I started celebrating my birthday Thursday – at the Strand cafe. Everybody gushes over how good the ribs are there, I’m not really a connoisseur of ribs, but I can still give the place 2 thumbs up. It’s the only restaurant I know of where there’s even the slightest chance of seeing a swimming rat be eaten by a monster carp. And that’s reason enough for me. I’ll be back, hoping for better timing. As a side note, I received complaints on Thursday that the comments feature was too ‘complicated’. I see. These are System Consultants and software developers talking. Sheesh. I have activated the anonymous comments feature.
Noticing my slight fatigue, my co-workers concentrated their efforts Friday on creating as much noise as possible – except for M, who took pity and treated me to breakfast ice-cream(this, for those of you who don’t already know, is the only true cure for a hangover).
Friday was recovery day, and yesterday was my birthday. I had big plans and of course they got sidetracked. Story of my life.
Best birthday message received came from sister N., who wrote ‘it’s not every day a guy turns 30’. Love that gal.
First of all, sorry about the last entry being only in German, but I figured after the long run of English posts, I’d do one just for the German speakers. Special message to my niece B. : Don’t worry if you couldn’t understand the whole thing, some of it was Austrian/Viennese.
Anyway, I was commenting on the recent series f interviews on national television here of the political party leaders. The FPÖ split up a few months ago, it used to be a party of a wolf in sheep’s wool, now it’s naked. The sheep’s wool part of the party is now called the BZÖ, and seems to be pretty much marginalized. Anyway, the last show in the series was with the Chancellor, Wolfgang Schüssel, leader of the People’s Party, or ÖVP. It was immediately evident that the guy who had been conducting the interviews, Armin Wolf, had heard Polit-Speak one too many times. He would ask a question, and before Schüssel even started to answer, he’d freak out with ‘that’s not an answer!’. Now, in all fairness to Armin, I’m sure it wouldn’t have been a direct answer, but still… you really should wait and find out.. Quaaludes, dude, that’s all I have to say.
Quote of the evening from our Chancellor was on the topic of the deficit:
‘Well, it’s true that we were 4 billion euros in the red, but when you look at the fact that we’re paying back 7 billion dollars in interest each year, we’re actually in a surplus situation’
Um, no, Wolfgang, we’re not. We’re 4 billion euros in the red. Everybody pays interest. Nice try though.
Quote of the week comes from the idiot mother of the idiot president, Barbara Bush, in an interview talking about the evacuees in Texas(emphasis mine):
“What I’m hearing, which is sort of scary, is they all want to stay in Texas. Everyone is so overwhelmed by the hospitality, and so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this is working very well for them.”
This proves that at least some of what is wrong with George W. is genetic.
Today is September 11, 2005, 42 years and one day Anno Howard.(to be referred to in the future as A.H., hey, if it’s good enough for the North Koreans, it’s good enough for me.)
On this day in 1961 the World Wildlife fund was founded in Switzerland.
Born on this day in 1962 – Kristy McNichol,
In 1967 - Harry Connick, Jr.
In 1862 – O. Henry
Died on this day in 1987 – Lorne Greene
In 1987 – Peter Tosh
In 2003 – John Ritter,
in 1958 – Robert W. Service, and on that note:
Am Donnerstag begannen die Geburtstag Feierlichkeiten – beim Strandcafe. Ich war noch nie dort gewesen, aber alle sagen da sind die besten Rippeln in Wien. I bin sowieso kein Connoisseur, aber das Restaurant bekommt von mir nur top Noten. Ich kenne kein anderes Restaurant wo überhaupt eine Chance besteht, eine schwimmende Ratte von einem Monster Karpfen gefressen sehen zu können. Ich komme sicher wieder, in der Hoffnung dass mein Timing besser wird.
Während dem Essen hörte ich von den System Beratern und Software Entwicklern dass die Anmeldung für Kommentare auf meiner Web-Seite zu kompliziert sei. Tja…na gut, ab jetzt sollte anonyme Kommentar möglich sein.
Meine Ermüdung ist meinen Kollegen am Freitag nicht entgangen, und sie so viel Lärm gemacht wie möglich. Nur M hatte Mitleid, und lud mich auf ein Frühstückseis ein(für diejenigen die es noch nicht wissen, Eis ist das beste Kopfweh Heilmittel).
Freitag war Tag der Erholung, und Gestern mein Geburtstag. Ich hatte große Pläne, aber ich bin, wie es so oft ist, abgelenkt worden. Schicksal.
Die beste Geburtstagsgrüße kam von meiner Schwester N., und sie schrieb: ‚Ein Mann wird nicht jeden Tag 30’. Ich liebe diese Frau.
Also wo waren wir in der österreichischen Politik? Ja, genau, Sommergespräche. Der letzte Gast war Unser Bundeskanzler, Wolfgang Schüssel. Mir kommt es so vor, als ob er viel arroganter über die letzten Jahren geworden ist, aber vielleicht habe ich nicht vorher aufgepasst. Eins ist mir aber aufgefallen, der Gastgeber, Armin Wolf, hat irgendwann während den Sommergesprächen zumindest den Geduld verloren, und möglicherweise den Verstand. Er hat Fragen gestellt, und bevor der Kanzler mit seiner Antwort begonnen hat, ist der Armin fast aus dem Sessel gesprungen mit ‚‘Das war nicht die Frage!!!’. Um fair zu sein, die Antwort wäre fast sicher nicht direkt gewesen, aber mein Gott Armin, du musst ihm eine Chance geben. Beruhigungsmittel. Mehr sog i ned.
Zitat des Abends war von Schüssel, und zwar:
‚Es ist wahr, dass wir ein Defizit von 4 Milliarden Euro schreiben, aber wenn man die 7 Milliarden, die wir an Zinsen zurückzahlen betrachtet, schreiben wir eigentlich ein Überschuss’
Ähm.. nein Wolfgang, eigentlich schreiben wir ein Defizit. Alle müssen Zinsen bezahlen. War aber ein netter Versuch.
Zitat der Woche kommt von der idiotischen Mutter des idiotischen Präsident, Barbara Bush, in einem Interview über die evakuierten in Texas:
’Was ich höre, was ziemlich erschreckend ist, ist dass sie wollen alle bleiben. Alle sind von der Gastgeberfreundlichkeit so überwältigt, und so viele hier waren, wissen Sie, sowieso unterprivilegiert, also lauft das ganze ziemlich gut für sie.’
Dies beweist dass zumindest ein Bisschen von seiner Blödheit genetisch ist.
Heute ist der 11. September, 2005, 42 Jahren und 1 Tag Anno Howard(ab jetzt mit A.H. zu schreiben, wenn es den Nordkoreanern recht ist, ist es mir auch recht)
Als Dankeschön für Eis ein historischer Eintrag für M:
11.09.1905 – Das japanische Schlachtschiff Mikasa sinkt nach einer Munitionsexplosion. Von der 935 Mann starken Besatzung kommen 256 Mann ums Leben und 343 Mann werden verletzt .
Am 11. September in 1961 wird in der Schweiz der World Wide Fund for Nature (WWF) gegründet.
Geboren an diesem Tag waren
in 1954 – Herbert Bösch
in 1945 – Franz Beckenbauer
in 1862 – O. Henry
Und an diesem Tag gestorben sind
Iin 1987 – Lorne Greene
In 1987 – Peter Tosh
In 2003 – John Ritter
In 1958 – Robert W. Service, und mein Lieblingsgedicht von ihm:
The Cremation of Sam McGee
Robert W. Service
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ‘round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell.”
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet ‘taint being dead–it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”
A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate those last remains.”
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows—O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the “Alice May.”
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked;” . . . then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door.
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
