171* An Insider’s Joke

Yes, the following blog post may very well be one that’s more of a funky insider’s joke than anything else. More than that, it’s an insider’s joke that likely only relates to German and Austrian people. And going even deeper: mainly to people who, many years ago, loved watching crime shows on local TV – back in the early ’90s, when, at least around here, there was no internet yet, and television was indeed the only medium through which you could experience the latest thrills.

Anyway, back then I always found it a bit suspicious how much airtime was devoted to countless of German crime series. To put this into perspective for any American reader: Austria had two TV channels and Germany had three that lucky Austrians could receive over the air. And every Friday and Saturday evening it felt as if three quarters of those handful of channels were only showing crime shows. Quite phenomenal, really – that apparent public longing to catch at least one villain a week!

Even though I wasn’t (and still am not) a big fan of the crime genre myself, there was one German production that somehow did draw me in from time to time. The show was called “Ein Fall für Zwei” (“A Case for Two”) and revolved around the friendship and cooperation between a defense lawyer and a private detective. The latter fascinated me in particular because he wasn’t the typical good guy or hero – back then I might have learned, through him, was an antihero was. That guy was short and not muscular in appearence, never too proud to spend more time in a pub than planned, and, in what felt like every episode, he’d get involved in a brawl or two. Yet he was always a guy whose rough edges, reliability, attitude, and humor somehow stuck with me. A man who wouldn’t give up easily, who always knew exactly what was unjust, who would not shy away from taking unorthodox paths to outsmart and catch the villain. A man his partners could always count on and who was always addressed by only his surname: Matula.

So the other day, I was driving home from work and couldn’t help bursting out laughing while waiting at a traffic light –  because, of all things, there’s actually a local garden center here that bears the very same name. Realising that it instantly triggeed some old TV memories in my mind and a certain sense of longing too – that today’s world would really need some more guys like him, like Matula.

 

876G+5C Linz

169* If only…

At work there’s this one control cabinet. Sometimes I have to open it because I need to fix a technical error with the Dragon-Train. The left blue button has the most beautiful shade of Blue. It’s labeled “Entstörung” which means in English something like ”Fault Clearance”. The other one, the equally appealing, yellow button on the right is labeled “Szenario überspringen” which would read in English something like “Skip the present scenario”.

Whenever I see those two, I can’t help but smile. Sometimes it’s just that – a simple smile. But other times, it’s also a more worried or bitter one. How much I wish I had such working buttons for real, for my very own life…

 

87F4+MG Linz

167* There she blows!

Funny how the world sometimes grows a little closer in the best possible way – without anyone really expecting it. Please, dear American readers, allow me to put a smile on your face by telling you that in Austria almost nobody knows what a Philly Cheesesteak is! Whopper® and Big Mac® are both prime examples of how successful the integration of foreign and exotic Things can work even here, but a Philly Cheesesteak…well that’s another Story. An extremely, truly extremely rare sighting!

For me, this discovery is much more than just something tasty and rare to eat. It whispers memories to me. The first meeting with Sarah in Real Life®. Being brought to Mews Tavern by Sarah, sitting and dreaming on the pessenger seat of her car. Flipping through an unbelievably long American menu. Laughing as we chatted about the tradition of deep-frying just about everything. Enjoying the cheesesteak. The fear of spilling on my pullover. And (it may be that my memories are a little blurred on this point): that Sarah, back a longer while ago, also loved to enjoy just that special kind of culinary masterpiece.

Food is not just pleasure. For a sentimental soul, it is so much more.

872Q+8H Linz

165* What should I do?

I have a friend in Austria who always complains about rain. I love rain. In every form, type and smell. Whatever I say about its beauty, he doesn’t seem to hear me. Sometimes I think it’s just that he loves to complain about something. Love is complicated.

WRF2+M8 Gmunden

163* Fine

Since our blog has existed, I can’t recall that it took me that much time to write a blog post. Actually there are many reasons for this. Of course there’s the usual unexpected demands of everday life but the main reason is the lingering echo of my wonderfully colorful and surreal summer vacation this year. Which will be the focus of my blog post today.

I’ve been struggling for almost a week now to find a suitable title for my entry. Which word, sentence, term or even memory would reflect my state of mind best? What would mirror my experiences the most? What would most effectively revive old memories if I were to re-read this blog post again in a few years? Definitely something not easygoing.

After a while it was the word “fine” that clicked with me and it’s yet again quite fascinating how much time it took to emerge from my mind. I like the multilingual ambiguity and colorful nuances of this word. The benevolent “fine” from English and the “fine” from Italian (most familiar from the credits of old Italian films).

And yes. It’s indeed a benevolent end that is hear now. An end of a magnificent and so very unique summer vacation I shared with a guest and friend from Japan: my former host mother from Japan, with whom I stayed during my last two trips to Japan.

How often do we say, “If you’re ever in the area or on my continent, please let me know so we can at least meet up for a quick Hello!” And how often do those words remain just polite gestures, with no real follow-through? It’s rare that such words lead to an actual get-together.

But so it happened and soon plans and ideas began to spread and blossom and we came up with the idea to do both some tour through and around Austria and Germany and a few more days around the lake district over here around my hometown. A clasic Win-Win situation, so to say. My guest would explore many new and unknown places and I would finally see many places too, which I, as an Austrian, should have already seen long ago. Places like Castle Neuschwanstein, the capitol of Tyrol, the top of the highest mountain of Austria and so forth.

But there’s another side too. It’s not just about making plans. It’s also about…the foundation of everything. In the weeks before the visit I increasingly realized that I had actually no real idea at all about how to handle all of this. Sure, Austrian friends visiting for a few days – I know that well. We speak the same language, we share the same humour, we likely also use the very same products and facilities at home. But hosting guests from Japan? Speaking English continuously for several days? Preparing for all the countless everyday differences between our countries (which I actually and ironically love so much when I am in Japan) – I wasn’t prepared at all for any of that. No experience at all. Being a host isn’t easy. Something that became, more than ever, clearer to me in the days before my guest arrived.

Time passed quickly and so I found myself welcoming my guest in Salzburg at the end of July. A wonderfully surreal experience for my little heart again. The first thing I had to say was “Gosh, this feels so very different now that I see you standing you right in between the Alps!”. At the very same time I also thought: “Gosh, and this also fesls so very similar to when I first met Sarah in person in Rhode Island!” (which happend, by the way, almost two years ago – time passes so quickly!)

In hindsight, it amuses me to realize how quickly that initial surreal feeling transformed into something entirely normal. How my insecurity and nervousness were alleviated by mutual openness and appreciation. And how subtly all of this grew and unfolded without me consciously noticing at the time.

It was, in any case, a deeply moving and beautiful time. The worries and fears I had conjured up beforehand rarely materialized. Any problems and hurdles that did arise turned into cheerful, shared adventures, vivid memories and anecdotes. Shared laughter is something I miss dearly.

In the end, something else remains: the personal experience of being a host. Knowing what it’s like when someone doesn’t just stay for a few days but over a week. Sharing so much time together. Growing closer, valueing each other’s presence. Feeling the weight of responsibility. Realizing the importance of easygoing-ness and occasional downtime too. The joy of finally being able to give something back. How beautiful, yet exhausting, all of this is. The ambivalence after the departure – enjoying solitude but also feeling its lonely side. Saying goodbye. The feeling of absence when someone leaves. Since then, all of this has taken on a completely different quality for me. I can now, more than ever, imagine how Sarah might have felt as my host in the U.S. – again, nearly two unbelievably years ago.

That post’s picture of the still life from within my car captures it quite well: I felt sad and exhausted like the Gundam robot. Joyfully playful like the Pac-Man machine. Grateful, surprised, and reminiscent of the rainy days during that vacation like Totoro. And still excited and laughing like the little red dragon figure from Japan. A good, benevolent “end” so to say.

 

HP4Q+VMQ Schwangau, Germany

161* Soulfood

% Okay, so what about that?

Mise en place is of course a beautiful thing too! Being prepared, having an overview. That added sense of cooking-security that comes from a certain order. Or: more room for the unexpected, simply because everything else is already in place. Planning. Control. Everything seemingly unnecessary is gone – it doesn’t distract, it doesn’t get in the way.

But is that the only approach to cooking? Or the only ideal to strive for in the kitchen? A metaphor for life too, perhaps?

Coexistence is the magic word of the hour for me. Where can the enthusiastic cook find joy in the often so unavoidable mess? Reaching in, mixing it all together, conjuring up something even better. Just because it doesn’t look pretty at first glance, just because it doesn’t fit the usual standards, doesn’t mean it can’t be deeply satisfying in the end. Aesthetics is not a one-sided concept. Anything goes.

Kitchenlife reminds me so often about the real life. I often feel like the Man of La Mancha there too. Instead of windmills, I’m up against black-and-white, soul-dimming, imagination-stifling perspectives of how life (or kitchenwork) should be. The truth often hides in the mess. And the opposite of tolerance? That’s perfection. As paradoxical as it may sound.

WQ9X+XPH Gmunden

159* Everybody mise en place?

I can’t quite say yet what this is going to become. I mean, in terms of cooking, that part’s clear (everything on that photo was joyfully joined to a Greek Tzatziki), but metaphorically speaking  I’m still figuring that out.

All I know is that there’s something deeper about this image. Something about life itself. About the ingredients for a happy and fulfilling existence. Thoughts about cleanliness, order, clarity and other overused buzz-words. To be always prepped, efficiency, to be in control of all the variables – aesthetics of course too. All of that and more. But…it just doesn’t make any sense yet.

 

To be continued… (Sorry, Sarah that this turned into yet another cliffhanger now)

 

WQ9X+XPH Gmunden

157* Gift me with Vegetables and Affection

It’s a small stream of pure mountain water. It winds gently, freely, and effortlessly down the mountain and crosses the road here. One could easily step over it – it’s only half a stride wide. But if you listen closely, it’s an invitation to pause. Nature does not strive. It doesn’t need to. It simply happens. The water babbles along, dividing further within the limestone into smaller streams. White limestone. When lifted: light, angular, and yet smoothly soft. And wet. When stepped on, it crunches slightly – like when two generous pieces of chalk are gently rubbed together. It’s still early, no one is around. It’s just me alone. The sun is announcing itself. Sparkling. Good thing there’s also a glass at hand. One more sip of water. The hiking boots fit well and softly. “Resume” and the headphones back on: Mozart, Piano Concerto No. 27 in B-Flat Major, Op. 17, third movement, Allegro; Semantic Dissociation

 

3WF9+WR6 Fischlham

 

155* Balancing it out

Picture, if you will, a noble, grand, imaginary scale.

Two pans, one on each side.

One hangs low, nearly scraping the floor.

The other, completely off balance, is jutting high up into the air.

What could possibly be causing such an imbalance?

What is this symbolism intending to illustrate?

What even happened?

 

Well – strictly speaking – nothing. And that’s precisely the point. It’s the first little nod to our opening metaphor.

On the low-hanging pan rest many of “my Saturdays”—those days when I occasionally ponder which subject or theme to pluck from the overflowing buffet of possible inspirations.

And on the other pan? A weightless nothingness – the rather uncool byproduct of my unstructured nature and forgetfulness.

Something Sarah, ever so unintentionally, reminded me of just last Saturday – when she indirectly mentioned that it hadn’t been her turn for the blog… but that it was actually mine.

Arrrrghh.

At the very least, I did manage to take three low-resolution snapshots on my phone that day.

Mostly just to show Sarah – and maybe the tourism board of Rhode Island – how fondly I still wear the memories I brought back with me some time ago. But now those three pictures play a way more important role: to act as the foundation for a modest attempt to balance out two things at once:

First, that reoccurred, aforementioned forgetfulness.

And second to finally write some light-hearted blog post again – one that’s not dealing with any of my usual, more or less subtle life philosophies or thoughts about human purpose.

So it happened that I ultimately came up with the following, pretty nice idea:

Because that little snapshot happend right after I slipped into that merch-shirt after another day in and at the indoor pool and because swimming and diving still remains a blissfully simple source of joy in my life, I thought that it would be wonderfully silly and banal – and yet, somehow not at all – to share my very personal list of my most favourite and fun underwater diving moves with any curious readers! So, finally – here we go:

  • The Crazy-Eye™: diving down, holding the nose, rolling onto the back and staring up at the magical, shimmering surface from below
  • The Crayon Ponyfish™: diving all down to the bottom of the pool and brushing the chin slowly along the pool floor
  • The Hennessey Maneuver™: taking a deep breath, diving below the surface, exhaling strongly underwater all while doing a forward somersault
  • The Klaus Daimler Walk™: doing a handstand beneath the surface and walking a few meters on the hands
  • or: simply sinking below the surface, just enough that the head is fully submerged, closing the eyes, listening to the merciful silence that’s within that world and thinking how right Ned Plimpton was indeed when he told Steve Zissou that he still wished he could breathe underwater.

 

2M62+FG Vöcklabruck

153* Adjust Failure

Let me briefly explain what today’s picture and thoughts are all about. It’s about a pinball machine that’s already 35 years old – fragile, and deeply cherished by me. And it’s about me and the fact that I’m

a) someone who’s pretty competent at playing the machine, but also

b) someone whose knowledge of electronics and mechanics is very, very, VERY basic at best.

It’s about how I recently had to call in a technician because of a mysterious error that left the game unplayable for many years. And it’s about the incredible joy I feel now that, after such a long time, the machine is finally working again.

But above all, it’s about the fact that, even after the repair, I found myself more nervous than ever – worried that the next time I turned it on, it just… wouldn’t start again.

For far too long, I chose to push away that uncomfortable and abstract fear – reassuring myself that everything was and would remain fine.

That there was nothing to worry about, especially as long as I didn’t touch any of the many complex and sensitive electronic parts.

Well, that worked – until it didn’t.

At some point, hiding from that worry just wasn’t enough for me anymore.

So I called the pinball technician again to simply share my concerns with him and to ask if there was anything I could do to make the machine a little more robust, to increase the likelihood that it will remain a fun and functional pinball machine for at least a few more years.

Long story short: yes, there was indeed something I could do. Even for me, the technical greenharn that I am. Something that would make the circuits, connectors, transformers, transistors, and coils “a bit happier” and less prone to failure: to simply replace all the “power-hungry” traditional light bulbs with modern, power-saving LED bulbs.

A brilliant way to significantly reduce the system’s electrical load – a genuine life-extension measure, so to speak.

So I threw myself into the task. I replaced over 120 different lights: some with screw sockets, some plug-ins, some colored, some clear.

Some easy to reach, others ridiculously buried and bolted into place (which, I thought, was a pretty funny metaphor for life – about how some things are just so inaccessible and difficult to reach).

And now?

Now the machine shines in an entirely new light again. Crisp, punchy, and bright.

And what about the charm of the old incandescent bulbs? For the most part it’s gone. It’s part of history (As seen on the photo) But there are still a handful of lightbulbs in the machine that I simply couldn’t reach. A little side fact that I somehow like as well.

What matters most, is that the chances have gone significantly up that I’ll be able to keep this machine a little longer. And also that I no longer have to hide from  and duck away from that fear and uncertainty. That I instead took action. Something I should probably have done much earlier.

 

WQ9X+WP7 Gmunden