An undoubtedly difficult  yet common decision that an aspiring professional of any field comes across is whether to put family or career first.  For me, as I’m sure it is for others, it’s a layered question.  I have come to the end of my internship for culinary school, and I’ve all but been offered a job, which would be good news if it weren’t for the catch.  I have been informed that there will be a job for me when it becomes available… in July (this is of course told to me during the week that I was effectively doing the job of a chef already because one was on vacation).  This is also on top of another earlier situation where higher ups at the college had already told the internship coordinator at my school that they were going to “make a position for me” and that they were eager to hire me.  With that news designated as somehow false at the ground level, I’m not sure how I feel about the whole thing.  About whether I even want to work somewhere so full of mixed signals and politics.  So there comes the issue of what to do in the meantime.  What place wants to take on temporary help, to train a new worker, when every minute and dollar is of value?  This being the Harrisburg area, there isn’t a phenomenal restaurant scene to speak of, at least not like the major cities that have been my aspiration (Chicago being paramount in my vision).

So I’ve been chasing leads and finding that most places have just hired somebody the day or week before, but that I should leave a resume and maybe they’ll get back to me.  This doesn’t seem totally out of the question, and I’ve gone out on those limbs, but they’re nothing to count on.  So I have this sure thing that I have to wait for and then boundless uncertainty in the meantime.  I’ve been told that if I absolutely can’t find a job in the meantime that they would be willing to have me at twenty hours a week, but while this is generous, I have a family to support, that will not cut it.  This is of course also absurd to me to be employed as a chef when I have no rightful experience to call myself one.

Now, it must be explained that while I work very hard at whatever I do, I am not going to be content to remain cooking in a college setting even if it is providing my family with benefits and better money than I make now.  For one thing, Jena has been offered a fixed shift in the morning at her job and she won’t be able to work that even if I were to get a full-time chef position as of right now at the college.  For another thing, I am well aware of my shortcomings as far as restaurant work goes and while I come across things that I need to work on at the college, I am most certainly not going to gain the experience, insight, or knowledge that I want to if I stay longer at this place.  While I realize that I got into cooking late, watching Top Chef, where one of the final contestants (my favorite person on the show, Kevin Gillespie) is a mere year older than I am, I feel like I need to step things up and try to compensate for time lost.  This will not happen any faster at the college, where we work very hard, but it’s just not the same environment.

I have been told by one of the chefs at work that there will come a time, if I’m working a busy industry job, that I will miss some momentous occasion with my daughter.  A lost tooth, a first step, a first word, something.  That I will regret it and that I will want to seek the security of a job like that one that is on the menu for this next summer should I choose to go that way.  Sometimes I wonder.  On the one hand there’s the stability of this safe job, with it’s union employees, it’s built-in customers, weekends and holidays off, and health insurance.  On the other there’s the hard work, drain of time, and lack of benefits, but also all of the new recipes to learn, ingredients to become familiar with, the push toward creativity that comes with familiarity, and of course the pure thrill of working a busy line.  I can either take care of my family in the present or try to get good enough (in reality and on a resume) to be able to get a better job later on, in a major food city, maybe with the ability to choose with complete freedom my place of work.  Not so much because I need a job and it’s there, but because I genuinely want to be at that one certain place.  I wish I could work somewhere that people are proud to be.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to hear “I’m here”, to a question of how someone’s doing.  I think that I could be accused of being selfish for wanting the restaurant job, but I’m not sure that it’s so clear as that.  I’m sure I could be criticized for either choice of path.

Of course is it a matter of necessity to have a job that one wants, or merely desire?  Does somebody deserve a job that they love?  Jena’s father will admit that he can’t wait to retire, but he’s just put too much damn time into it and the money’s too good.  This is a nice little trap that people put themselves in.  Maybe one becomes too comfortable with the lifestyle that they thought would only be for a little while, just to get started.  This is what I fear:  if I let myself get too comfortable, I’ll never move on.  I could also find employment at some corporate slop operation, and get insurance there, handing over balsamic chicken breasts with a gigantic crown of broccoli as a side and that’d be full-time.  So would working back at that short order job I talked about last time.  But where would the self-respect be?  Where would be the honor in it?  And how much are those worth?  The well being of my family is at stake, but also my sense of self worth.

Sometime soon the choice between pride and necessity must be made, and I hope that I make the right decision.

On the menu this evening:  braised beef shoulder with sauce espagnole, sliced thin and served over wild mushroom polenta with wilted turnip greens and gremolata made with celery leaves and orange zest.

Next Sunday:  more words.

And so it has come time to deliver on the promise of a more light-hearted blog post.  I find myself having to try very hard to resist the urge to write in explicit detail about my new daughter’s feces.  The color, the consistency, the odor, the quantity and frequency with which it is delivered.  These are all things that I believe are of the utmost importance and entertainment to a new parent.  This is most likely because it is the only thing that the baby is really “doing” with any reliability.  Her eyes will open, the mouth will open or smile (usually when manufacturing one of these presents for us to deal with), she will grab at things, but the bowel movements are the main attraction for the moment.  Don’t get me wrong, I love her very much and my mind has been filled with thoughts about how amazing, enlightening, and infuriating it’s going to be to see this infant grow into a functioning adult over time, but for right now the big surprises are squarely situated in the bottom of Evette’s diapers.  What horrible things lay within?

The only other baby related comment I have to make before getting to the prior planned topic is my little girl’s nose.  It is amusing to see the way that the genetic lottery has treated Evette, with her mother’s eyebrows and mouth and my nose and ears.  I must mention that in my younger days I have had my nose broken several times in overzealous circle pits and slurry passouts on gravel roads.  So it came that the remark, “I didn’t know that you could inherit a broken nose” exited my mouth as I witnessed her slightly skewed nose, with the one nostril nearly imperceptibly folded to one side except for when looking directly up them.  Of course that’s what happens when you pass a tiny human being through an opening that’s designed to only permit things out under extreme duress and pressure.

With that out of my system I come to what I intended to write about since the week before Evette was born:  dish washers.  Not the equipment, but the scrappy and essential staff members of nearly every professional (or unprofessional) kitchen.  The names have been changed to protect the guilty and because I can’t even remember when Easter is let alone some of these guys’ names.

I started working with food with I was sixteen.  It didn’t last long, and I quickly moved on to a local movie theater which I had an on and off employment with, but my first job was scrubbing the dishes, working the fryers, and dropping cryovaced bags of meat into what appeared to be a giant cauldron at a very popular chain which purveys fast food in a genre of food you could call “Bastardized Mexican”.  A good bit of my shift was spent on the three compartment sinks, dodging six-inch quarter hotel pans as they were chucked blindly over the assembly line when they had been emptied of their greasy beef, refried beans, or whichever slop was really doing serious business for the night.  Of course there was the fryer, which I treated with terrified caution due to the stories of my friend Denny (this is not true, I hated Denny) reaching his hand into the four hundred degree oil to retrieve a dropped something-or-other for some idiot reason.  The burns had been described in vivid detail.  The same philosopher of a boy had managed to take the end of his index finger off twice on the same fool-proof machine that was used to dice the tomatoes.  I met his girlfriend at a later job, whose face was colored with undeniable shame when I figured out the relations that had occurred between them, one relation occurring, horribly, the night of one of these tomato machine incidents.  Poor girl.

My next stab at the food industry was at a corporate family restaurant where I was hired as a short order cook, but was generally tasked with cooking, prep, pull thaw, maintenance, and as dish washer.  The grill manager was a man named Francis.  Francis was a middle-aged compulsive liar who claimed to have owned several Harleys (one of which was ridden with Stone Cold Steve Austin), that he had once had a career as an Elvis impersonator, and that he had once been run over by a semitrailer (before being an Elvis impersonator mind you).  All of these stories were told with the utmost attention to detail with a cup of coffee in his hand, usually while you were doing his work for him.  There was nobody full-time in dish, which meant that anybody who put something back there was supposed to get around to it.  Naturally this meant that whoever had the most persistent angel on their shoulder took care of it.  Of course I’m a sucker for some hard work too.  Since I never really had anywhere to go except a bar with my usual collection of failed philosophers and problem drinkers, I often had no problem with staying extra hours to run dish when the inevitable rush would come.  We had a large hotel across the street, which would get hit for the big car shows in Carlisle, so every couple of weekends we would get absolutely pummeled, the grill line scrambling, and the dish counters piling higher than a grown man’s shoulders with half-eaten chicken tenders, pancakes, and the vestiges of various sundaes, sloppy and viscous.  I was later transferred to a higher volume store when the one I was at got closed.

This restaurant had its own dishwashers on staff, which I viewed as a luxury.  Harold, who was the primary maintenance man as well as working dish, was a bit slow to say the least.  He was a man of maybe forty years who generally sported a crew cut and a scruffily maintained mustache and lacked a general knowledge about everything that wasn’t within the restaurant or its parking lot.  He didn’t know who Elvis was, he didn’t know who The Beatles were, he didn’t seem to have seen any movie ever.  He was basically a blank slate who showed up, cleaned and fixed stuff, and always had a bacon-egg sandwich on Saturdays.  The other dish guy, Marty, who showed up to help out on weekends was a bit more of a space case.  Of much larger proportions in his body and eccentricity, Marty would ramble about anything but his favorite topic was how much he liked girls.  He had a dopey sort of doe eyed adoration for certain women, and I never thought that he’d hurt anybody, but he apparently had an encyclopedic memory and had showed up at various servers homes on several occasions because he’d seen their paychecks for a split second.  The presiding knowledge was, “Don’t let Marty see your paycheck”.  Despite their mental shortcomings both men were adequate dishwashers spare for their practice of only dropping plates off at the window that was closest to the dish area, and above all reliable.  I could go on about this place really, the junkie grill line, the flighty servers, or the fiery Bosnian prep cooks, but I must move on.

I must mention that Jena’s workplace used to employ a massive crew of illegals of various nationalities.  I’m never really sure how I feel about the employment of a person that’s not a citizen of the United States, but here’s what happened when the INS showed up looking for green cards.  All of the illegals had done a solid and dependable job with little argument up to the day that they were outed.  After some scant interviews several young men, who this being midstate Pennsylvania were of a decidedly Anglo descent, were hired.  There was constant arguing over who was to do what, backups in the dishroom, just plain sitting on clean dishes instead of taking them to the grill line during service, and cardinal of all sins, fighting with the grill line itself.  Naturally they burned through these young white boys (full of aspirations of gangstahood and bad weed) like a California wild fire.

I put in some time at a particular fine dining establishment in Camp Hill Pennsylvania for a brief spot on Christmas break from culinary school.  The kitchen was practically a closet full of broken equipment, being run by a New York industry vet who had left the scene to settle down with his family.  Packed into this closet were a young Sous named Rick, a new guy running expo, and a highly energetic Guatemalan that we’ll call Juan.  Rick and Juan had a special relationship, in that it was a hobby of Rick’s to take as many verbal pot-shots at Juan as possible, which generally devolved into exchanges which looked something like this:

Rick- “HEY YOU, PENDEJO!  Fuck YOU!”

Juan-”No!  Fuck you!”

R- “Fuck you!”

J- “Fuck you!!”

R- “Fuck you MARRICON, you little faggot!”

J- “CABRON!  Hijo de PUTA!”

R- “Look at this little fucker talking back to me… fuck you!”

J- “Fuck you.”

R- “Fuck yooou!”

J- “FUCK yoooooou!”

And so on.  It was kind of funny and sad at the same time, because Rick’s general distaste for “latins” was pretty transparent, so where to some it was just kitchen shit talk, Rick was genuinely just letting Juan have it.  Juan could, of course, deal with it.  And he could fly through some dishes at just an incredible pace, and in a space that was little more than a corner.

Now I work in the spacious and clean kitchens of a major area college’s dining hall.  The dish crew is staffed by student workers.  This is a dramatic difference to me as most dish washers I’ve come across in my days, those I’ve mentioned, and countless part timers are generally foreign, criminal, or insane.  The students are polite, speak english, and good for conversation about architecture, law, or art.  A couple of them have very developed palates and can give some good thoughts on food that we cook and some are great for conversation.  What they generally don’t like to do is wash dishes.  Don’t get me wrong, I love the guys, and the job gets done (eventually), but I think that there’s just a sense of urgency that’s missing.  Naturally I can’t blame them.  They don’t “need” the job so much as see it as a financial convenience.  They’re already on the way to various careers.

I suppose my only point is that there’s something that comes from the doggedness with which those who can get no other job pursue such distasteful labor.  It’s almost noble.  In the same way that I came to cooking because they wouldn’t take me anywhere else, this is all these guys were able to get, and they work their asses off more often than not.  So no, it’s not always because they can be paid less to do the same job, but because they will do a better job while they’re at it.

I’ll be back next Sunday.

(c) ReneS

Freitag, ein freier Tag geladen mit Neugier, Erwartungen, neuen Bildern, das vertraute zurücklassen, wenn auch nur für ein Wochenende. Abschied vom Jenaer Weihnachtsmarkt – sonnenbeschienen. Es Hat etwas unwirkliches in dieser warmen Wetterperiode “Leise rieselt der Schnee” zu hören. Glühweinbuden, Weihnachtsbeschaulichkeit an verschiedenen Plätzen der Jenaer Innenstadt. Dieses Bild lassen wir da, Saale abwärts nach Halle, in Begleitung lieber Freunde, die dort jetzt studieren. Hier war ich bald zwanzig Jahre nicht mehr. Die Stadt empfängt uns mit ihren bunten Lichtern, bewegten Fußgängerpassagen, beleuchteten Kirchtürmen – die Eindrücke halb verborgen von der Dunkelheit.

Hier schart sich der Weihnachtsmarkt um das Händeldenkmal. Der Duft von gebrannten mandeln, Gerüche aus Töpfen und Pfannen schwängern die Luft über diesem Platz. Zwei Tütchen türkischen Honigs wecken Erinnerung an frühere Genüsse. Hinterher einen Glühwein probiert und der Abend durchstrukturiert in Erwartung des Zusammenseins in der neuen Wohnung. Es gibt ein wunderbares Abendbrot mit musikalischer umrahmung von Rodrigos spanischen Gitarrenkonzerten. Ich freue mich, dass Einzelstücke meines Hausrates hier einen guten Platz gefunden haben und benutzt werden. Schön den Abend ausklingen lassen bei Kerzenschein, Musik, Gesprächen und einem guten selbtsgemachten Glühwein. Nun noch ein Zitat von Augustinus: “Die Seele nährt sich an dem, woran sie sich freut.”

…and Shadow hasn’t stopped looking for her.

Ein offener Brief an Alle

Unsere Republik hat ein Problem: Sie will ganz offensichtlich eine neue Bildungs-Generation, die alle bereits vorher begangenen Fehler noch einmal begeht.

Seit Jahren werden Bildungsnotstand, Rückgang der Qualität und Möglichkeiten von Bildung und Ausbildungen, politische Passivität und diverse Verfallserscheinungen dieser Gesellschaft beklagt, in der wir aufwachsen, arbeiten und leben sollen. Verändert hat sich nichts. Sämtliche strukturellen Mängel, Defizite und Missstände, resultierend aus mangelhafter Parteien-Politik ohne Ideen, Mut und Perspektive, sind die gleichen wie vor 20 Jahren. Im Gegenteil, sind sie seitdem stetig nur noch schlimmer geworden.

Und nicht nur in der Berliner Republik ist dies so. Die Studierenden Österreichs haben vor ein paar Wochen mit ihrem ”Audimaxismus”, ihrem studentischen, bildungspolitischem Protest, ein Zeichen für die lang überfällige universitäre, bildungspolitische Einmischung in die Gesellschaft gesetzt. Sie halten ihr Engagement durch und haben bereits substantielle Erfolge erzielt.

Auch in den Universitäten der USA ist, zum ersten Mal seit 40 Jahren, die Studentenschaft wieder politisch bewusst und aktiv geworden. Nach einer Erhöhung der Studiengebühren in Kalifornien um 32 % – zur Lösung finanzieller Probleme, die nun wahrlich nichts mit Universitäten und Bildungsstätten zu tun haben – besetzten am frühen Freitag Morgen amerikanische Studierende ein Gebäude der traditionsreichen Berkeley-Universität. Eine Demonstration vor dem Campus unterstützte die Studentenschaft. Die Aktion endete am Freitag Abend.

Wir haben in Jena im Anschluss an die Demonstration zum weltweiten Aktionstag am 17.November die Hörsäle 4 und 5 der FSU in der CZS 3 für die Studentenschaft in Beschlag genommen, um den ersten Schritt zu einer bewussten politischen Einmischung in unsere und die allgemein-gesellschaftlichen Zustände zu machen: einen Raum für Diskussion zu schaffen. Präsent und konkret, nicht in Chatrooms, nicht in virtuellen Foren, nicht in Erklärungen, sondern lebendig vor Ort, wollen wir Bewusstsein gewinnen und vermitteln, weil dies als Studenten unsere Aufgabe war und ist. Wer sonst sollte dies in einer Bildungsrepublik tun? Und wer könnte es, außer uns?

Durch die Universitätsleitung wurde erklärt, dass an der FSU Raumnot herrscht. Vielen Dank, das wissen wir. Deswegen sind wir hier, genau darauf wollen wir aufmerksam machen, in Erwägung, dass dies niemand für uns erledigt und es keine glaubwürdige partei-politische, gesellschaftliche und schon gar keine wirtschaftliche Lobby für uns gibt, außer die Studentenschaft selbst.

Es geht nicht darum, unsere Bildungsbedingungen zu verschlechtern, es geht darum, sie konkret zu verbessern. Dazu bedarf es Druck, das wissen wir alle. Von allein machen die “Parteien” gar nichts. Und es sind die “Parteien”, die in den Stadt-, Landes- und Bundesparlamenten die Entscheidungen treffen, allzu oft von “privaten”, also kommerziellen Profitinteressen einzelner Lobbygruppen, Konzerne und Banken geleitet, welche wiederum kein Interesse an einer wachen und bewussten Bevölkerung, sondern nur an einer Kontinuität ihrer meist im globalisierten Rahmen stattfindenen Profitprozesse haben. Eben deshalb drängen die Banken und Konzerne nicht nur über ihre Mittelsmänner in die Parlamente, sondern auch in die Bildungsstätten und Universitäten, um den notwendigen stetigen Nachfluss stromlinienförmiger Fachkräfte zu garantieren.

Mittlerweile ist ein immenser Reformstau, eine strukturelle Stagnation, ja eine fast systemische Anti-Innovation aller Bildungs- und Ausbildungsprozesse unserer Gesellschaft deutlich geworden. Ganze Schichten werden abgekoppelt oder ausgegrenzt, vermeintliche “Eliten” sollen als willige Ausführungsgehilfen überholter und gescheiterter Wirtschaftsprozesse herhalten. Gleichzeitig werden, entgegen aller Versprechungen, die Gelder für die angeblich angestrebte “Bildungsrepublik” gekürzt und gestrichen, so als ob man dem Einsickern kommerzieller Interessensgruppen in den universitären Bereich noch bewusst Vorschub leisten will. Und im selben Atemzug stellt der Staat den Banken ungeheuere Summen zur Verfügung, welche diese selbst mittels ihres Geldschöpfungsmonopols vorher aus dem Nichts geschaffen haben. Der Schuldenturm des Gemeinwesens bei den Banken nimmt epochale Ausmaße an. Gleichzeitig verlangt man die nächste gefügige Generation, die einfach immer so weiter macht, wie die vor ihr – Dies kann so nicht weiter gehen!

Unterstützung, Anregung und Kritik sind bei dieser universitären Debatte wichtig. Wir laden alle aktiven Studierenden zur täglichen Versammlung um 18 Uhr ein.

Am Mittwoch, dem 25.November wollen wir um 20 Uhr eine Versammlung der gesamten Studentenschaft im HS 1 (Carl-Zeiß-Str. 3) abhalten, um über Perspektiven, Möglichkeiten und bereits erzielte Erfolge aktiven studentischen Engagements zu diskutieren, und dementsprechend auch zu entscheiden.

Wir verlangen eine Stellungnahme der Universitätsleitung zu den aufgestellten Forderungen – mindestens konkrete Angaben über Zuständigkeiten, Kompetenzen und Verantwortungen von allgemein erkannten, benennbaren Missständen und Defiziten.

Wir grüßen die Studierenden in Deutschland, in Österreich und in den Universitäten weltweit.

Das Bildungsstreik-Plenum

Quelle:Besetzte Uni Jena

[ Spiegelkabinett ]

- Canon EOS 400D – f:3,5 – 1/13sek -

Manchmal zeigen Bilder mehr als die Wirklichkeit.

[ Paralleluniversum ] 2009

- Canon EOS 400D – f:16 – 15 sek -

After working Jena, my fiance, for 46 hours per week and split shifts on the weekends, I can say that I am only grateful to Cracker Barrel for one thing. They made sure that she had the shortest labor that the eighth floor of Pinnacle Health Harrisburg has seen in quite some time. I am, in fact, lucky to have even made it in time to see our little girl come into the world.  Like a torpedo she had wedged herself up into Jena’s ribcage, and like one she entered the world.

Yesterday, an hour and a half into my shift in the kitchen, and near the end of getting everything ready for the a la carte pasta bar (AKA Operation: Cook All Of This Stuff Because It’s Going To Go Bad Over The Thanksgiving Break Anyway) when I notice that my phone has been ringing in the midst of all of my prep work and running around. I tell one of my chefs that Jena has called me four times and he tells me with assurance to go call her. When she gets to me first all I can hear her saying is, “The doctor says I’m ready to push… Get to the hospital”. I can explain this as being a little jarring when her planned due date was the eighth of December. I came back into the kitchen crumpling my chef hat as I scrambled at my apron strings, saying, “I need to get to the hospital…!”. I had forgotten how to untie a knot for just those few seconds, Chef Gabe remarking, “Aw, look, his hands are shaking… I remember when I was like that”. I got the call at ten thirty, she got to the hospital at quarter till eleven and the nurses were already telling her that she should start pushing, but she held on for me. Evette Lynne Agnew was born at nine minutes after eleven at six pounds and seven ounces on the twentieth of November 2009.

With a 9 out of 10 on the APGAR test (for responsiveness and overall health), her mother’s lips, my nose, and a head of hair she has come into this world. It’s like I mused to Evette when she had trouble getting settled, “Okay look baby, I know you’re not very happy not being inside your mom anymore because it was nice and dark and warm, and now you’re out here and it’s bright and cold with all the poking and moving and people making you wear diapers and wiping your butt. It’s pretty rough. We had to move recently too, your mom and me, and that was kind of annoying, but it’s a much nicer place with off street parking and a spacious kitchen, not that you know what any of those words mean. I hope that you like your new place too.”

Which reminds me of the classic line from Kurt Vonnegut’s God Bless You Mr. Rosewater, “Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies — ‘God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.”

The nurses have informed Jena not to tell any other women about how short her labor was (a first contraction at eight thirty in the morning) for fear that these women will get their hopes up. Because, apparently, this NEVER HAPPENS.  This fact was confirmed to me by the waitress at the diner that I had breakfast this morning.  Upon hearing about my new state as a father the manager came over and talked and heard some details, then informed me that my money wasn’t any good there.  Of course I had to bring the baby in to meet the ladies of the diner.  Naturally, I still tipped.

It was really difficult to leave my girls at the hospital for the night, but I knew I’d need to have my energy to get things in order tomorrow. Still, for some reason, dead on my feet and with that hundred yard stare from sleeping on the worst pull out bed in the history of man, I decided that it would be a good idea to make the chili that I’d been planning to cook today. I tend to treat cooking as therapy sometimes, when stressed or just in need of something to get very focused on. When considering making a pork based chili I decided that I wanted to accentuate the sweeter side of the dish so in addition to onions, garlic, bay leaf, red beans, and the usual suspects, I chose to use roasted bell pepper and hominy which added a nice character to its flavor as well as some nice texture from the hominy.

Driving home from the grocery store, I suddenly caught one of my occasional olfactory memories. From time to time I get specific smells that will hit me, like oregano or fennel, triggered by some random memory. This time it was Evette, the slightly musty smell that I’ve had right up against my chest, and beneath me on the changing table for the past day and a half. To have such a concise sensation hit you is jarring and intense. I had a twinge of regret for spending a night without her or her mother. And now my bed is much larger than it has been other nights, and the house much quieter. I look forward to hearing Evette’s fussy sound, which reminds me of something in between a creaky door and a sad puppy.

Next week- Something more light hearted. I promise.

Wieder wurde von der Klimaleugner-Bastion EIKE  (Europäisches Institut für Klima und Energie) in Jena ein haarstäubender, aber auch irgendwie witziger Artikel ins Netz gestellt.

Der neue Bericht auf der EIKE-Webseite ist nicht wirklich neu. Er wurde am 19.12.2008 in der WELT veröffentlicht. Autor ist Lutz Niemann, ehemaliger Nukleartechniker und Mitinitiator des Vereins “Bürger für Technik”.

Titel: Wie viele Menschenleben kostet erneuerbare Energie?

(siehe auch mein früheres blogpost zu EIKE: Klimaleugner in Jena)

Schon der Titel verspricht Sensationelles: Erneuerbare Energien als tödliches Risiko!

Zu den Fakten (zitiert nach Niemann): Durch geborstene Staudämme kamen weltweit seit 1943 zwischen 5524 und ca. 250.000 Menschen ums Leben. Diese reichlich ungenaue Angabe verteilt sich wie folgt:

• „2.12.1959 brach der Malpasset-Staudamm bei Frejus (Frankreich), 421 Menschen starben“
• „9.10.1963 brachte in Longarone (Italien) ein Erdrutsch den Stausee zum Überlaufen, die Flutwelle forderte etwa 2500 Tote“
• „11.8.1979 brach der Machhu-Staudamm in Indien, die Stadt Morvi wurde überflutet. Die Zahl der Todesopfer wird oft mit mehr als 1000 angegeben, eine zuverlässig erscheinende Quelle spricht sogar von 15.000 Opfern“
• „Die Münchner Rück schrieb im Jahre 1997: Seit 1950 ereigneten sich weltweit rund 100 größere Dammbrüche; die meisten dieser Dämme sind vor 1930 erbaut worden (und daher vermutlich Erdwälle). 1975 sollen bei einem Staudammbruch am Huai-Fluss in China 26.000 bzw. mehr als 230.000 Menschen ums Leben gekommen sein“
• „Es gibt auch in Deutschland ein Ereignis, dass die Gefahren eines berstenden Staudammes deutlich werden ließ: die Bombardierung der Staumauer des Edersees durch britische Bomber im Mai 1943. Damals fanden über 2000 Menschen den Tod durch die Flutwelle“

Fassen wir die Studie zusammen. Es gab weltweit sehr viele Todesopfer durch brechende Staudämme. Mit ein bisschen Denk-Akrobatik lässt sich ein Zusammenhang zur Wasserkraftnutzung herstellen. Das ist für sich schon lächerlich genug, aber im Detail wird die “Beweisführung” von EIKE noch dünner.

Nehmen wir mal alle Maximalannahmen zusammen, dann gehen 92 % aller genannten Opfer auf das Konto des Staudammbruchs in China 1975.  Und dieser war ja nunmal  ein Erdwall und auch noch allerfeinste chinesische Ingenieurskunst des vorletzten Jahrhunderts. Was das mit erneuerbaren Energien zu tun hat, weiss vermutlich noch nicht mal Autor…..

Die Logik ist sogar genau umgekehrt. Dammbrüche werden wahrscheinlicher, je mehr Wetterextreme es gibt (z.B.  2002 an der Elbe oder 2005 in New Orleans). Und genau das wird passieren, wenn wir nicht endlich auf saubere Energie setzen.

(Hurrikan Kathrina 2005, 1800 Tote)

Weiter gehts. Der Staudamm in Frankreich war ein reines Wasserreservoir (Quelle: Wikipedia). Hat also auch nichts mit EE zu tun. Wenn doch, müsste man nach dieser Logik sämtliche Trinkwasserspeicher abschaffen.

Den Stausee in Italien könnte man als “echtes” EE-Desaster gelten lassen. Endlich mal was mit Substanz. Das es zur Katastrophe kam, lag allerdings an Behördenschlamperei. Es gab schon vorher Schwierigkeiten beim Bau und mit Erdstürzen, auf die man allerdings nicht reagiert hatte (Quelle:Wikipedia).

Ein im 2. Weltkrieg bombardierter Staudamm als Argument gegen erneuerbare Energien???

Weil der Zusammenhang kognitiv nicht so leicht herzustellen ist, schiebt der Autor ein erklärendes Beispiel nach:

“Betrachtet man die Situation der Bewohner des Zillertals in Österreich, die unterhalb von drei Staumauern leben, so kann man nur konstatieren, dass sie im Notfall ziemlich chancenlos wären. Der Bruch nur einer Mauer – durch ein Erdbeben oder einen Anschlag – würde das ganze Tal überschwemmen, es gäbe für Zehntausende Menschen kein Entrinnen aus der Flutwelle.”

Da hilft also nur noch beten (Österreicher)  oder ignorieren (Touristen)!

Wagemutige im Zillertal: Jederzeit kann der Damm brechen…

Noch vermisse ich Zahlen über die Opfer der Windkraft und Solarenergie, aber immerhin gibt schon Belege für die Gefahr von Biomasse: Den Tod im Wald!

Niemann: “Tatsächlich ist jedoch der gefährlichste Beruf hierzulande derjenige des Forstarbeiters. …In den Jahren 1991 bis 1994 gab es jedes Jahr in Deutschland rund 50 Unfalltote… Diese Zahlen werden heute nicht wesentlich anders sein, denn die Gefahren beim Umgang mit Kettensägen und durch fallende Bäume sind geblieben. …Will man diese Zahlen in Beziehung setzen zu denjenigen des Tschernobyl-Unfalls, so wäre eine Hochrechnung auf alle Länder der Welt und auf ca. 50 Jahre durchzuführen. Die Opferzahl ginge schnell in die Zehntausende. … “

Durch Klimaschutz bedroht – Die Könige der Nutzholzgewinnung!

Also warum soviele Menschenleben riskieren, wenn es doch eine ultimativ sichere Alternative gibt: Kernenergie!

Die ist laut EIKE nämlich wesentlich ungefährlicher, wie aus der Analyse eines SPIEGEL-Berichtes vom 19.11.2007 (Vor Kurzem hat der Spiegel…) hervorgeht:

“Die furchtbare, zerstörerische Wirkung der Atomenergie wurde 1945 beim Abwurf amerikanischer Atombomben auf Hiroshima und Nagasaki deutlich, durch die mehr als 200.000 Menschen getötet wurden. Der Großteil fiel dabei der Explosion mit ihrer enormen Druck- und Hitzewelle  zum Opfer. Die Radioaktivität spielte eine nachgeordnete Rolle…

…Es hat bei der Nutzung und der Erforschung der Atomkraft wie in jedem anderen Technikbereich Unfälle gegeben, durch technisches oder menschliches Versagen. Die Zahl der Opfer war jedoch bisher gering….“

Bezüglich Tschernobyl: “Der Spiegel nennt ca. 60 Todesopfer bis heute – das ist korrekt aus der Sicht des Strahlenschutzfachmanns. In den Medien waren auch schon oft viel höhere Zahlen zu lesen.” (Aber diese sind vermutlich keine „zuverlässig erscheinende Quelle“.)

Es werden auch Risikostudien zur Kernkraft zitiert:

“….Ermittelt man nach dem gegenwärtigen Stand des Wissens – und dieses ist für die Kernkraft sehr umfassend – das tatsächliche Risiko, so stellt sich dieses als sehr gering heraus. Die für deutsche Kernkraftwerke durchgeführten Risikostudien haben für die Häufigkeit einer Kernschmelze Werte um 10 hoch minus 6 pro Jahr ergeben, d.h., in einer Million Jahren ist mit einem einzigen Schadensfall zu rechnen.”

Aha, dann hoffen wir mal, dass es keine Erdbeben und Anschläge wie im Zillertal gibt…

Am Ende des EIKE-Artikels kommt die argumentative Selbstzerstörung:

Niemann :“Es gibt nichts auf der Welt ohne Risiko. Wir lieben das Leben, obwohl es zu 100 Prozent tödlich endet….”

Alles klar?

Tschüss Michael

P.S.: Ich habe mir keine Mühe gegeben, die von EIKE zusammengetragenen Zahlen zu überprüfen.

P.S.S: Ich bin im übrigen auch gegen grosse Staudämme und Biokraftstoffe. Aus ökologischen Gründen.

[ Die Zeitmaschine / The Time Machine ] 2009

Ein paar kleine Stadtimpressionen aus Jena. Alle drei aufgenommen mit einer analogen Zenit-E bei 200 mm. Wie man sehen kann ist die Kamera nicht mehr die neuste und hat ein paar kleine Probleme mit dem Lichteinfall in der linken oberen Ecke. Ich finde das mittlerweile eigentlich ganz toll, auch wenn bei vielen solche Bilder geradewegs in den Müll wandern.

Vielleicht folgen demnächst noch ein paar weitere Bilder, lasst euch überraschen!

Bis dahin Cheerio!

… anlässlich des 80-igsten Geburtstages meines Großvaters. Vor drei Wochen hatte ich zur Diamandenen-Hochzeit meiner Großeltern meine Kamera nicht mit dabei – diesmal hatte ich daran gedacht. So entstanden gestern ein paar Aufnahmen.

Ohne weitere Worte, hier eine Auswahl:

Beim Kaffee

Meine Oma

Meine Mutter

Mein Opa

Vorm Abendessen

Mein Vater

The rise of Prussian military prominence did not initially last long. After the death of Frederick the Great, his successors failed to take advantage of that superiority, concluding rather that the superiority Prussia had gained would last. This failure to innovate led initially to the defeat at Valmy, where the national French army stopped the Prussian advance into France, and then the defeat by Napoleon at Jena and Auerstadt.

The Prussian soldier, in each of these engagements, at no point was out-soldiered. The rulers of Prussia failed on two accounts – first, by the failure to take the military machine they were granted by Frederick and build upon his vision of innovation. Of all the advantages Frederick built into the Prussian military model, one of the most important was the knowledge that Prussian soldiers had to be superior to their enemy and Prussian strategy more creative, because Prussia was surrounded and outnumbered. His battles built upon these theories, and his successors did not recognize them. Second, and closely related, is the stratification of Prussian society. In resisting a national army, the Junkers deprived themselves of able soldiers and stuck to the old system. National conscription has two clear advantages – manpower and motivation. Prussia deprived herself of each.

Scharnhorst, who would be one of the initial leaders of reform in the Prussian army, spoke about this in April of 1806 (by then too late) speaking against the idea that “the general was the sole deciding factor. A resolute nation could win even under mediocre leaders – if the nation had strength of will and high character.”

The problem with the soldier was he was not taught to do anything but follow orders to the letter. Innovation was not part of the skill set drilled into him upon enlistment. This failure to empower the solider led to chess piece movements amongst the Prussian generalship, while Napoleon moved and attacked fluidly and creatively, causing the collapse of Prussia, and the near removal of the state from European existence.

The solider, in many respects, is the outer face of the state. While the inner face of the state is law and constitution – represented by politicians, who create it, and judges, who arbitrate the law, while a leader or foreign secretary may be the guiding force behind foreign affairs, soldiers are the individuals who put the face on that policy. When that policy is war, the soldier is the representative in both the battle and the civilian interaction.

What happens at Jena and Auerstadt to the relationship between the soldier and the state?

Prussia suffered such a defeat at both encounters, but the result was not a re-creation of the Prussian soldier. The change is primarily in leadership and philosophy – “The Prussians, in fact, had been too soundly trounced. Had they merely been tactically defeated they might never have become so determined to become so militaristic. But ever Prussian man and most Prussian women said to themselves: ‘How could this happen to us – the people of Frederick the Great?’ They were as bewildered as they were bitter.”

This wholesale defeat of Prussia freed the soldier. German society was drastically altered, bringing Prussia into the age of national armies and out of the medieval era. Military leadership ceased to be the sole territory of the noble class, though it took another century for the nobles to release their hold on the area entirely. The relationship between the state and the soldier was one of the state realizing it had failed the soldier – and the people – almost in entirety. The solider was trounced because the leadership was sub par and smug; the people were failed in the humiliating defeat. The consequences of such a defeat were dramatic, a rapid reorganization of the Prussian military and a determination to return to the superiority which Frederick had enabled with his innovations.

Really, the defeats would set in motion the process of re-creation of the Prussian Army, solidification of the Army in the state, and through that, the creation of Germany.

Sergej Nikonorow und Fjodor Lawrow

Den ersten Streich führte die Altherren-Mannschaft von Torpedo in Wladimirs neuer Partnerstadt Jena, wo sich die Senioren von Carl Zeiss mit 1 : 4 geschlagen geben mußten. “Eine starke Mannschaft”, blickt Fjodor Lawrow, Kapitän und Manager, zurück. “Die Gastgeber gingen in Führung. Da war für uns klar, daß wir einen Zahn zulegen müssen”. ergänzt Sergej Nikonorow, der zweite Mann im Leitungsteam. Eine derart deutliche Niederlage hatte man an der Saale nicht erwartet. Bei einem Empfang mit Bürgermeister Frank Schenker, auf dessen Initiative die Einladung zurückgeht, mußten denn auch die Trostpflaster mit Wodka getränkt werden. 

Seit gestern haben die Kicker aus der Partnerstadt im Frankenhof ihr Quartier aufgeschlagen. Heute läßt man es ruhig angehen, aber morgen steht in Nürnberg ein Freundschaftsspiel auf dem Programm. Am Samstag dann – und das sei hier schon angekündigt – treten die Sportveteranen aus Wladimir um 14.00 Uhr gegen die Senioren der Spielgemeinschaft Siemens auf dem Platz an der Komotauer Straße an. Eintritt für alle Fußballfreunde frei!

Gleich im Anschluß an das Spiel reist das Team nach Straßburg weiter. Zur Erinnerung: Im Blog wurde am 18. Mai 2009 schon berichtet, daß die Senioren von Torpedo Wladimir amtierender Europameister in ihrer Altersklasse beim Hallenfußball sind. Mal sehen, ob Siemens die Elf von der Kljasma auf dem Feld schlagen kann.

by Brooke Medlin who is doing some very cool things with metal these days-

and the lovely Jena from Modish who is getting ready to open her very own vintage shop!

who has been inspiring you these days?

By Joe, www.Bettingexpert.com

Germany and Hannover 96 first team goal keeper died at 32 after being hit by a train. The German police have reported this incident as an apparent sucide attempt where Enke left a “farewell note” to his love ones. This shocking news have stunned the world of football and Germany itself.

Barcelona FC have are one of the first teams that have paid tribute to the goal keeper as they kept a minute of silence before a game in the Nou Camp. The German goal keeper was expected to be part of the team traveling to South Africa next summer, he leaves his wife and an adopted daughter behind.

Robert Enke was born 24/8/77, Jena, East Germany . He debutted for Carl Zeiss Jena in 1995-96, and went on to play for Borussia Monchengladbach, Benfica, Barcelona, Fenerbahce, Tenerife, Hannover 96. He was awarded the Bundesliga goalkeeper of the season 2008-09 and got 8 cap from playing for Germany.

Bettingexpert Blog is very sorry for the lost of a great football player like Robert Enke and all thoughts and prayers goes out to Robert Enke’s family and friends.

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If you are looking for Res 5 strategy, Click: http://vladerag.wordpress.com/2009/11/09/resident-evil-5-strategy/

Resident Evil 5 can be summed up in one word. Eh.

As games go it is pretty good, but compared to Resident Evil 4?  Resident Evil 4 was awesomely terrifying, extremly exciting, nearly impossibly challanging, and definitly engaging.  Resident Evil 5 is none of these things.  Me and my friend (efebountyhunter, or efe for short), have played it to the end, and have not been afraid, excited, chalanged, or engaged. 

There is little suspense, none at all compared to Resident Evil 4.  Who can forget the terror of the Regenerator?  The burning man?  That huge-ass crocodile that eats you if you stand on the dock to long?

Resident Evil 4 boasted bosses that could kill you, El Gigante, Salazar, Krauzer, the Chainsaw sisters.  The first boss in Res 5 was killed by me and Efe in around 3 minutes of rather boring combat.  It only managed to get one hit on me, none on Efe, and that was only becuase I decided to sacrafice my health to blow something up right next to it.

The other bosses are similarily non-terrifing or challanging, mostly they are just tiring, or simply annoying.

In summary, Resident Evil 5 is good, but I was expecting excellent or better from the Resident Evil brand, and I was sorely disappointed.

Oh, and they got rid of the merchant.  How could I possibly like the game after they did that?

[Searching for ... ] 2009

- Canon EOS 400D – Montage -

[ You're never alone ] 2009

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[ You're never alone. ] 2009

- Canon EOS 400D –  Montage -