It seems that Germany is not the only country struggling with laws on censorship. Even in the US where gory, realistic violence seems to be staple diet for kindergarten kids lawmakers are worried, as this article shows. If you read further down in the comments a lot of them are quite interesting (aside from being sarcastic, cynical or otherwise hillarious).
What I thought interesting was that some points are actually the very ones that I made in my previous posting. As vivin very aptly put it:
Causative Link? Bullshit!
People want to find a damn scapegoat for everything. First it was "Violence on TV", then there's "Heavy Metal Music"! Oh my god! Will someone please think of the children! Seriously... you can get more violence in some religious texts than on TV, or Music. Computer Games, TV, or Music don't make people want to commit violence. This was used as an excuse for Columbine.
The fact is that we can owe it to either bad parenting, or maybe a more obvious fact. Homo sapiens is a territorial, aggressive, war-like species. For all our intelligence, we still like to beat the crap out of each other. This is obvious perhaps in more individuals than others.
So stop trying to find things to blame. Making laws are not going to make us less violent.
I couldn't agree more - nothing to add to that.
Admiral Frosty, however, brings up a point that I completely overlooked (shame on me). So here it is in all its brevity:
Its the parents responsibility, first and foremost. The idea of using the government as a crutch will only encourage people not to think on their own.
Again, I couldn't agree more. I may seem easier to have a government decree that simply outlaws something but that can't be used to excuse laziness. Parents must get involved - otherwise you end up with a nanny state where everything has be regulated to the greatest possible extent so as to cover all eventualities. Parents have to know their children (as much work as that may be) and bring them up accordingly. The government can provide a framework for that but there is no replacement for parents' common sense. Otherwise, you end up treating everybody like ten-year-olds.
Welcome to this outlet for one of many facets of myself. This may include anything from views on current events, general ramblings and rant to short stories by yours truly.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
The Mad World of Computers
The land of computing systems is a bit like the land of Old Testament gods: Lots of rules and no mercy - and no common sense.
The words of my former lecturer still ring in my ears. And during the last few days they have been proven accurate more often than usual. Let me explain:
A bit more than a week ago my office PC started acting up. Whenever I was playing a CD using Windows Media Player the computer not only crashed, it powered down - as if somebody had pulled the plug - and rebooted. Talk about strange.
Over the course of a few days this became a consistent phenomenon. I notified our Technical Services team and we went through a few simple things like checking cables and upgrading Media Player to version 10. That didn't do it. So then, last Saturday, they formatted the hard-disk, re-installed the operating system and all the software.
That did not actually make it better but worse! Now it would also crash even if Media Player was not running at all. So, I spent all of yesterday struggling with a PC that would spontaneously power down and various pieces of software that would close or malfunction for no apparent reason. What a day!
The guys from Tech Services then decided to put together a replacement PC for me since the original one obviously needed maintenance. I received the replacement this morning. It promptly started exhibiting almost identical behaviour to the original one. Only this one would crash to a blue screen when starting up and reboot immediately. Now both me and the technician were stupefied (and still are).
He acted quickly, though, rounding up another PC for me (a brand new one this time). I also got a new mouse (yaay!).
Let's see how this one does. It is after all only lunchtime. It would be so ironic if we found out it was a faulty power cable or something of that sort. I am almost prepared to resort to supestition now believing that me or my desk or the place where I sit are jinxed. It all started so abruptly. There you are thinking you understand computers, expecting they will behave in a logical or consistent way. Think again.
... no common sense.
The words of my former lecturer still ring in my ears. And during the last few days they have been proven accurate more often than usual. Let me explain:
A bit more than a week ago my office PC started acting up. Whenever I was playing a CD using Windows Media Player the computer not only crashed, it powered down - as if somebody had pulled the plug - and rebooted. Talk about strange.
Over the course of a few days this became a consistent phenomenon. I notified our Technical Services team and we went through a few simple things like checking cables and upgrading Media Player to version 10. That didn't do it. So then, last Saturday, they formatted the hard-disk, re-installed the operating system and all the software.
That did not actually make it better but worse! Now it would also crash even if Media Player was not running at all. So, I spent all of yesterday struggling with a PC that would spontaneously power down and various pieces of software that would close or malfunction for no apparent reason. What a day!
The guys from Tech Services then decided to put together a replacement PC for me since the original one obviously needed maintenance. I received the replacement this morning. It promptly started exhibiting almost identical behaviour to the original one. Only this one would crash to a blue screen when starting up and reboot immediately. Now both me and the technician were stupefied (and still are).
He acted quickly, though, rounding up another PC for me (a brand new one this time). I also got a new mouse (yaay!).
Let's see how this one does. It is after all only lunchtime. It would be so ironic if we found out it was a faulty power cable or something of that sort. I am almost prepared to resort to supestition now believing that me or my desk or the place where I sit are jinxed. It all started so abruptly. There you are thinking you understand computers, expecting they will behave in a logical or consistent way. Think again.
... no common sense.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Halo - Scape Goat Evolved
Spotlight Germany, Emsdetten. A young man of 18 years walks into his former school during recess, equipped with several rifles, smoke grenades and explosives. He starts shooting at people. Police arrive very quickly. They find him hidden on the second floor of the school. He has killed himself. Fortunately, nobody else is killed. A teacher, a janitor and several students are shot and injured, several more suffer from smoke poisoning. Read the full story.
Now authorities and investigators try to answer the usual questions: Why? What made him do it? And how did he get hold of all these weapons? From fellow students they gather information. He was a loner, a weirdo, a weapons enthusiast. He passionately hated people, especially from his school. Made him feel like a loser, he says on his webpage. He swore revenge, that they would all die. He also announced that he would kill himself. Posted pictures and videos of himself with various weapons online. He was often seen wearing an ankle-length black leather coat. Spent his time playing "computer games that glorify violence". As soon as that comes out local (and soon federal) politicians act very quickly. Newly labelled "killer games" must be banned.
That was what made me perk up. Again they're blaming a new medium. And, of course, the medium must be banned. This reaction strikes me as almost as senseless as the bloody deed itself. Especially, because we have been there before. Let's go through this systematically.
There has always been a medium that was demonised and blamed for whatever bad things happened at the time. It all started out with writing. The German cencorship and youth protection body is still called Bundesprüfstelle für jugendgefährdende Schriften which roughly translates to Federal Authority for youth-endangering Writing (a bad translation but it's literal). So, in those days it was written material that was considered dangerous. Then Rock 'n' Roll came out. Many parents saw in it the utter corruption of their children. It promoted promiscuity, or so they claimed. In the 80s and 90s (that I know from my own experience now) it was the TV or videos. Videos and films were (and still are) banned, black-listed or cencored. Never had anything been as bad for young people as what was shown on TV or at the cinema. From the late 90s onwards, video games had become realistic enough to scare the older generation. It can only be the computer games the kids play that make them so readily violent. And I can already see the new target emerging: the Internet. What that shows us is that the media have always been an easy target and over time the scape goat has merely evolved. It is interesting to see that as soon as it takes a new form the older one is forgotten. To me that is another clear sign that politicians involved are merely riding a band wagon.
But, okay, let us for a moment assume that banning "killer games" was the way to go. Now define "killer games". Which games are "killer games"? First-person shooters fit the bill all right - all of them are centered around combat in some form. How about third-person adventures like Tomb Raider? In many of them fighting and killing also plays a big part, so off they go on the black list. Flight simulators with few exceptions are set in a war scenario - be it in space or on earth - and are about shooting down your enemies. In real-time strategy games the player assumes the role of the commander, sending his troops to fight, watching them die. Some are not for the faint-hearted. Roleplaying games, including the hugely popular online games like World of Warcraft, are about slaying monsters and other characters with big swords or axes or other medieval weaponry. There are similar games set in the far future, as well (e.g. Star Wars Galaxies, Guild Wars). Even some racing games are about destroying your opponents/competitors (Carmageddon, Destruction Derby). What I'm trying to say is that banning all games with violent content leaves us with very few remaining. With the exception of some educational material, certain cute Japanese games (where you bounce on a mushroom and the enemy turtle blinks out of existence) and popular football simulators the shelves will be pretty empty. From an economic point of view, I believe, that this would cripple a business in Germany that still makes a lot of money. From an ideological standpoint I also think it's a clumsy move. Culling away all these popular big named games like Counterstrike, Battlefield, Doom, etc. will effectively give them martyr status. The demand for them will grow even more because they are banned - we know how it works from the cases of films like Evil Dead (banned for some time but never gone entirely). Plus, everybody will be curious as to why they are banned and therefore want to try them.
The other new target for regulators is the Internet. It should be "policed", a politician demanded. The idea is not new. And, of course, it can only come from somebody who doesn't have to worry about how to do it. Now, I agree that there's a lot of smut and garbage out there on the Web. Most of it is not even hosted in Germany and therefore completely outside German jurisdiction. So, unless Germany adopts a solution similar to China's, say completely blocking categories of foreign content it'll be hard.
Lastly, we then have to ask ourselves: where does it end? Violence and conflict are a common theme in all media, fiction and non-fiction. We may not like it but it's part of us. Often it's the action, the peril and the conflict that make a story interesting or thrilling. So what, the madman of Emsdetten played violent computer games! Hundreds of thousands of gamers play such games around the world. Hell, I do. Enjoy it, too. Still, I've never tried to kill anybody and I don't intend to. And how many of these hundreds of thousands of gamers commit violent crimes (in the real world)? There are and will always be a few black sheep. Nonetheless, the proportion will be minimal. And what's next? Videos are already on the the list, anyway. Judging by the guy's description he probably also listened to heavy metal music. A lot of it can be very aggressive or violent, e.g. "Feuer Frei" by Rammstein, "Shoot me Again" by Metallica or pratically anything ever done by Manowar. Should therefore heavy metal be banned, too? Wouldn't be a big step since fans of this music genre are often regarded as weirdos or satanists, anyway. Then, however, they should please go on and ban hip-hop, as well. Surely, songs about raping and killing and "motherfuckers" can't be good for kids either. And written material? Don't get me started on that. Forget for a moment Tom Clancy-style military thrillers. Or Stephen King's twisted imagination. Let's go back a while. Let's go back a long while. Homer's famous account of the Trojan War. Does it not glorify violence? After Achilles defeated Hektor he cut off the Trojan champion's ears, tied him to his chariot and dragged him around the walls of Troy. And let's not even mention Norse or Germanic myth. We shouldn't assume that insane killers don't read. Interestingly enough, Germanic myth is quite popular among right-wing extremists and fascists. Is that a reason to ban our own mythology?
What is my point with all this? The point is that when politicians get involved they don't seem to look for the root cause but for a scape goat. I understand that there's a lot of pressure on public figures after an atrocity like this. Nobody wants to be caught with their hands in their pockets, everybody wants to make the impression that they already have a solution so that scared citizens can go home and feel safe. So, even while investigators are still unearthing more details about the possible background of the deed they take the easy way out. How about the statements made by the perpetrator that he hated school because it made him feel like a loser? Of course, that would point to a much more complicated problem. An issue with schooling perhaps? I don't know. Nobody does as yet. What gets to me is that politicians make rash decisions before they even know the facts just for the sake of publicity. The end result is that the consumer suffers. As an adult I should be able to decide myself what I want to watch or play. Not so. Of course, I wouldn't want anything like this to happen to my children (or anybody's for that matter). However, banning and cencoring films and videos didn't do the trick and I would swear that banning computer games won't either. Some people have it in them to do terrible things. Jack the Ripper or Fritz Haarmann did not need video games for inspiration.
Now authorities and investigators try to answer the usual questions: Why? What made him do it? And how did he get hold of all these weapons? From fellow students they gather information. He was a loner, a weirdo, a weapons enthusiast. He passionately hated people, especially from his school. Made him feel like a loser, he says on his webpage. He swore revenge, that they would all die. He also announced that he would kill himself. Posted pictures and videos of himself with various weapons online. He was often seen wearing an ankle-length black leather coat. Spent his time playing "computer games that glorify violence". As soon as that comes out local (and soon federal) politicians act very quickly. Newly labelled "killer games" must be banned.
That was what made me perk up. Again they're blaming a new medium. And, of course, the medium must be banned. This reaction strikes me as almost as senseless as the bloody deed itself. Especially, because we have been there before. Let's go through this systematically.
There has always been a medium that was demonised and blamed for whatever bad things happened at the time. It all started out with writing. The German cencorship and youth protection body is still called Bundesprüfstelle für jugendgefährdende Schriften which roughly translates to Federal Authority for youth-endangering Writing (a bad translation but it's literal). So, in those days it was written material that was considered dangerous. Then Rock 'n' Roll came out. Many parents saw in it the utter corruption of their children. It promoted promiscuity, or so they claimed. In the 80s and 90s (that I know from my own experience now) it was the TV or videos. Videos and films were (and still are) banned, black-listed or cencored. Never had anything been as bad for young people as what was shown on TV or at the cinema. From the late 90s onwards, video games had become realistic enough to scare the older generation. It can only be the computer games the kids play that make them so readily violent. And I can already see the new target emerging: the Internet. What that shows us is that the media have always been an easy target and over time the scape goat has merely evolved. It is interesting to see that as soon as it takes a new form the older one is forgotten. To me that is another clear sign that politicians involved are merely riding a band wagon.
But, okay, let us for a moment assume that banning "killer games" was the way to go. Now define "killer games". Which games are "killer games"? First-person shooters fit the bill all right - all of them are centered around combat in some form. How about third-person adventures like Tomb Raider? In many of them fighting and killing also plays a big part, so off they go on the black list. Flight simulators with few exceptions are set in a war scenario - be it in space or on earth - and are about shooting down your enemies. In real-time strategy games the player assumes the role of the commander, sending his troops to fight, watching them die. Some are not for the faint-hearted. Roleplaying games, including the hugely popular online games like World of Warcraft, are about slaying monsters and other characters with big swords or axes or other medieval weaponry. There are similar games set in the far future, as well (e.g. Star Wars Galaxies, Guild Wars). Even some racing games are about destroying your opponents/competitors (Carmageddon, Destruction Derby). What I'm trying to say is that banning all games with violent content leaves us with very few remaining. With the exception of some educational material, certain cute Japanese games (where you bounce on a mushroom and the enemy turtle blinks out of existence) and popular football simulators the shelves will be pretty empty. From an economic point of view, I believe, that this would cripple a business in Germany that still makes a lot of money. From an ideological standpoint I also think it's a clumsy move. Culling away all these popular big named games like Counterstrike, Battlefield, Doom, etc. will effectively give them martyr status. The demand for them will grow even more because they are banned - we know how it works from the cases of films like Evil Dead (banned for some time but never gone entirely). Plus, everybody will be curious as to why they are banned and therefore want to try them.
The other new target for regulators is the Internet. It should be "policed", a politician demanded. The idea is not new. And, of course, it can only come from somebody who doesn't have to worry about how to do it. Now, I agree that there's a lot of smut and garbage out there on the Web. Most of it is not even hosted in Germany and therefore completely outside German jurisdiction. So, unless Germany adopts a solution similar to China's, say completely blocking categories of foreign content it'll be hard.
Lastly, we then have to ask ourselves: where does it end? Violence and conflict are a common theme in all media, fiction and non-fiction. We may not like it but it's part of us. Often it's the action, the peril and the conflict that make a story interesting or thrilling. So what, the madman of Emsdetten played violent computer games! Hundreds of thousands of gamers play such games around the world. Hell, I do. Enjoy it, too. Still, I've never tried to kill anybody and I don't intend to. And how many of these hundreds of thousands of gamers commit violent crimes (in the real world)? There are and will always be a few black sheep. Nonetheless, the proportion will be minimal. And what's next? Videos are already on the the list, anyway. Judging by the guy's description he probably also listened to heavy metal music. A lot of it can be very aggressive or violent, e.g. "Feuer Frei" by Rammstein, "Shoot me Again" by Metallica or pratically anything ever done by Manowar. Should therefore heavy metal be banned, too? Wouldn't be a big step since fans of this music genre are often regarded as weirdos or satanists, anyway. Then, however, they should please go on and ban hip-hop, as well. Surely, songs about raping and killing and "motherfuckers" can't be good for kids either. And written material? Don't get me started on that. Forget for a moment Tom Clancy-style military thrillers. Or Stephen King's twisted imagination. Let's go back a while. Let's go back a long while. Homer's famous account of the Trojan War. Does it not glorify violence? After Achilles defeated Hektor he cut off the Trojan champion's ears, tied him to his chariot and dragged him around the walls of Troy. And let's not even mention Norse or Germanic myth. We shouldn't assume that insane killers don't read. Interestingly enough, Germanic myth is quite popular among right-wing extremists and fascists. Is that a reason to ban our own mythology?
What is my point with all this? The point is that when politicians get involved they don't seem to look for the root cause but for a scape goat. I understand that there's a lot of pressure on public figures after an atrocity like this. Nobody wants to be caught with their hands in their pockets, everybody wants to make the impression that they already have a solution so that scared citizens can go home and feel safe. So, even while investigators are still unearthing more details about the possible background of the deed they take the easy way out. How about the statements made by the perpetrator that he hated school because it made him feel like a loser? Of course, that would point to a much more complicated problem. An issue with schooling perhaps? I don't know. Nobody does as yet. What gets to me is that politicians make rash decisions before they even know the facts just for the sake of publicity. The end result is that the consumer suffers. As an adult I should be able to decide myself what I want to watch or play. Not so. Of course, I wouldn't want anything like this to happen to my children (or anybody's for that matter). However, banning and cencoring films and videos didn't do the trick and I would swear that banning computer games won't either. Some people have it in them to do terrible things. Jack the Ripper or Fritz Haarmann did not need video games for inspiration.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Back with thoughts on Frankfurt
I'm back. After long absence. I spent my last weekend in the exciting city of Frankfurt, Hessia, Germany. I was actually there for a college reunion which was cancelled because of lack of attendance: me and another girl were the only people who had signed up for the event. Shame on you guys!
Well, like that I had a lot of free time on my hands and as it turns out two days a good time for seeing Frankfurt, leisurely even. Here are some thoughts on my experience.
After a glass of the local specialty, apple wine, Äppelwoi as the locals call it, I decided to sample one of the world's strongest beers: Eisbock, 23% (rotations as some call it). I never meant to get drunk but after that it seemed like a good idea to go on to a bar and continue with a cocktail. The following was written at that bar. It has not been edited only that this version is actually legible. :)
The next one was written at a pub the next day after the very scary experience of being on a 200 meter-high highrise on an open platform. Not easy for someone scared of heights. I'm proud of myself that I made it - to the railing! I was rewarded with some blue sky despite the grey and rainy rest of the day.
Well, like that I had a lot of free time on my hands and as it turns out two days a good time for seeing Frankfurt, leisurely even. Here are some thoughts on my experience.
After a glass of the local specialty, apple wine, Äppelwoi as the locals call it, I decided to sample one of the world's strongest beers: Eisbock, 23% (rotations as some call it). I never meant to get drunk but after that it seemed like a good idea to go on to a bar and continue with a cocktail. The following was written at that bar. It has not been edited only that this version is actually legible. :)
Sitting in a bar in Frankfurt, the Moloko+. Remembering Singapore with a Singapore Sling - boy, it's strong! The one in S'pore is better. This one strong one, lah!
Wish you were here.
Pissed... :)
Really full [=packed] - must be a popular watering hole... Spotted it on my first walk here. Cars pass, each has a purpose. Life through the mirror.
People talk - it all becomes a drone. Can't understand what people say. Alle haben Spass.
Everybody's happy.
Everybody's consuming.
Right now I'd believe anything.
Lounge/Bar still means something here.
Can't focus. This is weird. Eyes won't focus on mirror reflection. Getting close to that cherry.
Still more cars pass
The next one was written at a pub the next day after the very scary experience of being on a 200 meter-high highrise on an open platform. Not easy for someone scared of heights. I'm proud of myself that I made it - to the railing! I was rewarded with some blue sky despite the grey and rainy rest of the day.
200 Meter über dem Boden auf einer offenen Plattform. Selten ist etwas so furchteinflößend. Dabei noch böhiger Wind! Man hat das Gefühl, von der Plattform geweht zu werden, wenn der Wind auffrischt. Aber die Aussicht ist fantastisch. Der Bankbezirk aus der Vogelperspektive. Auf gleicher Höhe mit den anderen Hochhäusern yu sein. Und vor einem breitet sich das Land aus so weit das Auge reicht. Manchmal beneide ich die anderen, die es genießen können, ohne an die 200 Meter zu denken, die unter uns liegen. So unbesorgt möchte ich auch mal sein. Aber ich bin trotzdem stolz auf mich. Ich habe es bis oben geschafft und bin auf der Plattform und bin sogar ans Geländer getreten! Unter mir die Stadt Frankfurt, über mir der (jetzt) blaue Himmel und der Radiomast.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
The House Next Door
One of my friends' neighbours was found dead in his flat this week (read the full story here). While I'm sure this is not uncommon, especially in a city like London, it's still a strange experience, I would think, to be confronted with death so immediately. Poor Little Potato. So much bad luck in a single week!
It also reminded me of the good old next-door-neighbour horror stories, most of them set in suburban America. So until I can think of a better one to suit her story here's my version of a classic:
It happened next door. Generally, a lot of things happen next door. Some of best creepy stories happen next door. Some other ones do too but those normally belong into the realm of teenage dreams. This one is one of the former kind.
He was a very quiet neighbour. A model citizen you might even say. Mowed the lawn regularly and kept it at a length of approximately three centimetres. Also walked the dog three times a day. Drove to work at half past eight every weekday and normally returned at six or six thirty every night. A very punctual man. Very tidy. Wore a freshly washed and ironed shirt every day. He was always very polite to the neighbours, too. Never failed to wish everybody he met a good morning or afternoon and sometimes he would briefly stop to chat. The only thing about him was that he was very reserved - almost shy. Had a beautiful wife and two lovely daughters, too. He carried pictures of them in his wallet and loved showing them off to people. Spoke very fondly of them. Nobody was too worried that they never saw them. The daughters go to boarding school, he would say. And the wife gets up very early in the morning and comes back late. Works very hard, he said. Then one hot summer he left for a few days. On business he said. He didn't expect the electricity to go down for several days (bad thunderstorm tore down the lines). He also didn't expect that it would blow the fuse in his house. After two or so days people started noticing the smell. It was coming from his house. His cellar. When he returned people had already called the police. The officers check the entire house and the cellar. Nobody was prepared for what they found. Nobody had suspected that this quiet, pleasant man's family had been in the house all that time. With the same precision with which he mowed his lawn, ironed his shirts and went to work he had sawed his wife and two daughters into 10-centimeter slices and frozen them in a large freezer in the basement. The only parts left intact were their heads. They had been neatly arranged in a row on top of the rest staring, mouths gaping, teeth bared and skin stretching tight, eyes empty at anybody that cared to lift the lid. When the officers arrived and checked the basement some parts had already disintegrated into a stinking pulp covered in green mold. The skin on their dead faces had started drooping revealing rotting flesh and bone. But their empty eyes still stared. They had been dead for at least five years. And so, this soft-spoken, introverted family man had lived in that house for five years with his wife and two daughters. And every evening before going to bed he would go down to the basement to kiss them good night.
It also reminded me of the good old next-door-neighbour horror stories, most of them set in suburban America. So until I can think of a better one to suit her story here's my version of a classic:
It happened next door. Generally, a lot of things happen next door. Some of best creepy stories happen next door. Some other ones do too but those normally belong into the realm of teenage dreams. This one is one of the former kind.
He was a very quiet neighbour. A model citizen you might even say. Mowed the lawn regularly and kept it at a length of approximately three centimetres. Also walked the dog three times a day. Drove to work at half past eight every weekday and normally returned at six or six thirty every night. A very punctual man. Very tidy. Wore a freshly washed and ironed shirt every day. He was always very polite to the neighbours, too. Never failed to wish everybody he met a good morning or afternoon and sometimes he would briefly stop to chat. The only thing about him was that he was very reserved - almost shy. Had a beautiful wife and two lovely daughters, too. He carried pictures of them in his wallet and loved showing them off to people. Spoke very fondly of them. Nobody was too worried that they never saw them. The daughters go to boarding school, he would say. And the wife gets up very early in the morning and comes back late. Works very hard, he said. Then one hot summer he left for a few days. On business he said. He didn't expect the electricity to go down for several days (bad thunderstorm tore down the lines). He also didn't expect that it would blow the fuse in his house. After two or so days people started noticing the smell. It was coming from his house. His cellar. When he returned people had already called the police. The officers check the entire house and the cellar. Nobody was prepared for what they found. Nobody had suspected that this quiet, pleasant man's family had been in the house all that time. With the same precision with which he mowed his lawn, ironed his shirts and went to work he had sawed his wife and two daughters into 10-centimeter slices and frozen them in a large freezer in the basement. The only parts left intact were their heads. They had been neatly arranged in a row on top of the rest staring, mouths gaping, teeth bared and skin stretching tight, eyes empty at anybody that cared to lift the lid. When the officers arrived and checked the basement some parts had already disintegrated into a stinking pulp covered in green mold. The skin on their dead faces had started drooping revealing rotting flesh and bone. But their empty eyes still stared. They had been dead for at least five years. And so, this soft-spoken, introverted family man had lived in that house for five years with his wife and two daughters. And every evening before going to bed he would go down to the basement to kiss them good night.
More of Tobe E, Private Eye
As it turned out the story of Tobe E, Private Eye, goes on. I just forgot to write it down in a timely fashion. Here it is:
Some time later the dame was back. I can't recall how long exactly - it seemed like an eternity but can't have been more than a couple of weeks. Sure enough, it was her, though. I recognised her easily. Those ruby red lips, milky white skin, hazel brown eyes and that flood of jet black hair. And again that purposeful air about her as she let herself into my office. Again, it was early morning; I was just having my first cup of Java with a cigarette. Her cheque had just arrived in the mail. It was still lying on my desk. I didn't take her being here as a good sign. I was only hoping she hadn't gotten herself into more trouble.
"Mister E, I need your help one more time." The voice sent shivers down my spine. I offered her the chair opposite me and a cigarette. She accepted both.
"Any news on that last case, ma'am?" Keeping it professional I lit her cigarette, then myself another one.
"That's what I came to discuss with you, Mister E. I have thought about the matter and I would like to go ahead with it."
I nearly spilt my coffee.
"You what!?"
Always keep it professional, Larry had said, don't get yourself too involved. You're doing your job, you get paid, you move on. Somehow, though, I just couldn't keep my professional distance here. I had a feeling it was more than the prospect of another paycheque from her. For only a moment my entire professional attitude went out the window.
"Did you read the report I gave you? Did you listen to anything I said? These guys are not to be trusted!"
Her lips, shiny with gloss, were set firmly, defiantly.
"Of course, I did, Mister E. But the decision is still mine."
I was back in control by now. I picked up my cigarette and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke pass back out through my nose. I leaned back in my chair.
"Sure thing, lady. Be my guest. But what exactly do you need me for in all that?"
She hesitated. She was obviously approaching a difficult subject.
"It's about your fee, Mister E..." Another pause. I motioned her to continue.
"Well, I was wondering if you had cashed in the cheque yet."
"I've just received it, many thanks. Very punctual. I was going to take it to the bank later at lunch time." I produced the cheque and held it up briefly.
Something in her face told me I wouldn't like what came next. As usual, my intuition was right. After another short pause it all spilt out in front of me.
"I was wondering, Mister E, if you could waive your fee for the time being. I need the money to make the initial payment to my business partners. A friend of mine owes me money. I'm trying to get in contact with him and he will pay you back as soon possible. Would you do that for me?"
After that confession I needed another breath or two of nicotine. Hidden behind my veil of smoke I tried to hide the conflicting feelings going through my head. She was clearly distressed. But this was utter madness. Wagering my rent on a couple of crooks that would make off across the state border with it. How could I break this to her? Professionally, added Larry in my head.
"Look, ma'am, I understand your position. But if you've read my report you know the conclusion I drew after the investigation. There is practically no chance you'll see that money again. You might as well flush it down the toilet."
"I would like to give it a try. This deal will be very lucrative for me if it works out."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. How could she be so desperate? A woman of her standing! She could have done better than that. Than dealing with these crooks. I had to talk her out of it.
I told her my toughts. That she was dealing with criminals. That an intelligent woman of her caliber could do better. That there were other potential business partners in town, more trustworthy ones. I would even go out of my way and give her some free advice on how to get in touch with them. She hardly seemed to listen, absent-mindedly taking draft after draft on her cigarette. In the end she stamped it out in the ashtray with a resolute gesture.
"Look, Mister E, as I said, I have read your report. I haven't come to you for further advice in this matter. I have decided to pursue it further and take my chances. So, are you going to help me or not?"
That moment something inside me quietly shattered. Larry had been right - as always. She had meant trouble from the first moment on. Now, somehow all the dignity had vanished. She was showing her true face. Obstinate and spoilt - used to getting what she wanted. I had gravely misjudged her.
"You expect me to put this month's rent on the line when I know that it'll be lost?"
"You have nothing to loose. My friend will pay you as soon as I get in contact with him."
Why was her friend not making the payment for her if he had the money? I voiced the question. She frowned at this.
"That is rather personal. But I'll tell you anyway. You see, his bank account is held in a different state. It'll be a lot of hassle transferring the money. He will bring it with him in cash when he comes to visit me. You will receive your payment - don't worry about the details."
That stank. To high heaven. In my profession you develop a sixth sense for this sort of thing. Bermuda Triangle they called it: person A wants money from person B. Person C owes person A money but can't hand it over straight away. If person B gives person A the money A can arrange for C to reimburse B. Somewhere in-between it gets so confusing that B can't track anymore who owes him money and A gets it for free. Almost like money laundering and as illegal.
I took a last puff and stamped out my cigarette, as well.
"You know as well as I do that this sort of business never goes as smoothly as you think. And you're talking about my livelihood as if I could afford to just gamble it away. I am sorry. I'm afraid in this matter I am unable to help you."
Her face changed. She wasn't used to people saying "no" to her. The sultry pout became a cold, disappointed stare. With her jaw pushed forward challengingly her face was still beautiful when she was angry. She got up, looking down at me from under her heavy, curved eyelids.
"I have misjudged you, Mister E. I thought you were made of sturdier material. You disappoint me."
From her that was like a knife between the ribs. Still, I kept my professional calm, settling down in my chair I squinted up at her.
"Sorry to hear that, ma'am. Always do my best to keep my clients satisfied. If you have another matter that needs looking into, I'd be glad to be of service again - at my usual rate."
She nodded absently. She was thinking hard and fast.
"Always on the job, huh? Always so professional."
She slowly, puposefully circled my desk, her motions smooth, looking like a cat on the prowl. She sat on the edge of the desk in front of me, her legs crossed underneath her tight skirt. Her dark stockings were shiny. I imagined I caught a whiff of her sweet, heady perfume.
"I wonder what it takes to get into that shell of yours."
One hand played idly with my tie as if that was the most natural thing to do.
"I wonder what could make you understand how serious this matter is to me..." All the sensual smokeyness was back in her voice. She had even cranked it up a notch. My mind was racing. Keep it professional, screamed Larry's voice, don't get involved with a client. It means nothing but trouble. She was loosening my tie. All the while looking me straight in the eyes. Damn, this dame knew what she was doing.
"You know, if you would only understand that I would do what it takes to see this through. Whatever it takes."
It was getting way too hot in here. It had to put a stop to it before things got out of hand. I brushed her hand away, my tie opened, caught in her hand trailed after me as I got up and took a couple of steps away from the desk - and her. Going backwards I almost stumbled - so rash was my movement.
"Ma'am, this going too far. I have a reputation to support."
This brought a wicked smile to her face. With soft steps she followed me. Her hips swayed elegantly. Before I knew it she was undoing to topmost button of my shirt.
"Who would think of such a silly thing to say? I'm not asking that much and what I can offer is worth so much more. See it as me saying 'please' very nicely."
What was she doing to me? I was helpless under her spell. Still, all alarm bells were going off like mad. Finally - she had got to the third or fourth button - I broke out of the trance. I brushed her hands away again, more forcefully this time. With two steps I was clear of her reach again. I had to breathe deeply to regain my composure before I spoke.
"Ma'am, this is enough. I run a reputable business here. I have told you that I will gladly help you with any matters that require my expertise. In this matter I cannot help you. Now, I must ask you to leave. Please."
I opened the door to my office and held it open for her. I tried not to look at her. I could feel her scrutinising me for a moment. Then she nodded almost imperceptibly. She tugged her skirt back down to her knees - I couldn't imagine how it had ridden up that far - and straightened her blouse. Then she picked up her coat. At the door she paused. She peered at me, her head held high, half turned towards me.
"You're a man of strong principles, Mister E. I respect that. I guess, I will have to find somebody else then who will be willing to help me. Just don't expect to hear anymore of me."
She waited. She knew what was going on in my head. She had done this sort of thing before. She knew how much I desired her. But she was right: I had strong principles, too. In my profession you don't survive long without.
"Have a good day, ma'am. I hope you find what you're looking for."
She breezed past me. The scent of her perfume lingered for awhile. Then it was gone, too. I stood there for long time holding the door open for nobody in particular. I laid back my head, closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe deeply. I counted to ten in my head. Then I gave the door a push. It clicked shut. Back at the desk I sat down in my chair and swiveled it round to face the window. I lit another cigarette. That much I deserved after this. I went through all these familiar motions trying not to think too much. After a few drafts I started feeling calmer. If I didn't see any more of her maybe that was for the best. That dame was enough to give a healthy man a heart attack! What a day and it had only just begun!
Larry sure had been good at talking and giving advice. I wonder what he would have done in my place.
Some time later the dame was back. I can't recall how long exactly - it seemed like an eternity but can't have been more than a couple of weeks. Sure enough, it was her, though. I recognised her easily. Those ruby red lips, milky white skin, hazel brown eyes and that flood of jet black hair. And again that purposeful air about her as she let herself into my office. Again, it was early morning; I was just having my first cup of Java with a cigarette. Her cheque had just arrived in the mail. It was still lying on my desk. I didn't take her being here as a good sign. I was only hoping she hadn't gotten herself into more trouble.
"Mister E, I need your help one more time." The voice sent shivers down my spine. I offered her the chair opposite me and a cigarette. She accepted both.
"Any news on that last case, ma'am?" Keeping it professional I lit her cigarette, then myself another one.
"That's what I came to discuss with you, Mister E. I have thought about the matter and I would like to go ahead with it."
I nearly spilt my coffee.
"You what!?"
Always keep it professional, Larry had said, don't get yourself too involved. You're doing your job, you get paid, you move on. Somehow, though, I just couldn't keep my professional distance here. I had a feeling it was more than the prospect of another paycheque from her. For only a moment my entire professional attitude went out the window.
"Did you read the report I gave you? Did you listen to anything I said? These guys are not to be trusted!"
Her lips, shiny with gloss, were set firmly, defiantly.
"Of course, I did, Mister E. But the decision is still mine."
I was back in control by now. I picked up my cigarette and inhaled deeply, letting the smoke pass back out through my nose. I leaned back in my chair.
"Sure thing, lady. Be my guest. But what exactly do you need me for in all that?"
She hesitated. She was obviously approaching a difficult subject.
"It's about your fee, Mister E..." Another pause. I motioned her to continue.
"Well, I was wondering if you had cashed in the cheque yet."
"I've just received it, many thanks. Very punctual. I was going to take it to the bank later at lunch time." I produced the cheque and held it up briefly.
Something in her face told me I wouldn't like what came next. As usual, my intuition was right. After another short pause it all spilt out in front of me.
"I was wondering, Mister E, if you could waive your fee for the time being. I need the money to make the initial payment to my business partners. A friend of mine owes me money. I'm trying to get in contact with him and he will pay you back as soon possible. Would you do that for me?"
After that confession I needed another breath or two of nicotine. Hidden behind my veil of smoke I tried to hide the conflicting feelings going through my head. She was clearly distressed. But this was utter madness. Wagering my rent on a couple of crooks that would make off across the state border with it. How could I break this to her? Professionally, added Larry in my head.
"Look, ma'am, I understand your position. But if you've read my report you know the conclusion I drew after the investigation. There is practically no chance you'll see that money again. You might as well flush it down the toilet."
"I would like to give it a try. This deal will be very lucrative for me if it works out."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. How could she be so desperate? A woman of her standing! She could have done better than that. Than dealing with these crooks. I had to talk her out of it.
I told her my toughts. That she was dealing with criminals. That an intelligent woman of her caliber could do better. That there were other potential business partners in town, more trustworthy ones. I would even go out of my way and give her some free advice on how to get in touch with them. She hardly seemed to listen, absent-mindedly taking draft after draft on her cigarette. In the end she stamped it out in the ashtray with a resolute gesture.
"Look, Mister E, as I said, I have read your report. I haven't come to you for further advice in this matter. I have decided to pursue it further and take my chances. So, are you going to help me or not?"
That moment something inside me quietly shattered. Larry had been right - as always. She had meant trouble from the first moment on. Now, somehow all the dignity had vanished. She was showing her true face. Obstinate and spoilt - used to getting what she wanted. I had gravely misjudged her.
"You expect me to put this month's rent on the line when I know that it'll be lost?"
"You have nothing to loose. My friend will pay you as soon as I get in contact with him."
Why was her friend not making the payment for her if he had the money? I voiced the question. She frowned at this.
"That is rather personal. But I'll tell you anyway. You see, his bank account is held in a different state. It'll be a lot of hassle transferring the money. He will bring it with him in cash when he comes to visit me. You will receive your payment - don't worry about the details."
That stank. To high heaven. In my profession you develop a sixth sense for this sort of thing. Bermuda Triangle they called it: person A wants money from person B. Person C owes person A money but can't hand it over straight away. If person B gives person A the money A can arrange for C to reimburse B. Somewhere in-between it gets so confusing that B can't track anymore who owes him money and A gets it for free. Almost like money laundering and as illegal.
I took a last puff and stamped out my cigarette, as well.
"You know as well as I do that this sort of business never goes as smoothly as you think. And you're talking about my livelihood as if I could afford to just gamble it away. I am sorry. I'm afraid in this matter I am unable to help you."
Her face changed. She wasn't used to people saying "no" to her. The sultry pout became a cold, disappointed stare. With her jaw pushed forward challengingly her face was still beautiful when she was angry. She got up, looking down at me from under her heavy, curved eyelids.
"I have misjudged you, Mister E. I thought you were made of sturdier material. You disappoint me."
From her that was like a knife between the ribs. Still, I kept my professional calm, settling down in my chair I squinted up at her.
"Sorry to hear that, ma'am. Always do my best to keep my clients satisfied. If you have another matter that needs looking into, I'd be glad to be of service again - at my usual rate."
She nodded absently. She was thinking hard and fast.
"Always on the job, huh? Always so professional."
She slowly, puposefully circled my desk, her motions smooth, looking like a cat on the prowl. She sat on the edge of the desk in front of me, her legs crossed underneath her tight skirt. Her dark stockings were shiny. I imagined I caught a whiff of her sweet, heady perfume.
"I wonder what it takes to get into that shell of yours."
One hand played idly with my tie as if that was the most natural thing to do.
"I wonder what could make you understand how serious this matter is to me..." All the sensual smokeyness was back in her voice. She had even cranked it up a notch. My mind was racing. Keep it professional, screamed Larry's voice, don't get involved with a client. It means nothing but trouble. She was loosening my tie. All the while looking me straight in the eyes. Damn, this dame knew what she was doing.
"You know, if you would only understand that I would do what it takes to see this through. Whatever it takes."
It was getting way too hot in here. It had to put a stop to it before things got out of hand. I brushed her hand away, my tie opened, caught in her hand trailed after me as I got up and took a couple of steps away from the desk - and her. Going backwards I almost stumbled - so rash was my movement.
"Ma'am, this going too far. I have a reputation to support."
This brought a wicked smile to her face. With soft steps she followed me. Her hips swayed elegantly. Before I knew it she was undoing to topmost button of my shirt.
"Who would think of such a silly thing to say? I'm not asking that much and what I can offer is worth so much more. See it as me saying 'please' very nicely."
What was she doing to me? I was helpless under her spell. Still, all alarm bells were going off like mad. Finally - she had got to the third or fourth button - I broke out of the trance. I brushed her hands away again, more forcefully this time. With two steps I was clear of her reach again. I had to breathe deeply to regain my composure before I spoke.
"Ma'am, this is enough. I run a reputable business here. I have told you that I will gladly help you with any matters that require my expertise. In this matter I cannot help you. Now, I must ask you to leave. Please."
I opened the door to my office and held it open for her. I tried not to look at her. I could feel her scrutinising me for a moment. Then she nodded almost imperceptibly. She tugged her skirt back down to her knees - I couldn't imagine how it had ridden up that far - and straightened her blouse. Then she picked up her coat. At the door she paused. She peered at me, her head held high, half turned towards me.
"You're a man of strong principles, Mister E. I respect that. I guess, I will have to find somebody else then who will be willing to help me. Just don't expect to hear anymore of me."
She waited. She knew what was going on in my head. She had done this sort of thing before. She knew how much I desired her. But she was right: I had strong principles, too. In my profession you don't survive long without.
"Have a good day, ma'am. I hope you find what you're looking for."
She breezed past me. The scent of her perfume lingered for awhile. Then it was gone, too. I stood there for long time holding the door open for nobody in particular. I laid back my head, closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe deeply. I counted to ten in my head. Then I gave the door a push. It clicked shut. Back at the desk I sat down in my chair and swiveled it round to face the window. I lit another cigarette. That much I deserved after this. I went through all these familiar motions trying not to think too much. After a few drafts I started feeling calmer. If I didn't see any more of her maybe that was for the best. That dame was enough to give a healthy man a heart attack! What a day and it had only just begun!
Larry sure had been good at talking and giving advice. I wonder what he would have done in my place.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Lament for the Crocodile Hunter
We interrupt our regular program for this special announcement:
Most people will already know this - you can't miss it if you go anywhere near the news. Steve Irwin, a.k.a. the Crocodile Hunter, crossed the great divide yesterday, pierced through the heart by a stingray off the Australian coast.
Now, of course, I didn't know him personally, I wasn't even a very avid follower of his show (recently, my excuse for that is not owning a TV). Still, Mr. Irwin left a big impression on me and I feel strangely compelled to write a few words of my own, adding them to the flood of sympathy that is breaking loose.
So, why did this man on the other side of the globe leave an impression on me? First of all, being German myself and never having met an Australian, it was his distinctive accent and the liberal use of what seemed to have been his favourite word: "crikey". The next thing that struck me was his unusual approach to making a wildlife documentary: Getting insanely close to the deadliest animals that the Australian wilderness could throw at him. Crocodiles, snakes and spiders were usual customers. A scene I remember was him crouching on the ground, a large constrictor snake curled around his arm. In his usual excited voice he gave the viewer an overview of the animal he was holding and why it was such a successful predator in its environment, all the while ignoring the snake's vain attempts to bite into his arm. Once in a while he would turn to the animal and tell it in a soothing voice to "calm down, old buddy", or similar. In the end he pushed it off his arm and set it on the ground because it's grip was getting painful after all. On another occasion, I remember him trying to get up close and personal with a black mamba, the world's most poisonous land borne snake. The snake would turn and hiss and he would jump back but he would keep trying. At the same time he went on telling the viewer about how deadly this creature in front of him was. My first reaction to this was "he's completely and utterly raving mad. He's putting himself at an unnecessary risk by pissing off this animal. All just for the medium. Serves him right if he gets bitten."
This impression didn't last, though. It didn't take me long to realise that there was much more to this man. The thing that really impressed me was how he radiated this amazing enthusiasm and love for what he was doing, for the animals he was dealing with and for the environment they all lived in. This enthusiasm was not only captivating but also contagious - it was what made the programs so interesting. It conveighed more than anything else that here you had a man who wasn't just doing a job but living his dream, somebody who was genuinely happy doing what he was doing. Furthermore, after watching him for some time it also became clear that wasn't just randomly toying with the animals - he could just pull it off in such a way because he really knew what he was doing. He was highly concentrated and careful and would sometimes call it off if he didn't think he could handle the situation. He just knew the animals' ways so intimately that he could make it look like a game. I would guess the only way to achieve that kind of relationship with the animal kingdom was through a deep love and respect for each of its creatures.
So, the way I see it is that we had here a man who loved the world around him so much that was willing to risk his life to bring the viewer that much closer to it and help us all understand it a bit better. To me he seemed like somebody who had found true happiness in his work and his life - very few people can say that. In the end, he died doing what he enjoyed. Like many good men (and women) he has been taken from us far too early.
My thoughts and sympathies are with his family. Nobody needs to tell them what a great man he was.
Mr. Irwin, I salute you.
Most people will already know this - you can't miss it if you go anywhere near the news. Steve Irwin, a.k.a. the Crocodile Hunter, crossed the great divide yesterday, pierced through the heart by a stingray off the Australian coast.
Now, of course, I didn't know him personally, I wasn't even a very avid follower of his show (recently, my excuse for that is not owning a TV). Still, Mr. Irwin left a big impression on me and I feel strangely compelled to write a few words of my own, adding them to the flood of sympathy that is breaking loose.
So, why did this man on the other side of the globe leave an impression on me? First of all, being German myself and never having met an Australian, it was his distinctive accent and the liberal use of what seemed to have been his favourite word: "crikey". The next thing that struck me was his unusual approach to making a wildlife documentary: Getting insanely close to the deadliest animals that the Australian wilderness could throw at him. Crocodiles, snakes and spiders were usual customers. A scene I remember was him crouching on the ground, a large constrictor snake curled around his arm. In his usual excited voice he gave the viewer an overview of the animal he was holding and why it was such a successful predator in its environment, all the while ignoring the snake's vain attempts to bite into his arm. Once in a while he would turn to the animal and tell it in a soothing voice to "calm down, old buddy", or similar. In the end he pushed it off his arm and set it on the ground because it's grip was getting painful after all. On another occasion, I remember him trying to get up close and personal with a black mamba, the world's most poisonous land borne snake. The snake would turn and hiss and he would jump back but he would keep trying. At the same time he went on telling the viewer about how deadly this creature in front of him was. My first reaction to this was "he's completely and utterly raving mad. He's putting himself at an unnecessary risk by pissing off this animal. All just for the medium. Serves him right if he gets bitten."
This impression didn't last, though. It didn't take me long to realise that there was much more to this man. The thing that really impressed me was how he radiated this amazing enthusiasm and love for what he was doing, for the animals he was dealing with and for the environment they all lived in. This enthusiasm was not only captivating but also contagious - it was what made the programs so interesting. It conveighed more than anything else that here you had a man who wasn't just doing a job but living his dream, somebody who was genuinely happy doing what he was doing. Furthermore, after watching him for some time it also became clear that wasn't just randomly toying with the animals - he could just pull it off in such a way because he really knew what he was doing. He was highly concentrated and careful and would sometimes call it off if he didn't think he could handle the situation. He just knew the animals' ways so intimately that he could make it look like a game. I would guess the only way to achieve that kind of relationship with the animal kingdom was through a deep love and respect for each of its creatures.
So, the way I see it is that we had here a man who loved the world around him so much that was willing to risk his life to bring the viewer that much closer to it and help us all understand it a bit better. To me he seemed like somebody who had found true happiness in his work and his life - very few people can say that. In the end, he died doing what he enjoyed. Like many good men (and women) he has been taken from us far too early.
My thoughts and sympathies are with his family. Nobody needs to tell them what a great man he was.
Mr. Irwin, I salute you.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Life is not a box of chocolates
After the last post some people asked me what had happened. Initially, I wanted to go into a long rant about how unfairly life (and the people around me) is treating me. About how friends abandon me without any fault on my part. About how it hurts and makes me feel lonely.
However, I've come to realise recently that I've got it wrong. Forest Gump got it all wrong. Life is not a box of chocolates where it is only a matter of taking something out and seeing what it is. It is not all random. What you get out of life is what you put in. Not just in the metaphorical sense that if you work hard you get good results or such like. The world treats you the way you treat it. You hurt somebody - somebody hurts you. You turn your back on somebody - somebody will turn their back on you. Treat people kindly or fairly and they will treat you the same. But lie or cheat and that is what you will get. Break somebody's heart and you can be sure that yours will be broken, too. Not necessarily by the same person. It could seem completely unrelated but somehow your deeds will reflect back to you. Eventually, you reap what you sow. Call it Karma, call it divine retribution, call it good old-fashioned justice.
I have been careless with my deeds. I have been accumulating debt/guilt (interestingly the same word in German: Schuld) for a while now. It is too late to make amends or say that I'm sorry. My account is overdrawn and now it's time to pay up. The further you pull the pendulum in one direction the further it will swing in the other direction before balancing out. The moral is that I have no right to whine or complain or feel sorry for myself. Now that I have learnt this lesson I must act accordingly.
However, I've come to realise recently that I've got it wrong. Forest Gump got it all wrong. Life is not a box of chocolates where it is only a matter of taking something out and seeing what it is. It is not all random. What you get out of life is what you put in. Not just in the metaphorical sense that if you work hard you get good results or such like. The world treats you the way you treat it. You hurt somebody - somebody hurts you. You turn your back on somebody - somebody will turn their back on you. Treat people kindly or fairly and they will treat you the same. But lie or cheat and that is what you will get. Break somebody's heart and you can be sure that yours will be broken, too. Not necessarily by the same person. It could seem completely unrelated but somehow your deeds will reflect back to you. Eventually, you reap what you sow. Call it Karma, call it divine retribution, call it good old-fashioned justice.
I have been careless with my deeds. I have been accumulating debt/guilt (interestingly the same word in German: Schuld) for a while now. It is too late to make amends or say that I'm sorry. My account is overdrawn and now it's time to pay up. The further you pull the pendulum in one direction the further it will swing in the other direction before balancing out. The moral is that I have no right to whine or complain or feel sorry for myself. Now that I have learnt this lesson I must act accordingly.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Friendship is ... True? Precious? A Lie?
Why do people seek somebody else's company? Why do they try to be friends with somebody?
Because they enjoy the other person's company? Because they find the other person interesting or stimulating? Because the other person is somebody they trust or confide in? Or maybe because otherwise they'd be all alone?
Are these good enough reasons? The first three surely are - they are the basis every good friendship is built on. How about the last one? If you have nothing in common, have interests and views that differ so vastly that you disagree on almost everything, have a fundamentally different approach to life even and one just bores the other out of her wits - can a friendship really sustain itself on the basis that there's nobody else? Surely, very few friends really agree on everything - a certain difference might even be refreshing. But what if the only thing that holds the two together is that they need a friend? Just somebody that is willing to listen to the other's sorrows and worries and frustrations and problems. Merely somebody that is at all willing to spend time them.
It strikes me not so much as a friendship but an alliance: an alliance against loneliness maybe. And by its very nature it will only be renewed if there's a reason for it. It will ultimately collapse as soon as one of the two finds somebody that will not only fill the gap but will also add something more to the relationship. Somebody that she would want to be her friend. What about the one that's left? It's a race, a bizarre competition. The winner takes the trophy. The loser is left in the dark.
Because they enjoy the other person's company? Because they find the other person interesting or stimulating? Because the other person is somebody they trust or confide in? Or maybe because otherwise they'd be all alone?
Are these good enough reasons? The first three surely are - they are the basis every good friendship is built on. How about the last one? If you have nothing in common, have interests and views that differ so vastly that you disagree on almost everything, have a fundamentally different approach to life even and one just bores the other out of her wits - can a friendship really sustain itself on the basis that there's nobody else? Surely, very few friends really agree on everything - a certain difference might even be refreshing. But what if the only thing that holds the two together is that they need a friend? Just somebody that is willing to listen to the other's sorrows and worries and frustrations and problems. Merely somebody that is at all willing to spend time them.
It strikes me not so much as a friendship but an alliance: an alliance against loneliness maybe. And by its very nature it will only be renewed if there's a reason for it. It will ultimately collapse as soon as one of the two finds somebody that will not only fill the gap but will also add something more to the relationship. Somebody that she would want to be her friend. What about the one that's left? It's a race, a bizarre competition. The winner takes the trophy. The loser is left in the dark.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
TV madness - The Fourth in the Trilogy
It begins (how else?) with them (in this case, the TV licencing company, not the voices in my head) sending me another letter - for my bi-monthly entertainment supposedly. Since I don't have TV that fair enough. Maybe they figured: "He doesn't get much entertainment without TV. Let's just send him regular letters of affection instead." Thanks, chaps.
They've already made me go against my principles: I promised a trilogy, delivered three parts and look at me - I'm at it again. If this was Star Wars we'd now be going back to the time before I got the first letter to describe what I though about TV when I still had it. The thing is that I feel more like a part of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Maybe they also plan to torture me with poetry once they have me.
So, here I have been, holed up, preparing for the worst, stashing provisions for weeks at a time, always waiting for that knock on the door. "Enforcement Officers - open up! We've got the building surrounded." In my fantasies the search light of a helicopter filters through the blinds at that moment. The sound track of the scene would be Metallica's "I Disappear". People will now shake their heads saying "he watched to much TV". On the contrary - too little. Anyway, I haven't seen or heard anything of the TV licencing shock troops yet. Mostly harmless.
So with nothing new and interesting happening I am actually running out of things to say. Thus, I've decided that this will be the absolutely and positively last thing you'll see me write on this. Honestly. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die - you know.
So, with respect to this letter I got, I was in for another surprise this time. And a shock. After threats, blackmailing and lots of bold and red font - the usual viable means of effective communication - they are trying a completely novel approach. Something that shocked me. Me! After what I've been through. Something so completely and utterly unexpected that I just have to make this sentence really, really long and winding, ridiculously elongated even, so as to make the tension rise just that little, tiny bit more, to the literary fever pitch so to speak, before actually telling you and giving it all away: They try to be polite.
Well, they try. It's still an "OFFICIAL WARNING". This time, however, they try to make it sound politer by telling me why I am forcing them to do this. The evil mobster standing over our hero with a gun pointing at the hero's head saying "don't make me do this". I really can't help it - they make themselves look like villains from a B-movie all by themselves. I just write about it.
They "feel that it is [their] duty to inform me" about my doom as a criminal offender. I'm not sure whether they're now being apologetic or trying to set on example to the sons of England.
Lastly, of course, there the thing we've all been waiting for: the numeric puzzle. "Last month alone we caught 23,966 people." I really can't be hedgehogged anymore. Based on what you know from previous posts, I'll leave it to you smart folks to figure out how random the numbers are this time. Note though they snuck in a disclaimer. They catch 23,966 people - not evaders.
I imagine it this way: A kock on the door. The unsuspecting occupier opens. Three silent, burly men in dark uniforms (maybe even ski masks) are huddled together on the porch. Three pairs of hand grab hold. Moments later the occupier has been catapulted into the hall. "... your statement will be taken in compliance with the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984." I hear them shout at the person. "This is the first step towards your prosecution." "I don't even own a sodding TV" cries the person, still bewildered "you have nothing against me." "Shut your face!" The reply echoes through the stair case of the block of flats. "Last month we caught 23,966 people that said the same damn thing." Defiance rings in the voice of the captive as he answers. "Then have a look at my f***ing living room - I even dismantled the f***ing wall socket. See?" He tries to get up and point to the spot. One of the officers slams him back down. "Don't move" he bellows. Then speaking into his headset: "Search squad, move in." Moments later another small, orderly group of uniformed he-men hustle through, carrying high tech equipment and making sounds of "hut hut hut hut hut". They disappear into the open flat. Silence ensues. A masked head pops around the frame of the door. "There nothing here, sir." "What do you mean?" cries the commander. "Nothing, sir. No TV. No VCR. Not even a pocket radio." "Let me see that." The commander, who has been kneeling in the occupiers face, get up and walks in with confident strides. "Gotta do everything yourself these days." Muffled noises of shattering glass, splintering wood and clattering metal ensue. The commander re-emerges. He looks embarrassed despite the ski mask, doesn't know what to do with his hands. He sideles over to the two others who are still restraining their captive. He mumbles something. The others look confused. "Huh?" "Let him up, for f***'s sake!" At this moment the search squad goes by again "hut hut hut hut hut" and disappear down the stairs. The two officers stand the occupier on his feet then also disappear "hut hut hut". There's an awkward silence. The commander brushes some dust of the occupiers clothing. He scratches his head, his neck, his back. He vaguely points in direction of the exit. The occupier nods knowingly. "hut hut hut" and the commander is gone too.
So here you have it: The forth and last in the trilogy. The (anti) climax and grand finale. The last thing I'll have to say about the matter. There's nothing that could make me resume the topic.
Unless, of course, they release Enforcement Officer action figures.
They've already made me go against my principles: I promised a trilogy, delivered three parts and look at me - I'm at it again. If this was Star Wars we'd now be going back to the time before I got the first letter to describe what I though about TV when I still had it. The thing is that I feel more like a part of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Maybe they also plan to torture me with poetry once they have me.
So, here I have been, holed up, preparing for the worst, stashing provisions for weeks at a time, always waiting for that knock on the door. "Enforcement Officers - open up! We've got the building surrounded." In my fantasies the search light of a helicopter filters through the blinds at that moment. The sound track of the scene would be Metallica's "I Disappear". People will now shake their heads saying "he watched to much TV". On the contrary - too little. Anyway, I haven't seen or heard anything of the TV licencing shock troops yet. Mostly harmless.
So with nothing new and interesting happening I am actually running out of things to say. Thus, I've decided that this will be the absolutely and positively last thing you'll see me write on this. Honestly. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die - you know.
So, with respect to this letter I got, I was in for another surprise this time. And a shock. After threats, blackmailing and lots of bold and red font - the usual viable means of effective communication - they are trying a completely novel approach. Something that shocked me. Me! After what I've been through. Something so completely and utterly unexpected that I just have to make this sentence really, really long and winding, ridiculously elongated even, so as to make the tension rise just that little, tiny bit more, to the literary fever pitch so to speak, before actually telling you and giving it all away: They try to be polite.
Well, they try. It's still an "OFFICIAL WARNING". This time, however, they try to make it sound politer by telling me why I am forcing them to do this. The evil mobster standing over our hero with a gun pointing at the hero's head saying "don't make me do this". I really can't help it - they make themselves look like villains from a B-movie all by themselves. I just write about it.
They "feel that it is [their] duty to inform me" about my doom as a criminal offender. I'm not sure whether they're now being apologetic or trying to set on example to the sons of England.
Lastly, of course, there the thing we've all been waiting for: the numeric puzzle. "Last month alone we caught 23,966 people." I really can't be hedgehogged anymore. Based on what you know from previous posts, I'll leave it to you smart folks to figure out how random the numbers are this time. Note though they snuck in a disclaimer. They catch 23,966 people - not evaders.
I imagine it this way: A kock on the door. The unsuspecting occupier opens. Three silent, burly men in dark uniforms (maybe even ski masks) are huddled together on the porch. Three pairs of hand grab hold. Moments later the occupier has been catapulted into the hall. "... your statement will be taken in compliance with the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984." I hear them shout at the person. "This is the first step towards your prosecution." "I don't even own a sodding TV" cries the person, still bewildered "you have nothing against me." "Shut your face!" The reply echoes through the stair case of the block of flats. "Last month we caught 23,966 people that said the same damn thing." Defiance rings in the voice of the captive as he answers. "Then have a look at my f***ing living room - I even dismantled the f***ing wall socket. See?" He tries to get up and point to the spot. One of the officers slams him back down. "Don't move" he bellows. Then speaking into his headset: "Search squad, move in." Moments later another small, orderly group of uniformed he-men hustle through, carrying high tech equipment and making sounds of "hut hut hut hut hut". They disappear into the open flat. Silence ensues. A masked head pops around the frame of the door. "There nothing here, sir." "What do you mean?" cries the commander. "Nothing, sir. No TV. No VCR. Not even a pocket radio." "Let me see that." The commander, who has been kneeling in the occupiers face, get up and walks in with confident strides. "Gotta do everything yourself these days." Muffled noises of shattering glass, splintering wood and clattering metal ensue. The commander re-emerges. He looks embarrassed despite the ski mask, doesn't know what to do with his hands. He sideles over to the two others who are still restraining their captive. He mumbles something. The others look confused. "Huh?" "Let him up, for f***'s sake!" At this moment the search squad goes by again "hut hut hut hut hut" and disappear down the stairs. The two officers stand the occupier on his feet then also disappear "hut hut hut". There's an awkward silence. The commander brushes some dust of the occupiers clothing. He scratches his head, his neck, his back. He vaguely points in direction of the exit. The occupier nods knowingly. "hut hut hut" and the commander is gone too.
So here you have it: The forth and last in the trilogy. The (anti) climax and grand finale. The last thing I'll have to say about the matter. There's nothing that could make me resume the topic.
Unless, of course, they release Enforcement Officer action figures.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Tobe E, Private Investigator
This is a story of crime and mystery. It starts like all classic detective stories.
I was a gloomy, grey morning. The sky was overcast and a strong wind from the East was shaking the leaves from the trees. I had let myself into my office - my secretary was nowhere to be found. She must have quit again after I had not been able to cover her last pay cheque. The coffee from last night was still where I had left it. It looked murkier now than the sky, like something you wouldn't want to drown your cat in. This would be another one of those days. I was just going through my mail for the morning when there was a knock on the door. It was firm and purposeful and yet too soft to be the cops - or the tax collector. It was worse: a dame. Dames always ment trouble. Can't be professional when a beautiful face is involved. Larry had always warned me never to get involved with a client. Larry knew - he was a smart man. But Larry had never had trouble with his landlord over payments. A client meant I'd be able to pay the rent for another month.
"You're Mr. E" she asked in a smokey voice. The door framed her appearance beautifully. From the way she was looking at me, the way she was standing there I knew I would regret this. A dame like this could mean nothing but trouble. Larry's voice was screaming in my head to turn her away. I didn't pay attention - never liked people telling me what to do anyway.
I studied her intently from behind my desk. "Depends who's asking, lady."
"I need your help, Mr. E." Damn that voice. "People tell me you're the best."
"People say one thing about you today and another tomorrow. What can I help you with, lady?" I sat her down in a chair opposite me. I lit myself a cigarette. Always helped me think more clearly. Still dazzeled by the sultry red of her lips against her milky skin and the black of her hair I listened to her story.
Now, this is a story that really happened to one of my friends. Nothing has been added nor taken away.
My friend, let's call her J, is a Chinese girl who lives in Beijing. Very recently she did an online application for a job in London, UK. The advertiser was specifically looking for candidates from China that wanted to work in UK.
Shortly after sending in her CV she received a reply offering her the position: a job in the city for £28,000. There was no interview, no test, she never even talked to anybody from the company. Quite unusual for this country, I thought, but she does have experience in the field and maybe they need somebody urgently. It got stranger, though.
Still, she never heard from anybody at the company. Only the company's lawyer contacted her, his details an address in London without post code, a mobile phone number and a yahoo email address. He sent her the employment contract - by email. Apparently, the contract lacked even such basic details as working hours and number of holidays per year. This was when she got suspicious and consulted me.
After one look at the email she had been sent I felt that there was something fishy. First of all, there were quite a number of spelling and grammatical mistakes - not something you'd expect in a professional context.
Next, the lawyer, a certain Barrister Paul Rick, claimed that the CEO of the company - Derek Computers - had already signed a copy of the contract, which was now being held by Mr. Rick. The CEO was never named but J told me his name was also Paul. My friend was to print and sign her copy of the contract and send it back to the lawyer. Again, highly unusual since contracts are normally signed by both parties on the same piece of paper. They should have sent her the already signed original copy.
She was also told that for him to put his stamp on both copies both parties had to pay his fees. Both parties? For a lawyer employed by the company? To this end, she was to transfer to him £200 using Western Union Money Tranfer. Nicely anonymous. Could just as well have been a Swiss bank account. This was what made me really suspicious - I had never heard of a case where a candidate had to pay a company's lawyer to be employed.
Questions of visa application were to be addressed right after the payment had been received and the contract completed.
Various searches on the Web for "Derek Computers London", "Barrister Paul Rick" or "Venus Court Chambers" (the law firm Mr. Rick claims to work for) returned no relevant results. Even the address of the law firm could not be found on leading map sites.
Finally, I rang up the British Law Society, which holds records of solicitors, and the Bar Council, which holds records of all barristers. Neither organisation could find a law firm called Venus Court Chambers. The Bar Council also did not have any records of a Paul Rick being a barrister.
Clearly, it has become a well-known fact that many Chinese people are eager to gain work experience abroad - especially in UK and US. This scam - what else could it be - seems to be aimed at exploiting exactly those ambitions. A job vacancy in UK aimed at Chinese candidates, an offer without any questions asked, just pay the lawyer and we'll get you a visa. Too good to be true. But if you live so far abroad, maybe have never been to UK, maybe don't know how business is done here how would you expose it? The money would be lost. Imagine the trouble of getting this before a court all the way from China. And that would be assuming you can actually locate the culprits.
In the end I advised my friend to insist on more details and the signed copy of the original contract, and not under any circumstances to pay them any money. I don't expect she'll hear from them again. I rest my case.
Back in my dimly lit office I could see the disappointment on her pretty face. Sometimes I hate it when my suspicions turn out to be true. Shows me again and again that there are many bad people out there. People that spend all day trying figure out how to con you out of your hard earned dollars. Of course, folks like that keep me in business.
"How can they do this to me?" Her voice quaked. She was confused, shocked. Understandibly. She wanted - needed - reassurance. I could offer none.
"Those guys are sharks, lady. They'll do what it takes. Better stay clear of them now."
She dabbed at her eyes with a white hankerchief, careful not to smudge her flawless make-up. Then she turned to me again.
"Thank you, Mr. E." Her voice was composed again - that same smooth, smokey tone that had first gotten my attention. "You really are the best. I will never forget this. Is there anything I can do for you?"
She looked at me from under her elegantly curved eye lids pursing her lips. A couple of dozen things went through my mind. She meant trouble. Never get involved with a client. Another couple of dozen things went through my mind. I lit myself another cigarette, studying her through the whisps of smoke.
"My bill will be in the post, ma'am."
I could see she'd been expecting something else. She didn't say a word but her face spoke volumes. The door slammed and she was gone. I sat back in my chair and blew another cloud of smoke towards the ceiling. What the hell did Larry know.
I was a gloomy, grey morning. The sky was overcast and a strong wind from the East was shaking the leaves from the trees. I had let myself into my office - my secretary was nowhere to be found. She must have quit again after I had not been able to cover her last pay cheque. The coffee from last night was still where I had left it. It looked murkier now than the sky, like something you wouldn't want to drown your cat in. This would be another one of those days. I was just going through my mail for the morning when there was a knock on the door. It was firm and purposeful and yet too soft to be the cops - or the tax collector. It was worse: a dame. Dames always ment trouble. Can't be professional when a beautiful face is involved. Larry had always warned me never to get involved with a client. Larry knew - he was a smart man. But Larry had never had trouble with his landlord over payments. A client meant I'd be able to pay the rent for another month.
"You're Mr. E" she asked in a smokey voice. The door framed her appearance beautifully. From the way she was looking at me, the way she was standing there I knew I would regret this. A dame like this could mean nothing but trouble. Larry's voice was screaming in my head to turn her away. I didn't pay attention - never liked people telling me what to do anyway.
I studied her intently from behind my desk. "Depends who's asking, lady."
"I need your help, Mr. E." Damn that voice. "People tell me you're the best."
"People say one thing about you today and another tomorrow. What can I help you with, lady?" I sat her down in a chair opposite me. I lit myself a cigarette. Always helped me think more clearly. Still dazzeled by the sultry red of her lips against her milky skin and the black of her hair I listened to her story.
Now, this is a story that really happened to one of my friends. Nothing has been added nor taken away.
My friend, let's call her J, is a Chinese girl who lives in Beijing. Very recently she did an online application for a job in London, UK. The advertiser was specifically looking for candidates from China that wanted to work in UK.
Shortly after sending in her CV she received a reply offering her the position: a job in the city for £28,000. There was no interview, no test, she never even talked to anybody from the company. Quite unusual for this country, I thought, but she does have experience in the field and maybe they need somebody urgently. It got stranger, though.
Still, she never heard from anybody at the company. Only the company's lawyer contacted her, his details an address in London without post code, a mobile phone number and a yahoo email address. He sent her the employment contract - by email. Apparently, the contract lacked even such basic details as working hours and number of holidays per year. This was when she got suspicious and consulted me.
After one look at the email she had been sent I felt that there was something fishy. First of all, there were quite a number of spelling and grammatical mistakes - not something you'd expect in a professional context.
Next, the lawyer, a certain Barrister Paul Rick, claimed that the CEO of the company - Derek Computers - had already signed a copy of the contract, which was now being held by Mr. Rick. The CEO was never named but J told me his name was also Paul. My friend was to print and sign her copy of the contract and send it back to the lawyer. Again, highly unusual since contracts are normally signed by both parties on the same piece of paper. They should have sent her the already signed original copy.
She was also told that for him to put his stamp on both copies both parties had to pay his fees. Both parties? For a lawyer employed by the company? To this end, she was to transfer to him £200 using Western Union Money Tranfer. Nicely anonymous. Could just as well have been a Swiss bank account. This was what made me really suspicious - I had never heard of a case where a candidate had to pay a company's lawyer to be employed.
Questions of visa application were to be addressed right after the payment had been received and the contract completed.
Various searches on the Web for "Derek Computers London", "Barrister Paul Rick" or "Venus Court Chambers" (the law firm Mr. Rick claims to work for) returned no relevant results. Even the address of the law firm could not be found on leading map sites.
Finally, I rang up the British Law Society, which holds records of solicitors, and the Bar Council, which holds records of all barristers. Neither organisation could find a law firm called Venus Court Chambers. The Bar Council also did not have any records of a Paul Rick being a barrister.
Clearly, it has become a well-known fact that many Chinese people are eager to gain work experience abroad - especially in UK and US. This scam - what else could it be - seems to be aimed at exploiting exactly those ambitions. A job vacancy in UK aimed at Chinese candidates, an offer without any questions asked, just pay the lawyer and we'll get you a visa. Too good to be true. But if you live so far abroad, maybe have never been to UK, maybe don't know how business is done here how would you expose it? The money would be lost. Imagine the trouble of getting this before a court all the way from China. And that would be assuming you can actually locate the culprits.
In the end I advised my friend to insist on more details and the signed copy of the original contract, and not under any circumstances to pay them any money. I don't expect she'll hear from them again. I rest my case.
Back in my dimly lit office I could see the disappointment on her pretty face. Sometimes I hate it when my suspicions turn out to be true. Shows me again and again that there are many bad people out there. People that spend all day trying figure out how to con you out of your hard earned dollars. Of course, folks like that keep me in business.
"How can they do this to me?" Her voice quaked. She was confused, shocked. Understandibly. She wanted - needed - reassurance. I could offer none.
"Those guys are sharks, lady. They'll do what it takes. Better stay clear of them now."
She dabbed at her eyes with a white hankerchief, careful not to smudge her flawless make-up. Then she turned to me again.
"Thank you, Mr. E." Her voice was composed again - that same smooth, smokey tone that had first gotten my attention. "You really are the best. I will never forget this. Is there anything I can do for you?"
She looked at me from under her elegantly curved eye lids pursing her lips. A couple of dozen things went through my mind. She meant trouble. Never get involved with a client. Another couple of dozen things went through my mind. I lit myself another cigarette, studying her through the whisps of smoke.
"My bill will be in the post, ma'am."
I could see she'd been expecting something else. She didn't say a word but her face spoke volumes. The door slammed and she was gone. I sat back in my chair and blew another cloud of smoke towards the ceiling. What the hell did Larry know.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
48 Hours - Aftermath
No, it did not take me another week to make that bloody decision. Actually, I was pretty much decided the next day after posting the last entry. This does not mean that it was not a tough choice. Both options seemed pretty much balanced in my view - both against each other and by themselves. In the end, I decided to stay here with my regular job and regular life.
Why? What tipped the scales? Some things may appear obvious while others were rather surprising - even to myself.
One was, of course, the uncertainty. What would await me? Would I be a good teacher? Would I actually enjoy it? The idea of having to do something I was bad at and/or didn't enjoy for six months was daunting.
A surprise was the fact that even my current job was keeping me here. At last, my company, or rather my boss, had given me a small project of my own that I really enjoy. I didn't want to interrupt it - especially for something that might not be worth while.
At the same time, it seems that I'll finally be playing a role playing game again - this time with my colleagues. That is something I have been waiting to do for a long time. Another thing I would not want to forego.
Funny enough, it was also something that my friend said: You don't seem very excited about it - there's no point in finding a reason for something you don't really want to do. The moment she told me this I knew she was right - even though I was disappointed with myself for admitting it. I had been uncertain from the moment she had told me about the offer. It was more that it had been my dream for a long time before I became disillusioned after talking to some actual teachers. Now I felt like I should still want to go - so many other people did and enjoyed it - I didn't want to miss out. I couldn't even answer the question what I was afraid to miss out on. At the same time I was trying to find a valid excuse for not going. Complicated, huh?
Lastly, it was maybe too much of a surprise. There was hardly any time to think or prepare. It was a matter of throwing over-board my plans for the rest of the year, along with my job and my life and getting on plane to China. And as appealing as that may seem to some people I found it scary. The prospect of spending the next two months wrapping up the remainder of my life and then having to rush off was not what I had had in mind. I think, I'm not the kind of person to do that. I quietly (and sometimes not-so-quietly) envy those that can. Maybe one day I will reach the point where I'm fed up with my life. If there's still nothing to hold me back I'll just do it - or so I tell myself.
For now, it looks like I'm staying where I am. No regrets. Don't try to change my mind again. It's too late for that now.
Why? What tipped the scales? Some things may appear obvious while others were rather surprising - even to myself.
One was, of course, the uncertainty. What would await me? Would I be a good teacher? Would I actually enjoy it? The idea of having to do something I was bad at and/or didn't enjoy for six months was daunting.
A surprise was the fact that even my current job was keeping me here. At last, my company, or rather my boss, had given me a small project of my own that I really enjoy. I didn't want to interrupt it - especially for something that might not be worth while.
At the same time, it seems that I'll finally be playing a role playing game again - this time with my colleagues. That is something I have been waiting to do for a long time. Another thing I would not want to forego.
Funny enough, it was also something that my friend said: You don't seem very excited about it - there's no point in finding a reason for something you don't really want to do. The moment she told me this I knew she was right - even though I was disappointed with myself for admitting it. I had been uncertain from the moment she had told me about the offer. It was more that it had been my dream for a long time before I became disillusioned after talking to some actual teachers. Now I felt like I should still want to go - so many other people did and enjoyed it - I didn't want to miss out. I couldn't even answer the question what I was afraid to miss out on. At the same time I was trying to find a valid excuse for not going. Complicated, huh?
Lastly, it was maybe too much of a surprise. There was hardly any time to think or prepare. It was a matter of throwing over-board my plans for the rest of the year, along with my job and my life and getting on plane to China. And as appealing as that may seem to some people I found it scary. The prospect of spending the next two months wrapping up the remainder of my life and then having to rush off was not what I had had in mind. I think, I'm not the kind of person to do that. I quietly (and sometimes not-so-quietly) envy those that can. Maybe one day I will reach the point where I'm fed up with my life. If there's still nothing to hold me back I'll just do it - or so I tell myself.
For now, it looks like I'm staying where I am. No regrets. Don't try to change my mind again. It's too late for that now.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
48 Hours
I can't believe I still haven't made up my mind. I spent the last 48 hours thinking it through, weighing the pros and cons, trying to pinpoint and isolate what I really want. Several times I thought I had reached a decision only talk to somebody with a different opinion, who would make me doubt again.
I believe there is no right or wrong decision. Am I a fool that I don't want to give up my ordinary office-job life in Britain for the exciting new existence of an English teacher in Beijing? I know that many people do it and enjoy it - enjoy it so much that they continue doing it for years. But can I really be an English teacher - a teacher? I know that I enjoy speaking English and I know (with as little arrogance as possible) that my English is pretty much flawless - better than that of many a local here. Still, there is a difference between knowing something and communicating this knowledge to somebody else. Moreover, I know my motivation has nothing to do with wanting to teach but because this is the only realistic chance to spend some time in China and mix with the locals. I guess, it's the same for many others, as well.
What else keeps me from going?
I tell myself it's not about my career. Many people have had a year abroad on charity or teaching or just travelling and have returned to resume a perfectly healthy career.
The most daunting thing, however, is the step into the unknown. What will await me at the university, in the classroom? Will I enjoy it? Will I hate it? Will get along and make friends with students and colleagues? Will I be alone? The only certainty is that once I accept the offer and start the term there is no way out but forward. Even six month can be an eternity if you're not enjoying yourself.
Am I a coward for thinking like this? Am I a fool for even giving this matter so much deliberation? Do other people who do this sort of thing think so much before they decide? Did they know better what they were in for before they left home?
Staying here would mean playing it safe. No excitement in exchange for no risk involved. I know what I have here. It's a bit like gambling: If you don't do it you keep your money - guaranteed. On the other hand, if you want to win you must first bet. "No risk, no fun", some even say. I guess, I was never a gambler. Then again, the prize was never so attractive.
I believe there is no right or wrong decision. Am I a fool that I don't want to give up my ordinary office-job life in Britain for the exciting new existence of an English teacher in Beijing? I know that many people do it and enjoy it - enjoy it so much that they continue doing it for years. But can I really be an English teacher - a teacher? I know that I enjoy speaking English and I know (with as little arrogance as possible) that my English is pretty much flawless - better than that of many a local here. Still, there is a difference between knowing something and communicating this knowledge to somebody else. Moreover, I know my motivation has nothing to do with wanting to teach but because this is the only realistic chance to spend some time in China and mix with the locals. I guess, it's the same for many others, as well.
What else keeps me from going?
I tell myself it's not about my career. Many people have had a year abroad on charity or teaching or just travelling and have returned to resume a perfectly healthy career.
The most daunting thing, however, is the step into the unknown. What will await me at the university, in the classroom? Will I enjoy it? Will I hate it? Will get along and make friends with students and colleagues? Will I be alone? The only certainty is that once I accept the offer and start the term there is no way out but forward. Even six month can be an eternity if you're not enjoying yourself.
Am I a coward for thinking like this? Am I a fool for even giving this matter so much deliberation? Do other people who do this sort of thing think so much before they decide? Did they know better what they were in for before they left home?
Staying here would mean playing it safe. No excitement in exchange for no risk involved. I know what I have here. It's a bit like gambling: If you don't do it you keep your money - guaranteed. On the other hand, if you want to win you must first bet. "No risk, no fun", some even say. I guess, I was never a gambler. Then again, the prize was never so attractive.
Monday, June 19, 2006
The Decision of my Life
Where to begin? I have, it seems, arrived at a turning point in my life - a point where both wisearse and worrier delight in having long conversation in my head, long after the lights-out command has been issued.
The decision I'm talking about is this:
On one side - in the reasonable corner - there's my life as it is now. A nice flat, clean, spacious, a stable job, which provides a stable income. I earn British pounds which is still expensive in this country but very good for a holiday abroad. I don't have many friends here but those I do have I treasure (yeah, guys, I'm talking about you)
On the other side there a crazy dream I've had for a while. People have called it stupid, reckless, risky, nonsensical, rubbish. The dream is of giving up my job and my life here and to go far away. Taking a gap-year is the more popular modern buzz-word for it. After my brief holiday in China this idea kept coming up again: my plan was to finish this year at my job and then go away somewhere better and exciting - if only for a while. Now fate has its way with these things and served me an opportunity on a silver platter. A friend's friend's mother works for a university in Beijing which is currently urgently looking for foreign teachers to teach their students oral and written English and Western culture. First the facts (or so I believe): The university is a reasonably renowned university that trains becoming police officers or provides further education to higher graded officers. I would be teaching English to undergraduate or postgraduate students. This will be in the form of 12 to 16 hours of classroom teaching per week. The syllabus will be dictated largely by the university but I was encouraged to bring my own material. A previous teacher told me that their material can be quite boring. At the end of the term I would also need to mark and examine students. I would be compensated for my efforts with a one-bedroom flat (= bedsit) on campus. On top of that I would receive a monthly salary of 4500RMB - an amount that people I know seem to have varying opinions on. Some say it is not enough and I might well spend more than I earn, others say it is more than enough and I will save half of it. For Western standards it is definitely nothing and even in China I imagine it will not pay for an extravagant life-style. Then again it seems to be in line with what graduates earn in their first job. Doesn't sound so bad, all this. Why then the conflict?
Here's what I believe I found out about myself in the countless conversations I have had this week.
Since I want to end my stay in Britain soon, anyway, why not do it now and go for an adventure? Maybe it is the uncertainty of the adventure that makes me hesitate. I am certainly not sure what to expect, never having done any kind of teaching before. Not knowing whether I will like it and having to enter a minimum of 6 months contract dampens the enthusiasm. Having to leave a life behind that I spent such a long time building up and starting from scratch is daunting, at best. And, of course, there are the constant warnings of the pessimists in my ear that say if I go now and leave my job and my industry for more than half a year I will struggle find employment again. It is something I refuse to acknowledge - I'm not too old for this shit! - but after hearing it so many times it does leave a mark (as if I didn't already know). Furthermore, I finally seem to be making friends with some of the guys at work (after so long) and around work. At the same time it seems that my boss has enough faith in me to give me the ownership of a small component, which I will design and write from scratch. Worst of all maybe it confuses my plans again: I had it all worked out up to the end of the year at least. I still wanted to visit my (now) ex-girlfriend in Singapore and see the place and maybe make a short trip to Malaysia as well. That would be impossible. At the same time there is a nagging voice in my head that tells me that an opportunity like this does not come along often and that I will regret it if I let it slip away. Especially, since this has been a dream or at least a thought for quite a while already. Also, as my mum's husband aptly put it, if you want to do something crazy like this you have to do it while you're young (I'm not too old for this shit!). Also, I wanted to leave Britain, anyway, why not do it now. A few months more or less will not make a difference. I would even pick up some essential communication, organisation and presentation skills on a job like that, along with the responsibility for a group of students. These two seem compelling enough - why the uncertainty? Well, I'm undecided by nature - lazy evaluation avoids resolving arguments, and thus commitment, until the last minute. I'm probably also daunted by the new task and chance. It might be an exciting new challenge, rewarding like few others - or a six-month nightmare of epic proportions. Sometimes, I know that the things that keep me here and the those that compel me to go are all just people. The people I met in Beijing and that I've missed since then. The people I know and love in Britain who I don't want to disappoint or abandon. I know that people are the wrong motivation since people - friends - can easily drop out of the equation: new job, new girl/boyfriend, new interests - all the things that can make friends turn away. If they were the only thing that kept me or motivated me where would I be if they leave or become unavailable? The things to look for among my motivations are things like a genuine interest in teaching, a passion for Chinese culture and language, and the real wish to try something new. I listen inside myself and hear only turmoil - all the different desires shouting in a great cacophony. Does that mean I'm not so interested in the position? Maybe I'm afraid of disappointing myself here... Maybe I feel that I ought to want it.
My time draws to a close - tomorrow or at the latest the day after will be decision time. For many all this deliberation may sound silly. Nike - Just Do It. Something tells me I'll end up tossing a coin and hoping for a result - then at least I'll know what I want deep in my heart of hearts.
The decision I'm talking about is this:
On one side - in the reasonable corner - there's my life as it is now. A nice flat, clean, spacious, a stable job, which provides a stable income. I earn British pounds which is still expensive in this country but very good for a holiday abroad. I don't have many friends here but those I do have I treasure (yeah, guys, I'm talking about you)
On the other side there a crazy dream I've had for a while. People have called it stupid, reckless, risky, nonsensical, rubbish. The dream is of giving up my job and my life here and to go far away. Taking a gap-year is the more popular modern buzz-word for it. After my brief holiday in China this idea kept coming up again: my plan was to finish this year at my job and then go away somewhere better and exciting - if only for a while. Now fate has its way with these things and served me an opportunity on a silver platter. A friend's friend's mother works for a university in Beijing which is currently urgently looking for foreign teachers to teach their students oral and written English and Western culture. First the facts (or so I believe): The university is a reasonably renowned university that trains becoming police officers or provides further education to higher graded officers. I would be teaching English to undergraduate or postgraduate students. This will be in the form of 12 to 16 hours of classroom teaching per week. The syllabus will be dictated largely by the university but I was encouraged to bring my own material. A previous teacher told me that their material can be quite boring. At the end of the term I would also need to mark and examine students. I would be compensated for my efforts with a one-bedroom flat (= bedsit) on campus. On top of that I would receive a monthly salary of 4500RMB - an amount that people I know seem to have varying opinions on. Some say it is not enough and I might well spend more than I earn, others say it is more than enough and I will save half of it. For Western standards it is definitely nothing and even in China I imagine it will not pay for an extravagant life-style. Then again it seems to be in line with what graduates earn in their first job. Doesn't sound so bad, all this. Why then the conflict?
Here's what I believe I found out about myself in the countless conversations I have had this week.
Since I want to end my stay in Britain soon, anyway, why not do it now and go for an adventure? Maybe it is the uncertainty of the adventure that makes me hesitate. I am certainly not sure what to expect, never having done any kind of teaching before. Not knowing whether I will like it and having to enter a minimum of 6 months contract dampens the enthusiasm. Having to leave a life behind that I spent such a long time building up and starting from scratch is daunting, at best. And, of course, there are the constant warnings of the pessimists in my ear that say if I go now and leave my job and my industry for more than half a year I will struggle find employment again. It is something I refuse to acknowledge - I'm not too old for this shit! - but after hearing it so many times it does leave a mark (as if I didn't already know). Furthermore, I finally seem to be making friends with some of the guys at work (after so long) and around work. At the same time it seems that my boss has enough faith in me to give me the ownership of a small component, which I will design and write from scratch. Worst of all maybe it confuses my plans again: I had it all worked out up to the end of the year at least. I still wanted to visit my (now) ex-girlfriend in Singapore and see the place and maybe make a short trip to Malaysia as well. That would be impossible. At the same time there is a nagging voice in my head that tells me that an opportunity like this does not come along often and that I will regret it if I let it slip away. Especially, since this has been a dream or at least a thought for quite a while already. Also, as my mum's husband aptly put it, if you want to do something crazy like this you have to do it while you're young (I'm not too old for this shit!). Also, I wanted to leave Britain, anyway, why not do it now. A few months more or less will not make a difference. I would even pick up some essential communication, organisation and presentation skills on a job like that, along with the responsibility for a group of students. These two seem compelling enough - why the uncertainty? Well, I'm undecided by nature - lazy evaluation avoids resolving arguments, and thus commitment, until the last minute. I'm probably also daunted by the new task and chance. It might be an exciting new challenge, rewarding like few others - or a six-month nightmare of epic proportions. Sometimes, I know that the things that keep me here and the those that compel me to go are all just people. The people I met in Beijing and that I've missed since then. The people I know and love in Britain who I don't want to disappoint or abandon. I know that people are the wrong motivation since people - friends - can easily drop out of the equation: new job, new girl/boyfriend, new interests - all the things that can make friends turn away. If they were the only thing that kept me or motivated me where would I be if they leave or become unavailable? The things to look for among my motivations are things like a genuine interest in teaching, a passion for Chinese culture and language, and the real wish to try something new. I listen inside myself and hear only turmoil - all the different desires shouting in a great cacophony. Does that mean I'm not so interested in the position? Maybe I'm afraid of disappointing myself here... Maybe I feel that I ought to want it.
My time draws to a close - tomorrow or at the latest the day after will be decision time. For many all this deliberation may sound silly. Nike - Just Do It. Something tells me I'll end up tossing a coin and hoping for a result - then at least I'll know what I want deep in my heart of hearts.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Where has my heart gone ...?
... trapped in the eyes of a stranger? How is it possible? How is it possible to be in a relationship with a wonderful girl for years and still not be sure of the future with her? To know, to damn-well know, how good she is to me and how much she has done for me - and still does. To find her the sexiest thing on earth when she so much as takes off her sweater. To be able to talk to her about anything and everything without having to fear judgement or ridicule. To be respected, loved, adored by her, unconditionally. To be forgiven almost any transgression, any offence. To be the only one she admits into her heart.
Still my heart is unsteady, fickle, easily changed. It wanders away at every possible chance. As Shakespeare puts it: it hunts after new fancies. At the blink of an eye feelings change. They don't fade. They re-focus on a different person.
Here's my quest for answers. Is it because she's not "the one"? Is it for the excitement of someone new? Is it just because of the male excuse that I'm too young for commitment? (too young?! at 26?!) Is it because she's been the only girl I've been with before discovering that others find me attractive too (against all odds)? Have we just been too close too quickly? Is it because I'm thinking with a part of my anatomy other than my brain (and not the stomach either)?
I know I enjoy flirting - even when she is around. Still, her presence reminds me where I belong and prevents me from going to far (this generally does not happen even when she's not around - I'm simply too shy). When she is not around - especially when she hasn't been for a long time - things are different. Maybe feelings had already begun to fade a long time ago without her noticing and maybe even without me knowing. Maybe I only loved her back for what she was doing for me not out of my own initiative. Strangely enough, no matter how she probes and questions me, I cannot think of anything that I really dislike about her. I cannot remember ever not having a good time with her. There was the occasional quarrel - some of them her fault, some of them mine. Maybe more of them mine. At some point, however, I realised that even though I was perfectly content with her company I had begun to enjoy other people's company more. Maybe this coincided with my move to a different city where I could only see her once a week. After a long time that I had been happy not having any friends beside her I began feeling the urge to spend time with my new friends - and not her. What was more that a number of those new friends were female. I discovered that other girls also like me when I had believed that she would be the only one. Thus, spurred on by my new-found confidence, my heart began to wander - wonder. Maybe, in a cocky and selfish way, it was the realisation that she was not as unique as I had thought. Maybe it was none of the above but due to the distance and my new friends she became less and less important. 6 out of 7 days on average she could not be there for me and other friends filled her place in many aspects. And even though our relationship seemed even more passionate during the few days that we had maybe that was the beginning of the end - a very slow and creeping end but an end none the less. There are many maybes in this and I don't expect to ever know the answer for sure. It matters little now, anyway.
I feel guilty and ashamed that I do this to her and her family. I know that they, being traditional minded people, were already counting on me as the son-in-law. This is looking exceedingly unlikely now. I am also sad that with her I will loose her siblings and family many of who I have grown to like. Loosing her altogether - even as a friend - leaves me empty inside and seeing all our dreams crumble into dust weighs even heavier on my heart. Imagining that somebody else will at some point take my place in her heart and soul now only stirs a quiet resignation where jealousy should have been. I have no right to feel like this. I am to blame.
I also fail to live up to my own standards. Before I met her I had sworn to myself that when I had a girlfriend I would treat her like my queen, be faithful and loyal and make her life an easier and happier one in whichever way I could. I was going to be different from the guys that you hear or read about, who cheat on their girlfriends, treat them like toys and don't pay attention to what they want or need. To my horror I have now come to realise that I'm not so different from them after all. Maybe I'm just a man and maybe that's the statement that answers all the questions above. But is it an excuse?
No.
Why am I writing this here? It will not make anybody like me more - much rather less. If and when those that know me ask me "why?" I know I will not dare to tell the truth - how things really are. This is my confession. I want to confess - not before God since I'm not religious or catholic enough for that. Instead of receiving absolution from Him I put myself at the mercy of those who read this to judge me, and, in His stead, spell doom or maybe grant me absolution.
Still my heart is unsteady, fickle, easily changed. It wanders away at every possible chance. As Shakespeare puts it: it hunts after new fancies. At the blink of an eye feelings change. They don't fade. They re-focus on a different person.
Here's my quest for answers. Is it because she's not "the one"? Is it for the excitement of someone new? Is it just because of the male excuse that I'm too young for commitment? (too young?! at 26?!) Is it because she's been the only girl I've been with before discovering that others find me attractive too (against all odds)? Have we just been too close too quickly? Is it because I'm thinking with a part of my anatomy other than my brain (and not the stomach either)?
I know I enjoy flirting - even when she is around. Still, her presence reminds me where I belong and prevents me from going to far (this generally does not happen even when she's not around - I'm simply too shy). When she is not around - especially when she hasn't been for a long time - things are different. Maybe feelings had already begun to fade a long time ago without her noticing and maybe even without me knowing. Maybe I only loved her back for what she was doing for me not out of my own initiative. Strangely enough, no matter how she probes and questions me, I cannot think of anything that I really dislike about her. I cannot remember ever not having a good time with her. There was the occasional quarrel - some of them her fault, some of them mine. Maybe more of them mine. At some point, however, I realised that even though I was perfectly content with her company I had begun to enjoy other people's company more. Maybe this coincided with my move to a different city where I could only see her once a week. After a long time that I had been happy not having any friends beside her I began feeling the urge to spend time with my new friends - and not her. What was more that a number of those new friends were female. I discovered that other girls also like me when I had believed that she would be the only one. Thus, spurred on by my new-found confidence, my heart began to wander - wonder. Maybe, in a cocky and selfish way, it was the realisation that she was not as unique as I had thought. Maybe it was none of the above but due to the distance and my new friends she became less and less important. 6 out of 7 days on average she could not be there for me and other friends filled her place in many aspects. And even though our relationship seemed even more passionate during the few days that we had maybe that was the beginning of the end - a very slow and creeping end but an end none the less. There are many maybes in this and I don't expect to ever know the answer for sure. It matters little now, anyway.
I feel guilty and ashamed that I do this to her and her family. I know that they, being traditional minded people, were already counting on me as the son-in-law. This is looking exceedingly unlikely now. I am also sad that with her I will loose her siblings and family many of who I have grown to like. Loosing her altogether - even as a friend - leaves me empty inside and seeing all our dreams crumble into dust weighs even heavier on my heart. Imagining that somebody else will at some point take my place in her heart and soul now only stirs a quiet resignation where jealousy should have been. I have no right to feel like this. I am to blame.
I also fail to live up to my own standards. Before I met her I had sworn to myself that when I had a girlfriend I would treat her like my queen, be faithful and loyal and make her life an easier and happier one in whichever way I could. I was going to be different from the guys that you hear or read about, who cheat on their girlfriends, treat them like toys and don't pay attention to what they want or need. To my horror I have now come to realise that I'm not so different from them after all. Maybe I'm just a man and maybe that's the statement that answers all the questions above. But is it an excuse?
No.
Why am I writing this here? It will not make anybody like me more - much rather less. If and when those that know me ask me "why?" I know I will not dare to tell the truth - how things really are. This is my confession. I want to confess - not before God since I'm not religious or catholic enough for that. Instead of receiving absolution from Him I put myself at the mercy of those who read this to judge me, and, in His stead, spell doom or maybe grant me absolution.
Ein Freund, ein guter Freund...
This one's a short one - just a note, a thought even (does happen despite the pain).
Today, just now, I came to realise the difference between friends and colleagues. You may guess it's that friends matter. True. But more still friends are remembered.
I can probably still name most people I called friends during my MSc, my three years doing a BSc, at secondary school and even primary school even though I haven't seen some of them for many years (decades for some - god, I'm getting old). I might not recognise some of them after 10 years but I remember them and who they were. On the other hand, I just met a colleague from a different department that I worked quite closely with for a year. I even got along quite well with him. I had not really spoken with him for a few months. Of course, I recognised his face but I could not remember his name. After only a few months!
Maybe this is something most people know anyway - I certainly did know that colleagues are not equivalent to friends. Still, this was an interesting demonstration of this fact. Maybe it will serve to make me think twice before cancelling on friends because of some after-work event.
Today, just now, I came to realise the difference between friends and colleagues. You may guess it's that friends matter. True. But more still friends are remembered.
I can probably still name most people I called friends during my MSc, my three years doing a BSc, at secondary school and even primary school even though I haven't seen some of them for many years (decades for some - god, I'm getting old). I might not recognise some of them after 10 years but I remember them and who they were. On the other hand, I just met a colleague from a different department that I worked quite closely with for a year. I even got along quite well with him. I had not really spoken with him for a few months. Of course, I recognised his face but I could not remember his name. After only a few months!
Maybe this is something most people know anyway - I certainly did know that colleagues are not equivalent to friends. Still, this was an interesting demonstration of this fact. Maybe it will serve to make me think twice before cancelling on friends because of some after-work event.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
TV madness 3: Investigate this!
Guess what: another month, another letter. I'm actually beginning to look forward to them. When I find a new one in the mail, it's almost like Christmas as a child. You get something wrapped up, you wonder what's inside, it's exciting to unwrap, it entertains you for awhile, then you wait to get the next one.
So, after waiting - lurking - for two months the trolls of TV lincencing have stirred again. They have not forgotten me, no, their henchmen, the Enforcement Officer Brigade, are still scheduled to descend on me shortly. How I wish they would stop calling me "shortly".
As usual there's a number puzzle hidden in the letter (a bit like in The DaVinci Code). According to this, this year, they have already caught 78,224 hapless victims. Fans of numeric puzzles can now calculate from the other numbers given how many more people will go into their trap during the remainder of the year. They must have been very active in the first quarter but get a bit lax after that. Furthermore, all of these people were caught in Chatham. This suggests a grave misunderstanding: I live in Woking. Why threaten the poor people of Chatham any further? Moreover, even if Chatham has 78,224 inhabitants they're a bloody dishonest lot. Shame on them. Letting themselves get caught red-handed like that, making it so easy. They've ruined the entire statistic for this year!
I would imagine that by now I must be ranking high on the to-hit list of TV lincencing godfathers. Strangely, this letter is a lot less offensive and harsh than the previous ones. That left me feeling confused. Have I weakened their resolve? Is it possible that they might be giving up? Otherwise, why are they suddenly using the word "please"? They even offer me their help! ... Or is it all a cunning trap? "Even at this stage we want to help you stop this investigation." Aha! Having found me guilty, they extend a merciful hand to save my soul. We don't want to punish you - we want to help you. Inquisition, what a show!
Lastly, I'm being warned that the interro- ahem, inquiry will be conducted "firmly and fairly". Again a statement that leaves me bewildered - that would be the first time anyone from that company treats me fairly. I wouldn't know how to react to that. Does that mean they won't break down my door and drag me out by the hair? Do the tin men have hearts? Surely, that must be another trick to get me to open the door.
I do hope that they will not help me but rather themselves and stop this madness. The entertainment factor is wearing off. Once I get to the stage where I don't know what to write about them anymore I might actually get annoyed.
So, after waiting - lurking - for two months the trolls of TV lincencing have stirred again. They have not forgotten me, no, their henchmen, the Enforcement Officer Brigade, are still scheduled to descend on me shortly. How I wish they would stop calling me "shortly".
As usual there's a number puzzle hidden in the letter (a bit like in The DaVinci Code). According to this, this year, they have already caught 78,224 hapless victims. Fans of numeric puzzles can now calculate from the other numbers given how many more people will go into their trap during the remainder of the year. They must have been very active in the first quarter but get a bit lax after that. Furthermore, all of these people were caught in Chatham. This suggests a grave misunderstanding: I live in Woking. Why threaten the poor people of Chatham any further? Moreover, even if Chatham has 78,224 inhabitants they're a bloody dishonest lot. Shame on them. Letting themselves get caught red-handed like that, making it so easy. They've ruined the entire statistic for this year!
I would imagine that by now I must be ranking high on the to-hit list of TV lincencing godfathers. Strangely, this letter is a lot less offensive and harsh than the previous ones. That left me feeling confused. Have I weakened their resolve? Is it possible that they might be giving up? Otherwise, why are they suddenly using the word "please"? They even offer me their help! ... Or is it all a cunning trap? "Even at this stage we want to help you stop this investigation." Aha! Having found me guilty, they extend a merciful hand to save my soul. We don't want to punish you - we want to help you. Inquisition, what a show!
Lastly, I'm being warned that the interro- ahem, inquiry will be conducted "firmly and fairly". Again a statement that leaves me bewildered - that would be the first time anyone from that company treats me fairly. I wouldn't know how to react to that. Does that mean they won't break down my door and drag me out by the hair? Do the tin men have hearts? Surely, that must be another trick to get me to open the door.
I do hope that they will not help me but rather themselves and stop this madness. The entertainment factor is wearing off. Once I get to the stage where I don't know what to write about them anymore I might actually get annoyed.
Impressions from the Middle Kingdom
(Due to popular - ahem - demand here now the English version)
How unsual it is to speak German or English again, to see so many Westerners, to eat Pasta or Pizza, to sit on the toilet. China is still in my system even though I'm thousands of kilometers and seven timezones away. The wonders of modern technology: just now I was in Beijing, now back to Europe, Munich, London. I see familiar features in peoples faces, I hear familiar languages, I can read the menu again. And somehow I wish it was not so.
All the remains are the memories, the floods of impressions, endless photographs and some of Beijing's dust on my shoes. I don't want to wash it off. I don't want to miss the noise and comotion of this vibrant city. Still I know that nothing can stop the fading of the countless impressions.
The cars with their crazy drivers, the swarms of cyclists, many even crazier than the car drivers. The countless eateries, stalls and restaurants that give off almost as many different smells. The colourful markets. The people, the way the talk, discuss, bargain, advertise, dance in the park or practice calligraphy or taiji. The girls with their elegantly curved, faithfully deep brown eyes, silky skin and jet-black hair. The kindness, generosity and curiosity with which people meet a simple stranger like me. The language so mind-boggling, different, difficult, melodic and fascinating at the same time. All of it so much that you can't help but want to learn it. Even if it is just so that you know what you just ordered.
There's so much more that already begins to fade. The torrent is boundless.
If I lost something on my trip to China it is my heart - almost in every respect.
How can I call a street lively if it doesn't cause the same kind of noise as a market in Nanjing? Never again will food be spicy if it does not have the same infernal effect as the dishes from the Sichuan province. Never again can I call a city big if it takes less than an hour to get from one side to the other (using a train!). And never again will I call anything utterly mad (for lack of a better word) if it does not surpass the "godknowshowmany channel spectral Dolby Surround fountain" of Nanjing!
Memories may fade and intermingle. Old impressions will be replaced by new ones. But how could I ever forget China! I will return. I must.
How unsual it is to speak German or English again, to see so many Westerners, to eat Pasta or Pizza, to sit on the toilet. China is still in my system even though I'm thousands of kilometers and seven timezones away. The wonders of modern technology: just now I was in Beijing, now back to Europe, Munich, London. I see familiar features in peoples faces, I hear familiar languages, I can read the menu again. And somehow I wish it was not so.
All the remains are the memories, the floods of impressions, endless photographs and some of Beijing's dust on my shoes. I don't want to wash it off. I don't want to miss the noise and comotion of this vibrant city. Still I know that nothing can stop the fading of the countless impressions.
The cars with their crazy drivers, the swarms of cyclists, many even crazier than the car drivers. The countless eateries, stalls and restaurants that give off almost as many different smells. The colourful markets. The people, the way the talk, discuss, bargain, advertise, dance in the park or practice calligraphy or taiji. The girls with their elegantly curved, faithfully deep brown eyes, silky skin and jet-black hair. The kindness, generosity and curiosity with which people meet a simple stranger like me. The language so mind-boggling, different, difficult, melodic and fascinating at the same time. All of it so much that you can't help but want to learn it. Even if it is just so that you know what you just ordered.
There's so much more that already begins to fade. The torrent is boundless.
If I lost something on my trip to China it is my heart - almost in every respect.
How can I call a street lively if it doesn't cause the same kind of noise as a market in Nanjing? Never again will food be spicy if it does not have the same infernal effect as the dishes from the Sichuan province. Never again can I call a city big if it takes less than an hour to get from one side to the other (using a train!). And never again will I call anything utterly mad (for lack of a better word) if it does not surpass the "godknowshowmany channel spectral Dolby Surround fountain" of Nanjing!
Memories may fade and intermingle. Old impressions will be replaced by new ones. But how could I ever forget China! I will return. I must.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Eindrücke aus dem Reich der Mitte
Wie ungewohnt es ist, wieder deutsch oder englisch zu sprechen, wieder so viele Westler zu sehen, wieder Pasta zu essen, wieder auf dem Klo zu sitzen. China steckt einem immer noch im Blut obwohl man tausende von Kilometern entfernt ist. Die Wunder der modernen Technik: eben noch in Peking - jetzt schon wieder in Europa, München, London. Ich sehe wieder vertraute Gesichtszüge, höre wieder vertraute Sprachen und kann die Speisekarte wieder lesen. Und irgendwie wünschte ich, es wäre nicht so.
Alles was jetzt bleibt sind all die Erinnerungen, Fluten von Eindrücken, die endlosen Fotos und ein Rest von Pekings Staub an meinen Schuhen. Ich möchte ihn nicht abwaschen. Ich möchte den Lärm und den Trubel der Stadt nicht vergessen, nicht missen. Trotzdem weiss ich, dass nicht das Verwaschen der unzähligen Eindrücke verhindern kann.
Die Autos mit ihren verrückten Fahrern, die Scharen von Radfahrern, viele noch verrückter als die Autofahrer. Die unzähligen Lokale, Buden und Stände von denen ebensoviele Gerüche ausgehen. Die Menschen, wie reden, diskutieren, feilschen, Waren anpreisen oder im Park tanzen, Kaligraphie oder Taiji üben. Die Mädchen mit ihren elegant geschwungenen, treu-braunen Augen und seidiger Haut und nachtschwarzem Haar. Die Freundlichkeit und Neugier, die man einem einfachen Fremden entgegenbringt. Die Sprache so irrwitzig, anders, schwierig, melodisch und faszinierend zugleich. Alles davon so sehr, dass man nicht umhin kann, sie lernen zu wollen. Allein schon damit man im Restaurant weiss, was man gerade bestellt hat. So viel mehr, das jetzt schon zu verblassen beginnt. Die Flut nimmt kein Ende.
Wenn ich etwas in China verloren habe, dann ist es mein Herz. Fast in jeder Hinsicht.
Wie kann ich eine Strasse lebhaft nennen, wenn sie nicht mindestens den gleichen Lärm verursacht wie eine Marktstrasse in Nanjing? Nie wieder ist Essen scharf wenn es nicht dieselbe Wirkung hat, wie die Gerichte aus der Sichuan Provinz. Nie wieder kann ich eine Stadt gross nennen wenn es weniger als eine Stunde von einer Seite zur anderen dauert. Und nie wieder werde ich etwas völlig durchgeknallt nennen wenn es nicht den 12-wasweissich Kanal Dolby Surround Springbrunnen von Nanjing in den Schatten stellt.
Wie könnte ich China vergessen! Ich werde wiederkommen. Ich muss einfach.
Alles was jetzt bleibt sind all die Erinnerungen, Fluten von Eindrücken, die endlosen Fotos und ein Rest von Pekings Staub an meinen Schuhen. Ich möchte ihn nicht abwaschen. Ich möchte den Lärm und den Trubel der Stadt nicht vergessen, nicht missen. Trotzdem weiss ich, dass nicht das Verwaschen der unzähligen Eindrücke verhindern kann.
Die Autos mit ihren verrückten Fahrern, die Scharen von Radfahrern, viele noch verrückter als die Autofahrer. Die unzähligen Lokale, Buden und Stände von denen ebensoviele Gerüche ausgehen. Die Menschen, wie reden, diskutieren, feilschen, Waren anpreisen oder im Park tanzen, Kaligraphie oder Taiji üben. Die Mädchen mit ihren elegant geschwungenen, treu-braunen Augen und seidiger Haut und nachtschwarzem Haar. Die Freundlichkeit und Neugier, die man einem einfachen Fremden entgegenbringt. Die Sprache so irrwitzig, anders, schwierig, melodisch und faszinierend zugleich. Alles davon so sehr, dass man nicht umhin kann, sie lernen zu wollen. Allein schon damit man im Restaurant weiss, was man gerade bestellt hat. So viel mehr, das jetzt schon zu verblassen beginnt. Die Flut nimmt kein Ende.
Wenn ich etwas in China verloren habe, dann ist es mein Herz. Fast in jeder Hinsicht.
Wie kann ich eine Strasse lebhaft nennen, wenn sie nicht mindestens den gleichen Lärm verursacht wie eine Marktstrasse in Nanjing? Nie wieder ist Essen scharf wenn es nicht dieselbe Wirkung hat, wie die Gerichte aus der Sichuan Provinz. Nie wieder kann ich eine Stadt gross nennen wenn es weniger als eine Stunde von einer Seite zur anderen dauert. Und nie wieder werde ich etwas völlig durchgeknallt nennen wenn es nicht den 12-wasweissich Kanal Dolby Surround Springbrunnen von Nanjing in den Schatten stellt.
Wie könnte ich China vergessen! Ich werde wiederkommen. Ich muss einfach.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
TV Madness 2: Enter the Enforcers
Yes, friends of light entertainment, I've had another letter from the British TV licencing company. And, as the title of the post suggests, it's like the sequel to a cheesy movie. I can almost see the tag line: Even more paragraphs in bold, even larger font and this time ... it's in red!
As in every sequel the content is pretty much the same but more over-blown. One sentence in particular stands out. They're playing the number game again - even more boldly than before. "Every day" they say here "we catch over 1000 evaders". An impressive number! Means that at this rate it would still take them 164 years to catch the entire population of the UK. Also means that they would catch 365,000 evaders per year. Attentive readers may now say: "Wait a second! Didn't they claim in their first letter that they caught 80,277 evaders per year?" Well spotted. Contradiction! But don't panic, terrorists never make sense. Maybe 365,000 is number of people they drag to court and 80,277 is the number of people convicted. As I've said before, even terrorists make mistakes. That's why they apologise. Besides, they have a much more effective way of distracting the reader from this obvious use of random figures: In good old comic book villain-style they add: "You could be next." Where, of course, the strong emphasis is on you. You can almost see pointing finger. The only thing missing from this picture is the evil laugh.
I've also been informed that they will soon let loose their dreaded enforcement officers on my property. These Stormtroopers of licence enforcement, the SS among privately run crime fighters, could now pay me a visit any time. They will then presumably hound me until they have found me guilty and possibly burn me at the stake. I'm thrilled already. What will they look like? What will they do? What will they say? And will they really sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger?
As an interesting aside note that they target, harrass and attack potential evaders in the same sort of way that Bush and Blair used in their (witch) hunt for weapons of mass destruction. Presumed guilty even if proven innocent. The "War On Telly" maybe...
Stay tuned. I have a feeling this will be a trilogy.
As in every sequel the content is pretty much the same but more over-blown. One sentence in particular stands out. They're playing the number game again - even more boldly than before. "Every day" they say here "we catch over 1000 evaders". An impressive number! Means that at this rate it would still take them 164 years to catch the entire population of the UK. Also means that they would catch 365,000 evaders per year. Attentive readers may now say: "Wait a second! Didn't they claim in their first letter that they caught 80,277 evaders per year?" Well spotted. Contradiction! But don't panic, terrorists never make sense. Maybe 365,000 is number of people they drag to court and 80,277 is the number of people convicted. As I've said before, even terrorists make mistakes. That's why they apologise. Besides, they have a much more effective way of distracting the reader from this obvious use of random figures: In good old comic book villain-style they add: "You could be next." Where, of course, the strong emphasis is on you. You can almost see pointing finger. The only thing missing from this picture is the evil laugh.
I've also been informed that they will soon let loose their dreaded enforcement officers on my property. These Stormtroopers of licence enforcement, the SS among privately run crime fighters, could now pay me a visit any time. They will then presumably hound me until they have found me guilty and possibly burn me at the stake. I'm thrilled already. What will they look like? What will they do? What will they say? And will they really sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger?
As an interesting aside note that they target, harrass and attack potential evaders in the same sort of way that Bush and Blair used in their (witch) hunt for weapons of mass destruction. Presumed guilty even if proven innocent. The "War On Telly" maybe...
Stay tuned. I have a feeling this will be a trilogy.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Brave New World
On a more serious note this time:
I've just come back from watching Brokeback Mountain. It's a depressing story that left me feeling a bit empty inside. Very touching as one of my friends aptly put it.
Without giving too much away, it's a story about two cowboys working together in the wilderness of Wyoming who discover that they want to be more than just friends. They have a short, passionate affair. After their work is done they part and try to lead "normal" lives. But they cannot forget each other. Unfortunately, they live in a society that has no understanding or tolerance for their feelings.
What this made me think of again was what is still called "the American Dream" and what has become of it. In Germany, when doing history lessons, we were taught about it. It was like a mantra that pupils recited after their teacher. "Why did people emmigrate to America?" - "Because they were oppressed in their home countries. Because they were persecuted for political, ideological or religious reasons. Because in America they could be free." America, the Promised Land where people were free to think, say, believe whatever they wanted without fear of repercussions. While I believe that this is more of the fairy tale version of history I do think that it has some truth in it. Over several hundred years America has been like a magnet for people from all over the world. All their hopes and dreams summed up in the famous Bill of Rights (I'm not pretending here that I know it well but bits and pieces I remember): "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness". That's what it says on paper...
Recent news and stories like Brokeback Mountain, however, make me think that under the beautifully varnished surface of its historical reputation things have started decaying. How free are you really? Freedom of speech? My favourite example is what happened to the Dixie Chicks. They dared to speak up against the president. Not that the government punished them - it didn't even need to. Religious freedom? It is there, surely. Still, after the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington I wouldn't have wanted to be a Muslim in the US. Pursuit of happiness? Well, this is where I come back to the original topic: two gay cowboys. Now that story was set in 1963. But what would happen to two gay cowboys somewhere in Wyoming or Texas today? Would they be outcasts? Would they be able to find work? Would they have to fear for their lives? I read some nasty comments about the film and the topic in general on the Net. Mr. Bush has made it clear on several occasions (and that also seems to be the will of his vast, conservative, Christian backing) that he is against legalising same-sex marriage. I believe (correct me if I'm wrong here) that merely being gay or at least engaging in anal sex as gay men may do might even get you into prison in some states.
In the past, people may have swarmed to America to enjoy all those liberties that the country was famous for. Today, gay couples emigrate to Canada to get married. I believe that sets an interesting new trend. Not all is as they would have us believe in this Brave New World.
I've just come back from watching Brokeback Mountain. It's a depressing story that left me feeling a bit empty inside. Very touching as one of my friends aptly put it.
Without giving too much away, it's a story about two cowboys working together in the wilderness of Wyoming who discover that they want to be more than just friends. They have a short, passionate affair. After their work is done they part and try to lead "normal" lives. But they cannot forget each other. Unfortunately, they live in a society that has no understanding or tolerance for their feelings.
What this made me think of again was what is still called "the American Dream" and what has become of it. In Germany, when doing history lessons, we were taught about it. It was like a mantra that pupils recited after their teacher. "Why did people emmigrate to America?" - "Because they were oppressed in their home countries. Because they were persecuted for political, ideological or religious reasons. Because in America they could be free." America, the Promised Land where people were free to think, say, believe whatever they wanted without fear of repercussions. While I believe that this is more of the fairy tale version of history I do think that it has some truth in it. Over several hundred years America has been like a magnet for people from all over the world. All their hopes and dreams summed up in the famous Bill of Rights (I'm not pretending here that I know it well but bits and pieces I remember): "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness". That's what it says on paper...
Recent news and stories like Brokeback Mountain, however, make me think that under the beautifully varnished surface of its historical reputation things have started decaying. How free are you really? Freedom of speech? My favourite example is what happened to the Dixie Chicks. They dared to speak up against the president. Not that the government punished them - it didn't even need to. Religious freedom? It is there, surely. Still, after the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington I wouldn't have wanted to be a Muslim in the US. Pursuit of happiness? Well, this is where I come back to the original topic: two gay cowboys. Now that story was set in 1963. But what would happen to two gay cowboys somewhere in Wyoming or Texas today? Would they be outcasts? Would they be able to find work? Would they have to fear for their lives? I read some nasty comments about the film and the topic in general on the Net. Mr. Bush has made it clear on several occasions (and that also seems to be the will of his vast, conservative, Christian backing) that he is against legalising same-sex marriage. I believe (correct me if I'm wrong here) that merely being gay or at least engaging in anal sex as gay men may do might even get you into prison in some states.
In the past, people may have swarmed to America to enjoy all those liberties that the country was famous for. Today, gay couples emigrate to Canada to get married. I believe that sets an interesting new trend. Not all is as they would have us believe in this Brave New World.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Rats with wings
At the company where I work there is a weekly ritual. It is repeated every Friday and so it is aptly called Friday Treats. It's the day of the week on which the company spends a bit of extra money on its employees and treats them to a little something. This, maybe more than anything else makes Friday the most hotly awaited day of the week.
The ritual is performed by two girls from the administration department who go to every floor and deposit on each one three trays with snacks of some sort. The nature of the snacks varies from week to week; there have been things like bacon and sausage rolls (the British love them but I stay away), cookies, various kinds of pastries and cakes, cheese sticks and crackers and all sorts of other unhealthy stuff. The agonising bit (for some people at least) is that the treats are not served at the same time every week. So, come Friday, you start seeing people behave like kids waiting for Christmas Day - they know it will come but when? By 10 o'clock you'll normally start hearing people speculate what it'll be today - maybe sausage rolls. At 11 they still hope it'll be sausage rolls. By 12 they tend to get a bit edgy and also sadly rule out that it'll be sausage rolls (since it's too late for breakfast). By around 1 or 2 there rumours start circulating that it might be this or that because somebody says he's talked to one of the girls. Finally, if it takes until 3 then the anticipation reaches its climax.
So, when the two girls finally maneuver the trays throught the door the excitement spread like a shock wave through the office. You can pratically feel it. Now it is important to note that the people on my floor - all of them developers like myself - are normally extremely reserved, shy even, and most of all quiet. But this weekly event seems to bring out the predator in them. And that's saying a lot considering that usually they hardly even look anybody in the face. To say that people home in on the trays like a pack of hungry wolves, a flock of vultures or a swarm of flies would not adequately capture the situation. They don't even wait until the trays have been put down! By the time the girls have reached the table where they leave the trays they're already in the middle of a throng. Like hungry seagulls people descend on the trays and those who carry them. Hands dart in and out, snapping and grabbing. The girls have to fight their way out of the mass of bodies pushing and shoving to get at the food. Some keen specimens even break into a run to get there before others. Sometimes I can't help but quietly marvel at the fact that they make it out alive. Ever seen the seagulls in Hitchcock's The Birds or Pixar's Finding Nemo? It's like that. "Mine, mine, mine!"
Then, after only a few minutes, everything is over. Everywhere people sit quietly at their desks again munching contently. All tension has dissipated. People breathe freely again. The red haze has lifted. Things have returned to normal. There's nothing left.
You can almost see the predators happily belching up the bones of their unfortunate prey. Within a few minutes three trays have been cleared of anything remotely edible.
Then the long wait begins anew. The tension mounts again. Until next Friday...
The ritual is performed by two girls from the administration department who go to every floor and deposit on each one three trays with snacks of some sort. The nature of the snacks varies from week to week; there have been things like bacon and sausage rolls (the British love them but I stay away), cookies, various kinds of pastries and cakes, cheese sticks and crackers and all sorts of other unhealthy stuff. The agonising bit (for some people at least) is that the treats are not served at the same time every week. So, come Friday, you start seeing people behave like kids waiting for Christmas Day - they know it will come but when? By 10 o'clock you'll normally start hearing people speculate what it'll be today - maybe sausage rolls. At 11 they still hope it'll be sausage rolls. By 12 they tend to get a bit edgy and also sadly rule out that it'll be sausage rolls (since it's too late for breakfast). By around 1 or 2 there rumours start circulating that it might be this or that because somebody says he's talked to one of the girls. Finally, if it takes until 3 then the anticipation reaches its climax.
So, when the two girls finally maneuver the trays throught the door the excitement spread like a shock wave through the office. You can pratically feel it. Now it is important to note that the people on my floor - all of them developers like myself - are normally extremely reserved, shy even, and most of all quiet. But this weekly event seems to bring out the predator in them. And that's saying a lot considering that usually they hardly even look anybody in the face. To say that people home in on the trays like a pack of hungry wolves, a flock of vultures or a swarm of flies would not adequately capture the situation. They don't even wait until the trays have been put down! By the time the girls have reached the table where they leave the trays they're already in the middle of a throng. Like hungry seagulls people descend on the trays and those who carry them. Hands dart in and out, snapping and grabbing. The girls have to fight their way out of the mass of bodies pushing and shoving to get at the food. Some keen specimens even break into a run to get there before others. Sometimes I can't help but quietly marvel at the fact that they make it out alive. Ever seen the seagulls in Hitchcock's The Birds or Pixar's Finding Nemo? It's like that. "Mine, mine, mine!"
Then, after only a few minutes, everything is over. Everywhere people sit quietly at their desks again munching contently. All tension has dissipated. People breathe freely again. The red haze has lifted. Things have returned to normal. There's nothing left.
You can almost see the predators happily belching up the bones of their unfortunate prey. Within a few minutes three trays have been cleared of anything remotely edible.
Then the long wait begins anew. The tension mounts again. Until next Friday...
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
TV madness
Let's start with an easy one. No time for introductions for now. Straight to the action. Question: What is wrong with the British TV Licencingtm company??
A brief background for those not familiar with this. In the UK, if you own TV receiving equipment such as a video recorder or a TV set, you must buy a TV licence that authorises you to use this equipment. Under normal circumstances (by just plugging the antenna into the wall socket) this enables you to receive the amazing number of *drumroll please* 5 channels.
The licence costs £126.50 for colour signal and (check this out!) around £42 for black and white. Black and white?! In the age of digital TV - at the dawn of high definition TV even?! Well, fair enough, you might say. If they provide a service then you have to pay to use it. Agreed. This is not what I have certain issues with.
I struggle to be understanding towards their approach to collecting these fees. If you have a licence you're fine and don't see or hear anything from them. The interesting bit starts if you do not have a licence. That is when the letters start arriving. They come extremely regularly (not quite every month - about every two months maybe). They're all the same, addressed to the annonymous "occupier", with a barcode at the top, written in no-frills Courier style font, delivered probably by the Terminator ("Are you the occupier?" - "Yes." - *Bang, bang*). Below is a sample - please read in the voice of James Earl Jones:
Our Enforcement Division (CIA? GeStaPo? Thinkpol?)has identified that there is no record of a TV licence at your address, and that you may therefore be watching or recording television services without a valid licence. If this is the case, you are breaking the law.
Enforcement Officers have been authorised by us to visit your address in [...] to interview you under caution in compliance with the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 (the year! That can't be a coincidence! An interesting piece of information: they can visit but if I'm not mistaken they cannot force entry. A bit like Dracula - you must let them in. And as with vampires they come to suck you dry. So, keep the door closed and read on.).
If we find that you watch or record television without a licence, your statement will be the first step towards procecution (here sounds almost like execution...). Should you be convicted, your name will be added to our National Enforcement Database (aka Big Brother) and the magistrate can impose a fine of up to £1000.
Officers from our Enforcement Division catch 80,277 people every year (the mind boggles: do they catch the same number every year??).
To avoid a potential court appearance, you are strongly advised to call 0870 241 5698 now. The quickest way to pay is [...]
What follows are only payment options and where to send them to. But, you may ask, what if I don't have a TV? Not an option. Wrong answer. It's a bit like that Jedi mind trick: "you will get a licence". You must then write to the company and tell them. And probably also apologise and assure them that you'll get a TV (and a licence!) soon. But, just to show that even these TV licencing hard-liners, these terrorists of your living room are not without sympathy for those unfortunate souls that cannot make the most of their licence there are some special clauses. If you're over 75 you can get it for free and if you're 74 you can get a free Short Term licence. Maybe for those cases that don't expect to live to be 75. Furthermore, if you are blind - and now savour this - you qualify for a 50% discount. You can't see the damn thing but you have to pay half! That would make an expensive radio! Whoever came up with this: respect. The Godfather would make you an honorary member of the familia.
Lastly, since even terrorists are known to make mistakes sometimes, they ask that you accept their apologies. I wonder for what. Maybe for being treated like a criminal.
And if you think this is bit overblown - it's not all. They don't stop at mailing you. They also put up posters on public transport, university halls, and, who knows, maybe public toilets soon. This site has a few nice examples.
Personally I'm not sure if I should laugh at it or rather be afraid. Not because I'm evading the licence myself - no, Mister TV licencing guys sir, I don't own a TV. Would never dare. Rather because this is virtually blackmailing the public. The government actually tolerates it. I realise that there are people trying to get away without paying. Still, there must be better ways of addressing the problem! What's next? If you don't pay they have you mugged in a dark alley way?
So, what's the moral of this story? If you ever move to Britain, remember, the Enforcement Officers are watching you. Good night.
A brief background for those not familiar with this. In the UK, if you own TV receiving equipment such as a video recorder or a TV set, you must buy a TV licence that authorises you to use this equipment. Under normal circumstances (by just plugging the antenna into the wall socket) this enables you to receive the amazing number of *drumroll please* 5 channels.
The licence costs £126.50 for colour signal and (check this out!) around £42 for black and white. Black and white?! In the age of digital TV - at the dawn of high definition TV even?! Well, fair enough, you might say. If they provide a service then you have to pay to use it. Agreed. This is not what I have certain issues with.
I struggle to be understanding towards their approach to collecting these fees. If you have a licence you're fine and don't see or hear anything from them. The interesting bit starts if you do not have a licence. That is when the letters start arriving. They come extremely regularly (not quite every month - about every two months maybe). They're all the same, addressed to the annonymous "occupier", with a barcode at the top, written in no-frills Courier style font, delivered probably by the Terminator ("Are you the occupier?" - "Yes." - *Bang, bang*). Below is a sample - please read in the voice of James Earl Jones:
Official Warning
Our Enforcement Division (CIA? GeStaPo? Thinkpol?)has identified that there is no record of a TV licence at your address, and that you may therefore be watching or recording television services without a valid licence. If this is the case, you are breaking the law.
Enforcement Officers have been authorised by us to visit your address in [...] to interview you under caution in compliance with the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 (the year! That can't be a coincidence! An interesting piece of information: they can visit but if I'm not mistaken they cannot force entry. A bit like Dracula - you must let them in. And as with vampires they come to suck you dry. So, keep the door closed and read on.).
If we find that you watch or record television without a licence, your statement will be the first step towards procecution (here sounds almost like execution...). Should you be convicted, your name will be added to our National Enforcement Database (aka Big Brother) and the magistrate can impose a fine of up to £1000.
Officers from our Enforcement Division catch 80,277 people every year (the mind boggles: do they catch the same number every year??).
To avoid a potential court appearance, you are strongly advised to call 0870 241 5698 now. The quickest way to pay is [...]
What follows are only payment options and where to send them to. But, you may ask, what if I don't have a TV? Not an option. Wrong answer. It's a bit like that Jedi mind trick: "you will get a licence". You must then write to the company and tell them. And probably also apologise and assure them that you'll get a TV (and a licence!) soon. But, just to show that even these TV licencing hard-liners, these terrorists of your living room are not without sympathy for those unfortunate souls that cannot make the most of their licence there are some special clauses. If you're over 75 you can get it for free and if you're 74 you can get a free Short Term licence. Maybe for those cases that don't expect to live to be 75. Furthermore, if you are blind - and now savour this - you qualify for a 50% discount. You can't see the damn thing but you have to pay half! That would make an expensive radio! Whoever came up with this: respect. The Godfather would make you an honorary member of the familia.
Lastly, since even terrorists are known to make mistakes sometimes, they ask that you accept their apologies. I wonder for what. Maybe for being treated like a criminal.
And if you think this is bit overblown - it's not all. They don't stop at mailing you. They also put up posters on public transport, university halls, and, who knows, maybe public toilets soon. This site has a few nice examples.
Personally I'm not sure if I should laugh at it or rather be afraid. Not because I'm evading the licence myself - no, Mister TV licencing guys sir, I don't own a TV. Would never dare. Rather because this is virtually blackmailing the public. The government actually tolerates it. I realise that there are people trying to get away without paying. Still, there must be better ways of addressing the problem! What's next? If you don't pay they have you mugged in a dark alley way?
So, what's the moral of this story? If you ever move to Britain, remember, the Enforcement Officers are watching you. Good night.
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