Schnee von gestern.

My singing teacher is hereby awarded the medal of honour for extraordinary psychic abilities. In view of last night's post he was dead-on by choosing the following song for me today.

I know I'm a bit heavy on the youtube-link-posting side recently, but what the heck. You can't stop me and there's plenty more where those last songs came from, so you should be grateful if I'm only bothering you with one a day...

So here goes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyGaWk6LhJc&feature=related

...and one time, in band camp...

This time last year...
I had just passed the entrance exam for music. I had also just moved into the old part of town and into this flat under the roof where the water pipes squeal like strangled geese.
This time three years ago...
I had just been offered (and had accepted) my teaching job and thereby sealed the end of my Leipzig studenty care-free life and the beginning of something altogether new in a strange place - drama, baby.
This time four years ago...
I was virtually living in the university library putting the finishing touch to my thesis paper.
This time six years ago...
I had moved into my since much-mourned, cheap-but-roomy-with-lovely-view-and-neighbour first very own apartment.
This time seven years ago...
I returned from my year in Northern Ireland. (Is it really that long?)
This time eight years ago...
I was about to leave for my assistant teacher year in Northern Ireland.
This time ten years ago...
I was finishing my first semester in Leipzig. I was also very freshly single, made oh-so-many new friends and moved out of that no longer couply flat into the apartment me and my flatmates shared for the next four years. Think summer days and nights on balconies and lawns in the park, bottles of wine (and vodka) and a guitar or two... Am I romanticizing or was it really that idyllic?
This time eleven years ago...
I had finished school and was preparing to leave for Dublin and some au-pairing.
This time 16 years ago, to the day actually...
I got my first kiss.
* * *
I could go on and I'm sure there were tons of other stuff in between. Still, it's a strange time, the end of June. Always the end of something, the start of something else. Makes you wonder what's coming up next...
* * *
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ogVor9uZoo

* * *

...and it sure doesn't help the maudlin mood to have that strong smell of some neighbours' spliffs drifting in through my window - is it the year 2000 again?

Blowfish in a plastic bag.

At (and on) some stage during the last three days I was in turn

a spy,

a person spied-on,

a lover newly fallen in love,

a lover facing farewell,

several dancers,

one key of a piano,

different kinds of shellfish,

half a sea turtle,

half a jellyfish,

half a blowfish,

seaweed,

waves,

a tree,

a hippie,

a gold-digger,

a puppet,

a puppeteer,

a civil servant,

a worker on an assembly line,

an egg that was thrown against the wall,

a stock broker.

And I actually had a good time. Which is quite a revelation for me because I normally hate both all things sport-related and all kinds of activities where you're supposed to perform at someone else's will, coerced to join in a game, dance or competition and generally put on the spot. This trauma goes way back to kindergarten and one evil kindergarten teacher who made me take part in a game even though I was very obviously and purposefully hiding out in a hollow tree... Sad story indeed. (Thank goodness we now have a psychoanalyst in the family...)

Anyhow, it was a compulsory course - a cooperation between the sport university and the music department: "Acting, Movement and Music" - that was not only about to take up all my weekend but also took place at the sport university itself (me, anywhere near the sport university, the very thought!) at the back of beyond, so I prepared to be well and truly annoyed by anything they would make me do once I finally got there.

But oh, what a let-down! What a blow to my well-nurtured trauma: I had fun! I might have to consider giving it up altogether.

Now what?

* * *

P.S. Finally my in-depth knowledge of Finding Nemo, Being John Malkovitch, Spooks and every single sappy period drama paid off. It all adds up now. Just keep swimming!

* * *

P.P.S. Muscles I never knew I possessed are mocking me big time! So I better do some more Spooks-watching and not move a single one of them for the rest of the day. That'll show them...

A toast to absent friends.

Ein Ohrwurm der letzten Tage. Und erstaunlicherweise ist doch noch immer nicht alles auf youtube zu finden, zumindest nicht im Original... Gestatten Sie, Herr Mey, dass ich Sie zitiere...

Komm, gieß mein Glas noch einmal ein
mit jenem billigen, roten Wein.
(In ihm ist jene Zeit noch wach.)
Heut trink ich meinen Freunden nach.
* * *
Mit diesem Glas denk ich zurück
an euch, mit denen ich ein Stück
auf meinem Weg gegangen bin.
Mit diesem Glas trink ich im Sinn
nach Süden, Osten, West und Nord
und find euch in Gedanken dort,
wo immer ihr zuhause seid.
Seh die Gesichter nach der Zeit
in meinem Glas vorüberziehn.
Verschwommene Fotografien,
die sich wirr aneinanderreihn.
Und ein paar Namen fallen mir ein.
Und ein paar Namen fallen mir ein...
* * *
...Kenn ich nicht alle Namen mehr,
so kenn ich die Gesichter doch
und ich erinnere mich noch
und widme euch nicht weniger Raum
- geschrieben haben wir uns kaum.
Denn eigentlich ging keiner fort,
in einer Geste, einem Wort,
in irgendeiner Redensart
lebt ihr in meiner Gegenwart,
lebt ihr in meiner Gegenwart...

Hard knock life.

And then there was this Porsche driver earlier who had to brake sharply at every speed bump, change back down into first gear, creep across the bump very gingerly, accelerate like mad straight behind it (because, after all, what's a Porsche for?) only to brake even harder at the next one 100m onwards, change back into first gear etc.

I almost pitied him...

Lost in translation.

Don't even try to put that last post through your translator, Eoin! It so so so won't work!

But here's a post exclusively for you, so that you don't feel like you're missing out.

Long German story cut short in English:

Went to a concert, needed to go to the loo afterwards, waited for 500-people-queue to dissolve, then tried to go again, evil bouncer didn't let me, said it was closed for after-concert-party, for which I proffered valid ticket, which he declined and made me go the long way round to queue at the main entrance instead. Told him "Ah, power's a wonderful thing, isn't it!" Then went to queue at the main entrance. Beaten but morally victorious.

Sorry, the short version isn't remotely witty...

:D

Moralische Siegerin.

Samstag nach dem Wise-Guys-Konzert.

(An dieser Stelle wäre ein Traktat über den Durchschnittsdeutschen, seinen Fetisch für bunte Anoraks und seine zwangsläufige und völlig überproportionale Anwesenheit auf Wise-Guys-Konzerten angebracht.)

Samstag nach dem Wise-Guys-Konzert und vor der sagenumwobenen After-Show-Party.

(Also bitte: Bei so einer schlecht englisch benannten Veranstaltung einer deutschen A-capella-Gruppe MUSS man schließlich dabei sein!).

Wie dem auch sei und genug der Klammern:

Das Konzert war draußen im Kölner Tanzbrunnen, das After-Show-Gedöns im Theater auf dem gleichen Gelände. Ich möchte auf's Klo, aber das wollen ungefähr 500 andere Frauen auch, deshalb warte ich den großen Ansturm ab und versuche es zehn Minuten später nochmal. Jetzt stehen da zwei wichtig aussehende Kleiderschränke und verwehren mir den Zutritt.

"Nein, hier ist jetzt zu."

Eine klare Falschaussage, denn die Tür steht sperrangelweit offen.

"Hier ist jetzt nur noch für After-Show-Party!"

Ich verkneife mir, ihn ob seiner feinen Syntax zu loben und halte ihm stattdessen stolz mein After-Show-Party-Ticket hin. Aber das wäre natürlich zu einfach!

"Nein, da müssen Sie sich da vorne (am Haupteingang) anstellen, und dann von drinnen aus auf's Klo!"

...???... Währenddessen hat der andere Kleiderschrank Mitleid mit mir und will mich durchwinken. Just als ich im Vorbeihuschen begriffen bin, vereitelt aber natürlich Kleiderschrank 1 den Putsch seines (zweifelsohne rangniederen) Kollegen.

"Mensch, nu lass das Mädsche doch durch, die muss doch!"

- "Nein, da musse andersrum gehn!"

In der Tat, das musste ich. Und ich klopfe mir hiermit symbolisch dafür auf die Schulter, dass ich Kleiderschrank 1 im Weggehen zumindest noch "Mann, Macht ist schon was Tolles, ne?!" zu denken gegeben habe. Wobei, das mit dem Denken...

P.S. Erkenntnis Nr. 1: Früher war alles besser. Das greift leider auch für Wise-Guys-Konzerte und hat so gar nichts mit dem bösen Türsteher zu tun.

Erkenntnis Nr. 2: Die Nach-Vorne-Sicht durch einen Hünen wird nicht dadurch verbessert, dass er sich ein quengelndes Kind auf die Schultern setzt.