Thursday, April 30, 2009

Enjoy Labor Day demonstrations from the privacy of your own home.


Violent Labor Day demonstrations are an integral part of German festive culture. But whereas in previous years the opposing political groups were as easy to tell apart as soccer teams, left wing and right wing participants this season look more and more alike. Black sunglasses, black pants, black sweater, black balaclava seems to be the way to go. And since the police follows this style guide as well, it can be pretty hard to find the black block you politically identify with. I suggest you enjoy May Day from the privacy of your own home and build your personal one-man/one-woman black block. It might not be as much fun, but it sure is safer.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

My top five conspiracy theories about who is responsible for the outbreak of Swine Flu.


1. The North American Union (One nation under one epidemic)

2. Twitter (Give them something to tweet about!)

3. The face mask industry (any questions?)

4. South Korean scientists (no, wait - they were the ones with the fluorescent puppies, right?)

5. Pigs (Harrharrharr! Look who’s laughing now!)

Keep your eyes and ears open. Don't let them fool you!

Friday, April 24, 2009

What's wrong with the market? Mu!

When reading about the dynamics of „The Economic Crisis“, its impact and causes, I have the impression that most contributors to the debate miss a crucial point. There seems to be a great need for the identification of someone to blame, someone who is responsible for the collaps of the markets. Now, responsibility implies intention, and intention implies free will. From my experience as an advertising professional I know that free will is amazingly hard to find in big corporations. This doesn’t mean that executive managers don’t know what they’re doing. They know what they are doing, but they don’t know why. They don’t know because it doesn’t matter as long as they abide by the laws of their corporation – with corporations being subsystems in the bigger system that we call „the free market“ or even „capitalism“.
Humans acting within systems unfortunately tend to forget that these systems are man-made structures that serve no other purpose than their happiness. Instead of shaping these structures for their own best, people accept them as unalterable. Thus the system becomes autonomous. Suddenly it has its own rules and logic, its own symbols, meanings and mechanisms, it forgets about ist goals and becomes an end in itself. This makes it possible that people can be very successful within the system, i.e. the corporation, while at the same time their actions are extremely harmful to others. As soon as we forget that systems like the economy, the nation or religion are a mere framework for human relationships and not absolute, we lose ourselves again in the depths of self-incurred immaturity. Even fighting "the system" means believing in it and contributing to its continuing existence. But if we manage to see the current economic crisis as a chance to challenge our own beliefs of what is real and what is not, we can actually emerge stronger than ever. If we stop considering ourselves victims to the systems we constitute, these systems lose their power over us. If we realize that we have everything we need and that we actually own the world, we can finally stop trying to win it. Greed is for people who feel poor. Do executive managers have Buddha-nature or not? Mu!

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

New on my list of things I never knew existed: the cheese fetish.

O là là, look at Camembertine and how she melts lewdly on the wooden cutting board...

Ah, oui... C'est si bon... Fromagette obviously loves playing with her strawberries.

Don't get me wrong: I am a lover of cheese. But... on a more platonic level. I was pretty surprised today to learn that there actually is something like a cheese fetish. Would that still be a carnal desire? Anyway, I'm not judgemental. If people like to make love to an aged Gruyere that's perfectly okay. I just wonder about a couple of things: 
1. How do they date? Do they pick their sweethearts from the store down the street for a one night stand? 
2. Do they tell their partners? What do you say when your husband finds a Gorgonzola stain on the sheets?
3. Do they do sex tourism? Are the streets of Alkmaar filled with people who secretely lust for intimacies with the juicy yellow beauties?
Please, if you have answers, let me know. Maybe there is a market for cheese porn. And I really have to make some money now.

Friday, April 3, 2009

No girl is an island.

Lillian was an island girl. She loved the sea and its temper, its mood swings in spring, and how it changed color with the approaching storm. Every afternoon she walked down to her favorite spot on the dock and watched the sun set. Lillian was happy. Until one day she wasn't happy anymore. And since she was not only an island girl, but also the only girl on the island - and more precisely: the only person on this deserted, godforsaken piece of rock amidst the waves - she had the freedom to make a quick decision. She would leave. No discussion.

Lillian was a hands-on girl. The very next morning she built a boat from a coconut shell and a mangrove root and sailed out to sea. This afternoon she wouldn't watch the sunset from the dock. 

Lillian was venturous, but not always lucky. Before night fell, her boat started taking on water. Within an hour it was gone. Again Lillian was alone with the sea.

Lillian was drifting on the open ocean. For days and days and nights. For the first time in her life she felt absolutely helpless, completely at the mercy of the sea. For the first time in her life there was nothing she could do. She had to surrender. On the third day she started liking it. 

Lillian was washed up on a beach after two weeks. She was too weak to get up. All she could do was lift her head a little, so she could see the sun set over the ocean. She smiled and coughed up a gallon of salt water. Then she fell asleep for a night and a day.

Lillian woke up in the afternoon. Although she still felt dizzy, she realized that somebody was watching her. Lillian looked up. In one of the palm trees there sat a girl. 

Leilani was an island girl. She loved the sea and the wind and the pattern of the palmetto shadows on the sand. When she saw that the strange dead girl on the beach had opened her eyes, she slowly climbed down her tree. It couldn't hurt to sit with her for a while.