Montag, 24. Mai 2010

Let them have plane-shaped cake!

Dearies, I know I've been awfully quiet in the past two weeks - partly due to heaps of guilt for abandoning my studies for an entire week when I went to Berlin and trying to make up for it by being extra swotty and going to the library with Lauren, and partly because the weather has been absolutely stunning these past few days, and thus a fair bit of socialising in the sun was required. Plus, I've had a couple of visitors - first, my sister graced my humble abode with her presence (bringing along her friend Saskia) and then my friend Linda kicked of the stream of visitors from Leipzig. Again, I know you're only in it for the pictures, so here they are:

My sister in front of Big Ben (I know, I know, it's not the tower, it's the bell etc. etc.)

This is Teresa and Saskia in their shiny new Primark glory, minutes before Saskia had to go see "Grease" at some Westend venue. Please pay special attention to how Teresa spent twelve quid on the dress and the skirt and then proceeded to wear them both at the same time, thus making sure she had a totally original outfit that cost next to nothing in a way THAT I COULD NEVER PULL OFF? Also, the denim shirt that her friend is wearing is from the men's department and still looks effortlessly stylish. Sometimes I think my fashion gene got lost in the mail.

I felt that a trip to England is not complete without a visit to the pub, so after the Oxford Street maration (on a Friday afternoon! I ask you!) we nipped into one of the Leicester Square tourist traps that guarantee a "genuine English experience" for a quick drink before Saskia had to see Grease.

Unfortunately, none of the pictures I took with Linda are any good (lots of satan eyes and red shiny fizzogs on my part, I'm afraid), but since her visit consisted mostly of shopping, I suppose they wouldn't have been worth your while anyway.

The other really good piece of news that I have for you is that my flatmate Lauren might have got me a bar job in one of her locals, the Old Suffolk Punch in Hammersmith. The money is poxy and bar work is tough (I vaguely recall from previous experience), but it's walking distance and beggars can't be choosers, right? I'm pulling a trial shift this afternoon, so I suppose we'll see how it goes.

Other random tidbits of information:

  • Last weekend I went to Oxford to see my friend Andy. It was pissing down pretty much all day, so I didn't see to much of the town (what I saw was lovely though). Nevertheless, lunch was bought for me and dinner cooked, and Andy let me watch House and Bones and drool over David Boreanaz. He would have let me drool over Jesse Spencer as well, but his new barnet makes that pretty unnecessary.
  • Steve had another Man vs. Food challenge the other night. He made a chicken curry with no less than 8 red chilis in it and ate the entire thing. He didn't even cry (although there was a fair bit of sweat on his forehead).
  • Two more people told me I sound Australian. Yesterday a Kiwi told me I sounded English. I'm getting more and more confused.
  • I went to have Thai food with my friend Jess and had a chicken curry. When I got home, Steve told me that the place we went to was entirely vegan. I have no idea what we ate.
  • Steve and I were watching the food network channel and there was something about a bakery that makes these really special cakes. Delta Airlines (yak!) was one of their customers, and they wanted a cake in the shape of an aircraft for the launch of the "NYC goes orange" campaign to end world hunger. Is it only me or is that slightly disturbing?

Again, I hope I haven't swamped you with too much information. Have a lovely week everyone!

Mittwoch, 12. Mai 2010

Mittags, halb eins in Deutschland

Heute ohne Bilder, weil ich noch ein letztes Mal für ein paar Tage nach Deutschland geflogen bin, um meiner Freundin Jenks (die sich gerade für den Abschluss ihres Medizinstudiums in Hongkong mit einer ausgiebigen Europatour belohnt) Berlin und Leipzig nahezubringen und natürlich mein Kartenlesegerät in London vergessen habe. Bilder von mir als Touristin im eigenen Land gibt es dann (versprochen) beim nächsten Post.

Viel Interessantes gibt es auch gar nicht zu berichten, abgesehen vom Wetter (Bild titelte heute "Bibber-Wetter: Der kälteste Mai des Jahrtausends!") hat sich sowohl Berlin als auch Leipzig von der besten Seite gezeigt, die Grand Tour (a) Brandenburger Tor, Humboldt-Uni, Holocaust-Denkmal, Reichstag, Museumsinsel, Unter den Linden bzw. b) Albertina, Bundesverwaltungsgericht, Auerbachs Keller, Völkerschlachtdenkmal) war ein voller Erfolg und auch eine kleine Schuhkaufkrise konnte uns den Spaß nicht verderben. Alles in allem hätte es eine perfekte germanische Arbeits- und Denkpause werden können, wenn nicht...

(tut mir leid, ich muss nochmal ausholen).

Ich glaube ja manchmal, dass ich ein bisschen zu oberflächlich für diese Welt bin (zu viele meiner persönlichen Dramen involvieren Schuhe oder pinke Ponys). (Simone findet das auch.) (Flo auch, aber er ist klug genug, das für sich zu behalten). Anyway. Ich glaube aber auch, dass irgendwo irgendjemand über uns Buch führt, und darum bin ich der Meinung, dass eine einzelne Bahnfahrt in Leipzig meine drohende Wiedergeburt als Mistkäfer um ein paar Monate vertagt hat. Anyway, I digress.

Jenks und ich fuhren also mit der Tram Richtung Innenstadt, als sich zwischen Hauptbahnhof und Augustusplatz folgende Szene abspielte:

Ein junger Mann mit Käppi, Bärtchen, abgetragenen Klamotten und allgemein "alternativer" (hasse das Wort) Ausstrahlung belegt einen kompletten Vierersitz mit Beschlag; eine junge Frau mit Kopftuch bittet ihn, sich setzen zu dürfen. Der Jüngling, welchen ich bis dato für einen Angehörigen der Connewitz-Fraktion gehalten hatte, antwortet langsam und deutlich: "Wenn ich gewollt hätte, dass du dich hierher setzt, dann hätte ich schon Platz gemacht." Die junge Frau äußert irritiert ihr Unverständnis, Typ fühlt sich genötigt, seine Antwort zu erläutern: "Nimm erstmal das Ding ab und geh dahin zurück, wo du hergekommen bist."
Frau: "Was ist denn das für ein Benehmen?"
Typ: "Das ist richtiges deutsches Benehmen."

Zwischenbemerkung: Die Bahn war komplett voll. Kein Sitz war frei (abgesehen von den drei Plätzen, auf denen die Füße und der Rucksack besagten Arschlochs ruhten). Ein paar Leute schütteln den Kopf, sind aber sonst sehr damit beschäftigt, ihre Füße anzustarren. Keiner, niemand, nicht ein einziger fühlt sich genötigt, den Mund aufzumachen. Ich, Herzrasen, schweißnasse Hände, Rauschen in den Ohren, : "Entschuldigung, das will doch hier wohl niemand hören? Wie widerlich ist das denn bitte?" (oder irgendwie sowas in der Art, ich erinnere mich nicht mehr ganz genau, jedenfalls war ich nicht sonderlich eloquent). Worauf sich der Unmut des Fascho-Fahrgastes natürlich auf mich richtete (Einzelheiten erspare ich dem werten Leser lieber).

(An dieser Stelle wird mir gerade klar, dass es so aussieht, als wollte ich für meine Zivilcourage gelobt werden. Möchte klarstellen, dass das nicht so gemeint ist. Ich bin immer noch dermaßen geschockt, dass in einer vollbesetzten Bahn, mitten in Leipzig, am hellichten Tag jemand so offen derartige Sprüche ablassen kann, ohne dass sich IRGENDJEMAND genötigt sieht, etwas dazu zu sagen, dass ich finde, dass mehr Leute darüber Bescheid wissen sollten. Ich hab die Geschichte heute schon viermal erzählt, alleine das Tippen lässt meinen Blutdruck schon wieder steigen).

Bestimmt war das jetzt kein so arg bemerkenswertes Ereignis und sicherlich gehört es auch nicht unbedingt in einen Blog, der sich mit meinen Abenteuern in London befassen sollte (wo sich tagtäglich deutlich schlimmere Situationen abspielen, in die ich mich nicht einmische), und besonders lustig oder gut formuliert ist dieser Eintrag auch nicht, aber (und das ist ein großes Aber) es ist mein Blog und ihr könnt absolut nichts dagegen machen, dass ich hier schreibe, was ich will. Jedenfalls hatte ich heute ein ungewolltes Aha-Erlebnis, und zwar: Feigheit ist wirklich die niedrigste Eigenschaft, die ein Mensch haben kann.

Over and out.

Sonntag, 2. Mai 2010

My language skills, my self

As some of you might now, I tend to obsess about random things every once in a while (tall blond Australian doctors having cameos in my dreams, the size of my bum, Obama, why Buffy and Angel can't be together, things like that). Even though to some people (especially those who are close to me) it may seem like these phases last forever because I refuse to talk about anything else for days, but the truth is, these obsessions usually come and go (even when I develop an irrational hatred of someone and for some days literally anything can set off a rant about that person, it usually doesn't last longer than a couple of weeks for me to get over it. Except for the guy with the piggy little eyes who sometimes sits in class with me. I've been fairly constant there and I can't find any redeeming quality in him WHATSOEVER).

Anyway, where am I going with this? Oh yes. One thing has been on top of the list for the best part of the last, uh, seven years maybe, and that is my accent when I speak English. There's one thing that I hate more than anything in the world (oh dear, she's at the superlatives again), and that's being recognised as a German when I speak English. Luckily, this doesn't happen often (else the body count in River Thames would be considerably higher than it is now), but people still feel the need to comment on my accent a lot. Here's a list of things that have been said to me in the past (in no particular order):

1. "You sound quite posh."

I ascribe that to the fact that my first "proper" contact with the English language happened in a public school for girls where we were chastised for saying things like "serviette". That and the fact that I consider Stephen Fry a huge role model and I try to imitate him a lot.

2. "You sound British."

Unfortunately, no British person has ever said that to me, only Germans, Canadians and Americans. I try very hard to get it right, but the truth is that as soon as I talk to Americans or Canadians (or ingest large quantities of alcohol) I can feel my accent become more Yankee-y by the minute. Luckily enough, I seem to be the only person to notice, because my good friend Ross (Canadian) once said to me (after I confided this particularly embarrassing piece of information): "You're not. I'm sorry if that's what you're trying to do, but you don't sound American at all."

3. "You sound American, and your friend sounds English."

Said by an Argentinian who Jess and I met at the hostel two weeks ago. 'nuff said.

4. "You sound Australian".

Belushi's, some random guy trying to chat me up, thinking this was the way to do it. He was wrong.

5. "You've been losing your accent quite a bit."

Walkabout, a fairly intoxicated elderly Fulham fan, after a conversation about Werder Bremen and why I hate Hamburg so much (football-wise).

6. "You know what's weird? Your accent. Talking to you on the internet, I didn't think you would have one, and now you sound quite German."

My good friend Andy during our 45 minute (almost tearful, on my part, after this comment) reunion last week. We met four years ago when we were both travelling, had a mildly crazy night in a hostel basement with a bunch of Aussie pissheads playing truth or dare, then went on our separate ways but kept talking on MSN a lot (relationship advice featured heavily in our late night conversations). We always meant to get together again, but somehow it never worked out - until it did last Tuesday. I was quite nervous (which I only realised at the last minute) so I had a mild case of verbal incontinence, but Andy was a perfect gentleman and didn't tell me to shut the fuck up. Cheers.

7. "You don't sound German at all."

Some English guy I met at a spontaneous knees-up in a friend's kitchen in Southwark. I normally don't cross the river unless I absolutely have to (I want to get the "I've been living here forever" thing going on as quickly as possible so I'm trying to fit into as many cliches as possible. This being the "arrogant North Londoner" stereotype. Am I doing well?) but my old school friend (actually I don't know if that's the correct term since we weren't exactly friends back then) Jan called me up and I had no plans so I said yes. Anyway, nicest compliment I've heard in a while.

Anyway, I have only one picture for you today. It's my friend Jess and me at Cherry Jam, a small and quite fancy (read: bloody expensive!) club in Bayswater we went to last night. We had originally planned on going to Tiger Tiger (we even were on the guest list) but just before we were about to leave, it started pissing down big time, so we decided to go somewhere a little closer. However, it sucked, so we left approximately an hour after we came (and paid eight quid at the door and another 17 for a bottle of white wine), got KFC and called it a night.