Monday, August 31, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
This is a picture of the very, very, very expensive glass pig that I bought in Venice. I don't know why I bought him, but I liked him and bought him. Just that simple. So now he resides in the middle of my desk at work, where I can consult him about troubling issues. He doesn't talk (or grunt) much, but he is an extraordinarily good listener. I get the sense that my fellow co-workers find all of this a little unusual, because the pig has been sitting there for more than a month now, and not a one of them has asked about him or even commented. Just plain, simple, beautiful silence.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
Dig Cam
I finally bought a digital camera. Now I'm trying to figure out how and when all of the tiny little buttons have to be pushed correctly. So here is a picture of one of my most recent paintings.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
A-hunting we shall go!
It seems like 90% of the entries in this blog are about food, and here's another one:
One activity that I really enjoy is eating pistachios. Yes, they taste great, but that's not the only reason. There's a non-nutritional aspect that is just as satisfying about it all.
If you want to be a truly efficient pistachio eater, the proper way to go about it is to pour the bag of pistachios into one bowl and then use a second, empty bowl to throw the shells into after you get the nut out.
But I prefer the way that makes you work a bit: Just use one bowl, i.e. throw the empty shells back into the same bowl that the uneaten nuts are still in. Sooner or later, you are going to reach a point where finding the uneaten nuts among the empty shells becomes a challenge.
That's the part I really enjoy. As the number of empty shells overtakes the uneaten nuts, I am forced to hunt through the hulls until I find another uneaten nut. The longer this goes on, the harder the task becomes, yet the more I enjoy it. Finding just one more pistachios becomes my one and only objective in life. I search and search, and, oh great joy!, I find yet one more.
Ultimately, of course, all of this has to come to an end. There reaches a point where you do indeed find the very last pistachio. Yes, there is a slight sense of disappointment that comes with it, but, on the other hand, I feel like I have accomplished something -- something important! And the hunt was so much fun!
One activity that I really enjoy is eating pistachios. Yes, they taste great, but that's not the only reason. There's a non-nutritional aspect that is just as satisfying about it all.
If you want to be a truly efficient pistachio eater, the proper way to go about it is to pour the bag of pistachios into one bowl and then use a second, empty bowl to throw the shells into after you get the nut out.
But I prefer the way that makes you work a bit: Just use one bowl, i.e. throw the empty shells back into the same bowl that the uneaten nuts are still in. Sooner or later, you are going to reach a point where finding the uneaten nuts among the empty shells becomes a challenge.
That's the part I really enjoy. As the number of empty shells overtakes the uneaten nuts, I am forced to hunt through the hulls until I find another uneaten nut. The longer this goes on, the harder the task becomes, yet the more I enjoy it. Finding just one more pistachios becomes my one and only objective in life. I search and search, and, oh great joy!, I find yet one more.
Ultimately, of course, all of this has to come to an end. There reaches a point where you do indeed find the very last pistachio. Yes, there is a slight sense of disappointment that comes with it, but, on the other hand, I feel like I have accomplished something -- something important! And the hunt was so much fun!
Friday, August 14, 2009
the question
Have you ever noticed the way a bird cocks it head sideways to cast a look up at your face? There is something magical about that moment. Part of the reason is probably because it seems to be such a human behavior, like the way a questioning spouse might look up at you from a chair, not quite sure of what you mean. Or perhaps whether you have been unfaithful.
At a different level, the moment seems like a contact between equals from two different worlds, both wondering what life is like being the other. It is both inspiring and unsettling.
It always leaves me wondering what was going through the bird's mind at the moment. Was the creature merely hoping to pry some food out of you? Was it an expression of love? Or was it an act of aggression, telling you to get no closer? Or was the bird wondering if you would make a good spouse?
I don't know. Nevertheless, it is an experience I always look forward to as I sit at the bus stop, and one crow or another, or perhaps a pigeon, lights down a few feet away and looks up.
At a different level, the moment seems like a contact between equals from two different worlds, both wondering what life is like being the other. It is both inspiring and unsettling.
It always leaves me wondering what was going through the bird's mind at the moment. Was the creature merely hoping to pry some food out of you? Was it an expression of love? Or was it an act of aggression, telling you to get no closer? Or was the bird wondering if you would make a good spouse?
I don't know. Nevertheless, it is an experience I always look forward to as I sit at the bus stop, and one crow or another, or perhaps a pigeon, lights down a few feet away and looks up.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Chopsticks That Work
I just got back from eating at the Chinese restaurant across the street. The place has a bit of history to go with the food. When I first moved into my current apartment two years ago, the restaurant had opened.
Since it was so convenient, I decided to give it a try. All I had to do was get off my couch walk 100 meters across the steet and eat.
The first thing I noticed about the restaurant when I walked in was that no one was there. But I wasn't about to let that deter me. So I took a seat and ordered.
As I waited for the food, I looked aroud the restaurant. It was a very unhappy looking place. All of the chairs and tables looked beat up, just barely functional. And the windows looked dusty. But I have seen worse, and some of them have served very good food.
But that turned out not to be the case with this place. The vegetables were lifeless looking and the meat was tough. I got the impression that everything had simply been pulled out of the freezer, microwaved and then placed on my table. All-in-all, it was an unpleasant meal.
As I left, I had two thoughts: 1) I will never go back to that place again! 2) I'm not sure what business that place is in, but it certainly isn't the restaurant business!
A few months later, I came home very tired, and cooking was the last thing I could endure. Against my better judgment, I decided to give the restaurant another try.
I shouldn't have done it. The food and atmosphere were just as bad as last time.
Over the 1.5 years, this scene repeated itself a couple of more times.
But then one day, I noticed that the place was closed, for good. In fact, all of the restaurant signs were up, but there was a message on the door saying the place was closed.
No big loss, I thought. Then, a few months later, I noticed that new signs were up and a large, garish banner screamed out NEW OPENING.
So, one day a couple of weeks later, I decided to check the place out more closely. The place had a new name. I was hoping that more than the name was new.
And, indeed, that turned out to be true! The interior was classy, almost opulent. It had an atmosphere that suggested success and happiness.
So I ordered some food. When I took my first bite, I wasn't expecting much. But it proved me wrong! The food was wonderful! Everything tasted fresh and cooked by someone with a lot of kitchen experience. I was more than surprised.
Since then, I have been back at least five times. And the food has been wonderful every time. I always order something different each time, and it is clear that the cook can produce good food no matter what the menu item is.
And there's even more good news: The place has been packed every time. It is apparent that the cook has impressed more people than me.
I really don't know what the point of all this is, except perhaps that I now have a lot of peach of mind just knowing that there's a good Chinese restaurant at hand if I can't turn on the stove myself. In fact, I now daydream about which menu item I am going to try next when I go there. The waitress now knows me so well that she stops by my table for a couple of small chats on each visit.
Perhaps the point of this is clear after all: I like it when things work, when a system does exactly what it is programmed to do, when a process is carried out properly and successful. Click, click, click!
Since it was so convenient, I decided to give it a try. All I had to do was get off my couch walk 100 meters across the steet and eat.
The first thing I noticed about the restaurant when I walked in was that no one was there. But I wasn't about to let that deter me. So I took a seat and ordered.
As I waited for the food, I looked aroud the restaurant. It was a very unhappy looking place. All of the chairs and tables looked beat up, just barely functional. And the windows looked dusty. But I have seen worse, and some of them have served very good food.
But that turned out not to be the case with this place. The vegetables were lifeless looking and the meat was tough. I got the impression that everything had simply been pulled out of the freezer, microwaved and then placed on my table. All-in-all, it was an unpleasant meal.
As I left, I had two thoughts: 1) I will never go back to that place again! 2) I'm not sure what business that place is in, but it certainly isn't the restaurant business!
A few months later, I came home very tired, and cooking was the last thing I could endure. Against my better judgment, I decided to give the restaurant another try.
I shouldn't have done it. The food and atmosphere were just as bad as last time.
Over the 1.5 years, this scene repeated itself a couple of more times.
But then one day, I noticed that the place was closed, for good. In fact, all of the restaurant signs were up, but there was a message on the door saying the place was closed.
No big loss, I thought. Then, a few months later, I noticed that new signs were up and a large, garish banner screamed out NEW OPENING.
So, one day a couple of weeks later, I decided to check the place out more closely. The place had a new name. I was hoping that more than the name was new.
And, indeed, that turned out to be true! The interior was classy, almost opulent. It had an atmosphere that suggested success and happiness.
So I ordered some food. When I took my first bite, I wasn't expecting much. But it proved me wrong! The food was wonderful! Everything tasted fresh and cooked by someone with a lot of kitchen experience. I was more than surprised.
Since then, I have been back at least five times. And the food has been wonderful every time. I always order something different each time, and it is clear that the cook can produce good food no matter what the menu item is.
And there's even more good news: The place has been packed every time. It is apparent that the cook has impressed more people than me.
I really don't know what the point of all this is, except perhaps that I now have a lot of peach of mind just knowing that there's a good Chinese restaurant at hand if I can't turn on the stove myself. In fact, I now daydream about which menu item I am going to try next when I go there. The waitress now knows me so well that she stops by my table for a couple of small chats on each visit.
Perhaps the point of this is clear after all: I like it when things work, when a system does exactly what it is programmed to do, when a process is carried out properly and successful. Click, click, click!
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Thump Evangelism
One of my favorite parts of summer is here as usual: Watermelons! They are such an amazing fruit – heavier than a fat pig, sweeter than a honey bun, and crisp and crunchier than Rice Crispies. Their flesh is unique: beautifully colored and it gives you the sense of light explosiveness when you bite into it. To date, I have not seen any synthetically produced food that is anywhere like watermelon.
When I buy a melon, I always look for the large ones that have seeds. The seedless ones are certainly much better if you are going to be eating the melon in the company of prissy people, because seedless ones free you from the tricky matter of how to spit out the seeds. So I avoid prissy people.
Melons with seeds are usually so much tastier. Their flesh is sweeter, more delicate, and the taste is much richer.
Here in Germany, most people prefer the seedless type. I think it largely because they don't understand the difference. They just think that with-seed and seedless melons all taste the same, so why not just make life easier for yourself and buy the seedless type.
Fortunately, I do not have to endure such culinary poverty because many of the vegetable and fruit stores here are run by Turks and Greeks. And they know melons. In their home countries, they have the luxury of having farmers who still grow the with-seed melons, and they really understand the difference.
The country that supplies most of the seedless melons to Germany is Spain. I have tried the Spanish melons again and again, but have always been disappointed. They look fine on the outside, but they never resonate properly after being thumped firmly by a finger. Once cut, their color always seems too muted, too pale. And then there's the taste: crunchy but overly chewy, cardboard-like taste and flat. Plus, they do not deliver the light explosiveness when bitten into.
So the local green grocers now know me by name and always pick out the best melon they have for me. And they know how to pick one. Just give it a solid thump. If the sound is deep and rich, but not too deep, the melon is good. If the sound is high-pitched and thin, it's a no-buyer. The Germans in the store always look on quizzically, and I always hope that they will also pick a with-seed melon to take home with them. The more converts, the better.
When I buy a melon, I always look for the large ones that have seeds. The seedless ones are certainly much better if you are going to be eating the melon in the company of prissy people, because seedless ones free you from the tricky matter of how to spit out the seeds. So I avoid prissy people.
Melons with seeds are usually so much tastier. Their flesh is sweeter, more delicate, and the taste is much richer.
Here in Germany, most people prefer the seedless type. I think it largely because they don't understand the difference. They just think that with-seed and seedless melons all taste the same, so why not just make life easier for yourself and buy the seedless type.
Fortunately, I do not have to endure such culinary poverty because many of the vegetable and fruit stores here are run by Turks and Greeks. And they know melons. In their home countries, they have the luxury of having farmers who still grow the with-seed melons, and they really understand the difference.
The country that supplies most of the seedless melons to Germany is Spain. I have tried the Spanish melons again and again, but have always been disappointed. They look fine on the outside, but they never resonate properly after being thumped firmly by a finger. Once cut, their color always seems too muted, too pale. And then there's the taste: crunchy but overly chewy, cardboard-like taste and flat. Plus, they do not deliver the light explosiveness when bitten into.
So the local green grocers now know me by name and always pick out the best melon they have for me. And they know how to pick one. Just give it a solid thump. If the sound is deep and rich, but not too deep, the melon is good. If the sound is high-pitched and thin, it's a no-buyer. The Germans in the store always look on quizzically, and I always hope that they will also pick a with-seed melon to take home with them. The more converts, the better.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Not Available at the Pharmacy
I've just discovered a new drug. It's called "painting," and it is incredibly addictive. Over the past three days, I have generated four finished pieces of, er, "work." It is an addiction at which I am incredibly bad and untalented, but it is a very effective drug.
Getting started is always the hard part. And the main reason for that is that I first have to do something that I am very bad at doing: making a decision. If I let myself, I can sit there three hours just trying to figure out where to start. But I have always found that the answer is "It does not matter where you start. Just start."
Once I convince myself that that piece of device is a valid one, the rest is history. Everything begins to flow smoothly. I just do this, then that, then another this and another that. It's all so simple. Before I know it, I have completed another painting.
The finished painting is usually is no better than the previous one. But that doesn't matter. When I embarked on the painting cruise, I quickly realized that my objective is not to get any better technically. My objective is to get a very nagging image out of my head. This is the way it works: Some crazy image forms in my head and then drifts around for days, weeks, months, years, an entire lifetime, demanding that I do something with it. So that's what I did. I captured it on canvas.
The result is almost magical: Once deposited on canvas, the image disappears from my head, and it does so forever. It never nags me again. I feel like a meaningless burden has been lifted from my shoulders. I sleep much better.
Getting started is always the hard part. And the main reason for that is that I first have to do something that I am very bad at doing: making a decision. If I let myself, I can sit there three hours just trying to figure out where to start. But I have always found that the answer is "It does not matter where you start. Just start."
Once I convince myself that that piece of device is a valid one, the rest is history. Everything begins to flow smoothly. I just do this, then that, then another this and another that. It's all so simple. Before I know it, I have completed another painting.
The finished painting is usually is no better than the previous one. But that doesn't matter. When I embarked on the painting cruise, I quickly realized that my objective is not to get any better technically. My objective is to get a very nagging image out of my head. This is the way it works: Some crazy image forms in my head and then drifts around for days, weeks, months, years, an entire lifetime, demanding that I do something with it. So that's what I did. I captured it on canvas.
The result is almost magical: Once deposited on canvas, the image disappears from my head, and it does so forever. It never nags me again. I feel like a meaningless burden has been lifted from my shoulders. I sleep much better.
A Fall Unearned
I'm still waiting for summer to arrive here (in Germany). The weather is still mild and cool, usually in the 70s or low 80s in the day, and sometimes even a little cooler at night. It seems more like a very long spring than summer. To be honest, I really like it this way. However, I grew up where the summers were very hot, usually in the 90s or 100s every day, and I now somehow feel cheated if a summer doesn't deliver at least a few weeks of hot, humid, sweaty weather.
It feels like I went on one of those shark excursions at sea where you are lowered into the water in a cage made of solid iron bars, and the only creatures that show up are dolphins. That little voice in my head would tell me, "Sure, dolphins are great, but I was really counting on sharks. What a bummer."
Also, deep down I don't feel that I have deserved the coolness of autumn if I have not suffered through an unbearable summer. Somehow, I don't feel cleansed and purified for autumn. It's sort of like knowing that you are going to a family reunion without having bathed for the past two weeks. You know that your rancid aroma is going to sully up the air everywhere you go.
So, I guess this entire entry is sort of my apology to fall, which should be showing up here in three weeks or so.
"Please, Miss Autumn, please forgive me, for I have not bathed properly."
It feels like I went on one of those shark excursions at sea where you are lowered into the water in a cage made of solid iron bars, and the only creatures that show up are dolphins. That little voice in my head would tell me, "Sure, dolphins are great, but I was really counting on sharks. What a bummer."
Also, deep down I don't feel that I have deserved the coolness of autumn if I have not suffered through an unbearable summer. Somehow, I don't feel cleansed and purified for autumn. It's sort of like knowing that you are going to a family reunion without having bathed for the past two weeks. You know that your rancid aroma is going to sully up the air everywhere you go.
So, I guess this entire entry is sort of my apology to fall, which should be showing up here in three weeks or so.
"Please, Miss Autumn, please forgive me, for I have not bathed properly."
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