il cinese, l’Amica, l’obesa, l’innamorato, la mezza tedesca, l’attore, la corsa, il musone, la barista

No, non è la lista di nove dei prossimi abitanti della casa del Grande Fratello 10, bensì la lista dei nove coinquilini che ho avuto nella mia esistenza. Persone con cui spesso ho condiviso molto più che le spese di casa, altre con cui non ho condiviso proprio nulla, altre ancora con cui non avrei mai voluto avere a che fare.

Han era sicuramente una personcina curiosa. Avete presente lo stereotipo del cinesino perfettino, nervosetto, veloce e curioso? Lo stereotipo del cinesino simpatico come una crosta anale? Ecco Han!

Dall’ottobre del 2003 al febbraio del 2004, abbiamo condiviso casa a Lancaster, Inghilterra, quando ero in Erasmus e al numero 8 di Ridge Street.

Durante una festicciola arrivò il padrone di casa con quest’omino bizzarro che voleva una camera. Non ricordo se già vivevo con l’Amica oppure non ancora. Ma ricordo con sicurezza che io e l’Amica lo abbiamo deriso senza tregua e senza pietà. Ecco perché.

Porello, si sforzava di essere più occidentale possibile, più giovane possibile, ma combatteva ineluttabilmente contro mulini a vento. Aveva un età indefinita, dai trenta ai cinquant’anni, insegnava inglese in Cina. Ma quando scoprimmo (io e l’altra coinquilina, l’Amica) che aveva 48 anni, e quando lui disse, riferito a sua moglie: “HE is my wife” capimmo che era sempre stato un vecchio, probabilmente anche da giovane, e che insegnava agli studenti cinesi delle basi di inglese sbagliate.

Insomma, ha perso subito credibilità, aveva un futuro nella politica italiana però…

Insieme all’età scoprimmo anche il suo vero nome. Frugando in una cartellina di documenti lasciata in salotto,scoprimmo anche che si chiamava Deshun, Han era il suo cognome. Al punto restammo di stucco e ci inventammo una storia bizzarra per rivelargli che conoscevamo il suo segreto. Abboccò a quell’improbabile scusa (che suonava tipo che in sogno ci era apparsa Mila Azuki che ci aveva rivelato l’arcano) e ci spiegò che si faceva chiamare per cognome, perché per noi era più facile pronunciare Han piuttosto che Deshun. HAN con la acca aspirata e la velocità di pronuncia era effettivamente più semplice di Deshun che si pronuncia Desciùn e che non rischi di pronunciare male confondendolo con una parola omografa che però significa “vassoio” o “cavaturaccioli”.

Certe volte mi sorprendo a pensare a cosa sta facendo quel piccolo principe Made in China, avrei sempre voluto conoscere la sua famiglia, ad esempio suo figlio, che si chiamava Biao che non ho mai capito come si pronunciava come nome proprio, perché a seconda dell’accento invece che chiamare il figlio del mio coinquilino, potevi vederti arrivare:

飑

biāo

uragano; ciclone

鳔

biào

vescica natatoria

膘

biāo

carne grassa; grassa

裱

biǎo

montare; incorniciare

标

biāo

1. segno; indicazione; marchio 2. mettere le etichctte; indecare (prezzi, ecc. )

表

biǎo

1. esteriore; apparente 2. parentela tra i figli di un fratello e una sorella 3. esprimere; manifestare; esternare 4. modello; esempio 5. lista; elenco; modulo 6. strumento di misura 7. orologio

Personaggino…

Una volta che ero in preda alla malinconia, scrissi e bruciai una lettera nel piccolo barbecue del piccolo cortiletto dietro casa (in Inghilterra tutte le case hanno un piccolo cortiletto dietro casa). Quanto fumo può fare una lettera bruciata? Tanto quanto basta affinché un cinese di mezza età che si lava i denti in bagno al piano di sopra corra giù con lo spazzolino in bocca a gridare “fire! fire! (al fuoco! al fuoco!) per aver visto un po’ di fumo dalla finestra. Mi ci vollero bei cinque minuti a calmarlo e mi guardava come se avesse quattro anni e io gli spiegavo che Babbo Natale non esiste, se ne facesse una ragione.

Passò quattro mesi a congelarsi le chiappe nel nord Inghilterra, chiuso in cameretta a fare chilometri di essay per il suo master, vestendo i suoi pigiamini che prevedevano panta collant marroni invece che pantaloni, bevendo acqua calda perché fa bene al corpo ed esclamando senza posa “uoztubidàn” (ossia what’s to be done) in ogni occasione. Doveva sempre chiedere “Why?” come un bambino di quattro anni. E quando dico sempre, intendo SEMPRE. Quattro mesi così, a bere acqua calda  e a fare i compiti, poi l’hanno rispedito in Ciaina perché non aveva il permesso di soggiorno in regola. Non ha manco potuto prendersi il suo master. Ha sprecato quattro mesi, lontano dalla famiglia e a farsi bonariamente prendere per culo da noi due. Lo adoravamo Deshun! Era il nostro tamagochi, era la mascotte perfetta. Chissà che casini sta combinando in Ciaina, chissà se ha imparato i pronomi personali, chissà se è tornato a Lancaster a prendersi il master per cui ha versato litri di inchiostro, chissà cosa pensava di me e dell’Amica.

Ovunque tu sia, Deshun Han, mi manchi…

‘Flatmate’, lo próximo de Balagueró

La nueva película de Jaume Balagueró, el responsable y mente creativa a medias (junto a Paco Plaza) del éxito internacional de la dupla formada por ‘[•REC]‘ &‘[•REC]²‘ , ya tiene tanto Teaser Poster como Sinopsis Oficial, cortesía de la web Aullidos.com. ‘Flatmate‘, que así es como se llamará este thriller de terror, contará con un libreto escrito por Alberto Marini, y al igual que sus anteriores trabajos volverá a contar con la producción de Filmax.

Cillian trabaja como conserje en un edicifio de Nueva York. Tal vez, no es el mejor trabajo del mundo pero de este modo puede conocer a todos los inquilinos del lugar: Sus movimientos, sus vidas, sus hábitos… Desde su posición puede estudiar sus vidas, descubrir sus puntos débiles y secretos. Además, si él quiere, puede llegar a controlarlos y manipularlos como si fueze un Dios. Porque si hay algo que le gusta a Cillian es herir a la gente… le encanta causar dolor a los que le rodean y ver su sufrimiento. Este es su particular juego… Es su secreto. Al edificio llegará una joven mujer que alquilará el apartamento 8-B. Desde el primer momento, Cillian la convertirá en su nuevo objetivo y convertirá su vida en una pesadilla…

Pues si. El co-director y co-creador de la famosa saga “[REC]“, Jaume Balagueró, ya tiene película en ciernes. Se trata de “Flatmate”. Un thriller terrorífico sobre el conserje de un edificio en New York que disfrutará controlando las vidas de la gente. Hasta que llega una nueva inquilina al edificio, con quien se ensañará especialmente.

Ya tenemos el póster del film, gacias a Aullidos.

I think, therefore I’m scared. I’m not scared. I mean scared scared. Cats never think when they jump from a seventh floor. I never do it when I go to my bathroom anymore. What could happend? My flatmate just told me that last year they found a one meter long snake on the toilet of our house. That she escaped from the pet shop next to our building. And slithered up to the toilet of the first floor of the number 29 of the street. Up to the same toilet I pee every morning. And now the light has blown. And I have to pee, without light and without thinking. Have you ever tried to pee without thinking? And if you can’t think when you’re peing, can you pee? Well, fear makes you pee. But fear is a consequence of thinking; I think. 

Tunes:

Sweet Rosie – Hugg&Pepp 

നാട്ടിലെ ഓട്ടോറിക്ഷ റോഡില്‍ നിന്നും വെട്ടിക്കുന്നത് പോലെയുള്ള ന്യൂസിലാന്‍ഡിലെ പ്രവചനാതീതമായ കാലാവസ്ഥയില്‍, യാത്ര ആവുന്നത്ര കുറക്കാമല്ലോ എന്ന് കരുതിയാണ് ഓഫീസിനു അടുത്തുള്ള ഒരു വീട്ടില്‍ സഹവീടന്റെ(flatmate) ഒരു ഒഴിവുണ്ട് എന്ന് കേട്ടപ്പോള്‍ ഒരു കാര്‍ വാങ്ങുന്നത് വരെ നല്ല ഒരു ഓപ്ഷന്‍ ആണെന്ന നിലക്ക് അതിനോട് താല്പര്യം തോന്നിയത്‌.

അതിന്റെ ഉടമസ്ഥനായ കിവിയുടെ[ന്യൂസിലാന്ഡ്കാരെ പൊതുവേ അങ്ങനെയാണല്ലോ വിളിക്കാറ്] കൂടെ ഷെയര്‍ ചെയ്തു ഉപയോഗിക്കണം. കിടപ്പ് മുറി വേറെ വേറെ ഉണ്ടെങ്കിലും ബാക്കിയെല്ലാം – ടോയിലറ്റ് അടക്കം – ഷെയര്‍ ചെയ്യണം എന്നൊക്കെയാണ് ചട്ടം.

വീടിനെ പറ്റി സുഹൃത്ത്‌ വിവരിച്ചത് കേട്ടപ്പോള്‍ താജ് മഹലിന്റെ അത്രയൊന്നും വരില്ലെങ്കിലും മൈസൂര്‍ കൊട്ടാരത്തെക്കാള്‍ ബെറ്റര്‍ ആയിരിക്കും എന്ന് തോന്നി. മാത്രമല്ല, അവിടുത്തെ ഗൃഹനാഥന്‍ (landlord) ഒരു മഹാനായ മനുഷ്യനാണെന്നും, സ്ഥലത്തെ പ്രധാന മാന്യന്മാരില്‍ ഒരാളാണെന്നും ഒക്കെയാണ് സുഹൃത്ത്‌ പറഞ്ഞു തന്നത്. ടൌണില്‍ വച്ച് ഒരു വൈകുന്നേരം ആ മാന്യനെ ഒന്ന് കണ്ടു.

ആള്‍ ജോലി ചെയ്യുന്നത് ഒരു UK ബെയ്സ്ഡ്‌ കമ്പനിയില്‍ ആണ് – അതും ഓണ്‍ലൈന്‍ ആയി. മൂങ്ങകളെ പോലെ പകല്‍ ഉറക്കം രാത്രി ജോലി.. കേട്ടപ്പോള്‍ എനിക്ക് വല്ലാത്ത അസൂയ തോന്നി..രാവിലെ ഉറങ്ങാന്‍ ഉള്ള ഒരു സുഖം ഒന്ന് വേറെ തന്നെയല്ലേ? രാവിലെ കഷ്ടപ്പെട്ട് എണീക്കുന്നതിനു പകരം സുഖമായി മൂടിപ്പുതച്ചു കിടന്നുറങ്ങാമല്ലോ..എന്തൊരു ഭാഗ്യം സിദ്ധി്ച്ചവന്‍ ! ആ ഭാഗ്യവാനോട് കുറച്ചു നേരം സംസാരിച്ച ശേഷം അടുത്ത ദിവസം വീട് കാണാന്‍ വരാം എന്ന് പറഞ്ഞു ഞങ്ങള്‍ തിരിച്ചു..

പിറ്റേന്നു തന്നെ ആ മണി മാളിക കാണാന്‍ വേണ്ടി പുറപ്പെട്ടു – ആ മാന്യന്‍ എന്നെയും സുഹൃത്ത് ദിലോവരെയും അകത്തേക്ക് കൂട്ടിക്കൊണ്ടു പോയി. ചരിത്രാതീത കാലത്ത് പണിത ഒരു വീട്. പതിനെട്ടാം നൂറ്റാണ്ടില്‍ ന്യൂസിലാന്‍ഡില്‍ ബ്രിട്ടീഷുകാര്‍ വന്നപ്പോള്‍, തീരെ പഴയ വീടായതിനാല്‍ ഇടിഞ്ഞു വീഴുമെന്നു പേടിച്ചു ഇവിടെ താമസിചില്ലെന്നാണ് പിന്നീട് അറിയാന്‍ കഴിഞ്ഞത്‌. ഈ വഴിപോക്കന് ഇത് തന്നെ ധാരാളം, എന്നാലും ഈ വിവര ദോശി ഉള്ള സമ്പാദ്യം മൊത്തം ചിലവാക്കി എന്തിനു ഈ കടുംകൈ ചെത്ത്‌ചെയ്തു എന്നോര്‍ത്ത് എനിക്ക് സഹതാപം തോന്നി.

വീടിന്റെ അകത്തു കേറിയപ്പോള്‍ ഒരു കാര്യം ബോധ്യമായി. ആശാന്‍ അവിടെ താമസം തുടങ്ങാന്‍ പോകുന്നേയുള്ളൂ. പെയിന്‍റിംഗ് ഒക്കെ ചെയ്തു ആകെക്കൂടി തൊണ്ണൂറു വയസ്സുള്ള കിഴവിക്ക് കല്യാണ ഡ്രസ്സ്‌ ഉടുപ്പിച്ച പോലോത്ത ഒരു ലുക്ക്‌. രണ്ടു കിടപ്പ് മുറി ഉള്ളതില്‍ വലുത്‌ ആശാന്‍ കയ്യടക്കിയിരിക്കുന്നു. ചെറിയ ഒരെണ്ണം എനിക്കും. ഒരുമയുണ്ടെങ്കില്‍ ഉലക്ക മേലും കിടക്കാം എന്നാണല്ലോ പഴമക്കാര്‍ പഠിപ്പിച്ചത്‌. ചെറിയ റൂം ആയാല്‍ സൗകര്യമാണ് അത്രയല്ലേ വൃത്തിയാക്കാന്‍ മിനക്കെടെണ്ടാതുള്ളൂ എന്ന് കരുതി ഞാന്‍ സമാധാനിച്ചു.

പക്ഷെ ചിലതൊക്കെ പറയാതെ എന്റെ കൈത്തരിപ്പു മാറുന്നില്ല. പരദൂഷണം എന്നൊക്കെ വേണേല്‍ നിങ്ങള്‍ക്ക് പറയാം.

ന്യൂസീലാണ്ടിലെ രണ്ടു ദ്വീപുകളും തിരഞ്ഞാലും ഇവിടതെതിനേക്കാള്‍ പഴയ ഒരു ഫ്രീസര്‍ കിട്ടാന്‍ സാധ്യതയില്ല. യൂറോപിലെങ്ങാന്‍ ആയിരുന്നേല്‍ ഇത് അടുത്തുള്ള മ്യൂസിയത്തില്‍ പണ്ടെങ്ങാന്‍ സ്ഥാനം പിടിച്ചേനെ… മറ്റു സാധനങ്ങളെല്ലാം ഒരു വിധം പുതിയതാണ് ഓരോന്നിനും ഒരു 25-30 വര്‍ഷത്തെ പഴക്കമേ കാണൂ.. ബാത്ത്റൂമിലെ ഷവറില്‍ ചൂട് വെള്ളം കിട്ടണമെങ്കില്‍ പഴയ ഷോര്‍ട്ട് വേവ് റേഡിയോ ട്യൂണ്‍ ചെയ്യുമ്പോലെ അര മണിക്കൂര്‍ മിനക്കെടണം…സാരമില്ല, പച്ച വെള്ളത്തില്‍ കുളിക്കുന്നതാനല്ലോ ചര്‍മ്മത്തിന്റെ ആരോഗ്യത്തിനും മുടി കൊഴിച്ചില്‍ തടയാനും നല്ലത്. വീടിന്റെ ലോക്ക് വര്‍ക്ക്‌ ചെയ്യുന്നില്ല ഉടനെ ശരിയാക്കും എന്ന് അയാള്‍ പറഞ്ഞു. തക്കാളിപ്പെട്ടിക്കെന്തിനാ മാഷെ ഗോദ്രേജിന്റെ പൂട്ട് എന്ന് ഞാന്‍ ചോദിച്ചില്ല.

ചുരുക്കി പറഞ്ഞാല്‍ ഒരു പാടു ആന്റിക് വാല്യൂ ഉള്ള ആ പുരാതന ഗൃഹം എന്റെ താല്‍ക്കാലിക കൊട്ടാരമാക്കാന്‍ തന്നെ ഞാന്‍ അങ്ങ് തീരുമാനിച്ചു. വാടകയും മറ്റു കാര്യങ്ങളും ചര്‍ച്ച ചെയ്തുറപ്പിച്ചു പുറത്തിറങ്ങിയപ്പോഴാണ് ആളുടെ കാര്‍ എന്റെ ശ്രദ്ധയില്‍ പെട്ടത്. അതോടെ ആ വീടും ഫ്രിഡ്ജും എന്ന് വേണ്ട എല്ലാം പുതിയതായി എനിക്ക് തോന്നി. കാരണം കാളവണ്ടി യില്‍ നിന്നും മോട്ടോര്‍ യുഗം തുടങ്ങിയ സമയത്തുണ്ടാക്കിയ ഒരു കാര്‍…. അല്ലേലും പകല്‍ ഉറങ്ങി രാത്രി ഇരുട്ടിന്‍റെ മറവില്‍ ചുറ്റിക്കളിക്കുന്നവന് പുതിയ കാര്‍ ആവശ്യമില്ലല്ലോ.

ഈ കിവികള്‍ക്ക് മലയാളം വായിക്കാന്‍ അറിയാത്തത് നമ്മുടെ ഭാഗ്യം…ല്ലേ…?

It’s taken me an inordinate amount of time to write this.  Mostly because I’ve been busily engaged in the random tasks of the Lone Ranger.  My beloved flatmate moved out 6 weeks ago, lured Southwards by the promise of a fulfilling job and a better climate and since then I have nurtured a new regime; The Non-Routine.

I’ve found myself a little bereft of reason to do the normal things at the normal time.  After years and years of living in shared accommodation I’ve always been alert to the Free Kitchen or Free Shower, scheduling my days according to best fitting in the necessary daily duties (washing, eating, laundry etc) with the precious moments the required appliances are free.  Now they’re all free.  All the time.

The weirdest part is the wandering.  Constant wandering.  I’m like an old Labrador, wandering from room to room looking longingly for flatmate…maybe if I check the bathroom again she’ll be there?

Don’t get me wrong – don’t worry too much about me.  I’m fine, really.  And I was quite looking forward to living alone.  However, it’s only in this lone living I realise one of my main motivations is not myself but others.  I’m independent, self-sufficient in most things, yes.  But you know what?  It’s so nice to have someone here who appreciates a nice cup of tea when you fancy making one.  I know the numerous, the plentiful downsides to living with a non-family, non-partner person.  But that’s another blog, non?

I’m on Gumtree.  Bring on the flatmates of the future.  Bring on tea, Jaffa cakes and shared wine and woes.  Bring on talking til 1am about absolutely nothing.  Bring on waiting for ages to get in the bathroom in the morning and then finding flatmate has surreptitiously cleaned it.  Bring on someone else to take out the rubbish and recycling.  Bring on someone to get you a lemsip and put up with another episode of Friends, just because you’re ill.  And bring on meeting, sharing and being inspired by another person.

~ 16 October 2009 ~

Bevor ich von meinem Alltag berichte, möchte ich ersteinmal kurz das Alltäglichste überhaupt loswerden: das Teil hängt. Seit dem 1. Oktober. Ohne runterzukrachen. (Die Zahnseide erfüllt ihren Zweck!)

Und auch alles andere sieht soweit ganz gut aus. Mein Leben hat mehr oder weniger einen routinierten Ablauf gewonnen, den ich regelmäßig durch lustiger oder weniger lustige Aktionen durchbreche – mit anderen Worten: langweilig wird’s mir nie.

Die ersten zwei Wochen im Oktober hatten wir Ferien und eigentlich hatten ein paar Leute aus meiner Klasse einen Road Trip zur Desert Road geplant, meiner absoluten Lieblingsstraße in Neuseeland, doch das Wetter machte uns einen Strich durch die Rechnung: der Winter kam kurzfristig zurück, die Desert Road wurde wegen Schnee gesperrt und unser Ausflug fiel ins Wasser.

Selbst in Wellington fielen für etwa 30 Sekunden ein paar Flöckchen vom Himmel – und ich war wohl die Einzige, die sich darüber freute.

Anstatt auf Foto-Tour ging ich in den Ferien also zur Schule, eigentlich, um einen Artikel zu schreiben und anschließend Ferien zu haben. Aber dann gab es da noch etwas, über das Geschrieben werden musste, und noch etwas und noch etwas… Und am Ende ging ich jeden Tag zur Schule, arbeitete mehr als in der Nicht-Ferien-Zeit, schlief weniger als in der Nicht-Ferien-Zeit und bekam eine Journalismus- und Deadline-Zeitdruck-Sucht.

Die Ferien waren großartig (außer an dem einen Tag, als ich den Leitartikel bekam und sich der Redaktions-Grinch, eine unfaire Mitstudentin, als Trittbrettfahrer einmischte und versuchte, mir den Knüller zu stehlen), doch alle guten Dinge haben ein Ende.

Jetzt sind diese verregneten und recht produktiven Ferien vorbei und das Radio-Modul hat angefangen, wo wir lernen, wie man Artikel für Radio schreibt: Kurz, mit viiiiieeeeel weniger Details und ohne Bilder.

Überraschenderweise macht mir das mehr Spaß, als ich angenommen hatte. Vielleicht sollte ich doch einen Job beim Radio in Erwägung ziehen…

~

Soviel also zu meinem Studium. Privat ist auch einiges los. Soviel, dass ich vorgestern vergaß, die Wäsche zu waschen, es gestern Abend tun musste und heute Morgen meine Socken noch nass waren. Also versuchte ich, sie in der Mikrowelle blitz-zu-trocknen, was mehr oder weniger sogar funktionierte: sie waren gemütlich warm und zumindest weniger nass.

Aber keine Sorge, normalerweise habe ich das mit der Wäsche und dem Haushalt besser im Griff.

Morgen feiert meine Mitbewohnerin ihren Geburtstag mit einer Vor-Halloween-Kostüm-Party. Ein Kostüm, das mit irgendeinem Buchstaben in dem Wort Spaghetti zu tun hat, ist Pflicht, deshalb waren ein paar Leute aus meinem Haus und ich heute beim Kostümverleih.

Ich werde als Rotkäppchen gehen (das als ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ einen H im Namen hat, H kommt auch in Spaghetti vor) und einen total schicken roten Umhang und ein kleines Körbchen tragen.

Letztes Wochenende habe ich mit Bonnie die Stadt unsicher gemacht und das klingt jetzt als hätte sich meine Persönlichkeit um 180° gewandelt. Aber nein, so ist es nicht: ich bin immer noch kein Party-Girl (auch wenn es gerade den Anschein hat).

Der Gegenbeweis: ich häkele wieder. Wenn das mal nicht schrullig ist…

Ich habe mir nämlich ein Diktiergerät gekauft (für Interviews…). Es heißt Johnny, denn meine Freundin Ruby und ich fanden, dass es sich bei dem Diktiergerät um eines handeln muss, das sich in Johnny Depp verwandelt, wenn man einen bestimmten Knopf drückt, anders lässt sich der Preis nicht rechtfertigen.

Den Knopf haben wir noch nicht gefunden, aber wir arbeiten dran. Bis dahin wollte ich eine schöne Hülle für Johnny häkeln. Leider geriet sie zu groß (Johnny ist nämlich schlank) und wurde deshalb zur Hülle für den MP3-Player umfunktioniert.

Als wir nun neulich in unserem Stammcafé ‘Offbeat‘ (das übrigens offiziell eine ‘Kunstgallerie’ ist, kein Café) saßen und uns unsere morgendliche Dosis Koffein einverleibten, zeigte ich den anderen mein Meisterwerk.

Da in dem Moment der Typ mit dem Kaffee kam, sah er es auch, fand es extremst cool und so kam ich dazu, dass ich ihm auch eins häkelte. Das hat mir einen Kaffee und einen Bagel zum Mittagessen umsonst eingebracht (den Kaffee hatte ich heut, für den Bagel war kein Platz mehr, deshalb musste ich versprechen, dass ich am Montag ohne Kreditkarte zum Lunch komme und ihn dann verzehre).

Dann ging noch eine zweite Bestellung für ein MP3-Player-Täschchen ein, von einem Mitschüler, der mir im Gegenzug Musik auslieh. Jetzt häkle ich einfach mal noch weiter, für den Fall, dass noch mehr Leute Hüllen für irgendwas brauchen… (Bestellungen können an dieser Stelle eingereicht werden – internationaler Versand möglich)

~

Ansonsten ist Neuseeland an sich ziemlich entspannt. Alle fiebern ein bisschen dem Fussball entgegen, denn wenn wir das Spiel gegen Bahrain gewinnen, dürfen wir endlich mal wieder bei ner WM teilnehmen.

Die vielen Tsunami-Warnungen und Erdbeben lassen uns übrigens ziemlich unberührt. Eigentlich ist es ganz lustig, wenn manchmal das Haus ein bisschen wackelt (mittlerweile bin ich sogar an dem Punkt, dass ich realisiere, dass es NICHT der Bus ist, der gegen die Hauswand gefahren ist, wenn die Wände wackeln).

Was uns viel mehr schockiert, jedes Mal wenn die Erde bebt, sind die Auswirkungen auf Samoa, das in letzter Zeit ja von den Tsunami-Wellen übel heimgesucht wurde. Viele Leute, die ich kenne, haben Verwandte oder Freunde in der Gegend, kommen von dort, waren schon mal dort oder gehen demnächst hin, und es ist ziemlich schrecklich zu sehen, wie viele Menschen ihre ganze Existenz verloren haben.

Aber es ist gut zu sehen, wie viel Hilfe von Neuseeland kommt, ständig werden Initiativen ergriffen, um den Katastrophenopfern zu helfen. Und die Kiwis haben nach wie vor ihre alte Einstellung: das kriegen wir schon wieder hin.

Wo wir gerade von Kiwis sprechen: mein Salat neulich hatte Kiwi-Dressing (und es hat mich eine halbe Stunde gebraucht, ehe ich realisierte, dass die Frucht gemeint war und nicht “Dressing für den Kiwi (Mensch)”) und der Kiwi ist zum Vogel des Jahres gewählt worden. Ich wundere mich nur, warum ich die Einzige zu sein scheine, die darüber nicht überrascht ist. Für mich ist das irgendwie naheliegen, den Kiwi zum Vogel des Jahres zu wählen.

~ ~ ~

Before I report on my daily life, I want to point out the most obvious daily occurance: the thingy hangs. Since 1 October. Without falling down. (The dental floss does the trick!)

And everything else is going pretty good as well. My life has kind of found some sort of routine, which I sometimes break with funny or not-so-funny actions – in other words: I never get bored.

The first two weeks of October have been school holidays and some classmates and me wanted to go on a road trip up to the Desert Road, my favourite road in New Zealand, but the weather spiked our guns: winter came back for a little time, the Desert Road was being blocked off due to snow and our trip fell through.

There were even a few snowflakes coming down in Wellington (for a period of like 30 seconds) – and I was the only person who appreciated the snow, it seems.

So, I went to school during the holidays, instead of going photo-touring. Actually, because I wanted to write one story and enjoy my holidays afterwards. But then something occured that needed media coverage and then something else occured and something else and… and then I ended up going to school every single day, working ever more than during Non-holiday-time, slept less than during non-holiday-time and got seriously addicted to journalism and dealine pressure.

The holidays were great (except for that day I got the lead and the Grinch of the Newsroom, an unfair-playing colleague, jumped on the waggon and tried to steal my scoop and claim it for herself), but all good things come to an end.

Those rain-swept and pretty productive holidays are over now and the radio module has begun and we learn how to write stories for radio: short, with faaaaaaarrr less details and without pictures.

Surprisingly, I really enjoy radio writing much more than expected. Maybe I should consider applying for a job at a radio station…

~

So that’s it about my studies so far. My private life is kind of busy as well. That busy, that I forgot to do the washing the day befoer yesterday, so that I had to do it last night, so my socks were still wet this morning. I tried to put them in the microwave to get them blitz-dry, and it even worked (kind of): there were comfortable warm and at least a little less wet.

But don’t worry, usually I manage to fulfill my washing and other household duties better.

Tomorrow, my flatmate is going to celebrate her birthday with a pre-halloween-costume-party. A costume that has anything to do with one of the letters in the word spaghetti is compulsory, so some people from my house and I went down to the costume shop today.

I’ll go as Little Red Riding Hood (Which has an H in Hood, H is also part of the word Spaghetti) and wear a totally classy hood and cape and carry a cute little basket.

Last weekend, my friend Bonnie and I hit the town and this sounds as I have made a 180°-turn personality-wise. But no, that’s not the case: I am still not a party-girl (even though it seems like that right now).

The counterproof: I started to crochet again. Now if that’s not quirky…

I bought a dictaphone (for interviews). It’s called Johnny because my friend Ruby and I figured that it must be one of those dictaphones that turn into Johnny Depp when you push a button, otherwise the price I paid couldn’t be justified.

We haven’t found that magical button, yet, but we’re working on it. Until we find it, I wanted to crochet a case for Johnny. Unfortunately, it got too big (Johnny is pretty skinny, you know) and so I use it as a case for my Mp3-Player now.

COFFEETIME: The same procedure every morning, James.

So when we were sitting at our favourite café ‘Offbeat‘ the other morning (which is actually a retail gallery, not a café, by the way) and got our daily shots, I showed my masterpiece to my colleagues.

At this instant, the barista came, also saw it, found it extremely cool and somehow I ended up crocheting an MP3-player-case for him as well. That got me a free coffee and a bagel (I had the coffee today, but didn’t have room for the bagel anymore after lunch, so I had to promise to come for bagel-lunch on Monday and leave my credit card at home).

Then, I got a second order to crochet a case, for a colleague, who gave me some of his music in return. Now I simply keep making those things, in case some more people ask for cases for something… (Place your oder here – international shipping available)

~

As to the rest, New Zealand is pretty relaxed. Everyone’s a little excited about the football, because if we win, we will finally get the chance to take part in a worldcup again.

The many tsunami warnings and earthquakes don’t bother us, by the way. Actually, it’s quite funny when your house starts shaking from times to times (I have actually reached the point now where I recognise an earthquake now and don’t mistake it for a bus crashing into the house anymore, when the walls start to shake).

What shocks us more about the earthquakes, is the impact they have on Samoa, which has been hit by the big tsunami-waves quite a lot recently. Many people I know have friends or family in or from that area, are from there, have been there or plan to go there soon, and it is pretty devastating to see how many people have actually lost their existence.

But it’s good to see how much support there is from New Zealand, constantly people and organisations initiate fund raisers to help and support the victims of natural disasters. And the Kiwis still have their old attitude: it’s nothing we can’t (try to) fix.

Speaking of Kiwis: my salad the other day came with Kiwi dressing (and it took me like half an hour to realise that they actually meant the fruit and not “Dressing for Kiwis (the people)”) and the kiwibird has been voted ‘Bird of the Year‘. I am just wondering why everyone else seems to be so surprised about that. To me, it is somehow obvious to vote for the Kiwi as the Bird of the Year.

1. il cinese
2. l’Amica
3. l’obesa
4. l’innamorato
5. la mezza tedesca
6. l’attore
7. la corsa
8. il musone
9. la barista

No, non è la lista di nove dei prossimi abitanti della casa del Grande Fratello 10, bensì la lista dei nove coinquilini che ho avuto nella mia esistenza. Persone con cui spesso ho condiviso molto più che le spese di casa, altre con cui non ho condiviso proprio nulla, altre ancora con cui non avrei mai voluto avere a che fare.

Si chiude un capitolo importante della mia vita, quello delle convivenze, per aprirsi decisamente quello della convivenza con la mia dolcissima metà. É ora di fare il punto della situazione.

Presto, su questo blog, senza scadeenze, senza fretta, senza scrivere nulla di nuovo per i protagonisti delle storie.

I woke up for what has become my usual Sunday routine: 11:30am mass at Our Lady of Victories on High Street Kensington, followed by grocery shopping at Tesco Metro.  After heading home, storing and labeling my food, and cleaning the weekend-worn kitchen, I decided to head to Charing Cross Road and get my first feel of the used book scene in London.  I’ve been having the itch for a while and was looking for a quintessentially British book to pop out at me that would perfectly fill the void of free time I’ve been having lately.  Vassar has groomed me to be a 100+ page per night reader during the semesters, but my courses here are much more get-out-and-see rather than stay-in-and-read; not that I’m complaining — I would much rather want to read something of my choosing than being forced to swallow dense theory.

My first stop was Any Amount of Books.  A few books popped out of the £1/4 for £5 bins, but then the moment I was hoping for happened: Ada Leverson’s Love’s Shadow.  Let me list the  factors at play that made me realise I needed to buy the £3 book:

1) a bubblegum paperback with an aesthetic freakishly akin to moi

2) set in Knightsbridge, the next tube stop from South Kensington

3) Ada Leverson (1862 – 1933) is described in the Note About the Author as “well-known in London society for her witty, outrageous remarks. Her friends included Aubrey Beardsley, Max Beerbohm, Mrs Patrick Campbell and most notably, Oscar Wilde, who christened her his ‘Sphinx’…In her later years her friends included Harold Acon, William Walton and the Sitwells.”

4) amazing condition…might as well be brand new

Even though my used book moment happened, I headed into the other used bookstore next door: Henry Pordes Books Ltd.  It seemed like a step above Any Amount of Books selection and price wise, and I enjoyed browsing the shelves and books on some of my favorite topics, such as tea, fairy tales, and urban planning.  I soon realised that this last topic was as much pleasure as research for Tuesday’s City as Material course…score!

Finally, I headed in to Koenig Books, the most high-end of the three and specializing in art and culture books.  The topics were great for browsing but very pricey.  Soon enough my hunger took over and I decided to head back to Manson Place.

And here I am!  Blogging and noshing on lox & cream cheese, complimented by Sauvignon Blanc (went for a 1/2 price bottle instead of the usual 3 for £10, and I can definitely taste the difference) — my culinary Sunday splurge for the week.  It’s just the Marist girls and I in the kitchen right now, but soon enough the boys will be back from Oktoberfest in Munich, including the 21st birthday boy, Kenny.  Cupcakes — or should I say fairy cakes, according to Sainsbury’s — are being decorated and balloons are being taped to the walls as I type.  I must say, this is quite a satisfying Sunday…

hands clasped.

We were.

We’re only friends now, nothing

out of anything ordinary

but when you tuck

your shirt

like that

I remember.

Yes we have!

Please email sterling.larson@gmail.com

We Gen-Y’s have a social life that is enhanced by technology in a lot of ways. This isn’t limited to the number of friends you can keep in touch with on social networking sites either. As I recently discovered, advances in communication technology also enhances my ability to be a complete bitch – without the use of hormones!

I sent a text message bitching about my housemate. It was supposed to go to my best friend, but instead wound up in the inbox of the housemate in question – Nick.

Unfortunately, I didn’t realise my mistake, until I received an SMS from my housemate, calling me a… (use your imagination). Then came the sweaty palms, the guilt, and the awful realisation that I had mis-texted.

What resulted was a ten-minute meltdown between said housemate and myself, followed by 3 days of ice-cold silent treatment – damn technology, with its super-speed and efficiency.

Considering all the useless accessories mobile phones offer, why is there no function on our phones to prevent this scenario? Why does no annoying little paperclip pop up and say, “It looks like you’re sending a bitchy text. Would you like some help with the delivery of that?”

Why is there no special device that allows you to stop a message being sent, after you have pressed the send button? Obviously, I need that function far more than a phone camera.

Why-oh-why did I not check who I had selected as the recipient? (Looking back, I believe I was also trying to read a book at the same time. Sadly, this event also made me realise that I have lost all ability to multi-task.)

Telstra says that 20 per cent of us are sending texts to the wrong people. For example, my inbox of 131 messages, contains 27 text’s that are definitely in the nasty column. That’s 20 per cent of my inbox, right there. As much as I am ashamed to admit it, my outbox provides an additional 20 per cent of bitchiness.

After much grovelling, Nick has now forgiven me. But he has warned me to double check who I send SMS’s to in the future.

While I was glad that he accepted the apology, this statement surprised me. I thought his main problem, and the real issue here, was the nasty content I had authored, not that I had mis-sent the text.

It got me thinking – all these new technologies that are meant to increase social networking, also increasing gossip and bitching. After all, I’m not the only one doing this. Just think of all those stories about myspace bullying, Twitter celeb fights, and facebook defamation. They seem to be increasing. And yet, people being mean to one another is a trend that has been around a lot longer than websites and mobile phones.

So, do these technologies make us more social? Or more bitchy? Have we always been this bad, but are now just finding it easier to publish the mean things? Would it be better for my karma if I go back to snail mail?

These are definitely questions worth pondering. If only I could work out the answers.

In the end, I know that I shouldn’t blame the technology – it didn’t write the text. The lesson here is an oldie, but a goodie – “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say (or SMS, or facebook, or Twitter) anything at all.”

Well mum, consider that lesson finally learnt.