Killing fruit flies ist Krieg.

Once again it happened. I'm busy and spend very little time at home, and even less in the kitchen. So I forgot that I had left a plate with tomato sauce in the sink. And perhaps there was an apple core in the trash can. Anyway, there is a massive population of fruit flies in my kitchen now.

This sort of thing happens. It sucks when it happens, but it's not the end of the world. It's happened to me three times since I live in my flat, and it never lasted longer than a week. That's because I am a merciless butcher when it comes to fruit flies. Seriously, my kitchen is a death camp for fruit flies, no matter how tasteless that sounds: It's true. I have no remorse on them.

There are of course simple and effective ways of dealing with them. The classic is having a bowl of water and vinegar along with some washing-up liquid, two or three drops, no more. To the flies, it's a weapon that would put Saddam to shame.

Nevertheless, it takes a while, and you have to renew it every two days, with the effect that my kitchen smells like vinegar. I hate the smell of vinegar, and I can't open my window at the moment. So I wanted to try something new out, something that does not smell as bad and perhaps gets even more at one go. Last time I had created a true WMD, but I had to clean the stove extensively afterward, and I don't feel like doing that again.

So I checked the internet, the wise and all-knowing encyclopaedia that gives us such great information all the time and never lets us down on some tips. For convenience, I looked it up in German. You know, German, the language spoken by Germans. The Germans, who started two world wars and did the Holocaust.

I stumbled on a page which had the same I tip I described above. I checked the comments at the bottom of the page, and one bloke wrote that he does not like that tip because it kills the fruit flies.

I had to re-read that again, and he actually wrote it. He had compassion with the flies.

The flies wouldn't even live without him. They don't need to live because your kitchen is not (supposed to be) an ecosystem. In fact, they are not even good for you. They can actually harm you. It is in your own interest to get rid of these damn beasts as soon as possible.

I wanted to write more, but my day at work is over. Anyway, what I mean to say is, some people go too far with this "I'm a good person" thing.

Thursday Night. A tragedy in three acts.

So this is what happened last night.

Dramatis Personae
P: Me
PM1: A mate of P's (female)
PM2: Another mate of P's (male)
BT: Bar tender

Act 1, Scene 1
P is on his way home from work. The phone rings. P answers.

P: 'ello?
PM1: Hey, we're in the park enjoying the evening. Wanna join?
P: Yeah, I just gotta get home first to get rid of my stuff. I'll meet you in an hour.
PM1: Sure thing!

Act 1, Scene 2
P returns home, gets rid of his stuff and goes to the park. Here, he meets PM1 and PM2. PM1 is drunk, PM2 is tipsy.

PM1: Great you could make it, P! Want a prune?
P: Uh, sure.
PM2: We thought about heading to that pub now that it's getting dark.
P: OK, I just can't stay very long because I've got to go to work tomorrow.
PM2: No prob, we all have to get up early.
P: Alright then!
PM1: I'm so happy you could make it, P! Want a prune?
P: No thanks, I just had one.

Act 2
Two train stations later, PM1 and PM2 need to get some cash from the bank. PM2 heads for the cash machine, gets the cash and returns. PM1 heads for the cash machine and does not return. Meanwhile, a rugged Turkish man passes by with five children following him.

PM2: So many hungry mouths!

They start singing In the Ghetto by Elvis. Finally, PM1 returns and they go out.

PM1: Hey P, can you lend me five Euros? The machine ate my bank card, I have no idea why. Could be because I didn't remember my PIN though.
P: Sure thing.
PM1: Thanks! It's so great you could make it! (Hugs P)

Act 3, Scene 1
They enter the pub and sit down. After a while of consideration, PM1 and PM2 order a beer, P has a Scotch.

PM1: I'm so happy you could make it. (Kisses P)
P: Yeah, so am I.

They listen a while to the music playing, Death Magnetic.

PM2: Crap album.
P: Well, it's not that bad, only the songs are all twice as long as they should be.
PM1: And the production sucks!

They proceed to head bang nevertheless.

P: It gets pretty boring after a while though.
PM1: Yeah! They should put on something different. (Reading from P's t-shirt) Like Iced Earth! Or Exodus. I'm gonna ask if they have Exodus here.

She heads for the bar and returns. A few minutes later, BT comes to the table and talks to PM1.

BT: We don't have Exodus here unfortunately.
PM1: I want Exodus!
BT: Look, we don't have Exodus on the computer. You just come back to the bar when you think of something else, right? (Off)
PM1: I want Exodus!
PM2: They don't have Exodus.
PM1: What did BT want here anyway?
P: She told you they don't have Exodus and you should come up with something else she can play?
PM1: Huh?
PM2: They don't have Exodus.
PM1: I want Exodus!

PM1 gets up, heads for the bar and talks to BT for about five minutes. Then she returns.

PM1: Stupid bitch!
P: What's the matter?
PM1: I wanted Exodus, but they don't have Exodus. So I asked them for Pantera, which they didn't have either. And she didn't want to play Maiden. So I asked them for Slayer, and she said she's gonna put them on. Stupid bitch!!!
P: But Slayer isn't half bad...

Cue: Slayer, Reign in Blood (Album) P, PM1 and PM2 start to head bang.

PM2: Angel of Death is one of those songs where you should turn your brain off when you sing along to the lyrics.
PM1: It's so great you could make it! (Hugs P)
P: Yeah, Piece by Piece is a great cuddling song. Odd I never noticed that before.

This goes on for a while until the album is near-over.

PM1: I gotta go home. I'm drunk. I'm so sorry I'm drunk.

They go.

Act 3, Scene 2
They head for the train station.

PM1: I'm drunk, I'm so sorry. It's so great you could make it, P! I'm so drunk. I'm so sorry about that. What's that, is that supposed to be a door? Oh, I'm so drunk. And I even lost my bank card. I'm so sorry. But it's so great you could make it, P!
P: Yeah, it's great that I could. Now you don't worry about being drunk and just take care of yourself, right? See you on Saturday.
PM1: Yeah, see you on Saturday, my sweetie.

(All off)

Epilogue
The next day at work, P gets a phone call from PM1.

P: 'ello?
PM1: Hey P, what bank were we at again yesterday?

Information irritation

Is it just me or do people just like to discuss without reason? And could it be that information is not a blessing, but a curse?

The other day, I was at a Leonard Cohen concert. In case you are unfamiliar with him, he is an old singer/songwriter who is in his seventies now and makes pretty calm but good music. It's not the kind of gig where you rush to the front and go crazy, but where you sit back and listen to the music. I don't think there would ever be a moshpit to "Who by Fire" (although I have seen weirder things happen).
Anyway, it was seating only, and each seat was numbered. The ticket gave information about what block your seat is in (in case you were seated in the stands), and the numbers of your seat and the row it was in. If you have ever been to a stadium, you know it. Big signs displaying the number of each block, little numbers at the end of each row and a small number on the back of your seat. And just to make sure, there are people at the gates -each gate leads to two adjacent blocks- telling you which side your block is on. It is literally idiot-proof.
So I had a seat in the stands, and I found it immediately with no problem. Get in on the right side, have a short glance which way the row numbers go and there you are. No problem. And yet, some people are even too stupid for that. So when the gig started, there were two people standing next to the row in front of me, staring at the row number, at the seats (which were taken), and at their tickets. They literally stood there for minutes looking around not knowing what to do. Only after they were nearly panicking, they asked the people who were sitting in what they thought were their seats about it, and they had no clue either. After another few minutes had passed, a security person came to them, and explained that they were simply in the wrong block, and they just needed to go to the neighbouring one. They still did not seem to understand the concept, but went as the security led them. Case solved? Of course not, because now the people in the seats were irritated and started discussing for no apparent reason. First two songs spoiled because people just couldn't think to save their lives.

Today, there was a problem with the metro. My town has two metro railways, an underground one and an overhead one. The underground is called "U-Bahn", the overhead one "S-Bahn". They are administered separately, but use the same fees and so on. But they look completely different, and it is pretty hard to mix them up, because one is underground and one is overhead. It's really not difficult.
The "S-Bahn" is currently in a crisis and pulled a great number of their trains out of traffic to repair them. It's annoying, the schedule is f'cked up, but it's not too hard to deal with it. For commuter convenience, the "U-Bahn" stations have notifications everywhere saying that the "S-Bahn" is currently not operating properly. It's a good service, not strictly necessary, but still not bad to have.
This morning, in addition to the "S-Bahn", there was also a delay in the "U-Bahn" for unknown reasons. The electronic signs in the "U-Bahn" station notified commuters about that, in addition to the information about the "S-Bahn" delays. I.e. two delay notifications on one sign that don't have to do with each other, especially because it specifically said which was which. It was top-notch information, nothing more to ask for. And yet I overheard two women discussing about what it meant, how these two bits of information go together, and if they accidentally went into the "S-Bahn" station. They did not even think about considering that they were two separate pieces of information that just happened to be displayed at the same time.

There should be less information published, so some people's blatant stupidity is not exposed.

Damn Commies.

Okay, so this does it.

The other day, I sat in a boring lecture trying not to fall asleep, when the professor said something like "blablabla, and therefore there are not only negroes in Ethiopia, blablabla".

I admit that I listened up for that instance, and that I would not have used that word. However, it was obvious that from the start, this prof, a semitologist mind you, did not use this word with discriminatory intent, but simply because he grew up with it and his mind slipped for a moment. I remember that some of my teachers, red to the bone, used that word too, without discriminatory intent or effect (since there were no blacks either in my school class, nor in this lecture).

BUT, one student, a white girl, interrupted the professor, saying: "Did you just say negro?"

The prof was perplexed and didn't even remember doing so. The girl stormed out, not before rudely asking another student to give her the attendance sheet at once. Several days later, the website of the student assembly, a lair of red f'ing communists -and I am not exaggarating to the slightest, even their logo has a red star on it- had a news item about "racist remarks in a lecture", however not even quoting it because "it would keep its discriminatory effect even when paraphrased". The page went on for three or four paragraphs of incredibly boring babble and really didn't say anything at all.

The week after that, I was in the same lecture again, only this time, a group of students from the assembly had gathered up front and said that this would not be an ordinary lecture but a necessary discussion about racism. It was obviously an attempt at a trial, and I had none of that. I packed my stuff, said good-bye to my friends and got out, slamming my door on the way, rather loudly as I was later told.

Somewhere along my way out, a bloke gave me a leaflet which had hammer and sickle on it. I asked him what that was about. He said: "We're Communists". I gave him the leaflet back and passed him. He laughed stupidly.

And, since it's apparently Commie weeks, a day later, there was a stand which said: "Save China, Vietnam, Cuba and North Korea from Capitalism". I read it out to a friend of mine and couldn't help laughing. One of those guys said: "Communism is better than this capitalist system." I replied with: "Really? This system allows you to say such bullshit."

I didn't catch his reply, and I didn't care. What the hell is wrong with people?

Whatever

I wrote a short text today for language practice. It's one of those things where in the end you wonder if this is not some deep psychologic babble. I'll let you judge, here is the translation:

I was writing a letter when I heard a sound. I went outside the room and opened the door. Nobody was outside. I went back to the room and sat down on the chair. I heard the sound again. I stood up from the chair and looked out the window. It was raining. I said to myself: "It's nothing. Only the rain." I looked at the clock. It was two minutes past eight. I had to stay up until midnight. Unfortunately, I had already been awake since two o'clock in the morning on the previous day. I don't know why, but I cannot sleep well. Maybe it is because I always think about things that happened days and years ago, and I cannot forget things that are far in the past. It was raining outside, and it was dark. I heard the sound again and again, until I noticed that it was only in my head. Relieved, I went back to the letter.

It may be bullshit, or I may be insane. Probably both.

A movie review

Yeah, I know. Everybody does movie reviews and it's about as original as putting mushrooms on a pizza, but bear with me. I've got a shitload of really bad films on DVD and I literally paid a fortune for them (for reasons I don't want to elaborate right now), so I've got to do something with them. Reviews of bad movies are always nice to read, and I hope that mine prove to be more entertaining than the films themselves (which isn't hard to accomplish anyway). The little twist is that you will probably never get to see the films I am going to review here, because they don't get any sort of major distribution, i.e. you will never see them on TV or in the cinema, and if you ever find them in a "5 DVDs for 3,99" bin you'll put them back in because the titles and cover pictures already indicate everything this movie is going to be.

The movie I am going to review now goes by the name Shark, or Great White. Apparently, the film got two releases and was retitled at some point. Way to suck people into watching this twice, because even once is more than enough for a lifetime. Anyway, I am going to refer to it as Shark here.

I am not exaggarating when I say that this film is so traumatisingly bad that I still get nightmares from it, two and a half years after watching it. It's not bad in the Ed Wood "so bad it's funny" style, and it's not bad in the way Wanted was, because that was so bad it was just forgettable. A few months after watching that one, I had to read a review of it to remember that it was the film which actually featured a century-old loom that told names of assassination targets in binary.

No, Shark is something else, and not in a good way. You can probably already imagine the plot from the film's title. Yes, it is about a shark terrorising a small village and some disillusioned bloke tries to convince local authorities of the threat and eventually they team up and kill the beast. This film tries to add a special shock effect by having the shark swim up a river on the American east coast several miles and state that this is based on a true story that happened at some point in the 1910's. It did, but the plot of this film has about as much to do with the real events as Raiders of the Lost Ark has to do with the history of flight, as in, there are some old aeroplanes in that film.

So what is it that makes this film so exceptionally bad? Let's start with the shark itself and its attacks. For the most part of the film, the shark is portrayed by a rubber fin that is sometimes leaning to its side at a pretty big angle. It also varies in size. The attacks happen at any time of the day and at any place in the river, no matter how shallow it is. In fact, at one point, a bloke who is standing in the river fishing is attacked and eaten up by the shark, and at another point the shark attacks some guy who is trying to fix a watergate at night time. This does not sound as spectacular as it actually is, but you have to imagine the bloke is standing on a pedestal, with only his rubber boots a few inches in the water, and the shark attacks him.

The most memorable scene of the film has a group of people jetski in the midst of the river. One guy's jetski breaks and he attempts to get it going again while sitting on it, without even the tip of his shoe in the water. As menacing music is cued, a big rubber fin which is driven forward by a red motor approaches the jetski and then the bloke screams and falls into the water. The next picture shows a shark eating a fish (footage that is credited to some institute of marine biology or whatever).

The film's protagonist is a marine biologist who is the only one to recognise the wounds of the victims as those of a shark and not, as everybody else says, a cougar.
By the way, I've got to get this out now. A cougar? This film is supposed to take place at the American East Coast, and there are no cougars at the American East Coast! Apart from an isolated population in Florida, every bloody cougar in North America lives west of the Mississippi!
But it's not like this is the biggest geographic screwup in the film. Tell me, what American East Coast state has license plates that say "California" on them, and how many towns there have road signs pointing to Nevada? Seriously, I live in feckin' Germany and I can tell that something's not right there!
Anyway, back to our hero, the marine biologist, who seems to have gotten his office from the college's doorman. During the entire length of the film, he desperately tries to keep his teenage son from rafting on the river. He is so paranoid about it that it becomes obvious that he is not doing that only because of the shark. No, it is later revealed, and this is no joke, that our glorious marine biologist is... afraid of water.


After this H-Bomb of plotholes is dropped, the sad remains of the film are tidied up by two stock characters, the initially disbelieving but eventually supportive county sheriff (complete with stupid sunglasses and 'tache) and the drunkard who is ridiculed by everybody but becomes the hero of the day. At the end of the movie, he stands atop a bridge crossing the river, drops some obviously empty gas canisters on the shark (which is just about to attack the marine biologist's teenage son and his mates on their rafts) and fires at them from a clearly uncharged sniper rifle, and even I could see that although I literally couldn't tell a pump gun from a kalashnikov. The shark explodes in a pathetic attempt to imitate the end of Jaws, only that this is like somebody trying to copy the Mona Lisa, but instead of using paint he uses dog shit and instead of painting the Mona Lisa he draws a picture of the sewer I'm about to drop the DVD in.

I hate this movie. It's not funny, it's just bad. It's terrible. As I said, I am traumatised from this film, I have seen it two and a half years ago and I still remember every pathetic bit of it. Even the actors, as terrible as they are, do not deserve to be in such a movie. I hope they at least got some of the money I had to spend on this so they can buy themselves a gun and shoot their brains out because they can't possibly lead happy lives anymore after being in such a movie.


What a bloody waste.

Berlin's Underworld

I was doing my groceries today (actually, I only bought four onions and a can of corn), and decided when I got out of the supermarket to have a Currywurst at the take-out in the parking lot there. When I got there, I saw the bloke, a Korean, sitting on his chair staring into nothing. He didn't even notice me. Only when I said "hello" and placed my order he did jump up and fixed the Currywurst in no time.
You might ask how I know that the thing is run by Koreans. Well, it is called "Kim's Take-Out". Every bloody Korean I've ever known was called Kim, so I'm just allowing myself to conclude the obvious.
Anyway, as I was eating, I noticed three Asian blokes next to me who were talking loudly all the time. They were obviously in some sort of relationship to the guy in the take-out, because he kept staring over to them with a very uncomfortable facial expression.
I thought to myself, "maybe they're part of the cigarette mafia who keep selling fake Chinese cigarettes at the train station over there, and they are here to get their protection money from the take-out's owner". Then I smiled uneasily and told myself not to think in stereotypes so much.
A minute later, some bloke got over to them and bought a carton of Chinese cigarettes from them.

The worst thing about clichés is when they prove true.