So this is Christmas? I demand a refund.

Don't. Don't try to start to raise my spirits. Because I am not, repeat, not, in any kind of mood for anything involving bioluminescent reindeers or coca-cola figureheads, because, frankly, I've had a really shitty December.
Starting:

December 1st.
Since beginning of November, I was working at the same job I already worked in July, but I managed to get my boss to sign me up as a part-time-employee. That meant instead of roughly 350 € per month for 40 hours a week I get roughly 550 € a month for 20 hours a week now. Which, in itself, r0xx0rz. But that one was November. In December, I discovered I only received 200 instead of 500 €. Which meant, get to my employer and tell him politely but firmly to hand over my cash. Did I mention that my employer is a multinational corporation and has more departments than you can shake a stick at? and that the personnel departments are always overworked? Great, huh? Not.

December 10th.
And in the first days of December, I had other things on my mind besides that. You remember that seminar from hell that failed because of utter incompetency, not necessarily my own? Yeah, this winter I'm taking it again. and the text part was due until December 10th. This time, we were only two, Petronius and me, so I thought, hey, this is way better this time. This is what I thought in September. And in October. By November and repeatedly kicking Petroniuses ass, I began doubting. Because, aside from a little Google searching on the subject, he consequently avoided to contribute. Which meant that by December 3rd, a date when I wanted to have the text part (about 30 pages) to be ready, and not to be half-assed, the 20-odd pages already written were 100 % from me alone.
And since Petronius wouldn't answer his phone, I had to resort to email-spamming to finally get his attention. Who answered me that
a) I don't have to be so rude
b) He had better things on his mind, like marrying and his pregnant wife
c) Work is a bitch currently
d) I thought you had already evicted me from our team, I just waited for you to say so
e) Hey, we still have a whole week to hand in that text

To which I responded:
a) I was polite in September, October, and November. I didn't get a response past "Yeah, I'll get on it" and "Oh, I already thought about that, but I haven't written anything down yet".
b) Why, thanks to withhold those minor life-changing information, fucknugget. Oh, and bonus for being bitchy because I'm less than totally überhappy at the divulgence of those news. And: Your girlfriend, now wife, is in the 6th fucking month. That's at least five months to get over it, celebrate, realize it might get a little stressed around winter, and TELL ME.
c) Well, guess what, I'm working too. And you know what? If you already know that each December you have workload up the wazoo, you could try and get us the work done before you're loaded.
d) THE FUCK? That's your excuse for not doing anything? And furthermore, you decide to hole up so I can't reach you, and expect me to reach the conclusion I'm now alone all by myself? Also, it's a TEAMWORK, Ass. I can't do it without you, so if you want to back out, tell me beforehand, goddammit.
e) In this week we still have to write 10 critical pages, and since you haven't even read the literature, I know I can't count on you to do something. Plus, if you'd answered my previous mails, you'd know I'm off at a two-day workshop with my department, and won't be able to do anything in that time.

So, In the end, we did manage to return a paper that's more or less half-assed, because instead of properly researched, we have a mixture of 85 % proper, but badly formulated (me), and 15 % general drivel that's not backed up by sources (him). Great. And the best part: He apologized to me for not participating so much, so the oral part of the seminar (we have to present it in mid-January, too) will be 80 per cent by him, so it evens out in the end, he said. Do you think he did anything without me kicking him, again, again, and AGAIN? No, of course not.

December 12th.
You dislike dentists? Me too. I am one of those lucky persons with a so-called dental phobia. Thankfully, my new dentist knows that (the old one just told me I was a big pussy, which is probably a reason I feared dentist in the first place. Plus, all fillings he gave me had to be replaced because he was incompetent), but still, dentist visits are a thing I fear. And I fear them even more when I go for a semi-annual routine checkup and he goes "oh, there's caries. oh, and another one here. Oh, and another almost reaching the nerve!". Oh, hooray!

December 15th.
I get home to my three little budgies. From left to right: Stevie, Micky and Nero. Micky and Nero are about five years old, Stevie (or, the Dwarf, as he's usually called) is at least fourteen, I got him from a friend of mine, who got him from a friend, and his real birthdate got lost somewhere inbetween. You already guess where this is going? Good.
The Dwarf always wasn't a good flyer compared to the other two, which usually led to hilarious moments of him hitting the nearest wall and/or my potted plants. On Friday night, I got at home, the birds merrily going on with their business (of eating my wallpaper, destroying my woodpaneling, shitting on my carpet, you know, the adorable little things you love them for), until I hear a *ploc*. Oh, so they tipped over one of my books in the shelf again, did they? No. The Dwarf had decided to move on from "flying" to "falling".
You think the gruesome story is over, and I'm left to pick a nice hole for burial? Noo. That came a whole day later, after the vet told me "he's that old? bah, nothing we can do", and after the poor little, innocent muffin died in my hand, obviously pained, and scared. The dying took so long I actually considered to put him out of his misery by myself. Would you be able to do something like that to your pet? I certainly couldn't.

December 17th.
Oh, crap. Christmas Shopping! I totally forgot about that!

December 21th.
Here, I have to be actually relieved. Relieved, although in January, I'm scheduled for an operation, which will take me out for two days. Why am I supposed to be happy about it? Because the urologist told me that the lump growing near my scrotum isn't cancer. No, I shit you not, yes, I am telling the truth. After several gruesome cancer deaths in the family, one does get suspicious with lumps, and does get thankful for being wrong in those suspicions. (FYI, it's a cyst, which means it's non-malignant, but it will cut off the blood supply to my precious reproductive organs soon if it isn't removed.)

December 23rd.
Usually, I'm at F's flat about once each weekend, gaming, watching telly, generally hanging out. This month, due to the stress at work and with uni, I had to call and tell him I can't come the first three weeks. Yesterday, I spared the time, partly because I wanted to give F the Christmas present for little Jay. What did I get in return: F's wife S bitching at me because I didn't giftwrap it (I gifted Jay with a little 15-pieces-puzzle, and chocolate. Why giftwrapping those?), and because I dared to gift Jay with chocolate, which hasn't been a problem for the whole past year, but is suddenly now an issue. And later, she bitched at me because "if you don't want to be here with us, just say so. But don't lie to us with shitty excuses, because that's really low." THE. FUCK. LADY?!?!? I'm sorry I wasn't here the past three weeks, but I don't lie to my best friend, thank you, and it's not like I'm contractually bound to drop by every other Sunday. At first, I tried to argue, but she really wouldn't listen, and I didn't want to pick a fight with the wife of my best friend in front of three little children. Plus, I was beginning to feel really tired and kinda woozy, which was the onset of a cold. By the time I got home, despite an aspirin from F, I had a splitting headache, and I'm still having it on...

December 24th.
Today morning, I gathered myself despite my headache and blocked nose, and finally readied myself for Christmas(in Germany, you already get the presents on the Holy Night, not on Christmas Day), thinking, it was a shitty month, but you should look past it, smile a little, and get into the spirit. So I began gift-wrapping, the two birds sitting in their cage in the living room. I returned from the gift-wrapping half an hour later, and stopped a little. Only one bird? Where's Micky? Oh, he's at the bottom...of the cage...and he's not breathing.
So, my funny Christmas activity after giftwrapping was to dig another hole in the backyard, while the earth was frozen rock-hard, and I had to be careful not to accidentally dig out the other bird I buried just eight days prior.
And you know what? I've had it now. Fuck you, Santa Claus, go elsewhere, our chimney is closed for the duration. Because "not dying of cancer (this year)" and "hey, you still got one budgie left" isn't exactly getting you an A on your customer satisfaction sheet.
And it's a little early for New Year's resolutions, but I already got some:

1) exercise more, eat less chocolate.
2) find better friends. The ones you have aren't cutting it.
3) the next pets you're getting are turtles. Those with the lifespan of 200 years. And if that doesn't help, try rocks.
4) find a cure for the common cold. Or at least, the headaches caused by them. Because, annoying.
6) broker world peace. Or begin nuclear warfare. Whichever's easier.
6) get a shrink, and make him weep.

Merry Fucking Christmas, kids.

Ye Rhandome Shyte

Ever had one of those mornings? You know, one of those where your alarm clock kinda awakes you, but not entirely? I hate those. Because a) I never seem to get awake the whole day afterwards, and b) they usually interrupt very vivid dreams. And I don't get the usual dreams everybody has, like standing naked in front of my classmates/friends/coworkers kind of stuff, nooo. I get the really surreal shit that makes poo-flinger Dali look like a respected member of society.

I mean, first off, I incorporate my alarm clock into my dreams. Okay, probably everyone does that. But as a ringing doorbell, or a telephone, and that would be way too mundane for the black hole that's my brain. No, I have our cat beep at me. Or my sister, which made me think for a moment that dreams are now FCC-regulated. Or did you ever had a dream where you stared with a raised eyebrow at your cappucino cup, because it emanated a mesmerizing "bip-beeep-beeep-beeep-beeep-beeep"?

Plus, dreams kind of reveal my sadistic streaks. In one dream, me and my family got off a plane, because we'd just relocated to Mars, when my father suddenly got hit by a man-sized meteor. And because I am such a nice boy and caring son, The only thing I manage to say is "That's bad. I mean, he pays our rent an'all." Then, two ex-classmates of mine show up, of the kind I never liked. I just think "Hey, it would be so awesome if those two were hit, too", and what do you know? Combo! Fatality! Teshik advances to Level "Lucid Dreaming"! And manages to hit his incompetent ex-boss with another one and a very satisfying "Splorch" before he wakes up. And lies in his bed at 3 a.m., giggling like a madman at the ridiculousness of it all.

In another one of'em, I met Li'l Toby. Li'l Toby was a very stereotypical orphan child, I have to add. And a stupid one to boot. Well, at least he wasn't trying to shine my shoes or sell me the newspapaper. And, true to the form of cheap fifties tv series, Li'l Toby soon fell down a well. No, really. No, really.
But I knew somehow that since the well ends in a pipe system of the toilets in our house and that one ends on the river(don't bother with the logistics, it's still a dream we're talking about. Just tell yourself the pipes were big enough for Li'l Toby.), so I walked calmly to said river, ready to get the brat out, when I realized, hey, it's fucking winter. The river's frozen. So I had to rescue Li'l Timmy or whatever, when there's a twenty centimeter ice layer between him and the oxygen he kinda needs. And neither the damn hairy dog nor that stupid dolphin were anywhere in sight. Or Knight Boat, for that matter (There's always a fjord...). So, I'm running on the surface, li'l Jamie floating just underneath me making urgent gestures, and I'm hacking away at the ice with my boomerang, as I get pulled out of it by my alarm clock, leaving the orphan drowning and me sitting on my bedside, feeling confused and kinda guilty. And yes, I do recognize the psychological implications on the losing the orphan part, but can anyone explain the boomerang to me? If it helps, it was bright neon green.

Today, I was dreaming that I was getting my diploma, like, fuck yeah. Then, I get to my first job, which was advertised as "Usual Office Stuff and ...". And because Dream Teshik is as stupid and naive as Real Teshik, I took the job, and the next thing I knew, I was locked into a room with some demotivated colleagues, one of them boredly remarking: "Oh. It's melting again." What's melting? Why, we're talking about the meltdown at the local nuclear power plant of course. Of. Course. And with my diploma in Computer Science and Business, I'm like, totally qualified for that one.
But, no problem, I get to that control board all maestro-like, ready to - I dunno, depolarize the uranium, or whatever? - when I notice my car keys are missing. Which I really need to drive that control panel. (Don't ask. I certainly don't). And now, the thing starts beeping, as in, Shit's Happening, Dude. Unfortunately I realize at that point the annoying beeping is my clock again, so I didn't get to find out if my colleagues did handle it without me. But considering said colleagues included 1) an ex-classmate of mine who failed his abitur, twice, 2) Astronaut Teacher Christa McAuliffe, and 3) Twop-co-inventress Sars, who has a degree, but I don't think in Nuclear Engineering - I am a leeeetle inclined to think the mission might not turned out that well.

So, if you're going to sleep today and all you can dream about is an utterly devastated nuclear wasteland and a horribly mutated Sadie the Fire Safety Tomato, just remember: it's all Mrs McAuliffe's fault.

Oh, and since we're on the topic of random shit: When you're googling for what Sigmund Freud might think of Salvatore Dali, you may end up at a site like this. So if you're ever wished for a Chibi doll of Mao Zedong, your dreams just came true, for only $ 5.99 . For what you could possibly use a Mao Zedong or a Frida Kahlo Chibi doll, you ask? I don't know, but I won't judge you. (Partly because I so want that Einstein one. He's so cute! But smart, too! And totally Chibi!!)

And you know what's the best part of the internet? You can even google "random shit" and get results: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vwm3yzPLAV4

So, enough insanity. For now. Heh.

Call me Kassandra.

Or Kassander? Kassandrus? Kassius? Hm. Nah.

Okay, the good news is: I am apparently gifted with the Second Sight. Because right after predicting an earthquake in South East Asia in my last post, Sumatra was shook up by an 8.4 magnitude quake just the day after. (Thankfully, no tsunami this time)
The bad news? Apparently, prediction number two came true only two fucking weeks afterwards.

Tuesday morning, 6.30 a.m., about ten minutes before I have to leave for work, my mom comes in. And she is looking at my with That Face. That awful face I saw quite too many times already. That face telling you to make a quick rundown on all your family members and close friends, remember their age, habits and eventual diseases, and start the lottery, and think the dreadful thought of hoping the winner is someone you dislike, because said winner? You won't have to deal with him/her again, ever, because he/she won the one-way ticket straight to Hell, do not pass Go, to not collect 200 bucks, no refunds.
So while I'm collecting the various members out of my grandfather's generation I still have after the death orgy of 98-01 in my head, I ask the awful question:

Teshik: Who?
Mom: Uncle [Wulfman].

First thought: Wait a minute. Dad's uncle [Wulfman] already died over ten years ago, didn't he? Plus, we weren't that close...
Second thought: ...and we don't have any other [Wulfman]'s in the family, except for my uncle, who was named after him...
Third thought: ...oh. CRAP.

My uncle, dad's brother, is - was - barely fifty. We only held sporadic contact for several years now, because of a major fallout between my mother and my uncle's wife, who I will call Walpurga, during yet another funeral. But weird as we all are, family is always family.

So Walpurga and my mom had their first phone call for several years Tuesday morning? No. My Mom read the obituaries in the newspapers, to learn her brother-in-law had been dead for SIX DAYS. And the funeral was to take place on Thursday.
And bear in mind that Wednesday, October 3rd is Reunification Day, so no work, and because of this short notice, it wasn't possible for me or Scorpio to get a day off so we could attend the funeral set at 1 p.m., and my sister only managed that because she had to work on Wednesday, the national holiday, (her shitty workplace is a post-worthy topic for another time).

The best part? My Dad, who's really close with his brother, was already at work that day, and we knew that a) he usually isn't reachable there by phone, and b) he reads the same paper, including the obituaries, during his break. Boy, was there a juicy surprise for him waiting.

So, after work, we scrambled to get a wreath, and notify the rest of the family, who wasn't informed either. One would've understood Walpurga doesn't want to deal with my Mom, since they positively hate each other, but apparently no one of our side of the family was informed, except for her children (who naturally assumed Walpurga would tell us. Or at least, someone.). Only Walpurga's family already knew. So it seems her plan was to have only her "good" family around, and our part of the tree, who she never held high regard for in the first place, would exhibit bad form by not even showing up to give her husband the last honor, cementing for all time what shitheads we actually are. Gods, I am so fucking mad at this woman I want to slap the stupid out of her with a baseball bat. And then throw piss into her fucking face.

So after we've already buried everyone in my grandfather's generation, and after burying Dad's sister in 2005, I guess it's now about time my father's generation thins out. Sometimes I think I should just stay in the black clothes, get some decent pale makeup, go goth and be done with it already.

Partly I wrote this post to rant about my asshole aunt. Partly because I wasn't at my uncle's funeral and didn't have the chance to properly say goodbye. So I'm doing this now, in the most public way possible.

Hi du. Tut mir leid, daß ich nicht bei deiner Beerdigung dabei sein konnte. Ich steh zwar auf dem Kranz für dich mit drauf, aber ich war noch nicht bei dir am Grab, das werd ich diese Woche noch nachholen, versprochen. Ich werde mir auch einen hübschen Stein für dich aussuchen. Vielleicht so einen rotblonden mit grauen Streifen drin, so wie dein Schnurrbart.
Ich hab dich ganz doll lieb. Und ich werd dich tierisch vermissen. Grüß Oma und Opa von mir, ja? Auf Wiedersehen.


Erde zu Erde.

Asche zu Asche.

Staub zu Staub.

The more things change

Six years ago.

Today.
7.31 a.m.

Teshik: Good morning, sunshine.
Satyria: Good? Your privileges to call me sunshine are hereby revoked.
T: On what grounds? ...Monkeybutter?
S: I hate you. On the grounds that I have to deal with a shitty Japanese today.
T: What the hell do you have to do with Japaneezers?
S: Only one of them. I'm reviewing the corporate review of Miss Takashima, and she's not going to like it. And she's already pissy at me because I didn't start my last mail to her with "thank you, and I love you, and I'm going to die of breast cancer."
T: Well, it was awfully inconsiderate for you not to kiss Miss Tamagotchi's feet. At least not verbally, I don't think she expects you to make the 12-hour-flight to do it for real... at least, not yet.
S: She's called Takashima. Don't do this to me.
T: Whaddaya mean?
S: I'm going to confuse the alias with the real name and make an ass of myself again. It was embarassing enough with...with...you know, Mr Zucchini. That Italian guy. I never remember his real name now.
T: Heh. Well, if it helps, I'm countering your review on a review with a presentation for a presentation. Apparently, according to our CTO, we volunteered to present our department at a meeting at the end of the month. We were kind of surprised, and mildly annoyed. And I have to be the creative guy who presents the team with "fresh" and "promising" perspectives tomorrow. Needless to say, I'm less than thrilled.
S: How does one volunteer without doing the volunteering part?
T: He's the CTO. We're not.
S: Ever get the feeling we're some escapees of a Dilbert cartoon?
T: Frequently, dear Alice, but Dogbert told me that's just a phase.


Later, around 2 o'clock. (We do actual work at work, too, you know. Amazing, but true. )
T: I swear, I'm going to kill a priest any time now.
S: Huh? What crawled up your ass?
T: Remember the church directly across the street of my office building?
S: Yeah?
T: The bell is ringing.
S: You know, church bells do that sometimes.
T: But not all the fucking time.
S: You know why they're ringing.
T: Don't say it. Don't even type it. It is The Day Who-must-not-me-named. And if they're going to commemorate the shit, they could at least use the real time scale. Or, start in the afternoon, when I'm about to leave, not at nine a.m., or three in the morning for New Yorkers. And not, I repeat, not simply start and stop the bell at random intervals. And you don't do it UNTIL FUCKING TWO IN THE AFTERNOON! It's driving me nuts.
S: What happens when I name the day who must not be named?
T: Don't. Or I swear, I break out the fucking Enya.
S: Bring it, weenie. *ahem* Nine-Eleven. World Trade Center.
T: *sings* Let mee sa- heeel, let mee sa- heeeel, let the orinoccoflo, let mee reee- heeech, let me beee- heeech... *bum* dääää, *bum* däääää, *bum* däääää duh... selaway, selaway, selawayyyy...
S: ACK!
T: Don't say I didn't warn you.
S: I wasn't expecting this particular piece of shit. I was prepared for : Whooooooooocaaaannnnsaaaayyyywheeeereeetheeeerooeeedgoessss... um-bah-dibpu-dibpu-dibpu. You know, the usual.
T: I know you too well for that.
S: I will remember it. A propos remembering: Dear Sir or Madam, did you know that today is International Plane Day? Share with us your heartwrenching story of you sitting in the kitchen filing away your toe warts. What were YOU doing when "it" happened, those thirty-two quadrillion years ago when the world was still flat and dinosaurs roamed the earth and gas was cheap and we were young and innocent?
T: Plane Day. Hee. - You know? Six Years ago? I was talking to you. In the same company we are right now, only in different departments.
S: ...
T: What? I did.
S: ...Yeah, but...wow. This is depressing.
T: That proves it. Time really does flow in circles.
S: Crap. I'm going to keep shitty hair for at least a year now.
T: But you? Don't have to break out the funeral wear.
S: Hmmm. Does that mean your dad has cancer again?
T: He didn't have, I told ya. But if it helps, he has COPD and refuses to quit smoking.
S: We're both here again, I'm having an awful haircut, your dad's sick...okay, spooky. and it's 14.36 now, sooo...impending doom, starting in ten minutes.
T: If a terrorist is stupid enough to hit my office building? Tell F he still owes me the twenty bucks, and such simple things as me dying doesn't absolve him. Oh yeah, and that I love everyone and shit.
S: And if the earth opens and swallows the hall I'm in? Tell everyone I strangled at least three of my coworkers and Miss Takashima before going down.
T: "Satyria was a dangerous psycho." Got it. So. T Minus three minutes.
S: I wonder what it will be. I'm guessing volcano. South America.
T: I'm betting Earthquake. South East Asia. Followed by tsunami, again, some more. And the best part? No one will care because actual news would disturb the Remembrance Holiday in New York.
S: Good one. So, impending doom in five...four...three...two...one...Bingo.
T:...
S:...
T: Either the shockwaves of the H-Bomb Dubya just dropped on us take longer than I thought, or no boom today. Maybe Boom tomorrow.
S: You sound disappointed.
T: No boom means "Teshik has to do the fucking presentation tomorrow and won't get out of office until half past four."
S: I see your point. Hey, but you know, we could already be dead. If the sun exploded at 14.46, we won't know until 14.52.
T: One can only hope.


So, what do you know? Even September 11ths can end on a happy note. Or at least, with a different attitude. Happy Plane Day, folks.

History lesson - The Schießbefehl fairy tale.

Are any of you 18 years old or younger at the moment? In that case,

1) I am now entitled to call you "young whippersnappers" and crap like this, because I'm nine years older than you and thus, out of your teenager perspective, practically ancient, and

2) I feel I have to educate you about an actual news story circulating in Germany at the moment, and the load of history behind it. Because I believe in the motto "one who doesn't know history is doomed to repeat it."

As we all know, Germans practically invented historical mistakes. Failed democratic revolution? Yeah, us. Beating the shit out of France? Still us. Starting a whole freaking world war (and even worse, having the audacity of losing that one)? Us, totally. Not getting the hint and attacking the whole world again? Yeah, we're the ones. (and that enumeration is only of the last 150 years, and leaves out the worst part.) We kinda have a very slow learning curve.

History can be fun, as long as you ain't the person caught in the middle.

(Note: I know it's quite long. Think of it as a educational fable that happens to be true.)

Once upon a time in the ancient past of 1962, there was a young bloke, called Peter Fechter, and his pal, Helmut Kulbeik. Peter and Helmut were bricklayers, or rather, bricklayer apprentices. What an exciting job for two 18-year-olds, don't ya think? Peter and Helmut must've thought otherwise.
They also had some other interesting thoughts. Such as, "I'm allowed to disagree with some people". Or "I wanna have the right to vote". Or "I want to go into a store and buy the food I want, not just the canned tuna that's here this week". Silly Peter and Helmut, don't you think? All those luxuries. And freedom of speech, such jokesters.
Because Peter and Helmut, like many people, had the misfortune of being born in a really assy part of the world. That part of the world was called "Deutsche Demokratische Republik" (German democratic republic). Sounds much nicer than "Bundesrepublic Deutschland"(federal republic of Germany), don't you think? Because it has "democratic" in its name.
Peter and Helmut didn't quite think so. In fact, many people thought the GDR was crap in a tin-can, and left. This, however, drew the attention of the Wise And Benevolent King Ulbricht. The Wise And Benevolent King Ulbricht was so democratic he continuously got voted with 99 %. Because, you see, Peter and Helmut were lying when they said they couldn't vote. They just had to vote for the party of the Wise And Benevolent King Ulbricht, because there wasn't any other.

And because the Wise And Benevolent King Ulbricht was so benevolent, he was very, very sad when all the young folk turned their backs on him and left the "sozialistisches deutsches Arbeiterparadies" (the socialistic german worker's paradise). "Why are they leaving? This is my worker's paradise! They even get cans of tuna!", the Wise And Benevolent King Ulbricht said.

But since he was very wise, he had an idea. The Wise And Benevolent King Ulbricht build a wall so that his stupid subjects, er, I mean democratic voters, wouldn't go into the very dangerous and hostile countries of the west. The Wise And Benevolent King Ulbricht didn't tell his voters of his project first, because he knew they often had strange ideas about stuff, just like Peter and Helmut. So he told them, "Niemand hat die Absicht, eine Mauer zu errichten." (no one has the intention of building a wall). But he did. On August 13th, 1961, he stopped all traffic within a city, and build a wall around half of the city, because only half of this city was his. The other half belonged to the enemy. The wall was called "antifaschistischer Schutzwall" (anti fascist protection wall), because he wanted to protect Peter and Helmut and all the others from having strange and stupid ideas ever again.

But Peter and Helmut did have a stupid idea. One year later, on August 17th, 1962, after they finished working, they wanted to climb over the wall and get into the part of the city that was dangerous and fascist and capitalistic.
Helmut got over the wall. Peter however, couldn't. It may have been one of the 30 bullets perforating him that kinda impeded his climbing ability. For the Wise And Benevolent King Ulbricht had told his soldiers to prevent his voters from having strange ideas at all costs.

But Peter wasn't dead yet. He lay just 1 metre off the enemy city, hunched against the wall, and called out for help. Now, the soldiers on both sides had a problem. The fascist American soldiers who patrolled the Border for their fascist German friends couldn't help Peter because he still was in the East part. Going there with soldiers? No, that means war, not with the Wise And Benevolent King Ulbricht, of course, but with the Even Wiser And More Benevolent Emperor Nikita Sergejewitsch Chruschtschow. So the American soldiers stood there and did nothing.

The Soldiers of the Workers Paradise couldn't do anything either, because a) the Wise And Benevolent King Ulbricht had forbidden them to go into the zone he had humourously named "Todesstreifen"(death stripe), so that his soldiers didn't get bad ideas themselves. And b) several soldiers of the Workers Paradise had been shot dead by the fascist Germans, so everyone was reluctant to go into the death stripe himself.

And so, Peter Fechter lay against the wall and bled. Not silently, but complaining loudly. At least, at first. The people of the Worker's Paradise weren't allowed near the wall, of course, but thousands of people of the Fascist Federal Republic were watching him. They wanted to help, but the Americans would shoot them if they crossed the border. Or the soldiers of the Wise And Benevolent King Ulbricht. Probably both.
So, Peter gave up his pleas for help after a while. The massive internal bleeding over the last hour may have contributed to his acceptance of fate. After he had lost consciousness, the soldiers of the Workers Paradise were brave enough to step into the death stripe, and pull Peter back into the GDR where he belonged. Nevertheless, Peter died in the hospital later. He wasn't the first, and certainly not the last person to have a stupid idea up until 1989.

---

Now y'all are probably wondering, "nice horror story, but what the fucking fuck this has to do with current events, Teshik?"

Well, the news story itself is waaaay less spectacular. It seems someone has found a dusty old document that proves GDR soldiers were ordered to shoot upon people should they try to escape via the German-German border. There is an uproar on this. Seemingly, people are starting to forget that the people ruling the GDR were lying sacks of shit, and start to believe them when they say "there has never been an order to shoot people".

People tend to forget. And, more important, people tend to forget the bad stuff first.
When people wax nostalgic about the GDR, you'll probably hear about that there wasn't any unemployment, and lower rates of crime, and all those nice marches of the socialist party, and nude culture, and better childcare, and women's rights, and their first car, a trabi.
But the GDR wasn't all sunshine and lollypops. Sometimes, politicians are lying liars who lie, but the facts stay what they are. The GDR spied on their own people, imprisoned them, and ordered their soldiers to shoot people trying to escape from all this. Men, women, and children died at the Mauer. Just because that happened twenty or more years ago, doesn't mean you can forget the bad stuff.

Forum Basics

"Hi dunno if this is the right place but i thought i just ask do you have a forum for fanfic please tell me i want to read some that would be awsume thanks"

"Hey where can I get the game discs for <this'n'that game> I, uh, lost my originals. Yeah, that's it."

"Hi im new hear cud u plz sent me sum picz of my faverite actor i lik him so varry much OMG tis si so cul!11!!!1!!! "

"omg d00d you're site t0tally suckz u r teh stupidest pers0n on this planet lol"

Recognize some of these? Quite probably, since these are, like, one third of all forum posts in the entire internet. And since I'm fed up with these repeat offenders spamming and creating unnecessary traffic, I'll try an education effort.

Note: No, I am not ranting about my dear friends at the Charmed Sons or TwoP, I do browse other forums, too, you know? I'm just ranting about idiots on the internet in general. Lord knows there's enough of'em.

Lesson 1 - The Golden Rule

Confuzius said it, Jesus said it, Muhammad said it, it's in the Torah and the Mahabharata, and quite frankly, it's the base of common sense in social interaction. If everyone would apply it, George W. Bush, Mahmud Ahmadinejad, and Kim Jong Il could proclaim World Peace in a press conference the very next day.

Treat the others like you want to be treated yourself.

Deep shit, dude. Also, it's not that hard to apply. And if you apply it, then Eeeebony aaaand Iiiiivory live together in peeerfect haaaaarmony....don't worry, I'll stop singing now.

Lesson 2 - The Basic Idea of Interpunction

sometimes sentences end that's just the way it is there's no reason to worry though because the internet doesn't have a I only take one sentence post function if you read up until this part you probably might have noticed that it's kinda hard to follow the text because it's not always perfectly obvious where one sentence ended and where the next one begins so if you'd just start using those commas and points on your keyboard I would really appreciate that thanks


Lssn 3 - Typg cmplt wrdz wl n/kill teh net. Or ur keyb.

Rly. T wn't. U no?

Lassen 4 - Now ur lengridge.

Did you know that "they're", "their" and "there" have completely different meanings in the English language? Astounding, isn't it. Even more astounding is the fact that two thirds of the people reaching the forums from the United States are apparently completely unaware of this phenomenon. I'd make a Dubya crack here, but: Nah.
The point is, no one expects you speak flawless English. I'm a non-native-speaker myself, and I'm still having trouble with those stupid prepositions sometimes. But you could at least try. If I could understand the difference between "your" and "you're" as a ten-year-old, I am confident you can do the same. I have faith.

LESSON 5 - COULD YOU PLEASE TURN DOWN YOUR STEREO?

TYPING LIKE THIS IS REALLY NOT APPRECIATED. WANNA KNOW WHY? IT IS THE NET EQUIVALENT OF SCREAMING. AND WE'RE NOT DEAF. AT LEAST, WE WEREN'T UNTIL YOU SHOWED UP.

Lesson 6 - Hey! Look! I can totally change the fonts 'n color 'n shit!

Hey! Look! I will totally ignore you now because not only did you make your post completely unreadable, you also exhibited the maturity of the average six-year-old! And everyone else will ignore you, as well!

Lesson 7 - Google is not out to kill your firstborn.

One of the most important lessons, ever. About 90 per cent of useless questions could be avoided if people just relied on search engines instead of annoying others. You don't like Google because it collects important data about you? Well, get used to the program, and since you're most likely from That Country With That Patriot Act, Google finding out what you wanted to buy on Ebay is really, really the least of your problems with freedom.
Or, even better, you use Altavista, Yahoo, the MS fucking N search engine or one of the bazillion others.

Lesson 8 - know thy surroundings.

Imagine it like this. Instead of the swinger's club you are aquainted with, you accidentally stumble into the nearest book club. Imagine the others surprised looks when you casually take off your pants and start rubbing your body against the nearest girl or guy. After that, things most certainly get awkward. And people tend to call the police.

See? So if you want to talk about your homoerotic fantasies, www.ihatefags.com is probably the wrong place. Likewise, no one wants to hear your faszinating theories regarding Warcraft strategy if you're posting it in a forum dedicated to the mating habits of the several species of Pelicanidae in South America.

Hint: You don't have to boast into every forum you possibly find, only the ones you're interested in.

Lesson 9 - Please do not feed the troll.

You're in a forum dedicated to, say, the incredibly interesting hobby of collecting paperclips. (Dear people of paperclips.com - Don't judge me.) Suddenly, some newbie uses his very first post to barge in on your discussion with the startling fact that paperclips collections cause your penis to shrink and everybody affiliated with that hobby is actually a child molester. In response, do you:

a) Rebutt that idiot by telling him his momma is a total whore, because she, like, slept with your neighbours poodle the other day
b) Try to reason with the confused individual, patiently explaining in excruciating detail the joys of your paperclip hobby, rallying your friends to defend the paperclipper's honour
c) Run instantly to the moderator, screaming bloody murder and insist the offender's account is to be vaporized immediately, annoying the crap out of the poor soul who moderates your board in his/her freetime for no compensation at all
d) Simply fail to rise to the bait, causing the Troll to starve, wither, and die, and we all live happily ever after.

Lesson 10 - No, I really have cancer this time. Really.

Generic Forum. The poster having the moniker "SeemsLikeANiceGirl" posts in a new thread: "I just returned from my doctor. He said I have cancer in the last stage. I have only six months to live."
Naturally, the thread soon is full of well-wishes, "oh-you-poor-girl" and the like. If you monitor it more closely however, the more senior forum members, and the admins, refrain from posting in that thread. Surely they just haven't seen it, or are too busy, you say. No one is so heartless as not to react to that.
If you follow up the next weeks, there are no further posts by SeemsLikeANiceGirl. Nothing relating how the symptoms progress, how she's coping, if she's even still alive, nothing. Absurdidly, forum life goes on, no one even seems to care. Why this? There's a poor soul suffering somewhere!
Fast forward a few months later. A forum poster called SeemsLikeANiceGirl posts: "I just had a call from my doctor. She says I have Leucemia and I have only one year to live."

What happened? Easy. That's a troll, too. They come in quite some variants: "My dog got run over by a car." - "I have the AIDS. (of course, by blood transfusion after a horrible accident)." - "My brother-in-law works on the set of VeryFamousTelevisionShow and I have been behind the scenes several times now. I know all the insider scoop." - "I live in the Center of a war zone and my life is constantly in danger." - "I am the neighbor of Angela Merkel and I know what underwear she wears. "(eww) - "I am dying of syphilis, and also, my daughter just got hit by a bus." - "I once saved three orphans from drowning, and nobody thanked me." - "I am in talks with producers of NotYetProducedTelevisionShow, and am confident we will be on FOX in the Fall season with the virtual season I am writing".

Yeah. Riiiiight. As with the more obvious variety of trolls: Starve them.


Lesson 11 - Just because Daddy pays your Internet provider, doesn't mean everything on the Internet is free.

Yeah, of course you did just lose your cd. And your codebook. And your manual. And while we're at it, your extremely legal collection of mp3's.
But either you suck it up and buy the damn game, or acquire the necessary H3xx0r sk1llz to steal it from some shady site. But don't annoy the posters who just want to chill out talking about their games.

N00b.

Lesson 12 - Häy A Grrrrl Letz cyber !!1!1!!!1

Look, I know. You're male, you're a geek, and your expertise of the female anatomy consists of that cartoon I saw the other day, where Sailor Mercury is flashing her boobs and seductively waving with a dildo, telling me I can <japanese symbol> her <japanese symbol> if I only pay 699 Yen per <japanese symbol>(Err. Hint: clicking on random links in a language you don't understand can be REALLY hazardous for your mental health sometimes. 'Nuff said.)
Where was I? Oh, yeah.
But comments like those in the title don't make it exactly easy for the non-nerd faction (of both genders) to consider you mature enough to warrant a continued conversation, instead of a well-deserved "Fuck off and die."

Lesson 13 - We're about as interested in your genital warts as everyone else is.

No, seriously. No, seriously. No, don't post pictures. Please. And remember that sometimes your internet friends can be as grossed out by you as your real-life friends are. Go find the appropriate forum if you want to talk about it. (And since I just found out that buttfuck dot com is a real internet address, I'm quite sure there's an appropriate forum for your more... special... needs, too.)

Lesson 14 - Now if only I could figure out how to click this link...

I find it amazing sometimes. There are people out there who, while not really figuring out how to operate their opposable thumbs, are somehow able to log into this newfangled "Interweb" and - you guessed it - annoy. Here's a particularly good example:

I have a little webspace at my uni where I have uploaded some uni scripts and cheat-cheets, just so people don't have to search as long to find them as I had to. One day, I receive an email with the following sentence in it:

"Well, I would have gotten some of your files, but there wasn't a download anywhere." -

The "download" was a link which you click, and the download starts. I assumed some of my links were broken, and asked him back which downloads he tried. None, because there are none, he replied. After some back-and-forth I realized: This guy didn't try to click my links because I didn't label them with "Download" or "Download now!", but the actual file name, and he thought if he clicked them he would simply leave the site. Please also bear in mind this guy is going the same university as I do. So, he's kind of part of the so-called intellectual elite of this country.

I can never guess if guys like him are simple stoned up the wazoo, are so plain stupid they probably receive their Darwin Awards in the very near future, or if they are just screwing with my mind and pushing my buttons.

Some day in the future, I'll figure it out. And then I'll probably weep for humanity.

Soooo...

...yes, against all rumors, I'm still alive. Barely.

Why you ask, didn't I post anything, not here, not on the Charmed Sons, and not on fanfiction? Hm. Okay, let's reformulate this: Why, you would ask, if you actually cared. Because contrary to the usual bunch of people who post in livejournal, blogger et al., I know my readership isn't measured in thousands. Or hundreds. Or dozens. I'm self-conscious enough to guess that other people do have lives, too.

And after this shocking revelation(and more or less shameless filler), let's additionally discover what held me from posting the past three months, which might even interest you less. Heh.

First of all, we left off with a hateful rant against my team-mates. Starting off now with another one against them would be appropriate, since their lazyness, their unreliability, and their sheer incompetence have managed to drive us full-speed against the nearest wall. In the end, I contributed over 75 per cent of the actual work into the thing. But since these seminar papers need contributions from four people (and that means actual work, not half-assed little paragraphs passed off as "zis is rilly rilly hart wok"), so guess. We failed. And because of this event not caused by my own incompetence(and no, I didn't have the chance to pick my teammates), I now have a semester extra on my back. That's half a fucking year, if yer intrested.
Needless to say, I was thisclose to murder all of them, and a few innocent bystanders just for the heck of it. Even worse, I was thisclose to getting myself a drink.
Thankfully, I have stacks and stacks of emergency chocolate rations stashed in our house just for days like this. Now all I have to worry about is getting diabetes and eating myself into a sugar coma.

So, utter stress, utter failure, and rampant disregards for healthy food are my excuses for May and June. What's my excuse for July then? Easy. I got a job.

-Or rather, an internship. And it's even a getting-paid one. Yay!

-Although, I have to work as much as my co-workers, which means a 35-hour-week (technically, 38.3 hours, since I have to add the mandatory lunch break each day). Boo!

-But at least I'm able to pay my phone bill and fuel for the next three months! Yay!

-Unfortunately, not much more, since I only get 409 € a month (568,51 $, but only because the Dollar isn't worth shit at the moment). And I'm not sure until the first payday this week, but I probably have to pay taxes on that tiny amount, too. Boo!

-But I have the chance to work at Volkswagen again(Yes, I am a Wolfsburg native), and even in an IT department which does stuff I totally wanna do when I'm all grown up and equipped with a diploma. Yay!

-The work I have to do there is to create a new Intranet web presence for the department. It's simple html coding, translating stuff because they need an extra english website, and creating some new content. It's...okay, I guess. Not great, but okay.

-There's now just the tiny part of me working for eight hours, and studying for another five each day, which means instant death to social life. Boo!

So, are you craving to hear Ronan Keating's "Life is a Rollercoaster" right now? Then my work here is done. Heh.


I currently have a three-quarter-done Retard Review, and three unfinished blog posts I had to abandon, since, well, 70-hour-weeks tend to put a damper on my creativity. I try to post at least a part of them by this weekend, but I promise nothing. But y'all feel free to kick my ass if I don't deliver. Yes, I mean all two of you. ;-)

There's no I in TEAM. Yeah. Riiiiiight.

Brace yourselves, people, this is a rant, and it's gonna be long.

I hate teamwork. As in, HAAATE it. Why? Because I'm an antisocial freak? No. Well, okay, partly. But the reason I hate it so much today in particular is directly correlated to my current teammates in my current uni seminar(one of them), and the fact that they, well, suck. Starring in this particular drama are : Petronius (the guy I usually hang out with in uni), Yours Truly, and two people who were put into our group afterwards, which I'll call Sakharov and Ginorma.

Our seminar is about a part of artificial intelligence, neural networks, that kinda stuff. Not exactly the most amusing reading, I assure you.

Two weeks ago.
Professor M: I want every team to explore the topic, and next time, I want to see which branches of that topic you want to explore further, and give me a rundown of those in a presentation, so I'll see you actually did something.
Team Teshik: Okely-dokely, neighbor!


Act I - The Dating Drama

Petronius: Let's meet Wednesday.
Ginorma: Can't, I have to work, and Thursday morning, too. Thursday afternoon?
Petronius: ...is when I'm working.
Sakharov: So Friday then.
Petronius and Teshik: Can't, we have a meeting for another seminar.
Teshik: Monday morning?
Sakharov: Mandatory lessons.
Petronius: And in the afternoon for us. Oy.

So we finally planned to meet on Tuesday, 11 o'clock. Monday morning, email from Ginorma. Could we please move this to either Tuesday afternoon or Wednesday?
I check this with the others. Sakharov has lessons, and Petronius has to work, so we could meet at Tuesday, 18.30, or Wednesday. 18.30 is an iffy idea, since Ginorma and have to take the train into Braunschweig, and after 8 pm, the voyage back home tends to become a rather err...interesting experience. As in, if I take the detour over Paris and Istanbul I will be home earlier, and will actually be home faster if I drive the 50-odd kilometers by BIKE, so ixnay on that one. Since Ginorma doesn't answer her phone, the three of us agree on Wednesday at eleven, and write her an email (which was in her inbox at about 6pm on Monday).
Tuesday, 11.45. I'm at home. My cell phone rings.

Female Voice: Where were you?
Teshik: Err...Who is this?
Ginorma: [Ginorma]?
Teshik: Oh. Sorry. Hi. What do you mean, where was I?
Ginorma: I was there at eleven, I told my boss I have to leave for an hour for this!
Teshik: But...we agreed to meet tomorrow. Because you said you couldn't make it?
Ginorma: What? Nobody told me about this!
Teshik: Yes, we did. We couldn't call you, so I wrote you an email yesterday.
Ginorma: (pregnant pause) No. I didn't get any email.
Teshik: (thinking to himself) Suuure. This pause wasn't suspicious or anything. (out loud) Well, too bad. We want to meet tomorrow, at 11. I'll re-send you the email.

To everyone out there who keeps using the old "You must've typed my address wrong, cuz I didn't get that mail" excuse: If you actually do that, you'll get a message from the Message Delivery Subsystem/Your Email-Client/YoMomma, refusing to relay to nonexistant addresses. So everyone else knows it's just a shitty way of saying "I totally didn't read your email and try to gloss it over with a blatant lie."

And for the love of Christ, do me a favor and do not study Computer Science and Business. It's just so, so embarassing.

Act II - I'll get back to you on that.

Meeting 1:
Petronius: Since nobody can (or rather, wants to) read the whole damn book in two days, I suggest each of us takes a part of the book, reads it, and makes a summary for the others.
Sakharov: All of us have to read the first two chapters, because that's basic stuff. We'll split at the chapters 3 to 6.
Teshik: Agreed.
Ginorma: But the chapters are differently long!
Teshik: Well, okay, I'll take chapter 3, it's one of the bigger ones.
Sakharov: Chapter 4 for me.
Petronius: I volunteer for Chapter 6, that leaves you with No. 5 then.
Ginorma: Okay.
Teshik: Next time, we'll discuss what to take into the presentation.

Meeting 2:
Teshik: Okay, here are my results (shows page with Chapter 3 contents).
Sakharov: I haven't written anything, but I will tell you the main points now.
Petronius: I try to blunder my way through this by lying I read it while only nattering about the chapter titles.
Ginorma: It's all consisting of Look-up-tables and stochastic problems. What I'm saying is, I read it, but totally didn't understand it, so I'll just dish out random key words, hoping you won't notice. If Petronius can do this, so can I.
Teshik: So, can we put down the topics we like to have covered now?
Petronius: I suggest each one of us makes a list of topics he wants to cover and we'll jumble it together at the next meeting.
Ginorma: I agree.

Meeting 3:
Sakharov and I show up, Ginorma and Petronius do not. Petronius phones me, he got held up at work. Ginorma has reportedly forgotten her stuff at home. Sigh.


Act III - Won't anybody think of the Stochastics here?

Since I began to notice the rampant non-productivity in our meetings, I proposed to meet in IRC instead the next day. Not that I expected actually more, but at least I wouldn't have to waste time on the way and back.

So, Meeting 4, IRC, on Thursday, 18.00.
18.00:
T: Hey folks, I'm here. Folks?

18.10:
T: Fooolks?

18.20:
T: Fooo-hooolks!

18.30:
P: Sorry I'm late. Where are the others?
T: You tell me.
We begin working.

19.15:
S: Hi I'm here, sorry for being so late, got held up at uni.
P: No prob, we'll fill you in.
S: Is Ginorma gone already?
T: Err. Something like that.

So in the following hours, we worked together on the presentation, finally, on a draft I made the day before. BTW, I just noticed, this blog post lets me sound like I'm some kind of Über-diligent nerd and dominant as hell. I'm not, I'm more of a meek, lazy doormat. I guess it's just a case of being in the Land of the Blind and stuff. Innyway. We almost have the major stuff done, some formatting issues, and we'd be good to go. Until...

21.10:
G: Hey guys. I just mailed you my suggestion for the presentation.

Please note the disturbing absence of any apology for being late, or simply not going online. But, I was grateful she at least has done something. Until I open said draft. said draft consists of babble of what stochastic problems are. Since I don't want to bore you to death with the topic, I'll try to make it brief: Think of a game with a random element, like throwing a dice, and you have a stochastic event in it. So stochastic problems means you have to solve a problem even though you don't know for sure what happens next, opposed to deterministic problems, where you know for sure doing this'n'that will result in that'n'this. Sounds simple, right? Actually, it is that simple. And furthermore, it's our task to describe methods solving these problems.

Ginorma apparently thought stating the problem, or rather, only one of the problems, in excruciating detail would be enough, and wanted to add 9 slices of this in our 20-slices presentation. We told her, first politely, then firmly that this kinda is too much, and would probably better off in the actual seminar report we have to write later.
Until I discovered later at closer inspection that all - ALL - of her slices were just a literal copy-and-paste of Googlisms found on that topic. Like, Professor M won't notice because he's not an expert on exact that topic, and totally not recognizes every single morsel of the work that has to be original. NOT! AUGH!

But the best part: After dumping this "work" directly into our laps, and after bitching that our work isn't complete (like, how can it be complete when our task is to present the topics we're about to cover in the next two months, like, way to understand your actual task, dim bitch), she then suddenly announces she has to work tomorrow and has to go to bed now. We say goodnight to her. And then, she goes offline, at least, out of Sakharov's and Petronius perspective. Out of my perspective however, she turns on her invisible mode on ICQ, because she doesn't notice I'm not on her Invisible list yet. And stays there, clueless, for the next one and a half hour. Remember, Computer Science and Business. God, this is just sad.

But oh well. We got the presentation together. Now there was just the abominable task of who should actually present it. If you know me, you also know I have a near Phobia-like fear of speaking in public, and the other three weren't exactly keen on volunteering, either. So since we couldn't reach consensus, we planned to settle this on the day of the presentation.

Act IV - I just remembered, I have a thinly disguised excuse...

D-Day. Okay, Mon-Day actually. We agreed to meet at 9 o'clock, the presentation is at ten.

9.00.
T: Well, I'm here. (looks around) Hm. Guess I have to wait a little. Again.

9.05.
T: This is annoying. (pause) Why do I keep doing this being-on-time shit, anyway?

9.10.
T: Oh. They. Wouldn't.

9.15.
T: Oh God. They totally will.

9.20.
T: I hate each and every person on this fucking planet.

9.22.
Teshik: Oh goddamn fucking finally.
Sakharov (comes rushing): Sorry I'm so late, I missed my tram...Huh? Where are the others?
Teshik: You tell me. And no, they're not answering their cells either.

9.24.
Ginorma and Petronius arrive. The latter is limping.
Ginorma: Hey. Have you decided who's going to present?

I barely resist the urge to launch into a bitch-tirade, because a) when you're almost half an hour late(and notably, not for the first time exactly), the least you could do is utter a little "Sorry I'm late", and b) side-stepping the issue of presenting by simply letting your teammates believe you're a no-show? Wow. I don't even know where to begin. Anyway. Petronius did marginally better:

Petronius: Sorry I'm so late. I couldn't drive today, I sprained my ankle yesterday while climbing around in the Harz. And since I can't stand without considerable pain, I can't present today.

Because Petronius and I know each other so well by now, we then engage in a three-second conversation which was conducted entirely nonverbal. A rough translation:

T: Oh, you did NOT just do that to me.
P: Like I did it on purpose.
T: So you just happened to clamber up and down the nearest mountain you could find yesterday, not to mention with inappropriate footwear?
P: Why yes. Yes I did. Problem with that?
T: This ain't over. You know that.
P: Psh. Whatever. Drama Queen.

And no, I have no idea how one conveys "inappropriate footwear" just by wiggling ones eyebrows. But somehow, I did.

Ginorma: Okay. I just made three new pages on the stochastic problem. Let's insert them into our presentation.

No, I'm not kidding with that one.

Act V - He KNOWS something. Get the pitchforks! BURN THE WITCH!!

After we downtalked Ginorma yet again on her favourite subject (partly because two of her three were in the presentation already, like, nice of you to at least read what we've done, bitch. Not.), we got stuck again on the presentation part.

Ginorma: I was thinking, that you could take on the approximation part alone.
Teshik: That's...two thirds of our presentation.
Ginorma: Yes, but it's the part you wrote yourself. And you can explain it the best.

Oh. Kaaaaay. Just so we're clear, I had to do two thirds of our presentation, as a punishment, because I was stupid enough to do almost everything myself in the first place. Gah. Gaaaah!

I didn't start a major bitch-out, partly because it was 9.52 and we were on in ten minutes, partly because I really need that credit for that seminar, and partly because I'm a stupid pushover sometimes.

So, Ginorma begins...and stumbles. We wait for her to collect herself. Prof M asks her something. She's at a loss. I intervene, because I'm not a complete asshole. Prof asks a second question. I tell him G will cover this on the next slides, but before I'm able to turn over to her, I get plastered by the next few questions. I get a little ticked because suddenly I'm the one getting grilled by him, which is even better if you count the fact I'm getting grilled in front of 50+ other students and am barely resisting to dissolve into a sobbing heap of fear and embarrassment anyway.
Somehow I am able to get him back to our slices, although I have to do the rest of it alone. And if I thought two-thirds is much, three-quarters is actually even more. Rrrrgh.

After the end of the presentation, my next memories are kinda blurry. Must be that adrenaline thing in extreme duress situations. But I do remember Ginorma good-naturely saying I totally lied about my public-speaking-fear, because I did so well, and me resisting the urge of punching a stupid woman into her face in front of witnesses.

And to think, this was only the first presentation. We still have to write the actual paper, and present that one. Rrrrgh. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the clock tower.

It's A Bird! It's A Plane! It's... Grandpa in drag? In outer space?

(click to enlarge)
Mom: It's... definitely a landscape of some sort.
Teshik: Brilliant deduction. Do you know from where?
Mom: Maybe...is that a lake or a wheat field?
Malady: Wheat field.
Teshik: Lake.
Malady: How many lakes do you know with little hills in the middle?
Teshik: That's no hill. That's... the curvature of the earth? I dunno. But it's a lake!
Mom: Why do you think she shot that picture?
Malady: It's because of that UFO in the sky.
Mom: The what?
Teshik: She means that blotch on the foto. Or... that one.
Mom: That's no blotch. That's the sun, hidden behind some clouds.
Teshik: No way. The sun has a major defining characteristic: It's bright.
Malady: She probably just wanted a photo of the nice summer meadow in the foreground.
Teshik: But why would you photograph a green summer meadow when you know you only have a black-and-white camera?
Malady: Beats the shit out of me.

---

I guess I need to explain that one. A few days ago, we decided to clean up our attic, which usually translates into "get rid of old useless crap so you can cram even more new useless crap into the same space instead of just throwing it away", because in essence, we're just a bunch of packrats. The fact that we live in a rather large house with much places to put and then forget stuff after a while doesn't really help either.
Said attic is (in addition to the crap we put into it), still full of my late Grandma's stuff we haven't managed to sort out yet, because a) we actually do have a life, and b) While Gramma did understand the concept of "throwing away stuff" in abstract theory, the practical application of said theory often left much to be desired. (Probably a long-term effect of having lived through WW II).
So every two, three months or so, we arm ourselves with garbage bags, steel ourselves all Metallica - Seek & Destroy, march to the attic, crawl into it, grab the first thing, ready to discard it without mercy, and then, inevitably, unstoppably, it happens.

-"Awwww, lookit, it's that thingamajig Gramma used to fibblewibble the whatsits. What a nice memory. Keep."

-"No! Not that! That was my favourite (insert clothing item or toy) when I was in (integer between 1 and 13)th grade!"

-"Nah, I want to wait a few years and then sell this magazine on eBay. People pay all sorts of money for stuff that's old enough." - "But it's missing the front page, and is full of chocolate stains!" - "Your point is?"

-"Oooh! Photos!"

Yeah, then the point is reached when one of us stumbles across one of those Li'l Photo-Boxes'o'Goodness. This particular box contains hundreds of photos ca. 7 by 5 cm(read: tiny), and spans from the thirties to the early fifties, and was probably untouched since we moved into this house, which was in 1984.
Don't worry, I won't bore you with the specifics of Gramma's last trip to Mallorca. (Although: There is a picture of a dinosaur among them for inexplicable reasons). But I do want you to show the more, um, interesting ones. Take, for example, this:


Mom: Hm. What do you make of this?
Teshik: Heh. "The Fat Wood Nymphs?"
Mom: Teshik! One of these could be Gramma!
Teshik: Not that we would be able to tell. Maybe Gramma just stalked some people.
Malady: Well, could be. It's definitely of the "Oh God, please, no photo" variety.
Mom: Gramma. Was. Not. A. Stalker.
Malady: Okay, okay. Relax, we're kidding.
Teshik: Besides, Grampa stalking half-naked women in the woods is much more believable, anyway.
Mom: Augh! (slaps Teshik on the back of his head)

---

Malady: Oh look. Little Red Riding Hood.
Teshik: But...why are all these people in the reclining chairs there watching her?
Malady: They're not looking at her. They're looking at that chair.
Teshik: Maybe they already know that Little Red Riding Hood's going to get eaten, and want to watch the spectacle.
Malady: You mean like those people who watch car accidents and get in the way of the medics?
Teshik: Well, they are bound to have ancestors.

---

Teshik: ...and then, they were all beamed into outer space.
Malady: What?
Teshik: Lookit.
Malady: Cool. Mom? Lookit.
Teshik: Aside from the obvious fact that we don't know who these two people are...how do you get special effects like this?
Mom: I have no idea.
Teshik: Mom? Tell us the truth. Are we quarter alien?
Mom: Oh brother.

---

Mom: Careful with that one. It's bound to rip apart any minute.
Malady: Why don't we just throw it away, then?
Mom: Because that's one of only four pictures of your grandpa as a boy.
Malady: Really? Where?
Mom: The only one of the Hitler Youth on the left who's actually smiling.
Malady: Grampa was in the Hitler Youth?
Mom: Well, it's not like they had much choice back then. Do you think Grampa fought in the War out of free will?
Teshik: Besides, do you want to be in the cool group that gets you free uniforms, field trips, and plane rides, or do you want to be in the other group, where they spit in your face and throw rocks at you?
Malady: Err...I want to be in the group that lives in the twenty-first century.
Teshik: Wise Choice.
(pause)
Teshik: Well, one thing we can take for sure: Everyone hated the fat chick on the far right.
Mom: Huh? Why?
Teshik: Well, 1) She's the only one who stands apart, and 2) even her mother hates her. No loving mother lets her daughter out into the open in that dress. She looks like Obelix.
Mom: You don't know how this dress really looked. Maybe it has a really nice color.
Teshik: Ten bucks say that the dress was either bright orange, or putrid green.
Malady: I'm with him.

---

Teshik: This ship has severe problems.
Mom: That's just the perspective.
Teshik: Well, if this ship's neither sinking, nor burning, nor getting pulled into the abyss at the end of the world, why was it photographed?
Mom: Dunno. Anything at the back of the photo?
Teshik: "Number 5". Is this a kind of code?
Malady: I got another ship here. This one has "Number 4" on its back.
Teshik: So, basically, Gramma and Grampa stood at some river, photographed at least five ships, and then numbered them?
Mom: Looks like it.
Teshik: I am so, so glad they invented Television.

Fun with Electricity. And Australians.

So, I heard about Australians plans of prohibiting light bulbs. I admit, the picture forming in my mind of twenty million people sitting in the dark and waiting for the attack of the man-eating kangaroos amuses me mightily. Ooh, maybe they hang candles on their hats instead of corks then to fight the darkness. Although even a light breeze should disabuse them of the notion, what with the hot wax in their eyes and the burn scars and all. (This stereotype-Ass-tical rambling has been sponsored by Inappropriate Inc. :"If you're not offended, our job isn't done.")

Okay, okay. So they only want to ban the non-energy-saving light bulbs in an effort to combat Global Warming. This new policy would be nice. And it would save a little energy, I guess. And since Mr Turnbull can't get his mates to finally ratifying that damn Kyoto thing, like every other industrialized nation has done(except for them steenky Americans, but harping on the Bush administration will have to wait until another blog post. Or, more likely, at least a dozen.), it's nice to see he's at least doing something.

But:
Have you ever wondered how many energy you save when you turn off the light in unused rooms? Well, on a sixty Watts bulb, you'll save 60 Watt. Duh. No, actually, I mean in regards of the total energy your household uses. Lookit these two pictures (click to enlarge) :

The left one assumes an average household, as in: Somewhere between Alaska and Mexico. The right one is applicaple if you're living in a part of the world where it snows in winter and there's rarely need for air conditioning in summer (like my little corner).

Even though the two diagrams I googled differ, we see a trend: the most energy goes out the window to prevent our toes and fingers from freezing off. And the second largest part is needed so we won't catch pneunomia in our morning shower. (And annoy our neighbors with the constant screaming.)

Notice the "lighting" part? It's rather small, in both pictures. So even if we reduce the energy used there to one fifth (and that's assuming all Australians are trashing all their still-functioning light bulbs, replacing them immediately, and won't buy any extra lamps or other appliances again, ever), you'll probably save 4 % of the energy used, if you're generous.
For reference: you'll save the same amount of energy in your household if you just don't put your stove right next to your refrigerator (6 per cent if you're stupid enough to put your stove right next to your freezer).
Or: You'll save another six per cent if you turn down your heating in winter, just by one degree Celsius.
Or: All Australians abandon their driers and hang their clothes in the eucalyptus trees to dry: 5% less.
Or: you don't pre-heat your oven when baking apple pie. Every non-pre-heated pie saves 20 % of your stoves energy used.
Or: Y'all shearers grab your machines, shave your koala and kangaroo population nekkid, and glue them around your houses for insulation(the furs, not the naked animals, you perverts.): a whopping 20 per cent less heating in winter, and around 10 per cent less air-conditioning in summer.

So, don't get me wrong, Mr. Turnbull. Saving 4 per cent energy is good, and I support that. But if this is your only strategy to combat Global Warming? Then consider yourself a good-ol'-fashioned idiot.

Hey, Baby. Wanna cure cancer with me?

I hate wasted resources. But I also hate turning my computer on and off when I'm only gone for, like half an hour. Solution? Easy. I donate my body to science. Or rather, my CPU. Same difference.

I'm talking about distributed computing. Basically, you install a little software client, which uses the idle times on your computer to calculate stuff. The stuff you're calculating isn't much, like "how would a protein look if it had these contents" or "is there anything unusual in this radio signal", and any pc which can run Windows can run these.
But the algorithms need time. And if you are a scientist who wants to know the looks of all the three gazillion proteins found yet, and it will take two hours on a fast pc to calculate the looks of one, even a very very fast pc won't cut it.

But one million average pc's make a difference. Here's where you come in. Yes, I want something from you. But since it's not money nor time wasted for you (except maybe for two minutes of setup), it's not like that big a deal. Hell, you don't even have to lift your lazy ass out of your chair for it.

Here's a list of many distributed computing projects currently active (you have to scroll down the page to see the list). You can choose any of those as you like it, just remember that installing more than one at a time is probably counter-productive.
Personally, I've chosen Folding@Home , because it's one of the largest projects, has already published interesting results, and its goal is to cure illnesses. Plus, it has a point system, so whenever you submit a work unit, you'll climb up the rank ladder. It doesn't mean anything of course, except you can feel mighty cancer-cure-y for a day or whatever.

I also set up a team number (53899) over there, which means we could combine our powers, and be just like those damn Benetton Kids summoning Captain Planet. Only cooler. So, whaddaya say, people?

Teshik Teaches: What the fuck is an "orcane" ?

The dictionary tells me the english word for the german word "Orkan" is called "Hurricane". But Hurricane roughly means "Tropical Storm, but more pissed" as far as the anglophones are concerned. And since I really don't consider Britain, Netherlands, Germany, Poland etc. part of the Tropics (yet), I'm gonna need another word.
I'd consider "Storm", but it sounds so itty-bitty. Tornado? Nah, we already had three of those in the last year (not that we ever had tornadoes in middle Europe that had any destructive ability beyond moving leaves around before. But I purposefully digress).
So I am deciding to simply anglicise Orkan into orcane, inventing a new word. Update your dictionaries boys and girls, I'll use it until it sticks. Or until I get distracted. So:

Orcane, the (m.):
-1. Storm in temperate areas of the planet that's quite pissed off. And likes to push around trees just for kicks.
-2. Fucking inconvenience for everyone who want to actually get somewhere with a car, the train, the bus, or just plain by foot.
-3. The producer of rain, hail, snow, and quite an amazing array of moving air molecules.
-4. Quite often, the bringer of car accidents, broken windows, and multiple blackouts. Like the three fucking blackouts we had yesterday. Thanks Kyrill. I didn't want to do anything with my precious files on my computer in those six hours, glad you asked.
-5. An incentive to do things you'd never even consider as "sane" under normal circumstances. Like playing Activity with your family in candle-light. I'm kinda glad the lights were out, because that means I only have to kill my parents, my sister and my cousin and that ...err, enlighted pantomiming of "blowdart" will never reach the light of the public.
(rereads last sentence)
Oh. Well, crap.