Being Professional

I work in a new job now as well as in a new line of business. As a consultant every new project means a whole new application process complete with sending in your profile or CV and having interviews. The difference is that the company (meaning your superior unless you are a senior yourself) match you to customer requirements. This means that you don't always get to choose which project you join or where your new location is.

This is all still a bit new to me, since I've always worked for a software house in a stable office. I was just introduced for a testing project in a city three and a half hours from here. Now my focus is software engineering and I was hoping to gather more experience in that field - as well as score a project somewhere nearby to start with. I was quite disappointed. More so, the subject here is test management, so this means little to no technical work at all. Other new colleagues having exciting programming work while I was to do management didn't make it any better either. It felt as though the boss wasn't able to place me anywhere better and was grasping at straws, grabbing the first easy opportunity that had presented itself. No encouragement from colleagues or even from my wife could lift the feeling of helplessness that I was to waste an entire year doing something that I wouldn't enjoy and that didn't enrich my skill profile one bit. So afterwards it would be just as difficult to get placed in an interesting project as it was now. In fact, I was so disappointed that I planned to fail the interview on purpose and even considered leaving the company (which is all still fairly simple since I'm in my probation period).
In the end, despite trying to hint that I didn't have that much experience in testing the customer still accepted my placement. The boss even congratulated me on my superb performance in the interview. You could say I failed at failing.

However, after a lot of thought I have come to realise that maybe there is an important lesson in this for me:
In my previous job they expected me to do my work, more or less. From a consultant people expect more: they expect professionalism. Any amateur can do well and deliver work that they enjoy. Any amateur does what they like. It takes a professional to take the good with the less so and make the best of both. A professional delivers to the best of their abilities regardless of personal feelings. An actor can't always play the lead, a painter cannot always render beautiful people, a soldier isn't always based where it's warm and sunny. But being professional they will still work hard to ensure success. I took this job because I wanted to learn and be more professional. So I guess it is time to step up to the task.

No Elegy for the Dictator

I watched some of the videos of Muammar Gaddafi's last moments. First reaction is it's a messy way to go. I don't envy him. I would certainly have shit my pants if I were him.

More interesting, however, are the reactions of some of the viewers (distributed over the various comments of various such videos). "Barbaric" they call the treatment of the general by the rebels. Some say that they are no better than he for treating him in this way. They should be above such violence. They should have brought him to trial.
Now, I cannot claim I understand them. I think, nobody who has not lived as a native under his regime and fought in the rebellion can really understand their motives. But I could start by trying to comprehend that customs are rougher in that part of the world. More importantly, however, these people have a lot of rage against this dictator who brought war and violence and God knows what upon them. It may sound naive but I believe if I lost my family because of somebody like this - I have to admit - I would want him dead, too.

Another interesting reaction was how comments read that he was "paraded" around before his death showing off his bloodied face, how that was against anyone's dignity. It brought to my mind scenes from a few years back, December 2004 to be exact, when American soldiers pulled a dishevelled, aged dictator out of a "rat hole" in Iraq - Saddam Hussein. Soldiers took snap shots with him. In the news he was shown in a nice split screen - on one side the proud ruler of Iraq, on the other a shabby, distraught beggar being examined for parasites. Was that not also parading him around? With Gaddafi there was no CNN camera team on the scene. Hussein was not captured by furious rebels but by disciplined soldiers. The intent of what happened then was the same, however. The triumphant victors showing off the enemy they overcame. In ancient Rome captured enemies were paraded through the streets behind the emperor's chariot, in today's America they are presented on CNN and in Libya they are driven through the streets and recorded on mobile phones to be shown online. The American way is more high tech, more sanitary, but the thought is the same. I just don't like the wrong people getting judgemental.

Finally, before everyone hails the advent of democracy (tm) in Libya I think the rebels now have the extremely challenging task ahead of instituting a government that is better than their former leader. Let's recall that Iraq didn't just become better because it was declared democratic. These days you even hear opinions saying that at least during Hussein's regime people could live their lives without fear of bombs. Even the French Revolution in 1789 was not over after they had killed the king (in fact, the bloodshed was just getting started). I really hope they make wise choices - there's already too much killing going on.

Encounter over Fish and Chips

I was having fish & chips at a chippie in Kinsale. A bum was hanging around the place trying to talk at customers. At some point the boss came out and asked him to leave.
When I then went outside with my fish he was still hanging around outside. He homed in on me when I sat down and said something. It was obvious now that he was pretty drunk or stoned - or both. It took me two attempts to understand that he wanted something to eat. "Gimme sumth'ng t' eat", was something like what he mumbled. His eyes were unfocussed, he didn't seem able to walk straight. Still, I was reluctant to surrender my dinner to him. After a day's walking I was hungry, too. He didn't look that poor either.
"Why don't you order something inside", I suggested him. He didn't react, just repeated what he had said. So I repeated my line, too. Something inside didn't just let me say no to him. He had now installed himself swaying slightly next to my table. He was even drooling a little. I told him again to go and order inside.
Now several young people, locals, at the next table got involved. One guy shouted at him to "piss off" and the girl also said to go inside and order. He looked at them and focussed on me again. The guys asked me if I wanted to sit with them. "Gimme sumth'n t'eat." The guys were getting very annoyed and noisy now. For some reason though I couldn't feel the same. I felt pity for this man. He seemed to have drunken himself to the point of loosing his senses. I picked up the fish to actually give him some of my chips (and maybe be rid of him). Then he just took one. That was it.
"Oi", one of the guys shouted at him and told him to bloody well pay for his own stuff. Now I did get up and sit with them. But I still couldn't feel angry. Then one of the employees of the chippie came out and told him to go. The guys were still agitated and protested he had taken some chips from us. The man still seemed reluctant to comply until the boss came out and said she had called the Gardai (the Irish police). Then he finally left. We were apologised to and were even given a free extra portion of chips by way of apology. The police arrived and followed the way the man had left to talk to him. They didn't seem worried nor in a hurry at all. We asked the employee of the chippie if this guy had been there before. "Every day", he replied, "if you don't stand up to him he will take what he can. But he's scared of me. Then he becomes like a little child."

Why is this worth writing about? Just because we couldn't actually finish the free chips we had received. The guys left after a brief chat and I binned most of chips in the end. So, was it worth chasing him away and giving us free food by way of apology or couldn't they not have given that portion of chips to the man and be rid of him?

I would have liked to believe it - if not the same man had walked by some time later, after the Gardai had had their talk with him. Now he looked very focussed and not one bit drunk. Another fraud? Or is a talk with Irish Gardai so serious as to sober a man up like that?
A case from my time in Beijing comes to mind. Beggars on the subway are a common sight there. Especially cripples have not many options in a country without a social net like Germany. Most of them sing or chant Buddha verses into a microphone with a speaker strapped to their backs. Sometimes you see people give them some small change. Same was true of two guys that got on somewhere west of Tian'An Men. One seemed blind, the other hobbled painfully leading him. They chanted and some people gave them money. Since we were in the last car they went up to the end and sat down, chatted. At Guo Mao, the banking district, the got of and leisurely strolled down the platform. Passengers gaped. A miracle? I think not, just a clever business idea.
The sad consequence is that nobody will give anyone anything. Even if they are really in need but after having seen your share of frauds you tend to not trust anyone anymore.

The Uncle from Abroad

I had a interesting thought while hiking on Valentia Island during my holiday to Ireland.

I encountered a group of four children, two boys, two girls, maybe ten years old on average. They thought I was one of the many Spanish tourists that seem to travel Ireland at the moment. So they shouted random, Spanish-sounding gibberish at me. I surprised them by knowing English and had them guess my nationality for fun. So, we started chatting. That's quite unusual in itself because I don't normally enjoy talking to small children but these kids were bright and curious. They had family in the area and were visiting for the Easter holidays. They started asking questions about me - the usual stuff kids that age want to know, like how old I was, whether I was married or had a girlfriend, how far away Germany was, what was this or that in German. One girl had even learnt German at school. It was quite interesting listening to them.
Only after some time, after some other tourists had passed I became conscious and began wondering: were they giving me strange looks? And then suddenly, when their aunt or mother came calling for them from the distance, I actually became uneasy. Why? I wasn't doing anything wrong, just having an innocent chat. But still it occurred to me that maybe people would jump to unpleasant conclusions. From that moment I actually wanted to get away or them to leave because I felt that in a minute if their mum came up here I would have to answer questions like: "what are you doing with my children?"
That now strikes me as quite unfortunate that an adult - a male adult at any rate - cannot have a simple chat with some children without having to worry what people think. They were being curious, they had maybe never consciously talked to a foreigner before. But these days you have all the weirdos and paedophiles around that either pretend to be children online or nice, harmless uncles in person. It's sad that I should almost feel guilty talking to these children when I was doing nothing wrong.
It's a strange kind of thinking or awareness that we have to suffer from these days.

Impressions of the Emerald Isle

I collected some thoughts while touring around Ireland. Here they are in no particular order:

• I do like the Celtic type of girl and Irish girls are a lot prettier than the ones I was used to seeing in the UK. Fancy that just on the next island.


• Guinness is good for you. It's true. I believe it.


• Never trust or worry about the weather when you get up, it will change before noon.


• Slopes are always longer than they look. After that promising ridge it will just go on.


• After the bend it will become steeper.


• Roads always lead across the steepest bit of the hill.


• Contrary to many other places in Europe fireplaces are not just decoration.


• Pies are hot inside - fucking hot! Cures you of gluttony really fast.


• Traffic lights don't have to make sense. Showing red to all directions is part of the fun.


• Twelve-bed dorms are really not a good idea.

The Wizard

Not sure what gave me the idea to write this. Maybe just the thought that whatever mysterious things a magician might do may have a very mundane motivation. I won't over-analyse. I hope you enjoy.

The wizard lived deep within the forest. Turn north off the road to Celcary, cross beyond the rapid stream they call Vauren and venture onto the Gloomy Moors. There beyond the edge of the moors with their drooping willows and belching bogs and foggy pits he makes his abode in a gnarled tower that sticks out of a rocky outcrop like a jagged tooth out of a broken jaw. For most of the villagers of Glendwick and Battrow he is no more than an old wives' tale or something to scare children with at bedtime. Some elders would of course insist that they have seen him on occasion skulking around the edge of the forest. Bredo, the hunter, even told a tall tale that once, on an eve of full moon, he had ventured all the way to the moors pursuing a deer when he had seen a flickering blue light somewhere within the mist that hung over the bogs. He swore that it beckoned to him but then it went out and he had heard a wail so terrible that he had run all the way back to Battrow as if the devil had been on his heels. He had never caught that deer either. After that he would refuse to hunt anywhere beyond the Vauren. In the presence of the wizard, he would intone, animals had learned a bit of magic of their own. It was mainly about eluding him.
But he had been right about one thing: the light was always on in that tower at the edge of the bogs. Here the wizard made his lair behind lichen-covered stone, tattered curtains past which the wind occasionally howled through the windows. He lived among his ancient tomes and musty volumes, bleached parchment scrolls and withered tablets. His tower housed countless oddities, trinkets, and devices from worthless cantrips to powerful artefacts. A crystal ball twinkled mysteriously in the centre of the room and many a night a large black cauldron would quietly gurgle over the fire. Vats connected by winding tubes were arranged on tables, shelves with flasks and phials lined the walls, each labelled in meticulous script. "Philter of Transmutation" read one label, or "Potion of Reduction". In another room on a different level of the tower rows of jars contained "Tear of Fish", or "Hair of a Virgin". One jar holding a sliver shining and glowing like a slice of the moon was labelled "Horn of Unicorn" while another seemed to contain a single flame as of a candle and bore the label "Seed of Fire". Dribbling candles and greasy oil lamps littered the rooms and flickered unsteadily as the wizard brushed past them as if they were bowing in reverence. And in the centre highest room stood the wizard's reading desk, cluttered with folios and opposite it by the wall stood a great blackboard on which he scribbled and drew arcane diagrams. Sometimes as he muttered his incantations the diagrams would come to life and glow with an eerie light or slide across the board and from new symbols. The wizard would study these intently but eventually rub them out and begin anew.
Here then it was where the wizard toiled day and night. Once a strong and handsome young man he had collapsed upon himself. His hair had turned grey and receded far up his scalp. What was left grew unkempt while his matted beard reached down over his chest. His skin had grown pallid and had sagged and drooping, dark shadows had formed under his eyes. His limbs were gnarled like the branches of an old tree and he walked hunched over, leaning on a cane or staff at all times. Yet the wizard knew no rest and each new enchantment he wove drew more life out of him. In his youth he had been a proud master of the arts casting even great spells with ease. Now, as the power coursed through him he would lean heavily on his desk and give a sigh of agony. And yet he pressed on. Only his eyes were still clear but where they had had a wistful twinkle they were now hard as steel and the spirited glow had long since turned into a smouldering gleam.
He noticed neither the turning of seasons nor the coming and going of each day. His work required his constant attention. The vats needed regular monitoring. Certain ingredients required tending or gathering. Sometimes they also needed hunting down. Those were the only long trips the wizard made outside the tower. The last unicorn had not been easy to trap. They said that every time you caught a unicorn it cost you a bit of your soul. And he had already begun feeling stretched thin. And then there were, of course, the enchantments that had to be worked at precisely the right time and in the right succession. The grimoirs in his collection left no doubt about that. The wizard knew the rules of his art only too well. He had failed too many times. He was growing too old, his powers too feeble to start the cycle yet again from the beginning. The seven years would be up soon and the moon was almost full. So he laboured incessantly granting himself no respite.
When the night of the full moon was upon him he arranged the circles and with trembling fingers he drew the ancient diagrams. He infused each with syllables that cracked his lips as he spoke them. He could feel his hair grow white this time as he read aloud the incantations. When darkness had fallen many of his jars and vats were empty.
When the moon hung high and the sky was black as ink, when somewhere in faraway Celcary a clock struck the wizard spoke the final verses. With his bare finger he traced lines that bent and pushed the world itself back and with a creak that could be felt rather than heard it gave way. Forces tearing at him from all sides, mind and body taut with exertion the wizard focussed the centre of all the lines and diagrams. One after the other he pushed the syllables out and with the last of them still ringing in the air she was there, right in the centre of it all. Immaterial though she was there could be no doubt that it was her. The moment had come again at last. Only one more thing remained.
He forced the words out from between his clenched lips. So simple a question. She turned her head to face him. Her eyes met his. Time seemed to stand still and all faded away, the crackling of power, the creaking of the Boundary, his own groans of exertion. Suddenly he could repeat the question in a calm voice. Never breaking the eye contact or his own furious concentration he repeated it slowly, meaningfully. She regarded him with great seriousness. Her gaze seemed to penetrate his very being. She knew the answer. This time he was certain of it. So many times he had stared into her empty eyes but this time it was different. She knew. But she did not speak. Again he repeated the question, imploringly this time. Somewhere far away he could feel the forces were beginning to crush his fragile form. He frantically sought for the spark of approval in her eyes. She had only to speak it aloud and all his efforts and endeavours would have been worthwhile. However, her expression grew sad. Once more he uttered the question. His voice was hoarse and his mouth dry. He could not have changed so much. It was still him. It was still her. She knew the answer! But the passage was closing. Then a single glittering tear ran from the corner of her eye. Gently shaking her head she spoke. And suddenly everything made sense, finally and ultimately made sense. And when she had finished speaking she bade him farewell. An anguished scream wrenched itself from his throat that moment. Sights and sounds came crashing down on him again. He stumbled and collapsed to his knees. The apparition was gone. With his last strength he clawed at the place where she had lain but it was empty as it had been before. The cry began deep in his chest as a frustrated howl but when it burst from his lips it was nothing more than the agonised wail of a defeated old man. Thus the wizard lay on the stone floor in the former focal point of his power and wept.
Eventually, the candles wept out, soon after followed the oil lamps and darkness fell on the high chamber. And when the sky turned grey and even the fire in the hearth had burnt down the tower and the moors around were quiet at last.

Culture of Contra

I believe this is what we have in Germany: a culture of opposition. We seem to love opposing and arguing. Maybe it all still hails from the generation for which it was cool to disagree with and oppose the "establishment" (which in those days meant society in general or the government).

According to a much quoted survey (not sure how recent) 80% of Germans are in favour of an immediate halt to nuclear power in Germany. Everyone seems to talk about green, renewable energies. But there is much more disagreement on where to put them. In Brandenburg near Berlin environmentalists themselves protested against the construction of a wind park because the fans might put local birds and bats at risk. In Thuringia the construction of a wind park was even rejected by local government saying "[we] are not having 'windmills' in our picturesque Thuringia Forest." In yet another part of the country the construction of a water plant encountered resistance by the fishing industry.
The power grid providers suffer from very similar problems: Green energies are unpredictable because their yield depends on the forces of nature. To prevent imbalance that would damage the grid power must be redistributed quickly as some generators come online or go offline. This requires a developed infrastructure which Germany still lacks. Unfortunately, efforts to extend it also keep encountering resistance. Grid providers have to fight political battles "for every kilometre" of lines they build. Why? Because communities don't want the masts which support the cables around. I remember when I was young we were taught to hate the above-ground power lines because birds get caught in them and die.
These are just examples but they should go a long way to prove my point. In this country we seem to know very clearly what we don't want. But we are hard-pressed when it comes to a solution. "Nuclear power, no thanks" ("Atomkraft, nein danke"), say the idealistic badges that people have started to decorate their facebook profiles with. I wonder how some of them would react if they had to have a solar panel on their roof and a huge wind generator in their back garden. A lot of people at least seem to think it's a good idea - as long as it happens to somebody else. Because right here or right now would be really inconvenient. "Do it. Yes to green energy. Just not here. Somewhere else would be a lot better." I've even heard some people then come up with the idea that this should be a European effort anyway. Wind parks should be built in Norway where the wind always blows and solar parks in Spain where the sun shines a lot. To me that's the next step of delegating. I wonder what the Spanish would say, or the Norwegians. I'm sure they don't want their mesas covered with solar panels nor their coastlines and fjords cluttered with wind generators either.
"Use less power", I read on one of my contacts' facebook page. That does seem like the ultimate solution - until you implement it. Almost everything uses electricity these days. And our appliances and gadgets are highly energy-efficient, much more so than they used to be. I don't turn on lights or appliances I don't need. Still, I have an electricity bill every month. What else should I do? Not turn on the computer and read a book? Not turn on the light and go to bed early or use a candle? Not use a washing machine and wash clothes by hand? Sound silly? You make a better suggestion! And besides: we have all these creature comforts - mobile phones, computers and Internet access in every household, TV in every household, electric light in every household. People in countries all over the world envy us for this luxury (I've been to Laos, I've seen the difference). Are we to throw all that away?? Laotians would think us barking mad and they'd be damn right about it.
What I wish is that protesters, the government, everyone would think their position through to the ultimate consequence. We are arguing about the future of Germany here, after all. We should stop this short-sighted bickering. If we make a decision on one level, e.g. go green entirely right now, then we need to make adjustments on a different level, e.g. communities need to accept construction of generators and power lines. The faster we want to press a radical decision on the one level the faster decisions also need to be made on the other. This should be obvious to even the most naïve environmentalist that completely abolishing nuclear energy in Germany is a move that will have severe consequences - on our infrastructure, on our environment and maybe even on our way of life.
Personally, I don't see it's necessary. Germany is already one of the most environmentally friendly countries in the world. People from all over admire us because "Germany is so clean" and for our high standard of living. Why should we give that up? For moral higher ground? To take the role of the precursor (and hope others will follow)? If you can make it happen then do and do it properly but don't blindly forge ahead! We were bloody lucky to have been born in a country where we can talk about giving up luxury and not in a place where our family lives, six or more of them, in a small wooden hut with a noisy, smelly diesel generator out back so that everyone can enjoy a few hours of electric light every evening. Those people don't use much electricity but I'm sure they wish they could. Anyone who needs to feel that close to Mother Earth has a lot of countries to choose from. Germany has always prided itself with high standards, high technology, quality of work and of life. I for one don't want to see this country turn into a banana republic because of some idealistic fools.
Or is it after all the way the song "Rebell" by German punk rock band Die Ärzte goes?

Ich bin dagegen, denn du bist dafür (I am against it, because you are in favour)
Ich bin dagegen, ich bin nicht so wie ihr (I am against it, I am not like you)
Ich bin dagegen, egal worum es geht (I am against it, no matter what it's about)
Ich bin dagegen, weil ihr nichts davon versteht (I am against it, because you don't understand a thing)
Ich bin dagegen, ich sag es noch einmal (I am against it, I say it again)
Ich bin dagegen, warum ist doch egal (I am against it, it doesn't matter why)
[...]

Maybe that is us, after all. Rebels without a cause. The former "country of poets and thinkers" where nowadays people talk too much and think too little. I'm so sick of seeing this country progress that way.