Alex's Thesaurus

Going Crazy

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 11:36:02 GMT

This is the soundtrack to my insanity:

Firefighter's Fest

Mon, 31 Aug 2009 23:40:35 GMT

Lots of times, especially when I'm bored, I like to make up people's stories. I always wonder how people get to their adult selves. I wonder about the question of inevitability or "choice." What little events could've completely changed their lives? I make up stories for them, usually tragic ones. I end up liking them, though, but get dissapointed when the real person doesn't match up with the story I've made for them.

It was the local volunteer firefighter's fest last weekend, and among the drunkenly singing firefighters and chatting locals there were a few sad characters. At the end of a long table in the back corner of the tent, the "oktoberfest" kind of tables with the benches, sat a woman with her husband. He sat slouched in his wheelchair, smoking one cigarette after another. His eyes were bloodshot as if he'd been crying or drinking or both. His striped sweater and sweat pants looked sloppy next to his wife, who sat on the bench beside him with a straight back, resting her elbow on the table and holding a cigarette in the air between her two fingers. Her blouse was covered by a smart jeans jacket in the same dark hughe as her pants. They both sat there in silence, letting their cigarettes smoke away, as stark contrasts to one-another and to their animated surroundings. She looked like a version of Renee Zellweger, but in her late 50s, her blonde hair teased up but pulled down into a French braid. Her bangs touched her eyebrows and emphasized the thick black lines drawn above her eyelashes. Maybe she wanted to be a dancer or a movie star. Maybe she was "that pretty girl" that the other girls hated but secretly were jealous of. Then she married too young, wasted her youth and her looks on the daredevil she fell in love with back then. Daredevil. The only daring thing he did anymore was apply for unemployment. But after the accident, he didn't really have a choice, did he?

Dancing around them to the music of a one-man electric keyboard setup was Ushi. She always wanted to be called Ushi, because Ursula didn't fit her persona. How can you dance freely under the weight of a name like that? It's also easier to chant that way when the next round of drinks is up. Of course at 65 she was too old for this sort of thing, buying rounds for a table of drunk firemen, plus one for herself, but who would stop her? She felt as young as she hoped the red blush and the collection of bows in her dyed hair made her feel. Of course the other people would stare, she wasn't oblivious to this. But after Frank's death all those years ago she didn't really care. She was done feeling sorry for herself, and sorry for the man who needed a woman to take his anger out on. Serves him right, she thought, as she raised her glass and joined in the chanting.

Guacamole

Fri, 28 Aug 2009 21:40:34 GMT

Sitting here, working and eating the guacamole I made last night for a friend's bbq. It made me think of my house in Sherwood Forest, and how much I hated eating in it. I mean, I really loved the house. It was mine, I liked the way it looked, I had lots of good times in it. But it always grossed me out a little. Mainly because:
- it was an older house, so who knows who'd already lived in it
- lots of parties (I remember picking off dried pieces of vomit off a light switch cover with my fingernails weeks after a party)
- the ant episode(s)
- the cockroach episode (tip: don't bring in furniture from other people's trash)
- the rotting sack of potatos / fly infestation episode (it took WEEKS to get the smell out; thank goodness for flystrips)
- the long-lasting flea episode
Alas, we got rid of them all. I even killed the cockroach that lived in my alarm clock for a week (not even kidding). Despite daydreaming about infestations and watching Ellen on YouTube too much, I was really productive today. It's like dominos: all I have to do is start and I can't stop. Okay, I wasn't that productive, but you know what I mean. I did wash the windows, repot some plants, and do some actual for-money work. That's pretty good for waking up at noon.

Finished: Simon Beckett's Written in Bone
Almost Finished: Sue Townsend's The Lost Diaries of Adrian Mole
Next: Recommendations?

Anxious

Sat, 15 Aug 2009 22:01:12 GMT

I feel so anxious, I might puke. The little anxious face doesn't even come close to my real face. I know (heard) it's cliche to run to lj the second you're in trouble, like when people only pray when someone gets sick or to win the lottery, but I don't have anyone to talk to. Literally everyone I could call is out of the country (friends), without a phone or Internet (sister), just left the country (Opa & Mala), on a cruise (mom), or with her boyfriend (Ani). The rest are asleep or won't answer.

I'm going to Spain tomorrow to look for apartments. Holy shit. I should be packing my bag, printing out maps, and searching for more apartments. Instead, I've been watching some "Retro Charts - Super Summer Hits Special" show for the past five hours. I always wanted to be a host on a music channel. I actually almost applied for the one here in Germany, because the requirements are that you speak English (check) and that you're not ugly (check with some elevated shoes, a hairpiece, and a dab of makeup). Then I remembered I get red and shaky and can't talk infront of more than five people, not to mention 20 million viewers, or whatever. Oh, well. Why did David Hasselhoff have a song called "Limbo Dance"?

I should probably just go to bed and pack tomorrow. Yeah, that sounds good. I'm reading Simon Beckett's second book, Written in Bone. So good, especially if you like mystery. The detailed crime scene analyses make me wish I'd done forensics. Speaking of which, I should probably tell UCF I'm not coming for grad school...

The Vickbert Show

Sat, 08 Aug 2009 00:09:17 GMT

We spent the entire evening sitting out by the little cabin next to the pond, surrounded by tall trees swaying in the wind and shrubs with late summer blooms. The sky was overcast, but light because of the full moon behind the black outlines of the trees. The leaves russled above us and from inside the cabin the radio played Love Shack. I was completely out of place with the three older couples at the table: my dad and his girlfriend H, Ani's parents who were hosting, and Ani's dad's brother and his wife. But I didn't mind. At first I was pretty mad when Ani told me she wouldn't be there, that she and her boyfriend had been invited over for dinner at his friends' house. Then in the end I was happy about it. With her there, we would've gone upstairs right after dinner. Instead, I sat there like a grownup, having a champagne before dinner, and espresso after, and inbetween two beers and a shot (I guess you'd call it a digistiv). I ate so much that the alcohol had no effect on me, but I think it contributed to making the conversation more entertaining and funny. Funny, in one word, describes Ani's uncle Vickbert. The name itself is a little warning of what is to come (a weird name even by German standards), as if the curly clown hair and the mustache, or the belly on two skinny legs weren't enough. I don't know how well I could deal with the non-sequiters and interruptions and comments on a day-to-day basis, but I sure hope I can tell stories that good when I'm old. You can't help but laugh with him when he starts his wheezing laughter while banging on the table or slapping his knee (which he later spilled a boiling up of espresso on).

Last weekend a friend of a friend came over to visit from Cologne, about three hours away by car. We didn't really know each other - I think we'd met twice before briefly - so it could've ended in disaster... well, a boring and silent disaster. Luckily, that wasn't the case. It wasn't a thrill-ride of a weekend or anything, and coming from a huge metropolitan area our little villages and "attractions" probably didn't blow his hair back. But all in all we had a good time. It sure is a lot of working a) having someone over, b) making conversation, c) being social for 48 hours straight, and d) coming out of your routine. Next week I'm going up there for three days, but I can't decide if it'll be more or less stressful.

Spain is coming up quicker than I need it to. (Need to update that stupid blog I started.) Me and my dad are going there for three days week after next to look at apartments. I hate to sound like one of those self-rightous christian kids I always see on facebook, who have to let everyone know how much they love that god loves them, but I really do feel lucky for all the possibilities I have. Maybe it was being told about the starving kids in Africa every time I didn't finish my plate or hearing about life in Sri Lanka first hand. Even tonight, my dad was saying how they used to comb the trash dumps close to our house when he was kid, before they were covered, for glass bottles they could sell back to the store. To think that that could've been my life if I'd been born only 20 years earlier. Still, sometimes I wonder if all these options are really what I need. I guess the trick is to make the right choice... and to know that everything comes at a price.

Waiting...

Fri, 31 Jul 2009 16:50:08 GMT

Ani left for the weekend to visit her boyfriend in the city. Meanwhile, I'm waiting for my "good friend" who I've met once to come. OH NO, HE'S HERE!!

Can't stop listening to "Jungle Drum" by Emiliana Torrini.

"I'm so tired of bein' lonely, so tired of all alone"

Tue, 28 Jul 2009 22:46:11 GMT

I was pretty productive today. I got up at 9:30, which for a day off is a small miracle, and put the bath mats in the washer. Meanwhile, I made an apple pie from scratch. I hung the mats out to dry and stripped all the beds and washed them. Between hanging up the bed stuff outside and painting the railing I started last week, I completely forgot to eat anything until almost 4. Weird. Later this afternoon I went to visit my friend Ani across the street. I tried to read my book as usual while she was writing a 15 page paper for some art history class, but it didn't feel busy enough. So, I volunteered to do the dishes (kind of a hassle since most people don't have dishwashers) which got me some plus points with Ani's mom. Now I'm sitting here, writing something no one will read anyway, mainly because I want something to do. There are things I should do, but they're boring.

I think I'm keeping this busy to avoid the guaranteed loneliness I experience everytime I visit. Yeah, my dad came by for a while, Opa's downstairs, and I went to Ani's house. Still, I spend hours alone which is the worst way for me to exist. I sit on my ugly little couch and over-analyze everything. I act out scenarios in my head, imagining what I would say, or maybe should've said. This is usally accompanied by laziness, like how I stopped reading about web design, translating those old German letters, and doing my workout DVDs. The workout thing bothers me most. It only takes a little bit of physical activity to make me feel hyper-productive and good about myself. At the same time, when I don't do it, I feel shitty.

This week I've felt like I did in middle school. In 9th grade, I sat alone at lunch. Every day. There was an empty table right in the middle of the cafeteria. A couple people I knew from class, including this girl Sam I really liked, asked me to sit with them. I just smiled and said "No, that's okay." I really wanted to, but the situation just seemed to stressful. The time I actually did sit with them I almost died of heart palpitations. I was back at my empty table the next day. Once, the guidance counselor even sat with me during lunch. Maybe she thought I would shoot up the school, or something. Like I would want to die as the center of attention. No, thanks. On the other end of the long table sat a black girl with more sideburn than I have now. She had a different neon-colored windbreaker sweatsuit for every day of the week. Even she made friends after a few weeks. I learned my lesson, and in high school the next year I skipped lunch and ate my granola bar in peace in the library.

Went on a Walk Today

Sun, 26 Jul 2009 22:19:43 GMT

Today was Sunday and usually my dad pics me up to eat lunch at his girlfriend H's house where he lives one village over. Today was a little different, though, because yesterday was my uncle J's 40th birthday party. "Round" birthdays that are divisible by ten are an excuse to invite your entire family, no exceptions, all the friends you've ever known, and party until at least 7AM. This one was a little more extreme, because it was J and a good friend of his celebrating together. I heard someone say they invited 120 people. I don't know if they all came, but it sure was packed. H and I was the earlybirds to leave at 2AM (when most of the 70+ crowd left), but my dad walked home sometime between 7 and 8, long after sunrise, to our house because it was closer. So, today I drove him because in his hungover state (which he denied) I thought it a good idea. (More specifics re: the birthday and such later.)

H made rouladen with red cabbage and potatoes for lunch, one of my favorite foods ever (although the link doesn't make it look too appetizing). After that we took a short drive a couple villages over to where you can park and walk on paths through the woods. I always thought H's story telling ability was fascinating. She could make an otherwise boring, but slightly unusual event into something worth gathering around for. But the more fantastic the events themselves, the better the story. Today she recounted stories that she recently heard from her older friend that occurred at the end of WWII. Her friend's job was to work in the fields, like a lot of people here in the country. However, because we're only miles away from the French border, we were usually in a war zone. So, as a young girl she would periodically through herself on the ground as bombs were dropped and the workers shot at. Once, she didn't know what else to do but dig her face into a molehill and wait for it to be over. When troops were killed, it was the women's (and probably mostly girl's) job to collect the thrown about body parts in baskets. On a brighter side, there were also funny stories to go along with the everyday trials. When the Americans came, they didn't know whether or not to trust them. The soldiers threw pieces of chewing gum from the patrolling tanks, but no one picked them up because they had no idea what it could be. That was also when H's friend saw her first black person. "Those big white eyes wouldn't stop rolling around inside his head!"

On our walk we went to see a chapel some rich businessman in the area built. It's called the Statio Dominus Mundi and is made entirely out of marble. I heard he put a lot of money into it, but I had no idea of what was inside. Among enormous paintings from the 12th through the 18th century and various religious artifacts from the same time periods was a bible from the 9th century that had belonged to Kaiser Karl der Kahle, or Emperor Carl the Bald. Despite being an extraordinary collection, especially for an unsuspecting chapel on the outskirts of a small village, it kind of seemed like a waste of money. Or, as H put it, "He could've fed half of Africa with the money he put into this, instead of playing the pious one." As it turns out (and because H knows everything about everyone in a ten mile radius of her birthplace) he has a couple of factories in Asia where he outsources labor to. Hmm... His wife was there patrolling the place that day, showing off some paintings to a couple of old nuns. According to H, they met through a personal ad in the local Catholic bulletin. Guess she got lucky.

Random Shit

Fri, 17 Jul 2009 00:04:54 GMT

I wish I could write something meaningful and creative, but I just finished my last final as and undergrad ever. So, to celebrate, I decided to share a completely random list of thoughts and quotes I've collected over the last week. I had somet good conversations and listened to some good stories the past few days, so I want to write them down before I forget... but I'll do that tomorrow.

***

Kant sounds like cunt.
Dolly sound like Dalí. So when I say I like Dolly (Parton), they think I'm smart.
I hate when people say "granit" instead of "granted." "People always take semantics for granit."
Also, it's "I would have gone" and not "I would of gone." That doesn't even make sense.

***

Sitting on the couch alone eating chocolate and watching a Nanny marathon. I may have hit menopause.
I'm starting to realize I sound the same whether I laugh or cry.
My shirts don't look the same here. In fact, they look stupid here.
Why do overly Christian people always have trendy hair styles, especially the guys with trendy facial hair (e.g. the soulpatch)?
I feel like the program I'm going into is full of party girls and gays. Should be fun.

***

Two random Office quotes that made me giggle:
Jan about Michael at a hearing: "Sometimes when he gets nervous, he talks like Borat."
Michael about Jan's pill addiction: "If you've seen a commercial for it on TV, then my baby's got it in her belly."

Dream, Part III

Fri, 10 Jul 2009 23:18:15 GMT

I'll skip part two for now, so here's part three:

// I was in a room with a warm wood paneling all around, wood floor, wood ceiling tiles, and no windows. In it, I helped an unkown old woman make her bed and dust off its enormous wooden frame that dominated the room. On the other side of the room was a wall of wooden built-in cabinets like the ones in Oklahoma with a few missing in the middle to make room for a vanity with a dull mirror, and little yellow light above, and a wooden chair on rollers. There were two others there, kids that spoke like adults, and I seemed to know them from somewhere. The more I dusted the wood and the bedframe, the clearer the woman became and turned into Meagan's grandmother. She spoke to me in a language I didn't recognize, but I understood. My next job was to feed her orangutan that slept on the recliner in the corner by the door that no one had opened. I didn't want to wake it, so I threw a little orange blanket over it. I was scared because you hear how fierce those creatures can be, but it just looked at me, showed me its teeth for a second, and rolled over and began snoring.

Dream, Part I

Fri, 10 Jul 2009 10:30:15 GMT

I had about the worst and weirdest dream in a long time. One of those that goes on forever, even after you wake up briefly because you forgot to close the blinds and the sunrise is blinding you. I don't usually remember dreams that well, so I'll recap it the best I can before it's gone. The boring thing about my dreams is that they're usually just a weirder version of real life or events. Here's part one:

// I was at some place that reminded me of the Mall of America. Some place larger than life that had everything. We were in a restaurant. I was getting ready to leave for a year, and kept telling everyone that, but no one would listen and cut me off half way through my sentences. With me were my mom, my step dad, and two of my step brothers (one silent, one mean). It was a dim restaurant with few people - no people, really - covered with wood paneling with matching wooden floors and furniture. It was dim because the windows pointed into the mall itself. I decided to go out. No one would notice, anyway. The deck walkway outside was high above the ground in a multi-story atrium lined with closed stores with grey skylights above us. In the middle was a wooden church, swung like the one you drive by in Tallahassee. I met some friends that were there in a group. I was talking and having fun. I told them "These god damn people won't listen to a word I say!" Suddenly, this woman emerged. I'd never seen her before, but I new she was my other step brother's new girlfriend (I wondered what happened to the one I just met in real life). Her brown hair was parted in the middle and flipped up from her earlobes nearly to the crown of her head. She wore jeans too tight for her thighs and began to berate me for interrupting the tour and for using the lord's name in vain. It turned out my friends were there to see the church and were now angry with me. She turned to the church, and as if her voice was magically altered, she yelled superhumanly loud to the church "Forgive him for he has sinned!" The music inside the church stopped and at the windows heads began to appear. As I stood there, she ranted about god, and patriotism, and why my beliefs are wrong. In front of everyone, she persecuted me. When I couldn't take it anymore, I ran away and hid in the restaurant at our table. Trying to tell my family that an angry mob of American christians was soon to follow us was impossible, because "Shhh! Bill's telling a racquet ball story!"

Money Matters

Thu, 09 Jul 2009 09:09:31 GMT

Just woke up and hear Mala yelling Singhalese into the phone downstairs. Sometimes I think she uses the phone secretly while Opa's out shopping to call her daughter. I can relate, because as long as I can remember he charged me to use his phone. That, or I would give him 10 pfennige so I could feel like a grownup. Obviously calling your American mom costs more than 10 pfennige. I wanted to be in his little black book of debt like the grownups. One time he wrote me in it, but I think just to be nice so I could dramatically go "Oh no! Well, you won't get it back for while!" When I moved away he starting giving me $20 each time I left after visiting. He gets all crispy one dollar bills from the bank just for me.

Back in Germany

Wed, 08 Jul 2009 21:19:26 GMT

So, I'm back in Germany this Summer before I head to Spain in September. It's kind of weird being here alone, especially since I brought people with me the last few times. When I do things by myself, I sometimes feel like they're not real. Like the time I almost got hit by a car when it swerved into my lane and I barely dodged it by going into the grass. That's probably the closest I've ever come to death (that I know of), but nobody was there so maybe it doesn't count. That - and the fact that I'm alone most of the time - made me want to write things down and finally use the lj M set up for me a long time ago. Maybe it'll make everything a little bit more real.

Starting with the sit-com-memoir-weirdness that is my life, I went downstairs this morning on my way to hang out at my "cousin" Anika's house in the village of Uchtelfangen, in Germany's smallest state and about 45 minutes from France and Luxembourg. Anyway, downstairs lives my Opa (Grandpa) and his Sri Lankan wife, Mala. Maybe I'll go into more detail about that later, but today they were happy to see me. She (50) is usually pretty bored since all Opa (81) really does is get up, eat, read, nap, eat, watch tv, eat, go to sleep with the occasional motor scooter trip to the store (he's never had a drivers license). She likes to talk with me, which has become a lot easier in the past two years since her German got astoundingly better. She still mixes in some of the English (help + helfen = helpen) she learned in school in Sri Lanka (she speaks Singhalese - or Sinhala - at home) and searches for some words, but she's fluent in German as far as I'm concerned. And they say yelling it louder won't make foreigners understand you, a technique Opa uses with her and definitely used with us as kids. She told me about her daughter (16) and her son (late 20s). Their father is dead. I never asked why, but I imagine it's related to the endless civil war over there. She passed eight of her ten exams with As. Her mom wants her to retake the two she failed (math) so she can go to university, but she wants to join a nursing program. If she works hard on her English, Mala said, she'll be able to work in the UK or America, which is her goal. Her son (whose name I don't know) just got married to a woman who works in Sri Lanka and India. He just got out of the army and is a cab driver in Columbo. Last year she told me a story of how one of the buses in his convoy was bombed and he should've been in it but luckily wasn't. Stories about other people's lives always amaze me and keep me from complaining about mine (even if just for a second, but I'm working on it). At any rate, like I said, if you can say what I just wrote in a foreign language, you're fluent. Period.

Hanging out with Anika was a little boring today. I went with her to her school (Universität des Saarlandes) and read my web design magazine while she studied, but it was still nice to get out of the house. At home she had to keep working on her presentation about children on Greek vases (yawn... in theory art history sounds so interesting). Nevertheless, the lentil soup and potato pancakes (Grumbeerkischelscha, as they're called in our lovely dialekt) for dinner became the highlight of my day. (Yesterday's delicious dinner was kebab, which is like a Turkish gyro.) Lentil soup is probably my favorite food ever. Oma (Grandma) used to make them every time I came to Germany. I wonder if they secretly feel bad for me, because they make them every time soon after I get there, or if they just like them as much as I do (probably the latter).

I made the mistake of having coffee too late in the day, which I normally don't drink anyway. I thought I should have some after falling asleep on the car ride to school and again in the library due to jetlag. Maybe I'll pop a melatonin (I'm such a druggie... not) and watch some more Office in bed. It's so strange being here alone... all quiet. This could either be a blessing and make me super-productive and creative, or take a turn for the worst. Stay tuned.

Good grief this is a long post. I don't even feel like reading it again (to check for errors).

In other news, while I was gone the cable company decided to completely rearrange all their channels. This hasn't stopped me from finding Mein neues Zuhause (My New Home), the German version of House Hunters.