Oblivia

Most folk like summer. I suppose. But what of those who do not? Are we truly - as I suspect - a minority? Or are we simply a people who should have been born under an equator? Seriously. When I was young and stupid and full of status-quo optimism, I liked summer. At the time I lived in a place where others didn’t (for whatever reason) get all the (beach/vacation) space first. (And I grew up on beaches.) Now, for me - and along with everything else - I associate summer with failure, an ending w/out a start, loss, and more than enough (day)light to allow one to comprehend failure. When I’m having a nice summer day then I usually think about words I’d like to invent. It helps me forget my failure. (Of course, a couple of drinks help, as well.)

Does it actually mean anything that summer follows spring where everything seems to be born and/or conceived and yet, in this day & age, what’s the good in that? At the least, we see where seasons of renewal have lead. Absolute nowhere. Fall and winter are nothing more than space & time where bellies can be filled with indulgence and minds can be cluttered with optimism. And even before summer is over, all of the blinding green is being spewed and expelled out of bodies in the name of Oblivia. But that’s neither here nor there.

Being a failure has it’s advantages. For one, you can always recognize failure. That’s not the case if you’re a winner. It seems that the experiments of 19th and 20th century mankind & earth have or are finally giving way to certain human realities. At the least, I don’t think that the human species was always destined to be about failure.

For example. I recently heard an interesting term: “Failing upwards”. As soon as I heard the term I thought: wow, are others getting in on my little secret and finally starting to see the light? (It is summer time!) The term refers to the political antics of the last twenty - maybe thirty - years where folk get ahead (professionally, economically) by doing nothing to warrant their position(ings). It doesn’t sound like much now but for someone that grew-up in the lie that “you can even be president”, well, nuff said. Of course, there are laws in countries protecting wealth and achievement based on (objective) merit. But who has made any laws governing the subjectivity of “merit”? Isn’t the likes of political and economic conservatism just like that? I’m recalling a moment during the last US presidential election. It was 2003/4, right? Then that THING was re-elected and the first thing I thought about was my favorite word: Oblivia. I know, the word doesn’t exist but then again who cares. We live in a world where everything is achieved through nothing. At the least, in all my failure, I deserve this word - my own little word - in my own little world.

Rant on.

-tgs-

Feuchtgebiete, Girl Things Wet

Warning: sexually explicit material is contained in this post. Vulgar language is also used. If you do not like cursing or suggestive language, then please go here. You’ll be much happier in the end.

Initial post here.

This is potentially a book review. I think. But also be warned: If you plan on reading this book when it comes out in English then you might want to steer away from this post. I’ve taken the liberty of my own English translation of some of the text. But don’t worry, I won’t reveal everything. I’m not sure if this is legal either – so please, no one send me money for this.

As you can see the cover of the book- the fourteenth printing btw - is pink and includes the raised image of a bandage. Underneath the bandage is the title in a dot-matrix Teutonic kind of font. Every time I picked up the book to continue reading it I thought there is only one application of the color pink that I do not hate. Luckily this book deals with that one thing whole heartily.

As noted in in my previous post, this book has received a lot of attention. As of March, 2008, it has sold more than 500k copies. At one point it was even number one on Amazon.com. That might not sound thrilling but when you consider that it reached the top of the list while published in German… Well, that’s something. Again, let me make sure that got across so that other (worst)writers and (worst)readers get it. This book reached the top selling list while printed in German on the “.com” and not the “.de” of Amazon. As a wannabe struggling writer who writes in English but lives in Germany… Holy shit! I’m the one who needs a bandage.

With that in mind, my hat is off and I bow deeply to Charlotte Roche. Say what you want about this book – it’s either bad-mouth pornography or it’s new-fangled erotic literature – but Roche did a pretty good job writing it. One of the basic criteria I have for good writing is when an author makes me think. I don’t care about grammar, structure or formula. Writing should be solely about creativity and passion. This book has a lot of both – if you can get through the smut. That’s the only criticism I have of the book. There’s simply too much smut and other nonsense which takes away from getting any protagonist message across. But I’ll leave it at that - because I’m not a critic.

The heroine of the book is Helen. She’s 18 and somewhat perturbed. I think. Here’s how she opens the story (Tommi translation):

“As far as family goes, taking care of the elderly means a lot to me. Just like any other child with divorced parents, I wish my parents would get back together. When my parents require elderly care the first thing I’m gonna do is put their new partners in a nursing home. Then I’m gonna take my divorced parents home, put them in the same bed, and take care of them till they die. It will be a moment of happiness for me. So all I have to do is wait patiently. I have the situation under control.”

After that all you get is more than two hundred big-fonted pages of hemorrhoids, vaginal fluids, one-afternoon-stands, and a few lines of girly-wisdom that perhaps this media driven world could put to use. Oh, there’s also the underlying emotional pain of a young woman and her having to finally grow up. If you can get past the nonsense of a young girl’s obsession with herself – in the form of consuming, utilizing and sharing every fluid or particle that the female body makes – then you will get to the soul of a person whose feelings are so hurt that an/her anus (kinda) explodes. Helen tells the story from the hospital bed where she has to have an operation on an/her anus. It seems, as part of her girl-body obsession, she cut her anus while shaving. Yeah, right.

While reading Feuchtgebiete I kept thinking of two things. One was how they are going to translate the title. Thus far I’ve seen articles using “Wetlands”. I don’t think that works at all. My preference would be “Girl Things Wet”. Luckily I’m no translator. The second thing I kept thinking about were the cheap paperback porn books that I read when I was young. (Seriously. I only read the stuff.) You know, the books where IT was called jism/jizm and the word fuck somehow never reminded one of “fuck you, asshole”. Am I the only male born after 1960 to have read “A Man With A Maid” written by Anonymous? (Please, don’t make fun of the books I’ve read.) The only thing that really bugged the do-dads out of me while reading Roche’s book was the amount of (for lack of better terminology) descriptors that eventually leads to the strangest kind of wisdom. Here some of Roche’s/Helen’s wisdom (Tommi translation):

“It’s only a fantasy if you get horny thinking about it.”

“Once I did a coffee peepee test. My father taught me this. When you get up in the morning you have to pee because your bladder collects everything overnight. Once you’ve emptied yourself in the morning you’d think that all the pee was out of your body. Then when you drink a cup of coffee your body is so poisoned that it collects more water in order to clean everything out. As soon as you finish your coffee you pee more fluid then the coffee you actually drank. I’ve proved it, I used a coffee cup one morning and it overflowed with pee. I proved my father correct that coffee dehydrates. My mother wasn’t happy at all because she doesn’t think urine should be in a coffee cup.”

(After claiming that tampons are a waste of money): “The other half I fold long-ways till I have a long thin clothe. Then I roll it in small, tight stages till it becomes the shape of a thick wurst and then shove into my pussy as high as it’ll go. How’s that! American tampon industry.”

Dear (worst)reader/writer, I’m sorry, but the following I can’t (won’t) translate, because, well, I don’t even know what the fuck it means – but it sounds kind of cool in a German sorta way: “Trauerwettstreit gewonnen durch vergezogene Trauerarbeit.”

(Helen speaking to herself): “Don’t be disappointed. The next self-fuck will be better, Helen, I promise.”

After eating a bugar: “There’s nothing on my body that my fingers can leave alone.”

About boys: “For a boys eighteenth birthday their parents always invite them to a local whorehouse.”

Sex while menstruating: “A good pirate sticks it in the red sea.”

Beyond all the wisdom there’s a bunch of interesting German words that Roche uses in her cute little novel. I know this might sound strange - especially for those who think the German language is more like barking - or am I the only one that thinks that? Anywho. German can be a fun language when it comes to putting words together to say something specific. Here a few examples with rough Tommi translations:

• Fickverabredung = fuck + appointment.
• Käsebaby = cheese + baby; I have no idea what this word was/is supposed to mean; yeah, author, entangle me.
• Rübbelkönigin = something about rubbing her pussy and being the queen (the best?) at having an orgasm while doing it.
• Körperausscheidungsrecyclerin = body + expulsion + recycling.
• Muschirosapink = the color of a black woman’s vagina.
• Blutschwesternschaft = blood-sisters; the ceremonial sharing of menstrual blood. But! It’s more something like the American Indian “blood brothers” thing. I guess.
• Fickurheber = fuck + initiator; Helen cuts a hole in her panties when she’s on a date with someone she wants to fuck, that way, when petting gets going, the guy is surprised but gets the message that she wants to fuck without having to go through all the rigmarole of a date. (Where were these chicks when I was young?)
• Rasurhindernisparcours = razor + obstacle + horse-show-jumping-course; the name she gives the rim of her anus as someone is shaving her/it.
• Sexandenkenkaubonbon = sex + souvenir + chewable candy; she’s describing the stuff that’s left over after sex and what she does with it.

Last but not least, here are three words that Helen gives to the most precious of her female parts. I’ll leave translation up to your imagination or your ability to research. Seriously, I’m tired of all this nasty stuff.

• Vanillekipferln
• Hahnenkämme
• Perlenrüssel

Although the writing is at times very trying - especially for someone who ONLY read porn when it was innocent, this is a fun read and has a creative, if not profound, ending.

Rant on.

-tgs-

Aldi or Yet Another Analogy For The Future (Part 2)

Part 1 is here.

This is yet another part in my continuing saga of HAVING to live among the Germans. Please forgive me in advance – and try to find humor where there is none. With that in mind, I started Part 1 so many months ago with “I found out what is wrong with Germany…” Of course, I didn’t actually find out anything. But that’s not the point of writing in a blog, now is it?

Anywho…

The Germans have done a few things right since the days of doing all things wrong. For one, they build pretty good cars. No. Wait…

I’m still quite angry that Germans don’t have one – NOT ONE – alternative fueled vehicle in the production pipeline. Also, since I’ve been driving various German cars since the nineties, as far as build quality is concerned, they are doing the same thing Detroit did back in the seventies. Just making ‘em cheaper and cheaper. The difference to American cars, though, is that even the cheaper German cars go like hell. I wonder if the reason Germans don’t have alternative powered cars is because they know something about gas supplies that other countries don’t know? Go figure…

Another thing Germans do right are Autobahns. Even though currently most of their Autobahns serve as government subsidized work placement programs, there are still parts of the A3, the A2 and my particular favorite the A27 (between Bremerhaven and Cuxhaven), where you can drive so fast that the horizon snaps shut before your eyes have time to blink. Seriously. At the risk of bragging and making a fool of myself because of the outrageous carbon footprint that I leave behind – I comfortably admit that, when possible, I drive at speeds of and around 240km/h. Don’t get me wrong. It’s an absolutely crazy thing to do. If I could afford it, I would take the train. But Germany, like so many other western countries, is a slave to invention. The train system here sucks and is in no way competitive with a car. Shame really!!!

Let me put the speed-thing in perspective. For you NASCAR lovin’ mama-boys out there, get this: when I’m in a good mood, when the weather is sparky and I have no family members in the vehicle, when my contact lenses are clear and there’s no stress ringing in my ears, I sometimes drive a well-powered Audi at speeds (on public highways) faster than those who win at Dover International Speedway. Now if that won’t motivate young men (with a driver’s license) to come over here and experience Oktoberfest… I don’t know what else should.

Warning: this is not an advert. Seriously.

The last thing Germans do right that I’ll address here has nothing to do with cars. It has to do with the only other invention that should be recognized as its industry’s VW Bug. I’m talking, of course, about Aldi – the discount supermarket chain where practically every continental German speaking person has at one point or other in their lives bought something. I have a thing for Aldi.

“Aldi” is short for Albrecht Discount. The little stores have also been called “Albrecht’s Fine Foods” or ” Albrecht Delicatessen”.

I’m not kidding. Today every continental German speaking person buys something at Aldi at sometime or other. That’s a business taking in money from well-over a 100million people. Such success has made the founders of Aldi, the Albrecht brothers, the richest men in all of Germany – and they regularly make the Forbes richest schmuck list. Say what you want about rich people, Bill Gates included, but there’s good reason the Albrecht brothers are swimming in cash. It boils down to Aldi just being plain good at what they do. Which is not something you can claim of companies like Wal-Mart. I’m a regular Aldi goer and I don’t think I’ve ever bought anything from that store that was necessary to throw out because it was junk. Do I need to mention Wal-Mart again? Wait a sec…

Oh no, that’s not true. I’m just exaggerating because this is potentially a post that a German might read and then say, “hey, this (American) guy complaining about Germany all the time ain’t all that bad.” So I did buy one of them multi screw-drivers at Aldi once and I had to throw it out after it broke. But hell, it only cost something like five Euros. It worked up until I used it to try and unscrew some heavily rusted bolts while replacing a thoroughly rusted exhaust pipe – where it simply snapped in two pieces. I went through two other tools during that escapade, as well. But I don’t remember where I bought those tools.

Aldi’s secret of success (according to Tommi) is this. Dictate to manufactures a certain quality and then buy & sell volume. Nothing unique there – except maybe the dictate part. The thing that Aldi seems to do different than other discounters is that it retails fairly good quality stuff.

Cheap is one thing, but cheap quality is another.

Aldi was the first discounter of its kind to sell real Champagne – as in Champagne, France – for something like 15,- Euros a bottle. It’s a bit sweet but what the heck – chicks love that shit. So you can accredit Aldi for helping weak-ass German boys getting laid. (German women love the bubbly.) Aldi also gets North East American fisheries to ship over frozen, whole Lobsters, and then sells them for something like 7,- Euros. I’ve had them. They’re great. Needless to say, when the lobsters arrive there’s a run on all the stores. But then there’s the wine. I’ll keep it short and just say, Aldi features some of the best wines from Chile to Italy and they cost half of what they’d cost elsewhere.

There’s lots more on wine here.

When I was still working as an industry analyst one of the companies that I had to research was Aldi. Of course, like many other analysts, I got nowhere. It’s not because I couldn’t find the information – I was a great researcher – but because Aldi is collectively tight lipped. It is a private company and therefore not required to release any information – at least there’s a serious clamp on info regarding how it makes so much damn money. Even the people that work the registers are told that they should never answer any questions asked about the business.

And now on to the ANALOGY that would never be.

Businesses that make the kind of money that Aldi does usually fall to the whims of cycles and downturns or whatever. Or does that only apply to companies that are dependent on the loan-capital derived from being on a stock exchange? Didn’t UPS used to be one of the most successful companies NOT trading a stock? In fact, it wasn’t till 1999 that UPS went public. But I’m not here to bash the current and obvious ill-nature of the stock market. Aldi pushes along and just keeps making more and more money - and is not publicly traded. It is simply a no-frills company – which is reflected in its stores the world over – and seems to focus solely on a level of end consumer quality that is, in my opionion, unmatched - at least in the German market.

So what am I really addressing here?

This may be both a bit pretentious and naive but what the heck. Aldi represents not just an untapped business principle but also a principle that could/should apply to life: balance. It seems that a company like Aldi can balance the madness between supply and demand like no other retail company. In fact, in my whacked-out way of seeing things (aka Tommism), most corporations and their constituencies are only interested in annihilating at least one part of the supply and demand equation that has ruled our lives since Adam Smith first blew his nose. Obviously I’m no economist and I haven’t worked in management consulting for more than eight years – so I might be way off base here. It’s just that when I sit back and look at how things work in our Western Mess… Our corporate consuming situation is unsustainable. So I’ve been looking for examples that potentially are sustainable. I mean, come on, Aldi is rarely in the press for any controversy and more importantly, its employees all seem to be content with their earnings. Wow. Talk about balance. Business Balance?

Have I coined a phrase?

I’ve heard some say that the reason Wal-Mart pulled out of Germany was because of Aldi. The thing about Euro business is that companies have to yield (the word “yield” is not part of the German language which you can also see on the Autobahns) in some way or other to governments. Where American neo-con/Republicans hypocritically claim to be all about reducing government in the “markets”, Euro companies gladly oblige governments – as at times governments seem to fill the employer/employee gap that has so obviously been part of the downfall of corporate Americano. For companies like Wal-Mart “balance” has to be an unfathomable concept.

Rant on. I have to go to Aldi and get some bubbly.

-tgs-

Rooy Typewriter, At Last

More on manuals here and here.

It was quite a search. I concluded that there were basically two choices to ever owning one of these things. As usual I was wrong. You can read more about Rooys here. To some, this very compact and interestingly designed typewriter is considered a “holy grail”. But now that I have one, I would never go so far.

It’s just a neat old typewriter. Seriously.

The two choices that I had to deal with are/were: I would have to get a Rooy with a AZERTY keyboard (French) - as they are sometimes available in France. But I have a hard enough time having to switch between QWERTZ & QWERTY. The other choice would be to sell a few body parts to be able to afford one. But I like having both my kidneys. I know it sounds silly, but get this: last year I watched an auction on that silly-auction-website where a person in Kentucky, USA, was selling a clean, QWERTY Rooy with a “buy-it-now” button. He wanted fifteen hundred dollars for the thing. Thank goodness, he didn’t sell it.

I got (real) lucky. I think.

I was watching the German version of that silly-auction-website and came across something one night that immediately drew my attention. I knew that the German owner didn’t know what he was actually selling. The sticker on the top of the machine says “Union” and so, he titled his auction something like: “Union Schreibmaschine - Hergestellt in Canada. Alt aber im guten zustand. Etc., etc.” Talk about clueless. He mistook an English spelling of a patent notification on the inside cover of the machine for the country of manufacture.

What’s the old saying? One man’s sorrow is another man’s… Whatever.

The design of this machine is unmistakably Rooy. There is no other typewriter like it. You open it up, fold it over, lay it on top of itself and that’s that. You do the opposite to close it up. The cover is literally the bottom of the machine when you open it up and supports the typing mechanics with a unique drop-down doorway that allows such a thin design. This machine was sold as the thinnest typewriter ever. How mistaken the marketing pundits were. It’s only “thin” when it’s folded up. Still, it is in demand among typing enthusiasts - including yours truly. I searched for the right one for more than a year. I have touched and smelled and felt Rooys at various German, Belgian and French antique markets where owners proudly say: “Two hundred Euros - but you have to buy it now because someone else is very interested.” At the next market I see the same guy and machine and he wants three hundred. Yeah.

When I found this one on that silly-auction-website I laughed at the Frenchman. Then I ended up bidding against a few others who I suspect also realized what was actually being sold. In the end it was the most I ever paid for an old, mechanical typewriter. (But it was also less then what the Frenchman was asking.) It was worth it because it has the right keyboard and it was/is in great shape. Needless to say, I was nervous waiting for the mail-man to deliver it.

This particular Rooy is branded “Union”. It was not uncommon for manufacturers to re-label their products for various markets. I’m assuming that this brand was part of what was sold to the German, i.e. QWERTZ market. It was in such good shape when it arrived and required only a few hours of elbow-grease before I was typing away. But after a bird’s-eye view of this machine, it’s really not worth the fuss - unless you get it for cheap. Call me a stickler. Sure the design is neat but the thing is… my Hermes and Kolibri are both smaller and flatter and nothing, other than a Lettera 22, types as good as the Hermes. But who cares. It’s a Rooy.

No rant today.

-tgs-

Charlotte Roche Kicks (ALL) Ass

Update: Tommi review of this book available here; it includes some English translations.

OK. Time to break down. Thought I wouldn’t be posting anything new for awhile. But then… something happened - and It’s not what you might think. Recently it took more than four days to get over the anesthesia of a relative minor operation, followed by countless tablets of various pharmaceutical whatnot and hellacious amounts of red wine - and then something has come along to push me beyond the bliss of sedentary (un)imagination. Oh yea. This happening, this something, is like a new awakening put forth through some cynical and, perhaps, diabolical plot planned both in my brain-stem and the various compulsive behavior cubicles of modern corporate publishing houses.

The whole idea of actually writing something that a publisher would want to read is leaving me as slow as the whole idea of actually getting published at this late phase of a very unsuccessful (worst)writing life. And then, right out of nowhere, comes another reminder that THINGS can actually get worse - faster.

Where does it comes from? It comes from a short novel published in pink (sorry, this is a completely unrelated link, aka self-promotion) and written in German by some very nice, sweet lookin’ girl that used to work for MTV Germany or VIVA (the German language MTV equivalent) and basically deals with … the vagina. I guess.

In no way do I want to make fun of the success of English born, German writing Charlotte Roche. Nor do I want at this point to actually admit that I’ve read Feuchtgebiete - or “Wetlands” (or whatever the English publisher will title it). But I did spend about twenty minutes at a local German book store (near Frankfurt) a few months back and glanced through this highly successful first novel. Naturally, I picked it off one of the shelves covering an entire wall of the store like wall-paper because, well, I thought, gee, this book must be abuzz with reading consumer desire (if there is such a thing) if it can occupy so much selling space. Either that or it contains a lot of frat-party language regarding all things that cause pale faces to blush.

Don’t worry. I plan on reading it asap, and then posting more about it on this site. It’s sudden success has even pushed it above Jonathan Littell’s book on my reading list.

After I do finally read it, my thoughts on it will not matter. This book is a runaway success and it hasn’t even been translated beyond the beloved language that can bark so poetically. Not unlike the feelings I had to deal with when Christina Kettering and her FIRST play blew me away…. It doesn’t matter what this novel is about. Perfectly marketed pseudo-porn or whacked-out feminism gone awry, I wish the world would be full of these types of books instead of krapp like this.

My only solace is that these writers are obviously not (worst)writers. I wish them all much success.

In the mean time, if you want to read more about this amazing achievement here a few legitimate links:

Interview with Charlotte Roche.

She’s even in the NY Fucking Times!

And the fucking Economist.

The Guardian and Charlotte.

Rant on.

-tgs-

Summer Hiatus, Marlon Brando

Update: scratch the next indented paragraph. I will be posting more. I’m actually starting to feel better. I think.

Won’t be posting much this summer - at least I don’t think I will. Need to give this a break, maybe. Yeah. Whatever.

It has become an issue of contemplation recently. Giving up on this blog. Maybe it’s time to hang it up. Oh the monotony. The duplicity. Repetitive humdrum. Have been sporadically posting anywho the past few months. This whole blog thing was a neat experiment, I guess. But I have to face facts. The work on my new book has come basically to a full-stop. I’m not quite sure how to explain the connection but when the work on my book was going well I could also post here. It’s as though typing 2k to 3k words a day on my book wasn’t enough - so I filled the gap with putting stuff up here. Nomatter, for sure. The book is going nowhere and I feel that I have probably lost a connection to it. A tragic endeavor, indeed.

It’s not that I’m blocked or anything like that. It’s just that the confidence - you know, that whole identity, image and ego chestnut that makes up one of the many pillars that sets aside achievers from non achievers - is no longer with me. Being a middle aged failed man doesn’t help either. I really despise the bitter disposition that has overtaken me. Add to the fact that I can no longer fight the belief/idear, deep down in my heart of hearts, that it probably just wasn’t meant to be. This whole dream of WRITING. In fact, I’ve probably known that all along. But hey! What the heck. That’s the easiest thing about life, isn’t it?

Lying to yourself.

And so… All the years of arm-chair critics, pseudo-know-it-all publishers and the shear unwillingness to take any advice regarding how to write… is coming full circle. No one in publishing will read me and I can’t fight the fight anymore. Pass another drink, my friends. Gulp, gulp. Soothe the bitterness.

This inevitable failure kinda reminds me of something. Like the time when I gave up acting. Oh, what a time. I was young and stupid and looked fairly decent and went to the movies one too many times. Yes. I tried acting at the behest of a high-school counselor that declared it might be a way to fend off my aggressions. (Her other “career” advice was to either be a truck driver or a air traffic controller.) So it was a kind of therapy, I guess. I had no idea what acting was about when I started and after being able to watch all those good lookin’, skin caring actresses, nothing else mattered. When I got to college I read scripts and plays and listened to acting teachers. I had a hard time remembering text but I eventually got over that. The directors demanded more though - as they should have. I gave it my all, really. Pretending became part of my mind. I wanted to go beyond “method“, you know. I was the character. And then that one spring day while rehearsing a scene for a university production the director/professor turned to me and said:

“OK. Stop. That was great, Tom, very good.”

Short pause.

“Tom. Are you OK? You can stop now…”

I heard the directors words. I even knew that the other actors had turned off. They were all going to their ego corners and waiting for the praise, the ego boosts that come after each rehearsal. But I stayed there on stage, I remained on my markers, my skin began to tan from the beam of light and the trance I was in. I remember not wanting to move because if I moved then I might not find that character, that way, again. I couldn’t turn it off.

“You wanted me to become this killer character, didn’t you!” I yelled.

“Tom, that’s enough!” One of the other actors screamed.

“Fuck you. I became your killer, I am your killer, and I won’t turn it off!”

One of the actresses came over and tried to remind me of the show & tell, the pretend that we all played. She even mentioned how much she looked forward to our evening in her dorm room. But I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t let go of any of those roles. They tore me apart because in order to play them I had to become them. Isn’t that acting? Isn’t that what makes all the high earning actors so prominent? Why, yes. That’s exactly what makes them great actors. They could not only play the characters but they could also turn them off. But I couldn’t. I wonder if it had anything to do with the characters I chose (or the characters that were chosen for me).

I (tried to) play(ed)…

Iago - who, like Satan, believes in God for the sole purpose of also being able to defy Him.

Cornwall - I offered up ways to depict the torture that he wanted to put Lear through, but in the end I was denied because the professor/teacher thought my portrayal “overkill”. (Ha. Ha. Ha.)

Richard III - Yes, of course I (really) believed in killing those children. (I didn’t make it beyond stage test.)

Aaron the Moore - Oh, to be someone that can be so systematic about rape.

For whatever very good reason - I gave up on acting. Obviously that was the right thing to do. The idea of playing something else just didn’t work for me. Strange how giving up on writing actually hurts - at least it hurts when I’m sober.

Since we’re on the subject… Oh, how I admire great actors. I mean “actors” that really know what they are doing. I’m not aware of any such actors today - they are all in the past. Maybe that has something to do with acting on/for the stage. Most actors today are just products of some dim-witted acting school and few stage appearances. If there are any good actors today then you can be assured that they appear regularly on a stage somewhere. Which brings me to the clip featured below. I have seen every movie Marlon Brando ever made at least three times. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it was to recently find this unseen footage of him.

As you’ll note, this is Marlon Brando screen testing for “Rebel Without a Cause”. As you should also know, the movie was eventually made with James Dean. But the shear energy from a young Brando in this clip shows that the movie would have been just as good with him. Also, in my opinion - this is likewise just a guess - I bet James Dean stole some of this. Notice the lisp Brando uses, and some of the facial expressions. I mean, come on, could a director have actually told Brando AND Dean to do that? Dean was energetic and his energy amazed, he was bedazzling, but Brando is my Grand United Mistakes’ greatest actor. (Just my 2cents.) Ah, who knows. Maybe a director could have told them both to do that.

Rant on.

-tgs-

Sleeping Lady Mountain

This is a very special pic for me. I took it with a mobilephone. I’ve never been much for photography, but when I started using a mobilephone camera my attitude changed. I won’t go as far as to say it’s a hobby or anything like that or that I would venture to buy a “real” camera. The simple and somewhat backward way these dumb-down devices make pictures is kinda cool. To me that’s ironic - you know, since there has been so much human effort, investment and activity revolving around mobilephones. This may sound way-out-there but I think of CrackerJack and the prize within each time I take a picture. Anywho. Sometimes the pictures I take are granny, sometimes they are out of focus, usually they are always lacking light, or they’re just plain bad. Then I think of all those Nokia engineers and computer programmers, they too must know the CrackerJack prize - or the fact that, suddenly, without notice, they would not only be the largest producers of mobile phones but also over take the likes of Kodak and Polaroid and Cannon, etc., as the world’s single largest producer of “cameras”. Wow-wee!

This picture here came out pretty good, I think. It’s of a mountain range in Thailand. We were driving from Kao Lak to Phang-Nga Bay, you know, James Bond Island. (Yes, sometimes I’m a tourist and like it.) The driver stopped the car right in the middle of the road half way through the hour or so ride. He asked us to step out. He then pointed to the mountain and in fairly good English asked what we saw. I exploded with excitment and yelled: I see her! I see her. He looked at me and said. “Very good. Not many get it that fast.”

I guess I’m kind of a feminine driven visual guy.

I’m posting this picture today because this day, May 7, is a special day. It’s not really special in an optimistic way but it’s also not special the other way ’round. With this picture I celebrate the feminine and my failure with her. Yes. May 7. Never my lucky number.

-tgs-

Cynicism, Character, Continuity

Warning A: this post contains some stark language, it also has some suggestive and/or sexist stuff in it and it reveals the plot of one of 2008’s highest earning movies.

Warning B: this is a poor attempt at reviewing a movie. You have been warned.

Although I am a failed writer, I do not wish to join the ranks of other failed writers and thereby become a film critic. It’s just that, well, I’m having a hard time being (worst)writer right now and I have to have some form of outlet. The whole compulsive typing thing doesn’t do it for me all the time. At the least, this is better than running amok. Right?

When I was young I read comics. Not a lot, mind you, but every once-a-once I stole a comic here or there and enjoyed them while all the other boys stole playboy, jugs or hustler, etc. Of course, all those other boys got caught and faced some serious consequences. Their crime was usually in full view as it hung out of their zipper. On top of that, there is the value to society of what they stole. They say that crime doesn’t pay – but paying for crime does. And all is not lost with these lost boys that became found men.

Moving on to the lolly point I will fail to make.

One of my favorite comics is Iron Man. I don’t like all of Stan Lee’s/Marvel Comics creations, but Iron Man and Spider Man are two of my favorites. I also admire Lee for authoring so many characters. (My all time favorite is Batman, but he’s from DC Comics.) Anywho. Yesterday I took my son to see Iron Man, the movie. Just like when I saw Spider Man 1 (yeah, 2 & 3 sucked!), the joyous feeling that is/was the freedom of youth came back to me while sitting in a cinema seat. I once again found thoughts of self-built tree houses or day-time bonfires. While all the other blokes were gagging themselves with perfectly manicured pussies from high-gloss magazine paper, I was grasping at the hope that there were, somehow, real heroes in a world where men can so easily make children and then leave them fatherless.

A great substitute for not having a biological father is going to the friggin’ movies where magic and mystic stand above dogma. Most of the time, anyway. I can’t make clear enough how important and thought provoking ideas like immaculate conception were to my youth. Make-believe in movies saved me from religious righteousness and doom.

Wow, doggy. You way off topic now.

Obsession, Novel Writing, Short Film(3)

The battle of ending my newest novel is near or far away. I think. At times I can almost feel it - this process - ending. Other times it’s as though it’s taken on a life of its own. I’m not (worst)writing “light at the end of (any) tunnel” ending or anything like that. It’s more like the Walrus getting off of me and air slowly seeping back into my lungs. Both mean doom. Either way, the agony continues.

Mostly preoccupied with editing, I’ve sinned and worked sporadically over the last few months. I do miss freely typing 2000 to 3000 words a day. Editing or no editing, at the least, I’m confident of being way over my publisher-submission comfort-zone of 300 pages. That’s kind of reassuring. Word count? Not sure - since most of it is manually typed. But I’ve got easily 120k or more. Remember, we’re still dealing with only a first manuscript here. Having no confidence and being a middle-aged loser hasn’t helped the (my) situation. Of course, I realize that (all the) rejection is nearing. Yet I push on. Why? Well, because that’s what I do. I (Worst)Write. Thank goodness, eh!

While battling with countless ideas in this creative process known to some as novel writing, I have happened across many a disturbing idea. Luckily I have managed to find a way to deal with all this creativity. Of course, some might call this procrastination. And I won’t argue with you. But while you are reassuring yourself of what you know, I grab for the nearest typewriter and dump as many of these disturbing thoughts as I can - onto paper. It’s kind of like purging. The real joke is, since working for more than a year on this new novel, I’ve managed to coincidentally write at least one other book. At first, I was thinking of calling it “Obsession”. But then I decided to call it “Talking To Myself.” Right now Talking To Myself is bundled together in a folder. It’s more than 100 pages - most of which have writing on both sides - and it’s basically an amalgamation of thoughts and ideas that sprang from writing something else.

Neat, eh?

I employ one or two sub-stories in my newest novel. These sub-stories play-out in the minds of two characters. One of those sub-stories has to do with consciousness confronting Time & Space, which you can read here. Another has to do with two mystical legends. One of the legends is about who is the biological father of Jesus. Ever heard of Tiberius Pantera?

Please. No emails from “believers”. I mean, come on, if you have a rational mind, can you then honestly say that “immaculate conception” is possible? If you can claim it’s possible, then it’s no wonder we live in a world of so many lies and liars.

Another sub-story has to do with the legendary first wife of Adam. That’s right. “Adam” of Adam & Eve. Since both of these are religious legends, then they kind of work together in the novel. They are reflective and parallel to the characters. But I won’t tell you more. And I’m not not telling you more because I’m afraid of giving anything away. I’m not not telling you more because, well, it’s embarrassing how bad I actually write novels. Remember, all of my previous novels have been rejected. You can read about that throughout this blog. Anywho. There’s more about Lilith in my previous post. I think these two legends compliment each other and fit well in the developing relationship between my protagonist and Gloria.

Oh, btw. I’ve decided on the title. I’m going to call this failed novel “Gloria’s Device”.

Anywho. While editing, fiddling, procrastinating and dreaming, I was able to dabble in the non-sense that appears in this third short and truly obnoxious film. For more excruciating coverage of me filming my habits, you can go here and here. It usually takes me just under fifteen minutes to fill these DIN A5 sheets with any disturbing thoughts. That’s kind of the deal I make with myself. I say: OK. You have another disturbing thought. Go to a new machine, get your paper, dump it. You have fifteen (sometimes twenty) minutes. If you can’t get it out of you by then, you must give it up. Then go back to editing your poorly written novel. Of course, I edit these films down to meet YouTube requirements. I suppose that makes them a tad bit less excruciating - for the viewer, anyway. Transcript is below.

BTW, the machine used is an early 1960’s Olivetti Lettera 32. This machine is the modernization of the Lettera 22, which I’ve posted a little bit about here. The Lettera 32 is one of the best manual, travel typewriters ever made. It’s manufactured using mostly aluminum. The cost of using that material alone - in today’s terms - is almost mind boggling. It’s beautifully machined and has all the typing functionality you could want - except spell check, of course. The color is ugly but that doesn’t matter - I’m willingly colored blind. Although I prefer the Lettera 22, the one I own is simply too old. This Lettera 32 might actually have quite a few years left in it - I got it in great condition. But… Ironically, while typing these disturbing thoughts, I had a bad day. Usually the Lettera 32 works flawlessly. Obviously it cannot work flawlessly when dumping some thoughts about a demoness. (But don’t ask me if I “believe” in that sort of thing.)

-tgs-

Faust, Walpurgisnacht, Translation

Listening to Beethoven and reading Faust… I know what you’re saying. You’re saying: how can you do two masochistic things at once! Well, trust me (when I (worst)write:)… It’s not easy. Usually what happens is that I turn off the sound system and continue reading. Call it a tick of mine. The music gets me riled and then I indulge in the substance and then…

I should know Faust much better, to say the least. And when/if it’s being staged, I put no effort into seeing it. Such a wordy piece to put in front of an audience and then to close it into the walls of a Theater… Thank goodness this piece was written in a day when only words mattered. And because of that, I enjoy walking around with bare feet and a paperback version and perhaps a Sonata or two surrounding me. Yes. Transcribe the words into my brain and then wait for the moment of euphoria to reach out. It starts to blossom and there is no “Theater” comparable. Where Shakespeare fascinates with story and text, Goethe splices and dices the thing I call humanity.

Every once-a-once as I read this work, a leap of discovery is in the lurks. Beyond curiosity the chasm waves. I linger upon such sullen days. The sounds of frequented times arrive. As preposterous as this, there is only my demise. It must have been the third or fourth read of Faust. When I discovered the scene that saved my faith. Short and sweet and discrete, this writer of humanity revealed the sweet. Lilith is her name and she wears long, red hair. She attracts men like honey and snare. She dances with charm and wits her way ’round, to a place in my heart that has only sight and sound.

Unfortunately Lilith has been edited out of all the dogma. But if you look closely, you will easily find her throughout all things (Abraham) religious. For example. Check out any of the famous paintings of The Fall of Man (pic). Usually there is a half-snake or beast and half woman wrapped around the tree of knowledge. I mean, come on, Satan or no Satan: were Adam & Eve really alone in “paradise”? I mean, were they really the ONLY ones? Since I know a little about the deep desires of manhood - you know, polygamy and whatnot - could Adam, with the strength of his pectorals, biceps and quads, have been satisfied with just one wife during a time when banging them on the head and dragging them off to your cave was part of (any) gettin’ some? Obviously, Lilith didn’t think that was cool. But you won’t see that in the paintings. All you get is what THEY want you to know for THEIR sake.

OK. For you “believers” out there. I digress.

One of my favorite scenes from Goethe’s Faust is Walpurgisnacht. In this scene Faust, pushed on by Mephistopheles, meets a Witch. Depending on the version you are reading, the person Faust meets could also be called Beauty, The Pretty Witch or The Young One. Of course, this scene has to do with Man’s (Faust’s) desires (or?). Luckily, and very briefly, Goethe gives us the name of the person Faust meets. She is called: Lilith. Quite a fascinating and practically forgotten character in the history of all things religious and confused. Thank goodness Goethe managed to re-edit Her back into the world of literature.

Here the scene/moment that so dazzles me, perhaps just like Her hair would. First I offer the original German, then follow up with my own translation.

Faust: Wer ist denn das?
Mephistopheles: Betrachte sie genau! Lilith ist das.
Faust: Wer?
Mephistopheles: Adams erste Frau. Nimm dich in acht vor ihren schönen Haaren, Vor diesem Schmuck, mit dem sie einzig prangt. Wenn sie damit den jungen Mann erlangt, So läßt sie ihn so bald nicht wieder farhen.
Faust: Da sitzen zwei, die Alte mit der Jungen; Die haben schon was Rechts gesprungen!
Mephistopheles: Das hat nun heute Keine Ruh. Es geht zum neuen Tanz; nun komm! wir greifen zu.
Faust (mit der Jungen tanzend): Einst hatt’ ich einen schönen Traum: Da sah ich einen Apfelbaum, Zwei schöne Äpfel glänzten dran, Sie reizten mich, ich stieg hinan.
Die Schönen: Der Äpfelchen begehrt ihr sehr, Und schon vom Paradiese her. Von Freuden fühl’ ich mich bewegt, Daß auch mein Garten solche trägt.

And now, the Tommi version:

Faust: Who the fuck is that, Man!
Mephistopheles: Check it out, Dude! That’s Lilith.
Faust: Who?
Mephistopheles: Adam’s first bang. Watch out for that red hair, Dude. It’ll do to you more than just dazzle. If she catches a young guy like you in it, good friggin’ luck gettin’ out.
Faust: There’s two of ‘em, Man. One’s young, the other’s not. They both look like they’ve been dancing a lot.
Mephistopheles: Then let’s keep ‘em goin’. Grab one and get some. Come ‘on.
Faust (dancing with the young one): I recently had this awesome dream: I saw an apple tree and on it were these two apples. They got me all riled and ready, so I climbed into their tree.
The Young One: So you like apples, do ya. Like the ones from paradise. They get me ready, as well. Cause my garden is full of them.

Wow. No rant today. Sorry about that.

-tgs-

Wine + Globalization = Globalization Wine

Summary to yet another whacked-out post: Tommi’s thoughts on the current Brunello tragedy and how that will effect his ability to drink more of it. Plus, a bit about guns and the Mafia. Here’s a news article about the scandal that motivated this post.

Yes. I’ve been complaining more than usual these past few months. No. Wait. That’s not true. I reckon I’ve been complaining like this for-almost-ever. Not making it in life has its quirks, indeed. But I will never complain about the parts of this life that I’m privileged to experience. (Although you might not want to check out my last two posts.) Having experienced live philharmonic Beethoven, for example, is something I recommend to anyone who thinks they can think - and listen. Then there are the operas, theater and numerous works of literature, etc., that passed through my life. And what about the fine food that I’ve learned to cook so well - my favorite menu spans Thailand to Italy. Oh yes, life indeed is a bouquet of fun, games and hacking around till you die…

Of course, I didn’t grow up in a world of cultivation. In order to be where I am today I had to first pick the path in life that was not meant for me. The fact is, if it weren’t for the wrong things I’ve done in life, I’d still be in redneckville fiddling with all my guns and drinking beer out of cans. That’s right. I just said “guns”. Luckily those guns are still back home - hopefully locked up safe, just like the cans of beer. The thing is, I’ve been able to replace those guns (yes, and the beer) with some seriously fine wine. I’ve even acquired such a taste for it that I’m not afraid to admit how drinking red wine makes me passive - just like Jesus. (There! I’m not afeared anymore.)

A glass of fine red wine on a regular basis helps me deal with a whole bunch of this fucked-up world. If it weren’t for red wine - and all that religious comparison reading I did so that I could figure out some of this mess - who knows how many I’d have taken out by now. Of course, drinking a fine wine effects people in different ways. Just listen to some of the dips out there trying to figure out bouquets. (Have you seen that idiotic film: Sideways?) Which brings me slowly but surely to the topic at hand.

Good wine is gettin’ too expensive. I think that sucks. Even now, so many years after leaving those redneck ways, the smell of a fine wine brings back some memories. Some very confusing bouquets, if you will. A psychologist told me once that these are memories attached to my smells.

Seriously. She said that to me.

Now here’s the thing that might throw you for a loop. The smell that grabs me the most after I’ve drank too much fine red wine is the smell of guns. Here I’ll cease in the use of French vernacular. Yeah, the smell of a gun, fired or not, is quite the opposite of a fine wine. And don’t opposites sometimes attract? In a way, what I’m trying to get at here is the luscious Kilgore smell that motivates and accelerates the forgetting of every little murder one ever committed.

Kilgore: I love the smell of napalm in the morning. (You know, to motivate them to surf.)

(Worst)Writer: I love the smell of Tuscan red wine in the early or late afternoon. (To stop thinking altogether.)

Naturally I yearn for the smell of guns and what they do - those guns are part of what made me who I am today. And when the urge grasps me, when it tugs at my pant leg and causes my scrotum to itch, instead of reaching for the gun cleaning oil (my European substitute), I reach for a cork screw and a bottle with a DOCG label. (Btw, gun cleaning oil is a good substitute for getting that smell; you can buy the oil almost anywhere in Europe; all you have to do is sniff it; thank goodness you can’t buy the guns as easily.)

Oh, the smell. The smells that remind me… Like some stranded spider that bathes in chocolate and raspberry; the spider has been too often caught in a storm after being plucked from fresh olive oil soil; the spider is now waving through the hellish atmosphere and threatened by the carbon dioxide that seems to be the only thing humans can produce at the beginning of this/a new century - other than guns.

Yes. Wine. Perhaps the most severe addiction I’ve had to deal with ever. And now I have been given reason to give it up. But this reason is so unlike the reason I gave up the guns. What is the reason, you ask. It is not voluntary. And why is that? Well. It’s finally come full circle. Last year was probably the last year - most likely - that I will be able to visit the Tuscany region of Northern Italy to buy my habit. It used to be relatively easy - a matter of filling up the trunk of whoever’s car I stole - or informally borrowed. I then would drive back to Germany and proceed to hide the wine from those who would steal it from me. So much is this nice, fancy, comfortable but greedy life we live, eh. But the reality of years, just like the reality of the Karl Marx’s globalization complot, have caught up to me. (Am I alone?) That’s right. It’s no longer worth making the 1000+ kilometer drive to buy wine. The reality of move-over-rover economies has reached the regular folk of the once rich working west.

So… why did Jesus turn water to wine? Could it be because wine was/is too expensive? Hey! I might have just solved the mystery of why He did that.

The thing is, as a failed artist, I can see through most human trickery as though it were both sides of my crystalline, mystic, immaculately conceived hand. I know that most of you (puppets) can’t see much - and I forgive you for that. But the time has finally arrived to remind you of your responsibilities as shitters and eaters. If failed artists like me can’t get to the wine or our other procrastinating habits - and we have to resort back to the gun oil - and the things it oils - then history is bound to repeat itself. Do you need to be reminded of the last failed artist that couldn’t afford (regularly) a drink?

What is Globalization anyway?

Ultimately the whole Globalization thing is about Marxism redistribution. The difference to the redistribution proposed by Marx, though, is that what we’re experiencing is pretty much the exact way Stalin would have done it. Why is it that the Russians and the satellites of the former Soviet Union referred to their Globalization as “Stalinism” and not Marxism? Seriously. If you had to, which one of them would you consider comparable to the newest form of the Globalized Soviet Union? That’s right - it still exists. I’m referring here to the Americanized totalitarian corporation nation-state? It’s hard to see things that you can or should - with much less effort - avoid, eh?

Globalization - Wine = prolific literary violence (which I’ve prolifically written about in this failed manuscript.)

Moving beyond the fact that a bottle of Brunello purchased at the vineyard, or a bottle of Chianti Classico Reserve purchased at a local store in Northern Italy, rose ca. five Euros each year that I drove to Tuscany after 2003, is not what I want to address here. Seriously. Inflation is something that can be countered. The real problem is this: Stalin-Soviet style redistribution under the mantle of economic changes that, according to Bill Clinton, cannot be reversed. I mean, come on, where and what is whatever being redistributed?

Btw, the Spanish make a great alternative wine in their Rioja Reserve but after going their twice I can already tell that it’s gonna be two expensive real soon.

The joke about wine is that those who actually go to expensive restaurants and pay outrageous amounts for a bottle of wine deserve what they get. Which basically amounts to a show. The problem with great wine is that the good stuff is kept for the inner circles or the privileged buyers. Would you, if you had a standardized kind of demand for your product, turn out the best of what you can make to everyone? Of course not. We’re talking human free-will here. We’re talking Stalin Mafia here.

Enter the nouveau riche creating markets.

How can Tuscany wine makers meet the crazed demand springing out of all this Globalized redistribution? In the article that I link to above, they say that the largest taker of Brunello wines are the Americans. That may be so - I’ve ran into quite a few during my stays in Montalcino. But I think the Italians see another wave of purchasers on the horizon and they (Italians) have to get their shit together to prepare for it. The great thing about “producers” (of whatever) is, in this new redistributed world, the consumer is no longer a participant in the scheme - as it used to be when Supply & Demand ruled the/a Keynesian world. Now it’s all about purchasing power alone - which is interdependent of your geographic position. In other words, there is more to Globalization than Naomi Klein can shake a stick at and my guess is it has something to do with the chronic masturbation suffered by lonely careerists that have to travel too much.

Right. So what can inheritance rich wineries do to get richer and not be so embarrassed by the ones they leave behind?

Think tricks anew…

If you think that the recent scandal in Tuscany is about wineries cheating on their bottles of wine then you might want to reconsider. Get this: the wine scandal currently in northern Italy is NOT about wine makers manipulating regulated wine in order to make a buck; nor is it about a supply or quality problem; then there’s the idea that some of the wineries had/have to cheat because, well, they had a bad year. (DOCG Brunello can’t be sold unless it’s been aged at least four years. There ain’t no such thing as just-in-time here.) This is an expensive wine to make. But that’s not the problem. The fact is, Tuscany is as great an example as any of Globalization finally catching up to the old money of the west. Yeah, you Euro baby-boomers, Globalizers are starting to eat their own.

The economic ticks & tricks over the past thirty or so years have been basically about ridding the market from the burdens of concepts such as Supply & Demand. A great example of this is the dotcom fiasco. Or did “demand” for technology just decide to go away? Another is the current energy problem. Or does someone out there have definitive, empiracal evidence that this earth does not have the capacity to meet human energy demands?

At the least, we have a lot of things to both worry about and tap ourselves on the shoulder over. But should that cause a crisis in one of the best and productive wine regions there is? Would things be like they are these days if there was no demise of the Soviet Empire? Coincidentally, how ’bout our new & improved notion of fear?

Watch out for the … T E R R O R I S T S ! ! !

If you ask me - and I don’t recommend you do. The question here about the recent Brunello scandal is easy: How do those who were rich before Globalization maintain their riches now that the shit is starting to hit the fan?

For the winery business in Europe - the answer is easy. Obviously you can’t readily burn down your vineyards (to wipe out debts and collect insurance) and you can’t just buy up all that “nationalized” grape soil and move it to Indochina. Trust me when I say: a good glass of red wine is far from a Nike shoe. Remember, there’s no such thing as a free market anymore - there’s just people who are freer than others. The key to winning in the new Globalized market for players that can’t move out of their cost-problems is to raise prices. But raising prices is VERY bad for business. (Unfortunately that is one of the things Globalization has’t been able to get rid of.)

Nouveau Riche vs. Old Euro Money

How do you manage business when you have to drastically raise prices to take advantage of the nouveau riche? As the/your western (old) buyers start gettin’ rude regarding your un-justifiable prices and you shove the fact that their money ain’t as good as other money into their faces- you take in the moment. You breath deeply. You quickly realize that you have become a microcosm of Globalization. A good feeling, indeed. If it works for entire economies, and geo-political regions, why can’t it work for Guido, the killer wine maker in northern Italy?

Well, the Tuscan wineries have figured out a way to get around the PR aspect of raising prices. First, you create a scandal that exposes cheating. In turn you create sympathy because it makes consumers think their suppliers really do have supply problems. Such a scandal will also expose players and there will plenty of reason to cry foul. The market then starts to correct itself - in the form of government agency/agencies getting rid of the cheaters (players). (Yeah, right, in Italy.) And then there’s the subtext of the drama: It’s time for the wine industry to take care of its own - and anyone don’t like it… then let them eat cake!

Yes. I am obsessed withe Maria Antoinette and dream of her becoming Vito Corleone.

At the least, the scandal in Tuscany is not about juicing up bottles of fancy wine and breaking the rules regarding what goes into a bottle of Chianti. It’s about finding a way to drastically raise prises over or during the shortest economic cycles in history.

Winny Wine Maker That Inherits: I no make good money anymore!
Person He Is Trying To Impress To Fuck: But I want diamond first.
Winny Wine Maker That Inherits: We had too much rain (this/that) year.
Person He Is Trying To Impress To Fuck: To much rain? Change the weather - my Italian Stallion!

I will cherish the remaining bottles of Brunello I have in my cellar. And I will enjoy them when/if I have to drink them in a drastic moment when Europe once again falls into the rut of self-annhilation - from a Styrofoam cup.

Rant on.

-tgs-

Schadenfreude, German Speeding Ticket (1), Big Brother

I don’t watch much TV. But when I do watch it I do so in order to stay (somehow) in-touch. You know, in-touch with what’s happening inside contemporary western society’s third-grade brain. In the late nineties when the TV phenomenon “Big Brother” hit the airwaves a thought struck me immediately. Does anyone care to hear what my first thought was when this TV show started? No…?

(Here’s the advantage of having your own blog…)

I thought: Gee. Now a whole new generation of idiocrats will grow up ignorant to what the term “big brother” really is about. Potentially - and in the syndicated future (?) - millions of humans will associate these two important words with some dip-shit TV show instead of one of the most significant literary achievements of the 2oth century. I think that is very wrong. And I am most likely on a lost crusade bringing this to light. But then again, I experience joyous Schadenfreude knowing that so many fellow humans watch so much krapp. This personal swimming pool of luscious Schadenfreude isn’t the same as the Schadenfreude TV viewers experience - while watching so-called “reality” TV - which, naturally, I cannot stomach. My Schadenfreude is 180 degrees different. Seriously. To me Schadenfreude does one thing and one thing only: it enhances the intellectual eliteness upon which I walk and in no way provides any sort of entertainment. What a sad state of existence, you say!

Wow. Where’s Gerry Springer when you need him?

The past few months have been mentally and emotional very unstable for me. The reason is because I have the feeling that all my eliteness lust is finally catching up to me. Certainly that has something to do with divorce-time. Then there’s also the issue that, because of divorce, I have returned without traveling through time & space to the/a position where/when life was supposed to be about being poor and without means. And that is all due to the land that basically founded SCHADENFREUDE.

Speaking of… Schadenfreude?

If you ever want or have to live among the Germans, there are a few things you must comprehend. Comprehending these things in your own language is perfectly OK. The advantage of modern Germany is that you don’t have to speak German to understand what it is to be German. You just have to learn how to bark. Oh there was a day when the bark was a purr - but that is simply to long ago. Only if you want or need to eat and maybe have a roof over your head will eventually learning German be of any use. That is, if you actually take it upon yourself to live in such a forsaken country.

I will only address three of the many things that you need to understand in order to know everything about Germans. But, like TV, I don’t want to challenge anyone too much.

• Schadenfreude (damage, harm + joy)
  
• Neid (envy, grudge, jealousy)
• The position of speed traps

Sadly, one of the most significant things I’ve learned since moving to Germany is how collectively easy it is to take the high moral ground when it comes to right or wrong. An example of this is in my previous post, which you can read in full by clicking here. In that previous post, I was snitched on by some German who wanted to get something for nothing. The reality is, I don’t have a problem with trying to get something for nothing - as long as you do it to the corporate monsters. But when the masses start fucking each other up the ass…

Don’t worry. I’m not a communist. I just live in a pseudo-communist country. It is inevitable that some of the paint rubs off…

Schadenfreude and Neid are two things that easily lead to the peaks of German moral (high) ground(s). This ground is so high that I refuse to trek its walls. Therefore, I must remain unemployed and poor. You know, in the language of you corporates out there, I’m just way-out of the club. You see, if I decided to trek the walls of this high moral ground - or enter the/your club - then I would have to go on welfare and eventually some dip-shit work-release program. A sad state of opportunity, indeed, is this land.

And. Yes. I am stuck-up and refuse to work a McJob - which is all this country can offer. Seriously. If it wasn’t for the language and the Euro arrogance only comparable to France/Paris, this place, with its ompa swingers and pot-bellied-freedom… would be just like the United Mistakes of America - with a bit less posh…

Unfortunately, I am one of the many foreigners in this country that has been caught up in the lie that is German “social market economics”. The reality is: Germany is a subservient welfare state devoid of opportunity. All it has to offer is Schadenfreude and Neid. Which probably isn’t the worst stuff in life. I mean, come on. Wouldn’t you want to be around a bunch of people that inherit Porsche’s and get three weeks paid vacation a year? Or is it just me? No…? Retract…

One of the experiences I’ll never forget after moving “abroad”…

At one of my last “career” jobs I heard colleagues talking about me behind my back. (That’s right, someone snitched on them.) So I decided to deceive them ALL and listen to what they had to say. When it was my turn to leave the corporate meeting I slowly walked around a corner and hid. I left the door perfectly ajar. I heard them talk about how they didn’t understand why I was there taking their jobs away and - and don’t ask me how they got onto this - why z’ Americans still have their military stationed on German land.

Needless to say, I voluntarily left that company after about one year of employment. It was the sixth or seventh or eighth company I had worked for in over ten years. The downward spin of being competent and capable, efficient and entrepreneurial, the ambitious busy-body more than willing to “work”, had come to an end. I was unable to fit in to the compulsive monotony of corporate careerism. On top of that… I couldn’t take all the Neid and Schadenfreude anymore. Where corporate America is bad - corporate nation-state-hood is worse. The German bosses liked me because of my Americanisms and how I pushed projects through to fruition. But the so-called colleagues that surrounded me didn’t think the same way. Oh, how far away they all were/are from the “social” part of their nation-state-lie. There was no getting into this/that club, I tell you. (And so… (Worst)Writer was born.)

Of course my native country has Schadenfreude and Neid, as well. But the main difference is that the U.S. or those who live and work there, do not forfeit opportunity in the name of some whacked-out collective system hell-bent on doing nothing more than raising taxes, increasing bottle deposits in the name of the environment, and relegating education & work based on social status.

The years now pass me. So I wait. Endearingly. But I have stopped hiding around corners. Instead, I wait for the crumbs that have been distributed by the vast cloning fields of German Maria Antoinettes. There are moments where I will almost take anything. Except, still, a McJob. In the mean-time, I’ve convinced myself that there might be room in the world of book publishing for little ol’ me.

Maybe not.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying ALL Germans are fucking nasty, arrogant and emotional zombies. My girlfriend is very cool and if it wasn’t for all the lovin’ she gives me then maybe she could be a Saint just like Ratzinger eventually will be. (Or?) Then there’s our neighbor. She’s a really cool German. There’s also Mirko, a guy that tried to help me out - but now he’s too busy dealing with “social market economics” as well. I also really like Roger… Wait. Roger is actually Turkish. Anywho.

The thing is, as a foreigner who came to this country not to exploit it or take advantage of it, but to acquire a bit of experience and learning and get to know my roots, I’m sick & fucking tired of all the Sour-Puss faces that have turned modern Germany into a country of collective squabblers - just like my home country. I have bailed out of their system yet they still fuck with me. Where my native country is culturally and socially falling apart - since 9/11 and the whole debacle that is “the” war - you would think that a people like the Germans could somehow, with their abilities and efficiencies, make an example of how to… Gee. I don’t know… Somehow fight this lie that is globalization. But they do nothing more than follow THE(IR) leader - like a good little puppy should. Or is it lemming?

Ah. A moment to digress. A moment to collect myself and take it like a man…

Yes. The truth is, I do have to take it. Take it right up the proverbial bum. For the first time in many, many years… That is, the first time since leaving America where county and state cops try to be John Wayne while writing you up for some dip-shit traffic violation, I finally got my first German speeding tickets. That’s right. Plural. I got two speeding tickets in one year. Seriously. I haven’t received a speeding ticket since the early 1980’s. At the time I was doing 70mph in a 55 zone somewhere near my beloved Chesapeake Bay and the only reason I didn’t see the trooper and his fancy radar gun on the side of the road was because the girl’s head was moving up and down in my lap. You can see through 80’s hair enough so as not to run over small children or domesticated mutts. But big, fuzzy 80’s hair moving up and down in your lap is somehow distracting when it comes to identifying the details of tip-hungry troopers protecting the American highway - among other things.

In closing and for those interested, here’s what a German speeding ticket looks like. To all you Germans… who hate all the shit I write about you (which ultimately is in good spirit). You can rejoice in Schadenfreude! As far as your Neid is concerned: in the radar pic below I’m driving a very sexy and clean 1993 Alfa Spider 2.0. (In America we call it The Graduate.)

Rant on.

-tgs-

Shill Bidding, Naïveté, Auction Fun

Warning 1: Long post. Also, there’s some strong mis-construed anger-language in this post. For those who are offended, I don’t have the time to translate the German language part of this post. Sorry. I know how it hurts to read/hear German. At least, as a consolation, this blog doesn’t bark IT at you like THEY do.

Warning 2: There might be some superficial and offensive ranting regarding race, creed and Germans in this post. But if anyone has read any of this blog then that’s probably OK. Actually… Scratch that last remark. There will be some ranting on Germans only here. I apologize in advance - especially to my host country - for the fact that I’m so fucking rude.

Wow. Another altercation with that make-money-on-pennies or cover-your-margins-anyway-you-can Internet Auction Website (dot “de”). Although I have certain idealogical problems with this site, I use it regularly as a buyer - especially when I need to curb my need(s) for a typewriter. But I am inexperienced as a seller - hence, naiveté.

The technical auto-mechanization of a sucker born everyday has come full circle.

Fuckin’ eh, Bubba! Here’s to twenty first century lookin’ out for number one - one click at a time.

Before I continue, here’s a post about a previous altercation with that silly Internet Auction Website (dot “de”). I suppose it’s high-time that the altercation perspective switch - you know, previously I was the/a buyer and now I am the/a seller. Unlike the previous altercation, this particular situation is very much my own doing. As of today (or the past few auction days) I am a shill bidder.

And I’m fuckin’ proud of it.

As of April X (it’s bad luck to mention this date), I have sold exactly four things on this… Internet Auction Website (dot “de”). While I’m at it… Since I’m in this soul searching mood… I have shill bid on two of those four items. The reason for shill bidding? I never bothered to read the… Internet Auction Website rules & regulations. The reality is, I don’t give a shit about their fuckin’ rules. I just want(ed) to dump some shit - for a fair price.

WAIT.

Fair? Did I just use the word “fair”?

Since I’m an ex-pat in fucking Germany… does this mean that I too have become a pseudo-communist?

Fair? Yeah. Right. Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

If anything, this… Internet Auction Website (dot “de”) is nothing more than a transgression in the new & upcoming world of diminishing returns. Technologically, the whole thing is quite a feet - I guess. But who the fuck cares if the only thing it produces is, well, pennies per transaction - and people who think they can fuck you because, well, they are ahead in the learning curve of… technological diminishing returns and understanding the complexity of pricing schemes the world over.

Seriously. Am I on the only one out there to perceive the whole dotcom thing as a sick joke? I never thought the re-distribution of wealth proposed by Karl Marx had any intellectual value - until I worked in the dotcom joke and experienced first hand the spiteful holding back of the “old economy” so it could choke the life out of anything that could potentially bring providence to new generations.

And here we are today…

I never thought it would be all that serious, this “auctioning” of stuff. I guess it only gets serious when you realize… ooops! I should have put a “BuyItNow” function on that fuckin’ auction. And. I shouldn’t auction off relatively expensive krapp to bureaucratic-lawyer obsessed Germans. The drunkenness of (eventually) realizing that you have something to sell overwhelms your ability to spend any time reading Internet Auction Website rules & regulations. (Especially if the thing you’re trying to sell, well, you actually stole…) I guess.

Enter the goody-two-shoes German…

Don’t worry. There is no such thing as a goody-two-shoes German. There are only monotone Germans that can fix your bridge or your fucking nuclear power plant. Wait. Sometimes there’s one that can actually fix your car - but only if it’s a Mercedes or Porsche and you’re an Arab Sheik. Other than that… wait in line for your fucking sauerkraut. Du Vixxer.

Anywho. After reading the… Internet Auction Website (dot “de”) rules & regulations and knowing that I’m both a hypocrite and a loser (or worstwriter), I thought: My fuckin’ goodness! I fucked up… But I don’t care that I fucked up… I WILL get a fair - if not real - price for whatever I’m selling, irreverent of the arrogant mistake I made in posting the auction under the assumption that eBay might bring the right kind of buyers.

Ooops! Did I just mention that… Internet Auction Website (dot “de”)?

If the auction-powers-that-be don’t agree - fuck them! I will go against the pre-established rules & regs, retract my offer, leave the buyer standing - and look for someone to give that shit to. We’re talking selfish principle here. At the least, I’m not giving shit away to a snitch-buyer even if he says he won’t make me choke on it. I may be naive in this world of technological penny-margins, but I blow those who I am in agreement to blow. Basta!

Beyond that… I can live w/out all this superficial penny-earning technology. Right?

Do I care if my convictions don’t blend well with Germans and their Klugscheißer mentalities? It was a private auction, for goodness sake. But then again, if you must know, the one fear I have as a loser ex-pat is this: German bureaucracy and German blood sucking lawyers.

It’s un-fucking-believable how serious these fucking Germans take/make this Internet Auction Website (dot “de”). Seriously. Does it work like this in the States? What’s wrong with a bit of shill bidding? Doesn’t it add to the eBay advertising mystique? Oh, wait a sec…

Shill Bid or not, there comes a time when the… Internet Auction Website (dot “de”) should recognize the advantage of rummaging. Come on Internet Auction Website (dot “de”). I was/am willing to pay your auction charges even if I fuck-up an auction. The price that the last bidder gave was OK. Seriously. I checked the retail price of what I was selling - it was more than double of what the final bid offered. But then, somehow, magically, I suppose, the bidder threatened me because he saw my shill bid - and he added that he made a mistake bidding anyway. Yeah. Make the world go ’round…

OK. I’ve been caught red-handed. I deserved to be caught.

Hats off to the German buyer that not only caught me but also, maybe, might have saved the world from a future of manipulative sub-100,- Euro Internet auctions. But before they trek me off and deport me… The thing I hate most about having to live among the Germans is their lust for Schadenfreude.

Below the German and American-English transcript of a failed Internet Auction (dot “de”) where the buyer caught me at Shill bidding and subsequently threatened to tell on me. That’s right. He literally threatened me after he tried to weazel out of his final bid. How unprepared could a seller be?

Anywho. I stand by my “shill bid” and look forward to every German that challenges it/me. I also have learned my lesson and won’t shill bid with my girlfriends user name anymore. Instead I will ask friends to shill bid for me that aren’t so identifiable to me. You know, like everyone else does…

——-

Vorhergehende Nachrichten

eBay 01.04.08 um 16:51:33 MESZ

Die Unstimmigkeiten wegen eines nicht bezahlten Artikels wurden aus folgendem Grund beigelegt: der Verkäufer hat die Kommunikation mit dem Käufer beendet und eine Gutschrift der Verkaufsprovision beantragt.

Seller (moi) 01.04.08 um 16:51:32 MESZ (Had to post this in English because the German ran out of me.)

To eBay: I am sorry for this situation. The shill-bid I made was not to manipulate the buyer but instead to get a fair price for this article. The buyers immediate response that he purchased out of haste should have caused a different response on my part. But I make no concession to him because he either cannot read (German) or he was trying to manipulate us with our error. The price of around 80,- Euros for this article is/was more than fair. But I digress.
Sincerely, Thomas Stough (shitty and manipulative auction website seller. Obviously.)

Seller (moi) 01.04.08 um 10:52:18 MESZ (From here on it’s German. I’m really sorry for you sincere (worst)readers! Goethe is sorry, as well - he wished he could write like Shakespeare!)

Alles Klar. Ich habe mich bei ebay gemeldet als “Shill Bidder”. Ich war/bin nicht bereit diese Artikel zu verkaufen für weniger als die Hälfte seines Wertes. Ich habe es vermasselt beim einstellen eine Mindestpreis zu setzen.

Really Sincere Buyer 31.03.08 um 19:29:54 MESZ

Wenn Sie “Shill” so gut kennen, fragen Sie sie bitte, ob sie den Artikel für Ihr Gebot von 78,9