Schlagwort-Archive: almost a diary

almost a diary, compulsory reading

Does Dennis MacShane really want to decapitate Tony Blair?

The British Minister for Europe, Dennis MacShane, apparently tried to appeal to the British public by telling the FT earlier this week that

“… the German position [of enhancing the EU commission’s president powers as opposed to the Franco-British position of electing a president from within the European Council ] is for giving all power to a new kind of European kaiser, a Commission president who will tell all the other European institutions what to do. I had long discussion with Gerhard Schröder on this and I explained that 350 years ago we separated a king’s head from his body because we didn’t want to take orders from one individual.”

I am not too firm in English history but if I remember correctly, the story of the decapitation of Charles I is slightly more complicated than alleged by Mr MacShane. He died because he lost against Chromwell’s army in a religious power struggle. Decapitating a king may have been a fundamental democratic experience, but at least the immediate consequences were limited.

Shortly thereafter, Oliver Chromwell became Lord Protector. I am certainly not trying to reduce the English/British democratic/parliamentary innovations in any way – after all, I did have the opportunity to work for an MP in the mother of Parliaments myself.

But I do find it funny that a British minister talks about the veto-prone European decision process as some sort of absolutist government given that he is part of a governmental system which many scholars of British politics have (ironically, but with slight concern) called an “elected dictatorship” because of the centrality of Prime Ministerial power and the problematic legal doctrine of Parliamentary sovereignty [ by the way – this evil fascist dictator test, apparently put online by an Oxford student, gives you the opportunity to test your Prime Ministerial potential.

Apparently, according to the test’s scoring guide,

I will be a corrupt, ruthless, but surprisingly effective figure on the world stage.

[ Not bad for this time of the day, I have to say ;-) ]

But anyway – the British must have learnt to take orders from one (elected) individual by now, for I don’t think Mr MacShane is actually after Tony’s head. He’s definitely even more dependent on his employer’s goodwill than most of his compatriots.

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almost a diary

Ring Out The Old, Ring In The New

I love the pseudo-should-auld-aquaintance-be-forgot-melancholy a day like New Year’s Eve is providing en masse. That may also have something to do with me being German. And while the rest of the world has slowly come to grasp the national German obsession with melancholy, you can believe me if I tell you that things have changed. In 2002, many people in this country no longer believed in mere melancholy but have instead turned to outright depression. Thus, they’re clearly not too unhappy to ring out the Old, even though they are not too confident about the New either.

I am not quite sure yet, but I sense the national depression is actually about to end. Maybe 2003 will finally be the year in which people as well as the country leave the decade of post unification paralysis behind and finally get going. A Chancellor’s New Year’s Eve speech usually will not be a useful indicator for political developments, but in conjunction with some reform papers the government floated recently, some of Schroeder’s words could actually mean something this time. The gist of his speech is: We have finally accepted reality and and we will therefore implement the necessary changes. Some will scream. But we will all benefit in the end.

C’mon, 2003, let’s roll. I will certainly see to it.

And now, let me close this blog’s first year by wishing all of you, my gentle readers, a very pleasant New Year’s Eve and a happy 2003!

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almost a diary

Did it happen? Does it matter?

Could it actually be telling that the first press statement about a cloned human baby comes from a company, Clonaid, founded by a strange sect, the Raelians, and headquartered in Hollywood (although, Hollywood, Florida)? Currently, 62% of the people voting in a CNN online poll believe it is. They do not think a cloned baby has been born yesterday. Maybe they’re right. Maybe we have been saved from making up our minds for the time being.

But let’s face it. If it has happened already or is about to happen in the near future does not really matter. But it does matter that it will happen. It does matter a lot. The successful cloning of a human being is announcing the end of the era of sexual reproduction of mankind. Here, genetical variation will be planned or a technical mistake. It could, in some sense, mark the end of evolution. I am not going to sketch possble consequence just now, but personally, I am convinced this is bad for mankind. Very bad.

The baby that has or will eventually be born clearly is no monster. But we will all – globally – have to answer the questions if those who (will have) created her/him are. Friedrich Dürrenmatt’s “The Physicists” gives some useful ideas about how to handle the fundamentals behind the question. I feel I should reread it, too.

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almost a diary, compulsory reading

I am getting old(er). Christmas shopping 2002.

Today I did the bulk of my Christmas shopping and discovered three interesting things.

Firstly, age compression, big time: when did it become fashionable among 13 year old guys to be knowledgeable about Eau de Toilettes? I was slightly stunned while listening to three youngsters’ conversation about the intricacies of three different types of Jil Sander Eau de Toilette. Not that I mind EdTs. That is, these days.

When I was thirteen, my friends and I were interested in fighter jets, racing cars, and handling advice for the first hangover – not in the amount of alcohol in EdTs. We eventually all learned to give our appearance the finishing touches (well, in our opinion…) by applying olfactory aids. But that was not until a few years later. And I did not learn more about the inner workings of EdTs until I did a luxury industry case study in Business School. I am confused. We got more sophisticated in the olfactory sense because girls told us to (well, they never actually told us to, that would have made things a lot easier…). So I can’t help but wonder – is the episode also telling me something about today’s pre-teen girls’ behavior? Or have guys changed so much without being obliged to by young Lysistrata?

Secondly, there are still some guys who really don’t know how to improve their appearance using olfactory aids. While listening to the three kids, some 45 year old guy grabbed one of the test flacons and quasi-emptied it over his head and coat. And I am not kidding. I wonder what the boys thought of that ;-).

Thirdly, baggy trousers that are literally so baggy they sweep the streets. The ones I saw today were soaked in water (it was raining) up to their proprietors calfs. I think that local governments have not yet realised how much public cleaning costs can be privatised to these fashion victim’s families, and will be, moreover, (more or less) willingly borne by their parents to avoid noisy fights…

In other news, I actually managed to get most of my presents today. But that’s not too difficult. I am none of the people who spend months figuring out the perfect present. Most of the people I am giving presents to already have most of the stuff I believe they could possibly want (well, within reasonable German-definition-upper-middle- class-limits… I believe, most would not mind a free Porsche.)

So giving presents is theoretcially complicated. I realise I am generalising a bit, but I think there are usually roughly two and half alternatives when it comes to buying Christmas presents. Either you’re giving something that is admired on the coffee table during Christmas and then stuffed into a cardbord box on the attic on December 30th. Or you’re giving something not quite as exciting but with a longer lasting appeal. Most of the times I tend to stick with the second alternative and give books which, if nothing else, are a good pass-time and sophisticated sedative during the sudden urges to decapitate a distant aunt on Boxing Day for her remarks about the beautiful socks she gave us, or in case the tv programme does again become all too dreadful.

The last semi-alternative is the theoretical possibility of the above mentioned perfect present – something that clearly exhibits that one knows enough about a person to figure out her/his underlying interests, needs or emotions and devoted enough time on brainstorming and then getting or creating this perfect, most of the times material, incarnation thereof. But that’s probably as likely to happen as winning a million in a lottery.

Do I need to mention that I don’t participate in lotteries?

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almost a diary, oddly enough, traveling

Don’t judge a book by it’s cover? Certainly not in Amsterdam.

You certainly know that the idea of not judging something/someone based on appearance is only partly useful.

Covers usually do transmit a significant amount of information about the book’s content. But we also know that looks can deceive, especially concerning human beings. That’s why the headline of this entry can be quite handy: it reminds us to remain open to the fact that the information we receive by decoding the cover does not necessarily convey the correct social rules of interaction. So we have to remain vigilant.

In Amsterdam looks are sometimes almost as deceptive as the fly-over-country-bank featured in Michael Moore’s latest film, Bowling for Columbine. You think it’s just a bank. But it’s actually a bank – and a licensed gun store. In Amsterdam, where a large portion of GDP is made by directly following the idea of making love, not war, people don’t buy guns. They buy porn.

And that’s exactly why you should be careful about looks. A lot of souvenir shops in Amsterdam are conventional souvenir shops only on the outside, featuring the usual displays of postcards, t-shirts and disposable cameras. Inside, their range of products features a slightly different kind of ‘typical’ Amsterdam memorabila.

The kind labelled with a significant number of Xs…

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almost a diary, traveling

English in Amsterdam

Let me briefly remind you of the fact that you will be socially slaughtered and then eaten (most likely without your consent) should you ever attempt to talk in English to a French person without any previous attempt to clarify whether he or she is able and willing to communicate in the aforementioned language (you should also add a “Monsieur” or “Madame” at the end of any question you ask a stranger, should you actually expect an answer).

Most of the times and in most of the countries I have ever been, asking if someone I want to talk to in English is able to speak is not only a matter of politeness and respect but the most natural thing to do as not everybody will actually be able to speak English.

But in the Netherlands, things are slightly different. When I ordered coffee (and yes, it *was* coffee) in Amsterdam on Saturday, I suddenly wondered whether it is actually more impolite to ask if a salesperson does speak English than not to ask, as asking does imply the assumption the person could not be *able* to speak English in a country (ok, I’m in Amsterdam, not in Gouda) in which everyybody speaks English.

When I asked some Dutch people at a party what their preference would be, the result was mixed. Some prefer to be asked, some don’t. Should you now ask me for a generalised recommendation, I would say – don’t ask, but be *very* polite in language and tone.

Given the special nature of the service sector in this town, there are a lot of impolite English speaking people on the streets. They, too, will get their coffee, of course. But they won’t get the waitress’s smile. And seriously, given the temperatures here this weekend, such a smile can provide life-saving warmth.

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almost a diary, traveling

Trains. Again.

As much as I like trains for sleeping reasons (see earlier entry), I hate their operating company, Deutsche Bahn AG. Not only are they about to increase prices for spontaneous travellers like me by I-don’t-know-how-many-thousand percent on Sunday but they are clearly conspiring against their customers.

I am sure this has happened to all of you who have used a German train in the last 10 years: The one time that you hope a train will actually be five minutes late, as they usually are, it is on time and you miss it because this one time only you’re not on time – as you usually are.

Usually you have to wait for trains. And you do wait. All the time. Wasting days of valuable lifetime on a random platform earning money for the operating company by watching the advertisments they put on for entertainment. But does that mean the one train that arrives on time train would actually consider waiting for you (or even those suctomers who (for good reason) usually add five minutes to the time indicates on the timetable? Only a minute? Only once?

Certainly not. So now I’ll have to wait for two hours (and 10 additional minutes, as usual), which is how this entry came about.

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almost a diary, oddly enough

To Sonya: The One With The Best Nap Ever.

Do you remember the “Friends” episode in which Ross and Joey fall asleep together on a sofa and later discover that it was the “best nap” they ever had?

Well, I did not fall asleep on another guy, but in the train on the way back from Cologne. But in that train, I did have my best nap ever.

And I thought I’ll shock all you, my gentle readers, with the following statement: Call me crazy, but sleeping in trains is the most relaxing experience I can think of. I can’t tell you why, but I suppose it must have something to do with the constant low pitch background noise and slight vibration the (high speed) train is producing when in operation. I guess that’s why I wake up when it stops in a station for a bit.

If you think I lost my mind, I’ll let you into a little secret of mine. When I was a little boy and would not fall asleep, my dad took me for a ride in the car. Once he was driving on a highway with a constant speed, I would instantly fall asleep. Hmm, I wonder if I should invent a noisy, vibrating bed and become rich and famous by changing the world’s sleeping habits.

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