Archive for April, 2005
By the time you’ve read this sentence, three million tons of asparagus (spargel in german) will have been consumed in Germany. Probably.
Germans, you see, love it. Absolutely adore it. This time of year you can’t move in supermarkets for mountains of the stuff on display next to lakes of ready-made Hollandaise sauce.
I too like asparagus. I prefer the green stuff, whereas the white asparagus seems more popular here.
Why am I telling you this? I dunno, really. It’s not very interesting, but it does make me happy that in this world of fruit and veg being an year-round thing, there’s at least one vegetable left that is special enough to be allowed its proper season of glory.
I enjoyed drawing the last Witham and Woodhall thing, so I’ve done a new one quickly to keep the momentum going. This time W&W; present to you the Trophiest Trophy in the whole wide world.
A couple of people have alerted me to this on the VH1 site.
I didn’t do make these “mini-poofs.”
I may be bigging myself up in a style reminiscent of Jose Mourinho, but these pixel people on the VH1 site are so much worse than my Minipops.
Frankly, it pisses me off; but other things this week have pissed me off more, so I’m gonna try and stay calm.
I promise not to get all techy on you, I just thought I’d give you a quick review of the mobile phone I bought recently, a Motorola V980. Here’s my review:
Don’t get one, it’s rubbish.
Well, my face is calming down a bit, thankfully.
The stuff that I wrote yesterday all came out in a babble of words without any real editing. I feel I should expand on a couple of things.
Firstly, I mentioned that I’m an early riser, and that’s true. But yesterday, I didn’t rise too early, that’s why I was done in at 10am.
The bakery where this all happened is really really nice. They make great bread, superb wholegrain croissants, and they play heavy metal all the time. In the morning it makes a change not to hear the usual local radio stuff played in bakeries and to be shook awake by some Metallica. It makes me a bit sad that I’m not gonna feel comfortable going there any more, cos the punchy guy lives in the same building. And it’s only five minutes from where I live. And, really, this is a great neighbourhood…
So I went to the police station this morning to report what had happened. What a grim looking place that was. Oddly, they had a little exhibition of photos of the riots that occur nearby every year on 1st May. I’m not sure what the police are trying to tell us with this display, but to me it looked very much like We Arrest Punks.
A policeman came and took my statement. He seemed vaguely interested in what happened, so fingers crossed he might go out and do some sleuthing.
It was an odd time, cos part of me wants to just forget it and not cause more trouble (ie reprisals); part of me feels like it’s my duty as a citizen to try and stop this from happening again to somebody else; and the final third of me wants to see a German Crockett and Tubbs cuffing him and telling him he’ll be going down for 7-10 years mandatory.
On the upside, I’ve had a chance to examine the x-rays of my skull and I’ve noticed a Turin Shroud-esque face near my nose. If you look carefully … am I right in thinking that Beck lives in my skull?
Oh, and I forgot to mention: trying to pull a dangerous dog off a defenceless dog is, in retrospect, a stupid thing to do. I’m pretty lucky not to have neck wounds that look like a bowl of chilli.
Most Sunday mornings are the same for me. I’m an early riser, so I’ll get up and take Billy for a walk and get a coffee and some bread from a local bakery. Then I’ll come back here, drink the coffee, smoke a cig, check email, and maybe do some FFF stuff before Hanni wakes up, and we have breakfast and begin our Sunday.
This morning began like most. On the way to the bakery, I was thinking about writing something here about the football match I went to yesterday. On the way back from the bakery I was only thinking about the growing pain in my face. It seems ridiculous even writing it, but at 10am this morning I was beaten up outside the bakery.
There was a guy with a very tough looking dog. This dog wasn’t on a leash. He was chatting to a woman outside the bakery who also had a dog. The first dog snarled at Billy as we walked into the bakery. On the way out, he ran over and attacked Billy. In the middle of the snarls and Billy’s yelps, the owner did little other than shout to get his dog off Billy. At this point (and of course, time slows down in moments like this, so it felt like Billy had been attacked for ages), I grabbed the collar of the attacking dog and pulled him off Billy. Then I fell to the ground. The dog’s owner had punched me. My glasses went flying as I fell, then I was kicked and punched several more times. I occasionally caught sight of this guy’s angry face as he shouted at me. I can’t say for sure what he said but the words “nicht” and “mein Hund” were in there.
It was all over very quickly, I imagine, but when I got off the pavement, the guy was entering a nearby house, and I was looking on the floor for my glasses. A nice passer-by found them in the gutter. Where’s Billy, though? He was nowhere to be seen on the street, He wasn’t hiding behind parked cars. I took off down the street to look for him. After a minute or so, I saw Billy with two woman. The first woman was the one who I’d initially seen outside the bakery chatting to punching-man. She’d followed Billy when he ran off, and the other woman grabbed Billy as he was nearing a road.
The first woman then helped me back to the bakery, where we sat and had a coffee and a cigarette. She was an angel.
Once I got home, Hanni drove us to wait four hours in a hospital. Because I got hit and kicked in the head they took x-rays (that’s my skull up there at the top of this post) to check that I hadn’t got any fractures to my skull. Thankfully, there’s nothing wrong of great substance; just a painful nose, a bloody and black eye, and a very fat lip.
I also got something more exciting than a football match to blog about…
Sadly, it seems like the Torino is the exception these days when it comes to big sporting events’ graphics. Some of the older Olympics emblems are so beautiful. Compare Athens 2004’s emblem with that of Tokyo’s, 40 years earlier.
I dunno the reason, and I’m no graphics expert, but I’m getting the feeling that the desires of the IOC, FIFA, etc. to present their events as global, peace, love, and understanding-bringing, every-thing-for-every-man-(and-woman), leads them into designing these crappy, wishy washy, forgettable logos and mascots.
Anyway, it’s Friday afternoon: what better excuse do you need to spend a couple of hours looking at loads of brill Olympic-ness?
A new thing on Flip Flop Flyin’ today, celebrating the beauty and wonder of the common pebble.
Inside the museum you’ll find a vast display of pebbles, along with fun and informative diagrams and charts to help demystify the pebble world.
I found this link on the wonderful WFMU blog to the Explicit Content Only version of NWA’s “Straight Outta Compton” album. It reminds me of something I made one bored afternoon in 2001 where I did something similar to an Aerosmith song. It’s nowhere near as good, clever or funny as the NWA thing, but it still amuses me.
Ooooh, that was exciting. I’m not a Catholic, nor do I really care that much who the Pope is, but watching it on the BBC, I couldn’t help but get sucked in. So, here he is, the new Minipope, Pope Benedict XVI:
As I mentioned yesterday, I’ve got an eye infection called Iritis, which is an inflammatory thing going on in the iris. I’ve had it many times before. It comes back a couple of times every year, and, although it could be serious if it was left untreated (the iris could fuse together with the lens and eventually you’d be blind. Blind, I say! Blind!), it’s never too bad. It usually just involves going to see a specialist, getting eye drops, using them, and everything clears up.
I’ve been seeing the same doctor for four years now, and even though the practice is quite a trek for me, I quite like going there, cos the doctor knows what’s wrong, she speaks English, and once upon a time, she farted whilst telling me what was wrong with my eye and didn’t miss a beat of her diagnosis.
I took this photograph yesterday morning of an old fella in the waiting room. I feel slightly guilty putting it online, but I like how he looks like he’s just heard a great joke. In fact, he seemed to be in great pain. There’s something important to say here, but I can’t quite figure it out.
You may notice in that column on the right, that I Power Blogger. That’s nice for them. Sure it must cut down on their electricity bill. I’d like to apologise to Blogger, though, for not putting 100% into powering them right now, cos I’ve a) got an ear infection and can’t really hear much apart from a tinitus-y whine in one ear, b) got awful blisters after our Sunday afternoon walk, cos I wore new shoes, and, c) got Iritis going on in my left eye, so my vision’s a bit blurry. Sorry Blogger.
As a friend of mine told me after I’d told her that I hated Yellow by Coldplay: hate is a strong word. So I try not to use it lightly.
I hate graffiti.
Firstly, it’s one of those words that I have to check how to spell every time I want to use it (see also satellite, parallel, appoximate and Morissette).
Then I read this article in the Guardian, which tells us that police in Southampton, UK, are appealing for witnesses after a graffitist sprayed his/her tag on a horse. A horse. Not a brick wall shaped like a horse: a real horsey, sugarlumps, don’t-approach-from-behind, horse.
My oh my, who the hell would think that this was a clever thing to do?
Or be a bored enough teenager to do it?
Reading stuff like this makes my anger glands flare up, and I start having thoughts of being the Dictator of the World and putting all graffitists in jail.
Not all of them actually, just the taggers out there thinking, “Hmm, there’s a nice white wall that the owners of that building have spent a lot of money painting so that the neighbourhood looks a bit nicer, I think I’ll go and write my assumed, cretinous, graffiti name on it fifteen times in spidery writing with a fat marker. That’ll let my mum know that I don’t like her parenting skills.”
Oh, and Banksy, too, just cos he’s crap.
Looking at the picture of Scarlett Johansson that’s on the cover of this month’s UK edition of Esquire, I just can’t get Mr Potato Head out of my mind. I really do not know why. But like my mate Mark says, it’s probably the green hat.
I’ve recently had a couple of driving lessons. Even though I passed my driving test way back in 1988, I’ve not really driven that often, and I’ve never driven in Germany. So these lessons are just for me to get used to the laws of the road in Berlin.
My driving instructor is a lovely lady who, in a good way, looks like Cesar Romero as The Joker in the old Batman TV series.
My latest lesson included driving into a subterranean car park and through a car wash. I found out something that I didn’t know when I asked why: that it’s the law in Germany that you can’t wash your own car.
Well. Well. Well.
It’s taken me way too long to get this thing going.
It’s a long story, and dammit, I’m gonna tell it long.
I never ever thought about buying this flipflopflying.com domain. It never even entered my little brain to do so until a couple of years ago when a then-colleague of mine bought it and pointed it towards the non-G site.
When it was time to renew the domain, he let it expire so I could go and grab it.
So, I’ve just had to go through this auction process with a domain name company where they let people bid for it.
As you can tell, cos you’re reading this, I won that auction.
And it only cost me $62.
Anyway, I’ve often wondered what I’d do with this domain if I got it. It seems a waste to just let it redirect people to flipflopflyin.com, so I’ve decided to give this weblogging lark a go. I dunno if I’m cut out for the day-to-day tittle tattle that I see on other blogs, but I work alone, I get happy and angry, so OF COURSE I SHOULD DO A BLOG!
If you don’t give a fuck about this blog, then you can click the link on this page which takes you to the altogether more fancy Flip Flop Flyin’.