mph), and curiously enough, I am allowed to drive a tractor. 

This I find as an unexpected bonus.  In all my years of driving, it has never crossed my mind to inquire about the ability to drive farm vehicles, but now I am quietly trying to figure out if I know any Germans who have a farm close by.  

Monday evenings are always enjoyable, and as we wrapped things up around 10pm, I decided to peek in at the pub as I passed by on my way home.  This license thing was a real (self induced) stressful thing, and I was still feeling relieved to have finally completed the task.  So, I was not quite ready to stop the celebrations, and texted another friend to see if he felt like coming down for a couple of quick beers. 

A few minutes later, he and I were standing outside catching up and enjoying the pleasant evening, when one of the waitresses walked up.  It was her night off, which is why she approached us while eating an ice cream cone and carrying a guitar.  She sat with us for a few minutes, and we got to talking about the guitar she had just received.  I have known this girl for several years, and once or twice have mentioned in these posts that she is a rather talented musician.  My Monday evening finished on a very positive high as she and I chatted about her music, how she composes, and all the points involved with starting a music career. (This girl does have a music contract with a label, and has multiple singles released). 

Tuesday was pretty quiet in comparison to Monday, but quiet is good.  My German class went well, and I finished the evening with a little Taco Tuesday and an episode or two of Inspector Barnaby (as Midsomer Murders is known here). 

Wednesday involved a visit to the barber after work, and then I met up with another group of friends as part of their Wednesday group.  Due to illness and vacation, there were only a couple of folks from the group in attendance, but it enabled us to share a table with a couple of other pub guests.  We chatted with them a little bit, as you tend to do when you are sitting outside at a pub on a summer evening.  We were all heavy into our conversation when my cafe friend from Monday night walked up, excused himself for the interruption, then proceeded to scold me for not sharing the music tracks with him before.  He enthusiastically complimented me on my ability, saying he really enjoyed listening to them, but was irritated that he had known me for 10 years and never knew that I played.  I was rather touched, since I certainly had not expected such a reaction.  True, I have been complimented before, even rather recently, but I don't really anticipate that kind of thing.  

Because of my friend's outburst, the other people at the table (who I do not know quite as well) were curious about just what music I am playing.  So, I ended up sharing a few more audio files with them, and so it goes.   As several readers already know, I am a reluctant performer, and this extends to even sharing such audio tracks.  Yes, I have passed them around to several folks, but mostly within a circle of friends, more so than acquaintances.  I remain pretty open, always wear my heart on my sleeve, but do have my limits when it comes to shoving my material on others.  (This blog is a slight exception, but since it is in the public domain and has an audience of about six, I think it is OK)

Thursday afternoon, my German teacher had to abruptly cancel class, as she had an urgent appointment to look at a new flat for her and her family.  Flat searching in Germany is really a challenge, so you have to be quick, aggressive, and hope like hell that luck is on your side.   Effectively having a free evening, and because the work day had been a bit challenging, I returned to the pub to (hopefully) have a couple of quiet beers by myself before returning home for an early night. 

It was a good call, as I got to experience something that I have been wishing to happen for many many years.  

There has always been a fair amount of dogs in Frankfurt, and one gets very used to seeing people out walking their pets up and down the streets, in the park, or wherever.  Some people have bigger dogs, which I am not so sure is a great idea, simply because we live in an urban environment, and my opinion is that big dogs need bigger places to run and play.  My flat is only about 70 square meters, which can become a little cramped when more than two people are here.  Imagine having a retriever or rather large dog in the same space, it just would not be fair to anyone. 

That being said, I cannot speak for everyone else, but do recognize that people, particularly when the weather is pleasant, like to take their pets with them when they go out to socialize.  Most restaurants and pubs, especially outside, are pet friendly.  My own local has little water bowls for the dogs on those extremely warm summer days.  Most of the other pubs and cafes have a similar policy. 

So, I was in my usual place outside the pub, minding my own business, and watching the world go by, when I noticed two couples sitting across from one another at a table under the canopy that the pub had set up for additional protection against rain.  Keep in mind that most restaurants still have very limited indoor seating.  Along with that, summer in Germany is the time when everyone wants to be outside, even more so now after the recent restrictions have finally been lifted.  The problem has been that we have had a fair amount of rain during June and parts of July.  To deal with this, the pub put up a tent kind of thing to cover some of the patio tables.  One side of the tent is closed, so as to block some of the noise from the neighborhood, as well as to keep the pub noise away from the rest of the neighborhood. 

The great thing about outside seating is that you usually have a 360 degree view of what is happening in the vicinity, and there tends to be a lot going on in my neighborhood.  With one side of the tent closed off, those sitting at a table have a little less visibility. 

So, these two couples were sitting there, enjoying their evening, enjoying having their pet dog (a medium sized cocker spaniel) sitting under the table, attached to his lead.  

Well, another couple was walking their dog along the street, which meant they were going to pass right through the pub terrace.  Because no one could see each other, no one immediately noticed the proximity of the two dogs: one on a lead, and the other roaming free. 

Clearly, the cocker spaniel had something to say to the other dog, and jumped up from his place under the pub table and ran towards the other dog, which caused his lead to trap the two people sitting on the bench against their table.  Suddenly, glasses were spilling and breaking, beer was flowing all over a lady's lap, and the dog was doing his best to drag the bench (still attached to his lead) with him, effectively carrying the two people along with him.  

I had a front row seat to this, and it was awesome. 

Neither dog was particularly mean, and I really would not use the word aggressive but rather enthusiastic.  Like all of us, they, too, have been kind of cooped up during recent months, so why not get excited when you get a chance to see someone (even another breed) again?

There are a couple of known "mean" dogs in the neighborhood, dogs that are not quite so good-natured around other dogs, and I have learned to use a little bit of caution in such situations.  One of the factors that can make this tricky is that some owners regularly use a lead, while others allow their pets free range to do whatever.  This can result in the odd dog skirmish, but usually things never get totally out of hand. 

The difference in Thursday's entertainment was that both dogs were really happy, and both owners were caught off guard at the reactions of their pets.  The lady who got the lap full of beer was the owner of the cocker, and within minutes she was actually laughing about the experience. 

At any rate, I would happily pay money to see this kind of thing more regularly, particularly because no person or pet was hurt, and pub glassware is regularly broken anyway. 

It truly was a highlight of the week, and as I finished my report to my father, I said as such.  Getting a DL and seeing a dog wipe out a couple of people sitting at a picnic table makes for a pretty good week, in my book. 

I returned to the pub for a few Friday evening beers just to start the weekend.  No dog activity to speak of, but then again, I did not stay out so long.  By close to 21h, I was home catching a French movie dubbed into German, and by 23h I was in bed asleep. 

So that's the report from Frankfurt, where Bryan had a good week, the dogs are lively, and people are enjoying themselves. 

See you out there

bryan